Frederick the Great and His Court Part 12

Madame von Brandt was right. The prince royal, surrounded by the cavaliers of his court, entered the saloon just as the princess had commenced reading the poem.

On his entrance a murmur of applause arose, and the countenance of his wife was radiant with pleasure and delight on beholding this handsome and engaging young prince, whom she, emboldened by the love-verses which she held in her hand, joyfully greeted as her husband. On this day the prince did not appear as usual in the uniform of his regiment, but was attired in a French costume of the latest fas.h.i.+on. He wore a snuff-colored coat of heavy moire-antique, ornamented at the shoulders with long bows of lace, the ends of which were bordered with silver fringe. His trousers, of the same color and material, reached to his knees, and were here ornamented with rich lace, which hung far down over his silk stockings. On the buckles of his high, red-heeled shoes, glittered immense diamonds. These gems were, however, eclipsed by the jewelled b.u.t.tons which confined his long, silver-brocaded waistcoat.[5]

[5] Bielfeld, vol. ii., page 82.

The costume of the cavaliers who accompanied the prince was of the same style, but less rich.

As this group of handsome and richly-attired gentlemen entered the saloon, the bright eyes of the ladies sparkled, and their cheeks colored with pleasure.

The princess royal's countenance was illumined with delight; never had she seen the prince so handsome, never had he looked so loving. And this was all for her, the chosen one, whom he now blessed with his love. Yes, he loved her! She had only read the commencement of the poem which he had written, but in this she had seen words of tender and pa.s.sionate love.

While she was gazing at her husband in silent ecstasy, Madame von Brandt approached the prince, and gracefully recounting the scene which had just occurred, requested him to confirm her statement.

The prince's quick glance flitted for a moment from the beautiful Morien, who trembled with consternation and terror to his wife, and, judging by the pleased expression of her face, he concluded that she believed this poem had been really addressed to herself. She had, therefore, not read it to the end; she had not yet arrived at the verse which contained a direct appeal to the beautiful Tourbillon, the charming Leontine. She must not be permitted to read the entire poem.

That was all!

The prince approached his wife with a smile, to which she was unaccustomed, and which made her heart beat high with delight.

"I crave your indulgence," said he, "for my poor little poem, which reached you in so noisy a manner, and is really scarcely worth reading.

Read it in some solitary hour when you are troubled with ennui; it may then possibly amuse you for a moment. We will not occupy ourselves with verses and poems to-day, but will laugh and be merry; that is, if it pleases you, madame."

The princess murmured a few low and indistinct words. As usual, she could find no expression for her thoughts, although her heart was full of love and delight. This modest shyness of the lips, this poverty of words, with her rich depth of feeling, was the great misfortune of the princess royal. It was this that made her appear awkward, constrained, and spiritless; it was this that displeased and estranged her husband.

Her consciousness of this deficiency made her still more timid and constrained, and deprived her of what little power of expression she possessed.

Had she at this moment found courage to make a ready and witty reply, her husband would have been much pleased. Her silence, however, excited his displeasure, and his brow darkened.

He offered her his arm; and, exchanging glances with Madame Morien, he conducted his wife to the dining-saloon, to the magnificently arranged and glittering table.

"The gardener of Rheinsberg, Frederick of Hohenzollern, invites his friends to partake of what he has provided. For the prince royal is fortunately not at home; we can, therefore, be altogether sans gene, and follow our inclinations, as the mice do when the cat is not at home."

He seated himself between his wife and Madame Morien, whispering to the latter: "Beautiful Tourbillon, my heart is in flames, and I rely upon you to quench them. You must save me!"

"Oh, this heart of yours is a phoenix, and arises from its ashes renewed and rejuvenated."

"But only to destroy itself again," said the prince. Then taking his gla.s.s and surveying his guests with a rapid glance, he exclaimed: "Our first toast shall be youth--youth of which the old are envious!--youth and beauty, which are so brilliantly represented here to-day, that one might well imagine Venus had sent us all her daughters and playmates, as well as her lovers, the deposed and discarded ones as well as those whom she still favors, and only proposes to discard."

The gla.s.ses rang out merrily in answer to this toast, and all betook themselves with evident zest to the costly and savory dishes, prepared by the master-hand of Duvall the French cook, and which the prince seasoned with the Attic salt of his ever-ready wit.

They all gave themselves up to gayety and merriment, and pleasure sparkled in every eye.

The corpulent k.n.o.belsdorf related in a stentorian voice some amusing anecdotes of his travels. Chazot recited portions of Voltaire's latest work. The learned and witty Count Kaiserling recited verses from the "Henriade," and then several of Gellert's fables, which were becoming very popular. He conversed with his neighbor, the artist Pesne, on the subject of the paintings which his masterly hand had executed, and then turning to Mademoiselle von Schwerin, he painted in glowing colors the future of Berlin--the future when they would have a French theatre, an Italian opera, and of all things, an Italian ballet-corps. For the latter the most celebrated dancers would be engaged, and it should eclipse every thing of the kind that had ever been seen or heard of in Germany.

At the lower end of the table sat the two Vendas, the two Grauns, and Quantz, the powerful and much-feared virtuoso of the flute and instructor of the prince royal, whose rudeness was almost imposing, and before whom the prince himself was somewhat shy. But to-day even Quantz was quiet and tractable. His countenance wore the half-pleased, half-grumbling expression of a bull-dog when stroked by a soft and tender hand. He is inclined to be angry, but is so much at his ease that he finds it absolutely impossible to growl.

In their merriment the gentlemen were becoming almost boisterous. The cheeks of the ladies glowed with pleasure, and their lovers were becoming tender.

The princess royal alone was silent; her heart was heavy and sorrowful.

She had carefully reconsidered the scene which had occurred, and the result was, she was now convinced that the poem which she had received was not intended for her, but for some other fair lady. She was ashamed of her credulity, and blushed for her own vanity. For how could it be possible that the handsome and brilliant man who sat at her side, who was so witty and spirited, who was as learned as he was intelligent, as n.o.ble as he was amiable, how could it be possible that he should love her?--she who was only young and pretty, who was moreover guilty of the great, unpardonable fault of being his wife, and a wife who had been forced upon him.

No, this poem had never been intended for her. But for whom, then? Who was the happy one to whom the prince had given his love? Her heart bled as she thought that another could call this bliss her own. She was too mild and gentle to be angry. She ardently desired to know the name of her rival, but not that she might revenge herself. No, she wished to pray for her whom the prince royal loved, to whom he perhaps owed a few days of happiness, of bliss.

But who was she? The princess royal's glance rested searchingly on all the ladies who were present. She saw many beautiful and pleasing faces.

Many of them had intelligence, vivacity, and wit, but none of them were worthy of his love. Her husband had just turned to his fair neighbor, and, with a fascinating smile, whispered a few words in her ear. Madame Morien blushed, cast down her eyes, but, raising them again and looking ardently at the prince royal, she murmured a few words in so low a tone that no one else heard them.

How? Could it be this one? But no, that was impossible. This giddy, coquettish, and superficial woman could by no possibility have captivated the n.o.ble and high-toned prince; she could not be Elizabeth's happy rival.

But who, then? Alas, if this long and weary feast were only at an end!

If she could but retire to her chamber and read this poem, the riddle would then be solved, and she would know the name of his lady-love.

It seemed, however, that the prince had divined his wife's wish, and had determined that it should not be gratified.

They had taken their seats at table at a very late hour to-day, at six o'clock. It had now become dark, and candelabras with wax candles were brought in and placed on the table.

"The lights are burning," exclaimed the prince; "we will not leave the table until these lights are burned out, and our heads have become illuminated with champagne."[6]

[6] Bielfeld, vol i., page 84. The prince's own words.

And amid conversation, laughter, and recitations, all went merrily on.

But the heart of the princess royal grew sadder and sadder.

