From midnight till six in the morning a flame shone through the darkness on the summit of the Falkenstein, and the whole mountain was on the alert.
All the friends of Hullin, Marc Divès, and of Mother Lefèvre, their long gaiters on their legs and old muskets on their shoulders, journeyed, through the silent woods, toward the gorges of the Valtin. The thought of the enemy traversing the plains of Alsace to surprise the passes, was present to the minds of all. The tocsins of Dagsburg, Abreschwiller, Walsch, and St. Quirin, and of all the other villages, began to call the defenders of the country to arms.
Now you must picture to yourself the Jägerthal, at the foot of the old castle, in unusually snowy weather, at that early hour when the clumps of trees begin to creep out of the shadow, and when the extreme cold of night softens at the approach of day. Picture, also, to yourself the old Sawyerie, with its flat roof, its heavy wheel burdened with icicles, the low interior dimly lit up by a pine-wood fire, whose blaze fades away in the glimmer of the coming dawn; and, around the fire, fur bonnets, caps, and black profiles, gazing one over the other, and squeezing close together like a wall; and farther on, in the woods, more fires lighting up groups of men and women squatting in the snow.
The agitation began to decrease. As the sky became grayer the people recognized each other.
"Ah, it is Cousin Daniel of Soldatenthal. You have come too?"
"Yes, as you see, Heinrich, with my wife also."
"What, Cousin Nanette! Where is she?"
"Down there, near the old oak, by Uncle Hans' fire."
They shook hands. Many could be heard yawning loudly: others threw on the fire bits of planks. The gourds went round; some retired from the circles to make room for their shivering neighbors. Meanwhile the crowd began to grow impatient.
"Ah," cried some, "we did not come here only to get our feet warmed. It is time to see and come to an understanding."
"Yes, yes! Let them hold a council, and name the chiefs."
"No; everybody is not yet arrived. See, there are more coming from Dagsburg and St. Quirin."
Indeed, the lighter it became, the more people could be seen hastening along all the mountain paths. At that time there must have been many hundreds of men in the valley—wood-cutters, charcoal-burners, raftsmen—without counting the women and children.
Nothing could be more picturesque than that gathering in the midst of the snows, in the depths of the defile, closed in as it was by tall pines losing themselves in the clouds. To the right, the valleys opening away into each other as far as the eye could reach; to the left, the ruins of the Falkenstein rising into the sky. From a distance one would have said it was a flock of cranes settled on the ice; but, nearer, these hardy men could be distinguished, with stiff beards bristling like a boar, gloomy fierce eyes, broad square shoulders, and horny hands. Some few, taller than the rest, belonged to the fiery race of red men, white-skinned, and hairy to the tips of their fingers, with strength enough to pull an oak up by the roots. Among this number was old Materne of Hengst, with his two sons Kasper and Frantz. These sturdy fellows—all three armed with little rifles from Innsprück—having blue cloth gaiters with leathern buttons reaching above their knees, their loins girdled with goat-skin, and their felt hats coming down low over their necks—did not deign to approach the fire. For an hour they had been sitting on a trunk by the river-side, on the watch, with their feet in the snow. From time to time the old man would say to his sons, "What do they shiver for over there? I never knew a milder night for the season: it is nothing—the rivers are not even touched."
All the forest-hunters of the country passing by came to shake hands with them, then congregated round them and formed a circle apart. These fellows spoke little, being used to silence for whole days and nights, for fear of frightening away their game.
Marc Divès, standing in the middle of another group, a head taller than any of them, spoke and gesticulated—pointing now to one part of the mountain, now to another. In front of him was the old herdsman Lagarmitte, with his large gray smock, a long bark trumpet on his shoulder, and his dog at his feet. He listened to the smuggler, open-mouth, and kept on bowing his head. The others all seemed attentive: they were composed of charcoal-burners and wood-carriers, with whom the smuggler had daily intercourse.
Between the saw-mills and the first fire, on the bridge over the dam, sat the bootmaker Jérome of St. Quirin—a man of from fifty to sixty years of age, with a long brown face, hollow eyes, big nose—his ears covered with a badger-skin cap—and a yellow beard reaching to his waist in a peak. His hands, enveloped in great green woollen gloves, were clasped over an immense stick of knotty service-tree. He wore a long sackcloth hood; and might easily have been taken for a hermit. At every rumor that arose, Father Jérome would slowly turn his head, and try to catch what it was, frowning.
Jean Labarbe, grasping his axe, remained immovable. He was a white-faced man, with an aquiline nose and thin lips. He exercised great influence over the men of Dagsburg, owing to his resolution and the clearness of his ideas. When they shouted around him, "We must deliberate; we cannot stay here doing nothing," he simply contented himself with saying, "Let us wait: Hullin has not arrived, nor Catherine Lefèvre. There is no hurry." Everybody then was silenced, and looked impatiently toward the path from Charmes.
The sawyer Piorette—a small, brisk, thin, energetic man, whose black eyebrows met above his eyes—stood on the threshold of his hut, with his pipe between his teeth, contemplating the general appearance of this scene.
Meanwhile, the impatience increased every moment. Some village mayors—in square-cut coats and three-cornered hats—advanced in the direction of the saw-mills, calling on their communes to come and decide what was to be done. Most fortunately, at last Catherine Lefèvre's cart appeared, and a thousand enthusiastic shouts arose on all sides:
"There they are! they come!"
