LORD  BYRON  and  his  TIMES
Documents Biography Criticism

The Autobiography of William Jerdan
Southey in The Sun

Vol. I. Front Matter
Ch. 1: Introductory
Ch. 2: Childhood
Ch. 3: Boyhood
Ch. 4: London
Ch. 5: Companions
Ch. 6: The Cypher
Ch. 7: Edinburgh
Ch. 8: Edinburgh
Ch. 9: Excursion
Ch. 10: Naval Services
Ch. 11: Periodical Press
Ch. 12: Periodical Press
Ch. 13: Past Times
Ch. 14: Past Times
Ch. 15: Literary
Ch. 16: War & Jubilees
Ch. 17: The Criminal
Ch. 18: Mr. Perceval
Ch. 19: Poets
Ch. 20: The Sun
Ch. 21: Sun Anecdotes
Ch. 22: Paris in 1814
Ch. 23: Paris in 1814
Ch. 24: Byron
Vol. I. Appendices
Scott Anecdote
Burns Anecdote
Life of Thomson
John Stuart Jerdan
Scottish Lawyers
Sleepless Woman
Canning Anecdote
‣ Southey in The Sun
Hood’s Lamia
Murder of Perceval
Vol. II. Front Matter
Ch. 1: Literary
Ch. 2: Mr. Canning
Ch. 3: The Sun
Ch. 4: Amusements
Ch. 5: Misfortune
Ch. 6: Shreds & Patches
Ch. 7: A Character
Ch. 8: Varieties
Ch. 9: Ingratitude
Ch. 10: Robert Burns
Ch. 11: Canning
Ch. 12: Litigation
Ch. 13: The Sun
Ch. 14: Literary Gazette
Ch. 15: Literary Gazette
Ch. 16: John Trotter
Ch. 17: Contributors
Ch. 18: Poets
Ch 19: Peter Pindar
Ch 20: Lord Munster
Ch 21: My Writings
Vol. II. Appendices
The Satirist.
Authors and Artists.
The Treasury
Morning Chronicle
Chevalier Taylor
Foreign Journals
Vol. III. Front Matter
Ch. 1: Literary Pursuits
Ch. 2: Literary Labour
Ch. 3: Poetry
Ch. 4: Coleridge
Ch 5: Criticisms
Ch. 6: Wm Gifford
Ch. 7: W. H. Pyne
Ch. 8: Bernard Barton
Ch. 9: Insanity
Ch. 10: The R.S.L.
Ch. 11: The R.S.L.
Ch. 12: L.E.L.
Ch. 13: L.E.L.
Ch. 14: The Past
Ch. 15: Literati
Ch. 16: A. Conway
Ch. 17: Wellesleys
Ch. 18: Literary Gazette
Ch. 19: James Perry
Ch. 20: Personal Affairs
Vol. III. Appendices
Literary Poverty
Ismael Fitzadam
Mr. Tompkisson
Mrs. Hemans
A New Review
Debrett’s Peerage
Procter’s Poems
Poems by Others
Poems by Jerdan
Vol. IV. Front Matter
Ch. 1: Critical Glances
Ch. 2: Personal Notes
Ch. 3: Fresh Start
Ch. 4: Thomas Hunt
Ch. 5: On Life
Ch. 6: Periodical Press
Ch. 7: Quarterly Review
Ch. 8: My Own Life
Ch. 9: Mr. Canning
Ch. 10: Anecdotes
Ch. 11: Bulwer-Lytton
Ch. 12: G. P. R. James
Ch. 13: Finance
Ch. 14: Private Life
Ch. 15: Learned Societies
Ch. 16: British Association
Ch. 17: Literary Characters
Ch. 18: Literary List
Ch. 19: Club Law
Ch. 20: Conclusion
Vol. IV. Appendix
Gerald Griffin
W. H. Ainsworth
James Weddell
The Last Bottle
N. T. Carrington
The Literary Fund
Letter from L.E.L.
Geographical Society
Baby, a Memoir
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There is often a curious propensity in popular and successful writers to try their luck (if one may use so vulgar a term) with something anonymous; just as it were, to ascertain the difference of value and applause attached by the public to their name and their production; to test, if I may say so, the intrinsic merit of their performances. This is sometimes essayed in volumes, or publications of unacknowledged poetry; and, occasionally, in fugitive effusions, thrown into any channel convenient for the purpose. Such was Southey’s hit of the “March to Moscow,” which was palmed upon me as the writing of a Mr. Sayer in the Tower; and, no matter by whom, immediately admitted to the “Sun” as a very clever and original jeu d’esprit. Other pieces from the same source afterwards found their way in like manner into the Journal, and I shall have to look into the author’s collected works to discover whether or not they have all been reprinted. The “March to Moscow” was, a good many years after its first appearance; but a copy of it in its earliest form cannot be unacceptable anywhere, and I have pleasure in subjoining it.

