The garden was again solitary. Nothing was heard but the chattering of birds, as they flitted from limb to limb, and the whispering of the wind among the trees; all else was tranquil and still. But this did not last long. The noise of advancing footsteps gave evidence of the approach of some one, whose figure was soon visible at the entrance of the grand avenue.
This person was again a lady, who, if not so beautiful as Mademoiselle von Schwerin, was still pretty enough to be called one of the fair sex. She was dressed in a charming and tasteful morning robe, which was eminently adapted to display to advantage the beautiful contour of her tall and stately figure.
Nor had she come into the garden merely to breathe the fresh morning air, and enjoy the delightful fragrance of flowers; these were scarcely observed, as she hurriedly swept past them. She stood still for a moment at the end of the long avenue, and looked cautiously around in all directions. Seeing that no one was near, that she was alone and unobserved, she turned aside into the bushes, and, following a narrow, overgrown path, at last arrived at the garden wall, where she remained standing before a small door for a moment, listening with suppressed breathing. Hearing nothing, she clapped her hands three times, and listened again. And now a repetition of her signal could be heard from the other side, and she cried in clear and silvery tones, "Good-morning, good-morning!" A deep, manly voice returned her greeting from the other side of the wall.
"It is he!" murmured the lady, and quickly drawing a key from her pocket, she opened the door.
The man who had been standing outside sprang forward through the open gate, and, bowing low to the lady, pressed her proffered hand to his lips.
"Good-morning, Count Manteuffel," said she, smiling. "Really you are as punctual as if coming to a rendezvous with your lady love."
"Tempi passali!" sighed the count. "I am married,"
"So am I," said the lady, laughing; "that is, however, no reason why—"
"You should not still have ardent and devoted admirers." said the count, interrupting her. "But you are still young and beautiful, while I have grown old. Tell me, kind lady, by what, art you have preserved the charming freshness of youth, and those bright and sparkling eyes by which I was so completely enslaved when I still had a heart?"
The lady gave him a penetrating, mocking look. "Count Manteuffel," said she, "you are so friendly, and your adoration is of so profound a nature, that you undoubtedly have some very particular favor to solicit at my hands. But come, let us enter that little pavilion; there we will find comfortable seats, and be secure from all interruption."
They passed silently along the wall to the pavilion, to which the same key gave access which had before opened the garden door.
"Here we are safe," said the lady, throwing back the lace veil which had concealed her face. "Come, count, let us be seated; and now tell me why you desired this meeting, and why it is that your valet was not sent as usual to deliver your letters and to receive mine?"
"I had an irresistible longing to see you, to behold once more your lovely countenance," said the count, with a deep sigh.
"But just now you said you had no heart," said the lady, laughing.
"You are the enchantress who recalls it to life. Really you do credit to your name, and, thanks to Madame Brandt, my heart is again in flames."
"Count, it is very evident that you are now playing a part to which you are not accustomed," exclaimed Madame Brandt, laughing. "When you attempt to act the lover you become insipid, while your are known and acknowledged to be one of the shrewdest and most ingenious of diplomatists. But no diplomatic subterfuges with me, I pray. Let us waste no time on the shell, but to the kernel at once! What do you require of me? In my last letter I gave you an accurate account of the state of affairs at court, and also of the state of my finances, which is precisely that of the prince royal's; that is, his purse is as empty as mine."
"And both of you have an empress who is only too happy to have the privilege of supplying this deficiency," said Count Manteuffel, drawing forth a well-filled purse, through the silken meshes of which gold glittered, and presenting it to the lady. "I am only sorry to say there are several empresses who have the inestimable privilege of assisting the prince royal and Madame Brandt."
"What do you mean, count? We no longer understand each other, and I beg of you not to speak in riddles, which I am not prepared to solve."
"I mean to say that the prince royal, in his moneyed embarrassments, no longer addresses himself to the Empress of Austria, although she, as his nearest relative, as the aunt of the princess royal, has undoubtedly the first claim to his confidence."
"But perhaps the purse of the Empress of Austria is insufficient to meet his demands," said Madame von Brandt.
"He should first have tested the purse of the empress, as he frequently did in former times—in times when not only the prince royal, but also his sister of Bairout, experienced the generosity of their imperial aunt. But the prince royal readily forgets the benefits which he has received."
"That he does," sighed Madame von Brandt. "We poor women are the greatest sufferers. He has loved us all, and forgotten us all."
"All?" asked Count Manteuffel.
"All, count! We are nothing more to him than the plaything of an idle hour; he then wearies of us, and throws us aside. There is but one whom he truly loves and constantly."
"And this lady's name?"
