Augustus William: The Prince Who Died of a Broken Heart

Prince Augustus William of Prussia (Berlin, Prussia, 9th August 1722 - Oranienburg, Prussia, 12th June 1758)

Augustus William of Prussia by G von Bern

As a lass, I was fascinated by the very concept of Prussia. Something about the word itself seemed impossibly exotic, a land of mystery and, for some reason, snow everywhere. I can't vouch for snow and exoticism but we are in Prussia today to meet Augustus William, a prince of the House of Hohenzollern.

As son of Frederick William I of Prussia and Sophia Dorothea of Hanover, Augustus could count amongst his siblings our old friend and seasoned schemer, Louise Ulrika, and Frederick the Great.

Unlike his sister, Augustus did not hanker after absolutist power and was content to live a life away from the throne. Aged twenty, he married Luise of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel, the sister of Frederick the Great's wife, and the couple were parents to four children, all but one of whom survived to adulthood. In fact, though Augustus never ruled in his own right, when his brother died leaving no heirs, Augustus' son came to the throne as Frederick William II of Prussia. 

Augustus won the ire of Frederick thanks to a disastrous showing at the Battle of Kolin during the Seven Years War, at which Augustus unwisely chose to retreat. The furious Frederick suffered his first defeat in this battle and he and his brother never fully reconciled. In fact, when Augustus died twelve months later of a brain tumour the rumour spread that the unhappy prince had actually died of a broken heart.

Life in the Georgian Court, true tales of 18th century royalty, is available at the links below.

Pen and Sword
Amazon UK
Amazon US
Book Depository (free worldwide shipping)

A Salon Guest... The Siege of Louisbourg

It is a pleasure to welcome a guest to the salon today with his tale of the Siege of Louisbourg. CW Lovatt knows more than a thing or two about this decisive incident and it forms the backdrop of his novel, Josiah Stubb. Without further ado, I shall leave you in the hands of our estimable host for the day!

---oOo---

Louisbourg was a fortress town on the northeastern coast of Cape Breton Island (or ‘Ile Royale’ as it was known by the French) in the eighteenth century. With its own excellent harbour, capable of holding an entire fleet of men-of-war, it served to protect French interests in the vital cod industry, as well as the gateway to the St. Lawrence River, and the heart of New France at Quebec. Built at a cost of over thirty million livres, it was deemed to be impregnable.

The following deals with the siege of 1758, during The Seven Years War, which is the time that my novel, “Josiah Stubb,” takes place. I’ll try to keep it brief.

Two very important factors that lead to the death of Louisbourg happened many months before the invasion armada was ever seen from its ramparts. The first was the coming to power of William Pitt, whose global strategy was to offer only a token force on the European continent, along with subsidies to finance the armies of Britain’s allies, while using the bulk of her own army and navy to wage war on the colonies of her ancient enemy, bringing her economy to ruin, and ultimately forcing her to sue for peace.

The second factor made the first all the more viable – the Royal Navy’s victory at the Battle of Cartagena, leading to the remainder of the French navy being bottled up in their harbours. A previous attempt had been made on Louisbourg in 1757, but the presence of a sizeable enemy fleet, and an untimely hurricane, assured its failure. This time, with the French unable to venture out from their ports, there would be no major naval force in attendance, and very little in the way of reinforcements. New France was on its own.

Another important contributing factor that I forgot to mention earlier, is Pitt’s habit of promoting officers based on competence and their willingness to fight, while throwing the older custom of patronage and seniority in the dustbin. Thus it is that James Wolfe, a shiny new brigadier, makes his appearance on the stage.

A British armada of forty warships, and a hundred and fifty transports, arrived off the coast of Ile Royale in early June, 1758. In the holds were 14,000 regular line troops, along with a few companies of Rangers, formed from the southern colonies. Wild and relatively undisciplined, the Rangers were new. Considered Light Infantry, each man was picked for his marksmanship and knowledge in bush-fighting. Their roll would be to take on the Indians and Canadians, who had caused so much havoc with Braddock at the Monongahela River three years earlier. In the oncoming weeks, they would prove to be very effective.

