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In October, 1723, when the prince was eleven years of age, his grandfather, George I., came to Berlin to visit his daughter and his son-in-law, the mother and father of Fritz. From the windows of his apartment he looked out with much interest upon Fritz, drilling his cadet company upon the esplanade in front of the palace. The clock-work precision of the movements of the boy soldiers greatly surprised him.��The difficulties I had last campaign were almost infinite, there were such a multitude of enemies acting against me. Pomerania, Brandenburg, Saxony, frontiers of Silesia, were alike in danger, and often all at one time. If I escaped absolute destruction, I must impute it chiefly to the misconduct of my enemies, who gained such advantages, but had not the sense to follow them up. Experience often corrects people of their blunders. I can not expect to profit by any thing of that kind on their part in the course of this campaign.��148The correspondence carried on between Frederick and Voltaire, and their mutual comments, very clearly reveal the relations existing between these remarkable men. Frederick was well aware that the eloquent pen of the great dramatist and historian could give him celebrity throughout Europe. Voltaire was keenly alive to the consideration that the friendship of a monarch could secure to him position and opulence. And yet each privately spoke of the other very contemptuously, while in the correspondence which passed between them they professed for each other the highest esteem and affection. Frederick wrote from Berlin as follows to Voltaire:

ONE:He then requested to be shown the cup in which his heart would be placed after that operation. His daughter, Maria Theresa, who had married the Grand-duke Francis, was in a delicate state of health. The death of her father would place the weighty crown upon her youthful brow. Grief and agitation threw her helpless upon her bed. So important was her life to the world that the emperor was unwilling that, in her214 then condition, she should enter the death-chamber. ��Tell my Theresa,�� said he, in faint and dying accents, ��that I bless her, notwithstanding her absence.�� TWO:The boorish king hated the refinement and polish of the French. If he met a lady in rich attire, she was pretty sure to be rudely assailed; and a young man fashionably dressed could hardly escape the cudgel if he came within reach of the king��s arm. The king, stalking through the streets, was as marked an object as an elephant would have been. Every one instantly recognized him, and many fled at his approach. One day he met a pale, threadbare young man, who was quietly passing him, when the king stopped, in his jerking gait, and demanded, in his coarse, rapid utterance, ��Who are you?�� I am a theological student,�� the young man quietly replied. ��Where from?�� added the king. ��From Berlin,�� was the response. ��From Berlin?�� the king rejoined; ��the Berliners are all a good-for-nothing set.�� Yes, your majesty, that is true of many of them,�� the young man added; ��but I know of two exceptions.�� Of two?�� responded the king; ��which are they?�� Your majesty and myself,�� the young man replied. The king burst into a good-humored laugh, and,28 after having the young man carefully examined, assigned him to a chaplaincy.

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ONE:Who can imagine the conflicting emotions of joy and wretchedness, of triumph and shame, of relief and chagrin, with which the heart of Frederick must have been rent! The army of Prussia had triumphed, under the leadership of his generals, while he, its young and ambitious sovereign, who had unjustly provoked260 war that he might obtain military glory, a fugitive from the field, was scampering like a coward over the plains at midnight, seeking his own safety. Never, perhaps, was there a more signal instance of a retributive providence. Frederick knew full well that the derision of Europe would be excited by caricatures and lampoons of the chivalric fugitive. Nor was he deceived in his anticipations. There was no end to the ridicule which was heaped upon Frederick, galloping, for dear life, from the battle-field in one direction, while his solid columns were advancing to victory in the other. His sarcastic foes were ungenerous and unjust. But when do foes, wielding the weapons of ridicule, ever pretend even to be just and generous?

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THREE: