THE MARRIAGE OF WILHELMINA.
Wilhelmina’s Letter to her Mother.--Cruel Response.--The Court
Festival.--First Interview with the Prince of Baireuth.--His
Character and Appearance.--Interview between the King and Fritz.--
The Partial Reconciliation.--Divine Decrees.--The King’s Sense
of Justice.--The King’s Discipline of the Judges.--Character of
Fritz.--Wilhelmina’s Annoyances.--Her Marriage.--Interview between
Wilhelmina and Fritz.--The Departure.
Wilhelmina, having thus given her very reluctant assent to her marriage
with the Prince of Baireuth, wrote as follows to her mother:
“I have hardly strength enough to trace these lines. My state is
altogether worthy of pity. It is not through any menaces, however
violent they may have been, that I have yielded my consent to the
king’s wishes. An interest still more dear to me has determined me to
this sacrifice. I have been till now the innocent cause of all the
unhappiness which your majesty has endured. My too sensible heart has
been penetrated by the touching details you have latterly made of them.
“You have been willing to suffer for me. Is it not much more natural
that I should sacrifice myself for you, and that I should finish,
once for all, this fatal division in the family? Could I balance a
moment between the choice of unhappiness for myself and the pardon of
my brother? What dreadful discourses have there not been held to me
on this subject! I tremble when I think of them. All the objections I
could allege against the king’s proposal were refuted to me beforehand.
Your majesty yourself had proposed to him the Prince of Baireuth as
a fit alliance for me. I can not therefore imagine that you will
disapprove of my resolution. Besides, necessity is not to be resisted.
I shall have the honor to offer a more circumstantial detail of the
whole transaction to your majesty when I shall be permitted to throw
myself at your feet. I can understand easily what must be your grief on
the occasion. It is that which touches me the most.”
The king, in response to the report of Baron Grumkow, which was
so gratifying to him, sent the same evening the following note to
Wilhelmina:
“I am delighted, my dear Wilhelmina, that you are so submissive to
the wishes of your father. The good God will bless you for it; and I
will never abandon you. I will take care of you all my life, and will
endeavor to prove to you that I am your very affectionate father.”
The next morning the princess received the following cruel epistle from
her mother:
“You have cut me to the heart, and have inflicted on me the greatest
misery I ever endured. I had placed all my hope in you, in consequence
of my ignorance of your character. You have had the address to disguise
to me the bad propensities of your heart, and the baseness of your
disposition. I repent a thousand times the kindness I have shown you,
the care I have taken of your education, and all that I have suffered
on your account. I no longer acknowledge you as my daughter, and shall,
in future, never regard you but as my most cruel enemy, since it is
you who have sacrificed me to my persecutors, who now triumph over me.
Never count upon me again. I vow eternal hatred to you, and will never
forgive you.”
Soon after, the king returned to Berlin and summoned his daughter to
his presence. He received her very graciously. The queen, however,
remained quite unreconciled, and was loud in the expression of her
anger: “I am disgraced, vanquished, and my enemies are triumphant!” she
exclaimed. Her chagrin was so great that she fell quite sick. To a few
words of sympathy which her child uttered, she replied, “Why do you
pretend to weep? It is you who have killed me.”
Frederick William was in high spirits. Many distinguished strangers
were invited to his court, and they were received with great
magnificence. There were costly and showy entertainments, served
by “six-and-twenty blackamoors,” bands of music, with much pomp of
etiquette, and reviews of the giant guard and of the marvelously
drilled army. Preparations were made for a review of great splendor on
Monday, the 28th of May. The Prince of Baireuth was invited, though
neither the queen nor Wilhelmina were aware of it. At the early hour of
seven o’clock of the preceding evening the king went to bed, that he
might be fresh for the review on the morrow. His high-born guests were
left to be entertained by the queen and the princess. Just as they were
passing in to supper, the sound of carriage wheels, approaching the
foot of the grand staircase, was heard in the court-yard. As that was
an honor conferred only upon princes, the queen was a little surprised,
and sent to inquire who had arrived. To her consternation, she found
that it was the Prince of Baireuth.
“The head of Medusa,” writes the princess, “never produced such horror
as did this piece of news to the queen. For some time she could not
utter a word, and changed color so often that we thought she would
faint. Her state went to my heart. I remained as immovable as she.
Every one present appeared full of consternation.”
