SOIREE OF THE QUEEN DOWAGER.
"The king is coming," whispered Augustus William, and he stepped
towards the cabinet of the queen-mother. But the door was already
opened, and the two queens hastened out; they wished to reach the
garden saloon and there to welcome the king.
The expression of both ladies was restless and anxious. Sophia Dorothea
feared the meeting with her son, who would, perhaps, in the inflamed,
eyes of his beloved, read the history of the last hours; his kingly
anger would be kindled against those who brought tears to her eyes. The
queen confessed that she had gone too far--had allowed herself to be
mastered by her scorn; she was embarrassed and fearful.
Elizabeth Christine was not restless, but deeply moved; her heart beat
quickly at the thought of this meeting with her husband; she had not
seen him since the day of the coronation, had not exchanged one single
word with him since the ominous interview in her chamber at Rheinsberg.
Not once on the day of the coronation had the king addressed her; and
only once had he taken her hand. After the coronation he led her in the
midst of the assembled court, and said with a clear and earnest voice:
"Behold, this is your queen."
These ladies were so excited, so filled with their own thoughts that
they hastened through the saloons, scarcely remarking the prince, who
had stepped aside to allow them to pass. The queen-mother nodded
absently and gave him a passing greeting, then turned again to
Elizabeth, who had scarcely patience to conform her movements to the
slow and measured steps of the queen-mother; she longed to look upon
her husband's face once more.
"If Laura von Pannewitz complains to the king, we will have a terrific
scene," said Sophia.
"She will not complain," replied Elizabeth.
"So much the worse, she will play the magnanimous, and I could less
readily forgive that, than a complaint."
At this moment the door opened. The king, followed by his attendants
and those of the two queens, entered the saloon. The two ladies greeted
the king with smooth brows and thoughtless laughter. Nothing betrayed
the restless anxiety reigning in their hearts. Frederick hastened to
meet his mother, and bowing low he greeted her with loving and
respectful words, and tenderly kissed her hand; then turning to his
wife he bowed stiffly and ceremoniously; he did not extend his hand,
did not utter a word. Elizabeth bowed formally in return, and forced
back the hot tears which rushed into her eyes.
The face of the queen-mother was again gay and triumphant. The king
knew nothing as yet; she must prevent him from speaking with Laura
alone. She glanced around at the maid of honor, and saw that the young
maiden, calm and unembarrassed, was conversing with the Prince Augustus
William; her majesty was more than happy to see her son William
entertaining the beautiful Laura. "Ah! now I know how to prevent the
king from speaking to her alone," thought she.
Sophia was never so animated, so brilliant; her sparkling wit seemed
even to animate the king. There was a laughing contest, a war of words,
between them; piquant jests and intellectual bon mots, which seemed to
the admiring courtiers like fallen stars, were scattered to right and
left. The queen would not yield to her son, and indeed sometimes she
had the advantage.
Queen Elizabeth stood sad and silent near them, and if by chance the
eye of the king fell upon her, she felt that his glance was
contemptuous; her pale cheeks grew paler, and it was with great effort
she forced her trembling lips to smile.
The queen-mother proposed to her son and Elizabeth to walk in the
garden, and then to have a simple dance in the brilliant saloons. The
court mourning would not allow a regular ball at this time.
"But why should we seek for flowers in the garden," said the king; "can
there be lovelier blossoms than those now blooming on every side?" His
eye wandered around the circle of lovely maids of honor, who cast their
eyes blushingly to the ground.
Six eyes followed this glance of Frederick with painful interest.
"He scarcely looked at Laura von Pannewitz," said the queen, with a
relieved expression.
"He did not once glance toward me," thought Elizabeth, sighing heavily.
"His eye did not rest for more than a moment upon any woman here,"
thought Pollnitz; "so it is clear he has no favorite in this circle. I
will, therefore, succeed with my beautiful Dorris."
Frederick wished to spare his mother the fatigue of a walk in the
garden--she was lame and growing fleshy; he therefore led her to a
seat, and bowing silently, he gave his left hand to his wife and placed
her by his mother.
Sophia, who watched every movement and every expression of her royal
son, observed the cruel silence which he maintained toward his wife,
and she felt pity for the poor, pale, neglected queen. Sophia leaned
toward the king, who stood hat in hand behind her divan, and whispered:
"I believe, my son, you have not spoken one word to your wife!"
