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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Walter, Jakob, 1788–1864.

[Denkwurdige Geschichtschreibung über die erlebte

Millitäridienstzeit des Verfassers dieses Schreibens. English]

The diary of a Napoleonic foot soldier / Jakob Walter; edited

and

with an introduction by Marc Raeff. — 1st ed.

p. cm.

Translation of: Denkwurdige Geschichtschreibung über die

erlebte

Millitäridienstzeit des Verfassers dieses Schreibens.

1. Walter, Jakob, 1788–1864. 2. Napoleonic Wars, 1800–

1815—

Personal narratives, German. 3. Napoleonic Wars, 1800–

1815—

Campaigns—Soviet Union. 4. Soldiers—Germany—

Biography.

5. Germany. Heer—Biography. I. Raeff, Marc. II. Title.

DC226.5.W3513 1991

940.2’7—dc20 90-26735

eISBN: 978-0-307-81756-3

Copyright © 1991 by Doubleday

This edition was edited and prepared for publication by Marc

Raeff

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

v3.1

THE EDITOR WISHES TO THANK

VARTAN GREGORIAN, WHO, AS PRESIDENT OF THE

NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY,

BROUGHT THIS MANUSCRIPT TO OUR ATTENTION.

GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGMENT IS MADE

TO EDWARD KASINEC,

CHIEF OF THE SLAVIC AND BALTIC DIVISION

OF THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY,

FOR HIS INVALUABLE GUIDANCE.

Contents

Cover

Map

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Introuction

The Diary of a Napoleonic Foot Soldier

Campaign of 1806 and 1807

Campaign of 1809

Campaign of 1812 and 1813

Historical Appraisal of Walter’s Chronicle

by Frank E. Melvin

Notes to the Diary

Writing Home: Six Letters

Notes to the Letters

About the Illustrations

Chronology

Place Names

Reading Suggestions

Introduction

And us, the men, the mean, the rank and file?

Us, tramping broken, wounded, muddy, dying?

Having no hope of duchies and endowments.…

(ADAPTED INTO ENGLISH BY L. N. PARKER, NEW YORK 1900)

Et nous, les petits, les obscurs, les sans-grades,

Nous qui marchions fourbus, blessés, crottés malades,

Sans espoir de duchés ni de dotations …

EDMOND ROSTAND,

L’AIGLON, ACTE II, SCÈNE 9

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION of 1789

seemed to many the dawn of a new era—of a new world

order based on individual political and economic freedoms.

On the other hand, Napoleon’s rule (1799–1815), which

emerged from the Revolution, struck his subjects like a

conquering whirlwind which came near to establishing

France as the sole great power in the Western world. True,

Napoleon’s reign was not only one of war and conquest, it

also helped to disseminate and to root the “Rights of Man

and of the Citizen” in many parts of Europe, initiating a

process of liberalization and democratization that is the

foundation of our own times. All this we see now, in

retrospect—to contemporaries it must have appeared

differently. As we all know, profound social and political

transformations exact a heavy price from those who benefit

as well as from those who suffer from them, while military

conquests are bought with “blood, sweat, and tears.” The

heroic saga of Napoleon’s wars, and the many victories won

by his armies, reaped a bountiful harvest of pride and glory

for France; they are celebrated by monuments, sung by

poets, exalted by historians and national myths. Even while

the legacy of Napoleon recedes farther and farther from

today’s reality, France and the world are about to celebrate

the bicentennial of his deeds—witness the new Dictionnaire

Napoléon, the refurbishing of monuments and museums to

his glory, the staging of Edmond Rostand’s paean, L’Aiglon,

the exhibitions of the arts and artifacts of his times.

While we may recall Napoleon’s glory and his genuinely

lasting accomplishments in law, education, and

administration—both in France and in vassal regions of

Western and Central Europe—we cannot forget the price

paid by his contemporaries, especially the little folk, the

ordinary soldiers whose blood, sweat, and toil won his

battles and brought him glory. The sad truth, however, is

that the common people leave few historical records,

whether written or material. We are particularly fortunate

when ordinary fighting men, soldiers and noncommissioned

officers, leave memoirs and autobiographies recounting

their part in the Napoleonic epic. There are not many of

them and we should be particularly keen to preserve the

few we have and to make them widely known. This is the

reason for republishing an English translation of one of the

very rare autobiographies by an ordinary conscript soldier,

and a German at that, who had the misfortune of

participating in the disastrous campaign Napoleon

undertook in the vain belief that he could defeat Russia. In

addition we are fortunate to publish, for the first time in

English, six letters written home by soldiers in the course of

the campaign itself.

For over twenty years France was at war, involving at one

time or another virtually all European states. Unlike all

previous European wars, even those that had lasted for

decades, the revolutionary and Napoleonic campaigns were

fought by conscripts drawn from the general population; in a

true sense they were the first “national wars” that involved

practically the whole people. It has been estimated that in

the course of fifteen years (1800–15) Napoleon raised about

2 million conscripts in France alone—about 7 percent of the

total population. Little wonder that population growth in

France fell dramatically, resulting in a relative decline of its

population throughout the nineteenth century, at a time

when England, Germany, and Prussia were having their

largest population explosion ever.

Originally, “the nation in arms” had risen to defend the

Revolution against the threat of a royalist restoration and of

the elimination of the social and civic rights secured in

1789. It did not matter that, in point of fact, it was the

revolutionary government that had declared war to forestall

the coalition of Austria, Prussia, Russia, and England. The

very success of France in driving back the armies of the

monarchical alliance from its soil, and in pursuing them

beyond the borders, created the conditions for a messianic

drive to carry the message of liberation from the old order

beyond what—since Richelieu’s times—had been claimed as

the “natural frontiers” of France, and the installation of

“sister republics”—Batavian, in today’s Belgium, Helvetian,

Cisalpine in northern Italy, etc. Although it defeated its

Continental enemies, republican France could not subdue

England, whose implacable enmity (under the leadership of

Pitt the Younger) precluded the recognition and security of

the changes, both domestic and foreign, wrought by the

Revolution since 1789. At least, this is the way it was seen

and interpreted at the time by both sides. England would

not acquiesce to French control of the estuary of the Rhine

and of the Belgian coast, and continued to organize and

subsidize Continental coalitions against France. In addition,

Pitt and his government believed that a reinvigorated France

might pose a threat to England’s colonial empire and trade

routes, especially in the eastern Mediterranean. Their belief

seemed to be confirmed in 1798 by General Bonaparte’s

attempt to conquer Egypt and the coast of what is today

Syria and Lebanon and to disrupt England’s Eastern trade.

Bonaparte’s rhetoric (and aborted negotiations with

Emperor Paul I of Russia) about striking at England in India

did not contribute to making English policy more

accommodating and pacific. As a result, all treaties of peace

concluded between France and the other powers in the last

decade of the eighteenth and the first years of the

nineteenth centuries proved to be only truces to be broken

at the first opportunity.

Napoleon had seized power to extricate France from the

domestic difficulties that had been brought about by the

mismanagement of the Directory, to consolidate the gains

of the Revolution, and to enhance its—as well as his own—

glory, by securing, and if possible expanding, the territorial

acquisitions of the new French social and political order.

Such a double goal could not but bring about a self-fulfilling

prophecy of ever renewed coalitions and wars, and new

territorial conquests stubbornly rejected by England.

Napoleon succeeded in defeating Austria, Prussia, and

Russia—but Nelson’s victory at Trafalgar precluded any

serious French naval challenge and ensured that England

would fight on and subsidize Continental allies, so that

Napoleon never achieved the military and diplomatic

security he craved. Napoleon’s military genius brought

victory and ever new conquests on the Continent, and war

lasted, with short-term breathing spells, from 1799 to his

failure in Russia in 1812 and final defeat in 1814–15.

In 1806, following the defeat of the Third Coalition at

Austerlitz, the Holy German Empire of the Germanic Nation

—in existence since the tenth century—was dissolved by its

Emperor, Francis II, who was also ruler of the Habsburg

lands. In its stead Napoleon created the Confederation of

the Rhine, which in fact was a French satellite,

encompassing the German states, with the exclusion of

Austria and Prussia. The major states of the Confederation,

Württemberg and Westphalia, were promoted to kingdoms—

Württemberg keeping its ruler, while Westphalia, a new

creation carved out from former sovereign principalities and

Prussian lands, received as king Napoleon’s younger brother

Jérôme. Most important in our context, the various states of

the Confederation had to furnish troops to be raised through

a system of conscription similar to that of France. In the war

of 1807–9 against Austria, Prussia, and Russia, contingents

from these newly created kingdoms—promised significant

territorial benefits after victory—fought on the side of the

French. The author of our autobiography, Jakob Walter, had

his first military experiences during that war.

Since he could not beat England by naval and military

means, Napoleon tried to strangle it economically. He

proclaimed the Continental Blockade (Decree of Berlin, 21

November 1806) that prohibited all his satellites and allies

from trading with England. After practically dismembering

Prussia in 1807, Napoleon forced Alexander I, Emperor of

Russia, to accept peace (treaty of Tilsit, 8 July 1807) and to

join the Continental Blockade. Disagreements about the

implementation of the blockade regulations constituted a

major element of friction between Napoleon and Russia.

This was exacerbated by serious discord over Poland.

Emperor Alexander I considered control over neighboring

Poland an essential element of his empire’s security. On the

other hand, Napoleon expected to use Poland as a friendly

satellite to keep Prussia and Russia in check. He set up the

Grand Duchy of Warsaw as an autonomous state, broadly

hinting that it would serve as the nucleus of a revived Polish

state under French tutelage. However, it was dawning on

Napoleon that his domination over Continental Europe

would never be secure as long as Russia, with its vast

manpower resources and territory, was not cowed into

submission. Only then, Napoleon fancied, could he force

England, barred from all trade with Europe, to accept his

peace terms.

Alexander I understood the situation just as well.

Moreover, Russian court circles and economic interests

found membership in the Continental Blockade highly

onerous. Alexander I also realized that for all his promises,

Napoleon would not give him a free hand against Turkey

(with whom he was at war). When Napoleon came to the

conviction that he had not obtained Alexander’s genuine

acceptance of his new order in Europe, he began preparing

for a war against Russia. But he was quite aware that in

order to defeat Russia decisively he would need an

overwhelming force. He started to build up the Grande

Armée in 1811 in preparation for the campaign against

Russia. He hoped that, as had always been the case, a

decisive victory at the start would compel Alexander I to sue

for peace. His strategic plans, as well as the logistic

preparation of the campaign, were predicated on the notion

that war was but another instrument to achieve political

ends. But, as is well known, the decisive battle eluded

Napoleon. He was forced to push on into Russia’s heartland,

occupy Moscow, overextend his supply lines, and exhaust

his troops. Yet, the Russian army remained at full strength

and no peace offer was forthcoming from Alexander I. The

burning of Moscow (whose true causes have still not been

fully elucidated) proved to be the last straw and forced

Napoleon to order the retreat. His exhausted troops,

incapable of breaking through to the south (battle of

Maloiaroslavets, 24 October 1812) to seek rest and supplies

in the Ukraine, had to retrek on the road of invasion through

a devastated countryside, prey to partisan attacks, and

decimated by the hardships of a Russian winter,

compounded by demoralization and famine. The star of

Napoleon’s power and glory was setting.

The revolutionary armies had been manned practically by

Frenchmen only. But as Napoleon’s empire expanded, and

embroiled him into more and more wars, he came to call

upon the populations of annexed and “allied” countries to

contribute to the manpower needs of his army. Before 1812

he had called upon Italians and Germans to fight in

campaigns near their own homeland, as our author

documents in the first chapters of his autobiography. For the

invasion of Russia, Napoleon again ordered conscription in

all the states directly under his control. His Grande Armée in

1812 numbered about 600,000 men, of whom only about

one half were French conscripts, while the remainder were

made up of soldiers from Poland (the largest number, since

the Poles hoped to regain their independence after a French

victory), Italy, Holland, Austria, Prussia, and the states of the

Confederation of the Rhine, more particularly Württemberg

and Westphalia.

Following the French example, the German states, too,

had introduced conscription. In Württemberg men between

the ages of eighteen and forty were subject to conscription,

active service being for eight years in the infantry and ten

years in the cavalry and artillery. Thus, our hero Jakob

Walter was first conscripted in 1806 and then recalled to

duty twice, in 1809 and 1812. When Napoleon decided on

the campaign against Russia he demanded that his German

“allies,” in fact satellites, mobilize too. In a letter, dated 27

January 1812, to Frederick, whom he had made king of

Württemberg in 1806, he ordered that the Württemberg

contingent be ready to march on 15 February 1812. The

king had no alternative but to execute this order. Likewise,

Napoleon’s brother, King Jérôme of Westphalia, was ordered

to furnish 27,000 men. Württemberg mobilized nine infantry

regiments, as well as some artillery and cavalry units. The

troops, 12,000 men in all, were placed under the nominal

command of the Crown Prince William and were part of the

corps commanded by Marshal Ney.

Napoleon’s motives and policies are well documented and

have been thoroughly analyzed, even though historians

continue to disagree on a final assessment. But what made

all his numerous conscripts fight on and on? First of all,

naturally, compulsion and fear of retribution in case of

disobedience and desertion. Although, as the years of war

dragged on, and the burden of monetary contributions and

conscription became increasingly heavy, the number of

desertions and self-mutilations, to escape army service,

grew by leaps and bounds. Nevertheless, in the case of the

Frenchmen, revolutionary fervor and the magic of

Napoleon’s name, pride in the victories and the glory that

rebounded on them—all served to sustain their energies in

the hope of final victory and final reward. These attitudes

are well documented in the memoirs of such French veteran

soldiers as Sergeant Bourgogne and Captain Coignet,

although one should make allowance for retrospective

embellishments and anachronistic perspectives.

Unfortunately, there seem to be no equivalent sources for

the Russian side. Although there is a vast documentation on

the invasion of Russia and the subsequent campaigns of

1813–15, and an extensive historiography of this period of

Russian history, there is practically nothing on and by the

common soldier, as illustrated by most recent bibliographies

of memoirs, letters, and autobiographies published in the

Soviet Union. What there is comes in the form of some

eyewitness accounts by merchants and artisans of the

French occupation of Moscow and of its burning; as well as

descriptions, collected by someone else, of a few peasants’

and soldiers’ experiences as members of the militia and

partisan groups in 1812. This state of affairs is witness, on

the one hand, to the comparatively low level of literacy of

the Russian population (as compared with that of the

ordinary peasant, town dweller, and soldier in France or the

Germanies). On the other hand, it may also illustrate the

greater reluctance of the Establishment and of the elites (in

spite of their alleged populism) to let the common man

speak for himself and the constrictive censorship instituted

by Alexander I at the end of the war and reinforced, after

1825, by his successor Nicholas I. The relaxation of

censorship after 1861 came too late to permit collecting

materials that would not be overly distorted by a great

chronological gap.

As in the case of the Poles, the Russians conceived of the

campaign of 1812 as a war of liberation. For the former it

held out the promise of liberation from foreign rule and the

restoration of an independent Polish state—no wonder that

Prince Poniatowski’s corps performed particularly well until

his death in battle at Leipzig in 1813. As for the latter, it was

a truly defensive and allegedly patriotic war to safeguard

the Orthodox faith and the integrity of the national way of

life and territory. At the start of the war there had been

concern in high places about the loyalty of the peasant-serfs

in the western provinces and near Moscow. This concern, as

well as stategic considerations, led the Russian command to

adopt a policy of mass evacuation and scorched earth.

Napoleon’s failure to manifest any intention of freeing the

serfs and to improve their lot (the same mistake Hitler was

to repeat a century and a quarter later), and the ruthless

pillage by his troops, turned even the most wretched

Russian serf against the invader. Difficult as it is to accept

the hagiographic clichés of popular enthusiasm in defense

of the fatherland, there is no question that the Russian

peasant did resist the invaders, and contributed his share to

the French Emperor’s defeat. The militia raised by the

government and by private landowners surely took active

part in exhausting and pursuing the Grande Armée.

None of this pertained to the German soldiers, whatever

their state of origin. They shared neither French glories nor

Polish and Russian patriotism. True, given the opportunity—

and it was to present itself in 1813—the German elites,

especially in Prussia, gladly rose against the French to

recover their national dignity and sovereignty. In the

meantime, however, they had to serve in the Grande

Armée; but they did so without enthusiasm or any sense of

the possible advantages to be gained from obediently

fighting under Napoleon’s command.

In the memoirs, autobiographies, and letters of ordinary

soldiers from Germany, such as our main author Jakob

Walter, we find total indifference as to the outcome of the

campaign—only the hope of returning quickly and safely

home, of surviving the hardships and the dangers that had

fallen to their lot. Theirs is, therefore, a relatively “objective”

picture of the Polish and Russian countryside and its

conditions—and it is a dismal one. They do not really care

who wins in battle or engagement: ready to assist each

other, they are not interested either in killing more Russians

or helping their fellow soldiers of other nationalities. They

are not vengeful or spiteful, either—in spite of the sufferings

that Napoleon, French rule, and the Russians visit upon

them; theirs is what the French call égoïsme sacré, a

healthy drive to survive. To escape hunger and avoid

disease are their main concerns, and this is what frequently

transforms them into callous brutes.

To understand Jakob Walter’s autobiography and the

letters by Westphalian soldiers better, we should say a few

words about the way in which Napoleon’s armies were

supplied and equipped. One of the great achievements of

Napoleon as military commander, besides his strategic and

tactical talents, had been his skill in organizing the mobility

and logistic support of his troops. As he relied heavily on

artillery and the firepower of his highly maneuverable

infantry and cavalry, he paid particular attention to the

ready availability of guns and small firearms, as well as of

an adequate supply of ammunition. He also made sure that

his engineers had the wherewithal to build pontoon bridges

and lay siege to fortresses. Given the primitive technology

of transportation, one that relied almost exclusively on

horsepower and manpower, few resources were left for an

efficient system to bring food and clothing to the troops.

Thus regular pay had as its main purpose to enable

individual soldiers to turn to the civilian market for their

additional needs. Clothing was issued at more or less

regular intervals and, by and large, in sufficient quantity and

of acceptable quality for normal conditions of war; although

no serious effort was made to adapt the clothing to the

climatic conditions of specific campaigns.

As for foodstuffs, under “normal” circumstances, a

minimum quantity of bread was supplied by regimental

bakeries. Practically everything else, and naturally in

situations where the field bakeries could not be moved on

time close enough to the fighting men, had to be obtained

on the spot. The local population was compelled to furnish

shelter (through billeting) and food, through requisitions by

units detached for that purpose by the commander.

Additional food—and liquor, of course—was to be purchased

either from local traders or from sutlers (canteen keepers)

who accompanied the regiments; many sutlers were

women, frequently the wives of professional noncoms and

soldiers. In Central and Western Europe, areas that were

densely populated and, on the whole, quite prosperous, with

an elaborate network of traders and stores, this “system”

worked fairly well. Especially when it was supplemented by

marauding—forbidden, of course, but tolerated as long as it

was not excessive. In this respect, the Württemberg soldiers

had a particularly bad record, as Walter illustrates.

Inherited by the Revolution and Napoleon from the

practice of the standing armies introduced after the Thirty

Years’ War, this “system” would not work as expected in

areas too poor to have any kind of surplus, or emptied of

their population and of everything edible and movable. This,

however, was precisely the situation that the Grande Armée

encountered when it crossed into Russian Poland and from

there into Russia proper. Russian Poland was poor, with a

sparse population and an extremely backward agrarian

economy that provided barely enough sustenance to avoid

permanent hunger. Trade networks were primitive, too—

peddlers and small village stores (mostly operated by Jews)

carried only a few items of necessity and shoddy luxuries.

Conditions in Russia were even worse. The Byelorussian

provinces that lay between eastern Poland and Moscow

were among the poorest in European Russia: swamps,

forests, and a few tilled fields bearing a poor crop of rye.

Here, too, there were a meager number of inhabitants,

settled in widely scattered villages; manor houses and noble

estates were also few and far between, and far from

magnificent. The situation was made worse for the Grande

Armée by two developments: first, scare propaganda and

direct orders of the Russian authorities had resulted in the

mass flight of the local population; second, the Russian

armies, as they retreated, destroyed everything that could

be remotely of use to the enemy—crops, stores of grain,

fodder, and hay, cattle, and even peasant dwellings (setting

whole villages afire). That is why, from the start of the

campaign, Napoleon’s troops lacked food supplies; the

situation grew worse as the Grande Armée advanced deeper

into the empire, and it became tragically catastrophic on the

retreat. Whatever supplies could be secured by

headquarters went first to the French troops, in particular

the Imperial Guard; soldiers of the vassal states were left to

their own devices.

Napoleon’s attempt at subduing Russia ended in tragic

disaster, signaling the beginning of his doom. Of about

600,000 men who crossed into Russia in June 1812, about

140,000 retreated from Moscow, and barely 25,000

recrossed the border in December 1812. The disaster

triggered the uprising for national liberation in Prussia and

the renewal of an all-European coalition against France.

Alexander I’s decision—against the advice of his

commander in chief, Marshal M. I. Kutuzov—to continue

fighting after the expulsion of the Grande Armée from his

realm, eventually led to Napoleon’s defeat and exile, the

entrance of the allies into Paris, and the return of King Louis

XVIII to the throne of his ancestors. Little wonder that the

campaign of Russia appeared to be proof of Napoleon’s

hybris and, as in Greek classical tragedy, conjured up his

own nemesis. In Victor Hugo’s words, on était conquis par sa

conquête (one was conquered by one’s conquest).

The tragic end of Napoleon’s epic has generated an

immense literature, for it offered the dramatic contrast of

almost superhuman triumphs and glory followed by an

abyss of misery and wretchedness. It is the image of the

Napoleonic legend which the emperor created and fostered

with the help of his chamberlin in exile, Las Cases, who

published the vastly popular Mémorial de Sainte-Hélène, an

“oral history” of Napoleon’s spoken reminiscences. It was

kept alive by the stirrings of nationalism and liberalism in

France, as well as in the rest of Europe. The legend also

owed much to the fact that the revolutionary and

Napoleonic armies had helped to spread the political notions

and the social legislation that were the hallmark of modern

democratic civil and economic freedoms. The digruntled

demobilized soldiers and non-coms of his armies were the

living illustration of Napoleon’s magnetic appeal and titanic

figure, both of which the songs of Béranger and the poetry

of Heine, Hugo, Lermontov, and others popularized

throughout Europe.

It is no exaggeration to say that the tragic campaign of

1812 did more than anything else to bring about the birth of

a modern national consciousness in Russia and the

Germanies. In Russia, it was the pride of having been the

first in defeating the mighty military genius of Napoleon.

The military leadership and the selfless patriotism of the

people had been the instruments of this defeat, and thus

had given proof of Russia’s having come of age to save

European civilization. This interpretation held sway

throughout the imperial regime until 1917 and it was

revived on the eve of the Second World War by Stalin; it has

not been seriously challenged or amended to this day in

Soviet historiography. As far as the Germans were

concerned, the French conqueror’s defeat made possible an

uprising when the Prussian General Yorck von Wartenburg

initiated a war of national liberation from the French; it

became an all-German uprising when volunteers, mainly

students and burghers, from the other states flocked to

participate in the so-called Freiheitskrieg (War of Liberation)

of 1813–15. This war came to symbolize the emergence of

an all-German national consciousness that demanded the

creation of a unitary German state. As we know, it served as

prelude and justification for Bismarck’s drive to unite

Germany, minus Austria, into one empire under the

unchallenged dominance of Prussia. The Second Reich,

replacing the first, the Holy Roman Empire of the Germanic

Nation, lasted until 1918; a German unitary state, exclusive

of Austria, existed until 1945 and, at the present, has

reemerged again.

Jakob Walter’s autobiography chronicles only what he

witnessed and experienced himself. There is no place in it

for general reflections, no effort is made to explain or

interpret the wars in which he was involved. This is so

despite the fact that he apparently wrote decades after the

events and quite clearly, as Frank E. Melvin’s commentary

(which in this volume follows Walter’s diary) shows,

reconstructed details of the campaign with the help of maps

and published histories. Walter has no other ambition than

to record, as faithfully as he can, the events in which he

himself took part; he has no ulterior motives, no moral or

other judgments in mind. He merely testifies to the

beastliness that may surface in every man under conditions

of extreme hardship and in fear of one’s life. What is also

quite remarkable, I think, he displays no bitterness either

toward Napoleon and the French, nor toward the Russian

enemies. On the other hand, there is no sign of any

emotional involvement in the events. His autobiography is

as objective a chronicle as one can get, moreover a

chronicle from the rare perspective of a lowly soldier,

foreign to Napoleon’s and French interests and concerns. It

is written exclusively for home consumption, to tell the

immediate family and their descendants how one of their

own fared in those turbulent times. This is, of course,

equally true of the letters we reproduce later in the book—

except that they convey facts and feelings on the spot, in

the very midst of military action.

The text of Jakob Walter’s autobiography is reproduced,

with minor corrections, from the translation first published in

Bulletin of the University of Kansas—Humanistic Studies,

vol. VI, no. 3 (Lawrence, Kans.: University of Kansas,

Department of Journalism Press), 1938, under the title A

German Conscript with Napoleon—Jakob Walter’s

Recollections of the Campaigns of 1806–1807, 1809, and

1812–1813, edited and translated by Otto Springer

(professor of Germanic Languages) with historical

collaboration by Frank E. Melvin (associate professor of

History).

We are reproducing, omitting unnecessary rhetoric and

detail, the historical commentary and notes of Frank E.

Melvin. It was deemed unneccessary, for this edition, to

reproduce the philological notes and commentary on

Walter’s language by Otto Springer, the original editor and

translator.

In the present edition the text of the translation has been

rearranged so that the order of the chapters follows the

chronological sequence of events. The illustrations, which

are contemporary with the manuscript, have been selected

with the help of Edward Kasinec, Chief of the Slavic and

Baltic Division of the New York Public Library, from the

holdings of that division and the permission of the Trustees

of the Library.

—MARC RAEFF

SEPTEMBER 1990

PORTRAIT OF JAKOB WALTER AT THE AGE OF FIFTY.

The Diary

of a

Napoleonic Foot Soldier

MEMORABLE HISTORY OF THE MILITARY SERVICE

EXPERIENCED BY THE AUTHOR OF

THIS TEXT

Campaign

of

1806 and 1807

IN THE YEAR 1806, I WAS drafted with

many of my comrades into military service in the

conscription at that time and was assigned to the regiment

of Romig, which afterward was given the name of

Franquemont and of Number 4 and which was in the

Ludwigsburg garrison. In the fall I traveled with the regiment

to Prussia in the campaign which Emperor Napoleon with

the princes, then his allies, was conducting at that time

against Prussia. In the fall we marched through Ellwangen,

Nuremberg, Ansbach, Bayreuth, Plauen, Dresden in Saxony,

then through Bunzlau into Grossglogau in Silesia, where we

remained in garrison for about three weeks.

During a period from the month of January to the month of

March, I had to go with half of the regiment to accompany

several convoys of captured Prussians from Glogau back

through Crossen, Frankfort-on-the-Oder, and Dresden, where

we were relieved. We were given good quarters everywhere,

which kept me always healthy and cheerful in spite of the

continuous marching. Furthermore, I was only nineteen

years old, a fact which caused me frequently to participate

in thoughtless and dangerous enterprises. During our return

to Glogau the convoy, together with a Bavarian corps, was

surrounded by Prussians in Bunzlau. We then closed all the

gates and caught the spies.

In this city it happened in my quarter that a comrade

wanted to force the landlord to sing. However, he refused to

do so, sitting the whole night on a bench near the stove

weeping. Since this man could not sing because of his

sorrow, Soldier Hummel wanted to frighten him, took his

rifle, cocked the hammer, and shot. The bullet passed by me

and another soldier and lodged in the wall. I wanted to

mention this in order to show how the soldiers were running

wild at that time.

