Frederick the Great and His Court Part 44

Father and mother left the room; the brother and sister remained alone.

"Well," said Anna, "do you intend to obey these commands? Will you wear the queue and the narrow, coa.r.s.e frock coat?"

"Nonsense," said William, "that Blanche may ridicule me, and all the world may laugh at me. You do not know, Anna, how much Blanche and myself love each other; we have vowed eternal love and faith, and she is to be my wife!"

"You will then become an honorable tailor, as your fathers were."

William laughed. "I follow a trade! I who have received the education of a n.o.bleman! no, no, Anna, you are not in earnest; you cannot believe that."

"Take care, William, you will be disinherited; father is in earnest."

"Oh, he will have to submit, as old Pelissier must do; he will also be furious when he first learns that I am the husband of Blanche; he has threatened her with his curse if she marries me. But in spite of all this we intend to marry; they must at last be reconciled. Oh, Blanche is beautiful as an angel!"

"Nevertheless she is a tailor's daughter," said Anna.

"Yes, like my beautiful and amiable sister Anna."

"But I shall become a celebrated singer, and the wife of a n.o.bleman."

"Well, and who says that Blanche will not be the wife of a celebrated man, and that you will not be proud of me?"

"Will you be a man or a woman dressmaker?"

"Neither one nor the other! I shall be an actor; but silence, this is my secret and I must keep it!"

CHAPTER VI.

IN RHEINSBERG.

The quiet castle of Rheinsberg was again alive with noise. Its halls resounded with music and laughter; gay and happy faces were everywhere to be seen; bright jests to be heard on every side. The charming days of the past, when Frederick was prince royal, seemed to have returned; the same company now filled the castle; the same sports and amus.e.m.e.nts were enjoyed. All was the same, yet still, every thing was changed, transformed. Almost all of those who had left Rheinsberg with such proud hopes, such great desires, were again there, but with annihilated hopes. They had all expected to reign; they had claimed for themselves honor and power, but the young king had allowed to none the privilege of mounting the throne by his side. They were all welcome companions, loved friends. But none dared overstep the boundary of dependence and submission which he had drawn around them, and in the centre of which he stood alone, trusting to his own strength and will. They had gained nothing from the crown which rested upon Frederick's n.o.ble head; but they had lost nothing. They returned to Rheinsberg not exalted, though not humbled.

But one heart was broken, one heart was bleeding from unseen pain. It was the heart of Elizabeth, the heart of that poor rejected woman who was called the reigning queen, the wife of Frederick.

The king, on returning from his excursion to Strasburg, had reminded her of her promise to follow him with her court to Rheinsberg. And the poor sufferer, though she knew that the presence of the king would be for her a continual torment, an hourly renunciation, could not find strength to resist the desire of her own heart. She had followed her husband, saying to herself with a painful smile: "I will at least see him, and if he does not speak to me I will still hear his voice. My sufferings will be greater, but I shall be near him. The joy will help me to bear the pain. Soffri e taci!" Elizabeth Christine was right; the king never spoke to her, never fixed those brilliant blue eyes, which possessed for her the depth and immensity of the skies, upon her pale countenance. With a silent bow he welcomed her daily at their meals, but he did not now lead her to the table and sit beside her. The presence of the Margrave and Margravine of Baireuth seemed to impose upon him the duty of honoring his favorite sister, who was his guest more than his wife the queen. He sat, therefore, between his sister and her husband the count, at whose side the queen was placed. He did not speak to her but she saw him, and strengthened her heart by the sight of his proud and n.o.ble countenance.

She suffered and was silent. She veiled her pain by a soft smile, she concealed the paleness of her cheek with artificial bloom, she covered the furrows that care already showed in her lovely and youthful face, with black, beauty-spots which were then the fas.h.i.+on. No one should think that she suffered. No one should pity her, not even the king.

Elizabeth Christine joined in all the pleasures and amus.e.m.e.nts at Rheinsberg. She laughed at Bielfeld's jests, at Pollnitz's bright anecdotes; she listened with beaming eyes to k.n.o.belsdorf's plans for beautifying the king's residence; she took part in the preparations for a drama that was to be performed. Voltaire's "Death of Caesar," and "The Frenchman in London," by Boissy, had been chosen by the king to be played at Rheinsberg, and in each piece she played a prominent role.

The young queen, as it seemed, had become an enthusiastic admirer of the theatre; she was never missing at any of the rehearsals, and aided her beautiful maids of honor in the arrangements of their costumes.

The king was now seldom to be seen in the circle of his friends and companions, and the tones of his flute were rarely to be heard. He pa.s.sed the day in his library, no one dared disturb him, not even Guentz. Madame von Brandt, who had accompanied the court to Rheinsberg, said, in one of her secret meetings with Count Manteuffel: "The king is unfaithful to his last sweetheart, he has abandoned and rejected his flute."