"The flute, count! Ah, you looked sadly crestfallen. True, this lady cannot be bribed, either with Austrian gold or with the flattery of the skilful Count Manteuffel; she is always discreet, always mysterious; she never betrays her lover. Ah, count, we might both learn something from this noble flute. Yes, believe me, I would try to be like her, if, unfortunately, I did not need so many things for which a flute has no use, and if the glitter of Austrian gold were not so alluring. But you, Count Manteuffel, why are you not like the flute? Why have you spies and eavesdroppers at all places? Why are you an Austrian spy at the court of Prussia—you who have wealth, rank, and standing which should place you above such paltry considerations?"
Count Manteuffel's brow darkened, and he compressed his lips angrily. But he quickly subdued this momentary irritation, and was once more the affable, easy, and attentive diplomat.
"I serve the Austrian court from inclination," said he, "from preference, and certainly with honest intentions. I serve that court, because I am deeply convinced that upon Austria devolves the privilege and duty of dethroning all other German princes, and uniting all Germany under one government, of converting Austria into Germany. Prussia must then cease to exist in Austria, and must bend the knee as a vassal. That is my political conviction, and I act in accordance with it."
"And for this political conviction you receive Austrian gold and Austrian decorations," observed Madame von Brandt, laughing. "For the sake of your political conviction you have spies at all points, at the court of Potsdam, at the court of Dresden, and even here at the little court at Rheinsberg. Not satisfied with having bought over the prince royal's cook, and induced him to keep a diary for your inspection,[3] you have also succeeded in securing the services of that humble and modest little person, Madame von Brandt, who well knows that all this costs your Grace a considerable amount of money. And now you wish to make me believe that you do these things on account of your political conviction. Softly, my dear count! I, too, am a little diplomat, and have my convictions, and one of these is, that Count Manteuffel has but one passion, and that is, to play a political role, and to make as much money in that way as he possibly can. And to the good Count Manteuffel it is a matter of perfect indifference whether this money comes from Prussian or from Austrian sources."
[3] "Youth of Frederick the Great," by Preuss, page 132.
"And why these amiable pleasantries?" said the count, with a forced smile.
"They mean, my dear count, that this miserable acting should cease; that we should lay aside our masks, and deal with each other truly and sincerely, when alone, as we are at present. I serve you, because I am paid for it; you serve Austria, because you are paid for it. If, in time of need, you were not at hand with a well-filled purse, I would cease to serve you; and you would no longer be enthusiastic on the subject of Austrian dominion, if Austria's money should cease to flow into your coffers. And now, my dear count, I believe we understand each other; and, without further circumlocution, what do you require of me—what have you to communicate?"
"I must speak with you on matters of very grave importance."
"I knew it! your flattery betrayed you," said Madame Brandt, "Well, begin."
"First of all, my dear baroness, you must know that the prince royal will in a few days be king."
"Not so, count; a courier arrived yesterday evening with the intelligence that his majesty was much better. The prince royal is so rejoiced that he has determined to give a fete in honor of Madame von Morien to-day."
"Does the prince royal still love this lady?"
"I told you before that he loved his flute alone," said Madame Brandt.
"Does he not, then, love the princess royal?"
"No! And perhaps he would not love her even if she were changed into a flute. He would probably say to Quantz, 'It is not made of good wood, and has a bad tone,' and would lay it aside."
"And do you believe he would do that with the princess? although she is no flute, do you believe he would cast her aside?"
"The princess dreads it."
"And so does the empress!"
"But why was a woman, who not only knows nothing about music, but has a hoarse and discordant voice, and who articulates so indistinctly that the prince royal could not understand her were she to say the wittiest things imaginable, why should such a woman have been given as a wife to a prince of such remarkable musical proclivities? One does not marry a woman merely to look at her."
"Then you believe the prince royal will separate himself from his wife as soon as he obtains his freedom, that is, when he becomes king?" observed Count Manteuffel, thoughtfully.
"Of that I know nothing, count. The prince never speaks of his wife, even to his most intimate friends; and in his tenderest moments Madame Morien herself endeavors in vain to obtain some information on this subject."
"The prince is very discreet and very suspicious. Madame Morien must be bought over," murmured the count.
"That will be a difficult task," said Madame Brandt. "She is unfortunately very rich, and attaches but little importance to money. I know of but one means. Procure for her a lover who is handsomer, more ardent, and more passionate than the prince royal, and she can be won! For it is well known that Madame Morien has a very susceptible heart."
"Baroness, no jesting, if you please; the matters under discussion are of the gravest importance, and our time is limited. Madame Morion must be won over. She alone can influence the prince through his heart, and her influence must be exerted to prevent a separation of the prince royal from his wife. You, my dear baroness, must induce Madame Morien to do this; you, with your bewitching eloquence, must make Madame Morien comprehend that this is the only means of doing penance for her sinful life, and that her only chance of reconciliation with Heaven depends upon her restoration of the faithless husband to the arms of his noble wife. She could, perhaps, save the princess royal and the imperial court the disgrace of a separation. The princess must remain the wife of the king. This is the only tie which can bind the king to Austria. The prince is surrounded by the enemies of Austria, of whom Suhm is the most dangerous."
"Well, he, at least, is not near the prince. You know that he is the ambassador of Saxony at the court of Petersburg."
"Therein lies the main difficulty! The prince royal places unlimited confidence in him, they correspond in characters which we have vainly endeavored to decipher; and the result of this correspondence is, that Suhm has already procured the prince royal a loan of ten thousand dollars from the Duke of Courland, and that he has now secured him the annual sum of twenty-four thousand dollars from the Empress Anne. These payments will continue until the prince ascends the throne; the first has just been received."[4]
[4] Oeuvres de Frederic le Grand, vol. xvi., pp. 340, 356, 360, 384.
"That is a fable," exclaimed Madame Brandt, laughing. "The prince is as poor as Job, and for some time past has been literally besieged by his creditors!"
"And it can be no other than Russia who assists him in these difficulties!" exclaimed Count Manteuffel, in despair. "We must leave nothing undone to lessen the influence of this dangerous enemy, and to win Prussia to Austrian interests. Germany wishes for peace, and Prussia and Austria must be on good terms. If Prussia and Austria were to take up arms against each other, the balance of power in Europe would be destroyed, and a war would be inaugurated which, perhaps, for years would deluge Germany with blood and tears! Austria will do all that lies in her power to avoid this; and we, my dear friend, will be Austria's allies, and will assist her to the best of our ability. Russia has given Prussia money, it is true, but an indebtedness of this kind ceases the moment the money is returned. When the prince royal ascends the throne, he will pay to Russia what he owes her, and with that all obligations will be at an end. Then another tie must be found to bind Austria more firmly to Prussia. And you must help to weave this tie. The prince royal must never be separated from his wife! The future queen of Prussia will then be the niece of the empress. The duties of a nephew will consequently devolve on the king. To unite the two houses more closely, another marriage must be brought about. The Prince Augustus William, the presumptive heir of the prince royal, must, like the latter, espouse a princess of the house of Brunswick—a sister of the princess royal."
"That is impossible!" exclaimed Madame Brandt, with vivacity.
"Impossible? Why impossible?"
"Because the heart of the Prince Augustus William is already filled with a deep and passionate love—a love which would even touch you, that is, if you are susceptible to pity."
"My dear madame, we are speaking of affairs of State, and you discourse of love! What have politics to do with love? The prince may love whom he will, provided he marries the Princess of Brunswick."
"But his is a great and noble, a real love, count—a love over which we have no power, in which the devil had no hand; a love as pure as Heaven, and deserving of Heaven's blessing! You must give this plan up, count; the Prince Augustus William will never marry the Princess of Brunswick. He is far too noble to give his hand without his heart, and that is devoted to the beautiful Laura von Pannewitz."
"A prince of the blood who loves a little maid of honor, and wishes to marry her?" exclaimed von Manteuffel, laughing loudly. "How romantic! how sublime! what excellent materials for a sentimental romance! My dear baroness, I congratulate you! This discovery does all honor to your poetical temperament."
"Mock me, if you will, count; but I repeat, nevertheless, Prince Augustus William will not marry the Princess of Brunswick, for he loves the beautiful maid of honor of the queen, and is determined to make her his wife."
"We will know how to break this determination," said Count Manteuffel. "The prince royal will assist us, depend upon it. He is not an enthusiastic lover, like Augustus William, and will never consent to his brother's making a misalliance."
"And I tell you, the prince would rather die than give up the beautiful Laura."
"Well, then she must give him up," said Count Manteuffel, with cruel composure.
"Poor Laura," said Madame Brandt, with a sigh, "she loves him so dearly! it will break her heart to lose him."
"Pshaw! the heart of every woman is broken one or more times, but it always heals again, and when warmed by a new love, the old scars disappear entirely. You, dear baroness, have experienced this in yourself. Have you no recollection of the days of our ardent and passionate love? Did we not expect to die when we were separated? Did we not wring our hands, and pray for death as a relief? And are we not still living, to smile pityingly at the pangs we then endured, and to remember how often we have experienced delight, how often love has since triumphed in our hearts?"
"It is true," sighed Madame Brandt, "we outlive our sorrows; the heart of women resembles the worm—it still lives and quivers, although cut in pieces."
"Well," said Count Manteuffel, laughing, "the heart of Laura von Pannewitz is merely a worm, and we will not hesitate to cut it in pieces, as it will still live merrily on. You, my dear friend, shall be the knife which performs the operation. Are you willing?"
For a moment Madame Brandt looked down sadly, and seemed lost in thought.
