Chapter XI. - THE PRINCESS ROYAL ELIZABETH CHRISTINE.
The princess royal had not yet left her rooms; she still waited for the prince, whose custom it was to give her his arm every morning and lead her to the saloon. On these occasions only did the Princess Elizabeth ever see her husband alone, then only did he address one word to her, touch her hand, or allow her to lean upon his arm. A sweet and sad happiness for this young wife, who lived only in the light of her husband's countenance; who had no other wish, no other prayer, no other hope than to please him. She felt that the eye of Frederick never rested upon her with any other expression than that of cold friendship or absolute indifference. The reason for this she could never fathom. Elizabeth would have given her heart's blood to be beloved by him for one single day, yes, for one short, blessed hour; to be clasped to his heart, not for form or etiquette, but as a loving and beloved wife, to receive in her ear the sweet whispers of his tenderness and his fondness. She would have given years of her life to have bought this man, whom she so passionately loved; he was her earthly god, the ideal of her maiden dreams. This man was her husband; he belonged to her; he was bound to her by the holiest ties, and yet there was an impassable gulf between them, which her unbounded love, her prayers, her sighs, could not bridge over. The prince loved her not; never had the slightest pulse of his heart belonged to her! He endured her, only endured her by his side, as the poor prisoner, sighing for fresh air, permits the presence of the jailer, when he can only thus buy a brief enjoyment of God's gay and sunny world. The prince royal was a prisoner, her prisoner. Not love, but FORCE had placed that golden ring upon his hand, that first link in the long, invisible heavy chain, which from that weary hour had bound his feet, yes, his soul; from which even his thoughts were never free. Elizabeth knew that she was an ever-present, bitter memento of his sad, crushed, tortured, and humbled youth--a constant reminder of the noble friend of his early years, whose blood had been shed for him, and to whose last wild death-cry his tortured heart had been compelled to listen. Her presence must ever recall the scorn, the hatred, the opposition of his stern father; the hardships, the abuse, the humiliations, yes, even the blows, all of which had at last bowed the noble mind of the prince and led him to take upon himself the slavery of this hated marriage, in order to be free from the scorn and cruelty of his father. To escape from his dreary prison in Ruppin, he rushed into the bonds of wedlock. How could he ever forgive, how could he ever love this woman forced upon him, like drops of wormwood, and swallowed only with the hope of thereby escaping the torturous pains and last struggles with death?
Elizabeth had been ignorant of all these bitter truths. The prince had been ever considerate and kind, though cold, when they met: she had had one single confidential interview with him, and in that hour he had disclosed to her what had forced them together, and at the same time forever separated them. Never could he love the wife associated in his mind, though innocently, with such cruelties and horrors; he was fully convinced that she, also, could not love a husband thus forced upon her; could entertain no feeling for him but that of respectful consideration and cold indifference.
Frederick did not know with what deadly wounds these words had pierced the princess; she had the strength to veil her passion and her shame with smiles, and in her modest maidenly pride she buried both in her heart. Since that interview years had gone by, and every year the love of the princess royal for her husband became more ardent; his eyes were the sun which warmed and strengthened this flower of love, and her tears were the dew which nourished and gave it vitality.
Elizabeth hoped still to ravish the heart of her husband; she yet believed that her resigned, modest, but proud and great love, might conquer his coldness; and yet, in spite of this hope, in spite of this future trust, Elizabeth trembled and feared more than formerly. She knew that the hour of decision was drawing nigh; she felt with the instinct of true love that a new storm was rising on the ever-clouded horizon of her marriage, and that the lightning might soon destroy her.
Frederick had been forced by the power of the king, his father, to marry her; how would it be when this power should cease, when her husband should be king? by no one held back; by no one controlled; free himself, and free to give laws to the world; to acknowledge no man as his judge; to be restrained by nothing but his conscience. Might not even his conscience counsel him to dissolve this unnatural marriage, which had within itself no spark of God's truth, no ray of God's blessing? might not her husband cast her off and take this English princess for his wife? had she not been the choice of his heart? had not King George, although too late, declared his willingness for the betrothal? had they not loved each other with the enthusiasm of youth, although they had never met? did not Sophia Amelia's portrait hang in the library of the crown prince? did not the English princess wear his picture constantly near her heart? had she not sworn never to be the wife of another man?
As Elizabeth thought of these things she trembled, and it seemed to her that her whole life would go out in one great cry of anguish and horror.
„No,“ she said, „I cannot live without him! I will never consent! he can kill me, but he cannot force me to break the solemn oath I have sworn on God's holy altar. He shall not cast me out into the wild wilderness, as Abram did Hagar, and choose another wife!“
He could not force her to leave him, but he could beseech her, and Elizabeth knew full well there was nothing in the world she could refuse to her husband, which he would condescend so far as to entreat; for one loving, grateful word from his lips, she would give him her heart's blood, drop by drop; for one tender embrace, one passionate kiss, she would lay down her life joyfully. But she would not believe in this separation; she would yet escape this unblessed fate--would find a way to his love, his sympathy, at least to his pity.
It was a struggle for life, for happiness, for her future, yes, even for honor; for a divorced wife, even a princess, bears ever a stain upon her fair name, and walks lonely, unpitied, ever despised through the world.
For these reasons the poor princess of late redoubled her efforts to please her husband; she entered more frequently into the gayeties of the court circle, and sometimes even took part in the frivolous and rather free jests of her husband's evening parties; sometimes she was rewarded by a smile and a glance of applause from Frederick. This was for Elizabeth the noblest jewel in her martyr crown of love, more costly, more precious than all her pearls and diamonds.
To-day one of these joyous and unrestrained circles was to meet. The prince loved these fetes; he was more charming, witty, talented, and unrestrained, than any of his guests. Princess Elizabeth resolved to be no quiet silent member of this circle to-day; she would force her husband to look upon her and admire her; she would be more beautiful than all the other ladies of the court; more lovely than the gay and talented coquette, Madame Brandt; more entrancing than the genial 'Tourbillon,' Madame Morien; yes, even the youthful Schwerin, with her glancing eye and glowing cheek, should not excel her.
She was also young and charming, might be admired, loved--yes, adored, not only as a princess, not only as the wife of the handsome and genial prince royal, but for her own lovely self. She had dismissed her maid, her toilet was completed, and she waited for the prince royal to lead her into the saloon. The princess stepped to the glass and examined herself, not admiringly, but curiously, searchingly. This figure in the mirror should be to her as that of a stranger to be remarked upon, and criticised coldly, even harshly; she must know if this woman might ever hope to enchain the handsome prince royal. „Yes,“ whispered she to herself, „this form is slender and not without grace; this white satin robe falls in full voluptuous folds from the slender waist over the well-made form; it contrasts well with these shoulders, of which my maids have often said 'they were white as alabaster;' with this throat, of which Madame Morien says 'it is white and graceful as the swan's.' This foot, which peeps out from the silken hem of my robe, is small and slender; this hand is fair and small and well formed. I was constrained yesterday to promise the painter Pesne to allow him to paint it for his goddess Aurora; and this face! is it ugly to look upon? No, this face is not ugly; here is a high, clear forehead; the eyebrows well formed and well placed, the eyes are large and bright, the nose is small but nobly formed, the mouth good, the lips soft and red: yes, this face is handsome. O my God! why can I not please my husband?--why will he never look upon me with admiration?“
Her head sank upon her breast, and she was lost in sad and melancholy dreams; a few cold tears dropping slowly upon her cheeks aroused her; with a rash movement, she raised her head, and shook the tears from her eyes; then looked again in the glass. „Why does not the prince love me?“ whispered she again to herself with trembling lips. „I see it, I know it! It is written in unmistakable lines in this poor face. I know why he loves me not. These great blue eyes have no fire, no soul; this mouth has no magical, alluring smile. Yes, alas! yes, that is a lovely form; but the soul fails!--a fine nature, but the power of intellect is wanting. My Father, my heavenly Father, I sleep; my soul lies dead and stiffened in the coffin with my secret sorrows; the prince could awaken it with his kisses, could breathe a new life into it by a glance.“
The princess raised her arms imploringly on high, and her trembling lips whispered, „Pygmalion, why come you not to awaken thy Galatea? Why will you not change this marble statue into a woman of flesh and blood, with heart and soul? These lips are ready to smile, to utter a cry of rapture and delight, and behind the veil of my eyes lies a soul, which one touch of thine will arouse! O Frederick! Frederick! why do you torture me? Do you not know that your wife worships, loves, adores you; that you are her salvation, her god? Oh, I know these are unholy, sinful words! what then? I am a sinner! I am ready to give my soul in exchange for thee, Frederick. Why do you not hear me?--why have not my sighs, my tears the power to bring you to my side?“
The poor, young wife sank powerless into her chair, and covering her face with her hands, wept bitterly. Gay voices and loud laughter, sounding from beneath her window, aroused her from this trance of grief.
„That is Madame Brandt and the Duke of Brunswick,“ said Elizabeth, hastening to the window, and peeping from behind the curtains into the garden. Yes, there stood the duke in lively conversation with Jordan Kaiserling Chazot, and the newly-arrived Bielfeld; but the ladies were nowhere to be seen, and the princess concluded they were already in the ante-room, and that the prince would soon join her.
„He must not see that I have wept; no one must see that.“ She breathed upon her handkerchief, and pressed its damp folds upon her eyes. „No, I will smile and be gay like Madame Brandt and Morien. I will laugh and jest, and no one shall guess that my heart is bleeding and dying with inexplicable grief. Yes, gay will I be, and smiling; so only can I please my husband.“ She gave a sad, heart-breaking laugh, which was echoed loudly and joyously in the ante-room.
Elizabeth had been ignorant of all these bitter truths. The prince had been ever considerate and kind, though cold, when they met: she had had one single confidential interview with him, and in that hour he had disclosed to her what had forced them together, and at the same time forever separated them. Never could he love the wife associated in his mind, though innocently, with such cruelties and horrors; he was fully convinced that she, also, could not love a husband thus forced upon her; could entertain no feeling for him but that of respectful consideration and cold indifference.
Frederick did not know with what deadly wounds these words had pierced the princess; she had the strength to veil her passion and her shame with smiles, and in her modest maidenly pride she buried both in her heart. Since that interview years had gone by, and every year the love of the princess royal for her husband became more ardent; his eyes were the sun which warmed and strengthened this flower of love, and her tears were the dew which nourished and gave it vitality.
Elizabeth hoped still to ravish the heart of her husband; she yet believed that her resigned, modest, but proud and great love, might conquer his coldness; and yet, in spite of this hope, in spite of this future trust, Elizabeth trembled and feared more than formerly. She knew that the hour of decision was drawing nigh; she felt with the instinct of true love that a new storm was rising on the ever-clouded horizon of her marriage, and that the lightning might soon destroy her.
Frederick had been forced by the power of the king, his father, to marry her; how would it be when this power should cease, when her husband should be king? by no one held back; by no one controlled; free himself, and free to give laws to the world; to acknowledge no man as his judge; to be restrained by nothing but his conscience. Might not even his conscience counsel him to dissolve this unnatural marriage, which had within itself no spark of God's truth, no ray of God's blessing? might not her husband cast her off and take this English princess for his wife? had she not been the choice of his heart? had not King George, although too late, declared his willingness for the betrothal? had they not loved each other with the enthusiasm of youth, although they had never met? did not Sophia Amelia's portrait hang in the library of the crown prince? did not the English princess wear his picture constantly near her heart? had she not sworn never to be the wife of another man?
As Elizabeth thought of these things she trembled, and it seemed to her that her whole life would go out in one great cry of anguish and horror.
„No,“ she said, „I cannot live without him! I will never consent! he can kill me, but he cannot force me to break the solemn oath I have sworn on God's holy altar. He shall not cast me out into the wild wilderness, as Abram did Hagar, and choose another wife!“
He could not force her to leave him, but he could beseech her, and Elizabeth knew full well there was nothing in the world she could refuse to her husband, which he would condescend so far as to entreat; for one loving, grateful word from his lips, she would give him her heart's blood, drop by drop; for one tender embrace, one passionate kiss, she would lay down her life joyfully. But she would not believe in this separation; she would yet escape this unblessed fate--would find a way to his love, his sympathy, at least to his pity.
It was a struggle for life, for happiness, for her future, yes, even for honor; for a divorced wife, even a princess, bears ever a stain upon her fair name, and walks lonely, unpitied, ever despised through the world.
For these reasons the poor princess of late redoubled her efforts to please her husband; she entered more frequently into the gayeties of the court circle, and sometimes even took part in the frivolous and rather free jests of her husband's evening parties; sometimes she was rewarded by a smile and a glance of applause from Frederick. This was for Elizabeth the noblest jewel in her martyr crown of love, more costly, more precious than all her pearls and diamonds.
To-day one of these joyous and unrestrained circles was to meet. The prince loved these fetes; he was more charming, witty, talented, and unrestrained, than any of his guests. Princess Elizabeth resolved to be no quiet silent member of this circle to-day; she would force her husband to look upon her and admire her; she would be more beautiful than all the other ladies of the court; more lovely than the gay and talented coquette, Madame Brandt; more entrancing than the genial 'Tourbillon,' Madame Morien; yes, even the youthful Schwerin, with her glancing eye and glowing cheek, should not excel her.
She was also young and charming, might be admired, loved--yes, adored, not only as a princess, not only as the wife of the handsome and genial prince royal, but for her own lovely self. She had dismissed her maid, her toilet was completed, and she waited for the prince royal to lead her into the saloon. The princess stepped to the glass and examined herself, not admiringly, but curiously, searchingly. This figure in the mirror should be to her as that of a stranger to be remarked upon, and criticised coldly, even harshly; she must know if this woman might ever hope to enchain the handsome prince royal. „Yes,“ whispered she to herself, „this form is slender and not without grace; this white satin robe falls in full voluptuous folds from the slender waist over the well-made form; it contrasts well with these shoulders, of which my maids have often said 'they were white as alabaster;' with this throat, of which Madame Morien says 'it is white and graceful as the swan's.' This foot, which peeps out from the silken hem of my robe, is small and slender; this hand is fair and small and well formed. I was constrained yesterday to promise the painter Pesne to allow him to paint it for his goddess Aurora; and this face! is it ugly to look upon? No, this face is not ugly; here is a high, clear forehead; the eyebrows well formed and well placed, the eyes are large and bright, the nose is small but nobly formed, the mouth good, the lips soft and red: yes, this face is handsome. O my God! why can I not please my husband?--why will he never look upon me with admiration?“
Her head sank upon her breast, and she was lost in sad and melancholy dreams; a few cold tears dropping slowly upon her cheeks aroused her; with a rash movement, she raised her head, and shook the tears from her eyes; then looked again in the glass. „Why does not the prince love me?“ whispered she again to herself with trembling lips. „I see it, I know it! It is written in unmistakable lines in this poor face. I know why he loves me not. These great blue eyes have no fire, no soul; this mouth has no magical, alluring smile. Yes, alas! yes, that is a lovely form; but the soul fails!--a fine nature, but the power of intellect is wanting. My Father, my heavenly Father, I sleep; my soul lies dead and stiffened in the coffin with my secret sorrows; the prince could awaken it with his kisses, could breathe a new life into it by a glance.“
The princess raised her arms imploringly on high, and her trembling lips whispered, „Pygmalion, why come you not to awaken thy Galatea? Why will you not change this marble statue into a woman of flesh and blood, with heart and soul? These lips are ready to smile, to utter a cry of rapture and delight, and behind the veil of my eyes lies a soul, which one touch of thine will arouse! O Frederick! Frederick! why do you torture me? Do you not know that your wife worships, loves, adores you; that you are her salvation, her god? Oh, I know these are unholy, sinful words! what then? I am a sinner! I am ready to give my soul in exchange for thee, Frederick. Why do you not hear me?--why have not my sighs, my tears the power to bring you to my side?“
The poor, young wife sank powerless into her chair, and covering her face with her hands, wept bitterly. Gay voices and loud laughter, sounding from beneath her window, aroused her from this trance of grief.
„That is Madame Brandt and the Duke of Brunswick,“ said Elizabeth, hastening to the window, and peeping from behind the curtains into the garden. Yes, there stood the duke in lively conversation with Jordan Kaiserling Chazot, and the newly-arrived Bielfeld; but the ladies were nowhere to be seen, and the princess concluded they were already in the ante-room, and that the prince would soon join her.
„He must not see that I have wept; no one must see that.“ She breathed upon her handkerchief, and pressed its damp folds upon her eyes. „No, I will smile and be gay like Madame Brandt and Morien. I will laugh and jest, and no one shall guess that my heart is bleeding and dying with inexplicable grief. Yes, gay will I be, and smiling; so only can I please my husband.“ She gave a sad, heart-breaking laugh, which was echoed loudly and joyously in the ante-room.
Dieses Kapitel ist Teil des Buches FREDERICK THE GREAT AND HIS COURT. Book I.