And yet—! Where the Spree winds along between its sandy banks, a young eagle was beginning his flight toward the sun. Prince Eugene, “the gallant knight,” had seen more clearly than he whose eyes were fixed only on the Pragmatic Sanction. His good counsel had shared the fate of all well-meant advice which earns no thanks and is rarely followed, and there was no one now at the imperial court who had Eugene of Savoy’s far-seeing vision in matters of statecraft. But the eagle had already spread his pinions, and though he had but one head, to be sure, yet what a head it was! This eagle was the young King of Prussia, Frederick, second of the name.
The year 1740 had witnessed new rulers upon two thrones: upon the smaller, and, one might say, still embryonic one, a man; upon the greater, already established, a woman; both young, energetic, and richly endowed by nature, both the foremost figures of their time.
The proverb, “Two hard stones seldom grind well,” has much truth in it, and none the less if the word “hard” be taken in a figurative sense. Thousands of heads and hearts were agitated by the question, how these two European monarchs of equal birth and capabilities would get on together. Would not all their power be exerted to obtain the supremacy? And in this struggle, to use a popular but expressive phrase, would not “the fur fly”?
It was only in Vienna that people were deceived as to Frederick’s strength. Those immediately about the gifted young King were little concerned as to the outcome of any warlike complications, for from the very earliest days of his reign he had been strengthening and equipping his army. A well-filled treasury also favored his secretly cherished plan of claiming the Duchy of Silesia, and winning back with the sword what he considered his own inheritance, according to some old agreement concerning the succession.[4] His army advanced suddenly against Silesia, and he followed it immediately after a court ball in Berlin, where no one had the least suspicion of his intention. He despatched Count Cotter to Vienna, it is true, to state the terms by which war could be averted;[5] but Austria would not consent to them, and while these brief negotiations were being conducted, Frederick’s army had already set foot upon the frontier of Silesia.
This news fell upon the Austrian sovereign like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky; but the die was cast, the torch of war alight. To resign Silesia voluntarily never entered her mind for a moment, but alas! her father’s indifference to Prince Eugene’s wise counsel was now bearing fruit. Although not willing to accept Frederick’s terms for a peaceful settlement of the question, Maria Theresa realized fully the difficulties of her situation, and hastily called upon those who had recognized the Pragmatic Sanction to redeem their promises and lend her some substantial support now that so powerful an assault had been made upon this measure. But she only had to face the bitter experience expressed in the old saying:
“Friends in prosperity—
Each will weigh a pound;
But to the ounce, in time of need,
A thousand may be found!”
Those whom she summoned to her aid shrugged their shoulders, and sympathized, but made no move to array themselves on her side. It is the way of the world, and in this dark hour Maria Theresa was forced to learn, in bitterness of spirit, that there is a vast difference between words and deeds.