By L. Muhlbach

Translated From German By Mrs. Chapman Coleman And Her Daughters

CONTENTS BOOK I. CHAPTER I. THE KING. CHAPTER II. PRINCE HENRY. CHAPTER III. LOUISE VON KLEIST. CHAPTER IV. AT THE MASKED BALL. CHAPTER V. A SECRET CAPTAIN. CHAPTER VI. THE LEGACY OF VON TRENCK, COLONEL OF THE PANDOURS. CHAPTER VII. THE KING AND WEINGARTEN. CHAPTER VIII. THE UNWILLING BRIDEGROOM. CHAPTER IX. THE FIRST DISAPPOINTMENT. CHAPTER X. THE CONQUERED. CHAPTER XI. THE TRAVELLING MUSICIANS. CHAPTER XII. TRAVELLING ADVENTURES. CHAPTER XIII. THE DRAG-BOAT. CHAPTER XIV. IN AMSTERDAM. CHAPTER XV. THE KING WITHOUT SHOES. BOOK II. CHAPTER I. THE UNHAPPY NEWS. CHAPTER II. TRENCK ON HIS WAY TO PRISON. CHAPTER III. PRINCE HENRY AND HIS WIFE. CHAPTER IV. THE FETE IN THE WOODS. CHAPTER V. INTRIGUES. CHAPTER VI. THE PRIVATE AUDIENCE. CHAPTER VII. THE TRAITOR. CHAPTER VIII. DECLARATION OF WAR. CHAPTER IX. THE KING AND HIS BROTHERS. CHAPTER X. THE LAUREL-BRANCH. CHAPTER XI. THE BALL AT COUNT BRUHL’S. CHAPTER XII. THE INTERRUPTED FEAST. CHAPTER XIII. THE ARCHIVES AT DRESDEN. CHAPTER XIV. SAXONY HUMILIATED. BOOK III. CHAPTER I. THE MAIDEN OF BRUNEN. CHAPTER II. NEWS OF BATTLE.

CHAPTER III. THE CERTIFICATE OF ENLISTMENT. CHAPTER IV. FAREWELL TO THE VILLAGE. CHAPTER V. THE PRISONER. CHAPTER VI. THE PRISON BARRICADE. CHAPTER VII. THE BATTLE OF COLLIN. CHAPTER VIII. THE INIMICAL BROTHERS. CHAPTER IX. THE LETTERS. CHAPTER X. IN THE CASTLE AT DRESDEN. CHAPTER XI. THE TE DEUM. CHAPTER XII. CAMP SCENE CHAPTER XIII. THE WATCH-FIRE. CHAPTER XIV. THE BATTLE OF LEUTHEN. CHAPTER XV. WINTER QUARTERS IN BRESLAU. CHAPTER XVI. THE BROKEN HEART. BOOK IV. CHAPTER I. THE KING AND HIS OLD AND NEW ENEMIES. CHAPTER II. THE THREE OFFICERS. CHAPTER III. RANUZI CHAPTER IV. LOUISE DU TROUFFLE. CHAPTER V. THE FORTUNE-TELLER. CHAPTER VI. A COURT DAY IN BERLIN. CHAPTER VII. IN THE WINDOW-NICHE. CHAPTER VIII. THE NUTSHELLS BEHIND THE FAUTEUIL OF THE QUEEN. CHAPTER IX. THE DUEL AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. CHAPTER X. THE FIVE COURIERS. CHAPTER XI. AFTER THE BATTLE. CHAPTER XII. A HEROIC SOUL. CHAPTER XIII. THE TWO GRENADIERS. CHAPTER XIV. THE RIGHT COUNSEL. CHAPTER XV. A HERO IN MISFORTUNE. BOOK V. CHAPTER I. THE TERESIANI AND THE PRUSSIANI. CHAPTER II. FREDERICK THE GREAT AS A SAINT.

CHAPTER III. THE CLOISTER BROTHERS OF SAN GIOVANNI E PAOLO. CHAPTER IV. THE RETURN FROM THE ARMY. CHAPTER V. THE BRAVE FATHERS AND THE COWARDLY SONS. CHAPTER VI. THE TRAITOR’S BETRAYAL. CHAPTER VII. THE ACCUSATION. CHAPTER VIII. REVENGE. CHAPTER IX. TRENCK. CHAPTER X. "TRENCK, ARE YOU THERE?” CHAPTER XI. THE KING AND THE GERMAN SCHOLAR. CHAPTER XII. GELLERT. CHAPTER XIII. THE POET AND THE KING. CHAPTER XIV. THE KING AND THE VILLAGE MAGISTRATE. CHAPTER XV. THE PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE. CHAPTER XVI. THE AMBASSADOR AND THE KHAN OF TARTARY. BOOK VI. CHAPTER I. THE KING’S RETURN. CHAPTER II. PRINCE HENRY. CHAPTER III. MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. CHAPTER IV. THE KING IN SANS-SOUCI. CHAPTER V. THE ENGRAVED CUP. CHAPTER VI. THE PRINCESS AND THE DIPLOMATIST. CHAPTER VII. THE ROYAL HOUSE-SPY. CHAPTER VIII. THE CLOUDS GATHER. CHAPTER IX. BROTHER AND SISTER. CHAPTER X. THE STOLEN CHILD. CHAPTER XI. THE DISCOVERY. CHAPTER XII. THE MORNING AT SANS-SOUCI. CHAPTER XIII. A HUSBAND’S REVENGE. CHAPTER XIV. THE SEPARATION.

CHAPTER I. THE KING.

The king laid his flute aside, and with his hands folded behind his back, walked thoughtfully up and down his room in Sans-Souci. His countenance was now tranquil, his brow cloudless; with the aid of music he had harmonized his soul, and the anger and displeasure he had so shortly before felt were soothed by the melodious notes of his flute.

The king was no longer angry, but melancholy, and the smile that played on his lip was so resigned and painful that the brave Marquis d’Argens would have wept had he seen it, and the stinging jest of Voltaire have been silenced.

But neither the marquis nor Voltaire, nor any of his friends were at present in Potsdam. D’Argens was in France, with his young wife, Barbe Cochois; Voltaire, after a succession of difficulties and quarrels, had departed forever; General Rothenberg had also departed to a land from which no one returns—he was dead! My lord marshal had returned to Scotland, Algarotti to Italy, and Bastiani still held his office in Breslau. Sans-Souci, that had been heretofore the seat of joy and laughing wit—Sans-Souci was now still and lonely; youth, beauty, and gladness had forsaken it forever; earnestness and duty had taken their place, and reigned in majesty within those walls that had so often echoed with the happy laugh and sparkling jest of the king’s friends and contemporaries.

Frederick thought of this, as with folded hands he walked up and down, and recalled the past. Sunk in deep thought, he remained standing before a picture that hung on the wall above his secretary, which represented Barbarina in the fascinating costume of a shepherdess, as he had seen her for the first time ten years ago; it had been painted by Pesne for the king. What recollections, what dreams arose before the king’s soul as he gazed at that bewitching and lovely face; at those soft, melting eyes, whose glance had once made him so happy! But that was long ago; it had passed like a sunbeam on a rainy day, it had been long buried in clouds. These remembrances warmed the king’s heart as he now stood so solitary and loveless before this picture; and he confessed to that sweet image, once so fondly loved, what he had never admitted to himself, that his heart was very lonely.

But these painful recollections, these sad thoughts, did not last. The king roused himself from those dangerous dreams, and on leaving the picture cast upon it almost a look of hatred.

“This is folly,” he said; “I will to work.”

He approached the secretary, and seized the sealed letters and packets that were lying there. “A letter and packet from the queen,” he said, wonderingly opening the letter first. Casting a hasty glance through it, a mocking smile crossed his face. “She sends me a French translation of a prayer-book,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Poor queen! her heart is not yet dead, though, by Heaven! it has suffered enough.”

He threw the letter carelessly aside, without glancing at the book; its sad, pleading prayer was but an echo of the thoughts trembling in her heart.

“Bagatelles! nothing more,” he murmured, after reading the other letters and laying them aside. He then rang hastily, and bade the servant send Baron Pollnitz to him as soon as he appeared in the audience-chamber.

A few minutes later the door opened, and the old, wrinkled, sweetly smiling face of the undaunted courtier appeared.

“Approach,” said the king, advancing a few steps to meet him. “Do you bring me his submission? Does my brother Henry acknowledge that it is vain to defy my power?”

Pollnitz shrugged his shoulders. “Sire,” he said, sighing, “his highness will not understand that a prince must have no heart. He still continues in his disobedience, and declares that no man should marry a woman without loving her; that he would be contemptible and cowardly to allow himself to be forced to do what should be the free choice of his own heart.”

Pollnitz had spoken with downcast eyes and respectful countenance; he appeared not to notice that the king reddened and his eyes burned with anger.

“Ah! my brother dared to say that?” cried the king. “He has the Utopian thought to believe that he can defy my wishes. Tell him he is mistaken; he must submit to me as I had to submit to my father.”

“He gives that as an example why he will not yield. He believes a forced marriage can never be a happy one; that your majesty had not only made yourself unhappy by your marriage, but also your queen, and that there was not a lady in the land who would exchange places with your wife.”

The king glanced piercingly at Pollnitz. “Do you know it would have been better had you forgotten a few of my wise brother’s words?”

“Your majesty commanded me to tell you faithfully every word the prince said.”

“And you are too much a man of truth and obedience, too little of a courtier, not to be frank and faithful. Is it not so? Ah! vraiment, I know you, and I know very well that you are playing a double game. But I warn you not to follow the promptings of your wicked heart. I desire my brother to marry, do you hear? I will it, and you, the grand chamberlain, Baron Pollnitz, shall feel my anger if he does not consent.”

“And if he does?” said Pollnitz, in his laughing, shameless manner; “if I persuade the prince to submit to your wishes, what recompense shall I receive?”

“On the day of their betrothal, I will raise your income five hundred crowns, and pay your debts.”

“Ah, sire, in what a pitiable dilemma you are placing me! Your majesty wishes Prince Henry to engage himself as soon as possible, and I must now wish it to be as late as possible.”

“And why?”

“Because I must hasten to make as many debts as possible, that your majesty may pay them.”

“You are and will remain an unmitigated fool; old age will not even cure you,” said the king, smiling. “But speak, do you think my brother may be brought to reason?”

Pollnitz shrugged his shoulders, gave a sly smile, but was silent.

“You do not answer me. Is my brother in love? and has he confided in you?”

“Sire, I believe the prince is in love from ennui alone, but he swears it is his first love.”

“That is an oath that is repeated to each lady-love; I am not afraid of it,” said the king, smiling “Who is the enchantress that has heard his first loving vows? She is doubtless a fairy—a goddess of beauty.”

“Yes, sire, she is young and beautiful, and declares it is also her first love, so no one can doubt its purity; no one understands love as well as this fair lady; no other than Madame von Kleist, who, as your majesty remembers, was lately divorced from her husband.”

“And is now free to love again, as it appears,” said the king, with a mocking smile. “But the beautiful Louise von Schwerin is a dangerous, daring woman, and we must check her clever plans in the bud. If she desires to be loved by my brother, she possesses knowledge, beauty, and experience to gain her point and to lead him into all manner of follies. This affair must be brought quickly to a close, and Prince Henry acknowledged to be the prince royal.”

“Prince Henry goes this evening to Berlin to attend a feast given by the Prince of Prussia,” whispered Pollnitz.

“Ah! it is true the prince’s arrest ceases at six o’clock, but he will not forget that he needs permission to leave Potsdam.”

“He will forget it, sire.”

The king walked up and down in silence, and his countenance assumed an angry and threatening appearance. “This struggle must be brought to a close, and that speedily. My brother must submit to my authority. Go and watch his movements; as soon as he leaves, come to me.”

Long after Pollnitz had left him, the king paced his chamber in deep thought. “Poor Henry! I dare not sympathize with you; you are a king’s son—that means a slave to your position. Why has Providence given hearts to kings as to other men? Why do we thirst so for love? as the intoxicating drink is always denied us, and we dare not drink it even when offered by the most bewitching enchantress!”

Involuntarily his eye rested upon the beautiful picture of Barbarina. But he would have no pity with himself, as he dared not show mercy to his brother. Seizing the silver bell, he rang it hastily.

“Take that picture from the wall, and carry it immediately to the inspector, and tell him to hang it in the picture-gallery,” said Frederick.

He looked on quietly as the servant took the picture down and carried it from the room, then sighed and gazed long at the plane where it had hung.

“Empty and cold! The last token of my youth is gone! I am now the king, and, with God’s blessing, will be the father of my people.”

CHAPTER II. PRINCE HENRY.

Prince Henry sat quiet and motionless in his lonely room; dark thoughts seemed to trouble him; his brow was clouded, his lips compressed. Had you not known him, you would have taken him for the king, so great was the resemblance of the two brothers; but it was only an outward resemblance. The prince had not the spiritual expression, his eyes had not the passionate fire, his face (beautiful as it was) wanted the fascinating geniality, the sparkling inspiration, that at all times lighted the king’s countenance like a sunbeam.

The prince possessed a greater mind, a clearer understanding, but he wanted soul and poetic feeling, and allowed himself at times to ridicule his brother’s poetic efforts. The king, knowing this, was inclined to regard the shortcomings of the prince as a determined contempt and resistance to his command; and as the prince became more reckless and more indifferent, he became more severe and harsh. Thus the struggle commenced that had existed for some time between the two brothers.

For the last four days the prince had been in arrest for disobeying orders, but the hour of his release was approaching, and he awaited it with impatience.

The bell of the nearest church had just announced the hour of six. The door opened immediately, and an officer, in the name of the king, pronounced his arrest at an end.

The prince answered with a low bow, and remained seated, pointing haughtily to the door; but as the officer left him he arose and paced hastily to and fro.

“He treats me like a school-boy,” he murmured; “but I shall show him that I have a will of my own! I will not be intimidated—I will not submit; and if the king does not cease to annoy me, if he continues to forget that I am not a slave, but son and brother of a king, no motives shall restrain me, and I also will forget, as he does, that I am a prince, and remember only that I am a free, responsible man. He wishes me to marry, and therefore has me followed, and surrounds me with spies. He wishes to force me to marry. Well, I will marry, but I will choose my own wife!”

The prince had just made this resolve, when the door opened, and the servant announced that Messrs. Kalkreuth and Kaphengst awaited his commands.

He bade them enter, and advancing smilingly gave them his hand.

“Welcome! welcome!” he said; “the cage is open, and I may enjoy a little air and sunshine; let us not delay to make use of this opportunity. Our horses shall be saddled.”

“They are already saddled, prince,” said Baron Kalkreuth. “I have ordered them to the court, and as soon as it is dark we will mount them.”

“What! is it not best that we should mount before my door and ride openly away?” said the prince, wonderingly.

“It is my opinion that is the best plan,” cried Baron Kaphengst, laughing gayly. “Every one will believe your highness to be simply taking a ride, while curiosity would be raised if we left the city on foot.”

“I think leaving in the dark, and on foot, looks as if I were afraid,” said the prince, thoughtfully.

“Secrecy is good for priests and old women, but not for us,” cried Kaphengst.

“Secrecy suits all who wish to do wrong,” said Kalkreuth, earnestly.

The prince glanced hastily at him. “You believe, then, we are about to do wrong?”

“I dare not speak of your highness, but we two are certainly doing wrong; we are about to commit an act of insubordination. But still, my prince, I am ready to do so, as your highness wishes us to accompany you.”

The prince did not answer, but stepped to the window, and looked out thoughtfully and silently. In a few moments he returned, looking calm and resolute.

“Kalkreuth is right—we were going to do wrong, and we must avoid it. I shall write to the king, and ask leave for you and myself to go to Berlin.”

“That is, unfortunately, impossible,” said a sweet voice behind him, and as the prince turned he saw the smiling face of Pollnitz. “I beg pardon, your highness, for having entered unannounced, but you allowed me to come at this hour and give you an account of the commissions you gave me.”

“Why do you say it is impossible to obtain leave of the king today?” asked Henry, hastily.

“Because his majesty is already in the concert-saloon, and your highness knows that he has strictly forbidden any one to disturb him there.”

“We shall, then, have to give up our plan and remain here,” said the prince.

Kaphengst glanced angrily and threateningly at his friend.

“And why should your highness do this?” asked Pollnitz, astonished. “All your preparations are made, all your commands fulfilled. I have procured your costumes; no one will recognize you, and if they should, would not dare to betray you to the king. Only two persons know that you are to visit the ball, the Prince of Prussia, and a lovely lady, whose beautiful eyes were misty with tears when I delivered her your message. ‘Tell the prince,’ she murmured, in a tender voice, ‘I will await him there, even if I knew the king would crush me with his anger.’”

The prince blushed with joy. “And you say it is impossible for me to see the king?”

“Impossible, my prince.”

“Well, we will have to renounce it,” said the prince, sighing.

“Renounce seeing the king, yes! for he will not leave his rooms in Sans-Souci today.”

“Then we would be entirely safe; he would not notice our departure,” said Kaphengst, quickly.

“Entirely safe,” said Pollnitz.

“That is, if Baron Pollnitz does not himself inform the king,” said Baron Kalkreuth, whose quick, clear glance rested upon the smiling face of the courtier, and appeared to read his inmost thoughts.

Baron Pollnitz cast a suspicious and angry glance at Kalkreuth. “I did not know that borrowing money from you gave you the right to speak rudely to me!”

“Silence! gentlemen,” cried the prince, who, until now, had stood quietly struggling with his own wishes. “Take your cloaks and let us walk. Did you not say that horses were awaiting us at the door, Baron Kalkreuth?”

“I said so, your highness.”

“And you Pollnitz? Did you not say that three costumes awaited us in Berlin?”

“Yes, your highness.”

“Well, then,” said the prince, smiling, “we must not allow the horses and costumes to await us any longer. Come, gentlemen, we will ride to Berlin.”

“Really it was hard to get him off,” murmured Pollnitz, as he regained the street, and saw the three young men fading in the distance. “The good prince had quite a dutiful emotion; if the king only knew it, he would forgive him all, and renounce the idea of his marriage. But that would not suit me—my debts would not be paid! I must not tell the king of his brother’s inward struggle.”

“Well!” said the king, as Pollnitz entered, “has my brother really gone to Berlin?”

“Yes, your majesty, and accompanied by the two Messieurs—”

“Silence!” cried the king, hastily; “I do not wish to know their names, I should have to punish them also. He has then gone, and without any hesitation, any reluctance?”

“Yes, sire, without hesitation. He thinks he has the right to go where he pleases, and to amuse himself as he can.”

“Order the carriage, Pollnitz,” said the king. “Without doubt my brother has taken the shortest road to Berlin?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Then there is no danger of our meeting them and being recognized; and as we have relays on the road, we will reach Berlin before them.”

CHAPTER III. LOUISE VON KLEIST.