He drew forth a paper from his pocketbook, and handed it to Leuchtmar with a friendly smile. "Take it and read," he said.

Baron Leuchtmar von Kalkhun took the paper, and fastened his eyes upon the words, which were inscribed in large letters on the outside.

"A Deed of Expectancy!" he said, astonished.

The Electoral Prince nodded. "A deed of expectancy, written with my own hand and sealed with my own signet ring. Yes, yes, my friend, I have nothing to give away but expectations; yet if the Electoral Prince should ever become Elector, he will convert these expectations into reality and truth. Now unfold the paper, and see what manner of expectation it holds out."

"An act, donating the feudal tenure of Neuenhof, lying within the territories of Cleves!" cried Leuchtmar joyfully. "Oh, my dear Prince, that is truly a princely gift!"

"Yet it is not the Prince, but the grateful scholar who gives it to you," said Frederick William, "and in proof of this I have written these words, which I will read to you myself." He bent over the paper, and read: "We have voluntarily and with due consideration promised and engaged to give to Baron Leuchtmar von Kalkhun this estate of Neuenhof, out of the particular and friendly affection which we bear to him. We also swear that if we hereafter attain to power and authority, and our much-esteemed Romilian von Leuchtmar be to our sorrow cut off by death, we in the same way will this estate to his eldest son, and grant him the enjoyment of all that we assigned and destined for his father in his lifetime."[23]

"That is indeed to carry happiness and reward beyond the grave!" cried Leuchtmar, with tears in his eyes. "Oh, I thank you, my Prince, thank you from my inmost soul, for myself and my children!"

"You have nothing at all to thank me for, friend," said the Prince. "I shall ever be much more in your debt. If, however, I some day become a good Prince to my country and a father to my people, then you must reflect that this is the return I make to you, my teacher, my educator! You see I hope in the future, and think that I shall succeed in evading murderous designs and fulfill my aims. But, indeed, your warning I may never forget, and circumspect I must be first of all. Wear a mask, as Brutus did! Let me embrace you once more, friend Leuchtmar; look me once more in the eye. And now—I hear some one coming! Farewell, Leuchtmar! I put on my mask and not for a moment can I withdraw it from my features."



V.—BRUTUS.

The door was now opened, a valet entered and announced, "Her highness the Electress!" And before the Electoral Prince had time to advance, the Electress had entered the room.

"I come to welcome you once more, my Frederick!" she cried, stretching out her arms to her son. "Entirely without witnesses, simply as his mother would I greet my son, and tell him how happy I am that he is once more here."

She flung her arms around her son's neck, and pressed him ardently to her bosom. Baron Leuchtmar, who upon the Electress's approach had stepped aside, now crept softly through the apartment to the door, and was already in the act of opening it, when the Electress quickly raised her head and looked around.

"Stay where you are, Baron Leuchtmar," she said; "why would you slip away from us?"

"I may not presume by my presence to disturb the confidential discourse between the Electress and her son."

"You do not disturb us at all, for you belong to us, Leuchtmar," replied Charlotte Elizabeth, nodding kindly to him. "On the contrary, I will tell you that I knew you were here, and came here on that very account, in order to salute you without witnesses, and to have a private conversation with you and my son. For well I know, Leuchtmar, that we may confide in you, and that you belong to us—that is to say, to the enemies of Schwarzenberg, to the enemies of the Imperialists and Catholics, to the friends of the Swedes and Reformers."

"Your highness may be well assured that I return home just as I went away," said Leuchtmar earnestly—"that is to say, an upright Protestant, a true Brandenburger, and a determined opponent of those who concluded the peace of Prague, and thereby separated the Elector of Brandenburg from the Swedes, and made him wholly and solely subservient to the Emperor's interests."

"You will not name him, the evildoer, who has brought this to pass," cried the Electress, "but I will name him: it is Count Schwarzenberg! It is the Stadtholder in the Mark, who has brought upon us all this mischief and disgrace, who has sundered us from our nearest blood relations, the family of the Swedish King, and has leagued us with and subjected us to those who are our sworn enemies and adversaries, the Imperialists, the Austrians. Oh, my son! promise me that you will some day take vengeance for the ignominy and humiliation which we must now undergo. Swear in this first hour of your return home, solemnly joining hands with me, that as soon as you come into power the first act of your government shall be to renounce allegiance to the Emperor and to ally yourself again with the Swedes, our natural allies."

She stretched out her right hand to her son. "Swear, my son!" she cried, solemnly, "give me your hand upon it!"

But Frederick William did not lay his hand within hers. He drew back, declining her proffered hand.

"Forgive me, my dearest mother," he said, "forgive me; but I can not swear, for I do not know whether I could keep my oath! May the good God long preserve my gracious father's life, and grant him a glorious reign. But if hereafter, and surely to my deepest regret, duty and the right of Succession deliver into my hands the reins of government, then I must guide them, as circumstances direct, as determined by the contingencies of the times and the good of the country; and I dare not bind myself beforehand by any given word or by promises."

"You refuse, my son, to promise me that you will make amends for all the evil done by that wicked enemy of your house, your family, and your country?"

"Dearest mother, I know not of whom you speak, and who it is that has burdened himself with so heinous a crime."

With impulsive movement the Electress laid her hand upon his arm, and looked him steadily in the eye.

"Are you dissembling, or is that the truth?" she asked. "You do not know of whom I speak? You do not know who is the enemy of your house and family?"

"I am trying in vain to study it out, mother, and I beg you not to be angry with me on that account, for your grace must reflect that I have been absent almost four years, and am therefore a little unacquainted with the situation of affairs here. If you had addressed that question to me before my departure, most assuredly I should have replied without hesitation, 'It is Count Schwarzenberg!' But I have since then found out that I had done the count injustice in many things through my inexperience and want of foresight; that he is a very great and experienced statesman and politician, who with his far-seeing glances can discern much more clearly than I with my unpracticed eyes the relations of things. Who knows but that, after all, the peace of Prague has been a real blessing to our land. When I behold its present pitiable and languishing condition as a neutral, how can I avoid reflecting with horror upon what might have been the state of things had we joined any decided war party. Had we sided with the Swedes, the enmity of the powerful Emperor, vastly surpassing us in material resources, would long since have destroyed us root and branch, and my dear father would have most probably shared the same lamentable fate as the Elector of the Palatinate, his brother-in-law, or the Margrave of Liegnitz and Jaegerndorf, his cousin. He must have wandered with wife and children an exile in foreign lands, or died of grief among strangers. On the other hand, had we sided with the Emperor against the Swedes, a raging, implacable foe would have quartered himself in the heart of our dominions, and not merely Pomerania, but the Mark and the duchy of Prussia would have been overrun-by his warlike hordes. But on my journey hither I have witnessed the misery and unspeakable wretchedness of our land, and asked myself with heavy, sorrowing heart what would have become of our unhappy country in times of war if neutrality could reduce it to such poverty and plunge it in such want and suffering. And then I was forced to acknowledge that Count Schwarzenberg had acted right well as Stadtholder in the Mark in wishing, before all things, to preserve the Mark intrusted to him from yet greater calamity, by holding it to that neutrality, being alike impartial between the Emperor and the Swedes. I therefore begged his pardon in my heart for having often accused him unjustly before, for he is indeed a faithful and zealous servant to his master, and especially endeavors to further his interests, to maintain his position, and to console him in these times of affliction. I see, too, that not merely the Elector holds him in high estimation, and honors him as his true and valued counselor and friend, but that my mother as well has taken him into her favor, and that she has quite recovered from the mistrust with which she previously regarded him. For surely it is a proof of great favor when the Electress allows the count to offer presents of dresses to herself and her daughters, and no one of us can mistrust him, who so cordially rejoices over my return that he volunteers to celebrate it by a splendid festival. The whole Electoral family has accepted the invitation to this festival, and thereby prove to Berlin, yea, to the whole country, that we are on the best terms with the Stadtholder, and that nothing has transpired which could shake our confidence in him.'"

The Electress had listened to her son with ever-growing amazement. Her glances had grown more and more indignant; she had often turned from her son to Leuchtmar, as if to read in his features whether or not he shared her astonishment and irritation. Now, when the Prince was silent, she stepped across to Leuchtmar, and laid her hand upon his arm.

"Leuchtmar," she asked with trembling voice, "is he in earnest? Has he actually altered so entirely? Has he really gone over to our enemies and adversaries?"

"Most gracious lady, the Electoral Prince is by far too tender a son ever to become alienated from his mother," replied the baron earnestly.

"He speaks the truth, my dearest mother," exclaimed Frederick William, nearing his mother. "Never could I alter toward you, never forget the gratitude and love I owe you, never go over to your enemies and adversaries. But why should we carry politics into private life, and what have Swedes and Imperialists, Catholics and Reformers to do with our family life and our domestic circle? Let us hand politics over to those whose duty it is to deal with them; let us not seek to meddle in the government, for we have no right to do so, and should step aside for those who understand matters far better than we do, and who manage the machine of state with as much foresight as wisdom. I, at least, am determined to hold myself aloof from all such burdensome affairs, to enjoy my youth and freedom, and I thank God that I have not to bear the weight of administering the government, but have only the pleasant task allotted me of permitting myself to be governed!"

"It is not possible!" cried the Electress, with an outburst of passion—"no, it is not possible that my son can so speak and think! O Leuchtmar! what have you made of my son? Who has changed him, my darling, my only son? I hoped that he would come back a hero, around whom would cluster all those who are true to our house, our faith, and our fatherland! I hoped that in him I should find a refuge against the aggressions, the villainy, and the wiles of my enemy! I hoped that the son would succeed in winning back his father's heart, and turning him against that proud man who rules him entirely, and who will crush us all. O God! my God! for three long years I have been looking forward to his return as the time of vengeance and retribution, and now that son is here, and what do I find in him? A son weakly obedient to his father, a submissive admirer of Count Schwarzenberg, a weakling who longs not at all for honor and influence, who is glad that he has not to govern and work, but that others must govern and work for him! Alas! I am a poor mother, and much to be pitied, for in vain have I hoped that my son would assist me to avenge the misfortunes of my house, and punish and bring my enemies to account!"

She covered her face with her hands, weeping aloud. The Electoral Prince gave her a look of mingled grief and pain, took one hurried step forward, as if he would go to her, and encircle her in his arms, then paused, retreated slowly, gently, ever farther from the spot where she still stood with face concealed and sobbing aloud. It was as if an invisible hand continually drew him farther from his mother, ever nearer the door of the antechamber. Now he stood close to it, leaned against it, and—was the old castle so disjointed, or had the Electoral Prince with sudden touch pressed upon the latch?—the door flew open. The Electoral Prince fell backward into the antechamber, and, had it not been for the Electress's valet, against whom he stumbled, would have fallen to the ground.

"By my faith!" he cried, while he nodded to the lackey, who stood there with red face and deep embarrassment of manner—"by my faith! it was a piece of good luck for me that you were standing so near the door, my friend, else I should probably have had a bad fall. This rickety old castle must be repaired. One can not even lean against the doors without their flying open!"

He nodded to the lackey, who stood there in confusion, not having at all recovered his self-possession, and stepped back into the room. In passing, his eye caught that of Leuchtmar, who replied by a nod of assent, stolen and significant; then he approached the Electress, who, surprised by this sudden and unexpected interlude, had let her hands glide from before her face, and now dried her tears.

"I beg my revered mother's pardon for disturbing her so ridiculously," he said, seizing her hand and pressing it to his lips. "It was not my fault, and only occasioned by the insecure fastening upon the door. It was by a right fortunate accident that your grace commanded your valet to station himself close to the door of the cabinet, for he thereby saved me from an unpleasant fall."

"I did not command the lackey to station himself in your sleeping apartment," said the Electress, "and consider it contrary to all rules of propriety."

She rapidly crossed the study and opened the door just as the lackey was slinking through the one opposite.

"Frederick, come here!" cried the Electress, and with head sunk and humbled mien the lackey came a few paces nearer.

"Did I not order you to wait for me in the antechamber, and to forewarn us of the approach of any one else?" asked the Electress.

"Your highness," replied the lackey humbly, "I followed your grace's orders exactly, and stood here in the antechamber and kept guard, but nobody came."

"But this is not the antechamber, you blockhead!" cried the Electress. "It is there, without! Go out there and wait!"

The lackey made haste to obey the order given him, and the Electress turned to the Prince. "I beg you, my son, to pardon the man his stupidity," said she; "but he deserves some indulgence in so far as he has only been in our service for a short while, and consequently is not well acquainted with the plan of the palace. My valet fell sick on the journey from Koenigsberg here, and we were obliged to leave him behind, which was so much the more inconvenient as he was our hairdresser besides, and understood how to arrange the Elector's hair as well as my own and the young ladies'. Count Schwarzenberg heard of it, and by a piece of good fortune, was able to spare us one of his valets."

"Oh!" cried the Electoral Prince, smiling. "This fellow, then, has been transferred from the Stadtholder's service to that of your grace?"

"Yes, and I must say that he is a very useful and efficient servant, who understands all the newest styles of French hairdressing, and is well skilled in other ways also. I beg you therefore to excuse him for this little mistake."

"He is perfectly excusable," said the Electoral Prince, bowing. "So much the more excusable, as it might well happen that he is not yet familiar with this castle."

"It is true," cried the Electress, casting her eyes around the room, "it does look a little dilapidated and desolate here, and care ought indeed to have been taken to refurnish your apartments and give them a more comfortable aspect. You know, Frederick, we only expect to tarry here for a short time, and think of returning to Prussia very soon, and there I shall see myself that you are provided with handsomer and more commodious rooms. There I am the princely lady of the house, and everywhere reigning duchess, while here, in the resident palace of Berlin, I seem to myself only a guest, who has nothing at all to say in the directing of the household, but must silently acquiesce in everything. And it is so, too, and has come to this pass, that the Stadtholder in the Mark is the only ruling lord and commander, and the Elector seems to come here only as the Stadtholder's guest."

"The Stadtholder, though, seems at least a right polite and splendid host," remarked the Electoral Prince, smiling, "a host who lays himself out to attend to the comfort and entertainment—nay, even to the wardrobes—of his noble guests."

"Your Electoral Highnesses!" cried an advancing lackey—"your Electoral Highnesses, the steward of the household is without, and announces that dinner is served, and that the Elector and the young ladies have already repaired to the dining hall."

"Then let us go too, my son," said the Electress, offering her hand to the Electoral Prince.

"But, most gracious mother, I still have on my traveling suit, and—"

"My son," sighed the Electress, "your traveling suit is so showy and elegant that I can only wish that in the future your court dress may always be so handsome. Come, give me your arm, and let us hurry, for your father does not like to be kept waiting, and is very punctual at mealtimes. You, Baron von Leuchtmar, follow us. We herewith invite you to be our guest, and to accompany us to table."

The Electress took the Prince's proffered arm, and swept through the door held open for her by the lackey. The steward of the household, who had awaited them in the antechamber, golden staff in hand, now preceded them, the lackeys flew before them to open the doors, and through a suite of gloomy, deserted rooms, with old-fashioned, dusty, and half-decayed furniture, moved the princely pair, followed by Baron von Leuchtmar, behind whom strutted the lackeys at a respectful distance. The Elector stood with the two Princesses in the deep recess of the great window, when his wife and son entered; he greeted them both with a short nod of the head, and, casting a dark, unfriendly glance at Baron von Leuchtmar, who was reverentially approaching him, gave his arm to his wife, and led her to the two upper places at the oblong table.

"It seems our son can not dispense with his tutor," said he, in a low, peevish tone of voice to the Electress. "He brings his tutor to dine with us, as if it were a matter of course."

"I beg your pardon, George," whispered the Electress. "I invited the baron, whom I found in our son's room. Do me the favor to receive him affably. He has bestowed much labor and love upon our son, and has ever been a faithful servant to us."

"To you, perhaps, but not to me," muttered the Elector, while he allowed himself to sink down in his great, round easychair, thereby giving the signal for dinner to commence.

The hours of dinner were usually those in which George William was accustomed to dismiss all the cares and anxieties of government, and to give himself up with cheerful countenance to harmless conversation with his wife and daughters.

At times he even loved to carry on a lively chat with those court officials who were present, at the table, or to amuse himself with hearing their recital of the events of the day or the gossip of the town. But to-day the Elector remained gloomy and taciturn. He left it to his wife to lead the conversation, and get from the Electoral Prince accounts of her dear relations at the Dutch court. The Prince answered all her questions, confining himself meanwhile to the duly necessary, and never spontaneously adding anything or entering into any details as to his own life and residence at the court of Holland. The Elector continued to listen in moody silence, and this reserve on the part of his son seemed to put him still more out of humor. His face continually grew darker, and he even disdainfully pushed away untasted his favorite dish, a wild boar's head, served up with lemons in its mouth, after it had been presented to him for the third time.

"You have been beating about the bush long enough now, Electress!" he cried warmly. "You have made inquiries after all possible things, except the principal matter and person in whom you are at bottom most interested. It might have been expected that our Electoral Prince would have begun himself, since 'out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.' But our young gentleman remains elegantly monosyllabic, and it would seem that he is not at all overjoyed upon his return to the poverty-stricken, quiet house of his father. It is true, he has lived in much handsomer style at the Orange court, lived there, indeed, amid plenty and pleasure—by the way, we can sing a little song on that subject, for our son has seen well to the outlay, but the payment all fell to the lot of us at home. But now, sir, now tell us a little of the petty court at Doornward, of our sister-in-law, the widowed Countess of the Palatinate, and finally, what I know your mother thinks the principal thing, finally tell us also about her beautiful and fascinating daughter, the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine."

The Prince slightly shuddered. At the mention of this name, which he had not heard since his departure from The Hague, he could not prevent the ebbing of all his heart's blood, and a deadly pallor overspread his cheeks. He cast down his eyes, and yet felt that all eyes were turned upon him with questioning, curious glances. But this very consciousness restored to him his self-possession and composure. Once more he raised his head with a vigorous start, shook back into their place the brown locks which had fallen down over forehead and cheeks, and met the Elector's looks of inquiry with a full, intrepid gaze.

"Most gracious father," he said, with quiet, passionless voice, "very little can be said about the petty court of Doornward. Our aunt, the Electress of the Palatinate, reflects with sorrow upon the past; the three Princesses, her daughters, and their three little brothers, reflect with hope upon the future, and of the present therefore but little is to be told."

"They must be very beautiful, those Princesses of the Palatinate, are they not?" asked the Elector.

"I believe they are," replied the Prince composedly.

"He only believes so!" cried his father. "Just see how they have slandered him, for they would have had us believe that he knew exactly, and was quite peculiarly edified by the beauty of the Princesses of the Palatinate."

"And why should he not have been, your highness?" asked the Electress, smiling. "The Princesses of the Palatinate are our own cousins, and it seems very natural, surely, that he should have a cordial, cousinly regard for them."

"Maybe, Electress!" cried George William, "but it were to be wished that it had stopped there! I should like, therefore, to hear something about the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine. Is she, indeed, so very fair as report represents her to be?"

"Yes," replied the Prince, with husky voice—"yes, she is very fair. Only question Leuchtmar on the subject; he can confirm what I say."

"I prefer to question yourself," said the Elector, with inexorable cruelty, "and to learn something more concerning your fair cousin from your own lips. We have been informed that the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine is a very lively, merry young lady, and that she is by no means disinclined to become our daughter-in-law."

"But, my husband," pleaded the Electress in an undertone, "you would not speak of such confidential matters in the presence of our court, and—"

"Ah, Electress!" interrupted George William, "these confidential matters have been bruited abroad everywhere; the talk has been, not merely here at Berlin, but throughout the land, yea, even so far as the imperial court at Vienna, that our son meant to surprise us on his return from the Netherlands by presenting to us the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine as his wife, without applying to us beforehand for our consent. I therefore desire that the Electoral Prince answer me openly and candidly, that we may all know once and forever how the matter stands, and what we have to expect. The good, gossiping city of Berlin, the whole land, even the imperial court and the whole world, which seems to interest itself so much in the marriage of our Prince, will then soon have an opportunity of learning directly and reliably what is the state of affairs, and that is exactly what seems to me desirable, and was the motive for our question. Therefore, let our son tell us how matters stand between the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine and himself."

The Electoral Prince sat with downcast eyes. His cheeks were still deadly pale, and on his high, broad brow rested a threatening cloud. He put his hand around the stem of the large glass goblet before him, and held it so firmly that the glass broke with startling clangor and poured its purple wine upon the tablecloth. The shrill clinking seemed to rouse him from his reverie; with a hasty movement he threw a napkin over the red stain, and again raised his eyes, slowly and tranquilly.

"Your Electoral Highnesses desire me to tell you the truth with regard to all the reports circulated as to a marriage between the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine and myself," he said. "I will, therefore, as becomes an obedient and submissive son, acquaint you with the truth. And the truth is this," he continued, with raised voice, while at the same time his cheeks became suddenly scarlet and his eyes flashed with the fire of inspiration—"the truth is this: the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine is the prettiest, sweetest woman in the whole world; happy and enviable is the man whose fortunate destiny will permit him to take her home as his bride, blessed above all men he on whom this noble, fascinating, and amiable girl bestows her love, whom she allows to enjoy the treasures of her mind and heart. Your highness said that the Princess Hollandine was not ill inclined to become your daughter-in-law. On that point I can give you no information, for I perceived nothing of this inclination; but this I can and must confess, that I experienced the most glowing desire to make the Princess your daughter-in-law; this I must confess, that I have loved the beautiful, witty, and charming Princess Hollandine with my whole soul and from the very depths of my heart. But never would I have ventured to make the noble Princess my wife in opposition to your will, father; and since I must admit that a union with her is not in accordance with your wishes, and that it is opposed by policy and state reasons, I have obediently submitted to your orders, and brought to you and my country the greatest and holiest of sacrifices that a man can offer: I have sacrificed my love to you, father! It has indeed been a bitter struggle with me, and I do not deny that I yet suffer, but I shall conquer my pain; yet that I can ever forget the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine, I can not promise, for he who has truly loved never forgets. You have desired me to acquaint you with the truth, father, now you know it. Let it now he blazoned forth through all Berlin, through the whole country, even as far as the imperial court of Vienna, and through the whole world. The Princess Ludovicka also will then hear of it, and the report of this confession of my love will reach her. But let rumor announce this one thing more to the Emperor, to our country, and to her: that, while the Electoral Prince Frederick William of Brandenburg could, indeed, give up a marriage with a Princess whom he loved, out of respect and obedience to his father, he never will take as his wife a princess whom he does not love, out of obedience and respect; that the Electoral Prince thinks himself much too young and inexperienced to marry, and that he most humbly implores his father to spare him the consideration of all matrimonial projects for long years to come, since he is firmly determined not to marry yet, and this, indeed, not out of any refractoriness toward his father, nor out of any want of veneration for the princesses who might be proposed to him, but merely because his heart has received a sore wound, and because this must first heal. But I do not reproach the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine with having inflicted this wound. On the contrary, I speak it aloud, and may my speech penetrate to her ears as a parting salutation: Blessed be the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine of the Palatinate, and may God send her the happiness she deserves so richly by her beauty, intellect, and goodness of heart!"

And, carried away by his own warmth and enthusiasm, forgetting all sense of restraint in this moment of highest excitement, Frederick William jumped up from his seat, took up in his hand the unbroken cup of the glass whose foot he had smashed, and filled it to the brim with wine.

"Most gracious mother!" he cried, "look here! the base of this goblet is broken off, and an apt symbol it is of my love. With the last wine which this glass will ever hold let me drink a last farewell to my love, and do you pledge her with me: To the health of the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine of the Palatinate!"

The Electress had listened to her son with tears in her eyes, and the two Princesses also had been deeply moved by the vehement and painful recital of their brother's love. Now, upon his invitation, spoken with so much ardor and enthusiasm, the Electress rose from her seat and took her glass in her hand; the Princesses followed her example.

"To the health of the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine of the Palatinate!" said the Electress, with full, distinct voice, and the young ladies repeated it after her.

"Here is to her health!" cried Frederick William, with animated features and beaming eyes. "May she be great, happy, and blessed forever!"

At one draught he emptied the chalice, then, in the fervor of the moment, forgetting all discretion, he threw the glass backward over his shoulder into the hall, so that it fell, with a crash, shivered to atoms, upon the floor.

The Elector rose, his face flushed with passion, and violently rolled his chair back from the table. "Dinner is over," he said. "May this meal be blessed to all!"

The court officials bowed low and withdrew. Herr von Leuchtmar also made a motion as if to go, but George William's call detained him. "Come here," he said imperiously; "I have still a couple of words to speak with you. Just tell me, Baron Leuchtmar von Kalkhun, is it you who have taught the Electoral Prince such singular manners, or are those the fine fashions which he has been used to at the Orange court? Is it the custom there to make scandal at table, and to throw glasses behind them?"

"Your Electoral Highness," replied Leuchtmar hesitatingly, "I do not know—"

"Permit me, most gracious father," interposed the Electoral Prince, while he most respectfully drew near to his father—"permit me to answer you on that point myself. No, it is not the fashion to behave so strangely at the Netherland court, and God forbid that my former tutor, Baron von Leuchtmar, should have taught me such ill manners. It was only my heart, which for the moment was stronger than any form or fashion, and I pray you to forgive it, for henceforth it shall be right good and quiet, and not even cause it to be remarked that it still beats."

The Elector only answered by a silent nod of the head, and then turned again to the baron.

"Leuchtmar," he said, "I have now a few words to address to you, and, had you not appeared here to-day, I should have been obliged to have had you summoned to-morrow to tell you what I have to say. You have brought the Electoral Prince back to us, a young gentleman, who has outgrown the schoolroom and needs no tutor; let life then receive him into its school and play the tutor for him. But he has outgrown you and your protection, and your office is herewith at an end. I might wish, indeed, to retain you still near the person of my son, and so I could have done if the Electoral Prince had married, and we had set up a princely establishment for him, as would have become his rank. But the Electoral Prince's distinct declaration that he will not marry for some years, even if we should desire it, is welcome to us in so far as we shall not have to give him a separate household, which would have been rather hard upon us in these times of sore embarrassment. The Electoral Prince will therefore reside at our court, simply and quietly as we ourselves, and we can not provide him separate attendants. Therefore, you are honorably dismissed from your office, and it will suit us no longer to confine you to our household. You are free to seek another master, another office, and we herewith dismiss you forever from our service. It will not, indeed, be difficult for you to find another service, and, since you are so well disposed to the Swedes, you would do best to repair to The Hague, or, indeed, to Sweden itself."

"If Baron von Leuchtmar will do that," exclaimed the Electress, "he shall not want for recommendations from me, and my uncle the Stadtholder will surely esteem it a privilege to receive into his service a man so pre-eminently wise, learned, and trustworthy as Baron von Leuchtmar. I will at any time write on the subject to the Stadtholder of Holland, and tell him what a debt of gratitude we owe you, and how little able we are to requite you. We shall further entreat him to do what is, alas! impossible for us—to give you a good, honorable, and lucrative position for the whole of your life."

