Berlin and Sans-Souci Part 52

When the sun is most l.u.s.trous, we turn away our eyes, lest they be blinded by his rays; but when clouds and darkness are around about us, we look up curiously and questioningly. King Frederick's sun is no longer clear and dazzling, dark clouds are pa.s.sing over it; a shadow from these clouds has fallen upon the young and handsome face of the king, quenched the flashing glance of his eye, and checked the rapid beating of his heart.

What was it which made King Frederick so restless and unhappy? He did not know himself, or, rather, he would not know. An Alp seemed resting upon his heart, repressing every joyful emotion, and making exertion impossible. He sought distraction in work, and in the early morning he called his ministers to council, but his thoughts were far away; he listened without hearing, and the most important statements seemed to him trivial. He mistrusted himself, and dismissed his ministers. It was Frederick's custom to read every letter and pet.i.tion himself, and write his answer upon the margin.

This being done, he turned to his ordinary studies and occupations, and commenced writing in his "Histoire de Man Temps." Soon, however, he found himself gazing upon the paper, lost in wandering thoughts and wild, fantastic dreams. He threw his pen aside, and tried to lose himself in the beautiful creations of his favorite poet, all things in nature and fiction seemed alike vain.

Frederick threw his book aside in despair. "What is the matter with me?" he exclaimed angrily. "I am not myself; some wicked fairy has cast a spell about me, and bound my soul in magic fetters. I cannot work, I cannot think; content and quiet peace are banished from my breast! What does this signify? and why--" He did not complete his sentence, but gazed with breathless attention to the door. He had heard one tone of a voice without which made his heart tremble and his eyes glow with their wonted fire.

"Announce to his majesty that I am here, and plead importunately for an audience," said a soft, sweet voice.

"The king has commanded that no one shall be admitted."

"Announce me, nevertheless," said the pet.i.tioner imperiously.

"That is impossible!"

Frederick had heard enough. He stepped to the door and threw it open. "Signora, I am ready to receive you; have the goodness to enter." He stepped abruptly forward, and, giving his hand to Barbarina, led her into his cabinet.

Barbarina greeted him with a sweet smile, and gave a glance of triumph to the guard, who had dared to refuse her entrance.

The king conducted her silently to his boudoir, and nodded to her to seat herself upon the divan. But Barbarina remained standing, and fixed her great burning eyes upon his face.

"I see a cloud upon your brow, sire," said she, in a fond and flattering tone. "What poor insect has dared to vex my royal lion?

Was it an insect? Was it--"

"No, no," said Frederick, interrupting her, "an angel or a devil has tortured me, and banished joy and peace from my heart. Now tell me, Barbarina, what are you? Are you a demon, come to martyr me, or an angel of light, who will transform my wild dreams of love and bliss into reality? There are hours of rapture in which I believe the latter, in which your glance of light and glory wafts my soul on golden, wings into the heaven of heavens, and I say to myself, 'I am not only a king, but a G.o.d, for I have an angel by my side to minister to me.' But then, alas! come weary times in which you seem to me an evil demon, and I see in your flashing eyes that eternal hatred which you swore to cherish in the first hour of our meeting."

"Alas! does your majesty still remember that?" said Barbarina, in a tone of tender reproof.

"You have taken care that I shall not forget it. You once told me that from hatred to love was but a small step. If you have truly advanced so far, how can I be a.s.sured but you will one day step backward?"

"How can you be a.s.sured?" said she, pointing a rosy finger with indescribable grace at the king. "Ah. sire! your divine beauty, your eyes, which have borrowed lightning from Jove and glory from the sun--your brow, where majesty and wisdom sit enthroned, and that youthful and enchanting smile which illuminates the whole--all these make a.s.surance doubly sure! I will not allude to your throne, and its pomp and power! What is it to me that you are a king? For me you are a man, a hero, a G.o.d. Had I met you as a shepherd in the fields, I should have said, 'There is a G.o.d in disguise!' The fable is verified, and 'Apollo is before me!' Apollo, I adore, I worship you!

let one ray from your heavenly eyes fall upon my face!" She knelt before him, folding her hands, extended them pleadingly toward the king, and looked upon him with a ravishing smile.

The king raised her, and pressed her--in his arms, then took her small head in his hands, and turning it backward, gazed searchingly in her face.

"Oh! Barbarina," said he, sadly, "to-day you are an angel, why were you a demon yesterday? Why did you martyr and torture me with your childish moods and pa.s.sionate temper? Why is your heart, which can be so soft and warm, sometimes cold as an iceberg and wholly pitiless? Child! child! do you not know I have been wounded by many griefs, and that every rough word and every angry glance is like a poisoned dagger to my soul? I had looked forward with such delight to our meeting yesterday at Rothenberg's! I expected so much happiness, and I had earned it by a diligent and weary day's work.

