History is generally written _en face_. It reminds us occasionally of
certain royal family pictures, where the centre is occupied by the king
and queen, while their children are ranged on each side like organ-pipes,
and the courtiers and ministers are grouped behind, according to their
respective ranks. All the figures seem to stare at some imaginary
spectator, who would require at least a hundred eyes to take in the whole
of the assemblage. This place of the imaginary spectator falls generally
to the lot of the historian, and of those who read great historical works;
and perhaps this is inevitable. But it is refreshing for once to change
this unsatisfactory position, and, instead of always looking straight in
the faces of kings, and queens, and generals, and ministers, to catch, by
a side-glance, a view of the times, as they appeared to men occupying a
less central and less abstract position than that of the general
historian. If we look at the Palace of Versailles from the terrace in
front of the edifice, we are impressed with its broad magnificence, but we
are soon tired, and all that is left in our memory is a vast expanse of
windows, columns, statues, and wall. But let us retire to some of the
_bosquets_ on each side of the main avenue, and take a diagonal view of
the great mansion of Louis XIV., and though we lose part of the palace,
the whole picture gains in color and life, and it brings before our mind
the figure of the great monarch himself, so fond of concealing part of his
majestic stateliness under the shadow of those very groves where we are
sitting.
It was a happy thought of M. Kurd von Schlözer to try a similar experiment
with Frederic the Great, and to show him to us, not as the great king,
looking history in the face, but as seen near and behind another person,
for whom the author has felt so much sympathy as to make him the central
figure of a very pretty historical picture. This person is Chasot.
Frederic used to say of him, _C’est le matador de ma jeunesse_,—a saying
which is not found in Frederic’s works, but which is nevertheless
authentic. One of the chief magistrates of the old Hanseatic town of
Lübeck, Syndicus Curtius,—the father, we believe, of the two distinguished
scholars, Ernst and Georg Curtius,—was at school with the two sons of
Chasot, and he remembers these royal words, when they were repeated in all
the drawing-rooms of the city where Chasot spent many years of his life.
Frederic’s friendship for Chasot is well known, for there are two poems of
the king addressed to this young favorite. They do not give a very high
idea either of the poetical power of the monarch, or of the moral
character of his friend; but they contain some manly and straightforward
remarks, which make up for a great deal of shallow declamation. This young
Chasot was a French nobleman, a fresh, chivalrous, buoyant
nature,—adventurous, careless, extravagant, brave, full of romance, happy
with the happy, and galloping through life like a true cavalry officer. He
met Frederic in 1734. Louis XV. had taken up the cause of Stanislas
Lesczynski, King of Poland, his father-in-law, and Chasot served in the
French army which, under the Duke of Berwick, attacked Germany on the
Rhine, in order to relieve Poland from the simultaneous pressure of
Austria and Russia. He had the misfortune to kill a French officer in a
duel, and was obliged to take refuge in the camp of the old Prince Eugène.
Here the young Prince of Prussia soon discovered the brilliant parts of
the French nobleman, and when his father, Frederic William I., no longer
allowed him to serve under Eugène, he asked Chasot to follow him to
Prussia. The years from 1735 to 1740 were happy years for the prince,
though he, no doubt, would have preferred taking an active part in the
campaign. He writes to his sister:—
“J’aurais répondu plus tôt, si je n’avais été très-affligé de ce
que le roi ne veut pas me permettre d’aller en campagne. Je le lui
ai demandé quatre fois, et lui ai rappelé la promesse qu’il m’en
avait faite; mais point de nouvelle; il m’a dit qu’il avait des
raisons très-cachées qui l’en empêchaient. Je le crois, car je
suis persuadé qu’il ne les sait pas lui-même.”
But, as he wished to be on good terms with his father, he stayed at home,
and travelled about to inspect his future kingdom. “C’est un peu plus
honnête qu’en Sibérie,” he writes, “mais pas de beaucoup.” Frederic, after
his marriage, took up his abode in the Castle of Rheinsberg, near
Neu-Ruppin, and it was here that he spent the happiest part of his
existence. M. de Schlözer has described this period in the life of the
king with great art; and he has pointed out how Frederic, while he seemed
to live for nothing but pleasure,—shooting, dancing, music, and
poetry,—was given at the same time to much more serious
occupations,—reading and composing works on history, strategy, and
philosophy, and maturing plans which, when the time of their execution
came, seemed to spring from his head full-grown and full-armed. He writes
to his sister, the Markgravine of Baireuth, in 1737:—
“Nous nous divertissons de rien, et n’avons aucun soin des choses
de la vie, qui la rendent désagréable et qui jettent du dégoût sur
les plaisirs. Nous faisons la tragédie et la comédie, nous avons
bal, mascarade, et musique à toute sauce. Voilà un abrégé de nos
amusements.”