The war terminated, the hostile armies returned to their different German countries. Frederick the Great had gained his point, forcing Austria to renounce the possession of Bavaria. The Prince of Zweibruecken had been solemnly recognized by him as the rightful heir to the electorate, and the lawful ruler and possessor of Bavaria. The Emperor Joseph had submitted with profound regret and bitter animosity to the will of his mother, the reigning empress, and consented to the peace negotiations of Baron von Thugut. Having signed the document of the same, in his quality of co-regent, he angrily threw aside the pen, casting a furious glance at the hard, impenetrable face of Thugut, saying: “Tell her majesty that I have accomplished my last act as co-regent, and I now abdicate. From henceforth I will still lie her obedient son, but no submissive joint ruler, to only follow devotedly her imperial will. Therefore I resign, and never will trouble myself in future about the acts of the government.” The emperor kept his word. He retired, piqued, into solitude, wounded in the depths of his soul, and afterward travelled, leaving the government entirely to the empress and her pious confessors.
Bavaria was rescued! It owed its existence to the watchfulness, sagacity, and disinterested aid of Prussia’s great king. The Elector Maximilian vowed in his delight that he, as well as his successors and heirs, would never forget that Bavaria must ascribe its continuance to Prussia alone, and therefore the gratitude of the princes of this electorate could not and never would be extinguished toward the royal house of Prussia. Frederick received these overflowing acknowledgments with the calmness of a philosopher and the smile of a skeptic. He understood mankind sufficiently to know what to expect from their oaths; to know that in the course of time there is nothing more oppressive and intolerable than gratitude, that it soon becomes a burden which they would gladly throw off their bent shoulders at any price, and become the enemy of him to whom they had sworn eternal thankfulness. Frederick regarded these oaths of Bavaria not as a security for the future, but as a payment on account of the past.
“I did not go forth to render the Bavarian princes indebted to me,” said he, to his only confidante, Count Herzberg, as he brought to him, at Sans-Souci, the renewed expression of thanks of the prince elector. “I would only protect Germany against Austria’s grasp, and preserve the equilibrium of the German empire. Believe me, the house of Hapsburg is a dangerous enemy for the little German principalities, and if my successor does not bear it in mind, and guard himself against their flatteries and cat’s-paws, Austria will fleece him as the cat the mouse who is enticed by the odor of the bacon. Prussia shall be neither a mouse in the German empire, nor serve as a roast for Austria. But she shall be a well-trained shepherd’s dog for the dear, patient herd, and take care that none go astray and are lost.”
“Your majesty has drawn an unfortunate character for the future of our country,” sighed Herzberg, thoughtfully, “and I must grant that it is sketched with severe but correct outlines so it follows that poor Germany has many combats and hardships in store.”
“What do you mean?” asked the king. “What characteristic did I name?”
“Your majesty pointed out Austria as the cat watching for prey in Germany. Prussia, on the contrary, as the shepherd’s dog, which should watch the native herd, and occasionally bite those who wander from the flock. The comparison is apt, and clearly exposes the natural hostility of the two nations. Nature has placed the cat and the dog in eternal enmity, and there is no compromise to be thought of, to say nothing of friendship. There may, now and then, be a truce; the cat may draw in her claws, and the dog may cease to howl and growl, but the combat will renew itself, and never end, but in the death of one party, and the victorious triumph of the other.”
“You are right,” said the king, nodding slightly. “From this natural hostility will proceed many combats and storms for our land, and much blood will be shed on its account. Let us look to the future, and try to ward off the coming evil, in erecting high barriers against the cat-like springs of the enemy. I will think out a security for Germany. But first, mon cher ami, we have to care for our own country and people. The war has greatly injured my poor subjects. Industry is prostrated and prosperity disturbed. We must seek new sources of acquisition, and sustain those which are exhausted. For this, we must think of fresh taxes, and other sources of income.”
“Sire,” said Herzberg, shrugging his shoulders, “the taxes are already so heavy that it will be difficult to increase them.”
“You are greatly mistaken,” cried the king, with increased animation. “I will impose a tax upon those things which are now exempt, and establish a capable administration for the purpose. Bread, flour, meat, and beer, the sustenance of the poor, shall remain as they are, for I will not that they shall pay more. But tobacco, coffee, and tea, are superfluous things, which the prosperous and rich consume. Whoever will smoke, and drink tea or coffee, can and shall pay for being a gourmand!”
