What a crowd, what noise, what laughing and chatting! How bright and happy these people are who have nothing and are nothing! How gayly they laugh and talk together—with what stoical equanimity they regard the slow motion of the boat! They accept it as an unalterable necessity. How kindly they assist each other; with what natural politeness the men leave the best seats for the women!
The boat is very much crowded. There are a great number of those amiable people who are nothing, and have nothing, moving from place to place cheerily.
The men on the shore who, with the aid of ropes, are pulling the boat, those two-legged horses, groan from exertion. The bagpipe player is making his gayest music, but in vain—he cannot allure the young people to dance; there is no place for dancing, the large deck of the boat is covered with human beings. Old men, and even women, are obliged to stand; the two long benches running down both sides of the boat are filled.
The king enjoyed the scene immensely. The free life about him, the entire indifference to his own person, charmed and delighted him. He leaned against the cabin, by which he was sitting, and regarded the crowd before him. Suddenly he was touched on the shoulder, and not in the gentlest manner. Looking up, he met the discontented face of a peasant, who was speaking violently, but in Dutch, and the king did not understand him; he therefore slightly shrugged his shoulders and remained quiet.
The angry peasant continued to gesticulate, and pointed excitedly at the ting and then at a pale young woman who was standing before him, and held two children in her arms.
The king still shrugged his shoulders silently, but when the peasant grasped him for the second time he waved him off, and his eye was so stern that the terrified and astonished peasant stepped back involuntarily.
At this moment a displeased murmur was heard among the crowd, and a number arranged themselves by the side of the peasant, who approached the king with a determined countenance.
The king remained sitting, and looked surprised at the threatening countenances of the people, whose angry words he tried in vain to comprehend.
The still increasing crowd was suddenly separated by two strong arms, and Balby, who had been sitting at the other end of the boat, now approached the king, accompanied by a friend, and placed himself at the king’s side.
“Tell me what these men want, mon ami,” said Frederick, hastily; “I do not understand Dutch.”
“I understand it, sir,” said the friend who accompanied Balby, “these people are reproaching you.”
“Reproaching me! And why?”
The stranger turned to the peasant who had first spoken, and who now began to make himself heard again in loud and angry tones.
“Monsieur,” said the stranger, “these good people are angry with you, and, it appears to me, not entirely without cause. There is a language that is understood without words, its vocabulary is in the heart. Here stands a poor, sick woman, with her twins in her arms. You, monsieur, are the only man seated. These good people think it would be but proper for you to resign your seat.”
“This is unheard-of insolence,” exclaimed Balby, placing him self determinedly before the king; “let any one dare advance a step farther, and I—”
“Quiet, cher frere, the people are right, and I am ashamed of myself that I did not understand them at once.”
He rose and passed through the crowd with a calm, kindly face, and, not appearing to notice them, approached the young woman, who was kneeling, exhausted, on the floor. With a kind, sympathetic smile, he raised her and led her to his seat. There was something so noble and winning in his manner, that those who were so shortly before indignant, were unconsciously touched. A murmur of approval was heard; the rough faces beamed with friendly smiles.
The king did not observe this, he was still occupied with the poor woman, and, while appearing to play with the children, gave each of them a gold piece. But their little hands were not accustomed to carry such treasures, and could not hold them securely. The two gold pieces rolled to the ground, and the ringing noise announced the rich gift of Frederick. Loud cries of delight were heard, and the men waved their hats in the air. The king reddened, and looked down in confusion.
The peasant, who had first been so violent toward the king, and at whose feet the money had fallen, picked it up and gave it to the children; then, with a loud laugh, he offered his big, rough hand to the king, and said something in a kindly tone.
“The good man is thanking you, sir,” said the stranger “He thinks you a clever, good-hearted fellow, and begs you to excuse his uncalled-for violence.”
The king answered with a silent bow. He who was accustomed to receive the world’s approval as his just tribute, was confused and ashamed at the applause of these poor people.
The king was right in saying he left his royalty on Prussian soil; he really was embarrassed at this publicity, and was glad when Deesen announced that lunch was prepared for him. He gave Balby a nod to follow, and withdrew into the cabin.
“Truly, if every-day life had so many adventures, I do not understand how any one can complain of ennui. Through what varied scenes I have passed to-day!”
“But our adventures arise from the peculiarity of our situation,” said Balby. “All these little contretemps are annoying and disagreeable; but seem only amusing to a king in disguise.”
“But a disguised king learns many things,” said Frederick, smiling; “from to-day, I shall be no longer surprised to hear the police called a hateful institution. Vraiment, its authority and power is vexatious, but necessary. Never speak again of my god-like countenance, or the seal of greatness which the Creator has put upon the brow of princes to distinguish them from the rest of mankind. Mons. Niclas saw nothing great stamped upon my brow; to him I had the face of a criminal—my passport only made an honest man of me. Come, friends, let us refresh ourselves.”
While eating, the king chatted pleasantly with Balby of the charming adventures of the day.
“Truly,” he said, laughing, as the details of the scene on deck were discussed, “without the interference of that learned Dutchman, the King of Prussia would have been in dangerous and close contact with the respectable peasant. Ah, I did not even thank my protecting angel. Did you speak to him, brother Henry? Where is he from, and what is his name?”
