WILHELMINE RIETZ.
They were victorious, the pious Rosicrucians and Illuminati, who held King Frederick William the Second entangled in their invisible toils. They governed the land; by their unbounded influence over the king’s mindtheyhad become the real kings of Prussia. General von Bischofswerder stood at the king’s side as his most faithful friend and invoker of spirits. Wöllner had been ennobled and advanced from the position of chamberlain to that of a minister of Prussia, and to him was given the guidance of the heart and conscience of the nation. This promotion of Wöllner to the position of minister of all affairs connected with the church and public schools, took place at the end of the year 1788, and the first great act of the newly-appointed minister was the promulgation of the notorious Edict of Faith, intended to fetter the consciences of men, and prescribing what doctrines appertaining to God and religion they should accept as true and infallible. They were no longer to be permitted to illumine the doctrines of the church with the light of reason, and to reveal what it was intended should remain enveloped in mystical darkness. It was strictly forbidden to subject the commandmentsof the church and the doctrines of revealed religion to thefallacioustests of reason. Unconditional and implicit obedience to the authorities of the church was required and enforced.
But the minister Von Wöllner was far too shrewd a man not to be fully aware that this edict of faith would be received with the greatest dissatisfaction by the people to whom Frederick the Great had bequeathed freedom of thought and faith, as his best and greatest legacy. He had fettered reason and intelligence in matters appertaining to religion, but he knew that they would seek revenge in severe criticisms and loud denunciations through the public press. It was necessary to prevent this, but how could it be done? Wöllner devised the means—the censorship of the press. This guillotine of the mind was erected in Prussia, and at the same time the good King of France and Doctor Guillotine were, from motives of humanity, devising some means of severing the heads of criminals so quickly from their bodies that death would be instantaneous and painless. Good King Louis the Sixteenth and his philanthropical physician invented an instrument which they believed would answer these requirements, and baptized it “Guillotine,” in honor of its inventor. Good King Frederick William caused his misanthropical physician Wöllner to erect an instrument that should kill the noblest thoughts and mutilate the mind. This guillotine of the mind, called censorship of the press, was Wöllner’s second stroke of policy. With this instrument he effectually destroyed Frederick the Great’s work of enlightenment; and yet this same pious, holy, orthodox man published the “Works of Frederick the Great,” the royal freethinker and mocker at religion. For these works there was, however, no censorship. The publication of Frederick the Great’s writings was a source of great profit to the wily minister Von Wöllner, who worshipped with greater devotion at another than the shrine before which he bowed the knee in the church—at the shrine of mammon.
The great king now lived in his writings only; the men who had served him faithfully, Count Herzberg above all, had been dismissed from office, and were powerless; the laws which he had made to protect freedom of thought were annulled, the light which he had diffused throughout his kingdom was extinguished, and darkness and night were sinking down over the minds and hearts of a whole nation! The promise which the circle directors had made to the grand-kophta on the night of Frederick the Great’s death was fulfilled: “The kingdom of the church and of the spirits embraced all Prussia, and the power and authority of the government were in the hands of the pious fathers. The invisible church and its visible priests now ruled in Prussia. The king was restored to the true faith, and lay in the dust at the feet of the Invisibles, who ruled him and guided his mind and conscience as they saw fit.”
There were still a few brave men left who refused to submit to their control, and bade defiance to this guillotine of censorship—men who warred against these murderers of thought and freedom. There was Nicolai, and Büsching, and Leuchsenring, the former instructor of the prince royal, who never wearied of warning the people, and who unceasingly endeavored to arouse those whom the pious executioners desired to destroy. “Nicolai’s Berlin Monthly Magazine” was the arena of these warriors of enlightenment, and in this magazine the combat against darkness and ignorance was still carried on, in defiance of censorship and the edict of faith. The practical and intelligent editor, Nicolai, still attacked these new institutions with bitter sarcasm; the warning voice of Leuchsenring was still heard denouncing these Rosicrucians. But Wöllner’s guillotine vanquished them at last, and the “Berlin Monthly Magazine” fell into the basket of the censors, as the heads of the French aristocrats fell into the executioner’s basket when severed by the other guillotine in France.
But King Frederick William the Second submitted to thewill of the Invisibles, and obeyed the commands of the holy fathers, announced to him through their representatives, Bischofswerder and Wöllner. Let these men rule, let them take care of and discipline minds and souls; the king has other things to do. The minds belong to the Rosicrucians, but the hearts are the king’s.
In her palatial residence, “under the linden-trees,” in Berlin, sat the king’s friend, in brilliant attire, her hair dressed with flowers, and her beautiful neck and bare arms of dazzling whiteness adorned with rich jewelry. She was reclining on her sofa, and gazing at her reflection in a large mirror of Venetian glass that stood against the wall on the opposite side of the boudoir; the frame of this mirror was of silver, richly studded with pearls and rubies, and was one of the king’s latest presents. A proud and happy smile played about her full, rosy lips as she regarded the fair image reflected in this costly mirror.
“I am still beautiful,” said she, “my lips still glow, and my eyes still sparkle, whilesheis fading away and dying. Why did she dare to become my rival, to estrange the king’s heart from me? She well knew that I had been his beloved for long years, and that the king had solemnly vowed never to desert me! She dies with the coronet of a countess on her pale brow, while I still live as Madame Rietz—as the self-styled wife of a valet. I have life and health, and, although I am not yet a countess, I can still achieve the coveted title. Have I not sworn that I will yet become either a countess, a duchess, or, perhaps, even a princess? Neither the royal wife of the right nor of the left hand shall prevent me; while I rise, they will descend. While I am riding in my splendid equipage, emblazoned with a coronet, they will be riding to the grave in funeral-cars. And truly, it seems to me that it must be more agreeable to ride in an equipage, even as plain Madame Rietz, than to journey heavenward as Countess Ingenheim.”
