Читать книгу Frederick the Great and His Family - L. Muhlbach - Страница 11

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Baron Weingarten, the new secretary of legation of the Austrian embassy in Berlin, paced the ambassador’s office in great displeasure. It was the hour in which all who had affairs to arrange with the Austrian ambassador, passports to vise, contracts to sign, were allowed entrance, and it was the baron’s duty to receive them. But no one came; no one desired to make use of his ability or his mediation, and this displeased the baron and put him out of humor. It was not the want of work and activity that annoyed him; the baron would have welcomed the dolce far niente had it not been unfortunately connected with his earnings; the fees he received for passports, and the arrangement of other affairs, formed part of his salary as secretary of legation, and as he possessed no fortune, this was his only resource. This indigence alone led him to resign his aristocratic independence and freedom of action. He had not entered the state service from ambition, but for money, that he might have the means of supporting his mother and unmarried sisters, and enable himself to live according to his rank and old aristocratic name. Baron Weingarten would have made any sacrifice, submitted to any service, to obtain wealth. Poverty had demoralized him, pride had laid a mildew on his heart and stifled all noble aspirations. As he read a letter, just received from his mother, complaining of wants and privations, telling of the attachment of a young officer to his sister, and that poverty alone prevented their marriage, his heart was filled with repining, and at this moment he was prepared to commit a crime, if, by so doing, he could have obtained wealth.

In this despairing and sorrowful mood he had entered the office, and awaited in vain for petitioners who would pay him richly for his services. But the hours passed in undisturbed quiet, and Baron Weingarten was in the act of leaving the office, as the servant announced Baron von Waltz, and the court councillor, Zetto, from Vienna.

He advanced to meet the two gentlemen, with a smiling countenance, and welcomed his Austrian countrymen heartily.

The two gentlemen seated themselves silently; Weingarten took a seat in front of them.

A painful, embarrassed pause ensued. The majestic Baron von Waltz looked silently at the ceiling, while the black, piercing eyes of the little Councillor Zetto examined the countenance of Weingarten with a strangely searching and penetrating expression.

“You are from Vienna?” said Weingarten at last, putting an end to this painful silence.

“We are from Vienna,” answered the baron, with a grave bow. “And have travelled here post-haste to have an interview with you.”

“With me?” asked the secretary of legation, astonished.

“With you alone,” said the baron, gravely.

“We wish you to do the King of Prussia a great service,” said Zetto, solemnly.

Weingarten reddened, and said confusedly: “The King of Prussia! You forget, gentlemen, that my services belong alone to the Empress Maria Theresa.”

“He defends himself before he is accused,” said Zetto, aside. “It is then true, as we have been told, he is playing a double game—serves Austria and Prussia at the same time.” Turning to Baron Weingarten, he said: “That which we ask of you will be at the same time a service to our gracious empress, for certainly it would not only distress, but compromise her majesty, if an Austrian officer committed a murder in Prussia.”

“Murder!” cried the secretary of legation.

“Yes, an intentional murder,” said Baron Waltz, emphatically—“the murder of the King of Prussia. If you prevent this crime, you will receive ten thousand guilders,” said Zetto, examining Weingarten’s countenance closely. He remarked that the baron, who was but a moment ago pale from terror, now reddened, and that his eyes sparkled joyously.

“And what can I do to prevent this murder?” asked Weingarten, hastily.

“You can warn the king.”

“But to warn successfully, I must have proofs.”

“We are ready to give the most incontrovertible proofs.”

“I must, before acting, be convinced of the veracity of your charges.”

“I hope that my word of honor will convince you of their truth,” said Baron Waltz, pathetically.

Weingarten bowed, with an ambiguous smile, that did not escape Zetto. He drew forth his pocket-book, and took from it a small, folded paper, which he handed to Weingarten.

“If I strengthen my declaration with this paper, will you trust me?”

Weingarten looked with joyful astonishment at the paper; it was a check for two thousand guilders. “My sister’s dowry,” thought Weingarten, with joy. But the next moment came doubt and suspicion. What if they were only trying him—only convincing themselves if he could be bought? Perhaps he was suspected of supplying the Prussian Government from time to time with Austrian news—of communicating to them the contents of important dispatches!

