The Erckmann-Chatrian Megapack: 20 Classic Novels and Short Stories (160 page)

“Now,” said George, “all the army of Strasbourg, and that of the interior, who should have been in perfect order, fresh, rested, and provided with everything at Haguenau, but the rear of which is still lagging behind on the railways as far as Luneville; all these are running down there, to check the invasion. Fourteen regiments of cavalry, principally cuirassiers and chasseurs, are assembling at Brumath. Something is expected there; MacMahon is already on the heights of Reichshoffen, with the commander of engineers, Mohl, of Haguenau, and other staff officers, to select his position. As fast as the troops arrive they extend before Mederbronn. I heard this from some people who were flying with wives and children, their beds and other chattels on carts, as I was leaving Bouxviller about three o’clock. They wanted to reach the fort of Petite Pierre; but hearing that the fort is occupied by a company, they have moved toward Strasbourg. I think they were right. A great city, like Strasbourg, has always more resources than a small place, where they have only a few palisades stuck up to hide fifty men.”

This was what Cousin George had learned that very day.

Hearing him speak, my first thought was to run to the mill, load as much furniture as I could upon two wagons, and drive at once to Phalsbourg; but my cousin told me that the gates would be closed; that we should have to wait outside until the reopening of the barriers, and that we must hope that it would be time enough to-morrow.

According to him, the great battle would not be fought for two or three days yet, because a great number of Germans had yet to cross the river, and they would, no doubt, be opposed. It is true that the fifty thousand men who had made themselves masters of Wissembourg might descend the Sauer; but then we should be nearly equal, and it was to the interest of the Germans only to fight when they were three to one. George had heard some officers discussing this point at the inn, in the presence of many listeners, and he believed, according to this, that the 5th army corps, which was extending in the direction of Metz, by Bitche and Sarreguemines, under the orders of General de Failly, would have time to arrive and support MacMahon. I thought so, too: it seemed a matter of course.

We talked over these miseries till nine o’clock. My wife and Grédel had come to carry their quarrels even to my Cousin Marie Anne’s, who said to them: “Oh! do try to be reasonable. What matter two or three hams, Catherine? Perhaps you will soon be glad to know that they have done good to Jacob, instead of seeing them eaten up by Uhlans under your own eyes.”

You may be sure that my wife did not agree with this. But at ten o’clock, Cousin Marie Anne, full of thought, having said that her husband was tired and that he had need of rest, we left, after having wished him good-evening, and we returned home.

That night—if my wife had not awoke from time to time, to tell me that we were robbed, that the thieves were taking everything from us, and that we should be ruined at last—I should have slept very well; but there seemed no end to her worrying, and I saw that she suspected Grédel of having given the hams to Michel for Jean Baptiste Werner, without, however, daring to say so much. I was thinking of other things, and was glad to see her go down in the morning to attend to her kitchen; not till then did I get an hour or two of sleep.

The next day all was quiet in the village; everybody had hid his valuables, and they only feared one thing, and that was a sortie from Phalsbourg to carry off our cattle. All the children were set to watch in the direction of Wéchem; and if anything had stirred in that quarter, all the cattle would have been driven into the woods in ten minutes.

But there was no movement. All the soldiers of the line had gone, and the commanding officer, Taillant, could not send the lads of our village to carry away their own parents’ cattle. So all this day, the 10th of August, was quiet enough in our mountains.

About twelve o’clock some wood-cutters of Krappenfelz came to tell us that they could hear cannon on the heights of the Falberg, in the direction of Alsace; but they were not believed, and it was said:

“These are inventions to frighten us.” For many people take a pleasure in frightening others.

