Louise as Crown-princess of Prussia
On the seventeenth of December, Louise and her sister left Darmstadt,
which had become like home to them. Accompanied by their father and the
widowed Landgravine, their grandmother, they travelled by way of
Würzburg, Hildburghausen, Weimar, Leipzig, and Wittenberg to Potsdam,
where they arrived on the twenty-first of December. In the outskirts of
this city of Frederick the Great, they were met by bands of citizens on
horseback, carrying the Prussian and Mecklenburg colors, and there
sixteen postilions gave them the first salute of welcome. The
Brandenburg arch in Potsdam had been furnished with a special gate of
honor by the citizens. The street leading westward from this gateway was
renamed in honor of the Princess, and the open square before it was
called Louise Square. On their arrival, toward evening, all the windows
were illuminated and the streets lighted with torches. The guild of
butchers in Potsdam particularly distinguished itself. The masters, in
brown coats with gold shoulder-straps, red, gold-bordered vests, and
high, three-cornered hats with gold tassels, cockades, and red pompons,
carried curved hussar sabres and bestrode horses decked with red
trappings, and were preceded by three lusty trumpeters and the waving
banner of their guild. In memory of this occasion, when (in 1804) the
old banner was discarded, Queen Louise presented the honorable guild
with a handsome new one.
The entry of the Princesses into Berlin took place on the twenty-second
of December. Both Princes escorted their brides-to-be from Potsdam. The
guilds and societies of Berlin assembled in the village of Schöneberg,
an hour distant, in order to ride in front of the carriage of state. Six
postal secretaries, at the head of forty trumpeters in new festal
garments, led the torch-light procession from Schöneberg. Next to these
came the company of carters in blue; next, the Berlin guild of butchers
in blue; the sharpshooters in green with peach-colored trimmings; a
company of Berlin citizens in old knightly costumes; the brewers and
maltsters in blue; two companies of young clerks; and at the end, the
merchants of the three guilds in red and blue.
The streets were lined with soldiers of the royal guard and gentlemen of
the court. Thus Louise, with her sister, was received and conducted to
the capital, everything being done to honor and delight her. Poetical
tributes were not lacking, and the tact and grace with which she
received the homage, her wit, and the sincerity of her manner, laid the
foundation for that profound reverence and love with which the people of
the city always regarded her. At the gates and in the streets of Berlin,
the entry became a veritable triumphal procession. Rows of the civil
guard and countless masses of the populace lined the streets all the way
to “the Linden” and the Crown-prince’s palace, where an arch of honor
had been erected, and thirty boys from the French colony and forty young
maidens presented her with a festival poem, which ended with the verse:
“Forget what Thou hast lost;
This day of joy shall be the promise of a happier life;
Hail to Thee! mother of future monarchs,
A Queen and blissful wife!”
The young girl who presented a crown of blossoming myrtle and recited
the poem with much taste and feeling was so lovely in dress and manner
that Louise, yielding to the dictates of her heart, bent suddenly toward
her, took her in her arms, and kissed her.
The Countess von Voss, a dignified courtier and Mistress of Ceremonies,
standing just behind the Princess, was horrified at this unusual
procedure and tried to put a stop to it. But she was too late! How
dreadful that the future Crown-princess of Prussia should have embraced
and kissed a child of the common people!
“Alas!” she sighed, “what has Your Royal Highness done! It is against
all custom!”
“What!” answered Louise, innocently, “can I no longer follow the
dictates of my heart?”
Those who witnessed this scene were carried away by the sincerity and
sweetness which the kiss and these words so spontaneously and naturally
revealed. The procession passed on to the castle through rows of Berlin
working-men, and it was not until three o’clock in the afternoon that
the Princesses found themselves in the midst of the royal family and by
the side of their betrothed.
Two days afterwards, on Christmas eve, 1793, the marriage of the
Crown-prince and Louise took place in the White Hall of the castle. It
was solemnized by the consistorial councillor, Dr. Sack, who had
baptized and confirmed the Prince. In order to allow the citizens to
participate as fully as possible in the ceremony the King had given
orders that as many admission-cards should be issued as would fill the
hall. Most of them fell to officials of the royal household, who crowded
the apartments, wearing their gorgeous court uniforms. Out of patience
on seeing how his wishes had been misinterpreted, the King said to the
Master of Ceremonies: “Could you not gather enough embroidered collars
about you? I wish to see the wedding garments of the citizens also; on
the day after to-morrow no cards shall be issued, but all shall be
admitted who have whole coats to their backs!” Therefore, on the
twenty-sixth of December, at the wedding of Prince Louis and Frederika,
the multitude which was admitted left so narrow a passage for the rather
corpulent King, who was leading the widow of Frederick the Great, that
he turned and, thrusting out his left elbow, called genially to his
Berliners: “Do not mind, children! No one must expect to spread himself
on such an occasion!”
On the evening of the Crown-prince’s wedding-day the citizens had
planned a beautiful illumination of the city. While expressing his
thanks on hearing of the plan, the Crown-prince said: “It would give me
far more pleasure if those who have something to spare would give the
money which the lights would cost, to the widows and orphans of those
who have fallen in battle.” No sooner said than done. The King, the
Princes and Princesses contributed large sums, so that the joy of this
Christmas and marriage festival was reflected in many a careworn face
and many a humble home. The next morning, on Christmas Day, the newly
married pair, with their attendants, drove from the castle to the
cathedral. After attending the services, and thus having consecrated the
first day of their married life, they drove to their own palace.
This was, and still is, an unostentatious building and furnished in
exceedingly plain style. But it pleased the Crown-prince, who was simple
in his tastes by nature and education; and it also satisfied Louise, who
was not at all fond of show. When, after the King’s death, Frederick
William the Third might and should have removed to the castle, he
preferred to remain in the simpler dwelling as long as he lived. When
his children became dissatisfied, he would say to them: “You wish to
make a show in the world, forgetting how it was with me at your age. On
my birthday I received a pot of heliotrope worth threepence, and when my
tutor wished to give me an unusual treat, he would take me to a
coffee-garden and order twopence worth of cherries.” To a newly married
son, whose house he had fitted up in princely style, he remarked: “I had
no such splendors when I married your mother. I can only wish that you
may live as happily and contentedly as we have done.”
In marked contrast to the usual brilliant, vain, superficial court life
of the period, a new life now began in the Crown-prince’s palace. A
simple, old-fashioned household was established, a shining example of
German family life, of simplicity, love, and faithfulness. Both husband
and wife avoided as much as possible any contact with the unsavory
persons who frequented the court of Frederick William the Second as
satellites of the celebrated Countess Lichtenau.
The young couple ignored the French custom of formal address and used
the more intimate “thou.” The King noticed this with displeasure and
called them to account with the words: “I hear that you call the
Crown-princess ‘Thou’!”
But the Crown-prince answered: “For very good reasons.” And on being
asked what these reasons were, replied: “With ‘Thou’ one always knows
where one stands, but with ‘you’ all is uncertainty.”
In his exalted station he had, at best, but little freedom, and even
when King he “wished to enjoy in his home life some of the independence
that belongs to every private citizen.” He was not so much in his
element at court as at home “with his wife.” When she had laid aside the
necessary trappings of fashion and stood before him in her plain gown
and ordinary attire, he would look at her as upon a pearl newly restored
to its pristine purity; then he would grasp her hand with a radiant
expression and exclaim: “Thank God! that you are my wife once more!”
And when she would laughingly ask: “How, am I not always your wife?” he
would reply, sighing jocosely:
“Ah no! All too often you are obliged to be the Crown-princess.”
The unfortunate Mistress of Ceremonies had her troubles in consequence
of this disregard of court etiquette. Once she read the Prince a French
lecture on the influence of etiquette in the history of the world. With
a very chastened air, he said: “Very well, I will submit myself.
Announce me to my consort and inquire whether I may have the honor of
waiting upon Her Royal Highness, the Crown-princess. Say that I should
like to present my compliments and hope that she will graciously receive
me.” Highly delighted with such a result of her sermon, the good lady
went ceremoniously to the Crown-princess to beg an audience in the name
of His Royal Highness. But what a surprise was in store for her! As she
entered the room she found the Crown-prince, who had hurriedly preceded
her by another passageway, already “with his wife”; and laughingly he
calls to the crestfallen lady: “You see, dear Voss, my wife and I meet
as often as we like unannounced. This is a good Christian custom, I
believe. However, you are a splendid Mistress of Ceremonies, and
henceforth shall be called ‘Madame Etiquette’!” The good lady had a
similar experience afterwards at a festal procession of the Court. The
order of ceremonies read that “Their Royal Highnesses must appear in the
state carriage drawn by six horses, with two coachmen and three royal
riflemen in uniform.” The Crown-prince allowed the Mistress of
Ceremonies to make all the arrangements according to precedent.
Punctually the grand coach drew up before the palace, the Crown-prince
appeared with his consort, but instead of entering it with her, he
gently pushed the Mistress of Ceremonies inside, closed the door, and
ordered the coachman to drive on with the prisoner. With his Louise, he
then seated himself in an ordinary carriage with only two horses and
drove to the castle, where, according to orders, the coachman drew up
behind the state coach, from which at the same moment “Madame Etiquette”
was alighting.
Louise, brought up in comparative freedom and in the sunshine of love,
was in complete sympathy with this spirit of fun, which was a token of
domestic happiness. She had the most fortunate influence over this
husband, who was generally silent, reserved, harsh, and often seemingly
morose, because of his strict and severe education, which she, with her
frank and innocent nature, most happily supplemented.
When she celebrated her first birthday in Berlin, March 10, 1794, the
King, who was very fond of her, presented her with the pleasure palace
“Oranienburg” and a splendid park on the river Havel. Ladies and
gentlemen of the court appeared before her in the costume of Oranienburg
and, as it were, in the name of the inhabitants, presented the keys of
the castle to its new mistress. Louise was full of joy and gratitude,
but she could not keep it all for herself. On the King’s inquiring if
she had any other desire, she could only wish for a handful of gold, so
that the poor of Berlin might share her good fortune. Smilingly the King
remarked that it only depended on how large she imagined the handful of
gold to be. Never at a loss for an answer, she quickly replied: “The
handful of gold should be just as large as the heart of the kindest of
kings.” So the poor of the capital received a share of the royal
largess, and the birthday joy of the noble woman was complete. As an
after celebration she, with her sister, gave a banquet for the servants,
each of whom was allowed to bring several guests. The next day, on
hearing that there had been eighty at table, Louise scolded them
good-naturedly for not having made the number a full hundred.
In the following May, the King and the Crown-prince were obliged to take
the field against the Poles. When the news came that at the storming of
Wola the Crown-prince had led the company next after the King’s against
the intrenchments, she said: “I tremble for the dangers to which my
husband is exposed; but I feel that as he is next to the throne, he
should also be close to the King in the field.” Soon after his return,
October 7, 1794, she gave birth to a still-born daughter in Oranienburg.
This was in consequence of a fright and fall on the stairs. She was all
the happier, when, a year later at the same place, she bore a son who
became Frederick William the Fourth.
In spite of the many agreeable features of the castle and the town on
the Havel, the young pair did not feel quite at home there. It was too
magnificent for them, and the surroundings were too noisy. They longed
for a quieter, more retired summer residence, where they could live with
fewer restraints, although they often went driving in the forest in an
ordinary farm wagon and without any servants, in spite of the protests
of the Mistress of Ceremonies, who could never be induced to accompany
them. Therefore, when the Prince learned that the estate of Paretz,
pleasantly situated among the fields two miles from Potsdam, was for
sale, he purchased it together with the village which belonged to it,
for thirty thousand thalers, which the King paid for him. The old
residence was torn down and a new one built in plain country style.
“Keep in mind that you are building for an ordinary country gentleman,”
he instructed the architect. It was to be merely comfortable and
homelike, without any costly furnishings, embroidered carpets and
tapestries, silken covers, or velvet hangings; and afterwards when King,
he said that while there he wished to be regarded only as “the squire of
Paretz.” His wife, too, on being questioned by a visiting princess as to
whether Her Majesty was not bored to death by being immured for weeks at
a time in this hermitage, answered: “No, indeed, I am perfectly happy as
the mistress of Paretz.”
The happy pair now enjoyed all the pleasures of country life—hunting and
boating, the forests and gardens, harvest festival and country dance.
Even as Queen, the lovely, high-born dame often forgot her exalted
station and joined the ranks of the peasants and their girls and gayly
danced among them. Even “her excellency” Madame von Voss, the Mistress
of Ceremonies, led out by the “master of Paretz,” was obliged to take
part in a dance. Another of the Queen’s pleasures was to buy a basketful
of cakes at the annual fair of Paretz and to distribute them among young
and old. The children who joyfully cried out, “Madame Queen, Madame
Queen, give me some too!” she led to the toy booths, where honey cakes
and peppermints were raffled off, bought them tickets, and rejoiced with
them over their sweet winnings. In the year 1802 she clothed all the
children in the village in new garments for the harvest-home; and when
the girls and boys leading the procession entered the castle to tender
their thanks to the royal giver, she was as happy as any of them.
Turning to the King, she quoted: “Ye shall become as little children.”
This love and appreciation of nature and child-life always remained
characteristic of her. With so many duties and demands upon her, she was
obliged to take a few hours’ rest daily to refresh her spirit and renew
her strength. This repose she found most readily in the solitude and
beauty of nature. “If I neglect this hour for collecting my forces,” she
once remarked, “I am out of sorts and cannot endure the confusion of the
world. Oh, what a blessing it is to be able to commune with our souls!”
It is evident that one of such deep emotional nature, at such times did
not merely lose herself in dreams or ponder idly on her own affairs. She
had been accustomed from childhood to collect and assimilate the best
that human art and science have to offer. In proof of this, we have her
essays, journals, and letters. The works of the great poets, Herder,
Schiller, Goethe, and others, were her companions and the springs of her
spiritual and mental refreshment, next to music, which she loved to
cultivate. She interpreted the songs of her country with a voice full of
feeling. But alas! there were hours in store for her, when all that
genius has to offer could not still the suffering of her heart!
The first hour of trial came when her brother-in-law, Prince Louis, died
of typhoid fever, December 28, 1796, leaving her sister Frederika an
eighteen-year-old widow. She was married a second time, in 1798, to
Prince Frederick William of Braunfels; and after he died, in 1814, she
became the bride of the English Prince Ernst August, Duke of Cumberland,
and as such, Queen of Hanover, in 1837. A fortnight after Prince Louis’s
death (January 13, 1797) the widow of Frederick the Great, the unhappy
Queen Elizabeth Christine, whom Louise had regarded with tender and
filial reverence, passed away in her eighty-second year. “It will be my
turn next,” said the King, on receiving the news of her death. Two
months after this, on the twenty-second of March, 1797, Louise bore her
second son, Prince William, and on the sixteenth of November of the same
year, the King’s prophecy was fulfilled. Frederick William the Second
died; his eldest son ascended the throne, and Louise was Queen of
Prussia. What a change in so short a time!