The proceedings of Frederick in 1740, trivial as some of them are, reveal him as a statesman, just as the events of 1730 revealed him as a man. They therefore possess an interest such as hardly any other part of his reign can claim. For a few months he is free to choose his own path in life, guided only by instinct and education. Thus an element of free-will is present which is to some extent lacking in two notable crises of his fortunes—the tragedy of 1730 and the miracle of 1757. This year sums up, as it were, the eight and twenty which had gone to make Frederick what he was: it shapes his course in the six and forty that were to follow.

In the story of Prussia, 1740 inevitably suggests comparison with 1640, when the Great Elector likewise stood at the parting of the ways. Then and for years afterwards the choice had lain between existence and ruin; now it was between increase by natural growth and perhaps speedier increase by speculation. For a century Prussia had seldom departed from a policy of thrift and autocracy at home84 and opportunism abroad. Would she now abandon it? Frederick’s early measures showed that he intended no sweeping changes in domestic politics. We may therefore postpone an examination of the system which he there pursued. For us he is at present only the lord of ninety thousand of the best-drilled troops in the world, entangled in no alliances and hampered by no fears. What choice would be for him the wisest?

Calm reflection on the situation of Europe in 1740 seems to show that Frederick’s strength was to sit still. Signs were abundant that the peace which had prevailed almost from his birth could not endure much longer. Apart from the problem of Austria, grave questions had arisen which not even a Walpole and a Fleury could settle otherwise than by the sword. France and England, it was felt, would soon resume the duel which the Peace of Utrecht had but interrupted, and would struggle for primacy in America and in the world. Spain and England were already at war, and Europe knew that the Bourbon Kings of Spain and France, who were uncle and nephew, were joined in close alliance. To strike at King George without crossing the sea France must aim at Hanover, and the sword of Frederick, the neighbour of Hanover, would be bid for by both sides. According to the convenient theory then current, a prince could hire out an army without committing his State to war, so that Frederick stood to gain much,—money, military glory, experience for his men, perhaps even territory for his House,—while he need stake nothing save that which he had85 long desired to hazard,—his own life and the lives of his soldiers.

A Hohenzollern was the last man in the world to undervalue what he might wish to sell. Frederick strove to persuade Europe that in him a new and greater Gustavus had appeared. He increased his army ostentatiously and bade his representative at Versailles speak of his active and impetuous way of thinking.

    “You can say,” he continues, “that it is to be feared that this increase kindles a fire which may set all Europe in a blaze; that it is the way of youth to be adventurous, and that the alluring visions of heroic fame may disturb and have disturbed the peace of countless nations in the world.”

The prospect of acquisitions in the Rhineland seemed first to engage his thoughts. In hopes of winning Berg he not only made overtures to France, but even invited the help of Russia. The fruit of these negotiations was small. Their significance, however, is great, since they showed that Frederick intended to choose his allies without regard to the tradition of his House in favour of Austria, and also that he would not shrink from favouring Muscovite development by employing Cossacks in Western Germany.

At the same time that he bargained in this spirit with foreign Powers, Frederick compelled his brother Germans to mark the change of accent which he was introducing into the old language of his House. Brandenburg had taken up the informal protectorate86 of the German Protestants when the Saxon Elector by becoming Romanist (1697) resigned it. Frederick William devised a safe but effective method of checking Romanist aggression. If any German prince persecuted Protestants, the King of Prussia used forthwith to apply similar oppression to his own papist subjects. Thus, without stirring from Berlin, he stayed the hand of persecutors in the distant valleys of the Neckar and the Salzach. His son soon proved himself ready to go to greater lengths.

Claims and counter-claims as to territory had arisen between one of the great Romanist princes, the Archbishop of Mainz, and the Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel, the heir of one of the earliest champions of the Reformation. The former relied on his own troops and on those of neighbouring bishops, while he also possessed the support of the Emperor, whose right to judge the case had been challenged by his opponent. The Landgrave appealed to the King of Prussia and to other princes of the Empire. Frederick’s reply was immediate, emphatic, and successful. “In case of need,” he wrote to his brother-Elector of Mainz, “we should not know how to refrain from affording to the aforementioned His Dilection the Lord Landgrave William the necessary protection and help against unlawful force and disturbance.” At these words the hostile coalition—Elector, bishops, and Emperor—melted away. The young King, it was apparent, had entered the field of German politics with éclat.

Equally peremptory and equally successful was Frederick’s verdict for his own claims in a dispute87 with the Bishop of Liège with regard to Herstal, a tiny barony lying on the Meuse to the westward of Aix-la-Chapelle. The inhabitants had resisted the officers of his father, who would gladly have sold Herstal to Liège, and the Bishop, who wished to buy but could not come to terms, had egged them on. Frederick, scorning the advice of his ministers, resolved to use his strength as a giant. From Wesel he sent the following ultimatum to the Bishop:

    “Cousin! Knowing all the attacks that you have made upon my unquestionable rights over my free barony of Herstal, and how the seditious men of Herstal have been supported for some years in their detestable disobedience to me, I have ordered my privy-councillor Rambonnet to visit you on my behalf, to demand from you in my name a sincere and categorical explanation within the space of two days, whether you wish to protect the mutineers of Herstal in their abominable disorder and disobedience. In case you refuse, or delay that just reply which I demand of right, you will render yourself solely responsible before all the world for the consequences which your refusal will inevitably bring after it. I am, etc.”

“This is strong, this is lively,” cried the ambassadors at Berlin when they read it; “it is the language of Louis XIV.; it is a beginning which shows what we must expect some day from this prince.” Their prophecy was to be fulfilled sooner than they anticipated. In the meantime the new diplomacy won another triumph. The Bishop made no reply to the ultimatum and in a week’s time the Prussians, sowing apologies broadcast over Europe, seized his88 county of Hoorn. The apologies concluded with the assertion: “His Majesty will never put from him a just and reasonable arrangement with the said prince, as the sole end which his justice and moderation have in view in this affair, these two invariable principles being the pole-star of all his actions.” The “just and reasonable arrangement” proved to be the payment of two hundred thousand thalers to the King.

Frederick could therefore congratulate himself that within five months of his accession he had taught both Prussia and Europe that he was stronger than his father. It was clear that he was resolved not to be hoodwinked by man or woman. He had rejected the advice of his cautious ministers with the pleasantry that when they spoke of war they resembled an Iroquois talking of astronomy. The event had gone far towards silencing the taunt of Europe that “the Prussians never shoot,” and towards establishing the truth of Frederick’s well-known simile, “The Emperor is an old phantom of an idol and has no longer any nerves.”

