CHAPTER VII THE SEVEN YEARS’ WAR TO THE BATTLE OF LEUTHEN

All the world knows that in 1756 the King of Prussia embarked upon a struggle in comparison with which his previous wars might almost be called sham-fights. This was the Third Silesian War, commonly known as the Seven Years’ War, which Macaulay’s lurid prose depicts as setting almost the whole globe on fire. The true cause of Austria’s new struggle, not merely to regain Silesia, but also to curb the dangerous power of Prussia, will be patent to all who have followed the story of Frederick’s life. It was the memory of past wrong quickened by apprehensions of worse to come. Maria Theresa could not believe that Heaven would suffer her despoiler to go unchastised, and she watched the political horizon for signs that the day of vengeance upon him was at hand. At the same time all the neighbours of Prussia perceived with that instinct which is the surest guide of states that the system to which they belonged was jeopardised by an intruding Power whose conduct had been such as to justify a crusade against her.

190 In that age of unstable alliances and easy wars it was certain that a conviction shared by so many states would sooner or later lead to action. It was equally certain that, while Frederick was king, Prussia would strike back. Hence we may regard with some indifference nice balancings of moral judgment upon the great fact of 1756, when Frederick suddenly made war upon Austria and treated Saxony with almost greater violence. It seems idle to maintain that because Austria had yielded up Silesia by treaty she was debarred for ever from retaliating upon Frederick in the fashion which he had set. Who would apply such a rule to the problems of the present? If it be lawful, in our own day, for France to hope to recover Alsace and Lorraine, or for Spain to hope to recover Gibraltar, it is not easy to understand why, in 1756, Maria Theresa might not lawfully hope to reverse the verdict of 1742 and 1745. And if she and her neighbours contemplated something more than a recovery of lands actually lost, if they sought to reduce the King of Prussia to the harmless level of a Margrave of Brandenburg, who can be indignant or even surprised? A new coalition against Frederick would be merely the Austrian answer to his own riddle, “If I have an advantage, am I to use it or not?”

THE EQUESTRIAN STATUE OF MARIA THERESA IN THE VIENNA HOFFBURG.

REPRODUCED BY PERMISSION OF A. F. CZIHAKS NACHFLG, VIENNA.

But if, as seems undeniable, Austria and her neighbours had good grounds for hoping to attack Prussia, and if, as Frederick had reason to believe, the danger was becoming imminent in 1756, what could be more futile than the statement that none the less he was not justified in striking the first blow? It191 is true that for reasons of current politics the Austrian Chancellor, Kaunitz, schemed with success to shape events so as to make Prussia seem the aggressor, and that he thus established the conditions under which Austria could claim the fulfilment of a treaty of defensive alliance. At a distance of a century and a half, however, such subtleties can be appraised at their true value. Though in 1756 war emerges from as dense a cloud of diplomacy as ever befogged the path of European history, our generation may regard the Third Silesian War as the natural result of the original aggression of Frederick and of the abiding interests of other Powers.

Those interests, however, demand a brief explanation, for they determined the time and the form of a war which at some time and in some form was inevitable from the very moment at which Austria and Prussia laid down their arms at Dresden. In an age when the true course of states was steered by kings and statesmen of whom some were lazy, some self-seeking, some timid, some honestly mistaken in their designs, it was not to be expected that many should, like Prussia, make straight for a definite goal. Since the Peace of Utrecht, Europe had lived in an atmosphere of general uncertainty. Nations formed countless short-lived comradeships for the pursuit of objects often transient. It was almost impossible to forecast who, if war broke out, would be ranged on one side or the other, and hardly less difficult to forecast the side upon which those who had entered the war as allies of one of the combatants would be found at the end of it. What might, however, be192 anticipated with confidence was that few Powers would neglect the chance of profit which war afforded. Walpole’s famous boast, “There are fifty thousand men slain in Europe this year and not one Englishman,” was called forth by his triumph in keeping clear of the War of the Polish Succession, which was not too remote to embroil every other Great Power.

While there was then a tendency for every Power to share in every war as an auxiliary if not as a principal, two alliances had become traditional. Ever since the undue predominance of France first imperilled the liberties of Europe, England had steadily supported Austria against her. And so soon as the Great Elector showed that Prussia might be a serviceable ally, France strove to employ her with a view to the humiliation of Austria. Though only occasionally successful in engaging Prussia, she continued to regard her as a natural ally. Thus each of the maritime and commercial rivals of the West had its liaison with one of the German Land Powers of the East.

More to be reckoned on than these connexions were, however, three great antipathies which the course of history had revealed. The clash of interest between Austria and Prussia seemed destined to distract Germany until one or other proved supreme, and, so long as Maria Theresa confronted Frederick, it would be made harsher by a duel between the sovereigns. Russia, while Elizabeth ruled, would go with Austria. The giant State whose westward path had been marked out by Peter193 the Great already discerned in Prussia the athlete braced to dispute the way. Ost-Preussen was always a tempting bait, and long ere this an ambassador at Frederick’s Court reported that the King feared Russia more than his God. None the less Frederick had permitted his sharp tongue to goad the luxurious Czarina into a fury which surpassed that of the Queen whom he had robbed of Silesia. In April, 1756, the Austrian ambassador at St. Petersburg was informed that Russia was ready to co-operate in an immediate attack upon Prussia by sending 80,000 men, and that she would not lay down her arms until Maria Theresa had recovered Silesia and Glatz.

The jealousy of the rival states in Germany and the wrath of the despot who swayed the policy of Russia would count for much in the coming war. Weightier still was the struggle between France and England for the primacy in three continents and on the seas. This great national duel had been begun by William III. and brilliantly continued by Marlborough. During the pacific rule of Walpole, when the two countries were nominally in alliance, England was gaining strength and taking up a position in America and India which her rival could not witness unmoved. The close league formed by France with Spain, the monopolist of the New World, rendered lasting peace with England impossible and even Walpole was forced into war. This war, known as the War of Jenkins’ Ear, began with an attack on the Spaniards in 1739, and developed into a world-wide struggle with the French in which194 Dettingen and Fontenoy were incidents. The settlement at Aix-la-Chapelle in 1748, which put an end to it, was obviously a mere breathing-space. In the early fifties hostilities broke out anew between the English and French in India and North America, and it could hardly be doubted that Europe would soon catch fire.

In 1756, therefore, war between France and England had already begun, and war between Frederick and his two Imperial neighbours was imminent. The custom of Europe and the precedent of the former struggle made it in the highest degree unlikely that these wars would be kept apart. What would be the connexion between them? The answer was determined by three accidents. The King of England happened to be Elector of Hanover, the ruling spirit at Vienna happened to be Kaunitz, and the mistress of Louis XV. happened to be Madame de Pompadour.

Hanover, argued George II., will certainly be attacked by the French. It must be defended at all costs. The only possible defenders are Austria, Russia, and Prussia. Austria, the old patron of Hanover, would be preferable. But the Queen has grievances against England and is bent on attacking Prussia. Alliance with her would therefore expose Hanover to the Prussians as well as to the French, and must therefore be regarded as out of the question. Russia and Prussia remained to be considered. Russia actually made a convention to hire out troops for the defence of Hanover. But Russia, the King found, also desired to attack Prussia, and was therefore195 as ineligible an ally as Austria. Only the Prussian alliance remained possible. In January, 1756, by the Convention of Westminster, it was secured.

The Convention of Westminster, by which Frederick bound himself to defend Hanover against attack, helped on the far more difficult task of Kaunitz. This was no less than to reverse the secular policy of France and Austria and to bring Bourbon and Hapsburg into alliance. Kaunitz based his calculations on the assumption that France might help Austria to recover Silesia, but that England never would. This view of the political situation was urged for seven years with great ability by a statesman in whom the Queen reposed a confidence greater than that with which our own Elizabeth honoured Burleigh, and who treated her in return with a haughtiness such as Essex would never have dared to show. Kaunitz, whose life was spent in the endeavour to exalt the power of his mistress, forced her to shut her windows to humour his prejudice against fresh air, and stalked out of her Council when she interrupted him with a question. At another meeting, it is said, she remonstrated with him on his riotous living. He replied that he had come there to discuss her affairs, not his own.

But the great, it is said, are known to the great, and Maria Theresa’s confidence in Kaunitz seemed to be justified when his visionary scheme proved feasible. It was easy to form a league to despoil Prussia. Kaunitz tempted Russia with parts of Poland, Poland with an indemnity in Ost-Preussen, Saxony with Magdeburg, Sweden with Prussian196 Pomerania, the princes of the Empire with the favours which the Emperor alone could bestow. But it required great powers of imagination to conceive that France might quit the beaten track of history, which was at the same time plainly the path of self-interest, in order to assist her hereditary foe in a great land-war at a time when she needed all her strength to meet England upon the seas.

Kaunitz had not only the strength to see this vision, but also the fortune to realise it in fact. The circumstance that favoured him the most was that the Pompadour was now at the height of her influence in France. The mistress of Louis XV. furthered the plan of Kaunitz for selfish reasons, but in the expectation that its result would be the exact reverse of what it was. She desired to keep the peace in Europe in order that she might continue to live quietly at Versailles. The Minister of Marine, moreover, was her friend; the minister who might profit by a land-war was her enemy. She therefore favoured a covenant of neutrality with Austria in the hope that the two wars would thus be kept apart.

The Convention of Westminster, however, made it impossible that the affair should rest here. The fact that Prussia had bound herself to resist a French invasion of Hanover frustrated all Frederick’s efforts to propitiate the Pompadour and to throw dust in the eyes of the French.

