Was Prussia’s Frederick the Great the original “Happy Prince”?

text and photos by Ino Manalo

My favorite among Oscar Wilde’s works is his 1888 tale about a Happy Prince who lived in a palace called Sans Souci. The palace’s name indicated that it was a place where sorrow was not allowed to enter. A statue of the Prince was fashioned upon his death. Gilded with gold, decorated with jewels, and fitted out with a heart of lead, it was installed on a pedestal that commanded a view of the city. Finally made aware of the sadness that burdened the lives of his fellow citizens, the Happy Prince wept. His tears fell on a swallow which was resting before flying off to Egypt for the winter.

The Prince persuaded the bird to be his messenger, distributing his gold covering and jewels to all those in need. Eventually the swallow died, unable to withstand the intensifying cold. It had stayed too long to do the bidding of the Prince that it had learned to love. When the Prince realized what had happened his heart broke in two.

Upon seeing how plain the statue had become, the town officials melted it down. All that was left was the heart which resisted the flames. This ended up being thrown on a dust heap along with the frozen body of the swallow.

It turns out that this haunting tale has a terrestrial connection. There is actually a royal residence called Sans Souci in the town of Potsdam just outside of Berlin. It was built in the 1740s by Frederick the Great as his Summer Palace.

Since I had never thought of this celebrated German monarch as being particularly jovial, I wasn’t sure what to expect when I had the good fortune to visit his retreat. Could Frederick possibly be the model for the Happy Prince?

I must admit that, to begin with, I have not been too clear about the concept of a Summer Palace. As a creature of the tropics, I have always thought of summer as an unbearably torrid period. The greatest luxury then would be to have a house in the mountains were one could find respite in the cooler surroundings. This is, obviously, the idea behind so called “hill stations” like Simla in India and our very own Baguio.

Only recently I came to understand that, in cooler latitudes, summer was cherished as the only time when one could comfortably enjoy the outdoors. One is able to swim and take boat rides, to spend a night on the beach beneath the stars. Too soon, winter would be advancing with its freezing embrace. Summer palaces were built so that kings could revel in the warmth of the season.

Potsdam is known the world over for being the site of the Conference which set the terms of surrender for Japan thereby ending the Second World War. As we neared the town, our guide proudly pointed out a famous school for bodyguards. Driving past, we were treated to the vista of dozens of burly men engaged in exercises. I was tempted to inquire if songs by Whitney Houston were played as inspiration!

At the gates of Sans Souci is a latticed gazebo adorned with a sunburst motif. This invariably elicited a comparison with the Sun King’s ostentatious pile: Versailles. Alongside its French counterpart, the German palace is surprisingly simple. Frederick built ten rooms arranged on just one level. The only reason why the edifice, despite its size, manages to project a commanding presence is the fact that it is situated on a ridge which dominates its surroundings.

The magnificent gardens represent the real link with Versailles. Palace parks of the 18^th century display the perspectives of the Baroque style. Lawns were laid out in endless corridors to emphasize receding vistas and distant vanishing points. This reflects the era’s longing for faraway utopias. I guess the West was quite devastated by Copernicus’s revelation that humanity was no longer the center of the universe. Anxieties engendered in the Europeans’ self-image by the reordering of the solar system fueled a desire to escape a suddenly diminished existence.

The yearning for the exotic manifested itself in a fondness for foreign settings. All over Europe the royal and the wealthy tried to outdo each other in the setting up of orientalist fantasies. Sans Souci was no exception. On its grounds is a lovely Chinese pavilion which served as a venue for dinner parties. Crowning the roof is a statue holding up that ubiquitous symbol of tropical torpidity: a parasol.

What then of the man who had built all these? What was his connection to the protagonist in Oscar Wilde’s fairy tale?

There is little that can be described as felicitous in the biography of Frederick the Great who was also known to his people by the affectionate nickname “Old Fritz”. An absolute monarch, he was, during much of his reign, engaged in wars fought to consolidate his realm. At the time of his death, he had immensely expanded the territorial holdings of his kingdom.

Interestingly, while still a young man, Frederick attempted to run off to England, perhaps to elude the clutches of his disciplinarian father. The escape was unsuccessful and the prince was forced to watch as one of his companions was executed for the crime of desertion.

One bright spot in an otherwise stolid life was Frederick’s friendship with Voltaire. Apparently, the monarch’s main form of relaxation was to spend hours surrounded by intelligent male company discussing philosophy and other cerebral concerns. Our guide had explained that Frederick did not like women and that, though married, he sired no offspring. This, of course, could be a coded revelation of the king’s sexual preferences but I could not find any reliable reference to confirm this.

Frederick evidently meant San Souci to be his sanctuary away from the affairs of state. His own drawing of this dream house showed the true authorship of the palace’s design. One can discern Old Fritz’s notions while walking around his beloved home. The rooms are of modest proportions and not too many. Only a few were ever invited to share these tranquil quarters with the king. The music room is elaborately decorated, an indication of Frederick’s passions as an accomplished flutist.

The oval Marble Hall is the central reception area of the palace. Unlike spaces with similar functions in other royal residences, it is small. This is the setting not for extravagant balls but for intimate dinners. Sparkle was provided by ideas and conversation and not by jewels . The oculus in the ceiling is a metaphor for the bright light of Reason which was to pervade the lives of all.

The Trianons and Marie Antoinette’s Farm were meant to provide relief from the stupefying grandeur of Versailles. But Sans Souci had, from its inception, been erected as a sanctuary. Here its builder hoped to find the peace and fulfillment that he so craved.

What emerges is that Frederick’s own biography was, overall, too grim to have been the model for the Happy Prince. But certainly the idea that happiness is not earned through pomp and splendor is a common theme in both Wilde’s story and the monarch’s life.

Sadly, Old Fritz, despite the vast powers he had wielded while he walked this earth, was denied his dying wish of being buried at San Souci beside his dogs. It would take more than a century before his remains were finally laid to rest on the palace grounds.

Looking at the modest grave marker I was surprised to find it festooned with potatoes. I was later told that these tubers are left as offerings to the German king. One theory holds that this was because he had done much to promote agricultural production.

At the end of Oscar Wilde’s fable, God asks for the two most beautiful things in the city. He is very pleased when an angel fetches the cracked lead heart of the Happy Prince and the cold body of the little swallow.

One has to wonder, after the radiant interiors and verdant parks, after the conquests and the victories, what will the Almighty say about a couple of potatoes?

Not So Forbidding City

Photos and essay by Ino Manalo

The original, pre-Revolution name for the Forbidden City had as much to do with the fact that the Palace was a mirror of the celestial realms as the fact that it was off limits. Yet, for many travel promoters, it was always worthwhile to capitalize on the former imperial residence’s image of inaccessibility. In the promotional clips featuring Matt Lauer that aired during the Olympics, one will note the repeated mention of words like “mysterious” and “secretive”. Evidently, audiences all over the world continue to be fascinated by the thought of how this awesome enclave was, for centuries, open only to the privileged few.

Today, of course, the Forbidden City may be scrutinized by anyone who can pay the admission price. About ten million visitors ramble through its halls each year generating revenues equivalent to several billion pesos annually. One must therefore be ready to swim through a sea of humanity for the chance to gaze upon the fabled environment of the former Emperors of China.

Those of a more solitary bent are advised to get to the Forbidden City early or very late to beat the crowds. Intrepid tour guides have even suggested using the north or back gate so that one’s path goes counter to the usual flow. Though this means being able to enter the compound more easily, one will still have to contend with the mob when viewing the main Halls.

By taking the back entrance, one is deprived of the first glimpse of the majestic Hall of Supreme Harmony dominating the immense main courtyard. There are few other vistas on this earth which can compare. Standing there, contemplating the vast expanses, one understands a little bit more just why the Chinese have always believed that their country was the center of the universe.

After this initial breath-taking view, it is time to steel one’s self to take the plunge into the pandemonium which attends any perusal of the Dragon Throne. There is probably no way to avoid this. But there are certainly ways to make the experience less uninviting.

Though I would enter through the south, I would not recommend taking the gate that overlooks Tiananmen Square. I suppose that this great portal with its huge portrait of Mao Ze Dong has become so iconic that everyone heads for it automatically. Instead, I would take the side road directly to the Meridian gate. This is where the ticket stations are located. One should remember to check which line is shorter since there are booths on both sides. It may also be helpful to use the nearby comfort rooms before beginning one’s tour. Though there are equivalent facilities inside the Palace, they may not always be easy to find. In China, if one cannot speak the language, it is a good idea to have flash cards on which essential concepts are printed in Chinese: Subway Station! Exit! Toilets!

While waiting to enter, one should take the time to examine the Gate itself. I would examine the two encircling wings which evoke the image of a great bird in flight. Interestingly, there is a replica of this Gate at the entrance to the Forbidden City of the Vietnamese Emperors in Hue.

The grandeur of Beijing’s imperial compound is such that after a while the mind shuts down. Then one feels only a sense of drudgery while marching across endless enclosures, eager to get to the very end. It is easier to comprehend this fantastic abode if one understands that even the way the buildings are positioned has a story to tell. The Forbidden City follows the Chinese art of feng shui which dictates that residences face south, the direction whence come all good things. Feng shui also stresses the importance of having a stream in front and a mountain in the back. As such, there is, in fact, a rivulet that flows through the first courtyard of the Palace. This forms an archer’s bow, possibly a shape which evokes the Emperor’s power to repel his enemies. In the same vein, there is a hill topped by a pavilion that guards the rear of the Forbidden City. This configuration of flowing water and solid mountain is reflected in many villages - even in the most remote corners of the great realm of China - linking the humblest hamlet with the beating heart of the Empire.

I would also take time to study the symbolism that suffuses the Palace. Consider, for example, that the primary doors have nine rows of knobs as nine was the imperial number. The most recent avatar of the Karate Kid made me aware for the first time that touching these knobs was supposed to bring good luck. This is probably a new practice, arising more from the dictates of tourism rather than tradition. One will see many visitors sheepishly rubbing the golden rows as they pass by. I suspect though, that if one were caught doing this when the Emperor still ruled China, one’s future would be anything but blessed!

In making my progress from south to north, I would not keep to the central axis like the rest of humanity. I would take the walkways on the very edge of the courtyard. Though one will still have to go back to the center to see the interiors of the grand ceremonial halls, taking the side corridors would provide some moments of peace. From this tranquil perspective, one will also have a better chance to perceive that the City has three huge public pavilions which correspond to three smaller ones that were for the personal life of the Emperor and his family.

It is in what used to be the family section of the Palace that one will find the most intriguing but often overlooked displays of the Forbidden City: the exhibits in the Hall of Clocks. In centuries past, when European merchants were still begging to be allowed to enter China’s doors, clocks were used to provoke the interest of the Celestial monarch. China, like most of the other civilizations of the world, conceived of time in terms of cycles. Dynasties rose and fell in keeping with the waxing and waning which was the pattern of life. Europe alone thought of time as one endless line which had to be measured in hours and minutes. As such, Europeans pioneered in the creation of chronometers to capture the passing of days.

Eventually the Chinese would learn from the West the art of clockmaking. The Imperial Collection includes wonderful pieces from both Europe and China, fashioned from gold and other precious materials. Everywhere one looks there are tiny trees glistening with pearls, there are minute pagodas with enameled roofs. There are even life-sized figures that move: a man writes on paper, a woman cools herself with a feathered fan.

In connection to these extraordinary timepieces, the writer Rayvee Sunico reminded me of a tale by Hans Christian Anderson: It is said that there was once an Emperor who discovered that the greatest treasure in his fabulous realm was a nightingale that sang so sweetly. Yet this gentle bird was later replaced by a mechanized avian replica which eventually broke down, bringing the dismayed monarch to the brink of death.

Looking at the amazing objects in the Hall of Clocks, one realizes that there was some truth to Anderson’s story. The Chinese were indeed capable of creating automatons. The question arises: was there also an Emperor who realized that the vast riches of his empire paled before a nightingale’s serenade?

In fact, there was one lord of the Forbidden City who declared that he would give up the luxurious trappings of the Dragon Throne for a life of quiet contemplation. He built a retreat that is now named the Qianlong Garden after his dynastic title. This Garden is today one of the most tranquil areas of the Palace. It is here that I like to end my tour.

Tall mounds of strangely shaped rocks screen the enclosure from passersby. There is even a meandering stream dedicated to literary jousts. Contestants were supposed to toss in a cup and, before this floated out of sight, spontaneously compose a poem. A few years ago, the World Monuments Fund sponsored the restoration of a hall in the Qianlong Garden. Once more, the exquisite paintings that decorated the walls were made to shine.

Unfortunately, the Qianlong Emperor’s beautiful hall is not open to the public at the present. In a way, there is an advantage to this lack of general public access. For delicate murals would not stand a chance if subjected to the perusal of hordes of visitors. Moreover, it seems appropriate that one cannot be admitted to all areas of the Imperial Compound. As it had always been, so shall it be: there are still some things in the Palace that remain beyond our reach.