"It is she!—it is she!" they whispered; "she has come to see the king, for whom she suffered so much; for his sake she had been covered with shame; she has been driven from amongst the poor and innocent, and now she dares to come amongst us!" cried a harsh and pitiless voice.
"We know how cruelly she was insulted and abused," said another, "but we all know that she was innocent; my heart is full of pity for her, and she has a right to a coin touched by the king." The last speaker approached the poor woman, and offered both a gold and silver coin. "Take these coins, I beg you, and may they be to you an earnest of a better and happier future."
She gazed with a hard and tearless eye upon the good-natured, kindly face. "No, there is no happy future for me—nothing but want, and misery, and despair; but I thank you for your pity, and I accept these coins as a memento of this hour." She took them and laid them in her tattered dress, walked erect through the circle which gathered around, and was soon lost in the crowd.
She was soon forgotten. The king with his brilliant suite was still upon the balcony, they had not noticed the scene passing amongst the people below; none of them remarked this poor creature, who, having made her way through the crowd, now leaned against one of the pillars of the spire, and gazed earnestly upon the king. The money was exhausted, the king had shown himself to the people sufficiently, and now, according to etiquette, he must leave the balcony and make the grand tour of the saloons, greeting with kind and gracious words the assembled nobles. He motioned, however, to his followers to leave him, he wished to remain a few moments alone, and look thoughtfully upon this sea of upturned faces. Frederick gazed eagerly below. That was no inanimate and pulseless creation moved to and fro by the wind, which he now looked upon, but a living, thinking, immortal people; with hearts to hate or love, with lips to bless or curse, their verdict would one day decide the great question as to his fame and glory as a monarch, or his neglect of holy duty, and the eternal shame which follows. They seemed to Frederick to be pleading with him; they demanded but little—a little shade to rest in when weary with their daily labor; prompt justice and kindly protection, the right to live in peace, bearing the burden and sorrow of their lives patiently; pity for their necessities, forbearance for their weakness and folly. What did he, their king, demand of them? That alone, which a million of people, his people, could bestow, immortal fame!—they must give him the laurel of the hero, and crown him with the civic wreath; he would make his subjects strong, healthy, and happy—they must make his greatness known to all the world, and future ages.
Such were the thoughts of the king as he stood alone upon the balcony. His eye often wandered across to the spire, and as often as it did the wretched woman who was leaning against the pillar trembled fearfully, and her lips and cheeks became deadly pale. The king did not see her; he saw nothing of the outer world, his eye was turned within, reading the secrets of his own heart.
In the grand saloons the nobles stood waiting in grim and angry silence the return of Frederick; a cloud rested upon every brow; even Pollnitz could no longer retain his gracious and stereotyped smile; he felt it to be a bitter grievance that the king should keep the nobility waiting while he stood gazing at a dirty mass of insignificant creatures called human beings! Looking around the circle, Pollnitz saw displeasure marked upon every face but three. "Ah," said he to himself, "there are the three Wreeckies; no doubt they have come to be rewarded for services rendered the crown prince; they were doubtless dangerous rivals for us all; they suffered much for the prince, and were banished seven years from court on his account. The king must indemnify them for all this, and who knows, perhaps he may give them the house in Jager Street, the house I am in the habit of calling mine! Well, I must draw near them and hear all the king promises." So saying, Pollnitz drew quietly near the Messieurs Wreeckie. At this moment there was a movement in the vast assembly, and all bowed low; as the king stepped into the saloon he commenced the grand tour of the room; he had a kind and friendly word for all; at last he reached the Messieurs Wreeckie, and remained standing before them. All glances were now directed to this group; all held their breath, not wishing to lose a word which Frederick should say to these formidable rivals.
The king stood before them, his eye was severe, and his brow clouded. "Gentlemen," he said, "it has been a long time since I have seen you at the court of the King of Prussia. I suppose you seek the prince royal; I do not think you will find him here. At this court you will only find a king who demands, above all things, that his majesty should be respected; that you subjugate yourselves to him in silent obedience; even when his orders appear harsh and cruel they must not be questioned for a moment; he who opposes the will of the king deserves punishment; I will not bear opposition at my court. There is but one will, but one law; that is the will and law of the king!" And, without further greetings, he passed on.
The Wreeckies stood pale and trembling, and the face of Pollnitz was radiant with contentment. "Well, those poor fellows will not receive my house in Jager Street," he said to himself, "they have fallen into disgrace; it appears the king wants to punish all those who rendered good service to the prince royal. Louis the Fourteenth said: 'It is most unworthy of a French king to punish any wrong done to the crown prince;' here the rule is reversed—the King of Prussia deems it unworthy to reward the services rendered the prince royal. But what is the meaning of that crowd over there?" he exclaimed, interrupting himself, "why is the lord marshal approaching his majesty with such an eager, joyful air? I must know what is going on." Again Pollnitz made his way through the courtiers and arrived safely, right behind the king, just as my lord marshal was saying in an excited voice: "Your majesty, there is a young man in the next room who begs your highness to allow him to throw himself at your feet and take the oath of allegiance; he has come from America to greet you as king. So soon as he heard of the illness of your father, he left his asylum and has travelled night and day; he has finished his journey at a most fortunate moment."
The eye of the king rested coldly, unmoved on the speaker; and even after he ceased speaking, regarded him sternly. "What is the name of this young man, for whom you show so lively an interest?" said the king, after a pause.
The lord marshal looked perplexed and frightened; he thought the king's heart should have told him who stood without; who it was that had left his asylum in America and longed to greet the new king. "Sire," he said, hesitatingly, "your majesty demands to know the name of this young man?"