    “If the ministry of France will consider it well,” wrote Frederick on January 24th, “... it should197 find nothing to say in reason if I undertake such a convention, by which, moreover, I flatter myself that I render an essential service to France, seeing that I shall certainly arrest 50,000 Russians by it, and shall hold in check another 50,000 Austrians at least, who but for that would all have acted against France.”

He further endeavoured to discount his alliance with George II. by turning a sympathetic ear to the French plans for assisting the Young Pretender, and by advising her to strike in Ireland and on the south coast of England at the same time. It was beyond his art, however, to disguise what he had done, and Kaunitz knew how to profit by it.

The labours of the diplomatists were immense, but at last they were successful. On May 1, 1756, by the Treaty of Versailles, both France and Austria undertook for the future to defend the European possessions of the other with 24,000 men. In the war with England, Austria was to remain neutral, but if in the course of it any province of France in Europe were to be attacked by any ally or auxiliary of England, Austria promised by a secret article to provide the stipulated assistance and France offered a similar guarantee. This might be interpreted as binding Austria to join in the war if the French were masters of Hanover and the Prussians marched against them. It thus deprived the Convention of Westminster of half its value, and at the same time threatened to connect the war against England, which France had begun brilliantly at Minorca, with the war against Prussia, for which Elizabeth was clamouring. Negotiations for a still closer union198 between Austria and France were pressed on, and Kaunitz hoped that in 1757 all would be ready.

Too much was, however, in the wind for Frederick’s keen scent to be entirely baffled. Austria, indeed, sincerely desired peace for the present. The published articles of the Treaty of Versailles were innocent. The English ministry disingenuously tried to lull the protector of Hanover into false security by assurances that they could answer for Russia. But the King of Prussia had his own sources of information as well as the most perfect faith in the malevolence of his fellow-men. For three years and a half one Menzel, a clerk in the Saxon Foreign Office, had been furnishing him with copies of the secret state-papers of Augustus. The whole truth about the negotiations against Prussia was not known at Dresden, but enough reached Frederick from this source to impress upon him the desirability of anticipating his foes. So early as June 23, 1756, he sent to General Lehwaldt, in K?nigsberg, three sets of instructions, military, economic, and secret, for dealing with the anticipated Russian invasion, and even for negotiations with a view to peace.

    “You know already,” wrote the King, “how I have allied myself with England, and that thereupon the Austrian court, from hatred of my successful convention with England, took the course of allying itself with France. It is true that Russia has concluded a subsidy-treaty with England, but I have every reason to believe that it will be broken by Russia and that she has joined the Austrian party and concerted with her a threatening plan. But all this would not have caused me to move199 if it had not been brought to my notice through many channels and also by the march of Russian and Austrian troops that this concert is directed against myself.”

Frederick probably told the truth to his commander-in-chief in Ost-Preussen. On the same day Sir Andrew Mitchell, the shrewd and honest Scotchman who then represented England at the court of Prussia, had an audience with the King. He reported that, notwithstanding the great number of enemies, the King seemed in no wise disconcerted, and had already given orders everywhere. “In a fortnight’s time he will be ready to act. His troops, as I am informed, are complete, and the artillery in excellent order.”

On the eve of war, then, Frederick’s sword was as sharp as of old and his courage as high. He soon showed that his pen had not lost its cunning. At the end of June he indicted his enemy before the judgment-seat of England. Austria regarded her new connexions, so stated his clever memoir, as the triumvirate of Augustus, Antony, and Lepidus. The three courts, like the three Romans of old, had sacrificed their friends to each other.

    “The Empress abandoned England and Holland to the resentment of France, and the court of Versailles sacrificed Prussia to the ambition of the Empress. The latter proposes to imitate the conduct of Augustus, who used the power of his colleagues to aggrandise himself and then overthrew them one by one. The court of Vienna has three designs towards which her present steps are tending—to establish her despotism in the Empire, to ruin the Protestant cause, and to reconquer200 Silesia. She regards the King of Prussia as the great obstacle to her vast designs.”

Thus Frederick claimed to be the champion of the balance of power and of Protestantism, and proposed to solicit not only Denmark and Holland, but even the Turk and the Empire for aid. His appeal to England concluded with the assurance that Prussia was not cast down. “Three things can restore the equilibrium of Europe—a close and intimate connexion between our two courts, earnest efforts to form new alliances and to foil the schemes of the enemy, and boldness to face the greatest dangers.”

A paper of this kind, brilliant, concise, astute, and even eloquent, is worth many thousand lines of the rhymed platitudes by which the author set greater store. We might expect to hear that it was followed at once by a spring at the throat of the enemy. It is true that Kaunitz, who was not yet ready for war, and who wished that if war must come Frederick should be the aggressor, held the Russians back. But he was pressing forward warlike preparations in Bohemia and Moravia, and Frederick was not likely to ignore the advantage of striking swiftly and of waging war outside his own borders. The military men, when they saw the evidence in the King’s hands, were all for action. “Schwerin,” says Carlyle, “much a Cincinnatus since we last saw him, has laid down his plough again, a fervid ‘little Marlborough’ of seventy-two.” He urged the immediate seizure of Saxony, as a base of operations against Bohemia.

Cooler heads, indeed, counselled Frederick to have201 patience. On behalf of England, a Power always singularly dispassionate when the interests of a German ally were at stake, Mitchell urged that many chances of war and politics might swiftly change the face of affairs, and that to attack Austria would give unnecessary provocation to France. The faithful Podewils ventured to spend a summer afternoon at Potsdam in labouring to turn the King from his purpose. In his letter of July 22, 1756, to Eichel, he speaks of the “respectful freedom” with which he begged the King not to drive France and Russia to do what they had no desire to do that year if Austria were not attacked. Let him rather use the ten months’ grace before the next campaign in securing allies within and without the Empire, in trying to reconcile France and England, and in preparing an imposing defence.

“But all this,” says the poor man, “was completely rejected as arising from far too great timidity, and at last I was dismissed coldly enough with the words, ‘Adieu, Monsieur de la timide politique.’” His concluding phrases, however, have in them so much of prophecy that they may be cited here.

    “That it was not doubtful that progress and success might at first be brilliant, but that the complication of enemies, at a time when the King was isolated and deprived of all foreign help, which had never happened to him yet, at least in regard to the diversions which had been made in his favour in the two preceding wars, would, perhaps, make him remember one day what I took the respectful liberty of representing to him for the last time.”

202 Such is the literal rendering of the French into which Podewils, who writes the bulk of his letter in a jargon of German, French, and Latin, forces his tortuous German thoughts.

Frederick, indeed, seems already to have passed the stage at which he could be influenced by argument. An agile rather than a deep thinker, he reached at times a point at which calculation became agony and the only remedy was action. Now, as in his earlier adventure, “pressed with many doubts, he wakes the drumming guns that have no doubts.” That a mere Prussian minister should combat his plans seemed to him little short of lèse-majesté. Nor could he be moved by those who were not so tightly bound to the car of Prussia. Mitchell followed Podewils with arguments, and Valori, the French ambassador, followed Mitchell with threats. Frederick’s answer was a series of blunt questions pressed home twice over at Vienna—Have you a treaty with Russia against me? Why are you arming? Will you solemnly declare that you do not intend to attack me this year or next? The final answer was received on August 25, 1756. Next day the Prussians invaded Saxony.

The Seven Years’ War had begun. Needless to say, every movement of the Prussians had been planned out long before. The army was under orders which enforced the most perfect mobility. A hundred supernumeraries had been added to every regiment. On the 13th to 15th August Frederick issued directions that the secret of their destination was to be strictly kept from the troops. They were203 to take with them provisions for nine days, every cavalryman carrying three days’ supply of hay, and every infantryman three days’ supply of bread, while bread for six days was placed in the single baggage-cart allowed to each company. None of this reserve of food was, however, to be broken into save in the utmost need, and no officer of any rank whatever might have table utensils of nobler metal than tin.

A word would set all in swift motion, but the machine had to be arrested until it should be known that the Prussian ultimatum was rejected. Klinggr?ffen, Frederick’s ambassador at Vienna, caused some delay by asking for instructions. On the 24th the King wrote to General Winterfeldt, the most impatient advocate of war: “The cursed courier is not yet here, so I have been compelled to stop the regiments till the 28th. Klinggr?ffen deserves to be made a porter by way of punishment. Such stupid tricks are unpardonable and the prolonged uncertainty is unbearable.” On the 26th, however, after hearing from Vienna, the King was able to set all in motion anew.

    “The answer,” he wrote to his brother, the Prince of Prussia, “is impertinent, high, and contemptuous, and as for the assurances that I asked of them, not a word, so that the sword alone can cut this Gordian knot.... At present, we must think only of making war in such a fashion as to deprive our enemies of the desire to break the peace too soon.”

While one royal messenger was bearing this message from Potsdam to Berlin, others were on their204 way to Vienna, to Dresden, and to every division of the Prussian army. Klinggr?ffen was instructed to return a third time to the charge, with the final offer that if the Empress-Queen would declare definitely that she would not attack Frederick that year or the next, the troops now moving should be recalled. More profit was, however, expected from the message to the Saxon Court. King Augustus, or Count Brühl, was to be informed, “with every expression of my affection and of your respect that good breeding can supply,” that Frederick was compelled by the Court of Vienna to enter Saxony with his army in order to pass into Bohemia.

    “The estates of the King of Saxony,” continued the royal missive, “will be spared as far as present circumstances allow. My troops will behave there with perfect order and discipline, but I am obliged to take precautions so as not to fall again into the position in which the Saxon Court placed me during the years 1744 and 1745.... I desire nothing more ardently than to behold the happy moment of peace, so that I may prove to this Prince the full extent of my friendship, and place him once more in the tranquil possession of all his estates, against which I have never had any hostile design.”

