Old Fritz and the New Era Part 13

"Allow me to cite a genuine German production, which Johann Wolfgang Goethe has written. I mean the drama 'Gotz von Berlichingen.'"

"Stop!--it is sufficient. I do not wish to hear any thing more," cried the king, indignant, and rising. "It is bad enough that such pieces should appear upon the German stage as this 'Gotz von Berlichingen.'

They are nothing less than abominable imitations of the bad English pieces of Shakespeare! The pit applauds them, and demands with enthusiasm these very disgusting plat.i.tudes. [Footnote: The king's own words.--See "Posthumous Works," vol. iii.] Do not be angry again, you must have patience with the old boy! I shall rejoice heartily if this Herr Goethe becomes a cla.s.sic writer one day, as you say. I shall not live to witness it. I only see the embryo where you see the full-grown author. We will talk further about it when we meet in the Elysian Fields; then we will see, when you present this Herr Johann Wolfgang Goethe, as a German cla.s.sic writer, to Homer, Horace, Virgil, and Corneille, if they do not turn their backs upon him. Now adieu, Herzberg! So soon as circ.u.mstances permit, I shall send for you to go to Silesia, and then you can give me your German translation of Tacitus."

The king nodded in a friendly manner to his minister, and slowly walked back and forth, while he took leave and withdrew. After a few moments he rang, and the summons was immediately answered by the footman Schultz.

The king fixed upon him one of those searching glances of his fiery eyes which confounded and confused the footman. He remained standing and embarra.s.sed, with downcast look.

"What are you standing there for?" asked the king. "Did I not ring for you, and do you not know what you have to do?" Frederick continued to regard him, with flas.h.i.+ng eyes, which increased the lackey's confusion.

He forgot entirely that the summons was for his majesty's lunch, and all that he had to do was to open the door to the adjoining room, where it stood already prepared.

Frederick waited a moment, but the footman still stood irresolute, when his majesty indicated to him to approach.

He approached, staggering under the puzzling glance of his master.

"Oh! I see what it is," said Frederick, shrugging his shoulders; "you are drunk again, as you often are, and--"

"Your majesty," cried Schultz, amazed, "I drunk!"

"Silence!--will you be bold enough to reason with me? I say that you are drunk, and I want no drunken footmen. They must be well-behaved, sober fellows, who keep their ears open and their mouths shut--who are neither drunkards nor gossips, and do not take for truth what they have experienced in their drunken fits. I do not want such fellows as you are at all; you are only fit food for cannon, and for that you shall serve.

Go to General Alvensleben, and present yourself to enter the guards. You are lucky to go to the field at once; to-morrow you will set off. Say to the general that I sent you, and that you are to enter as a common soldier."

"But, your majesty, I do not know what I have done," cried Schultz, whiningly. "I really am not drunk. I--"

"Silence!" thundered the king. "Do as I command you! Go to General Alvensleben, and present yourself to enter the guards at once. Away with you! I do not need drunken, gossiping footmen in my service. Away with you!"

The footman slunk slowly away, his head hanging down, with difficulty restraining the tears which stood in large drops in his eyes.

The king followed him with his glance, which softened and grew gentler from sympathy. "I pity him, the poor fellow! but I must teach him a lesson. I want no gossips around me. He need only wear the uniform two weeks or so, that will bring him to reason. Then I will pardon him, and receive him into my service again. He is a good-natured fellow, and would not betray any one as Kretzschmar betrayed him."

The king stepped to the window to look at the gentleman who was eagerly engaged in conversation with the castellan of Sans-Souci. At this instant the footman entered with a sealed note for the king. "From his royal highness Prince Henry," said he.

"Who brought it?"

"The gentleman who speaks with the castellan upon the terrace. I wait your majesty's commands."

"Wait, then." The note ran thus: "Your majesty, my dearly-beloved brother: The bearer, Johann Wolfgang Goethe, one of the literati, and a poet, and at this time secretary of legation to the duchy of Saxe-Weimar, is a great favorite of the duke's, our nephew. I met him returning from the parade in company with the duke, who expressed to me the strong desire his secretary had to visit the celebrated house of the great philosopher of Sans-Souci, and see the room once occupied by Voltaire. I could not well refuse, and therefore address these few lines to your majesty before returning to Berlin with the duke, who will dine with me, accompanied by his secretary. I am your majesty's most humble servant and brother, HENRY."

"Tell the castellan that I grant him permission to show the house and park to the stranger; he shall take care not to come in my way, so that I shall be obliged to meet him. Tell this aside, that you may not be overheard. Hasten, for they have already been waiting some time."

