By far the most human of them, that on the first visit to Mirow, the reader has now seen; and may thank us much that we show him no more of them. [<italic< Friedrich des Grossen Briefe an seinen Vater <end italic> (Berlin, 1838). Reduced in size, by suitable omissions; and properly spelt; but with little other elucidation for a stranger: in <italic> OEuvres, <end italic> xxvii. part 3d, pp, 1-123 (Berlin, 1856).
Chapter IV.
NEWS OF THE DAY.
While these Mirow visits are about their best, and much else at Reinsberg is in comfortable progress, Friedrich's first year there just ending, there come accounts from England of quarrels broken out between the Britannic Majesty and his Prince of Wales.
Discrepancies risen now to a height; and getting into the very Newspapers;--the Rising Sun too little under the control of the Setting, in that unquiet Country!
Prince Fred of England did not get to the Rhine Campaign, as we saw: he got some increase of Revenue, a Household of his own;and finally a Wife, as he had requested: a Sachsen-Gotha Princess;who, peerless Wilhelmma being unattainable, was welcome to Prince Fred. She is in the family-way, this summer 1737, a very young lady still; result thought to be due--When? Result being potential Heir to the British Nation, there ought to have been good calculation of the time when! But apparently nobody had well turned his attention that way. Or if Fred and Spouse had, as is presumable, Fred had given no notice to the Paternal Majesty,--"Let Paternal Majesty, always so cross to me, look out for himself in that matter." Certain it is, Fred and Spouse, in the beginning of August, 1737, are out at Hampton Court; potential Heir due before long, and no preparation made for it. August 11th in the evening, out at solitary Hampton Court; the poor young Mother's pains came on; no Chancellor there, no Archbishop to see the birth,--in fact, hardly the least medical help, and of political altogether none. Fred, in his flurry, or by forethought,--instead of dashing off expresses, at a gallop as of Epsom, to summon the necessary persons and appliances, yoked wheeled vehicles and rolled off to the old unprovided Palace of St. James's, London, with his poor Wife in person! Unwarned, unprovided; where nevertheless she was safely delivered that same night,--safely, as if by miracle. The crisis might have taken her on the very highway: never was such an imprudence. Owing, I will believe, to Fred's sudden flurry in the unprovided moment,--unprovided, by reason of prior desuetudes and discouragements to speech, on Papa's side. A shade of malice there might also be. Papa doubts not, it was malice aforethought all of it. "Had the potential Heir of the British Nation gone to wreck, or been born on the highway, from my quarrels with this bad Fred, what a scrape had I been in!"thinks Papa, and is in a towering permanence of wrath ever since;the very Newspapers and coffee-houses and populaces now all getting vocal with it.
Papa, as it turned out, never more saw the face of Fred.
Judicious Mamma, Queen Caroline, could not help a visit, one visit to the poor young Mother, so soon as proper: coming out from the visit, Prince Fred obsequiously escorting her to her carriage, found a crowd of people and populace, in front of St. James's;and there knelt down on the street, in his fine silk breeches, careless of the mud, to "beg a Mother's blessing," and show what a son he was, he for his part, in this sad discrepancy that had risen! Mamma threw a silent glance on him, containing volumes of mixed tenor; drove off; and saw no more of Fred, she either.
I fear, this kneeling in the mud tells against Prince Fred; but in truth I do not know, nor even much care. [Lord Hervey, <italic>
Memoirs of George the Second, <end italic> ii. 362-370, 409.]
What a noise in England about nothing at all!--What a noisy Country, your Prussian Majesty! Foolish "rising sun" not restrainable there by the setting or shining one; opposition parties bowling him about among the constellations, like a very mad object!--But in a month or two, there comes worse news out of England;falling heavy on the heart of Prussian Majesty: news that Queen Caroline herself is dead. ["Sunday evening, 1st December (20th Nov.), 1737." Ib. pp. 510-539.] Died as she had lived, with much constancy of mind, with a graceful modest courage and endurance;sinking quietly under the load of private miseries long quietly kept hidden, but now become too heavy, and for which the appointed rest was now here. Little George blubbered a good deal; fidgeted and flustered a good deal: much put about, poor foolish little soul. The dying Caroline recommended HIM to Walpole; advised his Majesty to marry again. <italic> "Non, j'aurai des maitresses <end italic> (No, I'll have mistresses)!" sobbed his Majesty passionately. <italic> "Ah, mon Dieu, cela n'empeche pas <end italic> (that does not hinder)!" answered she, from long experience of the case. There is something stoically tragic in the history of Caroline with her flighty vaporing little King:
seldom had foolish husband so wise a wife. "Dead!" thought Friedrich Wilhelm, looking back through the whirlwinds of life, into sunny young scenes far enough away: "Dead!"--Walpole continued to manage the little King; but not for long; England itself rising in objection. Jenkins's Ear, I understand, is lying in cotton; and there are mad inflammable strata in that Nation, capable of exploding at a great rate.
From the Eastern regions our Newspapers are very full of events:
