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

by Émile Erckmann

  But Sorlé did not let me finish.

  “Run quickly, Moses, to Burguet’s!” she exclaimed; “if this man is shot, his blood will be upon our children. Make haste, do not lose a minute.”

  She raised her hands, and I went out, much troubled.

  My only fear was that I should not find Burguet at home; fortunately, on opening his door, on the first floor of the old Cauchois house, I saw the tall barber Vésenaire shaving him, in the midst of the old books and papers which filled the room.

  Burguet was sitting with the towel at his chin.

  “Ah! It is you, Moses!” he exclaimed, in a glad tone. “What gives me the pleasure of a visit from you?”

  “I come to ask a favor of you, Burguet.”

  “If it is for money,” said he, “we shall have difficulty.”

  He laughed, and his servant-woman, Marie Loriot, who heard us from the kitchen, opened the door, and thrust her red head-gear into the room, as she called out, “I think that we shall have difficulty! We owe Vésenaire for three months’ shaving; do not we, Vésenaire?”

  She said this very seriously, and Burguet, instead of being angry, began to laugh. I have always fancied that a man of his talents had a sort of need of such an incarnation of human stupidity to laugh at, and help his digestion. He never was willing to dismiss this Marie Loriot.

  In short, while Vésenaire kept on shaving him, I gave him an account of our patrol and the arrest of the deserter; and begged him to defend the poor fellow. I told him that he alone was able to save him, and restore peace, not only to my own mind, but to Sorlé, Zeffen, and the whole family, for we were all in great distress, and we depended entirely upon him to help us.

  “Ah! you take me at my weak point, Moses! If it is possible for me to save this man, I must try. But it will not be an easy matter. During the last fortnight, desertions have begun—the court-martial wishes to make an example. It is a bad business. You have money, Moses; give Vésenaire four sous to go and take a drop.”

  I gave four sous to Vésenaire, who made a grand bow and went out. Burguet finished dressing himself.

  “Let us go and see!” said he, taking me by the arm.

  And we went down together on our way to the mayoralty.

  Many years have passed since that day. Ah, well! it seems now as if we were going under the arch, and I heard Burguet saying: “Hey, sergeant! Tell the turnkey that the prisoner’s advocate is here.”

  Harmantier came, bowed, and opened the door. We went down into the dungeon full of stench, and saw in the right-hand corner a figure gathered in a heap on the straw.

  “Get up!” said Harmantier, “here is your advocate.”

  The poor wretch moved and raised himself in the darkness. Burguet leaned toward him and said: “Come! Take courage! I have come to talk with you about your defence.”

  And the other began to sob.

  When a man has been knocked down, torn to tatters, beaten till he cannot stand, when he knows that the law is against him, that he must die without seeing those whom he loves, he becomes as weak as a baby. Those who maltreat their prisoners are great villains.

  “Let us see!” said Burguet. “Sit down on the side of your camp-bed. What is your name? Where did you come from? Harmantier, give this man a little water to drink and wash himself!”

  “He has some, M. Burguet; he has some in the corner.”

  “Ah, well!”

  “Compose yourself, my boy!”

  The more gently he spoke, the more did the poor fellow weep. At last, however, he said that his family lived near Gérarmer, in the Vosges; that his father’s name was Mathieu Belin, and that he was a fisherman at Retournemer.

  Burguet drew every word out of his mouth; he wanted to know every particular about his father and mother, his brothers and sisters.

  I remember that his father had served under the Republic, and had even been wounded at Fleurus; that his oldest brother had died in Russia; that he himself was the second son taken from home by the conscription, and that there was still at home three sisters younger than himself.

  This came from him slowly; he was so prostrated by Winter’s blows, that he moved and sank down like a soulless body.

  There was still another thing, Fritz, as you may think—the boy was young! and that brought to my mind the days when I used to go in two hours from Phalsburg to Marmoutier, to see Sorlé—Ah, poor wretch! As he told all this, sobbing, with his face in his hands, my heart melted within me.

  Burguet was quite overcome. When we were leaving, at the end of an hour, he said, “Come, let us be hopeful! You will be tried to-morrow.—Don’t despair! Harmantier, we must give this man a cloak; it is dreadfully cold, especially at night. It is a bad business, my boy, but it is not hopeless. Try to appear as well as you can before the audience; the court-martial always thinks better of a man who is well dressed.”

  When we were out, he said to me: “Moses, you send the man a clean shirt. His waistcoat is torn; don’t forget to have him decently dressed every way; soldiers always judge of a man by his appearance.”

  “Be easy about that,” said I.

  The prison doors were closed, and we went across the market.

  “Now,” said Burguet, “I must go in. I must think it over. It is well that the brother was left in Russia, and that the father has been in the service—it is something to make a point of.”

  We had reached the corner of the rampart street; he kept on, and I went home more miserable than before.

  You cannot imagine, Fritz, how troubled I was; when a man has always had a quiet conscience it is terrible to reproach one’s self, and think: “If this man is shot, if his father, and mother, and sisters, and that other one, who is expecting him, are made miserable, thou, Moses, wilt be the cause of it all!”

