Frederick the Great and the Seven Years' War

“So? Did you also call him ‘blessed of the Lord’ when he came?”

“By no means, but I could not curse him.”

“Oh, yes! You are a Saxon. Now I shall see whether I bring more blessings to this village than Luzinsky.”

The King was shown to his room, and made much of the preacher, who greatly entertained him. When he departed he paid him a hundred Friedrich d’ors, and left an order that if Prussian troops came to the village they should take nothing, and should pay for everything they got outside their quarters.

Frederick always liked to talk with the country clergy. He resumed his march to Leipsic in more cheerful spirits, but did not enter the city at once. He had his night’s lodgings at a parson’s house in one of the villages near Leipsic. He was kept awake all night, for the house was overrun with mice, which made much noise in his room. Frederick arose at daybreak, called the pastor, and said: “Listen! Do you know anything about interpreting dreams?”

“Not particularly, Your Majesty, for I am not much of a believer in them.”

“You may not believe in them, but many a dream has a real meaning. I will tell you of mine. I dreamed your rooms were full of mice. What does that signify?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I think Heaven means me to understand by this that my commissaries are good at plundering.”

“Oh, no, Your Majesty, I fear your dream was the result of natural causes; for, alas! I am very much plagued by these vermin in my house and I do not know how to get rid of them.”

“So? then I must be wrong. Now you take this Friedrich d’or and buy yourself a mouse-trap. Perhaps then I may sleep better the next time I come.”

Frederick’s enemies continued hoping that the time would come, in the execution of their plans, when they should find him exhausted by the weakness of his forces; and prospects indeed seemed to point that way. Doubtless he gained much by the victory at Torgau, but his situation still was a difficult one. He greatly deplored the losses his army had suffered, for he saw no way of replacing them. Signs of discontent were also beginning to appear among his troops because they were not regularly paid. This induced him, immediately after the battle at Torgau, to abandon his original plan of retaking Dresden. The following conversation shows how serious he was in this purpose. Immediately after the victory a grenadier asked: “Your Majesty, shall we now go into good Winter quarters?”

“We must first retake Dresden. After that, I will look out for you and you shall be satisfied.”

In view of dissatisfactions among the soldiers and the approach of cold, rainy weather, the King decided, at the close of the year 1760, to go into Winter quarters.

Chapter XII
The Camp at Bunzelwilz

The next year began less fortunately than 1760 closed. The enemy determined to crush Frederick by weight of numbers. It was a long time, however, before military operations commenced. The King’s forces had been so weakened that he dared not take the offensive without reserves to fall back upon. Nor did the enemy dare to attack singly. Every effort was made to overwhelm him by united strength. With this end in view, in August, seventy-two thousand Austrians under General Laudon joined the Russians, making a total of one hundred and thirty thousand men, while Frederick’s army was hardly fifty thousand strong. Frederick had never before confronted so strong a combination.

At the beginning of Spring the King left Saxony for Silesia, most of which was in the enemy’s possession. The march was made swiftly, for the Austrians were establishing strong positions here and there. One day, about noon, he approached a Saxon village near the Bohemian frontier, in the vicinity of which an entrenched position was held by a detachment under the command of an Austrian captain. As soon as he noticed the King’s arrival at the village, he began a vigorous fire. Frederick was leaning against a shed, deep in thought, and at first seemed to pay no attention to the firing. His aides besought him to leave, as the place was too dangerous.

“The bullet which is to hit me,” said the King, “will come from above.”

A few minutes later a shot struck a post three yards away, quickly followed by a second. Remarking, “They are growing too discourteous,” he ordered the destruction of the nest. The entrenchment was stormed and the captain and his men were made prisoners. The Prussian soldiers took his watch, purse, and whatever else of value he had about him, and at last cut off the gold ornaments on his hat. This he pronounced an insult, and demanded to be taken to the King. After a respectful greeting, the King said:

“Your servant, my dear Captain. What can I do for you?” The captain complained of his ill treatment.

“Do you not know the usages of war?” said the King. “This is not a processional. Thank God that you escaped with your life. My people are very considerate after all.”

The captain was surprised at the light manner in which the King spoke, for, as he afterward said, he had always supposed the conqueror of Silesia to be a strong, imperious man.

The march was immediately resumed, and whenever Austrians showed themselves they were dispersed. Too weak to attack the Austrians at that time investing Schweidnitz, the King kept on to Bunzelwiltz, a very favorable position not far from Schweidnitz, where an entrenched camp was established in such a scientific and formidable manner that it looked like a fortress. The work of entrenching was rushed at every point, and officers joined hands with the soldiers in the work. Earthworks were also constructed in the churchyard in the village of Jauernick by soldiers sent for that purpose, who worked under the supervision of an officer. As they were throwing up the earth an old box was struck. They did not remove it with the usual care, but broke it open a little and found there was money in it. They would have instantly pounced upon it, but the officer drove them back and took the box himself, assuring them he would divide the money fairly when the work was done. They were satisfied with this, and the box was placed by the church door. The officer quietly retired to an unseen position, took off his stockings and went back with bare feet in his boots. He then took the box, shook the money out when unobserved, placed the stockings on the bottom of it and threw in what money it would hold. When the men were through with their work they asked for the box. The officer brought it at once, emptied out the money, and showed them there was nothing more in it but some old rags. There was great dissatisfaction, however, for they suspected the captain was not dealing fairly with them; seeing which, he threatened them with a stick. At this juncture the King came up to inspect the work. He asked what the matter was. They related the whole occurrence to him, whereupon he requested them to show him the box, the money, and the pretended old rags. An old grenadier, who had the latter in his hands, said: “Your Majesty, these are not old rags, but a pair of linen-thread stockings with a name on them.”

Thereupon he showed them to the King, who clearly enough saw the name “V——” on them. The King summoned the officer and asked his name. He answered “V——.”

“Well,” said the King to the men, “don’t you see the money belongs to him? His ancestors buried it here. Here is his name on the stockings, as plain as if it were put there recently. Stupids, what do you mean? Give the officer his money. I will have the box filled with genuine two-groschen pieces, and they shall be divided equally among you. Will that satisfy you?”

“Oh, yes, Your Majesty,” was the answer of all. They were all the better satisfied as the coins in the box were mostly little old copper pieces. In this way the King saved the officer from the embarrassment naturally consequent upon discovery of dishonesty, and left him standing speechless and ashamed.

The defences were at last completed, and in that strong position Frederick awaited whatever might happen. As he was situated he could not undertake an attack, and was forced to act upon the defensive. Unusual precautions were taken in the camp. During the day the men slept by turns, and at night officers and men were awake and ready for action. As a rule the King left his tent every night, betook himself to a battery, and there awaited the morning under the open heavens. One night, as he was sitting upon the ground by the fire, enveloped in his cloak, he seemed to be tired and somewhat sleepy. A soldier of the Wolfersdorf regiment, noticing it, said to him: “I will make Your Majesty a pillow.”

“How will you do it?” said the King.

The soldier took off his knapsack and fixed it so the King could rest his head upon it. He could not sleep, however, and so he talked with the soldier about his native land, his service, and other things. The latter asked the King several rather bold questions, which he answered very affably. The following conversation occurred between them:

Soldier. “If Your Majesty should be taken prisoner, how could you get released, as you are a King?”

King. “As a general, not otherwise.”

Soldier. “Hm! I don’t believe that. You are more than a general.”

King. “No! With the army I am only a general.”

Soldier (shaking his head). “They would get rich booty if they took you.”

King. “Oh, no, they would not. I have not a groschen in my pockets.”

Soldier. “Your Majesty is trying to deceive me.”

King. “No! I tell you I have not a kreutzer” (and to convince him, the King emptied his pockets). “There! do you not see I am right?”

Soldier. “That is strange, but—you have a beautiful ring, which certainly is worth something.”

King. “Well—and what do you think it is worth? Give a guess.” (Saying this, the King held up the ring for his examination.)

Soldier. “The ring may well have cost ten thousand thalers.”

King. “Fool! I will let you have it for five hundred thalers, and even then make money.”

Soldier. “I would not believe that to all eternity. It is not true.”

King. “Certainly it is. Look here—I will count up the cost. This little stone here is perhaps worth three hundred and some odd thalers. The large one in the middle is a table diamond, which at the utmost did not cost over thirty thalers, and the rest of the ring, outside of the plain setting, is of no value.”

Soldier. “I certainly wouldn’t have believed it.”

Day had dawned in the meantime. The King arose and ordered an aide, who had come up to make report, to give the soldier a Friedrich d’or, saying at the same time, “Are you convinced now that I have no money?”

Frederick often availed himself of the darkness to ride about and see what was going on. Once the King and Zieten, riding early in the morning, came to a little wood. Seeing no signs of an enemy Frederick began whistling softly, as was often his habit when not talking. All at once, as they ascended an eminence, Zieten noticed some of the enemy’s troopers in the distance, wearing white cloaks.

“Be quiet, Your Majesty. Quick, put my white undercoat over your shoulders and ride slowly. They will think we are friends coming to meet them.”

This evidently was the Austrians’ opinion, for they seemed to be directing their course straight toward them; but suddenly the King and Zieten put spurs to their horses, changed their direction, and fortunately escaped. The King laughed and said: “My dear Zieten, that was a neat trick. Now, can I go on with my whistling?”

As was always his habit, the King continued to share all dangers and privations with his soldiers. Like them, he ate out of tin dishes and the hard ground was his bed whatever the weather might be.

“Take along a bundle of straw,” he once said, as he started for a ride through the camp, “so that I won’t have to lie on the bare ground, as I did last night.”

The King was forced to remain inactive for three weeks in this distressing situation, for the combined Russian and Austrian forces were stretched out until they shut him in on all sides. He was in a critical condition. His stores were giving out and his troops were getting uneasy. He resolved therefore to risk a decisive stroke. It was fortunate for him that Laudon did not have supreme command, else he would have been crushed. The larger part of the army was under command of the Russian Field-Marshal Butterlin, who disliked Laudon and frequently quarrelled with him. This of course prevented coöperation. If one favored attacking, the other would refuse; if one gave an order to assault at a certain point, the other would issue an exactly contrary order. In this dissension lay the possibility of the King’s escape, though he did not know it, for he had never heard even a hint of their enmity. His situation appeared to him desperate enough. Whichever way he turned he saw no prospect of escape. This greatly disturbed him. With an anxious heart he often hurried to old Zieten’s little hut for consolation. This brave general confidently looked for better days in the future. His devotion and loyalty to the King never permitted him to doubt the success of his undertakings. In sheer desperation, the King would often say: “It cannot be done; it is impossible.”

Whenever he said this, Zieten would reply: “Have courage, Your Majesty. Everything will come out right.” Once he said this with so much assurance that the King quickly asked: “Have you secured the help of some new allies?”

“No,” replied the general, “only our old help from above, which will never forsake us.”

“Ah!” sighed the King, “the days of miracles are over.”

“There is no need of miracles,” replied the pious old hero. “He is on our side and will not let us be defeated.”

Brave Zieten spoke truly, for three weeks afterward the Russians suddenly broke camp and departed. The cause was partly the disagreement between Butterlin and Laudon, but the principal reason for the sudden exit was the difficulty of procuring subsistence for man and beast. Silesia had been the scene of war so long and had been so ravaged that its people had to kill most of their animals for food and had been living for some time in a most wretched plight. It was manifestly impossible therefore to feed this great army. To save his, the Russian general had no alternative but to break camp and hurry off to Poland. How delighted was the King when he saw that he was freed from the enemy’s investment! It was with a strange feeling he left the prison from which he had never expected to escape alive.

The close of the year, however, brought fresh trouble. The fortress of Schweidnitz, in Silesia, at last fell into the hands of the Austrians, and this strengthened the Russian force at Colberg, in the East. Frederick’s immediate situation was not very enviable in any sense, for there had been a lack of subsistence for his troops for a long time, resulting in general discontent as well as disobedience. His financial resources were also well-nigh exhausted. But what made him most despondent was the great shrinkage of his numerical strength and the apparent impossibility of making it good. It was no longer possible to maintain discipline among his troops after they had been reduced to the bare necessities. The Garde du Corps and gens d’armes, who had been most loyally devoted to the King, now loudly asserted that if they were attacked, they would surrender. Such was the spiritless condition of his army! Is it any wonder the King was dejected as he contemplated the situation? Only his feeling of duty and his love for the Fatherland helped him to bear this heavy burden of trouble and care. In a letter written immediately after the taking of Schweidnitz, he says:

“This painful duty of service to the Fatherland is a heavy burden. With sadness I see its glory dimmed, its people despairing of deliverance, and devastation everywhere. Fatherland! Beloved name! Thy sorrows have moved me to devote the last remaining energies of my unfortunate life to thy rescue. Away with fruitless complaints—I will again take the field. Patriotism inspires me. A new day is dawning. I will revenge the State and end its troubles. I will forget my own distress and think only of it. My strong arm shall be its support. Notwithstanding his inclinations one must swim with the current, die for Fatherland, or accomplish his purposes.”

Chapter XIII
The Dawn of Peace

The King entered upon another year with serious anxiety, for he could not escape the conviction that the longer the war continued the worse was his situation. His army was continually dwindling away. The old and tried troops, with which he had almost done wonders at the beginning of field operations, were now nearly all gone. His former sources of money had also run dry. Saxony, which until now had helped him greatly with its generous contributions, had paid out its last mark, and Prussia was so utterly exhausted that it could do nothing in any direction. With the enemy it was different. They confronted him with renewed strength and increased numbers. The combination of the two great armies was the most serious danger to his small force. It was by this combination that the fall of Schweidnitz was hastened. Frederick saw no prospect of victory anywhere, and yet the truth of his saying, “When necessity is greatest, help is nearest,” was confirmed at that very time.

The Empress Elizabeth of Russia,[24] a faithful ally of Maria Theresa, died January 5, 1762. Both empresses, in alliance with France, had sworn to ruin the King of Prussia. Elizabeth’s successor was Peter III, who was friendly to the King, and who at the very beginning of the war expressed his regret that Russia had taken part in hostilities against the King whom he greatly esteemed for his heroism. Frederick knew this, and hence was inclined to regard the death of the Empress as a fortunate event which would make for his success. He reckoned rightly, for hardly had Peter ascended the throne before he sent a messenger with orders to his army to retire from all of Frederick’s provinces, to release all prisoners without further ceremony, and hand over the contents of the great storehouses in Pomerania to the people living there without cost. In place of a bitter enemy, the King had a warm friend in Russia. On May fifth, Peter made peace with Prussia; and not only this, but soon afterward he sent Czernichef with his twenty thousand men to join the Prussians. When this was known, Sweden, which had also been a party to the alliance, out of deference to Russia, decided to forego the pleasure of making war upon Prussia any longer. It did not waste any time in acquainting Frederick with its wishes. In fact, the proposition was made so suddenly that the great King facetiously said to the messenger who brought it:

“I was not aware I had been at war with Sweden. To be sure, I have heard of some dealings which my General Belling has had with that people, but they shall have peace if they wish it.” The treaty of peace with Sweden was concluded May twenty-second.

How suddenly the aspect of his affairs changed! All at once Frederick was free from all danger, and was in a position to attack once more. Up to this time his weakness had forced him to act on the defensive. Now he was able to take the offensive, and make a stout resistance to his remaining enemies. He did not wait long, but marched his army with its Russian reënforcement into Silesia, to expel the Austrians and save that province from the enemy. Daun was seized with consternation when he heard of the King’s advance. He hastily fell back, took a new position on the Burkersdorf hills, and entrenched himself as well as he could. It was Frederick’s firm intention to attack the enemy at that point, and he had even fixed the day upon which he would measure strength with the foe, but an entirely unexpected as well as unfortunate event occurred, which frustrated all his plans and menaced both him and the Fatherland. After ruling six months, Peter was dethroned by conspirators, and died shortly afterward.[25] His wife, Catharine, was made regent by the dominant party. The shrewd Frederick may have anticipated such an occurrence, for, in all his letters to the young Emperor, he gave him much fatherly advice, and particularly entreated him to be prudent in his administration, and conciliatory in all his relations to his wife. This was a fortunate thing for the King, for when the ambitious Empress read this correspondence she was so deeply touched by Frederick’s attitude toward her that she hastened negotiations for peace, declared she would have nothing to do with the war, and furthermore ordered her armies to return home at once.

The friendly sentiments of the Empress were very agreeable to Frederick, and yet he was greatly disappointed, as the Empress’ order came just at the time he was about to strike a blow at the enemy. It was necessary to strike quickly, and yet he must act very cautiously. He knew the weak side of General Czernichef, his love of gold, and with this inducement he persuaded him to make a show of marching out with his army and occupying a threatening position, with the understanding that after three days he should return home. It was a rash act on the general’s part, and one that might easily have cost him his head; but his good-will to the King, and his avarice, overcame all scruples. Frederick, happy that his wishes were now realized, vigorously attacked the enemy at Burkersdorf, while the Russians held their position, as agreed, a little distance off. Daun, who was ignorant of this arrangement, feared Czernichef and his strong force more than he did the King, and sent a considerable force against him. This was just what Frederick wished. This division of the enemy’s strength made the battle easier, and the result was a complete victory for the Prussians. When the Austrians approached, the Russians retired, and on the day after the battle they began their homeward march.

Frederick now set out for Schweidnitz, and most skilfully and closely invested that fortress. His impatience at the slow progress of his laborers excited him to such a degree as to threaten serious physical consequences, and one day he decided to be bled in the open field. He inquired if there were a surgeon near by, and one was brought. The King alighted, took off his coat, seated himself, and the operation began. The cut was already bleeding, when a shell struck near the King, and sprinkled him and the surgeon with blood. The surgeon fled as fast as he could, leaving the King sitting. The latter was perfectly composed, and ordered him to come back and bandage the cut, adding some of his very emphatic threats. The surgeon finally returned in a very uneasy frame of mind. “I know your heart is in the right place; bandage the cut,” said the King. Half scared to death, the surgeon did as he was ordered with trembling hands, after which the King mounted and rode away.

Notwithstanding all of Frederick’s blustering the laborers made slow progress on account of the hardness of the soil, which the King did not take into consideration. He visited his displeasure principally upon his engineers. He spoke very harshly with a staff captain of that corps about the trenches, and at last in a burst of temper exclaimed: “Go to the d—l!”

The officer quietly withdrew, but the King called him back and said: “I wish that you would take charge of the work and then it may get on.”

The officer at once replied: “Your Majesty, I am gratified that you will allow me to have a leg or an arm shot off before I leave the service, but I have great need of both, and beside, it will save Your Majesty the expense of carrying me back home.”

The King was not displeased at his boldness, but laughed and ordered him back to work and handsomely remembered him.

The investment was now rapidly pushed on all sides and the fall of the fortress was inevitable. At this time Frederick had his headquarters at Peterswaldau, not far from Reichenbach, where he was much surprised by a sudden attack from the besieged. After the Austrians were driven back the Prussians strengthened their position, and the King decided that on the following day he would celebrate the victory by a general parade of the army. Frederick rode out from Peterswaldau with the Prussian princes to view the spectacle. A colonel from Schwerin, seeing him approach, rode quickly forward to receive his orders, but had the misfortune to be thrown from his horse, which stumbled. He was uninjured, and his horse waited quietly for him. The colonel remounted and galloped to meet the King as if nothing had happened. As they met, the King said: “You have had a fall!”

“Yes, but not from your favor.”

“No,” was the King’s reply, “only out of the saddle into the sand.”

The storming of Schweidnitz was successful and Frederick looked for important results to come from its fall, especially hoping it would revive the old battle spirit of his troops. This proved to be the case. Almost immediately came the glad tidings that Prince Henry, on the twenty-ninth of October, had completely routed the enemy in a sanguinary battle at Freiberg, Saxony. This was the last battle in the Seven Years’ War, and good fortune did not again desert Frederick. As gloriously and successfully as he had maintained himself against the Austrians and Russians did Henry in the last year of the war maintain himself against the French, notwithstanding the meagre help he received. Though often forced to fall back, yet he always managed to advance again and successfully cope with the enemy. He so misled them by his extraordinary craftiness that his marches and counter-marches were a puzzle to the French. It was due to his military discipline and strategic skill that he won victories over a much stronger force at Billingshausen, Wilhelmsthal, and Luttenberg. Next he captured the capital at Cassel, November 1, 1762, and was preparing to take advantage of the favorable season to drive the French over the Rhine, when his plans were interrupted by an unlooked-for event. France asked for peace, and the King made no delay in seizing the opportunity to secure what he had long desired. The treaty between France, England, and Prussia was formally negotiated February 10, 1763.

Chapter XIV
End of the Seven Years’ War

Maria Theresa and the Elector of Saxony realized that under such circumstances as these they were in no condition to continue the war alone against Prussia and that, whether they would or not, they must take steps to conclude a treaty of peace. The Seven Years’ War had convinced both of them that they could never take beautiful Silesia from the hands of their brave enemies, much less humble the Margrave of Brandenburg. So they extended the hand of peace to the King. The hunting castle of Hubertsburg[26] was selected as the place for the negotiations and there the plenipotentiaries made peace, the King of Prussia being represented by Minister Von Herzberg. As he had fought many enemies in the field he had to make treaties with many, and they were concluded in such an honorable and skilful manner that Frederick was once more in possession of Silesia, and the county of Glatz did not lose a foot of its old possessions. The treaty was signed February 15, 1763, and caused unbounded enthusiasm in city and country. Those who have not experienced the horrors of war have little idea of the true significance of the word “peace.” It recalls Schiller’s beautiful words: “Gentle peace, sweet concord, abide with us. May that day never come when war’s hordes shall devastate this quiet valley and when the evening sky, tinged with roseate hues, shall reflect the dreadful glare of burning villages and towns.”

Crowned with victory, the King returned to his capital amid the rejoicings of his subjects. The Berliners had arranged an ovation for the homecoming hero. In view of the devastation and misery caused by the war he declined an immediate reception. On the thirtieth of March, a little later than he had intended, he entered his capital in the dusk of evening, remained there a short time, and then hastened on to Potsdam and Charlottenburg. At the latter place he one day summoned his musicians and fixed a time at which they should sing the chorale, “We praise thee, O God.”

They assembled punctually, supposing that the church would be filled with a large and brilliant audience. Instead of this, the King alone appeared, seated himself, and gave them the signal. The singers began, and each one did his utmost to contribute to the success of the performance. As the music of the hymn of praise, majestic as a song of cherubim, filled the house of God, Frederick was so affected that he reverently fell upon his knees and with tears in his eyes expressed his sincere gratitude to the Almighty for his many deliverances and for the help which had been vouchsafed him through the long and dreadful war now so happily ended. It was thus the victorious King celebrated his peace festival, and his devout attitude was so impressive that there was not a dry eye among the singers. Never before had they taken part in such a solemn and inspiring ceremony.

Frederick always spoke freely of the battles in the long war and liked to hear the accounts of his generals. On one occasion General Seydlitz was dining with him at Potsdam. After a general conversation, mention was made of the battle of Rossbach, and the King said: “My dear Seydlitz, I am greatly indebted to you, to your officers, and to your whole division for that victory.”

Seydlitz replied: “Excuse me, Your Majesty, not alone my division, but my chaplain, Balke, also conducted himself most gallantly. When the battle began he buckled on a sword and fought splendidly.”

“You don’t say so,” said the King. “He must be rewarded in some special way for such unusual service. The Provost[27] has just died. Balke shall have the place.” The chaplain was summoned to Potsdam, and was not a little surprised to receive an appointment to the vacant position.

The King extended his generosity not only in individual cases, but all over the country. There was urgent necessity to awaken fresh life and secure prosperity once more for the exhausted provinces. The war, which had been conducted with great bitterness and sometimes barbarity, had not only greatly distressed Prussia, but had left all Germany in a wretched plight. An entire circuit of towns and villages had been destroyed. The luxuriant fields had been trodden down by hoofs of horses and were lying waste. Entire villages were destitute of men, for their former residents had either been killed or driven away by the enemy. The Prussian army alone lost over two hundred thousand men during the war, and its allies, England, Hanover, Hesse, and others one hundred and sixty thousand more. The losses of the enemy were still greater, for they amounted to more than half a million men. Austria lost one hundred and forty thousand, Russia, one hundred and twenty thousand, France twenty-two thousand, Sweden, twenty-five thousand, and the German Reich, twenty-eight thousand.

Under such circumstances, it is not strange there were not enough men left in the country to till the soil. Women had to do that work, and in some places there were not women enough. Consequently the King issued an order to take a hundred of the strongest boys from the Potsdam Orphan Asylum, and set them at work in these depopulated localities. He devised still other means to make up this lack of men. He released Prussians from the army, filled their places with foreign recruits, and then ordered that as few Prussians as possible should be enlisted until the deficiency was made good. The number thus released was thirty thousand seven hundred and eighty. Every effort was made to assist them in the habits of self-reliance and industrial life, and orders were also issued that soldiers in such districts should be allowed to marry without a license from the authorities. Many buildings abandoned by their owners were going to ruin, and more than thirteen thousand houses in Prussia were destroyed. Fertile fields after the war looked like a barren wilderness, for there was a lack of seed-corn and products, and implements of every kind needed to put them in good condition again.

Gentry and peasants alike had been plundered by so many armies, and had lost so much by contributions and confiscations, that they were utterly destitute. The enemy had left them nothing but their lives. The country was not the only sufferer. Prosperity was ruined and trade was dead in the cities. There was no longer any regard for habits of order, and the police administration was wretched. The courts of justice and financial institutions had been reduced to inaction by these frequent invasions of the enemy. The silence of the laws had made the people reckless and produced in them an uncontrollable greed of gain. Nobles, merchants, farmers, and laborers raised the prices of their commodities, and their demands were exorbitant beyond belief. The situation called for drastic remedies, and the King, who was greatly concerned over the country’s condition, did not hesitate to apply them in a practical way. He realized that the Provinces could not recover unaided, and so he decided to help them. By his orders Silesia had to contribute three million; Pomerania and Neumark, one million four hundred thousand; the Electorate, seven hundred thousand; the Duchy of Cleve, one hundred thousand, and the province of Prussia, eight hundred thousand thalers. Beside this, he distributed among the most needy localities twenty-five thousand bushels of rye and meal, and seventeen thousand bushels of oats taken from the public storehouses. He went even further than this. He reduced the army, and distributed thirty-five thousand horses among the peasants and gentry. In those parts of the country which had suffered most severely during the war, particularly Crossen, Hohenstein, and Halberstadt, the taxes were reduced one-half. In Silesia the payment of taxes was suspended for six months, and in Pomerania and Neumark for two years. The gentry also received considerable sums of money for the arrangement of their affairs and the payment of debts, for their resources had been so greatly impaired, money was so scarce, and credit so uncertain, that there was otherwise no hope for their recovery.[28]

It was not only cities and villages that were ruined during this war. The discipline of the army was so impaired by dissoluteness that more stringent regulations had to be adopted. The work, however, proceeded so slowly that permanent results were not apparent until 1775. From that time the army displayed the genuine military spirit. Everything except the regulations governing enlistments had been changed.

It was natural that by the reduction of the army many a deserving soldier found himself badly off. When the free battalions were organized, a blacksmith’s journeyman in a Silesian village enlisted in the one commanded by Quintus Icilius, became a corporal, and subsequently was promoted to the position of major and was given the decoration for merit. After the battalion was disbanded, he was left to shift for himself, and as he could find nothing better went back to the smithy, but still wore his decoration. Seydlitz found him at work, and inquired where he got that decoration. He told his story, and Seydlitz told it to the King. Quintus was in attendance upon the King, and, one day at table, he said to him:

“Quintus, you had some fine specimens of officers in your battalion. There is, for instance, a blacksmith journeyman who has decorated himself with a service badge. How did that Cyclops come by it?”

Quintus replied: “I remember the brave fellow. I wish Your Majesty had had more such smiths in the campaign. This one certainly did well, and Your Majesty recognized his service and gave him the decoration in Saxony.”

“Why have you not told me about him before?” said the King.

Quintus answered: “It has been done, but Your Majesty at the time was much prejudiced against the free battalions and struck the name of this brave fellow off the list.”

The King smiled and shaking his head, said: “He has had hard luck and I must help him some way. Now, listen, I will give the man a pension for service, but he must not wear his decoration when at work and he must keep quiet until I call him.”

The quondam major shortly after this received a kindly letter, which assured him a generous pension and made him the happiest of men.

Considering the care with which this sagacious sovereign looked after matters in general as well as individual affairs, and devoted himself to the humblest as well as the greatest in his dominions, it is not surprising that the ruined towns and villages, and the waste lands as well, soon presented a changed aspect, but it took years before the sorely oppressed country recovered entirely from the devastating effects of war. With the increasing industry of the people, however, and the unfailing encouragement and assistance of the King in advancing the interests of commerce, trade, and agriculture, Prussia in time rose to a higher degree of prosperity and culture than ever before.

Appendix

The following is a chronological statement of the principal events in the Seven Years’ War:

Footnotes