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

by Émile Erckmann

  They listened again; the footsteps came nearer.

  “Thou must be very much bothered with these three prisoners,” said Hullin, roughly. “Since thou returnest to the Falkenstein to-night to get ammunition, what prevents thee from taking them away?”

  “Where are they to be put?”

  “Why, in the communal prison of Abreschwiller, to be sure. We cannot keep them here.”

  “All right, I understand, Jean-Claude. And if they try to escape on the way, I am to use my sword?”

  “Just so.”

  By this time they had reached the door, and Hullin, perceiving Materne, could not suppress a shout of enthusiasm: “Ah! Is it thou, old fellow? I have been searching for thee an hour. Where the devil wert thou?”

  “We have been carrying poor Rochart to the ambulance, Jean-Claude.”

  “Ah! it is a sad affair, isn’t it?”

  “Yes; it is sad.”

  There was a moment’s pause, and the satisfaction of the worthy man again became visible.

  “It is not at all lively,” said he; “but what is to be done when one goes to the war? You are not hurt any of you?”

  “No; we are all three safe and sound.”

  “So much the better. Those who are left can boast of being lucky.”

  “True,” cried Marc Divès, laughing. “At one time I thought Materne was going to give way. Without those cannon-balls at the finish, things would have gone badly.”

  Materne colored, and glanced sideways at the smuggler.

  “Perhaps so,” said he, dryly; “but without the cannon-balls at the beginning, we should not have needed those at the end. Old Rochart, and fifty other brave men, would still have had their arms and legs, and our victory would not have been clouded.”

  “Bah!” interrupted Hullin, anticipating a dispute between the two brave fellows, neither of whom was remarkable for his conciliatory disposition. “Leave that alone. Every one has done his duty; and that is the chief thing.”

  Then, addressing Materne: “I have just sent a flag of truce to Framont, to bid the Germans carry away their wounded. In an hour, I dare say, they will be here. Our sentries must be warned to let them approach if they come without arms and with torches. If in any other way, let them be received with a volley.”

  “I will go at once,” answered the old hunter.

  “Materne, thou wilt afterward sup at the farm with thy boys.”

  “Agreed, Jean-Claude.”

  And he went off.

  Hullin then bade Frantz and Kasper light great bivouac fires; Marc was at once to feed his horses, so that he might go without delay to procure ammunition. Seeing them hurrying away, Hullin turned into the farm.

  CHAPTER XVII

  ROUND THE FESTIVE BOARD

  At the end of the dark alley was the yard of the farm, into which one descended by five or six well-worn steps. On the left were the granary and the wine-press; to the right the stables and pigeon-cot, the gables of which stood out black on the dark cloudy sky; and in front of the door was the laundry.

  No sound from the outside reached the yard. After so many tumultuous scenes, Hullin was impressed by the deep silence. He looked up at the piles of straw hanging from the beams of the granary roof, the ploughs and carts in the shadows of the outhouses, and an inexpressible feeling of calm and repose came over him. A cock was roosting quietly among the hens on the wall. A big cat, darting quickly by, disappeared through a hole into the cellar. Hullin thought himself in a dream.

  After a few moments spent in silent contemplation, he walked slowly toward the laundry, the three windows of which shone brightly in the darkness: for the farm-kitchen not being large enough for preparing food for three or four hundred men, it was now being used for the purposes of cooking.

  Master Jean-Claude heard Louise’s clear voice giving orders in a resolute tone, which astonished him.

  “Now, Katel, quick! supper-time is near. Our people must be hungry. Since six in the morning they have taken nothing, and have been fighting all the time. They must not be kept waiting. Come, bestir yourself, Lesselé; bring the salt and pepper!”

  Jean-Claude’s heart leaped within him at the sound of this voice. He could not help gazing for a minute through the window before entering.

  The kitchen was large, with low whitewashed ceiling. A beechwood fire crackled on the hearth, its red flames encircling the sides of an immense kettle. The charming figure of Louise, wearing her short petticoat so as to move unimpeded, a bright color in her face, the short red body of her dress leaving uncovered her round shoulders and white neck, stood out clearly in the foreground. She was in all the bustle of the occasion, coming and going, tasting the soup and sauces with a knowing air, and approving and criticising everything.

