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

by Émile Erckmann

  The telegraph was in operation on the hill of Saint Jean; Burguet pointed it out to me.

  “If we understood those signals, Moses,” said he, “we should know better what was going to happen to us in the next fortnight.”

  Some persons having turned round to listen to us, we went down again into the streets of the quarters, very thoughtfully.

  The soldiers at the upper windows of the barracks were also looking out. Men and women in great numbers were collecting in the street.

  We went through the crowd. In the street of the Capuchins, which was always deserted, Burguet, who was walking with his head down, exclaimed:

  “So it is all over! What things have we seen in these last twenty-five years, Moses! What astonishing and terrible things! And it is all over!”

  He took hold of my hand, and looked at me as if he were astonished at his own words; then he began to walk on.

  “This winter campaign has been frightful to me,” said he; “it has dragged along—dragged along—and the thunder-bolt did not come! But to-morrow, the day after to-morrow, what are we going to hear? Is the Emperor dead? How will that affect us? Will France still be France? What will they leave us? What will they take from us?”

  Reflecting on these things, we came in front of our house. Then, as if suddenly wakened, Burguet said to me:

  “Prudence, Moses! If the Emperor is not dead, the veterans will hold out till the last second. Remember that, and whoever they suspect will have everything to fear.”

  I thanked him, and went up, promising myself that I would follow his advice.

  My wife and children were waiting breakfast for me, with the little basket of potatoes upon the table. We sat down, and I told them in a low voice what was to be seen from the top of the ramparts, and charged them to keep silent, for the danger was not over; the garrison might revolt and choose to defend itself, in spite of the officers; and those who mixed themselves in these matters, either for or against, even only in words, ran the risk of destruction without profit to any one.

  They saw that I was right, and I had no need of saying more.

  We were afraid that our sergeant would come, and that we should be obliged to answer him, if he asked what we thought of these matters; but he did not come in till about eleven, when we had all been in bed for a long time.

  The next day the news of the entrance of the allies to Paris was affixed to the church doors and the pillars of the market; it was never known by whom! M. de Vablerie, and three or four other emigrants, capable of such a deed, were spoken of at the time, but nothing was known with certainty.

  The mounted guard tore down the placards, but unfortunately not before the soldiers and citizens had read them.

  It was something so new, so incredible, after those ten years of war, when the Emperor had been everything, and the nation had been, so to speak, in the shadow; when not a man had dared to speak or write a word without permission; when men had had no other rights than those of paying, and giving their sons as conscripts,—it was such a great matter to think that the Emperor could have been conquered, that a man like myself in the midst of his family shook his head three or four times, before daring to breathe a single word.

  So everybody kept quiet, notwithstanding the placards. The officials stayed at home, so as not to have to talk about it; the governor and council of defence did not stir; but the last recruits, in the hope of going home to their villages, embracing their families, and returning to their trades or farming, did not conceal their joy, as was very natural. The veterans, whose only trade and only means of living was war, were full of indignation! They did not believe a word of it; they declared that the reports were all false, that the Emperor had not lost a battle, and that the placards and the cannon-firing of the allies were only a stratagem to make us open the gates.

  And from that time, Fritz, the men began to desert, not one at a time, but by sixes, by tens, by twenties. Whole posts filed off over the mountain with their arms and baggage. The veterans fired upon the deserters; they killed some of them, and were ordered to escort the conscripts who carried soup to the outposts. * * * * *

  During this time, the flag of truce officers did nothing but come and go, one after another. All, Russian, Austrian, Bavarian, staff-officers stayed whole hours at the head-quarters, having, no doubt, important matters to discuss.

  Our sergeant came to our room only for a moment in the evening, to complain of the desertions, and we were glad of it; Zeffen was still sick, Sorlé could not leave her, and I had to help Sâfel until the people went home.

  The shop was always full of veterans; as soon as one set went away another came.

  These old, gray-headed men swallowed down glass after glass of brandy; they paid by turns, and grew more and more down-hearted. They trembled with rage, and talked of nothing but treason, while they looked at you as if they would see through you.

  Sometimes they would smile and say:

  “I tell you! if it is necessary to blow up the fortress, it will go!”

  Sâfel and I pretended not to understand; but you can imagine our agony; after having suffered all that we had, to be in danger of being blown up with those veterans!

  That evening our sergeant repeated word for word what the others had said: “It was all nothing but lies and treason. The Emperor would put a stop to it by sweeping off this rabble!”

  “Just wait! Just wait!” he exclaimed, as he smoked his pipe, with his teeth set. “It will all be cleared up soon! The thunder-bolt is coming! And, this time, no pity, no mercy! All the villains will have to go then—all the traitors! The country will have to be cleansed for a hundred years! Never mind, Moses, we’ll laugh!”

  You may well suppose that we did not feel like laughing.

  But the day when I was most anxious was the eighth of April, in the morning, when the decree of the Senate, deposing the Emperor, appeared.

  Our shop was full of marine artillerymen and subalterns from the storehouses. We had just served them, when the secretary of the treasury, a short stout man, with full yellow cheeks, and the regulation cap over his ears, came in and called for a glass; he then took the decree from his pocket.