“I do not know, sir; but from his speech and manner he appeared to me to be an amiable and cultivated gentleman.”
“Go and invite him to take a piece of pie with us. Tell him Mr. Zoller wishes to thank him for his assistance, and begs the honor of his acquaintance. You see, my friend, I am learning how to be polite, to flatter, and conciliate, as becomes a poor travelling musician. I beg you, choose your words well. Be civil, or he might refuse to come, and I thirst for company.”
Balby returned in a few moments, with the stranger.
“Here, my friend,” said Balby. “I bring you our deliverer in time of need. He will gladly take his share of the pie.”
“And he richly deserves it,” said the king, as he greeted the stranger politely. “Truly, monsieur, I am very much indebted to you, and this piece of pie that I have the honor to offer you is but a poor reward for your services. I believe I never saw larger fists than that terrible peasant’s; a closer acquaintance with them would have been very disagreeable. I thank you for preventing it.”
“Travellers make a variety of acquaintances,” said the stranger, laughing, and seating himself on the bench by the king’s side, with a familiarity that terrified Balby. “I count you, sir, among the agreeable ones, and I thank you for this privilege.”
“I hope you will make the acquaintance of this pie, and find it agreeable,” said the king. “Eat, monsieur, and let us chat in the mean while—Henry, why are you standing there so grave and respectful, not daring to be seated? I do not believe this gentleman to be a prince travelling incognito.”
“No, sir, take your place,” exclaimed the stranger, laughing, “you will not offend etiquette. I give you my word that I am no concealed prince, and no worshipper of princes. I am proud to declare this.”
“Ah! you are proud not to be a prince?”
“Certainly, sir.”
“It appears to me,” said Balby, looking at the king, “that a prince has a great and enviable position.”
“But a position, unfortunately, that but few princes know how to fill worthily,” said the king, smiling. “Every man who is sufficient for himself is to be envied.”
“You speak my thoughts exactly, sir,” said the stranger, who had commenced eating his piece of pie with great zeal. “Only the free are happy.”
“Are you happy?” asked the king.
“Yes, sir; at least for the moment I am.”
“What countryman are you?”
“I am a Swiss, sir.”
“A worthy and respectable people. From what part of Switzerland do you come?”
“From the little town of Merges.”
“Not far, then, from Lausanne, and the lonely lake of Geneva, not far from Ferney, where the great Voltaire resides, and from whence he darts his scorching, lightning-flashes to-day upon those whom he blessed yesterday. Are you satisfied with your government? Are not your patrician families a little too proud? Are not even the citizens of Berne arrogant and imperious?”
“We have to complain of them, sir, but very rarely.”
“Are you now residing in Holland?”
“No, I am travelling,” answered the stranger, shortly. He had held for a long time a piece of pie on his fork, trying in vain to put it in his mouth.
The king had not observed this; he had forgotten that kings and princes only have the right to carry on a conversation wholly with questions, and that it did not become Mr. Zoller to be so inquisitive.
“What brought you here?” he asked, hastily.
“To complete my studies, sir,” and, with a clouded brow, the stranger laid his fork and pie upon his plate.
But the king’s questions flowed on in a continued stream.
“Do you propose to remain here?”
“I believe not, or rather I do not yet know,” answered the stranger, with a sarcastic smile, that brought Balby to desperation.
“Are not the various forms of government of Switzerland somewhat confusing in a political point of view?”
“No, for all know that the cantons are free, as they should be.”
“Does that not lead to skepticism and indifference?”
The stranger’s patience was exhausted; without answering the king, he pushed back his plate and arose from the table.
“Sir, allow me to say that, in consideration of a piece of pie, which you will not even give me time to eat, you ask too many questions.”
“You are right, and I beg your pardon,” said the king, as he smilingly nodded at Balby to remain quiet. “We travel to improve ourselves, but you have just cause of complaint. I will give you time to eat your piece of pie. Eat, therefore, monsieur, and when you have finished, if it is agreeable, we will chat awhile longer.”
When the stranger arose to depart, after an animated and interesting conversation, the king offered him his hand.
“Give me your address,” he said, “that is, I beg of you to do so. You say you have not yet chosen a profession; perhaps I may have the opportunity of being useful to you.”
The Swiss gave him his card, with many thanks, and returned to the deck.
The king gazed thoughtfully after him.
“That man pleases me, and when I am no longer a poor musician, I shall call him to my side.—Well, brother Henry, what do you think of this man, who, as I see, is named Mr. Le Catt?”
“I find him rather curt,” said Balby, “and he appears to be a great republican.”
“You mean because he hates princes, and was somewhat rude to me. Concerning the first, you must excuse it in a republican, and I confess that were I in his place I would probably do the same as to the last, he was right to give Mr. Zoller a lesson in manners. Poor Zoller is not yet acquainted with the customs of the common world, and makes all manner of mistakes against bon ton. I believe to-day is not the first time he has been reproved for want of manners.”
“Mr. Zoller is every inch a king,” said Balby, laughing.
[NOTE.—The king’s conversation with Mr. Le Catt is historical (see Thiebault, vol. 1., p. 218). The king did not forget his travelling adventure, but on his return to Prussia, called Le Catt to court and gave him the position of lecturer, and for twenty years he enjoyed the favor and confidence of the king.]
Wearied, indeed utterly exhausted, the king and Balby returned to the hotel of the Black Raven, at that time the most celebrated in Amsterdam. They had been wandering about the entire day, examining with never-ceasing interest and delight the treasures of art which the rich patricians of Amsterdam had collected in their princely homes and the public museums. No one supposed that this small man in the brown coat, with dusty shoes and coarse, unadorned hat, could be a king—a king whose fame resounded throughout the whole of Europe. Frederick had enjoyed the great happiness of pursuing his journey and his studies unnoticed and unknown. He had many amusing and romantic adventures; and the joy of being an independent man, of which he had heretofore only dreamed, he was now realizing fully.
The king was compelled now to confess that his freedom and manhood were completely overcome. Hunger had conquered him—hunger! the earthly enemy of all great ideas and exalted feelings. The king was hungry! He was obliged to yield to that physical power which even the rulers of this world must obey, and Balby and himself had returned to the hotel to eat and refresh themselves.
“Now, friend, see that you order something to rejoice and strengthen our humanity,” said Frederick, stretching himself comfortably upon the divan. “It is a real pleasure to rue to be hungry and partake of a good meal—a pleasure which the King of Prussia will often envy the Messieurs Zoller. To be hungry and to eat is one of life’s rare enjoyments generally denied to kings, and yet,” whispered he, thoughtfully, “our whole life is nothing but a never-ceasing hungering and thirsting after happiness, content, and rest. The world alas! gives no repose, no satisfying portion. Brother Henry, let us eat and be joyful; let us even meditate on a good meal as an ardent maiden consecrates her thoughts to a love-poem which she will write in her album in honor of her beloved. Truly there are fools who in the sublimity of their folly wish to appear indifferent to such earthly pleasures, declaring that they are necessary evils, most uncomfortable bodily craving, and nothing more. They are fools who do not understand that eating and drinking is an art, a science, the soul of the soul, the compass of thought and feeling. Dear Balby, order us a costly meal. I wish to be gay and free, light-minded and merry-hearted to-day. In order to promote this we must, before all other things, take care of these earthly bodies and not oppress them with common food.”
“We will give them, I hope, the sublimest nourishment which the soil of Holland produces,” said Balby, laughing. “You are not aware, M. Frederick Zoller, that we are now in a hotel whose hostess is worshipped, almost glorified, by the good Hollanders.”
“And is it this sublime piece of flesh which you propose to place before me?” said the king, with assumed horror. “Will you satisfy the soul of my soul with this Holland beauty? I do not share the enthusiasm of the Hollanders. I shall not worship this woman. I shall find her coarse, old, and ugly.”
“But listen, Zoller. These good Dutchmen worship her not be cause of her perishable beauty, but because of a famous pie which she alone in Amsterdam knows how to make.”
“Ah, that is better. I begin now to appreciate the Dutchmen, and if the pie is good, I will worship at the same shrine. Did you not remark, brother Henry, that while you stood carried away by your enthusiasm before Rembrandt’s picture of the ‘Night Watch’—a picture which it grieves me to say I cannot obtain,” sighed the king—“these proud Hollanders call it one of their national treasures, and will not sell it—well, did you not see that I was conversing zealously with three or four of those thick, rubicund, comfortable looking mynheers? No doubt you thought we were rapturously discussing the glorious paintings before which we stood, and for this the good Hollanders were rolling their eyes in ecstasy. No, sir; no, sir. We spoke of a pie! They recognized me as a stranger, asked me from whence I came, where we lodged, etc., etc. And when I mentioned the Black Raven, they went off into ecstatic raptures over the venison pasty of Madame von Blaken. They then went on to relate that Madame Blaken was renowned throughout all Holland because of this venison pasty of which she alone had the recipe, and which she prepared always alone and with closed doors. Her portrait is to be seen in all the shop windows, and all the stadtholders dine once a month in the Black Raven to enjoy this pie. Neither through prayers nor entreaties, commands, or threatenings, has Madame Blaken been induced to give up her recipe or even to go to the castle and prepare the pasty. She declares that this is the richest possession of the Black Raven, and all who would be so happy as to enjoy it must partake of it at her table. Balby! Balby! hasten my good fellow, and command the venison pastry,” said Frederick, eagerly. “Ah! what bliss to lodge in the Black Raven’ Waiter, I say! fly to this exalted woman!”
Balby rushed out to seek the hostess and have himself announced.
Madame Blaken received him in her boudoir, to which she had withdrawn to rest a little after the labors of the day. These labors were ever a victory and added to her fame. There was no better table prepared in Holland than that of the Black Raven. She was in full toilet, having just left the dinner table where she had presided at the table d’hote as lady of the house, and received with dignity the praise of her guests. These encomiums still resounded in her ears, and she reclined upon the divan and listened to their pleasing echo. The door opened and the head waiter announced Mr. Zoller. The countenance of Madame Blaken was dark, and she was upon the point of declining to receive him, but it was too late; the daring Zoller had had the boldness to enter just behind the waiter, and he was now making his most reverential bow to the lady. Madame Blaken returned this greeting with a slight nod of the head, and she regarded the stranger in his cheap and simple toilet with a rather contemptuous smile. She thought to herself that this ordinary man had surely made a mistake in entering her hotel. Neither his rank, fortune, nor celebrity could justify his lodging at the Black Raven. She was resolved to reprove her head waiter for allowing such plain and poor people to enter the best hotel in Amsterdam.
