Without, the scene had changed in the meanwhile. The attention of the people had been attracted to the king's presence by the royal equipage which was slowly driving down the street, and one and all hurried from their houses to see and greet their handsome young monarch. Men and women, young and old, were running about confusedly, each one inquiring of his neighbor why the king had come, and where he might now be, as his carriage was apparently awaiting him. And why was that fat man, who was seated on the sidewalk, sketching this sandy place with its poor little houses?
Even the proud and self-satisfied Mr. Pricker had not considered it beneath his dignity to descend to the street door, where he took his stand surrounded by his assistants and apprentices.
"It is said the king has gone into the house of Schommer, the grocer," said one of his assistants, returning from a reconnoissance he had made among the noisy and gossiping multitude.
Mr. Pricker shook his head gravely. "He must have been misinformed, for he undoubtedly intended coming to this house and paying me a visit, an intention which would be neither novel nor surprising in my family. None of the rulers of the house of Hohenzollern have as yet neglected to pay a visit to the house of Pricker. The present king will not fail to observe this noble custom, for—"
The worthy Mr. Pricker was interrupted by the shouts of the people. The king had appeared upon the streets, and was greeted with vociferous cheers, amid the waving of hats and handkerchiefs.
Mr. Pricker, observing with intense satisfaction that the king had turned and was advancing in the direction of his house, stepped forward with a self-gratulatory smile, and placed himself immediately at the side of the king's path. But the king passed by without noticing him. On this occasion he did not return the greeting of the people in quite so gracious a manner as usual; his eye was dim, and his brow clouded. Without even favoring the smiling and bowing Pricker with a glance, he passed on to the carriage which awaited him in front of the court dressmaker's. The king entered hastily, his cavaliers following him, and the carriage drove off. The shouting of the populace continued, however, until it disappeared in the distance.
"Why do these poor foolish people shout for joy?" grumbled Mr. Pricker, shrugging his shoulders. Now that the king had taken no notice of him, this man was enraged. "What do they mean by these ridiculous cries, and this waving of hats? The king regarded them as discontentedly as if they were vermin, and did not even favor them with a smile. How low-spirited he is! his not recognizing me, the court dressmaker of his wife, shows this conclusively. It must have been his intention to visit me, for his carriage had halted immediately in front of my door; in his depression he must have entirely forgotten it."
The crowd had begun to disperse, and but a few isolated groups could now be seen, who were still eagerly engaged in discussing the king's appearance.
At a short distance from Mr. Pricker were several grave and dignified citizens, dressed in long coats ornamented with immense ivory buttons, and wearing long cues, which looked out gravely from the three-cornered hats covering their smooth and powdered hair.
Mr. Pricker observed these citizens, and with a friendly greeting beckoned to them to approach. "My worthy friends, did you also come to see the king?"
"No, we were only passing, but remained standing when we saw the king."
"A very handsome young man."
"A very wise and learned young king."
"And still—"
"Yes, and still—"
"Yes, that is my opinion also, worthy friends," sighed Mr. Pricker.
"The many innovations and ordinances; it terrifies one to read them."
"Every day something new."
"Yes, it is not as it was in the good old times, under the late lamented king. Ah, we then led a worthy and respectable life. One knew each day what the next would bring forth. He who hungered to-day knew that he would also do so on the morrow; he who was rich to-day knew that he would still be so on the morrow. Ours was an honest and virtuous existence. Prudence and propriety reigned everywhere; as a husband and father, the king set us an exalted example."
"It is true, one ran the risk of being struck occasionally; and if a man had the misfortune to be tall, he was in danger of being enrolled among the guards," said another. "But this was all. In other respects, however, one lived quietly enough, smoked his pipe, and drank his pot of beer, and in these two occupations we could also consider the king as our model and ideal."
"But now!"
"Yes, now! Every thing changes with the rapidity of the wind. He who but yesterday was poor, is rich to-day; the man who was rich yesterday, is to-day impoverished and thrown aside; this was the fate of the Privy Counsellor von Eckert. I worked for him, and he was a good customer, for he used a great many gloves, almost a dozen pair every month; and now I have lost this good customer by the new government."
"But, then, Eckert deserved it," said the fat beer brewer. "He oppressed the people, and was altogether an arrogant puffed-up fellow, who greeted nobody, not even myself. It serves him right that the king has taken the new house in Jager Street away from him; there was justice in that."
"But the late lamented king had given it to him, and his last will should have been honored."
"Yes, that is true; the last will of the late lamented monarch should have been honored," they all exclaimed with earnest gravity.
