Chapter XI: Part 11

Several eye-witnesses assert that a complete tumult and confusion then ensued; that the disbanded men, the women, and the attendants ran headlong over each other, and broke quite through the ranks; that, in short, there was a moment when this unfortunate army was but a shapeless mass, a mere rabble rout hurrying to and fro. All seemed to be lost; but the coolness of the prince and the efforts of his officers, saved all. The best men disengaged themselves, and the ranks were again formed. They advanced, and, firing a few volleys, the enemy, who had every thing on his side excepting courage, the only advantage yet left the French, opened and retired, confining himself to a useless demonstration.

The army occupied his quarters still warm in that town, while he went beyond to bivouac, and to prepare for similar surprises to the very gates of Smolensk. For this disaster at the Wop had made the viceroy give up the idea of separating from the Emperor, near to whom these hordes became still bolder; they surrounded the 11th division. When Prince Eugene would have gone to its relief, his men and officers, stiffened with a cold of twenty degrees, which the wind rendered most piercing, remained stretched on the warm ashes of the fires. To no purpose did he point out to them their comrades surrounded, the enemy approaching, the bullets and balls which were already reaching them; they refused to rise, protesting that they would rather perish where they were than any longer endure such cruel hardships. The videttes themselves had abandoned their posts. Prince Eugene nevertheless contrived to save his rear guard.

It was in returning with it towards Smolensk that his stragglers had been driven back on Ney’s troops, to whom they communicated their panic; all hurried confusedly towards the Dnieper, where they crowded together at the entrance of the bridge, without thinking of defending themselves, when a charge made by the 4th regiment stopped the advance of the enemy.

Its colonel, young Fezenzac, contrived to infuse fresh life into these men, who were half perished with cold. There, as in every thing that can be called action, was manifested the triumph of the sentiments of the soul over the sensations of the body; for every physical feeling tended to encourage despondency and flight; Nature advised it with her hundred most urgent voices; and yet a few words of honor alone were sufficient to produce the most heroic devotedness. The soldiers of the 4th regiment rushed like furies upon the enemy, against the mountains of snow and ice of which he had taken possession, and in the teeth of the northern hurricane, for they had every thing against them. Ney himself was obliged to moderate their impetuosity.

Such fighting could only be the work of heroes, who were determined to triumph or perish. Ney proved himself worthy to command the rear guard, upon which the safety of the army depended. He was equal to a host, and around his stalwart form the troops rallied, as they would around a rock of salvation. He seemed even determined to conquer the Russian storm.

At length the army once more came in sight of Smolensk: it had reached the goal so often announced to it of all its sufferings. The soldiers exultingly pointed it out to each other. _There_ was that land of promise where their hunger was to find abundance, their fatigue rest; where bivouacs in a cold of nineteen degrees would be forgotten in houses warmed by good fires. _There_ they would enjoy refreshing sleep; there they might repair their apparel; there they would be furnished with new shoes, and clothing adapted to the climate.

But Smolensk was a heap of blackened ruins, and the commissary found there, was compelled to own that he had not enough provisions to supply half the army for the required time, fifteen days. If any thing was wanted to increase the wretchedness of this doomed army it was this disastrous disappointment. Napoleon himself displayed a consciousness of the terrors by which he was surrounded, and seemed to apprehend the destruction of his entire army.

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THE CAMP-FIRE AT KRASNOE.

Upon the retreat from Smolensk, the grand army, reduced to thirty-six thousand effective men, had been divided into four columns, commanded by Napoleon, Eugene, Davoust and Ney. These were separated by the march of a few days from each other. The Emperor reached the town of Krasnoe without difficulty; but the second division, under Prince Eugene, was compelled to fight against forces immensely superior in numbers.

It was the night of the 16th of November. The weather was bitter cold; and though Krasnoe fairly blazed with camp-fires, the soldiers of the guard shivered in spite of the sternest efforts of their wills.

The Emperor had waited for the viceroy during the whole of the preceding day. The noise of an engagement had agitated him. An effort to break through the enemy, in order to join him, had been ineffectually attempted; and when night came on without his making his appearance, the uneasiness of Napoleon was at its height. “Eugene and the army of Italy, and this long day of baffled expectation, had they then terminated together?” Only one hope remained, and that was, that the viceroy, driven back towards Smolensk, had there joined Davoust and Ney, and that on the following day they would, with united forces, attempt a decisive effort.

In his anxiety, the Emperor assembled the marshals who were with him. These were Berthier, Bessieres, Mortier and Lefebvre; they were safe; they had cleared the obstacles; they had only to continue their retreat through Lithuania, which was open to them; but would they abandon their companions in the midst of the Russian army? No, certainly; and they determined once more to enter Russia, either to deliver or to perish with them.

No sooner was this resolution taken, than Napoleon coolly made his arrangements to carry it into effect. He was not at all shaken by the great movements which the enemy was evidently making around him. He saw that Kutusoff was advancing in order to surround and take him prisoner in Krasnoe. The very night before he had learned that Ojarowski, with a vanguard of Russian infantry, had got beyond him, and taken a position at Maliewo, a village on his left. Irritated instead of being depressed by misfortune, he called his aid-de-camp Rapp, and told him “that he must set out immediately, and during the darkness attack that body of the enemy with the bayonet; this was the first time of his exhibiting so much audacity, and that he was determined to make him repent it, in such a way that he should never again dare approach so near to his head-quarters.” Then instantly recalling him, he exclaimed, “But no: let Roguet and his division go alone. As for you, remain where you are; I don’t wish you killed here; I shall have occasion for you at Dantzic.”

