“You answer me not!” thundered the voice, “but I will tell you who you are—one lost in sin and an apostate!—the crown prince of Prussia, a future king, who will be called to govern a people, and knows not self-government! Turn from the path of vice while it is yet time; rise from the dust, that the ashes of retribution do not bury you in a living tomb, like the sinful Pompeians. No monument marks the place of the sinful; he sinks into the night of oblivion, or he is cursed by succeeding generations. Therefore turn from the errors of sin. Rise to virtue, that the blessed may approach you. I shudder in your presence. Woe to you! woe! woe!”
The cloud-portrait vanished, and darkness reigned for a moment. The prince cried in anguish: “I will hear no more; this air oppresses me—open the door—I renounce communion with the spirits; I will go out!”
The light reappeared in the dark room and another form hovered over the prince—of grave, obscure face, with a great peruke, staring at him. He recognized the distinguished philosopher Leibnitz, whom he had desired to see, but who now filled him with unspeakable terror. Like the former spirit, he also, when unanswered, reproached the erring prince, conjuring him to return to virtue.
As the menacing ghost disappeared, the prince felt for the door, and shook it with the power which terror lends, crying, “Open, open!” It opened not, and the third summoned, the great elector, Frederick William, appeared, with high, up-lifted arm, glittering eyes, advancing with angry mien, shaking his lion’s mane against the erring son of his house, whom he menaced with curses and revenge, if he did not renounce the courtesan who had seduced him to vice and unchastity.
“I will become better,” groaned the prince. “I will perform the wish of the spirits. Only have mercy on me—free me. Help! help! Open the door, Bischofswerder, I will do better. Open the door!”
This time it really opened, and a long train of dark, masked forms entered the dusky room surrounding the prince, wringing their hands, imploring him to turn from sin, and forsake the unholy woman.
They whimpered, they implored, sinking upon their knees, beating their clinched hands, and weeping: “Turn, beloved elect! Renounce Wilhelmine Enke; renounce vice! Repulse the seductress, and turn your countenance to Virtue which you have seen in all her beauty!”
“I will perform that which you demand,” wept the prince, as the deathly terror and nervous excitement made him yielding.
“Swear!” cried the chorus of masks.
“I swear that Wilhelmine Enke shall no longer be my mistress. I swear by all that is holy that I will renounce her! I—”