Chapter IV

On the next day, Porporina awoke from a deep slumber, completely overpowered, and found on her bed two things which her maid had just placed there. One was a flacon of rock crystal, with a gold stopper, on which was engraved an "F." with a royal crown. The second was a sealed package. The servant, on being questioned, said that the king had come in person on the previous day to bring the flacon. When she heard the circumstances of a visit which was so naïve and respectful, Porporina was much moved.

"Strange man!" thought she. "How can so much mildness in private life be reconciled with public sternness and despotism?" She fell at once into a reverie, and gradually forgetting the king and thinking of herself, retraced confusedly the events of the previous evening. She began to weep.

"What is the matter, signora?" said the maid, who was a kind soul, and an indifferently diffuse talker. "Are you going to cry again, as you did when you went to bed. This is enough to break one's heart; and the king, who was at the door when he heard you, shook his head two or three times, as if he was much distressed. Yet, signora, many would envy you. The king does not court everybody. They say he courts no one, yet it is very certain that he is in love with you."

"In love? What do you say?" said Porporina, shuddering. "Never say such an improper and absurd thing again. The king in love with me? Great God!"

"Well, signora, suppose he were?"

"God grant he may not be! He, however, neither is nor will be. What roll is this, Catharine?"

"A servant brought it early in the morning."

"Whose servant?"

"A person picked up in the streets. At last, though, he told me he had been employed by the servants of a certain Count of St. Germain, who came hither yesterday."

"Why did you ask the question?"

"Because I wanted to know, signora."

"That is frank, certainly. Now go."

As soon as Porporina was alone, she opened the roll, which she found contained a parchment, covered with strange and unintelligible characters. She had heard much of the Count of Saint Germain, but did not know him. She examined the manuscript carefully, and as she could not understand it, and could not perceive why a person with whom she had never had any acquaintance, should send her an enigma to unravel, she fancied that he was mad. As she examined this document more closely, a separate note fell out, and she read: "The Princess Amelia of Prussia takes much interest in divination and in horoscopes. Give her this parchment, and you will be certain to secure her protection and friendship." To these lines there was no signature, the hand was unknown, and the roll bore no address. She was amazed that the Count of Saint Germain, to reach the Princess Amelia, had come to her, who had never met her; and thinking that her servant had made some mistake, began to fold it up, for the purpose of returning it. When she took up the sheet of coarse paper, which had been around it, she observed there was music printed on the other side. An old recollection recurred to her; to look at one corner of the sheet for a mark, which had been agreed on—to recognise the deep pencil lines—to see that the music was a part of a piece which she had given away, as a token of remembrance, eighteen months before—was but the work of an instant. The emotion which she experienced at the remembrance of an absent and suffering friend, made her forget her own sorrows. She was only anxious to know what was to be done with the manuscript, and why she had been charged with transmitting it to the princess. Was the object to secure for her that personage's favor and protection? For that Porporina had neither the want nor the desire. Was it for the purpose of establishing a communication between the princess and the prisoner, which might be useful to the latter? She hesitated. In her doubt she recollected the proverb, "beware;" she then remembered that there were both good and bad proverbs, some of which came to the aid of prudent selfishness and others to bold devotion. She got up at once, saying to herself:

"When in doubt, act, provided that you do not compromise yourself, and have reason to hope that you can be useful to your friend and fellow-being."

Scarcely had she finished her toilette, which required some time, for she was much enfeebled by the attack of the previous evening, (and while tying up her beautiful dark hair,) she thought how she could best convey the parchment to the princess, when a servant in an embroidered livery came to ask if she was alone, and if she was willing to receive an unknown lady, who wished to visit her. The young singer had often repined at the manner in which at that time artistes were subjected to the great: she felt at first disposed to refuse the visit, and to say that the singers of the theatre were with her. She remembered, though, that this answer might offend the prudery of some ladies, but would have the effect of making others more anxious to trespass on her. She, therefore, consented to receive the visit, and the fair Von Kleist was soon introduced.

This lady was thoroughly used to society, and had determined to please the singer, and make her forget all differences of rank. She was ill at ease, however, because she had heard that Porporina was very haughty, and Von Kleist had also excellent reasons to wish, for her own sake, to penetrate her most hidden thoughts. Though young and inoffensive, there was, at this moment, in the court-lady's mind and countenance, something false and forced, which did not escape Porporina's attention. Curiosity approximates so closely to perfidy, that it destroys the beauty of the most perfect features.

Porporina knew the face of her visitor perfectly well; and her first movement when she saw a person who appeared every evening in the box of the Princess Amelia, was to ask, under the pretext of necromancy, of which she knew she was fond, an interview with the princess. Not daring, however, to confide in a person who had the reputation of being both imprudent and disposed to intrigues, she determined to let her lead the conversation, and began to bring to bear on her the quiet penetration of the defensive, which is so superior to the attacks of curiosity.

At last, the ice was broken; and the lady having presented the princess's request for music; the singer, concealing her satisfaction at this happy chance, went to get many unedited arrangements. Then, with an appearance as if suddenly inspired, she said, "I will be delighted, madame, to place all my treasures at her highness's disposal; and would feel honored were she to consent to receive me."

"And do you, indeed," said Madame Von Kleist, "wish to speak to her royal highness?"

"Yes, madame," said Porporina. "I would throw myself at her feet, and ask a favor which I am sure she would not refuse me. She is, they say, a great musician, and must protect artists. I have also heard that she is good as she is beautiful. I hope, then, if she deign to hear me, that she will aid me in obtaining from his majesty the recall of my master, who having been invited to Berlin, with the king's consent, was, when he reached the frontier, driven away, in consequence of a defect in his passport. Since then, in spite of the king's promises and assurances, I have been unable to bring this affair to an end. I dare no longer annoy the king with a request in which he takes but little interest, I am sure, for he always forgets it. But, if the princess would deign to say a word to the officers to whom such matters belong, I will have the happiness of being again with my adoptive father, the only friend I have in the world."

"What you say amazes me greatly," remarked Von Kleist. "What! the beautiful Porporina, whom I thought exerted an all-powerful influence over the king's mind, is obliged, forced, to obtain elsewhere a favor which seems so simple. Suffer me to conclude from these circumstances, that his majesty expects to find in your adoptive father, too vigilant a surveillance, or some counsel which will be of too much influence against his wishes."

"I strive in vain, madame, to understand what you honor me by saying," said Porporina, with a gravity which entirely disconcerted the baroness.

"Then, apparently, I have mistaken the extreme benevolence and limitless admiration which the king professes for the greatest of living singers."

"Does it become the dignity of the Baroness von Kleist to ridicule a poor artiste, like myself, without any influence, and perfectly inoffensive?"

"I ridicule!—who would think of ridiculing so angelic a being as you are? You are ignorant, signora, of your merit, and your candor fills me with surprise and admiration. Listen to me: I am sure that you will make a conquest of the princess. She always acts from the impulse of the moment, and it is only necessary for you to meet her, to take as perfect possession of her with your person as you have with your mind."

"It has, on the contrary, been said that her royal highness has always been severe in relation to me; and that, unfortunately, my poor face displeased her, and also, that she was much dissatisfied with my method of singing."

"Who on earth can have told you such falsehoods?"

"If any have been told, the king is guilty," said the young girl, with a slight tone of malice.

"It was a snare—a test of your modesty and gentleness," said the baroness, "as though I intend to prove to you that being a simple mortal, I have no right to be false, like a mighty and ill-tempered king, I wish to take you at once to the princess, that you may give her the music in person."

"And do you think, madame, that she will receive me kindly?"

"Will you trust me?"

"Yet, if you be mistaken, on whom will the humiliation fall?"

"On me alone: I authorise you to say everywhere, that I am proud of the princess's friendship, and that she entertains both esteem and deference for me."

"I will go with you, madame," said Consuelo, ringing for her mantle and muff. "My toilette is very simple, but you have entirely surprised me."

"You are perfectly charming, and will find the princess in a yet more simple toilette.—Come."

Porporina put the mysterious roll in her pocket, filled the carriage of the baroness with music, and followed her resolutely.

"For a man who risked his life for me," thought she, "I might run the risk of waiting in vain in the antechamber of a princess."

Having been introduced into a dressing-room she waited for five minutes, during which the abbess and her confidant exchanged these few words in the next room.

"Madame, I have brought her. She is there."

"So soon? You are an admirable ambassadress. How must I receive her? What sort of person is she?"

"Reserved, prudent, or simple. She is either intensely artful, or strangely simple."

