"It is said," concluded the Major, "that the Emperor of the French will now propose peace."
"And Wolfgang? Rudolph?"
The Major shook his head, his cockade bobbing.
"No news yet, dear sister, we can trust only in God, but I have no reason to believe they were at Eylau."
Bettina had listened eagerly.
She was very much afraid of the Major. He was so red-faced and important looking, and had not much good for people below him, and so she waited until at last he left the room. Then she crept quietly to Marianne.
"Please, dear gracious Fräulein," she whispered, "was my grandfather in the battle?"
Marianne was opening her lips to speak, when Otto interrupted:
"Nein, Bettina, nein. Your grandfather...."
"Otto!"
Pauline quickly stopped him, her hand across his mouth.
"No, little Bettina," she said very kindly, "your grandfather was not with the army."
"Will he come, gracious Fräulein, come soon?" Bettina's eyes looked up eagerly.
"Perhaps, child, perhaps." Pauline turned away and picked up some cups from a table.
"Run away, children," she said, "and play until dinner."
Bettina went slowly. It was very strange that her grandfather never came back to fetch her. They were kind to her and she loved them, but she wanted her grandfather. Would she never see Thuringia again, nor Willy, nor her godmother, nor her brothers? The tears filled her eyes and the sobs came.
Poor little Bettina!
She lived in sad, cruel times, and she was to be a woman before she ever again met even one of them, or walked in the forest paths of Thuringia, or saw the spire of St. Michael's rising high above the red roofs of Jena.
One morning, soon after the news of Eylau, the Major told the children that an English ship had arrived in the harbour.
"Mother, mother," they cried, "may we go and see it?"
Poor Madame von Stork, who was almost ill from worry over Franz and Wolfgang, rejoiced at the thought of a morning free from noise and questions.
"Yes, yes," she agreed very quickly. "Put on your wraps and furs, and Pauline and Marianne shall take you."
In a few moments the whole party set forth, Pauline and Marianne in dark red dresses, fur hoods, and great baggy white muffs, the children wrapped to the tips of their noses, Otto and Carl in huge cloaks and fur caps.
Reaching the bridge, whom should they come upon but the Queen and her party, who, also, were there to see the great ship. The Crown Prince was there, handsome, clever-looking, clinging to the arm of his mother, to whom he seemed entirely devoted, little William with such a clear good look in his face that it was impossible not to love him, and beautiful little Princess Charlotte keeping shyly at the side of the Countess Voss, who was guarding with watchful eyes the merry Maids of Honour.
When the Princes saw Otto and Carl, their faces lighted, and they whispered to their mother, who at once begged the Countess to have them sent for.
"My little boys, the Crown Prince and Prince William, would like to know you," she said, and then she sent the four to the side of the bridge that they might talk without grown people listening.
Princess Charlotte at once flew to her mother's side, the joy in her face proving that she had not the cold nature that seemed to show in her face.
Then the Queen, with one of her bright smiles, asked Pauline and Marianne if they could not come and assist in making lint for the soldiers. The ladies of the court, she said, worked busily in her rooms. Then she turned away, and, with Charlotte, joined the boys, whose laughter soon rang as if they were enjoying themselves. At once the Maids of Honour began to amuse themselves with Marianne, and, some of the gentlemen soon joining them, they turned the talk to Goethe, and then laughed behind their hands when Marianne rolled her eyes and clasped her hands and spoke of Frau Rat, and vowed she would never marry because there was but one man in Germany, and that one, Goethe!
The Countess von Voss did not like this conduct.
"I beseech you, dear ladies," she said with great dignity to the Maids, "let Mademoiselle von Stork alone. Young girls are better unnoticed." But the Maids of Honour tossed their heads and would not stop their nonsense.
"Do you not pity us, Mr. Jackson," they cried to a handsome young Englishman, "that we have but one man in Germany?"
But Mr. Jackson, being very devoted to the old Countess, only remarked:
"Oh, greatly, ladies," and began conversing about the ship with his favourite, and the Maids of Honour were left to Marianne.
Meanwhile Bettina and the twins had been amusing themselves.
Bettina was so happy that her eyes did nothing but gaze at the face of her dear, beautiful Queen.
Never was anyone so lovely, so patient. With a kind word for all she put aside her troubles and showed the boys how the ship was manned, told them what this meant and that, and now and then patted Charlotte's hand, that she might not feel neglected. Never for a moment did she seem to think of herself or her own pleasure. She smiled at the twins, asked their names, and then tried to tell them apart, and laughed quite like a girl when she called "Ilse," "Elsa."
Suddenly she gazed at Bettina as if puzzled.
"Dear Voss," she touched the arm of the Countess, "do we not know this child? Where have we seen her?"
The Countess called Marianne.
"It's a sad story," said the girl, glancing at Bettina, whose eyes were fixed on the Queen.
Then the Countess commanded Bettina to run away with the twins and watch the sailors, and taking Marianne to the Queen, told her to relate the child's history.
More than once, as Marianne told the story, the Queen's eyes filled with tears.
"Poor child," she said, "poor little Bettina!"
When she had heard it all, she had Marianne bring Bettina back again.
"Dear child," she said, "surely I have seen you before. Is it not true?"
And she smiled at the little girl most enchantingly.
Now, nobody had ever told Bettina that a little girl must be afraid of a Queen, so she smiled back at her with the eager, bright look which made her so pretty.
"Ja, ja, dear Queen," she said, for no one had told her to say "Majesty," and then she told of the inn on the road from Jena.
A look of pain banished the brightness from Queen Louisa's face. Very gravely she asked Bettina question after question, and she heard of the cruel journey, and of how Bettina's grandfather had left her.
"Yes, yes," she nodded to the Countess, "I remember the old man. It was of him that we spoke to the Professor, your father," and she glanced at Marianne with a look of warning.
"But, dear Queen," said little Bettina, nodding her head in her bright, fairy way, "my dear grandfather will come back soon, and we will go to Thuringia when the Kaiser Barbarossa comes from the cave and with his great sword kills the Emperor!"
The Queen did not laugh.
"God grant it, dear child. God grant it," she said. "Let us pray that the ravens will wake him, the old Red-Beard."
When Bettina had danced away to the twins, she turned with a saddened face to the old Countess.
"Dear Voss," she said, and her voice was low and troubled, "these poor, poor children whom this cruel war has orphaned! Each day I hear a fresh story of their suffering. Alas, that I, the Queen, can do nothing for want of money. But something must be done, and I, the Queen, must do it. Such a lovely child, so trusting and, alas, so desolate."
Then, her whole mood changed, she walked back to her house in Memel, her heart heavy with the troubles of the Fatherland.
That very day Ludwig Brandt appeared. Why he travelled to and fro over the country no one knew, unless it was the Professor. It was something to do with the war, of that all were certain.
He reported that fifty thousand French and Russians lay dead in the snow of Eylau, and that Napoleon was to send General Bertrand to Memel to propose peace to King Frederick William.
In a day or two this general came—"A most disagreeable-faced Frenchman," the old Countess called him, "and with dreadful manners,"—and the story of his visit was soon known about Memel.
He had submitted an offer of peace from Napoleon, who agreed to restore his kingdom to the King of Prussia if he would break off his friendship with the Czar of Russia.
To the Queen he brought most agreeable and flattering messages from Napoleon. He sent her word that he had been deceived in her character. He wished now to be friends.
The Queen was polite, but that was all. She had no belief in the promises of the French Emperor. Napoleon had made a cruel war on a poor, helpless woman, driving her across the country, reading her letters, publishing wicked things against her, having horrid pictures drawn of her for his newspapers, and declaring her to have caused the war and all the misery to Prussia.
It was impossible to believe that he had truly repented because he had halfway lost a battle.
As for the good King, he refused to break his word to his friend to save his kingdom, merely because Napoleon commanded him.
"Let the war go on," he said, and suffering Prussia, its houses burned to the ground, without food, with the cruel French everywhere, cried:
"Hoch to our King! He is a good man, and true, and we will shed our last drop of blood in his service!"
And so General Bertrand left Memel, and the war went on.
But everywhere there was much suffering. Even the King and the Queen had little to eat and no money to buy anything, for the French had burned the farmhouses, the farmers were in the army, and this poor land must feed not only its own people, but all the enemy. Sometimes seven villages could be seen burning at once, and behind Napoleon's white horse stalked two dreadful figures. One, called Death, commanded executions in every town and slew thousands on the battlefield, and refused to spare hungry little children. Gaze where the poor Prussians would, the shadow of his great scythe was over them. The other, Famine, breathed on the poor down-trodden fields, and nothing flourished; with her fierce hands she gathered up all the wine in the cellars, the potatoes saved for winter, the meat, the fruit, all there was to eat everywhere.
The poor Prussians between them were desolate.
In those cruel days there came to the King's house in Memel two simple people of a sect of which there are some now in America, the Mennonites. Their name was Nicholls, and they asked to see the King and the Queen.
When they came before their Majesties, Abraham, the husband, holding in his hand a bag, addressed the unhappy, worried-looked King:
"Majesty," he said, "I bring you from my people, who send me as their deputy, two thousand gold Fredericks. We have collected them among ourselves, and offer them as a token of love and respect to our sovereign."
Then he laid the heavy bag in the hand of the King.
"We, thy faithful subjects," he continued, "of the sect of the Mennonites, having heard of the great misfortunes which it has pleased God to permit, have gladly contributed this little sum which we beg our beloved King and ruler to accept, and we desire to assure him that the prayers of his faithful Mennonites shall not fail for him and his."
The wife then placed a basket in the hands of Queen Louisa.
"I have heard," said this kind woman, "that our good Queen likes good fresh butter very much, and that the little Princes and Princesses eat bread and butter very heartily, so I have made some myself, which is very fresh and good, and that is very rare just now, so I thought it might be acceptable. My gracious Queen will not despise this humble gift. This I see already in thy true and friendly features. Oh, how glad I am to have seen thee once so near and, face to face, have spoken with thee!"
Queen Louisa took the basket, with tears in her lovely eyes.
"Dear Frau Nicholls," she cried, her face all warm with gratitude, "I thank you many, many times, and over and over."
Then she took off the handsome shawl she wore and threw it about the shoulders of the Mennonite woman.
"Dear Frau Nicholls," she said, "keep this in remembrance of me."
For answer the good woman burst out into speeches of pity for the misfortunes of the poor King.
But his Majesty, interrupting her with a kind smile, lifted his hand to check her.
"No, no, Frau Nicholls," he said, "I am not a poor King. I am a rich King, blessed with such subjects."
Then he and the Queen sent many messages to the poor Mennonites, and, when the two had gone, promised each other that when good times again would come they would not fail to reward them, and the King did not forget it.
To Memel, too, came Prince William, the King's brother, and his wife the Princess Marianne. They had fled from Dantzic, and their only little daughter, the tiny Princess Amelia, had died of cold on the way.
Sometimes the children of the "Stork's Nest" saw this poor lady walking with the Queen, and they all gazed at her with great interest because her name was the same as Marianne's.
Ludwig Brandt remained, too, in Memel, and was much with the Englishmen and went almost every day to the reception room of the old Countess von Voss, where the talk was the hottest against Napoleon.
"The Prussians," he told the Professor, "may be conquered, but never will they forgive Napoleon's treatment of the Queen. There he went too far."
He further told the Professor, but this was a secret, that the students of Königsberg were forming plans by which they hoped to defeat Napoleon. He was concerned in this affair and hoped to do more that way than by joining the army.
And so the days passed at Memel. Often the children saw the Queen walking, or taking the air in one of the high-runner sleighs. Carl and Otto and the Princes were often together, and Marianne and Pauline assisted with the lint. There was no stiffness as about a court. They all had become friends in the time of trouble.
Then, presently, the Professor went to Königsberg to fulfil his duties as Professor.
"But remain here with Joachim, dear wife," he said. "Who knows that the French will not advance upon Königsberg? You know now that Wolf and Rudolph are safe, so you can rest here and not worry."
The Queen also went to Königsberg to visit her sister, Frederika, who had married the Prince of Solms and lived in that city.
But the Professor was right.
After a brave siege the fine city of Dantzic fell. Again Napoleon was conqueror, and back in haste came the Professor and back came the poor Queen, flying again to Memel, whose cold winds so disagreed with her. With them came news so dreadful that Marianne felt that never in her life could she be happy again. Napoleon had won the bloody victory of Friedland. Not a French cannon had missed its aim. Like ninepins, the enemy had fallen. Fleeing, the Russians, weighed down by their arms and heavy uniforms, had rushed into the nearby river and the waves had been as cruel to them as Napoleon's guns.
With the dead was Wolfgang, curly-haired, merry Wolf, the one ever ready with a laugh, ever making jokes, playing tunes on his fiddle, waiting on his mother, teasing the twins, laughing at Marianne, Wolf who had been the favourite of all the family.
"Ach Gott, ach Gott, ach Gott!" wept poor Madame von Stork, and she beat the wings of her love and refused to be comforted.
When the Queen heard that the Professor had lost a fine young son and that his wife was so overcome with her sorrow, she went like a friend to see her and to comfort her.
Madame von Stork felt the honour of the visit, but not even a visit from a Queen could make her cease weeping.
