Readers were anticipating it, readers have no sympathy; but the sad fact
is, Britannic Majesty has NOT got out his sword; this second paroxysm of
his proves vain as the first did! Those laggard Dutch, dead to the Cause
of Liberty, it is they again. Just as the hour was striking, they--plump
down, in spite of magnanimous Stair, into their mud again; cannot be
hoisted by engineering. And, after all that filling and emptying of
water-casks, and pumping and puffing, and straining of every fibre for a
twelvemonth past, Britannic Majesty had to sit down again, panting in an
Olympian manner, with that expensive long sword of his still sticking in
the scabbard.
Tongue cannot tell what his poor little Majesty has suffered from those
Dutch,--checking one's noble rage, into mere zero, always; making of
one's own glorious Army a mere expensive Phantasm! Hanoverian, Hessian,
British: 40,000 fighters standing in harness, year after year, at
such cost; and not the killing of a French turkey to be had of them in
return. Patience, Olympian patience, withal! He cantons his troops in
the Netherlands Towns; many of the British about Ghent (who consider the
provisions, and customs, none of the best); [Letters of Officers,
from Ghent (_Westminster Journal,_ Oct. 23d, &c.).] his Hanoverians,
Hessians, farther northward, Hanover way;--and, greatly daring,
determines to try again, next Spring. Carteret himself shall go and
flagitate the Dutch. Patience; whip and hoist!--What a conclusion,
snorts the indignant British Public through its Gazetteers.
"Next year, yes, exclaims one indignant Editor: 'if talking will do
business, we shall no doubt perform wonders; for we have had as much
talking and puffing since February last, as during any ten years of the
late Administration' [_The Daily Post,_ December 31st (o.s.), 1742.]
[under poor Walpole, whom you could not enough condemn]! The Dutch?
exclaims another: 'If WE were a Free People [F-- P-- he puts it, joining
caution with his rage], QUOERE, Whether Holland would not, at this
juncture, come cap in hand, to sue for our protection and alliance;
instead of making us dance attendance at the Hague?' Yes, indeed;--and
then the CASE OF THE HANOVER FORCES (fear not, reader; I understand your
terror of locked-jaw, and will never mention said CASE again); but it is
singular to the Gazetteer mind, That these Hanover Forces are to be paid
by England, as appears; Hanover, as if without interest in the matter,
paying nothing! Upon which, in covert form of symbolic adumbration, of
witty parable, what stinging commentaries, not the first, nor by many
thousands the last (very sad reading in our day) on this paltry Hanover
Connection altogether: What immensities it has cost poor England, and is
like to cost, 'the Lord of the Manor' (great George our King) being the
gentleman he is; and how England, or, as it is adumbratively called,
'the Manor of St. James's,' is become a mere 'fee-farm to Mumland.'
Unendurable to think of. 'Bob Monopoly, the late Tallyman [adumbrative
for Walpole, late Prime Minister], was much blamed on this account; and
John the Carter [John Lord Carteret], Clerk of the Vestry and present
favorite of his Lordship, is not behind Robin in his care for the Manor
of MUMLAND' [In _Westminster Journal_ (Feb. 12th, n.s., 1743), a long
Apologue in this strain.] (that contemptible Country, where their very
beer is called MUM),--and no remedy within view?"
RETREAT FROM PRAG; ARMY OF THE ORIFLAMME, BOHEMIAN SECTION BOHEMIAN
SECTION OF IT, MAKES EXIT.
"And Belleisle in Prag, left solitary there, with his heroic
remnant,--gone now to 17,000, the fourth man of them in hospital, with
Festititz Tolpatchery hovering round, and Winter and Hunger drawing
nigh,--what is to become of Belleisle? Prince Karl and the Grand-Duke
had attended Maillebois to Bavaria; steadily to left of Maillebois
between Austria and him; and are now busy in the Passau Country, bent
on exploding those Seckendorf-Broglio operations and intentions, as the
chief thing now. Meanwhile they have detached Prince Lobkowitz to girdle
in Belleisle again; for which Lobkowitz (say, 20,000, with the Festititz
Tolpatchery included) will be easily able. On the march thither he
easily picked up (18th-25th November) that new French Post of Leitmeritz
(Broglio's fine 'Half-way House to Saxony and Provender'), with its
garrison of 2,000: the other posts and outposts, one and all, had to
hurry home, in fear of a like fate. Beyond the circuit of Prag, isolated
in ten miles of burnt country, Belleisle has no resource except what his
own head may furnish. The black landscape is getting powdered with snow;
one of the grimmest Winters, almost like that of 1740; Belleisle must
see what he will do.
