public act as king is the seizure of part of the territory of the Bishop
of Liege, which he claims as belonging to Prussia. The old bishop is
indignant and amazed, but is obliged to submit to a robbery which
disgusts Christendom, but is not of sufficient consequence to set it
in a blaze.
The next thing he does, of historical importance, is to seize Silesia, a
province which belongs to Austria, and contains about twenty thousand
square miles,--a fertile and beautiful province, nearly as large as his
own kingdom; it is the highest table-land of Germany, girt around with
mountains, hard to attack and easy to defend. So rapid and secret are
his movements, that this unsuspecting and undefended country is overrun
by his veteran soldiers as easily as Louis XIV. overran Flanders and
Holland, and with no better excuse than the French king had. This
outrage was an open insult to Europe, as well as a great wrong to Maria
Theresa,--supposed by him to be a feeble woman who could not resent the
injury. But in this woman he found the great enemy of his life,--a
lioness deprived of her whelps, whose wailing was so piteous and so
savage that she aroused Europe from lethargy, and made coalitions which
shook it to its centre. At first she simply rallied her own troops, and
fought single-handed to recover her lost and most valued province. But
Frederic, with marvellous celerity and ability, got possession of the
Silesian fortresses; the bloody battle of Mollwitz (1741) secured his
prey, and he returned in triumph to his capital, to abide the issue
of events.
It is not easy to determine whether this atrocious crime, which
astonished Europe, was the result of his early passion for military
glory, or the inauguration of a policy of aggression and aggrandizement.
But it was the signal of an explosion of European politics which ended
in one of the most bloody wars of modern times. "It was," says Carlyle,
"the little stone broken loose from the mountain, hitting others, big
and little, which again hit others with their leaping and rolling, till
the whole mountain-side was in motion under law of gravity."
Maria Theresa appeals to her Hungarian nobles, with her infant in her
arms, at a diet of the nation, and sends her envoys to every friendly
court. She offers her unscrupulous enemy the Duchy of Limberg and two
hundred thousand pounds to relinquish his grasp on Silesia. It is like
the offer of Darius to Alexander, and is spurned by the Prussian robber.
It is not Limberg he wants, nor money, but Silesia, which he resolves to
keep because he wants it, and at any hazard, even were he to jeopardize
his own hereditary dominions. The peace of Breslau gives him a temporary
leisure, and he takes the waters of Aachen, and discusses philosophy. He
is uneasy, but jubilant, for he has nearly doubled the territory and
population of Prussia. His subjects proclaim him a hero, with immense
paeans. Doubtless, too, he now desires peace,--just as Louis XIV. did
after he had conquered Holland, and as Napoleon did when he had seated
his brothers on the old thrones of Europe.
But there can be no lasting peace after such outrageous wickedness. The
angered kings and princes of Europe are to become the instruments of
eternal justice. They listen to the eloquent cries of the Austrian
Empress, and prepare for war, to punish the audacious robber who
disturbs the peace of the world and insults all other nationalities. But
they are not yet ready for effective war; the storm does not at once
break out.
The Austrians however will not wait, and the second Silesian war ensues,
in which Saxony joins Austria. Again is Frederic successful, over the
combined forces of these two powers, and he retains his stolen province.
He is now regarded as a world-hero, for he has fought bravely against
vastly superior forces, and is received in Berlin with unbounded
enthusiasm. He renews his studies in philosophy, courts literary
celebrities, reorganizes his army, and collects forces for a renewed
encounter, which he foresees.
He has ten years of repose and preparation, during which he is lauded
and nattered, yet retaining simplicity of habits, sleeping but five
hours a day, finding time for state dinners, flute-playing, and operas,
of all which he is fond; for he was doubtless a man of culture, social,
well read if not profound, witty, inquiring, and without any striking
defects save tyranny, ambition, parsimony, dissimulation, and lying.
