THE NEW PALACE
Although making personal acquaintance with thirty of the numerous
palaces and country-houses belonging to the Emperor, I only resided in
nine, and of these the Neues Palais, or New Palace, near Potsdam easily
held the first place in my affections. For one thing it bore the aspect
of a permanent home, while other perhaps more beautiful royal residences
partook of the nature of an hotel, in which one never quite settled
down, but remained with boxes only partially unpacked, waiting for the
notice of departure.
This fine Palace, situated about twenty miles from Berlin, was built in
the style of Louis XV known as Rococo, on a very marshy piece of ground
by Frederick the Great, that most notable Hohenzollern whose spirit
still dominates the Prussian nation. Why he did not choose a better
site, where good sites are so many, must always remain one of those
mysteries which deepen with time.
“It was probably in a spirit of pure obstinacy,” said one German officer
with whom I discussed the subject. “People said it was impossible to
build a palace on such a spot, and so he set out to prove that it was
not. He also wished to show that there was still money left in his
coffers after the Silesian wars. But he did not really want the palace,
and never lived in it for any length of time.”
It is a cheerful-looking red building, with queer dimpled monstrous
cherub heads and wreaths of flowers in yellow sandstone engirdling the
upper windows. On the edge of the roof and along the terrace below stand
rows of pseudo-Greek sandstone statues in flowing draperies, with whose
features the frost often takes liberties, making necessary a yearly
renovation and replacement of noses and fingers. Along the raised
terraces and against the railings stand large orange-trees in tubs,
which are every autumn taken up to the “Orangerie” and brought back to
their places in the spring.
On one side lies the big Sand-Hof or gravelled courtyard, divided by
high iron railings edged with grass and flowers from the Mopke, the fine
wide space where in former days Frederick drilled his soldiers. On the
other side of the Mopke stand the royal stables, the kitchens, the
chapel of the Palace, and, divided by a beautiful stone arcade, the two
“Communs,” in one of which is housed the Palace guard, which occupies
the ground floor, while the Commandant and his family inhabit the first
floor.
The Sand-Hof faces the apartments of the Emperor and Empress, which on
the other side have an outlook onto the spacious garden, laid out in
trim beds, with fountains on each side--a garden to look at rather than
to walk in; but hidden away in corners behind big beech hedges, are
other shady gardens of trees--rose-gardens, with grassy lawns, the
children’s garden, one with a tea-house, where the Emperor and Empress
breakfast in the summer-time with their family.
Most old palaces that I have seen are conspicuous for their splendour
and still more for their inconvenience--they are structurally almost
incapable of being adapted to modern requirements; and the Neues Palais
is no exception to this rule, though wonders have been done in the
matter of the installation of adequate heating apparatus and bathrooms.
Most of this work was accomplished under the superintendence and on the
initiative of the late Empress Frederick, whose practical, energetic
mind seems to have grappled successfully with the great problems of
plumbing and domestic efficiency which present themselves with perhaps
more insistence in palaces than elsewhere.
But there was no way of overcoming the difficulty caused by the lack of
any passage in the wing where the apartment of the Princess was situated
on the first floor--the _Prinzen-Wohnung_ or Dwelling of the Princes as
it is called. Here two magnificent salons had been transformed into
bedrooms, one for the Princess, one for the _Ober-Gouvernante_. These
were obviously originally intended for reception-rooms, having doors at
each end and in the middle, and were the only means of communication
between the sitting-room and dining-room, so that whoever passed from
one to the other was perforce obliged to traverse the whole length of
one of these rooms, unless they went downstairs and passed through the
courtyard to another staircase, which was what the servants had to do in
all weathers.
In a smaller but very beautiful salon forming the entrance to the
_Prinzen-Wohnung_ a cooking-stove had been placed in the massive marble
fireplace for the purpose of keeping dishes warm, for all the food of
the Palace is prepared in a kitchen situated in the “Communs,” a
building on the far side of the Mopke communicating with the Palace by a
long underground passage along which the dishes are brought.
Here it may be pointed out that all the stables, carriages, kitchens,
etc., as well as the palaces themselves, are always officially styled
“royal,” not “imperial,” as they belong to the Kingdom of Prussia and
are not part of the appanage of the Empire.
The sitting-room I occupied first on coming to the Neues Palais remained
just as it had been at the time it was built, somewhere about 1770. Its
walls were covered with small irregular pieces of dark blue glass set in
cement and carried up into the centre of the ceiling, in which was
inserted a circle of small mirrors where at night, if one chanced to
look up, one saw the lamplight reflected. Over the big marble
chimneypiece, bearing the cipher of Frederick the Great, was another
high mirror of the same period (Louis XV) with a golden-rayed sun fixed
in its upper part. I never was able to learn the meaning of this sun,
which was repeated in other palaces built by the famous King of Prussia.
Above the blue salon was an equally spacious bedroom situated at an
angle of the palace wing with bull’s-eye windows looking north and east.
It was furnished, like most German bedrooms, to serve also as a
sitting-room, and contained a sofa, a large centre table, and a big
_escritoire_, besides the necessary cupboards and wardrobes. It was
heated in winter by one of those tall chocolate-coloured tiled stoves
called _Kachel-Ofen_ which are so much used in Germany. In cold weather
the _Ofen_ was lit with wood at an early hour of the morning, and was
supposed, after consuming a few logs, to have absorbed enough heat for
the rest of the day. Though offensive to a sense of beauty, the
_Kachel-Ofen_ may generally be trusted to keep the temperature warm at a
minimum of expenditure in fuel.
“I don’t know why English people always want to _look_ at a fire,” said
one German lady, defending the superior economy and effectiveness of the
national heating system. “It isn’t the look of a fire that warms you. I
never felt the cold so much anywhere as in England. All that beautiful
coal warming the chimney, while I sat shivering two yards away from it!”
Our life at the Neues Palais is less strenuous than at Homburg. For one
thing the _Ober-Gouvernante_ is there, a pale, dark-eyed German in whose
hands, although she herself has no teaching to do, lies the chief
responsibility of the education of the Princess. Then there is the tutor
who gives all the German lessons. He has not been in Homburg, where
there was only room to lodge the tutor of Prince Joachim.
The day of the Princess begins with breakfast at half-past seven,
excepting on Sundays and at holiday times, when she takes it at nine
with her parents and brother. Never was there any child who galloped
through the first meal of the day with such reckless rapidity. In vain
did I inveigh against this habit of bolting food, and dwell on the
horrors, the least of which must be an incurable red nose, which
invariably lie in wait for those thoughtless persons who ignore the duty
of mastication; in vain did I quote Mr. Gladstone’s dictum on the
subject, which, though it amused and interested her, in no way led to
her betterment.
“At fifty, nay at forty--or even sooner, Princess,” I would say, “you
will be a hopeless martyr to an outraged internal system. Look at
Carlyle, the man who wrote about Frederick the Great. His whole life was
made bitter, the happiness of his wife destroyed, his manners and temper
spoiled, just because as a little boy----”
At this point she usually flung down her knife and fork with a clatter,
and, the last mouthful still unconsumed, at her accustomed whirlwind
pace, quite unperturbed at what might happen at forty, departed to her
mother the Empress, who always liked to see her daughter before lessons
began.
At two minutes to eight she returned breathlessly--she was always
breathless in those early days--to the schoolroom, a rather dull,
stately apartment, with oil-paintings of Prussian Queens and Electresses
of Brandenburg decorating the walls. In their stiff brocade dresses they
gazed out of their gold frames with simpering fixity at the two large
blackboards, the schooldesk, the lesson-and exercise-books neatly piled
on the two plain deal tables.
Her footman, an elderly, conscientious, invaluable servant of boundless
tact and experience, and of the greatest assistance in those difficult
early days, would give a glance round to see that everything was
there--clean dusters, chalk, sponge and water. The lady on duty--myself
or the _Ober-Gouvernante_--would be installed with book or needlework in
the least obtrusive corner, trying to look absolutely absorbed in her
own thoughts, for the tutor naturally desired and had a right to demand
deep concentration on the part of his pupil and the elimination of all
possibilities of distraction. So that when the location of the
schoolroom had to be changed to the other side of the _Hof_, where the
carriages arrived bringing gentlemen for audiences with the Emperor,
studies were often pursued in semi-twilight, the blinds being kept
permanently down to shut out as much as possible of the sights and
sounds of the outside world. Sometimes a gentle knock came at the door,
which opened, revealing the smilingly-apologetic face of the Empress.
She would slip in and take the place of the lady and pursue her work,
while listening to the lesson. These incursions of Her Majesty were not
always regarded favourably by the tutor, who feared that they distracted
the Princess and made her less attentive.
Some months before she reached her tenth year the little Princess had a
young resident tutor, who was provided with rooms in the Palace and
shared some of the duties of Prince Joachim’s governor, accompanying the
two children and the lady “on duty” in their afternoon walks. Prince
Joachim’s own tutor, the one who had been in Homburg, was a married
Professor living in Berlin, a very clever man, who afterwards, on the
Prince’s departure for Ploen, became tutor to the Princess, journeying
daily backwards and forwards to Berlin.
German educational methods are astonishingly thorough, and make serious
demands upon a growing child’s brain and capacity. It is difficult to
know whether to condemn or admire them most. They are so thoroughly
efficient--given a child who can stand the strain; but what of the
thousands who cannot? I suppose every civilized nation, not excepting
England, is or has been guilty in this respect; and the Germany of
to-day is beginning to demand, in the interests of the health of her
future citizens, some relaxation of the tremendous claims made on the
growing child.
Education in Germany seems to be strictly standardized. At a certain age
every child, be he prince or peasant, will be in a certain class,
learning certain subjects; each year he will move a grade higher, or if
he does not, the whole family will feel that some dreadful irretrievable
disgrace has befallen it. The mother will creep about the house sighing
and swallowing her tears, the father will wear a corrugated brow and
perceive looming in the distance a son who is a _zwei-jähriger_, that
is, who must give two years instead of one to military service, since he
has not passed the necessary examination which reduces the term by
twelve months. This is one of the most terrible things which can happen
to a German household.
Girls, though not coming quite under the same conditions, have to work
just as hard as boys, and are quite as keen to be “_versetzt_"--to get
their remove.
So those first lessons of the Princess with that energetic cheerful
young tutor who had such an excellent persistent method of teaching
grammar and arithmetic, those studies abhorrent to the minds of many
children, were followed by me with the greatest interest.
That a child of the age of the Princess should be expected to say with
scarcely a moment’s hesitation how much nineteen times eighteen make, or
to multiply mentally 342 by 439, appears to the unmathematical mind
almost unreasonable, yet the solution of these problems is an everyday
feat in every German school. But the answers did not always follow as
quickly as the tutor desired, and often the results were wrong, in which
case one paralysing hour of arithmetic was followed by another.
Sometimes--with great diffidence, for it was entirely outside the range
of my duties--I would suggest to the tutor that the interposition of a
history or geography lesson might make a salutary change and enable the
perplexed child’s brain to recover its tone. The tutor always listened
very politely to my expression of opinion, and, though obviously
disagreeing, deferred to my desire, after carefully hinting to the
Princess that it was a concession to feminine weakness of
character--which made her very angry with me, and she would insist on
having more arithmetic straight away.
To any one who has studied German grammar, especially those terrible
prepositions which are always lying in ambush to trip up the unwary, it
is not necessary to dilate on its subtle sinuosities.
One day at the end of a lesson the tutor, glowing from a vivid and rapid
description and analysis of some of the more intricate German
constructions, showing the malleability of the language and the
tortuosity into which the pedantic mind of man, for his own base
purposes, can twist it, turned to me from his pupil’s discontented,
puzzled face, for corroboration of his own enthusiastic laudation.
“_Nicht wahr_, Meess?” he said, as he closed his book. “Is not grammar
one of the most beautiful, most interesting studies to which one can
devote one’s mind?”
“It is the most hateful, unnecessary thing possible,” I replied rather
hastily; “we never consciously use it when we speak, we forget it as
soon as we can. I detest it.”
If I had thrown one of the Dresden china vases on the mantelpiece at his
head he could not have shown more surprise. First, I suppose, at my lax
ideas of duty, for was I not there to uphold the pedagogic principle in
season and out of season? Secondly at my attack on Grammar
itself--Grammar! the chief corner-stone of the temple of Academic
Knowledge--which had been born of the ages, and would persist long after
we had perished from the earth.
All this was plainly to be read in the eye with which he regarded me.
The silence that ensued was almost painful, the child too astonished,
the tutor too nonplussed to speak.
As usual, the feminine mind made the quickest self-recovery. The
triumphant mien, the flush of joy, the sheer delight expressed in the
attitude of the Princess as she rose up from her chair showed that she
had come to a crisis in the history of her childhood. She had reached
the point where teachers cease to be oracles, where they fall into their
right perspective, where differences of opinion may be conceded, and
where absolute right and wrong begin to disappear. In her voice was a
new tone.