"Belleisle knows secretly what he will do. Belleisle has orders to come
away from Prag; bring his Army off, and the chivalry of France home to
their afflicted friends. [_Campagnes,_ vi. 244-251; Espagnac, i. 168.] A
thing that would have been so feasible two months ago, while Maillebois
was still wriggling in the Pass of Caaden; but which now borders on
impossibility, if not reaches into it. As a primary measure, Belleisle
keeps those orders of his rigorously secret. Within the Garrison, or
on the part of Lobkowitz, there is a far other theory of Belleisle's
intentions. Lobkowitz, unable to exist in the black circuit, has retired
beyond it, and taken the eastern side of the Moldau, as the least
ruined; leaving the Tolpatchery, under one Festititz, to caracole round
the black horizon on the west. Farther, as the Moldau is rolling ice,
and Lobkowitz is afraid of his pontoons, he drags them out high and
dry: 'Can be replaced in a day, when wanted.' In a day; yes, thinks
Belleisle, but not in less than a day;--and proceeds now to the
consummation. Detailed accounts exist, Belleisle's own Account (rapid,
exact, loftily modest); here, compressing to the utmost, let us snatch
hastily the main features.
"On the 15th December, 1742, Prag Gates are all shut: Enter if you like;
but no outgate. Monseigneur le Marechal intends to have a grand foraging
to-morrow, on the southwestern side of Prag. Lobkowitz heard of it, in
spite of the shut gates; for all Prag is against Belleisle, and does
spy-work for Lobkowitz. 'Let him forage,' thought Lobkowitz; 'he will
not grow rich by what he gathers;' and sat still, leaving his
pontoons high and dry. So that Belleisle, on the afternoon of December
16th,--between 12 and 14,000 men, near 4,000 of them cavalry, with
cannon, with provision-wagons, baggage-wagons, goods and chattels in
mass,--has issued through the two Southwestern Gates; and finds himself
fairly out of Prag. On the Pilsen road; about nightfall of the
short winter day: earth all snow and 'VERGLAS,' iron glazed; huge
olive-colored curtains of the Dusk going down upon the Mountains
ahead of him; shutting in a scene wholly grim for Belleisle. Brigadier
Chevert, a distinguished and determined man, with some 4,000 sick,
convalescent and half able, is left in Prag to man the works; the
Marechal has taken hostages, twenty Notabilities of Prag; and neglected
no precaution. He means towards Eger; has, at least, got one march
ahead; and will do what is in him, he and every soul of those 14,000.
The officers have given their horses for the baggage-wagons, made every
sacrifice; the word Homewards kindles a strange fire in all hearts; and
the troops, say my French authorities, are unsurpassable. The Marechal
himself, victim of rheumatisms, cannot ride at all; but has his
light sledge always harnessed; and, at a moment's notice, is present
everywhere. Sleep, during these ten days and nights, he has little.
