Frederick the Great and His Court Part 56

"I promise you that, Laura."

"Well, then, I bow my head under the yoke--I yield to my fate--I accept the hand which Count Voss offers me. I ask that you will go to the queen-mother and say I submit to her commands--I will become the wife of Count Voss!"

"And I will lead you to the queen and to the altar," said the king, raising the portiere, and showing himself to the ladies, who stared at him in breathless silence. The king drew nearer to Laura, and bowing low, he said: "Truly my brother is to be pitied, that he is only a prince, and not a freeman; for a pitiful throne, he must give up the holiest and n.o.blest possession, the pure heart of a fair woman, glowing with love for him! And yet men think that we, the princes of the world, are to be envied! They are dazzled by the crown, but they see not the thorns with which our brows are beset! You, Laura, will never envy us; but on that day when you see my brother in his royal mantle and his crown--when his subjects shout for joy and call him their king--then can you say to yourself, 'It was I who made him king--I anointed him with my tears!' and when his people honor and bless him, you can rejoice also in the thought, This is the fruit of the strength of my love!' Come, I will myself conduct you to my mother, and I will say to her that I would consider myself happy to call you sister." Turning to Queen Elizabeth, he said: "I will say to my mother that Mademoiselle von Pannewitz has not yielded to my power or my commands, but to the persuasive eloquence of your majesty, when the people of Prussia have for years considered their protecting angel, and who from this time onward must be regarded as the guardian spirit of our royal house!"

He reached his hand to the queen, but she took it not. Trembling fearfully, with the paleness of death in her face, she pointed to the portiere and said, "You were there--you heard all!"

The king, his countenance beaming with respectful admiration, drew near the queen, and placing his arm around her neck, he whispered, "Yes, I was there--I heard all. I heard, and I know that I am a poor, blind man, to whom a kingdom is offered, a treasure-house of love and all good gifts, and I cannot, alas! cannot, accept it!"

The queen uttered a loud cry, and her weary head dropped upon his shoulder. The king gazed silently into the pale and sorrowful face, and a ray of infinite pity beamed in his eyes. "I have discovered to-day a n.o.ble secret--a secret that G.o.d alone was worthy to know. From this day I consider myself as the high priest of the holiest of holies, and I will guard this secret as my greatest treasure. I swear this to you, and I seal my oath with this kiss pressed upon your lips by one who will never again embrace a woman!" He bowed low, and pressed a fervent, kiss upon the lips of the queen. Elizabeth, who had borne her misfortunes bravely, had not the power to withstand the sweet joy of this moment; she uttered a loud cry, and sank insensible to the floor.

When she awoke she was alone; the king had called her maids--had conducted Laura von Pannewitz to the carriage, and returned to Berlin.

Elizabeth was again alone--alone with her thoughts--with her sorrows and her love. But a holy fire was in her eyes, and raising them toward Heaven, she whispered: "I thank thee, O heavenly Father, for the happiness of this hour! I feel his kiss upon my lips! by that kiss they are consecrated! Never, never will they utter one murmuring word!" She arose and entered her cabinet, with a soft smile; she drew near to a table which stood by the window, and gazed at a beautiful landscape, and the crayons, etc., etc., which lay upon it. "He shall think of me from time to time," whispered she. "For his sake I will become an artist and a writer; I will be something more than a neglected queen.

He shall see my books upon his table and my paintings on his wall. Will I not then compel him sometimes to think of me with pride?"

CHAPTER XVI.

THE SURPRISE.

The day after the queen-mother's interview with the king, the court was surprised by the intelligence that the physician had mistaken the malady of Louise von Schwerin; that it was not scarlet fever, as had been supposed, but some simple eruption, from which she was now entirely restored.

The little maiden appeared again amongst her companions, and there was no change in her appearance, except a slight pallor. No one was more amazed at her sudden recovery than Louise. With watchful suspicion, she remarked that the queen-mother had resumed her gracious and amiable manner toward her, and seemed entirely to have forgotten the events of the last few days; her accusations and suspicions seemed quieted as if by a stroke of magic. In the beginning, Louise believed that this was a trap laid for her, she was therefore perpetually on her guard; she did not enter the garden, and was well pleased that Fritz Wendel had the prudence and forbearance never to walk to and fro by her chamber, and never to place in her window the beautiful flowers which she had been wont to find there every morning. In a short time Louise became convinced that she was not watched, that there were no spies about her path; that she was, in fact, perfectly at liberty to come and go as she pleased. She resumed her thoughtless manner and childish dreamings, walked daily in the garden, and took refuge in the green-house. Strange to say, she never found her beautiful Fritz, never met his glowing, eloquent eyes, never caught even a distant view of his handsome figure.

This sudden disappearance of her lover made her restless and unhappy, and kindled the flame of love anew. Louise, who in the loneliness and neglect of her few days of confinement, had become almost ashamed of her affair with Fritz Wendel, and begun to repent of her foolish love, now excited by the obstacles in her path, felt the whole strength of her pa.s.sion revive, and was a.s.sured of her eternal constancy.

"I will overcome all impediments," said this young girl, "and nothing shall prevent me from playing my romance to the end. Fritz Wendel loves me more pa.s.sionately than any duke or baron will ever love me; he has been made a prisoner because of his love for me, and that is the reason I see him no more. But I will save him; I will set him at liberty, and then I will flee with him, far, far away into the wide, wide world where no one shall mock at our love."

With such thoughts as these she returned from her anxious search in the garden. As she entered her room, she saw upon her table a superb bouquet, just such a tribute as her loved Fritz had offered daily at her shrine before the queen's unfortunate discovery. With a loud cry of joy, she rushed to the table, seized the flowers, and pressed them to her lips; she then sought in the heart of her bouquet for the little note which she had ever before found concealed there.

Truly this bouquet contained also a love-letter, a very tender, glowing love-letter, in which Fritz Wendel implored her to fly with him; to carry out their original plan, and flee with him to Oranienburg, where they would be married by the priest who had been won over by the Prince Augustus William. To-day, yes, this evening at nine o'clock must the flight take place.

Louise did not hesitate an instant; she was resolved to follow the call of her beloved. A court ball was to take place this evening, and Louise von Schwerin must appear in the suite of the queen; she must find some plausible excuse and remain at home. As the hour for the queen's morning promenade approached, Louise became so suddenly ill that she was forced to ask one of the maids of honor to make her excuses, to return to her room, and lay herself upon the bed.

The queen came herself to inquire after her health, and manifested so much sympathy, so much pity, that Louise was fully a.s.sured, and accepted without suspicion the queen's proposal that she should give up the ball, and remain quietly in her room. Louise had now no obstacle to fear; she could make her preparations for flight without interruption.

The evening came. She heard the carriages rolling away with the queen and her suite. An indescribable anxiety oppressed this young girl. The hour of decision was at hand. She felt a maidenly trembling at the thought of her rash imprudence, but the hour was striking--the hour of romantic flight, the hour of meeting with her fond lover.

It seemed to her as if she saw the imploring eyes of Fritz ever before her--as if she heard his loving, persuasive voice. Forgetting all consideration and all modesty, she wrapped herself in her mantle, and drawing the hood tightly over her head, she hastened with flying feet through the corridors and down the steps to the front door of the palace. With a trembling heart she stepped into the street.

Unspeakable terror took possession of her. "What if he was not there?

What if this was a plot, a snare laid for her feet? But no, no!" She saw a tall and closely-m.u.f.fled figure crossing the open square, and coming directly to her. She could not see his face, but it was surely him. Now he was near her. He whispered the signal word in a low, soft tone. With a quaking heart, she gave the answer.

The young man took her cold little hand, and hurried her forward to the corner of the square. There stood the carriage. The stranger lifted her in his arms, and carried her to the carriage, sprang in, and slammed the door. Forward! The carriage seemed forced onward by the wings of the wind. In a few moments the city lay far behind them. In wild haste they flew onward, ever onward. The young man, still closely m.u.f.fled, sat near to Louise--her lover, soon to be her husband! Neither spoke a word. They were near to each other, with quickly-beating hearts, but silent, still silent.

Louise found this conduct of her lover mysterious and painful. She understood not why he who had been so tender, so pa.s.sionate, should remain so cold and still by her side. She felt that she must fly far, far away from this unsympathizing lover, who had no longer a word for her, no further a.s.surances of love. Yes, he despised her because she had followed him, no longer thought her worthy of his tenderness. As this thought took possession of her, she gave a fearful shriek, and springing up from her seat, she seized the door, and tried to open it and jump out. The strong hand of her silent lover held her back.

"We have not yet arrived, mademoiselle," whispered he.

Louise felt a cold shudder pa.s.s over her. Fritz Wendel call her mademoiselle! and the voice sounded cold and strange. Anxiously, silently, she sank back in the carriage. Her searching glance was fixed upon her companion, but the night was dark. She could see nothing but the mysteriously m.u.f.fled figure. She stretched out her small hands toward him, as if praying for help. He seized them, and pressed them to his heart and lips, but he remained silent. He did not clasp her in his arms as heretofore; he whispered no tender, pa.s.sionate a.s.surances in her ear. The terror of death overcame Louise. She clasped her hands over her face, and wept aloud. He heard her piteous sobs, and was still silent, and did not seek to comfort her.

Onward went the flying wheels. The horses had been twice changed in order to reach the goal more quickly. Louise wept without ceasing.

Exhausted by terror, she thought her death was near. Twice tortured by this ominous silence, she had dared to say a few low, sobbing words to her companion, but he made no reply.

At last the carriage stopped. "We have arrived," he whispered to Louise, sprang from the carriage, and lifted her out.

"Where are we?" she said, convinced that she had been brought to a prison, or some secret place of banishment.

"We are in Oranienburg, and there is the church where the preacher awaits us." He took her arm hastily, and led her into the church. The door was opened, and as Louise stepped upon the threshold, she felt her eyes blinded by the flood of light upon the altar. She saw the priest with his open book, and heard the solemn sounds of the organ. The young man led Louise forward, but not to the altar; he entered first into the sacristy. There also wax lights were burning, and on the table lay a myrtle wreath and a lace veil.

"This is your bridal wreath and veil," said the young man, who still kept the hood of his cloak drawn tightly over his face. He unfastened and removed Louise's mantle, and handed her the veil and wreath. Then he threw back his hood, and removed his cloak. Louise uttered a cry of amazement and horror. He who stood before her was not her lover, was not the gardener Fritz Wendel, but a strange young officer in full-dress uniform!

"Forgive me," said he, "that I have caused you so much suffering to-day, but the king commanded me to remain silent, and I did so. We are here in obedience to the king, and he commanded me to hand you this letter before our marriage. It was written by his own hand." Louise seized the royal letter hastily. It was laconic, but the few words it contained filled the heart of the little maiden with shame. The letter contained these lines:

"As you are resolved, without regard to circ.u.mstances, to marry, out of consideration for your family I will fulfil your wish. The handsome gardener-boy is not in a condition to become your husband, he being now confined in a madhouse. I have chosen for you a gallant young officer, of good family and respectable fortune, and I have commanded him to marry you. If he pleases you, the priest will immediately perform the marriage ceremony, and you will follow your husband into his garrison at Brandenburg. If you refuse him, the young officer, Von Cleist, has my command to place you again in the carriage, and take you to your mother. There you will have time to meditate upon your inconsiderate boldness. FREDERICK II."

Louise read the letter of the king again and again; she then fixed her eyes upon the young man who stood before her, and who gazed at her with a questioning and smiling face. She saw that he was handsome, young, and charming, and she confessed that this rich uniform was more attractive than the plain, dark coat of the gardener-boy Fritz Wendel.

She felt that the eyes of the young cavalier were as glowing and as eloquent as those of her old love.

"Well," said he, laughing, "have you decided, mademoiselle? Do you consider me worthy to be the envied and blessed husband of the enchanting and lovely Louise von Schwerin, or will you cruelly banish me and rob me of this precious boon?"

She gazed down deep into his eyes and listened to his words breathlessly. His voice was so soft and persuasive, not harsh and rough like that of Fritz Wendel, it fell like music on her ear.

"Well," repeated the young Von Cleist, "will you be gracious, and accept me for your husband?"

"Would you still wish to marry me, even if the king had not commanded it?"

"I would marry you in spite of the king and the whole world," said Von Cleist. "Since I have seen you, I love you dearly."

Louise reached him her hand.

"Well, then," she said, "let us fulfil the commands of the king. He commands us to marry. We will commence with that: afterwards we will see if we can love each other without a royal command."

The young captain kissed her hand, and placed the myrtle wreath upon her brow.

"Come, the priest is waiting, and I long to call you my bride."

He led the young girl of fourteen to the altar. The priest opened the holy book, and performed the marriage ceremony.

At the same hour, in the chapel of the king's palace, another wedding took place. Laura von Pannewitz and Count Voss stood before the altar.

The king himself conducted Laura, and Queen Elizabeth gave her hand to Count Voss. The entire court had followed the bridal pair, and all were witnesses to this solemn contract. Only one was absent--the Prince Augustus William was not there.

While Laura von Pannewitz stood above in the palace chapel, swearing eternal constancy to Count Voss, the prince stood below at the castle gate, waiting for her descent. But the hour had long pa.s.sed, and she came not. A dark fear and torturing anguish came over him.

Had the king discovered their plan? Was it he who held Laura back, or had she herself forgotten her promise? Was she unfaithful to her oath?

The time still flew, and she came not. Trembling with scorn, anguish, and doubt, he mounted the castle steps, determined to search through the saloons, and, at all risks, to draw near his beloved. Driven by the violence of his love, he had almost determined to carry her off by force.