"By this, great lady, thou must then be known,When Wilton lies low levelled in the ground;And this is that which thou must call thine own,Which sacrilegious time cannot confound;Here thou survivest those; here thou art foundOf late succeeding ages, fresh in fame,Where in eternal brass remains thy name."
"By this, great lady, thou must then be known,When Wilton lies low levelled in the ground;And this is that which thou must call thine own,Which sacrilegious time cannot confound;Here thou survivest those; here thou art foundOf late succeeding ages, fresh in fame,Where in eternal brass remains thy name."
"By this, great lady, thou must then be known,When Wilton lies low levelled in the ground;And this is that which thou must call thine own,Which sacrilegious time cannot confound;Here thou survivest those; here thou art foundOf late succeeding ages, fresh in fame,Where in eternal brass remains thy name."
"By this, great lady, thou must then be known,
When Wilton lies low levelled in the ground;
And this is that which thou must call thine own,
Which sacrilegious time cannot confound;
Here thou survivest those; here thou art found
Of late succeeding ages, fresh in fame,
Where in eternal brass remains thy name."
It is also a noticeable fact that in a portrait of the Countess, a copy of which is prefixed to the edition before mentioned, the lady is taken holding in her hand a copy of "David's Psalms."
We cannot do more than give a few passages of this exquisite work of Mary Sidney. They will serve to show how carefully the subject had been studied, having regard to the circumstances, the mind and purposes of the psalmist, and how the meaning and beauty are elaborated and emphasized.
Psalm72.
Teach the king's son, who king himself shall be,Thy judgments, Lord; thy justice make him learn:To rule thy realms as justice shall decree,And poor men's rights in judgment to discern.Then fearless peaceWith rich increaseThe mountains proud shall fill;And justice shallMake plenty fallOn ev'ry humble hill.Make him the weak support, th' oppressed relieve,Supply the poor, the quarrel-pickers quail:So endless ages shall Thee reverence give,Till eyes of heav'n, the sun and moon, shall fail.And Thou again,Shall blessings rain,Which down shall mildly flow,As showers thrownOn meads new-mown,Whereby they freshly grow.During his rule the just shall aye be green,And peaceful plenty join with plenteous peace;While of sad night the many-formèd queenDecreased shall grow, and grown, again decrease.From sea to seaHe shall surveyAll kingdoms as his own;And from the traceOf Perah's race,As far as land is known.The desert-dwellers at his beck shall bend,His foes then suppliant at his feet shall fling,The kings of Tharsis homage-gifts shall send;So Seba, Saba, ev'ry island king.Nay all, ev'n all,Shall prostrate fall,That crowns and sceptres wear:And all that standAt their command,That crowns and sceptres bear.For he shall hear the poor when they complain,And lend them help, who helpless are oppress'd:His mercy shall the needy sort sustain;His force shall free their lives that live distress'd.From hidden sleight,From open might,He shall their souls redeem:His tender eyesShall highly prize,And dear their blood esteem.So shall he long, so shall he happy live;Health shall abound, and wealth shall never want:They gold to him, Arabia gold, shall give,Which scantness dear, and dearness maketh scant.They still shall prayThat still he maySo live, and flourish so:Without his praise,No nights, no days,Shall passport have to go.Look how the woods, whose interlacèd trees,Spread friendly arms each other to embrace,Join at the head, though distant at the knees,Waving with wind, and lording on the place;So woods of cornBy mountains borneShall on their shoulders wave:And men shall passThe numerous grass,Such store each town shall have.Look how the sun, so shall his name remain;As that in light, so this in glory one:All glories this, as that all lights shall stain:Nor that shall fail, nor this be overthrown.The dwellers allOf earthly ballIn him shall hold them blest:As one that isOf perfect bliss,A pattern to the rest.O God who art—from whom all beings be;Eternal Lord, whom Jacob's stock adore,And wondrous works are done by only Thee,Blessed be Thou, most blessed evermore.And let Thy name,Thy glorious fame,No end of blessing know:Let all this roundThy honour sound,So Lord, O be it so!
Teach the king's son, who king himself shall be,Thy judgments, Lord; thy justice make him learn:To rule thy realms as justice shall decree,And poor men's rights in judgment to discern.Then fearless peaceWith rich increaseThe mountains proud shall fill;And justice shallMake plenty fallOn ev'ry humble hill.Make him the weak support, th' oppressed relieve,Supply the poor, the quarrel-pickers quail:So endless ages shall Thee reverence give,Till eyes of heav'n, the sun and moon, shall fail.And Thou again,Shall blessings rain,Which down shall mildly flow,As showers thrownOn meads new-mown,Whereby they freshly grow.During his rule the just shall aye be green,And peaceful plenty join with plenteous peace;While of sad night the many-formèd queenDecreased shall grow, and grown, again decrease.From sea to seaHe shall surveyAll kingdoms as his own;And from the traceOf Perah's race,As far as land is known.The desert-dwellers at his beck shall bend,His foes then suppliant at his feet shall fling,The kings of Tharsis homage-gifts shall send;So Seba, Saba, ev'ry island king.Nay all, ev'n all,Shall prostrate fall,That crowns and sceptres wear:And all that standAt their command,That crowns and sceptres bear.For he shall hear the poor when they complain,And lend them help, who helpless are oppress'd:His mercy shall the needy sort sustain;His force shall free their lives that live distress'd.From hidden sleight,From open might,He shall their souls redeem:His tender eyesShall highly prize,And dear their blood esteem.So shall he long, so shall he happy live;Health shall abound, and wealth shall never want:They gold to him, Arabia gold, shall give,Which scantness dear, and dearness maketh scant.They still shall prayThat still he maySo live, and flourish so:Without his praise,No nights, no days,Shall passport have to go.Look how the woods, whose interlacèd trees,Spread friendly arms each other to embrace,Join at the head, though distant at the knees,Waving with wind, and lording on the place;So woods of cornBy mountains borneShall on their shoulders wave:And men shall passThe numerous grass,Such store each town shall have.Look how the sun, so shall his name remain;As that in light, so this in glory one:All glories this, as that all lights shall stain:Nor that shall fail, nor this be overthrown.The dwellers allOf earthly ballIn him shall hold them blest:As one that isOf perfect bliss,A pattern to the rest.O God who art—from whom all beings be;Eternal Lord, whom Jacob's stock adore,And wondrous works are done by only Thee,Blessed be Thou, most blessed evermore.And let Thy name,Thy glorious fame,No end of blessing know:Let all this roundThy honour sound,So Lord, O be it so!
Teach the king's son, who king himself shall be,Thy judgments, Lord; thy justice make him learn:To rule thy realms as justice shall decree,And poor men's rights in judgment to discern.Then fearless peaceWith rich increaseThe mountains proud shall fill;And justice shallMake plenty fallOn ev'ry humble hill.
Teach the king's son, who king himself shall be,
Thy judgments, Lord; thy justice make him learn:
To rule thy realms as justice shall decree,
And poor men's rights in judgment to discern.
Then fearless peace
With rich increase
The mountains proud shall fill;
And justice shall
Make plenty fall
On ev'ry humble hill.
Make him the weak support, th' oppressed relieve,Supply the poor, the quarrel-pickers quail:So endless ages shall Thee reverence give,Till eyes of heav'n, the sun and moon, shall fail.And Thou again,Shall blessings rain,Which down shall mildly flow,As showers thrownOn meads new-mown,Whereby they freshly grow.
Make him the weak support, th' oppressed relieve,
Supply the poor, the quarrel-pickers quail:
So endless ages shall Thee reverence give,
Till eyes of heav'n, the sun and moon, shall fail.
And Thou again,
Shall blessings rain,
Which down shall mildly flow,
As showers thrown
On meads new-mown,
Whereby they freshly grow.
During his rule the just shall aye be green,And peaceful plenty join with plenteous peace;While of sad night the many-formèd queenDecreased shall grow, and grown, again decrease.From sea to seaHe shall surveyAll kingdoms as his own;And from the traceOf Perah's race,As far as land is known.
During his rule the just shall aye be green,
And peaceful plenty join with plenteous peace;
While of sad night the many-formèd queen
Decreased shall grow, and grown, again decrease.
From sea to sea
He shall survey
All kingdoms as his own;
And from the trace
Of Perah's race,
As far as land is known.
The desert-dwellers at his beck shall bend,His foes then suppliant at his feet shall fling,The kings of Tharsis homage-gifts shall send;So Seba, Saba, ev'ry island king.Nay all, ev'n all,Shall prostrate fall,That crowns and sceptres wear:And all that standAt their command,That crowns and sceptres bear.
The desert-dwellers at his beck shall bend,
His foes then suppliant at his feet shall fling,
The kings of Tharsis homage-gifts shall send;
So Seba, Saba, ev'ry island king.
Nay all, ev'n all,
Shall prostrate fall,
That crowns and sceptres wear:
And all that stand
At their command,
That crowns and sceptres bear.
For he shall hear the poor when they complain,And lend them help, who helpless are oppress'd:His mercy shall the needy sort sustain;His force shall free their lives that live distress'd.From hidden sleight,From open might,He shall their souls redeem:His tender eyesShall highly prize,And dear their blood esteem.
For he shall hear the poor when they complain,
And lend them help, who helpless are oppress'd:
His mercy shall the needy sort sustain;
His force shall free their lives that live distress'd.
From hidden sleight,
From open might,
He shall their souls redeem:
His tender eyes
Shall highly prize,
And dear their blood esteem.
So shall he long, so shall he happy live;Health shall abound, and wealth shall never want:They gold to him, Arabia gold, shall give,Which scantness dear, and dearness maketh scant.They still shall prayThat still he maySo live, and flourish so:Without his praise,No nights, no days,Shall passport have to go.
So shall he long, so shall he happy live;
Health shall abound, and wealth shall never want:
They gold to him, Arabia gold, shall give,
Which scantness dear, and dearness maketh scant.
They still shall pray
That still he may
So live, and flourish so:
Without his praise,
No nights, no days,
Shall passport have to go.
Look how the woods, whose interlacèd trees,Spread friendly arms each other to embrace,Join at the head, though distant at the knees,Waving with wind, and lording on the place;So woods of cornBy mountains borneShall on their shoulders wave:And men shall passThe numerous grass,Such store each town shall have.
Look how the woods, whose interlacèd trees,
Spread friendly arms each other to embrace,
Join at the head, though distant at the knees,
Waving with wind, and lording on the place;
So woods of corn
By mountains borne
Shall on their shoulders wave:
And men shall pass
The numerous grass,
Such store each town shall have.
Look how the sun, so shall his name remain;As that in light, so this in glory one:All glories this, as that all lights shall stain:Nor that shall fail, nor this be overthrown.The dwellers allOf earthly ballIn him shall hold them blest:As one that isOf perfect bliss,A pattern to the rest.
Look how the sun, so shall his name remain;
As that in light, so this in glory one:
All glories this, as that all lights shall stain:
Nor that shall fail, nor this be overthrown.
The dwellers all
Of earthly ball
In him shall hold them blest:
As one that is
Of perfect bliss,
A pattern to the rest.
O God who art—from whom all beings be;Eternal Lord, whom Jacob's stock adore,And wondrous works are done by only Thee,Blessed be Thou, most blessed evermore.And let Thy name,Thy glorious fame,No end of blessing know:Let all this roundThy honour sound,So Lord, O be it so!
O God who art—from whom all beings be;
Eternal Lord, whom Jacob's stock adore,
And wondrous works are done by only Thee,
Blessed be Thou, most blessed evermore.
And let Thy name,
Thy glorious fame,
No end of blessing know:
Let all this round
Thy honour sound,
So Lord, O be it so!
Psalm 139.
O Lord, in me there lieth naught,But to Thy search revealèd lies:For when I sitThou markest it:No less than notest when I rise.Yea, closest closet of my thoughtHath open windows to Thine eyes.Thou walkest with me when I walk,When to my bed for rest I go,I find Thee there,And everywhere;Not youngest thought, in me doth grow,No, not one word I cast to talk,But yet unuttered, Thou dost know.If forth I march, Thou goest before;If back I turn, Thou comest behindSo forth nor backThy guard I lack,Nay, on me, too, Thy hand I find.Well I Thy wisdom may adore,But never reach with earthly mind.To shun Thy notice, leave Thine eye,Oh, whither might I take my way?To starry sphere?Thy Throne is there.To dead men's undelightsome stay?There is Thy walk, and there to lieUnknown, in vain I should essay.O Sun, whom light nor flight can match,Suppose thy lightful, flightful wingsThou lend to me,And I could fleeAs far as thee the evening brings:Even led to West, He would me catch,Nor could I lurk with Western things.Do thou thy best, O secret Night,In sable veil to cover me;Thy sable veilShall vainly fail:With day unmasked my night shall be,For night is day, and darkness light,O Father of all Lights, to Thee.
O Lord, in me there lieth naught,But to Thy search revealèd lies:For when I sitThou markest it:No less than notest when I rise.Yea, closest closet of my thoughtHath open windows to Thine eyes.Thou walkest with me when I walk,When to my bed for rest I go,I find Thee there,And everywhere;Not youngest thought, in me doth grow,No, not one word I cast to talk,But yet unuttered, Thou dost know.If forth I march, Thou goest before;If back I turn, Thou comest behindSo forth nor backThy guard I lack,Nay, on me, too, Thy hand I find.Well I Thy wisdom may adore,But never reach with earthly mind.To shun Thy notice, leave Thine eye,Oh, whither might I take my way?To starry sphere?Thy Throne is there.To dead men's undelightsome stay?There is Thy walk, and there to lieUnknown, in vain I should essay.O Sun, whom light nor flight can match,Suppose thy lightful, flightful wingsThou lend to me,And I could fleeAs far as thee the evening brings:Even led to West, He would me catch,Nor could I lurk with Western things.Do thou thy best, O secret Night,In sable veil to cover me;Thy sable veilShall vainly fail:With day unmasked my night shall be,For night is day, and darkness light,O Father of all Lights, to Thee.
O Lord, in me there lieth naught,But to Thy search revealèd lies:For when I sitThou markest it:No less than notest when I rise.Yea, closest closet of my thoughtHath open windows to Thine eyes.
O Lord, in me there lieth naught,
But to Thy search revealèd lies:
For when I sit
Thou markest it:
No less than notest when I rise.
Yea, closest closet of my thought
Hath open windows to Thine eyes.
Thou walkest with me when I walk,When to my bed for rest I go,I find Thee there,And everywhere;Not youngest thought, in me doth grow,No, not one word I cast to talk,But yet unuttered, Thou dost know.
