XV

At Sarrebourg we received tickets for lodgings. Mine was for the old

printer Jarcisse, who knew Mr. Goulden and Aunt Gredel, and who made me

dine at his table with my new comrade and bedfellow, Jean Buche, the

son of a wood-cutter of Harberg, who had never eaten anything but

potatoes before he was conscripted. He devoured everything, even to

the bones that they set before us. But I was so melancholy, that to

hear him crunch the bones made me nervous. Father Jarcisse tried to

console me, but every word he said only increased my pain. We passed

the remainder of that day and the following night at Sarrebourg. The

next day we kept on our route to the village of Mezieres, the next to

the Vic, and on to Soigne, till on the fifth day we came to Metz. I do

not need to tell you of our march, of the soldiers white with dust, how

we passed one magazine after another, with our knapsacks on our backs,

and our guns carried at will, talking, laughing, looking at the young

girls as we passed through the villages, at the carts, the manure

heaps, the sheds, the hills, and the valleys, without troubling

ourselves about anything. And when one is sad and has left his wife at

home, and dear friends too, whom he may never see again, all these pass

before his eyes like shadows, and a hundred steps more and they too are

unthought of. But yet the view of Metz, with its tall cathedral and

its ancient dwellings, and its frowning ramparts awakened me. Two

hours before we arrived, we kept thinking we should soon reach the

earthworks, and hastened our steps in order the sooner to get into the

shade. I thought of Colonel Desmichels, and had a little--very little,

hope. "If fate wills!" I thought, and I felt for my letter.

Zebede did not talk to me now, but from time to time he turned his head

and looked back at me. It was not exactly as it was in the old

campaign, he was sergeant, and I only a common soldier; we loved each

other always, but that made a difference of course. Jean Buche marched

along beside me, with his round shoulders and his feet turned in like a

wolf. The only thing he said from time to time was, that his shoes

hurt him on the march, and that they should only be worn on parade.

During two months the drill-sergeant had not been able to make him turn

out his toes, or to raise his shoulders, but for all that he could

march terribly well in his own fashion, and without being fatigued. At

last about five in the afternoon, we reached the outposts. They soon

recognized us, and the captain of the guard himself exclaimed, "Pass!"

The drums rolled, and we entered the oldest town I had ever seen.

Metz is at the confluence of the Seille and the Moselle. The houses

are four or five stories high; their old walls are full of beams as at

Saverne and Bouxviller, the windows round and square, great and small,

on the same line, with shutters and without, some with glass and some

without any. It is as old as the mountains and rivers. The roofs

project about six feet, spreading their shadows over the black water,

in which old shoes, rags, and dead dogs are floating. If you look

upward you will be sure to see the face of some old Jew at the windows

in the roof, with his gray beard and crooked nose, or a child who is

risking his neck. Properly speaking, it is a city of Jews and

soldiers. Poor people are not wanting either. It is much worse in

this respect than at Mayence, or at Strasbourg, or even at Frankfort.

If they have not changed since then, they love their ease now. In

spite of my sadness I could not help looking at these lanes and alleys.

The town swarmed with national guards; they were arriving from Longwy,

from Sarrelouis and other places; the soldiers left and were replaced

by these guards.

We came upon a square encumbered with beds and mattresses, bedding,

etc., which the citizens had furnished for the troops. We stacked arms

in front of the barracks, every window of which was open from top to

bottom. We waited, thinking we should be lodged there, but at the end

of twenty minutes the distribution commenced, and each man received

twenty-five sous and a ticket for lodging. We broke rank, each one

going his own way. Jean Buche, who had never seen any other town than

Pfalzbourg, did not leave me for a moment. Our ticket was for Elias

Meyer, butcher, in the rue St. Valery. When we reached the house the

butcher was cutting meat in the arched and grated window, and was

anything but pleased to see us, and received us very ungraciously. He

was a fat, red, round-faced Jew, with silver rings on his fingers and

in his ears. His thin, yellow-skinned wife came down exclaiming that

they had "had lodgers for two nights before, that the mayor's secretary

did it on purpose, that he sent soldiers every day, and that the

neighbors did not have them," and so on.

But they allowed us to enter after all. The daughter came and stared

at us, and behind her was a fat servant-woman, frizzled and very dirty.

I seem to see those people before me still, in that old room with its

oak wainscoting, and the great copper lamp hanging from the ceiling,

and the grated window looking into the little court. The daughter, who

was very pale and had very black eyes, said something to her mother and

then the servant was ordered to show us to the garret, to the beggars'

chamber, for all the Jews feed and shelter beggars on Friday. My

comrade from Harberg did not complain, but I was indignant. We

followed the servant up a winding stair slippery with filth, to the

room. It was separated from the rest of the garret by slats, through

which we could see the dirty linen. It was lighted by a little window

like a lozenge in the roof. Even if I had not been so miserable I

should have thought it abominable. There was only one chair and a

straw mattress on the floor and one single coverlet for us both. The

servant stood staring at us at the door, as if she expected thanks or

compliments. I took off my knapsack, sad enough as you can imagine,

and Jean Buche did the same. The servant turned to go downstairs when

I cried out: "Wait a minute, we will go down too, we do not want to

break our necks on those stairs." We changed our shoes and stockings

and fastened the door and went down to the shop to buy some meat. Jean

went to the baker opposite for some bread, and as our ticket gave us a

place at the fire we went to the kitchen to make our soup. The butcher

came to see us just as we were finishing our supper. He was smoking a

big Ulm pipe. He asked where we were from. I was so indignant I would

not answer him, but Jean Buche told him that I was a watch-maker from

Pfalzbourg, upon which he treated me with more consideration. He said

that his brother travelled in Alsace and Lorraine, with watches, rings,

watch-chains, and other articles of silver and gold, and jewelry, and

that his name was Samuel Meyer, and perhaps we had had business with

him. I replied that I had seen his brother two or three times at Mr.

Goulden's, which was true. Thereupon he ordered the servant to bring

us a pillow, but he did nothing more for us and we went to bed.

We were very weary and were soon sound asleep. I thought to get up

very early and go to the arsenal, but I was still asleep when my

comrade shook me and said: "The assembly!"

I listened--it was the assembly! We only had time to dress, buckle on

our knapsacks, take our guns, and run down. When we reached the

barracks the roll-call had begun. When it was finished two wagons came

up, and we received fifty ball-cartridges each. The Commandant Gemeau,

the captains, and all the officers were there. I saw that all was

over, that I had nothing to count on longer, and that my letter to

Colonel Desmichels might be good after the campaign was over, if I

escaped and should be obliged to serve out my seven years. Zebede

looked at me from a distance--I turned away my head. The order came:

"Carry arms! arms at will! by file! left! forward! march!"

The drums rolled, we marked step, and the roofs, the houses, the

windows, the lanes, and the people seemed to glide past us. We crossed

over the first bridge and the drawbridge. The drums ceased to beat and

we went on toward Thionville. The other troops followed the same

route, cavalry and infantry.

That night we reached the village of Beauregard, the next night we were

at Vitry, near Thionville, where we were stationed till the 8th of

June. Buche and I were lodged with a fat landlord named Pochon. He

was a very good man and gave us excellent white wine to drink, and

liked to talk politics like Mr. Goulden. During our stay in this

village General Schoeffer came from Thionville, and we went to be

reviewed with our arms at a large farm called "Silvange."

It is a woody country, and we often went, several of us together, to

make excursions in the vicinity. One day Zebede came and took me to

see the great foundry at Moyeuvre where we saw then run bullets and

bombs. We talked about Catherine and Mr. Goulden, and he told me to

write to them, but somehow I was afraid to hear from home, and I turned

my thoughts away from Pfalzbourg.

On the 8th of June we left this village very early in the morning,

returning near to Metz but without entering the city. The city gates

were shut and the cannon frowned on the walls as in time of war. We

slept at Chatel, and the next day we were at Etain, the day following

at Dannevoux, where I was lodged with a good patriot named Sebastian

Perrin. He was a rich man, and wanted to know the details of

everything.

As a great number of battalions had followed the same route before us,

he said, "In a month perhaps we shall see great things, all the troops

are marching into Belgium. The Emperor is going to fall upon the

English and Prussians."

This was the last place where we had good supplies. The next day we

arrived at Yong, which is in a miserable country. We slept on the 12th

of June at Vivier, and the 13th at Cul-de-Sard. The farther we

advanced the more troops we encountered, and as I had seen these things

in Germany, I said to Jean Buche:

"Now we shall have hot work."

On all sides and in every direction, files of infantry, cavalry, and

artillery, were seen as far as the eye could reach. The weather was as

delightful as possible, and nothing could be more promising than the

ripening grain. But it was very hot. What astonished me was, that

neither before nor behind, on the right hand nor on the left could we

discover any enemies. Nobody knew anything about them. The rumor

circulated amongst us that we were to attack the English. I had seen

the Russians, Prussians, Austrians, Bavarians and Wurtemburgers and the

Swedes. I knew the people of all the countries in the world, and now I

was going to make the acquaintance of the English also. If we must be

exterminated, I thought, it might as well be done by them as by the

Germans. We could not avoid our fate--if I was to escape, I should

escape, but if I were doomed to leave my bones here, all I could do

would avail nothing--but the more we destroyed of them the greater

would be the chances for us. This was the way I reasoned with myself,

and if it did me no good it caused me at least no harm.