King Frederick William's end was approaching. Past was his power and greatness, past all his dreams of glory. Long did the spirit fight against the body; but now, after months of secret pain and torture, he had to acknowledge himself overpowered by death. The stiff uniform is no longer adapted to his fallen figure. Etiquette and ceremony had been banished by the all-powerful ruler—by death. He is no longer a king, but a dying man—nothing more. A father taking leave of his children, a husband embracing his wife for the last time; pressing his last kisses upon her tearful face, and pleading for forgiveness for his harshness and cruelty. Frederick William has made his peace with God and the world; his proud spirit is broken; his hard heart softened. Long he had striven in the haughtiness of his heart before acknowledging his sins, but the brave and pious Roloff approached his couch, and with accusations and reproaches awakened his slumbering conscience. At first he had but one answer to the priest's accusations, and that was proudly given: "I have ever been true to my wife." Roloff continued to speak of his extortions, oppressions, and inhumanity. Frederick William was at last convinced that he must lay down his crown and approach God with deep repentance, humbly imploring pardon and mercy.
Now that he had made his peace with God, there remained nothing for him to do but to arrange his earthly affairs, and take leave of his wife, and children, and friends. They were all called to his room that he might bid them farewell. By the side of the arm-chair, in which the king was reclining, wrapped in his wide silk mantle, stood his wife and the prince royal. His hands rested in theirs, and when he raised his weary eyes, he always met their tear-stained faces, their looks of unutterable love. Death, that would so soon separate them forever, had at last united in love father and son. Weeping loudly, Frederick William, folded the prince royal in his arms, and with a voice full of tears, exclaimed: "Has not God in his great mercy given me a noble son?" Prince Frederick bowed his head upon his father's breast, and prayed deeply and earnestly that his life might be spared.
But the end was approaching; the king knew and felt it. He had the long coffin, the same in which he had laid himself for trial a few months before, brought into his room, and looking at it sadly, said, with a peaceful smile: "In this bed I shall sleep well!" He then called his secretary, Eichel, and ordered him to read the programme of his funeral, which he had himself dictated.
It was a strange picture to see this king, lying by the side of the coffin, surrounded by his children and servants, his weary head reclining on the shoulder of his wife, listening attentively to this programme, that spoke of him a still living and thinking being, as of a cold, dead, senseless mass. Not as for a sad festival, but for a grand parade, had the king arranged it, and it made a fearful, half-comic impression upon the auditors, when was added, at the especial request of the king, that, after his laying out, a splendid table should be set in the great hall for all who had been present at the ceremony, and that none but the best wines from his cellar should be served.
After having provided for his corpse, Frederick William still wished to leave to each of his favorites, the Prince of Dessau and Baron Hacke, a horse. He ordered the horses to be led from their stalls to the court. He then desired his chair to be rolled to an open window, where he could see the entire court, and give a farewell look to each of these animals which had so often borne him to feasts and parades. Oh! what costly, glorious days those were, when he could lightly swing himself upon these proud steeds, and ride out into God's fresh, free air, to be humbly welcomed by his subjects, to be received with the roll of drums and the sound of trumpets, and every moment of his life be made aware of his greatness and power by the devotion and humility of those who surrounded him! And that was all set aside and at an end. Never again could he mount his horse, never again could he ride through the streets of Berlin, and rejoice over the beautiful houses and stately palaces called into life by his royal will. Never again will he receive the humble welcome of his subjects; and when on the morrow drums are beating and cannon thundering, they will not salute the king, but his corpse.
Oh! and life is so beautiful; the air is so fresh and balmy; the heavens of so clear and transparent a blue; and he must leave it all, and descend into the dark and lonely grave.
The king brushed a tear from his eye, and turning his gaze from heaven and God's beautiful earth, looked upon the horses which a servant was leading to and fro in the court. As he did this, his countenance brightened, he forgot for the moment that death was near at hand, and looked with eager attention to see which of the horses the gentlemen would choose. When he saw the selection the Prince of Dessau had made, he smiled, with the pitying look of a connoisseur.
"That is a bad horse, my dear prince," he exclaimed; "take the other one, I will vouch for him."
After the prince had chosen the horse shown him by the king, and Baron Hacke the other, he ordered the most magnificent and costly saddles to be placed on them; and while this was being done, he looked on with eager interest. Behind him stood the minister Rodewills, and the secretary of state, whom the king had summoned to his presence to receive his resignation, by which he transferred the kingly authority to his son the prince royal. Behind him stood Frederick and the queen, the generals and the priests. The king was unconscious of their presence; he had forgotten that he was dying; he thought only of his horses, and a dark cloud settled on his face as the groom buckled a saddle covered with blue velvet over the yellow silk housing of Prince Anhalt's horse.
"Oh, if I were only well, how I would beat that stupid boy!" exclaimed the king, in a loud, menacing voice. "Hacke, have the kindness to beat him for me."
The horses pointed their ears and neighed loudly, and the servants trembled at the voice of their master, who was speaking to them as angrily as ever, but in a deep, sepulchral voice.
But his anger was of short duration, and he sank back into his chair, breathing heavily and brokenly. He had not the strength to sign his resignation, and demanded to be taken from his chair and placed upon the bed.
There he lay motionless, with half-closed eyes, groaning and sighing. A fearful stillness reigned in the chamber of death. All held their breath; all wished to hear the last death-sigh of the king; all wished to witness the mysterious and inscrutable moment when the soul, freeing itself from its earthly tenement, should ascend to the spring of light and life as an invisible but indestructible atom of divinity. Pale and trembling the prince leaned over his father; the kneeling queen prayed in a low voice. With earnest and sorrowful faces the generals and cavaliers, physicians and priests, looked at this pale and ghost-like being, who but a few moments before was a king, and was now a clod of the valley. But no, Frederick William was not yet dead; the breath that had ceased returned to his breast. He opened his eyes once more, and they were again full of intelligence. He ordered a glass to be given him, and looked at himself long and attentively.
"I don't look as badly as I thought," said he, with the last fluttering emotion of human vanity. "Feel my pulse, doctor, and tell me how long I have still to live."
"Your majesty insists on knowing?"
"I command you to tell me."
"Well, then, your majesty is about to die," said Ellert, solemnly.
"How do you know it?" he asked, composedly.
"By your wavering pulse, sire."
The king held his arm aloft, and moved his hand to and fro.
"Oh, no," said he, "if my pulse were failing I could not move my hand; if—"
Suddenly he ceased speaking, and uttered a loud cry, his uplifted arm sinking heavily to his side.
"Jesus, Jesus!" murmured the king, "I live and die in Thee. Thou art my trust."
The last fearful prayer died on his lips, the spirit had flown, and Frederick was no longer a living, thinking being, but senseless, powerless clay.
The prince royal conducted the weeping queen from the apartment. The courtiers remained, but their features were no longer sad and sympathetic, but grave and thoughtful. The tragedy here was at an end, and all were anxious to see the drama from which the curtain was now to be drawn in the apartments of the prince royal. Frederick William had breathed his last, and was becoming cold and stiff; he was only a corpse, with which one had nothing more to do.
In unseemly haste they all crowded through the widely-opened folding doors of the death-chamber, and hastened into the ante-room that led to the young king's apartments.
Who will be favored, who receive the first rays of the rising sun? They all see a sunny future before them. A new period begins, a period of splendor, abundance, and joy; the king is young, and fond of display and gay festivities; he is no soldier king, but a cavalier, a writer, and a learned man. Art and science will bloom, gallantry and fashion reign; the corporal's baton is broken, the flute begins her soft, melodious reign.
Thus thought all these waiting courtiers who were assembled in the young king's ante-chamber. Thus thought the grand chamberlain Pollnitz, who stood next to the door that led to the chamber within. Yes, a new period must commence for him; his would be a brilliant future, for the prince royal had always been loving and gracious to him, and the young king must remember that it was Pollnitz who induced Frederick William to pay the prince's debts. The king must remember this, and, for the services he had rendered, raise him to honor and dignity; he must be the favorite, the envied, feared, and powerful favorite, before whom all should bend the knee as to the king himself. The king was young, inexperienced, and easily led; he had a warm heart, a rich imagination, and an ardent love of pleasure and splendor. These qualities must be cultivated in the young king; by these reins he would control him; and while intoxicated with pleasure and delight, he lay on his sweet-scented couch, strengthening himself for new follies, Pollnitz would reign in his stead, and be the real king.
These were no chimeras, no vain dreams, but a well-considered plan, in which Pollnitz had a powerful abettor in the person of Fredersdorf, chamberlain of the young king, who had promised that he should be the first that the king should call for.
For this reason Pollnitz stood nearest the door; for this reason he so proudly regarded the courtiers who were breathlessly awaiting the opening of that door.
There, the door opens, and Fredersdorf appears.
"Baron Pollnitz!"
"Here I am," exclaimed Pollnitz, casting a triumphant look at his companions, and following Fredersdorf into the royal presence.
"Well, have I not kept my promise?" said Fredersdorf, as they passed through the first room.
"You have kept yours, and I will keep mine; we will reign together."
"Step in, the king is there," said Fredersdorf.
The young king stood at the window, his forehead resting on the sash, sighing and breathing heavily, as if oppressed. As he turned, Pollnitz noticed that his eyes were red with weeping, and the courtier's heart misgave him.
A young king, just come into power, and not intoxicated by his brilliant fortune, but weeping for his father's death! It augured ill for the courtier's plans.
"All hail and blessing to your majesty!" exclaimed Pollnitz, bowing with apparent enthusiasm to kiss the king's robe.
