the king's pages, Keith by name, and also with a certain lieutenant
Katte. These two young men had the same tastes as himself, and were with
him during all his leisure hours. When Fritz could escape from the hated
reviews or hunts, in which he was forced to bear his father company, he
would hurry back to his own apartments, throw off his tight uniform,
slip on a dressing-gown of scarlet and gold brocade, and begin to play
on his beloved flute. In his rooms he often found his teacher Quantz
awaiting him, and then for a time his troubles were forgotten in the
soothing tones of the great flutist. One day both master and pupil were
practising together a difficult passage, when Katte rushed in
breathless.
'The king is on the stairs,' he panted, snatching up flutes and music,
and hiding them in the wood closet. In an instant Fritz had flung his
dressing-gown behind a screen, and put on his coat; but he could not
manage to tie his hair, which he had loosened, and which hung about his
face, in a way that the king disliked. The confused bearing of all three
naturally attracted Frederick William's attention, and, bursting into a
fit of rage that rendered him almost speechless, he kicked down the
screen in front of him. 'I knew it,' he shouted, catching up the
dressing-gown, and thrusting it into the fire where he stamped it down
with his heavy boot. Then, sweeping a pile of French novels from a
little table, he thrust them into the arms of the gentleman-in-waiting,
bidding him send them back at once to the bookseller; for even in his
wrath the king did not forget to be economical.
[Illustration: He stamped it down with his heavy boot]
After this affair father and son were on worse terms than ever. It was
not at all an uncommon thing for Frederick William to throw plates at
the heads of his children when they vexed him, and one evening, after
dinner, as he was being pushed about in a wheel-chair during an attack
of gout, he aimed a blow with his crutch at Wilhelmine. The girl sprang
aside, and it fell harmless, but this only increased the king's fury,
and he called to the attendants to push his chair quickly so that he
might prevent her reaching the door. They dared not disobey, but
contrived to find so many obstacles in the way that the princess was
able to escape. As to Fritz, he was struck by his father almost daily,
and on one occasion, about a month before the prince's eighteenth
birthday, when the young man entered the room, his father leaped at his
throat, dragged him by the hair, beat him violently with his stick, and
forced him to kneel down and beg his pardon—for what offence the crown
prince did not know! Not content with this, the king exulted in his
son's misery, and even told him that worse was in store.
It is hardly wonderful that under these circumstances the prince felt
that his life was in danger, and began to form plans of escape; but they
were so badly laid and so transparent, that everybody could guess what
was happening, and three or four times he was forced to give them up.
His favourite project was to reach France and go next to London, where
he was sure of protection, and in all this his principal confidant was
his friend Katte. Early in July the king started for Potsdam, taking the
crown prince with him. After remaining there a few days, he announced
his intention of making a progress by way of Wesel, and this gave Fritz
the idea that from Wesel he could gain Holland and cross to England. He
managed to obtain a secret interview with Katte, and it was arranged
that they should write to each other through a cousin of Katte's, of the
same name, who was recruiting near Anspach, as they knew the king
intended to stop at this city and visit his daughter who had married the
margrave the year before.
The king spent a week at Anspach, during which time he was busy with the
affairs of the young couple, whom it would have been much wiser to have
left to themselves. Fritz meanwhile was fuming at the delay, but tried
to turn it to account by gaining over the page Keith to his service. It
was settled between them that young Keith should take advantage of his
position to secure some horses, and the crown prince wrote to Katte that
he was to go in a few days to the Hague and there inquire for a certain
count d'Alberville—for under this name Fritz proposed to travel. Keith
was ordered to join him there also, and from the Hague they would slip
across almost before their absence was discovered. Unluckily all the
hardships he had suffered had not yet turned Fritz into a man.
Passionately though he longed to escape from his father's tyranny, he
still expected life to be like the French novels he was so fond of, and
from one of which the name of count d'Alberville was taken. So, instead
of putting on an old suit of clothes, in which he might have passed
unnoticed, he ordered a fine new red cloak for himself, and a blue one
for young Keith, to wear on the great occasion.
From Anspach they went to visit the duke of Württemberg, and thence set
out for Mannheim, where the elector palatine was awaiting them. Fritz
had arranged to make his flight from a place called Sinsheim, but, to
his dismay, the king announced that he meant to push on to Steinfurth,
which was nearer Mannheim. The whole royal party slept in two barns, and
more than once Fritz almost gave up his plan in despair, so impossible
it seemed for him to steal away without waking somebody. However, they
were very tired after their long day's journey, and slept soundly, all
except Fritz's valet, Gummersbach, who, hearing a sound soon after two,
awoke with a start to see the crown prince dressing himself.
'But your Royal Highness'——stammered Gummersbach, in surprise, rising
to his feet.
'If I choose to get up it is no business of yours,' replied Fritz, in an
angry whisper. 'Give me my red cloak, I am going to the king.' And he
crept softly from the barn, never hearing Gummersbach's answer that the
king intended to start at five instead of three. The valet said nothing,
but hastened to wake Rochow, the prince's tutor, who was lying on some
straw with all his clothes on.
'What is the matter?' cried he.
'Quick! quick! sir, the prince!' was all Gummersbach could answer, and
without wasting time in questions Rochow rushed away in the direction of
an open green space in front of the farm. Seeing in the dim light the
outline of two heavy carriages, he altered his pace, and strolled
carelessly up to young Keith, who was holding two horses.
'Whom are these for?' asked Rochow politely.
'They are for myself and the other page to accompany his Majesty,'
answered the boy.
'Ah, yes, of course; but you should have been informed that his Majesty
does not intend to start till five to-day, so you had better take them
back to the stables.' And, unwilling though he was, Keith was forced to
obey, especially as some of the generals in the king's suite had come on
the scene, and advanced to one of the carriages against which Fritz was
leaning.
'Can we be of any use to your Royal Highness?' asked Rochow
respectfully; but, with an oath, the prince brushed him aside, and
throwing off the red cloak that covered him, went straight to the place
where his father was sleeping. He may have thought that the officers
would say nothing in his presence, and indeed they were mostly on his
side, and far from anxious to make things worse for him.
'Is it so late?' asked the king, who was still lying on the rough bed,
wrapped in a large coat. 'Well, your carriage is heavier than mine, so
you had better start early.'
The prince bowed and went out, but contrived to delay on one pretext or
another, so that the king's own carriage was brought up first to the
gate of the farm, and soon his Majesty was on the road to Mannheim. All
the way the king expected to catch up his son, but even when Fritz was
not found at Heidelberg he suspected nothing, and his only uneasiness
was in the fear that the prince had entered Mannheim without him. When,
however, he reached the city himself, at eight in the evening, and there
was still no Fritz, he grew seriously disturbed, and to quiet him, the
elector sent some of his servants to look for the crown prince. At
half-past ten the whole party appeared, Fritz tired and very sulky, but
as determined as ever not to remain a moment more than could be helped
in his father's power. He had hoped for a chance of flight along the
road, but none presented itself, and now he was resolved to begin all
over again. Once more a message was sent to young Keith to be ready with
the horses as soon as he received a signal, but the page was not cast in
the same mould as his master. In mortal terror of his life, he threw
himself at the king's feet, confessed the whole plot, and implored
forgiveness. For once in his career Frederick William managed to control
his temper; he would have his son closely watched, but he should not be
arrested till he was on Prussian soil; yet all through the rest of the
tour Fritz was well aware that someone had betrayed him. Immediately on
their arrival at Wesel, the prince was put under arrest, and sent,
without once being allowed to leave the travelling carriage, to the
castle of Spandau, whence he was afterwards removed to Cüstrin. General
Buddenbrock was appointed his gaoler, and ordered to shoot him dead in
case of a rescue.
---------------------
And where was Wilhelmine all this time, and what was she doing? Well,
she was at Berlin, still very weak and sickly from a bad attack of
smallpox the year before, and the severity of the treatment which
followed it. The king remained always fixed in his determination to find
a husband for her; if not the prince of Wales, then the margrave of
Schwedt, the margrave of Baireuth, who was young and agreeable, or, best
of all, the duke of Weissenfeld, not so young, and perhaps not so
agreeable, but the man most favoured by Frederick William. 'After all,
marriage is not of such great importance,' said one of her ladies to the
princess, in well-meant consolation. 'Nobody makes such a fuss about it
elsewhere. A husband that you can turn and twist as you like is an
excellent thing to have, and however angry the queen may be now, when
once the thing is over she will make up her mind to it. So take my
advice, and accept the hand of the duke of Weissenfeld, and you will
please everybody.' But Wilhelmine did not agree with madame la Ramen.
She knew too much about marriage to think that the choice of a husband
mattered nothing, and she had not the slightest intention of sacrificing
her whole life to the whims of her very changeable father. So she gave a
vague answer to the earnest entreaties of madame la Ramen, and let the
subject drop.
On the evening of August 11, the princess entered the palace from the
garden, where she had passed several hours, feeling excited and
melancholy by turns; _why_, she could not imagine, as everything was
going on as usual. Therefore, she did not, as usual, go straight to her
rooms, but instead, ordered a carriage and drove to Montbijou where a
concert was taking place. In this way she missed the strange events that
were happening in her mother's apartments. Let Wilhelmine tell her own
story; it is a very surprising one:—-
'That night the queen was seated before her dressing-table having her
hair brushed, with madame von Bülow beside her, when they heard a
fearful noise in the next room. This room was used as a kind of museum,
and was filled with precious stones and gems, and some very rare and
tall Chinese and Japanese vases. Her Majesty thought at first that one
of these vases must have been knocked over, and have been broken in
pieces on the polished floor, and she bade madame la Ramen go and see
who had done it, but, to her amazement, on entering the museum, the
lady-in-waiting found everything undisturbed. Scarcely had she rejoined
the queen when the noise began afresh, louder than before, and madame la
Ramen ran back, accompanied by another of the queen's attendants, only
to discover all in perfect order, and the room dark and still. Three
times this occurred, and then the noise ceased in the museum altogether,
to start again far more loudly in the corridor which led from the
queen's apartments to those of the king. At each end of this corridor
stood a sentinel, to prevent anyone passing but the servants on duty, so
the disturbance was all the more strange.
"Bring lights, and we will pass down the corridor," said the queen to
her ladies, and left her room, followed by all but madame la Ramen, who
hid herself, in a great fright. But hardly had they stepped across the
threshold when fearful groans and cries broke out around them. The
ladies trembled at the sound, and the guards at each end were half-dead
with fright; but the queen's calmness made them all ashamed, and when
she ordered them to try the doors along the corridor, they obeyed in
silence. Each door was locked, and when the key was turned and the room
entered, it was empty. Her majesty then questioned the guards, who
confessed that the groans had sounded close to them, but they had seen
nothing, and with that she was forced to be content, and to return to
her own apartments, rather angry at having been disturbed in vain. Next
morning she told me the story, and though not in the least
superstitious, ordered me to write down the date of the occurrence. I am
quite sure that there must be some simple explanation, but it is curious
that the affair happened during the very night that my brother was
arrested, and a most painful scene between the king and queen afterwards
took place in this very corridor.'
It was at a ball given by the queen at Montbijou, five days later, that
she learned the terrible news. 'It was six years since I had danced,'
says Wilhelmine, 'and I flung myself into it without paying attention to
anything else, or to the repeated wishes of madame von Bülow, who told
me it was time for me to go to bed.
'"Why are you so cross to-night?" I asked, at length; "I don't know what
to make of you!"'
'"Look at the queen," she replied, "and you will be answered." I turned
and looked, and grew cold and white at the sight of her, standing rigid
in a corner of the ball-room between two of her ladies. In a moment more
she bent her head and said good-night to her guests, then walked to her
carriage, making a sign to me to follow her. Not a word did we utter all
the way to the palace; I thought my brother must be dead, and in this
terrible silence and uncertainty my heart began to palpitate so
furiously that I felt as if I should be suffocated.'
For some time her ladies, under the queen's orders, refused to tell
Wilhelmine what had happened, but seeing the poor girl was firmly
convinced of the prince's death, madame von Sonsfeld informed her that
letters had arrived from the king, stating that the crown prince had
been arrested, as he was attempting to escape. Next day they learned
that Katte also had been taken prisoner, but Keith cleverly managed to
place himself under the protection of the English ambassador to the
Hague, lord Chesterfield, and to pass over to England in his suite. When
the shock of the news was passed, the first thought of both the queen
and Wilhelmine was for the numerous letters they had written to the
prince, in which they had said many bitter and imprudent things about
the king's behaviour. Wilhelmine hoped they had been burned, as she had
always bidden Fritz to do the moment he received them; but the queen
feared that they might have been entrusted to Katte (as he was known to
have in his care many of the prince's possessions), and in this case
they must be got from him at all cost, or the crown prince's head would
certainly pay forfeit. The queen was right: the letters were among
Katte's papers, with the official seal placed upon them.
In this desperate plight, Sophia Dorothea threw herself upon the
generosity of marshal Natzmar, Katte's superior. No direct answer was
received, and the queen and Wilhelmine were almost ill with anxiety,
when, one day, when the princess was alone with madame von Sonsfeld, the
countess von Fink entered bearing a heavy portfolio.
'It is most mysterious,' said she, sinking into a chair with her burden;
'when I went into my room last night I found this great portfolio, with
a chain and seals round it, addressed to the queen, and this note for
you, madame. As I did not like to disturb her Majesty I have brought
them to you.'
Wilhelmine's heart beat with excitement, but she dared not betray
herself. She took the note quietly, and read its contents, which were
very short. 'Have the goodness, madame, to deliver this portfolio to the
queen. It contains the letters which she and the princess have written
to the crown prince.'
Carrying the portfolio, and grumbling all the while as to the unknown
risks she might be running, countess von Fink followed Wilhelmine and
madame von Sonsfeld into the presence of the queen, whose joy was
boundless on receiving the precious letters. But in a few minutes her
face clouded over again, as she perceived that many difficulties still
lay before her. First, there were the spies by whom the king had
surrounded them; they would at once detect the absence of so large an
object. Then there was the danger that Katte would mention the letters
in the cross-examination he would have to undergo, and once their
existence was known, and madame von Fink questioned, the prince's cause
was lost, and his mother and sister might have to undergo imprisonment
for life. What _could_ be done? All day long plan after plan was thought
of and rejected, but at length it was Wilhelmine who hit upon one that
might do. The portfolio was openly to lie in the queen's apartments as
if it had been brought to her for safe custody, and then, with great
precautions, the seal could be raised without breaking it, and the chain
filed through where it could easily be joined again. Then the letters
could be taken out, and others, quite harmless, written and put back in
their place. Clever though it all sounded, it would have been impossible
to carry out the scheme had it not been for a most lucky accident which
had befallen the queen's confidential valet Bock, who was called in to
raise the seal. On examining the coat-of-arms on the wax he recognised
it as the same engraved on a seal he had picked up four weeks earlier in
the garden at Montbijou, and which, he now discovered, belonged to
Katte. By this means the wax could be broken and re-sealed without the
slightest risk.
The letters were now in the hands of the queen and princess, and were to
the full as dangerous as they had expected to find them; but there was
no time to spare for lamenting their folly if they were to have others
ready to await the king on his return. Of course, there was no need to
replace the whole fifteen hundred; but a great deal had to be done, and
without delay Wilhelmine and her mother sat down to write a large
number, taking care to obtain paper with the proper water-mark of every
year. In three days they had seven hundred ready, and in order to give
the impression that they wished to conceal the letters, the queen filled
up the portfolio with handkerchiefs and various articles of fine linen.
All was now ready for the arrival of the king, and when the day and hour
was fixed the queen awaited him in her apartments. As soon as he reached
the threshold, he shouted out: 'Well, Madame, your wretched son is
dead.'
'Dead!' repeated the queen, clutching at a chair as she spoke. 'Dead!
you have had the heart to kill him?'
'Yes, I tell you,' was his answer; 'and I want the portfolio containing
his letters.'
Hardly able to walk, the queen went to fetch the portfolio, which the
king slashed in pieces and took out the letters. Then, without another
word, he walked away.
'Have you heard? Fritz is dead!' said the queen to Wilhelmine, in a
terrible voice that seemed dead also. The princess fainted at the
horrible news, but when she recovered her senses, madame von Sonsfeld
whispered not to be afraid, as she had reason to know that the prince,
though strictly guarded, was alive and well. These words put fresh life
into the hearts of his mother and sister, and enabled Wilhelmine to bear
the blows and kicks which her father showered upon her, till he was
dragged off by his other children. Then he confessed that Fritz was
still living, and accused Wilhelmine of having been his accomplice in an
act of high treason against the king's person. This was more than the
poor girl could bear.
'I will marry anyone you like,' she cried, 'if you will only spare my
brother's life—the duke of Weissenfeld, or anybody else; it is all the
same to me.' But the king was deaf to everything but the sound of his
own voice, and did not hear her, and a moment after Katte, pale and
calm, passed the window, under the guard of four soldiers, for his
examination by the king.
Frederick William behaved with his usual brutality, even kicking the
unhappy prisoner, who threw himself at his feet, confessing his own part
in the plot, but denying that Wilhelmine had any part in it. He
acknowledged, however, that by the prince's orders he had sent the
letters to her, and these were closely examined by the minister Grumkow,
'in the hope,' says Wilhelmine, 'of finding something that would condemn
us.' But the closest scrutiny revealed nothing of the least importance,
though the king was still suspicious, and commanded the princess to keep
her room till he had time to question her further.
[Illustration: FREDERICK BIDS FAREWELL TO KATTE]
Meanwhile the crown prince was locked up in the fortress of Cüstrin, and
obliged to obey a set of those minute rules which Frederick William
loved to draw up. 'Every morning at eight a basin and a little water, to
wash himself with, is to be taken to his cell by a scullion'; and this
seems to have been the only washing allowed him by the king, who is
always reproaching him for his dirty habits. Two meals, one at twelve
and the other at six, were all he was allowed, and 'his food is to be
cut up before he has it.' Several times a day he was visited by the
officers in charge, but they were strictly forbidden to speak to him.
By-and-bye the king declared that the prisoner had forfeited his right
to the Prussian crown, and ordered him to be spoken of as 'colonel
Frederick.'
At last a council was appointed to try both the prince and Katte, and
Keith—if they could get him! The trial was long, and at the end of it
Katte was condemned to death for intended desertion, but strongly
recommended to mercy. With regard to the prince they considered that, as
he had been deprived of his military rank and suffered many months of
close imprisonment, he was sufficiently punished, especially as he had
expressed his willingness 'to do all that His Majesty requires or
commands.' Touching the charge of disobedience, the council declined to
pass judgment.
The recommendation to mercy was not heeded. Katte's grandfather, field
marshal von Alvensleben, wrote a touching letter begging for his life,
and recalling the many occasions on which he himself had risked his own
in the service of Prussia. He received a reply stating that Katte
deserved 'to be torn with red-hot pincers,' as was the law in Prussia,
'but that, "out of consideration" for his father and grandfather, his
head should be cut off.' This document is signed 'Your very affectionate
king.' Probably nothing that Frederick the Great ever endured in his
whole life was as bitter as the scene which his father had prepared for
him. Katte was to be beheaded under the windows of the crown prince's
prison. If the span was too narrow, another place was to be chosen, 'but
so that the prince can see well.' For this purpose the condemned man was
to take a two days' journey to Cüstrin, but, perhaps by the mercy of his
gaolers, Frederick was told nothing till he was awakened at five o'clock
on the morning of November 6, and informed that Katte had been in
Cüstrin since the previous day, and was to be executed at seven. The
unexpected news upset the prince completely. He wept and wrung his
hands, and begged that the execution might be delayed till he could send
a courier to the king at Wustershausen. He offered to resign the crown,
to suffer perpetual imprisonment, even to sacrifice his own life, if
only he might save that of Katte. The officers were full of pity, but
they were powerless.