He was keeping a detailed diary of everything Fritz said in that first year largely so as to take notes and limit his chances of saying the wrong thing.
That is amazing and while I am sure it must have been stressful, I kind of love that detail. Holy cow.
It gets better! Casanova's memoirs provide an amazing example of what happens when you *don't* get a chance to study and it's pop quiz time! I'm going to quote at length from his memoirs here, because they're so readable, and he does a great job of conveying just how stressful it was.
When I got home I wrote a plain but respectful letter to the king, asking where and at what time I could introduce myself to him.
In two days I received a letter signed 'Frederick,' in which the receipt of my letter was acknowledged, and I was told that I should find his majesty in the garden of Sans-Souci at four o’clock.
As may be imagined I was punctual to my appointment. I was at Sans-Souci at three, clad in a simple black dress. When I got into the court-yard there was not so much as a sentinel to stop me, so I went on mounted a stair, and opened a door in front of me. I found myself in a picture-gallery, and the curator came up to me and offered to shew me over it.
“I have not come to admire these masterpieces,” I replied, “but to see the king, who informed me in writing that I should find him in the garden.”
“He is now at a concert playing the flute; he does so every day after dinner. Did he name any time?”
“Yes, four o’clock, but he will have forgotten that.”
“The king never forgets anything; he will keep the appointment, and you will do well to go into the garden and await him.”
I had been in the garden for some minutes when I saw him appear, followed by his reader and a pretty spaniel. As soon as he saw me he accosted me, taking off his old hat, and pronouncing my name. Then he asked in a terrible voice what I wanted of him. This greeting surprised me, and my voice stuck in my throat.
“Well, speak out. Are you not the person who wrote to me?”
“Yes, sire, but I have forgotten everything now. I thought that I should not be awed by the majesty of a king, but I was mistaken. My lord-marshal should have warned me.”
“Then he knows you? Let us walk. What is it that you want? What do you think of my garden?”
His enquiries after my needs and of his garden were simultaneous. To any other person I should have answered that I did not know anything about gardening, but this would have been equivalent to refusing to answer the question; and no monarch, even if he be a philosopher, could endure that. I therefore replied that I thought the garden superb.
“But,” he said, “the gardens of Versailles are much finer.”
“Yes, sire, but that is chiefly on account of the fountains.”
“True, but it is not my fault; there is no water here. I have spent more than three hundred thousand crowns to get water, but unsuccessfully.”
“Three hundred thousand crowns, sire! If your majesty had spent them all at once, the fountains should be here.”
“Oh, oh! I see you are acquainted with hydraulics.”
I could not say that he was mistaken, for fear of offending him, so I simply bent my head, which might mean either yes or no. Thank God the king did not trouble to test my knowledge of the science of hydraulics, with which I was totally unacquainted.
He kept on the move all the time, and as he turned his head from one side to the other hurriedly asked me what forces Venice could put into the field in war time.
“Twenty men-of-war, sire, and a number of galleys.”
“What are the land forces?”
“Seventy thousand men, sire; all of whom are subjects of the Republic, and assessing each village at one man.”
“That is not true; no doubt you wish to amuse me by telling me these fables. Give me your opinions on taxation.”
This was the first conversation I had ever had with a monarch. I made a rapid review of the situation, and found myself much in the same position as an actor of the improvised comedy of the Italians, who is greeted by the hisses of the gods if he stops short a moment. I therefore replied with all the airs of a doctor of finance that I could say something about the theory of taxation.
“That’s what I want,” he replied, “for the practice is no business of yours.”
“There are three kinds of taxes, considered as to their effects. The first is ruinous, the second a necessary evil, and the third invariably beneficial.”
“Good! Go on.”
“The ruinous impost is the royal tax, the necessary is the military, and the beneficial is the popular.”
As I had not given the subject any thought I was in a disagreeable position, for I was obliged to go on speaking, and yet not to talk nonsense.
“The royal tax, sire, is that which deplenishes the purses of the subject to fill the coffers of the king.”
“And that kind of tax is always ruinous, you think.”
