propounded a new scheme of politics, which, it must be owned, was not
altogether {208}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, alter two hundred years of
murderous hostility or of hollow truce, the illustrious Houses whose
enmity had distracted the world sat down to count their Rains, 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 Enigmatic Sanction. Those fruits had been pilfered by
states of the second and third rank, which, secured against jealousy
by their insignificance, had dexterously aggrandised 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 {209}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 neighbours 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 {210}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 coffeehouses of
Paris, and were espoused by every gay Marquis, and every facetious abbé
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 neighbour. 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 Collé, in a war of repartee with young
Crébillon 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 {211}that her gallantries afforded him a favourite 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
harem 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 Lewis, 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 a tortoise; and neither
prudence nor decorum had ever restrained Frederic from expressing his
measureless contempt for the sloth, the imbecility, and the baseness of
Lewis. 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. {212}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 Wurtemburg
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 Lewis 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 {213}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 the 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 any thing 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 {214}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
unfavourable 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 unincumbered 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 {215}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 longer 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 Saint 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 {216}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. {217}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 bed-chamber, and was about to
lend 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, {218}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 mean time closely invested; but the
besieged were not without hopes of succour. 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 favourite 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 rigour 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 {219}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 Evlau. The
King and Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick were distinguished on that day by
their valour and exertions. But the chief glory was with Schwerin.
When the Prussian infantry wavered, the stout old marshal snatched the
colours from an ensign, and, waving them in the air, {220}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.
It was the eighteenth of June, a day which, if the Greek superstition
still retained its influence, would be held sacred to Nemesis, a day
on which the two greatest princes of modern times were taught, by
a terrible experience, that neither skill nor valour can fix the
inconstancy of fortune. The battle began before noon; and part of the
Prussian army maintained the contest till after the midsummer sun had
gone down. But at length the King found that his troops, having been
repeatedly driven back with frightful carnage, could no longer be led
to the charge. He was with difficulty persuaded to quit the field. The
officers of his personal staff were under the necessity of expostulating
with him, and one of them took the liberty to say, “Does your Majesty
mean to storm {221}the batteries alone?” Thirteen thousand of his
bravest followers had perished. Nothing remained for him but to retreat
in good order, to raise the siege of Prague, and to hurry his army by
different routes out of Bohemia.
This stroke seemed to be final. Frederic’s situation had at best been
such, that only an uninterrupted run of good luck could save him, as it
seemed, from ruin. And now, almost in the outset of the contest, he had
met with a check which, even in a war between equal powers, would have
been felt as serious. He had owed much to the opinion which all Europe
entertained of his army. Since his accession, his soldiers had in many
successive battles been victorious over the Austrians. But the glory had
departed from his arms. All whom his malevolent sarcasms had wounded,
made haste to avenge themselves by scoffing at the scoffer. His soldiers
had ceased to confide in his star. In every part of his camp his
dispositions were severely criticized. Even in his own family he had
detractors. His next brother, William, heir-presumptive, or rather, in
truth, heir-apparent to the throne, and great-grandfather of the present
king, could not refrain from lamenting his own fate and that of the
house of Hohenzollern, once so great and so prosperous, but now, by
the rash ambition of its chief, made a by-word to all nations. These
complaints, and some blunders which William committed during the retreat
from Bohemia, called forth the bitter displeasure of the inexorable
King. The prince’s heart was broken by the cutting reproaches of his
brother; he quitted the army, retired to a country seat, and in a short
time died of shame and vexation.