Complete Works of Emile Zola (1209 page)

“
Nom de Dieu!
how hard his bones are! Hold him, somebody, until I finish him.”

Jean and Maurice stood looking at the scene in silent horror; they heard not Chouteau’s appeals for assistance; were powerless to raise a hand. And Pache, in a sudden outburst of piety and pity, dropped on his knees, joined his hands, and began to mumble the prayers that are repeated at the bedside of the dying.

“Merciful God, have pity on him. Let him, good Lord, depart in peace—”

Again Lapoulle struck ineffectually, with no other effect than to destroy an ear of the wretched creature, that threw back its head and gave utterance to a loud, shrill scream.

“Hold on!” growled Chouteau; “this won’t do; he’ll get us all in the lockup. We must end the matter. Hold him fast, Loubet.”

He took from his pocket a penknife, a small affair of which the blade was scarcely longer than a man’s finger, and casting himself prone on the animal’s body and passing an arm about its neck, began to hack away at the live flesh, cutting away great morsels, until he found and severed the artery. He leaped quickly to one side; the blood spurted forth in a torrent, as when the plug is removed from a fountain, while the feet stirred feebly and convulsive movements ran along the skin, succeeding one another like waves of the sea. It was near five minutes before the horse was dead. His great eyes, dilated wide and filled with melancholy and affright, were fixed upon the wan-visaged men who stood waiting for him to die; then they grew dim and the light died from out them.

“Merciful God,” muttered Pache, still on his knees, “keep him in thy holy protection — succor him, Lord, and grant him eternal rest.”

Afterward, when the creature’s movements had ceased, they were at a loss to know where the best cut lay and how they were to get at it. Loubet, who was something of a Jack-of-all-trades, showed them what was to be done in order to secure the loin, but as he was a tyro at the butchering business and, moreover, had only his small penknife to work with, he quickly lost his way amid the warm, quivering flesh. And Lapoulle, in his impatience, having attempted to be of assistance by making an incision in the belly, for which there was no necessity whatever, the scene of bloodshed became truly sickening. They wallowed in the gore and entrails that covered the ground about them, like a pack of ravening wolves collected around the carcass of their prey, fleshing their keen fangs in it.

“I don’t know what cut that may be,” Loubet said at last, rising to his feet with a huge lump of meat in his hands, “but by the time we’ve eaten it, I don’t believe any of us will be hungry.”

Jean and Maurice had averted their eyes in horror from the disgusting spectacle; still, however, the pangs of hunger were gnawing at their vitals, and when the band slunk rapidly away, so as not to be caught in the vicinity of the incriminating carcass, they followed it. Chouteau had discovered three large beets, that had somehow been overlooked by previous visitors to the field, and carried them off with him. Loubet had loaded the meat on Lapoulle’s shoulders so as to have his own arms free, while Pache carried the kettle that belonged to the squad, which they had brought with them on the chance of finding something to cook in it. And the six men ran as if their lives were at stake, never stopping to take breath, as if they heard the pursuers at their heels.

Suddenly Loubet brought the others to a halt.

“It’s idiotic to run like this; let’s decide where we shall go to cook the stuff.”

Jean, who was beginning to recover his self-possession, proposed the quarries. They were only three hundred yards distant, and in them were secret recesses in abundance where they could kindle a fire without being seen. When they reached the spot, however, difficulties of every description presented themselves. First, there was the question of wood; fortunately a laborer, who had been repairing the road, had gone home and left his wheelbarrow behind him; Lapoulle quickly reduced it to fragments with the heel of his boot. Then there was no water to be had that was fit to drink; the hot sunshine had dried up all the pools of rain-water. True there was a pump at the Tour a Glaire, but that was too far away, and besides it was never accessible before midnight; the men forming in long lines with their bowls and porringers, only too happy when, after waiting for hours, they could escape from the jam with their supply of the precious fluid unspilled. As for the few wells in the neighborhood, they had been dry for the last two days, and the bucket brought up nothing save mud and slime. Their sole resource appeared to be the water of the Meuse, which was parted from them by the road.

