Part 33

But at last Fritz decided not to take longer all that came, and so he prepared for flight. On the 15th of July, 1730, the king of Prussia set out with a small train, accompanied by Fritz, to take a journey to the Rhine. When near Augsburg, Fritz wrote to Lieutenant Katte, one of his profligate friends, stating that he should embrace the first opportunity to escape to the Hague; that there he should assume the name of the Count of Alberville. He wished Katte to join him there, and to bring with him the overcoat and the one thousand ducats which he had left in his hands. Just after midnight the prince stole out to meet his valet, who had been commanded to bring some horses to the village green. But as Keith, the valet, appeared with the horses, he was accosted by one of the king’s guard; and the prince, although disguised with a red overcoat, was recognized and forced to withdraw to his own quarters and give up the attempt for that time. The king was informed of these things, and now the poor prince was put in the care of three of the guard, and they were informed if the prince was allowed to escape, death would be their doom. Upon the king’s arrival at Wesel, he ordered his culprit son to be brought before him. A terrible scene ensued. As the king would give no assurance that his friends who had aided him should be pardoned, the crown prince evaded all attempts to extort from him confessions which would implicate them. “Why,” asked the king, furiously, “did you attempt to desert?”

“I wished to escape,” the prince boldly replied, “because you did not treat me like a son, but like an abject slave.”

“You are a cowardly deserter,” the father exclaimed, “devoid of all feelings of honor.”

“I have as much honor as you have,” the son replied; “and I have only done that which I have heard you say a hundred times you would have done yourself, had you been treated as I have been.”

The infuriated king was now beside himself with rage. He drew his sword and seemed upon the point of thrusting it through the heart of his son, when General Mosel threw himself before the king, exclaiming, “Sire, you may kill me, but spare your son.” The prince was then placed in a room where two sentries watched over him with fixed bayonets. As the prince had held the rank of colonel in the army, his unjust father declared he was a deserter, and merited death. Frederick William, whose brutal cruelty exceeds our powers of belief, then sent a courier with the following despatch to his wife:—

“I have arrested the rascal Fritz. I shall treat him as his crime and his cowardice merit. He has dishonored me and all my family. So great a wretch is no longer worthy to live.”

His Majesty is in a flaming rage. He arrests, punishes, and banishes where there is trace of co-operation with deserter Fritz and his schemes. It is dangerous to have spoken kindly to the crown prince, or even to have been spoken to by him. Doris Ritter, a young girl who was a good musician, and whom the unfortunate Fritz had presented with music and sometimes joined in her singing in the presence of the girl’s mother, is condemned to be publicly whipped through the streets by the beadle, and to be imprisoned for three years, forced to the hard labor of beating hemp. The excellent tutor of the crown prince is banished, the accusation against him being that he had introduced French literature to the prince, which had caused him to imbibe infidel notions. The wicked old king never seemed to think that his own brutal conduct might have influenced the prince to be indifferent to the religion which he hypocritically professed to believe, but so poorly practised.

Meanwhile the crown prince was conveyed from Wesel to the castle of Mittenwalde, where he was imprisoned in a room without furniture or bed. Here Grumkow, one of the king’s ministers, was sent to interrogate him. Though the cruel old minister threatened the rack of torture to force him to confess, Fritz had the nerve to reply:—

“A hangman, such as you, naturally takes pleasure in talking of his tools and of his trade, but on me they will produce no effect. I have owned everything, and almost regret to have done so. I ought not to degrade myself by answering the questions of a scoundrel such as you are.”

The next day the crown prince was sent to the fortress of Cüstrin, about seventy miles from Berlin.

“The strong, dungeon-like room in which he was incarcerated consisted of bare walls, without any furniture, the light being admitted by a single aperture so high that the prince could not look out of it. He was divested of his uniform, of his sword, of every mark of dignity. Coarse brown clothes of plainest cut were furnished him. His flute was taken from him, and he was deprived of all books but the Bible and a few devotional treatises. He was allowed a daily sum amounting to twelve cents for his food,—eight cents for his dinner and four for his supper. His food was purchased at a cook-shop near by and cut for him. He was not permitted the use of a knife. The door was opened three times a day for ventilation,—morning, noon, and night,—but not for more than four minutes each time. A single tallow candle was allowed him; but that was to be extinguished at seven o’clock in the evening.”

For long months this prince of nineteen was imprisoned in absolute solitude, awaiting the doom of his merciless father. But the savage king had reserved still greater torture for the unfortunate Fritz. By the order of the king, Fritz, who also had been condemned to die, was brought down into a lower room of the fortress, and there compelled to witness the execution of Lieutenant Katte, his friend, whom the king had condemned as guilty of high treason. As Fritz was led into the lower apartment of the fortress, the curtains which concealed the window were drawn back, and Fritz, to his horror, beheld the scaffold draped in black placed directly before the window. The frantic young prince was in an agony of despair, and exclaimed, with eyes full of tears, “In the name of God, I beg you to stop the execution till I write to the king! I am ready to renounce all my rights to the crown if he will pardon Katte.” But the attendants knew the iron will of the merciless monarch, and his cries and tears were unheeded. As the condemned was led by the window to ascend the scaffold, Fritz cried out to him, in tones of deepest anguish, “Pardon me, my dear Katte, pardon me! Oh, that this should be what I have done for you!”

“Death is sweet for a prince I love so well,” replied the heroic Katte with calm fortitude, and ascending the scaffold, the bloody execution was performed, while four grenadiers held Fritz with his face to the window so that he must perforce look upon the ghastly scene. But as Katte’s gory head rolled upon the scaffold, the prince fainted.

When the poor tortured prince regained his consciousness, his misery plunged him into a fever, and in his wild delirium he sought to take his life. When the fever abated, he sank into hopeless despair, looking forward to nothing but a like horrible death.

With strange inconsistency, the ferocious king, who could thus torture the body and mind of the prince, expressed the greatest anxiety for the salvation of his soul. It is not strange that the example of such a father staggered the faith of his son, and failing to see that the religion professed by his father was bigoted fanaticism instead of the religion of the pure and saving truths inculcated by a sinless Christ, the crown prince became in after-life an infidel.

In accordance with a promise made by the king that his life should be spared if he would acknowledge his guilt, which word was brought to the lonely captive by Chaplain Müller, the crown prince took an oath of submission to the king, and soon after wrote this letter to his father:—

“All-serenest and All-graciousest Father,—To your royal majesty, my all-graciousest father, I have, by my disobedience as their subject and soldier, not less than by my undutifulness as their son, given occasion to a just wrath and aversion against me. With the all-obedientest respect I submit myself wholly to the grace of my most all-gracious father, and beg him most all-graciously to pardon me, as it is not so much the withdrawal of my liberty in a sad arrest as my own thoughts of the fault I have committed that have brought me to reason, who, with all-obedientest respect and submission, continue till my end my all-graciousest king’s and father’s faithfully-obedient servant and son, Frederick.”

Though the prince had been brought by his terrors and sorrows to make such an humble appeal, his father’s anger was not entirely removed. The prince was still forced to dwell in the town of Cüstrin, in a house poorly furnished; and though allowed to wear his sword, his uniform was forbidden him. He was debarred all amusements, and was forbidden to read, write, or speak French, and was denied his flute, of which he was exceedingly fond. Three persons were appointed constantly to watch him. His only recreation was the order to attend the sittings of the Chamber of Counsellors in that district. At last, through the intercession of his sister Wilhelmina, the king consented to allow Fritz to come home.

In March, 1732, the crown prince was betrothed to Princess Elizabeth, the daughter of the duke of Bevern. The sufferings of this unhappy princess cannot now be related. The queen of Prussia received her with bitter hatred because this match would crush her cherished plans of marrying her son to Princess Amelia of England; and Fritz himself, forced to be betrothed against his will, treated her with utter neglect.

In June, 1733, the crown prince was married to Elizabeth, she being eighteen, and he twenty-one years of age.

Frederick I. of Prussia had reared a very magnificent palace in Berlin; and in spite of all his stinginess in his household, Frederick William added masses of silver to the ornamentation of this palace, for he prided himself on his army and his money, as giving him power and influence in Europe. He had stored away many barrels of money in the vaults of his palace, and as there do not seem to have been banking institutions in his realms in those days, he ordered vast quantities of silver to be wrought into chandeliers, mirror-frames, and balconies, which gave him a great reputation for wealth, and could at any time be converted into money. This hoarded wealth saved his son from ruin, when involved in after wars which exhausted his treasury.

The crown prince having married a niece of the emperor of Germany, and being also of age, his father lost much of his control over him. Frederick was now the rising sun, and his father the setting luminary. All the courts of Europe were anxious to gain the favor of the coming king of Prussia. The king allowed his son a petty income, but the crown prince borrowed large sums of money from the empress of Germany, from Russia, and from England, who were quite ready to supply his wants, being assured of payment when he should receive the throne. Fritz did not forget his sister Wilhelmina, but gave her money to relieve her wants. War now broke out between France and Germany, and Frederick William became an ally of the emperor.

The crown prince accompanied the king of Prussia to the siege of Philipsburg. The campaign continued for some time, but the prince saw little of active service. The king of Prussia being broken down in health by gout and intemperance, now became very ill, and was obliged to return home.

Though Frederick returned from this campaign neither socially nor morally improved, he had become very ambitious of high intellectual culture and of literary renown. He was now living at the village of Reinsburg, in a castle which the king had purchased and assigned to his son. He here gathered around him a number of scholarly men, and commenced and persevered in a severe course of study, devoting his mornings to his books, and the remainder of the day to recreation and music. The old king grumbled at his son’s studies and his recreations, but Frederick was now a full-grown man, whose heirship to the crown made him a power in Europe; and the snarling old king was confined to his room with dropsy and gout, growling away his last hours. The companions of Frederick’s hours of recreation were gay and profligate young men, who scoffed at religion and every virtue. No wonder that with such godless companions, and with such an inconsistent and irreligious example in his father, even while professing the most fanatical devotion to the church and religion, the mind of the talented young prince should have been turned into the wandering wilds of unbelief. Voltaire was at this time about forty years of age. His renown as a man of genius already filled Europe. Frederick became an ardent admirer of Voltaire, and a correspondence was commenced between them.

[Illustration: FREDERICK THE GREAT.]

But now the grim old king of Prussia is forced to meet a still grimmer antagonist, who will not take “no” for an answer. He has fought the world, fought all human affections, fought all feelings of humanity, fought every good spirit within his heart except a brutal fanaticism, which he ignorantly and superstitiously called religion; fought gout, dropsy, and manifold complaints of the flesh; fought his wife, fought his children, tried to fight the devil, but ended in being his slave; but he cannot fight grim Death, which now clutches him in his ghastly grasp. But not to be outdone, even by _this enemy_, while the death-gurgle was even rattling in his throat, he solemnly _abdicated_ in favor of his son Frederick, and with his fingers trembling with the chill of the grave, he signed the deed, and falling back, expired. So the obstinate old king was determined that _his will_, not _death_, should hand over the crown of Prussia, which he could no longer clutch with his own cruel hands.

Voltaire said of his reign, “It must be owned Turkey is a republic in comparison to the despotism exercised by Frederick William.”

Frederick the Great was twenty-eight years of age when he became king of Prussia. He was very handsome and of graceful presence. In rapid succession the young king announced certain sentiments which were so amazing in the eyes of the rulers of that age as to be considered phenomena. The day after his accession to the throne he summoned his ministers and declared, “Our grand care will be to further the country’s well-being, and to make every one of our subjects contented and happy.”

Strange ideas! when all sovereigns had hitherto thought only of their own contentment. Next, he abolished the use of _torture_ in criminal trials. More wonderful still, the world said. Soon he issued this marvellous edict, which struck consternation in the midst of the upholders of bigotry and fanatical superstition:—

“All religions must be tolerated, and the king’s solicitor must have an eye that none of them make unjust encroachments on the other; for in this country every man must get to heaven his own way.”

Europe was electrified, priests trembled, bigotry and religious persecution hung their heads and slunk away. But more surprises! “The press is free!” thundered forth this powerful young Frederick the Great; and all these phenomena accomplished in the first year of his reign. No wonder Europe turned their eyes to the rising monarch. Sad pity that he did not continue in this line of action, bringing blessings instead of woes upon mankind. But the angel of wise reform was soon driven from his heart and mind by the subtle and poisonous demon of selfish ambition.

The young king soon abolished the Giant Guards. He no longer coveted fine clothes, no longer indulged in the luxury of slippers and French dressing-gown, which had raised the ire of his ease-hating father. His hours were rigidly counted, and various duties assigned them, in regular routine.

Though he treated his nominal wife, Queen Elizabeth, politely in company, he utterly neglected her in his domestic life, and in later years rarely ever addressed a word to her.

On the south-west frontier of Prussia was an Austrian realm, Silesia. For more than a century it had been a portion of the Austrian kingdom. Maria Theresa had inherited the crown of Austria. Frederick, wishing to enlarge his own domains, determined to invade Silesia. History has severely condemned this unprovoked invasion. In January, 1741, the Prussian army were encamped before Neisse. On Sunday morning, Jan. 15, the deadly fire of shot and shell was opened upon the crowded city, where women and children, wounded and bleeding, ran to and fro, frantic with terror. For five days the deadly missiles rained down upon the city almost without intermission.

Not wishing entirely to destroy the city, Frederick then converted the siege into a blockade, and leaving his troops before the place, returned to Berlin. Frederick, in this six weeks’ campaign, had let loose the dogs of war, and he must now meet the consequences. The chivalry of Europe were in sympathy with the young and beautiful Austrian queen. Every court in Europe was aware of the fact that it was owing to the intervention of the father of Maria Theresa that the life of Frederick was spared, and that he was rescued from the scaffold, when the exasperated and ferocious Frederick William had condemned his own son to death. France had no fear of Prussia, but France did fear the supremacy of Austria over Europe; therefore, France was leaning towards the side of Frederick. England was the foe of France, therefore England sympathized with Austria. The puerile king of England, George II., hated his nephew, Frederick of Prussia, which hatred Frederick vigorously returned. Spain was at war with England and ready for alliance with her foes. The father of the infant czar of Russia was the brother of Frederick’s neglected wife Elizabeth. Russia had not yet displayed her partisanship to either side. Minor powers might be constrained by terror or led by bribes.

Meanwhile the heroic Maria Theresa was resolved not to part with one inch of her territory, and the patriotism of the Austrian court, inspired by her, determined them to seek to drive the Prussians out of Silesia. A rumor comes that England, Poland, and Russia are contemplating invasion of the Prussian realms. Frederick immediately despatched a force to Hanover to seize upon that continental possession of the king of England upon the slightest indication of hostility. This menace alarmed George II. Young Prince Leopold had assaulted and captured Glogau from the Austrians, which Frederick considered an important achievement, and sent Prince Leopold a present of ten thousand dollars.

Frederick next proceeded to push the siege of Neisse, but upon nearing that place, he found that General Neipperg, with a large force of Austrians, were coming against him. The siege of Neisse was abandoned, and the entire Prussian army gathered around the king. The night before the contemplated battle, Frederick wrote to his brother, Augustus William,—who, as Frederick had no children, was heir to the throne and crown prince of Prussia,—informing him of his danger, of the coming battle, and bidding farewell to himself and his mother in case of his death. No word of affectionate remembrance was sent to his neglected wife.

On the morrow, which was Sunday, a snow-storm raged so furiously that neither army could move. On Monday the battle began. The Prussians advanced boldly with waving banners and martial music, and valiantly charged the enemy. But the Austrians returned the charge with such fury that the Prussian right wing, where Frederick himself commanded, was routed and put to flight. Frederick, struck with terror, lost his presence of mind, and ingloriously fled with the rest. As with his little band of fugitives he rushed into the gloom of night, he exclaimed in despair, “O my God, my God, this is too much!”

But as the crestfallen king waits under the shelter of a mill, a courier rides up and cries, _“The Prussian army has gained the victory!”_ Thus the Prussian king had been galloping from the battle-field in fear and terror, while his valiant troops were achieving the victory. This incident caused unlimited merriment amongst the sarcastic foes of Frederick, and he himself was never known to allude to this humiliating adventure. The picture of the heroic and intrepid Maria Theresa encouraging her troops to patriotism and valor in the very face of her foes, and that of the terror-stricken Frederick rushing from the field of battle, do not form a comparison very flattering to the bravery of the young Prussian king. But as some actors on the stage who have had the worst stage-frights have afterwards made the most brilliant stars, so the ignominious flight of the king did not prevent him from becoming one of the greatest generals of the world. Gradually the secret alliance of France, Bavaria, and Prussia was made known. Under the threatening danger which menaced ruin, Maria Theresa, urged by her council and by the English court, consented to propose terms of compromise to Frederick. To the English ministers, sent from Vienna to offer a million dollars to the Prussian king if he would consent to relinquish this enterprise and retire from Silesia, Frederick answered: “Retire from Silesia, and for money? Do you take me for a beggar? Retire from Silesia in the conquest of which I have expended so much blood and treasure! No, sir, no! I am at the head of an army which has already vanquished the enemy, and which is ready to meet the enemy again. The country which alone I desire is already conquered and securely held. If the queen do not now grant me all I require, I shall in four weeks demand four principalities more. I now demand the whole of Lower Silesia, Breslau included. With that answer you can return to Vienna.”

These tidings caused consternation in the Austrian council. Again the high-spirited queen was forced by her circumstances and influenced by her council and England to accede to the compromise, and she agreed to surrender the whole of Lower Silesia to Frederick. But when such word was brought to the Prussian camp, the king replied, “I will not see the minister; the time has past. I will not now listen to a compromise.” Now followed a dark and deceitful manœuvre on the part of Frederick, which even the stratagems of war cannot warrant. He entered into secret negotiations with Austria that if Silesia was delivered to him, he would form an alliance with them against the French, whose armies were already joined with his own; at the same time apparently keeping faith with the French, but promising to betray them to the Austrians, meanwhile stating that he must keep up sham attacks to deceive the French.

Frederick now invested Neisse, and pretending a sham attack, he really so vigorously assaulted it that it surrendered, and having thus obtained the last fortress in Silesia, he caused himself to be crowned sovereign duke of Lower Silesia, and returned to Berlin in triumph.