  “A little more salt! Lesselé, have you almost done plucking that great lean cock? At this rate we shall never have finished!”

  It was delightful to see her thus busily commanding. It brought tears into Hullin’s eyes.

  The two daughters of the anabaptist—one tall, thin, and pale, with her large flat feet encased in round shoes, her red hair fastened up in a little black cap, her blue stuff dress falling in folds to her heels; the other fat, slowly lifting up one foot after the other, and waddling along like a duck—forming a striking contrast to Louise.

  The stout Katel went panting about without saying a word, while Lesselé performed everything in her sleepy methodical way.

  The worthy anabaptist himself, seated at the end of the room, with his legs crossed on a wooden chair, his cotton cap on his head, and his hands in his blouse pockets, looked on with a wondering air, addressing to them sententious exhortations from time to time: “Lesselé, Katel! be obedient, my children. Let this be for your instruction. You have not yet seen the world. You must be quicker and sharper.”

  “Yes, yes, you must bestir yourselves,” added Louise. “Gracious! what should become of us if we stood thinking months and weeks before putting a little onion into a sauce! Lesselé, you are the tallest, unhook me that parcel of onions from the ceiling.”

  The girl obeyed.

  Hullin had never felt prouder in his life.

  “How she makes them move about!” thought he. “Ah! ha! ha! she is like a little hussar. I never should have believed it.”

  After having watched them for five minutes, he went into the room.

  “Well done, my children!”

  Louise was holding a soup-ladle at the time. She let it fall, and threw herself into his arms, crying: “Papa Jean-Claude, is it you? you are not wounded? Nothing is the matter with you?”

  At the sound of this voice, Hullin turned pale, and could make no reply. After a long silence, pressing her to his heart, he said: “No, Louise, I am quite well; I am very happy.”

  “Sit down, Jean-Claude,” said the anabaptist, seeing him trembling with emotion; “here, take my chair.”

  Hullin sat down, and Louise, with her arms on his shoulder, began to cry.

  “What is the matter, my child?” said the worthy man, kissing her. “Come, calm thyself. Only a few seconds ago thou wert so courageous.”

  “Oh, yes, but I was only acting; I was very much afraid. I thought, ‘Why does he not come?’”

  She threw her arms round his neck. Then a strange idea came into her head. She took him by the hand, crying: “Papa Jean-Claude, let us dance, let us dance!”

  And they made three or four turns. Hullin could not help laughing, and turning toward the grave anabaptist, said: “We are rather mad, Pelsly; do not let that astonish you.”

  “No, Master Hullin, it is quite natural. King David himself danced before the ark after his great victory over the Philistines.”

  Jean-Claude, astonished to find that he was like King David, made no reply.

  “And thou, Louise,” he continued, stopping, “thou wert not afraid during this last battle?”

  “Oh, at first, with all the noise and the roaring of the cannons; but afterward I only thought of you a
nd of Mamma Lefèvre.”

  Master Jean-Claude grew silent again.

  “I knew,” thought he, “that she was a brave girl. She has everything in her favor.”

  Louise taking him by the hand, then led him to a regiment of pans around the fire, and showed him with delight her kitchen.

  “Here is the beef and roast mutton, here is General Jean-Claude’s supper, and here is the soup for our wounded. Haven’t we been busy! Lesselé and Katel would tell you so. And here is our bread,” said she, pointing to a long row of loaves arranged on the table. “Mamma Lefèvre and I mixed up the flour.”

  Hullin looked on astonished.

  “But that is not all,” said she; “come over here.”

  She took off the lid of a saucepan, and the kitchen was immediately filled with a savory odor which would have rejoiced the heart of a gourmand.

  Jean-Claude was deeply touched by all these proofs of attention to the wants of his men.

  Just then Mother Lefèvre came in.

  “Well,” said she, “prepare the table; everybody is waiting over there. Come, Katel, go and lay the cloth.”

  The girl went running out to do so.

  They all crossed the dark yard and made their way toward the large room. Doctor Lorquin, Dubois, Marc Divès, Materne, and his two boys, all very hungry, were awaiting the soup impatiently.

  “How about our wounded, doctor?” said Hullin, on entering.

  “They have all been attended to, Master Jean-Claude. You have given us plenty of work to do; but the weather is favorable; there is nothing to fear from putrid fevers; things wear a pleasant aspect.”

