For more than a century it had been a portion of the Austrian kingdom.
Maria Theresa had inherited the crown of Austria. Frederick, wishing
to enlarge his own domains, determined to invade Silesia. History has
severely condemned this unprovoked invasion. In January, 1741, the
Prussian army were encamped before Neisse. On Sunday morning, Jan. 15,
the deadly fire of shot and shell was opened upon the crowded city,
where women and children, wounded and bleeding, ran to and fro, frantic
with terror. For five days the deadly missiles rained down upon the
city almost without intermission.
Not wishing entirely to destroy the city, Frederick then converted
the siege into a blockade, and leaving his troops before the place,
returned to Berlin. Frederick, in this six weeks’ campaign, had let
loose the dogs of war, and he must now meet the consequences. The
chivalry of Europe were in sympathy with the young and beautiful
Austrian queen. Every court in Europe was aware of the fact that it was
owing to the intervention of the father of Maria Theresa that the life
of Frederick was spared, and that he was rescued from the scaffold,
when the exasperated and ferocious Frederick William had condemned his
own son to death. France had no fear of Prussia, but France did fear
the supremacy of Austria over Europe; therefore, France was leaning
towards the side of Frederick. England was the foe of France, therefore
England sympathized with Austria. The puerile king of England, George
II., hated his nephew, Frederick of Prussia, which hatred Frederick
vigorously returned. Spain was at war with England and ready for
alliance with her foes. The father of the infant czar of Russia was
the brother of Frederick’s neglected wife Elizabeth. Russia had not
yet displayed her partisanship to either side. Minor powers might be
constrained by terror or led by bribes.
Meanwhile the heroic Maria Theresa was resolved not to part with one
inch of her territory, and the patriotism of the Austrian court,
inspired by her, determined them to seek to drive the Prussians
out of Silesia. A rumor comes that England, Poland, and Russia are
contemplating invasion of the Prussian realms. Frederick immediately
despatched a force to Hanover to seize upon that continental possession
of the king of England upon the slightest indication of hostility.
This menace alarmed George II. Young Prince Leopold had assaulted
and captured Glogau from the Austrians, which Frederick considered
an important achievement, and sent Prince Leopold a present of ten
thousand dollars.
Frederick next proceeded to push the siege of Neisse, but upon nearing
that place, he found that General Neipperg, with a large force of
Austrians, were coming against him. The siege of Neisse was abandoned,
and the entire Prussian army gathered around the king. The night before
the contemplated battle, Frederick wrote to his brother, Augustus
William,—who, as Frederick had no children, was heir to the throne and
crown prince of Prussia,—informing him of his danger, of the coming
battle, and bidding farewell to himself and his mother in case of his
death. No word of affectionate remembrance was sent to his neglected
wife.
On the morrow, which was Sunday, a snow-storm raged so furiously that
neither army could move. On Monday the battle began. The Prussians
advanced boldly with waving banners and martial music, and valiantly
charged the enemy. But the Austrians returned the charge with such
fury that the Prussian right wing, where Frederick himself commanded,
was routed and put to flight. Frederick, struck with terror, lost
his presence of mind, and ingloriously fled with the rest. As with
his little band of fugitives he rushed into the gloom of night, he
exclaimed in despair, “O my God, my God, this is too much!”
But as the crestfallen king waits under the shelter of a mill, a
courier rides up and cries, _“The Prussian army has gained the
victory!”_ Thus the Prussian king had been galloping from the
battle-field in fear and terror, while his valiant troops were
achieving the victory. This incident caused unlimited merriment amongst
the sarcastic foes of Frederick, and he himself was never known to
allude to this humiliating adventure. The picture of the heroic and
intrepid Maria Theresa encouraging her troops to patriotism and
valor in the very face of her foes, and that of the terror-stricken
Frederick rushing from the field of battle, do not form a comparison
very flattering to the bravery of the young Prussian king. But as
some actors on the stage who have had the worst stage-frights have
afterwards made the most brilliant stars, so the ignominious flight of
the king did not prevent him from becoming one of the greatest generals
of the world. Gradually the secret alliance of France, Bavaria, and
Prussia was made known. Under the threatening danger which menaced
ruin, Maria Theresa, urged by her council and by the English court,
consented to propose terms of compromise to Frederick. To the English
ministers, sent from Vienna to offer a million dollars to the Prussian
king if he would consent to relinquish this enterprise and retire from
Silesia, Frederick answered: “Retire from Silesia, and for money? Do
you take me for a beggar? Retire from Silesia in the conquest of which
I have expended so much blood and treasure! No, sir, no! I am at the
head of an army which has already vanquished the enemy, and which is
ready to meet the enemy again. The country which alone I desire is
already conquered and securely held. If the queen do not now grant me
all I require, I shall in four weeks demand four principalities more.