A king of Prussia with such a spirit as Frederick had already shown was not likely to rest long upon his oars. But it was chance that determined the course that he was next to steer. The Herstal treaty, which confirmed his second diplomatic victory, was signed on October 20th. Six days later a swift courier brought to Rheinsberg the news that on that same day the Emperor, Charles VI., had died. Frederick lay ill of fever. He defied his doctors, took quinine, and was well. He sent for89 his cautious minister Podewils and for the dauntless soldier Schwerin, and wrote to Voltaire:

    “The least expected event in the world forbids me this time to open my soul to yours as is my wont.... I believe that in June it will be powder, soldiers and trenches rather than actresses, ballets and theatres.... This is the moment of the entire transformation of the old system of politics: the stone is loosed which Nebuchadnezzar beheld when it rolled upon the image of four metals and destroyed it.”

Two days later he expressed himself with still greater confidence: “I am not going to Berlin, a trifle like the Emperor’s death does not demand great commotions. All was foreseen, all was thought out in advance. So it is only a question of carrying out designs which I have long had in my mind.”

These designs were, in brief, so to use the political situation created by the death of Charles VI. as to add to Prussia the whole, or at least the north-western part, of the Hapsburg province of Silesia—the fertile basin of the upper Oder. In conception and in execution the idea was Frederick’s own. It is the pediment of his fame as a hero of his nation. All the world knows that the capture of Silesia converted Frederick the Second into Frederick the Great. It is therefore imperative that at this point, with judgment unclouded by the smoke of battle and the incense of victory, we should address ourselves to the double enquiry, Was it necessary? and Was it right? postponing but not evading the further question, Was it wise?

90

THE RATHHAUS IN BRESLAU.

FROM A STEEL ENGRAVING.

The plea that Silesia was necessary to Prussia, that the existence of Prussia could only be prolonged or her people safeguarded or fed if Silesia were hers, may be dismissed at once. Necessity is the usual pillar of a claim to extend the area of dominion over lands lately rescued from barbarism. The Law of Nations declares that, when under such conditions two civilised states desire the same territory, one may further its claim by showing that without this addition the territory which it already has would be rendered worthless. But what might give a good title to Fashoda would be absurd if applied to Breslau. Frederick had himself investigated the subject nine years before when studying under Hille at Cüstrin. He then concluded that Silesia did Prussia commercial injury by exporting to her goods at lower rates than the merchants of Brandenburg could afford to take. This state of things, he and Hille thought, demanded a protective tariff. It could not by any stretch of imagination dictate or justify the annexation of a province. Nor from a military point of view was there imperative necessity for acquiring Silesia. It was no doubt desirable for Prussia that she should avert future danger by thrusting a wedge between Saxony and Poland, and that more than one-fifth of the road from Vienna to Berlin, by way of Breslau, should be in Prussian hands. But no Prussian could maintain in 1740 that if Glogau and Breslau remained Austrian his state would be imperilled in the same sense as the German Empire would have been imperilled if Metz and Strasburg had remained French in 1871, or as the British Empire91 would be imperilled to-day if Pretoria and Johannesburg were still in hostile hands. The plea of hereditary right, not that of necessity, was put forward by Frederick as the basis of his claims. In 1740 the latter would have seemed equally absurd in law and in fact.

The second question, Was it right for Prussia to attempt to acquire Silesia for her own profit? may seem to have little claim to discussion by Frederick’s biographers, because considerations of right and wrong counted for little with Frederick himself. There seems to be no evidence that Frederick either in his public or private life practised the stale hypocrisies of truth and morality. What it seemed to him profitable to do, that he did; what it seemed to him profitable to say, that he said. “If there is anything to be gained by being honest, let us be honest; if it is necessary to deceive, let us deceive,” are his own words. In the case of Silesia, his avowal to Podewils, who urged that some legal claim could be furbished up, is sufficiently explicit. On November 7th the King writes: “The question of right (droit) is the affair of the ministers; it is your affair; it is time to work at it in secret, for the orders to the troops are given.” Two days later he received the news of the death of the Empress of Russia, which was worth more to him than a thousand title-deeds. Russia had no clear rule of succession, and usually fell into anarchy at the demise of the Crown. Frederick could therefore strike southward with confidence that his flank was safe.

The question, Was it right? has, however, a deeper92 historical interest than that involved in the biography of a king of Prussia. Frederick’s indifference to all right renders it unnecessary to reflect in his case upon the spectacle of a good man cheerfully doing evil in the service of the State—of Sir Henry Wotton setting out with a jest “to lie abroad,” or of Cavour exclaiming, “If we did for ourselves what we do for Italy, what scoundrels we should be!” But it is to be borne in mind that in 1740 it was impossible to lay down with certainty the duty of a state towards its neighbours. The standard of right and wrong for states in their dealings with one another was not yet fixed. Nearly a quarter of a century later it was possible for Frederick to write, “The jurisprudence of sovereigns is commonly the right of the stronger.” But Maria Theresa was taught that sovereigns must rule their peoples as branches of one Christian family.

Hitherto the old idea that a state was the property—the estate—of the king had not lost all its influence. Even in England, which was already the leader of the world in politics, the dynasty elected by the nation had great weight in determining foreign policy. Without the knowledge of any Englishman, William III. had committed England to the partition of Spain, and in defiance of most Englishmen George II. was soon to commit her to the defence of the Pragmatic Sanction. But if England was not yet wholly free from the ancient notion, much more did Austria and Prussia, bundles of Hapsburg and Hohenzollern lands, resemble the estates of their rulers.

From this two consequences followed, vital in that day, almost incomprehensible in ours. It was, in the93 first place, a maxim universally accepted among the rulers of the Continent that the inhabitants of a province had little or no share in choosing their overlord. They might possess rights, even the right not to be divided between several lords, but they could be sold or exchanged or given away by one overlord to another without their own desire or even consent. This maxim was accepted to the full by both Hapsburgs and Hohenzollerns, whose fortunes had been made by the union of family estates, and who never hesitated to barter those estates to advance their own fortunes. Thus the fact that a province would be happier under an overlord who professed the same religion with itself would, according to the ideas prevalent in 1740, afford no good reason for change. Religious oppression by a ruler, it was universally admitted, entitled other rulers to interfere. But religious differences between ruler and ruled gave no such right.

In so far, then, as States still resembled estates, the relations between them varied according to the personal character of their kings and princes. The nation ruled by an honourable king observed its engagement strictly, at whatever inconvenience to itself. If a State evaded its engagements the king’s honour was held to have been tarnished. Unfortunately for Europe, this theory had been shaken, if not shattered, by the reign of Louis XIV. The Apollo of France, the cynosure of the Christian world, the king who was the very fount of honour and in person the very pattern of chivalry, had in his dealings with the Dutch and the Germans shown himself a94 kinsman of Machiavelli and of Bismarck. His conspicuous severance of political from personal morality shook the faith of the world, and in the corrupt generation which followed Louis XIV. and nurtured Frederick even the standard of personal morality sank low.

At the death of Charles VI., therefore, men were perplexed about the source of law as between State and State. It seemed no longer sufficient to trust in princes, and yet what new code could be set up? Frederick’s attack upon Silesia struck a deadly blow at the remnant of the old system. His whole career was to influence the new profoundly.

