The Erckmann-Chatrian Megapack: 20 Classic Novels and Short Stories

by Émile Erckmann

  “Yes, sergeant; I am.”

  “Ah!”

  He put his gun in a corner, threw his knapsack on the table, and said:

  “That will do! You may go.”

  Sâfel had opened the kitchen door, and the good smell of the roast came into the room.

  “Mr. Sergeant,” said Sorlé very pleasantly, “allow me to ask a favor of you.”

  “You!” said he, looking at her over his shoulder, “ask a favor of me!”

  “Yes. It is that since you now lodge with us, and will be in some respects one of the family, you will give us the pleasure of dining with us, at least for once.”

  “Ah, ah!” said he, turning his nose toward the kitchen, “that is another thing!”

  He seemed to be considering whether to grant us this favor or not. We waited for him to answer, when he gave another sniff and threw his cartridge-box on the bed, saying:

  “Well, so be it! We will go and see!”

  “Wretch!” thought I, “if I could make you eat potatoes!”

  But Sorlé seemed satisfied, and said:

  “This way, Mr. Sergeant; this way, if you please.”

  When we went into the dining-room I saw that everything was prepared as if for a prince; the floor swept, the table carefully laid, a white table-cloth, and our silver knives and forks.

  Sorlé placed the sergeant in my arm-chair at the head of the table, which seemed to him the most natural thing in the world.

  Our servant brought in the large tureen and took off the cover; the odor of a good cream soup filled the room, and we began our dinner.

  Fritz, I could tell you everything we had for dinner; but believe me, neither you nor I ever had a better. We had a roasted goose, a magnificent pike, sauerkraut, everything, in fact, which could be desired for a grand dinner, and all served by Sorlé in the most perfect manner. We had, too, four bottles of Beaujolais warmed in napkins, as was the custom in winter, and an abundant dessert.

  Well! do you believe that the rascal once had the grace to seem pleased with all this? Do you believe that all through this dinner, which lasted nearly two hours, he once thought of saying, “This pike is excellent!” or, “This fat goose is well cooked!” or, “You have very good wine!” or any of the other things which we know are pleasant for a host to hear, and which repay a good cook for his trouble? No, Fritz, not once! You would have supposed that he had such dinners every day. The more even that my wife flattered him, and the more kindly she spoke to him, the more he rebuffed her, the more he scowled, the more defiantly he looked at us, as if we wanted to poison him.

  From time to time I looked indignantly at Sorlé, but she kept on smiling; she kept on giving the nicest bits to the sergeant; she kept on filling his glass.

  Two or three times I wanted to say, “Ah, Sorlé, what a good cook you are! How nice this force-meat is!” But suddenly the sergeant would look down upon me as if to say, “What does that signify? Perhaps you want to give me lessons? Don’t I know better than you do whether a thing is good or bad?”

  So I kept silence. I could have wished him—well, in worse company; I grew more and more indignant at every morsel which he swallowed in silence. Nevertheless Sorlé’s example encouraged me to put a good face on the matter, and toward the end I thought, “Now, since the dinner is eaten, since it is almost over, we will go on, with God’s help. Sorlé was mistaken, but it is all the same; her idea was a good one, except for such a rascal!”

  And I myself ordered coffee; I went to the closet, too, to get some cherry-brandy and old rum.

  “What is that?” asked the sergeant.

  “Rum and cherry-brandy; old cherry-brandy from the ‘Black Forest,’” I replied.

  “Ah,” said he, winking, “everybody says, ‘I have got some cherry-brandy from the Black Forest!’ It is very easy to say; but they can’t cheat Sergeant Trubert; we will see about this!”

  In taking his coffee he twice filled his glass with cherry-brandy, and both times said, “He! he! We will see whether it is genuine.”

  I could have thrown the bottle at his head.

  As Sorlé went to him to pour a third glassful, he rose and said, “That is enough; thank you! The posts are doubled. This evening I shall be on guard at the French gate. The dinner, to be sure, was not a bad one. If you give me such now and then, we can get along with each other.”

  He did not smile, and, indeed, seemed to be ridiculing us.

