Chapter 847: A Fragile Alliance
October 16, 1793.
The surrender ceremony in Luxembourg, which had been in preparation for many days, officially commenced in Diekirch.
This location was about twelve miles away from Rothausen, the actual site of the Coalition's surrender. However, the town of Rothausen was far too desolate, so the General Staff Headquarters decided to move the proceedings to Diekirch, the second-largest city in Luxembourg.
Journalists invited from various nations had long since occupied the best vantage points along the roads. Art dealers, sensing a lucrative opportunity, had dispatched a small army of painters who now stood ready with their easels, poised to capture this historic moment.
Behind them, a crowd of over five thousand spectators jostled for a view. Given that Diekirch had a total population of fewer than thirty thousand, the streets were practically empty as the entire town turned out for the event.
At ten in the morning, amidst a cacophony of organs, cornets, flutes, and military drums, several Prussian Black Eagle flags appeared in the distance.
Though the blue-gray uniforms of the Prussian soldiers were tattered and worn, they still carried their flintlock muskets and marching rucksacks. Their ranks were incredibly disciplined, maintaining precise parade-ground intervals. To the casual observer, they hardly looked like a defeated army.
This was partly due to the Prussian obsession with drill; over seventy percent of their daily training was dedicated to formations, leaving the soldiers with a deep-seated muscle memory for order.
The other reason was a specific requirement from Joseph. He wanted to showcase the "might" of the Prussian military. The more formidable the enemy appeared, the greater the impact of the contrast when they finally laid down their arms.
In reality, only about seven thousand Coalition soldiers were present here. The rest had already been distributed among various prisoner-of-war camps; having forty thousand men crowded into one spot would have invited chaos.
A short while later, dressed in a crisp hussar uniform and wearing a dark blue tricorne hat, Joseph ascended the oak platform in the center of the square, flanked by a retinue of French officers.
The surrounding music swelled, shifting into the solemn and majestic strains of "Long Live Henri IV."
The watching crowd erupted in a tidal wave of cheers. "Long live the Crown Prince!"
"Glory to His Highness the Crown Prince!"
"God protects the Son of Divine Favor..."
"France is matchless!"
Most of those present were Luxembourgers who had been under Austrian rule just three or four years prior. However, that did not stop them from fully immersing themselves in their roles as French subjects today.
The reason was simple: France was far too powerful. Being French felt genuinely good!
Fortunately, the people of Luxembourg possessed an extraordinary talent for languages. Being fluent in German, French, and Luxembourgish from a young age meant they could shout their praises without the slightest hesitation.
Joseph raised his hand, signaling the military band to pause.
Just as everyone expected him to launch into a grand oration about "the glory and might of France," the Crown Prince spoke in a clear, resonant voice: "Let us observe three minutes of silence for the brave warriors of France who sacrificed their lives in this battle. It was their supreme courage and perseverance that defeated the enemy. May their souls enjoy eternal peace in heaven."
A sudden hush fell over the square. Everyone followed Joseph's lead, clasping their hands and bowing their heads in prayer.
The French soldiers present felt their eyes grow red with emotion. They were mourning their fallen comrades, but more than that, they were moved by the fact that France had not forgotten their sacrifice.
When the silence ended, Joseph offered no further speech. He simply nodded to Berthier at his side.
Berthier immediately called out, "Begin the Sword Surrender Ceremony!"
A Prussian Brigadier General, his expression grave, walked slowly up the wooden platform. He unbuckled a brass-hilted saber engraved with an eagle's head from his waist, bowed, and offered the hilt to the French Crown Prince.
The French officers below the stage began to whisper among themselves. "Who is that surrendering the sword?"
"I don't recognize him, but it's clearly not Ferdinand."
"He looks like Baron Meulen, the commander of the Uckermark Legion."
"Where is Ferdinand? I'm certain General Masséna captured him."
"Perhaps he was severely wounded..."
Standing below the platform, dressed in a plain black suit with his hat pulled low to obscure his face, the Duke of Brunswick looked up at Joseph with gratitude, a long sigh of relief escaping his chest.
His mind couldn't help but drift back to the moving words the French Crown Prince had spoken to him three days ago.
Joseph had said with righteous conviction, 'The failure of this war is not your responsibility at all. On the contrary, with your brilliant command and fearless courage, you have demonstrated the superior military talent of an heir to Frederick the Great's legacy.'
'If it hadn't been for Franz II suddenly diverting Count Clerfayt's thirty thousand troops to the Southern Netherlands, my army would have faced an incredibly difficult campaign. At that time, your forces still held an absolute advantage, and I had no clear path to victory.'
'It was the selfish and short-sighted behavior of the Austrians that ruined the victory you might have secured.'
'For you, and for the heroic Prussian army, I have always maintained the utmost respect. Therefore, I believe you should not be subjected to the humiliation of a surrender ceremony.'
Now, the French Crown Prince had truly fulfilled his promise, preserving his honor.
Of course, Joseph hadn't done this out of genuine respect for the aging Prussian general. His goal was to maximize the rift between the Prussian and Austrian alliance. These two nations already had fundamental conflicts of interest over dominance in Germany; they had only been forced together against France by Britain's influence.
As long as he could seize the right opportunity, it wouldn't be difficult to dismantle their alliance.
Historically, Prussia was one of the most eager nations to withdraw from the Anti-French Coalition.
Furthermore, the Duke of Brunswick was a senior figure in the Prussian military, yet his actual command abilities were somewhat lacking. If he were allowed to return to Prussia with his dignity intact, he would likely remain in control of the Prussian army.
This would ensure that a "mad dog" and obsessive zealot like Blücher wouldn't have the chance to rise to power. Joseph had already received news last week that Blücher had miraculously evaded the French pursuit and escaped back to Prussia.
On the red-carpeted oak platform, Joseph took the saber offered by Brigadier General Meulen and tapped the man's right shoulder three times with the broken tip of the blade.
This was a traditional ritual, signifying that the Prussian army would cease all resistance and hand over control to the victor.
The broken tip was a courtesy extended by the victor, symbolizing that while the blade was broken, their honor remained intact.
The drums began to roll once more. The crowd erupted into cheers even more fervent than before.
In the open space before the platform, the Prussian soldiers began to discard their weapons and gear into wooden pens in an orderly sequence, creating a rhythmic "clatter-thump" of metal and wood.
Before long, the flintlocks and rucksacks were piled high like small mountains, their black barrels reflecting the sunlight with a cold, grim intensity.
At that moment, the journalists and citizens fully realized that this formidable Prussian host had been utterly defeated by France—and by the Crown Prince standing there with the enemy's sword in his hand.
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