“Hurrah!” she shouted, with a distinct accent of revolt. “There! You
see, Herr Schmidt, there _are_ other people who can’t bear grammar.
Hurrah! I’ve heard the truth about grammar at last!”
And it being the end of the lesson, the bell of release ringing at the
moment a hearty peal, as though in derision of grammar, she danced a
sort of Indian war-dance in exultation at its discomfiture in front of
her tutor, took me by the hand, and dragged me away, leaving Herr
Schmidt, who, to do him justice, was a man before he was a pedagogue,
convulsed with good-natured laughter.
The Princess was not at all a docile or an industrious child; her work
was careless, owing chiefly to the usual breathless rapidity with which
she did everything. Her spelling was phonetic, and she was indignant at
English irregularities in this respect. Still she was ambitious and fond
of approval, especially from her brother Prince Oscar.
The Crown Prince and Prince Fritz were, at the time of which I write, in
Bonn studying at the University, Prince Adalbert at Kiel or roaming
about the world on a warship, as he had chosen the navy for a
profession; and the next two brothers, Princes August-Wilhelm and Oscar,
together in Ploen, where they lived in a pleasant country house with
their governor and various teachers, and enjoyed the companionship of
the young cadets of the aristocratic school--the Eton of Germany--which
is close at hand.
[Illustration: THE EMPEROR AND EMPRESS WITH MEMBERS OF THEIR FAMILY,
TAKEN AT THE NEW PALACE, WILDPARK]
Morning lessons end at twelve o’clock, and then there is a short walk
until it is time to dress for the one-o’clock _Frühstücks-tafel_, which
is usually eaten in the company of the Emperor and Empress and the
ladies and gentlemen of the suite.
We dine in the Apollo Saal, a wonderful room decorated with painted
panels which rouse the indignation of the _Ober-Gouvernante_, who
objects to the scanty draperies and fleshiness of the simpering nymphs
and Cupids who eternally disport themselves among the never-fading
garlands of flowers of the Rococo Period. She cannot reconcile them with
the otherwise estimable tastes and qualities of Frederick the Great, nor
realize that great minds are composed of a variety of opposing
ingredients, and that even famous statesmen and warriors must
occasionally relax the sternness of their mental outlook.
The _menu_ or Speise-Karte of the royal table is invariably written in
German, not French; and occasionally English dishes appear on it, their
names slightly disguised--as for example “Apple-pei” or “Brot-pudding.”
Conversation at the _Frühstücks-tafel_ or luncheon, which is really the
principal meal of the day in Germany, to which business men in Berlin
usually devote a couple of hours, is always very animated and amusing
when the Emperor is present, as he is a noted _raconteur_ and possesses
a highly-developed sense of humour, which helps to mitigate the boredom
of the ceremonies which dog his footsteps. One day he related with the
greatest gusto how, on returning from a walk alone with the Empress, he
was refused admission through one of the gates by the sentry stationed
there--who must have been a very unobservant person, or brought up in a
remote portion of the Empire where picture-postcards do not penetrate.
The soldier was very apologetic, but firm, and addressed the Emperor as
“Herr Lieutenant,” finally relenting when told that the “Herr
Lieutenant” wished to visit Herr von Scholl, a Flügel-adjutant
(aide-de-camp or equerry) who lived in the Palace.
German is the language usually spoken at the Royal table, except when
English-speaking visitors are present: but few of the officers or
adjutants have a very extensive knowledge of any language but their own.
The Boer War had at this time only just come to an end, and there was a
good deal of anti-English feeling exhibited everywhere, especially in
the newspapers; but at the Court itself, although the criticism of our
military methods does not take, as may be expected, a very laudatory
tone, there is a frank recognition of the difficulties of the situation
and a genuine deprecation of the spiteful venom of the newspaper
articles, which accuse English officers and soldiers of every form of
ignoble conduct that it is possible for the journalistic mind to
imagine.
Soon after the Germans had a native war of their own on their hands
against the tribe of the Hereros in South-West Africa; and if they were
spared the succession of disasters suffered by the English, they added
nothing to their own military glory, and learned a great deal of the
difficulties of skirmishing in an uninhabited country where none of the
rules of war in which they have been trained seem to apply. Their war
lasted for four years, and long before it was finished the last
lingering newspaper scandal against English soldiers died away.
In one disastrous slaughter of a German detachment ambushed by natives,
the only son of the captain of the Emperor’s little river-steamer
perished. The poor old grief-stricken father for a long time refused to
believe the news. “My son was a doctor,” he would say obstinately; “he
was not a soldier. How can he be killed? Doctors are not in the
fighting-line. Their place is in the rear of the troops.”
Often young officers in khaki who have volunteered for service in
_Süd-West-Afrika_ are invited to luncheon before their departure for the
seat of war. They are strong, handsome, cheery young men, full of
courage and enthusiasm; and the Princess sighs and wishes that she too
could go to the war and fight, which aspirations Prince Joachim crushes
in the heavy masculine manner.
After _Frühstück_ is finished, and we are able at last to escape from
the long, tedious waiting that follows, the children go out together.
Sometimes the Princess drives those wonderful Turkish ponies, which make
quite a sensation in the quiet old Potsdam streets whenever they appear;
while Prince Joachim has a dog-cart of his own drawn by a wise old cob
called “_Freier_,” who continually gets the reins under his tail but
stops immediately till disentangled. Twice a week the Princess rides on
horseback, and after a preliminary trial with the _Sattel-Meister_ I am
pronounced competent to accompany her. She is delighted to have my
society, for hitherto she has had no companion in her rides.
Close to the Neues Palais is the lovely Wildpark, a beautiful forest,
traversed by sandy paths, under great avenues of spreading beech; and
here, under the supervision of the _Sattel-Meister_, accompanied by a
couple of small grooms, we indulge in many exhilarating gallops. The
Princess soon develops into a practised and fearless horsewoman, with an
excellent seat in the saddle and a light hand. Before long she is
learning to jump logs and hedges, to the mingled horror and admiration
of Her Majesty and the Court. Our gallops become _lang-gestreckt_. We
ride a good long way in a very short time. The _Sattel-Meister_, who is
a severe but judicious teacher, smiles amiably and proudly at us both as
we pull up our sweating horses at the lodge gates of the Wildpark
preparatory to the sober walk home.
Presently we are promoted to rides on the Bornstedter Feld, the big
cavalry exercise ground about half a mile away, a sandy plain where we
can let out our horses and settle down for a long, swinging gallop.
Nothing makes the Princess so happy, so good-tempered, as these rides.
They are just the outlets she needs for some of her exuberant vitality.
She returns from them glowing with satisfaction, and is invariably
unhappy and irritable if by any chance they are stopped.
There comes a red-letter day when she is allowed to ride at half-past
seven to the Bornstedter Feld to see the Emperor review a detachment of
artillery bound for the Herero War. The Princess cannot sleep for joy
the night before. She is almost overcome with the mingled fear and
delight of riding “with Papa.” She sends to my room early next morning
in case I should oversleep myself, and is ready long before the
appointed time in her little blue riding-habit and straw hat. Down below
in the Sand-hof the horses are waiting for the Emperor and Empress and
the large suite which invariably accompanies them when they ride. Our
own steeds are in a little group apart in a corner. There has been a
sprinkle of rain, but the sun is now shining. We drink a cup of tea and
nibble at a roll, but are too excited to eat much. It is a dubious, an
apprehensive joy to ride with “Papa.” We are fearful of not acquitting
ourselves with distinction. Supposing our horses do anything unexpected,
anything wrong?
We go down to the Sand-Hof and mount, and ride slowly up and down
waiting. The lady in attendance on the Empress is already there, and a
good many adjutants, naval and military, in full-dress uniform. They all
come up and make polite observations to the Princess--flattering,
complimentary remarks such as elderly gentlemen are in the habit of
making to little girls. There is a great clattering of swords on the
flagged terrace, and presently out comes the Emperor in his gay Hussar
uniform. He bows and mounts, and those on horseback have to bring their
horses to the “front” as he passes. The Empress comes from another door,
is quickly in the saddle, and she and the Princess join the Emperor and
ride through the big gates on to the Mopke in line together. The guard
stands stiffly with presented arms as the cavalcade passes over the
wide drive into the beautiful avenue of trees under which we pass. The
attendant ladies and gentlemen have formed up into two rows behind Their
Majesties, while a group of grooms and minor officials ride in the rear.
