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Authors: Josef Holub
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after all.
Two wagons loaded with oats and corn, fifty cows and fifty sheep, and all sorts of other supplies are requisitioned by our forage troop.
The blond girl gives the lieutenant her hand to say good-bye, and then me. Me longer. Was that a bolt of lightning that went through our two hands? I could have died. That’s how lovely it felt. I am ashamed and feel happy. The lovely creature didn’t despise me, even with my low birth and in my filthy condition. I will never forget that girl’s eyes. They looked at me especially fondly. Me, just me.
War is marvelous.
The troop rides off, driving the animals ahead of us, on a way that skirts around the swamp, and back to the regiment.
The colonel promises medals to the lieutenant and the sergeant to reward them for their success.
13
The days come and go, suddenly it’s summer. With hot days, but very cold nights. With hunger and thirst. The requisitioned booty doesn’t last us long.
The troops have all come together. Now, thanks be to God, the
Grande Armée
is all there. When the Russian czar sees so many soldiers, he will be terrified and surrender immediately.
Russia is supposed to be somewhere ahead.
So it really exists — I wasn’t sure. Incredible, how big the world is. Bigger than the eye can see, the mass of riders and foot soldiers is advancing on the frontier. With musicians and drummers to set the pace. So much noise! The Russians must be fouling themselves in their panic.
I only hope the Russians don’t realize how Napoleon’s giant army is starving. Apparently, the baggage train has lost touch completely. The forage wagonsare creeping along somewhere, several days back. But out of reach. Or perhaps they don’t exist anymore, and they’re just a story to give the soldiers heart.
The troops are looting.
Every house and every barn near and far is gone over. Whatever’s not nailed down is dragged off by the thieves and housebreakers. The soldiers don’t care. They belong to the biggest army in the world. Who is going to stop them? Anything they’re not given, they take by force. They stick their heads into storehouses, granaries, larders, up chimney flues, they open the cow sheds, pull the carts out of the lean-tos, load them up with supplies, span a pair of stolen oxen in front, and drive the beasts away.
The local people are stripped of everything they own.
According to the rule book, looting is a serious offense. Punishable even by death, in certain circumstances. In the interests of morale. By that token, half the army should be stood against the wall. And of course that’s not going to happen. But the generals need a deterrent, before they go on to give the order for the next wave of looting themselves. And so they pick out two or three men who injured themselves in the course of trying to commit suicide. They won’t be missed, and perhaps it’s even doing them a favor. But first, they have to dig their own graves.
Up ahead is a very big river. Called the Niemen,according to one person. Someone else says, no, it’s the Memel. On the other side is Russia. Finally. The squadron commander rides past my lieutenant and mutters out of the side of his mouth: “Well, here’s Russia. Let’s hope we don’t get lost in that colossus.” With a very serious expression, he adds: “Russia’s much too big for us. This time, Napoleon’s bitten off more than he can chew. We should never have tangled with it.”
I would like to ask my lieutenant how big this Russia really is. It may be even bigger than the Holy Land. Even though the whole of the Bible happened there. But you don’t ask a lieutenant count questions just because you feel like it. Maybe I’ll ask a common soldier sometime, if I think of it.
The riders are unsettled.
“He’s supposed to be there.”
“Who?”
“Well, who do you think? Napoleon, of course! The greatest commander of all time leading the greatest army of all time.”
“One day, we’ll be able to boast to
Two wagons loaded with oats and corn, fifty cows and fifty sheep, and all sorts of other supplies are requisitioned by our forage troop.
The blond girl gives the lieutenant her hand to say good-bye, and then me. Me longer. Was that a bolt of lightning that went through our two hands? I could have died. That’s how lovely it felt. I am ashamed and feel happy. The lovely creature didn’t despise me, even with my low birth and in my filthy condition. I will never forget that girl’s eyes. They looked at me especially fondly. Me, just me.
War is marvelous.
The troop rides off, driving the animals ahead of us, on a way that skirts around the swamp, and back to the regiment.
The colonel promises medals to the lieutenant and the sergeant to reward them for their success.
13
The days come and go, suddenly it’s summer. With hot days, but very cold nights. With hunger and thirst. The requisitioned booty doesn’t last us long.
The troops have all come together. Now, thanks be to God, the
Grande Armée
is all there. When the Russian czar sees so many soldiers, he will be terrified and surrender immediately.
Russia is supposed to be somewhere ahead.
So it really exists — I wasn’t sure. Incredible, how big the world is. Bigger than the eye can see, the mass of riders and foot soldiers is advancing on the frontier. With musicians and drummers to set the pace. So much noise! The Russians must be fouling themselves in their panic.
I only hope the Russians don’t realize how Napoleon’s giant army is starving. Apparently, the baggage train has lost touch completely. The forage wagonsare creeping along somewhere, several days back. But out of reach. Or perhaps they don’t exist anymore, and they’re just a story to give the soldiers heart.
The troops are looting.
Every house and every barn near and far is gone over. Whatever’s not nailed down is dragged off by the thieves and housebreakers. The soldiers don’t care. They belong to the biggest army in the world. Who is going to stop them? Anything they’re not given, they take by force. They stick their heads into storehouses, granaries, larders, up chimney flues, they open the cow sheds, pull the carts out of the lean-tos, load them up with supplies, span a pair of stolen oxen in front, and drive the beasts away.
The local people are stripped of everything they own.
According to the rule book, looting is a serious offense. Punishable even by death, in certain circumstances. In the interests of morale. By that token, half the army should be stood against the wall. And of course that’s not going to happen. But the generals need a deterrent, before they go on to give the order for the next wave of looting themselves. And so they pick out two or three men who injured themselves in the course of trying to commit suicide. They won’t be missed, and perhaps it’s even doing them a favor. But first, they have to dig their own graves.
Up ahead is a very big river. Called the Niemen,according to one person. Someone else says, no, it’s the Memel. On the other side is Russia. Finally. The squadron commander rides past my lieutenant and mutters out of the side of his mouth: “Well, here’s Russia. Let’s hope we don’t get lost in that colossus.” With a very serious expression, he adds: “Russia’s much too big for us. This time, Napoleon’s bitten off more than he can chew. We should never have tangled with it.”
I would like to ask my lieutenant how big this Russia really is. It may be even bigger than the Holy Land. Even though the whole of the Bible happened there. But you don’t ask a lieutenant count questions just because you feel like it. Maybe I’ll ask a common soldier sometime, if I think of it.
The riders are unsettled.
“He’s supposed to be there.”
“Who?”
“Well, who do you think? Napoleon, of course! The greatest commander of all time leading the greatest army of all time.”
“One day, we’ll be able to boast to
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