In answer to our two first questions it would therefore appear that the attack upon Silesia was not dictated to Frederick by hard necessity, and that, tried by the old standard of honour between princes, it was clearly wrong. The third question—Was it wise?—is of a different order, for it is far from certain that the wisdom or folly of Frederick’s act has been sufficiently tested by time. A safe step towards the truth, indeed, is to examine the international situation and calculate Frederick’s chances of success, as a statesman would compute them from the facts which lay before him in 1740. First of all, however, we must account for the fact that Frederick, who was only the third Hohenzollern to wear a crown, found himself in a position to assail the dynasty which had held for centuries the foremost place in Germany.

The House of Hapsburg, perhaps to a greater extent than any other of the ruling families in Europe, lay under the spell of its own past. This was due in95 part to its native pride and sluggish blood, in part to its long association with the oldest and most dignified institution of the Christian world—the Holy Roman Empire. From 1438 onwards the descendants of Rudolf of Hapsburg had been chosen in unbroken sequence to fill the office which entitled its possessor to style himself Lord of the World. The radiance of old Rome had gilded Vienna for so long a time that it seemed to have transfigured the race that reigned there. Thus the Hapsburgs grew proud with a pride which no other House could rival, and no Hapsburg was prouder than Charles VI., the Anglo-Austrian candidate in the War of the Spanish Succession. His pride was fatal, for it banished him from the world of fact. He could never comprehend how Europe could leave off fighting to make him King of Spain, nor how the King of Prussia, who served him with towel and basin as Grand Chamberlain of the Empire, could cherish aims and aspirations which conflicted with his own. Pompous ceremonies and parchments made up so large a part of his own life that he came to believe that they expressed realities. Hence he made the cardinal error of his life. He committed the future of his House to the Pragmatic Sanction. Domestic economy was beneath his notice. While Frederick William was crying out because his son’s tutors permitted an item “for the housemaids at Wusterhausen,” to appear in the accounts, dishonest stewards were debiting the Emperor with twelve buckets of the best wine for the Emperor’s bath and two casks of old Tokay for Her Majesty’s parrots. When96 Charles VI. died the treasury was almost empty; the army seemed to have passed away with Prince Eugene; the ministers were blunderers of seventy and the sovereign a woman of twenty-three.

Maria Theresa had, however, much in her favour. Though untried in affairs of State, it was certain that her birth, her beauty, her piety, her courage, her wifely devotion, and her unfailing goodness of heart would win the affection of her subjects. And the realm of the Hapsburgs needed only loyalty to be strong. Its broad and smiling provinces could furnish inexhaustible supplies of men and food, and the rank and file had proved their courage in a hundred wars. Besides, after all the trouble and sacrifices of Charles VI., in what quarter could immediate danger arise? The rulers of Bavaria, Saxony, Spain, and Sardinia had each a claim to some part of his inheritance, but they could each and all be confuted or bought off. A miscellaneous empire like that of the Hapsburgs could never be wholly free from such disputes. What might well give confidence for the future was the fact that France, so long the moving spirit of Europe and the implacable foe of Austria, had in 1738 given to the Pragmatic Sanction the most ample guarantee that the wit of man could devise. What her king had then undertaken, her all-powerful minister had lately confirmed. In January, Fleury had written to the Emperor:

    “The King will observe with the most exact and inviolable fidelity the engagements which he has made with you, and if I may speak of myself after a name so97 worthy, I venture to flatter myself that my pacific intentions are well enough known for it to be supposed that I am very far from thinking of setting Europe on fire.”

Both King and Cardinal were sincere, and the best proofs of their sincerity were the signs of coming strife between them and England. It was clearly to the interest of France that they should keep their pledge.

If she had nothing to fear from France, Maria Theresa had everything to hope from Prussia. It is hardly necessary to say that Frederick William, the devoted vassal of the Emperor, had been among the first to guarantee the Pragmatic Sanction. His son, so Austrian statesmen might argue, had to thank the Emperor for protection when he lay in prison, for secret supplies of money, for experience in the field, above all for admission by way of marriage to the outer circle of the Imperial family itself. Now he expressed himself in terms which convinced the consort of the Queen, Francis of Lorraine, that his attitude towards the young couple was that of a father. Francis even flattered himself with expectations of Prussian support in his candidature for the office of Emperor. Although the Austrian resident at Berlin wrote towards the end of October, 1740, that the gossips spoke of dangerous designs upon a portion of Silesia, and although, on November 19th, Maria Theresa gave utterance to a fear that the price of Prussian protection would be a slice of her hereditary dominions, still no one at Vienna had the least suspicion of the blow that Frederick was preparing.

98 What was hidden from the victims was hidden also from Europe and from Berlin. Till the end of November, the only clear fact was that Prussia was arming fast. Envoys besieged Podewils and the King, and even Voltaire journeyed to Rheinsberg in the hope of piercing the veil. All their efforts were vain. The conviction that Silesia was in danger gathered strength, but no one could be sure that Frederick would move at all, or that if he moved it would not be towards the Rhine. He astutely feinted in the direction of Berg by strengthening the garrisons in Cleves and repairing the roads to the West. At the same time he toiled hard to baffle official curiosity at home and abroad and to feel the pulses of the Powers, especially that of France. Wilhelmina, who saw her brother revelling in the social pleasures of Rheinsberg, had no idea of what was in the wind.

At last, when secrecy was no longer profitable, the King’s design was allowed to appear. On November 29th, the English ambassador wrote from Berlin that the project of invading Silesia was as good as avowed. Frederick had yet to meet and to brave the Marquis di Botta, who came from Vienna on a special mission to the Prussian Court and encountered the stream of troops flowing towards Silesia. At their meeting the King dropped the mask of friendship. “I am resolved,” he said in effect, “to safeguard my rights over parts of Silesia by occupying it. Yield it to me and I will support the throne of Maria Theresa and procure the imperial crown for her husband.” “Impossible for us,” urged the99 Austrian, “and for you, criminal in the eyes of all Europe.” Argument was plainly futile, and both fell to threats. “The Prussian troops make a handsomer show than the Austrian,” said Botta, “but ours have smelt powder.” “The Prussian troops will prove themselves as brave as they are handsome,” replied the King. Three days later, on December 12th, he attended a masquerade in the apartments of the Queen, questioned the French ambassador with regard to the disposition of Fleury, and afterwards supped in public. To the last moment the routine of pleasure was performed.

Next morning Frederick set out for Silesia. He had first to shake off two lads of fourteen and ten, his brothers Henry and Ferdinand, the youngest colonels in his army, who seized the skirts of his coat and begged him to take them to the war. A day’s drive brought him to Frankfurt-on-Oder, and between Frankfurt and the frontier of Silesia was encamped an army of 19,000 men with seventy-four guns. The heart of the despot not yet twenty-nine years old beat high with lust of adventure and with confidence of success. On the evening of December 16th, he wrote to Podewils from Silesian soil:

    “I have crossed the Rubicon with waving banners and resounding music; my troops are full of good-will, the officers ambitious and our generals consumed with greed for fame; all will go as we wish and I have reason to promise myself all possible good from this undertaking.... I will either perish or have honour from it.”