"Oh, we will have to undergo a great many trials," sighed Mr. Pricker. "Could you believe, my friends, that they contemplate depriving us of our respectable cue, and replacing it with a light, fantastic, and truly immoral wig?"
"That is impossible! That can never be! We will never submit to that!" exclaimed the assembled group, with truly Grecian pathos.
"They wish to give us French fashions," continued Pricker; "French fashions and French manners. I can see the day coming when we will have French glovemakers and shoemakers, French hair-dressers and beer-brewers; yes, and even French dressmakers. I see the day coming when a man may with impunity hang out a sign with French inscriptions over his shop-door, and when he who intersperses his honest German with French phrases, will no longer be well beaten. Ah, the present king will not, like his lamented predecessor, have two girls arrested because they have said 'charmant;' he will not, with his own hands, belabor the young lads who have the assurance to appear on the streets in French costumes, as the deceased king so often did. Every thing will be different, but not better, only more French."
"Yes, could it be believed," exclaimed the fat beer-brewer, "that they think of crying down beer, the favorite beverage of the late lamented king, which, at all events, should be holy in the sight of his son? At court no more beer will be drank, but only French wines; and he who wishes to be modern and acceptable at court will turn up his nose at the beer-pot, and drink mean and adulterated wines. Yes, even coffee is coming into fashion, and the coffee-house keeper in the pleasure-garden, who, up to the present time, was only permitted to make coffee for the royal family and a few other rich people at court, has not alone received permission to serve coffee to everybody, but every innkeeper may do the same thing."
"And have you heard," asked the glovemaker gloomily, "that the two hotel-keepers in Berlin, Nicolai and St. Vincent, have their rivals, and will no longer keep the only houses where a good dinner can be had for money? Two French cooks have already arrived, and one of them has opened a house in Frederick Street, the other one in King Street, which they call 'Restauration.'"
"Yes," said the shoemaker with a sigh, "I went to the French house in Frederick Street yesterday, and ate a meal out of curiosity. Ah, my friends, I could have cried for rage, for I am sorry to say that it was a better meal than we could ever get at Nicolai's or St. Vincent's; moreover I paid less for it."
"It is a shame. A Frenchman comes here and gives a better and cheaper dinner than a native of Berlin," said Mr. Pricker. "I tell you we will all have much to endure; and even my title is insufficient to protect me from insult and humiliation, for it might happen that—"
Mr. Pricker suddenly became silent and stared toward the centre of the street, astonishment and curiosity depicted on his countenance and on that of his friends, who followed the direction of his glances.
And in truth a very unusual spectacle presented itself to these worthy burghers. A carriage was slowly passing along the street drawn by two weary and smoking horses. This carriage was of the elegant and modern French make, now becoming fashionable at court, and was called a chaise. As the top was thrown back, its occupants could very well be seen.
On the front seat were three persons. The first was a man of grave and earnest demeanor and commanding appearance. His tall and well-made figure was clad in a black velvet coat with little silver buttons, ornamented on the sleeves and breast with elegant lace ruffles. His hair, which was turning gray, was twisted in a knot at the back of his head, from which a ribbon of enormous length was pendant. A small three-cornered hat, of extraordinary elegance, rested on the toupet of curls which hung down on either side of his head and shaded the forehead, which displayed the dignity and sublimity of a Jupiter.
At his side sat two females, the middle one an elderly, grave-looking lady; the other a beautiful young girl, with smiling lips, glowing black eyes, and rosy cheeks. The elegant and graceful attire of these ladies was very different from the grave and sober costume of the women of Berlin. Their dresses were of lively colors, with wide sleeves bordered with lace, and with long waists, the low cut of which in front displayed in the one the beauty and freshness of her neck; and in the other, the richness of a guipure scarf with which her throat was covered. Their heads were covered with immense toupets of powdered hair, surmounted by little velvet hats, from which long and waving ribbons hung down behind.
On the back seat were three other young ladies dressed in the same style, but less richly. This first carriage was followed by a second, which contained six young men in French costumes, who were looking around with lively curiosity, and laughed so loudly that the worthy burgher who stood in front of Pricker's house could hear every word they uttered, but unfortunately could understand nothing.
"Frenchmen!" murmured Mr. Pricker, with a slight shudder.
"Frenchmen!" echoed his friends, staring at this novel spectacle.
But how? Who was that standing by the first carriage which had halted in front of Mr. Pricker's house? Who was that speaking with the young girl, who smilingly leant forward from the carriage and was laughing and jesting with him? How? Was this young man really the son and heir of Mr. Pricker? Was he speaking to these strangers, and that, too, in French? Yes, Mr. Pricker could not deceive himself, it was his son; it was William, his heir.
