Frederick William had been gazing thoughtfully at the clock. With an effort he suddenly aroused himself. The hands of that clock proclaimed the cessation of the old and the beginning of the new era—of his era. He must be prepared to meet its requirements. For the second time he approached the corpse. “Where are the king’s decorations?” he demanded of StrÜtzki, the attendant, in whose arms the king had breathed his last.

Hastily drying his eyes, StrÜtzki stepped softly to the little cabinet, and opened it.

“Leave the others,” commanded the king, “and bring me only the ribbon of the Order of the Black Eagle.”

StrÜtzki speedily returned with the designated order. Holding the broad orange ribbon in his hand, the king now turned to the Minister von Herzberg.

“Count,” said he, “bow your head, and receive, at my hands, the last souvenir of the great king who has cast off his mortal frame, in order that he may sojourn with us as an immortal spirit. The ribbon worn by Frederick the Great shall now adorn your breast, in order that the respect and esteem which I entertain for you be made manifest to the world. You will be as true and zealous a friend to me as you were to my great uncle. You will serve me, as you served him, in the capacity of minister of state; and you will be often called on for advice and counsel, Count Herzberg.”

“Your majesty,” murmured Herzberg, his voice tremulous with emotion, “your majesty rewards me beyond my deserts. I have done nothing but my duty, and—”

“Happy is that king,” exclaimed Frederick William, interrupting him, “happy is that king who is surrounded by servants who take no credit to themselves for the good and great which they accomplish, considering that they have done no more than their duty. The obligation to acknowledge their services and show his gratitude, is on this account all the more incumbent upon him; there are very few people on earth who can say of themselves, in this exalted sense, that they have done their duty. But I am a very happy king; I have two such friends at my side on the very threshold of my career. You, my dear count, I have already rewarded for your services. Your patent as count shall be made out, and the insignia of the highest order of the Black Eagle presented you. You will still continue to administer the affairs of your foreign bureau. And now, you need rest, my dear count; I know that you have watched a great deal in the last few nights. Au revoir! ”

After taking a last lingering look at the royal corpse, Herzberg retired; and King Frederick William turned to the valet, Rietz, who had stood, with his head bowed down, in order to hide the curiosity, and the indifference to the solemnity of the occasion, which were depicted in his countenance.

“And now, my dear Rietz,” said the king, extending his hand to the valet, “now the time has at last come when I can reward you for your faithful services! I appoint you treasurer of my household, and keeper of my strong-box!” [22]

“Ah, your majesty, my beloved king,” sobbed Rietz, as he pressed Frederick William’s hand to his thick, swollen lips, “such grace, such favor, I have not deserved. I thank your majesty, however, from the bottom of my heart, and you shall always find in me a true and faithful servant! Oh, what will my wife say, and how happy she will be, over the new honor you have conferred upon me!”

The king withdrew his hand with a slight shudder, and looked almost timidly in the direction of the corpse, which lay there so grand and still. He did not see the quiet, stealthy glance which the treasurer fastened on his countenance.

If the corpse of the great Frederick had suddenly come to life again—if those closed eyes had opened once more—how withering a glance would they have bestowed upon the wanton valet! But even the corpse of a king hears no more, and the closed eyes open not again!

“Le roi est mort! Vive le roi!”

The king stepped slowly back, but his gaze still rested on the countenance of the dead. Though closed, those eyes seemed to see into his heart.

“Rietz, send for the sculptor, in Potsdam, in order that a cast of the king’s face may be taken.”

“Your majesty, it shall be attended to immediately.”

He hurried toward the door, but a gesture of his royal master recalled him. Frederick William dreaded being left alone with the great dead and the weeping lackeys! For he well knew that the bodies of the departed were always watched over by the spirits of their ancestors. He knew that the spirits of those who had been dear to the departed in love and friendship, and the spirits of those who were his enemies while they trod the earth in the flesh, were now hovering over the body, and struggling for the possession of King Frederick’s soul, even as they struggled for the soul of Moses. But a short time had elapsed since this had been communicated to him by the spirit of the great philosopher Leibnitz, whom the two believers, Bischofswerder and WÖllner, had conjured up to confirm the statements they had made to the unbelieving prince royal!

Yes, these hostile spirits are struggling over the body for the possession of the soul, and to remain, with this knowledge, alone with the dead and the contending spirits, inspires awe and terror.

“Rietz, my faithful follower, remain,” said the king, almost anxiously. “But no! Call Lieutenant-Colonel Bischofswerder.”

“Your majesty, he has ridden into the city to carry this sad intelligence to the present prince royal, and conduct him here to Sans-Souci.”

“And the Councillor WÖllner?”

“Your majesty, I have dispatched a courier to Berlin to inform him of the king’s death, and he will probably soon be here.”

“Ah, Rietz, you are a faithful and considerate servant. Go before and open the doors. I will repair to the audience-chamber; the court will probably have assembled by this time!”

He waved the royal corpse a final adieu, bowed and walked backward to the door, as if retiring from an audience accorded him by the great Frederick. Profound silence reigned in the chamber for a moment, until Alkmene crept out from under the chair and again howled piteously.

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CHAPTER II.

“LE ROI EST MORT! VIVE LE ROI!”

While only two poor servants and a faithful dog remained with the dead king, the new king was receiving the congratulations of his court in the audience-chamber.

The court officials and ministers had already assembled; and now the princes of the royal family were coming in.

Rietz, who had remained in the antechamber, now entered and approached the king. “Your majesty, his royal highness the prince royal and Prince Louis have this moment arrived, and beg permission to tender their congratulations.”

“Conduct the prince to the concert-hall,” said the king, “I will join him there directly.—And Lieutenant-Colonel Bischofswerder?”

“Your majesty, he accompanied the prince royal.”

The king bowed graciously. The word “majesty” sounded like sweet music in his ear, and drowned the wail of grief for the departed.

Bestowing a kindly smile upon the assembled court, the king left the audience-chamber in order to repair to the concert-hall, where the two princes awaited him.

Rietz went in advance, and, as he threw open the door of the concert-hall, cried in a loud voice, “His majesty the king!”

The two princes hastened forward, and pressed their father’s extended hand to their lips.

“I take the liberty of tendering to my royal father my most humble congratulations.” The prince uttered these words in a stiff and declamatory manner, merely repeating them as they had been taught him by his tutor, Professor Behnisch.

“I beg that your majesty will accord me your favor, and I assure my royal father that he will always find in me an affectionate son and his most obedient subject.”

The king’s countenance darkened as he gazed upon the prince, who would one day be his successor. Prince royal! An unpleasant word, truly; a gloomy and constant reminder of approaching death!—the prince royal, who is only waiting to be king, who, like the shadow of death, is ever at the monarch’s side, reminding him of approaching dissolution. To love one’s successor is certainly a hard task; but his existence may, at least, be forgiven, when he is the son of a loved wife, when the father loves his child. But when the prince royal is the fruit of a marriage of convenience, the son of an unloved wife—when the king has another and a cherished son, whose mother he has passionately loved!—Ah, how differently would this son have received his father! He would have thrown himself into his father’s arms, and would have hugged and kissed him.

“Oh, my dear son Alexander, why are you not my successor? Why must you remain at a distance? why are you not permitted to stand at my side in this great hour? But all this shall be changed! My Alexander shall no longer remain in obscurity—no, he shall not!”

With his two sons the king had only exchanged a few words of ceremony. He responded but coldly to the formal congratulation of the prince royal; and replied with a mute gesture only to the embarrassed and stammering words of Prince Louis.

“And now go, my princes,” said he; “go and look at the body of your great uncle, and impress the solemn scene upon your minds, that you may never forget it!”

“I shall never forget the great king,” said the prince royal, his countenance expressive of great tenderness and emotion. “No, your majesty, I shall never forget the great Frederick. He was always so gentle and gracious to me; and but a few days ago he spoke to me like a kind father, and that made me feel so proud and happy that I can never forget it, and never cease to be grateful while life lasts.”

The long-repressed tears now rushed from the prince royal’s eyes, and Prince Louis began to weep, too, when he saw his brother’s tears, and murmured: “The great Frederick was also very gracious to me.”

The king turned aside. His sons’ tears were offensive. Who knows whether they will weep when their father also dies?

“Go, my sons, and pay a last tribute of tears to the past, and then turn your thoughts to the joyful realities of the present!”

The two princes bowed ceremoniously, and then left the room, retiring backward, as if in military drill.

The king’s eyes followed them as they left the room, and his countenance darkened. “They are as stiff and awkward as puppets. And yet they have hearts, but not for their father!—Rietz!”

The chamberlain immediately appeared in the doorway, and stood awaiting his master’s commands, his countenance beaming with humility.

“Rietz, go at once and inform my son Alexander of what has taken place! He must go to Charlottenburg with his tutor and await me there! Let him tell his mother that I will take tea with her this evening, and that she may expect me at six o’clock.”

“Will your majesty pass the night in Charlottenburg?” asked the chamberlain, with his eyes cast down and the most innocent expression of countenance.

“I cannot say,” replied the king; “I may go to Berlin, and—”

“Your majesty, perhaps, considers it necessary to pay a visit of condolence to the widowed queen at SchÖnhausen?”

Rietz had said this in an almost inaudible voice, but the king’s attentive ear caught the words nevertheless, and his countenance beamed with joy.

“Yes, my friend and heart’s interpreter, I will visit the widowed queen at SchÖnhausen. Take the fastest horse from my stable and ride there to announce my coming.”

“To the widowed queen only, your majesty? To no one else?”

“You ask as if you did not know what my reply would be,” said the king, smiling. “No, you may also present my compliments to the queen’s beautiful maid of honor, Julie von Voss. Request her, in my name, to hold herself in readiness to receive me. I wish to speak with her on matters of great importance. Go, my friend!”

“To speak with her on matters of great importance,” muttered Rietz, after he had left the room. “As if we did not all very well know what he has to say to this beautiful young lady; as if his love for her were not a public secret, well known to the queen, his wife, to the entire court, and to dear Madame Rietz, my wife! Very well, I will first ride to young Alexander, then I will speed to SchÖnhausen, and finally I will hie me to Madame Rietz in Charlottenburg, to make my report. My dear wife is so generous, and I can dispose of so much money! Life is so pleasant when one has money. And it is all the same who a man is and what he is! If he always has money, a goodly supply in his purse, he is a distinguished man, and is respected by all. Therefore the main thing is to become rich, for the world belongs to the rich; and I am quite willing that the world should belong to me. Oh, I will make the best use of my time; and those who suppose they can fool me by their flattery, and that I can be induced to intercede for them with the king, out of pure goodness of heart, will discover that they have calculated without their host. Money is the word, gentlemen! Pay up, and the influence of the mighty chamberlain shall be exerted in your behalf; but nothing gratis! Death only is gratis! No, I am wrong,” said he, laughing derisively, as he gazed at a company of grenadiers, who were marching up the avenue toward the palace, where they were to be stationed as a guard of honor to the royal corpse. “The funeral costs a great deal of money.”

The grenadiers passed on; and the subdued roll of the drums, which were draped in mourning, died away in the distance, while the winds wafted over from Potsdam the sounds of the tolling bells which proclaimed the king’s death to the awakening city. Rietz hurried off to send the son of the king to his mother in Charlottenburg, and then to ride to SchÖnhausen and deliver a loving greeting to Frederick William’s new flame. It was still silent and desolate in the chamber of the dead at Sans-Souci. StrÜtzki had once stepped softly out of the room to get some twigs from the elder-tree which stood on the terrace, to keep the flies from the face of the dead king. And now the two lackeys were standing on either side of the chair, fanning away the miserable insects that had dared to light on this countenance since the hand of the artist Death had chiselled it into marble. Nothing was heard but the rustle of the twigs and the humming of the flies, ever returning, as if to mock man’s vain efforts to drive them from what was justly their own.

The doors were softly opened, and the two princes glided in, and noiselessly approached the arm-chair in which Frederick lay, as if fearful of awakening him.

The prince royal looked at the body long and silently, and his countenance was expressive of deep and earnest feeling. “Stand aside, lackeys,” said he, haughtily, “and you, too, my brother, I wish to be alone. I wish to commune awhile with his majesty!”

The lackeys and Prince Louis retired; the former to the door, the latter to the distant window; and now the lad of sixteen was alone with the immortal Frederick.

He knelt down before the body, grasped the cold hand, and gazed on the marble features of the great dead with an expression of intense earnestness and determination.

“My great uncle and king,” murmured he, “I swear to you that I will endeavor to do all that you recently enjoined upon me; and that I will ever strive to do honor to your great name. I swear to you that I will one day be a good and useful king, and endeavor to deserve the affection of the people. My dear uncle, I have a secret in my heart, and I must disclose it before you descend into the grave. It seems to me your sleep will be more peaceful when you learn it: I hate Madame Rietz and her husband. And if she is still living when I become king, I will punish her for her crimes, and will repay her for all the tears which she has caused my dear mother. No one knows of my determination except my mother, who recently told me what sorrow Madame Rietz had occasioned her, and then I was so angry that I wished to go immediately and kill her. But my mother exhorted me to silence and patience, and I promised that I would obey her. But when I am king, I will be no longer silent; then shall come the day of arraignment and punishment. This I swear to you, my dear, my great uncle and king; and this is the secret I longed to disclose. Yes, I will some day avenge my mother. Farewell, my king—sleep in peace! and—” A hand was laid upon his shoulder; he looked up and saw his young cousin Prince Louis, whose approach he had not noticed, standing beside him.

“I congratulate you, cousin,” said Prince Louis, impressively, “and crave the continuance of your favor, prince royal of Prussia. His majesty the king sent me here to pay my respects to the royal corpse and the prince royal, but I propose to pay my respects to the latter first.”

“No,” said Frederick William, who had slowly arisen from his knees, “that you must not do, cousin Louis. I am not changed, and am no better because of our great king’s death.”

“But more powerful,” said the prince; “you are now prince royal, and the greatest deference should be shown you. Oh, do not look at me so earnestly and angrily, cousin. You think I am cold and indifferent; but no, I have only determined not to weep over the body of our dear uncle. My mother tells me we shall also soon die, if we let fall a tear on the countenance of the dead. And yet, Frederick, when I reflect that the good uncle is dead who was always so kind to me, and who was our pride and glory, I cannot help shedding tears in spite of my mother’s injunction. Oh, great Frederick, that you could have remained a few years longer on earth, till that proud eye might have rested on a gallant prince and brave soldier, instead of a foolish lad!”

“But, cousin, how can you speak so disparagingly of yourself, and so far forget your dignity as a prince?”

“Ah, a prince is no better than any one else,” said Prince Louis, shrugging his shoulders, “and while I have the greatest respect for your exalted rank, Mr. Prince Royal, I have none whatever for my own little title; particularly at this moment, when I see that the great Frederick, the hero and king, was only a mortal. Oh, my dear uncle, why did you leave us so soon! You were not yet so old—scarcely seventy-four years, and there are so many who are older. A short time since, as I was coming here to inquire after your health, I saw an old man at the entrance of the park, warming himself in the sun; he sat with folded hands, and prayed aloud. I approached and offered him a piece of money, which he rejected. I then asked him why he prayed and begged, if he did not desire money. ‘I am praying for the sick king,’ said he; ‘I am entreating the sunbeams to warm and invigorate the king’s suffering body, and restore him to new life. The king is so young! he should live much longer. I was a soldier when the king was baptized, and stood near by as a sentinel; and now they say that he must die. That makes me anxious. If so young a man must already die, my turn will soon come; and I so much desire to live a little longer and warm myself in the bright sunshine!’ And the old man of ninety is still sitting in the sunshine; while you, great Frederick, were compelled to die! You have gone to the sun, while we are still groping in darkness, and lamenting your loss, and—”

“Be still, cousin!” murmured the prince royal; “some one is coming! It is the sculptor who is to take a cast of the king’s face. Come, let us go! Come!”

He extended his hand to Prince Louis, to lead him out of the room, but the prince drew back.

He knelt down before the body, and kissed the cold hand which had recently stroked his cheeks affectionately. Frederick had always loved Prince Louis, the son of his brother Ferdinand, and had often prophesied that he would live to accomplish something great and useful.

The young prince thought of this, as he pressed the cold hand to his lips in a last farewell. “I swear to you, my great uncle and king, that I will faithfully strive to fulfil your prophecy, and accomplish something good and useful, and to do honor to the name I bear. Let the kiss which I now press on your hand be the seal of my vow, and my last greeting!”

He arose, and his large dark eyes rested on the body with a lingering, tender look.

“Oh,” sighed he, “why am I not a painter or an artist, that I might sketch this scene!”

“A happy suggestion,” said the prince royal, eagerly. “I am certainly no artist, but I can draw a little nevertheless; and I intend to make for myself a memento of this day.—Mr. Eckstein, I beg you to wait a quarter of an hour, in order that I may make a sketch of this scene.”

The sculptor, who had already approached the body with his apparatus, bowed respectfully, and stepped back. Prince Louis took a pencil and a sheet of paper from the king’s writing-desk, and handed it to his brother the prince royal. The latter commenced to sketch the scene with hurried strokes. [23] His brother stood at his side, looking on; behind the chair were the two lackeys, and the greyhound’s head protruded from beneath the chair. The sculptor Eckstein had withdrawn to the farthest end of the room. Prince Louis had, however, noiselessly glided into the adjoining concert-room, where the instruments were kept. There were the flutes and violins in their cases, and there stood the magnificent piano, inlaid with ivory and mother-of-pearl, which the king’s hands had so often touched.

The silence of the death-chamber was once more unbroken. The body lay there, so great and sublime in the two-fold majesty of death and renown, and the prince royal was absorbed in his work, when the silence was suddenly broken by subdued tones of plaintive music. These tones came from the concert-room, and filled the chamber of the dead with low and harmonious sighs and lamentations.

Alkmene crept out from under the arm-chair, and trotted slowly into the adjoining chamber, as if to see if her master, whose voice she had not heard since yesterday, had not called to her to come to him at the piano. The greyhound, however, returned to her former position, when she saw that it was another who sat at the piano.

No, it was not the king, but his nephew Louis, who was playing this requiem for the great departed, and tears were trickling down over his handsome and manly young face. Perhaps it was improper to break in upon the stillness of the sacred chamber in this manner. But what cared the young prince for that. He thought only of bringing the great dead a last love-offering, and none was there to prevent him. Etiquette had nothing more to do with the dead king. It had taken up its abode in the neighboring audience-chamber, with the living king. There, all was formality and ceremony. There, decorated excellencies and gold-embroidered uniforms were making profound obeisances. There, respectful congratulations were being made, and gracious smiles accorded by royal lips.

“Le roi est mort! Vive le roi!”

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CHAPTER III.

THE FAVORITES.

King Frederick William stepped back into the little audience-chamber, and beckoned to his two friends Bischofswerder and WÖllner to follow him.

He embraced Bischofswerder, and pressed a kiss on his forehead. “My friend, you must never leave me, but always remain at my side.”

“I will follow my royal master,” said Bischofswerder, bowing profoundly, “as a faithful dog follows his master’s footsteps, satisfied if he shall from time to time vouchsafe me a gracious look.”

“I know you, my friend,” said the king. “I know that you are disinterested, that you are not ambitious, and that the things of this world are of but little importance to your noble mind.”

“Let it be my task to provide for your earthly as you have undertaken to provide for my spiritual welfare. My dear Bischofswerder, I appoint you colonel, and this shall be only the step from which you will be rapidly promoted to the rank of general; for you not only war bravely and daringly against visible men, but also against invisible spirits, and it is my holy duty and privilege to reward the brave.”

“Your majesty,” said Bischofswerder, gently, “the only reward I crave is your favor. I desire and solicit nothing more. The honors and dignities which you shower upon me, and of which I am so undeserving, only awaken anxiety by illumining my small merit, and making my unworthiness all the more conspicuous before the world. Nevertheless, I accept with thanks the promotion accorded me by the grace of my king, although I would rather decline the honor, and remain in obscurity in the shadow of your throne. But I dare not, for a higher one has commanded me to submit to your behests, and I must obey.”

“A higher one?” asked the king. “Who is he? Who commands here besides myself?”

“Your majesty, the spirits of the great dead—the Invisible, whose power is greater than that of all the visible, however great and mighty they may be!”

The king had asked this question with a proud and haughty glance; suddenly his manner altered, his countenance assumed an humble, penitent look, his head sank down upon his breast, and he folded his hands as if in prayer. “I am a sinner and a criminal,” he murmured. “In the pride of my new dignity I forgot my superiors; and the little visible creature dared to consider himself the equal of the Invisible! I now repent, beg for mercy, and am ready to yield obedience to my superiors.—They have then spoken to you again, these superior beings? They have imparted to you their wishes?”

“Your majesty,” said Bischofswerder, in a mysterious whisper, “while sleeping last night, I was suddenly awakened by a wondrous radiance, and I sprang from my bed, believing that fire had broken out and enveloped my room in flames; but I felt that a gentle hand forced me back, and I now saw that the light which had terrified me came from a luminous countenance, which stood out in bold relief amid the surrounding darkness. The eyes of this countenance shone like two heavenly stars, shedding a soft light upon me. With a celestial smile on its lips, the spirit spoke to me: ‘Your heart is humble and guileless. You have no craving after earthly honors, and are not attracted by grandeur and riches; but I command you to arise from your humility, and no longer to withdraw yourself from earthly honors, for those whom the Invisible love must also be recognized and elevated by the visible, that their favor be made manifest before men. You will be advanced to-morrow, and on the ensuing day you will receive a second advancement; and what your king offers you must accept. This is the will of the Invisible.’ And after this wonderful spirit had spoken it vanished, and all was again enveloped in darkness. I, however, lit a candle, in order that I might have tangible proof, on arising the next morning, that this had been no dream; I wrote down on a sheet of paper the last words the spirit had spoken, and the hour at which it appeared. Your majesty, I have brought this paper with me to show it to my king. Here it is!”

The king took the writing, and read in a low voice: “You will be advanced to-morrow, and on the ensuing day you will receive a second advancement; and what the king offers you must accept. This is the will of the Invisible. Command of the radiant spirit, given in the night between the sixteenth and seventeenth of August, at twenty minutes past two.”

“The hour at which the king died,” exclaimed Frederick William, with astonishment, “and the hour at which I also suddenly awoke! Wonderful, wonderful indeed!”

“Your majesty, for those endowed with intuition there are no wonders,” said Bischofswerder, quietly, “and your majesty belongs to this number.”

“But only in a very slight degree,” sighed the king. “I am still groping in the twilight; my eyes are yet dazzled by the splendor of the Invisible.”

“But your majesty will advance steadily toward the source of light; and if the Invisible will permit me to conduct you into the holy temple of infinite knowledge, I will esteem it the greatest earthly blessing!”

“Yes,” cried the king, in ecstasy; “yes, my friend, you shall conduct me; and, at the side of him upon whom this light has been shed, I will walk in safety over the slippery paths of life. Nothing can astonish me in the future, for the paper I hold in my hand is a miracle, and an evidence that the Invisible is omnipresent and omniscient. At the same moment in which King Frederick died I awoke with a cry, and at the same time the spirit announced to you that you would be advanced by your king—by me, who at that moment became king! My friend, I beg you to give me this paper, this evidence of the presence of the Invisible.”

Bischofswerder bowed profoundly. “All that the king’s consecrating hand touches becomes his property, as I am his with all that is mine!”