  “We will do our best, Mr. Sergeant,” replied Sorlé, while he went into his room and took his great-coat to go out.

  “We will see,” said he as he went downstairs, “we will see!”

  Till now I had said nothing, but when he was down I exclaimed, “Sorlé, never, no never, was there such a rascal! We shall never get along with this man. He will drive us all from the house.”

  “Bah! bah! Moses,” she replied, laughing, “I do not think as thou dost! I have quite the contrary idea; we will be good friends, thou’lt see, thou’lt see!”

  “God grant it!” I said; “but I have not much hope of it.”

  She smiled as she took off the table-cloth, and gave me too a little confidence, for this woman had a good deal of shrewdness, and I acknowledged her sound judgment.

  CHAPTER VII

  SERGEANT TRUBERT IN A NEW LIGHT

  You see, Fritz, what the common people had to endure in those days. Ah, well! just as we were performing extra service, while Monborne was commanding me at the drilling, while Sergeant Trubert was down upon me, while we were hearing of domiciliary visits of inspection to ascertain what provisions the citizens had—in the midst of all this, my dozen pipes of spirits of wine were being slowly wheeled over the road.

  How I repented of having ordered them! How often I could have torn my hair as I thought that half my thirty years’ gains were at the mercy of circumstances! How I prayed for the Emperor! How I ran every morning to the coffee-houses and ale-houses to learn the news, and how I trembled as I read!

  Nobody knew what I suffered, not even Sorlé, for I kept it all from her. She was too keen-sighted not to perceive my anxiety, and sometimes she would say, “Come, Moses, have courage! All will come right—patience a little longer!”

  But the rumors which came from Alsace, and German Lorraine, and Hundsruck, quite upset me: “They are coming! They will not dare to come! We are ready for them! They will take us by surprise! Peace is going to be made! They will pass by to-morrow! We shall have no fighting this winter! They can wait no longer! The Emperor is still in Paris! Marshal Victor is at Huninguen! They are impressing the custom-house officers, the forest-keepers, and the gendarmerie! Some Spanish dragoons went down by Saverne yesterday! The mountaineers are to defend the Vosges! There will be fighting in Alsace!” etc., etc. Your head would have been turned, Fritz. In the morning the wind would blow one way and put you in good spirits; at night it would blow another way and you would be miserable.

  And my spirits of wine were coming nearer and nearer, and at last arrived, in the midst of this conflict of news, which might any day turn into a conflict of bullets and shells. If it had not been for my other troubles I should have been beside myself. Fortunately, my indignation against Monborne and the other villains diverted my mind.

  We heard nothing more of Sergeant Trubert after the great dinner for the remainder of that day, and the night following, as he was on guard; but the next morning, as I was getting up, behold, he came up the stairs, with his musket on his shoulder; he opened the door and began to laugh, with his mustaches all white with frost. I had just put on my pantaloons, and looked at him in astonishment. My wife was still in her room.

  “He! he! Father Moses,” said he, in a good-natured voice, “it has been a dreadful cold night.” He did not look or speak like the same person.

  “Yes, sergeant,” I replied, “it is December, and that is what we must expect.”

  “What we must expect,” he repeated;—“all the more reason for taking a drop. Let us see, is there any more of that o
ld cherry-brandy?”

  He looked, as he spoke, as if he could see through me. I got up at once from my arm-chair, and ran to fetch the bottle: “Yes, yes, sergeant,” I exclaimed, “there is more, drink and enjoy it.”

  As I said this, his face, still a little hard, seemed to smile all over. He placed his gun in a corner, and, standing up, handed me the glass, saying, “Pour out, Father Moses, pour out!”

  I filled it brimful. As I did so, he laughed quietly. His yellow face puckered up in hundreds of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and around his cheeks and mustaches and chin. He did not laugh so as to be heard, but his eyes showed his good-humor.

  “Famous cherry-brandy this, in truth, Father Moses!” he said as he drank it. “A body knows who has drank it in the Black Forest, where it cost nothing! Aren’t you going to drink with me?”

  “With pleasure,” I answered. And we drank together. He looked at me all the time. Suddenly he said, with a mischievous look, “Hey, Father Moses, say, you were afraid of me yesterday?” He smiled as he spoke.

