Frederick seems to be still in all essentials the man whose development we have traced from his birth to his accession. He is tougher, as it were, in mind and body alike. He has thrown off the feeble health of his earlier years and the lust for mere adventure which possessed him in the twenties. But experience has only added to his trust in himself, to his belief that “negotiations without arms are music without instruments,” that war determines disputes, and that bravery and leadership determine war. His faith in prompt and decided action was never more conspicuous than in 1744, when on the death of its prince without lineal heirs, he seized Eastern Frisia. Hanover also had claims to the land, but nothing could withstand the speed with which the Prussians made this miniature Silesia their own and thus acquired in Emden an outlet on the North Sea.
Frederick’s schemes are, indeed, so daring, and his acts so swift and decisive, that many have believed—as he himself seems to have believed at the time—that he was gifted with almost superhuman insight and rose superior to human weakness. It may, therefore, be well to cite the words in which Professor Koser of Bonn, the greatest living authority upon the subject, has set down his impression of the King as he was at the end of the First Silesian War.
“To us he seems neither superhuman nor inhuman, a man not ready made and complete, but still in process of growth. The cold ‘satanic’ calculator shows himself more than once a sanguine man, a man of impulse. Sometimes insolent and sometimes almost faint-hearted, he lets his bearing be easily decided by the impressions of the moment. In his haste and heat and lack of experience he makes plenty of mistakes, not only in war, but also in politics. He does not look far into the future, and sometimes, however near to his heart lies his good repute, he takes no thought for it in time to come. And as he himself later admits, he owes a great part of his successes to fortune and to chance. In one word, we grant plenty of what the King, grown more mature, has described as the ‘giddiness’ of his younger years.”
When Frederick, pleading that in shipwreck each must save himself, forsook his allies in the summer of 1742, he did so with certain definite intentions. He wished to give Prussia time to digest Silesia, and Europe time to accustom herself to Prussia. “The only question now,” he wrote to Podewils, “is to accustom the cabinets of Europe to see us in the position which this war has given us, and I believe that much moderation and much good temper towards all our neighbours will lead to that result.” The words breathe peace, but peace only so long as it was both safe and profitable for Prussia. “The safety of our new possessions,” he had just pointed out, “rests on a large and efficient army, a full treasury, powerful fortresses and showy alliances which easily impose upon the world.” For a time, it is clear, the King intended to revert to the old policy of drilling men and saving money. But it seems equally clear that if all went well the question which Frederick propounded in 1740 would in due course present itself again. “When one has an advantage is he to use it or not?” Is it reasonable to suppose that the conqueror of Silesia would in future answer No?
For the present, however, while the Prussian system of government was being established in Silesia, Frederick scanned every rise and fall of the political barometer. What he saw made him at first congratulate himself on having forsaken a losing cause before it was too late. Early in September, 1742, the Saxons quitted the war empty-handed, and it was evident that France repented of her share in it. Before the end of the year her troops had been driven out of almost all Bohemia, and in January, 1743, the death of Fleury deprived her of what unity in policy and administration she still possessed. Worse than all else, the Sea Powers now entered vigorously into the war. George II. was anxious to protect Hanover; Carteret and the English people longed to strike a blow at their natural enemy, France; and the importunity of England at length induced the Dutch to move.
Frederick, though he had arranged affairs in Russia to his liking, had, therefore, every reason to fear lest Austria should grow strong enough to turn against himself. He was annoyed beyond measure by the news of King George’s lucky victory over the French at Dettingen on June 27, 1743. “The devil fly away with my uncle,” he wrote to Podewils. He declared that he would never hear the name of France again. “Noailles is beaten, and by whom? By people who do not understand how to draw up a line of battle, and who, in fact, did not draw one up.” Frederick’s disgust was only increased by the fact that his military criticism was well founded. Owing to George’s want of skill, Noailles had caught his army in a trap, from which it escaped only by calm courage and desperate fighting hand to hand. “I have tolerably well foreseen everything that has passed in Europe hitherto,” wrote the King of Prussia, “but for this blow I was not prepared.”
Dettingen and the fear of worse to follow impelled Frederick to take up arms anew. Early in September, 1743, he visited Wilhelmina at Baireuth and endeavoured in vain to organise a league of German princes to rescue the Emperor. The Austrian diplomats were more successful. In the same month, by a treaty made at Worms, they secured the definite alliance of England and Sardinia. Frederick noticed with some alarm that the Treaty of Berlin, which gave him Silesia, was not treated at Worms as indispensable to the future of Germany. In December a compact more distinctly menacing to Prussia, should she again interfere in the war, was concluded between Austria and Saxony.
Early in the new year (1744), therefore, Frederick turned unabashed to France. He offered to join her in a war which both parties should pledge themselves to continue until Bohemia should have been wrested from the Queen. The Emperor was to receive the greater part of the kingdom, but Prussia, as in 1742, claimed the four Bohemian circles east of the Elbe and also that fringe of Silesia which the Treaty of Berlin had left in Austrian hands. Early in June all was arranged. By the so-called Union of Frankfort some share in the undertaking was promised by the Elector Palatine and the Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel. But the substantial allies were, as in the earlier war, France, Prussia, and Bavaria. The general plan agreed upon was that France should cripple the Sea Powers by attacking the Netherlands and Hanover. If the result was to bring an Austrian army into Alsace, Frederick promised in his turn to cripple Austria by flinging eighty thousand men into Bohemia. In that case the French undertook to make another campaign in the East.
The motives which inspired Frederick to take action are so clear that there is no need to seek them in the solemn accusation against Austria which he gave to the world in August. He deemed it expedient to take up the attitude of a German patriot, who, after exhausting the resources of negotiation, was driven to repel by force the conspiracy of the Queen of Hungary against the constitution of the Empire.
“The race of those Germans of old, who for so many centuries defended their fatherland and their liberties against all the majesty of the Roman Empire, still survives, and will make the same defence to-day against those who dare to conspire against them.... In one word, the King asks for nothing and with him there is no question whatever of personal interests. His Majesty has recourse to arms only to restore liberty to the Empire, the sceptre to the Emperor and peace to Europe.”