“Relieve Braunau? Well;–but no fighting farther, mark you!” answers Broglio. To the disgust of Kaiser and Seckendorf; who were eager for a combined movement, and hearty attack on Prince Karl, with perhaps capture of Passau itself. At sight of Broglio and Seckendorf combined, Prince Karl did at once withdraw from Braunau; but as to attacking him,–“NON; MILLE FOIS, NON!” answered Broglio disdainfully bellowing. First grand quarrel of Broglio and Seckendorf; by no means their last. Prince Karl put his men in winter-quarters, in those Passau regions; postponing the explosion of the Broglio-Seckendorf projects, till Spring; and returned to Vienna for the Winter gayeties and businesses there. How the high Maria Theresa is contented, I do not hear;–readers may take this Note, which is authentic, though vague, and straggling over wide spaces of time still future.
“Does her Majesty still think of ‘taking the command of her Armies on herself,’ high Amazon that she is!” Has not yet thought of that, I should guess. “At one time she did seriously think of it, says a good witness; which is noteworthy. [Podewils,
Hof
At Berlin it was gay Carnival, while those tragedies went on: Friedrich was opening his Opera-House, enjoying the first ballets, while Belleisle filed out of Prag that gloomy evening. Our poor Kaiser will not “retain Bohemia,” then; how far from it! The thing is not comfortable to Friedrich; but what help?
This is the gayest Carnival yet seen in Berlin, this immediately following the Peace; everybody saying to himself and others, “GAUDEAMUS, What a Season!” Not that, in the present hurry of affairs, I can dwell on operas, assemblies, balls, sledge-parties; or indeed have the least word to say on such matters, beyond suggesting them to the imagination of readers. The operas, the carnival gayeties, the intricate considerations and diplomacies of this Winter, at Berlin and elsewhere, may be figured: but here is one little speck, also from the Archives, which is worth saving. Princess Ulrique is in her twenty-third year, Princess Amelia in her twentieth; beautiful clever creatures, both; Ulrique the more staid of the two. “Never saw so gay a Carnival,” said everybody; and in the height of it, with all manner of gayeties going on,– think where the dainty little shoes have been pinching!
PRINCESSES ULRIQUE AND AMELIA TO THE KING.
BERLIN, “1st March, 1743.
“MY DEAREST BROTHER,–I know not if it is not too bold to trouble your Majesty on private affairs: but the great confidence which my Sister [Amelia] and I have in your kindness encourages us to lay before you a sincere avowal as to the state of our bits of finances (NOS PETITES FINANCES), which are a good deal deranged just now; the revenues having, for two years and a half past, been rather small; amounting to only 400 crowns (60 pounds) a year; which could not be made to cover all the little expenses required in the adjustments of ladies. This circumstance, added to our card- playing, though small, which we could not dispense with, has led us into debts. Mine amount to 225 pounds (1,500 crowns); my Sister’s to 270 pounds (1,800 crowns).
“We have not spoken of it to the Queen-Mother, though we are well sure she would have tried to assist us; but as that could not have been done without some inconvenience to her, and she would have retrenched in some of her own little entertainments, I thought we should do better to apply direct to Your Majesty; being persuaded you would have taken it amiss, had we deprived the Queen of her smallest pleasure;–and especially, as we consider you, my dear Brother, the Father of the Family, and hope you will be so gracious as help us. We shall never forget the kind acts of Your Majesty; and we beg you to be persuaded of the perfect and tender attachment with which we are proud to be all our lives,–Your Majesty’s most humble and most obedient Sisters and Servants,
“LOUISE-ULRIQUE; ANNE-AMELIE
[which latter adds anxiously as Postscript, Ulrique having written hitherto],
“P.S. I most humbly beg Your Majesty not to speak of this to the Queen-Mother, as perhaps she would not approve of the step we are now taking.” [
i. 387.]
Poor little souls; bankruptcy just imminent! I have no doubt Friedrich came handsomely forward on this grave occasion, though Dryasdust has not the grace to give me the least information.– “Frederic Baron Trenck,” loud-sounding Phantasm once famous in the world, now gone to the Nurseries as mythical, was of this Carnival 1742-43; and of the next, and NOT of the next again! A tall actuality in that time; swaggering about in sumptuous Life-guard uniform, in his mess-rooms and assembly-rooms; much in love with himself, the fool. And I rather think, in spite of his dog insinuations, neither Princess had heard of him till twenty years hence, in a very different phasis of his life! The empty, noisy, quasi-tragic fellow;–sounds throughout quasi-tragically, like an empty barrel; well-built, longing to be FILLED. And it is scandalously false, what loud Trenck insinuates, what stupid Thiebault (always stupid, incorrect, and the prey of stupidities) confirms, as to this matter,–fit only for the Nurseries, till it cease altogether.
VOLTAIRE, AT PARIS, IS MADE IMMORTAL BY A KISS.
Voltaire and the divine Emilie are home to Cirey again; that of Brussels, with the Royal Aachen Excursion, has been only an interlude. They returned, by slow stages, visit after visit, in October last,–some slake occurring, I suppose, in that interminable Honsbruck Lawsuit; and much business, not to speak of ennui, urging them back. They are now latterly in Paris itself, safe in their own “little palace (PETIT PALAIS) at the point of the Isle;” little jewel of a house on the Isle St. Louis, which they are warming again, after long absence in Brussels and the barbarous countries. They have returned hither, on sufferance, on good behavior; multitudes of small interests, small to us, great to them,–death of old Fleury, hopeful changes of Ministry, not to speak of theatricals and the like,–giving opportunity and invitation. Madame, we observe, is marrying her Daughter: the happy man a Duke of Montenero, ill-built Neapolitan, complexion rhubarb, and face consisting much of nose. [Letter of Voltaire, in
OEuvres,
As to Voltaire, he has, as usual, Plays to get acted,–if he can. MAHOMET, no; MORT DE CESAR, yes OR no; for the Authorities are shy, in spite of the Public. One Play Voltaire did get acted, with a success,–think of it, reader! The exquisite Tragedy MEROPE, perhaps now hardly known to you; of which you shall hear anon.
But Plays are not all. Old Pleury being dead, there is again a Vacancy in the Academy; place among the sacred Forty,–vacant for Voltaire, if he can get it. Voltaire attaches endless importance to this place; beautiful as a feather in one’s cap; useful also to the solitary Ishmael of Literature, who will now in a certain sense have Thirty-nine Comrades, and at least one fixed House-of-Call in this world. In fine, nothing can be more ardent than the wish of M. de Voltaire for these supreme felicities. To be of the Forty, to get his Plays acted,–oh, then were the Saturnian Kingdoms come; and a man might sing IO TRIUMPHE, and take his ease in the Creation, more or less! Stealthily, as if on shoes of felt,–as if on paws of velvet, with eyes luminous, tail bushy,–he walks warily, all energies compressively summoned, towards that high goal. Hush, steady! May you soon catch that bit of savory red- herring, then; worthiest of the human feline tribe!–As to the Play MEROPE, here is the notable passage:
“PARIS, WEDNESDAY, 20th FEBRUARY, 1743. First night of MEROPE; which raised the Paris Public into transports, so that they knew not what to do, to express their feelings. ‘Author! M. de Voltaire! Author!’ shouted they; summoning the Author, what is now so common, but was then an unheard-of originality. ‘Author! Author!’ Author, poor blushing creature, lay squatted somewhere, and durst not come; was ferreted out; produced in the Lady Villars’s Box,–Dowager MARECHALE DE VILLARS, and her Son’s Wife DUCHESSE DE VILLARS, being there; known friends of Voltaire’s. Between these Two he stands ducking some kind of bow; uncertain, embarrassed what to do; with a Theatre all in rapturous delirium round him,–uncertain it too, but not embarrassed. ‘Kiss him! MADAME LA DUCHESSE DE VILLARS, EMBRASSEZ VOLTAIRE!’ Yes, kiss him, fair Duchess, in the name of France! shout all mortals;–and the younger Lady has to do it; does it with a charming grace; urged by Madame la Marechale her mother-in-law. [Duvernet (T. J. D. V.),
“Thus are you made immortal by a Kiss;–and have not your choice of the Kiss, Fate having chosen for you. The younger Lady was a Daughter of Marechal de Noailles [our fine old Marechal, gone to the Wars against his Britannic Majesty in those very weeks]: infinitely clever (INFINIMENT D’ESPRIT); beautiful too, I understand, though towards forty;–hangs to the human memory, slightly but indissolubly, ever since that Wednesday Night of 1743.”
Old Marechal de Noailles is to the Wars, we said;–it is in a world all twinkling with watch-fires, and raked coals of War, that these fine Carnival things go on. Noailles is 70,000 strong; posted in the Rhine Countries, middle and upper Rhine; vigilantly patrolling about, to support those staggering Bavarian Affairs; especially to give account of his Britannic Majesty. Brittanic Majesty is thought to have got the Dutch hoisted, after all; to have his sword OUT;– and ere long does actually get on march; up the Rhine hitherward, as is too evident, to Noailles, to the Kaiser and everybody!
Chapter IV.
AUSTRIAN AFFAIRS MOUNT TO A DANGEROUS HEIGHT.
Led by fond hopes,–and driven also by that sad fear, of a Visit from his Britannic Majesty,–the poor Kaiser, in the rear of those late Seckendorf successes, quitted Frankfurt, April 17th; and the second day after, got to Munchen. Saw himself in Munchen again, after a space of more than two years; “all ranks of people crowding out to welcome him;” the joy of all people, for themselves and for him, being very great. Next day he drove out to Nymphenburg; saw the Pandour devastations there,–might have seen the window where the rugged old Unertl set up his ladder, “For God’s sake, your Serenity, have nothing to do with those French!”–and did not want for sorrowful comparisons of past and present.
It was remarked, he quitted Munchen in a day or two; preferring Country Palaces still unruined,–for example, Wolnzach, a Schloss he has, some fifty miles off, down the Iser Valley, not far from the little Town of Mosburg; which, at any rate, is among the Broglio-Seckendorf posts, and convenient for business. Broglio and Seckendorf lie dotted all about, from Braunau up to Ingolstadt and farther; chiefly in the Iser and Inn Valleys, but on the north side of the Donau too; over an area, say of 2,000 square miles; Seckendorf preaching incessantly to Broglio, what is sun-clear to all eyes but Broglio’s, “Let us concentrate, M. le Marechal; let us march and attack! If Prince Karl come upon us in this scattered posture, what are we to do?” Broglio continuing deaf; Broglio answering–in a way to drive one frantic.
The Kaiser himself takes Broglio in hand; has a scene with Broglio; which, to readers that study it, may be symbolical of much that is gone and that is coming. It fell “about the middle of May” (prior to May 17th, as readers will guess before long); and here, according to report, was the somewhat explosive finale it had. Prince Conti, the same who ran to join Maillebois, and has proved a gallant fellow and got command of a Division, attends Broglio in this important interview at Wolnzach:–
SCHLOSS OF WOLNZACH, MAY, 1743. … “The Kaiser pressed, in the most emphatic manner, That the Two Armies [French and Bavarian] should collect and unite for immediate action. To which Broglio declared he could by no means assent, not having any order from Paris of that tenor. The Kaiser thereupon: ‘I give you my order for it; I, by the Most Christian King’s appointment, am Commander-in- Chief of your Army, as of my own; and I now order you!’–taking out his Patent, and spreading it before Broglio with the sign-manual visible, Broglio knew the Patent very well; but answered, ‘That he could not, for all that, follow the wish of his Imperial Majesty; that he, Broglio, had later orders, and must obey them!’ Upon which the Imperial Majesty, nature irrepressibly asserting itself, towered into Olympian height; flung his Patent on the table, telling Conti and Broglio, ‘You can send that back, then; Patents like that are of no service to me!’ and quitted them in a blaze.” [Adelung, iii. B, 150; cites ETTAT POLITIQUE (Annual Register of those times), xiii. 16. Nothing of this scene in
The indisputable fact is, Prince Karl is at the door; nay he has beaten in the door in a frightful manner; and has Braunau, key of the Inn, again under siege. Not we getting Passau; it is he getting Braunau! A week ago (9th May) his vanguard, on the sudden, cut to pieces our poor Bavarian 8,000, and their poor Minuzzi, who were covering Braunau, and has ended him and them;–Minuzzi himself prisoner, not to be heard of or beaten more;–and is battering Braunau ever since. That is the sad fact, whatever the theory may have been. Prince Karl is rolling in from the east; Lobkowitz (Prag now ended) is advancing from the northward, Khevenhuller from the Salzburg southern quarter: Is it in a sprinkle of disconnected fractions that you will wait Prince Karl? The question of uniting, and advancing, ought to be a simple one for Broglio. Take this other symbolic passage, of nearly the same date;–posterior, as we guessed, to that Interview at Wolnzach.
