“And now, my dear Forester,” said Dr. Campbell, as his ward returned to claim his promise of a general amnesty, “if you do not turn out a coxcomb, if you do not ‘mistake reverse of wrong for right,’ you will infallibly be a very great man. Give me a pupil who can cure himself of any one foible, and I have hope of him. What hope must I not have of him who has cured himself of so many!”
THE PRUSSIAN VASE
Frederick the Second, king of Prussia, after his conquest of Saxony, transported, it is said, by force, several manufacturers from Dresden to Berlin, where he was very desirous of establishing the manufacture of china. These unfortunate people, separated from their friends, their home, and their native country, were compelled to continue their labours for the profit and for the glory of their conqueror. Amongst the number of those sufferers was Sophia Mansfeld. She was young, handsome, and possessed considerable talents. Several pieces of porcelain of her design and modelling were shown to Frederick, when he visited the manufactory at Meissen, in Saxony; and their taste and workmanship appeared to him so exquisite, that he determined to transport the artist to his capital. But from the time of her arrival at Berlin, Sophia Mansfeld’s genius seemed to forsake her. It was her business to sketch designs, and to paint them on the porcelain; but either she could not or would not execute these with her former elegance: the figures were awkward and spiritless, and it was in vain that the overseer of the works attempted to rouse her to exertion; she would sit for hours, with her pencil in her hand, in a sort of reverie. It was melancholy to see her. The overseer had compassion upon her; but his compassion was not so great as his dread of the king’s displeasure; and he at length declared, that the next time Frederick visited the works, he must complain of her obstinate idleness.
The monarch was expected in a few days; for, in the midst, of his various occupations, Frederick, who was at this time extremely intent upon the establishment of the porcelain manufactory at Berlin, found leisure frequently to inspect it in person. The king, however, was prevented from coming at the appointed hour by a review at Potzdam. His majesty had formed the singular project of embodying, and training to the science of arms, the Jews in his dominions. They were rather awkward in learning the manual exercise; and the Jewish review, though it afforded infinite amusement to the spectators, put Frederick so much out of humour, that, as soon as it was over, he rode to his palace of Sans Souci, and shut himself up for the remainder of the morning. The preceding evening an English traveller, who had passed some time at Paris with the Count de Lauragais, in trying experiments upon porcelain clays, and who had received much instruction on this subject from Mr. Wedgewood, of Etruria, had been presented to the king, and his majesty had invited him to be present at a trial of some new process of importance, which was to be made this morning at his manufactory. The English traveller, who was more intent upon his countryman Mr. Wedgewood’s fame than upon the martial manoeuvres of the Jews, proceeded, as soon as the review was finished, to exhibit his English specimens to a party of gentlemen, who had appointed to meet him at the china-works at Berlin.
Of this party, was a youth of the name of Augustus Laniska, who was at this time scarcely seventeen years old. He was a Pole by birth — a Prussian by education. He had been bred up at the military school at Potzdam, and being distinguished by Frederick as a boy of high spirit and capacity, he was early inspired with enthusiastic admiration of this monarch. His admiration, however, was neither blind nor servile. He saw Frederick’s faults as well as his great qualities; and he often expressed himself with more openness and warmth upon this subject than prudence could justify. He had conversed with unusual freedom about Frederick’s character with our English traveller; and whilst he was zealous to display every proof of the king’s greatness of mind, he was sometimes forced to acknowledge that “there are disadvantages in living under the power of a despotic sovereign.”
“A despotic sovereign! You will not then call your Frederick a despot?” whispered the English traveller to the young Pole, as they entered the china-works at Berlin. “This is a promising manufactory, no doubt,” continued he; “and Dresden china will probably soon be called Berlin china, by which the world in general will certainly be much benefited. But in the meantime look around you, and read your monarch’s history in the eyes of those prisoners of war — for such I must call these expatriated manufacturers.”
