CHAPTER VIII.

WILHELMINE RIETZ.

They were victorious, the pious Rosicrucians and Illuminati, who held King Frederick William the Second entangled in their invisible toils. They governed the land; by their unbounded influence over the king's mind _they_ had become the real kings of Prussia. General von Bischofswerder stood at the king's side as his most faithful friend and invoker of spirits. Wöllner had been ennobled and advanced from the position of chamberlain to that of a minister of Prussia, and to him was given the guidance of the heart and conscience of the nation. This promotion of Wöllner to the position of minister of all affairs connected with the church and public schools, took place at the end of the year 1788, and the first great act of the newly-appointed minister was the promulgation of the notorious Edict of Faith, intended to fetter the consciences of men, and prescribing what doctrines appertaining to God and religion they should accept as true and infallible. They were no longer to be permitted to illumine the doctrines of the church with the light of reason, and to reveal what it was intended should remain enveloped in mystical darkness. It was strictly forbidden to subject the commandments of the church and the doctrines of revealed religion to the _fallacious_ tests of reason. Unconditional and implicit obedience to the authorities of the church was required and enforced.

But the minister Von Wöllner was far too shrewd a man not to be fully aware that this edict of faith would be received with the greatest dissatisfaction by the people to whom Frederick the Great had bequeathed freedom of thought and faith, as his best and greatest legacy. He had fettered reason and intelligence in matters appertaining to religion, but he knew that they would seek revenge in severe criticisms and loud denunciations through the public press. It was necessary to prevent this, but how could it be done? Wöllner devised the means--the censorship of the press. This guillotine of the mind was erected in Prussia, and at the same time the good King of France and Doctor Guillotine were, from motives of humanity, devising some means of severing the heads of criminals so quickly from their bodies that death would be instantaneous and painless. Good King Louis the Sixteenth and his philanthropical physician invented an instrument which they believed would answer these requirements, and baptized it "Guillotine," in honor of its inventor. Good King Frederick William caused his misanthropical physician Wöllner to erect an instrument that should kill the noblest thoughts and mutilate the mind. This guillotine of the mind, called censorship of the press, was Wöllner's second stroke of policy. With this instrument he effectually destroyed Frederick the Great's work of enlightenment; and yet this same pious, holy, orthodox man published the "Works of Frederick the Great," the royal freethinker and mocker at religion. For these works there was, however, no censorship. The publication of Frederick the Great's writings was a source of great profit to the wily minister Von Wöllner, who worshipped with greater devotion at another than the shrine before which he bowed the knee in the church--at the shrine of mammon.

The great king now lived in his writings only; the men who had served him faithfully, Count Herzberg above all, had been dismissed from office, and were powerless; the laws which he had made to protect freedom of thought were annulled, the light which he had diffused throughout his kingdom was extinguished, and darkness and night were sinking down over the minds and hearts of a whole nation! The promise which the circle directors had made to the grand-kophta on the night of Frederick the Great's death was fulfilled: "The kingdom of the church and of the spirits embraced all Prussia, and the power and authority of the government were in the hands of the pious fathers. The invisible church and its visible priests now ruled in Prussia. The king was restored to the true faith, and lay in the dust at the feet of the Invisibles, who ruled him and guided his mind and conscience as they saw fit."

There were still a few brave men left who refused to submit to their control, and bade defiance to this guillotine of censorship--men who warred against these murderers of thought and freedom. There was Nicolai, and Büsching, and Leuchsenring, the former instructor of the prince royal, who never wearied of warning the people, and who unceasingly endeavored to arouse those whom the pious executioners desired to destroy. "Nicolai's Berlin Monthly Magazine" was the arena of these warriors of enlightenment, and in this magazine the combat against darkness and ignorance was still carried on, in defiance of censorship and the edict of faith. The practical and intelligent editor, Nicolai, still attacked these new institutions with bitter sarcasm; the warning voice of Leuchsenring was still heard denouncing these Rosicrucians. But Wöllner's guillotine vanquished them at last, and the "Berlin Monthly Magazine" fell into the basket of the censors, as the heads of the French aristocrats fell into the executioner's basket when severed by the other guillotine in France.

