CHAPTER VI. THE PRIVATE AUDIENCE.
The king received the French ambassador without ceremony. There were no guards, no pages, no swarms of curious listening courtiers, only a few of his trusty friends, who welcomed the duke and conversed with him, while Pollnitz entered the adjoining room and informed the king of his arrival.
“His majesty entreats the duke to enter.” said Pollnitz, opening the door of the library. The king advanced. He was dressed simply; even the golden star, which was seldom absent from his coat, was now missing.
“Come, duke,” said the king, pleasantly, “come into my tusculum.” He then entered the library, quickly followed by the duke.
“Well, sir,” said the king, “we are now in that room in which I lately told you I was but a republican. You have crossed the threshold of the republic of letters!”
“But I see a king before me,” said the duke, bowing reverentially; “a king who has vanquished his republic, and surpassed all the great spirits that have gone before him.”
The king’s glance rested upon the shelves filled with books, on whose back glittered in golden letters the most distinguished names of all ages.
“Homer, Tacitus, Livy, Petrarch!—ye great spirits of my republic! hear how this traitor slanders you.”
“How I honor you, sire, for truly it is a great honor to be subdued and vanquished by such a king as Frederick the Second.”
The king looked at him fixedly. “You wish to bewilder me with flattery, duke,” said he, “well knowing that it is a sweet opiate, acceptable to princes, generally causing their ruin. But in this chamber, duke, I am safe from this danger, and here in my republic we will both enjoy the Spartan soup of truth. Believe me, sir, it is at times a wholesome dish, though to the pampered stomach it is bitter and distasteful. I can digest it, and as you have come to visit me, you will have to partake of it.”
“And I crave it, sire—crave it as a man who has fasted for two weeks.”
“For two weeks?” said the king, laughing. “Ah, it is true you have been here just that time.”
“For two long weeks has your majesty kept me fasting and longing for this precious soup,” said the duke, reproachfully.
“My broth was not ready,” said the king, gayly; “it was still bubbling in the pot. It is now done, and we will consume it together. Let us be seated, duke.”
If Frederick had turned at this moment, he would have seen the grand chamberlain Pollnitz advancing on tiptoe to the open door, in order to listen to the conversation. But the king was looking earnestly at the ambassador. After a few moments of silence, he turned to the duke.
“Is my soup still too hot for you?” said he, laughingly.
“No, sire,” said the duke, bowing. “But I waited for your majesty to take the first spoonful. Would it not be better to close that door?”
“No,” said the king, hastily; “I left it open, intentionally, so that your eyes, when wearied with the gloom of my republic, could refresh themselves on the glittering costumes of my courtiers.”
“He left it open,” thought the duke, “for these courtiers to hear all that is said. He wishes the whole world to know how he rejected the friendship of France.”
“Well,” said the king, “I will take my spoonful. We will commence without further delay. Duke de Nivernois, you are here because the contract made between France and Prussia is at an end, and because France wishes me to fancy that she is anxious for a renewal of this treaty, and for the friendship of Prussia.”
“France wishes to convince you of this, sire,” said the duke.
“Convince me?” said the king, ironically. “And how?”
“King Louis of France not only proposes to renew this contract, she, who he wishes to draw the bonds of friendship much closer between France and Prussia.”
“And to what end?” said the king. “For you well know, duke, that in politics personal inclinations must not be considered. Were it not so, I would, without further delay, grasp the friendly hand that my brother of France extends toward me, for the whole world knows that I love France, and am proud of the friendship of her great spirits. But as, unfortunately, there is no talk here of personal inclinations but of politics, I repeat my question. To what end does France desire the friendship of Prussia? What am I to pay for it? You see, duke, I am a bad diplomatist—I make no digression, but go to the point at once.”
“And that, perhaps, is the nicest diplomacy,” said the duke, sighing.
“But, duke, do tell me, why is France so anxious for the friendship of Prussia?”
“To have an ally in you and be your ally. By the first, France will have a trusty and powerful friend in Germany when her lands are attacked by the King of England; by the last, your majesty will have a trusty and powerful friend when Prussia is attacked by Russia or Austria.”
“We will now speak of the first,” said the king, quietly. “France, then, thinks to transplant this war with England to German ground?”
“Everywhere, sire, that the English colors predominate. England alone will be accountable for this war.”
“It is true England has been hard upon you, but still it seems to me you have revenged yourselves sufficiently. When England made herself supreme ruler of the Ohio, France, by the conquest of the Isle of Minorca, obtained dominion over the Mediterranean Sea, thereby wounding England so deeply, that in her despair she turned her weapons against herself. Admiral Byng, having been overcome by your admiral Marquis de la Gallissionaire, paid for it with his life. I think France should be satisfied with this expiation.”
“France will wash off her insults in English blood, and Minorca is no compensation for Canada and Ohio. England owes us satisfaction, and we will obtain it in Hanover.”
“In Hanover?” repeated the king, angrily.
“Hanover will be ours, sire, though we had no such ally as Germany; but it will be ours the sooner if we have that help which you can give us. Standing between two fires, England will have to succumb, there will be no escape for her. That is another advantage, sire, that France expects from the treaty with Prussia. But I will now speak of the advantages which your majesty may expect from this alliance. You are aware that Prussia is surrounded by threatening enemies; that Austria and Russia are approaching her borders with evil intentions, and that a day may soon come when Maria Theresa may wish to reconquer this Silesia which, in her heart, she still calls her own. When this time comes, your majesty will not be alone; your ally, France, will be at your side; she will repay with faithful, active assistance the services which your majesty rendered her in Hanover. She will not only render her all the assistance in her power, but she will also allow her to partake of the advantages of this victory. Hanover is a rich land, not rich only in products, but in many other treasures. The Electors of Hanover have in their residences not only their chests filled with gold and precious jewels, but also the most magnificent paintings. It is but natural that we should pay ourselves in Hanover for the expenses of this war of which England is the cause. You, then, will share with us these treasures. And still this is not all. France is grateful; she offers you, therefore, one of her colonies, the Isle of Tobago, as a pledge of friendship and love.”
“Where is this isle?” said the king, quietly.
“In the West Indies, sire.”
“And where is Hanover?”
The duke looked at the king in amazement, and remained silent.
The king repeated his question.
“Well,” said the duke, hesitatingly, “Hanover is in Germany.”
“And for this German land which, with my aid, France is to conquer, I am to receive as a reward the little Isle of Tobago in the West Indies! Have you finished, dyke, or have you other propositions to make?”
“Sire, I have finished, and await your answer.”
“And this answer, duke, shall be clearer and franker than your questions. I will begin by answering the latter part of your speech. Small and insignificant as the King of Prussia may appear in your eyes, I would have you know he is no robber, no highwayman; he leaves these brilliant amusements without envy to France. And now, my dear duke, I must inform you, that since this morning it has been placed out of my power to accept this alliance; for this morning a treaty was signed, by which I became the ally of England!”
“It is impossible, sire,” cried the duke; “this cannot be!”
“Not possible, sir!” said the king, “and still it is true. I have formed a treaty with England—this matter is settled! I have been an ally of Louis XV.; I have nothing to complain of in him. I love him; well, am I now his enemy? I hope that there may be a time when I may again approach the King of France. Pray tell him how anxiously I look forward to this time. Tell him I am much attached to him.”
“Ah, sire,” said the duke, sighing, “it is a great misfortune. I dare not go to my monarch with this sad, unexpected news; my monarch who loves you so tenderly, whose most earnest wish it is for France to be allied to Prussia.”
“Ah, duke,” said Frederick, laughing, “France wishes for ships as allies. I have none to offer—England has. With her help I shall keep the Russians from Prussia, and with the aid she will keep the French from Hanover.”
“We are to be enemies, then?” said the duke, sadly.
“It is a necessary evil, for which there is no remedy. But Louis XV. can form other alliances,” said Frederick, ironically. “It may be for his interest to unite with the house of Austria!”
The duke was much embarrassed.
“Your majesty is not in earnest,” said he, anxiously.
“Why not, duke?” said Frederick; “an alliance between France and Austria—it sounds very natural. If I were in your place, I would propose this to my court.”
He now rose, which was a sign to the duke that the audience was at an end.
“I must now send a courier at once to my court,” said the duke, “and I will not fail to state that your majesty advises us to unite with Austria.”
“You will do well; that is,” said the king, with a meaning smile—“that is, if you think your court is in need of such advice, and has not already acted without it. When do you leave, duke?”
“To-morrow morning, sire.”
“Farewell, duke, and do not forget that in my heart I am the friend of France, though we meet as enemies on the battle-field.”
The duke bowed reverentially, and, sighing deeply, left the royal library, “the republic of letters,” to hasten to Berlin.
The king looked after him thoughtfully.
“The die is cast,” said he, softly. “There will be war. Our days of peace and quietude are over, and the days of danger are approaching!”