This declaration was addressed to a ruler who had made no engagements hostile to Frederick, and who now offered to observe perfect neutrality and to allow his troops to pass. A commentary upon it is supplied by a document which was probably drawn up several days earlier, and which was soon to be put in force. By this “instruction” for the administration205 of Saxony during the war, “in order that His Majesty may not leave a highly dangerous enemy in his rear,” the Prussian minister von Borcke is directed to suspend the native administration of the land and to substitute a Prussian Directory of War. The Saxon royal revenue, it is said, amounts to about six million thalers, but Frederick “will be contented with five million, so that the inhabitants may be solaced thereby.” In other respects the order and temperance which distinguished the Prussian Government were to be applied to the subjects of Augustus. Such was Frederick’s plan for the future of Saxony, a would-be neutral, during the war.

The problem which the King set himself was to cripple Austria before Russia or France could come to her assistance. Austria had assembled forces in Moravia and in Bohemia. If Frederick attacked the former the Bohemian army might cut off his retreat. He therefore directed Schwerin to guard Silesia while he himself converted Saxony into a base for the invasion of Bohemia. From the Saxons he expected little or no opposition. He therefore proposed to march in three columns upon Pirna, a fortress situated at the point at which the Elbe bursts through the mountain-wall of Bohemia to enter the fertile plains of Saxony. Then, with a granary and a highway behind him, he would follow the river into Bohemia as far as Melnik, less than twenty miles north of Prague, where it ceases to be navigable. He would thus at the very least have gained a commanding position on the further side of the mountains.

206

    “As he does not think that the Austrians will soon be ready to attack him,” wrote Mitchell on August 27th, “he imagines they will throw in a strong garrison into Prague, that [sic] as the winter approaches, he can have good quarters in Bohemia, which will disorder the finances at Vienna and perhaps render that court more reasonable.”

To the ambassador of England Frederick made light of his enterprise and insisted that it would permit him, if necessary, to defend Hanover. But it is difficult not to surmise that he looked for a great campaign. The capture of Prague, the rout of the army of Bohemia, and the seizure of its magazines—all this would be a fitting sequel to the coercion of Saxony. It was not too grave a task for the main host of Prussia.

Even the lesser scheme failed, however, because Augustus, though a weakling, was a man of honour. His army was less than twenty thousand strong, but it sufficed to hold Pirna and to block the highway of the Elbe. On September 9, 1756, Frederick entered Dresden, but Augustus had fled to the army and lay safe in the impregnable rock-fortress of K?nigstein. While the invader was rifling his archives for proofs of a great conspiracy against Prussia, he offered to observe the most benevolent neutrality and begged for an exact statement of what more could be expected from him. He received the answer on September 14th from the lips of Frederick’s favourite, Winterfeldt. It was nothing less than that he should join Prussia in attacking Maria Theresa.

“How can I turn my arms against a Princess who207 has given me no cause for complaint, and to whom, in virtue of an old defensive alliance of which Your Majesty is aware, I ought to furnish 6000 auxiliaries, only that it is doubtful whether the present war is a case of aggression?” Such was the old King’s reply to the Prussian tempter, and he coupled with it renewed assurances of neutrality. Frederick reiterated his demands and expressed regret that he could not extend complaisance further. By no effort of diplomacy could he shake the honourable firmness of Augustus, and it was therefore necessary to gain the highroad into Bohemia by force.

Frederick had surrounded Pirna, but he did not venture to assault it, though Napoleon declared at first sight that there were nine points of attack. It was clear, however, that hunger must soon force the Saxons to move and that their only hope lay in succour from the Austrians. Browne, the Irishman who had proved himself to be one of the Queen’s best generals, therefore led an army northward to the foot of the mountains and was confronted by Frederick in person at Lobositz. On October 1, 1756, a fierce fight of seven hours proved indecisive. Early in the day the King sent twenty squadrons of horse to meet disaster at the hands of the Austrian gunners, and later the Prussian infantry showed that they were still the men of Mollwitz and of Soor. The Prussians kept the field of battle, but of nearly 6400 killed and wounded more than half were theirs.

The relief of Pirna was checked but not frustrated. Lobositz is, however, chiefly memorable as the day on which the Austrians first encountered the208 Prussians at their best and were not beaten. It is no more than Frederick’s due to remark that the troops whom he had now to face were men who had learned what his father’s army had to teach. They had adopted the Old Dessauer’s iron ramrod, and the swiftness of their fire was no longer less than the half of their opponents’. Their artillery, thanks to the labours of Prince Lichtenstein, was always good and not seldom superior to the Prussian.

In little more than a fortnight after Lobositz the campaign of 1756 was at an end. On October 11th, Browne reached Schandau, on the right bank of the Elbe, where he expected the starving Saxons to join him. They were not ready, and after waiting two days he was compelled to retreat. The failure of the relieving expedition sealed the fate of Augustus’s army. On October 17th, the rank and file laid down their arms—only to be compelled, in defiance of the terms of surrender, to take them up again as soldiers of the King of Prussia.

Augustus, however, did not suffer martyrdom in vain. He lost his army and his Electorate, but his “ovine obstinacy” ruined the attack upon the Queen. In the hour of triumph Frederick wrote to Schwerin: “As for our stay in Bohemia, it is impossible for either of us to establish a sure footing there this year, for we have entered the province too late. We must confine ourselves to covering Silesia and Saxony.” Both Prussians and Austrians tacitly agreed to postpone the decisive blow till the new campaign.

To balance the gain and loss which Frederick owed to his preference of his own plan to the209 “timid policy” of Podewils we must take into account wider considerations of war and politics. By treating Saxony in Hohenzollern fashion, without scruple and without riot, the King undoubtedly gained some advantages. He found in the archives at Dresden the material for yet another manifesto to Europe. He tested and inspired his army, which only knew that under his leadership it had won a battle, captured an army, and conquered a state. He even increased its numbers by forcing the vanquished Saxons into the ranks. Above all, he won security for the western flank of Silesia and a safe base from which to attack Bohemia.

But all this was purchased at a great price in material and moral strength. Prussia was still a Power which had to ask herself whether she could bear a second or a third campaign. To raise new taxes was difficult if not impossible. Frederick, it might almost be said, paid for the war out of his own pocket with the help of his allies and of the enemy. Already he showed some signs of being pressed for money. In the middle of September he made secret arrangements for borrowing 300,000 thalers from a house of business in Berlin. Soon the Saxon officials were told that their pay must fall into arrear and Frederick observes with some brutality that Augustus, who had retired to his second capital at Warsaw, could support his queen and her household in Saxony from the French and Austrian subsidies. He thus denied to the victim that courtesy for his family which he had ostentatiously promised from the first.

210 It may be doubted whether 14,000 pressed men, even though some of them might otherwise have found their way to the enemy, compensated Prussia for the loyal veterans who fell at Lobositz. Throughout the war Frederick found no servants less reliable than the Saxons whom he had impressed and no foes more bitter than their countrymen who escaped. As for Saxony itself, it is true that if war must come, which Podewils regarded as dubious, Prussia derived much strength from her possession of it. But Frederick’s treatment of Saxony removed all possibility of escaping not only from a war, but from war upon the scale that he professed to expect. The spectacle of the suffering King inflamed all his enemies. As an exile in Warsaw Augustus was a more valuable ally to Austria than he could have been in Dresden. He made it absurd for Frederick to pose as the defender of German princes against the Hapsburg. In January, 1757, a majority of those princes, assembled in Diet at Ratisbon, solemnly commissioned the Hapsburg to marshal their corporate might against the Prussian aggressor.

Frederick had treated the defensive alliance between the two Empresses as a conspiracy against himself. Early in February it became such; save that what he might once have termed a conspiracy now wore the aspect of a crusade. All the North was summoned to unite with Austria in curbing Prussia for ever, and Russia bound herself to keep 80,000 men in the field until the lost provinces had been regained. Frederick had even performed211 what Kaunitz and the Pompadour could not completely accomplish. France now gave in her whole-hearted adhesion to the league for the recovery of Silesia and Glatz. She pledged herself to pay Austria a heavy annual subsidy, to place 105,000 French troops in the field, and to enlist 10,000 Germans. The history of the negotiations, which were prolonged till May 1, 1757, shows how real were the difficulties to be overcome before Bourbon and Hapsburg could unite.

In May, 1757, when the new campaign began, Frederick thus stood face to face with what it is hardly an exaggeration to term a world in arms. He, and no other, had brought Prussia to this pass. A coalition unprecedented in history was the result of the aggressions of 1740 and 1756. All the world believed that the hour of reckoning had struck and that the Third Silesian War would bring the punishment from which chance had delivered the King who made the First.

To the biographer of Frederick, 1757 is welcome, for Frederick now begins to be a hero. Had a chance bullet at Lobositz struck him down, the world would have known only a king who promised to bring in a new era of government, but who owed to his father’s work and methods the chief part of whatever success he achieved. For creative power he would have taken rank below the Great Elector and Frederick William, for military renown below the Old Dessauer and Schwerin; for the aggrandisement of his House, who knows? for who can calculate what havoc the Coalition of 1757 would have wrought212 with his dominions? The Frederick who had bequeathed to Prussia several volumes of prose and verse in French and the memory of sixteen years’ tenure of Silesia would hardly be known to fame as Frederick the Great.

In 1757, however, he takes his stand for the existence of Prussia. At the moment that the military balance turns against him the moral balance turns in his favour. Courage, energy, resource, determination, all displayed through a score of lifetimes, if sensations rather than moments make up life,—Frederick is the embodiment of these things during the next six years. At first it is his daring that seems to eclipse all else. If Frederick feared not God, neither did he regard man. Far from being dazzled by the array of sceptres marshalled against him, he determined to strike before his foes could form.