Old Materne gravely mounted on a trunk and quietly descended, saying, "It is they."
Great agitation showed itself. The farthest groups gathered together in one crowd. A sort of impatient shiver passed over the mass. Scarcely has the old farmer's wife become visible, whip in hand, on her straw box with little Louise, than from all parts came cries of "Vive la France! Vive la mère Catherine!"
Hullin, who had remained behind, his broad hat pushed back, his musket slung across his shoulder, was now crossing the meadow of Eichmath, distributing vigorous shakes of the hand: "Good-day, Daniel; good-day, Colon. Good-day—good-day!"
"Ah! it is going to be warm, Hullin."
"Yes—yes; we are going to hear the chestnuts popping this winter. Good-day, my old Jérome! We have serious business on hand."
"Yes, Jean-Claude. We must hope to pull through it by the grace of God."
Catherine, on arriving at the saw-works, told Labarbe to set on the ground a keg of brandy which she had brought away from the farm, and to get a jug from the sawyer's cottage.
Soon after, Hullin, coming up to the fire, met Materne and his two sons.
"You have come late," said the old hunter.
"Ah! yes. What was to be done? I had to descend the Falkenstein, get my gun, and start the women. But as we are now here, let us lose no more time; Lagarmitte, blow thy horn, so that all the men may assemble. The first thing is to appoint the leaders."
Lagarmitte blew his long trumpet, his cheeks puffed out to his ears: then those who were still on the hill-sides or paths hastened their pace to be in time. Soon all those brave fellows were assembled in front of the saw-works. Hullin got up on a pile of tree-trunks, and looking seriously upon the crowd, said, amidst deep silence: "The enemy crossed the Rhine the day before yesterday: they are marching over the mountain into Lorraine: Strasbourg and Huningue are blockaded. We may expect to see the Germans and Prussians in three or four days."
There was a loud shout of "Vive la France!"
THERE WAS A GENERAL SHOUT OF "LONG LIVE FRANCE!"THERE WAS A GENERAL SHOUT OF "LONG LIVE FRANCE!"
THERE WAS A GENERAL SHOUT OF "LONG LIVE FRANCE!"THERE WAS A GENERAL SHOUT OF "LONG LIVE FRANCE!"
"Yes, vive la France!" continued Hullin; "for if the allies enter Paris they can do what they choose; they can re-establish statute-labor, tithes, convents, monopolies, and the gallows. If you wish to see that over again, you have only to let them pass."
It would be impossible to depict the savage fierceness of the audience at that moment.
"That is what I had to tell you," cried Hullin, quite white. "Since you are here, it can only be to fight."
"Yes, yes."
"It is well; but listen to me. I will be open with you. Among you are fathers of families. We shall be one against ten, against fifty: we must expect to perish. So let the men who have not reflected on it, who feel they have not heart to do their duty to the end, go—none will take notice of them. Each man is free."
Then he paused and looked around him. Everybody remained stationary: then with a firmer voice, he concluded thus: "No one goes away; you are all, all resolved to fight. Well, I am rejoiced to see there is not one coward among us. Now a leader must be chosen. In great dangers, the first thing is order and discipline. The leader you are going to name will have the right of commanding and being obeyed. So reflect seriously, for on that man will hang the fate of you all."
So saying, Jean-Claude descended from the tree-trunk, and the agitation became extreme. Every village deliberated apart by itself—every mayor proposed his friend—and the hours wore on. Catherine Lefèvre was burning with impatience. At length she could no longer contain herself, and standing up on her bench, signed that she was going to speak.
Catherine was held in great esteem. At first only a few, then a larger number approached to know what she wished to communicate.
"My friends," said she, "we are losing time. What do you wish for? A trustworthy man, is it not so? a soldier—a man who has seen service, and who knows how to profit by our positions? Well, why do you not choose Hullin? Can any one find a better? If so, let him speak, and we will decide. I propose Jean-Claude Hullin. Hé! do you hear—over there? If this continues, the Austrians will have arrived before a leader has been decided on."
"Yes,—yes! Hullin!" shouted Labarbe, Divès, Jérome, and several others. "Let us see how many are for and against him."
Then Marc Divès, clambering on to the trunks, cried out in a voice like thunder: "Those who do not want Jean-Claude Hullin for leader must lift up their hands."
Not one hand was uplifted.
"Those who want Jean-Claude Hullin for their leader must raise their hands."
Every hand was put up.
"Jean-Claude," said the smuggler, "mount up here, look—they have chosen you for their leader."
Master Jean-Claude having done so, saw he was named, and said immediately in a stern voice: "Good! you name me to be your chief. I accept! Let Materne the elder, Labarbe of Dagsburg, Jérome of St. Quirin, Marc Divès, Piorette the sawyer, and Catherine Lefèvre, come into the saw-works. We are going to take counsel. In a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes, I shall give my orders. Meanwhile, each village must put two men under the orders of Marc Divès, to fetch powder and ball from the Falkenstein."
The persons indicated by Jean-Claude Hullin met together in the shed of the Sawyerie, before the great fireplace; a species of good-humor beaming on their faces.