  Fortunately there was no lack of work to be done at home; Sorlé had just opened the old shop to begin to sell our brandies, and it was full of people. For a week the keepers of coffee-houses and inns had had nothing wherewith to fill their casks; they were on the point of shutting up shop. Imagine the crowd! They came in a row, with their jugs and little casks and pitchers. The old topers came too, sticking out their elbows; Sorlé, Zeffen, and Sâfel had not time to serve them.

  The sergeant said that we must put a policeman at our door to prevent quarrels, for some of them said that they lost their turn, and that their money was as good as anybody’s.

  It will be a good many years before such a crowd will be seen again in front of a Phalsburg shop.

  I had only time to tell my wife that Burguet would defend the deserter, and then went down into the cellar to fill the two tuns at the counter, which were already empty.

  A fortnight after, Sorlé doubled the price; our first two pipes were sold, and this extra price did not lessen the demand.

  Men always find money for brandy and tobacco, even when they have none left for bread. This is why governments impose their heaviest taxes upon these two articles; they might be heavier still without diminishing their use—only, children would starve to death.

  I have seen this—I have seen this great folly in men, and I am astonished whenever I think of it.

  That day we kept on selling until seven o’clock in the evening, when the tattoo was sounded.

  My pleasure in making money had made me forget the deserter; I did not think of him again till after supper, when night set in; but I did not say a word about him; we were all so tired and so delighted with the day’s profits that we did not want to be troubled with thinking of such things. But after Zeffen and the children had retired, I told Sorlé of our visit to the prisoner. I told her, too, that Burguet had hopes, which made her very happy.

  About nine o’clock, by God’s blessing, we were all asleep.

  CHAPTER XV

  TRIAL OF THE DESERTER

  You can believe, Fritz, that I did not sleep much that night, notwithstanding my fatigue. The thought of the deserter tormented me. I knew that if he should be shot, Zeffen and Sor
lé would be inconsolable; and I knew, too, that after three or four years the vile race would say: “Look at this Moses, with his large brown cloak, his cape turned down over the back of his neck, and his respectable look—well, during the blockade he caused the arrest of a poor deserter, who was shot: so much you can trust a Jew’s appearance!”

  They would have said this, undoubtedly; for the only consolation of villains is to make people think that everybody is like themselves.

  And then how often should I reproach myself for this man’s death, in times of misfortune or in my old age, when I should not have a minute’s peace! How often should I have said that it was a judgment of the Lord, that it was on account of this deserter.

  So I wanted to do immediately all that I could, and by six o’clock in the morning I was in my old shop in the market with my lantern, selecting epaulettes and my best clothes. I put them in a napkin and took them to Harmantier at daybreak.

  The special council of war, which was called—I do not know why—the Ventose council, was to meet at nine o’clock. It was composed of a major, president, four captains, and two lieutenants. Monbrun, the captain of the foreign legion, was judge-advocate, and Brigadier Duphot recorder.

  It was astonishing how the whole city knew about it beforehand, and that by seven o’clock the Nicaises, and Pigots, and Vinatiers, etc., had left their rickety quarters, and had already filled the whole mayoralty, the arch, the stairway, and the large room above, laughing, whistling, stamping, as if it were a bear-fight at Klein’s inn, the “Ox.”

  You do not see things like that nowadays, thank God! men have become more gentle and humane. But after all these wars, a deserter met with less pity than a fox caught in a trap, or a wolf led by the muzzle.

  As I saw all this, my courage failed; all my admiration for Burguet’s talents could not keep me from thinking:

  The man is lost! Who can save him, when this crowd has come on purpose to see him condemned to death, and led to the Glacière bastion?

  I was overwhelmed by the thought.

  I went trembling into Harmantier’s little room, and said to him: “This is for the deserter; take it to him from me.”

  “All right!” said he.

  I asked him if he had confidence in Burguet. He shrugged his shoulders, and said: “We must have examples.”

  The stamping outside continued, and when I went out there was a great whistling in the balcony, the arch, and everywhere, and shouts of “Moses! hey, Moses! this way!”

  But I did not turn my head, and went home very sad.

  Sorlé handed me a summons to appear as a witness before the court-martial, which a gendarme had just brought; and till nine o’clock I sat meditating behind the stove, trying to think of some way of escape for the prisoner.

  Sâfel was playing with the children; Zeffen and Sorlé had gone down to continue our sales.

  A few minutes before nine I started for the townhouse, which was already so crowded that, had it not been for the guard at the door, and the gendarmes scattered within the building, the witnesses could hardly have got in.

  Just as I got there, Captain Monbrun was beginning to read his report. Burguet sat opposite, with his head leaning on his hand.

  They showed me into a little room, where were Winter, Chevreux, Dubourg, and the gendarme Fiegel; so that we didn’t hear anything before being called.

  On the wall at the right it was written in large letters that any witness who did not tell the truth, should be delivered to the council, and suffer the same penalty as the accused. This made one consider, and I resolved at once to conceal nothing, as was right and sensible. The gendarme also informed us that we were forbidden to speak to each other.

  After a quarter of an hour Winter was summoned, and then, at intervals of ten minutes, Chevreux, Dubourg, and myself.

  When I went into the court-room, the judges were all in their places; the major had laid his hat on the desk before him; the recorder was mending his pen. Burguet looked at me calmly. Without they were stamping, and the major said to the brigadier:

  “Inform the public that if this noise continues, I shall have the mayoralty cleared.”

  The brigadier went out at once, and the major said to me:

  “National guard Moses, make your deposition. What do you know?”

  I told it all simply. The deserter at the left, between two gendarmes, seemed more dead than alive. I would gladly have acquitted him of everything; but when a man fears for himself, when old officers in full dress are scowling at you as if they could see through you, the simplest and best way is not to lie. A father’s first thought should be for his children! In short, I told everything that I had seen, nothing more or less, and at last the major said to me:

  “That is enough; you may go.”

  But seeing that the others, Winter, Chevreux, Dubourg, remained sitting on a bench at the left, I did the same.

  Almost immediately five or six good-for-nothings began to stamp and murmur, “Shoot him! shoot him!” The president ordered the brigadier to arrest them, and in spite of their resistance they were all led to prison. Silence was then established in the court-room, but the stampings without continued.

  “Judge-advocate, it is your turn to speak,” said the major.

  This judge-advocate, who seems now before my eyes, and whom I can almost hear speak, was a man of fifty, short and thick, with a short neck, long, thick, straight nose, very wide forehead, shining black hair, thin mustaches, and bright eyes. While he was listening, his head turned right and left as if on a pivot; you could see his long nose and the corner of his eye, but his elbows did not stir from the table. He looked like one of those large crows which seem to be sleeping in the fields at the close of autumn, and yet see everything that is going on around them.

  Now and then he raised his arm as if to draw back his sleeve, as advocates have a way of doing. He was in full dress, and spoke terribly well, in a clear and strong voice, stopping and looking at the people to see if they agreed with him; and if he saw even a slight grimace, he began again at once in some other way, and, as it were, obliged you to understand in spite of yourself.

  As he went on very slowly, without hurrying or forgetting anything, to show that the deserter was on the road when we arrested him, that he not only had the intention of escaping, but was already outside of the city, quite as guilty as if he had been found in the ranks of the enemy—as he clearly showed all this, I was angry because he was right, and I thought to myself, “Now, what was there to be said in reply.”

  And then, when he said that the greatest of crimes was to abandon one’s flag, because one betrays at once his country, his family, all that has a right to his life, and makes himself unworthy to live; when he said that the court would follow the conscience of all who had a heart, of all who held to the honor of France; that he would give a new example of his zeal for the safety of the country and the glory of the Emperor; that he would show the new recruits that they could only succeed by doing their duty and by obeying orders; when he said all this with terrible power and clearness, and I heard from time to time, a murmur of assent and admiration, then, Fritz, I thought that the Lord alone was able to save that man!

  The deserter sat motionless, his arms folded on the dock, and his face upon them. He felt, doubtless, as I did, and every one in the room, and the court itself. Those old men seemed pleased as they heard the judge-advocate express so well what had all along been their own opinion. Their faces showed their satisfaction.

  This lasted for more than an hour. The captain sometimes stopped a moment to give his audience time to reflect on what he had said. I have always thought that he must have been attorney-general, or something more dangerous still to deserters.

  I remember that he said, in closing, “You will make an example! You will be of one mind. You will not forget that, at this time, firmness in the court is more necessary than ever to the safety of the country.”

  When he sat down, such a murmur of approbation aro
se in the room that it reached the stairway at once, and we heard the shouts outside, “Vive l’Empereur!”

  The major and the other members of the council looked smilingly at each other, as if to say, “It is all settled. What remains is a mere formality!”

  The shouts without increased. This lasted more than ten minutes. At last the major said:

  “Brigadier, if the tumult continues, clear the town-house! Begin with the court-room!”

  There was silence at once, for every one was curious to know what Burguet would say in reply. I would not have given two farthings for the life of the deserter.

  “Counsel for the prisoner, you have the floor!” said the major, and Burguet rose.

  Now, Fritz, if I had an idea that I could repeat to you what Burguet said, for a whole hour, to save the life of a poor conscript; if I should try to depict his face, the sweetness of his voice, and then his heart-rending cries, and then his silent pauses and his appeals—if I had such an idea, I should consider myself a being full of pride and vanity!

  No; nothing finer was ever heard. It was not a man speaking; it was a mother, trying to snatch her babe from death! Ah! what a great thing it is to have this power of moving to tears those who hear us! But we ought not to call it talent, it is heart.

  “Who is there without faults? Who does not need pity?”

  This is what he said, as he asked the council if they could find a perfectly blameless man; if evil thoughts never came to the bravest; if they had never, for even a day or a moment, had the thought of running away to their native village, when they were young, when they were eighteen, when father and mother and the friends of their childhood were living, and they had not another in the world. A poor child without instruction, without knowledge of the world, brought up at hap-hazard, thrown into the army—what could you expect of him? What fault of his could not be pardoned? What does he know of country, the honor of his flag, the glory of his Majesty? Is it not later in life that these great ideas come to him?