Charles of Lorraine left Alsace with all possible speed to go to the help of his sister-in-law’s kingdom of Bohemia. It was a sad time for him: while he was on the march his young wife died in Brussels after a terrible confinement which also killed the baby. Frederick raged against the French for not pursuing Prince Charles, delaying him and damaging his army. But the Prince de Conti was holding another Austrian army on the Rhine and it is hardly surprising that, after what had happened in 1742, the French should have been chary of venturing into the heart of Europe at the behest of so uncertain an ally as the King of Prussia.
Seckendorf took Munich from the Austrians and the Emperor was able to go home at last, to the rejoicing of his people. With her usual energy, Maria Theresa hastened to Pressburg bearing gifts for Palffy: her own horse, ‘worthy of being mounted by none but my most faithful subject’, a sword and a ring. Once more the charm worked, and soon a new army of 44,000 men hastened to the defence of Bohemia, which had almost entirely fallen to Frederick. His position there was not happy. He had forgotten about the lateness of the season—he himself says (in the Histoire de Mon Temps) that he ought to have stayed in Prague until the spring—but he wanted to cut a dash in the eyes of the French. He over-extended his lines of communication in order to take Tabor and Budweis. The Hungarian irregulars swarmed round his army and stole his mail, so that he had no idea what was happening elsewhere. He was isolated, with winter coming on—the terrible Continental winter, so much worse, it seems, in those days than now—and an extreme shortage of provisions. Prince Charles, or rather his much cleverer colleague General Daun, refused to give battle and wore out Frederick’s army by forcing him to march it here and there, in increasingly bad weather, to protect his stores of food. Finally, he was obliged to retreat into Silesia, having lost, mainly by desertions, nearly half his men. The situation might have turned to disaster but for the brilliant conduct of Winterfeldt, now a general. Frederick said that Daun’s strategy had been extremely clever and that he had learnt a good deal from it for future use.
Maria Theresa triumphed. She shed not a tear for her losses in Italy and the Netherlands; so great was her loathing of Frederick that she only wanted one thing in life: to see him humbled and to deprive him of his conquests. Perhaps unduly elated—Valory said, ‘It takes very little to raise the hopes of the Austrians’—she had visions of retaking Silesia there and then. She embarrassed George II by tearing up the Treaty of Breslau and telling her faithful Silesian subjects that they would soon be freed from the Prussian tyrant. She did cause Frederick a certain anxiety. He left the Old Dessauer, who was now seventy but more active than any of his own sons, to keep the Austrian army at bay on the Silesian frontier, while he himself went to Berlin to raise money for a new campaign with which he had not reckoned. At dead of night Knobelsdorff took all the royal silver to the mint; Frederick even thought of selling Emden to the English.
1745 was one of those years when there is never a dull moment. It began with the kidnapping of the Maréchal Duc de Belle-Isle. He had gone to Germany on behalf of Louis XV to sound the intentions of various princes and to see whether Seckendorf was not playing a double game between the Emperor and Maria Theresa. The disposition of his troops seemed quite mad for such an experienced old soldier, and the King of France drew his own conclusions. On the road, Belle-Isle decided to spend the night in a village which he supposed to be in Hesse-Kassel. Unfortunately, it was in one of those small enclaves, so common in Germany at that time, which happened to be Hanoverian. Here, helpless from sciatica, he was carried off like a log, separated from his doctor, taken to England and given rooms in Windsor Castle. The local aristocracy was delighted with its new neighbour, but the attitude of the press was hostile.
The Penny Post, 18 February 1745, summed up his career:
‘Our Hero’ visited the German courts where he bribed ministers, persuaded princes and made boldly great promises which he constantly broke, urged sophisticated Arguments, published false News, being all things to all men, purely that he might ensnare that poor Country, pretending to secure the Peace of Germany by the ravages of French armies and to defend Protestant consciences by the French dragoons and Jesuit Missionaries. Some electors were forced, others inveigled to the election of a Bavarian Emperor. The King of Prussia was divided from the Protestant Cause chiefly by the arts of Monsieur Belle-Isle . . .
