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

by Émile Erckmann

  No one can form an idea of the misery, the feeling of desolation which takes possession of you, when days and weeks pass by in the midst of enemies without the least word reaching you from the interior; then you feel the strength of the hold that your native land has upon you. The Germans think to detach us from it by preventing us from learning what is taking place there; but they are mistaken. The less you speak the more you think; and your indignation, your disgust, your hatred for violence, force, and injustice is ever on the increase. You conceive a horror for those who have been the cause of such sufferings. Time brings no change; on the contrary, it deepens the wound: one curse succeeds another; and the deepest desire left is either for an end of all, or vengeance.

  Besides, it is perfectly evident the Lorrainers and the Alsacians are a bold, brave nation; and all the fine words in the world will not make them forget the treatment they have suffered, after being surprised defenceless. They would reproach themselves as cowards, did they cease to hope for their revenge. I, Christian Weber, declare this, and no honest man can blame me for it. Abject wretches alone accept injustice as a final dispensation; and we have ever God over us all, who forbids us to believe that murder, fire, and robbery may and ought to prevail over right and conscience.

  Let us return to our story.

  Cousin George had seen in the Englishman’s newspapers that the circulation of the Indépendance Belge and the Journal de Genève had doubled and trebled since the commencement of the war, because they filled the place of all the other journals which used to be received from Paris; and without loss of time he had written to Brussels to subscribe.

  The first week, having received no answer, he had sent the money in Prussian notes in a second letter; for we had at that time only Prussian thalers in paper, with which the Landwehr paid us for whatever they did not take by force. We had no great confidence in this paper, but it was worth the trial.

  The newspaper arrived. It was the first we had seen for four months, and any one may understand the joy with which George came to tell me this good news.

  Every evening from that time I went to hear the newspapers read at Cousin George’s. We could hardly understand anything at first, for at every line we met with new names. Chanzy had the chief command upon the Loire, Faidherbe in the north. And these two men, without any soldiers besides Mobiles and volunteers, held the open country. They even gained considerable advantages over an enemy that far outnumbered them; whilst the marshals of the Empire had suffered themselves to be vanquished and annihilated in three weeks, with our best troops.

  This shows that, in victories, generals have no more than half the credit.

  Of all the old generals, Bourbaki was the only one left.

  As for Garibaldi, we knew him, and we could tell by the restless movements of our Landwehr that he was approaching our mountains about Belfort. He was the hope of our country: all our young men were going to join him.

  We also learned that the Government was divided between Tours and Paris; that Gambetta was bearing all the burden of the defence of the country, as Minister of War; that he was everywhere at once, to encourage the dispirited; that he had set up the chief place of instruction for our young soldiers at Toulouse, and that the Prussians were pursuing their horrible course in the invaded countries with renewed fury; that a party of francs-tireurs having surprised a few Uhlans at Nemours, a column of Germans had surrounded the town on the next day, and set fire to it to the music of their bands, compelling the members of the committee for the defence to be present at this abominable act; that M. de Bismarck had laid hands upon certain bourgeois of the interior, in reprisal for the captures made by our ships five hundred leagues away in the North Sea; that Ricciotti Garibaldi, having defeated the Prussians at Chatillon-sur-Seine, those atrocious wretches had delivered the innocent town over to plunder, and laid it under contribution for a million of francs; that respectable persons belonging to the Grand Duchy of Baden, private individuals, were crossing the Rhine with horses and carts to come and pillage Alsace with impunity—all the towns and villages being occupied by their troops. In a word, many other things of the kind; which plainly prove that with the Prussians, war is an honest means of growing rich, and getting possession of the property of the inoffensive inhabitants.

  At St. Quentin, one of their chiefs, the Colonel de Kahlden, gave public notice to the inhabitants, that “if a shot was fired upon a German soldier, six inhabitants should be shot; and that every individual compromised or suspected would be punished with death.”

  Everywhere, everywhere these great philosophers plundered and burned without mercy whatever towns or villages dared resist!