“DINGELFINGEN, 17th MAY, 1743. At Dingelfingen on the Iser, a strongish central post of the French, about fifty miles farther down than that Schloss of Wolnzach, there is a second argument,– much corroborative of the Kaiser’s reasoning. About sunrise of the 17th, the Austrians, in sufficient force, chiefly of Pandours, appeared on the heights to the south: they had been foreseen the night before; but the French covering General, luckier than Minuzzi, did not wait for them; only warned Dingelfingen, and withdrew across the River, to wait there on the safe left bank. Leader of the Austrians was one Leopold Graf von Daun, active man of thirty-five, already of good rank, who will be much heard of afterwards; Commandant in Dingelfingen is a Brigadier du Chatelet, Marquis du Chatelet-Lamont; whom–after search (in the interest of some idle readers)–I discover to be no other than the Husband of a certain Algebraic Lady! Identity made out, mark what a pass he is at. Count Daun comes on in a tempest of furious fire; ‘very heavy,’ they say, from great guns and small; till close upon the place, when he summons Du Chatelet: ‘No;’ and thereupon attempts scalade. Cannot scalade, Du Chatelet and his people being mettlesome; takes then to flinging shells, to burning the suburbs; Town itself catches fire,–Town plainly indefensible. ‘Truce for one hour’ proposes Du Chatelet (wishful to consult the covering General across the River): ‘No,’ answers Daun. So that Du Chatelet has to jumble and wriggle himself out of the place; courageous to the last; but not in a very Parthian fashion,–great difficulty to get his bridge ruined (very partially ruined), behind him;–and joins the covering General, in a flustery singed condition! Were not pursued farther by Daun:–and Prince Conti, Head General in those parts, called it a fine defence, on examining.” [
“On the 19th,” after one rest-day, “Graf von Daun set out for Landau [still on the Iser, farther down; Baiern has ITS “Landau” too, and its “Landshut,” both on this River], to seize Landau; which is another French place of strength. The Garrison defended themselves for some time; after which they retired over the River [left bauk, or wrong side of the Iser, they too]; and set fire to the Bridge behind them. The fire of the Bridge caught the Town; Pandours helping it, as our people said; and Landau also was reduced to ashes.”–Poor Landau, poor Dingelfingen, they cannot have the benefit of Louis XV.’s talent for governing Germany, quite gratis, it would appear!
But where are the divine Emilie and Voltaire, that morning, while the Brigadier is in such taking? Sitting safe in “that dainty little palace of Madame’s (PETIT PALAIS) at the point of the Isle de St. Louis,” intent on quite other adventures; disgusted with the slavish Forty and their methods of Election (of which by and by); and little thinking of M. le Brigadier and the dangers of war. –Prince de Conti praised the Brigadier’s defence: but very soon, alas,–
DEGGENDORF, 27th MAY. “Prince de Conti, at Deggendorf [other or north bank of the Donau, Head-quarters of Conti, which was thought to be well secured by batteries and defences on the steep heights to landward], was himself suddenly attacked, the tenth day hence, ‘May 27th, at daybreak,’ in a still more furious manner; and was tumbled out of Deggendorf amid whirlwinds of fire, in very flamy condition indeed. The Austrians, playing on us from the uplands with their heavy artillery, made a breach in our outmost battery: ‘Not tenable!’ exclaimed the Captain there: ‘This way, my men!’– and withdrew, like a shot, he and party; sliding down the steep face of the mountain [feet foremost, I hope], home to Deggendorf in this peculiar manner; leaving the AUSTRIANS to manage his guns. Our two lower batteries, ruled by this upper one, had now to be abandoned; and Conti ran, Bridge of the Town-ditch breaking under him; baggages, even to his own portmanteaus, all lost; and had a neck-and-neck race of it in getting to his Donau-Bridge, and across to the safe side. With loss of everything, we say,–personal baggage all included; which latter item, Prince Karl politely returned him next day.” [Espagnac, p. 188.]
Broglio, with Prince Karl in his bowels going at such a rate, may judge now whether it was wise to lie in that loose posture, scattered over two thousand square miles, and snort on his judicious Seckendorf’s advices and urgencies as he did! Readers anticipate the issue; and shall not be wearied farther with detail. There are, as we said, Three Austrian Armies pressing on this luckless Bavaria and its French Protectors: Khevenhuller, from Salzburg and the southern quarter, pushing in his Dauns; Lobkowitz, hanging over us from the Ober-Pfalz (Naab-River Country) on the north; and Prince Karl, on one or sometimes on both sides of the Donau, pricking sharply into the rear of us; saying, by bayonets, burnt bridges, bomb-shells, “Off; swift; it will be better for you!” And Broglio has lost head, a mere whirlwind of flaming gases; and your ablest Comte de Saxe in such position, what can he do? Broglio writes to Versailles, That there will be no continuing in Bavaria; that he recommends an order to march homewards;–much to the surprise of Versailles.
“The Court of Versailles was much astonished at the message it got from Broglio; Court of Versailles had always calculated that Broglio could keep Bavaria; and had gone into extensive measures for maintaining him there. Experienced old Marechal de Noailles has a new French Army, 70,000 or more, assembled in the Upper Rhine for that and the cognate objects [of whom, more specially, anon]: Noailles, by order from Court, has detached 12,000, who are now marching their best, to reinforce Broglio;–and indeed the Court ‘had already appointed the Generals and Staff-Officers for Broglio’s Bavarian Army,’ and gratified many men by promotions, which now went to smoke! [Espagnac, i. 190.]
“Versailles, however, has to expedite the order: ‘Come home, then.’ Order or no order, Broglio’s posts are all crackling off again, bursting aloft like a chain of powder-mines; Broglio is plunging head foremost, towards Donauworth, towards Ingolstadt, his place of arms; Seckendorf now welcome to join him, but unable to do anything when joined. Blustering Broglio has no steadfastness of mind; explodes like an inflammable body, in this crackling off of the posts, and becomes a mere whirlwind of flaming gases. Old snuffling Seckendorf, born to ill success in his old days, strong only in caution, how is he to quench or stay this crackling of the posts? Broglio blusters, reproaches, bullies; Seckendorf quarrels with him outright, as he may well do: ‘JARNI-BLEU, such a delirious whirlwind of a Marechal; mere bickering flames and soot!’–and looks out chiefly to keep his own skin and that of his poor Bavarians whole.
“The unhappy Kaiser has run from Munchen again, to Augsburg for some brief shelter; cannot stay there either, in the circumstances. Will he have to hurry back to Frankfurt, to bankruptcy and furnished lodgings,–nay to the Britannic Majesty’s tender mercies, whose Army is now actually there? Those indignant prophesyings to Broglio, at the Schloss of Wolnzach, have so soon come true! And Broglio and the French are–what a staff to lean upon! Enough, the poor Kaiser, after doleful ‘Council of War held at Augsburg, June 25th,’ does on the morrow make off for Frankfurt again:–whither else? Britannic Majesty’s intentions, friends tell him, friend Wilhelm of Hessen tells him, are magnanimous; eager for Peace to Teutschland; hostile only to the French. Poor Karl took the road, June 26th;–and will find news on his arrival, or before it.
“On which same day, 26th of June, as it chances, Broglio too has made his packages; left a garrison in Ingolstadt, garrison in Eger; and is ferrying across at Donauworth,–will see the Marlborough Schellenberg as he passes,–in full speed for the Rhine Countries, and the finis of this bad Business. [Adelung, iii. B. 152.] On the road, I believe at Donauworth itself, Noailles’s 12,000, little foreseeing these retrograde events, met Broglio: ‘Right about, you too!’ orders Broglio; and speeds Rhineward not the less. And the same day of that ferrying at Donauworth, and of the Kaiser’s setting out for Frankfurt, Seckendorf,–at Nieder-Schonfeld [an old Monastery near the Town of Rain, in those parts], the Kaiser being now safe away,–is making terms for himself with Khevenhuller and Prince Karl: ‘Will lie quiet as mere REICHS-Army, almost as Troops of the Swabian Circle, over at Wembdingen there, in said circle, and be strictly neutral, if we can but get lived at all!’ [Ib. iii. B, 153.] Seckendorf concludes on the morrow, 27th June;–which is elsewhere a memorable Day of Battle, as will be seen.
“Broglio marched in Five Divisions [Du Chatelet in the Second Division, poor soul, which was led by Comte de Saxe): [Espagnac, i. 198.] always in Five Divisions, swiftly, half a march apart; through the Wurtemberg Country;–lost much baggage, many stragglers; Tolpatcheries in multitude continually pricking at the skirts of him; Prince Karl following steadily, Rhine-wards also, a few marches behind. Here are omens to return with! ‘But have you seen a retreat better managed?’ thinks Broglio to himself:” that is one consoling circumstance.
In this manner, then, has the Problem of Bavaria solved itself. Hungarian Majesty, in these weeks, was getting crowned in Prag; “Queen of Bohemia, I, not you; in the sight of Heaven and of Earth!” [Crowned 12th May, 1743 (Adelung, iii. B, 128); “news of Prince Karl’s having taken Braunau [incipiency of all these successes] had reached her that very morning.”]–and was purifying her Bohemia: with some rigor (it is said), from foreign defacements, treasonous compliances and the like, which there had been. To see your Bavarian Kaiser, false King of Bohemia, your Broglio with his French, and the Bohemian-Bavarian Question in whole, all rolling Rhine-wards at their swiftest, with Prince Karl sticking in the skirts of them:–what a satisfaction to that high Lady!
BRITANNIC MAJESTY, WITH SWORD ACTUALLY DRAWN, HAS MARCHED MEANWHILE TO THE FRANKFURT COUNTRIES, AS “PRAGMATIC ARMY;” READY FOR BATTLE AND TREATY ALIKE.
Add to which fine set of results, simultaneously with them: His Britannic Majesty, third effort successful, has got his sword drawn, fairly out at last; and in the air is making horrid circles with it, ever since March last; nay does, he flatters himself, a very considerable slash with it, in this current month of June. Of which, though loath, we must now take some notice.
The fact is, though Stair could not hoist the Dutch, and our double-quick Britannic heroism had to drop dead in consequence, Carteret has done it: Carteret himself rushed over in that crisis, a fiery emphatic man and chief minister, [Arrived at the Hague “5th October, 1742” (Adelung, iii. A, 294).]–“eager to please his Master’s humor!” said enemies. Yes, doubtless; but acting on his own turbid belief withal (says fact); and revolving big thoughts in his head, about bringing Friedrich over to the Cause of Liberty, giving French Ambition a lesson for once, and the like. Carteret strongly pulleying, “All hands, heave-oh!”–and, no doubt, those Maillebois-Broglio events from Prag assisting him,–did bring the High Mightinesses to their legs; still in a staggering splay- footed posture, but trying to steady themselves. That is to say, the High Mightinesses did agree to go with us in the Cause of Liberty; will now pay actual Subsidies to her Hungarian Majesty (at the rate of two for our three); and will add, so soon as humanly possible, 20,000 men to those wind-bound 40,000 of ours;–which latter shall now therefore, at once, as “Pragmatic Army” (that is the term fixed on), get on march, Frankfurt way; and strike home upon the French and other enemies of Pragmatic Sanction. This is what Noailles has been looking for, this good while, and diligently adjusting himself, in those Middle-Rhine Countries, to give account of.
