_Crowned Heads and Some of Their Famous Statesmen and Generals_
No Money, No Gun
Markgraf Johann von Brandenburg, reigning Prince of Neumark, was in
the habit of leaving his debts stand for a long time. His gunsmith at
Nuremberg was well aware of this. So having filled an order, he wrote one
day the following laconic letter to him;
“Good-day, your Grace! Your gun is finished. If you send the money, I’ll
send you the gun. If you don’t send the money, you won’t get the gun. God
be with you!”
His Grace, far from resenting this language, sent the money.
The Living and Not the Dead
Emperor Joseph II of Austria, was once asked by an ecclesiastic of noble
birth, for permission to go to Rome, to visit the graves of the Apostles
Peter and Paul. The Emperor made this very appropriate answer:
“It would be more agreeable to me, if, instead of making a pilgrimage to
dead bones, you would visit more in your parish. I am sure the Apostle
Princes would be more pleased with that, too.”
Good Advice
On one occasion Emperor Joseph II returned the poems of a very
indifferent poetess whose name was Kemeter, with this marginal note: “My
dear Kemeter, you had better make hemeter” (shirts).
The Unusual Postilion
Emperor Joseph II traveled under the name of Count von Falkenburg. Once,
when passing through Stuttgart, the Duke of Würtemberg offered to him the
use of the castle, but the Emperor declined, saying he would rather go
quietly to a hotel. Then the Duke ordered all hotelkeepers of Stuttgart
to take down their signs and had an immense one put over the castlegate
which bore these words: “Hotel Emperor Joseph II.”
Such an invitation the Emperor could not resist. When he descended from
his carriage, the Duke received him, dressed as a hotelkeeper, while
members of the highest nobility played the parts of servants. The most
beautiful ladies, in cap and apron acted as chambermaids, some noblemen
as waiters. The Emperor entered into the joke heartily, and it was
carried on through the day in the most charming manner. His going was as
remarkable as his coming. When the coach drove up, a postilion mounted
the horse. His shabby coat and dirty boots drew the Emperor’s attention.
“This fellow,” he said, laughing, “is certainly no flatterer; he did not
even put on his Sunday coat. He looks as if he liked a drink; we must
give him a good tip.”
But the postilion drove with great skill, and very fast. When they
reached the first station his Majesty was going to give him a good tip
but was told that it was the Prince —— who had driven him in his own
coach. The Emperor thanking him said: “You made a splendid postilion, but
if I had watched you, I should have discovered the fraud, for now I think
of it, you did not swear once.”
The Fourth Vow
A knight of the Maltese Cross, once boasted before Emperor Leopold II:
“We took three vows, that of poverty, of chastity, and of obedience.”
“As far as I know,” returned the Emperor, “you made a fourth one,—that,
of not intending to keep any of the three.”
The Two Exceptions
A quick, witty answer always won the heart of Frederick William I. Once,
on horseback, he turned a street corner, and found himself so close to a
young man that his horse’s nose touched the latter’s breast.
“Who are you?” he asked harshly.
“A Candidatus Theologiæ, your Majesty.”
“Where from?”
“From Berlin.”
“Pshaw, the Berliners don’t amount to anything.”
“The majority certainly do not, your Majesty, but there are exceptions. I
know of two.”
“Who are they?”
“Your Majesty and—myself.”
This was a man after the King’s own heart, unafraid, quick-witted. It was
not long before he had a good parish.
The Empty Upper Story
King Frederick William I after an audience with an Ambassador, said to
his equerry, who was present:
“Isn’t he a tall, handsome man? What do you think of his head?”
“Tall, handsome people, like the Ambassador, your Majesty, resemble
houses four or five stories high. The first three or four stories are
generally occupied, but the upper story is empty.”
An Effectual Cure
While Prince von Lobkowitz was Emperor Leopold’s minister of state, at
the beginning of the eighteenth century, the streets of the Austrian
capital were in a dreadful condition. Lobkowitz had asked the city
officials repeatedly to see that the streets were kept clean, but without
avail. Then the Prince, in his capacity as Governor of Vienna, sent for
the burgomaster, who arrived in his embroidered court dress, low shoes,
and silk stockings. The Prince received him pleasantly, but seemed very
busy.
“I beg your pardon,” he began, “but urgent business calls me away; come
with me in my carriage and we will discuss affairs on the way. I will put
you down in your street, so you can send your own carriage home.”
The very much flattered and elated burgomaster did so, and took his seat
beside the Prince, who began to talk about the weather.
Suddenly the minister looked around as if frightened.
“Ah,” he said in a tone of deep regret, just as the carriage was going
through one of the filthiest streets of the city, “I have mistaken my
way. I must ask you to descend here, as my business calls me to the other
side of the city, and I am late already.”
The footman opened the carriage door, but when the burgomaster saw the
sea of mud into which he was to step, he turned to the Prince and begged
to be taken a little further.
“Impossible,” said Lobkowitz, firmly. So the poor burgomaster, in his
court finery, had to step out into the mud into which he sank ankle deep.
Lobkowitz laughed aloud. But he never had to complain of dirty streets
again.
Punished by Proxy
A basket of fine cherries having been sent to Frederick the Great, at
a time when that fruit was extremely scarce, he sent them by one of
his pages to the Queen. The page, tempted by the beauty of the fruit,
could not resist tasting, and finding them delicious, devoured them all,
without reflecting on the consequences.
A few days afterwards Frederick asked the Queen how she had liked the
cherries.
“Cherries?” said the Queen, “what cherries?”
“Why, did not Clist, the page, bring you a basket the other day?”
“No,” replied her majesty, “I have not seen any.”
“Oh,” said the King, “I will give that rogue something more savory.”
He then went to his room and wrote the following note to the officer of
the royal guard.
“Give the bearer twenty-five lashes, and take his receipt for them.”
He then called Clist, and told him to take the note to the guard-house
and wait for an answer.
The page, however, fearing something wrong, determined to send the note
by somebody else, and just as he was going out at the palace door, he
met a Jew banker who was well-known at court, and asked him to carry the
King’s note. The Jew, glad of an opportunity to be obliging, went at
once. On his arrival at the guard-house, the officer read the note, told
the messenger to wait, and called out the guard. The Jew, thinking it was
to do him honor as a messenger from court, begged the officer not to give
himself any trouble.