  George said that these beings were not raised above the beasts of prey, and that education only does for them what spiked collars do for fighting dogs.

  We also heard of the capitulation of Thionville, after a terrible bombardment, in which the Prussians had refused to allow the women and children to leave the place! We heard of the first encounters of Faidherbe in the north with Manteuffel; and the battles of Chanzy with Frederick Charles, near Orleans.

  In spite of the inferiority of our numbers, and the inexperience of our troops, we often got the upper hand.

  These news had restored us to hope. Unhappily, the heaviest blow of all was to come. Phalsbourg, utterly exhausted by famine, was about to surrender, after a resistance of five months.

  Oh! my ancient town of Phalsbourg, what affliction sank into our hearts, when, on the evening of the 9th December, we heard your heavy guns fire one after another, as if for a last appeal to France to come to your rescue! Oh! what were then our sufferings, and what tears we shed!

  “Now,” said George, “it is all over! They are calling aloud to France, our beloved France, unable to come! It is like a ship in distress, by night, in the open sea, firing her guns for assistance, and no one hears: she must sink in the deep.”

  Ah! my old town of Phalsbourg, where we used to go to market; where we used to see our own soldiers—our red-trousered soldiery, our merry Frenchmen! We shall never more see behind our ramparts any but heavy Germans and rough Prussians! And so it is over! The earth bears no longer the same children; and men whom we never knew tell us, “You are in our custody: we are your masters!”

  Can it be possible? No! ancient fortress of Vauban, you shall be French again: “Nursery of brave men,” as the first Bonaparte called you. Let our sons come to manhood, and they shall drive from thy walls these lumpish fellows who dare to talk of Germanizing you!

  But how our hearts bled on that day! Every one went to hide himself as far back in his house as he could, murmuring, “Oh! my poor Phalsbourg, we cannot help thee; but if our life could deliver thee, we would give it.”

  Yes! I have lived to behold this, and it is the most terrible sensation I have ever experienced: the thought of meeting Jacob again was no comfort; Grédel herself was listening with pale cheeks, and counting the reports from second to second; and then the tears fell and she cried: “It is over!”

  Next day, all the roads were covered with German and Prussian officers galloping rapidly to the place; the report ran that the entry would take place the same evening; every one was preparing a small stock of provisions for his son, his relations, his friends, whom he dreaded never more to see alive.

  On the morning of the 11th of December, leave was given to start for the town; the sentinels posted at Wéchem had orders to allow foot-passengers to pass.

  Phalsbourg, with its fifteen hundred Mobiles and its sixty gunners, disdained to capitulate; it surrendered no rifles, no guns, no military stores, no eagles, as Bazaine had done at Metz! The Commander Taillant had not said to his men: “Let us, above all, for the reputation of our army, avoid all acts of indiscipline, such as the destruction of arms and material of war; since, according to military usage, strong places and arms will return to France when peace is signed.” No! quite the contrary; he had ordered the destruction of whatever might prove useful to the enemy: to drown th
e gunpowder, smash rifles, spike the guns, burn up the bedding in the casemates; and when all this was done, he had sent a message to the German general: “We have nothing left to eat! To-morrow I will open the gates! Do what you please with me!”

  Here was a man, indeed!

  And the Germans ran, some laughing, others astonished, gazing at the walls which they had won without a fight: for they have taken almost every place without fighting; they have shelled the poor inhabitants instead of storming the walls; they have starved the people. They may boast of having burnt more towns and villages, and killed more women and children in this one campaign, than all the other nations in all the wars of Europe since the Revolution.

  But, to be sure, they were a religious people, much attached to the doctrines of the Gospel, and who sing hymns with much feeling. Their Emperor especially, after every successive bombardment, and every massacre—whilst women, children, and old men are weeping around their houses destroyed by the enemy’s shells, and from the battle-fields strewn with heaps of dead are rising the groans and cries of thousands and thousands of sufferers whose lives are crushed, whose flesh is torn, whose bodies are rent and bleeding!’—their Emperor, the venerable man, lifts his blood-stained hands to heaven and thanks God for having permitted him to commit these abominable deeds! Does he look upon God as his accomplice in crime?