All was quiet until about ten o’clock at night. It was very warm; I was sitting on a bench before my mill, in my shirt-sleeves, thinking of all my troubles. From time to time a thick cloud overshadowed the moon, which had not happened for a long time, and rain was hoped for. Grédel was washing the plates and dishes in the kitchen; my wife was trotting up and down, peeping into the cupboards to see if anything else had been stolen besides her hams; in the village, windows and shutters were closing one after another; and I was going up to bed too, when a kind of a rumor rose from the wood and attracted my attention; it was a distant murmuring; something was galloping there, carts were rolling, a gust of wind was passing. What could it be? My wife and Grédel had gone out, and were listening too. At that moment, from the other end of the village, arose a dispute which prevented us from making out this noise any longer, which was approaching from the mountain, and I said to Catherine: “The drunkards at the ‘Cruchon d’Or’ begin these disturbances every night. I must put an end to that, for it is a disgrace to the parish.”

But I had scarcely said this when a crowd of people appeared in the street opposite the mill, shouting, “A deserter! a deserter!”

And the shrill voice of my deputy Placiard rose above all the rest, crying: “Take care of the horse! Mind you don’t let him escape!”

A tall cuirassier was moving quietly in the midst of all this mob, every man in which wanted to lay hold of him—one by the arm, another by the collar. He was making no resistance, and his horse followed him limping, and hanging his head; the
bangard
was leading him by the bridle.

Placiard then seeing me at the door, cried: “Monsieur le Maire, I bring you a deserter, one of those who fled from Wissembourg, and who are now prowling about the country to live and glut at the expense of the country people. He is drunk even now. I caught him myself.” All the rest, men and women, shouted: “Shut him up in a stable! Send for the gendarmes to fetch him away! Do this—do that”—and so on.

I was much astonished to see this fine tall fellow, with his helmet and his cuirass, who could have shouldered his way in a minute through all these people, going with them like a lamb. Cousin George had come up at the same moment. We hardly knew what to do about this business, for man and horse were standing there perfectly still, as if stupefied.

At last I felt I must say something, and I said: “Come in.”

The
bangard
tied up the horse to the ring in the barn, and we all burst in a great crowd into my large parlor downstairs, slamming the door in the face of all those brawlers who had nothing to do in the house; but they remained outside, never ceasing for a moment to shout: “A deserter!” And half the village was coming: in all directions you could hear the wooden clogs clattering.

Once in the room, my wife fetched a candle from the kitchen. Then, catching sight of this strong and square-built man, with his thick mustaches, his tall figure, his sword at his side, his sleeves and his cuirass stained with blood, and the skin on one side of his face torn away and bruised all round to the back of the head, we saw at once that he was not a deserter, and that something terrible had happened in our neighborhood; and Placiard having again begun to tell us how he had himself caught this soldier in his garden, where the poor wretch was going to hide, George cried indignantly: “Come now, does a man like that hide himself? I tell you, M. Placiard, that it would have taken twenty like you to hold him, if he had chosen to resist.”

The cuirassier then turned his head and gazed at George; but he spoke not a word. He seemed to be mute with stupefaction.

“You have come from a fight, my friend, haven’t you?” said my cousin, gently.

“Yes, sir.”

“So they have been fighting to-day?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

The cuirassier pointed in the direction of the Falberg, on the left by the saw-mills. “Down there,” he said, “behind the mountains.”

“At Reichshoffen?”

“Yes, that is it: at Reichshoffen.”

“This man is exhausted,” said George: “Catherine, bring some wine.” My wife took the bottle out of the cupboard and filled a glass; but the cuirassier would not drink: he looked on the ground before him, as if something was before his eyes. What he had just told us made us turn pale.

“And,” said George, “the cuirassiers charged?”

“Yes,” said the soldier, “all of them.”

“Where is your regiment now?” He raised his head.

“My regiment? it is down there in the vineyards, amongst the hops, in the river.…”

“What! in the river?”

“Yes: there are no more cuirassiers!”

“No more cuirassiers?” cried my cousin; “the six regiments?”

“Yes, it is all over!” said the soldier, in a low voice: “the grapeshot has mown them down. There are none left!”

