Mr Egerton glanced over the pile of letters placed beside him,
and first he tore up some, scarcely read, and threw them into the
waste-basket. Public men have such odd out-of-the-way letters that
their waste-baskets are never empty: letters from amateur financiers
proposing new ways to pay off the National Debt; letters from America,
(never free!) asking for autographs; letters from fond mothers in
country villages, recommending some miracle of a son for a place in
the king's service; letters from freethinkers in reproof of bigotry;
letters from bigots in reproof of freethinking; letters signed Brutus
Redivivus, containing the agreeable information that the writer has a
dagger for tyrants, if the Danish claims are not forthwith adjusted;
letters signed Matilda or Caroline, stating that Caroline or Matilda
has seen the public man's portrait at the Exhibition, and that a heart
sensible to its attractions may be found at No. -- Piccadilly; letters
from beggars, impostors, monomaniacs, speculators, jobbers--all food
for the waste-basket.
From the correspondence thus winnowed, Mr Egerton first selected those
on business, which he put methodically together in one division of
his pocket-book; and secondly, those of a private nature, which he as
carefully put into another. Of these last there were but three--one
from his steward, one from Harley L'Estrange, one from Randal Leslie.
It was his custom to answer his correspondence at his office; and to
his office, a few minutes afterwards, he slowly took his way. Many
a passenger turned back to look again at the firm figure, which,
despite the hot summer day, was buttoned up to the throat; and the
black frock-coat thus worn, well became the erect air, and the deep
full chest of the handsome senator. When he entered Parliament Street,
Audley Egerton was joined by one of his colleagues, also on his way to
the cares of office.
After a few observations on the last debate, this gentleman said--
"By the way, can you dine with me next Saturday, to meet Lansmere? He
comes up to town to vote for us on Monday."
"I had asked some people to dine with me," answered Egerton, "but I
will put them off. I see Lord Lansmere too seldom, to miss any occasion
to meet a man whom I respect so much."
"So seldom! True, he is very little in town; but why don't you go and
see him in the country? Good shooting--pleasant old-fashioned house."
"My dear Westbourne, his house is '_nimium vicina Cremonæ_,' close to a
borough in which I have been burned in effigy."
"Ha--ha--yes--I remember you first came into Parliament for that snug
little place; but Lansmere himself never found fault with your votes,
did he?"
"He behaved very handsomely, and said he had not presumed to consider
me his mouthpiece; and then, too, I am so intimate with L'Estrange."
"Is that queer fellow ever coming back to England?"
"He comes, generally every year, for a few days, just to see his father
and mother, and then goes back to the Continent."
"I never meet him."
"He comes in September or October, when you, of course, are not in
town, and it is in town that the Lansmeres meet him."
"Why does not he go to them?"
"A man in England but once a year, and for a few days, has so much to
do in London, I suppose."
"Is he as amusing as ever?"
Egerton nodded.
"So distinguished as he might be!" continued Lord Westbourne.
"So distinguished as he is!" said Egerton formally; "an officer
selected for praise, even in such fields as Quatre Bras and Waterloo;
a scholar, too, of the finest taste; and as an accomplished gentleman,
matchless!"
"I like to hear one man praise another so warmly in these ill-natured
days," answered Lord Westbourne. "But still, though L'Estrange
is doubtless all you say, don't you think he rather wastes his
life--living abroad?"
"And trying to be happy, Westbourne? Are you sure it is not we who
waste our lives? But I can't stay to hear your answer. Here we are at
the door of my prison."
"On Saturday, then?"
"On Saturday. Good day."
For the next hour, or more, Mr Egerton was engaged on the affairs of
the state. He then snatched an interval of leisure, (while awaiting a
report, which he had instructed a clerk to make him,) in order to reply
to his letters. Those on public business were soon despatched; and
throwing his replies aside, to be sealed by a subordinate hand, he drew
out the letters which he had put apart as private.
He attended first to that of his steward: the steward's letter was
long, the reply was contained in three lines. Pitt himself was scarcely
more negligent of his private interests and concerns than Audley
Egerton--yet, withal, Audley Egerton was said by his enemies to be an
egotist.
The next letter he wrote was to Randal, and that, though longer, was
far from prolix: it ran thus--
"Dear Mr Leslie,--I appreciate your delicacy in consulting me,
whether you should accept Frank Hazeldean's invitation to call at
the Hall. Since you are asked, I can see no objection to it. I
should be sorry if you appeared to force yourself there; and for
the rest, as a general rule, I think a young man who has his own
way to make in life had better avoid all intimacy with those of his
own age who have no kindred objects nor congenial pursuits.
"As soon as this visit is paid, I wish you to come to London. The
report I receive of your progress at Eton renders it unnecessary,
in my judgment, that you should return there. If your father has no
objection, I propose that you should go to Oxford at the ensuing
term. Meanwhile, I have engaged a gentleman who is a fellow of
Baliol, to read with you; he is of opinion, judging only by your
high repute at Eton, that you may at once obtain a scholarship in
that college. If you do so, I shall look upon your career in life
as assured.
"Your affectionate friend, and
sincere well-wisher,
A. E."
The reader will remark that, in this letter, there is a certain tone
of formality. Mr Egerton does not call his _protegé_ "dear Randal," as
would seem natural, but coldly and stiffly, "Dear Mr Leslie." He hints,
also, that the boy has his own way to make in life. Is this meant to
guard against too sanguine notions of inheritance, which his generosity
may have excited?
The letter to Lord L'Estrange was of a very different kind from the
others. It was long, and full of such little scraps of news and gossip
as may interest friends in a foreign land; it was written gaily, and
as with a wish to cheer his friend; you could see that it was a reply
to a melancholy letter; and in the whole tone and spirit there was an
affection, even to tenderness, of which those who most liked Audley
Egerton would have scarcely supposed him capable. Yet, notwithstanding,
there was a kind of constraint in the letter, which perhaps only the
fine tact of a woman would detect. It had not that _abandon_, that
hearty self-outpouring, which you might expect would characterise the
letters of two such friends, who had been boys at school together, and
which did breathe indeed in all the abrupt rambling sentences of his
correspondent. But where was the evidence of the constraint? Egerton
is off-hand enough where his pen runs glibly through paragraphs that
relate to others; it is simply that he says nothing about himself--that
he avoids all reference to the inner world of sentiment and feeling.
But perhaps, after all, the man has no sentiment and feeling! How can
you expect that a steady personage in practical life, whose mornings
are spent in Downing Street, and whose nights are consumed in watching
Government bills through a committee, can write in the same style as an
idle dreamer amidst the pines of Ravenna or on the banks of Como.
Audley had just finished this epistle, such as it was, when the
attendant in waiting announced the arrival of a deputation from a
provincial trading town, the members of which deputation he had
appointed to meet at two o'clock. There was no office in London at
which deputations were kept waiting less than at that over which Mr
Egerton presided.
The deputation entered--some score or so of middle-aged,
comfortable-looking persons, who nevertheless had their grievance--and
considered their own interests, and those of the country, menaced by a
certain clause in a bill brought in by Mr Egerton.
The Mayor of the town was the chief spokesman, and he spoke well--but
in a style to which the dignified official was not accustomed. It was a
slap-dash style--unceremonious, free, and easy--an American style. And,
indeed, there was something altogether in the appearance and bearing of
the Mayor which savoured of residence in the Great Republic. He was a
very handsome man, but with a look sharp and domineering--the look of a
man who did not care a straw for president or monarch, and who enjoyed
the liberty to speak his mind, and "wallop his own nigger!"
His fellow-burghers evidently regarded him with great respect; and Mr
Egerton had penetration enough to perceive that Mr Mayor must be a rich
man, as well as an eloquent one, to have overcome those impressions of
soreness or jealousy which his tone was calculated to create in the
self-love of his equals.
Mr Egerton was far too wise to be easily offended by mere manner; and,
though he stared somewhat haughtily when he found his observations
actually pooh-poohed, he was not above being convinced. There was much
sense and much justice in Mr Mayor's arguments, and the statesman
civilly promised to take them into full consideration.
He then bowed out the deputation; but scarcely had the door closed
before it opened again, and Mr Mayor presented himself alone, saying
aloud to his companions in the passage, "I forgot something I had to
say to Mr Egerton; wait below for me."
"Well, Mr Mayor," said Audley, pointing to a seat, "what else would you
suggest?"
The Mayor looked round to see that the door was closed; and then,
drawing his chair close to Mr Egerton's, laid his forefinger on that
gentleman's arm, and said, "I think I speak to a man of the world, sir."
Mr Egerton bowed, and made no reply by word, but he gently removed his
arm from the touch of the forefinger.
MR MAYOR.--"You observe, sir, that I did not ask the members whom we
return to Parliament to accompany us. Do better without 'em. You know
they are both in Opposition--out-and-outers."
MR EGERTON.--"It is a misfortune which the Government cannot remember,
when the question is whether the trade of the town itself is to be
served or injured."
MR MAYOR.--"Well, I guess you speak handsome, sir. But you'd be glad to
have two members to support Ministers after the next election."
MR EGERTON, smiling.--"Unquestionably, Mr Mayor."
MR MAYOR.--"And I can do it, Mr Egerton. I may say I have the town
in my pocket; so I ought, I spend a great deal of money in it. Now,
you see, Mr Egerton, I have passed a part of my life in a land of
liberty--the United States--and I come to the point when I speak to a
man of the world. I'm a man of the world myself, sir. And if so be the
Government will do something for me, why, I'll do something for the
Government. Two votes for a free and independent town like ours--that's
something, isn't it?"
MR EGERTON, taken by surprise.--"Really, I--"
MR MAYOR, advancing his chair still nearer, and interrupting the
official.--"No nonsense, you see, on one side or the other. The fact
is that I've taken it into my head that I should be knighted. You may
well look surprised, Mr Egerton--trumpery thing enough, I dare say;
still, every man has his weakness, and I should like to be Sir Richard.
Well, if you can get me made Sir Richard, you may just name your two
members for the next election--that is, if they belong to your own set,
enlightened men, up to the times. That's speaking fair and manful,
isn't it?"
MR EGERTON, drawing himself up.--"I am at a loss to guess why you
should select me, sir, for this very extraordinary proposition."
MR MAYOR, nodding good-humouredly.--"Why, you see, I don't go all along
with the Government; you're the best of the bunch. And maybe you'd like
to strengthen your own party. This is quite between you and me, you
understand; honour's a jewel!"
MR EGERTON, with great gravity.--"Sir, I am obliged by your good
opinion; but I agree with my colleagues in all the great questions that
affect the government of the country, and--"
MR MAYOR, interrupting him.--"Ah, of course, you must say so; very
right. But I guess things would go differently if you were Prime
Minister. However, I have another reason for speaking to you about my
little job. You see you were member for Lansmere once, and I think you
came in but by two majority, eh?"
MR EGERTON.--"I know nothing of the particulars of that election; I was
not present."
MR MAYOR.--"No; but, luckily for you, two relatives of mine were, and
they voted for you. Two votes, and you came in by two! Since then, you
have got into very snug quarters here, and I think we have a claim on
you--"
MR EGERTON.--"Sir, I acknowledge no such claim; I was and am a stranger
to Lansmere; and, if the electors did me the honour to return me to
Parliament, it was in compliment rather to--"
MR MAYOR, again interrupting the official.--"Rather to Lord Lansmere,
you were going to say; unconstitutional doctrine that, I fancy. Peer of
the realm. But, never mind, I know the world; and I'd ask Lord Lansmere
to do my affair for me, only I hear he is as proud as Lucifer."
MR EGERTON, in great disgust, and settling his papers before
him.--"Sir, it is not in my department to recommend to his Majesty
candidates for the honour of knighthood, and it is still less in my
department to make bargains for seats in Parliament."
MR MAYOR.--"Oh, if that's the case, you'll excuse me; I don't know much
of the etiquette in these matters. But I thought that, if I put two
seats in your hands, for your own friends, you might contrive to take
the affair into your department, whatever it was. But, since you say
you agree with your colleagues, perhaps it comes to the same thing.
Now, you must not suppose I want to sell the town, and that I can
change and chop my politics for my own purpose. No such thing! I don't
like the sitting members; I'm all for progressing, but they go _too_
much a-head for me; and, since the Government is disposed to move a
little, why I'd as lief support them as not. But, in common gratitude,
you see, (added the Mayor, coaxingly,) I ought to be knighted! I can
keep up the dignity, and do credit to his Majesty."
MR EGERTON, without looking up from his papers.--"I can only refer you,
sir, to the proper quarter."
MR MAYOR, impatiently.--"Proper quarter! Well, since there is so much
humbug in this old country of ours, that one must go through all the
forms and get at the job regularly, just tell me whom I ought to go to."
MR EGERTON, beginning to be amused as well as indignant.--"If you want
a knighthood, Mr Mayor, you must ask the Prime Minister; if you want to
give the Government information relative to seats in Parliament, you
must introduce yourself to Mr ---- the Secretary of the Treasury."
MR MAYOR.--"And if I go to the last chap, what do you think he'll say?"
MR EGERTON, the amusement preponderating over the indignation.--"He
will say, I suppose, that you must not put the thing in the light in
which you have put it to me; that the Government will be very proud to
have the confidence of yourself and your brother electors; and that a
gentleman like you, in the proud position of Mayor, may well hope to be
knighted on some fitting occasion. But that you must not talk about the
knighthood just at present, and must confine yourself to converting the
unfortunate political opinions of the town."
MR MAYOR.--"Well, I guess that chap there would want to do me! Not
quite so green, Mr Egerton. Perhaps I'd better go at once to the
fountain-head. How d'ye think the Premier would take it?"
MR EGERTON, the indignation preponderating over the
amusement.--"Probably just as I am about to do."
Mr Egerton rang the bell; the attendant appeared.
"Show Mr Mayor the way out," said the Minister.
The Mayor turned round sharply, and his face was purple. He walked
straight to the door; but, suffering the attendant to precede him along
the corridor, he came back with a rapid stride, and, clenching his
hands, and, with a voice thick with passion, cried, "Some day or other
I will make you smart for this, as sure as my name's Dick Avenel!"
"Avenel!" repeated Egerton, recoiling, "Avenel!"
But the Mayor was gone.
Audley fell into a deep and musing reverie which seemed gloomy, and
lasted till the attendant announced that the horses were at the door.
He then looked up, still abstractedly, and saw his letter to Harley
L'Estrange open on the table. He drew it towards him, and wrote, "A man
has just left me, who calls himself Aven --" in the middle of the name
his pen stopped. "No, no," muttered the writer, "what folly to reopen
the old wounds there," and he carefully erased the words.
Audley Egerton did not ride in the Park that day, as was his wont, but
dismissed his groom; and, turning his horse's head towards Westminster
Bridge, took his solitary way into the country. He rode at first
slowly, as if in thought; then fast, as if trying to escape from
thought. He was later than usual at the House that evening, and he
looked pale and fatigued. But he had to speak, and he spoke well.
THE RISE, POWER, AND POLITICS OF PRUSSIA.[1]
If there is such a thing in diplomacy as a natural ally, Prussia is
the natural ally of England. Each possesses exactly what the other
wants--the power of Prussia consisting in an immense army, the power
of England in an unrivalled fleet: for though the British troops have
shown themselves at least equal to any troops in the world, the genius
of the nation looks chiefly to naval pre-eminence; and though, in the
course of time, Prussia may be in possession of naval honours, nothing
can be clearer than that its present strength depends on its soldiery.
The close alliance of England with Prussia is now a century old. We
find the great Lord Chatham taking the most open interest in the
successes of Frederick II., and establishing the principle that the
independence of Prussia is essential to the balance of Europe. At
the beginning of the eighteenth century, the north of Germany was
divided among a cluster of petty sovereignties--of all forms of a
national system the surest to foster political intrigues, to invite the
intermeddling of foreigners, the one to offer the strongest inducements
to invasion, and to provide the feeblest means of defence. The
formidable power of France, within twenty miles of England, must always
fix the eye of the English statesman; and no more essential operation
for our national tranquillity could be conceived than the solid
establishment of a kingdom on the northern frontier of France, which
might make that proverbially impetuous and ambitious nation aware, that
an attempt to assault England could not be made without incurring the
hazard of an assault on her own most exposed frontier.
But another power had arisen to render the balance of Europe still
more precarious. Russia, at the beginning of the century, known but as
a land of semi-barbarism, had suddenly started into a massive force,
which threatened the absorption of Germany. Possessing the highest
advantages for a great military empire, with harbours commanding the
North, a population of sixty millions, a territory almost boundless
and almost unassailable, and a government which, under all the changes
of individual character in its princes, has retained in its policy
the same character of continual progress, of restless interference
in European politics, and of bold ambition--Russia must, in all
the views of the English statesman, assume an interest of the most
pressing order. To interpose an iron barrier to the ambition of
Russia necessarily became the principle of English policy, and the
English politician naturally looked for that barrier in the vigorous
administration and steady strength of the resources of Prussia.
The eighteenth century may be called the Century of Sovereigns. There
was no period, before or since, in which so many remarkable personages
sat on the thrones of Europe--William III., Louis XIV., Charles XII.,
the Czar Peter, Maria Theresa of Austria, Catherine II., and Frederick
II. of Prussia--each possessed either of great intellectual or great
political qualities; all capable of distinction, if they had been born
in the humbler conditions of mankind; but all developing, in the duties
and labours of thrones, those qualities in a degree which made them,
for their day, the great _impulses_ of Europe, and which have placed
them in an immovable rank among the high recollections of history.
But, to the Englishman, whether politician or philosopher, Prussia is
the most important, from its position, the nature of its connexion with
our country, the singularity of its origin, and the especial dependence
of its early advance to sovereignty on the vigour of an individual
mind.
Gibbon remarks that the oldest royal genealogy of Europe scarcely
ascends to the eighth century. The genealogy of the Prussian throne,
whether by the zeal of the herald, or the truth of the historian,
nearly reaches that cloudy period. Its pedigree is dubiously traced up
to the founder of the great Swabian family of Hohenzollern, of whom the
first supposed ancestor was a Count Thalasso of Zollern. The family
then either fell into obscurity, or rested in contentment with its
ancestral possessions, until the thirteenth century, when it started on
the national eye as the Burgraves of Nurnberg. But it again slumbered
for eight generations, until the difficulties of the Emperor Sigismund
drove him to apply to the resources of the family, then probably
grown rich, as the chief personages of an opulent German community.
The service was repaid by the Viceroyalty of Brandenburg, and the
subsequent donation of the actual territory, with the title of Elector,
and the office of archchamberlain of the empire.
The imperial gratitude probably continued to be reminded of its duties
by fresh loans, for the electorate continued to receive frequent
additions of territory, until, early in the seventeenth century, the
annexation of the duchy of Prussia placed the Elector in an imposing
rank among the dependant princes of the Continent. In the middle of
this century a man of distinguished ability, fortunately for Prussia,
ascended the electoral throne. Germany was then ravaged by the
memorable Thirty Years' War. Frederick the Great afterwards expressed
the embarrassments of the new reign in a few pithy words, as was his
custom: "My great ancestor," said this graphic describer, "was a prince
without territory, an elector without power, and an ally without a
friend."
But talent and time are the true elements of success in every condition
of life. By economy the Elector restored his finances; by common sense
he reclaimed his half-savage subjects; and by sound policy he continued
to augment his dominions, without doing violence to his neighbours.
