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

by Émile Erckmann

  By six o’clock the highest peaks were hid in darkness. Hundreds of fires, sparkling in the depths of the gorges, announced that the Germans were preparing their repasts.

  Marc Divès felt his way down the narrow path. Hullin listened for a few seconds to the retreating steps of his comrade, then walked anxiously toward the old tower, where their head-quarters were established. He lifted the thick woollen covering which closed the owl’s-nest, and perceived Catherine, Louise, and the others crouching round a small fire. The old farm-mistress sat on an oak log, her hands clasped round her knees, watching the flames fixedly, with compressed lips. Louise leant dreamily against the wall. Jérome stood behind Catherine, his hands crossed on his stick, his otter-skin cap touching the mouldy roof. All were sad and discouraged. Hexe-Baizel, who was lifting the lid of a kettle, and Doctor Lorquin, who was scratching the softer parts of the old wall with the point of his sabre, alone preserved their usual expression.

  “Here we are,” said the doctor, “returned to the days of the Triboques. These walls are more than two thousand years old. A great deal of water must have flowed from the heights of the Falkenstein and Grosmann to the Sarre and Rhine since a fire was last kindled in this tower.”

  “Yes,” replied Catherine, as though awaking from a dream; “and many besides ourselves have suffered cold, hunger, and misery here. Who knew of it? No one. And one, or two, or three hundred years hence, others, perhaps, will again come for shelter to this place. They will find, as we have, the wall cold, and the earth damp; they will make a fire; they will look as we look; and they will say, like us, ‘Who suffered here before ourselves? Why did they suffer? They must have been pursued and hunted, like ourselves, to be obliged to come and hide in this wretched hole.’ And they will think of past times; and no one will reply.”

  Jean-Claude came up to them. The old dame, raising her head, and looking at him, said, “Well! we are blockaded; the enemy wants to subdue us by famine.”

  “True, Catherine,” replied Hullin; “but I did not expect that. I felt certain of a sudden attack; but the ‘kaiserlichs’ have not gained all yet. Divès has just left for Phalsbourg. He knows the commandant of the place; and if they will only send a few hundred men to our help—”

  “Do not count on that,” interrupted the old woman. “Marc may be taken or killed by the Germans: and, if not, and suppose he manages to cross their lines, how will he be able to enter Phalsbourg? You well know that the town is besieged by the Russians.”

  Then everybody relapsed into silence. Hexe-Baizel brought up the soup, and they sat in a circle round the smoking bowl.

  CHAPTER XXIV

  A FLAG OF TRUCE

  Catherine Lefèvre came out of the ancient ruin about seven in the morning; Louise and Hexe-Baizel were still asleep; but broad daylight, the clear light of the high regions, was already penetrating the abysses. In the depths, through the azure, the woods, valleys, and rocks could be clearly traced, like the mosses and pebbles of a lake beneath the blue crystal water. Not a breath disturbed the air; and Catherine, gazing over this grand spectacle, felt a calmness and tranquillity beyond even that which comes of sleep. “What are our miseries of a day,” thought she, “our uneasinesses and our sufferings? Why pester heaven with our moans? why fear the future? All this lasts but a second; our sighs are of no more avail than the chirp of the grasshopper in autumn; and do its cries prevent winter from coming? Must not time pursue its course, and everything die to be renewed?”

  Thus thought the old dame, and she had no longer any fears for the future. She had been thus musing for a few instants, when suddenly a hum of voices struck her ears: she turned, and saw Hullin with the three smugglers, talking seriously together on the other side of the plateau. They were engaged in a grave discussion, and had not noticed her. Catherine approached closer to them, and heard the following conversation:

  “Then you do not think it possible for any one to get down either side?”

  “No, Jean-Claude, it is quite impossible,” replied Brenn; “those brigands know the country thoroughly well: all the paths are guarded. Hold, look along the paths of that stream: we never dreamt of observing it even; well! they are defending that now. And over there, on the passage of the Rothstein, a path only for a goat, which is not trodden once in ten years—thou canst see a bayonet sparkle behind the rock, canst thou not? And that nearer path along which I have slipped with my bags for these eight years past without meeting a single gendarme, they occupy that also: the devil certainly must have showed them all the defiles.”

