Frederick the Great and the Rise of Prussia

by William Fiddian Reddaway

FROM A STEEL ENGRAVING.

Frederick’s worst foe, indeed, was the weather, which tested the endurance of the Prussians and found it great. Torrents of rain fell from the eighteenth of December to the twentieth.

“Waters all out,” says Carlyle of the latter day, “bridges down, the country one wild lake of eddying mud. Up to the knee for many miles together; up to the middle for long spaces; sometimes even up to the chin or deeper, where your bridge was washed away. The Prussians marched through it, as if they had been slate or iron.... Ten hours some of them were out, their march being twenty or twenty-five miles; ten to fifteen was the average distance come.”

Their unshaken discipline was the trophy of Frederick William and the best omen for the adventure of his son. On December 22d he knocked at the door of Silesia and was not dismayed at finding it shut. Wallis, the Governor of the province, had thrown himself into Glogau, had worked manfully to make it defensible, and now stood firm. Without siege-guns Frederick could hardly hope to take the place, and for a few days his own command was brought to a standstill. He summoned the reserve under the younger Prince of Anhalt-Dessau to join him at Glogau and used the delay to organise a system by which Silesia should feed his troops for the future, but should feed them with the minimum of inconvenience and waste. Meanwhile the enterprise continued to be fortunate. On December 27th Schwerin and the right wing surprised Liegnitz, an industrial town within sight of the western wall of mountains, and on the same day the Young Dessauer brought the reserve to Glogau and set Frederick free. “Thou wilt shortly see Silesia ranked in the list of our provinces,” wrote the King. “Religion and our brave soldiers will do the rest.”

In Silesia and in Europe alike the philosopher-king counted much on religion. He cheerfully accepted the rôle of Protestant hero assigned him by the people, first of Berlin, then of Silesia, and finally of England. Never was this rôle more serviceable than in his dealings with Breslau. Leaving the Young Dessauer to blockade Glogau, he pressed on to the capital and, aided by the frost, accomplished the journey of seventy miles in three days. Much display of friendship and a little sharp practice sufficed to win the city, and Frederick, gracious and debonair, entered it in great state. Thus in three weeks from his departure from Berlin the King destroyed the Austrian civil government of Silesia. Half the province lay almost passive in his grasp, and he had secured a base for the conquest of the other half.

The remainder of the month of January, 1741, was spent in pressing home the advantage already won. The smaller towns, Ohlau, which would be useful as a base till Brieg could be acquired, Ottmachau, and Namslau, capitulated one by one. It was true that the activity of the young Austrian general, Browne, produced an ever-increasing disposition to resist, and that Glatz, hedged in by hills, defied the besiegers. But the area under Prussian control was steadily increased. Brieg was masked as Glogau had been, and Neisse, after a futile bombardment of four days, was treated in the same way. Schwerin was set free to drive Browne through the mountains into Moravia and to lead the army into winter quarters. On the 29th of January, Frederick returned to Berlin and plunged with zest into the whirlpool of diplomacy which had been stirred to its depths by his adventure.

Great as was his trust in resolute action and in accomplished facts, he could not disguise from himself the truth that on one side his calculations had broken down. Austria, inspired by a Queen whose high soul it was not in Frederick’s power to measure, was not one whit nearer to compliance with his demands. Russia, as he foresaw, was likely to do little to help her, but the action of the Western Powers was less easy to calculate. Frederick felt sure of one thing above all else—that under no circumstances would France and England be on the same side. He therefore devoted himself to the task of winning the alliance of one and the neutrality of the other.

Frederick’s simultaneous courtship of two Powers whose latent enmity to each other was beginning to reappear throws valuable light on his diplomatic methods and upon his regard for the truth.

“A veracious man he was, at all points,” says Frederick’s greatest biographer; “not even conscious of his veracity; but had it in the blood of him; and never looked upon ‘mendacity’ but from a very great height indeed. He does not, except where suitable, at least he never should, express his whole meaning, but you will never find him expressing what is not his meaning. Reticence, not dissimulation.... Facts are a kind of divine thing to Frederick; much more so than to common men; this is essentially what Religion I have found in Frederick.”

By his verdict that Frederick was a “veracious” man and his seizure of Silesia a righteous act, Carlyle robs the story of his life of half its value. The plain meaning of the facts which he adduces seems to be that he was an astute man, careless of truth and right. Hence we may enquire with keen interest, How far can such means lead to lasting success? In deference to a great name, however, two of Frederick’s letters may be placed side by side. It will then be unnecessary to recur to this ungracious topic. From this time forward it will be assumed that the reader has formed his own opinion of Frederick’s truthfulness.