“I will not,” he replied, and ordered the guard to seize the Jew, and
give him twenty-five lashes, which was immediately done. The Jew, with
his honor and his back severely wounded, was going away; but the officer
told him he could not go till he had given a written acknowledgment for
what he had received. The Jew was obliged to give it for fear of getting
another beating.
The affair soon came to the ears of the King, who, though he could not
help laughing heartily at the adventure, was obliged to confer some
favors on the hero of it, as the banker frequently advanced him large
sums of money, in cases of necessity.
Did Not Stammer When Singing
Frederick the Great once gave an audience to a man who stammered. This
grew very tiresome to his Majesty, who asked:
“Tell me, do you stammer when you sing?”
“No—your—Majesty!”
“Well then, just sing to me, what you wish to tell me.”
Without Mercy
“Well, I made one parson happy, for this world and the next,” Frederick
the Great often said laughing heartily. “It was in Silesia. I had been
quartered several times at the village parson’s without ever having seen
him, so I sent for him.
“‘How do you do, parson?’
“‘Very badly.’
“‘Well, Well! Have patience; everything will be all right in the next
world.’
“‘I doubt it very much; I am afraid it will be worse.’
“‘How so?’
“‘I have two daughters, three sons, a small parish and—debts. If I die,
without having satisfied my creditors, your Majesty will understand that
I should be damned without mercy.’”
He Did Not Understand
Frederick the Great made the personal acquaintance of every soldier of
his regiment of guards. Whenever he saw a fresh one, he put the three
following questions to him: “First, how old are you? Second, how long
have you been in my service? Third, are you satisfied with your pay and
treatment?”
It happened that a young Frenchman, who did not understand German,
enlisted in the Prussian service, and Frederick, on seeing him, put the
usual questions. The soldier had learned the answers by heart, but in
the same order as the King generally interrogated.
Unfortunately, on this occasion, the King began with the second question:
“How long have you been in my service?”
“Twenty-one years,” replied the Frenchman.
“What!” said Frederick, “how old are you then?”
“One year,” was the reply.
“Upon my word,” exclaimed his majesty, “you or I must be mad!”
“Both,” replied the soldier, according to what he had been taught.
“Well,” said the astonished King, “this is the first time I have ever
been called a madman by one of my guards. What do you mean by it, sir?”
The poor fellow seeing that the King was angry, told him, in French, that
he did not understand a word of German.
“Oh! is that so?” said the monarch. “Well, learn it as soon as possible,
and I have no doubt that you will make a very good soldier.”
In His Majesty’s Service
Some time after having sustained a severe defeat at Kolin, Frederick the
Great, at a review, jokingly asked a soldier, who had a deep cut in his
cheek:
“Friend, at what ale-house did you get that scratch?”
“I got it,” said the soldier, “at Kolin, where your Majesty paid the
reckoning.”
The King Would Run Too
Just before the battle of Rosbach (1757), things looked bad for the King.
Frederick the Great was lying asleep on a heap of straw near a camp-fire,
when he was awakened by one of his grenadiers calling:
“Frederick!” (The grenadiers of his guard were allowed to call him that.)
“Look, they are bringing in one of your grenadiers who has deserted!”
“Why did you run away and leave your King?” was Frederick’s question.
“Well, things were going so badly with you, that I wanted to try my luck
elsewhere.”
“You are right,” concluded the King; “but just try one more campaign, and
if things don’t look any better for me after that, I’ll promise you, I
will run away with you!”
Would Declare War
If Frederick the Great heard that any one had spoken ill of him, he
simply asked:
“Does the fellow own a hundred thousand men?”
“No.”
“Well, then, I can’t do anything to him; but if he commanded a hundred
thousand soldiers I would declare war on him.”
The Snuff Box of Frederick the Great
One time Frederick the Great presented to Count von Schwerin, his
equerry, a snuff-box with a monkey on the lid. The Count had the monkey
taken out and the king’s picture put in the place. In the evening,
looking as pleased as possible, he paraded it before the king’s eyes.
“You seem to like it,” said the king, with an ironic smile.
“Everything that comes from your Majesty’s hands is precious to me,”
Schwerin assured him, “and I value this box the more, as it shows the
picture of one whom I honor with all my heart—your Majesty’s picture!”
Astounded at this impudence, Frederick looked at the box, and, noticing
the change, laughed at the old diplomat and said:
“The idea is fine and does you honor, but the picture is not good; here
is a better one!” and handed him his own richly-jeweled snuff-box.
The Bishop’s Cloak
One of the characteristics of Frederick the Great was that he loved a
tilt with the clergy. So he said to the Bishop of Ermenland:
“I hope to slip into paradise under your cloak.”
“Hardly,” returned the Bishop, whose income had been reduced to
one-third, “your Majesty has cut down my cloak too much.”
Deserved His Rest
General Ziethen once fell into a doze at the king’s table. As some one
made a motion to rouse him, the king said:
“Let him sleep. He has watched long enough that we might rest.”
Thoughtfulness for Others
During the many wars he was engaged in, Frederick the Great shared not
only all the dangers but also all the hardships of the common soldier.
Once he marched with his grenadiers till very late at night. At last
they halted, and the king said:
“Grenadiers, it is a very cold night; we must have a fire!” One was built
at once. Frederick wrapped himself in his cloak, sat down on a few pieces
of wood near the fire, and the soldiers grouped themselves around him.
After a while General Ziethen came, and he also sat down on a little pile
of wood. Both were extremely fatigued and soon fell asleep.
The king, on opening his eyes, perceived that Ziethen had slipped off
his seat and that a grenadier was placing a fagot under his head for a
pillow. In a loud voice Frederick said:
“Bravo! the old gentleman is very tired!” Soon after, a grenadier got
up, half asleep, in order to light his pipe by the fire, and carelessly
touched the General’s foot. The king, who was glad to see Ziethen take a
little much needed rest, held up his hand and said whisperingly:
“Take care, grenadier, not to waken the General; he is very sleepy.”
