Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  “I am willing to believe, madam,” said he, “that you have no share in your son’s folly and ingratitude.”

  “My son is, I hope, incapable of ingratitude, sir,” answered the countess, with an air of placid dignity. “I am well aware that he may have been guilty of great imprudence.”

  “At six o’clock this evening let me see you, madam,” replied the king, “at Sans Souci, in the gallery of paintings, and you shall know of what your son is accused.”

  At the appointed hour she was in the gallery of paintings at Sans Souci. No one was there. She waited quietly for some time, then walked up and down the gallery with extreme impatience and agitation; at last, she heard the king’s voice and his step; the door opened, and Frederick appeared. It was an awful moment to the mother of Laniska. She stood in silent expectation.

  “I see, madam,” said the king, after fixing his penetrating eye for some moments on her countenance, “I see that you are, as I believe you to be, wholly ignorant of your son’s folly.” As he spoke, Frederick put his hand upon the vase made by Sophia Mansfeld, which was placed on a small stand in the middle of the gallery. The countess, absorbed by her own reflections, had not noticed it.

  “You have seen this vase before,” said the king; “and you have probably seen the lines which are inscribed on the foot of it.”

  “Yes,” said the countess, “they are my son’s writing.”

  “And they are written by his own hand,” said the king.

  “They are. The poor Saxon woman who draws so admirably cannot write; and my son wrote the inscription for her.”

  “The lines are in a high strain of panegyric,” said the king; and he laid a severe emphasis on the word panegyric.

  “Whatever may be my son’s faults,” said the countess, “your majesty cannot suspect him of being a base flatterer. Scarcely a month has elapsed since his unguarded openness exposed him to your displeasure. Your majesty’s magnanimity, in pardoning his imprudent expressions, convinced him at once of his error in having used them; and, in the fit of enthusiasm with which your kindness upon that occasion inspired him, he, who is by no means a poet by profession, composed the two lines of panegyric which seem to have given your majesty offence, but which I should never have conceived could be the cause of his imprisonment.”

  “You plead like a mother, madam,” said the king; “but you reason like a woman. Have I ever said that your son was imprisoned for having written two lines of flattery? No, madam: I know how to smile both at flattery and satire, when they are undisguised; but there is a degree of baseness which I cannot so easily pardon. Be patient, madam; I will listen to all you can say in your son’s defence, when you have read this inscription. But, before you read it, understand that I was upon the point of sending this vase to Paris. I had actually given orders to the man who was packing up that case (pointing to a half-packed case of porcelain) to put up the Prussian Vase as a present for a Prussian bel esprit of your acquaintance. The man showed me the inscription at the bottom of the vase. I read the flattering lines with pleasure, and thought them — as people usually think flattering lines made on themselves — excellent. I was even fool enough immediately to consider how I could reward the author, when my friend, the packer, interrupted the course of my thoughts, by observing, with some exclamation of astonishment, that the blue colour of the vase came off in one spot, where he had been rubbing it. I looked, and saw that part of the inscription at the bottom of the vase had been covered over with blue paint. At first sight, I read the words, ‘On the character of Frederick the Great;’ the blue paint had concealed the next word, which is now, madam, sufficiently legible.” The word to which the king pointed was — tyrant. “Those flattering lines, madam, you comprehend, were written—’On the character of Frederick, the great tyrant.’

  “I shall spare you, madam, all the reflections I have made on this occasion. Tyrant as I am, I shall not punish the innocent mother for the follies of her son. I shall be at your house, along with the rest of your friends, on Tuesday evening.”

  The unhappy mother of Laniska withdrew from the presence of the king, without attempting any reply. Her son’s conduct admitted, she thought, of no apology, if it were really true that he had written the words to which his name was signed. Of this she doubted; but her consternation was at first so great, that she had not the power to think. A general belief remained in her mind of her son’s innocence; but then a number of his imprudent words and actions came across her memory; the inscription was, apparently, in his own hand-writing. The conversation which had passed in the porcelain manufactory at Berlin corroborated the idea expressed in this inscription. The countess, on her return home, related the circumstances, with as much composure as she could, to Albert, who was waiting to hear the result of her interview with the king. Albert heard her relation with astonishment; he could not believe in his friend’s guilt, though he saw no means of proving his innocence. He did not, however, waste his time in idle conjectures, or more idle lamentations: he went immediately to the man who was employed to pack up the vase; and, after questioning him with great care, he went to Berlin to the porcelain manufactory, and inquired whether any persons were present when Laniska wrote the inscription for Sophia Mansfeld. After Albert had collected all the information that could be obtained, his persuasion of Laniska’s innocence was confirmed.

  On Tuesday Frederick had promised to come to the countess’s conversazione. The company, previous to his majesty’s arrival, were all assembled round the sofa, on which she was seated, and they were eagerly talking over Laniska’s affair. “What a blessing it is,” cried the English traveller, “to live in a country where no man can be imprisoned without knowing of what he is accused! What a blessing it is to live under a government where no man can be condemned without trial, and where his trial must be carried on in open day, in the face of his country, his peers, his equals!” — The Englishman was in the midst of a warm eulogium upon the British mode of trial by jury, when Frederick entered the room, as it was his custom, without being announced: and the company were so intently listening to our traveller, they did not perceive that the king was one of his auditors. “Would to Heaven,” cried the Countess Laniska, when the Englishman paused—”would to Heaven my son could have the advantage of such a trial!”

  “And would to Heaven,” exclaimed Albert, “that I might plead his cause!”

  “On one condition,” said Frederick; and, at the sound of his voice, every one started—”on one condition, young man, your prayer shall be granted. You shall plead your friend’s cause, upon condition that, if you do not convince his judges of his innocence, you shall share his punishment. His punishment will be a twelvemonth’s imprisonment in the castle of Spandau; and yours the same, if you fail to establish your cause and his. Next to the folly of being imprudent ourselves, that of choosing imprudent friends is the most dangerous. Laniska shall be tried by his equals; and, since twelve is the golden, harmonic, divine number, for which justice has a blind predilection, let him have twelve judges, and call them, if you please, a jury. But I will name my counsel, and you counsel for Laniska. You know the conditions — do you accept of them?”

  “Willingly, sire!” cried Albert, joyfully. “You will permit me to have access to the prisoner in the castle of Spandau?”

  “That is a new condition; but I grant it. The governor shall have orders to admit you to see and converse with his prisoner for two hours; but if, after that conversation, your opinion of your friend should change, you will not blame me if I hold you to your word.”

  Albert declared that he desired no more: and the Countess Laniska, and all who were present, joined in praising Frederick’s clemency and Albert’s generosity. The imprisonment of Laniska had been much talked of, not only in public companies at Potzdam and at Berlin, but, what affected Frederick much more nearly, it had become the subject of conversation amongst the literati in his own palace at Sans Souci. An English traveller, of some reputation in the literary wo
rld, also knew the circumstances, and was interested in the fate of the young count. Frederick seems to have had a strong desire to be represented in an amiable point of view by writers who, he believed, could transmit his fame to posterity. Careless of what might be said of him, he was anxious that nothing should be printed derogatory to his reputation. Whether the desire to give to foreigners a striking proof of his magnanimity, or whether his regard for the young count, and his friendship for his mother, were his motives in granting to Laniska this trial by jury, cannot and need not be determined. Unmixed virtue is not to be expected from kings more than from common men.

  After his visit to the prisoner in the castle of Spandau, Albert felt no inclination to recede from the agreement into which he had entered; but Laniska was much alarmed when he was told of what had passed. “Oh, my generous friend!” exclaimed the young count, “why did you accept of the conditions offered to you by the king? You may — I am sure you do — believe in my innocence; but you will never be able to prove it. You will soon be involved in my disgrace.”

