Frederick the Great

by Nancy Mitford

  All these people were solid friends on whom the King could rely and who never let him down, but they were rather provincial. Algarotti and Voltaire had given him a taste for more sophisticated companions, and he wanted stars. He wrote to Algarotti saying that his apparition at Berlin would be like that of the aurora borealis, but, never able to resist teasing the Italian, he added, ‘You would be specially welcome if you came for my sake and not that of Plutus.’ It was too much for Algarotti, who cheekily replied that, far from being attracted by Plutus, he had found his last visit to the King in Silesia very expensive indeed. Frederick was furious and, though Algarotti wrote a grovelling apology, five years elapsed before they made it up. Algarotti spent most of this time in Dresden, no doubt, Frederick said sarcastically, as military adviser to Augustus III.

  It might be assumed that among the letters congratulating Frederick on the Treaty of Breslau there would not have been many from France. There was one, however, and that the most fulsome of all. Frederick the Great, said Voltaire, has made a good treaty and his virtuous soul is becoming that of a statesman. If the French are not quite pleased with him, if they think he has abandoned their army, it is because they never know what is best for them. Frederick has outdistanced the ‘Good Old Man’ (Fleury). Philosophers think that the hero of the century will be the pacificator of Europe and Germany. Frederick is no longer the ally of France but that of the human race. And so on.

  Frederick modestly begged Voltaire not to overdo the praise. He said he had been obliged to abandon Broglie because he and his army had to be bolstered up the whole time—besides, Maria Theresa had offered him more than France ever could. Other excuses he made for his behaviour, of which he was certainly ashamed, were that his treasury was empty, that he had begun to see that the best conducted battle was a lottery and that he was tired of hearing from Valory that, as the French were good at everything and the Germans good only at fighting, it was obvious that when they were allied the fighting had better be done by Germans.

  Now the great question was how to get Voltaire to Berlin. Mme du Châtelet, fearing that she might lose him for ever, was more and more unwilling to let him out of her sight, while he himself, with much to occupy him in Paris, did not seem anxious to undertake a long journey. So he had to be prised out in some cunning way. Frederick sent copies of the letter hailing him as Frederick the Great to the Good Old Man he had outdistanced, to all the French ministers, and to Louis XV’s patriotic mistress Mme de Mailly, with a view to making Paris too hot to hold Voltaire. He succeeded. Voltaire, wildly protesting that he was not the author, was obliged to take a little holiday. He went first to Brussels and presently joined Frederick who was taking the cure at Aix-la-Chapelle. In order to pacify Fleury he sent him an account of his political conversations with the King; Fleury was so anxious to know Frederick’s thoughts and intentions that he pretended to believe Voltaire’s denial of the letter. As usual Frederick gave nothing away; he asked a great many questions about the reaction at Versailles to the Treaty of Breslau. Were the French exhausted in men and money and utterly discouraged? Voltaire had the honour to deny this suggestion, which came from Milord Hyndford.

  After a few days Frederick parted from his philosopher, more anxious than ever to possess him, and went back to Potsdam to play with what he called his dolls: the redecoration of Charlottenburg, where Pesne was painting the ceilings; the unpacking of Cardinal de Polignac’s antiques, which arrived in perfect condition, and putting the last touches to Knobelsdorff’s opera-house. Frederick William had vainly warned Frederick in his will against raising such a temple to the devil; he opened it with a good deal of pomp on 7 December 1742, the very day on which Belle-Isle left Prague. It was a beautiful and supremely comfortable building with room for a thousand carriages to park outside. Seats were not for sale: the audience was invited by the King. The first performance was of Graun’s opera Cleopatra e Cesare, written for the occasion and sung by a company which Graun had been collecting in Italy for two years.

  Frederick began to write the Histoire de Mon Temps; a highly readable work, it gives portraits of his fellow rulers and a clear account of his policy towards the Europe he found at his accession. His main preoccupation now was observing the conduct of the said rulers. He told Voltaire that he had infected Europe with warfare as a coquette gives a painful keepsake to her admirers; he himself was cured but he watched the events resulting from his own actions with a slightly uneasy interest. The Maritime Powers (the English and the Dutch) were gathering forces in the Low Countries to invade what seemed to be a defenceless France; the Spaniards were attacking Maria Theresa in Italy; fortune’s play-thing, the Emperor, sent Seckendorf to ask Frederick if he could manage a small loan and if he would use his influence with the other German princes to give him a little support, even if only moral. But the Emperor was written off as unlucky and nobody wanted to be associated with him.

  In January 1743 Cardinal Fleury died. As he was ninety it would perhaps be exaggerating to say that the French reverses in Bohemia had killed him, but they probably hastened his end. He had ruled France for eighteen years and nobody had anything but praise for him; even Frederick said that he had been a good shepherd, though he added he was forgotten in a week. Louis XV announced that he would now govern by himself like his great-grandfather at the death of Mazarin—the difference was that Louis XIV had Colbert, Louvois, Condé and Turenne, while the ministers and most of the generals available to Louis XV were mediocrities. Fleury’s death left a vacancy at the Académie française which Voltaire longed to fill, but the fact that he was generally considered to be the greatest living writer was more of a handicap than a help, since the thirty-nine members of the Académie were not anxious to be put in the shade by him. Another drawback was the doubtful quality of his Christian belief. The Bishop of Mirepoix, tutor to the Dauphin, the minister Maurepas and other influential figures were against his election on religious grounds. So Voltaire circulated a statement in Paris and Versailles: he adored the religion which had made one family of the human race—it alone had been his support during thirty years of sorrow and calumny. He also wrote grovelling letters to those who, like the Bishop of Mirepoix, stood in his way. In vain. A dull cleric was unanimously elected to the vacant armchair. On top of this blow to his pride and check to his ambitions, his new play La Mort de César was withdrawn by order of the police.

  Frederick gloated. He was ever on the look-out for a situation which would force Voltaire to leave Paris and, he hoped, come and live in Berlin; it seemed to have arisen. He wrote, unkindly indicating that he had seen Voltaire’s letter to the Bishop and asked how Mme du Châtelet liked his unfaithfulness to her with the Virgin Mary? (He always made fun of Voltaire’s religious tergiversations: unfairly, because while he himself could safely mock at the Church, Voltaire lived in a country where persecution was still a reality.) He urged Voltaire to leave his inconstant, bigoted, cowardly, effeminate compatriots who disdained him so humiliatingly, and come to a King who knew how to appreciate him. Voltaire, who did not mind what he himself said about the French, but who never liked hearing this sort of thing from Frederick, replied that neither the public nor Louis XV was responsible for his recent disappointments but only the mitred ass (Mirepoix). But, he added, Frederick’s magnet was too strong to be resisted any longer: ‘I will leave Minerva for Apollo.’

  The real reason for this sudden decision was very Voltairean and typical of the times. Louis XV had given him a large sum of money to go and spy on Frederick and if possible to bring him back to the French alliance. La Mort de César had been seized by the police with Voltaire’s own connivance, to make his flight from Paris seem inevitable. Frederick told Jordan that he knew Berlin was only a last resort but that in any case Voltaire would make them all laugh, and he told Voltaire: ‘There is no ass of a Mirepoix here; we’ve got a cardinal [of Breslau] and several bishops, some of whom make love before and others behind—good fellows who persecute nobody.’

  He m
et Voltaire in the gardens of Charlottenburg; they were delighted to see each other. They went for a walk and then looked at the Polignac marbles and all the embellishments to the palace; afterwards there was a concert with Frederick playing the flute. Supper was extremely jolly; Valory, back again and more in favour than ever, was the only foreign envoy there. The King had given Voltaire a room next to his own; here, after supper on the first evening, they had the only serious, political conversation of the whole visit. Frederick said he supposed that Louis XV would never forgive him for having made a separate peace. Voltaire replied that great kings did not think of vengeance, only of the national interest—the interests of France and Prussia were identical. ‘But the French are treating with the Queen of Hungary.’ ‘The Austrians may say so, but they said the same about you last year. Why don’t you support France and the Emperor against the common enemy who hates you?’ ‘Perhaps, but I can’t do anything unless the princes of the Empire back me up and that’s why I’m going to Bayreuth next week. I want to be sure that the Palatinate, Hesse, Württemberg and Cologne can provide troops for the Emperor. I don’t want to fight again but I should like to be the pacifier of the Empire and humiliate the King of England who always interferes in Germany.’ Voltaire said that everybody knew the Queen wanted to retake Silesia; Frederick replied that she would have a job to do that. Then they spoke of Russia, and Frederick said he had advised the Empress Elizabeth to send the little dethroned Ivan (his wife’s nephew) with his mother and father to sub-Arctic Russia.*

  At this point in the conversation a servant told Frederick that the musicians were ready and he carried Voltaire off to the concert with many expressions of love and friendship. But only three days later: ‘My situation begins to be thorny; somebody has implanted suspicion.’ Frederick had already found out that Voltaire was there to spy but he still longed to possess him. He was not alone. Voltaire’s presence was a bright light wherever he went; its rays had been cast in many different societies: Paris, London, Brussels, Lunéville, The Hague and rural Champagne, and had never failed to dazzle. He had a charming way of entering into the lives of people he liked, knowing, remembering everything that interested them and, when they were absent, keeping in touch with them by letter. Although he had a foolish love for kings and grandees of all sorts, he was faithful and affectionate with more modest folk and decidedly at his best with them: his middle-class manners never quite stood up to court life and at Versailles he used to embarrass people by not knowing how to behave. In Berlin, however, the atmosphere was less rarefied and he did very well. He made friends with the two Queens and with Frederick’s brothers and sisters. Whenever he had an evening free he was eagerly snapped up by some royal or distinguished person; all begged him to settle there for life.

  Voltaire sent the King a political questionnaire: the answers were bad jokes and rubbish. Then Frederick wrote him a letter setting forth the misdeeds and absurdities of the French, but he added: ‘All the same this nation is the most charming in Europe and even if it is not feared it deserves to be loved. A king worthy of it will be sure to win back the ancient splendour that Broglie and the rest of them have rather eclipsed.’ Voltaire said that Frederick felt about France as he (Voltaire) and his friends felt about Jesuits, abhorring the order but loving the individual members. He asked if the King would take him to Bayreuth and Frederick said yes, but he must arrange to be in good health. He knew that Voltaire’s illnesses were always nervous and sometimes diplomatic: he was generally well when he wished to be.

  The visit to Bayreuth was a success. Frederick went off to talk to the German princes about the future of Charles VII and left Voltaire with Wilhelmine. Her little palace was like a French country house, the company was charming and she gave a series of fêtes to entertain the great man. His feathers, which were constantly ruffled by Frederick, were smoothed down by the sister who was so much like him that she might have been Frederick in petticoats. When he left her Voltaire went back to Berlin for a few days and then made for Paris to put his affairs in order before settling in Prussia for ever. On the way he stopped at Brunswick to see the Duchess, and here he had his usual success. He wrote to Maupertuis, ostensibly to say how much the dear earth-flattener was missed at Berlin, but really to boast about his own reception there. Voltaire has been to see the Academy where Dr Eller thinks that he has made people believe that he can change water into elastic air. The King has put on the opera he has composed, specially for Voltaire—the opera-house is the most beautiful in Europe. Charlottenburg is a delicious place to stay in—at Potsdam one might be in the country house of a French nobleman except for the terrifying Grenadiers. Jordan still resembles Ragotin in Scarron’s Roman comique, but a good-natured, discreet Ragotin with a large income. D’Argens is the Chamberlain with a golden key and 200 louis a month. Chasot, who has been known to curse his destiny, is blessing it now: he is a major with a big battalion which must be worth a lot of money. He deserves it, having saved the King’s baggage in the last battle. Voltaire could also enjoy all this bounty if he chose to, but a greater sovereign, Mme du Châtelet, calls him to Paris. He has also spent a few days at Bayreuth where Her Royal Highness spoke much of Maupertuis—it is a delightful retreat. Brunswick where he is now has a different sort of charm. He has had a celestial journey flying from planet to planet and it will end in tumultuous Paris where he will be sad indeed if he does not find unique Maupertuis, whom he admires and loves for life.

  Mme du Châtelet said that Voltaire had quite lost his head over these silly little German courts.

  *She soon followed this horrid advice; the unlucky Brunswick and his wife were sent to Kholmogory, a place ghastly beyond belief, where they both eventually died. Frederick’s wife begged him to intercede for them but he said he quite understood the Empress: ‘She shuts them up in order not to be shut up herself.’

  11. The Second Silesian War

  Maria Theresa’s position had greatly improved since the days when Father Palffy seemed to be her only prop and stay. It must be said that this was entirely due to her own efforts: she alone had animated the Austrians and roused the Hungarians. In control of Bohemia and Bavaria, she was able to force the Emperor to conclude a treaty of neutrality, by which he kept his title but renounced his claim to the Habsburg territories. Prince Lobkowitz was doing well against the Spaniards in Italy. The English were still financing her and seemed about to engage in full-scale hostilities against the French; they had been fighting for some months but war had not actually been declared.

  Frederick sent his great friend, Frederick Rudolph von Rothenburg, to Versailles, supposedly for a change of air (his wound still troubled him), but really on a secret mission. He had many links with France, as his wife, who hated Berlin, and other members of his family lived there; the Rothenburg who had been French minister to Frederick William was his uncle. Frederick Rudolph had served in the French and Spanish armies and was a Roman Catholic convert. While preparing a new treaty between Prussia and France he was also to buy pictures for Frederick and it was probably at this time that the King acquired Watteau’s Enseigne de Gersaint. The treaty, secret as usual, was signed on 5 June 1744. Louis XV’s new mistress, Mme de Châteauroux, who had helped Rothenburg, sent Frederick her portrait by Nattier and he wrote her a civil letter.

  Prince Charles Edward, the Young Pretender, hitherto little known and unconsidered, suddenly found himself rocketed into a position of importance. He had fought well with the French at Dettingen against George II, and they decided to back his claim to the English throne. He was given Maurice de Saxe, 18 French men-of-war and 15,000 soldiers, and appeared off the Isle of Wight. Of course he was driven away by the usual storm but he had succeeded in startling the English. The result was that they allied themselves with Maria Theresa, whose cause suddenly became the Cause of Freedom (in other words, their own), and sent a large army to the Netherlands. There they were faced by Louis XV himself with Maurice de Saxe. The French troops, greatly inspired by the presence of t
heir King, were soon carrying all before them—they took Ypres and Menin and seemed about to overrun the Low Countries. At this point Charles of Lorraine with a huge army surged into Alsace; Louis XV, leaving Saxe and a small holding force to contain the English, marched off to meet the Austrians. But at Metz he fell ill, and became rapidly worse until his life was despaired of.

  There was great anxiety in Paris. The English army vastly outnumbered that of Saxe and must have defeated him had it taken the offensive; the Austrians were reported to be behaving with horrible cruelty in Alsace; the French burghers were appalled to think that these allies might soon be at their very door. The survival of their young King seemed closely connected with their own safety; the churches were thronged day and night with people praying for his recovery. Their prayers were answered and the clouds dispersed as quickly as they had gathered. Louis got better, Saxe easily consolidated his positions, and Frederick, who had mobilized with a speed of which only he was capable, was reported to be at the gates of Prague. By the time the rumour was confirmed he had taken the city (16 September 1744). Prague had changed hands three times in three years.