A Double Reward
General Seydlitz once reported to Frederick II one of the skirmishes such
as happened almost daily during the seven years’ war, and in doing so,
praised a Lieutenant, whose conduct and splendid bravery well merited an
order. The king had the young officer summoned and said to him pleasantly:
“I hear you have been very brave. I will reward you for it. Here are a
hundred Friedrichsd’or, and here is the order of merit. You may choose.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, the officer took the money.
“You don’t seem to have much regard for honor, anyway,” said the king,
displeased.
“Pardon me, your Majesty,” replied the officer frankly, “I have debts,
and honor demands that I should pay them as soon as possible. I hope to
earn and return for the order in a few days.”
“That is brave, my son,” said the king, patting the Lieutenant’s
shoulder. “You may take the order now; you deserve it!”
A Scarcity of Chairs
One morning while out riding near Potsdam, Frederick met a post-chaise in
which sat one of his generals, who had numerous debts.
“Why my dear W.,” said the king to him, “you are off early; where are you
going?”
“To Potsdam, your Majesty, to have an understanding with my creditors.”
“Oh,” smiled Frederick, “you would have done that better at Berlin; there
are certainly not chairs enough at Potsdam.”
He Turned the Tables
Frederick the Great was passionately fond of playing the flute. One of
his teachers for years, was J. Quantz, the famous flutist, who was also
well known for his quick, witty answers. One evening after the usual
concert, the king was conversing with his intimates, when Quantz made the
remark that nothing could upset him, no matter how great the surprise.
Frederick turned to him and said, laughing:
“Quantz, Quantz, you shall prove that to me,” to which Quantz replied
with dignity:
“Your Majesty, I am ready for any test.”
A few days afterwards, Quantz was to play a solo on his flute, during
the evening concert. On going to his desk, he found on his music a large
sheet of paper on which was written: “Quantz is an ass! Frederick II.”
Not in the least disturbed, Quantz quietly folded the paper and was going
to put it into his pocket, when the King who had been watching him,
cried:
“Here, Quantz, what are you hiding there? Let me see what it is!”
“Your Majesty,” replied the former, “some one has been trying to have a
poor joke at my expense. It is not worth taking notice of.”
“Well,” said Frederick, apparently surprised, “you must read it, Quantz;
you ought to let me hear what has been written to you!”
Quantz bowed, and unfolding the paper, said:
“If your Majesty wishes it, I cannot refuse.” Then, sharply accenting
each word, he read aloud: “Johann Quantz is an ass; _Frederick the
second_!”
Everybody grew pale; some grasped their swords, but the King went smiling
up to Quantz, patted him on the shoulder and said:
“Well done, Quantz, but another time you must not be quite so rude; do
you hear?”
A Chronic Cough
At all the evening concerts, the King played the flute. Once he played a
new composition of his own, which contained a faulty passage. Quantz, on
hearing it, coughed significantly. Frederick understood the meaning of
it, but said nothing. The next day he asked one of the other musicians
his opinion of the passage. The latter pointed out the mistake. The King
corrected it at once, saying:
“We must not let Quantz get a chronic cough.”
No Relation
After one of the victorious battles of the seven years’ war, Frederick
the Great gave orders that a young cornet, whose bravery he had had
occasion to witness himself, be brought to him.
“What is your name?” the monarch asked the young man.
“Von Stira Stora Stazarneda, your Majesty,” was the answer.
“What, sir,” cried the King, indignant at a name so hard to remember,
“why, the devil isn’t called that!”
“He is no relative of mine, either, your Majesty,” was the impudent
cornet’s prompt answer.
The King smiled, and said:
“I am very glad to hear it, _Lieutenant_ von Stira Stora Stazarneda,” and
with a wave of his hand, dismissed him.
Plenty of Company
The Prussian Ambassador at the Court of England, wrote to Frederick the
Great that his salary being insufficient, he would be compelled to sell
his carriage and go to Court on foot. The King answered laconically: “You
can just walk; it won’t hurt you. If anybody makes a remark about it, you
can tell them you are my ambassador, and 300,000 men are walking behind
you.”
No Suggestions Wanted
From the beginning of the War of Independence (1813-14, against Napoleon
I) Field-Marshal Prince Blücher urged the allied powers to go forward
(hence his name, Marshal Vorwärts) and thus created more confusion among
them than among the enemy. But the old soldier did not pay the slightest
attention to that. Once when he received a dispatch to turn back with his
army he growled:
“Those diplomatic fool tricks and this scribbling of notes will have to
be stopped. I shall direct this campaign without notes.”
Cobblers Lacking
Once, while trying to ascertain the enemy’s whereabouts, a bullet struck
Prince Blücher’s foot, but fortunately tore only his boot.
“That’s bad enough,” joked Blücher, “we have a good many more doctors
than cobblers with us.”
Deserved a Title
When presented with a Doctor’s degree at Oxford, Blücher said:
“Well, now, you ought to make Gneisenau at least a druggist, for he made
my pills.”
The Two Moves
After a hard day, Blücher was taking a few hours’ rest. An Adjutant
wakened him to report: “The enemy has made a move!”
“Well,” cried the Prince, “then report to the enemy that I made one too!”
and with this he turned over on his other side.
Another Victory
Blücher was a great lover of music. His favorite pieces electrified him
as often as he heard them, but of them all Mozart’s “Magic Flute” took
first place. While the allies were at Aachen, Angelica Catalani, the
famous singer, aroused everybody’s enthusiasm. The Emperor Alexander of
Russia stood at the head of her admirers, but her acknowledged favorite
was the aged Marshal Vorwärts.
One evening Catalani sang at a large reception and one of her songs
was Papageno’s “Ring, Little Bell, Ring.” Blücher was delighted, and
asked her to sing another of Papageno’s songs, but the singer, greatly
embarrassed, had to confess that she knew no other.
“I can teach you,” said Blücher; “I know every aria in the ‘Magic Flute.’”
“What,” cried Emperor Alexander, “Blücher can sing too? You must give us
a song then!”
The old soldier stood up and began in his rough voice, dreadfully out of
tune, but still recognizable: “The Bird Catcher I Am.”
Emperor Francis listened with visible emotion, the dignified King of
Prussia smiled quietly to himself, while Emperor Alexander laughed as
hard as he could and started a vigorous applause. Blücher, encouraged,
sang again, and wound up with “Bacchus is a Brave Man.” The last number
created such a storm of applause that Catalani said jokingly:
“I can’t compete with old Blücher; he has beaten me, too; he received
more applause than I did.”
Portraits of His Ancestors
When Field-Marshal Wrangel was Commander-General of Stettin, he sent for
the painter, Most, and gave him an order to paint several portraits of
his ancestors for his dining-room. The painter asked if the General had
some pictures to copy from.
“That isn’t necessary,” said Wrangel; “just make them look somewhat like
me, and dress them correctly. Nobody knew them personally anyhow.”
Poor Shots
Wrangel generally rode a white horse, a fact which the enemy soon
noticed. When the officers of his suite drew his attention to it and
asked him to ride another horse, to be less exposed to danger, he
answered with his customary calmness:
“Why shouldn’t I ride a white horse, gentlemen? They shoot at me, but
they hit you.”
Could Not Whistle For Laughing
Wrangel was once walking with the Crown Prince, later Emperor Frederick,
“unter den Linden” in Berlin, when they met a shoemaker’s apprentice
merrily whistling. As they came near, he stopped, grinned all over his
face, and pulled off his cap.
“Now your Royal Highness can see what fine fellows these boys are,” said
Wrangel; “they are all delighted to see a member of the Royal Family.”
“Wrangel,” cried the Crown Prince, laughing, “you just ask that boy, why
he stopped whistling.”
“Say, sonny,” called Wrangel, “why did you stop whistling?”
“When I see you, I have to laugh, so I can’t whistle,” was the reply. The
answer pleased the Crown Prince immensely.
Under the Weather Vane
When Wrangel returned from the war with Holstein, he ordered a
weather-vane for the roof of his palace, just like one he had seen during
the campaign, an Uhlan with his lance at rest.
“But he must turn whichever way the wind blows, like any other
well-regulated weather-vane,” said Wrangel, “or I shan’t pay for it.”
The Uhlan was made, put on the roof and the General was informed of it.
Well pleased, Wrangel went to the window.
“Why I can’t see him, you swindler!”
“But your Excellency——”
“Oh, pshaw, there are dozens of Excellencies. I am General-Field-Marshal.”
“But Herr General-Field-Marshal; you cannot see the weather-vane on the
roof, while you are under it.”
“Yes, yes, that is true; but what good is the weather-vane to me, if I
can’t see it?”
After thinking it over for some time, Wrangel stated the case to the
French Ambassador across the street, who was perfectly willing to have
the Uhlan put on the roof of his house. Now Wrangel could see the Uhlan
from his room, and always knew which way the wind blew. Could he possibly
have known, what he did, when he put the Uhlan on the Frenchman’s roof?
An Unfortunate Remark
An officer came to report to Papa Wrangel, as he was often called. The
General noticed that the officer’s spurs were not those prescribed by
regulations. He took him to task about it, and gave him twenty-four hours
house-arrest. The officer seeing that Wrangel wore the same spurs, made a
remark about it.
“Very well, my son,” said the General, “then you stay another
twenty-four hours for me.”
A Profitable Call
King Frederick William III was in the habit of coming to the Queen’s
sitting-room every morning, to breakfast with her, preferably on some
fresh fruit. One morning, he saw on her work-table a pretty new lace cap.
Smiling, he asked the price of it.
“It is not necessary,” replied the Queen merrily, “that the men should
know what women’s finery costs; they don’t understand, and think
everything is too dear.”
“But you can tell me what the cap cost. I should like to know!”
“Oh, yes; I chose a cheap one; it was only four thalers.”
“Only? Why that’s a lot of money for a thing like that!”
The king, standing by the window, kept on teasing her, until an invalid
soldier of his guard passed by. The King called him into the room. He had
hardly entered when the King said to him:
“The lady on the sofa there has a lot of money. What do you think, old
comrade, she gave for that cap on the table? Now don’t let the pretty
pink ribbon dazzle you!”
The old fellow, inexperienced in such things, said:
“Well, it may have cost a few groschen.”
“There, do you hear that?” laughed the King. “Oh, yes; groschen. She paid
four thalers for it! Now you go over there and let the beautiful lady
give you as much.”
Looking at the King, she quickly opened her purse and put four thalers
into the old soldier’s hand. “But,” she added with a mischievous smile,
“the gentleman at the window has much more money than I. All I have I owe
to him, and he loves to give. Just go over and let him give you double
the amount.” The lucky veteran departed, delighted with his morning call.
Dislike of Formality
Frederick William III was not fond of the extremely formal court
etiquette prevailing at the time. Even as Crown Prince, he gave numerous
proofs of his dislike of the stiff formalities which prevented an
intimate family life. Once the mistress of ceremonies, Frau von Voss,
reproved him for speaking of the Queen as “my wife” instead of saying
“her Royal Highness, the Crown Princess.” The King promising to reform
said:
“Now, my dear Voss, announce me to her Royal Highness the Crown Princess,
and ask if I may have the honor to speak to her Royal Highness.”
The mistress of ceremonies went to fulfil his command, walking with the
slow, dignified, solemn step which etiquette prescribed. When she entered
the Queen’s apartment, the King, who was already there, sitting arm in
arm with his “Louise,” called to the horrified lady:
“Why my dear Voss, her Royal Highness, the Crown Princess, is not to be
seen for an hour, and I mean to spend that time with ‘my wife.’”
Too Much Work
Queen Louise, the mother of Emperor William I, was once told that her
sons ate their fruit with too much haste. The Queen at once gave the
order that every piece of fruit for the Princes’ breakfast-table should
be wrapped in thirty pieces of paper. The unwrapping proved a sure remedy
against their eating too fast. Emperor William I often recalled this rule
saying jokingly:
“From my youth up, nothing was ever made easy for me. Even to get a
rosy-cheeked apple was considerable work.”
Too Hungry for Speeches
Frederick William IV, later Emperor William I, never liked to listen to
long speeches when he was received into a city. One day, after having
traveled for many hours in a post-chaise, he reached the gates of a small
town about noon, tired and hungry. Here the King was received by the
officials, and the burgomaster began a long-winded speech with:
“Most high and most gracious King! When Hannibal stood before the gates
of Carthage——”
“He was probably as hungry as I am. Come, my dear burgomaster, get into
my carriage and be my guest.”