"For twenty years have I heard speak of the Russians, Austrians, and Cossacks," said old Materne, smiling, "and I shall not be sorry to see a few within reach of my musket: it gives a change to one's ideas."
"Yes," replied Labarbe, "we shall see queer things; the little children of the mountains will be able to relate something of what their fathers and grandfathers did! And the old women, of an evening—won't they tell long tales in fifty years' time?"
"Comrades," said Hullin, "you know the whole country: you have the mountain under your eyes from Thann to Wissembourg. You know that the great roads, imperial roads—traverse Alsace and the Vosges. They both commence at Bâle: one runs along the Rhine to Strasbourg, from whence it ascends to Saverne and enters Lorraine. Huningue, Neuf-Brisach, Strasbourg, and Phalsbourg defend it. The other turns to the left and passes by Schlestadt: at Schlestadt it enters the mountain and reaches Saint-Dié, Raon-l'Etape, Baccarat, and Lunéville. The enemy will want to force these two roads first,—being the best for cavalry, artillery, and baggage,—but as they are defended, we need not trouble ourselves about them. If the allies besiege the fortresses—which would lengthen the campaign—we have nothing to fear; but it is not probable they will do so. After having summoned Huningue to surrender, Belfort, Schlestadt, Strasbourg, and Phalsbourg, on this side the Vosges—Bitsche, Lutzelstein, and Sarrebrück on the other—I imagine they will fall upon us. Now attend to me. Between Phalsbourg and Saint-Die, there are several defiles for the infantry; but there is only one way practicable for cannon: this is the road from Strasbourg to Raon-les-Leaux by Urmatt, Mutzig, Lutzelhouse, Phramond, Grandfontaine. Once masters of this passage, the allies will be able to come out on Lorraine. This road passes the Donon, two leagues from here, on our right The first thing to be done is to make a firm stand there, in the most favorable part for defence, that is to say, on the plateau of the mountain; to intersect it, to break down the bridges, and to erect solid breastworks across it. A few hundreds of great trees across the road with all their branches are worth as much as ramparts. They are the best ambuscades: one is well sheltered behind them and can see everything coming. Those large trees hold like death. They must be taken away piece by piece; bridges cannot be thrown over them:—in fact it is the best thing to be done. All that, comrades, must be accomplished to-morrow evening, or next day at the latest. I charge myself with it. But it is not sufficient to occupy a position and put it in a good state of defence: it must be so managed that the enemy shall not be able to turn it."
"I was just thinking of that," said Materne. "Once in the valley of Bruche, the Germans can march with their infantry into the hills of Haslack and turn our left. Nothing can prevent their trying the same manoeuvre on our right, if they reach Raon-l'Etape."
"Yes, but to take these ideas out of their heads, we have a very simple thing to do: it is to occupy the defiles of the Zorn and the Sarre on our left, and that of Blanru on our right. One can only keep a defile by holding the heights; that is why Piorette must place himself with a hundred men on the side of Raon-les-Leaux; Jérome on the Grosmann, with the same number, to close the valley of the Sarre; and Labarbe, at the head of the remainder on the great slopes to watch over the hills of Haslach. You must choose your men from those of the nearest villages. The women ought not to have a long distance to carry provisions; and then the wounded will be nearer their homes, which must also be thought of. There is all I have to say to you just now. The chiefs of posts must take care to send me every day on the Donon, where I shall establish our head-quarters this evening, a good walker, to inform me of what happens, and to receive the countersign. We shall also organize a reserve; but as we must make haste, we will speak of that when you are all in position, and there is no longer cause to fear a surprise from the enemy."
"And I," exclaimed Marc Divès, "I shall have nothing to do then? I am to remain with my arms folded, watching the others fight?"
"Thou—thou art to survey the transport of ammunition. None of us know how to treat the powder as thou dost, to preserve it from fire and damp, to melt the balls, and make cartridges."
"But it is woman's work, that is," exclaimed the smuggler. "Hexe-Baizel could do it as well as I. What! am I not even to fire once?"
"Softly, Marc," replied Hullin, laughing; "occasions will not be wanting. In the first place, the Falkenstein is the centre of our line; it is our arsenal and our retreating place in case of misfortune. The enemy will know through his spies that our convoys come from there; he will try, probably, to take them: the balls and bayonet-thrusts will come in thy way. Besides, to have thee in safety will be all the better, for thy cellars and caves must not be confided to the first comer. But if thou really wouldst like——"
"No," said the smuggler, who had been touched by Hullin's reference to his caves—"no! all things considered, I believe thou art right, Jean-Claude. I have my men—they are well armed—we will defend the Falkenstein; and if the opportunity of firing a shot should present itself, I shall be all the freer."
"Then that is a decided and well-understood business?" demanded Hullin.
"Yes, yes, it is decided."
"Well, comrades," said the worthy fellow, joyously, "let us warm ourselves with a few good glasses of wine. It is ten o'clock; let each one return to his village, and make his preparations. To-morrow morning all the defiles must be vigorously occupied."
They quitted the shed, and Hullin, in the presence of his followers, named Labarbe, Jérome, and Piorette chiefs of the defiles: then he told those of the Sarre to assemble as soon as possible near the farm of Bois-de-Chênes, with axes, mattocks, and muskets. "We shall leave at two o'clock, and encamp on the Donon across the route," said he to them. "To-morrow, at dawn, we will begin the breastworks."