With gentle words her Majesty tried to comfort her. She told her of the bravery of Countess Dohna von Finkenstein, whom she had seen in Königsberg. Four sons had she sent to battle, and when they returned wounded, she had sent them forth again.
"We must trust in God, dear Madame von Stork," the Queen's eyes glowed. "I know that He will not desert us, no, not even after this dreadful battle of Friedland. Dear Madame, think what it means to me. Napoleon is in Königsberg now, and I can return no more, and we must perhaps quit our kingdom and fly for safety to Riga in Russia. But in spite of this, as I have written my dear father, I beg you in the name of God, to believe that we are in the hands of God. It is my firm belief that He will send us nothing beyond what we are able to bear. All power, dear Madame, comes from on high. My faith shall not waver, though after this dreadful misfortune I can no longer hope. To live or die in the path of duty—to live on bread and salt if it must be so—would never bring supreme unhappiness to me. Let us trust then, dear Madame, in the God who sends us good and permits the evil that in all things we may be drawn nearer to Him and His love."
Though the Queen's sweet voice trembled, though her eyes said, "I sorrow with you," Madame von Stork would not be comforted.
"Majesty," she said, thinking only of her own grief, "have you lost a son?"
The Queen's eyes filled, her lips trembled like a child's.
"I have lost one son," she said, "and a dear little daughter."
Then Madame von Stork remembered, and forgot her grief for the first time.
The Queen's face changed. She looked as if the whole sorrow of Prussia had crushed her.
"But, dear Madame," she said, her figure drooping, "I am the Queen, and I have lost your son and every Prussian woman's son, also. Am I not the Mother of my People? You have lost one son. I, the Queen, have lost thousands. Each mother's grief is mine and, oh, my God, how am I to bear it? Was not your Wolfgang mine, also?"
She touched her heart beating quickly beneath her dress.
"Dear Madame, pity your Queen and believe her. Here is a wound which nothing can heal. It has ached day and night since the battle of Jena. I am Rachel, indeed, weeping for my children."
When the Professor met his wife an hour later, a new look shone in her eyes.
"I was forgetting you, dear Richard," she said, "Wolfgang is gone, Franz is gone, but I have you and the children."
Then she laid her hand on his arm.
"Our Queen has been here, dear husband, and she is an angel."
In the winter Marianne had gone often to court. There was much need of lint and the ladies were always occupying themselves with making it.
The old Countess, who had known Marianne's grandmother well in her youth, made a pet of the pretty girl, and the ladies and gentlemen found her bright talk very amusing as they worked away in the rooms of the Mistress of Court Ceremonies, or in those of the Queen.
But Wolfgang's death changed everything.
"I shall never be gay again," wept poor Marianne.
At first she was for staying in her room and writing out her sorrow, but one day the Queen, whom she adored, had a talk with her.
What she said no one knew, but from that day Marianne began to think of others. And certainly there was need of patience in the "Stork's Nest." So much trouble made them all nervous, and the children, not having Madame von Stork's eye upon them, grew cross and very restless.
And the affairs of Prussia were in as bad a way as possible. After the disaster at Friedland on the 14th of June, Marshal Soult entered Königsberg, the King and the Czar fled to Tilsit, and the country waited to see now what would happen. Talk of peace began to be heard in all quarters.
"But let us not despair," said Ludwig Brandt to the Professor. "Prussia is conquered, but all through our land a spirit is rising against Napoleon. Stein and our best generals, our orators, our poets declare that the tyrant must be overcome and their burning words are stirring the people. Blücher, for instance, Richard, has declared that when a whole people are resolved to emancipate themselves from foreign domination they will never fail to succeed. I foresee that fortune will not always favour the Emperor," he said, "the time may come when Europe in a body, humiliated by his exactions, exhausted by his depredations, will rise up in arms against him. Then," Ludwig's face changed, "there is the enthusiasm in our Universities."
The Professor nodded.
Before, however, he could answer, in came poor Madame von Stork, her face full of fresh trouble.
"Richard," she said, "Ludwig, have either of you seen Otto?"
Both shook their heads and went on with their talk.
"Bettina!" called the lady.
In tripped the little girl, her face eager and interested.
"Dear child," asked Madame von Stork, "have you seen Otto?"
Bettina thought that he had gone to Frau Argelander's to see the Crown Prince, who had a room there.
"No, no," said Pauline, who came in at the moment, "Carl went alone. The Royal children wished to roast potatoes and Otto said that was too childish."
Dusk came, and no Otto.
"Carl, Carl," his mother cried when at last he returned with the servant, "where is your brother Otto?"
Carl's face flushed.
"He told me not to tell until bedtime."
"You must," cried his mother.
Carl brought a dirty little note from his pocket and handed it to his father.
When the Professor read it he grew white to the lips.
"The foolish, foolish boy," he said, "why could he not have asked me?"
The frightened family cried out for news of what had happened.
When Madame von Stork heard it she was distracted.
Otto had run away. He was sixteen now, and he had gone to fight against Napoleon. So he wrote his father.
"I did not tell you or mother," he said, "because you would have prevented me. But my country needs me. Ask Cousin Ludwig."
The Professor tried to comfort his wife. He told her that peace must be made in a month, that Otto could do nothing, but still she wept on.
By morning she was so ill that the Professor brought a doctor.
"Nervous fever," he said, "brought on by this climate and worry."
"I will nurse mother," cried Marianne, her heart all full of a new desire to be helpful.
"Nonsense," said her father. "Pauline is much more reliable. No, no, Mariechen, I couldn't trust you," and he left the room.
"It is my mother. I love her. It is my right!" burst our Marianne, her cheeks crimson.
But Madame von Stork decided it.
"I should go crazy with you, Marianne," she said. "You would be reading when I needed my medicine. I am sorry, dear child," she smiled to soften the lesson, "but I am nervous, very nervous, and I must have a thoughtful person. Pauline, you know, remembers."
Marianne rushed to her room. In a flood of bitter tears she flung herself on her couch. There in rows on their shelves stood her books. How she hated them!
Seizing one, she flew to the kitchen, her cheeks blazing. In a rage she opened the door of the stove. She thrust in "The Sorrows of Werther." With a blaze it ascended on the air of Memel in smoke, the maid staring in wonder. Marianne tore back to her room. She flung herself face downward on her couch.
"It ismymother, not Pauline's," she sobbed, and she wept for an hour.
Worn out at last, she rose to bathe her face in cold water.
On her chest of drawers stood a little picture that a lady of the court had given to her.
Marianne started. A flush dyed her face as she gazed into the blue eyes of the Queen. She who loved books above all things, put them aside without a word if the King, if the Royal children, if the ladies wanted her. She was never well, but was always helping others, always forgetting what she wanted, what pleased her, that she might do her duty.
"Dear Marianne," again the girl heard her voice as it had soothed her after the death of her brother Wolfgang, "there is no trouble in which the dear God will not help us."
All the demons of self and anger and dislike of Pauline ceased to struggle in Marianne, as she remembered. She would be good, she had promised Queen Louisa. She hesitated a moment, then she bowed her head and whispered a little prayer that the dear God would help her and make her good like the Queen who so loved Him.
Then she went below, all worn out with her battle, but quiet and humble and wishing to help her mother.
And certainly there was need of her.
Carl and Ilse and Elsa were quarrelling violently, Bettina with frightened face struggling to quiet them. She had on her little apron and had brought dishes to try and set the table for supper. Marianne's face flushed. Pauline was above, nursing her mother, Bettina below, trying to quiet the children and get supper for the Professor, and she, the daughter of the "Stork's Nest," had been in her room in a temper. She took the dishes from Bettina and she separated Carl and the twins. For an hour she sat with them telling them stories. Then her eye fell on a volume of Goethe lying on a table where her father had left it.
A half hour later the Professor opened the door. His face darkened.
"Marianne," he said, "I expected better things of you."
With a start the girl laid down her book. Carl and Ilse were squabbling over the last piece of cake on the table, Elsa was looking at a valuable book with sticky fingers, the clock had stopped for want of winding, and Bettina had vanished into the garden.
Marianne flushed hotly.
"I am trying, father," she said, "very——"
Without a word he left the room, his face stern with displeasure.
Putting the book aside, Marianne wound the clock, she sent the children to bed, and sought Bettina in the garden.
"I will do better," she promised herself, and next day she remembered much better.
But it was hard to keep the children quiet in the evening. She told all the stories she could think of, and they only clamoured for more.
One evening a bright thought struck her.
She ran to her room and came back with a fat, red book whose brass clasp she unlocked with a tiny key.
"Now, Ilse and Elsa," she said, "get your tent-stitch. Bettina, I would not knit. Work on that strip for a bed-spread. Carlchen, draw some pictures and I will read you a lovely book about our Queen."
Then she told them that their Aunt Erna, who had died when she was sixteen, had written it and it would give them a story of how happy the Queen was before Napoleon came into Prussia.
Then she arranged the candles, and all settled to listen.
The Professor, passing through the room, this time smiled on Marianne.
"Where are the children, Richard? What are they doing?" cried nervous Madame von Stork as he opened the door of her room.
When he told her, the worry faded from her poor ill face.
"God be praised, dear husband," she said, "that our Marianne is improving. It was hard to refuse her the nursing, but I hoped the lesson might rouse her, and I was right."
Then, smiling at her husband, she sank back on her pillow and soon was enjoying her first restful sleep.
Marianne had first heard of her Aunt Erna's journal in Berlin.
It had been on the night when Ludwig Brandt had come in with the news that the French had made the French Consul, Napoleon, Emperor.
When he had told his news the children with glowing faces informed him that their Carl had been kissed that very day by the Queen.
Ludwig, who was always serious, called the little fellow to his knee. Marianne never forgot how solemn it all was.
"Listen, my little Carl," he said, and waited until the laughter had all died from the chubby dimpled face, "a great and noble woman has kissed you. All your life think of it as a kiss of baptism. The call of war will come to you as to all Germans. Let the kiss of the Queen make of you a brave, a true, a patriotic soldier!"
How Ludwig's voice had rung through the room and how Pauline had gazed in admiration! And then Ludwig had taken little Carl on his knee and told him a nice little story of Queen Louisa, of when she had gone with her husband on his Huldigung, the journey German sovereigns take to receive the oaths of allegiance in their provinces and cities.
In the village of Stargard, in Pomerania, Ludwig related, the good people who had arranged the welcome had dressed little girls in white that they might strew flowers before the new young Queen, and the quick eye of the Queen noticed that, as there were nineteen, one must walk alone.
She turned to the grown people.
"Where is the twentieth?" she demanded, and her face grew crimson with anger when she heard their answer.
"Majesty," they said, "the child was so ugly that we sent her home."
"Poor child!" cried the Queen, "poor child! Send for her, and at once!" she commanded.
And when the poor little thing appeared, her plain, pale face all wet with tears, Queen Louisa held out her arms as she would to one of her own Royal children.
"Come, Liebchen," she said, "come at once to me. Tell me your trouble, every bit of it."
And then she petted her and praised her and drove away all the little thing's shame and tearfulness and told her stories of the Crown Prince, and the little girl forgot all about her ugliness and the people's cruelty. But to the grown people Queen Louisa was very stern, as she could be when it was necessary.
"Was my coming," and she looked at them until they blushed, "to be made a cause of sad memories to a dear little girl only because of her ugliness?"
"Our Queen is an angel," said Madame von Stork as Ludwig ended.
Then Marianne told stories, also, of things she had heard of the Queen at Frau Rat Goethe's.
"Bettina Brentano," she began, "is a friend of the mother of our Goethe!"
"My goodness, Marianne!" cried Franz, who was home in those days, "don't pronounce that name as if it were sacred!"
But Marianne paid no heed to him.
"Frau Rat," she continued, with a toss of her head, "loves our Queen with all her heart. She has known her since she was as old as Carl. Once, when she and her sister, the Princess Frederika, were little girls, they came to Frankfort to the coronation of the Emperor Leopold."
Then, while Carl crowded to her knee and even her father stopped his reading to listen, Marianne told how, one day, the two princesses came to visit Frau Rat with their Swiss governess, Fräulein de Gélieu, and of how in Frau Rat's garden was a pump which at once attracted the princesses.
Little Louisa, who loved the old lady, and was not a bit afraid of her in spite of the great turban she wore, whispered in her ear how much she would enjoy pumping like a common child.
The mother of Goethe nodded. She had no taste for prim etiquette and saw no real reason why the little princesses should not enjoy themselves.
"Come, dear Fräulein de Gélieu," said she to the governess. "Come into my saal. I will show you my beautiful snuffbox with the picture of my famous son upon it."
Then, leading the lady, she softly locked the door and Louisa and Frederika, running to the pump, clung to the handle, and pumped and pumped until the water ran in streams and splashed their stockings and elastic strap slippers, and made them for once enjoy themselves quite as if they had not been princesses.
When time for good-byes came the two happy little girls threw loving arms around the neck of this kind Frau Rat and grateful little lips whispered thanks for her kindness, telling her that never, never, never would they forget their joy in being permitted to play like other children. "Never, dear Frau Rat, never!" they cried.
Nor did Louisa, at any rate.
"Frau Rat," concluded Marianne, "showed me one day the most beautiful gold ornaments she had only a few months before received as a present from our Queen, who really loves her."
