Read Ebook: Napoleon and the Queen of Prussia by M Hlbach L Luise Jordan F Translator

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Ebook has 2623 lines and 169183 words, and 53 pages

"Hush! hush! let us listen to his song. He is now singing words to the melody. Just listen!"

The voice resounded nearer and nearer to the two listeners, and they could understand the words he was singing:

O Hermann! for thy country's fall No tears! Where vanquished valor bled The victor rules, and Slavery's pall, Upon these hills and vales is spread. Shame burns within me, for the brave Lie mouldering in the freeman's grave.

No voice! where sturdy Luther spoke Fearless for men who dared be free! O would that Heaven's thunder woke My people for their liberty! Must heroes fight and die in vain?-- Ye cowards! grasp your swords again!

Revenge! revenge! a gory shroud To tyrants, and the slaves that yield' Eternal honor calls aloud For courage in the battle-field. Who loves or fears a conquered land That bows beneath the despot's hand?

And whither flee? Where Winkelried And Tell and Ruyter bravely broke Oppression's power--their country freed-- All--all beneath the usurper's yoke! From Alpine fountains to the sea The patriot dead alone are free.

My people! in this sorrowing night, The clanking of your chains may be The sign of vengeance, and the fight Of former times the world may see, When Hermann in that storied day As a wild torrent cleft his way.

To die! how welcome to the brave! The tomb awakes no coward fear Save to the wretched, trembling slave Who for his country sheds no tear. To crown me with a fadeless wreath Be thine, O happy, sacred death!

The trumpet on the morning gale! Arm! forward to the bloody strife! From loftiest mountain to the vale Asks dying Freedom for her life. Our standard raise, to glory given, And higher still our hearts to Heaven.

Keine Thr?ne, Hermann, f?r dein Volk? Keine Thr?ne, und die Schande brennet, Und der Feind gebietet, we die Freien Siegten und fielen?

Keine Stimme laut, wo Luther sprach? Alle Donner, die der Himmel sendet, Sollten rufen: Volk erwache! feiges; Greife zum Schwerte.

Rache! Rache! heissen, blut'gen Tod Sklavenf?rsten und dem Knecht der fliehet! M?nnerwort gef?rchtet und gepriesen, M?nnliche Tugend!

Ach wohin? wo Winkelried erlag, Wilhelm schlug, und Ruyter tapfer siegte; Auf den h?chsten Alpen, in den tiefsten S?mpfen ist Knechtschaft.

Auch du, Hermann's, auch du, k?hnes Volk? Auf! Erwache! Sch?ttle deine Ketten, Dass die Schmach die Welt vernehme, bald auch Blutige Rache!

Lieder helfen hier and M?ler nicht. M?ler? Tief im Herzen sei das Denkmal, An dem Thurm der selbstgebornen Tugend Hebe dich, J?ngling!

Und voran geworfen k?hn die Brust, Und empor das Auge zu dem Himmel, Hoch die Fahne! Hoch zum Himmel! H?her Flammende Herzen.

Tod, du s?sser, f?r das Vaterland, S?sser als der Brautgruss, als das Lallen Auf dem Mutterschooss des ersten Kindes, Sei mir willkommen!

Was das Lied nicht l?set, l?st das Schwert, Blinkend Heil, umg?rte meine H?ften! Vor der Schande kannst du Tapfre retten, Zierde der Tapfern!

Just when the youth had sung the last verse in a ringing voice, he had reached the bush. And now there arose above it two pale heads, wrapped in white, blood-stained handkerchiefs, and sang in enthusiastic tone the last verse of the song they had heard:

Was das Lied nicht l?set, l?st das Schwert! Blinkend Heil, umg?rte meine H?ften! Vor der Schande kannst du Tapfre retten, Zierde der Tapfern!

THE OATH OF VENGEANCE.

Speechless with surprise, the youth had listened to the song, and fixed his large eyes steadfastly on the two officers, whose uniforms and wounds revealed to him the melancholy fate that had befallen them during the last few days.

When the two were silent, he approached them with an air of profound respect.

"Bravo, officers of Auerstadt or Jena," he said, with a voice trembling with emotion, "permit a poor young wanderer to present his respects to you, and to thank you, in the name of the German fatherland, for the wounds on your foreheads. Such wounds are also an 'ornament of the brave.'"

"And such words are an ornament of a noble heart," exclaimed Schill, offering his hand to the youth.

