of himself and the good people of Berlin.  Though the creator of that policy which, in the hands of Bismarck and the modern German nationalists, has wrought such wonderful results, and which has extended itself even to matters of aesthetic culture as a gospel of patriotic bigotry, the great Fritz thoroughly despised everything German except in matters of state, and was completely wedded to the literature of France and the art of Italy.  When the talents of a young German vocalist, Mlle. Schmaeling, were recommended to him, it was enough for him to hear the report, “She sings like a German,” to make him sniff with disdain.  “A German singer!” he said; “I should as soon expect to get pleasure from the neighing of my horse.”  Curiosity, however, at last so far overcame prejudice as to make him send for Mlle. Schmaeling, who was enthusiastically praised by many of those whose opinions the King could not ignore, to come to Potsdam and sing for him.  Her pride, which was high, had been wounded by the royal criticism, and she carried herself with as much hauteur as could go with respect.  The King regarded her with a cool stare, without any gesture of salutation, and Mile.  Schmaeling amused herself with looking at the pictures.  “So you are going to sing me something?” at last said royalty with military abruptness.

The figure of the Prussian King as he sat by the piano was anything but prepossessing.  A little, crabbed, spare old man, attired with Spartan simplicity, in a faded blue coat, whose red facings were smudged brown with the Spanish snuff he so liberally took; thin lips, prominent jaws, receding forehead, and eyes of supernatural keenness glaring from under shaggy brows; a battered cocked hat, and a thick cane, which he used as a whip to belabor his horse, his courtiers, or his soldiers as occasion needed, on the table before him—­all these made a grim picture.

Mlle. Schmaeling answered his curt words with “As your Majesty pleases,” and instantly sat down at the piano.  As she sang, Frederick’s face relaxed, and taking a huge pinch of snuff, he said, “Ha! can you sing at sight?” (then an extraordinary accomplishment).  Picking out the most difficult bravura in his collection, he bade her try it, with the remark, “This, to be sure, is but poor stuff, but when well executed sounds pretty enough.”  The result of the royal examination convinced the King that Mlle. Schmaeling had not only a magnificent voice, but was a thorough artist.  So the daughter of the poor musician of Cassel, after many years of hard struggle and ill success (for she had sung in almost every German capital), was made Frederick’s chief court singer at the age of twenty-two, and the road to fortune was fairly open to her.  At the age of four years she had showed such aptitude for music that she quickly learned the violin, though her baby fingers could hardly span the strings.  She always retained her predilection for this instrument, and maintained that it was the best guide in learning to sing.  “For,” said she, “how can you best convey a just notion of slight vibrations in the pitch of a note?  By a fixed instrument?  No!  By the voice?  No!  But, by sliding the finger on the string, you instantly make the most minute variation visibly as well as audibly perceptible.”  She owed her success entirely to the charm of her art.