Frederick’s next step was to issue to the world100 a document, of which one thousand copies had been printed in deepest secrecy exactly a month before. This was designed to reassure the people of Silesia as to the intentions of the King of Prussia. It was dated December 1st and gave out that a general war was threatening, in which Silesia, “our safeguard and outwork,” would be involved and the security of Prussia threatened. To avert this peril the King saw himself compelled to despatch troops to Silesia.

    “This is by no means intended to injure Her Majesty of Hungary, with whom and with the worshipful House of Austria we rather most eagerly desire to maintain the strictest friendship and to promote their true interest and maintenance according to the example of our glorious forefathers in our realm and electorate. That such is our sole intention in this affair, time will show clearly enough, for we are actually in course of explanation and agreement with Her Majesty.”

Commentary on this profession, if not sufficiently supplied by Frederick’s interviews with Botta, was afforded two days after his entry into Silesia. Then for the first time a Prussian representative, Borcke, informed the rulers of Austria of his master’s proceedings. Shamefaced and without hope of success, he began the unwelcome task by offering to the Archduke Francis his master’s guarantee for the Hapsburg lands in Germany, a place in the Prussian alliance with England, Holland, and Russia, his vote at the Imperial election, and a loan of two million florins. Then he named the price—the cession of all Silesia. “Rather the Turks before Vienna,” cried101 the Archduke, “rather the Netherlands to France, rather any concession to Bavaria and Saxony.” And when he grew calmer and spoke of negotiation, the door opened and Maria Theresa asked whether her husband was there.

Next day the subject was broached anew by a more Olympian plenipotentiary, Oberhofmarschall Gotter, who had arrived after Borcke’s message was made known. He found Vienna stirred to its depths and the English ambassador declaring that if such a thing were done Frederick would be excommunicated from the society of Governments. None the less he took the high tone and strove to intimidate the pliable Archduke.

    “‘I bear,’ he said, ‘in one hand safety for the House of Austria and in the other, for Your Highness, the Imperial crown. The treasures of the King my master are at the service of the Queen, and he brings her the succour of his allies, England, Holland and Russia. As a return for these offers and as compensation for the peril which he incurs by them, he asks for all Silesia, and will take no less. The King’s resolve is immovable. He has the will and the power to possess himself of Silesia, and if it be not offered to him with a good grace these same troops and treasures will be given to Saxony and Bavaria, who are asking for them.’”

Gotter’s words seem to strike the keynote of the Silesian adventure. His silence as to legal claim throws into strange relief the preposterous character of the moral claim which he advances. Saxony and Bavaria had made no overtures to Frederick, and102 Frederick, as soon became apparent, was willing to accept much less than the whole of Silesia. The spirit of Maria Theresa breathed in the calm and dignified reply of the Archduke. Her high-minded confidence in Providence, her allies, her people, and herself blunted all the weapons of Prussia—the threats and cajolings addressed to the sovereign and the three hundred thousand thalers offered to the ministers. Austria declared that the invasion must cease or she would not even negotiate. Thereupon Gotter and Borcke joined their voices to the loud and unceasing chorus of remonstrance with which Prussia and Europe assailed the ears of Frederick in vain.

The young King’s firmness may be ascribed in part to an overweening confidence in his own talents and in part to the favourable progress of his enterprise. He knew himself to be a cleverer man than his father and he had boundless faith in prompt and decided action. His success in the affairs of Mainz and Herstal could not but have augmented his self-esteem. The sight of the well-found and eager army which a word from him had assembled filled him with a sense of omnipotence. He declared that it must not be said that the King of Prussia marched with a tutor at his elbow. The minister of France, who admitted his great power of becoming what he wished, smiled maliciously at what he wished to become.

    “Fully convinced of his superiority in every department, he already thinks himself a clever statesman and a great general. Alert and masterful, he always decides103 upon the spot and according to his own fancy. His generals will never be anything but adjutants, his councillors anything but clerks, his finance-ministers anything but tax-gatherers, his allies among the German princes anything but his slaves.”

Frederick’s whole career is a vindication of this estimate.

Already, both in Silesia and in Europe, good progress had been made. No Austrian armies disputed Frederick’s advance, for Charles VI’s grandiose projects had denuded his home provinces of troops. The natural defences of Silesia, too, were all on the wrong side. Mountains formidable though by no means impassable screened it from loyal Bohemia and loyal Moravia, and thus blocked the direct paths to Vienna. Only a few hills and streams barred an attack from the side of Saxony and no natural obstacle intervened between Breslau and Berlin. The strong portal looking towards Prussia was Glogau, which closed the Oder, the great natural highway of Silesia. Breslau, the capital, a city which Frederick could praise as the finest in Germany, was too big to be a fortress by nature and too independent to be made one by art. In the main Protestant, and therefore ill-disposed towards Austrian rule, it stood firmly upon its right to provide for its own defence and refused to receive a garrison. Glogau was therefore the only formidable fortress in Lower Silesia, the half of Silesia where Protestant feeling was strongest and which was most exposed to the Prussian invasion. The south-eastern half, Upper Silesia, contained two other strong places of104 high importance—Brieg, which commanded the upper Oder, and Neisse, which secured the backdoor of the province towards Austria. But Glogau, Brieg, and Neisse were all ill-supplied and undermanned. Without a field army to use them as bases and supports they could not oppose a serious obstacle to the army of the King.

THE BOARD OF FINANCES AT NEISSE.

FROM A STEEL ENGRAVING.

Frederick’s worst foe, indeed, was the weather, which tested the endurance of the Prussians and found it great. Torrents of rain fell from the eighteenth of December to the twentieth.

    “Waters all out,” says Carlyle of the latter day, “bridges down, the country one wild lake of eddying mud. Up to the knee for many miles together; up to the middle for long spaces; sometimes even up to the chin or deeper, where your bridge was washed away. The Prussians marched through it, as if they had been slate or iron.... Ten hours some of them were out, their march being twenty or twenty-five miles; ten to fifteen was the average distance come.”

Their unshaken discipline was the trophy of Frederick William and the best omen for the adventure of his son. On December 22d he knocked at the door of Silesia and was not dismayed at finding it shut. Wallis, the Governor of the province, had thrown himself into Glogau, had worked manfully to make it defensible, and now stood firm. Without siege-guns Frederick could hardly hope to take the place, and for a few days his own command was brought to a standstill. He summoned the reserve under the younger Prince of Anhalt-Dessau to join him at105 Glogau and used the delay to organise a system by which Silesia should feed his troops for the future, but should feed them with the minimum of inconvenience and waste. Meanwhile the enterprise continued to be fortunate. On December 27th Schwerin and the right wing surprised Liegnitz, an industrial town within sight of the western wall of mountains, and on the same day the Young Dessauer brought the reserve to Glogau and set Frederick free. “Thou wilt shortly see Silesia ranked in the list of our provinces,” wrote the King. “Religion and our brave soldiers will do the rest.”

