THE QUEEN'S MAID OF HONOR.
After her interview with Count Manteuffel, the queen Sophia Dorothea
left the garden, and retired to her chamber. She dismissed her maids of
honor for a few hours, requesting them to admit no one to her presence.
She wished to consider and develop her plans in undisturbed quiet. She
felt that Austria was again prepared to throw obstacles in the way of
her favorite project--an English marriage for one of her children. She
wished to sharpen her weapons, and marshal her forces for the
approaching combat.
For a few hours, therefore, the maids of honor were free to follow
their own inclinations, to amuse themselves as they thought fit.
Laura von Pannewitz had declined accompanying the other ladies in their
drive. Her heart required solitude and rest. For her it was a rare and
great pleasure to listen in undisturbed quiet to the sweet voices which
whispered in her heart, and suffused her whole being with delight.
It was so sweet to dream of him--to recall his words, his smiles, his
sighs; all those little shades and signs which seemed so unimportant to
the careless, but which convey so much to the loving observer!
He had written to her yesterday, and she--she had had the cruel courage
to return his letter unopened. But she had first pressed it to her lips
and to her heart with streaming eyes, and had then fallen on her knees
to pray to God, and to implore him to give her strength and courage to
overcome her heart, to renounce his love.
Since then an entire day had passed, and she had not seen him, had
heard nothing of him. Oh, he must be sad and very angry with her; he
wished never to see her again. And because he was angry, and wished to
hold himself aloof from her, he, the loving and attentive son, had even
neglected to pay the accustomed morning visit to his royal mother,
which he had never before omitted.
Her heart beating hurriedly, and weeping with anguish, Laura had been
standing before her window curtain awaiting him, and had prayed to God
that she might see him, or at least hear his voice in the distance. But
the prince did not arrive, and now the time had passed at which he was
accustomed to come. The queen had already retired to her study, and
would admit no one.
Laura could, therefore, no longer hope to see the prince Augustus
William on this day. As she thought of this, she felt as if a sword had
pierced her bosom, and despair took possession of her heart. She threw
herself on her knees, wrung her hands, and prayed to God, not for
strength and courage to renounce him as before, but for a little
sunshine on her sad and sorrowful love. Terrified at her own prayer,
she had then arisen from her knees, and had hurried to the room of
Madame von Brandt, to take refuge from her own thoughts and sorrows in
the bosom of a friend.
But her friend was not there, and she was told that Madame von Brandt
had gone down into the garden. Laura took her hat and shawl, and sought
her. As she walked down the shady avenue, her glowing cheeks and
burning eyes were cooled by the gentle breeze wafted over from the
river Spree, and she felt soothed; something like peace stole into her
heart. Laura had forgotten that she had come to the garden to seek her
friend; she felt only that the calm and peace of nature had quieted her
heart; that solitude whispered to her soul in a voice of consolation
and of hope. Hurriedly she passed on to the denser and more solitary
part of the garden, where she could give herself up to dreams of him
whose image still filled her heart, although she had vainly endeavored
to banish it.
She now entered the conservatory at the foot of the garden, which had
been converted into a beautiful and charming saloon, for the exclusive
use of the queen and her maids of honor. There were artificial arbors
of blooming myrtle and orange, in which luxurious little sofas invited
to repose; grottoes of stone had been constructed, in the crevices of
which rare mountain plants were growing. There were little fountains
which murmured and flashed pleasantly, and diffused an agreeable
coolness throughout the atmosphere. Laura seated herself in one of the
arbors, which was covered with myrtle, and, in a reclining position,
her head resting on the trunk of an aged laurel-tree, which formed part
of the framework of the arbor, she closed her eyes that she might see
nothing but him.
It was a lovely picture, the beautiful and noble countenance of this
young girl, enclosed as it were in a frame of living myrtle; her
delicate but full and maidenly figure reclining against the trunk of
the tree, to which the chaste and timid love of a virgin had once given
life. She also was a Daphne, fleeing from her own desires, fleeing from
the sweetly-alluring voice of her lover, who, to her, was the god of
beauty and of grace, the god of learning and the arts--her Apollo, whom
she adored and believed in, whom she feared, and from whom she fled
like Daphne, because she loved him. For a woman flees only from him
whom she loves; she fears him only who is dangerous, not because his
words of tenderness and flattery are alluring, but because her own
heart pleads for him.