“I beg pardon, but it is just these taxes which will create the greatest discontent,” answered Herzberg. “Your majesty will remember that the duty on coffee was complained of and criticised by every one, and the poor people grumbled more than all. In spite of the resistance of government, coffee has become, more and more, a means of nourishment and refreshment for the lower class.”
“I will teach them to renounce it,” cried the king, striking the table violently with his staff “I will not suffer so much money to go out of the country for this abominable beverage! My people shall re-learn to drink their beer, instead of this infamous stuff, as I had to do when a young man. What was good enough for the crown prince of Prussia, will to-day suffice for his subjects. I tell you, Herzberg, I will teach them to drink their beer, or pay dearly for this bad, foreign stuff. Then we will see which will conquer, Prussian beer or foreign coffee.”
“It is possible that the former will be victorious on account of their poverty and the high duties; but in any case the people will be discontented, and grumble against your majesty.”
“Do you suppose that I care for that?” asked the king, with a quick, fiery glance at the calm, earnest face of his confidant. “Do you think that I care for the applause of the people, or trouble myself about their complaints? I regard their shouting or their grumbling about as much as the humming or buzzing of a fly upon the wall. If it dares to light upon my nose, I brush it off; and if I can, I catch it. Beyond that, it is its nature to hum and buzz. Herzberg, you understand that if a ruler should listen to the praises or discontent of his subjects, he would soon be a lost man, and would not know his own mind. The people are changeable as the weather; to-morrow they crush under their feet what to-day they bore aloft, and praise one day what they stone the next. Do not talk to me about the people! I know this childish, foolish mass, and he is lost who counts upon their favor. It is all the same to me whether they like or hate me. I shall always do my duty to my subjects according to the best of my knowledge and ability, as it becomes an honorable and faithful officer. As the chief and most responsible servant of my kingdom, I should be mindful to increase her income and diminish her expenses—to lay taxes upon the rich, and lighten them for the poor. This is my task, and I will fulfil it so long as I live!”
“Oh,” cried Herzberg, with enthusiasm, “would that the entire nation might hear these words, and engrave them upon their hearts!”
“Why that, mon cher?” asked Frederick, shrugging his shoulders. “I do not ask to be deified; my subjects are perfectly welcome to discuss my acts, so long as they pay me punctually, and order and quiet are respected and preserved.”
“All that is done,” said Herzberg, joyfully. “The machine of state is so well arranged, that she has fulfilled her duty during the war, and will soon reestablish prosperity.”
“Particularly,” cried the king, “if we rightly understand the art of agriculture. In the end every thing depends upon him who best cultivates his field. This is the highest art, for without it there would be no merchants, courtiers, kings, poets, or philosophers. The productions of the earth are the truest riches. He who improves his ground, brings waste land under the plough, drains the swamps, makes the most glorious conquests over barbarism.”
“And those are also conquerors, sire,” said Herzberg, smiling, “who drain the mental swamps, and improve the waste mental ground. Such are those who increase the schools and instruct the people. I have caused the school authorities to report to me, according to your majesty’s command. A happy progress has been noticed everywhere. Cultivation and education are advancing; and since our teachers have adopted the principles of Rousseau, a more humane spirit is perceptible throughout our schools.”
“What principle do we owe to Jean Jacques?” asked the king.
“Sire, the principle that man is good by nature!”
“Ah, mon cher, who says that knows but little of the abominable race to which we belong!” [Footnote: The king’s words.—See “Prussia.” vol. iv., p. 221.]
“Do you not believe in this doctrine?” asked Herzberg.
The king raised his large blue eyes musingly to the busts placed upon the bookcases, and around the walls. They lingered long upon those of Homer, Plato, and D’Alembert; then turned to that of Voltaire, with its satyr-like face. “No, I do not believe it,” he sadly responded. “Mankind is an ignoble race; still one must love them, for among the wicked are always some worthy ones, whose light beams so brightly clear, that they change night into day. During my life I have learned to know many base, miserable creatures, but I have become reconciled to them, as I have also found some who were virtuous and excellent—some who were noble and beautiful, as the grains of wheat among the chaff. You belong to the latter, my Herzberg; and as in heaven many unjust will be forgiven for one just person, so will I upon earth forgive on your account the Trencks, Schaffgotschs, Goernes, Voltaires, Wallraves, Glasows, Dahsens, and all the traitors, poisoners, and perfidious ones, as they may be called. Remain by my side and sustain me, to prevent many a wicked thing and bring to pass much that is good. I shall always be grateful to you in my heart for it; that you can depend upon even if my weather-beaten face looks ill-humored, and my voice is peevish. Remember that I am a fretful old man, who is daily wasting away, approaching that bourne from which no traveller has ever returned.”