  Barbarian! one day thou shalt know that in the sight of the Eternal, hypocrisy is an aggravation of crime.

  On the 11th of December, then, early in the morning, my wife, Grédel, Cousin George, Marie Anne and myself, having locked up our houses, started, each carrying a little parcel under our arms, to go and embrace our children and our friends—if they yet survived.

  The snow was melting, a thick fog was covering the face of the country, and we walked along in single file and in silence, gazing intently upon the German batteries which we saw for the first time, in front of Wéchem, by Gerbershoff farm, and at the Arbre Vert.

  Such desolation! Everything was cut down around the town; no more summer-arbors, no more gardens or orchards, only the vast, naked surface of snow-covered ground, with its hollows all bare; the bullet marks on the ramparts, the embrasures all destroyed.

  A great crowd of other village people preceded and followed us; poor old men, women, and a few children; they were walking straight on without paying any attention to each other: all thought of the fate of those they loved, which they would learn within an hour.

  Thus we arrived at the gate of France; it stood open and unguarded. The moment we entered, the ruins were seen; houses tottering, streets demolished, here a window left alone, there up in the air a chimney scarcely supported; farther on some doorsteps and no door. In every direction the bombshells had left their tracks.

  God of heaven! did we indeed behold such devastation? we did in truth. We all saw it: it was no dream!

  The cold was piercing. The townspeople, haggard and pale, stared at us arriving; recognitions took place, men and women approached and took each other by the hand.

  “Well?”

  “Well,” was the reply in a hollow whisper, in the midst of the street encumbered with blackened beams of wood.

  “Have you suffered much?”

  “Ah! yes.”

  This was enough: no need for another word; and then we would proceed farther. At every street corner a new scene of horror began.

  Catherine and I were seeking Jacob; no doubt Grédel was looking for Jean Baptiste.

  We saw our poor Mobiles passing by, scarcely recognizable after those five months. All through the fearful cold these unhappy men had had nothing on but their summer blouses and linen trousers. Many of them might have escaped and gained their villages, for the gates had stood open since the evening before; but not a man thought of doing so; it was not supposed that Mobiles would be treated like regular soldiers.

  On the place, in front of the fallen church filled with its own ruins, we heard, for the first time, that the garrison were prisoners of war.

  The cafés Vacheron, Meyer, and Hoffmann, riddled with balls, were swarming with officers.

  We were gazing, not knowing whom to ask after Jacob, when a cry behind us made us turn round; and there was Grédel in the arms of Jean Baptiste Werner! Then I kept silence; my wife also. Since she would have it so, well, so let it be; this matter concerned her much more than it did us.

  Jean Baptiste, after the first moment, looked embarrassed at seeing us; he approached us with a pale face, and as we spoke not a word to him, George shook him by the hand, and cried: “Jean Baptiste, I know that you have behaved well during this siege; we have learned it all with pleasure: didn’t we, Christian? didn’t we, Catherine?”

  What answer could we make? I said “yes”—and mother, with tears in her eyes, cried: “Jean Baptiste, is Jacob not wounded?”

  “No, Madame Weber; we have always been very comfortable together. There is nothing the matter. I’ll fetch him: only come in somewhere.”

  “We are going to the Café Hoffmann,” said she. “Try to find him, Jean Baptiste.” And as he was turning in the direction of the mayoralty-house:

  “There,” said he, “there he is coming round the corner by the chemist Rèbe’s shop.” And we began, to cry “Jacob!”

  And our lad ran, crossing the place.

  A minute after, we were in each other’s arms.

  He had on a coarse soldier’s cloak, and canvas trousers; his cheeks were hollow; he stared at us, and stammered: “Oh, is it you? You are not all dead?”

  He looked stupefied; and his mother, holding him, murmured: “It is he!”

