“In the first place, noble sir, you wrote to the Queen in German instead of Latin, and she found that very wanting in respect, and thought you might have given yourself the trouble to write to her in the language most agreeable to her.[50] In the second place, you addressed the young Queen as ‘Your highness,’ when she is entitled to be called ’Most serene highness.’  She is certain of that, for Oxenstiern had told her that he gained the title for her as an especial prerogative for her from your father and the house of Brandenburg.  And in the third 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