The disciplined valor of the Prussian troops and the supreme leadership
of their undespairing King had thus far held the invading hosts at bay;
but now the end seemed near. Frederic could not be everywhere at once;
and while he stopped one leak the torrent poured in at another.
The Russians advanced again, defeated General Wedell, whom
he sent against them, and made a junction with the Austrians.
In August, 1759, he attacked their united force at Kunersdorf,
broke their left wing to pieces, took a hundred and eighty
cannon, forced their centre to give ground, and after hours of
furious fighting was overwhelmed at last. In vain he tried to
stop the rout. The bullets killed two horses under him, tore his
clothes, and crushed a gold snuff-box in his waistcoat pocket.
"Is there no b---- of a shot that can hit me, then?" he cried
in his bitterness, as his aides-de-camp forced him from the
field. For a few days he despaired; then rallied to his forlorn
task, and with smiles on his lip and anguish at his heart
watched, manoeuvred, and fought with cool and stubborn desperation.
To his friend D'Argens he wrote soon after his defeat: "Death is sweet
in comparison to such a life as mine. Have pity on me and it; believe
that I still keep to myself a great many evil things, not wishing to
afflict or disgust anybody with them, and that I would not counsel
you to fly these unlucky countries if I had any ray of hope; Adieu,
mon cher!" It was well for him and for Prussia that he had strong allies in
the dissensions and delays of his enemies.
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