And by and by hussar parties of ours come in, with articulate news to that bad effect: ‘Gabel under hot attack of regulars; Puttkammer with his 3,000 vigorously defending, will expect to be relieved within not many hours!’ Here has the crisis come. Crisis sure enough;–and the Prince, to meet it, summons that refuge of the irresolute, a Council of War.
“Winterfeld, who is just come home in these moments, did not attend;–not, till three next morning. Winterfeld had gone to bed; fairly ‘tired dead,’ with long marching and hurrying about. To the poor Prince there are three courses visible. Course FIRST, That of joining the King at Leitmeritz. Gabel, Zittau lost in that case; game given up;–reception likely to be bad at Leitmeritz! Course SECOND,–the course Friedrich himself would at once have gone upon, and been already well ahead with,–That of instantly taking measures for the relief of Puttkammer. Dispute Gabel to the last; retreat, on loss of it, Parthian-like, to Zittau, by that broad Highway, short and broad, whole distance hence only thirty miles. ‘Thirty miles,’ say the multitude of Counsellors: ‘Yes, but the first fifteen, TO Gabel, is cross-road, hilly, difficult; they have us in flank!’ ‘We are 25,000,’ urges the Prince; ‘fifteen miles is not much!’ The thing had its difficulties: the Prince himself, it appears, faintly thought it feasible: ‘25,000 we; 20,000 they; only fifteen miles,’ said he. But the variety of Counsellors: ‘Cross-roads, defiles, flank-march, dangerous,’ said they. And so the third course, which was incomparably the worst, found favor in Council of War: That of leaving Gabel and Puttkammer to their fate; and of pushing off for Zittau leftwards through the safe Hills, by Kamnitz, Kreywitz, Rumburg;–which, if the reader look, is by a circuitous, nay quite parabolic course, twice or thrice as far:–‘In that manner let us save Zittau and our Main Body!’ said the Council of War. Yes, my friends: a cannon-ball, endeavoring to get into Zittau from the town-ditch, would have to take a parabolic course;–and the cannon- ball would be speedy upon it, and not have Hill roads to go by! This notable parabolic circuit of narrow steep roads may have its difficulties for an Army and its baggages!” Enough, the poor Prince adopted that worst third course; and even made no despatch in getting into it; and it proved ruinous to Zittau, and to much else, his own life partly included.
“JULY 16th-22d. Thursday night, or Friday 3 A.M., that third and incomparably worst course was adopted: Gabel, Puttkammer with his wagons, ensigns, kettledrums, all this has to surrender in a day: High Road to Zittau, for the Austrians, is a smooth march, when they like to gather fully there, and start. And in the Hills, with their jolts and precipitous windings, infested too by Pandours, the poor Prussian Main Body, on its wide parabolic circuit, has a time of it! Loses its pontoons, loses most of its baggage; obliged to set fire, not to the Pandours, but to your own wagons, and necessaries of army life; encamps on bleak heights; no food, not even water; road quite lost, road to be rediscovered or invented; Pandours sputtering on you out of every bush and hollow, your peasant wagoners cutting traces and galloping off:–such are the phenomena of that march by circuit leftward, on the poor Prince’s part. March began, soon after midnight, SATURDAY, 16th, Schmettau as vanguard; and”–
And, in fine, by FRIDAY, 22d, after not quite a week of it, the Prince, curving from northward (in parabolic course, LESS speedy than the cannon-ball’s would have been) into sight of Zittau,– behold, there are the Austrians far and wide to left of us, encamped impregnable behind the Neisse River there! They have got the Eckart’s Hill, which commands Zittau:–and how to get into Zittau and our magazines, and how to subsist if we were in? The poor Prince takes post on what Heights there are, on his own side of the Neisse; looks wistfully down upon Zittau, asking How?
About stroke of noon the Austrians, from their Eckartsberg, do a thing which was much talked of. They open battery of red-hot balls upon Zittau; kindle the roofs of it, shingle-roofs in dry July; set Zittau all on blaze, the 10,000 innocent souls shrieking in vain to Heaven and Earth; and before sunset, Zittau is ashes and red-hot walls, not Zittau but a cinder-heap,–Prussian Garrison not hurt, nor Magazine as yet; Garrison busy with buckets, I should guess, but beginning to find the air grow very hot. On the morrow morning, Zittau is a smouldering cinder-heap, hotter and hotter to the Prussian Garrison; and does not exist as a City.
One of the most inhuman actions ever heard of in War, shrieks universal Germany; asks itself what could have set a chivalrous Karl upon this devil-like procedure? “Protestants these poor Zittauers were; shone in commerce; no such weaving, industrying, in all Teutschland elsewhere: Hah! An eye-sorrow, they, with their commerce, their weavings and industryings, to Austrian Papists, who cannot weave or trade?” that was finally the guess of some persons;–wide of the mark, we may well judge. Prince Xavier of Saxony, present in the Camp too, made no remonstrance, said others. Alas, my friends, what could Xavier probably avail, the foolish fellow, with only three regiments? Prince Karl, it was afterwards evident, could have got Zittau unburnt; and could even have kept the Prussians out of Zittau altogether. Zittau surely would have been very useful to Prince Karl. But overnight (let us try to fancy it so), not knowing the Prussian possibilities, Prince Karl, screwed to the devilish point, had got his furnaces lighted, his red-hot balls ready; and so, hurried on by his Pride and by his other Devils, had,–There are devilish things sometimes done in War. And whole cities are made ashes by them. For certain, here is a strange way of commencing your “Deliverance of Saxony”! And Prince Karl carries, truly, a brand-mark from this conflagration, and will till all memory of him cease. As to Zittau, it rebuilt itself. Zittau is alive again; a strong stone city, in our day. On its new-built Town-house stands again “BENE FACERE ET MALE AUDIRE REGIUM EST, To do well, and be ill spoken of, is the part of kings” [A saying of Alexander the Great’s (Plutarch, in ALEXANDRE).] (amazingly true of them,–when they are not shams). What times for Herrnhuth; preparing for its Christian Sabbath, under these omens near by!
The Prince of Prussia tells us, he “early next morning (Saturday, 23d July) had his tents pitched;” which was but an unavailing procedure, with poor Zittau gone such a road. “Bring us bread out of that ruined Zittau,” ordered the Prince: his Detachment returns ineffectual, “So hot, we cannot march in.” And the Garrison Colonel (one Dierecke and five battalions are garrison) sends out word: “So hot, we cannot stand it.” “Stand it yet a very little; and–!” answers the Prince: but Dierecke and battalions cannot, or at least cannot long enough; and set to marching out. In firm order, I have no doubt, and with some modicum of bread: but the tumbling of certain burnt walls parted Colonel and men, in a sad way. Colonel himself, with the colors, with the honors (none of his people, it seems, though they were scattered loose), was picked up by an Austrian party, and made prisoner. A miserable business, this of Zittau!
Next, evening, Sunday, after dark, Prince of Prussia strikes his tents again; rolls off in a very unsuccinct condition; happily unchased, for he admits that chase would have been ruinous. Off towards Lobau (what nights for Zinzendorf and Herrnhuth, as such things tumble past them!); thence towards Bautzen; and arrives in the most lugubrious torn condition any Prussian General ever stood in. Reaches Bautzen on those terms;–and is warned that his Brother will be there in a day or two.
One may fancy Friedrich’s indignation, astonishment and grief, when he heard of that march towards Zittau through the Hills by a parabolic course; the issue of which is too gnessable by Friedrich. He himself instantly rises from Leitmeritz; starts, in fit divisions, by the Pascopol, by the Elbe passes, for Pirna; and, leaving Moritz of Dessau with a 10,000 to secure the Passes about Pirna, and Keith to come on with the Magazines, hastens across for Bautzen, to look into these advancing triumphant Austrians, these strange Prussian proceedings. On first hearing of that side-march, his auguries had been bad enough; [Letter to Wilhelmina “Linay, 22d July” (second day of the march from Leitmeritz);
event has far surpassed them. Zittau gone; the Army hurrying home, as if in flight, in that wrecked condition; the door of Saxony, door of Silesia left wide open,–Daun has only to choose! Day by day, as Friedrich advanced to repair that mischief, the news of it have grown worse on him. Days rife otherwise in mere bad news. The Russians in Memel, Preussen at their feet; Soubise’s French and the Reich’s Army pushing on for Erfurt, to “deliver Saxony,” on that western side: and from the French-English scene of operations– In those same bad days Royal Highness of Cumberland has been doing a feat worth notice in the above connection! Read this, from an authentic source:–
“HASTENBECK, 22d-26th JULY, 1757. Royal Highness, hitching back and back, had got to Hameln, a strong place of his on the safe side of the Weser; and did at last, Hanover itself being now nigh, call halt; and resolve to make a stand. July 22d [very day while the Prince of Prussia came in sight of Zittau, with the Austrians hanging over it], Royal Highness took post in that favorable vicinity of Hameln; at perfect leisure to select his ground: and there sat waiting D’Estrees,–swamps for our right wing, and the Weser not far off; small Hamlet of Hastenbeck in front, and a woody knoll for our left;–totally inactive for four days long; attempting nothing upon D’Estrees and his intricate shufflings, but looking idly noonward to the courses of the sun, till D’Estrees should come up. Royal Highness is much swollen into obesity, into flabby torpor; a changed man since Fontenoy times; shockingly inactive, they say, in this post at Hastenbeck. D’Estrees, too, is ridiculously cautious, ‘has manoeuvred fifteen days in advancing about as many British miles.’ D’Estrees did at last come up (July 25th), nearly two to one of Royal Highness,–72,000 some count him, but considerably anarchic in parts, overwhelmed with Court Generals and Princes of the Blood, for one item;–and decides on attacking, next morning. D’Estrees duly went to reconnoitre, but unluckily ‘had mist suddenly falling.’ ‘Well; we must attack, all the same!’
“And so, 26th JULY, Tuesday, there ensued a BATTLE OF HASTENBECK: the absurdest Battle in the world; and which ought, in fairness, to have been lost by BOTH, though Royal Highness alone had the ill luck. Both Captains behaved very poorly; and each of them had a subaltern who behaved well. D’Estrees, with his 70,000 VERSUS 40,000 posted there, knows nothing of Royal Highness’s position; sees only Royal Highness’s left wing on that woody Height; and after hours of preliminary cannonading, sends out General Chevert upon that. Chevert, his subaltern [a bit of right soldier- stuff, the Chevert whom we knew at Prag, in old Belleisle times], goes upon it like fury; whom the Brunswick Grenadiers resist in like humor, hotter and hotter. Some hard fighting there, on Royal Highness’s left; Chevert very fiery, Grenadiers very obstinate; till, on the centre, westward, in Royal Highness’s chief battery there, some spark went the wrong way, and a powder-wagon shot itself aloft with hideous blaze and roar; and in the confusion, the French rushed in, and the battery was lost. Which discouraged the Grenadiers; so that Chevert made some progress upon them, on their woody Height, and began to have confident hope.
“Had Chevert known, or had D’Estrees known, there was, close behind said Height, a Hollow, through which these Grenadiers might have been taken in rear. Dangerous Hollow, much neglected by Royal Highness, who has only General Breitenbach with a weak party there. This Breitenbach, happening to have a head of his own, and finding nothing to do in that Hollow or to rightward, bursts out, of his own accord, on Chevert’s left flank; cannonading, volleying, horse- charging;–the sound of which (‘Hah, French there too!’) struck a damp through Royal Highness, who instantly ordered retreat, and took the road. What singular ill-luck that sound of Breitenbach to Royal Highness! For observe, the EFFECT of Breitenbach,–which was, to recover the lost battery (gallant young Prince of Brunswick, ‘Hereditary Prince,’ or Duke that is to be, striking in upon it with bayonet-charge at the right moment), made D’Estrees to order retreat! ‘Battle lost,’ thinks D’Estrees;–and with good cause, had Breitenbach been supported at all. But no subaltern durst; and Royal Highness himself was not overtakable, so far on the road. Royal Highness wept on hearing; the Brunswick Grenadiers too are said to have wept (for rage); and probably Breitenbach and the Hereditary Prince.” [Mauvillon, i. 228; Anonymous of Hamburg, i. 206 (who gives a Plan and all manner of details, if needed by anybody); Kausler; &c. &c.]
