Chapter XV. - THE CONFESSION.
Barbarina entered this room with peculiar feelings; her heart trembled, her pulses beat quickly. She, whose glance was usually so proud, so victorious, looked up now timidly, almost fearfully, to the king. He had never appeared to her so handsome, so imposing as in this moment. Silently she took her place upon the divan to which he led her. Frederick seated himself directly in front of her.
„This is the second time,“ said the king, with a smile, a the second time, signora, that I have had the honor to be alone with you. On the first occasion you swore to me that you would hate the King of Prussia with an everlasting hatred.“
„I said that to your majesty when I did not recognize you,“ said Barbarina.
„Had you known me, signora, you would surely not have spoken so frankly. Unhappily, the world has silently resolved never to speak the truth to kings. You avowed your resolution, therefore, at that time, because you did not know you were speaking to the king. Oh, signora, I have not forgotten your words. I know that you pray to God every day; not for your own happiness, as all chance of that has been destroyed by this cruel king; but for revenge on this man, who has no heart, and treads the hearts of other men under his feet.“
„Your majesty is cruel,“ whispered Barbarina.
„Cruel! why? I only repeat your words. Cruel, because I cannot forget! The words of Barbarina cannot be forgotten. In that respect at least I am like other men.“
„And in that respect should your majesty the least resemble them. The little windspiel may revenge its injuries, but the eagle forgives, and soars aloft so high in the heavens that the poor offender is no longer seen and soon forgotten. Your majesty is like the eagle, why can you not also forget?“
„I cannot and I will not! I remind you of that hour, because I wish to ask now for the same frankness of speech. I wish to hear the truth once more from those proud lips. Barbarina, will you tell me the truth?“
„Yes, on condition that your majesty promises to forget the past.“
„I promise not to remind you of it.“
„I thank your majesty; I will speak the truth.“
„You swear it?“
„I swear it.“
„Well, then, why did you wound your foot?“
Barbarina trembled and was silent; she had not the courage to raise her eyes from the floor.
„The truth!“ said the king, imperiously.
„The truth,“ repeated Barbarina, resolved, and she raised her flashing eyes to the king; „I will speak the truth. I wounded my foot, because--“
„Because,“ said the king, interrupting her fiercely, „because you knew it was a happiness, a life's joy to the poor, lonely, wearied king to see you dance; because you felt that your appearance was to him as the first golden rays of the sun to one who has been buried alive, and who bursts the bonds of the dark grave. You hate me so unrelentingly, that even on the evening of my return from an exhausting and dangerous journey, you cruelly resolved to disappoint me. I hastened to the theatre to see you, Barbarina, you, you alone; but your cruel and revengeful heart was without pity. You thought of nothing but your pride, and rejoiced in the power to grieve a king, at the sound of whose voice thousands tremble. Your smiles vanished, your enchanting gayety was suppressed, and you seemed to become insensible. With the art of a tragedian, you assumed a sudden illness, resolved that the hated king should not see you dance. Ah! Barbarina, that was a small, a pitiful role! leave such arts to the chambermaids of the stage. You are refined in your wickedness; you are inexorable in your hate. Not satisfied with this pretended swoon, the next evening you wounded yourself; you were proud to suffer, in order to revenge yourself upon me. You knew that a swoon must pass away, but a wounded foot is a grave accident; its consequences might be serious. The king had returned to Berlin, and had only a few days to refresh himself, after the cares and exhaustions of a dangerous journey; after his departure you would be able to dance again. Ah! signora, you are a true daughter of Italy; you understand how to hate, and your thirst for vengeance is unquenchable! Well, I give you joy! I will fill your heart with rapture. You have sworn to hate me; you pray to God to revenge you upon the King of Prussia who has trampled your heart under his feet. Now, then, Barbarina, triumph! you are revenged. The king has a heart, and you have wounded it mortally!“
Completely unmanned, the king sprang to his feet, and stepped to the window, wishing to conceal his emotion from Barbarina. Suddenly he felt his shoulder lightly touched, and turning, he saw Barbarina before him, more proud, more beautiful, more queenly than he had ever seen her; energy and high resolve spoke in her face and in her flashing eyes.