He took it with a joyful gesture, and, quickly kneeling down, imprinted a glowing kiss on the feverish hand of the wounded officer.

"My God!" exclaimed Schill, surprised, "what are you doing? How can a man kiss another's hand and kneel before him? Rise!"

"I am no man," said the youth, deeply moved. "I am but a poor boy, who has not yet done any thing for his country, and, perhaps, never will be able to do any thing for it, but who feels the most profound respect for those who were more fortunate than he. I, therefore, kiss your hand as Catholics kiss the hands of their saints and martyrs. For are you not at the present hour a martyr of German liberty? Hence, sir, give me your hand, too. Let me press my poor lips on it, also. It is the only way for me to manifest my profound respect for you."

"No," said Count P?ckler, feelingly, "you shall not kiss my hand, but my cheeks and my lips. Let me embrace you, young man, let me embrace you for the boon you have conferred on us by your words. Come, sir!"

The young man uttered a joyous cry, and, rising quickly, threw himself with youthful impetuosity into the count's arms.

"I will and must have my share in the embrace," exclaimed Schill, smiling; "did not you before expressly request me, comrade, to lend you my left arm for every embrace? Well, then, here it is."

He quickly wound his left arm around the necks of the others, and pressed them firmly to his heart. When they withdrew their arms again, tears were glistening in the eyes of the officers as well as in those of the youth.

"Grief and adversity cause men easily to fraternize," said Schill, "and therefore we shall be brethren henceforward."

"You will be my brethren?" exclaimed the young man, joyfully. "You will permit the poor boy to call two heroes brethren?"

"Heroes!" said P?ckler, sighing. "Then you do not know, my friends, that we were disgracefully defeated and trampled under foot in yesterday's battle?"

"Does it not seem almost as though he had heard our mournful and despondent words, and wished to comfort us?" asked Schill, turning to the count. "His blue eyes apparently do not behold only our physical wounds, but also those which cause our hearts to bleed, and he wishes to apply a balm to them by his sweet, flattering words."

"He wishes to console the poor defeated, and reconcile them to their fate," said P?ckler, nodding kindly to the youth.

"You have a better and more generous opinion of me than I deserve," he said, sadly bowing his head so as to shake its exuberant mass of long, fair hair. "I simply told you what I thought, and what every one who looks at both of you will and must think."

"Would to God you spoke the truth, young man!" said Count P?ckler, mournfully. "Believe me, however, but few will think like yourself; a great many will rejoice at seeing us defeated and humiliated."

"Instead of bewailing us, they will deride us," exclaimed Schill; "instead of weeping with us, they will revile us!"

"Who will dare to do so?" exclaimed the youth, in an outburst of generous anger. "Do you forget, then, that you are in Germany, and that you have shed your blood for your country? Your German brethren will not deride you; they will not rejoice at your sufferings; they will hope with you for a better and more fortunate day when you will get even with that insolent and hateful enemy, for the battles of Jena and Auerstadt."

"Pray to God, my young friend, that that day may speedily dawn!" said Count P?ckler, heaving a sigh.

"Pray!" ejaculated the young man, impetuously. "In times like ours it is not sufficient to pray and to hope for divine assistance; we ought rather to act and toil, and, instead of folding our hands, arm them either with the sword or with the dagger."

"With the dagger?" asked Schill. "The dagger is the weapon of assassins."

"Was Moeros an assassin because he wanted to stab Dionysius the tyrant?" asked the youth. "Was he not rather a generous and high-minded man, whom our great Schiller deemed worthy of becoming the hero of one of his finest poems? When the fatherland is in danger, every weapon is sacred, and every way lawful which a bold heart desires to pursue, to deliver the country."

"Well, I see already that your heart will choose the right, and not shrink back from dangers," said P?ckler, kindly. "But, in the first place, tell us which way you are now going to take, that we may know whether we shall be allowed to accompany you or not."

"I come from Erfurt, where my parents are living," said the young man; "last night I was at Weimar, and now I am going to do what I have sworn a solemn oath to my father to do. I am on my way to Leipsic."

"And may I inquire what you are going to do in Leipsic?"

The young man was silent, and a flaming blush mantled for a moment his delicate, innocent face. "According to my father's wishes, I shall become there a merchant's apprentice," he said, in a low and embarrassed voice.

"What! Feeling so generous an enthusiasm for the fatherland and its soldiers, you want to become a merchant?" asked Schill, in surprise.

The youth raised his blue eyes to him; they were filled with tears.

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