The king laid his flute aside, and walked restlessly and sullenly about his room. His brow was clouded, and he had in vain sought distraction in his faithful friend, the flute. Its soft, melodious voice brought no relief; the cloud was in his heart, and made him the slave of melancholy. Perhaps it was the pain of separation from his sister which oppressed his spirit.
The evening before, the princess had taken leave of the Berliners at the opera-house, that is, she had shown herself to them for the last time. While the prima donna was singing her most enchanting melodies, the travelling carriage of Ulrica drove to the door. The king wished to spare himself the agony of a formal parting, and had ordered that she should enter her carriage at the close of the opera, and depart, without saying farewell.
The people knew this. They were utterly indifferent to the beautiful opera of "Rodelinda," and fixed their eyes steadily upon the king's loge. They thus took a silent and affectionate leave of their young princess, who appeared before them for the last time, in all the splendor of her youth and beauty, and the dignity of her proud and royal bearing. An unwonted silence reigned throughout the house; all eyes were turned to the box where the princess sat between the two queens. Suddenly the door was thrown open, and the young Prince Ferdinand rushed, with open arms, to his sister.
"My dear, dear Ulrica!" he cried, weeping and sobbing painfully, "must it then be so? Do I indeed see you for the last time?" With childish eagerness he embraced his sister, and leaned his head upon her bosom. The princess could no longer control herself; she mingled her tears with those of her brother, and drawing him softly out of view, she whispered weeping and trembling words of tenderness; she implored him not to forget her, and promised to love him always.
The queen-mother stood near. She had forgotten that she was a queen, and remembered only that she was a mother about to lose her child forever; the thought of royal dignity and courtly etiquette was for some moments banished from her proud heart; she saw her children heart-broken and weeping before her, and she wept with them. [Footnote: Schneider's "History of the Opera and the Royal Opera- House."]
The people saw this. Never had the most gracious smile, the most condescending word of her majesty, won their hearts so completely as these tears of the mother. Every mother felt for this woman, who, though a queen, suffered a mother's anguish; and every maiden wept with this young girl, who, although entering upon a splendid future, shed hot tears over the happy past and the beloved home. When the men saw their wives and children weeping, and the prince not ashamed of his tears, they also wept, from sympathy and love to the royal house. In place of the gay jest and merry laughter wont to prevail between the acts, scarcely suppressed sobs were the only sounds to be heard. The glorious singer Salimberri was unapplauded. The Barbarina danced, but the accustomed bravos were hushed.
Was it the remembrance of this touching scene which moved the king so profoundly? Did this eternal separation from his beloved sister weigh upon his heart? The king himself knew not, or he would not acknowledge to himself what emotion produced this wild unrest. After laying his flute aside, he took up Livy, which lay always upon his writing-table, and tried to read a chapter; but the letters danced before his eyes, and his thoughts wandered far away from the old Roman. He threw the book peevishly aside, and, folding his arms, walked rapidly backward and forward.
"Ah me! ah me! I wish this were the day of battle!" he murmured. "To-day I should be surely victorious! I am in a fierce and desperate mood. The wild roar of conflict would be welcome as a sweet home song in a strange land, and the shedding of blood would be medicinal, and relieve my oppressed brain. What is it which has drawn this veil over my spirit? What mighty and mysterious power has stretched her hand over me? With what bounds am I held a helpless captive? I feel, but I cannot see them, and cannot tear them apart. No, no! I will be lord of myself. I will be no silent dreamer. I will live a true life. I will work, and be a faithful ruler, if I cannot be a free and happy man."
He rang the bell, and ordered the ministers to assemble for a cabinet council.
"I will work, and forget every thing else," he said, with a sad smile, and he entered his cabinet with this proud resolve.
This time the king deceived himself. The most earnest occupation did not drive the cloud from his brow: in fact, it became more lowering.
"I cannot endure this," he said, after walking backward and forward thoughtfully. "I will put a stop to it. As I am not a Ulysses, I do not see why I should bind my eyes, and stop my ears with wax, in order not to see this bewildering siren, and hear her intoxicating song. In this sorrowful and pitiful world, is it not a happiness to meet with an enchantress, to bow down to the magic of her charms, and for a small half hour to dream of bliss? All other men are mad: why should I alone be reasonable? Come, then, spirit of love and bliss, heavenly insanity, take possession of my struggling soul. Let old age be wise and cool, I am young and warm. For a little while I will play the fool, and forget my miserable dignity."
Frederick called his servant, and sent for General Rothenberg, then took his flute and began to play softly. When the general entered, the king nodded to him, but quietly finished his adagio; then laid the flute aside, and gave his hand to his friend.
"You must be Pylades, my friend, and banish the despondency which oppresses the heart and head of thy poor Orestes."
"I will be all that your majesty allows or commands me to be," said the general, laughing; "but I think the queen-mother would be little pleased to hear your majesty compare yourself to Orestes."
"Ah, you allude to Clytemnestra's faithless love-story, with which, truly, my exalted and virtuous mother cannot be associated. Well, my comparison is a little lame, but my despondency is real—deeply seated as my friendship for you."
"How! your majesty is melancholy? I understand this mood of my king," said Rothenberg. "It only takes possession of you the day before some great deed, and only then because the night before the day of triumph seems too long. Your majesty confesses that you are sad. I conclude, therefore, that we will soon have war, and soon rejoice in the victories of our king."
"Perhaps you are right," said the king, smiling. "I do not love war, but it is sometimes a necessary evil; and if I cannot relieve my godmother, Maria Theresa, of this mortal malady of pride and superciliousness without a general blood-letting, I must even play the physician and open a vein. The alliance with France is concluded; Charles the Seventh goes to Frankfort for coronation; the French ambassador accompanies him, and my army stands ready for battle, ready to protect the emperor against Austria. We will soon have war, friend, and I hope we will soon have a victory to celebrate. In a few weeks we will advance. Oh, Rothenberg! when I speak of battle, I feel that I am young, that my heart is not of stone—it bounds and beats as if it would break down its prison walls, and found a new home of glory and fame."
"The heart of my king will be ever young; it is full of trust and kindliness."
Frederick shook his head thoughtfully. "Do not believe that, Rothenberg; the hands that labor become hard and callous, and so is it with the heart. Mine has labored and suffered; it will turn at last to stone. Then I shall be condemned. The world will forget that it is responsible; they will speak only of my hard heart, and say nothing of the anguish and the deceptions which have turned me to stone. But what of that? Let these foolish two-legged creatures, who proudly proclaim that they are made in the image of God, say what they please of me; they cannot deprive me of my fame and my immortality. He who possesses that has received his reward, and dare utter no complaint. Truly Erostratus and Schinderhannes are celebrated, and Eulenspiegle is better known and beloved by the people than Socrates."