The king stepped aside, motioned him off, and said, with a slight smile, "Leave these ceremonies until the coronation. I need you now for other things. You shall be master of etiquette and ceremonies at my court, and you will commence your duties by making the necessary arrangements for my father's funeral. Unhappily, I must begin my reign by disobeying my father's commands. I cannot allow this simple and modest funeral to take place. The world would not understand it, and would accuse me of irreverence. No, he must be interred with all the honors due to a king. That is my desire; see that it is accomplished."
The grand chamberlain was dismissed, and passed out of the royal chambers lost in contemplation of his coming greatness, when, suddenly hearing his name, he turned and perceived the king at the door.
"One thing more, Pollnitz," said the king, his eye resting with a piercing expression on the smiling countenance of the courtier; "one thing more—above all things, no cheating, no bad jokes, no overrating, no accounts written with double chalk. I will never forgive any thing of this kind, remember that."
Without awaiting an answer, the king turned and re-entered his room.
Baron Pollnitz stared after him with widely-distended eyes; he felt as if a thunderbolt had destroyed his future.
This was not the extravagant, voluptuous, and confiding monarch that Pollnitz had thought him, but a sober, earnest, and frugal king, that even mistrusted and saw through him, the wily old courtier.
Two days and nights had passed, and still no news from the prince royal. King Frederick William still lived, and the little court of Rheinsberg was consumed with impatience and expectation. All means of dissipation were exhausted. Time had laid aside its wing, and put on shoes of lead. She flew no longer, but walked like an aged woman. How long an hour seems, when you count the seconds! How terribly a day stretches out when, with wakeful but wearied eyes, you long for its close!
Kaiserling's wit and Chazot's merry humor, where are they? Why is Bielfeld's ringing laugh and the flute of Quantz silenced? All is quiet, all are silent and waiting, dreaming of the happiness in store for them, of the day of splendor, power, and magnificence that will dawn for the favorites and friends of the prince royal when he ascends the throne.
Is it not a proud and delightful thing to be the confidant and companion of a king—to spend with him his treasures and riches, to share with him the devotion and applause of the people?
Until now they had been forced to disguise their friendship and devotion for the prince royal. They trembled for fear of exciting the king's anger, and were in daily terror of being banished by him from the presence of their prince.
When the prince royal ascends the throne they will be his powerful and influential favorites, and their favor will be courted by all. They will be his co-regents, and through and with him will rule the nation.
It is, therefore, not astonishing that they look forward to his accession to the throne with longing and impatience; not astonishing that they curse these sluggish, slowly-passing hours, and would fain have slept, slept on until the great and blessed moment when they should be awakened with the news that their friend Prince Frederick had ascended the throne of his fathers, and was King of Prussia.
In the midst of this excitement the princess royal alone seemed quiet and unconstrained. She was calm and composed; she knew that the events of the next few days would determine her whole life; she feared that her happiness hung on the slender thread which bound the dying king to life.
But Elizabeth Christine had a brave heart and a noble soul; she had passed the night on her knees weeping and praying, and her heart was full of misery. She had at last become quiet and composed, and was prepared for any thing, even for a separation from her husband. If Frederick expressed such a wish, she was determined to go. Where? Anywhere. Far, far away. Whichever route she took, she was certain to reach her destination, and this destination was the grave. If she could not live with him, she would die! She knew this, and knowing it, she was tranquil, even happy.
"I invite all the ladies and gentlemen of the court to spend the evening in my room," she said, on the second day of this painful expectation; "we will endeavor to imagine that the prince royal is in our midst, and pass the hours in the usual manner; we will first go yachting; afterwards we will all take tea together, and Baron Bielfeld will read us a few chapters from the 'Henriade.' We will then play cards, and finish the evening with a dance. Does this programme meet with your approbation?" All murmured some words of assent and thanks, but their faces were nevertheless slightly clouded. Perceiving this, the princess royal said: "It seems that you are not pleased, that my suggestion does not meet with your approbation. Even the face of my little Louise von Schwerin is clouded, and the countenance of my good Countess Katsch no longer wears its pleasant smile. Well, what is it? I must know. Baron Bielfeld, I appoint you speaker of this discontented community. Speak, sir."
The baron smiled and sighed: "Your highness spoke a few days since of your gift of prophecy, and in fact you are a prophetess, and have seen through us. It is certainly a great happiness and a great honor to spend the evening in the apartments of the princess royal. But if your highness would allow us to ask a favor, it would be that our exalted mistress would condescend to receive us either in the garden saloon or music room, and not in your private apartments; for these apartments, beautiful and magnificent as they are, have one great, one terrible defect."
"Well," said the princess, as Bielfeld concluded, "I am curious to know what this defect is. I believed my rooms to be beautiful and charming; the prince royal himself regulated their arrangement, and Pesne and Buisson ornamented them with their most beautiful paintings. Quick then, tell me of this great defect!"
