Chapter VLouise and Napoleon

On June 24 she writes again:

“My letters are still here, as wind and storms have prevented all vessels from leaving port. Now, I shall provide a reliable messenger and continue to send you news from here. The army has been obliged to retreat farther and farther, and on the twenty-first an armistice of four weeks was arranged by the Russians. The sky often clears when one expects only cloudy weather; it may be so now. No one longs for it more than I, but wishes are only wishes and not realities. Everything comes from above, Thou merciful Heavenly Father!“My faith shall not waver, but I can hope no more. I refer again to my letter, which was written from the depths of my soul. You will understand me thoroughly when you have read it, dear father. I will live and die in honor and even eat bread and salt, if it must be. I shall never be totally unhappy; only I can hope no more. One who has been overwhelmed as I have been, can have no more hope. Should good fortune come, oh! no human being could be more grateful than I should be; but I no longer expect it. If misfortune come, it may surprise me for the moment, but it cannot overwhelm me, if it is undeserved. Only wrongdoing on our part would bring me to the grave, and to that we shall not come, for we are above it. You see, dear father, the enemy of mankind has no power over me. The King has been with the Czar since the nineteenth; and since yesterday they have been in Tauroggen, only a few miles from Tilsit where the French Emperor is.“I am at your feet, devotedly yours,“Louise.”

“My faith shall not waver, but I can hope no more. I refer again to my letter, which was written from the depths of my soul. You will understand me thoroughly when you have read it, dear father. I will live and die in honor and even eat bread and salt, if it must be. I shall never be totally unhappy; only I can hope no more. One who has been overwhelmed as I have been, can have no more hope. Should good fortune come, oh! no human being could be more grateful than I should be; but I no longer expect it. If misfortune come, it may surprise me for the moment, but it cannot overwhelm me, if it is undeserved. Only wrongdoing on our part would bring me to the grave, and to that we shall not come, for we are above it. You see, dear father, the enemy of mankind has no power over me. The King has been with the Czar since the nineteenth; and since yesterday they have been in Tauroggen, only a few miles from Tilsit where the French Emperor is.

“I am at your feet, devotedly yours,

“Louise.”

An armistice with Russia was concluded by Napoleon June 21, and on the twenty-fifth of June one was arranged with Prussia also, at Tilsit. The next day an interview took place between the Czar and Napoleon, at which the King of Prussia was present. Napoleon’s egotism and haughtiness clashed continually with Frederick William’s directness and honesty. The King met the insolent victor with a noble pride and bore his misfortunes with a dignity which seemed to increase the enmity of the French Emperor. Upon this occasion Alexander conceived the unfortunate idea that the presence of the Queen might facilitate the deliberations and that her graciousness and the nobility of her character would soften the stern purpose of the conqueror. Alexander urged the King to summon his wife to Piktuppönen, a village east of Tilsit, where he returned each evening from the conferences. The King was finally persuaded, and wrote to his wife of the mission proposed for her. He withheld his own judgment and wishes, however, and allowed her to decide the matter entirely for herself. The Queen received the letter while sitting with a circle of intimate women friends, glanced at it hastily, and silently left the room. An hour later she reappeared with a tear-stained face and told the company the contents of the letter. Some of those present advised against the action as undignified and useless. But she explained: “If there is any one who believes that I can save even one village more to the fatherland by this step, I am in duty bound to test that belief. If I must take this painful step, however, I do not wish to do it unprepared; I must know just what to say and what to demand.”

Hufeland tells us that the Queen was beside herself at the thought of meeting the slanderer and defamer, and said: “This is the most cruel sacrifice that I have yet made for my people, and only the hope of being useful to them makes it possible for me.” She wrote in her journal in regard to it: “God knows what a struggle it costs me! For though I do not hate the man, I regard him as the author of the misfortunes of the King and our country. I admire his talents, but I cannot admire his character, which is evidently false and deceitful. It will be very difficult for me to be polite and agreeable to him. But this hard task is demanded of me, and I am already used to sacrifice.”

She left Memel and arrived on the evening of July 4 at Piktuppönen. Here she received her instructions from Minister Hardenberg as to what she was principally to dwell upon in the interview. On July 5 she received a visit from the Czar, and on the sixth Napoleon sent her greeting through General Caulaincourt, and an invitation to dinner. With a French guard of honor she drove in a state carriage with eight horses to Tilsit,—and stopped at the house where her husband lodged. An hour after her arrival Napoleon, mounted on a white Arabian horse and accompanied by a large escort, rode to her door. The King and the princes received him at the staircase. Napoleon, holding his riding-whip in his hand, took off his hat, bowed quickly right and left, and ascended the steps to the Queen’s room, into which the King led him and then left him alone with her. After the first painful moments, the Queen expressed her concern that he had been obliged to climb such a wretched stairway to visit her. Napoleon answered gallantly: “On the road to such a goal, one should fear no obstacles.” She inquired how the northern climate agreed with him. And then she turned the conversation to the negotiations and told him that she had come to try to persuade him to make reasonable terms of peace. And when he loftily inquired: “But how could you go to war with me?” she answered, “Sire, if we deceived ourselves, it was but a natural consequence of the fame of the great Frederick.” This reply was overheard by the celebrated Talleyrand, Napoleon’s clever minister. He is said to have warned Napoleon of the impression the Queen might make upon him, in these words: “Sire! shall posterity be able to say that a beautiful queen has caused you to forego the full results of your greatest victory?” But Napoleon scarcely needed any such warning from Satan, he was Satanic enough himself. After the Queen’s remark he led the conversation to indifferent subjects, asked about the material of her dress, etc. But Louise would not be turned from her purpose. With warmth and even with tears in her eyes she pleaded with him not to impose upon the country this unreasonable burden of a half billion francs for war indemnity and the numerous garrisons, and especially to promise her that Danzig and Magdeburg should remain Prussian. “I will think it over,” he answered, holding out a prospect of an acceptable peace. The conversation lasted a quarter of an hour.

At noon the King and Queen dined with the Emperor of the French; she at his right next to the Czar and the King at his left. Napoleon was very amiable. He was good-humored and talkative, and joked about the danger she had run the previous autumn, when at the King’s headquarters, of being taken prisoner by his hussars. The conversation turned on the cession of the provinces, which Napoleon thought the King ought not to take so much to heart. The King replied: “You do not know how painful it is to lose inherited lands in which the dearest memories of childhood are rooted, and which one can as little forget, as he can his cradle.”

“His cradle,” sneered Napoleon, “when the child has become a man he no longer has time to think of his cradle.”

“Oh! yes,” answered the King, “one can no more forget his youth than he can deny it, and a man of sentiment will always think with gratitude of the cradle where he lay as a child.”

NAPOLEON BONAPARTE

The Queen sought to give the conversation another direction by saying: “The mother’s heart is the only cradle which one never forgets.” She had in mind the respect which Napoleon felt for his own mother, and pointedly inquired about the health of “Madame Bonaparte.”

In the evening the Queen drove back to the village. On July 7 she again received an invitation to dine with Napoleon, but before leaving for Tilsit, she received a letter from the King with the news that the conditions of peace were merciless. Therefore all hopes of the Queen’s success vanished, and this second journey to Tilsit was an almost intolerable martyrdom. Exciting discussions took place, and neither the King nor the Queen concealed their feelings and opinions. As she took her leave Napoleon picked a magnificent rose from the vine at the window and offered it to her. Louise was about to refuse it, but quickly recovering herself, she took it with the words: “At least with Magdeburg?”

To which Napoleon answered dryly: “Your Majesty will kindly remember that it is I who offer, and you who accept.”

As she threw herself weeping bitterly against the cushions of her carriage, she sighed and, pointing to the house, exclaimed: “In that place I have been horribly circumvented.”

Napoleon wrote on July eighth to his Consort Josephine: “The Queen of Prussia is really a charming woman; she is very amiable to me, but you need not be jealous. I am like an oil-cloth, over which such things slide without touching the inside. To play the gallant on such occasions does not cost much.” While a prisoner at St. Helena he wrote: “She was perfectly unaffected in her conversation, and remained mistress of it in spite of all the dexterity which I employed and all the trouble which I took. She always returned to her subject, and always with so much tact and delicacy that it was impossible to take offence.”

A year after this fruitless sacrifice Louise wrote to a friend:

“I suffer unutterably. Reproaches are heaped upon me over and over again. What can I answer? I sigh and swallow my tears. A year ago yesterday I had my last interview with Napoleon. Ah! what a recollection! How I suffered, suffered more for others than for myself! I wept and pleaded in the name of love and humanity, in the name of our misfortunes and the laws that govern the world. And I was only a woman—a weak creature, and yet superior to this adversary, so cold and heartless. The King is still greater than his enemy, even though his kingdom has been diminished one-half. He only treated with the wicked one under pressure of necessity and will not enter into an alliance with him. That this will sometime prove to be a blessing to Prussia is my firm belief.”

With such lofty sentiments this deeply wounded woman was able benignly to forgive the man who was to her the incarnation of evil, the boundless suffering which he had caused to her, to her family, and to her people. She was too noble to share the petty hatred of Napoleon shown by weaker natures. In former days, when every one belonging to the court joined in scorning the “upstart,” she kept silence. Shortly before her last illness, one day when her sorrowful glance fell upon the portrait of the Emperor, a titled lady in her company passionately denounced the oppressor. The Queen quickly turned and rebuked the outbreak with a gentle look and word: “If I have forgiven him the injuries he has done me, what reason have you not to forgive him?” And with a gesture of her hand, as though in blessing to her great enemy, she left the room.

