THE END OF THE SEVEN YEARS’ WAR.
Commencement of the Sixth Campaign.--The Fortified Camp at
Bunzelwitz.--Skillful Engineering.--Unintermitted Toil of the
Soldiers.--Retreat of the Russians.--Loss of Schweidnitz.--
Peculiar Treatment of General Zastrow.--Close of the Sixth
Campaign.--The King at Breslau.--Desponding Letter to D’Argens.--
Death of Elizabeth of Russia.--Accession of Peter III.--His
Marriage with the Daughter of a Prussian General.--Takes the
Baptismal Name of Catharine.--Assassination of Peter III.--
Curious Proclamation by the Empress.--Commencement of the Seventh
Campaign.--Alliance of Russia with Prussia.--Withdrawal from the
Alliance.--Termination of the War.
The fifth campaign of the Seven Years’ War closed with the year 1760.
By exertions such as mortal man perhaps never made before, Frederick
succeeded, during the winter, in raising an army of ninety-six thousand
men. In the mean time the allies had concentrated in Bohemia, to crush
him, seventy-two thousand Austrians and sixty thousand Russians. The
capture of four fortresses would drive Frederick hopelessly out of
Silesia. Early in May, Frederick, leaving his brother Henry with about
forty thousand men to protect Saxony, set out with fifty thousand for
the relief of Neisse, which was then besieged. General Goltz, probably
the most able of the Prussian commanders, was detached to the fortified
camp at Glogau.
“But, alas! poor Goltz, just when ready to march, was taken with
sudden, violent fever, the fruit probably of overwork; and in that sad
flame blazed away his valiant existence in three or four days; gone
forever, June 30, 1761, to the regret of Frederick and of many.”[167]
The Russians were entering Silesia from the northeast by the way of
Poland. Frederick, by one of his incredibly rapid marches, for a time
prevented the junction of the two hostile armies. After innumerable
marchings and manœuvrings, during which Frederick displayed military
ability which commanded the admiration even of his foes, the Prussian
king found himself, on the 16th of August, at Nicolstadt, in the very
heart of Silesia, at the head of fifty-seven thousand men. In front
of him, obstructing his advance, there were sixty thousand Russians.
In his rear, cutting off his retreat, there were seventy-two thousand
Austrians. From a commanding eminence Frederick could watch the
movements of both of these hostile bands. Both Russians and Austrians
stood in such awe of the prowess of their redoubtable antagonist that
they moved cautiously, like hounds surrounding the lion at bay.
At three o’clock in the morning of the 20th of August, and after
the march of a few hours, the little army of Frederick commenced
constructing a fortified camp near the poor little village of
Bunzelwitz, about half way between the Silesian fortresses of
Schweidnitz and Striegau. Spades were provided. Fifty thousand men
were instantly employed, according to a well-matured plan, in digging
and trenching. The extraordinary energies of Frederick seemed to nerve
every arm. Here there was speedily reared the camp of Bunzelwitz, which
has attained world-wide renown.
An ordinary eye would not have seen in the position any peculiar
military strength. It was an undulating plain about eight miles long
and broad, without any abrupt eminences. A small river bordered it
on the west, beyond which rose green hills. On the east was the
almost impregnable fortress of Schweidnitz, with its abundant stores.
Farm-houses were scattered about, with occasional groves and morasses.
There were also sundry villages in the distance.
Frederick himself was chief engineer. The army was divided into
two forces of twenty-five thousand each. Carlyle gives a graphic
description of this enterprise.
“And twenty-five thousand spades and picks are at work, under such
a field engineer as there is not in the world when he takes to that
employment. At all hours, night and day, twenty-five thousand of them:
half the army asleep, other half digging, wheeling, shoveling; plying
their utmost, and constant as Time himself: these, in three days, will
do a great deal of spadework. Batteries, redoubts, big and little;
spare not for digging. Here is ground for cavalry, too. Post them here,
there, to bivouac in readiness, should our batteries be unfortunate.
Long trenches are there, and also short; batteries commanding every
ingate, and under them are mines.”
Many of the trenches were sixteen feet broad by sixteen feet deep.
Under each battery there were two mines. In case of capture, the mines
and the victors could be blown high into the air. Knowing that the
batteries were all mined, the Russian and Austrian soldiers would be
slow to make charges in which victory would be certain death. The small
villages around were all strongly fortified.
“Würben, in the centre, is like a citadel looking down upon Striegau
Water. Heavy cannon, plenty of them, we have brought from Schweidnitz.
We have four hundred and eighty cannon in all, and one hundred
and eighty-two mines. Würben, our citadel and centre, is about
five miles from Schweidnitz. Before our lines are palisades and
_chevaux-de-frise_. Woods we have in abundance in our circuit, and
axes for carpentries of that kind. There are four intrenched knolls;
twenty-four big batteries capable of playing beautifully, all like
pieces in a concert.”[168]
Frederick had been three days and nights at work upon his fortress
before the allies ventured forward to look into it. It was then a
Gibraltar. Still for eight days more the spade was not intermitted.
Cogniazo, an Austrian, writes: “It is a masterpiece of art, in
which the principles of tactics are combined with those of field
fortifications as never before.”
The Austrians took position upon the south, at the distance of about
six miles. The Russians were at the same distance on the west, with
their head-quarters at Hohenfriedberg.
It would seem that Frederick’s troops must have had iron sinews, and
that they needed as little repose as did their master. Those not at
work with the spade were under arms to repel an assault. Two or three
times there was an alarm, when the whole fifty thousand, in an hour,
were in battle-array. Frederick was fully aware of the crisis he had
encountered. To be beaten there was irretrievable ruin. No one in the
army performed more exhausting labor than the king himself. He seemed
to be omnipresent, by day and by night. Near the chief battery, in a
clump of trees, there was a small tent, and a bundle of straw in the
corner. Here the king occasionally sought a few moments of repose. But
his nervous excitement rendered him so restless, that most of the time
he was strolling about among the guard parties, and warming himself by
their fires.
[Illustration: THE KING’S BIVOUAC.]
“One evening,” writes Carlyle, “among the orders is heard this item:
‘And remember a lock of straw, will you, that I may not have to sleep
upon the ground, as last night!’ Many anecdotes are current to this
day about his pleasant, homely ways, and affabilities with the sentry
people, and the rugged hospitalities they would show him at their
watch-fires. ‘Good evening, children.’ ‘The same to thee, Fritz.’ ‘What
is that you are cooking?’--and would try a spoonful of it, in such
company; while the rough fellows would forbid smoking. ‘Don’t you know
he dislikes it?’ ‘No! smoke away,’ the king would insist.”
General Loudon was in command of the Austrians, and General Butturlin
of the Russians, who were arrayed against Frederick. They could
not agree upon a plan of attack. Neither commander was willing to
expose his troops to the brunt of a battle in which the carnage would
necessarily be dreadful. Thus the weeks wore away. Frederick could not
be safely attacked, and winter was approaching.
At ten o’clock at night on the 9th of September, the Russian camp went
up in flame. The next morning not a Russian was to be seen. The whole
army had disappeared over the hills far away to the north. Frederick
immediately dispatched eight thousand men under General Platen to
attack the flank of the retreating foe, and destroy his baggage-wagons.
The feat was brilliantly accomplished. On the 15th of September, before
the dawn of the morning, General Platen fell upon the long train,
took nearly two thousand prisoners, seven cannon, and destroyed five
thousand heavily-laden wagons.
Frederick remained at Bunzelwitz a fortnight after the retreat of the
Russians. In the mean time the French and English were fighting each
other with varying success upon the banks of the Rhine. It is not
necessary to enter into the details of their struggles. Frederick’s
magazines at Schweidnitz were getting low. On the 26th of September
he broke up his camp at Bunzelwitz, and in a three days’ march to the
southeast reached Neisse. The Austrians did not venture to annoy him.
Frederick had scarcely reached Neisse when he learned, to his amazement
and horror, that General Loudon, with a panther-like spring, had
captured Schweidnitz, with its garrison and all its supplies. It was a
terrible blow to the king. The Austrians could now winter in Silesia.
The anguish of Frederick must have been great. But he gave no utterance
to his gloomy forebodings.
“The king,” writes Küster, “fell ill of the gout, saw almost nobody,
never came out. It was whispered that his inflexible heart was at
last breaking. And for certain there never was in his camp and over
his dominions such a gloom as in this October, 1761, till at length
he appeared on horseback again, with a cheerful face; and every body
thought to himself, ‘Ha! the world will still roll on, then.’”
Frederick’s treatment of the unfortunate General Zastrow, who was in
command at Schweidnitz, was quite peculiar. Very generously he wrote to
him:
“MY DEAR GENERAL VON ZASTROW,--The misfortune which has befallen
me is very grievous. But what consoles me in it is to see by
your letter that you have behaved like a brave officer, and that
neither you nor your garrison have brought disgrace or reproach
upon yourselves. I am your well-affectioned king.
“FREDERICK.
“P.S.--You may, in this occurrence, say what Francis I., after
the battle of Pavia, wrote to his mother: ‘All is lost except
honor.’ As I do not yet completely understand the affair, I
forbear to judge of it, for it is altogether extraordinary.”
Notwithstanding this letter, Frederick refused to give General
Zastrow any further employment, but left him to neglect, obscurity,
and poverty. Zastrow wrote to the king imploring a court-martial. He
received the following laconic reply:
“It is of no use. I impute nothing of crime to you. But after such a
mishap it would be dangerous to trust you with any post or command.”
The freezing gales of winter soon came, when neither army could keep
the open field. Frederick established his winter quarters at Breslau.
General Loudon, with his Austrians, was about thirty miles southwest of
him at Kunzendorf. Thus ended the sixth campaign.
The winter was long, cold, and dreary. Fierce storms swept the fields,
piling up the snow in enormous drifts. But for this cruel war, the
Prussian, Russian, and Austrian peasants, who had been dragged into
the armies to slaughter each other, might have been in their humble
but pleasant homes, by the bright fireside, in the enjoyment of all
comforts.
“The snow lies ell-deep,” writes Archenholtz; “snow-tempests, sleet,
frost. The soldiers bread is a block of ice, impracticable to human
teeth till you thaw it.”
It was on the 9th of December that the king, after incredible exposure
to hunger, and cold, and night-marchings, established himself for the
winter in the shattered apartments of his ruined palace at Breslau.
He tried to assume a cheerful aspect in public, but spent most of
his hours alone, brooding over the ruin which now seemed inevitable.
He withdrew from all society, scarcely spoke to any body except upon
business. One day General Lentulus dined with him, and not one word was
spoken at the table. On the 18th of January, 1762, the king wrote in
the following desponding tones to D’Argens:
“The school of patience I am at is hard, long-continued, cruel, nay,
barbarous. I have not been able to escape my lot. All that human
foresight could suggest has been employed, and nothing has succeeded.
If Fortune continues to pursue me, doubtless I shall sink. It is only
she that can extricate me from the situation I am in. I escape out of
it by looking at the universe on the great scale, like an observer from
some distant planet. All then seems to me so infinitely small; and I
could almost pity my enemies for giving themselves such trouble about
so very little.
“What would become of us without philosophy, without this reasonable
contempt of things frivolous, transient, and fugitive, about which the
greedy and ambitious make such a pother, fancying them to be solid!
This is to become wise by stripes, you will tell me. Well, if one do
become wise, what matters it how? I read a great deal. I devour my
books, and that brings me useful alleviation. But for my books, I think
hypochondria would have had me in Bedlam before now. In fine, dear
marquis, we live in troublous times and in desperate situations. I have
all the properties of a stage hero--always in danger, always on the
point of perishing. One must hope that the conclusion will come, and if
the end of the piece be lucky, we will forget the rest.”[169]
“The darkest hour is often nearest the dawn.” The next day after
Frederick had written the above letter he received news of the death of
his most inveterate enemy, Elizabeth, the Empress of Russia. As we have
mentioned, she was intensely exasperated against him in consequence
of some sarcasms in which he had indulged in reference to her private
life. Elizabeth was the daughter of Peter the Great, and had inherited
many of her father’s imperial traits of character. She was a very
formidable foe.
“Russia may be counted as the bigger half of all he had to strive with;
the bigger, or at least the far uglier, more ruinous, and incendiary;
and, if this were at once taken away, think what a daybreak when the
night was at the blackest.”[170]
The nephew of Elizabeth, and her successor, Peter III., was a very warm
admirer of Frederick. One of his first acts was to send to the Prussian
king the assurance of his esteem and friendship. Peter immediately
released all the Prussian prisoners in his dominions, entered into
an armistice with Frederick, which was soon followed by a treaty of
alliance. The two sovereigns commenced a very friendly correspondence.
Frederick returned all the Russian prisoners, well clothed and fed,
to their homes. The change was almost as sudden and striking as the
transformations in the kaleidoscope. On the 23d Peter issued a decree
that there was peace with Prussia, that he had surrendered to his
Prussian majesty all the territorial conquests thus far made, and had
recalled the Russian armies.
Peter III. had been left an orphan, and titular Duke of
Schleswig-Holstein, when eleven years of age. His mother was a daughter
of Peter the Great. His aunt, the Czarina Elizabeth, who had determined
not to marry, adopted the child, and pronounced him to be her heir to
the throne. Being at that time on friendly terms with Frederick, the
Empress Elizabeth had consulted him in reference to a wife for the
future czar. It will be remembered that the king effected a marriage
between Peter and Sophia, the beautiful daughter of a Prussian general,
Prince of Anhalt-Zerbst, and at that time commandant of Stettin. His
wife was sister to the heir-apparent of Sweden. Carlyle, speaking of
this couple, says:
“They have a daughter, Sophie-Frederike, now near fifteen, and very
forward for her age; comely to look upon, wise to listen to. ‘Is not
she the suitable one?’ thinks Frederick in regard to this matter.
‘Her kindred is of the oldest--old as Albert the Bear. She has been
frugally brought up, Spartan-like, though as a princess by birth. Let
her cease skipping ropes on the ramparts yonder with her young Stettin
playmates, and prepare for being a czarina of the Russias,’ thinks he.
And communicates his mind to the czarina, who answers, ‘Excellent! How
did I never think of that myself!’”
This was in January, 1744. The young lady, with her mother, by express
invitation, and with this object in view, visited the Russian court.
Sophia embraced the Greek religion, received in baptism the new name of
Catharine, and on the 1st of September, 1745, was married to her second
cousin Peter. “And with invocation of the Russian heaven and Russian
earth they were declared to be one flesh, though at last they turned
out to be _two fleshes_, as my reader well knows.”[171]
[Illustration: THE EMPRESS CATHARINE.]
About a year before this, on the 17th of July, 1744, Frederick’s sister
Ulrique had been married to Adolf Frederick, the heir-apparent to
the throne of Sweden. Eighteen years of this weary world’s history,
with its wars and its woes, had since passed away. On the 5th of
April, 1751, the old king of Sweden died. Thus Adolf became king, and
Frederick’s sister Ulrique Queen of Sweden. And now, on the 5th of
January, 1762, the Empress of Russia died, and Peter III., with his
wife Catharine, ascended the throne of that majestic empire.
The withdrawal of Russia from the alliance against Frederick, though
hailed by him with great joy, still left him, with wasted armies and
exhausted finances, to struggle single-handed against Austria and
France united, each of which kingdoms was far more powerful than
Prussia. The winter passed rapidly away without any marked events, each
party preparing for the opening of the campaign in the ensuing spring.
On the 8th of June, 1762, Frederick wrote to D’Argens:
“In fine, my dear marquis, the job ahead of me is hard and difficult,
and nobody can say positively how it will all go. Pray for us; and
don’t forget a poor devil who kicks about strangely in his harness, who
leads the life of one damned.”
Peter III. was a drunken, brutal, half-crazed debauchee. Catharine was
a beautiful, graceful, intellectual, and dissolute woman. They hated
each other. They did not even pretend to be faithful to each other.
Catharine formed a successful conspiracy, dethroned her husband, and
was proclaimed by the army sole empress. After a series of the wildest
scenes of intrigue, corruption, and crime, the imbecile Peter III., who
had fled to the remote palace of Ropscha, was murdered, being first
compelled to drink of poison, and then, while writhing in pain, he
was strangled with a napkin. Whether Catharine were a party to this
assassination is a question which can now probably never be decided.
It is certain that she must have rejoiced over the event, and that she
richly rewarded the murderers.
[Illustration: ASSASSINATION OF PETER III.]
In the following curious proclamation, the Empress Catharine II.
announced to her subjects the death of her husband:
“The seventh day after our accession to the throne of all the Russias
we received information that the late emperor, Peter III., was attacked
with a violent colic. That we might not be wanting in Christian duty,
or disobedient to the divine command by which we are enjoined to
preserve the life of our neighbor, we immediately ordered that the
said Peter should be furnished with every thing that might be judged
necessary to restore his health by the aids of medicine. But, to our
great regret and affliction, we were yesterday evening apprized that,
by permission of the Almighty, the late emperor departed this life.”
The seventh campaign of the Seven Years’ War commenced on the 1st
of July, 1762. Peter III. had sent an army of twenty thousand men
to the support of Frederick. Aided by these troops, united with his
own army, Frederick had emerged from his winter quarters, and was
just about to attack the Austrian army, which was intrenched upon the
heights of Burkersdorf, a little south of Schweidnitz, which fortress
the Austrians then held. The evening before the contemplated attack
the Russian General Czernichef entered the tent of Frederick with the
following appalling tidings:
“There has been a revolution in St. Petersburg. The Czar Peter
III., your majesty’s devoted friend, has been deposed, and probably
assassinated. The Czarina Catharine, influenced by the enemies of your
majesty, and unwilling to become embroiled in a conflict with Austria
and France, has ordered me to return instantly homeward with the twenty
thousand troops under my command.”
For a moment the king was quite stunned by the blow. The withdrawal
of these troops would expose him to be speedily overwhelmed by the
Austrians. By earnest entreaty, Frederick persuaded Czernichef to
remain with him three days longer. “I will require of you no service
whatever. The Austrians know nothing of this change. They will think
that you are still my ally. Your presence simply will thus aid me
greatly in the battle.”
General Czernichef, though at the risk of his head from the displeasure
of Catharine, generously consented so far to disobey the orders of his
empress. The next day, July 2, 1762, Frederick, with his remaining
troops, attacked the foe, under General Daun, at Burkersdorf. From four
o’clock in the morning until five in the afternoon the antagonistic
hosts hurled themselves against each other. Frederick was the victor.
“On fall of night, Daun, every body having had his orders, and been
making his preparations for six hours past, ebbed totally away, in
perfect order, bag and baggage; well away to southward, and left
Frederick quit of him.”[172]
Early the next morning, Czernichef, greatly admiring the exploit
Frederick had performed, commenced his march home. Just before this
there was a change in the British ministry, and the new cabinet
clamored for peace. England entered into a treaty with France, and
retired from the conflict. Frederick, vehemently upbraiding the English
with treachery--the same kind of treachery of which he had repeatedly
been guilty--marched upon Schweidnitz. After a vigorous siege of two
months he captured the place.
Nearly all of Silesia was again in the hands of Frederick. He seems
to have paid no regard to the ordinary principles of honor in the
accomplishment of his plans. Indeed, he seems to have had no delicate
perceptions of right and wrong, no instinctive appreciation of what
was honorable or dishonorable in human conduct. He coined adulterated
money, which he compelled the people to take, but which he refused to
receive in taxes. In his _Military Instructions_, drawn up by his own
hand, he writes:
“When you find it very necessary, yet very difficult, to gain any
intelligence of the enemy, there is another expedient, though a cruel
one. You take a rich burgher, possessed of rich lands, a wife, and
children. You oblige him to go to the enemy’s camp, as if to complain
of hard treatment, and to take along with him, as his servant, a spy
who speaks the language of the country; assuring him at the same time
that, in case he does not bring the spy back with him, after having
remained a sufficient time in the enemy’s camp, you will set fire to
his house, and massacre his wife and children. I was forced to have
recourse to this cruel expedient. It answered my purpose.”[173]
A man’s moral nature must be indeed obtuse who could thus recommend the
compulsion of a peaceable citizen to act the part of a traitor to his
own country, under the alternative of having his house fired and his
wife and children massacred.
Winter was now approaching. The Austrians in Saxony made a desperate
attack upon Prince Henry, and were routed with much loss. The shattered
Austrian army retired to Bohemia for winter quarters. Under the
circumstances, it was a victory of immense importance to Frederick.
Upon receiving the glad tidings, he wrote to Henry:
“Your letter, my dear brother, has made me twenty years younger.
Yesterday I was sixty, to-day hardly eighteen. I bless Heaven for
preserving your health, and that things have passed so happily. It is a
service so important rendered by you to the state that I can not enough
express my gratitude, and will wait to do it in person.”
On the 24th of November the belligerents entered into an armistice
until the 1st of March. All were exhausted. It was manifest that peace
would soon be declared. Commissioners to arrange the terms of peace met
at the castle of Hubertsburg, near Dresden. On the 15th of February,
1763, peace was concluded. _Frederick retained Silesia_. That was the
result of the war.
According to Frederick’s computation, he had succeeded in wresting
this province from Maria Theresa at an expense of eight hundred and
fifty-three thousand lives, actual fighters, who had perished upon
the field of battle. Of these, one hundred and eighty thousand were
Prussians. Of the hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children
who, in consequence of the war, had perished of exposure, famine, and
pestilence, no note is taken. The population of Prussia had diminished,
during the seven years, five hundred thousand.
The day in which the treaty was signed Frederick wrote to the Marquis
D’Argens as follows: “The best thing I have now to tell you of, my dear
marquis, is the peace. And it is right that the good citizens and the
public should rejoice at it. For me, poor old man that I am, I return
to a town where I know nothing but the walls, where I find no longer
any of my friends, where great and laborious duties await me, and
where I shall soon lay my old bones in an asylum which can neither be
troubled by war, by calamities, nor by the wickedness of men.”
Archenholtz, who was an eye-witness of the miseries which he describes,
gives the following account of the state of Germany at the close of the
conflict:
“Whole provinces had been laid waste. Even in those which had not been
thus destroyed, internal commerce and industry were almost at an end.
A great part of Pomerania and Brandenburg was changed into a desert.
There were provinces where hardly any men were to be found, and where
the women were therefore obliged to guide the plow. In others women
were as much wanting as men. The most fertile plains of Germany, on the
banks of the Oder and the Wesel, presented only the arid and sterile
appearance of a desert. An officer has stated that he had passed
through seven villages without meeting a single person excepting a
curate.”[174]
[Illustration: THE OFFICER AND THE CURATE.]
On the 15th of March, 1763, Frederick left Leipsic, and on the 30th
entered his capital of Berlin, from which he had been absent six years.
It was nine o’clock in the evening when his carriage drove through
the dark and silent streets to his palace. His arrival at that hour
had not been anticipated. It is said that he repaired immediately to
the queen’s apartment, where he met the several members of the royal
family. As soon as it was known that the king had arrived, Berlin
blazed with illuminations and rang with rejoicings.