Читать книгу Louisa of Prussia and Her Times - L. Muhlbach - Страница 13

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The most noble Countess von Voss, mistress of ceremonies at the court of Prussia, was pacing the anteroom of Queen Louisa in the most excited manner. She wore the regular court dress—a long black robe and a large cap of black crape. In her white hands, half covered with black silk gloves, she held a gorgeous fan, which she now impatiently opened and closed, and then again slowly moved up and down like a musical leader’s baton.

If anybody had been present to observe her, the noble mistress of ceremonies would not have permitted herself such open manifestations of her impatience. Fortunately, however, she was quite alone, and under these circumstances even a mistress of ceremonies at the royal court might feel at liberty to violate the rules of that etiquette which on all other occasions was the noble lady’s most sacred gospel. Etiquette, however, was just now the motive of her intense excitement, and in its interest she was going to fight a battle on that very spot in Queen Louisa’s anteroom.

“Now or never!” she murmured. “What I was at liberty to overlook as long as Frederick William and Louisa were merely ‘their royal highnesses, the crown prince and crown princess,’ I cannot permit any longer now that they have ascended the royal throne. Hence I am determined to speak to the young king on this first day of his reign17 in as emphatic and sincere a manner as is required by a faithful discharge of my responsible duties.”

Just at that moment the large folding doors were opened, and a tall and slender young man in a dashing uniform entered the room. It was young King Frederick William III., on his return from the interior palace-yard where he had received the oath of allegiance at the hands of the generals of the monarchy.

The noble and youthful countenance of this king of twenty-seven years was grave and stern, but from his large blue eyes the kindness and gentleness of his excellent heart was beaming, and his handsome and good-natured features breathed a wonderful spirit of serenity and sympathy.

He crossed the room with rapid and noiseless steps, and, politely bowing to the mistress of ceremonies, approached the opposite door. But the mistress of ceremonies, evidently anxious to prevent him from opening that door, placed herself in front of it and gravely said to him:

“Your majesty, it is impossible. I cannot permit etiquette to be violated in this manner, and I must beg your majesty to inform me most graciously of what you are going to do in these rooms?”

“Well,” said the king, with a pleasant smile, “I am going to do to-day what I am in the habit of doing every day at this hour—I am going to pay a visit to my wife.”

“To your WIFE!” exclaimed the mistress of ceremonies, in dismay. “But, your majesty, a king has no WIFE!”

“Ah! in that case a king would be a very wretched being,” said the king, smiling, “and, for my part, I would sooner give up my crown than my beloved wife.”

“Good Heaven, your majesty, you may certainly have a wife, but let me implore you not to apply that vulgar name to her majesty in the presence of other people. It is contrary to etiquette and injurious to the respect due to royalty.”

“My dear countess,” said the young king, gravely, “I believe, on the contrary, that it will only increase the respect which people will feel for us, if her majesty remains a woman in the noblest and truest meaning of the word, and my wife—I beg your pardon, I was going to say the queen—is such a woman. And now, my dear countess, permit me to go to her.”

“No,” exclaimed the mistress of ceremonies, resolutely. “Your majesty must first condescend to listen to me. For an hour already I have been waiting here for your majesty’s arrival, and you must now graciously permit me to speak to you as frankly and sincerely as is required by my duty and official position.”

“Well, I will listen to you, my dear countess,” said the king, with an inaudible sigh.

“Your majesty,” said the mistress of ceremonies, “I consider it my duty to beseech your majesty on this memorable day to confer upon me the power of enforcing the privileges of my office with more severity and firmness.”

“And to submit myself to your sceptre. That is what you want me to do, I suppose, dear countess?” asked the king, smiling.

“Sire, at all events it is impossible to keep up the dignity and majesty of royalty if the king and queen themselves openly defy the laws of etiquette.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the king, sharply, “not a word against the queen, if you please, my dear mistress of ceremonies! You may accuse me just as much as you please, but pray let me hear no more complaints about my Louisa! Well, then, tell me now what new derelictions I have been guilty of.”

“Sire,” said the countess, who did not fail to notice the almost imperceptible smile playing on the king’s lips—“sire, I perceive that your majesty is laughing at me; nevertheless, I deem it incumbent on me to raise my warning voice. Etiquette is something sublime and holy—it is the sacred wall separating the sovereign from his people. If that ill-starred queen, Marie Antoinette, had not torn down this wall, she would probably have met with a less lamentable end.”

“Ah! countess, you really go too far; you even threaten me with the guillotine,” exclaimed the king, good-naturedly. “Indeed, I am afraid I must have committed a great crime against etiquette. Tell me, therefore, where you wish to see a change, and I pledge you my word I shall grant your request if it be in my power to do so.”

“Sire,” begged the mistress of ceremonies, in a low and impressive voice, “let me implore you to be in your palace less of a father and husband, and more of a king, at least in the presence of others. It frequently occurs that your majesty, before other people, addresses the queen quite unceremoniously with ‘thou,’ nay, your majesty even in speaking of her majesty to strangers or servants, often briefly calls the queen ‘my wife.’ Sire, all that might be overlooked in the modest family circle and house of a crown prince, but it can-not be excused in the palace of a king.”

“Then,” asked the king, smiling, “this house of mine has been transformed into a palace since yesterday?”

“Assuredly, sire, you do not mean to say that you will remain in this humble house after your accession to the throne?” exclaimed the mistress of ceremonies, in dismay.

“Now tell me sincerely, my dear countess, cannot we remain in this house?”

“I assure your majesty it is altogether out of the question. How would it be possible to keep up the court of a king and queen in so small a house with becoming dignity? The queen’s household has to be largely increased; hereafter we must have four ladies of honor, four ladies of the bedchamber, and other servants in the same pro-portion. According to the rules of etiquette, Sire, you must like-wise enlarge your own household. A king must have two adjutant-generals, four chamberlains, four gentlemen of the bedchamber, and—”

“Hold on,” exclaimed the king, smiling, “MY household fortunately does not belong to the department of the mistress of ceremonies, and therefore we need not allude to it. As to your other propositions and wishes, I shall take them into consideration, for I hope you are through now.”

“No, your majesty, I am not. I have to mention a good many other things, and I must do so to-day—my duty requires it,” said the mistress of ceremonies, in a dignified manner.

The king cast a wistful glance toward the door.

“Well, if your duty requires it, you may proceed,” he said, with a loud sigh.

“I must beseech your majesty to assist me in the discharge of my onerous duties. If the king and queen themselves will submit to the rigorous and just requirements of etiquette, I shall be able to compel the whole court likewise strictly to adhere to those salutary rules. Nowadays, however, a spirit of innovation and disinclination to observe the old-established ceremonies and customs, which deeply afflicts me, and which I cannot but deem highly pernicious, is gaining ground everywhere. It has even now infected the ladies and gentlemen of the court. And having often heard your majesty, in conversation with her majesty the queen, contrary to etiquette, use the vulgar German language instead of the French tongue, which is the language of the courts throughout Germany, they believe they have a perfect right to speak German whenever they please. Yes, it has become a regular custom among them to salute each other at breakfast with a German ‘Guten Morgen!’18 That is an innovation which should not be permitted to anybody, without first obtaining the consent of her majesty’s mistress of ceremonies and your majesty’s master of ceremonies.”

“I beg your pardon,” said the king, gravely, “as to this point, I altogether differ from you. No etiquette should forbid German gentlemen or German ladies to converse in their mother tongue, and it is unnatural and mere affectation to issue such orders. In order to become fully conscious of their national dignity, they should especially value and love their own language, and no longer deign to use in its place the tongue of a people who have shed the blood of their king and queen, and whose deplorable example now causes all thrones to tremble. Would to God that the custom of using the German language would become more and more prevalent at my court, for it behooves Germans to feel and think and speak like Germans; and that will also be the most reliable bulwark against the bloody waves of the French Republic, in case it should desire to invade Germany. Now you know my views, my dear mistress of ceremonies, and if your book of ceremonies prescribes that all court officers should converse in French, I request you to expunge that article and to insert in its place the following: ‘Prussia, being a German state, of course everybody is at liberty to speak German.’ This will also be the rule at court, except in the presence of persons not familiar with the German language. Pray don’t forget that, my dear countess, and now, being so implacable a guardian of that door, and of the laws of etiquette, I request you to go to her majesty the queen, and ask her if I may have the honor of waiting upon her majesty. I should like to present my respects to her majesty; and I trust she will graciously grant my request.”19 The mistress of ceremonies bowed deeply, her face radiant with joy, and then rapidly entered the adjoining room.