“Sir,” said she, in a cold and cutting tone, “you come without doubt to excuse your brother and yourself for not having appeared to-day at my table d’hote. You certainly know that politeness requires that you should dine in the hotel where you lodge. Do not distress yourself, however, sir. I do not feel offended now that I have seen you. I understand fully why you did not dine with me, but sought your modest meal elsewhere. The table d’hote in the Black Raven is the most expensive in Amsterdam, and only wealthy people put their feet under my table and enjoy my dishes.”
While she thus spoke, her glance wandered searchingly over Balby, who did not seem to remark it, or to comprehend her significant words.
“Madame,” said he, “allow me to remark that we have not dined. My brother, whose will is always mine, prefers taking his dinner in his own apartment, where he has more quiet comfort and can better enjoy your rare viands. He never dines at a table d’hote. In every direction he has heard of your wonderful pie, and I come in his name to ask that you will be so good as to prepare one for his dinner to-day.”
Madame Blaken laughed aloud. “Truly said; that is not a bad idea of your brother’s. My pasty is celebrated throughout all Holland, and I have generally one ready in case a rich or renowned guest should desire it. But this pie is not for every man!”
“My brother wants it for himself—himself alone,” said Balby, decisively. Even the proud hostess felt his tone imposing.
“Sir,” said she, after a short pause, “forgive me if I speak plainly to you. You wish to eat one of my renowned pies, and to have it served in a private room, as the General Stadtholder and other high potentates are accustomed to do. Well, I have this morning a pasty made with truffles and Chinese birds’—nests, but you cannot have it! To be frank, it is enormously dear, and I think neither your brother nor yourself could pay for it!”
And now it was Balby’s turn to laugh aloud, and he did so with the free, unembarrassed gayety of a man who is sure of his position, and is neither confused nor offended.
Madame Blaken was somewhat provoked by this unrestrained merriment. “You laugh, sir, but I have good reason for supposing you to be poor and unknown. You came covered with dust and on foot to my hotel, accompanied by one servant carrying a small carpet-bag. You have neither equipage, retinue, nor baggage. You receive no visits; and, as it appears, make none. You are always dressed in your simple, modest, rather forlorn-looking brown coats. You have never taken a dinner here, but pass the day abroad, and when you return in the evening you ask for a cup of tea and a few slices of bread and butter. Rich people do not travel in this style, and I therefore have the right to ask if you can afford to pay for my pasty? I do not know who or what you are, nor your brother’s position In the world.”
“Oh,” cried Balby who was highly amused by the candor of the hostess, “my brother has a most distinguished position, I assure you—his fame resounds throughout Germany.”
“Bah!” said Madame Blaken, shrugging her shoulders; “the name is entirely unknown to us. Pray, what is your brother, and for what is he celebrated?”
“For his flute,” answered Balby, with solemn gravity. Madame Blaken rose and glanced scornfully at Balby. “Are you mating sport of me, sir?” said she, threateningly.
“Not in the least, madame; I am telling you an important truth. My brother is a renowned virtuoso.”
“A virtuoso?” repeated the hostess; “I do not understand the word. Pray, what is a virtuoso?”
“A virtuoso, madame, is a musician who makes such music as no other man can make. He gives concerts, and sells the tickets for an enormous price, and the world rushes to hear his music. I assure you, madame, my brother can play so enchantingly that those who hear his flute are forced to dance in spite of themselves. He receives large sums of gold, and if he gives a concert here you will see that all your distinguished people will flock to hear him. You can set your pasty before him without fear—he is able to pay richly for it.”
Madame Blaken rose without a word and advanced toward the door. “Come, sir, come. I am going to your brother.” Without waiting for an answer, she stepped through the corridor and tapped lightly at the stranger’s door. She was on the point of opening it, but Balby caught her hand hastily.
“Madame,” said he, “allow me to enter and inquire if you can be received.” He wished to draw her back from the door, but the hostess of the Black Raven was not the woman to be withdrawn.
“You wish to ask if I can enter?” repeated she. “I may well claim that privilege in my own house.”
With a determined hand she knocked once more upon the door, opened it immediately and entered, followed by Balby, who by signs endeavored to explain and beg pardon for the intrusion.
Frederick did not regard him, his blue eyes were fixed upon the woman who, with laughing good-humor, stepped up to him and held out both of her large, course hands in greeting.
“Sir, I come to convince myself if what your brother said was true.”
“Well, madame, what has my brother said?”
“He declares that you can whistle splendidly, and all the world is forced to dance after your music.”
“I said play the flute, madame! I said play the flute!” cried Balby, horrified. “Well, flute or whistle,” said Madame Blaken, proudly, “it’s the same thing. Be so good, sir, as to whistle me something; I will then decide as to the pasty.” The king looked at Balby curiously. “Will you have the goodness, brother, to explain madame’s meaning, and what she requires of me?”
