CHAPTER V THE SECOND STRUGGLE FOR SILESIA, 1742–1745

After following Frederick’s career through many phases in a dozen years, we observe him with interest as he quits the whirlpool of foreign adventure for the calm of government at home. We may well enquire how far three crowded and strenuous campaigns have transformed our hero. It is impossible that the deeds done at Breslau, Mollwitz, Klein Schnellendorf, Olmütz, and Chotusitz and the strenuous toil of twenty months in departments new to him should have left no mark upon himself. The story outlined in the foregoing chapter suggests that he moved from place to place and from task to task with great speed and that his life, perhaps even his throne, were more than once in danger. But it can convey no adequate idea of the inundation of ambassadors, generals, messengers, officials, and busybodies which daily surged in upon the King. Frederick, it must be remembered, was his own commander-in-chief and his own prime minister at a time when, as he himself confessed in later years, he had not the least knowledge of war, when, owing to his father’s129 jealous absolutism, he had had the briefest possible experience of diplomacy, and when his powers both in war and in diplomacy were taxed by the problems of a newly-won province which must be conciliated at all costs.
THE PARADE GROUND AT POTSDAM.

The strain was indeed severe. Under it Frederick became more statesmanlike but not more humane. After a course of the waters at Aix-la-Chapelle, he diverted himself as of old with literature and the society of wits. But he made no effort to improve his domestic life. His queen had retired to Sch?nhausen, a modest country-house in the dreary plain which lies on the north side of Berlin—a dwelling so remote that the swift expansion of recent years has not yet brought it within the city. The King’s thoughts ran already upon a bachelor establishment at Potsdam, the Sans Souci of later years, where he might escape from the society of his relations to enjoy that of his friends. For his subjects he attempted to provide few benefits beyond a codification of the law—little enough for one who had held out hope of a revolution in the art of kingship. It is true that he built the great Opera House at Berlin, that he lavished money upon actors and musicians, and that he endowed an Academy of Sciences. But he made French the only vehicle of learned and literary thought; and though Berlin might shine in Europe, the Prussian people gained little benefit thereby.

The King even enjoyed for a time the society of Voltaire, at that time the King of Letters. The transaction is characteristic of the age. The brilliant130 Frenchman, having quarrelled with his peers at home, obtained from Louis XV. an informal commission to pry into the secrets of Prussia. Before leaving France, he vented his spleen in a parcel of epigrams upon Louis and his subjects, which he sent in all secrecy to his affectionate admirer, Frederick. The latter, thinking to close the doors of France to his guest and so to cage him at Berlin, published them all at Paris. Both betrayals failed. As a diplomat Voltaire extracted only banter from his patron and disciple, while Frederick found that Louis XV. was indeed what Voltaire had termed him—“the most stupid of kings,” for the epigrams did not sting him.

Frederick’s wider experience of life, it is clear, had rather hardened his heart than softened it. As a king he had developed, faster doubtless than in time of peace, along the lines with which we are already familiar. He was still conspicuously energetic, imperious, and mercantile. His energy is the more striking by contrast with the habit of his contemporaries. Philip of Spain was sluggishly obeying his wife. Louis of France, whom Frederick termed a good man whose only fault was that he was King, was toying with mistresses, patronising sieges, and pointing out the faults in a policy which he was too indolent to cheek. Augustus of Saxony was sacrificing his armies lest he should be late for the opera. The Czarina Elizabeth has been described as “bobbing about in that unlovely whirlpool of intrigues, amours, devotions, and strong liquor, which her history is.” In a word, the131 princes of Europe still in great part looked on their office as an inheritance to be enjoyed. Meanwhile, the King of Prussia was rising at dawn, reviewing troops, inspecting fortresses, drafting and conning despatches, superintending his players, and constituting himself a judge of appeal for all his kingdom.

Whether judge, general, or stage-manager, he was always the King of Prussia, and his naturally imperious temper mounted higher day by day. His stern treatment of the Old Dessauer and the alienation of Schwerin have already been mentioned. In time of peace his ministers met with no greater forbearance. They were treated at best as clerks, and often as dogs. The faithful Podewils, who had just rendered priceless services to his master in the negotiations with Austria, presumed to suggest that the King should remain for a time in Silesia. “Attend to your own affairs, Sir,” was the reply, “and do not presume to dictate whether I ought or ought not to go. Negotiate as I order you, and do not be the weak tool of English and Austrian impudence.” With the same imperious brutality Frederick wrote to the honourable nobleman who represented him at Vienna. “Do not forget, Sir, with what master you have to do, and if you take heed of nothing else, take heed for your head.”

As with his dependents, so with states weaker than his own, Frederick always played the dictator. To grace his new opera he had engaged the famous dancer Barberina, who was then at Venice. Her132 English lover persuaded her to break the contract and remain there and the Doge and Senate professed themselves powerless to interfere. Frederick therefore seized a Venetian ambassador in Berlin and held him as a hostage, until the Venetians in their turn violated justice by sending Barberina a prisoner to Berlin.

With an imperiousness equal to that of his father Frederick combined the traditional Hohenzollern willingness to buy and sell. He failed to buy Silesia, but he succeeded in buying Glatz. The county of Glatz belonged to Bohemia, and in 1741 Frederick recognised Charles Albert as King of Bohemia. From him he purchased territory which the Bavarian had never possessed and which he could never hope to possess without foreign aid. The Prussians conquered the country and in 1742 Maria Theresa offered to cede it. Thereupon the King accepted from Austria what he had declared to belong to Bavaria and announced that he was no longer bound to pay the purchase money agreed upon.

Frederick seems to be still in all essentials the man whose development we have traced from his birth to his accession. He is tougher, as it were, in mind and body alike. He has thrown off the feeble health of his earlier years and the lust for mere adventure which possessed him in the twenties. But experience has only added to his trust in himself, to his belief that “negotiations without arms are music without instruments,” that war determines disputes, and that bravery and leadership133 determine war. His faith in prompt and decided action was never more conspicuous than in 1744, when on the death of its prince without lineal heirs, he seized Eastern Frisia. Hanover also had claims to the land, but nothing could withstand the speed with which the Prussians made this miniature Silesia their own and thus acquired in Emden an outlet on the North Sea.

Frederick’s schemes are, indeed, so daring, and his acts so swift and decisive, that many have believed—as he himself seems to have believed at the time—that he was gifted with almost superhuman insight and rose superior to human weakness. It may, therefore, be well to cite the words in which Professor Koser of Bonn, the greatest living authority upon the subject, has set down his impression of the King as he was at the end of the First Silesian War.

    “To us he seems neither superhuman nor inhuman, a man not ready made and complete, but still in process of growth. The cold ‘satanic’ calculator shows himself more than once a sanguine man, a man of impulse. Sometimes insolent and sometimes almost faint-hearted, he lets his bearing be easily decided by the impressions of the moment. In his haste and heat and lack of experience he makes plenty of mistakes, not only in war, but also in politics. He does not look far into the future, and sometimes, however near to his heart lies his good repute, he takes no thought for it in time to come. And as he himself later admits, he owes a great part of his successes to fortune and to chance. In one word, we grant plenty of what the King, grown more mature, has described as the ‘giddiness’ of his younger years.”

134 When Frederick, pleading that in shipwreck each must save himself, forsook his allies in the summer of 1742, he did so with certain definite intentions. He wished to give Prussia time to digest Silesia, and Europe time to accustom herself to Prussia. “The only question now,” he wrote to Podewils, “is to accustom the cabinets of Europe to see us in the position which this war has given us, and I believe that much moderation and much good temper towards all our neighbours will lead to that result.” The words breathe peace, but peace only so long as it was both safe and profitable for Prussia. “The safety of our new possessions,” he had just pointed out, “rests on a large and efficient army, a full treasury, powerful fortresses and showy alliances which easily impose upon the world.” For a time, it is clear, the King intended to revert to the old policy of drilling men and saving money. But it seems equally clear that if all went well the question which Frederick propounded in 1740 would in due course present itself again. “When one has an advantage is he to use it or not?” Is it reasonable to suppose that the conqueror of Silesia would in future answer No?