  “Yes,” exclaimed Joubac, “if the devil has nothing to do with it, at least Yégof has!”

  “But,” continued Hullin, “it seems to me that three or four men might, if they liked, push through one of those posts.”

  “No, those posts lean one on the other; at the first shot one would have a whole regiment upon one’s shoulders,” replied Brenn. “Besides, supposing one had the luck to get through, how could one return with provisions? My opinion is, that it is impossible.”

  There was a pause.

  “After that,” said Joubac, “if Hullin likes we will try all the same.”

  “We will try what?” said Brenn. “To break our legs in escaping ourselves, and leave the others in the trap. I don’t mind; if any others go, I will too. But as for pretending to return with provisions, it is impossible. Come, Joubac, by which way art thou going, and by which way wilt thou return? If thou knowest of a passage, tell me. For twenty years I have scoured the mountain with Marc. I know all the paths and roads ten leagues round, and I see no other way but through the sky!”

  Hullin turned round at that moment and saw Mother Lefèvre, close behind, listening attentively.

  “What! were you there, Catherine?” said he. “Our affairs are taking a bad turn.”

  “Yes, I heard; there is no means of renewing our provisions.”

  “Our provisions!” said Brenn with a queer laugh. “Are you aware, Mother Lefèvre, for how long we have them?”

  “Why, for a fortnight,” replied the old dame.

  “For a week,” said the smuggler, shaking out the ashes from his pipe.

  “It is true,” said Hullin, “Marc Divès and myself thought they would attack the Falkenstein; we never imagined the enemy would blockade it like a fortress. We have been deceived!”

  “And what is to be done?” said Catherine, turning pale.

  “We are going to put everybody on half rations. If, in a fortnight, Marc does not return we shall have nothing left—then we shall see.”

  So saying, Hullin, Catherine, and the smugglers, with bowed heads, took the path to the breach again. As they were coming down the slope, thirty feet below them they perceived Materne. He was climbing breathlessly among the ruins, and clutched hold of the bushes to help him along faster.

  “Well,” shouted Jean-Claude to him; “what is the matter, old fellow?”

  “Ah! there thou art. I was coming to find thee; one of the enemy’s officers has come forward on the wall of the old ‘burg’ with a little white flag; he looks as though he had something to say to us.”

  Hullin advanced immediately to the edge of the rock, and saw a German officer standing on the wall, and awaiting a signal to mount. He was about two gun-shots distant; farther behind five or six soldiers were stationed with their arms shouldered. After having inspected this group, Jean-Claude turned and said: “It is a flag of truce. He comes no doubt to summon us to surrender.”

  “Fire upon them!” cried Catherine; “it is all we have to say.”

  All the others appeared of the same advice, excepting Hullin, who, without making any reply descended to the terrace, where the rest of the partisans were assembled.

  “My children,” said he, “the enemy sends us a flag of truce. We do not know what he wants of us. I suppose it is to order us to lay down our arms; but it may possibly be something else. Frantz and Kasper will go to meet him; they must blindfold the officer and lead him here.”


  No objection being made, Materne’s sons shouldered their carbines and walked away under the lofty arch. About ten minutes later, the two red-haired hunters reached the officer; there was a rapid conference between them, after which all three began to climb to the Falkenstein. By degrees, as the party ascended, the uniform of the officer and his face could be distinguished: he was a thin man, with light brown hair, well made, and determined-looking. At the foot of the rock Frantz and Kasper blindfolded him, and soon the sound of their steps under the arch could be heard.

  Jean-Claude going toward them, himself unbound the handkerchief, saying, “You desire to communicate something to me, sir; I am listening.”