The prince retired to his chamber, to be presented to the royal family
at the review the next day. Wilhelmina passed a miserable night.
She could not sleep, and in the morning found herself so ill that
she begged to be excused from the review. She also greatly dreaded
encountering the coarse jests of her father. But she could not be
released from the review. Both she and her mother were compelled to
go. In an open carriage, the queen and princess, with attendant ladies
of the court, passed before the line. The Marquis of Schwedt, whom
the princess had so emphatically discarded, was at the head of his
regiment. He seemed “swollen with rage,” and saluted the royal party
with his eyes turned away. The royal carriages were then withdrawn to a
little distance that the ladies might witness the spectacle.
“Such a show for pomp and circumstance, Wilhelmina owns, as could
not be equaled in the world; such wheeling, rhythmic coalescing and
unfolding, accurate as clock-work, far and wide; swift, big column
here hitting big column there at the appointed place and moment; with
their volleyings and trumpetings, bright uniforms, and streamers, and
field-music, in equipment and manœuvre perfect all, to the meanest
drummer or black kettle-drummer; supreme drill sergeant playing on the
thing as on his huge piano, several square miles in area.”[18]
As the ladies of the court were gazing upon this spectacle, an officer
rode up to the royal carriage, cap in hand, and said that he was
directed to present to the queen and princess his Highness the Prince
of Baireuth. Immediately a tall young man, in rich dress and of very
courtly air, rode up to the carriage and saluted his future mother
and his destined bride. His reception was very chilling. The queen,
with frigid civility, scarcely recognized his low bow. Wilhelmina,
faint from fasting, anxiety, and sleeplessness, was so overcome by her
emotions that she fell back upon her seat in a swoon.
Wilhelmina had never seen the Prince of Wales. Her mother had not
attempted to conceal from her that he was exceedingly plain in person,
slightly deformed, weak in intellect, and debased by his debaucheries.
But the ambitious queen urged these considerations, not as objections,
but as incentives to the marriage. “You will be able,” she said, “to
have him entirely under your direction. You will thus be virtually King
of England, and can exert a powerful control over all the nations of
Europe.” These considerations, however, did not influence the princess
so much as they did her mother. She had never taken any special
interest in her marriage with the Prince of Wales. Indeed, at times,
she had said that nothing should ever induce her to marry him.
The first glance at the Prince of Baireuth prepossessed the princess in
his favor. She subsequently, when better acquainted with him, described
him in the following terms:
“The prince is tall, well made, and has a noble air. His features are
neither handsome nor regular; but his countenance, which is open,
engaging, and very agreeable, stands him in the place of beauty.
He is of a hasty temper, and replies with quickness and without
embarrassment. Though his nature is inclined to anger, he knows
so well how to overcome it that it is never perceived, and no one
has ever suffered by it. He is very gay. His conversation is very
agreeable, though he has some difficulty in making himself intelligible
from lisping so much. His conception is quick, and his intellect
penetrating. The goodness of his heart gains him the attachment of
all who know him. He is generous, charitable, compassionate, polite,
engaging, and enjoys very equal spirits. The only fault I know in him
is too much levity, which I must mention here, as otherwise I should
be accused of partiality. He has, however, much corrected himself of
it.”
The next Sunday, June 3d, the betrothal took place with great
magnificence. The ceremony was attended by a large concourse of
distinguished guests. Lord Dover says that the very evening of the
day of the betrothing a courier arrived from England with dispatches
announcing that the English court had yielded to all the stipulations
demanded by the King of Prussia in reference to the marriage of
Wilhelmina to the Prince of Wales. It was now too late to retract.
Probably both the king and Wilhelmina were gratified in being able to
decline the offer. But the chagrin of the queen was terrible. She fell
into a violent fever, and came near dying, reproaching her daughter
with having killed her.
There seems to be no end to the complications and troubles of this
royal family. It is said that Wilhelmina, to soothe her mother, treated
her betrothed with great coldness; that her younger sister Charlotte
fell deeply in love with the Prince of Baireuth, and endeavored to win
him to herself; and that the prince himself, attracted by warmth on the
one hand, and repelled by coldness on the other, was quite disposed
to make the exchange.[19] The king, irritated by these interminable
annoyances, and the victim of chronic petulance and ill nature,
recommenced his brutal treatment of his daughter.
