French Literature – Children Books – Émile Zola – The Downfall (La Débâcle) – Contents
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PART III
Chapter VI
THE CONQUEROR’S SWAY—GIDDY GILBERTE
At the Delaherches’ house in the Rue Maqua at Sedan, life had started on a new lease after the terrible shocks of the battle and the capitulation, and for nearly four months now the days had been slowly slipping by under the gloomy, oppressive sway of the conquerors.
There was, however, one corner of the vast factory buildings which remained closed as though untenanted; it was the room which Colonel de Vineuil still occupied, a room overlooking the street at one end of the principal apartments. Whilst other windows were often thrown open and gave egress to sounds of coming and going, to all the buzz and stir of life, those of this particular chamber remained condemned, dead as it were, with their shutters invariably closed. The colonel had complained of his eyes paining him, especially when exposed to the daylight. No one knew whether he told the truth or not, but to humour him a lamp was kept burning, day and night, at his bedside. Although Major Bouroche had only found a crack in his ankle, the wound refused to heal, and all sorts of complications having ensued he had been compelled to remain in bed during two long months. He was now able to get up; but his mental prostration remained very great, and he had been attacked by a mysterious ailment which proved so tenacious and invading that he spent his days lying upon a couch in front of a large wood fire. He was wasting away, becoming a mere shadow; yet the doctor who attended him and whom his condition greatly surprised could find no lesion to account for this slow death. Such indeed it was; like the flame of a lamp whose oil is almost exhausted, the colonel was fading away.
Madame Delaherche senior had shut herself up with him on the morrow of the capitulation. Doubtless they had briefly and once for all come to an understanding as to their desire to cloister themselves together in that room, so long as any Prussians should be billeted in the house. Several Germans had spent a few nights there, and a captain, Herr von Gartlauben, was quartered there permanently. However, neither the colonel nor the old lady had ever again spoken of these matters. She rose every morning at daybreak, despite her eight-and-seventy years, and came and seated herself in an armchair in front of her old friend, on the other side of the fireplace; and there, by the steady lamp-light, she would sit knitting stockings for the children of the poor, whilst the colonel, with his eyes fixed on the embers, remained unoccupied, in a state of increasing stupor, seemingly living and dying from one and the same thought. They certainly did not exchange twenty words a day; he silenced her with a wave of the hand whenever she involuntarily alluded to any news from the outside world—news that she picked up when she occasionally went about the house. And thus no further tidings penetrated to that chamber, no news of the siege of Paris, of the defeats on the Loire, the daily renewed afflictions of the invasion. And yet, although the colonel in his voluntary entombment refused to look upon the light of day, although he closed his eyes and stopped his ears, it was all of no avail; some rumour of the frightful disasters, the deadly mourning, must have stolen through chink and crevice into the room, have been wafted to him by the very air he breathed; for hour by hour he was as though poisoned afresh and drew nearer and nearer unto death.
Meantime, in the broad daylight, Delaherche, with his need of life was bestirring himself and endeavouring to reopen his factory. There was so much confusion, however, with regard both to workmen and customers that he had as yet only been able to set a few looms going; and by way of employing his gloomy, enforced leisure it had occurred to him to make a complete inventory of his belongings and to study certain improvements which he had long thought of introducing into his business. To assist him in this work he had at his elbow a young fellow, a customer’s son, who had stranded in his house after the battle. Edmond Lagarde, who had grown up at Passy in his father’s little drapery shop, and who at three-and-twenty years of age—though he looked hardly more than eighteen—was a sergeant in the 5th of the Line, had fought so valiantly and stubbornly on the day of the battle that he had only come into the town by the Ménil gate at about five o’clock, and then with his left arm broken by one of the last bullets that the enemy had fired. Since the other wounded had been removed from the sheds, Delaherche had good-naturedly kept the young fellow with him, so that Edmond formed one of the family, eating, sleeping, and living in the house, and, now that his wound was healed, acting as secretary to the manufacturer, pending the time when he might get back to Paris. Thanks to Delaherche’s protection and his own formal promise that he would not abscond, the Prussian authorities did not interfere with him. He was fair, with blue eyes, as pretty as a girl, and so shy and timid that he was for ever blushing. His mother had brought him up, stinting herself and expending the profits of their little business in paying for his terms at college. He was extremely fond of Paris, which he spoke of with passionate regretfulness, when talking with Gilberte, who had nursed this wounded Chérubin[45] like a comrade.
Finally, the house had yet another new inmate, Herr von Gartlauben, a captain in the Landwehr, whose regiment was now quartered at Sedan in place of the regular troops. Despite his modest rank, the captain was a personage of importance, for he was nephew to the Governor-General of Champagne whom the Germans had set up at Rheims, and who exercised unlimited power over the entire region. Herr von Gartlauben also prided himself upon being fond of Paris, upon having lived there, and upon being acquainted both with its courtesies and its refinements; and indeed he affected the irreproachable bearing of a well-bred man, a polish under which he strove to conceal his natural coarseness. Tall and fat, he was always tightly buttoned up in his uniform, and lied outrageously about his age, being quite in despair that he should have already reached five-and-forty. Had he been more intelligent he might have proved a terrible customer, but his vanity kept him in a state of imperturbable self-satisfaction, and he was quite incapable of imagining that anybody could trifle with him.