"How? Does your son speak French?" asked the glovemaker, in a reproachful tone.
"He so much desired to do so," said Mr. Pricker, with a sigh, "that I was forced to consent to give him a French teacher."
William, who had observed his father, now hurried across the street. The young man's eyes glowed; his handsome face was enlivened with joy; his manner denoted eagerness and excitement.
"Father," said he, "come with me quickly! These strangers are so anxious to speak with you. Just think how fortunate! I was passing along the Charlottenburg road when I met the travellers. They addressed me in French, and inquired for the best hotel in Berlin. It was lucky that I understood them, and could recommend the 'City of Paris.' Ah, father, what a beautiful and charming girl that is; how easy and graceful! In the whole city of Berlin there is not so beautiful a girl as Blanche. I have been walking along by the side of the carriage for half an hour, and we have been laughing and talking like old friends; for when I discovered who they were, and why they were coming to Berlin, I told them who my father was directly, and then the old gentleman became so friendly and condescending. Come, father, Mr. Pelissier longs to make your acquaintance."
"But I do not speak French," said Mr. Pricker, who, notwithstanding his antipathy to Frenchmen, still felt flattered by this impatience to make his acquaintance.
"I will be your interpreter, father. Come along, for you will also be astonished when you hear who this Mr. Pelissier is." And William drew his father impatiently to the carriage.
Mr. Pricker's friends stood immovable with curiosity, awaiting his return with breathless impatience. At last he returned, but a great change had taken place in Mr. Pricker. His step was uncertain and reeling; his lips trembled, and a dark cloud shaded his brow. He advanced to his friends and regarded them with a wild and vacant stare. A pause ensued. The hearts of all beat with anxiety, and an expression of intense interest was depicted on every countenance. At last Mr. Pricker opened his trembling lips, and spoke in deep and hollow tones:
"They are Frenchmen! yes, Frenchmen!" said he. "It is the new tailor sent for by the king. He comes with six French assistants, and will work for the king, the princes and the cavaliers of the court. But he is not only a tailor but also makes ladies' clothing; and his wife and daughter are the most celebrated dressmakers of Paris; they also are accompanied by three female assistants, and expect to work for the queen, the princesses, and the entire court."
"But that is impossible," exclaimed his friends. "The laws of our guild protect us. No woman can carry on the business of a tailor."
"Nevertheless they will do so," said Pricker; "the king has accorded them this privilege. Yes, every thing will now be different, handsomer and better. The king summons these French dressmakers to Berlin, and the monsters ask my advice. They wish to know of me how they are to demean themselves toward the members of the guild. The new French dressmaker asks advice of me, of the court dressmaker Pricker! Ha, ha, ha! is not that laughable?" And Mr. Pricker broke out into a loud, wild laugh, which made his friends shudder, and then sunk slowly into the arms of the glover. His son William, who had been a witness of this scene, hurried to his father's assistance, and carried him into the house.
From his carriage Mr. Pelissier looked proudly down upon the poor tailor. "The good master has fainted," said he with an Olympic smile. "And he has good reason, for ruin is before him. He is a lost man; for how could he, an unknown German tailor, dare to compete with Pelissier, the son of the celebrated tailor of Louis the Fourteenth? That would evince an assurance and folly with which I could not credit even a German brain."
The little maid of honor, Louise von Schwerin, was walking with quick steps up and down her room; she had locked her door to secure herself from interruption. She wished to read once more the mysterious note found yesterday in the bunch of flowers, and once more to meditate undisturbed upon its contents. Louise knew the note was from the handsome gardener Fritz Wendel; from him came the beautiful flowers she found daily upon the sill of her window, and he only could have concealed the note amongst them. There were but a few lines, entreating her to meet him that night at eight o'clock, in the grotto of the conservatory, where she should learn an important and dangerous secret.
