The Erckmann-Chatrian Megapack: 20 Classic Novels and Short Stories (151 page)

The sight of the small number of their defenders caused the hearts of the besieged to grow fearful; all the more so, as the Germans were seven or eight times superior in numbers, and had already begun to form columns of attack, to regain the positions they had lost. Horsemen were conveying on all sides the general’s orders, and the bayonets began to defile.

“It is all over,” said Hullin to Jérome. “What are five or six hundred men to do against four thousand in line of battle? The Phalsbourgers will return to their houses and say, ‘We have done our duty.’ And Piorette will be crushed.”

The others thought so too; and their despair was brought to a climax when they suddenly saw a long file of Cossacks riding furiously along the valley of Charmes, with Yégof the madman galloping like the wind at their head, his beard, horse’s tail, dogskin, and red hair floating wildly in the air. He looked up at the rock, and brandished his lance above his head. Reaching the bottom of the valley, he made at once for the enemy’s staff, and coming up to the general, he indicated by gestures the other side of the plateau of Bois-de-Chênes.

“Ah, the brigand!” shouted Hullin. “See, he tells them that Piorette has no outworks on that side, that they must go round the mountain.”

In fact, a column began immediately to march in that direction, while another went toward the outworks to mask the movement of the first.

“Materne,” cried Jean-Claude, “is there no means of sending a ball into the madman?”

The old hunter shook his head.

“No,” said he, “it is impossible; he is out of range.”

Just then, Catherine Lefèvre gave a wild scream like a hawk.

“Crush them, crush them, as they did at the Blutfeld!”

And the old woman, an instant before so feeble, threw herself on a mass of rock, lifted it with both hands, advanced, with her streaming gray hair, bent over to the edge of the abyss, and the rock dashed through the space beneath.

A terrible crash resounded below, pieces of pine flew out on all sides, the great stone rebounded a hundred feet away, and descending the steep slope with fresh impulse, struck Yégof, and crushed him at the feet of the enemy’s general. This was but the work of a few seconds.

Catherine, upright on the edge of the rock laughed with a rattling sound, which seemed as though it would never end.

The others, as though all animated with new life, precipitated themselves on the ruins of the old castle, shouting: “Slay them! slay them! Crush them as at the Blutfeld!”

It is impossible to imagine a more terrible scene. These beings, at death’s very door, lean and haggard as skeletons, found strength for the carnage. They no longer stumbled, they trembled no more; each one lifted his stone and threw it down the precipice, then returned to take another, without even looking to see what was passing below.

Imagine the stupor of the “kaiserlichs” at this deluge of ruins and rocks. All had turned at the sound of the stones bounding above through the bushes and clumps of trees. At first they stopped as though petrified; but looking higher up, and seeing more and more stones descending, and above it all the spectres coming and going, lifting their arms, and continually discharging fresh burdens—seeing their comrades crushed, fifteen or twenty at a time, an immense cry went up from the valley of Charmes to the Falkenstein, and, notwithstanding the fusillade which they kept up on every side, the Germans scampered away to escape this fearful death.

In the thickest of the rout, the enemy’s general contrived to rally a battalion, and descend slowly toward the village.

There was something grand and dignified about this man, so calm in the midst of disaster. He turned from time to time with a gloomy look to watch the bounding rocks, which made ghastly havoc in his columns.

Jean-Claude observed him, and, notwithstanding the intoxication of his triumph and the certitude of having escaped famine, the old soldier could not suppress a feeling of admiration.

“Look,” said he to Jérome, “he acts as he did on returning from the Donon and Grosmann: he is the last to retire, and yields only bit by bit. There are, indeed, brave fellows in every country!”

Marc Divès and Piorette, the witnesses of this stroke of fortune, then descended into the midst of the fir-trees, to try and cut off the retreat of the enemy. But the battalion, reduced to half its strength, formed into square behind the village of Charmes, and slowly ascended the valley of the Sarre, stopping sometimes, like a wounded boar who turns to look at the huntsmen, whenever Piorette’s men or those of Phalsbourg tried to press too nearly upon them.

