Berlin and Sans-Souci Part 72

"So I am already a scoundrel?" said Voltaire, grinning. "My enemies triumph, and he who a short time since was called the wise man of the age, the Virgil of France, is nothing but a scoundrel! This time, I confess, I merited my humiliation, and the consciousness of this increases my rage. I am a good-humored, credulous fool. Why was I so silly as to credit the solemn protestations of the king that I should never feel his superior rank; that he would never show himself the master? If I dare to claim an equality with him for an instant, he swings his rod of correction, and I am bowed in the dust! Voltaire is not the man to bow patiently. The day shall come in which I will revenge with rich interest the degradation of this evening. But enough of anger and excitement. I will sleep; perhaps in happy dreams I shall wander from the chilly borders of the Spree to my own beautiful Paris."

He called Tripot, and commanded him to announce to Fredersdorf that he was ill, and could not accompany the king to Potsdam in the morning.

He then retired, and the G.o.ds, perhaps, heard his prayer, and allowed him in dreams to look upon Paris, where the Marquis de Pompadour reigned supreme, and the pious priests preached against the Atheist Voltaire, to whom the great-hearted King of Prussia had given an asylum. Perhaps he saw in his dreams the seigneurie of his glittering future, and his beautiful house at Ferney, where he built a temple, with the proud inscription, "Voltaire Deo erexit!"

At all events, his dreams must have been pleasant and refreshing. He laughed in his sleep; and his countenance, which was so often clouded by base and wicked pa.s.sions, was bright and clear; it was the face of a poet, who, with closed eyes, looked up into the heaven of heavens.

The morning came, and Voltaire still slept--even the rolling of the carriages aroused him but for a moment; he wrapped himself up in his warm bed. the soft eider down of his pillow closed over his head and made him invisible. Tripot came lightly upon tiptoe and removed the black coat of the merchant Fromery. Voltaire heard nothing; he slept on. And now the door was noisily opened, and a young woman, with fresh, rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, entered the room; she was dressed as a chambermaid, a little white coquettish cap covered her hair, and a white ap.r.o.n with a little bodice was laced over her striped woollen robe. Upon her white, naked arm she carried linen which she threw carelessly upon the floor, and drew with rash steps near the bed. Voltaire still slept, and was still invisible.

The young chambermaid, believing that he had gone with the king to Potsdam, had come to arrange the room; with a quick movement she seized the bed with her sinewy hands and threw it off. A wild cry was heard! a white skeleton figure rose from the bed, now lying in the middle of the chamber, and danced about the floor with doubled fists and wild curses. The girl uttered a shriek of terror and rushed from the room; and if the form and the nightcap had not been purely white, she would have sworn she had seen the devil in person, and that she had cast him out from the bed of the great French poet.

[Footnote: Thiebault, v., 281.]

CHAPTER X.

THE LOVERS.

The day of grace was at an end. The four weeks which the king had granted to his sister, in order that she might take counsel with herself, were pa.s.sed, and the heart of the princess was unmoved-- only her face was changed. Amelia hid her pallor with rouge, and the convulsive trembling of her lips with forced smiles; but it was evident that her cheeks became daily more hollow, and her eyes more inflamed. Even the king remarked this, and sent his physician to examine her eyes. The princess received this messenger of the king with a bitter, icy smile.

"The king is very good; but I am not ill--I do not suffer."

"But, your royal highness, your eyes suffer. They are weak and inflamed: allow me to examine them."

"Yes, as my brother has commanded it; but I warn you, you cannot heal them."

Meckel, the physician, examined her eyes with the closest attention, then shook his head thoughtfully.

"Princess," said he at last, in low, respectful tones, "if you grant your eyes no rest; if, instead of sleeping quietly, you pa.s.s the night pacing your room; if you continue to exhaust your eyes by constant weeping, the most fatal consequences may result."

"Do you mean I will become blind?" said Amelia, quietly.

"I mean your eyes are suffering; that, however, is no acute disease; but your whole nervous system is in a dangerous condition, and all this must be rectified before your eyes can be healed."

"Prescribe something, then, as his majesty has commanded it," said Amelia, coldly.

"I will give your royal highness a remedy; but it is of so strong and dangerous a nature, that it must be used only with the utmost caution. It is a liquid; it must be heated, and you must allow the steam to pa.s.s into your eyes. Your highness must be very, very careful. The substances in this mixture are so strong, so corrosive, that if you approach too near the steam, it will not only endanger your eyes, but your face and your voice. You must keep your mouth firmly closed, and your eyes at least ten inches above the vessel from which the steam is rising. Will your highness remember all this, and act as I have directed?"

"I will remember it," said Amelia, replying only to the first part of his question.

Meckel did not remark this. He wrote his prescription and withdrew, once more reminding Amelia of the caution necessary.

As has been said, this was the last day of grace. The princess seemed calm and resigned. Even to her confidential maid she uttered no complaints. The steaming mixture was prepared, and, while Amelia held herself some distance above it, as the physician had commanded, she said laughingly to Ernestine: "I must strive to make my eyes bright, that my brother may be pleased, or at least that he may not be excited against me."

The prescription seemed to work wonders. The eyes of the princess were clear and bright, and upon her cheeks burned that dark, glowing carnation, which an energetic will and a strong and bold resolve sometimes call into life.

"Now, Ernestine, come! make me a careful and tasteful toilet. It seems to me that this is my wedding-day; that I am about to consecrate myself forever to a beloved friend."

"Oh, princess, let it be thus!" cried Fraulein von Haak.

imploringly. "Constrain your n.o.ble heart to follow the wishes of the king, and wed the King of Denmark."

Amelia looked at her, amazed and angry. "You know that Trenck has received my warning, and has replied to me. He will listen to no suggestions; under no pretext, will he be influenced to cross the borders of Prussia, not even if full pardon and royal grace are offered him. I need not, therefore, be anxious on his account."

"That being the case, your royal highness should now think a little of your own happiness. You should seek to be reconciled to your fate--to yield to that which is unalterable. The king, the royal family, yes, the whole land will rejoice if this marriage with the King of Denmark takes place. Oh, princess, be wise! do willingly, peacefully, What you will otherwise be forced to do! Consent to be Queen of Denmark."

"You have never loved, Ernestine, and you do not know that it is a crime to break a holy oath sworn unto G.o.d. But let us be silent. I know what is before me--I am prepared!"

With calm indifference, Amelia completed her toilet; then stepped to the large Psyche, which stood in her boudoir, and examined herself with a searching eye.

"I think there is nothing in my appearance to enrage the king. I have laid rouge heavily upon my cheeks, and, thanks to Meckel's prescription, my eyes are as brilliant as if they had shed no tears.

If I meet my brother with this friendly, happy smile, he will not remark that my cheeks are sunken. He will be content with me, and perhaps listen to my prayers."

Ernestine regarded her with a sad and troubled glance. "You look pale, princess, in spite of your rouge, and your laugh lacerates the heart. There is a tone, a ring in it, like a broken harp-string."

"Still," said Amelia, "still, Ernestine! my hour has come! I go to the king. Look, the hand of the clock points to twelve, and I ask an audience of the king at this hour. Farewell, Ernestine! Ernestine, pray for me."

She wrapped herself in her mantle, and stepped slowly and proudly through the corridors to the wing of the castle occupied by the king. Frederick received her in his library. He advanced to the door to meet her, and with a kindly smile extended both his hands.

"Welcome, Amelia, a thousand times welcome! Your coming proves to me that your heart has found the strength which I expected; that my sweet sister has recovered herself, her maidenly pride, fully.

"The proud daughter of the Hohenzollerns is here to say to the king- -'The King of Denmark demands my hand. I will bestow it upon him. My father's daughter dare not wed beneath her. She must look onward and upward. There is no myrtle-wreath for me, but a crown is glittering, and I accept it. G.o.d has made both heart and brain strong enough to bear its weight. I shall be no happy shepherdess, but I shall be a great and good queen; I will make others happy.'"

"You have come, Amelia, to say this to the king; but you have also come to say to your brother--'I am ready to fulfil your wishes. I know that no selfish views, no ambitious plans influence you. I know that you think only of my prosperity and my happiness; that you would save me from misfortune, humiliation, and shame; that you would guard me from the mistakes and weaknesses of my own heart, I accede to your wish, my brother--I will be queen of Denmark?' Now, Amelia," said Frederick, with an agitated voice, "have I not rightly divined? Have you not sought me for this purpose?"

"No, my brother, no, no!" cried Amelia, with wild, gushing tears.

"No; I have come to implore your pity, your mercy." Completely beside herself, mad with pa.s.sion and pain, she fell upon her knees and raised her arms entreatingly to the king. "Mercy, my brother, mercy! Oh, spare my poor, martyred heart! Leave me at least the liberty to complain and to be wretched! Do not condemn me to marry Denmark!"

Frederick stepped backward, and his brow darkened; but he controlled his impatience, and drew near his sister with a kindly smile, and gently raising her from her knees, he led her to the divan.

"Come, Amelia, it does not become you to kneel to a man--to G.o.d only should a princess kneel. Let us be seated, and speak to each other as brother and sister should speak who love and wish to understand each other."

"I am ready for all else, I will accommodate myself to all else-- only be merciful! Do not compel me to wed Denmark!"

"Ah, see, my sister, although you are struggling against me, how justly you comprehend your position!" said the king, mildly. "You speak of wedding Denmark. Your exalted and great destiny sleeps in these words. A princess when she marries does not wed a man, but a whole people; she does not only make a man but a nation happy. There are the weeping, whose tears she will dry; the poor, whose hunger she will a.s.suage; the unhappy, to whom she will bring consolation; the sick and dying, with whom she will pray. There is a whole people advancing to meet her with shouts of gladness, stretching out their hands, and asking for love. G.o.d has blessed the hearts of queens with the power to love their subjects, because they are women. Oh, my sister, this is a great, a n.o.ble destiny which Providence offers you--to be the beneficent, mediating, smiling angel, standing ever by the side of a king--a bond of love between a king and his subjects! Truly one might well offer up their poor, pitiful wishes, their own personal happiness, for such a n.o.ble destiny."

"I have no more happiness to offer up," sighed Amelia. "I have no happiness; I do not ask so much. I plead for the poor right of living for my great sorrow--of being faithful to myself."

"He only is faithful to himself who lives to discharge his duties,"

said the king. "He only is true to himself who governs himself, and if he cannot be happy, at least endeavors to make others so, and this vocation of making others happy is the n.o.blest calling for a woman; by this shall she overcome her selfishness and find comfort, strength, and peace. And who, my sister, can say that he is happy?

Our life consists in unfulfilled wishes, vain hopes destroyed, ideals, and lost illusions. Look at me, Amelia. Have I ever been happy? Do you believe that there is a day of my life I would live over? Have I not, from my earliest youth, been acquainted with grief, self-denial, and pain? Are not all the blossoms of my life broken? Am I not, have I not ever been, the slave of my rank?--a man, 'cabined, cribbed, confined,' though I appear to be a great king? Oh, I will not relate what I have suffered--how my heart has been lacerated and trampled upon! I will only say to you, that, notwithstanding this, I have never wished to be other than I am, that I have been always thankful for my fate; glad to be born to a throne, and not in a miserable hut. Believe me, Amelia, a sublime misfortune is better, more glorious, than a petty happiness. To have the brow wounded, because the crown presses too heavily upon the temples, is more desirable than to breathe out your sorrows in the midst of poverty and vulgarity, then sink into a dark and unknown grave. G.o.d, who has, perhaps, denied us the blessing of love, gives fame as a compensation. If we are not happy, we are powerful!"

"Ah, my brother, these are the views of a man and a king," said Amelia. "I am a poor, weak woman. For me there is no fame, no power!"

"Isabella of Spain and Elizabeth of England were also women, and their fame has extended through centuries."

"They, however, were independent queens. I can be nothing more than the wife of a king. Oh, my brother, let me remain only the sister of a king! Let there be no change in my fate--let all remain as it is!