Belle-Isle’s movements, however, were followed with interest:
April 24: has taken Frogmore House near Windsor for which he is to pay £600 p.a. July 8: visited the Physic Garden at Chelsea. July 29: entertained by the Duke of Newcastle at Clermont. August 13: went to Dover and embarked for Calais. Distributed grand presents. On arrival told the French King of the polite treatment he had received. Prisoners to be returned.
In January the Emperor Charles VII died. He had been a tragic failure. No doubt if he had been of the stuff of Maria Theresa the House of Bavaria might have superseded the House of Austria, but he had assumed a role for which he was unsuited. His downfall dated from the time when, instead of taking his Franco-Bavarian troops to the conquest of Vienna, he turned round and besieged Prague. After that everything had gone wrong, and his health had deteriorated until, at forty-five, he had become an old and dying man. He took leave of his ugly wife in the most touching terms and exhorted his seventeen-year-old heir to renounce all pretensions to the Empire and to make an arrangement with Maria Theresa by which he could keep Bavaria. The Emperor’s body was exposed in the dress of a fifteenth-century Spanish king, an ancient custom, although no Emperor after Charles V had ruled over Spain. A terrestrial globe was carried before his remains and the word ‘Invincible’ written on his coffin.
When the ceremonies were over the new Elector of Bavaria signed a treaty with Maria Theresa by which she recognized the legality of his father’s election; and in return he engaged to vote for Francis of Lorraine at the Reichstag. The only other possible claimant to the Empire was Augustus III, but that charming man liked pictures better than power. Maria Theresa gave him a sum of money with which to add to his collection and promised that he should have some land belonging to Frederick as soon as he had been brought low by a new alliance between Saxons and Austrians. Frederick always thought that George II was a party to this project and liked him none the more for that. The Saxons were marvellous soldiers and, had they been led by Maurice de Saxe, would have been a serious danger to Frederick; but luckily for him the Count had turned his back on Germany and only loved France. His mistresses and his friends were all French; he was in high favour with Louis XV, who called him his cousin, made him Marshal General of the French army (a rare honour) and gave him the royal château of Chambord. So the Saxon army was led by Austrians who, from now on, were outclassed by Frederick and his generals.
In May Maurice de Saxe, in the presence of Louis XV, won the spectacular victory of Fontenoy against the English; he then took Ghent, Oudenarde, Bruges, Dendermonde, Ostend and Nieuport. The French, led by him, were invincible. The English commander was the Duke of Cumberland, ‘a great ass’, said his first cousin, Frederick; ‘Those animals [the English] have been beaten three times because they allowed themselves to be attacked in their positions; they always fall into the same errors for which they have been blamed by Caesar, Condé and Turenne—they are incorrigible animals and deserve to be damned.’
On 23 July Charles Edward made his last attempt to re-establish the Stuarts on the English throne; he landed in Scotland; Cumberland and his troops were recalled from the Low Countries to deal with him.
Frederick never gave Valory the satisfaction of seeming pleased, for once, with his allies the French; he said their victories in the west were of no more use to him than the taking of the Great Wall of China would be. But of course they made things easier for him—indeed he could not have retained Silesia without their help. On 4 June he won the Battle of Hohenfriedberg, a clash of 70,000 men on each side, and at the end of September that of Soor against an army twice the
size of his own. The Austrian morale at Soor was not good and Lobkowitz himself shot three officers for cowardice. Frederick said that now he knew he could beat the Austrians anywhere. Prince Charles made one more attempt to turn the tables at the end of November, was outmanœuvred, saw that more fighting would be useless and made for home. So did Frederick. On his way he found that the indomitable Dessauer had defeated a Saxon army outside Dresden. ‘O God,’ the old man had prayed, before the battle, ‘be on our side this day but if thou wilt not, be neutral.’ Frederick met him on the battlefield where people were still looking for their dead in the snow; he took off his hat and embraced the Old Dessauer. They entered Dresden together as conquerors. Augustus III had fled to Prague; Frederick stayed in the Lubomirski palace and behaved most genially. He paid calls on Augustus’s children, gave parties, went to the opera and to the Protestant church, and was much fêted by the Saxons, who were amazed that such a great warrior should be so kind and affable. On Christmas Day the Peace of Dresden was signed. It gave Frederick the duchies of Upper and Lower Silesia and the county of Glatz. He was to evacuate Saxony and recognize Francis of Lorraine as Holy Roman Emperor. Once more Frederick was out of the conflict with all his aims achieved, while practically every other country was still at war.
