by Paul Negri
“‘What!’ they cried. ‘After twenty years in service, fifteen pitched battles, and perhaps fifty skirmishes, you expect us to believe you’ve killed only one man?’
“‘I didn’t say that, gentlemen; of the ten thousand cartridges I’ve rammed into my gun, for all I know, half may have missed the mark. But at Bitche, I give you my word, my hand was first stained with the blood of an enemy, and my arm first drove the cruel point of my sword into a human breast—till it quivered to the hilt.’
“‘It’s true,’ interrupted one of the officers, ‘a soldier does lots of killing, but hardly ever feels it. Gunfire isn’t really execution; it’s only the intention to kill. As for bayonets, they play only a small part in the most dangerous charges; ground is held or lost without close personal combat. Guns clash, then disengage when resistance gives way. Take the cavalry, for instance. They really fight hand to hand.’
“‘And so,’ replied Desroches, ‘just as you never forget the last look of a man you kill in a duel, his death rattle, or the sound of his fall, so I bear with me, almost in remorse—yes, laugh at me if you will—the pale, dreadful sight of the Prussian sergeant I killed in the little powder magazine of this fort.’
“Everyone fell silent, and Desroches went on:
“‘It was night, and as I just explained, I was working. At two o’clock everyone was asleep except the sentinels. They patrolled in complete silence, so that any sound was suspicious. However, I kept hearing some kind of protracted argument in the gallery below my room. Then someone bumped against a door, and it creaked. I ran out into the corridor and listened. I called to the sentry in a low voice—no answer. I hurried to alert the gunners, threw on my uniform, grabbed my naked sword, and ran in the direction of the noise. About thirty of us arrived at once at the place where the galleries converge, and in the dim lantern light, we recognized the Prussians. A traitor had let them in through the postern gate. They dashed forward in great confusion, and catching sight of us, fired a few shots, which produced terrific detonations under those low, shadowy ceilings.
“‘So there we were, face to face, with more of us pouring in all the time. We could hardly move, but a six- to eight-foot space still divided us. We French were so surprised, and the Prussians so disappointed, that no one thought of entering the lists. But this hesitation was only momentary.
“‘Extra torches and lanterns lit the scene—some of the gunners had hung theirs on the walls, and a kind of old-fashioned fighting took place. I was in the front line, face to face with a tall Prussian sergeant covered with stripes and decorations. He had a gun, but there was such a crush he could hardly move it. Alas! How well I remember! I don’t know if he even intended to resist me; I lunged at him, and thrust my sword into his noble heart, then his eyes opened horribly, he tried to clench his fists, and he toppled backward into the arms of his comrades.
“‘I don’t remember what happened next; later, I found myself in the courtyard, drenched with blood. The Prussians had retreated through the postern gate, and our gunfire followed them back to their encampment!’
“When Desroches had finished speaking, there was a long silence, and then they spoke of other things. The look of sadness worn by these soldiers after hearing of this seemingly ordinary misfortune was very curious, when you come to think of it—and you could tell just how much a man’s life is worth—even a German life, doctor—by examining the faces of those professional killers.”
“I agree,” replied the doctor, slightly taken aback, “bloodshed is a terrible thing, no matter what causes it. Still, Desroches did nothing wrong—he was simply defending himself.”
“Who knows?” muttered Arthur.
“A while ago, Doctor, you spoke of compromising with conscience. Tell us now, wasn’t this sergeant’s death a bit like murder? Can we be sure the Prussian would have killed Desroches?”
“But that’s war. Who’s to blame?”
“All right, that’s war. But we kill men at three hundred paces in the darkness—men we don’t know and who can’t see us; we face these men we don’t hate, and slaughter them with anger blazing in our eyes. Then we pat ourselves on the back and feel proud. And we call ourselves honorable, and Christians.”