"True," she murmured, "we outlive it, but the best part of our being is destroyed! I should never have become what I am, if I had not been ruthlessly torn from my first dream of love. We will not kill Laura von Pannewitz's body, but her soul will suffer!"
"And as it is not our province to look after souls, that need give us no care; a political necessity demands that Prince Augustus William shall marry the Princess of Brunswick. It demands, moreover, that the prince royal shall not be divorced from his wife, but that the niece of the empress shall be Queen of Prussia. In both of these affairs we need your assistance. You must closely watch the Prince Augustus William and his lady love, and, at the proper time, bring the affair to light. By your eloquence you must convince Madame Morien that it is her duty to exert her influence with the prince royal to prevent his separation from his wife. This is your task, and a noble task it is. Its objects are—to protect the peace of married life; to recall two noble hearts to the duties which they owe to the world; and lastly, to create a new bond of union between two mighty German powers. The wife of the Emperor Charles VI., the noble empress, will not be ungrateful to her ally, Madame Brandt. On the day on which Prince William espouses the Princess Louisa Amelia of Brunswick, Madame Brandt will receive a present of twenty thousand dollars from the empress."
The countenance of Madame Brandt was radiant with pleasure and delight.
"The prince shall and will marry the Princess Louisa Amelia—my word for it. I am then to be the demon who, with his poisonous breath, destroys this romantic, this beautiful love; the evil genius who drives fair Laura to despair. But why should I pity her? She suffers the fate of all women—my fate. Who pitied, who saved me? No one listened to my cry of anguish, and no one shall heed the wailing cry of the fair Laura von Pannewitz. Count, she is condemned! But, hark! Do you not hear faint tones of distant music? The prince royal has arisen, and is playing the flute at his open window. We must now separate; the garden will soon be full of people, and we are no longer safe from intrusion. A boat-ride on the lake is in contemplation for the early morning hours, and then Chazot will read Voltaire's last drama to the assembled court."
Madame Brandt was not mistaken; the prince royal was awake, and was bringing a tribute to beautiful, sunny Nature in return for the sweetly-scented air that came through his window. There he stood, with the flute at his lips, and looked out at God's lovely, laughing world with a sparkling eye and joyful countenance. A cheerful quiet, a holy peace radiated from his beautiful face; his whole being seemed bathed in perfect harmony and contentment, and the soft, melting tones of his flute but echoed his thoughts. Suddenly he ceased playing, and slightly bowed his head to catch the sweet, dying notes that were still trembling in the air.
"That was good," said he, smiling, "and I believe I can note it down without exciting the anger of Quantz." He took his flute again, and softly repeated the air he had just finished. "I will write it immediately, and play it this evening before my critical musicians."
While speaking, Frederick left his bedroom, and passed into his library. On entering this room, a beautiful smile flitted over his face, and he bowed his head as if saluting some one. It would be impossible to imagine a more charming and tasteful room. It had been arranged according to the directions of the prince royal, and was in a great degree a true portrait of himself, a temple which he had erected to art, science, and friendship.
This room was in the new tower, and its circular form gave it a peculiar appearance. It was most appropriately compared to a temple. High glass cases around the walls contained the works of Voltaire, Racine, Moliere, and Corneille; those of Homer, Caesar, Cicero, and Ovid; also the Italian poets Dante, Petrarch, and Machiavel. All that had a good name in the literary world found its way into the library of the royal prince—all, excepting the works of German authors.
Between the book-cases, the shelves of which were ornamented here and there with busts of celebrated writers, were alcoves, in which stood small satin damask sofas, over which hung, in heavily-gilt frames, the portraits of Frederick's friends and contemporaries.
The largest and most beautiful was one of Voltaire. He had received the honored place; and when Frederick raised his eyes from his work, while sitting at his escritoire, they rested upon the smiling face of the talented French writer, whom the prince royal had selected as his favorite, and with whom he had for many years corresponded.
The prince went with hasty steps to his table, and, without noticing the sealed letters that were lying there, he took a piece of lined paper, and began to write, humming softly the melody he had just composed. He occasionally threw down his pen, and took the flute that was lying at his side, to try, before noting them, different accords and passages.
"It is finished at last," said the prince, laying aside his pen. "My adagio is finished, and I think Quanta will have no excuse for grumbling to-day; he must be contented with his pupil. This adagio is good; I feel it; I know it; and if the Bendas assume their usual artist airs, I will tell them—; no, I will tell them nothing," said the prince, smiling. "It is useless to show those gentlemen that I care for their approval, or court their applause. Ours is a pitiful race, and I see the time approaching when I shall despise and mistrust the whole world; and still my heart is soft, and gives a warm approval to all that is great and beautiful, and it would make me very happy to love and trust my fellow-men; but they do not desire it—they would not appreciate it. Am I not surrounded by spies, who watch all my movements, listen to every word I utter, and then pour their poison into the ear of the king? But enough of this," said the prince, after a pause. "This May air makes me dreamy. Away with these cobwebs! I have not time to sigh or dream."
