Frederick the Great and His Family Part 116

The prince fixed his piercing eyes upon the count's pale, agitated countenance, but did not speak. Then pa.s.sing proudly before him, he advanced to meet Prince Frederick William, who had just arrived.

The doors of the dining-saloon were now thrown open, and the guests approached the richly-covered table, at one end of which sat the prince and his wife. Not far from them was Count Kalkreuth. For more than two hours he had borne the agony of being near the prince without being addressed by him. For two hours he had stood the inquiring, malicious smiles and glances of the courtiers, who were looking on with delight at his humiliation.

His martyrdom was almost over. Dinner was finished, and all awaited a sign from the princely couple to rise from the table. Prince Henry arose, gla.s.s in hand, and said, in a loud voice:

"And now, my guests, I have pleasant news for you; as you are all friends of Count Kalkreuth, what is good news to him will be to you also. His majesty has appointed him lieutenant-general of Prince Frederick William's army corps in Prussia. The king, knowing my true friends.h.i.+p for him, granted me the privilege of announcing his promotion. I am sorry to say that through it we lose him, for his majesty desires him, as soon as we leave the table, to hasten to Sans-Souci to receive his commission. And now, gentlemen, fill your gla.s.ses, we will drink to the lieutenant-general's welfare."

All arose to drink the toast except Count Kalkreuth. His head was bent almost upon his breast, as if he were ashamed to show his pale, agitated countenance. He would have given all he possessed to have flown from the hall. Princess Wilhelmina sat opposite, she had not yet looked at him, but she now threw him a glance full of inexpressible pity, and raised her gla.s.s hastily to her lips. It was not wine, but her own tears that she drank.

The prince now led the princess to the reception-room. He stood beside her when Kalkreuth approached. The guests were grouped about the room, every eye was fixed eagerly upon this trio.

Count Kalkreuth was still pale and unmanned; with tottering, trembling steps he advanced toward the princely couple.

The prince turned laughingly to his guests, saying: "See the strange effect of joy. It has transformed our gay and witty count. He is stern and solemn as if, instead of an honor, he had received a degradation."

No voice answered the prince. Finally, in midst of deep silence, the count said:

"I come to take leave of your royal highness before going to that exile which his majesty has kindly chosen for me. For, although it is promotion, you must permit me to reiterate that it is also banishment, for at Konigsberg I shall not see my prince. But I shall carry your picture in my heart--there it shall forever dwell."

"We will not make our parting more hard by sweet words," said Prince Henry, emphasizing the last words. "Bid adieu to my wife, kiss her hand, and then G.o.d be with you!"

The princess, muttering a few incomprehensible words, gave him her hand, white and colorless as that of a corpse. Count Kalkreuth touched his lips to it, and they were so cold that the princess shuddered as if she had been embraced by death itself.

It was their last meeting!--a cold, formal farewell for life. The count now turned to the prince, who gave him his hand smilingly.

"Farewell, count," said he. Stooping to embrace him, he whispered in his ear: "You once saved my life, we are now quits, for you have murdered my heart. Farewell!"

He turned from him. The count, no longer able to suppress his tears, covered his face with his hands and tottered from the room.

A few hours later he stood in the king's ante-chamber at Sans-Souci. He had just been announced. He waited long--no one came to conduct him to the king; every door remained closed, every thing around him was dull and deserted. It was dark; the sharp April wind was beating against the window and howling through the chimney. The count's conscience was busy at work in this gloomy chamber. He could endure it no longer, and was preparing to leave, when the door was opened, and an adjutant entered to conduct him to the king's apartments.

The king was in his sitting-room. As Count Kalkreuth entered, he laid aside the book he had been reading, and rose. In a stern, imperious manner he advanced to meet him.

"As my brother desired it, I have appointed you lieutenant-general of the third army corps," said he, harshly. "You leave at once for Konigsberg--you know your duties. Go, and endeavor to fulfil them."

"Sire!" said the count, softly.

"Go! not another word!"

Count Kalkreuth, almost unable to make the military salute, left the room, stifling his anger.

The king looked after him thoughtfully. "Poor Henry!" murmured he, softly, "had you also to receive the Judas-kiss from a friend? Poor brother! you were so happy--why did cruel fate disenchant you? There is much in being happy in your own estimation--there is upon the earth no other sort of happiness; and whether true or false, the peace it brings is alike. I, I am so poor that I no longer believe in the one or the other. And still men envy me! Envy a poor, disenchanted, solitary man--envy him because he wears a crown! What sort of an existence have I? My life is full of work, full of sorrow, nothing else! I work for my subjects; they do not thank me, and will greet and welcome my successor some day, be he ever so mean and contemptible, as they once greeted and welcomed me. The love of a people for their king is a love full of egotism and self-interest. Who has ever loved me otherwise than selfishly? I met my friends with an open heart--when with them I forgot that I was a king, but they never forgot it; not one, not a single one loved in me the man. The foolish populace call me a hero, and speak of the laurels that crown my brow, but of the thorns they have woven in it they know nothing. Would I need have no more to do with men, for they have poor, slavish souls! They deceive themselves--they all deceive me."

As the king ceased speaking, he felt his foot touched. Somewhat startled, he looked down. His greyhound Diana was lying at his feet, gazing at him with her large, intelligent eyes. A soft smile crossed Frederick's countenance. Stooping to caress her, he said:

"You come to remind me that there is still love and truth upon the earth, but one must not be silly enough to look for it among men. Come here, Diana, my little companion; I was wrong to call myself solitary, for are you not here? and then have I not my flute? Is she not a loving, trustworthy friend, to whom every thing can be confided? You two shall be my sole companions this evening."

Raising his flute, he commenced to play softly, walking up and down his room. Diana followed him slowly, listening in seeming devotion to the long, wailing tones of her rival.

Sad and wonderful to hear was the music of this solitary king; like broken, dying sighs and sobs were its tones; and the howling wind, rus.h.i.+ng in through the window, added its mournful wail to Federich the Great's song of woe.