The Erckmann-Chatrian Megapack: 20 Classic Novels and Short Stories (148 page)

Others reflected with a loud voice, that Catherine had been rich long enough, and that every one should have his turn at poverty. As for the industry, wisdom, kind-heartedness, and all the virtues of the old farm-wife, or Jean-Claude’s patriotism, or the courage of Jérome and the three Maternes, the disinterested motives of Doctor Lorquin or Marc Divès’s self-sacrifice, nobody ever mentioned them; for were they not vanquished?

CHAPTER XXII

ON THE FALKENSTEIN

At the end of the valley of Bouleaux, two gun-shots from the village of Charmes, to the left, the little troop began slowly to ascend the path to the old “burg.” Hullin, remembering how he had taken the same road when he went to buy powder of Marc Divès, could not help feeling very sad. Then, notwithstanding his journey to Phalsbourg, the spectacle of the wounded from Leipzig and Hanau, and the account given by the old sergeant, he did not despair or doubt of the success of the defence. Now all was lost; the enemy were descending into Lorraine, and the mountaineers were retreating. Marc Divès rode by the side of the wall in the snow; his horse, apparently accustomed to this journey, neighed loudly. The smuggler turned from time to time to look back on the plateau of Bois-de-Chênes. Suddenly he exclaimed, “Look! here come the Cossacks!”

They all halted to look. They were already high up on the mountain, above the village and farm of Bois-de-Chênes. The morning mists were giving way to the gray light of the winter’s day, and, on the hill-side could be distinguished the forms of several Cossacks, with their heads raised, and pistols pointed, stealthily approaching the old farm-house. They were scattered after the manner of sharpshooters, as if they feared a surprise. A few minutes later more appeared, ascending the valley of Houx, then still more, all in the same attitude, upright in their stirrups, in order to see as far as possible. The first, having passed by the farm and observing nothing threatening, waved their lances and returned half way back. Whereupon the others galloped up at full speed like a flock of crows when they have sighted their prey. In a few minutes the farm was surrounded and the door opened. In another moment the windows were smashed, and the furniture, mattresses, and linen, thrown outside. Catherine calmly looked on at the pillage. She said nothing for some time; but, on seeing Yégof, whom she had not perceived before, strike Duchêne with the butt-end of his lance, and push him out of the farm, she could not restrain a cry of indignation.

“The wretch! Could any one be cowardly enough to strike a poor old man unable to defend himself. Ah! brigand, if I only held thee!”

“Come along, Catherine,” said Jean-Claude; “that’s enough; what is the use of gazing at such a spectacle any longer?”

“You are right,” said the old mistress; “let us go on, or I shall be tempted to go back and revenge myself.”

On approaching the red rocks, incrusted with large white and black pebbles, overhanging the precipice like the arches of an immense cathedral, Louise and Catherine stopped in ecstasy. The magnificent view of the streams of Lorraine, and the blue ribbon of the Rhine to their right, with the distant woods and valleys, filled them with joy, and the old dame said piously, “Jean-Claude, He who created these rocks, and formed these valleys, forests, heaths, and mosses, He will render to us the justice we merit.”

As they were gazing thus on the rugged precipices, Marc led his horse into a cavern close by, and, returning, began to climb up before them, saying, “Take care, or you may slip!”

At the same time he pointed to the blue precipice on their right, with pine-trees at the bottom. Everybody then relapsed into silence till the terrace was reached, where the arch commenced. There they breathed more freely. In the middle of the passage were the smugglers Brenn, Pfeifer, and Joubac, with their long gray mantles and black hats, sitting round a fire. Marc Divès said to them, “Here we are! The ‘kaiserlichs’ are masters. Zimmer was killed last night. Is Hexe-Baizel up there?”

“Yes,” replied Brenn; “she is making cartridges.”

“They may be of use,” said Marc. “Keep your eyes open, and if any come up fire on them.”

The Maternes halted at the corner of the rock; and these three sturdy men, with their powerful muscular limbs, their hats pushed back, and carbines on their shoulders, offered a curious spectacle in the blue mists of the abyss. Old Materne was pointing with outstretched hand to a small white speck in the distance, almost hidden in the midst of the pines. “Do you recognize that, my boys?” said he; and they all three peered through their half-closed eyes.