While these scenes were transpiring, the Crown Prince was at Cüstrin,
upon probation, being not yet admitted to the presence of his father.
He seems to have exerted himself to the utmost to please the king,
applying himself diligently to become familiar with all the tedious
routine and details of the administration of finance, police, and the
public domains. Fritz was naturally very amiable. He was consequently
popular in the little town in which he resided, all being ready to do
every thing in their power to serve him. The income still allowed him
by his father was so small that he would have suffered from poverty had
not the gentry in the neighborhood, regardless of the prohibition to
lend money to the prince, contributed secretly to replenish his purse.
A year and a day had elapsed since the father had seen the son. On
the 15th of August, the king, being on a journey, stopped for a couple
of hours at Cüstrin, and held an interview with Fritz. The monarch
was attended by a retinue of several hundred persons. The scene which
ensued is described by Grumkow in his summary of what took place at
Cüstrin on the 15th of August, 1731. The king sent for the prince to be
brought before him at the government house. As Fritz entered he fell
upon his knees at his father’s feet. The king coldly ordered him to
rise, saying,
“You will now recall to mind what passed a year and a day ago--how
scandalously you behaved, and what a godless enterprise you undertook.
As I have had you about me from the beginning, and must know you
well, I did all in the world that was in my power, by kindness and by
harshness, to make an honorable man of you. As I rather suspected your
evil purposes, I treated you in the harshest and sharpest way in the
Saxon camp, in hopes you would consider yourself, and take another
line of conduct; would confess your faults to me, and beg forgiveness.
But all in vain. You grew ever more stiff-necked. You thought to carry
it through with your headstrong humor. But hark ye, my lad! if thou
wert sixty or seventy instead of eighteen, thou couldst not cross my
resolutions. And as up to this date I have managed to sustain myself
against any comer, there will be methods found to bring thee to reason
too.
“Have I not, on all occasions, meant honorably by you? Last time I got
wind of your debts, did I not, as a father, admonish you to tell me
all? I would pay all; you were only to tell me the truth; whereupon you
said there were still two thousand thalers beyond the sum named. I paid
these also at once, and fancied I had made peace with you. And then it
was found, by-and-by, you owed many thousands more. And as you knew you
could not pay, it was as good as if the money had been stolen--not to
reckon how the French vermin, Montholieu and partner, cheated you with
their new loans.
“Nothing touched me so much as that you had not any trust in me. All
this that I was doing for the aggrandizement of the house, the army,
and the finances, could only be for you, if you made yourself worthy of
it. I here declare that I have done all things to gain your friendship,
and all has been in vain.”
The Crown Prince, either deeply touched with penitence or affecting
to be so, again threw himself upon his knees before his father, as if
imploring pardon. The king continued:
“Was it not your intention to go to England?”
“Yes,” the prince replied.
“Then hear what the consequences would have been. Your mother would
have got into the greatest misery. I could not but have suspected she
was the author of the business. Your sister I would have cast for life
into a place where she would never have seen sun or moon again. Then on
with my army to Hanover, and burn and ravage--yes, if it had cost me
life, land, and people. Your thoughtless and godless conduct, see what
it was leading to. I intended to employ you in all manner of business,
civil and military. But how, after such action, could I show your face
to my officers?”
Here the young prince made the most solemn promises to try to regain
his father’s favor. The king then asked: “Was it thou that temptedst
Katte, or did Katte tempt thee?” Fritz promptly replied, “I tempted
Katte.” “I am glad,” rejoined the king, “to hear the truth from you, at
any rate.”
The king then rattled on without waiting for replies: “How do you like
your Cüstrin life? Do you still have as much aversion to Wusterhausen,
and to wearing your shroud, as you called your uniform? Likely enough
my company does not suit you. I have no French manners, and can not
bring out witty sayings in the coxcomb way; and I truly consider all
that as a thing to be thrown to the dogs. I am a German prince, and
mean to live and die in that character. But you can now say what you
have got by your caprices and obstinate heart, hating every thing that
I liked, and if I distinguished any one, despising him. If an officer
was put in arrest, you took to lamenting about him. Your real friends,
who intended your good, you hated and calumniated. Those who flattered
you and encouraged your bad purpose you caressed. You see what that has
come to. In Berlin, in all Prussia, for some time back, nobody asks
after you, whether you are in the world or not. And were it not that
one or the other coming from Cüstrin reports you as playing tennis or
wearing French hair-bags, nobody would know whether you were dead, or
alive.”