For the present, however, while the Prussian system of government was being established in Silesia, Frederick scanned every rise and fall of the political barometer. What he saw made him at first congratulate himself on having forsaken a losing cause before it was too late. Early in September, 1742, the Saxons quitted the war empty-handed, and it was evident that France repented of her share in it.135 Before the end of the year her troops had been driven out of almost all Bohemia, and in January, 1743, the death of Fleury deprived her of what unity in policy and administration she still possessed. Worse than all else, the Sea Powers now entered vigorously into the war. George II. was anxious to protect Hanover; Carteret and the English people longed to strike a blow at their natural enemy, France; and the importunity of England at length induced the Dutch to move.

Frederick, though he had arranged affairs in Russia to his liking, had, therefore, every reason to fear lest Austria should grow strong enough to turn against himself. He was annoyed beyond measure by the news of King George’s lucky victory over the French at Dettingen on June 27, 1743. “The devil fly away with my uncle,” he wrote to Podewils. He declared that he would never hear the name of France again. “Noailles is beaten, and by whom? By people who do not understand how to draw up a line of battle, and who, in fact, did not draw one up.” Frederick’s disgust was only increased by the fact that his military criticism was well founded. Owing to George’s want of skill, Noailles had caught his army in a trap, from which it escaped only by calm courage and desperate fighting hand to hand. “I have tolerably well foreseen everything that has passed in Europe hitherto,” wrote the King of Prussia, “but for this blow I was not prepared.”

Dettingen and the fear of worse to follow impelled Frederick to take up arms anew. Early in September, 1743, he visited Wilhelmina at Baireuth136 and endeavoured in vain to organise a league of German princes to rescue the Emperor. The Austrian diplomats were more successful. In the same month, by a treaty made at Worms, they secured the definite alliance of England and Sardinia. Frederick noticed with some alarm that the Treaty of Berlin, which gave him Silesia, was not treated at Worms as indispensable to the future of Germany. In December a compact more distinctly menacing to Prussia, should she again interfere in the war, was concluded between Austria and Saxony.

Early in the new year (1744), therefore, Frederick turned unabashed to France. He offered to join her in a war which both parties should pledge themselves to continue until Bohemia should have been wrested from the Queen. The Emperor was to receive the greater part of the kingdom, but Prussia, as in 1742, claimed the four Bohemian circles east of the Elbe and also that fringe of Silesia which the Treaty of Berlin had left in Austrian hands. Early in June all was arranged. By the so-called union of Frankfort some share in the undertaking was promised by the Elector Palatine and the Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel. But the substantial allies were, as in the earlier war, France, Prussia, and Bavaria. The general plan agreed upon was that France should cripple the Sea Powers by attacking the Netherlands and Hanover. If the result was to bring an Austrian army into Alsace, Frederick promised in his turn to cripple Austria by flinging eighty thousand men into Bohemia. In that case the French undertook to make another campaign in the East.

137 The motives which inspired Frederick to take action are so clear that there is no need to seek them in the solemn accusation against Austria which he gave to the world in August. He deemed it expedient to take up the attitude of a German patriot, who, after exhausting the resources of negotiation, was driven to repel by force the conspiracy of the Queen of Hungary against the constitution of the Empire.

    “The race of those Germans of old, who for so many centuries defended their fatherland and their liberties against all the majesty of the Roman Empire, still survives, and will make the same defence to-day against those who dare to conspire against them.... In one word, the King asks for nothing and with him there is no question whatever of personal interests. His Majesty has recourse to arms only to restore liberty to the Empire, the sceptre to the Emperor and peace to Europe.”

Such was the Prussian account of the origin of the Second Silesian War.

Frederick again resorted to the method of simultaneous parley and stroke which had served so well when he seized Silesia. On the same day (August 7, 1744) that his ambassador at Vienna announced his crusade to rescue the Emperor, he himself astonished the Saxons by showing them the Emperor’s order to permit the passage of Prussian troops. It is characteristic of the tangled politics of the time that Prussia and Saxony remained technically at peace with each other while Frederick, as the Emperor’s servant, led sixty thousand men up the Elbe138 into Bohemia and Augustus, as the ally of the Queen of Hungary, sent twenty thousand men to act against him. For the moment Frederick profited by his speed. At the beginning of September he lay before Prague and joined forces with twenty thousand men whom Schwerin had brought from Silesia. Eighty thousand Prussians were thus assembled in the heart of Bohemia, and on September 16th they took the capital.