“It is our house,” replied Kasper.

“Poor Margredel!” rejoined the old hunter, after a short pause; “how uneasy she must have been these last eight days? What prayers does she not offer up for us to Saint-Odile?”

At that moment Marc Divès, who was walking on in front, uttered an exclamation of surprise.

“Mother Lefèvre,” said he, stopping short, “the Cossacks are burning your farm.”

Catherine received the tidings very calmly, and advanced to the edge of the terrace, Louise and Jean-Claude following. At the bottom of the abyss was a great white cloud, through which could be seen a bright spark, as it were, on the side of Bois-de-Chênes—that was all; but at intervals, when the wind blew strong, the flames shot up, the two high black gables, the hay-loft, the small stables burned brightly, then all disappeared once more.

“It is nearly finished,” said Hullin, in a low voice.

“Yes,” replied Catherine; “there are the labor and trouble of forty years vanishing in smoke; but they cannot burn my good land, nor the great meadow of Eichmath. We will begin our work over again. Gaspard and Louise will repair it all. I regret nothing I have done.”

A quarter of an hour later thousands of sparks arose, and the building crumbled to the ground. The black gables alone remained standing. They continued to ascend the path. As they were ascending the higher terrace, they heard the sharp voice of Hexe-Baizel.

“Is it thou, Catherine?” she cried. “Ah, I never thought thou wouldst have come to see me in my wretched hole.”

Baizel and Catherine Lefèvre had been at school together in former days, therefore they used the third person when speaking.

“Nor I neither,” replied the old farm-mistress. “All the same, Baizel—one is glad to find in misfortune an old companion of one’s childhood.”

Baizel seemed touched by her words.

“All that is here, Catherine, is thine,” she exclaimed; “everything!”

She pointed to her miserable stool, the furze broom, and the five or six fagots on the hearth. Catherine looked on a few moments in silence, and then said: “It is not grand, but it is solid; at least, they will not be able to burn down thy house.”

“No, they will not burn it,” said Hexe-Baizel, laughing; “they would need all the wood of the province of Dabo even to warm it a little. Ha! ha! ha!”

After so many fatigues, the partisans stood in need of repose. They all placed their guns against the wall, and lay down on the ground to sleep, Marc Divès having opened the second cavern to them, where they at least were sheltered. Marc then went out with Hullin to examine their position.

CHAPTER XXIII

MARC DIVÈS’S MISSION

On the rock of the Falkenstein, high up in the clouds, stands a tower, somewhat sunken at its base. This tower, overgrown with brambles, hawthorn, and bilberries, is as old as the mountain; neither the French, Germans, nor Swedes have destroyed it. The stone and cement are so solidly combined that not even a fragment can be detached from it. It looks gloomy and mysterious, carrying one back to ancient times, beyond the memory of man.

At that time of the year when the wild-geese migrated in flocks, Marc Divès, when he had nothing better to do, used to await them hidden in the tower, and sometimes at nightfall, when the flocks came through the fogs flying in large circles before resting, he would bring down two or three, much to the satisfaction of Hexe-Baizel, who was always very willing to put them on a spit. Often, too, in the autumn, Marc laid traps in the bushes, where he caught thrushes. The old tower also served him as a wood-house.

Divès, perceiving that his wood, covered with snow and soaked by rain, gave more smoke than light, had covered in the old tower with a roof of planks. With reference to this occasion, the smuggler related a curious story. He pretended that, on laying the rafters, he had discovered, at the bottom of a fissure, a snow-white owl, blind and feeble: but supplied with quantities of bats and field-mice. He therefore called it the “grandmother of the country,” as he supposed that all the birds came to feed it on account of its extreme old age.

Toward the close of the day, the partisans posted round the rock saw the white uniforms appearing in the neighboring gorges. They poured in on all sides in large numbers, thereby clearly showing their determination to blockade the Falkenstein. Perceiving this, Marc Divès became more thoughtful. “If they surround us,” said he, “we shall not be able to procure food, and shall have to surrender or die of hunger.”

