Frederick the Great and His Court Part 32

CHAPTER XV.

SOIREE OF THE QUEEN DOWAGER.

"The king is coming," whispered Augustus William, and he stepped towards the cabinet of the queen-mother. But the door was already opened, and the two queens hastened out; they wished to reach the garden saloon and there to welcome the king.

The expression of both ladies was restless and anxious. Sophia Dorothea feared the meeting with her son, who would, perhaps, in the inflamed, eyes of his beloved, read the history of the last hours; his kingly anger would be kindled against those who brought tears to her eyes. The queen confessed that she had gone too far--had allowed herself to be mastered by her scorn; she was embarra.s.sed and fearful.

Elizabeth Christine was not restless, but deeply moved; her heart beat quickly at the thought of this meeting with her husband; she had not seen him since the day of the coronation, had not exchanged one single word with him since the ominous interview in her chamber at Rheinsberg.

Not once on the day of the coronation had the king addressed her; and only once had he taken her hand. After the coronation he led her in the midst of the a.s.sembled court, and said with a clear and earnest voice: "Behold, this is your queen."

These ladies were so excited, so filled with their own thoughts that they hastened through the saloons, scarcely remarking the prince, who had stepped aside to allow them to pa.s.s. The queen-mother nodded absently and gave him a pa.s.sing greeting, then turned again to Elizabeth, who had scarcely patience to conform her movements to the slow and measured steps of the queen-mother; she longed to look upon her husband's face once more.

"If Laura von Pannewitz complains to the king, we will have a terrific scene," said Sophia.

"She will not complain," replied Elizabeth.

"So much the worse, she will play the magnanimous, and I could less readily forgive that, than a complaint."

At this moment the door opened. The king, followed by his attendants and those of the two queens, entered the saloon. The two ladies greeted the king with smooth brows and thoughtless laughter. Nothing betrayed the restless anxiety reigning in their hearts. Frederick hastened to meet his mother, and bowing low he greeted her with loving and respectful words, and tenderly kissed her hand; then turning to his wife he bowed stiffly and ceremoniously; he did not extend his hand, did not utter a word. Elizabeth bowed formally in return, and forced back the hot tears which rushed into her eyes.

The face of the queen-mother was again gay and triumphant. The king knew nothing as yet; she must prevent him from speaking with Laura alone. She glanced around at the maid of honor, and saw that the young maiden, calm and unembarra.s.sed, was conversing with the Prince Augustus William; her majesty was more than happy to see her son William entertaining the beautiful Laura. "Ah! now I know how to prevent the king from speaking to her alone," thought she.

Sophia was never so animated, so brilliant; her sparkling wit seemed even to animate the king. There was a laughing contest, a war of words, between them; piquant jests and intellectual bon mots, which seemed to the admiring courtiers like fallen stars, were scattered to right and left. The queen would not yield to her son, and indeed sometimes she had the advantage.

Queen Elizabeth stood sad and silent near them, and if by chance the eye of the king fell upon her, she felt that his glance was contemptuous; her pale cheeks grew paler, and it was with great effort she forced her trembling lips to smile.

The queen-mother proposed to her son and Elizabeth to walk in the garden, and then to have a simple dance in the brilliant saloons. The court mourning would not allow a regular ball at this time.

"But why should we seek for flowers in the garden," said the king; "can there be lovelier blossoms than those now blooming on every side?" His eye wandered around the circle of lovely maids of honor, who cast their eyes blus.h.i.+ngly to the ground.

Six eyes followed this glance of Frederick with painful interest.

"He scarcely looked at Laura von Pannewitz," said the queen, with a relieved expression.

"He did not once glance toward me," thought Elizabeth, sighing heavily.

"His eye did not rest for more than a moment upon any woman here,"

thought Pollnitz; "so it is clear he has no favorite in this circle. I will, therefore, succeed with my beautiful Dorris."

Frederick wished to spare his mother the fatigue of a walk in the garden--she was lame and growing fleshy; he therefore led her to a seat, and bowing silently, he gave his left hand to his wife and placed her by his mother.