He retained Materne and his two sons Frantz and Kasper, announcing to them that the battle would commence undoubtedly on the Donon, and that good shots would be wanted on that side, which gave them pleasure.
Mistress Lefèvre had never looked happier than when she got into her cart again, and, kissing Louise, said in her ear:—"All goes well. Jean-Claude is a man: he sees everything; he draws people to him. I have known him forty years, yet he surprises even me." Then turning round—"Jean-Claude," cried she, "we have a ham waiting for us down there and a few old bottles, which the Germans shall not drink."
"No, Catherine, they shall not drink them. Go on, I am coming."
But just as they were starting, and when already a number of mountaineers were climbing the hillsides to regain their villages, quite in the distance, on the path of Trois-Fontaines, appeared a large thin man on a big roan cob, with a flat-brimmed cap of rabbit-skin covering the whole back of his neck: a great sheep-dog with a black shaggy coat bounded along near him; and the ends of his enormous surtout flapped behind him like wings. Every one cried out,—"It is Doctor Lorquin from the plain—the one who attends poor people gratis. He comes with his dog Pluto. He is a good man."
In fact he it was. He galloped on, shouting, "Halt! stop! halt!" And his red face, sharp eyes, red-brown beard, broad shoulders, great horse and dog, all cleaved the air and grew upon the view. In two seconds he had reached the foot of the mountain, crossed the meadow, and appeared at the bridge, before the shed. Instantly, in breathless tones, he began to say:—"Ah! the cunning rogues who want to enter on a campaign without me; they shall pay for it!" And tapping a small box he carried at his crupper,—"Listen, my good fellows, listen! I have something inside there of which you shall give me an account: every description of knife, large, small, round and pointed, to take from you the balls and shot of all kinds which you are going to be regaled with!" Whereupon he burst out laughing, and all those near him felt a cold shiver in all their veins.
Having delivered himself of this pleasantry, Doctor Lorquin continued in a graver tone:—"Hullin, I must pull your ears! What, when the country has to be defended, you forget me! others have to warn me. It appears to me, however, that a doctor will not be out of the way here. I must call you to account."
"Pardon me, doctor, I was wrong," said Hullin, squeezing his hand. "During the last week so many things have happened! One does not always think of everything; and besides, such a man as you are, need not be told how to fulfil his duty."
The doctor was appeased.
"All that is right and good," he cried; "but nevertheless by your fault I am too late; the good places are taken, the crosses distributed. Come, where is the general, that I may make complaints to him?"
"I am the general."
"Oh! oh! really?"
"Yes, doctor, I am the general; and I promote you to be our head surgeon."
"Chief surgeon of the partisans of the Vosges! Well, it suits me. No malice now, Jean-Claude."
Approaching the cart, the worthy man told Catherine that he relied on her for the organization of the ambulances.
"Everything shall be ready, doctor," replied the farm-mistress. "Louise and I are going to set to work this evening. Is it not so, Louise?"
"Oh, yes, Mamma Lefèvre," said she, enchanted to perceive that the campaign was going to begin. "We shall work well; we will spend the night at it even. M. Lorquin shall be well pleased with us."
"Well, then, let us go. You will dine with us, doctor?"
They trotted away. While keeping pace with them, the good doctor related to Catherine laughingly how the tidings of the general rising had reached him; the affliction of his old housekeeper, Marie, who wanted to prevent his going to be massacred by the "kaiserlichs," and the various episodes of his journey from Quibolo to the village of Charmes. Hullin, Materne, and his sons were coming on behind, their carbines on their shoulders; and thus they ascended the hill-side toward the farm of Bois-de-Chênes.
You can imagine the animation at the farm, the bustling of the domestics, the shouts of enthusiasm, the chinking of glasses and forks, the joy depicted on all faces, when Jean-Claude, Doctor Lorquin, the Maternes, and all those who had followed the cart of Catherine Lefèvre were installed in the large room around a magnificent ham, and began to celebrate their future triumphs, glass in hand.
It was on a Tuesday, baking-day at the farm. Excitement had prevailed in the kitchen all the morning: old Duchêne, with shirt-sleeves turned up and a cotton cap on his head, was taking out of the oven numberless loaves of bread, the good odor of which pervaded the whole house. Annette received them and piled them on the hearth; Louise waited on the guests; and Catherine Lefèvre superintended everything, crying out,—"Make haste, my children—make haste! The third batch must be ready when the men from the Sarre arrive. It will make six pounds of bread for each man."
Hullin, from his seat, watched the movements of the old farm-mistress.
"What a woman!" said he; "what a woman! She forgets nothing. Could one find another such in the whole country? To the health of Catherine Lefèvre!"
"To the health of Catherine Lefèvre!" replied the others.
The glasses met together, and they began again to talk over combats, assaults, and intrenchments. Each one felt animated with an invincible confidence; every one said in himself, "All will go well!"
But heaven had in store for them yet another satisfaction on that day, especially for Louise and the Mother Lefèvre. About noon, just as a beautiful gleam of winter sunshine whitened the snow and made the frost melt on the window-panes, and the great cock, putting his head out of his coop, uttered his triumphant crow, flapping his wings—just then the watch-dog, old "Yohan," half blind and toothless, began to bark so joyously and plaintively, that everyone listened with the greatest attention. The kitchen was all excitement with the fourth batch coming out of the oven, and even Catherine Lefèvre herself stopped.
"Something is going on," said she, in a low voice: and then added, all trembling, "Since my boy left, Yohan has never barked like that."
At the same moment, rapid steps traversed the court. Louise sprang toward the door, crying,—"It is he! It is he!" and almost immediately a hand tried to hasp. The door opened, and a soldier appeared on the threshold; but such a soldier, so worn, so bronzed, so emaciated! his gray hood, with its pewter buttons, so ragged—his high leathern gaiters so torn, that all present were astonished.
He appeared unable to advance a step farther, and slowly put the butt-end of his musket on the ground. The tip of his aquiline nose—the nose of Mother Lefèvre—shone like bronze; his red mustaches shook like one of those great lean hawks which are forced by hunger to come to the very doors of the stables in winter. He looked into the kitchen, pale beneath the brown coating of his cheeks, and with his great hollow eyes filled with tears, he seemed unable to advance or say a word.
Outside, the old dog leaped, whined, and shook his chain; in the interior, one could hear the fire blazing, so great was the silence; but soon Catherine Lefèvre, with a piercing voice, exclaimed,—"Gaspard! my child! It is thou!"
"Yes, my mother," replied the soldier, softly, as though suffocating.
And at the same moment Louise began to weep, while in the great room there arose a shout like thunder. All the friends ran out, Master Jean-Claude at their head, crying,—"Gaspard! Gaspard Lefèvre!"
Then they saw Gaspard and his mother embracing each other. This strong, courageous woman was weeping: he did not weep; he held her pressed to his breast, his red mustaches mingling with her gray locks, and murmured,—"My mother!—my mother! Ah, how often have I thought of you!" Then, in a louder voice, he said, "Louise! Where is Louise? I saw Louise!" And Louise threw herself into his arms, and their kisses were mingled together. "Ah, thou didst not recognize me, Louise!"
"Oh, yes!—oh, yes! I knew thee, even by thy step!"
Old Duchêne, with his cotton cap in his hands, stammered out by the fireplace,—"Lord! is it possible? My poor child! What does he look like?"
He had brought up Gaspard, and always fancied him, ever since his departure, fresh and ruddy in a beautiful uniform with red facings. It completely deranged his ideas to see him otherwise.
At that moment Hullin, raising his voice, said,—"And the rest of us, Gaspard,—thy old friends—art thou not going to take notice of us?"
Then the brave fellow turned round and exclaimed with enthusiasm,—"Hullin! Doctor Lorquin! Materne! Frantz! Why, they are all here!"
And the embraces recommenced, but this time more joyously, with shouts of laughter and shaking of hands that seemed endless.
"Ah, doctor, it is you! Ah, my old father, Jean-Claude!"
They looked closely at each other, with bright, beaming faces, and went arm-in-arm up and down the great room; and Mother Catherine with the knapsack, Louise with the gun, and Duchêne with the shako, followed them, laughing and drying their cheeks and eyes—nothing had ever been seen like it before.
"Let us sit down and drink!" exclaimed Doctor Lorquin. "This is the bouquet of the feast."
"Ah, my poor Gaspard, how happy I am to behold thee safe and sound," said Hullin. "Ha, ha! Without flattery, I like thee better as thou art now than with thy great red cheeks. Parbleu! thou art a man now. Thou remindest me of the old fellows of my time, those of the Sambre and Egypt—ha, ha, ha! we had not round noses, we were not sleek and fat; we looked like lean rats watching a cheese, and our teeth were long and white!"
"Yes, yes, that does not surprise me, Papa Jean-Claude. Come, let us sit down; we can talk more at ease. Ah, now, why are you all at the farm?"
"What, dost thou not know? All the country is up, from Houpe to Saint-Sauveur, to defend itself."
"Yes, the anabaptist of Painbach just mentioned it as I passed. It is then true?"
"It is true. Everybody is in it; and I am the general in chief."
"Excellent—excellent! That these rogues of 'kaiserlichs' should not carry everything with a high hand in our own country gives me pleasure. But hand me the knife. Anyway one is happy to find one's self at home again. Hé! Louise, come here and sit down a little while. Look, Papa Jean-Claude: with this girl on one side of me, the ham on the other, and the bottle to the front, I should not need a fortnight to pick up again; and my comrades would not know me when I joined the company."
Everybody was now sitting down and astonished to see with what appetite the brave fellow ate and drank, while regarding Louise and his mother tenderly, and replying to one and the other, without losing a single mouthful.
The farm-people, Duchêne, Annette, Robin, and Dubourg, arranged in a half-circle, watched Gaspard in ecstasies; Louise refilled his glass; the Mother Lefèvre, seated by the stove, got up and went to his knapsack, and, on only finding two old black shirts with holes wide enough to put one's, hand through, with worn-out shoes and a bit of wax for cartridges, a comb with two teeth and an empty bottle, she lifted her hands to heaven and hastening to open the linen chest, saying, "Lord, can one be astonished that so many die of sheer want!"
Doctor Lorquin, in presence of such a vigorous appetite, rubbed his hands joyfully, and murmured to himself, "What a sturdy fellow! What a digestion! What a set of teeth! He could crunch pebbles like nuts."
