But for long years to come, if God spares my life, I shall remember that day, and what I met upon my way.
Imagine the road-side blocked, as it were, with carts filled with the sick and wounded, forming a line all the way from Quatre-Vents to Saverne.
The peasants who, in Alsace, were required to transport these poor creatures, had unharnessed their horses and escaped in the night, abandoning their carts; the hoar-frost had passed over them; there was not motion or sign of life—all dead, as it were one long cemetery! Thousands of ravens covered the sky like a cloud; there was nothing to be seen but wings moving in the air, nothing to be heard but one murmur of innumerable cries. I would not have believed that heaven and earth could produce so many ravens. They flew down to the very carts; but the moment a living man approached, all these creatures rose and flew away to the forest of La Bonne-Fontaine, or the ruins of the old convent of Dann.
As for myself, I lengthened my steps, feeling that I must not stop, that the typhus was marching at my heels.
Happily the winter sets in early at Phalsburg. A cold wind blew from the Schneeberg, and these strong draughts of mountain air disperse all maladies, even, it is said, the Black Plague itself.
What I have now told you is about the retreat from Leipsic, in the beginning of November.
When I reached Saverne, the city was crowded with troops, artillery, infantry, and cavalry, pell-mell.
I remember that, in the principal street, the windows of an inn were open, and a long table with its white cloth was seen, all laid, within. All the guard of honor stopped there. These were young men of rich families, who had money in spite of their tattered uniforms. The moment they saw this table in passing, they leaped from their horses and rushed into the hall. But the innkeeper, Hannes, made them pay five francs in advance, and just as the poor things began to eat, a servant ran in, crying out, “The Prussians! the Prussians!” They sprang up at once and mounted their horses like madmen, without once looking back, and in this way Hannes sold his dinner more than twenty times.
I have often thought since that such scoundrels deserve hanging; yes, this way of making money is not lawful business. It disgusted me.
But if I should describe the rest—the faces of the sick, the way in which they lay, the groans they uttered, and, above all, the tears of those who tried in vain to go on—if I should tell you this, it would be still worse, it would be too much. I saw, on the slope of the old tan-house bridge, a little guardsman of seventeen or eighteen years, stretched out, with his face flat upon the stones. I have never forgotten that boy; he raised himself from time to time, and showed his hand as black as soot: he had a ball in the back, and his hand was half gone. The poor fellow had doubtless fallen from a cart. Nobody dared to help him because they heard it said, “He has the typhus! he has the typhus.” Oh, what misery! It is too dreadful to think of!
Now, Fritz, I must tell you another thing about that day, and that is how I saw Marshal Victor.
It was late when I started from Phalsburg, and it was dark when, on going up the principal street of Saverne, I saw all the windows of the Hotel du Soleil illuminated from top to bottom. Two sentinels walked to and fro under the arch, officers in full uniform went in and out, magnificent horses were fastened to rings all along the walls; and, within the court, the lamps of a calash shone like two stars.
The sentinels kept the street clear, but I must pass, because Baruch dwelt farther on. I was going through the crowd, in front of the hotel, and the first sentinel was calling out to me, “Back! back!” when an officer of hussars, a short, stout man, with great red whiskers, came out of the arch, and as he met me, exclaimed,
“Ah! is it you, Moses! I am glad to see you!”
He shook hands with me.
I opened my eyes with amazement, as was natural: a superior officer shaking hands with a plain citizen is not an every-day occurrence. I looked at him in astonishment, and recognized Commandant Zimmer.
Thirty years before we had been at Father Genaudet’s school, and we had scoured the city, the moats, and the glacis together, as children. But since then Zimmer had been a good many times in Phalsburg, without remembering his old comrade, Samuel Moses.
“Ho!” said he, smiling, and taking me by the arm, “come, I must present you to the marshal.”
And, in spite of myself, before I had said a word, I went in under the arch, into a large room where two long tables, loaded with lights and bottles, were laid for the staff-officers.
A number of superior officers, generals, colonels, commanders of hussars, of dragoons and of chasseurs, in plumed hats, in helmets, in red shakos, their chins in their huge cravats, their swords dragging, were walking silently back and forth, or talking with each other, while they waited to be called to table.
It was difficult to pass through the crowd, but Zimmer kept hold of my arm, and led me to the end of the room, to a little lighted door.
We entered a high room, with two windows opening upon the gardens.
The marshal was there, standing, his head uncovered; his back was toward us, and he was dictating orders which two staff-officers were writing.
This was all which I noticed at the moment, in my confusion.
Just after we entered, the marshal turned; I saw that he had the good face of an old Lorraine peasant. He was a tall, powerful man, with a grayish head; he was about fifty years old, and very heavy for his age.
“Marshal, here’s our man!” said Zimmer. “He is one of my old school-mates, Samuel Moses, a first-rate fellow, who has been traversing the country these thirty years, and knows every village in Alsace and Lorraine.”
The marshal looked at me a few steps off. I held my hat in my hand in great fear. After looking at me a couple of seconds, he took the paper which one of the secretaries handed him, read and signed it, then turned back to me:
“Well, my good man,” said he, “what do they say about the last campaign? What do the people in your village think about it?”
On hearing him call me “my good man,” I took courage, and answered “that the typhus had made bad work, but the people were not disheartened, because they knew that the Emperor with his army was at hand.”
And when he said abruptly: “Yes! But will they defend themselves?” I answered: “The Alsatians and the Lorraines are people who will defend themselves till death, because they love their Emperor, and they would all be willing to die for him!”
I said that by way of prudence; but he could plainly see in my face that I was no fighting man, for he smiled good-humoredly, and said: “That will do, commandant, that is enough!”
The secretaries had kept on writing. Zimmer made a sign to me and we went out together. When we were outside he called out:
“Good-by, Moses, good-by!”
The sentinels let me pass, and still trembling, I continued my journey.
I was soon knocking at the little door of Baruch’s house at the end of the lane where the cardinal’s old stables were.
It was pitch dark.
What a joy it was, Fritz, after having seen all these terrible things, to come to the place where those I loved were resting! How softly my heart beat, and how I pitied all that power and glory which made so many people miserable!
After a moment I heard my son-in-law enter the passage and open the door. Baruch and Zeffen had long since ceased expecting me.
“Is it you, my father?” asked Baruch.
“Yes, my son, it is I. I am late. I have been hindered.”
“Come!” said he.
And we entered the little passage, and then into the chamber where Zeffen, my daughter, lay pale and happy, upon her bed.
She had recognized my voice. As for me, my heart beat with joy; I could not speak; and I embraced my daughter, while I looked around to find the little one. Zeffen held it in her arms under the coverlet.
“There he is!” she said.
Then she showed him to me in his swaddling-clothes. I saw at once that he was plump and
healthy, with his little hands closed tight, and I exclaimed:
“Baruch, this is Esdras, my father! Let him be welcome!”
I wanted to see him without his clothes, so I undressed him. It was warm in the little room from the lamp with seven burners. Tremblingly I undressed him; he did not cry, and my daughter’s white hands assisted me:
“Wait, my father, wait!” said she.
My son-in-law looked on behind me. We all had tears in our eyes.
At last I had him all undressed; he was rosy, and his large head tossed about, sleeping the sleep of centuries. Then I lifted him above my head; I looked at his round thighs all in creases, at his little drawn-up feet, his broad chest and plump back, and I wanted to dance like David before the ark; I wanted to chant: “Praise the Lord! Praise him ye servants of the Lord! Praise the name of the Lord! Blessed be the name of the Lord from this time forth and forever more! From the rising of the sun, unto the going down of the same, the Lord’s name is to be praised! The Lord is high above all nations, and his glory above the heavens! Who is like unto the Lord our God, who raiseth up the poor out of the dust, who maketh the barren woman to keep house, and to be a joyful mother of children? Praise ye the Lord!”
Yes, I felt like chanting this, but all that I could say was: “He is a fine, perfect child! He is going to live! He will be the blessing of our race and the joy of our old age!”
And I blessed them all.
Then giving him back to his mother to be covered, I went to embrace the other who was sound asleep in his cradle.
We remained there together a long time, to see each other, in this joy. Without, horses were passing, soldiers shouting, carriages rolling by. Here all was quiet: the mother nursed her infant.
Ah! Fritz, I am an old man now, and these far-off things are always before me, as at the first; my heart always beats in recalling them, and I thank God for His great goodness,—I thank Him. He has loaded me with years, He has permitted me to see the third generation, and I am not weary of life; I should like to live on and see the fourth and the fifth—His will be done!
I should have liked to tell them of what had just happened to me at the Hotel du Soleil, but everything was insignificant in comparison with my joy; only after I had left the chamber, while I was taking a mouthful of bread and drinking a glass of wine in the side hall so as to let Zeffen sleep, I related the adventure to Baruch, who was greatly surprised.
“Listen, my son,” said I, “this man asked me if we want to defend ourselves. That shows that the allies are following our armies, that they are marching by hundreds of thousands, and that they cannot be hindered from entering France. So you see that, in the midst of our joy, there is danger of terrible evils; you see that all the harm which we have been doing to others for these last ten years may return upon us. I fear so. God grant that I may be mistaken!”
After this we went to bed. It was eleven o’clock, and the tumult without still continued.
CHAPTER II
FATHER MOSES’S SPECULATION
Early the next morning, after breakfast, I took my cane to return to Phalsburg. Zeffen and Baruch wanted to keep me longer, but I said:
“You do not think of your mother, who is expecting me. She does not keep still a minute; she keeps going upstairs and down, and looking out of the window. No, I must go. Sorlé must not be uneasy while we are comfortable.”
Zeffen said no more, and filled my pockets with apples and nuts for her brother Sâfel. I embraced them again, the little ones and the big; then Baruch led me far back of the gardens, to the place where the roads to Schlittenbach and Lutzelburg divide.
The troops had all left, only stragglers and the sick remaining. But we could still see the line of carts in the distance, on the hill, and bands of day-laborers who had been set to work digging graves back of the road.
The very thought of passing that way disturbed me. I shook hands with Baruch at this fork of the road, promising to come again with grandmother to the circumcision, and then took the valley road, which follows the Zorn through the woods.
This path was full of dead leaves, and for two hours I walked on thinking at times of the Hotel du Soleil, of Zimmer, of Marshal Victor, whom I seemed to see again, with his tall figure, his square shoulders, his gray head, and coat covered with embroidery. Sometimes I pictured to myself Zeffen’s chamber, the little babe and its mother; then the war which threatened us—that mass of enemies advancing from every side!
Several times I stopped in the midst of these valleys sloping into each other as far as the eye can reach, all covered with firs, oaks and beeches, and I said to myself:
“Who knows? Perhaps the Prussians, Austrians and Russians will soon pass along here!”
But there was comfort in this thought; “Moses, your two boys, Itzig and Frômel, are in America far from the reach of cannon; they are there with their packs on their shoulders, going from village to village without danger. And your daughter Zeffen, too, may sleep in quiet; Baruch has two fine children, and will have another every year while the war lasts. He will sell leather to make bags and shoes for those who have to go, but, for his part, he will stay at home.”
I smiled as I thought that I was too old to be conscripted, that I was a gray-head, and the conscriptors could have none of us. Yes; I smiled as I saw that I had acted very wisely in everything, and that the Lord had, as it were, cleared my path.
It is a great satisfaction, Fritz, to see that everything is working to our advantage.
In the midst of these thoughts I came quietly to Lutzelburg, and I went to Brestel’s at the Swan Hotel to take a cup of coffee.
There I found Bernard, the soap merchant, whom you do not know—a little man, bald to the very nape of the neck, with great wens on his head—and Donadieu, the Harberg forest-keeper. One had laid his dosser and the other his gun against the wall, and they were emptying a bottle of wine between them. Brestel was helping.
“Ha! it is Moses,” exclaimed Bernard. “Where the devil dost thou come from, so early in the morning!”
Christians in those days were in the habit of thouing the Jews—even the old men. I answered that I had come from Saverne, by the valley.
“Ah! thou hast seen the wounded,” said the keeper. “What thinkest thou of that, Moses!”
“I have seen them,” I replied sadly, “I saw them last evening. It is dreadful!”
“Yes, it is; everybody has gone up there to-day, because old Gredal of Quatre-Vents found her nephew under a cart—Joseph Bertha, the little lame watchmaker who worked last year with Father Goulden; so the people from Dagsberg, Houpe, and Garburg, expect to find their brothers, or sons, or cousins in the heap.”
He shrugged his shoulders compassionately.
“These things are dreadful,” said Brestel, “but they must come. There has been no business these two years; I have back here, in my court, three thousand pounds’ worth of planks and timber. That would formerly have lasted me for six weeks or two months; but now it is all rotting on the spot; nobody wants it on the Sarre, nobody wants it in Alsace, nobody orders anything or buys anything. It is just so with the hotel. Nobody has a sous; everybody stays at home, thankful if they have potatoes to eat and cold water to drink. Meanwhile my wine and beer turn sour in the cellar, and are covered with mildew. And all that does not keep off the duties; you must pay, or the officer will be upon you.”
“Yes,” cried Bernard, “it is the same thing everywhere. But what is it to the Emperor whether planks and soap sell or not, provided the contributions come in and the conscripts arrive?”
Donadieu perceived that his comrade had taken a glass too much; he rose, put back his gun into his shoulder-belt, and went out, calling to us.
“Good-by to you all, good-by! We will talk about this another time.”
A few minutes afterward, I paid for my cup of coffee, and followed his example.
I had the same thoughts as Brestel and Bernard; I saw that my trade in iron and old clothes was at an end; an
d as I went up the Barracks’ hill I thought, “Try to find something else, Moses. Everything is at a stand-still. But one cannot use up his money to the last farthing. I must turn to something else—I must find an article which is always salable. But what is always salable? Every trade has its day, and then it comes to an end.”
While thus meditating, I passed the Barracks of the Bois-de-Chênes. I was on the plateau from which I could see the glacis, the line of ramparts, and the bastions, when the firing of a cannon gave notice that the marshal was leaving the place. At the same time I saw at the left, in the direction of Mittelbronn, the line of sabres flashing like lightning in the distance among the poplars of the highway. The trees were leafless, and I could see, too, the carriage and postilions passing like the wind through the plumes and caps.
The cannon pealed, second after second; the mountains gave back peal after peal, from the very depths of their valleys; and as for myself, I was quite carried away by the thought of having seen this man the day before; it seemed like a dream.
Then, about ten o’clock, I passed the bridge of the French gate. The last cannon sounded upon the bastion of the powder-house; the crowd of men, women and children descended the ramparts, as if it were a festival; they knew nothing, thought of nothing, while cries of “Vive l’Empereur!” rose in every street.
I passed through the crowd, well pleased at bringing good news to my wife; and I was saying to myself beforehand, “The little one is doing well, Sorlé!” when, at the corner of the market, I saw her at our door. I raised my cane at once, and smiled, as much as to say “Baruch is safe—we may laugh!”
She understood me, and went in at once; but I overtook her on the stairs, and embraced her, saying:
“It is a good, hearty little fellow—there! Such a baby—so round and rosy! And Zeffen is doing well. Baruch wished me to embrace you for him. But where is Sâfel?”
“Under the market, selling.”
“Ah, good!”
The Erckmann-Chatrian Megapack: 20 Classic Novels and Short Stories Page 74