“It was time for bed, and Desroches himself was the first to forget his dismal story, for, from the little room he had been given, he could see a certain window through the trees, where a night lamp was burning. There lay his future happiness, and when, in the middle of the night, he was awakened by the watchman making his round, he was oppressed and a little frightened by the thought that in case of danger his courage would no longer electrify him into action. The next day, before the morning gun was fired, the captain of the guard opened a door for him and he found the two ladies waiting near the outer fortification. I accompanied them as far as Neunhoffen, and they went on to Hagenau to be married at the Registry Office, after which they were to return to Metz for the religious ceremony.
“Emilie’s brother Wilhelm welcomed Desroches cordially enough, and the two brothers-in-law proceeded to take each other’s measure. Wilhelm was of medium height, but well built. His blond hair was already very thin, as if he had been weakened by too much study or some great sorrow, and he wore blue glasses, for, as he said, his eyes were so weak that the least light pained him. Desroches had brought a bundle of papers with him, to which the young law student gave his careful attention, and then Wilhelm, in turn, produced the title deeds to his family property, insisting that Desroches should examine them. But he was dealing with a man who was trusting, unselfish, and in love, so the inspection did not last long. This attitude seemed to flatter Wilhelm somewhat, so he began taking Desroches’s arm as they walked, offered him the use of one of his best pipes, and took him to see all his friends in Hagenau.
“This involved much smoking and drinking, and after ten introductions, Desroches begged for mercy. From then on he was allowed to spend his evenings alone with his fiancée.
“A few days later, the two lovers of the promenade bench were wed by the mayor of Hagenau. This worthy functionary, who must have been burgomaster before the French Revolution, had often held Emilie in his arms when she was a young child. He himself may even have registered her birth, and on the day before the wedding he had whispered to her, ‘Why don’t you marry a good German?’
“Emilie appeared to give little thought to such distinctions. Even Wilhelm had become reconciled to the lieutenant’s mustache, for, to tell the truth, at first there had been a decided coolness between them. But Desroches had made great concessions—Wilhelm, a few, for his sister’s sake—and with Emilie’s good aunt to pacify and smooth things over at every interview, there was perfect agreement between them, and Wilhelm embraced his brother-in-law most cordially after the marriage contract had been signed. Before nine in the morning, everything was in order, so the four of them set out for Metz that same day. By six o’clock in the evening, the coach drew up before the Dragon at Bitche.
“Travel is none too easy in this country of woodland and interlacing streams; there are at least ten hills for every mile you go, and the coach shakes up its passengers pretty badly. This was probably the main reason for the young bride’s discomfort on arriving at the inn. Her aunt and Desroches stayed in her room with her, while Wilhelm, who was famished, went down to the little dining room where the officers dined at eight.
“This time no one knew of Desroches’s arrival, and the soldiers of the garrison had spent a field-day in the Huspoletden woods. Desroches was determined not to leave his wife that evening, and told the landlady not to mention his name to a soul. The three of them stood at the window, watching the soldiers go back into the fort, and later, as it grew darker, they saw the men, dressed in fatigues, lining up in front of the canteen for their army bread and goat’s-milk cheese.
“Wilhelm, meanwhile, trying to pass the time and forget his hunger, had lit his pipe and was lolling near the doorway, where he could breathe in both the tobacco smoke and the smell
of the cooking. At the sight of this middle-class traveler with his cap pulled down to his ears and his blue glasses fastened on the kitchen, the officers took it that he would dine with them and looked forward to meeting him. Perhaps he had come from a distance, was clever, or had some news. That would be a stroke of luck. On the other hand, if he came from the district, and maintained a stupid silence, they could enjoy poking fun at him.
“A second lieutenant from the military school approached Wilhelm and questioned him with exaggerated politeness.
“‘Good evening, sir. Have you any news from Paris?’
“‘No, sir, have you?’ he replied quietly.
“‘Good Lord, sir, we never leave Bitche. How would we ever get any?’
“‘And I, sir, never leave my office.’
“‘Are you in the Engineers?’
“This quip, aimed at Wilhelm’s glasses, delighted the other officer.
“‘I am clerk to a notary, sir.’
“‘Really? That’s odd, at your age.’
“‘Do you wish to see my passport, sir?’
“‘Of course not.’
“‘Very well. Just tell me you’re not trying to make a fool of me, and I’ll answer all your questions.’
“The officers became more serious, and the lieutenant went on:
“‘I asked you, with no ill intentions, if you were in the Engineers, because you wear glasses. Don’t you know that the officers in that corps are the only ones who have the right to wear them?’
“‘And I suppose that proves I’m in the army, as you say.’
“‘But everyone’s a soldier these days. You’re not twenty-five yet; you must be in the army, or else you are rich, you have an income of fifteen or twenty thousand francs, and your parents have made sacrifices for you, in which case you wouldn’t take the dinner at a place like this.’
“Wilhelm shook out his pipe and said, ‘I don’t know, sir, whether you have the right to question me like this, but I’ll answer you explicitly. I have no income; I am simply a clerk to a notary, as I told you. I was excused from the service on account of my eyes. In short, I’m nearsighted.’
“This declaration was greeted by peals of laughter.
“‘My dear fellow,’ cried Captain Vallier, slapping him on the back. ‘You’re quite right. A the proverb says, Better a live coward than a dead hero!’
“Wilhelm turned crimson. ‘I’m not a coward, Captain, and I’ll prove it whenever you like. What’s more, my papers are in order, and if you are a recruiting officer, I’ll be glad to show them to you.’
“‘Enough!’ cried several of the officers, ‘let him alone, Vallier; he’s a peaceful fellow with a perfect right to eat here.’
“‘Yes, of course,’ said the captain, ‘let’s sit down and eat. I meant no harm, young man. Don’t worry—I’m not the recruiting doctor and this isn’t the recruiting room. And just to show you there are no hard feelings, how’s about sharing a wing of this tough old bird they’d like us to think is a chicken?’
“‘No, thank you,’ said Wilhelm, whose appetite had vanished. ‘One of those trout at the end of the table will be enough for me.’ And he motioned to the servant girl to bring him the dish.
“‘Are they trout, really?’ said the captain to Wilhelm, who had taken off his glasses to eat. ‘By God, you’ve got better eyesight than I have. Look here, frankly you could handle a gun as well as the next man . . . but you have influence, and know how to use it. Quite right, too. You love peace and quiet. And why not? But if I were you, it would make my blood boil to read the army bulletin and hear about young men my own age getting killed in Germany. Perhaps you aren’t French?’
“‘No,’ said Wilhelm, with an effort that, however, brought him great satisfaction. ‘I was born at Hagenau; I’m not French, I’m German.’
“‘German? But Hagenau is on this side of the Rhine frontier. It’s one of the finest villages in the French Empire, province of the Lower Rhine. Look at the map!’
“‘I’m from Hagenau, I tell you. Ten years ago it was German; today it’s French. But I shall always be German, just as you would always be French if your country ever belonged to Germany.’
“‘Those are dangerous things you’re saying, young man. Be careful.’
“‘I may be wrong,’ Wilhelm continued impetuously, ‘and no doubt it would be wiser to keep them to myself, since I can’t change them. But you yourself have carried things so far, that I must justify myself at all costs or be taken for a coward. And now you know the reason that, to my mind, warrants my eagerness to make use of a real infirmity, though perhaps it would not stand in the way of someone who really wanted to defend his country. I must admit, I feel no hatred for the people you are fighting. If I had been forced to march against them, I suppose I, too, might be helping to lay waste and burn German fields and cities, and slaughter my own countrymen—former countrymen, if you prefer. And who knows?—perhaps even slay my own flesh and blood, or some friend of my father’s, in some group of pretended enemies. Surely you can see that it’s far better for me to busy myself with documents in a notary’s office at Hagenau. And besides, there’s been enough bloodshed in my family. My father gave his to the last drop, you see, and I—’
“‘Your father was a soldier?’ interrupted Captain Vallier.
“‘My father was a soldier in the Prussian army and for a long time he defended the territory you occupy today. He was killed in the last attack on the fort at Bitche.’
“At these words, everyone pricked up his ears, and lost interest in refuting the nonsense about Wilhelm’s nationality.
“‘Was it in ’93?’