"Your highness, your apartments are in the right wing of the castle." The princess looked at him inquiringly, astonishment depicted in her countenance, and then laughed.
"Ah, now I see, my apartments are in the right wing of the castle; that is, from there you cannot watch the great bridge, over which all that come from Berlin or Potsdam must pass. You are right, this is a great defect. But the music room is in the left wing, and from there you can see both the bridge and the road. Let us, then, adjourn to the music room for our reading, and when it becomes too dark to see, we will play cards in my apartments."
They all followed the princess to the music room, where by chance or out of mischief the princess chose the seat farthest from the window, and thus compelled the company to assemble around her. As they followed her, they all looked longingly through the window and toward the bridge, over which the messenger of happiness might at any moment pass.
Bielfeld took the book selected by the princess, and commenced reading. But how torturing it was to road, to listen to these pathetic and measured Alexandrines from the "Henriade," while perchance in this same hour a new Alexander was placing the crown upon his young and noble head! In fact, but little was heard of these harmonious verses. All looked stealthily toward the window, and listened breathlessly to every sound that came from the road. Bielfeld suddenly ceased reading, and looked toward the window.
"Why do you not read on?" said the princess.
"Excuse me, I thought I saw a horse's head on the bridge!"
Forthwith, as if upon a given signal, they all flew to the windows; the princess herself, in the general commotion, hastened to one.
Yes! Between the trees something was seen moving. There it is coming on the bridge now! A peal of laughter resounded through the rooms. An ox! Count Bielfeld's courier had transformed himself into an ox!
They all stole back to their seats in confusion, and the reading was recommenced. But it did not last long; again Bielfeld came to a stop.
"Pardon me, your highness, but now there is positively a horse on the bridge."
Again they all rushed anxiously to the window. It certainly was a horse, but its rider was not a royal messenger, but a common peasant.
"I see," said the princess, laughing, "that we must discontinue our reading. Let us walk in the left wing of the garden, and as near the gate as possible."
"Will the sun never set?" whispered Bielfeld to Count Wartensleben, as they walked up and down. "I fear another Joshua has arrested its course."
But it set at last; it was now evening, and still no courier had passed the bridge. They accepted the princess' invitation, and hastened to her apartments and to the card-tables. And on this occasion, as heretofore, the cards exercised a magic influence over the inhabitants of Rheinsberg, for they were striving to win that, from the want of which, not only the prince but all his courtiers had so often suffered—gold! Count Wartensleben had lately arrived and brought with him a well-filled purse, which Bielfeld, Kaiserling, and Chazot were anxious to lighten.
The princess played with her maids of honor a game called Trisset, in her boudoir, while the rest of the company, seated at several tables in the adjoining room, played their beloved game of quadrille. The door suddenly opened, and a valet appeared. In passing the table at which Count Wartensleben, Bielfeld, and several ladies were playing, he stealthily showed them a letter with a black seal, which he was about to deliver to the princess.
"The king is then dead!" murmured they, hastily throwing their cards on the table; the counters fell together, but they looked at them in disdain. What cared they for a few lost pennies, now that their prince had become king?
Count Wartensleben arose and said in a solemn voice: "I will be the first to greet the princess as queen, and I will exert every effort to utter the word 'majesty' in a full, resounding tone."
"I will follow you," said Bielfeld, solemnly.
And both advanced to the open door, through which the princess could be seen still occupied in reading her letter. She seemed unusually gay, and a bright, smile played upon her lips. Accidentally looking up, she perceived the two cavaliers advancing slowly and solemnly toward her.
"Ah, you know, then, that a courier has at last crossed that fatal bridge, and you come for news of the prince royal?"
"Prince royal?" repeated Wartensleben, in amazement. "Is he still the prince royal?"
"You then thought he was king!" exclaimed the princess, "and came to greet me as your queen?"
"Yes, your highness, and the word 'majesty' was already on my lips."
They all laughed heartily, and jested over this mistake, but were nevertheless thankful when they were at last dismissed and were allowed to retire to their rooms. When entirely alone, the princess drew from her bosom the letter she had received, to read it once more; she cast a loving and tender glance at the characters his hand had traced, and as her eyes rested on his signature, she raised the paper to her lips and kissed it.
"Frederick," whispered she, "my Frederick, I love you so deeply that I envy this paper which has been touched by your hand, and upon which your glorious eyes have rested. No, no," said she, "he will not cast me off. Is it not written here—'In a few days I and the people will greet you as Queen.' No, he could not be so cruel as to set the crown on my head, and then cover it with ashes. If he acknowledges me as his wife and queen before his people, and before Germany, it must be his intention never to disown me, but to let me live on by his side. Oh, he must surely know how truly I love him, although I have never had the courage to tell him so. My tears and my sighs must have whispered to him the secret of my love, and he will have compassion with a poor wife who asks but to be permitted to adore and worship him. And who knows but that he may one day be touched by this great love, that he will one day raise up the poor woman who now lies trembling at his feet, and press her to his bosom. Oh, that this may be so, my God; let it be, and then let me die!"