Rapp, as he was carrying this order to Roguet, could not help feeling astonished that his chief, surrounded by eighty thousand of the enemy, whom he was going to attack the next day with nine thousand, should have so little doubt about his safety as to be thinking of what he should have to do at Dantzic, a city from which he was separated by the winter, two hostile armies, famine, and a hundred and eighty leagues of distance.

The nocturnal attack on Ojarowski at Chirkowa and Maliewo proved successful. Roguet formed his idea of the enemy’s position by the direction of their fires: they occupied two villages, connected by a causeway, defended by a ravine. He disposed his troops into three columns of attack: those on the right and left were to advance silently, as close as possible to the Russians; then, at the signal to charge, which he himself would give them from the centre, they were to rush into the midst of the hostile corps without firing a shot, and make use only of their bayonets.

Immediately the two wings of the young guard commenced the action. While the Russians, taken by surprise, and not knowing on which side to defend themselves, were wavering from their right to their left, Roguet, with his column, rushed suddenly upon their centre, and into the midst of their camp, which he entered pell-mell along with them. Thus divided, and in utter confusion, they had barely time to throw the best part of their cannon and small arms into a neighboring lake, and to set fire to their tents, the flames of which, instead of saving them, only gave light to their destruction.

This check stopped the movements of the Russian army for four-and-twenty hours, put it in the Emperor’s power to remain at Krasnoe, and enabled Eugene to rejoin him during the following night. He was received by Napoleon with the greatest joy; whose uneasiness, however, respecting Davoust and Ney, now became proportionably greater.

Around the French, the camp of the Russians presented a spectacle similar to what it had done at Vinkowo, Malo-Yaroslawetz, and Wiazma. Every evening, close to the general’s tent, the relics of the Russian saints, surrounded by an immense number of wax tapers, were exposed to the adoration of the soldiers. While these, according to their custom, were giving proofs of their devotion by endless crossings and genuflexions, the priests were employed in exciting their fanaticism with exhortations that would have been deemed barbarous and absurd by a civilized nation.

It is asserted that a spy had represented to Kutusoff, Krasnoe as being filled with an immense number of the imperial guard, and that the old marshal was afraid of hazarding his reputation by attacking it. But the sight of the distress emboldened Bennigsen; this officer, who was chief of the staff, prevailed upon Strogonoff, Gallitzin, and Miloradowitch, with a force of more than fifty thousand Russians, and one hundred pieces of cannon, to venture to attack at daylight, in spite of Kutusoff, fourteen thousand famished, enfeebled, and half-frozen French and Italians.

This was a danger, the imminence of which Napoleon fully comprehended. He might have escaped from it, for the day had not yet appeared. He was still at liberty to avoid this fatal engagement; by rapid marches along with Eugene and his guard, he might have gained Orcha and Borizoff; there he could have rallied his forces, and strengthened himself with thirty thousand French, under Victor and Oudinot, with the corps of Dombrowski, Regnier, and Schwartzenberg, been within reach of all his depots, and, by the following year, have made himself as formidable as ever.

On the 17th, before daylight, he issued his orders, armed himself, and going out on foot at the head of his Old Guard, began his march. But it was not towards Poland, his ally, that he directed it, nor towards France, where he would still be received as the head of a new dynasty, and the Emperor of the West. His words on grasping his sword on this occasion were, “I have sufficiently acted the emperor; it is time I should become the general.” He turned back upon eighty thousand of the enemy, plunging into the thickest of them, in order to draw all their efforts against himself, to make a diversion in favor of Davoust and Ney, and to rescue them from a country, the gates of which were closed against them.

Daylight at last appeared, exhibiting on the one part the Russian battalions and batteries, which on three sides, in front, on the right, and in the rear, bounded the horizon, and on the other Napoleon, with his six thousand guards, advancing with a firm step, and proceeding to take his place in the centre of that terrible circle. At the same time, Mortier, a few yards in front of the Emperor, deployed, in the face of the whole Russian army, with the five thousand men still remaining to him.

Every moment strengthened the enemy and weakened Napoleon. The noise of artillery, as well as Claparede, apprized him that in the rear of Krasnoe and his army, Bennigsen was proceeding to take possession of the road to Liady, and entirely cut off his retreat. The east, the west, and the south were flashing with the enemy’s fires; one side alone remained open, that of the north and the Dnieper, towards an eminence, at the foot of which were the high road and the Emperor. The French fancied they saw the enemy already covering this eminence with their cannon. In that situation they would have been just over Napoleon’s head, and might have crushed him at a few yards’ distance. He was apprized of his danger, cast his eyes for an instant towards the height, and uttered merely these words, “Very well, let a battalion of my chasseurs take possession of it!” Immediately afterward, without giving farther heed to it, his whole attention was directed to the perilous situation of Mortier.

Then, at last, Davoust made his appearance, forcing his way through a swarm of Cossacks, whom he dispersed by a precipitate movement. At the sight of Krasnoe this marshal’s troops disbanded themselves, running across the fields to get beyond the right of the enemy’s line, in the rear of which they had come up; and Davoust and his generals could only rally them at that place.