"What can the secret be?" asked Louise of herself, after reading the note again and again. "Perhaps," she said, with a roguish smile, "perhaps he thinks that his love for me is a secret. Dangerous it certainly is for him and for me, but a secret it is not. I am certain that he loves me, but it must be very sweet to be told so; to hear his lips confess at last what until now I have only read in those eloquent eyes. Alas! is it not fearful, intolerable, to wait so long for a declaration of love? Two months so near each other, but not one moment of sweet, unrestrained intercourse; always hemmed in by this cold, ceremonious, stupid court life; surrounded by spies and eavesdroppers; never alone, never free. Is it not terrible to have a sweetheart, and never to have refused him a kiss, because he has never had the opportunity to demand one? They say there is rapture in the first kiss of your lover—in his first embrace. I must know this for myself, that they may no longer laugh and say I am a silly child without experience. I will have my experience! I will have my love affairs as well as the other ladies of the court, only mine shall be more extraordinary, more romantic. To be loved by a baron or a count is indeed commonplace; but to be adored by a gardener, who is beautiful as the god Apollo, and whose obscure birth is his only fault—this is original, this is piquant. Ah, Madame von Brandt laughed at me yesterday, at my stupidity and innocence; she was merry at my expense, because I had never been kissed, never received a stolen embrace, which she declared to be the most charming event in a woman's life. All the ladies laughed at me as she said this, and called me an unbaked roll left out in the cold—which never felt the fire. They shall laugh at me no longer," cried Louise, with spiteful tears in her eyes and stamping her little foot. "No one shall mock at me again; and if they do, I will tell them I too have a lover; that I have had a declaration of love, and have received my lover's first kiss. I must be able to say this, and therefore I will meet Fritz this evening in the grotto of the conservatory." Even while saying this she was seized with a cold trembling; one moment her heart stood still, and then almost suffocated her with its rapid beating. A soft voice seemed to warn her against this imprudence; she seemed to see the pale face of her mother, and to hear her living counsels: "Do not go, Louise, Frit Wendel is no lover for Louise von Schwerin." Her guardian angel spread once more his white wings around her, longing to protect and save. But, alas! she heard another voice, breathing flattering words and sweet promises. She saw a beautiful youth with his soft, large, hazel eyes fixed imploringly upon her. Louise felt the irresistible charm of the forbidden, the disallowed, the dangerous. Louise closed her ear to the warning voice; her good genius had no power over her. "I will go," she said, and a rosy blush suffused her childish cheeks; "nothing shall prevent me!" Louise was now quite resolved; but she was not at peace with herself, and from time to time she hoped some unexpected occurrence, some unconquerable obstacle, would prevent her from taking this imprudent step. No difficulty arose; chance seemed to favor her meeting with her obscure lover.
Sophia Dorothea was to visit her daughter-in-law at Schonhausen, not as a queen, but without pomp and splendor. The two eldest maids of honor only would accompany her. Neither Louise von Schwerin nor Laura von Pannewitz were to be of the party. Sophia was glad that at least for a few hours she would not see the lovely, sad face, and soft, melancholy eyes of Laura, nor hear the low and plaintive tones of her accusing voice. The king had gone to Potsdam, it was therefore unnecessary to watch Laura. Indeed, of late the queen scarcely believed in this love, of which she had been so confident; she had tried in vain to discover any trace of an understanding between Laura and the king. Frederick scarcely noticed Laura, and had spoken to her but once since that stormy day; then he had laughingly asked her why she was so pale and languishing, and if it was an unhappy love which made her look so mournful. Since that day the queen no longer believed in the passion of the king for Laura, and she reproached Madame von Brandt with having misled her.
Madame von Brandt smiled mysteriously. "I did not say, your majesty, that the king loved Laura; your suspicions fell upon him, and I did not undeceive you."
"And why not?" said the queen angrily; "why did you not make known to me the name of Laura's lover?"
"Because I had solemnly sworn not to disclose it," said Madame von Brandt.
"Is it not the king? then all the better for my poor Laura."
"Still, I venture to implore your majesty to induce my dear young friend to accept the hand of Count Voss; she will thus perhaps be cured of her unhappy and hopeless passion."
Sophia was resolved to follow this advice; she therefore drove to Schonhausen to see the young queen, and consult with her as to the most efficacious means of accomplishing this result. Louise von Schwerin thought the queen might still change her mind and command her to accompany her; she hoped and feared this at the same time. She would have wept bitterly at this result, but she knew it would be best for her. Between anxiety and hope, doubts and fears, the time passed slowly.
"There rolls a carriage from the court," said Louise; she heard the loud cries of the guard and the beating of the drums.
It was the queen leaving for Schonhausen. Louise was now free, now unobserved; nothing could prevent her from going to the grotto. With trembling steps and a quickly beating heart she slipped through the dark alleys of the garden and entered the conservatory. All was still and wrapped in a sweet twilight. The delightful odor of orange blossoms filled the place; which, like the subtle vapor of opium, intoxicated her senses. Breathless with fear and expectation she entered the grotto; her eyes were blinded by the sudden darkness, and she sank to the ground.