Laura was still sitting in the arbor, in a dreamy reverie. His image
filled her thoughts; her love was prayer, her prayer love. Her hands
lay folded in her lap; a sweet, dreamy smile played about her lips, and
from under her closed eyelids a few tears were slowly rolling down her
soft, rosy cheeks. She had been praying to God to give her strength to
conquer her own heart, and to bear, without murmuring and without
betraying herself, the sorrow, the anger, and even the indifference of
the prince. Still she felt that her heart would break if he should
desert and forget her. An alluring voice whispered that it would be a
more blissful end to die, after an hour of ecstatic and intoxicating
happiness, than to renounce his love, and still die.
But the chaste Laura did not wish to hear this voice; she would drown
it with her prayers; and still, even while she prayed, she thought how
great and sublime a happiness it would be to kiss the lips of her
beloved, to whisper in his ear the long-concealed, long-buried secret
of her love. And then his kiss still on her lips, and in the sunshine
of his eyes, to fall down and die!--exchanging heaven for heaven;
redeeming bliss with bliss. And sweeter dreams and more painful
fantasies came over her; heavier and heavier sank her eyelids; a weight
of sorrow rested on her heart, and made it weary unto death; until at
the last, like the disciples on the Mount, she slept for very sorrow.
The silence was profound. Suddenly stealthy footsteps could be heard,
and the figure of a man appeared at the entrance of the grotto.
Cautiously he stepped forward, and cast an inquiring glance through the
trailing vines which overhung the grotto, to the young girl who still
slumbered, reclining on the trunk of the laurel-tree. It was Fritz
Wendel, the gardener of Rheinsberg. Queen Sophia Dorothea had desired
to have her greenhouses and flower-beds arranged in the style of those
at Rheinsberg. And, by command of the young king, several of the most
expert gardeners of Rheinsberg had been sent to Berlin to superintend
this arrangement in the garden of Monbijou. Fortune had favored the
young gardener, and had again brought him near her he loved. For the
little maid of honor, Louise von Schwerin, was not only the favorite of
Queen Elizabeth, but Queen Sophia Dorothea also loved this saucy and
sprightly young girl, who, because she was a child, and as such was
excusable, was allowed to break in upon court etiquette with her merry
laughter, and to introduce an element of freshness and vivacity into
the stiff forms of court life. Moreover, by her thoughtless and
presumptuous behavior at Rheinsberg, she had lost favor with the young
couple who now reigned in Prussia. Queen Elizabeth could not forget
that it was through Louise she had learned the name of her happy rival.
And the king was angry with her, because, through her, the secret of
his verses to Madame von Morien had been discovered. Louise von
Schwerin was rarely with Queen Elizabeth. Sophia Dorothea, however,
kept this young girl near her person for whole days. Her childish ways
amused the queen, and her merry pranks drove the stiff and formal
mistress of ceremonies, and the grave and stately cavaliers and ladies
of the court, to despair. And the little maid of honor came to the
queen willingly, for Monbijou had for her a great charm since the
handsome gardener, Fritz Wendel, had been there. The romance with this
young man had not yet come to an end; this secret little love affair
had a peculiar charm for the young girl; and as no other admirer had
been found for the little Louise, she for the present was very well
pleased with the adoration of the young gardener, to whom she was not
the "little Louise," but the bewitching fairy, the beautiful goddess.
It was Fritz Wendel who appeared at the entrance of the grotto, and
looked anxiously toward the sleeping Laura. He had been occupied in
arranging the plants and flowers in this conservatory, which had been
confided to his especial care. As the queen never entered the garden at
this time, this hour had been set apart for his labors.
In the midst of his occupation he was interrupted by the entrance of
Laura von Pannewitz, and had hastily retired to the grotto, intending
to remain concealed until the lady should have left the conservatory.