He arose, and walked hastily up and down his room, then approached the escritoire, and took the letters. As his eye fell on the first, he smiled proudly.
"From Voltaire," he murmured softly, breaking the seal, and hastily opening the enclosure, which contained two letters and several loose scraps of printed matter. The prince uttered a cry of joyful astonishment, and scarcely noticing the two letters, he gazed with a half-tender, half-curious expression on the printed papers he held in his hand.
"At last! at last!" exclaimed the prince, "my wish will be accomplished. The first step toward fame is taken. I shall no longer be unknown, or only known as the son of a king, the inheritor of a throne. I shall have a name. I shall acquire renown, for I will be a poet, an author, and shall claim a place in the republic of genius. I shall not need a crown to preserve my name in history. The first step is taken. My 'Anti-Machiavel' is in press. I will tread under foot this monster of knavish and diabolic statecraft, and all Europe shall see that a German prince is the first to break a lance against this Machiavel, who is making the people the slaves of princes. By his vile principles, he is moulding princes into such monsters that all mankind must curse them."
And again looking at the paper, the prince read a few lines, his voice trembling with displeasure:
"If it is a crime to destroy the innocence of a private individual who exercises a limited influence, is it not far worse to undermine the moral character of princes who should exhibit to their subjects an example of goodness, greatness, kindness, and love? The plagues sent by Heaven are but passing, and destroy only in certain localities; and although most disastrous, their effects pass away in time. But the vices of kings create incurable misery; yes, misery enduring for generations. How deplorable is the condition of nations who have every evil to fear from their ruler, their property exposed to the covetousness of a prince, their freedom to his humor, and their lives to his cruelty!"
Frederick ceased, and turned over a few pages of his "Anti-Machiavel," and then continued to read:
"Machiavel speaks in his 'Principe' of miniature sovereigns, who, having but small states, can send no armies to the field. The author advises them to fortify their capitals, and in time of war to confine themselves and their troops to them.
"The Italian princes, of whom Machiavel speaks, only play the part of men before their servants. Most of the smaller princes, and especially those of Germany, ruin themselves by spending sums far exceeding their revenues, and thus by vanity are led to want. Even the youngest scion of the least important salaried prince imagines himself as great as Louis. He builds his Versailles, and sustains his army. There is in reality a certain salaried prince of a noble house, who has in his service all the varieties of guards that usually form the households of great kings, but all on so minute a scale that it is necessary to employ a microscope to distinguish each separate corps, and whose army is perhaps strong enough to represent a battle on the stage of Verona."
Prince Frederick laughed aloud. "Well, I think my most worthy cousin, Ernest Augustus, of Saxe-Weimar, will understand this allusion, and in gratitude for my giving his name to posterity in my 'Anti-Machiavel,' will unravel the mystery, and inform the world how it is possible, with the annual income of four hundred dollars, to keep a retinue of seven hundred men, a squadron of one hundred and eighty, and a company of cavalry; if he is capable of accomplishing this, without plunging into debt, he is certainly my superior, and I could learn a great deal from him. I could learn of him how to rid myself of this torment that I endure from day to day, from hour to hour. What could be a greater degradation to an honorable man than to be compelled to flatter the base pride of these vile usurers to whom I am forced to resort for the money I need; this money pressed, perhaps, from widows and orphans? To think that I, the inheritor of a kingdom, am in this condition—that I must lower myself to sue and plead before these men, while millions are lying in the cellars of my father's palace at Berlin! But what! Have I the right to complain? am I the only one who suffers from the closeness of the king? are not the people of Berlin crying for bread, whilst the royal larder is filled to overflowing? But patience! the day will come when the keys will be in my hands—on that day I will give the people what rightly belongs to them, bread. I will unlock the treasury, and set free the imprisoned millions. But what noise is this?" said the prince, approaching the door.
Loud and angry voices were heard from without. "I tell you I must and will speak with the prince royal," cried a threatening voice; "I have waited in vain for two months, in vain addressed to him the most modest and respectful letters; I have not even been deemed worthy to receive an answer. Now I have come to receive it in person, and I swear I will not leave this spot without an explanation with the prince royal."
"It is Ephraim," muttered Frederick, with a deep frown.
"Well, you can stand here until you become a pillar of salt, like your great-grandmother of old," cried another voice.
"This is Knobelsdorf," said Frederick.
"The idea is good," said the first voice, "but it is not I who will become a pillar of salt, but others will from fright and terror, when I come with my avenging sword; for justice I will have, and if I do not obtain it here, I shall go and demand it of the king."
"From the king! you do not know, then, that his majesty is dying?"