I now demand the whole of Lower Silesia, Breslau included. With that
answer you can return to Vienna.”
These tidings caused consternation in the Austrian council. Again the
high-spirited queen was forced by her circumstances and influenced by
her council and England to accede to the compromise, and she agreed to
surrender the whole of Lower Silesia to Frederick. But when such word
was brought to the Prussian camp, the king replied, “I will not see the
minister; the time has past. I will not now listen to a compromise.”
Now followed a dark and deceitful manœuvre on the part of Frederick,
which even the stratagems of war cannot warrant. He entered into
secret negotiations with Austria that if Silesia was delivered to him,
he would form an alliance with them against the French, whose armies
were already joined with his own; at the same time apparently keeping
faith with the French, but promising to betray them to the Austrians,
meanwhile stating that he must keep up sham attacks to deceive the
French.
Frederick now invested Neisse, and pretending a sham attack, he really
so vigorously assaulted it that it surrendered, and having thus
obtained the last fortress in Silesia, he caused himself to be crowned
sovereign duke of Lower Silesia, and returned to Berlin in triumph.
Having by this stratagem obtained Silesia, he assured the French of
his unchanging fidelity, and denied that he had ever entered into
any arrangements with Austria. In commencing this war he had said,
“Ambition, interest, and the desire to make the world speak of me
vanquished all, and war was determined on.” He had indeed made the
world speak of him. All Europe spoke of him. Some extolled him, others
denounced his amazing perfidy. Admiration for his sagacity and fear of
his power made many courts of Europe seek his alliance. Carlyle thus
comments on these events:—
“Of the political morality of this game of fast-and-loose, what have
we to say, except that the dice on both sides seem to be loaded; that
logic might be chopped upon it forever; that a candid mind will settle
what degree of wisdom (which is always essential veracity) and what of
folly (which is always falsity) there was in Frederick and the others;
and, in fine, it will have to be granted that you cannot work in pitch
and keep hands evidently clean. Frederick has got into the enchanted
wilderness populous with devils and their work. Alas! it will be long
before he get out of it again; his life waning toward night before he
get victoriously out.”
This selfish rapacity of the Prussian king set the example to others.
The whole world sprang to arms. Macaulay says: “On the head of
Frederick is all the blood which was shed in a war which raged during
many years, and in every quarter of the globe,—the blood of the column
of Fontenoy, the blood of the brave mountaineers who were slaughtered
at Culloden. The evils produced by this wickedness were felt in lands
where the name of Prussia was unknown. In order that he might rob a
neighbor whom he had promised to defend, black men fought on the coast
of Coromandel, and red men scalped each other by the great lakes of
North America.”
In the winter of 1742 Frederick was engaged in a campaign to deliver
Moravia, which was overrun by the Austrians. But in this he was not
successful. On the morning of the 17th of May, 1742, Frederick again
faced the Austrians at the battle of Chotusitz. In this famous battle
Frederick was victorious, and the Austrians, under Prince Charles, were
obliged to retreat. It required nine acres of ground to bury the dead
after this bloody conflict.
Frederick did not pursue the Austrians after this victory, and on the
11th of June the treaty of Breslau was signed. By this treaty Silesia
was ceded to Frederick, and he agreed to withdraw from the French
alliance and enter into friendly relations with Maria Theresa. In
1744, however, Maria Theresa, having been joined by England, had been
achieving so many victories on the field, that Frederick, deciding
that she was gathering her forces to reconquer Silesia, again entered
into an alliance with France and took the field against the Austrians.