In Silesia and in Europe alike the philosopher-king counted much on religion. He cheerfully accepted the r?le of Protestant hero assigned him by the people, first of Berlin, then of Silesia, and finally of England. Never was this r?le more serviceable than in his dealings with Breslau. Leaving the Young Dessauer to blockade Glogau, he pressed on to the capital and, aided by the frost, accomplished the journey of seventy miles in three days. Much display of friendship and a little sharp practice sufficed to win the city, and Frederick, gracious and debonair, entered it in great state. Thus in three weeks from his departure from Berlin the King destroyed the Austrian civil government of Silesia. Half the province lay almost passive in his grasp, and he had secured a base for the conquest of the other half.

The remainder of the month of January, 1741, was spent in pressing home the advantage already won. The smaller towns, Ohlau, which would be useful as106 a base till Brieg could be acquired, Ottmachau, and Namslau, capitulated one by one. It was true that the activity of the young Austrian general, Browne, produced an ever-increasing disposition to resist, and that Glatz, hedged in by hills, defied the besiegers. But the area under Prussian control was steadily increased. Brieg was masked as Glogau had been, and Neisse, after a futile bombardment of four days, was treated in the same way. Schwerin was set free to drive Browne through the mountains into Moravia and to lead the army into winter quarters. On the 29th of January, Frederick returned to Berlin and plunged with zest into the whirlpool of diplomacy which had been stirred to its depths by his adventure.

Great as was his trust in resolute action and in accomplished facts, he could not disguise from himself the truth that on one side his calculations had broken down. Austria, inspired by a Queen whose high soul it was not in Frederick’s power to measure, was not one whit nearer to compliance with his demands. Russia, as he foresaw, was likely to do little to help her, but the action of the Western Powers was less easy to calculate. Frederick felt sure of one thing above all else—that under no circumstances would France and England be on the same side. He therefore devoted himself to the task of winning the alliance of one and the neutrality of the other.

Frederick’s simultaneous courtship of two Powers whose latent enmity to each other was beginning to reappear throws valuable light on his diplomatic methods and upon his regard for the truth.

107

    “A veracious man he was, at all points,” says Frederick’s greatest biographer; “not even conscious of his veracity; but had it in the blood of him; and never looked upon ‘mendacity’ but from a very great height indeed. He does not, except where suitable, at least he never should, express his whole meaning, but you will never find him expressing what is not his meaning. Reticence, not dissimulation.... Facts are a kind of divine thing to Frederick; much more so than to common men; this is essentially what Religion I have found in Frederick.”

By his verdict that Frederick was a “veracious” man and his seizure of Silesia a righteous act, Carlyle robs the story of his life of half its value. The plain meaning of the facts which he adduces seems to be that he was an astute man, careless of truth and right. Hence we may enquire with keen interest, How far can such means lead to lasting success? In deference to a great name, however, two of Frederick’s letters may be placed side by side. It will then be unnecessary to recur to this ungracious topic. From this time forward it will be assumed that the reader has formed his own opinion of Frederick’s truthfulness.

So soon as he realised that his negotiation with Austria might break down, Frederick turned to France. On January 5, 1741, he wrote to Fleury from Breslau:

    “My dear Cardinal, I am deeply impressed by all the assurances of friendship which you give me and I will always reply to them with the same sincerity. It depends only upon you, by favouring the justice of my title108 to Silesia, to make eternal the bonds which will unite us. If I did not make you a sharer in my plans at first it was through forgetfulness rather than for any other reason. It is not everyone who is as unfettered amid his work as yourself, and to Cardinal Fleury alone is it granted to think of and to provide for everything.”

And in sending the letter he added:

    “I ask nothing better than a close union with His Most Christian Majesty, whose interests will always be dear to me, and I flatter myself that he will have no less regard for mine.”

At the same time he was making proposals for a close union with the natural enemy of France. In the same month, January, 1741, he addressed the following sentences to George II.:

    “My Brother! I am delighted to see that I have not deceived myself in placing confidence in Your Majesty.

    “As I have had no alliance with anyone I have not been able to open my mind to anyone; but as I see Your Majesty’s good intentions I regard you as already my ally, from whom I ought in future to have nothing secret or concealed. Far from desiring to disturb Europe, I demand only that heed be paid to the justice of my uncontestable rights. I place unbounded confidence in Your Majesty’s friendship and in the common interests of Protestant princes, which require that those oppressed for their religion should be succoured. The tyranny under which the Silesians have groaned is frightful, and the barbarity of the Catholics towards them inexpressible. If the Protestants lose me they have no other resort.

    109 “If Your Majesty desires to attach to yourself a faithful ally of inviolable constancy, this is the time: our interests, our religion, our blood is the same, and it would be sad to see ourselves acting against each other: it would be still more grievous to oblige me to concur in the great plans of France, which I intend to do only if I am compelled.”

The question of alliances was still unsettled on February 19th, when Frederick again left Berlin for the scene of war. Prussia might be doomed to act alone; her safety lay in her own right hand. New armies were set on foot, but a skirmish at Baumgarten, in which he narrowly escaped capture, proved to Frederick that the Austrians were moving and that his own troops were not all that could be desired. Nor was the Prussian strategy above criticism. The Old Dessauer, the father of the army, held up his hands in horror at the dispositions of Schwerin. Weak detachments were cantoned everywhere and the mountain-passes not secured, although Neisse, Brieg, and Glogau were still Austrian, and the Prussians would be at the mercy of an army entering Silesia from the Bohemian side.

But soon the King’s spirits, which had been depressed by the danger of a European coalition against him, were raised and the military situation greatly improved by a brilliant feat of the Young Dessauer. Glogau, Frederick had been pleased to decree, must be taken. At midnight on March 8th-9th, therefore, a combined assault was made with that perfect organisation and cool courage which110 already distinguished the Prussian infantry. In an hour the work was done, at a speed which made the loss on each side the merest trifle. Frederick could congratulate his lieutenant on “the prettiest military stroke that has been done in this century,” and himself on the acquisition of an open highroad to Breslau. The capital now became a safe central storehouse for the Prussians, and its value as a base of operations was greatly enhanced by the gain of control over the Oder. So far as Glogau itself was concerned, it may be convenient to remark that the work had never to be done a second time. In a wall near the northern portal may be seen a stone inscribed F. R. 1741—a token of Prussian sovereignty which from that day to this has suffered no erasure.

The next task was to secure Neisse, the Glogau of Upper Silesia. The problem was complicated by the fact that the Austrians had succeeded in flinging a thousand men into the fortress, and that a relieving army under Marshal Neipperg was known to be on its way from Vienna. Frederick therefore determined to turn the blockade into an active siege, while one covering army was established to the westward., and Schwerin received orders to concentrate another to the south-east. The detachments were being called in for this purpose when the King had to acknowledge a surprise which led to the first pitched battle of the war and which might have ruined his whole enterprise. While Schwerin was carefully shutting the south-eastern gate of Silesia in Neipperg’s face, the marshal passed him on his right111 and, by a creditable march over roads supposed to be impracticable, arrived at Neisse on April 5th. The advantage of this bold move was soon apparent. Frederick and Schwerin, who had been within an ace of capture, were also marching northwards, but they were separated from their friends by the river Neisse and by a superior force of the enemy. Neipperg was strong in cavalry and longed to follow up his advantage by crushing the Prussians in detail.

