For several days in succession the remnants of a routed army had been
passing through the City. They were not troops, but disorganized
hordes. The men had long, dirty beards and tattered uniforms; they
walked with a listless gait, without flag nor formation. All seemed
exhausted, worn out, incapable of thought or resolve, marching
only by force of habit and dropping with fatigue as soon as they
stopped. One saw for the most part hastily mobilized men, peaceful
business men and rentiers, bending under the weight of their rifles;
young snappy volunteers, easily scared, but full of enthusiasm,
ready to attack as well as to retreat; then, among them, a few
red trousers, fragments of a division decimated in a great battle;
despondent artillery men aligned with these non-descript infantrymen;
and there and there the shining helmet of a heavy footed dragon
who had difficulty in keeping step with the quicker pace of the
soldiers of the line.
Legions of francs-tireurs with heroic names: "Avengers of
Defeat"--"Citizens of the Tombs"--"Brothers in Death"--passed in
their turn looking like bandits.
Their leaders, former drapers or grain merchants, tallow or soap
dealers, warriors for the circumstance, who had been commissioned
officers on account of their money or the length of their mustaches;
covered with arms, flannel and stripes, they were talking in
a high-sounding voice, discussing plans of campaign, and claiming
that they alone supported on their shoulders agonizing France; as
a matter of fact, these braggarts were afraid of their own men,
scoundrels often brave to excess, but always ready for pillage and
debauch.
It was rumored that the Prussians were going to enter Rouen.
The National Guard who, for the past two months, had been very
carefully reconnoitering in the neighboring woods, at times shooting
their own sentries and getting ready to fight when a little rabbit
rustled in the bushes, had been mustered out and returned to their
homes. Their arms, uniforms, all their deadly apparel, with which
they had recently frightened the milestones along the national
highways for three leagues around, had suddenly disappeared.
The last of the French soldiers had just crossed the Seine to go
to Pont-Andemer by Saint Sever and Bourg-Achard; and following them
all, their general, desperate, unable to attempt anything with such
non-descript wrecks, himself dismayed in the crushing debacle of a
people accustomed to conquer and now disastrously defeated despite
their legendary bravery, was walking between two orderlies.
Then a profound calm, a trembling and silent expectancy hovered over
the City. Many corpulent well to do citizens, emasculated by the
business life they had led, were anxiously waiting for the victors,
fearing lest they might consider as weapons their roasting spits
or their large kitchen knives.
Life seemed to be at a standstill; the shops were closed and the
streets silent and deserted. Sometimes a citizen, intimidated by
this silence, ran rapidly along the walls.
The anguish of suspense made the citizens desire the arrival of
the enemy.
In the afternoon of the day that followed the departure of the
French troops, a few Uhlans, coming from no one knew where, crossed
the City in a hurry. Then, a little later, a black mass came down
the Ste. Catherine Hill, while two other invading waves appeared
on the Darnetal and Boisguillame roads. The vanguards of the three
corps made their junction at precisely the same time in the Hotel
de Ville Square; and, by all the neighboring roads, the German Army
was arriving, rolling its battalions that made the pavements ring
under their heavy and well measured steps.
Orders shouted in an unknown and guttural voice, rose along the
houses which seemed dead and deserted, while behind the closed
shutters, eyes watched these victorious men, masters of the City,
of property and life by the right of war. The inhabitants, in
their darkened rooms, felt the bewilderment caused by cataclysms,
the great bloody upheavals of the earth against which all human
wisdom and force are of no avail. For the same feeling reappears
whenever the established order of things is upset, when security
ceases to exist, when all that is protected by the laws of men
or those of protected nature, is at the mercy of unreasoning and
ferocious brutality. The earthquake crushing a whole nation under
crumbling houses; the overflowing river swirling the bodies of
drowned peasants along with the dead oxen and the beams torn away
from the roofs, or the glorious army massacring those who defend
themselves, taking away the others as prisoners, pillaging in the
name of the sword and offering thanks to God to the thunder of the
guns, are as many appalling scourges which disconcert any belief
in eternal justice, all the trust we were taught to place in the
protection of heaven and the reason of man.
Small detachments knocked at each door and then disappeared in the
houses. It was occupation after invasion. Now the vanquished had
to show themselves nice to their conquerors.
After a while, once the first terror had abated, a new tranquility
settled down. In many houses the Prussian Officer took his meals
with the family. Some were well bred, and out of politeness, showed
sympathy for France and spoke of their reluctance to participate
in the war. People were grateful for such sentiments; furthermore,
they might have needed their protection any day. By being nice to
them they would possibly have fewer men billeted to their houses.
And why hurt the feelings of a man who had full power over them? To
act in that way would be less bravery than temerity--and temerity
is no longer a failing of the citizens of Rouen, as in the days of
heroic defense when their City became famous. Last of all--supreme
argument derived from French urbanity--they said that they could
allow themselves to be polite in their own houses, provided they
did not exhibit in public too much familiarity with the foreign
soldier. On the streets they passed each other as strangers, but
at home they willingly chatted, and every night the German stayed
up later and later, warming himself at the family fire-place.
Even the City was gradually resuming some of its ordinary aspect.
The French were seldom seen promenading in the Streets, but Prussian
soldiers swarmed. Besides, the officers of the Blue Hussars, who
arrogantly rattled their big instruments of death on the pavements,
did not seem to have for the plain citizens enormously more contempt
than the officers of the French Chasseurs who, the year before,
had been drinking in the same Cafés.
There was, however, something in the air, something subtle
and unknown, an intolerable foreign atmosphere like an offensive
odor--the smell of invasion. It pervaded the houses and the public
places, changed the taste of food and made you feel as if you
were traveling in far distant lands, amid barbarians and dangerous
tribes.
The conquerors exacted money, a great deal of money. The citizens
kept on paying; they could afford to pay, they were rich. But the
more a Norman businessman becomes opulent, the more he suffers when
he has to make any sacrifice, or sees any parcel of his property
pass into the hands of others.
And yet, within a distance of two or three leagues from the City,
down the river, in the direction of Croisset, Dieppendalle or
Biessart, boatmen and fishermen often hauled from the bottom of
the water the body of some German swollen in his uniform, killed
with a knife or by a blow of savate, his head crushed by a stone,
or pushed from a bridge into the water. The mud of the river-bed
buried such obscure, savage and yet legitimate vengeances, unknown
acts of heroism, silent attacks more perilous than battles in the
open, and yet without any of the halo and glamour of glory.
For hatred of the foreigner always arms some intrepid persons ready
to die for an idea.
As the invaders, although subjecting the City to their inflexible
discipline, had committed none of the horrors which rumor credited
them with having perpetrated all along their triumphal march, people
became bolder, and desire to do business belabored again the hearts
of the local merchants. Some of them had large interest in Havre,
which was occupied by the French Army, and they tried to reach that
sea port in going by land to Dieppe and proceeding from there by
boat.
They used the influence of the German Officers, with whom they
had become acquainted, and a special permit was secured from the
General in Chief. Now then, a large four-horse coach having been
engaged for this trip, and ten persons having had their names booked
with the driver, it was decided to leave on a Tuesday morning,
before daybreak, to avoid attracting any crowd.
For some time past the frost had hardened the ground, and on that
particular Monday, at about three o'clock, big black clouds coming
from the North brought the snow which fell without interruption
all that evening and during the whole night.
At half past four in the morning, the travelers met in the courtyard
of the Hôtel de Normandie, where they were to take the coach.
They were still half asleep, and shivered with cold under their
wraps. They could not see each other well in the darkness, and
bundled in their heavy winter clothing, their bodies looked like
fat priests in their long cassocks. Two men recognized each other;
a third joined them; they talked:--"I am taking my wife with me--"
said one;--"So am I"--"And I too"--The first speaker continued, "We
shall not come back to Rouen, and if the Prussians should threaten
Havre, we shall cross over to England"--They all had the same plans,
being of similar disposition.
However, the horses were not yet harnessed. A small lantern,
carried by a stable boy, came now and then out of a dark doorway,
and immediately disappeared in another. Horses were stamping the
ground, but their hooves being covered with dung and straw, the
noise of the stamping was deadened; a man's voice talking to the
animals and swearing at them was heard from the rear of the building.
A faint tickle grew soon into a clear and continuous jingling,
rhythmical with the movements of the horses, now stopping, now
resuming in a sudden peal accompanied by the deadened noise of an
iron-shod hoof, pawing the ground.
The door closed suddenly. All the noise ceased. The frozen
passengers stopped talking: they stood motionless and stiff.
An uninterrupted curtain of white, glistening flakes ceaselessly
fell on the ground; it obliterated the forms of things and powdered
them with an icy foam; and in the great silence of the quiet City,
buried under the winter, one could hear nothing save that vague,
nameless rustle of the falling snow--a sensation rather than
a sound--an intermingling of light atoms which seemed to fill the
space and cover the whole world.
The man reappeared with his lantern, leading by a rope a sad-looking
horse who followed him reluctantly. He placed him against the
shaft, fastened the straps, turned around for a long time to make
sure that the harness was properly fixed, for he could use only
one hand, the other holding the lantern. As he was going to bring
the second animal, he noticed that all the travelers were standing
still, already white with snow, and he told them:--"Why don't you
get in the coach? there you would be under shelter at least."
No doubt this had not occurred to them; at once there was a rush
to get in. The three men installed their wives in the rear of the
coach and then got in themselves; one after the other, the remaining
indistinct and snow covered forms took the last seats without
exchanging a single word.
The floor was covered with straw into which the feet sank. The ladies
in the rear, having brought with them small copper foot-warmers,
heated by means of a chemical coal, lighted these apparatuses, and
for some time, in a low voice, they enumerated their advantages,
repeating to each other things which they had not known for a long
time.
At last six horses instead of four having been harnessed to the coach,
on account of the difficult roads and heavier draft, a voice from
the outside asked: "Is everybody in?"--To which a voice replied
from the inside:--"Yes"--And the coach started.
The coach proceeded slowly, slowly, at a snail's pace. The wheels
sank into the snow; the entire body of the carriage groaned with
creaks; the animals were slipping, puffing, steaming, and the
driver's gigantic whip was cracking continuously, flying in every
direction, coiling up and unrolling itself like a thin snake, and
suddenly lashing some rounded back, which then stretched out under
a more violent effort.
Imperceptibly the day was breaking. Those light flakes that a
traveler, a pure blood native of Rouen, had compared to a rain of
cotton, had stopped falling. A murky light filtered through the big,
dark and heavy clouds, which rendered more dazzling the whiteness
of the country where one could see now a line of tall trees spangled
with hoar frost, now a cottage with a snow hood.
Inside the coach, the travelers eyed each other inquisitively in
the melancholy light of the dawn.
Way in the rear, on the best seats, facing each other, Mr. and
Mrs. Loiseau, wholesale wine dealers of the Rue Grand-Pont, were
slumbering.
Former clerk to a merchant who had been ruined in business, Loiseau
had bought his employer's stock and made a fortune. He was selling
very cheap very bad wine to small liquor dealers in the country, and
was considered by his friends and acquaintances as a sharp crook,
a real Norman full of wiles and joviality. His reputation as a
crook was so well established that one evening at the Prefecture,
Mr. Tournel, a writer of fables and songs, a biting and fine wit,
a local literary glory, having proposed to the ladies' whom he
saw rather drowsy, to play a game of "L'oiseau vole," (the bird
steals--flies) the joke flew through the salons of the Prefect and
from there, reaching those of the town, made all the jaws of the
Province laugh for a whole month.
In addition to this unsavory reputation, Loiseau was famous for his
various practical jokes, his good or bad tricks; and nobody could
mention his name without adding immediately:--"Loiseau is merciless;
he spares nobody!"--
Undersized, he had a balloon shaped stomach surmounted by a florid
face between a pair of grayish whiskers.
His wife, tall, stout determined, with a loud voice, a woman of
quick decision, represented order and arithmetic in the business
house which her husband enlivened by his mirthful activity.
Beside them sat, more dignified and belonging to a superior class,
Mr. Carré-Lamadon, a man of considerable standing, a leader in the
cotton business, proprietor of three spinning mills, officer of
the Legion of Honor and member of the General Council. During the
Empire he had been the leader of the friendly opposition, solely
for the purpose of commanding a higher price for his support when
he rallied to the cause which he was fighting daily with courteous
weapons, according to his own expression. Mrs. Carré-Lamadon,
considerably younger than her husband, remained the consolation of
Officers belonging to good families who had been quartered in Rouen.
She was sitting opposite her husband, pretty, slender, graceful,
curled in her furs, and gazed mournfully at the lamentable interior
of the coach.
Her neighbors, Count and Countess Hubert de Bréville, bore one of
the most ancient and noble names of Normandy. the Count, an old
nobleman of aristocratic bearing, endeavored to accentuate by the
artifices of his toilette his natural resemblance to King Henry
IV, who, according to a legend, in which the family gloried, had
caused the maternity of a de Bréville lady whose husband, on account
of his royal connection, had been made a Count and Governor of a
Province.
A Colleague of Carré-Lamadon in the General Council, Count Hubert
represented the Orleanist party in his Department. The story of
his marriage with the daughter of a small ship-owner of Nantes had
always remained mysterious. But as the Countess had a grand air,
entertained better than any other hostess, and was credited with
having been the Dulcinea of one of Louis Philippe's sons, the
whole nobility showed her the greatest consideration, and her salon
remained the most exclusive in the locality, the only one where
old gallantry was conserved and admission to which was not easy.
The wealth of the de Brévilles, all invested in real estate, was
estimated to yield an annual income of five hundred thousand francs.
These six persons occupied the rear of the coach, the side of
wealthy, serene and solid Society, authoritative, honest people
who have religion and principles.
By a strange hazard, all the women were seated on the same side;
and the Countess further had for neighbors two saintly nuns who
fingered long rosaries and mumbled Paters and Aves. One of them
was old and had a face so deeply pitted with smallpox, that she
looked as if she had been shot full in the face by a rapid-firing
gun. The other, very frail, had a pretty and sickly head on
a narrow consumptive chest eaten up by that devouring faith which
makes martyrs and visionaries. Seated opposite the nuns, a man
and a woman attracted the eyes of all the other passengers.
The man, a well known character, was Cornudet the democrat,
the terror of respectable people. Since twenty years he had been
dipping his large red beard in the bocks of all the democratic
Cafés. He had spent, with the help of his brethren and friends, a
good sized fortune inherited from his father, a retired Confectioner,
and he was impatiently waiting for the advent of the Republic
to secure a political position deserved by so many revolutionary
libations. On the fourth of September, possibly as a result of a
practical joke, he had thought that he had been appointed Prefect, but
when he wanted to take up his duties, the clerk, who had remained
in charge of the office, refused to recognize him, which compelled
him to retire. A very good natured chap, and moreover inoffensive
and serviable, he had worked with an incomparable energy to organize
the defense of the City. He had had trenches dug in the plains,
all the young trees in the neighboring forests cut down, traps set
on all the roads, and at the approach of the enemy, satisfied with
his preparations, he had hurriedly returned to town. He thought
now that he would be more useful in Havre where new trenches were
going to be needed.
The woman, one of those called gallant, was famous for her precocious
embonpoint which had earned her the nickname of "Boule de Suif"
(ball of tallow). Short and rotund all over, fat enough to supply
lard, with puffed fingers constricted at the joints and looking
like strings of small sausages, a shiny and tight skin, an enormous
bust which protruded from under her gown, she was yet attractive
and much coveted, her fresh appearance being pleasant to look at.
Her face was like a red apple, a peony bud, ready to bloom forth;
and in the upper part of her face, two magnificent black eyes,
shaded by large thick lashes which cast a shadow into them; in the
lower part, a charming mouth, narrow, moist, ripe for kisses, and
furnished with white and microscopic teeth.
Moreover she was said to be full of invaluable qualities.
As soon as she was recognized, whispers circulated among the
respectable women and the words: "hussy", "public scandal" were
spoken so loud that she raised her head. Then she turned on her
neighbors such a challenging and haughty look, that a great silence
fell on the company and they all lowered their eyes except Loiseau,
who kept on watching her with an exhilarated air.
But soon the conversation was resumed between the three ladies, whom
the presence of this girl had suddenly made friends, almost intimates.
It seemed to them that they should form a sort of "fasces" of their
conjugal dignities in the presence of this shameless mercenary;
for legalized love always looks down on its free brother.
The three men, also drawn closer by an instinct of conservation at
the sight of Cornudet, spoke of money matters with an expression
of contempt for the poor. Count Hubert related the damage done to
his property by the Prussians, the losses that would result from
their stealing of a tenfold millionaire grand Seigneur whom such
reverses would hardly incommodate for one year. Mr. Carré-Lamadon,
who had suffered serious losses in his cotton business, had taken
the precaution of sending six hundred thousand francs to England,
a provision for rainy days which would enable him to meet
emergencies. As to Loiseau, he had found a way of selling to the
French Quartermaster's Office all the low grade wines he had in
stock, so that the Government owed him a tremendous sum, which he
expected to cash in time at Havre.
And all three cast at each other quick and friendly glances.
Although belonging to different social sets, they felt united in the
brotherhood of money, the great freemasonry of those who possess,
who jingle gold when they put their hands in the pockets of their
trousers.
The coach was making such slow headway that at ten o'clock A. M.
they had traveled only four leagues. The men got off three times
and walked up the hills. They began to feel uneasy, because they
expected to have luncheon in Tôtes and now there was hardly any
possibility of getting there before night. Each was watching to
find an inn on the road, when the coach foundered in a snow-drift,
and it took two hours to extricate it.
Appetites grew and spirits fell; no road-house, no wine dealer could
be discovered, the approach of the Prussians and the passage of
the starving French troops having frightened away all the trades-people.
The men went to the farmhouses by the roadside to look for food
but they did not even find bread, for the suspicious peasants had
hidden away their reserve of provisions for fear of being pillaged
by the soldiers who, having nothing to eat, were taking forcibly
what they discovered.
Toward one o'clock in the afternoon Loiseau announced that positively
he felt a big hollow in his stomach. All of them had been suffering
like him for a long time, and the violent craving for food, growing
steadily had killed off the conversations.
From time to time one of them yawned, another imitated him instantly;
and each, in turn, according to his character, manners and social
position, opened his mouth noisily or modestly holding his hand
before the gaping hole from which breath steamed out.
Boule de Suif stooped several times as if looking for something under
her petticoats. She hesitated a second, looked at her neighbors
and the straightened herself up quietly. Faces were pale and drawn.
Loiseau said that he would pay one thousand francs for a knuckle
of ham. His wife made a gesture as if to protest, then she became
calm. She always suffered when she heard of money being squandered,
and did not even understand jokes on that subject. "As a matter
of fact, I don't feel well, said the Count; why did I not think
of taking provisions with me?"--Every one was reproaching himself
with the same omission.
Cornudet, however, had a pocket bottle of rum; he offered some to
his companions; they refused coldly. Loiseau alone accepted a few
drops, and when he returned the bottle, he thanked: "It is good,
all the same! it warms you up and it cheats the appetite."--The
drink put him in good humor and he proposed that they should do as
on the small boat in the song: "eat the fattest of the passengers."
This indirect allusion to Boule de Suif shocked the well-bred
passengers. There was no response. Cornudet alone smiled. The
two good Sisters had ceased to mumble their rosary, and with their
hands thrust down in their wide sleeves, they held themselves
motionless, obstinately lowering their eyes and doubtless offering
up as a sacrifice to God the suffering He had sent them.
At last, at three o'clock, as they were still in the middle of an
interminable plain, without any village in sight, Boule de Suif
bent down quickly and from under her seat pulled out a large basket
covered with a white napkin.
She drew out first a small earthen plate, a fine silver drinking
cup, then a large pot in which two whole chickens, carved in pieces,
had stewed in their own gravy; and one could further see in the
basket other good things wrapped up, pastry, fruit, delicacies,
provisions prepared for a three days' trip, so that the traveler
would not have to touch the food in the inns. The neck of four
bottles emerged from among the food packages. She took the wing of
a chicken and, began to eat it delicately with one of those small
rolls which in Normandy are called "Régence."
All the eyes were attracted in her direction. Then the appetizing
smell filled the coach, making the nostrils dilate and mouths water,
while the jaws under the ears contracted painfully. The contempt
of the ladies for this girl was becoming ferocious, developing
into a desire to kill her or throw her, with her drinking cup, her
basket and her provisions, out of the coach on the snow.
All the while, Loiseau had been devouring with his eyes the pot of
chicken. He said:--"Well, well, the lady has been more provident
than all of us! There are persons who always manage to think of
everything."--She raised her head towards him:--"Would you like
some, Sir?" "It is hard to fast since morning--" And looking
around him he added:--"In moments like this, one is glad to find
obliging people."
He had a newspaper which he unfolded on his knees in order not to
soil his trousers, and with the point of a knife, which he always
carried in his pocket, he picked a leg thoroughly varnished with
jelly, bit it off and chewed it with such evident relish, that
there arose in the coach a heavy sigh of distress.
Boule de Suif, with a humble and gentle voice, proposed to the good
Sisters to share her luncheon. They both accepted instantly and,
without raising their eyes, began to eat very fast, after having
muttered a few words of thanks. Neither did Cornudet decline the
offer of his neighbor, and with the nuns, they improvised a sort
of table by unfolding newspapers on their knees.
Mouths were opening and closing constantly, swallowing, chewing,
gulping ferociously. Loiseau in his corner was very busy eating,
and in a low voice was urging his wife to imitate him. She resisted
for a long time, but, after a cramp, which ran through her stomach,
she yielded. Then her husband, rounding his sentences, asked their
"charming companion" whether she would allow him to offer a small
piece to Madame Loiseau. She replied:--"Why, certainly, Sir!"--with
an amiable smile, and held out the terrine. An embarrassment
occurred when the first bottle of claret was opened: there was
only one drinking cup. They passed it around after wiping it each
time. Cornudet alone, no doubt in a spirit of gallantry, put his
lips on the spot which was still moist from the lips of his neighbor.
Then, surrounded by people who were eating, suffocated by the
emanations of the food, Count and Countess de Bréville, as well as
Mr. and Mrs. Carré-Lamadon, were suffering from that torture which
has perpetuated the name of Tantalus. All at once the manufacturer's
young wife heaved a sigh which caused every one to turn and look
at her; she was as white as the snow outside; her eyes closed,
her head fell forward, and she fainted. Her husband, alarmed, was
imploring everybody's help. All lost their heads, but the oldest
of the two Nuns holding in her arm the head of the unconscious
lady, slipped between her lips the drinking cup of Boule de Suif
and made her swallow a few drops of wine. The pretty lady moved,
opened her eyes, smiled and declared in a dying voice that she felt
better. However, to prevent a recurrence of the fainting, the Nun
obliged her to drink a full cup of claret, and she added:--"It is
just hunger, and nothing else."
Then Boule de Suif, blushing and embarrassed, stammered, looking
at the four passengers who had not yet broken their fast:--"Mon
Dieu!, if I ventured to offer these ladies and gentlemen?" She
stopped short, thinking she had hurt their feelings. Loiseau began
to speak: "Well, by Jove! in cases like this, we are all brothers
and sisters and must help each other. Come, ladies, no ceremony!
accept what is offered; what the devil! do we even know whether we
are going to find a house to shelter us during the night? At the
rate at which we are traveling, we shall not be in Tôtes before
to-morrow noon." They hesitated, none daring to assume the
responsibility of saying "Yes."
But the Count settled the question. He turned to the intimidated
fat girl and assuming his grand aristocratic tone, he said to
her:--"We accept gratefully, Madame."
The first step only costs. Once the Rubicon crossed, they ate
heartily. The basket was emptied. It still contained one paté de
foie gras, one paté de mauvette, a piece of smoked ham, Crassane
pears, a Pont-l'Evêque cheese, assorted petits-fours, and a cup
full of pickled gherkins and onions, Boule de Suif, like all women,
having a predilection for raw things.
One could not partake of the girl's provisions without speaking to
her. Now then, they talked, first with some restraint, then, as
she behaved very well, with more freedom. Mesdames de Bréville
and Carré-Lamadon, who had great "savoir-faire," made themselves
tactfully gracious. Specially the Countess showed that amiable
condescension of great ladies whom no contact can sully, and she
was charming. On the other hand, fat Madame Loiseau, who had the
soul of a gendarme, remained distant, sullen, saying little but
eating much.
Naturally they talked about the war. They told the horrible
things done by the Prussians, the deeds of bravery of the French;
and all these people, who were fleeing, paid homage to the courage
of others. Personal experiences soon followed, and Boule de Suif,
related with unaffected emotion, with that warmth of language often
characteristic of girls of her class in expressing their natural
feelings, how she had left Rouen:--"First I thought that I could
stay," she said; "I had my house full of provisions, and I preferred
to feed a few soldiers then expatriate myself and go God knows
where. But when I saw them, the Prussians, it was too much for
me, I could not stand it. They made my blood boil with rage; and I
wept all day for very shame. Then some were billeted to my house;
I flew at the throat of the first one who entered. And I would
have fixed that one, if they had not pulled me away by the hair.
After that, I had to hide. Finally I found an opportunity to go,
I left, and here I am!"
She was warmly congratulated. She was rising in the esteem of her
traveling companions, who had not shown themselves as fearless.
And in listening to her, Cornudet had the approving and benevolent
smile of an apostle, in the same way as a priest hears a devout
person praise God, for long-bearded democrats have the monopoly
of patriotism just as the men in cassocks have the monopoly of
religion. He spoke, in his turn, with a dogmatic tone, with the
declamatory emphasis learned from proclamations daily posted on
the walls, and he winded up with a piece of eloquence in which he
condemned masterfully that "scoundrel of Napoleon III."
But Boule de Suif became angry immediately because she was a partisan
of the Bonapartes. She turned as red as a cherry and stuttering
with indignation:--"I should have like to see you in his place,
you and your friends! It would have been nice, oh yes! It is you
who betrayed the poor man! If we were ruled by rascals like you,
there would remain nothing else to do for us but leave France."--Impassive,
Cornudet kept a superior and contemptuous smile, but one could feel
that big words were impending, when the Count interposed and, not
without some difficulty, calmed the exasperated girl by proclaiming
authoritatively that all sincere opinions should be respected.
However, the Countess and the wife of the Cotton manufacturer, who
bore in their hearts the unreasoning hatred of all decent people
for the Republic, and that predilection which all women have for
the pomp of despotic Governments, felt irresistibly attracted toward
this dignified prostitute whose opinions were very much like theirs.
The basket was empty. The ten of them had easily consumed its
contents, regretting that it was not larger. The conversation
continued for some time, though it flagged since they had finished
eating.
The night was falling; darkness gradually grew deeper and deeper,
and the cold, felt more during digestion, made Boule De Suif shiver
notwithstanding her corpulence. Then Madame de Bréville offered
her her foot-warmer, the coal of which had been renewed several
times since the morning, and she accepted it willingly, for she felt
her feet frozen. Mesdames Carré-Lamadon and Loiseau gave theirs
to the Nuns.
The driver had lighted his lanterns. They threw a bright gleam
on the cloud of vapor rising from the perspiring backs of the rear
horses, and on both sides of the road the snow seemed to unroll
under the mobile light of the lamps.
Nothing could be distinguished in the coach; suddenly there was
a movement between Boule de Suif and Cornudet; and Loiseau, whose
eyes scanned the darkness, through that he saw the long-bearded
man jump up, as if he had received a noiseless but well aimed blow.
Tiny lights appeared ahead on the road. It was Tôtes. They had
traveled eleven hours which, added to the hours of rest given in
four times to the horses for feeding and breathing, made fourteen
hours. They entered the town and the coach stopped in front of
the Hotel du Commerce.
The door of the coach opened. A well known noise startled all
the passengers; it was the clanging of a scabbard on the pavement.
Then the voice of a German called out something.
Although the coach was at a standstill, nobody got off, as if they
were expecting to be massacred the moment they left the coach.
Then the driver appeared, holding in his hand one of his lanterns
which suddenly lighted the interior of the coach and shoed two rows
of frightened faces, whose mouths were agape and eyes wide open in
surprise and terror.
Beside the driver, in full light, stood a German Officer, a tall
young man, exceedingly thin and blond, laced in his uniform as
tightly as a girl in her corset, and wearing tilted to one side
his flat and waxed cap, which gave him the appearance of a porter
in an English Hotel. His exaggerated mustache, long and straight,
tapering indefinitely on both sides and ending in a single blond
hair, so thin that the point could not be seen, seemed to weigh on
the corners of his mouth and pulling down his cheeks, impressed on
the lips a drooping fold.
In Alsatian French, he invited the travelers to alight, saying in
a stiff tone:--"Will you please get off, ladies and gentlemen?"--
The two good Sisters obeyed first with the docility of holy women
accustomed to submission. The Count and Countess appeared next,
followed by the manufacturer and his wife, then Loiseau pushing in
front of him his larger and better half.
Loiseau, as he got off, told the officer: "Good day, Sir!" prompted
by a feeling of prudence much more than politeness. The Officer,
insolent like all men holding absolute authority, stared at him
and did not reply.
Boule de Suif and Cornudet, although near the door of the coach,
were the last to alight, serious and dignified in the presence
of the enemy. The corpulent girl was trying to control herself
and be calm; the democrat, with a tragic and rather shaky hand,
was tormenting his reddish beard. They wanted to maintain their
dignity, being fully conscious of the fact that at such meetings
each represents a little his country; and both equally revolted by
the supineness of their companions, she tried to show herself more
proud than her neighbors, the honest women, while he, realizing that
he owed an example, continued in his whole attitude his mission of
resistance, first assumed when he mined and destroyed the highways.
They entered the spacious kitchen of the inn, and the German, having
called for and inspected the permit to leave Rouen signed by the
General in Chief, in which were mentioned the names, description
and profession of each traveler, examined them for a long while,
comparing the persons with the written particulars.
He said abruptly: "All right!", and he disappeared.
Then they breathed freely. They were still hungry; supper was
ordered. It required half an hour to prepare it; and while two
servants were apparently engaged in getting it ready, the travelers
went upstairs to have a look at their rooms. They were all in a
long hall ending in a glazed door marked with a speaking number.
They were going to sit down to supper when the proprietor of the
inn appeared. He was a former horse dealer, a stout, asthmatic
man, always wheezing, coughing and clearing his throat. His father
had transmitted him the name of Follenvie.
He inquired:
"Mademoiselle Elizabeth Rousset?"--Boule de Suif started; she turned
around:
--"That is my name!"--
--"Mademoiselle, the Prussian Officer wants to speak to you
immediately."
--"To me?"
--"Yes, if you are Mlle. Elizabeth Rousset?"
She became uneasy, reflected a moment, then declared squarely:--"That
may be, but I shall not go."
There was a movement around her; each discussed and speculated as
to the cause of this order. The Count came near her:
--"You are wrong, Madame, because your refusal might bring considerable
trouble not only to you but also to all your traveling companions.
We should never resist those who are the strongest. Assuredly your
compliance with this order cannot involve any danger; no doubt you
are wanted for some forgotten formality"--
All joined the Count in urging her, pressing her, lecturing her and
finally they convinced her; for all of them dreaded complications
which might result from insubordination on her part. At last she
said:
--"I am doing this for your sake, don't forget it."
The Countess took her hand:
--"And we thank you for it."--
She went out. All waited for her return before they sat down at
the table.
Each was sorry that he had not been called instead of that violent
and irascible girl, and prepared mentally the platitudes he would
utter in case he should be called in his turn.
But at the end of ten minutes, she came back, out of breath, red to
suffocation, exasperated. She was stammering:--"Oh! la Canaille!
la Canaille!"[*]
[*][Note from Brett: This translates, roughly, into "Oh! the rogue!
the rogue!"]
All rushed up to her to find out what had happened, but she did
not say anything, and as the Count was insisting, she replied with
a great deal of dignity:--"No, it does not concern you; I cannot
speak..."
Then they took their seats around a high soup tureen from which
issued a smell of cabbage. In spite of this untoward incident,
the supper was cheerful. The cider was good; the Loiseau couple
and the Sisters drank of it by economy. the others ordered wine.
Cornudet called for a bottle of beer. He had a peculiar way
of uncorking the bottle, making the beer foam, examining it as he
inclined his glass, which he then raised between the lamp and his
eyes in order to appreciate better its color. While drinking,
his long beard, that had kept the color of his favorite beverage,
seemed to shake with joy; his eyes squinted in his effort not to
lose sight of his glass, and he looked as if he were performing
the only function for which he had been created. One would have
thought that in his mind he established a relationship and a kind
of affinity between the two great passions that occupied all his
life: Pale Ale and Revolution; and certainly he could not taste
the former without dreaming of the latter.
Mr. and Mrs. Follenvie were dining at the other end of the table,
the man, rattling like a broken down locomotive, was too short
winded to talk while eating; but the woman never kept silent. She
told all her impressions on the arrival of the Prussians, what they
did, what they said, execrating them first because they cost them
money, and then because she had two sons in the Army. She spoke
especially to the Countess, flattered at the opportunity of talking
with a lady of quality.
Then she lowered her voice to broach delicate subjects, and
her husband interrupted her now and then:--"You better hold your
tongue, Madame Follenvie!"--But she did not pay any attention to
his admonitions, and continued,
--"Yes, Madame, these people do nothing but eat potatoes and pork,
and again pork and potatoes. And you must not think that they are
clean. Oh, No, indeed not!--They soil and dirty everything, permit
me the expression. And if you saw them drill for hours and days!
they are all there, in a field, and march forward and march backward,
and turn this way and turn that way. If at least they cultivated
the land, or worked on the roads, in their country!--But no,
Madame, these soldiers are good for nothing; what a pity that the
poor people should toil and feed them and they should learn nothing
but how to massacre!--I am only an uneducated old woman, it is true,
but in seeing them wear themselves out by marching from morning
till night, I say to myself:--"When there are so many people who
make so many discoveries to serve the people, why should others
take so much trouble to be harmful? Truly, is it not abominable
to kill people, whether they are Prussians, or English, or Polish
or French?--If you take revenge on somebody, who has wronged you,
that is bad enough, because you are condemned to jail, but when our
boys are exterminated like game, with guns, it must be all right,
because decorations are given to the man who kills the most--No,
indeed, I shall never be able to understand it."
Cornudet raised his voice:
--"War is barbarous when you attack a peaceful neighbor; it is a
sacred duty when waged in defense of one's country."
The old woman lowered her head.
--"Yes in self-defense, it is another matter, but shouldn't we
rather kill off all the Kings who go to war for their own pleasure?"
--Cornudet's eyes flashed:
--"Bravo, citoyenne[*]!" said he.
[*][Note from Brett: This translates, roughly, into "citizen"]
Mr. Carré-Lamadon was in deep meditation. Although a fanatical
admirer of illustrious generals, the common sense of that peasant
woman made him think of the opulence that would bring to a country
so many hands now idle and necessarily ruinous, so many forces
kept unproductive, if they were employed for the great industrial
enterprises which, at the present pace, it would take centuries to
complete.
But Loiseau, leaving his seat, went and spoke in a very low
voice to the inn-keeper. The fat man was laughing, coughing, and
expectorating. His enormous stomach shook with merriment at the
jokes of his neighbor, and he bought from him six casks of claret
to be delivered in the Spring, after the departure of the Prussians.
Hardly were they through with supper, they retired, as they were
all tired out.
Loiseau, however, who had kept an eye on what was going on, send
his wife to bed; then he pressed now his ear, now his eye to the
keyhole in order to try and discover what he called "the mysteries
of the hall."--
After about an hour, he heard a rustle, peeped out quickly and saw
Boule de Suif, who looked still more corpulent in a blue cashmere
dressing gown trimmed with white lace. She held a candle in her
hand and made straight for the room at the other end of the hall
bearing a conspicuous number. But a side-door opened, and when,
after a few minutes, she came back, Cornudet, in his shirt-sleeves
and suspenders, was following her. Boule de Suif seemed to deny
him energetically admission to her room. Unfortunately Loisseau
could not hear what they said, but in the end, as they raised their
voices, he was able to catch a few words. Cornudet was insisting
eagerly:
--"Come, now, you are silly! what does it matter to you?"--
She seemed indignant and replied:
--"No, my friend, there are times when we cannot do such things,
and why, here, it would be a shame!"
Apparently, he failed to understand and asked why.--Then she became
excited and speaking louder, she said:
--"Why? Don't you understand why? When Prussians are in the house,
maybe in the next room?" He had a newspaper which he unfolded on
his knees. A hussy who denied herself to the solicitations of a
man while they were near the enemy, must have aroused in his heart
his failing dignity, for, after having kissed her, he went back
stealthily to his room.
Loiseau, quite excited, left the keyhole, and quickly jumped into the
conjugal bed to seek solace near the hard carcass of his espoused.
Then the whole house became silent. But soon there arose from
somewhere, from some indeterminate direction, which might have
been the cellar as well as the attic, a powerful monotonous snore,
a deep and prolonged noise, like the throbbing of a boiler under
pressure--Mr. Follenvie was sleeping.