  “Listen!” said he, as he began calmly to read it to the others.

  It seems as if I could hear it now:

  “Whereas, Napoleon Bonaparte has violated the compact which bound him to the French nation, by levying taxes otherwise than in virtue of the law, by unnecessarily adjourning the Legislative Body, by illegally making many decrees involving sentence of death, by annulling the authority of the ministers, the independence of the judiciary, the freedom of the press, etc.; Whereas, Napoleon has filled up the measure of the country’s misfortunes, by his abuse of all the means of war committed to him, in men and money, and by refusing to treat on conditions which the national interest required him to accept; Whereas, the manifest wish of all the French demands an order of things, the first result of which shall be the re-establishment of general peace, and which shall also be the epoch of solemn reconciliation between all the States of the great European family, the Senate decrees: Napoleon Bonaparte has forfeited the throne; the right of succession is abolished in his family; the people and the army are released from the oath of allegiance to him.”

  He had scarcely begun to read when I thought: “If that goes on they will tear down my shop over my head.”

  In my fright, I even sent Sâfel out hastily by the back door. But it all happened very differently from what I expected. These veterans despised the Senate; they shrugged their shoulders, and the one who read the decree sniffed at it, and threw it under the counter. “The Senate!” said he. “What is the Senate? A set of hangers-on, a set of sycophants that the Emperor has bribed, right and left, to keep saying to him—‘God bless you!’”

  “Yes, major,” said another; “but they ought to be kicked out all the same.”

  “Bah! It is not worth the trouble,” replied the sergeant-major; “a fortnight hence, when the Emperor
is master again, they will come and lick his boots. Such men are necessary in a dynasty—men who lick your boots—it has a good effect!—especially old nobility, who are paid thirty or forty thousand francs a year. They will come back, and be quiet, and the Emperor will pardon them, especially since he cannot find others noble enough to fill their places.”

  And as they all went away after emptying their glasses, I thanked heaven for having given them such confidence in the Emperor.

  This confidence lasted till about the eleventh or twelfth of April, when some officers, sent by the general commanding the fourth military division, came to say that the garrison of Metz recognized the Senate and followed its orders.

  This was a terrible blow for our veterans. We saw, that evening, by our sergeant’s face, that it was a death-blow to him. He looked ten years older, and you would have wept merely to see his face. Up to that time he had kept saying: “All these decrees, all these placards are acts of treason! The Emperor is down yonder with his army, all the while, and we are here to support him. Don’t fear, Father Moses!”

  But since the arrival of the officers from Metz, he had lost his confidence. He came into our room, without speaking, and stood up, very pale, looking at us.

  I thought: “But this man loves us. He has been kind to us. He gave us his fresh meat all through the blockade; he loved our little David; he fondled him on his knees. He loves Esdras too. He is a good, brave man, and here he is, so wretched!”

  I wanted to comfort him, to tell him that he had friends, that we all loved him, that we would make sacrifices to help him, if he had to change his employment; yes, I thought of all this, but as I looked at him his grief seemed so terrible that I could not say a word.

  He took two or three turns and stopped again, then suddenly went out. His sorrow was too great, he would not even speak of it.

  At length, on the sixteenth of April, an armistice was concluded for burying the dead. The bridge of the German gate was lowered, and large numbers of people went out and stayed till evening, to dig the ground a little with their spades, and try to bring back a few green things. Zeffen being all this time sick, we stayed at home.

  That evening two new officers from Metz, sent as envoys, came in at night as the bridges were being raised. They galloped along the street to the headquarters. I saw them pass.

  The arrival of these officers greatly excited the hopes and fears of every one; important measures were expected, and all night long we heard the sergeant walk to and fro in his room, get up, walk about, and lie down again, talking confusedly to himself.

  The poor man felt that a dreadful blow was coming, and he had not a minute’s rest. I heard him lamenting, and his sighs kept me from sleeping.

  The next morning at ten the assembly was beat. The governor and the members of the council of defence went, in full dress, to the infantry quarters.

  Everybody in the city was at the windows.

  Our sergeant went down, and I followed him in a few minutes. The street was thronged with people. I made my way through the crowd; everybody kept his place in it, trying to move on.

  When I came in front of the barracks, the companies had just formed in a circle; the quarter-masters in the midst were reading in a loud voice the order of the day; it was the abdication of the Emperor, the disbanding of the recruits of 1813 and 1814, the recognition of Louis XVIII., the order to set up the white flag and change the cockade!

  Not a murmur was heard from the ranks; all was quiet, terrible, frightful! Those old soldiers, their teeth set, their mustaches shaking, their brows scowling fiercely, presenting arms in silence; the voices of the quartermasters stopping now and then as if choking; the staff-officers of the place, at a distance under the arch, sullen, with their eyes on the ground; the eager attention of all that crowd of men, women, and children, through the whole length of the street, leaning forward on tiptoe, with open mouths and listening ears; all this, Fritz, would have made you tremble.