“I thank you, colonel, I thank you. Ascend the step to honor which this day offers, and let it be my care that the prophecy for the ensuing day be also fulfilled. And now,” continued the king, turning to WÖllner, who had stood with folded hands, his head bowed down, during this conversation; “and now, as to you, Councillor WÖllner, you are also deserving of thanks and reward.”

“Far more deserving than I, poor unworthy man,” exclaimed Bischofswerder; “for Chrysophorus, the effulgent, belongs to the chosen, and is the favorite of the Invisible. If your majesty empties the plenteous horn of your favor on the head of Chrysophorus, no drop will be lost, but all will fall on good and fertile soil.”

The king greeted the noble, disinterested friend with a kindly smile, and then laid his hand gently on WÖllner’s shoulder.

“Thus I will sustain myself on you, WÖllner, and as I now lay my right hand on you, so will I make you my right hand, as I make Bischofswerder my head, to think for me. You too shall be my head and my hand.”

“But your heart, sire?” asked WÖllner, in his earnest and solemn voice. “Your heart you must be yourself, and no other human being must be your heart but the king himself.”

Frederick William smiled. “My heart, that am I—I the king, but also I the man; and the head and hand which act for me, must also permit the heart to act, as it will and can! Councillor WÖllner, has the Invisible announced nothing to you? have you alone passed the night in quiet slumber?”

“Your majesty,” replied WÖllner, with an air of self-reproach, “I have received no message from the Invisible; I must honor the truth, and acknowledge that I have rarely enjoyed such peaceful and unbroken slumber as in the past night.”

“He slept the sleep of the just,” said Bischofswerder, “and the spirits kept watch at the door of our Chrysophorus.”

“Well, then, I will announce to you what the spirits did not announce,” exclaimed the king, with vivacity, “WÖllner, I appoint you Privy Councillor of the Finances, and, at the same time, Intendant of the Royal Bureau of Construction.”

“Oh, your majesty,” cried WÖllner, his little gray eyes sparkling with joy, “that is more than I deserve, almost more than I can accept. I do not consider myself worthy of such high distinction; and this favor far exceeds my merit. And yet, notwithstanding the high honor my king has conferred upon me, I still dare prefer a request; one, however, which does not spring from any bold desire of my own, but one which the command of the Invisible compels me to utter. I am not actuated by earthly motives, but I must obey the behests of the spirits.”

“What is this request, my dear privy councillor of the finances?” asked the king, with a smile. “I give you my royal word that your first request shall be granted.”

“Your majesty, my request is only this: Give me your favor, your confidence, and your esteem, as long as I live.”

“This I promise you, but as a matter of course I should have been compelled to do so, although you had not asked me. This, therefore, we cannot consider a compliance with your request. Speak, WÖllner, and prefer your other request.”

“Well, then, your majesty, I beg to be permitted to arrange King Frederick’s papers, and prepare this literary legacy for the press.”

“I commission you not only to do so,” said the king, “but, in order to remove all impediments and facilitate your labors, I make you a present of these papers, to have and to hold as your own property. You may print or suppress portions of them, as seems best to you. I make this one condition, however, that you do not destroy the king’s writings, manuscripts, and papers, after you have examined and had then printed as your insight and judgment shall direct; but that you deposit them in the royal archives, set apart for the preservation of such documents.”

“Your commands shall be obeyed in every particular,” said WÖllner, respectfully, “and that no doubts may arise on this subject, I beg this favor of your majesty, that you make out a written order to the effect that all the papers of the deceased king (whom I unhappily cannot call the blessed, because he lived in unbelief and darkness) be transferred to me by the two privy cabinet councillors of the late king; they taking a receipt for the exact number of sheets counted out to me, and my written obligation to return each and every one of them. And I will certainly make haste to accomplish my task, for the Invisible has commanded me to complete the great work with which I have been intrusted without delay.”

“And are you permitted to acquaint me with the object of this great work, my friend?” asked the king.

“Yes your majesty, I am not only permitted, but am commanded to do so! I am to impart to you the reasons why I solicit the papers of the deceased king, and why I desire to have them printed. The object is, that the eyes of your majesty’s subjects may be opened, and they be brought to the knowledge that he, whom freethinkers and unbelievers called a shining light, was a mocker at all religion, and an atheist who scoffed at all that was holy, and did homage to himself, the idol of renown and heathenish poetry, only. The Invisible has commanded me to unveil the scoffing mind of the unbelieving king, and make manifest to the world that such a one may never hope to enter heaven and participate in bliss. Listen, my dear king and master,” continued WÖllner, in an elevated voice, as the roll of drums announced the approach of a body of troops; “listen to those drums proclaiming the dawn of a new day! Hail the day which gives to millions of misguided men a leader and a guide, destined to lead them back to the right path; and to rear aloft the holy cross which his predecessor trod under foot! Hail to your people, Frederick William, for you have come to rebuild the Church of God! Hail to thee, thou favorite of the Invisible! hail, Frederick William!”

And with a cry of enthusiasm, Bischofswerder repeated the words, “Hail to thee, thou favorite of the Invisible! hail, Frederick William!”

The king had listened to WÖllner with downcast eyes, and the joyful acclamations of his two friends seemed only to have given him disquiet and anxiety.

“I am an unworthy sinner,” murmured the king, in a penitent voice, “and if you do not take pity on me and intercede for me with the Invisible, I am a lost man. I implore you both to sustain me with a helping hand, that I may not fall to the ground.”

“The Invisible has commanded us to stay at your side and devote our lives to your welfare,” said WÖllner, solemnly.

“And even if he had not,” cried Bischofswerder, feelingly, “my own heart would have prompted me to do so, for I am my king’s alone, and am ready to shed my blood for him. Tell us, therefore, what we are to do, and what is required to restore peace to your soul.”

“Say, to my heart, my faithful friend,” cried the king, “for it is my heart that needs peace. I love, love with glowing passion. And yet I have sworn in the holy lodge of the Invisible to dedicate my life to virtue. Oh, tell me, tell me, my friends, how can I keep my vow without giving my heart the death-blow! Do not let me sink in despair, but take pity on me. I feel sick and miserable; the torment of love and the conflict with duty rob me of all strength and courage. Oh, help me, help me! You, my friend Bischofswerder, let me drink once more of the elixir of life, which the great magician, Cagliostro, intrusted you with; give me once more life, health, and happiness!”

“Your majesty knows,” replied Bischofswerder, “that I gave you the last drop of the precious elixir, given me by the great magician, to infuse new life and health into my veins, when the hour of death should draw near. I joyfully delivered myself over to death in order that my king might have new life; and I now learn, with the greatest sorrow, that it was not sufficient to accomplish its object. But what I would never do for myself, I will now do for my king. I will entreat the Invisible to impart to me the secret of the preparation of this elixir of life; I will address my thoughts to this magician with all the strength of my soul, and conjure him to appear and instruct me how to concoct the elixir of life for my king and master.”

“Ah,” sighed the king, sadly, “if it is necessary that the magician should appear here, personally, in order to impart to you this wonderful secret, my wish will probably never be gratified, for Cagliostro is at present, as my ambassador yesterday informed me, in London; and the believers are pouring into that city, from all parts of Europe, to see the sublime martyr, who languished in a French prison, on account of the unhappy necklace affair, until his innocence was proved, when he was restored to liberty, on condition that he should leave France at once and never recross its boundaries. Cagliostro then went to London, where he is now receiving the homage of his admirers; and there he expects to remain, as he informed our ambassador. How can your prayers and entreaties have sufficient power to call the magician here from so great a distance? His sublime spirit is united with the body, and is subject to finite laws.”

“No, my king,” replied Bischofswerder, quietly, “the sublime magician, Cagliostro is uncontrolled by these laws. The miraculous power of his spirit governs the body, and it must obey his behests. I read in your soul that you are in doubt, my king, and that you do not believe in the dominion of the spirit. But your majesty must learn to do so, for in this belief only are safety and eternal health to be found for you and for us all. I will invoke the Invisible in the coming night; and, if my prayer be heard, the magician of the North will appear in our midst this very night, to give ear to my entreaties.”

“If this should occur,” cried the king, “I am forever converted to this belief, and nothing can hereafter make me waver in my trust and confidence in you, my Bischofswerder!”

“It will occur,” said Bischofswerder, quietly. “I beg that your majesty will call Chrysophorus and myself to your chamber at the next midnight hour, in order that we may invoke the Invisible in your presence.”

“At the next midnight hour?” repeated the king, in confusion. Bischofswerder’s quick, piercing glance seemed to read the king’s inmost thoughts in his embarrassed manner.

“I know,” said he, after a pause, “that your majesty intended to pass this night in Charlottenburg with your children and their mother; and if your majesty commands, we will meet there at the midnight hour.”

“Do so, my friends,” said the king, hastily, “I will await you in Charlottenburg, at the appointed time, although I scarcely believe you will come; and doubt, very much, whether Bischofswerder’s incantations will have power to call the great magician to my assistance. Oh, I am greatly in need of help. If you are really my friends, and if the Invisible has anointed your eyes with the rays of knowledge, you also must know what torments my soul is undergoing!”

“And we do know,” said Bischofswerder. “It has been announced to us.”

“And we do know,” repeated WÖllner, “the Invisible has commanded me to implore his dearest son, King Frederick William, not to burden his conscience with new sin, but to renounce the passion which is burning in his heart.”

“I cannot, no, I cannot!” exclaimed Frederick William; and with a cry of anguish he buried his face in his hands.

His two confidants exchanged a rapid glance; and Bischofswerder, as if answering an unspoken but well-understood question of WÖllner’s, shook his head dissentingly. He then stooped down to the lamenting, moaning king.

“Your majesty,” whispered he, “to-night we will also ask the Invisible if he will not have indulgence with the king’s love; and permit the beautiful FrÄulein von Voss to become the wife of the man she loves?”

“Oh, if this could be brought about!” cried the king, throwing his arms around his friend’s neck, “I could be the happiest of mortals, and would gladly resign to you my whole kingdom to dispose of it as you see fit. Give me the woman I love, and I will give you my royal authority!”

Again the two confidants exchanged rapid glances, and WÖllner bowed his head in assent.

“We will entreat the Invisible to-night,” said Bischofswerder—“and I hope that he will grant what your majesty desires.”

“But, if so, certain conditions will be exacted, and penance enjoined,” said WÖllner.

“I am ready to consent to all his demands, and to do all he enjoins, if he will only give me this heavenly woman.”

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CHAPTER IV.

THE MAID OF HONOR.

No intelligence of the demise of the great king had as yet arrived at the palace of SchÖnhausen, the residence of Queen Elizabeth Christine, Frederick’s wife. It was still early in the morning, and the queen, who was in the habit of sending a special courier to Potsdam every day, to inquire after the king’s health, was now writing the customary morning letter to her husband.

She had just finished the letter, and was folding the sheet, when the door of the adjoining chamber was opened, and a tall and remarkably beautiful young lady appeared on the threshold. Her rich, light, and unpowdered hair fell in a profusion of little locks around her high-arched brow. Her large, almond-shaped eyes were of a clear, luminous blue, her delicately-curved nose gave her countenance an aristocratic expression; and from her slightly-pouting crimson lips, when she smiled, all the little Cupids of love and youth seemed to send their arrows into the hearts of the admirers of the lovely maid of honor, Julie von Voss. Her tall and slender figure showed the delicate outline and the rich fulness which we admire in the statues of Venus, and there was, at the same time, something of the dignified, severe, and chaste Juno in her whole appearance—something unapproachable, that demanded deference, and kept her worshippers at a distance, after they had been attracted by her alluring beauty.

The queen greeted her maid of honor, who bowed profoundly, with a gentle smile. “You have come for my letter, have you not, my child? The courier is waiting?”

“No, your majesty,” replied the maid of honor, in a somewhat solemn voice. “No, it is not a question of dispatching a courier, but of receiving one who begs to be permitted to see you. The valet of your royal nephew Frederick William is in the antechamber, and desires to be admitted to your presence.”

The queen arose from her sofa with a vivacity unusual in one of her age. “The valet of my nephew?” said Elizabeth Christine, with quivering lips—“and do you know what brings him here?”

“He will impart his mission to your majesty only,” replied the maid of honor; and when the queen sank back on the sofa, and told her in faltering tones to admit the courier, she threw the door open, and summoned the valet with a proud wave of the hand. And straightway the broad, colossal figure of the royal privy chamberlain Rietz appeared on the threshold. With a smile on his thick lips, and his little gray eyes fixed intently on the pale old lady, who stared at him with an expression of breathless anxiety, the chamberlain entered, and walked across the wide room to the queen’s sofa with the greatest composure, although she had expressed no desire that he should do so.

“Your majesty,” said he, without waiting permission to speak, “I have been sent by his majesty King Frederick William—”

The queen interrupted him with a cry of anguish. “By King Frederick William!” she repeated, in faltering tones. “He is then dead?”

“Yes,” replied Rietz, inclining his head slightly. “Yes, King Frederick died last night; and he who was heretofore Prince of Prussia is now King of Prussia. His majesty sends the widowed queen his most gracious and devoted greeting; and orders me to inform her majesty that he will arrive here during the day to pay her a visit of condolence.”

The queen paid no attention to the chamberlain’s words; of all that he had spoken, she heard but this, that her husband, that Frederick the Great, was dead, that the man she had loved with such fidelity and resignation for the last fifty years was no longer among the living.

“He is dead! Oh, my God, he is dead!” she cried, in piercing accents. “How can life continue, how can the world exist, now that Frederick is no more! What is to become of unhappy Prussia, when the great king no longer reigns; what can it be without his wisdom and strength, and his enlightened mind?”

“Your majesty forgets that the king has a glorious successor,” remarked Rietz, with cynical indifference.

A dark frown gathered on the brow of the maid of honor, Julie von Voss, when the chamberlain uttered these impertinent words; and she glanced haughtily at his broad, self-complacent countenance.

“Leave the room,” said she, waving her hand imperiously toward the door; “wait in the antechamber till you are called to receive her majesty’s reply and commands.”

The chamberlain’s countenance flushed with anger, but he quickly suppressed all outward manifestation of feeling, and assumed an humble and respectful manner.

“Your grace commands,” said he, “and I am her zealous and obedient servant, ever ready to do her bidding. And herein I know that I am only fulfilling the desire of my royal master, who—”

“Leave the room at once!” cried the maid of honor, her cheeks flushing with anger.

“No,” said the queen, awakening from her sad reverie; “no, let good Rietz remain, dear Julie. He must tell me of the great dead. I must know how he died, and how his last hours passed.—Speak, Rietz, tell me.”

The chamberlain described the king’s last hours in so ready and adroit a manner, managing to introduce the person of the new king so cleverly into his narrative, and accompanying his remarks with such intelligent and significant looks at the maid of honor, that she blushingly avoided his glances, and pressed her lips firmly together, as if to suppress the angry and resentful words her rosy lips longed to utter.

“I left his majesty King Frederick William in the death-chamber,” said Rietz, as he finished his narrative. “But, even in the depth of his grief for his royal uncle, he thought of the living whom he loves so dearly, and commanded me to hasten to SchÖnhausen, to announce that he intended to gratify the longings of his heart by coming here, and that—”

“Will not your majesty dismiss the messenger?” interrupted the maid of honor in an angry voice.

“Yes, he may go,” murmured Elizabeth Christine. “Tell the king my nephew that I await him, and feel highly honored by the consideration shown me.”

“Your majesty, love and admiration draw him to SchÖnhausen,” observed Rietz. “I can assure you of this, for the king confides every thing to me, and often calls me his—”

“Figaro,” added the maid of honor, with a contemptuous curl of her proud lips.

“His friend,” continued Rietz, without, as it seemed, having heard this cutting word. “I have the honor to know all my master’s heart-secrets, and—”

“To be the husband of Wilhelmine Enke,” exclaimed the maid of honor, passionately. “Your majesty, will you not dismiss the messenger?”

“You may go, Rietz,” said the queen, gently. But Rietz still hesitated, and fastened his gaze upon the young lady, with a smiling expression.

“Your majesty,” said she, “I believe he is waiting for a gratuity; and we will not be rid of him until he receives it.”

Rietz broke out into loud laughter, regardless of the presence of the mourning and weeping queen. “This is comical,” he cried. “This I will relate to his majesty; it will amuse him to learn that this young lady offers his privy chamberlain and treasurer a gratuity. He will consider it quite bewitching on her part, for his majesty finds every thing she does bewitching. But I am not waiting for a gratuity, but for permission to deliver to Mademoiselle von Voss the messages which his majesty intrusted to me for her grace, and I therefore beg the young lady—”

“Go out of the room, and wait in the antechamber until I send for you!” said the maid of honor, imperiously.

“And will you soon do so?” asked Rietz, with unruffled composure. “I take the liberty to remark, that I have other commissions to execute for his majesty, and therefore I ask whether you will soon call me?”

“You have nothing to ask, but only to obey,” said the young lady, proudly.

Rietz shrugged his shoulders; bowed profoundly to the queen, who was wholly occupied with her grief, and had heard nothing of this conversation, and then left the room with a firm step.

“She is very proud, very haughty,” growled Rietz in a low voice, as he threw himself into a chair in the antechamber with such violence, that it cracked beneath him. “That she is, and it will require much trouble to tame her. But she shall be tamed nevertheless; and the day will come when I can repay her abuse with interest. Figaro she called me. I know very well what that means; my French education has not been thrown away. Yes, yes, Figaro! I understand! The ever-complaisant servant of Count Almaviva, and the negotiator in the affair with the beautiful Rosine. Oh, my young lady, take care! I am the Figaro, to-day, helping to capture the fair Rosine, in order to deliver her over to Count Almaviva. But I, too, have my beautiful Susanna; and some day, when Almaviva wearies of his divine Rosine, he will turn again to my Susanna; and you will then be thrown in the background. Figaro! Ah, my lovely maid of honor, I will give you cause to remember having called me this name! I will speak to my wife about this matter before the day is over!”

---

CHAPTER V.

FIGARO.

While Rietz was sitting in the antechamber, in an angry and resentful frame of mind, the maid of honor was still at the queen’s side, endeavoring to console her with tender words and entreaties.

“After all, your majesty is but suffering an imaginary loss,” said the maid of honor finally, after she had exhausted all other grounds of consolation. “For you, all will be just as it was before, as it has been for many years; and it should be all the same to your majesty whether the king has died, or is still remaining in Sans-Souci, for you were widely separated in either case.”

“But I was always with him in thought,” lamented Elizabeth Christine. “I knew that he lived, that we breathed the same air, that the ray of sunshine which warmed me, fell also on his dear, noble head. I knew that the eyes of the country were directed toward Sans-Souci; and that the great king’s every word found an echo throughout all Europe. It did me good, and was my consolation for all other wants, that this great hero and king, who was worshipped and admired by the world, sometimes thought of his poor wife, in his infinite goodness, and sometimes shed a ray of light on her dark and solitary life. I was permitted to be at his side on every New-Year’s-Day, and hold with him the grand court-reception. And I always looked forward to this event with rejoicing throughout the entire year, for he was ever the first to congratulate me, although in silence; and then he looked at me so kindly and mildly with his wondrous eyes, that my heart overflowed with happiness and bliss.”

“But he never spoke to your majesty, the cruel, unfeeling king!” said the maid of honor, shrugging her shoulders.

“Do not abuse him,” said the queen, warmly. “He was not cruel, not unfeeling. For if he had been so, he would have sundered the tie which bound him to the unloved woman who had been forced upon him when he became king. But he was mild and gentle; he tolerated me, and I was permitted to love him and call myself his, although he was never mine. Instead of banishing me, as he might have done, he endured me, and accorded me the royal honors due his wife. True, I have not often seen him, and have very rarely spoken to him; but yet I heard and knew of him, and he never permitted my birthday to pass without writing me a letter of congratulation. Once, however—once he went so far in his goodness as to hold the New-Year’s reception here in SchÖnhausen, because an accident which happened to my foot prevented my coming to Berlin. Oh, I shall never forget that day, for it was the only time the king visited me here; and since then it seems to me that the sun has never set, but still gilds the apartments through which Frederick had wandered. On that day,” continued the queen, with a sad smile, absorbed in her recollections of the past, “on that day, something occurred which astonished the court, and was talked of in all Berlin. The king, who, on similar occasions in the city, had only looked at and saluted me from a distance, walked up to my side, extended his hand, and inquired after my health in the most kind and feeling manner. I was so confused and bewildered by this unexpected happiness, that I almost fainted. My heart beat wildly, and I found no strength to utter a single word in reply, that is, if my tears were not an answer.[24] But since that day the king has never spoken to me. The words, however, which he then uttered have always resounded in my ear like sweet music, and will lull me to sleep in the hour of death.”

“Oh,” exclaimed the maid of honor, in astonishment and indignation, “how can it be possible to love in such a manner?”

The queen, who had entirely forgotten that she was not speaking to herself, and that another listened to her plaintive wail, raised her head quickly, her blue eyes sparkling as if she had been but seventeen instead of seventy years old.

“How could it be possible not to love in such a manner, when one loved Frederick the Great?” said she, proudly. “I had made this love my life, my religion, my hope of immortality. I gave to this love my whole soul, my every thought and feeling; and it gave me, in return, joyful resignation and the strength to endure. Without this, my great, my beautiful love, I would have perished in the solitude and desolation of my being; but from it my life derived its support, its enthusiasm, and its perpetual youth. Years have whitened my hair and wrinkled my countenance, but in the poor, miserable body, in the breast of this old woman, throbs the heart of a young girl; and it bears me on with its youthful love, through and beyond all time and trouble, to those heights where I will once more behold him, and where he will, perhaps, requite the love he here despised. Love never grows old; when the heart is filled with it, years vanish like fleeting dreams, and it encircles mortality with the halo of undying youth! Therefore it must not surprise you, Julie, that the old woman you see before you can speak of her love. It was the love of my youth, and still makes me young. And now go, my child, and leave me alone with my recollections, and the great dead! I have much to say to him that God only may hear! Go, my child, and if, at some future day, you should love and suffer, think of this hour!”

She greeted the young lady with a gentle wave of the hand, and as the maid of honor left the room she saw the queen fall on her knees.

Slowly, and with her head bowed down, Julie von Voss walked through the adjoining rooms to her own apartments. “I will never love like this, and consequently never suffer like this,” said she to herself. “I cannot comprehend how one can lose and forget one’s self so completely in another, particularly when this other person does not love as ardently—as ardently as I am loved by—”

She stopped and blushed, and a slight tremor ran through her being. “I should like to know whether he loves me as passionately as this woman has loved her husband, whether—But,” exclaimed she, interrupting her train of thought, “I had entirely forgotten that his valet is waiting to deliver a message.”

Immediately on entering her parlor, she rang the bell, and ordered her chambermaid to show the valet, Rietz, who was waiting in the queen’s antechamber, up to her apartments at once. She then walked slowly to and fro; she sighed profoundly, and her lips whispered in low tones, “I do not love him! No, I do not love him; and yet I will no longer be able to resist him, for they are all against me; even my own relatives are ready to sacrifice me. That they may become great, I am to be trodden in the dust; and that they may live in honor, I am to live in shame! But I will not!” she cried, in a loud voice; and she stood proudly erect, and held up her beautiful head. “No, I will not live in shame; every respectable woman shall not have the right to point the finger of scorn at me, and place me in the same category with the brazen-faced wife of the abominable Rietz! They shall not have the right to call Julie von Voss the king’s mistress! No, they shall not, and—”

“The king’s privy chamberlain,” announced the maid, and behind her Rietz walked into the parlor.

