University of Virginia Library

A TALE.

FROM THE FRENCH OF S. M. BERTHOND.

No one in France has forgotten the name of the ferocious
Blucher, that Prussian field-marshal so often beaten by our
generals, and fairly conquered at the battles of Jena and Au
ërstadt; who escaped from General Klein by a wretched evasion
at the capitulation of Preuzlau; a coward at Lubeck,
where he was made prisoner at the head of thirty thousand
men; whose defeats have been witnessed by Bautzen, Lutzen,
Vauchamp, and St. Amand; and who, through the obstinate
error of Napoleon, gained for the English the bloody field of
Waterloo. His brutal conduct when as conqueror he appeared
in Paris, is also well remembered; to hear him, one would
have thought France was to be hewn to pieces, and her capital
consumed to ashes. It has been known how unsparingly he
pillaged, not only the museums, but even the royal palaces.
St. Cloud can testify to his ignoble rapacity: thirty carriages
loaded with costly furniture, pictures, and other valuable articles
of which he had plundered it, were dispatched by him
to Germany as part of his private spoil; it was thus he became
possessed of the celebrated Passage of the Alps, by
David. He desired, moreover, that the property of those
whom he regarded as the promoters of the contest should be
confiscated; and the energetic will of the Emperor Alexander
alone prevented his requiring the disarmament of the Paris
National Guards; he even wished that they should surrender
as prisoners of war. Not one of the chiefs of the allied army
approved the conduct of Blucher, and his king himself tried
in vain to humanize his cruel nature. Often obliged to countermand

his savage orders, that prince was forced continually
to appease the barbarian by new benefits; he even honored
him with an order created expressly for him, the badge of
which was an iron cross encircled with rays of gold.

Blucher quitted France in the autumn, dissatisfied with
every one, execrated not only by the French, but by their enemies.
Chagrined at being reduced to a state of inaction and
obscurity, he retired to his estates, where he sunk into a profound
melancholy, and was soon after attacked by dropsy on
the chest, with an inflammation, of which his apprehensions
increased the danger. Thenceforth a strange alteration was
visible on his brutal character. The rough soldier became timid
and fearful; he could no longer endure to remain in darkness;
one moment of darkness would throw him into a singular degree
of agitation; and such was the uneasiness excited by his
condition, that the king of Prussia prepared to set out for
Krieblowitz the instant he was apprised that the old general
had several times expressed a desire to see him once more
before his death.

It was night when the monarch arrived at the chateau, and
desired to be immediately conducted to Blucher. The veteran,
then in his seventy-fourth year, was seated in an ancient hall,
dim and vast, the antique furniture of which, dating at latest
from the fifteenth century, added indescribably to its gloomy
aspect. The walls were covered with suits of armor and trophies
of the chase, partially lighted by the flame of an immense
hearth, which cast its fitful and sombre gleam upon the grim
features of the old man, wrapped in bear-skins, and half reclining
in a great armchair of black oak. On the approach
of the sovereign he would have risen to receive him, but the
latter forbid him by an imperative gesture, and taking his hand,
sat down beside him. Blucher abruptly motioned the attendants

