Part 5
In his interludes of peace, as well as, indeed, during his many trying campaigns, Frederick devoted himself to the pursuit of literature. Stimulated by this devotion, as well as, doubtless, by a desire to add to the distinction of his Court and to his own character as a patron of letters, he induced the great French wit to take up his residence at the Castle at Potsdam. After the Treaty of Dresden, which closed the second great Silesian War and inaugurated a ten years' peace, the King added to his other residences his famous Garden Cottage, Sans-Souci. Here the literary monarch and the flattering courtier met and eulogised each other's productions. There is no doubt that Frederick here appears at his best. He was himself a voluminous writer, and it is much more pleasing to picture him in his retirement, writing history and poetry, however feeble, and receiving the plaudits of sycophants, than deluging the Continent with blood. Here, too, occasionally came Wilhelmina, renewing her acquaintance with the great _littérateur_, with whom she had much sympathy in common.
Voltaire's charmed life at Berlin was not, however, destined to be of long duration. After about two years the King seemed to grow weary of his intellectual favourite, and found excuses for cooling in his devotion. The circumstances under which Voltaire finally left Berlin were such that he, along with his niece, Madame Denis, were arrested, Voltaire himself only regaining his liberty after the lapse of a fortnight and on the mediation of the Margravine. This mutual friend endeavoured in vain to heal the breach between them. Although her own friendship with Voltaire was maintained during her life, the friendly character of the intercourse between him and her brother was never resumed.
But further troubles were in store for Frederick--troubles which were destined to try the nerves and break the heart of his devoted sister. When, in 1756, the war with Austria broke out again, the Margravine felt the keenest interest in it, and followed her brother's fortunes with aching heart. Intelligence of the brilliant successes which he gained and the terrible defeats sustained in his single-handed conflict with the four Powers who took up arms against him was forwarded by Frederick to his sister as opportunity offered, and fearful was the strain which her unchanging love was called upon to sustain during the last two years of her life. Here is a letter from the King to his sister, reporting progress:--
"_Leitmeritz, 13th July, 1757._
"MY DEAREST SISTER,--The French have just laid hold of Friesland; are about to pass the Weser; they have instigated the Swedes to declare war against me; the Swedes are sending 17,000 men into Pommern; will be burthensome to Stralsund and the poor country-people mainly, having no captain over them but a hydra-headed National Palaver at home, and a Long-pole with cocked hat on it here at hand. The Russians have besieged Memel; Lehwald has them on his front and in his rear. The troops of the Reich, from your plain of Furth yonder, are also about to emerge. All this will force me to evacuate Bohemia so soon as that crowd of enemies gets into motion. I am firmly resolved on the extremest efforts to save my country. We shall see if Fortune will take a new thought, or if she will entirely turn her back upon me. Happy the moment when I took to training myself in philosophy! There is nothing else that can sustain the soul in a situation like mine. I spread out to you, dear sister, the detail of my sorrows; if these things regarded myself only I could stand it with composure; but I am bound guardian of the safety and happiness of a people which has been put under my charge. There lies the sting of it, and I shall have to reproach myself with every fault, if, by any delay or over-haste, I occasion the smallest accident; all the more as, at present, any fault may be capital.
"What a business! Here is the liberty of Germany, and that Protestant cause for which so much blood has been shed; here are those two great interests again at stake, and the pinch of this huge game is such that an entirely unlucky quarter of an hour may establish over Germany the tyrannous dominion of the House of Austria for ever! I am in the case of a traveller who sees himself surrounded and ready to be assassinated by a troop of cut-throats who intend to share his spoils. Since the League of Cambria, there is no example of such a conspiracy as that infamous triumvirate now forms against me. Was it ever seen before that three great princes laid plot in concert to destroy a fourth, who had done nothing against them? I have not had the least quarrel either with France or with Russia, still less with Sweden. If, in common life, three citizens took it into their heads to fall upon their neighbour and burn his house about him, they very certainly, by sentence of tribunal, would be broken on the wheel. What! and will sovereigns, who maintain these tribunals and these laws in their States, give such example to their subjects? Happy, my dear sister, is the obscure man whose good sense, from youth upwards, has renounced all sorts of glory; who, in his safe, low place, has none to envy him, and whose fortune does not excite the cupidity of scoundrels!
"But these reflections are vain! We have to be what our birth, which decides, has made us in entering upon this world. I reckoned that, being King, it beseemed me to think as a sovereign, and I took for principle that the reputation of a prince ought to be dearer to him than life. They have plotted against me; the Court of Vienna has given itself the liberty of trying to maltreat me; my honour commanded me not to suffer it. We have come to war; a gang of robbers falls on me, pistol in hand: that is the adventure which has happened to me. The remedy is difficult; in desperate diseases there are no methods but desperate ones.
