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The third of the seven terrible years were over; and Frederic still stood his
ground. He had been recently tried by domestic as well as by military disasters.
On the fourteenth of October, the day on which he was defeated at Hochkirchen,
the day on the anniversary of which, forty-eight years later, a defeat far more
tremendous laid the Prussian monarchy in the dust, died Wilhelmina, Margravine
of Bareuth. From the accounts which we have of her, by her own hand, and by the
hands of the most discerning of her contemporaries, we should pronounce her to
have been coarse, indelicate, and a good hater, but not destitute of kind and
generous feelings. Her mind, naturally strong and observant, had been highly
cultivated; and she was, and deserved to be, Frederic's favorite sister. He felt
the loss as much as it was in his iron nature to feel the loss of anything but a
province or a battle.
At Breslau, during the winter, he was indefatigable in his poetical labors. The
most spirited lines, perhaps, that he ever wrote, are, to be found in a bitter
lampoon on Lewis and Madame de Pompadour, which he composed at this time, and
sent to Voltaire. The verses were, indeed, so good, that Voltaire was afraid
that he might himself be suspected of having written them, or at least of having
corrected them; and partly from fright, partly, we fear, from love of mischief,
sent them to the Duke of Choiseul, then prime minister of France. Choiseul very
wisely determined to encounter Frederic at Frederic's own weapons, and applied
for assistance to Palissot, who had some skill as a versifier, and some little
talent for satire. Palissot produced some very stinging lines on the moral and
literary character of Frederic, and these lines the Duke sent to Voltaire. This
war of couplets, following close on the carnage of Zorndorf and the
conflagration of Dresden, illustrates well the strangely compounded character of
the King of Prussia.
At this moment he was assailed by a new enemy. Benedict the Fourteenth, the best
and wisest of the two hundred and fifty successors of St. Peter, was no more.
During the short interval between his reign and that of his disciple Ganganelli,
the chief seat in the Church of Rome was filled by Rezzonico, who took the name
of Clement the Thirteenth. This absurd priest determined to try what the weight
of his authority could effect in favor of the orthodox Maria Theresa against a
heretic king. At the high mass on Christmas-day, a sword with a rich belt and
scabbard, a hat of crimson velvet lined with ermine, and a dove of pearls, the
mystic symbol of the Divine Comforter, were solemnly blessed by the supreme
pontiff, and were sent with great ceremony to Marshal Daun, the conqueror of
Kolin and Hochkirchen. This mark of favor had more than once been bestowed by
the Popes on the great champions of the faith. Similar honors had been paid,
more than six centuries earlier, by Urban the Second to Godfrey of Bouillon.
Similar honors had been conferred on Alba for destroying the liberties of the
Low Countries, and on John Sobiesky after the deliverance of Vienna. But the
presents which were received with profound reverence by the Baron of the Holy
Sepulchre in the eleventh century, and which had not wholly lost their value
even in the seventeenth century, appeared inexpressibly ridiculous to a
generation which read Montesquieu and Voltaire. Frederic wrote sarcastic verses
on the gifts, the giver, and the receiver. But the public wanted no prompter;
and an universal roar of laughter from Petersburg to Lisbon reminded the Vatican
that the age of crusades was over.
The fourth campaign, the most disastrous of all the campaigns of this fearful
war, had now opened. The Austrians filled Saxony and menaced Berlin. The
Russians defeated the King's generals on the Oder, threatened Silesia, effected
a junction with Laudohn, and entrenched themselves strongly at Kunersdorf.