Grumkow then goes on to relate, quite in detail, that the king took up
the subject of theology. “He set forth the horrible results of that
_absolute decree_ notion which makes God the author of sin; and that
Jesus Christ died only for some.” The prince declared that he had
thoroughly renounced that heresy. The king then added:
“When godless fellows about you speak against your duties to God, the
king, and your country, fall instantly on your knees and pray with your
whole soul to Jesus Christ to deliver you from such wickedness, and
lead you on better ways. And if it come in earnest from your heart,
Jesus, who would have all men saved, will not leave you unheard.”
The Crown Prince, with what degree of sincerity we know not, was now in
tears. Prostrating himself before his majesty, he kissed his feet. The
king, much moved, was in tears also, and retired to another room.
“It being his majesty’s birthday,” writes Grumkow, “the prince, in
deep emotion, followed his father, and, again falling prostrate,
testified such heartfelt joy, gratitude, and affection over this
blessed anniversary as quite touched the heart of the king, who at
last clasped him in his arms, and hurried out to avoid sobbing aloud.
The Crown Prince followed his majesty, and, in the presence of many
hundred people, kissed his majesty’s feet, and was again embraced by
his majesty, who said, ‘Behave well, as I see you mean, and I will take
care of you.’ Which words,” writes Grumkow, “threw the Crown Prince
into such an ecstasy of joy as no pen can express.”
Two events occurred at this time highly characteristic of the king.
There was a nobleman by the name of Schlubhut, occupying a high
official position, who was found a defaulter to the amount of a sum
equal to twenty-five thousand dollars. The supreme court sentenced him
to three or four years’ imprisonment. The king was indignant at the
mildness of the sentence. “What,” said he, “when the private thief is
sent to the gallows, shall a nobleman and a magistrate escape with fine
and imprisonment?” Schlubhut was immediately sent to prison. All night
long he was disturbed with the noise of carpentering in the castle
square in front of his cell. In the morning he saw directly before his
window a huge gallows erected. Upon that gallows he was immediately
hung, and his body was left to swing in the wind for several days, some
say for weeks.
[Illustration: DISCIPLINING THE JUDGES.]
Soon after, a soldier, six feet three inches tall, the ringleader of
a gang, broke into a house and robbed it of property to the amount of
about five thousand dollars. He was sentenced to be hung. We give the
result in the words of Carlyle:
“Friedrich Wilhelm feels this sad contrast very much; the more, as the
soldier is his own chattel withal, and of superlative inches. Friedrich
Wilhelm flames up into wrath; sends off swift messengers to bring these
judges, one and all, instantly into his presence. The judges are still
in their dressing-gowns, shaving, breakfasting. They make what haste
they can. So soon as the first three or four are reported to be in the
anteroom, Friedrich Wilhelm, in extreme impatience, has them called in;
starts discoursing with them upon the two weights and two measures.
Apologies, subterfuges, do but provoke him farther. It is not long till
he starts up growling terribly, ‘Ye scoundrels, how could you?’ and
smites down upon the crown of them with the royal cudgel itself. Fancy
the hurry-scurry, the unforensic attitudes and pleadings! Royal cudgel
rains blows right and left. Blood is drawn, crowns cracked, crowns
nearly broken; and several judges lost a few teeth and had their noses
battered before they could get out. The second relay, meeting them in
this dilapidated state on the staircases, dashed home again without the
honor of a royal interview. This is an actual scene, of date, Berlin,
1731, of which no constitutional country can hope to see the fellow.
Schlubhut he hanged, Schlubhut being only Schlubhut’s chattel. This
musketeer, his majesty’s own chattel, he did not hang, but set him
shouldering arms again after some preliminary dusting.”
The king, after his apparent reconciliation with Fritz, granted him
a little more liberty. He was appointed to travel over and carefully
inspect several of the crown domains. He was ordered to study
thoroughly the practical husbandry of those domains--how they were
to be plowed, enriched, and sown. He was also to devote his attention
to the rearing of cattle; to the preparing of malt and the brewing of
ale. “Useful discourse,” said the king, “is to be kept up with him on
these journeys, pointing out why this is and that, and whether it could
not be better.” On the 22d of September the Crown Prince wrote to his
father as follows:
“I have been to Lebus. There is excellent land there; fine weather for
the husbandmen. Major Röder passed this way, and dined with me last
Wednesday. He has got a fine fellow for my most all-gracious father’s
regiment. I depend on my most all-gracious father’s grace that he will
be good to me. I ask for nothing, and for no happiness in the world
but what comes from him; and hope that he will some day remember me in
grace, and give me the blue coat to put on again.”