Pragmatic Army lifted itself accordingly,–Stair, and the most of his English, from Ghent, where the wearisome Head-quarters had been; Hanoverians, Hessians, from we will forget where;–and in various streaks and streams, certain Austrians from Luxemburg (with our old friend Neipperg in company) having joined them, are flowing Rhine-ward ever since March 1st. [“February 18th,” o.s. (Old Newspapers).] They cross the Rhine at three suitable points; whence, by the north bank, home upon Frankfurt Country, and the Noailles-Broglio operations in those parts. The English crossed “at Neuwied, in the end of April” (if anybody is curious); “Lord Stair in person superintending them.” Lord Stair has been much about, and a most busy person; General-in-Chief of the Pragmatic Army till his Britannic Majesty arrive. Generalissimo Lord Stair; and there is General Clayton, General Ligonier, “General Heywood left with the Reserve at Brussels:”–and, from the ashes of the Old Newspapers, the main stages and particulars of this surprising Expedition (England marching as Pragmatic Army into distant parts) can be riddled out; though they require mostly to be flung in again. Shocking weather on the march, mere Boreas and icy tempests; snow in some places two feet deep; Rhine much swollen, when we come to it.
The Austrian Chief General–who lies about Wiesbaden, and consults with Stair, while the English are crossing–is Duke d’Ahremberg (Father of the Prince de Ligne, or “Prince of Coxcombs” as some call him): little or nothing of military skill in D’Ahremberg; but Neipperg is thought to have given much counsel, such as it was. With the Hessians there was some difficulty; hesitation on Landgraf Wilhelm’s part; who pities the poor Kaiser, and would fain see him back at Frankfurt, and awaken the Britannic magnanimities for him. “To Frankfurt, say you? We cannot fight against the Kaiser!”–and they had to be left behind, for some time; but at length did come on, though late for business, as it chanced. General of these Hessians is Prince George of Hessen, worthy stout gentleman, whom Wilhelmina met at the Frankfurt Gayeties lately. George’s elder Brother Wilhelm is Manager or Vice-Landgraf, this long while back; and in seven or eight years hence became, as had been expected, actual Landgraf (old King of Sweden dying childless);–of which Wilhelm we shall have to hear, at Hanau (a Town of his in those parts), and perhaps slightly elsewhere, in the course of this business. A fat, just man, he too; probably somewhat iracund; not without troubles in his House. His eldest Son, Heir-Apparent of Hessen, let me remind readers, has an English Princess to Wife; Princess Mary, King George’s Daughter, wedded two years ago. That, added to the Subsidies, is surely a point of union;–though again there may such discrepancies rise! A good while after this, the eldest Son becoming Catholic (foolish wretch), to the horror of Papa,–there rose still other noises in the world, about Hessen and its Landgraves. Of good Prince George, who doubtless attended in War Councils, but probably said little, we hope to hear nothing more whatever.
From Neuwied to Frankfurt is but a few days’ march for the Pragmatic Army; in a direct line, not sixty miles. Frankfurt itself, which is a REICHS-STADT (Imperial City), they must not enter: “Fear not, City or Country!” writes Stair to it: “We come as saviors, pacificators, hostile to your enemies and disturbers only; we understand discipline and the Laws of the Reich, and will pay for everything.” [Letter itself, of brief magnanimous strain, in
26th April, 1743″ (Adelung, iii. B, 114).] For the rest, they are in no hurry. They linger in that Frankfurt-Nainz region, all through the month of May; not unobservant of Noailles and his movements, if he made any; but occupied chiefly with gathering provisions; forming, with difficulty, a Magazine in Hanau. “What they intended: or intend, by coming hither?” asks the Public everywhere: “To go into the Donau Countries, and enclose Broglio between two fires?” That had been, and was still, Stair’s fine idea; but D’Ahremberg had disapproved the methods. D’Ahremberg, it seems, is rather given to opposing Stair;–and there rise uncertainties, in this Pragmatic Army: certain only hitherto the Magazine in Hanau. And in secret, it afterwards appeared, the immediate real errand of this Pragmatic Army had lain–in the Chapter of Mainz Cathedral, and an Election that was going on there.
The old Kur-Mainz, namely, had just died; and there was a new “Chief Spiritual Kurfurst” to be elected by the Canons there. Kur-Mainz is Chairman of the Reich, an important personage, analogous to Speaker of the House of Commons; and ought to be,–by no means the Kaiser’s young Brother, as the French and Kaiser are proposing; but a man with Austrian leanings;–say, Graf von Ostein, titular DOM-CUSTOS (Cathedral Keeper) here; lately Ambassador in London, and known in select society for what he is. Not much of an Archbishop, of a Spiritual or Chief Spiritual Herr hitherto; but capable of being made one,–were the Pragmatic Army at his elbow! It was on this errand that the Pragmatic Army had come hither, or come so early, and with their plans still unripe. And truly they succeeded; got their Ostein chosen to their mind: [“21st March, 1743,” Mainz vacant; “22d April,” Ostein elected (Adelung, iii. B, 113, 121).] a new Kur-Mainz,–whose leanings and procedures were very manifest in the sequel, and some of them important before long. This was always reckoned one result of his Britannic Majesty’s Pragmatic Campaign;–and truly some think it was, in strict arithmetic, the only one, though that is far from his Majesty’s own opinion.
FRIEDRICH HAS OBJECTIONS TO THE PRAGMATIC ARMY; BUT IN VAIN. OF FRIEDRICH’S MANY ENDEAVORS TO QUENCH THIS WAR, BY “UNION OF INDEPENDENT GERMAN PRINCES,” BY “MEDIATION OF THE REICH,” AND OTHERWISE; ALL IN VAIN.
Friedrich, at an early stage, had inquired of his Britannic Majesty, politely but with emphasis, “What in the world he meant, then, by invading the German Reich; leading foreign Armies into the Reich: in this unauthorized manner?” To which the Britannic Majesty had answered, with what vague argument of words we will not ask, but with a look that we can fancy,–look that would split a pitcher, as the Irish say! Friedrich persisted to call it an Invasion of the German Reich; and spoke, at first, of flatly opposing it by a Reich’s Army (30,000, or even 50,000, for Brandenburg’s contingent, in such case); but as the poor Reich took no notice, and the Britannic Majesty was positive, Friedrich had to content himself with protest for the present. [Friedrich’s Remonstrance and George’s Response are in
The exertions of Friedrich to bring about a Peace, or at least to diminish, not increase, the disturbance, are forgotten now; wearisome to think of, as they did not produce the smallest result; but they have been incessant and zealous, as those of a man to quench the fire which is still raging in his street, and from which he himself is just saved. “Cannot the Reich be roused for settlement of this Bavarian-Austrian quarrel?” thought Friedrich always. And spent a great deal of earnest endeavor in that direction; wished a Reich’s ARMY OF MEDIATION; “to which I will myself furnish 30,000; 50,000, if needed.” Reich, alas! The Reich is a horse fallen down to die,–no use spurring at the Reich; it cannot, for many months, on Friedrich’s Proposal (though the question was far from new, and “had been two years on hand”), come to the decision, “Well then, yes; the Reich WILL try to moderate and mediate:” and as for a Reich’s Mediation-ARMY, or any practical step at all [The question had been started, “in August, 1741,” by the Kaiser himself; “11th March, 1743,” again urged by him, after Friedrich’s offer; “10th May, 1743,” “Yes, then, we will try; but–” and the result continued zero.]–!
“Is not Germany, are not all the German Princes, interested to have Peace?” thinks Friedrich. “A union of the independent German Princes to recommend Peace, and even with hand on sword-hilt to command it; that would be the method of producing Treaty of Peace!” thinks he always. And is greatly set on that method; which, we find, has been, and continues to be, the soul of his many efforts in this matter. A fact to be noted. Long poring in those mournful imbroglios of Dryasdust, where the fraction of living and important welters overwhelmed by wildernesses of the dead and nugatory, one at length disengages this fact; and readers may take it along with them, for it proves illuminative of Friedrich’s procedures now and afterwards. A fixed notion of Friedrich’s, this of German Princes “uniting,” when the common dangers become flagrant; a very lively notion with him at present. He will himself cheerfully take the lead in such Union, but he must not venture alone. [See Adelung, iii. A and B, passim; Valori, i. 178; &c. &c.]
The Reich, when appealed to, with such degree of emphasis, in this matter,–we see how the Reich has responded! Later on, Friedrich tried “the Swabian Circle” (chief scene of these Austrian-Bavarian tusslings); which has, like the other Circles, a kind of parliament, and pretends to be a political unity of some sort. “Cannot the Swabian Circle, or Swabian and Frankish joined (to which one might declare oneself PROTECTOR, in such case), order their own Captains, with military force of their own, say 20,000 men, to rank on the Frontier; and to inform peremptorily all belligerents and tumultuous persons, French, Bavarian, English, Austrian: ‘No thoroughfare; we tell you, No admittance here!'” Friedrich, disappointed of the Reich, had taken up that smaller notion: and he spent a good deal of endeavor on that too,–of which we may see some glimpse, as we proceed. But it proves all futile. The Swabian Circle too is a moribund horse; all these horses dead or moribund.
Friedrich, of course, has thought much what kind of Peace could be offered by a mediating party. The Kaiser has lost his Bavaria: yet he is the Kaiser, and must have a living granted him as such. Compensations, aspirations, claims of territory; these will be manifold! These are a world of floating vapor, of greed, of anger, idle pretension: but within all these there are the real necessities; what the case does require, if it is ever to be settled! Friedrich discerns this Austrian-Bavarian necessity of compensation; of new land to cut upon. And where is that to come from!
In January last, Friedrich, intensely meditating this business, had in private a bright-enough idea: That of secularizing those so-called Sovereign Bishoprics, Austrian-Bavarian by locality and nature, Passau, Salzburg, Regensburg, idle opulent territories, with functions absurd not useful;–and of therefrom cutting compensation to right and to left. This notion he, by obscure channels, put into the head of Baron von Haslang, Bavarian Ambassador at London; where it germinated rapidly, and came to fruit;–was officially submitted to Lord Carteret in his own house, in two highly artistic forms, one evening;–and sets the Diplomatic Heads all wagging upon it. [Adelung, iii. B, 84, 90, “January- March, 1743.”] With great hope, at one time; till rumor of it got abroad into the Orthodox imagination, into the Gazetteer world; and raised such a clamor, in those months, as seldom was. “Secularize, Hah! One sees the devilish heathen spirit of you; and what kind of Kaiser, on the religious side, we now have the happiness of having!” So that Kaiser Karl had to deny utterly, “Never heard of such a thing!” Carteret himself had, in politeness, to deny; much more, and for dire cause, had Haslang himself, over the belly of facts, “Never in my dreams, I tell you!”–and to get ambiguous certificate from Carteret, which the simple could interpret to that effect. [Carteret’s Letter (ibid. iii, B, 190).]
It was only in whispers that the name of Friedrich was connected with this fine scheme; and all parties were glad to get it soon buried again. A bright idea; but had come a century too soon. Of another Carteret Negotiation with Kaiser Karl, famed as “Conferences of Hanau,” which had almost come to be a Treaty, but did not; and then, failing that, of a famous Carteret “Treaty of Worms,” which did come to perfection, in these same localities shortly afterwards; and which were infinitely interesting to our Friedrich, both the Treaty and the Failure of the Treaty,–we propose to speak elsewhere, in due time.
As to Friedrich’s own endeavors and industries, at Regensburg and elsewhere, for effective mediation of Peace; for the Reich to mediate, and have “Army of Mediation;” for a “Union of Swabian Circles” to do it; for this and then for that to do it;–as to Friedrich’s own efforts and strugglings that way, in all likely and in some unlikely quarters,–they were, and continued to be, earnest, incessant; but without result. Like the spurring of horses really DEAD some time ago! Of which no reader wishes the details, though the fact has to be remembered. And so, with slight indication for Friedrich’s sake,–being intent on the stage of events,–we must leave that shadowy hypothetic region, as a wood in the background; the much foliage and many twigs and boughs of which do authentically TAKE the trouble to be there, though we have to paint it in this summary manner.
Chapter V.
BRITANNIC MAJESTY FIGHTS HIS BATTLE OF DETTINGEN; AND BECOMES SUPREME JOVE OF GERMANY, IN A MANNER.
Brittanic Majesty with his Yarmouth, and martial Prince of Cumberland, arrived at Hanover May 15th; soon followed by Carteret from the Hague: [
(Kippin’s,? Carteret), iii. 277.] a Majesty prepared now for battle and for treaty alike; kind of earthly Jove, Arbiter of Nations, or victorious Hercules of the Pragmatic, the sublime little man. At Herrenhausen he has a fine time; grandly fugling about; negotiating with Wilhelm of Hessen and others; commanding his Pragmatic Army from the distance: and then at last, dashing off rather in haste, he– It is well known what enigmatic Exploit he did, at least the Name of it is well known! Here, from the Imbroglios, is a rough Account; parts of which are introducible for the sake of English readers.
