Come, I will take you to your parents, and provide for you. You shall be as beautiful and accomplished a lady as your sister, but, Heaven grant, a more generous and noble-hearted one! Come!"These words, spoken with a gentle, winning voice, had never died away in her heart. Twelve years had passed since then, and they still rang in her ear, in the tumult of the world as well as in the quiet of her lonely room. They had comforted her when the shame of her existence oppressed her; rejoiced her when, with the delight of youth and happiness, she had given herself up to pleasure. She had followed him quietly, devotedly, as a little dog follows his master.
He had kept his word; he had had her instructed during three years, and then sent her to Paris, in order to give her the last polish, the tournure of the world, however much it had cost him to separate from her, or might embarrass him, with his scanty means, to afford the increase of expense. A year elapsed and Wilhelmine returned a pleasing lady, familiar with the tone of the great world, and at home in its manners and customs.
The prince had kept his word--that which he had promised her as he took her from her sister's house, to make her a fine, accomplished lady. And when he repeated to her now "Come," could she refuse him--him to whom she owed every thing, whom she loved as her benefactor, her teacher, her friend, and lover? She followed him, and concealed herself for him in the modest little dwelling at Potsdam. For him she lived in solitude, anxiously avoiding to show herself publicly, that the king should never know of her existence, and in his just anger sever the unlawful tie which bound her to the Prince of Prussia. [Footnote: "Memoirs of the Countess Lichtenau," p. 80.]
Wilhelmine recalled the past seven years of her life, her two children, whom she had borne to the prince, and the joy that filled his heart as he became a father, although his lawful wife had also borne him children. She looked around her small, quiet dwelling, arranged in a modest manner, not as the favorite of the Prince of Prussia, but as an unpretending citizen's wife; she thought how oft with privations, with want even, she had had to combat; how oft the ornaments which the prince had sent her in the rare days of abundance had been taken to the pawnbrokers to provide the necessary wants of herself and children. Her eyes flashed with pride and joy at the thought which she dared to breathe to herself, that not for gold or riches, power or position, had she sold her love, her honor, and her good name.
"It was from pure affinity, from gratitude and affection, that Ifollowed the husband of my heart, although he was a prince," she said.
Still the shame of her existence weighed upon her. The king had commanded her to hide her head so securely that no one might know her shame, or the levity of the prince.
"Go! and let me never see you again!"
Did not this mean that the king would remove her so far that there would not be a possible chance to appear again before him? Was there not hidden in these words a menace, a warning? Would not the king revenge on her the sad experiences of his youth? Perhaps he would punish her for what Doris Ritter had suffered! Doris Ritter! She, too, had loved a crown prince--she, too, had dared to raise her eyes to the future King of Prussia, for which she was cruelly punished, though chaste and pure, and hurled down to the abyss of shame for the crime of loving an heir to the throne. Beaten, insulted, and whipped through the streets, and then sent to the house of correction at Spandau! Oh, poor, unhappy Doris Ritter! Will the king atone to you--will he revenge the friend of his youth on the mistress of his successor? The old King Frederick, weary of life, thinks differently from the young crown prince. He can be as severe as his father, cruel and inexorable as he.
"Doris Ritter! Thy fate haunts me. On the morrow I also may be whipped through the streets, scorned, reviled by the rabble, and then sent to Spandau as a criminal. Did not the king threaten me with the house of correction, with the spinning-wheel, which he would have ready for me?"At the thought of it a terrible anguish, a nameless despair, seized her. She felt that the spinning-wheel hung over her like the sword of Damocles, ready at the least occasion to fall upon her, and bind her to it. She felt that she could not endure such suspense and torture; she must escape; she must rescue herself from the king's anger.
"But whither, whither! I must fly from here, from his immediate proximity, where a motion of his finger is sufficient to seize me, to cause me to disappear before the prince could have any knowledge of it, before he could know of the danger which threatened me. Imust away from Potsdam!"
The prince had arranged a little apartment in Berlin for the winter months, which she exchanged for Potsdam in the spring. This seemed to offer her more security for the moment, for she could fly at the least sign of danger, could even hide herself from the prince, if it were necessary to save him and herself. Away to Berlin, then! That was the only thought she was able to seize upon. Away with her children, before misfortune could reach them!
She sprang to the door, tore it open, rushing to the nurse, upon whose knees the baby slept, near whom her little daughter knelt.
With trembling hands she took her boy and pressed him to her heart.
"Louisa, we must leave here immediately; it is urgent necessity!"said she, with quivering lip. "Do not say a word about it to any one, but hasten; order quickly a wagon, bargain for the places, and say we must set off at once. The wagon must not be driven to the door, but we will meet it at the Berlin Gate. We will go on foot there, and get in. Quick, Louisa, not a word--it must be!"The servant did not dare to oppose her mistress, or contradict the orders, but hastened to obey them.