As it had been decided that they would start at eight o'clock the
next morning, at that hour everybody was in the kitchen; but the
coach, the hood of which formed a roof of snow, stood solitary
in the middle of the yard, without horses and without driver. In
vain a search was made for the latter in the stable, barns, and
coach-house. Then all the men decided to scour the country, and
they set out. They found themselves in the Square, with the Church
at the farther end, and on both sides low houses in which Prussian
soldiers could be seen. The first one they saw was peeling
potatoes; further on, the second was washing the barber's shop.
Another, bearded up to his eyes, was kissing a crying child and
lulling him on his knees to quiet it; fat peasant women, whose
husbands were "in the fighting army," were showing by the language
of signs to their obedient conquerors the work they had to do: chop
wood, prepare soup, grind coffee; one of them was even washing for
his hostess, an impotent grandmother.
The Count, surprised, questioned the beadle who was coming out of
the presbytery. The old Church rat replied:--"Oh, those here are
not bad; they are not Prussians, according to what I hear. They
come from farther off, I don't know exactly where; and they have
all left wives and children at home; they are not so fond of war,
I assure you; I am positive that over there they are mourning for
their men; and war will cause them much distress, as it does us.
Here at least we are not so badly off for the present, because the
soldiers don't harm us and they work as if they were in their own
houses. You see, Sir, we poor people, must help each other. It
is the wealthy ones who make war."
Cornudet, indignant at the cordial understanding established between
the conquerors and the conquered, went away, preferring to shut
himself up in the inn. Loiseau cracked a joke: "They are re-peopling
the country." Mr. Carré-Lamadon, more serious, interjected:--"They
are repairing." But they could not find the driver. Finally they
discovered him in the village Café, fraternizing and drinking with
the orderly of the Prussian Officer. The Count interpolated:
--"Didn't you have orders to have the coach ready for eight o'clock?"
--"Oh yes, but I have received other orders since."
--"What orders?"
--"Not to harness the horses at all."
--"Who gave you that order?"
--"Upon my faith, the Prussian Commander."
--"Why?"
--"I don't know. Go and ask him. I am forbidden to harness the
horses and I don't; that is all there is to it."
--"Did he tell you so himself?"
--"No. Sir, it is the inn-keeper that gave me the order for him."
--"When did he give it?"
--"Last night, just as I was going to bed!"
The three men became quite alarmed.
They called for Monsieur Follenvie, but the servant told them that
on account of his asthma, that gentleman never got up before ten
o'clock. He had even left formal orders not to wake him up earlier,
except in case of fire.
They wanted to see the officer, but it was absolutely impossible,
although he lodged in the inn. Mr. Follenvie only was authorized
to speak to him about civil matters. Then they waited. The women
went up to their rooms and got busy with their trifles.
Cornudet sat down and made himself comfortable in front of the high
fireplace of the kitchen, in which a big fire was blazing. He had
one of the small tables of the Café brought there, ordered a jug
of beer, and drew out his pipe which, among the democrats, enjoyed
a consideration almost equal to his own, as if it had served the
country in serving Cornudet. It was a superb meerschaum pipe,
admirably blackened, as black as its master's teeth, but fragrant,
nicely curved, shining, familiar to his hand, and completing his
physiognomy. And he remained still, his eyes fixed now on the
flame of the fire, now on the foam crowning his jug; and every
time, after he had drunk, he passed, with an air of satisfaction,
his thin, long fingers in his flowing greasy hair, while he sucked
his mustache fringed with foam.
Loiseau, under pretence of stretching his legs, went out to sell
wine to the dealers of the village. The Count and the manufacturer
began to talk politics. They were forecasting France's future. The
one kept faith in the Orleans dynasty, the other expected an unknown
savior, a hero who would rise up when everything was desperate:
a Duguseclin, a Jeanne d'Arc perhaps? or another Napoleon the
Great?--"Ah! if the Imperial Prince had not been so young!"--Cornudet
listening to their conversation, was smiling as a man who holds
the keys to destiny.--His pipe perfumed the whole kitchen.
As it was striking ten o'clock, Mr. Follenvie appeared. He was
immediately questioned, but he only repeated two or three times,
without any variation, the following words:--"The Officer told me
so!"--"Monsieur Follenvie, you will forbid the driver to harness
up the coach of these travelers to-morrow morning. I don't want
them to go without my order. You understand? That is enough!"
Then they wanted to see the Officer. The Count sent in his card
on which Mr. Carré-Lamadon added his own name and all his titles.
The Prussian sent word that the two men would be admitted to speak
to him after he had had his luncheon, that is to say about one
o'clock.
The ladies came down, and they all had a bite, in spite of their
anxiety. Boule de Suif seemed to be sick and prodigiously worried.
They were finishing their coffee, when the orderly came to call
the gentlemen. Loiseau joined the first two, but as they tried to
induce Cornudet to go with them in order to add more solemnity to
their application, he declared proudly that he expected not to have
any intercourse with the Germans; and he resumed his seat near the
fire-place, ordering another jug of beer.
The three men went up and were ushered into the finest room of the
inn, in which the Officer received them, stretched on an armchair,
his feet resting on the mantelpiece, and smoking a long porcelain
pipe, wrapped in a flamboyant dressing-robe, no doubt stolen from
the abandoned residence of some bourgeois lacking in taste. He did
not get up, neither did he greet them nor look at them. He was a
magnificent specimen of the insolence natural to victorious soldiers.
After a few seconds, he said in his defective French:
--"What do you want?"