But King Frederick William the Second submitted to the will of the Invisibles, and obeyed the commands of the holy fathers, announced to him through their representatives, Bischofswerder and Wöllner. Let these men rule, let them take care of and discipline minds and souls; the king has other things to do. The minds belong to the Rosicrucians, but the hearts are the king's.

In her palatial residence, "under the linden-trees," in Berlin, sat the king's friend, in brilliant attire, her hair dressed with flowers, and her beautiful neck and bare arms of dazzling whiteness adorned with rich jewelry. She was reclining on her sofa, and gazing at her reflection in a large mirror of Venetian glass that stood against the wall on the opposite side of the boudoir; the frame of this mirror was of silver, richly studded with pearls and rubies, and was one of the king's latest presents. A proud and happy smile played about her full, rosy lips as she regarded the fair image reflected in this costly mirror.

"I am still beautiful," said she, "my lips still glow, and my eyes still sparkle, while _she_ is fading away and dying. Why did she dare to become my rival, to estrange the king's heart from me? She well knew that I had been his beloved for long years, and that the king had solemnly vowed never to desert me! She dies with the coronet of a countess on her pale brow, while I still live as Madame Rietz--as the self-styled wife of a valet. I have life and health, and, although I am not yet a countess, I can still achieve the coveted title. Have I not sworn that I will yet become either a countess, a duchess, or, perhaps, even a princess? Neither the royal wife of the right nor of the left hand shall prevent me; while I rise, they will descend. While I am riding in my splendid equipage, emblazoned with a coronet, they will be riding to the grave in funeral-cars. And truly, it seems to me that it must be more agreeable to ride in an equipage, even as plain Madame Rietz, than to journey heavenward as Countess Ingenheim."

She burst into laughter as she said this, and saluted her image in the mirror with a playful nod. The brilliants and rubies on her neck and arms sparkled like stars in the flood of light diffused through the room by the numerous jets of gas in the splendid chandeliers, richly adorned with crystal pendants. This, as well as all the other apartments of Wilhelmine Rietz's residence, was furnished with a degree of luxury and splendor befitting a royal palace. The king had kept the promise made to his darling son, Count Alexander von der Mark, in Charlottenburg. The affectionate father had given his handsome son the longed-for palace under the linden-trees; and the young count, together with his mother and sister, had taken up his abode in this palace. But the little Count von der Mark had not long enjoyed the pleasure of standing with his beautiful mother at the windows of his residence, to look at the parades which the king caused to be held there on his account. On such occasions the king had always taken up his position immediately beneath the windows of his son's palace, in order that they might obtain a better view of the troops. The little count had worn his title and occupied his palace but one year, when he died.[52] The king's grief had been profound and lasting, and never had the image of his handsome boy grown dim in the heart of his royal father. The loss of his son had driven Frederick William to the verge of despair, and Wilhelmine had been compelled to dry her own tears and suppress her own sorrow in order to console the king. Wilhelmine Rietz had manifested so much love and tenderness for the king during this trying period, and had practised so much self-denial, that the king's love and admiration for his "dear friend" had been greatly increased.

"You are a noble woman, and a heroine," said he. "Any other woman would weep and lament--_you_ are silent, and your lips wear a smile, although I well know what pain this smile must cost your tender mother's heart. Any other woman would tremble and look with care and anxiety into the future, because the death of the son might be prejudicial to her own position; she would have hastened to obtain from me an assurance that she should not suffer in consequence of this loss. You have done nothing of all this; you have wept and sorrowed with me; you have cheered and consoled me, and have not once asked, who was to be the heir of my little Alexander, and what souvenir he had left you."

Wilhelmine Rietz shook her head, and smiled sadly, well knowing how becoming this smile was to her pale countenance.

"I need no souvenir of my son," said she; "his memory will ever live in my heart. I have not asked who Alexander's heir was to be, because I have never supposed that he could have left an inheritance, for all that I and my children have belongs to the king, and is his property, as we ourselves are. I have not trembled for my own security, because I confide in my king and master as in my God, and I feel assured that he will ever observe his solemn oath and will never abandon me."

