ldiers, who did not notice them, to whom they had no longer
any commands to give, and of whom they had nothing to expect, all ties
between them being dissolved, and all distinctions of rank obliterated
by the common misery.

It was, indeed, merely the shadow of an army, but it was the shadow of
the Grand Army. It felt conscious that nature alone had vanquished it.
The presence of Napoleon animated it. To him it had long been accustomed
to look, not for its means of support, but to lead it to victory. This
was its first unfortunate campaign, and it had had so many fortunate
ones: it only required to be able to follow him. He alone who had
elevated his soldiers so high, and now sunk them so low, was yet able to
save them. He was still, therefore, cherished in the heart of his army,
like hope in the heart of man.

Thus, amid so many beings who might have reproached him with their
misfortunes, he marched on without the least fear, speaking to one and
all without affectation, certain of being respected as long as glory
could command respect. Knowing perfectly that he belonged to us as much
as we to him, his renown being, as it were, common national property,
we should have sooner turned our arms against ourselves (which was the
case with many), as being a minor suicide, than against him.

Some of the men fell and died at his feet; and, though they were in the
most frightful delirium, their sufferings never gave its wanderings the
turn of reproach, but of entreaty. And in fact, did not he share the
common danger? Who of them all risked so much as he? Who had suffered
the greatest loss in this disaster?

If any imprecations were ever uttered, it was not in his presence; for
it seemed that, of all misfortunes, that of incurring his displeasure
was still the greatest: so rooted was their confidence in, and their
submission to, that man who had subjected the world to them; whose
genius, hitherto uniformly victorious and invincible, had assumed the
place of their free-will; and who, having had so long in his hands the
book of pensions, of rank, and of history, had found wherewithal to
satisfy not only covetous spirits, but also every generous heart.

At the close of the night of the 25th of November, Napoleon made them
sink the first trestle in the muddy bed of the Berezina River. But to
crown our misfortunes, the rising of the waters had made the traces of
the ford entirely disappear. It required the most incredible efforts o