It is very evident, from the glimpses we catch of Fritz at this time,
that he was a wild fellow, quite frivolous, and with but a feeble
sense of moral obligation. General Schulenburg, an old soldier, of
stern principles, visited him at Cüstrin, and sent an account of the
interview to Baron Grumkow, under date of October 4th, 1731. From this
letter we cull the following statement:
“I found him much grown; an air of health and gayety about him. He
caressed me greatly. We went to dinner. He asked me to sit beside him.
Among other things, he said that he liked the great world, and was
charmed to observe the ridiculous, weak side of some people.”
The prince inquired, in quite an indifferent tone, respecting the
marriages his father had in contemplation for him. He objected to the
marriage with the Princess of Mecklenburg, niece of the Czar Peter,
that it would require him to change his religion, which he would not
do. He expressed himself as inclined to take the second daughter of the
Emperor of Germany, if the emperor would throw in a duchy or two.
“Since you speak so much of marriages,” said the general, “I suppose
you wish to be married?”
“No,” the prince replied; “but if the king absolutely will have it, I
will marry to obey him. After that I will shove my wife into a corner,
and live after my own fancy.”
Against this unprincipled declaration General Schulenburg remonstrated,
declaring it to be unchristian and dishonorable. But the prince seemed
to regard such suggestions very contemptuously. “I can perceive,” the
general adds, “that if he marries, it will only be that he may have
more liberty than now. It is certain that if he had his elbows free he
would strike out. He said to me several times, ‘I am young; I want to
profit by my youth.’”
A fortnight later General Schulenburg wrote, under date of the 19th
of October: “I introduced to the Crown Prince all the officers of my
regiment who are here. He received them in the style of a king. It is
certain he feels what he is born to; and if he ever get to it, he will
stand on the top of it. As to me, I mean to keep myself retired, and
shall see as little of him as I can. I perceive well he does not like
advice, and does not take pleasure except with men inferior to him in
mind. His first aim is to find out the ridiculous side of every one,
and he loves to banter and quiz.
“I assure you he is a prince who has talent, but who will be the
slave of his passions, and will like nobody but such as encourage him
therein. For me, I think all princes are cast in the same mould. There
is only a more and a less.”
[Illustration: BERLIN PALACE.]
On Tuesday, the 20th of November, 1731, Wilhelmina, eight months after
her betrothal, was married to the Prince of Baireuth. The marriage
ceremony was attended with great magnificence in the royal palace of
Berlin. The father of Frederick William, who was fond of pageantry,
had reared one of the most sumptuous mansions in Europe, and had
furnished it with splendor which no other court could outvie. Entering
the interior of the palace through the outer saloon, one passed
through nine apartments _en suite_, of grand dimensions, magnificently
decorated, the last of which opened into the picture-gallery, a room
ninety feet in length, and of corresponding breadth. All these were
in a line. Then turning, you entered a series of fourteen rooms, each
more splendid than the preceding. The chandeliers were of massive solid
silver. The ceilings were exquisitely painted by Correggio. Between
each pair of windows there were mirrors twelve feet high, and of such
width that before each mirror tables could be spread for twelve guests.
The last of these magnificent apartments, called the Grand Saloon, was
illuminated by “a lustre weighing fifty thousand crowns; the globe of
it big enough to hold a child of eight years, and the branches of solid
silver.”
Though Frederick the First had reared and originally furnished this
Berlin palace, yet the masses of solid silver wrought into its
ornamentation were mainly the work of Frederick William. Conscious
that his influence in Europe depended not only upon the power of his
army, but also upon the fullness of his treasury, he had been striving,
through all his reign, to accumulate coin. But the money, barreled up
and stored away in the vaults of his palace, was of no service while
thus lying idle. Banking institutions seem not then to have been
in vogue in his realms. But the silver, wrought into chandeliers,
mirror-frames, and music balconies, added to the imposing splendor of
his court, gave him the reputation of great wealth, and could, at any
time when necessary, be melted down and coined. The wealth thus hoarded
by the father afterward saved the son from ruin, when involved in wars
which exhausted his treasury.