With the first breath of spring he despatched three royal princes and the Duke of Bevern against four several points in Bohemia. “If those false attacks have so far succeeded as to cover the King of Prussia’s real intention,” writes Mitchell on April 18th, “I may venture to say that His Prussian Majesty is upon the point of executing one of the boldest and one of the greatest designs that ever was attempted by man.” Just at this juncture a plot against his life was discovered. “I think upon the whole His Prussian Majesty has had a very narrow escape, which however seems to have made no impression at all upon him, nor to have created in him the least diffidence whatever of anybody.”213 Such is his Scotch friend’s account of the King at the outset of the chequered campaign to which he owes the immensity of his fame.

Frederick’s courage was not foolhardiness, for the very reason that he was one, and his enemies were many. Every coalition must encounter the difficulty of concerting a plan of campaign acceptable to all and the still greater difficulty of securing honest and punctual co-operation. The coalition against Frederick had the advantage that several of its members could serve the common cause by following the course most profitable to themselves. The Russians might be expected to overrun Ost-Preussen and the Swedes to attack Prussian Pomerania with the best will in the world, while the Austrians had every incentive to be vigorous in the conquest of Silesia. But France consented to help to make Silesia and Glatz Austrian chiefly in order that she might secure Austrian help nearer to her own borders. The motley forces of the Empire had little interest in the quarrel, and the activity of Russia depended upon a czarina whose health was bad. Speed and secrecy were alike unattainable by a machine which could be set in motion only after debate between the Board of War at Vienna, the corrupt and factious Court at St. Petersburg, and the inharmonious ministers of France. Once set in motion, however, the gigantic machine seemed irresistible. Kaunitz could launch battalions against Prussia from every point of the compass. Although a new English minister, William Pitt, seemed disposed to stand by Frederick,214 it might well be thought incredible that Prussia could escape destruction at the hands of such a multitude.

Frederick’s plain course was to make use of the speed and secrecy for which the Prussian movements were famous. The Queen was massing troops in Bohemia. She had determined to raise 150,000 men, but with sisterly partiality she halved their effectiveness by appointing Prince Charles to the command. This appointment favoured the plan which Mitchell admired so highly. Frederick was devising a new form of the man?uvre by which he decoyed the Austrians to Hohenfriedberg. He was so successful that everyone on the Austrian side believed that his one object was to maintain himself in Saxony. To them the four sham-invasions of Bohemia seemed to be designed to conceal the King’s defensive operations and to paralyse their own attack. The illusion was strengthened because at the same time they learned that Torgau and Dresden were being fortified in all haste and that barricades were rising on the roads from Bohemia into Saxony. The last thing that they could suspect was that Frederick was on the eve of attacking.

LEOPOLD, COUNT VON DAUN.

FROM A COPPER PRINT.

The result was that the movement planned for the previous autumn was now carried out in the face of 133,000 Austrians. Frederick’s three columns issued from Saxony, Schwerin came from Silesia, and before the end of April 117,000 Prussians were encamped in Bohemia. In the face of such a force the astonished Austrians abandoned the magazines which they had stored for the conquest of Saxony215 and fell back on Prague. Having occupied a strong position to the east of the city, Prince Charles awaited the arrival of Field-Marshal Daun, who was advancing from the south.

Now the Prussians were to learn that a royal command has drawbacks. Frederick was burning to attack the enemy. He had staked the success of the campaign on the chance of a pitched battle, and the timid tactics of Prince Charles filled him with impatience. At his back was the finest army in the world. He was opposed by cavalry who had never beaten their Prussian opponents since Mollwitz, by infantry who had never beaten them at all, and by a general whom he despised. Preferring, as usual, the boldest course, he crossed to the eastern side of the river Moldau, which runs through Prague, and signalled to Schwerin to join him.

Prince Charles did not venture to oppose a movement by which the enemy’s force was made almost equal in number to his own. Such inertness could be justified only if he believed either that he was very weak or that his situation was impregnable and that Daun’s arrival would make him sure of victory. His position indeed was strong enough to have given pause to a general less impatient than the King of Prussia. All Frederick’s royal authority had to be exerted before Schwerin would consent that 64,000 men, of whom the half had been marching since midnight, should attack a strongly fortified position held by 60,000 of the enemy. But the vanguard of Daun’s 30,000 was within ten miles of the capital and Frederick had his way.

216
PLAN OF PRAGUE, MAY 6, 1757.

His forlorn hope at Prague on May 6, 1757, was to cost more blood than had been spilled on any field in Europe for nearly fifty years. The Prussians began by marching with great skill round the Austrian right. Browne, however, suggested an effective counter-man?uvre, so that when Schwerin assailed the flank at ten o’clock he did so under unsuspected disadvantages of ground. “The cavalry began the encounter, and after several fruitless attacks Zieten with the reserve overthrew the Austrian cavalry. In the pursuit, however, his troops came upon one of the enemy’s camps and drank so deep that they were of no more use that day.” Such is the statement of Sch?fer, the Prussian historian of the war. At the same time the infantry of the first line pressed forward, but found that the way to the enemy lay through the treacherous slime of fishponds coated with green, which Frederick in his haste had taken to be meadow-land. They struggled across unharmed, but the well-served Austrian batteries began to destroy them at a range of 400 paces. Then their onslaught was shattered by the Austrian grenadiers, and Schwerin, as he seized the colours to rally his men, was slain by a blast of grape-shot. The Austrian grenadiers began a triumphant counter-charge, but they were unsupported, for their army had now no leader. Browne had fallen early in the charge, and Prince Charles collapsed in wrestling with problems too great for his powers. The Prussian second line was therefore able to repair the disaster of the first, and, after a terrible struggle at close quarters, they stormed the heights217 and won the battle. Many of the Austrians fled southwards across the river Sazawa, but the greater number took refuge behind the walls of Prague.

In the battle itself Frederick played the part of a brave and skilful leader. His first impression was that he had gained a decisive victory. In the evening he wrote to his mother:

    “My brothers and I are well. The Austrians are in danger of losing the whole campaign and I find myself free with 150,000 men, and that we are masters of a kingdom which must provide us with troops and money. The Austrians are scattered like chaff before the wind. I am going to send part of my troops to compliment Messieurs les Fran?ais and to pursue the Austrians with the rest.”

He informed Wilhelmina that about 5000 men had been killed and wounded. To his ally, George II., he sent word that the battle had been “as decisive as possible,” and to his Scotch friend, Field-Marshal Keith, that he believed that the capture of Prague would finish the war. Fuller knowledge showed that these ideas were ill-conceived. The King’s impatience had caused an attack across treacherous ground with weary men. The pursuit therefore failed, and the Austrian casualties did not greatly exceed the Prussian. Frederick himself later computed his loss at 18,000 men, “without counting Marshal Schwerin, who alone was worth above 10,000.” The most moderate estimate states it at 12,500. The Austrians lost some 13,000, including prisoners, but nearly 11,000 more fled across the218 Sazawa, and the Prussians made an unwonted haul of baggage and artillery. One of the musketeers wrote home that 186,000 Prussians had beaten 295,000 Austrians and captured 200 guns. The army and the people were jubilant, but the price was great. “Schwerin’s death,” said the King, long after, “withered the laurels of victory, which was bought with too much precious blood. On this day fell the pillars of the Prussian infantry ... and a bloody and terrible war gave no time to rear them anew.”

The success of the campaign now hung on the fate of Prague. If the capital and its defenders fell into his hands without delay, the King might still execute the remainder of his daring scheme. He might sweep away Daun, enter Moravia, and dictate peace at Vienna. Thence he might lead his army to the western scene of war, to crush the forces of the Empire, and drive the French across the Rhine. A strong reinforcement, he believed, would enable Lehwaldt to grapple with the Russians, whose soldierly qualities he had not yet learned to appreciate. The moral effect of his victory was felt by all Europe. Frederick became the hero of the English nation. At Vienna depression reigned, and Kaunitz grew loud in his appeals to France and Russia. Roving bands of Prussians spread terror through the Empire by pretending to be the vanguard of the King, and demanding contributions from the magistrates of hostile towns with threats of stern measures if their demands were not complied with. Austria could not protect her German allies, and Louis XV. feared that she might now desert him as219 Prussia had deserted him in 1742 and 1745. If Prague fell the coalition would be shaken if not destroyed.

But however great the profit to be gained by the fall of Prague, Frederick realised that he could not hope to carry by storm a city which Browne had previously undertaken to hold with 8000 men and which now contained a garrison of 44,000. He therefore detached the Duke of Bevern with a force of 17,500 to observe Daun in the south, while he himself set to work to reduce Prague by starvation. In the hope of destroying the magazines he maintained a severe bombardment, which put the inhabitants to great suffering but brought little military advantage. He even brought a notorious burglar out of gaol to break into the city and procure information. Prince Charles, who had plenty of meal though little meat, did not risk his army in a sally en masse, but with the approval of his Government simply waited for Daun to set him free. This was an afflicting policy for the impatient King. On May 24th, Frederick hoped “at present more than ever that all this race of Austrian princes and beggars will be obliged to lay down their arms.” On May 29th, he informed Wilhelmina that a week ought to see the end, but before the week was over he began to admit the possibility of failure. On June 11th he wrote to Lehwaldt that it might be three or four weeks before he would be free to move. Next day, after hearing from Bevern that Daun could no longer be kept at bay, he sounded the knell of the whole enterprise:

220

    “Who loses time in war,” runs Frederick’s broken German, “cannot make it good again. Had you pressed forward at once towards Czaslau, Daun would have retreated further ... and I wager that if one flies at his throat he will do it. To get together 10 battalions now is impossible, but perhaps I will come myself to make an end of the matter, so that what has been gained by bravery be not lost by hesitation.... Daun must be driven into Moravia be he weak or strong, else we do not win Prague and cannot resist the other enemies who come on, and the whole campaign, however well begun, is lost.”