"I thank your highness out of a sincere soul for so great a favor," softly replied Leuchtmar. "Meanwhile I do not intend to go into any other service, but to content myself with quiet retirement in the bosom of my own family."

"Do just as you choose," said the Elector, "and may good fortune attend you everywhere. Electress, give me your arm, and let us withdraw to our own apartments. And he, our son, will doubtless, first of all, have to take a most touching and tearful farewell of Leuchtmar, and sing a mournful ditty about the cruel father who would take away from him his nurse—that is to say, his tutor."

"No, most gracious father," cried the Electoral Prince, laughing, "I shall sing no mournful ditty, but cheerfully second your decision. It is quite fine to have no longer a tutor at one's side, for it makes one feel as if he were indeed a grown-up man, no more in need of a governor; and as to that touching and tearful parting, that is by no means called for. Herr von Leuchtmar and I have had some hot disputes lately on the subject of noble politics. He was too much of a Swede for me, I too much of an Imperialist for him, and those two things accord not well together, as you know yourself. Meanwhile, farewell, Baron von Leuchtmar, and for all the good you have done me accept my best thanks! And now a last embrace, and then God go with you, Herr von Leuchtmar!"

He flung his arms around Leuchtmar's neck, and pressed him closely to his heart. "Farewell, my dear friend," he whispered, "farewell; we shall meet again!"

"We shall meet again, my Brutus," said Leuchtmar, quite softly, and laid his hand upon the Prince's brow, blessing him.

Frederick William felt the tears gush from his heart to his eyes, and with a brusque movement repelled the baron. "Farewell!" he repeated hoarsely, then hurried with quick steps through the dining hall to the door.

"Frederick William, come with us!" cried the Elector, but the Prince did not or would not hear his call. He hurried through the antechamber and the long corridor, and when he had gained the solitude of his own gloomy apartments, and not until then, rang forth from his breast the long restrained scream of agony, streamed from his eyes the long-restrained tears. He sank down upon the old creaking armchair and wept bitterly.



VI.—REBECCA.

"Well, Master Gabriel Nietzel, here you are," said Count Schwarzenberg, greeting the painter, who had just entered, with a gracious nod. "And it must be granted that you are a very punctual man, for I agreed to meet you here at Spandow by twelve o'clock, and only hear, the clock is just now striking the hour."

"Most gracious sir, that comes from my already having stood an hour before the gates of your palace, waiting for the blessed moment to arrive when I might enter. I have been gazing this whole hour up at the dialplate of the steeple clock, and it seemed to me as if an eternity of torture would elapse while the great hour hand slowly, oh, so slowly, made its circuit of sixty minutes."

"You are a queer creature!" cried Count Schwarzenberg, shrugging his shoulders. "Romantic as a young girl, full of virtuous desires, and yet not at all loath to commit certain delicate little crimes, and to pass off copies for originals, and that not merely pictures on canvas, but pictures in flesh and blood as well. For what else is your Rebecca but the copy of a respectable, decent matron, whom you thought to smuggle in as an original, while in reality she is nothing but a copy."

"In the eyes of the law and the Stadtholder perhaps, but not in the eyes of God and of him who loves her more than his life and his eternal salvation, for he is ready, in order to possess her, to renounce even his honor and his peace of conscience. Oh, your excellency, be pitiful now and let me see my Rebecca. You have given me your word, and you will not be so cruel as to break your promise."

"I promised you nothing further than that I would intrust certain damaged pictures to you for repairing, and that I would show you a picture which might perhaps be familiar to you—that was all. I shall perform my promise, and that immediately. But first, just tell me how you are progressing with the painting I ordered of you. Perhaps you have already with you some sketch of it? It would be peculiarly pleasant to me, for on the day after to-morrow I give a fete in my palace at Berlin, and it would be quite opportune if I could then lay the sketch before the dear Electoral Prince, who is to honor the fete with his presence. He is a connoisseur, and interests himself greatly in such things. Say, then, how comes on your sketch, and can it be completed by that time?"

"It can, noble sir! But it is not possible for me to speak about that now, for my thoughts are wandering and my heart beats as though 'twere like to burst. If I am to become a reasonable man once more, let me—first of all—"

"See the picture which I promised to show you?" interposed the count. "Well, then, you shall see it, Master Gabriel Nietzel. Remember, though, that I only show it to you on condition that you examine it in silence. So soon as you shall venture to speak to it, it vanishes, and you see it never more. One has to prescribe strict regulations to you, for you are such an odd fellow, freely entertaining bad thoughts, but shrinking from bad deeds like an innocent child. But you shall prove to me by deeds that you are in earnest about making amends for your crime against me, the world, the laws, and the Church. Only when you have done the right thing shall you again obtain your beloved and your child, and may depart unhindered from this country. Mark that, Master Nietzel; and now come. Follow me to my picture gallery."

He nodded smilingly to the painter, and led the way out of the cabinet and through a suite of magnificent apartments. At the end of these they entered a spacious, lofty hall, whose walls were hung with great paintings.

"This is my picture gallery," said the count on entering; "now look and be silent!"

Gabriel Nietzel remained standing near the door, and leaned against one of its pillars. He could proceed no farther, his knees shook so, and all the blood in his body seemed to concentrate in head and heart. He shut his eyes, for it seemed to him that he must expire that very moment. But finally, by a mighty effort of will, he conquered this passionate emotion, slowly opened his eyes, and ventured to cast a weary, wandering glance through the hall. How wonderfully solemn this broad, handsome room seemed to him, and how devout and prayerful was his mind! A mild, clear light fell from the glass cupola above, which alone illuminated the hall, and displayed the pictures on the walls to the best advantage. In the middle of the room, beside the splendid porphyry vase standing there upon its gilded pedestal, leaned the tall, athletic form of Count Schwarzenberg, casting a long, dark shadow upon the shining surface of the inlaid floor. Gabriel Nietzel saw all this, and yet he felt as if he were dreaming, and that all would vanish so soon as he should venture to move or step forward. The count's voice aroused him from his stupefaction.

"Now, Master Nietzel, come here, for from this point you can best survey the pictures, and judge of their merits."

Nietzel advanced with long strides, breathless from expectation, blissful in hope. Now he stood at the count's side, and lifted his eyes to the pictures. With one rapid glance he swept the whole wall. Paintings, beautiful, costly paintings, but what cared he for them? Glorious in the pomp of coloring, and perfect in their truth to nature, they looked down upon him out of their broad gilt frames, but he had no senses for them. His eyes fastened again and again upon that broad, massive gold frame which hung opposite him in the center of the wall. The painting which this frame inclosed could not be seen, for it was hidden from view by the green silk drapery hanging before it, and at the side of the frame was suspended a string. Gabriel Nietzel saw nothing of the paintings, he only saw the green curtain, only the string which kept it fast. His whole soul spoke in the glance which he directed to them.

Count Schwarzenberg intercepted this glance and smiled.

"You are certainly thinking of Raphael's exquisite Madonna," he said, "and because that is always seen from the midst of a green curtain, you suppose, probably, that behind this curtain must also be concealed a Madonna and Child. Well, we shall see some day. Stay in your place, stir not, speak not, and perhaps a miracle will take place, and you shall behold una Madonna col Bambino of flesh and blood. But silence, man, for you well know how it is with treasure diggers: as soon as you speak, the treasure vanishes. Now, then, look and stand still!"

He stepped across to the wall and grasped the string. The curtain flew back and—there she stood, the Madonna with the Child in her arms, so beautiful, so instinct with life and warmth, as only nature has ever painted and art imitated from nature. There she stood with that richly tinted olive complexion, with those transparent, softly reddened cheeks, with those full crimson lips, with those large black eyes at once full of mildness and fire, and with that broad and noble brow full of depth of thought and yet full of repose. And in her arms that sweet child, that vigorous boy so full of life, loosely clad in his little white shirt, that left bare his plump arms and firm legs. Roses were on his cheeks, dimples in his chin, and in the great black eyes lay the deep, earnest look, full of innocence and wisdom, that is sometimes peculiar to children.

The painter had sunk upon his knees, stretching out both arms to the picture, and from his eyes the tears flowed in clear streams over his cheeks. But indignantly he shook them away, for they prevented him from seeing the Madonna, his Madonna. Prayers he murmured up to her, prayers of love and confidence, supplications for steadfastness in danger, for courageous perseverance during separation. But he ventured not to address them audibly to the beloved Madonna, for he knew that a mere word would have snatched her away from him.

And she, she knew it too, and therefore she also was silent. Only with her eyes she spoke to him, and the tears which flowed from her eyes gave eloquent reply to his. Thus they looked at one another, at once full of bliss and pain. The child, which until now had sat quiet upon its mother's arm, silent and as if in deep thought, suddenly began to move. Its large eyes were fixed upon the man who lay there on his knees, and, whether it were the result of an involuntary movement or the instinct of love, it spread out its arms and smiled.

"My child, my darling child!" screamed Gabriel Nietzel, springing from his knees and rushing forward with outstretched arms. But the frame with its living picture hung too high—his arms could not reach it, his lips could not touch that smiling, childish mouth to press upon it a father's kiss of blessing and seal of love. "My child!" he cried again, and now, since love had once opened his lips, silence could no longer be maintained.

"Rebecca, my beloved," he cried.

"Gabriel, my beloved," sounded down.

"You have broken your word!" cried Count Schwarzenberg angrily, and he vehemently drew the string, so that the green curtain hastily rustled together. But it was in vain. A rounded, powerful female arm thrust it back, and now it was no more a Madonna with her Child who looked forth from the green curtain, but a glowing creature, a wife flaming with indignation and love, with defiance and grief.

"Nobody shall hinder me from looking at you, from speaking to you!" she cried. "I will see you, Gabriel. I will tell you, that I love you and am true to you. I will tell you that I would rather go barefoot through the world, begging with you and the child, than to live longer in this count's grand castle, amid splendor, without you. Gabriel, rescue me from this place; do all that they require of you, only take me away from here."

"Rebecca, I will rescue you, for I can not live without you—without you the world is a desert to me. You are my sun and the light of my life."

"Gabriel, release me, while yet there is time. They will make a Christian of me, and I shall renounce my faith and my salvation, in order to be with you again, but afterward I shall die of repentance."

"Rebecca, I shall release you, and I too am ready to renounce my salvation in order to be with you. But I will not die of repentance, for I shall have you again, and when I look upon you and the child I shall feel no repentance."

"Gabriel, release me, give back to me my happiness, my home, my family. For you are all that to me, and without you the world is a desert."

"Without you the world is a wilderness, Rebecca. Swear to me that you love me!"

"I swear to you, by the God of my fathers, that I love you!"

"And would you love me if the whole world despised me?"

"What matters the world to me? Would I still love you? I would love you more fervently yet if all the world despised you, for then you would be like me. They despise me too, and turn away contemptuously from me, and yet I have done nothing bad."

"Would you love me, Rebecca, even if I had committed a crime?"

"What do men call crime? Do they not say that you commit a crime in loving me? Would they not say, too, that the priest who blessed our union was a criminal? Be whatever you may, do what you will, I shall love you still. Your soul is my soul, and my heart is your heart. Release me, Gabriel, release me!"

"I will release you, Rebecca; in four days you shall be free, and we shall journey away from here, and return to Italy, never to leave it again."

"To Italy!" rejoiced she—"to my home! Oh, my Gabriel, I shall not merely love you, I shall worship you—you will be to me the Saviour, the Messiah, in whom my people have hoped so long! I—"

"Now that is enough," cried Count Schwarzenberg, who had been silent hitherto, because he felt well how much Rebecca's words forwarded his own plans. "Now that is enough of refractoriness! Come, Gabriel Nietzel, and you, Rebecca, step back, or I shall have your child taken away, and you shall never see it again!"

"Go, Rebecca, go!" cried Gabriel Nietzel cheerfully. "You remain with me, even if you go, and I shall still see and speak to you when I am far from you. Four days only, and then we shall be reunited!"

"I am going, Gabriel! I shall spend all these four days praying for you—to your and my God!"

"Sir Count!" cried Nietzel in cheerful tones—"Sir Count, let us now return to your cabinet. I have something important to communicate to you."

He cast not another look up at the curtain; he had no longer any sense of pain in her disappearance, but this was his one absorbing thought, that in four days he would again embrace his Rebecca, and that it lay in the power of his own hands to deserve her. With firm steps he followed the count, who now again led him out of the hall and into his cabinet.

"Well, speak, Master Gabriel!" cried the count; "what have you to say to me?"

Nietzel drew a paper from his breast pocket, and handed it to the count. "See, your excellency, here is the sketch of the painting I am to make for you."

"Truly, a precious sketch," said Schwarzenberg, examining the paper attentively. "That looks like a Holy Supper."

"It is no Holy Supper, but a very unholy dinner."

"In the middle of the table I see sitting a man and a youth. The man wears a crown upon his head and the youth wears a princely coronet."

"It is the Elector and the Electoral Prince," explained Gabriel Nietzel.

"Yes, indeed, the portraits are theirs. And beside them sits the Electress, and beside her I see myself, and quite gorgeously have you dressed me, with a princely ermined mantle about my shoulders and a prince's diadem upon my brow. But what is that which I hold in my hand and offer to the Electress?"

"It is a lachrymatory, your excellency."

"And yet the Electress smiles, Sir Painter."

"She takes the lachrymatory for a golden vase, which your excellency is presenting to her as a present."

"You are witty, it seems, Master Gabriel," said the count sharply. "But that your portraits are good must be admitted, and your sketch is altogether charming. Only you have sketched for me there a joyous festival, and, if I remember rightly, I ordered of you a picture which should represent the death of Julius Caesar, or some such murderous occasion. But I see no dagger and no murderer in this sketch."

"Only look at that man standing behind the Electoral Prince."

"Ah, I see him now. Why, master, that is your own likeness!"

"Yes, your excellency, my own likeness. You grant me your permission, then, to appear at the feast?"

"Why not? Paul Veronese, too, has introduced his own portrait among those of his banqueters. What is your image there handing to the Electoral Prince in that basket?"

"A piece of white bread, most gracious sir, nothing more."

"Ah, a piece of white bread! You have become, it seems, the young Electoral Prince's lackey, have laid your character as artist upon the shelf, and become body page to the gracious Prince?"

"It seems so, most gracious sir," replied Nietzel with solemn voice. "But see here, the truth lies on this page."

And he handed the count a second sheet of paper.

"What do I see? Something seems to have disturbed the banquet."

"Yes, your excellency, very greatly disturbed it. Do you still see the man who stood behind the Electoral Prince?"

"No, I see him nowhere."

"He has fled, your excellency. He is the murderer of the Electoral Prince, who is borne out senseless."

"Of the Electoral Prince? Conrad the Third, you mean! For was it not the murder of the last of the Hohenstaufens which you promised me?"

"Yes, your excellency, and I will perform my promise if the sketch pleases you."

"It pleases me very much, and it suits me perfectly," replied the count, whose glance remained ever directed to the two sketches. "Yes, yes," he continued slowly, "I understand, and the design has my approval, for it is simple and natural. You have your plan complete in your head?"

"Quite complete, your excellency."

"Then it is not necessary to talk any more about it, or to preserve the sketches," said the count, slowly tearing the two papers into little bits.

"You are right, count, it is not necessary to preserve the sketches, since I soon expect to carry them out on a large scale. But we have something else to talk about, your excellency."

Schwarzenberg looked in amazement at the painter, whose voice had now lost its reverential expression, and was very firm and determined.

"We have only to speak upon such subjects as I may choose, master," he said haughtily.

"No, Sir Count," retorted Nietzel decidedly; "but we have to speak about what follows the completion of my painting. We must speak of that, even should it not please your excellency. On Sunday your banquet takes place; on that day I should like to set off for Italy with my wife and child, and leave Germany forever."

"Do so, Master Nietzel, I strongly advise you to do so."

"Will your excellency condescend to assist me thereto?"

"Joyfully, from the bottom of my heart, my dear Nietzel. You would travel to Italy. First of all you want funds for your journey, I suppose. Here, Master Nietzel, here I transmit to you a pocketbook containing twelve hundred dollars—your pension, which I pay you in advance for two years."

"I thank your excellency," said Gabriel, taking the pocketbook. "The principal thing, though, is, how am I to get at my wife and child? Am I to come here to fetch them away?"

"Not so, Master Nietzel. I shall send Rebecca and the child to you at your lodgings in Berlin."

"Before or after the banquet?"

"After the banquet, of course."

"But if you do not do so, your excellency. If you should forget your promise to poor Gabriel Nietzel?"

"Ah! you mistrust me, do you, Mr. Gabriel Nietzel?"

"Do you not mistrust me, too, Sir Count? Have you not taken my Rebecca and my child as pledges for my keeping my word? Have you not deprived me of what is most precious to me in this world, not to be restored until I have fulfilled my oath to you? But what pledge have I that you will keep your word, and what means have I for forcing you to fulfill your oath to me?"

"You have my word as security—the word of a nobleman, who has never yet forfeited his pledge," said Count Schwarzenberg solemnly. "I swear to you that on the day of the banquet your Rebecca and your child shall be at your lodgings in Berlin, and that you will find them there on your return from the banquet. I swear this by the Holy Virgin Mary and by Jesus Christ the only-begotten Son, and in affirmation of my solemn oath I lay my right hand here upon this crucifix."

The count strode across to his escritoire, and laid his hand upon the crucifix of alabaster and gold, which stood upon it. "I swear and vow," he cried, "that next Sunday I shall send to Gabriel Nietzel's lodging his Rebecca and her child, and that he shall find them there when he returns from the banquet. Are you content now, Master Gabriel Nietzel?"

"I am content, Sir Count. Farewell! And God grant that we may never meet again on earth!"

He greeted the count with a passing inclination of his head, and left the apartment without waiting for his dismissal.



VII.—THE OFFER.

"And now," murmured Gabriel Nietzel to himself, as he stepped out upon the street—"now for work, without hesitancy and without delay, for there is no other way of escaping from that cruel tiger who has me in his clutches. He is athirst for blood, and I must sacrifice to him the blood of another man in order to save that of my wife and child! But, woe to him, woe, if he does not keep his word, if he acts the part of traitor toward me! But I will not think of that, I dare not think of it, for I have need of all my presence of mind in order to prepare everything. First, I must speak to the Electoral Prince; that is the most important thing."

He went back to Berlin, and repaired forthwith to the palace. The Electoral Prince was at home, and the lackey who had announced the court painter Gabriel Nietzel now reverentially opened for him the door of the princely apartment.

"Well, here you are, my dear Gabriel," cried the Electoral Prince affably. "Welcome, to receive my thanks for the zeal and dispatch with which you attended to the removal of my effects. Truly you merit praise, for I am told that you arrived in Berlin before me. We had contrary winds, it is true, and had to lie at anchor before Cuxhaven for fourteen days. Well, say, master, how are you pleased with Berlin?"

"Very well, your highness," replied Nietzel gloomily, looking into the pale, sad countenance of the Electoral Prince with a glance full of strange meaning.

"Why do you look so inquiringly at me, master?" asked the Prince restively.

"Pardon me, most gracious sir, I will not do so again," said Gabriel, casting down his eyes. "I have something to say to your highness, and I would fain gather the needed courage therefore from your countenance."

"Do so then, master, look at me and speak."

"Step into the middle of the room, gracious sir, and permit me to come close to you; then I will speak, for I shall know then that no one can overhear us."

The Electoral Prince did as Gabriel requested. The latter stepped close up to his side. "Most gracious sir," said he, "have you confidence in me?"

"Yes, Gabriel Nietzel, I have confidence in you."

"Then hear what I have to tell you. Ask no questions, require no intelligence and explanations. Hear my warning, and act accordingly. Count Schwarzenberg plots against your life!"

"Do you believe that?" said the Electoral Prince, smiling.

"He has invited you to a feast, which is to take place on Sunday. At that feast you are to be poisoned."

The Electoral Prince started, and a transient flush gleamed upon his cheeks. "Whence know you that, Gabriel Nietzel?"

"I beseech you ask me no questions, but believe me. Will your highness do so?—dare I speak further?"

"Well, I will believe you. Speak further, Master Gabriel."

"I told you thus much, that you were to be poisoned at Count Adam von Schwarzenberg's banquet. The count's valet has been bribed by him; he will have the honor of waiting upon you at the feast, and he will therefore present to you all you eat or drink, even down to the bread. Do not accept them from him, your highness, especially the bread."

"I shall at least eat nothing, Gabriel Nietzel."

"When he sees that, he will offer you some fruit or viand which will prove hurtful to you. The count's valet must not stand behind your seat, that is the principal thing; another must take his place, another, on whose fidelity you may rely."

"Who is that other? Where is the man to be found in these parts on whose fidelity I may rely?"

"You may rely upon me, Prince. I will stand behind your chair, I will wait upon you at Count Schwarzenberg's feast."

"You, Gabriel Nietzel, you?" asked Frederick William, and his eyes were fixed upon the painter with a long glance of inquiry. Gabriel Nietzel sustained this glance, and succeeded in forcing a smile upon his lips.

"I will be your valet at the feast. I will stand behind your chair and wait upon you."

"Impossible, Gabriel. How could we manage that without insulting the count?"

"Very simply, your highness. Have the kindness to say that you brought me with you, in order that I might make for you a painting of the banquet, and to that end sketch the outlines, and that, to furnish a pretext for my presence, you have allowed me to appear as your page."

"It is true, that will suit! You have weighed all excellently, Gabriel Nietzel, and your plan is good."

"And you accept it, gracious sir, do you not, you accept it?"

Frederick William was silent, and his large, deep-blue eyes were again fixed testingly and questioningly upon the painter's countenance. After a long pause he slowly laid his hand upon Gabriel's shoulder, and his looks brightened.

"Gabriel Nietzel," he said solemnly, "I will have confidence in you, I will assume that God sends you to me to save me; I will not assume that Count Schwarzenberg sends you to me to ruin me. You shall accompany me to the feast and stand behind my chair as page."

Gabriel Nietzel only answered by the tears, which in clear streams gushed from his eyes. "Oh, you weep," cried the Electoral Prince. "Now I see well that you mean honestly, and that I can trust you, for your tears speak for you."

Just then the lackey opened the door of the antechamber and announced, "The commandant of Kuestrin, Colonel von Burgsdorf, wishes to pay his respects!"

"Let him wait an instant; I will summon him directly."

"Most gracious sir," murmured Nietzel, when the door had again closed, "dismiss me in the colonel's presence, and immediately, that the spies may not have it to say that there has been to-day a meeting, of Count Schwarzenberg's enemies here."

"Are there spies here too, Gabriel?"

"Everywhere, sir, each of your servants is bribed, and you must suspect them. Dismiss me, sir, dismiss me."

The Electoral Prince went to the door and opened it.

"Colonel von Burgsdorf, come in!"

"Here I am, most gracious sir, here I am!" cried Burgsdorf's rough voice, and with clashing sword and glittering corselet Conrad von Burgsdorf entered the room. The Electoral Prince nodded to him, and then turned to the painter, who humbly and with lowered head had crept away toward the door. "Master Nietzel," he said, with a condescending wave of the hand, "go now, and be careful to carry out my instructions. I will request my mother to do me the kindness to sit to you every day for her portrait, which you are to paint for me. Make all your preparations, and come early to-morrow morning with the canvas stretched."

"Your highness's commands shall be punctually executed," said Gabriel Nietzel, and, after reverentially bowing, he left the room.

"And now for you, my dear Burgsdorf!" cried the Electoral Prince, advancing a few paces to meet the colonel, and kindly offering him his hand. "You are heartily welcome, and let me hope that I, too, am welcome to you and your friends."

"Your highness, you are more than welcome to us—you have been longed for by us, and we thank God from the depths of our souls that he has finally given you back to us. All had already abandoned hope of your return to us. All really believed that you would forsake us in our wretchedness and want, and would never more return to the unhappy Mark of Brandenburg. But here you are at last, my dearest young sir, and blessed be your coming and your staying."

"I thank you, colonel, thank you with my whole heart for your good wishes," said Frederick William kindly; "and trust me, my dear colonel, I know how to treasure them, and will never forget you for these. You are one of the faithful ones, on whom our house can count in evil as in good days, and on whom an Elector of Brandenburg would never call in vain, if he had need of him."

"Call upon us, most gracious sir," said the colonel briskly and joyfully—"call all your faithful ones, and you shall see they will all come, for they are only waiting for your summons."

The Electoral Prince smilingly shook his head. "I am not the Elector of Brandenburg, and I have not the right to summon you."

"You shall and must be Elector of Brandenburg, and that you may be so, you must gather your faithful ones around you."

"I do not understand you," said the Electoral Prince slowly. "Whether I will ever be Elector of Brandenburg, God only can decide, for in his hands lies my father's life as well as my own. May the day be far distant when I enter upon the succession—may my venerated father for long years to come rule his land in peace and tranquillity. I long not to grasp the reins of government, for I know very well that I am yet much too young to guide them with wisdom and prudence."

"You will not understand me, your highness," cried the colonel impatiently, and his red swollen face glowed with a brighter hue. "But I must still try to make you understand, for to that very end have I been sent hither by your friends; they have chosen me as spokesman for them all, and therefore I must speak, if your highness will grant me leave so to do."

"Speak, my dear colonel, speak, and may God enlighten my heart, that I may rightly understand you! Let us sit down, colonel, and now let us hear what is the matter."

"This is the matter, your highness, the Mark of Brandenburg is lost to you, if you do not seize it now with swift, determined hand. You do not believe me, sir; you shake your head incredulously and smile. Ah! I see plainly, that you have been suffered to remain in great darkness as regards the situation of affairs here, and you know very little of our sufferings and our distresses. You know not that poverty and want prevail throughout the whole land; that the peasant, the burgher, the nobleman, all classes of the people, in short, are equally oppressed; that trade and commerce lie prostrate; and the aim of each one is only how he may prolong a wretched existence from day to day."

"Nevertheless, my dear colonel, I know that. I saw enough solitary, ruined villages, waste and empty towns, uncultivated and ravaged fields on my journey hither to prove to me what the poor inhabitants of the Mark have had to suffer in these evil days of war."

"Have had to suffer, says your highness?" cried Burgsdorf impatiently; "they still suffer continuously, and their suffering will be without cessation or end if your highness does not take pity upon the poor people, upon us all."

"I?" asked Frederick William, astonished. "What then can I do?"

"You can do everything, my Prince, everything, and in the name of your future country, in the name of your subjects, I beseech you to do so. The Mark Brandenburg stands upon the brink of a precipice. Save it, Electoral Prince. The religion, policy, and independence of Brandenburg are in danger; take your sword in hand and save her. Speak three words, three little insignificant words, and all the noblemen in the Mark will rally exultingly about you, and the people will flock to you in crowds, and make you so mighty and so strong that you need only to will and your will shall be executed."

"What three words are those, Sir Colonel von Burgsdorf?"

"Those three words, your highness, which the people shouted up at the palace window yesterday, when you got home. The three words, 'Down with him!'"

"Down with him," repeated the Electoral Prince. "And who is this him?"

"It is Count Schwarzenberg, your highness—it is the minister who rules here in the Mark as if it were his own property, and as if he were not your father's Stadtholder, but the reigning Prince, who had obtained the Mark as a fief from the Emperor of Germany, to whom alone he were responsible. Look about you, Frederick William, look at these poor, wretched apartments, in which you live—look at the decay of the princely house, the embarrassments with which your father has to contend, and the privations which your mother and sisters have to undergo. And then, Prince, then look across at Broad Street, at Count Schwarzenberg's palace. There all is glory and splendor, there are to be seen lackeys in golden liveries, costly equipages, handsomely furnished halls. They practice wanton luxury, they live amid pomp and pleasure, arrange magnificent hunts and splendid entertainments, while the people cry out for hunger. They make merry in Count Schwarzenberg's palace, and while the burgher, whose last cent he has seized for the payment of taxes and imposts, creeps about in rags, he struts by in velvet clothes, decked out with gold and precious stones, and laughingly boasts that half the Mark of Brandenburg might be bought at the price of one of his court suits. Most gracious Prince, yesterday the steward of your father, with the Electoral consent, brought out the velvet caps which had been kept in the Electoral wardrobe, took off the genuine silver lace with which they were trimmed, and sold it to the Jews, in order to pay the servants their month's wages,[24] and the count's servants yesterday received new liveries, so thickly set with gold lace that the scarlet cloth was hardly distinguishable underneath. The Stadtholder in the Mark revels in superfluity, while the Elector in the Mark almost suffers want, and esteems himself happy if he can give one piece of land after another to his minister as security for the payment of debt. Oh, it is enough to drive one to despair, and make him tear his hair for rage and grief, when he sees the state of things here, and must perceive that the Elector is nothing and the Stadtholder everything. To his adherents he gives offices and dignities, and those whom he knows to be attached to the interests of the Electoral family he removes from court, and replaces by his favorites and servants. Upon the Colonels von Kracht and von Rochow he has bestowed good positions, making them commandants of Berlin and Spandow, with double salaries, but me, whom he knows to be the faithful servant of the Electoral family, he has banished from court and sent to Kuestrin with only half as high a salary as the other two have. From the Electoral privy council he has also removed all those gentlemen who were bold enough to lift up their voices against him, and has introduced such men as say yes to everything that he desires and asks. No longer does an honest, upright word reach the Electoral ear, and while the whole people lament and cry out against Schwarzenberg, fearing him as they do the devil himself, our Elector fancies that his Stadtholder is as much beloved by the people of the Mark Brandenburg as by the Emperor at Vienna. But it is just so; Catholics and Imperialists will Schwarzenberg make us; ever he presses us further and further from our comrades in the faith, the Swedes and Dutch; ever he draws us closer to the Catholics; and if he could succeed in making the Elector Catholic, removing all Evangelists and Reformers from court, and putting Catholics in their places, then he would rejoice and obtain a high reward from the Emperor and Pope."

"And you believe, Burgsdorf, that he will do such a thing, and esteem such a thing possible?" asked the Electoral Prince, with a sly smile.

"I believe that he will, and we all believe so. And with the Stadtholder to will is to do, for he carries through all that he undertakes. But we will not suffer it, Prince, we will not be turned into Imperialists and Catholics. We will hold to our Elector and our religion; we will not suffer and submit to our Elector's being any longer in dependence upon Emperor and empire, and nothing at all but a powerless tool in Schwarzenberg's hands. We want a free Elector, who has courage and power to defy the Emperor himself, and league himself with the Swedes against him. For the Swedes are our rightful allies, not merely because the mother of the little Queen Christina is sister to our Elector, but also because we are neighbors, and of one religion and one faith. Oh, my gracious young sir, do not allow Schwarzenberg to make us Catholics and Imperialists! Free your country, your subjects, and yourself from this man, who weighs upon us like a scourge from God!"

"But, Burgsdorf, just consider what you say there. I, who have but just returned from a three years' absence, I, who am almost a stranger to these combinations and circumstances, I am to free you from this most mighty and influential man, the Stadtholder in the Mark! I should like to know how to go about it."

"Gracious sir, I will tell you," replied Burgsdorf, with smothered voice and coming close up to the Prince. "Only say that you will place yourself at our head; give me only a couple of words in your own handwriting to give assurance to your friends and adherents that you will at their head battle for your good rights and for the faith and law of the land. Do this, and then just wait eight days."

"And what will happen after these eight days?"

"Then will happen that you shall see an army assembled about you, my Prince, in eight days. We have all been long making our preparations in secret, and putting everything in position, to be able to break forth as soon as you should appear and place yourself at our head. Every nobleman belonging to our party has procured arms and ammunition for the equipment of his people, and a brave, well-appointed host will be ready to execute your orders. You will take Schwarzenberg prisoner in his proud palace; you will be able by persistency to drive the Elector to dismiss the hated minister and his hated son from their offices and dignities, and to banish them forever from the country. You will be able to force the Elector to nominate you Schwarzenberg's successor, and then, having the power in your own hands, it only depends upon yourself to break, with the Emperor, to recognize the peace of Prague no longer, but to renew the alliance with the Swedes, and united with them to battle against the encroachments of the Emperor, and in behalf of religion!"

"Just see, colonel, you have your plan already cut and dried!" cried the Prince. "If I should accede to it I would have nothing further to do than to execute what you have previously determined and arranged, and I should be nothing more than a tool in your hands. Now, I must confess to you that such a part would not at all suit me, even if I were ready to fall in with your plans. But I am not ready to do so, and am thoroughly indisposed to accept your proposition."

"You are not inclined to do so?" asked the colonel, shocked. "Not even," he continued more softly, "when I tell you that the Electress knows our plans and consents to them?"

"Not even then, colonel. However much I love my mother, yet in this matter I can not suffer myself to be guided by her wishes. No, Colonel von Burgsdorf, I am not minded to go into your plans; for have you well considered what you require of me? You ask me to head a revolution, to give you a deed of rebellion, and to call upon the noblemen of the country to revolt against their rightful Sovereign. You ask me, as a rebel and agitator, and yet at the same time only as your tool, to do force and violence to my lord and father, and to force him to dismiss his minister, to alter his system, and to make enemies of his friends and friends of his enemies. Truly, you offer me a great advantage in prospective, and are good enough to propose that I step into Count Schwarzenberg's place and rule the country in the Elector's name, as he has done. But I am not blind to my own shortcomings, and do not overestimate myself. I know very well that I am as yet but an inexperienced young man, who has still a great deal to learn, and is by no means in a position to take the place of so distinguished and adroit a statesman as Count Schwarzenberg. I must yet go to school to him, and learn from him statecraft and policy."

"Will you learn from him, gracious sir?" cried Burgsdorf passionately, "would you go to school to him, to that Catholic, that Imperialist?"

"Tell me a better schoolmaster for my father's son?" asked the Electoral Prince softly. "My father has bestowed full confidence upon him for these twenty years past, he has adhered firmly and faithfully to him in evil as well as in prosperous days, and therefore I conclude that the count is worthy of this unshaken confidence, and must well deserve his master's love. It would, therefore, be very disrespectful behavior on my part toward my father, and put me in the light of exalting myself against him in unchildlike disobedience, if I should make the attempt to remove Count Schwarzenberg from his side by force. The Elector alone is reigning Sovereign within his own dominions, and what he concludes must be good, and it does not become us to censure or presume to know better."

"Your grace, then, will be nothing but an obedient and submissive son?" asked Burgsdorf in a cutting tone.

"Nothing further, Burgsdorf," replied Frederick William quietly. "May my father yet live to rule long years in peace; I am still young, I am learning and waiting."

"You are learning and waiting," cried Burgsdorf, beside himself, "and meanwhile your land is going wholly to ruin; the people are hungry and in despair; the noblemen are reduced to beggary or have, in their desperation, gone over to Schwarzenberg—that is to say, to the Emperor—who pays a rich annuity to each one who adheres faithfully to him. And when your grace has waited and learned enough, then will come the day when Count Schwarzenberg will hunt you from your heritage, even as he has hunted the Margrave of Jaegerndorf; then will the Emperor give the Mark Brandenburg away, as he has done with Jaegerndorf, and his favorite, Schwarzenberg, is here ready to receive the welcome donation. He has already ruled the Mark Brandenburg twenty years in the Emperor's name, why should he not rule the Mark as its independent Sovereign? Oh, gracious sir, it makes me raving mad just to think of it, and I can not believe that you are in earnest, that you actually thrust from you myself and those loyal to you, and will not enter into our plans. My dear Prince, I have known you all your life. I have carried you in my arms as a little boy; I have borne you under my cloak when you went with your mother to Kuestrin; I have staked upon you all the hopes of my life; and it would be a bitter grief to me to be obliged to think that you will have nothing to do with me and all your friends."

"And think you, man," asked the Electoral Prince, "that it would be no grief to my father if I should step forward as his adversary? Think you that it would make for him a good name in history should the son present himself as his father's enemy? No, Burgsdorf; I repeat it to you, I am learning and waiting."

"And I? I have waited twenty years, to learn in this hour that all my waiting has been in vain. The Mark is lost, and you, Electoral Prince, with it. I shall tell your mother, I shall tell your friends, that you are lost to us. Farewell, sir, and, if you will, go to Count Schwarzenberg and tell him that I am a traitor and conspirator. I shall go back to Kuestrin, and if I were not ashamed, I could weep over myself and you. No, I am not ashamed; look, sir, at least you have constrained me."

And the tears gushed from his eyes and fell down upon his grizzly, gray beard. He clapped his hands before his face and sobbed aloud. The Electoral Prince turned pale. He fixed a glance full of confidence and love upon the colonel, and had already opened his lips for an answer, which he would probably have afterward repented, when Burgsdorf suddenly drew his hands from before his face and angrily shook his head.

"I am a fool!" he said furiously, "and it would serve me right, old baby that I am, if you should laugh at me. Farewell!"

He made a formal military salute, turned abruptly and crossed the apartment to the door. Now, when his hand was already upon the latch, the Electoral Prince made a few steps forward. Colonel Burgsdorf turned about.

"Did you call me, sir?"

"No, colonel, farewell!"

The door closed, and Frederick William was alone. His large blue eyes were directed toward heaven with a look of inexpressible grief.

"I have in this hour offered up a greater sacrifice than Abraham, when he sacrificed his son to his God," he whispered. "Has God accepted my sacrifice, will he in his mercy some day reward me for it?"



VIII.—THE BANQUET.

The city of Berlin was to-day in a state of unusual stir and excitement. Everybody made haste to finish his noon-day meal, and nobody thought of complaining especially that this repast was so sparingly provided and served in such small portions, and that the dread specter of hunger was ever stalking nearer to the inhabitants of the unhappy, much-plagued town. They were to-day looking forward to a spectacle—one, moreover, for which no money was to be paid, which could be had gratis, just by being upon the street in right time and struggling to obtain a good position on the cathedral square, before the palace, or much better, before Count Schwarzenberg's palace. For to-day the count gave a great banquet in his palace on Broad Street, and it was well worth the trouble of contending for a place before the palace, and not even being frightened by a few cuffs and blows. The whole fashionable world of Berlin, all the nobility of the regions round about, were invited to this feast, and the whole court was to appear there. And it was so rarely that the Electoral family was ever to be seen by the town. They had passed almost a year in the Mark, but in such quiet and retirement did they live that their presence would hardly have been recognized if on Sunday in the cathedral church, which stood in the center of the square between the palace and Broad Street, their lofty personages had not been discernible behind the glass panes of the Electoral gallery. But to-day they were not to be seen in the seriousness of devotion, with their solemn, church-going faces, but in the pomp and splendor of their exalted station, in the glitter of their earthly greatness. And, above all things, they were to see the Electoral Prince, the Prince who had but just returned home, the hope of the downtrodden land, the future of the Mark Brandenburg!

How the good people hurried with joyful, eager faces along toward Broad Street, with what hasty movements did they rush across the Spree Bridge! A black, surging throng of men stood before the castle on the cathedral square, a dense, motionless mass before Count Schwarzenberg's palace. Only one passage was left free, broad enough to allow the carriage to drive across the castle square to the palace, and on both sides of this stood the halberdiers of the Stadtholder's bodyguard, threateningly presenting their halberds toward those who ventured to step forward. The Stadtholder in the Mark had his own bodyguard—fine, athletic fellows, of proud bearing, in splendid uniforms, trimmed everywhere with genuine gold and silver lace, while, as everybody knew, the members of the Electoral bodyguard wore nothing but imitation lace upon their uniforms. The Elector's bodyguard, indeed, were paid and clothed by citizens, and they, on account of their want and distress, had refused to pay the last bodyguard tax, while the Stadtholder's bodyguard consisted of members of his household and was paid and clothed by himself. And Count Schwarzenberg was very rich, and the citizens were very poor, but still the count had never once practiced mildness and mercy, and relieved the poor cities of their taxes and imposts, or given of his wealth to their poverty.

To-day, however, he gave a fete, a splendid fete, and however much at other times they dreaded and hated him, his fete they could still look upon, and with longing eyes behold all its magnificence. It was, indeed, glorious to look upon, and they saw, moreover, how much the Stadtholder honored and esteemed the Elector, for never before had he displayed such splendor, when he merely invited the high nobility. Above the grand door of entrance was stretched a canopy of crimson cloth, edged with gold, the golden pillars of the canopy reaching out even into the street. The four stone steps leading from the front door were covered with fine carpeting, which also stretched away to the street, to the spot where the guests were to alight from their carriages. On both sides of the carpet stood serried ranks of the Stadtholder's lackeys in their flashy gold-trimmed liveries. They were headed by the count's two stewards, with golden wands in their hands, broad gold bands about their shoulders, and monstrous three-cornered hats upon their heads. It was very fine to look upon, and not merely the merry urchins, who were swinging upon the iron railings of the count's park, opposite the palace on the side of the cathedral square, enjoyed the spectacle, but the respectable burgher, with his well-dressed wife upon his arm, found his pleasure in it as well. The front doors were wide open, and they could look into the gorgeous columned hall, decorated with garlands and vases of fresh flowers. Yes, it was plainly to be seen that the Stadtholder felt himself greatly honored by the high company he was to receive to-day, and this even reconciled the good people a little to the proud, imperious Count Schwarzenberg.

And now the distinguished guests came riding up. There were the noblemen from the country round about, in their antiquated, rumbling vehicles, drawn by beautiful, handsomely harnessed horses. There were the Quitzows, the Goetzes and Krockows, the Buelows and Arnims, and as often as a carriage arrived the musicians, stationed on both sides of the palace, blew a flourishing peal of trumpets, and the noblemen bowed right and left, greeting, although no one had greeted them except Count Schwarzenberg's chamberlain, von Lehndorf, who received the guests upon the threshold of the house. But now resounded a loud shouting and huzzaing, rolling nearer and ever nearer, like a monstrous wave, and an unusual, joyful movement pervaded the densely packed mass of men. "They come! they come!" sounded from mouth to mouth, and small people raised themselves on tiptoe, and tall ones turned their heads toward the corner of the cathedral square. Already they saw the foot runner, with his plumed hat and golden staff, as he came bounding on, then the two foreriders in their bright blue liveries, with low, round caps upon their heads, and then the electoral equipage, the great gilded coach of state, drawn by four black horses.

"Who is sitting in the coach of state? Is the Electoral Prince in it? Does he come in the same carriage with his father?"

The people grew dumb from impatience and expectancy, in the midst of their cries of joy; they wanted to see! All eyes shone with curiosity as the equipage rolled on. Over in the park, behind the railing, stood the drummers, and they began to beat a roll, which the boys riding on the railing seconded with genuine rapture. The trumpeters blew a flourish, and now Count Schwarzenberg himself issued from the broad palace door, followed by his son, the young Count John Adolphus. Ah! how glorious to behold was the Stadtholder in the Mark in his official costume as Grand Master of the Order of St. John, his breast quite covered with the stars of the order, whose gems glittered and sparkled so wondrously; and how handsome looked the young count, in his white suit of silver brocade, with puffs of purple velvet, his short, ermine-edged mantle of purple velvet, confined at the shoulders by clasps. The two counts made haste down the steps to the equipage. The Stadtholder in his amiable impatience opened the carriage door himself, and offered the Elector George William both his hands to assist him in alighting. And now, laboriously, gasping, with flushed face, and a forced smile upon his lips, the Elector dismounted from his carriage. Leaning upon his favorite's arm, slowly and clumsily he moved forward to the house, his stout, lofty form bent, his gait heavy, and his blue eyes, which were only once turned to the gaping multitude, sad—oh, so sad! The people looked with pity and compassion upon the poor, peevish gentleman, who, in spite of the great Prince's star upon his breast and the Electoral hat with its waving plumes, was not by far so splendid to behold as the proud, stately Count Adam, who strode along at his side.

While the Stadtholder was conducting the Elector into the palace, the Electress alighted from the carriage, the two young Princesses following her. A loud cry of joy and admiration rang out, and called a smile to the lips of the Electress, a deep blush to the cheeks of the Princesses. The Electress's robe, with its long train of gold brocade, was wondrous to behold, and above it the blue velvet mantle with black ermine trimmings; and how beautifully the diadem of diamonds and sapphires gleamed and sparkled on the brown hair of the Princess! Again the Stadtholder came out of the palace with hasty steps, flew to the Electress, and offered her his arm, to lead her into the palace. Nor need the two Princesses walk alone behind; they, too, have their knight—young Count Schwarzenberg, who had received the Electress. He offered his arm to the Princess Charlotte Louise, which she accepted with a lovely smile and a becoming blush. Ah! what a handsome couple that was, and how remarkably their dress corresponded, for the Princess was also dressed in silver brocade, and from her shoulders fell a mantle of purple velvet edged with ermine. The little Princess Sophie Hedwig stepped behind her. But who was this young man, who suddenly stepped forward, made his way through the throng, and offered her his arm? Nobody had seen him or observed him, and he had come on foot, accompanied by a single page. Who was this handsome young man, in light-blue velvet suit, who with the young Princess on his arm mounted the steps with her, laughing merrily.