The king walked again to the window, and, hidden by the curtain, peeped out. "So, this is Herr Goethe, is it? What a.s.surance! There he stands, sketching the house. What wonderful eyes the man has! With what a proud, confident manner he looks around! What a brow! Truly he is a handsome fellow, and Herzberg may be right after all. That brow betokens thought, and from those eyes there flashes a divine light. But he looks overbearing and proud. Now, I am doubly pleased that I refused Herzberg to have any thing to do with him. Such presumptive geniuses must be rather kept back; then they feel their power, and strive to bring themselves forward. Yes! I believe that man has a future. He looks like the youthful G.o.d Apollo, who may have condescended to descend to earth!

He shall not entrap me with his beautiful head. If he is the man who makes good and bad weather in Weimar, he shall learn that rain and suns.h.i.+ne at Sans-Souci do not depend upon him; that the sun and clouds here do not care whether Herr Goethe is in the world or not. For suns.h.i.+ne and storm we depend upon the Great Weather-Maker, to whom we must all bow; evil and good days in Prussia shall emanate from me, so long as I live. Sometimes I succeed in causing a little suns.h.i.+ne,"

continued the king. "I believe the Prince of Prussia has to-day felt the happy influence of the sun's rays; and while it is dull and lonely at Sans-Souei, may it be brighter and more cheerful at Charlottenburg!

Eh bien! old boy," said the king, stopping, "you are playing the sentimental, and eulogizing your loneliness. Well, well, do not complain.--Oh, come to me, spirits of my friends, and hold converse with me! Voltaire, D'Argens, and my beloved Lord-Marshal Keith! Come to me, departed souls, with the memories of happier days, and hover with thy cheering, sunny influence over the wrinkled brow of old Fritz!"

While the lonely king implored the spirits of his friends, to brighten with their presence the quiet, gloomy apartment at Sans-Souci, the sun shone in full splendor at Charlottenburg--the suns.h.i.+ne beaming from the munificence of Frederick. Wilhelmine Enke had pa.s.sed the whole day in admiring the beautiful and tasteful arrangement of the villa. Every piece of furniture, every ornament, she examined attentively--all filled her with delight. The prince, who accompanied her from room to room, listened to her outbursts of pleasure, rejoicing.

"I wish that I could often prepare such happiness for you, dearest, for my heart is twice gladdened to see your beaming face."

"Reflected from your own. You are my good genius upon earth. You have caused the poor, neglected child to become the rich and happy woman. To you I owe this home, this foot of earth, which I can call my own. Here blossom the flowers for me--here I am mistress, and those who enter must come as my guests, and honor me. All this I owe to you."

"Not to me," said the prince, smiling; "I only gave to you what was given to me! To the king belong your thanks. Harsh in words, but gentle in deeds, he has given you this refuge, freeing you from the slavery of poverty, from the sorrow of being homeless. But tell it not, Wilhelmine.

The king would be angry if it were known that he not only tolerated but showed great generosity to you. It is a secret that I ought not even to disclose to you. I could not receive your thanks, for I have not deserved them. From the king comes your good fortune, not from me. The day will come when I can requite you, when the poor crown prince becomes the rich king. On that day the golden rain shall again shower upon you, never to cease, and, vying with the shower of gold, the brightest sunbeams play continually around you. As king, I will reward your fidelity and love, which you have proved to the poor crown prince, with splendor, power, and riches. Until then rejoice with the little that his grace has accorded you, and await the much that love will one day bring you. Farewell, Wilhelmine, the evening sets in, and I must forth to Potsdam. The king would never pardon me if I did not pa.s.s the last evening with my wife in the circle of my family. Farewell!"

He embraced her tenderly, and Wilhelmine accompanied the prince to the carriage, and returned to survey anew the beautiful rooms which were now her own possession. An unspeakable, unknown feeling was roused in her, and voices, which she had never heard, spoke to her from the depths of her heart. "You are no longer a despised, homeless creature," they whispered. "You have a home, a foot of earth to call your own. Make yourself a name, that you may be of consequence in the world. You are clever and beautiful, and with your prudence and beauty you can win a glorious future! Remember the Marquise de Pompadour, neglected and scorned as you, until a king loved her, and she became the wife of a king, and all France bowed down to her. Even the Empress Maria Theresa honored her with her notice, and called her cousin. I am also the favorite of a future king, and I will also become the queen of my king!"

Wilhelmine had remained standing in the midst of the great drawing-room, which she was pa.s.sing through, listening to these seductive voices, to these strange pictures of the future. In her imagination she saw herself in this room surrounded with splendor and magnificence, and sparkling with gems. She saw around her elegantly-attired ladies and gentlemen, in brilliant uniforms, glittering with orders; saw every-where smiling faces, and respectful manners. She saw all eyes turned to her, and heard only flattering words, which resounded for her from every lip--for her, once so despised and scorned! "It shall be, yes, it shall be," cried she aloud. "I will be the queen of my king! I will become the Prussian Marquise de Pompadour; that I swear by the heads of my children, by--"

"Rather swear by thy own beautiful head, Wilhelmine," said a voice behind her. Startled, she turned, and beheld the tall figure of a man, wrapped in a long cloak, who stood in the open door.

"Who are you?" she cried, amazed. "How dare you enter here?"

The figure closed the door, without answering, and, slowly approaching Wilhelmine, fixed his black eyes upon her with a searching gaze.

She tried to summon help, but the words died on her lips; her cheeks blanched with terror, and, as if rooted to the floor, she stood with outstretched arms imploring the approaching form. The figure smiled, but there was something commanding in its manner, and in the fiery eyes, which rested upon her. When quite near her, it raised its right hand with an impatient movement. Immediately her arms fell at her side, her cheeks glowed, and a bright smile lighted up her face. Then it lifted the three-cornered, gold-bordered hat which shaded its face, nodding to her.

"Do you recognize me, Wilhelmine?" he asked, in a sweet, melodious voice.

"Yes," she answered, her eyes still fixed upon him. "You are Cagliostro, the great ruler and magician."

"Where did we meet?"

"I remember; it was in Paris, at the house of the governor of the Bastile, M. Delaunay. You caused me to read in a gla.s.s the future--a bright, glorious future. I was surrounded with splendor and magnificence. I saw myself glittering with gems; a king knelt at my feet. I was encircled by richly-attired courtiers, who bowed before me, and honored me, whispering: 'We salute you, O beautiful countess; be gracious to us, exalted princess!' It sounded like heavenly music, and I shouted with delight."

"Was that all?" said Cagliostro, solemnly, "that the crystal showed you."

Shuddering, she murmured: "The splendor, glory, and power vanished, and all was changed to a fearful picture. I saw myself in a plain, dark dress, in a deserted, lonely room, with iron-barred windows, and a small iron door closed in the dreary white walls--it was a prison! And I heard whispered around me: 'Woe to you, fallen and dethroned one! You have wasted away the days of your splendor, submit in patience to the days of your shame and humiliation.' I could not endure to behold it, and screamed with terror, fainting."

"You demanded to see the future, and I showed it to you," said Cagliostro, earnestly. "Though I let the light s.h.i.+ne into your soul, still it was dark within; you pursued the way of unbelief, and desired not to walk in the way of knowledge. I sent messengers twice to you to lead you in the right path, and you sent them laughing away. Recall what I told you in Paris. I will it!"

"I remember, master; you said that in the most important days of my life you would come to me, and extend to me a helping hand: if I seized it, the first picture would be fulfilled; if I refused it, the prison awaited me!"

"I have kept my word: to-day is an eventful day in your life; you have risen from want and degradation--you have mounted the first rounds of the ladder of your greatness and power. You are the mistress of this house." "How did you know it?" asked Wilhelmine, astonished. With a pitying smile he answered: "I know every thing that I will, and I see many things that I would willingly close my eyes upon. I see your future, and my soul pities you, unhappy one; you are lost if you do not seize the hand extended to you. You see not the abyss which opens before you, and you will fall bleeding and with broken limbs."

"Mercy, mercy!" she groaned--"stretch out your hand and protect me."

Wilhelmine sank as if crushed to the earth. Cagliostro bent over her, and stroked her cold, pale face, breathing upon her the hot breath of his lips. "I will pity you--I will protect you. Rise, my daughter!" He a.s.sisted her to rise, and imprinted a pa.s.sionate kiss upon her hand.

"From this hour I count you as one of mine," he said; "you shall be received into the holy band of spirits! You shall be consecrated, and enter the Inner Temple. Are you prepared?" "I am, master," she humbly replied.

"To-morrow the Temple brothers will open the temple of bliss to you. You shall hear, see, and be silent." "I will see, hear, and be silent," she murmured.

"When evening sets in, send away your servants," commanded Cagliostro.

"Let the doors stand open; they shall be guarded, that no one may enter but the summoned. Art thou prepared?"

"I am, master!"

"Withdraw now to your room, Wilhelmine, and elevate your thoughts in devotion and contrition, and await the future. Kneel, my daughter, kneel!" She sank upon her knees. "Bless me, master, bless me!" "I bless you!"

She felt a hot, burning sensation upon her forehead, and suddenly a bright light shone in the obscure room. Wilhelmine screamed, and covered her eyes. When she ventured to look up, only soft moonlight penetrated from the high window into the apartment, and she was alone.

"To-morrow--to-morrow, at midnight!" she murmured, shuddering, and casting a timid look around.