  Katel, Lesselé, and Louise soon came in bearing an immense tureen of smoking soup and two sirloins of roast beef, which they deposited on the table. They all sat down without ceremony—old Materne to the right of Jean-Claude, Catherine Lefèvre to the left; and from that time the clatter of spoons and forks and the gurgling of the bottles took the place of conversation till half-past eight in the evening. The glow which might be seen from the outside upon the windows, proved that the volunteers were doing justice to Louise’s cookery, which contributed greatly to the enjoyment of her guests.

  At nine o’clock Marc Divès was on his way to Falkenstein with the prisoners. At ten everybody was asleep at the farm, on the plateau, and around the watchfires. The silence was only broken by the passing of the patrols and the challenge of the sentinels.

  Thus terminated, this great day, after the mountaineers had proved that they had not degenerated from their ancestors.

  Other events, not less important, were soon to succeed those which had already taken place: for in this world, when one obstacle is surmounted, others present themselves. Human life resembles a restless sea: one wave follows another from the old world to the new, and nothing arrests its ever-lasting movement.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE CAVE OF LUITPRANDT

  All through the battle, till the close of night, the good people of Grandfontaine had observed the poor crazy Yégof standing upon the crest of the Little Donon, and, his crown on his head, with his sceptre held aloft, like a Merovingian king, shouting commands to his phantom armies. What passed through his mind when he saw the utter rout of the Germans no one can say; but at the last cannon-shot he disappeared. Where did he betake himself? On this point the people of Tiefenbach have the following story:

  At that time there lived upon the Bocksberg two singular creatures—sisters—one named “little Kateline,” and the other “great Berbel.” These creatures, who were almost in tatters, had taken up their abode in the “Cave of Luitprandt,” so called, according to old chronicles, because the German king, before invading Alsace, had caused to be interred in that immense vault of red sandstone the savage chiefs who had fallen in the battle of Blutfeld. The hot spring which always bubbles in the middle of the cavern protected the eerie sisters from the sharp colds of winter; and the woodcutter, Daniel Horn, of Tiefenbach, had been good enough to fill up the largest entrance to the rock with heaps of brushwood. By the side of the hot spring there is another, cold as ice and clear as crystal. Kateline, who always drank of its waters, was scarce four foot high, thick-set and bloated; and her cowering figure, her round eyes and enormous goitre, rendered her whole appearance peculiarly suggestive of a big turkey-hen in a reverie. Every Sunday she carried into Tiefenbach a great basket, which the people of the place filled with boiled potatoes, crusts of bread, and occasionally, on high days, with cakes and other remains of their festivals;—with which she reascended breathlessly to her rocky home, muttering, gibbering, and behaving in the absurdest way. Meanwhile Berbel took care to drink from the cold spring: she was gaunt, one-eyed, scraggy as a bat, with a flat nose, large ears, a gleaming eye, and thrived upon the booty obtained by her sister. Seldom did she descend from the Bocksberg, except in July, at the time of greatest heat—when she proceeded to launch her incantations—her enchanting-wand a withered thistle—against the crops of those who had failed to contribute to her sister’s basket. These imprecations were always believed to be followed by dire storms, hail, and destructive vermin without stint: whence they came to be dreaded as the plague, and the hag herself to be regarded as a weather-witch (Wetterhexe), while “little Kateline” was looked upon as the good genius of Tiefenbach and its neighborhood. In such wise Berbel folded her arms and took her ease in her cave, while her sister went gibbering along the highways.

  Unfortunately for the sisters, Yégof had for many years established his winter-quarters in “Luitprandt’s cavern;” and it was thence he set forth every spring on a visit to his innumerable châteaux and feudatories, as far as Geierstein in the Hundsrück. Every year, therefore, toward the end of November, after the first snows, he arrived with his raven, to the accompaniment of piercing cries from Wetterhexe.

  “What have you to grumble at?” he would say, while installing himself in the place of honor. “Are you not intruders upon my domain, and am I not truly good to permit two such useless old hags (Valkyries) to stay in the Valhalla of my fathers?”