"Not so, not so! if that were so, I would not be here; I would have waited quietly for that justice from the new king which I demanded in vain from the prince royal. The king is recovering; I saw him in his arm-chair in the garden; for this reason I insist on speaking to the prince."
"But if I tell you his royal highness is still asleep?"
"I would not believe you, for I heard him playing on his flute."
"That was Quantz."
"Quantz! he is not capable of playing such an adagio; no, no, it could only have been the prince royal."
"Ah! this man wishes to bribe me with his flattery," said the prince, smiling, "and make me believe I am an Orpheus. Orpheus tamed lions and tigers with his music, but my flute is not even capable of taming a creditor."
"But I say it was Quantz," cried the poor frightened Knobelsdorf; "the prince still sleeps, or is in bed, for he is not well, and gave orders to admit no one."
"Ah! I know all about that; noble gentlemen are always ill if they have to breathe the same air with their creditors," said Ephraim, with a mocking smile; "but I tell you I will stay here until I have spoken to the prince, until he returns me four thousand dollars that I lent to him, more than a year ago, without interest or security. I must and will have my money, or I shall be ruined myself. The prince cannot wish that; he will not punish me so severely for the kindness and pity I showed to him in his greatest need."
"This is really too much," cried Knobelsdorf, "you are shameless; do you dare to speak of pity for the prince royal? do you dare to boast of having lent him money, while you only did it knowing he could and would repay you with interest?"
"If Ephraim knows that, he is cleverer than I am," said Frederick, smiling sadly; "although I am a prince, I do not know how to get the miserable sum of four thousand dollars. But I must leave poor Knobelsdorf no longer in this condition; I must quiet this uproar." And he hastened toward the door, as the noise without became louder and louder.
At this moment, while Knobelsdorf was threatening the Jew and calling the servants to thrust him out, the prince royal opened the door and showed his smiling face to the two combatants.
"Come in," said the prince, "I grant you the audience you so importunately demand."
Frederick stepped quietly back in his room, while Ephraim, confused and humiliated by the calm dignity of the prince, advanced with bowed head and downcast eyes.
"Dear Knobelsdorf," said Frederick, turning to his gasping secretary, who stood amazed behind the Jew, "I pray you to assemble all the ladies and gentlemen in the garden; we are going yachting; I will be with you in five minutes."
"Five minutes," said Ephraim to himself, as Knobelsdorf withdrew, "only one moment's audience for every thousand dollars! This is a proud debtor; I would have done better not to place myself in his power. But I will not be frightened, I will stand up boldly for my rights!"
"And now, what have you to say to me?" said the prince, fixing his angry eyes upon Ephraim.
"What have I to say to your highness!" said Ephraim, astonished. "More than a year ago I lent your highness four thousand dollars! I have as yet received neither principal nor interest."
"Well, what more?"
"What more!" said Ephraim.
"Yes, what more? It is impossible that you have come from Berlin to Rheinsberg to tell me what I have known for a year as well as yourself."
"I thought your highness had forgotten," said the Jew, fixing his eyes upon the prince, but casting them suddenly to the floor, as he met the flashing glance of Frederick.
"Forgotten," said he, shrugging his shoulders; "I have a good memory for every act of kindness, and also for every offence against the respect and reverence due to the son of the king."
His voice was so harsh and threatening, that Ephraim trembled in his inmost heart, and stammered some words of apology.
"My prince," said he, "I am a Jew, that is to say a despised, reviled, and persecuted man! no—not a man, but a creature—kicked like a dog when poor and suffering, and even when the possessor of gold and treasures, scarcely allowed human rights. It is better for the dogs than for the Jews in Prussia! A dog dare have its young, and rejoice over them, but the Jews dare not rejoice over their children! The law of the land hangs like a sword over them, and it may be that a Jewess may be driven out of Prussia because a child is born to her, only a specified number of Jews being allowed in this enlightened land! Perhaps the father is not rich enough to pay the thousand dollars with which he must buy the right to be a father every time a child is born to him! For this reason is gold, and again gold, the only wall of protection which a Jew can build up between himself and wretchedness! Gold is our honor, our rank, our destiny, our family, our home. We are nothing without gold, and even when we extend a golden hand, there is no hand advanced to meet it that does not feel itself contaminated by the touch of a Jew! Judge, then, your royal highness, how much we love, how highly we prize one to whom we give a part of our happiness, a part of our honor. I have done for you, my prince, what I have done for no other man. I have given you four thousand dollars, without security and without interest. I lent to Knobelsdorf, for the prince royal, upon his mere word, my honest gold, and what have I received? My letters, in which I humbly solicit payment, remain unanswered. I am mocked and reviled—the door contemptuously shut in my face, which door, however, was most graciously opened when I brought my gold. Such conduct is neither right nor wise; and as the worm turns when it is trodden upon, so is there also a limit to the endurance of the Jew. He remembers at last that he is also one of God's creatures, and that God himself has given him the passion of revenge as well as the passion of love. The Jew, when too long mishandled, revenges himself upon his torturers, and that will I also do, if I do not receive justice at your hands. That will I also do, if you refuse me my gold to-day."