Thus terminated the great battle of the Falkenstein, known in the mountains under the name of the Battle of the Rocks.

CHAPTER XXVI

CONCLUSION

The combat was hardly over, when, toward eight o’clock, Marc Divès, Gaspard, and about thirty mountaineers, laden with provisions, ascended the Falkenstein. What a spectacle awaited them! The besieged, stretched on the earth, appeared to be dead. It seemed useless to shake them, to cry into their ears; “Jean-Claude! Catherine? Jérome!” There came no reply. Gaspard Lefèvre, seeing his mother and Louise immovable, with clinched teeth, told Marc, that if they did not return to life, he would blow out his brains with his gun. Marc replied that each man must do as he liked; but for his part he should not do likewise on Hexe-Baizel’s account. At length old Colon, having laid his burden down on a stone, Kasper Materne opened his eyes, and seeing the provisions, his teeth began to chatter like those of a fox pursued by the hounds.

They immediately understood the meaning of this symptom; and Marc Divès, going from one to the other, passed his gourd under their noses, which sufficed to bring them to. They wanted to drink its contents all up at once; but Doctor Lorquin, notwithstanding his condition, had still enough sense to warn Marc not to allow them to do so, and the slightest action of choking would be fatal to them. Each one, therefore, only received a morsel of bread, an egg, and a glass of wine, which wonderfully revived their spirits; then Catherine, Louise, and the others, were laid on sledges and were brought down to the village.

It is impossible to describe the enthusiasm and joy of their friends when they saw them return, leaner than Lazarus when he rose from his grave. They gazed at one another, and embraced, and the process was repeated on the arrival of every newcomer from Abreschwiller, Dagsburg, St. Quirin, or elsewhere.

Marc Divès was obliged to relate more than twenty times the story of his journey to Phalsbourg. The brave smuggler had had no luck. After having miraculously escaped from the balls of the “kaiserlichs,” he got into the valley of Spartzprod, and fell into the midst of a band of Cossacks, who ransacked him from top to toe. He had been compelled to wander for two weeks around the Russian posts which surrounded the town, exposed to the continual fire of their sentries, and running endless risks of being taken as a spy, before being able to get into the town. Then the commandant, Meunier, at first refused to give any succor, assigning the weakness of his garrison as an excuse, and only at the pressing petitions of the towns-folk at length consented to detach two companies. Listening to his recital, the mountaineers gave vent to their admiration of Marc’s courage and perseverance in the midst of danger.

“Well,” replied the tall smuggler good-humoredly to those who thus congratulated him, “I have only done my duty; could I have allowed my comrades to perish? I well knew it would not be easy; those rascally Cossacks are sharper than the customs’ folks; they scent you a league off like crows; but all the same, we have outwitted them.”

Five or six days later everybody was on the alert; Captain Yidal, from Phalsbourg, had left twenty-five men to guard the powder; Gaspard Lefèvre was of the number, and the sturdy fellow went down every morning to the village. The allies had all passed into Lorraine, and were no longer seen in Alsace, except around the fortresses. Soon after came the news of the victories of Champ-Aubert and Montmirail; but a great misfortune was at hand; for the allies, notwithstanding the heroism of our army and the genius of the Emperor, entered Paris.

It was a terrible shock to Jean-Claude and Catherine, Materne, Jérome and all the mountaineers; but the history of these events does not belong to this tale. It has already been related by others.

Peace having been made, the farm of Bois-de-Chênes was rebuilt in the spring; the wood-cutters, the shoemakers, masons, wood-floaters, and all the workmen of the district, lent a hand in the work.

Toward the same time, the army having been disbanded, Gaspard cut off his mustaches and his marriage with Louise took place.