“God grant that your majesty may be far removed from this bourne!” said Herzberg, with emotion. “And He may grant it on account of your subjects, who are so much in need of your care and government.”
“There is no one upon earth who could not be replaced,” said the king, shaking his head. “When I am gone, they will shout to my successor. I trust my subjects will exchange a good ruler for their fretful old king. I have been very well satisfied with him during the campaign, and he has shown ability in the diplomatic mission to St. Petersburg. He has proved himself a soldier and a diplomat, and I hope he will become a great king. Herzberg, why do you not answer me, but cast down your eyes? What does your silence mean?”
“Nothing at all—truly nothing! The crown prince has a noble, generous heart, a good understanding; only—”
“Why hesitate, Herzberg? Go on—what is your ‘only?’”
“I would only say that the crown prince must beware and not be governed by others.”
“Oh, you mean that he will be ruled by mistresses and favorites?”
“I do fear it, your majesty! You well know that the crown princes are generally the antipodes of those ascendant to the throne. If the ruler has only an enlightened mind, and is free from prejudices, so—”
“Is his crown prince an obscurer,” added quickly the king, “having the more prejudices, and is capable of being ruled by mystics and exorcists. Is not that your meaning?”
Count Herzberg nodded. The king continued with animation: “Some one has told me of a new friend who returned from the war with the prince, and who belongs to the Rosicrucians and exhorters, and hopes to find many adherents here for such deceptions. Is it true?”
“Yes, sire. It is Colonel Bischofswerder, a Rosicrucian and necromancer and of course of very pleasant address. He has indeed already gained much power over the impressible mind of Frederick William, and his importance is greatly on the increase.”
“What does the crown prince’s mistress say to it? Is she not jealous?”
“Of which one does your majesty speak?”
The king started, and his eyes flashed. “What!” he cried with vehemence, “is there a question of several? Has the crown prince others besides Wilhelmine Enke, whom I have tolerated?”
“Sire, unfortunately, the prince has not a very faithful heart. Besides, it is Bischofswerder’s plan, as I suppose, to separate him from Wilhelmine, who will not subordinate herself to him, and who even dares to mock the necromancers and visionaries, and oppose them to the crown prince.”
“Does Enke do that?” asked the king.
“Yes, sire,” answered Herzberg, as the king rose and slowly paced the room. “And one must acknowledge that in that she does well and nobly. Otherwise one cannot reproach her. She leads a quiet, retired life, very seldom leaving her beautiful villa at Charlottenburg, but devotes herself to the education of her children. She is surrounded with highly-educated men, savants, poets, and artists, who indeed all belong to the enlightened, the so-called Illuminati, and which are a thorn in the eye to Colonel Bischofswerder. Your majesty will perceive that I have some good informants in this circle, and the latest news they bring me is that the bad influence is upon the increase. The Rosicrucians reproach the prince for his immoral connection with Wilhelmine Enke, as they would replace her by one who gives herself up to them.”
“That shall not take place,” cried the king. “No, we will not suffer that; and particularly when we are forced to recognize such abominable connections, we should endeavor to choose the most desirable. I cannot permit that this person, who has at least heart and understanding, should be pushed aside by Bischofswerder. My nephew shall retain her, and she shall drive away the Rosicrucians with all their deviltries. Herzberg, go and tell the crown prince, from me, that I order—”
His majesty suddenly stopped, and looked at Herzberg with surprise, who was smiling.
“Why do you laugh, Herzberg?”
“I was not laughing, sire. If my lip quivered against my will, it was because I stupidly and foolishly dared to finish the broken sentence.”
“Well, how did you manage to conclude it?”
“Sire, your majesty said, ‘Tell the crown prince that I order him’—and there you ceased. I added ‘order him to love Wilhelmine Enke, and be faithful to her.’ I beg pardon for my mistake. I should have known that your majesty could never command the execution of that which is not to be forced; that my great king recognizes, as well as I, that love is not compulsory, or fidelity either. Pardon me for my impertinence, and tell me the order which I shall take to the crown prince from my beloved king and master.”
