It had already been drawn heavily upon for officers for other corps.
War was popularly supposed to be a thing of dashing adventure, of victory, and plunder.

It had been all that before.

Experience had thrust them all unprepared face to face with the naked reality of defeat, disease, weary marches over awful roads in freezing cold, in drifting snow, or in sodden mire.

They had no guns, they had little food, thank God, there was some clothing, such as it was, but even the best uniforms were not calculated to stand such strains as had been imposed upon these.
Only the old guard, staunch, stern, splendid, indomitable, a magnificent body of men, held the army together--they and the cavalry.
Murat, peerless horseman, was playing the traitor to save his wretched Neapolitan throne.

But Grouchy, Nansouty, Sebastiani and others remained.