She burst into laughter as she said this, and saluted herimage in the mirror with a playful nod. The brilliants and rubies on her neck and arms sparkled like stars in the flood of light diffused through the room by the numerous jets of gas in the splendid chandeliers, richly adorned with crystal pendants. This, as well as all the other apartments of Wilhelmine Rietz’s residence, was furnished with a degree of luxury and splendor befitting a royal palace. The king had kept the promise made to his darling son, Count Alexander von der Mark, in Charlottenburg. The affectionate father had given his handsome son the longed-for palace under the linden-trees; and the young count, together with his mother and sister, had taken up his abode in this palace. But the little Count von der Mark had not long enjoyed the pleasure of standing with his beautiful mother at the windows of his residence, to look at the parades which the king caused to be held there on his account. On such occasions the king had always taken up his position immediately beneath the windows of his son’s palace, in order that they might obtain a better view of the troops. The little count had worn his title and occupied his palace but one year, when he died.[52]The king’s grief had been profound and lasting, and never had the image of his handsome boy grown dim in the heart of his royal father. The loss of his son had driven Frederick William to the verge of despair, and Wilhelmine had been compelled to dry her own tears and suppress her own sorrow in order to console the king. Wilhelmine Rietz had manifested so much love and tenderness for the king during this trying period, and had practised so much self-denial, that the king’s love and admiration for his “dear friend” had been greatly increased.
“You are a noble woman, and a heroine,” said he. “Any other woman would weep and lament—youare silent, and your lips wear a smile, although I well know what pain this smile must cost your tender mother’s heart. Any other woman would tremble and look with care and anxiety into thefuture, because the death of the son might be prejudicial to her own position; she would have hastened to obtain from me an assurance that she should not suffer in consequence of this loss. You have done nothing of all this; you have wept and sorrowed with me; you have cheered and consoled me, and have not once asked, who was to be the heir of my little Alexander, and what souvenir he had left you.”
Wilhelmine Rietz shook her head, and smiled sadly, well knowing how becoming this smile was to her pale countenance.
“I need no souvenir of my son,” said she; “his memory will ever live in my heart. I have not asked who Alexander’s heir was to be, because I have never supposed that he could have left an inheritance, for all that I and my children have belongs to the king, and is his property, as we ourselves are. I have not trembled for my own security, because I confide in my king and master as in my God, and I feel assured that he will ever observe his solemn oath and will never abandon me.”
“No, never, Wilhelmine,” cried the king. “You are a noble woman! You are, and will ever remain, my dear, adored friend, and my love for you will be more enduring than my love for any other woman. Lay aside all care and fear, Wilhelmine, and confide in me. All the efforts and intrigues of your friends to injure you shall be unavailing. All else will pass away, but my love for you will endure until death; and no woman, though I love her passionately, will be able to banish you from my side!”
“Will you swear this, Frederick William! Will you lay your finger on this scar on my hand and swear that my enemies shall never succeed in banishing me from your side, and that you will ever accord me a place in your heart?”
The king laid his hand on this scar, and it recalled to his memory the hour in which Wilhelmine had intentionally given her hand a wound in order that he might record his vow of love and fidelity in her own blood. “I lay my hand on this scar,” said he, “and swear by the memory of my dearson, Alexander, that I will never neglect or forget his mother, but will love, honor, and cherish her until the end. And here is a proof that Ihavenot forgotten you,” cried the king, as he threw his arms around her neck, kissed her cheek, and handed her a deed of the palace under the linden-trees, and of all else that had belonged to Count Alexander von der Mark.
Wilhelmine Rietz and her daughter continued to reside in the palace under the linden-trees. Her house was one of the most popular resorts in Berlin, and the most select and intelligent society was to be found in her parlors. To be sure the rustle of an aristocratic lady’s silk robe was never heard on the waxed floors of this stately mansion, but Wilhelmine’s social gatherings were, perhaps, none the less animated and agreeable on that account. Her guests were charmed with her vivacity, brilliant wit, and fine satire, and the most eminent scholars, artists, and poets, esteemed it a great honor to be permitted to frequent Wilhelmine Rietz’s parlors. She loved art and science, was herself somewhat of a poetess, and possessed above all else a mind capable of quickly comprehending what she saw and heard, and of profiting by intercourse with scholars and artists. It was a favorite plea with the gentlemen who visited her house, that Wilhelmine Rietz was the protectress of art and science, and, moreover, a very intelligent lady, of whom they were in justice compelled to say that she possessed fine sense, much knowledge, and very agreeable manners.
The king himself, an intellectual man, and a patron of art and science, often took part in Madame Rietz’s social gatherings. In her parlors he was sure to find the relaxation and enjoyment which he sought in vain in the society of his beautiful and aristocratic wife of the left hand.
The beautiful Julie von Voss, entitled Countess Ingenheim, had never forgiven herself for having at last yielded to the wishes of her family, to the entreaties of her royal lover, and to the weakness of her own heart, by consenting to become the king’s wife of the left hand, although a wife of the righthand still lived. Her reason and her pride told her that this little mantle of propriety was not large enough to hide her humiliation. Her soul was filled with grief and remorse; she felt that her glittering, apparently so happy existence, was nothing more than a gilded lie—nothing more than shame, garnished over with titles and honors.
The king often found his beautiful, once so ardently loved Julie in tears; she was never gay, and she never laughed. Indeed she often went so far as to reproach herself and her royal lover.
But tears and reproaches were ingredients of conversation which were by no means pleasing to Frederick William, and he fled from them to the parlors of his dear friend, Wilhelmine, where he was certain to find gayety and amusement.
Wilhelmine Rietz thought of all this while reclining on her sofa, awaiting the arrival of invited company—she thought of this while gazing at the reflection of herself (adorned with jewelry and attired in a satin dress, embroidered with silver), in the magnificent Venetian mirror. She had always found these conversations with her image in a mirror very interesting, for these two ladies kept no secrets from each other, but were friends, who imparted their inmost thoughts without prudery and hypocrisy.
“You will yet be a countess,” said Wilhelmine. “Yes, a countess, and whatever else you may desire.”
The lady in the mirror smiled, and replied: “Yes, a countess, or even a princess, but certainly not one who heaps reproaches upon herself, and dies of remorse; nor yet one of those who seek to reconcile themselves to the world, and to purchase an abode in heaven, by unceasing prayer and costly alms-giving. No, I will be a countess who enjoys life and compels her enemies to bend the knee—who seeks to reconcile herself to the world by giving brilliant entertainments and good dinners, and cares but little for what may take place after her death—a countess who exclaims with her great model, the Marquise de Pompadour, ‘Après moi, le déluge!’”
HUSBAND AND WIFE.
Wilhelmine was now interrupted in her animated conversation with her reflection by the abrupt entrance of her “self-styled husband,” the Chamberlain Rietz.
She saw him in the mirror, and she saw, too, how the friend with whom she had been conversing, colored with displeasure and frowned. Without rising, or even turning her head, she allowed the chamberlain to approach until he stood in front of her, and then she cried, in an imperious voice: “Where were my servants? Why do you come unannounced to my presence?”
Rietz, the king’s chamberlain and factotum, laughed loudly. “For fear of being turned away, ma belle, and because I considered it more appropriate to come unannounced to my wife’s presence. Once for all, my dearest, spare me this nonsense, and do not embitter our lives unnecessarily! Let your courtiers, your dukes, princes, counts, and professors, wait in the antechamber, and come announced, if you will, but you must receive me as you receive the king, that is, unannounced. On the other hand, I promise you, never to make use of this privilege when you are entertaining company, or are engaged in some agreeable littletête-à-tête. Are you satisfied? Is this agreed upon?”
“It shall be as you say,” said Wilhelmine, pointing to a stool that stood near the sofa. “Seat yourself and let me know why you honor me with your presence.”
But Rietz, instead of seating himself on the stool, proceeded with the greatest composure to roll forward a splendid arm-chair, on the back of which a royal coronet was emblazoned.
“I suppose I am entitled to use this chair when the king is not present,” said he, seating himself; “moreover, I like to sit comfortably. Now, I am installed, and the conferencebetween the two crowned heads can begin. Do you know, or have you the slightest conception of, what the subject of this conference will be?”
“No,” replied Wilhelmine, placing her little foot with its gold-embroidered satin slipper on the stool, and regarding it complacently, “no, not the slightest, but I beg you to tell me quickly, as I am expecting company.”
“Ah, expecting company! Then I will begin our conference, Carissima, by telling you to order your servant to inform your visitors that you have been suddenly taken ill and beg to be excused.”
“Before giving this command I must first request you to give me your reasons.”
“My reasons? Well, I will give you one reason instead of many. It might not be agreeable to your guests to have the glass from the window-panes and the stones which have shattered them flying about their heads in your parlor.”
“My friend,” said Wilhelmine, still regarding the tips of her feet, “if you feel an irresistible inclination to jest, you will find an appreciative audience among the lackeys in my antechamber.”
“Thank you, I prefer to converse seriously with my wife in the parlor. But if you desire it I will ring for one of these impudent rascals, and order him, in your name, to admit no visitors. Moreover, it would be well to have the inner shutters of all the windows of your palace closed. The latter must, of course, be sacrificed, but the shutters will, at least, prevent the stones from entering your apartments and doing any further damage. Are your windows provided with shutters?”
“I see you are determined to continue this farce,” said Wilhelmine, shrugging her shoulders. “Without doubt you have wagered with some one that you could alarm me, and the closing of the shutters is to be the evidence that you have won the wager. Such is the case, is it not?”
“No, Carissima, such is not the case, and I beg you toplay the rôle of the undaunted heroine no longer; it becomes you very well, but you cannot excite my admiration and—”
“Nor have I any such intention,” said she, leaning back on the sofa, and stretching herself like a tigress that appears to be quite exhausted, but is, nevertheless, ever ready to spring upon the enemy.
“Enough of this, my friend!” cried the chamberlain, impatiently. “Listen! If you consider it a bagatelle to have your palace demolished, and yourself accused of being a poisoner, it is, of course, all the same to me, and I have nothing more to say, except that I was a fool to consider it my duty to warn you, because we had formed an alliance, offensive and defensive, and because I could not look on calmly while your enemies were plotting your destruction.”
The tigress had bounded from her lair, her eyes glowing with great excitement.
“You are in earnest, Rietz? This is not one of your jokes? My enemies are plotting my destruction! They are about to attack me! Speak, be quick! What was it you said about poisoning? Do they accuse me of being a poisoner?”
“Certainly they do, and I am glad that this magical word has recalled my sleeping beauty to life. Yes, your enemies accuse you of being a poisoner. It is truly fortunate that I have spies in every quarter, who bring me early intelligence of these little matters.”
“And whom have I poisoned?”
“Countess Ingenheim, of course. Whom should you have poisoned but your rival?”
“My rival!” repeated Wilhelmine, with a contemptuous shrug of her shoulders. “Countess Ingenheim was ill. Is she worse?”
“Countess Ingenheim is dying!”
“Dying!” echoed Wilhelmine, and a ray of joy gleamed in the eyes of the tigress, but she quickly repressed it. “This is, of course, an exaggeration of the physicians, who will afterward attribute to themselves the merit of having effectedher recovery from so hopeless a condition. I have heard of instances of this kind before. Four days ago the countess was comparatively well; I met her in the king’s little box at the theatre, on which occasion her affability and condescension were truly surprising.”
“Yes, and it is alleged by your enemies that you committed the crime on that very occasion. The countess complained of heat and thirst, did she not?”
“Yes, she did, and when she sank back in her chair, almost insensible, the king begged me to assist her.”
“To which you replied that a composing powder was what she required, and that you, fortunately, always carried a box of these powders in your pocket. Hereupon you opened the door, and ordered one of the lackeys who stood in the entry to bring you a glass of water and some sugar. When he brought it, you took a small box from your pocket, and emptied a little paper of white powder into the water; when this foamed up, you handed the glass to the countess, who immediately drank its contents. Am I accurate?”
“You are, and I admire this accuracy all the more, because no one was present in the box but us three.”
“You forget the lackey who brought the water, and saw you pour the powder into the glass. This morning the countess was suddenly attacked with a violent hemorrhage; whereupon the lackey immediately told her brother, Minister von Voss, the whole story. Her high connections and the entire court have been aroused, and if the countess should die to-day, as her physicians say she will, a storm will arise out of this glass of water, with the aid of which your enemies hope to hurl you from your eminence and consign you to prison.”
“Foolish people!” said Wilhelmine, contemptuously. “The king will not only discredit their revelations, but will also hold them to a strict account for their slander. Let this be my care.”
“My dearest, before proceeding to punish these slanderers,I would advise you to consider your own safety a little. I tell you this matter is graver than you suppose, my proud, undaunted lady. The whole pack is let loose, and Bischofswerder and Wöllner are lashing the conspirators on, and heaping fuel on the flames. They immediately convoked a meeting of the holy brotherhood, and issued a secret order. This order I have seen. You must know that I was received into this holy band some two weeks since, as serving brother of the outer temple halls. What do you think of the title, ‘serving brother of the outer temple halls?’”
And the chamberlain burst into so loud and mocking a peal of laughter, that his colossal stature fairly trembled.
“Suppress your merriment for a moment, if you please, and tell me how this secret order of the Rosicrucians reads.”
The chamberlain’s countenance quickly assumed an air of gravity. “The order is as follows: ‘All the brothers serving in the outer temple halls will repair, at ten o’clock this evening, to your palace, for the purpose of engaging in the charming recreation of battering your windows with the stones that lie piled up in great plenty in this vicinity, in places where the pavement is being renewed; while so occupied, they are to cry—‘Murderess! poisoner! Curses upon her! Down with this murderess!’ A charming chorus, my angel of innocence!”
“Yes, a chorus over which the angels in heaven will rejoice, even if they should not be such angels of innocence as I am in this affair. I thank you for this communication; it is really of great importance.”
“I must, however, beg you, my dear madame, to take this fact into consideration. By making this communication, I not only imperil my salvation, but am probably already wholly lost, and have certainly forfeited all prospects of ever entering the sanctuary of the temple, and becoming an Invisible Brother. Each brother is required, on his admission, to register a fearful oath, to the effect that he will never, although his own life or that of his parents or children shouldbe at stake, betray the secrets of the holy fathers; and I, frail mortal, have betrayed the confidence of my superiors! Alas, alas! I am a lost soul! The Invisible Fathers will expel me from the brotherhood if they should ever hear of this.”
“Give yourself no disquiet, I will never betray you,” said Wilhelmine, laughing. “I am only surprised that you should ever have been admitted into the brotherhood, and that such an order should have been issued in your presence.”
“My fairest, they are not aware that the Mr. Müller of Oranienburg, who was received into the holy order by the general assembly some two weeks since, is no other than the veritable Chamberlain Rietz. You must know that it is impossible to recognize each other in these assemblies, as they are held in a mystical gloom, and that the brothers are known to each other when they meet in the world by certain words, signs, and pressures of the hand, only. My dear, twenty of these Rosicrucians might meet at a party, without dreaming that they were so closely connected. The names of all the brothers are known only to the circle directors, and I was of course not such a fool as to write my real name on the slip of paper which I deposited in the urn after having paid the admission-fee of four Fredericks d’or, and received in return the holy symbol of initiation in the solemn twilight of the outer temple halls. The exalted fathers, Bischofswerder and Wöllner, would be astonished, and any thing but delighted, to learn that I was present at the meeting of to-day, and was one of the favored individuals who heard the order given concerning the demolition of your palace.”
“By all that I hold dear, these traitors shall pay dearly for this malice!” exclaimed Wilhelmine, frowning angrily. “This conflict must be brought to a conclusion. I am weary of this necessity of being constantly on the alert to guard against the stratagems and attacks of my enemies. I will have peace, and eithertheyorImust be conquered.”
“If I might be permitted to give the goddess Minerva my advice, I would say: ‘Make peace withtheseenemies, andsecure the support and assistance of the dear Rosicrucians against your other enemies, the aristocrats and court conspirators.’ Believe me, I give you this advice in all honesty and sincerity, and why should I not? Are we not allies, and have we not sworn to assist each other at all times and everywhere? Inthisrespect my charming wife has been a most excellent companion; she has kept her promises faithfully. Thanks to her assistance, I have attained all I desired, and there are few men who can say this of themselves. I desired influence, power, and money, and I have them all. By the king’s favor I have achieved influence and power, and have amassed wealth by the folly of the persons sent me by you, my dearest, with their petitions for patents of nobility and decorations. In the three years of our reign I have created at least two hundred noblemen, and of this number twenty counts in the first year alone.”
“Yes, indeed, these counts are well known,” said Wilhelmine, laughing; “the gentlemen of the old nobility call them by no other name than ‘the batch of 1786.’”[53]
“Moreover, the number of crosses of St. John, and orders of the Eagle, conferred by me upon deserving individuals, is legion, and goodly sums of money have they brought into my coffers!” said Rietz, laughing. “I desired a well-provided table, at which I could entertain a few gentlemen of rank and convivial spirits; and now gentlemen of this stamp are only too anxious to obtain invitations to my dinners, and to enjoy the delicious pasties for which my French cook is so justly celebrated. I lead a life of enjoyment, and, as I am in a great measure indebted to your recommendation and patronage for this enjoyment, it is but natural that I should be grateful, and should endeavor to serve you to the best of my ability.”
