Frederick the Great and His Court | Page 6

would be forced to yield, if your father commanded it," said the queen.
"No," said Ulrica, "I would rather die!"
"DIE!" said Sophia; "man sighs often for Death, but he comes not; our sighs have not the power to bring him, and our hands are too weak to clasp him to our hearts! No, Ulrica, you must bow your will to your father, as we have all done--as even the prince, your brother, was forced to do."
"Poor brother," said Amelia, "bound to a wife whom he loves not--how wretched he must be!"
Ulrica shrugged her shoulders. "Is not that the fate of all princes and princesses; are we not all born to be handled like a piece of goods, and knocked down to the highest bidder? I, for my part, will sell myself as dearly as possible; and, as I cannot be a happy shepherdess, I will be a powerful queen."
"And I," said Amelia, "would rather wed the poorest and most obscure man, if I loved him, than the richest and greatest king's son, to whom I was indifferent."
"Foolish children," said the queen, "it is well for you that your father does not hear you; he would crush you in his rage, and even to-day he would choose a king for you, Amelia; and for you, little Ulrica, he would seek a small margrave! Hark, ladies! I hear the voice of the major domo; he comes to announce that the guests are assembled. Put on a cheerful countenance. The king commands us to be joyous and merry! but remember that Frederick has his spies everywhere. When you speak with Pollnitz, never forget that he repeats every word to your father; be friendly with him; and above all things when he leads the conversation to the prince royal, speak of him with the most unembarrassed indifference; show as little interest and love for him as possible, and rather ridicule his romantic life in Rheinsberg. That is the way to the heart of the king; and now, my daughters, come."
At this moment the grand chamberlain, Pollnitz, threw open the doors and announced that the company was assembled. The queen and princesses followed the master of ceremonies through the room, giving here and there a smile or a gracious word, which seemed a shower of gold to the obsequious, admiring crowd of courtiers. Pride swelled the heart of Sophia, as she stepped, to the sound of soft music, into the throne saloon, and saw all those cavaliers, covered with stars and orders--all those beautiful and richly-dressed women bowing humbly before her. She knew that her will was more powerful than the will of all assembled there; that her smiles were more dearly prized than those of the most-beloved bride; that her glance gave warmth and gladness like the sun. While all bowed before her, there was no one to whom she must bend the knee. The king was not near to-night; she was not bound by his presence and his rude violence. To-night she was no trembling, subjected wife, but a proud queen; while Frederick was a poor, gouty, trembling, teeth-gnashing man--nothing more.

CHAPTER II
.
FREDERICK WILLIAM I.
Mirth and gayety reigned in one wing of the palace, while in the other, and that occupied by the king himself, all was silent and solitary; in one might be heard joyous strains of music, in the other no sound reached the air but a monotonous hammering, which seemed to come immediately from the room of the king.
Frederick William, when in health, had accustomed himself to use his crutch as a rod of correction; he would shower down his blows, careless whether they fell on the backs of his lacqueys, his ministers of State, or his wife. When ill, he was contented to vent his wrath upon more senseless objects, and to flourish a hammer instead of his crutch. Under the influence of the gout, this proud and haughty monarch became an humble carpenter; when chained to one spot by his disease, and unable to direct the affairs of State, he attempted to banish thought and suffering, by working with his tools. Often in passing near the palace at a late hour of the night, you might hear the heavy blows of a hammer, and consider them a bulletin of the king's health. If he worked at night, the good people of Berlin knew their king to be sleepless and suffering, and that it would be dangerous to meet him in his walk on the following day, for some thoughtless word, or careless look, or even the cut of a coat, would bring down on the offender a stinging blow or a severe reprimand. Only a few days had passed since the king had caused the arrest of two young ladies, and sent them to the fortress of Spandau, because, in