The Invasion of France in 1814

"That, my boy, is put up everywhere!"

"Well, we are pleased with that," said Materne, laying his hand on Frantz's arm, who had risen with sparkling eyes. "Dost thou want a light, Frantz? Here is my flint."

Frantz sat down again, and the old man continued, good-naturedly: "And our good friends the Germans take nothing from any one?"

"Quiet, orderly people have nothing to fear; but as to the rascals who rise, all is taken from them. And it is just – the good ought not to suffer for the wicked. For example, instead of doing you any harm, the allies would receive you well at their head-quarters. You know the country: you would serve as guides, and you would be richly paid."

There was a slight pause. The three hunters again looked at each other: the father had spread his hands on the table, as though to recommend calm to his sons; but even he was very pale.

The innkeeper, observing nothing, continued: "You would have much more to fear in the woods of Baronies from those brigands of Dagsburg, Sarre, and Blanru, who have all revolted, and wish to have '93 over again."

"Are you sure of that?" demanded Materne, making an effort to control himself.

"Am I sure! You have only to look out of the window and you will see them on the road to the Donon. They have surprised the anabaptist Pelsly, and bound him to the foot of his bed. They pillage, rob, break up the roads. But beware! In a few days they will see strange things. It is not with a thousand men that they will be attacked, not with ten thousand, but with millions. They will all be hung."

Materne rose.

"It is time for us to be going," said he briefly. "At two o'clock we must be at the wood, and here we are talking quietly like magpies! Au revoir, Father Dubreuil." They rushed out hastily, no longer able to contain their passion.

"Think of what I have said," cried the innkeeper to them from his chair.

Once in the open air, Materne, turning round, said, with trembling lips: "If I had not restrained myself, I should have broken the bottle on his head."

"And I," said Frantz, "should have run him through with my bayonet."

Kasper, one foot on the step, seemed about to re-enter the inn; he grasped the handle of his hunting-knife, and his face bore a terrible expression. But his father took him by the arm and dragged him off, saying: "Come, come, we will deal with him later on. To counsel me to betray the country! Hullin told us to be on our guard: he was right."

They went down the street, looking to the right and left with haggard eyes. The people asked among themselves: What is the matter with them?

On reaching the end of the village, they halted, in front of the old cross, close to the church, and Materne in a calmer tone, pointing out the path which winds round Phramond over the heath, said to his sons: "You must take that road. I shall follow the route to Schirmeck. I shall not go too fast, so that you may have time to come up with me."

They parted, and the old hunter, with bowed head, walked on thoughtfully for a long time, asking himself by what inward strength he had been able to keep from breaking the fat innkeeper's head. He said to himself that no doubt it was from fear of compromising his sons.

While thinking over these things, Materne kept continually meeting herds of cattle, sheep and goats, which were being led into the mountain. Some came from Wisch, Urmatt, and even from Mutzig; the poor beasts could scarcely stand.

"Where the devil are you running so fast?" shouted the old hunter to the melancholy herdsmen. "Have you then no confidence in the proclamation of the Austrians and Russians?"

And they angrily answered: "It is easy for you to laugh. Proclamations! we know what they are worth now. They pillage and rob everything, make forced contributions, carry off the horses, cows, oxen, and carts."

"Nonsense! impossible! What are you talking about?" said Materne. "You astound me! Such worthy people, such good friends, the saviours of France. I cannot believe you. Such a beautiful proclamation as it was."

"Well, go down to Alsace, and you will see."

The poor creatures went on, shaking their heads in extreme indignation, and he laughed slyly.

The farther Materne advanced, the number of herds became greater. There were not only troops of cattle bellowing and lowing, but flocks of geese, as far as the eye could reach, screeching and cackling, dragging themselves along the road with wings spread and half-frozen feet: it was piteous to see.

It was worse still on approaching Schirmeck. The people were flying in crowds, with their great wagons loaded with barrels, smoked meats, furniture, women and children. They were lashing their horses almost to death on the road, and screaming in terrified voices: "We are lost; the Cossacks are coming."

The cry of "The Cossacks! the Cossacks!" ran along the whole line like a puff of wind; the women turned round open-mouthed, and the children stood up on the wagons to get a better view. You never beheld anything like it before; and Materne, angered, blushed for the terror of these people, who might have defended themselves; while selfishness and their desire to save their property, made them fly like cowards.

At the crossing of the Fond-des-Saules quite close to Schirmeck, Kasper and Frantz rejoined their father, and the three entered the "Golden Key" tavern, kept by the Widow Faltaux, on the right side of the road. The poor woman and her two daughters were watching from a window the great migration with streaming eyes and clasped hands.

In fact, the tumult increased every minute; the cattle, wagons, and people seemed eager to get away over each other's shoulders. They no longer had any command of themselves: they were howling and striking about them in their desire to escape.

Materne pushed the door open, and seeing the women more dead than alive, white and dishevelled, he shouted, striking his stick on the ground: "What, mother, have you too gone mad? What! you, who owe a good example to your daughters, – have you lost courage? it is a shame."

