Loe raamatut: «Brigadier Frederick, The Dean's Watch», lehekülg 8

XXII

Jean Merlin had put everything in order. The cracks in the roof and in the doors and windows were stopped up; the floor was washed, the furniture placed and the pictures hung, as much as possible as they were at the forest house. It was bitterly cold outside; our stove, which Jean had put up and blackleaded, drew like a forge bellows, and the grandmother, sitting beside it in her old arm-chair, was listening to the crackling of the fire, and looking at the flame which was lighting up the room. Marie-Rose, with her sleeves rolled up, seemed delighted at my satisfaction; Jean Merlin, his pipe in his mouth and screwing up his eyes, looked at me as if to say:

"Well, Papa Frederick, what do you think of this? Is it cold now in this room? Is not everything clean, shining and in good order? Marie-Rose and I did all that?"

And when I saw all that I said to them:

"All right. The grandmother is warm. Now I see that we can stay here. You are good children!"

That pleased them very much. They set the table. Marie-Rose had made a good soup of cabbages and bacon, for as the Germans took all the fresh meat for their own use we were very glad to get even smoked meat; fortunately potatoes, cabbages, and turnips did not run out and they formed our principal resource.

That evening we all took supper together; and during the repast I related in all its details what the chief inspector had told me about the affairs of the republic. It was the first positive news we had had from France for a long time; so you may guess how eagerly they all listened to me. Jean's eyes sparkled when I spoke of approaching battles near the Loire.

"Ah!" said he, "they call the French the old soldiers. Indeed! they defend their country, then!"

And I cried, full of enthusiasm:

"Of course, they will defend their country! You had better believe it! The chief inspector says that if it lasts for a few months the others will have enough of it."

Then he twirled his mustache, seemed almost to speak; but then looking at Marie-Rose, who was listening to us with her usual quiet aspect, he went on eating, saying:

"Anyhow, you give me great pleasure by telling me that, Father Frederick; yes, it is famous news."

At last, about eight o'clock, he went away, announcing that he would be back on the morrow or the day after, and we went quietly to bed.

This night was as comfortable as the night before had been cold and disagreeable; we slept soundly in spite of the frost outside.

I had recovered from my sorrow; I thought that we could live at Graufthal till the end of the war.

XXIII

Once withdrawn under the rocks of Graufthal, I hoped that the Germans would let us alone. What else could they ask from us? We had given up everything; we lived in the most wretched village in the country, in the midst of the forest; their squads came very seldom into this corner, whose inhabitants were so poor that they could scarcely find a few bundles of hay or straw to take away with them. All seemed for the best, and we thought that we would not have anything more to do with the accursed race.

Unfortunately we are often mistaken; things do not always turn out as we thought they would. Soon it was rumoured that Donadien, big Kern, and the other guards had crossed the Vosges; that they were fighting the Germans near Belfort, and all at once the idea struck me that Jean would also want to go. I hoped that Marie-Rose would keep him back, but I was not sure of it. The fear haunted me.

Every morning, while my daughter arranged the rooms, and the grandmother told her beads, I went down stairs to smoke my pipe in the large room with Father Ykel. Koffel, Starck, and others would come dropping in, to take a glass of brandy; they told of domiciliary visits, of orders not to ring the bells, of the arrival of German schoolmasters to replace our own, of the requisitions of all kinds that increased every day, of the unhappy peasants who were compelled to work to feed the Prussians, and of a thousand other atrocities that infuriated one against those stupid Badeners, Bavarians, and Würtembergers, who were allowing themselves to be killed for the sake of King William, and warring against their own interests. Big Starck, who was very pious, and always went to mass every Sunday, said that they would all be damned, without hope of redemption, and that their souls would be burned to all eternity.

That helped to make the time pass agreeably. One day Hulot brought us his grandson, Jean Baptiste, a big boy of sixteen, in his vest and pantaloons of coarse linen, his feet bare, winter as well as summer, in his large shoes, his hair hanging in long, yellow locks over his face, and a satchel hanging over his thin back. This boy, sitting in front of the fire, told us that at Sarrebruck and Landau the landwehr were furious; that they were declaiming in all the taverns against the crazy republicans, the cause of all the battles since Sedan, and of the continuation of the war; that it had been reported that a battle had been fought at Coulmiers, near Orleans; that the Germans were retreating in disorder, and that the army of Frederick Charles was going to their rescue; but that our young men were also learning to join the army of the republic; and that the hauptmänner had laid a fine of fifty francs a day upon the parents of those who had left the country, which had not prevented him, Jean Baptiste, from going to the rescue of his country like his comrades.

