Frederick was now getting old, and his constitution had begun to decay. He also suffered occasionally from gout, the necessary consequence of rich diet and high-seasoned cookery, to which he was all his life exceedingly partial. He had, moreover, a voracious appetite, and he constantly indulged it to repletion. This brought on a complication of disorders, under which he suffered severely, though he never once uttered a complaint, but continued his public services with as much zeal and anxiety, as when in perfect health. He continued to do so up to August, 1786, when a confirmed dropsy having supervened, he fell into a lethargy on the 16th of that month, and expired during the night.
An impartial reviewer of the reign of Frederick, will discard all that is attractive or dazzling in his character, either from his talents as an accomplished warrior, or his wit as a man of letters. He will consider him simply as a ruler of a nation, and a member of the great European community. In that view it is impossible to deny that his administration of affairs was singularly marked by promptitude and energy. Wherever active exertions were required, or could ensure success, he generally prevailed; and to use the words of an elegant writer, “as he was in all things a master of those inferior abilities which are denominated address, it is not wonderful that he was uniformly fortunate in the cabinets of his neighbors.” His reign, however, with all its glory, and all its success, both in diplomacy and war, was a memorable proof that the happiness of the people is of little consequence, even to an enlightened despot, when balanced either against his cupidity or his ambition. It was these qualities alone that embroiled Frederick with his neighbors; and we have only to turn to his own works for a melancholy confession of the disastrous consequences which were thus entailed upon his subjects.
“The state of Prussia,” says he, in his history of his own times, “can only be compared to that of a man riddled with wounds, weakened by the loss of blood, and ready to sink under the weight of his misfortunes. The nobility were exhausted, the commons ruined, numerous villages were burnt, and many towns were nearly depopulated. Civil order was lost in a total anarchy; in fact, the desolation was universal.” In this candid exposure of the consequences of his own policy, Frederick has given the true character of his reign. Such were the results of a successful career of conquest; one which is often regarded as the most brilliant in the annals of mankind—one which conferred the title of “the great,” on the chief actor; and one which has been the almost unbounded theme of eulogy. He increased his kingdom by twenty thousand square miles; left seventy millions of Prussian dollars in the treasury, and an army of two hundred thousand men; yet, while the government was thus enriched and strengthened, we see by the monarch’s own confession, how the people had suffered.
There is abundant evidence that Frederick was a man of art and learning; and we know that he possessed the most unbounded influence over his soldiery. Before the battle of Rostorth, which led to the most celebrated of all the king of Prussia’s victories, Frederick addressed his little army, not amounting to more than twenty-five thousand men, in nearly the following words: “My brave soldiers—the hour is coming, in which all that is, and all that ought to be, dear to us, depends upon the swords that are now drawn for the battle. Time permits me to say but little, nor is there occasion to say much. You know that there is no labor, no hunger, no cold, no watching, no danger, that I have not shared with you, hitherto; and you now see me ready to lay down my life with you and for you. All I ask is the same pledge of fidelity and affection that I give. Acquit yourselves like men, and put your confidence in God.”
The effect of this speech was indescribable. The soldiers answered it by a universal shout, and their looks and demeanor became animated to a sort of heroic frenzy. Frederick led on his troops in person, exposed to the hottest of the fire. The enemy for a few moments made a gallant resistance; but, overwhelmed by the headlong intrepidity of the Prussians, they at length gave way in every part, and fled in the utmost disorder. Night alone saved from destruction the scattered remains of an army, which, in the morning, was double the number of its conquerors.
There are some anecdotes which exhibit the conqueror in a still more pleasing light. He was fond of children, and the young princes, his nephews, had always access to him. One day, while he was writing in his cabinet where the eldest of them was playing with a ball, it happened to fall on the table; the king threw it on the floor, and wrote on; presently after, the ball again fell on the table; he threw it away once more, and cast a serious look on the child, who promised to be more careful, and continued his play. At last, the ball unfortunately fell on the very paper on which the king was writing, who, being a little out of humor, put the ball in his pocket. The little prince humbly begged pardon, and entreated to have his ball again, which was refused. He continued some time praying for it in a very piteous manner, but all in vain. At last, grown tired of asking, he placed himself before his majesty, put his little hand to his side, and said, with a menacing look and tone, “Do you choose, sire, to restore the ball, or not?” The king smiled, took the ball from his pocket, and gave it to the prince, with these words: “Thou art a brave fellow; Silesia will never be retaken while thou art alive.”
During his last illness, he endured many restless nights, which he endeavored to soothe by conversing with the servant who chanced to sit up with him. On one of these occasions, he inquired of an honest young Pomeranian from whence he came? “From a little village in Pomerania.” “Are your parents living?” “An aged mother.” “How does she maintain herself?” “By spinning.” “How much does she gain daily by it?” “Sixpence.” “But she cannot live well on that.” “In Pomerania, it is cheap living.” “Did you never send her anything?” “O, yes; I have sent her at different times a few dollars.” “That was bravely done; you are a good boy. You have a deal of trouble with me. Have patience. I shall endeavor to lay something by for you, if you behave well.” The monarch kept his word; for, a few nights after, the Pomeranian being again in attendance, received several pieces of gold, and heard, to his great joy and surprise, that one hundred six dollars had been settled on his mother during her life.
Dick Boldhero.
CHAPTER VI.