The Downfall (La Débâcle). Emile Zola
it!'
Jean, who was still seated a few steps away, pricked up his ears; and Lieutenant Rochas, noticing the accent of doubt that quivered in Weiss's wish, stopped short to listen.
'What, do you lack confidence?' Maurice resumed; 'do you think a defeat possible?'
His brother-in-law stopped him with a gesture, his hands trembling, his good-natured face suddenly convulsed and quite pale. 'A defeat! Heaven shield us from it! I belong to this part of the country, you know. My grandfather and grandmother were murdered by the Cossacks, in 1814, and whenever I think of invasion my hands clench instinctively, and I feel inclined to go and fight the enemy in my frock-coat, just as I am! But a defeat—no, no, I won't believe it possible!'
He became calmer, and his shoulders drooped as though he felt oppressed. 'All the same,' he resumed, 'I am not at ease. I know Alsace well; I have just travelled through the province on business, and have seen things which stared our generals in the face, but which they refused to see. We Alsatians certainly desired war with Prussia; we have long been awaiting an opportunity to pay off old scores. But that did not interfere with our friendly intercourse with Baden and Bavaria. We most of us have friends or relatives just across the Rhine. We thought that, like ourselves, they dreamed of curbing the unbearable pride of the Prussians. Calm and resolute as we usually are, we have, nevertheless, been seized with impatience and disquietude for a fortnight past, on seeing how everything has gone from bad to worse. Ever since the declaration of war the enemy's cavalry scouts have been allowed to come and terrify our villages, reconnoitre the country, and cut the telegraph wires. Baden and Bavaria are rising, masses of troops are marching through the Palatinate, and the information that has come in from all sides, from the fairs and the markets, shows that the frontier is menaced. But when the frightened villagers and their mayors come and tell all this to the passing officers, the latter shrug their shoulders and think these peasants are mere poltroons troubled with hallucinations. The enemy is far away! Ah! the truth is we ought not to have lost an hour, whereas days and days go by. What can we be waiting for? For the whole of Germany to fall upon us?'
He spoke in a low, sorrowful voice, as though repeating things that he had long thought out: 'Ah! Germany, I know it well, and the pity is that you others seem to know as little about it as you know of China. Do you remember my cousin Gunther, Maurice, the young fellow who came to shake hands with me last spring at Sedan? He is my cousin on the women's side. My mother and his are sisters; she was married at Berlin, and he is a true Prussian; he hates France. He is now serving as a captain in the Prussian Guards. On the evening when I saw him Off at the railway station—I still seem to hear him—he said to me in that rasping voice of his: "If France ever declares war against us she will be beaten."'
Lieutenant Rochas had, so far, restrained himself, but on hearing this he stepped forward with a furious air. He was a tall, thin fellow, nearly fifty years old, with a long, battered, tanned, smoked face. His huge, hooked nose fell over a large mouth—expressive both of violence and kindliness—above which bristled his coarse grey moustache. 'What the—— are you about,' he thundered, 'discouraging our men like that?'
Without taking part in the dispute, Jean considered the lieutenant to be in the right. Though astonished by the long delays and the prevailing confusion, he had never doubted that they would give the Prussians a fearful thrashing. It was sure and certain, indeed, since he and his comrades had been sent there for no other purpose.
'But I don't want to discourage anyone,' replied Weiss, somewhat taken aback. 'On the contrary, I wish everyone knew what I know, for forewarned is forearmed. But listen, Germany——'
Then, with that sober-minded air of his, he explained his fears: the victory of Sadowa had brought Prussia increased power, a national movement was placing her at the head of the other German States, a vast empire was in progress of formation, men were seized with an enthusiastic, irresistible impulse to secure the unification of the Fatherland. Thanks to the system of compulsory military service the whole nation was up in arms, fully instructed, well disciplined, provided with a powerful war material, trained also to European warfare, and still flushed with the glory of its triumph over Austria. The intelligence and moral strength of this army were also to be noted; nearly all the commanders were young men, and took their orders from a generalissimo who seemed destined to revolutionise the entire art of war, whose prudence and foresight were perfect, and whose perspicuity was marvellous. Then, confronting Germany, Weiss boldly depicted France: the Empire greatly aged, still acclaimed, as witness the Plebiscitum,[7] but rotten at the basis, having weakened love of country by destroying liberty, and having reverted to liberal courses when these could be of no avail but could only accelerate its fall; and exposed, moreover, to crumble away as soon as it ceased to encourage the appetite for enjoyment which itself had fostered. The army, still laden with the laurels of the Crimea and Italy, was certainly splendidly brave; but the system of allowing men to escape service by a pecuniary payment had tampered with its efficiency; and it had been abandoned to the routine of the Algerian school, and was far too confident of victory to make any real effort for proficiency in the new science of war. Finally, the generals, for the most part of indifferent merit, were consumed by rivalry, whilst some were crassly ignorant, and at the head of them there was the Emperor, ailing and hesitating, deceived by others and deceiving himself as to the outcome of this frightful adventure, into which they all plunged like blind men, without any attempt at serious preparation, and amid universal bewilderment and confusion, like that of a scared flock driven to the slaughter-house.
Rochas stood there listening, agape, with his eyes wide open and his terrible nose contracted. Suddenly, however, he made up his mind to laugh, with a huge laugh that distended his jaws from ear to ear. 'What are you cackling there? What does all this humbug mean?' he shouted. 'There's no sense in it; it is too stupid for anyone to trouble his head about. Go and tell it to the marines if you like, but not to me; no, not to me. I've seen twenty-seven years' service!'
So saying, he struck his chest with his clenched hand. The son of a journeyman mason from the Limousin country, Rochas had been born in Paris, and not caring for his father's calling had enlisted when he was only eighteen. A true soldier of fortune, he started off with his knapsack, gaining a corporal's stripes in Algeria, rising to the rank of a sergeant at Sebastopol, and promoted to a lieutenancy after Solferino. Fifteen years of hardship and heroic bravery was the price he had paid to become an officer, but he was so painfully ignorant that it was certain he would never be made a captain.
'Come, sir,' said he to Weiss, 'although you know everything, here's something you don't know. At Mazagran—I was barely nineteen at the time—we were only one hundred and twenty-three men, neither more nor less, yet we held out during four days against twelve thousand Arabs. Yes, indeed, for years and years out there in Africa, at Mascara, Biskra, and Dellys, then too in Khabylia, and later on at Laghouat, if you had only been with us, sir, you would have seen how all those dirty blackamoors skedaddled as soon as ever we appeared. And at Sebastopol, sir—ah! dash it, it can't be said that we had an easy time of it out there. Gales strong enough to tear the very hair out of your head, such bitter cold and ceaseless alerts, and then, at the very end, everything blown into the air by those savages! But all the same we made them dance—dance to our tune in our own frying pan. And then Solferino—you were not there, sir, so why do you speak of it? Ah! it was warm at Solferino—though there fell more water from the sky that day than you have seen fall in all your life—and a nice dressing we gave the Austrians. You should have seen how they ran away from our bayonets, how they galloped and pushed one another aside to run the faster, as if they were on fire!'
He was brimming over with delight, and all the old military gaiety of France rang out in his triumphant laugh. This was the legend—the French trooper marching victoriously all over the world with his sweetheart on one hand and a glass of good wine in the other; the universe conquered whilst singing a drinking refrain. A French corporal and four men, and lo! immense armies of foreigners bit the dust.
But he suddenly thundered out: 'Beaten, France beaten! Those Prussian pigs beat such men as we!' Then stepping up to Weiss he caught hold of a lapel of his coat. His tall, slim, knight-errant style of figure expressed profound contempt for any enemy, no matter who that enemy might be, and supreme indifference as to conditions of time and place.