The king looked after her for a moment, with a peculiar smile.

“She has to pass through six large rooms before reaching Louisa’s boudoir,” he murmured: “this door, however, directly leads to her through the small hall and the other anteroom. That is the shortest road to her, and I shall take it.”

Without hesitating any longer, the king hastily opened the small side door, slipped through the silent hall and across the small anteroom, and knocked at the large and heavily-curtained door.

A sweet female voice exclaimed, “Come in!” and the king immediately opened the door. A lady in deep mourning came to meet him, extending her hands toward him.

“Oh, my heart told me that it was you, my dearest!” she exclaimed, and her glorious blue eyes gazed upon him with an indescribable expression of impassioned tenderness.

The king looked at her with a dreamy smile, quite absorbed in her aspect. And indeed it was a charming and beautiful sight presented by this young queen of twenty years.

Her blue eyes were beaming in the full fire of youth, enthusiasm, and happiness; a sweet smile was always playing on her finely-formed mouth, with the ripe cherry lips. On both sides of her slightly-blushing cheeks her splendid auburn hair was flowing down in waving ringlets; her noble and pure forehead arose above a nose of classical regularity, and her figure, so proud and yet so charming, so luxuriant and yet so chaste, full of true royal dignity and winning womanly grace, was in complete harmony with her lovely and youthful features.

“Well?” asked the queen, smiling. “Not a word of welcome from you, my beloved husband?”

“I only say to you, God bless you on your new path, and may He preserve you to me as long as I live!” replied the king, deeply moved, and embracing his queen with gushing tenderness.

She encircled his neck with her soft, white arms, and leaned her head with a happy smile upon his shoulder. Thus they reposed in each other’s arms, silent in their unutterable delight, solemnly moved in the profound consciousness of their eternal and imperishable love.

Suddenly they were interrupted in their blissful dream by a low cry, and when they quickly turned around in a somewhat startled manner, they beheld the Countess von Voss, mistress of ceremonies, standing in the open door, and gloomily gazing upon them.

The king could not help laughing.

“Do you see now, my dear countess?” he said. “My wife and I see each other without any previous interruption as often as we want to do so, and that is precisely as it ought to be in a Christian family. But you are a charming mistress of ceremonies, and hereafter we will call you Dame d’Etiquette.20 Moreover, I will comply with your wishes as much as I can.”

He kindly nodded to her, and the mistress of ceremonies, well aware of the meaning of this nod, withdrew with a sigh, closing the door as she went out.

The queen looked up to her husband with a smile.

“Was it again some quarrel about etiquette?” she asked.

“Yes, and a quarrel of the worst kind,” replied the king, quickly. “The mistress of ceremonies demands that I should always be announced to you before entering your room, Louisa.”

“Oh, you are always announced here,” she exclaimed, tenderly; “my heart always indicates your approach—and that herald is altogether sufficient, and it pleases me much better than the stern countenance of our worthy mistress of ceremonies.”

“It is the herald of my happiness,” said the king, fervently, laying his arm upon his wife’s shoulder, and gently drawing her to his heart.

“Do you know what I am thinking of just now?” asked the queen, after a short pause. “I believe the mistress of ceremonies will get up a large number of new rules, and lecture me considerably about the duties of a queen in regard to the laws of etiquette.”

“I believe you are right,” said the king, smiling.

“But I don’t believe she is right!” exclaimed the queen, and, closely nestling in her husband’s arms, she added: “Tell me, my lord and king, inasmuch as this is the first time that you come to me as a king, have I not the right to ask a few favors of you, and to pray you to grant my requests?”