The king's face clouded. "Madame," said he, in a low but firm tone,
"Elizabeth Christine is my queen, but not my wife!" and, as if he
feared a further explanation, he nodded to the Marquis Algarotti and
Duke Chazot to come forward and take part in the conversation.
Suddenly a lady, who had not before been seen in the court circle,
approached the two queens. This lady was of a wondrous pallor; she was
dressed in black, without flowers or ornament; her deep sunken eyes
were filled with feverish fire, and a painful smile played upon her
lips, which were tightly pressed together, as if to force back a cry of
despair.
No one recognised in this pale, majestic, gentle lady, the
"Tourbillon," the joyous, merry, laughing Madame von Morien; no one
could have supposed that her fresh and rosy beauty could, in a few
months, assume so earnest and sad a character. This was the first time
Madame von Morien had appeared at the court of the queen-mother; she
was scarcely recovered from a long and dangerous illness. No one knew
the nature of her disease, but the witty and ill-natured courtiers
exchanged many words of mockery and double meaning on the subject.
It was said Madame von Morien was ill from the neglect of the king. She
suffered from a chill, which, strange to say, had attacked the king,
and not the beautiful coquette. Her disease was a new and peculiar
cold, which did not attack the lungs, but seized upon the heart; the
same disease, indeed, which prostrated Dido, upon the departure of the
cruel AEneas.
The queen-mother received this pale, but still lovely woman, most
graciously; gave her the royal hand to kiss, and smiled kindly.
"It is an age since we have seen you, fair baroness; it appears as if
you will make yourself invisible, and forget entirely that we rejoice
to see you."
"Your royal highness is most gracious to remind me of that," said
Madame von Morien, in a low tone; "death had almost made me forget it,
and assuredly I had not dared to approach you with this pale, thin
face, had not your majesty's flattering command given me courage to do
so."
There was something in the low, suffering voice of Madame von Morien
which awakened sympathy, and even disarmed the anger of the queen
Elizabeth. What bitter tears had she shed, what jealous agony endured,
because of this enchanting woman! She saw her now for the first time
since the fete at Rheinsberg. Looking into this worn and sorrowful
face, she forgave her fully. With the instinct of a loving woman, the
queen understood the malady of her rival; she felt that Madame von
Morien was suffering from unrequited affection, and that despair was
gnawing at her heart.
The king had now no glance, no greeting for his "enchanting Leontine;"
he continued the conversation with Algarotti and Chazot quietly, and
did not consider her profound and reverential salutation as worthy of
the slightest notice.
Elizabeth Christine was pitiful; she gave her hand to be kissed, and
spoke a few friendly, kindly words, which touched the heart of the
beautiful Morien, and brought the tears to her eyes. The king, although
standing near, did not appear even to see her.
"I have some news to announce to your majesty," he said, turning to the
queen-mother. "We are about to make Berlin a temple of science and art,
the seat of learning and knowledge. The Muses, should they desire to
leave Olympus, shall receive a most hospitable reception. Now listen to
the great news. In autumn Voltaire will visit us; and Maupertius, the
great scholar, who first discovered the form of the earth, will come,
as President of our Academy; and Buncauson, who understands some of the
mysteries of God, will also come to Berlin. The celebrated Eulert will
soon belong to us."
"This is indeed glorious news," said Sophia; "but I fear that your
majesty, when surrounded with so many scholars, philosophers, and
historians, will entirely forget the poor ignorant women, and banish
them from your learned court."
"That would be to banish happiness, beauty, mirth, and the graces; and
no one would expect such barbarism from the son of my noble and exalted
mother," said Frederick. "Even the Catholic Church is wise enough to
understand that in order to draw men into their nets, the Trinity,
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost is not sufficient, they have also called a
lovely woman to their assistance, whose beauty and pure mysterious
maidenhood is the finest, most piquant and intoxicating perfume of
their gaudy religion. And what would the great painters have been
without women--without their lovely, their bewitching sweethearts, whom
they changed into holy maidens? From luxurious women were designed the
modest, shrinking Magdalens, before whose mysterious charms the wise
children of men bow the knee in adoration. Ah, how many Madonnas has
Raphael painted from his Fornarina! and Correggio had the art to change
his bewitching wife into a holy saint. I must confess, however, we owe
Correggio but small thanks; I should have been more grateful had he
painted us a glowing woman, radiant with beauty, grace, and love. I,
for my part, have a true disgust for weeping, sighing Magdalens, who,
when wearied with earthly loves and passions, turn half way to heaven,
and swear to God the same oaths they have a thousand times sworn to men
and a thousand times broken. Now, if I were in God's place, I would not
accept these wavering saints. For my part I hate these pale, tearful,
sighing, self-destroying beauties, and the farcical exhibition of their
sufferings would never soften my heart."
