The Invasion of France in 1814 by Erckmann-Chatrian
CHAPTER VI
AMONG THE MOUNTAINEERS
An extraordinary agitation reigned at that time all along the line ofthe Vosges: the tidings of the invasion which was approaching spreadfrom village to village, and among the farm-houses and woodmen'scottages of the Hengst and the Nideck. The hawkers, wagoners, tinkers,all that floating population which is continually moving from themountains to the plains and from the plains to the mountains, broughtevery day, from Alsace and the borders of the Rhine, many strangereports. "The towns," so these people said, "were being put into astate of defence; expeditions were being made to provision them withcorn and meat; the roads to Metz, Nancy, Huningue, and Strasbourg wereswarming with convoys. Everywhere you met powder and ammunitionwagons, cavalry, infantry, artillery, going to their posts. MarshalVictor still held the route to Saverne; but the bridges of thefortresses were already raised from seven in the evening to eight inthe morning."
No one thought that all this could bode any good. Nevertheless, thoughmany were seriously afraid of war, and though the old women lifted uptheir hands to heaven, crying, "Jesus! Mary! Joseph!" the greaternumber were preparing the means of defence. Under such circumstances,Jean-Claude Hullin was well received by all.
The same day, toward five in the evening, he reached the summit of theHengst, and halted with the patriarch of forest-hunters, old Materne.He spent the night there; for in winter the days are short and theroads difficult. Materne promised to keep watch over the defile of theZorn, with his two sons Kasper and Frantz, and to reply to the firstsignal which was made from the Falkenstein.
On the following day, Jean-Claude started early for Dagsburg, so as tocome to an understanding with his friend Labarbe, the wood-cutter.They visited together the nearest hamlets, reanimating the love ofcountry in the people's hearts; and the next day Labarbe accompaniedHullin into Christ-Nickel's, the anabaptist farmer of Painbach--asensible and respectable man, but who could not be prevailed upon toparticipate in their glorious enterprise. Christ-Nickel had only onereply for all their observations; "It is well, it is just, but theBible saith, 'Put up thy sword into its place. He who lives by thesword shall perish by the sword.'" He promised them, however, to prayfor the good cause: it was all they could obtain.
They went from there to Walsch, and had some hearty shakes of the handwith Daniel Hirsch, a former marine gunner, who agreed to collect allthe people of his district.
At this place Labarbe left Jean-Claude to make his way by himself.
For eight days longer he beat about the mountain, from Soldatenthal, toLeonsberg, Meienthal, Abreschwiller, Voyer, Loettenbach, Cirey,Petit-Mont, and Saint-Sauveur; and on the ninth day he reached St.Quirin and saw the bootmaker Jerome. They visited the pass of Blanrutogether; after which Hullin, satisfied with what he had done, took hisway to the village. He had been walking briskly for about two hours,picturing to himself the life of the camp,--the bivouac, marches andcounter-marches--all that life of a soldier which he had so oftenregretted, and which he now saw returning with enthusiasm--when in thefar distance, amidst the shades of the twilight, he perceived thehamlet of Charmes in a bluish mist, his little cottage sending forth ascarcely perceptible line of smoke, the small gardens surrounded withpalisades, the stone-covered roofs, and to the left, bordering thehill, the great farm of Bois-de-Chenes, with the saw-mills of Valtin atthe end of the now dark ravine.
Then suddenly, and without knowing why, his soul was filled with agreat sadness.
He slackened his pace, and thought of the calm, peaceable life he wasabandoning--perhaps forever; of his little room, so warm in the winter,and cheerful in spring when he opened his windows to the breath of thewoods; of the tic-tac of the old timepiece, and then of Louise, hisgood little Louise, spinning in the silence with downcast eyes, and inthe evenings singing some quaint strain with her pure penetrating voicewhen they were both feeling weary. These reflections laid such hold ofhim that the slightest objects, every instrument used in hisprofession,--the long shining augers, the round-handled hatchet, themallets, the little stove, the old closet, the platters of varnishedwood, the ancient figure of Saint Michael nailed to the wall, the oldfour-post bed at the bottom of the alcove, the stool, the trunk, thecopper lamp,--all these things impressed themselves on his mind like aliving picture, and the tears came into his eyes.
But it was Louise, his darling child, whom he pitied. How she wouldweep, and implore him to renounce the war! And how she would hang onhis neck, saying:--"Oh! do not leave me, Papa Jean-Claude! Oh, I willlove you so much! Oh, surely you will not abandon me!"
And the honest fellow could see the terror in her beautiful eyes--hecould feel her arms round his neck. For a moment he fancied that hemight deceive her, make her believe anything, no matter what, and soaccount for his absence to her satisfaction; but such means were not inaccordance with his character, and his sadness increased the more.
Arrived at the farm of Bois-de-Chenes, he went in to tell CatherineLefevre that all was going well, and that the mountaineers were onlyawaiting the signal.
A quarter of an hour after, Master Jean-Claude came down by the Houxroad in front of his own little house.
Before pushing open the creaking door, the idea struck him to see whatLouise was about at that moment. He glanced into the little roomthrough the window: Louise was standing by the curtains of the alcove;she seemed very animated, arranging, folding and unfolding clothes onthe bed. Her sweet face beamed with happiness, and her large blue eyessparkled with a sort of enthusiasm; she even talked aloud. Hullinlistened; but a cart happening to pass at the time in the street, hecould hear nothing. Making a firm resolve, he entered, saying quietly:"Louise, I have returned."
Immediately the young girl, joyous and skipping like a deer, ran toembrace him.
"Ah! it is you, Papa Jean-Claude! I was expecting you. Mon Dieu! monDieu! how long you stayed away! At length you are back."
"It was, my child," replied the honest fellow, in a more undecidedtone, putting his stick behind the door and his hat on the table, "itwas because----"
He could say nothing else.
"Yes, yes, you went to see our friends," said Louise, laughing: "I knowall about it--Mamma Lefevre has told me everything."
"What! thou knowest? And dost thou not mind? So much the better, somuch the better! it shows thy sense. And I, who fancied thou wouldsthave cried!"
"Cry! and what for, papa Jean-Claude? Oh, I am courageous; you don'tknow me yet--go!" She put on a resolute air, which made Hullin smile;but he did not smile long when she continued: "We are going to war--weare going to fight--we are going to pass up the mountain!"
"Hullo! we are going! we are going!" exclaimed he in astonishment.
"Certainly. Then are we not going?" said she, regretfully.
"That is to say--I must leave thee for a little time, my child."
"Leave me--oh, no! I go with thee; it is all agreed upon. Look, see!my small parcel is ready, and here is yours, which I have arranged.Don't trouble yourself, let me alone, and you will be satisfied!"
Hullin could not get over his stupefaction. "But, Louise," heexclaimed, "thou canst not think of such a thing. Consider: we mustpass nights abroad, and march and run; consider the cold, the snow, themusketry! It cannot be."
"Come," said the young girl, in a tearful voice, throwing herself intohis arms, "do not pain me! You are only making fun of your littleLouise. You cannot forsake her!"
"But thou wilt be much safer here--thou wilt be warm--thou wilt hearfrom us every day."
"No, no. I will not--I must go too. The cold does not harm me. Onlytoo long have I been shut up. I, too, must breathe a little. Are notthe birds out of doors? The robins are out all the winter. Have I notknown what cold was when I was quite tiny? and hunger also?"
She stamped, and, for the third time, putting her arms roundJean-Claude's neck,--"Come then, Papa Hullin," said she softly, "MammaLefevre said yes. Would you be more naughty than she was? Ah, if you
The good man had sat down and turned away his head, so as not to yield,and did not allow himself to be embraced.
"Oh, how naughty you are to-day, Papa Jean-Claude!"
"It is for thy sake, my child."
"Well, all the worse. I will run away after you. Cold--what is cold?And if you are wounded--if you ask to see your little Louise for thelast time, and she is not there--near you, to take care of you, andlove you to the end--oh, you must think me very cold-hearted."
She sobbed, and Hullin could not stand it any longer.
"Is it true that Mamma Lefevre consents?"
"Oh, yes--oh, yes--she told me so. She said to me,--'Try and make PapaJean-Claude decide. I am willing, and quite satisfied.'"
"Well, what can I do against two of you. Thou shalt come with us; itis quite decided."
She gave a scream of delight which ran through the cottage,--"Oh, howkind you are!"
And with one rub she wiped all her tears away,--"We are going to beoff, to take to the woods and to make war."
"Ah," said Hullin, shaking his head, "I see it now; thou art always thelittle gypsy. As soon try to tame a swallow."
Then making her sit on his knees:--"Louise, it is now twelve yearssince I found thee in the snow: thou wast blue, poor little one. Andwhen we were in the cottage, near a good fire, and thou wert slowlyreviving, the first thing thou didst was to smile at me. And sincethat time thy will has always been mine. With that smile thou hast ledme wherever thou wouldst."
Then Louise began again to smile at him, and they embraced each other."Now we will look at the packages," he said, sighing. "Are they wellmade, I wonder?"
He approached the bed, and was surprised to see his warmest clothes,his flannel-waistcoats, all well brushed, folded, and packed; andLouise's bundle, with her best dresses, petticoats, and stout shoes, innice order. At last he could not help laughing and crying out--"Ogypsy, gypsy! you are the one for making fine bundles, and going awaywithout ever turning the head."
Louise smiled. "Are you satisfied?"
"I suppose I must be. But during all this piece of work, I willventure to say thou hast never thought of preparing my supper."
"Oh, it will soon be ready. I did not know you would return thisevening, Papa Jean-Claude."
"That is true, my child. Bring me something--no matter what--quickly,for I am hungry. Meanwhile I shall smoke a pipe."
"Yes, that's it; smoke a pipe."
He sat down on the side of the bench and struck the tinder-box quitedreamily. Louise rushed right and left like a sprite, seeing to thefire, breaking the eggs, and turning out an omelette with surprisingcelerity. Never had she appeared so lively, smiling, and pretty.Hullin, his elbow on the table and his face in his hand, watched hergravely, thinking how much will, firmness, and resolution there was inthis girl--as light as a fairy, yet determined as a hussar. In a fewseconds she served him with the omelette on a large china plate, withbread, and the glass and bottle.
"There, Papa Jean-Claude, be hungry no longer." She observed himeating with a look of tenderness.
The flame sprang up in the stove, lighting clearly the low beams, thewooden stair in the shadow, the bed at the end of the alcove, the wholeof the abode, so often cheered by the joyous humor of the shoemaker,the little songs of his daughter, and the industry of both. And allthis Louise was leaving without any hesitation: she cared only for thewoods, the snow-covered paths, and the endless mountains, reaching fromthe village into Switzerland, and even beyond. Ah, Master Jean-Claudehad reason to cry "gypsy, gypsy!" The swallow cannot be tamed: itneeds the open air, the broad sky--continual motion. Neither storms,nor wind, nor rain in torrents frighten it, when the hour of itsdeparture is at hand. It has only one thought, one desire, onecry--"Let us away! Let us away."
The meal finished, Hullin rose and said to his daughter, "I am tired,my child; kiss me, and let us go to bed."
"Yes; but do not forget to awake me, Papa Jean-Claude, if you startbefore daybreak."
"Do not trouble thyself. It is understood thou shalt come with us."And seeing her mount the stair and disappear in the garret: "Isn't sheafraid of stopping in the nest, that's all!" said he to himself.
The silence was great outdoors. Eleven o'clock had struck from thevillage church. The good man was sitting down to take off his boots,when he caught sight of his musket suspended above the door: he took itdown, wiped it, and drew the trigger. His whole soul was intent on thebusiness in hand.
"It is all right," he murmured: and then in a grave tone: "It iscurious.... The last time I held it ... at Marengo ... was fourteenyears ago, and yet it seems like yesterday!"
Suddenly the hardened snow cracked under a quick footstep. Helistened: "Someone!" At the same time two little sharp taps resoundedon the panes. He ran to the window and opened it. The head of MarcDives, with his broad hat stiff with the frost, bent forward from thedarkness.
"Well, Marc, what news?"
"Hast thou warned the mountaineers--Materne, Jerome, Labarbe?"
"Yes, all."
"It was time: the enemy has passed."
"Passed?"
"Yes, along the whole line. I have walked fifteen leagues through thesnow since this morning to announce it to thee."
"Good; the signal must be given: a great fire on the Falkenstein."
Hullin was very pale. He put on his boots. Two minutes later, hislarge blouse on his shoulders and his stick in his hand, he softlyopened the door, and with long strides followed Marc Dives on the wayto the Falkenstein.