From his hiding-place, concealed by the dense Indian vines, he could
see the myrtle arbor in which the beautiful Laura reposed; and now,
seeing that she slept, he advanced slowly and cautiously from the
grotto. He listened attentively to her slow and regular breathing--yes,
she really slept; he might therefore stealthily leave the saloon.
"Ah, if it were she!" he murmured; "if it were she! I would not leave
here so quietly. I would find courage to fall down at her feet and to
clasp her to my arms, while pressing my lips to hers, to suppress her
cry of terror. But this lady," said he, almost disdainfully, turning to
the sleeping Laura, "is so little like her--that she is--"
The words died on his lips, and he hastily retreated to the entrance of
the grotto. He thought he heard footsteps approaching the conservatory.
The door of the vestibule creaked on its hinges, and again--Fritz
Wendel slipped hastily into the grotto, and concealed himself behind
the dense vines.
On the threshold of the saloon stood a young man, who looked
searchingly around. His tall and graceful figure was clad in the
uniform of the guards, which displayed his well-knit form to great
advantage. The star on his breast, and the crape which he wore on his
arm, announced a prince of the royal house; his beautifully-formed and
handsome features wore an expression of almost effeminate tenderness.
The glance of his large blue eyes was so soft and mild, that those who
observed him long, were involuntarily touched with an inexplicable
feeling of pity for this noble-looking youth. His broad brow showed so
much spirit and determination that it was evident he was not always
gentle and yielding, but had the courage and strength to follow his own
will if necessary.
It was Prince Augustus William, the favorite of the deceased king, on
whose account the elder brother Frederick had suffered so much, because
the king had endeavored to establish the former as his successor to the
throne in the place of his first-born.[11]
[11] Dr. Fred. Busching, page 172.
But the prince's inclinations were not in accordance with the wishes of
his father; Augustus William desired no throne, no earthly power; in
his retiring modesty he disliked all public display; the title of royal
highness had no charm for him, and with the indifference of a true
philosopher he looked down upon the splendor and magnificence of
earthly glory.
In his brother Frederick, the disdain of outward pomp might be
attributed to his superior mind and strength of understanding; while
Augustus William was actuated by a depth of feeling, a passionate and
ardent sensitiveness. He had come to pay the queen, his mother, the
customary morning visit, but when told she had desired that no one
should be admitted to her presence, he was not willing that an
exception should be made in his favor. "He had time to wait," he said,
"and should be announced and called up from the garden only when the
queen was again at leisure."
After giving this order he had gone down into the garden, where a
lover's instinct had conducted him to the conservatory, in which, to
him, the most beautiful of all flowers, the lovely Laura von Pannewitz,
reposed. He did not dream of finding her there, supposing she had
accompanied the other ladies on their drive; he had sought this
building that he might pass a few moments in undisturbed quiet--that he
might think of her and the unrequited love which he had vainly
endeavored to tear from his heart.
It was therefore not her he sought when, on entering the conservatory,
he looked searchingly around. He only wished to know that he was alone,
that no one observed him. But suddenly he started, and a deep red
suffused his countenance. He saw the beautiful sleeper in the arbor. In
the first ecstasy of his delight he was on the point of throwing
himself at her feet, and awakening her with his kisses. He started
forward--but then hesitated, and stood still, an expression of deep
melancholy pervading his features.
"She will not welcome me," murmured he, "she will repel me as she did
my letter yesterday. She does not love me, and would never forgive me
if I should desecrate her pure lips with mine." He bowed his head and
sighed. "But I love her," said he, after a long pause, "and will at
least look at and adore her, as the Catholics worship the Virgin Mary."
And with a beaming smile, which illumined his whole countenance, the
prince slowly and noiselessly stepped forward.
"Well," murmured Fritz Wendel in his hiding-place, "I have some
curiosity to know what the prince has to say to this sleeping beauty;
but, nevertheless, I would give a year of my life if I could slip away
unobserved, for if the prince discovers me here I am lost!"
He retired to that part of the grotto where the foliage was thickest,
still however securing a place from which he could observe all that
took place in the myrtle arbor.