“I thank you,cher ami,” said Wilhelmine, in kindly tones. “You, too, have always been a good and efficient friend, and it was partly throughyourinfluence that my debts were paid,my income doubled, and myself made the mistress of this beautiful palace. I still desire a great many things, however. Yon are aware that I am so unfortunate as to be ambitious, and—”
“And, in your ear, the name Madame Rietz is not exactly the music of the spheres.”
“Not exactly, my dear friend, although I must admit that the name is rather musical. But I—”
The door of the antechamber was hastily opened, and a lackey appeared on the threshold, holding in his hand a silver waiter on which a folded note lay.
“This note has just been left here for Chamberlain Rietz,” said the lackey.
Rietz took the note and opened it. “Madame,” said he, after the door had closed behind the servant, “madame, my worst fears are realized. Countess Ingenheim is dead!”
“Dead!” repeated Wilhelmine, shuddering. “Poor woman, she has paid dearly for her short-lived triumph, and those who assert that the poor person was poisoned, are probably right; the shame attendant upon her position, her pangs of conscience and her remorse—these were the drops of poison which she daily imbibed, and of which she has now died. Truly, to be the beloved of a king requires a firm heart and very strong nerves. Poor woman, I pity her!”
“Truly, you are worthy of the greatest admiration,” said Rietz. “You lament the sad fate of your rival, while you yourself are in the greatest danger on her account. You must now decide whether you will receive your company or not.”
“Oh, my friend,” sighed Wilhelmine, “how can you suppose me capable of indulging in the delights of social intercourse at a time when I have suffered so sad a loss? No, the king’s grief is my grief also, and instead of being merry and laughing with others, I will weep with the royal widower.”
“You are an incomparable woman,” cried Rietz, with a loud peal of laughter; “as wise, as beautiful, as much thedemon as the angel! No wonder you are fearless! Your power rests on an adamantine foundation.”
Wilhelmine made no response, but rang the bell, and told the servant who answered her call, to inform the porter that no soirée would take place that evening, and that he was to tell all visitors that mourning for the sudden death of Countess Ingenheim would compel her to forego the pleasure of seeing them for that evening and the following week.
“I beg you to leave me now, my friend,” said Wilhelmine, beginning to divest herself of the sparkling jewels that encircled her neck and arms. “I must hasten to lay aside these worldly garments, in order that the king may find me attired in sable robes when he arrives.”
“How! Do you believe the king will visit you at a time when his wife of the left hand has but just breathed her last?”
“I feel assured that he will. His majesty knows how deep an interest I take in all that concerns him. He knows where to look for sympathy; he knows that I laugh with him when he is glad, and weep with him when he is sad. To whom should he flee in his hour of grief but to me?”
“You are right,” said Rietz, smiling, “to whom should he flee, in his hour of grief, but to his first sultana? I am going, and I truly promise you that if his majesty, in the depth of his grief, should chance to be forgetful of this haven of rest, I will suggest it to our dear, chastened king.”
“Do so, my friend, and hasten to his majesty’s side, or my enemies will forestall you, and perhaps console the king in a different manner.”
“I am going, sultana. But these shutters—shall I order them to be closed?”
“And why, pray? I am not afraid of a few stones, and if they should be showered upon us too plentifully, we can retire to one of the back rooms and observe the bombardment in perfect security. When did you say it was to begin?”
“As soon as it has grown dark; the deeds of these piousfathers shun the light of day. The calendar says moonlight until ten o’clock; it is therefore probable that the sovereign people, as the rabble of Paris now calls itself, will not honor you with a call until that hour. It would be well to notify the police of the flattering attentions awaiting you, and to solicit a guard for the protection of your palace.”
“I will take good care not to do so,” rejoined Wilhelmine, smiling. “Let the sovereign people amuse themselves by breaking my windows if they choose. The louder they howl and call me poisoner the better, for the king will hear them and he will pity me.”
“Wilhelmine,” cried Rietz with enthusiasm, “it is a pity you are already my wife; if you were not I should certainly address you. I could love you to distraction!”
“Do not, my friend, I pray you,” said Wilhelmine; “you would cut but a sorry figure in the rôle of a disconsolate lover. But now go; it is already eight o’clock, and I hear a great many carriages coming and going.”
The chamberlain pressed her beautiful hand to his lips, and then took his departure. She regarded him with a contemptuous smile as he left the room, and when the door had closed behind him, a clear and ringing peal of laughter escaped her lips. “To think that this Caliban has the honor of being called my husband,” said she, “and that I am still the wife of a valet! And why? Merely because I am not of noble birth, like—like these sensitive puppets, whose shame is garnished over with noble titles and robes of ermine, and who nevertheless succumb and die under the burden of their self-acquired dignities. I can bear the precious burden! I—will not die! No, not I!”
THE ATTACK.
Half an hour later the folding-doors of the reception-room were thrown open to admit the king, who came without ceremony, and without attendants, as he was in the habit of doing. Wilhelmine hurried forward to meet him; her lovely countenance wore a sad expression, and her beautiful figure was attired in sable mourning-robes. One might have supposed she had lost her mother or a sister, so mournful was her manner, so full of sadness was her glance as she slowly raised her eyes to the king’s pale countenance. “My dear master,” murmured she, “how kind your majesty is, to think of me, and honor me with a visit, in this your hour of sore trial!”
He stroked her soft, shining hair tenderly, and drew her head to his bosom. “I never forget you, my friend, and the thought of your radiant eyes and lovely countenance always consoles me when I am troubled with care or grief, which is unfortunately very often the case.”
