A Minister near Stettin, thought this indulgence exceedingly scandalous, and let fall some expressions in a sermon upon Herod, which glanced at the King; he was therefore summoned to appear before the Consistory at Potzdam, though in fact there was no more a Consistory at Court than there was a Mass. The poor man came. The King put on a band and surplice. M.d'Argens, Author of the Jewish Letters, and one Baron de Polnitz [cahn, the Hohenzollern's go-to guy for anecdotes], who had changed his religion three or four times, dressed themselves up in the same manner. A folio volume of Bayle's Dictionary [controversial and influential work of the Enlightenment that critiqued religion] was placed upon the table by way of a Bible, and the culprit was introduced by two grenadiers, and set before these three Ministers of the Gospel.
My brother, said the King, I demand, in the name of the most High God, who the Herod was concerning whom you preached? He who slew the Children, replied the simple Priest. But was this Herod the first ? said the King; for you ought to know there have been several Herods. The Priest was silent ; he could not answer this question. How! continued the King have you dared to preach about Herod, and are ignorant both of him and his family? You are unworthy of the holy ministry. We shall pardon you for this time, but know we shall excommunicate you if ever you dare hereafter preach against any one whom you do not know,
They then delivered his sentence and pardon to him, signed by three ridiculous names invented on purpose. We shall go to-morrow to Berlin, added the King, and we will demand forgiveness for you of our brotherhood. Do not fail to come and find us out. Accordingly the Priest went, and enquired for these three labourers in the gospel vineyard all over Berlin, where he was laughed at, but the King, who had more humour than liberality, forgot to reimburse him for the expences of his journey.
Voltaire says Fritz never paid back any of the money he borrowed as Crown Prince either:
Like as Louis XII would not revenge the affronts of the Duke d'Orleans, neither would the King of Prussia remember the debts of the Prince Royal.
We knew that.
Voltaire doesn't like Doris Ritter:
A tall, meagre figure, very like one of the Sibyls, without the least appearance of meriting to be publicly whipped for a Prince.
Now he tells an anecdote about one of FW's giants, who attempted desertion, then when caught, said the only thing he regretted was not stabbing such a tyrant as FW. So he had his nose and ears cut off and was sent to Spandau.
Voltaire decides to take advantage of a moment when Fritz expresses gratitude for his poetical efforts, and ask for this guy to be released. He put his request into poetry.
The request was something daring, but one may say what one will poetically. His Majesty promised remission and some months after even had the bounty to send the poor gentleman in question to the Hospital, at three pence a day, which favour he had refused to the Queen his mother, but she, in all probability, had asked only in prose.
A few years later, Fritz manages to lure Voltaire back to his court, this time as a permanent resident. (Poor Émilie has just died prematurely in childbirth.)
Voltaire writes:
Who might resist a Monarch, a Hero, a Poet, a Musician, a Philosopher, who pretended too to love me, and whom I thought I also loved...My Frederic-Alcina*, who saw my brain was already a little discorded, redoubled the potions that I might be totally inebriated...A Mistress could not have written more tenderly.
* You two with your love of opera probably know this, but I had to look it up: Alcina is a sorceress in a 1728 Handel opera of the same name, taken originally from Orlando furioso (which you can tell I haven't read).
Then Fritz writes Voltaire a letter, trying to convince him to stay.
...a letter such as few of their Majesties write: it was the finishing glass to compleat my drunkenness. His wordy protestations were still stronger than his written ones. He was accustomed to very singular demonstrations of tenderness to younger favourites than I, and forgetting for a moment I was not of their age, and had not a fine hand, he seized it and imprinted a kiss; I took his, returned his salute, and signed myself his slave.
Then it's more squabbling with the members of the Academy, surprisingly boring and rarely witty. (See my Voltaire vs. Maupertuis write-up.) Then he leaves.
Leaving my palace of Alcina, I went to pass a month with the Dutchess of Saxe-Gotha, the best of Princesses, full of gentleness, discretion, and equanimity, and who, God be thanked, did not make verses.
Then the Frankfurt episode happens. To refresh your memory, he has a book of poetry written by Fritz which satirizes everyone in Europe, a book that's only meant to be read by a select circle, and Fritz is very afraid that Voltaire might let that book fall into the wrong hands. (Like, pretty much any hands would be the wrong hands for this book.)
So Fritz has Freitag, the Prussian Resident in Frankfurt, get the book out of Voltaire. But Voltaire says he doesn't have the book, he'll have to send for it from Leipzig. Fine, says the Freitag, but you're under house arrest until you do.
Then Voltaire reproduces the letter that Freitag gave him, which the English translator represents thus:
Montseer, so soon as shawl dey great pack come ouf Leipsic, mit de werks ouf poesy be given mit me, you shawl go ous were you do please. Given at Franckfurt de vurst of June, 1753. -Freitag, Resident ouf de King mine master."
At the bottom of which I signed, "Good, vor dey vurks ouf poesy de King your master." -With which the Resident was well satisfied.
As Voltaire reports it, he hands over the book and other requested items as soon as he gets them, then attempts to leave. But Freitag won't let him leave, and roughs up not only Voltaire, but also his niece and lover Madame Denis, who
had a passport from the King of France, and moreover, never had corrected the King of Prussia's verses.
And then they were imprisoned for 12 days, and had to pay to get out, and many of their belongings were taken.
One need not wish to pay dearer for the poesy [italicized] of the King of Prussia. I lost about as much as it had cost him to send for me and take lessons, and we were quits at parting.
Frankfurt was not in Prussia! Frankfurt was a free city of the HRE! This was kind of a scandal! (Of course, given the two parties involved, rather than get worked up about it, most of Europe decided they thoroughly deserved each other and broke out the popcorn for munching as events unfolded, because this was better than a play.)
Now, Fritz's version of events, as recounted to Catt, goes thus:
"I know that Voltaire complained loudly and breathed fire against me in all the little courts which he passed through ; but I assure you that this blockhead of a Freytag exceeded my orders. I asked him simply to get back for me my book of poems, and the bumpkin demanded it with a harshness of which I disapproved. I know the regard which is due to distinguished men of letters ; how should I have been wanting in this regard with one who surpasses them all! Voltaire lied in his throat when he said that I was responsible for the bad treatment he suffered at Frankfort. He has been tremendously sulky towards me for it, and, in spite of all his cajoleries, I do not trust him very greatly yet."
This alternation of trust and mistrust which often made its appearance when Voltaire and several other people were concerned always struck me particularly. Left to the calm of reason, the King was distrustful of the tricks of which M. de Voltaire was capable, but allowing himself to be carried away by an imagination excited and flattered by the dazzling images and the delicate praise presented to him, he gave himself up without reserve to the Patriarch of Literature.
Several years later, during the Seven Years' War, there's another episode that we see both through Voltaire's eyes and Catt's.
Fritz writes a satire on the French, recounting how he totally kicked their butts at Rossbach (it was such a humiliating defeat and so one-sided that Voltaire snarks that Prince Heinrich was the only Prussian wounded that day), and shows it to Catt.
Catt: You're my boss, so I can't speak my mind too frankly here, but...don't you think it's a little harsh and the French might take it badly? Fritz: What? No! How is it too harsh? It's perfect. I'm going to send it to Voltaire. It's a satire, he's gonna love it. Catt *thinking*: Oh, thank god, something I can work with. Catt: The same Voltaire you're always calling a monkey and saying is the most malicious trickster figure to ever walk the pages of legend? Don't you think he might...do something malicious? Fritz: Hmm. You could be right. Okay, I won't send it. Catt: A wise choice, Your Majesty. Fritz *sotto voce*: While you're in the room. Catt: *leaves the room* Fritz: *sends poem*
Meanwhile, Voltaire, now living IN FRANCE, receives a copy of this poem.
Voltaire: Oh, fuck. This package has clearly been opened a number of times in transit and spied on before it reached me. Everyone knows I used to correct Fritz's verse; they're going to think I had something to do with this. In France, where I live. FUCK YOU, FRITZ.
The remainder of the memoirs are largely politics and people who are not Fritz (and Fritz's emotional state during the early years of the Seven Years' War, when he was alternating between euphoria and depression in sync with victories, defeats, and family deaths), and the only quotable passage I spotted was:
For this purpose [Maria Theresa] negociated with the Empress of Russia and the King of Poland, that is, in quality of Elector of Saxony, for nobody negociates with the Poles.
Poor Poles.
And with that, I conclude the Voltaire memoirs.
Re the Frankfurt affair, Carlyle reports that an earlier 19th century historian, Varnhagen von Ense, looked into the Frankfurt affair and found a million holes in Voltaire's version of events. Among other things, the dialect reproduced by Voltaire is not in found in actual letters by Freytag, which read like unremarkable French and German. What Ense finds is that:
1) Fritz was genuinely not involved; he just told Fredersdorf to get the book back.
2) Fredersdorf wrote a very unclear order asking Freytag for "Skripturen", which could have been anything, instead of Oeuvre de Poesies. This failure to clarify which writings led to a lot of confusion. "Eichel would have been much clearer!" Carlyle laments.
3) Freytag did exceed orders.
4) Voltaire was crazy. (Lol, we know.)
19th century historians trying to exonerate Fritz the Infallible? Idk. But that's the story as I have it.
Voltaire memoirs II
A Minister near Stettin, thought this indulgence exceedingly scandalous, and let fall some expressions in a sermon upon Herod, which glanced at the King; he was therefore summoned to appear before the Consistory at Potzdam, though in fact there was no more a Consistory at Court than there was a Mass. The poor man came. The King put on a band and surplice. M.d'Argens, Author of the Jewish Letters, and one Baron de Polnitz [
My brother, said the King, I demand, in the name of the most High God, who the Herod was concerning whom you preached? He who slew the Children, replied the simple Priest. But was this Herod the first ? said the King; for you ought to know there have been several Herods. The Priest was silent ; he could not answer this question. How! continued the King have you dared to preach about Herod, and are ignorant both of him and his family? You are unworthy of the holy ministry. We shall pardon you for this time, but know we shall excommunicate you if ever you dare hereafter preach against any one whom you do not know,
They then delivered his sentence and pardon to him, signed by three ridiculous names invented on purpose. We shall go to-morrow to Berlin, added the King, and we will demand forgiveness for you of our brotherhood. Do not fail to come and find us out. Accordingly the Priest went, and enquired for these three labourers in the gospel vineyard all over Berlin, where he was laughed at, but the King, who had more humour than liberality, forgot to reimburse him for the expences of his journey.
Voltaire says Fritz never paid back any of the money he borrowed as Crown Prince either:
Like as Louis XII would not revenge the affronts of the Duke d'Orleans, neither would the King of Prussia remember the debts of the Prince Royal.
We knew that.
Voltaire doesn't like Doris Ritter:
A tall, meagre figure, very like one of the Sibyls, without the least appearance of meriting to be publicly whipped for a Prince.
Now he tells an anecdote about one of FW's giants, who attempted desertion, then when caught, said the only thing he regretted was not stabbing such a tyrant as FW. So he had his nose and ears cut off and was sent to Spandau.
Voltaire decides to take advantage of a moment when Fritz expresses gratitude for his poetical efforts, and ask for this guy to be released. He put his request into poetry.
The request was something daring, but one may say what one will poetically. His Majesty promised remission and some months after even had the bounty to send the poor gentleman in question to the Hospital, at three pence a day, which favour he had refused to the Queen his mother, but she, in all probability, had asked only in prose.
A few years later, Fritz manages to lure Voltaire back to his court, this time as a permanent resident. (Poor Émilie has just died prematurely in childbirth.)
Voltaire writes:
Who might resist a Monarch, a Hero, a Poet, a Musician, a Philosopher, who pretended too to love me, and whom I thought I also loved...My Frederic-Alcina*, who saw my brain was already a little discorded, redoubled the potions that I might be totally inebriated...A Mistress could not have written more tenderly.
* You two with your love of opera probably know this, but I had to look it up: Alcina is a sorceress in a 1728 Handel opera of the same name, taken originally from Orlando furioso (which you can tell I haven't read).
Then Fritz writes Voltaire a letter, trying to convince him to stay.
...a letter such as few of their Majesties write: it was the finishing glass to compleat my drunkenness. His wordy protestations were still stronger than his written ones. He was accustomed to very singular demonstrations of tenderness to younger favourites than I, and forgetting for a moment I was not of their age, and had not a fine hand, he seized it and imprinted a kiss; I took his, returned his salute, and signed myself his slave.
Then it's more squabbling with the members of the Academy, surprisingly boring and rarely witty. (See my Voltaire vs. Maupertuis write-up.) Then he leaves.
Leaving my palace of Alcina, I went to pass a month with the Dutchess of Saxe-Gotha, the best of Princesses, full of gentleness, discretion, and equanimity, and who, God be thanked, did not make verses.
Then the Frankfurt episode happens. To refresh your memory, he has a book of poetry written by Fritz which satirizes everyone in Europe, a book that's only meant to be read by a select circle, and Fritz is very afraid that Voltaire might let that book fall into the wrong hands. (Like, pretty much any hands would be the wrong hands for this book.)
So Fritz has Freitag, the Prussian Resident in Frankfurt, get the book out of Voltaire. But Voltaire says he doesn't have the book, he'll have to send for it from Leipzig. Fine, says the Freitag, but you're under house arrest until you do.
Then Voltaire reproduces the letter that Freitag gave him, which the English translator represents thus:
Montseer, so soon as shawl dey great pack come ouf Leipsic, mit de werks ouf poesy be given mit me, you shawl go ous were you do please. Given at Franckfurt de vurst of June, 1753. -Freitag, Resident ouf de King mine master."
At the bottom of which I signed, "Good, vor dey vurks ouf poesy de King your master." -With which the Resident was well satisfied.
As Voltaire reports it, he hands over the book and other requested items as soon as he gets them, then attempts to leave. But Freitag won't let him leave, and roughs up not only Voltaire, but also his niece and lover Madame Denis, who
had a passport from the King of France, and moreover, never had corrected the King of Prussia's verses.
And then they were imprisoned for 12 days, and had to pay to get out, and many of their belongings were taken.
One need not wish to pay dearer for the poesy [italicized] of the King of Prussia. I lost about as much as it had cost him to send for me and take lessons, and we were quits at parting.
Frankfurt was not in Prussia! Frankfurt was a free city of the HRE! This was kind of a scandal! (Of course, given the two parties involved, rather than get worked up about it, most of Europe decided they thoroughly deserved each other and broke out the popcorn for munching as events unfolded, because this was better than a play.)
Now, Fritz's version of events, as recounted to Catt, goes thus:
"I know that Voltaire complained loudly and breathed fire against me in all the little courts which he passed through ; but I assure you that this blockhead of a Freytag exceeded my orders. I asked him simply to get back for me my book of poems, and the bumpkin demanded it with a harshness of which I disapproved. I know the regard which is due to distinguished men of letters ; how should I have been wanting in this regard with one who surpasses them all! Voltaire lied in his throat when he said that I was responsible for the bad treatment he suffered at Frankfort. He has been tremendously sulky towards me for it, and, in spite of all his cajoleries, I do not trust him very greatly yet."
This alternation of trust and mistrust which often made its appearance when Voltaire and several other people were concerned always struck me particularly. Left to the calm of reason, the King was distrustful of the tricks of which M. de Voltaire was capable, but allowing himself to be carried away by an imagination excited and flattered by the dazzling images and the delicate praise presented to him, he gave himself up without reserve to the Patriarch of Literature.
Several years later, during the Seven Years' War, there's another episode that we see both through Voltaire's eyes and Catt's.
Fritz writes a satire on the French, recounting how he totally kicked their butts at Rossbach (it was such a humiliating defeat and so one-sided that Voltaire snarks that Prince Heinrich was the only Prussian wounded that day), and shows it to Catt.
Catt: You're my boss, so I can't speak my mind too frankly here, but...don't you think it's a little harsh and the French might take it badly?
Fritz: What? No! How is it too harsh? It's perfect. I'm going to send it to Voltaire. It's a satire, he's gonna love it.
Catt *thinking*: Oh, thank god, something I can work with.
Catt: The same Voltaire you're always calling a monkey and saying is the most malicious trickster figure to ever walk the pages of legend? Don't you think he might...do something malicious?
Fritz: Hmm. You could be right. Okay, I won't send it.
Catt: A wise choice, Your Majesty.
Fritz *sotto voce*: While you're in the room.
Catt: *leaves the room*
Fritz: *sends poem*
Meanwhile, Voltaire, now living IN FRANCE, receives a copy of this poem.
Voltaire: Oh, fuck. This package has clearly been opened a number of times in transit and spied on before it reached me. Everyone knows I used to correct Fritz's verse; they're going to think I had something to do with this. In France, where I live. FUCK YOU, FRITZ.
The remainder of the memoirs are largely politics and people who are not Fritz (and Fritz's emotional state during the early years of the Seven Years' War, when he was alternating between euphoria and depression in sync with victories, defeats, and family deaths), and the only quotable passage I spotted was:
For this purpose [Maria Theresa] negociated with the Empress of Russia and the King of Poland, that is, in quality of Elector of Saxony, for nobody negociates with the Poles.
Poor Poles.
And with that, I conclude the Voltaire memoirs.
Re the Frankfurt affair, Carlyle reports that an earlier 19th century historian, Varnhagen von Ense, looked into the Frankfurt affair and found a million holes in Voltaire's version of events. Among other things, the dialect reproduced by Voltaire is not in found in actual letters by Freytag, which read like unremarkable French and German. What Ense finds is that:
1) Fritz was genuinely not involved; he just told Fredersdorf to get the book back.
2) Fredersdorf wrote a very unclear order asking Freytag for "Skripturen", which could have been anything, instead of Oeuvre de Poesies. This failure to clarify which writings led to a lot of confusion. "Eichel would have been much clearer!" Carlyle laments.
3) Freytag did exceed orders.
4) Voltaire was crazy. (Lol, we know.)
19th century historians trying to exonerate Fritz the Infallible? Idk. But that's the story as I have it.