Frederick the Great and His Family [10]
deserve his respect? You were an ungrateful and undutiful daughter; you did not think of the shame and sorrow you prepared for your parents, when you arranged your flight with the gardener. I succeeded in rescuing you from dishonor by marrying you to a brave and noble cavalier. It depended upon you entirely to gain his love and respect, but you forgot your duty as a wife, as you had forgotten it as a daughter. You had no pity with the faults and follies of your husband, you drove him to despair. At last, to drown his sorrows, he became a drunkard, and you, instead of remaining at his side to encourage and counsel him, deserted him, and so heartlessly exposed his shame that I, to put an end to the scandal, permitted your divorce. You not only forgot your duty as a wife and daughter, but also as a mother. You have deprived your child of a father, you have made her ail orphan; you have soiled, almost depraved her young soul; and now, after all this, you wish to be adored and respected as a saint by my poor brother! No, madame! I shall know how to save him from this delusion; I shall tell to him and the world the history of little Louise von Schwerin! Fritz Wendel still lives, and, if you desire it, I can release him, and he may tell his romantic story."
"Oh, for the second time to-day I have heard that hateful name!" cried Louise; "the past is au avenger that pursues us mercilessly through our whole lives."
"Choose, madame!" said the king, after a pause; "will you announce your betrothal to my brother in a gay and unembarrassed tone, or shall I call Fritz Wendel, that he may sing the unhappy prince to sleep with his romantic history?"
Whilst the king spoke, Louise had raised herself slowly from her knees, and taken a seat upon the divan. Now rising, and bowing lowly, she said, with trembling lips and tearful voice: "Sire, I am prepared to do all that you wish. I shall announce my betrothal to the prince cheerfully, and without sighs or tears. But be merciful, and free me forever from that hideous spectre which seems ever at my side!"
"Do you mean poor Fritz Wendel?" said the king, smiling.
"Well, on the day of your marriage I will send him as a soldier to Poland: there he may relate his love-adventures, but no one will understand him. Are you content?"
"I thank you, sire," said Louise, faintly.
"Ah, I see our conversation has agitated you a little!" said the king. "Fortunately, we are now at an end. In the next eight days, remember, you will be engaged!"
"Yes, sire."
"The day of your marriage, I will make your captain a major. You promise to tell my brother of your engagement, and that it is in accordance with the warmest wishes of your heart?"
"Yes, sire; and you will banish the gardener forever?"
"I will; but wait--one thing more. Where will you tell my brother of your engagement, and before what witnesses?"
"At the place and before the witnesses your majesty may select," said Madame von Kleist.
The king thought a moment. "You will do it in my presence," said he; "I will let you know the time and place through Pollnitz. We have arranged our little affairs, madame, and we will descend to the saloon where, I think, your epouseur is sighing for your presence."
"Let him sigh, sire! With your permission, I should like to retire."
"Go, madame, where you wish. Pollnitz will conduct you to your carriage."
He offered her his hand, and, with a friendly bow, led her to the door.
"Farewell, madame! I believe we part friends?"
"Sire," she answered, smiling faintly, "I can only say as the soldiers do, 'I thank you for your gracious punishment!'"
She bowed and left the room hastily, that the king might not see her tears.
CHAPTER V.
A SECRET CAPTAIN.
The king looked long after her in silence; at first with an expression of deep pity, but this soon gave place to a gay, mocking smile.
"She is not a woman to take sorrow earnestly. When mourning no longer becomes her, she will lay it aside for the rosy robes of joy. She is a coquette, nothing more. It is useless to
"Oh, for the second time to-day I have heard that hateful name!" cried Louise; "the past is au avenger that pursues us mercilessly through our whole lives."
"Choose, madame!" said the king, after a pause; "will you announce your betrothal to my brother in a gay and unembarrassed tone, or shall I call Fritz Wendel, that he may sing the unhappy prince to sleep with his romantic history?"
Whilst the king spoke, Louise had raised herself slowly from her knees, and taken a seat upon the divan. Now rising, and bowing lowly, she said, with trembling lips and tearful voice: "Sire, I am prepared to do all that you wish. I shall announce my betrothal to the prince cheerfully, and without sighs or tears. But be merciful, and free me forever from that hideous spectre which seems ever at my side!"
"Do you mean poor Fritz Wendel?" said the king, smiling.
"Well, on the day of your marriage I will send him as a soldier to Poland: there he may relate his love-adventures, but no one will understand him. Are you content?"
"I thank you, sire," said Louise, faintly.
"Ah, I see our conversation has agitated you a little!" said the king. "Fortunately, we are now at an end. In the next eight days, remember, you will be engaged!"
"Yes, sire."
"The day of your marriage, I will make your captain a major. You promise to tell my brother of your engagement, and that it is in accordance with the warmest wishes of your heart?"
"Yes, sire; and you will banish the gardener forever?"
"I will; but wait--one thing more. Where will you tell my brother of your engagement, and before what witnesses?"
"At the place and before the witnesses your majesty may select," said Madame von Kleist.
The king thought a moment. "You will do it in my presence," said he; "I will let you know the time and place through Pollnitz. We have arranged our little affairs, madame, and we will descend to the saloon where, I think, your epouseur is sighing for your presence."
"Let him sigh, sire! With your permission, I should like to retire."
"Go, madame, where you wish. Pollnitz will conduct you to your carriage."
He offered her his hand, and, with a friendly bow, led her to the door.
"Farewell, madame! I believe we part friends?"
"Sire," she answered, smiling faintly, "I can only say as the soldiers do, 'I thank you for your gracious punishment!'"
She bowed and left the room hastily, that the king might not see her tears.
CHAPTER V.
A SECRET CAPTAIN.
The king looked long after her in silence; at first with an expression of deep pity, but this soon gave place to a gay, mocking smile.
"She is not a woman to take sorrow earnestly. When mourning no longer becomes her, she will lay it aside for the rosy robes of joy. She is a coquette, nothing more. It is useless to