The Tilsit peace, concluded on the night of July 9-10 was more detrimental to Prussia than the previous war had been. The fortresses of Stettin, Cüstrin, and Glogau remained in the hands of the conqueror as pledges for the war indemnity. This indemnity, which included the support of forty thousand French troops and all sorts of unreasonable extortions, amounting, at the end of the year 1808, to at least six hundred million francs, was ruthlessly exacted from a poor land already robbed of its richest territories. Agriculture and art life were crippled, commerce restricted, and the country impoverished.

Though the King and his people tried conscientiously to meet all these oppressive demands, Napoleon purposely delayed the evacuation of the country, paid no attention to representations made him, treated the Prussian ambassador like a servant, and kept faith with nobody. “Is it not enough to make one despair?” asked Louise in a letter. “Ah! my God, why hast Thou forsaken us?” Her last comforter on earth was Stein, who, with his “great heart and comprehensive mind,” she hoped might still find a way out of this misery.

The Queen, supported by the King’s brothers and the patriotic Princess Louise Radziwill, a sister of Prince Louis Ferdinand, undertook to persuade the King that Stein was the only saviour in this time of need; and begged him to recall to the head of the ministry the man who had once been dismissed in disfavor. The King agreed; and Stein, generously forgetting the injustice which had been done him, accepted. He arrived in Memel, September 30, 1807, and was at once placed at the head of the government by the King. But he encountered a strong party bent upon deposing him and which put many obstacles in his way. Louise wrote to him at that time: “I entreat you to be patient during these first months, so that we shall have nothing to regret, and all shall not be lost. I implore you to consider this for the sake of the King, the country, my children, and myself. Patience!”

At length the commission appointed to fix the war indemnity finished its work. The poor, depleted country was really to pay “only” one hundred and fifty-four million francs, and until this was accomplished, it must maintain a French army and allow the taxes to be collected by the French in the provinces occupied by them! Even Stein, when he heard of these terrible demands, was turned to stone. This new and dreadful calamity was a crushing blow for a weak woman. It is no wonder that she wrote in October, 1807:

“Even I am losing my fortitude. It is terribly hard, especially as it is undeserved. My future is very sad. If we may only keep Berlin; but sometimes I have an awful presentiment that he will take it from us also and make it the capital of another kingdom. In that event I have only one wish—to emigrate to some distant land and to live a private life and forget—if possible. Alas! poor Prussia! Deserted through weakness, persecuted by insolence, depleted by misfortune, we must perish. Savary, the French ambassador, has assured us that Russia’s intervention would not help us, and he has advised us to sell our jewels and valuables. Think of his daring to say this!”

The mockery of this advice wounded Louise, who was already accustomed to privations and self-denial. During her stay in Memel money was often lacking for daily expenses. At that time many citizens fared more sumptuously than the royal family. The King sent his golden dinner service to the mint to be turned into money to lighten the burden of his oppressed subjects. Only a single golden plate remained of all the inherited antique treasures. The princes and princesses also renounced a third of their yearly incomes. It was at that time that the hard-pressed King sent his eldest daughter, afterwards Empress of Russia, a five-thaler note for a new dress, adding that she must make that do, as it was all he could spare.

Napoleon had been unyielding. Even the mission of Prince William to Paris was in vain. They were obliged to resign themselves to the demands of the conqueror. Stein signed a treaty September 3, 1808, in Berlin, by which it was finally agreed that Prussia was to pay one hundred and forty million francs. The fortresses of Glogau, Stettin, and Cüstrin were to be held by the French until the debt was fully extinguished. Until the first hundred million francs were paid the taxes were to be collected by the French and the country was to be under their regime, and during ten years the Prussians were to keep only 42,000 men under arms. It was now necessary to raise great sums of money as quickly as possible. By alienation of royal domains and strictest economy in all branches of government, a large amount was at last collected, and by the payment of this and by giving mortgage deeds, at last, at the end of the year 1808, the French (who continually sought to put obstacles in their way) were induced to evacuate the country.

As soon as the country between Memel and the Weichsel was evacuated the royal family removed to Koenigsberg, January 15, 1808. It was none too soon, for Louise’s health had suffered seriously in the cold, damp climate of Memel. In Koenigsberg she gave birth to a daughter, February 1, who was christened with the name of Louise.

In May the royal family moved to the quiet, simple country-seat, which still goes by the name of the Queen. Encouraged by the Koenigsberg professor Süvern, she devoted herself while there to the study of the history of Europe and tried “to live in the past, as the future held nothing for her.” The ancient history of Germany was particularly comforting to her. The motto of pious knightly times: “Justice, Faith, Love,” pleased her so well that she had a seal made bearing the device. But she said that if she were to choose a motto for herself, it would be: “God is my refuge.” Her soul was filled with a new hope, as she saw the perishing faith in God’s power and dominion reviving amid the fiery trials of the time, and felt that the German and Prussian peoples would awake, abandon foreign immorality, and arise in their might to shake off foreign domination. At that time a new light had arisen in Switzerland, a man who was dedicating his life and means to the better education of the masses, from a religious and humanitarian standpoint. This was the noble Pestalozzi, who had evolved a new system of education and written books of instruction for the people, particularly for mothers. Louise read the tale of “Poor Leonard and his Noble Gertrude” with great emotion and found in it a passage that particularly appealed to her: “Misery and suffering are God’s blessings, when they are patiently endured.” Pestalozzi and his followers hoped everything from a more natural system of education and the thorough religious training of youth. The Queen firmly believed in him and awaited with impatience the arrival of his pupil Zeller, from Würtemberg, whom the King had summoned to introduce the new Swiss system of education into Prussia. Louise took great pleasure in visiting his school and educational institute, and contributed to its success by every means in her power.

It was at that time that she wrote this splendid letter to her father, which gives us such a charming glimpse not only into her matured and disciplined mind, but also into her happy family life. The beginning is sad. She judges and foresees like a prophetess, then she rejoices as only a happy wife and mother can.

“All is over for us, if not forever, at least for the present. For myself I have no more hopes. I have become resigned, and in this resignation to the will of Heaven, I am composed and happy, if not with an earthly happiness, at least with what means much more, a spiritual happiness. I see ever more clearly that all had to come as it has come. God’s providence works silently toward new conditions and I feel that there is to be a new order of things, for the old has outlived itself and is doomed to decay. We had fallen asleep on the laurels of Frederick the Great, who, as master of his century, created a new era. We did not advance with it and so it has left us behind. We can learn a great deal from Napoleon, and what he has accomplished will not be lost. It would be blasphemy to say that God is with him; but evidently he is a tool in the hand of the Almighty employed to bury the dead past. The world will certainly progress, faith in the Perfect One is promise of that. But the world can only grow better through the good. Therefore I do not believe that the Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte is firmly seated on his now brilliant throne. Men of truth and justice alone are secure, and he is only politic and crafty. He does not conform to eternal laws, but only to circumstances as he finds them. He besmirches his reign with many injustices. He is not honest with the world and not true to himself. His unbounded ambition concerns only himself and his personal interests. He is blinded by his own good fortune and believes that he is capable of all things. Withal, he is without moderation; and he who cannot be temperate is sure to fall sooner or later.“I believe firmly in God, and therefore in a moral order. I do not see this in the rule of the strongest: therefore I live in hopes that better times will come. It is plain that all that has happened and is now happening is but the preparation for the accomplishment of God’s good purpose, and not the end, as it shall be in perfection. We shall probably not see this end, but die on the road thither. But God’s will be done in everything. In this hope which lives in the depths of my soul I find comfort, strength, courage, and joy. Truly, everything in this world is in transition! We must learn our lesson, and our only care should be to become better and wiser with each day.“You see, dear father, that you have a pious and resigned daughter even in adversity, and that the principles of Christian piety which I owe to your instruction and your good example have borne good fruit and will as long as I draw breath.“You will be glad to hear, dear father, that the misfortune which has overtaken us has not affected our family life at all; indeed, it has strengthened the bonds and made them all the more precious. The King, who is the best of men, is kinder and more loving than ever. He is still the lover and bridegroom. His deeds, more than his words, show how attentive and full of care for me he is. Yesterday he said to me so sweetly and simply: ‘Dear Louise, you have become more precious and dear to me in our misfortunes, as I see more and more what a treasure I have in you. Let storms rage outside if bright weather can only prevail in our married life. I have named our youngest daughter Louise because of my love for you. May she become a second Louise.’ His goodness moved me to tears. It is my pride, my joy, and my happiness that I possess the love and respect of the best of husbands, and because I love him and we are so in accord, that the will of the one is also the will of the other. It will be easy for me to preserve this happy understanding, which grows more perfect as the years pass. In a word, he loves me and I love him, and we are happiest when we are together. Forgive me, dear father, if I say this rather boastfully. I should not care to speak of it to others; and this also I have learned from the King. It is enough that we know it ourselves.“Our children are our treasures, and we look upon them with confidence and hope. The Crown-prince [later Frederick William the Fourth] is full of life and spirit. Our son William [the German Emperor], if I do not deceive myself, will be like his father, simple, sensible, and reliable. He resembles his father most, but will not be so handsome, I think. You see, dear father, I am still in love with my husband.”

“I believe firmly in God, and therefore in a moral order. I do not see this in the rule of the strongest: therefore I live in hopes that better times will come. It is plain that all that has happened and is now happening is but the preparation for the accomplishment of God’s good purpose, and not the end, as it shall be in perfection. We shall probably not see this end, but die on the road thither. But God’s will be done in everything. In this hope which lives in the depths of my soul I find comfort, strength, courage, and joy. Truly, everything in this world is in transition! We must learn our lesson, and our only care should be to become better and wiser with each day.

“You see, dear father, that you have a pious and resigned daughter even in adversity, and that the principles of Christian piety which I owe to your instruction and your good example have borne good fruit and will as long as I draw breath.

“You will be glad to hear, dear father, that the misfortune which has overtaken us has not affected our family life at all; indeed, it has strengthened the bonds and made them all the more precious. The King, who is the best of men, is kinder and more loving than ever. He is still the lover and bridegroom. His deeds, more than his words, show how attentive and full of care for me he is. Yesterday he said to me so sweetly and simply: ‘Dear Louise, you have become more precious and dear to me in our misfortunes, as I see more and more what a treasure I have in you. Let storms rage outside if bright weather can only prevail in our married life. I have named our youngest daughter Louise because of my love for you. May she become a second Louise.’ His goodness moved me to tears. It is my pride, my joy, and my happiness that I possess the love and respect of the best of husbands, and because I love him and we are so in accord, that the will of the one is also the will of the other. It will be easy for me to preserve this happy understanding, which grows more perfect as the years pass. In a word, he loves me and I love him, and we are happiest when we are together. Forgive me, dear father, if I say this rather boastfully. I should not care to speak of it to others; and this also I have learned from the King. It is enough that we know it ourselves.

“Our children are our treasures, and we look upon them with confidence and hope. The Crown-prince [later Frederick William the Fourth] is full of life and spirit. Our son William [the German Emperor], if I do not deceive myself, will be like his father, simple, sensible, and reliable. He resembles his father most, but will not be so handsome, I think. You see, dear father, I am still in love with my husband.”

After picturing in the same graphic manner her son Carl and the daughters Charlotte and Alexandrine, the happy mother continues:

“There is nothing to be said yet about little Louise. May she become like her ancestress, the amiable and pious Louise of Orange, the worthy consort of the Great Elector. Now I have shown you my whole gallery, beloved father. You will say, this is a mother who is in love with her children and can see only the good. But really I do not see any bad tendencies in any of them. They have their faults like other children, but these disappear in time as they grow older. Circumstances and conditions discipline people, and it may be well for our children that they have become acquainted in their youth with the serious side of life. Had they grown up in the lap of luxury and in comfort, they would have thought that it must always be so. But now they perceive that there is another side to life in the grave face of their father and the frequent tears and sadness of their mother. My whole care is devoted to my children, and I ask God daily in my prayers to bless them and not to take his Holy Spirit from them. If God preserves them to me, he gives me my richest treasure, which no one can take from me. Come what may, united with our good children we shall be happy. I am and remain always your grateful daughter,“Louise.”

“Louise.”

Thus, happy with her husband and children, communing with God and occupied with the future of her people, Louise lived a blessed life in her family circle, though the little country house was hardly large enough to accommodate them, and in spite of the hardships of the time. “I have good books, a good conscience, a good piano, and so can live more peacefully among the storms of the world than those who cause these storms,” she wrote to a friend.

Napoleon had just raised a fresh storm by crushing Spain, as he had crushed Prussia. But this time it was a revolution of the people, a prophecy of the storm which was to arise five years later against the tyrant in enslaved Germany. In the dethronement of the King of Spain at a time of peace, in order to put his brother Joseph on the throne, Louise recognized fresh evidence of the iron hand which rested so heavily on the bowed brow of Europe, and also a warning for Prussia. “What have we to expect in our situation?” she wrote. “Ah, my God! will the time come when the hand of fate shall at last write ‘Mene, mene, tekel’ on these walls? I do not complain, however, that my lot has been cast in this unhappy period. I have borne children who will perhaps contribute to the good of humanity.”

In the meanwhile Napoleon had been holding the fate of Prussia cruelly in the balance, until in September, 1808, the country, with the exception of the three fortresses on the Oder, was at last evacuated by the French tormentors. Napoleon now wished to have the royal family again in Berlin, “as in a mousetrap,” surrounded by the armies of France and of the Rhenish Confederation. Instead of immediately returning thither, they gladly accepted an invitation from Czar Alexander to visit St. Petersburg, December 27. On the journey the King and Queen were shown at Riga the house of the order, founded in 1390, “guild of the blockheads,” whose members were obliged to take an oath never to marry.

The King remarked to Louise: “Had I belonged to that guild you would have been spared many unhappy experiences.”

“Had they been ten times worse, and had you been able to foretell all our misfortunes, I should not have allowed you to become a master of this guild,” she answered.

The royal pair were greeted with all honors and pomp, both on the journey and in St. Petersburg. The French ambassador alsofêtedthem at a grand banquet. But Louise was depressed rather than elated by all this pomp and ceremony. A deep melancholy possessed her in the midst of these splendors. Added to this, she fell ill at an evening exhibition of fireworks, which ended with a shower of thirty-four thousand rockets.

On January 31, the King and Queen returned to Koenigsberg. “I come as I went; nothing dazzles me now,” she remarked. “My kingdom is not of this world.” Two days after her thirty-third birthday (1809) she wrote:

“This has been another day when I have felt the burden of the world with all its sins. I am sick and I believe that as long as things remain in their present condition, I shall not get well. [It was dreadful to her that war had broken out again between France and Austria, and in the end Russia and Prussia would be forced to take the field against Austria.] My birthday was a terrible day to me. In the evening there was a brilliant celebration given by the city in my honor, preceded by a rich, gay banquet at the castle. How sad it all made me! My heart was torn. I danced! I smiled and said pleasant things to the hosts, was friendly to every one, but could scarcely endure my misery. To whom will Prussia belong a year hence? Whither shall we all be scattered? God, Almighty Father, take pity on us!”

In the new campaign against Austria, Napoleon arrived before Vienna, May 10. After overthrowing the brave army led so gallantly by Archduke Carl, in the battle of Wagram (July 5-6, 1809), he dictated the humiliating peace treaty at Schönbrunn on October 14, which made the return of the royal family to Berlin impossible. Therefore Louise passed another summer with her family at the country-seat near Koenigsberg. Her health grew worse, and an intermittent fever depleted her system. Austria’s new misfortune, which completed the enslavement of Germany, increased her illness.—“God knows where I may be buried—scarcely in Prussian soil! Austria is singing her swan song and then adieu, Germania!” she wrote in her journal, fearing the utmost from Napoleon’s anger and greed and no longer believing there was any future for them on earth.

Notwithstanding all this, she devoted herself zealously, as far as her strength allowed her to do so, to the schools of the adjacent metropolis of Koenigsberg, as the nurseries of a better future. She was especially interested in the “model institute” installed in the orphans’ home by School-director Zeller. She studied detailed reports and took a lively interest in all that pertained to the moral elevation of the people. She clearly perceived that this would cost great sacrifices. To her sorrow she realized that neither reason nor justice, morality nor piety had been awakened by the misfortunes which had overtaken Prussia. She wrote to a friend: “Our natures are too hardened through selfishness and false education for them to be easily shaken or disciplined. Only great revolutions can and will accomplish this.”

She watched with great interest during this cruel and sorrowful time, the revolt of the people of the Tyrol under the leadership of the heroic, simple, and pious Andreas Hofer, innkeper of Passeyr, against the foreigners. “Hofer!” she wrote, “what a man! This Hofer, a peasant, becomes a field-marshal, and what an able one! His weapons, prayer; his ally, God! He fights with folded hands and bent knee, and slays as with the flaming sword of the cherubim!” How she must have mourned over the fallen hero, when, betrayed by a countryman, he was taken prisoner by the French and shot on the walls of the fortress at Mantua, February 20, 1810!

At the beginning of September Louise had to be taken back to the city castle as the result of a relapse. In those days of suffering she found a comforter in the excellent, liberal-minded Pastor Borowsky. Once, when the King was looking dejectedly into the future, he took him by the button of his uniform and frankly said to him: “Your Majesty must learn faith!” Borowsky describes the Queen thus:

“She is not joyful in this time of trial; but her earnestness is full of quiet cheer, and the insight and composure which God has given her lends to her personality a charm and dignity. Her eyes have indeed lost their former brilliancy, and one can tell that she has wept much and still weeps; but they have gained an expression of sadness and quiet longing which is more beautiful than the mere zest of life. The roses on her cheeks have faded, and a delicate pallor has taken their place; but it is still a beautiful face, and I like the white roses on those cheeks almost better than the red ones. About her mouth, where formerly a sweet, happy smile lurked, one sees now and then a slight trembling of the lips. This shows pain but no bitterness. Her dress is always extremely simple, and the choice of colors shows her mood. Last Sunday I found her alone in the sitting-room, and reading the Holy Book. She quickly arose, met me kindly, and began at once: ‘I have now come to feel and appreciate the wonderful one hundred and twenty-sixth Psalm about which we lately conversed. The more I ponder it and try to understand it, the more its grandeur and loveliness attract me. I know of nothing so elevating and comforting, so deep and so sweet, as these precious words. It is full of a spirit of sadness and yet of victory, of resignation and of the most joyful confidence and trust; it is a hallelujah with tears. I have read it again and again, until it is graven on my memory.’ And then the Queen reverently repeated the psalm, with a soft, but clear, firm voice, varying it here and there and applying it to her condition. The tone in which she recited it betrayed how deeply her richly tuned nature had made it her own.”

Louise’s youngest son, Albert, was born October fourth. At the christening the officiating clergyman spoke of “the dedication of the child to life” instead of the reception of this new soul into the company of God’s elect. This shallow and superficial interpretation, which seemed to Louise like a profanation of the holy sacrament, grieved her deeply. Only the certainty consoled her that the worthiness or the opinions of the officiating clergyman had nothing to do with the holiness of the christening and could take nothing from it, for its power comes from God who instituted it, and not from weak men who perform it. But these occurrences gave her an insight into the true causes of Prussia’s downfall. She expressed this in the words: “We have fallen away from the faith; hence our misfortunes.” All the more urgent it seemed to her that she must never tire in her work, particularly for the religious elevation of the people. In this she was in accord with her husband.

Freiherr von Stein, who had been banished by Napoleon, but whom she considered the “foundation stone of justice” and a “jewel among the German people,” and had always esteemed so highly because the foundation of his steadfast political character was a serious piety and high morality, expressed her sentiments exactly when he said that “it was the highest duty to foster a moral, religious, and patriotic spirit in the nation, to infuse fresh courage, self-reliance, and a feeling of national unity, with a readiness to make any sacrifice for independence.” Thus Louise inspired all the efforts and the work by means of which, in the field of religion, of morality, and of scientific education, the Prussian State was to be regenerated.

Although life in Koenigsberg and its environs was peaceful and pleasant, yet Louise often felt oppressed “in this banishment, this climate of raging storms more than a hundred miles from her home.” A fit of homesickness for Berlin and her Charlottenburg seized her. When at last the time of return grew near, she wept many tears at the thought of finding all as it had been, and yet so changed. “Dark forebodings trouble me,” she admitted, while everywhere the most gratifying and touching reception was being prepared for them.

The King, the Queen, the Princes and Princesses left Koenigsberg December 15, 1809, and during the journey, which lasted eight days, were the recipients of countless proofs of sincere affection from the populace. In Stargard they met old Nettelbeck of Kolberg, who had assisted the commandant Gneisenau so valiantly and successfully in the defence of this fortress, while other Prussian strongholds were shamefully capitulating. He was invited to dinner, and afterward had a long conversation in the adjoining room with the King and Queen. He was so affected at the sight of the long-suffering pair that he cried out: “Ah! as I look upon Your Majesty and my good Queen and think of the misfortunes which still weigh so heavily upon you, it seems as though my heart would break.” They all wept, and Nettelbeck, turning to the Queen, said: “May God long preserve you, my good Queen, to comfort my good King, for without you he could not have borne his misfortunes.”

On December 23, 1809, the same day on which, sixteen years before, she had made her first triumphal entry into Berlin, she now returned after an absence of two years and two months. In the meanwhile Berlin had been treated as the capital of a French province, and Louise found that her apartments had been occupied by insolent French generals. The rejoicings of the inhabitants over the return of their King and Queen were exuberant. The Queen with the younger children drove in a magnificent carriage which the citizens of Berlin had given her. The King was on horseback; the Princes Frederick and William followed as officers of the guard with their regiments. The City Council hoped that Their Majesties would give the citizens the pleasure of attending the gala performance at the theatre in the evening. “No,” said the King, “the first place I visit in Berlin shall be the church.” Not until the following Monday did he appear with his family at the opera house, where they were greeted with great enthusiasm, and many eyes filled with tears at the sight of the beloved King and “the partner of his sorrows.” Many Prussians vowed, as they saw their Queen again, that they would not rest until they had caused those angelic eyes, which had so often filled with tears over Bonaparte’s insults and injuries, to shine with joy over Prussian victories.

During the occupation of Berlin by the French, all mention of the Queen and any celebration in her honor had been strictly forbidden by the commandant. Nevertheless, on her birthday, the famous actor Iffland appeared on the stage at the evening performance wearing a rose and induced the other actors to do likewise. The audience immediately guessed what the roses meant, and cheered the Queen. Iffland suffered the penalty of a few days’ arrest for this. The Queen summoned him to her presence at the theatre to express her gratitude and appreciation. Later the King bestowed on him the order of the Red Eagle. Immediately after her return, Louise remembered another worthy man, who had stood for the truth when nearly all were bowing before the conquerors and allowing the most shameful scandals against the Queen to be circulated. Upon a certain occasion the local authorities of Berlin were being presented to the French Emperor, and he broke out in abusive complaints against the Queen. The reverend Dr. Ermann interrupted him abruptly with the words: “Sire, that is not true.” The despot hastily turned to the miscreant who had dared to tax him with the lie, but when he saw the tall, venerable figure of the old clergyman and looked into his earnest face, he remained silent and confused and said not another word about the Queen. The King also honored Ermann with an order; but Louise arose from the dinner-table at which the excellent man was a guest and went to him, glass in hand, to greet him, saying: “I cannot deny myself the pleasure of drinking to the knight, who, when all kept silence, had the courage to break a lance for the honor of his Queen. Do you still remember how, on your jubilee, we wished you happiness and long life? God has heard our prayer and preserved you, so that there should be at least one courageous enough to tell Napoleon the truth.”

Their terrible enemy continually devised methods for making life uncomfortable for Louise and her family, even in Berlin. He insisted upon the payment of the outstanding war debts more vehemently than ever, and threatened to occupy the country once more with an army to collect them. But all means of help had been exhausted, and it was impossible to make any new loans. Then Napoleon intimated to the King that he could wipe out the debt by ceding the country and its people. Indeed, Minister Altenstein could see in the relinquishment of Silesia the only possible way out of their difficulties. But the King and Queen rejected this idea with indignation, and the new Minister, Hardenberg, succeeded in conciliating Napoleon for the time being, until Prussia had recuperated and liberation was at hand.

But Louise was not destined to see this time of resurrection. She could not rid herself of the thought that fresh misfortunes awaited her family and country, and that the King might be taken from her by some Napoleonic act of violence. On her birthday she said: “I think this is the last time that I shall celebrate my birthday here.” Her condition became rapidly worse. She suffered from oppressed breathing and heart attacks, and had several spells of fever. The anxious physicians advised her to beware of strong emotions and excitement. But how in such times could the heart of a woman so sensitive remain calm and cheerful? She passed the month of May in Potsdam and was so much improved by the country sojourn that she ventured to carry out a long-cherished plan.

She had long wished to visit her beloved father in Strelitz. She started cheerfully from Charlottenburg, June 25, 1810, but soon became very serious, and scarcely knew why she was so downhearted when she reached the frontiers of Mecklenburg. Did she have a presentiment of her early death? Certainly she had said at her last birthday celebration—“I feel that this will be the last time that I shall have a birthday.” But this fit of sadness passed and she was filled with joy at the meeting with her dear father. She found her eighty-year-old grandmother, the Landgravine of Darmstadt, also at Strelitz. While there she wished to live only for her own people, and she attended but one court function, at which all those present noted an indescribable nobility and sweetness in her bearing. Her beautiful features bore the stamp of suffering, and when she raised her lovely blue eyes toward heaven, her look unconsciously expressed a longing for the home above. After the meal, Louise joined the circle of more intimate friends, and they admired the pearls which were her only ornaments. She answered: “I am very fond of them and withheld them when I gave up my jewels. They suit me best for they symbolize tears, and I have wept so many.” When the King punctually joined her as he had promised, she cried: “Now at last I am perfectly happy.” She immediately seated herself at her father’s desk and wrote in French the words:

“My dear father, to-day I am very happy as your daughter and as wife of the best of all husbands.New Strelitz, June 28, 1810.“Louise.”

“My dear father, to-day I am very happy as your daughter and as wife of the best of all husbands.

New Strelitz, June 28, 1810.

“Louise.”

These were the last words she ever wrote.

Late in the evening she drove with the King and her family out to the country seat of High-Zieritz.

On alighting she felt ill and was seized with a severe catarrhal fever. The next day she forced herself to appear at table and in the garden for tea with the family. But the next morning the doctor, whom she had not called, as she was anxious to accompany her husband to Rhinesberg, found her condition serious. After being bled, she fainted. Nevertheless she grew so much better that on July 3 the King, who was obliged to go to Berlin on important business of state, left her, hoping to return in a few days to find her well enough to be taken home. The illness seemed to lessen during the week. Louise bore the sleepless nights patiently; she seemed tranquil. The King, who had himself fallen ill, sent the Queen’s own physician, who found that the greatest danger was over. But the disease took another bad turn, though there were times of improvement when the cough, abated and the patient was able to talk with her old-time strength and clearness. A letter from the King affected her so much that she kept it on her heart, where she could read it again and again. “How happy is she who receives such letters!” she exclaimed several times. She was also interested in political news and thought continually of her children.

On July 13, the birthday of her daughter Charlotte, she received a letter from her full of tenderness and longing. Her sister Frederika read it to the Queen, but was obliged to pause several times and could not finish it, for the patient was too much agitated by it. After a few comfortable days, on July 16 severe heart paroxysms set in, which continued fully five hours. It was the first struggle with death. The Duke’s physician, Dr. Hieronymi, found an incurable affection of the heart and prepared the Queen’s father for the worst. Messengers were sent post-haste to the King in Charlottenburg. Instead of Dr. Hufeland, who had been called to Holland, Dr. Heim of Berlin with three other physicians came. The fever and weakness grew worse. Louise could scarcely await the coming of the King, and she was happy when she heard that he would arrive July 19. She was patient during her terrible pain and thanked God for every moment of relief, but the feeling of her infirmity overwhelmed her. “I am a Queen,” she said once, “but I cannot so much as move my arm.” The coughing spells and oppression of breathing grew worse during the night, and Dr. Heim remained at her bedside. About midnight the patient had a burning thirst, drank several times, and often exclaimed: “Air! air!” A cold perspiration stood in great drops on her forehead. At two o’clock, in one of her painful moments, she said to the physician: “Think of it! if I should have to die and leave the King and my children!”

Back to Index Next