The first corps was thus preserved; but it was learned at the same time that the rear guard could no longer defend itself at Krasnoe; that Ney was probably still at Smolensk, and that they must give up waiting for him any longer. Napoleon, however, still hesitated: he could not determine on making this great sacrifice.

But at last, as all were likely to perish, his resolution was taken. He called Mortier, and pressing his hand sorrowfully, told him “that he had not a moment to lose; that the enemy were overwhelming him in all directions; that Kutusoff might already reach Liady, perhaps Orcha, and the last elbow of the Borysthenes before him; and that he would therefore proceed thither rapidly, with his Old Guard, in order to occupy that passage. Davoust would relieve him, Mortier, but both of them must endeavor to hold out in Krasnoe until night, after which they must advance and rejoin him.” Then, with his heart full of Ney’s misfortune, and of despair at abandoning him, he withdrew slowly from the field of battle, traversed Krasnoe, where he again halted, and thence cleared his way to Liady.

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THE CAMP-FIRE AT BORYSTHENES.

Ney, “the bravest of the brave,” the commander of the rearguard of the grand army, had been given up as lost by most of his heroic brethren in arms. But Napoleon could not believe it. He knew that the chances were those of desperation, but he expected all things from the lion-hearted marshal. The Emperor had reached Orcha, on the Borysthenes, with ten thousand men. He found there abundance of provisions and his troops encamped by ample fires. But his anxiety for the fate of Ney rendered him very much dejected. He could not bring his mind to the idea of quitting the Borysthenes.

It appeared to him that this would be like a second abandonment of the unfortunate Ney, and a final casting off of his intrepid companion in arms. There, as at Liady and Dombrowna, he was calling every hour of the day and night, and sending to inquire if no tidings had been received of that marshal. But nothing was heard of him through the intervening Russian army; and four days this fatal silence had lasted, and yet the Emperor still continued to hope.

Being at length, on the 20th of November, compelled to quit Orcha, he left there Eugene, Mortier, and Davoust, and halted after a march of two leagues from that place, still inquiring for Ney, and still expecting him. The same feeling of grief pervaded the portion of the army remaining at Orcha. As soon as the most pressing wants allowed a moment’s rest, the thoughts and looks of every one were directed towards the Russian bank. They listened for any warlike sounds which might announce the arrival of Ney, or, rather, his last desperate struggle with the foe; but nothing was to be seen but parties of the enemy, who were already menacing the bridges of the Borysthenes. One of the three marshals now proposed to destroy them, but the others would not consent, as this would be separating themselves still more widely from their companion in arms, and acknowledging that they despaired of saving him, an idea which, from their unhappiness at the thought, they could not bear to entertain.

But with the fourth day all hope had vanished, and night only brought with it an agitated repose. They blamed themselves for Ney’s misfortune, forgetting that it was utterly impossible to have waited longer for him in the plains of Krasnoe, there to fight for another twenty-four hours, when they had scarcely strength and ammunition left for one.

Already, as is always the case in such painful losses, they began to seek for some soothing recollections. Davoust was the last who had quitted the unfortunate marshal, and Mortier and the viceroy were inquiring of him what were his last words. At the first reports of the cannonade of the enemy on the 15th, it would seem that Ney was anxious to evacuate Smolensk immediately, in the suite of the viceroy; but Davoust refused, pleading the orders of the emperor, and their obligation to destroy the ramparts of the town. The two chiefs became warm; and Davoust insisting to remain until the following day, Ney, who had been appointed to bring up the rear, was compelled to wait for him.

It is true that on the 16th, Davoust sent to warn him of his danger; but Ney, either from change of opinion, or from feelings of resentment against Davoust, returned for answer “that all the Cossacks in the universe should not prevent him from executing his instructions.”

After exhausting these recollections and all their conjectures, they had relapsed into a gloomy silence, when suddenly they heard the steps of horses, and then the joyful cry, “Marshal Ney is safe! here are some Polish cavalry come to announce his approach!” One of his officers now galloped in, and informed them that the marshal was advancing on the right bank of the Borysthenes, and had sent him to ask for assistance.

Night had just set in; and Davoust, Eugene, and Mortier were allowed only its short duration to revive and animate the soldiers, who had hitherto constantly bivouacked. For the first time since they left Moscow, these poor fellows had received a sufficient supply of provisions; and they were about to prepare them and to take their rest, warm and under cover. How was it possible, then to make them resume their arms, and turn them from their comfortable asylums during that night of rest, whose inexpressible sweets they had just begun to taste! Who could persuade them to interrupt it, to trace back their steps, and once more, in the midst of darkness, return into the frozen deserts of Russia?

Eugene and Mortier disputed the honor of making this effort, and the first carried it only in right of his superior rank. Shelter and the distribution of provisions had effected that which threats would have failed to do. The stragglers were rallied, and the viceroy again found himself at the head of four thousand men; all were ready to march at the idea of Ney’s danger; but it was their last effort.

They proceeded in the darkness, by unknown roads, and had marched two leagues at random, halting every few minutes to listen. Their anxiety instantly increased. Had they lost their way? Were they too late? Had their unfortunate comrades fallen? Was it the victorious Russian army they were about to meet? In this uncertainty Prince Eugene directed some cannon-shot to be fired. Immediately after, they fancied they heard signals of distress on that sea of snow: they were not mistaken; they proceeded from the third corps, which having lost all its artillery, could answer the cannon of the fourth only by some volleys of platoon firing.

