The Elector George William had been gathered to his fathers. On the 1st of December in the year 1640 he had at last closed his weary eyes, and bidden farewell to a world which had brought him much grief and disquiet, little joy and repose, much mortification and disappointment, never a single triumph or solid satisfaction.

The Elector George William had been gathered to his fathers, and his son Frederick William was Elector now. Two melancholy years of privation and humiliation, resignation and oppression, had he passed at his father’s side, ever suspected by him, ever watched with jealous eyes, and forcibly denied any participation in the administration of the government, ever struggling with care, even for daily food, and forced to borrow at usurious rates of interest to provide even a meager support for his little household. It had been a severe school, but Frederick William had passed through it with a brave spirit and cheerful determination. Across the dark and gloomy present his clear eye had ever been directed to the future, and hope had ever lingered at his side, holding him erect when overburdened by care, consoling him when vexed and humiliated by his father’s unjust suspicions and ill will. Not unexpectedly had the Elector George William died; full two months before his summons came, the two physicians in ordinary, after holding a long consultation with the celebrated Koenigsberg doctors, announced to the Electoral Prince that the Elector was drawing near his end, and that his dropsy and insidious fever were slowly but inevitably causing death.

The Electoral Prince had had time, therefore, to prepare for the momentous hour which would call him from obscurity and inactivity time to summon to him those whom he wished to have at his side in the critical hour. Up to the period of his father’s death he had been an obedient, submissive son; yet he had well known that as soon as George William closed his eyes he would have to step into his place and be his successor. And he would be a worthy successor! That he had vowed, clasping his father’s cold hand. He had told his mother so when, beside her husband’s corpse, she had blessed him in his new dignity, and besought his protection and love for herself and her two daughters! Yes, he would be his father’s worthy successor; he would force the world to respect him. Such were his thoughts as, on the day after his father’s decease, he for the first time entered his cabinet, and seated himself before the great writing table at which the Elector had been wont to sit.

To the last day of his life George William had himself held the reins of government, and, in the timid jealousy of his heart, angrily refused all aid, all assistance. No one had dared to open and read the incoming rescripts nor to attend to neglected business.

On the table lay whole piles of unopened letters and rescripts, whole heaps of acts awaiting only the Electoral signature. Frederick William laid his hand on these acts which he had now to sign, and his large, deep-blue eyes were uplifted to Heaven.

“Lord!” he cried fervently “Lord, make known to me the way in which I should go!”

These were the first words spoken by Frederick William on commencing his reign, and on seating himself before his father’s cabinet table, which was now his own.

He took up the first of the sealed documents and opened it. It was a representation from the cities of Berlin and Cologne, whose magistrates implored the Elector to furnish them some redress for their affliction and want, and besought him, even now, to make peace with the Swedes, and to command the Stadtholder in the Mark to institute a milder government in the unhappy province. In heartrending words, they pictured the distresses of both wretched cities, which had so far declined that they had now hardly seven thousand inhabitants, while ten years ago they had numbered more than twenty thousand. “But fire, pillage, and oppressions,” so the writing wound up, “have reduced us to the most extreme poverty. Many of the inhabitants have made haste to end their wretched lives by means of water, cord, or knife, and the rest are upon the point of forsaking their homes, with their wives and children, preferring exile to remaining longer in these cities, the abodes of pestilence and war. The Stadtholder in the Mark, however, feels no pity for our sufferings, and just recently, despite our entreaties, has had all the suburbs burned down, because the Swedish general Stallhansch was on the march against us. We most urgently entreat your highness to have compassion upon us in our low estate, and to instruct the Stadtholder to slacken the severity of his rule and to spare us in our grief.”

Sighing, Frederick William laid aside the melancholy writing, and took up the next in order. It was a petition from the town of Prenzlow, not less sad, not less moving than the first. The magistracy of Prenzlow likewise prayed for compassion and redress of grievances, and painted in moving words the misery of town and country. “Since,” they wrote, “on account of the unhappy war existing, the fields hereabout had been lying idle for some years, such unheard-of scarcity had ensued that the people had not only been driven to making use of unusual articles of diet, such as dogs, cats, nay, even dead asses lying in the streets, but impelled by the fierce pangs of hunger, in town as well as in the country, had fallen upon, cooked, and devoured one another!”

“Much to be pitied land, and much to be pitied Prince as well,” sighed Frederick William. “A heavy, an almost intolerable burden of government has fallen upon my shoulders. God help me to sustain it worthily!”

He stretched out his hand for a third paper, when the door opened and old Dietrich entered.

“Well, old man,” asked the Elector, “what brings you here? And why is your old face so merry to-day?”

“Because I have something pleasant to communicate to your highness. The two gentlemen whom your honor has been expecting are here. Colonel von Burgsdorf and

“Leuchtmar?” joyfully inquired the Elector, and, upon Dietrich’s assent, he hurried himself toward the door. But after he had already stretched out his hand to turn the knob, he paused and slowly resumed his place in the middle of the room.

