“Will you really leave us?” said the Duke of Wurtemberg, sadly.
“Would you have me wait for still further degradation?” said the prince. “No, it is enough—more than I can bear.—My horse! General, let us mount.”
The two horses were brought forward. The generals placed themselves in front, to take leave of their former commander-in-chief, with all military honor.
Prince Augustus rode slowly on. Everywhere he met sad faces and eyes filled with tears. Tears indeed were in his own eyes, but he would not weep—not now; there was time enough for tears. He could weep during the sad remainder of his life. He forced his voice to be firm, and, waving his sword to the generals, as a last greeting, he said:
“I hope no one of you will hold me for a coward. I am forced by the king to leave the army.” He turned his horse, and, followed by Schmettau, with head erect, he moved slowly off.
“Now, by Heaven,” cried Ziethen, “he shall not leave the camp in this contemptible way! I will give him a suitable guard. Let the king rage; I can stand it!” He nodded to an officer. “Listen, Von Wendt, take half a company for a guard, and follow immediately behind the prince, to Bautzen.”
A few moments later, an officer sprang along the highway to Bautzen, accompanied by his hussars; they soon overtook the prince, who greeted them kindly.
“Schmettau,” said he, “Death avoided me so long as I was on the battle-field, now I bear him along with me; and thus must it be, till the pale king of terrors carries me to another world.” He turned his eyes away from the Prussian camp, and rode slowly to Bautzen.