History of Friedrich II of Prussia — Volume 13 — Story, Setting & Ideas

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In Category - Social History
Carlyle, Thomas, 1795-1881 Project Gutenberg 2008 Not confirmed
Social problems; Frederick II, King of Prussia, 1712-1786; Prussia (Germany) -- History -- Frederick II, 1740-1786 Readers of public-domain and historical texts
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Words 64,168
Reading time 279 min
Text sections 8

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Carlyle's thirteenth volume covers the First Silesian War's end (1741-1742), mixing military narrative with ironic commentary on diplomacy. The structure alternates between battle scenes and bureaucratic absurdities, such as a mayor's installation speech that invokes divine judgment. Recurring images of 'sham siege' and 'checkmate' highlight the gap between grand strategy and messy reality.
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FRIEDRICH PURPOSES TO MEND THE KLEIN-SCHNELLENDORF FAILURE: FORTUNES OF THE BELLEISLE ARMAMENT.

We shall not dwell upon the movements of the French into Germany for the purpose of overwhelming Austria, and setting up four subordinate little Sovereignties to take their orders from Louis XV. The plan was of the mad sort, not recognized by Nature at all; the diplomacy was wide, expensive, grandiose, but vain and baseless; nor did the soldiering that followed take permanent hold of men's memory. Human nature cannot afford to follow out these loud inanities; and, at a certain distance of time, is bound to forget them, as ephemera of no account in the general sum. Difficult to say what profit human nature could get out of such transaction. There was no good soldiering on the part of the French except by gleams here and there; bad soldiering for the most part, and the cause was radically bad. Let us be brief with it; try to snatch from it, huge rotten heap of old exuviae and forgotten noises and deliriums, what fractions of perennial may turn up for us, carefully forgetting the rest.

Maillebois with his 40,000, we have seen how they got to Osnabruck, and effectually stilled the war-fervor of little George II.; sent him home, in fact, to England a checkmated man, he riding out of Osnabruck by one gate, the French at the same moment marching in by the other. There lies Maillebois ever since; and will lie, cantoned over Westphalia, "not nearer than three leagues to the boundary of Hanover," for a year and more. There let Maillebois lie, till we see him called away else-wither, upon which the gallant little George, check-mate being lifted, will get into notable military activity, and attempt to draw his sword again,--though without success, owing to the laggard Dutch. Which also, as British subjects, if not otherwise, the readers of this Book will wish to see something of. Maillebois did not quite keep his stipulated distance of "three leagues from the boundary" (being often short of victual), and was otherwise no good neighbor. Among his Field-Officers, there is visible (sometimes in trouble about quarters and the like) a Marquis du Chatelet,--who, I find, is Husband or Ex-Husband to the divine Emilie, if readers care to think of that! [_Campagnes_ (i. 45, 193); and French Peerage-Books,? DU CHATELAT.] Other known face, or point of interest for or against, does not turn up in the Maillebois Operation in those parts.

As for the other still grander Army, Army of the Oriflamme as we have called it,--which would be Belleisle's, were not he so overwhelmed with embassying, and persuading the Powers of Germany,--this, since we last saw it, has struck into a new course, which it is essential to indicate. The major part of it (Four rear Divisions! if readers recollect) lay at Ingolstadt, its place of arms; while the Vanward Three Divisions, under Maurice Comte de Saxe, flowed onward, joining with Bavaria at Passau; down the Donau Country, to Linz and farther, terrifying Vienna itself; and driving all the Court to Presburg, with (fabulous) "MORIAMUR PRO REGE NOSTRO MARIA THERESIA," but with actual armament of Tolpatches, Pandours, Warasdins, Uscocks and the like unsightly beings of a predatory centaur nature. Which fine Hungarian Armament, and others still more ominous, have been diligently going on, while Karl Albert sat enjoying his Homagings at Linz, his Pisgah-views Vienna-ward; and asking himself, "Shall we venture forward, and capture Vienna, then?"

The question is intricate, and there are many secret biasings concerned in the solution of it. Friedrich, before Klein-Schnellendorf time, had written eagerly, had sent Schmettau with eager message, "Push forward; it is feasible, even easy: cut the matter by the root!" This, they say, was Karl Albert's own notion, had not the French overruled him;--not willing, some guess, he should get Austria, and become too independent of them all at once. Nay, it appears Karl Albert had inducements of his own towards Bohemia rather. The French have had Kur-Sachsen to manage withal; and there are interests in Bohemia of his and theirs,--clippings of Bohemia promised him as bribes, besides that "Kingdom of Moravia," to get his 21,000 set on march. "Clippings of Bohemia? Interests of Kur-Sachsen's in that Country?" asks Karl Albert with alarm: and thinks it will be safer, were he himself present there, while Saxony and France do the clippings in question! Sure enough, he did not push on. Belleisle, from the distance, strongly opined otherwise; Karl Albert himself had jealous fears about Bohmen. Friedrich's importunities and urgencies were useless: and the one chance there ever was for Karl Albert, for Belleisle and the Ruin of Austria, vanished without return.

Carlyle opens Volume XIII with a characteristic dismissal of the 'Germanic or Pragmatic Part' of the war as 'forever inconceivable to mankind,' immediately establishing his ironic distance from the diplomatic machinery. The narrative then shifts between the camp at Strehlen, where Excellency Hyndford has his first audience, and the Vienna Hofrath circles, where Robinson labors to produce a treaty. This alternation of scenes—from the muddy fields of Mollwitz to the candlelit chambers of Vienna—creates a structural rhythm that mirrors the disjointed nature of the war itself.

The Axis of the World on His Shoulder

Carlyle's portrait of George II is built on a single, devastating image: 'So small a gentleman; and he feels, dismally though with heroism, that he has got the axis of the world on his shoulder.' The king's eyes are 'nothing like so perspicacious; a pair of the poorest eyes,' yet he must 'unriddle under pain of death, such a waste of insoluble' material. This physical detail—the poor eyes—recurs as a motif for the blindness of all parties involved. Carlyle does not merely describe George's predicament; he renders it as a grotesque comedy of mismatched scale, where a petty monarch strains under cosmic burdens. The passage exemplifies Carlyle's method: he seizes on a single incongruity—the small man, the poor eyes—and lets it carry the weight of his critique.

Sham Siege and Real Capture

The capture of Neisse is presented as a paradox: 'Friedrich takes Neisse by Sham Siege (Capture not Sham).' Carlyle dwells on the theatricality of the operation, where the appearance of military action masks a prearranged surrender. This tension between performance and reality runs through the volume. In the Klein-Schnellendorf meeting, Hyndford 'brings about a meeting' that produces a secret truce, while the public war continues. Carlyle's phrasing—'Friedrich gets Neisse, in a fashion'—underscores the provisional, almost fraudulent nature of the victory. The 'sham siege' becomes a recurring structural device: a military action that is also a diplomatic fiction, a battle that is also a negotiation. Carlyle forces the reader to see the war as a series of staged events, where the real action happens offstage, in the letters and conferences that precede the cannonade.

The Mayor's Speech as Microcosm

Chapter VI, 'New Mayor of Landshut Makes an Installation Speech,' appears as a digression but functions as a satirical set piece. The mayor invokes 'the Universal Judgment-seat of Christ' and promises that 'the rewards of justice, in that Life, will be much more than those of injustice in this.' Carlyle inserts a parenthetical '[Hear Spener!]' to mock the piety. The speech concludes with a prayer for the 'All-highest Royal-Prussian and Elector-Brandenburgic House' to remain 'undisturbed to the end of all Days.' Carlyle then notes the 'indistinct sough of loyal murmur' before the population returns to 'their spindles and shuttles again.' The scene is a miniature of the volume's larger concerns: the gap between grandiloquent rhetoric and mundane reality, the use of religious language to legitimize power, and the indifference of ordinary life to the machinations of princes.

Forgetting the Ephemera

Carlyle openly admits the difficulty of his task: 'Human nature cannot afford to follow out these loud inanities; and, at a certain distance of time, is bound to forget them, as ephemera of no account in the general sum.' He proposes to 'snatch from it, huge rotten heap of old exuviae and forgotten noises and deliriums, what fractions of perennial may turn up for us.' This self-consciousness about historical selection is a structural principle. Carlyle does not pretend to offer a comprehensive account; he sifts the 'rotten heap' for what he deems worthy. The metaphor of exuviae—cast-off skins—suggests that history is a process of shedding, and that the historian's job is to salvage the few durable fragments. This attitude licenses his digressions, his ironic asides, and his willingness to dismiss entire campaigns as 'vain and baseless.'

Readers should attend to the way Carlyle uses physical details—poor eyes, a sham siege, a mayor's speech—to puncture the pretensions of his subjects. The volume is less a straightforward narrative than a series of vignettes held together by a sardonic authorial voice. Pay particular attention to the transitions between scenes: Carlyle often leaps from a battlefield to a diplomatic drawing room without warning, forcing the reader to adjust to a new register. This abruptness is not carelessness but a deliberate technique for highlighting the absurdity of the events.

Carlyle’s writing on Frederick’s checkmates—those neat strategic words collapsing into muddy reality—left me thinking of how we tidy the past into lessons. Later, I found myself turning over that same quiet bemusement while revisiting About Ireland — Edition Insights, where the distance between proclaimed intention and lived texture feels achingly familiar, like a half-remembered conversation about home.

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