Frederick was saved, however, by Neipperg’s ignorance of the strength and position of his foes. With a force of less than sixteen thousand men, the marshal’s plain duty was to use his temporary superiority in numbers by meeting the enemy in the field and striving to destroy him. Failing in this, he might make for Ohlau and the magazine. But after crossing the Neisse, he lost touch with Frederick’s force and believed himself to be between hostile armies on the north and south-east. Snow and rain hampered his movements and chilled his men. He therefore abandoned the initiative, and on April 9th sat down within sight of friendly Brieg to await events. He was right in supposing that a Prussian force lay to the south-east of him. It was the army of Frederick and Schwerin, which had received reinforcements from all sides. It was three times as strong as he believed it could be, and it was within five miles of his camp. He was wrong, however, in supposing that a stronger force lay to the north in Ohlau. Ohlau was weak and Frederick was hastening thither to save his heavy artillery and magazine. Neipperg lay right across his path and112 a battle was inevitable. It would soon be proved whether the Prussian troops were indeed as brave as they were handsome, or whether Europe was right in thinking that Prussia would pay dear for the presumption of her King.

Frederick realised the importance of the crisis. For two days, it is said, he could neither eat nor sleep. On April 8th he wrote to his brother and heir, Prince Augustus William, bidding him farewell if the next day should be his last. In that event he commended to his care four of his friends, “those whom in life I have loved the most,” as well as two of his servants. The next day, however, proved tempestuous and the Prussian attack was postponed till April 10th. Then the morning sun shone out upon a plain hardened by frost and covered to a depth of two feet with snow. The Prussian baggage was packed at five o’clock, and by nine the whole force had silently taken rank. An hour later, the march northward began, the army pressing slowly through the snow towards Ohlau, and feeling for the enemy who lay across their path. At last the vanguard surprised an Austrian outpost, captured twenty men, and learned that Neipperg lay encamped in and about Mollwitz, a village less than two miles ahead.

How twenty-two thousand men could have approached so close to the enemy unperceived, it is hard to understand. Neipperg, it is true, did not expect to be attacked. There was some screen of woods between the Prussians and Mollwitz, and the country-folk were Protestants who volunteered113 information only to the Prussians. But the day was clear and the scene as flat as the parade-ground at Potsdam; the Austrians were particularly well supplied with scouts and their general’s avowed plan was to shape his course according to the movements of his opponents. None the less it was in fact not till after ten o’clock that he received the alarm, and by that time the Prussians were methodically ranking themselves for battle. Had the same opportunity come to Frederick later in life, he would, as he himself declares, have flung troops upon Mollwitz and the neighbouring villages and put the Austrians to flight before they could form. But in this first fight every traditional precaution was carefully observed, “the faithful apprentice-hand,” says Carlyle, “still rigorous to the rules of the old shop.”

While Neipperg was bustling and hurrying to collect his army from three villages and to draw it up in front of Mollwitz, the Prussians were man?uvring into place as though they were on parade. Two long lines were formed across the plain. These were three hundred paces apart, so that if the front were pierced, which was hardly supposed possible, the rear could fire their flintlocks without massacring their comrades. Heavy guns to the front, cavalry on the wings, were the orders, and, as the enemy were superior in cavalry, Frederick copied an expedient of the great Gustavus by placing two regiments of grenadiers between the squadrons of horse on either wing. At length all was ready, and at midday the Prussian cannonade began, galling the114 Austrian cavalry and as yet unanswerable by the Austrian guns.

Neipperg had ordered the cavalry to wait till a general advance could be made. But the left wing, refusing to be shot down like dogs, suddenly defied their officers and dashed at the Prussian right. They lost all formation, but they found a foe unschooled in their tactics. First pistol-shot, then a stroke with a sabre as sharp as a razor right at the head of the enemy’s horse, finally, as horse and man went down, a thrust from the rear at the rider—such an attack was beyond the experience of the Prussian cavalry, and they could not stand against it. As often as Austrian horse met Prussian on the day of Mollwitz they gained an easy victory. They captured some of the guns, plundered the baggage, tore several gaps in the line, and drove the King himself in headlong flight from his first battle.
PLAN OF MOLWITZ, APRIL 10, 1741.

For some time Frederick was driven helplessly here and there amid his ruined cavalry in a fight which was unlike anything that he had ever seen and which he was impotent to control. His generals begged him to quit the field. To his inexperienced eye all seemed lost, and at last Schwerin confirmed his fears. “There is still hope,” said this tried captain to his sovereign, “but in case of the worst it would be well if your Majesty in person would bring troops from Ohlau and Strehlen.” Bewildered and despairing, the King turned his back on the wreck of all his hopes and fled far to the south-east. Distancing many of his attendants in a swift ride of more than thirty miles, he arrived at Oppeln on the115 Oder, only to be repulsed by the unexpected fire of a party of Austrian hussars who had seized the town and who captured some of his worse-mounted companions. To this check, for he then doubled back towards his army, he owed the fact that at the close of a ride of nearly fifty miles he received the news of victory without delay.

When Frederick left the field it was about four o’clock. The havoc in the Prussian ranks had been wrought by unsupported charges of horse. Schwerin could still count upon his infantry, which in the midst of the whirlwind had stood firm as a rock and by sheer steadiness and speed of firing had tumbled masses of cavalry into ruin. His first act was to send to the Young Dessauer, who commanded the second line, an exhortation to do his duty and to keep his men from firing volleys into the backs of their comrades. The Young Dessauer, who hated Schwerin, replied that he needed no judge save the King and that he would do his duty without any reminders.

After this exchange of courtesies, Schwerin braced himself to the task of retrieving the day. He assured his infantry that the King was well, that no battle could be won or lost by cavalry alone, and that he placed his trust in them. He then ordered his right wing forward against the Austrian infantry. These were raw levies and gave signs of unsteadiness before the Prussians came within range. Range, in days of weak powder and clumsy muskets, was some forty-five paces, and the sight of the enemy bearing down upon them, shoulder to shoulder, was too much116 for undisciplined men to face. Neipperg drew supports from his right, but even his victorious cavalry soon refused to face the fire which was poured in by men perfectly trained and furnished with the iron ramrods invented by the Old Dessauer. The Austrian infantry, which was able at the best to fire less than half as fast as the enemy, hid trembling one behind another and tried to endure a torment to which they could not reply. As the sun was sinking Schwerin pressed his advantage home. With sounding music and waving banners, in irresistible advance, the Prussian left swept down upon the weakened Austrian right. Neipperg saw that the battle was lost. He retreated first behind Mollwitz then, seeing that his men would not stand, round the Prussian left and eventually to Neisse.

Except that his magazine was saved and that he was soon able to capture Brieg, Frederick derived little immediate military advantage from what he describes as “one of the rudest battles fought within the memory of man.” The chief profit of Neipperg’s march had evaporated before the battle, at the moment when Frederick and Schwerin became superior in numbers. In spite of Mollwitz the Austrian army remained on Silesian soil, and it was better placed near Neisse than near Brieg. In killed and wounded each side had lost about 4500 men, nearly one-fourth of the combatants engaged. And in spite of Frederick’s hoarded millions and well-filled regiments, it was clear that, if the contest were to remain a duel between himself and Maria Theresa alone, the size and natural wealth of Austria must117 tell in the long run. After Mollwitz, Frederick would still have been glad to accept Lower Silesia as the price of his alliance with Austria and a contribution to her exchequer.

Prussia’s greatest gain from Mollwitz was increase of prestige. Though her cavalry did not regain their nerve for many a day, her infantry, the backbone of the army, had proved that it was indeed as brave as it was handsome. Frederick never alluded to his own departure from the field. In later life he accustomed himself to inaugurate the Prussian military year by celebrating the anniversary of the triumph which he had not seen. Every fifth of April the Guards were twice ordered to the charge and dismissed with the words, “Thus did your forefathers at Mollwitz.” The traditional Austrian contempt for Prussia had received its first signal rebuke. The story survives among the villagers of Mollwitz that when the call to arms disturbed one of Neipperg’s officers at dinner he called to the landlord to keep the dishes hot. “We will come back soon,” he promised, “but we have to go and dust the Prussians’ jackets for them.”

Victory in the field reconciled Prussian opinion to Frederick’s Silesian adventure, but this was a small gain in comparison with its effect on opinion in Europe, especially in France. At the Court of Louis XV. the party opposed to Fleury and to peace had been gathering strength day by day. Hot-headed men and women, blind to the true interests of their country, could see in Austria only the hereditary enemy from whom lands and laurels were to be won.118 Chief among them was Marshal Belleisle, a man who conceived great schemes and advocated them with eloquence and charm. His plan was that France should ally herself with Prussia, procure the Imperial crown for Charles Albert of Bavaria, and, in spite of all her pledges to support the Pragmatic Sanction, endow both the Bavarian and Saxon claimants with Austrian lands. Having thus humbled Austria and made the fortunes of Austria’s rivals, France might gain the Netherlands and Luxemburg for herself and dictate to a divided Germany for ever.

Before Mollwitz, Belleisle had progressed with this policy so far as to be entrusted with a mission to the Diet which assembled at Frankfort to elect an Emperor. Frederick’s victory encouraged all the enemies of the Hapsburgs and thus lightened the task of Belleisle. In May, 1741, Charles Albert accepted the r?le marked out for him, and early next month the King of Prussia, despairing of an alliance with England, came to terms with France. By a treaty signed at Breslau in the deepest secrecy, he agreed to renounce his claims to Jülich-Berg, and undertook to vote for Charles Albert at the Diet. France in return guaranteed him in the possession of Lower Silesia, and undertook to safeguard Prussia by sending an army to support Charles Albert within two months and by stirring up Sweden to make war on Russia. The coalition against Austria gathered strength as it proceeded, and with the exception of the English and the Dutch no nation hesitated to desert the Pragmatic Sanction.

The idea with which Frederick began the Silesian119 adventure was at length realised. He had, as he anticipated, stirred up general confusion, amid which the strong man who knew his own mind could hardly fail to carry off some spoils. To France, as the moving spirit, he was all gratitude and devotion. But his real design henceforward was to leave his confederates to subdue Austria, while he himself devoted all his powers to grasping what Prussia could hope to retain. What he gained from Belleisle’s work was made manifest in the summer and autumn of 1741. While the Bavarians and French were advancing in triumph down the Danube towards Vienna, the Austrians could take no thought for Silesia. Frederick, therefore, had leisure to train his cavalry and consolidate his conquest. He treacherously destroyed the municipal independence of Breslau, which he had bound himself to preserve, but did little actual fighting. Neisse, protected by Neipperg’s army, seemed still too strong to be attacked.

Meanwhile the extreme peril of Maria Theresa’s throne forced the Queen to make trial of desperate remedies. By throwing herself upon the generosity of the Hungarians, the traditional rebels against her House, she more than doubled the force at her disposal. Her endeavour to purchase France was futile, but a hint from Frederick was now enough to inaugurate negotiations with Prussia. Early in October these issued in the famous convention of Klein Schnellendorf. In deep secrecy, for Fleury had written that the King of Prussia was false in everything, even in his caresses, and the French ambassador kept a watchful eye upon his movements,120 Frederick met Neipperg at a castle in the neighbourhood of Neisse. Each was accompanied by one companion, while the English ambassador, Lord Hyndford, who had arranged the interview, acted as clerk and witness. There Frederick, who had just written to Belleisle a letter full of encouragement, sold his allies for his own profit. It was agreed that after a sham siege of Neisse the Austrians should evacuate Silesia, and that Prussia should become neutral in fact though not in show. To Neipperg, whose army would now be free to act against the French in Bohemia, Frederick gave wise counsel for the campaign. “Unite all your troops, then strike home before they can strike you.” If the Austrians should succeed, Frederick might join them; if not, he would be compelled to look to himself. To deceive the French, the English ambassador was to report him as deaf to all propositions. If any word of the convention got abroad, the King declared he would deny all and regard all as void.

This conspiracy against Frederick’s allies was punctiliously carried into effect so long as it was profitable to Prussia. For fifteen days Neisse submitted to a bombardment and two hundred cannon-shot were fired off by either side. After seven days Neipperg’s army made off, attended by a Prussian corps in seeming pursuit, and at the time appointed the strong fortress was surrendered. On the very same day the King accepted a treaty for the partition of Austria. The Prussians then, as arranged, went into winter quarters in Upper Silesia, which Austria was eventually to retain, and from time to121 time sham skirmishes took place to hoodwink the French.

At the beginning of November the King left Neisse for Berlin, pausing on his way to view the scenes of all his triumphs. At Brieg and Glogau he inspected the fortifications, but at Breslau he drove in state to the grand old Rathaus and received the homage of Lower Silesia, the province secretly ceded to him at Klein Schnellendorf. The ceremony was immediately followed by the reorganisation of the Government in Church and State. The province was simply made Prussian, with absolute religious equality, heavy but not harsh taxation, and a regular system of conscription.

At Klein Schnellendorf Frederick had hinted that if the Austrians were not successful in Bohemia they could not expect him to do more than stand neutral. The event soon showed what he meant. Before the end of November Prague was stormed in brilliant fashion by the Bavarians, French, and Saxons. Frederick’s allies had succeeded where he expected them to fail. He at once proclaimed his intention of standing by the winning side. “My fingers itch for brilliant and useful action on behalf of my dear Elector,” he wrote to Belleisle. He broke all the provisions of the convention of Klein Schnellendorf and derided the suggestion that such a pact could ever have existed. “Should I be so foolish as to patch up a peace with enemies who hate me in their hearts, and in whose neighbourhood I could enjoy no safety?” the King demanded. “The true principles of the policy of my House demand a close122 alliance with France.” Such was the substance of the argument which Frederick addressed to Fleury.

