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.

We were only a quarter of a league from the town, when we saw the

Cossacks to our left upon the heights, and to our right on the plain;

however, they did not dare venture within reach of us. After having

marched for some time, I found the horse of an officer of artillery

stretched on the ground; it had a schabraque of sheepskin on its back.

This was just what I wanted to cover my poor ears, for it would have

been impossible for me to go any distance without risking the loss of

them. I had in my haversack the scissors belonging to the surgeon's

case found on the Cossack I had killed on November 23rd. I tried to set

to work to cut some of it away, and make what we called ear-lappets to

replace the Rabbi's cap; but having my right hand frozen, and the other

benumbed, I could not manage it. I was in despair, when a man belonging

to the garrison of Wilna came up. He was stronger than I, and succeeded

in cutting the band fastening the schabraque to the horse; then he gave

me half of it. Until I could arrange it better, I put it over my head

and continued my way.

I now heard cannon, and then musketry fire; it was the rear-guard

leaving the town, with Marshal Ney in command, engaging the Russians.

Those who were no longer able to fight ran as fast as they possibly

could. I tried to follow them, but my frozen foot and bad boots

prevented me; then the colic, which came on repeatedly, and forced me

to stop, hindered me, and I found myself always in the rear. I heard a

confused sound behind me, and I was hustled by several men of the Rhine

Confederation running off as fast as they could. I fell full length in

the snow, and immediately several others passed over my body. I raised

myself with great difficulty, for I was in great pain; but I was so

accustomed to suffering, I said nothing. The rear-guard was not far

off--if it passed me I was lost; but the Marshal called a halt, to give

the other men still leaving the town time to join us. To hold the enemy

in check, the Marshal had with him about 300 men.

In front of me was a man whom I recognised by his cloak as belonging to

the regiment. He was walking very much bent, apparently overwhelmed by

the weight of a burden he was carrying upon his knapsack and shoulders.

Making an effort to get near him, I saw that the burden was a dog,

and that the man was an old sergeant named Daubenton.[59] The dog he

carried was the regimental dog, though I did not recognise it. I told

him how surprised I was at seeing him carrying the dog, when he had

trouble to drag himself along; and, without giving him the time to

reply, I asked him if the dog was to eat--if so, I should prefer the

horse.

'No,' he answered; 'I would rather eat Cossack. But don't you recognise

Mouton? His paws are frozen, and now he can't walk any longer.'

'Now I do,' I said; 'but what can you do with him?'

As we walked, Mouton, whose back I had patted with my bandaged right

hand, raised his head to look at me, and seemed to recognise me.

Daubenton assured me that from seven in the morning, and even before,

the Russians had occupied the first houses of the suburb where we had

lodged, that all that remained of the Guard had left it at six, and

that it was certain that more than 12,000 men of the army, officers and

soldiers who were no longer able to march, had remained in the hands

of the enemy. He had just missed submitting to the same fate himself

through devotion to his dog. He saw very well that he would be obliged

to leave him on the way in the snow. The evening of the day when we had

arrived at Wilna--at twenty-eight degrees--the poor dog had had his

paws frozen, and this morning, seeing that he could walk no longer, he

had made up his mind to leave him; but poor Mouton got an idea that he

was to be deserted, for he began to howl in such a way that in the end

he decided to let him follow. But hardly had he taken six steps along

the street when he saw his unfortunate dog fall upon his nose; so he

fastened him across his shoulders over his knapsack, and it was in this

fashion that he had rejoined Marshal Ney, who with a handful of men

formed the rear-guard.

Whilst still marching, we found ourselves stopped by an overturned

waggon barring part of the way; it was open, and contained canvas bags,

but all these were empty. This waggon had probably left Wilna the

preceding evening or in the morning, and had been pillaged by the way,

for it had been laden with biscuits and flour. I proposed to Daubenton

to halt a moment, for my colic had come on again; he consented

willingly, especially as he wished to rid himself of Mouton in one way

or another.

We had hardly stopped, when we saw at the back of a ravine a troop of

about thirty young Hessians who had formed part of the garrison of

Wilna, and had left there at daybreak. They were waiting for Marshal

Ney, about thirty paces away from us, and ahead of us to the right. At

the same moment we saw on our left another troop of horsemen, about

twenty in number. We recognised them at once for Russians; they were

Cuirassiers in black cuirasses over white coats, accompanied by several

Cossacks scattered here and there. They moved on so as to cut off the

Hessians and ourselves, and a vast number of other unfortunate men

who had just caught sight of them, and who turned back to rejoin the

rear-guard, crying out, 'Beware of the Cossacks!'

The Hessians, under command of two officers who had probably caught

sight of the Russians before we did, put themselves in order of defence.

At this moment we saw a Grenadier of the line pass near to us, running

to take rank among the Hessians; we prepared to do the same, but

Daubenton, hampered by Mouton, wished to put him in the waggon. We

had not time, however, for the cavalry came at a gallop alongside the

Hessians. There they halted, signing to them to lay down their arms.

A musket-shot was the reply; it was that of the French Grenadier,

followed by a general discharge from the Hessians.

At this report, we expected to see half the troopers fall, but, to our

astonishment, not one did so, and the officer who was in advance, and

who ought to have been shot in pieces, seemed to be whole and sound.

His horse simply leapt to one side. He turned round again instantly

towards his men; they all thundered upon the Hessians, and in less

than two minutes they were sabred. Several took to flight, but the

cavalry pursued them.

At the same time Daubenton, wishing to rid himself of Mouton, called

out to me to help him, but three of the men in pursuit of the Hessians

passed close by him. So as to defend himself better, Daubenton thought

of retiring under the waggon, where I had taken refuge, suffering

terribly from colic and cold; but he had not time, for one of the three

horsemen was on the point of charging him. Daubenton was fortunate

enough to see the man in time, and get ready for him, but not so well

as he could wish, for Mouton, barking like a good dog, hampered him in

his movements. Meanwhile, although nearly dying of cold, I felt rather

better, and had arranged my right hand to make use of my weapon the

best way possible, having hardly any strength left, to speak of.

The man wheeled continually round Daubenton, but at a certain distance,

fearing a musket-shot. Seeing that neither of us attempted to fire,

he no doubt thought that we were without powder, for he advanced upon

Daubenton and hit him a blow with his sword, which the latter parried

with the barrel of his musket. Instantly the man crossed to the right,

and gave him a second blow upon the left shoulder, which struck Mouton

on the head. The poor dog howled enough to break one's heart. Although

wounded and with frozen paws, he leapt off his master's back to run

after the man; but being fastened to the straps of the knapsack, he

pulled Daubenton down, and I thought all was over with him.

I dragged myself on my knees about two steps ahead and took aim, but

the priming of my gun did not burn. Then the man, shouting savagely,

threw himself on me, but I had had time to get under the waggon and

present my bayonet at him.

Seeing that he could do nothing to me, he returned to Daubenton, who

had not yet been able to rise on account of Mouton, who all the time

dragged him sideways, howling and barking after the cavalry. Daubenton

was dragged against the shafts of the waggon, so that his enemy on

horseback could not get near him. This man faced Daubenton, his sword

raised as if to split him in two, appearing all the while to mock at

him.

Daubenton, although half dead with cold and hunger, his face thin,

pale, and blackened by the bivouac fires, still seemed full of energy;

but he looked odd and really comical, as that devil of a dog was

barking all the time, and dragging him sideways. His eyes were shining,

his mouth foamed with rage at being at the mercy of such an enemy, who

in any other circumstances would not have dared stand up one minute

before him. To quench his thirst, I saw him fill his hand with snow and

carry it to his mouth, and instantly seize his weapon again; now in his

turn he threatened his enemy.

By the man's shouts and gestures, one could see that he had no command

over himself, and seemed to have drunk a great deal of brandy. We saw

the others passing, repassing, and shouting round some men who had not

been able to reach the side where the rear-guard would come; we saw

them thrown into the snow and trampled under the horses' feet, for

almost all who followed were without arms, wounded, or with frozen feet

and hands. Others, who were stronger, as well as some Hessians escaped

from the first charge, were able to withstand them for a little, but

that could not last, either--they must be relieved or captured.

The cavalryman with whom my old comrade was doing business had just

passed to the left, when Daubenton shouted out to me: 'Don't be

frightened! don't stir! I'll finish him off.' Scarcely had he said

these words, when he fired. He was luckier than I. The Cuirassier

was struck by a ball which entered under the right arm first, and

passed out again on the left side. He uttered a savage cry, moved

convulsively, and at the same moment his sword fell with the arm that

held it. Then a stream of blood came from his mouth, his body fell

forward over his horse's head, and in this position he remained as if

dead.

Hardly was Daubenton rid of his enemy and free from Mouton so as to

seize the horse, when we heard behind us a great noise, then cries of

'Forward! Fix bayonets!' I came out of my waggon, looked towards the

side from which the cries came, and saw Marshal Ney, musket in hand,

running up at the head of a party of the rear-guard. The Russians, on

seeing him, took to flight in all directions. Those who rushed to the

right on the side of the plain found a large ditch filled with ice and

snow, which prevented them crossing. Several flung themselves in it

with their horses, others stopped still in the middle of the road, not

knowing where to go. The rear-guard seized several horses, and made

their riders walk on foot amongst them. Afterwards they were left on

the road. What else could one do? One could barely look after one's

self.

