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 Praise for
Win the Day
“Those who have never run a marathon might find it surprising that
the scariest place to be when running a marathon isn’t the dreaded
‘wall’ at mile twenty; it’s the starting line. Why? Because the runner
is overwhelmed by the difficulty and scope of the road ahead and
has lost touch with the present moment. In Win the Day, Mark
equips you to tackle your long-term goals by winning the moment
in front of you. I’ve found this principle to be of paramount
importance not only to my athletic success but also to my
successful day-to-day living. I am so grateful that Mark wrote this
book, and I know it will unlock readers’ full potential.”
—RYAN HALL, two-time Olympian and fastest American to ever
run the marathon and half marathon

“This book will change the trajectory of your life and help you lead
at a higher level. No matter what arena you work in, these daily
habits based on timeless principles will help you stress less and
accomplish more. I’ve been personally impacted by Mark’s writing,
and I know you will be too.”
—JOHN MAXWELL, #1 New York Times bestselling author,
entrepreneur, and leadership expert

“The pace of life in the modern world keeps most of us on overdrive.

Many productivity books simply add more dos to your to-do list.
But not Win the Day. Instead of teaching you how to do more,
Mark will teach you how to win more at what you do.”
—JENNI CATRON, leadership coach and founder of the 4Sight
Group

“In this intensely practical book, Mark helps us see that someday
starts today. He gives us simple daily habits that help us form our
future. Looking for a better tomorrow? You have to start today.
This book will show you how to stop hesitating, stay focused, and
change your story for good.”
—TIM SCOTT, U.S. Senator

“The easy path may be more convenient, but it’s never as fulfilling.
Instead of looking backward at what could have been, start looking
forward at what could be! Mark Batterson’s Win the Day will help
you step away from the familiar and onto the path of accomplishing
your God-sized dreams.”
—CRAIG GROESCHEL, pastor of Life.Church and New York Times
bestselling author

“At a time when life seems more overwhelming than ever, Mark
Batterson offers seven practical habits that can help you overcome
your regrets and accomplish what you’re called to do every day.
Mark’s characteristic research, insight, and optimism make Win
the Day a powerful combination of inspiration and application.
The best way to change your life is to start by changing today. This
book will help you do just that.”
—CAREY NIEUWHOF, bestselling author, podcast host, and speaker

“Win the Day is a timely guide to stressing less in a world that gives
us more than enough to stress about. Mark Batterson gives you
seven practical steps for living boldly, accomplishing more, and
seizing hold of God-sized dreams.”
—RYAN SAUNDERS, head coach of the Minnesota Timberwolves

“Sometimes we worry about the future so much that we fail to make

the most of right now. It’s a trap we can all fall into (and it’s so
common that we don’t even realize we’re stuck). In Win the Day,
Mark gives practical handles to help you accomplish God-sized
dreams—one day at a time.”
—STEVEN FURTICK, pastor of Elevation Church and New York
Times bestselling author
 WIN THE DAY
All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy
Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984,
2011 by Biblica Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved
worldwide. (www.zondervan.com). The “NIV” and “New International
Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and
Trademark Office by Biblica Inc.™ Scripture quotations marked (AMPC) are
taken from the Amplified® Bible, copyright © 1954, 1958, 1962, 1964, 1965,
1987 by the Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. (www.Lockman.org).
Scripture quotations marked (BSB) are taken from the Holy Bible, Berean
Study Bible, BSB. Copyright © 2016, 2018 by Bible Hub. Used by
permission. All rights reserved worldwide. Scripture quotations marked
(ESV) are taken from the ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard
Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good
News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Scripture
quotations marked (KJV) are taken from the King James Version. Scripture
quotations marked (TLB) are taken from The Living Bible copyright © 1971.
Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, a division of Tyndale
House Ministries, Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved. Scripture
quotations marked (NEB) are taken from the New English Bible, copyright ©
Cambridge University Press and Oxford University Press 1961, 1970. All
rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked (NLT) are taken from the Holy
Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale
House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, a
division of Tyndale House Ministries, Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights
reserved.
Italics in Scripture quotations reflect the author’s added emphasis.
Details in some anecdotes and stories have been changed to protect the
identities of the persons involved.
Copyright © 2020 by Mark Batterson
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Multnomah, an imprint of Random House,
a division of Penguin Random House LLC.

MULTNOMAH® and its mountain colophon are registered trademarks of

Penguin Random House LLC.
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Names: Batterson, Mark, author.

Title: Win the day: seven daily habits to help you stress less and accomplish
more / Mark Batterson.
Description: First edition. | Colorado Springs: Multnomah, 2020. |Includes
bibliographical references.
Identifiers: LCCN 2020028093 | ISBN 9780593192764 (hardcover) | ISBN
9780593192771 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Success—Religious aspects—Christianity. | Habit.
Classification: LCC BV4598.3 .B38 2020 | DDC 248.4—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/​2020028093
Ebook ISBN 9780593192771
waterbrookmultnomah.com
Interior book design by Virginia Norey, adapted for ebook
Cover design: Pete Garceau

ep_prh_5.6.0_c0_r0
 Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Introduction: Day-Tight Compartments

Part One: Bury Dead Yesterdays

Habit 1: Flip the Script
Chapter 1: Signature Story
Chapter 2: Ambidexterity
Habit 2: Kiss the Wave
Chapter 3: The Obstacle Is the Way
Chapter 4: Postimagining

Part Two: Win the Day

Habit 3: Eat the Frog
Chapter 5: Habit Stacking
Chapter 6: The Mundanity of Excellence
Habit 4: Fly the Kite
Chapter 7: Make Each Day a Masterpiece
Chapter 8: Kaizen

Part Three: Imagine Unborn Tomorrows

Habit 5: Cut the Rope
Chapter 9: The Adjacent Possible
Chapter 10: The Grand Gesture
 Habit 6: Wind the Clock
Chapter 11: Counterclockwise
Chapter 12: Persistence Hunting
Habit 7: Seed the Clouds
Chapter 13: Now or Never
Epilogue: The Game with Minutes

Dedication
Acknowledgments
Notes
About the Author
 Introduction
Day-Tight Compartments

Almost anybody can accomplish almost anything if they work

at it long enough, hard enough, and smart enough.

I n 1871, a twenty-one-year-old medical student read one sentence

that would change the trajectory of his life. At the time, the pressure
of final exams and the prospect of starting a medical practice led to a
near nervous breakdown. William Osler was destined to become the
most famous medical doctor of his generation. He would organize
the Johns Hopkins School of Medicine, establish the first residency
program for specialty training, and write the predominant medical
textbook of his era.1
The Father of Modern Medicine would even be knighted Sir
William by the king of England. Of course, Osler knew none of this at
twenty-one. None of us do. All he knew was that he was
overwhelmed by what felt like the weight of the world. That’s when
twenty-two words, written by the Scottish historian Thomas Carlyle,
changed everything: “Our grand business undoubtedly is, not to see
what lies dimly at a distance, but to do what lies clearly at hand.”2
Forty-two years later, Sir William Osler delivered an address at
Yale University on April 20, 1913.3 Despite his distinguished
credentials, Osler professed intellectual averageness. His success was
not the by-product of innate intelligence or natural talent. What,
then, could explain his success? Osler traced it back to the twenty-
two words that had altered his outlook on life. He took those words
—“Do what lies clearly at hand”—and put his fingerprints on them.
Reflecting on his own insecurities and uncertainties, Osler issued a
timeless challenge to those students:

Live in day-tight compartments.4

“The load of to-morrow,” said Osler, “added to that of yesterday,

carried to-day makes the strongest falter.”5 It’s true, isn’t it? We feel
overwhelmed by yesterday’s mistakes and underqualified for
tomorrow’s opportunities. We feel so overwhelmed, so
underqualified, that we’re tempted to quit before we even start. And
that’s what many people do. Their lives are over before they even
begin. They stop living and start dying.
More than a century later, Osler’s words still echo. In a day of
endless distractions, an age of ceaseless change, they ring true now
more than ever. So many people are so overwhelmed by so many
things! We’re paralyzed by things we cannot change—the past. We’re
crippled by things we cannot control—the future. The solution?
Osler’s age-old advice is as good a place to start as any: let go of
“dead yesterdays” and “unborn to-morrows.”6
The secret to Sir William Osler’s success is the solution to a
thousand problems. Instead of fixating on things that lie dimly at a
distance, concentrate on what lies clearly at hand. Simply put, focus
on inputs rather than outcomes. If yesterday is history and tomorrow
is mystery, win the day! When you win today, tomorrow takes care of
itself. Do that enough days in a row and you can accomplish almost
anything!
How do you win the day? For starters, you have to define the win:
What’s important now? Identify the lead measures that will produce
the results you want. Establish daily rituals that will make your life
more meaningful. Break bad habits by establishing good habits; then
habit stack those high-yield habits in a way that will pay dividends
down the road. In the pages that follow, I’ll unpack all these ideas
and many more.
A few months before delivering his day-tight address, William
Osler had crossed the Atlantic on an ocean liner. While standing on
the bridge of that ship, he had an aha moment. The captain was
demonstrating the latest and greatest in maritime technology. He
pressed a button that shifted gears, turning parts of that ship into
watertight compartments.
Leveraging that machinery as a metaphor, Osler likened each of us
to an ocean liner on a long voyage. “What I urge is that you so learn
to control the machinery as to live with ‘day-tight compartments,’ ”
he said. “Touch a button and hear, at every level of your life, the iron
doors shutting out the Past—the dead yesterdays. Touch another and
shut off, with a metal curtain, the Future—the unborn to-morrows.”7
This book is all about pressing that button and unleashing the
power of twenty-four hours. Burying dead yesterdays can be as
difficult as a graveside funeral. Imagining unborn tomorrows
involves no less labor than childbirth. But if you want to win the day,
there is no other way.

