An ample share of spoil was promised to the King of Poland; and that
prince, governed by his favorite, Count Bruhl, readily promised the
assistance of the Saxon forces. The great difficulty was with France.
That the Houses of Bourbon and of Hapsburg should ever cordially
cooperate in any great scheme of European policy had long been thought,
to use the strong expression of Frederic, just as impossible as that
fire and water should amalgamate. The whole history of the Continent,
during two centuries and a half, had been the history of the mutual
jealousies and enmities of France and Austria. Since the administration
of Richelieu, above all, it had been considered as the plain policy of
the Most Christian King to thwart on all occasions the Court of Vienna,
and to protect every member of the Germanic body who stood up against
the dictation of the Caesars. Common sentiments of religion had been
unable to mitigate this strong antipathy. The rulers of France, even
while clothed in the Roman purple, even while persecuting the heretics
of Rochelle and Auvergne, had still looked with favor on the Lutheran
and Calvinistic princes who were struggling against the chief of the
empire. If the French ministers paid any respect to the traditional
rules handed down to them through many generations, they would have
acted towards Frederic as the greatest of their predecessors acted
towards Gustavus Adolphus. That there was deadly enmity between Prussia
and Austria was of itself a sufficient reason for close friendship
between Prussia and France. With France Frederic could never have any
serious controversy. His territories were so situated that his ambition,
greedy and unscrupulous as it was, could never impel him to attack her
of his own accord. He was more than half a Frenchman; he wrote, spoke,
read nothing but French; he delighted in French society; the admiration
of the French he proposed to himself as the best reward of all his
exploits. It seemed incredible that any French government, however
notorious for levity or stupidity, could spurn away such an ally.
The Court of Vienna, however, did not despair. The Austrian diplomatists
propounded a new scheme of politics, which, it must be owned, was not
altogether without plausibility. The great powers, according to this
theory, had long been under a delusion. They had looked on each other as
natural enemies, while in truth they were natural allies. A succession
of cruel wars had devastated Europe, had thinned the population, had
exhausted the public resources, had loaded governments with an immense
burden of debt; and when, after two hundred years of murderous hostility
or of hollow truce, the illustrious Houses whose enmity had distracted
the world sat down to count their gains, to what did the real advantage
on either side amount? Simply to this, that they had kept each other
from thriving. It was not the King of France, it was not the Emperor,
who had reaped the fruits of the Thirty Years' War, or of the War of the
Pragmatic Sanction. Those fruits had been pilfered by states of the
second and third rank, which, secured against jealousy by their
insignificance, had dexterously aggrandized themselves while pretending
to serve the animosity of the great chiefs of Christendom. While the
lion and tiger were tearing each other, the jackal had run off into the
jungle with the prey. The real gainer by the Thirty Years' War had been
neither France nor Austria, but Sweden. The real gainer by the war of
the Pragmatic Sanction had been neither France nor Austria, but the
upstart of Brandenburg. France had made great efforts, had added largely
to her military glory, and largely to her public burdens; and for what
end? Merely that Frederic might rule Silesia. For this, and this alone,
one French army, wasted by sword and famine, had perished in Bohemia;
and another had purchased, with floods of the noblest blood, the barren
glory of Fontenoy. And this prince, for whom France had suffered so
much, was he a grateful, was he even an honest ally? Had he not been as
false to the Court of Versailles as to the Court of Vienna? Had he not
played, on a large scale, the same part which, in private life, is
played by the vile agent of chicane who sets his neighbors quarrelling,
involves them in costly and interminable litigation, and betrays them to
each other all round, certain that, whoever may be ruined, he shall be
enriched? Surely the true wisdom of the great powers was to attack, not
each other, but this common barrator, who, by inflaming the passions of
both, by pretending to serve both, and by deserting both, had raised
himself above the station to which he was born. The great object of
Austria was to regain Silesia; the great object of France was to obtain
an accession of territory on the side of Flanders. If they took opposite
sides, the result would probably be that, after a war of many years,
after the slaughter of many thousands of brave men, after the waste of
many millions of crowns, they would lay down their arms without having
achieved either object; but, if they came to an understanding, there
would be no risk and no difficulty. Austria would willingly make in
Belgium such cessions as France could not expect to obtain by ten
pitched battles. Silesia would easily be annexed to the monarchy of
which it had long been a part. The union of two such powerful
governments would at once overawe the King of Prussia. If he resisted,
one short campaign would settle his fate. France and Austria, long
accustomed to rise from the game of war both losers, would, for the
first time, both be gainers. There could be no room for jealousy between
them. The power of both would be increased at once; the equilibrium
between them would be preserved; and the only sufferer would be a
mischievous and unprincipled buccaneer, who deserved no tenderness from
either.
