292 J Day at the Head-Quarters ^f the Russian Army, ^c. [Sept. 



single blow, and she is prostrate in the dust." My own opinion was too 

 much in unison with that of my Russian friend, to admit of an argument. 

 I merely, therefore, observed, that so short a campaign held out but little 

 hopes of promotion. — " I should agree with you," said the count, " could 

 I persuade myself that the possession of Warsaw will terminate our 

 labours, but our forward movement will not stop there ; the month of 

 May will see Sabalkansky on the Rhine, and then, but a short campaign, 

 and the belles of Paris will, once more, behold the fires of the Russian 

 bivouacs." — " So, then, according to your political horoscope, we may 

 expect that the fierce struggle, which has so long devastated Europe, 

 will be repeated over again. But, mon cher Compte, with what eye do 

 you think that England, the arbiter gcnliarum, will view these hostile 

 movements." — " With the eye of neutrality, mo)i ami, while your aristo- 

 cracy will view, with complacency, our attempt to root up those noxious 

 principles which have again bloomed on the soil of France. — But I am no 

 politician," he continued ; " and if I were, I have no time to discuss 

 this matter at present. The post of aide-de-camp is, I assure you, no 

 sinecure — in two days we break up our quarters; — take my advice, and 

 break up yours also — get out of Poland as quick as possible ; avoid the 

 track of our army ; for, believe me, a foreigner and idler, at our head- 

 quarters, may excite suspicion. Your arrival has already given rise to a 

 host of idle conjectures." I profited by his advice, left early the follow- 

 ing morning, and reached Vienna in safety. i Jfiri 



Near a year has rolled away since I left Lomza. Poland still shews 

 an unconquered front — the cholera has dissipated the ambitious dreams of 

 Diebitch Sabalkansky — while my friend, who, in the noon-tide of youth 

 and military ardour, so confidently predicted a different result to the 

 campaign, perished on the bloody field of Ostrolenka. 



The Polish campaign has confirmed the truth of that profound obser- 

 vation of Napoleon's, that, in war, the moral is to the physical force, 

 as three parts to one — still, it is not to the powerful development of this 

 force that the Poles entirely owe their success — Fortune, which rules 

 in war, has powerfully befriended them. Count Deibitch's plan of cam- 

 paign was well-conceived — every chance was nicely calculated, and due 

 weight given to the fierce resistance which the Poles would offer ; and 

 yet it failed from accidents, too capricious to be guarded against, and which 

 may baffle the finest combinations. The rapid and unexpected thaw, 

 which destroyed the roads, not only impeded the advance of his co- 

 lumns, but prevented his supplies from coming up, and ruined his army. 

 The elements proved as fatal to Diebitch as to Napoleon, while the 

 wretched administration of the Russian commissariat consummated the 

 evil. 



If we measure the operations of Count Diebitch by the rules of the 

 military art, we shall find that fortune, as Livy so finely remarked of 

 Hannibal, took a malicious pleasure in confounding, at once, his good 

 sense, his military skill, and his bravery. 