to leave him alone with the king. All at once obeyed.
Then, raising himself painfully in his chair, he was silent for
a few moments. “Sire,” said he at length, “I have prayed
you to undertake this journey to Krieblowitz. I knew that
you would be present at the reviews which are to be held in
this district during the autumn. But I feel that I could not
wait for that occasion; and were you at Berlin—were you
even at the farthest extremity of Europe—rather than not to
see you, I would have set out, dying as I am; I would have
sought your presence, for I have a terrible reason to know that
my days are numbered and few. This reason I will reveal to
you; and before I do so, sire, look well upon me; scrutinize
the expression of my features, of my eyes, the tone of my
voice, the order of my ideas. Assure yourself that I am in
the full possession of my senses, and that I have not grown
insane; for there are moments when I ask myself if I am not
a madman, who takes for memories of the past the visions of
yester'eve. But no,” added he, drawing a gold bracelet from
his bosom, “no, all this is true; it is real and certain. I cannot
doubt it in any particular—therefore hear me, sire. When
the seven years' war broke out in 1756, my father, who was
living on his estates of Gross-Renzow, sent my brother and
me to one of our relations, the princess of Kraswick, in the
island of Rugen. I was then fourteen; and after spending
some time in the old fortress without receiving any tidings of
my family since Gross-Renzow and the surrounding country
had become the theatre of war, I entered the service of Sweden
in a regiment of hussars. I was taken prisoner at the
affair of Suckow, and the Prussian commanders pressed me
to accept a post in their service. I resisted their persuasions
during an entire year, and obtained my liberty at length, only
on condition of being enrolled as a cornet in the famous black
hussars. I reserved, however, a right of leave for some
months, since during sixteen years I had never heard the least
intelligence of my friends, and my mind was filled with a well-grounded
anxiety for the fate of my mother and sisters. Therefore,
the first use I made of my freedom, was to proceed towards
Gross-Renzow. On my way I found all that part of
Mecklenburgh-Schwerin horribly ravaged; and becoming
more uneasy at every step, while my coach made but tardy
progress along the steep and neglected road which led to my
ancestral, domain, I quitted it for a horse, and pressed forward
at full speed, followed by a single servant. It was forty-four
years ago to the very day, the twelfth of August, and almost
the same hour indicated by that antique timepiece—half past
eleven—for a frightful tempest was roaring through the woods,
the thunder pealed, the lightning flashed, the rain fell in torrents,
and I had wandered long in the gloomy forest before I
found my way to the gate of the chateau. I then perceived
that I was alone, and that my attendant, confused, no doubt,
by the darkness and the storm, had failed to keep pace with
my impatient speed.

Without alighting, I knocked with the handle of my whip
on the massive door, heavily plated with iron and bristling
with great nails. No person answered the summons. I repeated
it three times, and still no one replied. At last, losing
patience, I sprang to the ground, and the gate immediately opened
before me, yet no one appeared to have rendered me that
service. Without particularly noticing the strangeness of the
incident at the time, I left my horse, and, after traversing the
avenue, I ascended the steps, and easily penetrated into the
interior of the dwelling. There all was darkness and profound
silence. I will own it, my heart sank, and a thrill of involuntary
fear ran through my frame, but I soon shook it off.

“What folly,” said I, “to expect that I should find the
chateau inhabited! No doubt my family quitted it at the
same time I did, and have not returned since our general departure,
as the country was so disturbed. No matter! having
come to this deserted spot, I must only try to pass the night
in it as well as I can.”

So saying, I made my way through several of the old rooms,
ill I reached my father's bed-chamber. Here, to my surprise,
a half-extinguished fire was glimmering among the ashes of the
hearth, and by its dubious and imperfect light, I beheld my
father, my mother, and my four sisters, seated sadly by the
expiring embers. They rose as I entered. I advanced to
throw myself into my father's arms: he repressed my advance
with a solemn gesture. I stretched my arms towards my
mother: she withdrew mournfully. I called on each of my
sisters by name: they only clasped each other's hands in silence—then
all slowly resumed their seats.

“Do you not remember me?” cried I in an agony of grief
and disappointment. “Is it thus that a family should receive a
son and brother after so many years of separation? Have you
already heard of my entering the Prussian service?—but I
could not do otherwise. My liberty, the happiness of seeing
you, were set at this price! Think that during sixteen years
I have never been able to learn whether or not you still existed.
Parted from you by incessant wars, in the service of
Sweden for many years, and then a prisoner, I had no opportunity
of relieving my anxiety and my doubts. You see that
the first use I have made of my freedom has been to seek you
here, where I could scarcely hope to find you, but where, at
least, I believed it possible that I might obtain some traces to
guide me in my search. And now, my father, you will not
embrace me! My mother, you are silent! My sisters, have

you forgotten the tenderness of our infancy, and our happy
plays, so often witnessed by these very scenes?”