These doctrines, attractive from their novelty and ingenuity, soon
became fashionable at the supper parties and in the coffee-houses of
Paris, and were espoused by every gay marquis and every facetious abbe
who was admitted to see Madame de Pompadour's hair curled and powdered.
It was not, however, to any political theory that the strange coalition
between France and Austria owed its origin. The real motive which
induced the great Continental powers to forget their old animosities and
their old state maxims was personal aversion to the King of Prussia.
This feeling was strongest in Maria Theresa; but it was by no means
confined to her. Frederic, in some respects a good master, was
emphatically a bad neighbor. That he was hard in all dealings, and quick
to take all advantages, was not his most odious fault. His bitter and
scoffing speech had inflicted keener wounds than his ambition. In his
character of wit he was under less restraint than even in his character
of ruler. Satirical verses against all the princes and ministers of
Europe were ascribed to his pen. In his letters and conversation he
alluded to the greatest potentates of the age in terms which would have
better suited Colle, in a war of repartee with young Crebillon at
Pelletier's table, than a great sovereign speaking of great sovereigns.
About women he was in the habit of expressing himself in a manner which
it was impossible for the meekest of women to forgive; and,
unfortunately for him, almost the whole Continent was then governed by
women who were by no means conspicuous for meekness. Maria Theresa
herself had not escaped his scurrilous jests. The Empress Elizabeth of
Russia knew that her gallantries afforded him a favorite theme for
ribaldry and invective. Madame de Pompadour, who was really the head of
the French government, had been even more keenly galled. She had
attempted, by the most delicate flattery, to propitiate the King of
Prussia; but her messages had drawn from him only dry and sarcastic
replies. The Empress Queen took a very different course. Though the
haughtiest of princesses, though the most austere of matrons, she forgot
in her thirst for revenge both the dignity of her race and the purity of
her character, and condescended to flatter the low-born and low-minded
concubine, who, having acquired influence by prostituting herself,
retained it by prostituting others. Maria Theresa actually wrote with
her own hand a note, full of expressions of esteem and friendship, to
her dear cousin, the daughter of the butcher Poisson, the wife of the
publican D'Etioles, the kidnapper of young girls for the haram of an old
rake, a strange cousin for the descendant of so many Emperors of the
West! The mistress was completely gained over, and easily carried her
point with Louis, who had, indeed, wrongs of his own to resent. His
feelings were not quick; but contempt, says the Eastern proverb,
pierces even through the shell of the tortoise; and neither prudence nor
decorum had ever restrained Frederic from expressing his measureless
contempt for the sloth, the imbecility, and the baseness of Louis.
France was thus induced to join the coalition; and the example of France
determined the conduct of Sweden, then completely subject to French
influence.
The enemies of Frederic were surely strong enough to attack him openly;
but they were desirous to add to all their other advantages the
advantage of a surprise. He was not, however, a man to be taken off his
guard. He had tools in every court; and he now received from Vienna,
from Dresden, and from Paris accounts so circumstantial and so
consistent that he could not doubt of his danger. He learnt that he was
to be assailed at once by France, Austria, Russia, Saxony, Sweden, and
the Germanic body; that the greater part of his dominions was to be
portioned out among his enemies; that France, which from her
geographical position could not directly share in his spoils, was to
receive an equivalent in the Netherlands; that Austria was to have
Silesia, and the Czarina East Prussia; that Augustus of Saxony expected
Magdeburg; and that Sweden would be rewarded with part of Pomerania. If
these designs succeeded, the House of Brandenburg would at once sink in
the European system to a place lower than that of the Duke of Wurtemberg
or the Margrave of Baden.
And what hope was there that these designs would fail? No such union of
the Continental powers had been seen for ages. A less formidable
confederacy had in a week conquered all the provinces of Venice, when
Venice was at the height of power, wealth, and glory. A less formidable
confederacy had compelled Louis the Fourteenth to bow down his haughty
head to the very earth. A less formidable confederacy has, within our
own memory, subjugated a still mightier empire, and abased a still
prouder name. Such odds had never been heard of in war. The people whom
Frederic ruled were not five millions. The population of the countries
which were leagued against him amounted to a hundred millions. The
disproportion in wealth was at least equally great. Small communities,
actuated by strong sentiments of patriotism or loyalty, have sometimes
made head against great monarchies weakened by factions and discontents.
But small as was Frederic's kingdom, it probably contained a greater
number of disaffected subjects than were to be found in all the states
of his enemies. Silesia formed a fourth part of his dominions; and from
the Silesians, born under Austrian princes, the utmost that he could
expect was apathy. From the Silesian Catholics he could hardly expect
anything but resistance.
Some states have been enabled, by their geographical position, to defend
themselves with advantage against immense force. The sea has repeatedly
protected England against the fury of the whole Continent. The Venetian
government, driven from its possessions on the land, could still bid
defiance to the confederates of Cambray from the Arsenal amidst the
lagoons. More than one great and well-appointed army, which regarded the
shepherds of Switzerland as an easy prey, has perished in the passes of
the Alps. Frederic had no such advantage. The form of his states, their
situation, the nature of the ground, all were against him. His long,
scattered, straggling territory seemed to have been shaped with an
express view to the convenience of invaders, and was protected by no
sea, by no chain of hills. Scarcely any corner of it was a week's march
from the territory of the enemy. The capital itself, in the event of
war, would be constantly exposed to insult. In truth there was hardly a
politician or a soldier in Europe who doubted that the conflict would be
terminated in a very few days by the prostration of the House of
Brandenburg.
Nor was Frederic's own opinion very different. He anticipated nothing
short of his own ruin, and of the ruin of his family. Yet there was
still a chance, a slender chance, of escape. His states had at least the
advantage of a central position; his enemies were widely separated from
each other, and could not conveniently unite their overwhelming forces
on one point. They inhabited different climates, and it was probable
that the season of the year which would be best suited to the military
operations of one portion of the league would be unfavorable to those of
another portion. The Prussian monarchy, too, was free from some
infirmities which were found in empires far more extensive and
magnificent. Its effective strength for a desperate struggle was not to
be measured merely by the number of square miles or the number of
people. In that spare but well-knit and well-exercised body there was
nothing but sinew, and muscle, and bone. No public creditors looked for
dividends. No distant colonies required defence. No court, filled with
flatterers and mistresses, devoured the pay of fifty battalions. The
Prussian army, though far inferior in number to the troops which were
about to be opposed to it, was yet strong out of all proportion to the
extent of the Prussian dominions. It was also admirably trained and
admirably officered, accustomed to obey and accustomed to conquer. The
revenue was not only unencumbered by debt, but exceeded the ordinary
outlay in time of peace. Alone of all the European princes, Frederic had
a treasure laid up for a day of difficulty. Above all, he was one, and
his enemies were many. In their camps would certainly be found the
jealousy, the dissension, the slackness inseparable from coalitions; on
his side was the energy, the unity, the secrecy of a strong
dictatorship. To a certain extent the deficiency of military means might
be supplied by the resources of military art. Small as the King's army
was, when compared with the six hundred thousand men whom the
confederates could bring into the field, celerity of movement might in
some degree compensate for deficiency of bulk. It was thus just
possible that genius, judgment, resolution, and good luck united might
protract the struggle during a campaign or two; and to gain even a month
was of importance. It could not be long before the vices which are found
in all extensive confederacies would begin to show themselves. Every
member of the league would think his own share of the war too large, and
his own share of the spoils too small. Complaints and recriminations
would abound. The Turk might stir on the Danube; the statesmen of France
might discover the error which they had committed in abandoning the
fundamental principles of their national policy. Above all, death might
rid Prussia of its most formidable enemies. The war was the effect of
the personal aversion with which three or four sovereigns regarded
Frederic; and the decease of any one of those sovereigns might produce a
complete revolution in the state of Europe.
