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Tales And Novels, Volume 1 by Maria Edgeworth

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> Tales And Novels, Volume 1




"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 Countess
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.

"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 world, 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[4]. 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."

[Footnote 4: AEschylus.]

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:

"I am not surprised at these testimonies of admiration which burst from
the warm hearts of his majesty's subjects; I am only surprised that a
heart could be found in his dominions on whom such magnanimity could make
no impression. I am shocked, I am grieved, when I find such a heart in
the person of Count Laniska. Can it be believed that, in the course of
one short month after this generous pardon, that young nobleman proved
himself the basest of traitors--a traitor to the king, who was his
friend and benefactor? Daring no longer openly to attack, he attempted
secretly to wound the fame of his sovereign. You all of you know what a
degree of liberty, even licence, Frederick the Great permits to that
species of satirical wit with which the populace delight to ridicule
their rulers. At this instant there are various anonymous pasquinades on
the garden-gates at Sans Souci, which would have provoked the
resentment--the fatal resentment--of any other monarch upon earth. It
cannot be doubted that the authors of these things could easily be
discovered, if the king condescended to make any inquiries concerning
them: it cannot be doubted that the king has power to punish the
offenders: yet they remain untouched, perhaps unknown. Our sovereign is
not capable of feeling the petty emotions of vulgar spleen or resentment;
but he could not be insensible to the treacherous ingratitude of one,
whom he imagined to have been attached to him by every tie of kindness
and of duty. That the Count Laniska should choose the instant when the
king was showing him unusual favour, to make that favour an instrument of
his base malice, is scarcely credible. Yet, Prussians, incredible as it
sounds to us, it is true. Here are my proofs: here are my witnesses."

If you think books have dumbed down …
Alison Flood: Today we can take our laptops on the road, but could we use them to produce On The Road?

Kerouac's On the Road manuscript travels to the Midlands

John Crace swallows a very thirsty volume

Documentary to lay bare 'Narnia Code'

He wrote it in just three weeks, furiously and loudly tap-tap-tapping away on his typewriter on 12ft long reels of paper so that he did not have to stop, just writing writing writing fuelled only, he said, by coffee…

It became one of the most important American novels of the last century and yesterday the original manuscript - a scroll taped together with eight reels of paper - of Jack Kerouac's On The Road was unfurled in the UK for the first time.
Fifty years after the novel which more or less defined the Beat generation, was published in Britain, the Barber Institute in Birmingham is showing what is now one of the most valuable literary manuscripts in existence as part of its exhibition Jack Kerouac: Back On the Road.

The exhibition's curator Professor Dick Ellis said there had been a lot of competition to get the scroll which is itself spending a lot of time on the move, having toured a string of US cities and hitting the road to Rome once this show is over. "We're very excited indeed," he said. "This is an iconic manuscript. It is a record of the huge effort Kerouac put into composing it. It was 20 days of typing 6,500 words a day, flat out, in spontaneous composition. He wanted to record things with the most possible accuracy using the spontaneous technique. His typewriter became a compositional instrument.

"Truman Capote once accused Kerouac of typing rather than writing, I would say he was learning the ability of using the typewriter like a jazz instrument, like a saxophone. He also had an incredible memory. And he had great speed at typing, he became a lightning typist. He came to be able to use a typewriter in a way that has not been seen before or since. Kerouac said he wrote fast because the road was fast."

About 22 of the scroll's 120ft will be on display in a specially built cabinet and while visitors will have to slightly tilt their heads, Ellis believes they will get a much deeper knowledge of what Kerouac was all about. It comes to Birmingham courtesy of Jim Irsay, owner of the Indianapolis Colts, who bought it for $2.4m (£1.6m) in 2001 before agreeing to a tour. Of course, in the published novel, there are paragraph breaks but in the scroll, there are none. Kerouac did not have the time. The exhibition runs until January 28.

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