THE KING’S RECOLLECTIONS.
“Well,” said the king, “whenever I look back into the past, every thing
seems to me covered with a gray mist, through which only two stars and
two lights are twinkling. The stars are your eyes, and the lights are
the two days I alluded to before--the day on which I saw you for the
first time, and the day on which you arrived in Berlin. Oh, Louisa,
never shall I forget that first day! I call it the first day, because
it was the first day of my real life. It was at Frankfort-on-the-Main,
during the campaign on the Rhine. My father, the king, accompanied by
myself, returned the visit that the Duke of Mecklenburg, your excellent
father, had paid on the previous day. We met in a small and unpretending
villa, situated in the midst of a large garden. The two sovereigns
conversed long and seriously, and I was listening to them, in silence.
This silence was, perhaps, disagreeable to my father the king.”
“‘What do you think, your Highness?’ he suddenly asked your father.
‘While we are talking about the military operations, will we not permit
the young gentleman there to wait upon the ladies? As soon as we are
through, I shall ask you to grant me the same privilege.’”
“The duke readily assented, and calling the footman waiting in the
anteroom, he ordered him to go with me to the ladies and to announce my
visit to them. Being in the neighborhood of the seat of war, you know,
little attention was paid to ceremonies. I followed the footman, who
told me the ladies were in the garden, whither he conducted me. We
walked through a long avenue and a number of side-paths. The footman,
going before me, looked around in every direction without being able
to discover the whereabouts of the ladies. Finally, at a bend in
the avenue, we beheld a bower in the distance, and something white
fluttering in it.”
“‘Ah, there is Princess Louisa,’ said the footman, turning to me, and
he then rapidly walked toward her. I followed him slowly and listlessly,
and when he came back and told me Princess Louisa was ready to receive
me, I was perhaps yet twenty yards from the rose-bower. I saw there a
young lady rising from her seat, and accelerated my steps. Suddenly my
heart commenced pulsating as it never had done before, and it seemed to
me as if a door were bursting open in my heart and making it free, and
as if a thousand voices in my soul were singing and shouting, ‘There
she is! There is the lady of your heart!’ The closer I approached, the
slower grew my steps, and I saw you standing in the entrance of the
bower in a white dress, loosely covering your noble and charming figure,
a gentle smile playing on your pure, sweet face, golden ringlets flowing
down both sides of your rosy cheeks, and your head wreathed with the
full and fragrant roses which seemed to bend down upon you from the
bower in order to kiss and adorn you, your round white arms only half
covered with clear lace sleeves, and a full-blown rose in your right
hand which you had raised to your waist. And seeing you thus before me,
I believed I had been removed from earth, and it seemed to me I beheld
an angel of innocence and beauty, through whose voice Heaven wished to
greet me. [Footnote: Goethe saw the young princess at the same time, and
speaks of her “divine beauty.”] At last I stood close before you, and in
my fascination I entirely forgot to salute you. I only looked at you.
I only heard those jubilant voices in my heart, singing, ‘There is
your wife--the wife you will love now and forever!’ It was no maudling
sentimentality, but a clear and well-defined consciousness which, like
an inspiration, suddenly moistened my eyes with tears of joy. [Footnote:
The king’s own words, vide Bishop Eylert’s work, vol. ii., p. 22.]
Oh, Louisa, why am I no painter to perpetuate that sublime moment in a
beautiful and glorious picture? But what I cannot do, shall be tried
by others. A true artist shall render and eternize that moment for me,
[Footnote: This painting was afterward executed, and may now be seen at
the royal palace of Berlin. The whole account of the first meeting of
the two lovers is based upon the communication the king made himself to
Bishop Eylert] so that one day when we are gone, our son may look up to
the painting and say: ‘Such was my mother when my father first saw her.
He believed he beheld an angel, and he was not mistaken, for she was the
guardian angel of his whole life.’”
“Oh! you make me blush--you make me too happy, too happy!” exclaimed the
queen, closing her husband’s lips with a burning kiss.
“Don’t praise me too much, lest I should become proud and overbearing.”
The king gently shook his head. “Only the stupid, the guilty, and the
base are proud and overbearing,” he said. “But, whoever has seen you,
Louisa, on the day of your first arrival in Berlin, will never forget
your sweet image in its radiance of grace, modesty, and loveliness.