“Yes, you have that right, my charming queen,” said the king, merrily; “and I pledge you my word that your wishes shall be fulfilled, whatever they may be.”

“Well, then,” said the queen, joyfully, “there are four wishes that I should like you to grant. Come, sit down here by my side, on this small sofa, put your arm around my waist, and, that I may feel that I am resting under your protection, let me lean my head upon your shoulder, like the ivy supporting itself on the trunk of the strong oak. And now listen to my wishes. In the first place, I want you to allow me to be a wife and mother in my own house, without any restraint whatever, and to fulfil my sacred duties as such without fear and without regard to etiquette. Do you grant this wish?”

“Most cordially and joyfully, in spite of all mistresses of ceremonies!” replied the king.

The queen nodded gently and smiled. “Secondly,” she continued, “I beg you, my beloved husband, on your own part, not to permit etiquette to do violence to your feelings toward me, and always to call me, even in the presence of others, your ‘wife,’ and not ‘her majesty the queen.’ Will you grant that, too, my dearest friend?”

The king bent over her and kissed her beautiful hair.

“Louisa,” he whispered, “you know how to read my heart, and, generous as you always are, you pray me to grant what is only my own dearest wish. Yes, Louisa, we will always call each other by those most honorable of our titles, ‘husband and wife.’ And now, your third wish, my dear wife?”

“Ah, I have some fears about this third wish of mine,” sighed the queen, looking up to her husband with a sweet smile. “I am afraid you cannot grant it, and the mistress of ceremonies, perhaps, was right when she told me etiquette would prevent you from complying with it.”

“Ah, the worthy mistress of ceremonies has lectured you also today already?” asked the king, laughing.

The queen nodded. “She has communicated to me several important sections from the ‘book of ceremonies,’” she sighed. “But all that shall not deter me from mentioning my third wish to you. I ask you, my Frederick, to request the king to permit my husband to live as plainly and modestly as heretofore. Let the king give his state festivals in the large royal palace of his ancestors—let him receive in those vast and gorgeous halls the homage of his subjects, and the visits of foreign princes, and let the queen assist him on such occasions. But these duties of royalty once attended to, may we not be permitted, like all others, to go home, and in the midst of our dear little family circle repose after the fatiguing pomp and splendor of the festivities? Let us not give up our beloved home for the large royal palace! Do not ask me to leave a house in which I have passed the happiest and finest days of my life. See, here in these dear old rooms of mine, every thing reminds me of you, and whenever I am walking through them, the whole secret history of our love and happiness stands again before my eyes. Here, in this room, we saw each other for the first time after my arrival in Berlin, alone and without witnesses. Here you imprinted the first kiss upon your wife’s lips, and, like a heavenly smile, it penetrated deep into my soul, and it has remained in my heart like a little guardian angel of our love. Since that day, even in the fullest tide of happiness, I always feel so devout and grateful to God; and whenever you kiss me, the little angel in my heart is praying for you, and whenever I am praying, he kisses you.”

“Oh, Louisa, you are my angel—my guardian angel!” exclaimed the king, enthusiastically.