This is the last of Royal Highness’s exploits in War. The retreat had been ordered “To Hanover;” but the baggage by mistake took the road for Minden; and Royal Highness followed thither,–much the same what road he or it takes. Friedrich might still hope he would retreat on Magdeburg; 40,000 good soldiers might find a Captain there, and be valuable against a D’Estrees and Soubise in those parts. But no; it was through Bremen Country, to Stade, into the Sea, that Royal Highness, by ill luck, retreated! He has still one great vexation to give Friedrich,–to us almost a comfort, knowing what followed out of it;–and will have to be mentioned one other time in this History, and then go over our horizon altogether.
Whether Friedrich had heard of Hastenbeck the day his Brother and he met (July 29th, at Bautzen), I do not know: but it is likely enough he may have got the news that very morning; which was not calculated to increase one’s good humor! His meeting with the Prince is royal, not fraternal, as all men have heard. Let us give with brevity, from Schmettau Junior, the exact features of it; and leave the candid reader, who has formed to himself some notion of kingship and its sorrows and stern conditions (having perhaps himself some thing of kingly, in a small potential way), to interpret the matter, and make what he can of it:–
“BAUTZEN, 29th JULY, 1757. The King with reinforcement is coming hither, from the Dresden side; to take up the reins of this dishevelled Zittau Army; to speed with it against the Austrians, and, if humanly possible, lock the doors of Silesia and Saxony again, and chase the intruders away. Prince of Prussia and the other Generals have notice, the night before: ‘At 4 A.M. to-morrow (29th), wait his Majesty.’ Prince and Generals wait accordingly, all there but Goltz and Winterfeld; they not, which is noted.
“For above an hour, no King; Prince and Generals ride forward:– there is the King coming; Prince Henri, Duke Ferdinand of Brunswick and others in his train. King, noticing them, at about 300 paces distance, drew bridle; Prince of Prussia did the like, train and he saluting with their hats, as did the King’s train in return. King did not salute;–on the contrary, he turned his horse round and dismounted, as did everybody else on such signal. King lay down on the ground, as if waiting the arrival of his Vanguard; and bade Winterfeld and Goltz sit by him.” Poor Prince of Prussia, and battered heavy-laden Generals! “After a minute or two, Goltz came over and whispered to the Prince. ‘Hither, MEINE HERREN, all of you; a message from his Majesty!’ cried the Prince. Whereupon, to Generals and Prince, Goltz delivered, in equable official tone, these affecting words: ‘His Majesty commands me to inform your Royal Highness, That he has cause to be greatly discontented with you; that you deserve to have a Court-martial held over you, which would sentence you and all your Generals to death; but that his Majesty will not carry the matter so far, being unable to forget that in the Chief General he has a Brother!'” [Schmettau, pp. 384, 385.]
The Prince answered, He wanted only a Court-martial, and the like, in stiff tone. Here is the Letter he writes next day to his Brother, with the Answer:–
PRINCE OF PRUSSIA TO THE KING.
“BAUTERN, 30th July, 1757.
“MY DEAR BROTHER,–The Letters you have written me, and the reception I yesterday met with, are sufficient proof that, in your opinion, I have ruined my honor and reputation. This grieves, but it does not crush me, as in my own mind I am not conscious of the least reproach. I am perfectly convinced that I did not act by caprice: I did not follow the counsels of people incapable of giving good ones; I have done what I thought to be suitablest for the Army. All your Generals will do me that justice.
“I reckon it useless to beg of you to have my conduct investigated: this would be a favor you would do me; so I cannot expect it. My health has been weakened by these fatigues, still more by these chagrins. I have gone to lodge in the Town, to recruit myself.
“I have requested the Duke of Bevern to present the Army Reports; he can give you explanation of everything. Be assured, my dear Brother, that in spite of the misfortunes which overwhelm me, and which I have not deserved, I shall never cease to be attached to the State; and as a faithful member of the same, my joy will be perfect when I learn the happy issue of your Enterprises. I have the honor to be”
AUGUST WILHELM.
KING’S ANSWER, THE SAME DAY.
“CAMP NEAR BAUTZEN, 30th July, 1757.
“MY DEAR BROTHER,–Your bad guidance has greatly deranged my affairs. It is not the Enemy, it is your ill-judged measures that have done me all this mischief. My Generals are inexcusable; either for advising you so ill, or in permitting you to follow resolutions so unwise. Your ears are accustomed to listen to the talk of flatterers only. Daun has not flattered you;–behold the consequences. In this aad situation, nothing is left for me but trying the last extremity. I must go and give battle; and if we cannot conquer, we must all of us have ourselves killed.
“I do not complain of your heart; but I do of your incapaciy, of your want of judgment in not choosing better methods. A man who [like me; mark the phrase, from such a quarter!] has but a few days to live need not dissemble. I wish you better fortune than mine has been: and that all the miseries and bad adventures you have had may teach you to treat important things with more of care, more of sense, and more of resolution. The greater part of the misfortunes which I now see to be near comes only from you. You and your Children will be more overwhelmed by them than I. Be persuaded nevertheless that I have always loved you, and that with these sentiments I shall die. FRIEDRICH.” [MAIN DE MAITRE, p. 22.]
As the King went off to the Heights of Weissenberg, Zittau way, to encamp there against the Austrians, that same evening, the Prince did not answer this Letter,–except by asking verbally through Lieutenant-Colonel Lentulus (a mute Swiss figure, much about the King, who often turns up in these Histories), “for leave to return to Dresden by the first escort.”–“Depends on himself;–an escort is going this night! answered Friedrich. And the Prince went accordingly; and, by two stages, got into Dresden with his escort on the morrow. And had, not yet conscious of it, quitted the Field of War altogether; and was soon about to quit the world, and die, poor Prince. Died within a year, 12th June, 1758, at Oranienburg, beside his Family, where he had latterly been. [Preuss, ii. 60 (ib. 78).]–Winterfeld was already gone, six months before him; Goltz went, not long after him; the other Zittau Generals all survived this War.
The poor Prince’s fate, as natural, was much pitied; and Friedrich, to this day, is growled at for “inhuman treatment” and so on. Into which question we do not enter, except to say that Friedrich too had his sorrows; and that probably his concluding words, “with these sentiments I shall die,” were perfectly true. MAIN DE MAITRE went widely abroad over the world. The poor Prince’s words and procedures were eagerly caught up by a scrutinizing public,–and some of the former were not too guarded. At Dresden, he said, one morning, calling on a General Finck whom we shall hear of again: “Four such disagreeing, thin-skinned, high-pacing (UNEINIGE, PIQUIRTE) Generals as Fouquet, Schmettau, Winterfeld and Goltz, about you, what was to be done!” said the Prince to Finck. [Preuss, ii. 79 n.: see ib. 60, 78.]
His Wife, when at last he came to Oranienburg, nursed him fondly; that is one comfortable fact. Prince Henri, to the last, had privately a grudge of peculiar intensity, on this score, against all the peccant parties, King not excepted. As indeed he was apt to have, on various scores, the jealous, too vehement little man.
Friedrich’s humor at this time I can guess to have been well-nigh desperate. He talks once of “a horse, on too much provocation, getting the bit between its teeth; regardless thenceforth of chasms and precipices:” [Letter to Wilhelmina, “Linay, 22d July” (cited above).]–though he himself never carries it to that length; and always has a watchful eye, when at his swiftest! From Weissenberg, that night, he drives in the Pandours on Zittau and the Eckartsberg–but the Austrians don’t come out. And, for three weeks in this fierce necessity of being speedy, he cannot get one right stroke at the Austrians; who sit inexpugnable upon their Eckart’s Hill, bristling with cannon; and can in no way be manoeuvred down, or forced or enticed into Battle. A baffling, bitterly impatient three weeks;–two of them the worst two, he spends at Weissenberg itself, chasing Pandours, and scuffling on the surface, till Keith and the Magazine-train come up;– even writing Verses now and then, when the hours get unendurable otherwise!
The instant Keith and the Magazines are come he starts for Bernstadt; 56,000 strong after this junction:–and a Prussian Officer, dating “Bernstadtel [Bernstadt on the now Maps], 21st August, 1757,” sends us this account; which also is but of preliminary nature:–
“AUGUST 15th, Majesty left Weissenberg, and marched hither, much to the enemy’s astonishment, who had lain perfectly quiet for a fortnight past, fancying they were a mastiff on the door-sill of Silesia: little thinking to be trampled on in this unceremonious way! General Beck, when our hussars of the vanguard made appearance, had to saddle and ride as for life, leaving every rag of baggage, and forty of his Pandours captive. Our hussars stuck to him, chasing him into Ostritz, where they surprised General Nadasti at dinner; and did a still better stroke of business: Nadasti himself could scarcely leap on horseback and get off; left all his field equipage, coaches, horses, kitchen-utensils, flunkies seventy-two in number,–and, what was worst of all, a secret box, in which were found certain Dresden Correspondences of a highly treasonous character, which now the writers there may quake to think of;”–if Friedrich, or we, could take much notiee of them, in this press of hurries! [
Next day, August 16th, Friedrich detached five battalions to Gorlitz;–Prince Karl (he calls it DAUN) still camping on the Eckartsberg;–and himself, about 4 P.M., with the main Army, marched up to those Austrians on their Hill, to see if they would fight. [
No, they would n’t: they merely hustled themselves round so as to face him; face him, and even flank him with cannon-batteries if he came too near. Steep ground, “precipitons front of rocks,” in some places. “A hollow before their front; Village of Wittgenau there, and three roads through it, ONE of them with width for wheels;” Daun sitting inaccessible, in short. Next day, Winterfeld, with a detached Division, crossed the Neisse, tried Nadasti: “Attack Nadasti, on his woody knoll at Hirschfeld yonder; they will have to rise and save him!” In vain, that too; they let Nadasti take his own luck: for four days (16th-20th August) everything was tried, in vain.
No Battle to be had from these Austrians. And it would have been so infinitely convenient to us: Reich’s Army and Soubise’s French are now in the actual precincts of Erfurt (August 25th, Soubise took quarter there); Royal Highness of Cumberland is staggering back into the Sea; Richelieu’s French (not D’Estrees any more, D’Estrees being superseded in this strange way) are aiming, it is thought, towards Magdeburg, had they once done with Royal Highness; Swedes are getting hold of Pommern; Russians, in huge force, of Preussen: how comfortable to have had our Austrians finished before going upon the others! For four days more (August 20th-24th), Friedrich arranges his Army for watching the Austrians, and guarding Silesia;–Bevern and Winterfeld to take command in his absence:–and, August 25th, has to march; with a small Division, which, at Dresden, he will increase by Moritz’s, now needless in the Pirna Country; towards Thuringen; to look into Soubise and the Reich’s Army, as a thing that absolutely cannot wait. Arrives in Dresden, Monday, August 29th; and– Or let the old Newspaper report it, with the features of life:–
“DRESDEN, 29th AUGUST, 1757, This day, about noon, his Majesty, with a part of his Army from the Upper Lausitz, arrived at the Neustadt here. Though the kitchen had been appointed to be set up at what they call The Barns (DIE SCHEUNEN), his Majesty was pleased to alight in Konigsbruck Street, at the new House of Bruhl’s Chamberlain, Haller; and there passed the night. Tuesday evening, 30th, his Majesty the King, with his Lifeguards of Horse and of Foot, also with the Gens-d’Armes and other Battalions, marched through the City, about a mile out on the Freiberg road, and took quarter in Klein Hamberg. The 3lst, all the Army followed,”–a poor 23,000, Moritz and he, that was all! [“22,360” (Templehof, i. 228).]–“the King’s field-equipage, which had been taken from the Bruhl Palace and packed in twelve wagons, went with them.” [Rodenbeck, p. 316; Preuss, ii. 84 n; Mitchell’s Interview (
Chapter VI.
DEATH OF WINTERFELD.