BATTLE OF DETTINGEN.
“After some five leisurely weeks in Herrenhausen, George II. (now an old gentleman of sixty), with his martial Fat Boy the Duke of Cumberland, and Lord Carteret his Diplomatist-in-Chief, quitted that pleasant sojourn, rather on a sudden, for the actual Seat of War. By speedy journeys they got to Frankfurt Country; to Hanau, June 19th; whence, still up the Mayn, twenty or thirty miles farther up, to Aschaffenburg,–where the Pragmatic Army, after some dangerous manoeuvring on the opposite or south bank of the River, has lain encamped some days, and is in questionable posture. Whither his Majesty in person has hastened up. And truly, if his Majesty’s head contain any good counsel, there is great need of it here just now.
“Captains and men were impatient of that long loitering, hanging idle about Frankfurt all through May; and they have at length started real business,–with more valor than discretion, it is feared. They are some 40 or 44,000 strong: English 16,000; Hanoverians the like number; and of Austrians [by theory 20,000], say, in effect, 12,000 or even 8,000: all paid by England. They have Hanau for Magazine; they have rearguard of 12,000 [the 6,000 Hessians, and 6,000 new Hanoverians], who at last are actually on march thither, near arriving there: ‘Forward!’ said the Captaincy [said Stair, chiefly, it was thought]: ‘Shall the whole summer waste itself to no purpose?’–and are up the River thus far, not on the most considerate terms.
“What this Pragmatic Army means to do? That is, and has been, a great question for all the world; especially for Noailles and the French,–not to say, for the Pragmatic itself! ‘Get into Lorraine?’ think the French: ‘Get into Alsace, and wrest it from us, for behoof of her Hungarian Majesty,’–plundered goods, which indeed belong to the Reich and her, in a sense! ELS-SASS (Alsace, OUTER- seat), with its ROAD-Fortress (STRASburg) plundered from the Holy Romish Reich by Louis XIV., in a way no one can forget; actually plundered, as if by highway robbery, or by highway robbery and attorneyism combined, on the part of that great Sovereign. ‘To Strasburg? To Lorraine perhaps? Or to the Three Bishoprics'” (Metz, Toul, Verdun:–readers recollect that Siege of Metz, which broke the great heart of Karl V.? Who raged and fired as man seldom did, with 50,000 men, against Guise and the intrusive French, for six weeks; sound of his cannon heard at Strasburg on winter nights, 300 years ago: to no purpose; for his Captains of the Siege, after trial and second trial, solemnly shook their heads; and the great Kaiser, breaking into tears, had to raise the Siege of Metz; and went his way, never to smile more in this world: and Metz, and Toul, and Verdun, remain with the French ever since):–“To the Three Bishoprics, possibly enough!”
“‘Or they may purpose for the Donau Countries, where Broglio is crackling off like trains of gunpowder; and lend hand to Prince Karl, thereby enclosing Broglio fires?’ This, according to present aspects, is between two the likeliest. And perhaps, had provenders and arrangements been made beforehand for such a march, this had been the feasiblest: and, to my own notion, it was some wild hope of doing this without provenders or prearrangements that had brought the Pragmatic into its present quarters at Aschaffenburg, which are for the military mind a mystery to this day.
“Early in the Spring, the French Governmeut had equipped Noailles with 70,000 men, to keep watch, and patrol about, in the Rhine-Mayn Countries, and look into those points. Which he has been vigilantly doing,–posted of late on the south or left bank of the Mayn;–and is especially vigilant, since June 14th, when the Pragmatic Army got on march, across the Mayn at Hochst; and took to offering him battle, on his own south side of the River. Noailles–though his Force [still 58,000, after that Broglio Detachment of 12,000] was greatly the stronger–would not fight; preferred cutting off the Enemy’s supplies, capturing his river-boats, provision-convoys from Hanau, and settling him by hunger, as the cheaper method. Impetuous Stair was thwarted, by flat protest of his German colleagues, especially by D’Ahremberg, in FORCING battle on those rash terms: ‘We Austrians absolutely will not!’ said D’Ahremberg at last, and withdrew, or was withdrawing, he for his part, across the River again. So that Stair also was obliged to recross the River, in indignant humor; and now lies at Aschaffenburg, suffering the sad alternative, short diet namely, which will end in famine soon, if these counsels prevail.
“Stair and D’Ahremberg do not well accord in their opinions; nor, it seems, is anybody in particular absolute Chief; there are likewise heats and jealousies between the Hanoverian and the English troops (‘Are not we come for all your goods?’ ‘Yes, damn you, and for all our chattels too!’)–and withal it is frightfully uncertain whether a high degree of intellect presides over these 44,000 fighting men, which may lead them to something, or a low degree, which can only lead them to nothing!–The blame is all laid on Stair; ‘too rash,’ they say. Possibly enough, too rash. And possibly enough withal, even to a sound military judgment, in such unutterable puddle of jarring imbecilities, ‘rashness,’ headlong courage, offered the one chance there was of success? Who knows, had all the 44,000 been as rash as Stair and his English, but luck, and sheer hard fighting, might have favored him, as skill could not, in those sad circumstances! Stair’s plan was, ‘Beat Noailles, and you have done everything: provisions, opulent new regions, and all else shall be added to you!’ Stair’s plan might have answered,–had Stair been the master to execute it; which he was not. D’Ahremberg’s also, who protested, ‘Wait till your 12,000 join, and you have your provisions,’ was the orthodox plan, and might have much to say for itself. But the two plans collapsing into one,–that was the clearly fatal method! Magnanimous Stair never made the least explanation, to an undiscerning Public or Parliament; wrapt himself in strict silence, and accepted in a grand way what had come to him. [His Papers, to voluminous extent, are still in the Family Archives;–not inaccessible, I think, were the right student of them (who would be a rare article among us!) to turn up.] Clear it is, the Pragmatic Army had come across again, at Aschaffenburg, Sunday, June 16th; and was found there by his Majesty on the Wednesday following, with its two internecine plans fallen into mutual death; a Pragmatic Army in truly dangerous circumstances.
“The English who were in and round Aschaffenburg itself, Hanoverians and Austrians encamping farther down, had put a battery on the Bridge of Aschaffenburg; hoping to be able to forage thereby on the other side of the Mayn. Whereupon Noailles had instantly clapt a redoubt, under due cover of a Wood, at his end of the Bridge, ‘No passage this way, gentlemen, except into the cannon’s throat!’–so that Marshal Stair, reconnoitring that way, ‘had his hat shot off,’ and rapidly drew back again. Nay, before long, Noailles, at the Village of Seligenstadt, some eight miles farther down, throws two wooden or pontoon bridges over; [Sketch of Plan at p. 257.] can bring his whole Army across at Seligenstadt; prohibits all manner of supply to us from Hanau or our Magazines by his arrangement there:”–(Notable little Seligenstadt, “City of the Blessed;” where Eginhart and Emma, ever since Charlemagne’s time, lie waiting the Resurrection; that is the place of these Noailles contrivances!)–“Furthermore, we learn, Noailles has seized a post twenty miles farther up the river (Miltenberg the name of it); and will prevent supplies from coming down to us out of Branken or the Neckar Country. We had forgotten, or our COLLAPSE of plans had done it, that ‘an army moves on its stomach’ (as the King of Prussia says), and that we have nothing to live upon in these parts!
“Such has the unfortunate fact turned out to be, when Britannic Majesty arrives; and it can now be discovered clearly, by any eyes, however flat to the head. And a terrible fact it is. Discordant Generals accuse one another; hungry soldiers cannot be kept from plundering: for the horses there is unripe rye in quantity; but what is there for the men? My poor traditionary friends, of the Grey Dragoons, were wont (I have heard) to be heart-rending on this point, in after years! Famine being urgent, discipline is not possible, nor existence itself. For a week longer, George, rather in obstinate hope than with any reasonable plan or exertion, still tries it; finds, after repeated Councils of War, that he will have to give it up, and go back to Hanau where his living is. Wednesday night, 26th June, 1743, that is the final resolution, inevitably come upon, without argument: and about one on Thursday morning, the Army (in two columns, Austrians to vanward well away from the River, English as rear-guard close on it) gets in motion to execute said resolution,–if the Army can.
“If the Army can: but that is like to be a formidably difficult business; with a Noailles watching every step of you, to-day and for ten days back, in these sad circumstances. Eyes in him like a lynx, they say; and great skill in war, only too cautious. Hardly is the Army gone from Aschaffenburg, when Noailles, pushing across by the Bridge, seizes that post,–no retreat now for us thitherward. His Majesty, who marches in the rear division, has happily some artillery with him; repels the assaults from behind, which might have been more serious otherwise. As it is, there play cannon across the River upon him:–Why not bend to right, and get out of range, asks the reader? The Spessart Hills rise, high and woody, on the right; and there is in many places no marching except within range. Noailles has Five effective Batteries, at the various good points, on his side of the River:–and that is nothing to what he has got ready for us, were we once at Dettingen, within wind of his Two Bridges a little beyond! Noailles has us in a perfect mouse-trap, SOURICIERE as he felinely calls it; and calculates on having annihilation ready for us at Dettingen.
“Dettingen, short way above those Pontoons at Seligenstadt, is near eight miles westward [NORTHwestward, but let us use the briefer term] from Aschaffenburg: Dettingen is a poor peasant Village, of some size, close on the Mayn, and on our side of it. A Brook, coming down from the Spessart Mountains, falls into the Mayn there; having formed for itself, there and upwards, a considerable dell or hollow way; chiefly on the western or right bank of which stands the Village with its barnyards and piggeries: on both sides of the great High-road, which here crosses the Brook, and will lead you to Hanau twenty miles off,–or back to Aschaffenburg, and even to Nurnberg and the Donau Countries, if you persevere. Except that of the high-road, Dettingen Brook has no bridge. Above the Village, after coming from the Mountains, the banks of it are boggy; especially the western bank, which spreads out into a scrubby waste of moor, for some good space. In which scrubby moor, as elsewhere in this dell or hollow way itself, where the Village hangs, with its hedges, piggeries, colegarths,–there is like to be bad enough marching for a column of men! Noailles, as we said, has Two Bridges thrown across the Mayn, just below; and the last of his Five Batteries, from the other side, will command Dettingen. His plan of operation is this:–
“By these Bridges he has passed 24,000 horse and foot across the River, under his Nephew the chivalrous Duke of Grammont: these, with due artillery and equipment, are to occupy the Village; and to rank themselves in battle-order to leftward of it, on the moor just mentioned,–well behind that hollow way, with its brook and bogs;–and, one thing they must note well, Not to stir from that position, till the English columns have got fairly into said hollow way and brook of Dettingen, and are plunging more or less distractedly across the entanglements there. With cannon on their left flank, and such a gullet to pass through, one may hope they will be in rather an attackable condition. Across that gullet it is our intention they shall never get. How can they, if Grammont do his duty?
“This is Noailles’s plan; one of the prettiest imaginable, say military men,–had the execution but corresponded. Noailles had seized Aschaffenburg, so soon as the English were out of it; Noailles, from his batteries beyond the River, salutes the English march with continuous shot and thunder, which is very discomposing: he sees confidently a really fair likelihood of capturing the Britannic Majesty and his Pragmatic Army, unless they prefer to die on the ground. Seldom, since that of the Caudine Forks, did any Army, by ill-luck and ill-guidance, get into such a pinfold,–death or flat surrender seemingly their one alternative.