The king stepped close up to the minister, and gazed with a half-sad, half-tender expression in the noble and gentle face of Herzberg, and in the sensible brown eyes, which sank not beneath the fiery glance of Frederick. Then, slowly raising his hand from the staff, he menaced him with his long, bony forefinger.
“Herzberg, you are a rogue, and will teach me morals. Indeed, you are right—love is not compulsory, but one can sometimes aid it. Say nothing to the prince. The interior of his house must, indeed, be left to himself, but we will keep our eyes open and be watchful. Do so also, Herzberg, and if you discover any thing, tell me; and if Wilhelmine Enke needs assistance against the infamous Rosicrucians, and with her aid this mystic rabble can be suppressed, inform me, and I am ready to send her succor. Ah! Herzberg, is it not a melancholy fact that one must fight his way through so much wickedness to obtain so little that is good? My whole life has passed in toil and trouble; I have grown old before my time, and would rest from my labors, and harvest in the last few years, what I have sown in a lifetime. Is it not sad that I hope for no fruit, and that the seed that I have scattered will be trodden under foot by my successor? I must gaze at the future without joy, without consolation!”
The king turned to the window, perhaps to hide the tears which stood in his eyes. Herzberg did not presume to interrupt the sad silence, but gazed with an expression of the deepest sympathy at the little bent form, in the threadbare coat. Grief filled his heart at the thought that this head was not only bowed down by the weight of years and well-deserved laurels, but also from its many cares and griefs, and hopeless peering into the future.
The king turned again, and his eyes were bright and un-dimmed. “We must never lose courage,” said he, “and we must have a reserve corps in life as well as upon the field of battle. For the world resembles the latter, and the former is a continual war, in which we must not be discouraged nor cast down, if there is not hope in our souls. I will cling to As you have said, and I have also found it true, that crown prince is a good and brave man, and possesses a keen understanding, we may succeed in bringing him from the erroneous ways in which his youth, levity, and the counsels of wicked friends have led him. We will try with kindness and friendliness, as I believe these have more effect upon him. Let us not even scorn to aid Wilhelmine in so far as is compatible with honor. If a mistress is necessary to the happiness of the prince, this one seems the most worthy of all to encourage. Beyond the clouds the stars are still shining, and it appears to me as if I see in perspective in the heaven of Prussia’s future, a star which promises a bright light with years. Do you not think with me, the little Prince Frederick William is a rising star?”
“Yes, your majesty,” answered Herzberg, joyfully, “He is a splendid little boy, of simple and innocent heart, and bright, vigorous mind, modest and unpretending.”
“You see,” cried the king, evidently cheered, “there is one star and we will watch over it, that it is not obscured. I must see the prince oftener. He shall visit me every month and his governors and teachers shall report to me every quarter. We will watch over his education, and train him to be a good king for the future, and guard ourselves against being pusillanimous, foolish, and fretful, and not be discouraged in life. I have entered my last lustrum, or five years. Hush! do not dispute it, but believe me! My physique is worn out, and the mental grows dull, and although I live and move about, I am half in the grave. There are two coffins in this room, which contain the greater part of my past. Look around, do you not see them?”
“No,” said Herzberg, as he glanced at the different articles of furniture, “I see none.”
“Look upon the table by the window—what do you there see?”
“Your majesty, there is an instrument-case and a sword-sheath.”
“They are the ones I refer to. In the case lies my flute, that is to say, my youth, love, poesy, and art, are encoffined there. In the sheath is my sword, which is my manhood, energy, laurels, and fame. I will never play the flute or draw the sword again. All that is past!”
“But there still remains for the great king a noble work to perfect,” cried Herzberg. “Youth has flown, and the war-songs are hushed. The poet and hero will change to the lawgiver. Sire, you have made Prussia great and powerful externally; there remains a greater work, to make her the same within. You have added new provinces, give them now a new code of laws. You will no longer unsheath the sword of the hero; then raise that of justice high above your subjects!”
“I will,” cried the king, with beaming eyes. “You have rightly seized and comprehended what alone seems to me worthy of will and execution. There shall be but one law for the high and the low, the poor and the rich. The distinguished Chancellor Carmer shall immediately go to work upon it, and you shall aid him. The necessity of such a reform we have lately felt in the Arnold process, where the judge decided in favor of the rich, and wronged the poor man. How could the judge sustain Count Schmettau against the miller Arnold, who had been deprived of the water for his mill, when it was so evident that it was unjust?”
“I beg pardon, majesty, but I believe the judge obeyed the very letter of the law, and—”
“Then this law must be annulled,” interrupted the king. “This is why I revoked the judge’s sentence, and sent the obstinate fellows to the fortress, sustaining the miller in his right deposing the arrogant Chancellor Furst. I had long resolved upon it, for I knew that he was a haughty fellow, who let the poor crowd his anteroom, and listened to the flattery of the high-born rabble who courted him. I only waited an occasion to bow his haughty head. This offered, and I availed myself of it, voila tout. It is to be hoped that it will be good example for all courts of justice. They will remember that the least peasant and beggar is a human being as much as the king, and that justice should be accorded to if they do not, they will have to deal with me. If a college of justice practises injustice, it is more dangerous than a band of robbers; for one can protect himself from the latter but the former are rascals wearing the mantle of justice, to exercise their own evil passions, from whom no man can protect himself, and they are the greatest scoundrels in the world and deserve a double punishment. I therefore deposed the unjust judge, and sent him to the fortress at Spandau, that all might take warning by his fate.” [Footnote: The king’s own words.—Seo “Prussia, Frederick the Great,” vol. iv.]
“This Arnold trial belongs to history,” said Herzberg. “The lawyers will refer to it after the lapse of centuries, and the poor and the oppressed will recall and bless the thoughtfulness of the great king, who would open just as wide a gate for them to enter the heaven of justice as to the rich and noble. This new code of laws will beam above the crown of gold and of laurels, with the splendor of the civil crown, whose brilliants are the tears of gratitude of your people.”
“May it be so,” said Frederick, with earnestness. “Now tell me, do you know what day of the month it is?”
“Sire, it is the 30th of May.’”
“Yes, you will remember it is the anniversary of Voltaire’s death, and after I have quarrelled for two years with the priests and so-called holy fathers at Rome, I have gained my point, and the honor shall be shown him here in Berlin which the priests and friars have refused to the immortal poet in his own country. To-day, exactly at the hour which Voltaire died, the mass for the dead will be read in the Catholic church, to free his immortal soul from purgatory. I have, indeed, no idea of an immortal soul. If there are any, and if it has to endure the threefold heat of which Father Tobias, of Silesia, related to me, I do not believe that the priests, for a few thalers, can loose the unhappy spirit from the bake-oven. But as they refuse burial to the spirit of Voltaire, in order to insult him after death, so must I avail myself of this occasion to offer a last homage to the great poet, which will take place at four o’clock. Go to the mass, Herzberg, and tell me to-morrow how it went off—whether the priests make right pious faces and burn much incense. Adieu. Au revoir, demain.”
As the king dismissed, with a friendly wave of the hand, his confidential minister, he passed into his cabinet, remaining an hour with his counsellors. At dinner appeared some of the generals, weather-worn and bent, with wrinkled faces and dull eyes. Souvenirs of the glorious years of fame and victory. The king nodded kindly to them, but during the entire meal, he only let some indifferent questions fall from his lips, which were devotedly and tediously answered by some one of the old generals. As their dry, peevish voices resounded through the high, vaulted room, it seemed to reawaken in Frederick’s heart the souvenirs of memory and become the echo of vanished days. He gazed up at the little Cupids, in the varied play of bright colors, looking down from the clouds, and the goddesses trumpeting through their long tubes the fame of the immortal, the same as formerly, when they smiled from the clouds upon the beaming face of the young king, dining in the distinguished circle of his friends Voltaire, D’Argens, Algarotti, La Melbrie, and Keith.
The Cupids were fresh as ever, and the goddesses had not removed the trumpets from their lips. But where were the of the merry round-table? Returned to dust. The jests and poesy have died away—all have sunken to decay and darkness. The king silently raised his glass of Tokay, gazing up to the clouds and Cupids, draining it slowly in sacrifice for the dead. Then with a vehement, contemptuous movement, he threw the glass over his shoulder, shivering it into a thousand pieces. The old generals, after dessert, had gently sunk into their afternoon nap, and now started, frightened, looking wildly around, as if they expected the enemy were approaching. Alkmene crept from under the king’s chair muffing with her long, delicate nose, the glistening pieces of glass, and the footman bent himself to carefully pick them up.