At these words my sisters appeared to be moved—they
whispered together for a while, then rose, motioning me to
approach, and one of them knelt down before my mother,
hiding her head in her lap, as children do in some of their
games. Surprised at this strange fantasy, in a moment of
such solemnity, I touched her hand lightly with the whip I
held. As I did so, I know not why, an irresistible force impelled
me to join their game. It was my turn to kneel, and as
I laid my head in my mother's lap, oh, terror, beneath the
heavy silk of her robe, I felt a cold and rugged form—I heard
a dull noise like that of dry bones striking together, and the
hand which I had clasped remained in mine—it was that of a
skeleton! I started up with a cry of horror; all had disappeared,
and nothing remained of this fearful vision but the
bones of a hand strained convulsively in my grasp. I flung it
from me in affright, and, maddened, senseless, half-distracted,
I fled from this horrible place. Rushing into the court, I
found my horse, and flinging myself into the saddle instinctively,
I set off at full gallop, without either knowing or caring
whither I went, but chance directed my course towards the
forest. At break of day my horse, exhausted by fatigue, fell
dead, and in his fall threw me so violently to the ground that
I was stunned by the shock. My people, uneasy at my prolonged
absence, came to seek me, and after some hours discovered
me lying under the dead horse at the foot of a tree,
with a deep wound in my head. They long despaired of my
life, and it was only when my reason returned, after three
weeks of burning fever, agony, and delirium, that they conceived
a hope of my recovery. I then learned, for the first
time, that all my family had fallen victims to the pitiless war

which had wasted Mecklenburgh, and that the Chateau of
Gross-Renzow in particular, had been repeatedly sacked and
pillaged. When scarcely convalescent, I repaired a second
time to the place, to have the last duties paid to the mortal
remains of my family, but the most scrupulous researches
failed to discover the smallest vestige of them. One hand
alone, a woman's hand, encircled by a golden chain, was lying
in the chamber where the fatal vision had appeared to me; I
took the bracelet, which I have always worn, as you see, in
my breast, and placed the human relies in the oratory of the
castle.

Many long years rolled by. Alone in the world, I devoted
myself to your majesty's armies, and but for this chain would
have entirely forgotten the events which I have related to you.
However, one night about two months ago, I was asleep in
this armchair, when a slight noise aroused me. My father,
my mother, and my four sisters were again before me as formerly
in the castle of Gross-Renzow. Again the four prepared
to repeat their shadowy game; again they signed me to
advance, but the horrors of that night rushed vividly upon
my memory. “No!” cried I: “no, never!” The phantoms
turned their dim eyes on me with a faint smile, and then all
taking hands moved slowly round my chair.

“Justice!” whispered my father, as he passed me.

“Penitence!” murmured my mother, bending towards me
her mournful head.

“Prayer!” uttered my eldest sister, in an earnest voice.

“Destiny!” sighed the next, who had been my favorite.

Then the third exclaimed sadly, “The twelfth of August!'
And the youngest scarce audibly breathed the words: “At
midnight!” Three times they moved past me, repeating the
same words, and then their funereal voices joined as they

slowly said, “We shall meet again!” So they faded from my
view; I then comprehended that my destiny was about to be
fulfilled, and that there remained nothing more for me to do
on earth but to recommend my soul to God, and my household
to your majesty—to see you once more, and pray you to remember
a faithful servant.” “My dear marshal,” said the
king, “what you tell me is certainly very strange! Do you
not think that fever and delirium may have had some share in
those two visions? Come, you must have courage; struggle
against these fancies, and be of good cheer. You will soon
recover, and perhaps live many years yet. Will you not believe
me? Come, come, give me your hand, my friend.”

As Blucher did not reply, the King of Prussia took the old
man's hand in his own.

It was icy cold, and as the monarch started from his seat
midnight sounded from the antique time-piece of the hall.

Field-Marshal Gerhart Lebrecht Von Blucher was dead!