The Erckmann-Chatrian Megapack: 20 Classic Novels and Short Stories (98 page)

In spite of the rain which continued to fall and our great fatigue, we could talk of nothing but this terrible campaign.

I related the story of the battle of Waterloo, and he told me that the 4th battalion on leaving Fleurus had taken the route toward Wavre with the whole of Grouchy’s corps, and that in the afternoon of the next day, the 18th, they heard the cannon on their left and that they all wanted to go in that direction, even the generals, but the marshal having received positive orders, had continued on the route to Wavre. It was between six and seven o’clock, before they were convinced that the Prussians had escaped; then they changed their course to the left in order to rejoin the Emperor, but unfortunately, it was too late, and toward midnight they were obliged to take a position in the fields.

Each battalion formed in a square. At three o’clock in the morning the cannon of the Prussians had awakened the bivouacs, and they had skirmished until two o’clock in the afternoon, when the order to retreat reached them.

Again, Martin said they were too late, for a part of the enemy’s force which had been engaged with that of the Emperor, was in their rear, and they were obliged to march all the rest of that day and the night following in order to escape from their pursuers.

At six o’clock the battalion had taken a position near the village of Temploux, and at ten the Prussians came up in superior force. They opposed them in the most vigorous manner in order to give the baggage and artillery time to get over the bridge at Namur.

Fortunately the whole army corps had escaped from the village except the 4th battalion which, through a mistake of the commandant, had turned off the road at the left, and was obliged to throw itself into the Sambre in order to escape being cut off. Some of the men were taken prisoners and some were drowned in trying to swim across the river.

This was all that Martin told me; he had no news from home.

That same day we passed through Givet; the battalion bivouacked near the village of Hierches half a league farther on. The next day we passed through Fumay and Rocroy, and slept at Bourg-Fidèles, the 23d of June at Blombay, the 24th at Saulsse-Lenoy—where we heard of the abdication of the Emperor—and the days following at Vitry, near Rheims, at Jonchery, and at Soissons. From there the battalion took the route toward Ville-Cotterets, but the enemy was already before us, and we changed our course to Ferté-Milon, and bivouacked at Neuchelles, a village destroyed by the invasion of 1814, and which had not yet been rebuilt. We left that place on the 29th, about one o’clock in the morning, passing through Meaux.

Here we were obliged to take the road to Laguy, because the Prussians occupied that which led to Claye. We marched all that day and the night following.

On the 30th, at five in the morning, we were at the bridge of Saint-Maur.

The same day we passed outside of Paris and bivouacked in a place rich in everything, called Vaugirard.

The 1st of July we reached Meudon, a superb place. We could see by the walled gardens and orchards, and by the size and good condition of the houses, that we were in the suburbs of the most beautiful city in the world, and yet we were in the midst of the greatest danger and suffering, and our hearts bled in consequence.

The people were kind and friendly to the soldiers, and called us the defenders of the country, and even the poorest were willing to go to battle with us.

We left our position at eleven o’clock in the evening of the 1st of July, and went to St. Cloud, which is nothing but palace upon palace, and garden upon garden, with great trees, and magnificent alleys, and everything that is beautiful. At six o’clock we quitted St. Cloud to go back to our position at Vaugirard.

The most startling rumors filled the city. The Emperor had gone to Rochefort—they said; the King was coming back—Louis the XVIII. was
en route
—and so forth.

They knew nothing certain in the city, where they should soonest know everything.

The enemy attacked us in the suburbs of Issy about one o’clock in the afternoon, and we fought till midnight for our capital.

The people aided as much as possible; they carried off the wounded from under the enemy’s fire; even the women took pity on us.

What we suffered from being driven to this, I cannot describe. I have seen Buche himself cry because we were in one sense dishonored. I wished I had never seen that time. Twelve days before I did not know that France was so beautiful. But on seeing Paris with its towers and its innumerable palaces extending as far as the horizon, I thought, “This is France, these are the treasures that our fathers have amassed during century after century. What a misfortune that the English and Prussians should ever come here.”

At four in the morning we attacked the Prussians with new fury, and retook the positions we had lost the day before. Then it was that some generals came and announced a suspension of hostilities. This took place on the 3d of July, 1815.

We thought that this suspension was to give notice to the enemy, that if he did not quit our country, France would rise as one man, and crush them all as she did in ‘92. These were our opinions, and seeing that the people were on our side, I remembered the general levies which Mr. Goulden was always talking about.

But unhappily a great many were so tired of Napoleon and his soldiers, that they sacrificed the country itself, in order to be rid of him. They laid all the blame on the Emperor, and said, if it had not been for him, our enemies would never have had the force or the courage to attack us, that he had exhausted our resources, and that the Prussians themselves would give us more liberty than he had done.

The people talked like Mr. Goulden, but they had neither guns nor cartridges, their only weapons were pikes.

On the 4th, while we were thinking of these things, they announced to us the armistice, by which the Prussians and English were to occupy the barriers of Paris, and the French army was to retire beyond the Loire.

When we heard this, our indignation was so great that we were furious. Some of the soldiers broke their guns, and others tore off their uniforms, and everybody exclaimed, “We are betrayed, we are given up.” The old officers were quiet, but they were pale as death, and the tears ran down their cheeks.

Nobody could pacify us, we had fallen below contempt, we were a conquered people.

For thousands of years it would be said, that Paris had been taken by the Prussians and the English. It was an everlasting disgrace, but the shame did not rest on us.