  I was on cooper Schweyer’s steps, where I could see everything and hear every word.

  So long as the order of the day was read, nobody stirred; but at the command:—Break ranks! a terrible cry arose from all directions; tumult, confusion, fury burst forth at once.

  People did not know what they were doing. The conscripts ran in files to the postern gates, the old soldiers stood a moment, as if rooted to the spot, then their rage broke forth; one tore off his epaulettes, another dashed his musket with both hands against the pavement; some officers doubled up their sabres and swords, which snapped apart with a crash.

  The governor tried to speak; he tried to form the ranks again, but nobody heard him; the new recruits were already in all the rooms at the barracks, making up their bundles to start on their journey; the old ones were going to the right and left, as if they were drunk or mad.

  I saw some of these old soldiers stop in a corner, lean their heads against the wall, and weep bitterly.

  At last all were dispersed, and protracted cries reached from the barracks to the square, incessant cries, which rose and fell like sighs.

  Some low, despairing shouts of “Vive l’Empereur!” but not a single shout of “Vive le Roi!”

  For my part, I ran home to tell about it all; I had scarcely gone up, when the sergeant came also, with his musket on his shoulder. We should have liked to congratulate each other on the ending of the blockade, but on seeing the sergeant standing at the door, we were chilled to the bones, and our attention was fixed upon him.

  “Ah, well!” said he, placing the butt-end of his musket upon the floor, “it is all ended!”

  And for a moment he said no more.

  Then he stammered out: “This is the shabbiest piece of business in the world—the recruits are disbanded—they are leaving—France remains, bound hand and foot, in the grip of the kaiserlichs! Ah! the rascals! the rascals!”

  “Yes, sergeant,” I replied with emotion, seeing that his thoughts must be diverted: “now we are going to have peace, sergeant! You have a sister left in the Jura, you will go to her—”

  “Oh!” he exclaimed, lifting his hand, “my poor sister!”

  This came like a sob; but he quickly recovered himself, and went and placed his musket in the corner by the door.

  He sat down at the table with us for a moment, and took up little Sâfel, drawing him to him and caressing his cheeks. Then he wanted to hold Esdras also. We looked on in silence.

  “I am going to leave you, Father Moses,” said he, “I am going to pack my bag. Thunder and lightning! I am sorry to leave you!”

  “And we are sorry, too, sergeant,” said Sorlé,. mournfully; “but if you will live with us—”

  “It is impossible!”

  “Then you remain in the service?”

  “Service of whom—of what?” said he; “of Louis XVIII.? No! no! I know no one but my general—but that makes it hard to go—when a man has done his duty—”

  He started up, and shouted in a piercing voice: “Vive l’Empereur!”

  We trembled, we did not know why.

  I reached out my hand to him, and rose; we embraced each other like brothers.

  “Good-by, Father Moses,” said he, “good-by for a long while.”

  “You are going at once, then?”

  “Yes!”

  “You know, sergeant, that you will always have friends here. You will come and see us. If you need anything—”

  “Yes, yes, I know it. You are true friends—excellent people!”

  He shook my hand vehemently.

  Then he took up his musket, and we were all following him, expressing our good wishes, when he turned, with tears in his eyes, and embraced my wife, saying:

  “I must embrace you, too; there is no harm in it, is there, Madame Sorlé?”

  “Oh, no!” said she, “you are one of the family, and I will embrace Zeffen for you!”

  He went out at once, exclaiming in a hoarse voice, “Good-by! Farewell!”

  I saw him go into hi
s room at the end of the little passage.

  Twenty-five years of service, eight wounds, and no bread in his old age! My heart bled at the thought of it.

  About a quarter of an hour after, the sergeant came down with his musket. Meeting Sâfel on the stairs, he said to him, “Stay, that is for your father!”

  It was the portrait of the landwehr’s wife and children. Sâfel brought it to me at once. I took the poor devil’s gift, and looked at it for a long time, very sadly; then I shut it up in the closet with the letter.

  It was noon, and, as the gates were about to be opened, and abundance of provisions were to come, we sat down before a large piece of boiled beef, with a dish of potatoes, and opened a good bottle of wine.

  We were still eating when we heard shouts in the street. Sâfel got up to look out.

  “A wounded soldier that they are carrying to the hospital!” said he.

  Then he exclaimed, “It is our sergeant!”

  A horrible thought ran through my mind. “Keep still!” I said to Sorlé, who was getting up, and I went down alone.

  Four marine gunners were carrying the litter by on their shoulders; children were running behind.

  At the first glance I recognized the sergeant; his face perfectly white and his breast covered with blood. He did not move. The poor fellow had gone from our house to the bastion behind the arsenal, to shoot himself through the heart.

  I went up so overwhelmed, so sad and sorrowful, that I could scarcely stand.

  Sorlé was waiting for me in great agitation.

  “Our poor sergeant has killed himself,” said I; “may God forgive him!”

  And, sitting down, I could not help bursting into tears!

  CHAPTER XXI

  It is said with truth that misfortunes never come singly; one brings another in its train. The death of our good sergeant was, however, the last.