Thou walkest with me when I walk,
When to my bed for rest I go,
I find Thee there,
And everywhere;
Not youngest thought, in me doth grow,
No, not one word I cast to talk,
But yet unuttered, Thou dost know.
If forth I march, Thou goest before;If back I turn, Thou comest behindSo forth nor backThy guard I lack,Nay, on me, too, Thy hand I find.Well I Thy wisdom may adore,But never reach with earthly mind.
If forth I march, Thou goest before;
If back I turn, Thou comest behind
So forth nor back
Thy guard I lack,
Nay, on me, too, Thy hand I find.
Well I Thy wisdom may adore,
But never reach with earthly mind.
To shun Thy notice, leave Thine eye,Oh, whither might I take my way?To starry sphere?Thy Throne is there.To dead men's undelightsome stay?There is Thy walk, and there to lieUnknown, in vain I should essay.
To shun Thy notice, leave Thine eye,
Oh, whither might I take my way?
To starry sphere?
Thy Throne is there.
To dead men's undelightsome stay?
There is Thy walk, and there to lie
Unknown, in vain I should essay.
O Sun, whom light nor flight can match,Suppose thy lightful, flightful wingsThou lend to me,And I could fleeAs far as thee the evening brings:Even led to West, He would me catch,Nor could I lurk with Western things.
O Sun, whom light nor flight can match,
Suppose thy lightful, flightful wings
Thou lend to me,
And I could flee
As far as thee the evening brings:
Even led to West, He would me catch,
Nor could I lurk with Western things.
Do thou thy best, O secret Night,In sable veil to cover me;Thy sable veilShall vainly fail:With day unmasked my night shall be,For night is day, and darkness light,O Father of all Lights, to Thee.
Do thou thy best, O secret Night,
In sable veil to cover me;
Thy sable veil
Shall vainly fail:
With day unmasked my night shall be,
For night is day, and darkness light,
O Father of all Lights, to Thee.
While this brilliant translation of the Book of Psalms would itself have sufficed to have made the reputation of the Countess of Pembroke as a scholar and poet, her poetical work was not limited thereto. We have also from her pen: "The Tragedie of Antonie: done into English by the Countess of Pembroke," published 1595, and a "Pastoral dialogue in praise of Astrea," published in Davidson's "Poetical Rapsody," in 1662, which is stated to have been made on the occasion of a visit being paid by the Queen at the house of the Countess.
This learned lady also left in manuscript a poem of considerable length entitled, "The Countess of Pembroke's Passion." It is only during the present century that this work has been given to the world. The poem is a touching lamentation over the sufferings of the Saviour. The subject itself, and the way in which it is handled, show how thoroughly the mind of the writer was impregnated with religious thought, and her ever ready and tender sympathy. It is a poem of very unequal merit, but some stanzas are sweet. Take the following:—
He placed all rust, and had no resting place;He healed each pain, yet lived in sore distress;Deserved all good, yet lived in great disgrace;Gave all hearts joy, himself in heaviness;Suffered them live, by whom himself was slain:Lord, who can live to see such love again?
He placed all rust, and had no resting place;He healed each pain, yet lived in sore distress;Deserved all good, yet lived in great disgrace;Gave all hearts joy, himself in heaviness;Suffered them live, by whom himself was slain:Lord, who can live to see such love again?
He placed all rust, and had no resting place;He healed each pain, yet lived in sore distress;Deserved all good, yet lived in great disgrace;Gave all hearts joy, himself in heaviness;Suffered them live, by whom himself was slain:Lord, who can live to see such love again?
He placed all rust, and had no resting place;
He healed each pain, yet lived in sore distress;
Deserved all good, yet lived in great disgrace;
Gave all hearts joy, himself in heaviness;
Suffered them live, by whom himself was slain:
Lord, who can live to see such love again?
Where He that sits on the supernal throne,In majesty most glorious to behold,And holds the sceptre of the world alone,Hath not his garments of imbroidered gold,But he is clothed with truth and righteousness;Where angels all do sing with joyfulness.Where heavenly love is cause of holy life,And holy life increaseth heavenly love;Where peace established without fear or strife,Doth prove the blessing of the soul's behove;Where thirst nor hunger, grief nor sorrow dwellethPut peace in joy, and joy in peace excelleth.
Where He that sits on the supernal throne,In majesty most glorious to behold,And holds the sceptre of the world alone,Hath not his garments of imbroidered gold,But he is clothed with truth and righteousness;Where angels all do sing with joyfulness.Where heavenly love is cause of holy life,And holy life increaseth heavenly love;Where peace established without fear or strife,Doth prove the blessing of the soul's behove;Where thirst nor hunger, grief nor sorrow dwellethPut peace in joy, and joy in peace excelleth.
Where He that sits on the supernal throne,In majesty most glorious to behold,And holds the sceptre of the world alone,Hath not his garments of imbroidered gold,But he is clothed with truth and righteousness;Where angels all do sing with joyfulness.
Where He that sits on the supernal throne,
In majesty most glorious to behold,
And holds the sceptre of the world alone,
Hath not his garments of imbroidered gold,
But he is clothed with truth and righteousness;
Where angels all do sing with joyfulness.
Where heavenly love is cause of holy life,And holy life increaseth heavenly love;Where peace established without fear or strife,Doth prove the blessing of the soul's behove;Where thirst nor hunger, grief nor sorrow dwellethPut peace in joy, and joy in peace excelleth.
Where heavenly love is cause of holy life,
And holy life increaseth heavenly love;
Where peace established without fear or strife,
Doth prove the blessing of the soul's behove;
Where thirst nor hunger, grief nor sorrow dwelleth
Put peace in joy, and joy in peace excelleth.
The Countess of Pembroke was, throughout her life, an unselfish and generous patron of letters. The noble old library at famous Wilton was collected chiefly during her residence there. The poets of the time seem to have vied with each other in speaking her praise, and in bearing testimony to her learning and rare excellence of character. Although it may be said that to some extent the many warm eulogies passed upon her came from interested sources, and are of too flattering a character to be invariably sincere, the lady whose virtues and worth were so warmly and universally sung must have been of nobly-souled and exalted nature. Churchyard, Daniel, Smart, and others of the period, are not alone in their plaudits. None was more enthusiastic than Spenser himself. His references to her are not solitary. The following in "Colin Clout's come home again" may be mentioned:—
They all [quoth he] me gracèd goodly well,That all I praise: but in the highest place,Urania, sister unto Astrophell,In whose brave mind, as in a golden coffer,All heavenly gifts and riches lockèd are;More rich than pearls of Ind, or gold of Ophir,And in her sex more wonderful and rare.
They all [quoth he] me gracèd goodly well,That all I praise: but in the highest place,Urania, sister unto Astrophell,In whose brave mind, as in a golden coffer,All heavenly gifts and riches lockèd are;More rich than pearls of Ind, or gold of Ophir,And in her sex more wonderful and rare.
They all [quoth he] me gracèd goodly well,That all I praise: but in the highest place,Urania, sister unto Astrophell,In whose brave mind, as in a golden coffer,All heavenly gifts and riches lockèd are;More rich than pearls of Ind, or gold of Ophir,And in her sex more wonderful and rare.
They all [quoth he] me gracèd goodly well,
That all I praise: but in the highest place,
Urania, sister unto Astrophell,
In whose brave mind, as in a golden coffer,
All heavenly gifts and riches lockèd are;
More rich than pearls of Ind, or gold of Ophir,
And in her sex more wonderful and rare.
Her age was no less honoured than her youth. It has been said of her that "when an old woman she could entrance the world by her sweet beauty of her face, the gentleness of her womanly heart, the strength and keenness of her wit, and the depth and breadth of her learning." Her husband died in the month of January, 1602. She survived him twenty years. By the marriage there were three children—William, Philip, and a daughter named Anne, who died young. William, who on the death of his father became Earl of Pembroke, was, according to Clarendon, the most universally beloved and esteemed of any man of that age. He is believed by some to have been the "W. H." of Shakespeare's Sonnets, of whom that poet says:—
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in theeCalls back the lovely April of her prime.
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in theeCalls back the lovely April of her prime.
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in theeCalls back the lovely April of her prime.
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime.
From the second son, Philip, who succeeded his elder brother to the title, the present Earl of Pembroke is descended.
After having most truly lived her long life—a life faithful, devoted, and true—the Countess of Pembroke died at her town house in Aldersgate Street, on the 25th September, 1621. She was interred in the vault of her husband's family in Salisbury Cathedral.
A noble life is its own monument. To have influenced such a life as that of Philip Sidney; to have lived her own life—with its lasting impress on the literature of England, and its beneficial lessons to England's daughters—is to the subject of this sketch a more worthy and lasting memorial than stateliest pile of finest marble. We are, nevertheless, thankful for the familiar words of Ben Jonson:—
Underneath this sable hearseLies the subject of all verse,Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother.Death, ere thou hast killed another,Fair and learned, and good as she,Time shall throw a dart at thee.
Underneath this sable hearseLies the subject of all verse,Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother.Death, ere thou hast killed another,Fair and learned, and good as she,Time shall throw a dart at thee.
Underneath this sable hearseLies the subject of all verse,Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother.Death, ere thou hast killed another,Fair and learned, and good as she,Time shall throw a dart at thee.
Underneath this sable hearse
Lies the subject of all verse,
Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother.
Death, ere thou hast killed another,
Fair and learned, and good as she,
Time shall throw a dart at thee.
His sorrow was my sorrow, and his joySent little leaps and laughs thro' all my frame.
His sorrow was my sorrow, and his joySent little leaps and laughs thro' all my frame.
His sorrow was my sorrow, and his joySent little leaps and laughs thro' all my frame.
His sorrow was my sorrow, and his joy
Sent little leaps and laughs thro' all my frame.
Wilhelmina, the beloved and devoted Sister of Frederick the Great, will be remembered chiefly as such, although her high character in other respects, and her chequered and saddened life, render it one of no common interest.
To her immediate parentage she owed little; and, as is so frequently the case, we must attribute her excellences to a remoter ancestry. Her father, the then Prince Royal, afterwards Frederick William of Prussia, at no period of his life seems to have been possessed of any qualities of either mind or heart which "become the throned monarch better than his crown," or are of a truly kingly character. It was said of him by Macaulay that while "he must be allowed to have possessed some talents for administration," his "character was disfigured by odious vices, and his eccentricities were such as had never before been seen out of a madhouse."
While her father was harsh and cruel, her mother (a daughter of George I. of England) was scheming and selfish.
Wilhelmina Frederica Sophia was born on the 3rd July, 1709, and as her parents had looked for an heir, the royal infant had only an ungracious reception, and the presence of three sovereigns as sponsors at her baptism was a poor recompense for the love which ought to have been her portion.
Little Wilhelmina soon showed that she was a precocious child and possessed of more than ordinary intelligence. When she was three years old a little brother was born. This was Frederick (afterwards Frederick the Great) who became such a power in Europe, with whom her own life was destined to be so much associated, and to whom she became from childhood so passionately devoted.
The education of the young Princess was given into the hands of a lady who seems to have been well recommended to her parents, but was in no sense qualified for the post; and the acquirements attained and good sense displayed by the pupil in after life, speak more for the qualities of her own mind and heart than for the care bestowed upon the choice of her associates.
In her Memoirs the Princess has mentioned a somewhat curious circumstance, which she takes care to state she considered only a coincidence. When she was about seven years old the Queen, her mother, sent for a Swedish astrologer, who was in Berlin, to tell the fortunes of herself and children. This astrologer foretold that Frederick would have a troubled youth, but that he would afterwards become one of the greatest princes that ever reigned, that he would make considerable acquisitions and die an Emperor. Of the Princess he said that her hand was not so lucky as that of her brother—that her life would be a tissue of fatalities, that she would be asked in marriage by four sovereigns, but would marry none of them. Singularly enough, the prediction was afterwards fulfilled.
Giving an account of her life at eight years old, she says: "All my time was taken up with my masters, and my only recreation was to see my brother. Never was affection equal to ours. His understanding was good, but his disposition gloomy. He was long considering before he returned an answer; but then his answers were just. He had great difficulty in learning, and it was expected that in time he would be more remarkable for good sense than for wit. My vivacity, on the contrary, was very great. I was prompt at repartee, and my memory was excellent. The King was passionately fond of me; he never paid so much attention to any of his children as to me. But my brother was odious to him, and never appeared before him but to be ill-used; this inspired the Prince Royal with an invincible fear of his father, which grew up with him—even to the age of maturity."
As she grew up, the childhood of Wilhelmina was sadly embittered by Court intrigues and home quarrels. State favourites plotting against the King, endeavoured to induce him, while she was yet quite a child, to engage his daughter in marriage in a certain direction. An ambitious mother, scheming in another, with the members of the Royal household acting as spies and go-betweens, did not augur well for the tranquillity and happiness of the Princess. Alternately caressed and snubbed, fondled and cuffed, Wilhelmina, young as she was, found her greatest pleasure in her studies and the society of her brother. It was she who first aroused him from indifference to intellectual pursuits, awakened in him a love of study, and stimulated his better nature. In this way they came to share each other's studies and recreations, and found in each other's presence mutual sympathy and consolation. To add to the misfortunes of Wilhelmina, she was shamefully ill-used and beaten by her governess, who wished, for purposes of her own, to induce her to disclose what passed between her father and mother. In consequence of this brutal treatment, Wilhelmina was from time to time seriously ill. Still Wilhelmina screened her governess, and it speaks well for her forgiving spirit that, when dismissal at last came, she deeply grieved for her, and sent her away loaded with costly presents.
Under a new governess, Madame von Sonsfeld, Wilhelmina's lot was much brighter. She says: "Madame de Sonsfeld began by studying my disposition. She observed that I was excessively timid. I trembled when she was very grave; I had not the heart to say two words together without hesitating. She represented to the Queen that it would be proper to divert me, and to treat me with much gentleness, to remove my fears; that I was extremely docile; and that, by exciting my ambition, she might do with me whatever she chose. The Queen left her complete mistress of my education. She every day reasoned with me about indifferent subjects, and endeavoured to inspire me with good sentiments on every occurrence. I applied myself to reading, which soon became my favourite occupation. The emulation which she excited in me made me relish my other studies. I learnt English, Italian, history, geography, philosophy, and music. My improvement was surprisingly rapid; I was so intent upon learning that Madame de Sonsfeld was obliged to moderate my ardour."
An incident showing her excellent memory, altogether remarkable in a child of thirteen, may be mentioned. A certain lady, Miss Polnitz, who was unfriendly towards Wilhelmina, had one day been speaking to the Queen about what she called her ungainly figure. "It is true," said the Queen, "that she might look better; but her shape is straight, and will display itself when she has done growing. However, if you converse with her, you will find that she is not a mere automaton." "Miss Polnitz," continues Wilhelmina, "thereupon began to talk with me, but in an ironical manner, asking me questions which would have suited a child of four years. I was so vexed that I did not deign to make any reply. My sullen behaviour gave her an opportunity to hint to the Queen that I was capricious and haughty, and that I had scrutinised her from head to foot. This brought upon me severe reprimands, which continued all the time Miss Polnitz stayed at Berlin. She quarrelled with me about everything. One day the conversation turned upon powers of memory. The Queen observed that I had an excellent memory. Miss Polnitz set up a malicious grin, as much as to say that she disputed the fact. The Queen, nettled at this, offered to try me, and proposed a wager that I could learn 150 verses by heart in an hour's time. 'Well,' said Miss Polnitz, 'I will try her local memory; and I will bet that she will not remember what I shall write down.' The Queen was consequently very strenuous to maintain what she had asserted, and I was sent for. Having taken me aside, the Queen told me she would freely forgive me all that was past if I proved successful, and so caused her to win her wager. I did not know what was meant by a local memory, having never heard of it before. Miss Polnitz wrote what I was to learn. It was a series of 150 fanciful names of her own invention, all numbered. She read them twice over to me, always mentioning the numbers; after which I was obliged to repeat them in succession. I was very fortunate in the first trial; she desired a second, and asked the names out of order, mentioning merely the number. I again succeeded, to her great vexation. I had never made a greater effort of memory; yet she could not prevail with herself to bestow upon me the slightest commendation. The Queen could not account for her behaviour, and was much offended, though she held her peace."
The situation of the Princess at this, as at all times, was one by no means to be envied. By those from whom she ought to have received the most loving care she was misunderstood and neglected. Her health from time to time severely suffered. She had serious illnesses, which were disregarded by her mother, who, being herself strong and healthy, had no sympathy for those who were not so. Nor did her path become smoother as she grew older. The time seems to have been passed in schemes for her marriage, first to one Prince and then to another. The Queen had set her heart upon a double alliance with England by the marriage of Wilhelmina with the Prince of Wales, and of the Crown Prince Frederick with the Princess Amelia of England. She bent her energies for years to the accomplishment of this object, for which she seemed willing to sacrifice everything else. The King was willing, and at one time it appeared highly probable that it would be carried out. But the emissaries of Austria desired to prevent such an alliance between Prussia and England, and secretly sowed the seeds of dissension and jealousy in the Prussian household. Other marriages for Wilhelmina were suggested; first with the King of Poland, and (when negotiations for this came to an end) afterwards with the Duke of Weissenfels. All these were quite regardless of her own inclinations and affections. Her views upon marriage differed from those of both her parents. She says:—"I maintain that a happy union ought to be founded upon mutual esteem and regard. I would have chosen reciprocal affection as its basis, and that my complaisances and attentions should flow from this source. Nothing appears difficult to us for those we love…. I wished for a real friend, to whom I could feel both esteem and inclination; who might ensure my felicity; and whom I might render happy. I foresaw that the Prince of Wales would not suit me, as he did not possess the qualities which I required. The Duke of Weissenfels, on the other hand, pleased me still less. The state of my poor heart may easily be conjectured. There was no one but my governess who was acquainted with my real sentiments; and to none but her could I make them known."
Another source of ever-increasing anxiety with the Princess was her brother Frederick and his relations with the King. The Royal household was unfortunately a very unhappy one. Coarse and insufficient food only aggravated an unhappiness caused by the King's harsh and sometimes brutal treatment. Wilhelmina and her brother, in consequence of their having become the innocent cause of the King's disappointment, became the scapegoats of his unreasonable temper and violent fits of anger. Frederick grew moody and sullen, still further increasing his father's displeasure; while Wilhelmina's health became seriously impaired, and she was frequently alarmingly ill. Alluding to one of these illnesses, a fever which culminated in the smallpox, she writes: "In my short intervals of consciousness I ardently wished to die; and when I saw Madam de Sonsfeld and my good Mermann" [her old nurse] "weeping near my bed, I endeavoured to console them by telling them that I was weaned from the world, and that I was going to enjoy a repose which no one could disturb. I am, said I, the cause of both the Queen's and my brother's sorrows. If I am to die, tell the King that I have always loved him, that I have no fault to reproach myself with towards him; that therefore I hope he will give me his blessing before I quit this world. Tell him that I beseech him to treat the Queen and my brother more gently, and to bury all discontents and animosities against them in my grave. It is the only boon I wish him to grant me; and my only cause of uneasiness in my present state." During this illness she was deserted by every member of the Royal household but her brother, who went daily to spend with her what time he could spare.
The delays from time to time in the proposed betrothals, and the obstacles placed in the way by the secret intrigues of the representatives of Austria, considerably angered the King. He declared he would hear no more of the intended alliance, and gave the Princess the option of marrying the Duke of Weissenfels or the Margrave of Schwedt. To this the Queen, who had set her heart on the English alliance, would not consent. Wilhelmina, in this manner, gained time, stating that she desired, first of all, to see her father and mother agreed on the subject. Meanwhile the King's ill-treatment of both Wilhelmina and her brother continued. She says: "The King starved my brother and myself: as he himself performed the office of carver, he helped every one at the table except us; and when by chance there was a bit left in any dish, he spat on it to prevent our tasting it. We lived on nothing but coffee and milk, and dried cherries, which entirely vitiated my stomach. My share of insult and invectives, on the contrary, was extremely liberal; the most abusive language was used towards me all the day, and in the presence of every one. The displeasure of the King was even carried to so great a length, that he ordered both my brother and myself never to appear in his presence but at the times of dinner and supper. He never saw my brother without threatening him with his cane. The Prince repeatedly told me that he would endure everything from his father except blows; and that if ever he proceeded to that extremity with him, he would withdraw from his power by flight."
Frederick was thus reduced to the necessity of meditating flight from the Court as a means of freeing himself from the continued cruelty of his father. In this state of mind he writes to his sister:
"I am still in the utmost despair; the tyranny of the King increases; my patience is exhausted. You vainly flatter yourself that the arrival of Sir —— Hotham will put an end to our sufferings. The Queen frustrates our plans by her blind confidence in Mrs. Ramen. The King is already informed through this woman of the news which are arrived, and the measures that are taken, at which he is more and more exasperated. I wish the old soul was hanged upon the highest gibbet; she is the cause of all our misfortunes. The Queen ought no longer to be made acquainted with any intelligence: her weakness for that infamous creature is unpardonable. The King will go to Berlin on Tuesday; it is still a secret. Adieu, my dear Sister, I am wholly Yours."
The anger of the King culminated on intelligence having come to his ears of the intention of Frederick to seek safety in flight. His fury knew no bounds. He used personal violence towards the Crown Prince, had him arrested and placed under restraint. So far did the madness go, that he was actually condemned to death along with a companion, Lieut. Katte, who was supposed to have been privy to his intentions. The sentence of Katte was executed before the eyes of Frederick, who was himself for many months kept a prisoner. Of Wilhelmina herself the King's treatment was hardly less severe. She says:—
"The King came back in the meantime. We all ran up to meet him to kiss his hands; but he had scarcely cast his eyes upon me, when anger and fury overpowered him. He grew black, his eyes sparkled with rage, and he foamed at the mouth. 'Infamous baggage!' said he to me, 'dare you show yourself before me? Go and keep company with your rascal brother.' In uttering these words, he seized me with one hand, and struck me several times in the face with his fist; one of his blows fell on my temples so violently, that I fell backwards, and should have split my head against the corner of the wainscot, had not Madam de Sonsfeld broken my fall by seizing me by my head-dress. The King, no longer master of himself, strove to renew the blows, and trample upon me; but the Queen, my brothers and sisters, and all who were present, prevented him. They all surrounded me; which gave Madam de Kamken and Madam de Sonsfeld time to lift me up. They placed me in a window-seat which was close by; but seeing that I continued senseless, they sent one of my sisters for a glass of water and some salts, with which they insensibly recalled me to life. As soon as I was able to speak, I reproached them for the pains which they took with me, death being a thousand times more agreeable than life in the situation in which we were. To describe its horror is impossible."
The devoted character of the friendship at this time existing between Wilhelmina and her brother is seen in the following letter which Frederick managed to get conveyed to her.
"My Dear Sister,—I am going to be declared a heretic by the Court Martial which is assembling, for not to conform in every respect to the sentiments of the master is enough to incur the guilty of heresy. You, therefore, may easily judge how prettily I shall be dealt with. I little care for the excommunication which will be thundered at me, provided I know that my amiable sister protests against it as unmerited. How sweet it is, that neither bars nor bolts can prevent my assuring you of my undiminished friendship! Yes, my dear sister, in this almost entirely perverted age, there are still means of expressing my affection for you. Yes, my dear sister, provided I know you are happy, my prison will be to me the abode of felicity and pleasure.Chi ha tempo ha vita!Let that comfort us. I heartily wish I may no longer need any interpreter to converse with you, and that we may see those happy days when yourprincipeand myprincipessa[their flutes] will sweetly harmonize; or, to speak more plainly, when I shall have the pleasure to address you in person, and to assure you that nothing in the world can diminish my friendship for you. Adieu."The Prisoner."
"My Dear Sister,—I am going to be declared a heretic by the Court Martial which is assembling, for not to conform in every respect to the sentiments of the master is enough to incur the guilty of heresy. You, therefore, may easily judge how prettily I shall be dealt with. I little care for the excommunication which will be thundered at me, provided I know that my amiable sister protests against it as unmerited. How sweet it is, that neither bars nor bolts can prevent my assuring you of my undiminished friendship! Yes, my dear sister, in this almost entirely perverted age, there are still means of expressing my affection for you. Yes, my dear sister, provided I know you are happy, my prison will be to me the abode of felicity and pleasure.Chi ha tempo ha vita!Let that comfort us. I heartily wish I may no longer need any interpreter to converse with you, and that we may see those happy days when yourprincipeand myprincipessa[their flutes] will sweetly harmonize; or, to speak more plainly, when I shall have the pleasure to address you in person, and to assure you that nothing in the world can diminish my friendship for you. Adieu.
"The Prisoner."
But the fury of the King was not yet abated. Wilhelmina herself was in great danger of becoming in a greater measure than heretofore the victim of his wrath. She gives the following account of an interview with a messenger of the King, who, on the 5th November, 1730, renewed the oft-repeated request that she would consent to marry one of the obnoxious princes. She says: "'The King,' I replied, 'is my master; he may dispose of my life, but he cannot render me guilty when I am innocent. I ardently wish to be examined; my innocence would then shine in all its splendour. With regard to the two proposed princes, they are both so hateful to me that it would be difficult to choose betwixt them; however, I shall submit to His Majesty's commands whenever he agrees with the Queen.' He set up a very insolent laugh. 'The Queen!' exclaimed he; 'the King has peremptorily declared that he will not suffer her to interfere in anything.' 'Yet he cannot prevent her continuing my mother, nor deprive her of the authority which that character gives her over me. How wretched is my fate! What occasion is there to marry me, and why do my parents not agree concerning the person whom I am to marry? My lot is most miserable; alternately threatened with the curses of my father and mother, I do not know what to resolve, as I cannot obey one without disobeying the other.' 'Well, then,' continued Eversmann, 'prepare for death; I must no longer conceal anything from you. There is to be a second trial of the Prince Royal and Katte, in which you will be still more implicated. The King's wrath demands a victim; Katte alone will not suffice to extinguish his rage, and he will be glad to save your brother at your expense.' 'You delight me,' I exclaimed; 'I am weaned from the world; the adversities which I have experienced have taught me the vanity of all terrestrial things; I shall receive death with joy and without fear, since it will conduct me to a happy tranquillity, of which I cannot be deprived.' 'But what would then become of the Prince Royal?' continued Eversmann. 'If I can save his life my felicity will be complete; and if I die, I shall not feel the misery of surviving him.'"
The Princess was confined to her bedroom, where her only resource was reading. She was so deprived of necessary food that her health continued to suffer greatly, and she became almost as thin as a skeleton. She mentions a pathetic incident which occurred at this time. As she and her governess were one day seated at table contemplating ruefully their apology for a meal, consisting only of a kind of soup made of water and salt, and "a hash of stale bones, full of hair and filth," they heard a tapping at the window. Rising to ascertain the cause, they found it was a crow with a crust of bread in her bill, which she dropped on the window-ledge, and then flew away. "Our fate is lamentable indeed," said Wilhelmina to her companion, "since it moves even dumb creatures; they take more pity on us than human beings, who treat us with so much cruelty."
The Princess refers to the 6th May, 1731, as the most eventful day of her life. On that day messengers from the King waited upon her to renew the subject of her marriage, giving her the further option of marrying the Hereditary Prince of Baireuth, showing her at the same time an order for her imprisonment in case of her refusal, and offering, as a further inducement to her acquiescence, the liberty of her brother. On Wilhelmina again urging that she desired her father and mother to be of one mind on the subject, it was represented to her that the Queen would approve. In this dilemma, she consented to sacrifice her own inclinations, in the hope of restoring peace and goodwill in the family and, above all, gaining the pardon of her brother. Wilhelmina informed her mother of her resolution in the following letter:—
"Madam,—Your Majesty is already acquainted with my misfortune by the letter which I had the honour to address to you yesterday under cover of the King. I have scarcely strength to trace these lines; my situation is entitled to commiseration. It is not the King's menaces, strong as they were, that have obtained my submission to the will of His Majesty; an interest more dear has determined me to the sacrifice. Hitherto I have been the innocent cause of the pains your Majesty has endured. My too feeling heart was violently affected at the picture your Majesty gave me of your troubles. My mother wished to suffer for me. Is it not more natural that I should sacrifice myself for her, and put a final stop to the fatal disunion of the family? Could I have hesitated a moment between my brother's misfortune and his pardon? What horrible projects have been disclosed to me in regard to him! I shudder as I think of them. Whatever I could have advanced against the proposal of the King has been reflected on beforehand. You yourself have proposed the Prince of Baireuth as a suitable match for me, and you seemed satisfied if I married him; I, therefore, cannot imagine that you will disapprove of my resolution. Necessity is a hard law; all my entreaties for leave to obtain first the consent of your Majesty have been vain. I was forced to choose either to obey the King with a good grace, and obtain real advantages for my brother, or to expose myself to violence which in the end would still have reduced me to the measure which I have adopted. I shall have the honour to enter into a more minute account when I am allowed to embrace your Majesty's feet. Full well I feel how great must be your grief; it is that which affects me most. I humbly beseech your Majesty not to be disquieted on my behalf, and to rely on Providence, which does everything for our welfare; particularly as I deem myself fortunate in becoming the instrument of my dear mother's and brother's happiness. What would I not do to convince them of my affection! I once more entreat your Majesty to take care of your health, and not to impair it by immoderate sorrow. The prospect of seeing my brother soon must alleviate your Majesty's present misfortune. I hope your Majesty will generously forgive the fault I have committed of entering into any engagement unknown to your Majesty, in consideration of the tender regard and dutiful respect with which I shall remain for life, &c., &c."
"Madam,—Your Majesty is already acquainted with my misfortune by the letter which I had the honour to address to you yesterday under cover of the King. I have scarcely strength to trace these lines; my situation is entitled to commiseration. It is not the King's menaces, strong as they were, that have obtained my submission to the will of His Majesty; an interest more dear has determined me to the sacrifice. Hitherto I have been the innocent cause of the pains your Majesty has endured. My too feeling heart was violently affected at the picture your Majesty gave me of your troubles. My mother wished to suffer for me. Is it not more natural that I should sacrifice myself for her, and put a final stop to the fatal disunion of the family? Could I have hesitated a moment between my brother's misfortune and his pardon? What horrible projects have been disclosed to me in regard to him! I shudder as I think of them. Whatever I could have advanced against the proposal of the King has been reflected on beforehand. You yourself have proposed the Prince of Baireuth as a suitable match for me, and you seemed satisfied if I married him; I, therefore, cannot imagine that you will disapprove of my resolution. Necessity is a hard law; all my entreaties for leave to obtain first the consent of your Majesty have been vain. I was forced to choose either to obey the King with a good grace, and obtain real advantages for my brother, or to expose myself to violence which in the end would still have reduced me to the measure which I have adopted. I shall have the honour to enter into a more minute account when I am allowed to embrace your Majesty's feet. Full well I feel how great must be your grief; it is that which affects me most. I humbly beseech your Majesty not to be disquieted on my behalf, and to rely on Providence, which does everything for our welfare; particularly as I deem myself fortunate in becoming the instrument of my dear mother's and brother's happiness. What would I not do to convince them of my affection! I once more entreat your Majesty to take care of your health, and not to impair it by immoderate sorrow. The prospect of seeing my brother soon must alleviate your Majesty's present misfortune. I hope your Majesty will generously forgive the fault I have committed of entering into any engagement unknown to your Majesty, in consideration of the tender regard and dutiful respect with which I shall remain for life, &c., &c."
It might have been thought that such a letter would have appealed to the better feelings of the Queen, and have aroused all her maternal sympathy. But not so. Although written in trembling anxiety as to the manner in which it might be received, probably Wilhelmina, with all her past experience of her mother's character, was not prepared for the Queen's reply. It was as follows:—"You break my heart by giving me the most violent pain I ever felt in my life. I had placed all my hopes in you; but I did not know you. You have artfully disguised the malice of your soul and the meanness of your sentiments. I repent a thousand times over the kindness I have had for you, the care I have taken of your education, and the torments I have endured for your sake. I no longer acknowledge you as my daughter, and shall henceforth consider you as my most cruel enemy, since it is you who sacrifice me to your prospects and triumph over me. I vow you eternal hatred, and never shall forgive you."
And Wilhelmina's mother never did forgive her. Her affection, ill-regulated and spasmodic as it had ever been, seems to have been withdrawn from her ill-fated daughter for the remainder of her life, only because she, against the dictates of her own heart and merely to propitiate her father and save her brother, at last consented to sacrifice herself by a marriage in which her own affections had not been consulted.
The Princess was, accordingly, married in November, 1731, when she was twenty-two years of age. Her beloved brother was set at liberty, and a few days afterwards she met him, after an absence of more than a year. As soon as she heard he was present at an assembly, she says:—"All my blood was in a paroxysm of joy. 'Oh, heavens! my brother!' I exclaimed; 'let me see him, for heaven's sake.' I leaped into his arms. I was so agitated that I uttered nothing but broken sentences. I wept; I laughed; looked like a person beside herself. Never in my life had I felt joy so lively. When my first emotion had subsided, I threw myself at the feet of the King, who said aloud, in my brother's hearing, 'Are you satisfied? You see that I have kept my word.' I took my brother by the hand and besought the King to admit him again to his favour. The scene was so affecting that it drew tears from the whole company." Wilhelmina, however, found her brother considerably changed and cold in his behaviour towards her. "I no longer," she says, "found in him that beloved brother who had cost me so many tears, and for whom I had sacrificed myself." She also writes:—"My brother had quite changed towards me since his return from the Rhine; a certain stiffness and embarrassment were visible in all his letters, which sufficiently showed that his heart was no longer the same. I felt this very keenly; my affection for him was not diminished, and I had nothing to reproach myself with. I bore all, however, with patience, flattering myself that I should one day recover his friendship."
Although Wilhelmina had no voice in arranging that most momentous step in her life, her own marriage, it proved happier than might have been expected. The Prince of Baireuth came much nearer answering to the standard she had formed as to what was desirable in a husband than any of the other suitors who had been forced upon her notice. Always faithful to her trust, she learned to love her husband with a devoted and constant affection. But her life was destined to be always stormy and tearful. The duties of her new position were trying and difficult, but she bore herself with dignity and patience amidst the trifling and intriguing jealousies of the two Courts. Her own marriage was quickly followed by that of her brother, brought about in his case also without the concurrence of his own inclination. The following is his letter announcing to her his engagement:—
"Berlin, 6 March, 1732."My Dear Sister,—Next Monday comes my betrothal, which will be done just as yours was. The person in question is neither beautiful nor ugly, nor wanting for sense, but very ill brought up, timid, and totally behind in manners and social behaviour: that is the candid portrait of this Princess. You may judge by that, my dear sister, if I find her to my taste or not. The greatest merit she has is that she has procured me the liberty of writing to you; which is the one solace I have in your absence."You never can believe, my adorable sister, how concerned I am about your happiness; all my wishes centre there, and every moment of my life I form such wishes. You may see by this that I preserve still that sincere friendship which has united our hearts from our tenderest years; recognise at least, my dear sister, that you did me a sensible wrong when you suspected me of fickleness towards you, and believed false reports of my listening to talebearers—I, who love only you, and whom neither absence nor lying rumours could change in respect of you. At least, do not again believe such things on my score, and never mistrust me until you have had clear proof, or until God has forsaken me, and I have lost my wits. And, being persuaded that such miseries are not in store to overwhelm me, I here repeat how much I love you, and with what respect and sincere veneration, I am and shall be till death, my dearest sister, your most humble and faithful brother and valet,"Frederick."
"Berlin, 6 March, 1732.
"My Dear Sister,—Next Monday comes my betrothal, which will be done just as yours was. The person in question is neither beautiful nor ugly, nor wanting for sense, but very ill brought up, timid, and totally behind in manners and social behaviour: that is the candid portrait of this Princess. You may judge by that, my dear sister, if I find her to my taste or not. The greatest merit she has is that she has procured me the liberty of writing to you; which is the one solace I have in your absence.
"You never can believe, my adorable sister, how concerned I am about your happiness; all my wishes centre there, and every moment of my life I form such wishes. You may see by this that I preserve still that sincere friendship which has united our hearts from our tenderest years; recognise at least, my dear sister, that you did me a sensible wrong when you suspected me of fickleness towards you, and believed false reports of my listening to talebearers—I, who love only you, and whom neither absence nor lying rumours could change in respect of you. At least, do not again believe such things on my score, and never mistrust me until you have had clear proof, or until God has forsaken me, and I have lost my wits. And, being persuaded that such miseries are not in store to overwhelm me, I here repeat how much I love you, and with what respect and sincere veneration, I am and shall be till death, my dearest sister, your most humble and faithful brother and valet,
"Frederick."
A short time afterwards in writing to her he says:—"God be praised that you are better, dearest sister, for nobody can love you more tenderly than I do. God long preserve you in perfect health! And you, keep for me always the honour of your good graces; and believe, my charming sister, that never brother in the world loved with such tenderness a sister so charming as mine; in short believe, dear sister, that without compliments, and in literal truth, I am, wholly yours."
That the brother and sister were still the first to each other is shown by their correspondence, the manner in which they always consulted each other, and kept each other informed of the incidents in each other's lives. On the morning of his marriage Frederick writes to inform his sister of the event:—
"Salzdalum, Noon, 12th June, 1733."My Dear Sister,—A minute since the whole ceremony was got finished, and, God be praised, it is over! I hope you will take it as a mark of my friendship that I give you the first news of it. I hope I shall have the honour to see you again soon, and to assure you, my dear sister, that I am wholly yours. I write in great haste, and do nothing that is merely formal. Adieu."Frederick."
"Salzdalum, Noon, 12th June, 1733.
"My Dear Sister,—A minute since the whole ceremony was got finished, and, God be praised, it is over! I hope you will take it as a mark of my friendship that I give you the first news of it. I hope I shall have the honour to see you again soon, and to assure you, my dear sister, that I am wholly yours. I write in great haste, and do nothing that is merely formal. Adieu.
"Frederick."
For some years succeeding this period Wilhelmina and her brother do not seem, apart from their correspondence, to have had much personal intercourse. An important and interesting factor in their lives was their acquaintance and correspondence with Voltaire. This appears to date from the year 1736. Doubtless, during their youthful studies, pursued together years before, in spite of prohibition and difficulty, they had become acquainted with the writings of this great author. Now Frederick opened a correspondence, which, after continuing for four years, ripened into a closer acquaintance. They, however, never met until Frederick became King of Prussia. This event took place upon the death of his father, in May, 1740. In the month of November following Wilhelmina paid a memorable visit of several months to her brother, the King, at Rheinsburg, his stately and charming residence near Berlin, when he introduced Voltaire to her with the words, "I here present you to my loved sister." In connection with this visit we have the following pleasing picture:—"When evening comes, with the rough and chilly autumn air so common to that part of Germany, the candles are lit in the Queen's apartments, beautifully decorated by Pesne. The King, who has all day sat brooding over serious undertakings against the House of Hapsburg, now makes his appearance. The concert begins. The King leads the Margravine to the piano, and then takes his flute. During the pauses between the different pieces the Margravine holds philosophic and other discussions with Maupertis, Algarotti, Jordan, and Keyserling; but chiefly with Voltaire, whose society was so new, interesting, and invigorating."2The friendship thus formed, though Wilhelmina and Voltaire did not often meet, was continued by an interesting correspondence until the close of her troubled life.
Frederick, shortly after his accession to the throne, undertook the campaign against Austria, which when the other European Powers became involved, and there was arrayed against him perhaps the most powerful alliance ever formed, resulted in such disastrous wars, and for so many years disturbed the peace of Europe. How far the quarrel was justified, and whether the distinguished and eventful, and at the same time singular, career of Frederick as a King answered the high hopes formed of him, or proved for the common weal of his own country, are questions upon which varied opinions have been formed. It is now only fitting to trace slightly the passionate devotion and constant affection of the sister whose interest in his life and undertakings never waned. She never lost the refined and distinguished tastes of her youth, or abandoned the pursuit of literature and philosophy, and the cultivation of music. She was herself a proficient performer on several musical instruments, and found therein and in her love of learning a solace amidst the domestic troubles which came to embitter her life, and the enfeebled health in which it was passed. She set a brilliant example to her people. It has been said: "For twenty-three years the Court of a country numbering only 200,000 inhabitants rivalled those of other great countries in intellectual importance and renown. The Margravine was the magnet which attracted all that was greatest and most celebrated, all that was worthy of esteem and consideration."3
After the old Margrave's death her husband presented to her the Hermitage, a country residence near Baireuth, which she describes as a perfectly unique place, and as becoming under her directions one of the most beautiful castles in Germany. She gave much time and attention to its improvement, laying out the grounds and adding the most elaborate and beautiful works of art. It was at the Hermitage in the year 1744 that the Margravine wrote her celebrated Memorials, which form the chief authority for this account. These Memorials are deeply interesting and afford a striking picture of the Court life of the period. If the writer occasionally descends to coarseness or indelicacy, or speaks bitterly of her earliest years, or disrespectfully of her parents, we must remember the freedom of the time at which she wrote, the terrible hardships of her youth, her afflicted life, and still later, the loss of her husband's affections. On the whole she stands before us as a noble woman—the graceful and stately form, the beautifully modelled features, the dignified demeanour, befitting the possessor of the cultured mind, the kind heart, the constant and devoted life—faithful even to the death. It is to be regretted that the Margravine did not bring her Memorials down to a later period of her life. What remains of it is gleaned from her correspondence.
In his interludes of peace, as well as, indeed, during his many trying campaigns, Frederick devoted himself to the pursuit of literature. Stimulated by this devotion, as well as, doubtless, by a desire to add to the distinction of his Court and to his own character as a patron of letters, he induced the great French wit to take up his residence at the Castle at Potsdam. After the Treaty of Dresden, which closed the second great Silesian War and inaugurated a ten years' peace, the King added to his other residences his famous Garden Cottage, Sans-Souci. Here the literary monarch and the flattering courtier met and eulogised each other's productions. There is no doubt that Frederick here appears at his best. He was himself a voluminous writer, and it is much more pleasing to picture him in his retirement, writing history and poetry, however feeble, and receiving the plaudits of sycophants, than deluging the Continent with blood. Here, too, occasionally came Wilhelmina, renewing her acquaintance with the greatlittérateur, with whom she had much sympathy in common.
Voltaire's charmed life at Berlin was not, however, destined to be of long duration. After about two years the King seemed to grow weary of his intellectual favourite, and found excuses for cooling in his devotion. The circumstances under which Voltaire finally left Berlin were such that he, along with his niece, Madame Denis, were arrested, Voltaire himself only regaining his liberty after the lapse of a fortnight and on the mediation of the Margravine. This mutual friend endeavoured in vain to heal the breach between them. Although her own friendship with Voltaire was maintained during her life, the friendly character of the intercourse between him and her brother was never resumed.
But further troubles were in store for Frederick—troubles which were destined to try the nerves and break the heart of his devoted sister. When, in 1756, the war with Austria broke out again, the Margravine felt the keenest interest in it, and followed her brother's fortunes with aching heart. Intelligence of the brilliant successes which he gained and the terrible defeats sustained in his single-handed conflict with the four Powers who took up arms against him was forwarded by Frederick to his sister as opportunity offered, and fearful was the strain which her unchanging love was called upon to sustain during the last two years of her life. Here is a letter from the King to his sister, reporting progress:—