"We are agreed, then," said Frederick; "you will remain my minister. If you had not demanded your dismissal, I should have given it to you. I should have seen that you were justly accused, and were determined to remain minister at any price. Thank God, you have proved to me that you are an honest man! But," said the king, "you are not only an honest man, but a bold, unterrified, truthful man; a true friend, grateful for benefits received, you do not cease to love your king and benefactor, even after his death. You have had the courage to defend the dead king, and to reproach his successor. The king cannot thank you for this; but as a son, I thank you—I say, 'Come to my heart, true and faithful servant.' We kings are too poor to reward our servants in any other way than by confiding love." The king opened his arms and pressed Boden to his heart, who wept aloud. "And now," cried the king, "we understand each other, and know what we have to expect, and that is always a great gain in this world, full of disappointment, hypocrisy, and cunning. I will now give you a proof that I do not close my ear to the reasonable counsels of my minister, and that I am ready to offer up my personal wishes; I will not build this palace for my mother; you have convinced me that I have not the income to do so. I cannot take four millions from the State treasury. This money will soon be needed for a more important object. But some changes are absolutely necessary in the royal palace; it must be made more worthy of a king. Take, therefore, these plans and designs; strike from them what you consider superfluous. Let me know what additions you think it best to adopt, and from what source we can draw the necessary funds."[15]

[15] "History of Berlin," Thiebault.



CHAPTER III.

THE UNDECEIVED COURTIER.

At the time that the king was placing the extravagant plans, which Baron von Pollnitz had drawn up, into the hands of his minister of finance, the baron was waiting in the ante-room, in a state of smiling security, entertaining his friend Fredersdorf with an account of his own future splendor and magnificence, speaking especially of the entertainments which he intended giving in his new house in Jager Street. When at length the door of the royal cabinet was opened, and the minister of finance entered the ante-room, Pollnitz and Fredersdorf stood up, not however to greet the minister, but to pass him with a cold, contemptuous smile on their way to the door of the cabinet. The smile died suddenly on Pollnitz's lips, and he stood as if transfixed before the minister.

"What are those papers which you hold?" he asked, extending his hand as if he would tear the papers from Baron von Boden.

The minister pushed him back, as he carelessly shrugged his shoulders. "These are papers which his majesty handed me, that I might examine their contents, and see if they contained any thing but folly."

"Sir," said Pollnitz, beside himself with rage, "these papers—" but he became suddenly silent, for the door of the cabinet was opened again, and the king entered the room.

He glanced scornfully at Pollnitz, who was scarcely able to conceal his anger, and approached Baron von Boden. "One thing more, minister," said the king, "I had forgotten that I had prepared a little surprise for you; I am aware that you are not rich, although you are the minister of finance, and I understand that you live in a limited way, scarcely worthy of your rank. We must alter this, and happily I know a house which even Baron von Pollnitz declares is worthy a nobleman. I present this house to you, with its entire contents. From this moment it is yours, and Baron von Pollnitz must go with you, and show it to you; he can point out to you all the advantages and conveniences which he has so often praised to me."

Pollnitz stood pale, trembling, and confused. "I do not know of what house your majesty speaks," he stammered, "of what house I can have said that it was worthy of the minister of finance."

"Not of the minister of finance, but of a nobleman, and Boden is a nobleman, not only in name but in reality; and is entirely worthy to possess the house which I have presented to him. You are well acquainted with it, Pollnitz; it is the house which my father had built for Eckert, the beautiful house in Jager Street."

"The house in Jager Street!" cried Pollnitz, forgetting the restraint which the presence of the king usually imposed. "No, no, your majesty is pleased to jest. You do not mean the house in Jager Street, that house which—"

"That house," interrupted the king, in a stern voice, "that house which pleased you so well, that you, as foolish children sometimes do, confused reality with your dreams, and imagined that this house already belonged to you, merely because you desired that it should do so. I would have smiled at this childish folly, if it had remained an amusement for your unemployed fancy; but you have deceived others as well as yourself, and that is an unpardonable fault, and one which you must repair immediately, if you do not wish to be dismissed from my service."

"I do not understand your majesty; I do not know how I have forfeited the favor of my king."

The king glanced angrily at the pale, trembling courtier. "You understand perfectly, Baron von Pollnitz, of which fault, amongst the many that you daily and hourly commit, I speak. You know that it has pleased you to declare the house, which I have just presented to Boden, to be yours, and that you have found credulous people who have lent you money on that representation."

"Will your majesty grant me a favor?" said Minister von Boden, glancing kindly at Pollnitz, who stood near him crushed and trembling.

The king consented by bowing silently, and the minister proceeded:

"Your majesty has just made me most rich and happy, and I consider it my duty, as it is my pleasure, to share both riches and happiness with my fellow-creatures. Baron von Pollnitz, by the commands of the late king, executed the plans for the house which your majesty has so kindly presented to me; he also selected the decorations and furniture, and this may have led him to believe that the house, which had been built and furnished according to his taste, might become his own. I am much indebted to Pollnitz, for a man so plain and simple as I am would never have been able to make this house so tasteful and elegant. Permit me, therefore, your majesty, to liquidate this debt by considering the small mortgage which Baron von Pollnitz has put upon this house, as my affair."

"What reply do you make to this proposition?" said the king, turning to Pollnitz.

"That if your majesty allows me I will accept it with pleasure, and I merely wish to ask the minister whether he will only take up those mortgages which I have already put upon the house, or the others which I intended putting?"

"Ah!" cried the king, laughing, "you are incorrigible. If poor Boden is to satisfy not only your old creditors but your new ones, the present I have made him would probably reduce him to beggary in a few months. No, no, this one mortgage is sufficient, and as it amounts to only a few thousand dollars, it shall be paid from my purse; and that my gift to you, Boden, may have no drawback, Pollnitz may consider himself thus repaid for his trouble about the plans and arrangements of your house. But woe to you, Pollnitz, if I should again hear of such folly and deceit; and if you do not give up such disgraceful conduct, and act in a manner becoming your rank and office, this is the last time that I will show any mercy for your folly. If there is a repetition of it, I will be inexorable, only a stern judge and king."

"Your majesty plunges me into an abyss of despair," said Pollnitz, swinging his hands. "You demand that I shall create no new debts; and how is it possible to avoid that, when I have not even the money to pay the old ones? If your majesty desires that I should lead a new life, you should have the kindness to pay my old debts."

The king paced the room silently for a short time, and then stood before Pollnitz, and said:

"You are so shameless and absurd that I must either drive you away or content myself with laughing at you. I will, however, remember that my father and grandfather laughed at you, and for the present I will also laugh, as I laugh at the silly pranks of merry Mr. Raths, my monkey. But even Mr. Raths was punished yesterday because he was too daring with his monkey tricks. Mark this, Baron von Pollnitz, I will pay your debts this time; but if it should occur to you to make new ones, I will forget that you were the jester of my father and grandfather, and only remember that so reckless an individual cannot remain in my service. Now accompany the minister to the Jager Street, and show him his house. Your audience is at an end, gentlemen."

After these gentlemen had left the room, the king stood for a long time as if lost in thought. He did not appear to be aware that he was not alone, that Fredersdorf was standing in the window, to which he had withdrawn on the appearance of the king, and had been a trembling, despairing witness to this scene, which had disturbed his plans and hopes. Suddenly the king walked rapidly through the room, and stood before Fredersdorf—his eyes, usually so clear and bright, veiled as with a cloud, and an expression of deep melancholy upon his noble face.

"Fredersdorf," he said, with a voice so mild and gentle that his hearer trembled, and a deadly pallor overspread his countenance—"Fredersdorf, is it really true that you all think of me only as your king, never as your fellow-man? that you have no love for your sovereign, only envy and hatred, only malice and cunning? And you, also, Fredersdorf, you whom I have loved, not as a master loves his servant, but as a dear friend, with whom I have often forgotten that I was a prince, and only remembered that I was with a friend, who had a feeling heart for my cares and sorrows, and entertained a little love not for the prince but for the man. Are you all determined to make me cold-hearted and distrustful? are you laboring to turn my heart to stone—to cut off my soul from faith and love? A day will come when you will call me cold and relentless, and no one will say that it was those I loved and trusted who made me thus."

"Mercy! mercy! my king," prayed Fredersdorf, sinking to the feet of the king. "Kill me! destroy me with your anger! only do not show me such kindness and love. Oh! your majesty does not know how I love you, how my heart is bound up in yours; but I have a wild and ambitious heart, and in the thirst of my ambition I was not satisfied to remain the servant of my king. I wished to become powerful and influential. I longed to mount high above those who now look down upon and despise me because I am a servant. This, my king, is my whole crime, the remorseful confession of my guilt."

"You did not wish to betray your king, you only desired to be the lord of your lord. You wished to reign through me. Poor Fredersdorf, do you think it such happiness to be a king? Do you not know that this royal crown, which seems so bright to you, is only a crown of thorns, which is concealed with a little tinsel and a few spangles? Poor Fredersdorf, you are ambitious; I will gratify you in this as far as possible, but you must conquer the desire to control my will, and influence my resolutions. A king is only answerable to God," proceeded the king, "and only from God can he receive control or commands. I am the servant of God, but the master of men. I will gratify your ambition, Fredersdorf, I will give you a title. You shall no longer be a mere servant, but a private secretary; and that you may be a master as well as a servant, I present you the estate Czernihon, near Rheinsberg. There you will be lord of your peasants and workmen, and learn if it is not a thankless office to rule. Are you satisfied, my poor Fredersdorf?"

Fredersdorf could not answer; he pressed his lips to the hand of the king, and wept aloud.



CHAPTER IV.

THE BRIDAL PAIR.

Joy and exultation reigned in the house of the rich manufacturer Orguelin. The proud daughter had consented to become the wife of Count Rhedern; she had at last accepted him, and the happy father, delighted at the prospect of soon becoming father-in-law to a count, busied himself with the preparations for the approaching wedding festivities, which were destined to excite the admiration and astonishment of the entire city by their magnificence and prodigal splendor. At this festival the future Countess Rhedern was to appear for the last time in the circle of her old friends, and then to take leave of them forever; for as a matter of course the Countess Rhedern would have to form new friendships and seek other society than that to which she had been accustomed as Mademoiselle Orguelin. But M. Orguelin desired to exhibit to his associates, the manufacturers and merchants, this splendid nobleman who had now become his son; he wished to excite the envy and admiration of his friends by the princely magnificence of his house.

But all this was far from being agreeable to Count Rhedern, who had other plans. His creditors and his poverty compelled him to marry this rich merchant's daughter, but he had no desire or intention of entering into any association or connection with the friends and relations of his wife; and even if it should be necessary to recognize his rich father-in-law, it did not follow that he would appear at his fetes to add lustre to the entertainment and be shown off as a highly ornamented acquisition. He trembled when he thought of the ridicule of the court cavaliers, to whom it would be an inexhaustible subject of jest, that he, the marshal of the queen, and a cavalier of old nobility, had played this role at a fete of the bourgeoisie, and had conversed, eaten, and danced with manufacturers and tradespeople. That could not and should not be. To preserve the prestige of his house, a nobleman might marry the daughter of a merchant, if she possessed a million, but he could not stoop so low as to consider himself a member of her family, and to recognize this or that relative. Count Rhedern thought of some plan by which he could frustrate this scheme of his father-in-law in regard to the wedding festivities, which would bring him into such undesirable and disagreeable association with persons beneath his rank, as he desired to avoid as far as possible all eclat in this misalliance. With a smiling countenance he entered one morning into the magnificent parlor of his affianced, who with her father's assistance was engaged in making out a list of the wedding guests. The count seated himself near his future bride, and listened with inward horror to the terrible and barbarous names which were placed on the list, the possessors of which could never appear at a knightly tournament or court festival, and were consequently excluded from all the joys and honors of the world.

"Well," said the father exultingly, "what do you think of our fete? It will be perfectly magnificent, will it not? The richest merchants of Berlin will be present; and if one were to estimate us by our wealth, it would be found that more millions would be assembled there than Germany has inhabitants. You will readily understand, my dear son, that in order to do honor to such guests, great preparations are necessary, for it is not easy to excite the astonishment and admiration of these proud merchants. It is quite easy to surprise one of your barons or counts; you are delighted when entertained with champagne or fine Holstein oysters, but a rich merchant turns scornfully from turtle-soup and Indian birds'-nests. Nevertheless, my proud guests shall be surprised; they shall have a fine dinner, the like of which they have never seen. For this purpose I have ordered two of the best cooks from Paris, who will arrive in a few days. They have written that they will need at least two weeks to make the necessary preparations for the wedding-dinner. For their services I will pay them a salary which is perhaps equal to the half-yearly pay of a marshal or chamberlain. Moreover, we will have fireworks, illuminations, splendid music; yes, I have even thought of having a stage erected, and of engaging a French company to amuse our guests with a few comedies."

"I am only afraid that but few of our guests will understand a word of these French plays," exclaimed his daughter, laughing.

"That is quite possible; nevertheless French is now the rage, and it will attract attention if we have a French play. And you, my dear son, what do you say to all this? You look almost vexed."

"I sigh because you wish to defer the wedding for so long a time."

"Ah, that is a compliment for you, my daughter. Lovers are always impatient."

"But I did not sigh only because I would so long be deprived of the happiness of leading my dear Caroline to the altar, but because I should thereby lose the pleasure of presenting her to the court as my wife on the occasion of the large and most magnificent court ball with which the season will be opened."

"A court ball is to take place?" asked Caroline Orguelin, with vivacity. "The king has, I believe, not yet returned from his journey."

"But will do so in a few days, and as the court mourning is now at an end, the king will give a brilliant masquerade ball, which will probably be the only one given this winter."

"A masquerade ball!" exclaimed his bride; "and I have never seen one!"

"And this is to be a most magnificent one. Moreover, the queen-mother has already promised me an invitation for my wife, and requested me to present her to the entire court on this occasion."

"And is it impossible to have the wedding any sooner?" asked Caroline, impatiently.

"Quite impossible," said M. Orguelin.

"And why impossible?" said the count. "Could we not have the wedding at an early day, and the festival later? Could we not, as is now customary in high circles, be married quietly, and have the festival at a later day? These noisy weddings are a little out of fashion at the present day, and it would be said at court that the wealthy and highly cultivated M. Orguelin showed his disregard for the customs of our young and modern court by adhering to those of the old regime."

"God forbid that I should do that!" exclaimed M. Orguelin, in a terrified voice.

"Father, I detest noisy merry-makings, and insist on a quiet marriage. It shall not be said at court that Mademoiselle Orguelin, with all her acquaintances, had rejoiced over the inestimable happiness of becoming the wife of a count. I will be married quietly; afterwards the count may give a fete in honor of our marriage, which you, my father, can return."

As usual, M. Orguelin submitted to his daughter's will, and it was determined that a quiet wedding should take place in a few days, to be followed on a later day by a magnificent fete in the house of the father-in-law.

"At which I shall certainly not be present," thought Count Rhedern, while he expressed his entire satisfaction with this arrangement.

Mademoiselle Orguelin's proudest wishes were about to be accomplished. She was to be introduced at court, and the queen-mother had graciously declared her intention of presenting her to the king at the approaching masquerade. There was now wanting but one thing, and that was a suitable costume for this important occasion, and Count Rhedern assured her, with a sigh, that it would be very difficult to prepare it, as it would be almost impossible to find a tailor who would undertake to make, in so short a time, the gold-brocaded train which was necessary.

"Pelissier, the new French tailor, has even refused to make a little cloak for me," said Count Rhedern, "and his female assistants,—who are the most fashionable dress-makers, have been deaf to all entreaties for the last week. They take no more orders for the masquerade, and it was only yesterday that I met Countess Hake, who had been with the pretty Blanche while I was with her father, descending the steps, wringing her hands and bathed in tears, because the proud dressmakers had replied to her prayers and entreaties with a cruel 'Impossible!'"

"I know, however, that M. Pricker, the court dressmaker of the two queens, would not make me this reply," said Caroline Orguelin, proudly, "but that he would make whatever is necessary even if he should be forced to take several additional assistants."

"Then let us drive to M. Pricker's," said her affianced, smiling; "but we must go at once, for we have no time to lose, and you can well imagine that I would be inconsolable if, after our marriage, I could not present you to the court as my wife on the first suitable occasion."

"Yes, we have no time to lose," repeated Caroline, ringing a bell and ordering her carriage. When, after a few minutes, Caroline Orguelin and the count were alone in the carriage, she turned to him with a mocking smile, and remarked: "The wedding is, then, to take place the day after to-morrow."

"Yes, my dearest Caroline, and on that day I will be the happiest of men."

"Your creditors," said she, shrugging her shoulders, "were then becoming so pressing that you suddenly experienced an ardent longing for my dowry."

"My creditors?" asked the count; "I do not understand you, dearest Caroline."

"You understand me very well," said she, with cutting coldness; "it is, moreover, time that we understand each other, once for all. Know, therefore, my dear sir, that I have not allowed myself to be deceived either by your tender protestations or by the role of an impatient lover, which you have acted so well. I am neither young nor pretty enough to awaken a passion in the breast of so noble and excellent a cavalier as Count Rhedern. You are poor, but rich in debts, and you needed therefore a rich wife; and as I happened to have more money than any of the beautiful and noble ladies of the court, you determined to marry me, deeming my rich dowry a sufficient compensation for the disgrace inflicted on your noble house. In a word, you chose me because you were tired of being dunned by your creditors, and of living in a state of secret misery; and I—I bought Count Rhedern with my millions, in order that I might appear at court."