It was during those ten years of rest and military preparation that
Voltaire made his memorable visit--his third and last--to Potsdam and
Berlin, thirty-two months of alternate triumph and humiliation. No
literary man ever had so successful and brilliant a career as this
fortunate and lauded Frenchman,--the oracle of all salons, the arbiter
of literary fashions, a dictator in the realm of letters, with amazing
fecundity of genius directed into all fields of labor; poet, historian,
dramatist, and philosopher; writing books enough to load a cart, and all
of them admired and extolled, all of them scattered over Europe, read by
all nations; a marvellous worker, of unbounded wit and unexampled
popularity, whose greatest literary merit was in the transcendent
excellence of his style, for which chiefly he is immortal; a great
artist, rather than an original and profound genius whose ideas form the
basis of civilizations. The King of Prussia formed an ardent friendship
for this king of letters, based on admiration rather than respect;
invited him to his court, extolled and honored him, and lavished on him
all that he could bestow, outside of political distinction. But no
worldly friendship could stand such a test as both were subjected to,
since they at last comprehended each other's character and designs.
Voltaire perceived the tyranny, the ambition, the heartlessness, the
egotism, and the exactions of his royal patron, and despised him while
he flattered him; and Frederic on his part saw the hollowness, the
meanness, the suspicion, the irritability, the pride, the insincerity,
the tricks, the ingratitude, the baseness, the lies of his
distinguished guest,--and their friendship ended in utter vanity. What
friendship can last without mutual respect? The friendship of Frederic
and Voltaire was hopelessly broken, in spite of the remembrance of
mutual admiration and happy hours. It was patched up and mended like a
broken vase, but it could not be restored. How sad, how mournful, how
humiliating is a broken friendship or an alienated love! It is the
falling away of the foundations of the soul, the disappearance forever
of what is most to be prized on earth,--its celestial certitudes. A
beloved friend may die, but we are consoled in view of the fact that the
friendship may be continued in heaven: the friend is not lost to us. But
when a friendship or a love is broken, there is no continuance of it
through eternity. It is the gloomiest thing to think of in this
whole world.
But Frederic was too busy and pre-occupied a man to mourn long for a
departed joy. He was absorbed in preparations for war. The sword of
Damocles was suspended over his head, and he knew it better than any
other man in Europe; he knew it from his spies and emissaries. Though he
had enjoyed ten years' peace, he knew that peace was only a truce; that
the nations were arming in behalf of the injured empress; that so great
a crime as the seizure of Silesia must be visited with a penalty; that
there was no escape for him except in a tremendous life-and-death
struggle, which was to be the trial of his life; that defeat was more
than probable, since the forces in preparation against him were
overwhelming. The curses of the civilized world still pursued him, and
in his retreat at Sans-Souci he had no rest; and hence he became
irritable and suspicious. The clouds of the political atmosphere were
filled with thunderbolts, ready to fall upon him and crush him at any
moment; indeed, nothing could arrest the long-gathering storm.
It broke out with unprecedented fury in the spring of 1756. Austria,
Russia, Sweden, Saxony, and France were combined to ruin him,--the most
powerful coalition of the European powers seen since the Thirty Years'
War. His only ally was England,--an ally not so much to succor him as to
humble France, and hence her aid was timid and incompetent.
Thus began the famous Seven Years' War, during which France lost her
colonial possessions, and was signally humiliated at home,--a war which
developed the genius of the elder Pitt, and placed England in the proud
position of mistress of the ocean; a war marked by the largest array of
forces which Europe had seen since the times of Charles V., in which six
hundred thousand men were marshalled under different leaders and
nations, to crush a man who had insulted Europe and defied the law of
nations and the laws of God. The coalition represented one hundred
millions of people with inexhaustible resources.
Now, it was the memorable resistance of Frederic II. to this vast array
of forces, and his successful retention of the province he had seized,
which gave him his chief claim as a hero; and it was his patience, his
fortitude, his energy, his fertility of resources, and the enthusiasm
with which he inspired his troops even after the most discouraging and
demoralizing defeats, that won for him that universal admiration as a
man which he lived to secure in spite of all his defects and crimes. We
admire the resources and dexterity of an outlawed bandit, but we should
remember he is a bandit still; and we confound all the laws which hold
society together, when we cover up the iniquity of a great crime by the
successes which have apparently baffled justice. Frederic II., by
stealing Silesia, and thus provoking a great war of untold and
indescribable miseries, is entitled to anything but admiration, whatever
may have been his military genius; and I am amazed that so great a man
as Carlyle, with all his hatred of shams, and his clear perceptions of
justice and truth, should have whitewashed such a robber. I cannot
conceive how the severest critic of the age should have spent the best
years of his life in apologies for so bad a man, if his own philosophy
had not become radically unsound, based on the abominable doctrine that
the end justifies the means, and that an outward success is the test of
right. Far different was Carlyle's treatment of Cromwell. Frederic had
no such cause as Cromwell; it was simply his own or his country's
aggrandizement by any means, or by any sword he could lay hold of. The
chief merit of Carlyle's history is his impartiality and accuracy in
describing the details of the contest: the cause of the contest he does
not sufficiently reprobate; and all his sympathies seem to be with the
unscrupulous robber who fights heroically, rather than with indignant
Europe outraged by his crimes. But we cannot separate crime from its
consequences; and all the reverses, the sorrows, the perils, the
hardships, the humiliations, the immense losses, the dreadful calamities
through which Prussia had to pass, which wrung even the heart of
Frederic with anguish, were only a merited retribution. The Seven Years'
War was a king-hunt, in which all the forces of the surrounding
monarchies gathered around the doomed man, making his circle smaller and
smaller, and which would certainly have ended in his utter ruin, had he
not been rescued by events as unexpected as they were unparalleled. Had
some great and powerful foe been converted suddenly into a friend at a
critical moment, Napoleon, another unscrupulous robber, might not have
been defeated at Waterloo, or died on a rock in the ocean. But
Providence, it would seem, who rules the fate of war, had some
inscrutable reason for the rescue of Prussia under Frederic, and the
humiliation of France under Napoleon.
The brunt of the war fell of course upon Austria, so that, as the two
nations were equally German, it had many of the melancholy aspects of a
civil war. But Austria was Catholic and Prussia was Protestant; and had
Austria succeeded, Germany possibly to-day would have been united under
an irresistible Catholic imperialism, and there would have been no
German empire whose capital is Berlin. The Austrians, in this contest,
fought bravely and ably, under Prince Carl and Marshal Daun, who were no
mean competitors with the King of Prussia for military laurels. But the
Austrians fought on the offensive, and the Prussians on the defensive.
The former were obliged to manoeuvre on the circumference, the latter in
the centre of the circle. The Austrians, in order to recover Silesia,
were compelled to cross high mountains whose passes were guarded by
Prussian soldiers. The war began in offensive operations, and ended in
defensive.
The most terrible enemy that Frederic had, next to Austria, was Russia,
ruled then by Elizabeth, who had the deepest sympathy with Maria
Theresa; but when she died, affairs took a new turn. Frederic was then
on the very verge of ruin,--was, as they say, about to be
"bagged,"--when the new Emperor of Russia conceived a great personal
admiration for his genius and heroism; the Russian enmity was converted
to friendship, and the Czar became an ally instead of a foe.
The aid which the Saxons gave to Maria Theresa availed but little. The
population, chiefly and traditionally Protestant, probably sympathized
with Prussia more than with Austria, although the Elector himself was
Catholic,--that inglorious monarch who resembled in his gallantries
Louis XV., and in his dilettante tastes Leo X. He is chiefly known for
the number of his concubines and his Dresden gallery of pictures.
The aid which the French gave was really imposing, so far as numbers
make efficient armies. But the French were not the warlike people in the
reign of Louis XV. that they were under Henry IV., or Napoleon
Bonaparte. They fought, without the stimulus of national enthusiasm,
without a cause, as part of a great machine. They never have been
successful in war without the inspiration of a beloved cause. This war
had no especial attraction or motive for them. What was it to Frenchmen,
so absorbed with themselves, whether a Hohenzollern or a Hapsburg
reigned in Germany? Hence, the great armies which the government of
France sent to the aid of Maria Theresa were without spirit, and were
not even marshalled by able generals. In fact, the French seemed more
intent on crippling England than in crushing Frederic. The war had
immense complications. Though France and England were drawn into it, yet
both France and England fought more against each other than for the
parties who had summoned them to their rescue.
England was Frederic's ally, but her aid was not great directly. She did
not furnish him with many troops; she sent subsidies instead, which
enabled him to continue the contest. But these were not as great as he
expected, or had reason to expect. With all the money he received from
Walpole or Pitt he was reduced to the most desperate straits.
One thing was remarkable in that long war of seven years, which strained
every nerve and taxed every energy of Prussia: it was carried on by
Frederic in hard cash. He did not run in debt; he' always had enough on
hand in coin to pay for all expenses. But then his subjects were most
severely taxed, and the soldiers were poorly paid. If the same economy
he used in that war of seven years had been exercised by our Government
in its late war, we should not have had any national debt at all at the
close of the war, although we probably should have suspended
specie payments.
It would not be easy or interesting to attempt to compress the details
of a long war of seven years in a single lecture. The records of war
have great uniformity,--devastation, taxes, suffering, loss of life and
of property (except by the speculators and government agents), the
flight of literature, general demoralization, the lowering of the tone
of moral feeling, the ascendency of unscrupulous men, the exaltation of
military talents, general grief at the loss of friends, fiendish
exultation over victories alternated with depressing despondency in view
of defeats, the impoverishment of a nation on the whole, and the
sickening conviction, which fastens on the mind after the first
excitement is over, of a great waste of life and property for which
there is no return, and which sometimes a whole generation cannot
restore. Nothing is so dearly purchased as the laurels of the
battlefield; nothing is so great a delusion and folly as military glory
to the eye of a Christian or philosopher. It is purchased by the tears
and blood of millions, and is rebuked by all that is grand in human
progress. Only degraded and demoralized peoples can ever rejoice in war;
and when it is not undertaken for a great necessity, it fills the world
with bitter imprecations. It is cruel and hard and unjust in its nature,
and utterly antagonistic to civilization. Its greater evils are indeed
overruled; Satan is ever rebuked and baffled by a benevolent Providence.
But war is always a curse and a calamity in its immediate results,--and
in its ultimate results also, unless waged in defence of some
immortal cause.
It must be confessed, war is terribly exciting. The eyes of the
civilized world were concentrated on Frederic II. during this memorable
period; and most people anticipated his overthrow. They read everywhere
of his marchings and counter-marchings, his sieges and battles, his
hair-breadth escapes, and his renewed exertions, from the occupation of
Saxony to the battle of Torgau. In this war he was sometimes beaten, as
at Kolin; but he gained three memorable victories,--one over the French,
at Rossbach; the second, over the Austrians, at Luthen; and the third,
over the Russians, at Zorndorf, the most bloody of all his battles. And
he gained these victories by outflanking, his attack being the form of a
wedge,--learned by the example of Epaminondas,--a device which led to
new tactics, and proclaimed Frederic a master of the art of war. But in
these battles he simply showed himself to be a great general. It was not
until his reverses came that he showed himself a great man, or earned
the sympathy which Europe felt for a humiliated monarch, putting forth
herculean energies to save his crown and kingdom. His easy and great
victories in the first year of the war simply saved him from
annihilation; they were not great enough to secure peace. Although thus
far he was a conqueror, he had no peace, no rest, and but little hope.
His enemies were so numerous and powerful that they could send large
reinforcements: he could draw but few. In time it was apparent that he
would be destroyed, whatever his skill and bravery. Had not the Empress
Elizabeth died, he would have been conquered and prostrated. After his
defeat at Hochkirch, he was obliged to dispute his ground inch by inch,
compelled to hide his grief from his soldiers, financially straitened
and utterly forlorn; but for a timely subsidy from England he would have
been desperate. The fatal battle of Kunnersdorf, in his fourth campaign,
when he lost twenty thousand men, almost drove him to despair; and evil
fortune continued to pursue him in his fifth campaign, in which he lost
some of his strongest fortresses, and Silesia was opened to his enemies.
At one time he had only six days' provisions: the world marvelled how he
held out. Then England deserted him. He made incredible exertions to
avert his doom: everlasting marches, incessant perils; no comforts or
luxuries as a king, only sorrows, privations, sufferings; enduring more
labors than his soldiers; with restless anxieties and blasted hopes. In
his despair and humiliation it is said he recognized God Almighty. In
his chastisements and misfortunes,--apparently on the very brink of
destruction, and with the piercing cries of misery which reached his
ears from every corner of his dominions,--he must, at least, have
recognized a Retribution. Still his indomitable will remained. His pride
and his self-reliance never deserted him; he would have died rather than
have yielded up Silesia until wrested from him. At last the battle of
Torgau, fought in the night, and the death of the Empress of Russia,
removed the overhanging clouds, and he was enabled to contend with
Austria unassisted by France and Russia. But if Maria Theresa could not
recover Silesia, aided by the great monarchies of Europe, what could she
do without their aid? So peace came at last, when all parties were
wearied and exhausted; and Frederic retained his stolen province at the
sacrifice of one hundred and eighty thousand men, and the decline of one
tenth of the whole population of his kingdom and its complete
impoverishment, from which it did not recover for nearly one hundred
years. Prussia, though a powerful military state, became and remained
one of the poorest countries of Europe; and I can remember when it was
rare to see there, except in the houses of the rich, either a silver
fork or a silver spoon; to say nothing of the cheap and frugal fare of
the great mass of the people, and their comfortless kind of life, with
hardly any physical luxuries except tobacco and beer. It is surprising
how, in a poor country, Frederic could have sustained such an exhaustive
war without incurring a national debt. Perhaps it was not as easy in
those times for kings and states to run into debt as it is now. One of
the great refinements of advancing civilization is that we are permitted
to bequeath our burdens to future generations. Time only will show
whether this is the wisest course. It is certainly not a wise thing for
individuals to do. He who enters on the possession of a heavily
mortgaged estate is an embarrassed, perhaps impoverished, man. Frederic,
at least, did not leave debts for posterity to pay; he preferred to pay
as he went along, whatever were the difficulties.
The real gainer by the war, if gainer there was, was England, since she
was enabled to establish a maritime supremacy, and develop her
manufacturing and mercantile resources,--much needed in her future
struggles to resist Napoleon. She also gained colonial possessions, a
foothold in India, and the possession of Canada. This war entangled
Europe, and led to great battles, not in Germany merely, but around the
world. It was during this war, when France and England were antagonistic
forces, that the military genius of Washington was first developed in
America. The victories of Clive and Hastings soon after followed
in India.
The greatest loser in this war was France: she lost provinces and
military prestige. The war brought to light the decrepitude of the
Bourbon rule. The marshals of France, with superior forces, were
disgracefully defeated. The war plunged France in debt, only to be paid
by a "roaring conflagration of anarchies." The logical sequence of the
war was in those discontents and taxes which prepared the way for the
French Revolution,--a catastrophe or a new birth, as men
differently view it.
The effect of the war on Austria was a loss of prestige, the beginning
of the dismemberment of the empire, and the revelation of internal
weakness. Though Maria Theresa gained general sympathy, and won great
glory by her vigorous government and the heroism of her troops, she was
a great loser. Besides the loss of men and money, Austria ceased to be
the great threatening power of Europe. From this war England, until the
close of the career of Napoleon, was really the most powerful state in
Europe, and became the proudest.