A spy who was a village smith was brought before the

guard house. He had letters and orders to tell the Prussians

of our strength in man power. He was laid on a bench and

whipped by two or three corporals. Two men had to hold his

feet and two his head. His leather breeches were stretched

out and water poured on them, and then he received about

one hundred and fifty blows. At last he could no longer

speak, because he was half dead. At every blow the

lieutenant said to the smith, “This is a Bavarian thaler; this

is a Württemberg thaler,” at which the lieutenant was really

able to laugh. After this experience the smith was taken to

the threshing floor [?] and shot. Blows with clubs also were

heaped upon many innocent people in this city.

When the Prussians who were laying siege to the city lost

their courage, they withdrew, and we entered Glogau again.

After I had been in Glogau one day, I had to escort with a

part of the regiment 19 money wagons to the Grand Army.

These money wagons were drawn by four and six horses,

and many sank into the mire every day. This march went

through Breslau and then across the Polish border to

Kalisch, Posen, Gnesen, [Inowr]azlav, and Thorn on the

Vistula River, where the convoy was given over. From there

we had to return to Gnesen, a sizable city in Poland. There

we had a storeroom to guard, watching in a room at a bright

fire. In this house there was a Polish soldier’s wife who

taught me as much Polish as I would need. We suffered from

the cold a great deal there during the two weeks of our stay

because our feet got no warmth and a severely cold winter

prevailed.

Finally, eight men, including myself, were sent into the

outlying villages by the Commandant of the city. I received

several written orders to requisition food supplies; yet, even

though I did not know the roads, I was not furnished with a

guide. Since I had to carry out my commission, I went, as

did my other comrades, into the Jewish section, where

everyone spoke German but few could read or write it and

few, as I found out, could read Polish. There I wanted to take

the first Jew I came across as a guide, but the first escaped

and likewise the others I chased. Finally, I ran after one and

chased him into the attic of his house and caught him

among many women and children. Here he wanted to

defend himself, and I had to use force. I took him, dragged

him down the two flights of stairs, and had to hold him by

the coat and kick him forward for two hours, threatening

him if he should fail to lead me to the right village. Here I

had to walk through a lake, and the water went over my

knees. I commanded the Jew to lead the way, and he howled

so loudly for fear of drowning that I had to laugh and send

him back immediately. After crossing, the Jew sat down and

shook out his water-filled boots.

1. PENCIL SKETCH BY EBERHARD EMMINGER OF WALTER’S

HOME CITY OF ELLWANGEN, DATED 1847.

After I arrived in the village ahead of me, the nobleman

quartered me in the mayor’s house; but, when I entered the

room through a straw door, I could not stand upright and

could not see any people for the smoke. This compelled me

to quarter myself at the nobleman’s house.

The next day I tried to visit eight villages, but I frequently

got to only one or two in a day, for often it was necessary to

walk a distance of three or four miles. In one manor I once

could get no guide, since everyone ran away and hid from

my lone self. A big dog also kept attacking me, and I shot

the dog because of my customary youthful impulses. This

was another reason why I got no guide. Here I traveled

alone, depending upon my own good judgment, to a village

in another region and received here, as almost everywhere,

unrequested presents which pleased me very much.

Since, as I have said, it required eight days insted of four

to visit the villages and since the convoy lying in Gnesen left

hurriedly, I and three other men returned too late. The

convoy was gone. Having obtained the route of march from

Gnesen to the Neisse stronghold in Silesia, we had to march

alone a distance of about one hundred hours.

Since we four men thought we were well off, we did not

hurry to catch the convoy but contented ourselves with

comfortable traveling. We visited the noblemen, who usually

had to hitch up their own good horses for us while we

threatened that we had to catch the convoy by the next day

and that the noblemen could be made responsible if we

missed it. However, we usually had to combine force with

these methods to get horses.

Once we took four horses from a nobleman, and

unfortunately the march led us through a large government

city, Posen. Here the servant said something we could not

understand to a few burghers, but we were not stopped. We

wanted to drink some brandy in the last suburb, and we

halted. At once the nobleman came up on a white horse,

being a Polish general stationed there in garrison. Our

position did not seem to be the best, and we had to discuss

what was to be done. Quickly our sickest-looking comrade

had to lie on the ground and continually moan and lament.

The general greeted us by threatening to write to our

headquarters in Silesia about such use of his horses. That

might have happened if the sick man had not aroused some

serious doubt on the part of the general. To defend

ourselves further, we said we had just as much right to

complain to our regiment that His Excellency the general

had hindered our progress and had caused the death of a

sick man. At these words a wagon with two horses was

brought there at once, and we were able to travel away

laughing with our healthy “sick man.”

After Posen we came into a little Polish town called

Fraustadt, which was a garrison town. I have to mention this

town because of its windmills, which numbered 99.

From Fraustadt we came after several marches to Glogau

on Easter Eve and were quartered with a Jew. Since we were

acquainted in this city, we wanted to give this Jew

something to remember us by. The meals were usually

attended by violence on account of stinginess and

uncleanliness; and, since clean chinaware was always set up

for the Jews, we took over all that chinaware and ate with it,

causing such an uproar in the house that a crowd of people

gathered in front of the house to listen. Our defense was

that we just had not thought of making anything unkosher

that had been intended not to be for us, and so the Jews

could not set forth any complaint.

From Glogau we traveled with some of the Black Riflemen

toward the stronghold of Schweidnitz. We had not obtained

a wagon out of Glogau, which seemed to us a great

hardship. It was Easter Day, March 29, and we looked for

horses in every stable in a village called Hochkirch, but

found none, which failure made it necessary for us to look

even in the parsonage.

When we searched the buildings and found nothing but an

old woman there, we wanted to look into the church where

the service was in progress, and we found the church full of

people. Meanwhile there stood in the court a beautiful

carriage hitched with two horses; so we untied the horses

and rode away without a servant. Since we had to hurry to

escape the church folk, I had to drive and ran into a tree

stump so that the carriage and all of us lay there in the

mud. Here we set out again and traveled until we were a

half mile from Schweidnitz. In that place there was a tavern

in the forest; and, after we had sold the carriage and horses

cheaply to the innkeeper, we continued our march.

When we came to the fortress of Neisse, we had to go on

with our regiment and with the Seckendorff Regiment

through Breslau, across Poland through the city of Kalisch,

then Posen, Gnesen, [Inowr]azlav, and Thorn on the Vistula

River. From there we went through Prussian Pomerania

toward the fortress of Colberg on the Baltic Sea. One mile

from this stronghold is a town called Belgard, and ther was a

castle there which had belonged to our King Frederick while

he had encamped in this town as general of the cavalry.

On this journey from Thorn to Colberg I saw a lake which

lay in a forest by a monastery. In this lake were multitudes

of frogs which were of a very beautiful bright blue color, and

no soldier would quit until he had caught one of these

beautiful frogs. Beyond this region we came to a little town

in which the largest part of the inhabitants were Jews. The

same day we had had to walk several miles through

swamps and snow water up to our knees; and, when

quarters were taken there for the evening, I and four other

men came into a Jew’s house. The room was full of straw

and goats. Since neither fire nor wood was to be had, we

went into the next house to lodge, looked for the Jew, and

took him into custody; for only by applying such stern

treatment could we induce the wife to bring us food on her

husband’s account.

While we were besieging the fortress of Colberg, we were

assigned a camp in a swampy place. Since wood and even

straw were rarely to be had, the barracks were built from

earth and sod, and ditches were dug around them.

As some sickness was arising because of the continual

fog, I also became sick and had to go to the hospital in the

fortress of Stettin, which is also a fortress on the sea. When I

arrived with several from the regiment, we were placed

three stories high under the roof in the hospital. Here twelve

to fifteen of the men about me died every day, which made

me sick at my stomach and would have caused my death in

the end if I and four comrades had not reported ourselves as

being well even on the second day and escaped. This

hospital and three others, according to rumor, had six

thousand sick people; and that was the reason also why

everyone with an appetite had to suffer great hunger, which

was one of the things that moved me to leave. The third day

we five men were allowed to go, and we traveled without

delay to our regiment.

In this fortress of Stettin the Würzburg soldiers were

stationed and were all dressed in uniforms of white and red,

that is, like Austrian soldiers. This stronghold had a position

which could be besieged only by land from the side facing

Berlin. Here the Oder River flows into the Baltic Sea. This,

together with the swamps, which extend for a mile and

through which currents of the Oder flow, surrounds two-

thirds of the city. Over the swamp is a paved dike a mile

long, reaching to the head of the bridge near a village

named Dam. This city is large and beautiful and had

especially large merchant ships in the harbor to look at.

When we five men came again without delay to the

fortress of Colberg, we had the honor of enduring the siege

in good health for another three weeks. Pentecost Night is

especially fixed in my memory, since the fortress was

stormed then.

When we had to leave camp after midnight, all the

regiments marched forward through the swamp; and finally,

when light firing began upon the outposts, we were

commanded to attack by wading through the rampart

ditches with fascines, to tread these in, and to scramble up

the outworks by chopping and shoveling. When I stood in

the ditch, each first soldier had to pull up the next one with

his rifle. The ramparts were of sand, and everyone

frequently fell back again because of the attack of the

enemy, or just because of the sliding sand; yet in that place

the huge cannonballs flew by above us [?], thundering so

violently that we would have believed the earth would burst

to pieces. When everyone was almost on top of the

earthwork, the Prussians were slaughtered with great vigor,

and the rest took flight into the gate. Then we, too, wanted

to gain possession of the gateway in order to enter the city,

but at this critical time many of these Prussians were shot

along with our men by small and large guns, and the gate

was closed.

Since all sorts of shells and rockets broke out of the

fortress like a cloudburst, we had to take to flight. Those

who meanwhile were scrambling up the outworks had to

jump from the fortress into the moat along with their

prisoners, and all the rest had to do likewise. During this

retreat many fell on bayonets, many drowned, and many of

us were also brought into the fortress as prisoners and sent

away to Danzig by sea.

When we reached camp, we saw many who had lost their

helmet, rifle, saber, knapsack, etc. Because of various falls

and pains, many looked for wounds and had none; many,

however, did not become aware of the wounds which they

had until they reached camp.

2. WATERCOLOR BY AN UNKNOWN ARTIST OF THE PALACE

SQUARE IN STUTTGART, ABOUT 1790.

In this camp there were Poles, Westphalians, French, and,

as mentioned before, only two regiments of us from

Württemberg. One morning the Prussians surprised the

Polish camp from the sea with their ships, as had happened

before on Easter. The cannon fire on the Poles was so heavy

that they could not withdraw fast enough. Their cannonballs

also traveled more than half again as far toward our camp

as our balls did across the water, since the surrounding

swamps were frozen and the balls could roll along on the ice

so fast that one ball often took off the feet and legs of ten or

twelve men, frequently both feet of the same man. During

this blockade the Prussians frequently made attacks,

although every time with great losses.

At the end of over four weeks the command came from

General Vandamme, 1 or rather from Prince Jérôme, that

both regiments from Württemberg should go by forced

march to Silesia to the siege of Silberberg.

When we marched away, we had to get additional horses

in the little town of Belgard to carry the knapsacks, etc. This

brought me to misfortune, since my knapsack, cloak,

bayonet, and the money which I had packed in a belt of my

cloak, were lost. When I was in my quarters and learned

this, I wanted a horse to ride to the other companies in

order to look for my lost articles, but I had to make use of a

military requistion and look for a horse with my landlord in

the forest, since I saw that there was horse manure in the

stable. When I had the horse but no saddle or bridle, I made

a bridle out of a bit of rope and traveled about three miles in

the surrounding villages but found nothing. At best I only

got lost and did not know how to ask where I wanted to go;

since because of the dialect there I could not remember the

name of the village and I believed that I could depend on

what I had remembered of the roads. Finally it grew dark,

and with no other choice I had to let the horse go where it

wished, and that proved the best choice. The horse walked

half the night through heath and woods; and, since I did not

let it graze from the ground, it went home to its village; and

I had to be resigned to my loss.

From this village the march went through Pomerania and

Poland to Breslau. From Kalisch on we obtained wagons and

were all driven in them to the camp near Frankenstein and

Reichenbach. We arrived there in the month of June.

Before the fortress of Silberberg, all the regiments from

Württemberg and also Bavarian soldiers had laid siege. The

stronghold could not be stormed because of its height and

would not surrender. The ground plan of this fortress could

be examined by many of our men who were captured, but

only after the war. During the war they were not allowed

even to see the way they had to go.

After two weeks had passed, a few regiments remained

before this fortress; and the others, in which I belonged, had

to begin the siege at Glatz. When the blockade of this

stronghold was begun, the Württemberg troops took up

their camp in a rye field just blooming, and the straw was of

the right length to serve for the barracks, which was a great

advantage in camping.

When I arrived in this field, I hastened to look for my

brother, who was in the Lilienberg Regiment. Here we met,

embraced, and greeted one another, and joy filled our

hearts. Then he took me to his barracks and gave me

trousers, shirts, and several other pieces of clothing which I

needed, since, as I have already said, I had lost almost

everything at Colberg.

Then, when the stronghold of Glatz was surrounded by

blockade, several surprise attacks were undertaken against

us, which always ended, nevertheless, in a loss to the

Prussians. After two weeks had passed, we undertook

against the town and the fortress an attack which started

from each camp at about one o’clock at night. Everyone had

to be careful to prevent any noise from the rifles and

cannon, and we moved in columns through the grain fields

toward the outposts. The men were already wet through up

to their necks from the dew on the grain. Then the outposts

began to fire, the command to storm was given, and

everyone had to go through a river, at times up to his arms

in water. A breastwork facing us was mounted, and under a

rain of large and small bullets the Prussians along with their

women and children were stabbed and shot to death, and

some were hurled alive, together with their horses and

cannon, over the sides of the walls. Then the Lilienberg

Regiment pressed upon the city gates, an attempt which, in

spite of great losses, was of no avail, however. While the

enemy had to defend themselves around and in the

crowded part of the city, a terrible shelling of light and

heavy artillery broke in upon us, and all of us had to

abandon the positions we had taken. Large mines were

exploded in the breastwork, and everywhere there flew

rockets, so-called pitch-rings, which could be put out only

with small boxes as they fell on the ground.

So everyone returned to the camp in the “finest” disorder,

and at daybreak everyone began looking up his friends.

With fear-pressed heart I searched for my brother; and, as

he was also looking for me, we found each other unharmed.

Anyone who understands brotherly love can certainly

imagine our joy at this moment.

When this attack was over, it was said that we would

attack again the next night if the fortress did not surrender.

This attack was not made, however, because of the

announcement of peace. If anyone would or could be an

onlooker at frightful explosions, he could get the finest view

at a fortress attack, which is a more remarkable sight by far

than a battle on a field. The bombs and grenades criss-

crossing in the air in such great numbers, all floating like

balls of fire in the air and exploding or bursting in the air or

on the ground with a small cannon report, the slow ascent of

each shell, the fast descent, often also a collision of them in

the air—all this is a sight of moving beauty. It is different

with the rockets which fly invisibly by with a small whisper.

The grenades, however, and more so the bombs, behave

like vultures in the air which race past the ear with storming

wings.

We remained a few days longer in the camp, then came to

a permanent camp in the region near Reichenbach, and

were finally stationed every two weeks in another region. On

St. Jacob’s Day all the Württembergers had to leave Silesia,

go by way of Frankfort-on-the-Oder, and take up permanent

camp in the Brandenburg district, especially the region

around Berlin near Stargard, Fürstenwalde, Beeskow, etc.

Here we stayed for eleven weeks among these poor

peasants, who because of the infertility of the region had no

provisions except potatoes, beans, and mutton. In speaking

often of the good food which they had to give us, they

hinted that they believed we must come from good country,

since we, having the best of food, did not show any

appreciation of it and because of our appetite had

butchered all their sheep.

For one who wishes to discuss the poverty and its causes,

my observations are set forth in the following manner: First,

these people still owe their noblemen too much socage

service in that the baron demands a quarter-share

cottager’s hired hand or son to work for him four, five, or six

days weekly without wages. Likewise he takes a daughter

for six years without paying her wages just as the reigning

prince takes the son for his army. A half- or full-share

cottager has to serve more, in proportion to the size of his

property; so there are still villages where a man with his

wife and children must work from three to five days for the

nobleman, the fourth, fifth, or only the sixth day remaining

for him to work for himself. However, he gets as much land

from the baron for himself as he wants, or is able to till.

Second, the soil is only light sand, so that when sown to

seed the tilled patches must even be beaten with a lath

and, to prevent the blowing away of sand and seed, must be

pressed down firmly. Naturally, therefore, only oats,

potatoes (“Undeln”), and rye, seldom any wheat, can be

grown.

Third, there is a lack of culture, especially of physical

training, of willingness to work, of understanding and

religion. Seldom does anyone go to church, only old

grandmothers and old men, so that often, as I saw myself,

the preacher would read his Sunday sermon for eight or ten

persons with a similar lack of ardor. I learned also from my

landlord, who had a boy of eleven or twelve years of age,

that this boy could not read or write and did not know

religious teachings. A book lying there gave me occasion to

find this out.

As I was reading, I happened to run across the Ten

Commandents. I asked whether the Ten Commandments

were taught to the children in the schools. The landlord said,

“Yes, they are supposed to be taught, but my son does not

know them yet, nor can he read or write. I must demand,

however, that he still be taught it.” Since, therefore, these

people are little educated even in their own religion, un-

Christian and heretical books serve to make them hate

other denominations, and such people are weak enough to

believe fables of this kind. I became convinced of this as I

read in such a book and afterward spoke of it to the

landlord. Therefore I played the part of a grave-digger,

bound a stone to this book, and sank it in the big lake.

After I had been in this village for three months, the entire

corps journeyed home. The march went through Plauen,

Nuremberg, Bayreuth, Ansbach, and Dinkelsbühl, into

Ellwangen. The King awaited us and then reviewed us there

on the Schlossfeld. It was extraordinarily cold on this day,

although we did not consider this unusual, since we were

already accustomed to cold. Before we came to Ellwangen,

my company passed the night in the little town of

Weiltingen, which is “Old Württembergian.” There everyone

was supposed to give shouts of joy at crossing the border,

but this was followed by a good deal of swearing because of

the bad quarters we were given there. This campaign was

now ended, and my two sisters and friends visited us two

brothers. The reunion was a joy which could not have been

greater evidence of family love.

Campaign

of

1809

WHILE I WAS WORKING in various ways at

my trade after the Prussian campaign, the war with Austria

broke out in 1809, and I was called into the garrison at

Stuttgart. My regiment and several others were already on

the march to Schorndorf, and the route was to lead through

Bavaria. On the way, however, a courier overtook us,

bringing the command to march back to Stuttgart again the

next day, and then we struck a route toward Tyrol through

the Adlerberg territory. We came then through Hechingen,

through the Killerthal, Saulgau, Altshausen, and then the

Monastery of Weingarten. There we were already meeting

outposts of the enemy, but we still had good quarters and

especially a lot of wine from the Lake [of Constance].

When the Tyrolean insurgents heard of a large army

reenforced by the allied Baden and French forces, they

retreated, and we moved forward on all sides. The army

then went through Ravensburg and to Hofen on the Lake of

Constance while the enemy moved with several skirmishes

to Lindau and finally back into the mountains.

In Hofen the Lilienberg Regiment was also stationed, in

which my brother served, and we met in his quarters. It is

easy to imagine that we two brothers rejoiced heartily at our

reunion. The worry of one of us about the possible

misfortune of the other was so much greater because we

could seldom see and never protect each other.

After the aforesaid reunion I had to go through Buchhorn

to Lindau. This latter city lies on an island in the lake, and a

wooden bridge leads into it. The insurgents had to move out

of this city for fear of being shut in. The first battalion of my

regiment stayed ten weeks in this city, in which French

horsemen were also stationed. During this time we had to

make frequent attacks upon the enemy, among which the

following were especially noteworthy.

As I stood at my outpost with the picket near the

bleaching meadow facing Bregenz, the enemy moved in

over the vineyards. The outposts had to move back to the

picket. The picket fired, but the enemy approached. While

each soldier fired wherever he could take a position,

everyone stationed himself behind the bleaching house and

took up the defense. To be able to aim better, I ran into a

bleaching hut built of boards which lay well forward. A

staircase went up from the outside, and I stationed myself

on this, resting my rifle on the railing, where I could take

aim at every man who approached. During the time while I

was firing forty out of my sixty cartridges, the bullets kept

raining down like hail upon my hut, and the enemy came

too close upon me. Now I sprang down the steps and across

the meadows back to the picket, which, however, was

already retreating toward the city. Then I had to jump

through gardens and hedges, and the enemy came to the

gate just a little later than I did. I almost choked, gasping for

breath.

When all of us had retreated into the city, the enemy

remained outside the city three days, firing continually. We,

however, had erected a bridge-head (breastwork) of

sandbags and a trench and defensive iron spikes. We fired

through the loopholes and from the wall with cannon and

small guns. During the heavy shelling I shot a man in front

of a garden house as he came a little way forward toward

the breastwork and aimed into the loophole; but, after I shot

and he suddenly fell, several others wanted to carry off this

dead man, as was often done; however, the more openly it

was done, the more often other men were hit too. Finally we

fired with cannon, throwing projectiles into the large and

beautiful garden houses, setting them all in flames. On the

third day the enemy could no longer hold out, because of

the heavy artillery fire, and moved back into the mountains.

As soon as the road was cleared, the trees standing in the

gardens were cut down by the thousands, along with the

beautiful box hedges which stood there tall and beautiful

like walls, and the rest of the buildings were completely torn

down, so that they would not be a hindrance to the shelling

any more. This inflicted a damage of one million florins on

the city.

After a time we again undertook a general attack, for

which the Lilienberg Regiment, Baden and French soldiers,

and the sharpshooters joined us. The enemy was attacked

in front of Lindau and was driven in retreat back into the

mountains. Before the attack volunteers were called upon to

advance by skirmishes, and I went with them. The number

was 160 men in all, and we were under the command of a

lieutenant. Under the continual firing about fifty

sharpshooters were cut off from us during the pursuit and

led captive into the mountains. All of us volunteers pressed

halfway up the mountain which was two hours distant from

Lindau in order to recover the captives. When we saw that

the columns advancing behind us were no longer following

but were dividing in the middle and that our detachment

had moved three quarters of an hour too far away, we heard

the firing far to the left and far to the right as though it

came from Kempten and, to the right, from Bregenz. This

seemed to be a turning of our men into retreat, which

assumption proved to be true. Now the lieutenant wanted to

retreat with us, but we all complained at that and still

wanted to bring back the captives from the mountains. The

lieutenant would not give in, and we had to go back to a

little village at the foot of the mountains. When we came

into this village, we were fired upon from the houses and

gardens and our army had already retreated halfway toward

Lindau. Everyone then had to rely upon his legs; and, amid

much firing, we had to run until we almost choked for want

of air. We met the whole corps in an oak wood a half hour

out of Lindau. Here we wanted to take a stand, but could not

because of the danger of being surrounded by insurgents.

Now the detachment retreated slowly until near the city,

and then took up again the position for firing. Here we held

out for half an hour, everyone firing as much as he could.

The cannon were hauled out, but the grapeshot fire did not

help either, since the enemy formed a half-moon line and

only a few could be hit, for they lay down on the ground

behind the hedges, trees, and hills, while every shot of

theirs could hit our compressed column. Finally too many of

our men fell, and the enemy drew near the city gate in order

to cut everyone off; this hurried our retreat into the city.

Noteworthy was the state of the peasants who had to

drive the wagons to pick up the wounded and who had to

come right along at the time of the attack. Four men and

four horses were hitched to each wagon. As soon as the

firing began, they had to stay with us. From then on, none of

them could be seen sitting upright on his horse: they were

all lying down on their horses, and those on the wagons

flung themselves down amidst a fearful howling. In addition,

they were given blows because of their fear.

3. NEAR EVE, 29 JUNE 1812. A. CUANTH, LITHOGRAPHER. A

FORAGING PARTY ON THE MOVE.

During this time that I was at Lindau, the second battalion

of the Franquemont Regiment, which was stationed at

Wangen and Isny, was made completely captive. Later

peace was made, and we marched into Bregenz, a town up

on the Lake of Constance. However, the entrance into this

city was looked upon as a somewhat hostile move. For the

sake of security several regiments coming from the

mountains entered it from behind, and those from Lindau

moved in from the front.

Indeed, the Regiment of Lilienberg had once before been

forced to flee after a conquest of the town. It happened in

this way: while the soldiers were looking about for booty in

the cellars and houses, the enemy moved into the town and

drove everyone out through the narrow pass in the

mountain, which has three outlets. On this occasion the

enemy should have pressed their advantage. Rather than

rushing dispersed into the attack, they might better have

occupied the three outlets and made captives of everyone.

Instead, they only fired down from the mountains at their

fleeing enemies in the pass, not having occupied the outlets

strongly enough.

When our before-mentioned entry into Bregenz began,

there was once more disorder among the soldiery. Cellars

were broken into, and wine was carried out in buckets

everywhere. Even several kegs were left running. Everyone

became intoxicated until finally a strict order put an end to

all this. We drank especially a great deal of very thick red

Tyrolean wine, and we had everything in abundance. When,

however, a new day arrived and all had moved into their

quarters, everything became quiet, and the property of the

citizens was safeguarded.

I stayed there almost three weeks at the home of a

chimney sweep, together with nine other men, and we had

everything, in particular as much as we could drink, wine

and cherry brandy. After three weeks my regiment was

moved to Dornbirn, which was a large marketing center

lying in the Rhine Valley between Switzerland and Tyrol. In

this town I came into the house of a furrier, who himself was

still with the insurgents. His wife had a little child about

three-quarters of a year old. This child was remarkably

beautiful, and I, too, had my fun with it.

Once I gave this child some brandy to drink. Little by little

the child took a liking to it, so that it became a bit

intoxicated and so gleeful that I had to keep it from falling

down from the pillow; this was great fun and did not do the

child any harm. I stayed another period of about three

weeks in these quarters, and in the entire village the people

were quite friendly.

The householders in this village and the surrounding

region have several maids who come from the Tyrolean

Alps. These maids are especially remarkable for their dress.

All their black skirts are of one piece with the bodice and

have a great number of pleats all around. Upon their heads

they wear large black caps, which likewise have curious

pleats and are large and round like beehives in form. These

maids have especially pretty and rosy-colored faces, which

is said to come from eating milk and cheese. As to

sociability, however, there is not much to say for them,

since they are shy and not very talkative. They showed this

even more toward orderly soldiers, as I know from

experience, since there were two such maids in my house. It

often happened, when they were sitting at their meal and I

would joke with them decently, that they would jump up

from the table and run out of the room, and then it was

difficult to get them to come back again.

Regarding the fertility of this region, there is not much rye

or German wheat, so much the more corn, however. The

bread in particular is usually of nothing but corn. When you

look at the bread, you believe that it is made of the finest

kernels. When eating it, however, you notice it is coarse,

heavy, and soggy. Wood is not cheap either; and in place of

it in the entire Rhine Valley they dig peat, that is, sod which

is a grayish red. This is cut and piled up, dried in the air and

sun, and then burned in stoves instead of wood.

4. A BIVOUAC NEAR MALIATHUI, 5 JULY 1812. PRINTED BY G.

KÜSTNER. SOLDIERS TRADING FOR FURS WITH LOCAL

JEWISH MERCHANTS.

During this time, from spring to fall, we always had the

great snow-capped mountains before, and later around us.

Every time that it had rained, even in the greatest heat in

August, one could see that the mountains were covered with

new snow to a third of the distance down from the top.

In the month of October, we again marched homeward,

and the route led through Wangen, Ravensburg, Altdorf, and

Waldsee, and from there to Biberach, where we all had to

stay for some time, being quartered in the surrounding

villages. I also was assigned to a village and to the house of

a well-to-do peasant who had a sister, a nun who was living

at home. Since I would read books frequently on certain

days and the nun noticed my behavior, she asked me why I

always read and was so thoughtful. I said that my former

circumstances gave me occasion to do that.