The two corps were thus directed towards their meeting. Ney and Eugene were the first to recognise each other: they ran up, Eugene the most eagerly, and threw themselves into each other’s arms. Eugene wept, but Ney only let fall some angry words. The first was delighted, melted, and elevated at the sight of the chivalrous hero whom he had just had the happiness to save. The latter still heated from the combat, irritated at the dangers which the honor of the army had run in his person, and blaming Davoust, whom he wrongfully accused of having deserted him.

Some hours afterwards, when the latter sought to justify himself, he could draw nothing from Ney but a severe look and these words, “Monsieur le Marechal, I have no reproaches to make you: God is our witness and your judge!”

As soon as the two corps had fairly recognised each other, they could no longer be kept in their ranks. Soldiers, officers, generals, all rushed forward together. The soldiers of Eugene, eagerly grasping the hands of those of Ney, held them with a joyful mixture of astonishment and curiosity, and embraced them with the tenderest sympathy. They lavished upon them the refreshments which they had just received, and overwhelmed them with questions. Then they proceeded in company towards Orcha, all burning with impatience, Eugene’s soldiers to hear, and Ney’s to relate, their story. There they were soon gathered around the cheerful camp-fire, and resting from their toils.

The officers of Ney stated that on the 17th of November they had quitted Smolensk with twelve cannon, six thousand infantry, and three hundred cavalry, leaving there five thousand sick to the mercy of the enemy; and that, had it not been for the noise of Platoff’s artillery and the explosion of the mines, their marshal would never have been able to draw from the ruins of that city seven thousand unarmed stragglers who had taken shelter among them. They dwelt upon the attentions which their leader had shown to the wounded, and to the women and their children, proving upon this occasion that the bravest are also the most humane.

Ney’s officers continued to speak in the most enthusiastic terms of their marshal; for even his equals could not feel the slightest jealousy of him. He had, indeed, been too much regretted, and his preservation had excited emotions far too grateful to allow of any feelings of envy; besides, Ney had placed himself completely beyond its reach. As for himself, he had in all this heroism gone so little beyond his natural character, that, had it not been for the eclat of his glory in the eyes, the gestures, and the acclamations of every one, he would never have imagined that he had performed an extraordinary action.

And this was not an enthusiasm of surprise, for each of the few last days had had its remarkable men: that of the 16th, for instance, had Eugene, and that of the 17th, Mortier; but from this time forward Ney was universally proclaimed the hero of the retreat.

When Napoleon, who was two leagues farther on, heard that Ney had again made his appearance, he leaped and shouted for joy, exclaiming, “Then I have saved my eagles! I would have given three hundred millions from my exchequer sooner than have lost such a man.”

Such a man! Where else in history shall we find such a man? Davoust, Mortier, Junot, Murat, and other celebrated officers of that army were brave—wonderful men, indeed—but Ney towered above them all, in a courage which was full of sublimity—a courage which found resource when others saw nothing left for them but a resignation to death.

That night the marshal slept beside the camp-fire of his beloved Emperor—the sweet sleep which grows from the consciousness of duty performed.

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THE LAST CAMP-FIRES IN RUSSIA.

At Malodeczno, Napoleon suddenly determined to leave the wretched remnant of his army, and, accompanied by a few faithful officers, to return to France. Murat was left to command the army, and the greatest hopes of speedy relief and fresh triumph were excited by the Emperor before he departed. He journeyed very rapidly, and reached Paris on the 19th of December, two days after his memorable twenty-ninth bulletin had told France the disasters of the campaign. But the remains of the grand army—what was their fate?

On the 6th of December, the very day after Napoleon’s departure, the sky exhibited a more dreadful appearance. Icy particles were seen floating in the air, and the birds fell stiff and frozen to the earth. The atmosphere was motionless and silent; it seemed as if every thing in nature which possessed life and movement, even the wind itself, had been seized, chained, and, as it were, congealed by a universal death. Not a word or a murmur was then heard; there was nothing but the gloomy silence of despair, and the tears which proclaimed it.

“We flitted along,” says Segur, “in the midst of this empire of death like doomed spirits. The dull and monotonous sound of our steps, the crackling of the frost and the feeble groans of the dying, were the only interruptions to this doleful and universal silence. Anger and imprecations there were none, nor any thing which indicated a remnant of warmth; scarcely was strength enough left to utter a prayer; and most of them even fell without complaining, either from weakness or resignation, or because people complain only when they look for kindness, and fancy they are pitied.

“Such of our soldiers as had hitherto been the most persevering here lost heart entirely. Some times the snow sunk beneath their feet, but more frequently, its glassy surface refusing them support, they slipped at every step, and tottered along from one fall to another. It seemed as though this hostile soil were leagued against them; that it treacherously escaped from under their efforts; that it was constantly leading them into snares, as if to embarrass and retard their march, and to deliver them up to the Russians in pursuit of them, or to their terrible climate.”

And, in truth, whenever, for a moment, they halted from exhaustion, the winter, laying his icy hand upon them, was ready to seize his victims. In vain did these unhappy creatures, feeling themselves benumbed, raise themselves up, and, already deprived of the power of speech, and plunged into a stupor, proceed a few steps like automatons; their blood froze in their veins, like water in the current of rivulets, congealing the heart, and then flying back to the head; and these dying men staggered as if they had been intoxicated. From their eyes, reddened and inflamed by the constant glare of the snow, by the want of sleep, and the smoke of the bivouacs, there flowed real tears of blood; their bosoms heaved with deep and heavy sighs; they looked towards heaven and on the earth, with an eye dismayed, fixed, and wild, as expressive of their farewell, and, it might be, of their reproaches against the barbarous nature which was tormenting them. It was not long before they fell upon their knees, and then upon their hands; their heads still slowly moved for a few minutes alternately to the right and left, and from their open mouth some sounds of agony escaped; at last, in its turn, it fell upon the snow, which it reddened with livid blood, and their sufferings were at an end.

Their comrades passed by them without moving a step out of their way, that they might not, by the slightest curve, prolong their journey, and without even turning their heads; for their beards and hair were so stiffened with ice that every movement was painful. Nor did they even pity them; for, in fact, what had they lost by dying? who had they left behind them? They suffered so much, they were still so far from France, so much divested of all feelings of country by the surrounding prospect and by misery, that every dear illusion was broken, and hope almost destroyed. The greater number, therefore, had become careless of dying, from necessity, from the habit of seeing death constantly around them, and from fashion, sometimes even treating it with contempt; but more frequently, on seeing these unfortunates stretched upon the snow, and instantly stiffened, contenting themselves with the thought that they had no more wants, that they were at rest, that their sufferings were over. And, indeed, death, in a situation quiet, certain, and uniform, may be felt as a strange event, a frightful contrast, a terrible change; but in this tumult, this violent and ceaseless movement of a life of action, danger, and suffering, it appeared nothing more than a transition, a slight alteration, an additional removal, which excited little alarm.

Such were the last days of the grand army: its last nights were still more frightful. Those whom they surprised marching together, far from every habitation, halted on the borders of the woods: there they lighted their fires, before which they remained the whole night, erect and motionless, like spectres. They seemed as if they could not possibly have enough of the heat; they kept so close to it as to burn their clothes, as well as the frozen parts of their body, which the fire decomposed. The most dreadful pain then compelled them to stretch themselves on the ground, and the next day they attempted in vain to rise.

In the meantime, such as the winter had almost wholly spared, and who still retained some portion of courage, prepared their melancholy meal. It had consisted, ever since they left Smolensk, of some slices of horseflesh broiled, and a little rye meal made into a sort of gruel with snow water, or kneaded into paste, which they seasoned, for want of salt, with the powder of their cartridges.

The sight of these fires was constantly attracting fresh spectres, who were driven back by the first comers. Many of them, destitute of the means and the strength necessary to cut down the lofty fir trees, made vain attempts to set fire to them as they were standing; but death speedily surprised them, and they might be seen in every sort of attitude, stiff and lifeless about their trunks.

Under the vast pent-houses erected by the sides of the high road in some parts of the way, scenes of still greater horror were witnessed. Officers and soldiers all rushed precipitately into them, and crowded together in heaps. There, like so many cattle, they pressed upon each other around the fires, and as the living could not remove the dead from the circle, they laid themselves down upon them, there to expire in their turn, and serve as a bed of death to some fresh victims. In a short time additional crowds of stragglers presented themselves, and, being unable to penetrate into these asylums of suffering, they completely besieged them.

It frequently happened that they demolished their walls, which were formed of dry wood, in order to feed their fires; at other times, repulsed and disheartened, they were contented to use them as shelters to their bivouacs, the flames of which very soon communicated to the buildings, and the soldiers who were within them, already half dead with the cold, perished in the conflagration.

At Youpranoui, the same village where the Emperor only missed by an hour being taken by the Russian partisan Seslawin, the soldiers burned the houses as they stood, merely to warm themselves for a few minutes. The light of these fires attracted some of those miserable wretches, whom the excessive severity of the cold and their sufferings had rendered delirious; they ran to them like madmen, they threw themselves into these furnaces, where they perished in horrible convulsions. Their famished companions looked on unmoved; and there were some who drew out these bodies, blackened and broiled by the flames, and, shocking to relate, they ventured to pollute their mouths with this dreadful food!

This was the same army which had been formed from the most civilized nation of Europe; that army, formerly so brilliant, which was victorious over men to its last moment, and whose name still reigned in so many conquered capitals. Its strongest and bravest warriors, who had recently been proudly traversing so many scenes of their victories, had lost their noble bearing; covered with rags, their feet naked and torn, and supporting themselves with branches of fir, they dragged themselves painfully along; and the strength and perseverance which they had hitherto put forth in order to conquer, they now made use of only to flee.

In this state of physical and moral distress, the remnant of the grand army reached the city of Wilna, the Mecca of their hopes. There food and shelter were obtained; but the Russians soon came up and told, in the thunder of their artillery, that Wilna was not a place of rest for the French. They were driven from the town, and Ney, with a handful of men, could scarcely protect their flight. Who can ever do sufficient honor to the lion-hearted marshal? This was the order of retreat which he adopted:

Every day, at five o’clock in the evening, he took his position, stopped the Russians, allowed his soldiers to eat and take some rest, and resumed his march at ten o’clock. During the whole of the night, he pushed the mass of the stragglers before him, by dint of cries, of entreaties, and of blows. At daybreak, which was about seven o’clock, he halted, again took position, and rested under arms and on guard until ten o’clock; the enemy then usually made his appearance, and he was compelled to fight until the evening, gaining as much ground in the rear as possible. This depended at first on the general order of march, and at a later period upon circumstances.

For a long time this rear guard did not consist of more than two thousand, then of one thousand, afterward of about five hundred, and finally it was reduced to sixty men; and yet Berthier, either designedly, or from mere routine, made no change in his instructions. These were always addressed to the commander of a corps of thirty-five thousand men; in them he coolly detailed all the different positions which were to be taken up and guarded until the next day, by divisions and regiments which no longer existed. And every night, when pressed by Ney’s urgent warnings, he was obliged to go and awake the King of Naples, and compel him to resume his march, he testified the same astonishment.

In this manner did Ney support the retreat from Wiazma to Eve, and a few wersts beyond it. He attempted in vain to rally a few of them; and he who had hitherto been almost the only one whose commands had been obeyed, was now compelled to follow it.

He arrived along with it at Kowno, which was the last town of the Prussian empire. Finally, on the 13th of December, after marching forty-six days under the most terrible sufferings, they once more came in sight of a friendly country. Instantly, without halting or looking behind them, the greater part plunged into, and dispersed themselves in, the forests of Prussian Poland. Some there were, however, who, on their arrival on the friendly bank of the Niemen, turned round, and there, when they cast a last look on that land of horrors from which they were escaping, and found themselves on the same spot whence, five months before, their countless legions had taken their victorious flight, tears gushed from their eyes, and they broke out into exclamations of the most poignant sorrow.

Two kings, one prince, eight marshals, followed by a few officers, generals on foot, dispersed, and without attendants; finally, a few hundred men of the old guard, still armed—these were its remains—these alone represented the grand army.

The camp-fires of the invaders in Russia were at an end. From Moscow to the Niemen they could be traced in circles of death. Every bivouac had its throng of victims, conquered more by the climate than the troops of Russia. Like a vast stream, which gradually disappears in the ground as it flows, the grand army of four hundred thousand men had vanished amid the snows of Russia. Upon the banks of the Niemen, it lived only in Marshal Ney.

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THE CAMP-FIRE AT LUTZEN.

We have seen Napoleon, with the wreck of an army, a fugitive amid the frozen plains of Russia. A few months have scarcely elapsed. It is April, 1813; and the Emperor of the French has taken the field at the head of three hundred and fifty thousand men, to beat back the enemies who have arisen against him in the hour of his adversity. Once more, in spite of the retreat from Moscow, Europe trembles at his name.

The allies have posted themselves between Leipsic and Dresden. Napoleon, with a hundred and fifteen thousand men under his immediate command, advances to the attack with his customary confidence and decision. Skirmishes took place at Weissenfels and Posen on the 29th of April, and the first of May. On the last day, the French approached the town of Lutzen, where Gustavus Adolphus had gained his final victory. The foremost column came upon the advanced guard of the allies, posted on the heights of Posen, and commanding a defile through which it was necessary to pass. Marshal Bessieres, the commander of the Old Guard—the companion of Napoleon in so much glory—dashed forward to reconnoitre the enemy’s position, when a cannon ball struck one of his aids, and killed him upon the spot. The marshal reined in his fiery charger.

“Inter that brave man,” said he, coolly; but scarcely had the words passed his lips, when he was struck by a spent cannon ball, and he fell from his horse, a corpse. A white sheet was thrown over him to conceal his features from the soldiers whom he had so often led to glory. The body was conveyed to a neighboring house, and there it lay during the battle of the next day, when the Guard looked in vain for the manly form of their commander. Napoleon deeply regretted Bessieres. He ordered the body to be embalmed and sent to the Hotel des Invalides, whence he designed to have it interred with great honors; but his fall prevented the execution of his intention.

On the night of the first of May, the army under Napoleon encamped in order of battle, within sight of the camp-fires of the allies, near Lutzen. The centre was at a village called Kaya, under the command of Ney. It consisted of the young conscripts, supported by the Imperial Guard, with its new parks of artillery drawn up before the well known town of Lutzen. Marmont commanded the right. The left reached from Kaya to the Elster. The silence of night settled down upon the camp of the French. But the allies, encouraged by the presence of the Czar and the King of Prussia, had determined to take the offensive—a very unusual course for any enemy in the face of Napoleon. While the French were reposing around their camp-fires, the Prussian general, Blucher, crossed the Elster. At daybreak, before Napoleon was stirring in his quarters, the French, in the centre, were startled by the furious assault of the enemy, who pushed their way through all obstacles, and were on the point of gaining possession of Kaya. The crisis was imminent. Napoleon, roused from slumber by intelligence of the attack, hurried in person to bring up the Guard to sustain the centre, while he moved forward the two wings, commanded by Macdonald and Bertrand, and supported by the tremendous batteries, so as to outflank and surround the main body of the allies. Thus began the battle of Lutzen. The struggle was fierce, and it endured for several hours. The village of Kaya was taken and retaken a number of times, but at length it remained in the hands of General Gerard. The students who were in the ranks of the allies, fought with desperate courage, and fell in great numbers. Schavnhort, a noted Prussian general, was killed, and Blucher was wounded. The artillery of the French carried immense destruction into the ranks of the enemy, and, at length, fearing from Napoleon’s manœuvres, that they would be taken in flank, they beat a retreat, which they effected safely, but with much difficulty. They left twenty thousand dead upon the field. The loss of the French was not more than ten or twelve thousand men. The victory was not decisive, but it was glorious, and once more Napoleon’s star shone with brilliant lustre, free from the shadow of defeat.

The French army was ordered to encamp on the field of battle in squares, by divisions, in order to provide against any sudden return of the enemy. Couriers were immediately sent off with the news of the victory to every friendly court in Europe. That night there was rejoicing around the camp-fires of the French. Napoleon once more received the congratulations of his generals upon a victory, and he began to dream of a peaceful occupation of his imperial throne.

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THE CAMP-FIRE AT BAUTZEN.

After the victory of Lutzen, Napoleon proposed a cessation of hostilities. But those allies who continually accused him of being always for war, rejected his conciliatory proposals, and resolved to try the sword again. They entrenched their camps at Bautzen, and far from attempting the offensive, which they had found so perilous, they anxiously awaited reinforcements. In the meantime, Napoleon had entered Dresden in triumph. There he remained a week. Finding that all attempts at conciliation were fruitless, he then determined to prosecute the campaign vigorously. On the 18th of May, he commenced the march upon Bautzen, and on the 21st, he reached the position of the allies. They were posted in the rear of Bautzen, with the river Spree in front; a chain of wooded hills and various fortified eminences to the right and left were occupied.

The action at this place commenced by the movement of a column of Italians, who were intended to turn the Prussian flank. This body, however, was attacked and dispersed before Marshal Ney could support them. The remainder of the day was spent by the French in passing the Spree, which was effected without molestation. The Emperor bivouacked in the town of Bautzen for the night. While the camp-fires of the French and their adversaries blazed near each other beyond the Spree, Napoleon called a council of his principal marshals, and after much deliberation, it was resolved to turn the camp of the enemy, instead of storming it. Day had just peeped in the east, and the fires had died out, when the dauntless Ney made a wide circuit to the right of the Russians, while Oudinot engaged their left, and Soult and the Emperor attacked the centre. The battle was fiercely fought. The Prussians, under the lead of the bold and pertinacious Blucher, kept their ground for four hours against the repeated charges of Soult. The slaughter was dreadful on both sides. At length, the Prussians were driven back, and the French were left in undisputed possession of the heights. Ney had now gained the rear of the allies, and he poured in murderous volleys of shot on their dispirited ranks. Panic stricken at this furious assault, they commenced their retreat, with such celerity as to gain time to rally on the roads leading to Bohemia. As night descended, the French shouted lustily for another victory. And there was revelry around the camp-fires of Napoleon’s army. But the Emperor’s heart was sorely touched.

General Bruyeres, a gallant officer, had been stricken down in the joyous moment of victory, at the head of the Imperial Guard. But it was not for him that the Emperor wept. About seven in the evening, the grand marshal of the palace—the devoted Duroc—he who was dearer to Napoleon than even Lannes or Bessieres—was mortally wounded. He was standing on a slight eminence, and at a considerable distance from the firing, conversing with Marshal Mortier and General Kirgener, all three on foot, when a cannon ball, aimed at the group, ploughed up the ground near Mortier, ripped open Duroc’s abdomen, and killed General Kirgener. The grand marshal was conveyed to a lowly house as the victors encamped for the night. Napoleon was deeply affected when informed of the mournful event. He hastened to Duroc, who still breathed, and exhibited wonderful self-possession. Duroc seized the Emperor’s hand and pressed it to his lips. “All my life,” he said, “has been devoted to your service, and I only regret its loss for the use which it might still have been to you.”

“Duroc,” replied the Emperor, “there is another life. It is there that you will await me, and that we will one day meet.”

“Yes, sire; but that will be in thirty years, when you shall have triumphed over your enemies, and realized the hopes of our country. I have lived an honest man; and have nothing to reproach myself with. I leave a daughter; your majesty will be a father to her.”

Napoleon was deeply affected. He felt that the time was coming when he should need friends like Duroc. He took the right hand of the grand marshal in his own, and remained for a quarter of an hour with his head resting on the left hand of his old comrade, without being able to proffer a word.

Duroc was the first to break the silence. He did so, in order to spare Napoleon any further laceration of mind. “Ah, sire,” said he, “go hence! This spectacle pains you!”

Napoleon paused a moment, and then rose and said:

“Adieu, then, my friend!” and he required to support himself on Marshal Soult and Caulaincourt, in order to regain his tent, where he would receive no person the whole night. He was again victorious. But he had lost his most faithful friends. His enemies were every day increasing in numbers, while he was only growing weaker by the gradual diminution of his forces; but some of the generals, upon whom he was most accustomed to rely, were of doubtful fidelity. Victorious or not, he saw that the struggle was to be continued against fearful odds, and a cloud approached his star.

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THE CAMP-FIRE AT MONTEREAU.

A distinguished historian, (Alison,) expresses the opinion that the greatest displays of Napoleon’s genius were made during his first campaign in Italy, and the next to the last in his career, in France. In spite of his triumphs at Lutzen, Bautzen and Leipsic, he was compelled to retreat upon France, into which he was followed by the overwhelming forces of the allies. His throne was threatened on all sides. His army was but a handful compared with that of his enemies. Yet by his lightning movements, masterly combinations and indomitable resolution, he gained a succession of dazzling victories, and for a time seemed likely to drive his foes from France. We can only show this astonishing man during one portion of this unparalleled campaign.