The fire faded from his eye, and with a firm countenance he laid the paper upon the table.

“Your are mistaken, gentlemen! That is no document, but a check.”

“With which many documents could be purchased,” said Zetto, smiling. Placing the paper again in his pocket-book, he took out another and a larger one. It was a check for three thousand guilders.

But Weingarten had regained his composure. He knew that men acting thus must be spies or criminals; that they were testing him, or luring him on to some unworthy act. In either case, he must be on his guard.

“I beg you to confirm your charge in the usual manner,” said he, with a cold, indifferent glance at the paper. “Murder is a dreadful accusation—you cannot act too carefully. You say that an Austrian officer intends to murder the King of Prussia. How do you know this?”

“From himself,” said Baron Waltz. “He communicated his intentions to me, and confided to me his entire plan.”

“It appears,” remarked Weingarten, mockingly, “that the officer had reason to believe he might trust you with this terrible secret.”

“You see, however, that he was mistaken,” said the baron, smilingly. “I demand of you to warn the King of Prussia of the danger that threatens him.”

“I shall be compelled to make this danger clear, give all particulars, or the king will laugh at my story and consider it a fairy tale.”

“You shall give him convincing proof. Say to him that the murder is to be committed when his majesty attends the Austrian review at Konigsberg.”

“How will the officer cross the Prussian border?”

“He is supplied with an Austrian passport, and under the pretence of inheriting a large property in Prussia, he has obtained leave of absence for a month.”

“There remains now but one question: why does the officer wish to murder the king? What motive leads him to do so?”

“Revenge,” said Baron von Waltz, solemnly—“an act of vengeance. This Austrian officer who is resolved to murder the king of Prussia, is Frederick von Trenck.”

Weingarten was embarrassed, and his countenance bore an uneasy and troubled expression. But as his eye fell upon the weighty paper that lay before him, he smiled, and looked resolved.

“Now I have but one thing more to ask. Why, if your story is authentic, and well calculated to startle even the brave king, have you thought it necessary to remove my doubts with this document?”

Baron Waltz was silent, and looked inquiringly at Zetto.

“Why did I hand you this document?” said the councillor, with a sweet smile. “Because gold remains gold, whether received from an Austrian councillor or from a Prussian prince.”

“Sir, do you dare to insult me?” cried the secretary of legation, fiercely.

Zetto smiled. “No, I only wish to notify you that we are aware that it is through you that Baron von Trenck receives money from a certain aristocratic lady in Berlin. It is, therefore, most important that the king should be warned by you of his intended murder—otherwise you might be thought an accomplice.”

Weingarten appeared not to be in the least disconcerted by this statement—he seemed not even to have heard it.

“Before I warn the king,” he said, with calm composure, “I must be convinced of the truth of the story myself, and I acknowledge to you that I am not convinced, cannot understand your motives for seeking the destruction of Baron von Trenck.”

“Ah! you search into our motives—you mistrust us,” cried Zetto, hastily. “Well, we will prove to you that we trust you, by telling you our secret. You know the story of the inheritance of Trenck?”

“He is the only heir of the pandour chieftain, Franz von Trenck.”

“Correct. And do you know the history of this pandour chieftain Trenck?”

“I have heard a confused and uncertain statement, but nothing definite or reliable.”

“It is, however, a very interesting and instructive story, and shows how far a man with a determined will and great energy can reach, when his thoughts are directed to one end. Baron Trenck wished to be rich, immensely rich—that was the aim of his life. Seduced by his love of money, he became the captain of a band of robbers, then a murderer, a church-robber; from that a brave soldier, and, at last, a holy penitent. Robbing and plundering every-where, he succeeded in collecting millions. The pandour chieftain Trenck soon became so rich, that he excited the envy of the noblest and wealthiest men in the kingdom, so rich that he was able to lend large sums of money to the powerful and influential Baron Lowenwalde. You see, baron, it only needs a determined will to become rich.”