"Oh! we will see," said the princess, the eyes of whom glittered with the influence of a mind used to penetration and distrust. "Let her come in."

During her short stay in the dressing-room, Porporina saw the strangest array of furniture which ever decorated the boudoir of a beautiful princess: spheres, compasses, astrolabes, astrological charts, vials filled with nameless mixtures and deaths-heads—in fine, all the materials of sorcery. "My friend is not mistaken," said she, "and the public knows all about the secrets of the king's sister. She does not even seem to conceal them, as she suffers me to see all this apparatus.—Well—courage!"

The Abbess of Quedlimburgh was then twenty-eight or thirty years of age. She had been beautiful as an angel, and yet was when seen by candlelight at a distance. When she was close to her, however, Porporina was amazed to find her face wrinkled and covered with blotches. Her blue eyes, which had been beautiful as possible, now had a red rim around them, like those of a person who had been weeping, and had an evil glare and deep transparency, not calculated to inspire confidence. She had been adored by her family and by all the court, and for a long time had been the most affable, the most joyous and benevolent king's daughter ever described in the romances of royal personages, of the old patrician literature. During the few last years, however, her character had changed as much as her person had. She had attacks of ill-humor, and even something worse, which made her like Frederick in his worst point of view; without seeking to resemble him, and even while in secret she criticised him severely, she was irresistibly led to contract all the faults she censured in him, and to become an imperious and absolute mistress, a skeptical, bitter, learned and disdainful person. Yet, amid these fearful characteristics, which every day look fatal possession of her, there was yet seen to pierce a native kindness, a correct mind, a courageous soul, and passionate heart. What then was passing in the mind of this unfortunate princess? A terrible cause of suffering devoured her, which she was yet forced to conceal in her heart, and which she hid from the eyes of the curious, malicious, or careless world, under the disguise of a stoical and joyous bearing. By means, therefore, of dissimulation and constraint, she had unfolded in herself two different beings, one which she dared reveal to scarcely any one, and the other which she exhibited with a kind of hatred and despair. All observed that in conversation she was become more keen and animated: this uneasy and forced gaiety, though, was painful to the observer, and its icy and chilling effect cannot be described. Successively excited, almost to puerility, and stern even to cruelty, she astonished both others and herself. Torrents of tears extinguished the fire of her anger, and then a savage irony, an impious disdain, snatched her from those moments of salutary depression, she was permitted neither to feel nor to know.

The first thing that Porporina observed, when she met her, was this kind of duality. The princess had two aspects and two faces: the one was caressing, the other menacing: two voices, one soft and harmonious, which seemed to have been vouchsafed her by heaven that she might sing like an angel, and the other hoarse and stern, apparently coming from a burning heart, animated by some devilish inspiration. Our heroine, surprised at so strange a being, divided between fear and sympathy, asked herself if an evil genius was about to take possession of her.

The princess, too, found Porporina a far more formidable person than she had imagined. She had hoped that, without her theatrical garb and the paint which makes women so very ugly, whatever people please to say about it, she would justify what the Baroness von Kleist had said—that she was rather ugly than beautiful. Her clear dark complexion, so uniform and pure; her powerful and dark eyes; her fresh mouth; her suple form; her natural and easy movements—the array of all the qualities of an honest, kind and calm being, or, at least, of one possessed of that internal power conferred by justice and true wisdom, filled the uneasy Amelia with a species of respect, and even of shame, as if she knew herself in the presence of a person of unimpeachable loyalty.

Her efforts to hide how ill at ease she was were remarked by the young girl, who, as we may conceive, was amazed to see so great a princess intimidated before her. She began, then, to revive the failing conversation, to open a piece of the music into which she had placed the cabalistic letter, and arranged it so that the great sheet covered with large characters, should meet the princess's eye. As soon as the effect was produced, she pretended to wish to withdraw the sheet, just as if she had been surprised at its being there. The abbess took possession of it immediately, however, saying—

"What is the meaning of this signora? For Heaven's sake, whence had you it?"

"If I must own all to your highness," said Porporina, significantly, "it is an astrological calculation I have been intending to present, when it shall be your highness's wish to question me about a matter to which I am not entirely a stranger."

The princess fixed her burning eyes on the singer, glanced at the magic characters, ran to the embrasure of a window, and, having examined the scroll for a time, uttered a loud cry, and fell almost suffocated into the arms of the Baroness von Kleist, who, when she saw her tremble, had hurried to her.

"Leave the room, signora," said the favorite, precipitately. "Go into that cabinet, and say nothing. Call no one. Do you understand?"

"No, no; she must not go!" said the princess, faintly. "Let her come hither—here, near me. Ah! my friend," said she, "how great a service you have rendered me!"

Clasping Porporina in her thin white arms, which were animated with a convulsive power, the princess pressed her to her heart, and covered her cheeks with eager burning kisses, which flushed her cheek and terrified her heart.

"Certainly people become mad in this country," thought she. "I have often feared this would be the case with me, and I see more important personages than I am run the same risk. There is madness in the air!"

"The princess at last loosened her neck to clasp her favorite's, crying and weeping, and shouting in the strongest voice;—

"Saved! saved!—my friends!—my kind friends! Trenck has escaped from the fortress of Glatz! He escapes! He is yet—yet at liberty!"

The poor princess had an attack of convulsive laughter, interrupted by sobs, terrible to see and hear.

"Madame! for heaven's sake!" said the baroness, "restrain your joy! Take care lest you be heard!"

Taking up the pretended magic scroll, which was nothing but a letter in cypher from Trenck, she aided her mistress in reading it, in spite of a thousand interruptions of forced and feverish laughter.

Transcriber's Note

Chapter V of the French edition begins here. The translator combined Chapters IV and V with the chapter heading for Chapter V omitted.

"To reduce—thanks to the means which my incomparable mistress has provided for me—the subalterns of the garrison; to effect an understanding with a prisoner as fond of liberty as I am; to give a violent blow to one keeper, a kick to another, and a sword cut to a third; to leap over the rampart, throwing my friend, who did not run as fast as I did, before me (he sprained his ankle as he fell); to pick him up and run thus for fifteen minutes; to cross the Weiss, the water coming up to my waist, through a fog so thick that no one could see beyond his nose; to start from the other bank and travel all night—such a terrible night! to get lost; to go in the snow all around a mountain, without having an idea where I was; to hear the clock of the castle of Glatz strike four—that is to say, to lose time and trouble and see the city walls at dawn; to resume courage to enter a peasant's hut and, with a pistol at his head, get possession of two horses and ride rapidly away;—to regain liberty by a thousand ruses, a thousand terrors and sufferings—and then to find oneself without money or clothing, and almost without bread, in an intensely cold and a foreign country: but to see oneself free, after having been doomed to a terrible and fearful captivity; to think of one's adorable mistress; to say that this news will fill her with joy; to make a thousand bold and daring plans to see her—is to be happier than Frederick of Prussia—to be the happiest of men—the elect of Providence!"

Such was the tenor of the letter of Frederick von Trenck to the Princess Amelia; and the ease with which Madame von Kleist read it proved to Porporina, who was much surprised and moved, that this correspondence in cypher was very familiar to them. There was a postscript to this effect:—

"The person who will give you this letter is as trustworthy as the others were not. You may confide in her without reserve, and give her all your letters for me. The Count de Saint Germain can contrive a means to enable her to send them, though it is altogether unnecessary that the said count, in whom I have not the fullest confidence, should ever hear of you. He will think me in love with Porporina, though such is not the case, for I have not entertained for her anything but an affectionate and pure friendship. Let no cloud, then, darken the beautiful brow of the divinity I adore. For her alone do I breathe, and I would rather die than deceive her."

While the Baroness von Kleist deciphered aloud this postscript, weighing each word, the Princess Amelia examined the features of Porporina carefully, for the purpose of discovering an expression of grief, humiliation, or mortification. The angelic serenity of this creature perfectly reassured her, and she began to overwhelm her with caresses, saying—

"And I suspected you, my poor child. You do not know how jealous I have been of you, and how I have hated and cursed you. I hoped to find you an ugly and bad actress, for the very reason that I was afraid you would be too beautiful and good. This was the reason that my brother, fearing that I would be acquainted with you, though he pretended to wish to bring you to my concerts, took care to let me hear a report that at Vienna you had been Trenck's mistress. He was well aware that in that manner he would best contrive to alienate me from you. I believed all this, while you devoted yourself to the greatest dangers to bring me this happy news. You do not love the king? Ah! you are frightened: he is the most perverse and cruel of men."

"Ah! madame!—madame!" said the Baroness von Kleist, terrified at the abandoned and mad volubility with which the princess spoke before Porporina, "to what dangers you would now expose yourself, were not the signora an angel of courage and devotion!"

"That is true. I am mad! I think I have lost my head! Shut the doors, Von Kleist, and see if any one in the antechamber has heard me. As for her," said the princess, pointing to Porporina, "look and see if it be possible to suspect such a face as hers? No, no; I am not so imprudent as I seem to be, dear Porporina. Do not think I speak frankly because I am crazed, and will repent when I am calm. I have an infallible instinct, you see. My eyes are infallible, and have never deceived me. This is a family peculiarity; and though my brother the king is vain of it, he possesses it in no higher degree than I do. No; you will not deceive me. I know you will not deceive a woman who is devoured by an unfortunate passion, and has suffered what people can form no idea of."

"Oh, madame, never!" said Porporina, and she knelt before her, as if to call God to witness her oath. "Neither you nor Trenck, who saved my life, nor any one else."

"He saved your life? Ah! I am sure he has done as much for many others, he is so brave, good, and handsome. You did not look very closely at him, otherwise you would have fallen in love. Is not this the case? You will tell me how you met him, and how he saved your life. Not now, however. I cannot listen, but must speak to you, for my heart is overflowing. Long since it has been drying up in my bosom. I wish to speak—I must speak—let me alone, Von Kleist—my joy must find an utterance or my heart will burst. Shut the doors, however, and watch. Take care of me—pity me, my poor friends, for I am very happy!" The princess wept.

"You must know," said she, after the lapse of a few minutes, her voice being half-stifled by tears, with an agitation which nothing could calm, "that from the first time I saw I was pleased with him. He was then eighteen years of age and beautiful as an angel. He was so well educated, so frank and so brave. They washed to marry me to the king of Sweden. Ah! yes; and my sister Ulrica wept with mortification when she saw I was about to become a queen, while she was unmarried. 'My dear sister,' said I, 'we can arrange matters. The great men who rule over Sweden, wish a Catholic queen, and I will make no abjuration. They wish a good queen, indolent, calm, and careless of all politics. Now, were I queen, I would reign. I shall express my opinion decidedly on these points to the ambassadors, and you will see that to-morrow they will write to their prince that I am not such a queen as Sweden needs.' I acted as I said I would, and my sister is queen of Sweden. Ah! Porporina, you think you are an actress. You do not know, however, what it is to play a part all one's life, morning, day, evening, and often by night. All who surround us, are busy in watching and spying us out, in guessing at and in betraying us. I have been forced to seem sad and mortified, when by my exertions my sister sprang into the throne of Sweden. I have been forced to seem to detest Trenck, to think him ridiculous, and to laugh at him. Yet all the time, I loved and adored him. I was his mistress, and was as much stifled with happiness as I am now—far more so, alas!—Trenck, however, had not my strength and courage. He was not of a princely house, and did not know how to feign and lie as I did. The king discovered all; and following the royal rule, pretended to see nothing. He persecuted Trenck, however, and the handsome page became the victim of his hatred and fury. He overwhelmed him by severity and hardship. He kept him in arrest seven days out of every eight. On the eighth day, however, he was in my arms, for nothing terrified or alarmed him. How could I not adore so much courage? Well, the king confided a foreign mission to him, and when he had discharged it with rare skill, my brother was base enough to accuse him of having sold basely to his cousin, the Pandour, who is in the service of Maria Theresa, plans of our fortifications and warlike plans. This was a means not only to bear him from me into endless captivity, but to disgrace and murder him by chagrin, despair, and rage, amid the horrors of a dungeon. See whether I can esteem or honor my brother. He is a great man, they say, but I tell you he is a monster. Take care, my child, how you love him, for he will crush your heart as he would snap a twig. You must, however, pretend—seem to do so. In such an atmosphere as that in which you live, you must breathe in secret. I seem to adore my brother—I am his best-beloved sister—all know or think they know. He is very attentive to me, gathering fruit for me from the espaliers of Sans Souci, depriving himself, and he loves nothing else, to gratify me. Before he gives them to the page to bring, he counts them lest the lad should eat a portion on the way. What a delicate attention! It is naïveté worthy of Henry IV. or King René. He, however, murders my lover in an underground dungeon, and seeks to dishonor him in my eyes as a punishment for having loved me. What a great heart! what a kind brother! How we love each other!"

As she spoke, the princess grew pale, her voice became feeble, her eyes became fixed and ready to start from their orbits, and she became livid and motionless, She was unconscious. Porporina was much terrified, and aided the baroness to unlace and put her to bed, where she gradually recovered her senses, continuing the while to murmur unintelligible words. "The attack will soon pass away, thank heaven," said the favorite to the singer. "When she can control herself I will call her women. You, my dear, must go into the music-room, and sing to the walls, or rather to the antechamber's ears. The king will certainly know that you are here, and you must seem to be occupied by music alone. The princess will be sick, and thus will hide her joy. Neither she nor you must seem to be aware of the escape of Trenck. It is certain that the king is now aware of it, and will be in a terrible bad humor, suspecting every one. Be careful, then. You as well as I will be lost, if he discover that you gave that letter to the princess. Women as well as men are sent to fortresses in Prussia. There they are intentionally forgotten, and die as men do. You are now on your guard, adieu. Sing, and go without noise and without mystery. Eight days, at least, will pass before we see you, lest there be any suspicions. Rely on the gratitude of the princess. She is nobly liberal, and knows how to reward those who have served her."

"Alas!" madame, said Porporina, "think you that promises or menaces are heeded by me? I pity you for having entertained such an idea."

Crushed with fatigue after the violent emotions she had undergone, and not yet recovered from the illness of the day before, Porporina sat down to the instrument, and was beginning to sing, when a door was opened behind her so softly that she did not perceive it. Suddenly, she saw in the glass before her the figure of the king. She trembled, and wished to leave, but the king placed one of his dry fingers on her shoulder, forced her to sit still and continue. With much repugnance and indisposition, she continued. She never felt less disposed to sing, and on no occasion had the appearance of Frederick seemed so icy and repugnant to musical inspiration.

When she had finished the piece, he said it was admirably sung. She had, however, remarked that he had gone on tiptoe and listened at his sister's chamber door. "I observe, with distress," added he, "that your beautiful voice is much changed this morning. You should have rested, instead of yielding to the strange whim of Amelia, and coming hither, after all, not to be listened to."

"Her royal highness became suddenly indisposed," said Porporina, terrified at the dark and thoughtful air of the king. "They told me to sing, to distract her attention."

"I assure you it is labor lost," said Frederick, drily. "She chats in there with the Baroness von Kleist, just as if nothing was the matter. As that is the case, we may also chat together without attending to them. The illness of the princess is not great. I think your sex are easily cured of diseases of this kind. You were thought dead, yesterday, and none certainly suspected that you would have been here this morning to divert and amuse my sister. Will you be kind enough to tell me why you came so unexpectedly to this place?"

Porporina was amazed at this question, and asked heaven to inspire her.

"Sire," said she, boldly as she could, "I can scarcely do so. I was asked this morning for this music. I thought it my duty to bring it in person. I expected to place the books in the antechamber and return as soon as I could. The Baroness von Kleist saw me, and mentioned the fact to her royal highness, who apparently wished to see me closely. I was forced to come in. Her highness deigned to question me about the style of various musical compositions: then feeling indisposed, she bade me sing this while she went to bed. Now, I think I may be permitted to go to rehearsal."

"It is not time yet." said the king. "I do not see why your feet should step to run away when I wish to speak with you."

"The reason is, that when with your majesty, I always feel as if I were not in my sphere."

"You have no common sense."

"That is yet another reason."

"You will remain," said he, forcing her to sit down to the piano, and placing himself in front of her. He then began to examine her, with an air half inquisitorial and half paternal.

"Is what you have said true?"

Porporina overcame the horror she entertained for falsehood. She had often said that for her own sake she would be sincere with this terrible man, but that she would not hesitate to tell an untruth if the safety of others were concerned. Unexpectedly she had reached this crisis, when her master's kindness might change into fury. She would willingly have run the risk of the latter, rather than be false. The fate of Trenck and the princess, however, depended on her presence of mind and determination. She called the arts of her profession to her aid, and with a malicious smile met the eagle eye of the king, which, at that moment glared like a vulture's.

"Well," said the king, "why do you not answer me?"

"Why does your majesty seek to terrify me by doubting what I have said?"

"You are not at all afraid. On the contrary, I find your glance today hardy indeed."

"Sire, we fear only the things we hate. Why do you wish me to fear you?"

Frederick erected all the scales of his crocodile armor, to avoid being moved by this reply, the most coquettish he had ever obtained from Porporina. He at once changed his intention: a great art it is to do so, and far more difficult than people usually think.

"Why did you faint yesterday at the theatre?"

"Sire, it is of the least possible interest to your majesty. It is my own secret."

"What had you at breakfast this morning, which makes you so unconcerned in your language?"

"I had recourse to a certain flacon, which filled me with confidence in the kindness and justice of him who brought it."

"Ah! you considered that a declaration," said the king in the most icy manner and with a smile of cynical disdain.

"Thank God! I did not," said the young girl, with an expression of sincere sorrow.

"Why thank God?"

"Because I know your majesty makes none but declarations of war even to women."

"You are neither the Czarina, nor Maria Theresa: what war can I wage on you?"

"That of the lion on the wasp."

"What wasp induces you to quote such a fable? The wasp killed the lion by stinging him to death."

"It was certainly a poor, bad-tempered lion, and consequently weak. I should not have thought of that apologue."

"But the wasp was angry and fond of stinging. Perhaps the apologue is apropos?"

"Does your majesty think so?"

"Yes."

"Sire, you say what is not true."

Frederick took the young girl's wrist and pressed it convulsively, until he had nearly crushed it. This strange act was caused both by anger and love. Porporina did not change her countenance, and the king said, as he looked at her red and swollen hand:

"You are a woman of courage."

"Not so, sire: but I do not, like those around you, pretend to be a coward."

"What mean you?"

"That to avoid death, people often kill themselves. Were I in your place, I would not wish to be so terrible."

"With whom are you in love?" said the king, again changing the subject.

"With no one, sire."

"Then, why have you nervous attacks?"

"That has nothing to do with the fate of Prussia, and for that reason the king need ask no questions."

"Think you it is the king who speaks?"

"I cannot forget."

"Yet you must make up your mind to do so. You did not save the king's life, signorina."

"I have not yet seen the Baron von Kreutz."

"Is that a reproach? It is unjust. Not the king but the Baron von Kreutz enquired after your health, yesterday."

"The distinction, baron, is too subtle for me."

"Well, try and learn. Look: when I put my hat on my head thus, a little to the left, I am a captain; when I place it thus, to the right, I am king. You will, as the case may be, appear either Porporina or Consuelo."

"I understand, sire. That, however, is impossible. Your majesty may be double, if you please, be triple, or hundred fold, I can be but one."

"That is not true. You would not speak to me at the theatre, among your companions, as you do here."

"Do not be too sure, sire."

"Ah! the devil is in you to-day."

"The reason is, that your majesty's hat is neither to the left nor to the right. I do not know to whom I speak."

The king, overcome by the attraction, which at this moment especially he felt towards Porporina, placed his hat so extremely on his left side, that his face became really comic in its expression. He wished to play the simple mortal and the king, in an hour of relaxation, as well as possible. Suddenly, however, he remembered that he had come, not for amusement, but to discover the secrets of the Abbess of Quedlimburgh, and took off his hat with an air of deep chagrin. The smile died on his lips, his brow became dark, and he rose up, saying to the young girl, "Remain here, I will come for you." He then went into the Princess's room, who waited tremblingly for him. The Baroness von Kleist, seeing that he was talking with Porporina, had not dared to leave the bed of the Princess. She had made vain efforts to hear this conversation, but in consequence of the size of the room, had not heard a single word. She was more dead than alive.

Porporina also trembled at what was about to take place. Ordinarily grave and respectful to the king, she had done violence to her habits for the purpose of amusing him, and adopted the most coquettish frankness in her replies to the dangerous questions she had asked. Frederick, however, was not the man to give up his point, and the efforts of the young girl gave way before the despot's determination. She recommended the Princess Amelia to God's mercy, for she was well aware that the king forced her to remain to confront her explanations with those he was listening to in the next room. She had the less doubt from the careful manner with which he closed the door after he had passed it. For a quarter of an hour, she was in the most painful excitement, troubled with fever, terrified at the intrigue with which she was enwrapped, and dissatisfied with the part she had been forced to play, recalling at the time with terror the insinuations she began to hear from all quarters, at the possibility of the king's love, which she compared with the agitation the king had displayed by his strange manners.