I not, have I not ever been, the slave of my rank?—­a man, ‘cabined, cribbed, confined,’ though I appear to be a great king?  Oh, I will not relate what I have suffered—­how my heart has been lacerated and trampled upon!  I will only say to you, that, notwithstanding this, I have never wished to be other than I am, that I have been always thankful for my fate; glad to be born to a throne, and not in a miserable hut.  Believe me, Amelia, a sublime misfortune is better, more glorious, than a petty happiness.  To have the brow wounded, because the crown presses too heavily upon the temples, is more desirable than to breathe out your sorrows in the midst of poverty and vulgarity, then sink into a dark and unknown grave.  God, who has, perhaps, denied us the blessing of love, gives fame as a compensation.  If we are not happy, we are powerful!”

“Ah, my brother, these are the views of a man and a king,” said Amelia.  “I am a poor, weak woman.  For me there is no fame, no power!”

“Isabella of Spain and Elizabeth of England were also women, and their fame has extended through centuries.”

“They, however, were independent queens.  I can be nothing more than the wife of a king.  Oh, my brother, let me remain only the sister of a king!  Let there be no change in my fate—­let all remain as it is!  This is my only hope—­my only prayer!  My heart is dead, and every wish is buried—­let it suffice, my brother!  Do not ask the impossible!”

The king sprang from his seat, and his eyes glowed with scorn.  “It is, then, all in vain!” said he, fiercely.  “You will listen neither to reason nor entreaty!”

“Oh, sire, have mercy—­I cannot wed the King of Denmark!”

“You cannot!” cried the king:  “what does that mean?”

“That means that I have sworn never to become the wife of another than of him whom I love; that means that I have sworn to die unmarried, unless I go to the altar with my beloved!”

“This wild, mad wish can never be fulfilled!” said the king, threateningly.  “You will marry—­I, the king, command it!”

“Command me not, my brother!” cried Amelia, proudly, “command me not!  You stand now upon the extremest boundary of your power; it will be easy now to teach you that a king is powerless against a firm, bold will!”

“Ah! you threaten me!”

“No, I pray to you—­I pray wildly to your hard heart for pity!  I clasp your knees—­I pray to you, as the wretched, the hopeless pray to God—­have mercy upon my torment, pity my unspeakable anguish!  I am a poor, weak woman—­oh, have mercy!  My heart bleeds from a thousand wounds—­comfort, heal it!  I am alone, and oh, how lonely!—­ be with me, my brother, and protect and shield me!  Oh, my brother! my brother! it is my life, my youth, my future which cries out to you!  Mercy! grace!  Drive me not to extremity!  Be merciful, as God is merciful!  Force me not into rebellion against God, against Nature, against myself!  Make me not an unnatural daughter, an unthankful sister, a disobedient subject!  My God!  My God!  Oh, let your heart be touched!  I cannot wed the King of Denmark—­say not that I shall!”