Scarcely had he ceased to speak when I ran up the stairs, four steps at a time, to tell Marie-Rose the good news. I found her on the landing. She went down to the laundry, and did not appear in the least astonished.

"Yes, yes, father," she said, "I thought it would end that way; every one must lend a hand – all the men must go. Those Germans are thieves; they will return routed and defeated."

Her tranquility astonished me, for the idea must have occurred to her, too, that Jean, an able-bodied man, would not stay at home at such a time, and that he might all at once go off yonder in spite of his promises of marriage. So I went to my room to think it over, while she went down, and two minutes afterward I heard Jean Merlin's step upon the stairs.

He came in quietly, his large felt hat on the back of his head, and he said good-humouredly:

"Good morning, Father Frederick; you are alone?"

"Yes, Jean; Marie-Rose has just gone to the laundry, and the grandmother is still in bed."

"Ah! very good," said he, putting his stick behind the door.

I suspected something was coming, from his look. He walked up and down, with bent head, and, stopping suddenly, he said to me:

"You know what is going on near Orleans? You know that the breaking up of the German army has begun, and that all willing men are called upon. What do you think of it?"

I flushed scarlet and answered, feeling rather embarrassed:

"Yes, for those on the other side of the Loire it is all very well; but we others would have a long journey to take, and then the Prussians would arrest us on the road; they guard all the paths and highways."

"Pshaw!" said he; "they think the Prussians more cunning than they really are. I would wager that I could pass the Vosges under their noses. Big Kern and Donadien have passed, with a good many others."

Then I knew that he wanted to go, that his mind was made up to a certain extent, and that gave me a shock; for if he once set off, Heaven only knew when his marriage would take place; the thought of Marie-Rose troubled me.

"Very likely," I said; "but you must think of the old people, Jean. What would your mother, good old Margredel, say, if you abandoned her at such a time?"

"My mother is a good Frenchwoman," he answered. "We have talked it over, brigadier; she consents."

My arms dropped at my sides; I did not know what to reply; and only at the end of a minute I managed to say:

"And Marie-Rose! You do not think of Marie-Rose! Yet you are betrothed. She is your wife in the eyes of God!"

"Marie-Rose consents also," he said. "We only want your consent now; say yes; all will be settled. The last time I was here, while you were down stairs smoking your pipe, I told Marie-Rose all about it. I said to her that a forest guard without a situation, an old soldier like me, ought to be at the front; she understood and consented."

When he told me that, George, it was too much; I cried: "I do. It is not possible!" And, opening the window, I called out:

"Marie-Rose! Marie-Rose! Come here. Jean has arrived."

She was hanging out clothes in the shed, and leaving at once her work, she came up stairs.

"Marie-Rose," I said, "is it true that you have consented to let Jean Merlin go to fight the Germans at Orleans, behind Paris? Is it true? Speak freely."

Then, pale as death, with flashing eyes, she said:

"Yes. It is his duty. He must go. We do not wish to be Prussians, and the others ought not to fight alone to save us. He must be a man. He must defend his country."

She said other things of the same kind that warmed my blood and made me think:

"What a brave girl that is! No, I did not know her before. She is the true descendant of the old Burats. How the old people wake up and speak through the mouths of their children! They want us to defend the earth of the old cemetery where their bones lie buried."

I rose, white as a sheet, with open arms. "Come to my arms!" I said to them; "come to my arms! You are right. Yes, it is the duty of every Frenchman to go and fight. Ah! if I were only ten years younger, I would go with you, Jean; we would be two brothers in arms." And we embraced each other all round.

XXIV

I wept; I was proud of having so brave and honest a daughter, whom I had not appreciated till then; that made me lift up my head again. The resolution of Jean and Marie-Rose appeared natural to me.

But, as we heard the grandmother groping her way from the other room, by leaning against the wall, I made a sign to them to be silent, and, when the poor old woman came in, I said:

"Grandmother, here is Jean, whom the chief inspector is about to send to Nancy; he will be there for some time."

"Ah!" said she. "There is no danger?"

