Four thousand were left dead upon the field, one thousand were drowned
in the frantic attempt to swim the Moldau, and the rest were either
dispersed as fugitives over hill and valley or taken captive. The
victory of the emperor was complete, the hopes of Frederic crushed, and
the fate of Bohemia sealed.
The contemptible Frederic, while this fierce battle was raging beneath
the very walls of his capital, instead of placing himself at the head of
his troops, was in the heart of the city, in the banqueting-hall of his
palace, bowing and smiling and feasting his friends. The Prince of
Anhalt, who was in command of the Bohemian army, had sent a most urgent
message to the king, intreating him to dispatch immediately to his aid
all the troops in the city, and especially to repair himself to the camp
to encourage the troops by his presence. Frederic was at the table when
he received this message, and sent word back that he could not come
until after dinner. As soon as the combat commenced, another still more
urgent message was sent, to which he returned the same reply. _After
dinner_ he mounted his horse and rode to the gate which led to the White
Mountain. The thunders of the terrible battle filled the air; the whole
city was in the wildest state of terror and confusion; the gates barred
and barricaded.
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