SOFFRI E TACI.
The most ardent desire of the young queen was about to be accomplished;
she was to have a private and unconstrained interview with her husband.
The days of resignation, of hope deferred, and of hidden sorrow, were
now over. The dearly-beloved and longed-for husband had at last
returned to her! She need no longer hide her head in shame from her own
servants, who, she imagines, are secretly laughing at and mocking her,
because the young king is so cold and indifferent. She need no longer
envy the poor woman she saw in the street yesterday, carrying dinner to
her laboring husband. She will also have a husband, and will feel the
guiding and supporting arm of a strong man at her side. No longer will
she be a poor, neglected queen, but a proud and happy wife, envied of
all the world.
He had written that he desired to pay her a visit, and had requested
her not to lock her door, as important business would prevent his
coming until quite late. He would, however, certainly come, as he
desired to have a private interview with her on this very evening.
How wearily the hours of this day have passed, how slowly the sun sank
to rest! It is at last evening; night is coming on. Elizabeth can now
dismiss her attendants, and retire to her private apartments to await
her husband. He shall see how joyfully she will receive him, how happy
he has made her. She will adorn herself, that he may be pleased; she
will be beautiful, that he may smile upon her.
The queen, with the assistance of her astonished maids, attires herself
for the first time in one of the charming negligees recently sent by
the Empress of Austria; for the first time she dons her prettily-worked
and coquettish little cap, and encloses her tiny feet in
gold-embroidered white satin slippers. This neglige? is really
charming, and the queen's waiting-maids assure her that she never
looked better, and was never more becomingly attired. But the queen
desires to assure herself of this fact, and stepping forward to the
mirror, she examines her dress with the careful eye of a connoisseur;
then bending down, she regards her face attentively, and an expression
of satisfaction flits over her features. Elizabeth sees that she is
young and pretty, and for the first time rejoices in her beauty. The
maids regarded with astonishment these unusual preparations. Why was
Elizabeth now so much rejoiced at the beauty of which she had never
before seemed conscious?
The toilet is at an end; the queen seats herself on the light blue
sofa, and dismisses her maids with a mute gesture. But when the first
maid approaches the door, and as usual drew the key from the lock in
order to secure it from the outside, Elizabeth awakes from her dreamy
state and arises from her reclining position; a glowing color suffuses
her cheek, and a happy smile plays around her lips.
"Do not lock the door to-day," said she, with emotion; "I await the
king."
As if astonished at her new happiness, she sinks back on the cushions,
and covers her glowing face with her handkerchief, as if to shut out
the dazzling light. The waiting-maids courtesy respectfully, and leave
the room. In the ante-chamber this respectful expression vanishes from
their features, and they turn to each other with mocking and derisive
laughter.
"Poor queen! she wishes to make us believe that the king, while he
altogether neglects her in public, sometimes pays her a secret visit.
She wishes to make us believe that she is really the wife of the
handsome young king; and we all know--yes, we all know--"
And all three shrugged their shoulders derisively, and hurried off to
their associates, to gossip with them about the poor, despised,
neglected queen.
But what was that? Did they not hear a carriage driving into the inner
court, and the guard presenting arms amid the rolling of drums? Could
it be as the queen had said? was the king really coming to his wife?
The waiting-maids stood and listened; they heard steps on the grand
staircase. Yes, it was the king, who, preceded by his pages, carrying
silver candelabras with wax candles, walked hastily down the corridor
to his chambers, and from thence to those of the queen.
What the queen had said was therefore true. He did not despise her;
perhaps he loved her! The astonished waiting-maids hurried off to
inform their friends that the king loved his wife passionately, and the
royal pair was the happiest couple on earth. Elizabeth Christine also
heard the equipages drive in to the court. With a cry of delight she
sprang from her seat and listened. A fervent glow of happiness shot
through her veins. She pressed her hands to her heart to still its
rapid beating; her countenance was illumined with joy. But these
feelings were so novel they almost terrified her, and filled her heart
with tremulous anxiety.
"My God," murmured she, "give me strength to bear this happiness, as I
have borne misery!"
But her prayer died on her lips, for she heard the door of the corridor
open. She was no longer the queen, no longer the resigned and timid
wife; she was now the happy and joyful woman hurrying to meet the
husband of her love. And with uplifted head and proud satisfaction she
might now confess without shame that she loved him; for he loved her
also. He had requested a rendezvous, and was coming as a lover-her
first love meeting. She will not be shy and silent to-day, now that she
knows he loves her; her tongue will no longer be chained; she will have
courage to confess all, to tell him how ardently she loves him, and how
long and vainly she has struggled with her heart; how the flames had
ever broken out anew; how his glances had ever renewed the ardor of her
love.
There--he knocked at the door--she could scarcely breathe; she could
scarcely bid him enter; she could not move, and stood transfixed in the
middle of the room; she could only stretch out her arms longingly, and
welcome him with her smiles and tearful glances.
The door opened; now he entered. The light of the wax candles fell on
his face. It was handsome as ever, but his eye was cold, and his lips
uttered no loving greeting. He walked forward a few steps, stood still,
and bowed in a stiff and formal manner. A chill of horror crept over
Elizabeth; her arms sank down, and the smile vanished from her pallid
face.
"Madame," said the king, and his voice sounded harsher and colder than
she had ever before heard it--"madame, I must first beg your pardon for
having disturbed you at so unseemly a time, and for having robbed you
of an hour's sleep. But you see that I am a repentant sinner, and you
will forgive me when I assure you that, as this is my first, it shall
also be my last violation of your retirement!"
The queen uttered a low cry, and pressed her hand to her heart. She
felt as if a sword had pierced her breast, as if she were dying.
The king raised his large blue eyes with a surprised look to the pale,
trembling face of his wife.
"You are pale, you are ill," said he, "and my presence is undoubtedly
annoying; I will retire and send your waiting-maids to your assistance."
While he was speaking the queen prayed to God for courage and strength;
she called her womanly pride to her assistance, and struggled against
her tears and her despair. The king, who in vain had waited for an
answer, now hastily approached the door, murmuring a few impatient
words.
But Elizabeth's courage had now returned, she had conquered her heart.
"Remain, sire," she said; "I beg you to remain; I feel well again. It
was only a passing spasm from which I often suffer, and for which I
crave your indulgence."
"If I may then remain," said the king, smiling, "permit me to conduct
you to a seat."
She accepted the king's proffered arm and followed him to the sofa on
which she had awaited him with such blissful anticipations, and on
which he was now about to put her heart to the torture.
The king did not seat himself by her side, but rolling an arm-chair
forward, seated himself at some distance in front of her.
"Madame," said he, "is it credible that we two have been married for
seven long years, and still have never been as man and wife to each
other? Our lips were forced to pronounce vows of which our hearts knew
nothing. Having been forced into this marriage, you must have hated me.
You can never have forgiven me for having led you to the altar. At the
foot of the altar we did not vow eternal love to each other, but
eternal coldness and indifference; and to this hour, madame, you, at
least, have faithfully kept this vow."
The queen sank back, murmuring a few incomprehensible words, and her
head fell wearily upon her breast.
The king continued: "I come to-day to solicit your forgiveness for the
involuntary injustice which I committed. I have made you unhappy, for
you were forced to give your hand to an unloved man, of whom you knew
that he loved you not. Madame, it is unfortunately true, an abyss lies
between us, and this abyss is filled with the blood of the dearest
friend of my youth. Oh, madame, forgive me this wrong, for the sake of
what I have suffered! I then had a soft and tender heart, but it was
trodden under foot, and has become hardened. I placed full confidence
in the world, and it has deceived me terribly. I have suffered more
than the poorest beggar; I was forced to regard my own father as a
cruel enemy, who watched me unceasingly, awaiting a favorable moment to
give me a death-blow. It was necessary that I should be continually on
my guard, for the smallest fault, the slightest thoughtlessness, a
trifle, a mere nothing, was sufficient to condemn me. Oh, if you knew
with what vermin I have been publicly calumniated and accused! After
doing their utmost to make me odious to the world, and fearing they
might perhaps still fail, they resorted to another expedient to compass
my ruin, and endeavored to kill me with their ridicule. Soffri e taci,
this Italian proverb was then the motto of my life. And believe me, it
is hard to obey this seemingly so dry maxim; it has a grand
significance."[12]
[12] The king's own words. See Oeuvres, etc., tom. xvi., p. 161.
The king, oppressed as it were by these reminiscences, leaned back in
his chair and breathed heavily. With downcast eyes and in silence the
queen still sat before him, charmed by the music of his words, which
found an echo in her heart like the dying wail of her youth.
"I do not tell you this," continued the king, after a pause, "in order
to play the role of a martyr in your sight, but because I wish you to
understand by what means my spirit was at last broken, and my will made
subservient to that of my father. I purchased my freedom, madam, by
chaining you to myself. But in doing this, I vowed you should no longer
be bound when it should be in my power to release you. This moment has
come, and true to my vow, I am here. I know that you do not, cannot
love me, madame. The question arises, is your aversion to me so great
that you insist on a separation?"
The queen raised her head and looked wonderingly into the mild and
sorrowful countenance of her husband. She could no longer restrain the
cry which trembled on her lips, no longer stem the tide of tears which
gushed in torrents from her eyes.
"My God! my God!" she exclaimed, with a plaintive wail, "he asks me if
I hate him!"
There was something in the tone of her voice, in this despairing cry of
her soul, which ought to have betrayed the long-hidden secret of her
love to the king. But perhaps he knew it already, and did not wish to
understand. Perhaps, in the nobility and native delicacy of his soul,
he wished to represent the indifference and coldness which he
experienced for his wife, as coming from herself. However, the king did
not seem to notice her tears.
"No, madame," said he, "I did not ask if you hated me, for I well know
that your noble and womanly heart is not capable of this passion. I
merely asked if your aversion to me was so great that it demanded a
separation. I pray you to give me a short and decisive answer."
But Elizabeth Christine had lost the power of speech; tears rained down
her cheeks, and she could only give a mute assent.
"You are, then, willing to be my wife before the world?" asked the
king. "You are willing to remain Queen of Prussia, and nominally the
wife of the king? You do not demand that my reign shall be inaugurated
with the exposure of our domestic misfortunes, and that your chaste and
virtuous name shall be branded about with mine before the calumniating
world?"
"No," said the queen, with feverish haste, for she feared her strength
might fail her. "No, I do not demand it; I desire no separation!"
"I thank you for this word," said the king, gravely. "It is worthy of a
queen. You then feel with me that we princes have not even the right to
cast off the burden which weighs us down, but must bear it patiently if
it serve to secure the stability of our throne. Enviable are those who
dare complain of their sufferings, and show their scars. But it becomes
us to wrap ourselves in silence, and not to show to the miserable,
pitiful, and drivelling world, which envies and abuses, even while
applauding us, that a king can also suffer. I thank you, madame, and
from this hour you will find in me a true friend, a well-meaning
brother, ever ready to serve you. Give me your hand to this contract,
which shall be more lasting and holier than that blessed by priests, to
which our hearts did not say amen."
In his proffered hand Elizabeth laid her own slowly and solemnly. But
when he clasped it in his own with a firm pressure, Elizabeth started
and a cry escaped her lips. She hastily withdrew her hand, and sinking
back on the sofa, burst into tears. Frederick allowed her tears to
flow, regarding her with a look of deep sympathy.
"You weep, madame," said he, after a long and painful pause. "I honor
your tears; you weep for your lost youth; you weep because you are a
queen, and because reason has conquered your heart and forbids you to
make yourself free as any other woman except a princess might do. Weep
on, madame, I cannot dry your tears, for like yourself I have been
cheated of my happiness; like yourself I am well aware of the sacrifice
which we are both making to our royal standing. Ah, madame, if we were
only private individuals, if we were not the rulers of Prussia, but her
subjects, we might now be happy. Feeling our own unhappiness, and
desiring to save our subjects from a like misfortune, I have made a
divorce more easily attainable."
Elizabeth arose from her reclining position and regarded the king with
a mournful smile.
"I thank your majesty," said she. "It is noble in you to alleviate that
misfortune for others, which you have determined to endure."
"Ah, madame," exclaimed the king, smiling, "you forget that I have in
you a noble friend and sister at my side, who will help me to bear this
evil. And then we are not altogether unhappy; if we do not love,
neither do we hate each other. We are brother and sister, not by blood,
but united by the word of the priest. But never fear, madame, I will
regard you only as a sister, and I promise you never to violate the
respect due to your virtue!"
"I believe you," murmured the queen, blushing, and inwardly ashamed of
the charming and coquettish negligee in which she had received the king.
"Before the world we are still married, but I promise that this chain
shall gall you as little as possible. In your private life you will
only be reminded that you are still my wife, when it is absolutely
unavoidable. At the coronation I must request your presence at my side.
When this is over you will be as free and independent as circumstances
will admit. You will have a court of your own, a summer and a winter
residence, in which I shall never intrude."
"I shall then never see you again!" said the queen, in the sad voice of
resignation, which is often produced by an excess of pain.
"Oh, I pray you, madame, to permit me to meet you at times when
etiquette demands it; but I shall take care that these meetings take
place on official and neutral ground, and not in our private houses. I
will never enter your house without your permission, and then only on
particular fete days--your birthday for instance; and I trust that you
will not refuse to receive me on such occasions."