The queen apparently did not notice this interruption—she was entirely absorbed in her recollections. “On this sofa here,” she said, “we were often seated in fervent embrace like to-day and when every thing around us was silent, our hearts spoke only the louder to each other, and often have I heard here from your lips the most sublime and sacred revelations of your noble, pure, and manly soul. In my adjoining cabinet, you were once standing at the window, gloomy and downcast; a cloud was covering your brow, and I knew you had heard again sorrowful tidings in your father’s palace. But no complaint ever dropped from your lips, for you always were a good and dutiful son, and even to me you never alluded to your father’s failings. I knew what you were suffering, but I knew also that at that hour I had the power to dispel all the clouds from your brow, and to make your eyes radiant with joy and happiness. Softly approaching you, I laid my arm around your neck, and my head on your breast, and thereupon I whispered three words which only God and my husband’s ears were to hear. And you heard them, and you uttered a loud cry of joy, and before I knew how it happened, I saw you on your knees before me, kissing my feet and the hem of my garment, and applying a name to me that sounded like heavenly music, and made my heart overflow with ecstasy and suffused my cheeks with a deep blush. And I don’t know again how it happened, but I felt that I was kneeling by your side, and we were lifting up our folded hands to heaven, thanking God for the great bliss He had vouchsafed to us, and praying Him to bless our child, unknown to us as yet, but already so dearly beloved. Oh, and last, my own Frederick, do you remember that other hour in my bedroom? You were sitting at my bedside, with folded hands, praying, and yet, during your prayer, gazing upon me, while I was writhing with pain, and yet so supremely happy in my agony, for I knew that Nature at that hour was about to consecrate me for my most exalted and sacred vocation, and that God would bless our love with a visible pledge of our happiness. The momentous hour was at hand—a film covered my eyes, and I could only see the Holy Virgin surrounded by angels, on Guido Reni’s splendid painting, opposite my bed. Suddenly a dazzling flash seemed to penetrate the darkness surrounding me, and through the silence of the room there resounded a voice that I had never heard before—the voice of my child. And at the sound of that voice I saw the angels descending from the painting and approaching my bedside in order to kiss me, and the Mother of God bent over me with a heavenly smile, exclaiming: ‘Blessed is the wife who is a mother!’ My consciousness left me—I believe my ineffable happiness made me faint.”

“Yes, you fainted, beloved wife,” said the king, gently nodding to her; “but the swoon had not dispelled the smile from your lips, nor the expression of rapturous joy from your features. You lay there as if overwhelmed with joy and fascinated by your ecstatic bliss. Knowing that you were inexpressibly happy, I felt no fear whatever—”

“Well, I awoke soon again,” added the queen, joyfully. “I had no time to spare for a long swoon, for a question was burning in my heart. I turned my eyes toward you—you were standing in the middle of the room, holding the babe that, in its new little lace dress, had just been laid into your arms. My heart now commenced beating in my breast like a hammer. I looked at you, but my lips were not strong enough to utter the question. However, you understood me well enough, and drawing close to my bedside, and kneeling down and laying the babe into my arms, you said, in a voice which I shall never forget, ‘Louisa, give your blessing to your son!’ Ah, at that moment it seemed as if my ecstasy would rend my breast. I had to utter a loud scream, or I should have died from joy. ‘A son!’ I cried, ‘I have given birth to a son!’ And I drew my arms around you and the babe, and we wept tears—oh, such tears—”

She paused, overwhelmed with emotion, and burst into tears.

“Ah!” she whispered, deprecatingly, “I am very foolish—you will laugh at me.”

But the king did not laugh, for his eyes also were moist; only he was ashamed of his tears and kept them back in his eyes. A pause ensued, and the queen laid her head upon the shoulder of her husband, who had drawn his arm around her waist. All at once she raised her head, and fixing her large and radiant eyes upon the deeply-moved face of the king, she asked: “My Frederick, can we leave a house in which I bore you a son and crown prince? Will we give up our most sacred recollections for the sake of a large and gorgeous royal palace?”

“No, we will not,” said the king, pressing his wife closer to his heart. “No, we will remain in this house of ours—we will not leave it. Our happiness has grown and prospered here, and here it shall bloom and bear fruit. Your wish shall be fulfilled; we will continue living here as man and wife, and if the king and queen have to give festivals and to receive numerous guests, then they will go over to the palace to comply with their royal duties, but in the evening they will return to their happy home.”

“Oh, my friend, my beloved friend, how shall I thank you?” exclaimed the queen, encircling his neck with her arms, and imprinting a glowing kiss upon his lips.

“But now, dear wife, let me know your fourth wish,” said the king, holding her in his arms. “I hope your last wish is a real one, and not merely calculated to render ME happy, but one that also concerns yourself?”

“Oh, my fourth wish only concerns myself,” said the queen, with an arch smile. “I can confide it to you, to you alone, and you must promise to keep it secret, and not to say a word about it to the mistress of ceremonies.”