The king rose silently, saluting the old generals, pointing with his staff to the large folding-doors which led to the garden.
The footmen hastened forward to open them, and stand in stiff, military order upon each side. Frederick walked slowly out, mounting the two steps which led to the upper terrace, signing to the attendants to close the doors.
He was alone. Only Windspiel was there to spring about joyfully, barking, and turning to meet him, who wandered on the border of the terrace, where he had formerly walked with his friends. Now he stopped to gaze up the broad, deserted steps which led from terrace to terrace, as if he could re-people them with the well-known forms, and could see them approach and greet him with the look of endless love and constancy. Then he raised his eyes to heaven, as if to seek there those he in vain sought upon earth.
“Do you not see me, my friends?” he asked, in a gentle but sad voice. “Do you not look down wonderingly where you saw a cheerful, smiling king, upon the now bent, shrunken old man, cold and phlegmatic, who seldom speaks, and then causes every one to yawn? Oh, where have you fled, beautiful spring-time of life—wherein once we used to enliven our conversations with the wit of the Athenians, and the jest fluttered upon our lips as we glided through life in the bold enjoyment of youth? Banished is the dance, and I creep about, leaning upon my staff, enfeebled in body, and with saddened heart! Oh, awful change, unhappy old age! What does it aid me that I am a king? I have won many a battle, but now I am vanquished by age and death and am alone!” [Footnote: The king’s words.—See “Posthumous Works,” vol. x., p. 100.]
A slight breeze rustled through the trees, fanning, caressingly, the cheeks of the king. The perfume of sweet flowers rose from the terrace, and below rushed the cascade. The marble groups around the fountain glistened in the golden rays of the sun, and in the dark foliage fluttered and sang the merry birds of summer.
Suddenly the wind wafted from the church at Potsdam the clear tones of a bell, announcing to the king the hour of four, the death of Voltaire.
The king walked along to the rose-arbor, to the temple of friendship, where the bust of his sister Frederika was placed. He seated himself near the entrance, listening to the ringing voice of the bell, and recalling that the death-mass had now commenced in Berlin.
The service sacred to memory! The prayer for the immortal soul! As the lonely king sat there, calm and bowed down, a solemn prayer and holy mass rose from his own soul. He bowed lower his head, and, without realizing it himself, traced letters in the sand at his feet, with no witness but the blue heavens above him, and Windspiel who curiously eyed the lines. Thinking of the prayer for Voltaire’s undying soul, the king had written the word of profoundest mystery and revelation, of hope and prophecy—“Immortality.”
The wind gently rustled in the trees, wafting the perfume of flowers. Sweet stillness reigned around, and lowly sang the birds as if not to waken the king, who slept by the marble form of his beloved sister—Windspiel upon his knees, and in the sand at his feet the word traced by his own hand, “Immortality.”
Wilhelmine Enke was still living at her villa at Charlottenburg. She was, as formerly, the “unmarried” daughter of the hautboy-player, the favorite and friend of the crown prince; the same as two years previous, when he presented her before the Bavarian campaign, with this house and There was no change in her outward circumstances; her life passed regularly and calmly. The once fresh and beautiful cheek had lost somewhat of its youthful, roseate hue, and the smile of the ruby lips was less haughty, and the warmth of those brilliant eyes was subdued. This was the only perceptible difference wrought by the little vexations and troubles incident to her position. She had found some bitter drops in the golden goblet which the prince in his love pressed to her lips—drops which were uncongenial to lips accustomed to the sweets of life.
To-day she had awaited him at dinner, and had just received a very friendly but laconic letter, excusing himself until the following morning. This was an unpalatable drop. Wilhlemine paced back and forth the solitary, gloomy path, at the foot of the garden, re-reading this letter, and examining every word to search out its hidden meaning.
“They have brought this about,” she murmured, tearing the letter into little pieces, which lighted upon the shrubbery like butterflies. “Yes, it is their work. They have sought by all possible means to draw him into their power, and away from me. And they will succeed, as there are two of them, and the princess sustains them; and I am alone, unsupported. I am entirely alone—alone!”
“If you are alone, then, it is surely your own fault,” said an earnest, solemn voice, and at the same instant a tall form approached from the shrubbery which bordered the side of the garden.