“Oh! the foolish man,” said Weingarten, shrugging his shoulders. “Lending money to a noble and powerful man, is making an irreconcilable enemy.”

“You speak like a prophet. It happened, as you say. Lowenwalde became Trenck’s enemy. He accused him of embezzling the imperial money, of treachery and faithlessness—and Trenck was imprisoned.”

“His millions obtained his release, did they not?”

“No. His riches reduced him to greater misery. His lands were sequestered, and a body of commissioners were selected to attend to them. Baron Waltz and myself belonged to this commission.”

“Ah! I begin to understand,” murmured Weingarten.

Baron Zetto continued, with a smile. “The commissioners made the discovery that report had greatly exaggerated the riches of Trenck. He had not many treasures, but many debts. In order to liquidate those debts, we desired his creditors to announce themselves every day, and promised them a daily ducat until the end of the process.”

“I hope you two gentlemen were among his creditors,” said Weingarten.

“Certainly, we were, and also Baron Marken.”

“Therefore you have a threefold advantage from Trenck’s imprisonment. First, your salary as a member of the commission; secondly, as a creditor—”

“And thirdly—you spoke of a threefold advantage?”

“And thirdly,” said Weingarten, laughing, “in searching for the missing treasures of Baron Trenck which had disappeared so unfortunately.”

“Ah, sir, you speak like those who suspected us at court, and wished to make the empress believe that we had enriched ourselves as commissioners. Soon after this Trenck died, and Frederick von Trenck hastened from St. Petersburg to receive his inheritance. How great was his astonishment to find instead of the hoped-for millions a few mortgaged lands, an income of a hundred thousand guilders, and sixty-three creditors who claimed the property.”

“He should have become one of the commissioners,” remarked Weingarten, mockingly. “Perhaps it would have then been easier for him to obtain his possessions.”

“He attempted it in another way, with the aid of money, bribery, and persuasion. He has already succeeded in obtaining fifty-four of his sixty-three processes, and will win the others in a few days.”

“And then he will doubtless cause the commissioners to give in their accounts, and close their books.”

“Exactly. He has already commenced to do so. He ordered an investigation to be made against the quartermaster, and the commander of the regiment to which Franz von Trenck belonged. This man had accused Trenck of having embezzled eight thousand of the imperial money, and Trenck succeeded so far, that it was declared that it was not he, but his accusers, who had committed the crime. The consequence was, that the quartermaster was deposed, and it would have fared as badly with the commander, had he not found powerful protection.”

“And now the dangerous Frederick von Trenck will seize the property of the commissioners.”

“He would do so if we did not know how to prevent him. We must employ every means to remove him, and, believe me, we are not the only men who wish for his disappearance. A large and powerful party have the same desire, and will joyfully pay ten thousand guilders to be freed from his investigations.”

Weingarten’s eyes sparkled for a moment, and his heart beat quickly, but he suppressed these joyful emotions, and retained his calm and indifferent expression.

“Gentlemen,” he said, quietly, “as you are speaking of a real criminal, one who intends committing so great a crime, I am at your service, and no money or promises are necessary to buy my assistance.”

“Is he really a man of honor, and have we received false information?” thought Zetto, who was misled for a moment by the quiet and virtuous looks of the secretary of legation.

“In the mean while you will not prevent those for whom you are about to do a great service from showing their gratitude,” said Baron Waltz. “Every one has a right to give or to receive a present.”

“Gentlemen,” said Baron Weingarten, smilingly, “No one has spoken of a present, but of a payment, a bribery, and you can readily understand that this is insulting to a man of honor.”

“Ah, he leaves open a door of escape,” thought Zetto. “He is won, he can be bought.—You are right, baron,” he said aloud, “and we are wrong to offer you now that which hereafter will be a debt of gratitude. We will speak no more of this, but of the danger that threatens the king. You alone can save him by warning him of his danger.”

“You really believe, then, that Trenck has the intention of murdering the king?” said Weingarten.

“We will believe it,” said Zetto, with an ambiguous smile.