“I’ll take the kettle and go and fill it,” said Jean.

The others objected.

“No, no! We don’t want to be poisoned; it is full of dead bodies!”

They spoke the truth. The Meuse was constantly bringing down corpses of men and horses; they could be seen floating with the current at any moment of the day, swollen and of a greenish hue, in the early stages of decomposition. Often they were caught in the weeds and bushes on the bank, where they remained to poison the atmosphere, swinging to the tide with a gentle, tremulous motion that imparted to them a semblance of life. Nearly every soldier who had drunk that abominable water had suffered from nausea and colic, often succeeded afterward by dysentery. It seemed as if they must make up their mind to use it, however, as there was no other; Maurice explained that there would be no danger in drinking it after it was boiled.

“Very well, then; I’ll go,” said Jean. And he started, taking Lapoulle with him to carry the kettle.

By the time they got the kettle filled and on the fire it was quite dark. Loubet had peeled the beets and thrown them into the water to cook — a feast fit for the gods, he declared it would be — and fed the fire with fragments of the wheelbarrow, for they were all suffering so from hunger that they could have eaten the meat before the pot began to boil. Their huge shadows danced fantastically in the firelight on the rocky walls of the quarry. Then they found it impossible longer to restrain their appetite, and threw themselves upon the unclean mess, tearing the flesh with eager, trembling fingers and dividing it among them, too impatient even to make use of the knife. But, famishing as they were, their stomachs revolted; they felt the want of salt, they could not swallow that tasteless, sickening broth, those chunks of half-cooked, viscid meat that had a taste like clay. Some among them had a fit of vomiting. Pache was very ill. Chouteau and Loubet heaped maledictions on that infernal old nag, that had caused them such trouble to get him to the pot and then given them the colic. Lapoulle was the only one among them who ate abundantly, but he was in a very bad way that night when, with his three comrades, he returned to their resting-place under the poplars by the canal.

On their way back to camp Maurice, without uttering a word, took advantage of the darkness to seize Jean by the arm and drag him into a by-path. Their comrades inspired him with unconquerable disgust; he thought he should like to go and sleep in the little wood where he had spent his first night on the peninsula. It was a good idea, and Jean commended it highly when he had laid himself down on the warm, dry ground, under the shelter of the dense foliage. They remained there until the sun was high in the heavens, and enjoyed a sound, refreshing slumber, which restored to them something of their strength.

The following day was Thursday, but they had ceased to note the days; they were simply glad to observe that the weather seemed to be coming off fine again. Jean overcame Maurice’s repugnance and prevailed on him to return to the canal, to see if their regiment was not to move that day. Not a day passed now but detachments of prisoners, a thousand to twelve hundred strong, were sent off to the fortresses in Germany. The day but one before they had seen, drawn up in front of the Prussian headquarters, a column of officers of various grades, who were going to Pont-a-Mousson, there to take the railway. Everyone was possessed with a wild, feverish longing to get away from that camp where they had seen such suffering. Ah! if it but might be their turn! And when they found the 106th still encamped on the bank of the canal, in the inevitable disorder consequent upon such distress, their courage failed them and they despaired.

Jean and Maurice that day thought they saw a prospect of obtaining something to eat. All the morning a lively traffic had been going on between the prisoners and the Bavarians on the other side of the canal; the former would wrap their money in a handkerchief and toss it across to the opposite shore, the latter would return the handkerchief with a loaf of coarse brown bread, or a plug of their common, damp tobacco. Even soldiers who had no money were not debarred from participating in this commerce, employing, instead of currency, their white uniform gloves, for which the Germans appeared to have a weakness. For two hours packages were flying across the canal in its entire length under this primitive system of exchanges. But when Maurice dispatched his cravat with a five-franc piece tied in it to the other bank, the Bavarian who was to return him a loaf of bread gave it, whether from awkwardness or malice, such an ineffectual toss that it fell in the water. The incident elicited shouts of laughter from the Germans. Twice again Maurice repeated the experiment, and twice his loaf went to feed the fishes. At last the Prussian officers, attracted by the uproar, came running up and prohibited their men from selling anything to the prisoners, threatening them with dire penalties and punishments in case of disobedience. The traffic came to a sudden end, and Jean had hard work to pacify Maurice, who shook his fists at the scamps, shouting to them to give him back his five-franc pieces.

This was another terrible day, notwithstanding the warm, bright sunshine. Twice the bugle sounded and sent Jean hurrying off to the shed whence rations were supposed to be issued, but on each occasion he only got his toes trod on and his ribs racked in the crush. The Prussians, whose organization was so wonderfully complete, continued to manifest the same brutal inattention to the necessities of the vanquished army. On the representations of Generals Douay and Lebrun, they had indeed sent in a few sheep as well as some wagon-loads of bread, but so little care was taken to guard them that the sheep were carried off bodily and the wagons pillaged as soon as they reached the bridge, the consequence of which was that the troops who were encamped a hundred yards further on were no better off than before; it was only the worst element, the plunderers and bummers, who benefited by the provision trains. And thereon Jean, who, as he said, saw how the trick was done, brought Maurice with him to the bridge to keep an eye on the victuals.

It was four o’clock, and they had not had a morsel to eat all that beautiful bright Thursday, when suddenly their eyes were gladdened by the sight of Delaherche. A few among the citizens of Sedan had with infinite difficulty obtained permission to visit the prisoners, to whom they carried provisions, and Maurice had on several occasions expressed his surprise at his failure to receive any tidings of his sister. As soon as they recognized Delaherche in the distance, carrying a large basket and with a loaf of bread under either arm, they darted forward fast as their legs could carry them, but even thus they were too late; a crowding, jostling mob closed in, and in the confusion the dazed manufacturer was relieved of his basket and one of his loaves, which vanished from his sight so expeditiously that he was never able to tell the manner of their disappearance.

“Ah, my poor friends!” he stammered, utterly crestfallen in his bewilderment and stupefaction, he who but a moment before had come through the gate with a smile on his lips and an air of good-fellowship, magnanimously forgetting his superior advantages in his desire for popularity.

Jean had taken possession of the remaining loaf and saved it from the hungry crew, and while he and Maurice, seated by the roadside, were making great inroads in it, Delaherche opened his budget of news for their benefit. His wife, the Lord be praised! was very well, but he was greatly alarmed for the colonel, who had sunk into a condition of deep prostration, although his mother continued to bear him company from morning until night.

“And my sister?” Maurice inquired.

“Ah, yes! your sister; true. She insisted on coming with me; it was she who brought the two loaves of bread. She had to remain over yonder, though, on the other side of the canal; the sentries wouldn’t let her pass the gate. You know the Prussians have strictly prohibited the presence of women in the peninsula.”

Then he spoke of Henriette, and of her fruitless attempts to see her brother and come to his assistance. Once in Sedan chance had brought her face to face with Cousin Gunther, the man who was captain in the Prussian Guards. He had passed her with his haughty, supercilious air, pretending not to recognize her. She, also, with a sensation of loathing, as if she were in the presence of one of her husband’s murderers, had hurried on with quickened steps; then, with a sudden change of purpose for which she could not account, had turned back and told him all the manner of Weiss’s death, in harsh accents of reproach. And he, thus learning how horribly a relative had met his fate, had taken the matter coolly; it was the fortune of war; the same thing might have happened to himself. His face, rendered stoically impassive by the discipline of the soldier, had barely betrayed the faintest evidence of interest. After that, when she informed him that her brother was a prisoner and besought him to use his influence to obtain for her an opportunity of seeing him, he had excused himself on the ground that he was powerless in the matter; the instructions were explicit and might not be disobeyed. He appeared to place the regimental orderly book on a par with the Bible. She left him with the clearly defined impression that he believed he was in the country for the sole purpose of sitting in judgment on the French people, with all the intolerance and arrogance of the hereditary enemy, swollen by his personal hatred for the nation whom it had devolved on him to chastise.

“And now,” said Delaherche in conclusion, “you won’t have to go to bed supperless to-night; you have had a little something to eat. The worst is that I am afraid I shall not be able to secure another pass.”