The cause of this note to Bevern was that with less than 10,000 men he had at last fallen back before the enemy. Daun, whose caution was to earn him the nickname “Fabius Cunctator,” had assembled an army some 54,000 strong and was advancing under strict orders to venture a battle for the relief of Prague. Frederick felt that the crisis called for his own presence. For the issue he had no fear. In order to risk nothing during his absence, he took with him only some 14,000 men, so that by strict count of heads he would attack against odds of more than five to three. But if Schwerin were worth 10,000 men, the King may well have believed that his own value was far greater. On June 16th he wrote to his representative in London that he had joined Bevern,

    “in order to march straight on Field-Marshal Daun, to fight him, and to drive him altogether out of Bohemia into Moravia. I flatter myself that in a few days I shall221 be able to give you good news of our success; and when this expedition is happily over, I believe that the town of Prague will fall of its own accord, and that then with hands more free, I shall be able to send a detachment against the French.”

The King’s confidence was in great part warranted by what he had already seen in the present war. It seemed that only a Browne would dare to attack Prussian troops led by their King. Had not Prince Charles been overruled by his generals, he would have abandoned Prague to avoid a battle. Daun had retreated before Bevern till he became overwhelmingly superior in force, and he advanced only when his Queen promised him gratitude for a victory and her continued favour if he were beaten. The most that could be expected from such commanders as these was that they would stand on the defensive in a strong position.

This very fact made the tactics of the Prussians doubly formidable. Drilled to the last degree of perfection, they could change their formation with a speed which their enemies admired but could not rival. Frederick could therefore veil his movement till the last moment. Having chosen the enemy’s most vulnerable wing, he could strengthen the wing opposed to it without fear that the enemy would either accomplish the countermove in time or attack the section which he had weakened. It was therefore of little consequence that the Austrians greatly outnumbered the Prussians in the part of the field where no fighting was likely to take place. The battle was gained because the222 Prussians swiftly overcame all that nature and art could oppose to them at the spot selected by the King for contact. The doomed wing would be broken, the centre laid bare, and then the cautious Austrian would make off, rejoicing that it was not dishonourable to be beaten by the King of Prussia, and that the attack demanded so much preliminary marching that the weary victors were not often terrible in pursuit.

Such were the tactics attempted in the battle of June 18, 1757, when Frederick attacked Daun in his camp overlooking the highroad between Vienna and Prague, within sight of the town of Kolin. The country undulates sufficiently to make it impossible for the King to have ascertained every detail of the problem with which he was confronted. But from many points, and with especial clearness from an isolated height across the highway, he could see that the Austrian right wing held the crest of a gentle slope south of the road and parallel with it, and that it was at the further extremity of this wing that the ground seemed most favourable to the attack.
PLAN OF KOLIN, JUNE 18, 1757.

The morning of the stifling summer’s day was spent in marching along the line of the highroad towards Kolin, and it was after midday that the Prussian left turned upon the enemy. Zieten, the terrible hussar, put to flight the Austrian horse, but an oak-wood gave them shelter behind which to rally, and meanwhile Daun made all haste to move up supports to his right. But though the Austrians fought doggedly and poured in a deadly artillery fire, the matchless Prussian infantry pressed on. They captured point223 after point of Daun’s position until the moment came at which, although their cavalry had turned tail, they needed only reinforcements to crush his right. It was the duty of Prince Maurice, the son of the Old Dessauer, to bring help from the centre. The moment was critical. The Austrian musketeers, seven times charged by the Prussians, had shot away their last cartridge. “Four fresh battalions,” wrote the King four days after, “and the battle was won.” Daun had already begun to withdraw his heavy guns and to issue orders for retreat. But by a fatal misunderstanding, due, it is hinted, to the impatience of the King in giving orders, Maurice was attacking the enemy more than half a mile further down the line. Still nearer to the Prussian right General Manstein defied orders and dashed at the enemy.

The Prussians were therefore involved in a frontal attack, and their inferiority in numbers at once began to tell against them. Yet still, though Frederick had only the reserves of cavalry in hand and these, even when he put himself at their head, refused to pass through the fire to aid them, the dauntless Prussian left achieved fresh triumphs. When the deadly wrestle reached its fourth hour they still maintained their hold upon the heights. Daun hurled his light Saxon cavalry upon them, but with a heroism worthy of Mollwitz field they formed into groups and drove back the foe. But at this moment the Count de Thiennes, colonel of a regiment of young dragoons from the Netherlands, begged for leave to attack. He won a grudging224 assent, at first refused, “but,” said Daun, “you won’t do much good with your beardless boys.” “You will see,” answered Thiennes and galloped back to his regiment. “Boys,” he cried, after repeating the field-marshal’s taunt, “show that though you are beardless you can bite.” Uniting with the Saxons, the “boys” swept the enemy’s horse from the field, then flung themselves on the grim square of tattered heroes, broke it, and drove it from the heights. This was the prelude to a general flight of the exhausted remnants of the Prussian infantry. Almost beside himself with rage and disappointment, Frederick collected some forty men and led them against the foe. But even the King could not persuade them to suicide. One by one they slunk away till at last his adjutant put the question, “Will your Majesty take the battery alone?” Frederick once more gazed at the enemy through his glass, then rode to Bevern on the right and ordered retreat.

Of 31,000 Prussians little more than 17,000 were left. As at Prague, it was the infantry whose loss was the greatest. Of 18,000, more than two-thirds were killed or captured. It was true that they had inflicted upon the enemy a loss of more than 8000 men, and that Daun, “like a good Christian who would not suffer the sun to go down on his wrath,” did nothing by way of pursuit. But Frederick saw at a glance that the conquest of Bohemia was now beyond his strength. On June 20, 1757, the very day on which Prince Charles had announced that he would be compelled to surrender, the besiegers quitted Prague.

225 Frederick’s plan was to retreat slowly through north-eastern Bohemia into Saxony, exhausting the country as he went. “My heart is torn in pieces,” he wrote to Prince Maurice two days after the battle, “but I am not cast down and will try on the first opportunity to wipe out this disgrace.” Perhaps because, in his own phrase, “a certain Hungarian rabble has taken kennel on the highways,” his letter to his sister makes light of Kolin. “I attacked Daun on the 18th. In spite of all our efforts, we found the country so difficult that I believed myself bound to abandon the enterprise in order not to lose my army.” For the information of Berlin, Eichel magnified the gentle slopes which are all that the battle-field can show into “a steep mountain, cut by many ravines and defiles at its base.” But to London the King sent a franker statement.

    “After winning eight battles in succession, we have for the first time been beaten, and that because the enemy had three posts on a tolerably high hill fortified by strong batteries one behind another. After taking two of them, the attacking battalions and their supports had suffered so much that they were too few to force the third post, and so the battle ended for lack of combatants.”

The transports of the Queen and the exaggerated caution with which Daun and Prince Charles neglected to follow up their advantage attested the truth of Frederick’s assurance that his situation was by no means desperate.

From day to day however, it altered for the worse.226 Disaster in the field was followed by affliction in the home. Within a fortnight of Kolin, Frederick suddenly learned that his mother was no more. The crushing news was blurted out by a letter from his wife, whose thoughtless use of a red seal in place of a black one frustrated the kindly machinery which Podewils and Eichel had devised for preparing the mind of the King. He had just written to Wilhelmina a letter full of confidence.

    “You have nothing to fear on my account, dear sister, men are always in the hands of what is called destiny.... Germany is passing through a terrible crisis. I am obliged to stand alone in defending her liberties and her faith. If I fall, there will be an end of them. But I have good hope. However great may be the number of my enemies, I trust in the goodness of my cause, in the admirable courage of my troops and in the goodwill which exists from the marshals down to the humblest soldier.”

Then the blow fell and for two days, even at such a crisis, the flow of political correspondence is checked. His grief finds utterance in an agonised note to his sister Amelia.

    “All kinds of misfortune are overwhelming me at once.... I am more dead than alive.... Perhaps Heaven has taken away our dear Mother that she may not see the misfortunes of our House.” “Yesterday and the day before,” writes Eichel on July 3d, “His Majesty’s grief has been very great and violent, but today it is somewhat lessened, because his Majesty has227 taken into consideration his duty to his state, his army and his faithful subjects at the present crisis, and the necessary orders have somewhat relieved his depression, though there is no lack of gloomy moments and intervals.”

On the same day the King began to pour out his soul to Mitchell, who owns himself “most sensibly affected to see him indulging his grief and giving way to the warmest filial affections.”

Calamity was, however, as impotent as success to teach Frederick good faith towards his allies. Mitchell had reported on June 30, 1757, that “he renewed to me on this occasion his firm resolution to hearken to no terms of peace without His Majesty’s privity and approbation.” On July 9th he describes a further interview in which “His Prussian Majesty said that, as he resolved to continue firmly united with His Majesty, it would be for their mutual interests to think of terms of peace, honourable and safe for both, and to concert together what terms they would adopt, if a favourable opportunity occurred to propose them.” Yet between these assurances of fidelity to England Frederick accepted with enthusiasm an offer made by Wilhelmina to send an envoy to procure peace with France by bribing the Pompadour.

    “I will willingly charge myself with his expenses,” he writes on July 7th. “He may offer the favourite anything up to 500,000 crowns for peace, and he may raise his offers far higher if at the same time they would promise to procure us some advantages. You see all the nicety of which I have need in this affair and how228 little I must be seen in it. If England should have the least wind of it all would be lost.”

Job’s tidings continued to pour in upon the King. In the sunshine of Kolin the crop sown by Kaunitz was ripening fast. Before July was half over Frederick learned that the French had seized East Frisia and were striking east, that the Swedes were sending 17,000 men into Pomerania, and that the Russians were likely to destroy Lehwaldt in Ost-Preussen. Thus all his northern frontier was on fire and the army of the Empire was about to join the Austrians in kindling new conflagrations in the south. Bohemia, of course, must soon be abandoned, and how would it be possible to hold Saxony, Silesia, or even Brandenburg against such a host of foes? Men said that in Voltaire the King of Prussia had lost his pen and in Schwerin his sword.

In the latter half of the month the situation altered still further for the worse. While Frederick lay motionless at Leitmeritz on the Elbe, intent on devouring Bohemia till the last moment, but keeping open his retreat into Saxony, his eldest brother, Augustus William, was out-man?uvred by the Austrians further east. Prince Charles, with inferior numbers, seized one of his posts, outpaced him to Zittau, burnt the magazine there, and finally compelled him to flee far into Saxony. Nothing remained but for the indignant King to rescue the heir to the throne, who had thus opened to the enemy the Lusatian door into both Saxony and Silesia. On his way Frederick paused to garrison229 Pirna, and there, on July 27, 1757, he received what Mitchell terms “a draught of comfort to one who has not had a single drop since the 18th June.”

So serious was the crisis that the King had sent orders to Berlin that at the first news of further disaster in Lusatia the archives and treasure should be removed to Cüstrin. That very day he had written a plain account of the situation to convince his ally of England how desperate was his plight. “If I except Spain, Denmark, Holland, and the King of Sardinia, I have all Europe against me. Even so, I fear not for the places where I can set armies against them, but for those where he who comes will find no one to oppose him.”

Such was the King’s mood when his friend, the ambassador of England, laid before him with delight the contents of as considerate a despatch as was ever penned in Whitehall. Sympathy for Kolin, approval of the new plan of campaign, “entire reliance upon the King of Prussia’s great military abilities,” a cheerful review of the forces still at his disposal—all this might be expected from the ministers of George II. But what followed might well have heaped coals of fire upon Frederick’s head. His ally, little suspecting the overtures to the Pompadour, persisted in treating him as a man of honour.

    “The hint his Prussian Majesty threw out to you, of an inclination to peace, is agreeable to the language that Prince has held from the very beginning of the present troubles in Germany.... The King will at all times be glad to contribute to a general pacification, whenever equitable conditions can be had for himself,230 the King of Prussia, and their allies ... the King being determined to take no steps in an affair of this consequence without his Prussian Majesty’s concurrence and approbation.”

Then follow solid offers of co-operation with ships and above all with gold, the latter “only meant as the convenient and proper contingent of England to her allies.”

Frederick, by Mitchell’s account, received the message

    “with a flow of gratitude not to be described. After a short pause, he said, ‘I am deeply sensible of the King’s and your nation’s generosity, but I do not wish to be a burden to my allies; I would have you delay answering this letter till affairs are ended in Lusatia; if I succeed, I will then consult with you upon the different points suggested in the letter and give my opinion freely upon them. If I am beat, there will be no occasion to answer it at all; it will be out of your power to save me, and I would not willingly abuse the generosity of my allies by drawing them into unnecessary and expensive engagements that can answer no valuable purpose.’ I was pleased, but not surprised,” the report continues, “with the noble dignity of this answer, for I have seen the King of Prussia great in prosperity but greater still in adversity.”

There was, however, little of dignity or greatness in the King’s treatment of his unlucky brother and heir, whom he met on the road to Bautzen two days later. It was in the early hours of the morning, according to the narrative of an eye-witness, the231 son of one of the chief delinquents, that Augustus William saw the King and beside him Winterfeldt and Goltz, two of his own generals, for whom he had waited a full hour in vain. Each of the royal brothers rode at the head of his staff, and in Frederick’s train were Prince Henry and Ferdinand of Brunswick. At a distance of about three hundred paces the King stopped. Augustus William did the like, and he and his party doffed hats. The King’s party bowed to them, but Frederick turned his horse round, dismounted, and lay down upon the ground as though awaiting his vanguard. He made Winterfeldt and Goltz sit by him. All his officers dismounted, as did the Prince and his party. Soon Goltz crossed over to the Prince and said a few words to him, whereupon the Prince called his officers together and requested him to repeat the King’s message in their presence. This he did in the following words:

    “His Majesty bids me tell Your Royal Highness that he has cause to be very dissatisfied with you. You deserve that a court-martial should be held over you, and then you and all the generals with you would lose your heads. But His Majesty is not willing to carry the matter so far, because in the General he would not forget the Brother.”

Augustus William made answer like a brave man, exculpating his generals, and requesting a strict enquiry into his own conduct. But the King replied only by putting himself at the head of his vanguard, which had now come up, and riding on with his232 staff past the Prince, always keeping from three to four hundred paces away from him. At Bautzen he encamped, but still kept at a distance from the fugitives, lest, suggests Eichel, their fear should contaminate his own officers. Augustus William, treated like a leper, applied for permission to go to Dresden. “The Prince may go where he will,” said Frederick to the lieutenant who bore the letter. He went to Berlin and died of a broken heart.

If anything could palliate brutality to the merely unfortunate it would have been the situation in which Frederick was placed by his brother’s blunder. Despite all his efforts, the Austrians remained masters of the pass into Lusatia. With French, Swedes, Russians, and Imperialists all pressing on, it became imperative to dispose of the Austrians by a second Hohenfriedberg. But Prince Charles was not to be tempted from the strong position which Daun had chosen with his wonted skill. After three impatient weeks Frederick decided that the peril from the French was too acute to permit of further delay in trying to force the Austrians to give battle. Early in August he received the news of Cumberland’s downfall at Hastenbeck. Hanover lay at the mercy of the French under Richelieu, and when on August 25, 1757, the King turned his face towards the west, Soubise with a second French force and the army of the Empire was already at Erfurt. Frederick was determined to maintain his hold on Saxony. Bevern, he decided, must watch the Austrians, distance and fortune must account for the Russians and Swedes, while he himself undertook a march of two hundred233 miles to muster 20,000 men and lead them against Soubise.

It seemed at first as though the King did wrong to trust in fortune. On August 30, 1757, the army of Ost-Preussen was vanquished by the Russians at Gross-J?gersdorf. Frederick, however, kept on his way. In the middle of September he reached the scene of action, only to suffer from the caution of Soubise a month of the same torture that Prince Charles had inflicted in Lusatia. Then he was suddenly called upon to hurry a hundred miles towards the north-east to drive the Austrians from his capital. In his absence Prince Charles had moved eastwards into Silesia and his rearguard of light cavalry, 15,000 strong, seized a favourable moment for a foray on Berlin. They exacted a ransom of 200,000 thalers from the town, and then made off by forced marches. Frederick, who feared an invasion in force, was greatly relieved at the news, which reached him on October 18th. Next day, despairing of bringing the French to book, he informed Prince Maurice that it was time to think of chasing the Austrians from Silesia, but on the 23rd he sent him word that Soubise was after all leaving the hills and marching straight for Leipzig.

“Here very much is altered in a day,” he added with his own hand. It was in fact the turning-point of the most marvellous and chequered year of Frederick’s life. Full of hope, he ordered a concentration between his own command and those of Ferdinand, Keith, and Maurice. The sum-total was not great, but the quality and temper of the troops234 were incomparable. They were face to face with Frenchmen, of old the scorners of the German race, which they were wont to conquer by their arms and to corrupt by their example. Now these invaders were laden with the spoils of Thuringia. Insolent and infatuated, they were too proud to see among themselves defects which were patent to Prussian eyes. It was little wonder that Frederick’s veterans shared the ardour of their King. “The spirit of the soldiers was remarkable,” noted Mitchell when they came to Leipzig. “They did not complain of fatigue, notwithstanding of the long marches, but desired to be led out immediately, and murmured on being ordered to quarters.”

Three days later their desire was gratified. On the last day of October, 1757, Frederick was at Weissenfels on the Saale, checked for the moment because the enemy burned the bridge in his face and held the line of the river against him. His road from Leipzig had led him across the dismal plain where Charles XII. held for a moment the fate of Europe in his hand, past the granite slab which marks the spot where a greater King of Sweden fell at the head of his men. The region is memorable in history, but the deed which would have been most notable of all was averted. At Weissenfels, tradition says, Frederick owed his life to the chivalry of a French officer who forbade an artilleryman to pick him off.

FREDERICK VIEWING THE BURNING BRIDGE AT WEISSENFELS.

FROM A RELIEF ON HIS STATUE AT WEISSENFELS.

The French and Imperialists gave up the line of the Saale, joined forces, and took up a strong position in the undulating country to the west. On235 November 3rd, Frederick crossed the river and expected that next day the intolerable tension would be at an end. When, however, he came to reconnoitre the enemy’s position in force he found that to attack it against odds of two to one would be to invite a second Kolin. To the exultation of the allies, he drew back under a heavy cannonade and encamped with his left wing resting on Rossbach. On November 5th, Eichel, who was lodged at a safe distance, sent word of this fiasco to the Government, which had taken refuge in Magdeburg. “The whole war,” wrote this most submissive of Frederick’s slaves, “is of no avail. May Your Excellency soon make a good peace.” He added a postscript: “At the moment of closing this, about 2 o’clock in the afternoon, we hear a very loud cannon-fire and, as it seems, musketry also.” Frederick was being delivered from his troubles by a game of hide-and-seek.

