THE KING AND THE SON.
Laura was not mistaken. It was the king whom the castle guard were
saluting with the beat of the drum. It was the king coming to pay his
first visit to his mother at Monbijou. He came unannounced, and the
perplexed, anxious looks of the cavaliers showed that his appearance
had caused more disturbance and terror than joy. With a slight laugh he
turned to his grand chamberlain, Pollnitz.
"Go tell her majesty that her son Frederick awaits her." And followed
by Kaiserling and the cavaliers of the queen, he entered the garden
saloon.
Queen Sophia Dorothea received the king's message with a proud, beaming
smile. She was not then deceived, her dearest hopes were to be
fulfilled; the young king was an obedient, submissive son; she was for
him still the reigning queen, the mother entitled to command. The son,
not the king, had come, disrobed of all show of royalty, to wait humbly
as a suppliant for her appearance. She felt proud, triumphant! A
glorious future lay before her. She would be a queen at last--a queen
not only in name, but in truth. Her son was King of Prussia, and she
would be co-regent. Her entire court should be witness to this meeting;
they should see her triumph, and spread the news far and wide.
He came simply, without ceremony, as her son, but she would receive him
according to etiquette, as it beseemed a queen. She wore a long, black
trailing gown, a velvet ermine-bordered mantle, and caught up the black
veil that was fastened in her hair with several brilliants. All
preparations were at last finished, and the queen, preceded by
Pollnitz, arrived in the garden saloon.
Frederick, standing by the window, was beating the glass impatiently
with his long, thin fingers. He thought his mother showed but little
impatience to see her son who had hurried with all the eagerness of
childlike love to greet her. He wondered what could be her motive, and
had just surmised it as the door opened and the chamberlain announced
in a loud voice--"Her majesty, the widowed queen." A soft, mocking
smile played upon his lips for a moment, as the queen entered in her
splendid court dress, but it disappeared quickly, and hat in hand he
advanced to meet her.
Sophia Dorothea received him with a gracious smile, and gave him her
hand to kiss.
"Your majesty is welcome," said she, with a trembling voice, for it
grieved her proud heart to give her son the title of majesty. The king,
perceiving something of this, said: "Continue to call me your son,
mother, for when with your majesty I am but an obedient, grateful son."
"Well, then, welcome, welcome my son!" cried the queen, with an
undisguised expression of rapture, and throwing her arms around him,
she kissed his forehead repeatedly. "Welcome to the modest house of a
poor, sorrowful widow."
"My wish, dear mother, is, that you shall not think of yourself as a
sad widow, but as the mother of a king. I do not desire you to be
continually reminded of the great loss we have all sustained, and that
God sent upon us. Your majesty is not only the widowed queen, you
belong not to the past, but to the present; and I beg that you will be
called from this moment, not the widowed queen, but the queen-mother.
Grand chamberlain Pollnitz, see that this is done."
For a moment the queen lost her proud, stately bearing; she was deeply
touched. The king's delicate attentions made her all the mother, and
for a moment love silenced all her proud, imperious wishes.
"Oh, my son, you know how to dry my tears, and to change the sorrowing
widow into a proud, happy mother," said she, pressing his hand tenderly
to her heart.
The king was so overjoyed at his mother's unfeigned tenderness that he
was prepared to agree to all her demands, and humor her in every thing.
"Ah," said he, "I, not you, ought to render thanks that you are so
willing to enter into my views. I will put your magnanimity still
further to the test, and state a few more of my wishes."
"Let us hear them, my son," said the queen, "but first let me ask a
favor."
"Let us be seated."
The king led her to an arm-chair near a window, from which there was a
beautiful view of the garden. The queen seated herself, and the young
king remained standing in front of her, still holding his hat. Sophia
Dorothea saw this, and was enraptured at this new triumph. Turning to
the king, she said:
"Let us now hear your wishes, and I promise joyfully to fulfil them."
"I wish," said he, "your majesty to surround herself with a larger and
more brilliant court. Two maids of honor are not sufficient for the
queen-mother, for if by chance one were sick, and the other fretful,
there would be no one to divert and amuse your majesty. I therefore
propose that you have six instead of two maids of honor."
The queen looked at him in tender astonishment.
"My son," said she, "you are a veritable magician. You divine all my
wishes. Thanks--many, many thanks. But your majesty is not seated,"
said she, as if just perceiving this.
"Madame," said he, laughing, "I awaited your permission." He seated
himself, and said, "You agree to my proposal, mother?"
"I agree to it, and beg your majesty to point out to me the ladies you
have decided upon as my six maids of honor. Your majesty has free
choice, and all I wish is, to be told when you have decided. I only
fear," said the queen, "that with my enlarged court there will not be
room for the ladies to have their separate apartments at Monbijou."
"Your majesty is no longer to live in this house," said the king; "it
is large enough for a passing summer visit, but it does not answer for
the residence of the queen-mother. I spoke some time since to
Knobelsdorf, and already a magnificent palace is being built for you."