“Who is in the antechamber, besides?” he asked.

“Your highness, there are also without the gentlemen whom you summoned to an audience, the Chamberlain von Schulenburg, Herr von Kroytz, Herr von Kospoth, and the jeweler Dusnack.”

“Those gentlemen may wait. Desire Herr von Kalkhun to come in.”

Dietrich withdrew to the antechamber. The Elector’s eyes were fastened upon the door with an expression of joyful expectancy. When it opened, and the tall, slender form of his friend and preceptor became visible, he could restrain himself no longer, but, forgetting all ceremony, all etiquette, hurried with outspread arms to meet Leuchtmar, and impetuously clasped him to his breast.

“God be praised that I have you again!” he said, with a warm embrace. “Once more I have found a father and a faithful friend. Welcome, you man of loyal heart, with my whole soul I bid you welcome!”

“And you, most gracious sir,” cried Leuchtmar, deeply moved, “may you ever receive blessings and good gifts from on high, and always deserve them by noble thoughts and deeds! Such shall be my prayer evening and morning, and your highness shall verify my petition.”

“Amen! God grant it!” said Frederick William solemnly. “And now, look at me, my friend, and let me read in your features that you are the same as of old.”

“The same as of old, indeed!” smiled Leuchtmar. “These two years have made an old man of me, and blanched my hair. I not merely longed after you, I grieved for you, knowing, as I did, what your grace had to bear and suffer. My heart was weighed down by grief and sorrow when I thought of what my beloved young master was undergoing.”

“It is true,” said Frederick William. “I have gone through hard trials and had many humiliations to endure. I have been treated as an adventurer and alien, unworthy of being employed or consulted. I was forever subjected to suspicion, and accused of coveting a throne before my time. If I asked after my father’s health, he supposed I did so because I longed for his death; and if I made no inquiries, he accused me of indifference and want of natural affection. Alas! Leuchtmar, in the despair of my soul I have actually thought at times that the beggar on the street had an enviable fate compared with that of the Electoral Prince of Brandenburg and But hush! hush! I will no longer think of the past with bitterness and chagrin. Reproach against my father shall never pass my lips. He rests with God, and, as his soul has entered into everlasting rest, let us not stir up the ashes of memory, but let peace be between father and son, eternal peace! And now, my friend, be the past forgotten and blotted out, with all its pains and wounds, and to the present and future only be our thoughts dedicated. You are here; I have again my most trusted friend; and in this the very first hour of our reunion I will confess something to you, Leuchtmar, which you indeed have long since known, but which I in the arrogance of youth have sometimes denied. I now feel that Socrates was a wise man when he said, ’Our education begins with the first day of life, nor is complete upon the last.’ Fate has indeed placed me in a difficult school, and I am conscious that I am far from possessing adequate attainments, and that there is still much for me to study and digest. Therefore, my friend, from you I demand aid, that I may study to some purpose, and that I may at least take position in the world and among posterity as a first-class scholar.”

“Ah! most gracious sir,” said Leuchtmar, smiling, “you are already more than that, and have in these two years of trial passed your examen abiturientium with great distinction.”

“And think you I am entered now as a student in the high school of knowledge? Yes, Leuchtmar, such is indeed the case, and since it may well be that at times I shall make false steps, and commit blunders through inadvertence or misunderstanding, I demand of you to point out to me my mistakes.”

“But, your highness, I might myself be the one in error, and in my short-sightedness attempt to teach one much better acquainted with the subject than myself.”

“In such case let us weigh and compare opinions, when, surely, we shall discover the right. Only promise me this one thing, Leuchtmar, that on all occasions you will speak the truth to me, according to the best of your knowledge and perception that you will not conceal it from me, even when you may know that it will be irksome and disagreeable to me. Will you promise me this, my friend?”

“I promise it. I promise, if your highness requests the expression of my views and opinions, to give you the truth, according to the inmost convictions of my heart.”

“No, Leuchtmar, in important matters you must give me your opinion, even when I have not asked for it.”

“Well then, your highness, I promise that too.”

“And on my side I promise always to listen patiently, and not to become angry and excited, even when our opinions disagree and you utterly oppose me. You smile and shake your head. Probably you think that I can not keep my promise.”

“I do think so, your highness; yet I fear not, and shall courageously weather the storm. I am already old and have witnessed the gathering of many a tempest, have seen the clouds burst, and afterward seen the bright blue sky and cheerful sunshine again. I shall not fear, even though the thunder roar and growl, for the thunder has somewhat of the voice of God, and there is something exalted and majestic in the lightning’s flash. Only, gracious sir, it must not strike, but content itself with harmless shining. Will you most kindly promise me thus much, gracious sir?”

“Am I Jupiter, that I hold the lightning in my hand, and can direct its stroke?”

“Yes, indeed, sir, Jupiter you are, in your native element, amid the flash of lightnings and the roar of thunder.”

The Elector smiled. “Tell me, Leuchtmar, am I really then of so fiery a temperament and of so passionate a nature? Why do you not answer me? The truth, Leuchtmar, the truth!”

“Well, the truth is that your highness is of quite a fiery temperament and of a tolerably passionate nature. But you are not to blame for this, for it was entailed upon you with your Hohenzollern blood. You are the worthy descendant of your ancestor Albert Achilles; and be glad of this, sir, for by sluggish blood and soft complexion great things have never been accomplished.”

“Then you expect me to accomplish great things?”

“Yes, your highness, such are indeed my expectations, and I glory in them!”

“We will talk of this hereafter, friend,” said the Elector, gently shaking his head. “But now let us forget what I have become since yesterday, and consider that I have a heart, which is young still and full of love and ardor, despite all it has suffered. Two months ago, when the doctors told me that my dear father’s case was hopeless, I dispatched secret messages to two friends, and requested them to come here and tarry in the neighborhood of Koenigsberg until I should have them summoned by a courier. I was not willing to vex my father in the least degree during his lifetime, and would not even see my friends in secret, but preferred to wait patiently until I could do so openly. The two friends whom I sent for to be near me were Burgsdorf and yourself, my Leuchtmar. But to you I gave previously another commission. Have you executed it?”

“Yes, your highness, I have executed it.”

“You have been to Holland? At The Hague and at Doornward?”

“I have been there, gracious sir!”

“You have been there,” repeated Frederick William, drawing a deep breath. “O Leuchtmar! you men in private life are happy because you are free. You can go whither you will, and follow the dictates of your own hearts. But we, poor slaves to our position, must accommodate ourselves to circumstances, and patiently submit to the laws of necessity. How often has it seemed to me as if my longings could not be repressed, as if I must break all bonds and hasten to that free and happy land where the fairest days of my life were passed. How often, in reflecting upon the past, has it seemed as if a fire were kindled in my breast, mounting in clear flames to my head to lay my reason in ashes. But I durst not allow this, and with my own sighs extinguished the leaping flames, and, Leuchtmar, shall I confess it? At this moment I am cowardly, and speak so much, because yes, because I lack the courage to ask one open question. But I will be bold and courageous, I will conquer my poor, foolish heart. Tell me, then, Leuchtmar, what I must know! I sent you to Holland to obtain certain information with regard to the evil reports which have been circulated here. I gave no credit whatever to them, for I knew they were anxious that I should contract a certain marriage, and would therefore crush the love I was cherishing for another person. And yet this other lived within my heart, and when I closed my eyes I saw her before me in all her beauty and loveliness, and at night, when all the troubles of the day were over, and I was alone in my chamber, she was near me, speaking to me and consoling me with the sweet, kind words she whispered to my heart. Ah, you see, Leuchtmar, I am but a very young man, and courage, courage! out with the question! Have you seen the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine?”

As Frederick William asked this question he walked to the window and turned his back to the room. A pause ensued, then Leuchtmar replied, in gentle, sorrowful tones, “No, gracious sir, I have not seen the Princess.”

A shudder passed over the Prince’s frame, but he did not turn around.

“Why did you not visit her? Why did you not see her, when I had commissioned you to speak with the Princess herself?”

“Most noble sir, I could not speak with the Princess, for she was no longer at The Hague.”

“No longer in Holland?” asked the Elector, and his question sounded like a cry of grief wrung from a tortured heart. “Where was she then? Where was Ludovicka?”

“Most noble sir, you have imposed upon me the duty of always telling you the truth, but at this moment I feel it to be a difficult duty.”

“Perform it, Leuchtmar, I require you to do so! Where was the Princess Ludovicka, if she was no longer with her mother?”

“Your highness, the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine has voluntarily forsaken her mother and her family, and at first they knew not whither she had gone.”

“And do they know now?”

“The Electress of the Palatinate had received her first letter from the Princess the day before I waited upon her, and, as the Electress had ever honored me with her confidence, she communicated to me the contents of that letter.”

“What were they? Quick, tell them quickly, that my heart may not break meanwhile. What was in the letter?”

“It said, most gracious sir, that of her own free will, and out of most tender love for the chosen of her heart, she had forsaken her mother’s house because that Princess had refused her consent to her union with the man these were her own words with the man whom she loved above all others. It said, moreover, that the Princess had followed this man, the Count d’Entragues, to France, and that for the present she had withdrawn to a convent, preparatory to professing the Catholic religion and then marrying Count d’Entragues."