"You have made a lengthy and impertinent speech!" said Frederick. "You have threatened me! But I will forgive you, because you are a Jew; because the tongue is the only weapon a Jew has, and knows how to use. I now advise you to put your sword in its sheath, and listen calmly to me. It is true, you have lent me four thousand dollars without security and without interest. You need not extol yourself for this, for you well know it is not the wish or the intention of the prince royal to oppress even the most pitiful of his subjects, or to withhold the smallest of their rights. You knew this; then why were you not satisfied to wait until I sent for you?"
"I can wait no longer, your highness," cried Ephraim, passionately. "My honor and credit are at stake. Count Knobelsdorf gave me his sacred promise that at the end of six months my money with interest should be returned. I believed him, because he spoke in the name of the prince royal. I now need this money for my business. I can no longer do without it. I must have it to-day."
"You must? I say you shall not receive one penny of it to-day, nor to-morrow, nor for weeks!"
"If your highness is in earnest, I must go elsewhere and seek redress."
"That means you will go to the king."
"Yes, your highness, I will!"
"Are you ignorant of the law by which all are forbidden to lend money to the princes of the royal house?"
"I am not ignorant of that law; but I know that the king will make an exception—that he will pay the money I lent to his successor. It is possible I may feel his crutch upon my back, but blows will not degrade me. The Jew is accustomed to blows and kicks—to be daily trodden under foot. Even if the king beats me, he will give me back my honor, for he will give me back my gold."
"Suppose that he also refuses you?"
"Then I will raise my voice until it is heard over the whole earth," cried Ephraim, passionately.
"Well, then, raise your voice and cry out. I can give you no gold to-day."
"No gold!" said Ephraim. "Am I again to be paid with cunning smiles and scornful words? You will withhold my gold from me? Because you are great and powerful, you think you can oppress and mistreat a poor Jew with impunity, but there is a God for the just and unjust, and He—"
He stopped. Before him stood Frederick, blazing with anger. His lips were pallid and trembling, his arm uplifted.
"Strike, your highness!—strike!" cried Ephraim, fiercely. "I deserve to be beaten, for I was a fool, and allowed myself to be dazzled with the glory of lending my gold to an unhappy but noble prince! Strike on, your highness! I see now that this prince is but a man like the rest; he scorns and loathes the poor Jew, but he will borrow his money, and defraud him of his rights."
Frederick's arm had fallen, and a soft smile played about his lips.
"No," said he, "you shall see that Frederick is not a man like other men. This day you shall have your money. I cannot pay you in money, but I will give you jewels, and horses from the stud that the king lately gave me."
"Then your highness has really no money?" said Ephraim, thoughtfully. "It was not then to frighten and torment the poor Jew that my gold was denied me. Can it be possible that the great Prince Frederick, on whom the hopes of the people rest, and who is already dearly loved by his future subjects, can be without money? Is it possible that he suffers like other men? My God! how dare we poor Jews complain when the heir to a throne is harassed for money, and must endure privations?"
The prince was not listening to Ephraim; he had opened a closet, and taken from it a silver-bound casket, and was gazing intently at its contents. He drew forth a large diamond cross and some solitaires and approached the Jew.
"Here are some jewels, I think, well worth your four thousand dollars; sell them and pay yourself," said the prince, handing him the sparkling stones.
Ephraim pushed the prince's hand gently back. "I lent gold, and gold only will I accept in payment."
The prince stamped impatiently upon the ground. "I told you I had no gold!"
"Then I cannot receive any," said Ephraim, passively. "The poor Jew will wait still longer; he will give to the prince royal the gold which he needs, and of which the poor Jew still has a little. I humbly ask your highness if you would not like to borrow another thousand, which I will gladly lend upon one condition."
"Well, and this condition?"
"Your highness is to pay me upon the spot the interest upon the four thousand in ready money? Does your highness understand? Just now you wished to pay my capital with diamonds and horses. Will you give me as interest a few costly pearls—pearls which lie hidden in that flute, and which appear at your magical touch? I will count this as ready money!"
Frederick came nearer to Ephraim, and eyeing him sternly, he said:
"Are you mocking me? Would you make of the prince royal a travelling musician, who must play before the Jew, in order to soften his heart?—would you—? Ah, Fredersdorf," said he, interrupting himself, as his valet approached him in a dusty travelling-suit, "have you just arrived from Berlin?"
"Yes, your highness; and as I was told who was importuning your highness, I came in without changing my dress. The banker gave me this package for you. I believe it is from Petersburg."
