Copyright
A. C. McClurg & Co.
1909
Published August 21, 1909

THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.

Translator’s Preface

There have been greater queens in history,—Elizabeth of England, Catherine of Russia, Maria Theresa of Austria, and others,—greater in diplomacy and statecraft and power, but none purer, nobler, or lovelier than Louise, Queen of Prussia, whose pathetic life is narrated in this volume. No queen has suffered more from the calamities inflicted upon her family, from the personal insults of a victorious enemy, and from the misfortunes which visited her country; and no queen has been more deeply beloved. The brutal attempt made by Napoleon to destroy her reputation is one of the most disgraceful events in his career. The insult was avenged sixty-five years later, when her second son, William the Third, vanquished Napoleon’s nephew, entered Paris in triumph, and was crowned Emperor of United Germany at Versailles. She will ever remain in history the ideal of a noble, beautiful woman of refined character, lofty patriotism, charitable nature, and exemplary goodness. The story of her sufferings and of the patience with which she endured them; of her love for her husband and children and country, which never wavered, as told in this little volume, must commend her to all who admire purity, beauty, truth, and love.

G. P. U.

Chicago, July 1, 1909.

Contents

Chapter Page

I Louise’s Youth 11

II Louise as Crown-princess of Prussia 24

III Louise as Queen 40

IV Louise in Misfortune 51

V Louise and Napoleon 86

VI Louise’s Probation 98

VII Louise’s Death 113

  Appendix 128

Illustrations

Queen Louise of PrussiaFrontispiece

Queen Louise and her two sons70

Napoleon Bonaparte90

Louise
Queen of Prussia

Chapter I
Louise’s Youth

“The memory of the just is blessed.”

The mother of Emperor William the Victorious, Queen Louise of Prussia, a woman of noble instincts, rich talents, and a character purified in the crucible of adversity, the guiding-star of her family and her country in dark and troubled times, was born March 10, 1776, in Hanover. Her father was Prince Karl of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, who later became Duke, and still later, the first Grand Duke, of that principality. He served under his brother-in-law, the Elector of Hanover (who occupied the throne of England as George III), as field-marshal, and governor-general. Her mother, Frederika Caroline Louise, was a daughter of Landgrave George of Hesse-Darmstadt. Louise was her sixth child, and lost her mother May 22, 1782, when barely six years of age. In 1784 the Prince married Princess Charlotte, the sister of the deceased; but she died also in December of the following year. This double loss deeply pained the sensitive heart of the child, young as she was. The sense of her loss and the longing for mother-love accompanied her all through life and caused her to give to her children all the tenderness that she had so sadly missed in her own life, and tirelessly to do for them as only a mother can. The twice-bereaved husband took leave of Hanover in 1786 and removed to Darmstadt, where he placed the princesses in the care of their wise and loving grandmother, Landgravine Marie, whose darling the gay and talented little Louise had already become.

A French Swiss, Mademoiselle de Gélieu, was engaged as governess, and proved an excellent guardian for the lively and sometimes passionate, then again very tender-hearted, little Princess. In the education of the German Princess under French influence—which unfortunately has been customary at German courts and among the German nobility since the days of Louis the Fourteenth—but one thing was lacking, namely, instruction in her mother-tongue and in the German literature, which at that time was so rich in promise. This was a loss which later she could not sufficiently deplore, and which she strove with all her energy to repair. But, on the other hand, her governess instructed her from the beginning in the Word of God, guided her in prayer toward faith, purity of heart, and singleness of character, as well as toward the royal road of charity and good works, from the palace to the cottage of the poor and the bedside of the suffering. Thus she had early training in the practice of that graciousness and benevolence which so endeared her to the hearts of her subjects.

Not only did Louise always retain a grateful devotion to her preceptress, but the King, her husband, also, was warmly attached to her and recognized her as his own benefactress, for the services she had rendered to his consort. When he returned in triumph from Paris in July, 1814, four years after the death of Louise, he took his way through Switzerland and with his second son (afterwards Emperor William the First), drove to Colombier, on the Lake of Neuenburg, in the Prussian principality of that name, to visit Mademoiselle de Gélieu, who lived there with her brother. What a surprise it was for the venerable matron when she saw an elegant equipage draw up before her door and three officers alight from it, in one of whom she recognized the King of Prussia! The King remained long in conversation with the noble woman who had known his Louise as a child and had watched her grow to maturity. Many were the reminiscences they exchanged about the dear departed one, who had been his most precious earthly possession. He took an affectionate leave of her, and among the rich gifts which he left behind, the most precious was a shawl which the Queen had worn shortly before her death, the sight of which moved the old lady to tears. The King had carried with him in the campaign, like holy relics, several objects which had belonged to the Queen and which he particularly prized; among them, this shawl, from which he parted only as a mark of peculiar favor to one who had been the teacher and motherly friend of his Louise.

The following story shows that the governess moulded the will of the Princess, not so much by command or compulsion, as through the reason, and appeals to her tender and sympathetic heart. After several quiet years in Darmstadt, Louise was allowed to go with her grandmother to the old imperial city of Strasburg on a visit to her aunt, Countess of the Palatinate of Zweibrücken, wife of Maximilian, who became the first King of Bavaria. We may imagine what an impression the splendid cathedral made on the lively young girl. Of course there was no peace until she was allowed to visit the tower. As the ascent of the three hundred and twenty-five steps was too arduous for her grandmother, she was put in charge of the governess. Delighted with the magnificent views of the Rhine Valley and its surrounding mountains which the platform afforded, she would have been only too happy to climb the remaining four hundred steps to the top of the tower. Now Mademoiselle de Gélieu was loath to oppose her, but felt sure that her grandmother would not approve of her ascent of this difficult and dizzy height. As the Princess kept urging her to consent, she said: “The climb will be very difficult for me; but as my duty demands that I shall not leave you, go, and I will follow.”

At this Louise immediately relented and replied: “No, indeed, I cannot, and I am sorry that I have already made you climb so high!” Thus, by an appeal to her sympathies she was easily induced to yield.

Louise particularly enjoyed two visits to Frankfort-on-the-Main, during the coronation ceremonies of the last two emperors of the “Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation”; one of them was that of the Emperor Leopold the Second (1790), and the other that of the Emperor Francis (1792). Her sister, married to the Hereditary Prince of Thurn and Taxis, lived in Frankfort, and as her guest Louise was enabled to see the last vestiges of glory of the old empire. Wonderful pageants they were! She beheld the imperial treasure brought from Nürnberg and Aix-la-Chapelle with great ceremony, in a state coach drawn by six horses, to the cathedral; also the crown, sceptre, globe, and sword of the Holy Mauritius, carried to the King; then His Majesty, who had just been chosen by the seven Electors, riding from his apartments in solemn procession to the cathedral; before him, the seven Electors in their official robes, over him a silk-embroidered baldachin, borne by ten councillors of the city of Frankfort; surrounding him, the imperial court, and behind him the splendid procession of the bodyguard and troops of the city with music and waving banners; and lastly, a countless multitude of followers, on foot, on horseback, and in carriages.

In the cathedral, kneeling on the altar steps during high mass, the King took the oath on the Sacred Book of Aix-la-Chapelle, was then anointed by the Elector of Mayence, gorgeous in his archiepiscopal robes, and thereby made worthy to bear the sword of Charlemagne. After taking the sacrament, he ascended the throne with the crown upon his head; then, amid the chanting of “Lord God we praise Thee,” the tolling of the bells, and the thunder of a hundred cannon, he was acclaimed Emperor. The great coronation procession streaming at last out of the cathedral proceeded to “the Römer,” over the bridge laid with cloth of the imperial colors, which, as soon as it had passed, was appropriated by the crowd. The hereditary marshal of the empire, filling a vessel of silver from a great heap of oats in the market-place, presented it to the Emperor in token that the royal stables were provisioned; the royal chamberlain offered the silver ewer, basin, and towel; the dapifer brought a glass from the fountain flowing with red and white wine, and the royal treasurer, in the name of the Emperor, scattered gold and silver coins from great purses among the scrambling crowds. All these scenes Louise had an opportunity of witnessing as a privileged onlooker. With what childish delight, but how modestly she regarded them! As member of a family rich only in children, she made with her own hands the satin shoes which were then in fashion, and which she wore.

This natural and unassuming young girl was an admirable companion for simple, domestic Frau Goethe, mother of the celebrated poet, whom she and her brothers and sisters were often allowed to visit. On one occasion Louise and her brother found the old lady enjoying a delicious German salad with an omelette. It looked so appetizing that they begged for a portion and never stopped until they had eaten the last leaf. Another time, the fourteen-year-old Louise and her sister Frederika strayed into the paved court-yard, where they discovered the well and began to pump with might and main, until their governess espied them and tried to put a stop to the prank. Their good-natured old friend, Mistress Goethe, tried first to pacify the irate governess, and when that failed, locked her into a room until the sisters had pumped to their hearts’ content. She said afterwards, that she would have taken almost anything upon herself rather than have interfered with their innocent fun. When they bade her good-bye, the merry girls declared they should never forget her and the good times they had had in her house. When Louise became Queen, she sent her old friend, among other things, a piece of jewelry which Madame Goethe wore only upon grand occasions, in her honor.

It was in Frankfort also where, not long afterwards, she found the great happiness of her life. The French Revolution, which had broken out in 1789, had grown constantly to greater and more dangerous proportions. In order to assist the threatened kingdom and its allies, who had taken refuge in multitudes along the Rhine, King Frederick William the Second of Prussia entered into an alliance with Austria. The French National Assembly quickly declared war, in April, 1792. Under command of the venerable Duke of Brunswick the campaign in France was so mismanaged that the Allies were obliged to retreat, and the French got possession of Mayence and on October 23, 1792, took Frankfort and burned it. The city was recovered December 2, but Mayence had to be besieged. The King of Prussia established his headquarters in Frankfort.

On the outbreak of hostilities the Landgravine of Hesse-Darmstadt and her two granddaughters took refuge with their older sister, the Princess of Hildburghausen. From there the Landgrave, who was in the suite of the King, sent for them in order to present them to His Majesty, whose consort was also a native of Darmstadt. When the presentation had taken place, the grandmother intended to proceed with her charges that same evening to Darmstadt, but was detained by an invitation to the royal table. Here the twenty-three-year-old Crown-prince, Frederick William, saw the seventeen-year-old Louise. The charm and graciousness of her bearing, her delicate and youthful figure, and the sweetness of her voice affected him; and when she looked at him with an almost frightened expression in her large blue eyes, an inner voice seemed to say to him, as years afterwards he used to relate, “It must be she, or no one else on earth.” Louise had the same feeling; and a clear realization of their destiny (so the King declared in his reminiscences of that exalted moment) brought tears of joy to the eyes of both.

The same evening, Prince Frederick Louis Karl, three years younger than his brother, fell in love with the fifteen-year-old Frederika. The brothers had been close comrades from childhood, and now, through their devotion to the two blooming sisters, they were drawn closer together than ever before.

The Crown-prince, who had borne himself gallantly in the French campaign, was given command of a regiment during the siege of Mayence; but the impression made upon him by Louise was not to be dimmed by the turmoil of war. During several visits to Darmstadt he became more intimately acquainted with the beloved, grew to appreciate her lovely nature, and being sure of himself, he sought and obtained the consent of his father to their union. A month after the first meeting, April 2, 1793, the double betrothal was celebrated in the palace at Darmstadt in the presence of the King of Prussia and the sisters of the two fiancées. Two days later both Princes returned to the field with their father, and six days afterwards the Crown-prince, at the head of his battalion, took the village of Kostheim by storm. His brother, betrothed of Princess Frederika, came very near losing his life one evening from an overheated stove, as he was resting in his tent after an arduous day. Everything about the sleeping Prince was already in flames, when a sentinel who had smelt the smoke rushed in and rescued the unconscious Prince from certain death. The tent was consumed, and the Prince saved nothing but the clothes on his back. The next day the serious and somewhat practical Crown-prince conceived the humorous idea of going to the King and among his suite, and soliciting contributions in aid of the “poor burned-out man.”

The Princesses ventured into the camp several times to visit their betrothed. During one of these visits at Bodenbach, near Mayence, May 29, 1793, young Goethe, who was staying there, had an opportunity of seeing them from his tent near by and was so entranced with both sisters that they seemed to him like “heavenly visions” which he could never forget. There is but one voice concerning the gracious charm of Louise, as Princess and as Queen. She appeared to those who knew her almost like a supernatural being. Her intimates called her an angel. The poet Fouqué, who saw both lovely sisters on their entry into Berlin, spoke of the “angelically beautiful brides.” The King called his gracious daughter-in-law “the Princess of Princesses.” Even a man of intellect like the court physician, Hufeland, tells us in after years of that “indescribably blissful feeling” which one always had when in her presence, “as if in the presence of a heavenly being.” Old Blücher, on hearing of her death, cried: “Our saint is now in Heaven!” May we not also look up with deepest reverence to her who was glorified while still upon earth?

The Crown-prince, who was now burning to distinguish himself and to prove worthy of his beloved, was particularly valiant in the siege of Landau, at which he had command of the royal guard. However, two months later, November 27, 1793, he and his brother were recalled from the field by the King, who had grown tired of the war in consequence of disagreements among the Allies. In the meantime the Crown-prince’s palace, in which Frederick William, as Crown-prince and as King, lived and died, was being newly furnished and made ready to receive the young pair.

Chapter II
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:

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!

Chapter III
Louise as Queen

The new King took the throne of Frederick the Great, not as his successor, “Frederick the Third,” as he was acclaimed, but more modestly, with the title of Frederick William the Third. His wife assured the delegation of citizens who waited upon her to offer the congratulations of Berlin, that she was most grateful for every proof of their love, and that she and the King would both endeavor to deserve it; for, said she: “The love of his subjects is the softest pillow for a royal head.” The residence and mode of life of the royal pair remained unchanged. The King still refrained, as before, from all stiff formalities and vain and ostentatious display. His father, who had had extravagant tastes, left him nothing but debts, and now they were obliged to retrench. But even had it been otherwise, Frederick William the Third and his Louise were happiest in living a simple life. On a serving-man’s opening both the folding doors for His Majesty to pass through, he asked: “Have I grown suddenly so stout that one door is not wide enough for me?” And when the chef put two more courses on the King’s bill-of-fare than he had served to the Crown-prince, the King struck them off, with the words: “Does he think my stomach has grown larger since yesterday?”

It was an old court custom that two generals should serve standing during meals, and that the chamberlain should be obliged to attend the ruler until he had tasted his first glass of wine. At his first state dinner, when Frederick William the Third saw the Master of Ceremonies standing behind his chair, he said to him: “You may sit down.”

“I am not allowed to,” was the answer, “until Your Majesty has taken the first drink.”

“Is any particular beverage mentioned?” asked the King.

“Not so far as I know,” replied the Master of Ceremonies.

“Wait,” said the King. He reached for the nearest glass of water, drank, and said: “Now I have had my drink, and you may be seated!”

Queen Louise in the same manner retained her simple habits. She appeared in robes of state only when the dignity of her station demanded it. Her usual dress at balls and festivals was a dainty muslin gown, her beautiful hair decked only with a diadem, and about her neck a long string of pearls. In the course of time, by setting a new example, she also brought about the disappearance of trains yards in length, of the great hooped skirts, and towers of artificial hair. With her fine tact she knew how to banish all stiff formality from social life, and to secure natural and unaffected intercourse.

The royal pair were often seen, as of old, walking arm in arm “under the Lindens” and in the zoölogical gardens, without any attendants and mingling with citizens in the market-place. In the Winter of 1797, Louise went with her royal consort to the Christmas street-fair in Berlin. They had made purchases at several booths and approached another, where a woman was bargaining for some wares. She broke off immediately and was going to step aside as she saw the royal pair approaching. “Do not go, my dear woman,” said the Queen. “What will the merchants say if we drive away their customers?” Then she inquired about her family and on learning that the woman had a son about the same age as the Crown-prince, she bought several toys and gave them to her with the words: “Take these trifles, my dear, and give them to your crown-prince from mine.” When out walking she often took up children who were playing by the roadside, and embraced them in motherly fashion. Even the old dame cowering by the wayside was not unnoticed, and if she did not need an alms, received at least a friendly word. One day a little boy playing horse in the castle garden ran into the Queen. Her lady-in-waiting was about to scold him roundly, but Louise interfered with: “A boy must be wild.” Tapping the little fellow on his red cheek, she said in sweetest tones: “Run and play, my son, but take care not to fall; and you may give your parents greetings from me.”

A great many little episodes of this kind made her day by day more beloved among the people. Once while she was Crown-princess, when a Count and a court shoemaker were announced at the same moment, she caused the craftsman, whose time no doubt was the more valuable, to be admitted first, with the words: “Let the shoemaker come; the Count can wait.” To an elderly man, who was invited for an evening, she wrote on the invitation card sent out by the Mistress of Ceremonies the words: “I beg that you will come in boots. Silk stockings are dangerous for your health, and as I am fond of my friends, I must take care of them,” Old General Köckeritz, who was a daily guest at table during their country sojourn, had a habit of disappearing after the meal, no one knew whither. When Louise learned that he hurried away to his room to smoke his indispensable pipe, she appeared beside him the next day as soon as dinner was over, with a filled pipe, a lighted taper, and a spill in her hand, and said to him: “To-day, my dear Köckeritz, you shall not desert us; you shall smoke your customary pipe in our company.” After she became Queen, she and the King were once invited by one of their ministers to a ball. On their arrival there were several carriages already before the door yard. The gate was about to be opened that the royal carriage might pass through, when the King forbade it and waited until his turn came to alight. The Queen remarked to the minister’s wife who was waiting to receive them: “You must forgive us for being late, but my husband was detained by business.”