Since I kept trying to be pleasant to her and was able to

draw her attention more and more toward me, she asked

others about my situation. Now I thought that since this

thing had been started it must be carried on. I spoke to all

my comrades located in the village, saying that they should

call me at times “Miller,” at other times “Walter,” and again

“Kapuziner.” This was done. Then the nun said to me, “Now I

know, indeed, where your devout reading comes from. You

may as well confess it to me.” So then I did her the favor

and told her that my brother had been a priest and I a

Capuchin monk, that I had already vowed my chastity, and

also that my name had been Miller instead of Walter, which

the malicious soldiers always applied to me. I finally told her

that she had evidence here in my beard which I still wore on

my chin.

From now on, these pious hosts were very sympathetic

toward me, and the nun told me her entire cloister story,

and they had a liking for me above all other soldiers, so

much so that the old father wept tears. Especially when I

left, he wept with the others, begging that if I loved them I

should inform them of my future fate in distant places. They

even wanted to accompany me for several hours.

After the years 1810 and 1811 had passed by and I was,

in 1811, at the house of my godfather, Master Craftsman

Häfele, the innkeeper at Ellwangen, war once more broke

out.

Campaign

of

1812 and 1813

IN THE MONTH OF JANUARY, 1812, I was

recalled to the garrison of Schorndorf. From here the line of

march went through Calw, Wüstenroth, and Oehringen. In

the villages about Oehringen the regiments remained four

or five days until the inspection was completed in

Oehringen. From here the entire corps marched through

Künzelsau, Mergentheim, Weikersheim, and through the

Würzburg district, where it was generally rumored that we

were going to Spain and would embark on the Baltic Sea.

Although the outlook did not seem good, I and all the

soldiers were very merry, always singing and dancing,

especially since throughout the entire Würzburg country the

quarters and eating and drinking were very good,

particularly because of the large supply of wine, so that

everyone had his field flask voluntarily filled with wine and

his pockets with cookies at the time of departure. Moreover,

the beautiful villages on the Main River, surrounded by

vineyards, fruit trees, and grain fields, put everyone in a

happy mood.

About the middle of March, the army continued on its way

through Saxe-Coburg, where a wooded and mountainous

region began; the pine trees were especially plentiful. In

these mountains we came upon a valley which led out of the

Thuringian Forest. In this valley there were sawmills every

two or three hundred paces, and between them were little

hamlets. When the valley turned to the right and our march

to the left, as it went through the Thuringian Forest itself to

Saxe-Weimar, we had to climb high as if up a roof. In this

huge forest, snow still lay two feet deep, though during the

whole march no more was to be seen. In the middle of the

forest was a game park which was tightly enclosed with

planks to a height of twelve feet and which was about an

hour’s walk long. The city where we afterward spent the

night lay about an hour’s walk away in the valley. From

Weimar we turned somewhat to the left, continued through

a few cities toward Leipsic, and in April entered Leipsic.

In the city of Leipsic anyone could see what was going to

happen, since as many “Frenchies” as could slip through

came crowding through the gates. Leipsic was packed with

soldiers, and I was in quarters with 150 men; yet the

landlord to whom we were assigned put us all in one

building, the former theater building, which was a hall 100

feet long and 60 feet wide. Triple rows of tables stood ready

in the hall, very beautifully set and loaded with beer,

brandy, butter, cheese, and white bread. After all had sat

down, everybody ate and drank while eight servants

brought in the warm meal, which consisted of white soup,

two kinds of meat, and several kinds of vegetables. In

addition, something cold was served for dessert, and drinks

were served in abundance throughout the whole afternoon.

We stayed here two days until the line of march formed by

columns and the departure was ordered.

After leaving Leipsic, we found the quarters somewhat

worse on account of the huge army of soldiers, and the

march turned toward Torgau. I had been in Torgau in 1807.

In the meantime the city had built new fortifications. About

the city, which it took an hour to walk around, there had

been added two moats and besides four buttressed walls of

nothing but beautifully hewn stones which had been

shipped down the Elbe from Bohemia. These new huge walls

especially attracted my attention, since I could examine

them as a mason and a stonecutter; and so I saw that each

of them was ten feet thick and that buttresses were set into

the ground every ten feet behind them, each of them in turn

ten feet thick and ten feet long. I noticed especially the

beautiful jointing of the stones, most of which were ten feet

long and three feet square and had been laid over the wall

lengthwise. On the other side of the Elbe there were also

casements facing eastward, which were all, even the

roofwork, built of beautifully hewn stone.

5. BETWEEN KIRGALICZKY AND SOUDERVA, 30 JUNE 1812.

DAVID & VANDERBUCK, LITHOGRAPHERS. SOLDIERS

FORDING A RIVER.

And then we went farther and came to Fürstenwalde, a

middle-sized city in the Brandenburg district. It was the

region where my regiment had lain in fixed quarters for

eleven weeks in 1807, and so many of us went to see our

former landlords; several women also found their once

beloved soldiers, although several men were hiding for good

reason and did not wish to be found for fear they would be

called a father. In this city I was quartered with a beer

brewer. We stayed there several days. The opportunity was

also taken to invite soldiers to communion, for which four

Catholic and four Lutheran clergymen had been sent along

with the corps from home. The church was Lutheran, but we

held the Catholic services there, too; so I received

communion. We were still very lively in this town, singing

and living cheerfully, although we could imagine the

unusual campaign before us; but everyone always believes

in, and hopes for, the best. I also looked after my saber and

made it very sharp at a turner’s and tempered it in fire so

that it would not break off. I saw in the eastern suburb of

this little town a house, the timber framing of which was

filled with bones cross-wise; instead of being walled in,

these bones had moss between them. In general, the types

of buildings in this region are of a poor appearance and

quality so that a like condition may be assumed about the

farming. From there the line of march turned toward

Frankfort-on-the-Oder, where a halt was made. Here we

were quartered for three days, and by this time we had to

be contented with poor food and army bread. We had to drill

even on Ascension Day; so General Hügel tried to remind his

royal highness, the Crown Prince, not to drill, saying that it

was a holiday. The Crown Prince, however, gave this answer:

“I will do you a favor, General, and not arrest you. Do you

think I don’t know what day it is?” This indignant mood of

our Crown Prince might well have been caused by the

transfer of the Württemberg corps to General Ney, since the

day before Ney had attached us to his 25th division and the

3rd army corps; and our Crown Prince, feeling his honor

injured, was, therefore, angry with us.

From Frankfort the march was continued to Poland through

the village of Reppen, where the use of the German

language stopped, and the manners and culture made a

strange impression. It was the month of May, and the air

swarmed with May bugs so amazingly that it was hard to

keep your eyes open in the evening. The bugs were so very

thick that they darkened the atmosphere, and everyone was

busy shaking them out of his face and hair. Here it became

necessary for each person to seek and cook his own

provisions, although requisitioning was forbidden. However,

everyone still had his full strength, and courage was still

alive in every soldier. But from day to day privation and

hunger increased, and it became necessary for the regiment

to requisition and slaughter livestock so that the men could

have some meat in addition to the potatoes and grits which

they found here and there. Bread was rare, and there was

nothing at hand to buy.

Now we came to a Polish government town, Posen, to

which I had brought the horses, wagons, and servants of a

Polish general, as I noted in connection with the campaign

of 1807. From there we went to Gnesen, also an important

city, where I, likewise in 1807, had announced in eight

villages that food must be delivered for Napoleon and where

I had had to spend almost two weeks. In these towns it was

still possible to buy provisions here and there, and

supposedly quarters were still available there. The march

continued through [Inowr]azlav, also a city where I had been

during the Prussian campaigns, and all the roads of this

district were still well known to me.

On Corpus Christi Day we marched into the city of Thorn,

which lies on the northern bank of the Vistula River, another

city in which I had been during the year of 1807. Here for

the first time we saw all the corps streaming together. All

the gates were jammed, and the regiments had to wind

through the streets in a great throng. We still obtained

quarters. However, we had to prepare our own food from

our rationed meat and bread. The meat came from the

salted ice pits; there was a rumor that it had been stored

from the war of 1807—the condition of the meat made the

rumor seem credible, since the meat appeared bluish-black

and was salty as herrings. It was already tender enough to

eat, and we boiled it a few times only to draw off the

muriatic acid; and then the broth, not being useful for soup,

had to be thrown out.

Since we stayed in Thorn on Corpus Christi Day, I

attended the service in the great City Church, where I heard

what was to me a very unusual sermon, because it was

given in Polish and I could not understand anything of it. I

also climbed the high, broad tower, which had more than a

hundred steps, and saw the eight bells. The largest bell had

a clapper that was taller than I was. An equally large clapper

leaned against the wall, and I could not pull it by its upper

part from the wall. This city had been improved as a fortress

since my visit in 1807. The near-by heights were dug away,

and ramparts were built, although with only wooden beams

filled in between with sand instead of massive walls.

Now the orders led us from Thorn to Mariampol. The

march there went through Seeburg, Bischofstein, and

Lagarben. The roads were sandy, and dust covered our

clothing. Thence we went to a village called Löventin, where

we saw a strange sight: we could count as many as thirty

stork nests; almost all the storks had nested in tall willow

trees and stalked around the swamps in flocks like the

geese at home. The route led us on through Nordenburg and

Darkehmen. Then we came to a little town known as

Kalvaria, which lay on a dead-level in a barren region. Here

only a noon halt was made, and no one had anything to eat.

Since all is allowed to necessity, this little town, although

already plundered, could not remain unsearched. All the

soldiers ran for food and water, and it so happened that

what provisions the inhabitants had hidden were found and

brought into the camp, even though it was Polish country

and, therefore, friendly. Because of this fact, the inhabitants

of the town complained to our Crown Prince; and, therefore,

the command came that the first soldier who thus left camp

would be shot. I returned to the camp, however, just in time.

The determination of our Crown Prince had risen so high

that he rode along the front with a pistol and held it on the

breasts of some soldiers so that one might have almost

believed some of them were going to be shot, but their dire

need with nothing to eat may have stopped him.

Daily the hardships increased, and there was no hope of

bread. My colonel spoke to us once and said that we could

hope for no more bread until we crossed the enemy border.

The most anyone might still get was a little lean beef, and

hunger made it necessary to dig up the fields for the

potatoes already sprouting, which were, however, very

sweet and almost inedible. One also heard everywhere that

several men had already shot themselves because of

hardship: in particular, an officer had cut his throat on that

very same day. Finally we came to the Memel River, where

the Russian border was. The town of Poniemon was located

there. Everyone rejoiced to see the Russian boundary at

last. We encamped at the foot of the hill this side of the

river, and everyone thought that he should make his

knapsack as light as possible. I, too, searched through my

pieces of clothing and threw away vests, unnecessary

cleaning articles, trousers, etc. Here we had to make a halt

until the pontoons were brought up and several bridges

were constructed across the water. Now we believed that

the Russians would wait on the other bank and attack, but

nothing happened. Bonaparte fired upon the high points

held by the Russians with a few cannon and sent his cavalry

across the water. The Russians, however, withdrew after a

short encounter.

6. A BIVOUAC NEAR KOKUTISCZKI (KUKUTISHKI), 9 JULY

1812. SOLDIERS EVICT A JEW FROM CAMP, WHILE OTHERS

LAUGHINGLY LOOK ON. IN THE DISTANCE, CHRISTIAN

WORSHIPPERS VENERATE THE CROSS BEFORE A SMALL

WOODEN CHURCH.

On June 25 the army went over the bridges. We now

believed that, once in Russia, we need do nothing but

forage—which, however, proved to be an illusion. The town

of Poniemon was already stripped before we could enter,

and so were all the villages. Here and there a hog ran

around and then was beaten with clubs, chopped with

sabers, and stabbed with bayonets; and, often still living, it

would be cut and torn to pieces. Several times I succeeded

in cutting off something; but I had to chew it and eat it

uncooked, since my hunger could not wait for a chance to

boil the meat. The worst torture was the march, because the

closed ranks forced all to go in columns; the heat and the

dust flared up into our eyes as if from smoking coal heaps.

The hardship was doubled by the continual halting of the

troops whenever we came to a swamp or a narrow road.

Often one had to stand for half an hour; then another such

period was spent catching up and drudging away without

water or food.

The march proceeded day and night toward Vilkomirz and

Eve. Meanwhile it rained ceaselessly for several days, and

the rain was cold. It was all the more disagreeable because

nothing could be dried. Bodily warmth was our only

salvation from freezing to death. I had on only one pair of

blue linen trousers, which I had bought at Thorn, since I had

thrown away my underwear because of the former heat.

Thus I was constantly wet for two days and two nights, so

that not a spot on my body was dry. Nevertheless, I did not

remain behind, although I could not see the way at night

and slid in every direction on account of the clay soil.

Indeed, the soldiers fell about me so incessantly that most

of them were completely covered with mud and some were

left lying behind.

During the third night a halt was made in a field which

was trampled into a swamp. Here we were ordered to camp

and to make fires, since neither village nor forest could be

seen and the rain continued without end. You can imagine in

what a half-numbed condition everyone stood here. What

could we do? There was nothing that we could do but stack

the rifles in pyramids and keep moving in order not to

freeze. Finally an estate was found off to one side, and all

the soldiers by groups immediately ran to build a shelter.

There was nothing else to do except to use all our strength

and to pull out poles and straw; so I with assistance built a

little shelter, but my strength did not last long enough to

collect firewood. I lay in the tent shelter, hungry and wet.

The comrades, however, who came in and lay down upon

me served as a warm cover.

When dawn came, I hurried again to the manor.

Meanwhile a cellar full of brandy had been discovered. I,

too, pushed myself into the cellar and filled my field flask. I

returned to the shelter with this and drank it without even

any bread. Then by noon I noticed that half the men had

stayed back and several had suffocated in the swamp. The

brandy helped, but many a man drank himself to death

because he would become numbed and would freeze on

account of the wet and cold. My drummer, by the name of

Schäfer, met such an end.

In the evening, when some cow’s meat was distributed,

with difficulty we started a fire, so that meat and broth soon

warmed our stomachs. Then the march continued toward

the little town of Maliaty, where a two-day halt was made

and the sick were taken to the hospital. In this bivouac we

obtained some meat; but most of the men could no longer

digest the pure meat, diarrhea seized many, and they had

to be abandoned. In this camp I took the opportunity to

wash my shirt and trousers. It happened to be good

weather; but, in order to obtain water for drinking and

cooking, holes were dug into the swamps three feet deep in

which the water collected. The water was very warm,

however, and was reddish-brown with millions of little red

worms so that it had to be bound in linen and sucked

through with the mouth. This was, of course, a hard

necessity on our nature and ways.

Then we had to march farther through the villages of

Kosatschisna [?], Labonary, Diescony [?], Drysviaty, Braslav,

toward Disna, where we arrived in the middle of July. The

men were growing weaker and weaker every day and the

companies smaller and smaller. The march was kept up day

and night. One man after another stretched himself half-

dead upon the ground; most of them died a few hours later;

several, however, suddenly fell to the ground dead. The

chief cause of this was thirst, for in most districts there was

no water fit for drinking, so that the men had to drink out of

ditches in which were lying dead horses and dead men. I

often marched away from the columns for several hours in

search of water, but seldom could I return with any water

and had to go thirsty. All the towns not only were completely

stripped but were also half-burned.

Finally we arrived at Polotsk, a large city on the other side

of the Dvina River. In this region I once left the bivouac to

seek provisions. There were eight of us, and we came to a

very distant village. Here we searched all the houses. There

were no peasants left. I later realized how heedless I had

been, since each one ran into a house alone, broke open

everything that was covered, and searched all the floors and

still nothing was found. Finally, when we assembled and

were ready to leave, I once more inspected a little hut

somewhat removed from the village. Around it from top to

bottom were heaped bundles of hemp and shives, which I

tore down; and, as I worked my way to the ground, sacks full

of flour appeared. Now I joyfully called all my comrades so

that we might dispose of the booty. In the village we saw

sieves; these we took to sift the flour mixed with chaff an

inch long; and, after that, we refilled the sacks.

Then the question of carrying and dividing the grain arose,

but it occurred to me that I had seen a horse in one of the

houses. Everyone immediately hurried to find the horse. We

found two instead of one, but unfortunately they were both

colts, and one could not be used at all. We took the largest,

placed two sacks on it, and started out very slowly. While we

were marching there, the Russians saw us from a distance

with this booty; and at the same moment we saw a troop of

peasants in the valley, about fifty. These ran toward us.

What could we do but shoot at them? I, however, led the

horse, and a second man held the sacks while the rest fired,

one after another, so that the peasants divided in order not

to be hit so easily; but they could not take the sacks away

from us.

7. A BIVOUAC OF 31 AUGUST 1812. G. KÜSTNER, PRINTER.

EMMINGER AND BAUMEISTER, LITHOGRAPHERS.

NAPOLEON’S TROOPS CUTTING HAY FOR CAVALRY HORSES,

WITH A GREAT MANOR HOUSE IN THE BACKGROUND.

We hurried toward the bivouac, but on the way we found a

deep stream of water, and only a round tree trunk lay across

it. Now the question arose how to take the horse and sacks

across. I said, “Why, I will carry the sacks across, and we will

throw the horse into the water,” and, indeed, I succeeded in

getting over the narrow bridge in an upright position without

the use of handrails, which feat might have cost me my life,

since the river was very deep. Then the horse was thrown in

and driven across with stones, the sacks were then

reloaded, and we finally marched into bivouac. That was a

joy! Whatever each person could not use was distributed.

Then dough was made, and little balls were molded with the

hands and baked, or rather roasted, in the fire. This food

lasted me a week, and I thanked God for the chance gift

which had remained buried under the shives until I came.

We then marched farther in a somewhat more eastern

direction through Ula, Beshenkovichi, and Ostrovno, and

near the end of July toward Vitebsk. Often on the way to

Vitebsk we undertook a raiding excursion. Some thirty of our

men went off the main route to find a still inhabited and

unstripped village. We collected our strength and walked

from three to four hours in hopes of rejoining the army at

the second bivouac.

We were fortunate and found a village where everything

still seemed to be in order. To safeguard our small group, we

left a rear-guard behind and agreed that they should report

with certain shooting signals a possible attack from the

Russians. As we entered the village, a man at once

approached us who was probably sent as an interpreter

from the mayor to learn our desires. We told him that we

required provisions for the army—if we received them

voluntarily, force would not be used. He reported it to the

village, but the answer was of no good; so we were

compelled two by two to take a house and search it. I joined

forces with a comrade but found nothing except milk and

cabbage (“Kapuke” 2 ).

A wooden hut stood on a farm. This was locked, and the

peasants would not open it. When we broke down the door,

a woman who was with child came running at us as if mad

and wanted to throw us out, but we forced her back with

gentle thrusts. Here we obtained some flour, eggs, and fat.

When all brought their findings together later, our booty was

considerable. I am telling of this undertaking to show the

ways of the Russian subjects. If they had voluntarily

removed the simple covers [of their storage places], much

of the household furniture would have remained unspoiled,

for it was necessary to raise the floors and the beams in

order to find anything and to turn upside down everything

that was covered. Under one such floor, which had large

beams resting side by side, we found pots full of sausages

stuffed into casings four to five feet long and filled with

pieces of bacon and meat an inch thick. Although such

sausages already had a fierce smell, they were quickly

eaten. Here were also hidden pots filled with lumps of

cheese, which according to the customs of the country had

been placed as milk on the fire and had been allowed to

curdle so that the milk, cheese, and fat floated about in

chunks. The cheese and fat were still left for us.

In another well-plundered village nothing could be found

in the houses; and so, urged on by our hunger, we dug in

the ground. Here I with several others removed a large pile

of wood which had probably just been put there. We

removed this, dug into the ground, and found a covered roof

of planks. There was an opening under this from ten to

twelve feet deep. Inside there were honey jars and wheat

covered with straw. When we had all this, we opened the

jars and saw a solid, white substance with the appearance

of hard wax. It was so hard that one had trouble breaking off

a piece with his saber; but, as soon as it was put on the fire,

it all melted to very clear honey. Now I had honey to eat for

a week, although without bread. I ate the wheat raw and

wild calamus from the swamps; and, in general, what

garden roots were to be found had to serve the most

extreme hunger.

After this raiding excursion we again met the corps in

bivouac; and we came then, on August 16, toward the city

of Smolensk. Here my company had only 25 fit men. At

Vitebsk already regiments had been formed into a few

battalions, and many officers were left without duties;

among them was my captain, whose name was Arrant. Here

everyone had to be prepared for battle. The city lay before

us on a long ascending height, and on the other side was

the Dnieper River. Even on the night of our arrival there

were a few skirmishes with the outposts and vanguard.

On the morning of August 17, every regiment was set in

motion, and all advanced in columns against the Russians.

Here every regiment without exception was under fire.

Again and again the troops attempted assaults, but because

of the greater number of the Russians we were forced back

every time on this day, since their heavy artillery stood on

the heights and could hit everything. Finally by night we had

made good our position on the heights overlooking the city,

and the battle was discontinued. In the course of these

events hunger could no longer be thought of. During the

night, however, I ate from my little bit of honey and raw

supplies without being able to cook. The thought of the

coming day alternated with fitful sleep, and in fantasy the

many dead men and horses came as a world of spirits

before the last judgment. Since I did not suffer the

misfortune of being wounded, I thought: “God, Thou hast

allowed me to live till now. I thank Thee and offer up my

sufferings to Thee and pray Thee at the same time to take

me further into Thy protection.”

This and several other pious meditations I had with God,

and I considered my destiny. Although it was never quiet the

entire night and though a new battle might have started at

any hour, none of all my miseries was so hard and

depressing as the thought of my brothers, sisters, and

friends. This thought was my greatest pain, which I sought

to repress with this hope: “With God everything is possible;

so I will depend upon His further help.”

8. NEAR KOKUSCZKINA, 11 JULY 1812. H. KURTZ, PRINTER.

BAUMEISTER, LITHOGRAPHER. A FORAGING PARTY, LADEN

WITH PILFERED LIVESTOCK. THE MILEPOST INDICATES 71[?]

VERSTS TO MOSCOW.

As soon as the day broke—here I cannot omit the

description of the length of the day and the shortness of the

night. Many times when we went into bivouac for the night,

the great glow of the sun was still in the sky so that there

was only a brief interval between the setting and the rising

sun. The redness remained very bright until sunrise. On

waking one believed that it was just getting dark, but

instead it became bright daylight. The nighttime lasted

three hours at most, with the glow of the sun continuing. So,

as soon as the day broke—we marched against the city. The

river was crossed below the city. The suburbs on the

northern side were stormed, set on fire, and burned up. My

company’s doctor, named Stäuble, had his arm shot away in

crossing the stream, and he died afterward. No longer could

I pay any attention to my comrades and, therefore, knew

not in what way they perished or were lost. Everyone fired

and struck at the enemy in wild madness, and no one could

tell whether he was in front, in the middle, or behind the

center of the army.

Finally, while cannon balls kept on raining out of the city,

we stormed it. With the help of heavy cannon, most of the

supporting piers on the high old city wall, on which the

Russians were defending themselves from the inside, were

partially destroyed. We broke through the gates, pressed

from all sides against the city, and put the enemy to flight.

When I entered the city, we went toward the cloisters and

churches. I also hurried into the great church which stood to

the right in the city on a hill facing the valley. I did not meet

any of the enemy within, however. Only priests (“Bopen” 3 )

were there praying. They had on long black cowls, ragged

hose, and old slippers. The church was large and on the

inside built round. It had many holy images and altars as

ours do. The only difference was that there was no holy

water. The church had five towers, one on each corner and

one in the middle of the roof. On every tower were triple iron

crosses, and from each cross went intervening chains from

one tower to another; this created a beautiful appearance

from without.

After the Russians had been stormed from the two

suburbs, from which one road on the left leads to St.

Petersburg and another on the right to Moscow, and after

the wooden houses there lay in ruins, we resorted in the

evening to the former camping ground. Here one saw the

wounded men brought together to be operated on in a brick

kiln which lay on the heights above the city. Many arms and

legs were amputated and bandaged. It all looked just like a

slaughter house. In the city itself over half of the buildings

were burned; these included, especially in the upper part of

the city, many large, massive houses which were burned out

on the inside. Many roofs of sheet copper were rolled up and

lay about. In one building west of the city I saw the lower

story filled with paper, and on top it was burned black;

probably all the official documents had been hurried to that

place.

On August 19, the entire army moved forward, and

pursued the Russians with all speed. Four or five hours’

farther up the river another battle started, but the enemy

did not hold out long, and the march now led to Moshaisk,

the so-called “Holy Valley.” From Smolensk to Moshaisk the

war displayed its horrible work of destruction: all the roads,

fields, and woods lay as though sown with people, horses,

wagons, burned villages and cities; everything looked like

the complete ruin of all that lived. In particular, we saw ten

dead Russians to one of our men, although every day our

numbers fell off considerably. In order to pass through

woods, swamps, and narrow trails, trees which formed

barriers in the woods had to be removed, and wagon

barricades of the enemy had to be cleared away. In such

numbers were the Russians lying around that it seemed as if

they were all dead. The cities in the meantime were

Dorogobush, Semlevo, Viasma, and Gshatsk. The march up

to there, as far as it was a march, is indescribable and

inconceivable for people who have not seen anything of it.

The very great heat, the dust which was like a thick fog, the

closed line of march in columns, and the putrid water from

holes filled with dead people, and cattle brought everyone

close to death; and eye pains, fatigue, thirst, and hunger

tormented everybody. God! how often I remembered the

bread and beer which I had enjoyed at home with such an

indifferent pleasure! Now, however, I must struggle, half

wild, with the dead and living. How gladly would I renounce

for my whole life the warm food so common at home if I

only did not lack good bread and beer now! I would not wish

for more all my life. But these were empty, helpless

thoughts. Yes, the thought of my brothers and sisters so far

away added to my pain! Wherever I looked, I saw the

soldiers with dead, half-desperate faces. Many cried out in

despair, “If only my mother had not borne me!” Some

demoralized men even cursed their parents and their birth.

9. A BIVOUAC NEAR LIOZNA (LIASMA), 4 AUGUST 1812. G.

KÜSTNER, PRINTER. EMMINGER, LITHOGRAPHER. ANOTHER

FRUITFUL FORAGING EXPEDITION.

These voices, however, raised my soul to God, and I often

spoke in quietude, “God, Thou canst save me; but, if it is not

Thy will, I hope that my sins will be forgiven because of my

sufferings and pains and that my soul will ascend to Thee.”

With such thoughts I went on trustingly to meet my fate.

On September 7, every corps was assigned its place, and

the signal to attack was given. 4 Like thunderbolts the firing

began both against and from the enemy. The earth was

trembling because of the cannon fire, and the rain of cannon

balls crossed confusedly. Several entrenchments were

stormed and taken with terrible sacrifices, but the enemy

did not move from their place. The French Guard, 5 according

to order, was placed behind the attacking corps to bring

about the final decision. Now the two armies moved more

vigorously against one another, and the death cries and

shattering gunfire seemed a hell. Nine entrenchments were

stormed, the French threatened to surround the enemy from

the front, and finally the enemy gave way.

This beautiful grain region without woods and villages

could now be compared to a cleared forest, a few trunks

here and there looking gray and white [?]. Within a space an

hour and a half long and wide, the ground was covered with

people and animals. There were groans and whines on all

sides. The stream separated the battlefield into two parts.

On the left of the water stood a row of a few houses which

looked as if transformed into a chapel for the dead. Over the

river there was a wooden bridge that had been burned. On

account of the congestion before and during the burning,

the banks on both sides of the bridge were filled with dead

piled three and four deep. Particularly the wounded who

could still move hurried to the river to quench their thirst or

to wash their wounds; but the suffering brothers had no

help, no hope of rescue: hunger, thirst, and fire were their

death.

