The Downfall

Maurice, to whom she briefly explained her project, gave it his approval.

“Cousin Dubreuil has always been a good friend to us. He will be of service to you.”

Then an idea of another nature occurred to him. Lieutenant Rochas was greatly embarrassed as to what disposition he should make of the flag. They all were firmly resolved to save it – to do anything rather than allow it to fall into the hands of the Prussians. It had been suggested to cut it into pieces, of which each should carry one off under his shirt, or else to bury it at the foot of a tree, so noting the locality in memory that they might be able to come and disinter it at some future day; but the idea of mutilating the flag, or burying it like a corpse, affected them too painfully, and they were considering if they might not preserve it in some other manner. When Maurice, therefore, proposed to entrust the standard to a reliable person who would conceal it and, in case of necessity, defend it, until such day as he should restore it to them intact, they all gave their assent.

“Come,” said the young man, addressing his sister, “we will go with you to the Hermitage and see if Dubreuil is there. Besides, I do not wish to leave you without protection.”

It was no easy matter to extricate themselves from the press, but they succeeded finally and entered a path that led upward on their left. They soon found themselves in a region intersected by a perfect labyrinth of lanes and narrow passages, a district where truck farms and gardens predominated, interspersed with an occasional villa and small holdings of extremely irregular outline, and these lanes and passages wound circuitously between blank walls, turning sharp corners at every few steps and bringing up abruptly in the cul-de-sac of some courtyard, affording admirable facilities for carrying on a guerilla warfare; there were spots where ten men might defend themselves for hours against a regiment. Desultory firing was already beginning to be heard, for the suburb commanded Balan, and the Bavarians were already coming up on the other side of the valley.

When Maurice and Henriette, who were in the rear of the others, had turned once to the left, then to the right and then to the left again, following the course of two interminable walls, they suddenly came out before the Hermitage, the door of which stood wide open. The grounds, at the top of which was a small park, were terraced off in three broad terraces, on one of which stood the residence, a roomy, rectangular structure, approached by an avenue of venerable elms. Facing it, and separated from it by the deep, narrow valley, with its steeply sloping banks, were other similar country seats, backed by a wood.

Henriette’s anxiety was aroused at sight of the open door, “They are not at home,” she said; “they must have gone away.”

The truth was that Dubreuil had decided the day before to take his wife and children to Bouillon, where they would be in safety from the disaster he felt was impending. And yet the house was not unoccupied; even at a distance and through the intervening trees the approaching party were conscious of movements going on within its walls. As the young woman advanced into the avenue she recoiled before the dead body of a Prussian soldier.

“The devil!” exclaimed Rochas; “so they have already been exchanging civilities in this quarter!”

Then all hands, desiring to ascertain what was going on, hurried forward to the house, and there their curiosity was quickly gratified; the doors and windows of the rez-de-chaussee had been smashed in with musket-butts and the yawning apertures disclosed the destruction that the marauders had wrought in the rooms within, while on the graveled terrace lay various articles of furniture that had been hurled from the stoop. Particularly noticeable was a drawing-room suite in sky-blue satin, its sofa and twelve fauteuils piled in dire confusion, helter-skelter, on and around a great center table, the marble top of which was broken in twain. And there were zouaves, chasseurs, liners, and men of the infanterie de marine running to and fro excitedly behind the buildings and in the alleys, discharging their pieces into the little wood that faced them across the valley.

“Lieutenant,” a zouave said to Rochas, by way of explanation, “we found a pack of those dirty Prussian hounds here, smashing things and raising Cain generally. We settled their hash for them, as you can see for yourself; only they will be coming back here presently, ten to our one, and that won’t be so pleasant.”

Three other corpses of Prussian soldiers were stretched upon the terrace. As Henriette was looking at them absently, her thoughts doubtless far away with her husband, who, amid the blood and ashes of Bazeilles, was also sleeping his last sleep, a bullet whistled close to her head and struck a tree that stood behind her. Jean sprang forward.

“Madame, don’t stay there. Go inside the house, quick, quick!”

His heart overflowed with pity as he beheld the change her terrible affliction had wrought in her, and he recalled her image as she had appeared to him only the day before, her face bright with the kindly smile of the happy, loving wife. At first he had found no word to say to her, hardly knowing even if she would recognize him. He felt that he could gladly give his life, if that would serve to restore her peace of mind.

“Go inside, and don’t come out. At the first sign of danger we will come for you, and we will all escape together by way of the wood up yonder.”

But she apathetically replied:

“Ah, M. Jean, what is the use?”

Her brother, however, was also urging her, and finally she ascended the stoop and took her position within the vestibule, whence her vision commanded a view of the avenue in its entire length. She was a spectator of the ensuing combat.

Maurice and Jean had posted themselves behind one of the elms near the house. The gigantic trunks of the centenarian monarchs were amply sufficient to afford shelter to two men. A little way from them Gaude, the bugler, had joined forces with Lieutenant Rochas, who, unwilling to confide the flag to other hands, had rested it against the tree at his side while he handled his musket. And every trunk had its defenders; from end to end the avenue was lined with men covered, Indian fashion, by the trees, who only exposed their head when ready to fire.

In the wood across the valley the Prussians appeared to be receiving re-enforcements, for their fire gradually grew warmer. There was no one to be seen; at most, the swiftly vanishing form now and then of a man changing his position. A villa, with green shutters, was occupied by their sharpshooters, who fired from the half-open windows of the rez-de-chaussee. It was about four o’clock, and the noise of the cannonade in the distance was diminishing, the guns were being silenced one by one; and there they were, French and Prussians, in that out-of-the-way-corner whence they could not see the white flag floating over the citadel, still engaged in the work of mutual slaughter, as if their quarrel had been a personal one. Notwithstanding the armistice there were many such points where the battle continued to rage until it was too dark to see; the rattle of musketry was heard in the faubourg of the Fond de Givonne and in the gardens of Petit-Pont long after it had ceased elsewhere.

For a quarter of an hour the bullets flew thick and fast from one side of the valley to the other. Now and again someone who was so incautious as to expose himself went down with a ball in his head or chest. There were three men lying dead in the avenue. The rattling in the throat of another man who had fallen prone upon his face was something horrible to listen to, and no one thought to go and turn him on his back to ease his dying agony. Jean, who happened to look around just at that moment, beheld Henriette glide tranquilly down the steps, approach the wounded man and turn him over, then slip a knapsack beneath his head by way of pillow. He ran and seized her and forcibly brought her back behind the tree where he and Maurice were posted.

“Do you wish to be killed?”

She appeared to be entirely unconscious of the danger to which she had exposed herself.

“Why, no – but I am afraid to remain in that house, all alone. I would rather be outside.”

And so she stayed with them. They seated her on the ground at their feet, against the trunk of the tree, and went on expending the few cartridges that were left them, blazing away to right and left, with such fury that they quite forgot their sensations of fear and fatigue. They were utterly unconscious of what was going on around them, acting mechanically, with but one end in view; even the instinct of self-preservation had deserted them.

“Look, Maurice,” suddenly said Henriette; “that dead soldier there before us, does he not belong to the Prussian Guard?”

She had been eying attentively for the past minute or two one of the dead bodies that the enemy had left behind them when they retreated, a short, thick-set young man, with big mustaches, lying upon his side on the gravel of the terrace.

The chin-strap had broken, releasing the spiked helmet, which had rolled away a few steps. And it was indisputable that the body was attired in the uniform of the Guard; the dark gray trousers, the blue tunic with white facings, the greatcoat rolled and worn, belt-wise, across the shoulder.

“It is the Guard uniform,” she said; “I am quite certain of it. It is exactly like the colored plate I have at home, and then the photograph that Cousin Gunther sent us – ” She stopped suddenly, and with her unconcerned, fearless air, before anyone could make a motion to detain her, walked up to the corpse, bent down and read the number of the regiment. “Ah, the Forty-third!” she exclaimed. “I knew it.”

And she returned to her position, while a storm of bullets whistled around her ears. “Yes, the Forty-third; Cousin Gunther’s regiment – something told me it must be so. Ah! if my poor husband were only here!”

After that all Jean’s and Maurice’s entreaties were ineffectual to make her keep quiet. She was feverishly restless, constantly protruding her head to peer into the opposite wood, evidently harassed by some anxiety that preyed upon her mind. Her companions continued to load and fire with the same blind fury, pushing her back with their knee whenever she exposed herself too rashly. It looked as if the Prussians were beginning to consider that their numbers would warrant them in attacking, for they showed themselves more frequently and there were evidences of preparations going on behind the trees. They were suffering severely, however, from the fire of the French, whose bullets at that short range rarely failed to bring down their man.

“That may be your cousin,” said Jean. “Look, that officer over there, who has just come out of the house with the green shutters.”

He was a captain, as could be seen by the gold braid on the collar of his tunic and the golden eagle on his helmet that flashed back the level ray of the setting sun. He had discarded his epaulettes, and carrying his saber in his right hand, was shouting an order in a sharp, imperative voice; and the distance between them was so small, a scant two hundred yards, that every detail of his trim, slender figure was plainly discernible, as well as the pinkish, stern face and slight blond mustache.

Henriette scrutinized him with attentive eyes. “It is he,” she replied, apparently unsurprised. “I recognize him perfectly.”

With a look of concentrated rage Maurice drew his piece to his shoulder and covered him. “The cousin – Ah! sure as there is a God in heaven he shall pay for Weiss.”

But, quivering with excitement, she jumped to her feet and knocked up the weapon, whose charge was wasted on the air.

“Stop, stop! we must not kill acquaintances, relatives! It is too barbarous.”

And, all her womanly instincts coming back to her, she sank down behind the tree and gave way to a fit of violent weeping. The horror of it all was too much for her; in her great dread and sorrow she was forgetful of all beside.

Rochas, meantime, was in his element. He had excited the few zouaves and other troops around him to such a pitch of frenzy, their fire had become so murderously effective at sight of the Prussians, that the latter first wavered and then retreated to the shelter of their wood.

“Stand your ground, my boys! don’t give way an inch! Aha, see ‘em run, the cowards! we’ll fix their flint for ‘em!”

He was in high spirits and seemed to have recovered all his unbounded confidence, certain that victory was yet to crown their efforts. There had been no defeat. The handful of men before him stood in his eyes for the united armies of Germany, and he was going to destroy them at his leisure. All his long, lean form, all his thin, bony face, where the huge nose curved down upon the self-willed, sensual mouth, exhaled a laughing, vain-glorious satisfaction, the joy of the conquering trooper who goes through the world with his sweetheart on his arm and a bottle of good wine in his hand.

“Parbleu, my children, what are we here for, I’d like to know, if not to lick ‘em out of their boots? and that’s the way this affair is going to end, just mark my words. We shouldn’t know ourselves any longer if we should let ourselves be beaten. Beaten! come, come, that is too good! When the neighbors tread on our toes, or when we feel we are beginning to grow rusty for want of something to do, we just turn to and give ‘em a thrashing; that’s all there is to it. Come, boys, let ‘em have it once more, and you’ll see ‘em run like so many jackrabbits!”

He bellowed and gesticulated like a lunatic, and was such a good fellow withal in the comforting illusion of his ignorance that the men were inoculated with his confidence. He suddenly broke out again:

“And we’ll kick ‘em, we’ll kick ‘em, we’ll kick ‘em to the frontier! Victory, victory!”

But at that juncture, just as the enemy across the valley seemed really to be falling back, a hot fire of musketry came pouring in on them from the left. It was a repetition of the everlasting flanking movement that had done the Prussians such good service; a strong detachment of the Guards had crept around toward the French rear through the Fond de Givonne. It was useless to think of holding the position longer; the little band of men who were defending the terraces were caught between two fires and menaced with being cut off from Sedan. Men fell on every side, and for a moment the confusion was extreme; the Prussians were already scaling the wall of the park, and advancing along the pathways. Some zouaves rushed forward to repel them, and there was a fierce hand-to-hand struggle with the bayonet. There was one zouave, a big, handsome, brown-bearded man, bare-headed and with his jacket hanging in tatters from his shoulders, who did his work with appalling thoroughness, driving his reeking bayonet home through splintering bones and yielding tissues, cleansing it of the gore that it had contracted from one man by plunging it into the flesh of another; and when it broke he laid about him, smashing many a skull, with the butt of his musket; and when finally he made a misstep and lost his weapon he sprung, bare-handed, for the throat of a burly Prussian, with such tigerish fierceness that both men rolled over and over on the gravel to the shattered kitchen door, clasped in a mortal embrace. The trees of the park looked down on many such scenes of slaughter, and the green lawn was piled with corpses. But it was before the stoop, around the sky-blue sofa and fauteuils, that the conflict raged with greatest fury; a maddened mob of savages, firing at one another at point-blank range, so that hair and beards were set on fire, tearing one another with teeth and nails when a knife was wanting to slash the adversary’s throat.

Then Gaude, with his sorrowful face, the face of a man who has had his troubles of which he does not care to speak, was seized with a sort of sudden heroic madness. At that moment of irretrievable defeat, when he must have known that the company was annihilated and that there was not a man left to answer his summons, he grasped his bugle, carried it to his lips and sounded the general, in so tempestuous, ear-splitting strains that one would have said he wished to wake the dead. Nearer and nearer came the Prussians, but he never stirred, only sounding the call the louder, with all the strength of his lungs. He fell, pierced with many bullets, and his spirit passed in one long-drawn, parting wail that died away and was lost upon the shuddering air.

Rochas made no attempt to fly; he seemed unable to comprehend. Even more erect than usual, he waited the end, stammering:

“Well, what’s the matter? what’s the matter?”

Such a possibility had never entered his head as that they could be defeated. They were changing everything in these degenerate days, even to the manner of fighting; had not those fellows a right to remain on their own side of the valley and wait for the French to go and attack them? There was no use killing them; as fast as they were killed more kept popping up. What kind of a d – d war was it, anyway, where they were able to collect ten men against their opponent’s one, where they never showed their face until evening, after blazing away at you all day with their artillery until you didn’t know on which end you were standing? Aghast and confounded, having failed so far to acquire the first idea of the rationale of the campaign, he was dimly conscious of the existence of some mysterious, superior method which he could not comprehend, against which he ceased to struggle, although in his dogged stubbornness he kept repeating mechanically:

“Courage, my children! victory is before us!”

Meanwhile he had stooped and clutched the flag. That was his last, his only thought, to save the flag, retreating again, if necessary, so that it might not be defiled by contact with Prussian hands. But the staff, although it was broken, became entangled in his legs; he narrowly escaped falling. The bullets whistled past him, he felt that death was near; he stripped the silk from the staff and tore it into shreds, striving to destroy it utterly. And then it was that, stricken at once in the neck, chest, and legs, he sank to earth amid the bright tri-colored rags, as if they had been his pall. He survived a moment yet, gazing before him with fixed, dilated eyes, reading, perhaps, in the vision he beheld on the horizon the stern lesson that War conveys, the cruel, vital struggle that is to be accepted not otherwise than gravely, reverently, as immutable law. Then a slight tremor ran through his frame, and darkness succeeded to his infantine bewilderment; he passed away, like some poor dumb, lowly creature of a day, a joyous insect that mighty, impassive Nature, in her relentless fatality, has caught and crushed. In him died all a legend.

When the Prussians began to draw near Jean and Maurice had retreated, retiring from tree to tree, face to the enemy, and always, as far as possible, keeping Henriette behind them. They did not give over firing, discharging their pieces and then falling back to seek a fresh cover. Maurice knew where there was a little wicket in the wall at the upper part of the park, and they were so fortunate as to find it unfastened. With lighter hearts when they had left it behind them, they found themselves in a narrow by-road that wound between two high walls, but after following it for some distance the sound of firing in front caused them to turn into a path on their left. As luck would have it, it ended in an impasse; they had to retrace their steps, running the gauntlet of the bullets, and take the turning to the right. When they came to exchange reminiscences in later days they could never agree on which road they had taken. In that tangled network of suburban lanes and passages there was firing still going on from every corner that afforded a shelter, protracted battles raged at the gates of farmyards, everything that could be converted into a barricade had its defenders, from whom the assailants tried to wrest it; all with the utmost fury and vindictiveness. And all at once they came out upon the Fond de Givonne road, not far from Sedan.

For the third time Jean raised his eyes toward the western sky, that was all aflame with a bright, rosy light; and he heaved a sigh of unspeakable relief.

“Ah, that pig of a sun! at last he is going to bed!”

And they ran with might and main, all three of them, never once stopping to draw breath. About them, filling the road in all its breadth, was the rear-guard of fugitives from the battlefield, still flowing onward with the irresistible momentum of an unchained mountain torrent. When they came to the Balan gate they had a long period of waiting in the midst of the impatient, ungovernable throng. The chains of the drawbridge had given way, and the only path across the fosse was by the foot-bridge, so that the guns and horses had to turn back and seek admission by the bridge of the chateau, where the jam was said to be even still more fearful. At the gate of la Cassine, too, people were trampled to death in their eagerness to gain admittance. From all the adjacent heights the terror-stricken fragments of the army came tumbling into the city, as into a cesspool, with the hollow roar of pent-up water that has burst its dam. The fatal attraction of those walls had ended by making cowards of the bravest; men trod one another down in their blind haste to be under cover.

Maurice had caught Henriette in his arms, and in a voice that trembled with suspense:

“It cannot be,” he said, “that they will have the cruelty to close the gate and shut us out.”

That was what the crowd feared would be done. To right and left, however, upon the glacis soldiers were already arranging their bivouacs, while entire batteries, guns, caissons, and horses, in confusion worse confounded, had thrown themselves pell-mell into the fosse for safety.

But now shrill, impatient bugle calls rose on the evening air, followed soon by the long-drawn strains of retreat. They were summoning the belated soldiers back to their comrades, who came running in, singly and in groups. A dropping fire of musketry still continued in the faubourgs, but it was gradually dying out. Heavy guards were stationed on the banquette behind the parapet to protect the approaches, and at last the gate was closed. The Prussians were within a hundred yards of the sally-port; they could be seen moving on the Balan road, tranquilly establishing themselves in the houses and gardens.

Maurice and Jean, pushing Henriette before them to protect her from the jostling of the throng, were among the last to enter Sedan. Six o’clock was striking. The artillery fire had ceased nearly an hour ago. Soon the distant musketry fire, too, was silenced. Then, to the deafening uproar, to the vengeful thunder that had been roaring since morning, there succeeded a stillness as of death. Night came, and with it came a boding silence, fraught with terror.

VIII

At half-past five o’clock, after the closing of the gates, Delaherche, in his eager thirst for news, now that he knew the battle lost, had again returned to the Sous-Prefecture. He hung persistently about the approaches of the janitor’s lodge, tramping up and down the paved courtyard with feverish impatience, for more than three hours, watching for every officer who came up and interviewing him, and thus it was that he had become acquainted, piecemeal, with the rapid series of events; how General de Wimpffen had tendered his resignation and then withdrawn it upon the peremptory refusal of Generals Ducrot and Douay to append their names to the articles of capitulation, how the Emperor had thereupon invested the General with full authority to proceed to the Prussian headquarters and treat for the surrender of the vanquished army on the most advantageous terms obtainable; how, finally, a council of war had been convened with the object of deciding what possibilities there were of further protracting the struggle successfully by the defense of the fortress. During the deliberations of this council, which consisted of some twenty officers of the highest rank and seemed to him as if it would never end, the cloth manufacturer climbed the steps of the huge public building at least twenty times, and at last his curiosity was gratified by beholding General de Wimpffen emerge, very red in the face and his eyelids puffed and swollen with tears, behind whom came two other generals and a colonel. They leaped into the saddle and rode away over the Pont de Meuse. The bells had struck eight some time before; the inevitable capitulation was now to be accomplished, from which there was no escape.