“Thus march these English, that dewy morning, Thursday, June 27th, 1743, with cannon playing on their left flank; and such a fate ahead of them, had they known it;–very short of breakfast, too, for most part. But they have one fine quality, and Britannic George, like all his Welf race from Henry the Lion down to these days, has it in an eminent degree: they are not easily put into flurry, into fear. In all Welf Sovereigns, and generally in Teuton Populations, on that side of the Channel or on this, there is the requisite unconscious substratum of taciturn inexpugnability, with depths of potential rage almost unquenchable, to be found when you apply for it. Which quality will much stead them on the present occasion: and, indeed, it is perhaps strengthened by their ‘stupidity’ itself, what neighbors call their ‘stupidity;’–want of idle imagining, idle flurrying, nay want even of knowing, is not one of the worst qualities just now! They tramp on, paying a minimum of attention to the cannon; ignorant of what is ahead; hoping only it may be breakfast, in some form, before the day quite terminate. The day is still young, hardly 8 o’clock, when their advanced parties find Dettingen beset; find a whole French Army drawn up, on the scrubby moor there; and come galloping back with this interesting bit of news! Pause hereupon; much consulting; in fact, endless hithering and thithering, the affair being knotty: ‘Fight, YES, now at last! But how?’ Impetuous Stair was not wanting to himself; Neipperg too, they say, was useful with advice; D’Ahremberg, I should imagine, good for little.
“Some six hours followed of thrice-intricate deploying, planting of field-pieces, counter-batteries; ranking, re-ranking, shuffling hither and then thither of horse and foot; Noailles’s cannonade proceeding all the while; the English, still considerably exposed to it, and standing it like stones; chivalrous Grammont, and with better reason the English, much wishing these preliminaries were done. A difficult business, that of deploying here. The Pragmatic had no room, jammed so against the Spessart Hills, and obliged to lean FROM the River and Noailles’s cannon; had to rank itself in six, some say in eight lines; horse behind foot, as well as on flank; unsatisfactory to the military mind: and I think had not done shuffling and re-shuffling at 2 P.M.,–when the Enemy came bursting on, with a peremptory finish to it, ‘Enough of that, MESSIEUR’S LES ANGLAIS!’ ‘Too much of it, a great deal!’ thought Messieurs grimly, in response. And there ensued a really furious clash of host against host; French chivalry (MAISON DU ROI, Black Mousquetaires, the Flower of their Horse regiments) dashing, in right Gallic frenzy, on their natural enemies,–on the English, that is; who, I find, were mainly on the left wing there, horse and foot; and had mainly (the Austrians and they, very mainly) the work to do;–and did, with an effort, and luck helping, manage to do it.
“‘Grammont breaks orders! Thrice-blamable Grammont!’ exclaim Noailles and others, sorrowfully wringing their hands. Even so! Grammont had waited seven mortal hours; one’s courage burning all the while, courage perhaps rather burning down,–and not the least use coming of if. Grammont had, in natural impatience, gradually edged forward; and, in the end, was being cannonaded and pricked into by the Enemy;– and did at last, with his MAISON-DU-ROI, dash across that essential Hollow Way, and plunge in upon them on their own side of it. And ‘the, English foot gave their volley too soon;’ ad Grammont did, in effect, partly repulse and disorder the front ranks of them; and, blazing up uncontrollable, at sight of those first ranks in disorder, did press home upon them more and more; get wholly into the affair, bringing on his Infantry as well: ‘Let us finish it wholly, now that our hand is in!’–and took one cannon from the Enemy; and did other feats.
“So furious was that first charge of his; ‘MAISON-DU-ROI covering itself with glory,’–for a short while. MAISON-DU-ROI broke three lines of the Enemy [three, not “Five”]; did in some places actually break through; in others ‘could not, but galloped along the front.’ Three of their lines: but the fourth line would not break; much the contrary, it advanced (Austrians and English) with steady fire, hotter and hotter: upon this fourth line MAISON-DU-ROI had, itself, to break, pretty much altogether, and rush home again, in ruinous condition. ‘Our front lines made lanes for them; terribly maltreating them with musketry on right and left, as they galloped through.’ And this was the end of Grammont’s successes, this charge of horse; for his infantry had no luck anywhere; and the essential crisis of the Battle had been here. It continued still a good while; plenty of cannonading, fusillading, but in sporadic detached form; a confused series of small shocks and knocks; which were mostly, or all, unfortunate for Grammont; and which at length knocked him quite off the field. ‘He was now interlaced with the English,’ moans Noailles; ‘so that my cannon, not to shoot Grammont as well as the English, had to cease firing!’ Well, yes, that is true, M. le Marechal; but that is not so important as you would have it. The English had stood nine hours in this fire of yours; by degrees, leaning well away from it; answering it with counter- batteries;–and were not yet ruined by it, when the Grammont crisis came! Noailles should have dashed fresh troops across his Bridges, and tried to handle them well. Noailles did not do that; or do anything but wring his hands.
“The Fight lasted four hours; ever hotter on the English part, ever less hot on the French [fire of anthracite-coal VERSUS flame of dry wood, which latter at last sinks ASHY!]–and ended in total defeat of the French. The French Infantry by no means behaved as their Cavalry had done. The GARDES FRANCAISES [fire burning ashy, after seven hours of flaming], when Grammont ordered them up to take the English in flank, would hardly come on at all, or stand one push. They threw away their arms, and plunged into the River, like a drove of swimmers; getting drowned in great numbers. So that their comrades nicknamed them ‘CANARDS DU MEIN (Ducks of the Mayn):’ and in English mess-rooms, there went afterwards a saying: ‘The French had, in reality, Three Bridges; one of them NOT wooden, and carpeted with blue cloth!’ Such the wit of military mankind.
“… The English, it appears, did something by mere shouting. Partial huzzas and counter-huzzas between the Infantries were going on at one time, when Stair happened to gallop up: ‘Stop that,’ said Stair; ‘let us do it right. Silence; then, One and all, when I give you signal!’ And Stair, at the right moment, lifting his hat, there burst out such a thunder-growl, edged with melodious ire in alt, as quite seemed to strike a damp into the French, says my authority, ‘and they never shouted more. … Our ground in many parts was under rye,’ hedgeless fields of rye, chief grain-crop of that sandy country. ‘We had already wasted above 120,000 acres of it,’ still in the unripe state, so hungry were we, man and horse, ‘since crossing to Aschaffenburg;’–fighting for your Cause of Liberty, ye benighted ones!
“King Friedrich’s private accounts, deformed by ridicule, are, That the Britannic Majesty, his respectable old Uncle, finding the French there barring his way to breakfast, understood simply that there must and should be fighting, of the toughest; but had no plan or counsel farther: that he did at first ride up, to see what was what with his own eyes; but that his horse ran away with him, frightened at the cannon; upon which he hastily got down; drew sword; put himself at the head of his Hanoverian Infantry [on the right wing], and stood,–left foot drawn back, sword pushed out, in the form of a fencing-master doing lunge,–steadily in that defensive attitude, inexpugnable like the rocks, till all was over, and victory gained. This is defaced by the spirit of ridicule, and not quite correct. Britannic Majesty’s horse [one of those 500 fine animals] did, it is certain, at last dangerously run away with him; upon which he took to his feet and his Hanoverians. But he had been repeatedly on horseback, in the earlier stages; galloping about, to look with his own eyes, could they have availed him; and was heard encouraging his people, and speaking even in the English language, ‘Steady, my boys; fire, my brave boys, give them fire; they will soon run!’ [
compare Anonymous,
“The English Officers also, it is evident, behaved in their usual way:–without knowledge of war, without fear of death, or regard to utmost peril or difficulty; cheering their men, and keeping them steady upon the throats of the French, so far as might be. And always, after that first stumble with the French Horse was mended, they kept gaining ground, thrusting back the Enemy, not over the Dettingen Brook and Moor-ground only, but, knock after knock, out of his woody or other coverts, back and ever back, towards Welzheim, Kahl, and those Two Bridges of his. The flamy French [ligneous fire burning lower and lower, VERSUS anthracitic glowing brighter and brighter] found that they had a bad time of it;–found, in fact, that they could not stand it; and tumbled finally, in great torrents, across their Bridges on the Mayn, many leaping into the River, the English sitting dreadfully on the skirts of them. So that had the English had their Cavalry in readiness to pursue, Noailles’s Army, in the humor it had sunk to, was ruined, and the Victory would have been conspicuously great. But they had, as too common, nothing ready. Impetuous Stair strove to get ready; “pushed out the Grey Dragoons” for one item. But the Authorities refused Stair’s counsel, as rash again; and made no effectual pursuit at all;–too glad that they had brushed their Battle-field triumphantly clear, and got out of that fatal pinfold in an honorable manner.
MAP: BOOK XIV, Chap V, page 257 GOES HERE————————–
“They stayed on the ground till 10 at night; settling, or trying to settle, many things. The Surgeons were busy as bees, but able for Officers only;–‘Dress HIM first!’ said the glorious Duke of Cumberland, pointing to a young Frenchman [Excellency Fenelon’s Son, grand-nephew of TELEMAQUE] who was worse wounded than his Highness. Quite in the Philip-Sydney fashion; which was much taken notice of. ‘All this while, we had next to nothing to eat’ (says one informant).–Ten P.M.: after which, leaving a polite Letter to Noailles, ‘That he would take care of our Wounded, and bury our Slain as well as his own,’ we march [through a pour of rain] to Hanau, where our victuals are, and 12,000 new Hessians and Hanoverians by this time.
“Noailles politely bandaged the Wounded, buried the Dead. Noailles, gathering his scattered battalions, found that he had lost 2,659 men; no ruinous loss to him,–the Enemy’s being at least equal, and all his Wounded fallen Prisoners of War. No ruinous loss to Noailles, had it not been the loss of Victory,–which was a sore blow to French feeling; and, adding itself to those Broglio disgraces, a new discouragement to Most Christian Majesty. Victory indisputably lost:–but is it not Grammont’s blame altogether? Grammont bears it, as we saw; and it is heavily laid on him. But my own conjecture is, forty thousand enraged people, of English and other Platt-Teutsch type, would have been very difficult to pin up, into captivity or death instead of breakfast, in that manner: and it is possible if poor Grammont had not mistaken, some other would have done so, and the hungry Baresarks (their blood fairly up, as is evident) would have ended in getting through.” [Espagnac, i. 193;
xiii. (for 1743), pp. 328-481;–containing Carteret’s Despatch from the field; followed by many other Letters and indistinct Narrations from Officers present (p. 434, “Plan of the Battle,” blotchy, indecipherable in parts, but essentially rather true),–is worth examining. See likewise Anonymous,
Duke of Cumberland
ignorant, much-adoring military-man, who has made some study, and is not so stupid as he looks), pp. 56-78; and Henderson (ignorant he too, much-adoring, and not military),
of Cumberland
Campagnes,
de Frederic,
This was all the Fighting that King George got of his Pragmatic Army; the gain from conquest made by it was, That it victoriously struggled back to its bread-cupboard. Stair, about two months hence, in the mere loitering and higgling that there was, quitted the Pragmatic; magnanimously silent on his many wrongs and disgusts, desirous only of “returning to the plough,” as he expressed himself. The lofty man; wanted several requisites for being a Marlborough; wanted a Sarah Jennings, as the preliminary of all!–We will not attend the lazy movements and procedures of the Pragmatic Army farther; which were of altogether futile character, even in the temporary Gazetteer estimate; and are to be valued at zero, and left charitably in oblivion by a pious posterity. Stair, the one brightish-looking man in it, being gone, there remain Majesty with his D’Ahrembergs, Neippergs, and the Martial Boy; Generals Cope, Hawley, Wade, and many of leaden character, remain: –let the leaden be wrapped in lead.
It was not a successful Army, this Pragmatic. Dettingen itself, in spite of the rumoring of Gazetteers and temporary persons, had no result,–except the extremely bad one, That it inflated to an alarming height the pride and belligerent humor of his Britannic, especially of her Hungarian Majesty; and made Peace more difficult than ever. That of getting Ostein, with his Austrian leanings, chosen Kur-Mainz,–that too turned out ill: and perhaps, in the course of the next few months, we shall judge that, had Ostein leant AGAINST Austria, it had been better for Austria and Ostein. Of the Pragmatic Army, silence henceforth, rather than speech!–
One thing we have to mark, his Britannic Majesty, commander of such an Army,–and of such a Purse, which is still more stupendous,–has risen, in the Gazetteer estimate and his own, to a high pitch of importance. To be Supreme Jove of Teutschland, in a manner; and acts, for the present Summer, in that sublime capacity. Two Diplomatic feats of his,–one a Treaty done and tumbled down again, the other a Treaty done and let stand (“Treaty of Worms,” and “Conferences,” or NON-Treaty “of Hanau”),–are of moment in this History and that of the then World. Of these two Transactions, due both of them to such an Army and such a Purse, we shall have to take some notice by and by; the rest shall belong to Night and her leaden sceptre–much good may they do her!