She sank back on her couch, and, pressing the letter to her lips, whispered softly: "Good-night, Frederick, my Frederick!" She smiled sweetly as she slept. Perhaps she was dreaming of him.
A deep silence soon reigned throughout the castle. All the lights were extinguished. Sleep spread its wings over all these impatient and expectant hearts, and fanned them into forgetfulness and peaceful rest.
All slept, and now the long-expected courier is at last passing over the bridge, which trembled beneath his horse's feet, but none hear him, all are sleeping so soundly. His knocks resound through the entire castle. It is the herald of the new era, which sheds its first bright morning rays over the evening of the dark and gloomy past.
Now all are awake, and running to and fro through the halls, each one burning with eagerness to proclaim the joyful news: "Frederick is no longer prince royal. Frederick is king and the ruler of Prussia!"
Bielfeld is awakened by a loud knocking; he springs hastily out of bed and opens the door to his friend Knobelsdorf. "Up, up, my friend," exclaims the latter. "Dress quickly. We must go down and congratulate the queen; we must be ready to accompany her immediately to Berlin. Frederick William is dead, and we will now reign in Prussia."
"Ah, another fairy tale," said Bielfeld dressing hastily; "a fairy tale, by which we have been too often deceived to believe in its truth."
"No, no, this time it is true. The king is dead, quite dead! Jordan has received orders to embalm the corpse, and once in his hands, it will never come to life again."
Bielfeld being now ready, the two friends hurried to the ante-chamber that led to the princess royal's apartments. The entire court of the new queen had assembled in this chamber, and they were endeavoring to suppress their joy and delight, and to look grave and earnest in consideration of the solemnity of the occasion. They conversed in whispers, for the bed-chamber of the princess was next to this room, and she still slept.
"Yes, the princess royal sleeps, but when she awakes she will be a queen! She must be awakened, to receive her husband's letter."
The Countess Katsch, with two of Elizabeth's maids of honor, entered her bed-chamber, well armed with smelling-bottles and salts. Elizabeth Christine still slept. But on so important an occasion the sleep even of a princess was not considered sacred. The countess drew back the curtains, and Elizabeth was awakened by the bright glaring light. She looked inquiringly at the countess, who approached her with a low and solemn courtesy.
"Pardon me for waking your majesty—"
"Majesty, why 'your majesty?'" said the princess, quickly. "Has another ox or horse crossed the fatal bridge?"
"Yes, your majesty, but it was Baron Villich's horse, and he brought the news that King Frederick William expired yesterday at Potsdam. I have a smelling-bottle here, your majesty; allow me to hold—"
The young queen pushed back the smelling-bottle; she did not feel in the least like fainting, and her heart beat higher.
"And has the baron brought no letter for me?" said she, breathlessly.
"Here is a letter, your majesty."
The queen hastily broke the seal. It contained but a few lines, but they were in her husband's handwriting, and were full of significance. To her these few lines indicated a future full of splendor, happiness, and love. The king called her to share with him the homage of his subjects. It is true there was not a word of tenderness or love in the letter, but the king called her to his side; he called her his wife.
Away, then, away to Berlin, where her husband was awaiting her; where the people would greet her as their queen; where a new world, a new life would unfold itself before her; a life of proud enjoyment! For Elizabeth will be the queen, the wife of Frederick. Away, then, to Berlin!
The queen received the congratulations of her court in the music-room. And now to Berlin, where a new sun has risen, a King Frederick the Second!
The cannon thundered, the bells rang loudly and merrily; the garrison in Berlin took the oath, as the garrison in Potsdam had done the day before.
The young king held his first great court to-day in the White Saloon. From every province, from every State, from every corporation, deputations had arrived to look upon the long-hoped-for king, the liberator from oppression, servitude, and famine. Delight and pure unqualified joy reigned in every heart, and those who looked upon the features of Frederick, illuminated with kindliness and intellect, felt that for Prussia it was the dawning of a new era.
But who was called to assist in organizing this new movement? Whom had the king chosen from amongst his friends and servants? whom had he set aside? upon whom would he revenge himself? Truth to tell, there were many now standing in the White Saloon who had often, perhaps, in obedience to the king's command, brought suffering and bitter sorrow upon the prince royal; many were there who had humbled him, misused his confidence, and often brought down his father's rage and scorn upon him.
Will the king remember these things, now that he has the power to punish and revenge his wrongs? Many had entered the White Saloon trembling with anxiety; timidly keeping in the distance; glad that the eye of the king did not rest upon them; glad to slip unseen into a corner.
