Frederick the Great and His Court Part 17

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.

BOOK II.

CHAPTER I.

THE GARDEN OF MONBIJOU.

The excitement of the first days was quieted. The young king had withdrawn for a short time to the palace in Charlottenburg, while his wife remained in Berlin, anxiously expecting an invitation to follow her husband.

But the young monarch appeared to have no care or thought but for his kingdom. He worked and studied without interruption; even his beloved flute was untouched.

Berlin was, according to etiquette, draped with mourning for a few days; it served in this instance as a veil to the joy with which all looked forward to the coronation of the new king. All appeared earnest and solemn, but every heart was joyful and every eye beaming. The palace of the king was silent and deserted; the king was, as we have said, at Charlottenburg; the young queen was in the palace formerly occupied by the prince royal, and the dowager queen Sophia Dorothea had retired with the two princesses, Ulrica and Amelia, to the palace of Monbijou. All were anxious and expectant; all hoped for influence and honor, power and greatness. The scullion and the maids, as well as the counts and princes, and even the queen herself, dreamed of happy and glorious days in the future.

Sophia Dorothea had been too long a trembling, subjugated woman; she was rejoicing in the thought that she might at length be a queen. Her son would doubtless grant to her all the power which had been denied her by her husband; he would remember the days of tears and bitterness which she had endured for his sake; and now that the power was in his hands she would be repaid a thousandfold. The young king would hold the sceptre in his hands, but he must allow his mother to aid in keeping it upright; and if he found it too weighty, the queen was ready to bear it for him, and reign in his stead, while her dreamy son wrote poems, or played on the flute, or philosophized with his friends. Frederick was certainly not formed to rule; he was a poet and a philosopher; he dreamed of a Utopia; he imagined an ideal which it was impossible to realize. The act of ruling would be a weary trial to him, and the sounds of the trumpet but ill accord with his harmonious dreams.

But happily his mother was there, and was willing to reign for him, to bear upon her shoulders the heavy burdens and cares of the kingdom, to work with the ministers, while the king wrote poetical epistles to Voltaire.

Why should not Sophia Dorothea reign? Were there not examples in all lands of n.o.ble women who governed their people well and honorably? Was not England proud of her Elizabeth, Sweden of her Christina, Spain of Isabella, Russia of Catharine? and even in Prussia the queen Sophia Charlotte had occupied a great and glorious position. Why could not Sophia Dorothea accomplish as much or even more than her predecessor?

These were the thoughts of the queen as she walked up and down the shady paths of the garden of Monbijou, and listened with a proud smile to the flattering words of Count Manteuffel, who had just handed her a letter of condolence from the Empress of Austria.

"Her majesty the empress has sent me a most loving and tender letter to-day," said the dowager queen, with an ironical smile.

"She has then only given expression to-day, to those sentiments which she has always entertained for your majesty," said the count, respectfully.

The queen bowed her head smilingly, but said, "The houses of Hohenzollern and Hapsburg have never been friendly; it is not in their nature to love one another."

"The great families of Capulet and Montague said the same," remarked Count Manteuffel, "but the anger of the parents dissolved before the love of the children."

"But we have not arrived at the children," said the queen proudly, as she thought how her husband had been deceived by the house of Austria, and recalled that, on his death-bed he had commanded his son Frederick to revenge those treacheries.

"Pardon me, your majesty, if I dare to contradict you; we have most surely arrived at the children, and the difficulties of the parents are forgotten in their love. Is not the wife of the young king the deeply-loved niece of the Austrian empress?"

"She was already his wife, count, as my husband visited the emperor in Bohemia, and it was not considered according to etiquette for the emperor to offer his hand to the King of Prussia."[10]

[10] Seckendorf's Leben.

"She was, however, not his wife when Austria, by her repeated and energetic representations, saved the life of the prince royal. For your majesty knows that at one time that precious life was threatened."

"It was threatened, but it would have been preserved without the a.s.sistance of Austria; for the mother of Frederick was at hand, and that mother was sister to the King of England." And the queen cast on the count so proud and scornful a glance that his eyes fell involuntarily to the ground. Sophia Dorothea saw this, and smiled. This was her triumph; she would now show herself mild and forgiving. "We will speak no more of the past," she said, in a friendly manner. "The death of my husband has cast a dark cloud over it, and I must think only of the future, that my son, the young king, may not always behold me with tears in my eyes. No, I will look forward, for I have a great presentiment that Prussia's future will be great and glorious."

"Would that it might be thus for the whole of Germany!" cried the count. "It must be so, if the houses of Hohenzollern and Hapsburg will forget their ancient quarrels, and live together in love and peace."

"Let Hapsburg extend to us the hand of love and peace; show us her sympathy, her justice, and her grat.i.tude, in deeds, not words."

"Austria is prepared to do so, your majesty! the question is, whether Prussia will grasp her hand and place upon it the ring of love."

The queen glanced up so quickly that she perceived the dark and threatening look of the count. "Austria is again making matrimonial plans," she said, with a bitter smile. "She is not satisfied with one marriage, such as that of her imperial niece, she longs for a repet.i.tion of this master-work. But this time, count, there is no dear one to be saved at any cost from a prison, this time the decision can be deferred until the arrival of all the couriers." And the queen, dismissing the count with a slight bow, recalled her ladies of honor, who were lingering at a short distance, and pa.s.sed into one of the other walks.

Count Manteuffel remained where the queen had left him, looking after her with an earnest and thoughtful countenance. "She is prouder and more determined than formerly," he murmured; "that is a proof that she will be influential, and knows her power. What she said of the courier was without doubt an allusion to the one who arrived an hour too late, with the consent of England, on the betrothal day of the prince royal.

Ah! there must be other couriers en route, and one of them was most probably sent to England. We must see that he arrives an hour too late, as the former one did." At this instant, and in his immediate vicinity, Manteuffel heard a soft and melodious voice saying, "No, count, you can never make me believe in your love. You are much too blond to love deeply."

"Blond!" cried a manly voice, with a tone of horror. "You do not like fair hair, and until now I have been so proud of mine. But I will have it dyed black, if you will promise to believe in my love." The lady replied with a light laugh, which brought an answering smile to the countenance of Count Manteuffel. "It is my ally, Madame von Brandt," he said to himself. "I was most anxious to see her, and must interrupt her tender tete-a-tete with Count Voss for one moment." So speaking, the count hurried to the spot from which he had heard the voices of Madame von Brandt and her languis.h.i.+ng lover. The count approached the lady with the most delighted countenance, and expressed his astonishment at finding his beautiful friend in the garden of the dowager queen.

"Her majesty did me the honor to invite me to spend a few weeks here,"

said Madame von Brandt. "She knew that my physician had ordered me to the country, as the only means to restore my health; and as she knows of my great intimacy with Mademoiselle von Pannewitz, one of her ladies of honor, she was so kind as to offer me a few rooms at Monbijou. Now I have explained to you the reason of my presence here as minutely as if you were my father confessor, and nothing remains to be done but to present you to my escort. This is Count Voss, a n.o.ble cavalier, a sans peur et sans reproche, ready to sacrifice for his lady love, if not his life, at least his fair hair."

"Beware, my dear count," said Manteuffel, laughing, "beware that the color of your hair is not changed by this lovely scoffer--that it does not become a venerable gray. She is sufficiently accomplished in the art of enchantment to do that; I a.s.sure you that Madame von Brandt plays a most important role in the history of my gray hairs."

"Ah! it would be delightful to become gray in the service of Madame von Brandt," said the young count, in so pathetic a tone that his companions both laughed. "As often as I look at my gray hair I would think of her." And the young count gazed into the distance, like one entranced, and his smiling lips whispered low, unintelligible words.

"This is one of his ecstatic moments," whispered Madame von Brandt. "He has the whim to consider himself an original; he imagines himself a Petrarch enamored of his Laura. We will allow him to dream awhile, and speak of our own affairs. But be brief, I beg of you, for we must not be found together, as you are a suspicious character, my dear count, and my innocence might be doubted if we were seen holding a confidential conversation."

"Ah, it is edifying to hear Madame von Brandt speak like a young girl of sixteen, of her threatened innocence. But we will tranquillize this timidity, and be brief. In the first place, what of the young queen?"

"State of barometer: cold and damp, falling weather, stormy, with unfulfilled hopes, very little suns.h.i.+ne, and very heavy clouds."

"That means that the queen is still fearful of being slighted by her husband."

"She is no longer fearful--he neglects her already. The king is at Charlottenburg, and has not invited the queen to join him. As a husband, he slights his wife; whether as king he will neglect his queen, only time will reveal."

"And what of Madame von Morien?"

"The king seems to have forgotten her entirely since that unhappy quid pro quo with the poem at Rheinsberg; his love seems to have cooled, and he converses with her as harmlessly and as indifferently as with any other lady. No more stolen words, secret embraces, or amorous sighs.

The miserable Morien is consumed with sorrow, for since she has been neglected she loves pa.s.sionately."

"And that is unhappily not the means to regain that proud heart," said Count Mantcuffel, shrugging his shoulders. "With tears and languis.h.i.+ng she will lose her influence, and only gain contempt. You who are the mistress of love and coquetry should understand that, and instruct your beautiful pupil. Now, however, comes the most important question. What of the marriage of the Prince Augustus William?"

Madame von Brandt sighed. "You are really inexorable. Have you no compa.s.sion for the n.o.ble, heartfelt love of two children, who are as pure and innocent as the stars in heaven?"

"And have you no compa.s.sion for the diamonds which long to repose upon your lovely bosom?" said Count Manteuffel; "no compa.s.sion for the charming villa which you could purchase? You positively refuse to excite the envy of all the ladies at court by possessing the most costly cashmere? You will--"

"Enough, Count Devil! you are in reality more a devil than a man, for you lead my soul into temptation. I must submit. I will become a serpent, reposing on the bosom of my poor Laura, poisoning her love and lacerating her heart. Ah, count, if you knew how my conscience reproaches me when I listen to the pure and holy confession of her love, when trembling and blus.h.i.+ng she whispers to me the secrets of her youthful heart, and flies to me seeking protection against her own weakness! Remember that these two children love each other, without ever having had the courage to acknowledge it. Laura pretends not to understand the deep sighs and the whispered words of the prince, and then pa.s.ses the long nights in weeping."

"If that is the case, it is most important to prevent an understanding between these singular lovers. You must exert all your influence with the young lady to induce her to close this romance with an heroic act, which will make her appear a holy martyr in the eyes of the prince."

"But, for example, what heroic act?"

"Her marriage."

"But how can we find a man so suddenly to whom this poor lamb can be sacrificed?"