In the midst of a horizon generally dark and stormy Frederic could
discern one bright spot. The peace which had been concluded between
England and France in 1748, had been in Europe no more than an
armistice; and had not even been an armistice in the other quarters of
the globe. In India the sovereignty of the Carnatic was disputed between
two great Mussulman houses; Fort St. George had taken one side,
Pondicherry the other; and in a series of battles and sieges the troops
of Lawrence and Clive had been opposed to those of Dupleix. A struggle
less important in its consequences, but not less likely to produce
irritation, was carried on between those French and English adventurers
who kidnapped negroes and collected gold dust on the coast of Guinea.
But it was in North America that the emulation and mutual aversion of
the two nations were most conspicuous. The French attempted to hem in
the English colonists by a chain of military posts, extending from the
Great Lakes to the mouth of the Mississippi. The English took arms. The
wild aboriginal tribes appeared on each side mingled with the Pale
Faces. Battles were fought; forts were stormed; and hideous stories
about stakes, scalpings, and death-songs reached Europe, and inflamed
that national animosity which the rivalry of ages had produced. The
disputes between France and England came to a crisis at the very time
when the tempest which had been gathering was about to burst on Prussia.
The tastes and interests of Frederic would have led him, if he had been
allowed an option, to side with the House of Bourbon. But the folly of
the Court of Versailles left him no choice. France became the tool of
Austria; and Frederic was forced to become the ally of England. He could
not, indeed, expect that a power which covered the sea with its fleets,
and which had to make war at once on the Ohio and the Ganges, would be
able to spare a large number of troops for operations in Germany. But
England, though poor compared with the England of our time, was far
richer than any country on the Continent. The amount of her revenue, and
the resources which she found in her credit, though they may be thought
small by a generation which has seen her raise a hundred and thirty
millions in a single year, appeared miraculous to the politicians of
that age. A very moderate portion of her wealth, expended by an able and
economical prince, in a country where prices were low, would be
sufficient to equip and maintain a formidable army.
Such was the situation in which Frederic found himself. He saw the whole
extent of his peril. He saw that there was still a faint possibility of
escape; and, with prudent temerity, he determined to strike the first
blow. It was in the month of August, 1756, that the great war of the
Seven Years commenced. The King demanded of the Empress Queen a distinct
explanation of her intentions, and plainly told her that he should
consider a refusal as a declaration of war. "I want," he said, "no
answer in the style of an oracle." He received an answer at once haughty
and evasive. In an instant the rich electorate of Saxony was overflowed
by sixty thousand Prussian troops. Augustus with his army occupied a
strong position at Pirna. The Queen of Poland was at Dresden. In a few
days Pirna was blockaded and Dresden was taken. The first object of
Frederic was to obtain possession of the Saxon State Papers; for those
papers, he well knew, contained ample proofs that, though apparently an
aggressor, he was really acting in self-defence. The Queen of Poland, as
well acquainted as Frederic with the importance of those documents, had
packed them up, had concealed them in her bedchamber, and was about to
send them off to Warsaw, when a Prussian officer made his appearance. In
the hope that no soldier would venture to outrage a lady, a queen, the
daughter of an emperor, the mother-in-law of a dauphin, she placed
herself before the trunk, and at length sat down on it. But all
resistance was vain. The papers were carried to Frederic, who found in
them, as he expected, abundant evidence of the designs of the coalition.
The most important documents were instantly published, and the effect of
the publication was great. It was clear that, of whatever sins the King
of Prussia might formerly have been guilty, he was now the injured
party, and had merely anticipated a blow intended to destroy him.
The Saxon camp at Pirna was in the meantime closely invested; but the
besieged were not without hopes of succor. A great Austrian army under
Marshal Brown was about to pour through the passes which separate
Bohemia from Saxony. Frederic left at Pirna a force sufficient to deal
with the Saxons, hastened into Bohemia, encountered Brown at Lowositz,
and defeated him. This battle decided the fate of Saxony. Augustus and
his favorite Bruhl fled to Poland. The whole army of the electorate
capitulated. From that time till the end of the war, Frederic treated
Saxony as a part of his dominions, or, rather, he acted towards the
Saxons in a manner which may serve to illustrate the whole meaning of
that tremendous sentence, "subjectos tanquam suos, viles tanquam
alienos." Saxony was as much in his power as Brandenburg; and he had no
such interest in the welfare of Saxony as he had in the welfare of
Brandenburg. He accordingly levied troops and exacted contributions
throughout the enslaved province, with far more rigor than in any part
of his own dominions. Seventeen thousand men who had been in the camp at
Pirna were half compelled, half persuaded to enlist under their
conqueror. Thus, within a few weeks from the commencement of
hostilities, one of the confederates had been disarmed, and his weapons
were now pointed against the rest.
The winter put a stop to military operations. All had hitherto gone
well. But the real tug of war was still to come. It was easy to foresee
that the year 1757 would be a memorable era in the history of Europe.
The King's scheme for the campaign was simple, bold, and judicious. The
Duke of Cumberland with an English and Hanoverian army was in Western
Germany, and might be able to prevent the French troops from attacking
Prussia. The Russians, confined by their snows, would probably not stir
till the spring was far advanced. Saxony was prostrated. Sweden could do
nothing very important. During a few months Frederic would have to deal
with Austria alone. Even thus the odds were against him. But ability and
courage have often triumphed against odds still more formidable.
Early in 1757 the Prussian army in Saxony began to move. Through four
defiles in the mountains they came pouring into Bohemia. Prague was the
King's first mark; but the ulterior object was probably Vienna. At
Prague lay Marshal Brown with one great army. Daun, the most cautious
and fortunate of the Austrian captains, was advancing with another.
Frederic determined to overwhelm Brown before Daun should arrive. On
the sixth of May was fought, under those walls which, a hundred and
thirty years before, had witnessed the victory of the Catholic league
and the flight of the unhappy Palatine, a battle more bloody than any
which Europe saw during the long interval between Malplaquet and Eylau.
The King and Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick were distinguished on that
day by their valor and exertions. But the chief glory was with Schwerin.
When the Prussian infantry wavered, the stout old marshal snatched the
colors from an ensign, and, waving them in the air, led back his
regiment to the charge. Thus at seventy-two years of age he fell in the
thickest battle, still grasping the standard which bears the black eagle
on the field argent. The victory remained with the King; but it had been
dearly purchased. Whole columns of his bravest warriors had fallen. He
admitted that he had lost eighteen thousand men. Of the enemy,
twenty-four thousand had been killed, wounded, or taken.
Part of the defeated army was shut up in Prague. Part fled to join the
troops which, under the command of Daun, were now close at hand.
Frederic determined to play over the same game which had succeeded at
Lowositz. He left a large force to besiege Prague, and at the head of
thirty thousand men he marched against Daun. The cautious Marshal,
though he had a great superiority in numbers, would risk nothing. He
occupied at Kolin a position almost impregnable, and awaited the attack
of the King.