FULLY ALIVE
While teaching at the University of Pennsylvania, Dr. Tony Campolo
once turned an ordinary lecture into an unforgettable lesson. He
asked an unsuspecting student sitting in the front row, “Young man,
how long have you lived?” The student answered his age. Tony
responded, “No, no, no. That’s how long your heart has been
pumping blood. That’s not how long you have lived.”
Tony Campolo then told the class about one of the most
memorable moments of his life. In 1944, his fourth-grade class took
a field trip to the top of the Empire State Building. It was the tallest
building in the world at the time. When nine-year-old Tony got off
the elevator and stepped onto the observation deck overlooking New
York City, time stood still. “In one mystical, magical moment I took
in the city,” he said. “If I live a million years, that moment will still be
part of my consciousness, because I was fully alive when I lived it.”
Tony turned back to the student. “Now, let me ask you the
question again. How long have you lived?” The student sheepishly
said, “When you say it that way, maybe an hour; maybe a minute;
maybe two minutes.”8
How long have you lived? I mean really lived. It’s easy calculating
age. It’s more difficult quantifying life. Why? Because time is
measured in minutes, while life is measured in moments. What are
those top-of-the-Empire-State-Building moments for you? For most
of us, they are too few and far between. When was the last time that
time stood still? And if you turned those moments into minutes, how
long have you lived?
According to psychologists Matthew Killingsworth and Daniel
Gilbert, the average person spends 46.9 percent of their time
thinking about something other than what they’re doing in the
present moment.9 We’re half-present half the time, which means
we’re half-alive.
The only way to be fully alive is to be fully present, and the only
way to be fully present is to live in day-tight compartments. For far
too many of us, life feels like the meaningless passage of time
between far too few meaningful moments. And even when they do
come along, we take selfies instead of being fully present. We miss
the moment because we’re living in the wrong time zone. We’re so
fixated on the past and so anxious about the future that we miss the
present. Then we wonder where life went.
The future is right here, right now—the eternal now. Heaven is
invading earth. Eternity is invading time. Most people falsely assume
that eternity starts at some point in the far-off future, and they live
accordingly. Eternity is counterclockwise. Eternity is invading time
every second of every minute of every hour of every day!
“Every now is an eternity,” said Frank Laubach, “if it is full of
God.”10
 COUNT THE DAYS
Long before digital clocks and calendars, an ancient poet said,
“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of
wisdom.”11 If you want every day to count, you have to count the
days. How? Try counting backward.
This may seem a little sadistic, but if you’re the curious type, pay a
visit to deathclock.com. Go ahead—this book will still be here when
you get back. Enter your birthday, along with your body-mass index,
and it spits out your estimated day of death. My favorite feature? You
can choose between normal, sadistic, pessimistic, and optimistic
settings! The optimistic setting gets me to age ninety-three, which
falls short of my goal of living to one hundred. Of course, there isn’t
an option for eternal optimists!
What does it mean to win the day? It’s living like each day is the
first day and last day of your life, which is both an art and a science.
I’ll tell stories, cite studies, and share best practices. Together, we’ll
build seven habits designed to help you win the day. This process
won’t be easy, and it won’t happen overnight. But if you put these
seven habits into practice, you’ll win a lot more days than you lose!
You’ll learn how to stress less and accomplish more.
In part 1, we’ll bury dead yesterdays. Memory is both a blessing
and a curse. Without it, we’d have to relearn everything every day!
The challenge, of course, is remembering right. We have a tendency
to remember what we should forget and forget what we should
remember. That’s how we get stuck in a moment. If you want God to
do something new, you can’t keep doing the same old thing. The first
two habits—flip the script and kiss the wave—will help you rewrite
your narrative and process your pain. If you feel like a prisoner of
your past, prepare to be set free!
In part 2, we’ll turn the page on the past and win the day.
Tomorrow may be a mystery, but destiny is not! Destiny is a daily
decision. Over time, those daily decisions yield compound interest. If
you do the right things day in and day out, God is going to show up
and show off. I can’t tell you when or where or how. And it’ll be on
His terms, His timeline! But I do know this: you cannot break the law
of sowing and reaping. It will make or break you. The good news?
You are only one decision away from a totally different life! The next
two habits—eat the frog and fly the kite—will help you make the
right predecisions and establish the right rituals.
In part 3, we’ll flip to the future and imagine unborn tomorrows.
Show me the size of your dream, and I’ll show you the size of your
God. The ability to imagine the future is a function of your right
brain and is one dimension of the image of God. If you’re going to
dream big, you’ve got to think long. The next two habits—cut the
rope and wind the clock—will help you take the right risks and play
the long game a little better.
Finally, we’ll seed the clouds with the seventh habit. The only
moment we ever have is now—it’s now or never! You’ve got to learn
like you’ll live forever, but you’ve got to live like there’s no tomorrow.
You are here for such a time as this. You are here for such a place as
this. It’s time to live that way.
Can I make two recommendations as you board this ocean liner,
press the button that shifts your life into day-tight compartments,
and embark on this journey?
First, take it one habit at a time. If you try to make too many
changes at the same time, the chance of success goes way down.
Don’t get overwhelmed. Pick a habit—any habit—and go to work on
it. Rome wasn’t built in a day, right? It’ll take consistent effort over
weeks and months and years to win the day. I hope this book feels
like an old friend that you turn to often.
Second, I’d recommend reading this book with a friend, with a
team, or with your staff. You’ll certainly benefit if you read it by
yourself, but there is synergy when a book is read in community.
While holding you accountable, a community gives you a built-in
sounding board.
 THE TWENTY-FOUR-HOUR RULE
A few years ago, I had the privilege of meeting NFL Hall of Famer
Emmitt Smith. Emmitt holds the NFL record for all-time rushing
yards—18,355. That adds up to 10.4 miles on the odometer, and
that’s with three-hundred-pound defensive tackles giving him a flat
tire every 4.2 yards! How did Emmitt do it? One game at a time, one
play at a time, one yard at a time!
During a panel session we cochaired, Emmitt shared one secret to
his success. He called it “the twenty-four-hour rule.” Win or lose,
Emmitt gave himself a twenty-four-hour window to celebrate the win
or lament the loss. Sounds a lot like Osler’s day-tight compartments,
doesn’t it? The next day, it was back to business, back to basics. “It
never ends,” said Emmitt. “If you play the game to win one Super
Bowl or two Super Bowls and then be satisfied, you are playing for
the wrong reason. No matter how much you win, you want to win
more.”12
What if we applied the twenty-four-hour rule to all of life?
I bet we’d gain a lot more yardage and win a lot more days!
I love Emmitt Smith’s unique application, but the twenty-four-
hour rule is nothing new. It’s the centerpiece of the most famous
prayer of all time: “Give us this day our daily bread.”13 Even those
who aren’t religious recognize it, perhaps have even prayed it. In his
address, William Osler challenged the Yale students to pray that
piece of the Lord’s Prayer every day.14 As the son of a pastor, Osler
knew it well. He also knew that praying it every day was much easier
said than done!
Can I tell you what I wish it said? “Give us this week our weekly
bread.” Better yet, “Give us this year our yearly bread.” That would
be so much easier, wouldn’t it? That way, we wouldn’t have to
depend on God every day. But that, of course, is the point of the
prayer. That is its genius.
The Lord’s Prayer is three-dimensional—it helps us nullify past
mistakes, navigate present circumstances, and negotiate future
Other documents randomly have
different content
bringing me some hot broth in a bowl, which I drank eagerly, and I
was soon in a perspiration, in spite of the cold. Besides my bearskin
cloak, my friends had covered me with a great piece of
waterproofing they had torn off a waggon. The rest of the night I lay
quiet without moving.
On the next day (the 27th) I felt rather better, but terribly weak.
That day the Emperor crossed the Bérézina with part of the Guard,
and about a thousand men belonging to Marshal Ney's corps. Our
regiment remained on the banks. Suddenly I heard my name called;
I turned my head and saw M. Péniaux, director of the Emperor's
stage posts and relays, who had searched me out. They told him
that I was ill, and he came at once, not to give me anything—he had
nothing to give, except encouragement. I thanked him for his
kindness, and said I did not expect even to cross the Bérézina, or to
see France again; but I begged him, if he were more fortunate than
I, to tell my parents of my sad situation. He offered me money, but I
declined it. I would willingly have exchanged 800 francs for the
potatoes and bread-and-butter I dreamed I had eaten at home.
Before he left me he pointed out the house where the Emperor had
stayed, saying he had been unfortunate, as the house was a flour
warehouse, but the Russians had taken it all, so that he had nothing
to offer me. He shook me by the hand and left me to cross the
bridge.
As soon as he had gone, I remembered that he had spoken of some
flour in the Emperor's house, so I rose, and, weak as I was, I
dragged myself in that direction. The Emperor had only just left the
house, and yet they had already taken off all the doors. I went
through several rooms, and the traces of flour could be seen in them
all. In one of them the boards in the floor were very badly laid
down; there was more than an inch between them. I sat down and
scraped out with my sword as much dirt as flour, which I collected
and put into my handkerchief. After working more than an hour, I
got out about two pounds in weight, an eighth of which was dirt,
straw, and little bits of wood. That did not matter in the least; I went
out happy. As I made my way towards our bivouac I saw a fire,
where several men from the Guard were warming themselves.
Amongst them was a musician from our regiment, who had a tin
bowl on his knapsack. I signed to him to come to me, and as he
seemed unwilling to leave his place, I pointed to my parcel, making
him understand there was something inside it. He rose with
difficulty, and when he was near enough I said, in a voice which the
others could not hear, that if he would lend me his bowl, I would
make some cakes which we could share. He consented directly, and
as there were several fires near, we looked out for one in a quiet
place. I then made a paste and four cakes from it; the half I gave to
my musician, and took him back with me to the regiment, still
camped on the bank of the river. I divided the rest of the cakes with
the men who had helped me along the road; they thought them very
good, still hot as they were from the baking. After drinking some of
the muddy water of the Bérézina, we warmed ourselves, waiting for
the order to cross the bridges.
Near our fire was a man belonging to the company attired in full
uniform! I asked him what that was for, and he only laughed at me.
The poor fellow was ill; that laugh was the laugh of death, as he
succumbed during the night.
A little further off was an old soldier with two chevrons—fifteen
years service, that is. His wife was cantinière. They had lost
everything—carts, horses, baggage, besides two children, who had
died in the snow; all this poor woman had left to her was despair
and a dying husband. The poor creature, still a young woman, was
sitting on the snow, holding her dying husband's head on her knees.
She did not weep; her grief seemed beyond that. Behind her, leaning
on her shoulder, was a beautiful young girl of thirteen or fourteen
years, the only child remaining to her. This poor child was sobbing
bitterly, her tears falling and freezing on her father's cold face. She
wore a soldier's cape over her poor dress, and a sheepskin on her
shoulders to keep out the cold.[52] None of their own comrades were
there to comfort them. Their regiment was utterly destroyed. We did
all that we possibly could for them, but I was not able to find out if
these unhappy people were saved. Whichever way one turned, these
terrible scenes were taking place. Old carts and waggons furnished
