Princess Amelia was the true sister of the king, the pupil of Voltaire; she mocked at the church and scorned the consolations of religion.

She also was forced to pay some tribute to her s.e.x; she failed in the strong, self-confident, intellectual independence of Frederick; her poor, weak, trembling hands wandered around seeking support; as religion, in its mighty mission, was rejected, she turned for consolation to superst.i.tion. While Elizabeth Christine prayed, Amelia tried her fortune with cards; while the queen gathered around her ministers of the gospel and pious scholars, the princess called to the prophets and fortune-tellers. While Elizabeth found comfort in reading the Holy Scriptures, Amelia found consolation in the mystical and enigmatical words of her sooth-sayers. While the queen translated sermons and pious hymns into French, Amelia wrote down carefully all the prophecies of her cards, her coffee-grounds, and the stars, and both ladies sent their ma.n.u.scripts to the king.

Frederick received them both with a kindly and pitiful smile. The pious ma.n.u.script of the queen was laid aside unread, but the oracles of the princess were carefully looked over. Perhaps this was done in pity for the poor, wounded spirit which found distraction in such child's play.

It is certain that when the king wrote to the princess, he thanked her for her ma.n.u.scripts, and asked her to continue to send them. [Footnote: Thiebault, p. 279.] But he also demanded perfect silence as to this strange correspondence; he feared his enemies might falsely interpret his consideration for the weakness of the princess; they might suppose that he needed these prophecies to lead him on to victory, as his adversaries needed the consecrated sword.

This was one of the days on which the princess was accustomed to receive her fortune-teller; she had been very angry when told that she was under arrest; neither the prophet nor the fortune-teller were at liberty, and the princess was not able to obtain their release. She would, therefore, have been compelled to forego her usual occupation for the evening, had not Madame du Trouffle come to her aid. Louise had written that morning to the princess, and asked permission to introduce a new soothsayer, whose prophecies astonished the world, as, so far, they had been literally fulfilled. Amelia received this proposition joyfully, and now waited impatiently for Madame du Trouffle and the soothsayer; but she was yet alone, it was not necessary to hide her grief in stoical indifference, to still the groans of agony which, like the last sighs from a death-bed, rang from her breast.

The princess suffered not only from mental anguish; her body was as sick as her soul. The worm gnawing at her heart was also devouring her body; but neither for body nor soul would she accept a physician, she refused all sympathy for intellectual and physical pain. Amelia suffered and was silent, and only when as now she was certain there was no eye to see, no ear to hear her complaints, did she give utterance to them. And now the maid entered and announced Madame du Trouffle and the prophet.

"Let them enter," said the princess in a hollow, death-like voice; "let them enter, and remain yourself, Fraulein Lethow; the soothsayer shall tell your fortune."

The door opened, and Madame du Trouffle entered. She was gay and lovely as ever, and drew near the princess with a charming smile. Amelia returned her salutation coldly and carelessly.

"How many hours have you spent at your toilet to-day?" said she, roughly; "and where do you buy the rouge with which you have painted your cheeks?"

"Ah, your royal highness," said Louise, smiling, "Nature has been kind to me, and has painted my cheeks with her own sweet and cunning hand."

"Then Nature is in covenant with you, and helps you to deceive yourself to imagine that you are yet young. I am told that your daughter is grown up and wondrously beautiful, and that only when you stand near her is it seen how old and ugly you are."

Louise knew the rancor of the unhappy princess, and she knew no one could approach her without being wounded--that the undying worm in her soul was only satisfied with the blood it caused to flow. The harsh words of the princess had no sting for her. "If I were truly old," said she, "I would live in my daughter: she is said to be my image, and when she is praised, I feel myself flattered."

"A day will come when she will be blamed and you will also be reproached," murmured Amelia. After a pause she said: "So you have brought me another deceiver who declares himself a prophet?"

"I do not believe him to be an impostor, your highness. He has given me convincing proofs of his inspiration."

"What sort of proofs? How can these people who prophesy of the future prove that they are inspired?"

"He has not told me of the future, but of the past," said Louise.

"Has he had the courage to recall any portion of your past to you?" said the princess, with a coa.r.s.e laugh.

"Many droll and merry portions, your highness, and it is to be regretted that they were all true," she said, with comic pathos.

"Bring in this soothsayer, Fraulein von Lethow. He shall prophesy of you: I think you have not, like Madame du Trouffle, any reason to fear a picture of your past."

The prophet entered. He was wrapped in a long black robe, which was gathered around his slender form by a black leathern girdle covered with curious and strange figures and emblems; raven black hair fell around his small, pale face; his eyes burned with clouded fire, and flashed quickly around the room. With head erect and proud bearing, he drew near the princess, and only when very near did he salute her, and in a sweet, soft, melodious voice, asked why she wished to see him.

"If you are truly a prophet, you will know my reasons."

"Would you learn of the past?" said he, solemnly.

"And why not first of the future?"

"Because your highness distrusts me and would prove me. Will you permit me to take my cards? If you allow it, I will first prophesy to this lady." He took a ma.s.s of soiled, curiously painted cards, and spread them out before him on the table. He took the hand of Fraulein Lethow and seemed to read it earnestly; and now, in a low, musical voice, he related little incidents of the past. They were piquant little anecdotes which had been secretly whispered at the court, but which no one dared to speak aloud, as Fraulein Lethow pa.s.sed for a model of virtue and piety.

She received these developments of the prophet with visible scorn. In place of laughing, and by smiling indifference bringing their truth in question, she was excited and angry, and thus prepared for the princess some gay and happy moments.

