Читать книгу Louisa of Prussia and Her Times - L. Muhlbach - Страница 17

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“Well,” said the king, “whenever I look back into the past, every thing seems to me covered with a gray mist, through which only two stars and two lights are twinkling. The stars are your eyes, and the lights are the two days I alluded to before—the day on which I saw you for the first time, and the day on which you arrived in Berlin. Oh, Louisa, never shall I forget that first day! I call it the first day, because it was the first day of my real life. It was at Frankfort-on-the-Main, during the campaign on the Rhine. My father, the king, accompanied by myself, returned the visit that the Duke of Mecklenburg, your excellent father, had paid on the previous day. We met in a small and unpretending villa, situated in the midst of a large garden. The two sovereigns conversed long and seriously, and I was listening to them, in silence. This silence was, perhaps, disagreeable to my father the king.”

“‘What do you think, your Highness?’ he suddenly asked your father. ‘While we are talking about the military operations, will we not permit the young gentleman there to wait upon the ladies? As soon as we are through, I shall ask you to grant me the same privilege.’”

“The duke readily assented, and calling the footman waiting in the anteroom, he ordered him to go with me to the ladies and to announce my visit to them. Being in the neighborhood of the seat of war, you know, little attention was paid to ceremonies. I followed the footman, who told me the ladies were in the garden, whither he conducted me. We walked through a long avenue and a number of side-paths. The footman, going before me, looked around in every direction without being able to discover the whereabouts of the ladies. Finally, at a bend in the avenue, we beheld a bower in the distance, and something white fluttering in it.”

“‘Ah, there is Princess Louisa,’ said the footman, turning to me, and he then rapidly walked toward her. I followed him slowly and listlessly, and when he came back and told me Princess Louisa was ready to receive me, I was perhaps yet twenty yards from the rose-bower. I saw there a young lady rising from her seat, and accelerated my steps. Suddenly my heart commenced pulsating as it never had done before, and it seemed to me as if a door were bursting open in my heart and making it free, and as if a thousand voices in my soul were singing and shouting, ‘There she is! There is the lady of your heart!’ The closer I approached, the slower grew my steps, and I saw you standing in the entrance of the bower in a white dress, loosely covering your noble and charming figure, a gentle smile playing on your pure, sweet face, golden ringlets flowing down both sides of your rosy cheeks, and your head wreathed with the full and fragrant roses which seemed to bend down upon you from the bower in order to kiss and adorn you, your round white arms only half covered with clear lace sleeves, and a full-blown rose in your right hand which you had raised to your waist. And seeing you thus before me, I believed I had been removed from earth, and it seemed to me I beheld an angel of innocence and beauty, through whose voice Heaven wished to greet me. [Footnote: Goethe saw the young princess at the same time, and speaks of her “divine beauty.”] At last I stood close before you, and in my fascination I entirely forgot to salute you. I only looked at you. I only heard those jubilant voices in my heart, singing, ‘There is your wife—the wife you will love now and forever!’ It was no maudling sentimentality, but a clear and well-defined consciousness which, like an inspiration, suddenly moistened my eyes with tears of joy. [Footnote: The king’s own words, vide Bishop Eylert’s work, vol. ii., p. 22.] Oh, Louisa, why am I no painter to perpetuate that sublime moment in a beautiful and glorious picture? But what I cannot do, shall be tried by others. A true artist shall render and eternize that moment for me, [Footnote: This painting was afterward executed, and may now be seen at the royal palace of Berlin. The whole account of the first meeting of the two lovers is based upon the communication the king made himself to Bishop Eylert] so that one day when we are gone, our son may look up to the painting and say: ‘Such was my mother when my father first saw her. He believed he beheld an angel, and he was not mistaken, for she was the guardian angel of his whole life.’”

“Oh! you make me blush—you make me too happy, too happy!” exclaimed the queen, closing her husband’s lips with a burning kiss.

“Don’t praise me too much, lest I should become proud and overbearing.”

The king gently shook his head. “Only the stupid, the guilty, and the base are proud and overbearing,” he said. “But, whoever has seen you, Louisa, on the day of your first arrival in Berlin, will never forget your sweet image in its radiance of grace, modesty, and loveliness. It was on a Sunday, a splendid clear day in winter, the day before Christmas, which was to become the greatest holiday of my life. A vast crowd had gathered in front of the Arsenal Unter den Linden. Every one was anxious to see you. At the entrance of the Linden, not far from the Opera-Place, a splendid triumphal arch had been erected, and here a committee of the citizens and a number of little girls were to welcome you to Berlin. In accordance with the rules of court etiquette, I was to await your arrival at the palace. But my eagerness to see you would not suffer me to remain there. Closely muffled in my military cloak, my cap drawn down over my face, in order not to be recognized by anybody, I had gone out among the crowd and, assisted by a trusty servant, obtained a place behind one of the pillars of the triumphal arch. Suddenly tremendous cheers burst forth from a hundred thousand throats, thousands of arms were waving white handkerchiefs from the windows and roofs of the houses, the bells were rung, the cannon commenced thundering, for you had just crossed the Brandenburger Gate. Alighting from your carriage, you walked up the Linden with your suite, the wildest enthusiasm greeting every step you made, and finally you entered the triumphal arch, not suspecting how near I was to you, and how fervently my heart was yearning for you. A number of little girls in white, with myrtle-branches in their hands, met you there; and one of them, bearing a myrtle-wreath on an embroidered cushion, presented it to you and recited a simple and touching poem. Oh, I see even now, how your eyes were glowing, how a profound emotion lighted up your features, and how, overpowered by your feelings, you bent down to the little girl, clasped her in your arms and kissed her eyes and lips. But behind you there stood the mistress of ceremonies, Countess von Voss, pale with indignation, and trembling with horror at this unparalleled occurrence. She hastily tried to draw you back, and in her amazement she cried almost aloud, ‘Good Heaven! how could your royal highness do that just now? It was contrary to good-breeding and etiquette!’ Those were harsh and inconsiderate words, but in your happy mood you did not feel hurt, but quietly and cheerfully turned around to her and asked innocently and honestly. ‘What! cannot I do so any more?’ [Footnote: Eylert, vol. ii., p.79.] Oh, Louisa, at that moment, and in consequence of your charming question, my eyes grew moist, and I could hardly refrain from rushing out of the crowd and pressing you to my heart, and kissing your eyes and lips as innocently and chastely as you had kissed those of the little girl.”

“See,” said the king, drawing a deep breath, and pausing for a minute, “those are the two great days of my life, and as you ask me now, what you ought to do in order to win the love of your people, I reply to you once more: Remain what you are, so that these beautiful pictures of you, which are engraved upon my heart, may always resemble you, and you will be sure to win all hearts. Oh, my Louisa, your task is an easy one, you only have to be true to yourself, you only have to follow your faithful companions the Graces, and success will never fail you. My task, however, is difficult, and I shall have to struggle not only with the evil designs, the malice, and stupidity of others, but with my own inexperience, my want of knowledge, and a certain irresolution, resulting, however, merely from a correct appreciation of what I am lacking.”

The queen with a rapid gesture placed her hand upon the king’s shoulder.

“You must be more self-reliant, for you may safely trust yourself,” she said, gravely. “Who could be satisfied with himself, if you were to despair? What sovereign could have the courage to grasp the sceptre, if your hands should shrink back from it?—your hands, as free from guilt and firm and strong as those of a true man should be! I know nothing about politics, and shall never dare to meddle with public affairs and to advise you in regard to them; but I know and feel that you will always be guided by what you believe to be the best interests of your people, and that you never will deviate from that course. The spirit of the Great Frederick is looking upon you; he will guide and bless you!”

The king seemed greatly surprised by these words.

“Do you divine my thoughts, Louisa?” he asked. “Do you know my soul has been with him all the morning—that I thus conversed with him and repeated to myself every thing he said to me one day in a great and solemn hour. Oh, it was indeed a sacred hour, and never have I spoken of it to anybody, for every word would have looked to me like a desecration. But you, my noble wife, you can only consecrate and sanctify the advice I received in that momentous hour; and as I am telling you to-day about my most glorious reminiscences, you shall hear also what Frederick the Great once said to me.”

The queen nodded approvingly, raising her head from his shoulder and folding her hands on her lap as if she were going to pray.

The king paused for a moment, and seemed to reflect.

“In 1785,” he then said, “on a fine, warm summer day, I met the king in the garden at Sans-Souci. I was a youth of fifteen years at that time, strolling carelessly through the shrubbery and humming a song, when I suddenly beheld the king, who was seated on the bench under the large beech-tree, at no great distance from the Japanese palace. He was alone; two greyhounds were lying at his feet, in his hands he held his old cane, and his head reposed gently on the trunk of the beech-tree. A last beam of the setting sun was playing on his face, and rendered his glorious eyes even more radiant. I stood before him in reverential awe, and he gazed upon me with a kindly smile. Then he commenced examining me about my studies, and finally he drew a volume of La Fontaine’s ‘Fables’ from his pocket, opened the book and asked me to translate the fable on the page he showed me. I did so—but when he afterward was going to praise me for the skill with which I had rendered it, I told him it was but yesterday that I had translated the same fable under the supervision of my teacher. A gentle smile immediately lighted up his face, and tenderly patting my cheeks, he said to me, in his sonorous, soft voice: ‘That is right, my dear Fritz, always be honest and upright. Never try to seem what you are not—always be more than what you seem!’ I never forgot that exhortation, and I have always abhorred falsehood and hypocrisy.”

The queen gently laid her hand upon his heart. “Your eye is honest,” she said, “and so is your heart. My Frederick is too proud and brave to utter a lie. And what did you say to your great ancestor?”

“I? He spoke to me—I stood before him and listened. He admonished me to be industrious, never to believe that I had learned enough; never to stand still, but always to struggle on. After that he arose and, conversing with me all the time, slowly walked down the avenue leading to the garden gate. All at once he paused, and leaning upon his cane, his piercing eyes looked at me so long and searchingly, that his glance deeply entered into my heart. ‘Well, Fritz,’ he said, ‘try to become a good man, a good man par excellence. Great things are in store for you. I am at the end of my career, and my task is about accomplished. I am afraid that things will go pell-mell when I am dead. A portentous fermentation is going on everywhere, and the sovereigns, especially the King of France, instead of calming it and extirpating the causes that have produced it, unfortunately are deluded enough to fan the flame. The masses below commence moving already, and when the explosion finally takes place, the devil will be to pay. I am afraid your own position one day will be a most difficult one. Arm yourself, therefore, for the strife!—be firm!—think of me! Watch over our honor and our glory! Beware of injustice, but do not permit any one to treat you unjustly!’ He paused again, and slowly walked on. While deeply moved and conscious of the importance of the interview, I inwardly repeated every word he had said, in order to remember them as long as I lived. We had now reached the obelisk, near the gate of Sans-Souci. The king here gave me his left hand, and with his uplifted right hand he pointed at the obelisk. ‘Look at it,’ he said, loudly and solemnly; ‘the obelisk is tall and slender, and yet it stands firm amid the most furious storms. It says to you: Ma force est ma droiture. The culmination, the highest point overlooks and crowns the whole; it does not support it, however, but is supported by the whole mass underlying it, especially by the invisible foundation, deeply imbedded in the earth. This supporting foundation is the people in its unity. Always be on the side of the people, so that they will love and trust you, as they alone can render you strong and happy.’ He cast another searching glance upon me, and gave me his hand. When I bent over it in order to kiss it, he imprinted a kiss on my forehead. ‘Don’t forget this hour,’ he said kindly, nodding to me. He turned around, and accompanied by his greyhounds, slowly walked up the avenue again. [Footnote: The king’s own account to Bishop Eylert, in the latter’s work, vol. i., p. 466.] I never forgot that hour, and shall remember it as long as I live.”

“And the spirit of the great Frederick will be with you and remain with you,” said the queen, deeply moved.

“Would to God it were so!” sighed the king. “I know that I am weak and inexperienced; I stand in need of wise and experienced advisers; I—”

A rap at the door interrupted the king, and on his exclaiming, “Come in!” the door was opened and the court marshal appeared on the threshold.

“I humbly beg your majesty’s pardon for venturing to disturb you,” he said, bowing reverentially; “but I must request your majesty to decide a most important domestic matter—a matter that brooks no delay.”

“Well, what is it?” said the king, rising and walking over to the marshal.

“Your majesty, it is about the bill of fare for the royal table, and I beseech your majesty to read and approve the following paper I have drawn up in regard to it.”

With an obsequious bow, he presented a paper to the king, who read it slowly and attentively.

“What!” he suddenly asked, sharply, “two courses more than formerly?”

“Your majesty,” replied the marshal, humbly, “it is for the table of a KING!”

“And you believe that my stomach has grown larger since I am a king?” asked Frederick William. “No, sir, the meals shall remain the same as heretofore, [Footnote: Vide Eylert, vol. i., p. 18] unless,” he said, politely turning to the queen, “unless you desire a change, my dear?”

The queen archly shook her head. “No,” she said, with a charming smile; “neither has my stomach grown larger since yesterday.”

“There will be no change, then,” said the king, dismissing the marshal.

“Just see,” he said to the queen, when the courtier had disappeared, “what efforts they make in order to bring about a change in our simple and unassuming ways of living; they flatter us wherever they can, and even try to do so by means of our meals.”

“As for ourselves, however, dearest, we will remember the words of your great uncle,” said the queen, “and when they overwhelm us on all sides with their vain and ridiculous demands, we will remain firm and true to ourselves.”

“Yes, Louisa,” said the king, gravely, “and whatever our new life may have in store for us, we will remain the same as before.”

Another rap at the door was heard, and a royal footman entered.

“Lieutenant-Colonel von Kockeritz, your majesty, requests an audience.”

“Ah, yes, it is time,” said the king, looking at the clock on the mantel-piece. “I sent him word to call on me at this hour. Farewell, Louisa, I must not let him wait.”

He bowed to his wife, whose hand he tenderly pressed to his lips, and turned to the door.

The footman who had meantime stood at the door as straight as an arrow, waiting for the king’s reply, now hastened to open both folding-doors.

“What!” asked the king, with a deprecating smile, “have I suddenly grown so much stouter that I can no longer pass out through one door?” [Footnote: Ibid., p. 19]

The queen’s eyes followed her husband’s tall and commanding figure with a proud smile, and then raising her beautiful, radiant eyes with an indescribable expression to heaven, she whispered: “Oh, what a man I my husband!” [Footnote: “O, welch em Mann! mem Mann!”—Eylert, vol. ii., p. 107]