"Thank God," she murmured softly, "I am alone, he is not here! I shall have time to recover, and then I can return; I am so frightened—I ought not to have come. Perhaps the ladies of the court have arranged this practical joke at my expense. Yes, that is it. It was folly to believe he would dare to ask me to meet him; he is too timid—too humble. Yes, it is a trap laid for me, and I have fallen into it."
She rose hastily to fly back to the palace; but it was too late; a strong arm was gently thrown around her neck, and she was drawn back to her seat. She tried to free herself, but could not; she heard the loud beating of his heart, which found an echo in her own; she felt his lips pressed to hers, but her childish modesty was aroused; she found she had the wish and courage to free herself.
"Let me go!" she cried breathlessly; "let me go! do not hold me a moment! I will go! I will go this instant! How dare you treat me in this manner? How and why did you come?" and Louise, who was now free, remained standing to hear his reply.
"How did I come here?" said the handsome gardener, in a submissive but pleading tone. "Every night for four weeks I have worked upon this subterranean alley; this dark path, which should lead me here unseen. While others slept and dreamed I worked; and also dreamed with working eyes. Mine were happy dreams. My work was done, and I could reach this consecrated spot unseen. I saw in my vision an angel, whom I adore, and to whom I have consecrated every hour, every moment of my life. Look, Mademoiselle, at the opening behind that large orange tree, that is the way to my paradise; through that opening I can reach a staircase, leading to a small cellar; another pair of steps takes me to a trap-door leading directly to my room. You can well imagine it required time, and strength, and courage to prepare this way."
Louise approached the opening curiously. This strange path made for her sake affected her more than all Fritz Wendel's words. Only a mighty love could have moved a man in the darkness and alone to such a task. Louise wished to conquer her confusion and to hide her embarrassment with light mockery and jesting.
"Truly," she said, laughing, "this is a dark and mysterious passage, but any one with a light would discover it. You know her majesty has the saloon illuminated occasionally in the evening, and takes her tea here."
"No one will find this opening," said the gardener. He pushed the wooden tub, in which the orange-tree grew, with his foot; it gave way to a slight touch, and turned round over the opening. "Look, Mademoiselle, the tree covers my secret."
"Open it! open it! I pray you, I must see it!"
"I will do so if you promise me not to leave me immediately."
"I promise! I promise!"
Fritz Wendel pushed back the orange-tree, then lifting Louise gently in his arms, he carried her to the grassplot, and seating her, he threw himself on his knees before her, and bowed, as if in adoration.
"You are my queen, the sovereign of my soul! I lay myself at your feet, as your slave. You alone can decide my fate. You can raise me to the heaven of heavens, or cast me in the dust. Say only the little words 'I love you!' this will give me strength and power to brave the whole world. I will acquire fame and honor, and at no distant day before God and the whole world I will demand your hand! If you say, 'Remain where you are, at my feet is your proper place; I despise the poor gardener, who dares to love the high-born lady!' then I will die; if I live I shall go mad. My brain reels at the thought of such wretchedness. I can die now, and bless you in dying; if I live in my madness I shall curse you for your cruelty."
He ceased, and raised his handsome face pleadingly to hers. Louise was speechless; she was intoxicated with the music of his voice and impassioned words.
"You do not answer me! Oh! before you cast me off consider my agony. The heart you despise contains a treasure of love and tenderness. No other man can love you as I do. You are my light and life. You are beautiful and fascinating; many will love you and seek your hand. Who but the poor gardener will die for you if you say no? To me you are more than the most lovely of women, you are a goddess! Oh, you know not what you have already made of me! what you will still make of me! When I saw you for the first time I was a poor, ignorant gardener, loving nothing but my flowers; knowing no language. The great book of nature was my only study. Since that glorious day in which I looked upon you as a radiant, heavenly vision, I have realized my poverty; I have blushed at my ignorance. My life has been one great effort to make myself worthy of you. Now, Louise, command me. What shall I do? What shall I become? If you do not despise and laugh at my love, if you love me a little in return, if you have hope, courage, and patience to wait, I will be worthy of you!"
"Alas!" said Louise, "this is the dream of a madman. The king and my noble and proud family would never consent that I should become your wife."
"As to the king," said Fritz, carelessly, "I would find means to obtain his consent, and honor and distinction, at his hands."
"I understand," said Louise, "the secret you intended to tell me—tell it now," she exclaimed, with a child's eager curiosity.
"Listen," said he, rising from his knees—"listen, but do not let us betray ourselves by loud words or exclamations."
"I hear steps," said Louise. "Oh, if we should be discovered!"
"Fear nothing; look there, Louise!" Her eye followed the direction of his hand.