“Cagliostro!” shrieked Wilhelmine, shrinking terrified away. “Oh, mercy upon me, it is Cagliostro!”
“Why are you so frightened, my daughter?” he asked, gently. “Why do you withdraw from me, and cast down your eyes?”
“I thought you were in Courland,” she stammered, confused.
“And whilst you thought me afar, you forgot your sacred oath and holy duty,” he replied, in a harsh, severe tone. “Oh my daughter, the Invisibles weep and lament bitterly over you.”
“I am curious to see these tears,” said Wilhelmine, who had now recovered her self-composure. “Do you think, Herr Magus, any of them could be found in the eyes of Colonel Bischofswerder and his intimate friend Woellner? Do you pretend that they also weep over me?”
“They do not belong to the Invisibles, but the Visibles. But their souls are true and faithful, and would have to mourn over the unhappy one who could forget her vows.”
“Then allow me to say that I abjure these tears, and laugh at the idea that these hypocrites and necromancers weep over me.”
“My daughter, what words are these, and how strangely altered you are! I have come from the far north, and but just alighted from the travelling-carriage. I came at once to see you, and hoped to be greeted joyfully with a kiss of love, and what do I hear instead? Harsh words filled with scorn and mockery, and disobedience against the Invisible Fathers, to whom you have sworn fidelity and submission!”
“You have forced me to it!” she cried, impetuously. “In my own house you came upon me and compelled me to take part in your mystic assembly.”
“If one loves humanity, he must insist upon its accepting happiness,” said Cagliostro, solemnly. “We recognized in you one of the elect, one of the great souls which are worthy to see the light, and sun themselves in the rays of knowledge. Therefore we accepted you among the spirits of the alliance, and—”
“And made great promises, of which not one has been fulfilled. Where is the title of countess, the influence, position, honor, and dignity, which you prophesied to me?”
“Where are the deeds you promised to perform, the witnesses of your fidelity and devotion?” he thunderingly demanded. “You have dared to rebel against the holy alliance! Your short-sighted spirit presumes to mock those eyes which perceive that you are straying away! Beware—Wilhemine, beware! I came to-day to warn you, when I return it will be to punish you. Turn, oh turn while there is yet time! Submit your will to the Fathers, as you have sworn to do! The promised reward will not fail, and Wilhelmine Enke will become a countess, a princess, and the most distinguished and powerful will bow before her. The Fathers demand of you repentance, and renunciation of the worst enemies of the Rosicrucians. Members, and even chiefs and pioneers of the Illuminati and Freemasons are welcomed at your house.”
“Why should they not be?” asked she, smiling. “They are happy, cheerful spirits, void of mysteries, and do not torture people with mysticisms. They have but one aim, a great and glorious one, to free the mind from superstition and hypocrisy. They encounter with open countenance the false devotees who would force men into spiritual servitude, that they may become the slaves of their will. You call them ‘Illuminati,’ while they have undertaken to illuminate the minds with the beams of knowledge which the Rosicrucians obscure in a mystical fog.”
“Unhappy one, do you dare to say that to me?” cried Cagliostro, menacingly.
“Yes,” she responded, keeping her large, brown eyes firmly fixed upon Cagliostro’s angry face. “That I dare to repeat to you, and I would also remark that we are not in the mystical assembly of the Rosicrucians, and your familiar ‘Du’ is out of place. I belong to the Illuminati, and mingle with the freethinkers. They have not, indeed, promised me titles, honors, or dignities, but they have amused me, have driven ennui from the house, and instead of mysticisms, brought me poesy, and instead of the invisible holy church, the Greek temple. It is possible my life may not be a godly one, but it is as happy as the gods, and that is something in this tedious world.”
“I regard you with astonishment,” said Cagliostro, “for I recognize in your countenance that the devil has won you over to his power, and in you he speaks with the bold insolence of the sinful. Subdue, unhappy child, your rash speech, that the Fathers may not hear of it, and crush you in their wrath.”
“I do not fear their thunderbolts, permit me to tell you. We are in Prussia; the great king watches over all his subjects; neither the Romish Church nor the Rosicrucians can obscure the light of knowledge. He will not suffer a ghost, sneaking in the dark, to exercise power here, and he will not refuse the protection to me which is accorded to the least of his subjects. I do not fear you, and I will tell you the truth entire, I believe you to be a hypocrite and a charlatan, who—”
“Miserable one!” interrupted Cagliostro, as he furiously rushed to her, seizing her by the arm—“cease, unhappy one, or your life is forfeited to the invisible avengers!”