Too Much for Him
On a certain occasion when Frederick William IV had reached a small town,
the burgomaster began his speech:
“Five thousand citizens——” (here he stopped). “Five thousand citizens——”
(he began again). “Five thousand citizens——” (No, he couldn’t do it.)
“Please greet your five thousand citizens for me,” the King interrupted
him now, “but each one separately!” and drove on.
Through Thick and Thin
King Frederick William IV was always a most gay and amiable host. Once
at a ball he stood in the ball-room talking to a very tall and very
slender gentleman. Suddenly, an officer of the hussars, in the whirl of
the dance, chased with his partner right between the two. The officer
frightened to death, stops at once and excuses himself.
“Never mind,” said the King, laughing; “don’t excuse yourself; a hussar
must necessarily go through _thick_ and _thin_.”
He Helped the Donkey
One day, while Frederick William IV was taking a walk at an early morning
hour, he noticed from a distance, a woman, who was beating the donkey
drawing her milkcart. He went near and asked the cause of her violence.
With tears in her eyes the woman said:
“Oh, dear, I am in a great hurry, and this stupid donkey won’t go. If I
don’t get to Potsdam at the usual time, I’ll lose all my customers. I
know his tricks. If I only had somebody who would take him by the ears,
while I beat him from behind—he would go all right.”
The King soberly grabbed the donkey by his ears, the woman did her part,
and the donkey began to trot, while his owner thanked her unknown helper
heartily.
At home the King told his wife of the service he had rendered. The Queen
did not approve of the proceeding, and said:
“As Crown Prince, my dear Fritz, you might have done that, but as King——”
“My dear child,” interrupted the smiling monarch, “my sainted father
helped many a donkey along.”
Changed His Order
The livery-stable-keeper, Faber, of Magdeburg, who had been very
patriotic and generous during the war with France, asked permission to
drive Emperor William on his first visit to Magdeburg after the war, in
a carriage he had built for the purpose. Permission was granted, and he
was rewarded with an order of the fourth class. When the Emperor went to
Magdeburg the next time, Faber drove him again, but this time standing.
“Why do you drive standing, Faber?” asked the Emperor.
“The fourth-class always does, your Majesty; they ride standing” (in a
railway train), replied Faber, pointing at his order. The Emperor laughed
heartily, and Faber received an order of the third class.
His Early Reign
In 1878, while Emperor William was recovering from the wound made by
Nobiling in his murderous attack, Crown Prince Frederick transacted all
business of state. After the first few days of pain and excitement were
over, and as the Emperor grew stronger, his gay humor returned.
One morning as the Crown Prince came in to see him, the Emperor,
extending his sound hand asked:
“Well, dear Fritz, have you reigned already this morning?”
Too Much Game
Once after a hunt, the Emperor was told that he had killed twenty-eight
pieces of game. He looked surprised and said gaily:
“This reminds me of the words: ‘There are things happening between
heaven and earth of which man has no conception,’ for it certainly is
wonderful that I killed twenty-eight pieces of game, when I shot off only
twenty-five cartridges!”
The Greater Lion
One summer morning, in 1874, while Emperor William I was taking the water
cure at Ems, the following humorous incident happened. He and Emperor
Alexander II had as usual taken their morning walk together, and then
seated themselves on a bench of the promenade near the Trinkhalle. The
chance of getting a good look at the two rulers was not to be lost by
the summer guests, and soon a crowd was walking up and down in front of
their bench. The Czar who did not like to be stared at, made an impatient
remark about it, when Emperor William, pointing to Bismarck who was just
passing and bowing respectfully, said:
“Now we shall have peace!”
“Why so?” asked the Czar, surprised.
“Why?” returned the Emperor, “because there goes Bismarck; _he is more
famous than we are_! The people will run after him now and give us a
rest.”
At His Expense
After recuperating for some weeks at Berchtesgaden, in the Austrian
Alps, during the summer of 1886, Prince William, the present Emperor of
Germany, accompanied by the Princess, went to Salzburg to meet their
royal grandfather. The aged monarch asked the Princess how she had
enjoyed herself.
“Oh very much indeed,” she said, “only at times I was dreadfully
homesick. I do so long to see my children.”
The Emperor asked, smilingly:
“But why didn’t you bring your little ones with you; the mountain air
would have been splendid for them.”
“Yes, but grandpapa, it would have cost too much!”
The Emperor nodded assent: “You are right; three little Princes do cost a
good deal.”
When the royal family met for a late supper, the Emperor handed a
telegram to his granddaughter. She looked at it, scarcely able to
comprehend the contents, until the old gentleman said with a kindly smile:
“No need to keep you in suspense
The children are coming—at my expense.”
The Emperor’s Thoughtfulness
While the Emperor and Empress were at Ems, Count von Gneisenau, a son of
the famous general of that name, was often asked to dine at the royal
table. It was his habit always to decline the after-dinner coffee. One
day he had again been a guest at dinner. A lackey offered him a cup of
coffee. The Count declined, without interrupting his conversation with
the Empress. A second time a cup was offered to him, and before he could
decline again, the Empress said: “Do take that cup!”
The Count obeyed, but held the cup in his hand. The Emperor coming up to
them remarked: “Why, Gneisenau, you are not drinking your coffee!”
The Count murmured a few words of excuse. “Well, you might at least look
at the cup!”
Gneisenau did so. Tears of emotion dimmed his eyes. On the cup was the
portrait of his father. With a benevolent smile, the Emperor said:
“I saw that cup this morning in one of the stalls of the promenade and
bought it for you! You must always drink out of it.”
Socks with Knots
The little Princess Feodora, of Sachsen-Meiningen, a great-granddaughter
of Emperor William I, was learning to knit, and the first thing
she wanted to do was to knit a pair of warm socks for her beloved
great-grandpapa at Berlin. In a few weeks the task was accomplished and
the gift sent off. It pleased the Emperor so much that he insisted on
putting the socks on at once.
During the evening it was noticed that his face looked drawn, as if he
was in pain; but on being asked if he was ill, he said smilingly:
“Do not worry, I am all right; but Feodora has made such a lot of immense
hard knots in her socks, that I feel as if I were screwed into one of the
old instruments of the inquisition!”
A Cause for Thankfulness
A general once asked the Emperor for a detachment of cavalry, for service
at the capital of his province. Laughing, the Emperor said:
“My dear general, you will have to ask that man,” pointing towards
Moltke; “he alone disposes of our army. I must be thankful if he leaves
me my guards!”
Equal to the Occasion
The Emperor was an enthusiastic sportsman. One day, while on a hunt with
a number of royal guests, he grew tired, and decided to go home quietly.
Two of his guests, noticing this, accompanied him. They had walked along
the road some distance when a farmer with his wagon overtook them. One
of the gentlemen asked him to take them along for a consideration. The
farmer consented and the three climbed into the farm-wagon.
Curiosity soon got the better of the countryman, and turning to one of
the gentlemen, he asked:
“And who might you be?”
“I am the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg.”
“May the——!” cried the farmer, laughing; and turning to the second
gentleman, he asked “and who are you?”
“I,” replied he, “am the King of Saxony!”
“Why, this is getting better,” cried the amused farmer. Finally he turned
to the third gunner with:
“Well, and who are you?”
“I am William, Emperor of Germany!”
“Well, this beats all!” said the countryman, partly amused, partly
indignant, “but I should certainly not have thought that such old
dignified gentlemen would find pleasure in fooling the likes of me! So
that you may know who is driving you, I’ll introduce myself: I, I am the
Shah of Persia!”
The shouts of laughter at this sally made the gentlemen forget their
fatigue.
The Day’s Expenses
While Crown Prince Rudolph of Austria was on his last visit to Emperor
William at the shooting-lodge, Letzlingen, the two, with four other royal
gunners, were playing a game of billiards at fifty pfennig, about eleven
cents, each.
The Emperor won, and soon after retired, but returned again to give some
directions about the next day’s hunt. The gentlemen were still playing.
“What is this game you are playing?” asked the Emperor.
“Oh, a child’s game, your Majesty, called ‘_Meine Tante, deine Tante_,’
my aunt, your aunt, or ‘_Naschi-Waschi_.’”
“I can play that,” said the Emperor, and staked the thaler he had just
won, and won another. Smiling, the Emperor put the money in his vest
pocket when one of the gentlemen remarked: “Your Majesty might try
it again,” but he replied, “No, thank you, this just covers to-day’s
expenses,” and retired again.
Contents of the Drawer
While visiting the Victoria-Bazaar, the Emperor asked one of the ladies,
just to please her, to explain the construction of the sewing-machine to
him and the Empress, who was with him. After other questions he asked for
what the little drawer was used. “To keep the small utensils belonging
to the machine in,” answered the young lady, somewhat embarrassed. The
Emperor expected that she would pull the little drawer out, but when she
did not do so, he concluded correctly, that the contents were not as
they should be. With a gay “With your permission?” he pulled the drawer
out and saw an appetizing sandwich reposing there. Smilingly the Emperor
asked the young lady:
“Does this utensil belong to the machine too?”
Quickly the lady replied: “Yes, your Majesty, to the machine of the human
body.”
Greatly pleased with this witty remark, the Emperor turned to the
Empress, saying: “This proves that sewing-machines do not dull the
working of the brain.”
That Was Different
After Emperor William had recovered from a severe illness in the spring
of 1885, his physicians would not give their consent to his attending
the coming manœuvres on horseback. They feared the great exertion would
be too much for the aged monarch, who was then eighty-eight years old,
and proposed that he should review them in a carriage.
“Impossible,” said the Emperor; “there is nothing more unsoldierly!”
“But your Majesty,” a General ventured to say, “even Frederick the Great
attended manœuvres in a carriage.”
“Oh, yes,” replied the aged monarch, “but he only did so during the last
years of his life.”
Coffee Instead of Water
While traveling in cold weather one time, the Empress Augusta stopped
at Dessau to have the hot bottle for her feet replenished. The Adjutant
and a lackey with the bottle, hurried into the restaurant to ask for hot
water. The attendant had just used the last of it to make coffee, and
after running around in great confusion he declared:
“I am very sorry, but there is not a drop of hot water.”
“What,” called a gentleman standing at the buffet, “you have no hot
water?” and instantly seizing the full coffee-pot he poured the boiling
contents into the warming bottle, and the guests had to do without coffee
for breakfast.
The Adjutant hurried out with his prey, but soon returned to ask, in her
Majesty’s behalf, the name of the inventor of the brilliant idea.
“My name is Cohn,” said he. He was afterwards for a long time Emperor
William’s private banker.
Had No Use For It
A sly dry goods merchant once sent to Emperor William a magnificent silk
lounging gown, thinking that that would bring him the custom of the
Court. The Emperor however sent the gown back with the laconical words:
“The Hohenzollerns do not wear lounging gowns.”
Made For the Boys
One day the Crown Prince Frederick William, later Emperor Frederick, was
walking alone in the streets of Berlin. Suddenly an old Jew accosted him
with the question: “Any old clothes?” The Crown Prince did not see him at
first. “Any old clothes, any old clothes?” the Jew, who did not know whom
he was pestering, kept calling.
At last the Crown Prince stood still, looked at the Jew astonished,
but asked pleasantly: “What is it you wish?” The dealer in old clothes
scraped a bow and said: “Have you any old clothes to sell?” At this the
Crown Prince laughed outright and answered: “My good friend, I have a
large family, and there are no old clothes; when I am done with anything,
it is made over for the boys.”
A Change of Methods
While the Crown Prince Frederick William was dedicating a chapel of the
University at Halle, he noticed among the students drawn up in line, one
whose face was a mass of scars. Turning to Dr. Volkman, the well-known
surgeon, he said, jovially: “That head gave you a lot of mending to do!”
“Ah, your Royal Highness,” answered the man of science, “that sort of
thing we sew only by machine now!”
Presented With a Leg
In honor of the presence of a number of crowned heads, who were taking
the waters, a gala performance was to be given at the theatre of Hamburg.
The first to appear in the royal box was the Grandduke of Hesse, with
two Princesses. He took a chair and sat down between them, when the
chair broke to pieces and his Royal Highness found himself sitting upon
the floor. The accident created great merriment both in the royal box and
among the audience.
Soon after, the Crown Prince Frederick William appeared in the box, and
when told of the mishap, laughed heartily and took pains to throw himself
heavily into his chair, but it held together. Finally the Prince of
Wales, now King Edward, appeared. The Crown Prince at once presented to
him the leg of the chair with the most comical solemnity.
Followed Instructions
When Emperor William and the Crown Prince visited Erfurt after the war
with France, the youths of the city enthusiastically greeted the latter,
whom they adored. The Crown Prince leaning from his carriage called out:
“Boys, in the carriage behind is Moltke; scream for all you are worth!”
And the boys certainly did it.
Without Success
One evening Alfred Grünfeld, the piano virtuoso, was playing before the
Crown Prince and Crown Princess. After the performance the Crown Prince
patted Grünfeld’s shoulder saying, “Do you know, my friend, that we are,
in a sense, colleagues?” Grünfeld bowed, but had to acknowledge that he
really did not know how he came to the honor of being a colleague of his
Royal Highness.
“Well, I will tell you,” said the Crown Prince. “I was, like yourself, a
pupil of Kullak’s, but—now you must not give this away—the good Kullak
wanted to make something of me, as he did of you, and he didn’t succeed.”
No Speeches, Please
While inspecting St. George’s Church, in Nördlingen, the Crown Prince
praised the splendor and size of it. He was told that the Catholic
Church in Dinkelsbühl was even larger and more beautiful, and he decided
to visit that also. The burgomaster at Dinkelsbühl was notified by a
telegram, so the city fathers awaited the Crown Prince. When he arrived,
the burgomaster advanced to make a speech, but the Crown Prince declined
to listen, saying: “Let me tell you something; we two will make a
compact. You promise not to say anything, and I’ll do the same.”
Obedience to Rules
The Crown Prince, while in Dresden, visited the Johaneum, the famous
collection of arms. Talking and smoking he walked about, when suddenly he
noticed a sign: “Smoking strictly forbidden.” At once he took his costly
Havana from his lips, put it into a boy’s mouth saying: “There, you
finish it, I must obey the rules.”
Sausage as a Remedy
While studying at the University of Göttingen, Bismarck was taken ill one
day. The doctor was sent for and ordered quinine. Soon after he had left,
a big box of “eatables” arrived from home. Bismarck went at it, consumed
about two pounds of sausage, washed down with several glasses of beer,
and then went to sleep. The fever left him.
Next day when the doctor came he said: “Thank heaven, dear doctor, the
fever is gone.”
“Yes,” replied the doctor, “quinine is a most excellent remedy.”
“Well it wasn’t exactly this time, you best of doctors, but two pounds of
sausage had the same effect, and nature may do the rest.”
To Suit All Parties
When the new two-mark piece was issued, a number proposed to call it
Bis-mark, bis being the Latin for twice. The National Liberals would then
have Bismarck in their pockets, the Socialists would see him beaten,
the Ultramontanes could get him changed whenever they liked, and to the
Government, the formation of a Bismarck party, would insure the most
wide-spread influence.
He Rose
Prince Bismarck and Count Kleist-Retzow, friends and related to each
other, accepted an invitation to a hunt of several days. The first day
the two followed the noble sport with great zest. When they returned
in the evening, Kleist-Retzow was so very much fatigued that he told
Bismarck that he would not rise at seven the following morning to
continue the hunt. While talking gaily over their wine, Bismarck said
that he would take care that he got out of his bed whether he liked it
or not. After they had retired, the Count locked and barricaded his
door against Bismarck’s attack the next morning, and then went to bed.
But once more Bismarck’s voice came from the next room admonishing his
friend to be sure and rise in good time.
“Keep quiet; I want to go to sleep,” replied Kleist-Retzow.
“Yes, and you’ll get up when I want you to, I’ll give you my word for
that,” returned Bismarck, and then went to sleep himself. At half-past
six in the morning, the Chancellor knocked at Kleist-Retzow’s door and
as it was not opened, he called to him to get up. The Count had not the
slightest intention of doing so, and Bismarck assured him again that
he would be out of his bed by seven. Kleist-Retzow lay still and paid
no attention to him. Bismarck took his shotgun, went into the yard,
stood before the window of his friend’s bedroom and shot through it
into the ceiling, so that the plaster fell down upon the Count’s head.
Kleist-Retzow, very much frightened, jumped up at once and went to the
window to see what had happened. Seeing nobody, he quickly put on his
clothes and hurried down-stairs. Bismarck came to meet him, greeted him,
and without changing a muscle, said: “I hope you have rested well; it is
just seven o’clock!”
A Novel Signal
In 1871, while Bismarck, as Ambassador of the Confederation, lived at
Frankfort, he occupied rooms in a private house. There was no bell in his
study with which to call his valet from his room on the floor above, so
he requested his landlord to have one put in. That gentleman, who was not
a friend of “that Prussian,” declined to do so, saying, that his tenants
always had done things of that sort at their own expense, and he didn’t
see why he should make an exception now.
Some time later in the day a pistol-shot rang through the house. Very
much frightened, the landlord ran through all the rooms until he came to
Bismarck’s study, where the still smoking pistol lay on the table, and
the smoking Bismarck sat quietly at work.
“For heaven’s sake, what has happened?” cried the landlord.
“Nothing at all,” said Bismarck, “that you need worry about. I just
signaled to my valet that I want him. It is a perfectly harmless signal.
I hope you will soon get used to it.”
It is hardly necessary to add that Bismarck got his bell in short order.
Despatch Sending Without Suspicion
One day, while the peace negotiations were in progress, the
representative from Hanover asked Bismarck how he managed to get his
despatches through the mails unopened. Bismarck, for answer, asked him to
take a walk with him. He took him to the poor district of Frankfort, to a
narrow street where only small stores were to be found. Arrived before a
little grocery, Bismarck, to his companion’s surprise, put on gloves and
then entered the store. His first question to the clerk was: “Do you keep
soap?”
