Frederick the Great and His Family [134]
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 bloody, disastrous battle. I gave you the opportunity to make yourself a god 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 ambassador 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 passees.' 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 passionate 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.
"No! in heaven I will pray for my fatherland,"
"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 bloody, disastrous battle. I gave you the opportunity to make yourself a god 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 ambassador 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 passees.' 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 passionate 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.
"No! in heaven I will pray for my fatherland,"