Frederic hastened to attack them. A great battle was fought. During the earlier
part of the day everything yielded to the impetuosity of the Prussians, and to
the skill of their chief. The lines were forced. Half the Russian guns were
taken. The King sent off a courier to Berlin with two lines, announcing a
complete victory. But, in the meantime, the stubborn Russians, defeated yet
unbroken, had taken up their stand in an almost impregnable position, on an
eminence where the Jews of Frankfort were wont to bury their dead. Here the
battle recommenced. The Prussian infantry, exhausted by six hours of hard
fighting under a sun which equaled the tropical heat, were yet brought up
repeatedly to the attack, but in vain. The King led three charges in person. Two
horses were killed under him. The officers of his staff fell all round him. His
coat was pierced by several bullets. All was in vain. His infantry was driven
back with frightful slaughter. Terror began to spread fast from man to man. At
that moment, the fiery cavalry of Laudohn, still fresh, rushed on the wavering
ranks. Then followed an universal rout. Frederic himself was on the point of
falling into the hands of the conquerors, and was with difficulty saved by a
gallant officer, who, at the head of a handful of Hussars, made good a diversion
of a few minutes. Shattered in body, shattered in mind, the King reached that
night a village which the Cossacks had plundered; and there, in a ruined and
deserted farm-house, flung himself on a heap of straw. He had sent to Berlin a
second dispatch very different from the first:--"Let the royal family leave
Berlin. Send the archives to Potsdam. The town may make terms with the enemy."
The defeat was, in truth, overwhelming. Of fifty thousand men who had that
morning marched under the black eagles, not three thousand remained together.
The King bethought him again of his corrosive sublimate, and wrote to bid adieu
to his friends, and to give directions as to the measures to be taken in the
event of his death:-"I have no resource left"--such is the language of one of
his letters--"all is lost. I will not survive the ruin of my country.--Farewell
for ever."
But the mutual jealousies of the confederates prevented them from following up
their victory. They lost a few days in loitering and squabbling; and a few days,
improved by Frederic, were worth more than the years of other men. On the
morning after the battle, he had got together eighteen thousand of his troops.
Very soon his force amounted to thirty thousand. Guns were procured from the
neighboring fortresses; and there was again an army. Berlin was for the present
safe; but calamities came pouring on the King in uninterrupted succession. One
of his generals, with a large body of troops, was taken at Maxen; another was
defeated at Meissen; and when at length the campaign of 1759 closed, in the
midst of a rigorous winter, the situation of Prussia appeared desperate. The
only consoling circumstance was, that, in the West, Ferdinand of Brunswick had
been more fortunate than his master; and by a series of exploits, of which the
battle of Minden was the most glorious, had removed all apprehension of danger
on the side of France.
The fifth year was now about to commence. It seemed impossible that the Prussian
territories, repeatedly devastated by hundreds of thousands of invaders, could
longer support the contest. But the King carried on war as no European power has
ever carried on war, except the Committee of Public Safety during the great
agony of the French Revolution. He governed his kingdom as he would have
governed a besieged town, not caring to what extent property was destroyed, or
the pursuits of civil life suspended, so that he did but make head against the
enemy. As long as there was a man left in Prussia, that man might carry a
musket; as long as there was a horse left, that horse might draw artillery. The
coin was debased, the civil functionaries were left unpaid; in some provinces
civil government altogether ceased to exist. But there was still rye-bread and
potatoes; there was still lead and gunpowder; and, while the means of sustaining
and destroying life remained, Frederic was determined to fight it out to the
very last.
The earlier part of the campaign of 1760 was unfavorable to him. Berlin was
again occupied by the enemy. Great contributions were levied on the inhabitants,
and the royal palace was plundered. But at length, after two years of calamity,
victory came back to his arms. At Lignitz he gained a great battle over Laudohn;
at Torgau, after a day of horrible carnage, he triumphed over Daun. The fifth
year closed, and still the event was in suspense. In the countries where the war
had raged, the misery and exhaustion were more appalling than ever; but still
there were left men and beasts, arms and food, and still Frederic fought on. In
truth he had now been baited into savageness. His heart was ulcerated with
hatred. The implacable resentment with which his enemies persecuted him, though
originally provoked by his own unprincipled ambition, excited in him a thirst
for vengeance which he did not even attempt to conceal. "It is hard," he says in
one of his letters, "for a man to bear what I bear. I begin to feel that, as the
Italians say, revenge is a pleasure for the gods. My philosophy is worn out by
suffering. I am no saint, like those of whom we read in the legends; and I will
own that I should die content if only I could first inflict a portion of the
misery which I endure."