"Well, truly, these confessions are very curious, highly original," said Count Rhedern, with a forced smile.

"They are, however, necessary. We need no longer trouble ourselves with this useless acting and hypocrisy. It is also but just that I should inform you why I so ardently desire to become a lady of quality, that is, why I wish to be able to appear at court, for I hope you do not consider me silly enough to buy a count for the mere sake of being called countess?"

"I should consider this wish by no means a silly one," murmured the count.

"No," continued his bride. "I desired to become a countess that I might obtain access to court and enjoy a happiness of which thousands would be envious, although like the moth I could only flutter round the brilliant and dazzling light until it burned me to death. I told you I was no longer young. I, however, still have a young heart, a fresher heart perhaps than all your proud and beautiful ladies of the court, for mine was as hard and clear as crystal, until—"

"Well, conclude," said the count, as she hesitated; "continue these little confessions, which are certainly rarely made before, but generally after marriage. You spoke of your heart having been as hard and clear as crystal, until—"

"Until I had seen the king," continued his bride, blushing, "until I had gazed in those wondrous eyes, until I had seen the smile, so proud, and yet so mild and gentle, with which he greeted his people from the balcony."

"It was then at the coronation that you formed the genial resolution of loving the king."

"Yes, it was on the coronation day that I for the first time comprehended how grand, how noble and sublime a true man could be. And my soul bowed in humility and obedience before the commanding glance of this Titan, and my heart bowed in adoration at the feet of this man, whose smile was so wondrous, and whose eyes spoke such great things. Oh! had I been near him as you were, I would have fallen at his feet and have said to him: 'I accept you as my master and my divinity; you are my ideal, and I will adore you as such with a pure and noble worship.' But I was far off, and could only pray to him in thought. I determined that I would be near him at some day; and I, who had wished to remain single, determined at this moment to marry—but to marry only a cavalier of the court. I inquired of my companion the names of the cavaliers who stood behind the king, and the most of them were married, but you were not, and I was told that you possessed a great many debts and very small means of paying them. On this day I told my father: 'I wish to marry Count Rhedern, I desire that you should purchase him for me, as you recently purchased the handsome set of Nuremburg jewelry.'"

"Really, a very flattering and ingenious view of the matter," said the count, with a forced laugh.

Caroline continued: "My father intrusted this affair to a broker who had frequently done business for him before, and who proved to be an apt trader on this occasion, for you see he purchased the goods we desired, and the business transaction has been concluded. Count, you will now understand why I made the condition that I should be admitted at court, and recognized as your countess, before I determined to become your wife."

"I understand perfectly well," said the count, peevishly; "you made use of me as a bridge over which you might pass from your father's shop to the royal palace, as I will make use of you to pay my debts, and to enable me to live a life worthy of a count. Ah, now that we understand one another so well, we will be perfectly at ease, and live a free and unconstrained life without annoying each other."

"Still, my dear count, you will sometimes experience a slight annoyance at my hands," said the millionnairess, gently placing her hand on the count's shoulder. "It was not only on account of your creditors that you desired so early a marriage, but mainly because the count considered it beneath his dignity to take part in the festivities of manufacturers and merchants. But I must inform you, dear sir, that I shall never forget that my father is a merchant, and that all my friends are the daughters of manufacturers and merchants. I will be a grateful daughter and a true friend, and I will compel you to show the same respect to my father and friends that I will show to yours."

"Compel!" exclaimed the count, "you will compel me?"

"I said compel, and you will soon perceive that it is in my power to do so. Listen: my father promised you that my dowry should be a million, out of which, however, your debts, and the expense of my trousseau, are to be defrayed. Your debts, including the mortgage on your estates, amount to two hundred thousand, and my trousseau, diamonds, and the furnishing of my house will cost about the same sum. There will remain, therefore, but six hundred thousand, of which you will enjoy the benefit, according to our marriage contract. But you will readily understand that the interest of this small capital will not support the daughter of a rich merchant respectably, and that if I should desire to entertain the king in my house, I would perhaps expend in one evening the half of my income."

The count regarded his bride with admiration, almost with reverence. "You then think that we could not live on the interest of six hundred thousand dollars?" asked he.

"I do not only think so, but I am sure of it, for I needed as much when a girl. Ah, my dear count, a great deal of money is necessary to gratify one's humors and caprices. My father is well aware of this fact, and has, therefore, given me as pin money a second million; this will, however, remain in his business, and I shall only receive the interest in monthly payments. I must, however, remark that this interest is not a part of my dowry, but is my personal property, with which I can do as I see fit. I can, if I wish, give fetes with this money, pay your debts, purchase horses and equipages for you, or I can give it to my father, who can make very good use of it in his business. And now pay attention: whenever you choose to neglect the proper and dutiful attention due to your wife, her father, or her friends, I will relinquish my pin money to my father, and you must look to some other source for the necessary funds."

"But I shall always be an attentive and grateful husband, and a dutiful son to your father," exclaimed the count, charmed with the prospect of a second million.

"Then you will do well," said his bride, gravely, "for your monthly income will thereby be increased by four thousand dollars. You see I am a true merchant's daughter, and understand accounts. I have bought you, and know your worth, but I also desire to be properly esteemed and respected by you. You must never think you have honored me by making me a countess, but must always remember that my father is a millionnaire, whose only daughter and heiress pays you for your amiability, your title, and her admission to court. And now enough of these tedious affairs. The carriage has stopped, and we have arrived at our destination; let us put on our masks again, and be the fond lovers who marry for pure love and tenderness."

"And in truth you deserve to be loved," exclaimed the count, pressing her hand to his lips. "You are the most discreet and charming of women, and I have no doubt that I will love you ardently some day."

"Poor count," said she, laughing, "on that day you will deserve commiseration, for I shall certainly never fall in love with you. A heart like mine loves but once, and dies of that love."

"I hope that this death will at least be a very slow one," said the count, jumping out of the carriage, and assisting his bride elect to descend.



CHAPTER V.

THE FRENCH AND GERMAN TAILORS, OR THE MONTAGUES AND CAPULETS OF BERLIN.

M. Pricker stood at his window; his face was sad, and he looked with a troubled gaze at the house on the other side of the street. This was the house of the new French tailor, Pelissier. Many splendid equipages were drawn up before the door, and crowds of gayly dressed men and women were passing in and out. Alas for earthly grandeur! alas for popular applause! Pricker stood at his window, no one rang his bell, not a carriage was to be seen at his door, since the arrival of the French tailor. Pricker was a lost man, wounded in his ambition, his most sacred feelings trampled upon, and his just claim to the gratitude of his generation disallowed. What advantage was it to him to be the acknowledged tailor of two queens? Since, in the ardor of his patriotism, he had refused to employ French hands, not one of all those ladies who had formerly confided to him the secrets of their toilets remembered his discretion, or his ability to hide their defects, or supply their wants. The fickle and ungrateful world had forsaken him. Even the Hohenzollerns had forgotten the great deeds and still greater services of the Prickers, and no longer knew how to reward true merit. Since Pelissier took the opposite house, Pricker's heart was broken; night and day he was consumed with anguish; but he made no complaint, he suffered in Spartan silence, and like a hero covered his bleeding wounds. One soft eye, one kindred heart discovered his silent sorrow; she, too, sorrowed as those without hope; she had not even the courage to offer consolation. In this hour of extremity poor Pricker sometimes thought of selling his house, but the next moment he would blush at his weakness and cowardice in thus abandoning the field to his foe.

In spiteful arrogance the French tailor had settled himself in the opposite house. It was a struggle for life or death offered by Pelissier, and it should not be said that a Pricker ignominiously declined the contest. Pricker must remain, he must defy his adversary, and yield only in death to this dandy Frenchman; he would therefore remain in those ancestral halls, which had so long sheltered the tailor of the two queens. He remained, but the death-worm was gnawing at his heart. Pricker still gazed across the street, and with an added pang he saw another carriage rolling in that direction; but no, this time the carriage turned to his side of the street. In the first joy of his heart he sprang forward to open the door and aid the ladies in descending; he checked himself in time, however, remembering that this would compromise the dignity of his house.

In a few moments Madame Pricker announced the rich Mademoiselle Orguelin and her future husband. Pricker advanced to meet them with calm composure, but there was tumultuous joy in his heart.

"You will be surprised, my dear Pricker, that we did not send for you, but we should have lost time by that, and our affairs demand the greatest haste."

Pricker bowed proudly. "My house is accustomed to receive noble persons; my grandfather had once the happiness to welcome a prince. In what can I serve you?"

"I need two complete court toilets," said Mademoiselle Orguelin—"the robes for a first presentation, and then for a great court ball."

"Then you wish a robe with a brocade train; I would choose blue velvet, it is most becoming to blondes, and throws a heavenly light upon their complexions."

"Then we will take sky blue," said the millionnaire, "with a train of silver. For the ball dress, my father has given me a dress woven in velvet and gold."