Although this terrible sight looked like a kingdom of the

dead, the people had, nevertheless, become so indifferent

to their feelings that they all ran numbly like shades of

death away from the piteous crying. We moved forward and

camped by a forest on a height facing Moscow; it was a

wood of green trees. Here we not only had nothing to eat

but also no water to drink, because of the high camp site;

and the road through the fields was still covered with dead

Russians. Now we traveled with somewhat higher hopes

toward Moscow yet with the expectation that we should

clash again with the Russians, but the Russians thought

themselves too weak and went through the city setting fire

to many parts, and the inhabitants were abandoned. Our

troops came unexpectedly, something which the Russians

before had believed impossible, because there never had

been a foreign enemy who had reached and conquered the

old city of the Tsar, the capital city. All the merchants and

people of the city could not flee swiftly enough to save

themselves, and many costly articles were left behind. Even

though the French Guard occupied the city first and took

possession of wine, bread, etc., for their army, there still

remained a good deal for us, the allies. We marched in, too,

and took quarters behind the Kremlin in the so-called

German suburb, which ran from west to east behind the city

proper.

10. BATTLE NEAR SMOLENSK, 5 AUGUST 1812.

PHOTOENGRAVED BY I. GOFFERT FROM A PAINTING BY P.

VON HESS.

On the march into the city or rather on the march toward

it, from a hill in a forest an hour and a half away, we saw the

huge city lying before us. Clouds of fire, red smoke, great

gilded crosses of the church towers glittered, shimmered,

and billowed up toward us from the city. This holy city was

like the description of the city of Jerusalem, over which our

Saviour wept; it even resembled the horror and the wasting

according to the Gospel. Farther inward toward the city was

a wide plain; and in front of the city ran the stream Alia, 6

over which there was a wooden bridge. As we marched

through, I observed as much as I could: there were broad

streets, long straight alleys, tall buildings massively built of

brick, church towers with burned roofs and half-melted bells,

and copper roofs which had rolled from the buildings;

everything was uninhabited and uninhabitable. After a few

hours’ walking we went past the palace (Kremlin). Here was

the stream Kremlin 7 in an open, walled canal which runs

through the city. At the lower end of the palace a street led

toward the right to a beautiful parade ground; and behind

this was the German suburb, which the Württemberg corps

occupied for three weeks.

Here one could find and buy provisions; for each soldier

was now citizen, merchant, innkeeper, and baker of Moscow.

Everyone tried to dress as much as possible with silks and

materials of all colors. Only tailors were lacking; silks,

muslins, and red Morocco leather were all abundant. Things

to eat were not wanting either. Whoever could find nothing

could buy something and vegetables in sufficient quantity

stood in the fields. Particularly was there an abundance of

beets, which were as round and large as bowling balls and

fiery red throughout. There were masses of cabbage three

and four times as large in size as cabbage heads that we

would consider large. The district called Muscovy is more

favored in agriculture and climate, and more civilized than

the regions toward St. Petersburg and those through which

we had come. It was still good weather, and one could sleep

warm enough under a coat at night.

After we had been citizens of Moscow for four weeks, we

lost our burgher rights again. Napoleon refused the peace

treaty proposed to him, 8 and the army which had advanced

some thirty hours’ farther on had to retreat, because the

Russian army stationed in Moldavia was approaching. Now it

was October 17, and Napoleon held an army review and

announced the departure for October 18, early in the

morning at 3 o’clock, with the warning that whoever should

delay one hour would fall into the hands of the enemies. All

beer, brandy, etc., was abandoned and whatever was still

intact was ordered to be burned. Napoleon himself had the

Kremlin undermined and blown up. 9 The morning came, and

each took his privilege of citizenship [Bürgerrecht] upon his

shoulders and covered it with his coat cape of strong woolen

cloth, and everybody had bread pouches of red Morocco

leather at his side, all had an odd appearance as they set

out; they filled, as far as it was possible, everything with

sugar and the so-called Moscow tea in order to withstand

the future misery. The sugar melted out of the merchant

shops in the conflagration and, half-burnt, resembled a

brownish gray glauber salt. 10

11. “THIS FIRE WILL ILLUMINE FOR GENERATIONS THE

FEROCITY OF NAPOLEON AND THE GLORY OF RUSSIA.”

CAPTIONED WITH A QUOTE FROM A RESCRIPT (1812) FROM

THE EMPEROR TO COUNT ROSTOPCHIN, THIS WOODCUT

SHOWS THE GATES AND TOWERS OF THE KREMLIN RINGED

WITH FLAME AND BILLOWING SMOKE.

When we assembled in the morning, my company was 25

privates strong, and all companies were more or less of this

size. The march went forth to the right from behind the

eastern side of the city, and we moved past the city on the

south. There were two bridges thrown across the river below

us, and the smoke from the flames surged up behind us. Up

on the heights past the bridge to the left of the road stood a

cloister in which there was a flour storeroom where

everyone fetched as much as he could carry. Beyond the

bridge there was a cabbage patch where millions of

cabbage heads were still standing: it pained me not to be

able to take along even one of these heads, since I fully

expected the utmost famine.

From Moscow the road led south through Malo Jaroslavetz

toward Kaluga. Near Jaroslavetz in the evening the Russian

Moldavian army, which had come from Turkey, met us. In

this city I was ordered on guard at the headquarters of the

general staff while the army encamped in front of the city.

Here the inhumanity of the commanders began to mount:

the remaining troops’ weapons were inspected, and many

who did not have their weapons fairly rust-free got 12 to 20

strokes with a club until they were near desperation. While I

looked after my post, a comrade said to me that he had on a

near-by wagon a little cask of wine brought along from

Moscow and that since everything would be destroyed that

day anyhow we would drink it up. We drank and also let

others drink from it, but all of us said, “How will this turn

out?”

In the morning Major von Schaumberg saw me and

noticed that I was still alert and spirited. He addressed me,

saying that I ought to stay with him and take care of him

along with his attendant. I consented and took over a horse

and his equipage. Then everyone packed up, and the enemy

attacked us. The decision was soon to the advantage of the

Russians, and all ran in a crowded retreat, the army moving

toward Kaluga with the Cossacks in front of and beside us.

The enemy army behind us shattered all the army corps,

leaving each of us then without his commanding officer.

Those who were too weak to carry their weapons or

knapsacks threw them away, and all looked like a crowd of

gypsies.

I and my fellow attendant traveled with the major as best

we could. At one time my fellow attendant said, “Walter, you

look all yellow in the face. You have the jaundice!” I became

frightened at this and believed that my end would soon

have to come, too, though I actually felt nothing.

Then we came to a second city, Borovsk. Here the city

was immediately ablaze; and, in order for us to get through,

soldiers had to be used to quench the flames. Camp was

pitched by this city, and it became dark. One no sooner

thought of resting than the Russians fell upon our army and

cut off many as captives. Everything was in confusion, and

during almost the whole night the throng had to retreat to

Moshaisk, everyone running so as not to fall into the hands

of the enemy. Because of these considerable losses, cannon,

munition wagons, coaches, and baggage wagons by the

hundreds had to be thrown into the water; and, where that

was impossible, all wagons were burned, not one wheel

being permitted to remain whole. The sutlers, even the

cavalry, had to give up their horses so that these could be

hitched to the cannon. The fighting, the shrieking, the firing

of large and small guns, hunger and thirst, and all

conceivable torments increased the never-ending confusion.

Indeed, even the lice seemed to seek supremacy, for their

number on both officers and privates was in the thousands.

12. THIS FOLDING MAP OF THE CITY OF MOSCOW IS A

REMARKABLE FEATURE OF THE 1813 EDITION OF THE

RUSSIANS AND NAPOLEON BONAPARTE BY BULGAKOV.

LIGHT-SHADED AREAS INDICATE PARTS OF THE CITY

DAMAGED BY FIRE DURING NAPOLEON’S RETREAT. THE KEY

AT THE LOWER RIGHT DIVIDES THE CITY INTO TWENTY

DISTRICTS, SHOWING THE NUMBER OF HOUSES DESTROYED

IN EACH.

In times when death was near, God sent me help again

and again. After midnight, when we pitched camp again

following the above-mentioned pursuit by the Russians, a

little village stood a quarter of an hour off the highway, and

I crept with my master and two horses into a stable that still

had a roof. There I saw hanging on a cord behind a grate a

smoked pig’s head. As if received from the hand of God, I

took it off from the cord with a prayer of thanks. I, my

master, and my fellow servant ate it with unbelievable

appetite, and we felt life come to us again. Then I always

thought: “If even a few should get to German soil, it is

possible that I with God’s help might also reach there.” In

these days it snowed for the first time, and the snow

remained. The cold arrived at the same time, too, and the

freezing of the people multiplied the number of the dead.

No one could walk fifty paces without seeing men stretched

out half or completely dead. According to Napoleon’s

scheme we were to strike leftward toward Galicia. The

Russian, however, hindered us and drove us past Vereia and

Verina and to the right into our old, desolate highway.

Finally we went over the battlefield at Moshaisk in the

Holy Valley. Here one saw again in what numbers the dead

lay. From the battle site on to this place the corpses were

dragged from the highways, and entire hollows were filled

with them. Gun barrels lay one on top of another in many

piles from fifteen to twenty feet in height and in width where

we bivouacked for the night.

Here God once more came to my help in a wondrous way.

As I sought to fetch water in the night with my field flask, I

came to a lake in which a hole had been chopped through

the ice, and I drew my water with much effort because of

the pressure of those standing around. On the way back, a

round ball resembling a dead sheep was lying on the

ground. I picked it up and in astonished joy unwrapped a

rolled-up Crimean fur that reached from my head down to

my feet, besides having a perculiar collar which could be

clapped over my head. With my eyes turned to heaven I

prayed again to God and gave thanks for the abundant

mercy which I had received just when help was obviously

most necessary.

I hurried to my major and had already put on the fur. He

saw me and called out loudly, “Aye, God! What do you have

on?” “A fur, Major, that I found just now. Now I’ve at least a

covering.” “Oh,” he said, “I’ll give you my fur. It’s also a

good one. If we get home, then you can have it back again,

or I’ll pay you enough for it.” Thus I took his fur, which was

also beautiful, having a green silk lining so that it could be

worn right side out or inside out. The next morning everyone

hurried on his flight, and no one wanted to be the last.

We now came to Gshatsk, and this town was already in

flames. Here again many cannon were thrown into the water

and part of them buried. The pressure was so frightful that I

and my major lost each other. Now I had the second horse

to myself, and we could not find each other again that day,

nor even for another ten days.

Thus in the evening I rode apart from the army to find in

the outlying district some straw for the horse and rye for

myself. I was not alone, for over a strip ten hours’ wide

soldiers sought provisions because of their hunger; and,

when there was nothing to be found, they could hunt up

cabbage stalks here and there from under the snow, cut off

some of the pulp from these, and let the core slowly thaw

out in their mouths. Nevertheless, this time I had a second

considerable piece of luck. I came to a village not yet

burned where there were still sheaves of grain. I laid these

before the horse and plucked off several heads of grain. I

hulled them, laid the kernels mixed with chaff into a hand

grinder which had been left in a house, and, taking turns

with several other soldiers, ground some flour. Then we laid

the dough, which we rolled into only fist-sized little loaves,

on a bed of coals. Although the outside of the loaves burned

to charcoal, the bread inside could be eaten. I got as many

as fifteen such balls.

For further supply, whenever I came upon sheaves of

grain, I picked the heads, rubbed off the kernels, and ate

them from my bread sack during the course of the day.

Several times I also found hempseed, which I likewise ate

raw out of my pocket; and cooked hempseed was a delicacy

for me because the grains burst open and produced an oily

sauce; yet since I could not get salt for cooking, it did not

have its full strength.

When this good night was half over, I laid four sheaves

over my saddle and rode to the head of the army as usual.

Toward the next night, however, in order to make a fire

again, I rode off the highway. Wading in the deep snow was

too hard for my horse; so I took a peasant’s sled, which had

only two slabs of bark for boards, put a collar made from a

sack around the horse’s neck, and tied two ropes from there

to the sled. As I drove on again the same night, I had to

cross a river about sixty feet wide, over which only four or

five poles lay. I, therefore, knew of no other means than to

carry the sled over on the poles and to force the horse to

swim across. Accordingly I carried the emptied sled across

successfully, although my feet went knee-deep into the

water because the poles sank. I brought the horse, which

could swim well, being of a Russian breed, to the sled again,

and drove on. At this river I met a man by the name of

Wittenhöfer, from my native village, who was already

deathly weak. I let him ride. He died after a few days.

I continued, then, this sled-riding through the burned

cities of Viasma, Semlevo, and Dorogobush without finding

my master. Once, while I was eating some of my

aforementioned bread, several Frenchmen saw me. These

inhuman men surrounded me with the pretext of buying

bread; and, when the word “bread” was mentioned,

everyone bolted at me, so that I thought my death was

near; but through an extraordinary chance there came along

some Germans, whom I now called to my aid. They struck at

my horse so that most of the Frenchmen fell back from me

and then were entirely beaten off.

Among these Germans were two sergeants from my

regiment called N. and N. After I was free, they took my

bread and walked away. Not they, I could see now, but

rather their hunger and my bread were both my redeemers

and, at the same time, my robbers. Although I had already

given them a loaf, they robbed me! But this, my dear

readers, is to be judged otherwise than you think. There are

stories in which people have murdered and eaten each

other on account of hunger, but certainly this incident was

still a long way from murder. Since starvation had risen to a

high degree, why could not such a thing happen? And,

besides that, much of the humanity of man had already

vanished because of hunger. Indeed, I even heard at that

time that several men had been murdered for the sake of

bread. I myself could look cold-bloodedly into the lamenting

faces of the wounded, the freezing, and the burned, as I

shall tell later, and think of other things.

We arrived at Smolensk on November 12, having made,

from Moscow to that city, 26 days and nights of travel

without pausing a day. If we traveled only twelve hours

daily, then we had retreated 312 hours up to Smolensk.

13. COLORFUL WOODCUT, DRAWN BY CONRAD OPPERMAN

AND ENGRAVED BY FRIEDRICH NEYER, OF AN AGITATED

NAPOLEON AS A VANQUISHED NERO. FATHER TIME, SCYTHE

IN HAND, DRAWS THE “FINAL CURTAIN” ON BOTH THE

EMPEROR AND THE MOST OBVIOUS SYMBOL OF HIS FAILED

CAMPAIGN, THE CITY OF MOSCOW IN FLAMES.

When I arrived at Smolensk, it was raining rather heavily,

and my sled could be pulled only with great effort. When I

came toward the city, the crowd was so dense that for hours

I could not penetrate into the column, for the guard [i.e.,

Imperial Guard] and the artillery with the help of the

gendarmes knocked everyone out of the way, right and left.

With effort I finally pressed through, holding my horse by

the head, and accompanied by sword blows I passed over

the bridge. In front of the city gate I and my regiment, now

disorganized, moved to the right toward the city wall beside

the Dnieper River. Here we settled down and had to camp

for two days. As had been reported to us beforehand, we

were to engage in battle with the enemy here and also to

get bread and flour from the warehouses. Neither of the two

reports, however, proved to be true. The distress mounted

higher and higher, and horses were shot and eaten.

Because I could not get even a piece of meat and my

hunger became too violent, I took along the pot I carried,

stationed myself beside a horse that was being shot, and

caught up the blood from its breast. I set this blood on the

fire, let it coagulate, and ate the lumps without salt.

While we tarried two days at Smolensk, the Russians

advanced and awaited us at Minsk. Everyone hastily fled.

Cannon were thrown into the water. The hospitals were

nearly all left to the enemy; and, as was commonly

rumored, the hospitals were set afire and burned with their

inmates. This is more credible when one considers the

treatment of the captured Russians; for, when we were

victors over the Russians, whole columns of captives were

transported past us, and anyone who stayed behind

because of weakness and fell back as far as the rear guard

was shot in the neck so that his brain always crashed down

beside him. Thus every fifty to a hundred paces I saw

another who had been shot with his head still smoking. All

this was done to make our passage safe, so that no robber

corps could be formed behind us. Very few of the captives,

however, were saved from starvation.

Now, as the march went on, I had to leave my sled behind

and to lay my baggage on the horse, upon which I also

mounted often during the day. The cold increased again that

same day, and the road became as smooth as a mirror from

the rain so that the horses fell down in great numbers and

could not get up again. Since my horse was a native of the

country, it had no horseshoes and could always help itself

up again when it had fallen. It had even the good custom,

whenever we went downhill, of sitting down on its rump,

bracing its front feet forward, and sliding into the valley in

this fashion without my dismounting. Other German horses,

though, had shoes which were ground entirely smooth and

for this reason could not keep themselves from slipping; nor

could these irons be torn off, since no one had a tool for

that.

Until now I had not seen my major again and believed

nothing else than that he must be dead. I always cared for

my horse by riding out at night where some village blazed

brightly, in order to get some rye sheaves for the horse and

rye grains for myself. I often could not get feed for four or

five days, but my “Goniak” [trotter] was indifferent if only

from time to time he could get some old straw from the

camp or some thatch straw from a burned house, nor could I

notice that he was getting thin. If I found some rest at night,

I served as a crib for him. I always hung the halter strap on

my arm or foot so that I could notice any attempts to take

him away. I laid myself squarely before his feet; and, when

he had something to eat, he ground away with his teeth for

a short time. When he had nothing, he sniffed and snorted

all over me. Not once did his hoof touch me. At the most he

pressed my fur coat a little. Unless you tied your horse to

yourself, the horse was stolen immediately.

After leaving Smolensk, we arrived on November 16, amid

a thousand kinds of danger at Krasnoë, where the Russians

received us, having in the meantime circled around to our

front. Here the French Guard, with the remaining armed

forces that could still be brought together, took its position

along the highway and kept up the firing against the enemy

as well as possible. Although the enemy had to yield, any

movements on our part drew vigorous firing upon us.

Unfortunately, all the time the greatest misery fell upon the

poor sick, who usually had to be thrown from the wagons

just to keep us from losing horses and wagons entirely and

who were left to freeze among the enemies, for whoever

remained lying behind could not hope to be rescued.

14. ORIGINAL ETCHING, ONE OF A SUITE OF FORTY-THREE,

DRAWN BY THE SATIRIST AND CARICATURIST IVAN

TEREBENEV (1780–1815). HERE, NAPOLEON HAS BEEN

DROPPED INTO A BARREL MARKED “KALUGA ROAD,” WHILE

A SOLDIER AND FIREMAN STEEP TEA AS A CHASER FOR A

BAR MARKED “VIAZMA” (CITY IN WESTERN RUSSIA)

STUFFED DOWN HIS THROAT.

Here I once heard my master speak (rather yell) close in

front of me, whereupon I called, “Major, is it you?” He

glanced at me and cried out for joy, “Oh, God, dear valet, is

it you? Oh, now I am glad that I have you again. Oh, I am so

happy that you are still alive.” I also showed my joy over

this reunion, for my master still had his old German

chestnut, his horse from home, and his other attendant was

also with him with a second horse. Now he asked me

whether I still had part of his sugar loaf and coffee. Sadly I

had to say that once when I lay down behind a battlement

near a fire-razed village at night a group of Cuirassier

Guards pressed upon me and tore away from me the sack

with the sugar and coffee; and I almost failed to keep my

horse. I gave in, therefore, and chose another place to lie

down, and in occupying my second spot I found straw lying

about, with which my horse could still his hunger. I myself

lay down on a spot that was soft and not frozen. Before

departing I thought I would see why it was so soft and warm

under me, and I saw a dead man whose unfrozen belly had

served as my good bed. “And I set out upon my journey

again, Major, without being able to meet you again.” The

major then said, “That does not matter now. I am glad that

you are here again.”

General Ney, about whom no one knew anything

anymore, was in charge of the rear guard. He fought his way

through to us. However, his forces were half gone. The

march had to go on; and the striking, clubbing, and

skirmishing commenced so frightfully that the cry of murder

echoed all about. The Cossacks advanced upon the army

from all sides. We came toward Dubrovna, and the throng

was so great that those on foot were usually beaten and

cudgeled to the right and the left of the roadway at such

narrow passages as marshes, rivers, and bridges. here my

major and I were pushed apart and lost each other again. It

was not possible to recognize one another except by voice.

Everyone was disguised in furs, rags, and pieces of cloth;

they wore round hats and peasant caps on their heads, and

many had priest’s robes from the churches. It was like a

world turned upside down. I had had enough of my helmet

at the very beginning of the retreat. I put on a round hat,

wrapped my head with silk and muslin cloths and my feet

with thick woolen cloth. I had on two vests and over my

doublet a thick and large Russian coat which I had taken

from a Russian in exchange for my own at Smolensk on the

trip into Russia; and over all this I wore my thick fur. I was so

enwrapped that only my eyes had an opening out of which I

could breathe. From time to time I had to break off from this

opening the ice that would immediately form again from my

breath.

At night in Dubrovna, when the enemy had given up their

maneuvers, everyone settled down in and around the place.

Every night, the fires for warming could be seen over a

region four hours’ long and wide, reddening the sky like red

cloth. The burning villages at the side contributed most to

this sight, and the shrieking, beating, and lamenting did not

stop for a minute. Again and again people died, and

sometimes froze to death; these were people who pressed

toward the fire but were seldom permitted to get there; so

they died away from the fire, and very often they were even

converted into cushions in order that the living would not

have to sit in the snow.

In every bivouac soldiers who looked like specters crept

around at night. The color of their faces, their husky

breathing, and their dull muttering were horribly evident; for

wherever they went they remained hopeless; and no one

allowed these shades of death to drag themselves to the

fire. Usually six, eight, or ten of us had to combine to build a

fire, since no other wood was to be had except rafter pieces

from burned houses, or trees lying around, shattered

wagons, etc., and without the cooperation of the men

nothing could be accomplished. Neither did we dare to fall

asleep at the fire all at the same time, because no one was

safe from stealing and robbery.

As we came to Orscha, it was said that we would get

shoes and bread from a magazine, also oats for the horses;

but this was impossible. In spite of the guards stationed

around the storehouses, none of the doors could be opened,

since everyone hit and shoved each other in order to get

close to a door. I hurried there at first to obtain oats, but

that was impossible until the guards could no longer stand

their ground and the doors were sprung open. Then I

climbed through a window opening, took several sacks of

oats with the help of my comrades, and brought them to the

camp fire. Immediately thereafter a soldier who also shared

in my fire came with two loaves of bread. Now everyone’s

heart beat with eagerness, and everyone sprang toward the

bread store. When we arrived, no one could get inside

anymore, and those within could not come out because of

the pressure. What was to be done? Many weak soldiers lay

on the floor and were trampled down, screaming frightfully. I

made for a window opening again; tore out the shutter, the

wooden grating, and the window; and got five of the loaves,

though they were trampled and broken. This was since

Moscow the second bit of bread, for which I thanked God

anew with tears.

Now we were all happy by the fire, and with renewed

spirits we resumed our journey toward whatever fate had in

store for us. Always I set my mind to it and constantly made

my way toward the front of the army rather than to the rear.

Very often I had to go back because of the Cossacks

roaming about; then I joined the front of the column again

so as not to be cut off from behind.

Between Orscha and Kochanova I again rode off to the

side of the army toward a village which stood in flames, in

order to warm myself for a short time in the night and to

seek for whatever was available. No sooner had I lain down

than the Cossacks came and caught whomever of us they

could get. My horse had a peculiar intelligence; for, as soon

as shots were fired, it turned and ran of its own accord with

all its strength. In the absence of danger, however, striking

it often did no good when I wanted to ride fast. Thus it

saved me by flight, and we headed toward the army again.

Those on foot who had also made the side march were

caught and plundered. The Frenchmen were usually struck

down by the Russians and not pardoned. Those who were

German could reckon on pardon with certainty because, as

it was said, the Russian Emperor had commanded that the

Germans be spared, since the Empress, as is known, was a

descendant of the house of Baden. 11

While on my side march I saw lying on the ground a

beautiful black bearskin with head and claws, which

fugitives had had to throw away. With cries of “hurrah” I

took possession of this in the hope of bringing my

belongings to Germany, for I had various silver vessels from

Moscow which were worth from three to four hundred

florins. Besides this, I had silk goods, muslin, etc., such as I

was able to take in abundance from the stalled wagons.

Nevertheless, all this came to nothing. The retreat led

through Kochanova, Toloczin, Krupky, Bobr, and Liecnize to

Borissov. In the bustle by day and by night that hardly let

me rest or sleep even a few hours in four or five nights, my

horse, which was tied to my arm by a strap, was cut off and

led away unnoticed. Since I was always accustomed to

pulling on the strap on waking up to see whether my horse

was still there, I pulled and this time felt no horse. I jumped

up—and now what? I thought to myself, even if I had the

whole night to spend looking, only a miracle could lead me

to my horse, and the likelihood was all the more uncertain if

my horse was already on the march. However, I had to do

something. I ran left and right, back and forth; and,

whenever I tried to run close to a horse, my life was

endangered by whipping and beating, for one could not take

enough precaution against theft and robbery: usually one of

those sitting by the fire had to keep watch. All at once I saw

my “Koniak” standing before a chapel door with his strap

tied to a soldier who was sleeping inside the doorway. Very

softly now I in my turn cut the strap and rode toward my

fire. I dared not sleep anymore, I thought, so that if my

horse lover returned I could speak with him.…

This night I came by chance upon a comrade from B. by

the name of Sch. This was the third man from my district

whom I met on the way from Smolensk to Moscow and back

to this place. An officer also had this man with him as a

faithful friend, for he no longer could be distinguished as

“Johan” or servant [?]. Indeed, every soldier was like an

officer now, since none of the uniforms showed any

distinction in rank and no superior could command a

private. Officers were beaten away from the fire just as

privates were whenever they tried to press forward without

merited claim. Only mutual support still procured true

friendship. This aforesaid countryman, whom I had once

liked so well, still had some rice from Moscow, though only a

handful. Along with this, I had a little piece of meat which I

cut off next to the ears from a dog’s pelt with the whole

head on it that lay not far from our fire. Just to give the

water flavor and to warm our stomachs, we boiled the two

together. Now, when it was only half cooked, we started

eating; and, although the meat already stunk a good deal

and there was no salt with it, we devoured everything with

the best appetite, feeling ourselves lucky to have for once

obtained something warm.

Some time before the departure, he said to me, “I had a

loaf of bread for my master. You have taken it from me.”

This was a pain to my feelings which I can never in my life

forget. It is noteworthy how an opinion which is entirely

false can turn a friend into a scoundrel and change him into

a shameful caricature of a human being on account of a bit

of bread. Here I saw truly how low reason had sunk with us:

our brains were frozen, and there was no feeling left. I swore

and said, “Comrade, you are wrong. I have not seen or

taken any bread. I would rather give you bread than take it.”

It did no good. He remained firm in his opinion, and death

soon found him.

Before I came to Borissov, we bivouacked behind a forest

around eleven o’clock at night, and it seemed as though the

Russians had surrounded us entirely, for the cannonades

thundered upon us from all sides, and it was necessary to

retreat hurriedly until the enemy gave up from weariness.

Everyone among us let loose with slugging, hitting, and

chasing, as if we were enemies among ourselves. Every

time in bivouac the Germans joined together and made the

fires in groups I was also included. They were mostly

Württemberg sergeants and soldiers who joined with me at

the fire; and here each one fried the horse meat which he

had cut off laboriously along the way often with scuffling

and slugging; for, as soon as a horse plunged and did not

get up immediately, men fell upon it in heaps and often cut

at it alive from all sides. The meat, unfortunately, was very

lean, and the only skin with a little red meat could be

wrested away. Each of us stuck his piece on a stick or saber,

burned off the hair in the fire, and waited until the outside

was burned black. Then the piece was bitten off all around

and stuck into the fire again. One seldom had time for

boiling, and not one among twenty men had a pot.