  She would not relinquish her hold upon him, and wiped her eyes with her apron.

  Grédel and Jean Baptiste followed arm-in-arm, with George and Marie Anne. We entered the Café Hoffmann together; we sat round a table in the room at the left, and George ordered some coffee, for we all felt the need of a little warmth.

  None of us wished to speak; we were downcast, and held each other by the hand, gazing in each other’s faces.

  The young officers of the Mobiles were talking together in the next room; we could hear them saying that not one would sign the engagement not to serve again during the campaign; that they would all go as prisoners of war, and would accept no other lot than that of their men.

  This idea of seeing our Jacob go off as a prisoner of war, almost broke our hearts, and my wife began to sob bitterly, with her head upon the table.

  Jacob would have wished to come back to the mill along with us; I could see this by his countenance; but he was not an officer, and his parole was not asked for. And, in spite of all, hearing those spirited young men, who were sacrificing their liberty to discharge a duty, I should myself have said “No: a man must be a man!”

  Werner was talking with my cousin: they spoke in whispers; having, no doubt, secret matters to discuss. I saw George slip something into his hand. What could it be? I cannot say; but all at once Jean Baptiste rising from his seat and kissing Grédel without any ceremony before our faces, said that he was on service; that he would not see us again very soon, as after the muster their march would begin, so that we should have to say good-by at once.

  He held out both his hands to my wife and then to Marie Anne, after which he went out with George and Grédel, leaving us much astonished.

  Jacob and Marie Anne remained with us; in a couple of minutes Grédel and my cousin returned; Grédel, whose eyes were red, sat by the side of Marie Anne without speaking, and we saw that her basket of provisions was gone.

  The stir upon the place became greater and greater. The drums beat the assembly, the officers of the Mobiles were coming out. I then thought I would ask Jacob what had become of Mathias Heitz; he told us that the wretched coward had been trembling with fright the whole time of the siege, and that at last he had fallen ill of fear. Grédel did not turn her head to listen; she would have nothing to do with him! And, in truth, on hearing this, I felt I should prefer giving our daughter to our ragman�
�s son than to this fellow Mathias.

  The review was then commencing under the tall trees on the place, and Jacob appeared with his comrades. No sadder spectacle will ever be seen than that of our poor lads, about half a hundred Turcos and a few Zouaves, the remnants of Froeschwiller, all haggard and pale, and their clothes falling to pieces. They were unarmed, having destroyed their arms before opening the gates.

  Presently Jacob ran to us, crying that they were ordered to their barracks, and that they would have to start next day before twelve.

  Then his eyes filled with tears. His mother and I handed him our parcels, in which we had enclosed three good linen shirts, a pair of shoes almost new, woollen stockings, and a strong pair of trousers.

  I was wearing upon my shoulders my travelling cape; I placed it upon his. Then I slipped into his pocket a small roll of thalers, and George gave him two louis. After this, the tears and lamentations of the women recommenced; we were obliged to promise to return on the morrow.

  The garrison was defiling down the street; Jacob ran to fall in, and disappeared with the rest, near the barracks.

  As for Jean Baptiste Werner, we saw him no more.

  The German officers were coming and going up and down the town to distribute their troops amongst the townspeople. It was twelve o’clock, and we returned to our village, sadder and more distressed than ever.

  And now we knew that Jacob was safe; but we knew also that he was going to be carried, we could not tell where, to the farthest depths of Germany.

  My wife arrived home quite ill; the damp weather, her anxiety, her anguish of mind, had cast her down utterly. She went to bed with a shivering fit, and could not return next day to town, nor Grédel, who was taking care of her, so I went alone.

  Orders had come to take the prisoners to Lützelbourg. On reaching the square, near the chemist Rèbe’s shop, I saw them all in their ranks, moving by twos down the road. The inhabitants had closed their shutters, not to witness this humiliation; for Hessian soldiers, with arms shouldered, were escorting them: our poor boys were advancing between them, their heads hanging sorrowfully down.