Berlin and Sans-Souci Part 49

"I pity you, but your misfortune is irremediable; and I cannot and will not attempt to alleviate it, for fear of compromising myself.

This is, therefore, my last letter--I can risk nothing more for you.

Do not attempt to write to me, for I should return your letter unopened. Our separation must be forever, but I will always remain your friend; and if I can ever serve you hereafter, I will do so gladly. Farewell, unhappy friend, you deserve a better fate."

[Footnote: Trenck's Memoirs, i., 86.]

"That is all?" said the king, as his sister ceased reading.

"That is all, sire."

"And you imagine that he will no longer believe in your love, when he receives this letter?" said the king, with a sad smile.

"I am sure he will not, for I tell him in this letter that I will risk nothing more for him; that I will not even attempt to alleviate his misery. Only when one is cowardly enough to sacrifice love to selfish fears, could one do this. I shall have purchased his liberty with his contempt."

"What would you have written if you had been permitted to follow the promptings of your heart?"

A rosy hue flitted over her countenance, and love beamed in her eyes. "I would have written, 'Believe in me, trust in me! For henceforth the one aim of my life will be to liberate you. Let me die when I have attained this aim, but die in the consciousness of having saved you, and of having been true to my love.'"

"You would have written that?"

"I would have written that," said she, proudly and joyfully. "And the truth of that letter he would not have doubted."

"Oh, woman's heart! inexhaustible source of love and devotion!"

murmured the king, turning away to conceal his emotion from his sister.

"Is this letter sufficient?" demanded the princess. "Shall Trenck be free?"

"I have promised it, and will keep my word. Fold the letter and direct it. It shall be forwarded at once."

"And when will he be free?"

"I cannot set him at liberty immediately. It would be setting my officers a bad example. But in three months he shall be free."

"In three months, then. Here is the letter, sire."

The king took the letter and placed it in his bosom.

"And now, my sister, come to my heart," said he, holding out his arms. "The king was angry with you, the brother will weep with you.

Come, Amelia, come to your brother's heart."

Amelia did not throw herself in his arms; she stood still, and seemed not to have heard, not to have understood his words.

"I pray that your majesty will allow me to retire," said she. "I think we have finished--we have to other business to transact."

"Oh! my sister," said Frederick, mournfully, "think of what you are doing; do not harden your heart against me. Believe me, I suffer with you; and if the only question were the sacrifice of my personal wishes, I would gladly yield. But I must consider my ancestors, the history of my house, and the prejudices of the world. Amelia, I cannot, I dare not do otherwise. Forgive me, my sister. And now, once more, let us hold firmly to each other in love and trust. Let me fold you to my heart."

He advanced and extended his hand, but his sister slowly recoiled.

"Allow me to remind your majesty that a poor unhappy woman is awaiting a word of consolation in the next room, and that this woman is Trenck's mother. She, at least, will be happy when I inform her that her son will soon be free. Permit me, therefore, sire, to take my leave, and bear her this good news."

She bowed formally and profoundly, and walked slowly across the room. The king no longer endeavored to hold her back. He followed her with a mournful, questioning glance, still hoping that she would turn and seek a reconciliation. She reached the door, now she turned. The king stepped forward rapidly, hut Princess Amelia bowed ceremoniously and disappeared.

"Lost! I have lost her," sighed the king. "Oh, my G.o.d! must I then part from all that I love? Was it not enough to lose my friends by death? will cruel fate also rob me of a loved and living sister? Ah!

I am a poor, a wretched man, and yet they call me a king."

Frederick slowly seated himself, and covered his face with his hands. He remained in this position for a long time, his sighs being the only interruption to the silence which reigned in the apartment.

"Work! I will work," said he proudly. "This is at least a consolation, and teaches forgetfulness."

He walked hurriedly to his escritoire, seated himself, and regarded the ma.n.u.scripts and papers which lay before him. He took up one of the ma.n.u.scripts and began to read, but with an impatient gesture he soon laid it aside.

"The letters swim before my eyes in inextricable confusion. My G.o.d, how hard it is to do one's duty!"

He rested his head on his hand, and was lost in thought for a long time. Gradually his expression brightened, and a wondrous light beamed in his eyes.