But in this campaign Frederick himself narrowly escaped being taken
prisoner, and returned a defeated monarch, leaving a shattered army
behind him. He had already exhausted nearly all the resources which his
father had accumulated. Already the sumptuous chandeliers and silver
balconies had been melted up. His disastrous Bohemian campaign had
cost him three hundred and fifty thousand dollars a month. The least
sum with which he could commence a new campaign for the protection of
Silesia was four million five hundred thousand dollars. In spite of
these apparently insurmountable difficulties, the administrative genius
of Frederick made a way by which he succeeded in raising another army.
On the 4th of June, 1745, the battle of Hohenfriedberg was fought, by
which victory Frederick escaped utter destruction, and the Austrians
were forced sullenly to retire. All Europe was now in war, caused by
the personal ambition of one man, who did not pretend that it involved
any question of human rights. Frederick had openly avowed that he
drew his sword and led his hundred thousand soldiers to death and
destruction that he might enlarge his territories and achieve renown.
All the nations of Europe wished to borrow. None but England had money
to lend, and England was fighting Frederick, and supplying his foes
with aid and money. Frederick realized that Maria Theresa, whom he had
despised as a woman, was fully his equal in ability to raise and direct
armies and in diplomatic intrigue. Berlin was almost defenceless. All
Saxony was rising behind Frederick. In this hour of peril, with an army
of twenty-six thousand men, Frederick was obliged to meet his foes at
Sohr. Defeat to Frederick would have been utter ruin; but the brave
determination of the Prussian king animated his troops with desperate
valor to conquer or die. And conquer they did, and the victory of
Frederick was complete.
[Illustration: ARREST OF VOLTAIRE BY ORDER OF FREDERICK.]
On the 25th of December, 1745, the peace of Dresden was signed. The
demands of Frederick were acceded to. Augustus III. of Saxony, Maria
Theresa of Austria, and George II. of England became parties to the
treaty. Frederick now entered upon a period of ten years of peace.
The Prussian king now constructed for himself a beautiful villa, on
a pleasant hilltop near Potsdam, which he called _Sans Souci_, which
Carlyle quaintly translates “No Bother.” He had three other palaces,
far surpassing Sans Souci in magnificence,—Charlottenburg, at Berlin,
the new palace at Potsdam, and his palace at Reinsberg.
Voltaire made a long visit to the Prussian king. Frederick had been for
many years greatly fascinated with that talented writer, but gradually
Voltaire lost favor with the king. Frederick prided himself upon
his literary abilities, and at first Voltaire flattered him; but on
one occasion, when the king had sent him a manuscript to revise, he
sarcastically exclaimed to the royal messenger, “When will his Majesty
be done with sending me his dirty linen to wash?”
This speech was repeated to the king. Frederick did not lose his
revenge. Voltaire had been made chamberlain. His duties were to give an
hour a day to the Prussian king, and, as Voltaire said, “to touch up a
bit his works in prose and verse.”
But Voltaire used his sarcastic pen against the king, and especially
against the president of the academy founded by the king at Berlin. A
bitter pamphlet, entitled _La Diatribe du Docteur Akakia_, appeared,
and the satire was so scathing that the Prussian king ordered all
copies to be burned. Voltaire, though allowing the whole edition to
be destroyed before his eyes, managed to send a copy to some safe
place, where it was again published, and arrived at Berlin by post
from Dresden. People fought for the pamphlet. Everybody laughed; the
satire was spread over all Europe. Frederick was enraged, and Voltaire
thought it safe to leave Prussia. The king had previously presented
him with a copy of his own poems, and fearing that Voltaire had
him now in his power—as this volume contained some very wicked and
licentious burlesques, in which Frederick had scoffed at everything
and everybody—he ordered Voltaire to be arrested at Frankfort, and the
book of poems recovered. Either by Frederick’s malice or the stupidity
of his agent, Freytag, Voltaire and his friends were subjected to an
imprisonment for twelve days in a miserable hostelry. The intimacy
between Frederick and Voltaire was thus destroyed, and a lasting
friendship made impossible.
In 1756 Frederick invaded Saxony. Thus was commenced the Seven Years’
War, which proved to be one of the most bloody and cruel strifes ever
waged. It gave Frederick the renown of being one of the ablest generals
of the world. In 1757 France, Russia, Austria, Poland, and Sweden
were combined against Frederick. The entire force of the Prussian
king did not exceed eighty thousand men. There were marching against
him combined armies amounting to four hundred thousand men. On the
battle-field of Leuthen Frederick met and conquered his foes.
