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MAY 19, 1866 THE LONDON MISCELLANY. 227
The king's face as he uttered these words, "family
affection," was a perfect picture.

A picture at once grotesque and horrible.

He sat far back in the depths of an easy chair, and,
crossing his thin legs one over the other, he waited for Frederick.

What was to be the issue of all this then queen had
not the remotest idea, but she understood perfectly well
that Frederick was to be admitted, and she gave, in a
few words, the necessary order to the page.

There was a sharp quick footstep, and in another
moment the prince and heir apparent to the throne appeared
on the threshold of the private cabinet.

Frederick had not encountered his father since they
had met at Whitehall, and of all persons else, he might,
like Macbeth with Macduff, have avoided him.

The prince perfectly reeled in his effort to step back
when he saw the king seated, with a grim smile upon
his countenance, in that apartment.

But he had advanced rather too far for a precipitate
retreat.

The page had closed the door respectfully and noiselessly
behind him.

Then the king spoke.

"Frederick, these dissensions grieve us -- grieve us
to our inmost heart."

The prince put his hand to his sword.

"Yes, they grieve us," added the king, "and if,
like the prodigal son, you return to us this night,
Frederick, why should we not -- ugh! ugh! ugh !--
why should we not--"

The king glanced at the queen as though she were
the fatted calf which was to be killed and eaten on the
occasion of the blessed reconciliation between himself
and his son.

But Frederick did not see things in the same light --
or rather he judged of things by many former lights--
[for?] he kept himself carefully on his guard, and every
now and then turned completely round, like some one
caught in a trap, or as though he expected some covert
attack from behind him.

"And why not?" added the king, affecting to speak
with emotion. "Why should there not be peace and
concord among us, now that we are seated firmly on
the throne of this kingdom?"

"I came," said Frederick, "to pay my humble duty
to the queen."

"Delightful word!" ejaculated the king. "I like
that word 'humble.' It betrays a contrite spirit."

"Sir!"

"Our son!"

"Sir!"

"Our Frederick, it would be too much for our feelings
at [present?] but we will embrace you to-morrow."

Frederick glanced at the window, as though he would
gladly have left the cabinet by that means, if it were
possible.

"Yes, we will embrace you to-morrow. At present
it would be too much for our royal feelings -- we mean
our fatherly feelings -- and as the hour is late, and it
would be far from wise to partake of any stimulating
liquid, we will only inaugurate this happy reconciliation
by a cup of coffee."

The strange look upon the king's face as he uttered
the words "cup of coffee" would be quiet impossible
to describe.

He seemed to have one eye upon the prince, while
the other was fixed upon the ceiling above him, and
the odd manner in which one corner of his mouth was
drawn down to correspond with the eye which was
upon the prince was intensely ludicrous.

"A cup of coffee?" ejaculated the queen, as if in
doubt whether it could be procured.

"A cup of coffee?" said the prince, as though he
were diving into his mind to discover what amount of
danger he was about to be subjected to."

"A cup of coffee," added the king. "We will have
coffee. It is a rare and delicious beverage, and we are
told is making its way rapidly among all the wits and
philosophers of the age. Ugh! ugh! ugh! We will
have a cup of coffee, each of us, to commemorate this
happy reconciliation."

The queen gave a slight touch to a silver bell.

The page in waiting appeared.

"His Majesty desires coffee."

The page bowed his exit, and no doubt gave the
necessary order to somebody else, who passed it on to
another person, and so until it would reach the actual
preparer of the royal coffee.

"Sit down, Frederick. Ugh! Ugh! Sit down at
ease, our son. You look but pale and sickly. Alas!
We are ourselves at times but weak and poorly. What
would become of this realm, Frederick, if, as people
say, anything were to happen to both of us?"

"I trust," said Frederick, "that your Majesty will
live long and die de-- that is to say, happy."

Was the word "detested" on Frederick's lips?

The one syllable was suggestive.

"A thousand thanks," replied the king, "but human
life -- ugh! ugh! -- is an incertain possession, and sometimes
the scarred and tempest-torn old oak outlives
the vigorous sapling. Ugh! ugh! You look like a
sapling, Frederick -- you look like a sapling."