  “Oh—Sergeant—”

  “Come, come,” said he, laying his hand upon my shoulder—“confess that I frightened you.”

  He smiled so pleasantly that I could not help saying: “Well, yes, a little!”

  “He! he! he! I knew it very well,” said he. “You had heard them say, ‘Sergeant Trubert is a tough one!’ You were afraid, and you gave me a dinner fit for a prince to coax me!”

  He laughed aloud, and I ended by laughing too. Sorlé had heard all, in the next room, and now came to the door and said, “Good-morning, Mr. Sergeant.”

  He exclaimed, “Father Moses, here is what may be called a woman! You can boast of having a spirited woman, a sly woman, slyer than you are, Father Moses; he, he, he! That is as it should be—that is as it should be!”

  Sorlé was delighted.

  “Oh! Mr. Sergeant,” said she, “can you really think so?”

  “Bah! bah!” he exclaimed. “You are a first-rate woman! I saw you when I first came, and said to myself, ‘Take heed, Trubert! They make a fair pretence; it is a stratagem to send you to the hotel to sleep. We will let the enemy unmask his batteries!’

  “Ha! ha! ha! You are nice folks. You gave me a dinner fit for a Marshal of the Empire. Now, Father Moses, I invite myself to take a small glass of cherry-brandy with you now and then. Put the bottle aside, by itself, it is excellent! And as for the rest, the room which you have given me is too handsome; I don’t like such gewgaws; this fine furniture and these soft beds are good for women. What I want is a small room, like that at the side, two good chairs, a pine table, a plain bed with a mattress, paillasse, and coverings, and five or six nails in the wall for hanging my things. You just give me that!”

  “Since you wish it, Mr. Sergeant.”

  “Yes, I wish it; the handsome room will be for state occasions.”

  “You will breakfast with us?” asked my wife, well pleased.

  “I breakfast and dine at the cantine,” replied the sergeant. “I do very well there; and I don’t want to have good people go to any expense for me. When people respect an old soldier as he ought to be respected, when they treat him kindly, when they are like you,—Trubert, too, is what he ought to be.”

  “But, Mr. Sergeant!” said Sorlé.

  “Call me sergeant,” said he, “I know you now. You are not like all the rabble of the city; rascals who have been growing rich while we have been off fighting; wretches who do nothing but heap up money and grow big at the expense of the army, who live on us, who are indebted to us for everything, and who send us to sleep in nests of vermin. Ah! a thousand million thunders!”

  His face resumed its bad look; his mustaches shook with his anger, and I thought to myself, “What a good idea it was to treat him well! Sorlé’s ideas are always good!”

  But in a moment he relaxed, and laying his hand on my arm, he exclaimed:

  “To think that you are Jews! a kind of abominable race; everything that is dirty and vile and niggardly! To think that you are Jews! It is true, is it not, that you are Jews?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Sorlé.

  “Well, upon my word, I am surprised to hear it,” said he; “I have seen so many Jews, in Poland and Germany, that I thought to myself ‘They are sending me to some Jews; they had better look out or I’ll smash everything.’”

  We kept silent in our mortification, and he added, “Come, we will say no more about that. You are good, honest people; I should be sorry to trouble you. Your hand, Father Moses!”

  I gave him my hand.

  “I like you,” said he. “Now, Madame Moses, the side room!”

  We showed him the small room that he asked for, and he went at once to fetch his knapsack from the other, saying as he went:

  “Now I am among honest people! We shall have no difficulty in getting along together. You do not trouble me, I do not trouble you; I come in and go out, by day or night; it is Sergeant Trubert, that is enough. And now and then, in the morning, we will take our little glass; it is agreed, is it not, Father Moses!”

  “Yes, sergeant.”

  “And here is the key of the house,” said Sorlé.

  “Very well; everything is arranged; now I am going to take a nap; good-by, my friends.”

  “I hope you will sleep well, sergeant.” We went out at once, and heard him lie down.

  “You see, Moses, you see,” whispered my wife, in the alley, “it has all come right.”