“Yes sir.”
“What kinds?”
The clerk put several kinds before Bismarck, from which the latter
selected a particularly strong-smelling piece, and put it in his pocket.
Then he asked for envelopes and was shown some of the very cheapest kind.
Now Bismarck took a despatch from his inside coat-pocket, put it into
one of the envelopes, fastened it, and asked for pen and ink and began
to write the address. But of course with gloves he could not do it, so
he asked the clerk to do it for him. Then he put the envelope with the
despatch into the same pocket with the soap. When they were on the street
again Bismarck said to his companion: “Now, I defy them to smell my
despatch under a perfume composed of soap, herring, and cheese, and an
address written in such a hand.”
The Overburdened Horse
Prince Bismarck was suffering from great nervousness at one time, and was
obliged to stop smoking and drinking wine altogether for some weeks. When
he complained to Emperor William about it, his Majesty said:
“There you see the difference between us. I am ever so much older than
you, but I enjoy my cigar, can take a glass of wine, and am very well
with it all.”
“Oh yes, your Majesty, that is an old story,” returned the Chancellor;
“the rider always has it easier than the horse.”
Without Intent
Lord Russell, the English ambassador at the German court, called one
day on Prince Bismarck at the palace of the latter, in Berlin. During
conversation, Lord Russell remarked, that a man in the Chancellor’s
position must be bothered with a great many troublesome callers.
“God knows how true that is,” sighed the Prince.
“But you certainly have some remedy or other to get rid of such people
quickly?”
“Oh certainly,” laughed Bismarck, “one of my best is, that my wife comes
in to call me away on some pretext or other. Of course the caller can’t
remain after that.”
These words were hardly uttered, when the Princess entered, and said in
the most harmless way: “Otto, it is time to take your medicine; do not
forget it.”
Lord Russell broke into a ringing laugh and took his leave at once.
A Monotonous Diet
The following humorous story was first published in the Leipsic
_Tageblatt_. One day, during the siege of Paris, Count Lehndorff, the
Aide-de-Camp, visited Captain von Strantz, at Ville d’Avray, an outpost
near Paris. In reply to the Count’s question, how he was getting on,
the Captain said: “Oh quite well; I have just been dining for the
sixty-seventh time off roast mutton.” The Count laughed and rode on.
Next day an orderly called on the Captain with the following message:
“It having come to the ears of Count Bismarck, Chancellor of the
Confederation, that Captain von Strantz would doubtless be dining off his
sixty-eighth joint of mutton to-day, his Excellency sends him herewith
four ducks as a change of diet.”
They Danced to His Music
In May, 1891, a curious circumstance which, having occurred just before
Bismarck’s fall, might have indicated to him how slippery was the ground
on which he trod. He went one day to see the Emperor, who was busy, and
who sent word that he would see the Chancellor presently. Ere long the
royal children came in, and insisted upon his dancing with them. “No,”
said Bismarck, “I am too old to dance with you.” “Then you must play,”
they said. He accordingly sat down to the piano. Pretty soon the Emperor
came in, and, finding him thus engaged said: “So, here is the fourth
generation of the Hohenzollerns, which has to dance to your playing.”
The Better Cigar
Bismarck once gave to some friends the following droll account of Count
Moltke.
“When a declaration of war is floating in the air,” the Chancellor said,
“even Moltke gets talkative, and when we were in for it in 1870, he grew
ten years younger in a day. Before, taciturn and cross, he now chatted
pleasantly, got an appetite for champagne and heavy cigars, and lost the
last remnant of gout that he had acquired while resting on laurels that
had grown old. But at any rate, the famous old General is a comforting
example for all enthusiastic smokers. He shows how healthy smoking is,
and that one can grow old doing it. He showed his fondness for a good
cigar even in the battle of Königgrätz.
“On that memorable day in July, 1866, when victory and defeat hung for
hours in the balance, I was filled with disquietude and apprehension. I
rode up to Moltke, who sat on his horse like a statue, following every
movement of the battle. To talk to him was impossible; but I had in my
case two cigars left, a good one and a bad one. Without a word I offered
the case to Moltke, and without a word he took it, examined the two
cigars and selected the good one. This was enough encouragement for me,
for I said to myself, if the General can so calmly select the better
cigar, our chances must be good.”
His Winter Wheat
Directly after the declaration of war, in 1870, an old friend met Count
Moltke on the street, and remarked:
“You must be overburdened with work just now!”
“Oh no,” was the cold-blooded answer, “the work was all done beforehand.
All orders are issued, and I have really nothing to do!”
A few minutes later, he met a merchant, with whom he had done business at
Kreisau, who asked him anxiously about the outlook. “Well,” said the old
Field-Marshal in his mildest tone, “I am quite content; my barley crop,
it is true, was only middling, but my crop of winter wheat promises to be
immense and that, as you know, is the main thing.”
Looked Like One of Them
Once, while Moltke was at Ragaz for his health, he walked alone through
the woods to the village Pfäfers. It was very warm and he was thirsty, so
he went into the village inn and asked for a drink. The host sat down by
him and began:
“I suppose you are a guest at Ragaz?”
“Yes.”
“They say Moltke is there too!”
“Yes.”
“How does he look?”
“Well, how should he look? Just like one of us two.”
Wig Instead of Handkerchief
It was at Meaux, the night before the siege of Paris began. All the
Chiefs and Generals of the different divisions of the army, were
assembled in the Field-Marshal’s quarters, discussing plans and studying
maps and charts. It was two o’clock in the morning; a big fire was
burning in the grate; the room was intensely warm.
Moltke, so one of the officers tells us, was in a long dressing gown,
without his wig, was walking up and down, deeply engrossed in thought.
The heat made the perspiration stream down our faces. Suddenly one of us
looked up to ask the Field-Marshal a question, but stopped short and drew
the attention of the others to what he saw.
The General, too, had found it necessary to wipe the perspiration from
his face, but in his preoccupation he had not noticed, that in passing
his night-table, he had picked up his wig instead of his handkerchief
and was vigorously wiping his face with it. He kept it up for some time,
looking so exceedingly funny that we broke into shouts of laughter. When
we explained, he joined in our mirth.