"Eger is 100 miles off, by the shortest Highway: there are two bad
Highways, one by Pilsen southerly, one by Karlsbad northerly,--with
their bridges all broken, infested by Hussars:--we strike into a middle
combination of country roads, intricate parish lanes; and march zigzag
across these frozen wildernesses: we must dodge these Festititz Hussar
swarms; and cross the rivers near their springs. Forward! Perhaps some
readers, for the high Belleisle's sake, will look out these localities
subjoined in the Note, and reduced to spelling. [Tachlowitz, Lischon
(near Rakonitz); Jechnitz (as if you were for the Pilsen road; then turn
as if for the Karlsbad one); Steben (not discoverable, but a DESPATCH
from it,--_Campagnes,_ v. 280), Chisch, Luditz, Theysing (hereabouts you
break off into smaller columns, separate parties and patches, cavalry
all ahead, among the Hills): Schonthal AND Landeck (Belleisle passes
Christmas-day at Landeck,--_ Campagnes,_ vii. 10); Einsiedel (AND
by Petschau), Lauterbach, Konigswart, AND likewise by Topl, Sandau,
Treunitz (that is, into Eger from two sides).] Resting-places in this
grim wilderness of his: poor snow-clad Hamlets,--with their little hood
of human smoke rising through the snow; silent all of them, except for
the sound of here and there a flail, or crowing cock;--but have been
awakened from their torpor by this transit of Belleisle. Happily the
bogs themselves are iron; deepest bog will bear.
"Festititz tries us twice,--very anxious to get Belleisle's Army-chest,
or money; we give him torrents of sharp shot instead. Festititz, these
two chief times, we pepper rapidly into the Hills again; he is reduced
to hang prancing on our flanks and rear. Men bivouac over fires of turf,
amid snow, amid frost; tear down, how greedily, any wood-work for fire.
Leave a trumpet to beg quarter for the frozen and speechless;--which is
little respected: they are lugged in carts, stript by the savageries,
and cruelly used. There were first extensive plains, then boggy passes,
intricate mountains; bog and rock; snow and VERGLAS.--On the 26th, after
indescribable endeavors, we got into Eger;--some 1,300 (about one in
ten) left frozen in the wilderness; and half the Army falling ill at
Eger, of swollen limbs, sore-throats, and other fataler diseases, fatal
then, or soon after. Chevert, at Prag, refused summons from Prince
Lobkowitz: 'No, MON PRINCE; not by any means! We will die, every man
of us, first; and we will burn Prag withal!'--So that Lobkowitz had to
consent to everything; and escort Chevert to Eger, with bag and baggage,
Lobkowitz furnishing the wagons.
"Comparable to the Retreat of Xenophon! cry many. Every Retreat is
compared to that. A valiant feat, after all exaggerations. A thing well
done, say military men;--'nothing to object, except that the troops were
so ruined;'--and the most unmilitary may see, it is the work of a high
and gallant kind of man. One of the coldest expeditions ever known.
There have been three expeditions or retreats of this kind which were
very cold: that of those Swedes in the Great Elector's time (not to
mention that of Karl XII.'s Army out of Norway, after poor Karl XII.
got shot); that of Napoleon from Moscow; this of Belleisle, which is the
only one brilliantly conducted, and not ending in rout and annihilation.
"The troops rest in Eger for a week or two; then homeward through the
Ober-Pfalz:--'go all across the Rhine at Speyer' (5th February next);
the Bohemian Section of the Oriflamme making exit in this manner. Not
quite the eighth man of them left; five-eighths are dead: and there are
about 12,000 prisoners, gone to Hungary,--who ran mostly to the Turks,
such treatment had they, and were not heard of again." [_Guerre de
Boheme,_ ii. 221 (for this last fact). IB. 204, and Espagnac, i. 176
(for particulars of the Retreat); and still better, Belleisle's own
Despatch and Private Letter (Eger, 2d January and 5th January, 1743), in
_Campagnes,_ vii. 1-21.]--Ah, Belleisle, Belleisle!
The Army of the Oriflamme gets home in this sad manner; Germany not
cut in Four at all. "Implacable Austrian badgers," as we call them,
"gloomily indignant bears," how have they served this fine French
hunting-pack; and from hunted are become hunters, very dangerous to
contemplate! At Frankfurt, Belleisle, for his own part, pauses; cannot,
in this entirely down-broken state of body, serve his Majesty farther in
the military business; will do some needful diplomatics with the Kaiser,
and retire home to government of Metz, till his worn-out health recover
itself a little.
A GLANCE AT VIENNA, AND THEN AT BERLIN.