"But with what does the king occupy himself the entire day?" asked the count. "What is it that takes him from his friends and fills up all his time?"

"Nothing but scientific studies," said Madame von Brandt, shrugging her shoulders. "Fredersdorf told me that he busies himself with maps and plans, is surrounded by his military books, and is occupied like an engineer with astrolabes and land surveyors. You now see that these are very innocent occupations, and that they can have no influence upon our affairs. The king, I promise you, will never be more divorced from his wife than he now is; and concerning the marriage of Prince Augustus William, my plans are so skilfully laid that there is no danger of failure, and poor Laura von Pannewitz will surely be sacrificed. All is well, and we have nothing to fear from the king's innocent studies."

"Ah, you call these innocent studies?" said the count; "I a.s.sure you that these studies will greatly disturb the Austrian court, and I must at once notify my friend Seckendorf of them."

"You are making a mountain of a mole hill," said Madame von Brandt, laughing. "I a.s.sure you, you have nothing to fear. It is true the king pa.s.ses the day in his study, but he pa.s.ses his evenings with us, and he is then as gay, as unconstrained, as full of wit and humor as ever.

Perhaps he makes use of the solitude of his study to learn his role, for to-morrow, you know, we act the 'Death of Caesar,' and the king is 'Brutus.'"

"Yes, yes," said Count Manteuffel, thoughtfully, "it strikes me the king is playing the part of Brutus; to the eye he seems harmless and gay, but who knows what dark thoughts pregnant with mischief are hid in his soul?"

"You are always seeing ghosts," said Madame von Brandt, impatiently.

"But hear! the court clock is striking six; it is high time for me to return to the castle, for at seven the last rehearsal commences, and I have still to dress." And Madame von Brandt hastily took leave of her ally, and ran gayly to the castle.

But she had no need to dress for the rehearsal. The king was not able to act; the strong will was to-day conquered by an enemy who stands in awe of no one, not even of a king--an enemy who can vanquish the most victorious commander. Frederick was ill of a fever, which had tormented him the whole summer, which had kept him from visiting Amsterdam, and which confined him to his bed in the castle of Moyland, while Orttaire was paying his long expected visit, had again taken a powerful hold upon him and made of the king a pale, trembling man, who lay s.h.i.+vering and groaning upon his bed, scoffing at Ellart, his physician, because he could not cure him.

"There is a remedy," said Ellart, "but I dare not give it to your majesty."

"And why not?" said the king.

"Because its strength must first be tested, to see if it can be used without danger; it must first be tried by a patient upon whose life the happiness of millions does not depend."

"A human life is always sacred, and if not certain of your remedy, it is as vicious to give it to a beggar as to a king."

"I believe," said Ellart, "as entirely in this remedy as Louis the Fourteenth, who bought it secretly from Talbot, the Englishman, and paid him a hundred Napoleons for a pound. The wife of the King of Spain was cured by it."

"Give me this remedy," said the king, with chattering teeth.

"Pardon me, your majesty, but I dare not, though I have a small quant.i.ty with me which was sent by a friend from Paris, and which I brought to show you as a great curiosity. This tiny brown powder is a medicine which was not distilled by the apothecary, but by Nature."

"Then I have confidence in it," said the king; "Nature is the best physician, the best apothecary, and what she brews is full of divine healing power. How is this remedy called?"

"It is the Peruvian bark, or quinine, the bark above all barks which, by a divine Providence, grows in Peru, the land of fevers."

But the king had not the strength to listen to him. He now lay burning with fever; a dark purple covered his cheek, and his eyes, which, but a few moments before, were dull and l.u.s.treless, now sparkled with fire.

The king, overpowered by the disease, closed his eyes, and occasionally unconnected, senseless words escaped his dry, burning lips.

Fredersdorf now entered, and through the open door the anxious, inquiring faces of Pollnitz, Bielfeld, Jordan, and Kaiserling could be seen.

On tip-toe Ellart approached the private chamberlain.

"How is the king?" said he, hastily. "Is he in a condition to hear some important news?"

"Not now. Wait an hour; he will then be free from fever."

"We will wait," said Fredersdorf to the four courtiers who had entered the room, and were now standing around the royal bed.

"Is it bad news? If so, I advise you to wait until tomorrow."

"Well, I do not believe the king will think it bad," said Kaiserling, laughing.

"And I am convinced the king will be well pleased with our news," said Bielfeld. "I think so, because the king is a sleeping hero waiting to be roused."

"If you speak so loud," whispered Pollnitz, "it will be you who will wake this hero, and the thunder of his anger will fall upon you."