Later on, he proved a veritable saviour for Delaherche. But how doleful were the earlier days following upon the capitulation! Overrun, peopled with German soldiers, Sedan trembled with the fear of pillage. Then, however, the victorious troops streamed back to the valley of the Seine again, only a garrison being left behind, and the town sank into the deadly quiet of a necropolis; the houses invariably closed, the shops shut, the streets deserted as soon as the twilight fell, and from that moment re-echoing only the heavy footsteps and hoarse calls of the patrols. Not a newspaper, not a letter arrived. In the ignorance and anguish that prevailed respecting the fresh disasters which were felt to be at hand, the town was like a walled-up dungeon, suddenly shut off from the rest of France. To render their misery complete the townsfolk were threatened with a dearth of provisions; and one morning indeed they awoke with no bread and no meat. It was as though a swarm of locusts had passed that way, the whole district having been stripped bare by the hundreds of thousands of men who for a week past had been pouring through it like a torrent. Having only two days’ provisions left, the town had to apply to Belgium for sustenance; and now everything came from the neighbouring country, across the open frontier whence the customs’ service had disappeared, carried off in the catastrophe like everything else. Then, too, there were endless vexatious measures, a struggle which began afresh every morning between the Prussian Commandature established at the Sub-Prefecture and the Municipal Council sitting en permanence at the Town Hall. The resistance which the members of the latter offered was heroic, but it was in vain that they argued and contested the ground inch by inch; the inhabitants were fast succumbing beneath the enemy’s ever-growing demands, the fancifulness and excessive frequency of the requisitions.
During the earlier days Delaherche suffered a good deal from the soldiers and officers who were billeted on him. Men from all the various German states defiled through his house smoking their big pipes. Not a day passed but two or three thousand soldiers, infantry, cavalry, artillery, fell unexpectedly upon the town, and although they were by right only entitled to shelter and firing, it was often necessary to run about and procure provisions for them. They left the rooms which they occupied in a repulsively filthy state. The officers often came home drunk, and proved more insufferable even than their men. Discipline, however, so restrained the foreigners, that acts of violence and pillage were of rare occurrence. In all Sedan only two women were reported to have been violated. It was not till later on, when Paris supplied proof of its determination to resist, that the Germans made their domination severely felt, exasperated as they were at finding the struggle prolonged, anxious too with regard to the demeanour of the provinces, fearing a rising en masse of the population, and a general, wolfish warfare such as the Francs-tireurs had already declared against them.
Delaherche had just been lodging a major of cuirassiers, who slept in his boots and went away leaving his room one mass of filth, when Captain von Gartlauben presented himself at the factory one evening in the second fortnight of September, when the rain was pouring down like a deluge. The first hour was somewhat unpleasant. The captain began bawling, demanded the best room in the house, and dragged his sabre with a clatter up the stairs. Having caught sight of Gilberte, however, he became decorous in his behaviour, shut himself up in his room, and in passing in and out would depart from his rigid demeanour to bow to her politely. He was treated with great deference, for it was known that a word from him to the colonel commanding Sedan would suffice to secure the abatement of a requisition or the release of a prisoner. His uncle, the Governor-General at Rheims, had recently launched a ferocious proclamation, decreeing not only the state of siege, but also the penalty of death for every person shown to have assisted the ‘enemy,’ whether as a spy, or by leading the German troops astray when appointed to guide them, or by destroying the bridges and cannons, or by damaging the telegraph wires and the railway lines. The ‘enemy’ of course was the French; and the hearts of the inhabitants bounded with indignation when, on the gate of the Commandature, they read the large white placard, which converted their anguish and their hopes into crimes. It was already terribly hard to be informed of the fresh German victories by the cheers of the garrison. In this wise every day almost brought its affliction; the soldiers would light large fires, sing, and get drunk throughout the night, whilst the inhabitants, compelled to be within doors by nine o’clock, listened to the revelry from the depths of their dark houses, distracted by the uncertainty in which they were plunged, but divining some fresh misfortune. It was on one of these occasions, about the middle of October, that Herr von Gartlauben for the first time gave proof of some delicacy of feeling. Since the morning Sedan had been awakening to hope again, for there were rumours abroad of a great victory achieved by the army of the Loire on its way to relieve Paris. Ofttime already, however, the best of news had become transformed into tidings of disaster, and in the same way it was learnt that evening that the Bavarian army had secured possession of Orleans. Some soldiers in one of the houses of the Rue Maqua, just in front of the factory, thereupon began brawling so loudly that the captain, seeing Gilberte greatly affected, went and silenced the men, being himself of opinion that such an uproar was uncalled for.
