How did it come to this?! How could the situation change so drastically and in such a short time?!
Charles de Rohan, Prince of Soubise, was seething with anger. In fact, it only grew as more bad news arrived.
Damned Austrians! It’s all their fault!
The Prince of Soubise had good reasons to be angry. The reason the brave Frederick II had hastily retreated after advancing so well was the news that his capital, Berlin, was under attack. Gradually, all his armies were retreating, with his bravest soldiers covering the rear. But while this raid had been a success, the Austrians, led by a man named Hadik, had agreed to withdraw in exchange for a ransom that was said to be considerable.
Fools! The pursuit of immediate profit may cost us the victory!
The second piece of bad news was that Frederick II had received reinforcements, notably from the Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg. He had left Magdeburg on October 24th and arrived in Leipzig four days later.
And fool de Broglie! Incompetent! All he had to do was intercept that army before it reinforced Frederick II! He just needed to march a little faster! Just a little! Damn it! One day sooner, and it would have been enough!
Lieutenant General de Broglie had indeed narrowly missed the army of Duke Ferdinand of Brunswick-Lüneburg at Halle. In the meantime, Ferdinand had moved on and reached Schkeuditz, twenty kilometers southeast of there. From there, he had gone to Leipzig, where the bulk of Frederick II’s army was located.
His precious General Keith had also been saved from certain death, as the Franco-Imperial army had learned of the Prussian king’s return and had decided to retreat to better defend themselves.
We had the advantage! Leipzig was within our grasp! And because we were scattered to encircle the city, we had no choice but to retreat to Weißenfels! Those imperial fools! Not only did they scatter their regiments to the four winds, but they also allowed several units to be caught by surprise! It’s not that difficult to inform your allies that the enemy is approaching!
For the prince, nothing seemed to be going right, even though things had been looking good just a few days earlier!
Incompetents! I’m surrounded by incompetents! If these fools had listened to me, we wouldn’t be in this situation! That old man, Hildburghausen, wanted command, he got it! And here’s the result! I wouldn’t have made all these mistakes! I would have captured Leipzig and forced that fox to retreat to Berlin! We would have spent the winter in Leipzig and besieged his city in the spring! But no! The commander-in-chief wants to take full responsibility! He should have his command stripped away!
Much of the prince’s anger was directed at the Imperial general, his army, and the Austrian troops. They lacked order and discipline. In his view, it was unfair to refer to this shapeless mass of men in uniform as an army, as that would equate them with the French soldiers.
They didn’t speak the same language, only followed orders if they felt like it or if they came from their own officers, behaved like bandits, and fled at the first sign of danger.
The Franco-Imperial army, being largely composed of such soldiers—comparable to militiamen at best—had led him to seriously doubt their ability to defeat the Prussian army.
When he asked General Hildburghausen to retreat and regroup, it was certainly not out of pleasure.
United, they could act more effectively together. The problem was that since these two armies had joined forces to capture Saxony, his own army had declined in quality. He had come to doubt it, even though it was presented at Court as the best in the world!
Damn it! What a disgrace! Is this the formidable French army? They’ve become lazy, undisciplined, and careless!
Indeed, his troops were a pitiful sight. They were tired, but more importantly, they increasingly resembled the soldiers of the Empire. It was as if their bad habits had rubbed off on them. Of course, this was an exaggeration. French soldiers had never, except in rare cases, been pure-hearted elite soldiers.
What was certain was that he now seriously feared facing the King of Prussia.
If they don’t regain their senses quickly, we’re headed for disaster!
Feeling in great danger, Soubise had maintained extensive correspondence with the Duke of Richelieu and the Court so that no one would be unaware of the critical situation he was in, and if necessary, to exonerate himself if he were defeated. He was especially reporting to Madame de Pompadour, the King’s favorite, without whom he would not have obtained this command.
Unfortunately, the response he received was not to his liking.
The Court merely encouraged him and reminded him that he should place himself under Hildburghausen’s authority, while the Duke of Richelieu did as he pleased in the north. He had learned the day before that this man—a depraved bandit, in his view—had captured Magdeburg, an important city in the region containing a significant amount of supplies and equipment.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
But what he needed were reliable troops!
In his letter, the Marshal Duke had informed him that he would march on Leipzig from Magdeburg but wouldn’t leave until the early hours of November 1st.
It’s the 3rd, and I’ve heard nothing! the prince thought as he left his seat and approached a small window overlooking his encampment.
The prince had come to accept that he would have to manage with his current army and allies.
Fortunately, he thought, looking at the multitude of tents softly illuminated by patrol lanterns and campfires, this army is not small.
A slight smile formed on his face at this pleasant and calming sight. With the Reichsarmee, they formed a group of over forty thousand men. This was twice the size of what the King of Prussia had been able to gather.
Maneuvering such a large army, yet so mediocre in quality, was a challenge. By the end of the day, they had adjusted their formation so that their army was anchored in the north at the village of Mücheln, where he was currently located, to a small dense wood near the village of Branderoda.
This alone had cost them many hours, which, in his view, could have been used to weaken the enemy before the real battle.
That evening, after a long conversation that was as boring as it was frustrating, he had agreed to move their headquarters and change the layout of his camps.
Hildburghausen had just left the room and had already departed with his army to set up camp south of Branderoda, where there was a height that would give him a defensive advantage in case of an attack. His infantry was also to move, but later. As for his cavalry, it had already left to establish a camp northeast of Branderoda.
It was as if they enjoyed moving their camps over and over again. Our soldiers need to rest for the battle!
Finally, he turned to the few men still in the room. Despite the late hour, they had not removed their uniforms. After witnessing the discussion, they had already understood that they wouldn't be able to rest for several more hours.
“Monsieur de Saint-Germain?”
“Yes, Your Highness?” responded the man who seemed to have aged several years in just a few days.
“Have our men get to work. The infantry will camp in two lines, as you’ve heard. Monsieur de Mailly? Our cavalry will be placed slightly behind, ready to mount quickly and counterattack if necessary. They will also be in two lines.
"Yes, General!"
"Monsieur de Broglie?”
“Yes, General?” replied the man who had been as still and silent as a statue until now.
“Position our reserve between the infantry and our cavalry. Make sure all the men keep their uniforms on and their weapons within reach.”
“At your orders,” the two men responded in unison.
We must be prepared for anything with this enemy. They’re no better than those damned English. If they can stab us in the back, they’ll do it without hesitation.
Satisfied with this response, he turned once more toward the window. The sky was overcast, and the moon was barely visible through the clouds. It was impossible to see even a single star.
Without warning, a violent downpour suddenly swept over the region, catching everyone who wasn’t under shelter by surprise. Quickly, a curtain of water formed on the other side of the small window.
“What weather…” the prince sighed wearily. “If this keeps up, we won’t be able to fight tomorrow…”
With that, the officer bent over his maps again, analyzing the terrain as it was represented there, searching for weaknesses in the enemy’s formation. Together with General Hildburghausen, they had already settled on a plan—simple and effective—to end this fight quickly and with as little bloodshed as possible, at least not their own.
Then, exhausted, he removed his coat and powdered wig. Keeping his clothes on as he had ordered his soldiers, he went to bed, lulled by the gentle sound of the rain hitting his window and the roof above his head.
By early morning, the rain had stopped, but the ground had received so much water in recent days that it struggled to absorb it. It was heavy and sticky where the armies had passed. A smell of wet earth hung in the air. As for the sky, it was uniformly gray, as if it were one single, immense cloud. Everyone expected it to start raining again at any moment.
Despite the difficult terrain, the army set out to strike the Prussian enemy, who had not been idle during the night. Some light cavalry had indeed approached the fortified French camp and managed to capture about forty of them!
Shame and anger burned in everyone’s eyes, each eager to repay these despicable Prussians in kind.
It was also noticed that the King of Prussia had rearranged the disposition of his army and established his headquarters in a small village called Rossbach, only seven kilometers from Mücheln.
This day should have been a day of battle, but the German prince’s plans were delayed by the slow coordination and formation of the armies. Just leaving the various camps took hours!
The French and Imperial officers thought they were going mad.
“Thank goodness we’re at war,” commented the Count of Saint-Germain, adjusting the collar of his coat, which felt too tight, “otherwise it would take them an entire day just to put on their uniforms!”
Soubise said nothing, but he felt the same. He merely pursed his lips, making them so thin they formed only a narrow line under his nose.
It was a great shame. The fact that the French army was doing slightly better than the Imperial army didn’t ease his discomfort or his growing desire to send all these good-for-nothings back to their barracks to start their training from scratch.
Alas, things got even worse when they were asked to turn left. This maneuver was finally completed around one in the afternoon, when according to the initial plans, they should have already been setting up their new camp.
“What are they doing?! (French)
“Why are they so slow?!” (Northern Bavarian)
“Move forward!” (Austrian)
“All right! No need to shout in your language!” (Low Saxon)
“What’s he saying?! We can’t understand anything! Does anyone speak that idiot’s language?!” (Dutch)
“Don’t give me orders! I’m from Münster, and I won’t obey an officer who isn’t from my homeland!” (Westphalian)
“When do we eat? We’ll have meat, right?” (Lower Rhenish)
“I lost my shoe in the mud! Hey! Don’t push from behind!” (Southern Bavarian)
“Who’s in command here?!” (Palatine)
The officers watched helplessly as this mass of men tried to maneuver together and failed miserably.
Eventually, they managed to reorient their army, but it was far too late. That day, too, there was no battle. They simply adjusted the camps to prepare for battle under better conditions, possibly the next day. However, they remained on alert until late afternoon, which came early in this season.