Under the laurel-tree sat Laura von Pannewitz, and before her knelt Prince Augustus William, radiant with happiness, and covering her hands with kisses.
"Laura, my bride, my darling, when will the day come in which I can call you mine to all eternity?"
"That day will come when I am dead," said Laura, with a sad smile. "Yes, my prince, only when I am dead shall I be free to love you, and to pray for you. My freed spirit shall hover around you as your guardian angel, and protect you from all dangers. Oh, if I could die now, and fulfil this noble mission!" Louise was so absorbed in this scene that she did not notice Fritz Wendel as he drew near and again threw his arm around her.
"Look at them," he murmured; "he is a royal prince, and she only a poor maid of honor; he loves her, and she accepts his love, and fears no shame."
Louise laid her hand impatiently upon his lips and whispered, "Hush!" he covered her hand with kisses; they listened with subdued breathing to the pure and ardent vows of the two lovers.
For one moment Laura, carried away by her own feelings and the earnest words of her lover, allowed him to press his lips to her cheek, and returned his vows of love and constancy. But at this moment Louise heard the soft voice of Laura entreating her lover to leave her, and not to make her blush for herself.
"Promise me," she cried, "never again to embrace me; our love must remain pure, and only when we fear not God's holy eye, dare we pray to Him for assistance. Let us retain the right to shed innocent tears over our unhappy love, and lay it as a sacrifice at the foot of God's throne in that day when the world shall separate and despise us."
"No one shall dare to do that, Laura; you are my future wife; I shall be ever near to defend you with my life's blood! But I promise what you ask; I will restrain my heart; only in dreams will I embrace you; I swear this, my beloved. But the day will come when you will cancel this vow—the day when I will claim you before God and man as my wife!"
Laura took his hand with a sweet, confiding smile: "I thank you, darling, I thank you, but now we must part."
"Part! alas, we shall not meet again for weeks. I am commanded to accompany the king on a pleasure trip; for me there is but one earthly pleasure, to see you—to be at your side."
"Go," she said, smiling; "go without fear; we can never forget each other; however widely separated, you are always before me; I am always with you, although you see me not."
"Yes, Laura, there is not one moment of my life in which I do not see and hear you!"
"Well, then, go cheerfully with the king. Our hearts understand each other; our souls are inseparable."
The prince took her hand and pressed it to his heart, then silently they left the saloon.
Louise had long since freed herself from her lover, and she now arose, resolved to return to the palace. Fritz Wendel tried to detain her, but the weak and foolish child had gathered courage from the modest words and dignified example of Laura.
"If you touch me again, you have seen me for the last time! I will never again return to this grotto!" Fritz Wendel was encouraged by her words; he had not asked her to return, and she had half promised to do so.
"I will not dare to touch you again," he said, humbly; "but will you not promise me to come again?"
"Well, I suppose I shall have to come again to hear the end of poor Laura's romance."
"This romance can be of great use to us," he said, seizing her hand and pressing it to his lips; "if mademoiselle accepts my love and allows me to hope I may one day become her husband, I will sell this secret to the king, and thus obtain his consent."
"You would not be so cruel as to betray them to the king?"
"Yes, there is nothing I would not do to obtain your hand."
"You are right," said Baron Pollnitz, "yes, you are right, dear Fredersdorf; this is not the way to vanquish our Hercules or to influence him. He has no heart, and is not capable of love, and I verily believe he despises women."
"He does not despise them," said Fredersdorf, "he is wearied with them, which is far worse. Women are always too ready to meet him; too many hearts have been given him unasked; no woman will ever have power over him."
"How, what then, my dear friend?" cried Pollnitz. "There are means to tame every living creature; the elephant and the royal lion can be tamed, they become under skilful hands gentle, patient, and obedient: is there no way to tame this king of beasts and hold him in bondage? Unless we can ensnare him, we will be less than nothing, subject to his arbitrary temper, and condemned to obey his will. Acknowledge that this is not an enviable position; it does not correspond with the proud and ambitious hopes we have both been for some time encouraging."
"Is it possible that when the king's chamberlain and a cunning old courtier like myself unite our forces the royal game can escape our artful and well-arranged nets?"
"Dear Fredersdorf, this must not, this shall not be. It would be an everlasting shame upon us both."
"What an unheard-of enormity, a king without a powerful and influential favorite!"
"Frederick shall have two, and as these places are vacant, it is but natural that we should strive to occupy them."
"Yes," said Fredersdorf, "we will seize upon them and maintain our position. You called the king a young Hercules—well, this Hercules must be tamed."