Wilhelmine shook her head, and encountered his flaming eyes with a proud glance. “I repeat your own words—cease, or your life will be forfeited! Perhaps you think I do not know what happened to you in Mittau, where you were recognized as a charlatan, who fooled the poor creatures into the belief of his miraculous acts, which consisted in lightening their purses to the benefit of his own. You were obliged to flee from Mitlau in the night, to save yourself, your treasures, and wonderful man-traps, and the beautiful Lorenza Feliciana. Beware! The Empress of Russia had a certain Joseph Balsamo pursued, who had practised great deception, and people pretend that he resembles Count Cagliostro. The Empress Catherine is a good friend and ally of the King of Prussia, and if the happy idea should occur to me to propose seeking the necromancer here, the Great Kophta might come a miserable end.”
“On the contrary, it would only be a welcome occasion for the Great Kophta to reveal himself, and hurl his despicable, malicious enemy into the dust at his feet,” replied Cagliostro, calmly. “Try it, you faithless, fallen daughter of the Invisibles—try to unloose the pack of my enemies, to recognize that all their yelling and barking does not trouble the noble stag to whom God has given the whole world for His forestward that He should rule therein. I have listened to you unto the end, and I regard your invectives and accusations as not worthy of a reply or justification, and I laugh at your menaces. But I warn you, Wilhelmine Enke, defy not the Invisibles, and offend not the Holy Fathers, by your continued resistance. Turn, misguided child of sin—turn while there is yet time! In their name I offer you a last chance, their forbearance is without bounds, and their mercy long enduring.”
“I neither desire your forbearance nor mercy,” cried she, proudly. “I will have no companionship with my enemies, and the Rosicrucians are such, for Bischofswerder and Woellner both hate me, and would put me aside. There is no reconciliation where only hostility is possible.”
“The heavenly listen not to the voices of the earthly, and prove themselves, the most noble when the least deserved. They will protect and watch over you, even against your will, and never will they be deaf to your cry for aid in the hour of Here is a token of their grace toward you. Take this ring—do you recognize it?”
Wilhelmine regarded it attentively. “This is the ring which I gave at the tribute-altar instead of gold, which you desired.”
“The Invisibles sent it to you to-day as the precious pledge of their favor. You shall keep it, and wear it as a token of their heavenly forbearance, and when you turn back from the erroneous ways into which the Illuminati have led you, send it to the circle of Berlin directors, either Bischofswerder or Wollner, and they will come to your rescue. Farewell! I forgive you all your wicked words, which fall like spent arrows from the helmet of my righteousness.”
Cagliostro turned proudly away, and disappeared in the bushes.
Wilhelmine placed the ring upon her finger, turning it to watch the play of colors. “I do not know why,” said she, “but it has not the same brilliancy as formerly. I will take it to the jeweller Wagner, and ask him if it is the same stone. Perhaps the Great Kophta has tried some of his miracles upon it. I will at once send the servant to Minister von Herzberg, and inform him that Cagliostro is here. He has promised me protection in the name of the king, and I feel that I shall now have need of it.”
She hurried to the house, and devoted herself to the writing of the said letter—a task she was but little accustomed to. She had learned to speak French very prettily, and to express herself skilfully and wittily in German, and under her royal master, the crown prince Frederick William, gained much valuable scientific knowledge. But to write fluently was quite another thing, and it was a long time before the epistle was finished. However, happily accomplished, she commanded the servant to take it to Berlin.
He bowed with silent submission; but once having quitted the house, a cunning smile was visible upon his face, and he availed himself of a stage-coach which was going in the same direction. “I can afford this expense,” said he, arranging himself comfortably. “When I have money in my pocket why should I walk the long distance? I was very clever to tell Bischofswerder that the Minister von Herzberg had secretly visited my mistress, and it was equally clever of him to give me a louis d’or, and promise me the same every time that I should bring him important news. Indeed, I think to-day he may well thank me, and I believe, if I often inform him, he will advance me a degree, and at last I shall be admitted to the circle of the elect, while I now belong to the outside circle, who know nothing and hope every thing.”