The month went by, and Herr von Gartlauben had occasion to render a few more little services. The Prussian authorities had reorganised the various governmental departments and a German sub-prefect had been installed at Sedan, though this did not prevent the vexatious measures from continuing, albeit the new functionary showed himself comparatively reasonable. Among the many difficulties which constantly arose between the Commandature and the Municipal Council, a frequent cause of trouble was the requisition of vehicles; and quite a to-do arose one morning when Delaherche was unable to send his calash and pair to the Sub-Prefecture. The mayor was momentarily arrested, and the manufacturer would have been sent to keep him company in the citadel, had it not been for Captain von Gartlauben, whose intervention at once appeased the wrath of the authorities. On another occasion, at his intercession, the town was granted a delay for the payment of a fine of thirty thousand francs imposed upon it as a punishment for its alleged dilatoriness in rebuilding the Villette bridge, a bridge destroyed by the Prussians themselves—altogether a deplorable business, which half ruined Sedan and turned it topsy-turvy. It was, however, more particularly after the fall of Metz that Delaherche contracted a debt of gratitude towards the captain. The frightful tidings fell like a thunderbolt upon the inhabitants, annihilating their last hopes; and the very next week the town was again burdened with passing troops, all the torrent of men that streamed down from Metz—Prince Frederick Charles’s army directing its course towards the Loire, General von Manteuffel’s army marching on Amiens and Rouen, and other corps on their way to reinforce the besiegers around Paris. For several days the houses were full of soldiers, the bakers’ and butchers’ shops were swept bare to the last crumb, the last bone, whilst the paving of the streets exhaled a greasy stench such as might have followed the passage of vast migrating flocks and herds. The factory in the Rue Maqua alone did not suffer from this irruption of human cattle, protected as it was by a friendly hand, and required to shelter merely a few well-bred officers.
It thus happened that Delaherche ended by departing from his frosty demeanour. The middle-class families of the town had shut themselves up in their most remote rooms, avoiding all intercourse with the officers quartered upon them. But with his irrepressible longing to talk, please, and enjoy life, this part of the antagonist sulking after defeat caused the manufacturer intense suffering. His large bleak, silent, house, whose inmates lived apart from one another, swayed by unbending rancour, made him feel quite miserable. And so one day he began by stopping Herr von Gartlauben on the stairs to thank him for the services he had rendered. Then, little by little, they fell into the habit of exchanging a few words whenever they met; and at last the Prussian captain found himself one evening in the manufacturer’s private room, smoking a cigar and chatting in friendly fashion, whilst comfortably seated beside the fireplace, where some large oak logs were burning. Gilberte did not show herself during the first fortnight, and the captain pretended to be ignorant of her very existence, although at the slightest sound he would at once glance towards the door of the adjoining room. He seemed desirous of making his host forget that he was one of the conquerors, showed himself unprejudiced and liberal-minded, and was always ready to laugh and jest whenever the conversation turned on any ridiculous requisitions. One day, for instance, when a demand had been made for a coffin and a bandage, this bandage and coffin vastly amused him. With regard to other things, coal, oil, milk, sugar, butter, bread, meat, to say nothing of clothing, stoves, and lamps—in a word all the necessaries of daily life, he simply shrugged his shoulders: What would you have? These demands were vexatious, no doubt, and he even admitted that they were excessive; but then this was wartime and the troops must needs live in the occupied territory. Delaherche, whom the incessant requisitions exasperated, spoke out frankly concerning them, passing them in review every evening, in much the same way as he might have gone through his household accounts. Still they only had one lively discussion together, which was in reference to a fine of a million francs which the Prussian prefect of Rethel had levied upon the department of the Ardennes under pretence of compensating Germany for the losses she was alleged to have sustained by the operations of the French fleet and the expulsion of the German subjects resident in France. Of this amount Sedan was required to contribute 42,000 francs, and Delaherche did his utmost to make his lodger understand that this was an iniquitous demand, the town being differently circumstanced to others, since it had already undergone such excessive suffering. The result of all these discussions was to increase the intimacy of the two men; the manufacturer, on his side, was delighted at having been able to shake off his thoughts by pouring forth a flood of words, whilst the Prussian was pleased with himself for having given proof of a truly Parisian urbanity.
One evening Gilberte came into the room with her gay giddy air, and at sight of the captain stopped short, affecting surprise. Herr von Gartlauben rose from his chair, and with commendable tact withdrew almost immediately. But on the following day he found Gilberte already installed in the room, and thereupon settled himself in his usual seat by the fireside. Some delightful evenings followed, invariably spent in this private room instead of in the drawing-room, wherein lay a nice distinction with regard to the character of the intercourse. Later on even, when the young woman had consented to play the piano to gratify the captain, who was extremely fond of music, she alone would step into the adjoining salon, leaving the door open. During those bitter winter evenings the old oaks of the Ardennes crackled and blazed in the lofty fireplace, and about ten o’clock they would drink a cup of tea, whilst chatting together in the warm atmosphere of that cosy room. And, plainly enough, Herr von Gartlauben had fallen head over heels in love with that sprightly young woman, who flirted with him just as in days gone by she had flirted with Captain Beaudoin’s friends at Charleville. He now took additional care of his person, displayed exaggerated gallantry, and contented himself with the slightest favour, above all things anxious that he might not be taken for a barbarian—one of those gross-minded soldiers who cannot treat a woman with respect.
Thus life had, so to say, a double aspect in that vast, black house of the Rue Maqua. Whilst Edmond, the wounded Chérubin with the pretty face, returned monosyllabic answers to Delaherche’s ceaseless chatter at meal-time, and blushed like a hobbledehoy if Gilberte merely asked him to pass the salt; whilst Herr von Gartlauben, with enraptured eyes, sat in the study of an evening listening to one of Mozart’s sonatas, which the young woman was playing for his especial benefit in the drawing-room, the adjacent apartment, where Colonel de Vineuil and Madame Delaherche senior spent their time, remained quite silent, with the shutters always closed, the lamp always burning, as though it were a tomb lighted by a taper. December had buried Sedan under the snow, and the despair-fraught tidings from the scene of war were as though stifled by the bitter cold. After General Ducrot’s defeat at Champigny, after the loss of Orleans, there remained but one sombre hope, that the soil of France might become an avenging soil, an exterminating soil to devour and swallow up the victors. Ah! that the snow might fall in thicker and thicker flakes, that the ground might rend and open under the biting frost, so that the whole of Germany might be entombed within it! And now a fresh sorrow was wringing old Madame Delaherche’s heart. Whilst passing Gilberte’s door one night when her son was from home, called away to Belgium by some business matter or other, she had heard a low murmur of voices, mingled with suppressed laughter. She staggered back into her own room, quite aghast, overcome by the horror of the abominable thing which she suspected. The voice she had heard could have been none other than the Prussian’s; she had already fancied that she had detected glances of intelligence passing between him and Gilberte, and the thought of this supreme shame utterly overwhelmed her. Ah! that woman whom her son had brought into the house despite all her remonstrances, that abandoned woman whom she had already pardoned once by not speaking out after Captain Beaudoin’s death! Yet it was all certainly beginning again, and this time the infamy was unparalleled! What should she do? Such monstrous behaviour could not be allowed to continue. The seclusion in which the old lady lived now became fraught with more poignant sorrow, and she spent long days in waging a frightful combat with herself. She would enter the colonel’s room looking yet more gloomy than had been her wont, and sit there for hours in silence, with tears in her eyes; and he would gaze at her and interpret her increased sadness as signifying that France had sustained yet another defeat.
It was in the midst of this crisis that Henriette arrived one morning at the house in the Rue Maqua with the view of enlisting the Delaherches’ sympathies in favour of uncle Fouchard. She had heard people speak smilingly of Gilberte’s all-powerful influence over Captain von Gartlauben, and consequently felt somewhat embarrassed when on ascending the stairs she encountered Madame Delaherche senior, who was returning to the colonel’s room. However, she deemed it advisable to acquaint the old lady with the object of her visit.
‘Oh! madame,’ said she, ‘if you would only be kind enough to assist me! My uncle is in a terrible position; they talk of sending him to Germany.’
Much as the old lady liked Henriette, she could not restrain an angry gesture: ‘But I am powerless to help you, my dear child. It is of no use applying to me.’ And then, despite the young woman’s evident distress, she added: ‘Your visit is very ill-timed; my son is going to Brussels this evening. Besides, he has no more influence than I have. Apply to my daughter-in-law, she can do everything.’
Then off she went, leaving Henriette thunderstruck, fully convinced that she was falling into the midst of a family drama. On the previous evening, indeed, Madame Delaherche senior had resolved to communicate her suspicions to her son before his departure for Belgium, whither he was going to negotiate a large purchase of coal, in the hope of being able to start his power-looms again. She would never allow that abominable intrigue to be carried on during his absence, under the same roof as herself. And before speaking out she only wished to make quite certain that he would not again defer his departure as he had been doing, day after day, during an entire week. The course she proposed to take meant, she realised it, the downfall of the entire house, the Prussian driven away, the young woman also thrown into the street and her name ignominiously placarded on the walls, as had been threatened would be done with regard to every Frenchwoman who might yield to the advances of a German.
When Gilberte perceived Henriette she gave a cry of delight. ‘Ah! how glad I am to see you! It seems so long since you went away, and all these dreadful things make one feel so old!’
She led her into her room, made her sit down on a couch there and ensconced herself close beside her: ‘Come, you must breakfast with us,’ she said. ‘But first of all let us have a chat together. You must have so many things to tell me? I know that you have had no news of your brother. Poor Maurice! how I pity him, shut up in Paris like that, with no gas, no wood, and perhaps no bread! And that soldier, too, your brother’s friend, whom you are nursing? You see that people have already been chattering to me. Is it on his account you’ve come?’
Greatly perturbed, Henriette did not at first answer her friend. After all, was it not really on Jean’s account that she had come there, to make certain indeed that her dear patient would not be molested when her uncle had been set at liberty? To hear Gilberte speak of him, however, had filled her with confusion, and she no longer dared to reveal the true motive of her visit; her conscience pricked her—she recoiled from the thought of enlisting in Jean’s behalf such an equivocal influence as that with which she credited Gilberte. ‘And so,’ repeated the latter, with a malicious air, ‘it’s for that soldier that you need our assistance?’ Then as Henriette, brought to bay, at last began speaking of old Fouchard’s arrest, she promptly interrupted her: ‘Oh! yes—how foolish of me to have forgotten; why I was talking of the matter only this morning. You have done well to come, my dear; your uncle’s case must be seen to at once, for the last information that I have had is not at all favourable. They wish to make an example.’
‘Yes, I thought of you,’ continued Henriette in a hesitating way. ‘I thought that you might give me some good advice, perhaps be able to intercede——’
Gilberte burst out laughing: ‘Why, you silly, I’ll have your uncle set at liberty within three days! Haven’t you heard that I have a Prussian captain quartered here who does whatever I ask? You hear, my dear, he can refuse me nothing!’