“Allow me to explain myself,” said the hostess. “This gentleman came and ordered a rich pie for you; this pasty has given celebrity to my house. It is true I have one prepared, but I would not send it to you. Would you know why? This is an enormously expensive dish, and I have no reason to believe that you are in a condition to pay for it. I said this to your brother, and I might with truth have told him that I regretted to see him in my hotel—not that you are in yourselves objectionable, on the contrary, you appear to me to be harmless and amiable men, but because of your purses. I fear that you do not know the charges of first-class hotels, and will be amazed at your bill. Your brother, however, assures me that you can afford to pay for all you order; that you make a great deal of money; that you are a virtuoso, give concerts, and sell tickets at the highest price. Now, I will convince myself if you are a great musician and can support yourself. Whistle me something, and I will decide as to the pie.”
The king listened to all this with suppressed merriment, and gave Balby a significant look.
“Bring my flute, brother; I will convince madame that I am indeed a virtuoso.”
“Let us hear,” said Madame Blaken, seating herself upon the sofa from which the king had just arisen.
Frederick made, with indescribable solemnity, a profound bow to the hostess. He placed the flute to his lips and began to play, but not in his accustomed masterly style—not in those mild, floating melodies, those solemn sacred, and exalted strains which it was his custom to draw from his beloved flute. He played a gay and brilliant solo, full of double trills and rhapsodies; it was an astounding medley, which seemed to make a triumphal march over the instrument, overcoming all difficulties. But those soft tones which touched the soul and roused to noble thoughts were wanting; in truth, the melody failed, the music was wanting.
Madame Blaken listened with ever-increasing rapture to this wondrous exercise; these trills, springing from octave to octave, drew forth her loudest applause; she trembled with ecstasy, and as the king closed with a brilliant cadence, she clapped her hands and shouted enthusiastically. She stood up respectfully before the artiste in the simple brown coat, and bowing low, said earnestly:
“Your brother was right, you can surely earn much money by your whistle. You whistle as clearly as my mocking-bird. You shall have the pie—I go to order it at once,” and she hastened from the room.
“Well,” said the king, laughing, “this was a charming scene, and I thank you for it, brother Henry. It is a proud and happy feeling to know that you can stand upon your feet, or walk alone; in other words, that you can earn a support. Now, if the sun of Prussia sets, I shall not hunger, for I can earn my bread; Madame Blaken assures me of it. But, Henry, did I not play eminently?”
“That was the most glittering, dazzling piece for a concert which I ever heard,” said Balby, “and Mr. Zoller may well be proud of it, but I counsel him not to play it before the King of Prussia; he would, in his jealousy, declare it was not music, nothing but sound, and signifying nothing.”
“Bravo, my friend,” said Frederick, taking his friend’s hand; “yes, he would say that. Mr. Zoller played like a true virtuoso, that is to say, without intellect and without soul; he did not make music, only artistic tones. But here comes the pasty, and I shall relish it wondrous well. It is the first meat I have ever earned with my flute. Let us eat, brother Henry.”
The pie was really worthy of its reputation, and the king enjoyed it highly. He was gay and talkative, and amused himself in recalling the varied adventures of the past five days.
“They will soon be tempi passati, these giorni felice,” he said, sighing. “To-day is the last day of our freedom and happiness; to-morrow we must take up our yoke, and exchange our simple brown coats for dashing uniforms.”
“I know one, at least, who is rejoicing,” said Balby, laughing, “the unhappy Deesen, who has just sworn most solemnly that he would throw himself in the river if he had to play much longer the part of a servant without livery—a servant of two unknown musicians; and he told me, with tears in his eyes, that not a respectable man in the house would speak to him; that the pretty maids would not even listen to his soft sighs and tender words.”
“Dress makes the man,” said the king, laughing; “if Deesen wore his cabinet-hussar livery these proud beauties who now despise, would smile insidiously. How strangely the world is constituted! But let us enjoy our freedom while we may. We still have some collections of paintings to examine—here are some splendid pictures of Rembrandt and Rubens to be sold. Then, last of all, I have an important piece of business to transact with the great banker, Witte, on whom I have a draft. You know that Madame Blaken is expensive, and the picture-dealers will not trust our honest faces; we must show them hard cash.”
“Does your—Shall I not go to the bankers and draw the money?” said Balby. “Oh no, I find it pleasant to serve myself, to be my own master and servant at the same time. Allow me this rare pleasure for a few hours longer, Balby.” The king took his friend’s arm, and recommenced his search for paintings and treasures to adorn his gallery at Sans-Souci. Everywhere he was received kindly and respectfully, for all recognized them as purchasers, and not idle sight-seers. The dealers appreciated the difference between idle enthusiasm and well-filled purses.
The king understood this well, and on leaving the house of the last rich merchant he breathed more freely, and said:
“I am glad that is over. The rudeness of the postmaster at Grave pleased me better than the civilities of these people. Come, Balby, we have bought pictures enough; now we will only admire them, enjoy without appropriating them. The rich banker, Abramson, is said to have a beautiful collection; we will examine them, and then have our draft cashed.”
