Lost in lovers’ dreams, Pauline and I saw day after day pass; and frequently, when we spoke of a discovery, which circumstances would render inevitable before long, we laughed and trembled at the effect it was likely to produce upon her father. It is true the event was somewhat distant; and as long as it were possible, the secret must be kept. But a more sudden blow was impending—it fell, and both were rendered miserable.
If ever man were drunk with fortune, it was Napoleon. He had reached the highest pinnacle of human fortune, that the wildest ambition could soar to; yet, blinded by prosperity so dazzling, he was dissatisfied,—and, forming the most romantic projects, like a desperate gambler, he risked all that he had gained—“wearied his good genius, and provoked his fate.” In a word, he first commenced an unjust and impolitic war here, in the peninsula, and followed that madness out by a still madder act—the invasion of Russia.
Although for more than a year, the hostile attitudes assumed by Napoleon and Alexander, showed mistrust on both sides, few suspected that the crisis should come so suddenly. The remoteness of the Seigneur’s estate—the little intercourse he held with any who knew what was passing in the world, left us in blissful ignorance. And the first intimation I had, that I was about to enter on a bloody and disastrous campaign, was a peremptory command to set out for Dantzic at an hour’s notice. The sudden order prevented Pauline and me from taking any steps to communicate the secret of our marriage; and at the moment when woman requires the greatest attention from a husband, I was obliged to abandon the home of my youth, and her whom I had sworn to cherish and protect.
Already the routes through Germany were crowded with enormous masses of fighting men. Never, in modern warfare, was such an army collected and set in motion. Conceive more than five hundred thousand combatants, of all arms—including sixty thousand horsemen, and twelve hundred pieces of artillery! The very enormity of the vast machine would have required a superhuman mind to direct it.
I need not dwell upon the campaign. On we went!—on—on—on! as if urged by an overruling fatality. The Russians prudently retired—that was called fear—the weather for a few days was moderate; and our leader madly fancied that the horrors of the icy north were fabulous. Oh! how fatally that fallacy of his turned out!
I pass the less interesting portion of this tragic campaign. The mind that conceived the monstrous undertaking, could not be sane. The haughty assumption of the Emperor struck many a thinking soldier as being incompatible with the statesman’s prudence; and when assuming the mantle of prophecy, and in reply to a temperate appeal, exclaiming, “a fatality involves them; let their destinies be fulfilled!” he rejected conciliatory advances, and flung the scabbard from the sword, more than Talleyrand pronounced, that Fortune and he had shaken hands and parted; and the sad results of that mad aggression upon Russia proved its truth.
A circumstance occurred, that looked like an evil augury; and, to the superstitious, foreboded evil results. Although the month was July, at Pilony a rain storm nearly overwhelmed the men and horses of a whole division. Of the latter, several hundreds were lost; and at Lismori, a thunderbolt fell into the bivouac of the Old Guard, and destroyed several of our veteran soldiers.
But the decree was passed; and our leader pushed forward where the finger of destiny pointed. At Witepsk, the enemy presented themselves in order of battle, after retiring, in perfect order, and holding every inch of forest through which we passed. That they were intimidated, was a manifest absurdity; their skirmishers held the ground boldly and freely,—mingled with ours as they advanced. From the audacity with which they awaited our approach, and singled out individuals, we lost some valuable officers; and in the very centre of his escort, General Roussel was pistoled by a Russian dragoon. It was evident that policy, not fear, induced the enemy to recede. In a cavalry affair, the next morning, a regiment of chasseurs were charged, and heavily cut up by some squadrons of the Cossack Guard, and nothing but the immediate support of an infantry corps saved them from destruction. Napoleon was a looker-on, and directed the movement by which the regiment was rescued.
On the heights beyond the Lonchesa, we observed the whole Russian army in position. A battle would be received, and we bivouacked, waiting for morning, to fail on. At day-break we were, under arms. Where was the enemy we were to assail? On the preceding night, Barclay de Tolly had abandoned his position; and that, too, with so little precipitation, that the very route he took was doubtful;—neither dismounted guns, nor dead horses, pointing the line of his retreat. The youngest soldier, as he passed over a country ravaged and deserted, began to suspect the reason that a conflict had been declined. It was masterly policy; and the sacrifices it cost in the outset, were amply repaid in the end.
At this period of the advance, we suffered dreadfully from heat and scarcity of water. Many a veille moustache asserted that an Egyptian sun was more endurable. Then, the weather would change suddenly,—rain fall in torrents,—and, from the difficulty of the roads, render marching almost impracticable. We thought our hardships severe enough. Little did we imagine those that remained in store!