When the night meal was ended here, we all lay down,

and I went to sleep. My horse was tied to my arm as was my

custom. In a short time one of my sincere comrades cried,

“You, look after your horse so that it won’t be stolen.” I said,

“It’s here all right.” I was not awakened again the second

time. My countrymen cut the strap and sneaked away. Then

I woke up to find myself forsaken. “God,” I thought, “who is

it that can save me? What is to be done? Mine and my

master’s possessions I cannot bring any farther. I cannot

carry even my fur because of my weakness, and I must

freeze to death without it.” These thoughts made me

despondent, and increasing pain consumed my body. Now I

had to risk something even if my life should be lost; besides,

it was already half gone, I thought. Only about a hundred

paces away lay the French Cuirassier Guards who earlier

had forcibly taken my coffee and sugar loaf while in camp. I

will risk taking a horse! I crept near the front, observing

which of the men did not move and might be sleeping, cut

off a strap, and came away with a very large black horse. I

went to a place some distance away where no one was

about, then ran hurriedly to get my luggage, laid it on, and

went on without delay. Indeed, I thought, if only the owner

will not see me! Because of this fear, I later traded off the

horse.

Before daylight, as I rode thoughtfully along, I heard my

master again, Major von Schaumberg. I called him by name,

whereupon he heartily rejoiced and said, “Now we are

together again.” He told of his preservation until now, and I

also told him of mine. He was particularly glad about my

care for his luggage and about my reconquest of a horse.

After we came to Borissov, we bivouacked again. We came

to a lumberyard and built a fire there. When the major had

become somewhat warm, his “subjects” plagued him with

unusual wickedness, and for this reason he asked me to kill

the tormentors in his shirt collar. I did it; but, when I had his

collar open, his raw flesh showed forth where the greedy

beasts had gnawed in. I had to turn my eyes away with

abhorrence and reassure the master that I saw nothing,

telling him that my eyes hurt so much from the smoke that I

could not see anything. These pests, however, were no less

to be found on me, thousands of them. However, because of

my constant restlessness they could not get to the point of

forcing me to treat them with flesh. Besides, I remembered

the saying, “Lice stay on healthy people only,” and I did not

count this a plague in view of the greater one.

As I walked about within the court, I saw about twenty

dead cows which must have died from hunger and cold.

When I tried to cut something off from them with my saber,

they were all frozen as hard as a rock, and only with the

greatest effort did I finally rip a belly open. Since I could cut

or tear nothing loose but the entrails, I took the tallow and

supplied myself with a goodly amount of it. Each time I

would stick a little of this tallow on my saber and let it get

just hot enough in the fire for the greatest part of it to

remain unmelted, and I would eat one piece after another

with the greatest eagerness. What I had heard before—

namely, that tallow-eating drove sleep away, I now found to

be true. For about fourteen days I had tallow, which I always

ate only in the greatest emergency and which I thriftily

saved; and, truly, sleep did not bother me any more: I could

always be active then throughout the night and could forage

for myself and my horse in various ways.

15. ENTITLED “A RUSSIAN COSSACK,” THIS ENGRAVING IS BY

AN ARTIST FROM MIDDLE EUROPE.

It was November 25, 1812, when we reached Borissov.

Now the march went toward the Beresina River, where the

indescribable horror of all possible plagues awaited us. On

the way I met one of my countrymen, by the name of

Brenner, who had served with the Light Horse Regiment. He

came toward me completely wet and half frozen, and we

greeted each other. Brenner said that the night before he

and his horse had been caught and plundered but that he

had taken to flight again and had come through a river

which was not frozen. Now, he said, he was near death from

freezing and starvation. This good, noble soldier had run

into me not far from Smolensk with a little loaf of bread

weighing about two pounds and had asked me whether I

wanted a piece of bread, saying that this was his last supply.

“However, because you have nothing at all, I will share it

with you.” He had dismounted, laid the bread on the

ground, and cut it in two with his saber. “Dear, good friend,”

I had replied, “you treat me like a brother. I will not forget as

long as I live this good deed of yours but will rather repay

you many times if we live!” He had then a Russian horse, a

huge dun, mounted it, and each of us had to work his way

through, facing his own dangers. This second meeting, with

both of us in the most miserable condition because no aid

was available, caused a pang in my heart which sank in me

unforgettably. Both of us were again separated, and death

overtook him.

When we came nearer the Beresina River, there was a

place where Napoleon ordered his pack horses to be

unharnessed and where he ate. He watched his army pass

by in the most wretched condition. What he may have felt in

his heart is impossible to surmise. His outward appearance

seemed indifferent and unconcerned over the wretchedness

of his soldiers; only ambition and lost honor may have made

themselves felt in his heart; and, although the French and

Allies shouted into his ears many oaths and curses about his

own guilty person, he was still able to listen to them

unmoved. After his Guard had already disbanded and he

was almost abandoned, he collected a voluntary corps at

Dubrovna which was enrolled with many promises and

received the name of “Holy Squadron.” After a short time,

however, this existed in name only, for the enemy reduced

even them to nothing.

In this region we came to a half-burnt village away from

the road, in which a cellar was found under a mansion. We

sought for potatoes, and I also pressed down the broad

stairway, although the cellar was already half filled with

people. When I was at the bottom of the steps, the

screaming began under my feet. Everyone crowded in, and

none could get out. Here people were trampled to death and

suffocated; those who wanted to stoop down for something

were bowled over by those standing and had to be stepped

upon. In spite of the murderous shrieking and frightful

groaning, the pressure from outside increased; the poor,

deathly weak men who fell had to lie there until dead under

the feet of their own comrades. When I reflected on the

murderous shrieking, I gave up pushing into the cellar, and I

thought in cold fear: how will I get out again? I pressed flat

against the wall so that it afforded me shelter and pushed

myself vigorously little by little up the steps; this was almost

impossible with others treading on my long coat. In the

village of Sembin, where Napoleon ate, there was a burned

house, under which was a low, timber-covered cellar with a

small entrance from the outside. Here again, as potatoes

and the like were being hunted for, suddenly the beams fell

in and those who were inside and were not entirely burned

up or suffocated were jumping about with burned clothes,

screaming, whimpering, and freezing to death in terrible

pain.

16. NEAR OSCHMAENY (ASHMIANY), 4 DECEMBER 1812. G.

KÜSTNER, PRINTER. EMMINGER, LITHOGRAPHER. IN

DESPERATION, THE LIVING STRIP THE INFIRM OF THEIR

BLANKETS AND BOOTS, LEAVING THEM TO DIE IN THE

FROZEN WAKE OF THE RETREAT.

When I had gone somewhat farther from that place, I met

a man who had a sack of raw bran in which there was hardly

a dust of flour. I begged him ceaselessly to sell me a little of

the bran, pressing a silver ruble into his hand; so he put a

few handfuls in my little cloth, although very unwillingly,

whereupon I happily continued on my journey. When I and

my master came closer to the Beresina, we camped on a

near-by hill, and by contributing wood I obtained a place at

a fire. I immediately mixed some snow with my bran; balled

it together into a lump about the size of my fist, which

because of its brittleness fell into three or four pieces again

in the fire; and allowed it to heat red on the outside in order

to obtain something like bread from the inside; and I and my

master ate it all with the heartiest appetite.

After a time, from about two till four o’clock in the

afternoon, the Russians pressed nearer and nearer from

every side, and the murdering and torturing seemed about

to annihilate everyone. Although our army used a hill, on

which what was left of our artillery was placed, and fired at

the enemy as much as possible, the question was: what

chance was there of rescue? That day we expected that

everyone must be captured, killed, or thrown into the water.

Everyone thought that his last hour had come, and

everyone was expecting it; but, since the ridge was held by

the French artillery, only cannon and howitzer balls could

snatch away a part of the men. There was no hospital for

the wounded; they died also of hunger, thirst, cold, and

despair, uttering complaints and curses with their last

breath. Also our sick, who had been conveyed to this point

in wagons and consisted almost entirely of officers, were left

to themselves; and only deathly white faces and stiffened

hands stretched toward us.

When the cannonade had abated somewhat, I and my

master set out and rode down the stream for about half an

hour to where there was a village with several unburned

houses. Here was also the general staff of Württemberg. In

the hiding places here, I sought for something to eat at

night; with this purpose I lighted candles that I had found;

and I did find some cabbage (“Kapusk”) which looked green,

spotted, and like rubbish. I placed it over a fire and cooked it

for about half an hour. All at once cannon balls crashed into

the village, and with a wild cheer the enemy sprang upon

us. With all the speed we succeeded in escaping, since we

mounted and rode away as fast as possible. I couldn’t leave

my pot of cabbage behind, to be sure, but held it firmly in

my arms on the horse, and the fear that I might lose my

half-cooked meal made me forget entirely the bullets which

were flying by. When we were a little distance from the

place, my master and I reached our hands into the pot and

ate our cabbage (“Kapuska”) in haste with our fingers.

Neither could leave his hands bare because of the cold, and

because of our hunger and the cold we vied with each other

in grabbing swiftly into the warm pot, and the only meal for

the entire day was at an end again in short time.

When it became day again, we stood near the stream

approximately a thousand paces from the two bridges,

which were built of wood near each other. These bridges

had the structure of sloping saw-horses suspended like

trestles on shallow-sunk piles; on these lay long stringers

and across them only bridge ties, which were not fastened

down. However, one could not see the bridges because of

the crowd of people, horses, and wagons. Everyone crowded

together into a solid mass, and nowhere could one see a

way out or a means of rescue. From morning till night we

stood unprotected from cannonballs and grenades which the

Russians hurled at us from two sides. At each blow from

three to five men were struck to the ground, and yet no one

was able to move a step to get out of the path of the

cannonballs. Only by the filling up of the space where a

cannonball made room could one make a little progress

forward. All the powder wagons also stood in the crowd;

many of these were ignited by the grenades, killing

hundreds of people and horses standing about them.

I had a horse to ride and one to lead. The horse I led I was

soon forced to let go, and I had to kneel on the one which I

rode in order not to have my feet crushed off, for everything

was so closely packed that in a quarter of an hour one could

move only four or five steps forward. To be on foot was to

lose all hope of rescue. Indeed, whoever did not have a

good horse could not help falling over the horses and people

lying about in masses. Everyone was screaming under the

feet of the horses, and everywhere was the cry, “Shoot me

or stab me to death!” The fallen horses struck off their feet

many of those still standing. It was only by a miracle that

anyone was saved.

In the crowd the major and I held fast to one another; and,

as far as it was possible, I frequently caused my horse to

rear up, whereby he came down again about one step

further forward. I marveled at the intelligence with which

this animal sought to save us. Then evening came, and

despair steadily increased. Thousands swam into the river

with horses, but no one ever came out again; thousands of

others who were near the water were pushed in, and the

stream was like a sheep dip where the heads of men and

horses bobbed up and down and disappeared.

Finally, toward four o’clock in the evening, when it was

almost dark, I came to the bridge. Here I saw only one

bridge, the second having been shot away. Now it is with

horror, but at that time it was with a dull, indifferent feeling,

that I looked at the masses of horses and people which lay

dead, piled high upon the bridge. Only “Straight ahead and

in the middle!” must be the resolution. “Here in the water is

your grave; beyond the bridge is the continuation of a

wretched life. The decision will be made on the bridge!”

Now I kept myself constantly in the middle. The major and I

could aid one another; and so amid a hundred blows of

sabers we came to the bridge, where not a plank was visible

because of the dead men and horses; and, although on

reaching the bridge the people fell in masses thirty paces to

the right and to the left, we came through to the firm land.

The fact that the bridge was covered with horses and men

was not due to shooting and falling alone but also to the

bridge ties, which were not fastened on this structure. The

horses stepped through between them with their feet and so

could not help falling, until no plank was left movable on

account of the weight of the bodies. For where such a

timber still could move, it was torn out of place by the

falling horses, and a sort of trap was prepared for the

following horse. Indeed, one must say that the weight of the

dead bodies was the salvation of those riding across; for,

without their load, the cannon would have caused the

destruction of the bridge too soon.

By the time I was in safety, it had grown dark, and I did

not know where the highway was. I lay down somewhat to

the left of the road in a little clump of bushes and tied the

horses to my foot. The major sent a Pole after water with a

kettle bought the day before and also gave him a piece of

money, but the man and the kettle were never seen again,

and we both had to eat the snow for our thirst. There were

now so few people around that in our quiet place it seemed

as though everyone had been struck dead. The cannon fire

also ceased, and the bridge had really sunk, too. Horrible

was the lot of the people who still were on the other side:

hunger, cold, and water brought them to their death.

When in the night a little moonlight appeared, I set out

upon the march again, for, on account of the cramps in my

feet, I could not lie still for a quarter of an hour. Again and

again I turned from one side to the other, and in the end I

was frozen stiff with my clothing. Only by marching did I

overcome freezing. November 26, 27, and 28.

We both hurried farther along the highway; and, being

daily without bread and shelter, I thought of my friends at

home and compared my misery and approaching end with

my former life of plenty. I remembered a common saying at

home, “A campaign is always made out to be worse than it

was.” With this common notion I consoled myself, thinking:

“It’s well that you, my beloved kindred and friends, know

nothing of my condition, for it would only cause you pain,

and it would be of no use to me.” Yes, I thanked the Creator

that only I and not my brother, too, was here. Certainly I

would have lost my brother or seen him die without aid,

which would have killed me as well.

I could look with indifference at the people falling by the

hundreds, although the impact upon the ice bashed their

heads. I could look at their rising and falling again, their dull

moaning and whining, and the wringing and clenching of

their hands. The ice and snow sticking in their mouths was

frightful. Nevertheless, I had no feeling of pity. Only my

friends were in my thoughts.

During this month the cold became worse daily. I had to

be more and more careful of myself in order to keep from

freezing; also keeping my horse and the major’s from

starving kept me busy day and night. I rode sometimes to

the right and sometimes to the left in order to find a village,

and load some straw or unthreshed sheaves on my horse

and sit on top of them. Sitting on the straw was absolutely

necessary, for otherwise it would have been stolen or torn

away by the other horses.

17. ON THE GREAT ROUTE FROM MOZHAISK TO KRYMSKAIA,

18 SEPTEMBER 1812. G. KÜSTNER, PRINTER. EMMINGER,

LITHOGRAPHER.

Thus I came to Smorgoni, always keeping nearly in the

middle of the army, which, however, more nearly resembled

a troop of beggar Jews than one of soldiers. Here I met

again, to my astonishment, well-organized regiments which

came from Danzig to our support. There were two regiments

of Poles who had just come back from Spain; they threw in

their lot with us. A few troops came also from Württemberg,

to join the Seventh Regiment, which had already been

routed, likewise troops from the depot; but I did not hear of

an acquaintance. Moreover, here in this region Napoleon

had left us and fled with the fresh reserve troops, hurrying

home ahead of the army. The general cry was, “Save

himself who can.” However, Murat had taken over the

command of the army and remained with us. On the journey

from the Beresina through Plechnizi, Slaiski, Molodetschno,

and Smorgoni, I had lost the major a second time, and not

until a week later did I meet him with a Württemberg

captain by the name of Frost. Both were happy to have me

as their attendant again.

When we approached Vilna, the cold increased still more;

everyone had been forced to camp out in the snow without

shelter since we had left Moscow. At night one could really

see how much space the army still occupied. The fires were

always visible about a two hours’ march in length and about

an hour’s in breadth. Because of the fire and cold, the sky

was a glowing red, which was increased by the burning

buildings standing off the highway. Many people were

almost blinded by the smoke, which did not rise because of

the cold, and still others became dizzy. All our misery was

reaching its climax.

When I was still a three days’ journey from Vilna, about

three o’clock in the afternoon the major gave me his horse,

on which his coat was lying, and said that I should go just a

little slowly, since he wanted to walk out a little way; and so

I soon stopped and waited for him. Captain Frost and his

attendant were also with me and waited, but no major came

back. We waited a whole hour, and in vain. I was only too

certain that he had frozen to death. What had probably

happened to him was that he had not been able to put on

his pulled-down trousers again because of the cold. It had

been the fate of many hundreds, when they had sat down

because of weakness or neccessity, that their clothing had

been brutally torn from them and, where they could not

defend themselves, they froze to death naked. Someone

had tried this on me also, but I drove him away with a rather

hard kick.

While I and the captain were still waiting for our major, the

cold gripped me so terribly that I felt half-numbed. I said

then, “Captain, if you still wish to wait, I’ll turn the major’s

horse over to you. I feel that I am about to freeze, and so I

am going.” Then the captain left, too, and the night showed

us a burning hamlet about half a mile away to the left of the

highway. We hurried toward it and warmed ourselves there

till about five o’clock in the morning. Then I heard cheering

and a terrible noise on the highway, to which I called the

captain’s attention: “Let’s get away; the Russians must be

on the highway.”

The captain did not wish to leave the fire, and only after

strong argument did he come with me. I then had a horse

for myself, in addition to the major’s horse, and took

another which stood saddled by the fire. On account of the

cold I did not ride but led these three horses by the straps,

going toward the highway. Thus we came into the midst of

the enemy on the highway. I did not have enough strength

to mount my horse, because I could not set my feet, which

were bound in rags, in the stirrups and without the use of

stirrups I was too weak to mount. I trotted as well as I could

with the horses. The Russians called to us that they would

pardon us, thinking that we would stop and surrender. We

called back, “Comrade, pardon us,” but we did not stop.

Then the Cossacks rode first at the captain and his

attendant and beat them over the heads; both fell from their

horses. One also rode at me from the left and thrust his

lance into my side, and so then I sprang to the other side of

the horses. At the same time, however, a second Cossack

thrust his lance at my neck. I let the two horses go, pulled

the nearest one aside, threw myself into the snow and the

horse on top of me; so both of us lay as if lifeless in the

snow a little off from the road. Here I rested, lying in wait

with no feeling of hunger or cold. I only kept my eyes and

ears fixed on the enemy in order to get an opportunity to

flee. I saw the beating and pushing, and heard the whining

which continued around me and could not risk making a

move. All who still were standing upright were knocked

down or killed. Little by little the road was emptied, since

the Cossacks in front pursued the army and those behind

retreated with the captives. It was my good fortune that no

Cossack could plunder or expose his hands because of the

cold. They had their gloves on even while thrusting their

lances; that is why the first stroke at me had only passed

through some of my clothes, and even the second at my

neck had not injured the flesh.

After a quarter of an hour had passed, I saw it clear

around me, and immediately worked myself from beneath

the horse, and ran straight to the nearest wild heaths and

woods on the right side of the highway. Nevertheless, in the

midst of my flight I picked up a kettle with a bail on it, inside

of which lay peas and a package of muslin. While I was

running along in 15 inches of snow, having escaped the

danger, I thought of my rescue and thanked God for His

fatherly providence—all the more so since I had obtained

these peas and at the same time a cooking utensil in this

lonely expanse, as though prepared by God. There was

always a general need for cooking utensils, and only about

one man in a hundred was provided with any. Nearly always

I had to eat my horse meat, hempseed, rye, and raw grains

uncooked. First of all, one had no fire; secondly, no water,

having slowly to melt snow; and, finally, no utensils—

usually, however, not any of all these.

In my half-joyful and half-dead condition I worked my way

forward on this same day almost an hour and a half,

traveling off the highway. Only the rumbling and clanging of

iron tires, together with the cries of people, guided me

unfailingly along my way. It grew dark, and I did not need to

think: “Where will you sleep?” But as always: “The snow is

your bed; and your coat and fur, your cover!” Yet suddenly I

saw again a burning village about an hour’s journey ahead;

so I hurried to get there. When I came near, I was on my

guard until I heard what language was spoken. Since I heard

no more Russians, luckily, I ran to the fire. There were some

twenty buildings in flames. Here I again met three men from

Württemberg, and I passed the night with them.

One of them said, “If you cook your peas and if I may eat

with you, I will add salt and fat,” to which I gladly

consented. Even without this offer I would not have been

able to see my countrymen go hungry so near my own

unusually good dish. The fat was added, and finally we ate.

When we had eaten scarcely a few mouthfuls, however, our

throats burned and itched so strongly that no one was able

to keep on. We examined the fat: it was soap. The food had

to be thrown out, and only our hunger remained, for the

peas had all been cooked. We stayed there half the night

and then traveled on. The next day and also the third one, I

had nothing at all to eat except some beet-juice broth I

found once in a wooden tub that had a hole in the middle

about three inches wide, which was unfrozen so that I could

quench my thirst.

18. NEAR OSCHMAENY (ASHMIANY), 4 DECEMBER 1812. G.

KÜSTNER, PRINTER. EMMINGER, LITHOGRAPHER. THE

RETREATING SOLDIERS FEND OFF A RUSSIAN RAIDING

PARTY WHILE BIRDS OF PREY CIRCLE PATIENTLY OVERHEAD.

On the evening of the third day I reached the army just

outside Vilna. It was in a terrific tumult. I arrived there

scarcely before the Russians, who were constantly taking

prisoners. Here I stood beside a mass of people who

occupied all the hills in front of the city. On account of the

horses and the wagons, many of them without living horses,

which had piled in front of the city gates, the soldiers could

not go ahead. With difficulty and with risk of life, people

worked their way over the horses and wagons. Therefore, I

decided to go entirely around the city and to come in from

the lower side.

I was led to this undertaking by a countryman whom I met

there by accident, the son of the old vine grower from

Ellwangen, who came to us with the reserves. Having been

acquainted with the city before, he led me into it by special

paths; but in a short time I lost this good friend, too. Then I

crept down a little side street into a house in which there

were some Jews. I at once offered them money to get me

brandy and bread. However, for my muslin, about ten yards,

they offered me only a flask of brandy, about a pint and a

half. I did not haggle long, because my hunger urged me to

be short. I obtained the brandy, also a piece of bread, for

four Polish florins and consumed everything with a ravishing

appetite. When the brandy was gone, I extorted another

such flask for one silver ruble but no more bread. Because I

had drunk three pints of brandy within three hours, many

might believe that I became terribly intoxicated, but I was

far from that. Although the brandy was a decent grain

brandy, I felt very little effect from it in my head, since my

stomach and all parts of my body were empty and hollow

and there had been no strength there before. Besides, I did

not want to waste anything of this pleasure, since in my

case it was a question of “Bird, eat or die!”

When the night was half gone, I started on my way so that

I would not be at the rear of the army. I made my way into

an enclosed court where there were many horses, untied

one which was still in regular sleigh harness, and rode out of

the city. About half an hour from the city there was a hill

where the wagons and horses again were halted. The

slipperiness of the road and the smooth horseshoes made

climbing up impossible. The horses fell, and the piling up of

the wagons blocked the highway so that those on foot had

to climb over them. To avoid this tumult, I crossed the

stream to the right and went down the valley. An hour’s

journey below this hill, I rode over a less steep slope back

toward the highway. Because I had been so fortunate at

Vilna as to obtain not only bread and brandy but also a

horse, it was even harder now to face the misery once more.

Hunger began again, and the cold was still just as bad as in

the past days. “Truly, how many more nights will you have

to endure without shelter and without fire?” I thought again

and again. “My friends, how you would love to help me, and

how you would long to see me again, but will it be

possible?” That is what I was dreaming about all day long.

By the end of December, we reached the Polish border

along the Memel River. When I heard that it would be very

hard to get through near Kovno, I led my horse up the river

and crossed: it was filled high with pieces of ice, really

drifting ice. Pieces from 15 to 18 inches thick drifted by, so

that it was extremely troublesome to climb through between

them. Here the Polish army turned to the left and set out on

the highway into Warsaw. I and many other Germans made

use of this turn. Everyone believed that the enemy would no

longer pursue the Poles on this route, and, therefore, one

would be safe; but in their eagerness to rob and plunder the

enemy did not stop even here. Even the Poles themselves

frequently robbed and plundered the Germans and French,

as I found out the same evening.

That evening a troop of riders rode up to me and said,

“Comrade, stay with us!” I said, “It’s all right with me.”

When we had gone a little further, they attacked some of

the soldiers and took their horses and whatever they had.

When I saw this, I turned my horse and rode back as swiftly

as possible. They did not catch me again, since just then

there approached a troop of Westphalian infantry, which I

joined. I expected to continue to travel with these. When it

grew dark, however, we looked for a village, but we did not

see one. Finally, some lights blinked from the other side of

the Memel. We decided to cross back, for hunger and cold

made us not so afraid of danger, and we believed besides

that the enemy was far away.

It really was a village. Here, for the first time since we had

left Moscow, I came into a decent house, where we were

warm and could have bread and brandy for our money.

There were ten of us, and the villagers did not seem to be

dangerous. At last, about ten o’clock, two peasants asked

for bullets, telling us that they were going rabbit-hunting.

The Westphalians still had rifles and powder, and they

even gave them bullets. Hardly an hour had passed before a

troop of peasants stormed in, seized those who lay on the

floor, and took their rifles from them. I saw no chance for

help and considered besides that these were Russian

peasants, who were still brutal enough to do murder.

The lights were extinguished; and in an instant I took my

hat under my fur and went out the door, took my horse

which was standing tied and unbridled near the door, and

rode away from the village over fences and snowdrifts

without following any set course, so that I and my horse fell

one time after another. Sometimes I fell beneath him and

sometimes on top of him.

Now I was free and left to myself again. As soon as I

noticed a trail, I rode as fast as I could, for the noise in the

village was so great that I believed I might still be

overtaken. I rode as quickly as possible over the cracks in

the ice across the Memel River in order to get to the Polish

side again. The whole night now I hurried to find a village

where people from the army were to be found again. Finally

early in the morning, I came into a little town which was

crowded with Germans, Frenchmen, and Poles.

Nevertheless, I was able to get some bread.

From the Memel River to Moscow and back from there to

here, I had not obtained any bread, nor could I buy it except

at Vilna; and now there was an end to horse meat. I still had

twenty rubles in my pocket with which I hoped to satisfy my

future wants. It is true at the time of my capture I had lost

silver and silk worth four or five hundred florins besides the

three horses and the remaining baggage of the major.

However, I did not miss this particularly, since I had saved

my life. The indifference toward money was so great with

me that at a point four days’ journey from Vilna I did not

touch a cart loaded with money which lay on the ground so

broken up that the little coin barrels were rolling out. Only a

few soldiers had taken any of it when I rode by. There were

two reasons, though, why this money had no attraction any

longer. It was nearly impossible for me to expose my hands,

which were so stiff at the time that I could not feel or take

hold of anything with them. I also was eager to get on so as

not to be captured at the rear. This money wagon was

abandoned as carelessly as any other wagon and the traces

cut off. Then if the horses were still there and could be used,

the men mounted them and rode on.

I hurried on, therefore, and took the highway between

Königsberg and Warsaw to Thorn, where the road was

thronged every day with Germans and Frenchmen. Until now

there had been no thought of lodgings, nor could victuals be

obtained except with money or force. One day along the

road I came to a nobleman’s manor-house at which I asked

for bread and obtained not only bread but also butter and

brandy, for there was a house servant there who could

speak German. He asked me my nationality and the name

of the town or village where my home was. I told him

everything, that I was a Catholic and that the late sovereign

of my country had been a prince of the King of Poland. 12

This pleased the man immensely, because when the Polish

people knew that one was a Catholic they esteemed him

much above others. Then I was given also several things to

eat along the way; but, when I looked for my horse, it was

already gone. Only as a particular favor on the part of the

nobleman did I get it again. Nearly everyone who came

along alone with a horse had it taken from him.

Several days later, while I once more drank a glass of

brandy in an inn, having tied my horse in front of the door, it

was stolen from me. All my searching in houses and stables

was useless, and so I was set on my own feet again. Until

now my feet had been wrapped with woolen cloth over my

shoes, but because of the weight this was a hindrance to

walking. Now, every morning as soon as I was outdoors, it

was necessary to run energetically for an hour along the

way. I thought it would be impossible to keep my feet from

freezing.

Then with eight German comrades I proceeded toward

Ortelsburg, where the road led through a wood that it took

almost three hours to journey through.

In this region the Poles had formed robber bands wearing

Cossack’s outfits with sabers, pistols, and other arms. A

gang of these actually came and grabbed me, one at the

right, one at the left, the third setting a saber against my

breast. My comrades ahead remained unassailed, because

they looked somewhat more like beggar Jews than I. Now

the robbers tore off my fur, coat, cape, vests, and my head

cloths; threw me to the ground; and were about to pull off

my boots, too. In the meantime they found my money, to

the amount of 18 rubles, in my cape pocket. This was my

salvation: had they not found the money, I would have been

left to freeze to death unclothed. As it was, however, they

threw down the coat and the cape again along with one of

the two vests and traveled off with the money, the fur, the

other vest, and two head cloths. During this time my

comrades kept hidden in the distance; and, when they saw

that I was set free, they came running back and dressed me,

for I was so stiff that I was not in a condition to dress myself.