Suddenly the prince turned to her. "I feel the vanity of an author,"

said he, "and beg permission to inquire if you have no curiosity to hear the poem which I had the honor of sending you to-day by Madame Brandt?"

"Indeed I have, my husband," exclaimed the princess, with vivacity. "I long to become acquainted with its contents."

"Then permit me to satisfy this longing," said the prince, holding out his hand for the poem. The princess hesitated, but when she looked up and their eyes met, his glance was so cold and imperious, that she felt as if an icy hand were at her heart. She drew the poem from her bosom and handed it silently to her husband.

"Now, my little maid of honor, von Schwerin," said the prince royal, smiling, "this sagacious, highly respectable, and worthy company shall judge between you and me, and decide whether this paper is a letter from her dear mother, as this modest and retiring child a.s.serts, or a poem, written by a certain prince, who is sometimes induced by his imaginative fancy to make indifferent verses. Listen, therefore, ladies and gentlemen, and judge between us. But that no one may imagine that I am reading any thing else, and subst.i.tuting the tender thoughts of a lover for the fond words of motherly affection, Madame Morien shall look at the paper I am reading, and bear witness to my truth."

He read off the first verses as they were written, and then improvising, recited a witty and humorous poem, in which he did homage to his wife's charms. His poem was greeted with rapturous applause.

While he was reciting the improvised verses, Madame Morien had time to read the poem. When she came to the verses which contained a pa.s.sionate declaration of love, and in which the prince half-humbly, half-imperiously, solicited a rendezvous, her breast heaved and her heart beat high with delight. After the prince had finished he turned to his wife with a smile, and asked if the poem had pleased her.

"So much so," said she, "that I pray you to return it. I should like to preserve it as a reminiscence of this hour."

"Preserve it? By no means! A poem is like a flower. It is a thing of the present, and is beautiful only when fresh. The moment gave it, and the moment shall take it. We will sacrifice to the G.o.ds, what we owe to the G.o.ds."

Having thus spoken, the prince tore the paper into small pieces, which he placed in the palm of his hand.

"Go ye in all directions and teach unto all people that nothing is immortal, not even the poem of a prince," said he, and blowing the particles of paper, he sent them fluttering through the air like snowflakes. The ladies and gentlemen amused themselves with blowing the pieces from place to place. Each one made a little bellows of his mouth, and endeavored to give some strip of paper a particular direction or aim--to blow it on to some fair one's white shoulders or into some gentleman's eye or laughing mouth.

This caused a great deal of merriment. The princess was still sad and silent. Now and then a sc.r.a.p fell before her; these she blew no further, but mechanically collected and gazed at them in a listless and mournful manner. Suddenly she started and colored violently. On one of these strips of paper she had read two words which made her heart tremble with anger and pain. These Words were, "Bewitching Leontine!"

The secret was out. The prince royal's poem had been addressed to Leontine, to a bewitching Leontine, and not to Elizabeth! But who was this Leontine? which of the ladies bore that name? She must, she would know! She called all her courage to her a.s.sistance. Suddenly she took part in the general merriment, commenced to laugh and jest; she entered gayly into a conversation with her husband, with Madame Morien and the young Baron Bielfeld, who was her vis-a-vis.

The princess had never been so gay, so unconstrained, and so witty. No one suspected that these jests, this laughter, was only a.s.sumed; that she veiled the pain which she suffered with a smiling brow.

The candles had burnt half way down, and some of the gentlemen had begun to light the first tapers of the champagne illumination which the prince had prophesied. Chazot no longer recited, but was singing some of the charming little songs which he had learned of the merry peasants of Normandy, his fatherland. Jordan improvised a sermon after the fas.h.i.+on of the fanatical and hypocritical priests who for some time past had collected crowds in the streets of Berlin. Kaiserling had risen from his seat and thrown himself into an att.i.tude in which he had seen the celebrated Lagiere in the ballet of the Syrene at Paris.

k.n.o.belsdorf recounted his interesting adventures in Italy; and even Quanta found courage to give the prince's favorite dog, which was snuffling at his feet, and which he hated as a rival, a hearty kick.