"No, grandmother, it is a commission for the forest registers; it has nothing to do with the war."

"So much the better!" said she. "How many others are in danger! We ought to be very happy to keep out of it!"

Then, sitting down, she began, as usual, to say her prayers.

What more can I tell you, George, about those things that rend my heart when I think about them?

Jean Merlin spent the whole day with us. Marie-Rose cooked as good a dinner as she could in our position; she put on her handsome cap and her blue silk fichu, so as to be agreeable to the eyes of the man she loved.

I seem to see her still, sitting at the table near the grandmother, opposite her betrothed, and smiling, as if it were a holiday. I seem to hear Jean talking about the good news from Orleans, about the happy chances of the war, which are not always the same.

Then, after dinner, while the grandmother dozes in her arm-chair, I see the two children sitting beside each other, near the little window, looking at each other, holding each other's hand, and talking in a low voice, sometimes gaily, sometimes sadly, as is the custom with lovers.

As for me, I walked up and down, smoking and thinking of the future. I listened to the hum of talk from the tavern, and, remembering the danger of leaving the country, the penalties established by the Germans against those who wished to join our armies, I seemed to hear the stamping of heavy boots and the rattle of sabres. I went down the stairs, and, half opening the door of the smoky room, I looked in, and then I went up stairs again, a little reassured, saying to myself that I ought not to be afraid, that more difficult lines of the enemy had been crossed, and that energetic men always got well through their business. So passed all that afternoon.

Then, at supper, as the time for his departure drew near, a more terrible sadness and strange, unknown fears seized upon me.

"Go to bed," I said to the grandmother; "the night has come."

But she did not hear me, being a little deaf, and she went on muttering her prayers, and we looked at each other, exchanging our thoughts by signs. At last, however, the poor old woman rose, leaning her two hands on the arms of her chair, and murmuring:

"Good night, my children. Come, Jean, till I kiss you. Distrust the Prussians; they are traitors! Do not run any risks; and may the Lord be with you!"

They kissed each other; Jean seemed touched; and when the door was closed, as the church clock was striking eight, and when the little panes were growing dark, he said:

"Marie-Rose, the time has come. The moon is rising; it is lighting already the path by which I must reach the Donon."

She flung herself into his arms and they held each other clasped in a close embrace for a long time, in silence, for down stairs they were talking and laughing still; strangers might be watching us, so we had to be prudent.

You do not know, George, and I hope that you never will know, what a father feels at such a moment.

At last they separated. Jean took his stick; Marie-Rose, pale, but composed, said: "Adieu, Jean!" And he, without answering, hurried out, breathing as if something was choking him.

I followed him. We descended the dark little staircase, and on the threshold, where the moon, covered with clouds, cast a feeble ray, we also kissed each other.

"You do not want anything?" I said, for I had put about fifty francs in my pocket.

"No," said he, "I have all that I need."

We held each other's hands as if we could never let go, and we looked at each other as if we could read each other's hearts.

And, as I felt my lips quiver:

"Come, father," said he, in a trembling voice, "have courage; we are men!"

Then he strode away. I looked at him vanishing in the darkness, blessing him in my heart. I thought I saw him turn and wave his hat at the corner of the path, by the rock, but I am not sure.

When I went in, Marie-Rose was seated on a chair by the open window, her head buried in her hands, weeping bitterly. The poor child had been courageous up to the last minute, but then her heart had melted into tears.

I said nothing to her, and, leaving the small lamp on the table, I went into my room.

These things happened in November, 1870. But much greater sorrows were to come.

XXV

After that for a few days all was quiet. We heard nothing more from Orleans. From time to time the cannon of the city thundered, and was answered by that of the enemy from Quatre Vents and Werhem; then all was silent again.

The weather had turned to rain; it poured in torrents; the melting snow floated in blocks down the course of the swollen river. People stayed in-doors, cowering close to the fire; we thought of the absent, of the war, of the marches and counter-marches. The gens-d'armes of Bismark Bohlen continued to make their rounds; we saw them pass, their cloaks dripping with rain. The silence and the uncertainty overwhelmed one. Marie-Rose came and went without saying anything; she even put on a smiling aspect when my melancholy grew very great; but I could see from her pallor what she was suffering.

