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This could not last. A circumstance which, when the mutual regard of the friends
was in its first glow, would merely have been matter for laughter, produced a
violent explosion. Maupertuis enjoyed as much of Frederic's goodwill as any man
of letters. He was President of the Academy of Berlin; and he stood second to
Voltaire, though at an immense distance, in the literary society which had been
assembled at the Prussian Court. Frederic had, by playing for his own amusement
on the feelings of the two jealous and vainglorious Frenchmen, succeeded in
producing a bitter enmity between them. Voltaire resolved to set his mark, a
mark never to be effaced, on the forehead of Maupertuis, and wrote the
exquisitely ludicrous Diatribe of Doctor Akakia. He showed this little piece to
Frederic, who had too much taste and too much malice not to relish such
delicious pleasantry. In truth, even at this time of day, it is not easy for any
person who has the least perception of the ridiculous to read the jokes on the
Latin city, the Patagonians, and the hole to the centre of the earth, without
laughing till he cries. But though Frederic was diverted by this charming
pasquinade, he was unwilling that it should get abroad. His self-love was
interested. He had selected Maupertuis to fill the chair of his Academy. If all
Europe were taught to laugh at Maupertuis, would not the reputation of the
Academy, would not even the dignity of its royal patron, be in some degree
compromised? The King, therefore, begged Voltaire to suppress this performance.
Voltaire promised to do so, and broke his word. The Diatribe was published, and
received with shouts of merriment and applause by all who could read the French
language. The King stormed. Voltaire, with his usual disregard of truth,
asserted his innocence, and made up some lie about a printer or an amanuensis.
The King was not to be so imposed upon. He ordered the pamphlet to be burned by
the common hangman, and insisted upon having an apology from Voltaire, couched
in the most abject terms. Voltaire sent back to the King his cross, his key, and
the patent of his pension. After this burst of rage, the strange pair began to
be ashamed of their violence, and went through the forms of reconciliation. But
the breach was irreparable; and Voltaire took his leave of Frederic for ever.
They parted with cold civility; but their hearts were big with resentment.
Voltaire had in his keeping a volume of the King's poetry, and forgot to return
it. This was, we believe, merely one of the oversights which men setting out
upon a journey often commit. That Voltaire could have meditated plagiarism is
quite incredible. He would not, we are confident, for the half of Frederic's
kingdom, have consented to father Frederic's verses. The King, however, who
rated his own writings much above their value, and who was inclined to see all
Voltaire's actions in the worst light, was enraged to think that his favorite
compositions were in the hands of an enemy, as thievish as a daw and as
mischievous as a monkey. In the anger excited by this thought, he lost sight of
reason and decency, and determined on committing an outrage at once odious and
ridiculous.
Voltaire had reached Frankfort. His niece, Madame Denis, came thither to meet
him. He conceived himself secure from the power of his late master, when he was
arrested by order of the Prussian resident. The precious volume was delivered
up. But the Prussian agents had, no doubt, been instructed not to let Voltaire
escape without some gross indignity. He was confined twelve days in a wretched
hovel. Sentinels with fixed bayonets kept guard over him. His niece was dragged
through the mire by the soldiers. Sixteen hundred dollars were extorted from him
by his insolent goalers. It is absurd to say that this outrage is not to be
attributed to the King. Was anybody punished for it? Was anybody called in
question for it? Was it not consistent with Frederic's character? Was it not of
a piece with his conduct on other similar occasions? Is it not notorious that he
repeatedly gave private directions to his officers to pillage and demolish the
houses of persons against whom he had a grudge, charging them at the same time
to take their measures in such a way that his name might not be compromised? He
acted thus towards Count Bruhl in the Seven Years' War. Why should we believe
that he would have been more scrupulous with regard to Voltaire?
When at length the illustrious prisoner regained his liberty, the prospect
before him was but dreary. He was an exile both from the country of his birth
and from the country of his adoption. The French Government had taken offence at
his journey to Prussia, and would not permit him to return to Paris; and in the
vicinity of Prussia it was not safe for him to remain.
He took refuge on the beautiful shores of Lake Leman. There, loosed from every
tie which had hitherto restrained him, and having little to hope, or to fear
from courts and churches, he began his long war against all that, whether for
good or evil, had authority over man; for what Burke said of the Constituent
Assembly, was eminently true of this its great forerunner: Voltaire could not
build: he could only pull down: he was the very Vitruvius of ruin. He has
bequeathed to us not a single doctrine to be called by his name, not a single
addition to the stock of our positive knowledge. But no human teacher ever left
behind him so vast and terrible a wreck of truths and falsehoods, of things
noble and things base, of things useful and things pernicious. From the time
when his sojourn beneath the Alps commenced, the dramatist, the wit, the
historian, was merged in a more important character. He was now the patriarch,
the founder of a sect, the chief of a conspiracy, the prince of a wide
intellectual commonwealth. He often enjoyed a pleasure dear to the better part
of his nature, the pleasure of vindicating innocence which had no other helper,
of repairing cruel wrongs, of punishing tyranny in high places. He had also the
satisfaction, not less acceptable to his ravenous vanity, of hearing terrified
Capuchins call him the Antichrist. But whether employed in works of benevolence,
or in works of mischief, he never forgot Potsdam and Frankfort; and he listened
anxiously to every murmur which indicated that a tempest was gathering in
Europe, and that his vengeance was at hand.
He soon had his wish. Maria Theresa had never for a moment forgotten the great
wrong which she had received at the hand of Frederic. Young and delicate, just
left an orphan, just about to be a mother, she had been compelled to fly from
the ancient capital of her race; she had seen her fair inheritance dismembered
by robbers, and of those robbers he had been the foremost. Without a pretext,
without a provocation, in defiance of the most sacred engagements, he had
attacked the helpless ally whom he was bound to defend. The Empress Queen had
the faults as well as the virtues which are connected with quick sensibility and
a high spirit. There was no peril which she was not ready to brave, no calamity
which she was not ready to bring on her subjects, or on the whole human race, if
only she might once taste the sweetness of a complete revenge. Revenge, too,
presented itself, to her narrow and superstitious mind, in the guise of duty.
Silesia had been wrested not only from the House of Austria, but from the Church
of Rome. The conqueror had indeed permitted his new subjects to worship God
after their own fashion; but this was not enough. To bigotry it seemed an
intolerable hardship that the Catholic Church, having long enjoyed ascendancy,
should be compelled to content itself with equality. Nor was this the only
circumstance which led Maria Theresa to regard her enemy as the enemy of God.
The profaneness of Frederic's writings and conversation, and the frightful
rumors which were circulated respecting the immorality of his private life,
naturally shocked a woman who believed with the firmest faith all that her
confessor told her, and who, though surrounded by temptations, though young and
beautiful, though ardent in all her passions, though possessed of absolute
power, had preserved her fame unsullied even by the breath of slander.
To recover Silesia, to humble the dynasty of Hohenzollern to the dust, was the
great object of her life. She toiled during many years for this end, with zeal
as indefatigable as that which the poet ascribed to the stately goddess who
tired out her immortal horses in the work of raising the nations against Troy,
and who offered to give up to destruction her darling Sparta and Mycenae, if
only she might once see the smoke going up from the palace of Priam. With even
such a spirit did the proud Austrian Juno strive to array against her foe a
coalition such as Europe had never seen. Nothing would content her but that the
whole civilized world, from the White Sea to the Adriatic, from the Bay of
Biscay to the pastures of the wild horses of the Tanais, should be combined in
arms against one petty State.
She early succeeded by various arts in obtaining the adhesion of Russia. 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 co-operate 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
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 flood
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
barrater, 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 lowborn 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
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 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.
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 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
abused 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 hid 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 defense. 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 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 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-defense. 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 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, a 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 array 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.
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