"No, never, Wilhelmine," cried the king. "You are a noble woman! You are, and will ever remain, my dear, adored friend, and my love for you will be more enduring than my love for any other woman. Lay aside all care and fear, Wilhelmine, and confide in me. All the efforts and intrigues of your friends to injure you shall be unavailing. All else will pass away, but my love for you will endure until death; and no woman, though I love her passionately, will be able to banish you from my side!"

"Will you swear this, Frederick William! Will you lay your finger on this scar on my hand and swear that my enemies shall never succeed in banishing me from your side, and that you will ever accord me a place in your heart?"

The king laid his hand on this scar, and it recalled to his memory the hour in which Wilhelmine had intentionally given her hand a wound in order that he might record his vow of love and fidelity in her own blood. "I lay my hand on this scar," said he, "and swear by the memory of my dear son, Alexander, that I will never neglect or forget his mother, but will love, honor, and cherish her until the end. And here is a proof that I _have_ not forgotten you," cried the king, as he threw his arms around her neck, kissed her cheek, and handed her a deed of the palace under the linden-trees, and of all else that had belonged to Count Alexander von der Mark.

Wilhelmine Rietz and her daughter continued to reside in the palace under the linden-trees. Her house was one of the most popular resorts in Berlin, and the most select and intelligent society was to be found in her parlors. To be sure the rustle of an aristocratic lady's silk robe was never heard on the waxed floors of this stately mansion, but Wilhelmine's social gatherings were, perhaps, none the less animated and agreeable on that account. Her guests were charmed with her vivacity, brilliant wit, and fine satire, and the most eminent scholars, artists, and poets, esteemed it a great honor to be permitted to frequent Wilhelmine Rietz's parlors. She loved art and science, was herself somewhat of a poetess, and possessed above all else a mind capable of quickly comprehending what she saw and heard, and of profiting by intercourse with scholars and artists. It was a favorite plea with the gentlemen who visited her house, that Wilhelmine Rietz was the protectress of art and science, and, moreover, a very intelligent lady, of whom they were in justice compelled to say that she possessed fine sense, much knowledge, and very agreeable manners.

The king himself, an intellectual man, and a patron of art and science, often took part in Madame Rietz's social gatherings. In her parlors he was sure to find the relaxation and enjoyment which he sought in vain in the society of his beautiful and aristocratic wife of the left hand.

The beautiful Julie von Voss, entitled Countess Ingenheim, had never forgiven herself for having at last yielded to the wishes of her family, to the entreaties of her royal lover, and to the weakness of her own heart, by consenting to become the king's wife of the left hand, although a wife of the right hand still lived. Her reason and her pride told her that this little mantle of propriety was not large enough to hide her humiliation. Her soul was filled with grief and remorse; she felt that her glittering, apparently so happy existence, was nothing more than a gilded lie--nothing more than shame, garnished over with titles and honors.

The king often found his beautiful, once so ardently loved Julie in tears; she was never gay, and she never laughed. Indeed she often went so far as to reproach herself and her royal lover.

But tears and reproaches were ingredients of conversation which were by no means pleasing to Frederick William, and he fled from them to the parlors of his dear friend, Wilhelmine, where he was certain to find gayety and amusement.

Wilhelmine Rietz thought of all this while reclining on her sofa, awaiting the arrival of invited company--she thought of this while gazing at the reflection of herself (adorned with jewelry and attired in a satin dress, embroidered with silver), in the magnificent Venetian mirror. She had always found these conversations with her image in a mirror very interesting, for these two ladies kept no secrets from each other, but were friends, who imparted their inmost thoughts without prudery and hypocrisy.

"You will yet be a countess," said Wilhelmine. "Yes, a countess, and whatever else you may desire."

The lady in the mirror smiled, and replied: "Yes, a countess, or even a princess, but certainly not one who heaps reproaches upon herself, and dies of remorse; nor yet one of those who seek to reconcile themselves to the world, and to purchase an abode in heaven, by unceasing prayer and costly alms-giving. No, I will be a countess who enjoys life and compels her enemies to bend the knee--who seeks to reconcile herself to the world by giving brilliant entertainments and good dinners, and cares but little for what may take place after her death--a countess who exclaims with her great model, the Marquise de Pompadour, '_Après moi, le déluge!_'"