“‘In ’93, on the seventeenth of November. My father had left Sirmasen the day before to rejoin his company. I know he told my mother that by means of a daring plan the fort would be taken without firing a shot. Twenty-four hours later he was brought back to us, dying. He expired on the doorstep, after he made me swear to stay with my mother. She followed him two weeks later.
“‘Afterward I learned that that night the sword of a young soldier had pierced his breast, and thus fell one of the finest grenadiers in Prince Hohenlohe’s army.’
“‘But we’ve heard about that,’ said the major.
“‘Yes,’ said Captain Vallier, ‘that’s the story of the Prussian sergeant killed by Desroches.’
“‘Desroches!’ cried Wilhelm. ‘Do you mean Lieutenant Desroches?’
“‘Oh no, no,’ replied one of the officers hastily, realizing they were on the brink of some terrible revelation, ‘the Desroches we meant was a light infantryman from this garrison who was killed four years ago, the first time he went into action.’
“‘Ah, he’s dead,” said Wilhelm, mopping the sweat from his brow.
“A few minutes later the officers saluted and withdrew. Desroches watched their departure from his window upstairs, and then came down to the dining room, where he found his brother-in-law sitting at the long table with his head in his hands.
“‘Hmm . . . Asleep already? Well, I’d like some supper. My wife’s finally got to sleep, and I’m famished. Let’s have a glass of wine. It’ll rouse us a bit, and you can keep me company.’
“‘No, I have a headache,’ said Wilhelm. ‘I’m going up to my room. By the way, those gentlemen told me some interesting things about the fort. Why don’t you take me up there tomorrow?’
“‘Of course.’
“‘Fine. I’ll wake you in the morning.’
“After supper, Desroches went up to Wilhelm’s room, where a bed had been prepared for him, for he would sleep alone until the religious ceremony had been performed. Wilhelm lay awake all night, sometimes weeping silently, and sometimes glaring furiously at Desroches, who smiled in his dreams.
“What we call presentiment is very much like the pilotfish that swim ahead of an enormous half-blind whale to bring it news of jagged rocks and sandy bottoms. We go through life so mechanically that some of our fellow beings, who are heedl
ess by nature, would run afoul or be dashed to bits without a moment’s thought of God, if nothing ever ruffled the surface of their happiness. Some take warning from the ravens’ flight; others, for no apparent reason; and yet others proceed with the greatest care if they have had some sinister dream. Such is presentiment. ‘You are going to be in danger,’ says the dream. ‘Watch out,’ cries the raven. ‘Be sad,’ whispers the brain.
“Toward the end of the night, Desroches had a peculiar dream. He was in a cave beneath the earth. A white shadow was following him, and its garments kept brushing against his heels. When he turned upon it, the figure drew back. Finally, it retreated so far he could see nothing but a little white speck. Presently this speck began to grow. It became luminous and filled the whole grotto with light. Then it went out. A slight noise was heard, and Wilhelm entered the room, wearing his hat and a long blue cloak.
“Desroches woke up with a start. ‘Good Lord! Have you been out already this morning?’
“‘You must get up,’ replied Wilhelm.
“‘But will they let us in at the fort?’
“‘Of course. Everyone but the guards is out drilling.’
“‘Already? Very well. I’ll be with you in a moment. Just give me time to say good morning to my wife.’
“‘She’s quite all right, I’ve seen her. Don’t concern yourself.’
“Desroches was rather surprised at this reply, but he put it down to impatience and gave in once more to this fraternal authority that he would soon be able to shake off.
“On their way to the fort, he looked back at a window in the inn, and thought, ‘Emilie is probably asleep.’ But the curtain fluttered and was drawn across the window, and Desroches thought he saw someone step back into the room to avoid being seen.
“They had no trouble gaining entrance to the fort. A disabled captain, who had not dined at the inn the night before, was in command of the outpost. Desroches asked for a lantern and proceeded to guide his silent companion from room to room.
“After stopping at several points of interest to which Wilhelm paid little attention, he asked, ‘Aren’t you going to show me the underground passages?’