But nothing escaped the eye of Frederick; he had remarked the group standing in the far-off window; he understood full well their restless, disturbed, and anxious glances. A pitiful and sweet smile spread over his noble features, an expression of infinite gentleness illumined his face; with head erect he drew near to this group, who, with the instinct of a common danger, pressed more closely together, and awaited their fate silently.
Who had so often and so heavily oppressed the prince as Colonel Derchau? who had mocked at him and persecuted him so bitterly? who had carried out the harsh commands of the king against him so unrelentingly? It was Derchau and Grumbkow who presided at the first cruel trial of "Captain Fritz," and had repeated to him the hard and threatening words of the king. "Captain Fritz" had wept with rage, and sworn to revenge himself upon these cruel men. Will the king remember the oath of the captain? The king stood now near the colonel; his clear eye was fixed upon him. This man, who had prepared for him so many woes, now stood with bowed head and loudly-beating heart, completely in his power. Suddenly, with a rash movement, the king extended his hand, and said, mildly:
"Good-day, Derchau." It was the first time in seven years that Frederick had spoken to him, and this simple greeting touched his heart; he bowed low, and as he kissed the outstretched hand, a hot tear fell upon it. "Colonel Derchau," said the king, "you were a faithful and obedient servant to my royal father; you have punctually followed his wishes and given him unconditional obedience. It becomes me to reward my father's faithful subject. From to-day you are a major-general."
As the king turned, his eye fell upon the privy councillor Von Eckert, and the mild and conciliating expression vanished from his features; he looked hard and stern.
"Has the coat-of-arms been placed upon the house in Jager Street?" said the king.
"No, your majesty."
"Then I counsel you not to have it done; this house is the property of the crown, and it shall not be sacrificed by such folly. Go home, and there you will receive my commands."
Pale and heart-broken, Eckert glided from the group; mocking laughter followed his steps through the saloons; no one had a word of regret or pity for him; no one remembered their former friendship and oft-repeated assurances of service and gratitude. He passed tremblingly through the palace; as he reached the outer door, Pollnitz stepped before him; a mocking smile played upon his lips, and his glance betrayed all the hatred which he had been compelled to veil or conceal during the life of Frederick William.
"Now," said he, slowly, "will you send me the wine which you promised from your cellar? You UNDERSTAND, the wine from your house in Jager Street, for which I arranged the coat-of-arms! Ah, those were charming days, my dear privy councillor! You have often broken your word of honor to me, often slandered me, and brought upon me the reproaches of the king. I have, however, reason to be thankful to you; this house which you have built in Jager Street is stately and handsome, and large enough for a cavalier of my pretensions. You have, also, at the cost of the king, furnished it with such princely elegance that it is in all things an appropriate residence for a cavalier. Do you not remember my description of such a house? The king called it then a Spanish air-castle. You, great-hearted man, have made my castle in the air a splendid reality, and now that it is finished and furnished, you will, in your magnanimity, leave that house to me. I shall be your heir! You know, my dear Eckert, that the privy councillor is dead, and only the chimney-builder lives; and even the adroit chimney-builder is banished from Berlin, and must remain twenty miles away from his splendid home. But tell me, Eckert, when one of my chimneys smokes, may I not send a messenger to you, will you not promise me to come and put things in order for me?"
Eckert muttered some confused words, and tried to force Pollnitz from the door, before which the hard-hearted, spiteful courtier had placed himself, like the angel with the avenging sword.
"You wish to go," said he, with assumed kindliness. "Oh, without doubt you wish to see the royal commands now awaiting you at your house. I can tell you literally the sentence of the king: you have lost your office, your income, your rank, and you are banished from Berlin! that is all. The king, as you see, has been gracious; he could have had you executed, or sent to Spandau for life, but he would not desecrate his new reign with your blood. For this reason was he gracious."
"Let me pass," said Eckert, trembling, and pale as death. "I am choking! let me out!"
Pollnitz still held him back. "Do you not know, good man, that a thousand men stand below in the courtyard? do you not hear their shouts and rejoicings? Well, these hurrahs will be changed into growls of rage when the people see you, my dear Eckert; in their wild wrath they might mistake you for a good roast, with which to quiet their hunger. You know that the people are hungry; you, who filled the barns of the king with grain, and placed great locks and bars upon the doors, lest the people, in their despairing hunger, might seize upon the corn! You even swore to the king that the people had enough, and did not need his corn or his help! Listen, the people shout again; I will not detain you. Go and look upon this happy people. The king has opened the granaries and scattered bread far and wide, and the tax upon meal is removed for a month.[8] Go, dear Eckert, go and see how happy the people are!"
[8] See King's "History of Berlin," vol. v. The king's own words.
With a wild curse Eckert sprang from the door; Pollnitz followed him with a mocking glance. "Revenge is sweet," he said, drawing a long breath; "he has often done me wrong, and now I have paid him back with usury. Eckert is lost. Would that I had his house! I must have it! I will have it! Oh, I will make myself absolutely necessary to the king; I will flatter, I will praise, I will find out and fulfil his most secret, his unspoken wishes. I will force him to give me his confidence—to make me his maitre de plaisir. Yes, yes, the house in Jager Street shall be mine! I have sworn it, and Fredersdorf has promised me his influence. And now to the king; I must see for myself if this young royal child can, like Hercules in his cradle, destroy serpents on the day of his birth; or, if he is a king, like all other kings, overcome by flattery, idle and vain, knowing or acknowledging no laws over himself, but those of his own conscience and his bon plaisir. But hark! that is the king's voice; to whom is he speaking?"
Pollnitz hastened into the adjoining room; the king was standing in the midst of his ministers, and a deputation of magistrates of Berlin, and was in the act of dismissing them.
"I command you," said the king, in conclusion, turning to his ministers, "as often as you think it necessary to make any changes in my orders and regulations, to make known your opinions to me freely, and not to be weary in so doing; I may, unhappily, sometimes lose sight of the true interests of my subjects; I am resolved that whenever in future my personal interest shall seem to be contrary to the welfare of my people, their happiness shall receive the first consideration."
"Alas, it will be very difficult to tame this youthful Hercules!" murmured Pollnitz, glancing toward the king, who was just leaving the apartment; "the serpents that we will twine about him must be strong and alluring; now happily Fredersdorf and myself are acquainted with some such serpents, and we will take care that he finds them in his path."
In the mean time the king had left the reception-room, and retired to his private apartments, where the friends and confidants from Rheinsberg awaited him with hopeful hearts. They were all ready to receive the showers of gold, which, without doubt, would rain down upon them. They were all convinced that the young king would lay upon them, at least, a corner of the mantle of ermine and purple with which his shoulders should be adorned. They alone would be chosen to aid in bearing the burden of his kingly crown and royal sceptre. They were all dreaming of ambassadorships, presidencies, and major-generals' epaulettes.
As the king entered, they received him with loud cries of joy. The Margrave Henry, who had often borne a part in the gay fetes at Rheinsberg, hastened to greet the king with gay, witty words, and both hands extended. Frederick did not respond to this greeting; he did not smile; looking steadily at the Margrave, he stepped back and said:
"Monsieur, now I am the king; no longer the gardener at Rheinsberg." The king read the pained astonishment in the faces of his friends who, one moment before, had been so HOPEFUL, so assured; he advanced and said, in a kindly tone, "We are no longer in Rheinsberg. The beautiful proverb of Horace belongs to our past. 'Folly is sweet in its season.' There I was the gardener and the friend—here I am the king; here all must work, and each one must use his talents and his strength in the service of the State, and thus prove to the people that the prince had reason to choose him for a friend."
"And may I also be a partaker of that grace and be counted amongst the friends of the king?" said the old Prince of Anhalt Dessau, who, with his two sons, had just entered and heard the last words of Frederick; "will your majesty continue to me and my sons the favor which your ever-blessed father granted to us during so many long and happy years? Oh, your majesty, I beseech you to be gracious to us, and grant us the position and influence which we have so long enjoyed." So saying, the old prince bent his knee to his youthful monarch. The king bowed his head thoughtfully, and a smile played upon his lips; he gave his hand to the prince, and commanded him to rise.
"I will gladly leave you your place and income, for I am sure you will serve me as faithfully and zealously as you did my father. As regards the position and influence which you desire, I say to you all, no man under my reign will have position but I myself, and not even my best friend will exercise the slightest influence over me."
The friends from Rheinsberg turned pale, and exchanged stolen glances with each other. There was no more jesting; the hand of ice had been laid upon their beating hearts, and the wings of hope were broken. The king did not seem to remark the change; he drew near to his friend Jordan, and taking his arm, walked to the window, and spoke with him long and earnestly.
The courtiers and favorites looked after their happy friend with envious glances, and observed every shade in the countenances of the king and Jordan. The king was calm, but an expression of painful surprise settled like a cloud upon Jordan. Now the king left the window, and called Bielfeld to him; spoke with him also long and gravely, and then dismissed him, and nodded to Chazot to join him; lastly he took the arm of the Duke of Wartensleben, and walked backward and forward, chatting with him. The duke was radiant with joy, but the other courtiers looked suspicious and lowering; with none of them had he spoken so long; no other arm had he so familiarly taken. It was clear that Wartensleben was the declared favorite of the king; he had driven them from the field.
The king observed all this; he had read the envy, malice, rage, and melancholy in the faces of his friends; he knew them all too well; had too long observed them, not to be able to read their thoughts. It had pleased him to sport awhile with these small souls, so filled with selfishness, envy, and every evil passion; he wished to give them a lesson, and bring them down from their dizzy and imaginary heights to the stern realities of life. The king had used Wartensleben as his instrument for this purpose, and now must the poor duke's wings be clipped. The mounting waves of his ambition must be quieted by the oil of truth.
"Yes," said the king, "I am the ruler of a kingdom; I have a great army and a well-filled treasury, you cannot doubt that it is my highest aim to make my country blossom as the rose; to uphold the reputation of my army, and to make the best use of my riches. The gold is there to circulate; it is there to reward those who faithfully serve their fatherland; but above all other things it is there for those who are truly my friends."
The features of the young duke were radiant with expectation; as the king saw this, a mocking smile flashed from his eye.
"I will, however, naturally know how to distinguish between my friends, and those who do not need gold will not receive it. You, for example, my dear duke, are enormously rich; you will content yourself, therefore, with my love, as you will naturally never receive a dollar from me." So speaking, he nodded kindly to the duke, passed into the next room, and closed the door behind him. Grave and dumb, the friends from Rheinsberg gazed upon each other; each one regarded the other as his successful rival, and thought to see in him what he had not become—a powerful favorite, a minister, or general. All felt their love growing cold, and almost hated the friends who stood in their way. Jordan was the first who broke silence. Reaching his hand to Bielfeld, he said:
"It must not be thought that disappointed hopes have hardened our hearts, and that envy blinds us to the advantages of our friends. I love you, Bielfeld, because of your advantages and talents; and I understand full well why the king advances you before me. Receive also my good wishes, and be assured that from the heart I rejoice in your success."
Bielfeld looked amazed. "My success!" said he. "Dear friend, you need not be envious; and as to my advancement, it is so small an affair that I can scarcely find it. The king said he intended me for a diplomatist, but that I needed years of instruction. With this view he had selected me to accompany Duke Truckfess to Hanover. When I returned from there, I would receive further orders. This is my promotion, and you must confess I make a small beginning. But you, dear Jordan, what important position have you received? You are the king's dearest friend, and he has without doubt advanced you above us all. I acknowledge that you merit this. Tell us also what are you?"
"Yes," cried they all eagerly, "what are you? Are you minister of State or minister of Church affairs?"
"What am I?" cried Jordan, laughing. "I will tell you, my friends. I am not minister of Church affairs; I am not minister of State. I am—ah, you will never guess what I am—I belong to the police! I must remove the beggars from the streets of Berlin, and found a workhouse for them. Now, dear friends, am I not enviable?" For a moment all were silent; then every eye was fixed upon Wartensleben.
"And you, dear duke, are you made happy? You have cut open the golden apple; you have the longed-for portfolio."
"I!" cried the duke, half angry, half merry. "I have nothing, and will receive nothing. I will tell you what the king said to me. He assured me earnestly and solemnly that I was rich enough, and would never receive a dollar from him."
At this announcement they all broke out in uproarious laughter. "Let us confess," said Bielfeld, "that we have played to-day a rare comedy—a farce which Moliere might have written, and which must bear the title of La Journee des Dupes. Now, as we have none of us become distinguished, let us all be joyful and love each other dearly. But listen! the king plays the flute; how soft, how melting is the sound!"
Yes, the king played the flute; he cast out with those melodious strains the evil spirit of ennui which the tiresome etiquette of the day had brought upon him. He played the flute to recover himself—to regain his cheerful spirit and a clear brow. Soon he laid it aside, and his eye rested upon the unopened letters and papers with which the table was covered. Yes, he must open all these letters, and answer them himself, he alone. Nobody should do his work; all should work only through him; no one should decree or command in Prussia but the king. Every thing should flow from him. He would be the heart and soul of his country.
Frederick opened and read the letters, and wrote the answer on the margin of the paper, leaving it to the secretary to copy. And now the work was almost done; the paper with the great seal, which he now opened, was the last.
This was a declaration from the Church department, which announced that, through the influence of the Catholic schools in Berlin, many Protestants had become Catholics. Did not his majesty think it best to close these schools? A pitiful smile played upon the lips of Frederick as he read. "And they say they believe in one God, and their priests and ministers preach Christian forbearance and Christian love, while they know nothing of either. They have not God, but the Church, always before their eyes; they are intolerant in their hearts, imperious, and full of cunning. I will bend them, and break down their assumed power. My whole life will be a battle with priests; they will mock at me, and call me a heretic. Let the Church be ever against me, if my own conscience absolves me. Now I will begin the war, and what I now write will be a signal of alarm in the tents of all the pious priests."
He took up the paper again and wrote on the margin, "All religions shall be tolerated. The magistrates must have their eyes open, and see that no sect imposes on another. In Prussia each man shall be saved in his own way."[9]
[9] Busching. The king's words.