Berlin and Sans-Souci Part 64

"By which, happily, no soldiers and only a few wigs were left behind. But see how grave and mute our very worthy abbe appears--I believe he is envious of the miracle I performed! And now it is your turn, Bastiani: give us your story--a history of some of the lovely Magdalens you have encountered."

"Ah, sire! will not your majesty excuse me?" said the abbe, bowing low. "My life has been the still, quiet, lonely, unostentatious life of a priest, and only the ever-blessed King Frederick William introduced storm and tempest into its even course. That was, without doubt, G.o.d's will; otherwise this robust and giant form which He gave me would have been in vain. My height and strength so enraptured the emissaries of the king, that in the middle of the service before the altar, as I was reading ma.s.s, they tore me away without regarding the prayers and outcries of my flock. I was violently borne off, and immediately enrolled as a soldier."

[Footnote: Thiebault.]

"A wonderful idea!" cried Voltaire, "to carry off a priest in his vestments and make a soldier of him; but say, now, abbe, could you not, at least, have taken your housekeeper with you? I dare say she was young and pretty."

"I do not know," said Bastiani; "I am, as you know, very short- sighted, and I never looked upon her face; but it was a great misfortune for a priest to be torn from the Tyrolese mountains and changed into a soldier. But now, I look upon this as my greatest good fortune; by this means were the eyes of my exalted king fixed upon me; he was gracious, and honored me with his condescending friends.h.i.+p."

"You forget there is no king here, and that here no man must be flattered," said Frederick, frowning.

"Sire, I know there is no king present, and that proves I am no flatterer. I speak of my love and admiration to my king, but not to his face. I praise and exalt him behind his back; that shows that I love him dearly, not for honor or favor, but out of a pure heart fervently."

"What happiness for your pure and unselfish heart, that your place of canonary of Breslau brings in three thousand thalers! otherwise your love, which does not understand flattery, might leave you in the lurch; you might be hungry."

"He that eats of the bread of the Lord shall never hunger," said Bastiani, in a low and solemn voice;" he that will serve two masters will be faithful to neither, and may fear to be hungry."

"Oh, oh! look at our pious abbe, who throws off his sheep's skin and turns the rough side out," cried Voltaire, "It is written, 'The sheep shall be turned into wolves,' and you, dear abbe, in your piety fulfil this prophecy."

"Your witty illusions are meant for me because I am the historian of the King of France, and gentleman of the bed-chamber to the King of Prussia. Compose yourself. As historian to the King of France, I have no pension, and his majesty of Prussia will tell you that I am the most useless of servants that the sun of royal favor ever shone upon. Yes, truly, I am a poor, modest, trifling, good-for-nothing creature; and if his majesty did not allow me, from time to time, to read his verses and rejoice in their beauty, and here and there to add a comma, I should be as useless a being as that Catholic priest stationed at Dresden, at the court of King Augustus, who has nothing to do--no man or woman to confess--there, as here, every man being a Lutheran. Algarotti told me he asked him once how he occupied himself. The worthy abbe answered: 'Io sono il cattolica di sua maesta.' So I will call myself, 'Il pedagogue di sua, maesta.'

[Footnote: "Oeuvres Completes de Voltaire," p. 376.] Like yourself, I serve but one master."

"Alas! I fear my cattolica will not linger long by me," said the king. "A man of his talent and worth cannot content himself with being canon of Breslau. No, Bastiani, you will, without doubt, rise higher. You will become a prelate, an eminence; yes, you will, perhaps, wear the tiara. But what shall I be when you have mounted this glittering pinnacle--when you have become pope? I wager you will deny me your apostolic blessing; that you will not even allow me to kneel and kiss your slipper. If any man should dare to name me to you, you would no longer remember this unselfish love, which, without doubt, you feel pa.s.sionately for me at this moment. Ah! I see you now rising from St. Peter's chair with apostolic sublimity, and exclaiming with praiseworthy indignation: 'How! this heretic, this unclean, this savage from h.e.l.l! I curse him, I condemn him. Let no man dare even to name him.'"

