CHAPTER XII.

Frederick the Great. His Childhood. Von Katte's Execution. Frederick at Potsdam. Frederick II., King of Prussia. Maria Theresa, Empress. War of Austrian Succession. Silesia. Personal Traits of the Two Sovereigns. Frederick Joins France against Austria. Peace of Dresden. Frederick Becomes "The Great". Healing the Wounds Left by Two Wars. Voltaire's Influence. Frederick a Reformer and a Despot. Growth in Thought and Birth of a Native Literature. Voltaire at Frederick's Court. Change Wrought by a Nearer View of King and Poet.

CHAPTER XII.

It was into such a world as this that Frederick the Great was ushered in 1712. Few children, be they princes or peasants, have ever had a more unhappy childhood. If he had not been born to be a King, Frederick's tastes would have led him to be a musician or a poet. A son whose chief pleasures consisted in playing the flute, and reading French books, became an object almost of aversion to the austere Frederick William. In the midst of severities past belief Frederick obtained most of his education in secret, at the hands of French emigres, who formed his taste after French models, the influence of which could be traced throughout his life. His passion for music was pursued also in the same secret way.

The tyranny and the beatings to which he was subjected became at last so intolerable that, when he was eighteen years old, Frederick determined to run away. His adored sister Wilhelmine was his confidante. His bosom friend, Lieutenant Von Katte, was his accomplice. A letter to Von Katte, written at this time, fell into other hands and was sent to the King.

The barbarities which followed make one think this Hohenzollern should have been in a madhouse instead of on a throne. It was a small matter that he beat his son until his face was covered with blood, for he had done that before; but he sent him as a prisoner of state to Prussia. He then annulled the sentence of imprisonment passed by the court-martial upon Von Katte, and ordered his immediate execution. To inflict more suffering he ordered that the hanging take place before the window of the cell where his son was confined!

When this was carried into effect the young prince fainted, and lay so long insensible that it was thought he was dead.

The King then insisted that he be tried by court-martial; and when the court decided that it had no authority to condemn the Crown Prince, he overruled the decision and ordered his execution.

The horror and indignation caused by this extended as far as Vienna. The Emperor Charles VI. informed the King of Prussia that the Crown Prince could only be condemned capitally at an Imperial Diet. The King answered, "Very well; then, I will hold my own court on him at Koenigsberg. Prussia is my own and outside the confines of the empire, where I can do as I please."

But the fury of this madman was abating. He did not resent it when a daring attendant reminded him that "God also ruled--even in Prussia." Finally he was satisfied with humiliating his son by making him work for one year in the lowest position in the departments of the government.

At the wedding festivities of his sister Wilhelmine, Frederick secreted himself among the servants in humble attire. He was discovered, and the King, who must have been in a genial mood that night, pulled him forth from his hiding, and leading him to the trembling queen said, "Here, madam, our Fritz is back again!" And the reconciliation made three aching hearts glad.

For the ten succeeding years Frederick was permitted to reside in his own castle near Potsdam, and the relations with his father became kinder and almost cordial. The son in his castle pursued his philosophical studies, corresponded with Voltaire, and played the flute to his heart's content.

But he did other things too, as the future demonstrated. The study of profound subjects, conversation, and intimate friendships with learned men, trained his active mind to wonderful acuteness, and when he applied this to the study of history, when he read of the dignity of kings, and of what stuff greatness was made in the past--he formed his own ideals for the future. When Frederick William died in 1740 he was prepared to take the reins of government with a comprehensiveness of grasp of which his austere father was incapable, and with clearly defined plans to make Prussia great.

Six months later Maria Theresa succeeded to her father's throne. She had no fear of this young flute-playing King of Prussia, and was fully occupied in defending her own Imperial rights, which were assailed by the Elector of Bavaria, who claimed to be Emperor Karl VII., by virtue of a descent superior to hers.

But the war of the Austrian Succession, in which she was soon involved, was quickly overshadowed by a greater conflict, which was immediately commenced by the bold and ambitious young Prussian King.

He claimed, by virtue of some obscure transaction in the past, that Silesia belonged to him. But he gallantly offered, if it was returned to him, to support Maria Theresa's cause in the fight with her kinsman of Bavaria over the succession.

The offer was rejected, and almost before the ink in the correspondence was dry, a Prussian army, with Frederick at its head, was in the heart of the disputed province.

Two characteristics marked Frederick's movements--the perfect secrecy with which they were planned, and the swiftness with which they were carried out. He formed his own plans, and even his Prime Minister did not know of their existence until he was ordered to execute them. The cunning methods then prevailing in Courts, by which foreign ambassadors defeated designs while they were maturing, were powerless against this young King, as none but himself knew what was going to happen. He gave his personal and unremitting care to every detail of government, and astonished his people by the prodigies of labor he performed, and the sacrifices of his time, rest, and comfort.

Of course this ancient wrong done his family in the matter of Silesia was only a pretext. Frederick had made up his mind at Potsdam that Prussia must be solidified by bringing together her detached provinces, and he had long ago drawn a new map in his mind, which should include Silesia.

Nature had endowed him with a bold and aspiring genius. He had a consciousness of strength, combined with a belief that he was a chosen instrument appointed by fate to perform a definite work: the raising of Prussia to the first rank in the German empire.

When we see Frederick's ideal of a despotic personal government, with a divinely appointed ruler leading his country to greatness, independent of ministers and advisers,--it is easy to recognize the model which is being studied by a certain young ruler in Europe to-day!

There was another strong personality on the throne at Vienna. To have her crown threatened by a powerful combination, and at the same time a war of conquest waged against her in her own Austria, was a heavy burden to be borne by a young girl of twenty-four years. But Maria Theresa maintained herself with astonishing bravery and firmness. She listened to the counsels of her ministers, and then decided for herself; even her husband Francis being unable to sway her judgment.

France, Spain, and Saxony sustained the claims of the Bavarian Archduke to her throne; and when a French army was on the Danube and Vienna threatened, she fled to Hungary and made a personal appeal to the Hungarian Diet to stand by her. She promised the restoration of rights for which they had been contending, and by her personal charm and radiance captured the wavering nobles, who placed on her head the crown of St. Stephen. They cheered wildly as she galloped up "the king's hill," and waved her sword toward the four quarters of the earth in true Imperial fashion.

Then she appeared before the Diet in their national costume with her infant son Joseph in her arms, and in an eloquent speech depicted the dangers which beset her, and the enthusiastic nobles drew their sabers, shouting, "We will die for our King, Maria Theresa!"

This saved Vienna. The support of Hungary arrested the advance toward the capital, and the invading army moved instead on to Prague, where her rival was crowned King of Bohemia, and later at Frankfort was proclaimed Emperor Karl VII.

While these distracting combinations were engrossing the young sovereign, Frederick had invaded Silesia, and when the second Silesian war ended in 1742, Prussia held that province, and was enriched by 150 large and small cities, and about 5000 villages.

England, Holland, and Hanover now came to the support of Maria Theresa against Karl VII. and his French ally.

The wary Frederick saw that, with such a coalition, Austria's success was certain, and he also saw that, if victorious, her next step would be to try to recover Silesia. So he offered to join France in support of Karl VII., and threw himself into the war of the Austrian succession.

This lasted three years longer and was concluded by the Peace of Dresden (1745), which again confirmed Prussia in the possession of Silesia, left Maria Theresa's husband wearing the disputed Imperial title as Francis I., and to Frederick left the more unique and renowned title of "the Great," which was bestowed by acclamation on his return to Berlin.

Frederick's first care was to heal the wounds inflicted by the two Silesian wars.

It is interesting to speculate upon what this man might have been, had his childhood been spent in an atmosphere of kindness and love, and had his heart and intelligence been symmetrically nurtured and trained.

But he was trained as the tree is trained which is blasted in its youth by lightnings, then twisted and distorted by hands which defeat its natural tendency upward and sunward!

An eager and impressionable boy with warm affections, acute intelligence, and a strong sense of justice had been subjected to inhuman barbarities in his own home. In his heart-hunger he turned to pursuits for which he had a passionate love, and was nourished in secret upon a poisonous diet. A nature which in the fire of his youth had been full of generous enthusiasms was embittered by suffering, and then became cold and cynical under the teachings of Voltaire.

So fascinated had he become with this man that he regarded him as the most exalted of beings, and his friendship a treasure above all others. Faith, hope, love, and filial respect were, through this influence, destroyed in the germ before they had time to unfold; and in the place of everything sacred was a cynical cold-blooded search after what these philosophers of the eighteenth century were pleased to call--truth. And the way to discover this truth was to analyze, dissect, and then to demolish!

So there had been created a strangely composite man, compounded of elements native to himself, to that undeveloped barbarian Frederick William, and to Voltaire! Joined to a strong practical common sense in the management of affairs was a passion for insincere, unsound, and shallow French ideals. And combined with the most despotic and arbitrary of wills, was an inflexible regard for the right of the humblest. While he despised the beliefs of Protestant and Catholic alike, he declared "I mean that every man in my kingdom shall have the right to be saved in his own way." And he secured that right for his people, too!

His rule was a despotism, but it was a despotism of intelligence and justice. He called himself the first official servant of the state, and no clerk in his kingdom gave such faithful service as he. He arose at four o'clock in the morning. He made himself personally acquainted with every village and landed estate in his kingdom, which he treated as if it were a great private enterprise and interest, for which he was responsible.

He was a reformer without heart; a King intent upon the well-being of his people, without tenderness; a leader prepared, if need be, not to lead, but to drag Prussia with a rough hand up the rugged path of virtue and prosperity; and determined to make his nation great, whether it wanted to be or not!

There were many pleasanter companions and gentler fathers in his day. There were sovereigns who did not terrify wrong-doers and children on the street with uplifted canes. But this Frederick, with character scarred and distorted, was the one man in Europe who was converting a kingdom into a POWER, and the one man of his age whom history would call GREAT!

But such a being as this, one who has turned to adamant in heroic mold, cannot sympathetically comprehend the finer currents about him. There was going on, quite unnoticed by King Frederick, an awakening in the German mind, and while he was building a structure of material greatness, there had commenced, unobserved by him, another structure, which was to be the chief glory of Germany.

The passion for speculative thought awakened by Spinoza was stirring the German soul to its depths. Kant had found that Spinoza's Eternal Order must be a Moral Order. That the moral instincts which guided mankind, and were the all in all, were the God in us, the in-dwelling of the Divine. Thus was embodied the essence of Christianity in a new and speculative philosophy.

Klopstock and Lessing were creating a national literature, which revealed for the first time the strength, resources, and unsuspected beauty of their own language, and which was for the first time being used to express a genius untouched by foreign influence.

But all unconscious of this new, rushing stream of life, Frederick was entertaining Voltaire, spending his evenings in listening to the latest satirical verses of that vain and gifted Frenchman, and laughing at the latest witty epigram from Paris.

It had been one of Frederick's dreams, in his youth, to have his great friend some day reside in his Court. In 1750 this was realized, and the King and the poet settled down to what was to be an everlasting banquet of sympathetic tastes and opinions, seasoned with mutual admiration and friendship!

Frederick felt that he was something of a poet himself, and that he was only prevented by cares of state from letting the world find it out. The wily Frenchman had been the literary confidant of his royal friend, and many pages of verses had been submitted to him during their long correspondence, and had received flattering commendation from the great critic. So one of the pleasantest features in this closer companionship was expected to be this drop of honeyed praise to sweeten the evening after the day's work was done.

But Frederick's verses bored Voltaire very much, and the royal host began to discover that his great guest was selfish, and cold, and jealous, and even malignant. The nimbus of fascination began to fade. He could be cutting and satirical as well as Voltaire. The great poet was no less hungry for praise than he, and it was an easy matter to yawn and be bored by his verses, too. And so they became gradually estranged, and finally enemies. They parted in anger, and Voltaire returned to France, to write bitter satires about the King, whose character and ideals he had been one of the chief agents in forming.

There was then in Germany a man whose glory was to outshine Voltaire's or that of any contemporary in Europe, even as the sun does the stars. But Frederick's ear could not detect music in his own language, nor was his stunted soul attuned to the native and sublime harmonies of Goethe's genius.