Buonaparte he would set out
For a summer excursion to Moscow;
The fields were green, and the sky was blue,—
Morbleu! Parbleu!
What a pleasant excursion to Moscow!
Four hundred thousand men and more—
Heigh ho! for Moscow!
There were marshals by the dozen, and dukes by the score,
Princes a few, and kings one or two,
While the fields were so green and the sky so blue—
Morbleu! Parbleu!
What a pleasant excursion to Moscow!
There was a Junot and Augereau
Heigh ho! for Moscow!
Dombrowsky and Poniatowsky,
General Rapp and the Emperor Nap.
Nothing would do—
While the fields were so green and the sky so blue—
Morbleu! Parbleu!
But they must be marching to Moscow.
But then the Russians they turned to,
All on the road to Moscow.
Nap. had to fight his way all thro’;
They could fight, but they could not “parlez vous.”
But the fields were green and the sky was blue—
Morbleu! Parbleu!
And so he got to Moscow.
But they made the place too hot for him
(For they set fire to Moscow);
To get there had cost him much ado,
And then no better course he knew,
While the fields were green and the sky was blue—
Morbleu! Parbleu!
Than to march back again from Moscow.
The Russians they stuck close to him,
All on the road from Moscow:
There was Tormazow and Jemabow,
And all others that end in ow;
Rajesky and Noverefsky,
And all the others that end in efsky:
Schamscheff, Souchosaneff, and Schepeleff,
And all the others that end in eff;
Wasiltchikoff, Kostomaroff, and Tchoglokoff,
And all the others that end in off:
Milaradovitch, Jaladovitch, and Karatichkowitch,
And all the others that end in itch:
Oscharoffsy, and Rostoffsky, and Kazatichkoffsky,
And all the others that end in offsky:
And last of all an admiral came,
A terrible man with a terrible name,
A name which you all must know very well;
Nobody can speak and nobody can spell:
And Platoff he play’d them off,
And Markoff he mark’d them off
And Tutchkoff he touch’d them off,
And Kutousoff he cut them off,
And Woronzoff he worried them off,
And Dochtoroff he doctor’d them off,
And Rodinoff he flogged them off:
They stuck to them with all their might;
They were on the left and on the right,
Behind and before, and by day and by night,
Nap. would rather “parlez vous” than fight,
But “parlez vous” no more would do—
Morbleu! Parbleu!
For they remembered Moscow!
And then came on the frost and snow,
All on the road from Moscow;
The Emperor Nap. found as he went
That he was not quite omnipotent;
And worse and worse the weather grew,
The fields were so white and the sky so blue—
Sacrebleu! Ventrebleu!
What a terrible journey from Moscow!
“The Devil take the hindmost,
All on the road from Moscow!”
Quoth Nap., who thought it was no delight
To fight all day and to freeze all night;
And so not knowing what else to do,
When the fields were white and the sky so blue—
Morbleu! Parbleu!
He stole away—I tell you true—
All on the road from Moscow!
’Twas as much too cold upon the road
As it was too hot at Moscow;
But there is a place which he must go to—
Where the fire is red and the brimstone blue—
Morbleu! Parbleu!
He’ll find it hotter than Moscow!