And thereupon, like a madcap enjoying the triumph of her coquetry, she laughed louder than ever, holding and patting the hands of her friend, who could not utter a word of thanks, so disturbed she was, so tormented by the fear that Gilberte’s words might be intended as an avowal. And yet how serene and blithe the young woman appeared!
‘Let me attend to it all,’ added Gilberte. ‘I’ll send you home happy this evening.’
When they entered the dining-room Henriette was greatly struck by the delicate feminine beauty of Edmond, whom she had never previously seen. He enchanted her, as one is enchanted by the sight of a pretty object. Was it possible that this lad had really fought, and that the Germans had been so cruel as to break his arm? The legend of his great bravery rendered him all the more charming, and, whilst the servant was serving mutton chops and baked potatoes, Delaherche, who had given Henriette the cordial greeting of a man to whom the sight of a new face is a godsend, did not cease praising his secretary; Edmond, said he, had proved as industrious and well-behaved as he was handsome. And thus the repast in the warm spacious dining-room promptly took a turn of delightful intimacy.
‘And so you came over with a view of enlisting our services in father Fouchard’s case?’ resumed the manufacturer. ‘I’m sorry that I’m obliged to go away this evening. But my wife will settle the matter for you; she’s irresistible; she has only to ask for a thing to get it.’ He said this laughing, in all simplicity, as though flattered that Gilberte should possess such influence, which he was at times vain enough to ascribe to himself. Then, all at once, he asked: ‘By the way, my dear, has Edmond told you of his discovery?’
‘No; what discovery?’ asked Gilberte gaily, turning her beautiful caressing eyes upon the young sergeant.
The latter blushed as was his wont whenever a pretty woman looked at him: ‘Oh! madame, it’s merely a question of some old lace. You were regretting the other day that you had none to trim your mauve wrapper with, and I was lucky enough yesterday to come upon five yards of old Bruges, something really handsome and cheap as well. The dealer is coming to show it to you by-and-by.’
She was delighted. ‘How nice of you!’ said she; ‘you deserve a reward.’
Then, whilst a terrine of foie-gras, purchased in Belgium, was being served, the conversation took another turn; some allusion was made to the fish which were dying in the Meuse, poisoned by the corrupt state of the water; and Delaherche then spoke of the danger of pestilence to which Sedan would be exposed as soon as there should be a thaw. There, had been several cases of disease of an epidemical character already in November. Six thousand francs had been spent in cleansing the town after the battle; the knapsacks, cartridge pouches, in fact all the suspicious wreckage that could be found had been burnt in heaps, but as soon as the weather became at all damp the most abominable stenches were wafted from the surrounding country-side, where such a multitude of corpses had been half-buried, with merely a few inches of earth thrown over them. Many of the fields were quite bumpy with graves, and an internal pressure cracked and split the soil whence all the gases of putrefaction issued and spread around. And only a few days previously another source of infection had been discovered in the Meuse, although the carcases of more than twelve hundred horses had already been removed from it. It had been generally believed that not a corpse remained in the river, but, one day, on gazing into it attentively, at a point where it was only six or seven feet deep, a rural guard espied some whitish objects which he at first took for stones. They proved, however, to be corpses, corpses in layers, bodies which had been ripped open and which, as inflation was impossible, had not risen to the surface. They had therefore been lying among the herbage in that water during nearly four months. Arms, legs, and heads were brought up with boat-hooks; and at times the mere strength of the current would suffice to detach a hand. The water became turbid, and big bubbles of gas rose to the surface and burst, poisoning the air around with a disgusting stench.
‘It will be all right so long as it freezes,’ observed Delaherche. ‘But as soon as the snow disappears there will have to be a thorough search and cleansing, or else we shall all be carried off.’ Then, upon his wife begging him with a laugh to talk of some less unpleasant subject at table, he concluded with the remark: ‘Well, we shall have to do without fish from the Meuse for a long time.’
They had finished their meal, and the coffee was being served, when the maid announced that Herr von Gartlauben requested permission to see them for a moment. This caused quite a flutter, for the captain had never previously presented himself at that hour of the day. Delaherche, however, deemed the circumstance a fortunate one, since it would enable him to introduce Henriette to the Prussian officer, and accordingly gave orders to admit him. On perceiving a second young woman in the room, the captain exaggerated his already excessive politeness. He even accepted a cup of coffee, which he drank without sugar, not because he liked it unsweetened, but because he had sometimes seen people drink it in this fashion in Paris. It appeared, moreover, that if he had so pressingly solicited admission it was simply from his desire to lose no time in informing Madame that he had just secured a pardon for one of her protégés, an unlucky workman employed at the factory, who had been imprisoned in consequence of a scuffle with a Prussian soldier.
Gilberte at once profited by the opportunity to speak about father Fouchard’s case: ‘Captain,’ said she, ‘I present you one of my dearest friends. She desires to place herself under your protection; she is the niece of the farmer who was recently arrested at Remilly, as you know, in connection with that Franc-tireur affair.’
‘Ah! yes, the affair of the spy, the unfortunate fellow who was found in a sack. Oh! it’s a serious matter, very serious indeed! I am afraid I can do nothing.’