Alas! you spoiled all by your frowning brow and sullen silence. It was your fault that T returned home sad and heartless. I could not sleep, but pa.s.sed the night in trying to find out the cause of your melancholy. This morning I could not work, and have robbed my kingdom and my people of the hours which properly belong to them; weak and powerless, I have been swayed wholly by gloom and discontent. What was it, Barbarina, which veiled your clear brow with frowns, and made your sweet voice so harsh and stern?"

"What was it?" said Barbarina, sadly; and resting on the arm of the king, she leaned her head back and looked up at him with half-closed eyes. "It was ambition which tortured me. But I did wrong to conceal any thing from you. I should, without sullen or angry looks, have made known the cause of my despair. I should have felt that I had only to breathe my request, and that the n.o.ble and magnanimous heart of my king would understand me. I should have known that the man who had won laurels in the broad fields of science and on the b.l.o.o.d.y battle-field, would appreciate this thirst for renown; this glowing, burning hate toward those who cross our paths and wish to share our fame!"

"Jealous? you are jealous, then, of some other artiste," said the king, releasing Barbarina from his arms.

"Yes, sire, I am jealous!--jealous of your smiles, of your applause; of the public voice, of the bravos, which like a golden shower have fallen upon me alone, and which I must now divide with another!"

"Of whom, then, are you jealous?" said the king.

She threw her head back proudly, a crimson blush blazed upon her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled angrily.

"Why has this Marianna Cochois been engaged? Why has Baron von Swartz put this contempt upon me?" said she fiercely. "To engage another artiste is to say to the world, that Barbarina no longer pleases, that she no longer has the power to enrapture the public, that her triumphs are over, and her day is past! Oh! this thought has made me wild! Is not Barbarina the first dancer of the world?

Can it be that another prima donna, and not the Barbarina, is engaged for the princ.i.p.al role in a new and splendid ballet? Does Barbarina live, and has she not murdered the one who dared to do this, to bring this humiliation upon her?"

Tears gushed from her eyes, and sobbing loudly, she hid her face in her hands. The king gazed sadly upon her, and a weary smile played upon his lip.

"You are all alike--all," said he, bitterly, "and the great artiste is even as narrow-minded and pitiful as the unknown and humble; you are all weak, vain, envious, and swayed by small pa.s.sions; and to think that you, Barbarina, are not an exception; that the Barbarina weeps because Marianna Cochois is to play the princ.i.p.al role in the new ballet, 'Toste Galanti.'"

"She shall not, she dare not," cried Barbarina; "I will not suffer this humiliation; I will not be disgraced, dishonored in Berlin; I will not sit unnoticed in a loge, and listen to the bravos and plaudits awarded to another artiste which belong to me alone! Oh, sire, do not allow this shame to be put upon me! Command that this part, which is mine, which belongs to me by right of the world-wide fame which I have achieved, be given to me! I implore your majesty to take this role from the Cochois, and restore it to me."

"That is impossible, Barbarina. The Cochois, like every other artiste, must have her debut. Baron Swartz has given her the princ.i.p.al part in 'Toste Galanti,' and I cannot blame him."

"Oh! your majesty, I beseech you to listen. Is it not true--will you not bear witness to the fact that Barbarina has never put your liberality and magnanimity to the test; that she has never shown herself to be egotistical or mercenary? I ask nothing from my king but his heart, the happiness to sit at his feet, and in the sunshine of his eyes to bathe my being in light and gladness. Sire, you have often complained that I desired and would accept nothing from you; that diamonds and pearls had no attraction for me. You know that not the slightest shadow of selfishness has fallen upon my love! Now, then, I have a request to-day: I ask something from my king which is more precious in my eyes than all the diamonds of the world. Give me this role; that is, allow me to remain in the undisturbed possession of my fame." She bowed her knee once more before the king, but this time he did not raise her in his arms.

"Barbarina," said he, sadly and thoughtfully, "put away from you this unworthy and pitiful envy. Cast it off as you do the tinsel robes and rouge of the stage with which you conceal your beauty. Be yourself again. The n.o.ble, proud, and great-hearted woman who shines without the aid of garish ornament, who is ever the queen of grace and beauty, and needs not the borrowed and false purple and ermine of the stage. Grant graciously to the Cochois this small glory, you who are everywhere and always a queen in your own right!"

Barbarina sprang from her knees with flashing eyes. "Sire," said she, "you refuse my request--my first request--you will not order that this part shall be given to me?"

"I cannot; it would be unjust."

"And so I must suffer this deadly shame; must see another play the part which belongs to me; another made glad by the proud triumphs which are mine and should remain mine. I will not suffer this! I swear it! So true as my name is Barbarina I will have no rival near me! I will not be condemned to this daily renewed struggle after the first rank as an artiste. I will not bear the possibility of a comparison between myself and any other woman. I am and I will remain the first; yes, I will!"

She raised herself up defiantly, and her burning glance fell upon the face of the king, but he met it firmly, and if the bearing of Barbarina was proud and commanding, that of King Frederick was more imposing.

"How!" said he, in a tone so harsh and threatening that Barbarina, in spite of her scorn and pa.s.sion, felt her heart tremble with fear.

"How! Is there another in Prussia who dares say, 'I will?' Is it possible that a voice is raised in contradiction to the expressed will of the king?"

Barbarina turned pale and trembled. The countenance of Frederick expressed what she had never seen before. It was harsh and cold, and a cutting irony spoke in his glance and a contemptuous smile played upon his lip.

"Mercy, mercy!" cried she, pleadingly; "have pity with my pa.s.sion.

Forget this inconsiderate word which scorn and despair drew from me.

Oh! sire, do not look upon me so coldly, unless you wish that I should sink down and die at your feet; crush me not in your anger, but pardon and forget."

With her lovely face bathed in tears and her arms stretched out imploringly; she drew near the king, but he stood up erect and stepped backward.

"Signora Barbarina, I have nothing to forgive, but I cannot grant your request. The Cochois keeps her role, and if you have any complaint to make, apply to your chief, Baron Swartz; and now, signora, farewell; the audience is ended."

He bowed his head lightly and turned away; but Barbarina uttered one wild cry, sprang after him, and with mad frenzy she clung to his arm.

"Sire, sire! do not go," she said, breathlessly; "do not forsake me in your rage. My G.o.d, do you not see that I suffer; that I shall be a maniac if you desert me!" and, gliding to his feet, she clasped his knees with her beautiful arms, and looked up at him imploringly.

"Oh, my king and my lord, let me be as a slave at your feet; do not spurn me from you!"

King Frederick did not reply; he leaned forward and looked down upon the lovely and enchanting woman lying at his feet, and never, perhaps, had her charms appeared so intoxicating as at this moment, but his face was sad, and his eyes, usually so clear and bright, were veiled in tears. There was a pause. Barbarina still clung to his knees, and looked up beseechingly, and the king regarded her with an expression of unspeakable melancholy; his great soul seemed to speak in the glance which fixed upon her. It was eloquent with love, rapture, and grief. Now their eyes met and seemed immovably fixed. In the midst of the profound silence nothing was heard but Barbarina's sighs. She knew full well the significance of this moment. She felt that fate, with its menacing and unholy shadow, was hovering over her. Suddenly the king roused himself, and the voice which broke the solemn silence sounded strange and harsh to Barbarina.

"Farewell, Signora Barbarina," said the king.

Barbarina's arms sank down powerless, and a sob burst from her lips.

The king did not regard it; he did not look back. With a firm hand he opened the door which led into his chamber; entered and closed it. He sank upon a chair, and gave one long and weary sigh. A profound despair was written on his countenance, and had Barbarina seen him, she would have appreciated the anguish of his heart.

She lay bathed in tears before his door, and cried aloud: "He has forsaken me! Oh, my G.o.d, he has forsaken me!" This fearful and terrible thought maddened her; she sprang up and shook the door fiercely, and with a loud and piteous voice she prayed for entrance.

She knew not herself what words of love, of anguish, of despair, and insulted pride burst from her pallid lips. One moment she threatened fiercely, then pleaded touchingly for pardon; sometimes her voice seemed full of tears--then cold and commanding. The king stood with folded arms, leaning against the other side of the door. He heard these paroxysms of grief and rage, and every word fell upon his heart as the song of the siren upon the ear of Ulysses. But Frederick was mighty and powerful; he needed no ropes or wax to hold him back. He had the strength to control his will, and the voice of wisdom, the warning voice of duty, spoke louder than the siren's song.

"No," said he, "I will not, I dare not allow myself to be again seduced. All this must come to an end! I have long known this, but I had no strength to resist temptation. Have I not solemnly sworn to have but one aim in life--to place the good of my people far above my own personal happiness? If the man and the king strive within me for mastery, the king must triumph above all other things. I must consider the holy duties which my crown lays upon me; my time, my thoughts, my strength, belong to my people, my land. I have already robbed them, for I have withdrawn myself. I have suffered an enchantress to step between me and my duty--another will than mine finds utterance, influences, and indeed controls my thoughts and actions. Alas! a king should be old and be born with the heart of a graybeard--he dare never have a heart of youth and fire if he would serve his people faithfully and honestly! With a heart of flesh I might have been a happier, a more amiable man, but a weak, unworthy king. I should have been intoxicated by a woman's love, and her light wish would have been more powerful than my will. Never, never shall that be! I will have the courage to trample my own heart under foot, and the sorrows of the man shall bo soothed and healed by the pomp and glory of the king."