How much were we to learn that day! At the hospital no one troubled
himself about anything: when every morning you see fifty wounded come
in, and when every evening you see as many depart upon the bier, you
have the world before you in a narrow compass, and you think--
"After us comes the end of the universe!"
But without, these ideas change. When I caught the first glimpse of
the street of Halle,--that old city with its shops, its gateways filled
with merchandise, its old peaked roofs, its heavy wagons laden with
bales, in a word, all its busy commercial life,--I was struck with
wonder; I had never seen anything like it, and I said to myself:
"This is indeed a mercantile city, such as they talk of--full of
industrious people trying to make a living, or competence, or wealth;
where every one seeks to rise, not to the injury of others, but by
working--contriving night and day how to make his family prosperous; so
that all profit by inventions and discoveries. Here is the happiness
of peace in the midst of a fearful war!"
But the poor wounded, wandering about with their arms in slings, or
perhaps dragging a leg after them as they limped on crutches, were sad
sights to see.
I walked dreamily through the streets, led by Zimmer, who recognized
every corner, and kept repeating:
"There--there is the church of Saint Nicholas; that large building is
the university: that on yonder is the _Hotel de Ville_."
He seemed to remember every stone, having been there in 1807, before
the battle of Friedland, and continued:
"We are the same here as if we were in Metz, or Strasbourg, or any
other city in France. The people wish us well. After the campaign of
1806, they used to do all they could for us. The citizens would take
three or four of us at a time to dinner with them. They even gave us
balls and called us the heroes of Jena. Go where we would they
everywhere received us as benefactors of the country. We named their
elector King of Saxony, and gave him a good slice of Poland."
Suddenly he stopped before a little, low door and cried:
"Hold! Here is the Golden Sheep Brewery. The front is on the other
street, but we can enter here. Come!"
I followed him into a narrow, winding passage which led to an old
court, surrounded by rubble walls, with little moss-covered galleries
under the roof and a weathercock upon the peak, as in the Tanner's Lane
in Strasbourg. To the right was the brewery, and in a corner a great
wheel, turned by an enormous dog, which pumped the beer to every story
of the house.
The clinking of glasses was heard coming from a room which opened on
the Rue de Tilly, and under the windows of this was a deep cellar
resounding with the cooper's hammer. The sweet smell of the new March
beer filled the air, and Zimmer, with a look of satisfaction, cried:
"Yes, here I came six years ago with Ferre and stout Rousillon. How
glad I am to see it all again, Josephel! It was six years ago. Poor
Rousillon! he left his bones at Smolensk last year! and Ferre must now
be at home in his village near Toul, for he lost his left leg at
Wagram. How everything comes back as I think of it!"
At the same time he pushed open the door, and we entered a lofty hall,
full of smoke. I saw, through the thick, gray atmosphere, a long row
of tables, surrounded by men drinking--the greater number in short
coats and little caps, the remainder in the Saxon uniform. The first
were students, young men of family who came to Leipzig to study law,
medicine, and all that can be learned by emptying glasses and leading a
jolly life, which they call _Fuchs-commerce_. They often fight among
themselves with a sort of blade rounded at the point and only its tip
sharpened, so that they slash their faces, as Zimmer told me, but life
is never endangered. This shows the good sense of these students, who
know very well that life is precious, and that one had better get five
or six slashes, or even more, than lose it.
Zimmer laughed as he told me these things; his love of glory blinded
him; he said they might as well load cannon with roasted apples, as
fight with swords rounded at the point.
But we entered the hall, and we saw the oldest of the students--a tall
withered-looking man with a red nose and long flaxen beard, stained
with beer--standing upon a table, reading the gazette aloud which hung
from his hand like an apron. He held the paper in one hand, and in the
other a long porcelain pipe. His comrades, with their long, light hair
falling upon their shoulders, were listening with the deepest interest;
and as we entered, they shouted, "_Vaterland! Vaterland!_"
They touched glasses with the Saxon soldiers, while the tall student
bent over to take up his glass, and the round, fat brewer cried:
"_Gesundheit! Gesundheit!_"
Scarcely had we made half a dozen steps toward them, when they became
silent.
"Come, come, comrades!" cried Zimmer, "don't disturb yourselves. Go on
reading. We do not object to hear the news."
But they did not seem inclined to profit by our invitation, and the
reader descended from the table, folding up his paper, which he put in
his pocket.
"We are done," said he, "we are done."
"Yes; we are done," repeated the others, looking at each other with a
peculiar expression.
Two or three of the German soldiers rose and left the room, as if to
take the air in the court. And the fat landlord said:
"You do not perhaps know that the large hall is on the Rue de Tilly?"
"Yes; we know it very well," replied Zimmer; "but I like this little
hall better. Here I used to come, long ago, with two old comrades, to
empty a few glasses in honor of Jena and Auerstadt. I know this room
of old."
"Ah! as you please, as you please," returned the landlord. "Do you
wish some March beer?"
"Yes; two glasses and the gazette."
"Very good."
The glasses were handed us, and Zimmer, who observed nothing, tried to
open a conversation with the students; but they excused themselves,
and, one after another, went out. I saw that they hated us, but dared
not show it.
The gazette, which was from France, spoke of an armistice, after two
new victories at Bautzen and Wurtschen. This armistice commenced on
the sixth of June, and a conference was then being held at Prague, in
Bohemia, to arrange on terms of peace. All this naturally gave me
pleasure. I thought of again seeing home. But Zimmer, with his habit
of thinking aloud, filled the hall with his reflections, and
interrupted me at every line.
"An armistice!" he cried. "Do we want an armistice. After having
beaten those Prussians and Russians at Lutzen, Bautzen and Wurtschen,
ought we not to annihilate them? Would they give us an armistice if
they had beaten us? There, Joseph, you see the Emperor's character--he
is too good. It is his only fault. He did the same thing after
Austerlitz, and he had to begin over again. I tell you, he is too
good; and if he were not so, we should have been masters of Europe."
As he spoke, he looked around as if seeking assent; but the students
scowled, and no one replied. At last Zimmer rose.
"Come, Joseph," said he; "I know nothing of politics, but I insist that
we should give no armistice to those beggars. When they are down we
should keep them there."
After we had paid our reckoning, and were once more in the street, he
continued:
"I do not know what was the matter with those people to-day. We must
have disturbed them in something."
"It is very possible," I replied. "They certainly did not seem like
the good-natured folks you were speaking of."
"No," said he. "Those young fellows are far beneath the old students I
have seen. _They_ passed--I might say--their lives at the brewery.
They drank twenty and sometimes thirty glasses a day; even I, Joseph,
had no chance with such fellows. Five or six of them whom they called
'seniors' had gray beards and a venerable appearance. We sang _Fanfan
la Tulipe_ and 'King Dagobert' together, which are not political songs,
you know. But these fellows are good for nothing."