Before going upon this forlorn march of Friedrich’s, one of the forlornest a son of Adam ever had, we must speak of a thing which befell to rearward, while the march was only half done, and which greatly influenced it and all that followed. It was the seventh day of Friedrich’s march, not above eighty miles of it yet done, when Winterfeld perished in fight. No Winterfeld now to occupy the Austrians in his absence; to stand between Silesia and them, or assist him farther in his lonesome struggle against the world. Let us spend a moment on the exit of that brave man: Bernstadt, Gorlitz Country, September 7th, 1757.
The Bevern Army, 36,000 strong, is still there in its place in the Lausitz, near Gorlitz; Prince Karl lies quiet in his near Zittau, ever since he burnt that Town, and stood four days in arms unattackable by Friedrich with prospect of advantage. The Court of Vienna cannot comprehend this state of inactivity: “Two to one, and a mere Bevern against you, the King far away in Saxony upon his desperate Anti-French mission there: why not go in upon this Bevern? The French, whom we are by every courier passionately importuning to sweep Saxony clear, what will they say of this strange mode of sweeping Silesia clear?” Maria Theresa and her Kriegs-Hofrath are much exercised with these thoughts, and with French and other remonstrances that come. Maria Theresa and her Kriegs-Hofrath at length despatch their supreme Kaunitz, Graf Kaunitz in person, to stir up Prince Karl, and look into the matter with his own wise eyes and great heart: Prince Karl, by way of treat to this high gentleman, determines on doing something striking upon Bevern.
Bevern lies with his main body about Gorlitz, in and to westward of Gorlitz, a pleasant Town on the left bank of the Neisse (readers know there are four Neisses, and which of them this is), with fine hilly country all round, bulky solitary Heights and Mountains rising out of fruitful plains,–two Hochkirchs (HIGH-KIRKS), for example, are in this region, one of which will become extremely notable next year:–Bevern has a strong camp leaning on the due Heights here, with Gorlitz in its lap; and beyond Gorlitz, on the right bank of the Neisse, united to him by a Bridge, he has placed Winterfeld with 10,000, who lies with his back to Gorlitz, proper brooks and fencible places flanking him, has a Dorf (THORP) called Moys in HIS lap; and, some short furlong beyond Moys, a 2,000 of his grenadiers planted on the top of a Hill called the Moysberg, called also the Holzberg (WOODHILL) and Jakelsberg, of which the reader is to take notice. Fine outpost, with proper batteries atop, with hussar squadrons and hussar pickets sprinkled about; which commands a far outlook towards Silesia, and in marching thither, or in continuing here, is useful to have in hand,–were it not a little too distant from the main body. It is this Jakelsberg, capable of being snatched if one is sudden enough, that Prince Karl decides on: it may be good for much or for little to Prince Karl; and, if even for nothing, it will be a brilliant affront upon Winterfeld and Bevern, and more or less charming to Kaunitz.
Winterfeld, the ardent enterprising man, King’s other self, is thought to be the mainspring of affairs here (small thanks to him privately from Bevern, add some): and is stationed in the extreme van, as we see; Winterfeld is engaged in many things besides the care of this post; and indeed where a critical thing is to be done, we can imagine Winterfeld goes upon it. “We must try to stay here till the King has finished in Saxony!” says Winterfeld always. To which Bevern replies, “Excellent, truly; but how?” Bevern has his provender at Dresden, sadly far off; has to hold Bautzen garrisoned, and gets much trouble with his convoys. Better in Silesia, with our magazines at hand, thinks Bevern, less mindful of other considerations.
Tuesday, September 6th, Prince Karl sends Nadasti to the right bank of the River, forward upon Moys, to do the Jakelsberg before day to-morrow: only some 2,000 grenadiers on it; Nadasti has with him 15,000, some count 20,000 of all arms, artillery in plenty; surely sufficient for the Jakelsberg; and Daun advances, with the main body, on the other side of the River, to be within reach, should Moys lead to more serious consequences. Nadasti diligently marches all day; posts himself at night within few miles of Moys; gets his cannon to the proper Hills (GALLOWS Hill and others), his Croats to the proper Woods; and, before daylight on the morrow, means to begin upon the Moys Hill and its 2,000 grenadiers.
Wednesday morning, at the set hour, Nadasti, with artillery bursting out and quivering battle-lines, is at work accordingly; hurls up 1,000 Croats for one item, and regulars to the amount of “forty companies in three lines.” The grenadiers, somewhat astonished, for the morning was misty and their hussar-posts had come hastily in, stood upon their guard, like Prussian men; hurled back the 1,000 Croats fast enough; stubbornly repulsed the regulars too, and tumbled them down hill with bullet-storm for accompaniment; gallantly foiling this first attempt of Nadasti’s. Of course Nadasti will make another, will make ever others; capture of the Jakelsberg can hardly be doubtful to Nadasti.
Winterfeld was not at Moys, he was at Gorlitz, just got in from escorting an important meal-convoy hither out of Bautzen; and was in conference with Bevern, when rumor of these Croat attacks came in at the gallop from Moys. Winterfeld made little of the rumors: he had heard of some attack intended, but it was to have been overnight, and has not been. “Mere foraging of Croat rabble, like yesterday’s!” said Winterfeld, and continued his present business. In few minutes the sound of heavy cannonading convinced him. “Haha, there are my guests,” said he; “we must see if we cannot entertain them right!” sprang to horseback, ordered on, double- quick, the three regiments nearest him, and was off at the gallop, –too late; or, alas, too EARLY we might rather say! Arriving at the gallop, Winterfeld found his grenadiers and their insufficient reinforcements rolling back, the Hill lost; Winterfeld “sprang to a fresh horse,” shot his lightning glances and energies, to his hand and that; stormfully rallied the matter, recovered the Hill; and stormfully defended it, for, I should guess, an hour or more; and might still have done one knows not what, had not a bullet struck him through the breast, and suddenly ended all his doings in this world.
Three other reasons the Prussians give for loss of their Hill, which are of no consequence to them or to us in comparison. First, that Bevern; on message after message, sent no reinforcement; that Winterfeld was left to his own 10,000, and what he and they could make of it. Bevern is jealous of Winterfeld, hint they, and willing to see his impetuous audacity checked. Perhaps only cautious of getting into a general action for what was intrinsically nothing? Second, that two regiments of Infantry, whom Winterfeld detached double-quick to seize a couple of villages (Leopoldshayn, Hermsdorf) on his right, and therefrom fusillade Nadasti on flank, found the villages already occupied by thousands of Croats, with regular foot and cannon-batteries, and could in nowise seize them. This was a great reverse of advantage. Third, that an Aide-de-Camp made a small misnomer, misreport of one word, which was terribly important: “Bring me hither Regiment Manteuffel!” Winterfeld had ordered. The Aide-de-Camp reported it “Grenadiers Manteuffel:” upon which, the grenadiers, who were posted in a walled garden, an important point to Winterfeld’s right, came instantly to order; and Austrians instantly rushed in to the vacant post, and galled Winterfeld’s other flank by their fire. [Abundant Accounts in Seyfarth, ii. (
162-163;
Retzow, i. 216-221.]
Enough, Winterfeld lay bleeding to death, the Hill was lost, Prussians drawing off slowly and back-foremost, about two in the afternoon; upon which the Austrians also drew off, leaving only a small party on the Hill, who voluntarily quitted it next morning. Next morning, likewise, Winterfeld had died. The Hill was, except as bravado, and by way of comfort to Kaunitz, nothing for the Austrians; but the death of Winterfeld, which had come by chance to them in the business, was probably a great thing. Better than two pitched battles gained: who shall say? He was a shining figure, this Winterfeld; dangerous to the Austrians. The most shining figure in the Prussian Army, except its Chief; and had great thoughts in his head. Prussia is not skilful to celebrate her Heroes,–the Prussian Muse of History, choked with dry military pipe-clay, or with husky cobwebbery and academic pedantry, how can she?–but if Prussia can produce heroes worth celebrating, that is the one important point. Apart from soldiership, and the outward features which are widely different, there is traceable in Winterfeld some kinship in soul to English Chatham his contemporary; though he has not had the fame of Chatham.
Winterfeld was by no means universally liked; as what brave man is or can be? Too susceptible to flattery; too this, too that. He is, one feels always, except Friedrich only, the most shining figure in the Prussian Army: and it was not unnatural he should be Friedrich’s one friend,–as seems to have been the case. Friedrich, when this Job’s-message reached him (in Erfurt Country, eight days hence), was deeply affected by it. To tears, or beyond tears, as we can fancy. “Against my multitude of enemies I may contrive resources,” he was heard to say; “but I shall find no Winterfeld again!” Adieu, my one friend, real Peer, sole companion to my lonely pilgrimage in these perilous high regions.
“The Prince of Prussia, contrariwise,” says a miserable little Note, which must not be withheld, “brightened up at the news: ‘I shall now die much more content, knowing that there is one so bad and dangerous man fewer in the Army!’ And, six months after, in his actual death-moments, he exclaimed: ‘I end my life, the last period of which has cost me so much sorrow; but Winterfeld is he who shortened my days!'” [Preuss, ii. 75; citing Retzow.]–Very bitter Opposition humors circulating, in their fashion, there as elsewhere in this world!
Bevern, the millstone of Winterfeld being off his neck, has become a more responsible, though he feels himself a much-delivered man. Had not liked Winterfeld, they say; or had even hated him, since those bad Zittau times. Can now, at any rate, make for Schlesien and the meal-magazines, when he sees good. He will find meal readier there; may he find other things corresponding! Nobody now to keep him painfully manoeuvring in these parts; with the King’s Army nearer to him, but meal not.
On the third day after (September l0th), Bevern, having finished packing, took the road for Schlesien; Daun and Karl attending him; nothing left of Daun and Karl in those Saxon Countries,–except, at Stolpen, out Dresden-wards, some Reserve-Post or Rear-guard of 15,000, should we chance to hear of that again. And from the end of September onwards, Bevern’s star, once somewhat bright at Reichenberg, shot rapidly downwards, under the horizon altogether; and there came, post after post, such news out of Schlesien,– to say nothing of that Stolpen Party,–as Friedrich had never heard before.
Chapter VII.
FRIEDRICH IN THURINGEN, HIS WORLD OF ENEMIES ALL COME.
The Soubise-Hildburghausen people had got rendezvoused at Erfurt about August 25th; 50,000 by account, and no enemy within 200 miles of them; and in the Versailles circles it had been expected they would proceed to the “Deliverance of Saxony” straightway. What is to hinder?–Friedrich, haggling with the Austrians at Bernstadt, could muster but a poor 23,000, when he did march towards Erfurt. In those same neighborhoods, within reach of Soubise, is the Richelieu, late D’Estrees, Army; elated with Hastenbeck, comfortably pushing Royal Highness of Cumberland, who makes no resistance, step by step, into the sea; victoriously plundering, far and wide in those countries, Hanover itself the Head-quarter. In the Versailles circles, it is farther expected that Richelieu, “Conqueror of Minorca,” will shortly besiege and conquer Magdeburg, and so crown his glories. Why not; were the “Deliverance of Saxony” complete?
The whole of which turned out greatly otherwise, and to the sad disappointment of Versailles. The Conqueror of Minorca is probably aware that the conquering of Magdeburg, against one whose platforms are not rotten, and who does not “lie always in his bed,” as poor old Blakeney did, will be a very different matter. And the private truth is, Marrchal de Richelieu never turned his thoughts upon Magdeburg at all, nor upon any point of war that had difficulties, but solely upon collecting plunder for himself in those Countries. One of the most magnificent marauders on record; in no danger, he, of becoming monitory and a pendulum, like the 1,000 that already swing in that capacity to rear of him! And he did manage, in this Campaign, which was the last of his military services, so as to pay off at Paris “above 50,000 pounds of debts; and to build for himself a beautiful Garden Mansion there, which the mocking populations called ‘Hanover Pavilion (PAVILION D’HANOVRE);'” a name still sticking to it, I believe. [Barbier, iii. 256, 271.] Of the Richelieu Campaign we are happily delivered from saying almost anything: and the main interest for us turns now on that Soubise-Hildburghausen wing of it,–which also is a sufficiently contemptible affair; not to be spoken of beyond the strictly unavoidable.
Friedrich, with his 23,000 setting out from Dresden, August 30th, has a march of about 170 miles towards Erfurt. He may expect to find–counting Richelieu, if Royal Highness of Cumberland persist in acting ZERO as hitherto–a confused mass of about 150,000 Enemies, of one sort and other, waiting him ahead; not to think of those he has just left behind;–and he cannot well be in a triumphant humor! Behind, before, around, it is one gathering of Enemies: one point only certain, that he must beat them, or else die. Readers would fain follow him in this forlorn march; him, the one point of interest now in it: and readers shall, if we can manage, though it is extremely difficult. For, on getting to Erfurt, he finds his Soubise-Hildburghausen Army off on retreat among the inaccessible Hills still farther westward; and has to linger painfully there, and to detach, and even to march personally against other Enemies; and then, these finished, to march back towards his Erfurt ones, who are taking heart in the interim:–and, in short, from September 1st to November 5th, there are two months of confused manoeuvring and marching to and fro in that West-Saxon region, which are very intricate to readers. November 5th is a day unforgettable: but anterior to that, what can we do? Here, dated, are the Three grand Epochs of the thing; which readers had better fix in mind as a preliminary:–
1. SEPTEMBER 13th, Friedrich has got to Erfurt neighborhood; but Soubise and Company are off westward to the Hills of Eisenach, won’t come down; Friedrich obliged to linger thereabouts, painfully waiting almost a month, till
2. OCTOBER 11th, hearing that “15,000 Austrians” (that Stolpen Party, left as rear-guard at Stolpen; Croats mainly, under a General Haddick) are on march for Berlin, he rises in haste thitherward, through Leipzig, Torgau, say 100 miles; hears that Haddick HAS been in Berlin (16th-17th October) for one day, and that he is off again full speed with a ransom of 30,000 pounds, which they have had to pay him: upon which Friedrich calls halt in the Torgau country;–and would have been uncertain what to do, had not
3. Soubise and Company, extremely elated with this Haddick Feat, come out from their Hills, intent to deliver Saxony after all. So that Friedrich has to turn back (October 26th-30th) through Leipzig again; towards,–in fact towards ROSSBACH and NOVEMBER 5th, in his old Saale Country, which does not prove so wearisome as formerly!
These are the cardinal dates; these let the reader recur to, if necessary, and keep steadily in mind: it will then perhaps be possible to intercalate, in a manner intelligible to him, what other lucent phenomena there are; and these dismal wanderings, and miserablest two months of Friedrich’s life, will not be wholly a provoking blotch of enigmatic darkness, but in some sort a thing with features in the twilight of the Past.
I. FRIEDRICH’S MARCH TO ERFURT FROM DRESDEN (31st August-13th September, 1757).
The march to Erfurt was of twelve days, and without adventure to speak of. Mayer and Free-Battalion had the vanguard, Friedrich there as usual; main body, under Keith with Ferdinand and Moritz, following in several columns: straight towards their goal; with steady despatch; for twelve days;–weather often very wet. [Tempelhof, i. 229; Rodenbeck, i. 317 (not very correct): in Westphalen (ii. 20 &c.) a personal Diary of this March, and of what followed on Duke Ferdinand’s part.] Seidlitz, with cavalry, had gone ahead, in search of one Turpin, a mighty hunter and Hussar among the French, who was threatening Leipzig, threatening Halle: but Turpin made off at sound of him, without trying fight; so that Seidlitz had only to halt, and rejoin, hoping better luck another time.
A march altogether of the common type,–the stages of it not worth marking except for special readers;–and of memorable to us offers only this, if even this: at Rotha, in Leipzig Country, the eighth stage from Dresden, Friedrich writes, willing to try for Peace if it be possible,
TO THE MARECHAL DUC DE RICHELIEU.
“ROTHA, 7th September, 1757.
“I feel, M. le Duc, that you have not been put in the post where you are for the purpose of Negotiating. I am persuaded, however, that the Nephew of the great Cardinal Richelieu is made for signing treaties no less than for gaining battles. I address myself to you from an effect of the esteem with which you inspire even those who do not intimately know you.
“‘T is a small matter, Monsieur (IL S’AGIT D’UNE BAGATELLE): only to make Peace, if people are pleased to wish it! I know not what your Instructions are: but, in the supposition that the King your Master, zow assured by your Successes, will have put it in your power to labor in the pacification of Germany, I address to you the Sieur d’Elcheset” (Sieur Balbi is the real name of him, an Italian Engineer of mine, who once served with you in the Fontenoy times,– and some say he has privately a 15,000 pounds for your Grace’s acceptance,–“the Sieur d’Elcheset), in whom you may place complete confidence.
“Though the events of this Year afford no hope that your Court still entertains a favorable disposition for my interests, I cannot persuade myself that a union which has lasted between us for sixteen years may not have left some trace in the mind. Perhaps I judge others by myself. But, however that may be, I, in short, prefer putting my interests into the King your Master’s hands rather thau into any other’s. If you have not, Monsieur, any Instructions as to the Proposal hereby made, I beg of you to ask such, and to inform me what the tenor of them is.
“He who has merited statues at Genoa [ten years ago, in those ANTI- Austrian times, when Genoa burst up in revolt, and the French and Richelieu beautifully intervened against the oppressors]; he who conquered Minorca in spite of immense obstacles; he who is on the point of subjugating Lower Saxony,–can do nothing more glorious than to restore Peace to Europe. Of all your laurels, that will be the fairest. Work in this Cause, with the activity which has secured you such rapid progress otherwise; and be persuaded that nobody will feel more grateful to you than, Monsieur le Duc,– Your faithful Friend,– FREDERIC.”
[Given in RODENBECK, i. 313 (doubtless from
Richelieu,
OEuvres de Frederic,
Richelieu, it appears by any evidence there is, went willingly into this scheme; and applied at Versailles, as desired; with a peremptory negative for result. Nothing came of the Richelieu attempt there; nor of “CE M. DE MIRABEAU,” if he ever went; nor of any other on that errand. Needless to apply for Peace at Versailles (and a mere waste of your “sum of 15,000 pounds,” which one hopes is fabulous in the present scarcity of money):–or should we perhaps have mentioned the thing at all, except for the sake of Wilhelmina, whose fond scheme it is in this extremity of fate; scheme which she tries in still other directions, as we shall see; her Brother willing too, but probably with much less hope. If a civil Letter and a bribe of Money will do it, these need not be spared.
This at Rotha is the day while Winterfeld, on Moys Hill, is meeting his death. To-day at Pegau, in this neighborhood, Seidlitz, who could not fall in with Turpin, has given the Hussars of Loudon a beautiful slap; the first enemy we have seen on this march; and the last,–nothing but Loudon and Hussars visibly about, the rest of those Soubise-Reichs people dormant, as would seem. “D’Elcheset,” Balbi, or whoever he was, would not find Richelieu at Hanover; but at a place called Kloster-Zeven, in Bremen Country, fifty or sixty miles farther on. There, this day, are Richelieu with one Sporcken a Hanoverian, and one Lynar a Dane, rapidly finishing a thing they were pleased to call “Convention of Kloster-Zeven;” which Friedrich regarded as another huge misfortune fallen on him, –though it proved to have been far the reverse a while after. Concerning which take this brief Note; cannot be too brief on such a topic:–
“Never was there a more futile Convention than that of Kloster- Zeven; which filled all Europe with lamentable noises, indignations and anxieties, during the remainder of that Year; and is now reduced, for Europe and the Universe, to a silent mathematical point, or mere mark of position, requiring still to be attended to in that character, though itself zero in any other. Here are the main particulars, in their sequence.
“August 3d, towards midnight, ’11 P.M.’ say the Books, Marechal de Richelieu arrives in the D’Estrees Camp (‘Camp of Oldendorf,’ still only one march west of Hastenbeck); to whom D’Estrees on the instant loftily delivers up his Army; explains with loyalty, for a few days more, all things needful to the new Commander; declines to be himself Second; and loftily withdraws to the Baths of Aachen ‘for his health.’
“Royal Highness of Cumberland is, by this time, well on Elbe-ward, Ocean-ward. Till August 1st; for one week, Royal Highness of Cumberland lay at Minden, some thirty odd miles from Hastenbeck; deploring that sad mistake; but unpersuadable to stand, and try amendment of it: August lst, the French advancing on him again, he moved off northward, seaward. By Nienburg, Verden, Rothenburg, Zeven, Bremenvorde, Stade;–arrived at Stade, on the tidal Waters of the Elbe, August 5th; and by necessity did halt there. From Minden onwards, Richelieu, not D’Estrees, has had the chasing of Royal Highness: one of the simplest functions; only that the country is getting muddy, difficult for artillery-carriage (thinks Richelieu), with an Army so dilapidated, hungry, short of pay; and that Royal Highness, a very furious person to our former knowledge, might turn on us like a boar at bay, endangering everything; and finally, that one’s desire is not for battle, but for a fair chance of plunder to pay one’s debts.
“Britannic Majesty, in this awful state of his Hanover Armaments, has been applying at the Danish Court; Richelieu too sends off an application thither: ‘Mediate between us, spare useless bloodshed!’ [Valfons, p. 291.]–Whereupon Danish Majesty (Britannic’s son-in- law) cheerfully undertakes it; bids one Lynar bestir himself upon it. Count Lynar, an esteemed Official of his, who lives in those neighborhoods; Danish Viceroy in Oldenburg,–much concerned with the Scriptures, the Sacred Languages and other seraphic studies,– and a changed man since we saw him last in the Petersburg regions, making love to Mrs. Anton Ulrich long ago! Lynar, feeling the axis of the world laid on his shoulder in this manner, loses not a moment; invokes the Heavenly Powers; goes on it with an alacrity and a despatch beyond praise. Runs to the Duke of Cumberland at Stade; thence to Richelieu at Zeven; back to the Duke, back to Zeven: ‘Won’t you; and won’t YOU?’ and in four short days has the once world-famed ‘Convention of Kloster-Zeven’ standing on parchment,–signed, ready for ratifying: ‘Royal Highness’s Army to go home to their countries again [routes, methods, times: when, how, and what next, all left unsettled], and noise of War to cease in those parts.’ Signed cheerfully on both sides 9th September, 1757; and Lynar striking the stars with his sublime head. [Busching (who alone is exact in the matter),
Beitrage,
iv. 143 (with correction of Preuss’s Note there).]
“Unaccountable how Lynar had managed such a difficulty. He says seraphically, in a Letter to a friend, which the Prussian hussars got hold of, ‘The idea of it was inspired by the Holy Ghost:’ at which the whole world haha’d again. For it was a Convention vague, absurd, not capable of being executed; ratification of it refused by both Courts, by the French Court first, if that was any matter:–and the only thing now memorable of it is, that IT was a total Futility; but, that there ensued from it a Fact still of importance; namely:–
“That on the 5th of October following, Royal Highness quitted Stade, and his wrecked Army hanging sorrowful there, like a flight of plucked cranes in mid-air;–arrived at Kensington, October 12th; heard the paternal Majesty say, that evening, ‘Here is my son who has ruined me, and disgraced himself!’–and thereupon indignantly laid down his military offices, all and sundry; and ceased altogether to command Armies, English or other, in this world. [In WALPOLE (iii. 59-64) the amplest minuteness of detail.] Whereby, in the then and now diagram of things, Kloster-Zeven, as a mathematical point, continues memorable in History, though shrunk otherwise to zero!
“Pitt’s magnanimity to Royal Highness was conspicuous. Royal Highness, it is said, had been very badly used in this matter by his poor peddling Father and the Hanover Ministers; the matter being one puddle of imbecilities from beginning to end. He was the soul of honor; brave as a Welf lion; but, of dim poor head; and had not the faintest vestige [ALLERGERINGSTE says Mauvillon] of military skill: awful in the extreme to see in command of British Armies! Adieu to him, forever and a day.”
Ever since July 29th, three days after Hastenbeck, Pitt had been in Office again; such the bombardment by Corporation-Boxes and Events impinging on Britannic Majesty: but not till now, as I fancy, had Pitt’s way, in regard to those German matters, been clear to him. The question of a German Army, if you must, have a No-General at the top of it, might well be problematical to Pitt. To equip your strong fighting man, and send him on your errand, regardless of expense; and, by way of preliminary, cut the head off him, before saying “Good-speed to you, strong man!” But with a General, Pitt sees that it can be different; that perhaps “America can be conquered in Germany,” and that, with a Britannic Majesty so disposed, there is no other way of trying it. To this course Pitt stands henceforth, heedless of the gazetteer cackle, “Hah, our Pitt too become German, after all his talking!”–like a seventy-four under full sail, with sea, wind, pilot all of one mind, and only certain water-fowl objecting. And is King of England for the next Four Years; the one King poor England has had this long while;–his hand felt shortly at the ends of the Earth. And proves such a blessing to Friedrich, among others, as nothing else in this War; pretty much his one blessing, little as he expected it. Before long, Excellency Mitchell begins consulting about a General, –and Friedrich dimly sees better things in the distance, and that Kloster-Zeven had not been the misfortune he imagined, but only “The darkest hour,” which, it is said, lies “nearest to the dawn.”
II. THE SOUBISE HILDBURGHAUSEN PEOPLE TAKE INTO THE HILLS; FRIEDRICH IN ERFURT NEIGHBORHOOD, HANGING ON, WEEK AFTER WEEK, IN AN AGONY OF INACTION (13th September-10th October).
Friedrich’s march has gone by Dobeln, Grimma, to Pegau and Rotha, Leipzig way, but, with Leipzig well to right: it just brushes Weissenfels to rightward, next day after Rotha; crosses Saale River near Naumburg, whence straight through Weimar Country, Weimar City on your left, to Erfurt on the northern side;–and,
“ERFURT, TUESDAY 13th SEPTEMBER, 1757, About 10 in the morning [listen to a faithful Witness], there appeared Hussars on the heights to northward:–‘Vanguard of his Prussian Majesty!’ said Erfurt with alarm, and our French guests with alarm. And scarcely were the words uttered, when said Vanguard, and gradually the whole Prussian Army [only some 9,000, though we all thought it the whole], came to sight; posting itself in half-moon shape round us there; French and Reichs folk hurrying off what they could from the Cyriaksberg and Petersberg, by the opposite gates,”–towards Gotha, and the Hills of Eisenach.
“Think what a dilemma for Erfurt, jammed between two horns in this way, should one horn enter before the other got out! Much parleying and supplicating on the part of Erfurt: Till at last, about 4 P.M., French being all off, Erfurt flung its gates open; and the new Power did enter, with some due state: Prussian Majesty in Person (who could have hoped it!) and Prince Henri beside him; Cavalry with drawn swords; Infantry with field-pieces, and the band playing”–Prussian grenadier march, I should hope, or something equally cheering. “The rest of the Vanguard, and, in succession, the Army altogether, had taken Camp outside, looking down on the Northern Gate, over at Ilgertshofen, a village in the neighborhood, about two miles off.” [
636, 637.]
That is the first sight Friedrich has of “LA DAUPHINE,” as the Versailles people call this Bellona, come to “deliver Saxony;” and she is considerably coyer than had been expected. Many sad days, and ardent vain vows of Friedrich, before he could see the skirt of her again! From Ilgertshofen, northwestward to Dittelstadt, Gamstadt, and other poor specks of villages in Gotha Territory, is ten or fifteen miles; from Dittelstadt eastward to Buttstadt and Buttelstadt, in Weimar Country, may be twenty-five: in this area, Friedrich, shifting about, chiefly for convenience of quarters,–head-quarter Kirschleben for a while, Buttelstadt finally and longest,–had to wander impatiently to and fro for four weeks and more; no work procurable, or none worth mentioning:–in the humor of a man whose House is on fire, flaming out of every window, front and rear; who has run up with quenching apparatus; and cannot, being spell-bound, get the least bucket of it applied. And is by nature the rapidest soul now alive. Figure his situation there, as it gradually becomes manifest to him!
For the present, DAUPHINESS Bellona, hurrying to the Hills, has left some tagrag of remnant in Gotha. Whereupon, the second day, here is an “Own Correspondent” again,–not coming by electric telegraph, but (what is a sensible advantage) credible in every point, when he does come:–
“GOTHA, THURSDAY, 15th SEPTEMBER. Grand-Duke and Duchess, like everybody else, have been much occupied all morning with the fact, that the Prussian Army [Seidlitz and a regiment or two, nothing more] is actually here; took possession of the Town-Gates and Main Guard this morning,–certain Hungarian-French hussar rabble, hateful to every one in Gotha, having made off in time, rapidly towards Eisenach and the Hills.
“Towards noon, his Royal Majesty in highest person, with his Lord Brother the Prince Henri’s Royal Highness, arrived in Gotha; sent straightway, by one of his Officers, a compliment to the Grand-Duke; and ‘would have the pleasure to come and dine, if his Serene Highness permitted.’ Serene Highness, self and Household always cordially Friedrich’s, was just about sitting down to dinner; and answered with exuberantly glad surprise,–or was answering, when Royal Majesty himself stept in with smiling face; and embracing the Duke, said: ‘I timed myself to arrive at this moment, thinking your Durchlaucht would be at dinner, that I might be received without ceremony, and dine like a neighbor among you.’ Unexpected as this visit was, the joy of Duke and Duchess,” always fast friends to Friedrich, and the latter ever afterwards his correspondent, “may be conceived, but not adequately expressed; as both the Serenities were touched, in the most affecting manner, by the honor of so great a King’s sudden presence among them.
“His Majesty requested that the Frau von Buchwald, our Most Gracious Duchess’s Hof-Dame, whose qualities he much valued, might dine with them,”–being always fond of sensible people, especially sensible women. “The whole Highest and High company [Royal, that is, and Ducal] was, during table, uncommonly merry. The King showed himself altogether content; and his bright clever talk and sprightly sallies, awakening everybody to the like, left not the least trace visible of the weighty toils he was then engaged in;– as if the weightier these were, the less should they fetter the noble openness (FREYMUTHIGKEIT) of this high soul, which is not to be cast down by the heaviest burden.
“His Majesty having taken leave of Duke and Duchess, and graciously permitted the chiefest persons of the Gotha Court to pay their respects, withdrew to his Army.” [Letter in
Geschichte,
Here has been a cheerful little scene for Friedrich; the last he has in these black weeks. A laborious Predecessor, striving to elucidate, leaves me this Note:–
“What a pity one knows nothing, nor can know, about this Duke and Duchess, though their names, especially the latter’s name, are much tossed to and fro in the Books! We heard of them, favorably, in Voltaire’s time; and may again, at least of the Lady, who is henceforth a Correspondent of Friedrich’s. The above is a dim direct view of them, probably our last as well as first. Duke’s name is Friedrich III.; I do believe, a man of solidity, honor and polite dignified sense, a highly respectable Duke of Sachsen-Gotha, contented to be obscure, and quietly do what was still do-able in that enigmatic situation. He is Uncle to our George III.;–his Sister is the now Princess-Dowager of Wales, with a Lord Bute, and I know not what questionable figures and intrigues, or suspicions of intrigue, much about her. His Duchess, Louisa Dorothee, is a Princess of distinguished qualities, literary tastes,–Voltaire’s Hostess, Friedrich’s Correspondent: a bright and quietly shining illumination to the circle she inhabits. Duke is now fifty-eight, Duchess forty-seven; and they lost their eldest Son last year. There has been lately a considerable private brabble as to Tutorage of the Duke of Weimar (Wilhelmina’s maddish Duke, who is dead lately; and a Prince left, who soon died also, but left a Son, who grew to be Goethe’s friend); Tutorage claimed by various Cousins, has been adjudged to this one, King Friedrich co-operating in such result.
“As to the famed Grand-Duchess, she is a Sachsen-Meiningen Princess, come of Ernst the Pious, of Johann the Magnanimous, as her Husband and all these Sachsens are: when Voltaire went precipitant, with such velocity, from the Potsdam Heaven, she received him at Gotha; set him on writing his HISTORY OF THE EMPIRE, and endeavored to break his fall. She was noble to Voltaire, and well honored by that uncertain Spirit. There is a fine Library at Gotha; and the Lady bright loves Books, and those that can write them;–a friend of the Light, a Daughter of the Sun and the Empyrean, not of Darkness and the Stygian Fens.” [Michaelis, i. 517; &c. &c.]
Friedrich’s first Letter to her Highness was one of thanks, above a year ago, for an act of kindness, act of justice withal, which she did to one of his Official people. Here, on the morrow of that dinner, is the second Letter, much more aerial and cordial, in which style they all continue, now that he has seen the admired Princess.
TO THE MOST SERENE GRAND-DUCHESS OF SACHSEN-GOTHA.
DITTELSTADT, “16th September, 1757.
“MADAM,–Yesterday was a Day I shall never forget; which satisfied a just desire I have had, this long while, to see and hear a Princess whom all Europe admires. I am not surprised, Madam, that you subdue people’s hearts; you are made to attract the esteem and the homage of all who have the happiness to know you. But it is incomprehensible to me how you can have enemies; and how men representing Countries that by no means wish to pass for barbarous, can have been so basely (INDIGNEMENT) wanting in the respect they owe you, and in the consideration which is due to all sovereigns [French not famous for their refined demeanor in Saxony this time]. Why could not I fly to prevent such disorders, such indecency! I can only offer you a great deal of good-will; but I feel well that, in present circumstances, the thing wanted is effective results and reality. May I, Madam, be so happy as to render you some service! May your fortune be equal to your virtues! I am with the highest consideration, Madam, your Highness’s faithful Cousin, –F.” [
To Wilhelmina he says of it, next day, still gratified, though sad news have come in the interim;–death of Winterfeld, for one black item:–
… “The day before yesterday I was in Gotha. It was a touching scene to see the partners of one’s misfortunes, with like griefs and like complaints. The Duchess is a woman of real merit, whose firmness puts many a man to shame. Madam de Buchwald appears to me a very estimable person, and one who would suit you much: intelligent, accomplished, without pretensions, and good-humored. My Brother Henri is gone to see them to-day. I am so oppressed with grief, that I would rather keep my sadness to myself. I have reason to congratulate myself much on account of my Brother Henri; he has behaved like an angel, as a soldier, and well towards me as a Brother. I cannot, unfortunately, say the same of the elder. He sulks at me (IL ME BODE), and has sulkily retired to Torgau, from whence, I hear, he is gone to Wittenberg. I shall leave him to his caprices and to his bad conduct; and I prophesy nothing good for the future, unless the younger guide him.” [“Kirschleben, near Erfurt, 17th September, 1757” (
This is part of a long sad Letter to Wilhelmina; parts of which we may recur to, as otherwise illustrative. But before going into that tragic budget of bad news, let us give the finale of Gotha, which occurred the next day,–tragi-comic in part,–and is the last bit of action in those dreary four weeks.
GOTHA, 18th SEPTEMBER. “Since Thursday 15th, Major-General Seidlitz,” youngest Major-General of the Army, but a rapidly rising man, “has been Commandant in Gotha, under flourishing circumstances; popular and supreme, though only with a force of 1,500, dragoons and hussars. Monday morning early, Seidlitz’s scouts bring word that the Soubise-Hildburghausen people are in motion hitherward; French hussars and Austrian, Turpin’s, Loudon’s, all that are; grenadiers in mass;–total, say, 8,000 horse and foot, with abundance of artillery;–have been on march all night, to retake Gotha; with all the Chief Generals and Dignitaries of the Army following in their carriages, for some hours past, to see it done. Seidlitz, ascertaining these things, has but one course left,–that of clearing himself out, which he does with orderly velocity: and at 9 A.M. the Dignitaries and their 8,000 find open gates, Seidlitz clean off; occupy the posts, with due emphasis and flourish; and proceed to the Schloss in a grand triumphant way,– where privately they are not very welcome, though one puts the best face on it, and a dinner of importance is the first thing imperative to be set in progress. A flurried Court, that of Gotha, and much swashing of French plumes through it, all this morning, since Seidlitz had to flit.
“Seidlitz has not flitted very far. Seidlitz has ranked his small dragoon-hussar force in a hollow, two miles off; has got warning sent to a third regiment within reach of him, ‘Come towards me, and in a certain defile, visible from Gotha eastward, spread yourselves so and so!’–and judges by the swashing he hears of up yonder, that perhaps something may still be done. Dinner, up in the Schloss, is just being taken from the spit, and the swashing at its height, when–‘Hah what is that, though?’ and all plumes pause. For it is Seidlitz, artistically spread into single files, on the prominent points of vision; advancing again, more like 15,000 than 1,500: ‘And in the Defile yonder, that regiment, do you mark it; the King’s vanguard, I should say?–To horse!’
“That is Seidlitz’s fine Bit of Painting, hung out yonder, hooked on the sky itself, as temporary background to Gotha, to be judged of by the connoisseurs. For pictorial effect, breadth of touch, truth to Nature and real power on the connoisseur, I have heard of nothing equal by any artist. The high Generalcy, Soubise, Hildburghausen, Darmstadt, mount in the highest haste; everybody mounts, happy he who has anything to mount; the grenadiers tumble out of the Schloss; dragoons, artillery tumble out; Dauphiness takes wholly to her heels, at an extraordinary pace: so that Seidlitz’s hussars could hardly get a stroke at her; caught sixty and odd, nine of them Officers not of mark; did kill thirty; and had such a haul of equipages and valuable effects, cosmetic a good few of them, habilatory, artistic, as caused the hussar heart to sing for joy. Among other plunder, was Loudon’s Commission of Major-General, just on its road from Vienna [poor Mannstein’s death the suggesting cause, say some];–undoubtedly a shining Loudon; to whom Friedrich, next day, forwarded the Document with a polite Note.” [
Westphalen, ii. 37;
iv, 147.]’
The day after this bright feat of Seidlitz’s, which was a slight consolation to Friedrich, there came a Letter from the Duchess, not of compliment only; the Letter itself had to be burnt on the spot, being, as would seem, dangerous for the High Lady, who was much a friend of Friedrich’s. Their Correspondence, very polite and graceful, but for most part gone to the unintelligible state, and become vacant and spectral, figures considerably in the Books, and was, no doubt, a considerable fact to Friedrich. His Answer on this occasion may be given, since we have it,–lest there should not elsewhere be opportunity for a second specimen.
FRIEDRICH TO THE GRAND-DUCHESS OF SACHSEN-GOTHA.
“KIRSCHLEBEN, NEAB ERFURT, 20th September, 1757.
“MADAM,–Nothing could happen more glorious to my troops than that of fighting, Madam, under your eyes and for your defence. I wish their help could be useful to you; but I foresee the reverse. If I were obstinately to insist on maintaining the post of Gotha with Infantry, I should ruin your City for you, Madam, by attracting thither and fixing there the theatre of the War; whereas, by the present course, you will only have to suffer little rubs (PASSADES), which will not last long.
“A thousand thanks that you could, in a day like yesterday, find the moment to think of your Friends, and to employ yourself for them. [Seidlitz’s attack was brisk, quite sudden, with an effect like Harlequin’s sword in Pantomimes; and Gotha in every corner, especially in the Schloss below and ahove stairs,–dinner cooked for A, and eaten by B, in that manner,–must have been the most agitated of little Cities.] I will neglect nothing of what you have the goodness to tell me; I shall profit by these notices. Heaven grant it might be for the deliverance and the security of Germany!
“The most signal mark of obedience I can give you consists unquestionably in doing your bidding with this Letter. [Burn it, so soon as read.] I should have kept it as a monument of your generosity and courage: but, Madam, since you dispose of it otherwise, your orders shall be executed; persuaded that if one cannot serve one’s friends, one must at least avoid hurting them; that one may be less circumspect for one’s own interest, but that one must be prudent and even timid for theirs. I am, with the highest esteem and the most perfect consideration, Madam, your Highness’s most faithful and affectionate Cousin,–F.” [
From Erfurt, on the night of his arrival, finding the Dauphiness in such humor, Friedrich had ordered Ferdinand of Brunswick with his Division and Prince Moritz with his, both of whom were still at Naumburg, to go on different errands,–Ferdinand out Halberstadt- Magdeburg way, whither Richelieu, vulture-like, if not eagle-like, is on wing; Moritz to Torgau, to secure our magazine and be on the outlook there. Both of them marched on the morrow (November 14th): and are sending him news,–seldom comfortable news; mainly that, in spite of all one can do (and it is not little on Ferdinand’s part, the Richelieu vultures, 80,000 of them, floating onward, leagues broad, are not to be kept out of Halberstadt, well if out of Magdeburg itself;–and that, in short, the general conflagration, in those parts too, is progressive. [In Orlich’s
Moritz,
From Preussen, Friedrich hears of mere ravagings and horrid cruelties, Cossack-Calmuck atrocities, which make human nature shudder: [In
the hideous details.] “Fight those monsters; go into them at all hazards!” he writes to Lehwald peremptorily. Lehwald, 25,000 against 80,000, does so; draws up, in front of Wehlau, not far east of Konigsberg, among woody swamps, AUGUST 30th, at a Hamlet called GROSS-JAGERSDORF, with his best skill; fights well, though not without mistakes; and is beaten by cannon and numbers. [Tempelhof, i. 299; Retzow, i. 212; &c. &c. (“Russians lost about 9,000,” by their own tale 5,000; “the Prussians 3,000” and the Field).] Preussen now lies at Apraxin’s discretion. This bit of news too is on the road for Erfurt Country. Such a six weeks for the swift man, obliged to stand spell-bound,–idle posterity never will conceive it; and description is useless.
Let us add here, that Apraxin did not advance on Konigsberg, or farther into Preussen at all; but, after some loitering, turned, to everybody’s surprise, and wended slowly home. “Could get no provision,” said Apraxin for himself. “Thought the Czarina was dying,” said the world; “and that Peter her successor would take it well!” Plodded slowly home, for certain; Lehwald following him, not too close, till over the border. Nothing left of Apraxin, and his huge Expedition, but Memel alone; Memel, and a great many graves and ruins. So that Lehwald could be recalled, to attend on the Swedes, before Winter came. And Friedrich’s worst forebodings did not take effect in this case;–nor in some others, as we shall see!
LAMENTATION-PSALMS OF FRIEDRICH.
Meanwhile, is it not remarkable that Friedrich wrote more Verses, this Autumn, than almost in any other three months of his life? Singular, yes; though perhaps not inexplicable. And if readers could fairly understand that fact, instead of running away with the shell of it, and leaving the essence, it would throw a great light on Friedrich. He is not a brooding inarticulate man, then; but a bright-glancing, articulate; not to be struck dumb by the face of Death itself. Flashes clear-eyed into the physiognomy of Death, and Ruin, and the Abysmal Horrors opening; and has a sharp word to say to them. The explanation of his large cargo of Verses this Autumn is, That always, alternating with such fiery velocity, he had intolerable periods of waiting till things were ready. And took to verses, by way of expectorating himself, and keeping down his devils. Not a bad plan, in the circumstances,–especially if you have so wonderful a turn for expectoration by speech. “All bad as Poetry, those Verses?” asks the reader. Well, some of them are not of first-rate goodness. Should have been burnt; or the time marked which they took up, and whether it was good time wasted (which I suppose it almost never was), or bad time skilfully got over. Time, that is the great point; and the heart-truth of them, or mere lip-truth, another. We must give some specimens, at any rate.
Especially that notable Specimen from the Zittau Countries: the “Epistle to Wilhelmina (EPITRE A MA SOEUR [
Frederic,
Understand it or not, we do gather by means of it some indisputable glimpses, nearly all the direct insight allowed us out of any source, into Friedrich’s inner man; what his thoughts were, what his humor was in that unique crisis; and to readers in quest of that, these Pieces, fallen obsolete and frosty to all other kinds of readers, are well worth perusing, and again perusing. Most veracious Documents, we can observe; nothing could be truer; Confessions they are, in the most emphatic sense; no truer ever made to a Priest in the name of the Most High. Like a soliloquy of Night-Thoughts, accidentally becoming audible to us. Mahomet, I find, wrote the Koran in this manner. From these poor Poems, which are voices DE PROFUNDIS, there might, by proper care and selection, be constructed a Friedrich’s Koran; and, with commentary and elucidation, it would be pleasant to read. The Koran of Friedrich, or the Lamentation-Psalms of Friedrich! But it would need an Editor,–other than Dryasdust! Mahomet’s Koran, treated by the Arab Dryasdust (merely turning up the bottom of that Box of Shoulder- blades, and printing them), has become dreadfully tough reading, on this side of the Globe; and has given rise to the impossiblest notions about Mahomet! Indisputable it is, Heroes, in their affliction, Mahomet and David, have solaced themselves by snatches of Psalms, by Suras, bursts of Utterance rising into Song;–and if Friedrich, on far other conditions, did the like, what has History to say of blame to him?
Wilhelmina comes out very strong, in this season of trouble; almost the last we see of our excellent Wilhelmina. Like a lioness; like a shrill mother when her children are in peril. A noble sisterly affection is in Wilhelmina; shrill Pythian vehemence trying the impossible. That a Brother, and such a Brother, the most heroic now breathing, brave and true, and the soul of honor in all things, should have the whole world rise round him, like a delirious Sorcerer’s-Sabbath, intent to hurl the mountains on him, –seems such a horror and a madness to Wilhelmina. Like the brood- hen flying in the face of wild dogs, and packs of hounds in full trail! Most Christian Pompadour Kings, enraged Czarinas, implacable Empress-Queens; a whole world in armed delirium rushes on, regardless of Wilhelmina. Never mind, my noble one; your Brother will perhaps manage to come up with this leviathan or that among the heap of them, at a good time, and smite into the fifth rib of him. Your Brother does not the least shape towards giving in; thank the Heavens, he will stand to himself at least; his own poor strength will all be on his own side.
Wilhelmina’s hopes of a Peace with France; mission of her Mirabeau, missions and schemes not a few, we have heard of on Wilhelmina’s part with this view; but the notablest is still to mention: that of stirring up, by Voltaire’s means, an important-looking Cardinal de Tencin to labor in the business. Eminency Tencin lives in Lyon, known to the Princess on her Italian Tour;–shy of asking Voltaire to dinner on that fine occasion,–but, except Officially, is not otherwise than well-affected to Voltaire. Was once Chief Minister of France, and would fain again be; does not like these Bernis novelties and Austrian Alliances, had he now any power to overset them. Let him correspond with Most Christian Majesty, at least; plead for a Peace with Prussia, Prussia being so ready that way. Eminency Tencin, on Voltaire’s suggestion, did so, perhaps is even now doing so; till ordered to hold HIS peace on such subjects. This is certain and well known; but nothing else is known, or to us knowable, about it; Voltaire, in vague form, being our one authority, through whom it is vain to hunt, and again hunt. [
Preuss, ii. 84.] The Dates, much more the features and circumstances, all lie buried from us, and–till perhaps the Lamentation-Psalms are well edited–must continue lying. As a fact certain, but undeniably vague.
Voltaire’s procedure, one can gather, is polite, but two-faced; not sublime on this occasion. In fact, is intended to serve himself. To the high Princess he writes devotionally, ready to obey in all things; and then to his Eminency Cardinal Tencin, it rather seems as if the tone were: “Pooh! yes, your Eminency; such are the poor Lady’s notions. But does your Eminency take notice how high my connections are; what service a poor obscure creature might perhaps do the State some day?” Friedrich himself is, in these ways, brought into correspondence with Voltaire again; and occasionally writes to him in this War, and ever afterwards: Voltaire responds with fine sympathy, always prettily, in the enthusiasm of the moment;–and at other times he writes a good deal about Friedrich, oftenest in rather a mischievous dialect. “The traitor!” exclaim some Prussian writers, not many or important, in our time. In fact, there is a considerable touch of grinning malice (as of Monkey VERSUS Cat, who had once burnt HIS paw, instead of getting his own burnt), in those utterances of Voltaire; some of which the reader will grin over too, without much tragic feeling,–the rather as they did our Felis Leo no manner of ill, and show our incomparable SINGE with a sparkle of the TIGRE in him; theoretic sparkle merely and for moments, which makes him all the more entertaining and interesting at the domestic hearth.
Of Friedrich’s Lamentation-Psalms we propose to give the First and the Last: these, with certain Prose Pieces, intermediate and connecting, may perhaps be made intelligible to readers, and throw some light on these tragic weeks of the King’s History:–
1. EPITRE A MA SOEUR (First of the Lamentation-Psalms).–This is the famed “Epistle to Wilhelmina,” already spoken of; which the King despatched from Bernstadt “August 24th,” just while quitting those parts, on the Erfurt Errand;–though written before, in the tedium of waiting for Keith. The Piece is long, vehement, altogether sincere; lyrically sings aloud, or declaims in rhyme, what one’s indignant thought really is on the surrounding woes and atrocities. We faithfully abridge, and condense into our briefest Prose;–readers can add water and the jingle of French rhymes AD LIBITUM. It starts thus:–
“O sweet and dear hope of my remaining days; O Sister, whose friendship, so fertile in resources, shares all my sorrows, and with a helpful arm assists me in the gulf! It is in vain that the Destinies have overwhelmed me with disasters: if the crowd of Kings have sworn my ruin; if the Earth have opened to swallow me,– you still love me, noble and affectionate Sister: loved by you, what is there of misfortune? [Branches off into some survey of it, nevertheless.]
“Huge continents of thunder-cloud, plots thickening against me [in those Menzel Documents], I watched with terror; the sky getting blacker, no covert for me visible: on a sudden, from the deeps of Hell, starts forth Discord [with capital letter], and the tempest broke.
It was from thy Senate, stormful England, that she first launched out War. In remote climates first; in America, far away;–between France and thee. Old Ocean shook with it; Neptune, in the depths of his caves (SES GROTTES PROFONDES), saw the English subjecting his waves (SES ONDES): the wild Iroquois, prize of these crimes (FORFAITS), bursts out; detesting the tyrants who disturb his Forests,”–and scalping Braddock’s people, and the like.
“Discord, charmed to see such an America, and feeble mortals crossing the Ocean to exterminate one another, addresses the European Kings: ‘How long will you be slaves to what are called laws? Is it for you to bend under worn-out notions of justice, right? Mars is the one God: Might is Right. A King’s business is to do something famous in this world.’
“O daughter of the Caesars,” Maria Theresa, “how, at these words, ambition, burning in thy soul, breaks out uncontrollable! Probity, honor, treaties, duty: feeble considerations these, to a heart letting loose its flamy passions; determining to rob the generous Germans of their liberties; to degrade thy equals; to extinguish ‘Schism’ (so called), and set up despotism on the wrecks of all.”
“Huge project”–“FIER TRIUMVIRAT,”–what not: “From Roussillon and the sunny Pyrenees to frozen Russia, all arm for Austria, and march at her bidding. They concert my downfall, trample on my rights.
“The Daughter of the Caesars, proudly certain of victory,–‘t is the way of the Great, whose commonplace virtue, pusillanimous in reverses, overbearing in success, cannot bridle their cupidity,– designates to the Triumvirate what Kings are to be proscribed [Britannic George and me, Reich busy on us both even now], and those ungrateful tyrants, by united crime, immolate to each other, without remorse, their dearest allies.” For instance:–
Theresa! it is England thou art selling to France;”–Yes, a thing worth noting. “Thy generous support in thy first adversities; thy one friend then, when a world had risen to devour thee. Thou reignest now:–but it was England alone that saved thee anything to reign over!
“And thou, lazy Monarch,”–stupid Louis, let us omit him:– “Pompadour, selling her lover to the highest bidder, makes France, in our day, Austria’s slave!” We omit Kolin Battle, too, spoken of with a proud modesty (Prag is not spoken of at all); and how the neighboring ravenous Powers, on-lookers hitherto, have opened their throats with one accord to swallow Prussia, thinking its downfall certain: “Poor mercenary Sweden, once so famous under its soldier Kings, now debased by a venal Senate;”–Sweden, “what say I? my own kindred [foolish Anspach and others], driven by perverse motives, join in the plot of horrors, and become satellites of the prospering Triumvirs.
“And thou, loved People [my own Prussians], whose happiness is my charge [notable how often he repeats this] it is thy lamentable destiny, it is the danger which hangs over thee, that pierces my soul. The pomps of my rank I could resign without regret. But to rescue thee, in this black crisis, I will spend my heart’s blood. Whose IS that blood but thine? With joy will I rally my warriors to avenge thy affront; defy death at the foot of the ramparts [of Daun and his Eckartsberg, ahead yonder], and either conquer, or be buried under thy ruins.” Very well; but ah,–
“Preparing with such purpose, ye Heavens, what mournful cries are those that reach us: ‘Death haa laid low thy Mother!’–Hah, that was the last stroke, then, which angry Fate had reserved for me.– O Mother, Death flies my misfortunes, and spreads his livid horrors over thee! [Very tender, very sad, what he says of his Mother; but must be omitted and imagined. General finale is:]
“Thus Destiny with a deluge of torments fills the poisoned remnant of my days. The present is hideous to me, the future unknown: what, you say I am the creature of a BENEficent Being?–
–Husht, my little Titan!
“And now, ye promoters of sacred lies, go on leading cowards by the nose, in the dark windings of your labyrinth:–to me the enchantment is ended, the charm disappears. I see that all men are but the sport of Destiny. And that, if there do exist some Gloomy and Inexorable Being, who allows a despised herd of creatures to go on multiplying here, he values them as nothing; looks down on a Phalaris crowned, on a Socrates in chains; on our virtues, our misdeeds, on the horrors of war, and all the cruel plagues which ravage Earth, as a thing indifferent to him. Wherefore, my sole refuge and only haven, loved Sister, is in the arms of Death:–
off to Wilhelmina 24th August.]
2. WILHELMINA TO VOLTAIRE, WITH SOMETHING OF ANSWER (First of certain intercalary Prose Pieces).–Wilhelmina has been writing to Voltaire before, and getting consolations since Kolin; but her Letters are lost, till this the earliest that is left us:–
BAIREUTH, 19th AUGUST, 1757 (TO VOLTAIRE).–“One first knows one’s friends when misfortunes arrive. The Letter you have written does honor to your way of thinking. I cannot tell you how much I am sensible to what you have done [set Cardinal Tencin astir, with result we will hope]. The King, my Brother, is as much so as I. You will find a Note here, which he bids me transmit to you [Note lost]. That great man is still the same. He supports his misfortunes with a courage and a firmness worthy of him. He could not get the Note transcribed. It began by verses. Instead of throwing sand on it, he took the ink-bottle; that is the reason why it is cut in two.”
–This Note, we say, is lost to us;–all but accidentally thus: Voltaire, 12th September, writes twice to friends. Writing to his D’Argentals, he says: “The affairs of this King [Friedrich] go from bad to worse. I know not if I told you of the Letter he wrote to me about three weeks ago [say August 17th-18th: this same Note through Wilhelmina, evidently]: ‘I have learned,’ says he, ‘that you had interested yourself in my successes and misfortunes. There remains to me nothing but to sell my life dear,’ &c. His Sister writes me one much more lamentable;” the one we are now reading:–
“I am in a frightful state; and will not survive the destruction of my House and Family. That is the one consolation that remains to me. You will have fine subjects for making Tragedies of. O times! O manners! You will, by the illusory representation, perhaps draw tears; while all contemplate with dry eyes the reality of these miseries: the downfall of a whole House, against which, if the truth were known, there is no solid complaint. I cannot write farther of it: my soul is so troubled that I know not what I am doing. But whatever happen, be persuaded that I am more than ever your friend,–WILHELMINA.” [In
Friedrich, while Wilhelmina writes so, is at the foot of the Eckartsberg, eagerly manoeuvring with the Austrians, in hopes of getting battle out of them,–which he cannot. Friedrich, while he wrote that Note to Voltaire, and instead of sand-box shook the ink-bottle over it, was just going out on that errand.
VOLTAIRE, 12th SEPTEMBER (to a Lady whose Son is in the D’Estrees wars). [Ib. lxxii. 55. 56.]–“Here are mighty revolutions, Madame; and we are not at the end yet. They say there have 18,000 Hanoverians been disposed of at Stade [Convention of Kloster- Zeven]. That is no small matter. I can hope M. Richelieu [who is “MON HEROS,” when I write to himself] will adorn his head with the laurels they have stuck in his pocket. I wish Monsieur your Son abundance of honor and glory without wounds, and to you, Madame, unalterable health. The King of Prussia has written me a very touching Letter [one line of which we have read]; but I have always Madame Denis’s adventure on my heart,” at Frankfurt yonder. “If I were well, I would take a run to Frankfurt myself on the business,” –now that Soubise’s reserves are in those parts, and could give Freytag and Schmidt such a dusting for me, if they liked! Shall I write to Collini on it? Does write, and again write, the second year hence, as still better chances rise. [Collini, pp. 208-211 (“January-May, 1759”).]
3. WILHELMINA TO VOLTAIRE AGAIN, WITH ANSWER (Second of the Prose Pieces).–Not a very zealous friend of Friedrich’s, after all, this Voltaire! Poor Wilhelmina, terrified by that EPITRE of her Brother’s, and his fixed purpose of seeking Death, has, in her despair (though her Letter is lost), been urging Voltaire to write dissuading him;–as Voltaire does. Of which presently. Her Letter to Voltaire on this thrice-important subject is lost. But in the very hours while Voltaire sat writing what we have just read, “always with Madame Denis’s adventure on my heart,” Wilhelmina, at Baireuth, is again writing to him as follows:–
BAIREUTH, 12th SEPTEMBER, 1757 (TO VOLTAIRE).–“Your Letter has sensibly touched me; that which you addressed to me for the King [both Letters lost to us] has produced the same effect on him. I hope you will be satisfied with his Answer as to what concerns yourself; but you will be as little so as I am with the resolutions he has formed. I had flattered myself that your reflections would make some impression on his mind. You will see the contrary by the Letter adjoined. “To me there remains nothing but to follow his destiny if it is unfortunate. I have never piqued myself on being a philosopher; though I have made my efforts to become so. The small progress I made did teach me to despise grandeurs and riches: but I could never find in philosophy any cure for the wounds of the heart, except that of getting done with our miseries by ceasing to live. The state I am in is worse than death. I see the greatest man of his age, my Brother, my friend, reduced to the frightfulest extremity. I see my whole Family exposed to dangers and perhaps destruction; my native Country torn by pitiless enemies; the Country where I am [Reichs Army, Anspach, what not] menaced by perhaps similar misfortune. Would to Heaven I were alone loaded with all the miseries I have described to you! I would suffer them, and with firmness.
“Pardon these details. You invite me, by the part you take in what regards me, to open my heart to you. Alas, hope is well-nigh banished from it. Fortune, when she changes, is as constant in her persecutions as in her favors. History is full of those examples:– but I have found none equal to the one we now see; nor any War as inhuman and as cruel among civilized nations. You would sigh if you knew the sad situation of Germany and Preussen. The cruelties which the Russians commit in that latter Country make nature shudder. [Details, horrible but authentic, in
“Many compliments to Madame Denis. Continue, I pray you, to write to the King.” [In
lxxvii. 57.]
VOLTAIRE TO WILHELMINA (Day uncertain: THE DELICES, SEPTEMBER, 1757).–“Madam, my heart is touched more than ever by the goodness and the confidence your Royal Highness deigns to show me. How can I be but melted by emotion! I see that it is solely your nobleness of soul that renders you unhappy. I feel myself born to be attached with idolatry to superior and sympathetic minds, who think like you. “You know how much I have always, essentially and at heart, been attached to the King your Brother. The more my old age is tranquil, and come to renounce everything, and make my retreat here a home and country, the more am I devoted to that Philosopher-King. I write nothing to him but what I think from the bottom of my heart, nothing that I do not think most true; and if my Letter [dissuasive of seeking Death; wait, reader] appears to your Royal Highness to be suitable, I beg you to protect it with him, as you have done the foregoing.” [In
lxxvii. 37, 39.]
4. FRIEDRICH TO WILHELMINA, AND, BY ANTICIPATION, HER ANSWER (Third of the Prose Pieces).–“KIRSCHLEBEN, NEAR ERFURT, 17th SEPTEMBER, 1757.–My dearest Sister, I find no other consolation but in your precious Letters. May Heaven reward so much virtue and such heroic sentiments!
“Since I wrote last to you, my misfortunes have but gone on accumulating. It seems as though Destiny would discharge all its wrath and fury upon the poor Country which I had to rule over. The Swedes have entered Pommern. The French, after having concluded a Neutrality humiliating to the King of England and themselves [Kloster-Zeven, which we know], are in full march upon Halberstadt and Magdeburg. From Preussen I am in daily expectation of hearing of a battle having been fought: the proportion of combatants being 25,000 against 80,000 [was fought, Gross-Jagersdorf, 30th August, and lost accordingly]. The Austrians have marched into Silesia, whither the Prince of Bevern follows them. I have advanced this way to fall upon the corps of the allied Army; which has run off, and intrenched itself, behind Eisenach, amongst hills, whither to follow, still more to attack them, all rules of war forbid. The moment I retire towards Saxony, this whole swarm will be upon my heels. Happen what may, I am determined, at all risks, to fall upon whatever corps of the enemy approaches me nearest. I shall even bless Heaven for its mercy, if it grant me the favor to die sword in hand.
“Should this hope fail me, you will allow that it would be too hard to crawl at the feet of a company of traitors, to whom successful crimes have given the advantage to prescribe the law to me. How, my dear, my incomparable Sister, how could I repress feelings of vengeance and of resentment against all my neighbors, of whom there is not one who did not accelerate my downfall, and will not, share in our spoils? How can a Prince survive his State, the glory of his Country, his own reputation? A Bavarian Elector, in his nonage [Son of the late poor Kaiser, and left, shipwrecked in his seventeenth year], or rather in a sort of subjection to his Ministers, and dull to the biddings of honor, may give himself up as a slave to the imperious domination of the House of Austria, and kiss the hand which oppressed his Father: I pardon it to his youth and his ineptitude. But is that the example for me to follow? No, dear Sister, you think too nobly to give me such mean (LACHE) advice. Is Liberty, that precious prerogative, to be less dear to a Sovereign in the eighteenth century than it was to Roman Patricians of old? And where is it said, that Brutus and Cato should carry magnanimity farther than Princes and Kings? Firmness consists in resisting misfortune: but only cowards submit to the yoke, bear patiently their chains, and support oppression tranquilly. Never, my dear Sister, could I resolve upon such ignominy. …
“If I had followed only my own inclinations, I should have ended it (JE ME SERAIS DEPECHE) at once, after that unfortunate Battle which I lost. But I felt that this would be weakness, and that it behooved me to repair the evil which had happened. My attachment to the State awoke; I said to myself, It is not in seasons of prosperity that it is rare to find defenders, but in adversity. I made it a point of honor with myself to redress all that had got out of square; in which I was not unsuccessful; not even in the Lausitz [after those Zittau disasters] last of all. But no sooner had I hastened this way to face new enemies, than Winterfeld was beaten and killed near Gorlitz, than the French entered the heart, of my States, than the Swedes blockaded Stettin. Now there is nothing effective left for me to do: there are too many enemies. Were I even to succeed in beating two armies, the third would crush me. The enclosed Note [in cipher] will show you what I am still about to try: it is the last attempt.
“The gratitude, the tender affection, which I feel towards you, that friendship, true as the hills, constrains me to deal openly with you. No, my divine Sister, I shall conceal nothing from you that I intend to do; all my thoughts, all my resolutions shall be open and known to you in time. I will precipitate nothing: but also it will be impossible for me to change my sentiments. …
“As for you, my incomparable Sister, I have not the heart to turn you from your resolves. We think alike, and I cannot condemn in you the sentiments which I daily entertain (EPROUVE). Life has been given to us as a benefit: when it ceases to be such”–! “I have nobody left in this world, to attach me to it, but you. My friends, the relations I loved most, are in the grave; in short, I have lost, everything. If you take the resolution which I have taken, we end together our misfortunes and our unhappiness; and it will be the turn of them who remain in this world, to provide for the concerns falling to their charge, and to bear the weight, which has lain on us so long. These, my adorable Sister, are sad reflections, but suitable to my present condition.
“The day before yesterday I was at Gotha [yes, see above;–and to-morrow, if I knew it, Seidlitz with pictorial effects will be there]. …
“But, it is time to end this long, dreary Letter; which treats almost of nothing but my own affairs. I have had some leisure, and have used it to open on you a heart filled with admiration and gratitude towards you. Yes, my adorable Sister, if Providence troubled itself about human affairs, you ought to be the happiest person in the Universe. Your not being such, confirms me in the sentiments expressed at the end of my EPITRE. In conclusion, believe that I adore you, and that I would give my life a thousand times to serve you. These are the sentiments which will animate me to the last breath of my life; being, my beloved Sister, ever”– Your–F. [
WILHELMINA’S ANSWER,–by anticipation, as we said: written “15th September,” while Friedrich was dining at Gotha, in quest of Soubise.
“BAIREUTH, 15th SEPTEMBER, 1757. My dearest Brother, your Letter and the one you wrote to Voltaire, my dear Brother, have almost killed me. What fatal resolutions, great God! Ah, my dear Brother, you say you love me; and you drive a dagger into my heart. Your EPITRE, which I did receive, made me shed rivers of tears. I am now ashamed of such weakness. My misfortune would be so great” in the issue there alluded to, “that I should find worthier resources than tears. Your lot shall be mine: I will not survive either your misfortunes or those of the House I belong to. You may calculate that such is my firm resolution.
“But, after this avowal, allow me to entreat you to look back at what was the pitiable state of your Enemy when you lay before Prag! It is the sudden whirl of Fortune for both parties. The like can occur again, when one is least expecting it, Caesar was the slave of Pirates; and he became the master of the world. A great genius like yours finds resources even when all is lost; and it is impossible this frenzy can continue. My heart bleeds to think of the poor souls in Preussen [Apraxin and his Christian Cossacks there,–who, it is noted, far excel the Calmuck worshippers of the Dalai-Lama]. What horrid barbarity, the detail of cruelties that go on there! I feel all that you feel on it, my dear Brother. I know your heart, and your sensibility for your subjects.
“I suffer a thousand times more than I can tell you; nevertheless hope does not abandon me. I received your Letter of the 14th by W. [who W. is, no mortal knows]. What kindness to think of me, who have nothing to give you but a useless affection, which is so richly repaid by yours! I am obliged to finish; but I shall never cease to be, with the most profound respect (TRES-PROFOND RESPECT,” –that, and something still better, if my poor pen were not embarrassed), “your”– WILHELMINA.
5. FRIEDRICH’S RESPONSE TO THE DISSUASIVES OF VOLTAIRE (Last of the Lamentation-Psalms: “Buttstadt, October 9th”).–Voltaire’s Dissuasive Letter is a poor Piece; [
OEuvres de Frederic,
September, 1757 “).] passionate enough, wandering wildly over human life, and sincere almost to shrillness, in parts; which Voltaire has also got hold of. Omissible here; the fixity of purpose being plain otherwise to Voltaire and us. Voltaire’s counter-arguments are weak, or worse: “That Roman death is not now expected of the Philosopher; that your Majesty will, in the worst event, still have considerable Dominions left, all that your Great-Grandfather had; still plenty of resources; that, in Paris Society, an estimable minority even now thinks highly of you; that in Paris itself your Majesty [does not say expressly, as dethroned and going on your travels] would have resources!” To which beautiful considerations Friedrich answers, not with fire and brimstone, as one might have dreaded, but in this quiet manner (REPONSE AU SIEUR VOLTAIRE):–
But with these sentiments, I am far from condemning Cato and Otho. The latter had no fine moment in his life, except that of his death. [Breaks off into Verse:]
Me contentant du necessaire,
Je verrais voltiger la fortune legere,”
to wring the water and the jingle out of it, and give the substance in Prose:–
“Yes, if I were Voltaire and a private man, I could with much composure leave Fortune to her whirlings and her plungings; to me, contented with the needful, her mad caprices and sudden topsy- turvyings would be amusing rather than tremendous.
“I know the ennui attending on honors, the burdensome duties, the jargon of grinning flatterers, those pitiabilities of every kind, those details of littleness, with which you have to occupy yourself if set on high on the stage of things. Foolish glory has no charm for me, though a Poet and King: when once Atropos has ended me forever, what will the uncertain honor of living in the Temple of Memory avail? One moment of practical happiness is worth a thousand years of imaginary in such Temple.–Is the lot of high people so very sweet, then? Pleasure, gentle ease, true and hearty mirth, have always fled from the great and their peculiar pomps and labors.
“No, it is not fickle Fortune that has ever caused my sorrows; let her smile her blandest, let her frown her fiercest on me, I should sleep every night, refusing her the least worship. But our respective conditions are our law; we are bound and commanded to shape our temper to the employment we have undertaken. Voltaire in his hermitage, in a Country where is honesty and safety, can devote himself in peace to the life of the Philosopher, as Plato has described it. But as to me, threatened with shipwreck, I must consider how, looking the tempest in the face, I can think, can live and can die as a King:–
Je dois, en affrontant l’orage, Penser, vivre et mourir en roi.”
[
This is of October 9th; this ends, worthily, the Lamentation- Psalms; work having now turned up, which is a favorable change. Friedrich’s notion of suicide, we perceive, is by no means that of puking up one’s existence, in the weak sick way of FELO DE SE; but, far different, that of dying, if he needs must, as seems too likely, in uttermost spasm of battle for self and rights to the last. From which latter notion nobody can turn him. A valiantly definite, lucid and shiningly practical soul,–with such a power of always expectorating himself into clearness again. If he do frankly wager his life in that manner, beware, ye Soubises, Karls and flaccid trivial persons, of the stroke that may chance to lie in him!–
III. RUMOR OF AN INROAD ON BERLIN SUDDENLY SETS FRIEDRICH ON MARCH THITHER: INROAD TAKES EFECT,–WITH IMPORTANT RESULTS, CHIEFLY IN A LEFT-HAND FORM.
October llth, express arrived, important express from General Finck (who is in Dresden, convalescent from Kolin, and is even Commandant there, of anything there is to command), “That the considerable Austrian Brigade or Outpost, which was left at Stolpen when the others went for Silesia, is all on march for Berlin.” Here is news! “The whole 15,000 of them,” report adds;–though it proved to be only a Detachment, picked Tolpatches mostly, and of nothing like that strength; shot off, under a swift General Haddick, on this errand. Between them and Berlin is not a vestige of force; and Berlin itself has nothing but palisades, and perhaps a poor 4,000 of garrison. “March instantly, you Moritz, who lie nearest; cross Elbe at Torgau; I follow instantly!” orders Friedrich; [His Message to Moritz, ORLICH, p. 73; Rodenbeck, p. 322 (dubious, or wrong).]–and that same night is on march, or has cavalry pushed ahead for reinforcement of Moritz.
Friedrich, not doubting but there would be captaincy and scheme among his Enemies, considered that the Swedes, and perhaps the Richelieu French, were in concert with this Austrian movement,– from east, from north, from west, three Invasions coming on the core of his Dominions;–and that here at last was work ahead, and plenty of it! That was Friedrich’s opinion, and most other people’s, when the Austrian inroad was first heard of: “mere triple ruin coming to this King,” as the Gazetteers judged;–great alarm prevailing among the King’s friends; in Berlin, very great. Friedrich, glad, at any rate, to have done with that dismal lingering at Buttelstadt, hastens to arrange himself for the new contingencies; to post his Keiths, his Ferdinands, with their handfuls of force, to best advantage; and push ahead after Moritz,