“The close of my days is poisoned,” he wrote, “and the evening of my life as hideous as its morning. Never will I endure the moment that must force me to make a dishonourable peace. No persuasion, no eloquence can bring me to sign my shame. Either I will bury myself under the ruins of my fatherland, or if this consolation seem too sweet to the Misfortune that pursues me, I will myself put an end to my woes.... After having sacrificed my youth to my Father, and my ripe years to my fatherland, I think I have acquired the right to dispose of my old age as I please.... And so I will finish this campaign, resolved to hazard all and to try the most desperate measures, to conquer or to find a glorious end.”
We who have seen Frederick resign his crown after Kunersdorf are free to believe that he would have taken his life after a new Kolin. His words are in any event highly significant of the view which he took of the limits of his duty to the State, whose course he had steered according to his own will for twenty years. Five days after they were written, on November 3, 1760, he did in truth hazard all, and try the most desperate measures. Daun, who had followed him into Saxony, was encamped near Torgau in a position reputed impregnable. He had 50,000 men with an enormous park of artillery, and whatever his shortcomings in attack, none could impugn his talent for defence. Yet Frederick, with 44,000 men, determined to attack, and to attack by one of the most difficult operations in war, a simultaneous onslaught on opposite sides of the enemy’s position. The King himself proposed to lead half the army through the forest, right round the Austrian camp, so as to assail it from the north. The other half was to attack from the south under Zieten, the bravest of hussars but the youngest of generals, who had commanded a wing at Liegnitz, but had never handled an army, and who did not know the ground.
It is hardly surprising, with such a plan as this, that Torgau, like many battles, was fought not as was designed but as best it might be. The history of the day proved beyond dispute that Frederick had ventured much. The weather, their own errors, and the enemy’s guns ruined the Prussian simultaneous attack. The King’s contingent fought a desperate battle. Few of his attendants escaped without a wound. His own life was saved as if by miracle. Three horses were killed under him. A spent ball struck him senseless, but his pelisse saved him from serious hurt. He rallied both himself and his men, but when evening came the Austrians had the advantage. Daun felt that he might safely leave the field to dress a wound and send news of victory to Vienna.