  “Yes,” I replied, “all right, excellent; your plan was a good one; and now, if the spirits of wine only come, we shall be happy.”

  CHAPTER VIII

  FATHER MOSES’S FIRST ENCOUNTER

  From that time the sergeant lived with us without troubling anybody. Every morning, before he went to his duties, he came and sat a few minutes in my room, and talked with me while he took his glass. He liked to laugh with Sâfel, and we called him “our sergeant,” as if he were one of the family. He seemed to like to be with us; he was a careful man; he would not allow our schabisboïé to black his shoes; he cleaned his own buff-skins, and would not let any one touch his arms.

  One morning, when I was going to answer to the call, he met me in the alley, and, seeing a little rust on my musket, he began to swear like the devil.

  “Ah! Father Moses, if I had you in my company, it would go hard with you!”

  “Yes,” thought I; “but, thank God, I’m not.”

  Sorlé, leaning over the balustrades above, laughed heartily.

  From that time the sergeant regularly inspected my equipments; I must clean my gun over and over, take it to pieces, clean the barrel and furbish the bayonet, as if I expected to go and fight. And even when he knew how Monborne treated me, he also wanted to teach me the exercises. All my remonstrances were of no avail, he would frown, and say:

  “Father Moses, I can’t stand it, that an honest man like you should know less than the rabble. Go along!”

  And then we would up to the loft. It was very cold, but the sergeant was so provoked at my want of briskness in performing the movements, that he always put me in a great perspiration before we finished.

  “Attention to the word of command, and no laziness!” he would exclaim.

  I used to hear Sorlé, Sâfel, and the servant laughing in the stairway, as they peeped through the laths, and I did not dare to turn my head. In fine, it was entirely owing to this good Trubert that I learned to charge well, and became one of the best vaulters in the company.

  Ah! Fritz, it would all have been very well if the spirits of wine had come; but instead of my dozen pipes, there came half a company of marine artillery, and four hundred recruits for the sixth light infantry.

  About this time the governor ordered that a space six hundred metres wide should be cleared all round the city.

  You should have seen the havoc that was made in the place; the fences, palisades, and trees hewn down, the houses demolished, from which everybody carried away a beam or some timbers
. You should have looked down from the ramparts and seen the little gardens, the line of poplars, the old trees in the orchards felled to the ground and dragged away by swarms of workmen. You should have seen all this to know what war is!

  Father Frise, the two Camus boys, the Sades, the Bosserts, and all the families of the gardeners and small farmers who lived at Phalsburg, suffered the most. I can almost hear old Fritz exclaim:

  “Ah! my poor apple-trees! Ah! my poor pear-trees; I planted you myself, forty years ago. How beautiful you were, always covered with fine fruit! Oh, misery! misery!”

  And the soldiers still chopped away. Toward the end, old Fritz went away, his cap drawn over his eyes, and weeping bitterly.

  The rumor spread also that they were going to burn the Maisons Rouges at the foot of the Mittelbronn hill, the tile-kiln at Pernette, and the little inns of l’Arbre Vert and Panier Fleuri, but it seemed that the governor found it was not necessary as these houses were out of range; or rather, that they would reserve that till later; and, that the allies were coming sooner than they were expected.

  Of what happened before the blockade, I remember, too, that on the twenty-second of December, about eleven o’clock in the morning, the call was beat. Everybody supposed that it was for the drill, and I set out quietly, with my musket on my shoulder, as usual; but, as I reached the corner of the mayoralty, I saw the troops of the garrison formed under the trees of the square.

  They placed us with them in two ranks; and then Governor Moulin, Commandants Thomas and Pettigenet, and the mayor, with his tri-colored sash, arrived.

  They beat the march, and then the drum-major raised his baton, and the drums stopped. The governor began to speak, everybody listened, and the words heard from a distance were repeated from one to another.

  “Officers, non-commissioned, National Guards, and Soldiers!

  “The enemy is concentrated upon the Rhine, only three days’ march from us. The city is declared to be in a state of siege; the civil authorities give place to martial law. A permanent court-martial replaces ordinary tribunals.

  “Inhabitants of Phalsburg! we expect from you courage, devotion, obedience! Vive l’Empereur!”