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

by Émile Erckmann

  Between the saw-mills and the first fire, on the bridge over the dam, sat the bootmaker Jérome of St. Quirin—a man of from fifty to sixty years of age, with a long brown face, hollow eyes, big nose—his ears covered with a badger-skin cap—and a yellow beard reaching to his waist in a peak. His hands, enveloped in great green woollen gloves, were clasped over an immense stick of knotty service-tree. He wore a long sackcloth hood; and might easily have been taken for a hermit. At every rumor that arose, Father Jérome would slowly turn his head, and try to catch what it was, frowning.

  Jean Labarbe, grasping his axe, remained immovable. He was a white-faced man, with an aquiline nose and thin lips. He exercised great influence over the men of Dagsburg, owing to his resolution and the clearness of his ideas. When they shouted around him, “We must deliberate; we cannot stay here doing nothing,” he simply contented himself with saying, “Let us wait: Hullin has not arrived, nor Catherine Lefèvre. There is no hurry.” Everybody then was silenced, and looked impatiently toward the path from Charmes.

  The sawyer Piorette—a small, brisk, thin, energetic man, whose black eyebrows met above his eyes—stood on the threshold of his hut, with his pipe between his teeth, contemplating the general appearance of this scene.

  Meanwhile, the impatience increased every moment. Some village mayors—in square-cut coats and three-cornered hats—advanced in the direction of the saw-mills, calling on their communes to come and decide what was to be done. Most fortunately, at last Catherine Lefèvre’s cart appeared, and a thousand enthusiastic shouts arose on all sides:

  “There they are! they come!”

  Old Materne gravely mounted on a trunk and quietly descended, saying, “It is they.”

  Great agitation showed itself. The farthest groups gathered together in one crowd. A sort of impatient shiver passed over the mass. Scarcely has the old farmer’s wife become visible, whip in hand, on her straw box with little Louise, than from all parts came cries of “Vive la France! Vive la mère Catherine!”

  Hullin, who had remained behind, his broad hat pushed back, his musket slung across his shoulder, was now crossing the meadow of Eichmath, distributing vigorous shakes of the hand: “Good-day, Daniel; good-day, Colon. Good-day—good-day!”

  “Ah! it is going to be warm, Hullin.”

  “Yes—yes; we are going to hear the chestnuts popping this winter. Good-day, my old Jérome! We have serious business on hand.”

  “Yes, Jean-Claude. We must hope to pull through it by the grace of God.”

  Catherine, on arriving at the saw-works, told Labarbe to set on the ground a keg of brandy which she had brought away from the farm, and to get a jug from the sawyer’s cottage.

  Soon after, Hullin, coming up to the fire, met Materne and his two sons.

  “You have come late,” said the old hunter.

  “Ah! yes. What was to be done? I had to descend the Falkenstein, get my gun, and start the women. But as we are now here, let us lose no more time; Lagarmitte, blow thy horn, so that all the men may assemble. The first thing is to appoint the leaders.”

  Lagarmitte blew his long trumpet, his cheeks puffed out to his ears: then those who were still on the hill-sides or paths hastened their pace to be in time. Soon all those brave fellows were assembled in front of the saw-works. Hullin got up on a pile of tree-trunks, and looking seriously upon the crowd, said, amidst deep silence: “The enemy crossed the Rhine the day before yesterday: they are marching over the mountain into Lorraine: Strasbourg and Huningue are blockaded. We may expect to see the Germans and Prussians in three or four days.”

  There was a loud shout of “Vive la France!”

  “Yes, vive la France!” continued Hullin; “for if the allies enter Paris they can do what they choose; they can re-establish statute-labor, tithes, convents, monopolies, and the gallows. If you wish to see that over again, you have only to let them pass.”

  It would be impossible to depict the savage fierceness of the audience at that moment.

  “That is what I had to tell you,” cried Hullin, quite white. “Since you are here, it can only be to fight.”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “It is well; but listen to me. I will be open with you. Among you are fathers of families. We shall be one against ten, against fifty: we must expect to perish. So let the men who have not reflected on it, who feel they have not heart to do their duty to the end, go—none will take notice of them. Each man is free.”

  Then he paused and looked around him. Everybody remained stationary: then with a firmer voice, he concluded thus: “No one goes away; you are all, all resolved to fight. Well, I am rejoiced to see there is not one coward among us. Now a leader must be chosen. In great dangers, the first thing is order and discipline. The leader you are going to name will have the right of commanding and being obeyed. So reflect seriously, for on that man will hang the fate of you all.”

  So saying, Jean-Claude descended from the tree-trunk, and the agitation became extreme. Every village deliberated apart by itself—every mayor proposed his friend—and the hours wore on. Catherine Lefèvre was burning with impatience. At length she could no longer contain herself, and standing up on her bench, signed that she was going to speak.

  Catherine was held in great esteem. At first only a few, then a larger number approached to know what she wished to communicate.

  “My friends,” said she, “we are losing time. What do you wish for? A trustworthy man, is it not so? a soldier—a man who has seen service, and who knows how to profit by our positions? Well, why do you not choose Hullin? Can any one find a better? If so, let him speak, and we will decide. I propose Jean-Claude Hullin. Hé! do you hear—over there? If this continues, the Austrians will have arrived before a leader has been decided on.”

  “Yes,—yes! Hullin!” shouted Labarbe, Divès, Jérome, and several others. “Let us see how many are for and against him.”

  Then Marc Divès, clambering on to the trunks, cried out in a voice like thunder: “Those who do not want Jean-Claude Hullin for leader must lift up their hands.”

  Not one hand was uplifted.

  “Those who want Jean-Claude Hullin for their leader must raise their hands.”

  Every hand was put up.

  “Jean-Claude,” said the smuggler, “mount up here, look—they have chosen you for their leader.”

  Master Jean-Claude having done so, saw he was named, and said immediately in a stern voice: “Good! you name me to be your chief. I accept! Let Materne the elder, Labarbe of Dagsburg, Jérome of St. Quirin, Marc Divès, Piorette the sawyer, and Catherine Lefèvre, come into the saw-works. We are going to take counsel. In a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes, I shall give my orders. Meanwhile, each village must put two men under the orders of Marc Divès, to fetch powder and ball from the Falkenstein.”

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE LEADER

  The persons indicated by Jean-Claude Hullin met together in the shed of the Sawyerie, before the great fireplace; a species of good-humor beaming on their faces.

  “For twenty years have I heard speak of the Russians, Austrians, and Cossacks,” said old Materne, smiling, “and I shall not be sorry to see a few within reach of my musket: it gives a change to one’s ideas.”

  “Yes,” replied Labarbe, “we shall see queer things; the little children of the mountains will be able to relate something of what their fathers and grandfathers did! And the old women, of an evening—won’t they tell long tales in fifty years’ time?”

  “Comrades,” said Hullin, “you know the whole country: you have the mountain under your eyes from Thann to Wissembourg. You know that the great roads, imperial roads—traverse Alsace and the Vosges. They both commence at Bâle: one runs along the Rhine to Strasbourg, from whence it ascends to Saverne and enters Lorraine. Huningue, Neuf-Brisach, Strasbourg, and Phalsbourg defend it. The other turns to the left and passes by Schlestadt: at Schlestadt it enters the mountain and reaches Saint-Dié, Raon-l’Etape, Baccarat, and Lunéville. The enem
y will want to force these two roads first,—being the best for cavalry, artillery, and baggage,—but as they are defended, we need not trouble ourselves about them. If the allies besiege the fortresses—which would lengthen the campaign—we have nothing to fear; but it is not probable they will do so. After having summoned Huningue to surrender, Belfort, Schlestadt, Strasbourg, and Phalsbourg, on this side the Vosges—Bitsche, Lutzelstein, and Sarrebrück on the other—I imagine they will fall upon us. Now attend to me. Between Phalsbourg and Saint-Die, there are several defiles for the infantry; but there is only one way practicable for cannon: this is the road from Strasbourg to Raon-les-Leaux by Urmatt, Mutzig, Lutzelhouse, Phramond, Grandfontaine. Once masters of this passage, the allies will be able to come out on Lorraine. This road passes the Donon, two leagues from here, on our right The first thing to be done is to make a firm stand there, in the most favorable part for defence, that is to say, on the plateau of the mountain; to intersect it, to break down the bridges, and to erect solid breastworks across it. A few hundreds of great trees across the road with all their branches are worth as much as ramparts. They are the best ambuscades: one is well sheltered behind them and can see everything coming. Those large trees hold like death. They must be taken away piece by piece; bridges cannot be thrown over them:—in fact it is the best thing to be done. All that, comrades, must be accomplished to-morrow evening, or next day at the latest. I charge myself with it. But it is not sufficient to occupy a position and put it in a good state of defence: it must be so managed that the enemy shall not be able to turn it.”

