Fairy-Tale Ending

One can imagine the shock when the Prussian Palaces and Gardens Foundation took over the military museum in Potsdam, near Berlin, to discover what years of neglect and vandalism had done to the former Marmorpalais (‘Marble Palace’) of Friedrich Wilhelm II of Prussia.

In the decades after World War II, the National People’s Army of the GDR had saved the building from demolition – in a sense. In the former residence of Frederick the Great’s nephew, they built partition walls and installed electric heating to make room for the collection of arms, flags and uniforms; they smashed delicate stucco ornaments, ripped priceless silk curtains and covered the splendid marquetry parquet floors with linoleum and wall-to-wall carpet. On the once immaculate lawns down to Lake Heiligensee, a fighter aircraft, several cannons, a tank and a speedboat were installed to commemorate the victory of communism over capitalism. One wonders what might have happened to the palace if the Berlin Wall had not been assailed in 1989 and Germany not reunited.

Built in 1790 for Friedrich Wilhelm, designed by Carl von Gontard and completed after his death by Carl Gotthard Langhans (architect of the Brandenburg Gate), the Marble Palace was one of the first examples of Frühklassizismus: German Neoclassicism. It stood on the grounds of the Neuer Garten, surrounded by outbuildings – among them a pyramid, a Neo-Gothic library on an island in a lake and a kitchen resembling the half-sunken ruin of an ancient Greek temple. Friedrich Wilhelm couldn’t have been less interested in politics and considered being the head of the kingdom of Prussia a ‘damned occupation’. He was rather an aesthete and patron of the arts – besides being a passionate cellist, he greatly admired the music of Mozart, Beethoven and Boccherini.

Friedrich Wilhelm’s main goal was to enjoy the pleasures of life, and it was common knowledge that he enjoyed above all the company of beautiful women. Nicknamed ‘the much-loved’ and ‘the fat scallywag’, he married twice in the public eye, had two more bigamist morganatic marriages – fathering a few heirs and many more illegitimate children – and built a palace in Potsdam for his lower-born spouse, Wilhelmine Encke (dubbed ‘the Prussian Pompadour’). When it came to the Marble Palace, the king wanted his new home to be a tribute to the timeless beauty of ancient Greece – and was determined to spare no expense, importing huge quantities of grey-and-white marble from Silesia, and antique statuary and marble fireplaces from Italy. Local carpenters crafted the intricate marquetry floors using native wood, and the finest silk was chosen for the curtains and upholstery. A place of honour was reserved for Friedrich Wilhelm’s delicate blue-and-white urns by Wedgwood and his pair of horloges de parquet, which once ticked away in the estate of Madame de Pompadour.

Then was time to ponder over a room whose originality and splendour would come to be regarded as the palace’s pièce de résistance. The fashion for turqueries was well established by the 18th century, but the breathtaking Orientalist tented room that Carl Gotthard Langhans created for the first floor outdid all the labours of his predecessors. Yards of precious pale-blue Atlas silk, woven in Hotan, China, made up draperies and curtains and covered the divans, offset with the same material in leopard print. Langhans also mantled the room with swags of silk in shimmering gold, trimmed with glass pearls; the tent’s summit he crowned with panaches of black and white ostrich feathers.

Of all the Turkish homages sweeping Europe, this, surely, was the most spectacular; it was only a matter of time before the over-the-top extravaganza became the talk of Potsdam and then reached Berlin’s fashionable salons. Rumour spread that it was the love nest where the king entertained his mistresses, inviting them to join him under the silk canopies for One Thousand and One Nights, all curtains drawn...

Friedrich Wilhelm died in 1797. Had he known that his Orientalist fairy tale would be left to moulder, he would have been outraged. The once splendid palace was damaged by a bomb during World War II and briefly occupied by the Red Army.

The last vestiges of the Prussian king’s creation were conserved in the storage rooms of an outbuilding – some plans; fragments of the parquet floors, fireplace surrounds and doors; and a few shreds of silk from the Turkish tent. The Prussian Palaces and Gardens Foundation used these shards as the basis of a painstaking restoration of the interiors – a gigantic task that could not have been achieved without the financial support of the Cornelsen Cultural Foundation and several generous gifts. Today, visitors can stroll along the banks of the Heiliger See and marvel at the resurrection of the Marmorpalais. It is hard to believe that only a few decades ago, mushrooms grew on the floor of the ballroom and all this beauty seemed lost forever.

 The Marble Palace, 10 Im Neuen Garten, 14469 Potsdam, Germany. For opening times, ring 00 49 331 9694200, or visit spsg.de

A version of this article appears in the October 2023 issue of The World of Interiors. Learn about our subscription offers