"Yes," said he, with a smile, "yes, so it shall be. I have just lost a much-loved sister. Well, it is customary to erect a monument in memory of those we love. Poor, lost sister, I will erect a monument to your memory. The king has been compelled to make his sister unhappy, and for this he will endeavor to make his people happy. And if there is no law to which a princess can appeal against the king, there shall at least be laws for all my subjects, which protect them, and are in strict accordance with reason, with justice, and the G.o.dly principle of equality. Yes, I will give my people a new code of laws. [Footnote: Rodenbeck, Diary, p. 137.] This, Amelia, shall be the monument which I will erect to you in my heart. In this very hour I will write to Cocceji, and request him to sketch the outlines of this new code of laws."

The king seized his pen and commenced writing. "The judges," said he, hastily penning his words, "the judges must administer equal and impartial justice to all without respect to rank or wealth, as they expect to answer for the same before the righteous judgment-seat of G.o.d, and in order that the sighs of the widows and orphans, and of all that are oppressed, may not be visited upon themselves and their children. No rescripts, although issued from this cabinet, shall be deemed worthy of the slightest consideration, if they contain aught manifestly incompatible with equity, or if the strict course of justice is thereby hindered or interrupted; but the judges shall proceed according to the dictates of duty and conscience."

The king continued writing, his countenance becoming more and more radiant with pleasure, while his pen flew over the paper. He was so completely occupied with his thoughts that he did not hear the door open behind him, and did not perceive the merry and intelligent face of his favorite, General Rothenberg, looking in.

The king wrote on. Rothenberg stooped and placed something which he held in his arms on the floor. He looked over toward the king, and then at the graceful little greyhound which stood quietly before him. This was no other than the favorite dog of the king, which had been lost and a captive. [Footnote: The greyhound had fallen into the hands of the Austrians at the battle of Sohr, and had been presented by General Nadasti to his wife as a trophy. When this lady learned that b.i.+.c.he had been a pet of the king, she at first refused to give it up: and only after several demands, and with much difficulty, could she be induced to return it. Rodenbeck, Diary, p.

126.]

The little b.i.+.c.he stood still for a moment, looking around intelligently, and then ran lightly across the apartment, sprang upon the table and laid its forepaw on the king's neck.

"b.i.+.c.he, my faithful little friend, is it you?" said Frederick, throwing his pen aside and taking the little animal in his arms.

b.i.+.c.he began to bark with delight, nestle closely to her master, and look lovingly at him with her bright little eyes. And the king--he inclined his face on the head of his faithful little friend, and tears ran slowly down his cheeks. [Footnote: Muchler, "Frederick the Great," p. 350. Rodenbeck, Diary, p. 137.]

"You have not forgotten me, my little b.i.+.c.he? Ah, if men were true, and loved me as you do, my faithful little dog, I should be a rich, a happy king!"

General Rothenberg still stood at the half-opened door. "Sire, said he, "is it only b.i.+.c.he who has the grandes and pet.i.tes entrees, or have I also?"

"Ah, it was then you who brought b.i.+.c.he?" said Frederick, beckoning to the general to approach.

"Yes, sire, it was I, but I almost regret having done so, for I perceive that b.i.+.c.he is a dangerous rival, and I am jealous of her."

"You are my best gentleman-friend, and b.i.+.c.he is my best lady- friend," said the king, laughing. "I shall never forget that b.i.+.c.he on one occasion might have discovered me to the Austrians, and did not betray me, as thousands of men would have done in her place. Had she barked at the time when I had concealed myself under the bridge, while the regiment of pandours was pa.s.sing over, I should have been lost. But she conquered herself. From love to me she renounced her instincts, and was silent. She nestled close to my side, regarding me with her discreet little eyes, and licking my hand lovingly. Ah, my friend, dogs are better and truer than mankind, and the so-called images of G.o.d could learn a great deal from them!"

CHAPTER XIII.

THE FLIGHT.

Two months had pa.s.sed since Trenck's last attempted escape; two months of anguish, of despair. But he was not depressed, not hopeless; he had one great aim before his eyes--to be free, to escape from this prison. The commandant had just a.s.sured him he would never leave it alive.

This frightful picture of a life-long imprisonment did not terrify him, did not agitate a nerve or relax a muscle. He felt his blood bounding in fiery streams through his veins. With a merry laugh and sparkling eye he declared that no man could be imprisoned during his whole life who felt himself strong enough to achieve his freedom.