"This proves that Wisdom herself must take the trouble to make herself popular," said Rothenberg. "True fame is only obtained by popularity. Alexander the Great and Caesar were popular, and their names were therefore in the mouths of the people. This was their inheritance, handed down from generation to generation, from father to son. So will it be with King Frederick the Second. He is not only the king and the hero, but he is the man of the people. His fame will not be written alone on the tablets of history by the Muses; the people will write it on the pure, white, vacant leaves of their Bibles; the children and grandchildren will read it; and, centuries hence, the curious searchers into history will consider this as fame, and exalt the name of Frederick the Great."
"God grant it may be so!" said the king solemnly. "You know that I am ambitious. I believe that this passion is the most enduring, and that its burning thirst is never quenched. As crown prince, I was ever humiliated by the thought that the love, consideration, and respect shown to me was no tribute to my worth, but was offered to a prince, the son of a powerful king. With what admiration, with what enthusiasm did I look at Voltaire! he needed no high birth, no title, to be considered, honored, and envied by the whole world. I, however, must have rank, title, princely revenues, and a royal genealogical tree, in order to fix the eyes of men upon me. Ah, how often did I remind myself of the history of that great prince, who, surrounded by his enemies, and about to surrender, saw his servants and friends despairing and weeping around him! He smiled upon them, and uttered these few but expressive words: 'I feel by your tears that I am still a king.' I swore then to be like that noble man, to owe my fame, not to my royal mantle, but to myself. I have fulfilled but a small portion of my oath. I hope that my godmother, Maria Theresa, and the Russian empress, will soon afford me more enlarged opportunities. Our enemies are indeed our best friends; they enrage and inspire us."
"In so saying, sire, you condemn us all, we who are the most faithful, submissive, and enthusiastic friends of your highness."
"You are also useful to me," said the king. "You, for example, your cheerful, loving face does me good whenever I look upon it. You keep my heart young and fresh, and teach me to laugh, which pleasant art I am constantly forgetting in the midst of these wearisome and hypocritical men. I never laugh so merrily as when I am with you at your table, where I have the high privilege of laying aside my royalty, and being a simple, happy man like yourself. I rejoice in the prospect of this evening, and I am impatient as a young maiden before her first ball. This evening, if I remember correctly, I am invited by General von Rothenberg to a petit souper."
"Your majesty was kind enough to promise me that you would come."
"Do you know, Rothenberg, I really believe that the expectation of this fete has made the hours of the day so long and wearisome. Now, tell me, who are we to have? who takes part in our gayety?"
"Those who were selected by your majesty: Chazot and Algarotti,Jordan and Bielfeld."
"Did I select the company?" said the king, thoughtfully; "then I wonder that—" He stopped, and, looking down, turned away silently.
"What causes your majesty's wonder?" said the general.
"I am surprised that I did not ask you to give us Rhine wine this evening," said the king, with a sly smile.
"Rhine wine! why, your majesty has often told me that it was a slow poison, and produced death."
"Yes, that is true, but what will you have? There are many things in this incomprehensible world which are poisonous, and which, for that reason, are the more alluring. This is peculiarly so with women. He does well who avoids them; they bewilder our reason and make our hearts sick, but we do not flee from them. We pursue them, and the poison which they infuse in our veins is sweet; we quaff it rapturously, though death is in the cup."
"In this, however, your majesty is wiser than all other men: you alone have the power to turn away from or withstand them."
"Who knows? perhaps that is sheer cowardice," said the king; he turned away confused, and beat with his fingers upon the window- glass. "I called the Rhine wine poison, because of its strength. I think now that it alone deserves to be called wine—it is the only wine which has bloom." Frederick was again silent, and beat a march upon the window.
The general looked at him anxiously and thoughtfully; suddenly his countenance cleared, and a half-suppressed smile played upon his lips.
"I will allow myself to add a conclusive word to those of my king, that is, a moral to his fable. Your majesty says Rhine wine is the only wine which deserves the name, because it alone has bloom. So I will call that society only society which is graced and adorned by women. Women are the bloom of society. Do you not agree with me, sire?"
"If I agree to that proposition, it amounts to a request that you will invite women to our fete this evening—will it not?" said the king, still thrumming on the window.
"And with what rapture would I fulfil your wish, but I fear it would be difficult to induce the ladies to come to the house of a young bachelor as I am!"
"Ah, bah! I have determined during the next winter to give these little suppers very often. I will have a private table, and women shall be present."
"Yes, but your majesty is married."
"They would come if I were a bachelor. The Countess Carnas, Frau von Brandt, the Kleist, and the Morien, are too witty and too intellectual to be restrained by narrow-minded prejudice."
"Does your majesty wish that I should invite these ladies?" said the general; "they will come, without doubt, if your majesty commands it. Shall I invite them?"
The king hesitated a moment to reply. "Perhaps they would not come willingly," said he; "you are unmarried, and they might be afraid of their husbands' anger."
"I must, then, invite ladies who are not married," said Rothenberg, whose face was now radiant with delight; "but I do not know one unmarried lady of the higher circles who carries her freedom from prejudice so far as to dare attend a bachelor's supper."
"Must we always confine our invitations to the higher circles?" said the king, beating his parade march still more violently upon the window.
Rothenberg watched him with the eye of a sportsman, who sees the wild deer brought to bay.
"If your majesty will condescend to set etiquette aside, I will make a proposition."
"Etiquette is nonsense and folly, and shall not do the honors by our petits soupers; pleasure only presides."
"Then I propose that we invite some of the ladies from the theatre— is your majesty content?"
"Fully! but which of the ladies?" said the king.
"That is your majesty's affair," said Rothenberg, smiling. "You have selected the gentlemen, will it please you to name the ladies?"
"Well, then," said the king, hesitating, "what say you to Cochois,Astrea, and the little Petrea?"
"Sire, they will be all most welcome; but I pray you to allow me to add one name to your list, the name of a woman who is more lovely, more gracious, more intellectual, more alluring, than all the prima donnas of the world; who has the power to intoxicate all men, not excepting emperors and kings, and make them her willing slaves. Dare I name her, sire?"
"Certainly."
"The Signora Barbarina."
The king turned his head hastily, and his burning eyes rested questioningly upon the face of Rothenberg, who met his glance with a merry look.
Frederick was silent; and the general, making a profound bow, said solemnly: "I pray your majesty to allow me to invite Mesdames Cochois, Astrea, and Petrea, also the Signora Barbarina, to our petit souper."
"Four prima donnas at once!" said the king, laughing; "that would be dangerous; we would, perhaps, have the interesting spectacle of seeing them tear out each other's eyes. No, no! to enjoy the glories of the sun, there must be no rival suns in the horizon; we will invite but one enchantress, and as you are the host, you have the undoubted right to select her. Let it be then the Signora Barbarina." [Footnote: Rodenbeck: "Journal of Frederick the Great."]
"Your majesty graciously permits me to invite the Signora Barbarina?" said Rothenberg, looking the king steadily in the face; a rich blush suffused the cheeks of Frederick. Suddenly he laughed aloud, and laying his arm around the neck of his friend, he looked in his radiant face with an expression of confidence and love.