After waiting several days for the waters to calm sufficiently, the British attempted a landing on the eighth of June, about five miles below the fortress, on the Gabarus Bay littoral. The windswept shores of Cape Breton are rocky and inhospitable at the best of times, with possible landing sites few and far between, so the options of the naval officers had dwindled to the meager four hundred yards of beach at Fresh Water Cove. Of course the French were well aware of this, and had troops and artillery in abundance, well dug in, to oppose any attempt at a landing.

They very nearly succeeded.

The French held their fire until the leading wave of boats were within pistol-shot. Then they let loose with a barrage so savage that the British were stunned, helpless on the water, sitting ducks for following salvos.

What followed was pure luck.

In an effort to avoid the withering fire, three boats of the 35^th regiment veered off course until they had rounded a small headland on the extreme right of the cove, scarcely noticeable, but just enough of a promontory to put them beyond the line of fire. Here they were also beyond the gentle sand of the beach, and as they were unable to land, seemed out of the fight. However, a closer inspection of the shore revealed clefts in the rock just wide enough to allow one or two boats to close at a time, and this they were allowed to do, out of sight and unhindered. So landed the first few dozen; most taking cover in a small copse of trees, while others frantically signaled for the rest of the boats to follow.

This happened piecemeal, for Wolfe, commanding the attack, and unaware that any of his men had reached the shore, had ordered a retreat. But of course this order was rescinded when more and more realized the good fortune of their comrades. 

Gradually, very gradually, this precarious toehold was reinforced as more and more boats came in. Soon the landing was packed, each boat impatiently awaiting their turn to disembark. Feeling the sense of urgency, some did not wait to reach the cleft, but jumped overboard and attempted to wade to the shore. Some made it, many were drowned in the heavy seas. Other boats, venturing too close, were picked up by the waves and smashed against the rocks, their occupants sent tumbling senseless into the water. In fact, it was at this point that the British suffered their greatest casualties of the entire battle, and not to the murderous salvos of the enemy.

Eventually perceiving this new threat, the French attempted to contain it with a small detachment of irregulars. Had they mounted a more determined effort, they would undoubtedly have forced the British back into the sea with very little trouble, but instead, unsure of the numbers they faced, they were content to exchange musket fire until reinforcements became available, but that moment never arrived.

It was the British who gradually gained superiority in numbers, and when Wolfe was finally able to land, they advanced, sweeping away the irregulars, and continuing without pause, rolled the enemy from their entrenchments when they found themselves being attacked from the rear.

The advance continued without pause, chasing the French all the way back to the fortress. The victory had been so complete, and the French retreat so precipitate, that their cannon were captured before they could be spiked, and most of their provisions still in the trenches. This was fortunate for the British, as the seas grew rough again the next day, and continued so for several days thereafter, making it impossible to land their own supplies.

Once having affected a landing, the odds of a British victory increased immensely, although it was still far from a foregone conclusion. Louisbourg, her walls bristling with defenders, and her harbour with a squadron of men-of-war, still remained defiant, and not without reason. If the siege could be drawn out until the onset of winter, the British would have little choice but to withdraw. Therefore time was of the utmost importance.

Within days of the victory at Fresh Water Cove, and with the seas still too rough to allow the landing of either provisions or siege guns, on the twelfth of June the Commander in Chief, General Amherst, ordered Wolfe to circumnavigate the harbour with twelve hundred picked men, and seize the high ground at Lighthouse Point, across the harbour’s mouth. The route took the British to well within the range of the fortress’ guns, but owing to heavy fog, the position was taken without suffering any casualties. The redcoats arrived only to find that the French had abandoned it, and tumbled their heavy guns off the cliffs into the sea.

Five days later, the weather grew calm, and the British preparations continued much more rapidly. On the nineteenth of June, a battery of five guns was in place, and began to engage the Island Battery guarding the mouth of the harbour, and the five French men-of-war inside. 

Meanwhile, more and more cannon and provisions continued to land, and while the senior brigadiers, Lawrence and Whitmore, began the arduous process of approaching the walls via parallels dug into the boggy, rock-ridden ground for the main attack, Wolfe raced with impetuous speed, installing more and more batteries around the periphery of the harbour, drawing ever closer to the fortress.

The Island Battery was silenced on the twenty-fifth of June, and the French men-of-war, fearful of the British heated shot, retreated so close to the fortress walls that they were left aground at low tide.

As more and more guns became available, Wolfe continued his advance until he reached the abandoned Royal Battery, midway to the fortress. On the first of July the French attempted a sortie to destroy this position, but were driven back, and even more high ground was taken to the northeast. A further battery was duly installed here, and commenced fire on July fifth, soon causing considerable damage to the walls and the town.

On the ninth of July the French sent a night sortie of over seven hundred men against the parallel being dug for the main attack under Lawrence and Whitmore, capturing men and entrenching tools. They were driven back with loss during the confusing melee that followed. However, this foray was a waste of both time and lives, as this ‘main attack’ was never brought to fruition.

By now Wolfe had completed a line of batteries on the heights, from the Royal Battery to the Barachois Inlet, opposite the Dauphin Bastion, the northernmost bastion of the fortress. 

Then, on the sixteenth of July, in a move that best displays his sheer audacity more than any other single act, Wolfe leads a night attack to capture Gallows Hill, a mere three hundred meters from the Dauphin Bastion! The French respond with a furious barrage, but morning finds the British in strength on the hill, already dug in.

Now Amherst is forced to change his strategy. The main attack, favoured by his chief engineer, as well as his most senior generals, is largely abandoned without yet having fired a shot in anger. This new position on Gallows Hill is reinforced with men and another battery, and a new parallel is begun. By the twenty-first of July it has reached to within two hundred meters of the fortress.

Also on that day, a red-hot shot from the battery at Lighthouse Point strikes the French warship, Célébre, setting her ablaze. The French men-of-war are so crowded together under the fortress’ walls that soon the fire spreads to the Capricieux and L’Entreprenant. At 2:00 A.M. L’Entreprenant explodes. By morning the other two ships have burned to the waterline, leaving the French with only two ships to defend the harbour from the eighteen hundred guns of the British fleet.

By the twenty-fourth of July, after enduring almost a month of a merciless barrage, a breach in the fortress wall is close to being practicable. By now the French can reply with only four guns of their own.

The coupe de gras comes on the night of the twenty-fifth, when, with the army staging a feint to the north, the navy sends, not their ships of the line, but sixty small boats, carrying six hundred men, into the harbour to attack the remaining two French men-of-war, now manned only with skeleton crews. The Prudent is burned, and the Bienfaisant captured, leaving the harbour defenceless.

On July twenty-sixth a flag of truce is seen hoisted over what is left of the Dauphin Bastion. The French accept the British demand of unconditional surrender later that same day. 

About the Author

CW Lovatt, is the award-winning author of numerous short stories, as well as the best-selling novel, “The Adventures of Charlie Smithers.”  He lives in Canada, and is the self-appointed Writer-in-Residence of Carroll, Manitoba (population +/- 20.)

Josiah Stubb: The Siege of Louisbourg is available to buy now from Amazon UK, and on Amazon US in paperback and on Kindle.

Written content of this post copyright © CW Lovatt 2014

A Salon Guest... Collapse of the Earl of Chatham in the House of Lords, 7th April 1778

It is a pleasure to welcome Jacqui Reiter to the salon today with her tale of the Collapse of the Earl of Chatham. I am also taking part in the My Writing Process blog hop, so do gad over and have a read if that tickles your fancy!

---oOo---

On the morning of Tuesday 7th April 1778, William Pitt, Earl of Chatham arrived at the Palace of Westminster from his country estate of Hayes Place. He was nearly seventy years old and had been suffering for some time from gout in the hands, but ill health could not keep him away from the House of Lords. In his opinion, the future prosperity of the country was at stake. 

The issue that called Chatham from his sickbed was a weighty one. General Burgoyne's disastrous surrender to the rebellious Americans at Saratoga on 17 October 1777 had opened a European free-for-all on a beleaguered Britain. France signed a treaty of alliance with America in February 1778 and Spain, too, looked likely to join the fray. Britain was fighting a war on two fronts. With the American war going badly, the opposition to Lord North's government called for peace.

Chatham was one of the war's foremost critics, horrified at the prospect of alienating the Colonies he had secured for Britain during the Seven Years War. At the same time he was staunchly against admitting America's independence, for he believed America was 'the great source of all our wealth and power'.[1] 'I will as soon subscribe to Transubstantiation as to Sovereignty (by right) in the Colonies,' Chatham fulminated to Lord Shelburne.[2]

Bad physical and mental health (including a minor stroke) had kept him out of politics for years, but Chatham had recently attempted a political comeback. As late as February 1778 there had been rumours the King was about to call on him to form a new government (the King had different views: 'honestly I would rather lose the Crown I now wear' than submit to Chatham and his ilk).[3] Chatham was old but still had influence, which was why the Duke of Richmond wrote to apprise him of the opposition's intention to move an Address calling for the Crown to acknowledge American independence and sue for peace.[4]

Richmond must have hoped Chatham would support the Address, or at least remain neutral, but Chatham immediately made his way to Parliament to oppose it. Ill health, however, had taken its toll. Lord Camden, Chatham's old political associate, later reported to the Duke of Grafton: 'Such was the feeble state of his body, and, indeed, the distempered agitation of his mind, that I did forbode that his strength would certainly fail him … in truth, he was not on a condition to go abroad, and he was earnestly requested not to make the attempt; but your Grace knows how obstinate he is when he is resolved'.[5]

Chatham came into the Lords supported on the arms of his second son, William Pitt, and his son-in-law Charles, Lord Mahon. Onlookers remembered him 'lapped up in flannel, pale and emaciated … he looked like a dying man'.[6] Richmond outlined his motion and Lord Weymouth replied for North's government. At last Chatham rose. He 'was not like himself,' Camden wrote. 'His speech faltered, his sentences [were] broken, and his mind [was] not master of itself. He made shift, with difficulty, to declare his opinion, but was not able to enforce it by argument. His words were shreds of unconnected eloquence, and flashes of the same fire which he, Prometheus-like, had stolen from heaven, and were then returning to the place from whence they were taken'.[7]

Even so, Chatham did utter some powerful, memorable lines:

'I rejoice that the grave has not closed upon me; that I am still alive to lift up my voice against the dismemberment of this ancient and most noble monarchy! … Shall we tarnish the lustre of this nation by an ignominious surrender of its rights and fairest possessions? Shall this great kingdom … fall prostrate before the House of Bourbon? … Shall a people that seventeen years ago was the terror of the world, now stoop so low as to tell its ancient inveterate enemy, take all we have, only give us peace? It is impossible! … Any state is better than despair. Let us at least make one effort; and if we must fall, let us fall like men!'[8]

Richmond replied briefly, reiterating 'there is not a person present who more sincerely wishes that America should remain dependent on this country … but … I am convinced that it is now totally impracticable'. He argued it was far better 'to retain them as allies' than 'throw [them] … into the arms of France'.[9] When Richmond finished Chatham struggled to his feet again. None present would forget what happened next.

'He fell back upon his seat,' Camden recalled to Grafton, ' and was to all appearance in the agonies of death. This threw the whole House into confusion; every person was upon his legs in a moment',[10] To his daughter Elizabeth, Camden was more graphic: 'You may conceive better than I can describe the Hurry & Confusion[,] the Expressions of Grieff & astonishment that broke out & actuated the whole Assembly. Every man seemed affected more or less except ye E[arl] of M[ansfield, an old political adversary of Chatham's] who kept his seat & remained as much unmoved as the Poor Man himself who was stretch's Senseless across a Bench'.[11]

Chatham was carried to the Prince's Chamber, where he was propped up with cushions and attended by Richard Brocklesby, a physician who luckily happened to be close by. Chatham's two younger sons William and James were present, and possibly also his eldest son John. One can only imagine what they must have felt on seeing their father fall. While Chatham slowly recovered his senses, Richmond adjourned the debate until the following day as a gesture of respect.

'I hope for the best,' Camden concluded his letter to his daughter, 'but according to my desponding temper, I fear the worst.'[12] Camden was right to do so. Although Chatham recovered enough to be moved to Hayes the next day, he had suffered what was probably a severe stroke. He lingered for just over a month and died on 11 May. Parliament voted to pay his debts and give him a public funeral in Westminster Abbey. 

Engraving of Copley's “Death of the Earl of Chatham”

It was a fitting end for a man whose political style could best be described as theatrical: in the (somewhat cynical) words of Chatham's political heir Lord Shelburne, 'always made up, and never natural'.[13] Certainly it was a memorable exit, and the American portrait artist John Singleton Copley decided to commemorate the occasion for posterity in a magisterial painting. This painting is currently on display in the National Portrait Gallery, London, and makes as much an impression on the viewer now as it must have done two hundred years ago.


Jacqui Reiter has a PhD in 18th century British political history. She is currently working on her first novel, which deals with the second Earl of Chatham's troubled relationship with his brother William Pitt the Younger. She blogs at http://alwayswantedtobeareiter.wordpress.com/

References

[1] Marie Peters, The Elder Pitt (London, 1998), p. 222
[2] Basil Williams, The Life of William Pitt, Earl of Chatham (London, 1915) II, 323
[3] Peters, p. 223; Jeremy Black, Pitt the Elder (Cambridge, 1992), p. 298
[4] Richmond to Chatham, 5 April 1778, in Correspondence of William Pitt, Earl of Chatham, ed. W.S. Taylor and J.H. Pringle (London, 1840) IV, 517-8
[5] Camden to Grafton, 9 April 1778, in John Campbell, Lives of the Lord Chancellors of England (London, 1851) V, 253-4
[6] William Seward, Anecdotes of Distinguished Persons … (London, 1804) II, 383
[7] Campbell V, 253-4
[8] The Parliamentary History of England … ed. William Cobbett (London, 1814) XIX, col 1023
[9] Parliamentary History XIX, col 1028
[10] Campbell V, 253-4
[11] Camden to Elizabeth Pratt, 9 April 1778, Kent RO CKS-U840/C173/30
[12] Camden to Elizabeth Pratt, 9 April 1778, Kent RO CKS-U840/C173/30
[13] Stanley Ayling, The Elder Pitt (London, 1976), p. 428

Written content of this post copyright © Jacqui Reiter, 2014.

Politician, Poet and Prisoner: Louis-Jules Barbon Mancini-Mazarini, duc de Nivernais

Louis-Jules Barbon Mancini-Mazarini, duc de Nivernais (Paris, France, 16th December 1716 – Paris, France, 25th February 1798)

Louis-Jules-Barbon Mancini-Mazarini, duc de Nivernais by Allan Ramsay, 1763

We return to France today to meet a nobleman who was a soldier, diplomat and celebrated author. Louis-Jules Barbon Mancini-Mazarini, duc de Nivernais lived a long and eventful life; he tasted both highs and lows, living to see revolution sweep through his country.

Mancini-Mazarini was born the son of Philippe Jules François Mancini, duc de Nevers, and his wife, Maria Anna Spinola. By the age of 14 he was already married to Hélène Françoise Angélique Phélypeaux de Pontchartrain, and just three years later, was a professional soldier serving in continental campaigns. However, Mancini-Mazarini's military career was ended by failing health and he moved into politics, serving as ambassador to Rome, Berlin and London, where he was instrumental in negotiating the Treaty of Paris, which formally ended the Seven Years' War.

In 1742 Mancini-Mazarini composed a poem named Délie that gained him a number of plaudits and as a result, he was elected to the Académie Française. He wrote original and translated pieces throughout his life and many works were published posthumously, though he never again approached the success of this earliest poem.

As a member of the Council of State, Mancini-Mazarini refused to flee Paris in the face of Revolution and was imprisoned, his assets and finances seized. Although he was freed after Robespierre's death, the Duke never recovered his earlier office or influence and died in 1798.

The Political Career of William Barrington, 2nd Viscount Barrington

William Barrington, 2nd Viscount Barrington (William Wildman Shute Barrington; London, England, 5th January 1717 - Shrivenham, Oxfordshire, England, 1st February 1793)

William Wildman Barrington, 2nd Viscount Barrington by W.A. Rainger, after Sir Joshua Reynolds, 1864 (1762)

Our guest today is not here to celebrate a birthday,  commemorate a death or even remember an anniversary but is, instead, the result of a conversation I have been having with regular visitor to the salon.  He has an interest in the political career of Viscount Barrington and for that reason, I was happy to feature the Viscount today.

Born to John Barrington, 1st Viscount Barrington, and his wife Anne, William Barrington enjoyed the best of everything in childhood. His education was truly privileged and he was schooled in Geneva, inheriting the title of Viscount Barrington in the Peerage of Ireland at the age of 17. Newly ennobled, the young man undertook a tour of the continent, learning something of the world before returning to England to settle into society life.

Barrington married Mary Lovell in 1740  and this same year he succeeded his father as Member of Parliament for Berwick-upon-Tweed and later for Plymouth, making a splash in the Commons.  Six years after taking his seat he was appointed one of the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, swiftly rising through the ranks to become a Privy Counsellor and then Secretary at War under Newcastle's cabinet, a position he held throughout the Seven Years War. 

Barrington's career was in full flight and his next office was that of Chancellor of the Exchequer and Treasurer of the Navy. However, his true political interests were elsewhere and when he returned to the position of Secretary at War in 1765, he remained in this office for 13 years.

The Barringtons had no surviving children and Mary died in 1764. When Barrington himself died in 1793, less than ten years after his retirement, his nephew succeeded him to the title.

Two Wives, 19 Children and Political Exile: Victor-François, 2nd duc de Broglie

Victor François de Broglie, 2nd duc de Broglie (Paris, Kingdom of France, 19th October 1718 - Münster, Germany, 30th March 1804)

Well, it's been a Frenchified week all-round, it seems and we're on that side of the Channel again today to meet a royalist soldier who faced a few challenges in his career, eventually ending his days in exile.

Victor-François was born to Thérèse Gillette Locquet Grandville and François-Marie, 1st duc de Broglie and a celebrated soldier to boot. With such a pedigree, it was hardly a surprise that  Victor François should be prepared to follow into the same career. He received an exemplary education and spent some years in London, where his father served as ambassador. When the boy was 13 the family returned to the continent and after a few more years, the young man made his first forays onto the battlefield alongside his father during the War of Austrian Succession. When the 1st duc retired from service in 1743 his son went from strength to strength, rising through the ranks. During the Seven Years War he won a noted victory over Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick and in 1759 was awarded the prestigious titles of Marshal of France and Prince of the Holy Roman Empire from Louis XV and Francis I respectively, fighting at the Battle of Minden that same year.

The run of success came to an end in 1761 with a humiliating defeat at Villinghausen. The loss of this strategically important battle of the Seven Years' War was to have a catastrophic effect on Victor François' army career and for almost 20 years he was confined to the military wilderness. With no hope of returning to service for the time being, he became governor of Alsace until, in 1778, he was recalled to resume his military career under the rule of Louis XVI. In 1789 the king appointed Victor François Minister of War, charging the faithful retainer with investigating reports of disorder among troops at Versailles, who he was appointed to command.

Victor-François married twice and had a total of 19 children, nine of whom survived to adulthood. However, one of them in particular was to be the cause of heartache for his loyalist father.

Mindful of the way the winds of change were blowing, less than a week after becoming minister, Victor François fled France for the safety of Germany where he commanded the short-lived Armée des Princes. From his exile he watched as his eldest son, Charles-Louis-Victor, join the National Constituent Assembly. Horrified at the young man's political leanings, Victor François disowned him and the two men did not reconcile before Charles-Louis-Victor went to the guillotine. In fact, the royalist duc de Broglie would never see his homeland again, travelling Europe and Russia before he passed away in Münster, resolutely refusing to return to a France that he no longer recognised.

Life in the Georgian Court, true tales of 18th century royalty, is available at the links below.

Pen and Sword

Amazon UK

Amazon US

Book Depository (free worldwide shipping)