And even old Materne said to his sons:—"In other days, after two or three days of hunting in the high mountains in winter, I also used to feel the hunger of a wolf, and to eat a haunch of venison right off: now I am getting old, one or two pounds of meat are sufficient for me—-which shows what age does."
Hullin had lit his pipe, and seemed in a reverie: evidently something worried him. After a few minutes, seeing that Gaspard's appetite was less lively, he brusquely asked, "Say, then, Gaspard, without interrupting thyself, how the devil hast thou managed to come? We believed that thou wast still on the borders of the Rhine, on the Strasbourg side."
"Ah! ah! old soldier, I comprehend," said young Lefèvre, winking. "There are so many deserters, are there not?"
"Oh! such an idea would never enter my head, and yet——"
"You would not be sorry to know that I had done nothing wrong? I cannot blame you, Papa Jean-Claude: you are right. He who is missing at the roll-call when the 'kaiserlichs' are in France, deserves to be shot. Be composed, here is my leave."
Hullin, who possessed no false delicacy, read,—"Leave for twenty-four hours to the grenadier Gaspard Lefèvre, of the 2d of the 1st. This day, 3d January, 1814.—GEMEAU, Head of Battalion."
"Good, good," exclaimed he. "Put that carefully in thy knapsack, thou mightest lose it."
All his good-humor had returned:—"Do you see, my children, I know what love is? There is both good and bad in it: but it is particularly bad for young soldiers who come too close to their village after a campaign. They are capable of forgetting themselves and of not returning unless in company of two or three gendarmes. I have seen it. But come, since everything is in order, let us drink a glass of 'rikevir.' What say you, Catherine? The men of the Sarre may arrive at any moment, and we have not an instant to lose?"
"You are right, Jean-Claude," replied the old farm-mistress sadly. "Annette, go down and bring three bottles from the small cellar."
The servant obeyed quickly.
"But this leave, Gaspard," continued Catherine—"how long has it lasted?"
"I received it yesterday, at eight in the evening, at Vasselonne, my mother. The regiment is retreating on Lorraine; I must rejoin it this evening at Phalsbourg."
"It is well; thou hast still seven hours; thou wilt not need more than six to reach there, although there is much snow on the Foxthal."
The good woman came and sat down again by her son, with a full heart. Every one was moved. Louise, with her arm on the old tattered epaulet of Gaspard and her cheek against his, was sobbing. Hullin emptied the ashes from his pipe at the end of the table, frowning, without saying anything; but when the bottles arrived and were uncorked, "Come, Louise," said he, "take courage! this cannot last forever; it must end in one way or another, and I venture to affirm that it will end well. Gaspard will come back to us, and then we shall have the wedding."
He refilled the glasses, and Catherine dried her eyes, murmuring, "To think that those brigands are the cause of all this. Ah! let them come—let them come here!"
They all drank with a melancholy air; but the old "rikevir," entering the hearts of these brave people quickly enlivened them. Gaspard, stronger than he had appeared at first, began to relate the terrible battles of Bautzen, Lutzen, Leipzig, and Hanau, where the conscripts had fought like tried soldiers, winning victory after victory, till traitors began to appear.
Every one listened in silence. Louise, when he spoke of any great danger—of the passage over rivers under the enemy's fire, or the taking of a battery by the bayonet—squeezed his arm as though to defend him. Jean-Claude's eyes sparkled; the doctor demanded each time the position of the ambulance; Materne and his sons stretched out their necks and clinched their jaws; and with help of the old wine the enthusiasm increased every moment. "Ah, the rascals! ah, the brigands! But look out! it is not over yet."
Mother Lefèvre admired the courage and luck of her son in the midst of these events, which will be remembered centuries to come. But when Lagarmitte, looking solemn and grave in his long gray cloth coat, with his broad black felt on his white head, and with his bark trumpet on his shoulder, crossed the kitchen, and appeared at the entrance to the large room, saying,—"The men of the Sarre are come,"—then all this enthusiasm, disappeared, and the company rose, thinking of the terrible struggle which would soon take place in the mountains.
Louise, throwing her arms round Gaspard's neck, cried, "Gaspard, do not go away! Remain with us!"
He became very pale.
"I am a soldier," said he. "I am called, Gaspard Lefèvre. I love thee a thousand times more than my own life; but a Lefèvre only knows his duty."
And he unwound her arms. Louise then, sinking on the table, began to moan aloud. Gaspard rose. Hullin stood between them, and grasping his hands tightly, with trembling lips, said: "Excellently well! Thou hast spoken like a man."
His mother came forward with a calm countenance to buckle his knapsack on his shoulders. She did it with knitted eyebrows and pressed lips, without one sigh escaping her; but two great tears slowly ran down the wrinkles of her cheeks. And when she had done it, she turned away, and with her sleeve over her eyes, said: "It is well! Go—go, my child! thy mother blesses thee. Whatever thy fortune thou wilt yet not be lost to us. Look, Gaspard: there is thy place—there between Louise and myself—thou wilt always be there. This poor child is not old enough yet to know that to live is to suffer."
Everybody left; only Louise remained lamenting in the room. A few seconds later, as the butt end of the musket sounded on the slabs of the kitchen, and the outer door was opened, she gave a piercing shriek, and darted after him.