The banker’s splendid house was soon found, and the brothers entered the house boldly, and demanded of the richly-dressed, liveried servant to be conducted to the gallery.
“This is not the regular day,” said the servant, with a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders, as he measured the two strangers.
“Not the day! What day?” asked the king, sharply.
“Not the day of general exhibition. You must wait until next Tuesday.”
“Impossible, we leave to-morrow. Go to your master and tell him two strangers wish to see his gallery, and beg it may be opened for them.”
There was something so haughty and irresistible in the stranger’s manner, that the servant not daring to refuse, and still astonished at his own compliance, went to inform his master of the request. He returned in a few moments, and announced that his master would come himself to receive them.
The door opened immediately, and Mr. Abramson stepped into the hall; his face, bright and friendly, darkened when his black eyes fell upon the two strangers standing in the hall.
“You desired to speak to me,” he said, in the arrogant tone that the rich Jews are accustomed to use when speaking to unknown and poor people. “What is your wish, sirs?”
The king’s brow darkened, and he looked angrily at the supercilious man of fortune, who was standing opposite him, with his head proudly thrown back, and his hands in his pockets. But Frederick’s countenance soon cleared, and he said, with perfect composure:
“We wish you to show us your picture-gallery, sir.”
The tone in which he spoke was less pleading than commanding, and roused the anger of the easily enraged parvenu.
“Sir, I have a picture-gallery, arranged for my own pleasure and paid for with my own money. I am very willing to show it to all who have not the money to purchase pictures for themselves, and to satisfy the curiosity of strangers, I have set aside a day in each week on which to exhibit my gallery.”
“You mean, then, sir, that you will not allow us to enter your museum?” said the king, smilingly, and laying his hand at the same time softly on Balby’s arm, to prevent him from speaking.
“I mean that my museum is closed, and—”
A carriage rolled thunderingly to the door; the outer doors of the hall were hastily opened, a liveried servant entered, and stepping immediately to Mr. Abramson, he said:
“Lord Middlestone, of Loudon, asks the honor of seeing your gallery.”
The countenance of the Jewish banker beamed with delight.
“Will his excellency have the graciousness to enter? I consider it an honor to show him my poor treasures. My gallery is closed to-day, but for Lord Middlestone, I will open it gladly.”
His contemptuous glance met the two poor musicians, who had stepped aside, and were silent witnesses of this scene.
The outer doors of the court were opened noisily, and a small, shrivelled human form, assisted by two servants, staggered into the hall. It was an old man, wrapped in furs; this was his excellency Lord Middlestone. Mr. Abramson met him with a profound bow, and sprang forward to the door that led to the gallery.
Every eye was fixed upon this sad picture of earthly pomp and greatness; all felt the honor to the house of Mr. Abramson. Lord Middlestone, the ambassador of the King of England, desired to see his collection. This was an acknowledgment of merit that delighted the heart of the banker, and added a new splendor to his house.
While the door was being opened to admit his lordship, Balby and the king left the house unnoticed.
The king was angry, and walked silently along for a time; suddenly remaining standing, he gazed steadily at Balby, and broke out into a loud, merry laugh, that startled the passers-by, and made them look wonderingly after him.
“Balby, my friend,” he said, still laughing, “I will tell you something amusing. Never in my life did I feel so humble and ashamed as when his excellency entered the gallery so triumphantly, and we slipped away so quietly from the house. Truly, I was fool enough to be angry at first, but I now feel that the scene was irresistibly comic. Oh! oh, Balby! do laugh with me. Think of us, who imagine ourselves to be such splendidly handsome men, being shown the door, and that horrid shrunken, diseased old man being received with such consideration! He smelt like a salve-box, we are odorous with ambrosia; but all in vain, Abramson preferred the salve-box.”
“Abramson’s olfactories are not those of a courtier,” said Balby, “or he would have fainted at the odor of royalty. But truly, this Mr. Abramson is a disgraceful person, and I beg your majesty to avenge Mr. Zoller.”
“I shall do so. He deserves punishment; he has insulted me as a man; the king will punish him.”[Footnote: The king kept his word. The Jew heard afterward that it was the king whom he had treated so disrespectfully, and here could never obtain his forgiveness. He was not allowed to negotiate with the Prussian government or banks, and was thus bitterly punished for his misconduct.]
“And now we will have our check cashed by Mr. Witte. I bet he will not dismiss us so curtly, for my draft is for ten thousand crowns, and he will be respectful—if not to us, to our money.”
The worthy and prosperous Madame Witte had just finished dusting and cleaning her state apartment, and was giving it a last artistic survey. She smiled contentedly, and acknowledged that there was nothing more to be done. The mirrors and windows were of transparent brightness—no dust was seen on the silk furniture or the costly ornaments—it was perfect. With a sad sigh Madame Witte left the room and locked the door with almost a feeling of regret. She must deny herself for the next few days her favorite occupation—there was nothing more to dust or clean in the apartment and only in this room was her field of operation—only here did her husband allow her to play the servant. With this exception he required of her to be the lady of the house—the noble wife of the rich banker—and this was a role that pleased the good woman but little. She locked the door with a sigh and drew on her shoes, which she was accustomed always to leave in the hall before entering her state apartment, then stepped carefully on the border of the carpet that covered the hall to another door. At this moment violent ringing was heard at the front door. Madame Witte moved quickly forward to follow the bent of her womanly curiosity and see who desired admittance at this unusual hour. Two strangers had already entered the hall and desired to see the banker.