The queen remained bitterly unreconciled to the marriage of Wilhelmina
with any one but the Prince of Wales. Stung by the sense of defeat, she
did every thing in her power, by all sorts of intrigues, to break off
the engagement with the Prince of Baireuth. When she found her efforts
entirely unavailing, she even went so far as to take her daughter aside
and entreat her, since the ceremony must take place, to refuse, after
the marriage, to receive the Prince of Baireuth as her husband, that
the queen might endeavor to obtain a divorce.
The annoyances to which Wilhelmina was exposed, while thus preparing
for her wedding, must have been almost unendurable. Not only her mother
was thus persistent and implacable in her hostility, but her father
reluctantly submitted to the connection. He had fully made up his mind,
with all the strength of his inflexible will, that Wilhelmina should
marry either the Margrave of Schwedt or the Duke of Weissenfels. It was
with extreme reluctance, and greatly to his chagrin, that the stern old
man found himself constrained, perhaps for the first time in his life,
to yield to others.
Even Wilhelmina had accepted the Prince of Baireuth, whom she had
never seen, only to avoid being sacrificed to men whom she utterly
loathed. Fortunately for the princess, her affections were not
otherwise engaged, and when introduced to her intended she became quite
reconciled to the idea of accepting him as her husband.
On the day of the marriage, the princess, having formally renounced all
her rights to the personal property of the family, dined with the royal
household and her intended, and then retired to her apartment to dress
for the wedding. It would seem that the queen must have become quite
insane upon this point. Even at this late hour she did every thing
she could to delay operations and to gain time, hoping every moment
that some courier would arrive from England with proposals which would
induce the king to break off the engagement. As fast as the princess’s
hair on one side was dressed the queen would contrive to undo it,
so that at last the hair would no longer curl, making her look, as
Wilhelmina said, “like a mad woman.” She adds:
“A royal crown was placed upon my head, together with twenty-four curls
of false hair, each as big as my arm. I could not hold up my head, as
it was too weak for so great a weight. My gown was a very rich silver
brocade, trimmed with gold lace, and my train was twelve yards long. I
thought I should have died under this dress.”
The marriage took place in the Grand Saloon. The moment the benediction
was pronounced, a triple discharge of cannon announced the event to
the inhabitants of Berlin. Then the newly-married pair, seated under
a gorgeous canopy, received the congratulations of the court. A ball
followed, succeeded by a supper. After supper there came, according to
the old German custom, what was called the _dance of torches_. This
consisted of the whole company marching to music in procession through
the rooms, each holding a lighted torch. The marriage festivities were
continued for several days, with a succession of balls each night.
Wilhelmina had not yet been permitted to see her brother since his
arrest. But the king had promised Wilhelmina, as her reward for giving
up the wretched Prince of Wales, that he would recall her brother and
restore him to favor. On Friday evening, the 23d, three days after the
wedding, there was a brilliant ball in the Grand Apartment. Wilhelmina
thus describes the event which then took place:
“I liked dancing, and was taking advantage of my chances. Grumkow came
up to me, in the middle of a minuet, and said, ‘_Mon dieu, madame_, you
seem to have got bit by the tarantula. Don’t you see those strangers
who have just come in?’ I stopped short, and, looking all around, I
noticed at last a young man, dressed in gray, whom I did not know. ‘Go,
then,’ said Grumkow, ‘and embrace the Crown Prince. There he is before
you.’ My whole frame was agitated with joy. ‘Oh, heavens, my brother!’
cried I; ‘but I do not see him. Where is he? For God’s sake show him to
me.’
“Grumkow led me to the young man in gray. Coming near, I recognized
him, though with difficulty. He had grown much stouter, and his neck
was much shorter. His face also was much changed, and was no longer as
handsome as it had been. I fell upon his neck. I was so overcome that
I could only speak in an unconnected manner. I wept, I laughed like a
person out of her senses. In my life I have never felt so lively a joy.
After these first emotions were subsided I went and threw myself at the
feet of the king, who said to me aloud, in the presence of my brother,
“‘Are you content with me? You see that I have kept my word with you.’
“I took my brother by the hand, and implored the king to restore his
affection to him. This scene was so touching that it drew tears from
all present. I then approached the queen. She was obliged to embrace
me, the king being close opposite. But I remarked that her joy was
only affected. I turned to my brother again. I gave him a thousand
caresses, to all which he remained cold as ice, and answered only in
monosyllables. I presented to him my husband, to whom he did not say
one word. I was astonished at this; but I laid the blame of it on the
king, who was observing us, and who I judged might be intimidating my
brother. But even the countenance of my brother surprised me. He wore a
proud air, and seemed to look down upon every body.”
[Illustration: THE RECONCILIATION.]
Neither the king nor the Crown Prince appeared at the supper. With
a select circle, to which neither Wilhelmina nor her mother were
admitted, they supped in a private apartment. At the report that the
king was treating the Crown Prince with great friendliness, the queen
could not conceal her secret pique. “In fact,” says Wilhelmina, “she
did not love her children except as they served her ambitious views.”
She was jealous of Wilhelmina because she, and not her mother, had
been the means of the release of Fritz. After supper the dancing was
resumed, and Wilhelmina embraced an opportunity to ask her brother why
he was so changed, and why he treated her so coldly. He assured her
that he was not changed; that his reserve was external only; that he
had reasons for his conduct. Still he did not explain his reasons, and
Wilhelmina remained wounded and bewildered.
Before the king released the Crown Prince he extorted from him an
oath that he would be, in all respects, obedient to his father; that
he would never again attempt to escape, or take any journey without
permission; that he would scrupulously discharge all the duties of
religion, and that he would marry any princess whom his father might
select for him. The next morning, after the interview to which we have
above alluded, the prince called upon his sister. They had a short
private interview, Madam Sonsfeld alone being present. The prince gave
a recital of his adventures and misfortunes during the many months
since they last had met. The princess gave an account of her great
trials, and how she had consented to a marriage, which was not one of
her choice, to obtain her brother’s release.
“He appeared,” she writes, “quite discountenanced at this last part
of my narrative. He returned thanks for the obligations I have laid
on him, with some caressings which evidently did not proceed from the
heart. To break this conversation he started some indifferent topic,
and, under pretense of seeing my apartment, moved into the next room,
where the prince, my husband, was. Him he surveyed with his eyes from
head to foot for some time; then, after some constrained civilities to
him, he went his way.”
Wilhelmina and her husband soon left for Baireuth. Though the princess
thus left the splendors of a royal palace for the far more quiet and
humble state of a ducal mansion, still she was glad to escape from a
home where she had experienced so many sorrows.
“Berlin,” she writes, “had become as odious to me as it once was dear.
I flattered myself that, renouncing grandeurs, I might lead a soft and
tranquil life in my new home, and begin a happier year than the one
which had just ended.”
As the king was about to take leave of his child, whom he had treated
so cruelly, he was very much overcome by emotion. It is a solemn hour,
in any family, when a daughter leaves the parental roof, never to
return again but as a visitor. Whether the extraordinary development of
feeling which the stern old monarch manifested on the occasion was the
result of nervous sensibility, excited by strong drink or by parental
affection, it is not easy to decide. Wilhelmina, in a few words of
intense emotion, bade her father farewell.
“My discourse,” she writes, “produced its effect. He melted into tears,
and could not answer me for sobs. He explained his thoughts by his
embracings of me. Making an effort at length, he said, ‘I am in despair
that I did not know thee. They had told me such horrible tales--I
hated thee as much as I now love thee. If I had addressed myself direct
to thee I should have escaped much trouble, and thou too. But they
hindered me from speaking. They said that thou wert ill-natured as the
devil, and wouldst drive to extremities, which I wanted to avoid. Thy
mother, by her intriguings, is in part the cause of the misfortunes
of the family. I have been deceived and duped on every side. But my
hands are tied. Though my heart is torn in pieces, I must leave these
iniquities unpunished.’”
“The queen’s intentions were always good,” Wilhelmina kindly urged. The
king replied, “Let us not enter into that detail. What is past is past.
I will try to forget it. You are the dearest to me of all the family.
I am too sad of heart to take leave of you. Embrace your husband on my
part. I am so overcome that I must not see him.”
Wilhelmina, with flooded eyes, entered her carriage, bidding a final
adieu to the home of her childhood, where she had passed through so
many scenes, eventful and afflictive. Though she afterward visited
Berlin, it was her home no more. The Crown Prince returned to Cüstrin,
where he impatiently awaited his future destinies.