None could flatter himself that his courage and strength would suffice so
that he would be able to withstand privations and sufferings beyond human
endurance. Italians, Portuguese, Spaniards, those from the temperate and
southern parts of France, obliged to brave an austere climate unknown to
them, directed their thoughts toward their country and with good reasons
regretted the beauty of the heaven, the softness of the air of the
regions of their birth.
Nostalgia was common.... The army was but three days from Smolensk when the
heavens became dark, and snow began to fall in great flakes, in such a
quantity that the air was obscured. The cold was then felt with extreme
severity; the northern wind blew impetuously into the faces of the soldiers
and incommoded many who were no longer able to see. They strayed, fell into
the snow--above all, when night surprised them--and thus miserably
perished.
Disbanded regiments were reduced to almost nothing by the loss of men
continually left behind either on the roads or in the bivouacs.
Of the days of Smolensk he writes: In the streets one met with none but
sick and wounded men asking for hospitals, soldiers of every sort, of every
nation, going and coming, some of them trying to find a place where
provisions were sold or distributed; others taciturn, incapable of any
effort, absorbed by grief, half dead with cold, awaiting their last hour.
On all sides there were complaints and groans, dead and dying soldiers, all
of which presented a picture that was still further darkened by the ruinous
aspect of the city.
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