us with wood enough to warm ourselves, and we made the most of
this opportunity. My friends wanted to hear how I had spent my
three days of absence. They told me on their side that on the 23rd,
when they were marching across the forest, they caught sight of the
9th Corps drawn up by the roadside, shouting 'Vive l'Empereur!'
They had not set eyes on this corps for five months. These men,
who had scarcely suffered at all, and had never wanted food, were
distressed at seeing their comrades' destitution. They could hardly
believe that this was the Moscow army, then so splendid, now so
miserable, and so sadly reduced in numbers.
The 2nd Corps d'Armée, commanded by Marshal Oudinot, and the
9th by Marshal Victor, Duke of Bellune, also the Poles under General
Dombrowski, had not been to Moscow, but had remained in
Lithuania. For the last few days, however, they had been engaged
against the Russians, had repulsed them, and taken a large quantity
of baggage; as the Russians retired they had burnt the bridge. This
was the only bridge over the Bérézina, and had stopped our
advance, keeping us penned up between two forests in the middle of
a marsh. We were a medley of Frenchmen, Italians, Spaniards,
Portuguese, Croats, Germans, Poles, Romans, Neapolitans, and even
Prussians. I saw some canteen men whose wives and children were
in great despair, weeping. We noticed that the men seemed to suffer
more, both morally and physically, than the women. The women
bore their sufferings and privations with an astonishing courage,
enough to reflect shame on certain men, who had no courage and
resignation to endure their trials. Very few of these women died,
except those who fell into the Bérézina in crossing the bridge, or
some who were suffocated.
We were quiet when night came, every one in his bivouac, and no
one came to cross the bridge during the night of the 27th-28th, a
most astonishing thing. I slept, as we had a good fire, but in the
middle of the night I was seized with fever again, and became
delirious. The sound of firing woke me at about seven o'clock. I got
up, took my firearms, and without speaking to anyone I went up to
the bridge and crossed it alone. I met no one but the pontonniers,
who camped on the two banks to repair the bridge in case of any
accident.
The first thing I saw when I reached the other side was a large
wooden hut. The Emperor had slept there, and had not come out
yet. I was shivering with fever, so went up towards a fire where
several officers were engaged in studying a map. I received such a
cold welcome, however, that I hastily retired. One of our men, who
had observed me, now came up to tell me that our regiment had
crossed the bridge, and was in the second line of battle behind
Marshal Oudinot's corps. As the cannon roared, and the bullets came
rattling over to where we were standing, I started off to join the
regiment, saying to myself that I had better be shot than die of cold
and hunger, so I walked forward into the wood. On the way I
overtook a corporal of my company dragging himself painfully along,
so we helped each other and arrived at the regiment together. There
we saw a fire, and as the corporal was shivering with fever, I led him
up to it. Hardly had we arrived, when a ball struck my poor comrade
in the chest, and stretched him dead at my feet. I could not help
crying out, 'Poor Marcelin! How lucky you are!' Just then the rumour
ran that Marshal Oudinot was wounded.
When the Colonel saw one of his men fall, he ran to the fire, and
noticing how ill I was, he ordered me to go back to the end of the
bridge and wait for men who had not come up, and bring them to
the regiment. The greatest disorder prevailed at this place. All the
men who had not taken advantage of the night to cross had thrown
themselves in a mass on to the banks of the river as soon as they
heard the artillery, in order to cross by the bridges.
A corporal of our company named Gros-Jean, who came from Paris,
asked me with tears in his eyes if I had seen his brother. I said no.
Then he told me that he had been with him ever since the Battle of
Krasnoë, as he was ill with fever; but just now, by some dreadful
fatality, they had been separated. Thinking he had gone on in front,
he had been inquiring of his comrades on all sides, and not finding
him, he was going back over the bridge, for if he did not find him he
would die. Wishing to dissuade him from such a fatal resolution, I
begged him to stay with me at the head of the bridge, where we
should very likely see his brother as he passed. But the poor fellow
stripped off his arms and knapsack, saying that, as I had lost my
own, he would make me a present of them if he did not return, and
that there were plenty of muskets over at the other side. He then
made as if he would go, but I stopped him. I pointed out to him the
number of dead and dying already on the bridge, these last
preventing others passing over by catching hold of their legs, and all
rolling together in the Bérézina. They appeared for a moment
amongst bits of ice, only to disappear altogether and make way for
others. Gros-Jean did not even hear me. Fixing his eyes on this
scene of horror, he thought he perceived his brother on the bridge,
struggling to clear a pathway for himself through the crowd. So,
listening only to the voice of despair, he climbed over the dead
bodies of men and horses which blocked up the way from the
bridge,[53] and rushed on. Those he first met tried to thrust him
back, but he was strong, and did not give way. He succeeded in
reaching the unfortunate man whom he had taken for his brother;
but, alas! it was not he. I followed all his movements with my eyes.
Seeing his mistake, he redoubled his efforts to reach the further
end; but he was knocked over on to his back, on the edge of the
bridge, and nearly thrown into the water. They walked over his body,
his head, but nothing vanquished him. He collected all his strength
for a new effort to rise, and seized hold of a Cuirassier's leg, who, in
his turn, got hold of another man's arm. The Cuirassier, however,
was hindered by a cloak over his shoulder; he staggered, fell, and
rolled into the Bérézina, dragging after him Gros-Jean and the man
whose arm he held. They sank then, adding to the number of men
underneath the bridge and on each side of it.
The Cuirassier and his companion disappeared under the ice; but
Gros-Jean, more fortunate, had seized one of the supports of the
bridge, against which he found a horse. Climbing on to the horse by
his knees, he begged for help, for a long time speaking to deaf ears.
Finally some engineers threw him a rope, which he was clever
enough to catch and tie round his body; and thus from one support
to another, over dead bodies and lumps of ice, he was drawn over to
the further side. I did not see him again; but I heard the next day
that he had found his brother, a little distance off, but in a dying
condition. Thus perished these two poor brothers, and also a third in
the 2nd Lancers. When I got back to Paris I saw their parents, who
begged me for news of their children. I left them one ray of hope by
saying that their sons had been taken prisoners, but I felt certain
they died.
While these sad events were taking place, the Grenadiers of the
Guard, accompanied by an officer, went round the bivouacs, asking
for dry wood to warm the Emperor. Everyone willingly gave the best
they had. Even dying men raised their heads to say, 'Take what you
can for the Emperor.' By this time it might be ten o'clock, and the
second bridge, built for the cavalry and artillery, had just broken in
under the weight of the latter; a number of men sank with it, and
most of them perished. The disorder and confusion were thus doubly
increased, for, as everyone rushed to the other bridge, it became an
absolute impossibility to get across. Men, horses, carts, canteen
men, with their wives and children, were all mingled in frightful
disorder, crushed against each other; and in spite of the shouts of
Marshal Lefebvre, who stood at the end of the bridge to keep all the
order possible, he could not remain there. He was swept on with the
others and forced to cross, to avoid being suffocated or crushed to
death. I had managed to get together five men of our regiment,
three of whom had lost their firearms in the confusion, and I had
ordered them to make a fire. I kept my eyes fixed all the time on the
bridge, and saw a man in a white cloak; he was pushed by those
behind him, and fell over the body of a horse stretched on the
ground. With extreme difficulty he got up, staggered a few steps, fell
again, rose a second time, only to fall again by our fire. He remained
thus for a little while, and, thinking that he was dead, we were
about to lay him on one side and remove his cloak, when he raised
his head and looked at me. It was the gunsmith of our regiment. He
said sadly:
'Ah, sergeant, what misfortunes I have had! I have lost everything—
horses, carts—all I had! I have only one mule left which I brought
from Spain, and I have just been forced to leave him. I was carried
across the bridge, but I nearly died.'
I told him that he would be very fortunate, and ought to thank
Heaven, if he got back to France alive.
So many men now crowded round our fire that we were obliged to
leave it and make another some little way back. The confusion and
disorder went on increasing, and reached their full height when
Marshal Victor was attacked by the Russians, and shells and bullets
showered thickly upon us. To complete our misery, snow began to
fall and a cold wind blew. This dreadful state of things lasted all day
and through the next night, and all this time the Bérézina became
gradually filled with ice, dead bodies of men and horses, while the
bridge got blocked up with carts full of wounded men, some of
which rolled over the edge into the water. Between eight and nine
o'clock that evening Marshal Victor began his retreat. He and his
men had to cross the bridge over a perfect mountain of corpses. On
the night of the 28th-29th it was possible for all the unfortunate
wretches on the opposite bank to get across, but, paralyzed by the
cold, they stayed behind to warm themselves by the warmth of the
burning waggons, which had been set on fire on purpose to make
the men go across.
I remained in the rear with seventeen men and a sergeant named
Rossière, led by one of the men, as he had become almost blind,
and was shivering with fever.[54] I was sorry for him, and offered to
lend him my bearskin to cover him, but so much snow had fallen
during the night that it had saturated the cloak. The snow then
melted with the heat of the fire and dried up again. When I took
hold of the skin in the morning, it was as hard as iron and useless
for wearing, and I had to leave it behind. Wishing, however, to make
it useful to the last, I laid it over a dying man. We had passed a
wretched night. Many of the men in the Imperial Guard had died. At
about seven o'clock on the morning of the 29th I went towards the
bridge, hoping to find some more of our men. The unfortunate men
who had not taken advantage of the night to get away had at the
first appearance of dawn rushed on to the bridge, but now it was too
late. Preparations were already made to burn it down. Numbers
jumped into the water, hoping to swim through the floating bits of
ice, but not one reached the shore. I saw them all there in water up
to their shoulders, and, overcome by the terrible cold, they all
miserably perished. On the bridge was a canteen man carrying a
child on his head. His wife was in front of him, crying bitterly. I could
not stay any longer, it was more than I could bear. Just as I turned
away, a cart containing a wounded officer fell from the bridge, with
the horse also.[55] They next set fire to the bridge, and I have been
told that scenes impossible to describe for horror then took place.
The details I had witnessed were merely slight sketches of the
horrible picture that followed.
I was now told that the regiment was moving. I made the men take
up their arms, and counted them to the number of twenty-three,
without the gunsmith. As the regiment moved off, each man joined
his company.
We were at last on the march; it might be, perhaps, nine o'clock. We
crossed a wooded piece of ground interspersed by marshes, which
we traversed by means of bridges made of pine-wood, fortunately
not burned by the Russians. We waited now and then for those in
the rear to come up with us. The sun was shining, and I sat down
on Gros-Jean's knapsack and went off to sleep; but an officer, M.
Favin, catching sight of me, pulled me by the ears and the hair,
others kicked me from behind, all without waking me. Several of
them got hold of me and forced me to rise, and well for me that
they did, or I should have slept the sleep of death. I felt very cross,
however, at being roused.
Many who we thought had perished came on from the Bérézina.
They embraced and congratulated each other as if it were the Rhine
they had crossed, still 400 leagues off. They felt so happy that they
were sorry for those left behind. They advised me to walk a little in
front, so that I should not fall asleep again. This advice I took.