The prince grew more uneasy each passing minute.

He had seated himself but upon the extreme edge of
a chair, but now he suddenly rose with a jerk.

"I will no longer intrude upon your Majesty."

"Intrude? Intrude?"

"Yes. The hour, as your Majesty has remarked, is
late. I shall sleep the better for this happy reconciliation,
and to-morrow I shall hope to be able to say something,
to cement it and render it more durable."

The door of the cabinet opened, even as Frederick
spoke, and the page appeared, with a small golden tray,
on which were three cups of the same metal.

The unmistakable aroma of coffee was in the air.

And here we may remark that the partaking of that
sedative, or stimulant, or beverage -- call it which we
may -- was either not so well understood at that period
as at present, or a great deal better.

The gold cups in which it was brought to the queen's
cabinet had no handles, but each of them was provided
with an elaborately chased cover.

Three gold spoons, something in size between tea-spoons
and desserts, lay on the tray.

With these spoons the coffee would have to be sipped
from the cups, something after the manner of taking
soup in small quantities.

"Delightful!" said the king. "Delightful! You
shall not go, Frederick, until you have drunk with us
some of this -- this commemoration coffee. Ugh! ugh!
ugh! Delicious! De-licious! Are these the cups,
madam, that the Russian ambassador brought, as a
present from his imperial master? Beautiful! Beautiful!
Delicious! Ugh! ugh! ugh!"

The king had risen, and seemed to be brooding over
the coffee tray as though performing some incantation.

As he slightly stooped the wide stiff skirts of his
coat spread out between the table and Frederick.

It was in vain that the latter twisted himself into all
imaginable shapes, for the purpose of trying to get a
peep, past the head or arm of the king, of what he was
about.

It was but the action of a moment.

The king dived his hand into one of the capacious
waistcoat pockets.

He got possession of a small round lozenge.

Another moment, and it fell into one of the cups of
dark coffee, floating half round upon the pleasant liquid
for an instant, and then sinking to the bottom of the cup.

"Ugh!"

Frederick looked ghastly.

There were the three cups, and like the charmed
[buckets?] in the German legend, "two would go [rue?], the
other askew."

But which were the true ones?

How pleasant, rich, and harmless they all looked!

Or were two of those cups fatal?

Would the king hesitate to sacrifice the life of the
queen, provided he comprehended in that sacrifice that of
his son?

Or was the whole thing too monstrous to think or
dream of?

Were all the three cups harmless, and simply pleasant
and invigorating? and was that apparent brooding of
the king over the tray merely a passing admiration of
the beautiful chaste covers of the cups?

It might be so.

But then, again, it might not.

Did not Frederick feel, deep in the innermost recesses
of his own heart, that he had made himself a party to
the attempted assassination of his own father?

Why might not, therefore, that father, terrible as it
was such passions should be evoked between
father and son, retaliate upon him?

A cold perspiration sat upon his brow. His knees
trembled. He could hardly speak.

There was the one difference between Frederick and
the king. No one doubted the more physical courage
of the latter. No one doubted the abject cowardice of
the former.

The king lifted off the cover of one of the cups, and
took a spoon in his hand.

With an air of great affected gallantry, then he
lifted another of the cups by its golden saucer, and
handed it to the queen.

There was only another left.

The was Frederick's.

Was it Frederick's?

Not if all the world had combined, with all its
persuasions and all its force, to induce him to drink it.

"Ugh! ugh!" said the king. "This is pleasant.
This is the cup that -- what does the fool call it? -- the
cup that cheers but not inebriates. Ugh! ugh! ugh!
We drink to our happy future, Frederick, and to the
peace of this our realm of England."

The prince made a desperate effort.

"I never felt so happy, sir, in all my life. It may
very possibly be that some parts of my conduct may
have been what your Majesty could not exactly --"

"Tash! Never mind."

"Your are too good, sir."

"Let us cease compliments, Frederick, and drink our
coffee. It is far better that the past should be forgotten."