Some ten days after Dettingen, Broglio (who was crackling off from Donauwurth, in view of the Lines of Schellenberg, that very 27th of June) ended his retreat to the Rhine Countries; “glorious,” though rather swift, and eaten into by the Tolpatcheries of Prince Karl. “July 8th, at Wimpfen” (in the Neckar Region, some way South of Dettingen), Broglio delivers his troops to Marechal de Noailles’s care; and, next morning, rushes off towards Strasburg, and quiet Official life, as Governor there.
“The day after his arrival,” says Friedrich, “he gave a grand ball in Strasburg:” [
iii. 10.] “Behold your conquering hero safe again, my friends!” An ungrateful Court judged otherwise of the hero. Took his Strasburg Government from him, gave it to Marechal de Coigny; ordered the hero to his Estates in the Country, Normandy, if I remember;–where he soon died of apoplexy, poor man; and will trouble none of us again. “A man born for surprises,” said Friedrich long since, in the Strasburg Doggerel. Lost his indispensable garnitures, at the Ford of Secchia once; and now, in these last twelve months, is considered to have done a series of blustery explosions, derogatory to the glory of France, and ruinous to that sublime Belleisle Enterprise for oue thing.
A ruined Enterprise that, at any rate; seldom was Enterprise better ruined. Here, under Broglio, amid the titterings of mankind, has the tail of the Oriflamme gone the same bad road as its head did;– into zero and outer darkness; leaving the expenses to pay. Like a mad tavern-brawl of one’s own raising, the biggest that ever was. Has cost already, I should guess, some 80,000 French drilled Men, paid down, on the nail, to the inexorable Fates: and of coined Millions,–how many? In subsidies, in equipments, in waste, in loss and wreck: Dryasdust could not have told me, had he tried. And then the breakages, damages still chargeable; the probable afterclap? For you cannot quite gratuitously tweak people by the nose, in your wanton humor, over your wine!–One willing man, or Most Christian Majesty, can at any time begin a quarrel; but there need always two or more to end it again.
Most Christian Majesty is not so sensible of this fact as he afterwards became; but what with Broglio and the extinct Oriflamme, what with Dettingen and the incipient Pragmatic, he is heartily disgusted and discouraged; and wishes he had not thought of cutting Germany in Four. July 26th, Most Christian Majesty applies to the German Diet; signifying “That he did indeed undertake to help the Kaiser, according to treaties; but was the farthest in the world from meaning to invade Germany, on his own score. That he had and has no quarrel, except with Austria as Kaiser’s enemy; and is ready to be friends even with Austria. And now indeed intends to withdraw his troops wholly from the German territory. And can therefore hope that all unpleasantness will cease, between the German Nation and him; and that perhaps the Kaiser will be able to make peace with her Majesty of Hungary on softer terms than at one time seemed likely. If only the animosities of sovereign persons would assuage themselves, and each of us would look without passion at the issue really desirable for him!” [Espagnac, i. 200. Adelung, iii. B, 199 (26th July); Ib. 201 (the Answer to it, 16th August).]
That is now, 26th July, 1743, King Louis’s story for himself to the Diet of the Holy Roman Empire, Teutsch by Nation, sitting at Frankfurt in rather disconsolate circumstances. The Diet naturally answered, “JA WOHL, JA WOHL,” in intricate official language,– nobody need know what the Diet answered. But what the Hungarian Majesty answered, strong and high in such Britannic backing,–this was of such unexpected tone, that it fixed everybody’s attention; and will very specially require to be noted by us, in the course of a week or two.
We said, her Hungarian Majesty was getting crowned in Bohemia, getting personally homaged in Upper Austria, about to get vice- homaged in Bavaria itself,–nothing but glorious pomp, but loyalty loudly vocal, in Prag, in Linz and the once-afflicted Countries; at her return to Vienna, she has met the news of Dettingen; and is ready to strike the stars with her sublime head. “My little Paladin become Supreme Jove, too: aha!”
BRITANNIC MAJESTY HOLDS HIS CONFERENCES OF HANAU.
Britannic Majesty stayed two whole months in Hanau, brushing himself up again after that fierce bout; and considering, with much dubitation, What is the next thing? “Go in upon Noailles [who is still hanging about here, with Broglio coming on in the exploded state]; wreck Broglio and him! Go in upon the French!” so urges Stair always: rash Stair, urgent to the edge of importunity; English Officers and Martial Boy urgently backing Stair; while the Hanoverian Officers and Martial Parent are steady to the other view. So that, in respect of War, the next thing, for two months coming, was absolutely nothing, and to the end of the Campaign was nothing worth a moment’s notice from us. But on the Diplomatic side, there were two somethings, CONFERENCES AT HANAU with poor Kaiser Karl, and TREATY AT WORMS with the King of Sardinia; which–as minus quantities, or things less than nothing–turned out to be highly considerable for his Britannic Majesty and us.
HANAU, 7th July-1st AUGUST, 1743. “Poor Kaiser Karl had left Augsburg June 26th,–while his Broglio was ferrying at Donauworth, and his Seckendorf treatying for Armistice at Nieder-Schonfeld,– the very day before Dettingen. What a piece of news to him, that Dettingen, on his return to Frankfurt!
“A few days after Dettingen, July 3d, Noailles, who is still within call, came across to see this poor stepson of Fortune; gives piteous account of him, if any one were now curious on that head: How he bitterly complains of Broglio, of the no-subsidies sent, and is driven nearly desperate;–not a penny in his pocket, beyond all. Upon which latter clause Noailles munificently advanced him a $6,000. ‘Draught of 40,000 crowns, in my own name; which doubtless the King, in his compassion, will see good to sanction.’ [
this is a Sequel, or rather VICE VERSA, to that which we have called DES TROIS MARECHAUX, being of the same Collection), i. 316-328.] His feelings on the loss of Dettingen may be pictured. But he had laid his account with such things;–prepared for the worst, since that Interview with Broglio and Conti; one plan now left, ‘Peace, cost what it will!’
“The poor Kaiser had already, as we saw, got into hopes of bargaining with his Britannic Majesty; and now he instantly sets about it, while Hanau is victorious head-quarters. Britannic Majesty is not himself very forward; but Carteret, I rather judge, had taken up the notion; and on his Majesty’s and Carteret’s part, there is actually the wish and attempt to pacificate the Reich; to do something tolerable for the poor Kaiser, as well as satisfactory to the Hungarian Majesty,–satisfactory, or capable of being (by the Purse-holder) insisted on as such.
“And so the Landgraf of Hessen, excellent Wilhelm, King George’s friend and gossip, is come over to that little Town of Hanau, which is his own, in the Schloss of which King George is lodged: and there, between Carteret and our Landgraf,–the King of Prussia’s Ambassador (Herr Klinggraf), and one or two selectly zealous Official persons, assisting or watching,–we have ‘Conferences of Hanau’ going on; in a zealous fashion; all parties eager for Peace to Kaiser and Reich, and in good hope of bringing it about. The wish, ardent to a degree, had been the Kaiser’s first of all. The scheme, I guess, was chiefly of Carteret’s devising; who, in his magnificent mind, regardless of expense, thinks it may be possible, and discerns well what a stroke it will be for the Cause of Liberty, and how glorious for a Britannic Majesty’s Adviser in such circumstances. July 7th, the Conferences began; and, so frank and loyal were the parties, in a week’s time matters were advanced almost to completion, the fundamental outlines of a bargain settled, and almost ready for signing.
“‘Give me my Bavaria again!’ the Kaiser had always said: ‘I am Head of the Reich, and have nothing to live upon!’ On one preliminary, Carteret had always been inexorable: ‘Have done with your French auxiliaries; send every soul of them home; the German soil once cleared of them, much will be possible; till then nothing.’ KAISER: ‘Well, give me back my Bavaria; my Bavaria, and something suitable to live upon, as Head of the Reich: some decent Annual Pension, till Bavaria come into paying condition,–cannot you, who are so wealthy? And Bavaria might be made a Kingdom, if you wished to do the handsome thing. I will renounce my Austrian Pretensions, quit utterly my French Alliances; consent to have her Hungarian Majesty’s august Consort made King of the Romans [which means Kaiser after me], and in fact be very safe to the House of Austria and the Cause of Liberty.’ To all this the thrice-unfortunate gentleman, titular Emperor of the World, and unable now to pay his milk-scores, is eager to consent. To continue crossing the Abysses on bridges of French rainbow? Nothing but French subsidies to subsist on; and these how paid,–Noailles’s private pocket knows how! ‘I consent,’ said the Kaiser; ‘will forgive and forget, and bygones shall be bygones all round!’ ‘Fair on his Imperial Majesty’s part,’ admits Carteret; ‘we will try to be persuasive at Vienna. Difficult, but we will try.’ In a meek matters had come to this point; and the morrow, July 15th, was appointed for signing. Most important of Protocols, foundation-stone of Peace to Teutschland; King Friedrich and the impartial Powers approving, with Britannic George and drawn sword presiding.
“King Friedrich approves heartily; and hopes it will do. Landgraf Wilhelm is proud to have saved his Kaiser,–who so glad as the Landgraf and his Kaiser? Carteret, too, is very glad; exulting, as he well may, to have composed these world-deliriums, or concentrated them upon peccant France, he with his single head, and to have got a value out of that absurd Pragmatic Army, after all. A man of magnificent ideas; who hopes ‘to bring Friedrich over to his mind;’ to unite poor Teutschland against such Oriflamme Invasions and intolerable interferences, and to settle the account of France for a long while. He is the only English Minister who speaks German, knows German situations, interests, ways; or has the least real understanding of this huge German Imbroglio in which England is voluntarily weltering. And truly, had Carteret been King of England, which he was not,–nay, had King Friedrich ever got to understand, instead of misunderstand, what Carteret WAS,–here might have been a considerable affair!
“But it now, at the eleventh hour, came upon magnificent Carteret, now seemingly for the first time in its full force, That he Carteret was not the master; that there was a bewildered Parliament at home, a poor peddling Duke of Newcastle leader of the same, with his Lords of the Regency, who could fatally put a negative on all this, unless they were first gained over. On the morrow, July 15th, Carteret, instead of signing, as expected, has to–purpose a fortnight’s delay till he consult in England! Absolutely would not and could not sign, till a Courier to England went and returned. To Landgraf Wilhelm’s, to Klinggraf’s and the Kaiser’s very great surprise, disappointment and suspicion. But Carteret was inflexible: ‘will only take a fortnight,’ said he; ‘and I can hope all will yet be well!’
“The Courier came back punctually in a fortnight. His Message was presented at Hanau, August 1st,–and ran conclusively to the effect: ‘No! We, Noodle of Newcastle, and my other Lords of Regency, do not consent; much less, will undertake to carry the thing through Parliament: By no manner of means!’ So that Carteret’s lately towering Affair had to collapse ignominiously, in that manner; poor Carteret protesting his sorrow, his unalterable individual wishes and future endeavors, not to speak of his Britannic Majesty’s,–and politely pressing on the poor Kaiser a gift of 15,000 pounds (first weekly instalment of the ‘Annual Pension’ that HAD, in theory, been set apart for him); which the Kaiser, though indigent, declined. [Adelung, iii. B, 206, 209-212; see Coxe,
i. 75, 469.]’
“The disgust of Landgraf Wilhelm was infinite; who, honest man, saw in all this merely an artifice of Carteret’s, To undo the Kaiser with his French Allies, to quirk him out of his poor help from the French, and have him at their mercy. ‘Shame on it!’ cried Landgraf Wilhelm aloud, and many others less aloud, Klinggraf and King Friedrich among them: ‘What a Carteret!’ The Landgraf turned away with indignation from perfidious England; and began forming quite opposite connections. ‘You shall not even have my hired 6,000, you perfidious! Thing done with such dexterity of art, too!’ thought the Landgraf,–and continued to think, till evidence turned up, after many months. [CARTERET PAPERS (in British Museum), Additional MSS. No. 22,529 (May, 1743-January, 1745); in No. 22,527 (January- September, 1742) are other Landgraf-Wilhelm pieces of Correspondence.] This was Friedrich’s opinion too,– permanently, I believe;–and that of nearly all the world, till the thing and the Doer of the thing were contemptuously forgotten. A piece of Machiavelism on the part of Carteret and perfidious Albion,–equal in refined cunning to that of the Ships with foul bottom, which vanished from Cadiz two years ago, and were admired with a shudder by Continental mankind who could see into millstones!
“This is the second stroke of Machiavellian Art by those Islanders, in their truly vulpine method. Stroke of Art important for this History; and worth the attention of English readers,–being almost of pathetic nature, when one comes to understand it! Carteret, for this Hanau business, had clangor enough to undergo, poor man, from Germans and from English; which was wholly unjust. ‘His trade,’ say the English–(or used to say, till they forgot their considerable Carteret altogether)–‘was that of rising in the world by feeding the mad German humors of little George; a miserable trade.’ Yes, my friends;–but it was not quite Carteret’s, if you will please to examine! And none say, Carteret did not do his trade, whatever it was, with a certain greatness,–at least till habits of drinking rather took him, Poor man: impatient, probably, of such fortune long continued! For he was thrown out, next Session of Parliament, by Noodle of Newcastle, on those strange terms; and never could get in again, and is now forgotten; and there succeeded him still more mournful phenomena,–said Noodle or the poor Pelhams, namely,–of whom, as of strauge minus quantities set to manage our affairs, there is still some dreary remembrance in England. Well!”–
Carteret, though there had been no Duke of Newcastle to run athwart this fine scheme, would have had his difficulties in making her Hungarian Majesty comply. Her Majesty’s great heart, incurably grieved about Silesia, is bent on having, if not restoration one day, which is a hope she never quits, at any rate some ample (cannot be too ample) equivalent elsewhere. On the Hanau scheme, united Teutschland, with England for soul to it, would have fallen vigorously on the throat of France, and made France disgorge: Lorraine, Elsass, the Three Bishoprics,–not to think of Burgundy, and earlier plunders from the Reich,–here would have been “cut and come again” for her Hungarian Majesty and everybody!–But Diana, in the shape of his Grace of Newcastle, intervenes; and all this has become chimerical and worse.
It was while Carteret’s courier was gone to England and not come back, that King Louis made the above-mentioned mild, almost penitent, Declaration to the Reich, “Good people, let us have Peace; and all be as we were! I, for my share, wish to be out of it; I am for home!” And, in effect, was already home; every Frenchman in arms being, by this time, on his own side of the Rhine, as we shall presently observe.
For, the same day, July 26th, while that was going on at Frankfurt, and Carteret’s return-courier was due in five days, his Britannic Majesty at Hanau had a splendid visit,–tending not towards Peace with France, but quite the opposite way. Visit from Prince Karl, with Khevenhuller and other dignitaries; doing us that honor “till the evening of the 28th.” Quitting their Army,–which is now in these neighborhoods (Broglio well gone to air ahead of it; Noailles too, at the first sure sniff of it, having rushed double- quick across the Rhine),–these high Gentlemen have run over to us, for a couple of days, to “congratulate on Dettingen;” or, better still, to consult, face to face, about ulterior movements. “Follow Noailles; transfer the seat of war to France itself? These are my orders, your Majesty. Combined Invasion of Elsass: what a slash may be made into France [right handselling of your Carteret Scheme] this very year!” “Proper, in every case!” answers the Britannic Majesty; and engages to co-operate. Upon which Prince Karl–after the due reviewing, dinnering, ceremonial blaring, which was splendid to witness [Anonymous,
HUNGARIAN MAJESTY ANSWERS, IN THE DIET, THAT FRENCH DECLARATION, “MAKE PEACE, GOOD PEOPLE; I WISH TO BE OUT OF IT!”–IN AN OMINOUS MANNER.
These are fine prospects, in the French quarter, of an equivalent for Schlesien;–very fine, unless Diana intervene! Diana or not, French prospects or not, her Hungarian Majesty fastens on Bavaria with uncommon tightness of fist, now that Bavaria is swept clear; well resolved to keep Bavaria for equivalent, till better come. Exacts, by her deputy, Homage from the Population there; strict Oath of Fealty to HER; poor Kaiser protesting his uttermost, to no purpose; Kaiser’s poor Printer (at Regensburg, which is in Bavaria) getting “tried and hanged” for printing such Protest! “She draughts forcibly the Bavarian militias into her Italian Army;” is high and merciless on all hands;–in a word, throttles poor Bavaria, as if to the choking of it outright. So that the very Gazetteers in foreign places gave voice, though Bavaria itself, such a grasp on the throat of it, was voiceless. Seckendorf’s poor Bargain for neutrality as a Bavarian Reich-Army, her Hungarian Majesty disdains to confirm; to confirm, or even to reject; treats Seckendorf and his Bavarian Army little otherwise than as a stray dog which she has not yet shot. And truly the old Feldmarschall lies at Wembdingen, in most disconsolate moulting condition; little or nothing to live upon;–the English, generous creatures, had at one time flung him something, fancying the Armistice might be useful; but now it must be the French that do it, if anybody! [Adelung, iii. B, 204 (“22d Angust”), 206, &c.]
Hanau Conferences having failed, these things do not fail. Kaiser Karl is become tragical to think of. A spectacle of pity to Landgraf Wilhelm, to King Friedrich, and serious on-lookers;–and perhaps not of pity only, but of “pity and fear” to some of them!– sullen Austria taking its sweet revenges, in this fashion. Readers who will look through these small chinks, may guess what a world-welter this was; and how Friedrich, gazing into phase on phase of it, as into Oracles of Fate, which to him they were, had a History, in these months, that will now never be known.
August 16th came out her Hungarian Majesty’s Response to that mild quasi-penitent Declaration of King Louis to the Reich; and much astonished King Louis and others, and the very Reich itself. “Out of it?” says her Hungarian Majesty (whom we with regret, for brevity’s sake, translate from Official into vulgate): “His Most Christian Majesty wishes to be out of it:–Does not he, the (what shall I call him) Crowned Housebreaker taken in the fact? You shall get out of it, please Heaven, when you have made compensation for the damage done; and till then not, if it please Heaven!” And in this strain (lengthily Official, though indignant to a degree) enumerates the wanton unspeakable mischiefs and outrages which Austria, a kind of sacred entity guaranteed by Law of Nature and Eleven Signatures of Potentates, has suffered from the Most Christian Majesty,–and will have compensation for, Heaven now pointing the way! [IN EXTENSO in Adelung, iii. B, 201 et seqq.]
A most portentous Document; full of sombre emphasis, in sonorous snuffling tone of voice; enunciating, with inflexible purpose, a number of unexpected things: very portentous to his Prussian Majesty among others. Forms a turning-point or crisis both in the French War, and in his Prussian Majesty’s History; and ought to be particularly noted and dated by the careful reader. It is here that we first publicly hear tell of Compensation, the necessity Austria will have of Compensation,–Austria does not say expressly for Silesia, but she says and means for loss of territory, and for all other losses whatsoever: “Compensation for the past, and security for the future; that is my full intention,” snuffles she, in that slow metallic tone of hers, irrevocable except by the gods.
“Compensation for the past, Security for the future:” Compensation? what does her Hungarian Majesty mean? asked all the world; asked Friedrich, the now Proprietor of Silesia, with peculiar curiosity! It is the first time her Hungarian Majesty steps articulately forward with such extraordinary Claim of Damages, as if she alone had suffered damage;–but it is a fixed point at Vienna, and is an agitating topic to mankind in the coming months and years. Lorraine and the Three Bishoprics; there would be a fine compensation. Then again, what say you to Bavaria, in lieu of the Silesia lost? You have Bavaria by the throat; keep Bavaria, you. Give “Kur-Baiern, Kaiser as they call him,” something in the Netherlands to live upon? Will be better out of Germany altogether, with his French leanings. Or, give him the Kingdom of Naples,–if once we had conquered it again? These were actual schemes, successive, simultaneous, much occupying Carteret and the high Heads at Vienna now and afterwards; which came all to nothing; but should were it not impossible, be held in some remembrance by readers.
Another still more unexpected point comes out here, in this singular Document, publicly for the first time: Austria’s feelings in regard to the Imperial Election itself. Namely, That Austria, considers, and has all along considered, the said Election to be fatally vitiated by that Exclusion of the Bohemian Vote; to be in fact nullified thereby; and that, to her clear view, the present so-called Kaiser is an imaginary quantity, and a mere Kaiser of French shreds and patches! “DER SEYN-SOLLENDE KAISER,” snuffles Austria in one passage, “Your Kaiser as you call him;” and in another passage, instead of “Kaiser,” puts flatly “Kur-Baiern.” This is a most extraordinary doctrine to an Electoral Romish Reich! Is the Holy Romish Reich to DECLARE itself an “Enchanted Wiggery,” then, and do suicide, for behoof of Austria?–
“August 16th, this extraordinary Document was delivered to the Chancery of Mainz; and September 23d, it was, contrary to expectation, brought to DICTATUR by said Chancery,”–of which latter phrase, and phenomenon, here is the explanation to English readers.
Had the late Kur-Mainz (general Arch-Chairman, Speaker of the Diet) been still in office and existence, certainly so shocking a Document had never been allowed “to come to DICTATUR,”–to be dictated to the Reich’s Clerks; to have a first reading, as we should call it; or even to lie on the table, with a theoretic chance that way. But Austria, thanks to our little George and his Pragmatic Armament, had got a new Kur-Mainz;–by whom, in open contempt of impartiality, and in open leaning for Austria with all his weight, it was duly forwarded to Dictature; brought before an astonished Diet (REICHSTAG), and endlessly argued of in Reichstag and Reich,–with small benefit to Austria, or the new Kur-Mainz. Wise kindness to Austria had been suppression of this Piece, not bringing of it to Dictature at all: but the new Kur-Mainz, called upon, and conscious of face sufficient, had not scrupled. “Shame on you, partial Arch-Chancellor!” exclaims all the world.– “Revoke such shamefully partial Dictature?” this was the next question brought before the Reich. In which, Kur-Hanover (Britannic George) was the one Elector that opined, No. Majority conclusive; though, as usual, no settle- ment attainable. This is the famous “DICTATUR-SACHE (Dictature Question),” which rages on us, for about eleven months to come, in those distracted old Books; and seems as if it would never end. Nor is there any saying when it would have ended;–had not, in August, 1744, something else ended, the King of Prussia’s patience, namely; which enabled it to end, on the Kaiser’s then order! [Adelung, iii. B, 201, iv. 198, &c.]
It must be owned, in general, the conduct of Maria Theresa to the Reich, ever since the Reich had ventured to reject her Husband as Kaiser, and prefer another, was all along of a high nature; till now it has grown into absolute contumacy, and a treating of the Reich’s elected Kaiser as a merely chimerical personage. No law of the Reich had been violated against her Hungarian Majesty or Husband: “What law?” asked all judges. Vicarius Kur-Sachsen sat, in committee, hatching for many months that Question of the Kur-Bohmen Vote; and by the prescribed methods, brought it out in the negative,–every formality and regularity observed, and nobody but your Austrian Deputy protesting upon it, when requested to go home. But, the high Maria had a notion that the Reich belonged to her august Family and her; and that all Elections to the contrary were an inconclusive thing, fundamentally void every one of them.
Thus too, long before this, in regard to the REICHS-ARCHIV Question. The Archives and indispensablest Official Records and Papers of the Reich,–these had lain so long at Vienna, the high Maria could not think of giving them up. “So difficult to extricate what Papers are Austrian specially, from what are Austrian- Imperial;–must have time!” answered she always. And neither the Kaiser’s more and more pressing demands, nor those of the late Kur-Mainz, backed by the Reich, and reiterated month after month and year after year, could avail in the matter. Mere angry correspondences, growing ever angrier;–the Archives of the Reich lay irrecoverable at Vienna, detained on this pretext and on that: nor were they ever given up; but lay there till the Reich itself had ended, much more the Kaiser Karl VII.! These are high procedures.
As if the Reich had been one’s own chattel; as if a Non-Austrian Kaiser mere impossible, and the Reich and its laws had, even Officially, become phantasmal! That, in fact, was Maria Theresa’s inarticulate inborn notion; and gradually, as her successes on the field rose higher, it became ever more articulate: till this of “the SEYN-SOLLENDE Kaiser” put a crown on it. Justifiable, if the Reich with its Laws were a chattel, or rebellious vassal, of Austria; not justifiable otherwise. “Hear ye?” answered almost all the Reich (eight Kurfursts, with the one exception of Kur-Hanover: as we observed): “Our solemnly elected Kaiser, Karl VII., is a thing of quirks and quiddities, of French shreds and patches; at present, it seems, the Reich has no Kaiser at all; and will go ever deeper into anarchies and unnamabilities, till it proceed anew to get one,–of the right Austrian type!”–The Reich is a talking entity: King Friedrich is bound rather to silence, so long as possible. His thoughts on these matters are not given; but sure enough they were continual, too intense they could hardly be. “Compensation;” “The Reich as good as mine:” Whither is all this tending? Walrave and those Silesian Fortifyings,–let Walrave mind his work, and get it perfected!
BRITANNIC MAJESTY GOES HOME.
The “Combined Invasion of Elsass”–let us say briefly, overstepping the order of date, and still for a moment leaving Friedrich–came to nothing, this year. Prince Karl was 70,000; Britannic George (when once those Dutch, crawling on all summer, had actually come up) was 66,000,–nay 70,000; Karl having lent him that beautiful cannibal gentleman, “Colonel Mentzel and 4,000 Tolpatches,” by way of edge-trimming. Karl was to cross in Upper Elsass, in the Strasburg parts; Karl once across, Britannic Majesty was to cross about Mainz, and co-operate from Lower Elsass. And they should have been swift about it; and were not! All the world expected a severe slash to France; and France itself had the due apprehension of it: but France and all the world were mistaken, this time.
Prince Karl was slow with his preparations; Noailles and Coigny (Broglio’s successor) were not slow; “raising batteries everywhere,” raising lines, “10,000 Elsass Peasants,” and what not; –so that, by the time Prince Karl was ready (middle of August), they lay intrenched and minatory at all passable points; and Karl could nowhere, in that Upper-Rhine Country, by any method, get across. Nothing got across; except once or twice for perhaps a day, Butcher Trenck and his loose kennel of Pandours; who went about, plundering and rioting, with loud rodomontade, to the admiration of the Gazetteers, if of no one else.
Nor was George’s seconding of important nature; most dubitative, wholly passive, you would rather say, though the River, in his quarter, lay undefended. He did, at last, cross the Rhine about Mainz; went languidly to Worms,–did an ever-memorable TREATY OF WORMS there, if no fighting there or elsewhere. Went to Speyer, where the Dutch joined him (sadly short of numbers stipulated, had it been the least matter);–was at Germersheim, at what other places I forget; manoeuvring about in a languid and as if in an aimless manner, at least it was in a perfectly ineffectual one. Mentzel rode gloriously to Trarbach, into Lorraine; stuck up Proclamation, “Hungarian Majesty come, by God’s help, for her own again,” and the like;–of which Document, now fallen rare, we give textually the last line: “And if any of you DON’T [don’t sit quiet at least], I will,” to be brief, “first cut off your ears and noses, and then hang you out of hand.” The singular Champion of Christendom, famous to the then Gazetteers! [In Adelung (iii. B, 193) the Proclamation at large. I have, or once had, a
Life of Mentzel
Life of Cumberlund,
Prince Karl tried hard in several places; hardest at, Alt-Breisach, far up the River, with Swabian Freiburg for his place of arms;–an Austrian Country all that, “Hithcr Austria,” Swabian Austria. There, at Alt-Breisach, lay Prince Karl (24th August-3d September), his left leaning on that venerable sugar-loaf Hill, with the towers and ramparts on the top of it; looking wistfully into Alsace, if there were no way of getting at it. He did get once half-way across the River, lodging himself in an Island called Rheinmark; but could get no farther, owing to the Noailles-Coigny preparations for him. Called a Council of War; decided that he had not Magazines, that it was too late in the season; and marched home again (October 12th) through the Schwabenland; leaving, besides the strong Garrison of Freiburg, only Trenck with 12,000 Pandours to keep the Country open for us, against next year. Britannic Majesty, as we observed, did then, almost simultaneously, in like manner march home; [Adelung, iii. B, 192, 215; Anonymous,
p. 121.]–one goal is always clear when the day sinks: Make for your quarters, for your bed.
Prince Karl was gloriously wedded, this Winter, to her Hungarian Majesty’s young Sister;–glorious meed of War; and, they say, a union of hearts withal;–Wife and he to have Brussels for residence, and be “Joint-Governors of the Netherlands” henceforth. Stout Khevenhuller, almost during the rejoicings, took fever, and suddenly died; to the great sorrow of her Majesty, for loss of such a soldier and man. [
pp. 94, 45.] Britannic Majesty has not been successful with his Pragmatic Army. He did get his new Kur-Mainz, who has brought the Austrian Exorbitancy to a first reading, and into general view. He did get out of the Dettingen mouse-trap; and, to the admiration of the Gazetteer mind, and (we hope) envy of Most Christian Majesty, he has, regardless of expense, played Supreme Jove on the German boards for above three months running. But as to Settlement of the German Quarrel, he has done nothing at all, and even a good deal less! Let me commend to readers this little scrap of Note; headed, “METHODS OF PACIFICATING GERMANY:– 1. There is one ready method of pacificating Germany: That his Britannic Majesty should firmly button his breeches-pocket, ‘Not one sixpence more, Madam!’–and go home to his bed, if he find no business waiting him at home. Has not he always the EAR-OF-JENKINS Question, and the Cause of Liberty in that succinct form. But, in Germany, sinews of war being cut, law of gravitation would at once act; and exorbitant Hungarian Majesty, tired France, and all else, would in a brief space of time lapse into equilibrium, probably of the more stable kind.
2. Or, if you want to save the Cause of Liberty on a grand scale, there are those HANAU CONFERENCES,–Carteret’s magnificent scheme: A united Teutschland (England inspiring it), to rush on the throat of France, for ‘Compensation,’ for universal salving of sores. This second method, Diana having intervened, is gone to water, and even to poisoned water. So that,
3″. There was nothing left for poor Carteret but a TREATY OF WORMS (concerning which, something more explicit by and by): A Teutschland (the English, doubly and trebly inspiring it, as surely they will now need!) to rush as aforesaid, in the DISunited and indeed nearly internecine state. Which third method–unless Carteret can conquer Naples for the Kaiser, stuff the Kaiser into some satisfactory ‘Netherlands’ or the like, and miraculously do the unfeasible (Fortune perhaps favoring the brave)–may be called the unlikely one! As poor Carteret probably guesses, or dreads;– had he now any choice left. But it was love’s last shift! And, by aid of Diana and otherwise, that is the posture in which, at Mainz, 11th October, 1743, we leave the German Question.”
“Compensation,” from France in particular, is not to be had gratis, it appears. Somewhere or other it must be had! Complaining once, as she very often does, to her Supreme Jove, Hungarian Majesty had written: “Why, oh, why did you force me to give up Silesia!”– Supreme Jove answers (at what date I never knew, though Friedrich knows it, and “has copy of the Letter”): “Madam, what was good to give is good to take back (CC QUI EST BON A PRENDRE EST BON A RENDRE)!” [
Chapter VI.
VOLTAIRE VISITS FRIEDRICH FOR THE FOURTH TIME.
In the last days of August, there appears at Berlin M. de Voltaire, on his Fourth Visit:–thrice and four times welcome; though this time, privately, in a somewhat unexpected capacity. Come to try his hand in the diplomatic line; to sound Friedrich a little, on behalf of the distressed French Ministry. That, very privately indeed, is Voltaire’s errand at present; and great hopes hang by it for Voltaire, if he prove adroit enough.
Poor man, it had turned out he could not get his Academy Diploma, after all,–owing again to intricacies and heterodoxies. King Louis was at first willing, indifferent; nay the Chateauroux was willing: but orthodox parties persuaded his Majesty; wicked Maurepas (the same who lasted till the Revolution time) set his face against it; Maurepas, and ANC. de Mirepoix (whom they wittily call “ANE” or Ass of Mirepoix, that sour opaque creature, lately monk), were industrious exceedingly; and put veto on Voltaire. A stupid Bishop was preferred to him for filling up the Forty. Two Bishops magnanimously refused; but one was found with ambitious stupidity enough: Voltaire, for the third time, failed in this small matter, to him great. Nay, in spite of that kiss in MEROPE, he could not get his MORT DE CESAR acted; cabals rising; ANCIEN de Mirepoix rising; Orthodoxy, sour Opacity prevailing again. To Madame and him (though finely caressed in the Parisian circles) these were provoking months;–enough to make a man forswear Literature, and try some other Jacob’s-Ladder in this world. Which Voltaire had actual thoughts of, now and then. We may ask, Are these things of a nature to create love of the Hierarchy in M. de Voltaire? “Your Academy is going to be a Seminary of Priests,” says Friedrich. The lynx-eyed animal,–anxiously asking itself, “Whitherward, then, out of such a mess?”–walks warily about, with its paws of velvet; but has, IN POSSE, claws under them, for certain individuals and fraternities.
Nor, alas, is the Du Chatelet relation itself so celestial as it once was. Madame has discovered, think only with what feelings, that this great man does not love her as formerly! The great man denies, ready to deny on the Gospels, to her and to himself; and yet, at bottom, if we read with the microscope, there are symptoms, and it is not deniable. How should it? Leafy May, hot June, by degrees comes October, sere, yellow; and at last, a quite leafless condition,–not Favonius, but gray Northeast, with its hail-storms (jealousies, barren cankered gusts), your main wind blowing. “EMILIE FAIT DE L’ALGEBRE,” sneers he once, in an inadvertent moment, to some Lady-friend: “Emilie doing? Emilie is doing Algebra; that is Emilie’s employment,–which will be of great use to her in the affairs of Life, and of great charm in Society.” [Letter of Voltaire “To Madame Chambonin,” end of 1742 (
This Quasi-Diplomatic Speculation, one perceives, is much more serious, on the part both of Voltaire and of the Ministry, than any of the former had been. And, on Voltaire’s part, there glitter prospects now and then of something positively Diplomatic, of a real career in that kind, lying ahead for him. Fond hopes these! But among the new Ministers, since Fleury’s death, are Amelot, the D’Argensons, personal friends, old school-fellows of the poor hunted man, who are willing he should have shelter from such a pack; and all French Ministers, clutching at every floating spar, in this their general shipwreck in Germany, are aware of the uses there might be in him, in such crisis. “Knows Friedrich; might perhaps have some power in persuading him,–power in spying him at any rate. Unless Friedrich do step forward again, what is to become of us!”–The mutual hintings, negotiatings, express interviews, bargainings and secret-instructions, dimly traceable in Voltaire’s LETTERS, had been going on perhaps since May last, time of those ACADEMY failures, of those Broglio Despatches from the Donau Countries, “No staying here, your Majesty!”–and I think it was, in fact, about the time when Broglio blew up like gunpowder and tumbled home on the winds, that Voltaire set out on his mission. “Visit to Friedrich,” they call it;–“invitation” from Friedrich there is, or can, on the first hint, at any point of the Journey be.
Voltaire has lingered long on the road; left Paris, middle of June; [His Letters (
has been exceedingly exerting himself, in the Hague, at Brussels, and wherever else present, in the way of forwarding his errand, Spying, contriving, persuading; corresponding to right and left,– corresponding, especially much, with the King of Prussia himself, and then with “M. Amelot, Secretary of State,” to report progress to the best advantage. There are curious elucidative sparks, in those Voltaire Letters, chaotic as they are; small sparks, elucidative, confirmatory of your dull History Books, and adding traits, here and there, to the Image you have formed from them. Yielding you a poor momentary comfort; like reading some riddle of no use; like light got incidentally, by rubbing dark upon dark (say Voltaire flint upon Dryasdust gritstone), in those labyrinthic catacombs, if you are doomed to travel there. A mere weariness, otherwise, to the outside reader, hurrying forward,–to the light French Editor, who can pass comfortably on wings or balloons! [
Voltaire had a glorious reception; apartment near the King’s; King gliding in, at odd moments, in the beautifulest way; and for seven or eight days, there was, at Berlin and then at Potsdam, a fine awakening of the sphere-harmonies between them, with touches of practicality thrown in as suited. Of course it was not long till, on some touch of that latter kind, Friedrich discerned what the celestial messenger had come upon withal;–a dangerous moment for M. de Voltaire, “King visibly irritated,” admits he, with the