Maria Theresa’s armies were doing badly on all fronts, but she had one satisfaction which outweighed her defeats. In September her husband had been elected Holy Roman Emperor and she herself had placed the crown on his head. It made little difference to him, as the new Empress allowed him no say in the conduct of affairs. She loved him; they had sixteen children; she minded when he began to be unfaithful to her; but she was the ruler. Francis administered his own Duchy of Tuscany extremely well and had a surprising talent for finance, but for some reason she had no faith in his judgment—or rather she knew that she alone was right. As the French say, elle possédait la vérité, an unattractive trait but one that is sometimes valuable in a sovereign. Frederick spoke of her as the Queen of Hungary to the end of her days, just as Louis XV called him ‘le Marquis de Brandebourg’.
Frederick’s return to Berlin was melancholy. He was ecstatically received by the citizens and this gave him no satisfaction; few leaders can have disliked public acclamation as much as he did. Jordan and Keyserling had died during his absence; his beloved tutor Duhan de Jandun lay dying and Frederick was only just in time to say good-bye to him. Jordan had written, ‘If I die, if I live, I shall die or I shall live full of gratitude for all the favours with which Y.M. has honoured me.’ Frederick replied that he would be back very soon; it was not soon enough. Jordan and Keyserling were his greatest friends—Keyserling perhaps more than a friend. ‘I loved him more than myself.’ He wrote to ‘Maman’ Camas: ‘I had been so longing to get home, but now I dread Berlin, Potsdam and Charlottenburg, which will only remind me of those I have lost for ever.’ He begged her to see what could be done for Keyserling’s baby girl. To d’Argens he wrote: ‘A true friend is a gift from heaven. Alas I have lost two whom I shall miss to the end of my life . . . To my way of thinking friendship is necessary to our happiness. It does not matter whether we have the same ideas, that one should be gay and the other sad . . . But without decency and honesty there can be no real community.’
Frederick, who made such a cult of friendship, was always to be unlucky. Most of the people he loved died young or were killed in battle; all except Prince Henry and the Duchess of Brunswick died before he did. After losing Jordan and Keyserling he made new friends who were not always as decent and honest, erudite and cultivated, as they had been. D’Argens was a stand-by but he had not seen Frederick through the vicissitudes of his youth. Except for Wilhelmine no woman counted for him. He did not hold a court, in the usual sense of the word, at Potsdam; only, occasionally, at Berlin. The Queen, who must have hoped against hope that he would take her back on his return from the war, was never again invited to stay under the same roof. He seldom wrote to her, but sent messages through her lady-in-waiting.
12. Thoughts on Warfare
For the first time since he came to the throne Frederick felt that he was going to enjoy a long period of peace. He knew that, given the turbulence of the times, he might well be faced with a defensive war; but he was determined never to take the offensive again. He had wanted Silesia; he had got it; his object now was to make the new Prussian State happy and prosperous and a power to be reckoned with. He must see to the administration of a larger, richer land than that which he had inherited. Law reform was urgent. As he never delegated the work of government, but saw to everything himself, he was busy from four or five o’clock in the morning until the evening hours of relaxation.
His mind was still much exercised with thoughts of warfare and he set them down in two long essays. As he grew older he was more and more obsessed by its horrors: ‘Admit that war is a cruel thing—what a life for the unhappy soldiers who receive more blows than bread and who mostly retire with scars or missing limbs. The peasant is even worse off—he often dies of hunger—you must admit that the obstinacy of the Queen of Hungary and myself makes many people wretched.’ (To his reader Catt during the Seven Years’ War.) Yet of course he must have enjoyed what he did so supremely well.
In Discours sur la Guerre he tried to analyse his feelings. It is very difficult to consider the subject objectively, he said. Caesar loved war because it flattered his vanity; Calpurnius because it filled his purse; a poor countryman loathes it because it ruins his land and a pedant who sees only the surface of things spits fire and flame at the very word war. They are all in the wrong. It is hardly necessary to say that a man who is governed by vanity or cupidity will be incapable of any good action. Caesar’s wish to deliver his people from the yoke of Pompey was laudable until it became obvious that he had delivered them in order to oppress them. But vanity must not be confounded with ambition and love of glory—real ambition is a desire to be distinguished from others by virtuous deeds and that is how a decent man seeks glory. Admittedly, if one only considers the horrors of warfare human nature must take fright. Severed limbs lying about; ferocious soldiers bathing in blood; towns in flames; widows and orphans without hope—any sensitive person must be penetrated with sorrow at such sights. But cruel as they are, they must not be allowed to stop recourse to arms. Warfare is the first defence of the oppressed; the revenge of faith betrayed; men risking their lives for the peace of their fellow citizens, the support of the State and the advantage of their master. What are the tears of a few widows if the State has been saved by the death of those for whom they weep?
People who hate war say that it gives rise to crime. But those who fight are only the same men with the same characters as those who live in peace. Is there a single day, in peace-time, when one does not hear of crimes? War has advantages for society—not that these should be an excuse for indulging in it lightly. The study of its art furthers such skills as medicine and mechanics and there are no other circumstances in which a man has to be so fully stretched in order to obtain his objective. We don’t know much about Plato but he seems to have confined himself to the search for truth; Demosthenes had eloquence; Socrates and Seneca were resolute and Locke reasoned correctly. But a good general must be gifted in many different ways—besides which, whereas in peace there is time to reflect, during an action decisions must be taken at once and if the result is disastrous the general is covered with shame. This sharpens his wits.
Wars feed a quantity of men who would otherwise starve and a lot of worthless creatures are not only prevented by military discipline from troubling the State but are given the chance of being useful to it. People like the Vandals, Celts, Picts and Saxons who used to go ravaging about can now be channelled into armies. The nobility would go to pieces if there were no wars; if poor they would be obliged to till the soil; if rich they would be idle. In peace-time people fall too easily into decadence—the great example is Rome. That city, which once ruled the world, can now produce only a few miserable castrati hopping abou
t the boards of the opera. Laziness and luxury harden the heart towards the poor and lead to jealousy among the rich. But war begets virtues: resolution, mercy, greatness of soul, generosity and charity.
His Instructions militaires du Roi de Prusse pour ses Généraux was written, like all his works, in French. Army orders were always issued in French as well as German, a language which some of his generals did not know. In the Instructions Frederick spoke of the composition of his troops which made them difficult to lead. Half of them were foreign mercenaries, out for what they could get, given to looting if they had a chance and ready to desert whenever it suited them. So strict discipline was essential and they must be better fed than the enemy’s soldiers. In order to prevent desertion a general should put sentries in the cornfields, never camp near a forest, never let the men know in which direction he is going to move, never march by night if he can help it. The troops must not be short of beer. When the army is in winter quarters do not pay the men. If there is an outburst of desertion there is sure to be a reason, and this must be looked into—the men are probably being unfairly treated.
When setting up winter quarters in enemy territory, a river is no protection, as it will freeze; nor is a mountain, because where a goat can go so can a man. When the army is settled, everything must be put in order: boots, blankets, tents, harness. The heavy repairs of guns, wagons and so on must be done by the local people. An occupied country must provide recruits in time for them to be trained for the next campaign. The greater part of an army is composed of lazy folk; if the general is not always seeing that they do their duty this machine, which is artificial, will soon run off the tracks. The general must be at work all and every day—he won’t fail to discover many abuses. Soldiers themselves will not put up with unsatisfactory comrades—the French Grenadiers in particular have never allowed weaklings in their ranks. Marauding is the source of all trouble.
Frederick the Great Page 13