That same evening I came to Ortelsburg and for the first

time was given regular quarters. From this city I went on to

Niklawi [Mlava?] and at that place received quarters again.

It was just Christmas Eve, a date I would not have known if I

had not learned it from the landlord. Here I also washed

myself for the first time, but I could not rid myself of the

lice, or rather of my “sovereigns,” because if I had murdered

as many as a thousand then the many other thousands

would have taken revenge on me. For this reason, I did not

undertake an attack on them.…

The washing of my hands and face proceeded very slowly

because the crusts on my hands, ears, and nose had grown

like fir-bark, with cracks and coal black scales. My face

resembled that of a heavily bearded Russian peasant; and,

when I looked into the mirror, I was astonished myself at the

strange appearance of my face. I washed, then, for an hour

with hot water and soap. However, I felt I had only become

somewhat smoother and lighter, but I could not notice any

removal of the blackness and the scales. Only where I had

not been shaving did a somewhat lighter skin appear.

In this city, as in all Poland, there were also newly

established regiments which had been enlisted for the

reenforcement of our army. These people were on

horseback, armed with lances, and had on thick coats and

clothing in which hardly any of them could move about. I

saw several who made a desperate effort to mount a horse,

only to fall down again on the other side when they thought

themselves up.

As we were departing the next day, the gate toward Thorn

and Warsaw was barricaded against us, and everyone was

supposed to go back to Königsberg according to the orders

of the commandant of the city. This commandant acted on

orders. However, we knew the condition of the army better.

We were hardly outside the Königsberg gate when we all

marched to the left again toward the Thorn highway, in

order not to run into the midst of the enemy near

Königsberg. Indeed, it cost us enough exertion to get to

Thorn before the Russians; with a delay of another two days,

it would not have been possible.

On the way we met a column of Bavarians who were en

route from Königsberg to the gathering place at Plock. They

told us the news that the Würtembergers, too, were

gathering in Thorn and that the Germans all had permission

to go home. This report strengthened my spirits again, since

I had always thought that at the Vistula the army would take

up its station and be reorganized and, therefore, that no one

would get home or be discharged before another two years

or so even if all should go well. I had been convinced of this

by the enlisting in Poland.

Finally I came to Thorn; and my only silver ruble, which

had escaped notice in my little watch pocket at the time I

was plundered, was spent. Here I went to the town hall to

obtain quarters, but could not get in on account of the mob.

By chance a German soldier came along and said that on

this street at a certain number there lived a commissioner

from Württemberg and that he would give out passports and

travel money. I presented myself immediately and obtained

a five-franc thaler and a pass for the third convoy to

Inowrazlav. Hence I was one of the last to come to Thorn.

The same night I lodged in a house and bought some

bread and wine, for free quarters were not to be thought of.

One could scarcely creep along the streets on account of the

throngs of people. Early in the morning I traveled across the

bridge and saw with astonishment that the city during this

year of war had been developed into an important fortress.

However, they had used only wooden walls and sand around

the high walls. I now grew weaker and weaker, and only with

great exertion did I reach the city of [Inowr]azlav. Here I

reached the third convoy of our people and presented

myself immediately to the commander, who asked, “Where

are you from?” “From the army,” was my answer. “So you

are also one of those Moscow bums,” he retorted, and that

was the welcome at my return.

I was given arms and had to guard the park that same

night. Spending this night in the cold again gave me the

fever. The next day I was even forced to continue my way

on foot alone, but toward evening it became impossible.

Either to die on the way or to go off to a village seen from

the highway—that was my only choice. I decided then to go

into the village. Here I went into a room and immediately lay

down on the floor, where the fever shook me frightfully. The

people there wanted to give me whiskey and something to

eat, but I could drink nothing but water, and all those who

looked at me made gestures of hopelessness. I naturally

could not understand their conversation, but I could plainly

feel their pity. In the morning I gathered together my last

strength, left my arms behind because of my weakness; and

only toward evening did I arrive in the station-town two

hours away, where I found my convoy had already marched

off again. I did not want to go to the quartering office first to

obtain lodging but lay down in a tavern where there were

two Westphalian soldiers who also had the fever at its worst

stage. I still could not eat anything but could only drink

beer, which I could get there.

The next day a citizen of the town came to the inn, too,

and asked what ailed us three. He could speak German. We

answered him that each of us had the fever. “The fever?”

said he. “I can help you get rid of that.” This he really did,

sitting down, writing three notes, and saying that each of us

should now eat one of them. I, at least, had little faith that

such a thing could help. Nevertheless, I ate mine, too; and,

when the time came for me to be shaken frightfully again, I

waited longer and longer, and actually the fever left not only

me but also my other two comrades at the same time. This

seemed miraculous and delightful to all of us, and we

thanked this good man, without whom certainly none of us

would have escaped death. The next day, when we could

partake of something to eat again, we obtained a wagon

from the police, and I reached the convoy again outside the

city of Posen. However, I was no longer able to walk from

then on.

The march went on then through Posen toward Crossen.

The cold was still extraordinarily great; and, since I could

not walk, I froze terribly. Also at night we came into the most

miserable huts where even a healthy person had a hard

time bearing the cold and the smoke in the rooms with their

earthen floors. The convoy consisted of 175 men. However,

one or two men of this number were brought dead to their

lodgings every day. Our nourishment was still insufficient,

and medicine was not to be hoped for. Although the

groaning and shrieking on the wagons continued without

interruption and several who were severely sick were

crushed to death by the healthier people, since the space on

the wagons was too small, nevertheless the impulse to help

one another was still quite dulled.

19. BIVOUAC NEAR MIKALEWKA (MIKHALEVKA), 7

NOVEMBER 1812. G. KÜSTNER, PRINTER. THE RETREATING

SOLDIERS, SOME WITHOUT BOOTS, REST AND DIE IN LARGE

GROUPS BENEATH SNOW-COVERED BLANKETS.

As I went through Posen, I met a man from my company—

among the 175 men, there was not one from my regiment,

much less an acquaintance. When we recognized one

another, we kissed each other for joy, and tears flowed

down as each one said, “There were five of us common

soldiers when we marchd out of Moscow; likely we are the

last two of these left.” This moved usto tears, as I said. This

man from my company had been so unfamiliar to me before

that I do not even know his name now. When I had to go on,

he said that he was well and was just going home but not

with the convoy of the sick. I learned at home that he

succeeded in doing this. I had asked him, when he went

home, to go through Ellwangen and give my friends the

news that they could be quite certain of my return, since I

was hurrying home in good health and would soon arrive.

It was still 250 leagues home; so my homecoming was still

uncertain. Nevertheless, hope strengthened me always; so I

finally came to Crossen, Torgau, and Leipsic, in which region

German life began again, and because of decent eating and

warm rooms my strength increased somewhat. In Leipsic

especially I had good quarters, and everywhere there was

sympathy and decent care for us. Each of us also obtained a

new shirt, and those who could walk the best also got shoes,

but I obtained only a shirt. This shirt was of fine white-

mangled cloth, yet is was not quite free from little shives,

and not until I came to Plauen did I try to put it on. In my

quarters there I took off my old shirt and laid it in the warm

stove upon a few small pieces of wood in order to murder

my evildoers; but, when I looked at it again, I pulled out only

the shirtsleeve: all the rest had been burned. Now what else

could I do but put on my new shirt? I tried it, put it on and

lay down in it, but the shives irritated me so much that I

slipped into my clothes without it and exchanged it at my

landlady’s for a woman’s shirt.

During the same night, I also learned there were in our

convoy two brothers from Bernlohhof. These were of the

Grenadier Company in the regiment of the Crown Prince,

and one of them had died that very night. This strange

chance, that two brothers who had brought themselves as

far as the home stretch by supporting each other should

now be separated by the death of one, is surely moving,

more so for him who has a brother of his own to remember

as I had.

Then the march went through Bayreuth, Nuremberg,

Ansbach, and Dinkelsbühl. Everywhere we were quartered

without hesitation in towns and villages. Gifts also were

given us on the wagons, especially in Dinkelsbühl.

Finally, on February 24, 1813, I arrived here [at Ellwangen]

with my extraordinary uniform. For such a long time I had

been looking forward to my arrival at home; but, the closer I

came, the more my heart pounded at the thought of seeing

my friends. I would rather have arrived at nighttime; but it

had to be by day, toward three o’clock in the afternoon.

My convoy from [Inowr]azlav to here had left behind 100

dead out of 175 men, and 75 men on a few wagons reached

the border. Since people here already knew of the arrival of

a third part of the Württemberg army, my brother and my

brother-in-law, Herr Wagner, hurried toward Rettstadt to ask

about me if they should not meet me. All at once I saw my

brother-in-law and my brother. They would not have

recognized me, of course, as I looked then; but I called,

thrust out my hand, and greeted them. They jumped into

the air for joy and pressed my hands, and our hearts alone

could feel, for we could not speak. Oh, that all people might

know how high the love of friends and relatives can mount

through such a chance meeting! One feels in it heavenly

joy, the all-wise providence of God, and at the same time

the miracle of nature.

So my brother-in-law ran at once with powerful stride,

toward the town and announced my arrival to everyone.

Thus I made my entrance with a sooty Russian coat, an old

round hat, and, under and in my clothing, countless

traveling companions, among which were Russians, Poles,

Prussians, and Saxons. I stopped off at my very good

friend’s, the innkeeper’s. Everyone wanted to lift me down

and lead me, and everyone regarded me as weaker than I

really was. However, I stayed only a few minutes in the

room before I took off my clothes in the haymow, put on the

new ones already provided for me, and washed myself. Only

then was I fit for clean company.

Now I also awaited my dear sisters, who did not come in

from Rosenberg until the following day and were another

object of joy. The sincere joy of meeting again kindled the

love of kindred as a divine flame, and now the wish was

fulfilled for which they had shed so many tears and had so

often prayed to God.

The next day, on Shrove Thursday, a rest day was

observed upon the request of the innkeeper; he brought it

about through the city commandant, Alberti, who often

came to the tavern. I now had good eating and drinking, but

my stomach could not stand many things as yet. I had to be

quite careful all the time. On the third day, when we had

driven on again, we came to Schorndorf in the evening and

were shut into a house together so that we should spread no

sickness, for everywhere in Württemberg we were shunned

like lepers.

When we came to Waiblingen, the transport was divided,

and those who were in better health, of whom I was one,

went to Waldenbuch; those whose health was worse went to

Vaihingen-on-the-Enz. After a fortnight I was detached to

Asperg as a convalescent and was incorporated into the

sharpshooters who were stationed there then, and I

marched out several times with them. Barely four days had

gone by, however, before the fever shook me again,

although it did not break out. I ran a high temperature; and

my nosebleed grew so bad that for several days a wet cloth

had to be put around my head and neck every five or six

minutes and the bed had to be arranged for sitting up

instead of lying down; but, since my illness got worse, I was

examined by the general army physician as to my physical

condition, and leave was granted to me on account of my

arm, which had been hurt at the time of my capture, having

been wrenched somewhat in the shoulder blade and reset.

At the same time an invalid pension was also promised me.

When I had grown so weak that I became delirious and

everyone doubted that I would recover, I was loaded upon a

wagon with several “Russians” and driven to Vaihingen. I

was now so weak that I had to be lifted into and off the

wagon and I could take nothing any more but drinking

water. In Vaihingen I was laid immediately in the room

where all were brought who were near death. No medicine

or food would stay with me. However, the bleeding had

stopped.

Finally, after eight or nine days had passed, I longed for

vinegar, and I poured some of it into my soup. These few

spoonfuls of soup stayed with me, and now my desire

increased for vinegar and lettuce. The lettuce also stayed

with me, although I had to take it secretly without the

doctor’s knowing about it. My appetite gradually rose so

that I had potato salad, pure vinegar, pork, potatoes and

cabbage, and cooked meat from the butcher brought to me

secretly, and then I took no more medicine. I could attribute

my recovery to nothing else than the bleeding, by which the

corrupted blood came from me, and to the vinegar, which

washed off the encrusted lining in my body, cleaned my

blood, and encouraged my appetite again.

When my relatives and friends heard of my illness, my

little or younger sister, greatly worried, came to visit me, in

two days traveling thirty hours. All the sick were in the

castle, and the fathers and mothers were kept from entering

by the guard. All of them had to go away again without

being permitted to speak with their sons. This caused my

sister great pain, and she could not weep enough about it;

yet chance and luck made a secret meeting possible, for my

sister waited until the time when Sharpshooter Seybold from

Hohenberg came to the post at the outer gate. He gave her

permission to speak to me near the castle wall at the left

and sent secretly and had someone ask me to come out.

When I saw my sister and she saw me, it took a long time

for her to stop weeping and to speak. My appearance had

frightened her terribly, for I was deathly pale, my coat was

full of blood, and my voice, deep and weak; but, when I said

that I thought myself out of danger, since I felt almost well

and could eat everything, she was somewhat comforted.

However, the fear that she might not be allowed to speak

with me had made her almost more ill than I thought myself

to be. Thus we tarried as loving brother and sister for an

hour’s time and then parted again with tears.

During a period of two weeks I still had violent attacks of

gout in the soles of my feet as well as a strong headache,

and yet I did not take the medicine but always told the

physician that I was well now. However, he did not believe

me but said that I must have a headache and gout in my

feet, in which I agreed with him, but only in my thoughts.

Finally, I was again brought as a convalescent with about

70 men to Waldenbuch to the convalescent hospital and

was quartered on the way in a village, but because of the

fear of the nervous fever we all had to go to the town hall

and were not supposed to go out. This was hard on us,

always to be treated like lepers. We went, therefore, into the

inns and had some fun. It did not last long, though, until the

citizens wanted to storm us, with alarms ringing and with

the threat of bringing the militia from Stuttgart if we would

not go back to the town hall at once. There was nothing left

but to give in and to accept scorn as our reward.

At Waldenbuch Castle I more or less got my strength back,

since I bought what I wanted in addition to my regular diet.

Then I wrote a letter to Lieutenant Stimmer at Asperg,

asking him to help me in getting my promised discharge.

This was done, too, since the colonel in the hospital told me

that if I wanted to go I could call for my discharge from Herr

Stimmer.

At once I went through Stuttgart and toward Asperg; but,

as I came to the first village in the direction of Ludwigsburg,

I suddenly got such a pain in my foot that I had to walk an

hour instead of a quarter hour to get to the village. Several

people who saw me and recognized me as a “Russian”—as

everyone who had been there was called at that time—gave

me presents. Finally I came to the mayor’s house and was

given a conveyance to Asperg. I obtained my discharge and

had myself driven home, where I then in a short time

became entirely healthy and well.

Historical

Appraisal

of

Walter’s

Chronicle

BY LONG-APPROVED PRACTICE, writings

recovered from the past are usually given a historical

introduction to the public. This practice sagely recognizes

that such writings have become identified with the past, or

by virtue of their age have themselves a past; hence they

need to be viewed historically. First, caution requires that

the trustworthiness of the document be validated by test of

historical criticism. Then, curiosity asks that the content of

the document be elucidated and appraised by the aid of

special historical knowledge. The need of such a

commentary is most obvious where the nature or motive of

a document is inherently historical, or where historical

factors have influenced its finding and publication.

In the testing of historical evidence a first question,

regularly, is how it came to light. The story of the finding of

the Walter manuscript is related here for this reason.

However, the story has significance for yet other reasons.

The chance which brought it to light should suggest the

possibility of other discoveries under like circumstances.

That it should have turned up when it did, and where it did,

shows the persistence of such material even in Kansas.

Indeed, because of the unity and reach of Europeanism,

which has contributed to the peopling of the inmost region

of America, the discovery of sources for European history

and culture may well be expected anywhere. The finding of

such new records is a normal feature of historical study,

with its constant exploring of the abundant mysteries of the

past. The thrill of uncovering such treasure-trove is most

often the reward of tireless research, but it can come as a

chance by-product of routine teaching. Such was my

experience in the autumn of 1932 in connection with a

course in nineteenth-century European history. The

introductory lectures had stressed the revision of current

notions of the historical situation at the opening of the

century, hence had dealt with the downfall of the first

Napoleonic empire, and this incidentally had involved some

reconsideration of the tragic campaign of 1812 in Russia.

Necessarily much stress was laid upon the restudy of

sources and the importance of new material, such as had

been ferreted out that summer in European archives.

Thereby a member of the class was led to tell of a reputed

diary of the Moscow retreat, a treasured heirloom of a

nearby Kansas farmstead, and thereafter I had an

opportunity to examine the document.

A first critical examination of the heirloom showed that it

was a German soldier’s account—partly in two versions—of

campaign experiences during 1806 to 1813, under

Napoleon. With it was a letter of family information written

in 1856 by the Napoleonic veteran to an emigrant son in

America, whose grandson, Mr. Frank Walter of Lecompton,

Kansas, is at present heritor of the papers. It was possible to

separate, and put in order, the several versions and portions

of the narrative, and to give a report upon this and the

letter. But since the narrative was written in old script and in

dialect, the edition of the manuscript had to wait upon the

coming to the University of Kansas, from the very locality of

the Swabian soldier, of Professor Otto Springer. He received

with enthusiasm information about the Walter manuscript,

and his special knowledge and assiduity have now resulted

in the publication of the Walter story.

The circumstances having thus placed historical

responsibilities for the Walter manuscript upon its

discoverer, the first concern has been to apply tests of

historical validity in so far as handicaps of distance and

lapse of time would permit. On the point of authorship,

family tradition affirmed that the Jakob Walter of Ellwangen

in Württemberg, who wrote the paternal letter of February

17, 1856, to his son Albert, in America, was the same Jakob

Walter who wrote the accounts of his Napoleonic war

experiences. This tradition was presumably confirmed by

the script and style and internal evidence of the papers

themselves. A proper chance for supplementing this

evidence seemed to be offered by the wish of the Kansas

descendants to reestablish communication with German

kindred. Through the German Embassy at Washington and

the Army Archives at Stuttgart the identity of the soldier

Jakob Walter was established, and incidental reference was

made to his having received an 1812 service medal. The

last of the kindred whose age and situation might have

afforded knowledge of personal details had recently died.

The Ellwangen city officials from their records could supply

little but family-registry information, which largely confirms,

and slightly amplifies, the data found in family letters at

Lecompton.

Despite certain discrepancies in our data it can be

assumed that Jakob Walter was born in 1788 in the village of

Rosenberg near Ellwangen. In one version of the 1806

campaign his age is given as nineteen, but our letter of

1856 gives his birthday as May 21, 1788. In the registry

record September 28, 1788, is given for his birth; August 3,

1864, for his death. His parentage is recorded: Johann

Walter of Rosenberg and Eva Dietz of Bartenstein. His wife,

to whom he was married on February 11, 1817, was born on

May 22, 1799, and died on April 28, 1873. There were ten

children from this union, five of whom were living in 1856

when the letter of that year was written. In 1858 a daughter

died, and in 1861 a son. The registry does not record the

deaths of the two sons who had emigrated to America or the

death of the last surviving daughter in Ellwangen. All the

evidence agrees that Jakob Walter was trained as a

stonemason, and in 1856 he was still working at his trade as

a contracting builder or overseer. He was a strong Catholic

and his narrative implies that he had at least a parochial

schooling. However, on this question as on almost all

personal matters other than military experiences actual

information is lacking.

The sons who emigrated to the United States were Franz

Patritz, born in 1831, and Albert, four years younger. Franz

emigrated in 1849 and was for a time at New Orleans. In

1854, at Lima, Ohio, he took out naturalization papers. Then

in the spring of 1856 he settled in Douglas County, Kansas,

at the territorial capital of Lecompton. He made a visit to

the homeland in 1857, and during his visit married the

daughter of the mayor of a village near Ellwangen. This

event happened on February 22, 1858, and the fact that the

day was Washington’s birthday was mentioned in the

wedding sermon. That same year he returned with his wife

to Kansas, where on January 14, 1898, at Lecompton, his

death occurred. It was on the return of Franz Walter in 1858

from Ellwangen, according to family tradition, that the

accounts of the father’s campaigns were brought to Kansas,

as were also the parental portraits, one of which,

representing the veteran at the age of fifty, is reproduced in

this publication.

Regarding the manuscript itself, questions arise which

might be dealt with more satisfactorily if we knew more

definitely the circumstances of the bringing of the Jakob

Walter manuscript to Kansas. Inferences, however, do

warrant fairly certain dicta regarding the “original”

character of the Walter chronicle. It is a document of some

200 pages, about eight by six inches in size. It is

handwritten and a number of exacting studies of the script,

involving a comparison with available signed letters,

indicate that Jakob Walter was the writer throughout. He

apparently used a letter paper of ordinary rag stock without

watermarks, mostly handruled with pencil. The document

was not bound or fastened together as a whole; instead it

was organized as some eight or nine units, composed of a

variant number of double sheets, each unit sewed in simple

notebook fashion by the author. Naturally this arrangement

disregards the division of the story into three campaign

episodes, told as units, and having separate titles, but not

deemed sufficiently distinct to require starting each

campaign on a fresh page. Actually all the units save one,

when put together, constitute a complete story as here

published. The additional unit of 48 pages seems to be the

starting of a second draft or “revised version” of the

chronicle, covering the first and most of the second

campaign, written somewhat more precisely and with some

variations in the choice of details. It was not deemed

practicable to publish it here; but its existence is mentioned

because its presence with the other version suggests that

Franz probably was given all his father had written of formal

recollections. It also has pertinence to the question why and

how Jakob Walter wrote his story.

On the basis of meager data, we follow up our inquiry as

to the origins of Walter’s manuscript. Where was it written?

His reference to going home in 1813 might offer a clue. Yet

it is uncertain what he referred to as home. If he had living

parents they are not mentioned. His unnamed brother and

two sisters evidently were dear to him. The brother’s home

in 1813 is unknown; the sisters, one of them married, lived

at the paternal village of Rosenberg. His godfather, who had

provided him with a trade, kept an inn at Ellwangen where

Jakob Walter mentions staying at times. Yet would conditions

at Rosenberg or at the inn have encouraged the young

invalided soldier with his training as a stonemason to

become an author forthwith? Would not circumstances have

been more favorable after he had married, fixed his home at

Ellwangen, and found his place in civil life? This opens the

question of when, between 1813 and its removal to Kansas

in 1858, Jakob Walter’s undated narrative was actually

written. Where the range of time is so long, naturally the

possibility of arguments for various dates is large. There are

reasons for noting some of these arguments, hereafter, for

the light they throw upon the value of Walter’s

contributions, but it seems best, at the outset, to state that

it is most probable the chronicle was written at a date

between 1820 and the early 1840s and not unlikely around

1830.

The argument which weighs against a dating after 1840 is

the argument of the effects of advancing years on memory

and facile composition. Thus, in Walter’s case, a letter

written to a son in 1848 is in a cramped hand quite different

from the generally easy, flowing script of his military

recollections. On the other hand, the case for a dating prior

to 1820 rests primarily upon the freshness of the narrative,

its vivid detail, and its general reliability, especially in its

geographic data, even where obscure Polish and Russian

places are mentioned. These are charcteristic features of

the 1812 story, and the accounts of the campaigns in 1807

and 1809 are also vivid, and, in places, surprisingly

accurate. To be sure, circumspect analysis does show that

the time-factor need not have affected greatly the strength

of Walter’s memory for certain types of data or experiences.

In any case maps and some other source material must

have been used for checking assertions and spellings. Also

there are some factual lapses throughout, as demonstrated

in my historical annotations for each of the three

campaigns, and these are most noticeable for the 1809

campaign, which was fought almost at home and only three

years before the Russian campaign. Is not this surely a point

bearing upon the hypothesis of an early writing of the

chronicle—a point which cannot be discounted easily? The

complete silence regarding events after 1812 presents

another difficulty. If Walter wrote before 1820, it was during

the course of such a crowding train of events as must have

affected the thinking of anyone recounting Napoleonic war-

memories. The War of Liberation in Poland and Germany

had begun before Walter’s return to Württemberg at the end

of February 1813. When, after some weeks of critical illness

from typhus, he got his final discharge, the spring campaign

in Silesia, Saxony, and part of Prussia, so familiar to him,

was already opening. The great events of the summer, and

the fateful autumn battles around Dresden, Reichenbach,

and Leipsic, were in regions he knew well. He cannot have

been untouched by the events which in 1814, and again in

1815, marked the overthrow of Napoleon, and the

coincident reshapings of Germany and all Europe down to

1820. The probable speed of Walter’s writing must of course

be taken into account. We can hardly assume that he

composed rapidly, considering that he lacked training and

favoring conditions, that at the outset he had to find his

place in civil life, and that he was working at a tiring trade

which would afford little incentive or leisure for authorship.

It is unlikely that our manuscript is the very first draft, for

the revisions are relatively few and are in the nature of

retouchings of an established version. It is also significant

that we have both a basic version and part of a revision.

Besides, our manuscript does reveal by its changes of pen,

ink, and script that it was written in stints, with attendant

interruptions. There is, indeed, an obvious singleness of

purpose about the narrative which may indicate a

predetermined exclusion of all matter or allusions not

absolutely pertinent to Walter’s own military experiences.

This is admirable, but its very rigidity suggests it is the

outcome of an experimental period of writing or retelling of

his experiences during which his story was gradually

clarified and given a definite form. The natural conclusion is

that our Walter manuscript is a product from the time 1820–

40, which was a period of relative quiet for men of maturing

years and with some craving for the respect of their

posterity. Then, while the “great era” was being seen with

better perspective, personal memories of that era were

taking shape and color, and Napoleonic war veterans were

publishing enough to refresh memories and afford useful

data and literary models for other veterans, such as Jakob

Walter. Although we have no positive evidence on the point,

it is a logical inference, and highly probable, that he too

recounted his experiences primarily from memory. Possibly

some letters or other scraps from the 1807 and 1809

campaigns had been preserved by relatives, but this seems

unlikely. Letters were written home during the Russian

campaign; Arthur Chuquet published a volume of such

French letters. Some diaries kept during the retreat were

saved. All such instances, however, so far as known,

involved officers, almost all of them men of rank and

culture. Walter’s is the unique example of a private soldier.

It is doubtful if he wrote home during the entire 1812

campaign. He admits his kindred got word of his

homecoming only by indirect report. Yet, though he had no

personal papers to use, this circumstance need not exclude

the chance of his having had access to other Moscow-

campaign sources. It is well known that local newspapers for

some years after 1812 carried notices of various sorts and

even printed accounts of incidents connected with the

campaign. We know that several important survivors of the

retreat were fellow-citizens of Jakob Walter for years. Surely

there were reunions of veterans or other chances for

comparing experiences. Maps were available; possibly even

route lists were extant. In time there were published

narratives of the Russian campaign; a few appeared from

1814 to 1820, but not in German. A smattering of personal

recollections came out during the 1820s, the 1830s, and the

1840s, including some written in German and published in

Germany, although it is doubtful whether most of them, if

any of them, would have been known to Walter.

Significantly the Walter manuscripts show evidences of

the insertion of place names, distances, etc., after the

original writing. The underlining of many names, especially

of Polish and Russian towns, suggests also that words so

marked had been filled in, or at least verified. From careful

inspection our document seems to be not an initial draft but

a meticulous copy. Certainly it is written with remarkable

care, and alterations are relatively few. That it evidently was

not deemed definitive, our partially finished “revised”

version demonstrates. But the revisions do not change our

initial assumption that Walter wrote primarily from memory.