"You are a provoking scamp," said Frederick. "You understood me from the beginning, and left me hanging, like Absalom, upon the tree. That was cruel, Rothenberg."
"Cruel, but well deserved, sire. Why would you not make known your wishes clearly? Why leave me to guess them?"
"Why? My God! it is sometimes so agreeable and convenient to have your wishes guessed. The murder is out. You will invite the beautiful Barbarina. You can also invite another gentleman, an artist, in order that the lovely Italian may not feel so lonely amongst us barbarians."
"What artist, sire?"
"The painter Pesne; go yourself to invite him. It might be well for him to bring paper and pencil—he will assuredly have an irresistible desire to make a sketch of this beautiful nymph."
"Command him to do so, sire, and then to make a life-size picture from the sketch."
"Ah! so you wish a portrait of the Barbarina?"
"Yes, sire; but not for myself."
"For whom, then?"
"To have the pleasure of presenting it to my king."
"And why?"
"Because I am vain enough to believe that, as my present, the picture would have some value in your eyes," said Rothenberg, mockingly. "What cares my king for a portrait of the Barbarina? Nothing, sans doute. But when this picture is not only painted by the great Pesne, but is also the gift of a dear, faithful friend, I wager it will be highly appreciated by your majesty, and you will perhaps be gracious enough to hang it in your room."
"You! you!" said the king, pointing his finger threateningly at Rothenberg, "I am afraid of you. I believe you listen to and comprehend my most secret thoughts, and form your petition according to my wishes. I will, like a good-natured, easy fool, grant this request. Go and invite the Barbarina and the painter Pesne, and commission him to paint a life-size picture of the fair one. [Footnote: This splendid picture of Barbarina hung for a long time in the king's cabinet, and is still to be seen in the Royal Palace at Berlin.] Pesne must have several sketches, and I will choose from amongst them."
"I thank your majesty," cried the general; "and now have the goodness to dismiss me—I must make my preparations."
As Rothenberg stood upon the threshold, the king called him. "You have guessed my thoughts, and now I will prove to you that I read yours. You think I am in love."
"In love? What! I dare to think that?" said the general; and folding his hands he raised his eyes as if in prayer. "Shall I dare to have such an unholy thought in connection with my anointed king?"
The king laughed heartily. "As to my sanctity, I think the holy Antonius will not proclaim me as his brother. But I am not exactly in love." He stepped to the window, upon the sill of which a Japanese rose stood in rich bloom; he plucked one of the lovely flowers, and handing it to the general, he said: "Look, now! is it not enchantingly beautiful? Think you, that because I am a king, I have no heart, no thirst for beauty? Go! but remember that, though a king, I have the eyes and the passions of other men. I, too, am intoxicated by the perfume of flowers and the beauty of women."
The night was dark and still; so dark in the garden of Monbijou, that the keenest eye could not detect the forms of the two men who slipped stealthily among the trees; so still, that the slightest contact of their clothing with the motionless leaves, and the slightest footstep in the sand could be heard. But, happily, there was none to listen; unchallenged and unseen, the two muffled figures entered the avenue, at the end of which stood the little palace, the summer residence of the queen-mother. Here they rested for a moment, and cast a searching glance at the building, which stood also dark and silent before them.
"No light in the windows of the queen-mother," whispered one; "all asleep."
"Yes, all asleep, we have nothing to fear; let us go onward." The last speaker made a few hasty steps forward, but his companion seized him hastily by the arm, and held him hack.
"You forget, my young Hotspur, that we must wait for the signal. Still! still! do not stamp so impatiently with your feet; you need not shake yourself like a young lion. He who goes upon such adventures must, above all things, be self-possessed, cautious, and cool. Believe me, I have had a long range of experience, and in this species of love adventure I think I might possibly rival the famous King Charles the Second, of England."
"But here there is no question of love adventure, Baron Pollnitz," said his companion impatiently, almost fiercely.
"Not of love adventure, Baron Trenck! well, may I dare to ask what is the question?"
"A true—an eternal love!"
"Ah! a true, an eternal love," repeated Pollnitz, with a dry, mocking laugh. "All honor to this true love, which, with all the reasons for its justification, and all the pathos of its heavenly source, glides stealthily to the royal palace, and hides itself under the shadow of the silent night. My good young sentimentalist, remember I am not a novice like yourself; I am an old fogy, and call things by their right names. Every passion is a true and eternal love, and every loved one is an angel of virtue, beauty, and purity, until we weary of the adventure, and seek a new distraction."
"You are a hopeless infidel," said Trenck, angrily; "truly he who has changed his faith as often as you have, has no religion—not even the religion of love. But look! a light is shown, and the window is opened; that is the signal."
"You are right, that is the signal. Let us go," whispered Pollnitz; and he stepped hastily after the young officer.
And now they stood before the window on the ground floor, where the light had been seen for a moment. The window was half open.
"We have arrived," said Trenck, breathing heavily; "now, dear Pollnitz, farewell; it cannot certainly be your intention to go farther. The princess commissioned you to accompany me to the castle, but she did not intend you should enter with me. You must understand this. You boast that you are rich in experience, and will therefore readily comprehend that the presence of a third party is abhorrent to lovers. I know that you are too amiable to make your friends wretched. Farewell, Baron Pollnitz."
Trenck was in the act of springing into the window, but the strong arm of the master of ceremonies held him back.
"Let me enter first," said he, "and give me a little assistance. Your sophistical exposition of the words of our princess is entirely thrown away. She said to me, 'At eleven o'clock I will expect you and the Baron von Trenck in my room.' That is certainly explicit—as it appears to me, and needs no explanation. Lend me your arm."
With a heavy sigh, Trenck gave the required assistance, and then sprang lightly into the room.
"Give me your hand, and follow cautiously," said Pollnitz. "I know every step of the way, and can guard you against all possible accidents. I have tried this path often in former years, particularly when Peter the Great and his wife, with twenty ladies of her suite, occupied this wing of the castle."
"Hush!" said Trenck; "we have reached the top—onward, silently.
"Give me your hand, I will lead you."
Carefully, silently, and on tip-toe, they passed through the dark corridor, and reached the door, through which a light shimmered. They tapped lightly upon the door, which was immediately opened. The confidential chambermaid of the princess came forward to meet them, and nodded to them silently to follow her; they passed through several rooms; at last she paused, and said, earnestly: "This is the boudoir of the princess; enter—you are expected."
With a hasty movement, Trenck opened the door—this door which separated him from his first love, his only hope of happiness. He entered that dimly-lighted room, toward which his weary, longing eyes had been often turned almost hopelessly. His heart beat stormily, his breathing was irregular, he thought he might die of rapture; he feared that in the wild agitation of the moment he might utter a cry, indicative as much of suffering as of joy.
There, upon the divan, sat the Princess Amelia. The hanging lamp lighted her face, which was fair and colorless. She tried to rise and advance to meet him, but she had no power; she extended both her hands, and murmured a few unintelligible words.
