Part 37 (1/2)
Again he took up the hand-gla.s.s and regarded himself long and attentively; but this time not with vexation or ill-humor, but with the cheerful smile and dignified calm of a philosopher. He then applied himself to his writing: ”You ask how I look, dear mother. The disorder of war has made me so old, that you would hardly recognize me. My hair is quite gray on the right side of my head; my teeth break off and fall out; my face is as full of wrinkles as the furbelow of a woman's frock; my back as bent as that of a monk of La Trappe. Only my heart is unchanged; and, as long as I have breath, will preserve feelings of esteem and the most tender friends.h.i.+p toward you, good mamma.”[1]
As the king read over this description of his appearance once more, he broke into a loud, merry laugh. He then pushed the letter aside, and took up another piece of paper, and a drawing-pencil.
Silence prevailed now in the cabinet of the king. Outside was heard the monotonous tread of the sentinel, sometimes the sound of a trumpet, the neighing of a horse, or the order of some officer. The king paid no attention to all this. His ear was so accustomed to these noises, that it seemed like perfect silence to him. He was so buried in his work, that even the unwonted tumult which now arose was unperceived by him; nor did he notice that a carriage drove into the palace-yard, its post-horn sounding loud and merrily. The generals and courtiers, who were in the antechamber, noticed it all the more, because any thing was welcome to them which broke in upon the prevailing quiet; for so accustomed were they to the varied business of war, that any thing which departed from it was insupportably tedious. They drew to the window and looked with pleasure on the dusty, dirty travelling carriage, which, with its four panting post-horses, had drawn up at the entrance to the palace, and out of which descended a tall, manly figure, who went in at the palace door.
The gentlemen in the antechamber amused themselves guessing who the stranger who had just arrived could be; and they had all arrived at the unanimous conclusion that it must be the Marquis d'Argens, as the door opened, and the stranger entered. He asked for the adjutant on duty, and, as the latter was pointed out to him, he stepped toward him with an air of quiet dignity.
”I pray you announce me immediately to his majesty. Have the kindness to say to him, that I have not come hither on my private affairs, but as a delegate from the city of Berlin, with full powers from the Council and citizens, to request the honor of an audience with the king, and that I am obliged to return as speedily as possible to the capital.”
”Your name, sir?”
”I am the merchant, John Gotzkowsky.”
The serious and proud features of the aristocratic adjutant immediately relaxed, and a.s.sumed a more polite and obliging expression.
”Ah! Gotzkowsky, the rich and magnanimous merchant of Berlin--the special _protege_ of the king. I will announce you immediately to his majesty.” And the adjutant hurried through the halls and entered the boudoir of the king.
In the mean while, the generals drew near Gotzkowsky, who related to them all about the siege of Berlin, and the cruel and relentless conduct of the enemy; pressing him with questions, whether on his journey thither he had encountered or come into the vicinity of any portion of the enemy.
”You will find the king very much out of humor,” said General von Saldern; ”he has not left his study to-day, and doubtless he is occupied with very serious plans.”
”Perhaps even with the plan of a battle,” said another of the gentlemen, ”for it is said that Lacy has advanced his army, and even that Landon has left Dresden. A battle is therefore imminent, and the king is evidently drawing up his plan.”
At this moment the door of the study was opened, and the adjutant motioned to Gotzkowsky to enter. As the latter was traversing the hall, the generals cast an eager glance through the open door, anxious to see the countenance of the king, and find out from its expression whether this intolerable armistice was to be interrupted by the violent clash of arms.
In the mean time, Gotzkowsky entered the chamber of the king, and the door closed after him. He was now alone in the presence of the monarch, who was still sitting at his writing-table, making rapid strokes with his drawing-pencil on the paper before him.
”He is writing,” said Gotzkowsky to himself, ”and is perhaps in the act of drawing out the plan of the battle which the generals out there are awaiting with such joyous impatience. Yes, he is writing, and perhaps each stroke of the pen may cost the lives of hundreds of human beings.” And he did not venture by a single word or a loud breath to draw attention to his presence. On his entrance, the king had cast on him one of his sharp, penetrating glances, before whose commanding power many a general and many a brave man had quailed, and had then bent his head again over the paper.
Absolute silence prevailed for a while. Suddenly the king interrupted it, and motioned to Gotzkowsky with his hand to draw near. ”Just look and see whether that pleases you,” said he, in a friendly tone. ”You are known as a connoisseur in art, and you have proved to me that you understand painting. Look at that, and tell me whether you like it.”
What was it that the king had drawn on the paper? Was it really, as his brave generals wished, the plan of a battle soon to be fought, was it a philosophical treatise, or one of those witty and piquant epistles to which the king treated his friends? None of all these.
”A nosegay!” cried Gotzkowsky, as with unconcealed astonishment he looked now on the paper, now on the king. ”Your majesty is drawing a bouquet of flowers, and out there the gentlemen have just told me in confidence that you were busied with a plan of battle, and that the Austrians were approaching.”
”Nonsense!” said the king, shrugging his shoulders, ”that rough set out there are always anxious for war, and to be cutting and slas.h.i.+ng at each other. Don't you listen to them, but rather tell me how you like this drawing. Don't you think these roses mixed with lilies look well? But I see you wish to know what it is intended for. Well, it is for a set of porcelain which I wish to have painted for the Marquis d'Argens.” And, as he met Gotzkowsky's looks, he continued with a friendly smile: ”Yes, you see, you are rich; you can make others presents. But the king of Prussia is a poor man; he has only his coat, his sword, and his porcelain. And this last even,” continued he, with a slight frown, ”I am obliged to get from Meissen.”
”That your majesty need not do in future. Please G.o.d, your majesty shall make your porcelain in your own dominions!”
”Will you guarantee that? Will you undertake it?” asked the king, kindly.
”I will.”
”And look ye, you are just the man to carry out what you wish. I am well satisfied with you. You have justified the confidence I placed in you when I was crown prince. You have redeemed the vow you made me then.”
”I swore to your majesty that I would be faithful to the fatherland with life and property,” cried Gotzkowsky, with n.o.ble ardor.
”And you have kept your word. It is not difficult in easy and prosperous times to find people to serve the state. Those are good citizens who serve her when she is in difficulty and danger.[2] You are a good citizen.” And handing Gotzkowsky an open letter which lay on the writing-table, he said: ”Read, it is a letter from the Marquis d'Argens. Read it aloud, I would like to hear it again.”
And Gotzkowsky read with a trembling voice, and cheeks reddened with n.o.ble modesty, the following pa.s.sage from a letter of the marquis, which the king pointed out to him with his finger: ”Gotzkowsky is, indeed, an excellent man and a worthy citizen. I wish you had many such as he. The greatest gift which fortune can make a state is a citizen full of zeal for the welfare of his country and his prince.