The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 298

Chapter 298: General Würmser’s Hard-Fought Battle

“Yes, he should be in the Hall of Mirrors by now. It seems you also admire this talented musician.”

Vitoluca replied casually, assuming the Crown Prince of France was somewhat resistant to the topic of “finding fewer mistresses,” and quickly added to smooth things over: “Oh, by the way, His Majesty and I have discussed it. We will prepare at least one million florins as Clementine’s dowry.

“She is our most beloved daughter. We hope she can live a happy life in Paris…”

One florin is roughly equivalent to 2.5 livres, making this an extraordinarily generous dowry.

Joseph, hearing the dowry brought up, suddenly felt his head ache and sighed deeply in his heart: Oh, dear aunt, Clementine is my first cousin! Your family name is also Bourbon [Note 1], which makes this close kin marrying close kin. If I really marry your daughter, our descendants are bound to suffer congenital deformities or worse…

“In fact, I think Vienna is better than Paris—milder winters, cooler summers, and filled with artistic charm.” Joseph, unsure how to divert the topic, happened to spot a bubbling spring outside the window and exclaimed, “Oh, is that the spring Emperor Matthias fancied?”

Matthias was a Holy Roman Emperor of the 17th century. Upon discovering a sweet spring, he grew fond of it and built a hunting lodge nearby, which later became the precursor to Schönbrunn Palace.

Vitoluca frowned slightly, noticing that the French Crown Prince seemed unwilling to discuss his potential marriage to Clementine.

“That’s not Schönbrunn, dear. It’s in the Royal Gardens.”

She took a deep breath, kept her smile, and continued: “We are family of the most noble and intimate bloodlines. If you are dissatisfied with Clementine in any way…”

“Cough, cough, cough—” Joseph thought to himself, What dissatisfies me is precisely that we are family! Was she determined to finalize this marriage today?

Feigning a violent coughing fit, he gestured to Aymond: “This damned pneumonia—cough, cough—please fetch me some medicine.”

Aymond froze momentarily. The prince’s pneumonia hasn’t acted up for a long time, has it? Still, he quickly recovered, stepping forward to support Joseph and, at the prince’s signal, dispersed the crowd as they headed to the lounge.

Vitoluca watched Joseph’s retreating figure, her face reflecting her confusion.

In the following days, Joseph used his "pneumonia" as an excuse to avoid all banquets and social engagements unrelated to trade talks with Leopold II and Austrian officials. He sought every possible means to avoid Clementine’s mother, Vitoluca.

Once the framework for the "Franco-Austrian-German Trade Agreement" was roughly finalized, he hastily took leave of Joseph II and fled back to Paris as if escaping.

Even as Vitoluca accompanied the ceremonial guard several miles southwest of Vienna to bid him farewell, she failed to exchange further words with him. The French Crown Prince’s “pneumonia” seemed dire; he coughed violently whenever he spoke.

Reflecting on what she had managed to uncover about Joseph’s romantic affairs over the past few days, Vitoluca frowned. The French Crown Prince appeared to have only one woman by his side—a female doctor, three years his senior, of low birth, and prone to wearing men’s attire. Other than her, there were practically no women in his life. Why was he avoiding marriage with Clementine?

After all, Leopold II was certain to ascend as the Holy Roman Emperor, making his daughter’s status a perfect match for Joseph.

Turning to her husband, Vitoluca asked in a low voice, “Dear, has His Highness spoken to you about the engagement?”

Leopold II thought for a moment, then shook his head. “The trade agreement is highly important. Most of our discussions revolved around that, occasionally touching on hunting or shipbuilding, but rarely on matters of love and marriage.”

Vitoluca frowned again and suddenly grabbed Leopold II by the arm, her expression stern. “You must speak with your sister about Clementine’s marriage. It would be best to formalize the wedding date through an official declaration.”

…

May 2, 1789.

More than 17,000 Austrian soldiers, accompanied by 3,000 Bavarian troops, departed Luxembourg, an Austrian exclave in the west, and advanced along the border with France toward Liège, a frontier city in the southern Netherlands some dozens of kilometers away.

Inside a carriage at the head of the column, an aging general with graying temples but a composed and capable demeanor glanced out the window and asked the officer riding alongside, “Lieutenant Colonel Haydn, how far are we from Liège?”

The officer quickly consulted his map and replied, “General, less than three Austrian miles. At our current pace, we should arrive tomorrow afternoon.”

An Austrian mile is approximately 20 kilometers.

The man in the carriage was none other than General Würmser, the commander-in-chief of the Austrian army. He nodded and asked, “Has there been any word from Colonel Muzil’s corps?”

“Not yet, General. However, based on their last message, they should have reached Loon by now.”

Loon is a city north of Liège, located to the west of Brabant, acting as a link between two rebellious cities. Colonel Muzil’s light infantry corps, carrying minimal supplies, was tasked with a rapid march to bypass Liège and capture this strategic point, thereby preventing the Brabant rebels from reinforcing Liège.

At the same time, this position served as a warning post against Prussian troops—any Prussian force attempting to move south would have to pass through Loon.

Everything was proceeding according to plan. Würmser was about to draw the curtain when he remembered something. He instructed the officer, “Oh, and send word to the French to deliver supply convoys to southern Liège in three days. We should have control of the area by then.”

“Yes, General!”

Lieutenant Colonel Haydn saluted with his cap and galloped off to relay the order to the messengers.

Closing the curtain, Würmser turned to smile at the Bavarian commander, General Ernst, seated across from him. “The Marquis of Wartenberg’s troops were still in Cologne yesterday. He surely didn’t expect us to reach Liège so quickly.”

The Marquis of Wartenberg referred to the Prussian general Blücher, who had previously intervened in the Dutch Patriot Party uprising and now served as the advance guard under the Duke of Brunswick.

General Ernst nodded in agreement. “Even if the Prussian army marches at full speed, they will be stopped by Colonel Muzil’s forces at Loon. We’ll have at least a week to deal with the Liège rebels.”

Thanks to French logistical support—though France publicly claimed it was merely ordinary trade in grain and iron—the Austrian forces were traveling with minimal baggage, enabling them to outpace the Prussians, who were geographically closer to the southern Netherlands.

Leaning back in his seat, General Würmser appeared quite relaxed. “You overestimate these rebels. Intelligence from a few days ago suggests they number fewer than 4,000, mostly untrained farmers. Defeating them shouldn’t take long.

“My plan is to encircle Brabant before the Prussians arrive. Should the Duke of Brunswick insist on intervening in this conflict, you’ll take charge of the encirclement while I lead the main force to engage the Prussians.”

Indeed, his operational strategy was highly reasonable.

The Prussians, rushing to reinforce the Brabant rebels, were certain to travel hastily and lower their guard. During this time, the Austrian army would likely find an opportunity to launch an ambush. Even if luck wasn’t on their side and no ambush was successful, at the very least, they could select terrain favorable for a decisive battle.

General Würmser then shared a bit of “gossip” he’d overheard: “Have you heard anything about Emperor Ottodorr’s plan to exchange Lower Bavaria for the southern Netherlands?”

General Ernst replied, “It seems the French are mediating as guarantors to ensure neither side reneges. So, there’s a good chance this territorial swap will be finalized.”

“In that case, once the rebels surrender, you won’t need to return to Munich,” Würmser said with a smile. “You can welcome your king directly in Brussels. After that, you’ll likely receive at least two promotions.”

To them, the ragtag forces in the southern Netherlands were nothing more than walking military achievements that could be subdued by the end of the month.

However, while they dreamed of their future successes, Colonel Muzil’s 5,000-strong corps was facing a grueling predicament near Loon.

...

A group of Austrian cavalry on reconnaissance near a village spotted people building spiked barricades. As they approached to investigate, a priest holding a pitchfork stepped out, flanked by dozens of farmers blocking the road.

The cavalry captain sneered and ordered his men to form up, preparing to charge through what he considered suicidal peasants. Based on his experience, such rabble would scatter in panic once the warhorses closed within ten meters.

Eleven cavalrymen lightly tightened their reins, spurred their horses forward, and simultaneously drew their sabers.

As they prepared to charge, gunfire suddenly erupted from behind. A bullet struck a horse’s leg, causing it to collapse, bringing its rider down as well.

The priest immediately let out a battle cry, his eyes blazing, and charged forward. The farmers, armed with sticks and farm tools, surged toward the Austrian cavalry.

The Austrians, caught off guard, hesitated, shocked that these peasants dared to counterattack. In the moment of hesitation, the priest, wielding his pitchfork, closed to within seventy or eighty meters.

The cavalry captain hastily waved his saber and shouted, “Forward! Trot!”

“Gallop!”

“Prepare for combat!”

The ten remaining cavalry charged at the shabby farmers like wild beasts. As they neared the priest, now less than ten meters away, they expected him to dodge the oncoming horses. Instead, the priest raised his pitchfork and lunged at them.

The cavalryman directly facing the priest skillfully maneuvered his reins to veer left, dodging the pitchfork. His saber, however, slashed lightly across the priest’s chest, its edge cutting deep and unleashing a torrent of blood.

The remaining farmers, emboldened by the priest’s courage, pressed on without retreat, striking the Austrian cavalry with their crude weapons.

Yet, the disparity between them and professional soldiers was immense. Seven or eight farmers fell, sacrificing their lives only to slow the cavalry’s momentum.

Without their priest to lead them, the remaining farmers, overwhelmed by the sight of blood and death, finally lost their nerve. They threw down their tools and fled into the surrounding bushes, shouting in panic.

The Austrian cavalry were just beginning to catch their breath when more gunfire erupted behind them, this time from much closer.

The cavalry captain turned to see sixteen or seventeen men with flintlock muskets forming a firing line, cutting off their retreat.

Gritting his teeth, he ordered his men to turn around and charge back to the main force. However, the farmers who had just fled now returned, glaring at the cavalry with renewed determination and gripping their tools.

Half an hour later, most of the Austrian cavalry lay dead, felled by muskets and clubs. Only one severely wounded soldier managed to escape the village.

...

Meanwhile, as Colonel Muzil’s corps was setting up camp and pitching tents, hundreds of southern Netherlandish rebels suddenly emerged from a dry riverbed nearby. They opened fire on the Austrians, set fires in the camp, and retreated into the riverbed under cover of dusk.

When the Austrians gave chase, they found the rebels had vanished, utilizing their knowledge of the terrain to escape.

Although the attack killed only about a dozen Austrian soldiers, it forced them to remain on high alert throughout the night, leaving no chance for proper rest.

Such incidents occurred repeatedly across Loon, where Protestant priests took the lead in organizing locals to attack Austrian forces. Armed with 2,000 flintlock muskets provided by the Dutch just two weeks prior, they launched attacks everywhere, causing the Austrians endless frustration.

To deal with these incessant harassments, Muzil’s corps was reduced to a snail’s pace. It wasn’t until three days later that they finally approached the outskirts of Loon.

Unfortunately, of the cavalry dispatched by Colonel Muzil to deliver messages to General Würmser, all but one—who got lost—were intercepted and killed by the rebels. Even when Würmser’s main force clashed with the Liège rebels, he remained unaware of Loon’s dire situation.

...

At Liège, the Austrians faced greater challenges than anticipated.

From a hilltop, General Würmser observed through his telescope as the southern Netherlandish rebels scattered under the charge of his skirmishers. A smile curled on his lips.

These rabble, utterly inexperienced in warfare, had foolishly positioned their line formations on the slope of a small hill, hoping to use the high ground for defense.

But the Austrian army launched a strong assault from the left side of the slope, the direction where the terrain was slightly higher. Outnumbered and outgunned, the rebels predictably crumbled.

Würmser had just ordered his cavalry to pursue the fleeing rebels when they vanished into the forest not far from the hill.

He frowned, feeling disgusted, as if he’d swallowed a fly. The same scenario had played out two days earlier. The rebels, evidently familiar with the terrain, always disappeared when his cavalry gave chase. Last time, they caught fewer than 200 rebels.

Despite winning the battle, the process—from deploying his forces, to probing the enemy, to breaking their lines—had consumed nearly an entire day.

After regrouping and resting, it would be midday tomorrow before his army could resume their march.

These wretched southern Netherlandish rebels had already delayed him by three whole days. He was still nearly ten kilometers from Liège.

The French had already sent emissaries yesterday, questioning why the supplies transported to southern Liège had gone unclaimed and had mostly been stolen by the rebels.

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