The Invasion of France in 1814 Part 15

He immediately descended the snowy slopes to the little gardens lying above Grandfontaine, which took about ten minutes; he then made his way between two furrows, reached the meadow, and crossed the village square: his two sons, with their arms at their feet, saw him enter the inn. A few seconds after he reappeared on the doorstep and raised his hat.

Fifteen minutes later they had rejoined their father in the great room of the "Pineapple." It was a rather low room with a sanded floor, and heated by a large iron stove.

Excepting the innkeeper Dubreuil, the biggest and most apoplectic landlord in the Vosges, with immense paunch, round eyes, flat nose, a wart on his left cheek, and a triple chin reaching over his collar--with the exception of this curious individual, seated near the stove in a leather arm-chair, Materne was alone. He had just filled the gla.s.ses. The clock was striking nine, and its wooden c.o.c.k flapped its wing with a peculiar sc.r.a.ping sound.

"Good-day, Father Dubreuil," said the two youths in a gruff voice.

"Good-day, my brave fellows," replied the innkeeper, trying to smile.

Then, in an oily voice, he asked them, "Nothing new?"

"Faith, no!" replied Kasper; "here is winter, the time for hunting boars."

And they both, putting their carbines in the corner of the window, within reach, in case of attack, pa.s.sed one leg across the bench, and sat down, facing their father, who was at the head of the table.

At the same time they drank, saying, "To our healths!" which they were always very careful to do.

"Thus," said Materne, turning to the fat man, as though taking up the threads of an interrupted conversation, "you think, Father Dubreuil, that we have nothing to fear from the wood of Baronies, and that we may hunt boar peaceably?"

"Oh, as to that, I know nothing!" exclaimed the innkeeper; "only at present the allies have not pa.s.sed Mutzig. Besides, they harm no one; they receive all well-disposed people to fight against the usurper."

"The usurper? Who is he?"

"Why, Napoleon Bonaparte, the usurper, to be sure. Just look at the wall."

He pointed to a great placard stuck on the wall, near the clock.

"Look at that, and you will see that the Austrians are our true friends."

Old Materne's eyebrows nearly met, but, repressing his feelings, "Oh, ah!" said he.

"Yes, read that."

"But I do not know how to read, Monsieur Dubreuil, nor my boys either.

Explain to us what it is."

Then the old innkeeper, leaning with his hands on the arms of his chair, arose, breathing like a calf, and placed himself in front of the placard, with his arms folded on his enormous paunch; and in a majestic tone he read a proclamation from the allied sovereigns, declaring "that they made war on Napoleon personally, and not on France. Therefore everybody ought to keep quiet and not meddle in their affairs, under pain of being burnt, pillaged, and shot."

The three hunters listened, and looked at each other with a strange air.

When Dubreuil had finished, he reseated himself and said, "Now do you see?"

"And where did you get that?" demanded Kasper.

"That, my boy, is put up everywhere!"

"Well, we are pleased with that," said Materne, laying his hand on Frantz's arm, who had risen with sparkling eyes. "Dost thou want a light, Frantz? Here is my flint."

Frantz sat down again, and the old man continued, good-naturedly: "And our good friends the Germans take nothing from any one?"

"Quiet, orderly people have nothing to fear; but as to the rascals who rise, all is taken from them. And it is just--the good ought not to suffer for the wicked. For example, instead of doing you any harm, the allies would receive you well at their head-quarters. You know the country: you would serve as guides, and you would be richly paid."

There was a slight pause. The three hunters again looked at each other: the father had spread his hands on the table, as though to recommend calm to his sons; but even he was very pale.

The innkeeper, observing nothing, continued: "You would have much more to fear in the woods of Baronies from those brigands of Dagsburg, Sarre, and Blanru, who have all revolted, and wish to have '93 over again."

"Are you sure of that?" demanded Materne, making an effort to control himself.

"Am I sure! You have only to look out of the window and you will see them on the road to the Donon. They have surprised the anabaptist Pelsly, and bound him to the foot of his bed. They pillage, rob, break up the roads. But beware! In a few days they will see strange things.

It is not with a thousand men that they will be attacked, not with ten thousand, but with millions. They will all be hung."

Materne rose.

"It is time for us to be going," said he briefly. "At two o'clock we must be at the wood, and here we are talking quietly like magpies! Au revoir, Father Dubreuil." They rushed out hastily, no longer able to contain their pa.s.sion.

"Think of what I have said," cried the innkeeper to them from his chair.

Once in the open air, Materne, turning round, said, with trembling lips: "If I had not restrained myself, I should have broken the bottle on his head."

"And I," said Frantz, "should have run him through with my bayonet."

Kasper, one foot on the step, seemed about to re-enter the inn; he grasped the handle of his hunting-knife, and his face bore a terrible expression. But his father took him by the arm and dragged him off, saying: "Come, come, we will deal with him later on. To counsel me to betray the country! Hullin told us to be on our guard: he was right."

They went down the street, looking to the right and left with haggard eyes. The people asked among themselves: What is the matter with them?

On reaching the end of the village, they halted, in front of the old cross, close to the church, and Materne in a calmer tone, pointing out the path which winds round Phramond over the heath, said to his sons: "You must take that road. I shall follow the route to Schirmeck. I shall not go too fast, so that you may have time to come up with me."

They parted, and the old hunter, with bowed head, walked on thoughtfully for a long time, asking himself by what inward strength he had been able to keep from breaking the fat innkeeper's head. He said to himself that no doubt it was from fear of compromising his sons.

While thinking over these things, Materne kept continually meeting herds of cattle, sheep and goats, which were being led into the mountain. Some came from Wisch, Urmatt, and even from Mutzig; the poor beasts could scarcely stand.

"Where the devil are you running so fast?" shouted the old hunter to the melancholy herdsmen. "Have you then no confidence in the proclamation of the Austrians and Russians?"

And they angrily answered: "It is easy for you to laugh.

Proclamations! we know what they are worth now. They pillage and rob everything, make forced contributions, carry off the horses, cows, oxen, and carts."

"Nonsense! impossible! What are you talking about?" said Materne.

"You astound me! Such worthy people, such good friends, the saviours of France. I cannot believe you. Such a beautiful proclamation as it was."

"Well, go down to Alsace, and you will see."

The poor creatures went on, shaking their heads in extreme indignation, and he laughed slyly.

The farther Materne advanced, the number of herds became greater.

There were not only troops of cattle bellowing and lowing, but flocks of geese, as far as the eye could reach, screeching and cackling, dragging themselves along the road with wings spread and half-frozen feet: it was piteous to see.

It was worse still on approaching Schirmeck. The people were flying in crowds, with their great wagons loaded with barrels, smoked meats, furniture, women and children. They were las.h.i.+ng their horses almost to death on the road, and screaming in terrified voices: "We are lost; the Cossacks are coming."