  Then Berbel, in a rage, used to overwhelm him with abuse, while Kateline gave vent to her dissatisfaction in thick unintelligible utterances; but he, regardless of both, lit his old box pipe and set himself to describe his endless peregrinations to the ghosts of the German warriors buried in the cavern sixteen centuries before, calling upon each of them by name, and addressing them as personages still living. From this it will be understood with what disgust the arrival of the maniac came to be regarded by Kateline and Berbel; in fact for both it was nothing less than a calamity.

  Now in the year we are speaking of, Yégof, having failed to return to them at the proper time, induced the sisters to believe that he was dead and to rejoice at the idea of seeing no more of him. But for many days Wetterhexe had remarked an extraordinary movement going on in the neighboring gorges, and men marching off in bodies, shouldering their muskets, from the sides of Falkenstein and Donon. Clearly something was taking place out of the common. Recollecting that the year before Yégof had informed the phantoms of the cave that his armies, in countless hosts, were coming to invade the country, the sorceress was seized with a vague apprehension and anxiety to learn the cause of so much agitation; but no one came up to the cave, and Kateline having made her rounds on the previous Sunday, could not have been induced to stir out for the gift of a kingdom.

  In this state of apprehension, Wetterhexe went and came upon the side of the mountain and became hourly more restless and irritable. During the whole of that Saturday events assumed quite another aspect. From nine o’clock in the morning deep and heavy explosions began to growl like a continuous storm among the thousand echoes of the mountain; while far away in the direction of Donon, the swift lightnings swept up across the sky among the peaks; then toward night the discharges deepening in intensity filled the silent gorges with an indescribable tumult. At every report the Hengst, the Gantzlee, the Giromani, and the Grosmann cliffs seemed to echo to their lowest depths
.

  “What can it be?” cried Berbel. “Has the end of the world come?”

  Then re-entering her lurking-place, and finding Kateline crouched in her corner and munching a potato, Berbel shook her roughly and hissed out: “Fool! have you got no ears? Is there anything that you fear? You are good for nothing but eating, drinking, and mumbling. Oh, you idiot!”

  She snatched away the potato in a rage, and then seated herself by the side of the hot spring, which was sending up its gray fumes to the roof. Half an hour after, the darkness having become intense and the cold excessive, she made a fire of brushwood, which shed its pale gleams upon the blocks of red sandstone and lit up the farthest corner of the cave, where Kateline was now asleep, huddled in the straw, with her chin upon her knees. Without, the noisy tumult had ceased. Then withdrawing the brushwood curtain from the mouth of the cave, she peered out into the darkness, and returned to crouch down, by the spring. With her large lips compressed, her eyes closed, and the great round wrinkles playing upon her cheeks, she drew round her knees an old woollen covering, and appeared to fall asleep. Throughout the cavern there was no sound, except that of the congealed vapor, which fell back at long intervals into the spring with a strange splashing noise.

  This silence lasted for about two hours; midnight was approaching, when all of a sudden a distant sound of footsteps, mingled with discordant cries, was heard outside the cave. Berbel listened, and at once perceived that they were human cries. Then she rose, trembling, and, armed with her thistle-wand, proceeded to the entrance of the cave; whence, through the screen of brushwood, she saw, at fifty paces distant, Yégof advancing toward her in the moonlight. He was alone, but gesticulating and waving his sceptre, as if myriads of invisible beings were about him.

  “Hark, ye red men!” he was shrieking, with, beard sticking up on end, his hair streaming about his head, and his dog-skin upon his arm. “Hark, ye red men! Roog! Bled! Adelrik! hark! Will ye not hear me at last? Do you not see they are coming? Behold them cleaving the sky like vultures. Hark to me. Let this miserable race be annihilated! Ha, ha! it is you, Minau! it is you, Rochart…ha! ha!” And addressing the dead upon the Donon, he called upon them defiantly, as if they were standing before him; and then fell back a step at a time, striking the air, uttering imprecations, encouraging his phantoms, and casting about him as if in close fight. The sight of this terrible struggle against beings who were invisible caused Berbel to shudder with fright, and to fancy her hair stiffening upon her head. She sought to hide herself; but just at the moment a strange noise from behind drew her attention, and her terror may be imagined when she saw the hot spring bubbling with more than usual activity and sending out clouds of steam, which rose and broke away in separate masses toward the entrance of the cavern; and while these clouds like phantoms were slowly advancing in close order, Yégof appeared upon the scene, shouting hoarsely: