THE SECOND STRUGGLE FOR SILESIA, 1742–1745
After following Frederick’s career through many phases in a dozen
years, we observe him with interest as he quits the whirlpool of
foreign adventure for the calm of government at home. We may well
enquire how far three crowded and strenuous campaigns have transformed
our hero. It is impossible that the deeds done at Breslau, Mollwitz,
Klein Schnellendorf, Olmütz, and Chotusitz and the strenuous toil of
twenty months in departments new to him should have left no mark upon
himself. The story outlined in the foregoing chapter suggests that he
moved from place to place and from task to task with great speed and
that his life, perhaps even his throne, were more than once in danger.
But it can convey no adequate idea of the inundation of ambassadors,
generals, messengers, officials, and busybodies which daily surged
in upon the King. Frederick, it must be remembered, was his own
commander-in-chief and his own prime minister at a time when, as he
himself confessed in later years, he had not the least knowledge of
war, when, owing to his father’s jealous absolutism, he had had the
briefest possible experience of diplomacy, and when his powers both in
war and in diplomacy were taxed by the problems of a newly-won province
which must be conciliated at all costs.
[Illustration: THE PARADE GROUND AT POTSDAM.]
The strain was indeed severe. Under it Frederick became more
statesmanlike but not more humane. After a course of the waters at
Aix-la-Chapelle, he diverted himself as of old with literature and
the society of wits. But he made no effort to improve his domestic
life. His queen had retired to Schönhausen, a modest country-house in
the dreary plain which lies on the north side of Berlin—a dwelling so
remote that the swift expansion of recent years has not yet brought
it within the city. The King’s thoughts ran already upon a bachelor
establishment at Potsdam, the Sans Souci of later years, where he
might escape from the society of his relations to enjoy that of his
friends. For his subjects he attempted to provide few benefits beyond
a codification of the law—little enough for one who had held out hope
of a revolution in the art of kingship. It is true that he built the
great Opera House at Berlin, that he lavished money upon actors and
musicians, and that he endowed an Academy of Sciences. But he made
French the only vehicle of learned and literary thought; and though
Berlin might shine in Europe, the Prussian people gained little benefit
thereby.
The King even enjoyed for a time the society of Voltaire, at that time
the King of Letters. The transaction is characteristic of the age.
The brilliant Frenchman, having quarrelled with his peers at home,
obtained from Louis XV. an informal commission to pry into the secrets
of Prussia. Before leaving France, he vented his spleen in a parcel of
epigrams upon Louis and his subjects, which he sent in all secrecy to
his affectionate admirer, Frederick. The latter, thinking to close the
doors of France to his guest and so to cage him at Berlin, published
them all at Paris. Both betrayals failed. As a diplomat Voltaire
extracted only banter from his patron and disciple, while Frederick
found that Louis XV. was indeed what Voltaire had termed him—“the most
stupid of kings,” for the epigrams did not sting him.
Frederick’s wider experience of life, it is clear, had rather hardened
his heart than softened it. As a king he had developed, faster
doubtless than in time of peace, along the lines with which we are
already familiar. He was still conspicuously energetic, imperious, and
mercantile. His energy is the more striking by contrast with the habit
of his contemporaries. Philip of Spain was sluggishly obeying his wife.
Louis of France, whom Frederick termed a good man whose only fault was
that he was King, was toying with mistresses, patronising sieges, and
pointing out the faults in a policy which he was too indolent to cheek.
Augustus of Saxony was sacrificing his armies lest he should be late
for the opera. The Czarina Elizabeth has been described as “bobbing
about in that unlovely whirlpool of intrigues, amours, devotions, and
strong liquor, which her history is.” In a word, the princes of Europe
still in great part looked on their office as an inheritance to be
enjoyed. Meanwhile, the King of Prussia was rising at dawn, reviewing
troops, inspecting fortresses, drafting and conning despatches,
superintending his players, and constituting himself a judge of appeal
for all his kingdom.
Whether judge, general, or stage-manager, he was always the King of
Prussia, and his naturally imperious temper mounted higher day by day.
His stern treatment of the Old Dessauer and the alienation of Schwerin
have already been mentioned. In time of peace his ministers met with no
greater forbearance. They were treated at best as clerks, and often as
dogs. The faithful Podewils, who had just rendered priceless services
to his master in the negotiations with Austria, presumed to suggest
that the King should remain for a time in Silesia. “Attend to your own
affairs, Sir,” was the reply, “and do not presume to dictate whether I
ought or ought not to go. Negotiate as I order you, and do not be the
weak tool of English and Austrian impudence.” With the same imperious
brutality Frederick wrote to the honourable nobleman who represented
him at Vienna. “Do not forget, Sir, with what master you have to do,
and if you take heed of nothing else, take heed for your head.”
As with his dependents, so with states weaker than his own, Frederick
always played the dictator. To grace his new opera he had engaged the
famous dancer Barberina, who was then at Venice. Her English lover
persuaded her to break the contract and remain there and the Doge and
Senate professed themselves powerless to interfere. Frederick therefore
seized a Venetian ambassador in Berlin and held him as a hostage, until
the Venetians in their turn violated justice by sending Barberina a
prisoner to Berlin.
With an imperiousness equal to that of his father Frederick combined
the traditional Hohenzollern willingness to buy and sell. He failed
to buy Silesia, but he succeeded in buying Glatz. The county of Glatz
belonged to Bohemia, and in 1741 Frederick recognised Charles Albert
as King of Bohemia. From him he purchased territory which the Bavarian
had never possessed and which he could never hope to possess without
foreign aid. The Prussians conquered the country and in 1742 Maria
Theresa offered to cede it. Thereupon the King accepted from Austria
what he had declared to belong to Bavaria and announced that he was no
longer bound to pay the purchase money agreed upon.
Frederick seems to be still in all essentials the man whose development
we have traced from his birth to his accession. He is tougher, as it
were, in mind and body alike. He has thrown off the feeble health of
his earlier years and the lust for mere adventure which possessed him
in the twenties. But experience has only added to his trust in himself,
to his belief that “negotiations without arms are music without
instruments,” that war determines disputes, and that bravery and
leadership determine war. His faith in prompt and decided action was
never more conspicuous than in 1744, when on the death of its prince
without lineal heirs, he seized Eastern Frisia. Hanover also had claims
to the land, but nothing could withstand the speed with which the
Prussians made this miniature Silesia their own and thus acquired in
Emden an outlet on the North Sea.
Frederick’s schemes are, indeed, so daring, and his acts so swift and
decisive, that many have believed—as he himself seems to have believed
at the time—that he was gifted with almost superhuman insight and rose
superior to human weakness. It may, therefore, be well to cite the
words in which Professor Koser of Bonn, the greatest living authority
upon the subject, has set down his impression of the King as he was at
the end of the First Silesian War.
“To us he seems neither superhuman nor inhuman, a man not ready
made and complete, but still in process of growth. The cold
‘satanic’ calculator shows himself more than once a sanguine
man, a man of impulse. Sometimes insolent and sometimes almost
faint-hearted, he lets his bearing be easily decided by the
impressions of the moment. In his haste and heat and lack of
experience he makes plenty of mistakes, not only in war, but
also in politics. He does not look far into the future, and
sometimes, however near to his heart lies his good repute, he
takes no thought for it in time to come. And as he himself
later admits, he owes a great part of his successes to fortune
and to chance. In one word, we grant plenty of what the King,
grown more mature, has described as the ‘giddiness’ of his
younger years.”
When Frederick, pleading that in shipwreck each must save himself,
forsook his allies in the summer of 1742, he did so with certain
definite intentions. He wished to give Prussia time to digest Silesia,
and Europe time to accustom herself to Prussia. “The only question
now,” he wrote to Podewils, “is to accustom the cabinets of Europe to
see us in the position which this war has given us, and I believe that
much moderation and much good temper towards all our neighbours will
lead to that result.” The words breathe peace, but peace only so long
as it was both safe and profitable for Prussia. “The safety of our new
possessions,” he had just pointed out, “rests on a large and efficient
army, a full treasury, powerful fortresses and showy alliances which
easily impose upon the world.” For a time, it is clear, the King
intended to revert to the old policy of drilling men and saving money.
But it seems equally clear that if all went well the question which
Frederick propounded in 1740 would in due course present itself again.
“When one has an advantage is he to use it or not?” Is it reasonable to
suppose that the conqueror of Silesia would in future answer No?