FOOTNOTES:
[35] The corps commanded by General Dombrouski, a Pole, had
not been as far as Moscow. It was marching just now to Borisow
to cut off the Russians from the bridge over the Bérézina.—
Author's Note.
[36] Cognia in Polish, and in Russian also, means horse.—Author's
Note.
[37] Picart was one of the best shots in the Guard. In camp at
target practice he always carried off the prizes.—Author's Note.
[38] I still have the little cup; it is at home, under a glass case,
with a little silver cross found in the crypt of the Church of St.
Michael, and under the Emperors' tombs.—Author's Note.
[39] The Emperor of Austria.
[40] Picart knew what he was about in speaking of Austrian
treason, as I learnt since that an alliance had been made against
us.—Author's Note.
[41] The Battle of Eylau began on February 7th, 1807, at
daybreak; we had slept the night before on a plain behind the
town, a quarter of a league away. This plain was covered with
snow and with dead bodies, the rear-guard having been engaged
there just before our arrival. It was scarcely daybreak when the
Emperor ordered us to move forward. This we had great difficulty
in doing, as we walked through ploughed fields, and snow up to
our knees. He placed the Guard near the town—a part of it near
the cemetery, and a part on a lake fifty yards off. Balls and shells
falling on the lake cracked the ice, and threatened to submerge
those who stood on it. All day we stood in this position, our feet
in the snow, and half crushed by the shells and grape-shot. The
Russians were four times as strong as we were, and they also
had the advantage of the wind, which blew dead against us,
driving the snow, and the smoke from our powder and theirs, into
our faces. Up till seven o'clock we remained in this position. At
three in the afternoon our regiment was sent to resume the
position of the morning, which the Russians wanted to take. All
night, as during the battle, the snow never ceased to fall. That
day my right foot was frozen, and was only cured at Finkeistein,
before the battles of Essling and Friedland.—Author's Note.
[42] Nima in Polish and Lithuanian means 'no,' or 'there is
none.'—Author's Note.
[43] Mère aux bouts was an old woman who came at six o'clock
every morning to the barracks at Courbevoie, and sold us, for ten
centimes, a piece of pudding six inches long. We feasted on this
every day before our drill, and drank ten centimes' worth of
Suresnes wine, to help us to wait for the soup at ten o'clock.
What Vélite or old Grenadier of the Guard has not known Mère
aux bouts?—Author's Note.
[44] Place where the old Grenadiers of the Guard met their
mistresses and danced.—Author's Note.
[45] This song had been composed on leaving the camp at
Boulogne in 1805, to go to Austria for the Battle of Austerlitz.—
Author's Note.
[46] In Poland, Lithuania, and a part of Russia, large trees are
chosen; and about ten feet from the ground a hole of about a
foot deep and wide is made. Here the bees deposit their honey,
and often it is stolen by the bears, who are very numerous in
these forests, and very greedy. Thus the hives frequently become
traps to take them.—Author's Note.
[47] The pontonniers and the engineers saved us, and to them
we owed the construction of the bridges over the Bérézina.—
Author's Note.
[48] They marched with their heads bent, their eyes fixed on the
ground, hardly seeing anything; the frost and the bivouac fires
had nearly ruined their sight.—Author's Note.
[49] Grangier and Leboude.—Author's Note.
[50] General Eblé.—Author's Note.
[51] This second bridge broke soon afterwards, when the artillery
began to cross. A great many perished.—Author's Note.
[52] The girl, and also her mother, wore Astrakan caps on their
heads.—Author's Note.
 [53] At the outlet of the bridge was a marsh, a slimy, muddy
place, where many of the horses sank, and could not get out
again. Many of the men, also, being dragged by the weight of the
others to the outlet, sank down exhausted when left to
themselves in the marsh, and were trampled upon by others
coming on behind.—Author's Note.
[54] I learned afterwards that the sergeant had the luck to return
to France; as he had plenty of money, he got a Jew to take him
as far as Koenigsberg, but when he arrived in France he went
mad and blew out his brains.—Author's Note.
[55] Thus perished M. Legrand, the brother of Dr. Legrand, of
Valenciennes. He had been wounded at Krasnoë, and had just got
as far as the Bérézina. Just after the scene I have described, and
while the Russians were firing at the bridge, I was told that he
was badly wounded before being thrown into the water.—Author's
Note.

CHAPTER IX.
FROM THE BÉRÉZINA TO WILNA—THE JEWS.
I had been walking in advance of the regiment for about half an hour,
when I met a sergeant of the Fusiliers-Chasseurs whom I knew. He
seemed very happy about something (a most unusual thing), so I
asked him if he had anything to eat.
'I have found some potatoes,' he said, 'in this village.'
I raised my head and saw that we were actually in a village at that
moment. Walking with my eyes fixed on the ground, I had not
noticed it. When I heard the word 'potatoes' I stopped him to ask in
which house he had found them, and I ran there as fast as my legs
would carry me. After much searching, I had the luck to find three
little potatoes under an oven, about the size of nuts. I half cooked
them on an almost extinct fire I found a little distance off the road.
When they were done enough, I ate them with a bit of horseflesh,
but I hardly tasted them, as the fever I had on me for the last few
days had destroyed my appetite entirely, and I was sure that if it
continued I should soon be dead.
When the regiment passed I took my place, and we marched as far
as Ziemben, where the Emperor, with part of the Guard, had already
arrived. We could see him gazing at the road to Borisow on our left,
where we were told the Russians would come. Several of the horse-
Guards were sent on in front, but no Russians were to be seen that
day. The Emperor slept at Kamen with half the Guard, and we, the
Fusiliers, Grenadiers, and Chasseurs, spent the night close by.
On the 30th the Emperor and his suite slept at Plechnitzié. We
bivouacked some distance off. We arrived there on the following day,
and heard that Marshal Oudinot had only just escaped being made
prisoner there; that 2,000 Russians, with two field-pieces, had
entered the place, and that the Marshal, although wounded, had
entrenched himself in a house with twenty-five men, both officers
and privates, many of them wounded. The Russians, astounded at
these preparations for defence with so small a number of men, had
retired on to some heights overlooking the house, and laid siege to it
till the arrival of the Emperor with the troop of the Rhine
Confederation and part of the Guard. As we passed, we looked at
the house, pierced through by balls in many places. It seemed
strange to us how 2,000 Cossacks had not sufficient courage to take
an old wooden house defended by only twenty-five men.
On the next day, December 1st, we left early in the morning, and
after an hour's march we reached a village, where the Fusiliers-
Chasseurs had spent the night. They were waiting to set out with us.
I made inquiries if there was anything to buy there, and was told by
a sergeant-major that there was some gin to be had from a Jew. He
took me to the place, and seeing the Jew with a long beard, I asked
him politely in German if he had any gin for sale. 'No,' he answered
rudely, 'I have none; the French have taken it all.' I said nothing, but
I knew perfectly well he was telling a lie, and that he was only afraid
of not being paid.
Just then a girl of fourteen or fifteen jumped down from a great
stove she had been sitting on, and coming up to me, she said: 'If
you will give me your silver lace, I will let you have a glass of
brandy.' I said yes, so she took off the silver braid belonging to my
haversack, worth thirty francs, which I had brought from Moscow.
She hid it immediately in her dress, and gave me a miserable bit of
cord instead. If I had allowed her, she would have taken the
surgeon's pocket-case I had got from the Cossack, as she caught
sight of the silver fittings. She then brought me a glass of very bad
gin, but I felt so sick I could hardly swallow it. She also gave me a
small oval-shaped cheese, the size of a hen's egg, smelling of
aniseed. I put it carefully in my haversack, and went out.
I was hardly in the open air, when the abominable spirit flew to my
head. I was obliged to cross a broad deep ditch on a tree thrown
over to serve as a bridge. I danced across this without falling, and
rushed in the same way amongst my comrades. More than that, I
took hold of their arms, singing and trying to make them dance.
Several of them, even officers, gathered round me, asking me what
was the matter. I only sang and danced the more. The sergeant-
major of our company took me a little way apart, and asked me
where I came from. I told him that I had had some drink. 'Where?'
'Come with me,' I said. He followed, and we crossed the tree,
holding each other by the hand. On the other side a friend of mine
took my arm. This was a sergeant-major named Leboude, a
Liègeois. He had just heard what I had been doing. When we got to
the Jew's house, I told them if they had any gold or silver lace they
could get some gin. 'If that's all,' said the Liègeois, 'here it is.' He
had a very nice Astrakan cap, with a gold braid round it. The young
Jewess took matters into her own hands again, and ripped off the
braid. They gave us some gin, and we came away; but we were
hardly out of the house, when the same kind of frenzy came over
me, worse than before. It took hold of the Liègeois also, and he and
I danced together. The sergeant-major looked at us, telling us to
march back and rejoin our regiment. Instead of answering, we each
took one of his arms, and danced towards the tree over the ditch.
There the Liègeois slipped and fell, dragging the sergeant-major into
the ditch, and me also. Under the snow in the ditch were more than
two hundred dead bodies, thrown there during the last two days. At
this sudden collapse the sergeant-major shrieked with rage and
terror, swearing loudly at us. We were none of us hurt, however, and
the Liègeois began to sing and dance afresh.
We had not the strength to get out again. Ice was everywhere under
the snow, and when we got away from the dead bodies, it was too
slippery to walk. If a company of Westphalians had not passed at
that moment, there we should have stayed. They threw us ropes at
first, but our hands were too much frozen to hold them. At last they
put down the side of a cart, making a kind of ladder, and they
helped us to mount by it. The fall had sobered the Liègeois and me
a little. We rejoined the regiment, which had halted near a wood,
and resumed our march. A mile farther on we met Prince Eugène,
the vice-King of Italy, at the head of a small number of officers and
a few Grenadiers of the Royal Guard, grouped round their colours.
They were completely exhausted with fatigue. We made a good
distance on that day, leaving a great many far behind. We found a
deserted village, where we slept, and plenty of straw to lie down in.
Horseflesh we had in abundance, but no saucepans to stew it or
make soup in. We were therefore obliged, as on the preceding days,
to eat some of the meat roasted; but at least we could sleep under
shelter and make fires. During the night I was obliged to go out into
the air several times, as I was quite unaccustomed to the heat of the
houses.
 ON THE ROAD BETWEEN BRAUNSBERG AND ELBING, DECEMBER
21, 1812.
From a sketch made at the time by an officer of Napoleon's army.
The figure with the sword under the arm is Napoleon in the costume
worn during the Russian campaign.
On the next day we started early; this was December 2nd. My fever
came on again, and my legs almost gave way under me, so that
after an hour's march I found myself behind the others. I went
through a small village filled with stragglers, but I passed through
without stopping. A little further on I saw large numbers of men
gathered outside some houses busy roasting horseflesh. General
Maison passed by and stopped, telling everyone to follow him if they
wished to escape the Russian cavalry, now not far off. Most of the
men, however, were too much famished and too demoralized to
listen; they would not leave their fires till they had eaten, and many
of them were prepared to defend the piece of meat they held
against the enemy. I went on my way. Further on I met several men
of my company, and begged them not to leave me; they promised
me they would follow me anywhere—that they were quite indifferent
where they went. In the evening we stopped near a wood for the
night. Already several men from different corps were there,
especially of the Italian army, and a few Grenadiers of the 1st
regiment of the Guard, of whom I asked news of Picart. They said
they had seen him the day before, but that he seemed quite mad,
and they thought his brain was affected.
I had never till now thought of looking in poor Gros-Jean's knapsack,
which he had given me at the Bérézina bridge. Now, as I felt certain
he could not return, I opened it before two men of our company
who were with me, and were, moreover, in his squadron. I found
nothing of any importance, except a handkerchief containing
oatmeal mixed with rye. One of the men happening to have a
saucepan lid, we cooked the meal. I also found an old pair of shoes,
but there was not a shirt, of which I was in great need; the rest was
quite useless to me.
There was, fortunately, a great deal of wood about, so we made a
large fire. The cold was endurable while the night lasted, but in the
morning (the 3rd) a north wind got up, bringing with it twenty
degrees of frost. We were forced to begin our march, as it was
impossible to remain still. We started after eating some horseflesh,
just following in the steps of those who walked before us, who knew
no more than we did where they were, or in what direction they
were going. The sun shone brilliantly, and the cold decreased a little;
so we made good progress, stopping every now and then at houses
with deserted bivouac fires. As far as I can remember, we slept in a
posting-station.
The sun which we had enjoyed the day before was the forerunner of
a terrible frost. I cannot write of this day, for I truly do not know
how I got through it. When my comrades spoke to me, I answered
as if I were mad. The cold was intolerable. Many took the first road
they came to, in the hope of finding houses of some kind as shelter.
We lost our way at last in following some Poles, who were going to
Varsovia. One of them who spoke French assured me that we were
more than a league from the road to Wilna. We tried to retrace our
steps, and we lost ourselves again. We met three officers, followed
by more than a hundred unfortunate men from different corps and
of different nations, half dead with cold and want. When they heard
from us that they were lost, many of them cried like children.
We were now near a pine-wood, so we decided to bivouac there
with the men we had met. They had a horse, which we killed and
divided amongst us. Two fires were made, and everyone cooked his
meat at the point of his sword or a stick. When we had finished our
meal, we gathered round the fires, and arranged that a quarter of
the number should keep watch, as we feared we might be taken by
the Russians, who were following the army on both sides of the
road. An hour later the snow began to fall, and a high wind got up,
driving us under the shelters we had made. The wind grew furious,
driving the snow into the shelters, and entirely preventing us from
sleeping, though we wanted it badly enough. I slept, however,
seated on my knapsack, with my fur-lined collar on my head to keep
off the snow. How many times during this miserable night I longed
for my bearskin coat!
I did not sleep long, as a violent gust of wind carried away the
shelter. I and my two men were forced to walk about to keep
ourselves from freezing. When the dawn came at last, we set out on
our march, leaving seven men behind in the bivouac, three of whom
were already dead, and four unconscious.
At about eight o'clock we reached the high road, and after countless
difficulties we arrived at Molodetschno at three in the afternoon,
amid a rabble of men of all corps, especially of the army of Italy. The
Emperor had slept here. We tried to find shelter for the night in
some barn or stable, but found we were too late. We had to be
content with a half-burnt house with no roof, and three-quarters
filled with men already; but we considered ourselves lucky in getting
any kind of shelter against the fearful cold, which went on increasing
until we got to Wilna.
I heard later that it was from this place that the Emperor despatched
his twenty-ninth bulletin, which caused such a sensation in France,
announcing the destruction of our army. It was broad daylight when
we started on the 5th. Mechanically we followed 10,000 men in front
of us, marching in confusion, without knowing where they went. We
crossed several marshes, where we should have all probably sunk
and perished, but for the severe frost. Those who lagged behind
were in no danger of losing their way, for the numbers of fallen men
on the road served as guides. We arrived the next day at Brenitza.
The Emperor had slept there, and had already left. This day we were
more fortunate. I was able to buy a little flour, and we made some
