"Ha! Cripple! Halt! Come here; I have a ribbon for you; you must
have a magnificent one--one to draw a prize by."
He waved a long black ribbon above his head, and I grew pale despite
myself. But as we ascended the steps of the town-house, a conscript
was just descending; it was Klipfel, the smith of the French gate; he
had drawn number eight, and shouted:
"The black for me, Pinacle! Bring it here, whatever may happen."
His face was gloomy, but he laughed. His little brother Jean was
crying behind him, and said:
"No, no, Jacob! not the black!"
But Pinacle fastened the ribbon to the smith's hat, while the latter
said:
"That is what we want now. We are all dead, and should wear our own
mourning."
And he cried savagely:
"_Vive l'Empereur!_"
I was better satisfied to see the black ribbon on his hat than on mine,
and I slipped quickly through the crowd to avoid Pinacle.
We had great difficulty in getting into the townhouse and in climbing
the old oak stairs, where people were going up and down in swarms. In
the great hall above, the gendarme Kelz walked about maintaining order
as well as he could, and in the council-chamber at the side, where
there was a painting of Justice with her eyes blindfolded, we heard
them calling off the numbers. From time to time a conscript came out
with flushed face, fastening his number to his cap and passing with
bowed head through the crowd, like a furious bull who cannot see
clearly and who would seem to wish to break his horns against the
walls. Others, on the contrary, passed as pale as death. The windows
of the town-house were open, and without we heard six or seven pieces
playing together. It was horrible.
I pressed Catharine's hand, and we passed slowly through the crowd to
the hall where Monsieur the Sub-Prefect, the Mayors, and the
Secretaries were seated on their tribune, calling the numbers aloud, as
if pronouncing sentence of death in a court of justice, for all these
numbers were really sentences of death.
We waited a long while.
It seemed as if there was no longer a drop of blood in my veins, when
at last my name was called.
I stepped up, seeing and hearing nothing; I put my hand in the box and
drew a number.
Monsieur the Sub-Prefect cried out:
"Number seventeen."
Then I left without speaking, Catharine and her mother behind me. We
went out into the square, and, the air reviving me, I remembered that I
had drawn number seventeen.
Aunt Gredel seemed confounded.
"And I put something into your pocket, too," said she; "but that rascal
of a Pinacle gave you ill-luck."
At the same time she drew from my coat-pocket the end of a cord. Great
drops of sweat rolled down my forehead; Catharine was white as marble,
and so we went back to Monsieur Goulden's.
"What number did you draw, Joseph?" he asked, as soon as he saw us.
"Seventeen," replied Aunt Gredel, sitting down with her hands upon her
knees.
Monsieur Goulden seemed troubled for a moment, but he said instantly:
"One is as good as another. All will go; the skeletons must be filled.
But it don't matter for Joseph. I will go and see Monsieur the Mayor
and Monsieur the Commandant. It will be telling no lie to say that
Joseph is lame; all the town knows that; but among so many they may
overlook him. That is why I go, so rest easy; do not be anxious."
These words of good Monsieur Goulden reassured Aunt Gredel and
Catharine, who returned to Quatre-Vents full of hope; but they did not
affect me, for from that moment I had not a moment of rest day or night.
The Emperor had a good custom: he did not allow the conscripts to
languish at home. Soon as the drawing was complete, the council of
revision met, and a few days after came the orders of march. He did
not do like those tooth-pullers who first show you their pincers and
hooks and gaze for an hour into your mouth, so that you feel half dead
before they make up their minds to begin work: he proceeded without
loss of time.
A week after the drawing, the council of revision sat at the town-hall,
with all the mayors and a few notables of the country to give advice in
case of need.
The day before Monsieur Goulden had put on his brown great-coat and his
best wig to go to wind up Monsieur the Mayor's clock and that of the
Commandant. He returned laughing and said:
"All goes well, Joseph. Monsieur the Mayor and Monsieur the Commandant
know that you are lame; that is easy enough to be seen. They replied
at once, Eh, Monsieur Goulden, the young man is lame; why speak of him?
Do not be uneasy; we do not want the infirm; we want soldiers."
These words poured balm on my wounds, and that night I slept like one
of the blessed. But the next day fear again assailed me; I remembered
suddenly how many men full of defects had gone all the same, and how
many others invented defects to deceive the council; for instance,
swallowing injurious substances to make them pale; tying up their legs
to give themselves swollen veins; or playing deaf, blind, or foolish.
Thinking over all these things, I trembled at not being lame enough,
and determined that I would appear sufficiently forlorn. I had heard
that vinegar would make one sick, and without telling Monsieur Goulden,
in my fear I swallowed all the vinegar in his bottle. Then I dressed
myself, thinking that I looked like a dead man, for the vinegar was
very strong; but when I entered Monsieur Goulden's room, he cried out:
"Joseph, what is the matter with you? You are as red as a cock's comb."
And, looking at myself in the mirror, I saw that my face was red to my
ears, and to the tip of my nose. I was frightened, but instead of
growing pale I became redder yet, and I cried out in my distress:
"'Now I am lost indeed! I will seem like a man without a single
defect, and full of health. The vinegar is rushing to my head."
"What vinegar?" asked Monsieur Goulden.
"That in your bottle. I drank it to make myself pale, as they say
Mademoiselle Sclapp, the organist does. O heavens! what a fool I was."
"That does not prevent your being lame," said Monsieur Goulden; "but
you tried to deceive the council, which was dishonest. But it is
half-past nine, and Werner is come to tell me you must be there at ten
o'clock. So, hurry."
I had to go in that state; the heat of the vinegar seemed bursting from
my cheeks, and when I met Catharine and her mother, who were waiting
for me at the town-house, they scarcely knew me.
"How happy and satisfied you look!" said Aunt Gredel.
I would have fainted on hearing this if the vinegar had not sustained
me in spite of myself. I went upstairs in terrible agony, without
being able to move my tongue to reply, so great was the horror I felt
at my folly.
Upstairs, more than twenty-five conscripts who pretended to be infirm,
had been examined and received, while twenty-five others, on a bench
along the wall, sat with drooping heads awaiting their turn.
The old gendarme, Kelz, with his huge cocked hat, was walking about,
and as soon as he saw me, exclaimed:
"At last! At last! Here is one, at all events, who will not be sorry
to go; the love of glory is shining in his eyes. Very good, Joseph; I
predict that at the end of the campaign you will be corporal."
"But I am lame," I cried, angrily.
"Lame!" repeated Kelz, winking and smiling, "lame! No matter. With
such health as yours you can always hold your own."
He had scarcely ceased speaking when the door of the hall of the
Council of Revision opened, and the other gendarme, Werner, putting out
his head, called me by name, "Joseph Bertha."
I entered, limping as much as I could, and Werner shut the door. The
mayors of the canton were seated in a semicircle, Monsieur the
Sub-Prefect and the Mayor of Phalsbourg in the middle, in arm-chairs,
and the Secretary Freylig at his table. A Harberg conscript was
dressing himself, the gendarme Descarmes helping him put on his
suspenders. This conscript, with a mass of brown hair falling over his
eyes, his neck bare, and his mouth open as he caught his breath, seemed
like a man going to be hanged. Two surgeons--the Surgeon-in-Chief of
the Hospital, with another in uniform--were conversing in the middle of
the hall. They turned to me saying, "Undress yourself."