“Your majesty’s grief has been so great to-day! The divine being whom we all loved and honored has gone from us!”
“Yes,” said the king, with a deep-drawn sigh, his expression more indicative of ennui than of sorrow, “yes, Countess Ingenheim died this afternoon. But her death did not surprise me; the good countess had been in very bad health ever since the birth of her son, more than a year ago, and my physician had long since told me that she had the consumption, and would not live through the autumn. The poor countess had been very tearful of late; she wept a great deal when I was with her, and was constantly reproaching herself. This was unpleasant, and I visited her but rarely during the last few weeks for fear of agitating the poor invalid. Moreover, she kept up a pretence of being well,” continuedthe king, seating himself in the arm-chair, in which Rietz had been so comfortably installed a few minutes before. “Yes, she wished to impose on the world with this pretence, as if it were possible to avoid observing the traces of her terrible disease in her pale, attenuated countenance! She always held herself erect, went to all the parties, and even visited the theatre, four days ago. You remember it, doubtlessly, as you were present?”
“Yes, I remember,” murmured Wilhelmine, as she seated herself on a stool at the king’s feet, folded the hands, that contrasted like white lilies with her flowing black-lace sleeves, on his knees, and gave him a tender, languishing glance. She knew how effective these glances were—she knew that she could always bind her lover to herself again with these invisible toils.
“If poor Julie had but had your eyes and your health!” sighed the king. “But she was always ailing, and in the end nothing becomes more disagreeable than a sickly woman. But let us speak of this no longer, it makes me sad! It is well that my poor Julie has, at last, found a refuge in the grave from her unceasing remorse and her jealous love.”
And thus Frederick took leave of the spirit of the affectionate woman who had sacrificed all through her love for him. The consciousness that his love for her had long since died, and that she was nothing more than a burden to him, had killed her.
Having taken leave of the spirit of his dead love, the king now assumed a cheerful expression, and this expression was immediately reflected in Wilhelmine’s countenance. She smiled, arose from her stool, threw her soft, white arms around the king’s neck with passionate tenderness, and exclaimed: “How is it possible to die when one can have the happiness of living at your side!”
The king drew her to his heart and kissed her. “Youwill live, Wilhelmine! You love me too dearly to think of dying of this miserable feeling of remorse. You have been triedand found true, Wilhelmine, and nothing can hereafter separate us.”
“Nothing, my dear king and master!”
“Nothing, Wilhelmine; not even a new love. The flames of tenderness that glow in my heart may sometimes flare up and seem to point in other directions, but they will ever return to you, and never will the altar grow cold on which the first love-flames burned so brightly in the fair days of our youth.”
“God bless your majesty for these words!” cried Wilhelmine, pressing the king’s hands to her lips.
“Let us have no more of this formality, I pray you,” said Frederick William, wearily. “We are alone, and I am heartily tired of carrying the royal purple about with me wherever I go. Relieve me of this burdensome mantle, Wilhelmine, and let us dream that the days of our youthful happiness have come back to us.”
“My Frederick is always young,” whispered she; “eternal youth glows in your heart and is reflected on your noble brow. But I—look at me, Frederick William! I have grown old, and the unmerciful hand of Time has been laid ungently on my brow.”
The king looked at Wilhelmine, and could find no evidence of this in the fresh, smiling countenance of his enchantress. He listened to her siren voice, and its music soothed his soul and dissipated all care and sorrow. As the hand of the clock neared the tenth hour, and while Wilhelmine was engaged in a charmingtête-à-têtewith the king over a delightful supper of savory dishes and choice wines, the smiling siren told him of the danger that threatened her, of the new intrigue of her enemies at court, and of their determination to incite a mob to attack her palace.
“There can be nothing in all this,” said the king, smiling; “this story has only been concocted to alarm you. If your enemies had formed any such plan, my superintendent of police would certainly have heard of it, and have taken measures to prevent it.”
Wilhelmine inclined her rosy lips to the king’s ear, and narrated in low accents what Rietz had told her concerning the order issued by the Rosicrucians.
The king started with surprise and alarm. “No,” said he, “this is impossible; Bischofswerder and Wöllner are my most faithful friends; they will never undertake to harm you, for they know that you are dear to me, and that your presence is necessary to my peace and contentment—yes, I may even say to my happiness!”
“It is for this very reason that they desire to effect my banishment. They hope to gain unbounded control over you, by driving from your side the only being who dares to tell you the truth, and who loves in you the dear, noble man, and not the king! My disinterested love for you, Frederick William, is in their eyes a crime, and they accuse me of having committed another crime, for the purpose of tearing me from your heart and treading me under foot like a noxious weed!”
“They shall not succeed!” protested Frederick William. “But I cannot believe that—” The king ceased speaking; at this moment a deafening roar, as of the sea when lashed to fury by the storm, was heard in the street; it came nearer and nearer, and then the windows of the palace shook with the fierce cries: “Murderess! Poisoner! Curses upon the murderess!”
Wilhelmine, an air of perfect serenity on her countenance, remained seated at the king’s feet, but he turned pale and looked toward the window in dismay. “You perceive, my master,” said she, with an air of perfect indifference, “you perceive that these are the exact words agreed upon in the Rosicrucian assembly this morning. This is the war-cry of my enemies.”
“Murderess! Poisoner!” resounded again upon the night air. “Curses upon the murderess!”
“I knew they would dare to make this attack,” murmured Wilhelmine, still smiling. “Had I felt guilty, I would have fled or have solicited protection of my king. But I wishedyour majesty to see how far my enemies would go in their malignity—what cruel measures they would take to effect my banishment.”
“You have done well,” said the king, earnestly; “you have acted like a heroine, and never—”
He was interrupted by a loud crash, and something hissed through the broken window. With a loud, piercing cry, Wilhelmine threw herself over the king’s person and clasped him in a close embrace, as if determined to protect him against the whole world.