Frederick von Trenck's heart read her meaning; he rushed forward and covered her hands with his kisses and his tears; he fell upon his knees, and murmured words of rapture, of glowing thanks, of blessed joy—words which filled the trembling heart of Amelia with delight.
All this fell upon the cold but listening ears of the master of ceremonies, and seemed to him as sounding brass and the tinkling cymbal. He hid discreetly and modestly withdrawn to the back part of the room; but he looked on like a worldling, with a mocking smile at the rapture of the two lovers. He soon found, however, that the role which he was condemned to play had its ridiculous and humiliating aspect, and he resolved to bear it no longer. He came forward, and with his usual cool impertinence he approached the princess, who greeted him with a crimson blush and a silent bow.
"Pardon me, your royal highness, if I dare to ask you to decide a question which has arisen between my friend Trenck and myself. He did not wish to allow me to accompany him farther than the castle window. I declared that I was authorized by your royal highness to enter with him this holiest of holies. Perhaps, however, I was in error, and have carried my zeal in your service too far. I pray you, therefore, to decide. Shall I go or stay?"
The princess had by this time entirely recovered her composure. "Remain," said she, with a ravishing smile, and giving her hand to the baron. "You were our confidant from the beginning, and I desire you to be wholly so. I wish you to be fully convinced that our love, though compelled for a while to seek darkness and obscurity, need not shun the eye of a friend. And who knows if we may not one day need your testimony? I do not deceive myself. I know that this night my good and evil genius are struggling over my future—that misfortune and shame have already perhaps stretched their wings over my head; but I will not yield to them without a struggle. It may be that one day I shall require your aid. Remain, therefore."
Pollnitz bowed silently. The princess fixed her glance upon her lover, who, with a clouded brow and sad mien, stood near. She understood him, and a smile played upon her full, red lip.
"Remain, Von Pollnitz, but allow us to step for a moment upon the balcony. It is a wondrous night. What we two have to say to each other, only heaven, with its shining stars, dare hear; I believe they only can understand our speech."
"I thank you! oh, I thank you!" whispered Trenck, pressing the hand of Amelia to his lips.
"Your royal highness, then, graciously allowed me to come here," said Pollnitz, with a complaining voice, "in order to give me up entirely to my own thoughts, and force me to play the part of a Trappist. I shall, if I understand rightly my privileges, like the lion in the fairy tale, guard the door of that paradise in which my young friend revels in his first sunny dream of bliss. Your royal highness must confess that this is cruel work; but I am ready to undertake it, and place myself, like the angel with the flaming sword, before the door, ready to slay any serpent who dares undertake to enter this elysium."
The princess pointed to a table upon which game, fruit, and Spanish wine had been placed. "You will find there distraction and perhaps consolation, and I hope you will avail yourself of it. Farewell, baron; we place ourselves under your protection; guard us well." She opened the door and stepped with her lover upon the balcony.
Pollnitz looked after them contemptuously. "Poor child! she is afraid of herself; she requires a duenna, and that she should have chosen exactly me for that purpose was a wonderful idea. Alas! my case is indeed pitiful; I am selected to play the part of a duenna. No one remembers that I have ears to hear and teeth to bite. I am supposed to see, nothing more. But what shall I see, what can I see in this dark night, which the god of love has so clouded over in compassion to this innocent and tender pair of doves? This was a rich, a truly romantic and girlish idea to grant her lover a rendezvous, it is true, under God's free heaven, but upon a balcony of three feet in length, with no seat to repose upon after the powerful emotions of a burning declaration of love. Well, for my part I find it more comfortable to rest upon this divan and enjoy my evening meal, while these two dreamers commune with the night-birds and the stars."
He threw himself upon the seat, seized his knife and fork, and indulged himself in the grouse and truffles which had been prepared for him.
Without, upon the balcony, stood the two lovers. With their arms clasped around each other, they gazed up at the dark heavens—too deeply moved for utterance. They spoke to each other in the exalted language of lovers (understood only by the angels), whose words are blushes, sighs, glances, and tender pressures of the hand.
In the beginning this was their only language. Both shrank from interrupting this sweet communion of souls by earthly material speech. Suddenly their glances fell from heaven earthward. They sought another heaven, and other and dearer stars. Their eyes, accustomed to the darkness, met; their blushes and their happy smiles, though not seen, were understood and felt, and at the same moment they softly called each other's names.
This was their first language, soon succeeded by passionate and glowing protestations on his part; by blushing, trembling confessions on hers. They spoke and looked like all the millions of lovers who have found themselves alone in this old world of ours. The same old story, yet ever new.
The conduct, hopes, and fears of these young lovers could not be judged by common rules. Theirs was a love which could not hope for happiness or continuance; for which there was no perfumed oasis, no blooming myrtle-wreath to crown its dark and stormy path. They might be sure that the farther they advanced, the more trackless and arid would be the desert opening before them. Tears and robes of mourning would constitute their festal adorning.
"Why has Destiny placed you so high above me that I cannot hope to reach you? can never climb the ladder which leads to heaven and to happiness?" said Trenck, as he knelt before the princess.
She played thoughtfully with his long dark hair, and a burning tear rolled slowly over her cheek and fell upon his brow. That was her only answer.
Trenck shuddered. He dashed the tear from his face with trembling horror. "Oh, Amelia! you weep; you have no word of consolation, of encouragement, of hope for me?"
"No word, my friend; I have no hope, no consolation. I know that a dark and stormy future awaits us. I know that this cloudy night, under whose shadow we for the first time join our hands will endure forever; that for us the sun will never shine. I know that the moment our glances first met, my protecting angel veiled her face and, weeping, left me. I know that it would have been wiser and better to give your heart, with its treasures, to a poor beggar-girl on the street, than to consecrate it to the sister of a king—to the poor Princess Amelia."
"Stop, stop!" cried Trenck, still on his knees, and bowing his head almost to the earth. "Your words pierce my heart like poisoned daggers, and yet I feel that they are truth itself. Yes, I was indeed a bold traitor, in that I dared to raise my eyes to you; I was a blasphemer, in that I, the unconsecrated, forced myself into the holy temple of your heart; upon its altar the vestal flame of your pure and innocent thoughts burned clearly, until my hot and stormy sighs brought unrest and wild disorder. But I repent. There is yet time. You are bound to me by no vow, no solemn oath. Oh, Amelia! lay this scarcely-opened flower of our first young love by the withered violet-wreaths of your childhood, with which even now you sometimes play and smile upon in quiet and peaceful hours; to which you whisper: 'You were once beautiful and fragrant; you made me happy—but that is past.' Oh, Amelia! yet is there time; give me up; spurn me from you. Call your servants and point me out to them as a madman, who has dared to glide into your room; whose passion has made him blind and wild. Give me over to justice and to the scaffold. Only save yourself from my love, which is so cowardly, so egotistic, so hard-hearted; it has no strength in itself to choose banishment or death. Oh, Amelia! cast me away from your presence; trample me under your feet. I will die without one reproach, without one complaint. I will think that my death was necessary to save you from shame, from the torture of a long and dreary existence. All this is still in your power. I have no claim upon you; you are not mine; you have listened to my oaths, but you have not replied to them; you are free. Spurn me, then, you are bound by no vow."
Amelia raised her arm slowly and solemnly toward heaven. "I love you! May God hear me and accept my oath! I love you, and I swear to be yours; to be true and faithful; never to wed any other man!"
"Oh, most unhappy woman! oh, greatly to be pitied!" cried Trenck. Throwing his arms around her neck he laid his head upon her bosom. "Amelia, Amelia! these are not tears of rapture, of bliss. I weep from wretchedness, from anguish, for your dear sake. Ah, no! I will not accept your oath. I have not heard your words—those heavenly words which would have filled my heart with light and gladness, had they not contained your fatal condemnation. Oh, my beloved! you swear that you love me? That is, to sacrifice all the high privileges of your rank; the power and splendor which would surround a husband of equal birth—a throne, a royal crown. Beware! when I once accept your love, then you are mine; then I will never release you; not to the king—not even to God. You will be mine through all time and all eternity; nothing shall tear you from my arms, not even your own wish, your own prayers. Oh, Amelia! do you see that I am a madman, insane from rapture and despair! Should you not flee from a maniac? Perhaps his arm, imbued with giant strength, seeking to hold you ever to his heart, might crush you. Fly, then; spurn me from you; go to your room; go, and say to this mocking courtier, to whom nothing is holy, not even our love, who is surprised, at nothing—go and say to him: 'Trenck was a madman; I summoned him for pity; I hoped by mildness and forbearance to heal him. I have succeeded; he is gone. Go, now, and watch over your friend.' I will not contradict your words; so soon as you cross the threshold of the door, I will spring from the balcony. I will be careful; I will not stumble; I will not dash my head against the stones; I will not be found dead under your window; no trace of blood shall mark my desperate path. My wounds are fatal, but they shall bleed inwardly; only upon the battle-field will I lie down to die. Amid the roar of cannon I shall not be heard; I dare call your name with the last sigh which bursts from my icy lips; my last words of love will mingle with the convulsive groans of the dying. Flee, then! flee from wretchedness and despair. May God bless you and make you happy!"
Trenck drew aside reverentially, that she might pass him; but she moved not—her eyes were misty with tears, tears of love, of heavenly peace. Amelia laid her soft hand upon his shoulder. Her eyes, which were fixed upon his face, had a wondrous glow. Love and high resolve were written there. "Two of the brightest stars in yonder heavens did wander in our sphere." Trenck looked upon her, and saw and felt that we are indeed made in the image of God.
"I seek no safety in flight. I remain by your side; I love you, I love you! This is no trembling, sighing, blushing, sentimental love of a young maiden. I offer you the love of a bold, proud woman, who looks shame and death in the face. In the fire of my anguish, my love has become purified and hardened; in this flame it has forgotten its girlish blushes, and is unbending and unconquerable. I have baptized it with my tears; I have taken it to my heart, as a mother takes her new-born child whose existence is her condemnation, her dishonor, her shame; whom she loves boundlessly, and blesses even while weeping over it! I also weep, and I feel that condemnation and shame are my portion. I also bless my love; I think myself happy and enviable. God has blessed me; He has sent one pure, burning ray of His celestial existence into my heart, and taught me how to love unchangeably, immortally."
"Oh, Amelia, why cannot I die now?" cried Trenck, falling powerless at her feet.
She stooped and raised him up with a strong hand.
"Rise," she said; "we must stand erect, side by side, firm and cool. When you kneel before me, I fear that you see in me a princess, the sister of a king. I am simply your beloved, the woman who adores you. Look you, Trenck, I do not say 'the young girl;' in my interior life I am no longer that. This fearful battle with myself has made me old and cautious. A young girl is trembling and cowardly. I am firm and brave; a young girl blushes when she confesses her love; I do not confess, I declare and glory in my passion. A young girl shudders when she thinks of dishonor and misery, of the power and rage and menaces of her family; when with prophetic eye she sees a herald clad in mourning announcing her dark fate. I shudder not. I am no weak maiden; I am a woman who loves without limit, unchangeably, eternally."
She threw her arms around him, and a long and blessed pause ensued. Lightly whispered the wind in the tops of the lofty poplars and oaks of the garden; unnumbered stars came out in their soft splendor and looked down upon this slumbering world. Many slept, forgetful alike of their joys and their griefs; some, rejoicing in unhoped-for happiness, looked up with grateful and loving hearts; others, with convulsive wringings of the hands and wild cries of anguish, called upon Heaven for aid. What know the stars of this? they flash and glimmer alike upon the happy and the despairing. The earth and sky have no tears, no sympathy for earthly passions. Amelia released herself from the arms of her lover and fixed her eyes upon the heavens. Suddenly a star fell, marking its downward and rapid flight with a line of silver; in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, it was extinguished.
"An evil omen!" cried she, pointing upward. With a mysterious sympathy, Trenck had looked up at the same moment.
"The heavens will not deceive us, Amelia; they warn us, but this warning comes too late. You are mine, you have sworn that you love me; I have accepted your vows. May God also have heard them, and may He be gracious to us! Is it not written that Faith can remove mountains? that she is more powerful than the mightiest kings of the earth; stronger than death—that conquerors and heroes fall before her? Let us, then, have faith in our love; let us be strong in hope, in patience, in constancy."
"My brother says we shall soon have war. Will you not win a wreath of laurel upon the battle-field? who can know but the king may value it as highly, may consider it as glorious, as a princely crown? All my sisters are married to princes; perhaps my royal brother may pardon me for loving a hero whose brow is bound by a laurel-wreath alone."
"Swear to me, Amelia, to wait—to be patient, to give me time to reach this goal, which you paint in such heavenly colors."
"I swear!"
"You will never be the wife of another?"
"I will never be the wife of another."
"Be it prince or king; even if your brother commands it?"
"Be it prince or king; even if my brother commands it, I will never obey him."
"God, my God! you have heard our vows." While speaking, he took Amelia's head in his hands softly and bowed it down as if it were a holy sacrifice which he offered up to Heaven. "You have heard her oath: O God, punish her, crush her in your wrath, if she prove false!"
"I will be faithful to the end. May God punish me if I fail!"
"And now, beloved, you are mine eternally. Let me press our betrothal kiss upon your sweet lips; you are my bride, my wife. Tremble not now, turn not away from my arms; you have no other refuge, no other strong fortress than my heart, but it is a rock on which you can safely build; its foundation is strong, it can hold and sustain you. If the storm is too fierce, we can plunge together into the wild, raging sea, and be buried in the deep. Oh, my bride, let me kiss your lips; you are sanctified and holy in my eyes till the glorious day in which life or death shall unite us."
"No, you shall not kiss me; I embrace you, my beloved," and she pressed her soft full lips, which no untruthful, immodest word had ever desecrated, to his. It was a kiss holy, innocent, and pure as a maiden's prayer. "And now, my beloved, farewell," said Amelia, after a long pause, in which their lips had been silent, but their hearts had spoken to each other and to God. "Go," she said; "night melts into morn, the day breaks!"
"My day declines, my night comes on apace," sighed Trenck. "When do we meet again?"
Amelia looked up, smilingly, to the heavens. "Ask the stars and the calendar when the heavens are dark, and the moon hides her fair face; then I expect you—the window will be open and the door unbarred."
"The moon has ever been thought to be the friend of lovers," said Trenck, pressing the hand of the princess to his heart; "but I hate her with a perfect hatred, she robs me of my happiness."
"And now, let us return to Baron Pollnitz, who is, without doubt, impatient."
"Why must he always accompany me, Amelia? why will you not allow me to come alone?"
"Why? I scarcely know myself. It seems to me we are safer when watched over by the eye of a friend; perhaps I am unduly anxious; a warning voice whispers me that it is better so. Pollnitz has become the confidant of our love, let us trust him fully; let him know that, though traitors and meriting punishment in the sight of men, we are not guilty in the sight of God, and have no cause to blush or look down. Pollnitz must always accompany you."
"Ah, Amelia!" sighed Trenck; "you have not forgotten that you are a princess. Love has not wholly conquered you. You command. It is not so with me. I submit, I obey, and I am silent. Be it as you will: Pollnitz shall always accompany me—only promise me to come ever upon the balcony."
"I promise! and now, beloved, let us say farewell to God, to the heavens, to the soft stars, and the dark night, which has spread her mantle over us and allowed us to be happy."
"Farewell, farewell, my happiness, my love, my pride, my hope, my future! Oh, Amelia, why cannot I go this moment into battle, and pluck high honors which will make me more worthy of you?"
They embraced for the last time, and then stepped into the room. Pollnitz still sat on the divan before the table. Only a poor remnant of the feast remained; his tongue had been forced to silence in this lonely room, but he had been agreeably occupied with the game, fruits, jellies, and wine which were placed before him; he had stretched himself comfortably upon the sofa, and was quietly enjoying the blessed feeling of a healthy and undisturbed digestion. At last he had fallen asleep, or seemed so; it was some moments before Trenck succeeded in forcing him to open his eyes.
"You are very cruel, young friend," said he, rising up; "you have disturbed me in the midst of a wondrous and rapturous dream."
"Might I inquire into this dream?" said the princess.
"Ah, your royal highness, I dreamed of the only thing which would ever surprise or enrapture me in this comical and good-for-nothing world. I dreamed I had no creditors, and heaps of gold."
"And your dream differs widely from the reality?"
"Yes, my gracious princess, just the opposite is true. I have unnumbered creditors, and no gold."
"Poor Pollnitz! how do you propose to free yourself from this painful embarrassment?"
"Ah, your royal highness, I shall never attempt it! I am more than content when I can find some soothing palliatives for this chronic disease, and, at least, find as many louis d'ors in my pocket as I have creditors to threaten me."
"And is that now your happy state?"
"No, princess, I have only twelve louis d'ors."
"And how many creditors?"
"Two-and-thirty."
"So twenty louis d'ors are wanting to satisfy your longing?"
"Yes, unhappily."
The princess walked to her table and took from it a little roll of gold, which she handed to the master of ceremonies. "Take it," said she, smiling; "yesterday I received my pin-money for the month, and I rejoice that I am in a condition to balance your creditors and your louis d'ors at this time."
Pollnitz took the gold without a blush, and kissed the hand of the princess gallantly. "Ah! I have but one cause of repentance," sighed he.
"Well, what is that?"
"That I did not greatly increase the number of my creditors. My God! who could have guessed the magnanimous intentions of my royal princess?"
Drunk with happiness, revelling in the recollection of this first interview with his lovely and exalted mistress, Frederick von Trenck rode slowly through the lonely highways toward Potsdam. It was not necessary for him to pay any attention to the road, as his horse knew every foot of the way. Trenck laid his bridle carelessly upon the neck of the noble animal, and gave himself up entirely to meditation. Suddenly night waned, the vapors melted, light appeared in the east, and the first purple glow was succeeded by a clear, soft blue. The larks sang out their joyous morning song in the heavens, not yet disturbed by the noise and dust of the day.
Trenck heard not the song of the lark, he saw not the rising sun, which, with his golden rays, illuminated the landscape, and changed the dew-drops in the cups of the flowers into shimmering diamonds and rubies; he was dreaming, dreaming. The sweet and wondrous happiness of the last few hours intoxicated his soul; he recalled every word, every smile, every pressure of the hand of his beloved, and a crimson blush suffused his cheek, a sweet tremor oppressed his heart, as he remembered that she had been clasped in his arms; that he had kissed the pure, soft, girlish lips, whose breath was fresher and more odorous than the glorious morning air which fanned his cheeks and played with his long dark hair. With a radiant smile and proudly erected head, he recalled the promise of the princess. She had given him reason to hope; she believed in the possibility of their union.
And why, indeed, might not this be possible? Had not his career in the last few months been so brilliant as to excite the envy of his comrades? was he not recognized as the special favorite of the king? Scarcely six months had passed since he arrived in Berlin; a young, poor, and unknown student, he was commended to the king by his protector, the Count von Lottum, who earnestly petitioned his majesty to receive him into his life-guard. The king, charmed by his handsome and martial figure, by his cultivated intellect and wonderful memory, had made him cornet in his cavalry guard, and a few weeks later he was promoted to a lieutenancy. Though but eighteen years of age, he had the distinguished honor to be chosen by the king to exercise two regiments of Silesian cavalry, and Frederick himself had expressed his content, not only in gracious but affectionate words. [Footnote: "Memoires de Frederic Baron von Trenck," traduits par Lui-meme su l'original allemande.] It is well known that the smile of a prince is like the golden rays of the sun: it lends light and glory to every object upon which it rests, and attracts the curious gaze of men.
The handsome young lieutenant, basking in the rays of royal favor, was naturally an object of remark and the most distinguished attentions to the circle of the court. More than once the king had been seen to lay his arm confidingly upon the shoulder of Trenck, and converse with him long and smilingly; more than once had the proud and almost unapproachable queen-mother accorded the young officer a gracious salutation; more than once had the princesses at the fetes of the last winter selected him as their partner, and all those young and lovely girls of the court declared that there was no better dancer, no more attentive cavalier, no more agreeable companion than Frederick von Trenck—than this youthful, witty, merry officer, who surpassed all his comrades, not, only in his height and the splendor of his form, but in talent and amiability. It was therefore to be expected that this proud aristocracy would seek to draw the favorite of the king and of the ladies into their circle.
Frederick von Trenck was of too sound and healthy a nature, he had too much strength of character, to be made vain or supercilious by these attentions. He soon, however, accustomed himself to them as his right; and he was scarcely surprised when the king, after his promotion, sent him two splendid horses from his own stable, and a thousand thalers, [Footnote: Ibid.] at that time a considerable sum of money.
This general adulation inspired naturally bold wishes and ambitious dreams, and led him to look upon the impossible and unheard of as possible and attainable. Frederick von Trenck was not vain or imperious, but he was proud and ambitious; he had a great object in view, and all his powers were consecrated to that end; in his hopeful, sunny hours, he did not doubt of success; he was ever diligent, ever watchful, ever ready to embrace an opportunity; ever expecting some giant work, which would, in its fruition, bring him riches and honor, fame and greatness. He felt that he had strength to win a world and lay it bound at his feet; and if the king had commanded him to undertake the twelve labors of Hercules, he would not have shrunk from the ordeal. Convinced that a glorious future awaited him, he prepared himself for it. No hour found him idle. When his comrades, wearied by the fatiguing service and the oft- repeated exercises and preparations for war, retired to rest, Trenck was earnestly engaged in some grave study, some scientific work, seated at his writing-table surrounded with books, maps, and drawings.
The young lieutenant was preparing himself to be a general, or a conquering hero, by his talents and his great deeds; to subdue the world and its prejudices; to bridge over with laurels and trophies the gulf which separated him from the princess. Was he not already on the way? Did not the future beckon to him with glorious promise? Must not he, who at eighteen years of age had attained that for which many not less endowed had given their whole lives in vain—he, the flattered cavalier, the scholar, and the officer of the king's guard—be set apart, elected to some exalted fate?
These were the thoughts which occupied the young man, and which made him forgetful of all other things, even the danger with which the slow movements of his horse and the ever-rising sun threatened him.
It was the custom of the king to attend the early morning parade, and the commander, Captain Jaschinsky, did not belong to Trenck's friends; he envied him for his rapid promotion; it angered him that Trenck had, at a bound, reached that position to which he had wearily crept forward through long years of service. It would have made him happy to see this young man, who advanced so proudly and triumphantly upon the path of honor and distinction, cast down from the giddy height of royal favor, and trampled in the lust of forgetfulness. He watched his young lieutenant with the smiling cunning of a base soul, resolved to punish harshly the smallest neglect of duty.
And now he had found his opportunity. A sergeant, who was a spy for the captain, informed him that Trenck's corporal had told him his master had ridden forth late in the night and had not yet returned. The sergeant had watched the door of the house in which Trenck resided, and was convinced that he was still absent. This intelligence filled the heart of Captain Jaschinsky with joy; he concealed it, however, under the mask of indifference; he declared that he did not believe this story of Trenck's absence. The young man knew full well that no officer was allowed to leave Potsdam, even for an hour, without permission, particularly during the night.
In order, as he said, to convince the sergeant of the untruth of this statement, he sent him with some trifling commission to Lieutenant von Trenck. The sergeant returned triumphantly; the baron was not at home, and his servant was most anxious about him, The captain shrugged his shoulders silently. The clock struck eight; he seized his hat, and hastened to the parade.
The whole line was formed; every officer stood by his regiment, except the lieutenant of the second company. The captain saw this at a glance, and a wicked smile for one moment played upon his face. He rode with zealous haste to the front of his regiment and saluted the king, who descended the steps of the castle, accompanied by his generals and adjutants.
At this moment, to the right wing of the regiment, there was a slight disturbance, which did not escape the listening ear of the captain. He turned his head, and saw that Trenck had joined his company, and that his horse was panting and bathed in sweat. The captain's brow was clouded; the young officer seemed to have escaped the threatened danger. The king had seen nothing. Trenck was in his place, and it would be useless to bring a charge against him.
The king, however, had seen all; his keen eye had observed Trenck's rapid approach, and his glowing, heated countenance; and as he rode to the front, he drew in his horse directly before Trenck.
"How comes it that your horse is fatigued and sweating? I must suppose he is fresh from the stable, and his master just from his bed. It appears, however, that he has been delayed there; I see that he has just arrived upon the parade-ground."
The officer murmured a few incomprehensible words.
"Will you answer me?" said the king; "is your horse just from the stable—are you directly from your bed?"
Frederick von Trenck's head had been bowed humbly upon his breast, he now raised it boldly up; he was resolved; his fierce eyes met those of the king. "No, your majesty," said he, with a cool, composed mien, "my horse is not from the stable—I am not from my bed."
There was a pause, an anxious, breathless pause. Every eye was fixed observantly upon the king, whose severity in military discipline was known and feared.
"Do you know," said the king at last, "that I command my officers to be punctual at parade?"
"Yes, sire."
"Do you know that it is positively forbidden to leave Potsdam without permission?"
"Yes, your majesty."
"Well, then, since this was known to you, where have you been? You confess that you do not come from your dwelling?"
"Sire, I was on the chase, and loitered too long. I know I am guilty of a great misdemeanor, and I expect my pardon only from the grace of my king."
The king smiled, and his glance was mild and kindly. "You expect also, as it appears, under any circumstances, a pardon? Well, this time you shall not be disappointed. I am well pleased that you have been bold enough to speak the truth. I love truthful people; they are always brave. This time you shall go unpunished, but beware of the second offence. I warn you."
Alas! what power had even a king's warning over the passionate love of a youth of eighteen? Trenck soon forgot the danger from which he had escaped; and even if remembered, it would not have restrained him.
It was again a cloudy, dark night, and he knew that the princess expected him. As he stood again upon the balcony, guarded by the watchful master of ceremonies; as he listened to the sweet music of Amelia's voice and comprehended the holy and precious character of her girlish and tender nature; as he sat at her feet, pouring out the rich treasures of his love and happiness, and felt her trembling small white hand upon his brow; as he dreamed with her of a blessed and radiant future, in which not only God and the night but the king and the whole world might know and recognize their love—how could he remember that the king had ordered the parade at seven in the morning, and that it was even now impossible for him to reach Potsdam at that hour?
The parade was over when he reached his quarters. A guard stood before his door, and led him instantly before the king. Frederick was alone in his cabinet. He silently dismissed his adjutant and the guard, then walked for some time backward and forward through the room, without seeming to observe Trenck, who stood with pale but resolved countenance before the door.
Trenck followed every movement of the king with a steady glance. "If he cashiers me, I will shoot myself," he said in a low tone. "If he puts me to the torture, in order to learn the secret of my love, I can bear it and be silent."
But there was another possibility upon which, in the desperation of his soul, Trenck had not thought. What should he do if the king approached him mildly and sorrowfully, and, with the gentle, persuasive words of a kind friend, besought him to explain this mystery?
This was exactly the course adopted by the king. He stepped forward to the poor, pale, almost breathless youth, and looked him steadily in the eyes. His glance was not threatening and scornful, as Trenck had expected, but sad and reproachful.
"Why have you again secretly left Potsdam?" said the king. "Where do you find the proud courage to disobey my commands? Captain Jaschinsky has brought serious charges against you. He tells me that you often leave Potsdam secretly. Do you know that, if punished according to the law, you must be cashiered?"
"Yes, I know, sire. I also know that I will not outlive this shame."
A scornful glance shot from the king's eye. "Do you intend to make me anxious? Is that a menace?"