The appearance of success was, however, delusive. Far from being panic-stricken by Frederick’s sudden spring, the scrupulous Queen rejoiced to see him break the treaty which gave him a title to Silesia. From every point of the compass she summoned forces to defend Bohemia. The army of Alsace recrossed the Rhine with great skill and marched eastwards. They were undisturbed by the French, among whom Frederick’s treacheries were passing into a proverb:—se battre pour le roi de Prusse, to fight without reward. Clouds of irregular horse issued from Hungary. The Saxons were marching southwards. The people of Bohemia showed themselves hostile to the Prussians and assisted an Austrian army to maintain itself in the kingdom. What course, we may ask, was the wisest for a commander surrounded by so many dangers?

After the fall of Prague Frederick lay in the centre of Bohemia, a kingdom walled in by a quadrilateral of mountains. He held the north-eastern gates which led into Silesia. The south-western led into Bavaria, and through them the army of Alsace was soon to enter. But at the head of nearly139 80,000 men the King was vastly stronger than any single force that could be brought against him and his communications with Prussia were safe. There was therefore much to be said for a simple defensive policy. North-eastern Bohemia was the prize that Frederick hoped to gain by the war, and this he could have held like a second Silesia. Such a desertion of his allies would, however, have shocked public opinion, particularly in France, and Frederick admits that he shrank from it on that account.

The next best course, if some offensive movement must be made, would have been first to crush the army of Bohemia and then to hold the south-western gate against the army of Alsace. This course was advised by Schwerin and favoured by the King. But the fatal influence of Belleisle proved stronger than the promptings of common-sense. France was avenged for the treacheries of Klein Schnellendorf and Berlin when Frederick allowed himself to be persuaded to strike due south, in the hope of conquering Bohemia, opening communications with Bavaria, and cowing Vienna.

At first the plan prospered. Several towns were captured for the Emperor, and by October 4, 1744, the Prussians had almost reached the frontier of Austria proper. Then they began to realise that they were the dupes of a mirage. The armies of Bohemia and of Alsace had united in their rear and lay between them and Prague. They found themselves isolated, ill fed, and worse informed. Swarms of light horse enveloped them, cutting off convoys, scouts, and messengers. Schwerin opened a line of140 retreat, but their recent conquests were lost with the garrisons which held them. The Austrians had found a soldier, Field-marshal Traun, and at his hands Frederick received painful lessons in the art of war. The King had already begun to negotiate. He thirsted for French co-operation and a pitched battle, but could obtain neither boon. Traun, who was now superior in numbers, had no need to fight. He occupied unassailable positions to the north of Frederick’s force and left hunger, disease, and irregulars to do their work upon the enemy. Thus harassed, the Prussian rank and file deserted by thousands, and many offered their services to Traun. Schwerin again took umbrage and withdrew from the campaign.

FREDERICK THE SECOND, KING OF PRUSSIA.

AFTER THE PAINTING BY F. BOCK.

Step by step the reluctant King was driven towards Silesia. Before the end of November it was plain that his whole enterprise must be abandoned. It was mid-December before the last detachments of some 40,000 men, the remnant of his 80,000, straggled across the mountains to the friendly walls of Glatz. Thanks to the determination of Maria Theresa, a postscript had yet to be added to the history of the campaign. In the spirit of her own Hungarians, who scorned to provide a commissariat because their forefathers had journeyed from Asia to the Land of the Five Rivers without one, the Queen dictated a winter assault upon Silesia. The Old Dessauer, whom Frederick had left in command, at length succeeded in clearing the province of anything like an Austrian army, but it was not till February that the Prussians were able141 to go into winter quarters. Thus a campaign which had begun with the conquest of Bohemia came to an end to the sound of Te Deums sung at Berlin for the deliverance of Silesia. Europe began to suspect that the sword of Traun had pricked the Prussian bubble.