“They may murder me, but they shall not harm a hair of your dear head, my beloved!”
These words, uttered in loud, exulting tones, sounded in the king’s ear like an inspiring hymn of love, and he never forgot them.
The stone had fallen to the floor, with a loud noise, but no second one followed it. Curses still resounded from below, but the mob seemed nevertheless to have been alarmed by their own boldness, and hesitated before commencing a new attack.
Wilhelmine now released the king from her protecting embrace, and with gentle force compelled him to rise from his chair.
“Come, my beloved, danger threatens you here! They will soon make another attack.”
“Wilhelmine,” said he, with emotion, “give me that stone.”
As she stooped to pick up the stone that lay at her feet, the black lace shawl fell to the floor, disclosing a purple stripe on her snow-white shoulder.
“You are wounded, Wilhelmine, you are wounded!” cried the king, in dismay. She had arisen in the mean while, and now handed him the stone, with her siren smile.
“It is nothing, my king; the dear people’s cannon-ball merely grazed my shoulder. To be sure, it hurts a little, but my arms are not broken.”
“And it was for me that you received this wound!” saidthe king, in deep emotion. “You shielded and protected me with your fair form. Wilhelmine, I will never forget this; this stone shall be a lasting memorial of your love and heroic devotion!”
For the second time a loud crash was heard, and now the stones came flying through the broken windows in quick succession. At this moment several lackeys, pale with fright, rushed into the room to report that the populace were endeavoring to batter down the doors of the palace, and that these were already giving way.
“Save yourself, my king, flee from this palace!” cried Wilhelmine. “Permit my butler to lead you through the garden to the little gate that opens into Behren Street; from there your majesty will be able to return to your palace in safety.”
“And you, my dearest?” asked the king.
“And I,” said she, with heroic composure, “I will await my enemies; if they kill me I can die with the proud consciousness that I have saved the life of my king, and that he, at least, is convinced of my innocence!”
Another shower of stones succeeded, and the parlor was now a scene of fearful confusion. While fierce curses upon the head of the murderess, and denunciations of the poisoner, resounded from the street below, chairs, mirrors, vases, and marble tables, were being broken and scattered in every direction by the stones that poured in through the windows in an uninterrupted shower. In the midst of this din and clatter Wilhelmine’s voice could be heard from time to time, conjuring the king to fly, or at least to repair with her to one of the apartments in the rear of the palace.
But the king remained firm; and issued his commands to the trembling servants, in a loud voice. He ordered them to close the inner shutters, and they did as he bade them. Creeping timidly on their hands and knees to the windows, they withdrew the bolts and closed the shutters with a sudden jerk. The king now ordered one of the lackeys to hastenthrough the garden to the office of his superintendent of police, to acquaint him with the state of affairs, and to request him to disperse the insurrectionary populace. After this messenger had been despatched, and now that the stones were falling harmlessly from the closed shutters, the king dismissed the servants who were present. He was now once more alone with the beloved of his youth.
“Wilhelmine,” said he, “I can never forget your heroism and devotion. You shall have complete satisfaction for the insults offered you to-day, and those who sought your destruction shall bend the knee before you.”
Half an hour later all was still, and the stones were no longer flying against the windows. The chief of police had made a requisition on the military authorities for a body of troops, and the populace had fled in terror from the threatening muskets and glittering sabres.
The king had taken his departure in the carriage that had been ordered to await him in Behren Street. He had, however, taken the stone with him that had struck Wilhelmine’s shoulder. On taking leave he kissed her tenderly, and told her to await him in her palace at twelve o’clock on the following day, when she should receive the promised satisfaction.
Wilhelmine was now alone; with a proud, triumphant smile, she walked to and fro in the parlor, seeming to enjoy the scene of confusion and destruction. At times, when her foot touched one of the stones, she would laugh, push it aside, and exclaim: “Thus you shall all be thrust aside, my enemies! I will walk over you all, and the stones which you have hurled at me shall serve as a stairway for my ascent!—I have managed well,” said she, continuing to walk restlessly to and fro. “I have opened the king’s eyes to the malignity and cunning of his friends, and have shown my enemies that I am not afraid of, and scorn to fly from them. Messrs. Von Bischofswerder and Wöllner will soon come to the conclusion that they will be worsted in this conflict, and had better seek to form an alliance with their formidable enemy!”
As she continued walking amid the surrounding stones and ruins, the blood trickled slowly down her shoulder; and this, with her glittering eyes, gave her once more the appearance of a tigress—of a wounded tigress meditating revenge.
Wilhelmine was now interrupted in her train of thought by a noise in the street that sounded like the distant roll of thunder. She opened one of the shutters, behind which nothing remained of the window but the frame, and looked out into the night, and down into the broad street of the linden-trees, now entirely deserted. But the noise grew louder and louder, and the street seemed to be faintly illumined in the distance. This light soon became a broad glare; and then Wilhelmine saw that it was a funeral procession. She saw a number of dark, shrouded figures bearing gleaming torches, and then a long funeral car, drawn by four black horses. A coffin lay on this car. Its silver ornaments shone brightly in the reflection of the torches; a coronet at the head of the coffin glittered as though bathed in the dawning light of a new day. Torch-bearers followed the funeral car, and then came a number of closed carriages. It was the funeral procession of Countess Julie von Ingenheim, conveying the corpse to the estate of the family Von Voss, to deposit it in the ancestral vaults. Wilhelmine stood at the window and saw this ghostly procession glide by in the stillness of the night. She remained there until it had disappeared in the distance, and all was again silent. When she stepped back her countenance was radiant with a proud, triumphant smile. “She is dead!” said she, in low tones; “the coronet now glitters on her coffinonly. I still live, and a coronet will yet glitter on my brow. A long time may elapse before I attain this coveted gem; but this wound on my shoulder may work wonders. I can afford to wait, for I—I do not intend to die. I will outlive you all—you who dare contend with me for the king’s heart. Our love is sealed with blood, but the vows which he made to you were cast upon the wind!”
On the following day, the king repaired to Madame Rietz’s palace at the appointed hour. He came with a brilliant suite; all his ministers and courtiers, and even his son, the Prince Royal Frederick William, accompanied him. The young prince had come in obedience to his father’s command, but a dark frown rested on his countenance as he walked through the glittering apartments. When he met the mistress of all this magnificence, and when the king himself introduced her to his son as his dear friend, a glance of contemptuous anger shot from the usually mild eyes of the prince royal upon the countenance of the smiling friend.
She felt the meaning of this glance; it pierced her heart like a dagger; and a voice seemed to whisper in her ear: “This youth will destroy you! Beware of him, for he is the avenging angel destined to punish you!”
But she suppressed her terror, smiled, and listened to the king, who was narrating the occurrences of the riot of the day before, and pointing to the stones which, at the king’s express command, had been allowed to remain where they had fallen.
“It was an insurrection,” said the king—“an insurrection of the populace, that now fancies itself sovereign, and would so gladly play the master and ruler, and dictate terms to its king. I hate this rabble and all those who make it subservient to their ends—who use its rude fists to execute their own plans—and never will I pardon or take into favor such rebels and traitors.”
As the king concluded, he fastened an angry glance on Bischofswerder and Wöllner, the covert meaning of which these worthies seemed to have divined, for they cast their eyes down and looked abashed.
The king now turned to Wilhelmine, raised the lace shawl from her shoulder with a gentle hand, and pointed to the wound which she had received the day before.
“Look at this, gentlemen! Madame Rietz received this wound while interposing her own body to protect her king;the stone that inflicted this wound would, but for her devotion and heroism, have struck me in the face. My son, you see before you the protectress of your father; kiss her hand and thank her! And you, too, gentlemen, all of you, thank the heroic woman who shielded your king from danger.”
This was indeed a glorious satisfaction! Wilhelmine’s ambitious heart exulted with joy as she stood there like a queen, her hand extended to be kissed by a prince royal, by generals, ministers, and courtiers, whose words of thanks were unceasingly resounding in her ear. But there was one drop of bitterness in all this honey; and the warning voice again whispered, “Beware of the prince royal, for he is the avenging angel destined to punish you!”
The prince royal had given her a second threatening glance when he stooped to kiss her hand, at the king’s command; and she alone knew that his lips had not touched her hand.
The king had looked on with a smile while his ministers and courtiers were doing homage to his “protectress.” He now turned to the portrait of his favorite son, Count von der Mark. His boy’s soft, mild eyes seemed to gaze down on his father.
“My son,” said the king, in a loud, agitated voice, “I swear to your blessed spirit, surely in our midst in this hour, I swear that I will reward the mother you so tenderly loved, for all the affection which she lavished upon my boy, and that I will never forget her devotion in risking her own life to preserve mine. My son, I swear to you that I will be grateful to the preserver of my life while I live, and that her enemies shall never succeed in lowering her in my high estimation. My son, in witness of this my solemn vow, I kiss the wound which your noble mother received in my defence!”
Frederick William stooped and kissed the wound on Wilhelmine’s shoulder.
It was a grand, an impressive moment, and Wilhelmine’s ambitious heart exulted. Visions of a brilliant future arose before her soul, and, as she stooped to kiss the king’s hand, she vowed that these visions should be realized!
But, when she raised her head, she shuddered. She had again encountered the prince royal’s glance. The dagger pierced her heart for the third time, and the warning voice in her soul whispered for the third time: “Beware of the prince royal! He is the avenging angel destined to punish you!”
YOUTH VICTORIOUS.
Charlotte von Stein sat in her garden pavilion, anxiously awaiting him for whom it had never been necessary to wait in former days. She had already given him three invitations to pay her a morning visit in the little pavilion in which his protestations of love had so often resounded. But these tender invitations had not been accepted. He had always found some pretext for avoiding thistête-à-têtein Charlotte’s pavilion; he was too busy, had commenced some work which he desired to finish without interruption, or was troubled with toothache.
But Charlotte would not understand that he made these excuses in order to give the dark cloud that hung over them both time to pass away. With the obstinate boldness so often characteristic of intelligent women who have been much courted, and which prompts them rather to cut the Gordian knot with the sword than to unravel it slowly with their skilful fingers, Charlotte von Stein had for the fourth time entreated him to grant the desired interview, and Goethe at last consented.
Charlotte was now awaiting him; she gazed intently at the doorway, and her heart beat wildly. But she determined to be composed, to meet him in a mild and gentle manner. She knew that Goethe detested any exhibition of anger or violence in women. She was also well aware that he was very restive under reproach. Charlotte knew this, and was determinedto give him no cause for displeasure. She desired to see this monarch bound in her silken toils once more; she desired to see the vanquished hero walk before her triumphal car as in the past. “I cannot break with him,” said she, “for I feel that I still love him; moreover, it would be very disagreeable to be spoken of by posterity as the discarded sweetheart of the celebrated poet! No, no! I will be reconciled to him, and all shall be as it was before! All! And now be quiet, my heart, be quiet!”
She took a book from the table before which she was sitting, regardless of what it might be; her object was to collect her thoughts, and compel her mind to be quiet. She opened the book, and looked at it with an air of indifference. It was a volume of Voltaire’s works, which Goethe had sent the day before, when she had written him a note requesting him to let her have something to read. She remembered this now, and also remembered that she had as yet read nothing in the volume. Perhaps she would still have time to make good this omission; Goethe might ask her about the book. She read listlessly, in various parts of the work; suddenly this passage attracted her attention: