, the mass
of the people was not so suitable as now to recruit the army. Little,
too, did he foresee the greatness of character of Maria Theresa. But in
his preparations for the invasion the King already showed that he had
long hoped to measure himself with Austria; he began the struggle in a
spirit of exaltation that was decisive of his future life and for his
State. Little did he care for the foundation of his right to the Duchy
of Silesia, though he employed his pen to demonstrate it to Europe. The
politicians of the despotic States of the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries troubled themselves little on such points. Whoever could give
a good appearance to his cause, did so; but the most improbable
evidence, the shallowest pretences, were sufficient. Thus had Louis
XIV. made war; thus had the Emperor carried out his interests against
the Turks, Italians, Germans, French, and Spaniards; thus had a portion
of the advantages gained by the great Elector been marred by others.
Just where the rights of the Hohenzollerns were most distinct--as in
Pomerania--they had been most wronged: by none more than the Emperor
and House of Hapsburg. Now the Hohenzollern sought for revenge. "Be my
Cicero and prove the justice of my cause, and I will be the Caesar to
carry it through," wrote Frederic to his Jordan after the entrance into
Silesia. Gaily, with winged steps, as to a dance, did the King enter
upon the field of his victories. Still did he carry on the enjoyments
of life, pleasant trifling in verses, intellectual talk with his
intimates upon the amusements of the day, on God, nature, and
immortality; this converse was the salt of his life. But the great work
on which he had entered began soon to have its effect on his character,
even before he had been under fire in the first battle; and it
afterwards worked on his soul till his hair became grey, and his fiery
enthusiastic heart became hard as iron. With the wonderful acuteness of
perception that was peculiar to him, he observed the beginning of this
change. He reviewed his own life as though he were a stranger. "You
will find me more philosophic than you think," he writes to a friend;
"I have always been so, now more, now less. My youth, the fire of
passion, the desire for fame, nay--to conceal nothing--even curiosity
and a secret instinct, have driven me from the sweet repose which I
enjoyed, and the wish to see my name in the newspapers and history have
led me away. Come her