“And yet, princess, I must still implore a hearing,” said he, with imperturbable good-humor; “if my voice is rough as the raven’s, your royal highness must feed me with sugar, and it will become soft and tender as an innocent maiden’s.”
“I think a few ducats would be better for your case,” said Amelia; “a Pollnitz is not to be won with sweets, but for gold he would follow the devil to the lower regions.”
“You are right, princess; I do not wish to go to heaven, but be low; there I am certain to find the best and most interesting society. The genial people are all born devils, and your highness has ever confessed that I am genial. Then let it be so! I will accept the ducats which your royal highness think good for me, and now allow me to discharge my duty. I come as the messenger of Prince Henry: He sends his heart-felt greetings to his royal sister, and begs that she will do him the honor to attend fete at Rheinsberg, which will take place in eight days.”
“Has the master of ceremonies of the king become the fourrier of Prince Henry?” said Amelia.
“No, princess; I occasionally and accidentally perform the function of a fourrier. This invitation was not my principal object to-day.”
“I knew it,” said Amelia, ironically. “My brother Henry does not love me well enough to invite me to this fete, if he had not some other object to attain. Well, what does Prince Henry wish?”
“A small favor, your royal highness; he wishes, on the birthday of his wife, to have Voltaire’s ‘Rome Sauvee’ given by the French tragedians. Some years since your highness had a great triumph in this piece. The prince remembers that Voltaire prepared the role of Aurelia especially for you, with changes and additions, and he entreats you, through me, the temporary Directeur des spectacles de Rheinsberg, to lend him this role for the use of his performer.”
“Why does not my brother rather entreat me to take this part myself?” said Amelia, in cruel mockery over herself. “It appears to me I could look the part of Aurelia, and my soft, flute-like voice would make a powerful impression upon the public. It is cruel of Prince Henry to demand this role of me; it might be inferred that he thought I had become old and ugly.”
“Not so, your highness; the tragedy is to be performed on this occasion by public actors, and not by amateurs.”
“You are right,” said Amelia, suddenly becoming grave; “at that time we were amateurs, lovers of the drama; our dreams are over—we live in realities now.”