The old woman turned round and said in a broken voice: "Ah, my poor Materne, if you only knew – if you only knew!"

"Well, what then? The enemy is coming: they won't eat you."

"No; but they devour everything without mercy. Old Ursula, of Schlestadt, came here yesterday evening. She says that the Austrians only want 'Knöpfe' and 'Nudel,' the Russians 'Schnapps,' and the Bavarians 'Sauerkraut.' And when they have stuffed all that down their throats, they cry out with their mouths still full, 'Schocolat! schocolat!' O Lord, how can we feed all these people?"

"I know well that is difficult," said the old hunter: "you can never satisfy a jay with white cheese. But, first of all, where are these Cossacks, these Bavarians, these Austrians? All the way from Grandfontaine we have not met even one."

"They are in Alsace, on the Urmatt side, and they are coming here."

"While waiting for them," said Kasper, "give us a bottle of wine. Here is a three-crown piece: you will hide it easier than your barrels."

One of the girls went to the cellar, and, at the same time, several other persons entered: an almanac-seller from Strasbourg, a wagoner from Sarrebrück in a blouse, and two or three townspeople from Hutzig, Wisch, and Schirmeck, who were flying with their herds, and were exhausted with shouting.

All sat down at the same table, before the windows overlooking the road. Wine was served them, and each began to relate what he knew. One said the allies were in such numbers that they had to sleep side by side in the valley of Hirschenthal, and they were so covered with vermin that, after their departure, the dead leaves walked of themselves in the woods; another, that the Cossacks had set fire to a village in Alsace, because they had been refused candles for dessert after dinner; that some of them, especially the Calmucks, ate soap like cheese and bacon-rind like cake; that many drank brandy by the pint, after having taken care to season it with handfuls of pepper; and that it was necessary to hide everything from them, for nothing came amiss to them for eating and drinking.

The wagoner said, at this point, that three days before, a Russian corps-d'armée having passed the night under the ramparts of Bitsch, it had been compelled to remain more than an hour on the ice in the little village of Rorbach, and that the whole of this army corps had drunk out of a warming-pan left on the window-sill of an old woman's house; that this race of savages broke the ice to bathe, and afterward crept into the brick-kilns to dry; lastly, that they only feared Corporal Knout.

These worthy folks communicated such singular things to each other, which they pretended to have seen with their own eyes, or heard from trustworthy sources, that one could with difficulty believe them.

Outside, the tumult, rolling of wagons, lowing of herds, shouts of the drivers, and clamors of the fugitives, continued unceasingly, and produced the effect of a vast murmur.

Toward noon Materne and his sons were going to leave, when a more prolonged shout than any of the others was heard: "The Cossacks! the Cossacks!"

Then everybody rushed outside, except the hunters, who contented themselves with opening a window and looking out: they all ran away across the fields: men, herds, wagons and all, were dispersed like leaves in autumn. In less than two minutes the road was deserted, except in Schirmeck, which was so encumbered, that it would have been impossible to walk four steps. Materne, gazing far away along the road, cried, "I look in vain – I can see nothing."

"Nor do I," rejoined Kasper.

"Come, come," cried the old hunter, "I see clearly that the fear of all these people gives more strength to the enemy than he in fact possesses. It is not in such a way we shall receive the Cossacks in the mountains; they will find who they have to deal with."

Then, shrugging his shoulders with an expression of disgust, he said: "Fear is an odious thing, and after all we have only one poor life to lose. Let us go."

They quitted the inn, and the old man having taken the road to the valley, in order to climb the summit of the Hirschberg in front of them, his sons followed him. They soon reached the outskirts of the wood, when Materne said that they must mount as high as possible, so as to see the whole plain, and bring back some positive news to the bivouac; that all the accounts of those cowards were not worth one good look by themselves.

Kasper and Frantz agreed, and all three began to climb the slope, which forms a sort of advanced promontory commanding the plain. When they reached the peak they distinctly saw the enemy's position, three leagues distant, between Urmatt and Lutzelhouse. They formed great black lines on the snow: farther off were a few dark masses – no doubt, the artillery and baggage. Other masses surrounded the villages, and, notwithstanding the distance, the sparkling of the bayonets announced that a column had just commenced marching toward Visch.

After having contemplated this spectacle in silence for some minutes, the old man said, "We have decidedly thirty thousand men under our eyes. They are advancing in our direction; we shall be attacked to-morrow, or the day after at the latest. It will not be a trumpery affair, my boys; but if they are numerous we have the best of the position. And then it is always agreeable to fire into a heap; there are no balls lost."

Having made these judicious reflections, he looked at the height of the sun, and added: "It is now two o'clock; we know all we want. Let us return to the bivouac."

The youths slung their carbines crossways, and leaving to their left the valley of the Brocque, Schirmeck, and Framont, they climbed the steep banks of the Hengsbach, which overlook the Little Donon – two leagues distant – and came down again on the other side, without following any regular path through the snow, and only guiding themselves by the peaks in order to take a short cut.