"Let me pass," said Eckert, trembling, and pale as death. "I am choking! let me out!"
Pollnitz still held him back. "Do you not know, good man, that a thousand men stand below in the courtyard? do you not hear their shouts and rejoicings? Well, these hurrahs will be changed into growls of rage when the people see you, my dear Eckert; in their wild wrath they might mistake you for a good roast, with which to quiet their hunger. You know that the people are hungry; you, who filled the barns of the king with grain, and placed great locks and bars upon the doors, lest the people, in their despairing hunger, might seize upon the corn! You even swore to the king that the people had enough, and did not need his corn or his help! Listen, the people shout again; I will not detain you. Go and look upon this happy people. The king has opened the granaries and scattered bread far and wide, and the tax upon meal is removed for a month.[8] Go, dear Eckert, go and see how happy the people are!"
[8] See King's "History of Berlin," vol. v. The king's own words.
With a wild curse Eckert sprang from the door; Pollnitz followed him with a mocking glance. "Revenge is sweet," he said, drawing a long breath; "he has often done me wrong, and now I have paid him back with usury. Eckert is lost. Would that I had his house! I must have it! I will have it! Oh, I will make myself absolutely necessary to the king; I will flatter, I will praise, I will find out and fulfil his most secret, his unspoken wishes. I will force him to give me his confidence—to make me his maitre de plaisir. Yes, yes, the house in Jager Street shall be mine! I have sworn it, and Fredersdorf has promised me his influence. And now to the king; I must see for myself if this young royal child can, like Hercules in his cradle, destroy serpents on the day of his birth; or, if he is a king, like all other kings, overcome by flattery, idle and vain, knowing or acknowledging no laws over himself, but those of his own conscience and his bon plaisir. But hark! that is the king's voice; to whom is he speaking?"
Pollnitz hastened into the adjoining room; the king was standing in the midst of his ministers, and a deputation of magistrates of Berlin, and was in the act of dismissing them.
"I command you," said the king, in conclusion, turning to his ministers, "as often as you think it necessary to make any changes in my orders and regulations, to make known your opinions to me freely, and not to be weary in so doing; I may, unhappily, sometimes lose sight of the true interests of my subjects; I am resolved that whenever in future my personal interest shall seem to be contrary to the welfare of my people, their happiness shall receive the first consideration."
"Alas, it will be very difficult to tame this youthful Hercules!" murmured Pollnitz, glancing toward the king, who was just leaving the apartment; "the serpents that we will twine about him must be strong and alluring; now happily Fredersdorf and myself are acquainted with some such serpents, and we will take care that he finds them in his path."
In the mean time the king had left the reception-room, and retired to his private apartments, where the friends and confidants from Rheinsberg awaited him with hopeful hearts. They were all ready to receive the showers of gold, which, without doubt, would rain down upon them. They were all convinced that the young king would lay upon them, at least, a corner of the mantle of ermine and purple with which his shoulders should be adorned. They alone would be chosen to aid in bearing the burden of his kingly crown and royal sceptre. They were all dreaming of ambassadorships, presidencies, and major-generals' epaulettes.
As the king entered, they received him with loud cries of joy. The Margrave Henry, who had often borne a part in the gay fetes at Rheinsberg, hastened to greet the king with gay, witty words, and both hands extended. Frederick did not respond to this greeting; he did not smile; looking steadily at the Margrave, he stepped back and said:
"Monsieur, now I am the king; no longer the gardener at Rheinsberg." The king read the pained astonishment in the faces of his friends who, one moment before, had been so HOPEFUL, so assured; he advanced and said, in a kindly tone, "We are no longer in Rheinsberg. The beautiful proverb of Horace belongs to our past. 'Folly is sweet in its season.' There I was the gardener and the friend—here I am the king; here all must work, and each one must use his talents and his strength in the service of the State, and thus prove to the people that the prince had reason to choose him for a friend."