"Through love of Omphale."
"No, not exactly, but Omphale must lead him into a life of luxury, and put him to sleep by voluptuous feasts. Call to mind how the Roman Emperor Heliogabalus killed the proud and ambitious senators who wished to curtail his absolute power."
"I am not so learned as you are, my dear friend, and I confess without blushing that I know nothing of Heliogabalus."
"Listen, then: Heliogabalus was weary of being but the obedient functionary of the senate; he wished to rule, and to have that power which the senate claimed as its own. He kept his ambitious desires to himself, however, and showed the senators a contented and submissive face. One day he invited them to a splendid feast at his villa; he placed before them the most costly meats and the choicest wines. They were sitting around this luxurious table, somewhat excited by drink, when the emperor arose and said with a peculiar smile: 'I must go now to prepare for you an agreeable surprise and practical joke, which you will confess has the merit of originality.' He left the room, and the tipsy senators did not observe that the doors were locked and bolted from without. They continued to drink and sing merrily; suddenly a glass door in the ceiling was opened, and the voice of Heliogabalus was heard, saying: 'You were never satisfied with your power and glory, you were always aspiring after new laurels; this noble thirst shall now be satisfied.' A torrent of laurel wreaths and branches now fell upon the senators. At first they laughed, and snatched jestingly at the flying laurels. The most exquisite flowers were now added, and there seemed to be no end to the pelting storm. They cried out, 'Enough, enough,' in vain; the wreaths and bouquets still poured upon them in unceasing streams; the floor was literally a bed of roses. At last, terror took possession of them; they wished to escape, and rushed to the doors, but they were immovable. Through the sea of flowers, which already reached their knees, they waded to the window, but they were in the second story, and below they saw the Roman legions with their sharp weapons pointed in the air. Flight was impossible; they pleaded wildly for mercy, but the inexorable stream of flowers continued to flow. Higher and higher rose the walls around them; they could no longer even plead for pity; they were literally buried in laurels. At last nothing was to be seen but a vast bed of roses, of which not even a fragrant leaf was stirred by a passing breeze. Heliogabalus had not murdered his senators; he had suffocated them with sweets, that was all. Well, what do you think of my story?" said Fredersdorf.
"It is full of interest, and Heliogabalus must have been poetical; but I do not see the connection between the emperor and ourselves."
"You do not?" said his friend impatiently; "well, let us follow his example. We will intoxicate this mighty king with enervating pleasures, we will tempt him with wine and women, we will stifle him with flowers."
"But he has no taste for them," said Pollnitz, sighing.
"He does not care for the beauty of women, but he has other dangerous tastes; he has no heart, but he has a palate; he does not care for the love of women, but he enjoys good living—that will make one link in his fetters. Then he loves pomp and splendor; he has so long been forced to live meanly that wealth will intoxicate him; he will wish to lavish honors and rain gold upon his people. Frederick William has stowed away millions; we will help the son to scatter them."
"This will be a new and thrillingly agreeable pastime, in the ordering of which he could not have a better adviser than yourself, baron."
"While Frederick and yourself are building new palaces and planning new amusements, I will rule, and help him to bear the burden of state affairs."
"You will help him to scatter millions, and I will collect from the good Prussians new millions for him to scatter. It is to be hoped that some heavy drops from this golden shower will fall into my purse," said Pollnitz. "My finances are in an unhealthy state, and my landlord threatens to sell my furniture and my jewels, because for more than a year I have not paid my rent. You see now, Fredersdorf, that I must have that house in Jager Street. I count upon it so surely that I have already borrowed a few thousand dollars from some confiding noble souls, whom I have convinced that the house is mine."
"You shall have it," said Fredersdorf; "the king will give it to you as a reward for the plans you have drawn for the new palaces."
"Has he seen them?"
"Yes, and approves them. The papers are in his desk, and need but his royal signature."
"Ah!" said Pollnitz, "if they were but signed! What a glorious life would commence here! we would realize the Arabian Nights; and Europe would gaze with dazzled eyes at the splendor and magnificence of our court. How vexed the treasurer, Boden, will be when the king commands him to disburse for our revels and vanities the millions which he helped the late king to hoard together for far different purposes! This Boden," said Pollnitz thoughtfully, "will be our most dangerous opponent: you may believe this; I am somewhat versed in physiognomy. I have studied his countenance; he is a bold, determined man, who, when irritated, would even brave the king. All the other ministers agree with our plans, and will not stand in our way. They are not dangerous; I have made a compromise with them; they have resolved to think all we do right. But Boden was inflexible; he would not understand my secret signs or hints; flattery has no power over him, and he is alike indifferent to promises and threats. All my dexterously aimed arrows rebounded from the rough coat-of-mail with which his honesty has clothed him."
"Do not concern yourself about Boden," cried Fredersdorf, "he is a lost man; he falls without any aid from us. The king hates him, and is only waiting for an opportunity to dismiss him. Have you not noticed how contemptuously he treats him—never speaks to him or notices him, while he loves to chat with his other ministers? Frederick did not dismiss him from office at once, because the old king loved him. Boden was his treasurer and confidential friend, from whom he had no secrets; the king has therefore been patient; but his sun is set, of that you may be convinced. The king, though he seems not to notice him, watches him closely; one incautious movement and he will be instantly dismissed. This may happen this very day."
"How?" said Pollnitz.
"The king has adopted the plan, which he had ordered Knobelsdorf to sketch for him, for the new palace of the dowager-queen. It is to be a colossal wonder—the capitol of the north! the building of which will cost from four to five millions! These millions must come from Boden's treasury; he must respect the royal order. If he does, he is an unscrupulous officer, and the king can no longer put faith in him. If he dares oppose the royal command, he is a traitor, and the king, who demands silent and unconditional obedience from his officers, will dismiss him. The king feels this himself, and when he gave me these documents, he said, with a peculiar smile, 'This is a bitter pill for Boden—we will see if he is able to swallow it.' You see, now, that our good Boden stands between two pitfalls, from both of which he cannot hope to escape alive."
"Ah, if this is true," said Pollnitz, gayly, "our success is assured. The house in Jager Street will be mine, and you will be an influential minister. We will govern the ruler of Prussia, and be mighty in the land. Only think how all the courtiers will bow before us! The king will do nothing without our advice. I will make more debts. I will be as generous as Fouquet, and as lavish and luxurious as Lucullus; and if at last all my resources fail, I will do as Heliogabalus did; if my creditors become troublesome, the old Roman shall teach me how to silence them by some refinement in hospitality."
"And I, the lowly born," said Fredersdorf, "who have so long been a slave, will now have power and influence. The king loves me; I will be a true and faithful servant to him. I will be inflexible to those who have scorned me; those proud counts and barons, who have passed me by unnoticed, shall now sue to me in vain. The king's heart is mine, and I will be sustained by him. This tamed lion shall be drawn by prancing steeds in gilded chariots; we will anoint him with honey and feed him with nightingales' tongues; he shall bathe in Lachrymae Christi, and all that the most fantastic dream and the wildest flights of fancy can imagine shall be set before him. Those good epicurean Romans, who threw young maidens into their ponds for their eels to feed upon, in order that their meat might be tender and juicy, were sickly sentimentalists in comparison with what I shall be—" he stopped, for the door opened, and Boden, their hated enemy, stood before them. They looked upon him indifferently, as a doomed adversary. Boden approached quietly, and said to Fredersdorf:
"Have the kindness to announce me to his majesty."
"Has his majesty sent for you?" said Fredersdorf, carelessly.
"He has not sent for me, but please say to his majesty that I am come to speak with him on important business."
Fredersdorf stepped into the adjoining room, and returned quickly, saying with a triumphant and malicious smile: "The king says he will send for you when he wishes to speak with you. These were his exact words; accommodate yourself to them in future."
The minister's countenance was perfectly calm; his lip slightly trembled; but he spoke in his usual grave, composed manner: "The king may not desire to see me; but I, as an officer and minister of state, have the most urgent reasons for desiring an audience. Go and tell him this."
"These are proud, disrespectful words," said Pollnitz, smiling blandly.
"Which I will faithfully report to his majesty," said Fredersdorf.
"I fear your excellency will pay dearly for this speech," whispered Pollnitz.
"Fear nothing for me," said Boden, with a quiet smile.
"His majesty awaits you," said Fredersdorf, still standing at the door. Boden walked proudly by Fredersdorf, casting upon him a look of contempt, who returned it with a mocking grin.
"The fox is caught," he whispered, as the door closed upon him.
"Do you think so?" said Pollnitz. "I am surprised and somewhat anxious at the king's receiving him."
"Fear nothing, he is but received to be DISMISSED. The king's eye flamed, and his brow, usually so clear, was heavily clouded; this betokens storms; may they break upon Boden's devoted head! Come, let us watch the tempest; there is nothing more instructive than a royal hurricane."
"Let us profit by the occasion, then."
The two courtiers slipped noiselessly to the door and pushed the curtains carefully to one side, so as to see and hear clearly.