The Elector uttered a hollow groan, and, putting both hands before his face, as if he were ashamed of what he felt, sank upon a chair, and sat long thus, breaking the silence with occasional sighs and groans.

Leuchtmar dared not interrupt this sacred silence even by a word, or to offer comfort to the agonized heart of the young Prince by words of consolation. He knew that strong heart must first vent its grief in order to gain repose, and that only from within could spring up that consolation which strengthens and sustains.

After a long pause, after a bitter inward conflict, Frederick William allowed his hands to drop, revealing a face pale as death and lips whose corners twitched convulsively.

“Leuchtmar,” he said, “this is the baptism by which I am consecrated to my new office. It is, indeed, a baptism of tears, and has torn my wounded heart, I grant you. But such a baptism of tears was needed to wash from my heart all that could derogate from the lofty calling to which alone my whole being should be dedicated. No one on earth can accomplish anything great who has not first received a baptism of grief and tears. By such baptism the soul extricates itself from earthly wishes and selfish desires, and he who would be a thorough man and accomplish great things must be lord of himself, and have no wishes for himself, but to attain glory and honor! And so I now shake the past from my soul as a torn and tattered garment, and would despise myself if even a sensation of pain were left behind. No, no, I am free! My heart is coffined, and I shall close the lid and bid it an eternal farewell!”

“Your heart coffined, your highness!” said Leuchtmar gently. “You think so now, but I tell you it will again rise from the dead, and beat with full ardor and glow, for, God be thanked, the heart of man is a tenacious thing, and dies not from one dagger-thrust. Its wounds can be healed, and then it is so much the stronger because it knows what it can suffer and overcome!”

“Enough now, my friend, enough!” cried Frederick William, shaking his head so violently that his brown locks fluttered in wild disorder. “Thus I shake off an unworthy love and all vain lamentations. Now, Leuchtmar, I am the man, the Elector. A very young man, you will say, but one who has stood the brunt of battle and fire, who in days has lived through years, and consequently is old, for my twenty years count double. Baron von Leuchtmar, I have much to discuss with you, and I summoned you here for important consultations, but stay a man is without whom I can keep waiting no longer, for his time is valuable, and he who makes a workman wait robs him of his capital. I beg you, Leuchtmar, to open the door and call the jeweler Dusnack.”

Leuchtmar hastened to obey this order. As he turned toward the door Frederick William once more passed his hand rapidly over his face, and for a moment pressed it to his eyes. As he drew it away he felt a drop fall burning upon his hand, and it shone there like a bright diamond, but his eyes were now dry and glittered with the fire of resolution.

“Well, Master Dusnack,” exclaimed Frederick William to the approaching jeweler, “have you brought us, as directed, a few seal rings, from which to make our selection?”

“Here they are, your Electoral Highness,” replied the jeweler, holding out a little box and handing it open to the Elector. Frederick William examined with interest the bright and sparkling rings, which were in separate compartments, and nodded kindly to the jeweler.

“You are a skillful workman, and your rings please me well,” he said. “These things are tastefully designed and prettily executed. You must have very good workmen, and it pleases me that such things are made in our country. For I suppose, of course, these beautiful rings emanate from your own workshop.”

“Most gracious sir, I would that it were so, and it is not my fault, indeed, that it is otherwise. I have been long in foreign lands and studied and worked in the first jewelry establishments of Paris. But I find no apprentices here capable of executing such artistic and delicate work, and can only have ordinary gold and silver ware made here, such as forks, spoons, mourning rings, and articles of that kind; but for my finer ornaments and such costly rings as these I must send to Paris and Lyons, where the goldsmith’s art flourishes, while it is frightfully depressed here, both for the want of purchasers and artisans.”

“Then we must see to it,” said Frederick William, “that such times are ushered in, that men shall feel free to purchase golden trinkets, and that clever workers in gold be attracted here, in order that we may dispense with foreign manufactures. As soon as the times become somewhat more tranquil, we, too, will have need of goods of that sort, for not long since all the jewels of our house were stolen. But I tell you, Master Dusnack, we shall only buy such things as have been designed and executed at home. Therefore exert yourself, and procure good workmen. For this time I must needs content myself with foreign wares and select a seal ring. I therefore take this one with the ruby, and you must engrave our country’s coat of arms upon it without delay.”

“Your highness’s orders shall be obeyed,” replied the jeweler respectfully. “Does your highness merely wish the coat of arms upon the seal, or would you like a motto added?”

“Yes, master, a motto shall be added, to run thus, ’Lord, make known to me the way in which I should go.’ Will you write it down, master, that you may not forget it?”

“Your Electoral Highness, it is not necessary, for you have impressed it on my heart.”

“Go then, master, and inscribe it for me right plainly on the stone.”

The Elector turned to Baron Leuchtmar von Kalkhun as soon as the jeweler had taken his departure, saying, “Now for you, friend, and our plans of government.”