erals. The gigantic power of the Emperor sank deep into all souls,
the military spectacle still filled the fancy with its splendour and
its terrors.

But there was also an undefined expectation of a fearful fate. For a
whole month did this endless passage of troops last; like locusts the
strangers consumed everything in the country, from Kolberg to Breslau.
There had been a failure of the harvest in 1811, scarcely had the
country-people been able to save the seed oats, and these were eaten in
1812 by the French war horses. They devoured the last blade of grass
and the last bundle of straw; the villagers had to pay sixteen thalers
for a shock of chopped straw, and two thalers for a hundredweight of
hay. And greedily as the animals, did the men consume; from the Marshal
down to the common French soldier, they were insatiable. King Jerome
had demanded for his maintenance at Glogau, a not very large town,
four hundred thalers daily. The Duke of Abrantes had for a month
seventy-five thalers daily; the officers obliged the wife of a poor
village pastor to cook their ham with red wine; they drank the richest
cream out of the pitchers, and poured essence of cinnamon over it; the
common soldiers, also, even to the drummer, blustered if they did not
have two courses at dinner. They ate like madmen. But even then the
people prognosticated that they would not so return. And they said so
themselves. When formerly they had marched to war with their Emperor
their horses had neighed whenever they were led from the stable, but
now they hung their heads sorrowfully; formerly the crows and ravens
flew the contrary way to the army of the Emperor, now these birds of
the battle-field accompanied the army to the east, expecting their
prey.[48]

But those who now returned came in a more pitiable condition than
anyone had dreamed of. It was a herd of poor wretches who had entered
upon their last journey--they were wandering corpses. A disorderly
multitude of all races and nations collected together; without a drum
or word of command, and silent as a funeral procession, they approached
the city. They were all without weapons or horses, none in perfect
uniform, their clothes, ragged and dirty, mended with patches from the
dress of peasants and their wives. They had hung over their heads and
shoulders whatever they could lay hands on, as a covering against the
deadly penetrating cold; old sacks, torn horse-clothes, carpets,
shawls, and the fresh