Maurice of Saxony: How to Rethink the War of Lines
While Frederick II pushed the line army to its limits, the French marshal was looking for another solution to the same problem: not to squeeze everything out of the soldier, but to prepare the field in such a way that his weakness would no longer decide the outcome.
The 18th century posed one question to military leaders: how to win with a thin line, where everything hinges on a synchronized volley. Frederick II responded with improvements, turning the Prussian army into a flawlessly controlled mechanism. Maurice of Saxony took a different path. His treatise Mes Rêveries (Reflections on the Art of War), written, according to legend, in a few days in a fever around 1732 and published only posthumously, in 1757, proposes to reassemble the very basis of linear warfare.
Thinker instead of practitioner
Maurice of Saxony (1696–1750), the illegitimate son of the Saxon Elector Augustus the Strong, is remembered in Europe primarily as a commander, the victor at Fontenoy in 1745. But his lasting significance lies in the text. Reflections on the Art of War, those very ones Rêveries, is an attempt to describe systematically how an army should be organized and how it should fight.
Here begins the substantive divergence from the Prussian approach. Friedrich perfects what was already available: the speed of march, the density of fire, the precision of maneuver in rigid formations. Moritz is concerned not so much with the attack itself as with the preparation for it—that is, where to position himself, what to cover himself with, how to wear down the enemy in advance. How does a soldier endure combat? In what space does he operate? How to divide the work between infantry, cavalry, and artilleryCan a well-chosen field compensate for a lack of numbers or training?
The Prussian puts pressure on the soldier: drill, tempo, fire, to squeeze everything out of the man. Moritz approaches from the other end. He changes not the man, but the environment in which he fights. Friedrich takes the best tool and pushes it to its limits, while Moritz restructures the environment around the tool so that human weaknesses don't decide matters. Both responses are born of the same era and the same impasse of linear tactics.
The Battle of Fontenoy, May 11, 1745 (French: La bataille de Fontenoy). Artist: Horace Vernet, painted in 1828. In the center is Maurice of Saxony.
Against the canon of the line
What he was up against is evident in the structure of warfare at the time. Armies converged in fine formations, where a musket volley, supported by cannon, was decisive. Drill transformed the soldier into a component of a firing machine that must work in unison. Friedrich perfected this machine, adding to the frontal attack the scythe—a subtle maneuver that required not only discipline but also precise calculation on the march. Prussian training was not reduced to blind obedience, for Friedrich brought the linear canon to its pinnacle. This is precisely why Moritz argues not with him as a commander, but with the system itself.
Argues on three lines at once:
- doubts the self-sufficiency of a volley and suggests making wider use of the aimed fire of a single shooter, and not just the line fire;
- advocates for deeper and more flexible orders - ordre profond, "deep formation", capable of taking a hit and maneuvering, and not just standing and shooting;
- insists that the form of formation should follow the terrain, the task and the condition of the troops, and not habit.
He doesn't abolish the fire engine. The salvo remains, but it's no longer the be-all and end-all of tactics. It becomes one tool among many, and the choice is dictated by the situation, not the regulations.
Pierre Lefant's painting "The Battle of Fontenoy" (1747)
The Redoubt That Attacks
Here begins the truly original part—Moritz's approach to fortifications and terrain. In traditional tactics, a redoubt was a small, enclosed earthwork behind which infantry and guns were sheltered; it served as an addition to the line, its shield. In Moritz's case, the redoubt attacks.
It is positioned to disrupt the enemy's line of advance, force them to attack at an awkward angle, open their flanks and gaps to fire and counterattack, and fragment the front into separate pockets where the enemy is attacked one at a time. The attacker loses momentum and is forced to reform, and does so according to a plan drawn up in advance by the enemy, without even realizing it.
The same goes for terrain. In conventional warfare, terrain is taken into account, but more often than not, it's kept in the background: the main thing is to form a line and provide fire. For Moritz, the field is alive. Heights provide artillery and visibility, ravines trap the attackers, forests conceal movement, and rivers slow and cut through enemy forces. Choosing a position is half the battle.
This is the key difference with Frederick. The Prussian army maneuvers brilliantly on the terrain it has been given. Moritz wants to choose the terrain himself, and in advance, so that his troops have an advantage without incurring extreme risks. The weaker army gets the chance to engage the stronger in combat on unfavorable terrain. This is Moritz's calculation: if troops or training are insufficient, the terrain must make up for it.
It is a historical A map of the Battle of Fontenoy, which took place on May 11, 1745, during the War of the Austrian Succession. Created by Jean de Beaurain in 1746, it shows in detail the disposition of French troops under King Louis XV against the allied forces. The plan highlights key positions, including the village of Fontenoy, the Escaut River, and the positions of various infantry and cavalry brigades.
The body and people
The same logic underlies his view of the army's structure. Moritz sees it as a holistic organism, with its various branches working in concert. The infantry holds its position and fires. Artillery prepares the attack, breaks formations, and exerts psychological pressure. Cavalry strikes at disrupted areas, pursues, and completes the success. Each branch works toward a common goal.
He then takes a step whose significance will become apparent decades later: he proposes dividing the army into permanent formations from different branches of the armed forces, into "legions," capable of acting independently. It's tempting to see here a precursor to Napoleon's corps, or even to the operational art of the 20th century. But this is our retrospective, not a direct line of influence, since Moritz did not and could not have known these later concepts. What's true is something else: the Prussian army remains a unified body within the tight confines of the commander's will, whereas Moritz's units are endowed with a certain freedom within the overall plan.
For him, the battlefield is not only the terrain but also the people. He calls discipline the soul of the army: without it, a complex formation fails, maneuvers degenerate into chaos, and fortifications become useless. He pays attention to everyday life, criticizes ornate but uncomfortable uniforms, and advocates for sensible nutrition, rest, and concern for the health of the troops. He takes morality into account: how a soldier fears attacking a fortified position, how artillery fire affects the formation, how the success or defeat of neighboring troops is transmitted along the front.
In this way, he differentiates himself from the mechanistic Prussian view. Friedrich demands obedience and endurance from the soldier. Moritz, a man of his time, is more attentive to how the soldier experiences war. A clear position, reliance on fortifications, and coordinated actions quell the feeling of chaos. In this way, he anticipates later theories, in which the morale and psychology of troops would become a separate subject.
The Battle of Rocoux, which took place on October 11, 1746
Between Poltava and Suvorov
The connection to Poltava in this series is no coincidence. The battle of 1709 demonstrated to Europe that a fortified position, a system of redoubts, and skillful use of artillery and terrain can thwart the aggressive maneuvers of even the most powerful army. The belief that a bold attack and good training always lead to victory was shattered.
Moritz didn't directly analyze Poltava. But his thoughts exist in a world where this experience already exists, and they answer the questions posed by such battles: how to make defense effective, how to turn fortifications and terrain into offensive weapons, how to link fire and movement. He doesn't reject maneuver, like conservative engineers, but he doesn't extol pure mobility either.
In the logic of the series, this makes Moritz a transitional figure between the Prussian school of Friedrich and the Russian school of Suvorov. I should point out that the "Poltava-Moritz-Suvorov" line is the author's own, not a documented line of continuity. The connections within it are of varying strength: Moritz hardly directly comprehended the Poltava lesson, while Suvorov's parallel is typological, not generic. From Friedrich, he inherited a respect for discipline, maneuver, and fire, but went beyond the pure line: a three-dimensional vision of the field, terrain and fortifications as a means of attack, concern for the soldier's spirit and health, and a passion for independent units. Suvorov would put many of these insights into practice in the Russian army and in other contexts, where speed, initiative, attention to terrain, and the mood of the troops would speak their own language: "eye, speed, onslaught."
From Poltava to Suvorov, it wasn't the geography that changed, but the question the commander posed to the battlefield. Moritz managed to formulate it before it was answered with a bayonet.
To be continued: “From Poltava to Suvorov: the Russian school of victory.”
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