  “I shall think it no disgrace,” replied Albert, “to be the fellow-prisoner of an innocent friend.”

  “Do not you remember,” said Laniska, “that, as we were returning from Berlin, after my unlucky visit to the porcelain manufactory, you promised me, that whenever I should be in want of your weapons, they should be at my service? I little thought that I should so soon be in such need of them. Farewell — I pray for their success.”

  On the day appointed for the trial of Laniska, crowds of people of all ranks flocked to hear the proceedings. A spacious building in Potzdam, intended for a barrack, was, upon this occasion, converted into a hall of justice; a temporary gallery was erected for the accommodation of the audience; and a platform was raised in the centre of the hall, where the judge’s chair was placed: on the right hand of his chair a space was railed in for the reception of the twelve young gentlemen, who were to act as jurors; on the left another space was railed in for spectators. In the front there was a large table, on each side of which were benches for the counsel and witnesses: those for the crown on the right hand; those for the prisoner on the left. Every thing had, by the king’s orders, been prepared in this manner, according to the English custom.

  The Countess Laniska now entered the court, with a few friends, who had not yet forsaken her. They took their seats at the lower end of the gallery; and as every eye turned upon the mother, who waited to hear the trial of her son, an awful silence prevailed. This lasted but for a few moments; it was succeeded by a general whispering amongst the crowds, both in the hall and in the gallery. Each individual gave his opinion concerning the event of the trial: some declared that the circumstances which must appear against Laniska were so strong, that it was madness in Albert to undertake his defence; others expressed great admiration of Albert’s intrepid confidence in himself and his friend. Many studied the countenance of the king, to discover what his wishes might be; and a thousand idle conjectures were formed from his most insignificant movements.

  At length, the temporary judge having taken his seat, twelve young gentlemen were chosen, from the most respectable families in Potzdam, to act as jurors. The prisoner was summoned to answer to the charges brought against him, in the name of Frederick the Second, king of Prussia. Laniska appeared, guarded by two officers: he walked up to the steps of the platform with an air of dignity, which seemed expressive of conscious innocence; but his countenance betrayed involuntary marks of emotion, too strong for him to command, when, on raising his eyes, he beheld his friend Albert, who stood full in his view. Albert maintained an immovable composure of countenance. The prisoner was now asked whether he had any objections to make to any of the twelve persons who had been selected to judge his cause. He made none. They proceeded to take an oath, “that, in their decision, they would suffer no motives to influence them but a sense of truth and justice.” The judge then rose, and addressing himself to the jury, said: —

  “Gentlemen,

  “You are here, by the king’s order, to form your opinions concerning the guilt or innocence of the prisoner, commonly known by the name of Count Augustus Laniska. You will learn the nature and circumstances of the accusation against him from Mr. Warendorff, the gentleman on my right hand, who in this cause has the honour of being counsel for his majesty. You will hear from the gentleman on my left, Albert Altenburg, all that can be said in defence of the prisoner, for whom he voluntarily offers himself as counsel. After having listened to the arguments that may be adduced, and to the witnesses that shall be examined on each side, you are, gentlemen, according to the tenour of the oath which has just been administered to you, to decide, without regard to any consideration but truth and justice. Your opinion is to be delivered to me by the eldest amongst you, and it is to be expressed in one or other of these phrases — guilty or not guilty.

  “When I shall have heard your decision, I am, in his majesty’s name, to pronounce sentence accordingly. If the prisoner be judged by you not guilty, I am to announce to him that he is thenceforward at liberty, and that no stain affixes to his honour from the accusation that has been preferred against him, or from his late imprisonment, or from this public trial. If, on the contrary, your judgment shall be, that the prisoner is guilty, I am to remand him to the castle of Spandau, where he is to remain confined for twelve months from this day. To the same punishment I am also to condemn Albert Altenburg, if he fail to establish in your minds the innocence of the Count Laniska. It is upon this condition that he is permitted to plead the cause of his friend.

