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 skins of cats and dogs; Grenadiers were to be seen in large sheepskins. Cuirassiers wearing women's dresses of coloured baize, like Spanish mantles. Few had helmets or shakos; they wore every kind of head-dress, coloured and white nightcaps like the peasants, drawn low over their faces, a handkerchief or a bit of fur as a protection to their ears, and handkerchiefs also over the lower part of their face; and yet the ears and noses of most were frost-bitten or fiery red, and their dark eyes were almost extinguished in their cavities. Few had either shoe or boot; fortunate was he who could go through that miserable march with felt socks or large fur shoes, and the feet of many were enveloped in straw, rags, the covering of knapsacks, or the felt of an old hat. All tottered, supported by sticks, lame and limping. The Guards even were little different from the rest; their mantles were scorched, only their bear-skin caps gave them still a military aspect. Thus did officers and soldiers, one with another, crawl along with bent heads, in a state of gloomy stupefaction. All had become forms of horror from hunger, frost, and indescribable misery.