  The partisans stood about fifteen paces away. Catherine Lefèvre, the foremost among them, frowned; her bony, angular face, long beaked nose, her three or four tresses of gray hair, falling down over her temples and hollow cheek-bones, her compressed lips, and the fixity of her gaze, appeared at first to rivet the attention of the German officer. Next to her stood Louise, with her sweet pale face. Jérome, with his long tawny beard, draped in his horse-hair tunic, and Materne, leaning on his short carbine, and the others around him completed the group.

  The officer himself was the object of particular attention. One could see in him, his attitude, fine sunburnt features, clear gray eyes, handsome mustache, in the elegance of his limbs, hardened by the labors of war, a member of an aristocratic race: he combined the old soldier and the man of the world, the warrior and the diplomatist.

  This reciprocal inspection being finished, the bearer of the flag of truce said, in good French, “I have the honor of addressing the Commandant Hullin?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Jean-Claude.

  And seeing the other gazing hesitatingly around the circle, he continued, “Speak loud, sir, so that everybody may hear you. When honor and the country are in question all are concerned in France; the women are interested as well as ourselves. Have you any proposition to make me, and from whom?”

  “From the General Commander-in-chief. Here is my commission.”

  “Good; we are listening to you, sir.”

  Then the officer, raising his voice, said in a resolute tone: “Permit me first, commandant, to remark that you have fulfilled your duty splendidly: you have called forth the esteem of your enemies.”

  “In the matter of duty,” replied Hullin, “we have all done our best.”

  “Yes,” added Catherine, dryly, “and since our enemies esteem us on that account, well, they will esteem us still more in eight or fifteen days, for we have not reached the end of the war yet. You will live to see more of us.”

  The officer turned his head, and looked with astonishment at the savage energy in the old woman’s face.

  “They are noble sentiments,” he retorted, after an instant’s silence: “but humanity has its rights, and to squander blood uselessly is returning evil for evil.”

  “Then why do you come into our country?” cried Catherine sharply. “Go away, and we will let you alone. You make war like brigands: you steal, pillage, and burn. You all deserve to be hanged. And to set a good example, you personally ought to be hurled over that rock.”

  The officer turned pale, for the old woman seemed quite capable of carrying out her threat; however he soon regained his composure, and replied calmly: “I am aware that the Cossacks have set fire to the farm in front of this rock. They are pillagers, such as are to be found in the rear of every army, and this isolated act proves nothing against the discipline of our troops. The French soldiers did the same in Germany, and particularly in the Tyrol; not content with pillaging and burning the villages, they mercilessly shot all mountaineers suspected of having taken up arms for the defence of their country. We might make reprisals, and should be justified in doing so; but we are not barbarians, we can understand that patriotism is noble and grand, even in its most ill-advised acts. Besides, we are not making war on the French people, but on the Emperor Napoleon. And the general, on learning the conduct of the Cossacks, has publicly punished this act of Vandalism; more, he has decided that an indemnity shall be accorded to the proprietor of the farm.”

  “I will not receive anything from you,” Catherine hastily interrupted; “I will keep my injustice and revenge myself.”

  The officer understanding by the accent of the old woman’s voice that he could make no impression upon her, and feeling that it was even dangerous for him to reply, turned toward Hullin, and said: “I am ordered, commandant, to offer you the honors of war if you will consent to give up this position. You have no provisions, we know that. In a few days you will be obliged to lay down your arms. The esteem felt for you by our general has alone caused him to make you honorable conditions. A longer resistance would be useless. We are masters of the Donon, our battalions are entering Lorraine; the campaign will not be concluded here, therefore you have no interest in defending such a position. We wish to spare you the horrors of famine on this barren rock. Come, commandant, decide.”

  Hullin turned toward the partisans and said to them: “You have heard? I refuse; but I will submit if everybody accepts the propositions of the enemy.”

  “We refuse, all of us,” said Jérome.

  “Yes, all,” replied the others.

  Catherine Lefèvre, who had looked inflexible till then, regarded Louise and seemed touched; she took her by the arm, and turning toward the officer, said to him: “We have a child with us; is there no means by which we could send her to one of our relations at Saverne?”