“Oh!” cried Placiard, “now you see: what did I say? He is one of those villains who propagate false reports. Can six regiments be mown down? Did you not yourself say, Monsieur le Maire, that those six regiments alone would bear down everything before them?”

I could answer nothing; but the perspiration ran down my face.

“You must lock him up somewhere, and let the gendarmes know,” continued Placiard. “Such are the orders of Monsieur le Sous-préfet.”

The cuirassier wiped with his sleeves the blood which was trickling upon his cheek; he appeared to hear nothing.

Out of all the open windows were leaning the forms of the village people, with attentive ears.

George and I looked at each other in alarm.

“You have blood upon you,” said my cousin, pointing to the soldier’s cuirass, who started and answered:

“Yes; that is the blood of a white lancer: I killed him!”

“And that wound upon your cheek?”

“That was given me with a sword handle. I got that from a Bavarian officer—it stunned me—I could no longer see—my horse galloped away with me.”

“So you were hand-to-hand?”

“Yes, twice; we could not use our swords: the men caught hold of one another, fought and killed one another with sword hilts.”

Placiard was again going to begin his exclamations, when George became furious: “Hold your tongue, you abominable toady! Are you not ashamed of insulting a brave soldier, who has fought for his country?”

“Monsieur le Maire,” cried Placiard, “will you suffer me to be insulted under your roof while I am fulfilling my duties as deputy?”

I was much puzzled: but George, looking angrily at him, was going to answer for me; when a loud cry arose outside in the midst of a furious clattering of horses: a terrible cry, which pierced to the very marrow of our bones.

“The Prussians! The Prussians!”

At the same moment a troop of disbanded horsemen were flying past our windows at full speed: they flashed past us like lightning; the crowd fell back; the women screamed: “Lord have mercy upon us! we are all lost!”

After these cries, and the passage of these men, I stood as if rooted to the floor, listening to what was going on outside; but in another minute all was silence. Turning round, I saw that everybody, neighbors, men and women, Placiard, the rural policeman, all had slipped out behind. Grédel, my wife, George, the cuirassier, and myself, stood alone in the room. My cousin said to me: “This man has told you the truth; the great battle has been fought and lost to-day! These are the first fugitives who have just passed. Now is the time for calmness and courage; let everybody be prepared: we are going to witness terrible things.”

And turning to the soldier: “You may go, my friend,” he said, “your horse is there; but if you had rather stay—”

“No; I will not be made prisoner!”

“Then come, I will put you on the way.”

We went out together. The horse before the barn had not moved; I helped the cuirassier to mount: George said to him: “Here, on the right, is the road to Metz; on the left to Phalsbourg; at Phalsbourg, by going to the right, you will be on the road to Paris.”

And the horse began to walk, dragging itself painfully. Then only did we see that a shred of flesh was hanging down its leg, and that it had lost a great deal of blood. My cousin followed, forgetting to say good-night. Was it possible to sleep after that?

From time to time during the night horsemen rode past at the gallop. Once, at daybreak, I went to the mill-dam, to look down the valley; they were coming out of the woods by fives, sixes, and tens, leaping out of the hedges, smashing the young trees; instead of following the road, they passed through the fields, crossed the river, and rode up the hill in front, without troubling about the corps. There seemed no end of them!

About six the bells began to ring for matins. It was Sunday, the 7th August, 1870; the weather was magnificent. Monsieur le Curé crossed the street at nine, to go to church, but only a few old women attended the service to pray.

Then commenced the endless passage of the defeated army retreating upon Sarrebourg, down the valley; a spectacle of desolation such as I shall never forget in my life. Hundreds of men who could scarcely be recognized as Frenchmen were coming up in disordered bands; cavalry, infantry, cuirassiers without cuirasses, horsemen on foot, foot soldiers on horseback, three-fourths unarmed! Crowds of men without officers, all going straight on in silence.