A second time Louisa visited Frankfort-on-Main. It was two years later when, Leopold being dead, Francis, the last Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, came to receive the crown which, in 1806, just before the battle of Jena, he resigned forever.
At that time the Princess and her brother Carl came to supper with Frau Rat Goethe.
There was omelette, very light and delicious, and famous bacon salad, a dish much loved in that day throughout Germany.
"Oh, how fine!" cried Carl and the princess, and when they stopped eating there was not even so much as a half leaf left on either plate!
All her life Frau Rat loved to tell about this, and Marianne related how she joked when she told the story.
"And, mother," said Marianne, "Frau Rat told me that our Queen, though she was then a princess, made her own satin shoes for the coronation."
Madam von Stork beamed approval.
She opened her lips to impress the importance of sewing upon Marianne, but the young girl was too quick for her.
"Frau Rat, father, says that our Queen reads both Goethe and Schiller always."
Before Madame von Stork could answer, the maid appeared with wine and cake, and, when all were settled, Marianne had told more stories about Goethe's mother and what a fine old lady she was, but so amusing in her great turban, with its red, white and blue feathers, or great decoration of sunflowers, with her hair all arranged and plaited with ribbons, her face rouged, her embroidered kid gloves, her rings, and her famous speech:
"I am the mother of Goethe!"
When Marianne told all this she altered her voice and put on what her brothers called her "Goethe manner," and, turning to Herr Brandt, she exclaimed:
"Oh, Uncle Ludwig, the Frau Rat showed me her son's playthings and the dresses he wore as a child. Oh, think of my touching, my handling what his noble hands have rested upon! Oh, how it thrilled, how it over-powered me!"
The boys burst into a roar, but her father with a glance quieted them.
"And what is Frau Rat like, Marianne?" he asked.
Delighted to talk on her favorite topic, Marianne told how, when the Frau Rat announced, "I am the mother of Goethe," her voice rang out like a trumpet.
Ludwig pushed back his glass.
"The trumpet we should hear," he said, "is the voice of her son singing songs of patriotism. Never mind, Mariechen," for Marianne was beginning to cry out, "your idol is not entirely perfect. Now, when at last we have a literature in Germany, why will not our poets rouse our people? The imitation of France is on us like a curse. All must be French. We must speak French, we must read French, we must despise all things German. I tell you, Richard, it is now the calm before the storm. Over Prussia is gathering a cloud and the day will come when the sun shall shine no more for us."
He arose and paced up and down the floor.
"Oh, Ludwig," cried Madame von Stork, "come, come, sit down and enjoy your doughnuts."
But Ludwig Brandt was not to be soothed with cake.
"Good-night, Clara," he said suddenly, and bending, kissed Madame von Stork's hand.
With an "Auf wiedersehen," he departed.
"My goodness," cried Madame von Stork, "but Ludwig is uncomfortable. Here we were enjoying a quiet, happy evening, and in he comes and upsets everything. See, Marianne, see, there he has spilt wine on the tablecloth. It is the English in him which makes him so solemn. Perhaps if dear Erna had lived she might have made him gayer. And speaking of Erna, Marianne, you are old enough to read your dear aunt's journal. It is really a history of our dear Queen the child kept to please Ludwig. To-morrow, when you visit your grandmother, you must ask her to lend it to you."
It was this same journal which Marianne brought forth in the sitting room.
Before she could begin reading Elsa and Ilse crowded to her side.
"Sister," they said, "tell Bettina what happened when you took us to grandmother's and she gave you the book, won't you?"
Marianne laughed.
"We had cherry compote for supper," she said, "and we all had some, and Otto whispered to Wolf that he could keep more stones in his mouth than Wolf could, and all the others heard and in whispers they all dared each other, and they kept on eating and eating until their cheeks were quite puffy."
Bettina laughed gaily.
"And there was company," put in Elsa.
"And grandmother asked Otto a question," said Ilse.
"And then——" Carl shouted.
"Otto couldn't keep his in——"
"And Wolf laughed——"
"And, oh, Bettina, it was awful! Stones shot everywhere out of everybody's mouth and oh, grandmother!" She held up her hands.
Bettina thought this very funny and they all laughed and would have made a great noise had not Marianne put the tiny key in the brass lock of the red book.
"Come, now, be quiet," she said, "and I will begin the journal of our Aunt Erna."
"First," said Marianne with an air of great importance, "I will tell you about the family of our Queen."
All the children looked up with eagerness.
"Her name," continued Marianne, "is Louisa Augusta Wilhelmina Amelia. Her father is the Duke Carl of Mecklenburg-Strelitz. Her mother, who died when she was six years old, was a Princess of Hesse-Darmstadt."
Here Marianne paused.
"It is important, children, that you should know these things of our Queen," she informed them, looking very wise and grown up. "Her name, the mother's, I mean, was Frederika Caroline Louisa. Now our Queen—I learned this to tell you—was born in the old castle of Hanover, March 10, 1776. Her father was the governor there for his brother-in-law, who is king of—where, Ilse?"
Both twins shook their heads.
"Carl?"
"Go on, Mariechen," said he, "don't be a teacher."
But Marianne had her plans.
"Bettina?"
"Oh, England," said the little girl, who had learned this from something she had heard Mr. Jackson say.
"Go on, Mariechen," urged Carl.
Marianne nodded.
"When our Queen was six," she said, "her father married her aunt, but she died, too, and our Queen lived with her grandmother, who took her to Holland, and Strasburg, and everywhere she travelled. One day she took her to the Rhine and she met the Crown Prince, who now is our King. Now, listen to what our dear Aunt Erna has written."
Marianne opened the red book.
On the first page was her aunt's name.
"Erna Hedwig Anna Marie von Bergman, her journal."
On the next was the date, "Dec. 22, 1793."
"To-day," read Marianne, "we went to see the entrance of our Crown Princess into Berlin. While we walked to Unter den Linden, where my Ludwig—I am betrothed now to Ludwig—had obtained for us very fine seats, he entertained us with stories of this lovely princess, who came to-day to our prince. He said everybody loved her, and he told me so much of her beauty that I was all eagerness to see her enter.
"Ludwig said that even when she was a child she gained love everywhere. Once, at Darmstadt, the great poet, Schiller, was reading aloud from his 'Don Carlos,' and he felt a pair of eyes on him. He looked up, and saw the loveliest little girl, who seemed to understand every word of his poetry. It was the little Princess Louisa, and Schiller smiled on her. To be smiled upon by a genius seems to me to be better than to be Crown Princess."
Marianne's face glowed as she read this.
"She would have understood me, my Aunt Erma," she thought.
"Go on, please, go on," said Carl.
"I said this to Ludwig," read Marianne, "but he told me that to be a good house-wife was better than either."
"Exactly like him," she muttered, and then went straight on with the journal.
"Our Princess, who came to-day, met our Prince at Frankfort-on-Main. Our King invited her with her grandmother and sister, Frederika, and the very instant that our Crown Prince saw Princess Louisa he said: 'She or never another.' A great love was at once in his heart.
"Every day they were together. Every evening in the theatre, and now, to-morrow, they marry. Our Prince Louis marries Princess Louisa's sister, Frederika. I find that lovely.
"They were betrothed at Darmstadt. Our King, who is such a jolly, joking man, gave them their rings. 'God bless you, children,' he said, and all the people said: 'Amen.'
"We thought there would be no marriage for a long time, for the King would not have it because of the war with France. But something changed his mind, and so to-day Berlin was decorated for the entry of the Princess.
"It was so fine I can hardly write about it. The whole of Berlin was decorated with flags. There were flags of Prussia, of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, and of the Holy Roman Empire. They were everywhere, on the Rathaus, across buildings, in windows. There were evergreens, too, and in all my life I have never seen such a Christmas Markt. The open place was all full of booths with fir trees in the centre. We started early enough for me to buy a few things for our Christmas tree.
"It was hard to choose. I wanted laces and I wanted Swiss carvings, and I wanted French bonbons, but at last at one booth I bought honey cakes, at another, the dearest gingerbread images of the Prince and Princess, at another, a chocolate group of the four royalties, and some lace and toys for the tree.
"The streets were so full we could hardly push our way through the throng of hunters in green, Berliners and peasants all in their Sunday costumes and gold ornaments.
"People were in all the windows, hanging over balconies and pushing and pressing in the streets. We reached our places just as the 'Berliner Citizens' Brigade' formed in lines up Leipzigerstrasse to the corner of Wilhelmstrasse.
"We were quite near the big arch where the Princesses were to be welcomed.
"It was splendid. There were three divisions in the arch, all decorated with flowers and statues and pictures and words of welcome.
"One figure was Hymen, who is the god of marriage, and there were two bridal wreaths, because of the double wedding.
"'Look, Erma,' said mother, and there, among the little French boys in green suits sitting on the arch, was François de Ballore, and among the lovely little German girls in white with pink sashes and wreaths of roses, I saw Hedwig Rückert, Elise Stege, and Annchen Romeike.
"'One of them,' explained Ludwig, 'is to recite a poem of welcome.'
"It was dreadfully tiresome standing in that great crowd, but at last came the procession.
"There was a sound of horns, and six splendid horses walking with the greatest stateliness entered Unter den Linden. On them were the Royal Post Secretaries. Then came postilions in splendid uniforms, and after them the carriers in blue. The postilions, there were forty of them, Ludwig said, were all blowing horns, and I felt sorry, indeed, for the carriers. I liked the next thing very much. It was the Hunters' Guild, and they wore green costumes with peach-blossom facings. But the next after the hunters was splendid. It was dozens of young Berliners dressed as knights of the Middle Ages.
"The people cried out: 'Enchanting!' 'Wonderful!' and I said to Ludwig that I wished men dressed that way now and not in ugly every-day knee breeches and ruffled coats.
"But Ludwig only told me that armour would be inconvenient, and made fun. But I think so, just the same. What is there romantic about a queue, or slipper buckles, and knee breeches? Nothing at all.
"It was fun to see how important the Brewers and Distillers looked in blue. The merchants and their sons wore red, and after them came Frederick the Great's fine Royal Guard, and they all arranged themselves in two lines for the carriages to enter.
"The Berliners refused to have Royal Chamberlains about the carriages.
"'We want to see the Princesses, not Chamberlains,' they said.
"Ludwig named the people to me.
"The handsome, white-haired lady with bright, sparkling eyes, was the Countess von Voss, the Mistress of Court Ceremonies, who had gone to Potsdam to meet the Princess. There was the Duke, and the grandmother, and the brother of the Princesses, and the Maids of Honour, the two Ladies Vieregg, and Master of Court Ceremonies von Schulden.
"We could hardly see them for the crowd, and there was a woman near me who talked so much I could hardly hear Ludwig. She said that her husband was a member of the Guild of Butchers and he had marched to Potsdam, which was splendidly decorated, in a brown suit with gold shoulder-bands and a gold-figured vest and splendid red galoon hat with lace trimming. They gave the first welcome to the Princesses and, goodness knows, the butcher's wife was proud of it.
"But at last she was still, for in a splendid gold coach drawn by eight horses came the two brides.
"They are so beautiful I cannot describe them.
"They are both slender and very graceful, and they both have blue eyes and golden hair, but if you once see Princess Louisa, you can never look again at Princess Frederika.
"The people were enchanted.
"'Never have we seen such eyes, never,' was all we heard, for the Princess turned as she stepped on the platform and smiled right at us.
"They were blue and true, and oh, they are so different from other people's that I do not know how to tell it. They seem to say: 'I love you, I love you.'
"The sweetest thing happened.
"The prettiest little baby girl in white and pink, with a wreath of roses on her curls, came out on the platform to welcome the Princess. She was like a round-cheeked cherub, and she carried a bouquet of roses almost as big as herself. It was a poem she said of great big grown-up words, and her mouth was so tiny that it made everybody smile just to see her.
"'When thou appearest,' she began, and kept ducking her little head and then smiling at the Princess and looking out of the corners of her eyes.
"I have never seen anything half so pretty.
"And when she was through, what did she do but just stand and look at the Princess and smile, as much as to say: 'And how, dear Princess, do you like it?'
"And then what did our new Princess do but spring forward, catch the little round-cheeked thing in her arms and hug and kiss her as if not a soul was looking.
"'You darling!' she said.
"The people were just wild.
"'She will not only be our Queen,' said the woman who talked so much, 'she will be a mother to her people.'
"But the Mistress of Court Ceremonies was shocked.
"We could hear what she said, quite distinctly.
"'My heavens!' she cried, and her voice was so full of horror that even Ludwig laughed, 'what has Your Highness done? That is against all etiquette.'
"Then our Princess turned just like a girl.
"'What!' she cried, and I never heard a voice so sweet and like a silver bell, 'may I not do such things any more?'
"'She is adorable," said Monsieur de Paillot, who was standing quite near mother.
"'She is an angel,' said the woman who talked so much."
"Why, Mariechen," interrupted Elsa, "that's what everybody now calls her."
Marianne nodded.
"Go on," commanded Carl, whose blue eyes were quite eager with listening.
"After that," went on the journal, "the Princesses went to the palace, where the Princes were waiting. We had to wait for the crowd to thin, and Monsieur de Paillot and Ludwig fell to talking. He is a French refugee, I think. Berlin is full of them.
"'Monsieur,' he said to Ludwig, 'this parade to-day recalls another that I saw when a Princess came, also, to my kingdom.'
"We all listened politely.
"'She came, my friends,' he said, 'from Vienna, that Princess. Her bridegroom was the Dauphin of France. She, also, was beautiful.'
"He looked so solemn he took all the pleasure from our procession.
"A queer wrinkle came in his forehead and he looked almost like a revolutionist.
"'Many things have come to pass,' he said, 'since I first saw that Queen of France.'
"It was Marie Antoinette, I knew it, then. Poor lady, the wicked French have beheaded her.
"Monsieur de Paillot looked at me sternly.
"'These are troubled times,' he said. 'Old things are passing, new things are being born. Ours is a day of revolutions, of changes. There has been a struggle for liberty in America. I had the honour, as you know, of fighting with the noble Lafayette in the Colonies. I have seen Washington. I have talked with Thomas Jefferson, with the learned Franklin. You, here in Prussia, still have serfs, no constitution, and no patriotism. In America, the women went in homespun, the men starved at Valley Forge, and all for the rights of man. But here, pardon me, Madame, but is it not true that you borrow your language, your customs, everything from France? I fear that lovely young Princess may suffer.'
"Mother was furious. So was I. But Ludwig nodded.
"'You are right, Monsieur, quite right,' he said, and I think that horrid in him, even if he will be my husband.
"'Monsieur,' I said, 'was the Queen of France as beautiful as our Princess?'
"Then he made me a grand bow that made me think he was not quite so horrid.
"'Mademoiselle,' he said, 'I have never seen so lovely a woman as this Princess of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, never.'"
When Marianne read this the children stopped her.
"Was that our Queen?" asked Carl.
"Of course," said Ilsa, "first she was Crown Princess, then our Queen."
At that moment the maid brought in the supper.
"To-morrow night," said Marianne, "I will read you the next things that happened. Come, now, Bettina, you may pass the bread, and Ilse, you and Elsa sit here one on each side of me, and Carl, you may be father."
"It is nice, Mariechen," said Ilse, "to have you take care of us."
"Yes," said Elsa.
"I love you, Mariechen," and Carl hugged her until she was nearly strangled.
Marianne, her eyes dancing, was glad that she was trying to be better. It made her happier, she found, than even "The Sorrows of Werther."
"Now," said Marianne, next evening, "I will read again in the journal. Are you ready, children?"
And she glanced around the little group.
There were the twins with their tent stitch, Carl with his pencil and drawing book, Bettina with her knitting.
Marianne smiled and settled herself most importantly.
"Carl," she said, "bring another candle. Elsa, will you please draw closer the window curtain, and Bettina, child, sit nearer the light. Now, ready?"
"Our Princess," began the journal, "was married last night, Christmas Eve, in this year of 1793. When mother lit our tree and my sister Clarechen's children, Franz and Wolfgang, were clapping their little hands in joy, Ludwig lifted his hand.
"'Our Crown Prince has a wife now,' he said, and glanced at the clock.
"Baron von Sternberg, an old friend of my father's, came to-day to see mother and told us all that happened last night, for he was at the wedding.
"He said that our new Crown Princess was most beautiful in white with a crown of sparkling diamonds that the Queen herself had placed on her lovely golden head. Before she was married, the widow of the Great Frederick gave her a blessing, the blessing of an old woman, she said. Then came the wedding in the Ritter Saal. The altar was beneath a baldachin of purple velvet embroidered in crowns of gold, and hundreds of candles made a splendid light. Oh, how I should love to have seen all the velvets and jewels and the fine ladies with powdered hair and the men with their clothes of fine velvet!
"I long for the Court, and because of my father's fine position, I could go there, but my mother will not have it.
"No, she says, it is wicked there. Our King is too gay, and she told me a sad story of the Countess von Voss, the lady I saw in the procession, and who, it seems, is mother's old friend from girlhood. This lady went to Court very young and the King's brother fell in love with her, and it was all so unfortunate, for he must marry a Princess, and the Countess, her cousin.
"But the wedding.
"Ober-Consistorial Rath Sack performed the ceremony, for he had both baptised and confirmed our Crown Prince. The Berliners wished a fine illumination, but the Crown Prince would not have it.
"'Nay, nay, good Berliners,' he said, 'give the money to the widows and orphans of the soldiers killed in the war with France.'
"Ludwig says that he is much worried over the debts of his father, the King, who is jolly and beloved of the people, but who spends everything he can lay his hands on.
"After the wedding came the polonaise. It is an old custom and takes place at the marriage of every Prussian Crown Prince.
"The pages first bring in torches and present them to eighteen ministers of state. Then trumpets sound, the royal family rise from the semi-circle in which they sit under a baldachin, the Lord Chamberlain gives a signal, and the dance begins, all in the light of the torches the performers bear with them.
"The Baron said that it was most enchanting. The King danced with our new Crown Princess, the Crown Prince with the Queen and the widow of Frederick the Great. Round they marched to the pretty polonaise step at the corner of the room, dividing and changing partners, the torches blazing, and oh, the lords and ladies so fine and grand!
"To-day is Christmas, and I was in the old Cathedral, and who should come in but the Crown Prince and Princess? They seem so in love with each other that it is beautiful to see. And they are most religious.
"As we were coming home from church we met Monsieur de Paillot. He told us something which filled me with the greatest joy.
"Our King was not quite pleased with the wedding.
"'There were too many embroidered coats,' he said, 'at the second we will have a few commoners.'
"And so the Berliners can go to the wedding of Prince Ludwig and Princess Frederika, and my Ludwig will take me. Oh, what happiness, for I shall see our Crown Princess in her robes and her diamonds.
"The dress I wore to the wedding was most beautiful. A young French girl designed it with the taste and skill of her nation. It was made for a great ball at which I am to be introduced to society, but mother bade me wear it to Court.
"It was of white tissue, and above the hem of my flowing skirt was embroidered a border of fleur-de-lys in purple and gold. My kerchief was fine as a web and edged with rare lace, and for the first time my hair was raised high and powdered. Mother finished my joy by clasping about my throat a necklace of purple stones.
"'Your dear father gave them to me when I was a bride,' she said with a sigh, for it is but two years since we lost him.
"'Lovely!' cried my sister Clarechen when she saw me, but Ludwig frowned.
"'Why French flowers?' he asked, his eyes on the fleur-de-lys. Ludwig sees all things. 'Why not something German and blue?' he asked with great discontent.
"Ludwig is very strange in some ways. For one thing, he will not speak French, like all well-bred people.
"'I am a German,' he will say, 'why not speak my own language?'
"And he calls mother 'Frau,' and not 'Madame,' and me 'Fräulein,' and all my notes to him must be written in German, and German is so hard, not beautiful, like French, and he scolds me when I make more than a dozen mistakes in my articles:die, der, das.
"But my dress, my lovely, lovely dress!
"It might have been blue, or red, or any colour, for all that it mattered. The crowd was so great no one looked at poor little Erna von Bergman, and next day she spent hours darning a great rent in her skirt.
"But I have seen our Crown Princess, and she smiled right at me, so what else matters? No one could behead her as the French did Marie Antoinette; no, not even for liberty.
"She was in white and wore a crown of sparkling diamonds. The Crown Prince looked at her as if he adored her. He is very earnest and grave, she, very bright and gay. There is great love between them, I can see that, because of my own love for my Ludwig.
"I saw our King at the wedding, and he was most amusing. Of late years he has grown very stout, and because of his increased size he found it difficult indeed to pass through the room with his arm laden with the widow of Frederick the Great, our Queen Dowager.
"The crowd could not help punching him with their elbows.
"Think of it! Even Ludwig nudged our King!
"But he was not the least angry.
"He winked, actually winked, and then called out in his merry, jolly way:
"'Don't be shy, my children. The wedding father can have no more room to-day than the guests.'
"The Berliners were delighted.
"Our King is a great favourite because of his jokes and his calling the people 'Children.'
"But Ludwig does not admire him. He says one should weep to think of such a man wearing the crown of the Great Elector, or Frederick the Great, that he is like Charles II of England. He believes much in spirits and has mediums and such people always about him. But he is very benevolent and gives to the poor.
"Oh, it was fine at the wedding! I saw all the great people of the Court, and how I longed to be one of them and live in such splendour! But with torn dress and tired feet I came home to our humble dwelling. At least, it isn't so humble—mother would frown at such a word—but one says that when one goes to Court, where all is the grandest....
"I have decided to always put down what I hear of our Crown Princess, how the King loves her, and how our Crown Prince forgets his sad nature when he is with one so happy and gay, and all that the Berliners talk about."
Here Marianne paused and turned over some pages.
"I will skip," she announced, "because all on these pages is about other things. To-day I have read it all and have marked only that which will interest you."
"There are many things we hear of our Crown Princess," she then read. "She and the Crown Prince play many pranks upon the Countess von Voss, who loves etiquette and ceremony above all things. But that is on the surface; in her heart she adores the Crown Prince and the Princess Louisa, who is now like her daughter. As for them, they are full of mischief.
"All Berlin just now is talking of how our Crown Prince and Princess say 'thou' and not 'you' to each other, according to our sweet German custom of making a difference between friends and strangers.
"The Court, when this report spread, cried out in horror. It was not according to French etiquette.
"The King commanded his son before him.
"'What is this I hear?' he demanded, 'that you call the Crown Princess "thou"?'
"'You hear it upon good grounds,' answered our Crown Prince, with his slow, good-humoured smile, 'when a man says "du" (thou) the person to whom he speaks knows whom is being spoken to, but when I say "sie" (in German written "Sie" for "you,"—"sie" for "they") who can know whether I say it with a capital letter, or not?'
"From the beginning our Crown Prince had objected to the formal etiquette which Frederick the Great imposed upon our Prussian Court. He longs always to have his home life free from formality.
"'I desire with all my heart,' said he, 'to live as a plain person and not as a royal one.'
"One evening the Crown Princess returned from a feast, and ridding herself of her finery, ran like a girl to her husband.
"Clasping her hands, he gazed in her wonderful eyes.
"'Thank God,' he said, 'thou art again my wife.'
"The Crown Princess' silvery laugh rang through the room.
"'What?' she cried, 'am I not that always?'
"The Crown Prince shook his head with an air of sad discontent.
"'No,' he said, 'thou must so often be Crown Princess.'
"The Countess von Voss thought it her duty to bring this lively pair to order.
"'You do not please me,' she said one day to the Crown Prince. 'French etiquette rules all Europe, and I, as Court Mistress of Ceremonies, must lecture your Royal Highness for seeking the Crown Princess without announcement.'
"The Prince made a face and looked as if he were going to be stubborn.—I heard all this from Baron von Sternberg.—Then suddenly inspired by a secret thought, he laughed.
"'Good!' he cried like a penitent boy, 'dear Voss, I will reform. So have the kindness to announce me to my wife and ask if I may have the honour of speaking with her Royal Highness, the Crown Princess, and express my hope that she will graciously grant it.'
"The good Countess beamed her approval.
"Now, indeed, was the wayward young man behaving as he should.
"With dignified steps she sought the apartment of the Princess, and was beginning the announcement when a laugh interrupted her.
"The Crown Prince, laughing as hard as he could, sat on the couch with his arm around his wife.
"Jumping up, he seated the Countess between them. Then he took her hand and spoke quite decidedly.
"'See, dear Voss,' said he, 'I hurried in another way to show you that my wife and I see each other unannounced and quite as often as we will. That, in my opinion, is the only Christian fashion for married people, Royal or commoners. You are our charming Court Mistress,' the Crown Princess gave her one of her enchanting smiles, 'but Louisa and I have made up a name for you. You are now to be Dame Etiquette.' And all Berlin now calls her that.
"Dame Etiquette arranged a drive for the Crown Prince, the Princess, and herself, only last week, the Baron says. She insisted on a grand carriage, with bodyguard in costume. Above all the Royal pair hated this, but Dame Etiquette firmly commanded the equipage and arrayed in state she seats herself, at the Royal command, to await the others.
"The Crown Prince, coming out, gave a low order to the coachman, and off drove Dame Etiquette alone in the splendid state carriage, and behind her the naughty laughing Prince and Princess in a plain two-horse affair like commoners. All eyes were fixed on her, and Louisa and Fritz had as good a time as if they were not Royal.
"It seems strange to me how we long to be grand like princes and all they want is to be like us.
"Yesterday was our Crown Princess' birthday. All Berlin has made much of it, but in the palace it was grandly celebrated with a fine masquerade ball.
"All Berlin talks of what happened in the palace. When Princess Louisa came to the King for her birthday kiss he embraced her like a real father and said: 'You are the Princess of Princesses, my Louisa.'
"Then a company of Court ladies and gentlemen appeared before her, all arrayed as citizens of Oranienburg. One made a fine speech and presented her with a key.
"'Of our castle,' they said. 'You are to be its mistress.'
"Then, amid the excitement, the King explained that he gave her the gift of this castle for a summer residence.
"Ludwig told me that the wife of the Great Elector, another Louisa, lived there, and so it is very fitting that our Crown Princess have it because of her name.
"The King gave our Crown Princess another gift.
"At the ball he said quite suddenly to her: