Frederick the Great and the Rise of PrussiaReddaway, William Fiddian
History
Frederick the Great and the Rise of Prussia
Reddaway, William Fiddian
Frederick II, King of Prussia, 1712-1786; Prussia (Germany) -- History -- Frederick II, 1740-1786
For the third year in succession it was beyond the power of the
Prussians to prevent the armies of the Empress and Czarina from
joining hands in Silesia. The King would have risked a battle against
either, but battle was not vouchsafed him. Yet in face of an enemy
who outnumbered his 55,000 men by more than two to one he had still
a weapon at his disposal and it proved effectual. The bold offensive
of his earlier campaigns had perforce given place to defensive action
only. Although Ferdinand still gloriously held his own against
the French, Frederick knew that he himself was too weak to meet
the combined Austrian and Russian army in the field. He therefore
entrenched himself and defied the allies either to destroy him where he
stood or to make lasting conquests while his army remained undestroyed.
For five weeks, till near the end of September, he thus inhabited the
famous camp of Bunzelwitz, resting upon Schweidnitz, the key of Lower
Silesia. Then, deeming the danger past, he moved southward to seek
fresh supplies. His absence woke the foe to life and the campaign
closed with disaster. On October 1, 1761, Laudon astonished Europe by
storming Schweidnitz. A second reverse followed. Before the year was
out the Russians were masters of Colberg, the Baltic gate of Prussian
Pomerania. For the first time, therefore, the armies of the enemy could
winter on Prussian soil. A huge crescent of foes, French, Imperialists,
Austrians, Russians, Swedes, was at last enfolding Prussia. When
spring came would they not surely stifle her?
Frederick, moping through the winter at Breslau, declared once more
that Fortune alone could save him. He likened himself to a fiddler from
whose instrument men tore away the strings one by one till all were
gone and still demanded music. Once more he declared that philosophy
alone could console him in his “pilgrimage through this hell called the
world.” “I save myself,” he wrote, “by viewing the world as though from
a distant planet. Then everything seems infinitely small, and I pity
my enemies for giving themselves so much trouble about such a trifle.”
Yet he never ceased to recruit, to drill, and to make plans for the
glorious offensive campaign that he hoped to engage in with the aid of
the Tartars and the Turks.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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