"Grace, grace, sire!" cried the abbe, holding his hands humbly, and looking up at the king.

The other gentlemen laughed heartily. The king was inexorable. The specious holiness and hypocrisy which the abbe had brought upon the stage incensed him, and he was resolved to punish it.

"Now, if you were pope, and I am convinced you will be, I should, without doubt, go to Rome. It is very important for me to ascertain, while I have you here, what sort of a reception you would accord me?

So, let us hear. When I appear before your holiness, what will you say to me?"

The abbe, who had been sitting with downcast eyes, and murmuring from time to time in pleading tones: "Ah, sire! ah, sire!" now looked up, and a flas.h.i.+ng glance fell upon the handsome face of the king, now glowing with mirth.

"Well?" repeated the king, "what would you say to me?"

"Sire," said Bastiani, bowing reverently, "I would say, 'Almighty eagle, cover me with your wings, and protect me from your own beak.'" [Footnote: Bastiani's own words.--See Thiebault, p. 43.]

"That is an answer worthy of your intellect," said the king, smiling, "and in consideration of it I will excuse you from relating some little history of your life.--Now, Duke Algarotti, your time has come. You are the last, and no doubt you will conclude the evening worthily."

"Sire, my case is similar to Bastiani's. There has been no mystery in my life; only that which seemed miraculous for a priest was entirely natural and simple in my case. I have travelled a great deal, have seen the world, known men; and all my experience and the feelings and convictions of my heart have at last laid me at the feet of your majesty. I am like the faithful, who, having been healed by a miracle, hang a copy of the deceased member upon the miraculous image which cured them. My heart was sick of the world and of men; your majesty healed it, and I lay it thankfully and humbly at your feet. This is my whole history, and truly it is a wonderful one. I have found a manly king and a kingly man."

[Footnote: Algarotti's own words.]

"Truly, such a king is the wonder of the world," said Voltaire. "A king, who being a king, is still a man, and being a man is still a n.o.ble king. I believe the history of the world gives few such examples. If we search the records of all people, we will find that all their kings have committed many crimes and follies, and but few great, magnanimous deeds. No, no! let us never hope to civilize kings. In vain have men sought to soften them by the help of art; in vain taught them to love it and to cultivate it. They are always lions, who seemed to be tamed when perpetually nattered. They remain, in truth, always wild, bloodthirsty, and fantastic. In the moment when you least expect it, the instinct awakens, and we fall a sacrifice to their claws or their teeth." [Footnote: Thiebault.]

The king, who, up to this time, had listened, with a smiling face, to the pa.s.sionate and bitter speech of Voltaire, now rose from his seat, and pointing his finger threateningly at him, said, good- humoredly: "Still, still, monsieur! Beware! I believe the king comes! Lower your voice, Voltaire, that he may not hear you. If he heard you, he might consider it his duty to be even worse than yourself. [Footnote: The king's own words.] Besides, it is late. Let us not await the coming of the king, but withdraw very quietly.

Good-night, messieurs."

With a gracious but proud nod of his head, he greeted the company and withdrew.

CHAPTER V.

ROME SAUVEE.

The whole court was in a state of wild excitement, A rare spectacle was preparing for them--something unheard of in the annals of the Berliners. Voltaire's new drama of "Catiline," to which he had now given the name of "Rome Saved," was to be given in the royal palace, in a private theatre gotten up for the occasion, and the actors and actresses were to be no common artistes, but selected from the highest court circles. Princess Amelia had the role of Aurelia, Prince Henry of Julius Caesar, and Voltaire of Cicero.

The last rehearsal was to take place that morning. Voltaire had shown himself in his former unbridled license, his biting irony, his cutting sarcasm. Not an actor or actress escaped his censure or his scorn. The poor poet D'Arnaud had been the special subject of his mocking wit. D'Arnaud had once been Voltaire's favorite scholar, and he had commended him highly to the king. He had the misfortune to please Frederick, who had addressed to him a flattering poem. For this reason Voltaire hated him, and sought continually to deprive him of Frederick's favor and get him banished from court.

