Faloppa, the man who had stayed with me, was in no better position. We had been walking together for a quarter of an hour, when he turned towards me, saying: 'Well, sergeant, if we had those little pots of dripping here that you made me throw away in Spain, you would be very glad, and we could make fine soup.' It was not the first time he had made that remark. The episode, comical enough, was this:
One day, after we had made a long expedition in the mountains of Asturias, we were quartered at St. Hiliaume, a little town in Castile, on the sea-coast. I was quartered with my subdivision in a large building forming the right wing of the Court House.[60] This part of it was very large, and inhabited by an old bachelor, absolutely alone. On arriving at his house we asked him whether we could buy some butter or dripping to make soup, and cook some haricots. He replied that even for gold there was none to be had in the entire town. A moment afterwards the muster was called. I left Faloppa to do the cooking, and commissioned another man to search through the town for some butter or fat, but none was to be had. When we came back, the first thing Faloppa said to us was that the old bachelor was a rascal. 'How is that?' He answered us, 'Look!'
He showed me three gallipots containing some beautiful fat that we saw was goose-dripping. Everyone exclaimed, 'There's your Spanish beggar for you. There's a rascal!' Our cook had made some splendid soup, and had prepared some haricots. We sat down to eat under a great chimney-piece, like the entrance to a house, when suddenly the Spaniard returned, wrapped in his brown mantle, and, seeing us eating, hoped we should enjoy our meal. I asked him why he had not wanted to sell us the dripping. 'No, señor,' he answered, 'I had none. If I had had any, I would have given it to you with pleasure, and for nothing!' Then Faloppa, taking up one of the little pots, showed it to him. 'Then this is not fat, is it, rascal of a Spaniard?' Looking at the little pot, he changed colour, and stood as if thunderstruck. Pressed for a reply, he told us that it certainly was dripping, but the manteca de ladron (thieves' fat). He was the town executioner, and what we had found and made our soup with was the fat of hanged men, which he sold for ointment.
PASSAGE OF THE BÉRÉZINA, NOVEMBER, 1812.
Hardly had he finished, when all the spoons flew about his head. He had barely time to escape; and not one of us, although very hungry, wanted to eat any haricots; the soup was almost all gone. Faloppa only went on eating just the same, saying that the Spaniard had lied. 'And even were it so,' said he, 'the soup is good, and the haricots still better.' So saying, he offered me some to taste, which turned me sick. I went across to a brandy merchant's facing our quarters, and asked him with whom we were quartered. He crossed himself, repeating over and over again: 'Ave, Maria, purissima, sin peccado concebida!' He told me that it was the executioner. For some time I was ill and sick with disgust; but Faloppa, when he left, carried off the remainder of the fat, pretending he would prepare us soup with it again. I was obliged to make him throw it away; and that is why in Russia, when he had nothing to eat, he was always quoting this story.
For half an hour we had not lost sight of the column, showing that we had walked pretty well. I must say that the road happened to be better; but soon afterwards it became rough and as slippery as in the morning. The cold was very keen, and we had already passed some men dying by the way, although clothed in thick furs. Exhaustion, however, was answerable for a good deal. Faloppa fell several times, and if I had not been with him to help him up again, he would have been left behind.
The road now became better; we could see the long train of the column in front of us. We redoubled our efforts to rejoin it, but did not succeed. We came upon a hamlet of five or six houses, of which half were on fire, where we stopped a little while. Several men were gathered round; many seemed quite unable to go on, and several horses had dropped, dying, and were struggling on the snow. Faloppa cut a piece from the thigh of one of them, which we cooked on the points of our swords at the fire of the burning houses.