For a fortnight Frederick’s army had struggled along bad roads at the astonishing rate of nearly sixteen miles a day. They drew rein at Parchwitz, within two marches of Breslau. There on November 28th the King composed a short testament. “I will be buried at Sans Souci without pomp or ceremony—and by night,” was his decree. “... If the battle be won, my brother must none the less send a messenger to France with full powers to negotiate for peace.” The words show how completely he identified himself with Prussia amid circumstances so gloomy that Eichel forbore, ever after, to mention the document lest he should recall them to the mind of the King. Yet on the same day Frederick wrote one of his most characteristic letters to Wilhelmina, who had expressed her fear that the army vanquished at Rossbach would afflict Germany anew. “This is now our task,” ran his reply:
“to put the Austrians to flight and to recover all that we have lost; and it is no trifle. However, I am undertaking it at the risk of what may follow. Neither Soubise nor the Imperialists will come back this year: as for the future, we must hope for peace, for indeed it seems as though our enemies had determined to destroy the human race.... I beg you to await the issue in these parts with patience; neither our anxiety nor our care make any difference to it, and nothing will happen except what pleases His Sacred Majesty Chance.... If I reach winter quarters, I shall have the honour of sending you a prodigious quantity of verse of every kind.”
Needless to say, Frederick’s fatalism did not abate his energy, nor against such odds did his courage degenerate into rashness. He gave the command of Bevern’s ruined army to Zieten, who had defeated the enemy’s right in the battle of Breslau, and bade him bring men and guns from Glogau. Then he and his weary 14,000 waited four full days at Parchwitz, with Prince Charles’s victorious army to their front, the garrison of Liegnitz on their flank, and Austrian slowness letting slip the opportunity to attack.
On December 2nd, Zieten arrived at Parchwitz, having rallied some 18,000 men. Frederick had now an army about 32,000 strong, well furnished with cavalry and artillery. His plan had from the first been as clear as the task before him. He was resolved to perish rather than abandon Silesia. The Austrians held the province by means of an army and two strong places, Breslau and Schweidnitz. He must therefore first beat the army and then capture the strong places. The advent of December forbade long manœuvring in the hope of catching Prince Charles at a disadvantage. To save Silesia this year and Prussia next, he must lead his army straight to the enemy. The problem that he expected to find resembled the problem of Prague and of Kolin—to destroy an army not inferior in numbers posted in ground of its own choosing. Prince Charles, he believed, had his back to Breslau and his front protected by a stream of some size. “He is in an advantageous camp,” wrote Eichel on December 1st, “well furnished with artillery; he lives on our magazines, and the possession of Breslau gives him liberty to retire in any case across the Oder, from which God preserve us!” The ejaculation reminds us that if the Austrian force remained in being, Frederick would be foiled.
The King was determined to venture all upon a battle. That he appreciated the odds against him is not entirely clear. Writing to his brother Henry on November 30th, he declares himself hopeful of pitting 36,000 men against the 39,000 at which he estimates the Austrian force. Next day he alters the former number to 39,000, and Eichel states that
“According to many letters from his officers which we have intercepted, the enemy has lost more than 24,000 men, as well as 8000 at the siege of Schweidnitz; he has suffered much from sickness; half of his cavalry is ruined; yet notwithstanding all this he must be equal if not superior in numbers to ourselves.”
On the other hand, Prussian tradition represents the King as declaring on December 3rd that, contrary to all the rules of war, he would attack Prince Charles’s army wherever he found it, though it was nearly thrice as strong as his own. But whatever be the truth,—whether or no he would have done what he had declined to do on the day before Rossbach, whether or no he knew or guessed the truth that Prince Charles had 80,000 men,—Frederick spared no effort to fill every soldier with his own spirit. Rest and food and drink, the story of Rossbach to chase away the memory of Breslau, all these were showered upon an army which since adversity had purged it of its foreign elements responded with eager loyalty to the touch of the Prussian King.
Stripping off his cherished French manners, he was for a brief space the Father of his people. The news flew round the army that the King had bandied rough pleasantries with his grenadiers, that veterans had called him “Thou” and “Fritz,” that he had told the Pomeranians that without them he would not dare to give battle. The effect was magical, and the rank and file caught the glow which warmed the breasts of their superiors. For Frederick had done what he had perhaps never yet deigned to do, save when he quitted his capital in 1740 to grasp Silesia. He had called his officers together and appealed in impassioned phrases to their honour, their loyalty, and their patriotism. “Gentlemen,” he cried, “the enemy stand in their entrenchments armed to the teeth. We must attack them there, and conquer, or remain every one of us on the field. If any of you is unwilling, he may have his discharge at once and go home.” Then he paused. The devoted men were silent, many in tears, only one major cried out: “High time for such wretched scoundrels to be off.” Frederick smiled and declared that he was sure of their faithful service and of victory. He then denounced stern threats against the man or regiment who should fail in the hour of battle. “Farewell, gentlemen,” were his concluding words; “soon we beat the enemy or we see one another no more.” More than twenty years later the rough soldiers wept like children as they told the tale, and those who heard it could not keep back their tears.
On Sunday, December 4, 1757, King and army set out for Breslau. From Parchwitz to the walls of the city the distance is some thirty-two miles as the crow flies. The road runs through Neumarkt, about twenty-three miles from Breslau, and Lissa, a little more than nine. That evening Neumarkt was in Prussian hands, and besides the little town 80,000 Austrian rations of bread, welcome in themselves, but far more welcome for the news which they conveyed. “The fox,” cried Frederick, “has crept out of his hole, now I will punish his presumption.”
On December 2nd, the day of Zieten’s junction with the King, the Austrians had indeed determined to attack. The reason for this fatal decision was by no means over-confidence born of success. Prince Charles was very far from despising the adversary who had defeated him on four stricken fields. With almost nervous anxiety, in spite of his 80,000 men, he sought to be informed of every movement in Frederick’s camp at Parchwitz. It is true that Austrian policy would be best served if the Queen were to regain Silesia without the armies of her allies. It is false that she ordered the army of Silesia to give battle at any cost. Before and after the fight Prince Charles stated expressly that his generals were unanimous in favour of marching on Neumarkt. The object was to save Liegnitz from Frederick and to prevent him from making his position too strong.