"From Voltaire," he murmured softly, breaking the seal, and hastily opening the enclosure, which contained two letters and several loose scraps of printed matter. The prince uttered a cry of joyful astonishment, and scarcely noticing the two letters, he gazed with a half-tender, half-curious expression on the printed papers he held in his hand.
"At last! at last!" exclaimed the prince, "my wish will be accomplished. The first step toward fame is taken. I shall no longer be unknown, or only known as the son of a king, the inheritor of a throne. I shall have a name. I shall acquire renown, for I will be a poet, an author, and shall claim a place in the republic of genius. I shall not need a crown to preserve my name in history. The first step is taken. My 'Anti-Machiavel' is in press. I will tread under foot this monster of knavish and diabolic statecraft, and all Europe shall see that a German prince is the first to break a lance against this Machiavel, who is making the people the slaves of princes. By his vile principles, he is moulding princes into such monsters that all mankind must curse them."
And again looking at the paper, the prince read a few lines, his voice trembling with displeasure:
"If it is a crime to destroy the innocence of a private individual who exercises a limited influence, is it not far worse to undermine the moral character of princes who should exhibit to their subjects an example of goodness, greatness, kindness, and love? The plagues sent by Heaven are but passing, and destroy only in certain localities; and although most disastrous, their effects pass away in time. But the vices of kings create incurable misery; yes, misery enduring for generations. How deplorable is the condition of nations who have every evil to fear from their ruler, their property exposed to the covetousness of a prince, their freedom to his humor, and their lives to his cruelty!"
Frederick ceased, and turned over a few pages of his "Anti-Machiavel," and then continued to read:
"Machiavel speaks in his 'Principe' of miniature sovereigns, who, having but small states, can send no armies to the field. The author advises them to fortify their capitals, and in time of war to confine themselves and their troops to them.
"The Italian princes, of whom Machiavel speaks, only play the part of men before their servants. Most of the smaller princes, and especially those of Germany, ruin themselves by spending sums far exceeding their revenues, and thus by vanity are led to want. Even the youngest scion of the least important salaried prince imagines himself as great as Louis. He builds his Versailles, and sustains his army. There is in reality a certain salaried prince of a noble house, who has in his service all the varieties of guards that usually form the households of great kings, but all on so minute a scale that it is necessary to employ a microscope to distinguish each separate corps, and whose army is perhaps strong enough to represent a battle on the stage of Verona."
Prince Frederick laughed aloud. "Well, I think my most worthy cousin, Ernest Augustus, of Saxe-Weimar, will understand this allusion, and in gratitude for my giving his name to posterity in my 'Anti-Machiavel,' will unravel the mystery, and inform the world how it is possible, with the annual income of four hundred dollars, to keep a retinue of seven hundred men, a squadron of one hundred and eighty, and a company of cavalry; if he is capable of accomplishing this, without plunging into debt, he is certainly my superior, and I could learn a great deal from him. I could learn of him how to rid myself of this torment that I endure from day to day, from hour to hour. What could be a greater degradation to an honorable man than to be compelled to flatter the base pride of these vile usurers to whom I am forced to resort for the money I need; this money pressed, perhaps, from widows and orphans? To think that I, the inheritor of a kingdom, am in this condition—that I must lower myself to sue and plead before these men, while millions are lying in the cellars of my father's palace at Berlin! But what! Have I the right to complain? am I the only one who suffers from the closeness of the king? are not the people of Berlin crying for bread, whilst the royal larder is filled to overflowing? But patience! the day will come when the keys will be in my hands—on that day I will give the people what rightly belongs to them, bread. I will unlock the treasury, and set free the imprisoned millions. But what noise is this?" said the prince, approaching the door.
Loud and angry voices were heard from without. "I tell you I must and will speak with the prince royal," cried a threatening voice; "I have waited in vain for two months, in vain addressed to him the most modest and respectful letters; I have not even been deemed worthy to receive an answer. Now I have come to receive it in person, and I swear I will not leave this spot without an explanation with the prince royal."
"It is Ephraim," muttered Frederick, with a deep frown.