War."]

A murmur of discontent was heard amongst the generals, and every eye was fixed angrily upon Winterfeldt. He turned deadly pale, and looked down, as if ashamed of the exception the king had made, and dared not gaze upon those whose guilt he shared, and whose punishment he escaped.

The king fixed his eye so piercingly upon the murmurers, that they felt his glance upon them, without daring to meet it. Only the Prince of Prussia drew still nearer to the king.

"Sire," said he, in a calm voice, "my duty demands that I should give your majesty a list of the army. Will you be graciously pleased to accept it from me?" He took the paper from his pocket, and handed it to the king, who s.n.a.t.c.hed it from him hastily, and turned his back again upon them.

"Withdraw, messieurs," said he, "your presence oppresses me; you remind me of the disgraceful defeat my army has suffered, through the guilt of its leaders."

"Sire," said the Duke of Severn, "will your majesty listen to our justification?"

"Justification!" cried the king, with flashing eyes--"if this unparalleled disgrace which you have all brought upon my army could be justified, I might pity; but I must curse you. Go, sir duke, I will not look upon you." And springing with youthful activity from his horse, he entered his tent.

The generals were alone. They looked upon each other's death-like faces with suppressed scorn upon their trembling lips, and tears of rage in their eyes.

"Shall we bear this shame silently?" said one.

"Shall we allow ourselves to be scolded like schoolboys?" said another.

"Shall we suffer foul accusations to be brought against us, and no opportunity granted for justification?"

As the murmur of the generals became louder, the Prince of Prussia, who had been standing aside in deep thought, came forward. An expression of calm resolve was written upon his n.o.ble features.

"No, gentlemen, you shall not suffer this. I undertake to justify you to the king."

"Do not attempt it, prince," said the Duke of Wurteinberg; "at least, not in this hour. The king will crush you in his rage!"

Prince Augustus William cast his eyes to heaven, saying, "I am in the hands of G.o.d. I would rather die by the king's rage than to endure his contempt. The king made me commander-in-chief of this army corps, and accuses me of failure in duty! He shall hear my defence. As a Hohenzollern, as a general, as his brother, I demand the right to make my report." He advanced hastily toward the king's tent, but the Duke of Severn held him back.

"Will your royal highness allow me to accompany you?" said he. "The king's scorn fell upon me personally, and I also demand a hearing."

"No one shall accompany me," said the prince, solemnly. "None but G.o.d shall be witness to what we have to say. Wait for me, therefore, gentlemen. I shall soon return." He bowed and entered the king's tent.

"Announce me to his majesty," he said to the guard, who returned immediately and opened the inner door of the tent.

The prince entered with a firm step and head erect--the door closed behind him--the two brothers were alone.

The king sat upon a camp-stool by a little table covered with papers. He held in his hand the paper which the prince had given him, and appeared to be reading it eagerly. The prince stood for some time silently at the door; at last, weary of waiting, he entered the tent and stepped directly before the king.

King Frederick arose and fixed his great eyes scornfully upon his brother. "I gave you an army corps of thirty-six thousand men, and you bring me back sixteen thousand! Where have you left my soldiers?"

"They lie in the narrow pa.s.s of Gabel--in the chasms of the Erz mountains--they have died of hunger and thirst, and they have deserted,"

said Prince Augustus, solemnly.

"And you dare to tell me this?" said the king.

"I dare to tell you what fate has brought upon us."

"Fate?" cried the king, shrugging his shoulders. "Fate is ever the excuse for the crimes, and follies of man. Your obstinacy and your disobedience are what you call fate. Prince Augustus William of Prussia, how did you dare to act contrary to my instructions, and to conduct this retreat through the mountains, and not by the highways?"

"Your majesty gave me no instructions," said the prince, eagerly. "Your majesty commanded me to take counsel of my generals in every movement, and I did so. I should not have retreated through the mountains had they not advised it in consideration of the real approach of the enemy. But I do not say this to excuse myself, or to accuse them, but to prove to my brother the king that it was unjust to place me under the guardianship and direction of his generals--unjust to place a mentor by my side who is my enemy--who hates me and seeks my destruction!"

"Do you dare to reproach me?" said the king, in a thundering voice.

"In this hour I dare all," said the prince, steadily. "This is a decisive hour between you and me, my brother. It is a strife of intellect, of spirit; and although I know I am too weak to conquer, I will at least fall with honor--with my sword in my hand! I shall fall, but you shall not consider me a cowardly mute who does not dare to defend himself. I know that I have been slandered to you; I know that those whom you honor with your friendship are spies upon my every word and look, and report to your majesty what they hear and what they do not hear--what is true and what is not true. I know I have been robbed of my brother's love, but I will not consent to the loss of his respect and consideration. Sire, Winterfeldt wrote to you; I know that he did so. If he wrote that I was obstinate and self-willed, and alone answerable for the disasters of the army, [Footnote: Warner's "Campaigns of Frederick the Great."] I call G.o.d to witness that he slandered me. Your majesty speaks of instructions. I received none. I would remind you that I entreated you in vain to give me partial instructions--that I wrote down your majesty's verbally expressed opinions, and implored you to add to them your approval, or written remarks and explanations. [Footnote: "Recueil des Lettres du Roi de Prusse et du Prince de Prusse."] Your majesty returned the paper without signature or remark. I alone should bear the responsibility, and if this sad retreat should end disastrously, the whole world might say, 'This was the work of the Prince of Prussia!' Look you, my brother, I know, I feel this. The lost battle of Collin demanded an offering, and I was predestined for the sacrifice."

The king uttered a cry of rage, and advanced against the prince without outstretched arm, but suddenly recovered his self-control, folded his arms, and stared coldly at the prince.

"I have listened quietly to you, hoping always I might possibly find in your words a glimmer of excuse for your blasphemous deeds. I find none.

Have you finished, or have you still something to say?"

"I have this to say, sire: I demand that my conduct be investigated."

"Woe to you if I do this--woe to you if I listen to your bold, insane demand!" Stepping before the prince, and fixing his eye upon him, he said: "You have acted not like a Prussian, not like a general of Prussian troops, but like an enemy--like an ally of Austria and of France, who sought only for means to destroy the Prussian army and put an end to this war. I know that it never had your approval, because directed against your beloved France."

"Ah, my brother, you distrust me!" cried the prince, fiercely.

"Yes, I distrust you," said the king, eagerly--"I distrust you, and you merit it! You have just said that this was an important hour between us.

Well, then, it shall be so. I accept this strife of words which you have the audacity to offer me. This was not cautiously, not wisely done, on your part. You yourself have armed me--my weapons are sharp. I have suffered much during my whole life because of you, my brother. This began even in the days of our childhood, and will, as it appears, follow me to the grave. You were the favorite of my father, and I remember well that he one day proposed to me to relinquish the throne in your favor. I withstood him. I did not pay for this opposition with my life, but with my life's happiness. I will not account this against you; perhaps you were innocent; but it appears to me you have not forgotten our father's wish--that you look upon me as a usurper, who has robbed you of your throne. You act as if you had the right to measure and criticise all my undertakings, and to make yourself a judge over me. I undertook this war with the conviction of my right and my royal duty. You dared to protest against it. You dared, in the presence of my generals, to speak of your claims and the claims of your children! Oh, sir, you were already thinking of the time when you would lay my head in the vault and walk over my dead body to a throne! In that hour you stood no longer by my side as my subject, as my brother, as my friend, but as an ambitious prince royal, who hates his king who keeps him from his crown, and who is hated of the king because he reminds him of his death! And during no moment since then could you have denied this hatred."

"Oh, my brother!" said the prince, painfully, "your own hatred has blinded you and made you unjust. I have always loved and admired you, even when I did not approve of your undertakings."

"And yet it was you, you alone," said the king, hastily, "who dared, after the fatal disaster of Collin, to utter loud cries of grief and despair. When my courier brought to you and the generals and the army the mournful news of the lost battle of Collin, in place of strengthening and encouraging my warriors--consoling and inspiring them with confidence in their royal leader--you dared, in the presence of all my generals, to cry and whimper, not over destiny, not over the inconstancy of fortune, but over the conduct of your brother and your king. In place of justifying me to my silent and cast-down generals, you accused me boldly, and made my misfortune my crime." [Footnote: Betzow's "Characteristics of Frederick."]

"It is true," murmured the prince, "distress and grief overcame me and robbed me of my reason."

"Even because you were so wise and bold a warrior," said the king, with a cold smile, "I wished to give you an opportunity to prove your genius to my whole people, whose sovereign you will one day be. Because you wept and clamored before say generals over my faults as a leader, I wished you to prove to them that you were capable of commanding and bringing good out of evil. I trusted you with my third army corps--I expected it to retreat safely and surely under your command, after I had almost led it to destruction in a b.l.o.o.d.y, disastrous battle. I gave you the opportunity to make yourself a G.o.d in the eyes of my soldiers, a glorious model to my generals. What use have you made of these advantages? You bring me crippled, hungry, desperate soldiers! You bring me generals covered with shame, and blushing over their guilt. If I should deal with them as they deserved, I would give them over to a courtmartial and they would be condemned."

"And still I am not conscious of any fault," said the prince. "I dare to say fate was against me, and that I am wholly innocent."

"And I repeat to you your conduct has been that of an ally of France, who wished destruction to the Prussians, and to close this hated war!"

"If that were so, I would be a traitor!" said the prince.

"And who will dare say that you are not?" cried the king. "Who will say that he who, while I was engaged in war with France, exchanged the most tender letters with the former French amba.s.sador Valori, and complained to this Frenchman of the obstinacy of his brother, who is also his king?

Who will say that this man is not a traitor? Was it not known to you, my brother, when you wrote to Valori, that the French had already invaded my Westphalian provinces? It was known to you--and yet you dared to write to a Frenchman that you were convinced of the decline of my kingdom. And yet you dared to bring charges against me, and to say: 'Ce seront mes enfants qui seront les victimes des fautes pa.s.sees.' Did you not know that it was the Marquise de Pompadour who gave occasion for this war? You knew it, and yet you commissioned Valori to entreat the marquise to have her portrait painted for you! Now, sir, I ask you, in all candor, if these are not the acts of a traitor?"

The prince made a pa.s.sionate exclamation, and laid his hand upon his sword.

"You dare to dishonor me, sire!"

"I dare it! I dare to tell you the truth," said the king, solemnly.

"Take your hand from your sword--the truth is an enemy that you cannot contend against with weapons, but with deeds, and your conduct testifies against you."

The prince breathed heavily, and turned deadly pale.

"The contest is over. Your majesty fights against me with weapons which I do not possess, and would not dare use, and against which I cannot defend myself. You open my private letters, and from the harmless confidences of friendship you make a traitor of me. To call me a traitor, is to degrade me. I am dishonored; and with a dishonored culprit your majesty cannot contend. I will therefore withdraw. No one will see the wounds you have inflicted--which have pierced my heart; but, I tell you, my brother, I will die of these wounds."

"And in heaven, I suppose, you will accuse me as your murderer?" said the king, ironically.