The death of the Czarina and accession of Peter III. gave Frederick a breathing-spell. This lasted but a short while, when the death of Peter again changed the current. But the war from now on languished, and there finally came about a peace on the “as-you-were” principle. Frederick kept Silesia (1763).
Frederick had not been a strong boy, but in early manhood he had gained in physique. His life with troops had lent him a robustness of constitution equal to any drain or strain, and his wonderful determination drove him to ceaseless activity. Later in life he was troubled with gout. Even when seventy-three years old, and clinging to life by a mere thread, he never ceased daily, hourly work. His efforts were all for the good of Prussia, and his subjects recognized what he had done for the fatherland. Zimmermann, the Hanoverian physician, thus describes him in his old age:—
“He is not of tall stature, and seems bent under his load of laurels and his many years of struggle. His blue coat, much worn like his body, long boots to above the knees, and a white snuff-besprinkled vest, gave him a peculiar aspect. But the fire of his eyes showed that Frederick’s soul had not grown old. Though his bearing was that of an invalid, yet one must conclude from the quickness of his movements and the bold decisiveness of his look, that he could yet fight like a youth. Set up his unimportant figure among a million of men, and every one would recognize in him the king, so much sublimity and constancy resided in this unusual man!”
And the same writer says of his palace:—
“At Sans Souci there reigned such quiet that one might notice every breath. My first visit to this lonely spot was of an evening in the late fall. I was indeed surprised when I saw before me a small mansion, and learned that in it lived the hero who had already shaken the world with his name. I went around the entire house, approached the windows, saw light in them, but found no sentry before the doors, nor met a man to ask me who I was or what I craved. Then first I understood the greatness of Frederick. He needs for his protection not armed minions or firearms. He knows that the love and respect of the people keep watch at the doors of his modest abode.”
Frederick’s military genius was coupled with absolute control of his country’s resources. Though Gustavus Adolphus was both general and king, he was not an autocrat. The constitution of Sweden prescribed his bounds. In ancient days, only Alexander stood in the position of Frederick, and Cæsar, during the latter portion of his campaigns. Hannibal was always limited in his authority. Alexander, working in a far larger sphere, had personal ambitions and a scope which Frederick lacked, yet each worked for the good of his country. Frederick was not a conqueror. He fought to defend his possessions. His military education was narrow; his favorite studies and occupations essentially peaceful. But from history he had sucked the ambition to make more powerful the country which owed him allegiance, and he had digested the deeds of the great commanders as only a great soldier can. Unconscious of his own ability, necessity soon forced him to show what he was worth. Like the Romans, he laid down one rule: Never wait for your opponent’s attack. If you are on the defensive, let this be still of an offensive character in both campaigns and battles. This rule he followed through life.
Frederick most resembled Hannibal. He possessed Hannibal’s virtue,—the secret of keeping a secret. He never divulged his plans. From the start he was a captain, and so he remained to the end. How did he learn his trade? Alexander and Hannibal learned theirs under Philip and Hamilcar in Greece and Spain. Cæsar taught himself in Gaul; Gustavus Adolphus, in Denmark, Russia, and Poland. But Frederick had had no opportunities, except to learn the pipe-clay half of the art of war. His five years’ retirement after his court-martial must have done for him more than any one ever knew. The fertility of his intelligence, and his power of applying what he learned, were the foundation of his skill. His first campaign advanced him more than a life of war does the greatest among others. The First Silesian War was a school out of which Frederick emerged the soldier he always remained.
That Frederick was not a warrior for the sake of conquest was well shown in his moderation after the First Silesian War. He demanded only his rights, as he understood them. And after the Second Silesian, and the Seven Years’ War, he asked no more than he got at the peace of Dresden, when he might have made far greater claims. Indeed, Frederick’s whole life showed his preference for the arts of peace. After the glamour of the first step had vanished, war was but his duty to Prussia.
Frederick had assimilated the theory of war from the history of great men; but its study was never a favorite pursuit. He was a born soldier. As Cæsar taught himself from ambition, so Frederick taught himself from necessity. What he did had not a theoretical but an essentially practical flavor. He rose to the highest intellectual and characteristic plane of the art, not by imitation of others, but by native vigor. Frederick had by heart the lesson of Leuctra and Mantinæa, but it required genius to apply the oblique order as he did it at Leuthen. No man has ever so perfectly done this. No one in modern times has had such troops.
Frederick placed war among the liberal arts. Perhaps the least straight-laced of any captain, he held that only broad principles can govern it; that the use of the maxims of war depends on the personality of the soldier and the demands of the moment. His “Instructions” to his generals set out Frederick’s whole art. It is full of simple, common sense; apt rules, practical to the last degree. But it was the man who made them so fruitful. Just because they do represent the man they are interesting in this connection.