“I will give you an outward sign of our bond of union,” cried the prince. “I will do it today, as a twofold danger hangs over us—the king menaces you, and war menaces me.”
“Is it then true, do you go with the king to the field?” groaned Wilhelmine.
“Do you wish me to remain?” cried the prince, his eyes flashing. “Shall I here seek pleasure, with effeminate good nature, while the king, in spite of his age, exposes himself to all the fatigue of a campaign and the danger of battle? This war of the Bavarian succession is unfortunate, and no one knows whether the German empire will derive any important advantage from our sustaining by force of arms a little duchy. It is a question whether it would not be better to abolish the little principalities, in order to strengthen the greater German powers. The king will support Bavaria, because he envies Austria its possession, and, as he has decided upon war, it becomes his crown prince to yield to his decision without murmuring. Therefore, Wilhelmine, I will today witness to you the oath of fidelity. If God calls me to Him, if I fall in battle, this oath will be your legacy. I have nothing else to leave you, thanks to the parsimony of my noble uncle. I am a very poor crown prince, with many debts and little money, and not in a condition to reward your love and fidelity otherwise than with promises and hopes, and letters of credit for the future. Such a bill of exchange I will write for you—a legacy for my dear Wilhelmine. Give me pen and paper.”
Wilhelmine hastened to her writing table and brought him paper with writing materials. “There, my Frederick,” said she, “there is every thing necessary—only the ink, I fear, may be dried.”
The prince shook his head, smiling. “Such a lover’s oath as I will transcribe for you can be written with no common ink. See, here is my ink!”
The prince had suddenly made a slight incision in his arm, and, as the blood gushed out, he dipped his pen in it, and wrote; then handed it to Wilhelmine, saying: “Read it here, in the presence of God and ourselves.”
Wilhelmine pressed it to her lips, and read, with a solemn voice: “‘By my word of honor as a prince, I will never forsake you, and only death shall separate you from me.—Prince Frederick William of Prussia.’” [Footnote: “Memoires of the Countess Lichtenau.” p. 120.]
“By my word of honor as a prince, I will never forsake you, and only death shall separate me from you,” repeated the prince, as he bent over Wilhelmine, lifting her in his arms and placing her upon his knee. “Take the paper and guard it carefully,” said he. “When I die, and you have closed my eyes, as I trust you will, give this paper to my son and successor, for it is my legacy to you, and I hope my son will honor it and recognize in you the wife of my heart, and care for you.”
“Oh! speak not of dying, Frederick,” cried Wilhelmine, embracing him tenderly; “may they condemn me, and imprison me as a criminal, when you are no more! What matters it to me what befalls me, when I no longer possess you, my beloved one, my master? Not on that account will I preserve the precious paper, but for the love which it has given me, and of which it will one day be a proof to my children. This paper is my justification and my excuse, my certificate and my declaration of honor. I thank you for it, for it is the most beautiful present that I have ever received.”
“But will you make me no return, Wilhelmine? Will you not swear to me, as I have sworn to you?”