"Pardon, sire. It is not in my power to make you anxious, and I do not dare to menace. Of what importance to your majesty is this atom, this unknown and insignificant youth, who is only seen when irradiated by the sunshine of your eye? I am nothing, and less than nothing, to your majesty; you are every thing to me. I will not, I cannot live if your highness withdraws your favor from me, and robs me of the possibility of winning a name and position for myself. That was my meaning, sire."
"You are, then, ambitious, and thirst for fame?"
"Your majesty, I would gladly sell one-half of my life to the devil if he would insure me rank and glory for the other half, and after death an immortality of fame. Oh, how gladly would I make this contract!"
"If such ambition fires your soul, how can you be so foolish, so inconsiderate, as to bring degradation and shame upon yourself by carelessness in duty? He who is not prompt and orderly in small things, will neglect the most important duties. Where were you last night?"
"Sire, I was on the chase."
The king looked at him with angry, piercing eyes. Trenck had not the courage to bear this. He blushed and looked down.
"You have told me an untruth," said the king. "Think again. Where were you last night?"
"Sire, I was on the chase."
"You repeat that?"
"Your majesty, I repeat that."
"Will you solemnly declare that this is true?"
Trenck was silent.
"Will you declare that this is true?" repeated the king.
The young officer looked up, and this time he had the courage to meet the flaming eye of the king. "No, sire, I will not affirm it."
"You confess, then, that you have told me an untruth?"
"Yes, your majesty."
"Do you know that that is a new and grave offence?"
"Yes, your majesty, but I cannot act otherwise."
"You will not, then, tell me the truth?"
"I cannot."
"Not if your obstinacy will lead to your being immediately cashiered, and to your imprisonment in the fortress?"
"Not then, your majesty. I cannot act differently."
"Trenck, Trenck, be on your guard! Remember that you speak to your lord and king, who has a right to demand the truth."
"Your majesty may punish me, it is your right, and your duty, and I must bear it," said Trenck, trembling and ghastly pale, but firm and confident in himself.
The king moved off for a few moments, then stood again before his lieutenant. "You will report to your captain, and ask for your discharge."
Trenck replied not. Perhaps it was not in his power. Two great tears ran slowly down his cheeks, and he did not restrain them. He wept for his youth, his happiness, his honor, and his fame.
"Go!" repeated the king.
The young man bowed low. "I thank you for gracious punishment," he said; then turned and opened the door.
The eyes of the king had followed him with marked interest. "Trenck!" cried he; and, as he turned and waited silently upon the threshold for the new command, the king stepped forward hastily and held out his hand.
"I am content with you! You have gone astray, but the anguish of soul you have just now endured is a sufficient punishment. I forgive you."
A wild cry of joy burst from the pale lips of the youth. He bowed low over the king's hand, and pressed it with passionate earnestness to his lips.
"Your majesty gives me my life again! I thank you! oh, I thank you!"
The king smiled. "And yet your life must have but little worth for you, if you would sign it away so readily. Once more I have forgiven you, but I warn you for the future. Be on your guard, monsieur, or the lightning will fall and consume you." [Footnote: The king's own words. See Trenck's "Memoires."] And now the king's eye was threatening, and his voice terrible in anger. "You have guarded your secret," he said; "you did not betray it, even when threatened with punishment worse than death. Your honor, as a cavalier, demanded that; and I am not surprised that you hold it sacred. But there is yet another kind of honor, which you have this day tarnished—I mean obedience to your king and general. I forgive you for this; and now I must speak to you as a friend, and not as a king. You are wandering in dangerous paths, young man. Turn now, while there is yet time; turn before the abyss opens which will swallow you up! No man can serve two masters, or strive successfully after two objects. He who wills something, must will it wholly; must give his undivided heart and strength to its attainment; must sacrifice every thing else to the one great aim! You are striving for love and fame at the same time, and you will forfeit both. Love makes a man soft and yielding. He who leaves a mistress behind him cannot go bravely and defiantly into battle, though women despise men who are not gallant and laurel-crowned. Strive then, Trenck, first to become a hero; then it will be time to play the lover. Pluck your laurels first, and then gather the myrtle-wreath. If this counsel does not suit you, then give up your ambition, and the path to fame which you have chosen. Lay aside your sword; though I can promise you that soon, and with honor, you may hope to use it. But lay it aside, and take up the pen or the hammer; build yourself a nest; take a wife, and thank God for the gift of a child every twelve months; and pray that the sound of battle may be heard only in the distance, and the steps of soldiers may not disturb your fields and gardens. That is also a future, and there are those who are content with it; whose ears are closed to the beat of drums and the sound of alarm-bells which now resound throughout Europe. Choose, then, young man. Will you be a soldier, and with God's help a hero? or will you go again 'upon the chase?'"
"I will be a soldier," cried Trenck, completely carried away. "I will win fame, honor, and distinction upon the battle-field, and above all I will gain the approbation and consideration of my king. My name shall be known and honored by the world."
"That is a mighty aim," said the king, smiling, "and it requires the dedication of a life. You must offer up many things, and above all other things 'the chase.' I do not know what you have sought, and I do not wish to know. I counsel you though, as a friend, to give up the pursuit. I have placed the two alternatives before you, and you have made your choice—you will be a brave soldier. Now, then, from this time onward, I will be inexorable against even your smallest neglect of duty. In this way only can I make of you what you resolve to be—a gallant and stainless officer. I will tell your captain to watch you and report every fault; I will myself observe and scrutinize your conduct, and woe to you if I find you again walking in crooked paths! I will be stern and immovable. Now, monsieur, you are warned, and cannot complain if a wild tempest bursts over your head; the guilt and responsibility will be yours. Not another word! Adieu!"
Long after Trenck had left the room, the king stood thoughtfully looking toward the door through which the tall, graceful figure of the young officer had disappeared.
"A heart of steel, a head of iron," said the king to himself. "He will be very happy, or very wretched. For such natures there is no middle way. Alas! I fear it had been better for him if I had dismissed him, and—" Frederick did not complete his sentence; he sighed deeply, and his brow was clouded. He stepped to his writing- table and took up a large sealed envelope, opened and read it carefully. A sad smile played upon his lips. "Poor Amelia!" said he- -"poor sister! They have chosen you to be assistant Abbess of Quedlinburg. A miserable alternative for the Swedish throne, which was in your power! Well, I will sign this paper." He took the pen and hastily wrote his name upon the diploma. "If she is resolved never to marry, she will be one day Abbess of Quedlinburg—that is something. Aurora of Konigsmark was content with that, but only after she had reached the height of earthly grandeur."
Frederick was completely unmanned by these painful thoughts. He raised his eyes to heaven, and said in a low tone: "Poor human heart! why has Fate made you so soft, when you must become stone in order to support the disappointments and anguish of life?" He stood bowed down for a long time, in deep thought; then suddenly rising proudly erect, he exclaimed: "Away with such cares! I have no time to play the considerate and amiable father to my family. My kingly duty and service call me with trumpet tones."