"I dare not decide," said Amelia, as the prophet ceased, "whether what you have told is true or false. Fraulein Lethow alone can know that; but she will not be so cruel as to call you an impostor, for that would prevent me from having my fortune told. Allow me, therefore, to believe that you have spoken the truth. Now take your cards and shuffle them."

"Does your highness wish that I should tell you of the past?" said the soothsayer, in a sharp voice.

The princess hesitated. "Yes," said she, "of my past. But no; I will first hear a little chapter out of the life of my chaste and modest Louise. Now, now, madame, you have nothing to fear; you are pure and innocent, and this little recitation of your by-gone days will seem to us a chapter from 'La Pucelle d'Orleans.'"

"I dare to oppose myself to this lecture," said Louise, laughing. "There are books which should only be read in solitude, and to that cla.s.s belong the volumes of my past life. I am ready in the presence of your highness to have my future prophesied, but of my past I will hear nothing--I know too much already."

"Had I been alone with Fraulein Lethow, I should have told her many other things, and she would have been forced to believe in my power.

Only when these cards are under your eyes is my spirit clear."

"I must, then, in order to know the whole truth from you, be entirely alone?" said the princess.

The prophet bowed silently. Amelia fixed a piercing glance upon him, and nodded to her ladies.

"Go into the next room," said she. "And now," said the princess, "you can begin."

The magician, instead of taking the cards, knelt before the princess and kissed the hem of her robe. "I pray for mercy and forgiveness," said he; "I am nothing but a poor impostor! In order to reach the presence of your royal highness, I have disguised myself under this mask, which alone made it possible. But I swear to you, princess, no one knows of this attempt, no one can ever know it--I alone am guilty. Pardon, then, princess--pardon for this bold act. I was forced to this step--forced to clasp your knees--to implore you in your greatness and magnanimity, to stand by me! I was impelled irresistibly, for I had sworn a fearful oath to do this thing."

"To whom have you sworn?" said the princess, sternly. "Who are you? what do you ask of me?"

"I am Count Ranuzi, Austrian captain and prisoner of war. I implore you, n.o.ble princess, to have mercy upon a poor, helpless prisoner, consumed with grief and despair. G.o.d and the world have forsaken him, but he has one protecting angel in whom he trusts, to whom he prays--and her name is Amelia! He is bound in chains like a wild beast--a hard stone is his couch, and a vault beneath is his grave--he is living and buried--his heart lives and heaves and calls to you, princess, for rescue."

The Princess Amelia shrank back trembling and groaning on the sofa; her eyes were wide open, and staring in the distance. After a long pause, she said, slowly: "Call his name."

"Frederick von Trenck!"

Amelia shuddered, and uttered a low cry. "Trenck!" repeated she, softly; "oh, what sad melody lies in that word! It is like the death-cry of my youth. I think the very air must weep when this name vibrates upon it.

Trenck, Trenck! How beautiful, how lovely that sounds; it is a sweet, harmonious song; it sings to me softly of the only happiness of my life.

Ah, how long, how long since this song was silenced! All within me is desolate! On every side my heart is torn--on every side! Oh, so drear, so fearful! All! all!" Lost in her own thoughts, these words had been slowly uttered. She had forgotten that she was not alone with her remembrances, which like a cloud had gathered round about her and shut off the outward world.

Ranuzi did not dare to recall her thoughts--he still knelt at her feet.

Suddenly her whole frame trembled, and she sprang up. "My G.o.d! I dream, while he calls me! I am idly musing, and Trenck has need of me. Speak, sir, speak! What do you know of him? Have you seen him? Did he send you to me?"

"He sent me, your highness, but I have not seen him. Have the grace to listen to me. Ah, your highness, in what I now say I lay the safety of a dear and valued friend, yes, his life, at your feet. One word from you, and he will be delivered over to a court-martial and be shot. But you will not speak that word--you are an angel of mercy."

"Speak, sir--speak, sir," said Amelia, breathlessly. "My G.o.d! do you not see that I am dying from agitation?"

"Princess, Trenck lives--he is in chains--he is in a hole under the earth--but he lives, and as long as he has life, he hopes in you--has wild dreams of liberty, and his friends think and hope with him. Trenck has friends who are ready to offer up their lives for him. One of them is in the fortress of Magdeburg--he is lieutenant of the guard; another is a Captain Kimsky, prisoner of war; I am a third. I have known Trenck since my youth. In our beautiful days of mirth and revelry, we swore to stand by each other in every danger. The moment has come to fulfil my oath--Trenck is a prisoner, and I must help to liberate him. Our numbers are few and dismembered--we need allies in the fortress, and still more in the city. We need powerful a.s.sistance, and no one but your highness can obtain it for us."

"I have an a.s.sured and confidential friend in Magdeburg," said the princess; "at a hint from me he will be ready to stand by you to--"

Suddenly she was silent, and cast a searching, threatening glance at Ranuzi. She had been too often deceived and circ.u.mvented--snares had been too often laid at her feet--she was distrustful. "No, no," said she, at last, sternly, rudely--"I will take no part in this folly. Go, sir--go. You are a poor soothsayer, and I will have nothing to do with you."

Ranuzi smiled, and drew a folded paper from his bosom, which he handed to the princess. It contained these words: "Count Ranuzi is an honest man--he can be trusted unconditionally." Under these words was written: "Nel tue giorni felici, vicordati da me."

The breast of Amelia heaved convulsively--she gazed at these written characters; at last her eyes filled with tears--at last her heart was overcome by those painful and pa.s.sionate feelings which she had so long kept in bondage. She pressed the paper, the lines on which were written with his blood, to her lips, and hot tears gushed from those poor eyes which for long, long years, had lost the power to weep.

"Now, sir," said she, "I believe in you, I trust you. Tell me what I have to do."