"Gaspard, Gaspard, look! I will be courageous; I will not cry; I will not keep thee back. Oh, no; but do not leave me in anger. Have pity on me!"
"Angry! angry with thee, my Louise! Oh, no! But to see thee so unhappy breaks my heart. Ah! if thou wert a little braver now, I should feel happier."
"Well, I am. Let us kiss each other! See, I am no longer the same. I would be like Maman Lefèvre."
They calmly gave each other a parting embrace, Hullin held the gun; Catherine motioned with her hands, as though to say, "Go, go! it is enough!" And he, suddenly seizing his musket, walked away resolutely, without looking back.
On the other side, the men of the Sarre, with their axes and hatchets, were climbing the steep ascent of the Valtin.
Five minutes later, on passing by the great oak, Gaspard turned round, lifting his hands. Catherine and Louise replied to it. Hullin advanced to meet his people. Doctor Lorquin alone remained with the women; and when Gaspard, continuing his way, had disappeared, he exclaimed, "Catherine Lefèvre, you can pride yourself on having an affectionate son. God grant him good fortune!"
And the distant voices of the new-comers could be heard laughing among themselves, as they were marching to war as gayly as to a wedding.
As Hullin, at the head of the mountaineers, was taking his measures for the defence of his country, the madman Yégof, with his tin crown, that sad spectacle of humanity shorn of its noblest attribute, intelligence—the madman Yégof, his breast exposed to the fierce wind, his feet bare, reckless of cold, like the reptile in his prison, was wandering from mountain to mountain, in the midst of the snows of winter. How comes it that the madman is able to resist the sharpest severity of the atmosphere, while an intelligent being would succumb to it? Does it arise from a more powerful concentration of life, a more rapid circulation of the blood, a state of continued fever? Or is it the effect of the extraordinary excitement of the senses, or any other unknown cause?
Science tells us nothing. She admits only material causes, without giving an account of such phenomena.
So Yégof went on at random, and night came. The cold was redoubled, the fox gnashed his teeth in the pursuit of an invisible prey; the famished buzzard fell back with empty claws among the bushes, uttering a cry of distress. He, with his raven on his shoulder, gesticulating, jabbering, as if in a dream, kept walking on, from Holderloch to Sonneberg, from Sonneberg to Blutfeld.
Now, on this particular night, the old shepherd, Robin, of the farm of Bois-de-Chênes, was destined to be the witness of a most strange and fearful sight.
Some days ago, having been overtaken by the first fall of snow at the bottom of the ravine of the Blutfeld, he had left his cart there to conduct his flock back to the farm; but having discovered that he had forgotten his sheepskin, and left it in a shed there, he had on this day, when his work was done, set out about four o'clock in the afternoon to go and fetch it. The Blutfeld, situated between the Schneeberg and the Grosmann, is a narrow gorge, bounded by rocks. A narrow stream of water winds through it, under shadow of the tall shrubs, and in its depths extends a vast pasturage, all covered with large gray stones, that lie thickly scattered about.
This gorge is very little frequented, for there is a wild look about the Blutfeld, especially by the light of a winter moon. The learned folks of these regions, the school-master of Dagsburg, and he of Hazlach, say that in that spot occurred the famous battle of the Triboques against the Germans, who wished to penetrate into Gaul, under the command of a leader named Luitprandt. They say that the Triboques, from the neighboring heights, hurling upon their enemies huge masses of rocks, crushed them there as in a mortar, and that, on account of this great carnage, the gorge has preserved to this day the name ofBlutfeld. Fragments of broken pots, of rusty lances, of helmets, and long swords with cross hilts, are often found there.
At night, when the moon sheds her light upon this field and those immense stones, all covered with snow, when the north wind blows among the frost-covered branches, making them rattle and clatter like cymbals, you might fancy you heard the wild cry of the Germans at the moment of surprise, the shrieks of the women, the neighings of the horses, the rumbling of the chariots in the defile; for it seems that these people brought with them, in their skin-covered carriages, women, children, old men, and all that they possessed in gold, and silver, and movables, like the Germans setting out for America. The Triboques never ceased to massacre them during two days, and on the third day they returned to the Donon, the Schneeberg, the Grosmann, the Giromani, the Hengst,—their broad shoulders stooping under the weight of their booty.
This is what is related concerning the Blutfeld, and certainly to see this gorge enclosed within the mountains like an immense trap, without any other outlet than a narrow footpath, it is easy to understand how the Germans were taken at a disadvantage and fell an easy prey to their conquerors.
Robin did not reach the spot till between seven and eight o'clock, just as the moon was rising.
The worthy fellow had descended the precipice a hundred times, but never had he beheld the place so brightly illuminated, and at the same time of so gloomy an aspect.
At a distance, his white cart, at the bottom of the abyss, looked to him exactly like one of those enormous stones, covered with snow, beneath which the Germans had been buried. It was at the entrance of the gorge, behind a thick cluster of shrubs, and beside it the little torrent ran murmuring in a slender stream, bright as steel, and sparkling like diamonds.
When he arrived there, the shepherd began to look for the key of the padlock; then, having unlocked the shed, he crept in on his hands and knees, and found, very fortunately, not only his sheepskin, but an old hatchet, which he had quite forgotten.
But judge of his surprise when, on issuing from it, he saw the madman Yégof appear at the turn of the footpath, and come straight toward him in the bright moonlight.
The honest man immediately remembered the fearful story told in the kitchen of Bois-de-Chênes, and he felt afraid; but quite another feeling came over him when behind the fool, at fifteen or twenty paces, he beheld, stealthily approaching in their turn, five gray wolves, two big and three smaller ones.
At first he took them for dogs, but they were wolves. They followed Yégof step by step, and he did not appear to see them; his raven hovered overhead, flitting from the full moonlight to the shadow of the rocks, and then returning; the wolves, with flaming eyes, their sharp muzzles turned up, were sniffing the air; the fool raised his sceptre.
The shepherd pulled-to the door of the shed as quick as lightning, but Yégof did not see him. He advanced into the gorge as into a spacious chamber, to the right and left rose the steep rocks, above which myriads of stars were shining. You might have heard a fly move; the wolves made no noise in walking; all was silent, and the raven had just perched on the top of an old withered oak that grew upon one of the rocks opposite; his shining plumage looked still darker than usual, as he turned his head, and seemed to be listening.
It was a strange sight.
Robin said to himself:—"The fool sees nothing, hears nothing; they will devour him. If he stumbles, if his foot slips, it is all over with him."
But in the middle of the gorge, Yégof, having turned round, sat down upon a stone, and the five wolves round him, still sniffing the air, squatted on their haunches in the snow.
And then, a really terrible sight—the fool raising his sceptre, made them a speech, calling them each by his name.
The wolves answered him with dismal howls.
Now this is what he said to them:—"Hé, Child, Bléd, Merweg, and thou, Sirimar, my ancient, we are met together, then, once again! You have returned fat. There has been good cheer in Germany, eh?"
Then, pointing to the snow-covered gorge:—"You remember the great battle?"
First one of the wolves began to howl slowly in a dismal voice, then another, then all the five together.
This lasted a good ten minutes.
The raven, perched on the withered branch, did not stir.
Robin would gladly have fled. He put up his prayers, invoked all the saints, and, in particular, his own patron, for whom all the shepherds of the mountain have the highest veneration.
But the wolves still continued howling, awakening all the echoes of the Blutfeld.
At last one, the oldest of the number, was silent, then another, then all, and Yégof continued:—"Yes, yes: that is a dismal story. Look! there is the river down which our blood flowed in streams! No matter, Merweg, no matter; the others have left their bones to whiten on the common, and the cold moon has seen their women tearing their hair for three days and three nights! Oh, that frightful day! Oh, the dogs! were they proud of their great victory? Let them be accursed—accursed."
The fool had cast his crown to the ground. He now picked it up, groaning as he did so.
The wolves, still crouching round, listened to him like attentive spectators. The biggest among them began to howl, and Yégof answered his complaint.
"You are hungry, Sirimar; take comfort, take comfort; you will not want for food much longer; the men of our side are coming, and the strife will begin afresh."
Then rising, and striking his sceptre on a stone, "See," said he, "behold thy bones!"
He approached another. "And thine, Merweg, behold them!" said he.
All the troop followed him, while he, raising himself upon a low rock, and glancing round upon the silent gorge, exclaimed:—"Our war-song is silent! our war-song is now a groan! The hour is near; it will reawaken, and you will be among the warriors; you will possess once more these valleys and these mountains. Oh! that sound of wheels, those cries of women, those blows from crushing rocks and stones; I hear them; the air is full of them. Yes, yes; they fell on us from above, and we were surrounded. And now all is dead; hear! all is dead; your bones sleep, but your children are on their way, and your turn will come. Sing! sing!"
And this time he himself began to howl, while the wolves took up again their savage song.
These dismal howls grew more and more loud and appalling; and the silence of the rocks around, some plunged in darkness, while others were fully revealed in the moon's rays, the solemn stillness of every tree and shrub beneath its weight of snow, the distant echoes replying with a sad voice to the mournful concert, all were calculated to strike terror into the breast of the old shepherd.
But by degrees his fears grew less, for Yégof and his gloomy procession were getting farther and farther away from him, and gradually retreating toward Hazlach.
The raven, in his turn, with a hoarse cry unfurled his wings, and took his flight through the sky.
The whole scene vanished like a dream.
Robin heard for a long while after the howlings of the retreating wolves. They had completely ceased for more than twenty minutes. The silence of winter reigned on all sides, when the worthy man felt himself sufficiently recovered from his fright to come out of his hiding-place, and take his way back at full speed to the farm.
On arriving at Bois-de-Chênes, he found everybody stirring. They were preparing to kill an ox for the troops from the Donon. Hullin, Doctor Lorquin, and Louise were already set out with those from the Sarre. Catherine Lefèvre was loading her great four-horse wagon with bread, meat, and brandy. People were coming and going in all directions, and all lending a helping hand in the preparations.
Robin could not bring himself to relate to any one all that he had seen and heard. Besides, it seemed to himself so incredible that he really dared not open his mouth about it.
When he had retired to rest in his crib in the middle of the stable, he said to himself that no doubt Yégof had, during the winter, tamed a litter of young wolves, and that he talked nonsense to them just as one talks sometimes to one's dog.
But, for all that, this strange encounter left a superstitious dread upon his mind, and even when he had arrived at a great age, the old fellow never spoke of these things without shuddering.