"Your toilets will be superb, and the appearance of the Countess Rhedern will do honor to the house of Pricker."

"You must promise to be ready in eight days."

"In four, if necessary," said Pricker, taking the long measure from his wife and approaching the lady.

"I leave the trimmings entirely to your taste, but of course my dress must be of the newest French cut."

Pricker had laid the measure around the slender waist of Mademoiselle Orguelin; he now removed it violently. "You desire your dresses made after the latest French style?" he said, harshly.

"Of course; that is surely understood; no decent tailor would work in any other style. I should indeed be ridiculous to appear at court in a stiff old German costume. You must make me the tight-fitting French waist, the long points in front, the narrow sleeves reaching to the elbow and trimmed with rich lace."

Pricker folded his measure with heroic determination and laid it upon the table.

"Your dress cannot be made in the house of Pricker, mademoiselle."

"What, you refuse to work for me?"

"I will not adopt the French fashions! that would be an insult to my ancestors. I will remain true to the good old German customs."

"Reflect," said Count Rhedern, "how much this obstinacy will cost you. You will lose all the patronage of the court; all the world adopts the new French fashions."

"That is true," said the sorrowful Pricker; he approached and pointed through the window to the house opposite. "Once all those carriages stood before my door; once I dressed all those noble people; a wink would be sufficient to recall them. Would I be untrue to the customs of my fathers, would I employ French workmen, all those carriages would be arrayed before my door. I hold the destiny of that contemptible Frenchman in my hands; a word from me, and he would be ruined; but I will not speak that word. Let him live to the disgrace and shame of the Germans who abandoned the time-honored customs of their fatherland."

The count offered his arm to his bride, and said, mockingly:

"I thank you for your address. I see that a German tailor may be a consummate fool! Come, my dear Caroline, we will go to M. Pelissier."

Pricker remained alone; grand and proud he stood in the middle of the saloon, and looked up, like a conquering hero, at the grim portraits of his ancestors.

"Be satisfied with me," he murmured; "I have made a new sacrifice to your names. My house is German, and German it shall remain."

At this moment there arose on the air the clear, full voice of his daughter, who was practising with Quantz a favorite Italian air of the king. "Nel tue giorni felice ricordati da me," sang the beautiful Anna, while Father Pricker ran, like a madman, up and down the room, and stopped his ears, that he might not hear the hateful sound. He cursed himself for allowing the monster Quantz to come to the house.

"Alas! alas! I have closed my heart to the new era and its horrors, hut I shall lose my children; they will not wish to wander in my ways."

At this moment Anna entered the room, with sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks.

"Father," she said, hastily, "the supreme desire of my heart will now be fulfilled. Quantz has at last promised that I shall sing at the next court concert. In eight days the king returns, and a concert will be arranged, at which I, your happy daughter, will sing an Italian song."

"Italian!"

"She will sing Italian," murmured Quantz, who was listening at the door. "She will give all the world an opportunity to laugh and ridicule her; and I shall be held responsible; I would rather die!"

Anna was greatly excited, and did not notice her teacher; and, as her mother entered the room, she embraced her warmly.

"Mother, mother, Quantz has pronounced me worthy to sing at the court. I shall cover myself with glory, and the daughter of the tailor will fill all Germany with her fame!"

"Unhappy child, do you not know that your father is present?"

"Oh, my father shall be proud of me!" cried Anna.

Mother Pricker was frightened at the looks of her husband. Anna scarcely noticed her parents; she said:

"Father, it is high time to think of my dress; it must be new and elegant."

"You shall have it," said her father, solemnly; "it is an honor to sing before the king. I will make you a magnificent dress out of your mother's bridal robe."

Anna laughed contemptuously. "No, no, father; the time is past when we dared to wear the clothes of our great-grandmothers. The day is gone by for family relics. How the ladies of the court would laugh at my mother's old flowered robe! Besides, the dress is too narrow for a modern hoop robe, the only style now tolerated."

"A hoop robe!" cried the father, in tones of horror; "she wishes to wear a hoop robe!"

"Yes, and why not?" said Anna. "Does not the beautiful Blanche wear one? and have not all the court ladies adopted them? No fashionable lady would dare now appear without a hoop robe."

"Who is Blanche?" cried M. Pricker, rising from his chair and looking threateningly at Anna, "who is Blanche?"

"Do you not know, father? Oh, you are only pretending not to know! Dearest Blanche, whom I love like a sister, and to whom I can only pay stolen visits, for her father is furious that you have not returned his visit, and has forbidden any of his family to enter our house."

"He did right; and I also forbid you to cross his threshold. I thought, Anna, you had too much pride to enter the house of your father's enemy, or speak to his daughter."

Anna shrugged her shoulders silently, and now quick steps were heard approaching.

"Oh, quel pleusir d'etre amoreuse," sang a fresh, manly voice.

"French!" cried Father Pricker, wild with rage. "William singing French!"

The door was hastily opened, and William, heir to the house of Pricker, stood upon the sill. He was arrayed in a most charming costume. A tight-fitting coat, short-waisted and long-tailed, wide sleeves, and large mother-of-pearl buttons; the cuffs and high-standing collar were richly embroidered in silver; his vest was "coleur de chair," and instead of a long plait, William had covered his hair with a powdered wig. A small three-cornered hat, worn jauntily to one side, was embroidered with silver, and ornamented with a black feather; in his hand he held a slight, graceful cane. William appeared before his father a complete model of a new-fashioned French dandy; rage and horror choked the old man's utterance.

"Well, father, do I please you? is not this attire worthy of a nobleman? only I cannot wear the white feather, which they say belongs exclusively to the nobility."

"Where did you get these clothes, William?" said his father, approaching him slowly; "who gave you the money to pay for them? It is a fool's costume! Who made it for you?"

"Well, you gave me the money, dear father," said William, laughing; "that is, you will give it to me. This handsome suit has not yet been paid for. The name of Pricker has a silvery sound; Pelissier knows that, and credited me willingly; though at first he refused to work for me, and I thank Blanche that I have a costume from the celebrated shop of Pelissier."

Old Pricker uttered a cry of rage, and seizing, with feverish violence, the long tails of his son's coat, he dragged him to and fro.

"So Pelissier made this! he has dared to array my son, the son and heir of the house of Pricker, in this ridiculous manner! And you, William, you were shameless enough to receive this suit from your father's enemy. Alas! alas! are you not afraid that your ancestors will rise from their graves to punish you?"

"Dear father," said William, "it is only a costume, and has nothing to do with character or principle."

"Never will I allow my son to be lost to me in this manner," cried Pricker; "and if in the blindness of his folly he has lost himself, I will bring him back with violence, if necessary, to the right path. Off, then, with this absurd coat! off with this fool's cap! off with all this livery!"

Pricker now began to pull and tear madly at his son's clothes; he knocked his hat off, and trampled it under his feet; he seized with both hands the lace collar, and laughed when the shreds remained in his hands. William was at first dumb with terror, but the loud laugh of his sister, who found this scene amusing, restored his presence of mind; with mad violence he pushed his father from him.

"Father," he cried, "I am no longer a boy! I will not bear this treatment; I will dress as I like, and as the fashions demand."

"Well spoken, my brother," said Anna, laughingly, springing to his side; "we are children of the new era, and will dress as it demands. Why did our parents give us modern educations if they wished us to conform to old-fashioned prejudice?"

"'Honour thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee,'" said Pricker, solemnly.

"Another Bible verse," said Anna, mockingly. "The book is no longer fashionable; and it is not half so amusing as Voltaire."

"Enough, enough," said Pricker; "now listen to my last determination. I command you to live and dress as your father and mother have dressed before you! Woe to you if you despise my commands! woe to you if you defy my authority! I will disown you—and my curse shall be your inheritance; remember this. If you ever enter that house again, or speak to any of its inhabitants—if I ever see you in this French livery again, or if you, Anna, ever appear before me in a hoop robe and toupe, from that moment you cease to be my children."

Father and mother left the room; the brother and sister remained alone.

"Well," said Anna, "do you intend to obey these commands? Will you wear the queue and the narrow, coarse frock coat?"

"Nonsense," said William, "that Blanche may ridicule me, and all the world may laugh at me. You do not know, Anna, how much Blanche and myself love each other; we have vowed eternal love and faith, and she is to be my wife!"

"You will then become an honorable tailor, as your fathers were."

William laughed. "I follow a trade! I who have received the education of a nobleman! no, no, Anna, you are not in earnest; you cannot believe that."

"Take care, William, you will be disinherited; father is in earnest."

"Oh, he will have to submit, as old Pelissier must do; he will also be furious when he first learns that I am the husband of Blanche; he has threatened her with his curse if she marries me. But in spite of all this we intend to marry; they must at last be reconciled. Oh, Blanche is beautiful as an angel!"

"Nevertheless she is a tailor's daughter," said Anna.

"Yes, like my beautiful and amiable sister Anna."

"But I shall become a celebrated singer, and the wife of a nobleman."

"Well, and who says that Blanche will not be the wife of a celebrated man, and that you will not be proud of me?"

"Will you be a man or a woman dressmaker?"

"Neither one nor the other! I shall be an actor; but silence, this is my secret and I must keep it!"



CHAPTER VI.

IN RHEINSBERG.

The quiet castle of Rheinsberg was again alive with noise. Its halls resounded with music and laughter; gay and happy faces were everywhere to be seen; bright jests to be heard on every side. The charming days of the past, when Frederick was prince royal, seemed to have returned; the same company now filled the castle; the same sports and amusements were enjoyed. All was the same, yet still, every thing was changed, transformed. Almost all of those who had left Rheinsberg with such proud hopes, such great desires, were again there, but with annihilated hopes. They had all expected to reign; they had claimed for themselves honor and power, but the young king had allowed to none the privilege of mounting the throne by his side. They were all welcome companions, loved friends. But none dared overstep the boundary of dependence and submission which he had drawn around them, and in the centre of which he stood alone, trusting to his own strength and will. They had gained nothing from the crown which rested upon Frederick's noble head; but they had lost nothing. They returned to Rheinsberg not exalted, though not humbled.

But one heart was broken, one heart was bleeding from unseen pain. It was the heart of Elizabeth, the heart of that poor rejected woman who was called the reigning queen, the wife of Frederick.

The king, on returning from his excursion to Strasburg, had reminded her of her promise to follow him with her court to Rheinsberg. And the poor sufferer, though she knew that the presence of the king would be for her a continual torment, an hourly renunciation, could not find strength to resist the desire of her own heart. She had followed her husband, saying to herself with a painful smile: "I will at least see him, and if he does not speak to me I will still hear his voice. My sufferings will be greater, but I shall be near him. The joy will help me to bear the pain. Soffri e taci!" Elizabeth Christine was right; the king never spoke to her, never fixed those brilliant blue eyes, which possessed for her the depth and immensity of the skies, upon her pale countenance. With a silent bow he welcomed her daily at their meals, but he did not now lead her to the table and sit beside her. The presence of the Margrave and Margravine of Baireuth seemed to impose upon him the duty of honoring his favorite sister, who was his guest more than his wife the queen. He sat, therefore, between his sister and her husband the count, at whose side the queen was placed. He did not speak to her but she saw him, and strengthened her heart by the sight of his proud and noble countenance.

She suffered and was silent. She veiled her pain by a soft smile, she concealed the paleness of her cheek with artificial bloom, she covered the furrows that care already showed in her lovely and youthful face, with black, beauty-spots which were then the fashion. No one should think that she suffered. No one should pity her, not even the king. Elizabeth Christine joined in all the pleasures and amusements at Rheinsberg. She laughed at Bielfeld's jests, at Pollnitz's bright anecdotes; she listened with beaming eyes to Knobelsdorf's plans for beautifying the king's residence; she took part in the preparations for a drama that was to be performed. Voltaire's "Death of Caesar," and "The Frenchman in London," by Boissy, had been chosen by the king to be played at Rheinsberg, and in each piece she played a prominent role. The young queen, as it seemed, had become an enthusiastic admirer of the theatre; she was never missing at any of the rehearsals, and aided her beautiful maids of honor in the arrangements of their costumes.

The king was now seldom to be seen in the circle of his friends and companions, and the tones of his flute were rarely to be heard. He passed the day in his library, no one dared disturb him, not even Guentz. Madame von Brandt, who had accompanied the court to Rheinsberg, said, in one of her secret meetings with Count Manteuffel: "The king is unfaithful to his last sweetheart, he has abandoned and rejected his flute."

"But with what does the king occupy himself the entire day?" asked the count. "What is it that takes him from his friends and fills up all his time?"

"Nothing but scientific studies," said Madame von Brandt, shrugging her shoulders. "Fredersdorf told me that he busies himself with maps and plans, is surrounded by his military books, and is occupied like an engineer with astrolabes and land surveyors. You now see that these are very innocent occupations, and that they can have no influence upon our affairs. The king, I promise you, will never be more divorced from his wife than he now is; and concerning the marriage of Prince Augustus William, my plans are so skilfully laid that there is no danger of failure, and poor Laura von Pannewitz will surely be sacrificed. All is well, and we have nothing to fear from the king's innocent studies."

"Ah, you call these innocent studies?" said the count; "I assure you that these studies will greatly disturb the Austrian court, and I must at once notify my friend Seckendorf of them."

"You are making a mountain of a mole hill," said Madame von Brandt, laughing. "I assure you, you have nothing to fear. It is true the king passes the day in his study, but he passes his evenings with us, and he is then as gay, as unconstrained, as full of wit and humor as ever. Perhaps he makes use of the solitude of his study to learn his role, for to-morrow, you know, we act the 'Death of Caesar,' and the king is 'Brutus.'"

"Yes, yes," said Count Manteuffel, thoughtfully, "it strikes me the king is playing the part of Brutus; to the eye he seems harmless and gay, but who knows what dark thoughts pregnant with mischief are hid in his soul?"

"You are always seeing ghosts," said Madame von Brandt, impatiently. "But hear! the court clock is striking six; it is high time for me to return to the castle, for at seven the last rehearsal commences, and I have still to dress." And Madame von Brandt hastily took leave of her ally, and ran gayly to the castle.

But she had no need to dress for the rehearsal. The king was not able to act; the strong will was to-day conquered by an enemy who stands in awe of no one, not even of a king—an enemy who can vanquish the most victorious commander. Frederick was ill of a fever, which had tormented him the whole summer, which had kept him from visiting Amsterdam, and which confined him to his bed in the castle of Moyland, while Orttaire was paying his long expected visit, had again taken a powerful hold upon him and made of the king a pale, trembling man, who lay shivering and groaning upon his bed, scoffing at Ellart, his physician, because he could not cure him.

"There is a remedy," said Ellart, "but I dare not give it to your majesty."

"And why not?" said the king.

"Because its strength must first be tested, to see if it can be used without danger; it must first be tried by a patient upon whose life the happiness of millions does not depend."

"A human life is always sacred, and if not certain of your remedy, it is as vicious to give it to a beggar as to a king."

"I believe," said Ellart, "as entirely in this remedy as Louis the Fourteenth, who bought it secretly from Talbot, the Englishman, and paid him a hundred Napoleons for a pound. The wife of the King of Spain was cured by it."

"Give me this remedy," said the king, with chattering teeth.

"Pardon me, your majesty, but I dare not, though I have a small quantity with me which was sent by a friend from Paris, and which I brought to show you as a great curiosity. This tiny brown powder is a medicine which was not distilled by the apothecary, but by Nature."

"Then I have confidence in it," said the king; "Nature is the best physician, the best apothecary, and what she brews is full of divine healing power. How is this remedy called?"

"It is the Peruvian bark, or quinine, the bark above all barks which, by a divine Providence, grows in Peru, the land of fevers."

But the king had not the strength to listen to him. He now lay burning with fever; a dark purple covered his cheek, and his eyes, which, but a few moments before, were dull and lustreless, now sparkled with fire. The king, overpowered by the disease, closed his eyes, and occasionally unconnected, senseless words escaped his dry, burning lips.

Fredersdorf now entered, and through the open door the anxious, inquiring faces of Pollnitz, Bielfeld, Jordan, and Kaiserling could be seen.

On tip-toe Ellart approached the private chamberlain.

"How is the king?" said he, hastily. "Is he in a condition to hear some important news?"

"Not now. Wait an hour; he will then be free from fever."

"We will wait," said Fredersdorf to the four courtiers who had entered the room, and were now standing around the royal bed.

"Is it bad news? If so, I advise you to wait until tomorrow."

"Well, I do not believe the king will think it bad," said Kaiserling, laughing.

"And I am convinced the king will be well pleased with our news," said Bielfeld. "I think so, because the king is a sleeping hero waiting to be roused."

"If you speak so loud," whispered Pollnitz, "it will be you who will wake this hero, and the thunder of his anger will fall upon you."

"Pollnitz is right," said Jordan; "be quiet, and let us await his majesty's waking." And the group stood in silence around the couch, with eyes fixed upon the king. He at last awoke, and a smile played upon his lip as he perceived the six cavaliers.

"You stand there like mourners," said he; "and to look at you one would think you were undertakers!"

"Ah, sire, fever does not kill like apoplexy," said Jordan, approaching his friend and pressing his hand tenderly.

"Your majesty called us undertakers," said Pollnitz, laughing. "As usual, the divine prophetic mind of our king is in the right. There is certainly a funeral odor about us."

"But God forbid that we should mourn," said Bielfeld, "we are much better prepared to sound the battlesong."

All this passed while the physician was feeling the king's pulse, and Fredersdorf was tenderly arranging his pillows. The king looked at him inquiringly. "Listen, Fredersdorf," said he, "what meaning have all these mysterious words and looks; why are you all so grave? Is one of my dogs dead? or are you only peevish because this abominable fever has cheated you of the rehearsal?"