"No, I will not refuse," replied the queen, regarding her husband with
a sad and reproachful look. But Frederick did not see this look, or
would not see it.
"I beg," said the king, smiling, "that you will permit me to present
you with the castle of Schonhausen, as a reminiscence of the hour in
which you found a faithful brother, and I a noble sister. Accept this
little gift as an earnest of our new bond of friendship. It has been
fitted up and prepared as a summer residence for your use, and you can
retire to it immediately after the coronation, if you are so inclined."
"I thank you," said the queen in so low a voice that her words could
scarcely be distinguished. "I thank you, and I will go there on the day
after the coronation;" a sigh, almost a sob, escaped her breast.
The king regarded with a clear and penetrating glance the meek woman
who sat before him, who accepted her joyless and gloomy future with
such heroic resignation. Her mute anguish excited his compassion. He
wished to throw a sunbeam into her dark future, to warm her heart with
a ray of happiness.
"Well," said he, "I am on the point of making a little journey
incognito, in the meanwhile you can go to Schonhausen; but when I
return I desire to spend a few weeks in Rheinsberg in my family circle,
and, as a matter of course, madame, you are a member of my family. I
beg, therefore, that you will accompany me to Rheinsberg."
Elizabeth's countenance was illumined with so beautiful and radiant a
smile that even the king saw it and admired her beauty. She held out
both her hands and greeted him with a loving glance, but her trembling
lips refused to utter the words which her heart prompted.
The king arose. "I must no longer deprive you of your repose, and I
also need rest. We must both keep ourselves well and strong for the
sake of our country and our subjects, for we both have a grand task to
accomplish. You will administer consolation to the miserable and
suffering; you will diffuse happiness and reap blessings; you will
shine as a model of nobility and feminine virtue before all other
women, and through your example will give noble wives and mothers to
Prussia's sons! And I," continued the king, a ray of enthusiasm
lighting up his handsome face, "I will make my people great; my country
shall have a place in the counsels of mighty nations. I will enlarge
Prussia and make her strong and powerful. My name shall be engraven in
golden letters in the book of history. As fate has destined me to be a
king, and will not permit me to spend my days in retirement and
philosophic tranquillity like other and happier mortals, I will at
least endeavor to accomplish my mission with honor to myself and
advantage to my people. You will be a ministering angel to the needy
and suffering of our subjects, and I will extend the boundaries of
Prussia and diffuse prosperity throughout the land! Farewell,
Elizabeth! our paths will seldom meet, but if I were so fortunate as to
believe in a hereafter, and your noble and gentle nature would almost
persuade me to do so, I would say: 'In heaven we will perhaps meet
oftener, and understand each other better.' Pray to God in my behalf. I
believe in God and in the efficacy of the prayers of the good and
pious. Farewell!"
He bowed deeply. He did not see the deathly pallor and convulsive
trembling of the queen. He did not see how she, after he had turned
from her and was advancing toward the door, hardly knowing what she
did, stretched out her arms after him, and whispered his name in a
plaintive and imploring tone. He hurried on, and without once turning
left the room. On the outside he stood still for a moment, and drew a
long breath of relief.
"Poor woman! unfortunate queen!" he murmured, returning slowly to his
chambers. "But why pity her? Is not her lot mine, and that of all
princes? A glittering misery--nothing else!"
A few minutes later and the royal equipage again drove through the
court yard.
The king was returning to his summer residence at Charlottenburg. The
queen, who was on her knees, crying and sobbing, heard the carriage as
it drove off. "Gone! he is gone!" she exclaimed, with a cry of anguish;
"he has deserted me, and I am a poor discarded woman! He despises me,
and I--I love him!" And wringing her hands, she sobbed aloud. For a
while she was tranquil and prayed, and then again burst into tears. Her
soul, which had suffered so long in silence, once mora rebelled. The
voice of her youth made itself heard, and demanded in heart-rending
accents a little sunshine, a little of the joy and happiness promised
to mankind.
She was at last quieted; she accepted her destiny, and bowed her head
in humility and patience. Morning was already dawning when Elizabeth
Christine arose from her knees, pale and trembling, but resigned.
"Soffri e taci!" said she, sadly. "This was the motto of his youth, and
this shall be the motto of my whole life! Soffri e taci! how sad, and
yet how grave are these words! Oh! Frederick, Frederick! why do you
condemn me to such torture; why has your heart no pity with me, no pity
with my love? But no!" she exclaimed, firmly, "I will weep no more. He
shall not despise me. I have accepted my destiny, and will bear it as
beseems a queen. Be still, my heart, be still. Soffri e taci!"