This morning, for the first time, there was open strife between them, and the part which D'Arnaud had to play in "Rome Sauvee" gave occasion for the difficulty. D'Arnaud, it is true, had but two words to say, but his enunciation did not please Voltaire. He declared that D'Arnaud uttered them intentionally and maliciously with coldness and indifference.

D'Arnaud shrugged his shoulders and said a speech of two words did not admit of power or action. He asked what declamation could possibly do for two insignificant words, but make them ridiculous.

This roused Voltaire's rage to the highest pitch. "And this utterance of two words is then beyond your ability? It appears you cannot speak two words with proper emphasis!" [Footnote: In a letter to Madarae Denis, Voltaire wrote: "Tout le monde me reproche que le roi a fait dos vers pour d'Arnaud, des vers qui ne sont pas ce qu'il a fait de micux; mais songez qu'a quatre cent lieues de Paris il est bien difficile de savoir si un homme qu'on lui recommende a du merite ou non; de plus c'est toujours des vers, et bien ou mal appliques ils prouvent que le vainqueur de l'Autriche aime les belles-lettres que j'aime de tout mon coeur. D'ailleurs D'Arnaud est un bon diable, qui par-oi par-la ne laisoe pas de rencontrer de bons tirades. Il a du gout, il se forme, et s'il aime qu'il se deforme, il n'y a pas grand mal. En un mot, la pet.i.te meprise du Roi de Prusse n'empeche pas qu'il ne soit le plus singulier de tous les homines."--Voyez "Oeuvres Completes."]

And now, with fiery eloquence, he began to show that upon these words hung the merit of the drama; that this speech was the most important of all! With jeers and sarcasm he drove poor D'Arnaud to the wall, who, breathless, raging, choking, could find no words nor strength to reply. He was dumb, cast down, humiliated.

The merry laughter of the king, who greatly enjoyed the scene, and the general amus.e.m.e.nt, increased the pain of his defeat, and made the triumph of Voltaire more complete.

At last, however, the parts were well learned, and even Voltaire was content with his company. This evening the entire court was to witness the performance of the drama, which Voltaire called his master-work.

Princess Amelia had the role of Aurelia. She had withdrawn to her rooms, and had asked permission of the queen-mother to absent herself from dinner. Her part was difficult, and she needed preparation and rest.

But the princess was not occupied with her role, or with the arrangement of her toilet. She lay stretched upon the divan, and gazed with tearful eyes upon the letter which she held in her trembling hands. Mademoiselle von Haak was kneeling near her, and looking up with tender sympathy upon the princess.

"What torture, what martyrdom I suffer!" said Amelia. "I must laugh while my heart is filled with despair; I must take part in the pomps and fetes of this riotous court, while thick darkness is round about me. No gleam of light, no star of hope, do I see. Oh, Ernestine, do not ask me to be calm and silent! Grant me at least the relief of giving expression to my sorrow."

"Dear princess, why do you nourish your grief? Why will you tear open the wounds of your heart once more?"

"Those wounds have never healed," cried Amelia, pa.s.sionately. "No!

they have been always bleeding--always painful. Do you think so pitifully of me, Ernestine, as to believe that a few years have been sufficient to teach me to forget?"

"Am I not also called upon to learn to forget?" cried Ernestine, bitterly. "Is not my life's happiness destroyed? Am I not eternally separated from my beloved? Alas! princess, you are much happier than I! You know where, at least in thought, you can find your unhappy friend. Not the faintest sound in the distance gives answer to my wild questionings. My thoughts are wandering listlessly, wearily.

They know not where to seek my lover--whether he lies in the dark fortress, or in the prison-house of the grave."