On the day of the wedding all the combatants of the Falkenstein and Donon came to the farm, where they were received with open doors and windows. Each brought his present to the newly married pair; Jérome, small shoes for Louise; Materne and his sons, a black cock, the most loving of birds, as all know; and Divès, packets of smuggled tobacco for Gaspard; and Doctor Lorquin a fine set of baby-linen. Tables were spread out, even in the granaries and sheds. How much wine, bread, meat, and tarts was consumed I cannot say; but what I am sure of is, that Jean-Claude, who had been low-spirited ever since the entry of the allies into Paris, revived on that day, and sang the old song of his youth as cheerfully as when he shouldered his gun and set out for Valmy, Jemmapes, and Fleurus. The echoes of the Falkenstein repeated in the distance that old patriotic song; the grandest and noblest that has ever been heard by man. Catherine Lefèvre kept time on the table with the handle of her knife; and if it be true, as many say, that the dead come to listen when they are spoken of, our departed friends must have been happy, and “The King of Diamonds” have fumed in his red beard.

Toward midnight, Hullin arose, and addressing the newly married pair, said: “You will have fine children; I will jump them on my knees, I will teach them my old song, and then I shall go to rejoin my old comrades!”

So saying he embraced Louise, and arm in arm with Marc Divès and Jérome, descended to his cottage, followed by the rest, who sang together the fine old song. A more beautiful night was never seen: numberless stars shone out in the dark blue sky; the shrubs on the hill-side, where so many brave fellows had found a grave, quivered slightly in the breeze. Every one felt happy and softened; they shook hands on the threshold of the small house, and wished each other “good-night,” and departed, to the right and to the left, to their different villages.

“Good-night, Materne, Jérome, Divès, Piorette—good-night!” cried Jean-Claude.

His old friends turned back, waving their hats, and said to themselves: “There are some days when one is very happy on the earth. Ah, if there were never any plagues, or wars, or famines; if men would but agree to love and help each other; if they would but live in peace together, what a paradise this world would be!”

THE PLÉBISCITE

OR, A MILLER’S STORY OF THE WAR

INTRODUCTORY NOTE

The present volume serves to emphasize the important connection, so generally now lost sight of, between the
plébiscite
of 1870 in France and the war with Prussia which so speedily followed. Under the administration of Ollivier, which promised an attractive extension of popular liberties, it will be remembered, the
plebiscitum
of the Roman Constitution was borrowed, to give an air of popular approval to the strongly attacked Imperial régime by taking the sense of the people through universal suffrage as to the continuance of the Imperial authority on its then existing basis. Of the web of chicane and corruption by which the election was brought out an overwhelming triumph for Imperialism, MM. Erckmann-Chatrian give a clearer and more impressive notion in this book than could be obtained from entire volumes of parliamentary reports and whole files of newspapers. But they make it especially clear how the people were persuaded to return a majority of “yeses” so enormous as to make it impossible to account for it on the theory of mere corruption and chicane. It is evident from this narrative that the people were made to believe that the Empire meant peace abroad and freedom from foreign complications then threatening, as well as tranquillity at home, and that therefore one of the profoundest instincts of twenty millions of peasantry was utilized in order to be subsequently betrayed.

No authors could have been so happily chosen to write the story of the struggle which followed. Alsace and Lorraine, at once the scene of the earliest campaign of the war and the victims of its result, furnish the most appropriate background of such a picture. In reading these adventures, sufferings, meditations, and discussions of the simple yet shrewd Alsatian miller and his neighbors, the reader will take in almost at a glance the causes, incidents, and consequences of one of the greatest of modern wars. The corruption of the office-holding classes, the ignorance of the army officers whose ranks had been filled by favoritism, the bravery of the private soldier ill-equipped, ill-fed, and disastrously led, the contrasting system and discipline of the Prussians, the awakening by Gambetta of the national enthusiasm, and the determined and dogged fighting under Chanzy, Faidherbe, and Bourbaki, how the peasants fared at the hands of the enemy, and how the enemy conducted themselves during the brief campaign are all unfolded before the reader with a combined fulness and incisiveness difficult to encounter elsewhere in narratives of this momentous conflict.