It is a pretty sight, with the sunlight sending shafts of gold from the
accoutrements, and lighting up the gay uniforms and trappings of the
horses.
As we pass our schoolroom window I perceive the _Ober-Gouvernante_
standing there, and it suddenly strikes me--I had quite forgotten for
the time--that we are due to begin lessons at eight o’clock and it is
now a quarter to. Appalling thought! Well, we shall obviously not be
there. I dismiss any misgivings as I realize the rapture expressed in
the Princess’s back; and when for an instant we have a chance of speech
together, I carefully refrain from mentioning the tutor and the vacant
schoolroom.
The line of waiting guns on the artillery field drawn by funny little
rough Siberian ponies, who look very strong and unkempt and are driven
by men in khaki, strike the Princess as something very unusual. From
babyhood she has been familiar with troops on parade in their gayest,
most expensive, least practical uniforms, or with troops at manœuvres
on the march, dusty and sunburned and travel-stained; but never before
has she seen men stripped of the superfluities of the barrack-room,
prepared simply for the grim realities of war in a far-away country. All
the beautiful reds and blues left at home, the shining guns painted
khaki-colour, the men in loose almost ill-fitting garments sitting on
these queer little horses. It is very unfamiliar--almost unnatural. The
fine young commanding officer makes his report to the Emperor. The
horses have only been a fortnight under training, but already acquit
themselves well and trot and gallop past in an exemplary manner at the
word of command. The little ceremony is soon over, the small group cheer
their Majesties heartily, and as the Emperor departs he calls out
“_Adieu, Kameraden_,” and as with one voice they answer “_Adieu,
Majestät_.” We leave them standing on the sky-line, brave, plucky youths
burning with zeal and patriotism. They fade into the blue background;
and while the Emperor and Empress prolong their ride a little farther,
the Princess and I trot the nearest way home to those deserted lessons.
The gardens of the Neues Palais are separated only by a slender railing
from those of the small Palace of Sans Souci, notable as the residence
of Frederick the Great. On the hill behind the Palace, almost
over-shadowing it, stands the famous windmill, the centre of certain
legendary and probably apocryphal tales. The Palace of Sans Souci and
its beautiful grounds--called the Neuer Garten--remain always open to
the public, and on Sundays they are crowded with tourists and visitors
from the surrounding neighbourhood. It is the day when the big fountains
play, one of them decorated with flowers, seen dimly through the falling
water; the day when their Majesties are sure to drive or walk through
the gardens to the Garrison Church, which they usually attend in
Potsdam, where Frederick the Great lies buried. Still more it is the day
when with good luck the Princess may be seen driving with her Turkish
ponies. For it must be realized that Germany--not possessing an early
closing day or a Saturday half-holiday--spends its Sunday afternoons for
all its Protestantism in the pure pursuit of pleasure. Extra trains,
extra steamboats, extra trams are run, the open-air restaurants do a
roaring trade, every public garden, every road is overrun with
perspiring families, and with soldiers walking out with stodgy-looking
maid-servants in tartan blouses and tight green cotton gloves.
On Sunday the Princess and Prince Joachim entertain their small friends
to tea and supper. First of all they take them for a drive somewhere in
the neighbourhood, to the huge delight of the tourists, who shriek and
cheer and wave pocket-handkerchiefs and rush apoplectically, with the
greatest risk to their health, from remote corners of the Neuer Garten,
scudding, these fat fathers and mothers, in their hot Sunday clothes
along the sandy walks, yelling breathlessly to each other “_Die
Prinzessin! Die kleine Prinzessin. Ach! wie niedlich!_” They are
enraptured with the lovely ponies and the blue-lined victoria and the
little fair-haired Princess, who usually has two friends stuffed tightly
in besides her, while a carriage follows with some more, and Prince
Joachim has his cartload of boys.
It was remarkable that, however much we attempted to let the boys play
by themselves and keep the girls to purely feminine amusements, it
invariably ended in the amalgamation of the two parties; that the
running and jumping, the gymnastics over the parallel bars, the games of
hide-and-seek were always keener and swifter when the Princess was
taking part. There were few boys who could beat her at that age in
running or jumping, and when the Prince’s Governor jeered at a boy for
behaving like a _Mädchen_, it was easy to retort that one _Mädchen_
could out-jump and out-run all his boys, and that he had better speak
more respectfully in future of the sex.