“I promise it most readily, dear Louisa.”

“Well,” said the queen, placing her husband’s hand upon her heart, and gently stroking it with her fingers. “I believe during the coming winter we shall often have to be king and queen. Festivals will be given to us, and we shall have to give others in return; the country will do homage to the new sovereign, and the nobility will solemnly take the oath of allegiance to him. Hence there will be a great deal of royal pomp, but very little enjoyment for us during the winter. Well, I will not complain, but endeavor, to the best of my ability, to do honor to my exalted position by your side. In return, however, my beloved lord and friend—in return, next summer, when the roses are blooming, you must give me a day—a day that is to belong exclusively to myself; and on that day we will forget the cares of royalty, and only remember that we are a pair of happy young lovers. Of course, we shall not spend that day in Berlin, nor in Parez either; but like two merry birds, we will fly far, far away to my home in Mecklenburg, to the paradise of my early years—to the castle of Hohenzieritz; and no one shall know any thing about it. Without being previously announced, we will arrive there, and in the solitude of the old house and garden we will perform a charming little idyl. On that day you only belong to me, and to nobody else. On that day I am your wife and sweetheart and nothing else, and I shall provide amusement and food for you. Yes, dearest Frederick, I shall prepare your meals all alone, and set the table and carve for you. Oh, dear, dear friend; give me such a day, such an idyl of happiness!”

“I give it to you and to myself, most joyfully; and let me confess, Louisa, I wish the winter were over already, and the morning of that beautiful day were dawning.”

“Thanks—thousand thanks!” exclaimed the queen, enthusiastically. “Let the stiff and ceremonious days come now, and the sneaking, fawning courtiers and the incense of flattery. Through all the mist I shall constantly inhale the sweet fragrance of the roses of the future, and on the stiff gala-days I shall think of the idyl of that day that will dawn next summer and compensate me for all the annoyances and fatigues of court life.”

The king placed his right hand on her head, as if to bless her, and with his left, lifted up her face that was reposing on his breast. “And you really think, you charming, happy angel, that I do not understand you?” he asked, in a low voice. “Do you think I do not feel and know that you want to offer me this consolation and to comfort me by the hope of such a blissful day for the intervening time of care, fatigue, and restlessness? Oh, my dear Louisa, you need no such consolation, for God has intended you for a queen, and even the burdens and cares of your position will only surround you like enchanting genii. You know at all times how to find the right word and the right deed, and the Graces have showered upon you the most winning charms to fascinate all hearts, in whatever you may be doing. On the other hand, I am awkward and ill at ease. I know it only too well; my unhappy childhood, grief and cares of all kinds, have rendered my heart reserved and bashful. Perhaps I am not always lacking right ideas, but I fail only too often to find the right word for what I think and feel. Hereafter, my dear Louisa, frequent occasions will arise when you will have to speak for both of us. By means of your irresistible smile and genial conversation you will have to win the hearts of people, while I shall be content if I can only win their heads.”

“Shall I be able to win their hearts?” asked the queen, musingly. “Oh, assist me, my dearest friend. Tell me what I have to do in order to be beloved by my people.”

“Remain what you are, Louisa,” said the king, gravely—“always remain as charming, graceful, and pure as I beheld you on the most glorious two days of my life, and as my inward eye always will behold you. Oh, I also have some charming recollections, and although I cannot narrate them in words as fascinating and glowing as yours, yet they are engraved no less vividly on my mind, and, like beautiful genii, accompany me everywhere. Only before others they are bashful and reticent like myself.”

“Let me hear them, Frederick,” begged the queen, tenderly leaning her beautiful head on her husband’s shoulder. “Let us devote another hour to the recollections of the past.”

“Yes, let another hour be devoted to the memories of past times,” exclaimed the king, “for can there be any thing more attractive for me than to think of you and of that glorious hour when I saw you first? Shall I tell you all about it, Louisa?”

“Oh, do so, my beloved friend. Your words will sound to me like some beautiful piece of music that one likes better and understands better the more it is heard. Speak, then, Frederick, speak.”