  “I was just thinking of that,” said Materne. “Once in the valley of Bruche, the Germans can march with their infantry into the hills of Haslack and turn our left. Nothing can prevent their trying the same manoeuvre on our right, if they reach Raon-l’Etape.”

  “Yes, but to take these ideas out of their heads, we have a very simple thing to do: it is to occupy the defiles of the Zorn and the Sarre on our left, and that of Blanru on our right. One can only keep a defile by holding the heights; that is why Piorette must place himself with a hundred men on the side of Raon-les-Leaux; Jérome on the Grosmann, with the same number, to close the valley of the Sarre; and Labarbe, at the head of the remainder on the great slopes to watch over the hills of Haslach. You must choose your men from those of the nearest villages. The women ought not to have a long distance to carry provisions; and then the wounded will be nearer their homes, which must also be thought of. There is all I have to say to you just now. The chiefs of posts must take care to send me every day on the Donon, where I shall establish our head-quarters this evening, a good walker, to inform me of what happens, and to receive the countersign. We shall also organize a reserve; but as we must make haste, we will speak of that when you are all in position, and there is no longer cause to fear a surprise from the enemy.”

  “And I,” exclaimed Marc Divès, “I shall have nothing to do then? I am to remain with my arms folded, watching the others fight?”

  “Thou—thou art to survey the transport of ammunition. None of us know how to treat the powder as thou dost, to preserve it from fire and damp, to melt the balls, and make cartridges.”

  “But it is woman’s work, that is,” exclaimed the smuggler. “Hexe-Baizel could do it as well as I. What! am I not even to fire once?”

  “Softly, Marc,” replied Hullin, laughing; “occasions will not be wanting. In the first place, the Falkenstein is the centre of our line; it is our arsenal and our retreating place in case of misfortune. The enemy will know through his spies that our convoys come from there; he will try, probably, to take them: the balls and bayonet-thrusts will come in thy way. Besides, to have thee in safety will be all the better, for thy cellars and caves must not be confided to the first comer. But if thou really wouldst like—”

  “No,” said the smuggler, who had been touched by Hullin’s reference to his caves—“no! all things considered, I believe thou art right, Jean-Claude. I have my men—they are well armed—we will defend the Falkenstein; and if the opportunity of firing a shot should present itself, I shall be all the freer.”

  “Then that is a decided and well-understood business?” demanded Hullin.

  “Yes, yes, it is decided.”

  “Well, comrades,” said the worthy fellow, joyously, “let us warm ourselves with a few good glasses of wine. It is ten o’clock; let each one return to his village, and make his preparations. To-morrow morning all the defiles must be vigorously occupied.”

  They quitted the shed, and Hullin, in the presence of his followers, named Labarbe, Jérome, and Piorette chiefs of the defiles: then he told those of the Sarre to assemble as soon as possible near the farm of Bois-de-Chênes, with axes, mattocks, and muskets. “We shall leave at two o’clock, and encamp on the Donon across the route,” said he to them. “To-morrow, at dawn, we will begin the breastworks.”

  He retained Materne and his two sons Frantz and Kasper, announcing to them that the battle would commence undoubtedly on the Donon, and that good shots would be wanted on that side, which gave them pleasure.

  Mistress Lefèvre had never looked happier than when she got into her cart again, and, kissing Louise, said in her ear: “All goes well. Jean-Claude is a man: he sees everything; he draws people to him. I have known him forty years, yet he surprises even me.” Then turning round—“Jean-Claude,” cried she, “we have a ham waiting for us down there and a few old bottles, which the Germans shall not drink.”

  “No, Catherine, they shall not drink them. Go on, I am coming.”

  But just as they were starting, and when already a number of mountaineers were climbing the hillsides to regain their villages, quite in the distance, on the path of Trois-Fontaines, appeared a large thin man on a big roan cob, with a flat-brimmed cap of rabbit-skin covering the whole back of his neck: a great sheep-dog with a black shaggy coat bounded along near him; and the ends of his enormous surtout flapped behind him like wings. Every one cried out, “It is Doctor Lorquin from the plain—the one who attends poor people gratis. He comes with his dog Pluto. He is a good man.”

  In fact he it was. He galloped on, shouting, “Halt! stop! halt!” And his red face, sharp eyes, red-brown beard, broad shoulders, great horse and dog, all cleaved the air and grew upon the view. In two seconds he had reached the foot of the mountain, crossed the meadow, and appeared at the bridge, before the shed. Instantly, in breathless tones, he began to say: “Ah! the cunning rogues who want to enter on a campaign without me; they shall pay for it!” And tapping a small box he carried at his crupper, “Listen, my good fellows, listen! I have something inside there of which you shall give me an account: every description of knife, large, small, round and pointed, to take from you the balls and shot of all kinds which you are going to be regaled with!” Whereupon he burst out laughing, and all those near him felt a cold shiver in all their veins.

  Having delivered himself of this pleasantry, Doctor Lorquin continued in a graver tone: “Hullin, I must pull your ears! What, when the country has to be defended, you forget me! others have to warn me. It appears to me, however, that a doctor will not be out of the way here. I must call you to account.”

  “Pardon me, doctor, I was wrong,” said Hullin, squeezing his hand. “During the last week so many things have happened! One does not always think of everything; and besides, such a man as you are, need not be told how to fulfil his duty.”

  The doctor was appeased.

  “All that is right and good,” he cried; “but nevertheless by your fault I am too late; the good places are taken, the crosses distributed. Come, where is the general, that I may make complaints to him?”

  “I am the general.”

  “Oh! oh! really?”

  “Yes, doctor, I am the general; and I promote you to be our head surgeon.”

  “Chief surgeon of the partisans of the Vosges! Well, it suits me. No malice now, Jean-Claude.”

  Approaching the cart, the worthy man told Catherine that he relied on her for t
he organization of the ambulances.

  “Everything shall be ready, doctor,” replied the farm-mistress. “Louise and I are going to set to work this evening. Is it not so, Louise?”

  “Oh, yes, Mamma Lefèvre,” said she, enchanted to perceive that the campaign was going to begin. “We shall work well; we will spend the night at it even. M. Lorquin shall be well pleased with us.”

  “Well, then, let us go. You will dine with us, doctor?”

  They trotted away. While keeping pace with them, the good doctor related to Catherine laughingly how the tidings of the general rising had reached him; the affliction of his old housekeeper, Marie, who wanted to prevent his going to be massacred by the “kaiserlichs,” and the various episodes of his journey from Quibolo to the village of Charmes. Hullin, Materne, and his sons were coming on behind, their carbines on their shoulders; and thus they ascended the hill-side toward the farm of Bois-de-Chênes.

  CHAPTER IX

  THE CONSCRIPT

  You can imagine the animation at the farm, the bustling of the domestics, the shouts of enthusiasm, the chinking of glasses and forks, the joy depicted on all faces, when Jean-Claude, Doctor Lorquin, the Maternes, and all those who had followed the cart of Catherine Lefèvre were installed in the large room around a magnificent ham, and began to celebrate their future triumphs, glass in hand.

  It was on a Tuesday, baking-day at the farm. Excitement had prevailed in the kitchen all the morning: old Duchêne, with shirt-sleeves turned up and a cotton cap on his head, was taking out of the oven numberless loaves of bread, the good odor of which pervaded the whole house. Annette received them and piled them on the hearth; Louise waited on the guests; and Catherine Lefèvre superintended everything, crying out, “Make haste, my children—make haste! The third batch must be ready when the men from the Sarre arrive. It will make six pounds of bread for each man.”

  Hullin, from his seat, watched the movements of the old farm-mistress.