The crowned philosopher always recognised the difference between the things which were Cæsar’s and the things which were God’s. The scion of a Calvinist House, he began his reign by authorising the Lutherans to restore their ritual, which had been arbitrarily simplified by his father. He was soon to court the favour of Breslau by supplying her with Protestant preachers, and of Glatz by bestowing vestments upon a statue of the Virgin. When Romanist Europe expelled the Jesuits, he seized the opportunity of picking up well-trained teachers cheap. Some of his papist subjects had a fancy for buying handkerchiefs which bore the effigies of saints. Frederick, eager to encourage the linen manufacture, bade his officials find out which saints were the most popular and adjust the supply to the demand. A story cited by Carlyle illuminates Frederick’s views upon the relations between Church and State. He was questioning the monks of Cleve, to whom the old dukes had assigned an income from the royal forest-dues for masses to be said on their behalf. “‘You still say those masses then?’ ‘Certainly, your Majesty.’ ‘And what good does anybody get out of them?’ ‘Your Majesty, those old sovereigns are to obtain heavenly mercy by them, to be delivered out of purgatory by them.’ ‘Purgatory? It is a sore thing for the Forests, all this while! And they are not yet out, those poor souls, after so many hundred years of praying?’ Monks have a fatal apprehension, No. ‘When will they be out, and the thing complete?’ Monks cannot say. ‘Send me a courier whenever it _is_ complete!’ sneers the King,” and leaves them to finish the _Te Deum_ which they had begun to greet his arrival. Lastly, the forms with which Frederick took up the kingship showed that the fears of his father and the hopes of enlightened men were alike without foundation. It became clear that the philosopher-king, though he relieved famine and tempted learned foreigners to Berlin, would not revert to the ill-timed pageantry of his grandfather. Nor—though he freed the press and restricted to a few cases the use of torture—would he anticipate the glory of some Hohenzollern who is still unborn by fostering a spirit of individual liberty among his people. Impatient of coronation, which he classed among the “useless and frivolous ceremonies which ignorance and superstition have established,” he received the homage of his subjects by proxy everywhere save in Ost-Preussen, Brandenburg, and Cleve. At Königsberg he paid homage to the memory of liberties which his ancestors had crushed, and which he had no intention of animating anew. The ceremony at Berlin was made memorable by one of his rare displays of feeling. When he appeared on the balcony of the Castle and looked down upon the surging crowd in the square below, he was so affected that he remained standing many minutes, silent and buried in thought. Then, recovering himself, he bowed to the multitude, and rode off to attend a military review.