The King’s object in encamping near Rossbach was to turn the allies’ position, or, failing this, to hang upon their rear when hunger should compel them to retreat. By the enemy, however, the movement was attributed to fear. Hot-headed Frenchmen, full of the martial traditions of their race, urged Soubise to crush a foe whose stroke they had yet to learn lest his little army should escape them. Vengeful Saxon voices joined with theirs, while shivering Imperialists, who for five days had subsisted on what food they could pick up among the peasants, clamoured for the break-up of the camp. Soubise at last gave way and planned a second Soor, to be done this time in broad daylight. Screened by the low236 hills, the allies were to march round Frederick’s left and to take him in flank and rear. Believing themselves to be four times as strong as the King, they feared only lest he should flee to Merseburg in time.

After a march of some three hours the allies reached a point due south of Rossbach. With a salutary access of caution, the French proposed to encamp there, right on Frederick’s flank. But this proposal was angrily resisted by the Imperialists and Saxons, and at the critical moment the news came that the Prussians were retreating. It was evident that they could delay no longer without permitting Frederick to escape. If, however, they hastened round the eastern end of the long, low ridge which hid his army from view, they might still take it in flank as it fled along the road to Merseburg. With this plan in mind, Soubise and his colleagues cast prudence to the winds. From the first they had omitted to name a place of retreat or a formation to be adopted in case they should be attacked. Now their army hurried along pell-mell, with three generals at the head of the cavalry, the infantry straggling after as best they might, the French reserves pressing between the marching columns and the artillery, and the whole flank exposed on the left, where the low ridge still screened the enemy from their sight.
PLAN OF ROSSBACH, NOVEMBER 5, 1757.

Behind that ridge Frederick was ranking his men for battle. He, too, had believed his opponents to be in retreat and received with coarse taunts and disbelief the report of a lieutenant that they were trying to outflank him. The sight of their infantry,237 however, convinced him that they meant even more than a reconnoissance. At a glance he saw his opportunity. “In less than two minutes,” writes an onlooker, “all the tents lay on the ground, as though someone had pulled a string behind the scenes, and the army was in full march.” At first, by great luck, the heads of the Prussian columns pointed north-east towards Merseburg, and thus the allies were deluded into the belief that they were in retreat. Then, hidden by the ridge, they moved east and finally south-east, converging towards the enemy. In the waning November afternoon they formed line and waited unseen, cannon massed on the right, Prince Henry with the infantry in the centre, on the extreme left Seydlitz, the prince of dragoons, smoking his short clay pipe till the King should order the charge.

Little more than an hour after the Prussians struck their tents they were dashing at the open flank of the allies, and ere another hour had passed Frederick’s western frontier was saved. The so-called battle of Rossbach would be better named the drove of Reichartswerben. But for the slaughter inevitable when the best troops in the world swooped down upon a mob, the encounter would have been a pure farce. First Seydlitz by repeated charges drove the cavalry of the allies off the field. Then, to the accompaniment of a heavy cannonade, Prince Henry led the infantry down the slope and poured swift volleys into the medley out of which Soubise was vainly struggling to form a line of battle. Some of the French, Swiss, and West-German troops238 showed fight, the rest fled. Finally Seydlitz fell upon their rear and the butchery was checked only by darkness. At the cost of about five hundred men Frederick destroyed an army of nearly fifty thousand and made himself the hero of the Teutonic race. He jeered at the vanquished enemy in blasphemous French verses and set to work to reap the fruits of victory.

Everywhere save in Silesia the aspect of affairs was changing in his favour. A report that Elizabeth was dying caused the Russians to withdraw from Ost-Preussen just when their victory had placed it at their mercy. Lehwaldt was therefore set free to undertake the defence of Pomerania against the Swedes. England, inspired by Pitt, was proving herself a worthy ally against France. A new army was formed for the defence of Hanover. The command was offered to Prince Ferdinand, and British soldiers were to serve under him. For the present year at least, the North and West might be accounted safe. But from the Eastern theatre of war the news was bad. Prince Charles had followed Bevern into Silesia and now stood between him and Schweidnitz. Not a moment was to be lost if the King would save this important fortress.

Once more, however, Prussian speed was equal to all demands. Two days after Rossbach Frederick was already on his way. “I will leave you as strong a corps as I can on this side,” he writes to Keith, “and march unceasingly for Silesia. A toilsome year for me!” In good heart after Rossbach, he strongly approved of Bevern’s resolve to attack the Austrians.239 “For God’s sake have no fear of a weak enemy,” he wrote, “but trust to your own insight and experience.” But the days of Schwerin and the Old Dessauer were over. Except Henry and Ferdinand, Frederick had now no general from whom he could expect victories like his own. While he strode swiftly through Saxony Silesia was lost. On November 18, 1757, at K?nigsbrück, he learned that Schweidnitz had fallen without a blow. The confused reproaches and threats which he poured out upon Bevern and his generals were futile, for on the 22nd Prince Charles drove the Prussians from Breslau across the Oder, and within the week the capital was Austrian once more.

Before the news of Breslau reached him Frederick had declared to Bevern that he was firmly resolved to attack the enemy, but that it must be with their united forces, “else I am too weak and not much over 12,000 strong.” Next day, November 24th, at Naumburg on the Queiss the report reached him that Bevern had gained a victory. He therefore planned to catch Prince Charles in a net at Neumarkt by marching from Liegnitz to meet Bevern sallying forth from Breslau. He even hinted that Keith might surprise Prague, and wrote to Ferdinand: “With good fortune I flatter myself that I shall finish this business in a fortnight.” “The Almighty shows us one great mercy after another,” wrote Eichel. Next day they learned part of the truth, though rumour multiplied fourfold the Austrian loss of 6000. “Defend Breslau to the last man—on peril of your head,” was the sum of Frederick’s240 orders to his brother-in-law, accompanied by much military counsel and a promise of speedy aid. But soon the news came that Bevern was a prisoner, that his army had fled to Glogau, worst of all, that Breslau had capitulated without firing a shot. Thousands of the garrison voluntered to serve Maria Theresa. It is said that one battalion quitted the capital in a strength of nine officers and four men. After sixteen years Silesia seemed to be welcoming home its Queen.

For a fortnight Frederick’s army had struggled along bad roads at the astonishing rate of nearly sixteen miles a day. They drew rein at Parchwitz, within two marches of Breslau. There on November 28th the King composed a short testament. “I will be buried at Sans Souci without pomp or ceremony—and by night,” was his decree. “... If the battle be won, my brother must none the less send a messenger to France with full powers to negotiate for peace.” The words show how completely he identified himself with Prussia amid circumstances so gloomy that Eichel forbore, ever after, to mention the document lest he should recall them to the mind of the King. Yet on the same day Frederick wrote one of his most characteristic letters to Wilhelmina, who had expressed her fear that the army vanquished at Rossbach would afflict Germany anew. “This is now our task,” ran his reply:

    “to put the Austrians to flight and to recover all that we have lost; and it is no trifle. However, I am undertaking it at the risk of what may follow. Neither Soubise nor the Imperialists will come back this year: as for241 the future, we must hope for peace, for indeed it seems as though our enemies had determined to destroy the human race.... I beg you to await the issue in these parts with patience; neither our anxiety nor our care make any difference to it, and nothing will happen except what pleases His Sacred Majesty Chance.... If I reach winter quarters, I shall have the honour of sending you a prodigious quantity of verse of every kind.”

Needless to say, Frederick’s fatalism did not abate his energy, nor against such odds did his courage degenerate into rashness. He gave the command of Bevern’s ruined army to Zieten, who had defeated the enemy’s right in the battle of Breslau, and bade him bring men and guns from Glogau. Then he and his weary 14,000 waited four full days at Parchwitz, with Prince Charles’s victorious army to their front, the garrison of Liegnitz on their flank, and Austrian slowness letting slip the opportunity to attack.

On December 2nd, Zieten arrived at Parchwitz, having rallied some 18,000 men. Frederick had now an army about 32,000 strong, well furnished with cavalry and artillery. His plan had from the first been as clear as the task before him. He was resolved to perish rather than abandon Silesia. The Austrians held the province by means of an army and two strong places, Breslau and Schweidnitz. He must therefore first beat the army and then capture the strong places. The advent of December forbade long man?uvring in the hope of catching Prince Charles at a disadvantage. To save242 Silesia this year and Prussia next, he must lead his army straight to the enemy. The problem that he expected to find resembled the problem of Prague and of Kolin—to destroy an army not inferior in numbers posted in ground of its own choosing. Prince Charles, he believed, had his back to Breslau and his front protected by a stream of some size. “He is in an advantageous camp,” wrote Eichel on December 1st, “well furnished with artillery; he lives on our magazines, and the possession of Breslau gives him liberty to retire in any case across the Oder, from which God preserve us!” The ejaculation reminds us that if the Austrian force remained in being, Frederick would be foiled.

The King was determined to venture all upon a battle. That he appreciated the odds against him is not entirely clear. Writing to his brother Henry on November 30th, he declares himself hopeful of pitting 36,000 men against the 39,000 at which he estimates the Austrian force. Next day he alters the former number to 39,000, and Eichel states that

    “According to many letters from his officers which we have intercepted, the enemy has lost more than 24,000 men, as well as 8000 at the siege of Schweidnitz; he has suffered much from sickness; half of his cavalry is ruined; yet notwithstanding all this he must be equal if not superior in numbers to ourselves.”

On the other hand, Prussian tradition represents the King as declaring on December 3rd that, contrary to all the rules of war, he would attack Prince Charles’s army wherever he found it, though it was nearly243 thrice as strong as his own. But whatever be the truth,—whether or no he would have done what he had declined to do on the day before Rossbach, whether or no he knew or guessed the truth that Prince Charles had 80,000 men,—Frederick spared no effort to fill every soldier with his own spirit. Rest and food and drink, the story of Rossbach to chase away the memory of Breslau, all these were showered upon an army which since adversity had purged it of its foreign elements responded with eager loyalty to the touch of the Prussian King.

Stripping off his cherished French manners, he was for a brief space the Father of his people. The news flew round the army that the King had bandied rough pleasantries with his grenadiers, that veterans had called him “Thou” and “Fritz,” that he had told the Pomeranians that without them he would not dare to give battle. The effect was magical, and the rank and file caught the glow which warmed the breasts of their superiors. For Frederick had done what he had perhaps never yet deigned to do, save when he quitted his capital in 1740 to grasp Silesia. He had called his officers together and appealed in impassioned phrases to their honour, their loyalty, and their patriotism. “Gentlemen,” he cried, “the enemy stand in their entrenchments armed to the teeth. We must attack them there, and conquer, or remain every one of us on the field. If any of you is unwilling, he may have his discharge at once and go home.” Then he paused. The devoted men were silent, many in tears, only one major cried out: “High time for such wretched scoundrels to be off.” Frederick244 smiled and declared that he was sure of their faithful service and of victory. He then denounced stern threats against the man or regiment who should fail in the hour of battle. “Farewell, gentlemen,” were his concluding words; “soon we beat the enemy or we see one another no more.” More than twenty years later the rough soldiers wept like children as they told the tale, and those who heard it could not keep back their tears.

On Sunday, December 4, 1757, King and army set out for Breslau. From Parchwitz to the walls of the city the distance is some thirty-two miles as the crow flies. The road runs through Neumarkt, about twenty-three miles from Breslau, and Lissa, a little more than nine. That evening Neumarkt was in Prussian hands, and besides the little town 80,000 Austrian rations of bread, welcome in themselves, but far more welcome for the news which they conveyed. “The fox,” cried Frederick, “has crept out of his hole, now I will punish his presumption.”

On December 2nd, the day of Zieten’s junction with the King, the Austrians had indeed determined to attack. The reason for this fatal decision was by no means over-confidence born of success. Prince Charles was very far from despising the adversary who had defeated him on four stricken fields. With almost nervous anxiety, in spite of his 80,000 men, he sought to be informed of every movement in Frederick’s camp at Parchwitz. It is true that Austrian policy would be best served if the Queen were to regain Silesia without the armies of her allies. It is false that she ordered the army of Silesia to give245 battle at any cost. Before and after the fight Prince Charles stated expressly that his generals were unanimous in favour of marching on Neumarkt. The object was to save Liegnitz from Frederick and to prevent him from making his position too strong.

Both combatants, therefore, made for Neumarkt on the same day, and the forward movement of the Austrians was only quickened when they learned that the Prussians had chased their vanguard from the town. On the night of December 4th the armies lay within a few miles of each other. The Prussians were exulting in the news that Prince Charles had crossed the two streams which rendered his old position so formidable that Frederick had enrolled 800 volunteers for the first attack.

With an army tuned to the highest pitch and a King who knew every rood of the ground on the road to Breslau, the Prussians advanced to give battle. Before five o’clock on the dismal morning of December 5, 1757, they were on the march, Frederick in the van, and only a single battalion left in Neumarkt with the baggage. The exact position of the Austrians was not known to them as they hastened through the broken country east of Neumarkt towards the champaign west of Leuthen. If the enemy had placed this champaign at their back, the attack would still be hampered by the ground.

The Prussians had espied watch-fires on a height to the south of the great road a few miles east of Neumarkt—a height from which in daylight both the towers of Neumarkt and the farms and cottages of Leuthen may be seen. Was this an Austrian wing?246 To their delight it proved to be only a vanguard. Three regiments of Saxon light horse, heroes of Kolin, had been placed there with two of Imperial hussars to collect the wreck of the Neumarkt garrison and to watch the road to Breslau. They clung too closely to their task and were crushed by the Prussian vanguard. Eleven officers and 540 men were taken prisoner, many fell, and the rest fled wildly to alarm the Austrian right. Frederick could with difficulty check the mad pursuit of his hussars, who drew bridle almost within cannon-shot of the enemy.

The King’s spirits rose yet higher when he learned from the prisoners that Prince Charles had left most of his heavy guns in Breslau. He indulged his advancing columns with the sight of the captured troopers filing past them to Neumarkt and again condescended to repartee. “Why did you forsake me?” he asked a Frenchman who had previously deserted from the Prussian army. “Indeed, your Majesty,” the man replied, “our position is too hopeless.” “Well,” said the King, “let us strike one more blow to-day, and if I am beaten we will both desert to-morrow.”
PLAN OF LEUTHEN, DECEMBER 5, 1757.

As the gathering daylight revealed Prince Charles’s army Frederick’s confidence was more than ever justified. The Austrian position, chosen perhaps to cover three routes to Breslau, was far too extensive. Their line, which stretched from Nippern due south across the highroad, then on behind Leuthen village as far as Sagschütz and the pine-clad hill beyond, was not less than five miles long and unprotected247 for the most part by the ground. Only the right wing, where the Italian Luchesi was in command, was defended in front and flank by hills and woods and marshes. These made it practically impossible for the Prussians to attack at any point between Nippern and the highroad, and if they fell upon the centre Luchesi might advance through the wood and take them in flank.

Prince Charles, who knew something of Frederick’s methods, would have done well to strengthen his left. But on the day of Leuthen, Fortune seemed resolved to favour the side which trusted most to her help. By design or by accident, Frederick’s movements were such as to convince Luchesi that the Prussians were about to hurl all their strength upon him. While the King reconnoitred, the heads of his columns remained pointing in the direction of their line of march and thus seemed to threaten the Austrian right. In each of the great battles of this year, at Prague, at Kolin, and in a sense also at Rossbach, it was the right wing of the allies upon which the Prussians fell. Now when he saw Frederick diligently inspecting his own quarter of the field Luchesi insisted on being reinforced. His clamour prevailed and, at the moment when Frederick began the movement towards Leuthen and Sagschütz, Daun was galloping with cavalry from the centre and left towards Nippern, the point most distant from the danger.

The Prussian army this day surpassed itself in the swift precision of its movements. No sooner was the King’s plan formed than Maurice and Zieten248 were ranking the eager veterans for their mysterious march due south—parallel with the Austrian line of battle and in part hidden from its view by the undulations of the ground. Frederick rode along the ridge between the armies and exulted as he marked the mistake of Daun. For some two miles he might, for all the Austrians knew, be in retreat. Then as the ground sinks into a plain he drew nearer to the enemy’s left and hurled all his strength upon it.

Frederick and his 32,000 men had only some four hours of daylight in which to overthrow a host nearly 80,000 strong. Despite the tension the Prussian machine worked perfectly. The complicated attack in oblique order was accomplished as never before or after, and an invincible assault began. By steady valour, not by desperate onrush, the infantry cleared the height near Sagschütz and in perhaps fifteen minutes they took the battery which crowned it. The Austrians and Bavarians made furious efforts to regain what the flight of their comrades from Würtemburg had sacrificed. Nothing, however, could now withstand the disciplined onset of the Prussians, who swept before them the shattered regiments and the breathless supports who hurried to their aid. Hindered by ditches, the Prussian cavalry had as yet been able to give little help, but the irresistible advance of the infantry brought them at length to better ground and Zieten completed the ruin of the Austrian left.

THE CHARGE OF THE WALLOON DRAGOONS AT KOLIN.

FROM A RELIEF ON THE MONUMENT OF VICTORY NEAR K?E?HO?, UNVEILED 1898.

In numbers, however, Prince Charles was still superior to his assailants. He might fairly ascribe249 the disaster on his left to the blunder by which the Würtembergers, mere auxiliaries, were entrusted with the key of the position. Out of his unbroken centre and right he formed a new line of battle of which Leuthen village was the key. Leuthen, with a wall of men and a hasty breastwork in front of it, with its courtyards and churchyard packed with men, and behind it men in thick masses with cannon, might surely be held until Luchesi and his cavalry could come to the rescue on the right.

The advanced guard was soon driven off by the terrible fire of the Prussians, whose heavy guns now and throughout the battle tore frightful gaps in the crowded ranks of the enemy. But the village proved a formidable obstacle to their progress. House after house had to be stormed, and the churchyard was most difficult of all. At last the Prussians carried Leuthen. Then, however, they were exposed to the batteries behind and for perhaps an hour a furious conflict raged on something like equal terms. Frederick sent his left wing into action, but still the Austrians stood firm. But again, when already three of the four hours of daylight were spent, Luchesi proved to be the evil genius of his side. Coming up with his cavalry, he took the Prussian infantry in flank, only to be himself outflanked, crushed, and killed by a concealed reserve of Prussian cavalry. The panic produced by this sudden onslaught spread to the infantry, and the Prussians pressed home their advantage with a bayonet charge. At last the Austrians were beaten. They flung away their muskets, forsook their guns, and fled wildly towards Breslau.250 A regiment which strove to cover their flight was reduced to one officer and eight men.

As at Rossbach, darkness robbed the victors of the full fruit of their success. The Prussian loss of one man in five proved that Leuthen was no easy triumph. But they struck down 10,000 men and captured 12,000, they put to flight an army nearly three times as great as their own, and they won Silesia and undying fame.