THE CAMPAIGN OF MORAVIA.
Frederick’s Motives for the War.--Marriage of William Augustus.--
Testimony of Lord Macaulay.--Frederick and his Allies.--Visit to
Dresden.--Military Energy.--Charles Albert chosen Emperor.--The
Coronation.--Effeminacy of the Saxon Princes.--Disappointment and
Vexation of Frederick.--He withdraws in Chagrin.--The Cantonment on
the Elbe.--Winter Campaigning.--The Concentration at Chrudim.
It was on the 11th of November, 1741, that Frederick, elated with
his conquest of Silesia, had returned to Berlin. In commencing the
enterprise he had said, “Ambition, interest, and the desire to make
the world speak of me, vanquished all, and war was determined on.”
He had, indeed, succeeded in making the “world speak” of him. He had
suddenly become the most prominent man in Europe. Some extolled his
exploits. Some expressed amazement at his perfidy. Many, recognizing
his sagacity and his tremendous energy, sought his alliance.
Embassadors from the various courts of Europe crowded his capital.
Fourteen sovereign princes, with many foreigners of the highest rank,
were counted among the number. The king was in high spirits. While
studiously maturing his plans for the future, he assumed the air of a
thoughtless man of fashion, and dazzled the eyes and bewildered the
minds of his guests with feasts and pageants.
[Illustration: FREDERICK THE GREAT. ÆT. 30]
On the 7th of January, 1742, Frederick’s eldest brother, William
Augustus, was married to Louisa Amelia, a younger sister of the king’s
neglected wife, Elizabeth. The king himself graced the festival, in
gorgeous attire, and very successfully plied all his wonderful arts
of fascination. “He appeared,” says Bielfeld, “so young, so gay, so
graceful, that I could not have refrained from loving him, even if he
had been a stranger.”
But, in the midst of these scenes of gayety, the king was contemplating
the most complicated combinations of diplomacy. Europe was apparently
thrown into a state of chaos. It was Frederick’s one predominant
thought to see what advantages he could secure to Prussia from the
general wreck and ruin. Lord Macaulay, speaking of these scenes, says:
“The selfish rapacity of the King of Prussia gave the signal to his
neighbors. His example quieted their sense of shame. The whole world
sprang to arms. On the head of Frederick is all the blood which was
shed in a war which raged during many years, and in every quarter of
the globe--the blood of the column of Fontenoy, the blood of the brave
mountaineers who were slaughtered at Culloden. The evils produced
by this wickedness were felt in lands where the name of Prussia was
unknown. In order that he might rob a neighbor whom he had promised
to defend, black men fought on the coast of Coromandel, and red men
scalped each other by the great lakes of North America.”
As we have stated, Frederick had declared that if any rumor should be
spread abroad of the fact that he had entered into a secret treaty with
Austria, he would deny it, and would no longer pay any regard to its
stipulations. He had adopted the precaution not to affix his signature
to any paper. By this ignoble stratagem he had obtained Neisse and
Silesia. The rumor of the secret treaty had gone abroad. He had denied
it. And now, in accordance with the principles of his peculiar code of
honor, he felt himself at liberty to pursue any course which policy
might dictate.
Frederick, in his _Histoire de mon Temps_, states that, in the
negotiations which at this time took place in Berlin, France pressed
the king to bring forward his armies into vigorous co-operation; that
England exhorted him to make peace with Austria; that Spain solicited
his alliance in her warfare against England; that Denmark implored
his counsel as to the course it was wise for that kingdom to pursue;
that Sweden entreated his aid against Russia; that Russia besought his
good offices to make peace with the court at Stockholm; and that the
German empire, anxious for peace, entreated him to put an end to those
troubles which were convulsing all Europe.
The probable object of the Austrian court in revealing the secret
treaty of Schnellendorf was to set Frederick and France at variance.
Frederick, much exasperated, not only denied the treaty, but professed
increased devotion to the interests of Louis XV. The allies, consisting
of France, Prussia, Bavaria, and Saxony, now combined to wrest Moravia
from Maria Theresa, and annex it to Saxony. This province, governed
by a marquis, was a third larger than the State of Massachusetts, and
contained a population of about a million and a half. Moravia bounded
Silesia on the south. Frederick made a special treaty with the King of
Saxony, that the southern boundary of Silesia should be a full German
mile, which was between four and five English miles, beyond the line
of the River Neisse. With Frederick’s usual promptitude, he insisted
that commissioners should be immediately sent to put down the boundary
stones. France was surprised that the King of Saxony should have
consented to the surrender of so important a strip of his territory.
Frederick paid but little regard to his allies save as he could make
them subservient to the accomplishment of his purposes. He pushed
his troops forward many leagues south into Moravia, and occupied the
important posts of Troppau, Friedenthal, and Olmütz. These places were
seized the latter part of December. The king hoped thus to be able,
early in the spring, to carry the war to the gates of Vienna.
On the 18th of January, 1742, Frederick visited Dresden, to confer
with Augustus III., King of Poland, who was also Elector of Saxony,
and whose realms were to be increased by the annexation of Moravia.
His Polish majesty was a weak man, entirely devoted to pleasure. His
irresolute mind, subjected to the dominant energies of the Prussian
king, was as clay in the hands of the potter.
“You are now,” said Frederick, “by consent of the allies, King of
Moravia. Now is the time, now or never, to become so in fact. Push
forward your Saxon troops. The Austrian forces are weak in that
country. At Iglau, just over the border from Austria, there is a large
magazine of military stores, which can easily be seized. Urge forward
your troops. The French will contribute strong divisions. I will
join you with twenty thousand men. We can at once take possession of
Moravia, and perhaps march directly on to Vienna.”
Frederick, in describing this interview, writes: “Augustus answered
_yes_ to every thing, with an air of being convinced, joined to a look
of great _ennui_. Count Brühl,[61] whom this interview displeased,
interrupted it by announcing to his majesty that the Opera was about
to commence. Ten kingdoms to conquer would not have kept the King of
Poland a minute longer. He went, therefore, to the Opera; and the King
of Prussia obtained at once, in spite of those who opposed it, a final
decision.”[62]
The next morning, in the intense cold of midwinter, Frederick set
out several hours before daylight for the city of Prague, which the
French and Bavarians had captured on the 25th of November. Declining
all polite attentions, for business was urgent, he eagerly sought M.
De Séchelles, the renowned head of the commissariat department, and
made arrangements with him to perform the extremely difficult task of
supplying the army with food in a winter’s campaign.
The next morning, at an early hour, he again dashed off to the east,
toward Glatz, a hundred miles distant, where a portion of the Prussian
troops were in cantonments, under the young Prince Leopold. Within a
week he had ridden over seven hundred miles, commencing his journey
every morning as early as four o’clock, and doing a vast amount of
business by the way.
It will be remembered that, in the note which M. Valori accidentally
dropped, and which Frederick furtively obtained, the minister was
instructed by the French court not to give up Glatz to the Prussian
king if he could possibly avoid it. But Frederick had now seized the
city, and the region around, by force of arms, and held them with a
gripe not to be relaxed. Glatz was a Catholic town. In the convent
there was an image of the Virgin, whose tawdry robes had become
threadbare and faded. The wife of the Austrian commandant had promised
the Virgin a new dress if she would keep the Prussians out of the city.
Frederick heard of this. As he took possession of the city, with grim
humor he assured the Virgin that she should not lose in consequence of
the favor she had shown the Prussians. New and costly garments were
immediately provided for her at the expense of the Prussian king.
On the 26th of January Frederick set out from Glatz, with a strong
cortége, for Olmütz, far away to the southeast. This place his troops
had occupied for a month past. His route led through a chain of
mountains, whose bleak and dreary defiles were clogged with drifted
snow, and swept by freezing gales. It was a dreadful march, accompanied
by many disasters and much suffering.
General Stille, one of the aids of Frederick on this expedition, says
that the king, with his retinue, mounted and in carriages, pushed
forward the first day to Landskron. “It was,” he writes, “such a march
as I never witnessed before. Through the ice and through the snow,
which covered that dreadful chain of mountains between Böhmen and
Mähren, we did not arrive till very late. Many of our carriages were
broken down, and others were overturned more than once.”[63]
Frederick, ever regardless of fatigue and exposure for himself, never
spared his followers. It was after midnight of the 28th when the weary
column, frostbitten, hungry, and exhausted, reached Olmütz. The king
was hospitably entertained in the fine palace of the Catholic bishop,
“a little, gouty man,” writes Stille, “about fifty-two years of age,
with a countenance open and full of candor.”
Orders had been issued for all the Prussian troops to be rendezvoused
by the 5th of February at Wischau. They were then to march immediately
about seventy-five miles west, to Trebitsch, which was but a few
miles south of Iglau, the point of attack. Here they were to join the
French and Saxon troops. The force thus concentrated would amount to
twenty-four thousand Prussian troops, twenty thousand Saxons, and
five thousand French horsemen. With this army--forty-nine thousand
strong--Frederick was to advance, by one short day’s march, upon Iglau,
where the Austrian garrison amounted to but ten thousand men.
In the mean time, on the 24th of January, Charles Albert, King of
Bavaria, through the intrigues of the French minister and the diplomacy
of Frederick, was chosen Emperor of Germany. This election Frederick
regarded as a great triumph on his part. It was the signal defeat of
Austria. Very few of the sons of Adam have passed a more joyless and
dreary earthly pilgrimage than was the fortune of Charles Albert. At
the time of his election he was forty-five years of age, of moderate
stature, polished manners, and merely ordinary abilities. He was
suffering from a complication of the most painful disorders. His
previous life had been but a series of misfortunes, and during all the
rest of his days he was assailed by the storms of adversity. In death
alone he found refuge from a life almost without a joy.
Charles Albert, who took the title of “the Emperor Charles VII.,” was
the son of Maximilian, King of Bavaria, who was ruined at Blenheim, and
who, being placed under the ban of the empire, lived for many years a
pensioner upon the charity of Louis XIV. Charles was then but seven
years of age, a prince by birth, yet homeless, friendless, and in
poverty. With varying fortunes, he subsequently married a daughter of
the Emperor Joseph. She was a cousin of Maria Theresa. Upon the death
of his father in 1726, Charles Albert became King of Bavaria; but he
was involved in debt beyond all hope of extrication. The intrigues of
Frederick placed upon his wan and wasted brow the imperial crown of
Germany. The coronation festivities took place at Frankfort, with great
splendor, on the 12th of February, 1742.
Wilhelmina, who was present, gives a graphic account, with her
vivacious pen, of many of the scenes, both tragic and comic, which
ensued.
“Of the coronation itself,” she writes, “though it was truly grand,
I will say nothing. The poor emperor could not enjoy it much. He was
dying of gout and other painful diseases, and could scarcely stand
upon his feet. He spends most of his time in bed, courting all manner
of German princes. He has managed to lead my margraf into a foolish
bargain about raising men for him, which bargain I, on fairly getting
sight of it, persuade my margraf to back out of; and, in the end, he
does so. The emperor had fallen so ill he was considered even in danger
of his life. Poor prince! What a lot he had achieved for himself!”
While these coronation splendors were transpiring, Frederick was
striving, with all his characteristic enthusiasm, to push forward
his Moravian campaign to a successful issue. Inspired by as tireless
energies as ever roused a human heart, he was annoyed beyond measure
by the want of efficient co-operation on the part of his less zealous
allies. Neither the Saxons nor the French could keep pace with his
impetuosity. The princes who led the Saxon troops, the petted sons
of kings and nobles, were loth to abandon the luxurious indulgences
to which they had been accustomed. When they arrived at a capacious
castle where they found warm fires, an abundant larder, and sparkling
wines, they would linger there many days, decidedly preferring those
comforts to campaigning through the blinding, smothering snowstorm,
and bivouacking on the bleak and icy plains, swept by the gales of
a northern winter. The French were equally averse to these terrible
marches, far more to be dreaded than the battle-field.
Frederick remonstrated, argued, implored, but all in vain. He was not
disposed to allow considerations of humanity, regard for suffering
or life, to stand in the way of his ambitious plans. For two months,
from February 5th, when Frederick rendezvoused the Prussians at
Wischau, until April 5th, he found himself, to his excessive chagrin,
unable to accomplish any thing of moment, in consequence of the
lukewarmness of his allies. He was annoyed almost beyond endurance. It
was indeed important, in a military point of view, that there should
be an immediate march upon Iglau. It was certain that the Austrians,
forewarned, would soon remove their magazines or destroy them. The
utmost expedition was essential to the success of the enterprise.
The young officers in the Saxon army, having disposed their troops
in comfortable barracks, had established their own head-quarters in
the magnificent castle of Budischau, in the vicinity of Trebitsch.
“Nothing like this superb mansion,” writes Stille, “is to be seen
except in theatres, on the drop-scene of the enchanted castle.” Here
these young lords made themselves very comfortable. They had food in
abundance, luxuriously served, with the choicest wines. Roaring fires
in huge stoves converted, within the walls, winter into genial summer.
Here these pleasure-loving nobles, with song, and wine, and such
favorites, male and female, as they carried with them, loved to linger.
[Illustration: THE YOUNG LORDS OF SAXONY ON A WINTER CAMPAIGN.]
At length, however, Frederick succeeded in pushing forward a detachment
of his army to seize the magazines and the post he so greatly coveted.
The troops marched all night. Toward morning, almost perishing with
cold, they built enormous fires. Having warmed their numbed and
freezing limbs, they pressed on to Iglau, to find it abandoned by
the garrison. The Austrian general Lobkowitz had carried away every
thing which could be removed, and then had reduced to ashes seventeen
magazines, filled with military and commissary stores. The king was
exceedingly chagrined by this barren conquest. He was anxious to
advance in all directions, to take full possession of Moravia, before
the Austrians could send re-enforcements to garrison its fortresses;
but the Saxon lords refused to march any farther in this severe winter
campaign. Frederick complained to the Saxon king. His Polish majesty
sent an angry order to his troops to go forward. Sullenly they obeyed,
interposing every obstacle in their power. Some of the leaders threw
up their commissions and went home. Frederick, with his impetuous
Prussians and his unwilling Saxons, spread over Moravia, levying
contributions and seizing the strong places.
The Saxons, much irritated, were rather more disposed to thwart his
plans than to co-operate in them. The Austrian horsemen were vigilant,
pouncing upon every unprotected detachment. Frederick marched for
the capture of Brünn, the strongest fortress in Moravia. It had a
garrison of seven thousand men, under the valiant leader Roth. To
arrest the march of Frederick, and leave him shelterless on the
plains, the Austrian general laid sixteen villages in ashes. The poor
peasants--men, women, and children--foodless and shelterless, were thus
cast loose upon the drifted fields. Who can gauge such woes?
Frederick, finding that he could not rely upon the Saxons, sent to
Silesia for re-enforcements of his own troops. Brünn could not be
taken without siege artillery. He was capturing Moravia for the King
of Poland. Frederick dispatched a courier to his Polish majesty at
Dresden, requesting him immediately to forward the siege guns. The
reply of the king, who was voluptuously lounging in his palaces, was,
“I can not meet the expense of the carriage.” Frederick contemptuously
remarked, “He has just purchased a green diamond which would have
carried them thither and back again.” The Prussian king sent for siege
artillery of his own, drew his lines close around Brünn, and urged
Chevalier De Saxe, general of the Saxon horse, to co-operate with him
energetically in battering the city into a surrender. The chevalier
interposed one obstacle, and another, and another. At last he replied,
showing his dispatches, “I have orders to retire from this business
altogether, and join the French at Prague.”
Frederick declares, in his history, that never were tidings more
welcome to him than these. He had embarked in the enterprise for the
conquest of Moravia with the allies. He could not, without humiliation,
withdraw. But, now that the ally, in whose behalf he assumed to be
fighting, had abandoned him, he could, without dishonor, relinquish
the field. Leaving the Saxons to themselves, with many bitter words
of reproach, he countermanded his order for Silesian re-enforcements,
assembled his troops at Wischau, and then, by a rapid march through
Olmütz, returned to his strong fortresses in the north.
The Saxons were compelled to a precipitate retreat. Their march was
long, harassing, and full of suffering, from the severe cold of those
latitudes, and from the assaults of the fierce Pandours, every where
swarming around. Villages were burned, and maddened men wreaked direful
vengeance on each other. Scarcely eight thousand of their number, a
frostbitten, starving, emaciate band, reached the borders of Saxony.
Curses loud and deep were heaped upon the name of Frederick. His Polish
majesty, though naturally good-natured, was greatly exasperated in
view of the conduct of the Prussian king in forcing the troops into
the severities of such a campaign. Frederick himself was also equally
indignant with Augustus for his want of co-operation. The French
minister, Valori, met him on his return from these disasters. He
says that his look was ferocious and dark; that his laugh was bitter
and sardonic; that a vein of suppressed rage, mockery, and contempt
pervaded every word he uttered.
Frederick withdrew his troops into strong cantonments in the valley
of the upper Elbe. This beautiful river takes its rise in romantic
chasms, among the ridges and spurs of the Giant Mountains, on the
southeastern borders of Silesia. Here the Prussian army was distributed
in small towns along a line following the windings of the stream,
about forty miles in length. All the troops could be concentrated in
forty-eight hours. The encampments faced the south, with the Elbe
behind them. At some little distance north of the river, safe from
surprise, the magazines were stationed. The mountains of Bohemia rose
sublimely in the distant background. In a letter to M. Jordan, under
date of Chrudim, May 5th, 1742, Frederick expresses his views of this
profitless campaign in the following terms:
[Illustration: MAP ILLUSTRATING THE CAMPAIGN IN MORAVIA.]
“Moravia, which is a very bad country, could not be held, owing to want
of provisions. The town of Brünn could not be taken because the Saxons
had no cannon. When you wish to enter a town, you must first make a
hole to get in by. Besides, the country has been reduced to such a
state that the enemy can not subsist in it, and you will soon see him
leave it. There is your little military lesson. I would not have you at
a loss what to think of our operations, or what to say, should other
people talk of them in your presence.”
Elsewhere, Frederick, speaking of these two winter campaigns, says:
“Winter campaigns are bad, and should always be avoided, except in
cases of necessity. The best army in the world is liable to be ruined
by them. I myself have made more winter campaigns than any general of
this age. But there were reasons. In 1740 there were hardly above two
Austrian regiments in Silesia, at the death of the Emperor Charles VI.
Being determined to assert my right to that duchy, I had to try it at
once, in winter, and carry the war, if possible, to the banks of the
Neisse. Had I waited till spring, we must have begun the war between
Crossen and Glogau. What was now to be gained by one march would then
have cost us three or four campaigns. A sufficient reason, this, for
campaigning in winter. If I did not succeed in the winter campaigns
of 1742, a campaign which I made to deliver Moravia, then overrun by
Austrians, it was because the French acted like fools, and the Saxons
like traitors.”[64]
Frederick, establishing his head-quarters at Chrudim, did not suppose
the Austrians would think of moving upon him until the middle of June.
Not till then would the grass in that cold region afford forage. But
Maria Theresa was inspired by energies fully equal to those of her
renowned assailant. Undismayed by the powerful coalition against her,
she sent Prince Charles, her brother-in-law, early in May, at the head
of an army thirty thousand strong, to advance by a secret, rapid flank
march, and seize the Prussian magazines beyond the Elbe.
The ever-wakeful eye of Frederick detected the movement. His beautiful
encampment at Chrudim had lasted but two days. Instantly couriers
were dispatched in all directions to rendezvous the Prussian troops
on a vast plain in the vicinity of Chrudim. But a few hours elapsed
ere every available man in the Prussian ranks was on the march. This
movement rendered it necessary for Prince Charles to concentrate the
Austrian army also. The field upon which these hosts were gathering for
battle was an undulating prairie, almost treeless, with here and there
a few hamlets of clustered peasant cottages scattered around.
[Illustration: FREDERICK CONCENTRATING HIS ARMY AT CHRUDIM.]
It was a serene, cloudless May morning when Frederick rode upon a
small eminence to view the approach of his troops, and to form them
in battle array. General Stille, who was an eye-witness of the scene,
describes the spectacle as one of the most beautiful and magnificent
which was ever beheld. The transparent atmosphere, the balmy air,
transmitting with wonderful accuracy the most distant sounds, the
smooth, wide-spreading prairie, the hamlets, to which distance lent
enchantment, surmounted by the towers or spires of the churches,
the winding columns of infantry and cavalry, their polished weapons
flashing in the sunlight, the waving of silken and gilded banners,
while bugle peals and bursts of military airs floated now faintly, and
now loudly, upon the ear, the whole scene being bathed in the rays of
the most brilliant of spring mornings--all together presented war in
its brightest hues, divested of every thing revolting.[65]
There were nearly thirty thousand men, infantry and cavalry, thus
assembling under the banners of Frederick for battle. They were in as
perfect state of drill as troops have ever attained, and were armed
with the most potent implements of war which that age could furnish.
The king was visibly affected by the spectacle. Whether humane
considerations touched his heart, or merely poetic emotion moved him,
we can not tell. But he was well aware that within a few hours not
merely hundreds, but thousands of those men, torn by shot and shell,
would be prostrate in their blood upon the plain; and he could not but
know that for all the carnage and the suffering, he, above all others,
would be responsible at the bar of God.
“The king,” writes Stille, “though fatigued, would not rest satisfied
with reports or distant view. Personally he made the tour of the whole
camp, to see that every thing was right, and posted the pickets himself
before retiring.”