Sophia, who watched every movement and every expression of her royal son, observed the cruel silence which he maintained toward his wife, and she felt pity for the poor, pale, neglected queen. Sophia leaned toward the king, who stood hat in hand behind her divan, and whispered:

"I believe, my son, you have not spoken one word to your wife!"

The king's face clouded. "Madame," said he, in a low but firm tone, "Elizabeth Christine is my queen, but not my wife!" and, as if he feared a further explanation, he nodded to the Marquis Algarotti and Duke Chazot to come forward and take part in the conversation.

Suddenly a lady, who had not before been seen in the court circle, approached the two queens. This lady was of a wondrous pallor; she was dressed in black, without flowers or ornament; her deep sunken eyes were filled with feverish fire, and a painful smile played upon her lips, which were tightly pressed together, as if to force back a cry of despair.

No one recognised in this pale, majestic, gentle lady, the "Tourbillon," the joyous, merry, laughing Madame von Morien; no one could have supposed that her fresh and rosy beauty could, in a few months, a.s.sume so earnest and sad a character. This was the first time Madame von Morien had appeared at the court of the queen-mother; she was scarcely recovered from a long and dangerous illness. No one knew the nature of her disease, but the witty and ill-natured courtiers exchanged many words of mockery and double meaning on the subject.

It was said Madame von Morien was ill from the neglect of the king. She suffered from a chill, which, strange to say, had attacked the king, and not the beautiful coquette. Her disease was a new and peculiar cold, which did not attack the lungs, but seized upon the heart; the same disease, indeed, which prostrated Dido, upon the departure of the cruel AEneas.

The queen-mother received this pale, but still lovely woman, most graciously; gave her the royal hand to kiss, and smiled kindly.

"It is an age since we have seen you, fair baroness; it appears as if you will make yourself invisible, and forget entirely that we rejoice to see you."

"Your royal highness is most gracious to remind me of that," said Madame von Morien, in a low tone; "death had almost made me forget it, and a.s.suredly I had not dared to approach you with this pale, thin face, had not your majesty's flattering command given me courage to do so."

There was something in the low, suffering voice of Madame von Morien which awakened sympathy, and even disarmed the anger of the queen Elizabeth. What bitter tears had she shed, what jealous agony endured, because of this enchanting woman! She saw her now for the first time since the fete at Rheinsberg. Looking into this worn and sorrowful face, she forgave her fully. With the instinct of a loving woman, the queen understood the malady of her rival; she felt that Madame von Morien was suffering from unrequited affection, and that despair was gnawing at her heart.

The king had now no glance, no greeting for his "enchanting Leontine;"

he continued the conversation with Algarotti and Chazot quietly, and did not consider her profound and reverential salutation as worthy of the slightest notice.

Elizabeth Christine was pitiful; she gave her hand to be kissed, and spoke a few friendly, kindly words, which touched the heart of the beautiful Morien, and brought the tears to her eyes. The king, although standing near, did not appear even to see her.

"I have some news to announce to your majesty," he said, turning to the queen-mother. "We are about to make Berlin a temple of science and art, the seat of learning and knowledge. The Muses, should they desire to leave Olympus, shall receive a most hospitable reception. Now listen to the great news. In autumn Voltaire will visit us; and Maupertius, the great scholar, who first discovered the form of the earth, will come, as President of our Academy; and Buncauson, who understands some of the mysteries of G.o.d, will also come to Berlin. The celebrated Eulert will soon belong to us."

"This is indeed glorious news," said Sophia; "but I fear that your majesty, when surrounded with so many scholars, philosophers, and historians, will entirely forget the poor ignorant women, and banish them from your learned court."