The anxiety with which Frederick awaited the spring of 1745, when he must expect to have to fight in earnest for Silesia, was rendered more intense by a sudden change in the attitude of his allies. He had joined in the struggle with the expectation that Austria would be attacked by the French and hampered both by the war in Italy and by the forces of the Emperor. On January 20th, however, Charles Albert died, and the youth who succeeded him was soon beaten to his knees. By the Treaty of Füssen, in April, Austria and Bavaria agreed to ignore the past; and the latter for the first time guaranteed the Pragmatic Sanction and promised to vote for the husband of Maria Theresa at the imperial election. The effect of this treaty upon Frederick’s position will be appreciated when it is borne in mind that the road from France to Austria passed through Bavaria, while the Austrian Netherlands, which France coveted, lay at her very door. Thus it was easy to suspect that in the coming campaign Prussia would receive little effective help from France. Suspicion passed into certainty when Louis XV. elected to accompany his army in person.

The campaign of 1745 might therefore be expected to fall into two separate halves. In the Netherlands, France would be pitted against the Sea Powers and an142 Austrian contingent, while in Silesia Austria would make a great effort against Prussia. At the same time the secondary struggle of Austria with Spain and France would go on in Italy, while French and Austrian corps would guard the Rhine. It is evident at a glance that the withdrawal of the French and Bavarians must greatly improve the prospects of Austria with regard to Silesia. And when (May, 1745) she was joined by Saxony, whose help all parties desired, in an undertaking to make no peace until Frederick should resign Silesia and Glatz to the one and part of his hereditary dominions to the other, the Queen might well be sanguine. Much of her advantage was, however, thrown away by an error common to Hapsburg rulers, who are wont to believe that no family is so fitted as their own for command. The invasion of Silesia was entrusted to Prince Charles of Lorraine, the nominal leader of the army in the previous year, while Traun, the real author of the Austrian success, was sent to watch the Imperial election at Frankfort. The consequence was that the Austrians did not move till May, and that they were worse generalled than the Prussians.

Meanwhile Frederick had been assiduous in preparing for war and in negotiating to avoid it. He was ready to put 80,000 foot and 30,000 horse into the field: but he had sued in vain for the alliance of Saxony and the aid of England and of Russia. The King, who in 1740 had offered millions to Maria Theresa and planned a partition of her dominions, must in 1745 implore Louis XV. for a subsidy to avert the partition of his own. But143 the danger to Prussia, though real, was not yet as overwhelming as her enemies believed. “Excellent bearskin to be slit into straps,” chuckles Frederick’s admirer, “only the bear is still on his feet.”

The King could still count upon two mighty allies,—upon his army, whose spirit had been restored by the successes of the Old Dessauer in the defence of Silesia, and upon himself. Both grew year by year more valuable. At this crisis, as events were soon to prove, Frederick’s spirit was worthy of the Queen herself. “I have made it a point of honour,” he wrote to Podewils on April 27, 1745, “to contribute more than any other to the aggrandisement of my House. I have played a leading part among the crowned heads of Europe. These are so many personal engagements which I have taken and which I am resolved to fulfil even at the cost of my fortune and my life.” Since the middle of March he had been making ready in Silesia, and in April he sent home directions for carrying on the government if Berlin should be in danger.

Next month he learned that his French allies, who were bent on capturing Tournay, had gained a great victory at Fontenoy (11th May, 1745). He received the news with mixed feelings. He had been striving to find words which might force into the mind of Louis XV. the truth that victories in the Netherlands would do nothing for the common cause in Germany. “We beg the King of France,” he wrote, “not to imagine that any efforts of his in Flanders can procure the least relief for the King of Prussia. If the Spaniards land in the Canary Islands,144 if the King of France takes Tournay, or if Thamas Kuli-Chan besieges Babylon it is all one,” since such feats could not influence the war in Bohemia and Moravia. Yet it was not disheartening to know that Dettingen had been avenged and that other foes of Austria could more than hold their own. With renewed hope, Frederick bent all his energies to the task of holding Silesia.

The King had learned much from Traun, and he was no longer compelled to consult the interests of his allies. He therefore avoided the mistakes of the former year. In 1745 his clear gaze penetrated the heart of the problem which he had to solve, and he followed the right course with the coolest daring. Silesia, he knew, was divided from the country of the enemy by a mountain rampart more than three hundred miles in length and pierced by many roads. Veiled by clouds of light horse, Prince Charles might choose any of these roads without betraying his choice to the army of defence. What Neipperg had accomplished when he entered Silesia in 1741 might be repeated by Prince Charles on a greater scale, and with less favour from fortune the Prussians might this time be crushed in detail. Frederick therefore drove sentiment from his breast, abandoned south-eastern Silesia to the Hungarians, and concentrated all his force in the neighbourhood of Neisse, a stronghold which the Prussians had made impregnable. His design was to admit the invaders to Silesia in the hope of catching them at a disadvantage and of destroying their enterprise at a blow.

145 The result was that, when the allies came, they came in the highest spirits. Their progress had been as fortunate as they could have hoped. First, as usual, troops of wild riders poured into Silesia from the south-east. They enjoyed the success which Frederick’s plan assured to them, and treason among his soldiers gave them Cosel, a fortress on the upper Oder. Then Prince Charles moved northward from K?niggr?tz into the mountains and 30,000 Saxons joined him on the way. On June 3, 1745, the combined army marched proudly down into the plain. Breslau lay little more than two days’ march to the north-east of them.

The fixed idea of Prince Charles was that Frederick would behave in 1745 as he had behaved in 1744; that is to say, that he would retreat. This delusion had been carefully fostered by the King. Discovering that one of the spies whom he kept in the Austrian camp was in fact selling Prussian secrets to the enemy, Frederick cleverly hinted to him that he was afraid of being cut off from Breslau. The spy informed Prince Charles, who readily gave credit to information which confirmed his previous belief. Frederick then ordered some repairs on the roads leading to the capital and supplied further proof of his intention, if any were needed, by leaving the passes unguarded. Prince Charles therefore emerged from the mountains in entire ignorance of the fact that he was to be attacked by a force of 70,000 men. The invaders encamped upon a plain some five miles broad and as flat as the field of Mollwitz, with the little town of Hohenfriedberg on the edge of the146 mountains to their rear, and Striegau, a place of greater size, on the hills before them. The Saxon vanguard, which had already been in contact with the enemy, was instructed to seize Striegau next morning, if the Prussians still ventured to hold it. “There can be no God in heaven,” said Prince Charles, “if we do not win this battle.”

Frederick’s camp lay almost at right angles to the line of the allies between Hohenfriedberg and Striegau. That night (June 3–4, 1745) the Prussians stole silently from their stations, crossed a stream which separated them from the enemy, and ranged themselves before him in line of battle. At dawn they began a general attack as furious as it was unexpected. The Saxons, always unfortunate in war, were the first to suffer, and their dogged resistance only increased their loss. The Austrian infantry stood firm, but their cavalry could no longer face the Prussians. Thus the Austrian centre and right wing, though favoured by the ground, could gain no advantage sufficient to compensate for the disasters of the Saxons on the left. Hohenfriedberg was a soldiers’ battle, and the decisive stroke was an irresponsible charge of the Baireuth dragoons, who dashed at the enemy through a dangerous gap in the Prussian line. The shock carried all before it. More than sixty standards were captured by this regiment alone. By eight o’clock in the morning the Austrians were in retreat towards the mountains and the invasion of Silesia was at an end.

The allied army fled so quickly, writes the historian of the Evangelical church at Hohenfriedberg,147 that little damage was done in the place, and the inhabitants were soon able to bear what succour they could to the wounded, who lay in thousands on the plain below. In about four hours’ fighting the victors had lost more than 4000 men killed or wounded, and the vanquished about 10,000. These figures do not, however, represent one tithe of the advantage which Frederick gained at Hohenfriedberg. He had reduced the allied army by some 25,000 men, of whom 7000 were prisoners and many more deserters. Every German army at that time included thousands of professional soldiers who fought for either side indifferently and preferred the victors’ pay to their pursuit. Thousands more fought against their will, and the retreat through mountains gave them an opportunity to slip away. For a month the Prussians hung in the rear of the allies and drove them as far as K?niggr?tz. Instead of his defensive attitude in Silesia, Frederick now took up a defensive-offensive in Bohemia, a plan which was as creditable to his strategy as the battle had been to his tactics. Above all other advantages he had gained this at Hohenfriedberg—that he could henceforth trust his cavalry. Worthless at Mollwitz, respectable at Chotusitz, at Hohenfriedberg they proved themselves superb. The panel which commemorates the victory in the Prussian Hall of Fame portrays the dragoons swooping down upon the white-clad infantry of Austria.