  “Gentlemen, you are called upon to give impartial attention in this cause, by your duty to your king and to your country.”

  As soon as the judge, after making this short address to the jury, had seated himself, Mr. Warendorff, counsel for the crown, rose, and spoke in the following manner: —

  “My lord, and gentlemen of the jury,

  “It is with inexpressible concern that I find myself called upon to plead in this cause. To be the accuser of any man is an invidious task: to be the accuser of such a man as I once thought — as you perhaps still think — the young Count Laniska must, to a person of generous feelings, be in a high degree difficult and distressing. I do not pretend to more generosity or delicacy of sentiment than others; but I beg any of you, gentlemen, to imagine yourselves for a moment in my place, and to conceive what must be my sensations as a man, and as an advocate. I am not ignorant how popular the name of Augustus Laniska is, both in Berlin and Potzdam. I am not ignorant that the young count has been in the habit of living amongst you, gentlemen, on terms of familiarity, friendship, and confidence; nor can I doubt that the graceful, manly manner, and open deportment, for which he is so eminently distinguished, must have strongly prepossessed you in his favour. I am not ignorant that I have to plead against him before his friends, in the presence of his mother — a mother respected even in a higher degree than her son is beloved; respected for her feminine virtues — for her more than feminine endowments; who, had she no other claim upon your hearts, must, by the unfortunate situation in which she now appears, command your sympathy.

  “You must all of you feel, likewise, strongly prepossessed in favour of that noble-minded youth, who has undertaken to defend the prisoner’s cause, at the hazard of sharing his punishment. I respect the general character of Albert Altenburg; I admire his abilities; I applaud him, for standing forward in defence of his friend; I pity him, because he has a friend, for whom, I fear, even he will find it impossible to establish any plausible defence. But the idea that he is acting handsomely, and that he has the sympathy of numbers in his favour, will doubtless support the young advocate in his arduous task. He appears in this court in the striking character of counsel, disinterested counsel, for his friend.

  “Gentlemen, I also appear in this court as counsel, disinterested counsel for a friend. Yes, gentlemen, I am permitted to call Frederick the Great my friend. He is not, as other great monarchs have been, ambitious
to raise himself above the sphere of humanity; he does not desire to be addressed in the fulsome strains either of courtly or of poetical adulation: he wishes not to be worshipped as a god, but to be respected as a man. It is his desire to have friends that shall be faithful, or subjects that shall be obedient. Happy his obedient subjects — they are secure of his protection: happy, thrice happy, his faithful friends — they are honoured with his favour and his confidence. It was in the power of the prisoner now before you to have been in this enviable class. You all of you know that the Countess Laniska, his mother, has for years been honoured by the friendship of her sovereign; even the conduct of her son has not been able to shake his confidence in her. A Pole by birth, Augustus Laniska was educated amongst the first of the Prussian nobility, at the military academy at Potzdam, that nursery of heroes. From such an education — from the son of such a mother — honourable sentiments and honourable conduct were to be expected. Most confidently were they expected by his king, who distinguished the young count, as you all know, even in his boyish days. The count is said to be of a temper naturally impetuous: the errors into which such a temper too publicly betrayed him were pardoned by the indulgence of his king. I am compelled to recall one recent instance of the truth of these assertions, as it is immediately connected with the present cause.”

  Here Mr. Warendorff related all that had passed at the porcelain manufactory at Berlin, and the king’s subsequent conduct towards Count Laniska. On the magnanimity of his majesty, the eloquent counsel expatiated for a considerable time; but the applauses with which this part of his oration was received by a party in the gallery, who were seated near the king, were so loud, as almost to drown the voice of the orator, and effectually to distract the attention of those employed to take down his words. When he could again be heard distinctly, he resumed as follows: