HOMEWARD BOUND.
The 15th of December, 1809, was dawning. Queen Louisa had long looked for this day with a throbbing heart, and now that it had come, she felt embarrassed and anxious. It was the day when the royal family were to leave Königsberg and return to Berlin, where the court was again to reside. Since the 3rd of October the French troops and authorities had left the capital, and Berlin was once more a Prussian city, yearning for the return of its king and queen.
The carriages were at the door; the princesses, wrapped in fur robes, were in the anteroom and awaited the queen, whose toilet had long since been finished. But Louisa had not yet left her sitting-room. The king made his appearance, ready to set out, and was somewhat surprised at not finding her with her daughters.
"The queen does not know, perhaps, that the carriages are at the door," said the king. "I will inform her that it is time for us to start." He walked rapidly through the adjoining rooms and noiselessly opened the door of the queen's sitting-room.
Louisa, wrapped in her travelling-robe, sat on the sofa, her hands folded, her face bathed in tears, and her eyes uplifted with an imploring expression. She did not immediately notice the king, who, as if in profound reverence, stood at the door. The queen was praying—how could he dare to disturb her!
At last she lowered her eyes, and suddenly saw that her husband was present. "Oh, my friend," she exclaimed, rising hastily, "my thoughts were with you, and on taking leave of these rooms where, owing to your love, I have enjoyed, these last years, so much calm and sacred happiness, I prayed that God cause it to accompany us to our future residence."
"But while praying you wept, Louisa?" asked the king. "I hoped that the days of tears were past, and that my Louisa would become again as merry and light-hearted as she used to be. Do you not like to return to Berlin?"
The queen looked down musingly. "I cannot tell you," she said, thoughtfully. "When I think that I shall soon be in Berlin, and meet again the faithful people, my heart is joyful, and then again I shed many tears when I consider that, while I may find every thing there as formerly, there may in reality be sad changes, and I do not know how I may be affected. Dismal forebodings are troubling me; I should like best to sit always alone, behind my little lamp, and indulge in my reflections. I am longing for Berlin, and yet I am almost afraid to go there."
"What are you afraid of?" asked the king, pressing his wife tenderly against his breast.
"I believe I am afraid of prosperity," she said, with a gentle smile. "I had become entirely resigned, and forever bidden farewell to outward splendor, so that its return surprises and almost alarms me. Oh, my beloved friend, will it not destroy the humbled, inward repose, which, during the time of privation, was our support, and the only source of our happiness?"