While the king was speaking his eye turned for the first time toward
Madame von Morion, and his glance rested long, with a cold and piercing
expression, upon her. She had heard every word he had spoken, and every
word was like a cold poisoned dagger in her heart; she felt, although
her eyes were cast down, that his stern look rested upon her; she was
conscious of this crushing glance, although she saw it not; she had the
power not to cry out, not to burst into passionate tears, but to reply
quietly to the queen, who in fact questioned her, only with the
good-humored intention of drowning the hard and cruel words of the king.
The queen wished to lead the conversation from the dangerous topic of
religion and give it another direction. "My son," she said, "you have
forgotten to mention another great surprise you have prepared for us.
You say nothing of the German and French journals which you have
presented to our good city of Berlin; but I assure you I await with
true impatience the day on which these journals appear, and I am
profoundly interested in these new and charming lectures which make of
politics an amusing theme, and give us all the small events of the day."
"Let us hope," said Frederick, "that these journals will also tell us
in the future of great events." Then assuming a gay tone he said: "But
your majesty forgets that you promised the ladies a dance, and see how
impatiently the little princesses look toward us; my sister Amelia is
trying to pierce me with her scornful glances, because I have forced
her to sit in her arm-chair like a maid of honor, for such a weary
time, when she longs to float about like a frolicsome zephyr. To put a
stop to her reproaches I will ask her to give me the first dance."
The king took his sister's hand and led her into the dancing saloon.
The queens and court followed. "Now without doubt he will seek an
opportunity to speak to Laura von Pannewitz," thought the queen-mother;
"I must take measures to prevent it." She called Prince Augustus
William to her side. "My son," said she, "I have a favor to ask of you."
"Oh, your majesty has only to command."
"I know that you are a good son, willing to serve your mother. Listen;
I have important reasons for wishing that the king should not converse
to-night, at least not alone, with Laura von Pannewitz; I will explain
my reasons to you another time. I beg you, therefore, to pay court to
Laura, and not to leave her side should the king draw near. You will
appear not to see his angry glances, but without embarrassment join in
the conversation, and not turn away from Laura until the king has taken
leave. Will you do this for me, my son?"
"I will fulfil your royal commands most willingly," said the prince,
"only it will be said that I am making love to Laura von Pannewitz."
"Well, let them say so, Laura is young and lovely, and does credit to
your taste. Let the court say what it will, we will not make ourselves
unhappy. But hasten, my son, hasten; it appears to me the king is even
now approaching Laura."
The prince bowed to his mother, and with joy in his heart he placed
himself by the side of his beloved.
The queen-mother, entirely at ease, took her seat at the card-table
with her daughter-in-law and their cavaliers, while the king amused
himself in the ball-room, and danced a tour with almost every lady. He
did not dance with Leontine; not once did his eye meet hers, though her
glances followed him everywhere with a tender, beseeching, melancholy
expression.
"So sad!" whispered Madame von Brandt, who, glowing with beauty and
merriment, having just danced with the king, now took a seat by her
side.
Madame von Morien with a sigh held out her small hand. "Dear friend,"
said she, in a low voice, "you were right. I should not have come here;
I thought myself stronger than I am; I thought my mourning would touch
him, and awaken at least his pity."
"Pity!" laughed Madame von Brandt; "men never have pity for women: they
worship or despise them; they place us on an altar or cast us in the
dust to be trodden under foot. We must take care, dear Leontine, to
build the altar on which they place us so high, that their arms cannot
reach us to cast us down."
"You are right; I should have been more prudent, wiser, colder. But
what would you? I loved him, and believed in his heart."
"You believed in the heart of a man! Alas! what woman can boast that
she ever closed that abyss and always retained the keys?"
"Yes, the heart of man is an abyss," said Madame von Morien; "in the
beginning it is covered with flowers, and we believe we are resting in
Paradise; but the blossoms wither, and will no longer support us; we
fall headlong into the abyss with wounded hearts, to suffer and to die."
Madame von Brandt laid her hand, glittering with jewels, upon the
shoulder of her friend, and looked derisively into the poor pale face.
"Dear Morien," said she, "we cannot justly cast all the blame upon the
men, when the day comes in which they make themselves free from the
bonds of love. The fault is often the woman's. We misuse our power, or
do not properly use it. It is not enough to love and to be loved. With
love we must also possess the policy of love. This policy is necessary.
The women who do not know how to govern the hearts which love them will
soon lose their power. So was it with you, my dear friend; in your love
you were too much the woman, too little the politician and diplomatist;
and instead of wisely making yourself adored, by your coldness and
reserve you yielded too much to your feelings, and have fallen into
that abyss in which, poor Leontine, you have for the moment lost your
health and strength. But that must not remain the case; you shall rise
from this abyss, proud, triumphant, and happy. I offer you my hand; I
will sustain you: while you sigh I will think for you; while you weep I
will see for you."
Madame von Morien shook her head sadly. "You will only see that he
never looks at me--that I am utterly forgotten."
"But when I see that, I will shut my eyes that I may not see it; and
when you see it, you must laugh gayly and look the more triumphant.
Dear friend, what has love made of you? Where is your judgment and your
coquetry? My God! you are a young maiden again, and sigh like a child
for your first love. However tender we may be, we must not sacrifice
all individuality; besides, being a woman you must still be a coquette,
and in a corner of your most tender and yielding heart you must ever
conceal the tigress, who watches and has her claws ready to tear in
pieces those whom you love, if they ever seek to escape from you.
Cease, then, to be the neglected, tear-stained Magdalen, and be again
the revengeful, cruel tigress. You have, besides, outside of your love,
a glittering aim--a member of the Female Order of Virtue. To wear the
cross of modesty upon your chaste breast, what an exalted goal! And you
will reach it. I bring you the surest evidence of it; I bring you, as
you wished, a letter from the empress, written with her own hand. You
see all your conditions are fulfilled. The empress writes to you and
assures you of her favor; she assures you that the Order of Virtue will
soon be established. The king has not separated from his wife, and for
this reason you receive a letter from the empress. Now help to bring
about the marriage of the Prince Augustus William with the Princess of
Brunswick, and you will be an honored member of the Austrian Order of
Virtue. Here, take at once this letter of the empress."
Madame von Brandt put her hand in her pocket to get the letter, but
turned pale, and said, breathlessly: "My God! this letter is not in my
pocket, and yet I know positively that I placed it there. A short time
before I joined you I put my hand in my pocket, and distinctly felt the
imperial seal. The letter was there, I know it. What has become of it?
Who has taken it away from me? But no, it is not possible, it cannot be
lost! I must have it; it must still be in my pocket."
Trembling with anxiety, with breathless haste Madame von Brandt emptied
her pocket, hoping that the luckless letter might be sticking to her
gold-embroidered handkerchief, or fastened in the folds of her fan. She
did not remember that her anxiety might be observed; and truly no one
noticed her, all were occupied with their own pleasures. All around her
was movement, life, and merry-making; who would observe her? She
searched again in vain, shook her handkerchief, unfolded the large fan;
the letter could not be found. An indescribable anxiety overpowered
her; had she lost the letter? had it been stolen from her? Suddenly she
remembered that while engaged a short time before with Pollnitz she had
drawn out her fan; perhaps at the same time the letter had fallen upon
the floor, and Pollnitz might have found it, and might now be looking
for Madame von Morien in order to restore it. She searched in every
direction for Pollnitz.
Madame von Morien had not remarked the anguish of her friend, or had
forgotten it. She was again lost in dreams; her eyes fastened on the
face of the young king, she envied every lady whose hand he touched in
the dance, to whom he addressed a friendly word, or gave a gracious
smile. "I see him no more," said she sadly.
"Who?" said Madame von Brandt, once more searching her pocket.
"The king," Morien answered, surprised at the question; "he must have
left the saloon; I saw him a few moments since in conversation with
Pollnitz."
"With Pollnitz," said she eagerly, and she searched again in every
direction for him.
Suddenly Madame von Morien uttered a low cry, and a rosy blush
overspread her fair pale face; she had seen the king, their eyes had
met; the sharp, observant glance of the king was steadily and sternly
fixed upon her.
The king stood in a window corner, half hidden by the long, heavy silk
curtains, and gazed ever steadily at the two ladies.
"I see the king," murmured Madame von Morien.
