Читать книгу Frederick the Great and His Court - L. Muhlbach - Страница 9

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The palace glittered with light and splendor; the servants ran here and there, arranging the sofas and chairs; the court gardener cast a searching glance at the groups of flowers which he had placed in the saloons; and the major domo superintended the tables in the picture gallery. The guests of the queen will enjoy to-night a rich and costly feast. Every thing wore the gay and festive appearance which, in the good old times, the king's palace in Berlin had been wont to exhibit. Jesting and merrymaking were the order of the day, and even the busy servants were good-humored and smiling, knowing that this evening there was no danger of blows and kicks, of fierce threats and trembling terror. Happily the king could not appear at this ball, which he had commanded Sophia to give to the court and nobility of Berlin.

The king was ill, the gout chained him to his chamber, and during the last few sleepless nights a presentiment weighed upon the spirit of the ruler of Prussia. He felt that the reign of Frederick the First would soon be at an end; that the doors of his royal vault would soon open to receive a kingly corpse, and a new king would mount the throne of Prussia.

This last thought filled the heart of the king with rage and bitterness. Frederick William would not die! he would not that his son should reign in his stead; that this weak, riotous youth, this dreamer, surrounded in Rheinsberg with poets and musicians, sowing flowers and composing ballads, should take the place which Frederick the First had filled so many years with glory and great results.

Prussia had no need of this sentimental boy, this hero of fashion, who adorned himself like a French fop, and preferred the life of a sybarite, in his romantic castle, to the battle-field and the night-parade; who found the tones of his flute sweeter than the sounds of trumpets and drums; who declared that there were not only kings by "the grace of God, but kings by the power of genius and intellect, and that Voltaire was as great a king—yes, greater than all the kings anointed by the Pope!" What use has Prussia for such a sovereign? No, Frederick William would not, could not die! His son should not reign in Prussia, destroying what his father had built up! Never should Prussia fall into the hands of a dreaming poet! The king was resolved, therefore, that no one should know he was ill; no one should believe that he had any disease but gout; this was insignificant, never fatal. A man can live to be eighty years old with the gout; it is like a faithful wife, who lives with us even to old age, and with whom we can celebrate a golden wedding. The king confessed to himself that he was once more clasped in her tender embraces, but the people and the prince should not hope that his life was threatened.

For this reason should Sophia give a ball, and the world should see that the queen and her daughters were gay and happy.

The queen was indeed really gay to-day; she was free. It seemed as if the chains which bound her bad fallen apart, and the yoke to which she had bowed her royal neck was removed. To-day she was at liberty to raise her head proudly, like a queen, to adorn herself with royal apparel. Away, for to-day at least, with sober robes and simple coiffure. The king was fastened to his arm-chair, and Sophia dared once more to make a glittering and queenly toilet. With a smile of proud satisfaction, she arrayed herself in a silken robe, embroidered in silver, which she had secretly ordered for the ball from her native Hanover. Her eyes beamed with joy, as she at last opened the silver-bound casket, and released from their imprisonment for a few hours these costly brilliants, which for many years had not seen the light. With a smiling glance her eyes rested upon the glittering stones, which sparkled and flamed like falling stars, and her heart beat high with delight. For a queen is still a woman, and Sophia Dorothea had so often suffered the pains and sorrows of woman, that she longed once more to experience the proud happiness of a queen. She resolved to wear all her jewels; fastened, herself, the sparkling diadem upon her brow, clasped upon her neck and arms the splendid brilliants, and adorned her ears with the long pendants; then stepping to the Venetian mirror, she examined herself critically. Yes, Sophia had reason to be pleased; hers was a queenly toilet. She looked in the glass, and thought on bygone days, on buried hopes and vanished dreams. These diamonds her exalted father had given when she was betrothed to Frederick William. This diadem had adorned her brow when she married. The necklace her brother had sent at the birth of her first child; the bracelet her husband had clasped upon her arm when at last, after long waiting, and many prayers, Prince Frederick was born. Each of these jewels was a proud memento of the past, a star of her youth. Alas, the diamonds had retained their brilliancy; they were still stars, but all else was vanished or dead—her youth and her dreams, her hopes and her love! Sophia had so often trembled before her husband, that she no longer loved him. With her, "perfect love had not cast out fear." Fear had extinguished love. How could she love a man who had been only a tyrant and a despot to her and to her children? who had broken their wills, cut off their hopes, and trodden under foot, not only the queen, but the mother? As Sophia looked at the superb bracelet, the same age of her darling, she thought how unlike the glitter and splendor of these gems his life had been; how dark and sad his youth; how colorless and full of tears. She kissed the bracelet, and wafted her greeting to her absent son. Suddenly the door opened, and the Princesses Ulrica and Amelia entered.