But still, peace was out of the question without further fighting.
England, at last alarmed at the growing power of France, came to the
aid of Frederick. But France, Austria, Sweden, and Russia prepared for
a campaign against him.
On Aug. 25, 1758, occurred the bloody battle of Zorndorf, between
the Russians and the Prussians. It was an awful massacre. The stolid
Russians refused to fly. The Prussians sabred them and trampled them
beneath their horses’ feet. It is considered the most bloody battle
of the Seven Years’ War, and some claim it was the most furious ever
fought. Frederick was again victorious. But in October, 1758, on the
field of Hochkirch, Frederick was defeated by the Austrians. Just
after the dreadful defeat came the tidings of the death of his sister
Wilhelmina. Thus ended the third campaign in clouds and darkness for
the Prussian king.
The destinies of Europe were now held in the hands of three women:
Maria Theresa, who by common consent had good cause for war, and was
fighting in self-defence; Madame de Pompadour, who, virtually sovereign
of France, by reason of her supreme control of the infamous Louis XV.,
as Frederick had stung her by some insult, did not hesitate to deluge
Europe in blood; and Catherine II., empress of Russia, who was also
Frederick’s foe on account of personal pique.
Frederick himself was undeniably an unscrupulous aggressor, and some
call him “a highway robber.”
The cause of Maria Theresa alone could have been called honorable.
In the fourth campaign of 1759 the terrible battle of Kunersdorf was
fought in August. At first the Prussians were victorious, but the
Russians at length routed them with fearful loss. So great was the
despair of Frederick that it is said he contemplated suicide.
For a year the struggle continued. The Prussian army left in Silesia
was utterly destroyed by the Austrians. But at length the tide turned,
and Frederick routed the Austrians at the battle of Liegnitz. But the
position of Frederick was still most hazardous. He was in the heart of
Silesia, surrounded by hostile armies, three times larger than his own.
Weary weeks of marching, fighting, blood, and woe, passed on. Sieges,
skirmishes, battles innumerable, ensued.
At length the allies captured Berlin; whereupon Frederick marched
quickly to the rescue of his capital. At his dread approach the allies
fled. Frederick followed the Austrians.
We have no space to give details of the end of the bloody war.
Frederick attacked the Austrians, under Marshal Daun, at Torgan, saying
to his soldiers:—
“This war has become tedious. If I beat him, all his army must be taken
prisoners or drowned in the Elbe. If we are beaten we must all perish.”
After a day of hard fighting the Prussians held the field. Frederick,
who was a very profane man, replied to a soldier, who inquired if they
should go into winter quarters, “By all the devils I shall not till we
have taken Dresden.” But Dresden he did not take at that time, and went
into winter quarters at Leipsic. The fifth campaign of the Seven Years’
War closed with the winter of 1760.
[Illustration: EQUESTRIAN STATUE OF FREDERICK THE GREAT, ÆT. 73.]
The Russians and Austrians had concentrated in Bohemia. The summer and
autumn wore away with little accomplished; the allies feared to attack
Frederick, and the Russians retreated for winter quarters. But the
Austrians captured Schweidnitz and so could winter in Silesia. This
was a terrible blow to Frederick, but no word betrayed the anguish of
the hard-pressed Prussian king. Taking his weary, suffering troops to
Breslau, Frederick sought shelter for the winter of 1761-62. At this
dark time he wrote:—
“The school of patience I am at is hard, long-continued, cruel; nay,
barbarous. I have not been able to escape my lot. All that human
foresight could suggest has been employed, and nothing has succeeded.
If Fortune continues to pursue me, doubtless I shall sink. It is only
she that can extricate me from the situation I am in. I escape out of
it by looking at the universe on the great scale like an observer from
some distant planet. All then seems to me so infinitely small, and I
could almost pity my enemies for giving themselves such trouble about
so very little.”
Poor blinded Frederick! He could not even see that his own selfish
ambition had tempted him to commence an unjust war, and thus to bring
upon his own head all these sorrows.
On the 24th of November, 1762, the belligerents entered into an
armistice until the 1st of March. All were exhausted. On the 15th of
February, 1763, peace was concluded. The bloody Seven Years’ War was
over, and its immense result was, _Frederick the Great had captured
and retained Silesia_.
The expense of the war had been eight hundred and fifty-three thousand
lives, which had perished on the battle-field. Of the hundreds of
thousands of men, women, and children who had died from exposure,
famine, and pestilence, no note is taken. The population of Prussia had
diminished five hundred thousand. The world had run red with blood.
The air had resounded with wails and cries and groans. Prussia was
laid waste by the ravages of the war; and what had been accomplished?
Frederick had achieved his renown; he had made himself _talked of_.
Silesia had been captured, and Frederick the Great had been placed in
the foremost ranks of the world’s generals.
Compared with the achievements of Gustavus Adolphus, whose victories
had laid the foundation for the success of the Reformation, how petty
had been the prize! One, a Christian king, upholding liberty of
conscience and religious freedom; the other, an infidel king fighting
in an unjust war for his own glory and aggrandizement. But the world
applauded. Berlin blazed with illuminations and rang with the shouts
of rejoicing. For twenty-three years Frederick the Great still lived
to bear his honors. He must have the credit of endeavoring, during the
remainder of his life, to repair the terrible desolation and ruin which
his wars had brought upon Prussia.
We have but space to glance at his last hours. Dark was the gloom
which shrouded his closing days. His worst enemies were the scoffing
devils of unbelief he had let loose within his own soul. No Christian
hopes illuminated the vast unknown into which he must so soon pass.
To him the grave was but the awful portal to the direful abyss of
annihilation.
To his patient, cruelly neglected wife, he penned these last cold
words: “Madam, I am much obliged by the wishes you deign to form, but a
heavy fever I have taken hinders me from answering you.”
With no companions near him but his servants and his dogs, he
awaited the coming of his last despairing end. And thus this lonely,
hopeless old man fought his last battle of life; and on the 17th of
August, 1786, the fight was ended, the battle lost, and Frederick
the Second—Frederick the Great—was carried to the tomb, and laid by
the side of his father. What a warning to the world! What a warning
to parents! The inconsistent, brutal life of his father made him an
infidel.
His own selfish ambition made him more of a curse than a blessing to
mankind. In the eyes of the Great and Just Judge of the world, both
lives were _terrible failures_.
History has decreed that Frederick the Great gained a foremost place
amongst the famous rulers of the world, and that his name stands in the
first rank of the world’s conquerors.
But history has also written over his career the verdict,—He was an
ambitious aggressor in an unjust war, which plunged all Europe into
the horrors of famine, pestilence, bloody conflicts, and desolated
battle-fields piled up with heaps of ghastly corpses, above which rose
the direful wails of anguished hearts and the relentless flames of
ruined homes.
NAPOLEON I.
1769-1821 A.D.
“He doth bestride the narrow world like a Colossus.”
SHAKESPEARE.
“Fame comes only when deserved, and then is as
inevitable as destiny; for it is destiny.”—LONGFELLOW.
IT was not physical force, it was the magnetic majesty of mind, which
looked forth from those awe-inspiring eyes, and gave him Jovesque
grandeur and dignity and sovereign pre-eminence among mankind. No
merely mortal man stands beside him upon the same level on the heights
of fame. Upon the highest mountain peak of human achievement and
earthly greatness he stands alone, looking with calm, deep eyes and
eagle glance upon the rolling centuries which preceded his marvellous
career.
In spite of all the contradictory views which have been presented of
Napoleon; in spite of hostile historians who have stigmatized him
as a usurper; in spite of foes who have denounced him as a tyrant,
inexorable as Nero; in spite of calumny which has proclaimed him a
blood-thirsty monster; in spite of English literature and English
criticism, which have denounced him as a scourge of the race, as a
“_cook_ roasting whole continents and populations in the flames of
war”; in spite of many a Judas, such as Bourrienne, Augereau, Marmont,
Berthier, Bernadotte, Moreau, and others among those whom his own
genius had lifted into prominence and power; in spite of obstacles,
such as no other mortal man ever conquered, Napoleon the Great stands
forth the most amazing phenomenon of human achievement, personal
magnetism, and mortal greatness.
[Illustration: NAPOLEON.]