"And I see Pollnitz standing near him," said Madame von Brandt, whose
eyes had followed the direction of her friend's. She thrust her
handkerchief into her pocket and opened her fan in order to hide her
reddened face behind it; the king's piercing look filled her with
alarm. "Let us walk through the saloons, dear Morien," said she, rising
up, "the heat chokes me, and I would gladly search a little for the
letter; perhaps it may yet be found."
"What letter?" asked Madame von Morien, indifferently. Her friend
stared at her and said:
"My God! you have not heard one word I have said to you!"
"Oh, yes, that you had a letter to give me from the Empress of Austria."
"Well, and this letter I have lost here in these saloons."
"Some one will find it; and as it is addressed to me, will immediately
restore it."
"Dear Morien, I pray you in God's name do not seem so quiet and
indifferent. This is a most important affair. If I did not leave this
letter in my room, and have really lost it, we are in danger of being
suspected; in fact, in the eyes of the king we will be considered as
spies of Austria."
At the name of the king Madame von Morien was attentive and sympathetic.
"But no one can read this letter. Was it sealed?"
"Yes, it was sealed; but, look you, it was sealed with the private seal
of the empress, and her name stands around the Austrian arms. Without
opening the letter it will be known that it is from the Empress of
Austria, and will awaken suspicion. Hear me further; this letter was
enveloped in a paper which had no address, but contained some words
which will compromise us both if it is known that this letter was
addressed to me."
"What was written in this paper?" said Madame von Morien, still looking
toward the king, who still stood in the window niche, and kept his eyes
fixed upon the two ladies.
"The paper contained only the following words: 'Have the goodness to
deliver this letter; you see the empress keeps her word; we must do the
same and forget not our promises. A happy marriage is well pleasing in
the sight of God and man; the married woman is adorned, the man crowned
with virtue.'"
"And this letter was signed?"
"No, it was not signed; but if it falls into the hands of the king, he
will know from whom it comes; he is acquainted with the handwriting of
Manteuffel."
"Come! come! let us look to it!" said Madame von Morien, now full of
anxiety; "we must find this unfortunate paper; come!"
She took the arm of her friend and walked slowly through the saloons,
searching everywhere upon the inlaid floor for something white.
"You are right," said the king, coming from the window and following
the ladies with his eyes; "you are right. They are both searching
anxiously, and it was surely Madame von Brandt to whom the outer
covering of this letter was directed. Let them seek; they will find as
little as the eleven thousand virgins found. But now listen, baron, to
what I say to you. This whole affair remains a secret known to no one.
Listen well, baron; known to no one! You must forget that you found
this letter and gave it to me, or you will believe it to be a dream and
nothing more."
"Yes, your majesty," said Pollnitz, smiling; "a dream, such as Eckert
dreamed, when he supposed the house in Jager Street to be his, and
awaked and found it to belong to your highness!"
"You are a fool!" said the king, smiling; he nodded to Pollnitz and
joined the two queens, who had now finished their game of cards and
returned to the saloon.
The queen-mother advanced to meet her son, and extended her hand to
him; she wished now to carry out her purpose and fulfil the promise
given to Duke Rhedern. She did not doubt that the king, who received
her with so much reverence and affection, would grant her request, and
the court would be again witness to the great influence, and indeed the
unbounded power which she had over her son. She stood with the king
directly under the chandelier, in the middle of the saloon; near them
stood the reigning queen and the princes and princesses of the royal
house. It was an interesting picture. It was curious to observe this
group, illuminated by the sharp light, the faces so alike and yet so
different in expression; blossoms from one stem, and yet so unlike in
greatness, form, and feature. The courtiers drew near, and in
respectful silence regarded the royal family, who, bathed in a sea of
light, were in the midst of them but not of them.
"My son," said the queen, in a clear, silvery voice, "I have a request
to make of you." The king kissed his mother's hand.
"Madame, you well know you have no need of entreaty; you have only to
command." Sophia smiled proudly.
"I thank your majesty for this assurance! Listen, then, my chamberlain,
Duke Rhedern, wishes to marry. I have promised him to obtain your
consent."
"If my royal mother is pleased with the choice of her chamberlain, I
am, of course, also content; always provided that, the chosen bride of
the duke belongs to a noble family. What is the rank of this bride?"
The queen looked embarrassed, and smiling, said: "She has no rank, your
majesty."
The king's brow darkened, "She was not born, then, to be a duchess.
Your chamberlain would do better to be silent over this folly than to
force a refusal from me. I hate misalliances, and will not suffer them
at my court."
These loudly spoken and harsh words produced different impressions upon
the family circle of the king; some were cast down, others joyful; some
cheeks grew pale, and others red. Sophia blushed from pleasure; she was
now convinced that the king would not seek a divorce from his wife, in
order to form a morganatic marriage with Laura von Pannewitz; and the
queen-mother was of too noble and virtuous a nature herself to believe
in the possibility of a mistress at the court of Prussia. The love of
the king for the lovely Laura appeared now nothing more than a poetical
idyl, which would soon pass away--nothing more! The words of the king
made a painful impression upon Augustus William; his brow clouded, his
features assumed a painful but threatening expression; he was in the
act of speaking, and opposing in the name of humanity and love those
cruel words of the king, as Elizabeth Christine, who stood near him and
observed him with tender sympathy, whispered lightly:
"Be silent, my brother; be considerate."
The prince breathed heavily, and his glance turned for comfort toward
the maids of honor. Laura greeted him with her eyes, and then blushed
deeply over her own presumption. Strengthened by this tender glance
from his beautiful bride, Augustus was able to assume a calm and
indifferent mien.
In the meantime the queen-mother was not silenced by the words of the
king. Her pride rebelled against this prompt denial in the face of her
family and the court. Besides, she had given her royal word to the
count, and it must be redeemed. She urged, therefore, her request with
friendly earnestness, but the king was immovable. Sophia, angry at the
opposition to her will, was even the more resolved to carry out her
purpose. She had a few reserved troops, and she decided to bring them
now into the field.
"Your majesty should, without doubt, protect your nobles from unworthy
alliances; but there are exceptional cases, where the interest of the
nobility would be promoted by allowing such a union." Sophia Dorothea
drew nearer to her son, and whispered lightly: "Count Rhedern is
ruined, and must go to the ground if you forbid this marriage."
The king was now attentive and sympathetic. "Is the lady very rich?"
"Immensely rich, sire. She will bring the duke a million dollars; she
is the daughter of the rich silk merchant Orguelin."
"Ah, Orguelin is a brave man, and has brought much gold into Prussia by
his fabrics," said the king, who was evidently becoming more yielding.
"It would be a great pity if this gold should be lost to Prussia," said
the queen.
"What do you mean, madame?"
"This Mademoiselle Orguelin, thanks to her riches, has many lovers, and
at this time a young merchant from Holland seeks her hand; he has the
consent of her father, and will also obtain hers, unless the count
knows how to undermine him," said the queen, thus springing her last
mine.
"This must not be," said the king; "this Orguelin shall not marry the
rich Hollander! Those millions of crowns shall not leave Prussia!"
"But your majesty cannot prevent this girl from marrying the man of her
choice, and you cannot forbid her father to give her a portion of his
fortune."
The king was silent a moment, and appeared to consider. He then said to
his mother: "Madame, you are an eloquent advocate for your client, and
no man can withstand you. I give way, therefore; Count Rhedern has my
consent to marry the Orguelin."
"But even THAT is not sufficient," said the queen; "there is yet
another condition, without the filling of which this proud millionnaire
refuses to give her hand to the duke."
"Ah, look you, the little bourgeoise makes conditions before she will
wed a count."
"Yes, sire, she will become the wife of the count only with the count's
assurance that she will be presented at court, and be received
according to her new rank."
"Truly," said the king, with ironical laughter, "this little
millionnaire thinks it an important point to appear at my court."
"It appears so, sire; it seems that this is a greater glory than to
possess a count for a husband."
The king looked thoughtfully before him, then raised his eyes to his
mother with a mocking smile. "Mother, you know I can refuse you
nothing; and as you wish it, Mademoiselle Orguelin, when she is
married, shall be received at my court as a newly baked countess. But
petition for petition, favor for favor. I promise you to receive this
new baked countess if you will promise me to receive the Count Neal at
your court?"
"Count Neal," said the queen, "your majesty knows--"
"I know," said the king, bowing, "I know that Count Neal is of as good
family as the new Countess of Rhedern; that he possesses many millions
which I have secured to Prussia by granting him his title. So we
understand each other. The new baked countess will be as well received
at my court as Count Neal will at yours."
He gave the queen his hand, she laid hers unwillingly within it, and
whispered: "Ah, my son, you have cruelly overreached me."
"Madame, we secure in this way three millions for Prussia, and they
weigh more than a few countly ancestors. The Prussia of the future will
triumph in battle through her nobles; but she will become greater, more
powerful, through the industry of her people than by victory on the
battle-field."