"I beg a thousand pardons, dear sister; in these three long pages I talk to you of nothing but my troubles and affairs. A strange abuse it would be of any other person's friendship. But yours, my dear sister, yours is known to me; and I am persuaded you are not impatient when I open my heart to you--a heart which is yours altogether, being filled with sentiments of the tenderest esteem, with which I am, my dearest sister, yours,
"F."
The first of Frederick's lamentation Psalms written during his reverses consists of an Epistle to Wilhelmina, and commences as follows:--
"O sweet and dear hope of my remaining days: O sister, whose friendship, so fertile in resources, shares all my sorrows, and with a helpful arm assists me in the gulf! It is in vain that the Destinies have overwhelmed me with disasters: if the crowd of Kings have sworn my ruin; if the earth have opened to swallow me--you still love me, noble and affectionate sister: loved by you, what is there of misfortune?"
In the terrible anxiety which this period brought upon the Margravine her conduct, no less indeed than at other times, revealed that while (as has been observed) she possessed the heart of a loving woman she had the head of a thoughtful man. Voltaire suggested to her that he might by means of influence with the French Court bring about a peace. She in reply wrote to him as follows:--
"_19th August, 1757._
"One only knows one's friends when one is in trouble. The letter you have written to me does much honour to your manner of thinking. I do not know what way to testify to you how sensible I am of your conduct. The King is as much so as I am. You will find a note enclosed herewith which he has ordered me to send you. This great man is always the same. He bears his misfortunes with a courage and firmness worthy of him. He was not able to copy the letter he was writing to you. It began with some verses. Instead of throwing sand over it he took the inkstand, which is the reason that it is destroyed. I am in a terrible state, and will not survive the destruction of my house and my family. That is the only solution that is left to me. You will have some fine subjects for Tragedies. Oh! Times! Oh! Morals! You will perhaps draw tears by illusory reputation, whilst they contemplate with dry eyes the misfortunes of a whole house, against whom at bottom there is no real complaint. I cannot say more to you on this subject; my heart is so troubled that I know not what I am doing. But whatever may happen be assured that I am more than ever your Friend.
"WILHELMINA."
A further letter from Voltaire produced a reply from which the following is an extract:--
"_12th September, 1757._
"Your letter has greatly touched me, and the one you addressed to the King has produced the same effect on him. I hope that you will be satisfied with his answer, as far as it concerns yourself; but you will be as little so as I am with his resolutions. I had flattered myself that your reflections would have made some impression on his mind. You will see the reverse in the enclosed note. It only remains to me to follow his destiny, if it is unfortunate. I have never prided myself on being a philosopher. I have tried to become one. The little progress I have made has taught me to despise greatness and riches; but I have found nothing in philosophy that is able to heal the wounds of the heart, except the means of getting rid of evils by ceasing to live. The state in which I am is worse than death. I see the greatest man of this century, my brother, my friend, reduced to the most fearful extremity. I see my entire family exposed to dangers and perils, my Fatherland torn by pitiless enemies, the country in which I am perhaps menaced by the same misfortunes. Would to God that I alone had to bear all the troubles I have just described to you; I would endure them with fortitude.
"WILHELMINA."
This letter as well as the following reveal something of the great straits in which Frederick found himself. So great were the extremities to which he was reduced at this time that he had fully resolved on suicide rather than fall into the hands of his enemies, and his heroic sister had resolved to share his fate. The expostulations of Voltaire seem to have been in vain. Frederick again writes to his sister:--
"_17th September, 1757._
"MY DEAREST SISTER,--I have no other consolation than in your precious letters. May heaven reward so much virtue and such heroic sentiments! Since I wrote last to you my misfortunes have but gone on accumulating. It seems as though Destiny would discharge all its wrath and fury upon the poor country which I had to rule over. The Swedes have entered Pommern. The French, after having concluded a Neutrality, humiliating to the King of England and themselves, are in full march upon Halberstadt and Magdeburg. From Prussen I am in daily expectation of hearing of a battle having been fought; the proportion of combatants being 25,000 against 80,000. The Austrians have marched into Silesia, whither the Prince of Bevern follows them. I have advanced this way to fall upon the corps of the allied Army, which has run off and entrenched itself, behind Eisenach, amongst the hills, whither to follow, still more to attack them, all rules of war forbid. The moment I retire towards Saxony, this whole swarm will be upon my heels. Happen what may, I am determined, at all risks, to fall upon whatever corps of the enemy approaches me nearest. I shall even bless Heaven for its mercy, if it grant me the favour to die sword in hand.
"Should this hope fail me, you will allow that it would be too hard to crawl at the feet of a company of traitors, to whom successful crimes have given the advantage to prescribe the law to me. How, my dear, my incomparable sister--how could I repress feelings of vengeance and of resentment against all my neighbours, of whom there is not one who did not accelerate my downfall, and will not share in our spoils? How could a Prince survive his State, the glory of his country, his own reputation? The Bavarian Elector, in his nonage, or, rather, in a sort of subjection to his Ministers, and dull to the biddings of honour, may give himself up as a slave to the imperious domination of the House of Austria, and kiss the hand which oppresses his father: I pardon it to his youth and his ineptitude. But is that the example for me to follow? No, dear sister; you think too nobly to give me such green advice. Is liberty--that precious prerogative--to be less dear to the sovereign in the eighteenth century than it was to Roman patricians of old? And where is it said that Brutus and Cato should carry magnanimity farther than princes and kings? Firmness consists in resisting misfortune; but only cowards submit to the yoke, bear patiently their chains, and support oppression tranquilly. Never, my dear sister, could I resolve upon such ignominy.
"If I had followed only my own inclinations I should have ended it at once, after that unfortunate battle which I lost. But I felt that this would be weakness, and that it behoved me to repair the evil which had happened. My attachment to the State awoke; I said to myself, it is not in seasons of prosperity that it is rare to find defenders, but in adversity. I made it a point of honour with myself to redress all that had got out of square, in which I was not unsuccessful, not even in the Lansitz (after those Zittau deserters) last of all. But no sooner do I hasten this way to face new enemies than Winterfield was beaten and killed near Gorlitz, than the French entered the heart of my States, than the Swedes blockaded Stettin. Now there is nothing effective left for me to do; there are too many enemies. Were I even to succeed in beating two armies, the third would crush me. The enclosed note will show you what I am still about to try; it is the last attempt.
"The gratitude, the tender affection which I feel towards you, that friendship, true as the hills, constrains me to deal openly with you. No, my divine sister, I shall conceal nothing from you that I intend to do; all my thoughts, all my resolutions shall be open and known to you in time. I will precipitate nothing; but also it will be impossible for me to change my sentiments.
"As for you, my incomparable sister, I have not the heart to turn you from your resolves. We think alike, and I cannot condemn in you the sentiments which I daily entertain. Life has been given to us as a benefit; when it ceases to be such.... I have nobody left in this world to attach me to it but you. My friends, the relations I loved most, are in the grave; in short, I have lost everything. If you take the resolution which I have taken, we end together our misfortunes and our unhappiness; and it will be the turn of them who remain in this world to provide for the concerns falling to their charge, and to bear the weight which has lain on us so long. These, my adorable sister, are sad reflections, but suitable to my present condition.
"But it is time to end this long, dreary letter, which treats almost of nothing but my own affairs. I have had some leisure, and have used it to open on you a heart filled with admiration and gratitude towards you. Yes, my adorable sister, if Providence troubled itself about human affairs, you ought to be the happiest person in the Universe. Your not being such confirms me in the sentiments expressed in the end of my _epitre_. In conclusion, believe that I adore you, and that I would give my life a thousand times to serve you. These are the sentiments which will animate me to the last breath of my life; being, my beloved sister, ever your
"F."
Wilhelmina also writes:--
"_Baireuth, 15th September, 1757._
"MY DEAREST BROTHER,--Your letter and the one you wrote to Voltaire, my dear brother, have almost killed me. What fatal resolutions, great God! Ah, my dear brother, you say you love me; and you drive a dagger into my heart. Your _epitre_, which I did receive, made me shed rivers of tears. I am now ashamed of such weakness. My misfortune would be so great that I should find worthier resources than tears. Your lot shall be mine. I will not survive either your misfortunes or those of the house I belong to. You may calculate that such is my firm resolution. But, after this avowal, allow me to entreat you to look back on what was the pitiable state of your enemy when you lay before Prag! It is the sudden whirl of Fortune for both parties. The like may occur again, when one is least expecting it. Cæsar was the slave of pirates, and he became the master of the world. A great genius like yourself finds resources even when all is lost; and it is impossible this phrenzy can continue. My heart bleeds to think of the poor souls in Preussen. What horrid barbarity, the detail of cruelties that go on there! I feel all that you feel on it, my dear brother. I know your heart, and your sensibility for your subjects.
"I suffer a thousand times more than I can tell you; nevertheless, hope does not abandon me. I received your letter of the 14th by W----. What kindness to think of me, who have nothing to give but a useless affection, which is so richly repaid by yours! I am obliged to finish; but I shall never cease to be, with the most profound respect [_tres profond_ respect--that, and something still better, if my poor pen were not embarrassed]--your
"WILHELMINA."
On other discomforting rumours coming to the ears of the Margravine she writes:--
"_Baireuth, 15th October, 1757._
"MY DEAR BROTHER,--Death and a thousand torments could not equal the frightful state I am in. There run reports that make me shudder. Some say you are wounded; others, dangerously ill. In vain have I tormented myself to have news of you; I can get none. Oh, my dear brother, come what may, I will not survive you. If I am to continue in this frightful uncertainty, I cannot stand it; I shall sink under it, and then I shall be happy. I have been on the point of sending you a courier; but (environed as we are) I durst not. In the name of God bid somebody write me one word.
"I know not what I have written; my heart is torn in pieces; I feel that by dint of disquietude and alarms I am losing my wits. Oh, my dear adorable brother, have pity on me! Heaven grant I be mistaken, and that you may scold me; but the least thing that concerns you pierces me to the heart, and alarms my affection too much. Might I die a thousand times, provided you lived and were happy!
"I can say no more. Grief chokes me; and I can only repeat that your fate shall be mine; being, my dear brother, your
"WILHELMINA."
The day following she writes to Voltaire:--
"_16th October, 1757._
"Overwhelmed by sufferings of mind and body, I am able only to write a little letter. You will find one enclosed herewith which will reward you a hundred-fold for my brevity. Our situation is always the same. A grave is the extent of our view. Although everything seems lost, things remain to us which cannot be taken away; they are fortitude and the sentiments of the heart. Be persuaded of our gratitude, and of all the sentiments which you deserve by your attachment and way of thinking, worthy of a true philosopher.
"WILHELMINA."
The following letter from Frederick crossed the previous one from his sister:--
"_Eilenburg, 17th October, 1757._
"MY DEAREST SISTER,--What is the good of philosophy unless we employ it in the disagreeable moments of life? It is then, my dear sister, that courage and firmness avail us.
"I am now in motion; and having once got into that, you may calculate I shall not think of sitting down again, except under improved omens. If outrage irritates even cowards, what will it do to hearts that have courage?
"I foresee I shall not be able to write again for perhaps six weeks; which fails not to be a sorrow to me; but I entreat you to be calm during these turbulent affairs, and to wait with patience the month of December; paying no regard to the Nurnberg newspapers, nor to those of the Reich, which are totally Austrian.
"I am as tired as a dog. I embrace you with my whole heart; being with the most perfect affection, my dearest sister, your
"FREDERICK."
Having had a success, he writes (November 5, 1757) to inform her of it, and concludes:--
"You, my dear sister, my good, my divine and affectionate sister, who deign to interest yourself in the fate of a brother who adores you, deign also to share in my joy. The instant I have time I will tell you more. I embrace you with my whole heart. Adieu!
"F."
The last year of her life closed very gloomily for the Margravine. Notwithstanding some successes the chances were fearfully against her brother, and his reverses were great. She ardently longed for peace, as well for the sake of the country as for that of her brother, and she would willingly have sacrificed her life for it. Writing to Voltaire on 2nd January, 1758, she says: "Thank Heaven we have finished the most fatal of years. You say so many kind things in reference to the present one, that they form one reason the more for my gratitude. I wish you everything that can make you perfectly happy. As regards myself, I leave my fate to destiny. We often form desires which would be very prejudicial if accomplished, therefore I form no more. If anything in the world could satisfy my desires, it would be peace; I think as you do about war, and we have quite a third who certainly thinks as we do. But can we always act up to what we think? Is it not necessary to submit to many prejudices established since the world began?"
As the year advanced the health of the Margravine visibly declined. Whilst her enfeebled frame was at Baireuth her heart was with her brother, bleeding at every fresh reverse. Frederick in a letter to his brother, alluding to her prostrate condition, says: "What you write to me of my sister of Baireuth makes me tremble! Next to our Mother, she is what I have the most tenderly loved in this world. She is a sister who has my heart and all my confidence; and whose character is of price beyond all the crowns in this universe. From my tenderest years, I was brought up with her; you can conceive how there reigns between us that indissoluble bond of mutual affection and attachment for life, which, in all other cases, were it only for disparity of ages, is impossible. Would to Heaven I might die before her--and that this terror itself don't take away my life without my actually losing her."
The Margravine's last letter was, we are told, written on the 18th July, 1758, with trembling hand "almost illegible." Replying, the King says: "O you, the dearest of my family, you, whom I have most at heart of all in this world--for the sake of whatever is most precious to you, preserve yourself; and let me have at least the consolation of shedding my tears in your bosom!"