QUEEN LOUISA’S PIANO LESSON.
The queen sat at the piano, practising one of Reichardt’s new songs
which her singing-teacher, the royal concert-master and composer,
Himmel, had just brought to her. The queen wore a most brilliant
costume, which, however, seemed calculated less for her silent cabinet
and for the music-teacher than for a great gala-day and an aristocratic
assembly at court. A white satin dress, inter-woven with golden flowers,
and closely fitting, according to the fashion of that period, surrounded
her noble figure. Her splendid white arms were bare, and her wrists were
adorned with two bracelets of gold and precious stones. Her neck and
shoulders, showing the noble lines and forms of a Venus of Melos,
were uncovered like her arms, and adorned only with jewelry. Her
hair, surrounding a forehead of classical beauty in waving masses, was
fastened behind in a Grecian knot holding the golden diadem, set with
diamonds, which arose on the queen’s head. [Footnote: A portrait,
representing the queen precisely in this costume, may be seen at the
royal palace in Berlin.] A gentle blush mantled her cheeks, and a smile
of melancholy and tenderness trembled on her purple lips. She had her
hands on the keys, and her eyes were fixed on the music-book before her;
but she had suddenly ceased singing in the middle of the piece, and her
voice had died away in a long sigh.
Mr. Himmel, the concert-master, stood behind her; he was a man more than
forty years of age, with a broad, full face, beaming with health, and a
tall and slender form which would have been more fitting for the head of
an Apollo than for this head, which reminded the beholder of a buffalo
rather than of a god.
When the queen paused, a joyful smile overspread his features, which had
hitherto been gloomy and ill at ease. “Your majesty pauses?” he asked,
hastily. “Well, I wish your majesty joy of it. That Mr. Reichardt, of
Halle, is too sentimental and arrogant a composer, and never should I
have dared to lay these new pieces of his before your majesty if you had
not asked me to bring you every thing written by Reichardt. Well, you
have seen it now; it displeases your majesty, and I am glad of it,
for--”
“For,” said the queen, gently interrupting him, “for the great composer
Himmel is again jealous of the great composer Reichardt. Is it not so?”
She raised her dark-blue eyes at this question to Himmel’s face, and he
saw to his dismay that there were tears in those eyes.
“What!” he asked in terror, “your majesty has wept?”
She nodded in the affirmative, smiling gently. “Yes,” she said, after
a pause, “I have wept, and hence I could not continue singing. Do not
scold me, do not be angry with me, my dear and stern teacher. This song
has moved me profoundly; it is so simple and yet so touching, that it
must have come out of the depths of a truly noble heart.”
Mr. Himmel replied only with a low sigh and an almost inaudible murmur,
which the queen, however, understood very well.
“Perhaps,” she said, trying gently to heal the jealous pangs of the
composer, “perhaps I was so deeply moved by the words rather than by
the music; these words are so beautiful that it seems to me Goethe never
wrote any thing more beautiful.”
And bending over the music-book, she read in an undertone:
“Wer nie sein Brod mit Thranen ass,
Wer nie die kummervollen Nachte
Auf seinem Bette einsam sass,
Der kennt euch nicht, Ihr himmlischen Machte!”
[Footnote: “He who never ate his bread with tears,
He who never, through nights of affliction,
Sat on his lonely bed,
He does not know you, powers of heaven!”]
“Say yourself, Mr. Himmel, is not that beautiful and touching?” she
asked, looking up again to her teacher.
“Beautiful and touching for those who have wept much and suffered much,”
said Himmel, harshly; “but I cannot conceive why these words should
touch your majesty, whose whole life has hitherto illuminated the world
like an uninterrupted sunny spring morning.”
“Hitherto,” repeated the queen, musingly, “yes, hitherto, indeed, my
life was a sunny spring morning, but who is able to fathom what clouds
may soon appear on the horizon, and how cloudy and gloomy the evening
may be? This song reechoes in my soul like a melancholy foreboding, and
clings to its wings as if it wanted to paralyze their flight. ‘He who
never ate his bread with tears,’ ah, how mournful it sounds, and what a
long story of suffering is contained in these few words!”
The queen paused, and two tears, glistening more beautifully than the
diamonds of her golden diadem, slowly ran down her cheeks.
Concert-master Himmel was not courageous enough to interrupt the silence
of the queen, or, may be, he had not listened very attentively to her
words, and his thoughts perhaps were fixed on matters of an entirely
different character, for his air was absent and gloomy; his eyes glanced
around the room, but returned continually to the lovely form of the
queen.
Suddenly Louisa seemed to arouse herself violently from her gloomy
meditation, and after hastily wiping the tears from her eyes she forced
herself to smile.
