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[Illustration: SERGEANT BOURGOGNE.
(From a portrait made in 1830.)]
MEMOIRS OF SERGEANT BOURGOGNE
1812-1813
Compiled from the Original MS. by Paul Cottin
Illustrated
[Illustration]
New York
Doubleday & McClure Company
1899
Copyright 1899, by
Doubleday & Mcclure Co.
PREFACE
Adrien Jean Baptiste François Bourgogne was the son of a cloth-merchant
of Condé-sur-Escaut (Nord). He reached his twentieth year on November
12th, 1805, a time when military glory was the one dream of youth. To
make this dream real, his father procured his admission into a corps
of the Vélites of the Guard, where a fixed income was a necessary
qualification.
The Vélites were originally Roman soldiers lightly armed, for
skirmishing with the enemy (_velitare_). In the year XII. when the
Revolution was at an end, two corps of Vélites, consisting of 800
men each, were attached to the foot Grenadiers, and to the mounted
Grenadiers of the Consul's Guard.
In times of peace each cavalry regiment had attached to it a squadron
of Vélites made up of troops of 125 men each, and each infantry
regiment a battalion of two companies of 150 Vélites each. The uniform
worn by the Vélites was always that of the corps into which they were
drafted.
The Vélites were trained first at Saint Germain-en-Laye, then at Écouen
and at Fontainebleau. Bourgogne attended the writing, arithmetic,
drawing, and gymnastic classes which were meant to complete the
military education of these future officers; for, after a few years,
the more efficient of the Vélites were promoted to the rank of
Sub-Lieutenant.
After a few months, Bourgogne and his comrades were among the troops
required for the campaign of 1806 in Poland, where Bourgogne became
corporal. Two years later he took part in the Battle of Essling, where
he was twice wounded.[1] From 1809 to 1811 he fought in Austria, Spain,
and Portugal. In 1812 he was at Wilna, where the Emperor re-assembled
his Guard before marching against the Russians. Bourgogne was now
sergeant. Already he had travelled a great deal. He had seen something
of most countries, and he had taken note of what he saw wherever he had
been.
How immense would be the value to the intimate history of the army
under the First Empire, had he but left behind really complete memoirs,
as foreshadowed in one passage of his book![2] The remarkable fragment
or portion now issued raises a great expectation of the completion.
M. de Ségur's account of the Russian campaign needs no eulogy. In one
respect it is lacking. It has not, and could not have, the personal
accent of the experience that has been lived. M. de Ségur was on the
staff, and had not to endure such sufferings as the private soldiers
and the company officers--the sufferings which we now want to know
in their minutest details. They make real the immense interest of
Bourgogne's memoirs--for he was not only a keen observer, he was a
man who could see and put what he saw in a telling way; he ranks with
the Captain Coignet revived for us by Loredan Larchey. His notes are
classics in their kind, and have set the example of a new sort of
military memoirs, that of the simple and obscure, who come from the
people and represent them in the ordinary man. An accurate rendering of
their impressions is likely to be valuable and interesting.
There is no need for us to insist on the dramatic worth of the pictures
Bourgogne has drawn. We need only mention the orgie in the church at
Smolensk, strewn with more dead than it held already, the unfortunate
men stumbling over the snow-covered heaps to reach the sanctuary,
guided by music they believed to be from heaven, actually produced by
drunken men at the organ; the organ itself half burnt, on the point of
crashing down into the nave below. All this is unforgettable.
These Memoirs are equally valuable for their psychology of the soldier
depressed by a succession of reverses. The army of 1870 will read their
own miseries again. Here, too, is the drama of hunger. Where shall
we find a scene to compare with that of the garrison of Wilna flying
at the sight of the spectre army, ready to devour everything before
it? Moreover, we cannot help seeing that Bourgogne was a kind-hearted
man; his bursts of egotism are contrary to his real nature, and are
followed instantly by remorse. He helped his comrades to the utmost,
and risked a great deal so that a prisoner whose father had aroused
his sympathy might escape. He was deeply influenced by the horrors he
witnessed. He saw men stripped and robbed before the breath was out of
their bodies; he saw Croats pull corpses out of the flames and devour
them; he saw wounded men left by the roadside for want of means of
transport, begging for help with out-stretched hands, and dragging
themselves across snow reddened by their blood, while those who passed
by looked on silently, wondering how soon their turn might come.
Bourgogne himself fell into a ditch covered with ice near the Niémen,
and begged for help in vain from the men who passed. One old Grenadier
came up to him. 'I have not got any,' he said, raising two stumps to
show that he had no helping hands to offer. Near the towns, where the
troops thought their sufferings would come to an end, the return of
hope made them more pitiful. Their tongues were loosed, they inquired
for their comrades, they carried the sick on their muskets. Bourgogne
saw soldiers carry their wounded officers on their shoulders for miles.
Nor must we forget the Hessians, who stood all night close round their
young Prince in twenty-eight[3] degrees of frost, as a fence protects
a young plant. However, the effects of fatigue, fever, frost-bite,
and badly-healed wounds, the undermining of his constitution by an
attempted poisoning, were more than enough to make our sergeant drop
behind and lose his regiment, as had happened to so many others.
He advanced, therefore, slowly and painfully quite alone, often
sinking in the snow up to his shoulders, thinking himself lucky if he
escaped the Cossacks, and found hiding-places in the woods; finally he
recognised the road his column had taken by the corpses strewn along
the way.
On a pitch-dark night he reached the scene of a battle, and in
stumbling over heaped-up bodies, found one which feebly cried 'Help!'
He searched and found an old friend, Grenadier Picart, a shrewd type of
old soldier, and a thoroughly good fellow, whose happy nature carried
him through everything.
Hearing, however, from a Russian officer that the Emperor and his Guard
had all been made prisoners, Picart was suddenly seized with a mad
fit, presented arms, and shouted 'Vive l'Empereur!' as if he were being
reviewed.
This fact is most noteworthy, that the soldier, in spite of all his
sufferings, never accused the sole cause of his misfortunes. He
remained loyal and devoted, soul and body, convinced that Napoleon
would know how to save the army and take his revenge. It was the
soldiers' religion. 'Picart, like all the Emperor's old soldiers,
thought that as soon as they were with him, everything would be well,
all would succeed; that, in fact, nothing was impossible.' Up to a
certain point, Bourgogne shared this view. And yet, when they returned
to France, his regiment was reduced to twenty-six men!
Their god always moved them deeply. When Picart saw him at the crossing
of the Bérézina, 'wrapped in a great fur-lined cloak, a purple velvet
cap on his head, and a stick in his hand,' he wept, saying, 'Look at
our Emperor on foot! So great as he is, so proud as we always were of
him!'
At last, in March, 1813, Bourgogne was once more in his own country,
and promoted (receiving the epaulette of a Sub-Lieutenant of the 145th
of the Line). He then set off again for Prussia. He was wounded at the
Battle of Dessau (October 12th, 1813), and made prisoner.
His leisure hours of captivity were spent in recalling his recent
experiences and making notes. These, and the letters written to his
mother, served later to form the Memoirs. Also he talked of the past
with old comrades, a list of whom he has given, and who have added
their testimony to his.
On the first return of the Bourbons,[4] he had sent in his resignation
on the pretext of helping his parents to support their numerous
family. He married soon afterwards.
Family life has its trials also. Bourgogne lost his wife, who left him
with two daughters. He married again,[5] and had two more children.
He had settled down to his father's business, a draper's; but he
soon left the shop, and threw himself into an industrial enterprise,
where he lost most of his money. His simple habits, and his naturally
cheerful nature, helped him through his misfortunes, which did not,
however, prevent his educating his daughters well. He was devoted to
them, and inspired them with his own love of art; one gave herself up
to painting, the other to music. He possessed a good voice, and often
sang, according to old custom, after the family meals. His collection
of pictures, curiosities, and souvenirs of his campaigns brought many
visitors to his house.
When he went to Paris he never neglected to pay a visit to his old
comrades at the Invalides. Many also in his native town met every
day at the café, and talked of old times. On the anniversary of the
entrance of the French into Moscow they had a dinner, and all drank in
turn from a cup brought from the Kremlin: these old soldiers of the
Guard made a religion of the past.
When the days of 1830 brought the return of the tricolor,[6] Bourgogne
thought of returning to the service. His family had some influence at
Condé, where his brother was a doctor.[7]
M. de Vatimesnil, previously Minister of Louis XVIII. and Charles X.,
and then Deputy for Valenciennes, did all he could to support the old
soldier of nine campaigns and three wounds, and, moreover, neglected
by the fallen Government. He therefore proposed, as legitimate
compensation, his nomination to the post of Major de Place, now vacant
at Condé. The letter to Marshal Soult, then Minister of War, was
countersigned by the two other Deputies of the Nord, Brigade and Morel.
As M. de Vatimesnil received no answer, he wrote again in a fortnight
afterwards.
'This nomination,' he wrote, 'would not only be an excellent one from
a military point of view, but also from a political one. The Château
of the Hermitage, belonging to M. le Duc de Croy, is one league from
Condé, and is a meeting-place for malcontents. I do not wish for a
moment to suggest that they have evil intentions, but prudence demands
that a fortified place situated near the Château, and on the extreme
frontier, should be confided to perfectly trustworthy officers. I can
answer for the energy of M. Bourgogne.'
Failing the post, he asked for the Cross of the Legion of Honor for his
protégé. But Bourgogne was entirely forgotten at the offices of the
Ministry, and all traces of his services seemed to have disappeared.
M. de Vatimesnil was now obliged to compile a set of papers, which he
sent in on September 24th. Two months afterwards, on November 10th,
the former Vélite was at last appointed Lieutenant-Adjutant de Place,
but at Brest instead of Condé. That was far off indeed; but, at the
same time, it was one rung up the ladder, and on March 21st, 1831, the
Cross came to give him patience. New efforts were now made to obtain
the post of Adjutant de Place at Valenciennes, and his wish was at last
fulfilled on July 25th, 1832. They remember at Valenciennes to this
day the services he performed there, especially during the troubles of
1848. He retired on a pension of twelve hundred francs in 1853.[8]
He died, an octogenarian, on April 15th, 1867, two years after the
famous Coignet, who lived to be ninety years old. The terrible
hardships they had gone through had not the effect of shortening their
lives. But a man had to be exceptionally strong to survive them.
Unhappily his last days were clouded by physical suffering, but neither
his good temper nor the philosophy of his character was spoiled by it.
Mme. Bussière, one of his nieces, came after the death of his second
wife to take care of him, and, by her devoted care, to give him all the
relief possible.
Two portraits of our hero are given here. One is the facsimile of
a drawing by Alphonse Chigot; it is Bourgogne in profile, dressed
in ordinary clothes, at the time of his leaving the service; the
frontispiece, an earlier lithograph, shows him at the age of
forty-five, with the stern official air and hard glance of an
Adjutant-in-charge, a living personification of command. What we know,
however, of his natural kindness shows us the truth of the poet's
precept:
'Garde-toi, tant que tu vivra,
De juger les gens sur la mine!'
Let us add that in his youth he was called a handsome soldier; his
height and military carriage were impressive.[9] We have made no
alteration in the text other than to correct mistakes of spelling
and the suppression of unnecessary words. Less scruple was shown in
a paper--now out of print (_L'Écho de la Frontière_)--which in 1857
published a part of the Memoirs of Bourgogne, and corrected them so
effectually that all the original flavor had vanished.
The collection of _L'Écho de la Frontière_ is very rare. The only
copy I know of is in the library at Valenciennes. The Bourgogne paper
was torn away from it, and we have only found two copies, one at the
National Library, the other in the library of M. le Baron Olivier de
Watteville. These contain only part of the text published by the paper,
and do not go further than p. 176 of the present volume. _L'Écho de
la Frontière_ takes the reader to p. 286. We have therefore treated
these Memoirs as having the value of an unpublished work up to their
publication in 1896 in our _Nouvelle Revue Rétrospective_.[10]
We must acknowledge with gratitude our indebtedness to M. Maurice
Henault, keeper of the records at Valenciennes, for having communicated
to us the original manuscript, now preserved in the town library. He
did far more, by copying with his own hand the 616 pages in folio of
the manuscript, thus guaranteeing the accuracy of the copy.
We also express our thanks to M. Auguste Molinier, whose original idea
it was to offer the publication of the manuscript to the _Nouvelle
Revue Rétrospective_, and to M. Ed. Martel, who made inquiries as to
the Bourgogne family at Valenciennes and Condé. We must also mention
our hero's nephews, M. le Docteur Bourgogne and M. Amadée Bourgogne, M.
Loriaux--his former landlord--and M. Paul Marmottau, who have given us
valuable assistance in our work.
Paul Cottin.
_December 13th, 1896._
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: He was wounded in the neck and leg; the ball entered the
right thigh, and could never be extracted. Towards the end of his life
it had worked down to about twelve inches above the foot.]
[Footnote 2: Note here passage in Book 282 in French copy.]
[Footnote 3: About 14° below zero, Fahrenheit.]
[Footnote 4: 'As the Emperor is no longer in France,' he said himself
in a note in his Memoirs, 'I shall throw up my commission.']
[Footnote 5: Bourgogne married at Condé on August 31st, 1814, Thérèse
Fortunée Demarez. After her death, in 1822, he married Philippine
Godart, a native of Tournai.]
[Footnote 6: 'In 1830,' he said in the note already quoted 'I shall
return to the service when the tricolor reappears.']
[Footnote 7: Our sergeant had three brothers and a sister, of whom
he was the eldest: François, Professor of Mathematics at the College
of Condé; Firmin, died young; Florence, married to a brewer; Louis
Florent, Doctor of Medicine of the Faculty of Paris, died in 1870.
Marie Françoise Monnier, their mother, was born at Condé in 1764.]
[Footnote 8: We found M. de Vatimesnil's letters in the military
portfolio of Bourgogne, in the War Archives.]
[Footnote 9: We give here a list, copied from the Memoirs, of the
important battles in which Bourgogne took part: Jena, Pultusk, Eylau,
Eilsberg, Friedland, Essling, Wagram, Sorno-Sierra, Benévent, Smolensk,
La Moskowa, Krasnoë, La Bérézina, Lutzen, and Bautzen. 'I may add,' he
said, 'more than twenty small encounters and other skirmishes.']
[Footnote 10: Bourgogne's Memoirs appeared for the first time _in
extenso_ in our _Nouvelle Revue Rétrospective_, which for the last
fourteen years has been devoted to the publication of documents on our
national history.]
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE vii
CHAPTER I.
FROM ALMEIDA TO MOSCOW 1
CHAPTER II.
THE FIRE AT MOSCOW 14
CHAPTER III.
THE RETREAT--REVIEW OF MY KNAPSACK--THE EMPEROR
IN DANGER--FROM MOJAISK TO SLAWKOWO 55
CHAPTER IV.
DOROGOBOUI--VERMIN--A CANTINIÈRE--HUNGER 65
CHAPTER V.
A DISASTER--A FAMILY DRAMA--MARSHAL MORTIER--TWENTY-SEVEN
DEGREES OF FROST--WE REACH
SMOLENSK--A DEN OF THIEVES 74
CHAPTER VI.
A DISTURBED NIGHT--I FIND MY FRIENDS AGAIN--WE
LEAVE SMOLENSK--A NECESSARY CORRECTION--THE
BATTLE OF KRASNOË--MELLÉ THE DRAGOON 93
CHAPTER VII.
THE RETREAT GOES ON--I TAKE A WIFE--DISCOURAGEMENT--I
LOSE SIGHT OF MY COMRADES--DRAMATIC
SCENE--MEETING WITH PICART 122
CHAPTER VIII.
I TRAVEL WITH PICART--THE COSSACKS--PICART IS
WOUNDED--A CONVOY OF FRENCH PRISONERS--A
HALT IN A FOREST--POLISH HOSPITALITY--AN ATTACK
OF INSANITY--WE REJOIN THE ARMY--THE EMPEROR
AND THE SACRED BATTALION--THE CROSSING OF THE
BÉRÉZINA 145
CHAPTER IX.
FROM THE BÉRÉZINA TO WILNA--THE JEWS 207
CHAPTER X.
FROM WILNA TO KOWNO--THE REGIMENTAL DOG--MARSHAL
NEY--THE TREASURY OF THE ARMY--I
AM POISONED--THE THIEVES' DRIPPING--THE OLD
GRENADIER, FALOPPA--GENERAL ROGUET--FROM
KOWNO TO ELBING--TWO CANTINIÈRES--THE ADVENTURES
OF A SERGEANT--I FIND PICART AGAIN--THE
SLEDGE AND THE JEWS--A SHREW--EYLAU--ARRIVAL
AT ELBING 229
CHAPTER XI.
OUR STAY AT ELBING--MADAME GENTIL--AN UNCLE'S
HEIR--JANUARY 1ST, 1813--PICART AND THE
PRUSSIANS--FATHER ELLIOT--MY WITNESSES 329
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Sergeant Bourgogne in 1830. _Frontispiece_
The French Receiving Hospitality from Russian Women, 50
The Bridge over the Kolotscha near Borodino, September
17, 1812, 90
On the High Road from Mojaiska to Krymskoïe, September
18, 1812, 130
Bivouac near Mikalewka, November 7, 1812, 170
On the Road between Braunsberg and Elbing, December 21,
1812, 210
Passage of the Berezina, November, 1812, 250
Beside the Road, not far from Pnéwa, November 8, 1812, 300
MEMOIRS OF
SERGEANT BOURGOGNE
CHAPTER I.
FROM ALMEIDA TO MOSCOW.
It was in the month of March, 1812, while we were engaged against the
English army commanded by Wellington, at Almeida in Portugal, that we
received orders to march for Russia.
We crossed Spain, each day being marked by an engagement, sometimes by
two and in this way reached Bayonne, the first town over the frontier
in France.
On leaving this place, we travelled by the stage as far as Paris, where
we expected to stay and rest; but after a halt of forty-eight hours,
the Emperor reviewed us, and, deciding that we were not in need of
rest, marched us all along the boulevards. Then we turned to the left
in the Rue St. Martin, crossed La Villette, and found several hundred
coaches and other vehicles waiting for us; we halted, but were ordered
to mount four into every carriage--and, crack! we were off to Meaux.
From there onwards to the Rhine in waggons, travelling day and night.
We stayed at Mayence, and then crossed the Rhine, afterwards passing
on foot through the grand-duchy of Frankfort,[11] Franconia, Saxony,
Prussia, and Poland. We crossed the Vistula at Marienwerder, entered
Pomerania, and on the morning of June 25, a beautiful day (not, as
M. de Ségur said, in bad weather), we passed over the Niemen by our
pontoons, and entered Lithuania, the first province in Russia.
On the next day we left our first position, and marched until the 29th,
without anything noteworthy happening; but during the night of the
29th and 30th we heard a rumbling noise--it was thunder accompanied by
a furious wind. Masses of clouds gathered over our heads, and broke.
The thunder and the wind lasted for more than two hours, and in a few
minutes our fires were put out, our shelter torn away, our piled arms
thrown down. We were lost, and did not know which way to turn. I ran
to take shelter in the direction of the village where the General was
lodged, but I had only the lightning to guide me--suddenly, in one of
the flashes, I thought I saw a road (it was unfortunately a canal,
swollen by the rain to the level of the ground). Expecting to find
solid earth under my feet, I plunged in and sank. On rising to the
surface I swam to the other bank, and at last reached the village. I
walked into the first house I saw, and entered a room filled by about
twenty men, officers, and servants, all asleep. I took possession of a
bench placed near a large warm stove, and, undressing, wrung the water
out of my shirt and other clothes, huddling myself up on the bench
till they were dry; when daylight came, I dressed as well as I could,
and left the house to look for my weapons and knapsack, which I found
scattered in the mud.
On the 30th, a beautiful sun dried everything, and the same day we
reached Wilna, the capital of Lithuania, where the Emperor had arrived
the day before, with some of the Guard.
While we were there, I received a letter from my mother, enclosing
another addressed to M. Constant, the Emperor's chief valet, who came
from Peruwelz[12] in Belgium. This letter was from his mother, an
acquaintance of my mother's. I went to the Emperor's lodging to deliver
the letter, but only saw Roustan, the Emperor's mameluke, who told me
that M. Constant had gone out with His Majesty. He invited me to wait
till he returned, but, as I was on duty, I could not do so. I gave him
the letter, and decided to come back and see M. Constant another time.
But the next day, July 16, we left the town, at ten o'clock in the
evening, going towards Borisow, and on the 27th we reached Witebsk,
where we encountered Russians. We took up our position on a height
above the town. The enemy occupied hills to right and left.
The cavalry, commanded by Murat, had already made several charges.
Just as we arrived we saw 200 Voltigeurs of the 9th Regiment, who had
ventured too far, met by a portion of the Russian cavalry, which had
just been repulsed. Unless help arrived speedily to our men, they were
lost, as the river and some deep gullies made access to them very
difficult. But they were commanded by gallant officers, who swore, as
did also the men, to kill themselves rather than not come honourably
out of it. Fighting as they went, they reached a piece of favourable
ground. They formed a square, and having been under fire before, their
nerves were not shaken by the number of the enemy. They were quite
surrounded, however, by a regiment of Lancers and other horse trying
in vain to cut through them, and soon they had a rampart of killed and
wounded all round them, both of men and horses. This formed another
obstacle for the Russians, who, terrified, fled in disorder, amid cries
of joy from the whole army.
Our men came back again quietly, as conquerors, every now and then
stopping to face the enemy. The Emperor at once sent for the most
distinguished, and decorated them with the order of the Legion of
Honour. From a height opposite to ours, the Russians had, like us, seen
the engagement and flight of their cavalry.
After this brush we made our bivouacs, and directly afterwards I had a
visit from twelve young men from my own country (Condé); ten of them
were drummers, one a drum-major, and the twelfth was a corporal of
Voltigeurs. They all wore side-arms. I told them how much pleasure it
gave me to see them, and said I was sorry I had nothing to offer them.
The drum-major said:
'_Mon pays_, we did not come for that, but to beg you to come with us
and share what we have, wine, gin, and other things very good for you.
We took them yesterday evening from the Russian General. There was a
little cart holding his kitchen and everything belonging to it. We have
put it all into the canteen cart, with Florencia our _cantinière_--she
is a pretty Spaniard. She might be taken for my wife: I protect
her--honourably, I can tell you!' As he said this, he struck the hilt
of his long rapier. 'She is a good woman: ask the others--no one dares
say anything else. She had a fancy for a sergeant, who was to have
married her; but he was murdered by a Spaniard from Bilbao, and until
she has chosen someone else she must be taken care of. Well, then, _mon
pays_, it is settled: you--you'll come with us. If there's enough for
three, there's enough for four. Come, right about! march!' And we set
off towards their army corps, which formed the advance guard.
Well, we got to the camp of the natives of Condé. There were four
guests--two dragoons, Mellé, who was from Condé, Flament from Peruwelz,
and Grangier, a non-commissioned officer in the same regiment as
myself. We sat down near the _cantinière's_ cart. She really was a very
pretty Spaniard, and she was overjoyed to see us, as we had just come
from her own country, and could speak her language pretty well--the
dragoon Flament best of all--so we spent the night in drinking the
Russian General's wine and talking of our country.
Day was just breaking, when a sound of artillery put a stop to our
talking. We went back to our own quarters, hoping to meet again.
The poor fellows little thought that in a few days eleven of them would
not be alive.
This was the 28th. We expected to fight, but the Russian army
retreated, and the same day we got to Witebsk, where we stayed a
fortnight. Our regiment occupied one of the faubourgs of the town.
I was quartered with a Jew, who had a pretty wife and two charming
daughters with lovely oval faces. In this house I found a little vat
for making beer, some barley, and a hand-mill for grinding, but no
hops. I gave the Jew twelve francs to get some, and for fear he might
not return we kept Rachel his wife and his two daughters as hostages.
However twenty-four hours after his departure Jacob the Jew returned
with the hops. In our company was a brewer, a Fleming, who made us five
barrels of excellent beer.
On August 13, when we left the town, we still had two barrels of beer
left; we put them under the care of Mother Dubois, our _cantinière_.
The happy idea then occurred to her of staying behind and of selling
the beer for her own profit to the men who were following us, while we,
in the sweltering heat, were nearly dead of thirst.
Early on the morning of the 16th we arrived before Smolensk. The enemy
had just retired there, and we took up our position on the Champ Sacré,
so called by the natives of the place. This town is surrounded by
very strong walls, and old towers, half made of wood. The Boristhène
(Dnieper) runs on one side of the town. The siege was begun at once and
a breach made, and on the morning of the 17th, when we were preparing
to make an assault, to our surprise we found the town evacuated. The
Russians were retreating, but they had demolished the bridge, and from
a height which commanded the town they rained down bombs and shot on us.
During that day of the siege I, with one of my friends, was stationed
at the outposts whence batteries were playing on the town. Marshal
Davoust commanded this position. Recognising us as belonging to the
Guard, he came to us and asked where the Imperial Guard was. Directly
afterwards he was told that the Russians had left the town, and were
advancing in our direction. He immediately ordered a battalion of
Light Infantry to take the advanced position, saying to the officer in
command, 'If the enemy advances you will drive them back.' I remember
an old officer of this battalion, as he went forward, singing Roland's
song:
'Combien sont-ils? Combien sont-ils?
C'est le cri du soldat sans gloire!'[13]
Five minutes afterwards they advanced with the bayonet on the Russian
column, and forced it to re-enter the town.
As we returned to our own camp, we were very nearly killed by a shell;
another fell on a barn inhabited by Marshal Mortier, and set it on
fire. I recognised among the men who brought water to extinguish the
fire a young soldier from my own country; he was in a regiment of the
Young Guard.[14]
While we stayed outside the town, I visited the cathedral, where a
large number of the inhabitants had taken refuge, their houses having
been destroyed.
On the 21st we left, and the same day we crossed the Valoutina plain,
where two days before a terrible encounter had taken place, and the
brave General Gudin had been killed.
We continued to advance, and by forced marches arrived at a town called
Dorogoboui. We left on the 24th, following up the Russians as far as
Viazma, which was already in flames, and found there some brandy and a
little food. We went on to Ghjal, which we reached on September 1st;
there we stayed until the 4th, when we went forward again, and on the
5th met the Russian army in position. The 61st captured their first
redoubt.
We got ready on the 6th for the great battle on the next day; some
cleaned muskets and other weapons, others made bandages for the
wounded, some made their wills, and others, again, sang or slept in
perfect indifference. The whole of the Imperial Guard received orders
to appear in full uniform.
At five o'clock on the morning of the next day we were under arms. The
Emperor passed near us while he reviewed the whole line; he had been
mounted for more than half an hour.
The battle began at seven o'clock. I cannot describe it in detail,
but the whole army was overjoyed to hear the roar of the artillery,
feeling certain that this time the Russians had not decamped, and that
we should come face to face with them. The evening before, and for
part of the night, a fine cold rain had fallen, but on this great day
the weather was magnificent. This, like all our great battles, was won
by the artillery, which fired 120,000 rounds. The Russians lost at
least 50,000 men, either killed or wounded. Our loss was 17,000 men;
forty-three Generals disabled, eight of whom, to my knowledge, were
killed on the spot. These were: Montbrun, Huard, Caulaincourt (the
brother of the Emperor's equerry), Compère Maison, Plauzonne, Lepel,
and Anabert. This last was Colonel of a regiment of foot chasseurs.
Each moment a message was sent to the Emperor, 'Sire, such and such a
General is killed or wounded,' and his place had to be filled on the
spot. This was how Colonel Anabert was made General. I remember it very
well, for I was close to the Emperor at the time. His words were:
'Colonel, I appoint you General; lead the division which is in front of
the great redoubt, and take it.'
The General galloped off, with his adjutant-major following him as
his aide-de-camp. A quarter of an hour afterwards the aide-de-camp
returned, and announced to the Emperor that the redoubt was taken, but
that the General was wounded. Eight days afterwards he died, along
with several others. I heard that the Russians lost fifty Generals,
either killed or wounded. While the fighting lasted, we were placed in
reserve, behind General Miaut's division; balls fell all amongst our
ranks, and round the Emperor.
The battle ended with the day, and we remained on the field all night,
and all the next day (the 8th). I spent that day in walking over the
field--a sad and terrible spectacle. Grangier was with me, and we went
as far as the ravine, the position so hotly disputed during the battle.
Murat had ordered his tents to be pitched there. Just as we arrived
we saw him superintend the amputation by his own surgeon of the legs
of two gunners of the Imperial Russian Guard. When the operation was
over, he gave them each a glass of wine. Afterwards he walked on the
edge of the ravine, examining the plain which lies on the other side,
fringed by a wood. There, on the preceding day, he had made more than
one Muscovite bite the dust while he and his cavalry charged the
retreating enemy. He was splendid to look at--so distinguished by his
gallantry, his cool courage, and his handsome appearance--giving his
orders to those under his command, and raining blows on his enemies. He
was easily picked out by his cap, his white aigrette, and his floating
cloak.
On the morning of the 9th we left the battlefield, and during the day
reached Mojaisk. The Russian rear-guard was on a height the opposite
side of the town from that occupied by us. A company of Voltigeurs and
Grenadiers, with more than a hundred men of the 33rd, making part of
the advance-guard, ascended the hill without troubling themselves about
the number of the enemy waiting for them. A part of the army, still in
the town, watched them astonished, as several squadrons of Cuirassiers
and Cossacks advanced and surrounded the Voltigeurs and Grenadiers.
But, as if they had foreseen all that, they quietly reunited, formed
into platoons, then in a square, and fired from all four sides on the
Russians surrounding them.
We gave them up for lost, knowing the distance separating us from them,
and no help being possible. A Russian superior officer went up to
them, telling them to surrender; the officer in command of the French
answered him by killing him. Upon this the cavalry, terrified, ran away
and left our men masters of the field.[15]
On the 10th we followed the enemy until the evening; and when we
stopped I was put in command of a guard near a château where the
Emperor lodged. I had just placed my men on a road leading to the
château, when a Polish servant, whose master was on the Emperor's
staff, passed near us, leading a horse laden with baggage. The horse
was worn out, sank down, and refused to get up again. The servant took
the baggage and went off. He had hardly left us when the men, who were
hungry, killed the horse, so that all night we were busy eating it and
cooking for the next day.
Soon afterwards the Emperor passed on foot, accompanied by Murat and a
member of the Conseil d'Etat, on their way to the highroad. I made my
sentries present arms. The Emperor stopped in front of us, and near the
horse, which filled up the road. He asked me if we were eating it.
I replied, 'Yes.'
He smiled and said, 'Patience! In four days we shall be at Moscow,
where you will have rest and proper food--however good that horse may
be.'
His prediction was fulfilled, for four days afterwards we arrived at
that city.
The next day (the 11th) and following days we marched in beautiful
weather. On the 13th we slept at a place near a beautiful abbey, and
several other fine buildings. We could see that we were approaching a
great capital.
On the 14th we set out very early; we passed near a ravine where
the Russians had begun to make redoubts for defence, and directly
afterwards we entered a great forest of pines and birches, where we
found a beautiful road. Now we were quite near Moscow.
On that day I was with an advance guard of fifteen men. After marching
for an hour, the Imperial column halted, and just then I saw a
linesman with his left arm in a sling. He was leaning on his musket,
and seemed to be waiting for someone. I recognised him at once as one
of the Condé men who had been to see me at Witebsk. He was there hoping
to meet me. I went up to him, and asked him after his friends.
'They are well,' he answered, striking the ground with the butt-end
of his musket. 'They all died on the field of honour, as they say,
and were buried in the great redoubt. They were killed by round shot.
Ah, sergeant,' he went on, 'never shall I forget that battle--what
slaughter!'
'And you,' I said--'what is the matter with you?'
'Ah, bah! nothing. A ball between the elbow and shoulder. Sit down for
a minute, and let us talk of our poor comrades and the young Spaniard,
our _cantinière_.'
This is what he told me:
'We had been fighting since seven in the morning, when General
Campans, who commanded us, was wounded. The officer who took his place
was wounded also, and then the third. A fourth came. This one from
the Guard. Directly he took command, he ordered the drums to sound
the charge. That was how our regiment (the 61st) was destroyed by
grape-shot--that was how our friends were killed, the redoubt taken,
and the General wounded. It was General Anabert. During the action I
got a ball in the arm, without knowing it at the time.
'Soon afterwards my wound began to pain me, and I went to the ambulance
to have the ball extracted. I had not gone many steps before I met
the young Spaniard, our _cantinière_; she was in tears. Some men had
told her that nearly all the drummers of the regiment were killed or
wounded. She said she wanted to see them, to help them if she could;
so, in spite of the pain I suffered from my wound, I determined to
accompany her. We walked in the midst of wounded men; some moved
painfully and with difficulty, and others were carried on litters.
'When we got near the great redoubt and that field of carnage, she
uttered heart-rending cries. But when she caught sight of all the
broken drums of the regiment strewing the ground, she became like a
madwoman. "Here, my friend, here!" she cried; "they are here!" And so
they were, lying with broken limbs, their bodies torn by shot. Mad with
grief, she went from one to the other, speaking softly to them; but
none of them heard. Some, however, still gave signs of life, one of
them being the drum-major, whom she called her father. She stopped by
him, and, falling on her knees, she raised his head and poured a few
drops of brandy between his lips. Just at that moment the Russians made
an effort to retake the redoubt, and the firing and cannonade began
again. Suddenly the Spaniard cried with pain; she had been struck by a
ball in her left hand, which crushed her thumb and entered the shoulder
of the dying man she held. She fell unconscious. Seeing her danger, I
tried to raise her, and take her to the baggage and ambulance waggons.
But with only one arm I had not strength enough. Happily, a Cuirassier
passed on foot close to us. He did not need asking; he only said,
"Quick! we must hurry; this is not a pleasant place." In fact, the
bullets were whistling round us. Without more ado he lifted the young
Spaniard and carried her like a child. She still remained unconscious.
After walking for ten minutes, we got to a little wood where there was
an ambulance of the Guard Artillery. Here Florencia came to her senses.
'M. Larrey, the Emperor's surgeon, amputated her thumb, and extracted
the ball from my arm very cleverly, and now I feel all right again.'
This is what I heard from Dumont, the man from Condé, corporal of the
Voltigeurs of the 61st. I made him promise to come to see me at Moscow,
if we stayed there; but I never heard of him again.
Thus perished twelve young men from Condé in the famous Battle of
Moskowa, September 7th, 1812.
End of the abstract of our march from Portugal to Moscow.
Bourgogne,[16]
_Ex-Grenadier of the Imperial Guard, Chevalier
of the Légion d'Honneur._
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 11: Frankfort had been raised to a grand-duchy by Napoleon in
1806, in favour of the Elector of Mayence.]
[Footnote 12: A large Belgian town, seven kilometres from Condé; a
favourite excursion, on account of the pilgrimage of Bonsecours.]
[Footnote 13:
'Combien sont-ils? Combien sont-ils?
Quel homme ennemi de sa gloire
Peut demander! Combien sont-ils?
Eh! demande ou sont les perils,
C'est la qu'est aussi la victoire!'
These are the exact words of the third verse of 'Roland à Roncevaux,' a
song (words and music) by Rouget de L'Isle.]
[Footnote 14: Dumoulin, died of fever at Moscow.--_Author's Note._]
[Footnote 15: One of my friends, a Vélite Captain Sabatier, commanded
the Voltigeurs.--_Author's Note._]
[Footnote 16: Bourgogne's signature at the end of this chapter shows
that he considered it as a kind of introduction.]