"Those words are but another proof of your Majesty's
goodness."

"Drink, Frederick! Drink!"

"Oh certainly."

"Ugh! ugh! It wants stirring. I find stirring it
wonderfully improves it."

The king slowly stirred his own coffee with the

golden spoon, while he fixed his eyes steadily upon
Frederick.

The prince must have made a great mental effort
now to behave as he did, for he took the chaste cover
off his cup with tolerable composure, and slowly he
began to stir his coffee.

And so this father and son regarded each other,
with the hateful light of murder in both their eyes
and a hideous mocking smile upon their lips.

The queen was bewildered.

She had not the slightest idea of the hideous serio-comic
tragedy which was being enacted before her eyes.

It had never entered into her placid imagination
to suppose that, even at the height of their quarrels
and dissensions, that father and son could ever think of
contriving aught against each other's lives.

And so she looked on, in a kind of stupid blank
amazement, and knew not what she looked at.

CHAPTER XLV.
A DISCOVERY.

It was rather dexterous of Frederick.

He sat with his back towards the door of the cabinet
by which he had entered it.

Quietly and covertly he took from his pocket a rather
heavy gold snuff-box, and flinging it backward with
as much force as he could command, it struck heavily
against one of the panels of the door.

Now this private cabinet of the queen was carpeted
with extremely thick Persian velvet, so that after the
prince's gold snuff-box had struck the door panel
it fell quite noiselessly.

We have before remarked upon the extreme gloom
of the apartment, in consequence of the very small
amount of light which the queen had in it, and which
she had merely intended to be sufficient to enable her
to read her devotions.

This gloom then enabled Frederick to perform the
little manoeuvre we have recounted without observation.

The blow upon the panel of the door had all the
effect, although it was from within, as if he had been
without.

The king was startled.

But it was the few words uttered by the prince, in
conjunction with the noise on the panel, that produced
all the desired effect upon him.

"Now they come!" cried Frederick, as he sprang to
his feet.

The king raised a yell, and put himself on his
guard.

The impression was immediate and complete.

And that impression was just this: --

Frederick had known he was in the queen's cabinet.

He had come there to seek him.

He had only waited so long, until, by a signal, he
knew that his friends and fellow-conspirators were ready
to rush in and complete the work which they had left
unfinished at Whitehall.

"Treason! treason! help!" shouted the king.
"Help! treason! treason! treason!"

The door of the cabinet was flung open, and the
bewildered page in waiting stood there with his eyes
preternaturally wide open, and his half-drawn sword in
his hand.

All without was as peaceful and quiet as possible.

But it must have been a rather extraordinary group
in the queen's cabinet that met the eyes of the page.

The king stood, with his drawn sword in his hand,
fully and firmly on the defensive.

Prince Frederick, with a face as white as any plaister
statue, was close to the coffee table.

The queen was showing symptoms of fainting and
hysterics.

"What? What is it?" gasped the king.

"Your Majesty cried 'Treason!'"

"Yes. Treason! treason! We cried treason."

"There is no one here, your Majesty."

"No one?"

The king lowered the point of his sword.

He slowly turned on his heels towards Frederick.

"What was it?"

The prince shook his head.

"What was it? You said 'Now they come!'"

"Pardon me, sir, but I feared --"

"You feared what?"

"Still pardon me, your Majesty; but I heard a noise,
and I feared that, justly incensed against me for some
errors of the past, your Majesty had found some means
of summoning a guard, and the Tower of London might
be my lodging-place to-night. Oh! pardon me, sir, if
I have done you an unjustice, but I have found it so
difficuly suddenly to believe in your Majesty's clemency
that, like the poor thief who knows his own guilt, and
sees in each dubious shadow an officer of justice, every
slight alarm startles me into a fear of some just retribution."

The prince bowed low as he spoke.

The king made a movement of his arm, and the the page
closed the door.

"Humph! Ugh! ugh! ugh! That's it?"

"It is so, sir."

"Why -- why, then -- then we will take our coffee.
Ugh! ugh! ugh! We will take our coffee."