cahn | 18th-Century Characters, Including Frederick the Great, Discussion Post 36

Starting a couple of comments earlier than usual to mention there are a couple of new salon fics! These probably both need canon knowledge.

felis ficlets on siblings!

Siblings (541 words) by felisnocturna
Chapters: 2/2
Fandom: 18th Century CE RPF
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Friedrich II von Preußen | Frederick the Great, Michael Gabriel Fredersdorf, August Wilhelm von Preußen | Augustus William of Prussia (1722-1758), Wilhelmine von Preußen | Wilhelmine of Prussia (1709-1758)
Summary:

Three Fills for the 2022 Three Sentence Ficathon.

Chapter One: Protective Action / Babysitting at Rheinsberg (Frederick/Fredersdorf, William+Henry+Ferdinand)
Chapter Two: Here Be Lions (Wilhelmine)

Unsent Letters fic by me:

Letters for a Dead King (1981 words) by raspberryhunter
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: 18th Century CE RPF
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Friedrich II von Preußen | Frederick the Great & Friedrich Heinrich Ludwig von Preußen (1726-1802)
Characters: Friedrich Heinrich Ludwig von Preußen | Henry of Prussia (1726-1802)
Additional Tags: Epistolary, Love/Hate, Talking To Dead People, Canonical Character Death, Dysfunctional Family
Summary:

Just because one's king and brother is dead doesn't mean one has to stop writing to him.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

selenak

re: Schiller, let me just add that as he added fictional Posa to the Philip & Don Carlos story, he gives one of Wallenstein's subgenerals, Ottavio Piccolomini, who eventually turns against Wallenstein, a fictional son, Max, who is fiercely loyal to Wallenstein, hero worships him, and is crushed to discover that not only does he have to choose between his oath to the Emperor and Wallenstein, but also Dad and Wallenstein, and that Wallenstein is while still admirable also immensely flawed. Lots of male love and torn loyalty and mutual heartbrokenness here, and that Max is wooing Wallenstein's fictional adult daughter (Wallenstein had a real one, but that girl was a child of ten when he died) doesn't reduce the slash factor, au contraire.

Also, mature Schiller in his letters: So I wondered whether or not to write a big Fritz character drama, not about young Fritz but Old Fritz. And then I decided I didn't want Fritz living in my head for years. I'll write about Wallenstein instead! Also a problematic hero, but one I can be emotionally distant from while writing about him, which is better for me! Yep, it's decided.

From:

mildred_of_midgard

re: Schiller, let me just add that as he added fictional Posa

Mortimer: See, the fact that he made Wallenstein obsessed with astrology is just as legit for the sake of FICTION as his FICTIONAL son of Piccolomini and said son's FICTIONAL love affair with a girl who was irl just a child. That doesn't excuse Mann and other biographers!

From:

cahn

I'm kind of with Mortimer here? I mean, did actual biographers think there was e.g. a love triangle between Philip/Don Carlos/Elisabeth?

From:

selenak

No, if you're talking of biographers either in Schiller's time or ours, but then Schiller didn't come up with that one, it was, in fact, a story circulating in Philipp's life time, and part of the Black Spanish Legend. (Also it wasn't meant to make Elisabeth sympathetic, au contraire. Adultery with a step son from a 16th century perspective is incest, and anti Philipp along with anti Valois pamphleteers smacked their lips while telling this story. (Elisabeth: just as bad as her evil Mom and immoral sister Margot!)

However, pamphlets aside, the (good) way Philipp treated his Queen before and after his son's death and the fact historical Don Carlos had a terrible reputation meant that while the story was making the rounds, it wasn't widely believed even in the 15th century, let alone later. Though in later centuries, with Carlos getting a historical hero upgrade as memories of his personality faded while Philip remained in public conscious as the evil Catholic king par excellence, the idea of an actual Carlos/Elisabeth romance gained more and more track long before Schiller wrote his play.

From:

mildred_of_midgard

So I wondered whether or not to write a big Fritz character drama, not about young Fritz but Old Fritz. And then I decided I didn't want Fritz living in my head for years. I'll write about Wallenstein instead! Also a problematic hero, but one I can be emotionally distant from while writing about him, which is better for me! Yep, it's decided.

WOW. I mean, I can 100% understand this! Both the fact that Fritz will totally get in your head and under your skin, and also the fact that you might not want that. (I just compartmentalize really, really well.) But I did not know that Schiller felt that way.

Tangentially, this is Jean Dunbabin in the intro to her bio of Charles I of Anjou (that's 13th century,

cahn):

He was no more aggressive than Edward I of England, no more avaricious than Philip IV of France, and his achievements were more interesting than either of these.

Me: Just say he's your problematic fave, Dunbabin! No need to get so defensive.

From:

cahn

Lol! I wish more biographers admitted the possibility of having a problematic fave! That was what I loved so much about Orieux, say, that he really embraced the problematic part of problematic fave :)

From:

selenak

Indeed he did! And refreshing it was, too, since I read it relatively soon after reading that Voltaire novella which partly annoyed me into writing my own version because it edited out Voltaire's wit along with his vengefulness, vanity and bitchiness in order to make him a martyr subjected to the whims of a mean monarch. I thought, author, I get that you want to write a parable of The Intellectual vs Absolute Power, but this is not how these two worked, and making Voltaire of the all the people bland is a crime against good writing. All hail Orieux, who might have a lamentable lack of German sources and consequently makes mistakes like getting the name of Fritz' wife wrong, Fredersdorf's job title(s) or the fact Fritz' younger brothers weren't scheming against him in 1750 - 1753, but by fully committing to Voltaire's flaws along with his virtues and showing how the two are intimately connected (never letting anything go!), manages to create a terrific portrait.

From:

cahn

I agree so totally!

and making Voltaire of the all the people bland

???? I know you mentioned this before but every time I'm like: Wow. How is that even possible??

From:

cahn

Lots of male love and torn loyalty and mutual heartbrokenness here

...I like how you've figured out how to drastically raise the probability I will read something :PP (I mean... not that it's exactly hard...) :)

Also, mature Schiller in his letters: So I wondered whether or not to write a big Fritz character drama, not about young Fritz but Old Fritz. And then I decided I didn't want Fritz living in my head for years. I'll write about Wallenstein instead! Also a problematic hero, but one I can be emotionally distant from while writing about him, which is better for me! Yep, it's decided.

Heh. That sounds... rather sensible, in fact!

(Heinrich, though, is a problematic hero I am happy to have in my head, so there! :D ~~but does it count if he has Fritz in his head?~~)

From:

selenak

Any version of Heinrich has Fritz in his head, so….

Also, so you don‘t have to read the entire three plays all at once, here‘s the slashiest scene for you:

SCENE II.

WALLENSTEIN, MAX. PICCOLOMINI.

MAX. (advances to him).
My general!

WALLENSTEIN.
That I am no longer, if
Thou stylest thyself the emperor's officer.

MAX.
Then thou wilt leave the army, general?

WALLENSTEIN.
I have renounced the service of the emperor.

MAX.
And thou wilt leave the army?

WALLENSTEIN.
Rather hope I
To bind it nearer still and faster to me.
[He seats himself.
Yes, Max., I have delayed to open it to thee,
Even till the hour of acting 'gins to strike.
Youth's fortunate feeling doth seize easily
The absolute right, yea, and a joy it is
To exercise the single apprehension
Where the sums square in proof;
But where it happens, that of two sure evils
One must be taken, where the heart not wholly
Brings itself back from out the strife of duties,
There 'tis a blessing to have no election,
And blank necessity is grace and favor.
This is now present: do not look behind thee,—
It can no more avail thee. Look thou forwards!
Think not! judge not! prepare thyself to act!
The court—it hath determined on my ruin,
Therefore I will be beforehand with them.
We'll join the Swedes—right gallant fellows are they,
And our good friends.
[He stops himself, expecting PICCOLOMINI's answer.
I have taken thee by surprise. Answer me not:
I grant thee time to recollect thyself.

[He rises, retires to the back of the stage. MAX. remains
for a long time motionless, in a trance of excessive anguish.
At his first motion WALLENSTEIN returns, and places himself
before him.

MAX.
My general, this day thou makest me
Of age to speak in my own right and person,
For till this day I have been spared the trouble
To find out my own road. Thee have I followed
With most implicit, unconditional faith,
Sure of the right path if I followed thee.
To-day, for the first time, dost thou refer
Me to myself, and forcest me to make
Election between thee and my own heart.

WALLENSTEIN.
Soft cradled thee thy fortune till to-day;
Thy duties thou couldst exercise in sport,
Indulge all lovely instincts, act forever
With undivided heart. It can remain
No longer thus. Like enemies, the roads
Start from each other. Duties strive with duties,
Thou must needs choose thy party in the war
Which is now kindling 'twixt thy friend and him
Who is thy emperor.

MAX.
War! is that the name?
War is as frightful as heaven's pestilence,
Yet it is good, is it heaven's will as that is.
Is that a good war, which against the emperor
Thou wagest with the emperor's own army?
O God of heaven! what a change is this.
Beseems it me to offer such persuasion
To thee, who like the fixed star of the pole
Wert all I gazed at on life's trackless ocean?
O! what a rent thou makest in my heart!
The ingrained instinct of old reverence,
The holy habit of obediency,
Must I pluck life asunder from thy name?
Nay, do not turn thy countenance upon me—
It always was as a god looking upon me!
Duke Wallenstein, its power has not departed;
The senses still are in thy bonds, although
Bleeding, the soul hath freed itself.

WALLENSTEIN.
Max., hear me.

MAX.
Oh, do it not, I pray thee, do it not!
There is a pure and noble soul within thee,
Knows not of this unblest unlucky doing.
Thy will is chaste, it is thy fancy only
Which hath polluted thee—and innocence,
It will not let itself be driven away
From that world-awing aspect. Thou wilt not,
Thou canst not end in this. It would reduce
All human creatures to disloyalty
Against the nobleness of their own nature.
'Twill justify the vulgar misbelief,
Which holdeth nothing noble in free will,
And trusts itself to impotence alone,
Made powerful only in an unknown power.

WALLENSTEIN.
The world will judge me harshly, I expect it.
Already have I said to my own self
All thou canst say to me. Who but avoids
The extreme, can he by going round avoid it?
But here there is no choice. Yes, I must use
Or suffer violence—so stands the case,
There remains nothing possible but that.

MAX.
Oh, that is never possible for thee!
'Tis the last desperate resource of those
Cheap souls, to whom their honor, their good name,
Is their poor saving, their last worthless keep,
Which, having staked and lost, they staked themselves
In the mad rage of gaming. Thou art rich
And glorious; with an unpolluted heart
Thou canst make conquest of whate'er seems highest!
But he who once hath acted infamy
Does nothing more in this world.

WALLENSTEIN (grasps his hand).
Calmly, Max.!
Much that is great and excellent will we
Perform together yet. And if we only
Stand on the height with dignity, 'tis soon
Forgotten, Max., by what road we ascended.
Believe me, many a crown shines spotless now,
That yet was deeply sullied in the winning.
To the evil spirit doth the earth belong,
Not to the good. All that the powers divine
Send from above are universal blessings
Their light rejoices us, their air refreshes,
But never yet was man enriched by them:
In their eternal realm no property
Is to be struggled for—all there is general.
The jewel, the all-valued gold we win
From the deceiving powers, depraved in nature,
That dwell beneath the day and blessed sunlight.
Not without sacrifices are they rendered
Propitious, and there lives no soul on earth
That e'er retired unsullied from their service.

MAX.
Whate'er is human to the human being
Do I allow—and to the vehement
And striving spirit readily I pardon
The excess of action; but to thee, my general!
Above all others make I large concession.
For thou must move a world and be the master—
He kills thee who condemns thee to inaction.
So be it then! maintain thee in thy post
By violence. Resist the emperor,
And if it must be force with force repel;
I will not praise it, yet I can forgive it.
But not—not to the traitor—yes! the word
Is spoken out—
Not to the traitor can I yield a pardon.
That is no mere excess! that is no error
Of human nature—that is wholly different,
Oh, that is black, black as the pit of hell!
[WALLENSTEIN betrays a sudden agitation.
Thou canst not hear it named, and wilt thou do it?
O turn back to thy duty. That thou canst,
I hold it certain. Send me to Vienna;
I'll make thy peace for thee with the emperor.
He knows thee not. But I do know thee. He
Shall see thee, duke! with my unclouded eye,
And I bring back his confidence to thee.

WALLENSTEIN.
It is too late! Thou knowest not what has happened.

MAX.
Were it too late, and were things gone so far,
That a crime only could prevent thy fall,
Then—fall! fall honorably, even as thou stoodest,
Lose the command. Go from the stage of war!
Thou canst with splendor do it—do it too
With innocence. Thou hast lived much for others,
At length live thou for thy own self. I follow thee.
My destiny I never part from thine.

WALLENSTEIN.
It is too late! Even now, while thou art losing
Thy words, one after another, are the mile-stones
Left fast behind by my post couriers,
Who bear the order on to Prague and Egra.

[MAX. stands as convulsed, with a gesture and countenance
expressing the most intense anguish.

Yield thyself to it. We act as we are forced.
I cannot give assent to my own shame
And ruin. Thou—no—thou canst not forsake me!
So let us do, what must be done, with dignity,
With a firm step. What am I doing worse
Than did famed Caesar at the Rubicon,
When he the legions led against his country,
The which his country had delivered to him?
Had he thrown down the sword, he had been lost.
As I were, if I but disarmed myself.
I trace out something in me of this spirit.
Give me his luck, that other thing I'll bear.

[MAX. quits him abruptly. WALLENSTEIN startled and overpowered,
continues looking after him, and is still in this posture when
TERZKY enters.

From:

cahn

ohhhhh as promised this is awfully slashy and also very mutually angsty and questions of HONOR and DIVIDED LOYALTIES and... ahhhh okay I'll have to read this :D