‘Oh! you would please me so much!’ said Gilberte, looking at him with her caressing eyes and thrilling him with a sensation of beatitude. Then he bowed to her with an air of gallant compliance. Whatever she might desire, he was at her orders.
‘I shall be very grateful to you, sir,’ said Henriette painfully, seized as she was with an insurmountable feeling of discomfort, at the sudden thought of her husband, her poor Weiss, shot over yonder at Bazeilles.
However, Edmond, who had discreetly taken himself off on the arrival of the captain, had just returned into the room to whisper a few words in Gilberte’s ear. She rose in a vivacious way, mentioned the lace which the dealer had just brought, and after apologising for leaving them, followed the young fellow out of the room. Left alone with the two men, Henriette was now able to isolate herself, and took a seat in the embrasure of a window, whilst they remained at table, talking in loud voices.
‘You will accept a nip of brandy, captain, eh? You see I don’t stand on ceremony with you. I tell you all I think because I am aware that you have a liberal mind. Well! I assure you that it is very wrong of your prefect to bleed the town of those forty-two thousand francs. Just think of all our sacrifices since the outset! In the first place, on the eve of the battle, the entire French army, exhausted and famished, fell on our hands. Then came your men, and they had long teeth too. Merely the troops that have passed through the place, the requisitions, the damage which had to be repaired, the needful expenses of all kinds, have cost us a million and a half of francs. We may put down as much for the havoc wrought by the battle, the destruction caused by your artillery fire and the conflagrations, and that will bring us to three millions. Then I estimate that the losses sustained by local trade and industry amount to quite two millions. What do you say to that? There we have a total of five millions of francs for a town of thirteen thousand inhabitants! And now under some pretext or other you ask us for a further contribution of forty-two thousand francs. Come, is it reasonable, is it just?’
Herr von Gartlauben nodded his head and contented himself with answering: ‘What can you expect? Such is war, such is war!’
The spell of waiting continued, Gilberte did not return, and Henriette’s ears were ringing; all kinds of vague, sad thoughts were rendering her drowsy, as she sat there in the embrasure of the window, whilst Delaherche declared upon his word of honour that Sedan could never have weathered the crisis, caused by the absolute dearth of specie, had it not been for the timely creation of a local fiduciary currency—the paper-money issued by the Caisse du Crédit Industriel, which had saved the town from a financial disaster.
‘You will take another drop of brandy, captain, eh?’ he added: and then passing to another subject: ‘Ah! it wasn’t France that declared the war, it was the Empire. The Emperor greatly deceived me. He is altogether done for; we would rather let ourselves be dismembered than take him back. There was only one man who saw clearly into things last July, and that was Monsieur Thiers, whose journey just now through the capitals of Europe is another great act of wisdom and patriotism. The hopes of all reasonable people accompany him—may he succeed!’
With a wave of the hand he sought to convey his meaning, for he would have deemed it altogether unseemly to speak of his desire for peace before a Prussian, however friendly the latter might be. Such a desire was, however, strong within him, as it was in all the old conservative and plébiscite-voting bourgeoisie. They would soon be at an end of their blood and treasure; it was necessary to give in; and such being the opinion, there arose from all the occupied provinces a covert rancour against Paris for resisting so stubbornly. And in this wise Delaherche, alluding to Gambetta’s fiery proclamations, added in a lower voice: ‘No, no; we cannot be on the side of the furious madmen![46] It’s becoming a massacre—I for my part side with Monsieur Thiers, who wishes the elections to take place. As for their Republic, well, that doesn’t inconvenience me; we’ll keep it if necessary, till we get something better.’
With extreme politeness, Herr von Gartlauben continued wagging his head in an approving way, and repeating: ‘No doubt, no doubt.’
Henriette, whose discomfort had increased, felt unable to remain there any longer. She experienced a kind of irritation, for which she could assign no definite reason, a pressing desire to find herself elsewhere; and so she at last quietly rose from her seat, and left the room in search of Gilberte, whose return had been so long delayed. And she was stupefied when she found her friend lying on a sofa in tears, a prey to poignant and unaccountable emotion. ‘What is the matter? What has happened to you?’ asked Henriette.
But the young woman’s tears only fell the faster, and she would not speak; such was her confusion, moreover, that it seemed as though all the blood in her heart had rushed to her cheeks. At last, however, throwing herself into Henriette’s outstretched arms, hiding her face against her friend’s bosom, she stammered: ‘Oh! my darling, if you only knew—I shall never dare to tell you—and yet I have no one but you; you alone can perhaps tell me what is best to do.’ She shuddered and stammered yet more violently: ‘I was here with Edmond. And then, just this minute, the old lady came in and caught me.’
‘Caught you? What do you mean?’
‘Yes, he had his arm round my waist and was kissing me.’ And then, embracing Henriette, clasping her convulsively in her trembling arms, she told her all. ‘Oh, my darling! don’t judge me too severely, it would be more than I could bear. I know I promised you it should never happen again, but you have seen Edmond—you know how brave he is and how good-looking—as pretty as a girl. Besides, think of it, the poor young fellow; wounded, ill, so far away from his mother, too! And then he has never had any money to spend on enjoyment: as it was, his parents had to stint themselves to give him an education. I assure you, I could not find it in my heart to be harsh with him.’
Henriette listened dumbfounded, unable to recover from her amazement. ‘But, my dear,’ she said at last, ‘everybody thinks it is the Prussian captain who has succeeded in pleasing you.’
At this Gilberte sprang to her feet, and, wiping her eyes, broke out into protestations: ‘The Prussian! Oh, dear no, indeed! He’s frightful; he’s hateful to me! What can people take me for? How can anyone think me capable of such infamy? No, no, never; I would rather die!’
Her feeling of revolt had rendered her quite grave, imparting a pained, irritated expression to her beauty which quite transfigured her. But all at once her coquettish gaiety, her thoughtless giddiness, came back with a laugh which she was unable to repress: ‘Well, it’s true I amuse myself with him. He adores me, you know, and I merely have to look at him to make him obey me. If you only knew how amusing it is to make game of that big fat fellow, who always seems to fancy that he is about to be rewarded for his attentions.’
‘But it’s a very dangerous game to play,’ said Henriette, seriously.
‘Do you think so? Why, what risk do I run? When it dawns upon him that I have merely been trifling with him, he will be unable to do anything beyond flying into a passion and taking himself off. And, besides, he will never realise it! You don’t know the man, my dear; he’s one of those creatures whom women can flirt with as far as they like without any fear of danger. I know it intuitively. He is far too vain; he will never admit that I have trifled with him. And all that he will get from me will be permission to carry off my souvenir, with the consolation of thinking that he has done the proper thing and behaved himself like a well-bred man who long resided in Paris.’ She was getting quite gay again, and added: ‘Meantime he will have father Fouchard set at liberty, and his only reward for doing so will be a cup of tea from my hands.’
All at once, however, her fears returned to her, and fresh tears gathered in her eyes. ‘And the old lady; good heavens! What will happen? She is not at all fond of me, and she is capable of telling the whole story to my husband.’
Henriette had at last recovered her self-possession. Wiping Gilberte’s eyes, she said; ‘Listen, my dear, I haven’t the strength to scold you, and yet you know how I blame such conduct. But people had frightened me so terribly about your Prussian, I feared such horrid things, that this flirtation with the young sergeant comes as a relief. Quiet yourself, everything may be set right.’
This was sensible advice, the more so as Delaherche almost immediately came in with his mother, and explained that, having made up his mind to take the train to Brussels that same evening, he had just sent for the vehicle which was to convey him across the Belgian frontier. He had therefore come to bid his wife good-bye. Then, turning towards Henriette, he added: ‘You may be at rest. On leaving me just now, the captain promised me that he would attend to that matter of your uncle’s, and whilst I am away my wife will do whatever may be necessary.’
Since Madame Delaherche senior had entered the room Gilberte, with her heart oppressed, had not taken her eyes off her. Did she mean to speak out and tell what she had seen and thus prevent her son from starting? On her side the old lady had fixed her eyes upon her daughter-in-law from the moment she had crossed the threshold. However, she remained silent, experiencing perhaps a relief akin to that which Henriette had felt. Since it was that young Frenchman who had fought so bravely, ought she not to forgive as she had already forgiven, in the case of Captain Beaudoin? Her eyes softened, and she averted her head. Her son might go; if need were, Edmond would protect Gilberte against the Prussian. And at this thought she even indulged in a faint smile, she whose stern features had not once relaxed since the good news of Coulmiers.[47]
‘Good-bye,’ she said, embracing Delaherche; ‘settle your business and make haste back.’
Then she retired, slowly betaking herself to the prison-like room across the landing, where the colonel, ever with the same expression of stupor on his face, was gazing into the dimness which surrounded the circle of pale light falling from the lamp.
Henriette went back to Remilly that same evening, and three days later, in the morning, she was delighted to see old Fouchard walk into the farm, as calmly as though he had merely come back from driving some bargain in the neighbourhood. He sat down and ate some bread and cheese. And to all the questions that he was plied with, he responded in a calm, deliberate way like a man who had never felt in the least degree uneasy respecting the issue of his affair. Why should they have kept him prisoner? He had done nothing wrong. It wasn’t he who had killed the Prussian spy, was it? So he had contented himself with saying to the authorities; ‘Find out all about it if you can, but for my part I know nothing.’ And they had been obliged to release him, and the mayor as well, since they had no proofs against either of them. But at the same time, cunning, scoffing peasant that he was, his eyes twinkled with inward merriment, in his mute delight at having got the better of those dirty scamps, of whom he was growing quite sick and tired now that they had begun cavilling about the quality of his meat.
December was drawing to an end, and Jean insisted on leaving. His leg was now firm and strong again, and the doctor declared that he might go and fight. For Henriette this was a source of great affliction, which she strove to hide. They had had no news of Paris since the disastrous battle of Champigny. They simply knew that Maurice’s regiment, exposed to a murderous fire, had on that occasion lost many men. There was ever the same unbroken silence on his part; no letter, not a line reached them, although they knew that some families of Raucourt and Sedan had received messages by circuitous routes. Perhaps the pigeon bearing the tidings which they so ardently longed for had encountered some voracious hawk, or had fallen on the verge of a wood, killed by a Prussian bullet. Above everything else, however, they were haunted by the fear that Maurice might be dead. In their case the silence of the great city over yonder, mute in the grip of the investment, had become like the silence of the tomb. They had now lost all hope of tidings, and so, when Jean expressed his formal desire to be gone, Henriette gave utterance to a stifled plaint: ‘My God, so it is all over, I shall be entirely alone!’
Jean’s desire was to join the Army of the North, which General Faidherbe had lately reformed. This army was defending three departments, the Nord, the Pas-de-Calais, and the Somme, which had become separated from the rest of France since General von Manteuffel’s corps had pushed forward to Dieppe; and Jean’s plan, susceptible of easy accomplishment, was to make his way to Bouillon, and pass round by way of Belgium. He knew that the formation of the Twenty-third Army Corps was being completed by gathering together all the old soldiers of Sedan and Metz that could be found. He had heard it reported also that General Faidherbe was resuming the offensive, and when he read of the engagement of Pont-Noyelle[48]—that drawn battle which the French almost won—he definitely fixed his departure for the ensuing Sunday.
It was again in this instance Dr. Dalichamp who offered his gig and his services as driver, so that Jean might get more easily to Bouillon. The doctor’s courage and goodness of heart were inexhaustible. At Raucourt, whose inhabitants were being decimated by typhus, brought there by the Bavarians, he had patients in almost every house, in addition to those in the two ambulances which he attended, that of Raucourt itself and that of Remilly. His ardent patriotism, the impulse which always prompted him to protest against all needless violence, had twice led to his arrest by the Prussians, who had, however, promptly set him at liberty again. And he was laughing with genuine satisfaction on the morning when he arrived in his trap to drive Jean away, delighted, indeed, at being able to facilitate the escape of another of those vanquished soldiers of Sedan, those poor brave fellows whom he tended with all his professional skill and assisted with his purse. Jean, whom the pecuniary question greatly worried, for he knew very well that Henriette was by no means rich, had readily accepted the fifty francs offered him by the doctor to defray the expenses of his journey.
Old Fouchard behaved handsomely at the leave-taking. He sent Silvine to the cellar for two bottles of wine, desiring that everyone should drain a glass to the extermination of the Germans. He was henceforth a well-to-do man, with his ‘pile’ securely hidden away somewhere; and, easy in mind since the Francs-tireurs of the Dieulet Woods, tracked like wild beasts, had disappeared from the neighbourhood, he now had but one desire, that of enjoying the approaching peace as soon as it should be concluded. In a fit of generosity, moreover, he had even given wages to Prosper, by way of attaching him to the farm, which the young man, however, had no desire to leave. And Fouchard not merely chinked glasses with Prosper, but also with Silvine, whom he had at one moment thought of marrying, so well behaved and so intent on her work did he now find her. But what use would it be? He divined that she would never go astray again, that she would still be there when Charlot had grown up and in his turn went for a soldier. And when he had chinked glasses with the doctor, with Henriette and with Jean, the old fellow exclaimed:
‘There! To everybody’s health, and may everybody prosper and feel no worse than I do!’
Henriette had insisted upon accompanying Jean as far as Sedan. He was dressed for the occasion in civilian attire, wearing an overcoat and low hat which the doctor had lent him. The sun shone brightly over the snow that morning, although it was terribly cold. Their intention had been to drive through the town without stopping, but when Jean learnt that his colonel was still staying with the Delaherches, he felt a strong desire to go and pay his respects to him, and at the same time thank the manufacturer for his kindness. A final grief awaited him, however, in that town of disaster and affliction. When they reached the factory in the Rue Maqua, they found the house turned topsy-turvy by a tragic occurrence. Gilberte was in a state of wild grief; old Madame Delaherche was weeping big silent tears, and her son, who had come up from his loom-shops, where work had in some measure been resumed, was giving vent to exclamations of surprise. The colonel had just been found dead, lying all of a heap upon the floor of his room, where that eternal lamp was still burning. A doctor, summoned in all haste, had been unable to understand the case, finding no probable cause, neither heart-trouble nor congestion, to which he could ascribe this sudden death. M. de Vineuil had expired thunderstruck as it were, though none could tell whence the bolt had fallen. And it was only on the morrow that a fragment of an old newspaper was picked up in the room, a scrap which had served to cover a book, and which contained an account of the surrender of Metz!
‘My dear,’ said Gilberte to Henriette, ‘just now when Captain Gartlauben came down stairs, he uncovered as he passed the door of the room where my uncle’s body is lying—Edmond saw him do so—he is certainly a well-bred man, isn’t he?’
Jean had never yet embraced Henriette. Before getting into the gig again with the doctor, he wished to thank her for all her care and kindness, for having nursed and loved him like a brother. But he could not find the words he sought, and suddenly opening his arms he kissed her, sobbing. Quite distracted, she returned his kiss. And when the horse started off the corporal turned round and they waved their hands to one another whilst repeating in faltering accents, ‘Good-bye, good-bye!’
That night, Henriette, who had returned to Remilly, was on duty at the ambulance. During her long vigil she was again seized with a bitter access of tears, and she wept—wept exceedingly, stifling her sorrow between her clasped hands.
< < < Chapter V
Chapter VII > > >
French Literature – Children Books – Émile Zola – The Downfall (La Débâcle) – Contents
Copyright holders – Public Domain Book
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