“Poor Figaro has been compelled to wait a long time, my lady,” said he, with a mocking smile. “You have treated Figaro’s master, who longs for an answer, very cruelly.”

“I did not ask your opinion of my conduct,” said the maid of honor, haughtily. “You are the king’s messenger; speak, therefore, and execute his majesty’s commands.”

“Ah, this is not a question of commands, but of entreaties only—the king’s entreaties. His majesty begs that he may be permitted to see you after he has paid his visit of condolence to the widowed queen.”

“Etiquette requires that I shall be present when her majesty, the widowed queen, receives his visit. And if his majesty desires to speak with me, I beg that he will graciously avail himself of that opportunity.”

“Ah, but that will not answer,” said Rietz, with a smile. “When his majesty expresses a desire to visit my lady here in her own apartments, he probably has something to say, not intended for the ears of other ladies. Perhaps his majesty wishes to speak with my lady about the widowed queen and her condition, and to ask your advice as to the proper arrangement of her household. I believe the king intends to place it on a far better footing, for he spoke a few days since with real indignation of the paltry salary received by Queen Elizabeth Christine’s maids of honor—hardly sufficient to give them a decent support. The king will consider himself in duty bound to raise the salaries of these ladies; and you would certainly confer a great pleasure on his majesty by making known to him the amount you desire, and command for yourself. And you must not hesitate to mention a very considerable sum, for his majesty is generous, and will be happy to fulfil your wishes. It would, perhaps, be well for my lady to give me some hints in advance, in order that I may prepare his majesty. I shall be inexpressibly happy if my lady will permit me to be her most devoted servant, and it might also be of great advantage to her, for all Berlin and Potsdam—yes, all Prussia, knows that I am the king’s factotum.”

“Did his majesty commission you to utter all these impertinences?” asked Julie, coldly.

“How so,—impertinences?” asked Rietz, bewildered by the proud and inconsiderate manner of the lady, who regarded him, the almighty factotum, so contemptuously. “I have not, I certainly did not—”

“Silence! I listened to you out of respect for the king. And now, out of respect for myself, I command you to leave the room immediately. I will ask his majesty if he authorized his valet to tell me any thing else than that the king intended to honor me with a visit. Go!”

She proudly turned her back on the chamberlain, and walked through the room. She felt that she was suddenly held back. It was Rietz, who had caught hold of her dress, and he now sank on his knees, and looked up to her imploringly.

“Forgiveness, my lady, forgiveness! I have surely expressed myself badly, for otherwise my lady could not desire to leave the most devoted of her servants in anger. I only intended to say, that—”

“That you are the wedded husband of Wilhelmine Enke,” cried the young lady with a mocking peal of laughter; and she withdrew her garment as violently as if a venomous serpent had touched it. She then left the room, still laughing, and without even once looking at the kneeling chamberlain.

Rietz arose from his knees; and his countenance, before all smiles, now assumed a dark and malignant expression. He shook his fist threateningly toward the door through which she had left the room, and his lips muttered imprecations. And now he smiled grimly. “Yes,” said he, “I am Wilhelmine Enke’s husband, and that will be your ruin at some future day! Threaten and mock me as you please; you are, nevertheless, nothing better than the bird that flies into the net to eat the alluring red berries placed there to entice it to inevitable destruction. The net is set, the red berries are scattered around; and you will not resist the temptation, my charming bird; you will be caught, and will perish!” And, laughing maliciously, he turned and left the room.

The maid of honor, Julie von Voss, had not heard his malignant words, and yet her heart was filled with anxiety and tormenting disquiet; and when the door opened, and her brother, the royal chamberlain, Charles von Voss, entered, she cried out in terror, and sank into a chair, covering her face with her hands.

“But, Julie,” said her brother, angrily, “what does this childishness mean—what is the matter? Why does my presence terrify you?”

“I do not know,” said she, “but when you appeared in the doorway, just now, it seemed to me that I saw the tempter coming to allure me to sin and shame!”

“Very flattering, indeed,” observed her brother, “but there may be something in it. Only you forget to add that the tempter intends to offer you a world. What did Satan say to Christ when he had led Him up a mountain and showed Him the world at His feet? ‘This will I give Thee if thou wilt fall down and worship me.’ Julie, I also come to offer you a part of the world; to lay a kingdom, a crown, and a king at your feet.”

“Have you seen the king? Has he spoken with you?” asked Julie, breathlessly.

“He sends me in advance, as postillon d’amour, and will soon be here himself.”

“I will not see him,” cried the maid of honor, stretching out both hands as if to ward off his approach. “No, never! He shall not visit me; I will lock my door, and not open it until he has gone, until he ceases to pursue and torment me!”

“My dear,” said he, quietly, “I have come to speak with you seriously. You must now come to some decision; or rather, you must decide to do that which your family, which reason, policy, ambition, and pride counsel. You have bound the king in your toils with admirable ingenuity, and I congratulate you. No lion-tamer can tame the king of the desert more skilfully, and with greater success, than you have tamed your royal lion, who follows your footsteps like a lamb. This taming has been going on for three years, and your cruelty has only had the effect of making him more tender and affectionate. But there are limits to every thing, my discreet sister; and if the rope is drawn too tightly, it breaks.”

“If it would only do so!” cried Julie, despairingly. “That is exactly my desire, my object. Oh, my brother, you and all my cruel relatives deceive yourselves about me; and what you consider the finesse of coquetry, is only the true and open expression of my feelings! For three years the king has pursued me with his love, and for three years I have met his advances with coldness and indifference. In every manner, by word, look, and gesture, have I given him to understand that his love was annoying, and his attentions offensive. Oh, that I could fly from this unendurable, fearful love, to the uttermost ends of the world! But I cannot go, for I am poor, and have not the means to live elsewhere, and free myself from the terrible fetters in which you are all endeavoring to bind me!”

“And besides, my dear sister, acknowledge that your own heart persuades you to remain. You love the king?”

“No,” she cried, passionately, “no, I do not love him, although I must admit that I have seen no man I liked better. But I do not love him; my heart beats no quicker when he approaches, my soul does not long for him when he is at a distance; and at times, when the king is at my side, a terrible feeling of anxiety creeps over me, and I wish to flee, and cry out to the whole world—‘Rescue me, rescue me from the king!’ No, I do not love the king; and if I meet his advances coldly, it is not from policy, but because my heart prompts me to do so. Therefore, renounce all thought of winning me over to your plans. I will not become the associate of Wilhelmine Enke!”

“And truly you shall not,” said her brother, earnestly. “On the contrary, my beautiful and discreet sister, you shall displace this unworthy person; you shall become the benefactress of Prussia, and, through you, virtue and morality shall once more stand in good repute at the court of our young and amiable king.”

The eyes of the beautiful maid of honor sparkled, and a soft color suffused itself over her cheeks. “If that were possible,” she cried, in joyous tones—“yes, if I could succeed in delivering the king from this unworthy bondage, if I could make this hateful person harmless, this indeed were an object for which much could be endured.”

“You hate her, then, this Wilhelmine Rietz?”

“And who should not hate her?” asked Julie, passionately. “She is the disgrace of her sex; she heaps dishonor on the head of our noble and genial king; she has caused his wife so many tears, and—”

“And you, too, is it not so?” asked her brother, smiling. “My beautiful Julie, you have betrayed yourself, you are jealous. But one is jealous only when one loves. Do not longer deny it—you love the king.”

“No, no, I do not, I will not love him,” she cried, “for shame would kill me. Oh, my brother, I conjure you, do not demand of me that I deliver myself over to shame! Take pity on me, do not force me to abandon my quiet and peaceful life. I will be contented to remain here in this solitude at the side of the unhappy queen, to pass my days in ennui and loneliness. I am not ambitious, and do not crave splendor; permit me therefore to live in seclusion.”

“No, my dear sister, we cannot permit you to do so,” said the chamberlain, shrugging his shoulders. “If it concerned you alone, you could dispose of yourself as you thought fit. But behind you stands your family—your family, which has been brought down in the world by all sorts of misfortunes, and is far from occupying the position to which it is entitled, and to which I, above all things, wish to see it restored, for I acknowledge that I am ambitious, my dear sister, and I desire to achieve eminence. I am now on the highway to success, and I do not intend that you shall arrest, but rather that you shall promote, my progress. If you reject the king’s addresses, of course the whole family will fall into disfavor, and that would not be agreeable, either to myself or to my dear uncle, the master of ceremonies of the widowed queen. He wishes to become the king’s master of ceremonies, and I wish to become a cabinet minister. Apart from this, the family coffers are sadly in need of replenishment. Our ancestral castle is in a crumbling condition, the forests have been cut down, the land is badly cultivated, and the farmhouses and stables must be rebuilt, for they are only miserable ruins, in which the half-starved cattle find no protection from the weather; and it is your mission to restore the old family Von Voss to its former splendor.”

“By my dishonor, by my criminality!” sighed Julia von Voss. “Oh, my mother, my dear mother, why did you leave me, and fly to heaven from all this degradation! If you were here, you would protect me, and not suffer me to be so cruelly tempted.”

“You remind me of our dear mother at the right time, Julie. Do you remember what she told you on her deathbed?”

“Yes, my brother, I do,” she replied, in a low voice. “She said: ‘You will not be an orphan, for you have your brother to take care of and protect you. I transfer all my rights to him; for the future, he will be the head of the family, and you must love, honor, and obey him as such.’”

“‘I transfer all my rights to him; for the future, he will be the head of the family, and you must love, honor, and obey him as such,’” repeated her brother, in an elevated voice. “Do not forget this, my sister. I, as the head of the family, demand of you that you become the benefactress of your family, of your queen, and of your whole country. A grand and holy task devolves upon you. You are to liberate the land, the queen, and the king himself, from the domination of sin and indecorum. In a word, you are to displace this Rietz and her abominable husband, and inaugurate the reign of virtue and morality in this court. Truly, this is a noble mission, and one well worthy of my beautiful sister.”

“It will not succeed,” said the maid of honor. “The king will never consent to banish this hateful Rietz.”

“The greater would be the honor, if you succeeded in liberating the king from this scandalous woman, the queen from this serpent, and the country from these vampires. Ah, the whole royal family, yes, all Prussia, would bless you, if you could overthrow this Rietz and her self-styled husband!”

“Yes,” said Julie, in a low voice, “it would be a sublime consummation; but I should have to purchase it with my own degradation. And that I will not—cannot do. Brother, my dear brother, be merciful, and do not demand of me what is impossible and horrible. The daughter of my mother can never become a king’s mistress!”

“And who said that you should? Truly, I would be the last to require that of you. No, not the mistress, but the wife of the king. You shall become his wedded wife; and your rightful marriage shall be blessed by a minister of the Reformed Church!”

“But that is impossible!” exclaimed the maid of honor, whose eyes sparkled with joy, against her will, “that cannot be. The queen lives, and she is the king’s wedded wife.”

“Yes, the wedded wife of the right hand,” said her brother, quietly; “but the king, like every other mortal, has two hands; and he has a privilege which other mortals have not—the privilege of wedding a wife on the left hand.”

“Impossible, quite impossible, as long as the wife of the right hand lives!” exclaimed Julie.

“Of that, the consistory of church matters is alone competent to decide,” replied her brother, with composure; “or rather, I expressed myself badly, the consistory has only a deliberative voice; and the decision rests with the king alone, who, in our country, represents the church, and is its head—the evangelical pope. It is his province to say whether such a marriage of the left hand is possible, notwithstanding a marriage of the right hand. Demand it of him; make it a condition. Remember the words which the beautiful Gabrielle said to Henry the Fourth, when he inspected her dwelling, and asked the lady he adored, ‘Which is the way to your chamber?’ ‘Sire,’ she replied, ‘the way to my chamber goes through the church.’ Remember this when you speak to the king.”

“Be assured, I will remember it,” cried Julie, with glowing cheeks, and a proud, joyous smile. “I will make my conditions; and only when the king fulfils them will I be his, and—”

“And, why do you pause, and why is your face crimsoned with blushes all at once? Ah! you hear an equipage rolling up the avenue, and your tender heart says the king, your future husband, is approaching. Yes, my beautiful sister,” continued her brother, as he stepped to the window and looked out; “yes, it is the king. Now prepare yourself, my wise and discreet Julie; prepare to give your royal lover a worthy reception. For, of course, you will receive him? And I may tell—I may tell his majesty that you welcome his visit joyfully?”

“No, oh no,” murmured the maid of honor, with trembling lips. “I am not prepared; I am not composed; I cannot receive the king now!”

“No childishness,” said her brother, severely. “You will have sufficient time to compose yourself. The king must first pay his respects to the widowed queen, and the visit of condolence will last at least a quarter of an hour. I must now leave you; but remember that the fortunes of your family, and of the whole country, are in your hands, and act accordingly!”

He left the room hastily, without awaiting a reply, and went down to the grand audience-chamber, where the courtiers and cavaliers were assembled. The king had already retired with the widowed queen to her library.

On entering the chamber, he immediately walked up to his intimate acquaintance, Bischofswerder, the newly-created colonel, who had accompanied the king to SchÖnhausen.

“It will succeed,” said he, in a low voice, “our great ends will be attained; we will conquer our enemies, and secure dominion for ourselves and the invisible fathers. My sister loves the king, but she has been virtuously reared, and would rather renounce the king and her love, than sacrifice her moral principles.”

“She is, therefore, the more worthy of the high mission to which she has been called by the will of the Invisible,” said Bischofswerder, emphatically. “She shall rescue our loved master and king from the arms of sin, and lead him back to the path of virtue with the hand of love, sanctified and consecrated by these noble ends.”

“But she demands another consecration. The consecration of a lawful marriage. If this can be procured, my sister will always be our obedient and devoted friend, and, through her instrumentality, we—that is, the Invisible—will establish our rule.”

“Her desire is certainly a bold one,” said Bischofswerder. “But we must endeavor to fulfil it. We will speak with our wise friend WÖllner on this subject; and will also lay the noble young lady’s request at the feet of the sublime grand-kophta, and master of the invisible lodge.”

“Is he here, the great grand-kophta?” asked Charles von Voss, eagerly. “Then what the circle-director announced yesterday in the assembly was really true, and the grand-kophta is in our midst.”

“He was with us in that assembly, we were all enveloped in the atmosphere of his glory, but it is only given to the initiated of the first rank, to know when the Invisible is near. Oh, my friend, I pitied you yesterday, while in the assembly; lamented that you should still stand in the antechamber of the temple, and not yet have been permitted to enter the inner sanctuary.”

“But what must I do before I am permitted to enter?” asked Charles von Voss, in imploring tones. “Oh, tell me, my dear, my enviable, my illustrious friend, what must I do to advance myself and become a participant of the inestimable privilege of being permitted to enter the inner sanctuary, and belong to the band of the initiated?”

“You must belong to the band of the believing, the hopeful, and the obedient. You must prove to the Invisible, by unconditional submission, that you are an obedient instrument; and then you will be called!”

“And by what token will I know that such is the case?”

“You will receive a visible sign of the satisfaction of the Invisible. When you and we succeed, with his assistance, in establishing the dominion of the Invisible so firmly that he will rule Prussia; when Rietz and her whole faction of the unbelieving are made harmless and destroyed; when, through your sister’s instrumentality, virtue and propriety once more regulate and sanctify the king’s private life—then, my friend, the Invisible will give you a visible token of his satisfaction, and will make the Chamberlain von Voss, the Minister of State von Voss.”

“Oh, my dear, my mighty friend!” cried the chamberlain joyfully; “I will do all that the superiors desire. I will have no will of my own. I will be an instrument in their hands in order that I may finally—”

“The king!” cried the chamberlain of the day, as he threw open the folding doors of the antechamber. “The king!”

And amid the profound silence of his courtiers, who bowed their proud heads respectfully, King Frederick William entered the audience chamber, on his return from the visit of condolence paid to the mourning widow of Frederick. He cast a quick glance around the chamber, and, observing the Chamberlain von Voss, beckoned him to approach.

In obedience to the king’s command, the chamberlain walked forward. “Well,” said the king in a low voice, “what does your sister say?”

“Your majesty, she said but little to me, but she will have a great deal to say to your majesty.”

“She is then ready to receive me?” said the king, his countenance radiant with joy.

“Your majesty, my sister is awaiting you, and I will conduct you to her, if your majesty will graciously follow.”

“Come,” replied the king, and, without honoring his courtiers with a glance, the king followed the Chamberlain von Voss out of the audience-chamber.

---

CHAPTER VI.

THE ALLIANCE.

Wilhelmine Rietz had passed the whole day in a state of great excitement. King Frederick was dead! Public rumor had communicated this intelligence; it had flown on the wings of the wind from Sans-Souci to Potsdam, from Potsdam to Charlottenburg and Berlin, and thence to all the towns and villages of the Prussian monarchy.

King Frederick the Great was dead! This report was uttered in wailing accents all over the country; and filled the eyes of millions of faithful subjects and admirers of Frederick with tears. This report also conveyed the tidings to the beloved of the prince royal, that she was now the beloved of a king.

But Wilhelmine would have much preferred to hear it from himself; to receive a visible proof that her image still filled the king’s heart, and that the clouds of incense rising around the new monarchy had not dimmed the recollections of the past.

Long hours of anxious expectation passed, and when the clock struck the hour of noon and no messenger had arrived, she was seized with unutterable fear. At last at about two o’clock, her son Alexander arrived at Charlottenburg, with his tutor Mr. Von Chapuis, “at the king’s command,” as the tutor announced. Nor could he give her any further information, for he had not seen the king himself but had received this command from the mouth of the valet, Rietz.

“That is a bad sign, a very bad sign!” murmured Wilhelmine to herself when she was again alone. “He sends my son to a distance, in order to give no offence to his new court at Potsdam. He does not love me; if he did, he would have the courage to defy the prejudices of the world. Ah! he loves me no longer, and henceforth I will be nothing more than the despised, discarded mistress, to be greeted with derisive laughter by every passer-by, and to have cause for congratulation if she can hide her shame in some obscure corner of the earth, where she might escape the scornful looks and stinging words of mankind. But this shall never be; no, I will not be discarded—will not be trodden in the dust. And now, Wilhelmine,” she continued, with sparkling eyes and glowing cheeks, “now prove that you are no weak, no ordinary creature; prove that you possess wisdom, courage and energy. Fight for your existence, for your future, for your love! For I do love him, and I cannot live without him. And I will not live without him!” she cried loudly and emphatically. “He is the father of my children; he is my hope and my future. Without him I am a despised creature; with him I am a lady of distinction, who is flattered and courted in the most devoted manner; and only abused and ridiculed behind her back. But continue to abuse and ridicule me, my triumph will be all the greater, when you must nevertheless bend the knee and do homage to the hated person. I have borne and endured a great deal for the poor prince-royal Frederick William, and now I demand compensation and reward at the hands of the rich King Frederick William. No, I will not be put aside! As long as I live, I will fight for my existence, and fight with the weapons of strategy and force, of intrigue and flattery. Ah, I rejoice in the prospect. Yes, I really rejoice in it! At all events, it will lend an additional charm to life, and be a change and a diversion!”

“The privy-chamberlain and treasurer of the king!” announced the servant, entering the room.

“Who is that?” asked Wilhelmine in astonishment. “I know no such gentleman.”

“I am the gentleman, my dear wife, my adored Wilhelmine,” said Rietz, laughing loudly, as he followed the servant into the room. “In me, my dear wife, you see the privy-chamberlain and treasurer, fresh as a newly-baked loaf from the oven of royal favor.”

“Leave the room, Jean,” said Wilhelmine, who, impelled perhaps by curiosity, gave himself the appearance of being busily occupied in arranging the room.

“No, my dear wife,” said Rietz, beckoning to the servant, “have the goodness to permit Jean to remain a moment until I have given him my orders.—Jean, I am hungry, and feel an irresistible inclination to eat. Bring me something enjoyable, right away—for instance, a goose-liver pie, or a pheasant, or both. You can also bring some caviar and a piece of venison. And then have a bottle of champagne brought up and placed on ice; it is abominably warm to-day, and I need something cooling. Be quick, Jean.”

The servant made no reply, but looked inquiringly at his mistress. Rietz caught this look, and laughed loudly. “I really believe this simpleton entertains the daring idea of not obeying me, his master!”

“Excuse me, sir,” murmured the servant, timidly, “but my services were engaged by this lady.”

“Yes, certainly; but you well know, you rascal, that I am the master, and that this lady is my wife, and—”

“Enough,” interrupted Wilhelmine, gravely. “Set the table in the dining-room, Jean, and be quick!”

“Well spoken, Wilhelmine; let me kiss you for it, my treasure!” cried Rietz, walking with extended arms toward his wife, while the servant was opening the door. But the door had scarcely closed when he let his arms fall, and recoiled timidly from Wilhelmine, who stood before him with flashing eyes.

“Sir,” said she, her voice trembling with anger; “sir, I forbid you to take such liberties, and use such familiar language in the presence of my servant.”

“But, madame,” replied Rietz, smiling, “it is only in the presence of your servant that I can use such language; and it seems to me that it suits my rÔle very well. I have the honor to figure before the world as your husband, consequently I should play my rÔle respectably before men, and prove that we are a happy and contented pair. The wickedness and malice of mankind are great; and if men should observe that I spoke to you with less tenderness, your enemies would certainly spread the report, that we were living together unhappily.”

“I must inform you, sir, that I have no desire whatever to jest,” cried Wilhelmine, impatiently. “Have the goodness to be serious. Now, that we are alone, I beg that you will not attempt to keep up the absurd farce of our so-called marriage.”

“And bad enough it is for me that it is only a farce,” sighed Rietz, impressively. “I would—”

The angry look which Wilhelmine bestowed upon him, repressed his words, and he quickly assumed a melancholy, submissive manner. “I am silent, madame, I am silent,” said he, bowing profoundly, and with an air of deep pathos. “I am your most submissive servant, nothing else; and, having now paid my homage to the sun, I will retire, as its splendor has dazzled my eyes.”

He crossed his arms before his breast, bowed to the earth before his mistress, as the slaves do in the east, and then arose and walked rapidly toward the door.

“Where are you going, sir?” asked Wilhelmine. “Why do you not remain here?”

“I cannot, mistress,” said he, humbly. “The Moor has done his duty! The Moor can go! So it reads at least in Frederick Schiller’s new piece, the one given at the theatre a short time ago.”

“But you have not yet done your duty,” said Wilhelmine, smiling involuntarily. “You have not yet delivered your message.”

“What message?” asked Rietz, with a pretence of astonishment.

“His majesty’s message. For he it was, undoubtedly, who sent you here.”

“You are right,” said Rietz, with an air of indifference. “Yes, that is true. I had forgotten it. Good heavens! I have received so many commissions to-day, and been sent to so many ladies, that I forget the one in the other. I am now playing a very important rÔle. I am the Figaro of my master Almaviva—the Figaro who has to help his master in carrying off his beautiful cousin. You know the piece, of course, the delightfully good-for-nothing piece, that created such a furor in France, and consequently here with us also?”

“Yes, I do, Rietz; and I beg you not to stretch me on the rack with your drollery! What did the king say? What messages did he entrust to you?”

