A PERSONAL REMINISCENCE OF THE LATE EMPEROR FREDERICK
It used to be said that English sympathies were given to Austria and
not to Prussia in the war of 1866 because the Austrian railway
officials were so much more polite than the Prussian. Of the fact
that the English wished Austria and not Prussia to win there is no
doubt. The railway reason was perhaps a reason, if not the reason.
The organization of Prussia was at that time, as the organization of
Germany, civil and military, now is, the finest in the world. But
flexibility is not one of its merits; still less is it distinguished
by consideration for the rights of the non-military and non-official
German world. The English were then, as now, a travelling people;
and their authority, if I may use such a word, on the Continent was
greater, or seemed greater, then than now, because the competition
was less. Americans had not then begun to swarm across the Atlantic
as tourists, nor was the American language heard on every hill-side
of the Tyrol and on the battlefields of Silesia. It was all English,
and the English beyond question found Austria a more agreeable
pleasure-ground {403} than the wind-swept plateaus of her grim
neighbour to the north.
In those days and for many years to come the English had taken and
kept possession of Homburg, the pretty watering-place near Frankfort.
As in so many other matters, the fashion was set by the late King,
then Prince of Wales, whom his fellow-subjects, and presently not a
few Americans, followed in a loyal spirit. They followed him not
less loyally when he forsook Homburg and journeyed further afield to
Marienbad. For the truth is the Germans, and especially the North
Germans, had rediscovered Homburg, and the streets where for so many
years the English accent had been heard, and almost no other, grew
suddenly hoarse with Teutonic gutturals. I don't say that this
invasion drove him elsewhere. He was himself as much German as
English. But when his yearly visits in August ceased the English
surrendered Homburg to its real owners, albeit they rather resented
what they called their usurpation.
There was, however, one English woman who clung to it, the Empress
Frederick, the late King's eldest sister and Princess Royal of the
United Kingdom. Her Royal Highness had married the Crown Prince of
Prussia, afterward the Emperor Frederick, in 1858, being then just
over seventeen years of age. For many years she spent part of each
summer in the old Schloss, just outside the little town; then later
built herself a showy villa on the other flank, and died there in
August, 1901. {404} I don't think the late King had ever revisited
Homburg after that date.
She liked the place; liked its pure air, its scenery, the hills, and
woods amid which it lay embosomed; its pleasant walks and the
pleasant life its visitors led, and some of its residents, though,
except the Princess herself, and the hotel-keepers and the garrison
for the time being, I hardly know who the residents were. It was,
moreover, a great resort of invalids who were not ill enough to be
sent to a serious cure. Many a doctor, in London and elsewhere, had
for a maxim: "When in doubt, choose Homburg." Its waters could do
you no harm. Its climate was sure to do you good. And its
animation, its gaiety, its brilliancy even, during the six weeks'
season were all so many tonics for the _malade imaginaire_.
Such acquaintance as I had with the Crown Princess I owed to the late
King, who one day asked me if I knew his sister. When I said no he
answered, "Oh, but you should; I must arrange it," and proposed that
I should come to tea the next afternoon at his villa, then the Villa
Imperiale, when the Crown Princess would be there. Arriving, I found
myself the only guest. I was presented to the Princess. In figure,
in face and manner, she was very like her mother, the late Queen.
The figure was not so stout, the face not so rubicund, the manner
less simple, and therefore with less authority; but the resemblance
in each particular was marked. There was even a resemblance in
dress; or it might be truer to say that both the late {405} Queen and
her eldest daughter showed an indifference to the art of personal
adornment. Certain terms have become stereotyped in various worlds
of art. Early Victorian, mid-Victorian, or merely Victorian--are
these labels now used by way of compliment or even of mere
description? I am afraid they are one and all terms of
disparagement. But it was said truly of the late Queen that it did
not matter what she wore. Robes did not make the Queen. Whatever
she wore she was Queen, and looked the Queen.
The Princess had, however, a much greater vivacity than her mother.
At moments it became restlessness, and the mind, I thought, could
never be in repose. There was no beauty but there was distinction;
and in this again she resembled the Queen. After her marriage and
down to the day when the Emperor Frederick's death extinguished her
ambitions, the Princess had lived in a dream-world of her own
creation, of which I will say more in a moment. Her beliefs were so
strong, her conviction that she knew what was best for those about
her was so complete, that to these beliefs and this conviction the
facts had to adjust themselves as best they could.
Even for the purpose of this audience that necessity became evident.
I had been presented, of course, as an American. Almost at once Her
Royal Highness plunged into American affairs. She was keenly
interested in educational and social problems, and explained to me
the position of women in the United States with reference to these
{406} problems. It appeared she had a correspondent in Chicago, as I
understood, a lady who had been presented to Her Royal Highness in
Berlin, and from this lady had derived a whole budget of impressions.
They were extremely interesting, if only because they were, to me,
altogether novel. But as I was not asked to confirm them, I of
course, said nothing. Now and then a question was put which I
answered as well as I could, but for the most part the Princess's
talk flowed on smoothly and swiftly during the better part of an
hour. She talked with clearness, with energy, with an almost
apostolic fervour, the voice penetrating rather than melodious. I
said to myself: "All this may be true of Chicago, but of what else is
it true?" The Princess had indeed given Chicago as the source of her
information, but it seemed to me that she generalized from the Windy
City to the rest of the United States, and of such part as I knew I
did not think it a good account.
After a time Chicago was dismissed and the talk drifted away into
less difficult channels. But the position was always much the same.
The Princess talked and I listened; the most interesting of all
positions. I had heard--everybody had heard--a great deal about her
views on politics and on Anglo-German relations and on the internal
affairs of Germany. On some of these matters she touched briefly; on
all she threw a bright light, for no matter what the immediate topic
of her discourse, her attitude of mind toward other topics and toward
higher matters of State became visible. {407} Never for a moment did
this stream of talk stop or grow sluggish. Carlyle summed up
Macaulay, for whom he had no great respect, in the phrase: "Flow on,
thou shining river." He might, in a sardonic mood, have done the
same for this Princess. After a time I found myself in a dilemma.
An hour and a half had passed; agreeably and brilliantly, but it had
passed, and I had been for some time expecting the signal which would
indicate that my audience was at an end. It did not come. The
Princess talked on. I knew Her Royal Highness had a dinner
engagement, and I knew I had, and it was already half-past six, and
Homburg dinners are early. Finally I said I was afraid I had abused
Her Royal Highness's kindness, and might I be permitted to withdraw.
The permission was given, the Princess held out her hand, and I went.
It was an illuminating interview. It threw light on events to come
as well as on those of the past. Here was a great lady, full of
intelligence and gifts, yet taking views of great public questions
which she held almost alone. She had made many enemies. She was to
make many more. In Berlin I had heard much. Prince Bismarck's
distrust of the Crown Princess, and of the Crown Prince on her
account, was known. It was shared by multitudes of Germans. They
believed, rightly or wrongly, that she wanted to Anglicize Germany.
Her ascendancy over her husband was believed to be complete, and
because it was complete the day of the Crown Prince's accession to
the throne was expected with dread. During his short reign of {408}
three months--March 9th to June 15th, 1888--these gloomy forecasts
could be neither confirmed nor dispelled. But they existed, they
were general, and they modified the grief of the German people at the
melancholy ending of what had promised to be a great career.
I suppose it must be said that the Crown Princess had furnished some
material for German forebodings as to a German future shaped by her
or by her influence. She talked openly. She told all comers that
what Germany needed was parliamentary government as it was understood
and practised in England. Against that the German face was set as
flint. In little things, as in great, she made no secret of her
preference for what was English over what was German. When the rooms
the Crown Prince and Crown Princess were to occupy in the Palace of
Charlottenburg, outside Berlin, were to be refurnished, she insisted
on bringing upholsterers from London to do the work. Naturally the
Berlin people did not like that.
Judgment was not her strong point, nor was tact. If I am to say what
was her strong point I suppose it would be sincerity. Her gifts of
mind were dazzling rather than sound. Her impulses were not always
under control. Her animosities, once roused, never slept, as Prince
Bismarck well knew. Her will was so vehement as sometimes to obscure
her perceptions. But hers was a loyal nature and whatever one may
think of her politics, it is impossible not to regret that the
promise of a great ambition should have come to so tragic an end.
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