hasty-pudding; but we had not the luck to find a roofless house
again, and were obliged to spend the night in the street. It was so
bitterly cold that we got no sleep. The next morning we set off for
Smorgony. The road was full of officers of different corps, and the
remnants of the Doomed Squadron and Battalion, wrapped in worn-
out furs, and half-burnt garments. Some had not even these, having,
no doubt, parted with them for their friends. Many of them walked
leaning on sticks, their beards and hair a mass of ice; others, no
longer able to walk, looked vainly at the miserable men passing
along the road, trying to find some part of the regiments they had
commanded a fortnight before, and get help or an arm to lean on. It
was all over, I fear, with those who could not walk.
The roads were like battlefields, there were so many dead bodies;
but as the snow fell all the time, the horror of the sight was
softened. We had lost all sense of pity, besides; we were insensible
even to our own sufferings, let alone those of others. The men who
fell imploring help were not listened to. Thus we arrived at
Smorgony, on the 6th. On entering the town, we heard that the
Emperor had left the evening before, at ten o'clock, for France,
leaving the command of the army to King Murat. Many of the
foreigners took advantage of this circumstance to blame the
Emperor, but the step he took was a perfectly natural one, as, owing
to Malet's conspiracy, his presence was necessary in France, not only
for the administration, but to organize a new army. Amongst the
numbers of dying men constantly arriving were others who were
well dressed and vigorous, evidently foreigners, and these all
exclaimed loudly at the Emperor's conduct. I have often thought
since that these men were agents from England, come to create
disaffection in the army.
In the crowd I lost one of the men who had been with me, but I had
no time to look for him, I was so afraid of losing shelter for the
night. Seeing an officer from Baden, who belonged to the garrison of
the town, I followed him with my other man. He went to a Jew's
house where he was quartered, and, seeing us after him, made no
objection to our entrance. We sat down near a warm stove. One
must go through the misery and suffering we had experienced to
understand the delight of being in a warm house and having the
prospect of a good night.
In the same room there was a young officer on the staff, ill with
fever and lying on a wretched sofa. He told me that he had been ill
ever since Orcha, and as he could go no farther, there was probably
an end of him, as he would certainly be taken by the Russians. 'God
knows,' he said, 'what will come of it, and what my poor mother will
say when she learns!'
The Baden officer, who could speak French, tried to comfort him by
saying that he would get him a horse for his sledge, as his own was
dead. He promised soup and meat to us, but during the night he left
with the rest of the garrison. The poor officer grew worse, and was
delirious all night, and as for us, we got neither soup nor meat. We
had only a few onions and some nuts the Jew had sold us, dearly
enough, but the shelter was well worth the money.
After our rest we set out early on the 7th, as quietly as possible, so
that the young officer might not hear us, as we could not possibly do
anything for him. There were very few people on the road, and after
a time we rested near a ruined barn. After half an hour, the column
of the Imperial Guard came in sight; the fragment of our regiment
was there, marching in as much order as possible. I joined their
ranks. When we halted, they asked me, in an indifferent way, if I
had found any food during the four days I had been away. When I
told them I had nothing, they turned their backs to me, cursing and
banging the butts of their muskets on the ground.
We continued our march, and got to Joupranouï very late; almost all
the houses here were burnt, and the rest deserted, without roofs or
doors. We huddled together as best we could, and as there was
plenty of horseflesh, I cooked some ready for the next day.
On the 8th it was late when we started, but the cold was so intense
that the men set fire to the houses to warm themselves. All the
houses contained unfortunate soldiers, many of whom had not the
strength to save themselves, and perished in the flames.
In the middle of the day we got to a small town the name of which I
have forgotten. They told us that distributions of rations were to be
made here, but we soon heard that the shops had been pillaged
before our arrival, and that the people who had charge of the
distributions had got away, and the commissaries also. We continued
our route, therefore, striding over the dead and dying on our way.
When we halted near a wood, one of the men of our company
caught sight of a horse, and we gathered round to kill him, and each
take some of the flesh; but as we had no knives or hatchets to cut
it, we killed it for the sake of the blood, which we collected in a
saucepan taken from a German cantinière. Finding a deserted
bivouac fire, we began to cook the blood, putting some powder in it
for seasoning, but it was only half done when we caught sight of a
legion of Cossacks. We had just time to eat it as it was, and this we
had to do from our hands, so that our faces and clothes were
covered with blood. We were ghastly objects to look at.
This halt, caused by some difficulty with the artillery, had gathered
together more than 30,000 men of all nations, making a spectacle
impossible to describe. We started off again, and reached a large
village three or four leagues from Wilna. I recognised the village for
the same we had stayed at five months before, in going from Wilna
to Moscow. Here I had lost a trophy, that is to say, a little box
containing rings, hair necklaces, and portraits of the mistresses I had
had in all the countries I had visited. I was much grieved at losing
my collection. On the 9th we left Wilna, in twenty-eight degrees of
frost.[56] Scarcely 2,000 arrived at Wilna, out of two divisions of
more than 10,000. These, both French and Neapolitans, had joined
us during the last two days. This enormous number was lost during
this terrible journey. The men were well clothed, and wanted for
nothing but food. They had left good quarters in Lithuania and
Pomerania only a few days before. When they came they were filled
with pity for our condition, but in two days they were worse off than
we. They were less demoralized, and at first they tried to help each
other; but when they saw what deprivation this meant, they grew as
selfish as all the others, officers and privates alike.
I had plucked up a little courage in the hope of soon getting to
Wilna, where we should have abundant food. I should call the efforts
we made superhuman. This terrible cold was more than I had ever
felt before. I was almost fainting, and we seemed to walk through
an atmosphere of ice. How often in the dreadful time did I long for
my bearskin cloak, which had saved me so often in cold like this! I
could hardly breathe: my nose felt frozen; my lips were glued
together; my eyes streamed, dazzled by the snow. I was forced to
stop and cover my face with my fur collar to melt the ice. In this
style I got to a barn where there was a fire burning, and where one
could breathe a little. In all the buildings we passed were
unfortunate men not able to get any further, and waiting there to
die.
Now we could see the spires and roofs of Wilna. I tried to hurry on
to get there amongst the first, but the old Chasseurs of the Guard
prevented me. They blocked up the road in such a manner that no
one could pass them without marching in order. These veterans,
with ice hanging to their beards and moustaches, marched on,
controlling their own sufferings to keep order in the ranks; but this
order it was impossible to maintain. Once in the outskirts of the
town, everything was in confusion. At the door of a house I saw one
of my old friends of the Grenadiers lying dead. They had arrived an
hour before us. A house was chosen for our battalion, and a
distribution of beef was made. We had not the sense to put it all
together and make soup. We each fell on our allowance like wild
beasts, every man cooking or warming it as he could, and some
even devouring it raw. One of my friends named Poton, who was a
Breton gentleman, and a sergeant in my company, waited
impatiently for his piece, about half a pound. As he was a short
distance off, it was thrown to him. He caught it with both hands, like
a cat, and began eating it convulsively, in spite of everything we
could do to prevent him. He was incapable of seeing anything but
the meat before him.
Soon afterwards I went into the town to see if I could not buy some
bread and a little brandy. But the doors were almost all shut and
bolted. The inhabitants, although our friends, had taken fright on
seeing fifty or sixty thousand famished men, most of whom looked
imbecile or mad. Many of our men had rushed about like lunatics,
knocking at all the doors and shops, but had been refused, as the
contractors wished to do everything in order. This was impossible, as
order did not exist.
I soon saw that I could not get what I wanted, and was about to go
back to my quarters, when I heard my name called. I turned round,
and to my great surprise saw Picart, who threw himself on my neck,
crying with joy. He had come across the regiment twice since we
passed the Bérézina, but they had assured him that I was dead or
taken prisoner. He said he had some flour, which I should share with
him; and as for brandy, he would take me to his Jew, who would
furnish me with that, and perhaps bread as well. I begged him to
take me there while we were waiting for the distribution of rations.
This we were sure to have later, as the shops were full.
I shall never forget the curious effect an inhabited house had on me.
It seemed to me years since I had seen one. Picart gave me a little
brandy, which I had great difficulty in swallowing. I then bought a
bottle for twenty francs, which I carefully stowed away in my
haversack. As to bread, I must wait for that till evening. For fifty
days I had not tasted any, and it seemed that if only I could eat a
little I should forget all my miseries. The Jew told me that the men
who had arrived first in the morning had devoured everything. He
advised us not to leave his house, even to sleep there, and that he
would undertake to get us everything we wanted, also to prevent
others from coming in. Taking his advice, I settled down to rest on a
bench near the stove.
I asked Picart how it happened that he was on such friendly terms
with the Jew, as I noticed they treated him as a member of the
family. He said that he had passed himself off as the son of a
Jewess, and that during the fortnight we had spent in the town in
July he had attended their synagogue with them, and in
consequence of this he had always got some schnapps to drink and
some nuts to crack.
I had not laughed for long enough, but I burst out into a roar at this,
until the blood poured down my lips. Picart went on with his funny
stories, until suddenly we heard a rattle of artillery, and our host
came hurriedly in. He looked dazed, and could not speak. At last he
said that he had seen some Bavarian soldiers, followed by Cossacks,
enter by the same gate at which we had come in.
The garrison of the town just then sounded the call. When Picart
heard it, he seized his arms and came up to where I sat, unwilling to
move.
'Come, mon pays,' he said, striking me on the shoulder; 'we belong
to the Imperial Guard, and should be the first to go. We must not let
these savages eat our bread. If you have strength, follow me, and
we'll join with fellows who'll turn out these rascals.'
I followed Picart. A few men ran to join they hardly knew what, but
a great number walked off as far as they could get, and the most
part, quite indifferent to everything, paid no attention to what was
going on.
When we got near the gate leading to the faubourg, we met a
detachment of Grenadiers and Chasseurs of the Guard. Picart left me
to take his proper place, and as I saw a few of our men following,
and also some officers, I followed also, without knowing who
commanded us or where we were going. We went up a mountain
without any pretence of order, each one going as he could; many fell
and remained behind. We had climbed, perhaps, two-thirds of the
height—and I was astonished at having got so far—when I fell; and
although helped up by a Lithuanian peasant, I could hardly rise. I
begged the man not to leave me, and to secure his services I gave
him about four francs in Russian money and some brandy in the little
cup I still kept. The peasant was so delighted that I believe he would
have carried me on his back. We went on over ground covered with
dead men and horses. There were a great many firearms lying
about. My peasant picked up a carbine and some cartridges, saying
that he wished to fight the Russians himself. After great difficulty we
at last reached the top of the mountain, where the Prussians were
already fighting. Two hundred men, three-parts belonging to the
Guard, were facing the enemy, consisting of cavalry, many of whom
were scouts. As the Bavarians had in retreating left some men
behind them, with two pieces of artillery, two discharges of grape-
shot were sufficient to disperse them. As the position was untenable
on account of the cold, we faced about to return to the town, where
the greatest disorder prevailed. The garrison, almost entirely
composed of foreigners, was in a state of panic. Some were
preparing to leave the town, loading carts, sledges, and horses. On
all sides we heard cries of 'Who has seen my horse?' 'Where has my
cart got to?' 'Stop the man who is off with my sledge.' This disorder
was mainly caused by the thieves who had followed us all through
the retreat, and of whom I have spoken before. Now, seeing a good
opportunity, they took advantage of it by seizing carts, horses, and
sledges loaded with provisions, gold, and silver. The arrangements
for departure were made by the commissariat, contractors, and
other army employés, who now were making common cause with
us. The thieves thus fled along the Kowno road, sure of not being
pursued.
On entering the faubourg, I avoided the house where our battalion
was quartered. I had two reasons for going into the town: firstly, for
the bread I was to share with Picart; secondly, to let him know that I
had taken part in the little expedition which had beaten the
Russians. I ran to the right to find Picart, but to my surprise I was
told that he had taken the first turning to the left, with ten other
Grenadiers and Chasseurs, to be on guard for Murat. Murat had just
left the town for the faubourg on the Kowno road.
I decided to look for him at Murat's quarters. On the way I passed
the house where Marshal Ney was staying. Several Grenadiers of the
line were before the door, warming themselves by a large fire, which
gave me a terrible longing to be there, too. Seeing how wretched I
looked, they made room for me. Many of them were quite strong
and well dressed. When I showed my surprise at their appearance,
they said they had not been as far as Moscow; they had been
wounded at the siege of Smolensk, and left at Wilna, where they
had remained ever since. Now they were well again and fit for
fighting. I asked them if they could get me some bread. They
answered as the Jew had done—that if I would return that evening,
or stay with them, they were certain that I should have some. But,
as I was obliged to go back to the battalion, I told the Grenadiers
that I would return, and that I would give five francs for each loaf.
Before leaving them, they told me that just before I arrived a
German General had come to the Marshal, and had advised him to
leave if he did not wish to be surprised by the Russians; but the
Marshal had replied, pointing to a hundred Grenadiers warming
themselves in the courtyard, that with those he could afford to laugh
at all the Cossacks in Russia, and that he would sleep in the town.
I asked how many there were in the Marshal's body-guard.
'About sixty,' answered a drummer sitting on his drum; 'and another
sixty we found here well and fit. I have been with the Marshal ever
since the crossing of the Dnieper, and with him at our back we can
manage those dogs of Cossacks. Coquin de Dieu!' he said, 'if it were
not so cold, and if I hadn't frozen hands, I would sound the attack
myself all day to-morrow.'
I returned to the faubourg, and found all my comrades asleep on the
floor. There was a large fire, and the room was warm, and as I was
completely worn out, I lay down with them.
It might be perhaps two o'clock in the morning when I awoke, and
as I had now missed the rendezvous I had given the Marshal's
Grenadiers, I told my comrades that I was going to the town to get
some bread, and that now was a favourable time, as all the soldiers
would be asleep; and, besides, I had some Russian bank-notes.
Several of them tried to get up and go with me, but could not do so.
Only one, Bailly, a sergeant, succeeded in rising, and the others gave
us their money, amounting to about fifty francs.
It was a beautiful moonlight night, but when we were in the street it
felt so bitterly cold that it would not have taken much to send us
back into the house.
We met no one in the faubourg. At the gates of the town there was
no sentry. The Russians could have got in as easily as we did. When
we were opposite the first house on the left, I caught sight of a light
through the entrance to the cellar, and, stooping down, I saw it was
a bakehouse, and that bread was being made. The smell had made
us aware of it before. My comrade knocked, and they asked us what
we wanted. We answered: 'Open the door! We are Generals!' They
opened at once, and we went in. They took us into a large room,
where a number of officers were lying on the floor. They did not
trouble to ask us if we were really what we pretended to be. For
some time past it had been hardly possible to distinguish an officer
from a private.
A very fat woman was standing against the cellar door, so we asked
her if she had any bread to sell. She said no, it was not baked yet;
we might go down to the cellar and see for ourselves. An officer
lying on some straw, wrapped in a great cloak, got up and went
down with us. Two bakers were there fast asleep, and looking all
round, we could see nothing; and we began to think that the woman
had spoken the truth, when on stooping down I saw under a
kneading-trough a large basket, which I drew out. In it we found
seven large loaves of white bread, weighing three or four pounds
each, as good as those made in Paris. What luck! What a glorious
find for men who had had no bread for fifty days! I began by taking
possession of two, which I put under my arm and my cape. My
comrade did the same, and the officer took the three others. This
officer was Fouché, a Grenadier-Vélite, then an Adjutant-Major in a
regiment of the Young Guard, and a Major-General. We came out of
the cellar, and found the woman still standing at the door. We said
that we would return in the morning when the bread was baked, and
she was so anxious to get rid of us that she opened the door, and
we found ourselves in the street.[57]
As soon as ever we were free, we dropped our muskets into the
snow, and began to bite into the loaves voraciously; but, as my lips
were cracked and bleeding, I could not open my mouth as
comfortably as I wished. Just then two men came up to us, asking if
we had nothing to sell or exchange, and we saw that they were
Jews. I told them that we had Russian bank-notes for a hundred
roubles each, and asked how much they would give.
'Fifty,' said the first in German. 'Fifty-five,' said the other. 'Sixty,' went
on the first.
He ended by offering us seventy-seven, and I made the condition
that they should give us some café-au-lait. They consented. The
second then came behind me and said, 'Eighty!' But the price was
concluded, and, as the man had promised us coffee, we did not wish
to bargain over again for twenty francs at most.
The Jew now conducted us to a banker, as he was only an agent.
The banker was also a Jew. He asked us at once for our notes, of
which we had to give nine; three of them belonged to me. He looked
very closely at them, and passed into another room, while we sat
down on a bench to wait, furtively handling our bread.
Our longing for the coffee promised us overcame our patience, and
we called out for the banker. No one appeared. The idea suddenly
came to us that we were going to be robbed. I said as much to my
comrade, who thought so too. To compel attention, therefore, he
struck their counter as hard as he could with the butt of his musket.
As no one came to this summons either, he knocked against a
wooden partition dividing the two rooms. The Jews came out,
looking as if they were plotting something together. After again
asking for our money, we were told to wait; but my comrade loaded
his musket before their eyes, and I took one of them by the throat,
demanding our notes. When they were convinced that we should
make a scene to their disadvantage, they hastily counted out our
money, the most part of it in gold. We took hold of the man who had
led us to the place, and forced him to leave with us; but as soon as
we were in the street he swore that what had occurred was no fault
of his. We thought it better to believe him in view of the coffee he
had promised us, and he took us to his house.
After our meal, my comrade wished to go back to the faubourg; but
I felt so tired, and even ill, that I decided to stay where I was till the
next day, thinking myself safe with two Bavarian cavalrymen. So I
lay down on a sofa—perhaps it might be five o'clock in the morning.
I had only been resting about half an hour, when I was seized with
the most violent colic, after which I was terribly sick, and continued
so ill that I felt sure the Jew had poisoned me. I thought I must die,
as I was so weak as to be unable to get to the bottle of brandy in
my knapsack. I begged one of the Bavarians to give me some, and
after that I felt better; so I lay down again on the sofa and dozed
off. I do not know how long I slept, but when I awoke I discovered
that my bread had gone. Only a very small piece was left, which,
fortunately, I had put in my haversack, along with the bottle of
brandy, and hung at my side. My Rabbi's cap had also disappeared,
so, too, had the Bavarians. That, however, was not what distressed
me the most, but my own position, which was a dreadful one;
besides my colic and sickness, my right foot was frozen, and my
wound had reopened. The first joint on the middle finger of my right
hand was on the point of dropping off, and the terrible cold of the
preceding day had poisoned my foot to such a degree that I could
not get my boot on. I was forced to wrap it up in rags, after rubbing
it over with the grease the Poles had given me, and a piece of
sheepskin over all, which I tied on with string. The same process I
repeated with my right hand.
I was about to go out, when the Jew asked me to stay, saying that
he had some rice to sell. I bought some, thinking it would stop my
complaint. I begged him to get me some sort of pot to cook it in,
and he fetched me a little copper pan; I tied this and my boot to the
knapsack, and after giving the man ten francs I went out.
As soon as I was in the street, I heard despairing cries, and I saw a
woman weeping over a dead body at the door of a house. She
stopped me, asking me to help her to get back what had been taken
from her.
'I have been staying in this house since yesterday,' she said, 'with
these scoundrels of Jews. My husband was very ill. During the night
they took everything we had, and this morning I went out to get
help. As I saw I should get none anywhere, I came back to nurse my
poor husband; but when I arrived, imagine my horror at seeing his
corpse at the door! The villains had taken advantage of my absence
to assassinate him. Oh, monsieur,' she went on, 'do not leave me!
Come with me!'
I said that was impossible, but the best thing she could do now was
to join those who were leaving the town. She made a gesture with
her hand to say she could not do it; and, as I had heard several
musket-shots, I had to leave the unfortunate woman and go in the
direction of Kowno. I got into a crowd of 10,000 men, women, and
children all hurrying and thrusting past each other to get out first.
As chance would have it, I met a Captain of the Young Guard
belonging to my own part of the country.[58] He had with him his
Lieutenant, his servant, and a wretched horse. The Captain had no
company left; his regiment had ceased to exist. I told him all my
misfortunes, and he gave me a little tea and a piece of sugar, but
directly afterwards a vast number of people coming after us
separated us.
A drummer was beating the retreat at the head of the first crowd,
very likely a detachment of the garrison I had not seen. We marched
on for half an hour, and arrived at the end of the faubourg; then we
could breathe a little, and each one walk as he would. When I got
outside the town, I could not help thinking of the state of our army:
five months before it entered the Lithuanian capital, proud and
rejoicing; now it went out, fugitive and miserable.
 FOOTNOTES:
[56] Many people said thirty or thirty-two degrees.—Author's
Note.
[57] Since then I have seen General Fouché, and, on my
reminding him of this episode at Wilna, he told me that, after
going out, he was nearly assassinated by the people of the
house, who tried to make him pay for what we had taken.—
Author's Note.
[58] M. Débonnez, from Condé, killed at Waterloo.—Author's
Note.

CHAPTER X.
FROM WILNA TO KOWNO—THE REGIMENTAL DOG—MARSHAL NEY
—THE TREASURY OF THE ARMY—I AM POISONED—THE
THIEVES' DRIPPING—THE OLD GRENADIER, FALOPPA—
GENERAL ROGUET—FROM KOWNO TO ELBING—TWO
CANTINIÈRES—THE ADVENTURES OF A SERGEANT—I FIND
PICART AGAIN—THE SLEDGE AND THE JEWS—A SHREW—
EYLAU—ARRIVAL AT ELBING.
We were only a quarter of a league from the town, when we saw the
Cossacks to our left upon the heights, and to our right on the plain;
however, they did not dare venture within reach of us. After having
marched for some time, I found the horse of an officer of artillery
stretched on the ground; it had a schabraque of sheepskin on its
back. This was just what I wanted to cover my poor ears, for it
would have been impossible for me to go any distance without
risking the loss of them. I had in my haversack the scissors
belonging to the surgeon's case found on the Cossack I had killed on
November 23rd. I tried to set to work to cut some of it away, and
make what we called ear-lappets to replace the Rabbi's cap; but
having my right hand frozen, and the other benumbed, I could not
manage it. I was in despair, when a man belonging to the garrison
of Wilna came up. He was stronger than I, and succeeded in cutting
the band fastening the schabraque to the horse; then he gave me
half of it. Until I could arrange it better, I put it over my head and
continued my way.
I now heard cannon, and then musketry fire; it was the rear-guard
leaving the town, with Marshal Ney in command, engaging the
Russians. Those who were no longer able to fight ran as fast as they
possibly could. I tried to follow them, but my frozen foot and bad
boots prevented me; then the colic, which came on repeatedly, and
forced me to stop, hindered me, and I found myself always in the
rear. I heard a confused sound behind me, and I was hustled by
several men of the Rhine Confederation running off as fast as they
could. I fell full length in the snow, and immediately several others
passed over my body. I raised myself with great difficulty, for I was
in great pain; but I was so accustomed to suffering, I said nothing.
The rear-guard was not far off—if it passed me I was lost; but the
Marshal called a halt, to give the other men still leaving the town
time to join us. To hold the enemy in check, the Marshal had with
him about 300 men.
In front of me was a man whom I recognised by his cloak as
belonging to the regiment. He was walking very much bent,
apparently overwhelmed by the weight of a burden he was carrying
upon his knapsack and shoulders. Making an effort to get near him,
I saw that the burden was a dog, and that the man was an old
sergeant named Daubenton.[59] The dog he carried was the
regimental dog, though I did not recognise it. I told him how
surprised I was at seeing him carrying the dog, when he had trouble
to drag himself along; and, without giving him the time to reply, I
asked him if the dog was to eat—if so, I should prefer the horse.
'No,' he answered; 'I would rather eat Cossack. But don't you
recognise Mouton? His paws are frozen, and now he can't walk any
longer.'
'Now I do,' I said; 'but what can you do with him?'
As we walked, Mouton, whose back I had patted with my bandaged
right hand, raised his head to look at me, and seemed to recognise
me. Daubenton assured me that from seven in the morning, and
even before, the Russians had occupied the first houses of the
suburb where we had lodged, that all that remained of the Guard
had left it at six, and that it was certain that more than 12,000 men
of the army, officers and soldiers who were no longer able to march,
had remained in the hands of the enemy. He had just missed
submitting to the same fate himself through devotion to his dog. He
saw very well that he would be obliged to leave him on the way in
the snow. The evening of the day when we had arrived at Wilna—at
twenty-eight degrees—the poor dog had had his paws frozen, and
this morning, seeing that he could walk no longer, he had made up
his mind to leave him; but poor Mouton got an idea that he was to
be deserted, for he began to howl in such a way that in the end he
decided to let him follow. But hardly had he taken six steps along
the street when he saw his unfortunate dog fall upon his nose; so he
fastened him across his shoulders over his knapsack, and it was in
this fashion that he had rejoined Marshal Ney, who with a handful of
men formed the rear-guard.
Whilst still marching, we found ourselves stopped by an overturned
waggon barring part of the way; it was open, and contained canvas
bags, but all these were empty. This waggon had probably left Wilna
the preceding evening or in the morning, and had been pillaged by
the way, for it had been laden with biscuits and flour. I proposed to
Daubenton to halt a moment, for my colic had come on again; he
consented willingly, especially as he wished to rid himself of Mouton
in one way or another.
We had hardly stopped, when we saw at the back of a ravine a troop
of about thirty young Hessians who had formed part of the garrison
of Wilna, and had left there at daybreak. They were waiting for
Marshal Ney, about thirty paces away from us, and ahead of us to
the right. At the same moment we saw on our left another troop of