place, the Queen was
annoyed that your writing was so cold and serious, and contained so few
love words. 'If the Elector had nothing more to say to me than is
contained in this letter,' cried the Queen, 'he need not have troubled
himself to send it privately. This is a political document, which might
have been handed by his envoy to the assembled States, and read aloud in
public. But, if I do run the risk of receiving and reading a letter
secretly, contrary to the high chancellor's wishes, let it at least be a
love letter. I merely gave you audience because I was curious to get a
love letter at last, and to know how such feelings are expressed. This is
no love letter, though, and to such a note I have no other answer than
this.' And then the Queen tore the letter into little bits and scattered
them on the floor. I gathered up the pieces, in which she aided me
assiduously, lest Chancellor Oxenstiern, whom she momentarily expected,
might notice something peculiar, and suspect that she had received a
secret missive. I asked her most serene highness if I should bring your
grace these torn bits of paper as her answer. She replied with a
bewitching smile that I must do so. Her cousin Frederick William might
thereby learn to write her a better letter, when she would give him a
better answer. This, gracious sir, is the story of the letter you
intrusted to me for Queen Christina of Sweden."

The Elector laughed aloud. "A charming story!" he cried, "for which I must
thank my young relative, for she has lighted my somber existence by a ray
of sunshine. It pleases me that my cousin is so forward, and thereby
candid. The little maid of fourteen sighs for a love letter, and hopes
that her cousin Frederick William, who sues for her hand, will write her
one, and is so innocent as to suppose that he woos her because he loves
her. Poor child, disappointed in her curiosity and her wish to know
herself beloved! Yes, yes, it is the perpetual longing of the young heart
to be loved, and when the first love letter is received, the foolish young
creature fancies itself the happiest being upon earth, and feels itself
transported into the blessedness of paradise. Alas! they know not that all
this is only an illusion, a sweet morning dream from which they will
speedily be roused by rude, ungentle hands. Leuchtmar, I can not gratify
the little Queen of Sweden in her wish; I can write her no love letter,
for I would be guilty of deceiving this young