The triumph of Frederick the Warrior on this bloody fourth of June revealed interesting glimpses of Frederick the man. In his first transports of148 delight he hugged the French ambassador and astonished him by owning gratitude to God. “So decisive a defeat,” he informed his mother, “has not been since Blenheim.” He believed that the Queen would now come to terms, and wrote to Podewils that it must have softened the heart of Pharaoh. His delight found vent in music, and he composed his March of Hohenfriedberg. But soon the statesman reappeared. None of these ebullitions clouded his insight into the situation of affairs. He saw clearly that his aims of the year before were still impracticable, that what he needed was peace, and that his victory must have brought peace nearer by discouraging the enemy.

It is true that now, as so often before, Frederick underrated the firmness of the Queen. He was further disappointed by the unyielding attitude of Augustus, who possessed a dangerous patron in the Czarina. But England, the paymaster of the coalition, had no stomach for a war of vengeance against Prussia. To her the Austrian alliance was merely an investment. It would be profitable only if it produced hard fighting against her real foes, the French. Fontenoy, where the Sea Powers had been left to do their own fighting, shook her faith in her Hapsburg ally, and the conduct of the Eastern campaign showed that the Queen’s thoughts centred on the recovery of the province which England had induced her to give up. At this juncture England herself was attacked. The invasion of the Pretender compelled her to recall her troops from the Continent and favoured the convention149 which was concluded at Hanover towards the end of August. By the Convention of Hanover, signed on the 26th August, 1745, Frederick a third time deserted the French. He promised to vote for Francis at the Imperial election on condition that Silesia should be guaranteed to him by all Europe, while George II. undertook to induce Austria to renew the Treaty of Berlin within six weeks.

The good offices of England, which as usual consisted in pressing the Queen to buy off her enemies, were entirely useless. At the end of August Austria and Saxony drew closer together, and on September 13th the House of Hapsburg regained its old prestige by the election of Francis as Emperor. Soon afterwards Frederick perceived that he had exhausted the supplies of north-eastern Bohemia and began to retire towards Silesia. By the end of September he had crossed the Elbe and encamped with 18,000 men at the foot of the mountains near the village of Soor. There something like his own man?uvre of Hohenfriedberg was practised upon him by Prince Charles with an army almost double the size of Frederick’s. Under cover of darkness the Austrians took up positions commanding the Prussian camp. Only the King’s swift grasp of the situation and the wonderful skill and speed of his troops averted a great disaster. In a five hours’ fight the Austrians were driven off, leaving more than 4000 men on the field and more than 3000 in the enemy’s hands. The number of Prussian casualties exceeded 3000—a heavy price to pay for bad scouting. Frederick was, moreover, put to great inconvenience by150 the sack of his camp and the capture of his secretary, the silent, assiduous Eichel.

At Soor, Frederick gained a safe retreat to Silesia and a lesson to be careful in the future. But victory made him inattentive to the lesson. The behaviour of his men had been beyond all praise. They formed under fire; the cavalry charged up-hill and routed the enemy, and the infantry, though unsupported, attacked superior numbers and captured batteries. The King, not unnaturally, began to believe that there was nothing which he and his soldiers could not accomplish. The result, in a future as yet far distant, was great glory mingled with great disaster.

During the winter months the Prussian rank and file gathered fresh laurels. Once more Frederick believed that he had tamed the Queen and once more he found himself mistaken. As in every previous year of the Silesian wars, Maria Theresa ordered an attack upon her enemy in the winter. This of 1745 was threefold and the goal was not Breslau but Berlin. Prince Charles’s army was to march from Bohemia into Saxony and to join with the Saxons in a march to Frankfurt-on-Oder, while 10,000 men detached by Traun crossed Germany and seized Berlin. Enough of this elaborate plan was blabbed to the Swedish ambassador by the Saxon Premier, Count Brühl, to put Frederick upon his guard. His own army had gone into winter quarters. A force under the Old Dessauer, which had been stationed for some time at Halle in readiness to spring at the throat of Saxony, was likewise laid up for the winter. Podewils and the Old Dessauer151 refused to credit a scheme at once so grandiose and so dangerous to the Saxons, who in case of failure would be left at the mercy of Prussia. The King, however, overruled them, rushed into Silesia, collected 35,000 men, marched for some days parallel with the unsuspecting Prince Charles, and on November 23, 1745, crushed his Saxon vanguard at Hennersdorf. At this blow the whole enterprise collapsed. The Austrians retired into Bohemia, followed by Augustus and Count Brühl, who stubbornly rejected the Prussian overtures for peace.

Meanwhile the Old Dessauer, who had captured Leipzig, was making for Dresden under urgent orders to attack the Saxon force wherever he might find it. Four armies were at this time converging upon the capital. The Saxons under Count Rutowski, with whom were the Austrian contingent from the West, formed a force of 35,000 men and lay to the westward of the Elbe and of the city. The Old Dessauer, having secured Meissen, had provided a bridge across the river by which Frederick marching from the East could join him in case of need. But Prince Charles with 46,000 men was advancing towards Dresden from the side of Bohemia, and Frederick feverishly urged his veteran lieutenant to strike a speedy blow. If the allies were to join forces the war might be prolonged and it seemed likely that Russia would attack Prussia in the spring.

Prince Charles was in fact only five miles distant when, on December 15th, the Old Dessauer came upon Rutowski strongly posted at Kesselsdorf.152 “Heavenly Father,” prayed the old man in the hearing of his devoted soldiers, “graciously aid me this day: but if Thou shouldest not be so disposed, at least lend not Thy aid to those scoundrels the enemy, but passively await the issue.” The task of the infantry was even harder than that of capturing the batteries at Soor. Twice they were repulsed with a loss of nearly 1500 men out of 3600. But the usual impetuosity of armies not perfectly trained came to their aid. The Saxons in the intoxication of victory charged from the entrenchments, only to be routed by the Prussian horse. This proved the turning-point in a battle which cost Rutowski 3000 men killed and wounded and twice as many taken prisoner.

The Prussians lost some 4600 men, but they gained peace. Prince Charles fled once more into Bohemia and Dresden made no resistance. In the hour of triumph Frederick’s bearing was admirable. All through the winter campaign he had showered insults upon the Old Dessauer, a prince born the year after Fehrbellin and hero of well-nigh half a hundred battles and sieges. “My field-marshal is the only person who either cannot or will not understand my plain commands.” “You go as slowly as though you were determined to deprive me of my advantage.” Such were the royal words which had goaded the old man into attempting the impossible at Kesselsdorf, where he exposed himself recklessly and received three balls through his clothing. Now he enjoyed as ample amends as Frederick’s conception of the royal dignity permitted him to bestow. On153 the day after the battle the King sprang from his horse at sight of him, advanced to meet him with doffed hat, embraced him, and accepted his guidance over the field.

At Dresden Frederick stayed eight days and showed himself anxious to please. He entered the city, it is true, as a conqueror, in a carriage drawn by eight horses, and he exacted a million thalers from the land. But he visited and honoured the children of Augustus, played a leading part in the society of the place, attended church and opera on Sunday, and in general acted with the utmost moderation.

In the existing political situation, such conduct was no less politic than humane. In spite of his triumph over the Saxons, Frederick’s position was far from secure. Augustus was only a recent recruit in the phalanx of kings arrayed against Prussia. Russia, his patron, had yet to be reckoned with. The army of Prince Charles was unbroken. Southern Silesia was flooded with Hungarians. Traun might yet leave the Rhine and revive the painful memories of 1744. In face of all these dangers Frederick had no reserves. His treasury was empty and the anger of the French at the Convention of Hanover forbade him to expect assistance from them. These considerations made him willing to name a low price for peace. Even when fleeing from Traun in 1744 he had demanded a part of Bohemia. Now after four victories he stipulated only that Austria should renew the Treaty of Berlin. Maria Theresa was thus confronted with the154 painful choice between abandoning, at least for the present, all hope of recovering Silesia and resigning the help of the Sea Powers, on which her hope of retaining Italy depended. The Saxon alliance had broken down, a negotiation with France was unsuccessful, and the Queen wisely consented to accept Frederick’s terms. At Dresden on Christmas Day, 1745, treaties were signed which restored peace to a great part of Germany and closed the Second Silesian War.