Chapter X (2)

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 Berezina, 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 a 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. Cesarisse 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 Velite-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 Eugene'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 mere,
Mon amie;
Adieu, ma chere,
Ma bonne Sophie!
Adieu, Nantes, ou j'ai recu la vie;
Adieu, belle France, ma patrie;
Adieu, mere cherie:
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 Gateau?' 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 _schabraquee_ as you are, may the devil take him! Even before the passage of the Berezina, thinking of you sometimes, dear Mother Gateau, I imagined that the crows must long since have made a _fristouille a la neige_ of your old carcase!'

'Wretch!' replied Mother Gateau; '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 Gateau!' replied the old soldier; 'slang me as much as you like, but stop short of _bad soldier! Halte-la!_'

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 _cantiniere_.

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 Krasnoe!...'

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 _cantiniere_.

But Marie, whose marriage was of the same kind as Mother Gateau's, said nothing.

The soldier asked Mother Gateau if she had _monte a 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 Gateau. '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 Gateau, 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 Gateau, 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 Gateau'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 _cantiniere_, 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 Liege, 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.

In every one of our battles she had shown herself most devoted in helping the wounded. One day she herself was wounded; it did not prevent her from going on with her help, careless of the risks she was running, for the bullets and grape-shot were falling all round her. Besides all these good qualities, Marie was pretty; she had a number of friends, too, and her husband was not jealous.

In 1811, while encamped before Almeida (Portugal), some months before leaving for the Russian campaign, the poor fellow must go plundering in a village. He entered a country-house, carried off a clock not worth twenty francs, was foolish enough to bring it into camp, and was arrested. There were very severe orders against marauders, and General Roguet, our Commandant, court-martialed him. He was condemned to be shot within twenty-four hours. Marie therefore became a widow. In a regiment, particularly during a campaign, if a woman is pretty, she is not long without a husband; so at the end of two months' mourning Marie was consoled and married again, as they marry in the army.

Some months after, her new husband was transferred as non-commissioned officer to a regiment of the Young Guard, so she left us to follow him; she had been with us for four years.

In Russia she met with the fate of all the _cantinieres_ in the army: she lost horses, carts, money, furs, and also her protector. As for herself, she had the luck to get back. Four months and a half later, at the Battle of Lutzen, May 2nd, 1813, chance brought us together; she had just been wounded in the right hand, while giving drink to a sick man.

I learned afterwards that she returned to France, and reappeared in the Hundred Days. She was taken prisoner at the Battle of Waterloo, but, being a Belgian subject, she was released.[64]

I asked Marie where her husband was.

'Why, you know very well,' she answered, 'that he was killed at Krasnoe.' (I had not heard this before.) 'He was a good fellow; I miss him very much.'

Then she frowned and bent her head. A moment afterwards she raised it again, and, my eyes being still fixed upon her, she looked at me smiling, but it was a sad smile. I asked her what she was thinking about.

'About eating, as you can guess. I used to have a friend who got me food; now I eat whenever I have anything given me, or when I find something, and that doesn't happen often. There is only drink to be had.'

And as she spoke she took a pinch of snow, and carried it to her mouth. I saw her rise with great difficulty to set off on the march; she gave me her hand, and said 'Farewell.' I noticed that she was worn out with fatigue and privation; that she walked with difficulty, leaning on a stick. Mother Gateau followed her, sheepskin on head, swearing and mumbling between her teeth. I concluded that it was still about the old Chasseur.

Just then there might have been about forty of us, and our number was continually increasing. I caught sight of Humblot, one of our sergeants. Seeing me, he asked what I was doing there. I answered that I was resting, and considering whether I should not do well to pass the night where I was, and start the first thing in the morning.

Humblot, a good fellow who liked me, observed, first, that the weather was bearable; then what advantage it would be to me to have crossed the forest: for, he said, on the other side we should find houses where we could spend the night. The next day early we could reach Wilbalen, a small town, from three to four leagues distant. There we should find our comrades, and be able to buy the necessaries of life. In fact, he said so much that I took up musket and knapsack and set off with Sergeant Humblot. While walking, Humblot told me that, although we were in Pomeranian Prussia, it was not wise to walk alone or lag behind, for several thousand Cossacks had crossed the Niemen on the ice.

Then he told me that he had left Kowno the day before with many others who had not troubled about anything, for Marshal Ney was still there to keep the Russians off the town, with a rear-guard composed of Germans and some French. The Germans, he told me, had formed part of the garrison of Kowno, and were in excellent condition, having wanted for nothing; but they were poor soldiers, and but for the few French among them, they would have thrown down their arms and fled.

'I am going to tell you,' he went on, 'what happened to me yesterday, and you will see if I am not right in persuading you to get out of this cursed country as soon as possible.

'After having crossed the Niemen and come within a quarter of a league of the town, we saw, some distance off, more than 2,000 mounted Cossacks and others. We halted to decide what was to be done, and also to wait for those who were behind. Shortly afterwards we found ourselves about 400 men strong, of all equipments. We formed into a column, so as, if need be, to re-form into a square. Some officers who were among us took the command. Twenty-two Poles afterwards joined us. About fifty of the strongest men, who possessed good weapons, took up a position as sharp-shooters, in front and on our flanks.

'We marched resolutely upon the cavalry, who at the approach of the sharp-shooters drew off to right and left of the way. On reaching the level of the Russians, the column halted to wait for some men still in the rear. Only a few would be able to rejoin us, it seemed, for a party of Cossacks detached themselves to cut off those farthest off.

'A man of the name of Boucsin,[65] who played the big drum in our band, was in the rear, and was doing his utmost to join the column with (marvellous to relate!) his drum still on his back, and in his hands a bag of five-franc pieces. This load hindered him from getting along quickly; he was attacked by the Cossacks at fifty paces to the rear and to the left of the column. He received a lance-thrust between the shoulders, and fell full length into the snow, the drum being thrown over his head. Two Cossacks instantly dismounted to strip him, but a Polish officer and three men ran upon them, took one prisoner with his horse, and freed the drummer of his instrument, which he left in the field. He got off with a lance-thrust and half of his money, which he distributed among those who had saved his life.

'After this the column set off again to the shouts of "Long live the Emperor!" with the Cossack and his horse in the middle of them.'

Humblot had barely finished his story before I was forced to stop, in the same trouble again. Meantime he walked slowly, so that I could catch up with him. When I resumed my march, I found a great crowd preventing me from getting along. I regained the road, but had hardly done so, when I heard repeated shouts: 'Look out for the Cossacks!' I imagined it was a false alarm, when I caught sight of several officers, armed with muskets, who halted and bravely stationed themselves in the road, facing the noise, and crying out: 'Never mind! Let the dogs come on!'[66] I looked behind me; they were so close that one of the horses touched me--three were ahead, others followed.