And here,
almost within sight of Vilna, D'Arragon drove down a short hill
which must ever be historic. He drove slowly, for on either side
were gun-carriages deep sunken in the snow where the French had left
them. This hill marked the final degeneration of the Emperor's army
into a shapeless rabble hopelessly flying before an exhausted enemy.
Half on the road and half in the ditch were hundreds of carriages
which had been hurriedly smashed up to provide firewood. Carts,
still laden with the booty of Moscow, stood among the trees. Some
of them contained small square boxes of silver coin, brought by
Napoleon to pay his army and here abandoned. Silver coin was too
heavy to carry. The rate of exchange had long been sixty francs in
silver for a gold napoleon or a louis. The cloth coverings of the
cushions had been torn off to shape into rough garments; the straw
stuffing had been eaten by the horses.
Inside the carriages were--crouching on the floor--the frozen bodies
of fugitives too badly wounded or too ill to attempt to walk. They
had sat there till death came to them. Many were women. In one
carriage four women, in silks and fine linen, were huddled together.
Their furs had been dragged from them either before or after death.
Louis stopped at the bottom and looked back. De Casimir at all
events had succeeded in surmounting this obstacle which had proved
fatal to so many--the grave of so many hopes--God's rubbish-heap,
where gold and precious stones, silks and priceless furs, all that
greedy men had schemed and striven and fought to get, fell from
their hands at last.
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