The queen blushed with pleasure; all her wishes seemed to be fulfilled
to-day. She must know whether Sophia Dorothea was to be queen-regent as
well as queen-mother. She thanked her son tenderly for this new proof
of his love and kindness.
"And still," said she, sighing, "perhaps I ought not to accept of your
kindness. My husband's death should remind me of the transitory nature
of life, and should lead me to pass the remainder of my days in
seclusion, devoting my time to God."
The king looked so anxious, so shocked, that the queen repented having
given the conversation this gloomy turn.
"It is cruel, mother," said he, "not to let me enjoy the pleasure of
being with you without a drop of wormwood. But I see by your rosy
cheeks and bright smile that you only wished to frighten me. Let the
architects and masons continue their work: God will be merciful to me,
and grant a long life to the noblest and best-beloved of mothers!"
He kissed her hand and rose; Sophia Dorothea was terrified. The king
was leaving, and she still did not know how far her influence was to
reach and what were to be its limits.
"You will already leave me, my son?" said she, lovingly.
"I must, your majesty. For from here I can hear the Government
machinery creaking and groaning; I must hasten to supply it with oil,
and set it in motion again. Ah! madame, it is no easy task to be a
king. To do justice to all his obligations, a king must rise early and
retire late; and I think truly it is much more pleasant to be reigned
over than to reign."
The queen could scarcely suppress her delight; the king's words were
balm to her ambitious heart.
"I can well see that it is as you say," said she, "but I think that the
king has a right to amuse himself; I think that a mother has some
claims on her son, even if he is a king. You must not leave now, my
son. You must grant me the pleasure of showing you my new conservatory.
Give me your arm, and comply with my request."
"Madame, you now see what power you have over me," said he, as she
laughingly took his arm. "I forget that I am the servant of my country,
because I prefer being the servant of my queen."
The large glass door was opened, and, leaning on the king's arm, the
queen entered the garden.
At some distance the princesses with their brother and the rest of the
court followed. They were all silent, eagerly listening to the
conversation of the royal couple. But the queen did not now care to be
heard by her court. They had seen her triumph, but they should not be
witness to a possible defeat. She now spoke in a low tone, and hurried
her steps, to put a distance between herself and the courtiers. She
spoke with the king about the garden, and then asked if he thought of
passing the summer at Rheinsberg.
"Alas," said he, "I will not have the time. For a king is but the first
officer of his State, and as I receive my salary I must honestly fulfil
the duties I have undertaken."
"But I think your majesty does too much," said the queen. "You should
allow yourself more relaxation, and not let State matters rest entirely
upon your own shoulders. To one who is accustomed to associate with
poets, artists, and the sciences, it must be very hard suddenly to bury
himself in deeds, documents, and all sorts of dusty papers; you should
leave this occasionally to others, and not work the State machinery
yourself."
"Madame," said the king, "this machine has secrets and peculiarities
that its architect can intrust to no workman, therefore he must lead
and govern it himself; and if at times the wheels creak and it is not
in perfect order, he has only himself to thank."
"But you have your ministers?"
"They are my clerks--nothing more!"
"Ah, I see, you intend to be a rock and take counsel from no one," said
the queen, impatiently.
"Yes, your majesty, from you always; and with your gracious permission
I will now consult you."
"Speak, my son, speak," said the queen, in breathless expectation.
"I wish your advice upon theatrical matters. Where must the new
opera-house be built?"
The queen's face darkened.
"I am not a suitable adviser for amusements," said she, pointing to her
black gown. "My mourning garments do not fit me for such employment,
and you well know I do not care for the theatre; for how many cold,
dull evenings have I passed there with your father!"
"Ah, madame," said the king, "I was not talking of a German theatre,
which I dislike quite as much as yourself. No, we will have a French
theatre and an Italian opera. The French alone can act and only the
Italians can sing, but we Germans can play; I have therefore charged
Graun to compose a new opera for the inauguration of the new
opera-house."
"And undoubtedly this inauguration will take place on a festive
occasion," said the queen, going directly to the point. "Perhaps at the
wedding of one of your sisters?"
"Ah," said he, "your majesty is thinking of a wedding?"
"Not I, but others. Yesterday I received from London a letter from my
royal brother. And a few moments ago Count Manteuffel brought me
letters of condolence from the Empress of Austria. It seems the count
was, besides this, commissioned to sound me as to a possible marriage
with Prince Augustus."
"It is very unnecessary for the count to burden you with matters which
are happily beyond the reach of your motherly duties. For, alas! the
marrying of princes is a political affair, and is not determined by the
mother's heart, but by the necessities of the kingdom."
The queen bit her lip until it bled. "Your majesty is, undoubtedly,
thinking of performing this political obligation, and have chosen a
bride for the prince," said she, sharply.
"Forgive me," said the king laughing, "I am not now thinking of
marrying, but of unmarrying."
Sophia Dorothea looked anxiously at the king. "How, my son, are you
thinking of a divorce?" said she, tremblingly.
"Not of one, but of many, mother. Does your majesty know that I have
abolished the torture?"
"No," said the queen impatiently, "I did not--politics do not concern
me."
"That is in conformity with the true womanly character of my mother,"
said he. "There is nothing so insipid and tiresome as a woman who gives
up the graces and muses to excite herself with politics."
"And still your majesty was just initiating me into politics."
"Ah, yes, I told you I had abolished the torture."
"And I ask, how does that concern me?"
"You ask why I am thinking of divorces? Well, I told you that I had
abolished the torture, and in doing this it was but natural that I
busied myself about marriage. For your majesty will grant me that there
is no severer rack, no more frightful torture, than an unhappy
marriage."
"It seems as if with the torture you will also abolish marriage," said
the queen, terrified.
The king laughed. "Ah, no, madame, I am not pope, and have not received
the right from God to decide over men's consciences, though perhaps the
majority would be inclined to call me holy, and to honor me with
godlike worship, if I would really abolish the torture of matrimony.
But I am not ambitious, and renounce all claim to adoration. But while
engaged in abolishing the torture, I could but see that when the
marriage chains had ceased to be garlands of roses, and were
transformed into heavy links of iron, there should be some means found
to break them. I have therefore commanded that if two married people
cannot live harmoniously, a divorce shall not be denied them. I hope
that my royal mother agrees with me."
"Ah, there will soon be many divorce cases," said the queen, with a
contemptuous smile. "All who are not thoroughly happy will hasten to
the king for a divorce. Who knows but that the king himself will set
the people a good example?"
"With God's help, madame," said the king, gravely. "My noble mother
will always wish me to set my people a good example. A king is but the
servant of a nation."
"That is, indeed, an humble idea of a king, a king by the grace of God."
"Madame, I do not crave to be called a king by the grace of God. I
prefer being king by my own right and strength. But forgive me, mother.
You see how these politics mix themselves up with every thing. Let them
rest. You were speaking, I think, of the marriage of one of the
princes?"
"We were speaking of the marriage of Prince Augustus William," said the
queen, who, with the obstinacy of a true woman, always returned to the
point from which she had started, and who, in the desire of gaining her
point, had lost all consideration and presence of mind. "I was telling
you that I received yesterday a letter from my royal brother, and that
King George the Second is anxious to form an alliance between our
children."
"Another marriage with England!" said the king, dejectedly. "You know
there is no good luck in our English marriages. The courier who brings
the English consent is always too late."
The queen was enraged. "You mean that you have decided upon a bride for
my son, that again my darling wish of intermarrying my children with
the royal house of England is not to be realized? Ah, your father's
example must have been very satisfactory to you, as you follow so
quickly in his footsteps."
"I truly find, madame, that the king acted wisely in not regarding in
the marriage of the prince royal the wishes of his heart and his
family, but political interests, which he was bound to consider. I will
certainly follow his example, and take counsel over the marriage of the
prince royal, not with my own heart, not even with the wishes of my
royal mother, but with the interests of Prussia."
"But Augustus William is not prince royal," cried the queen, with
trembling lips. "The prince is only your brother, and you may have many
sons who will dispute with him the succession to the throne."
An expression of deep sorrow lay like a dark veil upon the handsome
face of the king. "I will have no children," said he, "and Prince
Augustus William will be my successor."
The queen had not the heart to reply. She looked at her son in
amazement. Their eyes met, and the sad though sweet expression of the
usually clear, sparkling eyes of her son touched her, and awoke the
mother's heart. With a hasty movement she took his hands, pressed them
to her heart, and said: "Ah, my son, how poor is this life! You are
young, handsome, and highly gifted, you are a king, and still you are
not happy."
The king's face was brighter, his eyes sparkled as before.
"Life," said he, smiling, "is not a pleasure, but a duty, and if we
honestly perform this duty we will be happy in the end. It is now time
to return to my prison and be king once more."
He embraced his mother tenderly, laughed and jested for a few moments
with his sisters Ulrica and Amelia, then left, followed by his
cavaliers. Sophia Dorothea remained in the garden, and Ulrica, her
favorite daughter, followed her.
"Your majesty looks sad and grave," said she, "and you have every
reason to look happy. The king was remarkably kind and amiable. Only
think of it, you will have six maids of honor, and a beautiful palace
is being built for you!"
"Oh, yes," said the queen, "I will be surrounded with outward glory."
"And how anxious the king seemed for you to forget the past!" said
Princess Amelia, who, with Prince Augustus William, had joined her
mother and sister, "you are not the widowed queen but the queen-mother."
"Yes," murmured Sophia Dorothea to herself, "I am queen-mother, but I
will never be queen-regent. Ah, my children," cried she, passionately,
"the king, your brother, was right. Princes are not born to be happy.
He is not so, and you will never be!"