The queen turned to them, and the sad expression vanished from her features as her eyes rested upon the lovely and loving faces of her daughters.

"Oh, how splendid you look, gracious mamma!" exclaimed the Princess Amelia, as she danced gayly around her mother. "Heaven with all its stars has fallen around you, but your sweet face shines out amongst them like the sun in his glory."

"Flatterer," said the queen, "if your father heard you, he would scold fearfully. If you compare me to the sun, how can you describe him?"

"Well, he is Phoebus, who harnesses the sun and points out his path."

"True, indeed." said the queen, "he appoints his path. Poor sun!—poor queen!—she has not the right to send one ray where she will!"

"Who, notwithstanding, assumes the right, gracious mamma," said Amelia, smiling, and pointing to the diadem, "for I imagine that our most royal king and father has not commanded you to appear in those splendid jewels."

"Commanded," said the queen, trembling; "if he could see me he would expire with rage and scorn. You know he despises expense and ornament."

"He would immediately calculate," said Amelia, "that he could build an entire street with this diadem, and that at least ten giants could be purchased for the Guard with this necklace." She turned to her sister, who had withdrawn, and said:

"Ulrica, you say nothing. Has the splendor of our mother bewildered you? Have you lost your speech, or are you thinking whom you will command to dance with you at the ball this evening?"

"Not so," replied the little Ulrica, "I was thinking that when I am to be a queen, I will make it a condition with my husband that I shall be entirely free to choose my toilet, and I will never be forbidden to wear diamonds! When I am a queen I will wear diamonds every day; they belong to majesty, and our royal mother was never more a queen than to-day!"

"Listen," said Amelia, "to this proud and all-conquering little princess, who speaks of being a queen, as if it were all arranged, and not a doubt remained; know you that the king, our father, intends you for a queen? Perhaps he has already selected you for a little margrave, or some unknown and salaried prince, such as our poor sister of Bairout has wedded."

"I would not give my hand to such a one!" said the princess, hastily.

"You would be forced to yield, if your father commanded it," said the queen.

"No," said Ulrica, "I would rather die!"

"DIE!" said Sophia; "man sighs often for Death, but he comes not; our sighs have not the power to bring him, and our hands are too weak to clasp him to our hearts! No, Ulrica, you must bow your will to your father, as we have all done—as even the prince, your brother, was forced to do."

"Poor brother," said Amelia, "bound to a wife whom he loves not—how wretched he must be!"

Ulrica shrugged her shoulders. "Is not that the fate of all princes and princesses; are we not all born to be handled like a piece of goods, and knocked down to the highest bidder? I, for my part, will sell myself as dearly as possible; and, as I cannot be a happy shepherdess, I will be a powerful queen."

"And I," said Amelia, "would rather wed the poorest and most obscure man, if I loved him, than the richest and greatest king's son, to whom I was indifferent."

"Foolish children," said the queen, "it is well for you that your father does not hear you; he would crush you in his rage, and even to-day he would choose a king for you, Amelia; and for you, little Ulrica, he would seek a small margrave! Hark, ladies! I hear the voice of the major domo; he comes to announce that the guests are assembled. Put on a cheerful countenance. The king commands us to be joyous and merry! but remember that Frederick has his spies everywhere. When you speak with Pollnitz, never forget that he repeats every word to your father; be friendly with him; and above all things when he leads the conversation to the prince royal, speak of him with the most unembarrassed indifference; show as little interest and love for him as possible, and rather ridicule his romantic life in Rheinsberg. That is the way to the heart of the king; and now, my daughters, come."

At this moment the grand chamberlain, Pollnitz, threw open the doors and announced that the company was assembled. The queen and princesses followed the master of ceremonies through the room, giving here and there a smile or a gracious word, which seemed a shower of gold to the obsequious, admiring crowd of courtiers. Pride swelled the heart of Sophia, as she stepped, to the sound of soft music, into the throne saloon, and saw all those cavaliers, covered with stars and orders—all those beautiful and richly-dressed women bowing humbly before her. She knew that her will was more powerful than the will of all assembled there; that her smiles were more dearly prized than those of the most-beloved bride; that her glance gave warmth and gladness like the sun. While all bowed before her, there was no one to whom she must bend the knee. The king was not near to-night; she was not bound by his presence and his rude violence. To-night she was no trembling, subjected wife, but a proud queen; while Frederick was a poor, gouty, trembling, teeth-gnashing man—nothing more.