Prince Karl had been busy upon Braunau (the BAVARIAN Braunau, not the
BOHEMIAN or another, Seckendorf's chief post on the Inn); had furiously
bombarded Braunau, with red-hot balls, for some days; [2d-10th December
(Espagnac, i. 171).] intent to explode the Seckendorf-Broglio projects
before winter quite came. Seckendorf, in a fine frenzy, calls to
Broglio, "Help!" and again calls; both Kaiser and he, CRESCENDO to a
high pitch, before Broglio will come. "Relieve Braunau? Well;--but no
fighting farther, mark you!" answers Broglio. To the disgust of Kaiser
and Seckendorf; who were eager for a combined movement, and hearty
attack on Prince Karl, with perhaps capture of Passau itself. At sight
of Broglio and Seckendorf combined, Prince Karl did at once withdraw
from Braunau; but as to attacking him,--"NON; MILLE FOIS, NON!" answered
Broglio disdainfully bellowing. First grand quarrel of Broglio
and Seckendorf; by no means their last. Prince Karl put his men in
winter-quarters, in those Passau regions; postponing the explosion of
the Broglio-Seckendorf projects, till Spring; and returned to Vienna for
the Winter gayeties and businesses there. How the high Maria Theresa
is contented, I do not hear;--readers may take this Note, which is
authentic, though vague, and straggling over wide spaces of time still
future.
"Does her Majesty still think of 'taking the command of her Armies
on herself,' high Amazon that she is!" Has not yet thought of that, I
should guess. "At one time she did seriously think of it, says a good
witness; which is noteworthy. [Podewils, _Der Wiener Hof _ (Court of
Vienna, in the years 1746, 1747 and 1748; a curious set of REPORTS for
Friedrich's information, by Podewils, his Minister there); printed under
that Title, "by the Imperial Academy of Sciences" (Wien, 1850);--may be
worth alluding to again, if chance offer.] Her Husband has been with the
Armies, once, twice; but never to much purpose (Brother Karl doing the
work, if work were done);--and this is about the last time, or the last
but one, this in Winter 1742. She loves her Husband thoroughly, all
along; but gives him no share in business, finding he understands
nothing except Banking. It is certain she chiefly was the reformer of
her Army," in years coming; "she, athwart many impediments. An ardent
rider, often on horseback, at paces furiously swift; her beautiful face
tanned by the weather. Very devout too; honest to the bone, athwart all
her prejudices. Since our own Elizabeth! no Woman, and hardly above one
Man, is worth being named beside her as a Sovereign Ruler;--she is 'a
living contradiction of the Salic Law,' say her admirers. Depends on
England for money, All hearts and right hands in Austria are hers.
The loss of Schlesien, pure highway robbery, thrice-doleful loss and
disgrace, rankles incurable in the noble heart, pious to its Fathers
withal, and to their Heritages in the world,--we shall see with what
issues, for the next twenty years, to that 'BOSE MANN,' unpardonably
'wicked man' of Brandenburg. And indeed, to the end of her life, she
never could get over it. To the last, they say, if a Stranger, getting
audience, were graciously asked, 'From what Country, then?' and
should answer, 'Schlesien, your Majesty!' she would burst into
tears.--'Patience, high Madam!' urges the Britannic Majesty: 'Patience;
may not there be compensation, if we hunt well?'" Austrian bears,
implacable badgers, with Britannic mastiffs helping, now that the
Belleisle Pack is down!--
At Berlin it was gay Carnival, while those tragedies went on: Friedrich
was opening his Opera-House, enjoying the first ballets, while Belleisle
filed out of Prag that gloomy evening. Our poor Kaiser will not "retain
Bohemia," then; how far from it! The thing is not comfortable to
Friedrich; but what help?
This is the gayest Carnival yet seen in Berlin, this immediately
following the Peace; everybody saying to himself and others, "GAUDEAMUS,
What a Season!" Not that, in the present hurry of affairs, I can dwell
on operas, assemblies, balls, sledge-parties; or indeed have the least
word to say on such matters, beyond suggesting them to the imagination
of readers. The operas, the carnival gayeties, the intricate
considerations and diplomacies of this Winter, at Berlin and elsewhere,
may be figured: but here is one little speck, also from the Archives,
which is worth saving. Princess Ulrique is in her twenty-third year,
Princess Amelia in her twentieth; beautiful clever creatures, both;
Ulrique the more staid of the two. "Never saw so gay a Carnival," said
everybody; and in the height of it, with all manner of gayeties going
on,--think where the dainty little shoes have been pinching!
PRINCESSES ULRIQUE AND AMELIA TO THE KING.
BERLIN, "1st March, 1743. "MY DEAREST BROTHER,--I know not if it is
not too bold to trouble your Majesty on private affairs: but the
great confidence which my Sister [Amelia] and I have in your kindness
encourages us to lay before you a sincere avowal as to the state of our
bits of finances (NOS PETITES FINANCES), which are a good deal deranged
just now; the revenues having, for two years and a half past, been
rather small; amounting to only 400 crowns (60 pounds) a year; which
could not be made to cover all the little expenses required in the
adjustments of ladies. This circumstance, added to our card-playing,
though small, which we could not dispense with, has led us into debts.
Mine amount to 225 pounds (1,500 crowns); my Sister's to 270 pounds
(1,800 crowns).
"We have not spoken of it to the Queen-Mother, though we are well sure
she would have tried to assist us; but as that could not have been done
without some inconvenience to her, and she would have retrenched in some
of her own little entertainments, I thought we should do better to apply
direct to Your Majesty; being persuaded you would have taken it amiss,
had we deprived the Queen of her smallest pleasure;--and especially, as
we consider you, my dear Brother, the Father of the Family, and hope you
will be so gracious as help us. We shall never forget the kind acts of
Your Majesty; and we beg you to be persuaded of the perfect and tender
attachment with which we are proud to be all our lives,--Your Majesty's
most humble and most obedient Sisters and Servants,
"LOUISE-ULRIQUE; ANNE-AMELIE [which latter adds anxiously as Postscript,
Ulrique having written hitherto],
"P.S. I most humbly beg Your Majesty not to speak of this to the
Queen-Mother, as perhaps she would not approve of the step we are now
taking." [_OEuvres de Frederic,_ xxvii. i. 387.]
Poor little souls; bankruptcy just imminent! I have no doubt Friedrich
came handsomely forward on this grave occasion, though Dryasdust has not
the grace to give me the least information.--"Frederic Baron Trenck,"
loud-sounding Phantasm once famous in the world, now gone to the
Nurseries as mythical, was of this Carnival 1742-43; and of the next,
and NOT of the next again! A tall actuality in that time; swaggering
about in sumptuous Life-guard uniform, in his mess-rooms and
assembly-rooms; much in love with himself, the fool. And I rather think,
in spite of his dog insinuations, neither Princess had heard of him till
twenty years hence, in a very different phasis of his life! The empty,
noisy, quasi-tragic fellow;--sounds throughout quasi-tragically, like an
empty barrel; well-built, longing to be FILLED. And it is scandalously
false, what loud Trenck insinuates, what stupid Thiebault (always
stupid, incorrect, and the prey of stupidities) confirms, as to this
matter,--fit only for the Nurseries, till it cease altogether.
VOLTAIRE, AT PARIS, IS MADE IMMORTAL BY A KISS.
Voltaire and the divine Emilie are home to Cirey again; that of
Brussels, with the Royal Aachen Excursion, has been only an interlude.
They returned, by slow stages, visit after visit, in October last,--some
slake occurring, I suppose, in that interminable Honsbruck Lawsuit; and
much business, not to speak of ennui, urging them back. They are now
latterly in Paris itself, safe in their own "little palace (PETIT
PALAIS) at the point of the Isle;" little jewel of a house on the Isle
St. Louis, which they are warming again, after long absence in Brussels
and the barbarous countries. They have returned hither, on sufferance,
on good behavior; multitudes of small interests, small to us, great to
them,--death of old Fleury, hopeful changes of Ministry, not to speak of
theatricals and the like,--giving opportunity and invitation. Madame,
we observe, is marrying her Daughter: the happy man a Duke of Montenero,
ill-built Neapolitan, complexion rhubarb, and face consisting much of
nose. [Letter of Voltaire, in _ OEuvres,_ lxxiii 24.] Madame never wants
for business; business enough, were it only in the way of shopping,
visiting, consulting lawyers, doing the Pure Sciences.
As to Voltaire, he has, as usual, Plays to get acted,--if he can.
MAHOMET, no; MORT DE CESAR, yes OR no; for the Authorities are shy,
in spite of the Public. One Play Voltaire did get acted, with a
success,--think of it, reader! The exquisite Tragedy MEROPE, perhaps now
hardly known to you; of which you shall hear anon.
But Plays are not all. Old Pleury being dead, there is again a Vacancy
in the Academy; place among the sacred Forty,--vacant for Voltaire,
if he can get it. Voltaire attaches endless importance to this place;
beautiful as a feather in one's cap; useful also to the solitary
Ishmael of Literature, who will now in a certain sense have Thirty-nine
Comrades, and at least one fixed House-of-Call in this world. In fine,
nothing can be more ardent than the wish of M. de Voltaire for these
supreme felicities. To be of the Forty, to get his Plays acted,--oh,
then were the Saturnian Kingdoms come; and a man might sing IO TRIUMPHE,
and take his ease in the Creation, more or less! Stealthily, as if
on shoes of felt,--as if on paws of velvet, with eyes luminous, tail
bushy,--he walks warily, all energies compressively summoned, towards
that high goal. Hush, steady! May you soon catch that bit of savory
red-herring, then; worthiest of the human feline tribe!--As to the Play
MEROPE, here is the notable passage:
"PARIS, WEDNESDAY, 20th FEBRUARY, 1743. First night of MEROPE; which
raised the Paris Public into transports, so that they knew not what to
do, to express their feelings. 'Author! M. de Voltaire! Author!' shouted
they; summoning the Author, what is now so common, but was then
an unheard-of originality. 'Author! Author!' Author, poor blushing
creature, lay squatted somewhere, and durst not come; was ferreted out;
produced in the Lady Villars's Box,--Dowager MARECHALE DE VILLARS,
and her Son's Wife DUCHESSE DE VILLARS, being there; known friends
of Voltaire's. Between these Two he stands ducking some kind of bow;
uncertain, embarrassed what to do; with a Theatre all in rapturous
delirium round him,--uncertain it too, but not embarrassed. 'Kiss him!
MADAME LA DUCHESSE DE VILLARS, EMBRASSEZ VOLTAIRE!' Yes, kiss him, fair
Duchess, in the name of France! shout all mortals;--and the younger
Lady has to do it; does it with a charming grace; urged by Madame la
Marechale her mother-in-law. [Duvernet (T. J. D. V.), _Vie de Voltaire,
_ p. 128; Voltaire himself, _OEuvres,_ ii. 142; Barbier, ii. 358.] Ah,
and Madame la Marechale was herself an old love of Voltaire's; who had
been entirely unkind to him!
"Thus are you made immortal by a Kiss;--and have not your choice of the
Kiss, Fate having chosen for you. The younger Lady was a Daughter of
Marechal de Noailles [our fine old Marechal, gone to the Wars
against his Britannic Majesty in those very weeks]: infinitely clever
(INFINIMENT D'ESPRIT); beautiful too, I understand, though towards
forty;--hangs to the human memory, slightly but indissolubly, ever since
that Wednesday Night of 1743."
Old Marechal de Noailles is to the Wars, we said;--it is in a world
all twinkling with watch-fires, and raked coals of War, that these fine
Carnival things go on. Noailles is 70,000 strong; posted in the Rhine
Countries, middle and upper Rhine; vigilantly patrolling about, to
support those staggering Bavarian Affairs; especially to give account
of his Britannic Majesty. Brittanic Majesty is thought to have got the
Dutch hoisted, after all; to have his sword OUT;--and ere long does
actually get on march; up the Rhine hitherward, as is too evident, to
Noailles, to the Kaiser and everybody!