GOLIATH THE SPY--AN AWFUL VENGEANCE
That icy December evening Silvine and Prosper were alone with Charlot
in the large kitchen of the farmhouse, she sewing and he engaged in
making himself a fine whip. It was seven o'clock; they had dined at
six without waiting for old Fouchard, who must have been detained at
Raucourt, where there was a scarcity of meat; and Henriette, whose turn
it was that night to sit up watching at the ambulance, had just gone
off after instructing Silvine to fill Jean's stove with coals before
she went to bed.
Out of doors the sky hung very blackly over the white snow. Not a
sound came from the buried village, and in the room nothing could be
heard save Prosper's knife as he diligently cut rosettes and lozenges
in the bark of the dog-wood whip-stock. At times he paused and looked
at Charlot, who, overcome by drowsiness, was nodding his big fair
head. When the child had at last fallen asleep it seemed as though the
silence had become yet more intense. The mother had gently pushed the
candle aside so that the light might not fall upon her little one's
eyelids; and, still plying her needle, she sank at last into a deep
reverie.
Then it was that Prosper, after again hesitating, made up his mind to
speak: 'I say, Silvine, I've something to tell you. Yes, I was waiting
to be alone with you to tell you about it.'
These words sufficed to render her anxious, and she raised her eyes.
'This is what it is. Forgive me for distressing you, but it is best
that you should be warned. Close by the church this morning, at
Remilly, I saw Goliath just as I see you now, full in the face, so that
there was no mistaking him.'
She became quite livid, her hands trembled, and she could only stammer
a hollow plaint: 'Oh! my God, my God!'
Prosper continued talking in his prudent way, relating what he had
learnt during the day by questioning one and another of the villagers.
Not one of them now entertained a doubt but that Goliath was a spy and
had formerly taken up his abode in the district in order to become
acquainted with its roads and resources, and the most trifling details
of its inhabitants' mode of life. Folks remembered his stay at old
Fouchard's farm, the abrupt fashion in which he had taken himself
off, and the situations which he had afterwards held over towards
Beaumont and Raucourt. And now he had come back again, holding an
equivocal position at the Commandature of Sedan and once more scouring
the surrounding villages, as though it were his business to denounce
certain folks and tax others, and exercise a surveillance respecting
the requisitions with which the inhabitants were being overwhelmed.
That morning he had terrorised Remilly with respect to the delivery of
some flour which was not being supplied with sufficient promptitude or
in sufficient quantities.
'Well, you are warned,' repeated Prosper as he finished his narrative,
'so you will know what to do when he comes here.'
She interrupted him with a cry of terror: 'You think he will come here
then?'
'Well, it seems to me sure enough. Especially if he's at all
inquisitive, for he has never seen the little one, though he must know
that he exists. And besides there's you whom he may wish to see again.'
She silenced him with an entreating gesture. Charlot, awakened by the
talking, had raised his head. With a vague expression in his eyes, as
though he were emerging from a dream, he recalled an insulting phrase
which some village joker had taught him, and with the grave air of
the three-year-old urchin that he was, declared: 'They're pigs, the
Prussians.'
At this his mother distractedly caught him in her arms and sat him on
her lap. Ah! the poor little fellow, at once her joy and her despair
whom she loved with her whole soul, but whom she could not look at
without weeping, this son of hers whom to her grief she often heard
called the Prussian by the youngsters of his own age who played with
him on the road. She kissed him as if to drive his words back into his
mouth. 'Who taught you such naughty words? You mustn't say them, my
darling.'
With childish obstinacy, however, Charlot stifled a laugh and made all
haste to repeat: 'The Prussians are pigs!'
Then, on seeing his mother burst into tears, he also began to cry,
winding his arms round her neck. Ah, Lord! what new misfortune was in
store for her! Was it not sufficient that she had lost in Honoré the
only hope of her life, the certainty of forgetting and of becoming
happy once more? At present that other man must needs reappear to make
her misery complete.
'Come,' she murmured, 'come to by-by, my darling. Mother loves you very
dearly all the same, for you don't know that you grieve her.'
Then she went off, leaving Prosper for a moment alone. He, in order not
to embarrass her by his glances, had pretended to be wholly absorbed in
carving his whip-stock.
However, before putting Charlot to bed, Silvine habitually took him to
say good-night to Jean, with whom he was great friends. That evening,
as she entered the room candle in hand, she perceived the wounded
man sitting up in bed with his eyes wide open. So he wasn't asleep,
then? Well, no, he had been ruminating on all sorts of matters, in the
silence of that wintry night. And whilst she crammed the stove with
coals, he played for a moment with Charlot who rolled about on the
bed like a kitten. Jean was acquainted with Silvine's story and had
a friendly feeling for this brave, docile girl, so severely tried by
misfortune, now in mourning for the only man she had ever loved, with
no other consolation remaining to her than that little child whose
birth had proved her everlasting torment. And thus, when, after closing
the stove, she drew near to the bed to take Charlot in her arms again,
Jean, detecting by the redness of her eyes that she had been weeping,
began to question her. What was the matter, then? Had somebody been
grieving her again? But she would not answer: later on, if it were
worth while, she would perhaps tell him all about it. Ah! good Lord!
had not her life now become a life of ceaseless grief?
She was on the point of taking Charlot away when all at once a sound
of voices and footsteps was heard in the yard. Jean listened in
surprise. 'What's up? It can't be Fouchard coming back, I didn't hear
the cartwheels.'
Whilst lying in that lonely, distant room he had ended by acquiring a
knowledge of all the inner life of the farm, the slightest sounds of
which had become familiar to him. Still lending an ear, he promptly
resumed: 'Ah, yes, it's those fellows, the Francs-tireurs of the
Dieulet Woods, who have come for some grub.'
'Quick, I must make haste to give them their bread,' muttered Silvine
as she went off again, leaving him in the darkness.
Fists were hammering loudly on the kitchen door, whilst Prosper,
annoyed at finding himself alone, was hesitating and parleying. He
hardly liked to open the door when the master was away, for fear of any
damage that might be done, the responsibility of which would have been
thrown upon his shoulders. Luckily, however, just at that moment, old
Fouchard's cart came down the sloping road, the clatter of the horse's
trot being deadened by the snow. And thus it was the old fellow himself
who received the men.
'Oh! all right, it's you three. What have you brought me in that
barrow?'
Sambuc, with his spare bandit figure quite lost in a blue woollen
blouse considerably too large for him, did not even hear Fouchard, such
was his exasperation with Prosper, that honest brother of his, as he
put it, who had only just made up his mind to unlock the door.
'I say,' shouted the Franc-tireur, 'do you take us for beggars that you
leave us outside in such weather as this.'
Prosper, however, remained quite calm and shrugged his shoulders
without answering a word; and whilst he went out to take the horse
and cart to the stables it was again old Fouchard who intervened. 'So
you've brought me two dead sheep,' said he, leaning over the barrow.
'It's lucky that it's freezing, or they wouldn't smell at all pleasant.'
At this, Cabasse and Ducat, Sambuc's two lieutenants who accompanied
him on all his expeditions, began protesting. 'Oh!' said the first with
his loud-mouthed Provençal vivacity, 'they haven't been dead more than
three days. They came from the Raffins farm, where there's a lot of
nasty illness among the animals.'
'_'Procumbit humi bos_,' declaimed his comrade, the ex-process-server,
who had lost caste through his immorality and who was addicted to
quoting Latin.
Tossing his head, old Fouchard went on disparaging the merchandise,
which, said he, was 'altogether too far gone.' However, on entering
the kitchen with the three men, he ended by exclaiming: 'Well, well,
they'll have to content themselves with it. It's lucky that they
haven't a cutlet left at Raucourt. A man eats anything when he's
hungry, eh?' And then, in reality quite delighted, he called to Silvine
who was coming back after putting Charlot to bed: 'Bring some glasses,
we'll drink a drop to Bismarck kicking the bucket.'
In this fashion did Fouchard keep up an intercourse with the
Francs-tireurs of the Dieulet Woods who, for nearly three months now
had been crawling out of their impenetrable thickets at nightfall,
prowling along the roads, killing and rifling such Prussians as they
were able to surprise, and falling back on the farms and levying
contributions on the peasants whenever there was a scarcity of German
'game.' They were the terror of the villages, the more so as each time
a convoy was attacked, each time a sentry was butchered, the German
authorities avenged themselves on the neighbouring localities, accusing
their inhabitants of connivance, fining them, carrying off their mayors
as prisoners, and burning their homesteads. And if the peasants,
despite all their longing to do so, failed to betray Sambuc and his
band, it was simply through fear of being hit by a bullet at some turn
of a pathway, in the event of the attempt to capture the Francs-tireurs
resulting in failure.
Fouchard for his part had the extraordinary idea of doing business with
these fellows. Beating the country as they did in all directions, the
ditches as well as the cattle-sheds and sheep-cots, they had become
his purveyors of diseased meat. Not an ox nor a sheep died within a
radius of three leagues but they came at night to pick it up and take
it to him. And he paid them in provisions, especially in bread, big
batches of loaves which Silvine baked expressly for them. Moreover,
although the old fellow scarcely liked the Francs-tireurs, he had a
secret admiration for them, cunning rogues that they were, plying
their calling without caring a rap for anybody; and, although he was
realising a fortune by his dealings with the Prussians, he laughed
inwardly, with the laugh of a savage, whenever he learnt that another
of them had been found by the wayside with his throat cut.
'To your health!' said he, chinking glasses with the three men, and,
after wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he added: 'I say,
what a row they've been making about those two Uhlans whom they found
near Villecourt with their heads missing. You know that Villecourt
has been burning since yesterday; it's a sentence, as they say, that
they've passed on the village to punish it for having harboured you.
You must be prudent, mind; and don't come back here for a time. Your
bread shall be taken to you.' Shrugging his shoulders, Sambuc began
to sneer. Pooh! the Prussians might run as fast as they liked, they
wouldn't catch him! Then all at once he flew into a violent passion,
and, thumping on the table, exclaimed: 'Thunder! yes, it's nice to get
hold of the Uhlans, no doubt, but it's the other chap that I'd like
to say a word to--you know him, the spy, that fellow who worked for
you----'
'Goliath,' said Fouchard.
Quite startled, Silvine, who had just taken up her work again, ceased
sewing and listened.
'That's the man, Goliath! Ah! the brigand! he knows the Dieulet Woods
as well as I know my pocket, and he's quite capable of getting us
caught one of these mornings. In fact, he bragged to-day at the Malta
Cross that he'd settle our business for us within a week. The dirty
rogue! it was certainly he who guided the Bavarians through the woods,
on the day before the fight at Beaumont--wasn't it, you fellows, eh?'
'As sure as that's a candle lighting us!' declared Cabasse.
'_Per amica silentia lunæ_,' added Ducat, whose quotations were not
always apposite.
With another thump of his fist, Sambuc made the table shake. 'He is
judged and condemned, the brigand! If you should happen to know where
he's going at any time, just warn me, and his head shall join those of
the Uhlans in the Meuse--yes, thunder! I'll answer for it!'
Silence fell. Silvine, who was very pale, gazed fixedly at the
Francs-tireurs.
'Well, well, these are not things to talk about,' resumed Fouchard,
prudently. 'Here's to your health, and good-evening!'
They finished emptying the second bottle. Silvine had already stowed
the bread away in a sack; and Prosper, who had now returned from the
stable, helped to hoist it on to the barrow in place of the two dead
sheep. However, he turned his back without so much as answering when
his brother and the others went off, disappearing with the barrow
through the snow, and repeating: 'Good-night, everyone--to the pleasure
of meeting again.'
The very next day, whilst old Fouchard was sitting alone after
breakfast, he saw Goliath himself walk in, tall and fat, with the same
pink face and quiet smile as formerly. If the old man was startled by
this sudden apparition, at all events he did not allow it to be seen,
but sat there blinking, whilst the other stepped forward and gave him a
fair and square shake of the hand. 'Good day to you, father Fouchard!'
Not till then did the old fellow appear to recognise his visitor.
'Hallo! is it you, my lad! Why, you've grown even bigger than you were.
How fat you are!'
And thereupon he scanned him from head to foot. Clad in a kind of
capote of thick blue cloth, with a cap of the same material on his
head, Goliath had the prosperous appearance of a man well pleased with
himself. He spoke without any foreign accent, in the drawling fashion
of the peasants of the district: 'Why, yes, it's I, father Fouchard--I
didn't like to pass this way without bidding you good-day.'
The old man remained mistrustful. What was the real motive of this
fellow's visit? Had he heard of the Francs-tireurs coming to the farm
on the previous evening? That was a point to be ascertained. At all
events, however, since the scamp had presented himself in a polite
fashion, the best policy was to give him an equally polite greeting.
'Well, my lad, it's very kind of you, I'm sure, and as you've come
we'll drink a glass together.'
He went in person to fetch a couple of glasses and a bottle of wine.
The consumption of so much liquor made his heart fairly bleed; but then
in business it was necessary to stand treat. And, now, much the same
scene as that of the previous evening was enacted: they chinked glasses
with similar gestures and similar words.
'To your health, father Fouchard.'
'Here's to yours, my lad!'
They drank, and Goliath complacently tarried there, looking around
him like a man who is well pleased to orate old times and things.
However, he did not speak of the past, nor, for the matter of that,
did he refer to the present. The conversation mainly turned on the
severe cold weather, which would interfere with the work in the
fields; though fortunately there was some good in the snow, for it
killed the grubs. Scarcely did the spy indulge in an expression of
vague chagrin with reference to the covert hatred, terror, and scorn
with which he had been received in the other houses of Remilly. Every
man has his country, hasn't he? And it is only natural that he should
serve it as he thinks fit. However, French people had funny ideas about
certain things. Whilst he talked on in this strain the old man looked
at him and listened to him; and on finding him so reasonable and so
conciliatory, so placid, too, with his broad smiling face, he concluded
that this honest fellow had certainly not come to the farm with any
evil intentions.
'And so you're all alone to-day, father Fouchard?' said Goliath at last.
'Oh no--Silvine's giving the cows their feed. Would you like to see
her?'
Goliath began to laugh. 'Well, yes. To tell you the plain truth, it was
to see Silvine that I came.'
This answer raised a great load from old Fouchard's mind. Springing
from his chair, he called in a loud voice: 'Silvine! Silvine! Here's
some one for you.' And thereupon he went off, henceforth without any
fears, since the girl was there to protect the house. When a man still
hankers after a woman like that, after so many years, he is as good as
done for.
When Silvine came in, she was in no wise surprised to find herself in
presence of Goliath, who had retained his seat and looked at her with
his good-natured smile, albeit he felt somewhat uncomfortable. She
had been expecting him, and on crossing the threshold gave no sign of
emotion save that she stopped short with a sudden stiffening of her
entire frame. Charlot, who had run after her, threw himself among her
skirts, astonished to see this man, whom he did not know.
There was a brief interval of silence, an embarrassment of a few
seconds' duration.
'So that's the little one?' Goliath ended by asking in his conciliatory
voice.
'Yes,' Silvine answered harshly.
The silence fell again. He had left Remilly prior to her
_accouchement_, and, although he knew very well that there was a child,
he now saw it for the first time. He therefore wished to explain his
conduct, like a practical-minded man who is convinced that he has
some good reasons to urge on his behalf. 'Come, Silvine,' said he, 'I
can understand very well that you have harboured a grudge against me.
And yet it's not altogether just. If I went off as I did, if I caused
you all that grief, you ought to have bethought yourself that it was
perhaps because I wasn't my own master. When a man has superiors and is
under orders he must obey them, mustn't he? They might have ordered me
on a journey a hundred leagues away on foot, and I should have gone.
And naturally I couldn't speak out. It pained my heart, and no mistake,
to have to go off like that without a parting word. I won't say that I
was certain I should come back again; however, I always expected to do
so, and you see, here I am----'
She had turned her head aside and was looking through the window at the
snow in the courtyard, as though determined not to listen. Disturbed by
her contempt, her stubborn silence, he paused in his explanations to
exclaim: 'Do you know you are prettier than ever?'
She did in fact look very beautiful, with her creamy pallor and those
superb large eyes lighting up her face. Her heavy tresses of jet black
hair crowned her head as with a diadem of eternal mourning.
'Come,' said Goliath, 'be a little more amiable! You must know that I
don't want to harm you. If I didn't still love you I shouldn't have
come back, of course not. But now that I'm here and everything is
settling down we'll be good friends again; we'll make it all up, won't
we?'
She abruptly drew back and looked him full in the face: 'Never!'
'Why never? Aren't you virtually my wife already, isn't that child
ours?'
Without taking her eyes off him, she slowly answered: 'Listen; it
is best to have done with it at once. You knew Honoré; I loved him,
I never loved any one but him. And he is dead; you killed him over
yonder. Never again will I be yours--never!'
She had raised her hand, and she swore her vow in a voice ringing with
such bitter hatred that for a moment he remained quite amazed, merely
muttering: 'Yes, I knew it. Honoré is dead. He was a very nice fellow
certainly, but it can't be helped; others are dead too. Such is war.
And, besides, it seemed to me that as he was dead there could be no
further obstacle--for you must let me remind you, Silvine, I was not
brutal with you----'
He did not finish his sentence, however; such a look of wild
distracting agony appeared upon her face, to which she raised her hands
as though to lacerate it.
'Oh! it is that--yes, that which drives me mad!' she exclaimed. 'That
I should have yielded when I did not love you! I cannot remember, I
was so sad, so ill after Honoré's departure, and you talked about him
and appeared to like him. 'Twas that perhaps which brought it to pass.
O God! how many nights have I spent in weeping over my fault!--Yet
he came back, and forgave me, and told me that if you Prussians did
not kill him, he would marry me all the same, as soon as he got his
discharge. And you think that after that I could consent to become
yours? Ah, no! under the axe I should still answer no, no, never!'
This time Goliath became gloomy. He divined that her fierce resolution
was a firm one. But, on the other hand, he considered himself to
be the master, and if he did not as yet seek to impose his will by
violent means, it was because he was naturally inclined to prudence,
instinctively prone to artifice and patience. This big-fisted Colossus
was not partial to blows. And accordingly he bethought himself of
another means of forcing her to submit.
'All right,' said he, 'since you won't take me I shall take the little
one.'
'What do you mean?'
Charlot, momentarily forgotten, had remained among his mother's skirts,
making an effort not to burst out sobbing in the midst of the quarrel.
Goliath, who had at last risen from his chair, drew near. 'Eh! you are
my little boy, aren't you? A little Prussian, eh? Come, and let me take
you away.'
But Silvine, quivering from head to foot, had already caught the child
in her arms and was pressing him to her bosom: 'He a Prussian? No, he's
French, born in France!'
'French! Why look at him and look at me! He's my very portrait. Is he
at all like you?'
It was only then that she really saw that tall fair fellow in front
of her, with his curly beard and hair, broad pink face, and big, blue
eyes, glistening with the brilliancy of porcelain. And what he said was
indeed true--the little one had the same yellow, curly crop of hair,
the same fat cheeks, the same light eyes as himself; in a word, all
the physical characteristics of the race dwelling over yonder. She
herself felt that she was of a different nature, with her heavy locks
of raven hair, which, in her disordered state, were slipping from her
chignon over her shoulders.
'I brought him into the world; he is mine!' she resumed in a tone of
fury; 'he's a French boy who will never know a word of your dirty
German; yes, a French boy who will one day go and kill you all to
avenge those of ours whom you have killed!'
Still clinging to his mother's neck, Charlot had now begun to cry and
call: 'Mammy, mammy, I'm frightened, take me away!'
Thereupon Goliath, who doubtless did not wish to provoke a scandal,
drew back and contented himself with declaring in a stern voice:
'Listen carefully to what I'm going to tell you, Silvine. I know
everything that goes on here. You receive the Francs-tireurs of the
Dieulet Woods, your farm-hand's brother, that fellow Sambuc, a brigand
whom you supply with bread! And I know too that the farm-hand, that man
Prosper, is a Chasseur d'Afrique, a deserter, who belongs to us; and I
am also aware that you are hiding a wounded man, another soldier who on
a word from me would be sent to a fortress in Germany. There! you see
that I am well informed.'
Silent and terrified, she was attentively listening to him now, whilst
Charlot, with his mouth close to her neck, repeated in his faltering,
infantile voice: 'Oh! mammy, mammy, take me away, I'm frightened!'
'Well!' resumed Goliath, 'I'm certainly not malicious, and I've no
liking for quarrels, as you must know, but I swear to you that I'll
have them all arrested, old Fouchard and the others, every one of
them, if you don't give me a favourable answer. And I will take the
little one away and send him to Germany, to my mother, who will be very
pleased to have him; for, since you want to break off everything, he
belongs to me. So you hear me, eh? I shall only have to come and take
him when there is nobody left here. I am the master, mind, and I do
what I please. Come, what is your decision?'
She gave no answer, however; she was pressing the child yet more
closely to her bosom, as though she feared that Goliath might there
and then tear him away from her; and into her large eyes there came an
expression of mingled terror and execration.
'Well,' he resumed, 'I'll allow you three days for reflection. I shall
come for your answer on Monday evening; see that the window of your
room, overlooking the orchard, is left open. If on Monday evening
at seven o'clock I do not find it open, I will have all your folks
arrested the very next day, and I'll come back to fetch the little one.
So till Monday, Silvine.'
He went off quietly, whilst she remained standing there, her head
buzzing with such terrible, such monstrous ideas that it was as though
she had suddenly become an idiot. And thus, throughout the whole day,
a tempest warred within her. At first she instinctively thought of
carrying her child away in her arms, of going off straight before
her, no matter whither. But then, what would become of her when night
fell; how would she be able to earn a living for him and for herself?
Besides, the Prussians scouring the roads might arrest her and possibly
bring her back. Then the idea occurred to her of speaking to Jean,
of warning Prosper and even Fouchard, but again she hesitated and
recoiled. Was she sure enough of their friendship to be certain that
she would not be sacrificed to their tranquillity? No, no, she would
say nothing to anybody; she alone would extricate herself from this
danger, which she herself had created by the stubbornness of her
refusal. But what scheme could she devise? in what manner could she
prevent that misfortune? for all her native honesty revolted at the
thought; she would never have forgiven herself if through her fault a
catastrophe should fall on so many people, and especially on Jean, who
showed himself so kind to little Charlot.
Hours elapsed, the following day went by, and yet she had not been
able to devise any plan. She applied herself to her work as usual,
swept the kitchen, attended to the cows, cooked the _soupe_. And
hour by hour, amid her absolute silence--the frightful silence which
she still stubbornly maintained--her hatred of Goliath ascended with
increasing force to her brain and poisoned it. He was her sin, her
damnation, the serpent who had tempted her to her fall. But for him
she would have waited for Honoré, and Honoré would be still alive and
she would be happy. In what an arrogant tone had he declared that he
was the master? Forsooth it was true, there were no more gendarmes, no
more judges to whom she could appeal for protection--might had become
right. Oh! to be stronger than he was, to seize him when he came, he
who talked of seizing others! She was now entirely bound up in her
child, the flesh of her flesh; his chance father went for nothing, had
indeed never counted. She was not a wife, and when she thought of that
man only a feeling of anger inflamed her, the rancour of one who had
been vanquished. Rather than surrender her child to him she would have
killed the boy and herself afterwards. And she had told him plainly,
she would have liked to have seen that child already grown to manhood
and capable of defending her; and she pictured him in years to come,
armed with a rifle, and riddling the bodies of all that hateful race
over yonder. Yes, indeed, a Frenchman the more, a Frenchman to slay the
Prussians!
However, only one day now remained to her, and she must come to a
decision. An atrocious idea had at the very outset passed through her
poor, ailing, disordered brain: she might warn the Francs-tireurs,
give Sambuc the information he desired. But the idea remained fugitive
and indeterminate, and she brushed it aside as being too monstrous
even for examination; after all, was not that man her child's father?
She could not have him murdered. Then, however, the idea came back
again, slowly enveloping her, growing, little by little, more and more
importunate; and now it was imposing itself upon her with all the
victorious strength of its simplicity and absoluteness. If Goliath were
dead, Jean, Prosper, and Fouchard would have nothing more to fear. She
herself would retain possession of Charlot, and nobody would ever again
challenge her right to the child. And there was something else, too,
something deep-rooted that ascended from the innermost recesses of her
being: a needment to have done with it all, to efface the paternity of
the child by suppressing its father, a savage joy at the thought that
she would emerge from the issue with her transgression amputated as
it were, and as the one parent, the sole possessor of the child, whom
henceforth she would share with no man. All day long did she dwell
upon this plan, no longer possessing the energy to repulse it, but
ever and ever brought back to the details of the ambuscade that would
be necessary, planning and arranging its most trifling incidents. So
now, then, the idea had become a fixed one, an idea which once sown is
bound to germinate, and which one ceases to discuss; and when at last
she began to put this idea to execution, to obey this impulse of the
inevitable, she proceeded on her course like one in a dream, carried
along by another's will, by a force which she had never felt within her
before.
On the Sunday, old Fouchard, who felt uneasy, had sent word to the
Francs-tireurs that their sack of loaves would be carried to the
Boisville quarries, a very lonely spot, not much more than a mile
away; and, as Prosper had other things to see to, he despatched
Silvine thither with a barrow. Was not fate thus deciding the issue?
She interpreted it, indeed, as a decree of Destiny, and spoke out,
giving Sambuc an appointment for the following evening, in a clear,
calm voice, as though she were not able to act otherwise. On the
morrow there were further signs, positive proofs that people and even
things had willed the crime. First, old Fouchard was abruptly summoned
to Raucourt, and left word that they were to dine without him, for
he foresaw that he would be unable to get back before eight o'clock.
Then, too, Henriette, whose turn to sit up watching at the ambulance
only came on Tuesdays, received notice, late in the day, that she must
that evening take the place of the person on duty, who had fallen ill.
Accordingly, as Jean never left his room, no matter what noise he
heard, there only remained Prosper whose intervention was to be feared.
He was certainly not in favour of combining with others to slaughter
a solitary man. However, when he saw his brother and the latter's two
lieutenants arrive at the farm, the disgust with which these rascals
inspired him became blended with his execration of the Prussians. He
was certainly not going to interfere to save one of those dirty rogues,
even though he might be sent to his account in a foul way, and he
preferred to go to bed and bury his head under the clothes, so that he
might not hear anything and might not be tempted to act like a soldier.
It was a quarter to seven, and Charlot seemed determined not to go to
sleep, though as a rule his head fell upon the table as soon as he had
eaten his _soupe_. 'Come, go to by-by, my darling,' repeated Silvine,
who had carried him into Henriette's room, 'you see how comfortable you
are on friend's big bed.'
But the child, enlivened by this treat, tossed about and laughed to
suffocation: 'No, no, stay with me, mammy--play with me, mammy----'
Silvine evinced great patience and gentleness, tenderly caressing the
child and repeating: 'There, go to sleep, darling. Go to sleep to
please mammy.'
And at last, with a laugh on his lips, the youngster fell asleep. She
had not taken the trouble to undress him, and after wrapping him up
warmly she went off without locking the door, knowing that as a rule he
slept very soundly.
Never had Silvine felt so calm, so clear and alert of mind. She
displayed a promptness of decision, and a lightness of motion as though
she were detached from her body and were acting under the impulsion of
that other being within her which she did not know. She had already let
in Sambuc, together with Cabasse and Ducat, cautioning them to observe
the greatest prudence; and she led them into her room and posted them
on the right and left of the window, which she opened, notwithstanding
the intense cold. It was a dark night; the room was but faintly
illumined by the reflection of the snow. A death-like silence lay over
the country-side; long minutes went by. At last, on detecting a light
footfall which was approaching, Silvine went off into the kitchen,
where she seated herself and waited, quite motionless, with her large
eyes fixed upon the candle flame.
Then another long interval elapsed; Goliath prowled around the farm
before he would risk approaching. He fancied, however, that he knew
the young woman well, and had therefore ventured to come with merely a
revolver in his belt. Nevertheless, an instinctive uneasiness warned
him, and he at first pushed the window wide open, and thrust his head
into the room, softly calling: 'Silvine! Silvine!'
As he had found the window open it must be that she had thought the
matter over and was disposed to consent. This greatly pleased him,
though he would have preferred to have found her there to greet him
and allay his uneasiness. But doubtless old Fouchard had summoned her
away to finish some work. 'Silvine! Silvine!' he again called, slightly
raising his voice.
Still no reply, not a sound. And thereupon he sprang over the
window-sill and entered the room, intending to wait there for the girl;
so bitter cold did he find it out of doors.
All at once there was a furious scuffle; the stamping and slipping
of feet resounded amid stifled oaths and gurgling groans. Sambuc
and the others had rushed upon Goliath, but although they were
three to one they could not master the Colossus, whose strength was
increased tenfold by his sense of peril. The cracking of joints, all
the panting effort of gripping and straining, could be heard in the
darkness. Fortunately the spy's revolver had fallen. 'The ropes, the
ropes!' stammered Cabasse in a choking voice, whilst Ducat passed
Sambuc the coil of cord with which they had taken the precaution to
provide themselves. Then came a savage operation, performed to the
accompaniment of blows and kicks, Goliath's legs tied together, to
begin with; then his arms fastened to his sides, then his whole body
bound in a fumbling, random fashion wherever his despairing efforts
would allow, and with so much winding and knotting that at last he was
as though caught in a net, the meshes of which cut into his flesh. He
was still calling out and Ducat kept on repeating: 'Hold your jaw!'
But all at once the cries ceased, for Cabasse had brutally gagged the
prisoner with an old blue handkerchief which he tied behind his head.
Then they at last drew breath and carried him like a parcel into the
kitchen, where they laid him upon the large table beside the candle.
'Ah! the dirty Prussian!' swore Sambuc as he wiped his forehead. 'What
a lot of trouble he's given! I say, Silvine, light another candle so
that we may get a good squint at the pig.'
With dilated eyes and a white face, Silvine had risen to her feet.
She said not a word, but lighted a candle and placed it on the other
side of Goliath's head, which appeared to view brilliantly illumined,
as though between two funeral tapers. And at that moment Silvine's
eyes encountered those of her child's father; he was supplicating
her, frantic, seized with an intense dread; but she did not appear to
understand him; she stepped back to the sideboard and remained standing
there with a frigid, stubborn demeanour.
'The beggar bit half my finger off!' growled Cabasse, whose hand was
bleeding. 'I must do for him.'
He was already raising the revolver which he had picked up in Silvine's
room when Sambuc disarmed him: 'No, no--no humbug, please! We are not
brigands, we are judges. Do you hear, you dirty Prussian? We are going
to try you; and you needn't be alarmed, we respect the rights of the
defence. Only, you won't be allowed to defend yourself, for you'd
simply deafen us if we took your muzzle off. By-and-by, though, I'll
provide you with a lawyer and a fine one too!'
He took three chairs, placed them in a row, and in this way formed
what he called the tribunal, his own place in the centre, with his
lieutenants flanking him on right and left. They all three sat down,
and then he, Sambuc, stood up again and began speaking with a derisive
drawl, which he gradually set aside till at last his voice swelled
with vengeful anger.
'I am here both as presiding judge and as public prosecutor,' said he.
'This is not quite as it should be perhaps, but there are not enough
of us to manage otherwise, so I accuse you of having come to spy on us
here in France, and of paying for the bread which you ate at our tables
with the most filthy treachery. For you were the first cause of the
disaster, you, the traitor, who after the fight at Nouart guided the
Bavarians, at night time, through the Dieulet Woods as far as Beaumont.
Only a man who had long lived in the district could have been so well
acquainted with the smallest paths; and our minds are made up on the
point; you were seen guiding the artillery along those awful forest
pathways which the rain had turned into rivers of mud, and where the
difficulties were so great that eight horses had to be harnessed to
each gun. On looking at those roads to-day one can hardly credit it;
one asks oneself how an army corps ever managed to pass along them.
Had it not been for you and for your crime in coming to amuse yourself
among us and then betraying us, the surprise of Beaumont wouldn't have
taken place, we shouldn't have gone to Sedan, and perhaps we should
then have ended by licking you. And I don't speak of the disgusting
calling which you are still plying, of your cheek in coming back here
in triumph, denouncing and frightening the poor country people. You
are the most ignoble blackguard there can be, and I ask that you be
sentenced to the penalty of death!'
Silence prevailed. Sambuc had seated himself again; at last he said: 'I
appoint Ducat to defend you. He was a process-server once, and would
have made his way in the world had he only been able to bridle his
passions. You see that I deny you nothing and that we behave fairly.'
Goliath, unable to move a finger, turned his eyes upon his improvised
defender. Nothing now appeared alive in him save his eyes, eyes burning
with ardent supplication, under his livid brow, moist with the sweat of
anguish, despite the cold.
'Gentlemen,' began Ducat, rising from his chair, 'my client is
certainly the most disgusting scoundrel there can be, and I would
not undertake to defend him were it not that I have one point to
urge in his favour, which is that all the people of his country are
of precisely the same stamp. Look at him: you can tell by his eyes
that he is greatly astonished at what I say. He has no perception
of his crime. In France we only touch our spies with tongs, whereas
over yonder spying is an honoured profession, a meritorious fashion
of serving one's country. I will even venture to say, gentlemen, that
possibly they are not wrong. Our noble sentiments do us honour, but
they have unfortunately brought us defeat. If I may so express myself,
_quos vult perdere Jupiter dementat_--you will take that into account,
gentlemen.'
Thereupon he sat down again whilst Sambuc resumed: 'And you, Cabasse,
have you anything to say for or against the prisoner?'
'I have to say,' shouted the Provençal, 'that all this is a lot of
unnecessary fuss about settling that beggar's account. I have had no
few worries in my time, but I don't like trifling with legal matters,
it brings bad luck. To death! to death with him!'
Sambuc solemnly rose to his feet again: 'So that is the sentence which
you both pronounce--death?'
'Yes, yes, death!'
The chairs were pushed back and Sambuc approached Goliath, saying: 'You
are sentenced, you are about to die.'
The two candles were burning with tall flames, like death-bed tapers,
on either side of Goliath's distorted face. He was making such an
effort to beg for mercy, to shriek forth the words which were stifling
him, that the blue handkerchief over his mouth became saturated with
foam; and it was a terrible sight indeed--that man reduced to silence,
already as mute as a corpse, and about to die with all that torrent of
explanations and prayers pent in his throat.
Cabasse cocked the revolver. 'Shall I smash his skull?' he asked.
'Oh! no, no!' shouted Sambuc, 'he would be only too glad.' And stepping
up to Goliath he added: 'You are not a soldier; you don't deserve the
honour of being despatched with a bullet. No, you shall die like the
dirty hog of a spy that you are!' Then turning round he said politely:
'By your leave, Silvine, I should very much like to have a tub.'
Silvine had not once stirred during the trial-scene. With rigid
features, she stood there waiting, her mind elsewhere, absorbed in the
fixed idea that had been goading her on for two days past. And when she
was asked for a tub she simply complied with the request, vanished for
a moment into the adjacent store-house, and came back with the large
tub in which she usually washed Charlot's linen.
'There, put it under the table, close to the edge,' said Sambuc.
She placed it as requested, and as she was rising up her eyes again
met Goliath's. In the wretched man's glance a final prayer for mercy
was mingled with an expression of revolt--the revolt of one who would
not die. But at that moment nothing womanly was left in her, nothing
but her unswerving desire for that death which she awaited like
deliverance. She again drew back to the sideboard and remained there.
Opening the table-drawer, Sambuc had just taken from it a large
kitchen-knife, the one that was used for cutting bacon. 'As you are a
hog,' said he, 'I'm going to bleed you like a hog.'
He proceeded in a leisurely manner, discussing the slaughtering with
Cabasse and Ducat in order that it might be accomplished in proper
fashion. And a dispute even arose through Cabasse declaring that in his
part of the country, Provence, pigs were bled hanging head-downwards,
whereat Ducat expressed great indignation, holding this method to be
both barbarous and inconvenient.
'Bring him close to the edge of the table with his head well over the
tub so as not to stain the floor.'
They drew him forward, and Sambuc then set about his task in a quiet,
cleanly fashion. With one stroke of the large bacon knife he slit the
wretched man's throat crosswise, and the blood from the severed carotid
at once began dripping into the tub with a gentle plashing like that
of a fountain. He had made but a small incision, so that only a few
drops spurted forth, impelled by the action of the heart. If, in this
way, death came more slowly, none of its convulsions were seen, for
the ropes were strong and the body remained quite motionless. There
was not a start, not a groan. It was only by the dying man's face that
one could observe the progress of his agony--his face furrowed by
fright, whence the blood departed drop by drop, leaving the skin quite
colourless, as white as linen. And the eyes were emptying also. They
became dim and at last their light departed from them.
'I say, Silvine, we shall want a sponge all the same.'
She gave no answer, however. She stood there as though rooted to the
tiled floor, with her arms all unconsciously folded across her bosom,
and with her throat gripped as by an iron collar. But all at once
she noticed that Charlot was there, hanging to her skirts. No doubt
he had awakened and managed to open the doors, and nobody had seen or
heard him creep into the kitchen like the inquisitive child he was.
How long had he been there, half hidden behind his mother? He also was
looking on. From under his shock of yellow hair, those big blue eyes of
his were watching the dripping blood, the little red streamlet which
was slowly filling the tub. Possibly the sight amused him. Perhaps he
had at first failed to understand it; and then, maybe, some sense of
horror had dawned upon him, an instinctive consciousness that he was
witnessing an abomination. At all events, he suddenly raised a wild cry
of affright: 'Oh! mammy, mammy, I'm afraid--take me away!'
And this cry gave Silvine a shock of such violence that she reeled.
This was the last straw; something gave way, crumbled to pieces within
her; horror was at last sweeping away that strength and excitement,
born of her fixed idea, which had buoyed her up for two days past.
She became a woman once more, burst into tears, and made a mad, wild
gesture as she took up Charlot and distractedly pressed him to her
heart. And then she rushed away with him at a terrified gallop, unable
to see or hear more, feeling nought but an imperious need to go and
annihilate herself, it mattered not where, in the first secluded hole
that she might fall into.
At that same moment Jean had just made up his mind to open his door.