The peace of Westphalia, (1648,) which established the imperial
system, gave him the additional importance attached to the possession
of the archbishopric of Magdeburg, of Halberstadt, and of the actual
sovereignty of ducal Prussia, hitherto held as a Polish fief.
But those were the victories of peace; he was at length forced to
exhibit his qualities for war. In 1674, as a prince of the empire, he
was compelled to furnish his contingent to its army against France.
Louis XIV., in revenge, let loose the Swedes in Pomerania to invade
Brandenburg. The reputation of the Swedish troops had risen to the
highest rank in the Thirty Years' War, and they were regarded as all
but invincible. The Prussian Elector, justly alarmed at this new peril
of his dominions, appealed to his allies. But German alliances (in
those days at least) were slippery, and German succours are habitually
slow. Wearied by their delays, the Elector determined to act for
himself. Breaking up from Franconia, he transferred his little army
of eight thousand men suddenly to Magdeburg. The Swedes, encamped on
the Havel, and contemptuous of Prussian strategy, took no trouble to
ascertain his movements. The whole expedition was conducted with equal
vigour and dexterity. On his arrival in Magdeburg, the gates were kept
shut for four-and-twenty hours: thus all intelligence to the enemy was
cut off. At nightfall he sallied forth; by daybreak he reached and
assaulted the Swedish headquarters, took their baggage and cannon, and
hunted the troops from post to post until their dispersion was total.
This battle was one of the instances in which the most important
results have followed from slight events. The battle would have been
in later times scarcely more than an affair of advanced guards, for
the Swedes had but eight thousand, and the Prussians engaged were but
five thousand five hundred. But, to have beaten the most distinguished
soldiery in Europe, to have surprised the most disciplined, and to
have gained the victory with inferior numbers, instantly drew the eyes
of Europe on the Elector. His dominions were subjected to no further
insult; the character of the Prussian army was raised; and Prussia made
the first actual stride to northern supremacy.
This eminent man died in 1688, after a career which earned the
panegyric even of his fastidious descendant, Frederick II., who thus
described him, almost a hundred years after:--
"He possessed all the qualities which can make a man great, and
Providence afforded him abundant opportunities of developing them.
He gave proofs of prudence at an age when youth, in general,
exhibits nothing but errors. He never abused the heroic virtues,
but applied his valour to the defence of his dominions, and the
assistance of his allies. He had a sound judgment, which made him
a great statesman; and was active and affable, which made him a
good sovereign. His soul was the seat of virtue; prosperity could
not inflate, nor adversity depress it. He was the restorer of his
country, the arbiter of his equals, and the founder of the power of
Brandenburg. _His life was his panegyric._"
Frederick, the eldest son of the great elector, by his marriage with
a sister of George I. then Elector of Hanover, became connected with
English politics; sent six thousand men to the assistance of the Prince
of Orange in his invasion of England; joined the Allies, with twenty
thousand men, in revenging the havoc of the Palatinate; and, in the
Grand Alliance of 1691, sent fifteen thousand troops to join the army
of William III.
But Prussia was continually progressive, and in 1700 she was to
make that advance in rank of which nations are as ambitious as
their princes. In this year Prussia obtained from the Emperor the
long-coveted title of kingdom; and the monarch, as Frederick I., took
his place among European sovereigns. He died in 1713, and was succeeded
by the prince-royal, Frederick-William. The character of the deceased
monarch was, long after, given with epigrammatic contemptuousness by
Frederick II.
"In person short and deformed, with a haughty manner and
a commonplace countenance, violent from temper, mild from
carelessness, he confounded vanities with acts of greatness, and
was fonder of show than of utility. He sold the blood of his
subjects to England and Holland, as the Tartars sell their cattle
to the Podolian butchers for slaughter; he oppressed the poor to
make the rich fatter still. He wished to pledge the royal domains
to buy the Pitt diamond; and he sold to the Allies twenty thousand
men, to have it said that he kept thirty thousand."
Royal extravagance is never pardoned, and the memory of this princely
spendthrift prepared popularity for his rigid successor. The _Memoirs
of the Margravine of Bareith_ have thrown that successor into ridicule;
and it must be acknowledged, that his early acts were calculated
to throw all the courtiers of Europe into mingled astonishment and
indignation. Immediately on his accession, he ordered the grand-marshal
of the palace to bring him the list of the royal establishment. The
king took a pen, and crossed out the whole. The grand-marshal, in
horror at this sweeping style of reform, lost his speech, and fled from
the royal presence. Meeting an officer in the antechamber, the latter,
seeing his countenance of consternation, asked what had happened. The
grand-marshal showed him the list, and the officer translated it for
the benefit of the levée--"Gentlemen, our good master is dead, and the
new king sends you all to the d--l!"
The twenty-six trumpeters, who supplied the place of conversation at
the royal dinners, were scattered among the regiments. The hundred
Swiss--the decorated slaves, whom Switzerland, with all her boast of
freedom, was in the habit of sending to play the menial to the European
sovereigns--were dismissed to do duty in the ranks of the line. The
hoards of pearls and diamonds, and gold and silver plate, which it had
been the pride and the folly of the late king to amass, were sold to
pay his debts and to raise troops.
The old court had been overrun with French fashions, the French
language--everything French. The king set about reforming those
anti-national propensities: he dressed the regimental provosts, or
army floggers and executioners, in the full French costume, to render
it ridiculous; the embroidered coats and huge wigs of his privy
councillors and chamberlains he ordered to be worn by the court fool
on gala days.
But the discipline of the Prussian army was the peculiar distinction
of this singular reign. Of all European nations, Prussia is the one
to which an army is the most important. The exposed condition of a
long and irregular territory, wholly without a natural frontier,
with neither mountain range nor bordering river for its protection,
and surrounded by warlike and powerful nations, required an army, to
keep it in existence. The Alps or Pyrenees, the Rhine and the Danube,
the Dniester and the Po, might protect their several countries from
invasion; but the levels of Prussia required a force always on foot,
prompt and prepared. To _frontierless_ Prussia a powerful army was as
peculiarly essential as a Royal Navy is to the British _Isles_. In all
the early difficulties of his predecessor's debt, the king had raised
the Prussian army to upwards of forty thousand men; and, before he
died, his muster-roll amounted to nearly eighty thousand of the finest
troops on the Continent. It gives a curious contrast of the nature of
belligerency in the nineteenth century, to know that the Prussian army
now reckons three hundred thousand men, and that, on the first rumour
of war, it would probably number half-a-million.
The new school of finance makes inquiries of this kind important; for
since every country must be prepared to defend itself, and troops
require to be paid, the whole question of national safety depends on
the national force. The Manchester financiers tell us that reduction
is the true secret of strength, and that fleets and armies are only
provocatives to war. The older school held, that to be prepared for war
was the best security for peace; that the reduction which extinguished
the national force was only an invitation to insult; and that it was a
wiser policy to give the soldier his pay for our protection, than to
give an invader every shilling we were worth in the shape of plunder.
Frederick-William was of the old school; and, by showing that he was
always prepared for war, he secured peace, even in the most quarrelsome
of all countries, Germany, through a reign of twenty-seven years. The
organisation of the Prussian army was even then a phenomenon in Europe:
its provision, its government, its recruiting, and, above all, its
manoeuvring, attracted universal admiration, and doubled the impression
of its numbers on the general mind.
These facts have an interest beyond their mere effect at the time;
they are the testimonials of talent, evidences of the power of mind,
encouragements to original conception, substantial declarations that
men should always try to invigorate, improve, and advance inventions,
however apparently perfect. There is always a field beyond.
Why a German duchy was suffered thus to rise into European
influence--to extend from a province into a territory, now containing
sixteen millions of souls, and to change from a dependent electorate
into a kingdom, now acting as the barrier of Northern Germany against
the gigantic monarchy of St Petersburg--is a question which ought to
be asked by the politician, and which may well excite the study of the
philosopher.
The true value of history consists in developing _principles_. Memoirs
and biographies, the anecdotes of vigorous minds, and the narratives
of leading events, all have their obvious value; but history has
a distinction of its own. It is more than a tissue of striking
recollections; it is superior to a fine arrangement of facts; it is
the spirit of great facts, a _system_ displaying the _science_ of
influential things.
Events are, of course, its material, but it is only as the materials
of architecture furnish the means of erecting the palace or the
temple: the mind of the architect must supply the beauty and grandeur
of the edifice. Without that constructive genius, history is only a
compilation.
It is certainly in no superstition, that we strongly incline to
account for the rise of Prussia in the necessity of a protection for
Protestantism in Northern Germany. The whole tenor of its annals
substantiates the conception. Prussia, at an early period, felt a
singular sympathy with the Protestantism of Germany. The especial scene
of persecution was Poland, where neither royal compact nor popular
declaration was able to secure the faith of the Scriptures from the
outrages of Romanism. The Treaty of Oliva, in 1660, had, like the Edict
of Nantes, been the charter of Protestantism; but, like the Edict, it
had been broken, and the life of the Polish Protestant was a scene of
suffering. The "Great Elector" had signalised his Christianity, and
perhaps raised his country, by giving protection to the sufferers. His
descendant, Frederick-William, followed his honourable example. When
the Starost Umruh, in 1715, was sentenced to have his tongue cut out,
and to be beheaded, for his Protestant opinions, he fled to Prussia,
and was protected by Frederick-William. The Diet of Grodno commenced a
persecution by declaring the Polish Protestants to have forfeited both
their civil and religious privileges. Frederick-William answered this
act of infidelity and tyranny by a royal remonstrance to the diet, and
by a letter to the King of England, advocating the persecuted cause. In
the Treaty of Stockholm, in 1720, he inserted a stipulation, binding
the Swedish Government to make common cause with the Protestants
of Germany. In Western Germany, persecution had long exhibited its
irrational policy, and exercised its cruel power. At Heidelberg, Popish
advisers and confessors had poisoned the mind of the Elector, and
acts of violence had taken place. The Protestants, in their distress,
applied to Prussia. The King, in conjunction with the British monarch,
and the Elector of Hesse, adopted their defence; issuing, at the same
time, the effective menace that, if the persecution in the Palatinate
were not stopped, he would shut up every Romish chapel, convent, and
institution, and sequestrate every dollar of their revenue in Prussia,
while the persecution lasted.
The same impulse acted throughout the century. Frederick II. was an
infidel: the national policy continued unchanged. As a Voltairist,
he was an ostentatious advocate of toleration, which, though in both
Frederick and his teacher the work of the scoffer, yet produced
the effect of forbidding all religious tyranny. Even the war for
the possession of Silesia, though difficult to be explained in its
question of right, had the result of weakening the Popish influence in
Germany. Maria-Theresa was the prop of Popery, while Frederick II. was
universally regarded as the champion of Protestantism; and his final
success, by enfeebling the supremacy of the empress, showed that a
kingdom of Protestantism possessed the means of resisting an empire of
Popery hitherto supposed irresistible. If Prussia had been crushed in
that contest, the _prestige_ of Popery would again have risen to its
old height in Germany, Protestantism would unquestionably have felt the
blow to its foundations, and the probable consequence would have been
to throw the Continent at the feet of Rome.
Frederick the Great was born on the 24th of January 1712, in the
palace at Berlin. At his baptism, the sponsors were at least
sufficiently numerous and stately; they were the Emperor Charles
VI., the Dowager-empress, the Czar Peter, the States-general of
Holland, the Canton of Berne, the Electant Prince of Hanover, and the
Dowager-duchess of Mecklenburg.
Frederick was born Prince of Prussia and Orange; but after the cession
of Orange to France, by the Peace of Utrecht, the name was given up,
though the Crown of Prussia retained the title and the arms.
The popular feeling, on this occasion, was connected with a simple
yet curious circumstance. An American Aloe, which had been forty-four
years in the royal garden, suddenly threw out a profusion of blossoms.
Thousands flocked to see this fine production of nature, which, on
a stem thirty-one feet high, exhibited 7277 blossoms! The multitude
gave it an almost mystic meaning, and conceived the plant (which, in
all this profusion of beauty, was decaying) to be emblematic of the
failing health of the old king, and the new prospects of honour under
his grandson. Poems and pictures of the Aloe were spread through the
kingdom. The omen was as imaginative as one of the poetic superstitions
of Greece, and the imagination was realised.
The education of the future possessor of a sceptre is an important
topic. In Germany the education of the higher orders generally embraces
a sort of encyclopædia of accomplishments. The young heir to the
throne thus learned music and painting, in addition to mathematics and
languages. In music he became a proficient, and with his favourite
instrument, the flute, could sustain his part in an orchestra. But,
the chief object of his education, as that of all the German princes,
being military, he learned all of the art of war that could be taught;
the perfection of the art he was yet to learn in the field, and give
evidence of his acquirement only in his memorable victories.
One misfortune of this education possessed and perverted him through
life. Germany was, in literature, but a province of France. The
licentiousness of French sentiment had tempted the rising generation
to abandon the manly feelings of the Reformers. It is to the honour
of our country that the principles of true religion, like those of
true liberty, then found their defence within her borders; and in the
existing, and still darker, period of German infidelity, the battle is
still fought by the theology of England.
Adversity seems essential to the education of all great princes.
Frederick was not without his share of this stern pupillage. The
eccentricities of his royal father, his own waywardness, and the
roughness of court discipline, produced continual collisions in
the royal family, and the prince remained for some years in a kind
of honourable exile from Berlin. During this period, however, he
cultivated his powerful understanding to its height; but made the
singular mistake of believing that he was born for a hermit, a
sentimentalist, and a writer of French verses. In this fantastic
spirit, he gave his immediate friends names from Greece and Rome; and
was surrounded by Hephæstion, Diophanes, Cæsarion, and Quintus Icilius.
Even the place of his retirement, Rheinsberg, was transformed into
Remusberg, to meet a tradition that Remus was not killed by Romulus,
but, flying from Rome, had settled in the spot which was afterwards to
teach sentiment and solitude to the Prince of Prussia.
Those are traits worth remembering in the history of human nature. Who
could have conceived the most daring of warriors, the most subtle of
politicians, and the most ambitious of kings, in the writer of letters
such as these?--
"My house, indeed, is not a place for those who are fond of noisy
pleasures; but are not tranquillity, quiet, and the search for
truth, to be preferred to the giddy and turbulent diversions of
this world?
"On the 25th I am going to Amaltheu, my beloved garden at Ruppin.
I am quite impatient to see again my vines, my cherries, and my
melons; there, free from all useless cares, I shall live entirely
for myself. My whole soul is now intent on philosophy. It renders
me incomparable services, and I am deeply indebted to it. My spirit
is less agitated by impetuous emotions. I repress the first working
of my passions, and I never make a choice until I have maturely
considered it."
All his letters are in the same strain of studious quiet, of steady
self-control, and of systematic love of retirement. He sometimes even
turns enthusiast, and he thus writes to Voltaire, _then_ known chiefly
as the author of the _Henriade_--(his worse celebrity, as the impugner
of all religion, was still at a distance.) In a letter, in 1738, he
addresses the Frenchman in this rapturous effusion:--
"At Rheinsberg, to be perfectly happy, we want only a Voltaire.
But, though you live far from us, still you are in our midst.
Your portrait adorns my library; it hangs over the bookcase which
contains our Golden Fleece, immediately above your works, and
opposite to the place where I generally sit, that I may always
have it in my view. I might almost say, that your picture is to me
as the statue of Memnon, which, when the sun's rays fell on it,
emitted harmonious sounds, and imparted inspiration to the mind of
every one who looked upon it."
In another letter he writes--
"In pagan antiquity, men offered to the gods the first fruits of
the harvest and of the vintage.... In the Romish church, they
devote not only the firstborn, not only the younger sons, but whole
kingdoms, as we see in the instance of St Louis, who renounced his
in favour of the Virgin Mary. For my part, I have no first fruits
of the earth, no children, and no kingdom to devote; but I devote
to you the first fruits of my muse in the year 1739. Were I a
pagan, I would address you by the name of Apollo; were I a Papist,
I might have chosen you for my patron saint, or my confessor; but,
being none of these, I am content to admire you as a philosopher,
to love you as a poet, and to esteem you as a friend."
But this romance was soon to be exchanged for reality; the elegancies
of royal idleness were to be forgotten in the sound of cannon, and the
fictions of a pampered fancy were to be thrown into the shade by the
vicissitudes of one of the most sanguinary struggles that Europe had
ever seen.
In 1740, Frederick had ascended the throne. He was at Potsdam, and
confined to his chamber by illness, when the death of the Emperor
Charles was announced to him. This event broke up the peace of Germany.
The Emperor, Charles VI., having no issue after a marriage of four
years, established a new law of succession, known as the Pragmatic
Sanction. The heirship of Austria had hitherto been limited to males;
but, by the new law, the undivided monarchy was to devolve first to
his own daughters, or, if they should not be living at the time of his
death, to the daughters of his elder brother Joseph, Electresses of
Saxony and Bavaria, and so on, always to the nearest relatives.
The death of the Emperor obviously threatened to involve all Europe,
and especially Germany, in convulsion; for the mere publication of the
Pragmatic Sanction, in 1724, had produced counter declarations from no
less than three princes of the empire, who regarded their rights as
invaded. The Elector of Bavaria, who was married to a daughter of the
Emperor Joseph I., founded a claim to the Austrian dominions on the
will of Ferdinand I.; France was disposed to enter into an alliance
with Prussia; Sweden and Russia would have been inevitably involved
in the war. And it was of this complication of events that the young
Prussian monarch took advantage to make an assault upon Austria. For
one hundred years Prussia had complained of the loss of Silesia. Her
successive kings had severally impeached its seizure by Austria, and
the Great Elector had still earlier bequeathed the recovery of the
province to the gallantry, or the good fortune, of his successors.
Frederick, now at the head of a powerful army, with a full treasury,
and seeing an approaching contest for the possession of Austria itself,
regarded this as a favourable moment for the recovery of his ancestral
territory.
Frederick, having now completed all his preparations, sent an envoy
to Vienna, to offer his alliance to Maria-Theresa, and his vote to
her husband at the election of emperor, provided she would give up
Silesia. But knowing the contempt with which the Austrian cabinet
regarded the minor princes of Germany, and also knowing the advantage
of promptitude, where the object is possession, he at once set his
army in motion for the Silesian frontier. His proposal was, as he had
foreseen, rejected; and on its rejection, without a moment's delay, he
rushed over the frontier. He found, as he had expected, the Austrian
government wholly unprepared. The whole disposable force of Austria,
for the defence of Silesia, amounted to 3000 men. The invading army
amounted to 28,000. Breslau the capital, Glogau the principal fortress,
every town, speedily fell before him. In a note to his friend Jordan,
who had attempted to dissuade him from the enterprise, he wrote, in a
mixture of scoffing and exultation--
"My gentle M. Jordan, my kind, my mild, my peace-loving M. Jordan,
I acquaint your serenity that Silesia is as good as conquered.
I prepare you for most important plans, and announce to you the
greatest luck that the womb of fortune ever produced. For the
present this must be enough for you. Be my Cicero in defending my
enterprise; in its execution I will be your Cæsar."
We now advert to the distinguished public servant whose correspondence
throws the principal light on this important period of our foreign
policy--the British envoy to the court of Berlin.
Andrew Mitchell was born in Edinburgh in 1708, son of one of the
ministers of St Giles's, king's chaplain for Scotland. His mother,
Margaret Cunningham, was a descendant of Lord Glencairn. Mitchell
adopted the law as his profession, was admitted to the Middle Temple,
and was called to the English bar in 1738. Besides a knowledge of the
Scotch law, he was a man of general and rather elegant acquirement,
having left among his papers observations on the Ciceronian philosophy,
on the chief European histories, on morals, models, statues, and
classic objects in general. He was also a member of the Royal Society.
Mitchell was evidently either sustained by active interest, or an
opinion of his talents; for on the appointment of the Marquis of
Tweeddale to the secretaryship for Scotland, he fixed on Mitchell as
his undersecretary. In 1747, he was elected member for the county of
Aberdeen. In 1756, he was appointed as British representative at the
court of Frederick II.
In the more decorous style of modern diplomacy, we can seldom find
examples of the court-candour with which the royal personages of the
last age spoke of each other. George II. called Frederick-William "my
brother the corporal." Frederick-William called George II. "my brother
the dancing-master." Of course those opinions made their way to the
last ears which ought to have heard them, and they left stings. But
the necessities of the time overcame the bitterness of the sarcasms.
Some of the letters of the elder Horace Walpole, Sir Robert's brother,
who had been ambassador at Paris and the Hague, then the chief scenes
of foreign diplomacy, probably expressed the chief feeling of English
public men in his day, as they certainly were soon embodied in their
policy. Of Frederick II. he says,--
"I know the character of that prince. I know how little he is to
be trusted, and I would not have trusted him without good security
for the execution of his engagements.... I need not tell you that
the house of Brandenburg is a rising house. The economy of the late
king, the spirit of discipline he introduced into his army, the
ambition, talents, and active genius of the present monarch, must
render that house a powerful friend or formidable enemy."
He gives an equally decisive opinion of the Austrian policy--
"I apprehend that the principal object of the court of Vienna
will be to distract, divide, and _devour_ the Prussian dominions.
Their pride, their vengeance, and, above all, their _bigotry_ will
naturally lead them to destroy a _Protestant_ power that has dared
to offend them."
At length it was ascertained that a private negotiation had been
commenced between Austria and France, the result of which must expose
the Electoral dominions to invasion by France. An alliance with Prussia
was immediately concluded. The account subsequently given by Thiébault,
in his _Memoirs of the Prussian Court_, gives a strong impression of
Mitchell's manliness and intelligence:--
"Sir Andrew Mitchell, Knight of the Order of the Garter, [a mistake
for the Bath,] had been for several years the English ambassador
at Berlin, when I first arrived there. Some time, however, elapsed
before I had the least acquaintance with him, not only because it
was little to be expected that Englishmen should be desirous of
the society of Frenchmen, but also because Sir Andrew Mitchell
was of the number of those meritorious characters who stand in no
need of perpetual society for existence, and have the philosophy
to prefer being occasionally alone. When he first arrived in
Berlin, he had caused the persons who necessarily invited him to
their houses considerable perplexity; for he played at no game of
cards, so that his hosts constantly said,--'What shall we do with
the Englishman, who never plays at cards?' In a few days, however,
the contest was, who should withhold himself from the card-table,
and have the advantage of conversing with a man in whom they had
discovered every requisite to afford the highest pleasure in
colloquial intercourse. In reality, his understanding was no less
admirable than the virtues of his character. Of this I cannot give
a more substantial proof, than by observing that he was united in
the strictest bonds of friendship with the author of _L'Esprit des
Loix_."
Some of the shrewd _bons-mots_ of the diplomatic Scot are given by the
Frenchman. On one occasion, when the English mail had three times been
due, the king said to him at the levée--"Have you not the spleen, M.
Mitchell, when the mail is thus delayed?" The reply was,--"No, Sire,
not when it is delayed, but often enough when it duly arrives."
The English cabinet having promised to send a fleet to the Baltic,
to prevent the Russians from sending troops against the king, and
the fleet not appearing, Frederick was chagrined; at length he ceased
to invite the envoy to the royal table. One day some of the servants,
meeting him, asked,--"Is it dinner-time, M. Mitchell?" The significant
retort was,--"Gentlemen, no fleet, no dinner." This was told to
Frederick, and the invitations were renewed.
The next _bon-mot_ is happier still. After the taking of Port Mahon,
and the retreat of the unfortunate Admiral Byng, the king, meeting the
envoy, said,--"You have made a bad beginning, M. Mitchell; your trial
of Admiral Byng is but a bad plaster for the disease; you have made
an unlucky campaign." "Sire," observed Mitchell, "we hope, with God's
assistance, to make a better one next year."
"With God's assistance, sir! I did not know that you had such an ally,"
said the king.
"We hope we have, Sire; and he is the _only one_ of our allies that
costs us nothing," was the pungent reply.
In the latter portion of the war against Napoleon, it was the custom
to send British officers to attend the headquarters of the Allies, and
diplomatists frequently moved along with the armies. But the instance
of Mitchell's moving along with the Prussian monarch was, we believe,
the first example of the kind. On this subject, we have a lively letter
from the Earl of Holdernesse, then Secretary of State to the envoy:--
"Dear Sir,--I heartily wish you health and success in the new
trade you are going to undertake. However, do not grow too much
a soldier, and set a bad precedent for the rest of your black
brethren of the ink-bottle. Observation is our business, not
fighting. Remember, if you do get a knock of the pate, _vous en
emporterez la peine, et l'on dira--Que diable y avoit-il à faire_.
Yet I would not advise you to follow the steps of the minister of
Mayence at Dettingen, who, during the time of action, came up to
Lord Granville's coach, crying out, '_Je proteste contre toute
violence_.'
"I can find no trace in the office books of any particular
allowance made to Foreign Ministers for such sort of expeditions;
but I am persuaded I shall adjust it easily with the Duke of
Newcastle. Once more, adieu. Our constant toast now here is,
'Success to the King of Prussia.' He grows vastly popular among us.
For my part, I always add a gulp more to my old friend Mitchell."
A letter from the envoy, addressed to the King of Prussia, makes the
formal request that he may be allowed to follow the headquarters--a
permission which was immediately conceded by the king. The object of
this request, (suggested by the English Ministry,) was twofold--to have
an intelligent observer of the politics of Prussia on the spot; and to
supply George II. with anecdotes of war, for which he conceived himself
to have a peculiar talent; and on which subject the despatches of the
envoy were always read by him with peculiar interest.
The envoy was not long without material. Before he left Berlin, he had
the following despatch to write to the Earl of Holdernesse--
"My Lord,--This morning, about seven o'clock, Monsieur Oppen, an
officer in the Guards, arrived here from the Prussian army. He
had no letters, only a scrap of paper without date, which he was
directed to deliver to the queen-mother, in which was written with
a pencil, in the king's own hand, that his troops had beaten the
Austrians, _platte couture_, that he reckoned his loss about two
thousand, and that of the Austrians at four thousand men."
This was a hard-fought but indecisive action. The Austrians, under
Marshal Browne, were the assailants; and the engagement continued
from morning till past midday, when they retreated; but they numbered
two-thirds more than the Prussians, their force being nearly seventy
thousand to about forty thousand.
But a more important success immediately followed. The Saxon army,
amounting to sixteen thousand, had been surrounded in their fortified
camp at Pirna; the fortifications were so strong that the only hope
of reducing them was by famine. To the universal astonishment, they
suddenly quitted this impregnable position, and marched into a defile,
where they could neither advance nor retreat. The king offered them
conditions, which they accepted; and Mitchell, who had waited at
Berlin only for the royal permission to join the army, arrived just in
time to see the surrender; and what was more curious still, the quiet
transfer of their allegiance to the Prussian service. He thus writes--
"_October 21, 1756._
"On Sunday the 17th, the Saxon troops, preceded by their general
officers, crossed the Elbe.... Thence they marched into a plain
in the neighbourhood, and, after passing between two battalions
of Prussian Guards, they were received by the battalions of the
Prince of Prussia's regiments, drawn up on the right and left. They
were then formed into a hollow square, and had the articles of war
read, and the military oath administered to them, in the presence
of Prince Maurice of Anhalt-Dessau, or of Prince Ferdinand, the
King of Prussia's brother. The soldiers were all armed; but the
officers, almost to a man, refused to enter into the Prussian
service.
"The whole Saxon army consisted of sixteen thousand, of which
three thousand were horse and dragoons. The soldiers are extremely
well-looking, mostly young men, and do not seem to have suffered
for want of provisions during the blockade of five weeks. The
cavalry have suffered more--many of their horses are ruined."
But we are not to suppose that this association with the mighty of the
earth, and these exhibitions of capitulating armies were without their
drawbacks. The Prussian king's politics were always subtle, the English
cabinet was already tottering, and the campaign was already prolonged
into winter. The envoy's correspondence at length sinks into complaint,
and his description of his harassed life might make a man shrink
from the honours of travelling diplomacy. He writes in November from
Seidlitz--
"I am here in a very awkward situation--quite out of my element;
and though I have great reason to be satisfied with the King of
Prussia's manner of treating me, I wish I was at Berlin again,
or rather in England, notwithstanding the absurd speeches that I
should hear in parliament.
"The Prussian camp is no place of pleasure. Neither convenience nor
luxury dwell here. You are well provided with everything, _if_ you
bring it along with you. I find I must increase my equipage, or
_starve_. _All my family are like spectres._ It is true I am fed
at the king's table, because he desired me to leave my equipage at
Dresden. The Duke of Newcastle has this _encouraging_ paragraph in
his letter: 'I will forward your demands for the expenses of your
journey, whenever you send them over in a _proper manner_ to my
Lord Holdernesse.' I have spent a great deal of money, and have
_hardly_ the necessaries of life, and _none_ of its comforts."
Correspondence of this intimate kind gives us a true view of that
life which the world in general sees so gilded and glittering. It
thus has a value superior to even its historical interest. It tells
the humbler conditions of life to be content with their fate; and
perhaps demonstrates that, like the traveller among mountains, the
higher man goes, the more slippery is his path, and the more stormy his
atmosphere. The Secretary of State thus writes:--
"_November, 1766._
"Mr Pitt [Chatham] has been laid up with a severe fit of the gout
ever since his nomination to office, which has greatly retarded
business. I think his opinions on foreign affairs, _now he is in
place_, are exactly the same with mine, however different they were
some time ago. _Tempora mutantur et nos, &c._--I hope you will
never find that maxim applicable to your old friend in Arlington
Street. I knew long ago of some _private letters_ written to you
by the Duke of Newcastle. You were in the right not to discover
a secret intrusted to you; but though--for reasons you know--I
bore this from _him_, such matters must cease for the future with
_others_. I therefore insist that I may know directly if any other
person in the Administration offers to correspond with you. While I
remain in business, I will do the duty of my office _myself_, and
without submitting to those disagreeable interruptions I have met
with from others; nor will I henceforward be led by persons of my
own age, and less experience.
"In short, dear Mitchell, if I stay in, I must now have my share
of the cake; and if you hear I continue, depend upon it I have
succeeded in what I think just and reasonable pretensions. A volume
would not explain to you the transactions of these last six weeks.
We have five Administrations in one day, and none existing at night.
"The parliament will produce a motley scene next week; you are
happy to be out of the scrape."
The next campaign was one of still greater political perplexity, and of
still more desperate fighting. It was signalised by the then unheard-of
number of four pitched battles; but the French war has since accustomed
history to more ruinous and more frequent conflicts. The first
engagement was the battle of Prague, thus hastily sketched in a flying
despatch to Lord Holdernesse:--
"_May 6._
"I have the honour to acquaint your lordship that this day, a
little before ten o'clock in the morning, a general engagement
began between the Prussian and Austrian armies, which lasted till
half an hour past two in the afternoon. The fire of the artillery
and small arms was dreadful; but I can yet give no account of
particulars on either side. All we know is, that the left of
the Prussians, commanded by the king, attacked the right of the
Austrians, and, after a very obstinate resistance, drove them from
the field of battle. The Prussian hussars and cavalry are now in
full pursuit of them, and the right wing of the Austrians are now
retiring towards the Zasawa. The right of the Prussians attacked
the left of the Austrians, have likewise defeated them, and drove
them towards the Moldan. A great part of their infantry have thrown
themselves into Prague.
"The place where this action happened is in the high grounds on
the other side of Prague. The King of Prussia's army, after the
junction with Marshal Schwerin, might be seventy or eighty thousand
men; and that of the Austrians upwards of one hundred thousand--the
deserters say one hundred and fifty thousand.
"I can say nothing of the loss on either side, which must be
considerable. But the whole Prussian army are now in tears for
the loss of Marshal Schwerin, one of the greatest officers this,
or perhaps any country, has produced, and one of the best of men.
The King of Prussia is well, but greatly afflicted for the loss of
Marshal Schwerin."
This victory cost a terrible sacrifice of human life. The victors had
eighteen thousand men _hors-de-combat_; the vanquished had twenty-four
thousand killed, wounded, and taken. The struggle was long doubtful. At
one period of the day, the Prussian infantry, moving through a defile,
recoiled from the showers of ball which swept the head of the defile;
the Marshal rushed forward to the front, and, taking a standard from
its bearer, led back the column, and charged the enemy. In this charge
the gallant old man was struck by a ball, and fell. He was seventy-two.
This battle was useless, for all its fruits were lost immediately
after; but in a military sense it was justifiable, for it was fought to
prevent the junction of Marshal Daun with General Browne, whose army
protected Prague. Its effects in England, however, were greatly to
increase the popular feeling in favour of Frederick. A letter from Lord
Holdernesse gives a strong picture of the public excitement:--
"_May 20, 1757._
"Dear Mitchell,--A fishing-boat despatched by Colonel Yorke, (Sir
Joseph,) brought us, last night, the news of the great and glorious
victory obtained by the King of Prussia, near Prague, on the 6th
inst., which fortunate event has filled the Court and the whole
nation with the highest joy, and raised the admiration we already
had of his Prussian Majesty's heroism to the highest pitch. Women
and children are singing his praises; the most frantic marks of
joy appear in the public streets: he is, in short, become the
idol of the people. It only remains that we make a proper use of
those advantages, and neither suffer ourselves to be elated beyond
bounds, or to lose precious moments."
But, from the beginning, the struggle was unequal between Austria
and Prussia. Nothing but a miracle could make a country then but
of five millions vanquish a country of thirty; and the prodigious
rapidity with which the Austrian armies were recruited after the
severest losses, made perpetual battles actually necessary to keep
them at bay. The Prussians had blockaded Prague. An Austrian force of
forty-two thousand, or upwards, was advancing to raise the blockade;
and Frederick, with his usual promptitude, rushed to meet it on its
march, with thirty-two thousand. The armies met at Kaurzim, (better
known as Kolin.) The battle began at noon, and was carried into night.
The Prussians attacked: the Austrian positions were too strong for
even the impetuosity and the perseverance of their brave assailants.
The Prussians, after driving them from two heights, were ascending
the _third_, when, from some mistake, their flank was exposed. The
Austrian cavalry, then the finest on the Continent, took instant
advantage of the misfortune, charged, and threw the whole movement
into confusion. The battle was lost; and though the king retained the
honour of the day by resting that night on the field, the result was
unequivocal, in a retrograde march next day, and the raising of the
blockade of Prague.
This battle diminished his army by thirteen thousand men! The king
exposed himself with almost desperation. At last his staff remonstrated
with him on his gallant obstinacy, and one of his officers even
exclaimed, "Does your Majesty mean to storm those batteries alone?"
Frederick was now in the deepest distress. The Austrian hussars had
advanced to the gates of Berlin, and even levied a contribution on the
city. The scandalous convention by which the Hanoverian army laid down
its arms, let loose its French assailants; and Prussia was about to be
crushed by a weight of force then unexampled in European hostilities.
On this occasion the envoy speaks in the spirit of a man who saw no
hope for the king, but to save himself by a negotiation in which he
must concede everything, or take his chance of an honourable death
in the field. But he strikingly reminds the British Cabinet of the
probable consequences of disaster to Prussia.
"If the King of Prussia should be ruined, or obliged, from
necessity, to throw himself into the arms of France, (which he has
no inclination to do,) my duty obliges me to put your lordship
in mind what the situation of England will be next year, without
a single friend on the Continent to resist the whole undiverted
power of France, instigated by the malice of the house of Austria,
against which too early and too vigorous preparations cannot be
made, and I most heartily wish they may be effectual.
"I have but _one_ imagination which comforts me, which arises from
the _insatiable ambition_ of the French. They have already ruined
a great part of Germany and reduced the house of Brandenburg; they
are at this moment masters of Germany, and have the Empress-Queen
almost as much in their power as they have the King of Prussia.
Now, it is not consistent with common sense to leave the house of
Austria possessed of a greater degree of power than it ever had,
and without a rival in the empire. I therefore flatter myself they
will find some pretence to save the King of Prussia, which may
embroil them with their new ally, and give a breathing-time to
England."
The British envoy, sagacious as he certainly was, here adopted the
common error of conceiving that the safety of England depended on her
Continental allies. The cry has been repeated in every war in which
England has been subsequently engaged; and the British diplomatist at
foreign courts has habitually employed his ingenuity in the elaborate
effort to warn us that the national existence depended at one time on
the triumph of Prussia; at another, of Austria; or, at another, of
Spain. All these are follies. The whole Continent, not merely alienated
from us, but combined against us, was not able to shake the strength of
England, during the last and bloodiest of all wars, urged by the last
and bloodiest of all ambitions. In this foolish spirit, it has been
echoed from one desponding party to another, that England was saved
from ruin by the march from Moscow, then by the battle of Leipzig, then
by the battle of Waterloo. England would have survived, if Napoleon
had grasped every province of Prussia, if Leipzig had been a field of
German massacre, and if Waterloo had only exhibited the bravery without
the fortune of the British army. This style of talking is trifling
and pusillanimous--it exhibits an utter forgetfulness of history, and
an utter ignorance of the actual capacities of the country. England,
if true to herself, is unconquerable, and might look on Continental
battles with no more personal consideration of the consequences than if
they were battles in the clouds. Still, it will fully be admitted, that
our Continental alliances ought to be scrupulously sustained; that,
in the event of war with any of the Continental powers, it must be of
importance to have as few enemies, and as many friends as we can; and
that there can be no more short-sighted sense of the true interests
of England than insult to foreign thrones, under the shallow pretext
of forwarding the privileges of the people. Monarchs are the natural
allies of a monarchy--rebels are the natural enemies of all government;
and the attempt to create liberty on the Continent, by encouraging
the absurdities of the rabble, is only to waste the noble influence
of England in the most hopeless of all projects, and to degrade the
national character by the abuse of the national principles.
The proverbial uncertainty of war was now about to be vividly
illustrated by a new phase of Frederick's varied career. The French
army, under the Prince Soubise, had poured into the centre of Germany
in great force, and Marshal Keith, a gallant Scot, distinguished in
the service of Prussia, was sent to check their irruption. The result
was one of the most extraordinary victories on record. Frederick had
arrived at Rosbach with but eighteen thousand men; the French and
Imperialists, amounting to sixty thousand, made sure of his capture.
It was even said that the Prince de Soubise had already sent a courier
to Paris announcing it, and the ruin of the whole army. The French
officers, in the spirit of their nation, actually scoffed at the idea
of war with so small a kingdom as Prussia. They said "it was doing
Monsieur le Marquis de Brandenbourg too much honour to carry on a
_sort_ of war with him."
On the 6th of November, Soubise advanced; the King then formed his plan
of attack. It was to fall on the enemy before they had time to form.
The general of cavalry, Seydlitz, was to turn the enemy's horse, and
fall on their infantry in the act of formation. The two armies moved
parallel to each other, until Seydlitz had turned the enemy's right
unseen. The Prussian infantry were in movement after him; but seeing,
with the quick eye of a thorough soldier, a favourable moment, he
galloped in front of his squadrons, threw up his meerschaum in the air,
as the signal for attack, and plunged into the enemy's columns. Two
Austrian cuirassier regiments and two French battalions fought stoutly,
but they were overwhelmed. All thenceforth was confusion. Though the
king's infantry had scarcely been engaged, the enemy's infantry had
been driven together in a mass, and, on nightfall, had broken up. By
six in the evening the victory was complete. Six thousand prisoners
were taken, with five generals and three hundred officers. The Allied
army lost, on the whole, ten thousand men; the Prussians about four
hundred in killed and wounded. They took seventy guns, fifteen
standards, &c.
This victory spread universal exultation through Germany. It was
scarcely to be called a German defeat, for the weight of the action
fell on the French. It was regarded as a trial of strength between the
German and the Frenchman. The victory made the king a National champion.
Many years after the battle, the inhabitants of the vicinity erected a
pillar as its memorial. In the disastrous days of Prussia in our time,
Napoleon, after surveying the scene of the battle, ordered the pillar
to be conveyed to Paris. But, on the day before the first entrance of
the Allies into Paris, in 1814, the veterans of the Invalides threw the
pillar into the Seine, that it might not be restored to the Prussians.
After the victory of Leipzig, however, an iron column was placed on the
site of the old memorial.
The victory gave occasion to one of Frederick's _bons-mots_. The
conversation at table turned on the comparative style of living
among the German princes; the king pronounced that of the Prince
Hildburg-Hausen to be the most magnificent, "for," said he, "he keeps
thirty thousand _runners_." (The prince had commanded the German troops
who were beaten along with Soubise.)
But all was vicissitude in this campaign. While the king was triumphing
in one quarter, he was all but ruined in another. The Duke of Bevern,
commanding in Silesia, was attacked by a force so overpowering that
the province was soon in the hands of the Austrians. Their purpose
was now to fall upon the king, and extinguish him. Frederick, in
this knowledge, made an appeal to the loyalty of his generals; and,
declaring that he had no alternative but victory or death, offered to
give his dismission to any officer who was unwilling to follow him
farther. The whole levée burst into protestations of fidelity; and the
king marched to fight the Austrians at Leuthen, under the command of
Prince Charles of Lorraine, assisted by the most distinguished of their
generals, Marshal Daun. But this was the battle of despair. In the
king's last speech to his officers, he said--"Should I fall, and not be
able to remunerate the services which you have rendered me, the country
must do it. Now, go to the camp, and repeat to the regiments what I
have said to you."
On the morning of the 5th, at daybreak, the Prussians moved. On their
march they fell in with cavalry pushed forward under the well-known
General Wostitz. The Austrians were instantly overwhelmed, and Wostitz,
furious at his misfortune, rushing into the midst of the Prussian
cavalry, received fourteen wounds, of which he died two days after.
Among the prisoners was a deserter, a Frenchman. The king questioned
him, "Why did you leave me?" "The fact is," answered the deserter,
"things were going on very badly with us." "Come, come," replied
Frederick, probably amused by the fellow's nonchalance in a moment of
such peril to himself, "let us fight another battle to-day. If I am
beaten, we shall desert together to-morrow." He then sent him back to
join his old regiment.
The king's manoeuvre, on his advance, was so dexterous that, even
to the experienced eye of Daun, he appeared to be in retreat. "The
Prussians are off," said he to Prince Charles; "let us not disturb
them." The cautious marshal always practised the maxim of "a bridge
of gold for a retreating enemy." But the hasty Prince resolved on a
battle. He was speedily to feel the hazard of such an antagonist as
Frederick. The manoeuvre was intended to throw the whole force of
the Prussians on the Austrian left wing. It succeeded perfectly. The
wing was turned, and, after a brief resistance, was driven from the
field. The village of Leuthen, the centre of their position, was then
stormed; but the Austrian artillery was powerful, and every attack
cost great slaughter. The battle was now for a while doubtful--but
it was at last decided by a charge of cavalry. The Austrian general,
Luchesi, had attempted to fall with his troopers on the Prussian flank;
but, in the act, he was unexpectedly charged by the main body of the
Prussian cavalry. Luchesi fell, his cavalry were broken, and the
battle was at an end. The rest was the capture of the separate posts
of the Austrians, and the pursuit of the right wing, which, though not
engaged, had disbanded. This success was unexampled. The Prussians took
twenty thousand prisoners, one hundred and sixteen guns, fifty-one pair
of colours, and four thousand baggage waggons. The Austrians left seven
thousand four hundred men on the field. The victors lost, in killed and
wounded, six thousand men. This victory produced a prodigious effect
on the public opinion of Europe. To have won two pitched battles, with
inferior numbers, and in the midst of political difficulties, with all
his conquests torn from him, and his capital insulted and laid under
contribution, appeared like the work of romance. The king was, from
that moment, the first of European generals. He was the invincible
Frederick the Great in German lips; the Protestant hero, by a still
more honourable title, in England. Germany then first felt that she had
poets, and a theme for poetry. Bards sprang up on every side, and the
Prussian king's exploits were sung in palace, cottage, and bivouac. The
war-songs of Glein exhibited the true fire of poetry, and form stirring
and noble records of the time to this day.
Mitchell's correspondence, on this important occasion, was exulting. On
the 9th December, he writes--
"My Lord,--This moment a chasseur has arrived from Silesia, with
the news of a complete victory obtained by his Prussian Majesty
on the 5th, between Neumarkt and Lissa. The chasseur was present
in, and despatched from the field of battle.... In a letter from
the king to his brother, Prince Henry, he says he had taken eight
thousand prisoners, many standards, colours, and cannon that he had
attacked with his right, _et qu'il avait refusé la gauche_, which
had succeeded perfectly well, _parce qu'il avait tourné l'ennemi_."
The envoy, in his subsequent letters, collects intelligence from all
quarters, and sends it in fragments.
"We have yet no _relation_ of the _victory of victories_, but there
are letters from the King of Prussia which say that he expected
soon to be master of Breslau, and of the garrison and wounded in
that town, amounting to ten thousand men. He computes the loss
of the Austrians at thirty thousand.... What I write is almost
incredible; but two miracles, in the space of one month, two
victories gained by the same handful of men--for the Prussian army,
in the first action of the 5th of November, did not exceed eighteen
thousand, and in the last might be from thirty to thirty-five
thousand--have, I hope, restored affairs to a situation I never
expected to see them in."
The merit of this diligence may be estimated from the difficulty of
correspondence in those days of convulsion. In his first despatch on
this subject, so important to the English cabinet, he says,--
"In case this letter should be stopped, I have prevailed with a Jew
to write to his correspondent at the Hague a letter in _Hebrew_,
which contains further particulars, &c., which he is directed
forthwith to communicate to Colonel Yorke, (the British Resident
with the States of Holland.)"
We then have a curious specimen of the spirit of diplomacy.
"TO THE EARL OF HOLDERNESSE.
"_December 1757._
"My Lord,--I have had some suspicion that Prince Henry is paving
the way to a negotiation with France, without the knowledge of the
king his brother.
"The prince is very vain, and hates his brother, of whose greatness
he is jealous; at the same time, he has talents, but more cunning
than real parts, and is French to the bone.
"I live well with him, but have carefully watched him. He owned to
me the other day that he had taken upon himself to release Monsieur
Martinfort, _commissaire des vivres_ to Soubise's army, taken at
the battle of the 5th of November. The pretence for releasing him
is, that Martinfort has no rank in the army, and therefore cannot
be exchanged; and that he will prevail on the Prince of Soubise to
release, in his room, a Prussian counsellor, who was carried off as
a hostage by the French.
"I know the prince's way of thinking--ambition is his only
principle. He imagined--looking on the state of the King of
Prussia's affairs as desperate--that he should have the glory of
making peace. For this purpose, he first began to show an enormous
partiality to the French officers, and to hold frequent and long
conferences with Martinfort, who is a shrewd, sensible man; and I
am convinced that the prince flatters himself that he shall bring
about something by his means.... I judge it necessary to give your
lordship these hints, that Martinfort may be _properly watched_ in
Paris."
Napoleon, in his memoirs of the campaigns of the great European
generals, gave a high place to the battle of Leuthen, pronounced it a
masterpiece, and declared it of itself sufficient to fix Frederick in
the foremost rank of generalship.
During this memorable year, the envoy frequently attended the
headquarters, and shared not merely the privations but the dangers
of the campaign. Of this period he kept a diary, containing the more
remarkable particulars, and giving a curious picture of the harassing
life, even of the highest rank, once engaged in war. But of this
service there was soon to be an interruption. The Hanoverian Convention
had soured the King of Prussia's mind against the English cabinet:
the failure of the expedition against Rochfort--a failure, however,
which arose simply from a precipitate embarkation, (for the English
troops had, until that moment, driven everything before them)--and the
delay of sending a fleet to the Baltic, were topics of irritation at
the Prussian court, which, of course, were first visited on the head
of the envoy, and which, in turn, he visited (with whatever reserve)
on the head of the British cabinet. But Chatham had then succeeded to
the direction of affairs, and he was not a man to take remonstrance
patiently. The immediate result was the mission of Yorke to Berlin,
and the recall of Mitchell. But another change in the public councils
made Yorke's mission only temporary, and Mitchell was ordered to remain
"until further orders."
The brilliant successes of Rosbach and Leuthen had raised the King's
military name to the highest rank, but they only increased the number
of his enemies. The Russians, fresh in the field, admirably equipped
for the campaign, and longing to gather German laurels, had poured
down upon his army, exhausted as it was by incessant fighting, and
almost hopeless of seeing an end to the war, but still proud of their
reputation, and confident in their King. A letter from the envoy to
Lord Holdernesse gives an animated though brief account of their first
collision.
"FIELD OF BATTLE, ZORNDORF,
_26th August 1753_.
"My Lord,--I have the satisfaction to acquaint your Lordship, that
yesterday, after an action which lasted _ten hours_, the King of
Prussia has gained a victory over the Russian army, taken many
pieces of cannon, and many colours and standards.
"The army marched in four columns. The whole cavalry made the
fourth column. They arrived in a large open plain, edged with
woods, about eight o'clock in the morning, and formed very quickly,
as they had marched in order of battle. At nine in the morning, the
whole army was formed. The vanguard began the action before the
village of Zorndorf, which had been set on fire by the enemy; and
as soon as the King of Prussia, thought that he had gained their
flank, he ordered the attack to be made by his left wing, while
he refused his right. The cavalry, commanded by General Seidletz,
formed a fourth line, which, after the infantry should have broken
in upon that of the enemy, were to act on either flank, as occasion
should offer.
"The fire of the artillery was terrible on both sides, and
continued almost without interruption till the end of the battle.
What added to the horror of the spectacle was, that the Cossacks
and Calmucks had set fire to the villages all round, and a great
number of Russian powder-waggons blew up in the woods which
surrounded the field."
This was a tremendous conflict, and the particulars of the loss on both
sides made it amount to nearly 24,000, killed and wounded, of which
the Prussian loss was about 4000. The Russians lost ninety pieces of
cannon, standards, and several military chests, containing 858,000
roubles. The subsequent despatches give us some idea of the feelings of
men in the field, even though not actually combatants. In one of these
the envoy says,--
"I have had many unpleasant moments of late--we were upon the very
brink of destruction. The Russians fought like devils. The King of
Prussia's presence of mind saved us all. There are many particulars
which I would willingly write, but I am almost dead with fatigue.
_Would to God I were out of this scene of horror and bloodshed._"
All now was anxiety.
"Last night the King of Prussia called me to him, between seven
and eight o'clock, _just after the battle ended_, and told me that
he had not time to write to the King (George II.) that night. He
desired I should delay despatching a courier to England _till the
affair was ended_; that, in the mean time, he would write a short
letter to Berlin to _keep up their spirits_."
Such is the life of kings and generals.
"As the Russians continue firm in their position, I fear we shall
have _another action to-morrow_, for which we are by no means well
prepared."
It is remarkable, in nearly all the great Prussian victories, how much
the King owed to his cavalry. The battles of Rosbach and Leuthen were
actually won by cavalry charges, and the value of cavalry seems to
have been fully appreciated by Frederick. It is equally remarkable,
that they scarcely appear to have been used since, except to repulse
a charge, or to follow a broken enemy. There is a fashion in those
things. Napoleon relied on artillery. Wellington relied on infantry.
The Russian and German generals, in the French war, relied upon
redoubts and fieldworks--a tactic perhaps partly imposed on them by
the nature of their troops, which were new to discipline, and, though
brave, were unprepared for manoeuvring. But novelty has great effect
in war, and the first general who will try the momentum of cavalry on
a large scale will probably beat his enemy. The common objection, that
cavalry costs too much to bring it into the field in force, is absurd:
nothing can be too costly which wins the battle.
The envoy now went to Dresden, where the Austrian generals had
collected a force, and commenced the siege. Here he was the spectator
of some severe attacks, and had his share in the wretchedness of war.
On the Austrian demonstration, the general commanding in the city
ordered the suburbs to be set on fire, to deprive the enemy of their
cover for the assault.
"On the 10th, about three in the morning, General Schmettau set
fire to the suburb adjoining the Pirna Gate, and to many of the
houses built on the edge of the fosse, apprehensive that they might
be occupied by the enemy. I will not describe to your Lordship the
_horror of this night_, nor the terror and confusion it struck into
the poor inhabitants, as the whole town seemed to be environed with
flames. I mounted into one of the steeples, from which I saw the
most melancholy prospect--the poor frightened inhabitants running
from the burning suburbs, with the wretched remains of their
furniture, towards the Great Garden, and the whole circuit of the
town appearing in flames, ruins, and smoke."
Marshal Daun next day remonstrated against this act, as contrary to
the laws of war. The Prussian general replied "that the Marshal knew
better, and that he must do his duty; but that if the Marshal wished to
save the rest of the suburbs, he had only to withdraw his troops." Daun
replied "that he would receive no directions _how_ he was to attack."
The military repartees passed away, but the people were ruined.
The name of Dresden was familiarised to English ears in the last war
by the battles fought round it, and the sufferings of its inhabitants.
It is difficult to think of those calamities, and of the calamities to
which every Continental city is exposed in the first breaking out of
hostilities, without a sense of the superior security of our country,
and, it is to be hoped, without a sense of the gratitude due for that
security to the Supreme Disposer of the fates of nations. Of war
England knows little but by her victories.
The close of the Seven Years' War, in 1763, released the envoy from the
more arduous part of his service; and in 1765 he returned to England,
and was made a Knight of the Bath, then an honour much more restricted
than now--the number being few, and the reward unshared, but by public
ministers and military men of the first distinction. His health at this
period had been declining, and, retaining his envoyship to the last,
and with the same vigour of faculties, he died by a short illness in
June 1771. Sir Andrew Mitchell was evidently a man of high spirit,
clear understanding, and active intelligence. His Journals are brief,
yet interesting; and if, instead of writing a Diary, he had given us a
History, no man would have rendered a more important account of one of
the most important periods of Europe.
The remaining career of Frederick we pass, as a portion of universal
history. His battles, his share in the fatal partition of Poland, the
vigorous administration which raised Prussia from a third-rate state to
a first, and from a population of five millions to one of three times
the number, are matters of high interest to the political philosopher.
In the character of Frederick II., there was much that no man of
religious principle can applaud; but the habits of France had been
rendered infidel by the effects of Popery on a lively and ingenious
people. The religion which Voltaire and his followers saw from day
to day was _not_ Christianity--the miracles of supposed saints, and
the worship of a supposed Queen of Heaven, which revolted the common
sense of mankind, extinguished the implicit faith of these keen-witted
Frenchmen. The infidel was only a scoffer at a graver infidelity. The
wit of the Frenchman made his scoff popular; and the German, destined
to be always an imitator, was proud to follow the laugh, without
attempting to examine the logic, of Voltaire.
The later history of Prussia has grown in importance with the growing
pressure of our time. Prussia is no longer a struggling state; she is
a great European power. No longer a dependent on the policy of Europe,
she constitutes a prime mover of that policy. The French have trampled
her under foot, apparently only to give her the great lesson that the
strength of a nation is in the national virtue. The cause, which was
lost by the army, was restored by the population. There was no army in
Europe which fell into such instant ruin; there was no population of
Europe which started on its feet with such invincible vigour. No defeat
was so desperate, no victory so memorable. The peasant restored the
monarchy.
Prussia has since been scourged in the common insurgency of the
Continent; yet even that suffering will be of infinite value, if it
shall remind her that the safety of thrones is in the religion of the
people. The connexion is evident. Revolution is the natural tempter of
man; it offers opulence to the poor, rank to the vain, agitation to the
active, and power to the ambitious. To resist these original stimulants
of our nature, what is there in the arm of kings, in the frowns of law,
or in the morals of philosophy? There must be a protector, not to be
found among the dubious impulses or infirm decencies of this world.
That only protector is Religion!
Germany is irreligious. Its Protestant population is infidel, its
Popish is sunk in the depths of superstition. In neither is it
_Christian_. Individuals may still _protest_, in the once famous
land of Protestantism; but the volumes with which Germany is now
inundating the world are hostile to every principle of the Gospel.
Germany must return to the Bible before her monarchs can sit safely
in their palaces. The offer of Constitutions to their people is only
the offer of wine to the intoxicated. It is the abuse of a noble gift,
and the conversion of a source of natural vigour into the nutriment
of a habitual vice. Prussia has now a great vocation. Whatever share
of rational liberty exists in Germany is to be sought for at her
hands. She possesses the most enlightened intellect, the most vigorous
learning, and the most inquiring spirit of Germany. Every man who
wishes well to the progress of the Continent must give his aspirations
to the progress of Prussia. But her superior advantages will only
insure the keener suffering, unless guided by superior virtue.
Her late interference in the war of the Northern Duchies was
suspicious; and the passion for naval power, and the hope of acquiring
the protectorate of Northern and Central Germany, may have betrayed
her into encroachments on her neighbours. But these dreams seem to be
past; and it must depend wholly on herself whether she shall disappoint
a noble experiment, or shall establish an imperishable name; whether
her emblem shall be the scaffold or the altar; whether she shall be
the great magazine of political combustion, or the great armoury of
political defence to Europe; whether the shade of the royal tree shall
shelter the fugitive principles of rational freedom, or direct the
lightnings upon them. There can be no question that we live in times
of vast political peril: the pealing of the tempest has scarcely sunk
behind our march, when clouds gather on it before. New expedients are
required to revive the preservative power of old principles. Religion
is on its trial among ourselves; but _here_ it will not meet its
catastrophe. The Continent will be the scene of the great conflict; and
Prussia, more probably than any other portion of the Continent, will
witness the severity of the struggle. It may be decided even within the
lapse of a few years, and by the exercise of her own wisdom, whether
her throne shall stand forth the barren centre of German revolution,
or a magnificent creation of power--a central temple, to which the
nations of the Continent shall come for the sacred fire, appointed to
administer virtue to the living generation, and illustrate posterity.