“Always, sire; it prevents the circulation of money—the soul of commerce and the mainstay of the state.”
“But if the tax be levied to keep up the strength of the army, you say it is a necessary evil.”
“Yes, it is necessary and yet evil, for war is an evil.”
“Quite so; and now about the popular tax.”
“This is always a benefit, for the monarch takes with one hand and gives with the other; he improves towns and roads, founds schools, protects the sciences, cherishes the arts; in fine, he directs this tax towards improving the condition and increasing the happiness of his people.”
“There is a good deal of truth in that. I suppose you know Calsabigi?”
“I ought to, your majesty, as he and I established the Genoa Lottery at Paris seven years ago.”
“In what class would you put this taxation, for you will agree that it is taxation of a kind?”
“Certainly, sire, and not the least important. It is beneficial when the monarch spends his profits for the good of the people.”
“But the monarch may lose?”
“Once in fifty.”
“Is that conclusion the result of a mathematical calculation?”
“Yes, sire.”
“Such calculations often prove deceptive.”
“Not so, may it please your majesty, when God remains neutral.”
“What has God got to do with it?”
“Well, sire, we will call it destiny or chance.”
“Good! I may possibly be of your opinion as to the calculation, but I don’t like your Genoese Lottery. It seems to me an elaborate swindle, and I would have nothing more to do with it, even if it were positively certain that I should never lose.”
“Your majesty is right, for the confidence which makes the people risk their money in a lottery is perfectly fallacious.”
This was the end of our strange dialogue, and stopping before a building he looked me over, and then, after a short silence, observed,—
“Do you know that you are a fine man?”
“Is it possible that, after the scientific conversation we have had, your majesty should select the least of the qualities which adorn your life guardsmen for remark?”
The king smiled kindly, and said,—
“As you know Marshal Keith, I will speak to him of you.”
With that he took off his hat, and bade me farewell. I retired with a profound bow.
Three or four days after the marshal gave me the agreeable news that I had found favour in the king’s eyes, and that his majesty thought of employing me.
I was curious to learn the nature of this employment, and being in no kind of hurry I resolved to await events in Berlin.
[Buuut, then, he nopes right out of Fritz-as-boss.]
Five or six weeks after my curious conversation with the monarch, Marshal Keith told me that his majesty had been pleased to create me a tutor to the new corps of Pomeranian cadets which he was just establishing. There were to be fifteen cadets and five tutors, so that each should have the care of three pupils. The salary was six hundred crowns and board found. The duty of the tutors was to follow or accompany the cadets wherever they went, Court included. I had to be quick in making up my mind, for the four others were already installed, and his majesty did not like to be kept waiting. I asked Lord Keith where the college was, and I promised to give him a reply by the next day.
I had to summon all my powers of self-restraint to my assistance when I heard this extravagant proposal as coming from a man who was so discreet in most things, but my astonishment was increased when I saw the abode of these fifteen young noblemen of rich Pomerania. It consisted of three or four great rooms almost devoid of furniture, several whitewashed bedrooms, containing a wretched bed, a deal table, and two deal chairs. The young cadets, boys of twelve or thirteen, all looked dirty and untidy, and were boxed up in a wretched uniform which matched admirably their rude and rustic faces. They were in company with their four governors, whom I took for their servants, and who looked at me in a stupefied manner, not daring to think that I was to be their future colleague.
Just as I was going to bid an eternal farewell to this abode of misery, one of the governors put his head out of the window and exclaimed,—
“The king is riding up.”
I could not avoid meeting him, and besides, I was glad enough to see him again, especially in such a place.
His majesty came up with his friend Icilius, examined everything, and saw me, but did not honour me with a word. I was elegantly dressed, and wore my cross set with brilliants. But I had to bite my lips so as not to burst out laughing when Frederick the Great got in a towering rage at a chamber utensil which stood beside one of the beds, and which did not appear to be in a very cleanly condition.
“Whose bed is this?” cried the monarch.
“Mine, sire,” answered a trembling cadet.
“Good! but it is not you I am angry with; where is your governor?”