There were, indeed, many countenances in which great dejection was visible. “Look at that picture of melancholy,” resumed the Englishman, pointing to the figure of Sophia Mansfeld—”observe even now, whilst the overseer is standing near her, how reluctantly she works! ’Tis the way with all slaves. Our English manufacturers (I wish you could see them) work in quite another manner — for they are free—”
“And are free men, or free women, never ill?” said Laniska; “or do you Englishmen blame your king, whenever any of his subjects turn pale? — The woman at whom you are now looking is evidently ill. I will inquire from the overseer what is the matter with her.”
Laniska then turned to the overseer, and asked him in German several questions, to which he received answers that he did not translate to the English traveller; he was unwilling that any thing unfavourable to the cause of his sovereign should appear; and, returning to his companion, he changed the conversation. When all the company were occupied round the furnaces, attending to the Englishman’s experiments, Laniska went back to the apartment where Sophia Mansfeld was at work. “My good girl,” said he to her, “what is the matter with you? The overseer tells me, that since you came here you have done nothing that is worth looking at; yet this charming piece (pointing to a bowl of her painting, which had been brought from Saxony) is of your design, is it not?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Sophia, “I painted it — to my sorrow. If the king had never seen or liked it, I should now be—” The recollection of her home, which at this instant rushed full upon her mind, overpowered her, and she paused.
“You would now be in Saxony,” resumed Laniska; “but forget Saxony, and you will be happy at Berlin.”
“I cannot forget Saxony, sir,” answered the young woman, with modest firmness; “I cannot forget a father and mother whom I love, who are old and infirm, and who depended on me for their support. I cannot forget every thing — every body that I have ever loved: I wish I could.”
“Sir,” whispered a Prussian workman, who stood by—”sir, she has a lover in Saxony, to whom she was just going to be married, when she was carried off from her cottage, and brought hither.”
“Cannot her lover follow her?” said Laniska.
“He is in Berlin, in concealment,” replied the workman, in a whisper; “you won’t betray him, I am sure.”
“Not I,” said Laniska; “I never betrayed any one, and I never shall — much less the unfortunate. But why is her lover in concealment?”
“Because it is the king’s pleasure,” replied the Prussian, “that she should no longer consider him as her lover. You know, sir, several of these Saxon women have been compelled, since their arrival at Berlin, to marry Prussians. Sophia Mansfeld has fallen to the lot of a Prussian soldier, who swears that if she delays another month to marry him, he will complain to the king of her obstinacy. Our overseer, too, threatens to complain of her idleness. She is ruined if she go on in this way: we tell her so, but she seems to have lost all sense; for she sits as she does now, like one stupified, half the day, let us say what we will to her. We pity her; but the king knows best: the king must be obeyed.”
“Slave!” exclaimed Laniska, bursting into a sudden transport of indignation, “slave! you are fit to live only under a tyrant. The king knows best! the king must be obeyed! What! when his commands are contrary to reason, to justice, to humanity?” Laniska stopped short, but not before the high tone of his voice, and the boldness of the words he uttered, had astonished and dismayed all present, — all except Sophia Mansfeld: her whole countenance became suddenly illuminated; she started up, rushed forwards, threw herself at the fe
et of Laniska, and exclaimed, “Save me! you can save me! you have courage; and you are a powerful lord, and you can speak to the king. Save me from this detested marriage!”
The party of gentlemen who had been in the next chamber now entered the room, curious to know what had drawn thither such a crowd of workmen. On seeing them enter, Sophia, recollecting herself, rose, and returned to her work quietly; whilst Laniska, much agitated, seized hold of the Englishman’s arm, and hurried out of the manufactory.
“You are right, you are right,” cried he, “Frederick is a tyrant! But how can I save his victim?”
“Not by violence, my Augustus; not by violence!” replied a young man of the name of Albert, who followed Laniska, anxious to restrain the impetuosity of his friend’s temper, with which he was well acquainted. “By imprudence,” said he, “you will but expose yourself to danger; you will save, you will serve no one.”
“Tame prudence will neither save nor serve any one, however it may prevent its possessor from exposing himself to danger,” retorted Laniska, casting upon Albert a look of contemptuous reproach. “Prudence be your virtue, — courage mine.”
“Are they incompatible?” said Albert, calmly.
“I know not,” replied Laniska; “but this I know, that I am in no humour to reason that point, or any other, according to all those cursed forms of logic, which, I believe, you love better than any thing else.”
“Not better than I love you, as I prove by allowing you to curse them as much and as often as you think proper,” replied Albert, with a smile, which could not, however, force one from his angry friend.
“You are right to practise logic and rhetoric,” resumed Laniska, “as much and as often as you can, since in your profession you are to make your bread by your tongue and your pen. I am a soldier, or soon to be a soldier, and have other arms and other feelings.”
“I will not dispute the superiority of your arms,” replied Albert; “I will only beg of you to remember, that mine will be at your service whenever you want or wish for them.”
This temperate and friendly reply entirely calmed Laniska. “What would become of Augustus Laniska,” said he, giving Albert his hand, “if he had not such a friend as you are? My mother may well say this, as she does ten times a-day; but now take it in your sober manner, what can we do for this poor woman? for something must be done.”
After some consideration, Albert and Laniska determined to draw up a petition for Sophia, and to present it to the king, who was known to pay ready and minute attention to every application made to him in writing, even by the meanest of his subjects. The petition was presented, and an answer anxiously expected. Frederick, when at Potzdam, often honoured the Countess Laniska with a visit. She was a woman of considerable information and literature, acquirements not common amongst the Polish or Prussian ladies; and the king distinguished the countess by his approbation, in order to excite some emulation amongst his female subjects. She held a sort of conversazione at her house, which was frequented by all foreigners of distinction, and especially by some of the French literati, who were at this time at Frederick’s court.
One evening — it was a few days after Sophia Mansfeld’s petition had been presented — the king was at the Countess Laniska’s, and the company were conversing upon some literary subject, when Frederick, who had been unusually silent, suddenly turned to the English traveller, who was one of the company, and asked him whether his countryman, Mr. Wedgewood, had not made a beautiful imitation of the Barberini, or Portland Vase?
The Englishman replied, that the imitation was so exquisite, as scarcely to be known by the best judges from the original: and he went on, with much eagerness, to give a description of the vase, that he might afterward, for the honour of his country, repeat some lines written upon the subject by an English poet. Frederick was himself a poet, and a judge of poetry; he listened to the lines with attention; and, as soon as the Englishman had finished speaking, he exclaimed, “I will write a description of the Prussian vase myself.”
“The Prussian Vase!” said the English traveller: “I hope I may have the honour of seeing it before I leave Berlin.”
“If you prolong your stay another month, your curiosity will probably be gratified,” replied Frederick. “The Prussian Vase is not yet in being; but I have this day determined to offer a reward, that I know will produce a vase worthy of Prussia. Those who have the command of motives, and know their power, have also the command of all that the arts, or what is called a genius for the arts, can produce. The human mind, and human fingers, are much the same in Italy, in England, and in Prussia. Then, why should not we have a Prussian as as well as a Wedgewood’s or a Barberini Vase? We shall see. I do not understand mon métier de roi, if I cannot call forth talents where I know them to exist. There is,” continued the king, fixing his eyes full upon Laniska, “there is, in my porcelain manufactory at Berlin, a woman of considerable talents, who is extremely anxious to return, along with some lovers of hers, to Saxony. Like all other prisoners of war, she must purchase her liberty from the conqueror; and if she cannot pay her ransom in gold, let her pay it by her talents. I do not give premiums to idleness or obstinacy. The king must be obeyed, whether he knows how to command or not: let all the world, who are able to judge, decide.” Frederick, as soon as he had finished this speech, which he pronounced in a peremptory tone, left the room; and Laniska’s friend, who perceived that the imprudent words he had uttered in Berlin had reached the king’s ear, gave the young man up for lost. To their surprise, however, the king took no further notice of what had happened, but received Laniska the next day at Sans Souci with all his usual kindness. Laniska, who was of an open, generous temper, was touched by this conduct; and, throwing himself at Frederick’s feet, he exclaimed: —
“My king! forgive me, if in a moment of indignation I called you a tyrant.”
“My friend, you are yet a child, and I let children and fools speak of me as they please,” replied Frederick. “When you are an older man, you will judge more wisely, or, at least, you will speak with more discretion within twenty miles of a tyrant’s palace. Here is my answer to your Sophia Mansfeld’s petition,” added he, giving Laniska the paper, which Albert had drawn up; at the bottom of which was written, in the king’s own hand, these words: —
“I will permit the artist who shall produce, before this day month, the most beautiful vase of Berlin china, to marry or not to marry, whomsoever he or she shall think proper, and to return to Saxony with all imaginable expedition. If the successful artist choose to remain at Berlin, I will add a reward of 500 crowns. The artist’s name shall be inscribed on the vase, which shall be called the Prussian Vase.” No sooner had Sophia Mansfeld read these words, than she seemed animated with new life and energy. She was likely to have many competitors; for, the moment the king’s intentions were made known in the manufactory, all hands and heads were at work. Some were excited by the hope of regaining their liberty; others stimulated by the mention of 500 crowns; and some were fired with ambition to have their name inscribed on the Prussian Vase. But none had so strong a motive for exertion as Sophia. She was indefatigable. The competitors consulted the persons whom they believed to have the best taste in Berlin and Potzdam. Sophia’s designs were shown, as soon as they were sketched, to the Countess Laniska, whose advice was of material use to her.
At length, the day which was to decide her fate arrived. The vases were all ranged, by the king’s order, in his gallery of paintings at Sans Souci; and in the evening, when Frederick had finished the business of the day, he went thither to examine them. Laniska and some others were permitted to accompany him: no one spoke, whilst Frederick was comparing the works of the different competitors.
“Let this be the Prussian Vase,” said the king. It was Sophia Mansfeld’s. Laniska just stayed to show her name, which was written underneath the foot of the vase, and then he hurried away to communicate the happy news to Sophia, who was waiting, with her lover, at the house of the Count
ess Laniska, in Potzdam, impatient to hear her fate. She heard it with inexpressible joy; and Laniska’s generous heart sympathized in her happiness. It was settled that she should the next morning be married to her lover, and return with him to her father and mother in Saxony. The happy couple were just taking leave of the young count and his mother, when they were alarmed by the sound of many voices on the great staircase. Some persons seemed to be disputing with the countess’s servants for admittance. Laniska went out to inquire into the cause of the disturbance. The hall was filled with soldiers.
“Are you the young Count Laniska?” said an officer to him, the moment he appeared.
“I am the young Count Laniska,” replied he, in a firm tone. “What do you want with me? and why this disturbance in my mother’s house at this unseasonable hour?”
“We come here by the king’s orders,” replied the soldier. “Is not there in this house a woman of the name of Sophia Mansfeld?”
“Yes,” replied Laniska: “what do you want with her?”
“She must come with us; and you are our prisoner, count,” replied the soldier.
It was in vain to ask for further explanation. The soldiers could give none; they knew nothing, but that their orders were to convey Sophia Mansfeld immediately to Meissen in Saxony, and to lodge Count Laniska in the castle of Spandau, a state prison.
“I must know my crime before I submit to punishment,” cried Laniska, in a passionate voice; but he restrained the natural violence of his temper, on seeing his mother appear, and, at her request, yielded himself up a prisoner without resistance, and without a murmur. “I depend on your innocence, my son, and on the justice of the king,” said the countess; and she took leave of him without shedding a tear. The next day, even before the king arrived at Potzdam, she went to the palace, determined to wait there till she could see him, that she might hear from his own lips the cause of her son’s imprisonment. She waited a considerable time — for, without alighting from horseback, Frederick proceeded to the parade, where he was occupied for some hours; at length he alighted, and the first person he saw, on entering his palace, was the Countess Laniska.
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