Part 14

So Frederick, then, had missed his reckoning altogether--granted, of course, that he had reckoned as the writers of the period (among whom he was one) say that he did. And granting that he had not known all the time, in his heart of hearts, that in one way or another he would one day have to prove the strength of his budding greatness before the whole of Europe, and had been ready for many a day to do it. Today it looks as though both alternatives were true: that he had war in his blood, but that, more out of spite than love of peace, he played the diplomatic game of balancing powers--just for the fun of leading destiny by the nose. At all events, the Convention of Westminster caused an incredible political upheaval; and any critic of the time might have said that this royal statesman was such a bungler that he had managed to unite against him all the sworn hereditary enemies of Europe. A new system of understandings arose: Austria did not stick to England against France, and Bourbon and Habsburg joined hands. Russia disregarded the subsidies contracted for with England the previous year; mad with rage, she went over to France and Austria. And so they were united, they, the three greatest powers on the continent. And on the other side stood Frederick; with a single friend, not exaggeratedly loyal at that, who concealed from him that she was no longer friends with Russia, and who, moreover, had her hands full with the war overseas. However, the famous money-belt would be at his disposition, at least for the present and if things did not go too badly with him.

Such was the position; and it did not take Frederick long to grasp it. Not in vain did he keep spies at every court. He knew the secrets of Babiole. From The Hague came hints of the Franco-Russian _rapprochement_. “Are you sure of the Russians?” he continually asked Mitchell, the English ambassador. And Mitchell replied: “My government is sure of them.” Adding _sotto voce_ that he himself was not so sure, and that just lately a courier had told him that all the roads up to the Lithuanian frontier were full of marching Russians. For Mitchell the Scot was an honest man and he had great respect for Frederick. To make assurance doubly sure, word came from Dresden of Russia’s eager urging, and of her leaving England in the lurch. The Viennese ambassador gave further detail about the offensive Austro-French alliance, which was not signed yet, but was under constant discussion; comprehensively speaking, it was as follows; on the day when Austria, with the help of France, won back Silesia, it ceded to France a part of the Netherlands.--Take it all in all, the Kaunitz schemes, his coalition and his dreams of partition, were pretty plain.

It was a great deal that Frederick had in his hands; quite enough to afford him the moral possibility which he was supposed to give the good Maria Theresa by attacking. It is not hard to guess his state of mind--to presume to understand his feelings would be more daring. A bitter, angry, Mephistophelian laughter must have risen to his lips at the thought of that clique over there striving so hard to preserve their innocence, to put on him the odium of the offensive--on him, who was above either the simplicity or the hypocrisy of such clear psychological distinctions between offensive and defensive; and who had no fear of either praise or blame. And again, he felt that Prussia would have in the end to assert herself and show what she could do; he had war in his blood, he meant war--whereas the others only meant, in the first instance, diplomatic chicanery. The draft of that Franco-Austrian alliance, whose aim was the recovery of Silesia, presupposed an offensive taken by Frederick--and even so it remained a draft. The whole Kaunitz scheme of a coalition for the destruction of Prussia was in the first place no more than that, and very little of it had been put on paper. There is no document in existence from which Maria Theresa’s intention to attack Prussia can be proved; nor any showing that Russia’s and Saxony’s part in her plans was either a neutral or a hostile one. No human being, learned or unlearned, will ever be able to decide whether these plans would ever have become more than plans if it had not been that.... One thing more: a contemporary, who must have known, Count Hertzberg, who at the King’s request prepared a paper upon the events of the year 1756 and preceding, declared, thirty years later: “It is, to be sure, a fact that plans were in existence for the partition of Frederick’s territories; but they were only provisional, and presupposed the condition that he would give occasion to carry them out; so it will always remain unsettled whether or no those plans would have been executed.” If it had not been that--what? That Frederick himself began.

If one turns to the historians to try to discover whether the frightful war which thus began was really an offensive or a defensive war on Frederick’s part, one finds that the historians contradict themselves to the point of absurdity. All those whose breasts are covered with orders have one song to sing; everything, they say, is against the libellous hypothesis of a long-prepared war of attack and conquest: the bearing of the King, his utterances, public and private, during the ten years of peace and the last summer months before the catastrophe. Those whose breasts are not covered with orders (which of course is only the result and not the cause of the views they hold), who have a grudge against genius, holding it to be incompatible with virtue, in the nature of things: these sing a different song: positively everything, they say, that is known to us of the villain speaks for the interpretation of an offensive war. His utterances, forsooth! They are just so many subterfuges, just so much dust in people’s eyes. “If I thought my shirt or my skin knew anything of my intentions ...” Yes, we remember. Had he not also said that he had no desire to be like those princes who become famous by reason of one brilliant operation and afterwards enjoy peace and quiet? His plans date from far back. He wanted to conquer Saxony and West Prussia, that was all, and he spied out the diplomacy of the other powers in order to get pretexts for attack.--Yes, the historians are a mass of contradictions. For my part, if anybody asks me, I prefer to say nothing. For it seems to me that when the various opinions on his life and deeds cancel each other out, silence is what is left. That Frederick began the war is no evidence that it was not defensive; for he was encircled, and might quite possibly have been attacked the following spring. But did he will the war? The question leads us into the slough of unsolved problems concerning the freedom of the will. He probably understood quite early that he would be forced to will it; and after he had led destiny awhile by the nose, he had enough human pride and human spite to will it voluntarily.

So much is true: that the others, no matter how much they may have plotted, began their actual warlike preparations only when those of Prussia had turned to certainty the great and general mistrust. As early as the spring of this year 1756 Frederick had sent a corps to Stolp under Field-marshal Lehwald; and further, ostensibly to safe-guard Hanover, he took measures to bring up the Westphalian troops and strongly provisioned the Silesian fortresses. His own officers had shaken their heads. After the middle of June, “_Alarmzustand_” was declared in East Prussia as well as Silesia, all leaves were cancelled, the reserves called in before the end of the regular manœuvres. One army was by then completely mobilized; it stood in Farther Pomerania ready to act as reserve in East Prussia. The plan of campaign, drawn up by the King together with General von Winterfeld, had long been ready, save for details. Winterfeld, a sort of general chief of staff, sat bent over route plans and lists. Everywhere horses were being bought. General von Retzov was intendant in the field. The files were formed, the marching order of the army in three great divisions was settled upon. The machine was working smoothly. And Kaunitz smiled and compressed his lips. “His Majesty of Prussia,” he said, “is already making the second great mistake in state policy. First Westminster, and now these preparations. It is good we have not armed up to now, it might have spoilt everything. Now we and Russia have all the provocation in the world to hurl our troops against the boundary.” And Austria set up an extraordinary armament commission; it brought its regiments on a war footing and concentrated them in Bohemia and Moravia.

On the tenth of July, Frederick ordered his generals to Potsdam; appeared among them and without more ado declared that the war must begin. “That it must,” Winterfeld supported him. “Impossible!” said all the rest; and advised strongly against it. They were Prussian generals: Haudegen, Schwerin, Keith, Retzov, Schmettau, Ferdinand von Braunschweig; but they all most strenuously advised against it. The King’s brother could not trust his ears. “Are we to understand,” cried Prince Wilhelm, “that Your Majesty hopes to conquer this overwhelming strength? The greatest powers in Europe, the public opinion of the continent, are against us. And justice--ah, Sire, it is not on our side!” “To want to wrest victory from superior power like that is to court defeat at the hands of Providence!” So cried the princes Henry and Ferdinand. Frederick pished and pshawed, and jeered at them and said they might stop at home if they were afraid. At which they naturally fired up and said that obedience was higher than personal opinions.

In the whole world he had not one moral support. England never ceased to warn him not to invoke certain destruction--against which she would be powerless to save him. But when in the middle of July he learned that Austria was mobilizing all along the line, he had the question put in Vienna, which sounded dangerously like an ultimatum: was the mobilization directed against him? Probably he had in mind to spring the combination by showing a brusque deportment. If they came to blows in midsummer, he reckoned, then Russia was not likely to march that year. Perhaps, even, English gold would keep her still, or there would be a change of thrones--for the Little Mother was not in the best of health, her love-affairs were bad for her. And France: she had signed the Treaty of Versailles, but nothing is easier than to deny the _casus fœderis_ if you do not want it and cannot have it. And it seemed to the King like a case of cannot.

But if France and Russia did fall away, would Austria stand up to him alone? Frederick did not think it, he did not hope for it. But if, said he, they were really with child by war, he was ready to play the midwife. A detestable figure! And another allusion to the sex of his opponent.

They were not ready yet, in Vienna. So they delayed for two weeks with their answer. Then it came. Maria Theresa explained that in the universal crisis she had taken steps to secure herself and her allies, which were not intended to injure anybody. Kaunitz told her what to say--disingenuous, time-taking rubbish. Frederick still pressed. He sent word that he could not remain in ignorance of Austria’s agreement with Russia. If Her Majesty could not give him, in good set terms, without employing any of the usual Austrian evasions, the assurance that she would not attack him within the next two years, then she would have her own exalted self to thank for whatever consequences might ensue upon her silence. That this demand did not admit of any discussion was obvious. Frederick’s own ambassador hardly found the courage to transmit it. But simultaneously with his ultimatum Frederick in quick succession mobilized first the Pomeranias, then the Westphalias, Silesia, Brandenburg, and lastly the Berlin garrison. In six days the troops were in fighting trim and only needed a few days to reach their rendezvous. Schwerin with thirty thousand men was in Silesia. The three columns, commanded by the King in person, pushed toward a certain frontier.... Everything was buried in the profoundest mystery; not even the divisional commanders were informed. But there was still a delay.... What was Vienna’s answer? After full three weeks she haughtily replied: the first steps toward mobilization had been Prussia’s. Further, the alliance with Russia had existed for a decade, and was not offensive in its character--from which it followed that Prussia’s anxiety was groundless.--Kaunitz again. Between the lines could be read: “If you swallow that, then you are a fool, and we shall brush you aside. If you don’t, then you are a criminal disturber of the peace. Take your choice.”--Frederick gave the order to cross the Saxon frontier.

The Saxon frontier! Why, but Saxony was neutral, wasn’t she? Saxony was not playing!--That was all one; on the twenty-ninth of August Frederick, with sixty thousand moustaches, invaded Saxony.

What a hubbub arose in Europe at this unheard-of breach of the peace, this attack on the rights of nations! We have no idea--or, rather, yes, perhaps just lately we have had an idea. But let us listen to Frederick before we listen to Europe: according to him his breach of the law was due to the following reflections and considerations. He had to be absolutely certain of Saxony, in order that she might not fight on the wrong side when she had the chance. Things must not go as they had in ’44, when Saxony had stuck a dagger in his back. By occupying the country and disbanding the army or incorporating it in his own, he should have a secure base for his operations against Bohemia. As for neutrality, there was none, in any true sense of the word. In her heart, and with all her evil-disposed intentions, Saxony was with the coalition, though cowardice prevented her from admitting where she stood. Frederick, in breaking the letter of the law, in violating a neutrality that stood on paper, whereas its own betrayal did not so stand, was actuated by the sternest necessity. He had to take the guilt upon his own shoulders in order to bring it home to his enemies; he had to get hold of the archives of the state of Dresden, that nest of treachery, in order to be able to prove to all the world how Saxony had manœuvred. If Saxony were wise, she would offer no opposition; she would let him get across the mountains without delay. But let her persist in carrying her skin to market for Austria, and he would crush her once for all. When Schwerin repulsed an invasion into Silesia, and Frederick surprised them by appearing in Bohemia, then Maria Theresa might perhaps think better of it? With just one slash, perhaps, he would have cut the web that bound him, so that the severed pieces floated harmless away? Of course, the opposite result was conceivable: the various combinations still in a fluid state about him might crystallize at his touch, just as ice-cold water in a basin will begin to freeze when shaken. But one way or the other, things must be brought to a head.

Thus Frederick. But Europe had no mind at all for such balancings and experimentations. Europe shrieked as with one voice. It was terrific to hear her. The public, of course, had no “_Kujons_” in its pay; it was not posted as to preliminaries, and in its eyes the march into Saxony had taken place in the middle of the profoundest peace and was a shameless breach of international law, an attack so wanton and unprovoked that it put one quite beside oneself. To fall in force upon a neutral country, a good, innocent country which was not at all expecting such a barbarous onset and had only lately placed its army on a pathetically small peace footing, twenty-two thousand men, in order to enable Brühl to buy more wigs and coaches and scent-bottles! It was insufferable, it rent the heart, it could not and must not be that this snuff-taking Satan should tread under the heels of his top-boots all morality, all justice, all humanity, all that ennobled life, all that the upright must needs believe in. So Europe shrieked and continued to shriek; and loudest of all shrieked Austria, pointing her finger at Frederick and crying over and over again: “Now you see, don’t you? There you are!”

And, as a matter of fact, Saxony was not in the least resolved on fight. She had plotted, but she was not in the least resolved. However, she was carried away by the general indignation, which confirmed her in a false and sentimental conviction of her own innocence and the justice of her cause; and she elected to perform the rôle of martyr in the cause of Austria and the rights of nations--a choice which could not save her from imminent destruction. It was impossible to withstand the masterly entry of the Prussian troops, carried out as it was with the utmost order and discipline. The defence hastily fell back on the Bohemian frontier, and let Wittenberg, Torgau, Leipsic, let Dresden, let the whole electorate fall without a blow into Frederick’s hands, into the power of Prussia. The Saxon army stopped at Pirna, in a fortified position, and thither came Augustus, in flight from Dresden.

This prince, otherwise rather slack, now displayed an astonishing obstinacy, backed up by the moral support of all Europe. What Frederick demanded of him was pretty thick, after all: it was no more, and no less, than an offensive alliance against Austria, and the oath of fealty of the Saxon troops. In other words, Saxony was to link her fate, for better or worse, with Prussia’s; since, as Frederick said, Saxony and Prussia were indispensable to each other and it was to their mutual advantage to stick together. We have learned since then that mutual advantage counsels a permanent alliance not only to Prussia and Saxony, but to Prussia and Austria as well. But they had not got so far on in those days; and Frederick’s theory, in the circumstances under which it was set up, must have sounded Satanic indeed. “How should I,” asked Augustus in numerous letters, “turn my sword against a princess who has never given me any ground for doing so? It is my intention not to take any part in this war ... my integrity, which I have preserved up to my sixtieth year, encourages me to reply to Your Majesty that you have possessed yourself of my territory without any justification. Europe will be the judge of my cause, and of the genuineness of the schemes you lay at my door, of the non-existence of which all the courts of Europe are convinced.... It seems Your Majesty can secure himself in no way save through the destruction of my army, either by the sword or by famine. Until the second happens it still lacks much; and with regard to the first, I have hopes that in the divine protection and in the constancy and loyalty of my troops I shall rest secure from the ultimate event.” They were good, moving letters that poor King Augustus wrote, prompted by his consciousness that he had Europe with him. He addressed his army just as touchingly. They would, he said, thrust toward Bohemia together--which was sheerly impossible--despite the strength of the enemy. He was resolved to sacrifice his life in the attempt; it belonged to his subjects; it was for them to save the honour of their king, and to defend him to the last drop of their blood.

The camp at Pirna was surrounded, and the pinch was soon felt. But until hunger enforced surrender (for Frederick wished to shed no blood, he wanted to amalgamate the Saxon troops with his own), much precious time was lost, time of which Austria made good use. Frederick stopped in Dresden, where he sought by means of ingratiating forms to make his Draconian regulations more palatable; his purpose being to win over public opinion by proving from the Saxon archives the necessity he had been under. But here too he encountered resistance so embittered that in breaking it down he brought the world, if that were possible, even more than ever about his ears. The state papers were in the castle, in the custody of the Queen of Poland, who was living there with her children. Frederick she loathed; and she stoutly resisted all his efforts to get hold of the documents. Frederick, however, was not the man to shrink from using force against a lady. He sent a general to the Queen, with definite instructions to procure the casket in which the documents were, using force if necessary. The scene in the Queen’s apartments is variously depicted. In any case it must have been extremely humiliating to Augustus’s wife. She fought with all her strength and with all her pride against surrendering the papers. We are told that she defended with her own body the door to the cabinet; other accounts say that she sat on the chest where they were kept; others, again, that the casket was in her bed, and that Frederick’s general, after prostrating himself, did not hesitate to violate this place too. In the end the Queen had to comply, and Frederick got the papers. He speedily had them published. But the advantage of publication was outweighed by the harm done by this fresh evidence of his brutality. The Queen called the foreign ambassadors together, gave them a vivid account of what had happened, and declared that all the rulers of Europe had been insulted in her person. Her daughter, who was dauphine in France, threw herself publicly at the feet of Louis XV and implored him, with sobs, to avenge her mother’s sufferings--a scene which moved all Europe to tears of sympathy and righteous anger. The French envoy in Berlin received orders to break off relations peremptorily. The Prussian ambassador was forbidden the court at Versailles. Add to all this that the Queen of Poland died soon after, killed, so everybody said, by the ignominy she had suffered. For Frederick retorted upon her conspiracies and agitations by having her closely watched, and she was not spared further affronts. The King of Prussia, so we are told by Count Vitzthum, treated the Queen not like a person of royal blood, but like a canteen woman imprisoned in the middle of a hostile army. And it killed her. The indignation against Frederick was boundless.