What, then, of Jakob Walter’s memories? The question

forthwith shifts our point of attention. We turn from a critical

inquiry regarding the origins of our document—the issues of

authorship and sources, of time, place, and method of

writing—to an analysis of its content; from a consideration

of its authenticity to an examination of its reliability. Our

procedure may well be by a comparison of the accounts of

Walter’s three campaigns. On a first reading there may

seem to be little difference in the historicity of these

accounts. Certainly one would hardly expect that the

difference of but three to six years would cause a marked

variation in the dependability of one’s memories. The

natural assumption, then, is that if there are marked

differences in the quality of the three stories, this must be

owing to factors other than the mere differences in elapsed

time. Walter’s actual age during each campaign must be

considered in connection with the fact that the difference of

interests, and thus of experiences, at each particular age

must result in different sorts of memories. In this connection

one must bear in mind the influence of strong, abnormal

experiences in the rapid maturing of youth. Thus Walter

himself, writing as if from the vantage point of more than

just six years, speaks of the youthful irresponsibility of 1806.

The story of 1809 reflects a sort of mocking recklessness.

The strange combination of piety and casual sauve qui peut

indiscipline of 1812 is something quite different still. There

are other general differences in the accounts, due

perchance to the less observant age of Walter during the

earlier campaigns and to his greater indifference at the

time, or perhaps to an intentional subordination of the

earlier part of his military service to the more vital

experiences of 1812.

If we turn to the issue of factual accuracy we shall find

that a comparative test for the three campaigns yields

surprising results, which incidentally bear little or no

relationship to factors likely to guide us in dating the Walter

narrative. Broadly speaking, the 1812 story, which we are

best able to check because of the mass of other evidence,

best meets the tests of good history. It hangs together best,

and has most factual detail and fewest errors. That is not

strange, of course, as it was Walter’s last campaign,

although his story of it affords no sure clues as to how

recent it had been. What is strange is that the story of 1809

is least satisfactory historically. It is least coherent and its

recital of events is most tangled and inexact. Yet it gives

more fresh evidence, apparently not elsewhere available,

than does the 1812 narrative, and its details are sometimes

more precise and important. It is also significant that it

deals with an episode regarding which secondary works are

generally silent. Also such personal memoirs as are most

abundant for 1812 are here lacking, and available official

materials are relatively meager. For testing purposes,

therefore, dependence has had to be placed upon a type of

evidence less available for the 1812 critique, that is,

newspapers and local monographs. For testing the 1806–7

narrative, available sources were newspapers, personal

(official) correspondence, some memoir material, and some

special studies. Such material has shown that, in part,

Walter’s recollections for this time are quite confused, but to

a considerable extent are more vivid, more detailed, and

surer than those of his two later campaigns. As further

demonstration that the historicity of Walter’s memories is

not clearly relative to the closeness of events may be cited

types of detail almost equally dependable for each of his

campaigns. Particularly is this the case for the campaigns of

1807 and 1809. Citation of typical examples from the

Russian campaign, however, may contribute to the

appreciation of that most vital portion of the Jakob Walter

manuscript.

The amount of specific detail in Walter’s narrative of 1812

is rather surprising. To be sure, much of it is of experiences

of sufferings deeply scarring the memories of all survivors,

and often the incidents and ideas in different accounts are

so very similar that one would suspect borrowings of one

narrative from another or from a common model were not

proofs of originality incontestable. But there are authentic

details peculiar to each individual narrator. In the case of

Walter it is a memory of dimensions and of construction

details, as natural for a builder to retain for an indefinite

time, as a long memory of horses and transports was for

Coignet, or the memory of minutiae of his hospital cases

was the Roos [an army doctor whose memoirs are available

only in German]. This type of recall is equally noticeable,

just as is the surprising recollection of route-of-march details

and place names and data, in each part of Walter’s

narrative. In the narrative of his movements there are a few

serious lapses. These are less serious, but more numerous,

for 1812, but then the route was far longer and more

complicated. A remarkable feature of his narrative for 1812,

surely, is his recall of amazingly difficult names of very

minor places. But this feature must be interpreted with

caution. Many of us can testify to lifetime recollections of

ordinary travels, even down to small details. Walter’s

campaign probably marked the full scope of his travels.

They were made within those years of his life when memory

presumably is most impressionable and most retentive. He

lived only some fifty years thereafter, within which time, it is

not illogical to say, his “travel-memory” should have been

reliable. The Moscow campaign was indelibly memorable as

have been few episodes of history. Its route is traced, with

natural variations, in detail, by most of the recitals of its

survivors. Many of them are accompanied by maps, a few

by atlases. Most extraordinary for minutely photographic

recollection of all route details are the Bourgogne Memoirs

of 1835, when the author had reached an advanced age.

True, Bourgogne had his notes of 1814 and 1815 as

controls, but indications of the use of some verifying data by

Jakob Walter have been cited already. Even so, Walter is not

impeccable. He has corrected some slips, made in writing or

copying, where sections of his route were out of time or

place sequence, but has overlooked some others. Examples

of such often very natural confusion are in his narrative of

his moves just before and after the Beresina crossing, also

his account of the sector just east of the Niemen both on his

advance and retreat routes. While his memory for names of

obscure places has been cited as remarkable, it is

sometimes a confusing factor. Thus footnotes, based on use

of Napoleonic marching orders and on other detailed

researches, have been needed to amplify and clarify

Walter’s itinerary through East Prussia. Because his route

missed the larger places, usually, and because as a

common soldier he did not know the strategy controlling his

movements, his lists of century-old village names, often

without essential dates, are a cause of grief to his readers.

In his use of dates Walter is as dependable as any of his

comrades who did not keep diaries. Events which he

connects with memorable days—such as church holidays—

he dates accurately, even as others do. His use of round

numbers is apt to be careless. A greater weakness,

however, is a tendency to omit dates entirely, and this

tendency underlies the confused accounts of his

movements during the first months of 1807 and during the

Vorarlberg campaign in 1809. Yet the net result of the

critical analysis reflected in this discussion of the historicity

of the Walter chronicle has been to impress the writer—and

he hopes the reader—with its general reliability as historical

evidence. Veracity, however, is but one test of the value of a

historical document.

In beginning this introduction, I referred to the peculiar

circumstances of the bringing to light the Walter narrative

as suggesting reasons why it should be of special interest.

For one thing it is highly suggestive, for those interested in

our European cultural background, that even in Kansas

documents of the Napoleonic era—and also of the Thirty

Years’ War—have turned up in this fashion. Secondly, there

is interest and significance in the fact that the Walter

chronicle was brought to Kansas in early territorial days,

because heretofore study of the peopling of this central

commonwealth has concerned itself so generally with the

struggle of free- vs. slave-state elements that foreign

factors in the population at so early a stage of Kansas

history seem to have been neglected. Evidently the

Germans have played a larger part in molding the eastern

section of the state than has been realized, and it would be

profitable to know whence and why they came and what

they actually contributed. However, the publication of the

Walter manuscript has been prompted chiefly by other

motives, above all a realization of the interest and value of

its contents for students of language and history and for the

general reader because of its intrinsic human interest.

The inherent appeal of that type of writing to which the

Walter chronicle belongs has already been noted. The

number of such memoirs of Napoleonic war veterans,

published since 1900, and still appearing despite the

competition of the World War and its literature, is

remarkable. But a new narrative is expected to have other

particular claims of interest. The Walter manuscript does

have these—both literary and historical. Its special claim,

however, is that it is seemingly unique among the mass of

1812 narratives as the personal record of a German

common soldier in Napoleon’s Grand Army. But while it is

largely devoted to the Russian campaign, it is actually the

record of a conscripted private of a Napoleonic vassal-state.

Presumably he is typical of his group, the more so because

his “military-service-time” covers practically the full period

of the New Charlemagne’s domination of Germany and most

of Europe.

The factors of Jakob Walter’s personality and background

have merited emphasis here. They are essential

considerations in reading, with full appreciation, this relation

by Walter of the military experiences of his three

campaigns. He was merely a builder’s helper, when called

up with many like him, in the conscription of 1806, for “the

campaign which the Emperor Napoleon with the princes

then his allies was conducting against Prussia.” This

passage (omitted from the second version) is the extent of

“political” allusion in the manuscript. Evidently when his

regiment marched off in the fall, the Jena-Auerstädt battle

(October 14) had just demolished the façade of Prussia

potency. There was little for the new auxiliaries to do, after

Frederick William had sought the safest corner of his realms,

except clean up the remnants of unyielded defenses, in

Silesia and Pomerania. During the shifting of forces between

these two provinces parts of West Prussia were crossed by

Württemberg regiments; but they had no part in the big

fighting of the Eylau-Friedland campaign, were never

exposed to the kindling close influence of the major leaders.

The Walter brothers did their bit in the marchings and

requisitionings incidental to various sieges and sorties here

and there. Jakob had small chance and less incentive to

discern any obvious scheme in the campaign. The incidents

he best remembered were rowdy pranks. For the poor

discipline of certain Württemberg units was such that the

King at the home-coming review addressed them as his

brigands. Moreover, when in 1812, the humiliated Crown

Prince had to notify his father of his troops’ disorders on the

Prussian-Lithuanian march, which had earned Napoleonic

wrath, he recalled their misconduct of 1807 in Silesia.

Nevertheless those especially interested will find some

enlightening contributions regarding the futile Colberg and

Glatz sieges, and the general reader will enjoy some vividly

portrayed sortie incidents. Quite incidentally also Walter

slips in some sound observations on the condition of Jews

and peasants in Poland and Brandenburg. They illustrate

that personal revelation which will be found the primary

appeal and significance of the document.

From the end of 1807, when Jakob Walter went on leave to

be with his sisters at Rosenberg, he worked intermittently at

his craft until recalled to active service in the Austrian War.

Again he missed the major conflict; again he served in a

side campaign too much underrated by historians. His

contingent was sent to the Alpine frontier to repel attacks of

insurgent peasants who were fighting to get back under

their old Habsburg rulers. Therefore, instead of sharing in

the Ratisbon campaign of April and the May-July battles

(Aspern, Wagram) near Vienna, the Walter brothers were

only in local brushes at the Vorarlberg corner of the Lake of

Constance. As the second and fuller version of this

campaign is incomplete, we have but a scrappy account of

Walter’s experiences. It shows him as more mature and

taking a more soldierly part, as being more interested in

people, folkways, and rural economy, perhaps as less

devoutly Catholic. The disorders of his contingent seem to

have changed likewise. There is little boyish rowdyism but

some drunken rioting—despite their being on their own

borders. Fortunately the campaign was not long, and after

some garrison months Jakob Walter could again return to

civil life and his trade at Ellwangen for something over two

years.

Truly Walter’s third campaign was one of the most

momentous in history. His unit being under Marshal Ney for

most the advance, he was in the thick of events. Out of that

Grand Army of some 600,000 who about June 25, 1812,

crossed the Russian border, he was one of the small number

who survived the retreat, recrossed the Niemen in late

December, and finally reached home. Naturally the account

of his 1812 experiences, about three-fourths of his

manuscript, is most detailed, systematic, and vitally—even

vividly—interesting. It merits recognition among the many

notable memoirs of the Moscow campaign. For many

memoirs available for such study, comparative ranking is

impracticable because of difference in scope, motive, or

nature, and because of the author’s status. Bourgogne,

Castellane, Caulaincourt, Fain, Marbot, Roos, and Ségur are

examples. But among those of a type more similar to

Walter’s, such as Coignet, Lossberg, Steinmüller, Vossen,

Yelin, etc., the Walter narrative surely takes high rank.

Necessarily the scope of 1812 literature forces its

students to be selective, to adhere to a dominant interest or

motive. With many the interest is broadly historical. They

are concerned with the causes or consequences of the

Russian War, its diplomacy, its strategy. For them the

sources have been often exploited and digested in scholarly

monographs. Some aspects will always be disputed, and

some phases of diplomacy, or military topics such as the

facts regarding commissariat or hospitalization, may still be

live issues. As to these the soldier memoirs may add

something, but as to strategy or diplomacy rarely anything

fresh. Then a second group of students have a “moral” or

propagandist objective. They may be seeking to

demonstrate the virtues of patriotic popularism, the vices of

despotism and its nemesis, the horrors and futility of war.

Honest study of the evidences—including soldier memoirs—

may well correct certain of their preconceptions which have

become popular legends. They will find from Walter very

little about peasants who attacked with flails and scythes,

and that little chiefly about defending their villages and

themselves against marauders. Of Cossack attacks, they will

discover that most were against stragglers during the last

stage of the retreat in Lithuania and Poland or East Prussia.

They may learn that when Napoleon left his army at

Smorgoni he had not only strong justification for rushing

back to Paris, but also good reasons to turn the survivors

over to capable sub-commanders, he himself having

brought them into touch with supply bases, reinforcing new

troops, and allied frontiers. But there is a third and most

numerous group of readers motivated by the human-

interest appeal, being concerned with dramatic incidents

and with character portrayal. To them especially Walter’s

narrative is commended. His experiences are varied and

representative, and particularly significant not merely as

those of the army rank and file, but because of Walter’s

emotional revelations, thoughts of religion and the ties of

home, and a persistent concern over the barbarizing effect

of the retreat on himself and others. His mixture of Catholic

piety and selfish energy was perhaps typically South

German, yet it does show strikingly how the will to live and

fend for oneself, joined with some degree of human

kindness and providential aid, worked together to bring

even a remnant safe home from Moscow in 1812.

Notes

to the

Diary

1. Count Dominique René Vandamme (1770–1830), French

general.

2. “Kapuke” (also “Kapusk,” “Kapuska”)—probably a

misunderstanding of kapusta, Polish and Russian for

cabbage.

3. “Bopen”—from Russian pop (pl. popy), parish priest in

common language.

4. Known as the battle of Borodino by the Russians and as

the battle of the Moskova by the French.

5. French Guard, or the Imperial Guard (gard impériale), the

elite regiments of Napoleon.

6. Alia—possibly the Selnia River.

7. In fact the rivulet Neglinnaia, which used to be a tributary

of the Moskva River—now covered over.

8. In fact the reverse was true: Alexander I ignored

Napoleon’s approach for an armistice or peace

negotiations.

9. Apparently Napoleon gave the order to blow up the

Kremlin, but it was either foiled or not carried out.

10. Glauber salt—sulphate of sodium, a laxative.

11. Princess Maria Luisa of Baden married Alexander I and

took the name of Elizaveta Fedorovna.

12. There is no historical evidence for this statement.

Writing Home:

Six

Letters

NAPOLEON SET UP THE Kingdom of

Westphalia in 1807, and appointed his brother, Jérôme king.

Like all member states of the Confederation of the Rhine,

Westphalia had to provide recruits to Napoleon’s armies.

The Westphalians served in the French Army first during the

Spanish campaign. Naturally, they were also called upon to

participate in the campaign of Russia. They formed the

Westphalian Corps, under the command of General

Vandamme, and later under that of Marshal Junot (Duc

d’Abrantès)—King Jérôme was with the corps in the

beginning stages of the campaign. Several additional

Westphalian units were attached to various other corps. All

told, the Westphalians numbered 27,000 men at the outset

of the campaign of Russia.

Napoleon was one of the first to make large-scale and

effective use of what we call psychological warfare; and he

did it with the populations at home in view. His famous

Bulletins de la Grande Armée served that purpose and,

naturally, gave the most optimistic accounts of victories,

captured trophies, progress of the campaign, weakness of

the enemy. And when the going went from bad to worse, the

Bulletins camouflaged the disasters as much as possible. To

preserve the credibility of the official news, all

correspondence from the front lines was censored. Letters

that would have contributed to demoralizing the home front,

or that would have reflected the hardships and horrors of

the campaign were confiscated. Some of the confiscated

letters were forwarded to military or civilian authorities, so

that they could take appropriate measures to maintain

discipline and preserve law and order at home.

This accounts for the fact that some soldiers’ letters (with

or without official comments) found their way into the

administrative files of the Kingdom of Westphalia. Portions

of the archives of the kingdom fell into the possession of a

general in Russian service and were eventually turned over

to the Russian Government. At present they are deposited in

the Manuscript Division of the Leningrad Public Library.

Mr. S. N. Iskiul’—senior researcher at the Leningrad

Division of the Institute of History of the Academy of

Sciences of the U.S.S.R.—has discovered the six letters

translated below in the course of his work on Russian

diplomacy with respect to the German states in the

Napoleonic era. He has published them, in Russian, with his

commentaries and notes, in Osvoboditel’noe dvizhenie v

Rossii (The liberation movement in Russia), No. 7 (Saratov:

University of Saratov), 1978, pp. 101–10. He has kindly

provided me with a typed copy of the original German text. I

am very grateful to him for allowing reproduction of this

material. I have made use of his valuable commentaries and

Russian translation for the introduction and to clarify some

obscure passages. In my own translation, I have attempted

to convey not only the meaning but also the manner of

writing and the uneducated flavor of these letters, which

have an immediacy that memoirs written years after the

events do not have as a rule. We have no information on

either the background or the fate of the authors—they

speak for the suffering, faceless common people.

I

Written in camp, 9 June 1812

To the Master craftsman Figner in Eisleben

Most beloved parents, Father and Mother.

If this small letter of mine reaches you still in good health it

will be a heartfelt pleasure for me. As to myself, I am, thank

God, so far still quite fresh and healthy, and, dear parents,

that I could not write you earlier has saddened me much.

But, dear parents and good friends, if I am to write you of

my present condition, how pitifully I am faring, me and my

comrades, it is not to be described. God would soon take

pity and give us, poor folk, soon again rest and peace.

Now, dear parents, as I have so pitifully kept my Easter

and Pentecost, so did the poorest man on earth have it

better than me and many. For Pentecost we had so little to

live on that me had not half a pound of bread in three days.

It would have been the same if we had had more, for it was

too little to fill one and too much to starve, for we received

no meat nor vegetables; so that from hunger thirty men

killed ourselves a dog and have picked nettles and have

cooked us a greenery dish with the dog’s fat [as shortening]

and eaten the meat for much hunger, for in the Polish lands

there is so little to live on, that it would be little wonder if

one would at the end starve to death, for bread, beer, and

brandy is so expensive that our five days’ pay could be used

up in half an hour and [still] not know whether one has

eaten or not. I get every five days six good pennies

[Groschen]. 1 If at home in Eisleben me buys for one

Groschen spirits or liquor [Schnaps], me gets more for it

than for twenty farthings [Kreuzer] in Poland, bread and

beer. At that, the beer is as bad as the worst in Eisleben. We

stand now not far from the Russian border in camp, where

we arrived 5 June at twelve o’clock of the night and expect

to see the enemy any day and hour. We are from home at

least 160 miles away. Now then, dear parents and good

friends, if I may ask you if it is possible to help me out with a

little money so that I can still the great hunger, and should I

return home I’ll know how to thank you, so help me God on

Judgment Day. Dear Father and Mother, be so kind to give a

greeting to Louise Dordner from her brothers, they both are

still quite hale and healthy and they are as pitiful as I am.

We are together in camp with the 1st Division, 2nd Brigade.

I am still with the 3rd Line Regiment, 2nd Battalion of the

Grenadier Company and Louise Dordner’s brothers are with

the 2nd Regiment, 2nd Battalion of the Voltigeur Company.

Fare well you all and I would wish that this letter not be

the last. I remain your faithful son unto death.

WILHELM FIGNER

[On the side added] Dear parents, don’t take it amiss that

the letter is so poorly written, it was [written] on the ground.

But if you write to me you must write to 3rd Regiment, 2nd

Battalion Grenadier Company to Westphalian Army in

Poland.

II

To the Widow of Mr. Herrman Kunkel, Marburg, Kingdom of

Westphalia

Russian Poland, Grodno, 16 July 1812

Your dear letter from last month arrived

properly in Warsaw, however, the one you sent to Mr.

Lieutenant Kessmann I did not receive, it must have gotten

lost. Not I am in Russia where it is worse for me than in the

other Poland. 1 Here there is a lack of all foodstuffs. The

bread that is delivered is so bad that one can’t eat it, yet

very dear to buy, one bread is paid eight pennies

[Groschen], it is baked from chaff and at that it is not baked

through, it lies like lead on the stomach. Hunger drives it

down though. Meat is also very bad, half smelly, and yet it

has to be eaten. What else can one eat? Our march from

Warsaw to here was good and bad, we quartered under the

free sky, God was our host. Thunderstorm rains have at

times drenched us thoroughly. For four days I did not have a

single dry thread on me and then nothing in the belly but a

gulp of wutki [vodka] and a piece of dark bread

[Pomzernickel, i.e., Pumpernickel]. We marched with the

King [of Westphalia] without rest, ten to sixteen hours a day

on horseback. Of rivers we crossed the Narwa [actually the

Warthe], Narev, Bug and now we are across the Niemen in

Russian Poland. There were ten regiments of Cossacks in

this town, but they have been expelled by the Polish army

while the Cossacks burned down the bridges behind

themselves. 2 One hundred Cossacks were taken prisoner,

many died. The captured Cossacks were all pitifully dressed,

poorly armed. They must have been irregulars. One can’t go

far from the town, there is always some of this riffraff

around. The Russians have retreated a lot. The[ir] army

stands far from here. Our army follows on their heels. The

headquarters of Emperor Napoleon is in Wilno, so far did the

French army advance. There will be a major battle these

days. Tomorrow our march resumes with the King. This town

greeted the King with all expressions of honor and swore

fealty to Napoleon. Our good life has ended since we left

Warsaw. Now one has to learn to suffer hunger and thirst.

Our faces look different. Brown in the face like a chestnut

and a mustache under my nose have completely disfigured

me. Thank God I am in health, I bite at times in the old army

bread, so that it rattles, and drive the hunger away. I could

not get any money from Dr. Dieffenbach, for he has none,

he would have gladly obliged me if he had not given all his

cash against a remittance through a good friend. I am now

so broke that I have no money to make myself shirts. I don’t

know what to do. Today I’ll speak again to our doctor, if he

has none [money] I’ll go immediately to Nan at the field

post [office] if he can’t lend me money. It would be good if

you would immediately speak with his parents and pay

them the money. You have to ask them to write him that if I

have money needs he should lend me [some]. I have to

have two louis d’or to pay off my debts to my comrades and

buy myself three shirts or have them made. 3 One louis d’or

can’t help me at all, I got too broke on the march to pay

everything with one louis d’or. If I can hunt up money today

I’ll let you know and will put a note with the letter for your

guidance. I greet my brothers and sisters. Farewell and stay

nicely in health.

KUNKEL

III

Neeswicz, 14 July 1812

Dear Mother,

I am forced not to send off this letter yet for lack of time. We

had to march off from Grodno in a hurry and made a big

march. The Russians are pushed back and soon there will be

fought a major battle. Until now there were only avant-garde

skirmishes at which several Cossacks were left dead, the

streets are full of horses that died or were killed. Dr.

Dieffenbach cannot give me money for he has not gotten his

pay. Send me right away two louis d’or so that I can soon be

free [of need]. It goes very bad for me, it cannot last longer

this way. There is no pay either, not much to live on, so one

has to go hungry. You pay these two louis d’or at the post,

you get a receipt for it that you send me in a letter. I receive

thus the money without trouble at the army, it has to be

done right away or much time is lost and I have to wait that

much longer. This letter will get fast to Cassel through an

opportunity with the former garde du corps Schmidt. Keep

well. I am still healthy.

HER[MANN?] KUNKEL

IV

Musii, 12 October 1812 near Moscow [?]

To Johannes Heit [?]

Spangenberg in Westphalia

Department of Werra

Best mother, sisters, brother-in-law, and

friends!

It is time at long last that I write to you, my best ones.

Duty demanded it long ago but I wanted to get over the

danger that I have now gotten over. I am—after a light leg

wound which I received on 7 September near Musii in the

major battle from a bullet on the right leg—healthy and

sprightly. It was also a light wound, I could walk again in

eight days, but many of my comrades had to leave their

lives, but we have always stayed in possession of the

battlefield and got the victory. Now we are stationed here

and no one knows what is going on. Cattle barns are our

quarters, where we bustle about in manure and dirt like

pigs. It is very cold here already and many die of a natural

death, few of us will be lucky to step again onto Germany. I

hope, with God’s help, to return to you, it is as if an unseen

power wants to preserve me, for so many comrades around

me have been killed and wounded, only I have come

through unscathed, except for the small wound as said

before.

I know nothing about peace to write you. Everything is

exaggeratedly expensive, bread that costs three pennies

[Groschen] at home costs here Thaler 18 Groschen—also 2

Thaler. How often do I think of your potatoes that we don’t

have at all. Now we learn well to appreciate their value. 1 I

wish nothing more than to eat one every eight days. When I

return to you some day I will tell you more. I only wish that

you stay in health that long [i.e., until then].

Dear Mother, go to Elhardorf to Hossfeld’s parents and tell

them that he is still in good health and that he greets them.

You [and they] can write together as I am his sergeant.

I have heard that Hossbach is in the hospital. Vockeroth is

still in good health, I spoke to him a few days ago.

Kratzenberg from Mannscheid has lost his left thumb. I have

more to write but now it is not proper. Now I have to remind

you that you should tell my brother and sister-in-law that I

received their letter, would have replied if I had not written

to the brothers-in-law Spintler and Schirholtz and

transmitted greetings each time. If you’d send my brother

the whole letter you’d do me a great favor, for to write

many letters would cost you too much as I can’t pay

anything. 2 We don’t get any pay anymore. Greet all my

friends and former comrades. To you, dear parents,

thousand greetings from your faithful

Farewell and write soon.

H. ESCHRATH

V

Mazaik [Mozhaisk] 13 October 1812

To the Master Stonemason

Wärncke in the town of

Mannsfeld, Department of Saale

Greetings in God, much beloved parents.

If my small letter finds you in good health I should be

mightily glad. What concerns me, I am pretty much in

health. Here in the white country we’ll have to die all of

hunger. All is burnt and the Russian [army] has carried off all

subjects [inhabitants], as they had such a fear of us, and

there is no food to be found because nobody is to be found

in any town. Whenver a house is found it is empty and dark.

Now, dear parents, I will complain of my circumstances as it

was for us in three battles; 16 August before Smolensk

Fortress, that was the first, the second was 19 August again

two miles from Smolensk. Here they [Russians] stood again

their ground. But they were again trounced [?]. In both

battles did the Good Lord help me [stay] without a wound

while I had to see so many [of my] countrymen fall, with

arms and legs shot off, the way I saw little Selter lie on the

battlefield. The third battle was on 7 September near

Ziassko, which lasted three days. But the Westphalians were

in the front lines for only one day, but in the sourest ride to

where the Russians had entrenched themselves. But we

beat them again. But we are now a small army. The

regiment is now about 400 men strong, as it came out of the

fire, not counting those who are now dying of hunger and lie

under the open sky though it is already so cold.

Dear parents, now I have to give news of our last battle,

as we had already gone hungry for three days and marched

day and night, at five in the morning we marched into this

battle with a cabbage stump [in the stomach] and we were

in it until nine in the evening. And then we again had

nothing and could not eat for tiredness. A sutler came along,

he had brandy, I still had three twenty-penny pieces in my

possession, I gave them for a little brandy that picked me

up, otherwise I too wouldn’t be of this world. You can easily

imagine how many people have remained [on the

battlefield] so that we could not drink water [?] anymore. 1

Only cannon fire from morning to evening. God has helped

me out of the third battle also without harm, though the

bullets hailed down pretty well, as if one were to take peas

and throw them at someone. But none got me. Stackelberg

and Zeinert did not see anything of all our battles, for their

regiment remained at rest. Stutz and Gutwasser went to the

hospital as it was going to start soon. Fritze Bär is gone,

Grosche from Jorenzen and the little Selter from Bentorff

[also]. I can’t give any news of the others. Denckwitz is also

supposed to be dead his sergeant told me. I can’t write

anything for sure, but he is not to be found at the regiment.

They are only 150 men strong, the whole cavalry is lost.

Now I want to write you about the Russian town of misery—

Moscow—which is seven hours’ [walk] long and as wide, and

the Russians put fire to it. For four hours it burned and then

it was extinguished. And we were stationed before Moscow

and Mozhaisk and don’t know whether we are going forward

or back. There is a cease-fire now—7 October there was

again a battle behind Moscow. There the Russians were all

scattered again. On the eighth a cease-fire was made again.

One more thing, much beloved parents, I received the last

letter on the morning after the battle, that was 20 August,

and I was much gladdened that I came safe and out of the

fire and the letter arrived well. Dear parents, you wrote me

about my brother Friedrich concerning the soldiers [i.e., his

being called up]. There I can’t do anything just now. The

major has replied to me that they [authorities?] know that I

am [at the Army] and bring letters from me that I am in

Russia 400 miles away. And one can’t write much [from]

here. Sending [the letter] takes a long time. Moreover

should something happen [to me?] call that to their

attention and they will release him. 2 I don’t know what else

to write except that you will shortly see many cripples

without arm and leg and so many must die pitifully of

hunger and terrible dangers. Russians appear all the time

for the last battle. Let’s end now. Finally farewell and stay

healthy until we speak again. And I expect an answer again.

Many greetings to brothers and sisters, brothers-in-law and

sister-in-law, to the Baltzens and Krögens and all good

friends and acquaintances. And I am quite well if I only can

live [word illegible]. Farewell. I remain your faithful son until

death.

JOHANN ANDREAS WÄRNCKE

VI

Landsberg 24 December 1812

Dearest parents!

You will forgive that I did not write for so long, for

circumstances have not permitted it earlier. Dear parents, I

wrote you from Thorn but since I did not get an answer and

since I could not stay longer and we fast marched away in

the direction of Riga where we were stationed one month

with the field bakery; our corps was ordered to Moscow and

the French troops beat back the Russians and we occupied

Moscow. Unfortunately we were there only twenty-four

hours as the Russian troops pushed forward again and put

fire to this city, with grenades and incendiary bombs was

this beautiful city destroyed and turned into an ash heap.

And so we retreated, when many died and I lost my health.

We retreated twenty-four miles when Emperor Alexander

encircled us with 200,000 in our back and captured us.

Whoever did not die was taken prisoner. Dear parents, if I

had been with the Westphalian or Saxon army I would have

kept my own. However, to [my] misfortune I was with the

corps of the Prince of Eckmühl 1 in the bakery so that they

[Russians] did not leave a shirt on our skin. So you can well

imagine, dear parents, in what condition I am in. I would like

dutifully to ask whether you could help me out with some

shirts. Dear parents, one more thing I wish, I would very

much like to know how it is with your respective health.

More I don’t know to write you but I would like to know what

my Miss Waase is doing and my cousin Heinrich. More I

don’t wish anything, but to have detailed news of both as

soon as possible. More I don’t know what to write than that

you will soon get foreign troops. Greet many times Sophie

Lindick on the farm. The same of neighbor Peligen. Also here

in Landsberg there came a battalion of the 3rd Westphalian

Line Regiment midst whom I met two good friends named

Christoph Calmes and Schluter give regards to their parents

from both of them, you can imagine what joy this was. I

don’t know what more to write you except that I am your

obedient son.

GEORGE BORMANN

Address: The Peasant Inn. Landsberg on the Warthe

Notes

to the

Letters

I

1. “Good pennies” means coins having full value—a

Groschen was worth one hundredth of a Thaler.

II

1. “Other Poland” refers to Prussian Poland.

2. Napoleon, hoping to have the collaboration and support

of the Poles, set up the Grand Duchy of Warsaw and

recruited from the population. The Polish Corps was under

the command of Prince Poniatowski.

3. Louis d’or—a gold coin, originally minted in France with a

representation of the French king on it, hence the name. It

was worth twenty francs.

IV

1. Implies that the potato was still a novelty in Westphalia

and its consumption resisted.

2. Postage could be prepaid or, more frequently, it had to be

paid for by the recipient.

V

1. Probably he means that the great number of dead bodies

on the battlefield, left without burial, contaminated wells

and streams.

2. The context suggests that his brother was being called up

while a son of the family was already serving in the Army.

Letters from Russia were to be proof of his campaign

service, and the wounding of a brother (or his death in

battle) freed one from being called up.

VI

1. Prince d’Eckmühl was the title of Louis Nicolas Davout,

able marshal of Napoleon.

About the Illustrations

THE ILLUSTRATIONS REPRODUCED IN THIS

volume are drawn from the Russian/Soviet and

East European collections of the New York

Public Library, and are meant to illustrate

some of the places, personalities, and events

described so vividly in Walter’s diary.

The legend from each of the illustrations is

translated into English, and the original

sources identified.

—E. Kasinec and R. H. Davis, Jr.

Borck, C. F. W. Napoleon’s Erster Traum in Moskwa

[Napoleon’s First Dream in Moscow], St. Petersburg: Iwan

Glazunow [sic: Glazunov], 1812. Plate 13.

The Library’s copy bears the bookstamp of the Russian

Imperial Palace Library at Tsarskoe Selo.

Borst, Otto. Alte Städte in Württemberg [The Old Cities in

Württemberg]. Munich: Prestel Verlag, 1968. Plates 1, 2.

Bulgakov. Ruskiye i Napoleon Bonaparte [The Russians and

Napoleon Bonaparte]. Pokhod rossiiskikh i soiuznykh voisk v

Germaniiu i Frantsiiu. V 1813 i v nachale 1814 goda. Chast’

pervaia. Ot perekhoda Rossiiskikh voisk za granitsu, do

zakliucheniia peremiriia. Izd. vtoroe. [The campaign of

Russian and allied troops to Germany and France. In 1813

and the beginning of 1814. Part One. From the crossing of

the border by Russian troops until the conclusion of the

truce. Second edition.] Moscow: Tip. S. Silivanovskago [sic:

Selivanovskago], 1814. Plate 11.

Bulgakov was a diplomat and high-ranking Imperial

official. The Library’s copy of Bulgakov (see Moskovskii

Zhitel, below) bears the ex libris of P. A. Efremov (1830–

1907), the noted bibliographer and bibliophile, and at some

point passed through the well-known St. Petersburg

antiquarian bookstore of V. I. Klochkov (1862–1915).

Faber du Faur. Blätter aus meinem Portefeuille [Leaves from

My Portfolio] [1831–43]. Plates 3–9, 16–19.

Drawings of the French campaign are by the artist Faber

du Faur, published by F. Autenrieth of Stuttgart. The

Library’s volume of plates was originally in the collections of

the Museum Library in Ludwigsburg, and bears its

bookstamp.

Hess, Peter von. Illiustrirovannaia otechestvennaia voina

1812 g. [The War of 1812 in Illustrations]. St. Petersburg:

Tip. F. S. Sushchinskago, 1887. Plate 10.

Photoengraved by I. Goffert from a painting by P. von Hess

(1792–1871). This photoengraving was published by the

firm of Shere-Nabgol’ts and Company in Moscow.

Moskovskii Zhitel [A Moscow Resident, i.e., Bulgakov, A. Ia.].

Ruskiye i Napoleon Bonaparte … Izd. vtoroe. [The Russians

and Napoleon Bonaparte … Second edition.] Moscow: Tip. S.

Selivanovskago, 1813. Plate 12.

This earlier, variant edition of Bulgakov (see above) is

bound in a fine presentation binding, stamped in small

letters with the names of the artists. Purchased by New York

antiquarian bookdealer Simeon A. Bolan in 1935, like many

volumes in the NYPL, it was most probably of Imperial

provenance.

Mundt, Albert (ed.). Die Freiheitskriege in Bildern [The Wars

of Liberation in Pictures]. Munich/Leipzig: Einhorn Verlag,

1913. Chapter headpieces.

The illustrations that appear at the opening of each

section depict the retreat of wounded and maimed French

soldiers. The illustrations were made on the spot by C. G. H.

Geissler, and are now in the collections of the State

Historical Museum in Leipzig.

[Pöhlmann, J. P.]. Die Kosacken: Oder Historische Darstellung

… [The Cossacks: Or Their Historical Formation …]. Vienna

and Prague: Joseph Feldner, [1812]. Plate 15.

Springer, Otto, ed. and trans. A German Conscript with

Napoleon: Jakob Walter’s Recollections of the Campaigns of

1806–1807, 1809, and 1812–1813. In Bulletin of the

University of Kansas, vol. 6, no. 3. Lawrence, Kans., 1938.

Frontispiece.

Terebenev, I. “Ugoshchenie Napoleonu v Rossii” [“An

offering to Napoleon in Russia”]. Karrikatury Napoleona I

[Caricatures of Napoleon I]. [n.p., n.d.] Printed and engraved

by Miterebenov. Plate 14.

This engraving is also reproduced in Dmitrii A. Rovinskii’s

Russkie narodnye kartinki [Russian popular prints], vol. 2.

St. Petersburg, 1881–93.

Chronology

RULERS AND REGIMES

FRANCE

1774–92 Louis XVI

1792–95 National Convention (Convention Nationale)

1795–99 Directory (Directoire)

1799–1804 Consulate

1804–14/15 Napoleon I, Emperor of the French

1814/1815–24 Louis XVIII

RUSSIA

1762–96 Catherine II

1796–1801 Paul I

1801–25 Alexander I

HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE AND AUSTRIA

1780–

90

Joseph II, Emperor of Holy Roman Empire of the

Germanic Nation, Duke of Austria

1790–

92

Leopold II (same as above)

1792–

1835

Francis II, Emperor of Holy Roman Empire and Duke

of Austria until 1804; Emperor of Holy Roman Empire

and of Austria, 1804–6; Emperor of Austria, 1804–35

PRUSSIA

1786–97 Frederick William II

1797–1840 Frederick William III

ENGLAND

1760–1820 George III (from 1811 until his death, his son,

later George IV, acted as regent)

1783–1801,

1804–6

William Pitt the Younger, Prime Minister

WÜRTTEMBERG

1797–1816 Friedrich II

1816–64 Wilhelm I

MAIN EVENTS IN EUROPE

1789 5 May Convocation of Estates General

14 July Storming of Bastille

4 August Abolition of feudal rights and privileges

27 August Declaration of the Rights of Man and of

the Citizen

1792–

97

War of the First Coalition

1792 20 April Declaration of war on Austria

20

September

Battle of Valmy—French repulse the

invasion

6 November Battle of Jemappes—Austrians evacuate

Belgium

19

November

Proclamation promising liberation of

peoples from monarchical tyranny

1793–

94

Reign of Terror

1793 23 August Universal levy of male population—

creation of the “nation in arms”

19

December

Lifting of siege of Toulon by English

navy—Bonaparte earns his first laurels

(born on 15 August 1769 at Ajaccio in

Corsica)

1795 Proclamation

of Batavian

Republic

5 March Treaty of Basel—Prussia withdraws from

war

1796–

97

Bonaparte’s Italian campaign—victories

of Lodi, Arcola, Rivoli—proclamation of

Lombard Republic

1797 18 April Preliminaries of peace at Leoben with

Austria

9 July Proclamation of Cisalpine Republic

17 October Treaty of Campo Formio—Austria

concedes French acquisitions

1798–

99

Bonaparte in Egypt

1798–

1801

War of the Second Coalition

1798 9 November Bonaparte’s coup d’état—proclaimed

First Consul (18 Brumaire, according to

revolutionary calendar)

1801 9 February Treaty of Lunéville with Austria

1802 27 March Treaty of Amiens with England

18 May Creation of the Légion d’honneur

2 August Bonaparte proclaimed Consul for life

1804 18 May Bonaparte proclaims himself Emperor

of the French

2 December Coronation of Napoleon as emperor

1805 Third

Coalition

formed

against

France

21 October Battle of Trafalgar

2 December Battle of Austerlitz

26

December

Treaty of Pressburg with Austria

1806–

7

War with Prussia and Russia

1806– War between Turkey and Russia

12

1806 12 July Confederation of the Rhine formed

6 August Holy Roman Empire of the Germanic

Nation dissolved

14 October Battles of Jena and Auerstädt—Berlin

occupied by French

21

November

Decree of Berlin instituting Continental

Blockade

1807–

11

Reforms in Prussia

1807 7–8 February Battle of Eylau

14 June Battle of Friedland

7–9 July Treaties of Tilsit with Prussia and Russia

1808–

9

Russo-Swedish War—Russia conquers

Finland

1808–

14

Napoleon’s war in Spain

1809–

10

Tyrolean rebellion

1809 War with Austria

5–6 July Battle of Wagram

14 October Treaty of Schönbrunn with Austria

1810 April Napoleon marries Archduchess Marie

Louise of Austria

1812 28 May Treaty of Bucharest ending Russo-

Turkish war

24–26 June Napoleon crosses Niemen River

17–18

August

Battle of Smolensk

7 September Battle of Borodino (or of the Moskova)

14

September

Moscow occupied by Grande Armée

15–19

September

Fire devastates Moscow

19 October Napoleon orders retreat

24 October Battle of Maloiaroslavets

26–28

November

Grande Armée recrosses Berezina River

1813 3 February Appeal by Prussia to rise against

Napoleon

28 February Convention of Kalisch between Russia

and Prussia to carry on war against

Napoleon

17 March Organization of Landsturm and

Landwehr in Prussia and German lands

12 August Austria reenters war against France

9 September Treaty of Teplitz—Austria, Prussia, and

Russia agree to fight France to victory

16–19

September

Battle of Leipzig

1814 9 March Treaty of Chaumont—Four-power treaty

setting up Quadruple Alliance of

England, Austria, Russia, and Prussia

31 March Allies enter Paris

11 April Napoleon abdicates—goes into exile to

island of Elba

30 May First Treaty of Paris

September

1814–June

1815

Congress of Vienna

1815 20 March–29

June

The Hundred Days

18 June Battle of Waterloo

22 June Second abdication of Napleon—

eventually banned to island of St.

Helena, where he died in 1821

7 July Second occupation of Paris and return

of Louis XVIII

1815 26

September

Conclusion of Holy Alliance

20

November

Second Peace Treaty of Paris—Renewal

of Quadruple Alliance

Place Names

The names are first given as they appear in the text of

Walter’s autobiography. Alternative spellings and

designations are given to facilitate their identification on

more recent maps.

The distances indicated are approximate and largely

culled from the notes in the original publication, Bulletin of

the University of Kansas—Humanistic Studies, vol. VI, no. 3

(Lawrence, Kans.: University of Kansas, Department of

Journalism Press, 1938). In some cases, especially in East

Prussia, places could not be identified since there has been

a radical renaming since 1945.

Adlerberg territory—see Vorarlberg

Altdorf—now Weingarten

Altshausen—40 km N of Lake Constance

Ansbach—40 km SW of Nuremberg

Asperg—Asberg—5 km E of Ludwigsburg, 10 km NW of Stuttgart

Baltic Sea

Bayreuth—in Bavaria, Upper Franconia

Beeskow on the Spree—Brandenburg province, 40 km SW of Frankfurt-on-the-

Oder

Belgard—Białogard—Pomerania, now Poland, 35 km SE of Colberg

Beresina—Berezina—river, E of Minsk

Berlin—capital of Prussia

Bernlohhof—Bernlohöf—hamlet 15 km S. of Ellwangen

Beshenkovichi—35 km SW of Vitebsk

Biberach—in Württemberg, 100 km SE of Stuttgart

Bischofstein—East Prussia, SW of Königsberg

Bobr—190 km W of Smolensk

Borissov—Borisov—75 km NE of Minsk

Borodino—hamlet on confluent of Kolocha and Moskva rivers, 110 km W of

Moscow

Borovsk—20 km N of Malo Jaroslavetz

Brandenburg—province of Prussia, also provincial town

Braslav—50 km SE of Dvinsk

Bregenz—on Lake Constance in Austrian Tyrol

Breslau—Wrocław—capital of Silesia, now Poland

Buchhorn—now Friedrichshafen on Lake Constance

Bug—river in Poland

Bunzlau—in Silesia, 35 km WNW of Liegnitz

Calw—Kalw—in Württemberg, 30 km SW of Stuttgart

Cassel—Kassel—in Hessen, Germany

Colberg—Kolberg—Kołobrzeg—in Pomerania, now Poland

Constance, Lake of—Bodensee—between Switzerland, Austria, and Germany

Crossen—Krossen—45 km SE from Frankfurt-on-the-Oder in Brandenburg

Dam—Altdamm—village 5 km ESE of Stettin, Pomerania, now Poland

Danzig—Gdańsk, 274 km NW of Warsaw

Darkehmen—East Prussia, SE of Königsberg

Diescony—village, see Labonary

Dinkelsbühl—Bavaria, 20 km NE of Ellwangen

Disna—30 km W of Polotsk

Dnieper—Dnepr—river in U.S.S.R.

Dornbirn—in Austrian Vorarlberg, 13 km S of Bregenz

Dorogobush—Dorogobuzh—75 km ENE of Smolensk

Dresden—capital of Saxony

Drysviaty—Drisviaty—between Vilna and Dvina River

Dubrovna—W of Smolensk—75 km NNE of Mohilev on the Dnieper

Dvina—Dünau—river in Latvia

Dvinsk—Dünaburg—Daugavpils—in Lithuania

Eisleben—in Anhalt, 60 km NW of Leipzig

Elbe—river in Germany

Elhardorf?

Ellwangen on the Jagst—in Württemberg, 60 km ENE of Stuttgart

Eve—village between Kovno and Vilna

Frankenstein—in Prussian Silesia, 50 km E of Berlin

Frankfort-on-the-Oder—Frankfurt-on-the-Oder—in Posen province of Prussia

Fraustadt—in Posen province

Fürstenwalde—in Brandenburg, 50 km E of Berlin

Galicia—province, formerly part of Austrian Poland, now U.S.S.R.

Glatz—Kłodzko—Silesia, on Neisse River, 80 km S of Breslau

Gnesen—Gniezno—in Prussian Poland, 45 km E of Posen

Grodno—Byelorussian S.S.R., 150 km SW of Vilna

Grossglogau—fortress on Oder in Silesia, 60 km WNW of Breslau—also known as

Glogau—Głogòw

Gshatsk—Gzhatsk—150 km WSW of Moscow

Hechingen—55 km S of Stuttgart

Hochkirch—village, now in Poland

Hofen—combined with Buchhorn to form Friedrichshafen on Lake Constance

Hohenberg—village, 7.5 km NW of Ellwangen

Inowrazlav—Inowrocław—between Gnesen and Thorn

Isny—80 km SE of Ulm in Bavaria

Kalisch—Kalisz—200 km WSW of Warsaw

Kaluga—175 km SWS of Moscow

Kalvaria—Kalvariya—180 km ESE of Königsberg

Kempten—60 km E of Friedrichshafen on Lake Constance

Killerthal—valley of Starzel River, S of Tübingen, Württemberg

Kochanova—Kokhanovo—140 km W of Smolensk

Königsberg—Kaliningrad—capital of East Prussia, now U.S.S.R.

Kosatschisna—Karachisno—village between Vilna and Dvina River

Kovno—Kowno—Kaunas—Lithuania, its capital from 1920 to 1940

Krasnoë—30 km WSW of Smolensk

Kremlin—fortress and palace section of Moscow

Krupky—Krupki—195 km W of Smolensk

Künzelsau—35 km NE of Heilbronn, Württemberg

Labonary—Diescony?—village between Vilna and Dvina River

Lagarben—Laggarben—Lamgarben—East Prussia, S of Königsberg

Landsberg on the Warthe—Gorzòw Wielkopolske—140 km E of Berlin

Leipsic—Leipzig—major city in Saxony

Liecnize—Loshnitsa?—near Bobr

Lindau—on Lake Constance, 20 km E of Friedrichshafen

Löventin—village in East Prussia, S of Königsberg

Ludwigsburg—royal residence, 9 km N of Stuttgart

Main—river, Germany

Maliaty—N of Vilna, E of Vilkomirz

Malo Jaroslavetz—Maloiaroslavets—110 km SWS of Moscow

Marburg—in Hessen, Germany

Mariampol—Mariyampole—50 km NE of Suwałki

Marmsfeld?

Memel—Niemań—Nemunas—river in Lithuania and Byelorussian S.S.R.

Mergentheim—in Württemberg, 90 km NE of Stuttgart

Minsk—in Byelorussian S.S.R., 250 km W of Smolensk

Moldavia—province, formerly in Ottoman Empire, then Romania, now in U.S.S.R.

Molodetschno—Molodechno—100 km SE of Vilna

Moscow—Moskva—capital of Russia and U.S.S.R.

Moshaisk—Mozhaisk—Mazaik—120 km W of Moscow

Moskva—river flowing through Moscow, tributary of Oka and Volga

Narev—Narew—Narwa—river in Poland

Neeswicz—perhaps Nezvizh—SSW of Minsk

Neglinnaia—rivulet, tributary of Moskva River at the Kremlin, now covered over

Neisse—Nisa—on Klodzka River, in Silesia, now Poland

Niemen—river, see Memel

Niklawi—Mlava?—Mława?—110 km NNW of Warsaw

Nordenburg—East Prussia, 75 km SE of Königsberg

Nuremberg—Nürnberg—in Bavaria

Oder—Odra—river, now border of Poland on the west

Oehringen—20 km NE of Heilbronn

Orscha—Orsha—100 km W of Smolensk

Ortelsburg—East Prussia, 120 km SES of Königsberg

Ostrovno—village near Vitebsk

Plauen—in Saxony, 90 km SW of Leipzig

Plechnizi—Pleshchenitsy—75 km NE of Minsk, 40 km from Borissov

Plock—Plotsk—100 km WNW of Warsaw

Polotsk—Polock—on Dvina River, Byelorussian S.S.R.

Pomerania—province of Prussia, now Poland

Poniemon—Panemune—SE of Kovno on Niemen River

Posen—Poznań—midway between Berlin and Warsaw in former Prussian Poland

Prussia—kingdom

Ravensburg—20 km N of Friedrichshafen

Reichenbach—Silesia, 45 km SW of Breslau

Reppen—village in Brandenburg, 18 km E of Frankfurt-on-the-Oder

Rettstadt—5 km E of Ellwangen

Riga—capital of Lativian S.S.R.

Rosenberg—10 km NW of Ellwangen

Saale—river in Germany

St. Petersburg—Petrograd—Leningrad—captial of Russia from 1712 to 1918

Saulgau—55 km SE of Ulm in Bavaria

Saxe-Coburg—Sachsen-Koburg—former principality in Saxony

Saxe-Weimar—Sachsen-Weimar—former principality in Anhalt-Saxe

Saxony—Sachsen—formerly kingdom in Germany

Schorndorf—Württemberg, 25 km E of Stuttgart

Schweidnitz—Scheweinitz—Saxony, 65 km NE of Leipzig

Seeburg—East Prussia, SW of Königsberg

Selnia—river near Moscow

Sembin—Zembin—25 km NWN of Borissov

Semlevo—125 km NE of Smolensk

Silberberg—in Silesia, 50 km SE of Berlin

Silesia—Schlesien—province of kingdom of Prague

Slaiski—Seliche? Sedlicz?—between Minsk and Vilnius

Smolensk—capital of Byelorussian S.S.R.

Smorgoni—100 km NW of Minsk on road to Vilna

Spangenberg—S of Cassel

Stargard—in Pomerania, now Poland, 25 km ESE of Stettin

Stettin—Szczecin—on Oder, Pomerania, now Poland

Stuttgart—capital of Württemberg

Thorn—Toruń—200 km NW of Warsaw

Thuringia—Thüringen/Thuringian Forest—Thüringer Wald—mountainous district

on border of Saxony

Toloczin—Tolochini—in Byelorussian S.S.R., 160 km W of Smolensk

Torgau—in Saxony, 50 km NE of Leipzig

Tyrol—Tirol—Southwestern province of Austria

Ula—Ulla—on Dvina River, 60 km W of Vitebsk

Vaihingen-on-the-Enz—22 km NW of Stuttgart

Vereia—Vereya—110 km WSW of Moscow, 20 km S of Moshaisk

Verina?

Viasma—Viazma—200 km W of Moscow

Vilkomirz—Wilkomierz—Ukmerge—75 km NW of Vilna

Vilna—Wilno—Vilno—Vilnius—capital of Lithuania

Vistula—Wisła—Weichsel—river in Poland

Vitebsk—in Byelorussian S.S.R.

Vorarlberg—mountainous massif in Western Tyrol on Swiss border

Waiblingen—10 km NE of Stuttgart

Waldenbuch—15 km SW of Stuttgart

Waldsee—35 km N of Friedrichshafen

Wangen—Württemberg, 75 km SW of Ulm

Warsaw—Warszawa—capital of Poland

Warthe—Warta—river in Germany and Poland

Weikersheim on Tauber—60 km N of Ellwangen

Weiltingen—20 km ENE of Ellwangen

Weimar—in Sachsen-Thüringen

Weingarten—monastery, 20 km N of Friedrichshafen

Werra—river in Germany

Westphalia—Westfalen—kingdom set up by Napoleon comprising several

German territorial principalities

Württemberg—Württenberg—kingdom

Würzburg—in Bavaria

Wüstenroth—village, 20 km E of Heilbronn

Reading Suggestions

REFERENCE WORKS

Tulard, Jean. Bibliographie critique des ménoires sur le consulat et l’empire écrits

où traduits en francais. Paris-Geneva: Librairie Droz, 1971. Most useful guide

to memoir literature of the period.

———, ed. Dictionnaire Napoléon. Paris: Fayard, 1987. Most recent and up-to-

date compendium, alphabetically arranged, on everything pertaining to

Napoleon, his reign, wars, statecraft, and the major events of his day.

GENERAL HISTORIES OF THE PERIOD

Breunig, Charles. The Age of Revolution and Reaction 1789–1850. Vol. IV, The

Norton History of Modern Europe. New York: W. W. Norton, 1970.

Gershoy, Leo. The French Revolution and Napoleon. New York: Appleton-Century-

Crofts, 1955.

Holborn, Hajo. A History of Modern Germany 1648–1840. New York: Alfred A.

Knopf, 1964.

Seton-Watson, Hugh. The Russian Empire 1801–1917. Oxford Clarendon Press,

1967.

Thomson, David. Europe Since Napoleon. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1957. Has

useful survey account of Napoleonic period.

NAPOLEONIC WARS AND CAMPAIGN OF 1812

‡ Bourgogne, Adrien Jean Baptiste. Memoirs of Sergeant Bourgogne 1812–1813.

Authorized translation with introduction by Hon. J. W. Fortescue. New York:

Robert M. McBride, 1929.

‡ Brett-James, Antony, ed. 1812—Eyewitness Accounts of Napoleon’s Defeat in

Russia. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1966.

‡ Caulaincourt, Armand Augustin Louis, marquis de, duc de Vicence. Memoirs.

Edited by Jean Hanoteau, translation by Hamish Miles. London: Cassell, 1950.

‡ ———. General Wilson’s Journal 1812–1814. London: William Kimber, 1964.

‡ Clausewitz, Carl von. The Campaign of 1812 in Russia. Translated from the

German. London: J. Murray, 1843 (reprinted: Hattiesburg, Miss.: Academic

International, 1970.)

‡ Coignet, J.R. The Note-books of Captain Coignet, Soldier of the Empire. London:

Greenhill Books, 1985.

Duffy, Christopher. Borodino and the War of 1812. New York: Charles Scribner’s

Sons, 1973.

Josselson, Michael and Diana. The Commander—A Life of Barclay de Tolly. New

York: Oxford University Press, 1980.

† Nafziger, George F. Napoleon’s Invasion of Russia. Novato, Calif.: Presidio Press,

1988.

† Riehn, Richard K. Napoleon’s Russian Campaign. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1990.

‡ Ségur, Paul Philippe. Napoleon’s Russian Campaign. Boston: Houghton Mifflin,

1958.

Tarlé, E. V. Napoleon’s Invasion of Russia 1812. New York, Toronto: Oxford

University Press, 1942.

‡ Wilson, R. T., Sir. Narrative of Events during the Invasion of Russia by Napoleon

Bonaparte and the Retreat of the French Army 1812. London: 1860.

Woloch, Isser. The French Veteran from the Revolution to the Restoration. Chapel

Hill, N.C.: University of North Carolina Press, 1970.

And of course no one has surpassed Leo Tolstoy’s

description of the atmosphere in Russia during the

Napoleonic period in War and Peace.

† Most recent professional accounts of the technical aspects

of the campaign of 1812.

‡ Accounts by participants.