I shall never forget the Marshal's commanding air at this moment, his

splendid attitude towards the enemy, and the confidence with which he

inspired the unhappy sick and wounded round him. In this moment he

was like one of the heroes of old time. In these last days of this

disastrous retreat he was the saviour of the remnant of the army.

All this took place in less than ten minutes. Daubenton had rid himself

of Mouton, so as to get hold of the horse, when a man, emerging from

behind a clump of pines, threw the Cuirassier off the horse, seized the

animal by the bridle, and made off. Daubenton shouted to him: 'Stop,

rascal! That is my horse. I killed the fellow!' But the other escaped

with the horse amongst the rabble of men who were hurrying forward.

Then Daubenton called out to me: 'Look after Mouton. I am going after

the horse; I must have him, or there will be the devil to pay.' The

last word was hardly out of his mouth, when more than 4,000 stragglers

of all nations came on like a torrent, separating me from him and from

Mouton, whom I never saw again.

This seems to be the place for giving a little biography of the

regimental dog.

Mouton had been with us since 1808. We found him in Spain, near the

Bonaventura, on the banks of a river where the English had cut the

bridge. He came with us to Germany. In 1809 he assisted at the Battles

of Essling and Wagram; afterwards he returned to Spain in 1810-11.

He left with the regiment for Russia; but in Saxony he was lost, or

perhaps stolen, for Mouton was a handsome poodle. Ten days after our

arrival in Moscow we were immensely surprised at seeing him again.

A detachment composed of fifteen men had left Paris some days after

our departure to rejoin the regiment, and as they passed through the

place where he had disappeared, the dog had recognised the regimental

uniform, and followed the detachment.

Whilst marching in the midst of men, women, and even some children,

I was constantly looking about for Daubenton, whom I regretted very

much; but behind only Marshal Ney and his rear-guard were to be seen,

taking up a position on the little eminence where the Hessians had been

attacked.

After this adventure I was forced to stop again, as I was suffering

so much from my colic. In front, I could see the Ponari mountain from

the foot to the summit. The road about three-fourths up the left slope

could be traced by the number of waggons, carrying more than seven

millions in gold and silver, as well as other baggage, and carriages

drawn by horses whose strength was exhausted, so that they had to be

left on the road.

A quarter of an hour after, I arrived at the foot of the mountain,

where some had bivouacked during the night. Traces of the fires were

still to be seen--several still alight, and around them men warming

themselves before attempting the ascent. Here I learnt that the carts

which had left Wilna the evening before at midnight, on reaching a

defile, had not been able to go further. One of the first waggons had

fallen open on turning over, and the money in it had been taken by

those standing near. The other carriages, from top to bottom of the

mountain, were obliged to halt. Many horses had fallen to rise no more.

While they told me this, we heard the musketry fire of Marshal Ney's

rear-guard, and on the left Cossacks were visible, drawn by the sight

of booty. They advanced very cautiously, however, waiting till the

rear-guard should have passed to reap their harvest safely.

I started off again, but, instead of taking the road of the waggons,

rounded the mountain to the right. Here several carts had tried to

pass, but all had been overthrown into the ditch at the side. One

waggon had a great many trunks still in it. I should have liked to

carry one off, but in my feeble state I did not dare to risk it,

fearing I might not be able to climb out of the ditch again if I once

got down. Fortunately, a man of the hospital corps from the Wilna

garrison, seeing my dilemma, was kind enough to go down, and threw me

a box, in which I found four beautiful shirts of fine linen and some

cotton trousers.

Since November 5th I had not changed a shirt, and my shreds and tatters

were filled with vermin, so I put the whole into my knapsack, delighted.

A little further on I picked up a band-box containing two superb hats.

As it was very light, I put it under my arm; I really don't know

why-probably to exchange it for something else if I had the opportunity.

The road I was following turned to the left across some brushwood to

rejoin the highway. This road had been beaten out by the first men who

at daybreak had crossed the mountain. After half an hour of painful

walking, I heard a heavy fusillade, accompanied by loud cries, coming

from the side of the waggons. Marshal Ney, seeing that the booty could

not be saved, was having it distributed among the men, and at the same

time kept the Cossacks off by steady firing.

Over on my side, to the right, I saw some Cossacks advancing steadily.

There was no one to check them but some men scattered here and there

upon the mountain, trying to gain the road. All at once I was forced to

stop: my legs gave way under me. I drank a good mouthful of my brandy

and struggled on. I reached at last a point on the mountain not far

from the road, and as I was searching for the right direction, the snow

crumbled under me, and I sank more than five feet up to the eyes, and

was nearly suffocated. It was with great trouble that I dragged myself

out, completely exhausted with cold.

A little further on I caught sight of a hut, and seeing some people in

it, I stopped there. They were about twenty men belonging to the Guard,

all with bags containing five-franc pieces. Several of them, on seeing

me, began to call out, 'Who would like 100 francs for a twenty-franc

piece in gold?' But finding no one to exchange with them, they

concluded by offering some to those who were without any. Just then I

cared more for life than for money, so I refused, for I had about 800

francs in gold, and more than 100 francs in five-franc pieces.

I remained in this hut long enough to fasten the sheepskin over my

head, so as to keep the cold off my ears, but I had no time to change

my shirt. I left, following some musicians carrying money, but who were

too heavily laden to go far.

The firing now came nearer, so that we were obliged to double our pace.

Those who were laden with money, and could not run, lightened their

burden by shaking the five-franc pieces out of their bags, saying that

it would have been better to have left them in the waggons, especially

as there was plenty of gold to take, but that there had not been time

to bury the chests. However, there were many who had sacks of double

napoleons.

A little ahead I saw several still coming from the direction of the

waggons, carrying bags of money. As they were terribly weak and their

fingers frozen, they called to those who had none, to give them a

share; but it very often happened that those who had carried some money

part of the way, and who wished to share it with the others, had no

more to give, as, farther in front, men who had none had forced a share

from them. Those poor devils who had been carrying money for so long

saw it torn from them, and were lucky if in trying to defend what they

had they held their own, for they were always the weakest.

I had gained the road, and, as I was not very cold, I stopped to rest.

I saw other men come up, still laden with money, and who now and again

stayed to fire on the Cossacks. Higher up the rear-guard had halted to

allow some men to pass, as well as several sledges, some bearing the

wounded, and loaded with as many barrels of money as it was possible

for them to carry. This did not keep some men, drawn by the love of

plunder, from still remaining behind, and when at bivouac in the

evening, I was assured that many had rifled the waggons along with the

Cossacks.

I went on slowly and painfully. Presently I saw an officer of the

Young Guard coming towards me, very well dressed, and in good health,

whom I recognised at once as Prinier, one of my friends, passed as

officer eight months before. Surprised to see him going in the opposite

direction, I asked him, calling him by his name, where he was bound

for. He demanded in his turn who I was. At this unexpected question

from a comrade in the same regiment for five years, I could not refrain

from tears. He did not know me because I was so changed and wretched.

But an instant afterwards: 'Why, my dear fellow, is it you? To think

you should be so unlucky!' Then he offered me a bottle which hung from

his side, containing wine, saying, 'Take some;' and, as I had only one

hand free, the good fellow supported me with his left hand, and with

the other poured the wine into my mouth.

I asked him if he had met the remnant of the army. He said no; that

as he had been quartered the preceding night in a mill some distance

from the road, it was very probable that the column had passed, but

he had seen terrible traces of it in some dead bodies lying upon the

road. He had only heard yesterday, and in a very vague way, of the

disasters that we had experienced. He was on his way to rejoin the

army, according to orders.

'But there is no army left.'

'What is that firing?'

'That is the rear-guard, commanded by Marshal Ney.'

Then he replied:

'I shall join the rear-guard.'

He embraced me before leaving, but as he did so he saw that I had

a band-box under my arm, and asked what it contained. I told him

they were hats: he asked me for them, and I gave them to him with

much pleasure. It was exactly what he needed, for he still wore his

non-commissioned officer's shako.

The wine he had made me drink had warmed me; I decided on going on to

the next bivouac. An hour after leaving Prinier I caught sight of fires

belonging to some Chasseurs. I went up in an imploring way. Without

looking at me, they said: 'Do as we are doing; go and look for some

wood, and make a fire yourself.'

I was expecting this reply--the usual one. There were six of them;

their fire was a very poor one. They had no further shelter to protect

them against the wind and the snow, should any happen to fall.

I remained a long time standing behind them, sometimes leaning forward

and stretching out my hands to get a little warmth. Finally, overcome

with sleep, I thought of my bottle of brandy. I offered it to the men;

it was accepted, and they made room for me. We emptied the bottle,

passing it round, and when we had finished I fell asleep seated on

my knapsack, my head in my hands. I slept perhaps two hours, often

disturbed by pain and the cold. When I awoke I took advantage of the

little fire that was still left to cook some rice in the kettle I had

bought of the Jew. I scraped up some snow, and melted it with some

rice. I could not manage it with a spoon, as a Chasseur was eating

with me, so I turned it out into my shako, and we ate it in this way.

Afterwards I resumed my former position, and fell asleep again, the

cold this night not being very severe.

_December 11th._--When I woke it was still far from daybreak. After

tying up my food, I rose to go on; for if I did not wish to die of cold

and hunger, like so many others, I must rejoin my comrades. I walked

alone till daybreak, stopping sometimes at a fire, where I found dead

and dying men. When day came, I met some soldiers of the regiment, who

told me they had passed the night with the staff.

A little further on, I saw a man with a sheepskin over his shoulders

walking painfully, leaning on his musket. When I got near him, I saw

that he was the quarter-master of our company. He uttered a cry of

surprise and joy on seeing me, for they had told him I was a prisoner

at Wilna. Poor Rossi had both feet frozen, wrapped up in pieces of

sheepskin. He told me, that not being able to walk as quickly as the

others, he had been separated from the remnant of the regiment, and

that our friends were very uneasy about me. Two great tears ran down

his cheeks, and he began to weep, saying, 'Poor mother! if you could

only see me now! It is all over with me; I shall never see Montauban

again' (the place he came from).

I tried to comfort him by pointing out that my situation was still

worse than his own. We walked together for part of the day. I was

obliged to stop often, owing to my colic.

It might have been noon when I proposed that we should stop at a

village that we saw ahead of us. We entered an empty house, and found

three unfortunate soldiers, who told us, not being able to go any

further, they had resolved to die there. We warned them of the fate

that awaited them should they fall into the hands of the Russians.

For answer they showed us their feet. Nothing more terrible could be

imagined. More than half their toes were missing, and the remainder

ready to fall off. The feet were blue in colour, and seemed to be

almost mortified. The men belonged to Marshal Ney's corps. Perhaps,

when he passed by some time after, he may have saved them.

We stopped long enough to cook a little rice, and we also roasted

a little horseflesh to eat later. Then we left, resolving to keep

together; but the great crowd of stragglers came up, dragged us with

them, and in spite of all our efforts we were separated, and could not

find each other again.

I now arrived at a water-mill. There I saw a soldier who, in trying

to cross the ice of the little mill-stream, had fallen through it.

Although the water was only up to his waist, he could not get out,

owing to the pieces of broken ice. Some artillery officers, who had

found some ropes in the mill, threw them to him, but he had not

strength to catch them; although still living, he was frozen and

motionless.

A little further on I heard that the regiment, if it could be still

called by that name, was to sleep at Zismorg, still five leagues off.

I made up my mind that if I should have to drag myself there upon my

knees, I would go; but what trouble it cost me! I fell from exhaustion

on the snow, and thought I should rise no more. Happily, since my

separation from Rossi the cold had greatly decreased. After superhuman

efforts I got to the village; it was none too soon, for I had done all

that man could do to escape death.

The first thing I saw on entering was a great fire to the right,

against the gable end of a burnt house. Completely exhausted, I

dragged myself there; and great was my surprise on seeing my comrades.

When I got up to them I fell almost unconscious.

Grangier recognised me, and hurried with some others of my friends to

help me; they laid me on some straw. It was the fourth time Grangier

and I had met each other since we left Moscow. M. Césarisse, Lieutenant

of the company, who had some brandy, made me take a little; then I

was given some horse-broth. It tasted very good, for this time it was

salted with salt, while so far we had eaten everything salted with

powder.

My colic came on again worse than ever; so I called Grangier, and told

him I thought I had been poisoned. On this he melted some snow in

the little kettle, and brewed me some of the tea he had brought from

Moscow. I drank a great deal, and it did me good.

Poor Rossi arrived in as miserable a state as myself. He was

accompanied by Sergeant Bailly, whom he had met a moment after his

separation from me. It was Sergeant Bailly with whom I had changed the

bank-notes at Wilna, and who had drunk coffee with me at the Jew's. He

was as ill as I was. He asked me how I was, and when I told him how ill

I had been after taking the coffee, he was sure that they had meant to

poison us, or at least make us good for nothing.

I was settling myself as well as I could on the straw near a large

fire, when all at once I felt pains in my legs and thighs, so violent

that during a part of the night I did nothing but groan. I heard them

saying, 'He will not be able to leave to-morrow.' I thought so too,

and decided, as many had already done, to make my will. I called my

friend Grangier, and told him that I was certain all was over with me.

I begged him to undertake the charge of some small articles, to be

given to my family if he had the good fortune to see France again.

These articles were a watch, a cross in gold and silver, a little vase

in Chinese porcelain. I possess the two last still. I also wished to

dispose of all the money that I had, reserving some gold pieces that I

meant to hide in the sheepskin wrapped about my foot, hoping that the

Russians, when they took me, would not begin searching among my rags.

Grangier, who had listened without interrupting me, now asked if I were

in a fever or dreaming. I said that I was in a fever, but I was quite

clear-headed. He began to lecture me, reminding me of my courage in

worse situations than this.

'Yes,' I said, 'but then I was stronger.'

He assured me that I had said as much at the passage of the Bérézina

when I had been quite as ill, and since then I had come eighty leagues.

As for the fifteen that remained before reaching Kowno, they would be

done in a couple of days; with the help of my friends I should manage

them very well. To-morrow they would only walk four leagues.

'So,' he said, 'try to rest, and wrap up those things again. I will

only take your kettle, and carry it for you.'

Another said, 'I will take this other case (the surgeon's case), which

must worry you.'

Meanwhile, Rossi, who was lying near, remarked: 'My friend, you will

not be here alone to-morrow morning; I shall share your fate, for I

am quite as bad as you are. The journey to-day has done for me, and I

shall not be able to go any further. But when the rear-guard passes

by, we may be able to march with it, for we shall have had some extra

hours' rest. If we have not enough strength to follow it, we will go to

the right. To the first village or the first house that we find, and

put ourselves under the protection of the Baron or master; perhaps he

will have pity on us until we are better, and we can reach Prussia or

Poland. Very likely the Russians will not come further than Kowno.'

I told him that I would do as he wished. M. Césarisse, whom Grangier

had just told of my intention, came up to comfort me. He said that the

pain I suffered only came from the fatigue of yesterday. He made me lie

before the fire, and, as there was plenty of wood, they piled on enough

to roast me. This fire did me so much good that the pain gradually left

me, and I slept for some hours. Poor Rossi did so too.

* * * * *

In 1830 I was appointed an officer of the staff at Brest. On the day of

my arrival, sitting at table with my wife and children at the Hôtel de

Provence, a man sat opposite to me, very well dressed, who looked at

me a great deal. Every other moment he stopped eating, and, his head

resting on his hand, he seemed to think deeply, or to be recalling

certain memories. Afterwards he spoke to the landlord of the hotel. My

wife, who was beside me, pointed it out to me.

'Yes,' I said, 'that man begins to puzzle me, and if it goes on I shall

ask him what it means.'

At that very moment he rose, threw down his napkin, and passed into

the office where travellers' names were registered. He re-entered the

dining-room, exclaiming aloud, 'It is he--I was not mistaken' (calling

me by my name). 'It is indeed my friend.'

I recognised him by his voice, and we were in each other's arms. It

was Rossi, whom I had not seen since 1813, seventeen years before. He

believed me dead, and I thought the same of him, for I had learnt on my

return from prison that he had been wounded under the walls of Paris.

This recognition interested all who were present, about twenty in

number, and we were asked to relate our adventures during the Russian

campaign. This we did willingly, and at midnight we were still at

table, drinking champagne to Napoleon's memory. It is hardly surprising

that at first I did not recognise my comrade, for I left him delicate,

and I found him stout and strong, his hair almost gray. He lived at

Montauban, and was now a rich merchant.

* * * * *

When the moment of departure came, I thought no more of remaining

behind, but it was impossible to walk alone. Grangier and Leboude held

me up under the arms, and others did as much for Rossi. At the end of

half an hour's walking I was much better; but all the way I needed

the help of one arm, often of two. In this manner we arrived in good

time at the little village where we were to sleep; there were very few

dwellings to be found, and, although we were the first to arrive, we

were obliged to sleep in a yard. By chance we were able to find plenty

of straw, which we used to cover us; but, with our usual ill-luck, the

straw took fire. Everyone saved himself as best he could; many had

their coats burnt. A quarter-master of Vélites, named Couchère, was

more unfortunate than the others; the fire caught his cartridge-case,

and his whole face was burnt. And as for me, without the help of my

comrades I should probably have been roasted, as I could not possibly

move by myself. I was taken by the legs and shoulders, and dragged up

to the hut, where General Roguet and other officers were quartered.

They fled on seeing the flames, thinking that the house itself was on

fire. After this misfortune came a high north wind, and, as we were

without shelter, we entered the General's house, which consisted of two

rooms. We took possession of one, in spite of him; more than half of us

were obliged to stand up the whole night, but, still, it was better

than staying outside exposed to bad weather. That would have killed

three-fourths of us.