“Oh, madame! You cannot require of me that I should betray Count Almaviva’s confidence, and impart to you the messages entrusted to me?” cried Figaro Rietz, with noble indignation. “I have only to impart that which concerns my beautiful Susanna; and that is, his majesty is coming here this evening, and his rooms are to be held in readiness. He will first take tea, and then adjourn to the little laboratory to do some little cooking and brewing.”

Wilhelmine’s countenance, before bright and animated, darkened as the privy-chamberlain uttered these last words.

“The king intends to work in the laboratory? Then he is not coming alone?”

“He is coming alone, but I expect his assistants and teachers, the two great heroes of the invisible lodge, will follow at a later hour, in order to make a little ‘hocus pocus’ for his majesty—that is, I expressed myself badly—I wished to say, in order to work with his majesty in the secret sciences. Yes, the two great luminaries are coming, and if I could be permitted to give you my advice—but no, so wise and enlightened a lady as yourself can have no need of the advice of so foolish and ridiculous a fellow as I am. I am therefore silent, and will now retire, in order to strengthen my body at least, as my mind is of so hopelessly weak a constitution, that all endeavors in that direction would be thrown away. My gracious queen, I beg that you will now kindly dismiss me!” He made a ceremonious bow, and then retired towards the door, walking backwards.

“Rietz, remain!” commanded Wilhelmine, imperiously.

“Impossible, my queen. My message is delivered; and the Moor not only can, but will go.”

“Remain, Rietz; I beg you to do so,” said Wilhelmine, advancing a step nearer.

“When the stomach commands,” said Rietz, shrugging his shoulders, “the entreaties of the most beautiful of women are of no avail.”

“Well, then go and eat,” cried Wilhelmine, impatiently. “And when you have done eating, come back to my room!”

“Nor can I do that, my queen. I must then ride to Potsdam, where, by the king’s command, I am to hold a secret and important conference with her majesty, the queen, that is, with her majesty of the right hand. I must, therefore, hoist anchor and sail again as soon as I have eaten, and—”

“Well then,” said Wilhelmine, with determination, “I will accompany you to the dining-room, and we will converse while you are eating.”

“Bravo! bravo! That was what I desired!” cried Rietz, laughing. “The servants shall see in how heavenly an understanding we live together; and how careful my wife is not to lose her husband’s society for a moment. Give me your arm, madam, and lead me to the dining-room.”

With a forced smile she took his arm, and permitted him to conduct her through the parlor to the dining-room. Jean had served up all manner of delicacies on a little table, and was now occupied, at the sideboard, in breaking ice for the champagne.

“Put a bottle of Rhine wine on the ice, too, Jean,” cried Rietz, imperiously, as he seated himself comfortably in the chair, leaving his “wife” to find one for herself and bring it up to the table, at which he had already made an assault on a truffle-pie. “Magnificent!” said he, after eating a few morsels, “I must tell you, my dearest Wilhelmine, there is nothing better than a truffle-pie!”

Wilhelmine turned impatiently to the servant, who was turning the wine in the freezer: “You can now go, Jean, the gentleman will wait on himself.”

“And my champagne!” exclaimed Rietz. But, with an imperious gesture, Wilhelmine dismissed the servant.

“Now we are alone,” said Wilhelmine. “Now you can speak. You wished to give me your advice.”

“Madam,” rejoined Rietz, as he carried a savory morsel to his mouth; “madam, at this moment I can advise you to do but one thing, and that is, to try this truffle-pie, it is truly magnificent!”

“You are cruel,” cried Wilhelmine, “you torture me!”

“Say rather, madam, that you are cruel,” said Rietz, rising from the table to go after the champagne. “It is truly cruel to compel a man to arise, in the midst of the delights of the table, and wait on himself! Champagne loses its flavor when one has to pour it out himself!”

“I will wait on you, sir!” cried Wilhelmine, rising with vivacity, and taking the bottle in her hands.

Rietz nodded complacently. “That is right. That is piquant, and will season my repast. The almighty queen of the left hand waits on her submissive husband of the left hand. The mistress becomes the slave, the slave the master! This is a charming riddle, is it not? But I tell you, madame, it is not the last riddle we will propound! Oh, very many riddles will now be propounded; and some people would be very happy if they could find the right solution.”

“You wished to give me good advice concerning the two favorites,” said Wilhelmine, with a smile, that cost her proud heart much humiliation. “Speak, therefore, my dear Rietz! Give me your advice!”

Rietz held his glass up to the light, and gazed smilingly at the rising bubbles. “That reminds me of my old friend, the burgomaster of Stargard, the dear place of my nativity. The good Burgomaster Funk, was a true child of Pomerania, who despised High-German, and would have spoken Low-German, even with the king. Speaking Low-German, and eating dinner was his passion. And I have often thought, when I saw him sitting at the dinner-table, with so reverent and pious a countenance, that the old gentleman fancied himself in church, administering the sacrament as a priest. He applied himself with such heavenly tranquillity to the delights of the table, permitting nothing in the world to disturb him while so engaged.”

“But I cannot comprehend what the recollections of your happy youth have to do with the advice you desired to give.”

“You will soon do so, my queen,” said Rietz, slowly emptying his glass. “And yet permit me to dwell a little longer on the recollections of my dear old master. For you must know that this good old gentleman was my master; under him I learned the arts of a valet, writer, and confidant, and all the little artifices and stratagems by which a valet makes himself his master’s factotum. Truly the king is greatly indebted to the burgomaster; without him he would never have been the possessor of so excellent a factotum as the privy-chamberlain and treasurer Rietz. At the same time, I learned from my master how to become a gourmand; learned what precious knowledge, and how much practical study, were necessary to educate a man up to this sublime standard, and entitle him to the proud appellation of gourmand. My old master, who deservedly bore this title, inculcated in me the most beautiful and strict principles. In the midst of our conversation, and while the old gentleman was digesting, slowly imbibing his delicious mocha, and blowing clouds of smoke from his long pipe, it sometimes occurred that some one of the burghers of the little city would come, in his necessity, to his burgomaster to obtain advice or assistance. Then you should have seen his anger and rage. He would strike the table with his fist, and cry furiously: ‘Vat, I give advice! After dinner, and for noting!’”

“Ah,” exclaimed Wilhelmine, “now I begin to understand!”

“That is fortunate, indeed,” said Rietz, laughing; and he held out his empty glass to Wilhelmine that she might fill it. “Then you begin to understand that the phrase ‘after dinner, and for nothing,’ is very beautiful and appropriate?”

“Yes, and I will give you a proof of it at once! Sir, what do you ask for your good advice?”

“Bravo, bravo!” cried Rietz. “Well sung, my prima donna! Now we shall understand each other; and with your permission we will proceed to talk seriously. Madame, will you form an offensive and defensive alliance with me? Do not reply yet! I have no desire whatever that you should buy the cat in the bag; first hear what I have to say, and then make up your mind. We are now at the beginning of a new era; and to most men the future is as a book written in mysterious and illegible characters. But I think I can decipher it, and I will tell you what it contains. I read in this book that Prussia is now governed by a king who can do anything but govern himself, and who is like soft wax in the hands of those who know how to manage him.”

“How dare you speak so disrespectfully of your king?” cried Wilhelmine.

“Madame,” said Rietz, shrugging his shoulders, “give yourself no trouble! To his valet and to his mistress—pardon me for this word, my queen—the greatest king is but an ordinary man; and when we two are alone, we need stand on no ceremony. The king, I say, will be ruled over. And the only question is, by whom? The question is, shall the valet and the mistress rule over the happy and prosperous kingdom of Prussia, or shall they leave this difficult but remunerative business to the Rosicrucians, to the Invisible Fathers, and to their visible sons, Bischofswerder and WÖllner.”

“If they do that,” cried Wilhelmine, with vivacity, “the mistress and the valet will be lost, they will be banished.”

“That is also my opinion,” said Rietz. “These dear Rosicrucians dread our influence. They know that we are both too wise to believe in the hocus pocus, and that it sometimes affords us pleasure to enlighten the king’s mind on the subject of these mysterious fellows and their jugglery. I, for my part, hate these pious hypocrites, these wise fools. It is as impossible for me to live together with them in friendship, as it is for the honest dog and sneaking cat to sojourn harmoniously in one kennel. And I account it one of my greatest pleasures when I can sometimes give them a good blow, and tear out a piece of their sheepskin, in order to show the king that a wolf is disguised in sheep’s clothing.”

“I feel exactly as you do on this subject,” cried Wilhelmine, laughing. “I find it impossible to accept their offers of friendship. They have frequently attempted to make me their ally, but I wish to have nothing to do with the Invisible Fathers of the inner temple; I prefer the visible sons in the outer halls, for we, at least, know what they are!”

“You are a divine woman,” cried the chamberlain, in delight. “If you were not my wife I should certainly fall in love with you. It is fortunate, however, that you are my wife, for lovers are blind, and it behooves us both to keep our eyes open to avoid being caught in the snares which will be laid for us in great plenty by our pious fowlers. ‘They or we;’ this will be the watchword throughout the glorious reign of our king. The Pharisees and Rosicrucians, or—may I pronounce the word, my enchantress?”

“Yes, my friend, pronounce the word!”

“Well, then! The watchword is: ‘The Pharisees and Rosicrucians, or the libertines and mistresses!’ I cast my lot with the latter party, for with them good dinners and brilliant fÊtes are the order of the day. With them pleasure reigns, and joy is queen.”

“I am with you, my friend. Death and destruction to the Pharisees and Rosicrucians!”

“Long live the libertines and mistresses! They shall rule over Prussia! They shall guide the ship of state; and we, Wilhelmine Enke, we two will be the leaders and masters of this merry band! We will fight with each other and for each other; and the Pharisees and Rosicrucians are, and shall ever be, our common enemies! Give me your hand on this, my queen!”

“Here is my hand. Yes, the Pharisees and Rosicrucians are, and shall ever be, our common enemies!”

“You will aid me, and I you! We will protect and watch over each other. Our interests are identical, what furthers yours furthers mine. You, my beautiful Wilhelmine, are ambitious, and are not contented with my well-sounding name. You aim higher, and I do not blame you, for a crown would become you well, although it were only the crown of a countess.”

“That would suffice,” said Wilhelmine, smiling. “And you, my friend, what do you aspire to?”

“I am a very modest man, and decorations and titles have no charms for me. I do not wish ever to become more than I now am; but that, my queen, I would like to remain. I have no desire to be dispossessed of my situation; on the contrary, I desire to make of it a right warm and comfortable nest.”

“And I will procure you the necessary down,” cried Wilhelmine, laughing.

“Very well, but it must be eider-down, my love, for that is the softest. I love the exquisite and the excellent; I am a gourmand in all things. If there is one thing I could wish for, it would be that my whole life might consist of one long dinner, and I remain sitting at the savory, richly-laden table, until compelled to leave it for the grave. I am not ambitious, nor am I miserly; but money I must have, much money. In order to lead a comfortable and agreeable life one must have money, a great deal of money, an immense quantity of money. My motto is, therefore, ‘My whole life one good dinner, and—after dinner, no advice for nothing!’”

“I consider this a wise motto, and, although I cannot make it my own, I will always respect it as yours, and act in accordance with it in your interest.”

“That will be very agreeable,” said Rietz. “I will then be able to realize my ideal.”

“And in what does your ideal consist, if I may ask the question?”

“My ideal is a house of my own, elegantly and luxuriously furnished, attentive and deferential servants, an exquisite cook, and the most choice dinners, with four covers always ready for agreeable, gay, and influential guests, who must be selected each day. Do you know, my queen, what is essential to the realization of my ideal? In the first place, the king must give me a house just large enough to make me a comfortable dwelling. I know of such a house. It stands at the entrance of the park of Sans-Souci. It has only five chambers, a parlor, a cellar, a kitchen, and several servants’ rooms. That is just the house for a modest man like myself; and I wish to have it. And then rich clients are required, petitioners for decorations and titles, who come to me for counsel, supposing the king’s confidential chamberlain can gratify their longings, if they only cajole him and show him some attentions. For instance, if this nice new house were mine, I would furnish one room only, and that sparingly, letting all the others stand empty. I would then show my visitors my dear little house, and it would be strange, indeed, if it were not soon handsomely furnished. To accomplish this, nothing is wanted but your assistance, my gracious wife and queen.”

“And in what manner shall I assist you, my dear philosopher?”

“In this manner, my adored: by sending the suitors who come to you, to me—that is, those suitors who desire decorations, titles, or a noble coat-of-arms; for with politics I will have nothing to do. I only speculate on the foolishness of mankind. Therefore, let it be well understood, you are to send the foolish to me with their petitions—to tell them that decorations and titles are my specialty, and that I alone can effect anything with the king in such matters. In doing this, you not only send me clients who furnish my house, but you also enhance my respectability. You make an important person of me, to whom great deference must be shown, and who must be courted and flattered. The natural consequence will be, that I will have humble and devoted servants, and be able to secure agreeable and influential guests for my dinners. For I need scarcely inform you, that it would afford me no entertainment whatever simply to fill empty stomachs at my table. On the contrary, I desire to have guests to whom eating is a science, and who do not regard a good pasty merely as an article of food, but rather as a superior enjoyment. Will you help me to attain all this?”

“Yes, I will, my friend. But now tell me what services you propose to render in return!”

“I will be your obedient servant, your sincere and discreet friend, and your ally in life and death. When diplomatists and politicians apply to me for my good offices, I will refer them to you. I will always have your interests at heart. If Bischofswerder and WÖllner should ever succeed in poisoning the king’s mind against you, or in depriving you of his favor, I will lend a helping hand in thrusting these pious lights into the shade, where they belong. You can depend on me in all things. I will represent your interests, as if they were my own, and as if I had the honor to be in reality what I, unfortunately, only appear to be, the husband of the beautiful and amiable Wilhelmine Rietz. But truly, the name sounds bad, and I will assist you in exchanging it for a longer and more harmonious one. The name Rietz is just long and good enough for me. It fits me snugly, like a comfortable, well-worn dressing-gown; and I prefer it to a court-dress. But for you, my fair one, we must certainly procure the title of a baroness or countess. Moreover, as your disinterestedness and improvidence in money matters is well known to me, I will also consider it my sacred duty to look after your interests in this particular, and call the king’s attention to your necessities from time to time. For instance, you might require a handsome palace in Berlin, or a larger villa here in Charlottenburg, or a magnificent set of jewelry, or an increase of income.”

“Ah, my friend, I will be very thankful for all this,” said Wilhelmine, with a bewitching smile. “But what is of paramount importance is, that the king should continue to love me, or at least that he should never reject my love or discard me. I love him. He is the father of my children; he was the lover of my youth; and I can swear that I have never loved another besides him. Even my worst enemies cannot say of me that I was ever untrue to the love of my youth, or that I ever had any liaison, except the one with the poor prince royal, for whom I suffered want, rather than listen to the addresses of rich and influential admirers.”

“That is true,” said Rietz, with an air of perfect gravity; “they can make you no reproaches. Your life has been altogether irreproachable; and the chronique scandaleuse has had nothing to report concerning you.”

“You are mocking me,” sighed Wilhelmine. “Your words are well understood. You wish to say that my whole life has been one impropriety, and that I am the legitimate prey of the chronique scandaleuse. Oh, do not deny it, you are perfectly right. I am an outcast from society; and yet it cannot be said of me, that I, like so many highly-respectable ladies, have sold my heart and hand for an advantageous marriage settlement. I only followed the dictates of my heart and my love; and the world punishes me by erecting a barrier between me and good society. But I have no intention of submitting to this any longer. Why should the king’s beloved stand without the barrier, while many a countess, who has sold herself, and married an unloved man for his title and his wealth, and to whom faith is but an empty fancy, stands within on consecrated ground. This barrier shall crumble before me, and I will be received within the circle of this so-called good and exclusive society. To their hatred and contempt, I am quite indifferent, but they shall at least seem to esteem and respect me. They shall not leave me in perfect solitude in the midst of the world, as if I lived on a desert island, like Robinson Crusoe, and had great reason to be thankful when the king sometimes took the rÔle of Friday and kept me company. I will be received in society; I will be the head of society; I will have parlors, where not only artists and men of intellect assemble, but to which the ladies of the best society must also come. This is my ambition; this is my dream of happiness. I will have a social position in defiance of all these so-called exclusive circles. Whenever I meet these people, and see them turn aside to avoid me with a contemptuous smile, I say to myself: ‘Only wait, ye proud, ye virtuous! you shall yet fill Wilhelmine Rietz’s parlors, and form the background of the brilliant picture of her power and magnificence. Only wait, ye noble gentlemen, you shall yet dance attendance in Wilhelmine Rietz’s antechamber! Only wait, ye heroines of virtue, you shall one day walk arm in arm with Wilhelmine Rietz, and accord her the place of honor on your right hand!’ You see I have consoled myself with these thoughts of the future for many years. But the future has now become the present, and the longed-for time has at last arrived when Wilhelmine Rietz will compel society to unbolt its portals and permit her to enter. Will you assist me in this matter?”

“I shall be delighted to do so,” said Rietz, laughing. “I will be the locksmith, who furnishes the keys to open these doors with, and if keys will not suffice, he will provide picklocks and crowbars. But, enter you shall. It will be a difficult undertaking, to be sure, but it will amuse me all the more, on that account, to assist you, and help to pull down the pride of these arrogant people. Ah, I hate these people, and it will afford me immense satisfaction to see them compelled to humble themselves before you, and fawn and flatter in spite of their reluctance! Yes, I will help you to ascend this mountain, but I do not desire to rise with you, I prefer to remain below in the valley, and earn an honest livelihood, as the good old proverb says.”

“And will become a rich man in the valley, while I will, perhaps, be struggling with debts and creditors on the heights above!”

“Yes,” said Rietz, “there will certainly be struggles, and struggles of every variety. As for your debts, I will undertake to have them all paid; and in the future your income will be so considerably increased that you will no longer be under the necessity of making debts. But what I cannot take upon myself, unaided, is the struggle with your beautiful and high-born rival. That is woman’s work; there, fists are of no avail, and delicate fingers can manipulate needles with far greater efficiency.”

“You speak of my rival, the beautiful Julie von Voss.”

“Yes, my adorable, I speak of her, and I will now prove to you that I am your friend. And I will tell what I have no right to tell. The privy-chamberlain breaks the inviolable seal of office. But what can I do? are you not my wife? And in the end, the most discreet man in the world can keep no secret from his wife! Now, listen!” And in a low, suppressed voice, as if fearing the walls might hear, he told her of his mission to SchÖnhausen, of the king’s messages, and of his conversation with the beautiful maid of honor.

Wilhelmine listened with pallid cheeks and quivering lips, only interrupting him from time to time with a brief question, or an angry or threatening cry.

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CHAPTER VII.

THE CONDITIONS.

While this was occurring in the dining-room, Jean sat in the antechamber, holding himself in readiness to answer his mistress’s bell, if it should ring. But no bell rang, and all was so still, the air so warm and sultry in the little chamber, and the soft twilight had so tranquillizing an effect, that Jean could no longer resist the temptation to close his eyes, and indulge in his dreams of the future. And perhaps he was dreaming, when a tall figure, completely enveloped in a black mantle, stood before him, laid his hand on his shoulder, and pronounced his name in a low voice. Perhaps it was only a dream when he saw this, and heard the veiled figure utter these words in a low voice:

“You belong to the third circle of the Invisible lodge?”

And he replied—whether in a dream or in reality, he was himself not perfectly satisfied—“Yes, I belong to that circle.”

Furthermore, the veiled figure said: “You were sent here with orders to make an exact report of all that occurs, to the circle director, and to submit to his will, in all things. Do you bear this in mind?”

“I am the obedient servant of the Invisible,” replied Jean, respectfully. “I will never forget my oath; if I did, punishment would overtake, and the just anger of the Invisible destroy me.”

“Did the circle-director show you the symbol of the brotherhood?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Behold the symbol,” said the veiled figure, and for a moment a little triangular plate of metal shone in his open hand.

“I see it,” replied Jean, rising, “and I know by this triangle that a brother of the higher degrees stands before me; I therefore salute you with reverence, brother superior.” He bowed profoundly, but the veiled figure merely nodded in return.

“Do you know the sign by which the master of the order, the grand kophta is recognized?” said he, in low and piercing tones.

“I do,” replied Jean, his voice almost inaudible, from inward agitation.

The veiled figure thrust forth his hand from under the concealing mantle, and a large solitaire sparkled on his finger. “See, this is the sign,” said he.

Jean uttered a cry of astonishment, and sank on his knees. “Command me, almighty one,” he murmured, “your slave has no will but yours.”

“Arise, and be my guide,” commanded the veiled figure, and Jean stood up immediately.

“Where shall I lead, my exalted master?”

“Conduct me to the little room adjoining the laboratory of the present king, but by such a way that no human eye shall see, and no human ear hear me.”

“Then, I must first beg permission,” said Jean, hurrying towards the door, “to assure myself that no one is in the hall.”

But the veiled figure followed, and held him back. “Why go that way?” he asked. “Why through the hall, when we can go through the door in the wall into the little passage that leads to the secret staircase?”

“That is true; I had forgotten that,” said Jean, trembling, and looking with surprise and terror at his superior, who was so well acquainted with this strange house that he knew the secret doors and staircases.

“As my master pleases; here is the door.” He pressed a small, almost imperceptible knob in the wall, and a little door sprang open.

“Go before, and lead me,” said the veiled figure, pushing Jean through the entrance. “We must walk softly, and without uttering a word; the passage runs by the dining-room, where your mistress is conversing with the king’s privy-chamberlain, and we might be heard. I will, therefore, give you my command here. You will lead me through the passage and down the staircase. With the key which you carry, you will then open the door and let me into the laboratory. You will then lock the door again, take the key from the lock, and hurry back to the antechamber. You will observe the most profound silence in regard to what has occurred; and, if life and your eternal welfare are dear to you, you will betray having seen me by neither word, look, nor gesture.”

“Exalted master,” whispered Jean, “I am nothing more than your slave and creature, and I know that my life is but dust in your hands. I fear the Invisible, and I adore you in your sublimity. Graciously permit me to embrace your feet, that the touch may impart to me eternal health and strength.”

And he knelt down and kissed the feet of the veiled figure with impassioned tenderness.

The veiled figure bowed down to him and said: “Grace will be shed upon you; you are a good and obedient servant. At the next assembly you will learn that you have been elevated a degree, and have come a step nearer to the inner halls of the temple. Be silent, no word of thanks, but arise and conduct me!”

Jean arose and stepped forward, the veiled figure following him, and conducted him, as he had been directed, to the laboratory; he let him in, closed and locked the door again, and returned hastily to the antechamber.

Had this all really happened, or had Jean only been dreaming? He asked himself this question, and looked inquiringly and anxiously around in the little chamber. He was entirely alone; the secret door was closed. No one was with him, all was still around him, and profound silence seemed to reign in the dining-room also. Jean stepped softly to the door and listened. He could now hear a subdued murmur, and could even distinguish the voices of his mistress and the privy-chamberlain. They seemed to be conversing eagerly; but they spoke in such low tones that it was impossible for Jean to understand a single word.

And they were really engaged in a very earnest conversation; in a conversation which absorbed Wilhelmine’s attention wholly. Rietz had not only related his interview with the maid of honor, but had also given her a faithful account of the king’s visit to SchÖnhausen, and of the conversation between Charles von Voss and his sister, in which he persuaded her to receive the king.

“How do you know this?” asked Wilhelmine, with a shrug of her shoulders. “I imagine it could have needed no persuasion, that this young lady would have done so willingly enough.”

“There you are in error, my beautiful countess; I know better, because I listened to the whole conversation between the maid of honor and her brother.”

“How? You were present?”

“Not exactly present, but I heard it, nevertheless. The doors of the dilapidated old castle in SchÖnhausen are full of cracks and crannies, and if you get near enough you can see and hear very readily.”

“And you were near the door of the maid of honor’s chamber?”

“So near that a sheet of paper could hardly have been slipped in between us.”

“And there was no one there to order the bold eavesdropper to leave?”

“Yes, there was a human being in the little dressing-room in which I stood, but this human being made no opposition whatever to my listening at the door, for the simple reason that I had paid well for the privilege. The young lady’s chambermaid loves money, and is of a speculative disposition. She wishes to open a millinery establishment, and for that money is necessary; and she takes it whenever she can get it. I pay her in my gracious master’s name for singing the king’s praise in her mistress’s ear; and I pay her in my own name for reporting to me the result of this singing, and permitting me to listen at the door when there is anything to be heard. To be sure, it cost me a considerable sum yesterday. This shrewd little kitten made me pay her twice: once for the conversation between the maid of honor and her brother, and the second time for the conversation between the king and the maid of honor.”

Wilhelmine sprang up, and an exclamation of astonishment escaped her lips. “You have listened to the conversation between the king and the maid of honor, and now tell me of it for the first time. I conjure you, Rietz, my dear Rietz, my best friend, tell me of it. Speak—what did the king say, and what did she reply?”

“After dinner, and for nothing?” asked Rietz, as he stretched himself comfortably, poured the last few drops of champagne into his glass and carried it slowly to his lips.

“Speak, my dear Rietz. Say what I shall do. What will you have?”

“The little love of a house at the entrance of the park of Sans-Souci. It was built on speculation; that is to say, I had it built, hoping that the old king would be dead, and our Frederick William seated on the throne by the time of its completion. My hope is now realized, and I ask you, my adorable wife, will you use your influence to persuade the king to give me this house as a reward for my long and faithful services?”

“I will do so; I will storm the king with entreaties to give you this house.”

“Then it is as good as mine already, and I thank my noble patroness. And now that I am paid in advance, I will impart to you the substance of that important conversation—that is, you will certainly not require me to repeat the king’s protestations of love and vows of eternal fidelity.”

“No, I do not require that of you,” sighed Wilhelmine, with trembling lips; “that I can readily imagine. It can only have been a repetition of what he told me. Out upon men! They are a perfidious and faithless race!”

“Yes, they imbibe these qualities with their mother’s milk; and King Frederick William also is only the son of his mother. Therefore, nothing of the king’s protestations of love, and the noble indignation and conflict between love and virtue on the part of the young lady. To the king’s intense gratification the young lady finally admitted, with many tears and sighs, that she would love him if he were not, unfortunately, already married, and if Madame Rietz were not in existence. If the king were no better than a poor nobleman, the young lady would esteem it perfect bliss to become his. She would joyfully undergo hardships and suffer want at his side; but she was not willing to occupy a position that would expose her to scorn and contempt. She could not cause the noble queen additional sorrow and pain; and finally, it would be quite impossible to tolerate a despised and hated rival like Wilhelmine Rietz at her side. But—good heavens! what is the matter with you? You turn pale, and wail and moan fearfully! Poor woman, if you are so sensitive, I must of course be silent.”

“It is nothing—nothing at all,” murmured Wilhelmine. “It was only a momentary pang, and it is now past. Speak on, I am quite composed. Speak! What did the king reply?”

“He begged her to name the conditions on which she could consent to be his; and the beautiful and wise maid of honor stated her conditions, assuring him that they were irrevocable—her ultimatum, as the diplomatists say. And truly these conditions were ridiculous. I almost burst out laughing when I heard them.”

“And what were they? I pray you tell me,” murmured Wilhelmine, clasping her hands tightly together to keep them from trembling.

“There were three conditions, and the maid of honor swore by the memory of her mother, who had died of grief caused by her love for the king’s father, Prince August William, that she would neither see his majesty nor speak with him until he had promised to fulfil her conditions; and, that if he could or would not fulfil them, the young lady would leave the court forever, and retire into the deepest seclusion.”

“She is cunning; oh, she is very cunning,” murmured Wilhelmine, clasping her hands yet more firmly together. “And her three conditions?”

“Are as follows: firstly, the young lady exacts of the king that she be married formally and rightfully to his left hand, by a Protestant minister; secondly, she demands that, above all things, the consent of the queen, the wife of the right hand, be first obtained; and thirdly, and finally, she demands that Wilhelmine Rietz, together with her two children, be banished, and that an estate be given her in Lithuania, and she be compelled to remain there and never return to Berlin or Potsdam.”

“And the king?” cried Wilhelmine, in piercing accents.

“The king stipulated for four weeks’ time in which to consider the matter, kissed the proud lady’s hand, and retired. Now, my queen, you know all, and it is also time for me to retire. I must ride to Potsdam at the king’s command, and confer with the queen as to the conditions on which she would give her consent to this absurd marriage. But I cannot comprehend you, my beauty! You look as mournful as if you were on the point of starting for Lithuania already, and as if it were another than you who sways the king’s heart and soul. I, for my part, place implicit confidence in your power, and am satisfied that the king will never give you up or desert you. Would I otherwise have courted your alliance? Would I have based my hopes of obtaining the little house at Sans-Souci on your intercession? No, my beauty; you are, and will remain, queen, in spite of all the wives of the right and the left hand. Only you must not be discouraged, and must not look so sad. For you well know that our good master cannot abide mournful faces, and invariably runs away from weeping women.”

“It is true; you are right,” said Wilhelmine. “I will wreathe my face in smiles. I will laugh.”

And she burst out into a loud and vibrating peal of laughter, in which Rietz heartily joined.

“That is right,” he cried; “now I admire you! You look like a lioness defending her young. That is right, my beauty! ‘He who trusts in God, and strikes out boldly around him, will never come to grief,’ my good old burgomaster Herr Funk used to say. Strike boldly, my queen, deal out heavy blows, and we shall never come to grief, and all will yet be well. And now, my charming wife, I must take leave of you, as I hear a carriage driving up that I wager brings no other than his majesty. It is not necessary that he should still find me here. I will, therefore, slip out of the back door and beat a retreat through the garden. Addio, carissima, addio!”

He bowed respectfully, threw her a kiss with the tips of his fingers, opened a window, and sprang out upon the terrace, from which a small stairway led down into the garden.

Wilhelmine frowned, and cast an angry look in the direction he had taken. “How degraded a soul! how base a character!” she murmured; “but yet I must cling to him, and be very friendly with him. He is my only support, my only friend; for without him I would be lost! And I will not be lost! I will maintain my position; while I live, I will bravely battle for it!”

“The king!” cried Jean, throwing the door open. “His majesty has arrived, and awaits my lady in her parlor.”

“I am coming,” said Wilhelmine, calmly. “Hurry down into the park, and tell my son and daughter that their father is here. They are down on the river; they must come at once to greet his majesty.”

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CHAPTER VIII.

NEW LOVE.

The king advanced to meet Wilhelmine with a gentle smile; and when, after a formal obeisance, she congratulated him in cold and ceremonious terms, Frederick William burst out into laughter, caught her in his arms, and pressed a kiss on her brow.

Wilhelmine trembled, and tears rushed to her eyes. She felt like clasping him in her arms and conjuring him, with tender reproaches and passionate words of love, not to abandon her, and not to drive herself and his children out into the cold world. But she repressed her emotion—she knew the king could not endure sad faces, and always fled from a woman in tears.

She had the courage to smile, and seem to be gay; and her countenance bore no trace of disquiet or anxiety. She conversed with perfect composure and indifference, as if no change had taken or ever could take place in their relations to each other.

Frederick William’s joyousness had at first been assumed, to hide his embarrassment; and he felt greatly relieved by Wilhelmine’s manner. He abandoned himself wholly to the charming society of the beautiful and agreeable friend, who had always so well understood how to enliven him and banish all care from his breast. And when the two children entered the parlor, and his favorite Alexander, a boy of ten years of age, ran forward, looked wonderingly at his papa king, and then threw his arms tenderly around his neck, and kissed and hugged him, regardless of his royalty; when the lovely daughter, in the bloom of sixteen summers, the charming image of her young mother, walked forward, and seated herself on one of his knees opposite her brother, who sat on the other; and when the still beautiful mother stepped up to this group, her eyes beaming and her face wreathed in smiles, and clasped father and children in one embrace, a feeling of infinite comfort filled Frederick William’s breast, and tears rushed to his eyes.

He gently pushed the two children from his knees, and arose. “Go down into the garden, my pets, and wait for me in the rose-pavilion, when we will watch the sun set. But now go, as I have something to say to your mother.”

“But nothing unpleasant, I hope, papa?” said Alexander, anxiously. “You have nothing to say to my mamma that will make her sad?”

“And if I had,” asked Frederick William, smiling, “what would you do to prevent it?”

“If you had,” replied the boy, with a bold and defiant expression, “I know very well what I would do. I would not go away. I would remain here, even if my papa ordered me to go. But for this once I could not be obedient, although I should be scolded for it.”

“And what effect would your remaining here have, Alexander?” asked the king.

“It would have this effect, your majesty,” replied the boy, gravely. “My dear mamma would then hear nothing that would make her feel sad, or perhaps even make her cry.”

“But if I should tell her something in your presence that would make her feel sad?”

“That you will not do, papa!” cried Alexander, erecting himself proudly. “No, while I am here you will certainly not make my mamma sad; for you know that I would cry too, if my mamma cried, and you certainly could not bear to see your poor little son and his mamma weeping bitterly.”

“You love your mamma very much, I suppose?”

“Yes,” exclaimed the boy, throwing his arms around his mother’s neck, and laying his curly head on her bosom; “yes, I love my mamma very dearly; and my heart almost breaks when I see her cry. And she cries very often now, and—”

“Go, Alexander,” said his mother, interrupting him. “You see your sister is an obedient daughter, and has already obeyed her father’s command. Follow her now, my son; learn from your sister to obey your father without murmuring.”

“Yes, my son, follow your sister,” said the king, gently. “Fear nothing, my boy, I have no intention of making your mother feel sad.”

“Then I will go, papa,” cried Alexander, as he pressed his father’s hand tenderly to his lips. He then skipped joyfully out of the room.

The king followed the handsome boy, with an affectionate look, until the door closed behind him. He then turned to Wilhelmine, who met his gaze with a gentle smile. “Wilhelmine, I have entered on a new life to-day. The poor prince royal, who was harassed with debt, has become a rich and mighty king. A young king’s first and most sacred duty is to prove his gratitude to those who were his loving and faithful friends, while he was yet prince royal. And therefore, Wilhelmine, you were my first thought; therefore am I come to you to prove that I have a grateful heart, and can never forget the past. You have undergone hardships, and suffered want for me; the hour of reward has now come. Impart to me all your wishes freely, and without reservation, and I swear to you that they shall be fulfilled. Will you have a name, a proud title? will you have jewelry or treasures? will you have a magnificent landed estate? Speak out, tell me what you desire, for I have come to reward you, and I am king.”

She looked at him proudly, with sparkling eyes. “You have come to reward me,” said she, “and you are king. What care I for your royalty! The king has not the power to grant my wishes!”

“What is it, then, that you wish?” he asked, in embarrassment.

“I wish what the king cannot, what only the man can grant. I wish you to love me as dearly as the prince royal loved me. I crave no riches and no treasures, no titles and no estates. When we swore that we would love and be true to each other until death, you did not dare to think that you would some day reward me for my love. When we exchanged our vows of love and fidelity, written with our blood, this was the marriage contract of our hearts, and this contract consisted of but one paragraph. It only secured to each of us the love and fidelity of the other as a dower. Let me retain this dower, Frederick William; keep your treasures, titles, and estates, for your favorites and flatterers. Such things are good enough for them, but not for me—not for the mother of your children! Leave me in possession of my dower of your love and fidelity!”

Frederick lowered his eyes in confusion, and did not seem to see her stretch out her arms imploringly. He turned away and walked slowly to and fro.

Wilhelmine’s arms sank down, and a deep sigh escaped her lips. “The decisive hour has come,” said she to herself. “It shall find me armed and prepared for the struggle!”

Suddenly the king stopped in front of her, and a ray of determination beamed in his genial, handsome countenance. “Wilhelmine,” said he, “I stand on the threshold of a great and sublime future. I will not act a lie at such a time. Between us there must be perfect and entire truth. Are you ready to hear it?”

“I am ready,” said she, gravely. “Truth and death are preferable to life and falsehood.”

“Come, Wilhelmine,” continued the king, extending his hand. “Let us seat ourselves on the sofa, where we have so often conversed in earnestness and sincerity. Let us converse in the same spirit to-day, and open our hearts to each other in honest sincerity.” He conducted her to the sofa, and seated himself at her side. She laid her head on his shoulder, and subdued sobs escaped her breast.

“Do not speak yet,” she whispered. “Let me rest a moment, and think of the beautiful past, now that your future looks so bright. I have not the courage to look at the future. It seems to me that I am like those unhappy beings, of whom Dante narrates, that they walk onward with their faces turned backward, and that they cannot see what is coming, but only that which has been and which lies behind them. Ah, like them I see only what has been. I see us two, young, happy, and joyous, for the star of our youthful love shone over us. I see you at my side as my teacher, instructing me, and endeavoring to cultivate my mind.—Frederick, do you remember the Italian lessons you gave me? With you I read Dante, you explained to me this awful picture of the reversed faces. Shall I now experience through you the dreadful reality of what you then explained in the poem? Shall I shudder at the aspect of the future, and only live on that which is past and gone? Tell me, Frederick, can it be true, can it be possible? Does love, with all its happiness and bliss, then really lie only behind us, and no longer before us? But no, no, do say so!” she cried, imploringly, as she saw that he was about to speak; “let us be still and dream on for a moment, as we are now on the threshold of a new era, as you say.” She ceased speaking, and buried her head in Frederick William’s bosom. He laid his hand on her neck and pressed her to his heart. A long pause ensued. A last ray of the setting sun shone in through the window, and illumined with its golden light the head of the poor woman who clung trembling to her lover’s bosom.

The last ray of the setting sun! The spirits of the past danced and trembled in its luminous course; the days which had been, sparkled and glittered in its last ray, and then expired.

“Ah,” sighed the king, after an interval of silence, “why is the human heart so weak? why does it not retain like the precious stone its brilliant tints and fiery lustre? why do the rainbow hues and fire of love vanish? Why has fate ordained that all things should be subject to change, even love?”

Wilhelmine raised her head—the hour of bitterness was past; she now had courage to face the future, to pass the threshold of the new era. What has the future in store for her? Will it be gloomy? Has the sun set for her whole life, as its last ray has set in the chamber where she now sits, in night and darkness, at the side of the man she once called the sun of her life?

“You no longer love me, Frederick William!”

“I do love you, Wilhelmine; certainly I do, right cordially and sincerely.”

She uttered a loud cry and pressed her hand to her heart. How different was this tame assurance of love to the passionate protestations of former days!

“Speak on, Frederick William, speak on! I am prepared to hear all! You love me right cordially and sincerely, you say?”

“Yes, Wilhelmine, and God is my witness that this is the truth. I desire to do everything to contribute to your happiness?”

“Everything! everything, but love me as heretofore!”

“Ah, Wilhelmine, man is but man after all, and no God! Nothing in his nature is eternal and imperishable, not even love; not that ardent, passionate love which is only crowned by the possession of the loved and adored object. But possession it is, this longed-for possession, that kills love. We are only charmed with that for which we long; when once attained we become accustomed to it, and custom begets indifference. It is heart-rending that it should be so, but it is so! We cannot change human nature, and human we all are!”

“Words, words,” she murmured. “Why not say it all at once. You do not love me? You love another? Answer these two questions; I conjure you, answer them!”

“I will, Wilhelmine. I no longer love you, you say. It is true, I no longer love you as I once loved you, but perhaps more, perhaps better, more purely! I no longer love you, but I entertain for you the dearest and most enduring friendship. Love is like the sun: it shines brightly in the morning, but sets when evening comes. Friendship is like the evening star, ever present, and only obscured at times by the greater brilliancy of the sun. Wilhelmine our sun has at last set after gladdening us with its rays for many long years. And you cannot justly complain of its departure; it was necessary that night should ultimately come. But the evening-star still shines in the heavens, and will ever shine there! I pray you, Wilhelmine, be no weak, no ordinary woman! Do not make useless complaints, but look at matters as they are. Be strong, and overcome the petty vanity of the woman who feels herself insulted when her lover’s passion cools. I do not love you; and, as I am a man, and as the human heart is always susceptible to a new love, I am also ready to make this admission: I love another! Be composed, do not interrupt me with reproaches. This is unalterable, and we must have the courage to look the truth in the face! Yes, I love another, and love her as ardently as I once loved you, but—I now no longer believe in an eternity of passion; I know that it will decline, and I therefore no longer tell my new love as I once told you. I will love you as long as I live; but I only say, I will love you as long as my heart will permit! I know that a day will come when I will also weary of this love; but never, never will the day come, Wilhelmine, when the friendship I feel for you could grow cold, when I could become indifferent to her I once so passionately loved, and to whom I owe the happiest years of my life! Some day my heart will be callous to all love and all women, but it will ever beat warmly for you; the days of my youth will be reflected from your brow, and the recollections of happy years will bind me more firmly to you, than all the vows of love could bind me to other women. Be as strong, brave, and wise, as you have always been; forgive me this human weakness. Renounce my love, and accept my friendship—my true, lasting, and imperishable friendship.”

“Friendship!” she repeated, with mocking laughter. “The word has a freezing sound. You promised me glowing wine, and now you offer to quench the thirst of my heart with cold water.”

“Of wine we grow weary, Wilhelmine. Heavenly intoxication is followed by highly terrestrial headache; but pure water refreshes and revives without intoxicating; it gives health and tranquillizes the heart.”

“Or turns it to ice,” rejoined Wilhelmine.

“Not so, it gives new warmth! And thus it is with friendship also, Wilhelmine.”

“And all this means,” said she, sobbing, “that you intend to drive me from your side, to banish me? I am to be compelled to yield to a rival?”

“No, that you shall not do!” he cried with vivacity. “No, you are only to consent to be my friend, to elevate yourself above all petty jealousy, and to wisely and discreetly adapt yourself to the unavoidable. If you should not be able to do this, Wilhelmine, if you should attempt to play the rÔle of the jealous Orsina, instead of that of the discreet friend, then only would I, to my own great sorrow, be compelled to separate from you, to renounce the pleasure of associating with my dear friend, and—”

“No,” she cried in dismay, as she threw her arms around him; “no, I cannot live without you, I will not go into exile with my poor, dear children!”

“With your children!” repeated the king. “Who thinks of sending these children into exile?”

“Do you not consider it possible that you will send me into exile? And where I am, there my children will also be, of course!”

“Where you are, Wilhelmine, there your daughter will be; that is lawful and natural. But the son belongs to the father; and, whatever may divide and separate us, my son Alexander shall not leave me; my bright, handsome boy, remains with his father.”

It had grown dark, and he could not see the light of the bold resolution Wilhelmine had formed, sparkling in her eyes.

She laid her hand on Frederick William’s shoulder. “We are standing on the threshold of a new era,” said she, “my son shall now decide between you and me. I lay my fate in his hands, and will accept it as if it came from God. We will have him called, and he shall choose between his father and his mother. If he decides to leave me and remain with you, I will bow my head in humility, and will remain, and content myself with your friendship. I will stand in darkness, and view from afar my happy rival sunning herself in your love. But if my son should decide to go with his mother, then, like Hagar, I will wander forth into the desert. But I will not complain, and will not feel unhappy; I will have at my side, my son, the image of his father; the son in whom I love the father!”

“So let it be,” cried the king. “Our son shall decide. Go, and bring him in.”

“No, I will only see him in your presence; you might otherwise suppose I had influenced his decision. Permit me to have him called.”

She rang the bell, and ordered the servant to bring lights, and request his young master to come at once to his majesty’s presence.

“We will soon learn the decision of fate,” said Wilhelmine, when the servant had closed the door. “For fate will speak to me through the mouth of my son!”

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CHAPTER IX.

THE DECISION.

A few minutes had hardly elapsed before the door of the parlor was opened, and Wilhelmine’s son entered. With flushed cheeks and a displeased expression on his handsome face, the boy walked up to the king, who was gazing at him tenderly.

“My gracious father,” said he, “you promised to join us in the rose-pavilion, down at the river side; and we waited and waited, but all in vain! The sunset was splendid; it was a beautiful sight to see the sun fall into the water all at once; but you would not come to tell the dear sun ‘good-night.’ Why not? I think a king should always keep his word, and you certainly promised to come!”

“Well, my severe young gentleman,” said the king, smiling, “I beg your pardon. But I had to speak with your mother on matters of importance, and you must have the goodness to excuse me.”

The boy turned and looked inquiringly at the face of his mother. “Was it necessary, mamma?”

The king burst into laughter. “Really,” he cried, “you are a grand inquisitor, my little Alexander. I am almost afraid of you. But you have not yet answered his severity, mamma. Excuse me to this young gentleman by assuring him that we had matters of the gravest importance to discuss.”

“Alexander knows that what the king says and does is above all blame,” replied Wilhelmine, gravely; “and I beg that he may be excused for losing sight of the king and thinking only of the indulgent father. But now hear why your father sent for you, my son; and answer his questions as your little head and heart shall prompt.”

“Shall I state the question?” asked the king, in some embarrassment. “I had rather you did it, Wilhelmine. However,” he continued, as she shook her head in dissent, “ it shall be as you desire. Listen, my little Alexander. Your mother thinks of going on a journey, and of leaving here for a few years. I intend to give your mother several estates in Prussia as a remembrance of this day, and she may conclude to make them her home for some years. Although such a life may be pleasant for ladies, it is very quiet and lonely, and not at all suitable for a young man who still has a great deal to learn, and who is ambitious of becoming a soldier, which he could not well accomplish in the country. I therefore, very naturally, desire that you should separate yourself from your mother for a few years, and remain with me, your father, who certainly loves you as much as she does. But we have determined to leave the decision to you, although you are still so young, and I now ask you, my son, will you go with your mother, or will you remain with your father? Do not reply at once, my child, but take time for consideration.”

“Oh, my dear papa,” said the boy, quickly, “there is nothing to consider, I know at once what I ought to do. My dear mamma has always remained with me, she has never deserted me. And when I had the measles, a short time ago, she sat at my bedside, day and night, and played with me, and told me such beautiful stories. And I would never have got well if my mamma had not nursed me. Whenever she left my bed, if only for a few minutes, I grew worse and suffered much more, and when she returned I always felt relieved at once. And how could I now desert the dear mamma, who never deserted me?”

“Oh, my child, my darling child,” cried Wilhelmine, her eyes filling with tears, “God bless you for these words! But yet this shall not be a decision. You must take some time for consideration, my son. I am going to live on my estates, as your father told you. It will be very quiet and lonely in the country; there will be no soldiers, no beautiful houses, no amusements, and no boys to play with. But if you remain here with your father, you will have all this, and be honored and respected as a prince. You will live with your tutor, in a splendid house, in the beautiful city of Berlin, you will take delightful rides and drives, and see the soldier’s drill every day. Your father will give you all you desire.”

“Then let him give me my mamma,” cried the boy eagerly. “Yes, my papa, if I can live with my dear mamma in a fine house in Berlin, and if you will come right often to see us, I will have all I desire.”

“But your mother will not remain in Berlin, Alexander, and, therefore, you must decide whether you will go with her, or stay here with your father.”

“Well, then,” said Alexander, gravely, “if I must choose between you, I will go with mamma, of course. To be sure, I am very sorry to leave my papa, but I cannot live without my mamma; she is so good to me and loves me so dearly, I am always afraid when she is not with me.”

Speechless with emotion, Wilhelmine sank on her knees, her countenance radiant with delight, and extended her arms toward her son, who threw himself on her breast with a loving cry.

The king turned away, his heart filled with unutterable sadness. He covered his eyes with his hands, and stood in the middle of the chamber, isolated and deserted in his grief, while he could hear the kisses, sobs, and whispered words of tenderness of the mother and her son. Suddenly he felt a light touch on his shoulder and heard a mournful, trembling voice murmur his name. The king withdrew his hands from his countenance, and his eyes met Wilhelmine’s. She stood before the king, her right hand resting on the boy’s shoulder, who had thrown his arm around her waist and nestled closely to her side.

“Farewell, Frederick William!” said she in a loud and solemn voice. “Hagar is going forth into the desert of life! The estates and treasures which you offer me, I reject; my children must not suffer want, however, and the little that has heretofore been mine, I will retain. As soon as I find a place where I wish to remain, you will be informed of it, and I desire that the furniture of this house be sent to me there. The house shall be sold, and the proceeds will constitute my fortune and the inheritance of my children. I leave here with my children to-night. My thoughts and blessings will, however, remain with the father of my children. Farewell, your majesty, and may your happiness be complete! Farewell!” She bowed her head in a last greeting, and then turned and walked slowly through the room, supported by her son.

The king looked after her in breathless suspense; with every step she took his anxiety increased. And when she opened the door, and mother and son were about to pass the threshold, without even once turning to look at him, whose eyes were filled with tears, and who was regarding them with such fondness and such agony, he uttered a cry of dismay, rushed after them, seized Wilhelmine’s arm, and thrust her back into the room with such violence that she fell helplessly to the floor, and her son burst into tears.

His sobs seemed to arouse Wilhelmine from her insensibility. She arose, and turned with proud composure to the king, who stood before her almost breathless with passion.

“Send him out of the room,” she murmured. “He should not see your majesty in this condition.”

The king made no reply, but took the boy by the hand, kissed him tenderly, and then led him to the door, and locked it behind him. He then returned to Wilhelmine, who awaited him with pallid cheeks, although her manner was perfectly composed.

“Wilhelmine,” said he, uttering each word with difficulty, “Wilhelmine, it is not possible. You cannot leave me. If you go, my youth, my happiness, my good star go with you! Have pity on me! See how I suffer! Be great, be good, be merciful! Stay with me!”

“Thou hearest him, O God,” cried Wilhelmine, raising her arms toward heaven. “Thou hearest him, and Thou seest what I suffer! I have loved him from my youth. I have been true to him in every thought, with every breath of life. I have borne for his sake shame and disgrace, and the contempt of the world. I have bestowed upon him all the treasures of my soul and heart; and yet my sacrifices have not been great enough, I have not yet been sufficiently humiliated. He demands of the mother of his children a still greater sacrifice: that I renounce his love, and stand by and see him give to another the love he swore should be mine! O Thou Great, Thou Almighty God, have pity on me! Send down a flash of lightning to kill and save me! I cannot live without him, and I may not live with him.”

“Wilhelmine,” said the king, in a hollow voice, “you will not make this sacrifice? You will not remain with me as my best and dearest friend—the friend to whom I will give my whole confidence, who shall share my thoughts as my sister soul, and from whom I will conceal no secrets?”

She slowly shook her head. What did Cleopatra determine to do, rather than grace the triumph of her faithless lover and her hated rival, and pass under the yoke? She determined to die; she let loose the serpent which had been gnawing at her heart, that it might take her life. “I prefer to die like Cleopatra, rather than live like the Marquise de Pompadour.”

“Well, then,” said Frederick William, his voice trembling with emotion, and looking tenderly at Wilhelmine, “I will prove to you that the friendship I entertain for you is stronger than the love I have given to another. I sacrifice to you, the beloved of my youth and the friend of my soul, all the wishes and hopes of my heart. I will renounce my love for the maid of honor, Julie von Voss, and will see her no more. She shall leave the court, and I will never seek to recall her. Are you now contented, Wilhelmine? Will you remain with me, and not deprive me of my dear son, who was about to leave me on your account? Wilhelmine, will you try to forget, and—” The king’s voice faltered, and tears rushed to his eyes, but with an effort he steadied his voice and continued: “and will you sincerely endeavor to compensate me for what I sacrifice?”

With a cry of joy, Wilhelmine threw her arms around the king’s neck, and pressed a long and fervent kiss on his quivering lips.

“I thank you, Frederick William, I thank you! You promised me when you came that you would to-day reward me for my love and fidelity during the long years which have been. You have kept your promise, my beloved; you have rewarded me. You have made the greatest sacrifice one human being can make for another. You have sacrificed the passion of your heart, and are ready to keep the faith which you sealed with your blood. See here, Frederick William, see this scar on my hand! This wound I gave myself, in order that I might write for you in my own blood my vow of love and fidelity. You kissed the wound and drank of my blood, swearing that you would always love, and never desert me. You have kept your oath, Frederick William. You have conquered yourself; you have now sealed your faith with the greatest human sacrifice.”

The king suppressed the sigh which trembled on his lips, and pressed Wilhelmine’s head to his bosom. “Now you will remain, Wilhelmine? Now you will not go?”

She raised her head quickly, and looked at him with beaming eyes. “I will remain with you, Frederick William; I will remain. And, stronger in my love than Cleopatra was, I will pass under the yoke, and march quietly in the triumphal procession of my rival. Sacrifice for sacrifice! You were ready to sacrifice your passion, I will sacrifice to you my woman’s pride and vanity! I, the discarded woman, will walk without murmuring behind your new love and be her trainbearer. Go, Frederick William, and woo this beautiful young lady; wed her, if your priests will permit; be happy with her, and love her as long as you can, and then return to your friend, who can never cease to love you—whose affection for you is the breath of her life.”

“Oh, Wilhelmine, my dear, my generous Wilhelmine,” cried the king, pressing her to his heart, “I can never forget this noble-hearted generosity; I can never cease to be grateful! I have told you already, and I now repeat it: the human heart is inconstant, and every love must at last die; but friendship lives forever. No earthly desires dim the pure flame of its holy affection. Oh, Wilhelmine, I will never desert you; never shall your enemies and rivals succeed in estranging my heart from you, my friend.”

“Swear that they shall not!” cried Wilhelmine, raising her right hand. “Lay your fingers on this scar on my hand, and swear that you will be my dear friend throughout my whole life, that nothing shall separate us, and that nothing shall induce you to drive me from your side, but that I shall live where you live, and ever be your friend, your confidante, and your sister soul.”

The king laid the fingers of his right hand on the scar, repeated the words she had spoken, and swore that he would be her true and devoted friend until death, that he would never drive her from his side, but that she should live where he lived, and remain with him as his friend and confidante for all time. [25]

“And now that we have come to an understanding,” said he with a joyous smile, “I may perhaps be permitted to reward my dear friend, and shed a ray of my newly-acquired royalty on this humble dwelling! You said some time ago that you desired to sell this house and live on the proceeds of its sale. I approve of your plan. I will purchase this house of you for five hundred thousand dollars. You will endeavor to live on the interest of this sum; if there should be a hitch now and then, and debts should arise, you need only inform me of the fact and they shall be paid.”

“Oh, my dear, my generous friend,” cried Wilhelmine, “how can I thank you, how—”

“Be still,” said the king, interrupting her, “I have not yet quite finished. The house is now mine; and the price agreed upon shall be paid you to-morrow out of the royal fund. As I can do what I please with my own property, I intend to make a present of it to the mother of the Count and Countess von der Mark. And it will be my first care to have it enlarged and elegantly furnished, in order that it may be a suitable dwelling for the Count and Countess von der Mark, and particularly for their noble and beautiful mother!”

“The Count and Countess von der Mark?” repeated Wilhelmine with astonishment. “Who are they? Who is their mother? I never heard of them!”

“You shall soon become acquainted with them, only wait,” said the king smiling; and he went to the door, unlocked it, and gave the bell-rope which hung beside it a violent pull.

“Where are the children?” asked the king, of the servant who rushed forward to answer his summons.

“Your majesty, my young master and mistress are in the dining-room.”

“Send them to me immediately,” said the king; and he remained standing at the door awaiting them. When they came running into the parlor with anxious, inquiring looks, the king took them by the hand and conducted them to their mother.

“Madame,” said he, gravely, “I have the honor to introduce to you Countess Mariane and Count Alexander von der Mark.”

“Count Alexander von der Mark?” repeated the boy, looking up wonderingly at his father. “Who is that?”

“That you are, my son,” said the king, as he stooped down and raised the boy up in his arms. “You are the Count von der Mark, and your sister is the countess; and you shall have the Prussian eagle in your coat of arms, and shall be honored at my court as my dear, handsome son. All the proud courtiers shall bow their heads before you and your sister. The Count and Countess von der Mark shall have the precedence at my court over all the noble families; and their place shall immediately be behind the royal princesses.”

“And that will be my dear mamma’s place, too?” said Alexander. “She will always be where we are?”

“Yes,” said the king hastily, “she will always remain with her dear children. Yes, and (as the young count once remarked that, if he could live in a splendid house ‘under the Linden-trees’[26] with his mother, and if I would go to see them right often, he would have all he desired), I will make him a present of the most magnificent house ‘under the Linden-trees’ in Berlin, and the young count shall live there, and I will visit him right often in his new home.”

“That will be splendid,” cried the boy clapping his hands. “You are delighted, too, are you not, Mariane?”

“Certainly I am,” replied his sister, smiling, “and I thank his majesty for the great honor he confers in giving us such grand titles.”

“I am glad to hear that you are pleased with your title, my dear daughter; but, as names and titles do not sustain life, a sufficient amount will be set apart for your use as pin-money. And when a suitable and agreeable gentleman demands your hand in marriage, you shall have a dowry of two hundred thousand dollars. When this becomes known you will certainly not fail to have a vast number of admirers from which to make your selection. No more thanks, if you please! We will now go to dinner. Count von der Mark, give your mother your arm, I will escort the young countess.”

“Your majesty,” announced the servant, who entered at this moment, “Colonel von Bischofswerder and Privy-Chamberlain von WÖllner have just arrived, and beg to be admitted to your majesty’s presence!”

“True, indeed,” murmured the king, “I had altogether forgotten them. Madame, you will please excuse me for withdrawing from your society. I must not keep these gentlemen waiting, as I directed them to meet me here on important business. When this business is transacted I must however return to Potsdam. Farewell, and await me at breakfast to-morrow morning.”

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CHAPTER X.

THE INVOCATION.

“You have then really come, my friends,” said the king. “You have really determined to attempt to invoke the Invisible?”

“God is mighty in the weak,” said WÖllner, folding his hands piously; “and we men are merely the vessels into which He pours His anger and His love, and in which He makes Himself manifest. By fasting and prayer I have made myself worthy to commune with spirits.”

“The longing after the Invisible Fathers throbs in my heart and brain; and, if in the heat of this longing I invoke them, they will lend an ear to my entreaties, and approach to answer the questions of your majesty, their best-beloved son.”

“Nor have I a doubt on the subject,” said Bischofswerder, complacently. “I will entreat the spirit of the grand-kophta with the whole strength of my soul, and with all the means which the holy secret sciences place at my disposal. The hour has come in which will be determined whether the immortal spirit controls the mortal body, compelling it to obey its behests in spite of time and space.”

“Then you really consider it possible, my friend? You are yet of the opinion that the grand-kophta will appear in answer to your invocations?”

“Yes, sire, I am of that opinion!”

“That is to say, his spirit will come amongst us in some intangible shape. You cannot be in earnest when you assert that he will answer your call in the body, as I have already told you that the grand-kophta is in London. Our ambassador not only saw him there, but spoke with him the very day he dispatched the courier, who arrived here yesterday.”

“Your majesty, the secret sciences teach me that the spirit controls the body; and we will now test the truth of this lesson. If the grand-kophta does not appear in flesh and blood, and give to your majesty, with his own hand, the elixir of life for which your soul thirsts, science lies, and the sublime spirits consider me unworthy of their confidence! In that event, I will renounce my right to enter the inner temple; it will be evident that I am not one of the enlightened. I will bow submissively to the anger and contempt of the Invisible, and return voluntarily to the outer temple to begin my apprenticeship anew.”

The king shook his head thoughtfully. “Your faith is heroic; and I only hope you are not doomed to be disappointed. And now, let us begin our work!”

“His majesty’s will be done,” replied the two Rosicrucians, respectfully. “Will your majesty permit us to go to the laboratory in order to make our preparations?”

“I will accompany you, and render assistance as an inferior brother. You know that no one besides us three is permitted to enter this laboratory; and I therefore keep the key in a secret drawer of my writing-desk, which I alone can open!”

“Permit us to withdraw, in order that we may not see from what place your majesty takes the key.”

The two Rosicrucians walked toward the door, and turned their faces so that they could not see what was done behind them.

“I have the key,” said the king, after a short interval. “Come, my brothers. I am now ready!”

He walked rapidly to the door, unlocked it, and entered the laboratory, followed by Bischofswerder and WÖllner.

But hardly had the king stepped into the room before he uttered a cry of terror, and staggered back, pale with fright.

“The Invisibles! the Invisibles!” he murmured. “See! See! They knew we were coming, and have made all the preparations!”

“All hail, the Invisible Fathers,” cried WÖllner, with enthusiasm. “They have prepared the altar.”

“The Invisibles are awaiting us; they approve of our purpose,” shouted Bischofswerder, exultingly. “Oh, behold, my king! Oh, see, my brother!”

He drew the king eagerly to the large furnace which occupied one entire side of the laboratory; and it really looked as if invisible hands had been at work in this chamber. A bright fire was burning in the furnace, jets of flame darted forth through the openings, and licked the pans and retorts in which liquids and mixtures of various colors boiled and simmered.

“All is prepared,” said Bischofswerder, who had been examining the retorts closely. “It seems the Invisibles are concocting a secret mixture. But my eyes are blinded, and my brain is still in darkness; these substances and elixirs are unknown to me; I only feel that their fragrance fills me with wondrous delight. Oh, come, your majesty, and inhale this blessed aroma—this atmosphere of invisible worlds!”

The king timidly stepped up close to the furnace, and inclined his head over the retort pointed out by Bischofswerder. Dense vapors arose from the bubbling mass and enveloped the king’s head.

“It is true,” said the king, inhaling deep draughts of the vapor. “It creates a wondrous sensation of delight and ecstasy!”

“It is the fragrance of the spirit-world,” said WÖllner, impressively.—“Oh, I feel, I know that my prayers have been heard. They are coming! Lo, the Invisibles are approaching! Look, my king, look up there!”

The king turned eagerly to WÖllner, whose right arm was raised, and pointed to the opposite wall.

“See, see these heavenly forms waving their hands and greeting us!”

“I see nothing,” murmured the king, sadly. “The visions which bless the eye of the anointed are invisible to me. I see nothing!”

No, the king saw nothing! To him the chamber was empty. He saw no spirits, nor did he see Bischofswerder throw a handful of white powder into the large retort at this moment. But he saw the white clouds which now ascended from the furnace; he saw the flames which burst forth from the retorts, and, in the explosions and detonations which ensued, he heard the roar of invisible musketry.

“The Invisibles are contending fiercely,” exclaimed WÖllner. “The good and bad spirits are warring with each other, and struggling for the possession of our noble king. The holy ones and the Rosicrucians are battling with the freethinkers and scoffers, and the so-called enlightened. Give the former the victory, Almighty God! Incline Thyself to the believers and Rosicrucians, and deal out destruction to the unbelievers and scoffers! On my knees I entreat thee, Thou Ruler of all things! have pity on the king, have pity on us, and—”

A loud and fearful detonation—a whistling, howling roar—drowned his voice. Dense white clouds, through which tongues of flame darted in every direction, ascended from the furnace and gradually filled the room.

The king had staggered back, and would have fallen to the ground, but for Bischofswerder, who had supported him and conducted him to an arm-chair, into which he sank back helplessly. His eyes closed, and for a few moments he was in an unconscious condition.

Suddenly the king’s name resounded in his ear and aroused him from this trance. “Awake, Frederick William, awake! Ours is the victory! The holy cross of love and of roses is victorious! The evil spirits have flown! Awake, Frederick William, awake! The Invisibles are ready to answer your questions!”

The king opened his eyes and looked around. He saw nothing at first but the clouds which encircled him. But suddenly a face seemed to arise in their midst—a face of deathly pallor? Long brown hair fell down on either side of the broad, but low forehead. Its widely-opened glassy eyes seemed to stare at the king, who shuddered, and would have turned away had not some invisible power compelled him to continue gazing at this death-like countenance. By degrees the vision grew more distinct, and stood out from the surrounding vapor in bolder relief. The neck and shoulders now appeared, and gradually the entire body of a man of a powerful build was disclosed. He wore a tightly-fitting jerkin of leather; his neck was encircled with a broad, double lace collar. A golden star glittered on his breast, and a richly-embroidered velvet mantle, bordered with ermine, hung down over his broad shoulders. This mighty, princely figure stood immovable in the midst of the white clouds, which enveloped it like a winding-sheet. But its large, proud eyes seemed fixed on Frederick William with a cold, hard look. The king shuddered, and uttered low entreaties for mercy.

“Fear nothing, Frederick William,” said the vision, which spoke without opening its lips. These tones struck on the king’s ear like a voice from the grave. “Fear nothing, Frederick William; I have not come to alarm, but to console you. The Invisibles have sent me to soothe your heart, and give peace and consolation to your soul. Do you not know who I am, Frederick William?”

“No,” replied the king, in a low voice, “I do not.”

“I am Philip of Hesse,” rejoined the closed lips. “Philip of Hesse, called, by foolish and short-sighted men, ‘The Magnanimous.’”

“Ah, now I know who you are, my prince,” cried the king. “You, it was, who overthrew the rebellious peasants in battle, who overcame Franz von Sickingen, and introduced the reformation into Germany. You were the prince who submitted to the Emperor Charles the Fifth, after the unfortunate battle of MÜhlberg; were taken prisoner by him, and held in captivity until released by the treaty of Passau. Tell me, sublime spirit, are you not the spirit of that noble prince, of Philip the Magnanimous?”

“I am! My whole life was a struggle, and I had many enemies to contend with. But my most formidable enemy was my own heart. This enemy was love, passionate love. Wedded since my sixteenth year with Christina of Saxony, selected as my wife for state reasons; my heart became inflamed with love for the beautiful Margaret von Saale, and my one great desire was to win her and call her my wife. But her virtue withstood my entreaties; and, although she loved me, she was nevertheless determined to fly from me unless our union could be consummated by the blessing of a priest. It was in vain that I besought her to become mine. These were days of agony, and this struggle was harder than any I had maintained on the field of battle. I then suffered and wept as though I were a puling boy, and not a warrior and prince.”

“You are recounting the history of my own sufferings,” murmured the king, in a low voice. “You are describing my own struggles!”

“I know it,” replied the apparition. “My eye sees your heart, and your sufferings, and therefore have I come to console you, to tell you that I have suffered as you suffer, and that your wounds shall be healed as mine were. The maiden you love is as virtuous as Margaret von Saale was. Like Margaret von Saale she demands that she be made your wedded wife. In my distress and misery I addressed myself to the great reformer, whom I had patronized with pious zeal. I asked Luther if the church could bless a marriage of the left hand, when a marriage of the right hand already existed; and Luther, the man of justice and of truth, replied: ‘It stands in the Bible that the left hand shall not know what the right does; and, consequently, it is not necessary that the right hand should know what the left does. The wife of the left hand has nothing to do with the wife of the right, forced upon you for reasons of state. The former is the wife of the prince, the latter will be the wife of the man. And, as two persons are united in you, the prince and the man, these persons can contract two marriages, the one for the prince and the other for the man, and the blessing of the church is admissible for both.’ But the sensitive conscience of my beautiful Margaret was not yet satisfied. I now turned to Philip Melanchthon, the great scholar, the strictly moral and virtuous man, and demanded his opinion, telling him that the decision should rest in his hands. But Philip Melanchthon decided as Luther had done, and proved by Holy Writ that such a marriage was possible and admissible. He, however, added the condition that the consent of the wife of the right hand must be obtained before the marriage of the left hand could be consummated. My generous wife gave her consent. Margaret von Saale became my wedded wife, and the mother of seven children, who were the joy and pride of their parents. To tell you this, I left the peaceful grave. Such were the commands of the sublime spirits, who are greater than I, and who rule over the living and the dead. Learn by my example how virtue can be reconciled to love. Put away from you the unchaste woman with whom you live; turn your countenance from her forever—and seek and find your happiness at the side of the noble young woman to whom you shall be united by priestly blessings. Farewell! My time has expired, I must go.”

The apparition seemed to melt away; it grew darker and fainter. For a while its dim and uncertain outlines could be seen when the clouds lifted, and then it disappeared entirely. The clouds also slowly vanished; and now they were gone, the fire could once more be seen burning brightly in the furnace. The king looked around, and observed his two friends kneeling and praying on either side of his chair.

“Have you been listening, my friends? Did you hear the utterances of the blessed spirits?”

“We have heard nothing but mutterings and shrieks, and therefore we have been entreating the sublime spirits to mitigate their anger,” said WÖllner, shaking his head. “But I saw a vision, a heavenly vision,” cried Bischofswerder. “I saw my beloved king and master, standing between two noblewomen. They both regarded him tenderly. They stood, the one on the right, the other on the left hand; on the extended right hand of both glittered a golden ring, the precious symbol of marriage. The countenance of my royal master was radiant with delight; and above him shone the star of pure and chaste love. And it seemed to me that I heard a heavenly voice cry: ‘Find your happiness at the side of the noble young woman to whom you will be joined by priestly blessings.’”

“These were the last words of the sublime spirit that appeared to me,” said the king, joyfully. “You heard them, my faithful friend, while wrestling in prayer at my side. Oh, I thank you both; and while I live, I will reward your fidelity. But, alas,” continued the king, with a deep-drawn sigh, “I only fear that my life will be of short duration! I feel weak and exhausted, and upon you and your influence, my friend, I depend for the life-restoring elixir.”

“I will procure it, you shall have it,” cried Bischofswerder, rising from his knees with youthful vivacity, in spite of his corpulence. “The invocation shall now begin. I will command my spirit to leave the body, and fly through time and space to the grand-kophta, to entreat him to give to the doubting, unbelieving king a visible sign of his heavenly power, to convince him that the mind rules over the body.”

“Do not attempt it, my dear friend; do not, I solemnly conjure you,” implored WÖllner. “It is tempting God, to seek to set at naught the laws of Nature. It is possible that your mighty spirit has power to tear itself from the body, and transport itself from place to place with the rapidity of thought; but consider the difficulty of returning, consider whether the cold, dead body can be a fitting receptacle and abode for the spirit on its return.”

