The king made no answer, but gazed at her with melancholy tenderness. "You do this, Louisa, because you shrink from the expense of buying a new dress," he said. "Oh, do not deny it; do not try to deceive me. I know it to be true."
"And suppose it were true?" asked the queen, gently, drawing her head from his hands. "Will you be sad because I do in these times what all our subjects are obliged to do—because I try to be a little economical?"
"The Queen of Prussia, my consort," exclaimed the king, "is compelled to mend her own dresses! Is the cup of disgrace and humiliation not yet full!"
"And why do you speak of disgrace?" asked the queen, laying her hands on the shoulders of her husband, and looking tenderly in his face. "Why do you say I humble myself by mending my dress? I only followed the example of your noble ancestor, Frederick II. Did not the great king also mend and patch his clothes? Did he not repair with sealing-wax his scabbard, because he did not want to buy a new one? Well, I believe little Louisa will be allowed to do as the great Frederick did, and need not be ashamed of it. On the contrary, my husband, when I sat there sewing, my heart was glad, for the memories of my early years revived in my mind: I saw myself at the side of my venerable grandmother, the Landgravine of Hesse-Darmstadt, and I lived again in those sunny days that I spent with her in Hanover. My grandmother taught me how to mend, and I frequently profited by the skill I had acquired with her. For you married the daughter of a poor prince, who was not a sovereign at that time, but only a younger brother, and the Queen of Prussia does not blush to confess that when she was yet a princess of Mecklenburg, she not only mended her dresses but even trimmed her shoes with her own hands. It is no jest, my king and husband, I really often did so, and I never felt humiliated. Never did I consider it a disgrace to do sometimes what thousands of the most virtuous and amiable women are always doing. When I used to sew my shoes, I was poor, for I did not yet know you; but now, although I have repaired my dress, I am rich, for I have you—I have my children—I am the wife of a man who suffers because he values his honor higher than worldly greatness—who would perish rather than break an alliance he has sworn to, and refuses to give his neck to the tyrant's yoke. Oh, my husband, when I look at you, my soul is transported with gladness, and I thank God that I am allowed to love you. Since you are mine I feel happy, rich, and powerful."
She placed her beautiful arms around the king, who pressed her against his breast. "Thanks, my Louisa! thanks for your joyful love. Your eyes gladden my life, and your voice is the only music that can lull my grief. That is the reason I come to you now. I seek here consolation in my affliction, for when you help me to bear the burden, it is less oppressive. I have received two letters to-day which gave me pain, and which I desire to communicate to you."
"I shall be grateful to you, my husband, for doing so," said the queen. "Come, let us sit down together, and communicate the letters to me. Who wrote them? Whence did they come?"
"One is from Königsberg, from our daughter Charlotte."
"From Charlotte!" exclaimed the queen, starting. "Has any thing happened to her? Has she been taken ill?"
"No, she is well, and nothing has happened to her. She is, on the contrary, in excellent spirits, and, like all young girls, wishes to dress well. She writes to me, asking me to send her money that she may renew her winter wardrobe. Here is the letter."
The queen quickly glanced over it. "Oh, the dear, good child," she exclaimed, "how tenderly she loves us—how prettily and affectionately she gives expression to her feelings! And yet she often appears outwardly cold and indifferent.—She resembles her noble father: she does not wear her heart on her tongue, but it throbs lovingly in her bosom. She is seemingly reserved and haughty, but she is affectionate. If God permits her to live I anticipate a brilliant future for her."[35]