In the New Palace the garrison celebrated Whit Monday by the Schrippen-Fest, a dinner instituted by Frederick the Great for their benefit. All the previous week the soldiers might have been seen busily at work in their spare time making the long green garlands of pine and fir twigs with which every good German loves to give outward expression of his inward joy. They erected round the arcade of the “Communs” plank tables and benches covered with a wooden roof upheld by posts round which the garlands were entwined. Early on the morning of Whit Monday big copper cauldrons containing beef, prunes and rice, were set boiling out of doors.
Originally the feast had begun in a small way by the distribution to the soldiers of Schrippen, or small loaves of white bread, but in the course of years it had developed into a substantial meal.
To the Schrippen-Fest the whole Diplomatic Corps and many officers and ladies are invited, and there is a gay assemblage of people at the military service for the garrison, which takes place out of doors, under the trees at one end of the palace. After it is finished the Emperor and Empress, with their family and guests, go to partake of the feast with the soldiers. They do not as a rule sit down, but eat their meat and prunes standing. All the ladies in their trained silk dresses, the ambassadors, generals, and adjutants in their uniforms, are served with a plateful of boiled beef, and eat it wherever they can find elbow-room. When Their Majesties have finished, they walk, followed by the assembled company, down between the tables, inspecting the soldiers and asking them questions. “Where do you come from? How long have you served? Have you had a good dinner?” seem to be the stock questions, varied by inquiries as to name, father’s business, and any other queries that seem to fit the occasion.
Here it may be remarked that the Emperor and his family possess in an unusual degree what Kipling calls the “common touch.” They know how to talk to poor men, working men, without any shadow of that patronizing affability often mistakenly employed by one class when trying to be nice to another which is not on the same social plane.
An absolutely frank and unreserved interest in other people’s affairs is implied in their conversation, an obvious desire really to know something of the conditions of other people’s lives. It is not perfunctory, though it easily, perhaps, might become so, especially in view of the thousands of soldiers and other people to whom the Emperor talks in the course of a year. The Princess herself from childhood always had the happy knack of choosing the right thing to say to the poorest children she met. She always wanted to know their names, how many brothers and sisters they had, what class they were in at school, and what they were going to be when they grew up. One small boy confessed once to a desire to be a “chimney sweep.” Never was she at a loss for something appropriate to say to the most cross-grained and morose of her fellow-mortals; she never appeared to be shy, but, apparently quite at her ease herself, made every one else feel the same. She was not a devoted student of books, but possessed initiative and, as far as her experience went, correct judgment—two invaluable qualities where princes are concerned.
About a mile from the New Palace lived the only unmarried sister of the Empress, the Princess Féodora of Schleswig-Holstein, a woman of many intellectual gifts and a very striking and interesting personality, possessing great influence over the children of her sister, who spent much time in “Tante Féo’s” beloved society. Her ideas were very democratic. She detested the atmosphere of courts and all the restrictions and ceremonies incident to court existence. She was a very clever artist, and author of several books dealing with the life of the peasantry and showing a marvellous insight into their methods of thought.