"No, your majesty. The dogs are in excellent health."

"The king's pulse is perfectly quiet," said Ellart, "you can communicate your news to him." Baron Pollnitz approached the king's couch.

"Sire, one hour ago a courier arrived who was the bearer of important information."

"Whence came he?" said the king, calmly.

"From your majesty's ambassador in Vienna, Count Borche."

"Ah!" said the king, "is the empress, our noble aunt, suffering?"

"The empress is perfectly well, but her husband, the emperor—"

"Well, why do you not continue?" said the king, impatiently.

"Would your majesty not wish some restorative first?" said Fredersdorf; but the king pushed him angrily away.

"I wish your phrase, Pollnitz. What of the Emperor of Austria?"

"Sire, Emperor Charles the Sixth is no more, he died the twentieth of October."

"Truly," said Frederick, leaning back, "it was worth the trouble to make so much to do about such insignificant news. If the emperor is dead, Maria Theresa will be Empress of Germany, that is all. It does not concern us." He stopped and closed his eyes.

The physician again felt his pulse. "It is perfectly quiet," said he; "this prodigious news has not occasioned the slightest commotion or irregularity."

"You are right," said the king, looking up. "Neither is the death of the Emperor Charles to make the slightest change in our plans, but to execute them I must be perfectly well. It must not be said that a miserable fever changed my intentions and condemned me to idleness; I must have no fever on the day the news of the emperor's death arrives, or the good people of Vienna will believe that I was made ill with fright. Give me that powder, Ellart, I will take it."

"But I told your majesty that I cannot, dare not give it to you, for I have not tried its effect yet."

"Then try it on me," said the king, positively. "Give me the powder."

It was in vain that Ellart called upon the cavaliers to support his opinion; in vain that they begged and implored the king not to take the powder, not to put his life in danger.

"My life is in God's hands," said the king, earnestly; "and God, who created me, created also this bark. I trust more in God's medicine than in that of man. Quick, give me the powder!" And as Ellart still hesitated, he continued in a stern voice: "I command you, as your king and master, to give it to me. On my head rests the responsibility."

"If your majesty commands I must obey, but I take these gentlemen to witness that I but do it on compulsion."

And amid the breathless silence of the room, the king took the medicine.

"Now your majesty must rest," said Ellart; "you must, by no means, return to Berlin; by my holy right of physician, I forbid it."

"And why should I return to Berlin?" said the king, laughingly. "Why should our harmless pleasure and amusements be given up? Are we not to act Voltaire's 'Death of Caesar?' No, I will not return to Berlin. A trifle such as the emperor's death should not create such great disturbances. We will remain here and renew our former happy days, and forget that we have any duty but our enjoyment. Now, gentlemen, leave me, I am well. You see, Ellart, I did well to take that medicine; I will dress. Fredersdorf, remain here. Jordan, send me Secretary Eichel. I must dictate a few necessary letters, and then, gentlemen, we will meet in the music room, where I am to play a duet with Quantz. I invite you as audience."

The king dismissed his friends with a gracious smile, jested gayly with Fredersdorf, and then dictated three letters to his secretary. One was to Marshal von Schwerin, the other to the Prince of Anhalt Dessau, and the third to Ambassador Podrilse. The three held the same words, the same command, telling them to come immediately to Rheinsberg. He then entered the music room, and never was Frederick so gay, so witty, and unconstrained; never did he play on his flute more beautifully than on the day he heard of the death of the Emperor of Germany. The following morning the three gentlemen arrived from Berlin and were at once admitted into the king's library. Frederick met them with a proud, happy smile; his eye beamed with an unusual light; his forehead was smooth and free from care; he seemed inspired.

"The Emperor of Germany is dead," said he, after the gentlemen were seated. "The emperor is dead, and I have sent for you to see what benefit we can derive from his death!"

"Oh, your majesty would not think of benefiting by a death which throws a royal house, nearly connected with you, into deep sorrow, and robs the reigning queen of Prussia of an uncle!" cried the old Prince of Dessau, solemnly.

"Oh, it is well known that you are an imperialist," said the king, laughing.

"No, your majesty, but a difficulty with Austria would be a great misfortune for us."

Frederick shrugged his shoulders, and turned to the other two.

"I also wish for your opinion, gentlemen," said he; "you are all men of experience, soldiers, and statesmen, and you must not refuse to advise one of my youth and inexperience."

With a quiet smile he listened to their wise, peaceful propositions.

"You then doubt my right to Silesia?" said he, after a pause. "You do not think I am justified in demanding this Silesia, which was dishonestly torn from my ancestors by the Hapsburger?"

"But your ancestors still kept the peace," said the Prince of Dessau; "they left Silesia in the undisturbed possession of the Austrians."

"Yes," said the king, in a firm voice,—"and when my ancestors, outwitted by the cunning intrigues of the Austrian court, accommodated themselves to this necessity,—when for rendered services they were rewarded with base ingratitude, with idle, unmeaning promises, then they called upon their descendants to revenge such injustice, such insults to their honor and rights. Frederick William, the great Elector, cried prophetically when the Austrian house deserted him and denied her sworn promises—'A revenger will rise from my ashes;' and my father, when he had witnessed to the full the ingratitude of the Austrian court, felt that there could be no peace between the houses of Austria and Brandenburg, and he intrusted to me the holy mission of punishing and humiliating this proud, conceited court; he pointed me out to his ministers, and said: 'There stands one who will revenge me!' You see that my ancestors call me, my grandfather and father chose me for their champion and revenger; they call upon me to perform that which they, prevented by circumstances, could not accomplish; the hour which my ancestors designated has arrived—the hour of retribution! The time has come when the old political system must undergo an entire change. The stone has broken loose which is to roll upon Nebuchadnezzar's image and crush it. It is time to open the eyes of the Austrians, and to show them that the little Marquis of Brandenburg, whose duty they said it was to hand the emperor after meals the napkin and finger-bowl, has become a king, who will not be humbled by the Austrians, and who acknowledges none but God as his master. Will you help me; will you stand by me in this work with your experience and your advice?"

"We will!" cried the three, with animation, borne away by the king's noble ardor. "Our life, our blood, belong to our king, our country."

Frederick laughingly shook hands with them. "I counted upon you," said he, "nor will Zithen and Vinterfeldt fail us; we will not go to battle hastily and unprepared. All was foreseen, all prepared, and we have now but to put in execution the plans that have for some time been agitating my brain. Here is the map for our campaign; here are the routes and the plan of attack. We shall at last stand before these Austrians in battle array; and as they dared say of my father, that his gun was ever cocked but the trigger never pulled, we will show them that we are ready to discharge, and thrust down the double eagle from its proud pinnacle. The combat is determined and unalterable; let us be silent and prudent, no one must discover our plans; we will surprise the Austrians. And now, gentlemen, examine these plans, and tell me if there are any changes to be made in them."



CHAPTER VII.

THE KING AND HIS FRIEND.

For several hours the king remained in earnest council with his advisers. As they left him he called Jordan, and advanced to meet him with both hands extended.

"Well, Jordan, rejoice with me; my days of illness are over, and there will be life and movement in this rusty and creaking machine of state. You have often called me a bold eagle, now we shall see if my wings have strength to bear me to great deeds, and if my claws are sharp enough to pluck out the feathers of the double eagle." "So my suspicions are correct, and it is against Austria that my king will make his first warlike movement?"

"Yes, against Austria; against this proud adversary, who, with envious and jealous eyes, watches my every step; who is pleased to look upon Prussia as her vassal; whose emperor considered it beneath his dignity to extend his hand to my father, or offer him a seat; and now I will refuse the hand to Austria, and force her from her comfortable rest."

"For you, also, my king, will the days of quiet be over; your holy and happy hours with poetry, philosophy, and the arts, must be given up. The favorite of Apollo will become the son of Mars; we who are left behind can only look after you, we can do nothing for you, not even offer our breasts as a shield against danger and death."

"Away with such thoughts," said Frederick, smiling; "death awaits us all, and if he finds me on the field of battle, my friends, my subjects, and history will not forget me. That is a comfort and a hope; and you, Jordan, you know that I believe in a great, exalted, and almighty Being, who governs the world. I believe in God, and I leave my fate confidently in His hands. The ball which strikes me comes from Him; and if I escape the battle-field, a murderous hand can reach me, even in my bed-chamber; and surely that would be a less honorable, less famous death. I must do something great, decisive, and worthy of renown, that my people may love me, and look up to me with confidence and trust. It is not enough to be a king by inheritance and birth, I must prove by my deeds that I merit it. Silesia offers me a splendid opportunity, and truly I think the circumstances afford me a solid and sure basis for fame."

"Alas! I see," sighed Jordan, "that the love of your subjects, and the enthusiastic tenderness of your friends, is not sufficient for you; you would seek renown."

"Yes, you are right; this glittering phantom, Fame, is ever before my eyes. I know this is folly, but when once you have listened to her intoxicating whispers, you cannot cast her off. Speak not, then, of exposure, or care, or danger; these are as dust of the balance; I am amazed that this wild passion does not turn every man's head."

"Alas! your majesty, the thirst for fame has cost thousands of men their reasons and their lives. The field of battle is truly the golden book of heroes, but their names must be written therein in blood."

"It is true," said the king, thoughtfully, "a field of battle is a sad picture for a poet and a philosopher; but every man in this world must pursue his calling, and I will not do my work half way. I love war for the sake of fame. Pity me not, Jordan, because these days of illness and peace and gayety are over; because I must go into the rough field, while you amuse yourself with Horace, study Pausanias, and laugh and make merry with Anacreon. I envy you not. Fame beckons me with her alluring glance. My youth, the fire of passion, the thirst for renown, and a mysterious and unconquerable power, tears me from this life of indolence. The glowing desire to see my name connected with great deeds in the journals and histories of the times drives me out into the battle-field.[16] There will I earn the laurel-wreaths which kings do not find in their cradles, or upon their throne, but which as men, and as heroes, they must conquer for themselves."

[16] The king's own words.

"The laurel will deck the brow of my hero, my Frederick, in all time," said Jordan, with tears in his eyes. "Oh! I see before you a glorious future; it may be I shall have passed away—but where will my spirit be? When I stand near you and look upon you, I know that the spirit is immortal. The soul, noble and god-like, will be ever near you; so whether living or dead I am thine, to love you as my friend, to honor you as my sovereign, to admire you as a gifted genius, glowing with godly fire."

"Oh, speak not of death," said the king, "speak not of death; I have need of you, and it seems to me that true friendship must be strong enough even to conquer death! Yes, Jordan, we have need of each other, we belong to each other; and it would be cruel, indeed, to rob me of a treasure which we, poor kings, so rarely possess, a faithful and sincere friend. No, Jordan, you will be my Cicero to defend the justice of my cause, and I will be your Caesar to carry out the cause happily and triumphantly."

Jordan was speechless; he shook his head sadly. The king observed him anxiously, and saw the deep, feverish purple spots, those roses of the grave, upon the hollow cheeks of his friend; he saw that he grew daily weaker; he heard the hot, quick breathing which came panting from his breast. A sad presentiment took possession of his heart, the smile vanished from his lips, he could not conceal his emotion, and walking to the window he leaned his hot brow upon the glass and shed tears which none but God should see. "My God! my God! how poor is a prince! I have so few friends, and these will soon pass away. Suhm lies ill in Marschau; perhaps I shall never see him again. Jordan is near me, but I see death in his face and he will soon be torn from my side."

Jordan stood immovable and looked toward the king, who still leaned his head upon the window; he did not dare to disturb him, and yet he had important and sad news to announce. At last Jordan laid his hand upon his shoulder.

"Pardon, my king," said he, in trembling tones, "pardon that I dare to interrupt you; but a hero dare not give himself up to sad thoughts before the battle, and when he thinks of death he must greet him with laughter, for death is his ally and his adjutant; and even if his ally grasps his nearest and best beloved friend, the hero and the conqueror must yield him up as an offering to victory."

The king turned quickly toward the speaker. "You have death news to give me," said he curtly, leaning against the back of his chair. "You have death news for me, Jordan."

"Yes, news of death, my prince," said he, deeply moved; "fate will accustom your majesty to such trials, that your heart may not falter when your friends fall around you in the day of battle."

"It is, then, a friend who is dead," said Frederick, turning pale.

"Yes, sire, your best beloved."

The king said nothing; sinking in the chair, and grasping the arms convulsively, he leaned his head back, and in a low voice asked, "Is it Suhm?"

"Yes, it is Suhm; he died in Marschau. Here is his last letter to your highness; his brother sent it to me, that I might hand it to your majesty."

The king uttered a cry of anguish, and clasped his hands before his pallid face. Great tears ran down his cheeks; with a hasty movement he shook them from his eyes, opened and read the letter. As he read it he sighed and sobbed aloud: "Suhm is dead! Suhm is dead! the friend who loved me so sincerely, even as I loved him. That noble man, who combined intellect, sincerity, and sensibility. My heart is in mourning for him; so long as a drop of blood flows in my veins I will remember him, and his family shall be mine. Ah, my heart bleeds, and the wound is deep."

The king, mastered by his grief, laid his head in his hand and wept aloud. Then, after a long pause, he raised himself; he was calm and stern. "Jordan," said he, firmly, "death hath no more power over me, never again can he wring my heart; he has laid an iron shield upon me, and when I go to battle I must be triumphant; my friend has been offered up as a victim. Jordan, Jordan, my wound bleeds, but I will bind it up, and no man shall see even the blood-stained cloth with which I cover it. I have overcome death, and now will I offer battle and conquer as become a hero, and a king. What cares the world that I suffer? The world shall know nothing of it; a mask before my face, and silence as to my agony. We will laugh and jest while we sorrow for our friend, and while we prepare to meet the enemy. We will PLAY Caesar and Antonius now; hereafter we may really imitate them. Come, Jordan, come, we will try 'The Death of Caesar.'"



CHAPTER VIII.

THE FAREWELL AUDIENCE OF MARQUIS VON BOTTER, THE AUSTRIAN AMBASSADOR.

This was to be a fete day in the royal palace of Berlin. The king intended giving a splendid dinner, after which the court would take coffee in the newly furnished rooms of the dowager queen, and a mask ball was prepared for the evening, to which the court, the nobility, and higher officials were invited.

The court mourning for the emperor was at an end, and every one was determined to enjoy the pleasures of the carnival. Never had the court led so gay, so luxurious a life. Even the good old citizens of Berlin seemed to appreciate this new administration, which brought so much money to the poorer classes, such heavy profits to tradesmen. They believed that this extravagant court brought them greater gains than an economical one, and were therefore contented with this new order of things.

The king had refurnished the palace with an unheard of splendor. In the apartment of the queen-mother there was a room in which all the ornaments and decorations were of massive gold. Even the French and English ambassadors were astonished at this "Golden Cabinet," and declared that such splendor and magnificence could not be found in the palaces of Paris or London. The people of Berlin, as we have said, were becoming proud of their court and their king, and they thought it quite natural that this young ruler, who was only twenty-eight years old, should interest himself very little in the affairs of State, and should give his time to pleasure and amusement.

The king had accomplished his desire. No one suspected the deep seriousness that he concealed under this idle play. No one dreamed that this gay, smiling prince, on whose lips there was always a witty jest or bon mot; who proposed a concert every evening, in which he himself took part; who surrounded himself with artists, poets, and gay cavaliers, with whom he passed many nights of wild mirth and gayety—no one dreamed that this harmless, ingenuous young prince, was on the point of overthrowing the existing politics of the European states, and of giving an entirely new form to the whole of Germany.

The king had not raised his mask for a moment; he had matured his plans under the veil of inviolate secrecy. The moment of their accomplishment had now arrived; this evening, during the mask ball which had been prepared with such pomp and splendor, the king with his regiments would leave Berlin and proceed to Silesia. But even the troops did not know their destination. The journals had announced that the army would leave Berlin to go into new winter quarters, and this account was generally believed. Only a few confidants, and the generals who were to accompany the king, were acquainted with this secret. The king, after a final conference, in which he gave the last instructions and orders, said:

"Now, gentlemen, that we have arranged our business, we will think of our pleasure. I will see you this evening at the ball; we will dance once more with the ladies before we begin our war-dance."

As the generals left him, his servant entered to assist at his toilet. Pelissier, the French tailor, had prepared a new and magnificent costume for this evening, made in the latest Parisian style. The king desired to appear once more in great splendor before exchanging the saloon for the camp. Never had he bestowed such care upon his toilet; never had he remained so patiently under the hands of the barber; he even went to the large mirror when his toilet was completed, and carefully examined his appearance and costly dress.

"Well," he said, smiling, "if the Marquis von Botter is not deceived by this dandy that I see before me, it is not my fault. The good Austrian ambassador must be very cunning indeed if he discovers a warrior in this perfumed fop. I think he will be able to tell my cousin, Maria Theresa, nothing more than that the King of Prussia knows how to dress himself, and is the model of fashion."

The king passed into the rooms of the queen-mother, where the court was assembled, and where he had granted a farewell audience to the Marquis von Botter, the ambassador of the youthful Empress of Austria. Frederick was right: the marquis had been deceived by the mask of harmless gayety and thoughtless happiness assumed by the king and court. He had been sent by the empress with private instructions to sound the intentions of the Prussian king, while his apparent business was to return her acknowledgments for the congratulations of the King of Prussia on her ascension to the throne.

The Marquis von Botter, as we have said, had been deceived by the gay and thoughtless manner of the king, and Manteuffel's warnings and advice had been thrown away.

The marquis had withdrawn with Manteuffel to one of the windows, to await the entrance of the king; the ladies and gentlemen of the court were scattered through the rooms of the queen-mother, who was playing cards with Queen Christine in the golden cabinet.

"I leave Berlin," said the marquis, "with the firm conviction that the king has the most peaceful intentions."

"As early as to-morrow your convictions will be somewhat shaken," replied Manteuffel, "for this night the king and his army depart for Silesia."

At this moment the king appeared at the door of the golden cabinet. There was a sudden silence, and all bent low, bowing before the brilliant young monarch.

Frederick bowed graciously, but remained in the doorway, glancing over the saloon; it appeared to afford him a certain pleasure to exhibit himself to the admiring gaze of those present. He stood a living picture of youth, beauty, and manliness.

"Only look at this richly-dressed, elegant young man," whispered Marquis von Botter; "look at his youthful countenance, beaming with pleasure and delight; at his hands, adorned with costly rings, so white and soft, that they would do honor to the most high-bred lady; at that slender foot, in its glittering shoe. Do you wish to convince me that this small foot will march to battle; that this delicate hand, which is only fitted to hold a smelling-bottle or a pen, will wield a sword? Oh! my dear count, you make me merry with your gloomy prophecies."

"Still I entreat you to believe me. As soon as your audience is over, hasten to your hotel, and return to Vienna with all possible speed; allow yourself no hour of sleep, no moment for refreshment, until you have induced your empress to send her army to Silesia. If you do not, if you despise my advice, the King of Prussia will reach Silesia before you are in Vienna, and the empress will receive this intelligence which you do not credit from the fleeing inhabitants of her province, which will have been conquered without a blow."

The deep earnestness of the count had in it something so impressive, so convincing, that the marquis felt his confidence somewhat shaken, and looked doubtfully at the young monarch, who was now smiling and conversing with some of the ladies.

But even in speaking the king had not lost sight of these two gentlemen who were leaning against the window, and whose thoughts he read in their countenances. He now met the eye of the marquis, and motioned to him to come forward. The marquis immediately approached the king, who stood in the centre of the saloon, surrounded by his generals.

Every eye was turned toward the glittering group, in which the young king was prominent: for those to whom the intentions of the king were known, this was an interesting piece of acting; while for the uninitiated, who had only an uncertain suspicion of what was about to happen, this was a favorable moment for observation.

The Austrian ambassador now stood before the king, making a deep and ceremonious bow. The king returned this salutation, and said:

"You have really come to take leave, marquis?"

"Sire, her majesty, my honored empress, recalls me, and I must obey her commands, happy as I should be, if I were privileged, to sun myself still longer in your noble presence."

"It is true, a little sunshine would be most beneficial to you, marquis. You will have a cold journey."

"Ah! your majesty, the cold is an evil that could easily be endured."

"There are, then, other evils which will harass you on your journey?"

"Yes, sire, there is the fearful road through Silesia, that lamentable Austrian province. Ah! your majesty, this is a road of which in your blessed land you have no idea, and which is happily unknown in the other Austrian provinces. This poor Silesia has given only care and sorrow to the empress; but, perhaps, for that reason, she loves it so well, and would so gladly assist it. But even Nature seems to prevent the accomplishment of her noble intentions. Heavy rains have destroyed the roads which had, with great expense, been rendered passable, and I learn, to my horror, that it is scarcely possible for a traveller to pass them without running the greatest danger."

"Well," said the king, quietly, "I imagine that nothing could happen to the traveller that could not be remedied by a bath and a change of dress."

"Excuse me, sire," cried the marquis, eagerly, "he would risk his health, yes, even his life, in crossing the deep marshes, covered with standing water, which are common in that country. Oh! those are to be envied who need not expose themselves to this danger."

The king was wearied with this crafty diplomatic play; he was tired of the piercing glances with which the ambassador examined his countenance. In the firm conviction of his success, and the noble pride of his open and truth-loving nature, it pleased him to allow the mask to fall, which had concealed his heroic and warlike intentions from the marquis. The moment of action had arrived; it was, therefore no longer necessary to wear the veil of secrecy.

"Well, sir," said the king, in a loud, firm voice, "if you feel so great a dread of this journey, I advise you to remain in Berlin. I will go in your place into Silesia, and inform my honored cousin, Maria Theresa, with the voice of my cannon, that the Silesian roads are too dangerous for an Austrian, but are most convenient for the King of Prussia to traverse on his way to Breslau."

"Your majesty intends marching to Breslau?" asked the horrified marquis.

"Yes, sir, to Breslau; and as you remarked, the roads are too dangerous for a single traveller, and I intend taking my army with me to protect my carriage."

"Oh!" exclaimed the marquis, "your majesty intends making a descent on the lands of my exalted sovereign?"

The king glanced proudly and scornfully at this daring man. An involuntary murmur arose among the courtiers; the hands of the generals sought their swords, as if they would challenge this presumptuous Austrian, who dared to reproach the King of Prussia.

The king quieted his generals with a slight motion of his hand, and turning again to the marquis, he said, composedly, "You express yourself falsely, marquis. I will make no descent upon the lands of the Empress of Austria; I will only reclaim what is mine—mine by acknowledged right, by inheritance, and by solemn contract. The records of this claim are in the state department of Austria, and the empress need only read these documents to convince herself of my right to the province of Silesia."

"Your majesty, by this undertaking, may, perhaps, ruin the house of Austria, but you will most certainly destroy your own."

"It depends upon the empress to accept or reject the propositions which I have made to her through my ambassador in Vienna."

The marquis glanced ironically at the king, and said, "Sire, your troops are fair to see; the Austrian army has not that glittering exterior, but they are veterans who have already stood fire."

"You think my troops are showy," he said, impetuously; "eh bien, I will convince you that they are equally brave."

Thus speaking, the king gave the Austrian ambassador a bow of dismissal. The audience was at an end. The ambassador made a ceremonious bow, and left the room, amid profound silence.

Scarcely had the door closed behind him before the noble countenance of the king had recovered its usual calm and lofty expression.

He said gayly: "Mesdames et messieurs, it is time to prepare for the mask ball; I have thrown aside my mask for a moment, but you, doubtless, think it time to assume yours. Farewell until then."



CHAPTER IX.

THE MASQUERADE.

The saloons were brilliantly illuminated, and a train of gayly intermingled, fantastically attired figures were moving to and fro in the royal palace. It seemed as if the representatives of all nations had come together to greet the heroic young king. Greeks and Turks were there in gold-embroidered, bejewelled apparel. Odalisks, Spanish, Russian, and German peasant women in every variety of costume; glittering fairies, sorceresses, and fortune-telling gypsies; grave monks, ancient knights in silver armor, castle dames, and veiled nuns. It was a magnificent spectacle to behold, these splendidly decorated saloons, filled with so great a variety of elegant costumes; and had it not been for the lifeless, grinning, and distorted faces, one might have imagined himself transported to Elysium, where all nations and all races are united in unclouded bliss. But the cold, glittering masks which concealed the bright faces, sparkling with animation and pleasure, somewhat marred the effect of this spectacle, and recalled the enraptured spectator to the present, and to the stern reality.

Only in the last of these saloons was there an unmasked group. In this room sat the two queens, glittering with gems, for it was no longer necessary for Sophia Dorothea to conceal her jewels; without fear she could now appear before her court in her magnificent diamonds; and Elizabeth Christine, who knew well that her husband loved to see his queen appear in a magnificence befitting her dignity on festive occasions, had adorned herself with the exquisite jewelry which excited the admiration of the entire court, and which Baron Bielfeld declared to be a perfect miracle of beauty. Next to the two queens and the princesses Ulrica and Amelia, stood the king in his magnificent ball costume. Behind the royal family stood their suite, holding their masks in their hands, for all were required to uncover their faces on entering the room in which the royal family were seated.

The king and the queen were about to fulfil the promises they had made each other; Sophia Dorothea was about to receive Count Neal, while the king was to welcome the recently married Countess Rhedern to court.

The loud and ironical voice of the master of ceremonies, Baron Pollnitz, had just announced to the royal family the arrival of Count and Countess Rhedern and Count Neal, and they were now entering the saloon, the sanctuary which was only open to the favored and privileged, only to those of high birth, or those whose offices required them to be near the king's person. No one else could enter this saloon without special invitation.

The newly-made Countess Rhedern made her entrance on the arm of her husband. Her face was perfectly tranquil and grave; an expression of determination rested on her features, which, although no longer possessing the charm of youth and beauty, were still interesting. Her countenance was indicative of energy and decision. An expression of benevolence played around her large but well-formed mouth; and her dark eyes, which were not cast down, but rested quietly on the royal family, expressed so much spirit and intelligence that it was evident she was no ordinary woman, but a firm and resolute one, who had courage to challenge fate, and, if necessary, to shape her own destiny.