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Authors: Mary McGrigor
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Russian soldiers, who, as Napoleon had predicted, advanced on his right flank. They broke through and, again in accordance with Napoleon’s plans, were surrounded and disseminated by heavy artillery.
Suddenly, as the sun dispersed the mist, Marshal Soult’s cavalry bore down on the centre of the allied line. The two emperors, Alexander and Francis, watching from a knoll, came under fire. Amid much confusion and cries for their safety they left their vantage point. The fighting then continued until, at about midday, the tsar’s brother Constantine led the Imperial Guard into a heroic counter-attack.
Napoleon himself was watching as over 1,000 horsemen galloped up the slope of the Pratzen Plateau into the mouths of his waiting guns. ‘There are many fine ladies who will weep tomorrow in Petersburg,’ he said as he saw the dreadful result. 26
The battle of Austerlitz – claimed both then and thereafter as the French emperor’s greatest victory – was over. ‘Roll up the map of Europe. It will not be needed hereafter’, was the verdict of William Pitt.
Alexander, mentally and physically exhausted, his mind numbed by incomprehension of the horrors he had witnessed during the course of that day, was on the verge of collapse. Nonetheless, hearing that Emperor Francis was at the small town of Czeitsch, some eight miles away, he insisted on riding there immediately. The short December day was ending, and in near darkness, at a small village on the way, he collapsed, falling forwards on the neck of his horse. Wylie, with him as ever, managed, with the help of the guards who formed his escort, to lift him from the saddle and to carry him into a hut where all he could find to cover his shivering body was a peasant’s straw-filled quilt. He had no medicines with him, not even quinine.
The night hours seemed endless to Wylie as he sat, fighting off his own longing for sleep, by the side of the restless, desperately ill tsar. The crisis came at three o’clock in the morning when Alexander screamed in agony, sobbing with the pain of violent cramp. Quite unable to help him, Wylie asked Prince Adam Czartoryski to stay with him before stumbling out into the night to shout for his horse. Once astride, by the wavering light of a lantern, he managed to make the animal pick its way over the rough road, churned up by many vehicles into frozen ruts, over the four miles or so to the small town of Czeitsch, headquarters of Emperor Francis.
Dismounting, he somehow gained entry into one of the houses requisitioned for the occupation of the emperor’s staff, where he begged an Austrian officer to let him have some red wine. Amazingly, the man refused. Wylie, incensed at such inhumanity and well known for speaking his mind, must at this point have let fly, doubtless telling him what he thought of him in the language of the Kincardine docks. Somehow he got past him into the interior of the house where he found a servant who, either by bribery or intimidation, he forced into giving him a little rough red wine.
It proved effective. Or, more probably, Alexander’s strong constitution brought him back to life. By morning, now fit enough to ride, he joined the long-faced, frigid Emperor Francis and the portly, one-eyed Russian General Kutuzov at Czeitsch.
Although told of the dreadful casualties (25,000 to 30,000 soldiers of the allied armies had been killed) Alexander remained determined to pursue the campaign. Convinced that Frederick William of Prussia would honour their agreement by bringing his army into the field, he assured the Austrian emperor that Napoleon could be defeated in a renewed assault. However, Francis, mistrustful of Frederick William, refused to believe that any such hope remained. Subsequently, on the following day, 4 December 1805, a treaty of peace between France and Austria was arranged. Included was the term that the Russians must also capitulate and withdraw immediately from Moravia to return within the frontier
Suddenly, as the sun dispersed the mist, Marshal Soult’s cavalry bore down on the centre of the allied line. The two emperors, Alexander and Francis, watching from a knoll, came under fire. Amid much confusion and cries for their safety they left their vantage point. The fighting then continued until, at about midday, the tsar’s brother Constantine led the Imperial Guard into a heroic counter-attack.
Napoleon himself was watching as over 1,000 horsemen galloped up the slope of the Pratzen Plateau into the mouths of his waiting guns. ‘There are many fine ladies who will weep tomorrow in Petersburg,’ he said as he saw the dreadful result. 26
The battle of Austerlitz – claimed both then and thereafter as the French emperor’s greatest victory – was over. ‘Roll up the map of Europe. It will not be needed hereafter’, was the verdict of William Pitt.
Alexander, mentally and physically exhausted, his mind numbed by incomprehension of the horrors he had witnessed during the course of that day, was on the verge of collapse. Nonetheless, hearing that Emperor Francis was at the small town of Czeitsch, some eight miles away, he insisted on riding there immediately. The short December day was ending, and in near darkness, at a small village on the way, he collapsed, falling forwards on the neck of his horse. Wylie, with him as ever, managed, with the help of the guards who formed his escort, to lift him from the saddle and to carry him into a hut where all he could find to cover his shivering body was a peasant’s straw-filled quilt. He had no medicines with him, not even quinine.
The night hours seemed endless to Wylie as he sat, fighting off his own longing for sleep, by the side of the restless, desperately ill tsar. The crisis came at three o’clock in the morning when Alexander screamed in agony, sobbing with the pain of violent cramp. Quite unable to help him, Wylie asked Prince Adam Czartoryski to stay with him before stumbling out into the night to shout for his horse. Once astride, by the wavering light of a lantern, he managed to make the animal pick its way over the rough road, churned up by many vehicles into frozen ruts, over the four miles or so to the small town of Czeitsch, headquarters of Emperor Francis.
Dismounting, he somehow gained entry into one of the houses requisitioned for the occupation of the emperor’s staff, where he begged an Austrian officer to let him have some red wine. Amazingly, the man refused. Wylie, incensed at such inhumanity and well known for speaking his mind, must at this point have let fly, doubtless telling him what he thought of him in the language of the Kincardine docks. Somehow he got past him into the interior of the house where he found a servant who, either by bribery or intimidation, he forced into giving him a little rough red wine.
It proved effective. Or, more probably, Alexander’s strong constitution brought him back to life. By morning, now fit enough to ride, he joined the long-faced, frigid Emperor Francis and the portly, one-eyed Russian General Kutuzov at Czeitsch.
Although told of the dreadful casualties (25,000 to 30,000 soldiers of the allied armies had been killed) Alexander remained determined to pursue the campaign. Convinced that Frederick William of Prussia would honour their agreement by bringing his army into the field, he assured the Austrian emperor that Napoleon could be defeated in a renewed assault. However, Francis, mistrustful of Frederick William, refused to believe that any such hope remained. Subsequently, on the following day, 4 December 1805, a treaty of peace between France and Austria was arranged. Included was the term that the Russians must also capitulate and withdraw immediately from Moravia to return within the frontier
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