It was the 16th of February, 1814. Having conquered the Russians at Montmirail, Napoleon had left the Duke of Ragusa—the Judas of the Emperor—in command of that portion of the army, and flown to the army of the Seine, commanded by the Dukes of Belluno and Reggio. He proceeded to Guignes by way of Crecy and Fontenay.

The inhabitants lined the road with carts, by the help of which the soldiers doubled their distances; and the firing of cannon being heard, the artillery drove on at full speed. An engagement had been obstinately maintained since noon by the Dukes of Belluno and Reggio, in the hope to keep possession of the road by which Napoleon was expected; an hour later the junction of the forces would have been difficult. The arrival of the Emperor restored full confidence to the army of the Seine. That evening he contented himself with checking the allies before Guignes; and the next morning the troops were seasonably reinforced by General Treilhard’s dragoons, who had been detached from the army in Spain. Couriers dispatched to Paris entered the suburbs escorted by crowds of people who had anxiously assembled at Charenton. On the 17th the troops quitted Guignes and marched forward. The allies instantly knew that Napoleon was returned. General Gerard’s infantry, General Drouet’s artillery, and the cavalry of the army of Spain did wonders. The enemy’s columns were driven back in every direction, and left the road between Mormars and Provins covered with the slain. The Duke of Belluno had orders to carry the bridge of Montereau that same evening; and the imperial guard lit their camp-fires round Nangis, the Emperor sleeping at the castle.

In the course of the evening, one of those lures by which he was too often inveigled arrived in the shape of a demand for a suspension of hostilities, brought by Count Parr from the Austrians. He availed himself of this opportunity of transmitting a letter from the Empress to her father, and of writing one himself. Napoleon at the same time, however, had spirit to write to Caulaincourt to revoke his _carte blanche_, saying it was to save the capital, but the capital was now saved; that it was to avoid a battle, but that the battle had been fought, and that the negotiations must return to the ordinary course. The allies had the assurance to reproach Buonaparte with this, as a receding from his word according to circumstances, when they themselves encroached upon him with every new advantage and every hour, as fast as the drawing aside the veil of hypocrisy would let them.

In the meantime, the Duke of Belluno was encamped at the bridge of Montereau. Early on the morning of the 18th, Napoleon was vexed to hear that the bridge was not yet captured; but that the camp-fires of the duke were burning amidst troops at rest, when great efforts were demanded of them. The Emperor hurried to that point. But the Wurtemberg troops had established themselves there during the night.

Napoleon ordered forward the Bretagne national guard and General Pajol’s cavalry. General Gerard came up in time to support the attack, and Napoleon himself arrived to decide the victory. The troops took possession of the heights of Surville, which command the confluence of the Seine and the Yonne; and batteries were mounted which dealt destruction on the Wurtemberg force in Montereau. Napoleon himself pointed the guns. The enemy’s balls hissed like the wind over the heights of Surville. The troops were fearful lest Napoleon, giving way to the habits of his early life, should expose himself to danger; but he only said, “Come on, my brave fellows, fear nothing; the ball that is to kill me is not yet cast.” The firing redoubled; and under its shelter the Bretagne guards established themselves in the suburbs, while General Pajol carried the bridge by so vigorous a charge of cavalry, that there was not time to blow up a single arch. The Wurtemberg troops, inclosed and cut to pieces in Montereau, vainly summoned the Austrians to their aid. This engagement was one of the most brilliant of the campaign. Their success encouraged the troops, roused the country people, and stimulated the ardor of the young officers; but nothing could revive the spirits of the veteran chiefs. Hope does not return twice to the human breast. Several of the most distinguished officers were deeply depressed.

Napoleon could no longer repress his dissatisfaction. He reproached General Guyot in the presence of the troops, with having suffered the enemy to surprise some pieces of artillery the preceding evening. He ordered General Digeon to be tried by a council of war for a failure of ammunition on the batteries: but afterwards tore the order. He sent the Duke of Belluno, who had suffered the Wurtembergers to surprise the bridge of Montereau before him, permission to retire; and gave the command of his corps to General Gerard, who had greatly exerted himself during the campaign. The Duke repaired to Surville to appeal against this decision; but Napoleon overwhelmed him with reproaches for neglect and reluctance in the discharge of his duties. The conduct of the Duchess was also made a subject of complaint; she was Lady of the Palace, and yet had withdrawn herself from the Empress, who, indeed, seemed to be quite forsaken by the new court. The Duke could not for some time obtain a hearing; the recollections of Italy were appealed to in vain; but, mentioning the fatal wound which his son-in-law had received in consequence of his delay, the Emperor was deeply affected at hearing the name of General Chateau, and sympathized sincerely in the grief of the marshal. The Duke of Belluno resuming confidence, again protested that he would never quit the army. “I can shoulder a musket,” said he: “I have not forgotten the business of a soldier. Victor will range himself in the ranks of the Guard.” These last words completely subdued Napoleon. “Well, Victor,” he said, stretching out his hand to him, “remain with me. I cannot restore the command of your corps, because I have appointed General Gerard to succeed you; but I give you the command of two divisions of the Guard; and now let every thing be forgotten between us.”