For the present, however, while the Prussian system of government was
being established in Silesia, Frederick scanned every rise and fall of
the political barometer. What he saw made him at first congratulate
himself on having forsaken a losing cause before it was too late. Early
in September, 1742, the Saxons quitted the war empty-handed, and it
was evident that France repented of her share in it. Before the end
of the year her troops had been driven out of almost all Bohemia, and
in January, 1743, the death of Fleury deprived her of what unity in
policy and administration she still possessed. Worse than all else, the
Sea Powers now entered vigorously into the war. George II. was anxious
to protect Hanover; Carteret and the English people longed to strike a
blow at their natural enemy, France; and the importunity of England at
length induced the Dutch to move.
Frederick, though he had arranged affairs in Russia to his liking, had,
therefore, every reason to fear lest Austria should grow strong enough
to turn against himself. He was annoyed beyond measure by the news of
King George’s lucky victory over the French at Dettingen on June 27,
1743. “The devil fly away with my uncle,” he wrote to Podewils. He
declared that he would never hear the name of France again. “Noailles
is beaten, and by whom? By people who do not understand how to draw up
a line of battle, and who, in fact, did not draw one up.” Frederick’s
disgust was only increased by the fact that his military criticism was
well founded. Owing to George’s want of skill, Noailles had caught
his army in a trap, from which it escaped only by calm courage and
desperate fighting hand to hand. “I have tolerably well foreseen
everything that has passed in Europe hitherto,” wrote the King of
Prussia, “but for this blow I was not prepared.”
Dettingen and the fear of worse to follow impelled Frederick to take up
arms anew. Early in September, 1743, he visited Wilhelmina at Baireuth
and endeavoured in vain to organise a league of German princes to
rescue the Emperor. The Austrian diplomats were more successful. In
the same month, by a treaty made at Worms, they secured the definite
alliance of England and Sardinia. Frederick noticed with some alarm
that the Treaty of Berlin, which gave him Silesia, was not treated at
Worms as indispensable to the future of Germany. In December a compact
more distinctly menacing to Prussia, should she again interfere in the
war, was concluded between Austria and Saxony.
Early in the new year (1744), therefore, Frederick turned unabashed
to France. He offered to join her in a war which both parties should
pledge themselves to continue until Bohemia should have been wrested
from the Queen. The Emperor was to receive the greater part of the
kingdom, but Prussia, as in 1742, claimed the four Bohemian circles
east of the Elbe and also that fringe of Silesia which the Treaty of
Berlin had left in Austrian hands. Early in June all was arranged. By
the so-called Union of Frankfort some share in the undertaking was
promised by the Elector Palatine and the Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel. But
the substantial allies were, as in the earlier war, France, Prussia,
and Bavaria. The general plan agreed upon was that France should
cripple the Sea Powers by attacking the Netherlands and Hanover. If the
result was to bring an Austrian army into Alsace, Frederick promised
in his turn to cripple Austria by flinging eighty thousand men into
Bohemia. In that case the French undertook to make another campaign in
the East.
The motives which inspired Frederick to take action are so clear that
there is no need to seek them in the solemn accusation against Austria
which he gave to the world in August. He deemed it expedient to take up
the attitude of a German patriot, who, after exhausting the resources
of negotiation, was driven to repel by force the conspiracy of the
Queen of Hungary against the constitution of the Empire.
“The race of those Germans of old, who for so many centuries
defended their fatherland and their liberties against all the
majesty of the Roman Empire, still survives, and will make
the same defence to-day against those who dare to conspire
against them.... In one word, the King asks for nothing and
with him there is no question whatever of personal interests.
His Majesty has recourse to arms only to restore liberty to the
Empire, the sceptre to the Emperor and peace to Europe.”
Such was the Prussian account of the origin of the Second Silesian War.
Frederick again resorted to the method of simultaneous parley and
stroke which had served so well when he seized Silesia. On the same day
(August 7, 1744) that his ambassador at Vienna announced his crusade
to rescue the Emperor, he himself astonished the Saxons by showing
them the Emperor’s order to permit the passage of Prussian troops. It
is characteristic of the tangled politics of the time that Prussia and
Saxony remained technically at peace with each other while Frederick,
as the Emperor’s servant, led sixty thousand men up the Elbe into
Bohemia and Augustus, as the ally of the Queen of Hungary, sent twenty
thousand men to act against him. For the moment Frederick profited
by his speed. At the beginning of September he lay before Prague and
joined forces with twenty thousand men whom Schwerin had brought from
Silesia. Eighty thousand Prussians were thus assembled in the heart of
Bohemia, and on September 16th they took the capital.
The appearance of success was, however, delusive. Far from being
panic-stricken by Frederick’s sudden spring, the scrupulous Queen
rejoiced to see him break the treaty which gave him a title to Silesia.
From every point of the compass she summoned forces to defend Bohemia.
The army of Alsace recrossed the Rhine with great skill and marched
eastwards. They were undisturbed by the French, among whom Frederick’s
treacheries were passing into a proverb:—_se battre pour le roi de
Prusse_, to fight without reward. Clouds of irregular horse issued from
Hungary. The Saxons were marching southwards. The people of Bohemia
showed themselves hostile to the Prussians and assisted an Austrian
army to maintain itself in the kingdom. What course, we may ask, was
the wisest for a commander surrounded by so many dangers?
After the fall of Prague Frederick lay in the centre of Bohemia,
a kingdom walled in by a quadrilateral of mountains. He held the
north-eastern gates which led into Silesia. The south-western led into
Bavaria, and through them the army of Alsace was soon to enter. But at
the head of nearly 80,000 men the King was vastly stronger than any
single force that could be brought against him and his communications
with Prussia were safe. There was therefore much to be said for a
simple defensive policy. North-eastern Bohemia was the prize that
Frederick hoped to gain by the war, and this he could have held like
a second Silesia. Such a desertion of his allies would, however, have
shocked public opinion, particularly in France, and Frederick admits
that he shrank from it on that account.
The next best course, if some offensive movement must be made, would
have been first to crush the army of Bohemia and then to hold the
south-western gate against the army of Alsace. This course was advised
by Schwerin and favoured by the King. But the fatal influence of
Belleisle proved stronger than the promptings of common-sense. France
was avenged for the treacheries of Klein Schnellendorf and Berlin when
Frederick allowed himself to be persuaded to strike due south, in the
hope of conquering Bohemia, opening communications with Bavaria, and
cowing Vienna.
At first the plan prospered. Several towns were captured for the
Emperor, and by October 4, 1744, the Prussians had almost reached
the frontier of Austria proper. Then they began to realise that they
were the dupes of a mirage. The armies of Bohemia and of Alsace had
united in their rear and lay between them and Prague. They found
themselves isolated, ill fed, and worse informed. Swarms of light horse
enveloped them, cutting off convoys, scouts, and messengers. Schwerin
opened a line of retreat, but their recent conquests were lost with
the garrisons which held them. The Austrians had found a soldier,
Field-marshal Traun, and at his hands Frederick received painful
lessons in the art of war. The King had already begun to negotiate.
He thirsted for French co-operation and a pitched battle, but could
obtain neither boon. Traun, who was now superior in numbers, had no
need to fight. He occupied unassailable positions to the north of
Frederick’s force and left hunger, disease, and irregulars to do their
work upon the enemy. Thus harassed, the Prussian rank and file deserted
by thousands, and many offered their services to Traun. Schwerin again
took umbrage and withdrew from the campaign.
[Illustration: FREDERICK THE SECOND, KING OF PRUSSIA.
AFTER THE PAINTING BY F. BOCK.]
Step by step the reluctant King was driven towards Silesia. Before
the end of November it was plain that his whole enterprise must be
abandoned. It was mid-December before the last detachments of some
40,000 men, the remnant of his 80,000, straggled across the mountains
to the friendly walls of Glatz. Thanks to the determination of Maria
Theresa, a postscript had yet to be added to the history of the
campaign. In the spirit of her own Hungarians, who scorned to provide
a commissariat because their forefathers had journeyed from Asia to
the Land of the Five Rivers without one, the Queen dictated a winter
assault upon Silesia. The Old Dessauer, whom Frederick had left in
command, at length succeeded in clearing the province of anything like
an Austrian army, but it was not till February that the Prussians were
able to go into winter quarters. Thus a campaign which had begun
with the conquest of Bohemia came to an end to the sound of _Te Deums_
sung at Berlin for the deliverance of Silesia. Europe began to suspect
that the sword of Traun had pricked the Prussian bubble.
The anxiety with which Frederick awaited the spring of 1745, when he
must expect to have to fight in earnest for Silesia, was rendered more
intense by a sudden change in the attitude of his allies. He had joined
in the struggle with the expectation that Austria would be attacked by
the French and hampered both by the war in Italy and by the forces of
the Emperor. On January 20th, however, Charles Albert died, and the
youth who succeeded him was soon beaten to his knees. By the Treaty
of Füssen, in April, Austria and Bavaria agreed to ignore the past;
and the latter for the first time guaranteed the Pragmatic Sanction
and promised to vote for the husband of Maria Theresa at the imperial
election. The effect of this treaty upon Frederick’s position will
be appreciated when it is borne in mind that the road from France to
Austria passed through Bavaria, while the Austrian Netherlands, which
France coveted, lay at her very door. Thus it was easy to suspect that
in the coming campaign Prussia would receive little effective help
from France. Suspicion passed into certainty when Louis XV. elected to
accompany his army in person.
The campaign of 1745 might therefore be expected to fall into two
separate halves. In the Netherlands, France would be pitted against the
Sea Powers and an Austrian contingent, while in Silesia Austria would
make a great effort against Prussia. At the same time the secondary
struggle of Austria with Spain and France would go on in Italy, while
French and Austrian corps would guard the Rhine. It is evident at a
glance that the withdrawal of the French and Bavarians must greatly
improve the prospects of Austria with regard to Silesia. And when (May,
1745) she was joined by Saxony, whose help all parties desired, in an
undertaking to make no peace until Frederick should resign Silesia and
Glatz to the one and part of his hereditary dominions to the other,
the Queen might well be sanguine. Much of her advantage was, however,
thrown away by an error common to Hapsburg rulers, who are wont to
believe that no family is so fitted as their own for command. The
invasion of Silesia was entrusted to Prince Charles of Lorraine, the
nominal leader of the army in the previous year, while Traun, the real
author of the Austrian success, was sent to watch the Imperial election
at Frankfort. The consequence was that the Austrians did not move till
May, and that they were worse generalled than the Prussians.
Meanwhile Frederick had been assiduous in preparing for war and in
negotiating to avoid it. He was ready to put 80,000 foot and 30,000
horse into the field: but he had sued in vain for the alliance of
Saxony and the aid of England and of Russia. The King, who in 1740
had offered millions to Maria Theresa and planned a partition of her
dominions, must in 1745 implore Louis XV. for a subsidy to avert the
partition of his own. But the danger to Prussia, though real, was not
yet as overwhelming as her enemies believed. “Excellent bearskin to
be slit into straps,” chuckles Frederick’s admirer, “only the bear is
still on his feet.”
The King could still count upon two mighty allies,—upon his army,
whose spirit had been restored by the successes of the Old Dessauer in
the defence of Silesia, and upon himself. Both grew year by year more
valuable. At this crisis, as events were soon to prove, Frederick’s
spirit was worthy of the Queen herself. “I have made it a point of
honour,” he wrote to Podewils on April 27, 1745, “to contribute more
than any other to the aggrandisement of my House. I have played a
leading part among the crowned heads of Europe. These are so many
personal engagements which I have taken and which I am resolved to
fulfil even at the cost of my fortune and my life.” Since the middle of
March he had been making ready in Silesia, and in April he sent home
directions for carrying on the government if Berlin should be in danger.
Next month he learned that his French allies, who were bent on
capturing Tournay, had gained a great victory at Fontenoy (11th May,
1745). He received the news with mixed feelings. He had been striving
to find words which might force into the mind of Louis XV. the truth
that victories in the Netherlands would do nothing for the common cause
in Germany. “We beg the King of France,” he wrote, “not to imagine that
any efforts of his in Flanders can procure the least relief for the
King of Prussia. If the Spaniards land in the Canary Islands, if the
King of France takes Tournay, or if Thamas Kuli-Chan besieges Babylon
it is all one,” since such feats could not influence the war in Bohemia
and Moravia. Yet it was not disheartening to know that Dettingen had
been avenged and that other foes of Austria could more than hold their
own. With renewed hope, Frederick bent all his energies to the task of
holding Silesia.
The King had learned much from Traun, and he was no longer compelled to
consult the interests of his allies. He therefore avoided the mistakes
of the former year. In 1745 his clear gaze penetrated the heart of the
problem which he had to solve, and he followed the right course with
the coolest daring. Silesia, he knew, was divided from the country of
the enemy by a mountain rampart more than three hundred miles in length
and pierced by many roads. Veiled by clouds of light horse, Prince
Charles might choose any of these roads without betraying his choice
to the army of defence. What Neipperg had accomplished when he entered
Silesia in 1741 might be repeated by Prince Charles on a greater scale,
and with less favour from fortune the Prussians might this time be
crushed in detail. Frederick therefore drove sentiment from his breast,
abandoned south-eastern Silesia to the Hungarians, and concentrated
all his force in the neighbourhood of Neisse, a stronghold which the
Prussians had made impregnable. His design was to admit the invaders
to Silesia in the hope of catching them at a disadvantage and of
destroying their enterprise at a blow.
The result was that, when the allies came, they came in the highest
spirits. Their progress had been as fortunate as they could have hoped.
First, as usual, troops of wild riders poured into Silesia from the
south-east. They enjoyed the success which Frederick’s plan assured to
them, and treason among his soldiers gave them Cosel, a fortress on the
upper Oder. Then Prince Charles moved northward from Königgrätz into
the mountains and 30,000 Saxons joined him on the way. On June 3, 1745,
the combined army marched proudly down into the plain. Breslau lay
little more than two days’ march to the north-east of them.
The fixed idea of Prince Charles was that Frederick would behave in
1745 as he had behaved in 1744; that is to say, that he would retreat.
This delusion had been carefully fostered by the King. Discovering
that one of the spies whom he kept in the Austrian camp was in fact
selling Prussian secrets to the enemy, Frederick cleverly hinted to
him that he was afraid of being cut off from Breslau. The spy informed
Prince Charles, who readily gave credit to information which confirmed
his previous belief. Frederick then ordered some repairs on the roads
leading to the capital and supplied further proof of his intention,
if any were needed, by leaving the passes unguarded. Prince Charles
therefore emerged from the mountains in entire ignorance of the fact
that he was to be attacked by a force of 70,000 men. The invaders
encamped upon a plain some five miles broad and as flat as the field of
Mollwitz, with the little town of Hohenfriedberg on the edge of the
mountains to their rear, and Striegau, a place of greater size, on
the hills before them. The Saxon vanguard, which had already been in
contact with the enemy, was instructed to seize Striegau next morning,
if the Prussians still ventured to hold it. “There can be no God in
heaven,” said Prince Charles, “if we do not win this battle.”
Frederick’s camp lay almost at right angles to the line of the allies
between Hohenfriedberg and Striegau. That night (June 3–4, 1745) the
Prussians stole silently from their stations, crossed a stream which
separated them from the enemy, and ranged themselves before him in
line of battle. At dawn they began a general attack as furious as it
was unexpected. The Saxons, always unfortunate in war, were the first
to suffer, and their dogged resistance only increased their loss. The
Austrian infantry stood firm, but their cavalry could no longer face
the Prussians. Thus the Austrian centre and right wing, though favoured
by the ground, could gain no advantage sufficient to compensate for the
disasters of the Saxons on the left. Hohenfriedberg was a soldiers’
battle, and the decisive stroke was an irresponsible charge of the
Baireuth dragoons, who dashed at the enemy through a dangerous gap in
the Prussian line. The shock carried all before it. More than sixty
standards were captured by this regiment alone. By eight o’clock in the
morning the Austrians were in retreat towards the mountains and the
invasion of Silesia was at an end.
The allied army fled so quickly, writes the historian of the
Evangelical church at Hohenfriedberg, that little damage was done in
the place, and the inhabitants were soon able to bear what succour they
could to the wounded, who lay in thousands on the plain below. In about
four hours’ fighting the victors had lost more than 4000 men killed
or wounded, and the vanquished about 10,000. These figures do not,
however, represent one tithe of the advantage which Frederick gained
at Hohenfriedberg. He had reduced the allied army by some 25,000 men,
of whom 7000 were prisoners and many more deserters. Every German army
at that time included thousands of professional soldiers who fought
for either side indifferently and preferred the victors’ pay to their
pursuit. Thousands more fought against their will, and the retreat
through mountains gave them an opportunity to slip away. For a month
the Prussians hung in the rear of the allies and drove them as far as
Königgrätz. Instead of his defensive attitude in Silesia, Frederick
now took up a defensive-offensive in Bohemia, a plan which was as
creditable to his strategy as the battle had been to his tactics. Above
all other advantages he had gained this at Hohenfriedberg—that he could
henceforth trust his cavalry. Worthless at Mollwitz, respectable at
Chotusitz, at Hohenfriedberg they proved themselves superb. The panel
which commemorates the victory in the Prussian Hall of Fame portrays
the dragoons swooping down upon the white-clad infantry of Austria.
The triumph of Frederick the Warrior on this bloody fourth of June
revealed interesting glimpses of Frederick the man. In his first
transports of delight he hugged the French ambassador and astonished
him by owning gratitude to God. “So decisive a defeat,” he informed his
mother, “has not been since Blenheim.” He believed that the Queen would
now come to terms, and wrote to Podewils that it must have softened the
heart of Pharaoh. His delight found vent in music, and he composed his
_March of Hohenfriedberg_. But soon the statesman reappeared. None of
these ebullitions clouded his insight into the situation of affairs. He
saw clearly that his aims of the year before were still impracticable,
that what he needed was peace, and that his victory must have brought
peace nearer by discouraging the enemy.
It is true that now, as so often before, Frederick underrated the
firmness of the Queen. He was further disappointed by the unyielding
attitude of Augustus, who possessed a dangerous patron in the Czarina.
But England, the paymaster of the coalition, had no stomach for a war
of vengeance against Prussia. To her the Austrian alliance was merely
an investment. It would be profitable only if it produced hard fighting
against her real foes, the French. Fontenoy, where the Sea Powers had
been left to do their own fighting, shook her faith in her Hapsburg
ally, and the conduct of the Eastern campaign showed that the Queen’s
thoughts centred on the recovery of the province which England had
induced her to give up. At this juncture England herself was attacked.
The invasion of the Pretender compelled her to recall her troops from
the Continent and favoured the convention which was concluded at
Hanover towards the end of August. By the Convention of Hanover, signed
on the 26th August, 1745, Frederick a third time deserted the French.
He promised to vote for Francis at the Imperial election on condition
that Silesia should be guaranteed to him by all Europe, while George
II. undertook to induce Austria to renew the Treaty of Berlin within
six weeks.
The good offices of England, which as usual consisted in pressing the
Queen to buy off her enemies, were entirely useless. At the end of
August Austria and Saxony drew closer together, and on September 13th
the House of Hapsburg regained its old prestige by the election of
Francis as Emperor. Soon afterwards Frederick perceived that he had
exhausted the supplies of north-eastern Bohemia and began to retire
towards Silesia. By the end of September he had crossed the Elbe and
encamped with 18,000 men at the foot of the mountains near the village
of Soor. There something like his own manœuvre of Hohenfriedberg was
practised upon him by Prince Charles with an army almost double the
size of Frederick’s. Under cover of darkness the Austrians took up
positions commanding the Prussian camp. Only the King’s swift grasp of
the situation and the wonderful skill and speed of his troops averted
a great disaster. In a five hours’ fight the Austrians were driven
off, leaving more than 4000 men on the field and more than 3000 in
the enemy’s hands. The number of Prussian casualties exceeded 3000—a
heavy price to pay for bad scouting. Frederick was, moreover, put to
great inconvenience by the sack of his camp and the capture of his
secretary, the silent, assiduous Eichel.
At Soor, Frederick gained a safe retreat to Silesia and a lesson to be
careful in the future. But victory made him inattentive to the lesson.
The behaviour of his men had been beyond all praise. They formed
under fire; the cavalry charged up-hill and routed the enemy, and the
infantry, though unsupported, attacked superior numbers and captured
batteries. The King, not unnaturally, began to believe that there was
nothing which he and his soldiers could not accomplish. The result,
in a future as yet far distant, was great glory mingled with great
disaster.
During the winter months the Prussian rank and file gathered fresh
laurels. Once more Frederick believed that he had tamed the Queen and
once more he found himself mistaken. As in every previous year of the
Silesian wars, Maria Theresa ordered an attack upon her enemy in the
winter. This of 1745 was threefold and the goal was not Breslau but
Berlin. Prince Charles’s army was to march from Bohemia into Saxony
and to join with the Saxons in a march to Frankfurt-on-Oder, while
10,000 men detached by Traun crossed Germany and seized Berlin. Enough
of this elaborate plan was blabbed to the Swedish ambassador by the
Saxon Premier, Count Brühl, to put Frederick upon his guard. His own
army had gone into winter quarters. A force under the Old Dessauer,
which had been stationed for some time at Halle in readiness to spring
at the throat of Saxony, was likewise laid up for the winter. Podewils
and the Old Dessauer refused to credit a scheme at once so grandiose
and so dangerous to the Saxons, who in case of failure would be left at
the mercy of Prussia. The King, however, overruled them, rushed into
Silesia, collected 35,000 men, marched for some days parallel with
the unsuspecting Prince Charles, and on November 23, 1745, crushed
his Saxon vanguard at Hennersdorf. At this blow the whole enterprise
collapsed. The Austrians retired into Bohemia, followed by Augustus and
Count Brühl, who stubbornly rejected the Prussian overtures for peace.
Meanwhile the Old Dessauer, who had captured Leipzig, was making for
Dresden under urgent orders to attack the Saxon force wherever he might
find it. Four armies were at this time converging upon the capital. The
Saxons under Count Rutowski, with whom were the Austrian contingent
from the West, formed a force of 35,000 men and lay to the westward of
the Elbe and of the city. The Old Dessauer, having secured Meissen, had
provided a bridge across the river by which Frederick marching from the
East could join him in case of need. But Prince Charles with 46,000 men
was advancing towards Dresden from the side of Bohemia, and Frederick
feverishly urged his veteran lieutenant to strike a speedy blow. If the
allies were to join forces the war might be prolonged and it seemed
likely that Russia would attack Prussia in the spring.
Prince Charles was in fact only five miles distant when, on December
15th, the Old Dessauer came upon Rutowski strongly posted at
Kesselsdorf. “Heavenly Father,” prayed the old man in the hearing
of his devoted soldiers, “graciously aid me this day: but if Thou
shouldest not be so disposed, at least lend not Thy aid to those
scoundrels the enemy, but passively await the issue.” The task of the
infantry was even harder than that of capturing the batteries at Soor.
Twice they were repulsed with a loss of nearly 1500 men out of 3600.
But the usual impetuosity of armies not perfectly trained came to
their aid. The Saxons in the intoxication of victory charged from the
entrenchments, only to be routed by the Prussian horse. This proved
the turning-point in a battle which cost Rutowski 3000 men killed and
wounded and twice as many taken prisoner.
The Prussians lost some 4600 men, but they gained peace. Prince Charles
fled once more into Bohemia and Dresden made no resistance. In the hour
of triumph Frederick’s bearing was admirable. All through the winter
campaign he had showered insults upon the Old Dessauer, a prince born
the year after Fehrbellin and hero of well-nigh half a hundred battles
and sieges. “My field-marshal is the only person who either cannot or
will not understand my plain commands.” “You go as slowly as though you
were determined to deprive me of my advantage.” Such were the royal
words which had goaded the old man into attempting the impossible
at Kesselsdorf, where he exposed himself recklessly and received
three balls through his clothing. Now he enjoyed as ample amends as
Frederick’s conception of the royal dignity permitted him to bestow.
On the day after the battle the King sprang from his horse at sight of
him, advanced to meet him with doffed hat, embraced him, and accepted
his guidance over the field.
At Dresden Frederick stayed eight days and showed himself anxious to
please. He entered the city, it is true, as a conqueror, in a carriage
drawn by eight horses, and he exacted a million thalers from the land.
But he visited and honoured the children of Augustus, played a leading
part in the society of the place, attended church and opera on Sunday,
and in general acted with the utmost moderation.
In the existing political situation, such conduct was no less politic
than humane. In spite of his triumph over the Saxons, Frederick’s
position was far from secure. Augustus was only a recent recruit in the
phalanx of kings arrayed against Prussia. Russia, his patron, had yet
to be reckoned with. The army of Prince Charles was unbroken. Southern
Silesia was flooded with Hungarians. Traun might yet leave the Rhine
and revive the painful memories of 1744. In face of all these dangers
Frederick had no reserves. His treasury was empty and the anger of the
French at the Convention of Hanover forbade him to expect assistance
from them. These considerations made him willing to name a low price
for peace. Even when fleeing from Traun in 1744 he had demanded a part
of Bohemia. Now after four victories he stipulated only that Austria
should renew the Treaty of Berlin. Maria Theresa was thus confronted
with the painful choice between abandoning, at least for the present,
all hope of recovering Silesia and resigning the help of the Sea
Powers, on which her hope of retaining Italy depended. The Saxon
alliance had broken down, a negotiation with France was unsuccessful,
and the Queen wisely consented to accept Frederick’s terms. At Dresden
on Christmas Day, 1745, treaties were signed which restored peace to a
great part of Germany and closed the Second Silesian War.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]