“It is not good to give way to melancholy forebodings,” she said,
“particularly in the presence of a stern teacher. We must improve our
time in a more useful manner, for time is a very precious thing; and if
I had not judiciously profited by my short leisure to-day, I should
not have had a single hour to spare for my teacher, for there will be a
reception in the palace to-night, and I must previously give audience
to several visitors. I have, therefore, made my evening toilet in the
afternoon, and thereby gained time to take my dear singing-lesson. But
now let us study, so that your pupil may redound to your honor.”
“Oh, your majesty,” ejaculated Himmel, “my honor and my happiness!”
“Hush, hush,” said Louisa, interrupting him, with an enchanting smile,
“no flattery! no court-phrases! Here I am not the queen, nor are you
my devoted subject; I am nothing but an obedient pupil, and you are my
rigorous master, who has a right to scold and grumble whenever I sing
incorrectly, and who very frequently avails himself of this privilege.
Do not apologize for it, but go on in the same manner, for I will then
only learn the more.”
“Your majesty sings like an angel,” murmured Himmel, whose eyes were
fixed steadfastly on the queen.
“Well, as far as that is concerned, you are a competent judge,”
exclaimed Lousia, laughing, “for being Himmel (heaven), you must know
how the angels sing, and your opinion cannot be disputed. The angels,
then, sing incorrectly, like your obedient pupil? Let the angels do so,
but not your pupil. Come, Mr. Himmel, sit down. It does not behoove the
maestro to stand at the side of his pupil. Sit down.”
She pointed with a graceful wave of her hand at the chair standing
at her side, and Mr. Himmel, complying with her order, sat down. His
glances returned involuntarily to the queen, whose beauty only now burst
on his short-sighted eyes, and whom he believed he had never seen so
lovely, so fascinating and graceful. Her beautiful face seemed to him
like that of a fairy queen, and her wonderful shoulders, her superb,
dazzling neck, which he had never seen unveiled and so very near,
appeared to him like the bust of a goddess, moulded by Phidias from
living marble.
“Well, let us commence,” said the queen, calmly. “Pray play the melody
in the treble and let me play the accompaniment a few times; I shall
then be better able to sing the song.”
She commenced eagerly playing the prelude, while a deeper blush mantled
her cheeks. It was Himmel’s turn now to begin with the melody; his eyes,
however, were not fixed on the music, but on the queen, and hence he
blundered sadly.
“Well?” asked the queen, looking at him in charming confusion. “You do
not play correctly.”
“Yes, I have blundered, your majesty,” said Himmel, gloomily; “I have
blundered, for I am only a man after all, and cannot look into the sun
without having a coup de soleil. Your majesty, I have had such a coup de
soleil, and you see I have lost my reason in consequence.”
With these words he bent over the queen and imprinted a glowing kiss on
her shoulders; then he hastily rose, took his hat, and rushed out of the
room. [Footnote: historical]
The queen’s eyes followed him with an air of surprise and embarrassment;
then she burst into ringing, charming laughter.
“Ah,” she said, “if that austere ‘Madame Etiquette,’ the mistress of
ceremonies, should have seen that, she would have either died with
horror, or her wrath would have crushed the criminal. I believe I will
confess the terrible crime to her. Oh, my dear mistress of ceremonies!
my dear mistress of ceremonies!” she cried.
The door of the adjoining room opened immediately, and the Countess von
Voss made her appearance.
“Your majesty has called me,” she said, and, after looking around the
room, she cast a glance of surprise on the clock.
“Ah, my dear countess, you are surprised that Mr. Himmel, my
singing-master, has already left, although the hour has only half
expired?” asked the queen, merrily.
“Your majesty,” said the countess, sighing, “I really ought no longer to
be surprised at any thing, nor wonder at any violation of etiquette, for
such things, unfortunately, occur every day and every hour. Your majesty
knows, moreover, that this Mr. Himmel is altogether distasteful to me.”
“And why?” asked the queen, gayly.
“Your majesty, because it is contrary to etiquette for a queen to take
lessons, and to have a teacher.”
“What!” exclaimed Louisa. “According to etiquette, then, a queen is not
permitted to learn any thing after ascending the throne?”
“No, your majesty, for it is entirely unbecoming that one of your
subjects should become the teacher of his queen, and that anybody should
be permitted and dare to censure her.”
“Well, do not you do so very often, my dear countess?” asked the queen,
good-naturedly.
“I dare not censure the queen, but merely to defend and maintain
etiquette, as my duty and official position require me to do. But a
queen who takes lessons must descend from her throne so long as her
teacher is with her; must renounce her exalted position, and obey
instead of commanding. In such a case, therefore, etiquette is
altogether out of the question.”
“You are right,” said Louisa, merrily. “Mr. Himmel, the concert-master,
at least, entirely coincides with you, and he takes no notice whatever
of etiquette. Shall I confess to you, my dear countess, why Mr. Himmel
has run away to-day half an hour before the regular time?”
“Run away?” asked the mistress of ceremonies, in dismay. “He has dared
to run away in the presence of your majesty?”
“Yes, he has dared to do so, but previously he has dared to do something
a great deal worse. He has--but, dear countess, sit down; you might turn
giddy.”
“Oh no, your majesty, permit me to stand. Your majesty was going to
communicate graciously to me what Mr. Himmel--this teacher of a queen is
not even a nobleman--has dared to do in the presence of your majesty.”
“Well, listen to me,” said the queen, smiling; and bending down closely
to the ear of the countess, she whispered: “He has kissed my shoulder!”
The mistress of ceremonies uttered a piercing cry and tottered back in
dismay.
“Kissed!” she faltered.
“Yes, kissed,” sighed the queen; “I really believe it is still to be
seen.”
She walked with light, swinging steps to the large looking-glass, and
looked at her shoulder with a charming, child-like smile.
“Yes, that small red spot there is Mr. Himmel’s crime!” she said. “Tell
me what punishment he has deserved, countess.”
“That is a question for the courts alone to decide,” said the mistress
of ceremonies, solemnly; “for we shall bring the occurrence, of course,
at once to their notice. Orders should be issued immediately to arrest
him, and his punishment should be as unparalleled as was his offence.
Your majesty will permit me to repair at once to the king in order--“.
“No, my dear mistress of ceremonies,” said the queen, who was still
standing in front of the looking glass and contemplating her own form,
not with the contented looks of a conceited woman, but with the calm,
stern eyes of a critic examining a work of art--“no, my dear mistress of
ceremonies, we shall take good care not to raise a hue and cry about it.
And Mr. Himmel is not so culpable, after all, as he seems to be.”
“What! Your majesty intends to defend him?”
“Not to defend, but to excuse him, my dear countess. He was at my side
as my dear old teacher, and I was to him not a queen, but a pupil; and,
moreover, a pupil with very beautiful shoulders. My dear countess, I
am really more culpable than poor Himmel, for, if the queen becomes a
pupil, she must remember that her teacher is a man, and she must not
treat him merely as an automaton instructing her. The only judge who is
able to decide this matter is my husband, the king. He shall pronounce
judgment on it, and if he permits Mr. Himmel to come back, I shall go
on with my singing-lessons. However,” added the queen, smiling,
and blushing delicately, “in future I shall wrap a shawl around my
shoulders. And now, my dear countess, pray let us not mention this
little affair to anybody. I shall submit it to the king and ask him to
decide it.”
“I shall be silent because your majesty orders me to keep the occurrence
secret,” sighed the countess. “But it is unheard-of, it is dreadful.
It is rank treason, and the offended royal majesty will forgive without
punishing.”
“Oh, yes, I will!” exclaimed the queen, joyfully. “Forgiving without
punishing, is not that the most sacred and sublime power of a queen; is
it not the most brilliant gem in our crown? How miserable and deplorable
would monarchs be if God had not conferred the right of mercy upon them!
We stand ourselves so much in need of mercy and forbearance, for we
commit errors and faults like other mortals, and yet we judge and
punish like gods. Let us be merciful, therefore, that we may be judged
mercifully.”
The door of the anteroom opened at this moment, and the
chamberlain-in-waiting entered.
“Your majesty,” he said, “Prince Louis Ferdinand and Minister von
Hardenberg beg leave to wait on your majesty.”
“I expected these gentlemen at this hour,” said the queen, glancing
at the clock; “let them come in, therefore. And you, my dear countess,
farewell.”
“Your majesty orders me to withdraw?” asked the mistress of ceremonies,
hesitatingly, “Etiquette requires that the queen should give her
audiences only in the presence of her mistress of ceremonies, or of one
of her ladies of honor.”
“My dear countess,” said the queen, with a slight tinge of impatience,
“I am not going to give any audience, but merely to receive a friendly
visit from my royal cousin and his friend; as I know it is their
intention to communicate to me matters which no one except myself can
hear, I shall receive them alone. Hence be so kind as to withdraw.”
“His royal highness Prince Louis Ferdinand and his excellency Minister
von Hardenberg!” shouted the footman, opening the folding-doors.
The queen nodded a parting greeting to the mistress of ceremonies, and
advanced a few steps to meet the visitors, while the countess, heaving
mournful sighs, disappeared through the side-door.