Although as a rule he never troubled himself about the sounds wafted
to him from in and around the house, he had ended, that evening, by
feeling surprised at all the comings and goings and bursts of shouting
that he heard. And it was into his quiet room that Silvine now swept,
dishevelled, sobbing, shaken by such a paroxysm of wretchedness that
he could not at first catch the disjointed words which she stammered
through her clenched teeth. And again and again did she make the
same wild gesture as though to drive away the atrocious scene. At
last, however, Jean understood her, and then he also--in his mind's
eye--beheld the ambuscade, the slaughtering, the mother standing by
with the little one among her skirts, both gazing at the father, whose
blood was trickling from his cut throat; and at the thought of so much
horror he felt icy cold, his heart was fairly overturned with anguish.
Ah! War, abominable War, which transformed all these poor folks into
ferocious wild beasts, which sowed the seed of such fearful hatred--the
son bespattered with his father's blood, perpetuating the enmity of
races, growing up in execration of the paternal family which some day
or other he might perhaps help to exterminate! Ah! the villainous seeds
whence only frightful harvests could spring!
Silvine, who had fallen on a chair, covered Charlot, who clung,
sobbing, to her neck, with frantic kisses, again and again repeating
the same phrase, the one cry that rose from her bleeding heart: 'Ah! my
poor little one, nobody will say any more that you are a Prussian! Ah!
my poor little one, nobody will say any more that you are a Prussian!'
Meantime old Fouchard had arrived and was in the kitchen. He had rapped
on the door like the master he was, and the others had decided they
must let him in. And, truly, the surprise he experienced was scarcely
a pleasant one--that corpse lying upon his table, with the tub full
of blood underneath. He was of anything but an enduring nature, and
naturally he waxed wrathful at the sight.
'Couldn't you do your dirty work out of doors, you filthy beasts?' he
shouted. 'Do you take my house for a manure pit, that you come here and
spoil my furniture in that style?' Then as Sambuc began to apologise
and explain matters, the old fellow, growing alarmed and more and more
irritated, continued: 'What the ---- can I do with your corpse? Do you
think it at all reasonable to stick a corpse in a man's house like
that, without knowing if he can dispose of it? Suppose a patrol came
in, I should be in a nice fix! But you fellows don't care a rap, you
never considered that this business might cost me my skin. Well, curse
you, you'll have to deal with me if you don't carry your corpse away
at once! You hear me! So make haste, take it up by the head, or by the
legs, or in whatever way you like, but don't dawdle, and mind that
there's not so much as a hair of that fellow's head left here in three
minutes from now!'
In the end Sambuc prevailed on Fouchard to provide him with a sack,
though it made the old fellow's heart bleed to give anything away. As
it was, he chose one of the most damaged sacks that he could find,
declaring that one full of holes even was still far too good for a
Prussian. Then Cabasse and Ducat had all the trouble in the world
to get Goliath into the sack, the body being so broad and so long;
and, pack it as they would, they could not prevent the feet from
protruding. At last it was carried into the yard and placed on the
barrow which was used for conveying the bandits' bread to them.
'Upon my word of honour,' declared Sambuc as he went off, 'we are going
to fling him into the Meuse.'
'And mind,' insisted Fouchard, 'mind you fasten two big stones to his
legs so that he mayn't come up again.'
And thereupon the little _cortège_ went off over the pale snow,
vanishing into the pitchy night, unheard, save for a faint, plaintive
creaking of the barrow.
Ever afterwards Sambuc would swear by his father's memory that he had
fastened the two big stones to the legs of the corpse. Nevertheless
it came to the surface again, and three days later the Prussians
discovered it among the rushes at Pont-Maugis; and their fury was
extreme when they pulled out of the sack this dead spy of theirs, who
had been bled like a porker. There were terrible threats, all sorts of
vexatory measures, and perquisitions. Some of the villagers no doubt
let their tongues wag too freely, for one evening a party of soldiers
came and arrested both the mayor of Remilly and old Fouchard on the
charge of keeping up an intercourse with the Francs-tireurs, to whom
Goliath's death was naturally imputed. And in this extremity Fouchard
really cut a fine figure, exhibiting all the stubborn impassiveness of
an old peasant who knows the value of silence and a calm demeanour.
He allowed himself to be marched off, without evincing the slightest
uneasiness, and without even asking for any explanations. The other
folks would soon see how he would dish the Prussians. It was whispered
through the district that he had already made a large fortune by his
dealings with the enemy, bags upon bags of silver, which he had buried
away somewhere, one by one, according as his profits increased.
When Henriette heard of all this dreadful business, she felt terribly
uneasy. Jean, fearing lest he might endanger those who sheltered
him, again wished to go off, though the doctor still considered him
too weak. Henriette, however, insisted upon his remaining another
fortnight; her sadness had become deeper still at the thought that
before long their separation must become an absolute necessity. On the
day of old Fouchard's arrest Jean had managed to escape a like fate
by hiding among the forage in the barn; but was he not in danger of
being taken and led away captive at any moment, in the event of further
perquisitions, which were quite possible? Moreover, Henriette was
anxious concerning her uncle's fate; and she resolved that she would
go to Sedan one morning to see the Delaherches, on whom, it was said, a
very influential Prussian officer was quartered.
'Silvine,' said she, as she was about to start, 'take good care of our
patient; mind you give him his broth at noon and his draught at four
o'clock.'
The servant, wholly absorbed in her daily toil, had become the same
courageous, docile girl as formerly, superintending everything at the
farm in its master's absence, whilst Charlot gambolled and laughed
around her.
'Don't be uneasy, madame,' she answered, 'he shall want for nothing.
I'm here to take good care of him.'