„Sire,“ she said, in a full, mellow voice, which slightly trembled from strong emotion--“sire,“ she repeated, trying to veil her agitation by outward calm, „I have sworn in this hour to speak the truth; I will fulfil my vow. I will speak the truth, though you may scorn and despise me. I will die of your contempt as one dies of a quick and deadly poison; but it is better so to die than to live as I am living. You shall know me better, sire. You have charged me with falsehood and hypocrisy; thank God, I can cast off that humiliating reproach! I will speak the truth, though it bows my head with shame and casts me at your feet. If I could die there, I would count myself most blessed. The truth, sire, the truth! listen to it. It is true I hated you: you humbled my pride. You changed me, the queen of grace and beauty, the queen of the world, into a poor, hired dancer; with your rude soldiers and police you compelled me to fulfil a contract against which my soul revolted. I cursed you. You separated me violently, from the man I loved, who adored me, and offered me a splendid and glorious future. It is true I prayed to God for vengeance, but He would not hear my prayer; He punished me for my mad folly, and turned the dagger I wildly aimed at you, against my own breast. Sire, the hate to which I swore, to which I clung as the ship-wrecked mariner clings to the plank which may save him from destruction, failed me in the hour of need, and I sank, sank down. A day came in which the prayer of rage and revenge upon my lips was changed, in spite of myself, into blessings, and I found, with consternation and horror, that there was indeed but one step between wild hatred and passionate love, and this fatal step lies over an abyss. I cannot tell you, sire, how much I have suffered--how vainly I have struggled. I have hated, I have cursed myself because I could no longer hate and curse you. The day you left for Silesia, you said, 'I think ever of thee.' Oh! sire, you know not what fatal poison you poured into my ears, with what rapture and enchantment these words filled my heart. My life was a dream; I stood under a golden canopy, drunk with joy and blessed with heavenly peace. I saw these words, 'I think ever of thee,' not only in my heart, but in every flower, on every leaf, and written by the sun in the heavens, and in the stars. I dreamed of them as one dreams of fairy palaces and heavenly melodies. In the songs of sweet birds, in the plaudits and bravos with which the world greeted me, I heard only these celestial words, 'I think ever of thee.' I lived upon them during your absence, I wrote them with my glances upon your empty chair in the theatre, I fixed my eyes upon it, and for love of you I danced to it. One night I saw in this chair, not only my golden starry words, I saw two stars from heaven; I was not prepared--their glance was fatal. No, sire, that was no miserable comedy, no actor's work. I sank unconscious, and from that hour I know one does not die from rapture, but sinks insensible. I wept the whole night, God knows whether from shame or bliss, I cannot tell. The next day--yes--then I was false and deceitful. I stuck my stiletto in my foot, to deceive the world; only God might know that the Barbarina fainted at the sight of the king--fainted because she felt that she no longer hated, but worshipped him.“
She rushed to the door, but Frederick sprang after her; he drew her back, madly but silently; his eyes were radiant with joy.
„Remain,“ said he; „I command you--I, not the king.“ He placed his lips to her ear and whispered two words: her soft cheeks were crimson.
At this moment there was a knock upon the door, the portiere was thrown back, and the wan, suffering face of Fredersdorf was seen.
„Sire,“ said he, „your majesty commanded me to summon Baron Swartz; he is here, and waits for your orders.“
„Let him enter,“ said the king; then smiling upon Barbarina, he said, „He comes just in time; we must sign our contract, Swartz shall act as our priest.“
He advanced to meet the intendant, and asked for the contract between Barbarina and himself. He read it carefully, and said, „There are only a few things to alter.“ He stepped to his desk and added a few words to the contract.
„Signora,“ said he, turning backward, „will you come here for a moment?“
Barbarina, embarrassed and blushing, drew near. In the back part of the room stood Baron Swartz, watching the king and Barbarina with a sly smile; near him stood Fredersdorf, whose pale and melancholy face was brought out in strong relief by the dark velvet portiere.
„Read this,“ said the king to Barbarina, pointing to the words he had just written. „Have you read?“
„Yes, sire.“
Frederick raised his head, and slightly turning, his glowing glance rested upon Barbarina, who, ashamed and confused, cast her eyes to the ground.
„Will you sign this?“
„I will, sire,“ said she, almost inaudibly.
„You bind yourself to remain here for three years, and not to marry during that time?“ [Footnote: By this contract, Barbarina received an income of seven thousand thalers and five months' liberty during each year; but she was bound not to marry during this term of three years.--SCHNEIDER.]
„I do, sire.“
„Take the pen and sign our contract.--Come forward, Swartz, and witness this document.--Fredersdorf, is your seal at hand?“
The contract was ready.
„You will say, 'This is a sad contract,'„ said the king, turning to Fredersdorf.
„Yes, sad indeed. The king deals as cruelly with the Barbarina as he has done with his poor secretary. This cold king does not believe in marriage.“
„No, no! Fredersdorf, I will prove to you that you are mistaken. I have been told that you are ill because I will not allow you to marry. Now, then, Fredersdorf, I will not be hard-hearted. I have to-day made an innocent sacrifice to my hatred of matrimony. The signora has bound herself not to marry for three years. For her sake, I will be gracious to you: go and marry the woman you love, and when the priest has made you one, you shall take your wife to Paris for the honeymoon, at my cost.“
Fredersdorf seized the hand of the king, kissed it, and covered it with his tears. Barbarina gazed at the handsome, glowing face of Frederick with admiration. She understood him fully; she felt that he was happy, and wished all around him to partake of his joy.
„This is the second time,“ said the king, with a smile, a the second time, signora, that I have had the honor to be alone with you. On the first occasion you swore to me that you would hate the King of Prussia with an everlasting hatred.“
„I said that to your majesty when I did not recognize you,“ said Barbarina.
„Had you known me, signora, you would surely not have spoken so frankly. Unhappily, the world has silently resolved never to speak the truth to kings. You avowed your resolution, therefore, at that time, because you did not know you were speaking to the king. Oh, signora, I have not forgotten your words. I know that you pray to God every day; not for your own happiness, as all chance of that has been destroyed by this cruel king; but for revenge on this man, who has no heart, and treads the hearts of other men under his feet.“
„Your majesty is cruel,“ whispered Barbarina.
„Cruel! why? I only repeat your words. Cruel, because I cannot forget! The words of Barbarina cannot be forgotten. In that respect at least I am like other men.“
„And in that respect should your majesty the least resemble them. The little windspiel may revenge its injuries, but the eagle forgives, and soars aloft so high in the heavens that the poor offender is no longer seen and soon forgotten. Your majesty is like the eagle, why can you not also forget?“
„I cannot and I will not! I remind you of that hour, because I wish to ask now for the same frankness of speech. I wish to hear the truth once more from those proud lips. Barbarina, will you tell me the truth?“
„Yes, on condition that your majesty promises to forget the past.“
„I promise not to remind you of it.“
„I thank your majesty; I will speak the truth.“
„You swear it?“
„I swear it.“
„Well, then, why did you wound your foot?“
Barbarina trembled and was silent; she had not the courage to raise her eyes from the floor.
„The truth!“ said the king, imperiously.
„The truth,“ repeated Barbarina, resolved, and she raised her flashing eyes to the king; „I will speak the truth. I wounded my foot, because--“
„Because,“ said the king, interrupting her fiercely, „because you knew it was a happiness, a life's joy to the poor, lonely, wearied king to see you dance; because you felt that your appearance was to him as the first golden rays of the sun to one who has been buried alive, and who bursts the bonds of the dark grave. You hate me so unrelentingly, that even on the evening of my return from an exhausting and dangerous journey, you cruelly resolved to disappoint me. I hastened to the theatre to see you, Barbarina, you, you alone; but your cruel and revengeful heart was without pity. You thought of nothing but your pride, and rejoiced in the power to grieve a king, at the sound of whose voice thousands tremble. Your smiles vanished, your enchanting gayety was suppressed, and you seemed to become insensible. With the art of a tragedian, you assumed a sudden illness, resolved that the hated king should not see you dance. Ah! Barbarina, that was a small, a pitiful role! leave such arts to the chambermaids of the stage. You are refined in your wickedness; you are inexorable in your hate. Not satisfied with this pretended swoon, the next evening you wounded yourself; you were proud to suffer, in order to revenge yourself upon me. You knew that a swoon must pass away, but a wounded foot is a grave accident; its consequences might be serious. The king had returned to Berlin, and had only a few days to refresh himself, after the cares and exhaustions of a dangerous journey; after his departure you would be able to dance again. Ah! signora, you are a true daughter of Italy; you understand how to hate, and your thirst for vengeance is unquenchable! Well, I give you joy! I will fill your heart with rapture. You have sworn to hate me; you pray to God to revenge you upon the King of Prussia who has trampled your heart under his feet. Now, then, Barbarina, triumph! you are revenged. The king has a heart, and you have wounded it mortally!“
Completely unmanned, the king sprang to his feet, and stepped to the window, wishing to conceal his emotion from Barbarina. Suddenly he felt his shoulder lightly touched, and turning, he saw Barbarina before him, more proud, more beautiful, more queenly than he had ever seen her; energy and high resolve spoke in her face and in her flashing eyes.
„Sire,“ she said, in a full, mellow voice, which slightly trembled from strong emotion--“sire,“ she repeated, trying to veil her agitation by outward calm, „I have sworn in this hour to speak the truth; I will fulfil my vow. I will speak the truth, though you may scorn and despise me. I will die of your contempt as one dies of a quick and deadly poison; but it is better so to die than to live as I am living. You shall know me better, sire. You have charged me with falsehood and hypocrisy; thank God, I can cast off that humiliating reproach! I will speak the truth, though it bows my head with shame and casts me at your feet. If I could die there, I would count myself most blessed. The truth, sire, the truth! listen to it. It is true I hated you: you humbled my pride. You changed me, the queen of grace and beauty, the queen of the world, into a poor, hired dancer; with your rude soldiers and police you compelled me to fulfil a contract against which my soul revolted. I cursed you. You separated me violently, from the man I loved, who adored me, and offered me a splendid and glorious future. It is true I prayed to God for vengeance, but He would not hear my prayer; He punished me for my mad folly, and turned the dagger I wildly aimed at you, against my own breast. Sire, the hate to which I swore, to which I clung as the ship-wrecked mariner clings to the plank which may save him from destruction, failed me in the hour of need, and I sank, sank down. A day came in which the prayer of rage and revenge upon my lips was changed, in spite of myself, into blessings, and I found, with consternation and horror, that there was indeed but one step between wild hatred and passionate love, and this fatal step lies over an abyss. I cannot tell you, sire, how much I have suffered--how vainly I have struggled. I have hated, I have cursed myself because I could no longer hate and curse you. The day you left for Silesia, you said, 'I think ever of thee.' Oh! sire, you know not what fatal poison you poured into my ears, with what rapture and enchantment these words filled my heart. My life was a dream; I stood under a golden canopy, drunk with joy and blessed with heavenly peace. I saw these words, 'I think ever of thee,' not only in my heart, but in every flower, on every leaf, and written by the sun in the heavens, and in the stars. I dreamed of them as one dreams of fairy palaces and heavenly melodies. In the songs of sweet birds, in the plaudits and bravos with which the world greeted me, I heard only these celestial words, 'I think ever of thee.' I lived upon them during your absence, I wrote them with my glances upon your empty chair in the theatre, I fixed my eyes upon it, and for love of you I danced to it. One night I saw in this chair, not only my golden starry words, I saw two stars from heaven; I was not prepared--their glance was fatal. No, sire, that was no miserable comedy, no actor's work. I sank unconscious, and from that hour I know one does not die from rapture, but sinks insensible. I wept the whole night, God knows whether from shame or bliss, I cannot tell. The next day--yes--then I was false and deceitful. I stuck my stiletto in my foot, to deceive the world; only God might know that the Barbarina fainted at the sight of the king--fainted because she felt that she no longer hated, but worshipped him.“
She rushed to the door, but Frederick sprang after her; he drew her back, madly but silently; his eyes were radiant with joy.
„Remain,“ said he; „I command you--I, not the king.“ He placed his lips to her ear and whispered two words: her soft cheeks were crimson.
At this moment there was a knock upon the door, the portiere was thrown back, and the wan, suffering face of Fredersdorf was seen.
„Sire,“ said he, „your majesty commanded me to summon Baron Swartz; he is here, and waits for your orders.“
„Let him enter,“ said the king; then smiling upon Barbarina, he said, „He comes just in time; we must sign our contract, Swartz shall act as our priest.“
He advanced to meet the intendant, and asked for the contract between Barbarina and himself. He read it carefully, and said, „There are only a few things to alter.“ He stepped to his desk and added a few words to the contract.
„Signora,“ said he, turning backward, „will you come here for a moment?“
Barbarina, embarrassed and blushing, drew near. In the back part of the room stood Baron Swartz, watching the king and Barbarina with a sly smile; near him stood Fredersdorf, whose pale and melancholy face was brought out in strong relief by the dark velvet portiere.
„Read this,“ said the king to Barbarina, pointing to the words he had just written. „Have you read?“
„Yes, sire.“
Frederick raised his head, and slightly turning, his glowing glance rested upon Barbarina, who, ashamed and confused, cast her eyes to the ground.
„Will you sign this?“
„I will, sire,“ said she, almost inaudibly.
„You bind yourself to remain here for three years, and not to marry during that time?“ [Footnote: By this contract, Barbarina received an income of seven thousand thalers and five months' liberty during each year; but she was bound not to marry during this term of three years.--SCHNEIDER.]
„I do, sire.“
„Take the pen and sign our contract.--Come forward, Swartz, and witness this document.--Fredersdorf, is your seal at hand?“
The contract was ready.
„You will say, 'This is a sad contract,'„ said the king, turning to Fredersdorf.
„Yes, sad indeed. The king deals as cruelly with the Barbarina as he has done with his poor secretary. This cold king does not believe in marriage.“
„No, no! Fredersdorf, I will prove to you that you are mistaken. I have been told that you are ill because I will not allow you to marry. Now, then, Fredersdorf, I will not be hard-hearted. I have to-day made an innocent sacrifice to my hatred of matrimony. The signora has bound herself not to marry for three years. For her sake, I will be gracious to you: go and marry the woman you love, and when the priest has made you one, you shall take your wife to Paris for the honeymoon, at my cost.“
Fredersdorf seized the hand of the king, kissed it, and covered it with his tears. Barbarina gazed at the handsome, glowing face of Frederick with admiration. She understood him fully; she felt that he was happy, and wished all around him to partake of his joy.
Dieses Kapitel ist Teil des Buches Berlin and Sans-Souci; or, Frederick the Great and his friends. Book II.