It was on a Sunday, a splendid clear day in winter, the day before
Christmas, which was to become the greatest holiday of my life. A vast
crowd had gathered in front of the Arsenal Unter den Linden. Every one
was anxious to see you. At the entrance of the Linden, not far from
the Opera-Place, a splendid triumphal arch had been erected, and here a
committee of the citizens and a number of little girls were to welcome
you to Berlin. In accordance with the rules of court etiquette, I was to
await your arrival at the palace. But my eagerness to see you would not
suffer me to remain there. Closely muffled in my military cloak, my cap
drawn down over my face, in order not to be recognized by anybody, I had
gone out among the crowd and, assisted by a trusty servant, obtained
a place behind one of the pillars of the triumphal arch. Suddenly
tremendous cheers burst forth from a hundred thousand throats, thousands
of arms were waving white handkerchiefs from the windows and roofs of
the houses, the bells were rung, the cannon commenced thundering,
for you had just crossed the Brandenburger Gate. Alighting from
your carriage, you walked up the Linden with your suite, the wildest
enthusiasm greeting every step you made, and finally you entered the
triumphal arch, not suspecting how near I was to you, and how fervently
my heart was yearning for you. A number of little girls in white, with
myrtle-branches in their hands, met you there; and one of them, bearing
a myrtle-wreath on an embroidered cushion, presented it to you and
recited a simple and touching poem. Oh, I see even now, how your eyes
were glowing, how a profound emotion lighted up your features, and how,
overpowered by your feelings, you bent down to the little girl, clasped
her in your arms and kissed her eyes and lips. But behind you there
stood the mistress of ceremonies, Countess von Voss, pale with
indignation, and trembling with horror at this unparalleled occurrence.
She hastily tried to draw you back, and in her amazement she cried
almost aloud, ‘Good Heaven! how could your royal highness do that just
now? It was contrary to good-breeding and etiquette!’ Those were harsh
and inconsiderate words, but in your happy mood you did not feel hurt,
but quietly and cheerfully turned around to her and asked innocently and
honestly. ‘What! cannot I do so any more?’ [Footnote: Eylert, vol. ii.,
p.79.] Oh, Louisa, at that moment, and in consequence of your charming
question, my eyes grew moist, and I could hardly refrain from rushing
out of the crowd and pressing you to my heart, and kissing your eyes and
lips as innocently and chastely as you had kissed those of the little
girl.”
“See,” said the king, drawing a deep breath, and pausing for a minute,
“those are the two great days of my life, and as you ask me now, what you
ought to do in order to win the love of your people, I reply to you
once more: Remain what you are, so that these beautiful pictures of you,
which are engraved upon my heart, may always resemble you, and you will
be sure to win all hearts. Oh, my Louisa, your task is an easy one, you
only have to be true to yourself, you only have to follow your faithful
companions the Graces, and success will never fail you. My task,
however, is difficult, and I shall have to struggle not only with the
evil designs, the malice, and stupidity of others, but with my own
inexperience, my want of knowledge, and a certain irresolution,
resulting, however, merely from a correct appreciation of what I am
lacking.”
The queen with a rapid gesture placed her hand upon the king’s shoulder.
“You must be more self-reliant, for you may safely trust yourself,”
she said, gravely. “Who could be satisfied with himself, if you were to
despair? What sovereign could have the courage to grasp the sceptre, if
your hands should shrink back from it?--your hands, as free from guilt
and firm and strong as those of a true man should be! I know nothing
about politics, and shall never dare to meddle with public affairs
and to advise you in regard to them; but I know and feel that you will
always be guided by what you believe to be the best interests of your
people, and that you never will deviate from that course. The spirit of
the Great Frederick is looking upon you; he will guide and bless you!”
The king seemed greatly surprised by these words.
“Do you divine my thoughts, Louisa?” he asked. “Do you know my soul
has been with him all the morning--that I thus conversed with him and
repeated to myself every thing he said to me one day in a great and
solemn hour. Oh, it was indeed a sacred hour, and never have I spoken
of it to anybody, for every word would have looked to me like a
desecration. But you, my noble wife, you can only consecrate and
sanctify the advice I received in that momentous hour; and as I am
telling you to-day about my most glorious reminiscences, you shall hear
also what Frederick the Great once said to me.”
The queen nodded approvingly, raising her head from his shoulder and
folding her hands on her lap as if she were going to pray.
The king paused for a moment, and seemed to reflect.
“In 1785,” he then said, “on a fine, warm summer day, I met the king in
the garden at Sans-Souci. I was a youth of fifteen years at that time,
strolling carelessly through the shrubbery and humming a song, when I
suddenly beheld the king, who was seated on the bench under the large
beech-tree, at no great distance from the Japanese palace. He was alone;
two greyhounds were lying at his feet, in his hands he held his old
cane, and his head reposed gently on the trunk of the beech-tree. A
last beam of the setting sun was playing on his face, and rendered his
glorious eyes even more radiant. I stood before him in reverential awe,
and he gazed upon me with a kindly smile. Then he commenced examining me
about my studies, and finally he drew a volume of La Fontaine’s ‘Fables’
from his pocket, opened the book and asked me to translate the fable
on the page he showed me. I did so--but when he afterward was going to
praise me for the skill with which I had rendered it, I told him it was
but yesterday that I had translated the same fable under the supervision
of my teacher. A gentle smile immediately lighted up his face, and
tenderly patting my cheeks, he said to me, in his sonorous, soft voice:
‘That is right, my dear Fritz, always be honest and upright. Never try
to seem what you are not--always be more than what you seem!’ I never
forgot that exhortation, and I have always abhorred falsehood and
hypocrisy.”
The queen gently laid her hand upon his heart. “Your eye is honest,”
she said, “and so is your heart. My Frederick is too proud and brave to
utter a lie. And what did you say to your great ancestor?”
“I? He spoke to me--I stood before him and listened. He admonished me
to be industrious, never to believe that I had learned enough; never
to stand still, but always to struggle on. After that he arose and,
conversing with me all the time, slowly walked down the avenue leading
to the garden gate. All at once he paused, and leaning upon his cane,
his piercing eyes looked at me so long and searchingly, that his glance
deeply entered into my heart. ‘Well, Fritz,’ he said, ‘try to become a
good man, a good man par excellence. Great things are in store for you.
I am at the end of my career, and my task is about accomplished. I
am afraid that things will go pell-mell when I am dead. A portentous
fermentation is going on everywhere, and the sovereigns, especially the
King of France, instead of calming it and extirpating the causes that
have produced it, unfortunately are deluded enough to fan the flame.
The masses below commence moving already, and when the explosion finally
takes place, the devil will be to pay. I am afraid your own position
one day will be a most difficult one. Arm yourself, therefore, for the
strife!--be firm!--think of me! Watch over our honor and our glory!
Beware of injustice, but do not permit any one to treat you unjustly!’
He paused again, and slowly walked on. While deeply moved and conscious
of the importance of the interview, I inwardly repeated every word
he had said, in order to remember them as long as I lived. We had now
reached the obelisk, near the gate of Sans-Souci. The king here gave
me his left hand, and with his uplifted right hand he pointed at the
obelisk. ‘Look at it,’ he said, loudly and solemnly; ‘the obelisk is
tall and slender, and yet it stands firm amid the most furious storms.
It says to you: Ma force est ma droiture. The culmination, the highest
point overlooks and crowns the whole; it does not support it, however,
but is supported by the whole mass underlying it, especially by the
invisible foundation, deeply imbedded in the earth. This supporting
foundation is the people in its unity. Always be on the side of the
people, so that they will love and trust you, as they alone can render
you strong and happy.’ He cast another searching glance upon me, and
gave me his hand. When I bent over it in order to kiss it, he imprinted
a kiss on my forehead. ‘Don’t forget this hour,’ he said kindly, nodding
to me. He turned around, and accompanied by his greyhounds, slowly
walked up the avenue again. [Footnote: The king’s own account to Bishop
Eylert, in the latter’s work, vol. i., p. 466.] I never forgot that
hour, and shall remember it as long as I live.”
“And the spirit of the great Frederick will be with you and remain with
you,” said the queen, deeply moved.
“Would to God it were so!” sighed the king. “I know that I am weak and
inexperienced; I stand in need of wise and experienced advisers; I--”
A rap at the door interrupted the king, and on his exclaiming,
“Come in!” the door was opened and the court marshal appeared on the
threshold.
“I humbly beg your majesty’s pardon for venturing to disturb you,” he
said, bowing reverentially; “but I must request your majesty to decide a
most important domestic matter--a matter that brooks no delay.”
“Well, what is it?” said the king, rising and walking over to the
marshal.
“Your majesty, it is about the bill of fare for the royal table, and
I beseech your majesty to read and approve the following paper I have
drawn up in regard to it.”
With an obsequious bow, he presented a paper to the king, who read it
slowly and attentively.
“What!” he suddenly asked, sharply, “two courses more than formerly?”
“Your majesty,” replied the marshal, humbly, “it is for the table of a
KING!”
“And you believe that my stomach has grown larger since I am a king?”
asked Frederick William. “No, sir, the meals shall remain the same as
heretofore, [Footnote: Vide Eylert, vol. i., p. 18] unless,” he said,
politely turning to the queen, “unless you desire a change, my dear?”
The queen archly shook her head. “No,” she said, with a charming smile;
“neither has my stomach grown larger since yesterday.”
“There will be no change, then,” said the king, dismissing the marshal.
“Just see,” he said to the queen, when the courtier had disappeared,
“what efforts they make in order to bring about a change in our simple
and unassuming ways of living; they flatter us wherever they can, and
even try to do so by means of our meals.”
“As for ourselves, however, dearest, we will remember the words of your
great uncle,” said the queen, “and when they overwhelm us on all sides
with their vain and ridiculous demands, we will remain firm and true to
ourselves.”
“Yes, Louisa,” said the king, gravely, “and whatever our new life may
have in store for us, we will remain the same as before.”
Another rap at the door was heard, and a royal footman entered.
“Lieutenant-Colonel von Kockeritz, your majesty, requests an audience.”
“Ah, yes, it is time,” said the king, looking at the clock on the
mantel-piece. “I sent him word to call on me at this hour. Farewell,
Louisa, I must not let him wait.”
He bowed to his wife, whose hand he tenderly pressed to his lips, and
turned to the door.
The footman who had meantime stood at the door as straight as an arrow,
waiting for the king’s reply, now hastened to open both folding-doors.
“What!” asked the king, with a deprecating smile, “have I suddenly
grown so much stouter that I can no longer pass out through one door?”
[Footnote: Ibid., p. 19]
The queen’s eyes followed her husband’s tall and commanding figure with
a proud smile, and then raising her beautiful, radiant eyes with an
indescribable expression to heaven, she whispered: “Oh, what a man I my
husband!” [Footnote: “O, welch em Mann! mem Mann!”--Eylert, vol. ii., p.
107]