The fortunate governor presented himself, and the monarch, after honouring him with the title of blockhead, proceeded to scold him roundly. However, he ended by saying that there was a servant, and that the governor ought to see that he did his work properly. This disgusting scene was enough for me, and I hastened to call on Marshal Keith to announce my determination. The old soldier laughed at the description I gave him of the academy, and said I was quite right to despise such an office; but that I ought, nevertheless, to go and thank the king before I left Berlin. I said I did not feel inclined for another interview with such a man, and he agreed to present my thanks and excuses in my stead.
I made up my mind to go to Russia, and began my preparations in good earnest.
[OMG, run away, run away!]
Baron Bodisson, a Venetian who wanted to sell the king a picture by Andrea del Sarto, asked me to come with him to Potsdam and the desire of seeing the monarch once again made me accept the invitation. When I reached Potsdam I went to see the parade at which Frederick was nearly always to be found. When he saw me he came up and asked me in a familiar manner when I was going to start for St. Petersburg.
“In five or six days, if your majesty has no objection.”
“I wish you a pleasant journey; but what do you hope to do in that land?”
“What I hoped to do in this land, namely, to please the sovereign.”
“Have you got an introduction to the empress?”
“No, but I have an introduction to a banker.”
“Ah! that’s much better. If you pass through Prussia on your return I shall be delighted to hear of your adventures in Russia.”
“Farewell, sire.”
Such was the second interview I had with this great king, whom I never saw again.
Does anyone else find this as hilarious as I do?
[Catt: And this is why I always take notes! (Catt observes in his memoirs that after the first year or so, he finally felt equal to the task of having a conversation with Fritz without freaking out, so his diary became less minute. Lol everyone.)]
Also, the Gutenberg copy of Casanova's memoirs has this delightful note at the beginning: "[Transcriber’s Note: These memoires were not written for children, they may outrage readers also offended by Chaucer, La Fontaine, Rabelais and The Old Testament. D.W.]"
I need to finish Wilhelmine's memoirs and also a few other items on my two other items on my 18th century to-read list, but Casanova's memoirs look fascinating. I might actually read them properly.
Casanova
That is amazing and while I am sure it must have been stressful, I kind of love that detail. Holy cow.
It gets better! Casanova's memoirs provide an amazing example of what happens when you *don't* get a chance to study and it's pop quiz time! I'm going to quote at length from his memoirs here, because they're so readable, and he does a great job of conveying just how stressful it was.
When I got home I wrote a plain but respectful letter to the king, asking where and at what time I could introduce myself to him.
In two days I received a letter signed 'Frederick,' in which the receipt of my letter was acknowledged, and I was told that I should find his majesty in the garden of Sans-Souci at four o’clock.
As may be imagined I was punctual to my appointment. I was at Sans-Souci at three, clad in a simple black dress. When I got into the court-yard there was not so much as a sentinel to stop me, so I went on mounted a stair, and opened a door in front of me. I found myself in a picture-gallery, and the curator came up to me and offered to shew me over it.
“I have not come to admire these masterpieces,” I replied, “but to see the king, who informed me in writing that I should find him in the garden.”
“He is now at a concert playing the flute; he does so every day after dinner. Did he name any time?”
“Yes, four o’clock, but he will have forgotten that.”
“The king never forgets anything; he will keep the appointment, and you will do well to go into the garden and await him.”
I had been in the garden for some minutes when I saw him appear, followed by his reader and a pretty spaniel. As soon as he saw me he accosted me, taking off his old hat, and pronouncing my name. Then he asked in a terrible voice what I wanted of him. This greeting surprised me, and my voice stuck in my throat.
“Well, speak out. Are you not the person who wrote to me?”
“Yes, sire, but I have forgotten everything now. I thought that I should not be awed by the majesty of a king, but I was mistaken. My lord-marshal should have warned me.”
“Then he knows you? Let us walk. What is it that you want? What do you think of my garden?”
His enquiries after my needs and of his garden were simultaneous. To any other person I should have answered that I did not know anything about gardening, but this would have been equivalent to refusing to answer the question; and no monarch, even if he be a philosopher, could endure that. I therefore replied that I thought the garden superb.
“But,” he said, “the gardens of Versailles are much finer.”
“Yes, sire, but that is chiefly on account of the fountains.”
“True, but it is not my fault; there is no water here. I have spent more than three hundred thousand crowns to get water, but unsuccessfully.”
“Three hundred thousand crowns, sire! If your majesty had spent them all at once, the fountains should be here.”
“Oh, oh! I see you are acquainted with hydraulics.”
I could not say that he was mistaken, for fear of offending him, so I simply bent my head, which might mean either yes or no. Thank God the king did not trouble to test my knowledge of the science of hydraulics, with which I was totally unacquainted.
He kept on the move all the time, and as he turned his head from one side to the other hurriedly asked me what forces Venice could put into the field in war time.
“Twenty men-of-war, sire, and a number of galleys.”
“What are the land forces?”
“Seventy thousand men, sire; all of whom are subjects of the Republic, and assessing each village at one man.”
“That is not true; no doubt you wish to amuse me by telling me these fables. Give me your opinions on taxation.”
This was the first conversation I had ever had with a monarch. I made a rapid review of the situation, and found myself much in the same position as an actor of the improvised comedy of the Italians, who is greeted by the hisses of the gods if he stops short a moment. I therefore replied with all the airs of a doctor of finance that I could say something about the theory of taxation.
“That’s what I want,” he replied, “for the practice is no business of yours.”
“There are three kinds of taxes, considered as to their effects. The first is ruinous, the second a necessary evil, and the third invariably beneficial.”
“Good! Go on.”
“The ruinous impost is the royal tax, the necessary is the military, and the beneficial is the popular.”
As I had not given the subject any thought I was in a disagreeable position, for I was obliged to go on speaking, and yet not to talk nonsense.
“The royal tax, sire, is that which deplenishes the purses of the subject to fill the coffers of the king.”
“And that kind of tax is always ruinous, you think.”
“Always, sire; it prevents the circulation of money—the soul of commerce and the mainstay of the state.”
“But if the tax be levied to keep up the strength of the army, you say it is a necessary evil.”
“Yes, it is necessary and yet evil, for war is an evil.”
“Quite so; and now about the popular tax.”
“This is always a benefit, for the monarch takes with one hand and gives with the other; he improves towns and roads, founds schools, protects the sciences, cherishes the arts; in fine, he directs this tax towards improving the condition and increasing the happiness of his people.”
“There is a good deal of truth in that. I suppose you know Calsabigi?”
“I ought to, your majesty, as he and I established the Genoa Lottery at Paris seven years ago.”
“In what class would you put this taxation, for you will agree that it is taxation of a kind?”
“Certainly, sire, and not the least important. It is beneficial when the monarch spends his profits for the good of the people.”
“But the monarch may lose?”
“Once in fifty.”
“Is that conclusion the result of a mathematical calculation?”
“Yes, sire.”
“Such calculations often prove deceptive.”
“Not so, may it please your majesty, when God remains neutral.”
“What has God got to do with it?”
“Well, sire, we will call it destiny or chance.”
“Good! I may possibly be of your opinion as to the calculation, but I don’t like your Genoese Lottery. It seems to me an elaborate swindle, and I would have nothing more to do with it, even if it were positively certain that I should never lose.”
“Your majesty is right, for the confidence which makes the people risk their money in a lottery is perfectly fallacious.”
This was the end of our strange dialogue, and stopping before a building he looked me over, and then, after a short silence, observed,—
“Do you know that you are a fine man?”
“Is it possible that, after the scientific conversation we have had, your majesty should select the least of the qualities which adorn your life guardsmen for remark?”
The king smiled kindly, and said,—
“As you know Marshal Keith, I will speak to him of you.”
With that he took off his hat, and bade me farewell. I retired with a profound bow.
Three or four days after the marshal gave me the agreeable news that I had found favour in the king’s eyes, and that his majesty thought of employing me.
I was curious to learn the nature of this employment, and being in no kind of hurry I resolved to await events in Berlin.
[Buuut, then, he nopes right out of Fritz-as-boss.]
Five or six weeks after my curious conversation with the monarch, Marshal Keith told me that his majesty had been pleased to create me a tutor to the new corps of Pomeranian cadets which he was just establishing. There were to be fifteen cadets and five tutors, so that each should have the care of three pupils. The salary was six hundred crowns and board found. The duty of the tutors was to follow or accompany the cadets wherever they went, Court included. I had to be quick in making up my mind, for the four others were already installed, and his majesty did not like to be kept waiting. I asked Lord Keith where the college was, and I promised to give him a reply by the next day.
I had to summon all my powers of self-restraint to my assistance when I heard this extravagant proposal as coming from a man who was so discreet in most things, but my astonishment was increased when I saw the abode of these fifteen young noblemen of rich Pomerania. It consisted of three or four great rooms almost devoid of furniture, several whitewashed bedrooms, containing a wretched bed, a deal table, and two deal chairs. The young cadets, boys of twelve or thirteen, all looked dirty and untidy, and were boxed up in a wretched uniform which matched admirably their rude and rustic faces. They were in company with their four governors, whom I took for their servants, and who looked at me in a stupefied manner, not daring to think that I was to be their future colleague.
Just as I was going to bid an eternal farewell to this abode of misery, one of the governors put his head out of the window and exclaimed,—
“The king is riding up.”
I could not avoid meeting him, and besides, I was glad enough to see him again, especially in such a place.
His majesty came up with his friend Icilius, examined everything, and saw me, but did not honour me with a word. I was elegantly dressed, and wore my cross set with brilliants. But I had to bite my lips so as not to burst out laughing when Frederick the Great got in a towering rage at a chamber utensil which stood beside one of the beds, and which did not appear to be in a very cleanly condition.
“Whose bed is this?” cried the monarch.
“Mine, sire,” answered a trembling cadet.
“Good! but it is not you I am angry with; where is your governor?”
The fortunate governor presented himself, and the monarch, after honouring him with the title of blockhead, proceeded to scold him roundly. However, he ended by saying that there was a servant, and that the governor ought to see that he did his work properly. This disgusting scene was enough for me, and I hastened to call on Marshal Keith to announce my determination. The old soldier laughed at the description I gave him of the academy, and said I was quite right to despise such an office; but that I ought, nevertheless, to go and thank the king before I left Berlin. I said I did not feel inclined for another interview with such a man, and he agreed to present my thanks and excuses in my stead.
I made up my mind to go to Russia, and began my preparations in good earnest.
[OMG, run away, run away!]
Baron Bodisson, a Venetian who wanted to sell the king a picture by Andrea del Sarto, asked me to come with him to Potsdam and the desire of seeing the monarch once again made me accept the invitation. When I reached Potsdam I went to see the parade at which Frederick was nearly always to be found. When he saw me he came up and asked me in a familiar manner when I was going to start for St. Petersburg.
“In five or six days, if your majesty has no objection.”
“I wish you a pleasant journey; but what do you hope to do in that land?”
“What I hoped to do in this land, namely, to please the sovereign.”
“Have you got an introduction to the empress?”
“No, but I have an introduction to a banker.”
“Ah! that’s much better. If you pass through Prussia on your return I shall be delighted to hear of your adventures in Russia.”
“Farewell, sire.”
Such was the second interview I had with this great king, whom I never saw again.
Does anyone else find this as hilarious as I do?
[Catt: And this is why I always take notes! (Catt observes in his memoirs that after the first year or so, he finally felt equal to the task of having a conversation with Fritz without freaking out, so his diary became less minute. Lol everyone.)]
Also, the Gutenberg copy of Casanova's memoirs has this delightful note at the beginning: "[Transcriber’s Note: These memoires were not written for children, they may outrage readers also offended by Chaucer, La Fontaine, Rabelais and The Old Testament. D.W.]"
I need to finish Wilhelmine's memoirs and also a few other items on my two other items on my 18th century to-read list, but Casanova's memoirs look fascinating. I might actually read them properly.