The enemy’s staff on horseback could be clearly distinguished, halting round the fountain of the village of Charmes. There also stood a tall chief with a large paunch, who was contemplating the rock through a telescope. Behind him was Yégof, whom from time to time he turned round to question. The women and children formed a circle beyond them, apparently highly delighted, and five or six Cossacks pranced about. The smuggler could not contain himself any longer, and, taking Hullin aside, “Look,” said he, “at that long line of shakos gliding along the Sarre, and at the others who are scaling the valley on this side like hares; they are ‘kaiserlichs,’ aren’t they? Well, what are they going to do, Jean-Claude?”

“They are going to surround the mountain, that is clear. How many are there, dost thou think?”

“From three to four thousand men, without counting those who are walking over the country. Well, what can Piorette do against this pack of vagabonds with three hundred men? I ask thee frankly, Hullin.”

“He can do nothing,” replied the worthy man, simply. “The Germans know that our ammunition is on the Falkenstein; they dread an insurrection after they enter Lorraine, and wish to insure their rear. The enemy’s general knows that we cannot be taken by mere force, he is deciding to reduce us by hunger. All that is true, Marc; but we are men: we will do our duty—we will die here!”

There was a short silence; Marc Divès frowned, and did not seem at all convinced.

“We will die!” he replied, scratching his head. “I do not see why we should die at all; it is not our intention to die: too many people would be gratified by it.”

“What wouldst thou do?” said Hullin, dryly. “Wouldst thou surrender?”

“Surrender!” exclaimed the smuggler. “Dost thou take me for a coward?”

“Then explain thyself.”

“This evening I start for Phalsbourg. I risk my skin in crossing the enemy’s lines; but I like that better than folding my arms here, and perishing with hunger. I will enter the town on the first ‘sortie,’ or I will endeavor to climb one of the gates. The commandant, Meunier, knows me. I have sold him tobacco for three years. Like thyself, he has gone through the campaigns of Italy and Egypt. Well, I will explain everything to him. I shall see Gaspard Lefèvre. I will so arrange that they will give us, perhaps, a company. Dost thou see, Jean-Claude, that the uniform alone would save us? All the brave men who remain will join Piorette; and in any case we shall be delivered, That is my idea. What dost thou think of it?”

He looked at Hullin, whose gloomy, fixed expression made him uneasy.

“Dost thou not think that a chance?”

“It is an idea,” said Jean-Claude at last. “I do not oppose it.” And, looking full in the smuggler’s face, “Swear to me to do thy best to enter the town.”

“I will swear nothing,” replied Marc, whose brown cheeks were covered with a flush. “I leave all my possessions here, my wife, my comrades, Catherine Lefèvre, and thee, my oldest friend! If I do not return, I shall be a traitor; but if I return, Jean-Claude, thou shalt explain what thou meanest by thy demand: we will settle this little affair between us.”

“Marc,” said Hullin, “forgive me! I have suffered much these last days. I was wrong. Misfortune makes one distrustful. Give me thy hand. Go! Save us, save Catherine, save my child! I say so now: our only resource is in thee.”

Hullin’s voice faltered. Divès relented; but he rejoined: “All the same, Hullin, thou shouldst not have said that to me at such a time. Never let us speak of it again. I will leave my skin on the way, or return to deliver you. This evening, when darkness sets in, I will leave. The ‘kaiserlichs’ surround the mountain already; but no matter, I have a good horse, and, besides, I have always been lucky.”

By six o’clock the highest peaks were hid in darkness. Hundreds of fires, sparkling in the depths of the gorges, announced that the Germans were preparing their repasts.

Marc Divès felt his way down the narrow path. Hullin listened for a few seconds to the retreating steps of his comrade, then walked anxiously toward the old tower, where their head-quarters were established. He lifted the thick woollen covering which closed the owl’s-nest, and perceived Catherine, Louise, and the others crouching round a small fire. The old farm-mistress sat on an oak log, her hands clasped round her knees, watching the flames fixedly, with compressed lips. Louise leant dreamily against the wall. Jérome stood behind Catherine, his hands crossed on his stick, his otter-skin cap touching the mouldy roof. All were sad and discouraged. Hexe-Baizel, who was lifting the lid of a kettle, and Doctor Lorquin, who was scratching the softer parts of the old wall with the point of his sabre, alone preserved their usual expression.