“I know that this is the great danger to which I shall be exposed,” replied Bischofswerder. “But I will dare all for my king, and no danger shall terrify me when his health and happiness are at stake.—Be still, my king! No thanks whatever! I love you! That suffices, that explains all! And now let me take my departure! Now let me invoke the grand-kophta, the dispenser of life and health!—But listen, WÖllner, listen to these last words! If the Invisibles assist me, and enable my spirit to leave its earthly tenement, my body will grow cold and assume a death-like appearance. But this must not lead you to suppose that I am dead. Only when this condition shall have lasted more than half an hour, I beg that you will kneel down beside my body and entreat the Invisibles to command my spirit to return to its earthly abode. Truly I would not wish to remain in a bodiless state, when the king needs my services. And now, my king and master, permit me to kiss your hand before I go.”

“No, my true, my generous friend, come to my heart!” cried the king, as he embraced Bischofswerder, and pressed a kiss on his forehead.

“And now, hear me, ye Invisibles! Lend an ear to my prayer! Give wings to my spirit that it may fly through time and space!—Here, WÖllner! hold my body!”

WÖllner rushed forward in answer to this call, and caught Bischofswerder in his arms as he was on the point of falling to the floor. He rested the head on his breast, covered the face with his hand, and gently stroked his cheeks and brow. The king, who stood behind him in breathless suspense, did not comprehend what was going on, and did not see the little bottle which WÖllner held under his friend’s nose, nor did he see him slip it adroitly into his coat-sleeve when he arose. But when WÖllner stepped back, and pointed solemnly to the tranquil body, the king saw that Bischofswerder’s spirit had flown. He saw that the pallid, inanimate object, which lay in the chair, was nothing more than the empty tenement, once the abode of Bischofswerder’s spirit. Of this, the widely-extended, glassy eyes, and the stiffened features, were sufficient evidence.

The king shuddered, and turned away. “It is fearful to look upon the lifeless body of a friend who dies in an endeavor to save and prolong our life. How fearful, if death should be the stronger, and prevent the spirit from returning to its dwelling! Not only would we mourn the loss of a friend, but his death would have been in vain, and the elixir of life unattained! We must observe the time closely and count the minutes, in order that the prayers may begin when the half-hour has elapsed.” With trembling hands the king drew his richly-jewelled watch from his pocket, and watched the creeping hands in breathless anxiety. His alarm increased as time progressed, and now, when only five minutes were wanting to complete the half-hour, the king turned pale and trembled with terror. “Only one minute more, then—”

“He moves,” whispered WÖllner. “See, your majesty! Oh, see! There is life in his eye, his month closes, the hue of life returns to his cheek. A miracle, a miracle has taken place! The spirit has returned to the earthly tabernacle!”

Bischofswerder is once more among the living; he arises. His eyes seek the king and find him. With unsteady gait, a smile on his lips, he approached the king. “Sire, my spirit greets you, my heart shouts for joy. I bring you glad tidings! The grand-kophta has yielded to my entreaties. He approaches to give my king life and health, and above all things to remove his unbelief!”

“He is then really coming? He approaches?” cried the king, joyfully.

“Call him, your majesty! Call the grand-kophta, but do so with a believing and confident heart.”

“Grand-kophta! Sublimest of the sublime! Lend an ear to my entreaties! Appear Divo Cagliostro! Appear, my lord and master!”

A flash, a detonation, proceeding from the furnace, near which WÖllner stands, and all is once more concealed by the clouds of vapor which fill the room. When they at last rise and pass away, a tall figure, enveloped in a long black mantle, is seen standing in the middle of the room. The head only is uncovered, and this head is surrounded with waving black hair, in the midst of which a precious stone shines and sparkles with the lustre of a star. And the large black eyes, which are fastened on the king’s countenance, with a mild and tender look, also shine like stars.

Carried away with rapture and enthusiasm, the king falls on his knees, and raises his hands in adoration.

But the grand-kophta advanced noiselessly to the kneeling king, begged him to rise, and helped him to do so with his own hand. “Yes, you are really my sublime master,” cried the enraptured king. “I feel the warm, living body, the loving pressure of the blessing-dispensing hand. Hail, master! hail Cagliostro!”

“You appealed to me for assistance,” said Cagliostro, in solemn tones. “I heard the call of the noble messenger you sent me as I was about to enter the St. James’s Palace in London. King George of England had received another visitation from the demons who confuse his brain and darken his intellect. I was sent for and urged to come at once and drive out the demons from the head of the sick king. But it is of more importance that the healthy should not become sick, than that the sick man’s condition should be somewhat improved. The spirit Althotas cried out to me, saying: ‘Hasten to King Frederick William of Prussia; without your assistance he must languish and die. Hasten to preserve his health and strengthen his noble soul with the breath of immortality.’ At first I was uncertain of whom Althotas spoke, for I had not yet heard of king Frederick’s death. But before my eyes there suddenly arose the vision of an old man reclining in an arm-chair. He was on the threshold of the grave; his lips quivered and his eye grew dim, and the blood refused to flow from the open vein. Two weeping servants stood at his side; a greyhound lay at his feet. Above him in the air I saw the demons of unbelief struggling for the soul which had just left the body; but the good angels turned away in anger. And I interpreted this vision aright; I now knew that the unbelieving king was dead, and that Frederick William, the favorite of the Invisible Fathers, was now king of Prussia. Althotas then cried out, for the second time: ‘Hasten, Frederick William needs you sorely. Hasten, that he may not die. I impart to the mortal the strength of immortality!’ I turned my back on St. James’s Palace, and immediately repaired to the holy laboratory of the spirits, to procure the necessary remedies. I then arose and flew to my suffering king on the wings of the Invisible.”

“It is then true, it is really possible!” cried the enraptured king. “You are really the great Cagliostro! You have accomplished this miracle, have compelled the body to subject itself to the will of the spirit, and fly through time and space at its command! Oh, let me fall down and embrace your knees! Infuse the heavenly breath of thy lips into my enfeebled body!”

And he sank on his knees before the grand-kophta, and looked up to him in supplication.

“Arise, Frederick William; favorite of the Invisible, arise from your knees! I have not come to humble you, but to raise you up. The king who rules over millions of human beings, must not bend the knee to mortal man, and worship that which is visible and perishable. Humble your immortal spirit before the immortal, and lift up your soul in adoration to the unseen and imperishable. Be the ruler of men, and the humble subject of the Invisible. Arise, Frederick William, and listen to what I have to say, for my time is short, and Althotas awaits me on the threshold of St James’s Palace, in London.”

In obedience to this command the king arose from his knees, and stood before the magician, whose luminous eyes were still fixed intently on his countenance.

“You are not ill, Frederick William,” said he, “nor are you well; your spirit lacks buoyancy, its wings are drooping, and your pulse is feeble. Death is slowly but surely approaching, and you would languish and die, if there were no means of driving off this grim monster.”

“Oh, have pity on me! Give me the life-preserving elixir! Save me! I swear that my gratitude shall be unbounded, and that I am ready to bestow any reward that the Invisible Fathers may demand.”

“They, indeed, demand no sacrifice and accept no reward, as men do. Their actions are influenced by higher laws. Love, honor, and obedience, are the rewards they exact.”

“And from the depths of my heart, I promise them love, honor, and obedience.”

“The Invisibles know you to be an obedient servant, and therefore am I here to restore health and strength to your body. But hear me, Frederick William, and lay my words to heart! In order that death may obtain no power over you, your heart must regain its joyousness, and your soul its buoyancy. A passionate love, which you are too weak to overcome, has filled your heart, and therefore its joyousness is dimmed. Then, gratify this passion, Frederick William! The Invisibles give their consent! Let your whole being be imbued with this pure, this noble love; renounce all ignoble passions and desires. Make the fair maiden you love your wife, and peace, joy, and tranquillity, will once more abide in your heart, and your spirit will regain its buoyancy, and bear you aloft to the heights of enthusiasm. But your body shall also be restored to health; we will drive from it all weakness and disease. I bring you the elixir of life, of health, and of strength!”

“Oh, thanks, unspeakable thanks!” cried Frederick William, seizing the little bottle which Cagliostro held in his hand, and carrying it eagerly to his lips.

“Let me drink, sublime master! Let me drink of this heavenly elixir at once!”

“No! Save this precious medicine for a time when you will need it, when I will no longer be with you. For the present I am here, and I will infuse strength and health into your body! Receive these blessings, Frederick William! In the name of the Invisible, I anoint you king of the world and of life!”

As he uttered these words, he poured a few drops of some fluid on the king’s head from a bottle which he held in his hand. A delicious fragrance instantly filled the room. The king raised his head with an exclamation of delight, and inhaled, in long draughts, the fragrant atmosphere.

“A wondrous sensation thrills my being; I feel so happy, so buoyant! I am leaving earth; and now I seem to see the portals of Paradise!”

“Take this, and these portals will open to your view,” said Cagliostro, handing the king a little pill of some grayish substance. “Eat this, and all the bliss of Paradise will be yours!”

The king took the pill from Cagliostro’s extended hand, carried it to his lips, and slowly swallowed it. Instantly a tremor seized his whole body, his cheeks turned deathly pale; he tottered and sank back into the chair which WÖllner had noiselessly rolled forward.

Cagliostro stooped down over him, and regarded the shadows which passed across and darkened the king’s countenance. By degrees these shadows disappeared. His features brightened, and at last his countenance shone with joy and happiness, and was radiant with smiles.

“He is in Paradise,” said Cagliostro, stepping back from the chair. “His spirit revels in heavenly delights. An hour will elapse before he returns from Paradise to this earth, and the remembrance of what he has seen and enjoyed in this hour will be a sunbeam in his existence for a long time to come. He will long for a renewal of this bliss, and you must console him with the promise, that I will either appear to him in person, or else send him, by a messenger, at the expiration of each year, one of these wonderful pills, which condenses the delights of a whole life into one hour, provided he is an humble and obedient servant, and does the will of the Invisible in all things. His soul is lost in rapture, and his ear is closed to all earthly sounds!—And now, my friends, come nearer, and listen to my words.”

The two Rosicrucians, WÖllner and Bischofswerder, approached, in obedience to his command; and when Cagliostro laid his hands on their shoulders, their countenances beamed with delight.

“Speak to us, sublime master! Your utterances fall on our souls like heavenly dew. Speak, and command your servants to do your will!”

“You must continue the course marked out for you by the Fathers through me. You must aid in building up the kingdom of the Church and the Invisible on this earth. The Invisible Church, and her visible priests and representatives, shall alone rule on earth in the future, and, therefore, thrones must be overturned, crowns trodden in the dust, and the names of the kings and princes of earth uprooted like weeds and cast in the oven. An era of terror is drawing nigh when the sword and firebrand will go hand in hand through the land, and rapine and slaughter be the order of the day. The demons of insurrection and rebellion are already at work, threatening princes, and greeting the people with these words of promise: Liberty and Fraternity. We, the Invisible, the Sacred Fathers of the holy Church, have sent them out to carry terror to the hearts of princes. The king who has just died devoted his whole life to the enfranchisement of the spirit of the people; our chief endeavor must be to fetter this spirit, and restore the people and their rulers to their former humility and submission. They must do penance in sackcloth and ashes, and be made aware that the priests of the holy Church and the pious brothers of the order, can alone save them, and reduce their rebellious subjects to obedience and submission. The knife and burning fire are sometimes necessary to heal wounds and diseases. And these remedies we will apply. The revolution can be made a mighty and sublime weapon in the hands of the Invisible, and the bloodiest paths may lead to the greatest good! Alas, that we should be compelled to tread such paths!”

“Alas! alas!” cried the two Rosicrucians, pale with terror. The countenance of the slumbering king, however, still wore the same enraptured expression.

“But,” continued Cagliostro, “of these evils, good will come. The proud flesh shall be cut out with the knife, and the wound burned with fire, in order that it may heal the more rapidly. The storm of the revolution will shake the earth. Thrones will tremble, and princes fall down in the dust. The people will be lashed to fury, like the waves of the storm-tossed sea. But the holy Church will be the little vessel that bids the sea be still, and stems the tide of the people’s wrath by leading them back to humility and belief. Anger makes blind, and in their blindness they can the more readily be fettered. We, the Invisible Fathers, use the people to terrify the rulers. In all parts of Europe, the fathers and brothers of our order are preparing this work of destruction and overthrow, in order that the noble and sublime may be built up anew out of the dÉbris. Oh, my brothers, perform diligently your allotted task! In the name of the Invisible Fathers, I deliver over to you this kingdom and this king! Govern him, and make him serviceable to the holy order and the holy Church. You shall rule in Prussia. Build up the good, destroy the evil! But the greatest good is, belief; the greatest evil, unbelief! Root out the king’s unbelief! You will be justified in using any means, for the end sanctifies the means; and even that which is in itself vile, becomes a holy weapon in the hands of the chosen!—And now, my brothers, I bid you a final adieu; my time has expired, I must go!”

“Oh, master, do not leave us!” cried Bischofswerder. “Stay with us, and promote our holy ends.”

“Stay with us, and assist us in leading the king back to the right path,” exclaimed WÖllner.

“You can accomplish it without my assistance. Your will is strong, and his resistance will be but feeble! You shall be the kings of Prussia; you shall reign in the land! But do not forget that as rulers you will still be servants!”

“That we will never forget! We will ever obey the commands of the Invisibles, and faithfully execute their will as announced to us by your sublime lips!”

“Who knows that my lips will never speak to you again,” said Cagliostro, in a sad voice. “I wander through the world on the verge of an abyss, and the storm and revolution are my companions. From the murder and bloodshed of the revolution, the Church will blossom afresh. Remember these words, ye brothers of the cross and of the roses! Remember them, and farewell forever!”

---

CHAPTER XI.

THE WILL.

The solemn ceremony was over. The body of the great king had been borne forth from the apartments in which he had governed Prussia for so many years; from the house which had been his chief delight on earth, and which was thenceforth to stand as a monument of his life. But the deceased king’s commands and wishes were disregarded in the very beginning. And it was made manifest to the world that his successor did not intend to walk in his footsteps, and did not share his independent views on religious subjects, and his freedom from all prejudices. Frederick had caused a burial vault to be built for himself on the terraces. He desired that his body should find a last resting-place in the garden which he had made, and near the house in which he had lived with his friends, and in which he had been so happy!

But his successor considered such a resting-place, in the temple of Nature, and under the dome erected by the hand of the Almighty, an unfit abode for the remains of a king. He considered the temple of brick and mortar erected by the hand of man a far more worthy receptacle for the dead monarch.

The philosopher of Sans-Souci had not attended church for many years; and now, as if to proclaim to the world that a revolution had taken place in Prussia, the king’s body was deposited in the church. To the Garrison Church in Potsdam, where the plain and unadorned coffin of King Frederick William the First had been placed in the vault under the altar, the gloomy funeral procession of the dead ruler wended its way on the evening of the eighteenth of August. His generals and officers, the magistrate of Potsdam, and the members of his household, followed the funeral car. But his successor, King Frederick William, and the princes and princesses, were not present. In solitude, as he had lived, King Frederick descended into the dark vault in which the coffin of his father awaited him. In life, they had kept at a distance from each other; death now brought them together, and their mortal remains lay side by side in peace and tranquillity. Death reconciles all things; in his hands even kings are but as the dust of the earth.

On the morning after Frederick’s interment, King Frederick William repaired to Sans-Souci, where the opening and reading of the monarch’s will was to take place. The royal princes, who had not accompanied the king’s body to its last resting-place, were by no means absent on this momentous occasion, and Princes Henry and Ferdinand, and even the Princess Amelia, Frederick’s sister, who was decrepit from age, and deformed by the mental and bodily anguish she had undergone, had come to Sans-Souci to be present at the reading of the will. These three were standing in an alcove, conversing eagerly, but in an undertone. Their manner was expressive of resentment and anger, and the glances which they from time to time cast toward the door through which the king was expected to enter, were full of hatred and derision.

“Bischofswerder has been made colonel; and WÖllner, privy-councillor,” murmured Prince Henry, bitterly; “even that abominable fellow, Rietz, has received a title. But he never thought of his family; for us there are no favors.”

“And how could there be?” rejoined Princess Amelia, in her sharp, scornful voice. “The favorites stand where the golden shower falls, and you do not desire that we should do likewise, I hope? I, for my part, shall certainly decline the honor of standing at Wilhelmine Enke’s side; nor have I any desire to share the royal favor with the king’s new flame, the maid of honor, Von Voss.”

“She will soon hold an important position,” whispered Prince Ferdinand. “The king intends to make her his wife.”

“Impossible!” exclaimed the hoarse voice of the princess. “That is, unless our dear nephew first manages to put his legitimate wife out of the way with the aid of his sorcerers.”

“Perhaps he intends to take King Solomon as his model,” said Prince Henry, derisively. “He also was an arch-profligate, although he was accounted a most holy and worthy king.”

“Let him pronounce a Solomon’s judgment on himself,” screeched the princess; “let him cut himself in three pieces: one for the queen, a second for Wilhelmine Enke, and the third for the new favorite.”

“The last must, however, be spoken of with the greatest deference,” whispered Prince Ferdinand. “The king will have it so. The maid of honor, Von Voss, is exceedingly virtuous, and insists on a marriage. The king had an interview with the young lady on the day of Frederick’s death; and she then imposed three conditions: She demands that the queen’s consent be first obtained, then a church marriage, and finally the king’s separation from Madame Rietz.”

“The queen will not give her consent,” said Princess Amelia.

“She has already done so! The Privy-Chamberlain Rietz accomplished this masterpiece of diplomacy. The king pays his wife’s debts, and doubles her pin-money; and for this consideration she consents to the marriage of the left hand.” [27]

“They are all mercenary creatures, these women,” muttered Prince Henry. “They are like dissembling cats, that are always ready to scratch and betray their best friends. In this respect a queen is no better than a beggar-woman! For money, a queen compromises her honor and her rights; and permits a virtuous mantle to be thrown over vice. But this time it will be of no avail, since no priest can be found to consummate this unlawful marriage.”

“You are mistaken, my dear brother,” said Prince Ferdinand, smiling. “One has already been found. The king asked advice of his newly-appointed Privy-Councillor WÖllner. This fellow was formerly a preacher, as you well know, and is therefore well acquainted with priestly stratagems. He proved to the king, by historical references, that such double marriages were possible, and that even Luther had permitted the landgrave Philip to contract a marriage of this kind. Moreover, he called the king’s attention to the fact, that he was an ordained preacher himself, and, as such, entitled to exercise the functions of that calling, and offered to perform the ceremony himself.”

“They are all mercenary creatures, these men,” said Princess Amelia, with a malicious side glance at her brother, Prince Henry.

“I am surprised to hear that, my dear sister,” remarked Prince Henry. “It seems you have changed your opinion of men very materially.”

“No,” she rejoined, angrily, “no, I have always known that men were miserable creatures. There were only two exceptions: the one was my brother Frederick, and the other was the man whom even the great King Frederick could not keep in fetters—he who broke the heaviest bars and strongest chains with the strength of his invincible spirit, and liberated himself in defiance of all kings and jailers. I thank you, Henry, for reminding me of him! My heart has been envenomed by mankind, and is old and withered, but it grows warm and young again when I think of him for whom I suffered so much, and who made of me the old hag I now am.—But here comes the king, our dear nephew.” And Amelia, whose countenance had been illumined for a moment with a ray of youth, resumed her spiteful and gloomy look, and hobbled toward her dear nephew, who was just entering the chamber, followed by Count von Herzberg and the newly-appointed minister of state, Von Voss. “How handsome your majesty looks!” cried Princess Amelia, in her hoarse voice; “how young and handsome! If it were not for the thin hair, the embonpoint, and the dear wife, one might take your majesty for a youthful Adonis, going a wooing, and—”

“And who has the misfortune to meet a bad fairy[28] on the road. But it makes no difference, custom has robbed your evil glance of its terrors, and we will never cease to love and esteem you. I beg leave to assure my dear aunt Amelia, as well as my two uncles, that I will always remain their affectionate and devoted nephew, and that it will afford me the greatest pleasure to gratify their wishes. However, we will speak of this hereafter, but now let us consider the grave purpose for which we have come together. Count von Herzberg, I beg you to conduct the ambassador of the Duke of Brunswick to our presence.”

The king seated himself on the sofa which stood in the middle of the room. Princess Amelia and the two princes seated themselves in chairs, in his immediate vicinity. In front of them, and near the window, stood a table covered with green cloth, and beside it three elegantly carved chairs. This was Frederick the Great’s writing-desk, the desk at which he had thought and labored so much for the welfare and honor of his kingdom and subjects.

“Baron von Hardenberg, minister, and extraordinary ambassador of his highness, the Duke of Brunswick,” cried Count Herzberg as he entered and presented this gentleman to the king. Baron von Hardenberg bowed with the grace of a courtier and an elegant man of the world, and then looked up at the king, expectantly, with an air of perfect ease and composure.

“Speak, Baron von Hardenberg,” said the king, with some little embarrassment, after a short pause. “My uncle, the Duke of Brunswick, sends you. What message does the baron bring?”

“Sir, I bring, at the command of my gracious master, the duke, the last will and testament of King Frederick the second, of blessed memory—with unbroken seals, and in exactly the same condition as when years ago delivered by his deceased majesty to the duke, and by him deposited in the state archives at Brunswick, where it has remained until now.”

The baron handed the sealed document to the king, and begged him, and the princes, and ministers, to examine the seals, to assure themselves that they had not been tampered with, and requested his majesty to break them, and open the will, after having satisfied himself of that fact. After this had been done, and after Herzberg had testified to Frederick’s handwriting, the king returned the document to Baron von Hardenberg.

“You brought us these last greetings and injunctions of the great king, and it is therefore but just and proper that you, as the representative of the duke, should make us acquainted with the contents of the will. I authorize you to read it aloud. Seat yourself at that table between my two ministers. And now read.”

Count von Hardenberg spread the document out on the table, and commenced to read in a loud and sonorous voice, as follows:

“Life is but a fleeting transition from birth to death. Man’s destiny is to labor for the welfare of society, of which he is a member, during this brief period. Since the duty of managing the affairs of state first devolved upon me, I have endeavored, with all the powers given me by Nature, to make the state which I had the honor to govern happy and prosperous. I have caused justice to be administered, I have brought order and exactitude into the finances, and I have introduced that discipline into the army, which makes it superior to the other troops of Europe. After having done my duty to the state, in this manner, it would be a subject of unceasing self-reproach, if I neglected that which concerns my family. Therefore, in order to avoid the dissensions which might arise among the members of my family in regard to the inheritance, I herewith declare to them this my last will and testament:

“(1.) I willingly, and without regret, return the breath of life which animates me to beneficent Nature, which honored me with its bestowal, and this body to the elements of which it is composed. I have lived a philosopher, and I desire to be buried as such, without pomp, show, or splendor. I desire neither to be dissected nor embalmed. I desire to be buried in Sans-Souci, on the terrace and in the vault which I have had prepared for the reception of my body. In this manner the Prince of Nassau was laid to rest in a wood near Cleve. Should I die in time of war, or on a journey, my body must be conveyed to the most convenient place, and afterwards to Sans-Souci in the winter, and deposited as above directed.

“(2.) I bequeath to my dear nephew, Frederick William, my successor to the crown, the kingdom of Prussia, provinces, states, castles, fortifications, places, munitions, and arsenals, lands which are mine by right of conquest or inheritance, all the crown jewels which are in the hands of the queen, my wife, the gold and silver plate in Berlin, my villas, libraries, collections of medals, picture galleries, gardens, etc., etc. Moreover, I leave him the state treasure as he may find it at my death, in trust. It belongs to the state, and must only be used in defending or assisting the people.

“(3.) If death compels me to leave unpaid some small debts, my nephew shall pay them. Such is my will.

“(4.) I bequeath to the queen, my wife, the revenue she now draws, with the addition of ten thousand dollars per annum, two tuns of wine each year, free wood, and game for her table. Under this condition, the queen has consented to make my nephew her heir. Moreover, as there is no suitable dwelling that can be set apart as her residence, I content myself with mentioning, for form’s sake, Stettin as an appropriate place. At the same time, I request of my nephew that he hold suitable lodgings in readiness for her in the palace in Berlin, and that he show a proper consideration for the widow of his uncle, and for a princess whose virtue is above all reproach.

“(5.) And now, we come to the Allodial estate. I have never been either miserly or rich, nor have I ever had much to dispose of. I have considered the state revenues as the ark of the covenant, which none but consecrated hands might touch. I have never appropriated the public revenues to my own use. My own expenses have never exceeded the sum of two hundred thousand dollars; and my administration leaves me in perfect quietude of conscience, and I do not fear to give the public a strict account of it.

“(6.) I appoint my nephew Frederick William residuary legatee of my Allodial estate, after having paid out the following legacies.”

After the king, in twenty-four additional clauses, had named a legacy for all of his relatives, either in money, jewels, or something else, and after he had determined the pensions for the invalid officers and soldiers of his army, and for his servants, the testament continued:

“I recommend to my successor that he honor and esteem his blood, in the persons of his uncles, aunts, and all other relatives. Accident, which determines the destiny of man, also regulates the succession. But the one, because he becomes king, is no better than the others. I, therefore, recommend to all my relatives that they live in a good understanding with each other; and that they, if it be necessary, sacrifice their personal interests to the welfare of the fatherland and the advantage of the state.

“My last wishes when I die will be for the happiness of this kingdom. May it ever be governed with justice, wisdom, and strength! May it be the happiest of states, through the mildness of its laws; may its administration in respect to finance ever be good and just; may it ever be most gallantly defended by an army that breathes only for honor and fair renown; and may it last and flourish to the end of all centuries!”

“Amen! amen!” exclaimed the king, folding his hands piously, when Baron von Hardenberg had concluded. “Amen! The intentions of my great and exalted uncle shall be carried out in all things! God bless Prussia, and give me strength to govern it and make it happy! I thank you, baron, and promise myself the pleasure of a confidential interview with you to-morrow morning before you take your departure.”

His ministers having retired with the ambassador, in compliance with an intimation from the king that they might do so, Frederick William now turned with a gracious and genial smile to Princess Amelia and her two brothers, who, like the king, had arisen from their seats.

“My exalted uncle particularly recommended that I should consider the welfare of my uncles and aunts,” said Frederick. “I assure you, however, that this recommendation was unnecessary; without it, I would have been only too happy to contribute to your happiness and welfare, to the extent of my ability. I beg each of you, therefore, to prefer some request, the gratification of which will serve as a remembrance of this solemn occasion.—Speak, Prince Henry; speak, my dear uncle; name some favor that I can grant.”

The prince started, and a glowing color flitted over the countenance that was an exact copy of the deceased king’s. The word “favor,” which Frederick’s smiling lips had uttered, pierced the prince’s heart like a poisoned arrow.

“Sire,” said he, sharply, “I crave no favor whatever at your hands, unless it might be considered a favor that my rights be protected, and justice be shown me, in the matter of my claims to a certain succession.”

“To exercise justice is no favor, but a duty,” replied the king, mildly; “and my dear uncle Henry will certainly be protected in all his rightful claims.”

“In my claims to the succession in the Margraviate Schwedt?” inquired Prince Henry, hurriedly; and his eyes, which were large, luminous, and keen, like Frederick’s, fastened a piercing glance on his nephew’s countenance.

Frederick William shrugged his shoulders. “That is a political question, which must be decided in a ministerial council, and not in a family conference.”

“That is to say, in other words,” screeched Amelia, with mocking laughter, “Prince Henry will always belong to the dear family, but never to the number of the king’s ministers and councillors.”

The king, actuated perhaps by a desire to turn the conversation, now addressed Prince Ferdinand: “And you, my dear uncle, have you no particular wish to impart?”

The prince smiled. “I am not ambitious, and my finances are fortunately in good order. I recommend myself and family to the king’s good-will. I should be particularly pleased if my oldest son Louis could be honored with the protection of his royal uncle.”

“He shall stand on the same footing with my son,” said the king. “I desire him to be the friend and companion of my son Frederick William; and I trust that he will infuse some of his spirit and fire into the latter. The young princes are made to complete each other, and I shall be glad to see them become close friends.—And now, my dear aunt and princess,” continued the king, as he turned to Amelia, “will you be kind enough to name your wishes.”

The princess shrugged her shoulders. “I am not ambitious, like brother Henry, and I have no children to care for, like brother Ferdinand. My own wants are few, and I am not fond enough of mankind to desire to collect riches in order that I may fill empty pockets and feast those who are in want. Life has not been a bed of roses for me, why should I make it pleasant for others? There is but one I desire to make happy; he, like myself, has lived through long years of misery, and can sing a mournful song of the hard-heartedness and cruelty of mankind. Sire, I crave nothing for myself, but I crave a ray of sunshine for him who was buried in the darkness of a prison, who was robbed of his sun for so many long years. I crave for an old man the ray of happiness of which his youth and manhood were wickedly deprived. Sire, in my opinion, there is but one shadow on the memory of my exalted brother. This shadow is Frederick Trenck. [29] Let justice prevail. Restore to Von Trenck the estates of which he was unjustly deprived; restore the title and military rank of which he was robbed. Sire, do this, and I, whom misery has made a bad fairy, will hereafter be nothing more than a good-natured and withered old mummy, who will fold her hands and pray with her last breath for the good and generous king who made Frederick von Trenck happy.”

“It shall be as my dear aunt desires,” said the king, with emotion. “Frederick von Trenck shall be put in possession of his estates, and restored to his military and civic honors. We will also invite him to our court, and he shall not have to fear being again thrown into the gloomy dungeons of Magdeburg, although Princess Amelia should smile graciously upon him.”

The princess distorted the poor old face, which was so completely disfigured with scars, in an attempt at a smile, which was only a grimace; and she was herself unaware that the veil which had suddenly dimmed her eyes was a tear. For long years she had neither wept nor smiled, and shed tears to-day for the first time again. For the first time in many years she thanked God, on retiring, for having been permitted to see the light of this day. She no longer desired to die, but prayed that she might live until she had seen Frederick von Trenck—until she had received his forgiveness for the misery she had caused him! To-day, for the first time, the embittered mind of the princess was touched with a feeling of thankfulness and joy. And it came from the bottom of her heart, when she said to Frederick William, on taking leave of him after the reading of the will: “I wish I were not a bad, but rather a good fairy, for I could then give you the receipt for making your people and yourself happy!”

The king smiled at this. He had that receipt already! He had received it in the elixir of life which Cagliostro had given him. These drops were the receipt for his personal happiness; and, as for making the people happy, Bischofswerder and WÖllner must know the receipts necessary to effect that object. In their hands the king will confidently place the helm of state. They are the favorites of the Invisible Fathers; the chosen, the powerful. And they shall rule Prussia, they, the Rosicrucians!

This thought filled the king’s heart with joy, but it filled the hearts of the opponents of the pious brotherhood, of the enemies of Bischofswerder and WÖllner, with dismay and anxiety. And the number of their enemies was great, and many of them were men of high rank and standing.

There was also at the court a party which entertained bitter but secret enmity to the Rosicrucians.

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CHAPTER XII.

LEUCHSENRING.

At the head of the opposition party at court stood Franz Michael Leuchsenring, the prince royal’s instructor, Goethe’s friend, and a member of the former Hain association. He had been called to Berlin by Frederick the Great to assume the position of French tutor to the future King of Prussia, and impart to him a thorough knowledge of French literature.

Baron von Hardenberg sought out the tutor, whom he had known and loved for many years, on the morning after the reading of the will. The meeting of these long-separated friends was hearty and cordial, and yet the keen glance of the ambassador did not fail to detect the cloud which rested on Leuchsenring’s countenance. After they had shaken hands, and exchanged a few questions and remarks relative to each other’s health and circumstances, the baron raised his delicate white hand and pointed to Leuchsenring’s brow.

“I see a shadow there,” said he, smiling; “a shadow which I never before observed on my friend’s forehead. Is the handsome Leuchsenring no longer the favorite of the ladies, and consequently of the muses also? Or have we again some detestable rival, who dares to contend with you for a fair maid’s favor? I know what that is; I saw you in the rÔle of Orlando Furioso more than once, when we were together in the Elysian Fields of Naples, where we first met and joined hands in friendship. My friend, why did we not remain in bella Italia! Why has the prose of life sobered us down, and made of you the teacher, and of me the servant of a prince!—But enough of this; and now answer this question: Who is the rival? Am I to be your second here in Berlin, as I was on three occasions in Naples?”

Leuchsenring smiled: “I observe, with pleasure, my dear baron, that your ministerial rank has not changed you. You are still the same merry, thoughtless cavalier; while I, really, I can no longer deny it, have become a misanthrope. With me gayety and love are things of the past; and, unfortunately, women have nothing to do with the shadow which your keen glance detected.”

“And more unfortunately still, you have become a politician,” exclaimed the baron, smiling. “What I have heard is then true; you no longer write love-letters, but occupy yourself with learned treatises. You have joined a political party?”

“It is true,” said Leuchsenring, emphatically. “I am filled with anger and hatred when I see these advocates of darkness, that is, these Rosicrucians, or, in other words, these Jesuits, attempting to cast their vast tissue of falsehood over mankind. I feel it to be my duty to tear asunder its meshes and lay bare the toils in which they hoped to involve mankind.”

“Bravo, bravo!” cried Hardenberg. “I am delighted to hear you declare your views in this manner. I now perceive that you are in earnest. And I will give you a proof of my confidence by asking your advice in my personal affairs. King Frederick William has honored me with an audience, and I have just left his presence. It seems his majesty has taken a fancy to me; some effeminate feature in my countenance has found the highest appreciation. To be brief, the king has graciously proposed to me to enter his service; he offers me a ministerial position.”

“And what reply did you make to this proposition?” asked Leuchsenring, eagerly.

“I begged some little time for consideration. I was not sufficiently acquainted with the political phase, and I desired to discuss the matter with you, my friend, before coming to a decision. And now, give me your opinion. Shall I accept?”

“First tell me what you are, and then I will reply. Tell me whether you are a Rosicrucian, that is, a Jesuit, or whether you have remained a faithful brother of our society? Give me your hand, let me touch it with the secret sign; and now tell me if you are still a brother.”

“I am,” said Hardenberg, his jovial face assuming an earnest expression, and he touched Leuchsenring’s extended hand in a peculiar manner. “The grasp of this hand proclaims to you that I have remained true to the society; and that I am still a brother of the order and a zealous freemason.”

“Thanks be to God that you are my friend!” cried Leuchsenring. “Then you are with me, with those who are preparing for the future, and erecting a barrier in the minds of mankind to the present tide of evil. And now I will answer your question. Do not accept the offer which has been made you, but save yourself for the future, for the coming generation. Gloomy days are in store for Prussia, and the good genius of the German fatherland must veil its head and weep over the impending horrors. The demons of darkness are at work in the land. Superstition, hypocrisy, Jesuitism, and lasciviousness, have combined to fetter the understanding and the hearts of men. A period of darkness such as usually precedes the great convulsions and epochs of history will soon come for Prussia. Believe me, we are standing on a crater. The royal favorites are covering it with flowers and garlands; the royal Rosicrucians are administering elixirs and wonder-working potions, to obscure the eye and shut out the fearful vision. They are, however, not arresting the progress of the chariot of fate, but are urging it on in its destructive career. As good springs from evil, so will freedom spring from slavery. The oppression which rulers have been exercising on their subjects for centuries, will now bear its avenging fruits. The slaves will break their fetters, and make freemen of themselves.”

“Ah, my friend,” exclaimed Hardenberg, shrugging his shoulders; “you see the realization of unattainable ideals; unfortunately, I cannot believe in it. Tell me, by what means are these poor, enslaved nations to break their fetters and make freemen of themselves?”

“I will tell you, and make your soul shudder. The slaves, the down-trodden nations, will free themselves by the fearful means of revolution. It already agitates every soul, and throbs in every heart. The time of peace and tranquillity is at end; the storm no longer rages in the heads and hearts of poets only, but in every human heart. The thoughts and songs of the poets have pierced the heart of nations, and fermented a storm that will soon burst forth; as it sweeps along it will destroy the old and build up the new. With his ‘Robbers,’ Schiller hurled the firebrand into the mind of youth, and princes and rulers are feeding and nourishing the enkindled flame with the trumpery of their gold-glittering rags, and their vices. This flame will blaze up until it becomes a mighty conflagration. The vices of princes are the scourges chosen by God, to chastise the nations, in order that they may rise up from the dust, and that slaves may become men! Louis the Fifteenth of France, with all his crimes and vices, was an instrument in the hands of the Almighty. And Marie Antoinette, with her love of pleasure, her frivolity, and her extravagance, is such an instrument, as is also Frederick William of Prussia, with all his thoughtlessness, his good-nature, and his indolence. Even this hypocritical generation of vipers, this lying, deceiving brotherhood, these Rosicrucians and Jesuits, must serve God’s purposes. Falsehood exists only to make truth manifest; and bondage, only to promote liberty. Therefore I will not complain, although vice should be triumphant for a while. The greater the success of evil now, the greater the triumph of good hereafter. The greater the number of Jesuits who execute their dark deeds now, the greater the number who will be destroyed.”

“They exist only in your imagination, my exalted friend,” said Hardenberg, smiling. “There are not any Jesuits in Prussia.”

“They are everywhere,” said Leuchsenring, interrupting him, and grasping his friend’s arm in his earnestness. “Yes, there are Jesuits. They go about with us, they sit with us at table, they grasp our hands as friends, they flatter us as our admirers, they smile on us in the persons of the women we love, they leave no means untried to fetter our hearts and understanding. The Rosicrucians, what are they, one and all, but disguised Jesuits! They wish to impose Catholicism on us, and drive out Protestantism. They wish to mystify the mind, and make the soul grovel in sin and vice, from which condition the victims around whom they have woven their toils will only be permitted to escape by flying to the bosom of the Catholic Church. To the bosom of that Church which offers an asylum to all restless consciences, and dispenses blessings and forgiveness for all vices and crimes. For this reason, these Rosicrucians tempt the good-natured, thoughtless king to luxury and debauchery; for this reason they terrify his mind with apparitions and ghosts! In his terror he is to seek and find safety in the Catholic Church! I see through their disguise; and they know it. For this reason, they hate me; and they cry out against me because I have exposed their wiles and stratagems, and proclaimed that these vile Rosicrucians are Jesuits in disguise, whose object is the expansion of Catholicism over the earth. This I proclaimed in a treatise, which aroused the sleeping, and convinced the doubting, and excited the wrath of the Rosicrucians against me.”

“I have heard of it,” said Hardenberg, thoughtfully. “I heard of your having hurled a defiant article at the secret societies, through the medium of the ‘Berlin Monthly Magazine;’ [30] but, unfortunately, I could never obtain a copy.”

“That I can readily believe,” said Leuchsenring, laughing; “the dear Rosicrucians bought up the whole edition of the monthly magazine. When the new one is published, they will buy that up, too, in order to suppress the truth. But they will not succeed. Truth is mighty, and will prevail; and we freemasons and brothers of the order of the Illuminati, will help to make truth victorious. We freemasons are the champions of freedom and enlightenment. Many of the most influential and distinguished men of Berlin have joined our order, and are battling with us against the advocates of darkness and ignorance—against the Jesuits and Rosicrucians. We call ourselves Illuminati, because we intend to illumine the darkness of the Rosicrucians, and manifest truth, in annihilating falsehood! My friend, the struggle for which we are preparing will be a hard one, for the number of Rosicrucians and Jesuits is vast, and a king is their protector. The number of the Illuminati is comparatively small; and only the kings of intellect and science, not, however, of power and wealth, belong to our brotherhood. But we shall overthrow the Jesuits, nevertheless. We stand on the watch-tower of Prussia, and our Protestant watchword is Luther’s word, ‘The Word they shall not touch.’”

“Well said, my gallant friend,” cried Hardenberg. “Your ardor inspires me, your enthusiasm is contagious. I will take part in this great and noble struggle. Admit me into your order!”

“You shall become one of us! A meeting of our brotherhood takes place this evening at the house of our chieftain Nicolai. You must accompany me, and I will see that you are admitted.”

“And then, when I have become a member of your order, and am enrolled among the number of the enemies of the Jesuits and Rosicrucians, you will no doubt consider it advisable for me to accept the king’s proposition?”

“No, my friend, I cannot approve of it; I cannot advise you to do so.”

“How? You do not desire me to remain and fight at your side? You despise my assistance?”

“I do not despise your assistance; I only wish to spare you for better times. I have a high opinion of your capacities, and it would be a pity if your usefulness should be prematurely destroyed. But this would be the case if you remained here at present. The Rosicrucians are not only mighty, but are also cunning. They would soon recognize an enemy in the Minister of State, and would not be slow in relieving him of his office and power. They would pursue the same course with you that they have pursued with me.”

“What course have they pursued with you? In what can the instructor of the prince royal have offended—the instructor appointed by Frederick the Great? What harm can the Rosicrucians do him?”

Leuchsenring took up an open letter which lay on the writing-desk, and smiled as he handed it to Hardenberg. “Read this,” said he, “it will answer your question.”

Hardenberg glanced quickly over the few lines which the letter contained, and then let it fall on the table again with an air of dejection.

“Dismissed!” he murmured. “The body of the late king is hardly under ground, and they already dare to disregard his will, and send you your dismissal.”

“They go further,” said Leuchsenring, angrily. “They not only dismiss me, but what is still worse, they have appointed a Rosicrucian to fill my position. General Count BrÜhl has been selected to give the finishing touch to the education of the young prince.”

“And you will now leave Berlin, I suppose?” said Hardenberg. “Well, then, my friend, I make you a proposition. You do not desire me to remain here; I now propose to you to accompany me to Brunswick. Save yourself and your ability for better times, save yourself for the future!”

“No, I will remain,” cried Leuchsenring, with determination. “I will not afford the Rosicrucians the pleasure of seeing me desert my post; I will defend it to the last drop of my blood. I will remain, and the Jesuits and Rosicrucians shall ever find in me a watchful and relentless enemy. All those brave men to whom God has given the sword of intellect, will battle at my side. The Rosicrucians will bring gloom and darkness over Prussia, but we, the Illuminati, will dissipate this darkness. The vicious and the weak belong to the former, but the virtuous and strong, and the youth of the nation, will join the ranks of the Illuminati. Oh, my friend, this will be a spirit-warfare, protracted beyond death, like the struggles of the grim Huns. The spirits of falsehood must, however, eventually succumb to the heavenly might of truth; and darkness must, at last, yield to light! This is my hope, this is my banner of faith; and therefore do I remain here in defiance of my enemies, the Rosicrucians. This struggle, this spirit-warfare, is my delight—it excites, elevates, and refreshes me. But when the victory is ours, when the new era begins, when the old has been torn down, and the new Prussia is to be built up, then your time will come, my friend; you shall be the architect selected to erect this stately edifice. For the dark days of the Rosicrucians and King Frederick William, your services are not available. But after these will come the bright days of the young king, and at his side you shall stand as friend and councillor! For, believe me, King Frederick William the Second will only pass over the horizon of Prussia, and darken the existence of the people, like a storm-cloud, with its thunder and lightning. But cloud and darkness will be dissipated, and after this, day will dawn again, and the sun will once more shine. You have come to Berlin to see Prussia’s unhappiness, but you shall now see something else. I will show you Prussia’s hope, and Prussia’s future!—Come!”

He took his friend’s arm and led him to the window, which commanded a fine view of the adjoining garden. It was only a plain garden, with walks of yellow sand, and beds of ordinary flowers. A bench stood under an apple-tree, covered with fruit, on the main walk, and between two flower-beds. On this bench, two boys, or rather two youths, were sitting, attired in plain, civil dress. The one was very handsome, and well-made; his large, bright eyes were turned upward, the loud tones of his voice could be heard at the window, and his animated gestures seemed to indicate that he was reciting some poem, and was carried away with enthusiasm. The other, a tall youth of sixteen, with the soft, blue eyes, the mild countenance, and good-natured expression, was listening attentively to his companion’s declamation.

It was the latter whom Leuchsenring pointed out to his friend. “See,” said he, “that is the future King of Prussia, King Frederick William the Third, that is to be. At his side you are to stand as councillor; and he will need your advice and assistance. He will reap the bitter harvest which will spring from the seed the Jesuits and Rosicrucians are now sowing. Save yourself for Frederick William the Third, Baron Hardenberg, and do not waste your talents and energies in the unfruitful service of Frederick William the Second.”

“The one you point out, the one with the fair hair, and the mild, diffident expression, is then the Prince Royal of Prussia. I wish you had shown me the other, that handsome lad, that youthful Apollo, with the proud smile and piercing eye. I wish he were the future King of Prussia.”

“That is Prince Louis, the present king’s nephew. You are right, he looks like a youthful Apollo. If he were the future king, he would either lift Prussia up to the skies, or else hurl it into an abyss, for he is a genius, and he will not tread the beaten track of life. No, it is better that his gentle young friend should some day wear the crown of Prussia. They have increased his natural timidity by severe treatment. He has no confidence in himself, but he has good, strong sense and an honest heart, and these qualities are of more importance for a king than genius and enthusiasm. I do not know why it is, my friend, but I love this poor, reserved boy, who has suffered and endured so much in his youth. I love this prince, who has so warm a heart, but can never find words to express his feelings. I pity him, for I know that his youthful heart is burdened with a secret sorrow. I have divined the cause, in an occasional word which escapes his lips unawares, and in his manner at times. It is the sorrow of an affectionate and tender-hearted son, who wishes to love and esteem his father, but dares not look at him, for fear of seeing the spots and shadows which darken that father’s countenance.”

“Poor, poor lad!” said Hardenberg, moved with sympathy. “So young, and yet such bitter experience! But, perhaps, it is well that such should be the case; if he has received the baptism of tears, and has been anointed with affliction, he may become a king by the grace of God! I will do as you say, Leuchsenring; I will save myself for the future, and, if such be the will of God, I will one day serve your young king of the future.”

“And something tells me that God will permit you to do so,” cried Leuchsenring, joyously. “It may be that I will not live to see the day. My enemies, the Rosicrucians, may have destroyed, or the storm-wind of the revolution have swept me away by that time; but you will remain, and at some future day you will remember the hour in which I showed you the young prince royal, Frederick William the Third. He is the future of Prussia, and, in the dark day which is now dawning, we are in sore need of a guiding light. Fix your eye on the Prince Royal of Prussia, and on his genial friend, Prince Louis Ferdinand!”

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