Sometimes, too, the grandmother, when we least expected it, would begin to talk about Jean, asking for news of him. We would answer her by some insignificant thing, and the short ideas of old age, her weakened memory, prevented her from asking more; she would be contented with what we could tell her, and murmured, thoughtfully:

"Very good! very good!"

And then the cares of life, the daily labour, the care of the cattle and of the household, helped us to keep up.

Poor Calas, having no more work to do with us, had turned smuggler between Phalsbourg and the suburbs, risking his life every day to carry a few pounds of tobacco or other such thing to the glacis; it was rumoured at this time that he had been killed by a German sentinel; Ragot had followed him; we heard nothing more of either of them. They have doubtless been sleeping for a long time in the corner of a wood or in some hole or other; they are very fortunate.

One morning, in the large down-stairs room, when we were alone, Father Ykel said to me:

"Frederick, it is known that your son-in-law, Jean Merlin, has gone to join our army. Take care, the Prussians may give you trouble!"

I was all taken aback, and I answered, after a moment:

"No, Father Ykel! Jean is gone to Dôsenheim on business; he is trying to collect old debts; at this time we need money."

"Pshaw!" said he, "you need not hide the truth from me; I am an old friend of the Burats and you. Merlin has not been here for several days; he has crossed the mountain, and he did right; he is a brave fellow; but there are plenty of traitors about here; you have been denounced, so be on your guard."

This warning startled me, and, thinking that it would be well to tell his mother, Margredel, and his Uncle Daniel, after breakfast, without saying anything to Marie-Rose, I took my stick and set out for Felsberg.

It had stopped raining. The winter sun was shining over the woods, and this spectacle, after leaving our dark nook, seemed to revive me. As the path at the hill passed near the forest house, showing the old roof in the distance, I was touched by it. All my recollections came back to me, and it occurred to me to go and take a look at the cottage, and to look at the inside by standing on the bench by-the wall. It seemed as if it would do me good to see once more the old room, wherein the old people had died and where my children had been born! My heart warmed at the idea and I went swiftly on, till, reaching the little bridge between the two willows, covered with frost, I stood still in horror.

A German forest-guard, his green felt hat, with its cock-feathers, set on one side, his long-stemmed porcelain pipe in his great fair mustaches, and with his arms crossed on the window-sill, was smoking quietly, with a calm expression, happy as in his own house. He was looking smilingly at two chubby, fair-haired children, who were playing before the door, and behind him, in the shadow of the room, was leaning a woman, very fat, with red cheeks, calling, gaily:

"Wilhelm, Karl, come in; here is your bread and butter!"

All my blood seemed to go through my veins at the sight. How hard it is to see strangers in the old people's house, where one has lived till one's old age, from which one has been chased, from no crime of one's own, only because others are masters and turn one out of doors! It is terrible!

The guard raising his head suddenly, I was afraid he would see me, so I hid myself. Yes, I hid myself behind the willows, hastening to reach the path farther on, and stooping like a malefactor. I would have been ashamed if that man had seen that the former master had found him in his house, in his room, beside his hearth; I blushed at the idea! I hid myself, for he might have laughed at the Alsatian, who had been turned out of doors; he might have enjoyed himself over it. But from that day hatred, which I had never known before, entered my heart; I hate those Germans, who peacefully enjoy the fruit of our toil, and consider themselves honest people. I abhor them!

From there I went up through the heath to Felsberg, feeling very sad and with hanging head.

The poor village seemed as sad as I, among its heaps of mud and dunghills; not a soul was to be seen in the street, where requisitions of all kinds had passed more than once. And at the old schoolhouse, when I tried to lift the latch, I found the door fastened. I listened; no noise nor murmur of children was to be heard. I looked through the window; the copies were hanging there still by their strings, but the benches were empty.

I called, "Father Daniel!" looking up at the first-floor windows, for the garden gate was also closed. Some moments later another door, that of Margredel's house, built against the gable end, opened; Uncle Daniel, an active little man, with coarse woollen stockings, and a black cotton skull cap on his head, appeared, saying:

"Who is there?" I turned round.

"Ah! it is Brigadier Frederick," said he. "Come in!"

"Then you do not live yonder any more?" said I.

"No, since day before yesterday the school has been closed," he answered, sadly.

And in the lower room of the old cottage, near the little cast-iron stove, where the potatoes were cooking in the pot, sending their steam up to the ceiling, I saw Margredel, sitting on a low stool.