“Say yourself, Mr. Himmel, is not that beautiful and touching?” she asked, looking up again to her teacher.
“Beautiful and touching for those who have wept much and suffered much,” said Himmel, harshly; “but I cannot conceive why these words should touch your majesty, whose whole life has hitherto illuminated the world like an uninterrupted sunny spring morning.”
“Hitherto,” repeated the queen, musingly, “yes, hitherto, indeed, my life was a sunny spring morning, but who is able to fathom what clouds may soon appear on the horizon, and how cloudy and gloomy the evening may be? This song reechoes in my soul like a melancholy foreboding, and clings to its wings as if it wanted to paralyze their flight. ‘He who never ate his bread with tears,’ ah, how mournful it sounds, and what a long story of suffering is contained in these few words!”
The queen paused, and two tears, glistening more beautifully than the diamonds of her golden diadem, slowly ran down her cheeks.
Concert-master Himmel was not courageous enough to interrupt the silence of the queen, or, may be, he had not listened very attentively to her words, and his thoughts perhaps were fixed on matters of an entirely different character, for his air was absent and gloomy; his eyes glanced around the room, but returned continually to the lovely form of the queen.
Suddenly Louisa seemed to arouse herself violently from her gloomy meditation, and after hastily wiping the tears from her eyes she forced herself to smile.
“It is not good to give way to melancholy forebodings,” she said, “particularly in the presence of a stern teacher. We must improve our time in a more useful manner, for time is a very precious thing; and if I had not judiciously profited by my short leisure to-day, I should not have had a single hour to spare for my teacher, for there will be a reception in the palace to-night, and I must previously give audience to several visitors. I have, therefore, made my evening toilet in the afternoon, and thereby gained time to take my dear singing-lesson. But now let us study, so that your pupil may redound to your honor.”
“Oh, your majesty,” ejaculated Himmel, “my honor and my happiness!”
“Hush, hush,” said Louisa, interrupting him, with an enchanting smile, “no flattery! no court-phrases! Here I am not the queen, nor are you my devoted subject; I am nothing but an obedient pupil, and you are my rigorous master, who has a right to scold and grumble whenever I sing incorrectly, and who very frequently avails himself of this privilege. Do not apologize for it, but go on in the same manner, for I will then only learn the more.”
“Your majesty sings like an angel,” murmured Himmel, whose eyes were fixed steadfastly on the queen.