Berlin and Sans-Souci Part 74

The faithful servant obeyed this order. The paper contained only these words: "I am arrested; make all necessary preparations; expect me daily. As soon as I am free, our marriage will take place."

Barbarina made her preparations. She undertook frequently little journeys, and sometimes remained away from Berlin several days. She bought a costly and beautiful house, to prove to the wife of the chancellor that she had no thought of leaving Berlin and returning to Italy.

Some months went by. The king, who had yielded to the prayers of the Coccejis, and allowed them to arrest their son, would not consent to his longer confinement. He had no trial; had committed no offence against the laws or the king; was guilty of no other crime than wis.h.i.+ng to marry the woman he loved.

So the young councillor was released from the castle of Landsberg.

He returned to Berlin; and his first visit was not to his parents, but to Barbarina, who received him in her new house in Behren Street.

A few hours later, a carriage stood before the door, which Barbarina, accompanied by her sister and Cocceji, entered, and drove rapidly away. No one knew where they went. Even the spies of the Coccejis, who continually watched the house of the dancer, could learn nothing from the servants who were left behind. A few days after, they brought the intelligence that Barbarina had returned; and the councillor dwelt with her in her new house; and the servants were commanded to call the signora Madame Cocceji. as she was his well-beloved and trusted wife.

The wife of the high chancellor laughed contemptuously at this narrative, and declared it to be only a coup de theatre. Suddenly an equipage drove to the door. Somewhat curious, Madame Cocceji stepped to the window; she saw that the coachman and footmen were dressed in liveries glittering with gold, and that the panels of the carriage were ornamented with the Cocceji coat-of-arms.

The Signora Barbarina was to be seen at the window. Horrified, the wife of the chancellor stepped back; a servant entered with a card, which he handed her respectfully.

"I am not at home; I receive no visits!" cried she, after looking at the card. The servant retired, and the carriage rolled away.

"Yes, it is true. She has triumphed!" groaned the countess, still gazing at the card, which had these words: "Monsieur de Cocceji and Madame de Cocceji, nee Barbarina."--"But she shall not succeed; the Barbarina shall never be called my daughter; this marriage shall be set aside, the ceremony was not lawful, it is contrary to the laws of the land. Barbarina is a bourgeoise, and cannot wed a n.o.ble without the express consent of the king. I will throw myself at the feet of his majesty and implore him to annul this marriage!"

Frederick was much exasperated, and inclined to yield to the entreaties of his high chancellor. A short time before, he had commanded the Catholic clergy not to perform any marriage ceremony without special permission and legitimation; and his anger was aroused at their daring to disobey him, and in secrecy and silence to marry Barbarina and Cocceji.

He commanded his cabinet minister Uhden to ascertain by what right the dancer Barbarina dared to call herself Madame Cocceji, and, if she could establish her claim, he wished to be informed what priest had dared to bless the holy banns. He was resolved to punish him severely.

The minister Uhden was a warm personal friend of the high chancellor, and more than willing, therefore, to carry out sternly the king's commands. The next day he ordered Barbarina to appear before him, stating that he had the king's permission to p.r.o.nounce judgment upon her.

When Barbarina read this order, she was lost in painful silence, and a profound melancholy was written upon her pale face.

"What will you do, sister?" said Marietta.

"I will go to the king!" replied Barbarina. rousing herself.

"But the king is at Potsdam."

"Well, then, I will go to Potsdam. Order my carriage; I must go in a quarter of an hour."

"What shall I say to your husband when he returns home?"

Barbarina looked at her steadily. "Tell him that Madame Cocceji has gone to Potsdam, to announce her marriage to the king, and ask him to acknowledge it."

"Barbarina," whispered her sister, "hear me! Your husband is troubled and sorrowful; he has confided in me. He says he fears you did not marry him from love, but for revenge, and that you love him not."

"I am resolved to love him! I will learn how," said she, sadly. "I have a strong will, and my heart shall obey me!"

She smiled, but her lovely face was overcast with grief, and Marietta's eyes were filled with tears.

Frederick was alone in his study in the castle of Potsdam; he was busily engaged in writing. The door was lightly opened, and the Marquis d'Argens looked in. When he saw that the king had heard nothing, he beckoned to a lady who stood behind him to draw near.

She entered the room silently and noiselessly; the marquis bowed to her, and, smiling kindly, he stepped back and closed the door.

The lady, who up to this time had closely concealed her features, now threw back her veil, and exposed the pale but lovely countenance and flas.h.i.+ng eyes of Barbarina. She gazed at the king with a mingled expression of happiness and pain.

The king still heard nothing. Suddenly he was aroused by a low sigh; it seemed to him that a soft, sweet, long-silent voice whispered his name. He rose hastily and turned; Barbarina was kneeling at the door; it was that door before which, five years ago, she had kneeled bathed in tears and wild with despair. She was now, as then, upon her knees, weeping bitterly, and raising her hands importunately to the king, pleading for grace and pity.

Frederick was at first pallid from surprise, and a frown was on his brow; but, as he looked upon her, and saw once more those great, dark, unfathomable eyes, a painful but sweet emotion overcame him; the cloud was lifted up, his countenance was illuminated and his eyes were soft and misty.

With a kindly smile he drew near to Barbarina. "Rise," said he, and the tones of his voice made her heart beat wildly, and brought fresh tears to her eyes. "You come strangely and unexpectedly, Barbarina, but you come with a beautiful retinue, with a crowd of sweet, fond remembrances--and I--of whom men say, 'He has no religion'--have at least the religion of memory. I cannot be angry with you, Barbarina; rise, and tell me why you are here."

He bowed, and took her by the hands and raised her; and now, as she stood near him, lovely as ever, her great eyes glowing with warmth and pa.s.sion, intoxicating the senses with her odorous beauty, the king felt anguish in his heart which he had no words to express.

They stood silently, side by side, their eyes fixed upon each other, Frederick holding Barbarina's hand in his; they seemed to be whispering mysterious fairy tales to each other's hearts.

"I see you, surrounded by smiling, sacred genii," at last, said Frederick. "These are the genii of the rosy hours which have been.

Ah, Barbarina, thus attended, your face seems to me as the face of an angel. Why were you not an angel, Barbarina? Why were you only a woman--a pa.s.sionate woman, who, not satisfied with loving and being loved, wished also to govern; who was not content to be wors.h.i.+pped by the man, but wished to subject the king, whom you thus forced to forget his humanity, to trample upon and torture his own heart in order to remain king? Oh, Barbarina, why were you this proud, exacting woman, rather than the angel which you now truly are?"

She raised her hands, as if imploring him to be silent. "I understand all that now, I have thought of it, night and day; I know and I confess that you acted right, sire. And now I am no longer an imperious woman, but a humiliated one! In my helplessness, with my pride subdued, I come to you! I come to you, sire, as one goes to G.o.d, weary and heavy laden. I come to you, as a poor sinner goes into G.o.d's holy temple, to confess his sins; to have his burden lightened; to pray for help that he may subdue his own heart! Oh, sire, this is a sacred, consecrated hour for me, and what I now say to you, only G.o.d and yourself may hear!"

"Speak, Barbarina, and may G.o.d hear and answer!"

"Sire, I come for help!"

"Ah, for help!" exclaimed the king, and a mocking expression played upon his lips. "I had forgotten. You wish to be called Madame Cocceji?"

"I am called thus, sire," said she, softly; "but they are about to declare my marriage illegal, and by the power of the law to set it aside."

"And for this reason you come to me?" said the king. "You fear for your beautiful t.i.tle?"

"Ah, sire, you do not, think so pitifully of me as to suppose I care for a t.i.tle?"

"You married the Councillor Cocceji, then, from love?" said the king.

Barbarina looked at the king steadily. "No, sire, I did not marry him for love."

"Why, then, did you marry him?"

"To save myself, sire--to save myself, and because I could not learn to forget. Your majesty has just said that you have the religion of memory. Sire, I am the anguish-stricken, tortured, fanatical priestess of the same faith. I have lain daily before her altar, I have scourged my heart with remembrances, and blinded my eyes with weeping. At last a day came in which I roused myself. I resolved to abandon my altar, to flee from the past, and teach my heart to forget. I went to England, accepted Lord Stuart's proposals, and resolved to be his wife. It was in vain, wholly in vain. Whatsoever my trembling lips might say, my heart lay ever bleeding before the altar of my memory. The past followed me over the wide seas, she beckoned and greeted me with mysterious sighs and pleadings; she called out to me, with two great, wondrous eyes, clear and blue as the heavens, unfathomable as the sea! These eyes, sire, called me back, and I could not resist them. I felt that I would rather die by them than relinquish them forever. So, on my wedding-day, I fled from England, and returned to Berlin. The old magic came over me; also, alas! the old grief. I felt that I must do something to save myself, if I would not go mad. I resolved to bind my wayward heart in chains, to make my love a prisoner to duty, and silence the outcries of my soul! But I still wavered. Then came Madame Cocceji.

By her insolent bearing she roused my pride, until it overshadowed even my despair, and I heard no other voice. So, sire, I married Cocceji! I have taken refuge in this marriage, as in a safe haven, where I shall rest peacefully and fear no storm.

"But, my king, struggle as I may to begin a new life, the religion of memory will not relinquish her priestess; she extends her mystical hands over me, and my poor heart shouts back to her against my will. Sire, save me! I have fled to this marriage as one flies to a cloister-cell, to escape the sweet love of this world. Oh, sire, do not allow them to drive me from this refuge; leave me in peace to G.o.d and my duty! Alas! my soul has repented, she lies wearied and ill at your feet. Help her, heal her, I implore you!"

She was silent. She extended her bands toward the king. He looked at her sadly, kindly took her hands in his, and pressed his lips upon them.

"Barbarina," said he, in a rich, mellow voice--"Barbarina, I thank you. G.o.d and the king have heard you. You say that you are the priestess of the religion of remembrance; well, then, I am her priest, and I confess to you that I, also, have pa.s.sed many nights in anguish before her altar. Life demands heavy sacrifices, and more from kings than from other men. Once in my life I made so rich an offering to my, royalty that it seemed life could have no more of bitterness in store. The thoughtless and fools consider life a pleasure. But I, Barbarina, I say, that life is a duty. Let us fulfil our duties."

"Yes, we will go and fulfil them," said she, with flas.h.i.+ng eyes.

"Sire, I will go to fulfil mine; but I am weak, and have yet one more favor to ask. There is no cup of Lethe from which men drink forgetfulness, and yet I must forget. I must cast a veil over the past. Help me, sire--I must leave Berlin! Banish my husband to another city. It will be an open grave for me; but I will struggle to plant that grave with flowers, whose beauty and perfume shall rejoice and make glad the heart of my husband!"

"I grant your request," said the king, sadly.

"I thank you, sire; and now, farewell!"