The battalion left Vaugirard at five o’clock in the afternoon to go to Montrouge. When we saw that the movement toward the Loire had commenced, each one said, “What are we then? Are we subjects to the Prussians? because they want to see us on the other side of the Loire, are we forced to gratify them? No, no! that cannot be. Since they have betrayed us, let us go! All this is none of our concern any longer. We have done our duty, but we will not obey Blücher!”

The desertion commenced that very night; all the soldiers went, some to the right and some to the left; men in blouses and poor old women tried to take us with them through the wilderness of streets, and endeavored to console us, but we did not need consolation. I said to Buche: “Let us leave the whole thing, and return to Pfalzbourg and Harberg, let us go back to our trades and live like honest people. If the Austrians and Russians come there, the mountaineers and villagers will know how to defend themselves. We shall need no great battles to destroy thousands of them, let us go!”

There were fifteen of us from Lorraine in the battalion, and we all left Montrouge, where the headquarters were, together; we passed through Ivry and Bercy, both places of great beauty, but our trouble prevented us from seeing a quarter of what we should have done. Some kept their uniforms, while others had only their cloaks, and the rest had bought blouses.

We found the road to Strasbourg at last, in the rear of St. Mandé, near a wood to the left of which we could see some high towers, which they told us was the fortress of Vincennes.

From this place, we regularly made our twelve leagues a day.

On the 8th of July we learned that Louis XVIII. was to be restored, and that Monseigneur le Comte d’Artois would secure his salvation. All the wagons and boats and diligences already carried the white flag, and they were singing “Te Deums” in all the villages through which we passed; the mayors and their assistants and the councillors all praised and glorified God for the return of “Louis the well-beloved.”

The scoundrels called us “Bonapartists,” as they saw us pass, and even set their dogs on us.

But I do not like to speak of them; such people are the disgrace of the human race.

We replied only by contemptuous glances, which made them still more insolent and furious.

Some of them flourished their sticks, as much as to say, “If we had you in a corner, you would be as meek as lambs.”

The gendarmes upheld these
Pinacles
and we were arrested in three or four places. They demanded our papers and took us before the mayor, and the rascals forced us to shout “
Vive le Roi!
”

It was shameful, and the old soldiers rather than do it allowed themselves to be taken to prison. Buche wanted to follow their example, but I said to him, “What harm will it do us to shout Vive Jean Claude, or Vive Jean Nicholas? All these kings and emperors, old and new, would not give a hair of their heads to save our lives, and shall we go and break our necks in order to shout one thing rather than another? No, it does not concern us, and if people will be so stupid, as long as we are not the strongest, we must satisfy them. By and by, they will shout something else, and afterward still something else. Everything changes—nothing but good sense and good will remain.”

Buche did not want to understand this reasoning, but when the gendarmes came, he submitted notwithstanding.

As we went along, one after another of our little party would drop off in his own village, till at last no one was left but Toul, Buche, and I.

We saw the saddest sight of all, and this was the crowds of Germans and Russians in Lorraine and Alsace. They were drilling at Luneville, at Blamont, and at Sarrebourg, with oak branches in their wretched shakos. What vexation to see such savages living in luxury at the expense of our peasants.

Father Goulden was right when he said that military glory costs very dear. I only hope the Lord will save us from it for ages to come!

At last, on the 16th July, 1815, about eleven o’clock in the morning, we reached Mittelbronn, the last village on that side, before reaching Pfalzbourg. The siege was raised after the armistice, and the whole country was full of Cossacks, Landwehr,
¹³
and Kaiserlichs.
¹⁴
Their batteries were still in position around the town, though they no longer discharged them; the gates were open, and the people went out and in to secure their crops.

There was great need of the wheat and rye, and you can imagine the suffering it caused us, to feed so many thousands of useless beings, who denied themselves nothing, and who wanted bacon and schnapps every day.

Before every door and at every window there was nothing to be seen but their flat noses, their long filthy yellow beards, their white coats filled with vermin, and their low shakos, looking out at you, as they smoked their pipes in idleness and drunkenness. We were obliged to work for them, and at last honest people were compelled to give them two thousand millions of francs more to induce them to go away.

How many things I might say against these lazybones from Russia and Germany, if we had not done ten times worse in their country. You can each one make reflections for yourself, and imagine the rest.

At Heitz’s inn I said to Buche, “Let’s stop here. My legs are giving out.”

Mother Heitz, who was then still a young woman, threw up her hands and exclaimed, “My God! there is Joseph Bertha! God in heaven! what a surprise for the town!”

I went in, sat down and leaned my head on a table and wept without restraint.

Mother Heitz ran down to the cellar to bring a bottle of wine, and I heard Buche sobbing in the corner. Neither of us could speak for thinking of the joy of our friends. The sight of our own country had upset us, and we rejoiced to think that our bones would one day rest peacefully in the village cemetery. Meanwhile we were going to embrace those we loved best in the world.

When we had recovered a little, I said to Buche:

“Jean, you must go on before me, so that my wife and Mr. Goulden may not be too much surprised. You will tell them that you saw me the day after the battle, and that I was not wounded, and then you must say, you met me again in the suburbs of Paris, and even on the way home, and at last, that you think I am not far behind, that I am coming—you understand.”

“Yes, I understand,” said he, getting up after having emptied his glass, “and I will do the same thing for grandmother, who loves me more than she does the other boys; I will send some one on before me.”

He went out at once, and I waited a few minutes; Mother Heitz talked to me but I did not listen; I was thinking how far Buche had gone; I saw him near the ford, at the outworks, and at the gate. Suddenly I went out, saying to Mother Heitz, “I will pay you another time.”