“Yes, I know. The Emperor Napoleon’s speech at Auxerre,” answered the king with some embarrassment. “You refer to that, do you not?”

  “Well, sire, the emperor’s speech means war — war not only against Austria but against Germany. It means Venice for Italy and the Rhine provinces for France.”

  “You really think so?”

  “I mean that if we give France time to arm, the question without becoming desperate becomes grave, but that if we fall promptly and vigorously upon Austria, we shall be on the Moldau with three hundred thousand men before France can reach the Rhine with fifty thousand.”

  “Count, you do not give the Austrians their proper value; the swagger of our young men has gone to your head.”

  “Sire, if I appear to adopt the opinions of the heir-apparent and of Prince Frederic Charles, I can only say that the prince having been born on June 29th, 1801, is scarcely a young man; but the fact is, that in these matters I rely on my own opinion only, and I say deliberately in a war against Prussia, Austria will certainly be beaten.”

  “Really?” said the king doubtfully. “Yet I have heard you speak in high terms of both their generals and their soldiers.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Well then, it does not seem to me so remarkably easy to conquer good soldiers commanded by good generals.”

  “They have good, soldiers, sire, they have good generals, but we shall beat them because our own organization and arrangement are superior to theirs. When I persuaded Your Majesty to undertake the war on Schleswig which Your Majesty did not desire to do — ”

  “If I had not desired to make war on Schleswig it would never have been made!”

  “That is very true, sire, but Your Majesty hesitated; I had the courage to insist, and Your Majesty approved of my reasons.”

  “Yes, and what is the result of the war on Schleswig? War throughout Germany!”

  “True, sire, in the first place I like a situation that calls for resolute action; and as I consider war in Germany inevitable, I congratulate you.”

  “Will you explain whence comes your confidence?”

  “Your Majesty forgets that I made the campaign with the Prussian army. I did not do it for the mere pleasure of hearing cannon, of counting the dead, and of sleeping on the battlefield, where I assure you one sleeps very badly, or for the purpose of giving you what was nevertheless well worth having, two posts on the Baltic, of which Prussia stood in great need. No, I made the campaign with the object of trying the Austrians, and I repeat that they are behind us in everything — discipline, armaments, use of arms: they have bad rifles, bad artillery, and worse powder. In a war against us Austria will be beaten from the very commencement, for we have everything which she has not, and Austria once vanquished, the supremacy in Germany must inevitably fall from her hands into those of Prussia.”

  “And how is Prussia with a population of eighteen millions to maintain her superiority over sixty? Only look at her pitiful appearance on the map.”

  “That is exactly the point. I have looked at her for three years, and now is the time to mould her anew. Prussia is a great serpent whose head is at Thionville, while her tail is at Memel, and which has a lump in her stomach because she has swallowed half Saxony. She is a kingdom cut in two by another — Hanover — in such a fashion that you cannot get home without going abroad. You must understand, sire, Hanover is bound to become part of Prussia.”

  “But what will England say to this?”

  “England is no longer in the age of Pitt and Cobourg. England is the very humble servant of the Manchester School, of Gladstone, Cobden, and their scholars; England will do no more for Hanover than she did for Denmark. Must we not take Saxony also?”

  “France will never allow us to meddle with Saxony, if only in memory of the king who was faithful to her in 1813.”

  “Not if we took too big a mouthful; but if we only nibble she will shut both eyes, or at least one of them. And is not Hesse also very necessary?”

  “The Confederation will not abandon all Hesse.”

  “But if it will let us take half, that is all we want. Now let us consider Frankfort-on-the-Main.”

  “Frankfort-on-the-Main! The free town! The seat of the Diet!”

  “The moment Prussia can reckon thirty millions of men instead of eighteen the Diet is dead. Prussia will then be the Diet. Only, instead of crying a decree she will say ‘decree.’“

  “We shall have the whole of the Confederation against us. It will side with Austria.”

  “So much the better!”

  “And why?”

  “Austria once beaten, the Confederation is beaten along with her.”

  “We shall have a million men against us.”

  “Let us count them.”

  “There are four hundred and fifty thousand in Austria — ”

  “Agreed.”

  “And four hundred and fifty thousand in Venetia.”

  “The emperor is too obstinate to recall troops from Venice before two or three battles if he is successful, before ten if he is beaten.”

  “Bavaria has one hundred and sixty thousand.”

  “I will answer for Bavaria — her king is too fond of music to love the sound of cannon.”

  “Hanover, twenty-five thousand men.”

  “Only a mouthful to swallow on our first march.”

  “Saxony, fifteen thousand.”

  “Another mouthful.”

  “And a hundred and fifty thousand belonging to the Confederation.”

  “The Confederation will have no time to arm them; only we must not lose a moment, sire; therefore I now say ‘War, Victory, the supremacy of Prussia — myself — or-’“

  “Or?”

  “Or my resignation, which I lay very humbly at Your Majesty’s feet.”

  “What is that on your hand, count?”

  “Nothing, sire.”

  “It looks like blood.”

  “Perhaps it is.”

  “Is it true, then, that some one attempted your life by firing at you with a revolver?”

  “Five times, sire.”

  “Five? Good gracious!”

  “He thought it none too many for me.”

  “And you are unwounded?”

  “Only a scratch on the little finger.”

  “And who was your assassin?”

  “I do not know who he is.”

  “Did he refuse to give his name?”

  “No, I forgot to ask him; besides, that is the Attorney-General’s affair, not mine. I do not interfere with other people’s concerns. Now, my own business is my King’s business, and that is here.”

  “I am listening,” said the king.

  “To-morrow the chamber is dissolved; the following day we mobilize; in eight days hostilities are declared, or else — ”

  “Or else what?”

  “Or else, as I have the honour to repeat to Your Majesty, my resignation.”

  Then, without waiting for the king’s answer the Count von Bismarck bowed low, and according to etiquette retired backwards from the king’s presence. The king said nothing to detain his minister, but before closing the door, that gentleman heard the bell rung loudly enough to rouse the whole palace.

  CHAPTER V

  A SPORTSMAN AND A SPANIEL

  On the day following the events just narrated, a young man about twenty-five years of age arrived in Brunswick by the eleven o’clock train from Berlin. Leaving his luggage, which was labelled “Hanover,” in the station, he took a small knapsack on which were strapped a sketch-book and camp-stool, buckled on a cartridge belt, flung a baldric supporting a double-barrelled gun over his shoulder, and completed his toilet with a large grey felt hat. Altogether he appeared a sort of cross between sportsman and tourist. Accompanied by a beautiful jet-black spaniel he left the station and hailed an open carriage, whereupon the dog instantly justified his name of “Frisk” by springing joyously in, and installing himself on the front seat, while his master reclined on the back after the manner of one accustomed to do things comfortably. Courteously addressing the driver in excellent German:

  “Coachman,” said he, “kindly take me to the best hotel the town affords, or at any rate, to the one which provides the best lunch!”

  The coachman nodded as if to say he required no further instructions, and the carriage rattled and bumped over the cobble stones to the Hétel d’Angleterre. The dog, who had hardly been able to retain his position, instantly sprang out, and showing his relief by active gambols, besought his master to follow. The latter alighted, but left his knapsack and gun in the carriage. Turning to the driver:

  “You may wait,” he said, “and keep an eye on my things.”

  Hackney coachmen, all the world over, have a keen eye for good customers. This honest fellow was no exception.

  “Excellency may be quite satisfied,” he answered with a wink. “I will keep careful guard over them.”

  The traveller entered the inn, and passing straight through it arrived at a pleasant court shaded by lime-trees. Here he selected a small table with chairs for two, one of which was promptly occupied by Frisk; his master took possession of the other and the two proceeded to lunch. This occupied an hour, and no lady could have received more attention than the young man bestowed on Frisk. The dog ate whatever his master ate, only politely protesting when a hare, accompanied by currant jelly, appeared on the scene, that as a sporting dog he ought not to touch game, and personally had a serious objection to sweets. Meanwhile, the driver remaining on his box refreshed himself with bread, cheese, and a half bottle of wine. Consequently, when master and dog re-occupied the carriage the trio presented an appearance of general satisfaction.

  “Where to, Excellency?” enquired the driver, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, with the air of a man ready to drive to the world’s end if you wished.

  “I don’t quite know,” was the answer, “it depends a little on you.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, if I find you a good fellow, I might wish to keep you on for some time.”

  “Oh, a year if you like!

  “No, that is too long.”

  “Well, a month then.”

  “Neither a year nor a month, but a day or two.”

  “Oh, that’s not enough. I really thought you meant to take me on lease.”

  “To begin with, what will you charge for going to Hanover?”

  “It is six leagues, you know.”

  “Four and a half, you mean.”

  “But it is up and down hill the whole way.”

  “Nonsense! it is as flat as a billiard-table.”

  “One can’t get round you,” said the grinning driver.

  “In one way you can.”

  “And which is that?”

  “Simply by being honest.”

  “Ah, indeed! That is a new idea.”

  “It is one which has not before occurred to you, I think.”

  “Well, name your own price, then.”

  “Four florins.”

  “But you are not counting the drive from the station and the time for lunch.”

  “You are right, I will allow for that.”

  “And the pourboire.”

  “That is as I may choose.”

  “Agreed. I don’t know why, but I trust you.”

  “Only, if I keep you more than a week it will then be three and a half florins per day, and no pourboire.”

  “I couldn’t agree to that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I see no reason for depriving you of the pleasure of doing the handsome thing when I have the misfortune of leaving you.”

  “The dickens! One would take you for a wit!”

  “I’ve wit enough to look like a fool when I want to.”

  “Well done! Where do you come from?”

  “From Sachsenhausen.”

  “And where may that be?”

  “It is a suburb of Frankfort.”

  “Ah! yes, it is a Saxon colony from the days of Charlemagne.”

  “That is so. So you know that, do you?”

  “I also know that you are a fine race, something like the Auvergnats of France. We will settle up when we part.”

  “That’s suits me down to the ground.”

  “What’s your name?

  “Lenhart.”

  “Very well, Lenhart, let us get on then.”

  The carriage started, scattering the usual crowd of idle spectators. A few minutes brought it to the end of the street leading to the open country. The day was magnificent. The trees had just burst into leaf, and earth had assumed a mantle of green, the soft spring breeze seemed laden with the perfume of flowers. Overhead the birds were already seeking food for their little ones, and awakening Nature appeared to listen to their songs. From time to time a lark arose from among the corn, and ascending high in the air seemed as if floating above the summit of a pyramid of song.

  Beholding this magnificent country the traveller exclaimed: “But there must be splendid shooting here, is there not?”

  “Yes, but it is strictly preserved,” replied the coachman.

  “So much the better,” said our friend, “there will be all the more game.”

  In fact, before they had gone quite a mile from the town, Frisk, who had given various signs of impatience, sprang out of the carriage, rushed into a field of clover, and pointed.

  “Shall I go on or wait,” enquired the driver, seeing the young man loading his gun.

  “Go on a yard, or two,” was the answer. “There, that will do; now, draw up as near to the field as you can.”

  The carriage, with the sportsman standing up in it, gun in hand, halted within thirty yards of the dog. The driver looked on with all the interest of his class, an interest which is always on the side of the sportsman and hostile to the landlord and the gamekeeper. “That is a clever dog,” he remarked. “What is he pointing at?”

  “It is a hare.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Had it been a bird he would have wagged his tail. See.”

  A big leveret showed itself among the clover and fell a victim to the gun. It was promptly brought in by Frisk. Further on a covey of partridges was seen, but the dog was called off, and the young brood left in peace. They were already approaching Hanover when a startled hare was seen some sixty yards from the carriage.

  “Ah!” said Lenhart, “this one wisely keeps his distance.”

  “It does not follow,” replied the sportsman.

  “You don’t expect to hit at that distance, do you?”

  “Have you still to learn, my friend, you who profess to be able to shoot, that to a good shot and a good gun distance is of small importance? Now, watch!”

  Then, having altered the charges in his gun the young man enquired:

  “Do you know all about the manners and customs of hares, Lenhart?”

  “Why, yes, I think I know all any one can know who can’t speak their language.”

  “Well, I can tell you this. A startled hare, if not pursued, will run about fifty paces and will then sit down to have a look round and perform his toilet. Look!”

  And in fact, the hare, which had run towards the carriage, instead of away from it, suddenly stopped, sat down, and began to wash its face with its forepaws. This predicted toilet cost the poor animal its life. A prompt shot and the hare bounded upwards and fell back dead.

  “Beg pardon, Excellency,” said Lenhart, “but if we are going to war as it is said we are, on which side will you be?”

  “As I am neither Austrian nor Prussian, but happen to be a Frenchman, you will probably find me fighting for France.”

  “So long as you do not fight for these Prussian beggars I am quite satisfied. If you will fight against them, however — donnerwetter — but I have something to say.”

  “Well? at is it?”

  “I offer you the free use of my carriage to fight from.”

  “Thanks! my friend, ‘tis an offer not to be despised. I always thought that if I had to fight, I should like to make the campaign in a carriage.”

  “Well, then, here is the very thing you want. I can’t tell you how old my horse is, he wasn’t young when I bought him ten years ago, but I know if I took him to a Thirty Years’ War he would see me through it. As for the carriage, you can see it is as good as new. Those shafts were put on only three years ago, and last year it had new wheels and a new axle, and it is only six months since I provided it with a new body.”

  “You remind me of an anecdote we have in France,” replied the other. “It is that of Simple Simon’s knife, which had first a new blade and then a new handle, but was still the same knife.”

  “Ah, sir,” said Lenhart, with the air of a philosopher, “every country has its Simple Simon’s knife.”

  “And also its simpletons, my good friend.”

  “Well, if you put new barrels on your gun you might give me the old ones. Here comes your dog with the hare,” lifting it by the ears. “You can join the other, you fool,” he said. “See what comes of too much vanity! Ah, sir! don’t fight against the Prussians if you don’t want to, but, good heaven, don’t fight for them!”

  “Oh, as to that you may be quite easy. If I do fight, it will be against them, and perhaps I shall not wait for war to be declared.”

  “Bravo! Down with the Prussians!” cried Lenhart, touching up his horse with a sharp cut. The animal, as if to justify his praises, and excited by his master’s voice and cracking whip, broke into a gallop, bolted through the suburban streets and only stopped at the Hétel Royal.

  CHAPTER VI

  BENEDICT TURPIN

  Lenhart, in his double capacity of hackney coachman and purveyor of travellers and tourists for the Hétel Royal, Hanover, was well known to Mr. Stephen, landlord thereof, who gave him a cordial reception. Anxious to magnify the importance of his present consignment, Lenhart hastened to inform him that the new arrival was a mortal enemy of the Prussians, that he never missed a shot, and that if war were declared, he would place himself and his deadly weapon at the disposal of the King of Hanover. To all of which Stephen lent an attentive ear.

 

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