“Mr. Witte is not at home, and if your business is not too pressing, call again early to-morrow morning.”
“But my business is pressing,” said Frederick Zoller, hastily, “I must speak with Mr. Witte to-day.”
“Can they wish to borrow money from him?” thought Madame Witte, who saw the two strangers through the half-opened door.
“To borrow, or to ask credit, I am sure that is their business.”
“May I ask the nature of your business?” said the servant. “In order to bring Mr. Witte from the Casino I must know what you wish of him.”
“I desire to have a draft of ten thousand crowns cashed,” said Frederick Zoller, sharply.
The door was opened hastily, and Madame Witte stepped forward to greet the stranger and his companion. “Have the kindness, gentlemen, to step in and await my husband; he will be here in a quarter of an hour. Go, Andres, for Mr. Witte.” Andres ran off, and Madame Witte accompanied the strangers through the hall. Arrived at the door of the state apartment, she quickly drew off her shoes, and then remained standing, looking expectantly at the strangers.
“Well, madame,” said the king, “shall we await Mr. Witte before this door, or will you show us into the next room?”
“Certainly I will; but I am waiting on you.”
“On us? And what do you expect of us?”
“What I have done, sirs—to take your shoes off.”
The king laughed aloud. “Can no one, then, enter that room with shoes on?”
“Never, sir. It was a custom of my great-grandfather. He had this house built, and never since then has any one entered it with shoes. Please, therefore, take them off.”
Balby hastened to comply with her peremptory command. “Madame, it will suffice you for me to follow this custom of your ancestors—you will spare my brother this ceremony.”
“And why?” asked Madame Witte, astonished. “His shoes are no cleaner or finer than yours, or those of other men. Have the kindness to take off your shoes also.”
“You are right, madame,” said the king, seriously. “We must leave off the old man altogether; therefore, you ask but little in requiring us to take off our shoes before entering your state apartment.” He stooped to undo the buckles of his shoes, and when Balby wished to assist him, he resisted. “No, no; you shall not loosen my shoes—you are too worthy for that. Madame Witte might think that I am a very assuming person—that I tyrannize over my brother. There, madame, the buckles are undone, and there lie my shoes, and now we are ready to enter your state apartment.”
Madame Witte opened the door with cold gravity, and allowed them to pass. “To-morrow I can dust again,” she said, gleefully, “for the strangers’ clothes are very dirty.”
In the mean time, the two strangers awaited the arrival of Mr. Witte. The king enjoyed his comic situation immensely. Balby looked anxiously at the bare feet of the king, and said he should never have submitted to Madame Witte’s caprice. The floor was cold, and the king might be taken ill.
“Oh, no,” said Frederick, “I do not get sick so easily—my system can stand severer hardships. We should be thankful that we have come off so cheaply, for a rich banker like Witte in Amsterdam, is equal to the Pope in Rome; and I do not think taking off our shoes is paying too dearly to see the pope of Holland. Just think what King Henry IV. had to lay aside before he could see the Pope of Rome—not only his shoes and stockings and a few other articles, but his royalty and majesty. Madame Witte is really for bearing not to require the same costume of us.”
The door behind them was opened hastily, and the banker Witte stepped in. He advanced to meet them with a quiet smile, but suddenly checked himself, and gazed with terror at the king.
“My God! his majesty the King of Prussia!” he stammered. “Oh! your majesty! what an undeserved favor you are doing my poor house in honoring it with your presence!”
“You know me, then?” said the king, smiling. “Well, I beg you may not betray my incognito, and cash for Frederick Zoller this draft of ten thousand crowns.”
He stepped forward to hand the banker the draft. Mr. Witte uttered a cry of horror, and, wringing his hands, fell upon his knees. He had just seen that the king was barefooted.
“Oh! your majesty! Mercy! mercy!” he pleaded. “Pardon my unhappy wife who could not dream of the crime she was committing. Why did your majesty consent to her insane demand? Why did you not peremptorily refuse to take off your shoes?”
“Why? Well, ma foi, because I wished to spare the King of Prussia a humiliation. I believe Madame Witte would rather have thrown me out of the house than allowed me to enter this sacred room with my shoes on.”
“No, your majesty, no. She would—”
At this moment the door opened, and Madame Witte, drawn by the loud voice of her husband, entered the room.
“Wife!” he cried, rising, “come forward; fall on your knees and plead for forgiveness.”
“What have I done?” she asked, wonderingly.
“You compelled this gentleman to take off his shoes at the door.”
“Well, and what of that?”
“Well,” said Mr. Witte, solemnly, as he laid his arm upon his wife’s shoulder and tried to force her to her knees, “this is his majesty the King of Prussia!”
But the all-important words had not the expected effect. Madame Witte remained quietly standing, and looked first upon her own bare feet and then curiously at the king.
“Beg the king’s pardon for your most unseemly conduct,” said Witte.
“Why was it unseemly?” asked his better-half. “Do I not take off my shoes every time I enter this room? The room is mine, and does not belong to the King of Prussia.”
Witte raised his hands above his head in despair. The king laughed loudly and heartily.
“You see I was right, sir,” he said. “Only obedience could spare the King of Prussia a humiliation.[Footnote: The king’s own words. See Nicolai’s “anecdotes of Frederick the Great, “collection V., P.31]But let us go to your business room and arrange our moneyed affairs. There, madame, I suppose you will allow me to put on my shoes.”
Without a word, Mr. Witte rushed from the room for the king’s shoes, and hastened to put them, not before the king, but before the door that led into his counting room.
With a gay smile, the king stepped along the border of the carpet to his shoes, and let Balby put them on for him.
“Madame,” he said, “I see that you are really mistress in your own house, and that you are obeyed, not from force, but from instinct. God preserve you your strong will and your good husband!”
“Now,” said the king, after they had received the money and returned to the hotel, “we must make all our arrangements to return to-morrow morning early—our incognito is over! Mr. Witte promised not to betray us, but his wife is not to be trusted; therefore, by to-morrow morning, the world will know that the King of Prussia is in Amsterdam. Happily, Mr. Witte does not know where I am stopping. I hope to be undisturbed to-day, but by to-morrow this will be impossible.”
The king prophesied aright: Madame Witte was zealously engaged in telling her friends the important news that the King of Prussia had visited her husband, and was now in Amsterdam.
The news rolled like an avalanche from house to house, from street to street, and even reached the major’s door, who, in spite of the lateness of the hour, called a meeting of the magistrates, and sent policemen to all the hotels to demand a list of the strangers who had arrived during the last few days. In order to greet the king, they must first find him.
Early the next morning, a simple caleche, with two horses, stood at the hotel of the “Black Raven.” The brothers Zoller were about to leave Amsterdam, and, to Madame Blaken’s astonishment, they not only paid their bill without murmuring, but left a rich douceur for the servants. The hostess stepped to the door to bid them farewell, and nodded kindly as they came down the steps. Their servant followed with the little carpet-bag and the two music-cases.
When Deesen became aware of the presence of the hostess, and the two head-servants, he advanced near to the king.
“Your majesty, may I now speak?” he murmured.
“Not yet,” said the king, smiling, “wait until we are in the carriage.”
He descended the steps, with a friendly nod to the hostess. Balby and himself left the house.
“See, my friend, how truly I prophesied,” he said, as he pointed down the street; “let us get in quickly, it is high time to be off; see the crowd advancing.”
Frederick was right; from the end of the street there came a long procession of men, headed by the two mayors, dressed in black robes, trimmed with broad red bands. They were followed by the senators, clothed in the same manner. A great number of the rich aristocrats of the city accompanied them.
Madame Blaken had stepped from the house, and was looking curiously at the approaching crowd, and while she and her maids were wondering what this could mean, the two Mr. Zollers entered the carriage, and their servant had mounted the box. “May I speak now?” said Deesen, turning to the king.
“Yes, speak,” said the king, “but quickly, or the crowd will take your secret from you.”
“Hostess!” cried Deesen, from the box, “do you know what that crowd means?”
“No,” she said, superciliously.
“I will explain; listen, madame. The magistrates are coming to greet the King of Prussia!”
“The King of Prussia!” shrieked the hostess. “Where is the King of Prussia?”
“Here!” cried Deesen, with a malicious grin, as he pointed to the king, “and I am his majesty’s cabinet-hussar! Forward, postilion!—quick, forward!”
The postilion whipped his horses, and the carriage dashed by the mayors and senators, who were marching to greet the King of Prussia. They never dreamed that he had just passed mischievously by them.
Two days later, the king and his companions stood on the Prussian border, on the spot where, in the beginning of their journey, the king had written the words “majesty” and “sire.”
“Look!” he said, pointing to the ground, “the two fatal words have not vanished away; the sun has hardened the ground, and they are still legible. I must lift them from the sand, and wear them henceforth and forever. Give me your hand, Balby; the poor musician, Frederick Zoller, will bid farewell to his friend, and not only to you, Balby, but farewell also to my youth. This is my last youthful adventure. Now, I shall grow old and cold gracefully. One thing I wish to say before I resume my royalty; confidentially, I am not entirely displeased with the change. It seems to me difficult to fill the role of a common man. Men do not seem to love and trust each other fully; a man avenges himself on an innocent party for the wrongs another has committed. Besides, I do not rightly understand the politenesses of common life, and, therefore, received many reproaches. I believe, on the whole, it is easier to bestow than to receive them. Therefore, I take up my crown willingly.”
“Will your majesty allow me a word?” said Deesen, stepping forward.
“Speak, Deesen.”
“I thank Mr. Zoller for saving my life. As true as God lives, I should have stifled with rage if I had not told that haughty Hollander who Mr. Zoller was and who I was.”
“Now, forward! Farewell, Frederick Zoller! Now I am on Prussian soil, the hour of thoughtless happiness is passed. I fear, Balby, that the solemn duties of life will soon take possession of us. So be it! I accept my destiny—I am again Frederick of Hohenzollern!”
“And I have the honor to be the first to greet your majesty on your own domain,” said Balby, as he bowed profoundly before the king.