Lord Hyndford, however, had witnessed all that passed at Klein Schnellendorf, and would not allow England to be duped by lies. Frederick therefore told him frankly that he intended to set the convention at defiance. The allies, he showed, had 150,000 men against Austria’s 70,000 and could do with her what they would. If she published the convention she would only expose her own folly, and perhaps she would not be believed. Then, besides treating Upper Silesia as his own and laying hands on the adjoining county of Glatz, he ordered the conquest of Moravia. Ere the year was out Schwerin was in Olmütz, the chief town of the North, and it seemed as though the allies would filch yet another province from the Queen. “Alas!” wrote the philosopher-king on one occasion to Voltaire, “trickery, bad faith and double-dealing are the leading feature of most of the men who are at the head of the nations and who ought to set them an example.”

Never was the fortitude of Maria Theresa more needed or more illustrious than in these winter months. The earlier gleams of light—Vienna spared and Frederick bought off—only made yet more black the clouds which now gathered over her throne. Her father had flattered himself that he bequeathed to her the support of united Europe. Within a year of his death the greater part of Europe was leagued to despoil her. France, Spain, Bavaria, Prussia, Saxony, the Elector Palatine, the123 Elector of Cologne formed the coalition, and the accession of Sardinia was the prelude to a severe struggle on the side of Italy. The loss of Bohemia almost without a blow made the Queen well-nigh forgetful of Silesia until the perfidy of Frederick opened the former wound anew. At the same time a revolution at St. Petersburg extinguished for the time being the Austrian influence in Russia and thereby increased the King’s security. Then came the attack upon Moravia, and before the end of January, 1742, the Imperial crown passed from the Hapsburg family by the election of the head of a rival House—Charles Albert of Bavaria.

Amid all these disasters, however, the courage of the young Queen, rooted as it was in her belief that right must triumph, remained unshaken. She organised new armies and inspired them with her own spirit. Before the resurgent might of Austria the new-made Emperor sank into impotence. Within a month of his election the Queen recovered her cities on the Danube and overran the hereditary lands of the Bavarian. Et C?sar et nihil laughed the wags. What would his allies, France, Prussia, and Saxony, do to relieve him?

The position of affairs may be simply stated. Two Austrian armies were in the field, one conquering Bavaria, the other protecting it against an attack from the side of Bohemia, where the allies were still masters of Prague. If this second army were driven back by a superior force, the first would be recalled to support it. Thus Bavaria and Bohemia, the actual and the pretended inheritance of Charles Albert,124 would be freed from the Austrians together. At the same time the French in Bohemia would be relieved from the fear of being outnumbered and attacked, and the Saxons would have the simplest march possible—straight into Bohemia by the natural highroad of the Elbe. Every military consideration thus summoned Frederick to join in clearing the kingdom of Austrian troops. But this plan promised no special advantage for the King of Prussia and it opened no market in which he might barter his allies. With infinite labour he therefore secured the adoption of another, in which these defects were remedied. This was that he should lead the Saxon army into Moravia to assist the Prussians in conquering the province, and in thus creating a diversion which, he maintained, would aid the Emperor as well as any other.

The Saxons reluctantly left their country with no force, save the French, to guard its frontier against the Austrian army of Bohemia. Frederick was therefore secure against treason on his flank and could again stir the waters of politics in full confidence that his House would gain some profit. Moravia might become to Silesia what Silesia had now become to Brandenburg—a dependency and an outwork. Or if this was too much to hope for, he as conqueror of Moravia might at least dictate to Vienna the surrender of a Silesia augmented by cuttings from the Bohemian kingdom, of which Frederick regarded the Emperor or the Queen as lawful sovereign exactly according to his convenience at the moment. At the worst Moravia might125 pass to the Saxon House, which was a weaker and therefore a safer neighbour than the Hapsburg.

All these calculations were falsified by events. The invasion of Moravia was a far more difficult task than the invasion of Silesia. Instead of a level and fertile country inhabited in part by Protestant well-wishers, Frederick found a rugged desert whose people hated the Prussians and did them every mischief in their power. He devastated the land by way of penalty, and dragged the grumbling Saxons through clouds of guerillas to Brünn, the capital, where he induced them to join him in a siege. As leader of a composite army, however, he was no longer served with the prompt and unquestioning obedience which the unmixed Prussian forces had displayed.

Brünn made a stout resistance and Prince Charles was deputed to march to its relief. At this point the heroism of the Queen seemed to be rewarded by a sudden change of fortune. Frederick tried once more to sacrifice his allies to his own profit, but in vain. England, now guided by Carteret in place of Walpole, was actively supporting Maria Theresa. Sardinia deserted the coalition against her. At Vienna, men regained a confidence which was heightened by the news from the North. Prince Charles feinted against the French in Bohemia and Frederick dismissed the Saxons to help them. This was but the first step towards the abandonment of the whole venture. After a toilsome retreat and countless skirmishes, the exhausted Prussians crossed safely into Bohemia before the end of April and126 again the negotiators were set to work. Once more they failed and the Prussians found themselves between Prague and the army of Prince Charles, which was now making thither from Moravia.

A conflict was inevitable. It took place at Chotusitz, near the Elbe, within three marches of Prague, on May 17, 1742. This battle is remarkable not only because seven thousand men fell in three hours, but also because it is the first victory actually won by Frederick himself. His imperious temper had cost him the services of Schwerin, the hero of Mollwitz, while the Old Dessauer had been rebuked for disobedience and sent to the rear. But the Prussian infantry were as steady as at Mollwitz, the cavalry, who suffered terribly, much better, and the King proved that he could seize the moment for decisive action on the field as well as in the cabinet. Four thousand Prussians fell, but casualties, captures, and desertion reduced Prince Charles’s force of thirty thousand by one-half.

The victory of Chotusitz assisted Frederick once more to abandon his allies. It added force to the diplomacy of England, whose policy was to help Austria a great deal against the French, but not at all against the Prussians. While the English ambassadors were urging the Queen to submit to the loss of Silesia, the Austrian troops pressed the French hard in Bohemia and thus forced Frederick to hurry on a peace. Within four weeks of Chotusitz, victor and vanquished had come to terms. Frederick withdrew from the war and received all Silesia except a fringe on the south-west, as well as127 the county of Glatz in full sovereignty for ever. On July 28th these terms were embodied in the Treaty of Berlin, which closed the First Silesian War. In twenty months, at a cost of two pitched battles, Frederick had added to Prussia sixteen thousand square miles of fertile land and a million and a quarter of inhabitants—a greater prize than any that his ancestors had won. He was not yet thirty-one years of age.