Borne up by such feelings, he struggled with various success, but constant
glory, through the campaign of 1761. On the whole the result of this campaign
was disastrous to Prussia. No great battle was gained by the enemy; but, in
spite of the desperate bounds of the hunted tiger, the circle of pursuers was
fast closing round him. Laudohn had surprised the important fortress of
Schweidnitz. With that fortress half of Silesia, and the command of the most
important defiles through the mountains had been transferred to the Austrians.
The Russians had overpowered the King's generals in Pomerania. The country was
so completely desolated that he began, by his own confession, to look round him
with blank despair, unable to imagine where recruits, horses, or provisions were
to be found.
Just at this time, two great events brought on a complete change in the
relations of almost all the powers of Europe. One of those events was the
retirement of Mr. Pitt from office; the other was the death of the Empress
Elizabeth of Russia.
The retirement of Pitt seemed to be an omen of utter ruin to the House of
Brandenburg. His proud and vehement nature was incapable of anything that looked
like either fear or treachery. He had often declared that, while he was in
power, England should never make a peace of Utrecht, should never, for any
selfish object, abandon an ally even in the last extremity of distress. The
Continental war was his own war. He had been bold enough, he who in former times
had attacked, with irresistible powers of oratory, the Hanoverian policy of
Carteret, and the German subsidies of Newcastle, to declare that Hanover ought
to be as dear to us as Hampshire, and that he would conquer America in Germany.
He had fallen; and the power which he had exercised, not always with discretion,
but always with vigor and genius, had devolved on a favorite who was the
representative of the Tory party, of the party which had thwarted William, which
had persecuted Marlborough, which had given tip the Catalans to the vengeance of
Philip of Anjou. To make peace with France, to shake off, with all, or more than
all, the speed compatible with decency, every Continental connection, these were
among the chief objects of the new Minister. The policy then followed inspired
Frederic with an unjust, but deep and bitter aversion to the English name, and
produced effects which are still felt throughout the civilized world. To that
policy it was owing that, some years later, England could not find on the whole
Continent a single ally to stand by her, in her extreme need against the House
of Bourbon. To that policy it was owing that Frederic, alienated from England,
was compelled to connect himself closely, during his later years, with Russia,
and was induced to assist in that great crime, the fruitful parent of other
great crimes, the first partition of Poland.
Scarcely had the retreat of Mr. Pitt deprived Prussia of her only friend, when
the death of Elizabeth produced an entire revolution in the politics of the
North. The Grand Duke Peter, her nephew, who now ascended the Russian throne,
was not merely free from the prejudices which his aunt had entertained against
Frederic, but was a worshipper, a servile imitator of the great King. The days
of the new Czar's government were few and evil, but sufficient to produce a
change in the whole state of Christendom. He set the Prussian prisoners at
liberty, fitted them out decently, and sent them back to their master; he
withdrew his troops from the provinces which Elizabeth had decided on
incorporating with her dominions; and he absolved all those Prussian subjects,
who had been compelled to swear fealty to Russia, from their engagements.
Not content with concluding peace on terms favorable to Prussia, he solicited
rank in the Prussian service, dressed himself in a Prussian uniform, wore the
Black Eagle of Prussia on his breast, made preparations for visiting Prussia, in
order to have an interview with the object of his idolatry, and actually sent
fifteen thousand excellent troops to reinforce the shattered army of Frederic.
Thus strengthened, the King speedily repaired the losses of the preceding year,
reconquered Silesia, defeated Daun at Buckersdorf, invested and retook
Schweidnitz, and, at the close of the year, presented to the forces of Maria
Theresa a front as formidable as before the great reverses of 1759. Before the
end of the campaign, his friend, the Emperor Peter, having, by a series of
absurd insults to the institutions, manners, and feelings of his people, united
them in hostility to his person and government, was deposed and murdered. The
Empress, who, under the title of Catherine the Second, now assumed the supreme
power, was, at the commencement of her administration, by no means partial to
Frederic, and refused to permit her troops to remain under his command. But she
observed the peace made by her husband; and Prussia was no longer threatened by
danger from the East.