"From Suhm," said the prince, with a happy smile, and hastily breaking the seal, he drew from the package a letter and several books. Casting a loving glance at the letter, he laid it on his writing-table; then turning away, so as not to be seen by Ephraim, he took up the two books, and looked carefully at their heavily-gilded covers. Frederick smiled, and, taking a penknife, he hastily cut off the backs of the books, and took out a number of folded papers. As the prince saw them, a look of triumph passed over his expressive face.
"Ten thousand dollars!" said he to himself. "The empress and the Duke Biron have fulfilled their promise!"
Frederick took some of the papers in his hand, and walked toward Ephraim.
"Here are your four thousand dollars, and one hundred interest. Are you satisfied?"
"No, your royal highness, I am not satisfied! I am not satisfied with myself. When I came to Rheinsberg I thought I had been wronged. It now seems to me that I have wronged your highness!"
"Let that pass," said Frederick. "A prince must always be the scapegoat for the sin-offering of the people. They make us answerable for all their sufferings, but have no sympathy for us in our griefs. I owe you nothing more—you can go."
Ephraim bowed silently, and turned slowly toward the door. The eyes of the prince followed him with a kindly expression. He stepped to the table, and took up his flute. Ephraim had reached the door of the ante-chamber, but when he heard the soft melting tones of the flute, he stopped, and remained listening breathlessly at the outer door. The piercing glance of the prince rested on him; but he continued to play, and drew from his flute such touching and melancholy tones that the poor Jew seemed completely overcome. He folded his hands, as though engaged in fervent prayer; and even Fredersdorf, although a daily hearer of the prince, listened in breathless silence to those sweet sounds.
When the adagio was ended, the prince laid down his flute, and signed to Fredersdorf to close the door; he wished to give Ephraim an opportunity of slipping away unobserved.
"Did your highness know that the Jew was listening?" said Fredersdorf.
"Yes, I knew it; but I owed the poor devil something; he offered to lend me still another thousand dollars! I will remember this. And now, Fredersdorf, tell me quickly how goes it in Berlin? How is the king?"
"Better, your highness. He set out for Potsdam a few days since, and the pure fresh air has done him good. He shows himself, daily upon the balcony, in full uniform. The physicians, it is true, look very thoughtful; but the rest of the world believe the king is rapidly improving."
"God grant that the physicians may be again mistaken!" said the prince. "May the king reign many long and happy years! If he allow me to live as I wish, I would willingly give an arm if I could thereby lengthen his life. Well, now for mirth and song! We will be gay, and thus celebrate the king's improvement. Make, therefore, all liberal arrangements. Give the cook his orders, and tell the ladies and gentlemen assembled in the garden that I will be with them immediately."
The prince was now alone; he opened the letter he had received with the gold; his eye rested lovingly upon the handwriting of his distant friend, and his heart glowed as he read the words of friendship, admiration, and love from Suhm.
"Truly," he said, raising his eyes devoutly to heaven, "a faithful friend is worth more than a king's crown. In spite of all my brilliant prospects in the future, what would have become of me if Suhm had not stood by me for the second time and borrowed this money for me in Russia—this paltry sum, which I have in vain sought to obtain in my own land? My heart tells me to write a few lines at once to Suhm, expressing my unshaken friendship, my enduring love."
Frederick seated himself, and wrote one of those soul-inspiring letters for which he was so celebrated, and which ended thus: "In a short time my fate will be decided! You can well imagine that I am not at ease in my present condition. I have little leisure, but my heart is young and fresh, and I can assure you that I was never more a philosopher than now. I look with absolute indifference upon the future. My heart is not agitated by hope or fear, it is full of pity for those who suffer, of consideration for all honest men, and of tenderness and sympathy for my friends. You, whom I dare proudly count among the latter, may be more and more convinced that you will ever find in me what Orestes was to his Pylades, and that it is not possible for any one to esteem and love you more than your devoted Frederick."
"Now," said the prince, as he arose, "away with the burdens, the gravities and cares of life! Come, now, spirit of love! spirit of bliss! We will celebrate a feast this day in thy honor, thou goddess of youth and hope! Come, lovely Venus, and bring with thee thy son Cupid! We will worship you both. To you belongs this day, this night. You, goddess of love, have sent me the little Morien, that fluttering, light gazelle, that imperious, laughing fairy—that 'Tourbillon' of caprice and passion. Here is the poem I composed for her. Madame Brandt shall hand it to her, and shall lead the 'Tourbillon' into the temple of love. Away with earnest faces, dull eyes, and the wisdom of fools! Come over me, spirit of love, and grant me one hour of blessed forgetfulness."
The prince rang for his valet, and commanded him to lay out his latest French suit; he entered his boudoir, and with a comic earnestness, and the eager haste of a rash, impatient lover, he gave himself to the duties and arts of a royal toilet.