"That would be to banish happiness, beauty, mirth, and the graces; and no one would expect such barbarism from the son of my n.o.ble and exalted mother," said Frederick. "Even the Catholic Church is wise enough to understand that in order to draw men into their nets, the Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost is not sufficient, they have also called a lovely woman to their a.s.sistance, whose beauty and pure mysterious maidenhood is the finest, most piquant and intoxicating perfume of their gaudy religion. And what would the great painters have been without women--without their lovely, their bewitching sweethearts, whom they changed into holy maidens? From luxurious women were designed the modest, shrinking Magdalens, before whose mysterious charms the wise children of men bow the knee in adoration. Ah, how many Madonnas has Raphael painted from his Fornarina! and Correggio had the art to change his bewitching wife into a holy saint. I must confess, however, we owe Correggio but small thanks; I should have been more grateful had he painted us a glowing woman, radiant with beauty, grace, and love. I, for my part, have a true disgust for weeping, sighing Magdalens, who, when wearied with earthly loves and pa.s.sions, turn half way to heaven, and swear to G.o.d the same oaths they have a thousand times sworn to men and a thousand times broken. Now, if I were in G.o.d's place, I would not accept these wavering saints. For my part I hate these pale, tearful, sighing, self-destroying beauties, and the farcical exhibition of their sufferings would never soften my heart."

While the king was speaking his eye turned for the first time toward Madame von Morion, and his glance rested long, with a cold and piercing expression, upon her. She had heard every word he had spoken, and every word was like a cold poisoned dagger in her heart; she felt, although her eyes were cast down, that his stern look rested upon her; she was conscious of this crus.h.i.+ng glance, although she saw it not; she had the power not to cry out, not to burst into pa.s.sionate tears, but to reply quietly to the queen, who in fact questioned her, only with the good-humored intention of drowning the hard and cruel words of the king.

The queen wished to lead the conversation from the dangerous topic of religion and give it another direction. "My son," she said, "you have forgotten to mention another great surprise you have prepared for us.

You say nothing of the German and French journals which you have presented to our good city of Berlin; but I a.s.sure you I await with true impatience the day on which these journals appear, and I am profoundly interested in these new and charming lectures which make of politics an amusing theme, and give us all the small events of the day."

"Let us hope," said Frederick, "that these journals will also tell us in the future of great events." Then a.s.suming a gay tone he said: "But your majesty forgets that you promised the ladies a dance, and see how impatiently the little princesses look toward us; my sister Amelia is trying to pierce me with her scornful glances, because I have forced her to sit in her arm-chair like a maid of honor, for such a weary time, when she longs to float about like a frolicsome zephyr. To put a stop to her reproaches I will ask her to give me the first dance."

The king took his sister's hand and led her into the dancing saloon.

The queens and court followed. "Now without doubt he will seek an opportunity to speak to Laura von Pannewitz," thought the queen-mother; "I must take measures to prevent it." She called Prince Augustus William to her side. "My son," said she, "I have a favor to ask of you."

"Oh, your majesty has only to command."

"I know that you are a good son, willing to serve your mother. Listen; I have important reasons for wis.h.i.+ng that the king should not converse to-night, at least not alone, with Laura von Pannewitz; I will explain my reasons to you another time. I beg you, therefore, to pay court to Laura, and not to leave her side should the king draw near. You will appear not to see his angry glances, but without embarra.s.sment join in the conversation, and not turn away from Laura until the king has taken leave. Will you do this for me, my son?"

"I will fulfil your royal commands most willingly," said the prince, "only it will be said that I am making love to Laura von Pannewitz."

"Well, let them say so, Laura is young and lovely, and does credit to your taste. Let the court say what it will, we will not make ourselves unhappy. But hasten, my son, hasten; it appears to me the king is even now approaching Laura."

The prince bowed to his mother, and with joy in his heart he placed himself by the side of his beloved.

The queen-mother, entirely at ease, took her seat at the card-table with her daughter-in-law and their cavaliers, while the king amused himself in the ball-room, and danced a tour with almost every lady. He did not dance with Leontine; not once did his eye meet hers, though her glances followed him everywhere with a tender, beseeching, melancholy expression.

"So sad!" whispered Madame von Brandt, who, glowing with beauty and merriment, having just danced with the king, now took a seat by her side.