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.