The ardent feeling which filled my heart on the approach of my first campaign was now changed into a soldierly sense of duty, which, if less enthusiastic, was a steadier and more sustaining motive. I felt whatever distinctions it should be my lot to win must be gained in the camp, not in the Court-, that my place was rather where squadrons were charging and squares were kneeling, than among the intrigues of the capital, its wiles and its plottings. In the one, I might win an honorable name; in the other, I should be but the dupe of more designing heads and less scrupulous hearts than my own.
Early on the third morning from the time of my leaving Paris, I reached Mayence. The garrisons which I visited on the road seldom detained me above half an hour. The few questions which I had to ask respecting the troops were soon and easily answered; and in most instances the officers in command had been apprised that their reports would be required, and came ready at once to afford the information.
The disposable force at that time was not above eighty thousand new levies,—the conscripts of the past year,—who, although well drilled and equipped, had never undergone the fatigues of a campaign nor met an enemy in the field. But beyond the frontier were the veteran legions of the Austrian campaign, who, while advancing on their return to France, were suddenly halted, and now only awaited the Emperor's orders whither they should carry their victorious standards.
As at the outbreak of all Napoleon's wars, the greatest uncertainty prevailed regarding the direction of the army, and in what place and against what enemy the first blow was to be struck. The Russian army, defeated and routed at Austerlitz, was said to be once more in the field, reorganized and strengthened; Austria, it was rumored, was faltering in her fealty; but the military preparations of Prussia were no longer a secret, and to many it seemed as if, as in the days of the Republic, France was about to contend single-handed against the whole of Europe.
In Prussia the warlike enthusiasm of the people was carried to the very highest pitch. The Court, the aristocracy, but more powerful than either, the press, stimulated national courage by recalling to their minds the famous deeds of the Great Frederick, and bidding them remember that Rossbach was won against an army of Frenchmen. The students—a powerful and an organized class—stood foremost in this patriotic movement. Their excited imaginations warmed by the spirit-stirring songs of Kërner and Uhland, and glowing with the instincts of that chivalry which is a German's birthright, they spread over the country, calling upon their fellow-subjects to arise and defend the “Vaterland” against the aggression of the tyrant. So unequivocally was this feeling expressed, that even before the negotiations had lost their pacific character, the youthful aristocracy of Berlin used to go and sharpen their swords at the door-sill of the French ambassador at Berlin.
To the exalted tone of patriotic enthusiasm the beautiful Queen of Prussia most powerfully contributed. The crooked and tortuous windings of diplomatic intrigue found no sympathy in her frank and generous nature. Belying on the native energy of German character, she bade an open and a bold defiance to her country's enemy, and was content to stake all on the chances of a battle. The colder and less confident mind of the king was rather impelled by the current of popular opinion than induced by conviction to the adoption of this daring policy. But once engaged in it, he exhibited the rarest fortitude and the most unyielding courage.
Such, in brief, was the condition of that people, such the warlike spirit they breathed, when in the autumn of 1806 the cry of war resounded from the shores of the Baltic to the frontiers of Bohemia. Never was the effective strength of the Prussian army more conspicuous. Their cavalry, in number and equipment, was confessedly among the first, if not the very first, in Europe; while the artillery maintained a reputation which, since the days of Frederick, had proclaimed it the most perfect arm of the service.
The Emperor knew these things well, and did not undervalue them; and it was with a very different impression of his present enemy from that which filled his mind in the Austrian campaign, that he remarked to Soult, “We shall want the mattock in this war,”—thereby implying that, against such an adversary, fieldworks and intrenchments would be needed, as well as the dense array of squadrons and the bristling walls of infantry.