_December 13th._--Kowno was at least ten leagues off, so General Roguet

made us start before daybreak.

A shower of hail had fallen, forming ice upon the road. If, as on

the preceding evening, I had not had my friends' help, I should very

probably, like so many others, have finished my life's journey on that

last day in Russia.

It was hardly dawn when we reached the foot of a mountain which was

one sheet of ice. What trouble we had climbing it! We had to squeeze

ourselves into groups to obtain mutual support. On this march there was

more readiness to help one another than before. Probably it was the

hope of arriving at the end of the journey. I remember that, when a

man fell, cries were heard, 'Stop! there is a man fallen!' I noticed a

sergeant-major of our battalion shout, 'Stop, there! I swear that not

one of you shall go on until the two left behind have been picked up

and brought on.' It was by his firmness they were saved.

At the top of the mountain it was light enough to see, but the slope

was so rapid, and the ice so smooth, that no one dared to venture down.

General Roguet, some officers, and several sappers who were walking in

front, had fallen. Some picked themselves up, and those who were strong

enough went down in a sitting position, guiding themselves with their

hands; others who were weaker trusted to Providence--that is to say,

they rolled over and over like barrels. I was of this latter number,

and I should most likely have thrown myself into a ravine, or been

lost in the snow, but for Grangier, who went in front of me, moving

backwards and stopping, so that I ran into him. He drove his bayonet

into the ice to hold on by, and when I came up he moved further,

sliding and repeating the same process, till I reached the bottom,

bruised all over, and my left hand bleeding. The General had ordered a

halt to assure himself that everybody had come up--the roll-call had

been taken the evening before--and happily no one was missing. It was

broad daylight, and we could see that the mountain might have been

avoided by turning to the right. The other corps who were marching

after us came along this side of it without accident. This climbing had

tired me so much that I could only walk very slowly, and, as I did not

wish to abuse the kindness of my friends, I begged them to follow the

column. One of the company, however, stayed with me, a Piedmontese, by

name Faloppa. I had not seen him for several days.

Those who were fortunate enough to keep their health, to have unfrozen

feet, and to march at the head of the column, missed seeing all the

disasters which I, for instance, sick and crippled, witnessed daily.

Those in front could not see the men who fell around them, while we in

the rear passed over the long train of dead and dying that each corps

left behind it. We had also the disadvantage of being harassed by the

enemy at our heels.

Faloppa, the man who had stayed with me, was in no better position.

We had been walking together for a quarter of an hour, when he turned

towards me, saying: 'Well, sergeant, if we had those little pots of

dripping here that you made me throw away in Spain, you would be very

glad, and we could make fine soup.' It was not the first time he had

made that remark. The episode, comical enough, was this:

One day, after we had made a long expedition in the mountains of

Asturias, we were quartered at St. Hiliaume, a little town in Castile,

on the sea-coast. I was quartered with my subdivision in a large

building forming the right wing of the Court House.[60] This part of

it was very large, and inhabited by an old bachelor, absolutely alone.

On arriving at his house we asked him whether we could buy some butter

or dripping to make soup, and cook some haricots. He replied that

even for gold there was none to be had in the entire town. A moment

afterwards the muster was called. I left Faloppa to do the cooking, and

commissioned another man to search through the town for some butter or

fat, but none was to be had. When we came back, the first thing Faloppa

said to us was that the old bachelor was a rascal. 'How is that?' He

answered us, 'Look!'

He showed me three gallipots containing some beautiful fat that we

saw was goose-dripping. Everyone exclaimed, 'There's your Spanish

beggar for you. There's a rascal!' Our cook had made some splendid

soup, and had prepared some haricots. We sat down to eat under a great

chimney-piece, like the entrance to a house, when suddenly the Spaniard

returned, wrapped in his brown mantle, and, seeing us eating, hoped

we should enjoy our meal. I asked him why he had not wanted to sell

us the dripping. 'No, señor,' he answered, 'I had none. If I had had

any, I would have given it to you with pleasure, and for nothing!' Then

Faloppa, taking up one of the little pots, showed it to him. 'Then this

is not fat, is it, rascal of a Spaniard?' Looking at the little pot,

he changed colour, and stood as if thunderstruck. Pressed for a reply,

he told us that it certainly was dripping, but the _manteca de ladron_

(thieves' fat). He was the town executioner, and what we had found

and made our soup with was the fat of hanged men, which he sold for

ointment.

[Illustration: PASSAGE OF THE BÉRÉZINA, NOVEMBER, 1812.]

Hardly had he finished, when all the spoons flew about his head. He

had barely time to escape; and not one of us, although very hungry,

wanted to eat any haricots; the soup was almost all gone. Faloppa only

went on eating just the same, saying that the Spaniard had lied. 'And

even were it so,' said he, 'the soup is good, and the haricots still

better.' So saying, he offered me some to taste, which turned me sick.

I went across to a brandy merchant's facing our quarters, and asked him

with whom we were quartered. He crossed himself, repeating over and

over again: '_Ave, Maria, purissima, sin peccado concebida!_' He told

me that it was the executioner. For some time I was ill and sick with

disgust; but Faloppa, when he left, carried off the remainder of the

fat, pretending he would prepare us soup with it again. I was obliged

to make him throw it away; and that is why in Russia, when he had

nothing to eat, he was always quoting this story.

For half an hour we had not lost sight of the column, showing that we

had walked pretty well. I must say that the road happened to be better;

but soon afterwards it became rough and as slippery as in the morning.

The cold was very keen, and we had already passed some men dying by

the way, although clothed in thick furs. Exhaustion, however, was

answerable for a good deal. Faloppa fell several times, and if I had

not been with him to help him up again, he would have been left behind.

The road now became better; we could see the long train of the column

in front of us. We redoubled our efforts to rejoin it, but did not

succeed. We came upon a hamlet of five or six houses, of which half

were on fire, where we stopped a little while. Several men were

gathered round; many seemed quite unable to go on, and several horses

had dropped, dying, and were struggling on the snow. Faloppa cut a

piece from the thigh of one of them, which we cooked on the points of

our swords at the fire of the burning houses.

While we were busy with this job, cannonading was heard in the

direction from which we had come. I then saw more than 10,000

stragglers spreading in disorder over the width of the road. Behind

them marched the rear-guard. I have thought since that Marshal Ney was

firing in order to make all these unfortunate creatures believe the

Russians were upon us, and so hurry them on to Kowno that same day. It

was part of the wreck of the Grand Army.

Our meat was not half cooked before we thought it wiser to decamp as

quickly as possible, and not to be submerged in this fresh torrent.

There were still six leagues to walk before reaching Kowno, and we were

quite worn out. It might have been about eleven o'clock, when Faloppa

said: 'Sergeant, we shall not get there to-day, the _ruban de queue_ is

too long.[61] We shall never be able to leave this devil's country; it

is all over, I shall not see my beautiful Italy again!' Poor fellow! he

spoke the truth.

We had been walking about an hour since our last rest, when we came

upon several groups of forty or fifty men, more or less composed of

officers, non-commissioned officers, and some men, carrying in the

midst of them the regimental eagle. These men, miserable though they

were, seemed proud to have been so far able to keep and guard this

sacred trust. It was evident that in marching they avoided mingling

with the large masses that covered the road, so as to keep together in

an orderly way.

We walked as long as we were able with these little detachments; we

did all we could to follow them, but the artillery and musketry fire

began again. The detachment halted at the command of some person; one

could never have told by the rags covering him who he might be. Never

shall I forget the tone of his command. 'Come, children of France!

Another halt! It must never be said that we went faster at the sound

of artillery. Right about face!' and instantly the men fell into rank

without a word, and turned in the direction of the firing. As for us,

having no colours to defend, we continued to drag ourselves along. It

was very lucky for us that on this particular day the cold was not so

intense, for we fell more than ten times, and if it had been freezing

as on the day before, there we should have remained.

After walking a certain time among stragglers like ourselves, we caught

sight of a moving line, a column apparently, in very close order, now

moving, then halting, again moving on. This seemed as if there must be

a defile just there. The road began to narrow to the right on account

of a hill through which it had been cut, and on the left was bounded by

a large river that I think must have been the Niemen. There the men,

while waiting till some waggons passed coming from Wilna, hustled and

shoved one another in great confusion. It was a question of who could

get over the first. Many climbed down to the ice-covered river, in

order to gain the right of the column or the end of the defile. Several

who found themselves on the extreme edge were thrown down the banks,

which in this place were at least five feet high; some were killed.

When we reached the left of this column, we had to do as those who

preceded us--we had to wait. I came upon a sergeant of Vélites named

Poumo, belonging to our regiment, who proposed that I should cross the

river with him, telling me that on the other side we should find houses

where we could pass the night, and that the next day, being thoroughly

rested, we could reach Kowno easily; 'for,' said he, 'it is not more

than two leagues further.' I consented to his proposal, especially as

I had no strength to go on, and then there was the hope of spending a

night in a house with a fire! I told Faloppa to follow us. Poumo went

down first. I followed him, sliding on my back; but, after taking a few

steps across the snow which covered the river in great heaps, I saw

the impossibility of going further, so I signed to Faloppa, who had

not got down, to stop, for I had just discovered that beneath the snow

was nothing but a mass of jagged ice, with holes in between. This was

probably the result of a thaw, followed by a hard frost.

In the meantime Poumo, who was walking some steps ahead of me, stopped;

but, seeing that I was not following, he still got across himself with

three old Grenadiers of the Guard. It was only, however, with great

labour that they reached the other bank.

I got nearer to Faloppa, from whom I was separated only by the height

of the bank, to tell him to follow the left of the column; that, as

I was down on the ice, I was going to follow it up to the end of the

defile, and that I would wait for him there. Then I followed the mass

of men, slowly advancing, then stopping, shouting and swearing, for

those on the bank were afraid of falling to the bottom.

I had already gone three-fourths of the length of the defile when I saw

that the river turned abruptly to the left, while the road, widening

again, went straight on. I had to return almost to the middle of the

pass, to the spot where the bank seemed less steep; but weak as I was,

and having only one hand of any use, I tried in vain to climb it.

I mounted on an ice-heap, so that without stooping very much some

helping hand could be given me. I supported myself with my left hand

on my musket, and held out the other to those who, within reach of me,

could have pulled me up by a slight effort. But I asked in vain. No one

answered me; they had not even the appearance of paying any attention

to what I was saying. At last God had pity on me again. Just when the

crowd of men had halted, I saw an old trooper of the Imperial Guard on

foot, his moustaches and beard covered with icicles, and wrapped in a

great white cloak. I spoke to him still in the same tone:

'Comrade, I beg of you, as, like me, you're in the Imperial Guard, give

me a hand, and you will save my life.'

'How do you think I am to give you a hand?' he said, 'I have none.' At

this answer I nearly fell off the ice-heap. 'However,' he continued,

'if you can take hold of my cloak, I will try to pull you up.'

Then he stooped. I grasped the cloak; I even held it with my teeth, and

scrambled on to the road. Happily, at this moment there was no pressing

forward, or I might have been trampled under foot without perhaps ever

rising again. When I was really safe, the old Grenadier told me to

keep a firm hold of him, which I did, but with much difficulty, as the

effort which I had just made had greatly weakened me.

Shortly afterwards they began to move forward. We passed by three

fallen horses, the waggon having overturned into the river. This was

what had caused the delay in the march. At last we reached a point

where the pass widened, and where we could walk more easily.

Just then Faloppa, whom I had left at the entrance of the pass, came up

weeping and swearing in Italian, saying that he would never be able to

go further. The old trooper asked me who this creature was who cried

like a woman. I told him he was a _barbet_, a Piedmontese.

'He will never see the marmots and bears of his native mountains

again,' he answered.

I encouraged poor Faloppa to keep on; I gave him my arm, and we

continued to follow the column.

It might have been about five o'clock; we had still more than two

leagues to go before reaching Kowno. The old Grenadier related how his

fingers had frozen before reaching Smolensk. After suffering frightful

distress up to the passage of the Bérézina, he had found a house on

arriving at Ziembin, where he had spent the night. During that night

all his fingers fell off one after the other, but since then he had not

suffered nearly so much. His comrade, who had never left him before,

had gone off to the mountain near Wilna to _monter à la roue_,[62] and

since that day he had not seen him.

After going on for another half-hour, we reached a little village,

where we stopped in one of the last houses to rest and warm ourselves a

little; but we could not find room, for the house was crammed with men

stretched out on the evil-smelling straw, and shrieking and swearing

whenever one happened to touch them. Nearly all their hands and feet

were frozen. We were obliged to be contented with a stable, where we

came upon a trooper of the Guard of the same regiment and squadron

as our old Grenadier. He still had his horse, and, hoping to find a

hospital at Kowno, undertook the charge of his comrade.

We had still a league and a half to walk, and the cold had considerably

increased. Fearing that it would grow still colder, I told Faloppa

that he must go; but the poor devil, who had laid himself down on the

manure-heap, could not get up. It was only by begging and swearing,

with the help of the trooper, I succeeded in getting him on his legs

and pushing him outside the stable. On the road I gave him my arm. When

he was rather warm, he walked fairly well, but without speaking, for

about a league.

During the time we had been resting in the village the great part

of the stragglers after the army had passed us; there was no one

to be seen either in front or behind but miserable creatures like

ourselves--in fact, those whose strength was entirely gone. Several

were stretched on the snow--a sign of their approaching end.

Faloppa, whom till then I had been continually coaxing on by saying,

'Here we are. Just a little more courage,' sank upon his knees, then

on his hands. I thought he was dead, and fell at his side, overwhelmed

with fatigue. The cold, which began to go through me, forced me to make

an effort to rise again, or, to tell the truth, it was a fit of rage,

for I got upon my knees swearing. Then, seizing Faloppa by the hair, I

made him sit up; but he looked at me stupefied. Seeing that he was not

dead, I said to him:

'Courage, my friend. We are not far from Kowno, for I can see the

convent[63] on our left. Don't you see it, too?'

'No, sergeant,' he answered; 'I see nothing but the snow which is

turning round me. Where are we?'

I told him we were near a place where we could sleep and find bread and

brandy.

At this instant chance brought five peasants near us who were crossing

the same road. I proposed to two of these men, in consideration of a

five-franc piece each, that they should lead Faloppa as far as Kowno;

but under pretext that it was late, and that they were cold, they made

some difficulties. I guessed that it was the fear of not being paid

(for they spoke German). I took two five-franc pieces from my bag and

gave them one, promising them the other on our arrival. They were

satisfied. I then told three others to go back to where a foot soldier

was lying whom we had passed, and I said they would have some money for

leading him, and they went off at once.

The two peasants had lifted Faloppa, but the poor devil could not

stand. They seemed at a loss what to do. Then I showed them how to

carry him on a musket, each supporting him with an arm behind. But we

did not get far this way. They decided to take him on their backs in

turn, while the other carried his knapsack and gun, and took me under

his arm, for I could hardly drag my legs along. During the distance

to the town, which was not more than half a league, we were obliged

to stop five or six times to rest and change Faloppa from one back to

another. If we had had to walk a quarter of an hour longer, we should

never have got there.

Meanwhile the bulk of stragglers had passed us, but many others, as

well as the rear-guard, were still behind us. We heard at intervals

the sound of artillery, which seemed to us like the expiring sigh of

our army. At last we reached Kowno by a road our peasants knew of, and

that the column had not taken. The first place we saw was a stable.

We went in, and the peasants set us down; but before giving them the

last five-franc piece, I implored them to find us a little wood and

straw. They brought some of both, and even made us a fire, for it was

impossible for me to stir; and as for Faloppa, I looked upon him as

dead. He was seated in the angle of the wall, saying nothing, but every

now and then making faces, and lifting his hands to his mouth, as if

to eat. The fire burning before him seemed to restore him a little.

I at last paid my peasants. Before leaving us they brought us still

more wood, and made me understand they would come back. Trusting to

their promises, I gave them five francs, begging them to bring me some

bread, some brandy, or anything else. They promised to do so, but never

returned.

While we were in the stable, terrible things were happening in the

town. The remnant of the corps arriving in front of us on the preceding

evening, not being able to find lodgings, bivouacked in the street.

They pillaged the flour and brandy stores. Many were intoxicated, and

fell asleep on the snow, to wake no more. The following day I was told

that more than fifteen hundred had died in this way.

After the departure of the peasants, five men, two of whom belonged to

our regiment, came to find a place in the stable; but as they had met

soldiers returning from the town who told them that flour and brandy

were to be had there, two went off to try and get some. They left their

arms and knapsacks, but did not return. To crown my misfortune, I had

nothing to cook any rice in, for Grangier had my kettle. Not one of the

three men remaining with me had anything we could make use of, and not

one would stir to go and look for a pot.

Meanwhile the roar of the distant artillery and the howling of the wind

were mingled with the cries of men dying on the snow. Although the cold

on this day was not excessive, a large number of men perished from it.

It was the last effort, and of those who had reached this point, not

half had seen Moscow; they were the garrisons of Smolensk, of Orcha, of

Wilna, as well as the remnant of the main army of Generals Victor and

Oudinot, and of General Loison's division, which we had met dying of

cold before reaching Wilna.

The men who were with me in the stable lay down around the fire. To

keep myself alive, I ate a piece of the half-cooked horseflesh; it was

the last before leaving this country of misfortune.

Afterwards I tried to sleep, but I lay awake a long time in great pain.

However, sleep overcame me in its turn, and I dozed I do not know for

how long. When I awoke I saw that the three soldiers who had arrived

after us were preparing to go, and yet it was still far from daybreak.

I asked them the reason. They told me they were going to instal

themselves in a house they had discovered where there was some straw

and a well-heated stove. The house was occupied by a man, two women,

and four soldiers of the Kowno garrison.

I immediately set about following them, but I could not leave Faloppa.

Looking towards the place where I had left him, I was astonished at not

seeing him there. The soldiers told me that for more than an hour he

had done nothing but prowl about the stable on all fours, howling like

a bear. Our fire was low, and I had some trouble in finding him. At

last I did so, and to see him better I lighted a piece of resinous wood.

When I went near him he began to laugh, growling like a bear, running

first after one of us, and then the other, and all the time upon his

hands and knees. Sometimes he spoke, but in Italian. I knew that he

thought he was in his own country in the midst of the mountains,

playing with the friends of his childhood; now and again he called for

his father and mother; in short, poor Faloppa had gone mad.

As I had to leave him for a time to go and see the new lodging, I took

care that during my absence nothing should happen to him. We put out

the fire and shut the door. On reaching our new quarters, we found two

of the men busily eating soup. They did not seem to have suffered much,

and, indeed, since September they had been at Kowno.

Before throwing myself on the straw, I asked the peasant if he would

come with me to fetch a sick man, that I would give him five francs,

at the same time showing him the piece. The peasant had not yet

replied, when the German soldiers proposed that we should give them the

preference.

'We will go for nothing,' said one of the other soldiers.

'And give him some soup as well,' said another.

I showed my gratitude by saying that one could easily see that they

were Frenchmen. They took a wooden chair on which to carry the sick

man, and we set out, but as I could only walk with difficulty, they

gave me an arm. I told them of Faloppa's sad plight if he were left to

the mercy of the Russians.

'What, Russians?' said one of the soldiers.

'Certainly,' I said; 'Russian Cossacks will be here perhaps in a few

hours!'

These poor soldiers thought that it was only cold and wretchedness we

had brought with us.

On entering the stable we found the poor devil of a Piedmontese lying

his full length behind the door. He was placed upon the chair, and in

this way was carried to the new lodging. When he was laid near the

stove on some good straw, he began to mutter disconnected words. I went

near him to listen; he was no longer recognisable. His face was all

over blood, but it was the blood from his hands that he had bitten or

tried to eat; his mouth, too, was filled with straw and earth. The two

women had pity on him, bathed his face with water and vinegar, and the

German soldiers, ashamed to have done nothing, undressed him. A shirt

was found in his knapsack, which we put on him instead of the ragged

one he wore; then they offered him something to drink: he could not

swallow, and every now and again clenched his teeth fast together.

Afterwards he gathered up the straw with his hands, as if he would put

it over him. One of the women said it was a sign of death. I was very

sorry for it, as we had reached the limit of our suffering. I had done

all I could to save him, just as he would have done for me, for he had

been five years in the company, and would have died for me. He proved

it on more than one occasion, especially in Spain. The gentle warmth of

the room made me more comfortable than I could have thought possible. I

felt no more pain, and I slept for two or three hours, a thing that had

not happened since my departure from Moscow.

I was awakened by one of the soldiers, who said: 'Sergeant, I think

that everybody is going, for there is a great noise outside. We shall

have to muster in the square, according to the orders we received

yesterday. As for your soldier,' he added, 'you must think of him no

more; he is done for.'

I raised myself to see; the two women were at his side. The youngest

handed me a leather purse containing money, saying that it had fallen

from one of the pockets of the overcoat. There might have been about

twenty-five to thirty francs in Prussian pieces, and some other money.

I gave it all to the two women, telling them to look after the sick

man till his last moment, which could not be far off, for he scarcely

breathed. They promised me not to abandon him.

The noise in the street went on increasing. It was already day, but in

spite of that we could not see much, for the little squares of glass

were dimmed with ice, and the sky, covered with thick clouds, foretold

a great deal of snow still to come.

We were ready to go out, when all at once we heard the sound of cannon

from the direction of Wilna, and quite close to us. The discharge of

musketry mingled with it, and the cries and oaths of men. We heard

the falling of individual blows. We at once thought that the Russians

were in the town, and that fighting was going on; we seized our arms.

The two German soldiers, not used to this sort of music, were at a

loss. However, they came and ranged themselves at our side. We had the

muskets belonging to the two men who had left the evening before, and

who had not returned, and Faloppa's also. They were all loaded; we had

plenty of powder. One of the German soldiers had a bottle of brandy,

which he had not so far mentioned; but thinking that he might want

something of us, he offered it. It did us good. The other German gave

me a piece of bread.

One of them said to me, 'Sergeant, suppose we put one of these guns

into the hands of that peasant there who is trembling beside the stove?

Do you not think he would be able to bring down his man?'

'No doubt,' I said.

'Come here, peasant,' said the soldier.

The poor devil, not knowing what was wanted of him, allowed himself

to be led forward. He was offered a musket. He looked at it, like an

imbecile, without taking it. It was placed upon his shoulder; he asked

what he was to do with it. I told him it was to kill the Cossacks

with. At that word he let his weapon fall. It was picked up by a

soldier, who forcibly made him take hold of it, threatening if he did

not fire upon the Cossacks to run a bayonet through his body. The

peasant made us understand that he would be recognised by the Russians

as being a peasant, and that they would kill him. During this colloquy,

other cries were heard from the other extremity of the room; it was the

two women weeping. Faloppa had just breathed his last.

The soldiers took the coat of the dead man, and forced the peasant

to wrap himself in it. In less than two minutes he was completely

equipped, for a sword and a cartridge-case were hung on him, and a cap

put on his head, with the result that he could not have recognised

himself.

This scene took place while the two women were making lamentations over

the dead (probably on account of the money I had given them). They were

therefore not aware of the transformation of their man.

The noise we had been hearing for the last few moments increased

tremendously. I thought I could distinguish the voice of General

Roguet; he indeed it was who was swearing and dealing blows to everyone

indiscriminately, officers and non-commissioned officers as well as

privates, to make them set out. He entered the houses, and made the

officers search them to be sure no men were left in them. He did right,

and it is perhaps the first good service I ever saw him render a

soldier. Certainly this distribution of blows came easier to him than

the distribution of bread and wine which he had made in Spain.

I caught sight of a foot soldier who had propped himself against a

window, and was fixing his bayonet to the end of his musket. I asked

him if the Russians were in the town.

'No, no; not at all.... Don't you see it is that brute of a General

Roguet striking at everybody with his baton? But just let him come

here; I'm waiting for him....'

We had not yet left the house, when I saw Adjutant-Major Roustan come

to a halt in front of the door. Recognising me, he said: 'Well, what

are you doing there? Out with you! No one is to remain within a house,

no matter of what regiment, for I have orders to strike down any and

everybody.'

We came out, but the peasant, whom we had forgotten, naturally remained

in his own house, and closed the door. The Adjutant-Major, who saw

the movement, and thought it was a soldier wanting to hide himself,

opened it again in his turn, entered the house, and ordered the new

soldier to get out, or he would be knocked down. The peasant looked

at him without replying. The Adjutant-Major seized the man by the

belt, and thrust him into the midst of us. The poor devil now tried to

struggle, and to explain in his own language. He was not listened to;

the Adjutant-Major, simply thinking it was because he had not given him

the time to bring away his knapsack and gun, re-entered the house, took

them both, and brought them to him. In the house he saw the dead man

and two women weeping; so, coming out, he said aloud: 'This rascal here

is not so stupid as he looks; he wanted to stay in the house in order

to console the widow. He looks like a German. Of what company is he? I

don't remember having seen him.'

No one paid much attention to what the Adjutant was saying; each one

had enough to do to look after himself. The wife, who had heard her

husband's voice, had run to the door where we were still standing. The

man, on seeing her, began to speak, but could not make her recognise

him. There he was amongst us, not able to stir; she never imagined

that a Lithuanian, the Emperor of Russia's subject, had the honour of

being a French soldier of the Imperial Guard, marching off, not to

glory, but to misery. The whole affair took less than ten minutes. I

have thought since that the poor devil must have felt pretty miserable,

penned up there in the midst of us.

We set off, but very slowly. We were in an alley, where were several

men who had died in the night from drinking brandy, and being

afterwards seized by the cold; the greater number, however, were to be

found in the town, which I did not enter.

Meanwhile we reached the place where there are two ways leading to

the bridge over the Niemen. We now walked more easily, and in a few

minutes we were on the banks of the stream. There we saw that several

thousand men were already in front of us, squeezing and pushing to get

across. As the bridge was narrow, a large number climbed down on to the

ice-covered river, which was not strong enough to bear. It consisted

merely of pieces of ice that had been thawed and frozen over again.

At the risk of being drowned or hurt, everyone tried to get across as

quickly as possible, thinking that once on the further side we would be

safe. We found out later how greatly we were deceived.

While waiting till we could pass, Colonel Bodelin, who commanded our

regiment, ordered the officers to prevent anyone crossing the bridge by

himself. We were now about sixty men, or thereabouts, the remnant of

2,000, all grouped around the Colonel. He looked sadly on the remains

of his fine regiment, probably drawing a contrast in his own mind. Five

months before we had passed over this same bridge with the whole great

and brilliant army, and now it was almost annihilated! To encourage us

he made us a speech; I am afraid very few listened.

'Come, my men! I will not tell you to be brave--I know how much courage

you have. During the three years I have been with you you have given

proofs of it under all circumstances, and particularly during this

terrible campaign, in battles and all the privations you have had to

undergo. But, remember, the more distress and danger, the more glory

and honour, and the greater the reward for those who have had the

endurance to go through with it.'

Then he asked how many were present. I seized this opportunity to

tell M. Césarisse that Faloppa had died that morning. He asked me if

I was certain of it, and I answered that I had seen him die, and that

Adjutant-Major Roustan himself had seen him.

'Who?--I?' responded the Adjutant-Major. 'Where?'

'In the house you told me to come out of, and which you entered to

bring out another person.'

'True,' said he, 'I saw a dead man upon the straw, but it was the

master of the house, for the woman was crying over him.'

I told him that the one he had turned into the street was the real

husband, and the man on the straw was Faloppa. We looked for the

peasant in our ranks, but he had disappeared.

While we were resting on the banks of the Niemen, those who were in

front of us had crossed over the bridge, or over the ice. Now we

advanced, but when we had got across we could not mount the bank by the

road, which was blocked by waggons. Order was now at an end. Everyone

went as he pleased. Several of my friends got me to follow them, and

we went to the left. When we were about thirty paces from the bridge

we began to climb up on to the road. I walked behind Grangier, whom I

had fortunately found again, and who looked after me much better than

after himself. He beat out a passage through the snow in front of me,

shouting out in his Auvergne dialect, 'Come along, _petiot_' (little

'un), 'follow me.' But the _petiot_ could not drag one leg after

another.

Grangier was already three-quarters up the side when I had only done a

third of the way. Stopping, and resting on his musket, he made signs

that he would wait there for me. But I was so weak I could not pull my

leg out of the snow. At last, unable to do more, I fell on my side, and

rolled as far as the Niemen, landing on the ice.

As there was a great deal of snow, I did not hurt myself much, but I

felt a pain in my shoulders, and my face was bleeding from the branches

of some bushes I had rolled over. I picked myself up without a word, as

if it was something perfectly natural, for I was so inured to suffering

that nothing surprised me.

After having picked up my musket, I tried to climb up again at the

same place, but the thing was impossible. I now thought I would see

whether I could not manage to get under the waggons at the outlet of

the bridge. There I dragged myself with difficulty. As I got near the

first, I saw several Grenadiers and foot soldiers of the Guards mounted

on the wheels, taking out handfuls of the money that was packed in

the waggons. I was not tempted to do the same--I only tried to get

through. But just then I heard a shouting: 'The Cossacks! To arms! to

arms!' This cry was followed by several musket-shots, then by a great

movement, which spread from the bottom to the top of the slope.

Not one among the Grenadiers and Chasseurs took any notice: their heads

were in the waggon. I pulled one by the leg; he looked round, asking

me if I had any money. I said, 'No; but the Cossacks are up there.'

'Is that all?' he replied. 'We are not going to disturb ourselves

for those beasts, and leave them our money. Who wants some? I'll give

it him.' And he threw two large bags of five-franc pieces on to the

ground. All this was only to occupy those who were coming up, for I

understood that they had just found some gold--I had heard the words

'jaunets' and 'forty-franc pieces.'

I took possession of the musket of one of the Grenadiers busy taking

gold, left my own, which was filled with snow, and returned to the

outlet of the bridge to go over the same ground again.

I had hardly reached the bridge, when I met Captain Debonnez of the

Tirailleurs of the Guard, whom I have mentioned several times. He was

with his Lieutenant and a private soldier--his whole company! The

remainder, as he expressed it, had melted. He had a Cossack horse,

which he could not get through the crowd. I told him my miserable

condition. For sole answer he gave me a large piece of white sugar

soaked in brandy. Then we separated, he to climb down upon the Niemen

with his horse, I, biting at my sugar, to begin my climb upwards for

the third time. Hardly had I begun, when I heard someone calling me. It

was Grangier, who had climbed down the bank and was looking for me. He

asked why I had not followed him, and I told him the reason. On that

he walked in front of me, dragging me by his musket, I holding on to

the end of the barrel. It was with immense difficulty, with the help

of Grangier and biting at my lump of brandied sugar, that at last,

completely exhausted, I reached the top.

Several of our friends were waiting for us--Leboude, sergeant-major;

Oudicte, sergeant-major; Pierson, _idem_; Poton, sergeant. The others

had scattered, walking like us in groups. The certainty that on

entering Prussia the conditions would be better for us influenced us

all, and began to make us indifferent to one another. From the spot

where we were we could make out the Wilna road, some Russians marching

upon Kowno, and others nearer; but the presence of Marshal Ney with

a handful of men prevented their advancing. A man came towards us,

walking with difficulty, leaning on a pine staff. On coming up to us he

exclaimed: 'Ah, _per Dio santo!_ I am not mistaken: these are friends!'

We looked at him, and recognised him by his voice and accent as

Pellicetti, a Milanese, former Vélite-Grenadier. Three years before,

he had left the Imperial Guard to enter that of the King of Italy as

officer. Poor Pellicetti! It was only by the remains of his cap that

we could guess to what corps he belonged. He told us that three or

four houses had been enough to accommodate the only corps remaining of

Prince Eugène's army. He was waiting for one of his friends, who had a

Cossack horse carrying the bit of baggage left to them. They had been

separated on leaving Kowno.

It was December 14th--it might have been about nine o'clock in the

morning--the sky was gloomy, the cold bearable, and no snow was

falling. We walked on without knowing where we were going, but on

reaching the highroad we saw a great post with directions, informing

the soldiers of the different corps of the road they must follow.

We took the one inscribed for the Imperial Guard, but many marched

straight in front of them without taking any notice. A few steps

further on we saw five or six unfortunate soldiers looking like

spectres, their faces emaciated and bedaubed with blood off their

hands, with which they had been scratching in the snow for crumbs of

biscuit fallen from a waggon which had just been pillaged.

We went on till about three in the afternoon. We had only walked three

short leagues on account of Sergeant Poton, who seemed to be suffering

a great deal.

We had caught sight of a village to our right, about a quarter of a

league from the road, and we decided to spend the night there. On

reaching it we found two soldiers of the line, who had just killed a

cow at the entrance to a stable. This was a good sign, and so we turned

in. The peasant to whom the cow belonged came himself to cut some for

us, in order to save as much of the meat as possible. He made a fire,

and then brought two pots of water for soup. We had some clean straw

and a good fire; it was a very long time since we had been so happy.

Shortly afterwards we ate our soup; then we went to sleep.

I was lying near Poton, who did nothing but groan. I asked him what was

the matter. He said: 'My dear fellow, I am certain I shall not be able

to go further!'

Without knowing the reason why he talked like this (a serious

accident, unknown to us all), I comforted him, telling him that after

he had rested he would be much better; but soon after fever came

on, and throughout the night he did nothing but cry and wander in

his mind. Several times during the night I found him writing in a

memorandum-book, and tearing out the leaves.

Once, when I was sleeping peacefully, I felt myself pulled by the arm.

It was poor Poton, who said:

'Dear friend, I am utterly unable to leave here--even to take a

step--so you must do me a great service. I count on you, if you

have the happiness to see France again; if you do not, you must ask

Grangier, on whom I count, as I do on you, to carry out my wishes.

Here,' he continued, 'is a little packet of papers that you must send

to my mother, to the address given, accompanied by a letter, in which

you must describe the situation in which you left me, without, however,

letting her lose all hope of seeing me again some day. Here is a silver

spoon that I beg you will accept; it is far better that you should have

it than the Cossacks.'

Then he handed me his little packet of papers, saying again that he

counted on me. I promised him to do all he had just told me, but I

little thought we should be obliged to leave him.

On December 15th, when we prepared to depart, I repeated to our friends

what Poton had told me. They thought he had lost heart, or that he had

gone mad, so that each began to chaff him in his own way.

But for sole answer the unhappy Poton showed us two hernias that he had

had for a long time, a consequence of the repeated efforts he had made

in climbing the bank at Kowno. We saw indeed that it was impossible

for him to stir. Sergeant-Major Leboude thought it would be a good

thing to leave him with the peasant who owned the house; but before

fetching him, as Poton had a good deal of money--above all, gold--we

made haste to sew up his gold in the waist-band of his trousers. Then

we called the peasant, and, as he spoke German, it was easy to make him

understand us. We offered him five five-franc pieces, telling him he

should have four times as much, and perhaps more, if he would take care

of the sick man. He promised, swearing in the name of God, and that

he would even go and fetch a doctor. Then, as time pressed, we took

farewell of our comrade.

Before leaving, he made me promise not to forget; we embraced him

and left him. I do not know if the peasant kept his word, but never

again did I hear Poton spoken of. According to all accounts, he was an

excellent fellow, a true comrade, having received a good education, a

rare thing at that period. He was a Breton gentleman, belonging to one

of the best families of the country.

I religiously fulfilled my mission, for on my arrival at Paris, in

the month of May, I sent all the papers to the address given. They

contained his will, and the affecting farewell he had written during

his fever. I took a copy of one, which I reproduce:

'Adieu, bonne mère,

Mon amie;

Adieu, ma chère,

Ma bonne Sophie!

Adieu, Nantes, où j'ai reçu la vie;

Adieu, belle France, ma patrie;

Adieu, mère chérie:

Je vais quitter la vie--

Adieu!'

* * * * *

For several years I gave up writing my Journal of the Russian

Campaign--that is to say, I gave up putting those memoirs in order

which I had written while a prisoner in 1813. A singular mania had come

upon me; I doubted whether all that I had seen and endured with so much

courage and patience in this terrible campaign was not the effect of my

imagination.

Nevertheless, when the snow is falling, and I find myself sitting with

my friends--former soldiers of the Empire--of whom some are of the

Imperial Guard, and who, like myself, have gone through that memorable

campaign, it is always there that our memories take us; and I have

noticed that with them, as with me, indelible impressions are left. We

speak of our glorious campaigns with pride.

To-day my mother has just brought me some letters that I wrote to her

during this campaign, and of which I was regretting the loss, so I am

taking courage again. I must add to that the advice of friends who are

making me promise to finish it. For my own part, it makes me live my

life over again. One day, perhaps--who knows?--my memoirs, although

badly written, will interest those who read them. The great genius is

no more, but his name will live for ever. Thus, taking my courage in

both hands, I am going on; so that, after me, my grandchildren, reading

their grandfather's memoirs, will say, 'Grandfather was in the great

battles with the Emperor Napoleon!' They will see how, in Spain, he

'dressed down' the Prussians, the Austrians, the Russians, the English

in Spain, and many others; they will see, too, that grandfather did not

always lie upon a bed of roses; and although he may not have been one

of the best Catholics in France, they will see that he often fasted,

and more than once he fasted on a feast-day!

* * * * *

At seven o'clock on the morning of December 15th, we left the stable

where we had spent the night, and walked in the direction of the road

until we reached the spot where we had branched off the preceding

evening; there we halted.

Grangier still had with him my little copper kettle. He carried it

in front of him, fastened with a strap to his belt, for fear someone

should make off with it, for a pan in which snow could be melted and

something cooked was a precious article. Grangier returned it to me,

for he foresaw that I might again be left behind, and might want it. He

fastened it firmly to my knapsack.

The sky was clear, but the cold bearable. We saw only a very few men

upon the road; from this we concluded that the evening before the

greater number had gone on further, and in different directions.

We caught sight of a column of men upon the road in the direction of

Kowno, but we could not make out if they were French or Russians; so

in this uncertainty we resumed our march.

For an hour I walked fairly well, but at the end of this time a severe

colic seized me, and I was forced to stop; it was still the result of

my Wilna poisoning. I set down this relapse to the broth that I had

taken overnight, and before setting out in the morning.

In this way I progressed till about three o'clock in the afternoon. I

was now not very far from a forest that I had caught sight of some time

before, and which I wanted to reach in order to pass the night there.

I was no further away from it than a musket could carry, when, to the

right of the road, I caught sight of a house where, around a large

fire, several soldiers of the different army corps were gathered, the

greater part of them being of the Imperial Guard. As I was tired, I

stopped to warm and rest myself a little. Some of the men proposed that

I should remain with them; I accepted gladly.

The cold had been bearable throughout the day, and was so still, and

we thought one might feel easy about the enemy; but some men coming

up on the right of the road told us they had just caught sight of

cavalry, and that they were sure it was Russian. 'And if it was the

devil,' replied an old Chasseur of the Guard, 'it would not prevent me

establishing my headquarters here! Friends, do as I am doing--load your

weapons and fix bayonets.' We all quietly did as he said. 'And then,'

he added, 'we can retreat to the wood. Upon my soul, it's a famous

position!'

On this, he went up to a horse that had been killed a little distance

from the fire, cut a piece off it, and returned calmly to seat himself

upon his knapsack near the fire, and roast his meat at the end of his

sword. More than twenty soldiers were also roasting horseflesh, some

sitting on their knapsacks, others going on their knees.

Opposite to the Chasseur of whom I have just spoken was a woman,

sitting on a soldier's knapsack. Her head was in her hands, her elbows

resting on her knees; a soldier's gray overcoat over an old silk dress

in tatters was all her clothing. On her head was a sheepskin cap, held

in its place by a torn silk handkerchief tied under the chin. The

Chasseur spoke to her:

'Look here, Mother Madeleine!'

She did not answer. Another man near her pushed her, saying:

'They're speaking to you, mother.'

'To me?' she said. 'My name is Marie. What do you want?'

'A drink of _rogomme_, as at drill-time.'

'_Rogomme!_ You know very well I have none.' And she returned to her

former position.

Another woman who was near the fire wore on her head a schabraque,

bordered with red cloth, cut into festoons and drawn around the neck

with the cord of a Grenadier's bearskin, the tassels of which fell

under her chin. She had also over her dress a Guard's blue overcoat.

This woman, hearing the Chasseur's voice, looked up, asking who wanted

spirits.

'Ah! is that you, Mother Gâteau?' answered the soldier. 'It is I who am

asking for spirits. I, Michaut. I dare say you are surprised to see me.

Well, if anyone is more amazed than I am at meeting you, particularly

_schabraquée_ as you are, may the devil take him! Even before the

passage of the Bérézina, thinking of you sometimes, dear Mother Gâteau,

I imagined that the crows must long since have made a _fristouille à la

neige_ of your old carcase!'

'Wretch!' replied Mother Gâteau; 'they will eat you before they do me,

you old drunkard! Ah,' she continued, in a jeering tone, 'you must

be wanting spirits indeed! You've had to go without for three months;

but very likely at Wilna, and yesterday at Kowno, you've taken a good

dose: that's why you have so much tongue now. One thing astonishes

me: that you're not dead of drink, like so many of the others we

saw in the street. So many brave fellows left down yonder, and this

good-for-nothing, this bad soldier, still lives!'

'Stop there, Mother Gâteau!' replied the old soldier; 'slang me as much

as you like, but stop short of _bad soldier! Halte-là!_'

Then, jeering all the time, he continued to eat the piece of horseflesh

he was holding in his hand, and which he had ceased to bite at while

answering the old _cantinière_.

Directly afterwards she began again: 'For two years now he's had a

spite against me, ever since I wouldn't give him credit at the Military

School. Ah! if my poor husband were not dead--if a rascally ball had

not cut him in two at Krasnoë!...'

And then she stopped.

'It wasn't your husband! You weren't married!'

'Not married! not married! Haven't I been with him nearly five years,

ever since the Battle of Eylau, and I'm not married? What do you say to

that, Marie?'--turning to the other _cantinière_.

But Marie, whose marriage was of the same kind as Mother Gâteau's, said

nothing.

The soldier asked Mother Gâteau if she had _monté à la roue_ on the

mountains at Wilna.

'Ah!' she said, 'if I'd been strong enough, I shouldn't have missed

the chance. I picked up some in the snow, but it hasn't done me much

good. When you find yourself with rascals who respect nothing, we women

can never feel safe. The evening after crossing the mountain, when I

reached our men's bivouac, I had still a little of the brandy I had

brought from Wilna, so I gave it them for a place at the fire, and

lay down to sleep on the snow near two soldiers of our regiment--or,

rather, two thieves, for they cribbed half of my money. By good chance

I was lying on a pocket they could not get to. Trust a comrade after

that! Happily, I still have enough to take me as far as Elbing. Once

there, we shall find some way of beginning the campaign afresh. I want

no more carts; I will have two _cognias_, with baskets on their backs.

We shall be luckier, perhaps. What do you say, Marie?'

Marie did not reply.

'Marie,' said the old soldier, 'has had a second husband in a year, and

if she likes I will marry her for a third.'

'You, you old scamp!' answered Mother Gâteau. 'She'd be hard up to take

you!'

The Chasseur went up to Marie and offered her a piece of horseflesh.

Marie took it, saying, 'Thank you, _mon vieux_.'

'So that's settled,' he went on. 'On reaching Paris I will marry you; I

will make you happy.'

For sole answer, Marie sighed, saying, 'How can you chaff an unhappy

woman like me?'

'What I have just said,' the old Chasseur replied, 'is no joke, and to

prove it I will offer Mother Gâteau, without any malice, what I have

just offered you--a little piece of "gee-gee" on my thumb.'

As he spoke, he moved forward to offer it; but Mother Gâteau, seeing

him coming, looked at him angrily, and said, 'Go to the devil! I don't

want anything of yours.'

At this speech of Mother Gâteau's, Marie, who was sitting in front of

me, lifted her head, saying that this was no time to quarrel. Then she

stared at me from head to foot.

'I am not mistaken,' she said, addressing me by name--'_mon pays_, is

it you?'

'It is, Marie, really.'

I had just recognised her, too, by her voice, not by her face, for

poor Marie's freshness had disappeared; cold, hardship, fire, and the

smoke of the bivouac had made her unrecognisable. It was Marie, our

former _cantinière_, whom I thought dead, and whose deserted cart with

two wounded I had come upon on the night of November 22nd. This is her

history:

Marie came from Namur; that is why she called me her _pays_. Her

husband belonged to Liége, a fencing-master, and rather a bad lot.

Marie was a good sort, thinking nothing of herself, retailing her goods

to the soldiers--to those who had no money as well as to those who had.