“We must believe it!” cried Baron Waltz, emphatically. “We must either believe in his murderous intentions, or be ourselves regarded as traitors and robbers. You will think it natural that we prefer the first alternative, and as he resolved to ruin us, we will anticipate him, and set the trap into which he must fall.”

“Why could you not lay your snares in Austria, gentlemen? Why could you not accuse him of intending to murder the empress?”

Zetto shrugged his shoulders. “That would not be credible, because Trenck has no motive for murdering Maria Theresa, while he might very well thirst to revenge himself upon Frederick. You know that the king and Trenck are personal enemies. Trenck has boasted of this enmity often and loud enough to be understood by the whole world, and I do not believe that this animosity has diminished. Enemies naturally desire to destroy each other. Trenck would succeed if we did not warn the king, and enable him to anticipate his enemy.”

“How can this be done? Will the king really go to Konigsberg to be present at the Austrian festivities?”

“It has been spoken of.”

“Well, Trenck now proposes to go to Dantzic, and he has boasted that he will enter Konigsberg at the same time with the King of Prussia, who will not dare to arrest him.”

“We have made a bet with him of a hundred louis d’or on this boast,” said Baron Waltz, “and for greater security we have put it in writing.”

“Have you it with you?”

“Here it is.”

The baron handed Weingarten a paper, which he seized hastily, unfolded, and read several times.

“This is indeed written in very ambiguous language, and calculated to ruin Trenck should it reach the hands of the king,” said Baron Weingarten with a cruel smile.

Zetto returned this smile. “I wrote the document, and you will naturally understand that I measured the words very closely.”

“Who copied the letter?” asked Weingarten. “Doubtlessly Baron Trenck was not magnanimous enough to do that.”

“Baron Waltz is a great adept in imitating handwriting, and he happily possessed original letters of Trenck’s,” said Zetto, smilingly.

“You will find it most natural that I should try to win my bet,” said Baron Waltz. “If Trenck is arrested before he goes to Konigsberg, I have won my bet, and will receive the hundred louis d’ors from the commissioners.”

All three laughed.

“These commissioners will soon have to pay you ten thousand guilders,” whispered Zetto. “Here is a bond. On the day that Trenck is a prisoner of the king of Prussia, this bond is due, and you will then find that the commissioners are not backward in paying.” Zetto laid the document upon the table. “You will now have the kindness to receive our testimony, and, if you desire it, we will add our accusations, or you can mention that this can be done.”

Weingarten did not answer; a repentant fear tormented his heart, and for a moment it appeared as if his good and evil genius were struggling for his soul.

“This involves probably the life of a man,” he said, softly; “it is a terrible accusation that I must pronounce: if not condemned to death, the king will imprison him for many long years, and I shall be responsible for this injustice.”

Councillor Zetto’s attentive ear heard every word; he stood near him like the evil one, and his piercing eyes rested upon the agitated countenance of Weingarten and read his thoughts.

“Have you not lived the life of a prisoner for many years?” asked Zetto, in a low, unnatural voice; “have you not always been a slave of poverty? Will you now, from weak pity, lose the opportunity of freeing yourself from this bondage? Ten thousand guilders is no fortune, but it may be the beginning of one—it may be the thread of Ariadne to lead you from the labyrinth of poverty to freedom and light; and who will thank you if you do not seize this thread—who recompense you for your generosity and magnanimity? If you tell it to the wise and cunning, they will laugh at you, and if the foolish hear it, they will not understand you. Every one is the moulder of his own happiness, and woe unto him who neglects to forge the iron while it is hot!”

Baron Weingarten felt each of these words. He did not know if they were uttered by human lips, or if they came from the depths of his own base soul.

“It is true, it is true!” he cried, in a frightened voice, “He is a fool who does not seize the hand of Fortune when tendered by the laughing goddess—a fool who does not break his fetters when he has the power to rend them. Come, gentlemen! We take the testimony, and when that is done, I will conduct you to our ambassador, Baron Puebla.”

“Not so—when that is done, we shall depart with post-haste; you alone shall receive thanks and recompense. Now to work!”