"To-morrow," Sunday, did not prove the Day of Fight, after all. Being a
day of wild drifting snow, so that you could not see twenty paces,
there was nothing for it but to sit quiet. The King makes all his
dispositions; sketches out punctually, to the last item, where each is
to station himself, how the Army is to advance in Four Columns, ready
for Neipperg wherever he may be,--towards Ohlau at any rate, whither
it is not doubted Neipperg is bent. These snowy six-and-thirty hours
at Pogarell were probably, since the Custrin time, the most anxious of
Friedrich's life.
Neipperg, for his part, struggles forward a few miles, this Sunday,
April 9th; the Prussians rest under shelter in the wild weather.
Neipperg's head-quarters, this night, are a small Village or Hamlet,
called Mollwitz: there and in the adjacent Hamlets, chiefly in Laugwitz
and Gruningen, his Army lodges itself:--he is now fairly got between us
and Ohlau,--if, in the blowing drift, we knew it, or he knew it. But,
in this confusion of the elements, neither party knows of the other:
Neipperg has appointed that to-morrow, Monday, 10th, shall be a
rest-day:--appointment which could by no means be kept, as it turned
out!
Friedrich had despatched messengers to Ohlau, that the force there
should join him; messengers are all captured. The like message had
already gone to Brieg, some days before, and the Blockading Body, a
good few thousand strong, quitted Brieg, as we saw, and effected their
junction with him. All day, this Sunday, 9th, it still snows and blows;
you cannot see a yard before you. No hope now of Holstein-Beck. Not the
least news from any quarter; Ohlau uncertain, too likely the wrong
way: What is to be done? We are cut off from our Magazines, have only
provision for one other day. "Had this weather lasted," says an Austrian
reporter of these things, "his Majesty would have passed his time
very ill." [_Feldzuge der Preussen_ (the complete Title is, _Sammlung
ungedruckter Nachrichten so die Geschichte der Feldzuge der Preussen von
1740 bis 1779 erlautern,_ or in English words, _Collection of unprinted
Narratives which elucidate the Prussian Campaigns from 1740 to 1779:_
5 vols. Dresden, 1782-1785), i. 33. Excellent Narratives, modest, brief,
effective (from Private Diaries and the like; many of them given also
in SEYFARTH); well worth perusal by the studious military man, and
creditably characteristic of the Prussian writers of them and actors in
them.]
Of the Battle of Mollwitz, as indeed of all Friedrich's Battles, there
are ample accounts new and old, of perfect authenticity and scientific
exactitude; so that in regard to military points the due clearness is,
on study, completely attainable. But as to personal or human details, we
are driven back upon a miscellany of sources; most of which, indeed all
of which except Nicolai, when he sparingly gives us anything, are of
questionable nature; and, without intending to be dishonest, do run out
into the mythical, and require to be used with caution. The latest and
notablest of these, in regard to Mollwitz, is the pamphlet of a Dr.
Fuchs; from which, in spite of its amazing quality, we expect to glean
a serviceable item here and there. [_Jubelschrift zur Feier_ (Centenary)
_der Schlacht bei Mollwitz, 10 April, 1741,_ von Dr. Medicinae Fuchs
(Brieg, 10th April, 1841).] It is definable as probably the most chaotic
Pamphlet ever written; and in many places, by dint of uncorrected
printing, bad grammar, bad spelling, bad sense, and in short, of
intrinsic darkness in so vivacious a humor, it has become abstruse as
Sanscrit; and really is a sharp test of what knowledge you otherwise
have of the subject. Might perhaps be used in that way, by the Examining
Military Boards, in Prussia and elsewhere, if no other use lie in it?
Fuchs's own contributions, mere ignorance, folly and credulity, are not
worth interpreting: but he has printed, and in the same abstruse form,
one or two curious Parish Manuscripts, particularly a "HISTORY" of this
War, privately jotted down by the then Schoolmaster of Mollwitz, a good
simple accurate old fellow-creature; through whose eyes it is here and
there worth while to look. In regard to Fuchs himself, a late Tourist
says:--
"This 'Centenary-Celebration Pamphlet' (Celebration itself, so obtuse
was the Country, did not take effect) was by a zealous, noisy but not
wise, old Medical Gentleman of these parts, called Dr. Fuchs (FOX);
who had set his heart on raising, by subscription, a proper National
Monument on the Field of Mollwitz, and so closing his old career.
Subscriptions did not take, in that April, 1841, nor in the following
months or twelve-months: the zealous Doctor, therefore, indignantly drew
his own purse; got a big Obelisk of Granite hewn ready, with suitable
Inscription on it; carted his big Obelisk from the quarries of Strehlen;
assembled the Country round it, on Mollwitz Field; and passionately
discoursed and pleaded, That at least the Country should bring
block-and-tackle, with proper framework, and set up this Obelisk on the
pedestal he had there built for it. The Country listened cheerfully
(for the old Doctor was a popular man, clever though flighty); but the
Country was again obtuse in the way of active furtherance, and would not
even bring block-and-tackle. The old Doctor had to answer, 'Well,
then!' and go on his way on more serious errands. The cattle have much
undermined, and rubbed down, his poor Pedestal, which is of rubble-work;
his Obelisk still lies mournfully horizontal, uninjured;--and really
ought to be set up, by some parish-rate, or effort of the community
otherwise." [Tourist's Note (Brieg, 1858).]
From the old Mollwitz Schoolmaster we distil the following:--
"MOLLWITZ, SUNDAY, 9th APRIL. Country for two days back: was in new
alarm by the Austrian Garrison of Brieg now left at liberty, who sallied
out upon the Villages about, and plundered black-cattle, sheep, grain,
and whatever they could come at. But this day (Sunday) in Mollwitz the
whole Austrian Army was upon us. First, there went 300 Hussars through
the Village to Gruningen, who quartered themselves there; and rushed
hither and thither into houses, robbing and plundering. From one they
took his best horses, from another they took linen, clothes, and other
furnitures and victual. General Neuburg [Neipperg] halted here at
Mollwitz, with the whole Army; before the Village, in mind to quarter.
And quarter was settled, so that a BAUER [Plough-Farmer] got four to
five companies to lodge, and a GARTNER [Spade-Farmer] two or three
hundred cavalry..The houses were full of Officers, the GARTE [Garths]
and the Fields full of horsemen and baggage; and all round, you saw
nothing but fires burning; the ZAUNE [wooden railings] were instantly
torn down for firewood; the hay, straw, barley and haver, were eaten
away, and brought to nothing; and everything from the barns was carried
out. And, as the whole Army could not lodge itself with us, 1,100
Infantry quartered at Laugwitz; Barzdorf got 400 Cavalry; and this day,
nobody knew what would come of it." [Extract in FUCHS, p. 6.]
Monday morning, the Prussians are up betimes; King Friedrich, as above
noted, had not, or had hardly at all, slept during those two nights,
such his anxieties. This morning, all is calm, sleeked out into spotless
white; Pogarell and the world are wrapt as in a winding-sheet, near two
feet of snow on the ground. Air hard and crisp; a hot sun possible
about noon season. "By daybreak" we are all astir, rendezvousing,
ranking,--into Four Columns; ready to advance in that fashion for
battle, or for deploying into battle, wherever the Enemy turn up. The
orders were all given overnight, two nights ago; were all understood,
too, and known to be rhadamanthine; and, down to the lowest pioneer, no
man is uncertain what to do. If we but knew where the Enemy is; on which
side of us; what doing, what intending?
Scouts, General-Adjutants are out on the quest; to no purpose hitherto.
One young General-Adjutant, Saldern, whose name we shall know again, has
ridden northward, has pulled bridle some way north of Pogarell; hangs,
gazing diligently through his spy-glass, there;--can see nothing but
a Plain of silent snow, with sparse bearding of bushes (nothing like
a hedge in these countries), and here and there a tree, the miserable
skeleton of a poplar:--when happily, owing to an Austrian Dragoon--Be
pleased to accept (in abridged form) the poor old Schoolmaster's account
of a small thing:--
"Austrian Dragoon of the regiment Althan, native of Kriesewitz in this
neighborhood, who was billeted in Christopher Schonwitz's, had been
much in want of a clean shirt, and other interior outfit; and had, last
night, imperatively despatched the man Scholzke, a farm-servant of the
said Christopher's, off to his, the Dragoon's, Father in Kriesewitz, to
procure such shirt or outfit, and to return early with the same; under
penalty of--Scholzke and his master dare not think under what penalty.
Scholzke, floundering homewards with the outfit from Kriesewitz,
flounders at this moment into Saldern's sphere of vision: 'Whence,
whither?' asks Saldern: 'Dost thou know where the Austrians are?'
(RECHT GUT: in Mollwitz), whither I am going!' Saldern takes him to
the King,--and that was the first clear light his Majesty had on the
matter." [Fuchs, pp. 6, 7.] That or something equivalent, indisputably
was; Saldern and "a Peasant," the account of it in all the Books.
The King says to this Peasant, "Thou shalt ride with me to-day!" And
Scholzke, Ploschke others call him,--heavy-footed rational biped knowing
the ground there practically, every yard of it,--did, as appears, attend
the King all morning; and do service, that was recognizable long years
afterwards. "For always," say the Books, "when the King held review
here, Ploschke failed not to make appearance on the field of Pogarell,
and get recognition and a gift from his Majesty."
At break of day the ranking and arranging began. Pogarell clock is near
striking ten, when the last squadron or battalion quits Pogarell; and
the Four Columns, punctiliously correct, are all under way. Two on each
side of Ohlau Highway; steadily advancing, with pioneers ahead to clear
any obstacle there may be. Few obstacles; here and there a little ditch
(where Ploschke's advice may be good, under the sleek of the snow), no
fences, smooth wide Plain, nothing you would even call a knoll in it
for many miles ahead and around. Mollwitz is some seven miles north from
Pogarell; intermediate lie dusty fractions of Villages more than one;
two miles or more from Mollwitz we come to Pampitz on our left, the next
considerable, if any of them can be counted considerable.
"All these Dorfs, and indeed most German ones," says my Tourist, "are
made on one type; an agglomerate of dusty farmyards, with their stalls
and barns; all the farmyards huddled together in two rows; a broad
negligent road between, seldom mended, never swept except by the
elements. Generally there is nothing to be seen, on each hand, but
thatched roofs, dead clay walls and rude wooden gates; sometimes a poor
public-house, with probable beer in it; never any shop, nowhere any
patch of swept pavement, or trim gathering-place for natives of a social
gossipy turn: the road lies sleepy, littery, good only for utilitarian
purposes. In the middle of the Village stands Church and Churchyard,
with probably some gnarled trees around it: Church often larger than you
expected; the Churchyard, always fenced with high stone-and-mortar wall,
is usually the principal military post of the place. Mollwitz, at the
present day, has something of whitewash here and there; one of the
farmer people, or more, wearing a civilized prosperous look. The belfry
offers you a pleasant view: the roofs and steeples of Brieg, pleasantly
visible to eastward; villages dotted about, Laugwitz, Barzdorf,
Hermsdorf, clear to your inquiring: and to westward, and to southward,
tops of Hill-country in the distance. Westward, twenty miles off, are
pleasant Hills; and among them, if you look well, shadowy Town-spires,
which you are assured are Strehlen, a place also of interest in
Friedrich's History.--Your belfry itself, in Mollwitz, is old, but not
unsound; and the big iron clock grunts heavily at your ear, or perhaps
bursts out in a too deafening manner, while you study the topographies.
Pampitz, too, seems prosperous, in its littery way; the Church is bigger
and newer,"--owing to an accident we shall hear of soon;--"Country
all about seems farmed with some industry, but with shallow ploughing;
liable to drought. It is very sandy in quality; shorn of umbrage;
painfully naked to an English eye." That is the big champaign, coated
with two feet of snow, where a great Action is now to go forward.
Neipperg, all this while, is much at his ease on this white resting-day,
He is just sitting down to dinner at the Dorfschulze's (Village Provost,
or miniature Mayor of Mollwitz), a composed man; when--rockets or
projectiles, and successive anxious sputterings from the steeple-tops
of Brieg, are hastily reported: what can it mean? Means little
perhaps;--Neipperg sends out a Hussar party to ascertain, and composedly
sets himself to dine. In a little while his Hussar party will come
galloping back, faster than it went; faster and fewer;--and there will
be news for Neipperg during dinner! Better here looking out, though it
was a rest-day?--
The truth is, the Prussian advance goes on with punctilious exactitude,
by no means rapidly. Colonel Count van Rothenburg,--the same whom we
lately heard of in Paris as a miracle of gambling,--he now here, in a
new capacity, is warily leading the Vanguard of Dragoons; warily, with
the Four Columns well to rear of him: the Austrian Hussar party came
upon Rothenburg, not two miles from Mollwitz; and suddenly drew bridle.
Them Rothenburg tumbles to the right-about, and chases;--finds, on
advancing, the Austrian Army totally unaware. It is thought, had
Rothenburg dashed forward, and sent word to the rearward to dash forward
at their swiftest, the Austrian Army might have been cut in pieces here,
and never have got together to try battle at all. But Rothenburg had
no orders; nay, had orders Not to get into fighting;--nor had Friedrich
himself, in this his first Battle, learned that feline or leonine
promptitude of spring which he subsequently manifested. Far from it!
Indeed this punctilious deliberation, and slow exactitude as on the
review-ground, is wonderful and noteworthy at the first start of
Friedrich;--the faithful apprentice-hand still rigorous to the rules of
the old shop. Ten years hence, twenty years hence, had Friedrich found
Neipperg in this condition, Neipperg's account had been soon settled!--
Rothenburg drove back the Hussars, all manner of successive Hussar
parties, and kept steadily ahead of the main battle, as he had been
bidden.
Pampitz Village being now passed, and in rear of them to left, the
Prussian Columns halt for some instants; burst into field-music; take to
deploying themselves into line. There is solemn wheeling, shooting out
to right and left, done with spotless precision: once in line,--in two
lines, "each three men deep," lines many yards apart,--they will advance
on Mollwitz; still solemnly, field-music guiding, and banners spread.
Which will be a work of time. That the King's frugal field-dinner was
shot away, from its camp-table near Pampitz (as Fuchs has heard), is
evidently mythical; and even impossible, the Austrians having yet no
cannon within miles of him; and being intent on dining comfortably
themselves, not on firing at other people's dinners.
Fancy Neipperg's state of mind, busy beginning dinner in the little
Schulze's, or Town-Provost's house, when the Hussars dashed in at full
gallop, shouting "DER FEIND, The Enemy! All in march there; vanguard
this side of Pampitz; killed forty of us!"--Quick, your Plan of Battle,
then? Whitherward; How; What? answer or perish! Neipperg was infinitely
struck; dropt knife and fork: "Send for Romer, General of the Horse!"
Romer did the indispensable: a swift man, not apt to lose head. Romer's
battle-plan, I should hope, is already made; or it will fare ill with
Neipperg and him. But beat, ye drummers; gallop, ye aides-de-camp as
for life! The first thing is to get our Force together; and it lies
scattered about in three other Villages besides Mollwitz, miles apart.
Neipperg's trumpets clangor, his aides-de-camp gallop: he has his left
wing formed, and the other parts in a state of rapid genesis, Horse and
Foot pouring in from Laugwitz, Barzdorf, Gruningen, before the Prussians
have quite done deploying themselves, and got well within shot of him.
Romer, by birth a Saxon gentleman, by all accounts a superior soldier
and excellent General of Horse, commands this Austrian left wing,
General Goldlein, [(Anonymous) MARIA THERESA (already cited), p. 8 n.]
a Swiss veteran of good parts, presiding over the Infantry in that
quarter. Neipperg himself, were he once complete, will command the right
wing.
Neipperg is to be in two lines, as the Prussians are, with horse on each
wing, which is orthodox military order. His length of front, I should
guess, must have been something better than two English miles: a
sluggish Brook, called of Laugwitz, from the Village of that name which
lies some way across, is on his right hand; sluggish, boggy; stagnating
towards the Oder in those parts:--improved farming has, in our time,
mostly dried the strip of bog, and made it into coarse meadow, which is
rather a relief amid the dry sandy element. Neipperg's right is covered
by that. His left rests on the Hamlet of Gruningen, a mile-and-half
northeast of Mollwitz;--meant to have rested on Hermsdorf nearly east,
but the Prussians have already taken that up. The sun coming more and
more round to west of south (for it is now past noon) shines right
in Neipperg's face, and is against him: how the wind is, nobody
mentions,--probably there was no wind. His regular Cavalry, 8,600,
outnumbers twice or more that of the Prussians, not to mention their
quality; and he has fewer Infantry, somewhat in proportion;--the entire
force on each side is scarcely above 20,000, the Prussians slightly in
majority by count. In field-pieces Neipperg is greatly outnumbered; the
Prussians having about threescore, he only eighteen. [Kausler, _Atlas
der merkwurdigsten Schlachten,_ p. 232.] And now here ARE the Prussians,
close upon our left wing, not yet in contact with the right,--which in
fact is not yet got into existence;--thank Heaven they have not come
before our left got into existence, as our right (if you knew it) has
not yet quite finished doing!--
The Prussians, though so ready for deploying, have had their own
difficulties and delays. Between the boggy Brook of Laugwitz on their
left, and the Village of Hermsdorf, two miles distant, on which their
right wing is to lean, there proves not to be room enough; [_OEuvres de
Frederic,_ ii. 73.] and then, owing to mistake of Schulenburg (our old
pipe-clay friend, who commands the right wing of Horse here, and is
not up in time), there is too much room. Not room enough, for all the
Infantry, we say: the last three Battalions of the front line therefore,
the three on the utmost right, wheel round, and stand athwart; EN
POTENCE (as soldiers say), or at right angles to the first line;
hanging to it like a kind of lid in that part,--between Schulenburg and
them,--had Schulenburg come up. Thus are the three battalions got rid of
at least; "they cap the First Prussian line rectangularly, like a lid,"
says my authority,--lid which does not reach to the Second Line by a
good way. This accidental arrangement had material effects on the right
wing. Unfortunate Schulenburg did at last come up:--had he miscalculated
the distances, then? Once on the ground, he will find he does not reach
to Hermsdorf after all, and that there is now too much room! What his
degree of fault was I know not; Friedrich has long been dissatisfied
with these Dragoons of Schulenburg; "good for nothing, I always told
you" (at that Skirmish of Baumgarten): and now here is the General
himself fallen blundering!--In respect of Horse, the Austrians are
more than two to one; to make out our deficiency, the King, imitating
something he had read about Gustavus Adolphus, intercalates the
Horse-Squadrons, on each wing, with two Battalions of Grenadiers, and
SO lengthens them;--"a manoeuvre not likely to be again imitated," he
admits.
All these movements and arrangements are effected above a mile from
Mollwitz, no enemy yet visible. Once effected, we advance again with
music sounding, sixty pieces of artillery well in front,--steady,
steady!--across the floor of snow which is soon beaten smooth enough,
the stage, this day, of a great adventure. And now there is the Enemy's
left wing, Romer and his Horse; their right wing wider away, and not
yet, by a good space, within cannon-range of us. It is towards Two of
the afternoon; Schulenburg now on his ground, laments that he will not
reach to Hermsdorf;--but it may be dangerous now to attempt repairing
that error? At Two of the clock, being now fairly within distance, we
salute Romer and the Austrian left, with all our sixty cannon; and the
sound of drums and clarinets is drowned in universal artillery thunder.
Incessant, for they take (by order) to "swift-shooting," which is almost
of the swiftness of musketry in our Prussian practice; and from sixty
cannon, going at that rate, we may fancy some effect. The Austrian Horse
of the left wing do not like it; all the less as the Austrians, rather
short of artillery, have nothing yet to reply with.
No Cavalry can stand long there, getting shivered in that way; in such
a noise, were there nothing more. "Are we to stand here like milestones,
then, and be all shot without a stroke struck?" "Steady!" answers Romer.
But nothing can keep them steady: "To be shot like dogs (WIE HUNDE)! For
God's sake (URN GOTTES WILLEN), lead us forward, then, to have a stroke
at them!"--in tones ever more plangent, plaintively indignant; growing
ungovernable. And Romer can get no orders; Neipperg is on the extreme
right, many things still to settle there; and here is the cannon-thunder
going, and soon their very musketry will open. And--and there
is Schulenburg, for one thing, stretching himself out eastwards
(rightwards) to get hold of Hermsdorf; thinking this an opportunity for
the manoeuvre. "Forward!" cries Romer; and his thirty Squadrons, like
bottled whirlwind now at last let loose, dash upon Schulenburg's
poor ten (five of them of Schulenburg's own regiment),--who are turned
sideways too, trotting towards Hermsdorf, at the wrong moment,--and
dash them into wild ruin. That must have been a charge! That was the
beginning of hours of chaos, seemingly irretrievable, in that Prussian
right wing.
For the Prussian Horse fly wildly; and it is in vain to rally. The King
is among them; has come in hot haste, conjuring and commanding: poor
Schulenburg addresses his own regiment, "Oh, shame, shame! shall it be
told, then?" rallies his own regiment, and some others; charges fiercely
in with them again; gets a sabre-slash across the face,--does not mind
the sabre-slash, small bandaging will do;--gets a bullet through the
head (or through the heart, it is not said which); [_Helden-Geschichte,
_ i. 899.] and falls down dead; his regiment going to the winds again,
and HIS care of it and of other things concluding in this honorable
manner. Nothing can rally that right wing; or the more you rally, the
worse it fares: they are clearly no match for Romer, these Prussian
Horse. They fly along the front of their own First Line of Infantry,
they fly between the two Lines; Romer chasing,--till the fire of the
Infantry (intolerable to our enemies, and hitting some even of our
fugitive friends) repels him. For the notable point in all this was
the conduct of the Infantry; and how it stood in these wild vortexes
of ruin; impregnable, immovable, as if every man of it were stone;
and steadily poured out deluges of fire,--"five Prussian shots for two
Austrian:"--such is perfect discipline against imperfect; and the iron
ramrod against the wooden.
The intolerable fire repels Romer, when he trenches on the Infantry:
however, he captures nine of the Prussian sixty guns; has scattered
their Horse to the winds; and charges again and again, hoping to break
the Infantry too,--till a bullet kills him, the gallant Romer; and
some other has to charge and try. It was thought, had Goldlein with his
Austrian Infantry advanced to support Romer at this juncture, the Battle
had been gained. Five times, before Romer fell and after, the Austrians
charged here; tried the Second Line too; tried once to take Prince
Leopold in rear there. But Prince Leopold faced round, gave intolerable
fire; on one face as on the other, he, or the Prussian Infantry
anywhere, is not to be broken. "Prince Friedrich", one of the Margraves
of Schwedt, King's Cousin, whom we did not know before, fell in these
wild rallyings and wrestlings; "by a cannon-ball, at the King's hand,"
not said otherwise where. He had come as Volunteer, few weeks ago,
out of Holland, where he was a rising General: he has met his fate
here,--and Margraf Karl, his Brother, who also gets wounded, will be a
mournful man to-night.
The Prussian Horse, this right wing of it, is a ruined body; boiling in
wild disorder, flooding rapidly away to rearward,--which is the safest
direction to retreat upon. They "sweep away the King's person with
them," say some cautious people; others say, what is the fact, that
Schwerin entreated, and as it were commanded, the King to go; the Battle
being, to all appearance, irretrievable. Go he did, with small escort,
and on a long ride,--to Oppeln, a Prussian post, thirty-five miles
rearward, where there is a Bridge over the Oder and a safe country
beyond. So much is indubitable; and that he despatched an Aide-de-camp
to gallop into Brandenburg, and tell the Old Dessauer, "Bestir yourself!
Here all seems lost!"--and vanished from the Field, doubtless in very
desperate humor. Upon which the extraneous world has babbled a good
deal, "Cowardice! Wanted courage: Haha!" in its usual foolish way; not
worth answer from him or from us. Friedrich's demeanor, in that disaster
of his right wing, was furious despair rather; and neither Schulenburg
nor Margraf Friedrich, nor any of the captains, killed or left living,
was supposed to have sinned by "cowardice" in a visible degree!--
Indisputable it is, though there is deep mystery upon it, the King
vanishes from Mollwitz Field at this point for sixteen hours, into the
regions of Myth, "into Fairyland," as would once have been said; but
reappears unharmed in to-morrow's daylight: at which time, not sooner,
readers shall hear what little is to be said of this obscure and
much-disfigured small affair. For the present we hasten back to
Mollwitz,--where the murderous thunder rages unabated all this while;
the very noise of it alarming mankind for thirty miles round. At
Breslau, which is thirty good miles off, horrible dull grumble was heard
from the southern quarter ("still better, if you put a staff in the
ground, and set your ear to it"); and from the steeple-tops, there was
dim cloudland of powder-smoke discernible in the horizon there. "At
Liegnitz," which is twice the distance, "the earth sensibly shook,"
[_Helden-Geschichte;_ and Jordan's Letter, infra.]--at least the air
did, and the nerves of men.
"Had Goldlein but advanced with his Foot, in support of gallant Romer!"
say the Austrian Books. But Goldlein did not advance; nor is it certain
he would have found advantage in so doing: Goldlein, where he stands,
has difficulty enough to hold his own. For the notable circumstance,
miraculous to military men, still is, How the Prussian Foot (men who had
never been in fire, but whom Friedrich Wilhelm had drilled for twenty
years) stand their ground, in this distraction of the Horse. Not
even the two outlying Grenadier Battalions will give way: those poor
intercalated Grenadiers, when their Horse fled on the right and on the
left, they stand there, like a fixed stone-dam in that wild whirlpool
of ruin. They fix bayonets, "bring their two field-pieces to flank"
(Winterfeld was Captain there), and, from small arms and big, deliver
such a fire as was very unexpected. Nothing to be made of Winterfeld and
them. They invincibly hurl back charge after charge; and, with dogged
steadiness, manoeuvre themselves into the general Line again; or into
contact with the three superfluous Battalions, arranged EN POTENCE, whom
we heard of. Those three, ranked athwart in this right wing ("like a
lid," between First Line and second), maintained themselves in like
impregnable fashion,--Winterfeld commanding;--and proved unexpectedly,
thinks Friedrich, the saving of the whole. For they also stood their
ground immovable, like rocks; steadily spouting fire-torrents. Five
successive charges storm upon them, fruitless: "Steady, MEINE KINDER;
fix bayonets, handle ramrods! There is the Horse-deluge thundering in
upon you; reserve your fire, till you see the whites of their eyes, and
get the word; then give it them, and again give it them: see whether any
man or any horse can stand it!"
Neipperg, soon after Romer fell, had ordered Goldlein forward: Goldlein
with his Infantry did advance, gallantly enough; but to no purpose.
Goldlein was soon shot dead; and his Infantry had to fall back again,
ineffectual or worse. Iron ramrods against wooden; five shots to two:
what is there but falling back? Neipperg sent fresh Horse from his
right wing, with Berlichingen, a new famed General of Horse; Neipperg is
furiously bent to improve his advantage, to break those Prussians, who
are mere musketeers left bare, and thinks that will settle the account:
but it could in no wise be done. The Austrian Horse, after their fifth
trial, renounce charging; fairly refuse to charge any more; and withdraw
dispirited out of ball-range, or in search of things not impracticable.
The Hussar part of them did something of plunder to rearward;--and,
besides poor Maupertuis's adventure (of which by and by), and an attempt
on the Prussian baggage and knapsacks, which proved to be "too well
guarded,"--"burnt the Church of Pampitz," as some small consolation.
The Prussians had stript their knapsacks, and left them in Pampitz: the
Austrians, it was noticed, stript theirs in the Field; built walls of
them, and fired behind, the same, in a kneeling, more or less protected
posture,--which did not avail them much.
In fact, the Austrian Infantry too, all Austrians, hour after hour,
are getting wearier of it: neither Infantry nor Cavalry can stand being
riddled by swift shot in that manner. In spite of their knapsack walls,
various regiments have shrunk out of ball-range; and several cannot, by
any persuasion, be got to come into it again. Others, who do reluctantly
advance,--see what a figure they make; man after man edging away as he
can, so that the regiment "stands forty to eighty men deep, with lanes
through it every two or three yards;" permeable everywhere to Cavalry,
if we had them; and turning nothing to the Enemy but color-sergeants
and bare poles of a regiment! And Romer is dead, and Goldlein of the
Infantry is dead. And on their right wing, skirted by that marshy Brook
of Laugwitz,--Austrian right wing had been weakened by detachments, when
Berlichingen rode off to succeed Romer,--the Austrians are suffering:
Posadowsky's Horse (among whom is Rothenburg, once vanguard),
strengthened by remnants who have rallied here, are at last prospering,
after reverses. And the Prussian fire of small arms, at such rate, has
lasted now for five hours. The Austrian Army, becoming instead of a web
a mere series of flying tatters, forming into stripes or lanes in the
way we see, appears to have had about enough.
These symptoms are not hidden from Schwerin. His own ammunition, too, he
knows is running scarce, and fighters here and there are searching the
slain for cartridges:--Schwerin closes his ranks, trims and tightens
himself a little; breaks forth into universal field-music, and with
banners spread, starts in mass wholly, "Forwards!" Forwards towards
these Austrians and the setting sun.
An intelligent Austrian Officer, writing next week from Neisse,
[_Feldzuge der Preussen_ (above cited), i. 38.]' confesses he never
saw anything more beautiful. "I can well say, I never in my life saw
anything more beautiful. They marched with the greatest steadiness,
arrow-straight, and their front like a line (SCHNURGLEICH), as if they
had been upon parade. The glitter of their clear arms shone strangely
in the setting sun, and the fire from them went on no otherwise than a
continued peal of thunder." Grand picture indeed; but not to be enjoyed
as a Work of Art, for it is coming upon us! "The spirits of our Army sank
altogether", continues he; "the Foot plainly giving way, Horse refusing
to come forward, all things wavering towards dissolution:"--so that
Neipperg, to avoid worse, gives the word to go;--and they roll off at
double-quick time, through Mollwitz, over Laugwitz Bridge and Brook,
towards Grotkau by what routes they can. The sun is just sunk; a quarter
to eight, says the intelligent Austrian Officer,--while the Austrian
Army, much to its amazement, tumbles forth in this bad fashion.
They had lost nine of their own cannon, and all of those Prussian nine
which they once had, except one: eight cannon MINUS, in all. Prisoners
of them were few, and none of much mark: two Field-marshals, Romer and
Goldlein, lie among the dead; four more of that rank are wounded. Four
standards too are gone; certain kettle-drums and the like trophies,
not in great number. Lieutenant-General Browne was of these retreating
Austrians; a little fact worth noting: of his actions this day, or of
his thoughts (which latter surely must have been considerable), no hint
anywhere. The Austrians were not much chased; though they might have
been,--fresh Cavalry (two Ohlau regiments, drawn hither by the sound
[Interesting correct account of their movements and adventures this day
and some previous days, in Nicolai, _Anekdoten,_ ii. 142-148.]) having
hung about to rear of them, for some time past; unable to get into the
Fight, or to do any good till now. Schwerin, they say, though he had
two wounds, was for pursuing vigorously: but Leopold of Anhalt
over-persuaded him; urged the darkness, the uncertainty. Berlichingen,
with their own Horse, still partly covered their rear; and the
Prussians, Ohlauers included, were but weak in that branch of the
service. Pursuit lasted little more than two miles, and was never hot.
The loss of men, on both sides, was not far from equal, and rather in
favor of the Austrian side:--Austrians counted in killed, wounded and
missing, 4,410 men; Prussians 4,613; [Orlich, i. 108; Kansler, p. 235,
correct; _Helden-Geschichte,_ i. 895, incorrect.]--but the Prussians
bivouacked on the ground, or quartered in these Villages, with victory
to crown them, and the thought that their hard day's work had been well
done. Besides Margraf Friedrich, Volunteer from Holland, there lay among
the slain Colonel Count von Finkenstein (Old Tutor's Son), King's friend
from boyhood, and much loved. He was of the six whom we saw consulting
at the door at Reinsberg, during a certain ague-fit; and he now rests
silent here, while the matter has only come thus far.
Such was Mollwitz, the first Battle for Silesia; which had to cost
many Battles first and last. Silesia will be gained, we can expect, by
fighting of this kind in an honest cause. But here is something already
gained, which is considerable, and about which there is no doubt. A
new Military Power, it would appear, has come upon the scene; the
Gazetteer-and-Diplomatic world will have to make itself familiar with a
name not much heard of hitherto among the Nations. "A Nation which can
fight," think the Gazetteers; "fight almost as the very Swedes did; and
is led on by its King too,--who may prove, in his way, a very Charles
XII., or small Macedonia's Madman, for aught one knows?" In which latter
branch of their prognostic the Gazetteers were much out.--
The Fame of this Battle, which is now so sunk out of memory, was great
in Europe; and struck, like a huge war-gong, with long resonance,
through the general ear. M. de Voltaire had run across to Lille in those
Spring days: there is a good Troop of Players in Lille; a Niece, Madame
Denis, wife of some Military Commissariat Denis, important in those
parts, can lodge the divine Emilie and me;--and one could at last see
MAHOMET, after five years of struggling, get upon the boards, if not yet
in Paris by a great way, yet in Lille, which is something. MAHOMET is
getting upon the boards on those terms; and has proceeded, not amiss,
through an Act or two, when a Note from the King of Prussia was handed
to Voltaire, announcing the victory of Mollwitz. Which delightful
Note Voltaire stopt the performance till he read to the Audience:
"Bravissimo!" answered the Audience. "You will see," said M. de Voltaire
to the friends about him, "this Piece at Mollwitz will make mine
succeed:" which proved to be the fact. [Voltaire, _OEuvres (Vie
Privee),_ ii. 74.] For the French are Anti-Austrian; and smell great
things in the wind. "That man is mad, your Most Christian Majesty?" "Not
quite; or at any rate not mad only!" think Louis and his Belleisles now.
Dimly poring in those old Books, and squeezing one's way into
face-to-face view of the extinct Time, we begin to notice what
a clangorous rumor was in Mollwitz to the then generation of
mankind;--betokening many things; universal European War, as the first
thing. Which duly came to pass; as did, at a slower rate, the ulterior
thing, not yet so apparent, that indeed a new hour had struck on the
Time Horologe, that a New Epoch had risen. Yes, my friends. New Charles
XII. or not, here truly has a new Man and King come upon the scene:
capable perhaps of doing something? Slumberous Europe, rotting amid its
blind pedantries, its lazy hypocrisies, conscious and unconscious: this
man is capable of shaking it a little out of its stupid refuges of
lies, and ignominious wrappages and bed-clothes, which will be its
grave-clothes otherwise; and of intimating to it, afar off, that there
is still a Veracity in Things, and a Mendacity in Sham-Things, and
that the difference of the two is infinitely more considerable than was
supposed.
This Mollwitz is a most deliberate, regulated, ponderously impressive
(GRAVITATISCH) Feat of Arms, as the reader sees; done all by Regulation
methods, with orthodox exactitude; in a slow, weighty, almost
pedantic, but highly irrefragable manner. It is the triumph of Prussian
Discipline; of military orthodoxy well put in practice: the honest
outcome of good natural stuff in those Brandenburgers, and of the
supreme virtues of Drill. Neipperg and his Austrians had much despised
Prussian soldiering: "Keep our soup hot," cried they, on running out
this day to rank themselves; "hot a little, till we drive these fellows
to the Devil!" That was their opinion, about noon this day: but that is
an opinion they have renounced for all remaining days and years.--It is
a Victory due properly to Friedrich Wilhelm and the Old Dessauer, who
are far away from it. Friedrich Wilhelm, though dead, fights here, and
the others only do his bidding on this occasion. His Son, as yet,
adds nothing of his own; though he will ever henceforth begin largely
adding,--right careful withal to lose nothing, for the Friedrich Wilhelm
contribution is invaluable, and the basis of everything;--but it is
curious to see in what contrast this first Battle of Friedrich's is with
his latter and last ones.
Considering the Battle of Mollwitz, and then, in contrast, the
intricate Pragmatic Sanction, and what their consequences were and their
antecedents, it is curious once more! This, then, is what the Pragmatic
Sanction has come to? Twenty years of world-wide diplomacy, cunningly
devised spider-threads overnetting all the world, have issued here.
Your Congresses of Cambray, of Soissons, your Grumkow-Seckendorf
Machiavelisms, all these might as well have lain in their bed. Real
Pragmatic Sanction would have been, A well-trained Army and your
Treasury full. Your Treasury is empty (nothing in it but those foolish
200,000 English guineas, and the passionate cry for more): and your Army
is not trained as this Prussian one; cannot keep its ground against this
one. Of all those long-headed Potentates, simple Friedrich Wilhelm, son
of Nature, who had the honesty to do what Nature taught him, has come
out, gainer. You all laughed at him as a fool: do you begin to see
now who was wise, who fool? He has an Army that "advances on you with
glittering musketry, steady as on the parade-ground, and pours out fire
like one continuous thunder-peal;" so that, strange as it seems, you
find there will actually be nothing for you but--taking to your heels,
shall we say?--rolling off with despatch, as second-best! These things
are of singular omen. Here stands one that will avenge Friedrich
Wilhelm,--if Friedrich Wilhelm were not already sufficiently avenged by
the mere verdict of facts, which is palpably coming out, as Time peels
the wiggeries away from them more and more. Mollwitz and such places
are full of veracity; and no head is so thick as to resist conviction in
that kind.
OF FRIEDRICH'S DISAPPEARANCE INTO FAIRYLAND, IN THE INTERIM; AND OF
MAUPERTUIS'S SIMILAR ADVENTURE.
Of the King's Flight, or sudden disappearance into Fairyland, during
this first Battle, the King himself, who alone could have told us fully,
maintained always rigorous silence, and nowhere drops the least hint.
So that the small fact has come down to us involved in a great bulk
of fabulous cobwebs, mostly of an ill-natured character, set agoing by
Voltaire, Valori and others (which fabulous process, in the good-natured
form, still continues itself); and, except for Nicolai's good industry
(in his ANEKDOTEN-Book), we should have difficulty even in guessing,
not to say understanding, as is now partly possible. The few real
particulars--and those do verify themselves, and hang perfectly
together, when the big globe of fable is burnt off from them--are to the
following effect.
"Battle lost," said Schwerin: "but what is the loss of a Battle to that
of your Majesty's own Person? For Heaven's sake, go; get across the
Oder; be you safe, till this decide itself!" That was reasonable
counsel. If defeated, Schwerin can hope to retreat upon Ohlau, upon
Breslau, and save the Magazines. This side the Oder, all will be
movements, a whirlpool of Hussars; but beyond the Oder, all is quiet,
open. To Ohlau, to Glogau, nay home to Brandenburg and the Old Dessauer
with his Camp at Gottin, the road is free, by the other side of the
Oder.--Schwerin and Prince Leopold urging him, the King did ride away;
at what hour, with what suite, or with what adventures (not mostly
fabulous) is not known:--but it was towards Lowen, fifteen miles off
(where he crossed Neisse River, the other day); and thence towards
Oppeln, on the Oder, eighteen miles farther; and the pace was swift.
Leopold, on reflection, ordered off a Squadron of Gens-d'Armes to
overtake his Majesty, at Lowen or sooner; which they never did. Passing
Pampitz, the King threw Fredersdorf a word, who was among the baggage
there: "To Oppeln; bring the Purse, the Privy Writings!" Which
Fredersdorf, and the Clerks (and another Herr, who became Nicolai's
Father-in-law in after years) did; and joined the King at Lowen; but I
hope stopped there.
The King's suite was small, names not given; but by the time he got to
Lowen, being joined by cavalry fugitives and the like, it had got to
be seventy persons: too many for the King. He selected what was his of
them; ordered the gates to be shut behind him on all others, and again
rode away. The Leopold Squadron of Gens-d'Armes did not arrive till
after his departure; and having here lost trace of him, called halt,
and billeted for the night. The King speeds silently to Oppeln on his
excellent bay horse, the worse-mounted gradually giving in. At Oppeln
is a Bridge over the Oder, a free Country beyond: Regiment La Motte
lay, and as the King thinks, still lies in Oppeln;--but in that he is
mistaken. Regiment La Motte is with the baggage at Pampitz, all this
day; and a wandering Hussar Party, some sixty Austrians, have taken
possession of Oppeln. The King, and the few who had not yet broken down,
arrive at the Gate of Oppeln, late, under cloud of night: "Who goes?"
cried the sentry from within. "Prussians! A Prussian Courier!" answer
they;--and are fired upon through the gratings; and immediately draw
back, and vanish unhurt into Night again. "Had those Hussars only let
him in!" said Austria afterwards: but they had not such luck. It was at
this point, according to Valori, that the King burst forth into audible
ejaculations of a lamentable nature. There is no getting over, then,
even to Brandenburg, and in an insolvent condition. Not open insolvency
and bankrupt disgrace; no, ruin, and an Austrian jail, is the one
outlook. "O MON DIEU, O God, it is too much (C'EN EST TROP)!" with
other the like snatches of lamentation; [Valori, i. 104.] which are not
inconceivable in a young man, sleepless for the third night, in these
circumstances; but which Valori knows nothing of, except by malicious
rumor from the valet class,--who have misinformed Valori about several
other points.
The King riding diligently, with or without ejaculations, back towards
Lowen, comes at an early hour to the Mill of Hilbersdorf, within a
mile-and-half of that place. He alights at the Mill; sends one of his
attendants, almost the only one now left, to inquire what is in Lowen.
The answer, we know, is: "A squadron of Gens-d'Armes there; furthermore,
a Prussian Adjutant come to say, Victory at Mollwitz!" Upon which the
King mounts again;--issues into daylight, and concludes these
mythical adventures. That "in Lowen, in the shop at the corner of the
Market-place, Widow Panzern, subsequently Wife Something-else, made his
Majesty a cup of coffee, and served a roast fowl along with it," cannot
but be welcome news, if true; and that his Majesty got to Mollwitz
again before dark that same "day," [Fuchs, p. 11.] is liable to no
controversy.
In this way was Friedrich snatched by Morgante into Fairyland, carried
by Diana to the top of Pindus (or even by Proserpine to Tartarus,
through a bad sixteen hours), till the Battle whirlwind subsided.
Friendly imaginative spirits would, in the antique time, have so
construed it: but these moderns were malicious-valetish, not friendly;
and wrapped the matter in mere stupid worlds of cobweb, which require
burning. Friedrich himself was stone-silent on this matter, all his life
after; but is understood never quite to have pardoned Schwerin for the
ill-luck of giving him such advice. [Nicolai, ii. 180-195 (the one true
account); Laveaux, i. 194; Valori, i. 104; &c., &c. (the myth in various
stages). Most distractedly mythical of all, with the truth clear before
it, is the latest version, just come out, in _Was sich die Schlesier vom
alten Fritz erzahlen_ (Brieg, 1860), pp. 113-125.]
Friedrich's adventure is not the only one of that kind at Mollwitz;
there is another equally indubitable,--which will remain obscure,
half-mythical to the end of the world. The truth is, that Right Wing of
the Prussian Army was fallen chaotic, ruined; and no man, not even
one who had seen it, can give account of what went on there. The
sage Maupertuis, for example, had climbed some tree or place of
impregnability ("tree" Voltaire calls it, though that is hardly
probable), hoping to see the Battle there. And he did see it, much too
clearly at last! In such a tide of charging and chasing, on that
Right Wing and round all the Field in the Prussian rear; in such wide
bickering and boiling of Horse-currents,--which fling out, round all
the Prussian rear quarters, such a spray of Austrian Hussars for one
element,--Maupertuis, I have no doubt, wishes much he were at home,
doing his sines and tangents. An Austrian Hussar-party gets sight of
him, on his tree or other standpoint (Voltaire says elsewhere he was
mounted on an ass, the malicious spirit!)--too certain, the Austrian
Hussars got sight of him: his purse, gold watch, all he has of movable
is given frankly; all will not do. There are frills about the man,
fine laces, cloth; a goodish yellow wig on him, for one thing:--their
Slavonic dialect, too fatally intelligible by the pantomime accompanying
it, forces sage Maupertuis from his tree or standpoint; the big red face
flurried into scarlet, I can fancy; or scarlet and ashy-white mixed;
and--Let us draw a veil over it! He is next seen shirtless, the once
very haughty, blustery, and now much-humiliated man; still conscious
of supreme acumen, insight and pure science; and, though an Austrian
prisoner and a monster of rags, struggling to believe that he is
a genius and the Trismegistus of mankind. What a pickle! The sage
Maupertuis, as was natural, keeps passionately asking, of gods and men,
for an Officer with some tincture of philosophy, or even who could speak
French. Such Officer is at last found; humanely advances him money, a
shirt and suit of clothes; but can in nowise dispense with his going
to Vienna as prisoner. Thither he went accordingly; still in a mythical
condition. Of Voltaire's laughing, there is no end; and he changes the
myth from time to time, on new rumors coming; and there is no truth to
be had from him. [Voltaire, _OEuvres (Vie Prive),_ ii. 33-34; and see
his LETTERS for some were after the event.]
This much is certain: at Vienna, Maupertuis, prisoner on parole, glided
about for some time in deep eclipse, till the Newspapers began babbling
of him. He confessed then that he was Maupertuis, Flattener of the
Earth; but for the rest, "told rather a blind story about himself," says
Robinson; spoke as if he had been of the King's suite, "riding with the
King," when that Hussar accident befell;--rather a blind story, true
story being too sad. The Vienna Sovereignties, in the turn things had
taken, were extremely kind; Grand-Duke Franz handsomely pulled out his
own watch, hearing what road the Maupertuis one had gone; dismissed
the Maupertuis, with that and other gifts, home:--to Brittany (not
to Prussia), till times calmed for engrafting the Sciences.
[_Helden-Geschichte,_ i. 902; Robinson's Despatch (Vienna, 22d April,
1741, n.s.); Voltaire, ubi supra.]
On Wednesday, Friedrich writes this Note to his Sister; the first
utterance we have from him since those wild roamings about Oppeln and
Hilbersdorf Mill:--
KING TO WILHELMINA (at Baireuth; two days after Mollwitz).
"OHLAU, 12th April, 1741.
"MY DEAREST SISTER,--I have the satisfaction to inform you that we
have yesterday [day before yesterday; but some of us have only had one
sleep!] totally beaten the Austrians. They have lost more than 5,000
men, killed, wounded and prisoners. We have lost Prince Friedrich,
Brother of Margraf Karl; General Schulenburg, Wartensleben of the
Carabineers, and many other Officers. Our troops did miracles; and the
result shows as much. It was one of the rudest Battles fought within
memory of man.
"I am sure you will take part in this happiness; and that you will
not doubt of the tenderness with which I am, my dearest Sister,--Yours
wholly, FEDERIC." [_OEuvres,_ xxvii. i. 101.]
And on the same day there comes, from Breslau, Jordan's Answer to the
late anxious little Note from Pogarell; anxieties now gone, and smoky
misery changed into splendor of flame:
JORDAN TO THE KING (finds him at Ohlau).
"BRESLAU, 11th April, 1741. "SIRE,--Yesterday I was in terrible alarms.
The sound of the cannon heard, the smoke of powder visible from the
steeple-tops here; all led us to suspect that there was a Battle going
on. Glorious confirmation of it this morning! Nothing but rejoicing
among all the Protestant inhabitants; who had begun to be in
apprehension, from the rumors which the other party took pleasure in
spreading. Persons who were in the Battle cannot enough celebrate
the coolness and bravery of your Majesty. For myself, I am at the
overflowing point. I have run about all day, announcing this glorious
news to the Berliners who are here. In my life I have never felt a more
perfect satisfaction.
"M. de Camas is here, very ill for the last two days; attack of
fever--the Doctor hopes to bring him through,"--which proved beyond the
Doctor: the good Camas died here three days hence (age sixty-three); an
excellent German-Frenchman, of much sense, dignity and honesty; familiar
to Friedrich from infancy onwards, and no doubt regretted by him as
deserved. The Widow Camas, a fine old Lady, German by birth, will again
come in view. Jordan continues:--
"One finds, at the corner of every street, an orator of the Plebs
celebrating the warlike feats of your Majesty's troops. I have often,
in my idleness, assisted at these discourses: not artistic eloquence, it
must be owned, but spurting rude from the heart...."
Jordan adds in his next Note: "This morning (14th) I quitted M. de
Camas; who, it is thought, cannot last the day. I have hardly left him
during his illness:" [_OEuvres de Frederic,_ xvii. 99.]--and so let
that scene close.
Neipperg, meanwhile, had fallen back on Neisse; taken up a strong
encampment in that neighborhood; he lies thereabouts all summer;
stretched out, as it were, in a kind of vigilant dog-sleep on the
threshold, keeping watch over Neisse, and tries fighting no more at
this time, or indeed ever after, to speak of. And always, I think, with
disadvantage, when he does try a little. He had been Grand-Duke Franz's
Tutor in War-matters; had got into trouble at Belgrade once before, and
was almost hanged by the Turks. George II. had occasionally the benefit
of him, in coming years. Be not too severe on the poor man, as the
Vienna public was; he had some faculty, though not enough. "Governor of
Luxemburg," before long: there, for most part, let him peacefully
drill, and spend the remainder of his poor life. Friedrich says, neither
Neipperg nor himself, at this time, knew the least of War; and that it
would be hard to settle which of them made the more blunders in their
Silesian tussle.
Friedrich, in about three weeks hence, was fully ready for opening
trenches upon Brieg; did open trenches, accordingly, by moonlight, in
a grand nocturnal manner (as readers shall see anon); and, by vigorous
cannonading,--Marechal de Belleisle having come, by this time, to
enjoy the fine spectacle,--soon got possession of Brieg, and held
it thenceforth. Neisse now alone remained, with Neipperg vigilantly
stretched upon the threshold of it. But the Marechal de Belleisle, we
say, had come; that was the weighty circumstance. And before Neisse can
be thought of, there is a whole Europe, bickering aloft into conflict;
embattling itself from end to end, in sequel of Mollwitz Battle;
and such a preliminary sea of negotiating, diplomatic finessing,
pulse-feeling, projecting and palavering, with Friedrich for centre all
summer, as--as I wish readers could imagine without my speaking of it
farther! But they cannot.
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