"It is true," said Amelia, thoughtfully; "our fates are indeed pitiable! Oh, Ernestine, what have I not suffered in the last five years, during which I have not seen Trenck?--five years of self- restraint, of silence, of desolation! How often have I believed that I could not support my secret griefs--that death must come to my relief! How often, with rouged cheeks and laughing lips, conversing gayly with the glittering court circle whose centre my cruel brother forced me to be, have my troubled thoughts wandered far, far away to my darling; from whom the winds brought me no message, the stars no greeting; and yet I knew that he lived, and loved me still! If Trenck were dead, he would appear to me in spirit. Had he forgotten me, I should know it; the knowledge would pierce my heart, and I should die that instant. I know that he has written to me, and that all his dear letters have fallen into the hands of the base spies with which my brother has surrounded me. But I am not mad! I will be calm; a day may come in which Trenck may require my help. I will not slay myself; some day I may be necessary to him I love. I have long lived, as the condemned in h.e.l.l, who, in the midst of burning torture, open both eyes and ears waiting for the moment when the blessed Saviour will come for their release. G.o.d has at last been merciful; He has blinded the eyes of my persecutors, and this letter came safely to my hands. Oh, Ernestine, look! look! a letter from Trenck! He loves me--he has not forgotten me--he calls for me! Oh, my G.o.d! my G.o.d! why has fate bound me so inexorably? Why was I born to a throne, whose splendor has not lighted my path, but cast me in the shadow of death? Why am I not poor and obscure? Then I might hasten to my beloved when he calls me. I might stand by his side in his misfortunes, and share his sorrows and his tears."

"Dear princess, you can alleviate his fate. Look at me! I am poor, obscure, and dependent, and yet I cannot hasten to my beloved; he is in distress, and yet he does not call upon me for relief. He knows that I cannot help him. You, princess, thanks to your rank, have power and influence. Trenck calls you, and you are here to aid and comfort."

"G.o.d grant that I may. Trenck implores me to turn to my brother, and ask him to interest the Prussian emba.s.sy in Vienna in his favor; thereby hoping to put an end to the process by which he is about to be deprived of his only inheritance--the estate left him by his cousin, the captain of the pandours. Alas! can I speak with my brother of Trenck? He knows not that for five years his name has never pa.s.sed my lips; he knows not that I have never been alone with my brother the king for one moment since that eventful day in which I promised to give him up forever. We have both avoided an interview; he, because he shrank from my prayers and tears, and I, because a crust of ice had formed over my love for him, and I would not allow it to melt beneath his smiles and kindly words. I loved Trenck with my whole heart, I was resolved to be faithful to him, and I was resentful toward my brother. Now, Ernestine, I must overcome myself, I must speak with the king; Trenck needs my services, and I will have courage to plead for him."

"What will your highness ask? think well, princess, before you act.

Who knows but that the king has entirely forgotten Trenck? Perhaps it were best so. You should not point out to the angry lion the insect which has awakened him, he will crush it in his pa.s.sion.

Trenck is in want; send him gold--gold to bribe the men of law. It is well-known that the counsellors-at-law are dull-eyed enough to mistake sometimes the glitter of gold for the glitter of the sun of justice. Send him gold, much gold, and he will tame the tigers who lie round about the courts of justice, and he will win his suit."

Princess Amelia shrugged her shoulders contemptuously. "He calls upon me for help; and I send him nothing but empty gold; he asks for my a.s.sistance, and I play the coward and hold my peace. No, no! I will act, and I will act to-day! You know that only after the most urgent entreaty of the king, I consented to appear in this drama.

While my brother pleaded with me, he said, with his most winning smile, 'Grant me this favor, my sister, and be a.s.sured that the first pet.i.tion you make of me, I will accord cheerfully.' Now, then, I will remind him of this promise; I will plead for Trenck, and he dare not refuse. Oh, Ernestine! I know not surely, but it appears to me that for some little time past the king loves me more tenderly than heretofore; his eye rests upon me with pleasure, and often it seems to me his soft glance is imploring my love in return. You may call me childish, foolish; but I think, sometimes, that my silent submission has touched his heart, and he is at last disposed to be merciful, and allow me to be happy--happy, in allowing me to flee from the vain glory of a court; in forgetting that I am a princess, and remembering only that I am a woman, to whom G.o.d has given a heart capable of love." Amelia did not see the melancholy gaze with which her friend regarded her; she was full of ardor and enthusiasm, and with sparkling eyes and throbbing breast she sprang from the divan and cried out, "Yes, it is so; my brother will make me happy!"