England and France at the same time paired off together. They concluded a
treaty, by which they bound themselves to observe neutrality with respect to the
German war. Thus the coalitions on both sides were dissolved; and the original
enemies, Austria and Prussia, remained alone confronting each other.
Austria had undoubtedly far greater means than Prussia, and was less exhausted
by hostilities; yet it seemed hardly possible that Austria could effect alone
what she had in vain attempted to effect when supported by France on the one
side, and by Russia on the other. Danger also began to menace the Imperial house
from another quarter. The Ottoman Porte held threatening language, and a hundred
thousand Turks were mustered on the frontiers of Hungary. The proud and
revengeful spirit of the Empress Queen at length gave way; and, in February
1763, the peace of Hubertsburg put an end to the conflict which had, during
seven years, devastated Germany. The King ceded nothing. The whole Continent in
arms had proved unable to tear Silesia from that iron grasp.
The war was over. Frederic was safe. His glory was beyond the reach of envy. If
he had not made conquests as vast as those of Alexander, of Caesar, and of
Napoleon, if he had not, on fields of battle, enjoyed the constant success of
Marlborough and Wellington, he had yet given an example unrivalled in history of
what capacity and resolution can effect against the greatest superiority of
power, and the utmost spite of fortune. He entered Berlin in triumph, after an
absence of more than six years. The streets were brilliantly lighted up; and, as
he passed along in an open carriage, with Ferdinand of Brunswick at his side,
the multitude saluted him with loud praises and blessings. He was moved by those
marks of attachment, and repeatedly exclaimed "Long live my dear people! Long
live my children!" Yet, even in the midst of that gay spectacle, he could not
but perceive everywhere the traces of destruction and decay. The city had been
more than once plundered. The population had considerably diminished. Berlin,
however, had suffered little when compared with most parts of the kingdom. The
ruin of private fortunes, the distress of all ranks, was such as might appall
the firmest mind. Almost every province had been the seat of war, and of war
conducted with merciless ferocity. Clouds of Croatians had descended on Silesia.
Tens of thousands of Cossacks had been let loose on Pomerania and Brandenburg.
The mere contributions levied by the invaders amounted, it was said, to more
than a hundred millions of dollars; and the value of what they extorted was
probably much less than the value of what they destroyed. The fields lay
uncultivated. The very seed-corn had been devoured in the madness of hunger.
Famine, and contagious maladies produced by famine, had swept away the herds and
flocks; and there was reason to fear that a great pestilence among the human
race was likely to follow in the train of that tremendous war. Near fifteen
thousand houses had been burned to the ground. The population of the kingdom had
in seven years decreased to the frightful extent of ten per cent. A sixth of the
males capable of bearing arms had actually perished on the field of battle. In
some districts, no laborers, except women, were seen in the fields at
harvest-time. In others, the traveler passed shuddering through a succession of
silent villages, in which not a single inhabitant remained. The currency had
been debased; the authority of laws and magistrates had been suspended; the
whole social system was deranged. For, during that convulsive struggle,
everything that was not military violence was anarchy. Even the army was
disorganized. Some great generals, and a crowd of excellent officers, had
fallen, and it had been impossible to supply their place. The difficulty of
finding recruits had, towards the close of the war, been so great, that
selection and rejection were impossible. Whole battalions were composed of
deserters or of prisoners. It was hardly to be hoped that thirty years of repose
and industry would repair the ruin produced by seven years of havoc. One
consolatory circumstance, indeed, there was. No debt had been incurred. The
burdens of the war had been terrible, almost insupportable; but no arrear was
left to embarrass the finances in time of peace.
Here, for the present, we must pause. We have accompanied Frederic to the close
of his career as a warrior. Possibly, when these Memoirs are completed, we may
resume the consideration of his character, and give some account of his domestic
and foreign policy, and of his private habits, during the many years of
tranquility which followed the Seven Years' War.
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