  Hardly had Louise heard these words, than throwing herself into Hullin’s arms with fear, she cried out: “No, no, I will remain with you, Papa Jean-Claude; I will die with you.”

  “Well,” said Hullin; “go tell your general what you have seen: tell him that the Falkenstein will be ours till death! Kasper, Frantz, reconduct the truce-bearer.”

  The officer appeared to hesitate, but as he opened his mouth to speak, Catherine, pale with rage, exclaimed, “Begone! you have not yet gained all the advantages you think. It is that brigand Yégof who has told you that we have no provisions; but we have for two months, and by that time our army will have exterminated you all. Traitors will not always have the best of it: bad luck to you.”

  Seeing she was becoming more and more excited, the officer thought it best to take his departure: he turned to his guides, who put the bandages over his eyes, and conducted him to the foot of the Falkenstein.

  The instructions which Hullin had given concerning the provisions were executed on the same day, and each received his half ration. A sentry was placed before Hexe-Baizel’s cavern, where the food was kept; the door was barricaded, and Jean-Claude decided that the distributions should be made in the presence of all, so as to prevent any injustice; but all these precautions were destined to fail in preserving the unfortunate people from the horrors of famine.

  CHAPTER XXV

  “BATTLE OF THE ROCKS”

  For three days they had been entirely without food on the Falkenstein, and Divès had given no signs of life. How often, during those long days of agony, did the mountaineers turn their eyes toward Phalsbourg!—how often had they listened, fancying they could hear the smuggler’s step, while the vague murmur of the wind alone filled the space!

  The nineteenth day since the arrival of the partisans on the Falkenstein was passed amidst all the tortures of hunger. They no longer spoke; they remained crouched on the earth, with pinched faces, and lost in endless reveries. Sometimes they watched each other with sparkling eyes, as though about to devour one another, then relapsed into sullen calm.

  Occasionally Yégof’s raven, flying from crag to crag, would approach this place of misfortune. Then old Materne would take aim with his rifle, but the ill-omened bird would immediately take flight with dismal croakings, and the old hunter’s arm fell helpless by his side. And as though the exhaustion of hunger was not enough to fill the measure of so much misery, the poor creatures only opened their mouths to accuse and menace one another.
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  “Do not touch me,” cried Hexe-Baizel, in a shrill voice to those who looked at her—“do not look at me, or I will bite you!”

  Louise was delirious; her great blue eyes, instead of living objects, saw only shadows flit across the plateau, touching the tops of the bushes, and resting on the old tower.

  “Here is food!” she said. Then the others became enraged with the poor child, crying out with fury, that she was mocking them, and bidding her beware.

  Jérome alone remained perfectly calm; but the great quantity of snow he had swallowed to appease the pangs of ravenous hunger, had inundated his whole body and bony face with a cold sweat. To appease the cravings of his stomach, Doctor Lorquin had bound a handkerchief round his loins, and tightened it more and more. He was seated with his back against the tower, and his eyes closed, though he now and then opened them to say, “We have reached the first—the second—the third stage. One more day, and all will be over!”

  He then began to declaim about the Druids, Odin, Brahma, Pythagoras, quoting Latin and Greek, and announcing the near transformation of the people of Harberg into wolves, foxes, and animals of all sorts. “For myself,” he exclaimed, “I will be a lion! I will eat fifteen pounds of beef every day!”

  Then renewing his discourse: “No, I will be a man. I will preach peace, brotherhood, justice. Ah, my friends, we suffer for our own faults. What have we done with the other side of the Rhine for the last ten years? With what right did we set up masters over those peoples? Why did we not exchange our ideas, our sentiments, the produce of our arts and of our industry with theirs? Why did we not approach them like brothers, in place of wishing to subject them to us? We should have been well received. What must they not have suffered, those unhappy people, during those ten years of violence and rapine! Now they are avenged, and it is just! May the malediction of heaven fall on the miserable wretches who get up divisions among peoples in order to oppress them!”