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M. ZOLA'S STORY OF THE FRANCO-PRUSSIAN WAR. 
 
 With 2 Maps. Crown 8vo., cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 THE DOWNFALL 
 
 ('LA DEBACLE'). 
 By EMILE ZOLA. Translated by E. A. VIZETELLY. 
 
 ' It would probably be no exaggeration to say that, taken as a whole, 
 •' La Debacle " is the most wonderfully faithful reproduction of an historical 
 drama ever committed to writing. "La Debacle" is an appalling record 
 of long-drawn-out misery, profligacy, and military and official incapacity, 
 unbroken by any ray of hope or sunshine. It is a literally true Inferno. 
 ... Of the terribly life-like descriptions of the sufferings of the demoralised 
 army, it is impossible to give the faintest idea in a single review.' — 
 Spectatov. 
 
 '"La Debacle" is full of magnificent work. It contains one of the 
 finest passages of prose in the French language — a passage that even 
 Mr. Swinburne would find it difficult to deny was not superior to Hugo's 
 celebrated charge in " Les Miserables." I could point out many other 
 passages almost as fine.' — George Moore in the ' Fortnightly Revieiv.' 
 
 ' " La Debacle" treats of nothing but horror, yet from cover to cover it 
 does not contain three needlessly repellent sentences. . . . The tale of 
 Sedan has been told a hundred times, but not one of the narrations will 
 have had one-hundredth part of the readers v^ho will make " La Debacle " 
 their text-book for the disaster of the anna tenihle.' — Athenaum. 
 
 • M. Zola has given us a veritable masterpiece. His wonderful powers 
 of observation and of marshalling detail are as prominent here as in " La 
 Terre " ; but they are purified by thought, and the result is a perfectly 
 balanced and artistic entity. " La Debacle" is the prose epic of modern 
 war. . . . M. Zola has made a contribution of the greatest value to history 
 and to literature. He has at length found himself, and will assuredly have 
 
OPINIONS OF THE PRESS— continued. 
 
 his reward, not only in the appreciation of others, but in that greatest of 
 all joys to the creative artist— the consciousness of having worthily treated 
 a great subject.' — Vanity Fair. 
 
 • M. Zola has risen to " the height of his great argument." " La Debacle " 
 is the prose epic of war. . . . Yet, horrible as it is, there has been no 
 straining at horror for horror's sake — perfect sobriety, a classic severity, 
 absence of anything like exaggeration are, indeed, conspicuous throughout 
 the book. Zola has done his work in the grand style, with immense 
 breadth of survey, with dignity and power on a level with his subject. It 
 would have been nothing short of a disaster to literature if this great theme 
 had been unworthily handled. All apprehensions on that score are now 
 set at rest, for " La Debacle " is a masterpiece.' — Speaker. 
 
 ' It has been observed by historians of literature that the losing side in 
 battles usually has the best songs, and this novel confirms the general view. 
 No book of triumph could be so impressive as this stately and sorrowful 
 story of a country's overthrow, in which a thousand touches of literary 
 effect are massed, controlled, and managed with something of the com- 
 manding skill that leads an army to victory.' — Scotsman. 
 
 ' The subject has turned the terribly conscientious transcriber of docu- 
 ments into a poet. . . . The grander side of the awful struggle is never 
 lost sight of, and, in its own way, M. Zola's novel is almost as religious as 
 a Greek tragedy. ... It is impossible not to admire the thoroughly 
 artistic way in which M. Zola has succeeded in blending the personal and 
 national elements in his drama.'— G/as^ou' Hei-ald. 
 
 ' From first to last the reader will be fascinated with M. Zola's brilliant 
 style, for he rises to greater heights of sublimity in " The Downfall " than 
 in any of his other books. ... It is one of the greatest historical dramas 
 ever written. . . . Zola has produced a masterpiece.' — Morning Leader. 
 
 ' That M. Zola attempted a very ambitious piece of work, and that he 
 has carried it out in a very masterly manner, there can be no doubt. The 
 story "catches on" at once, for from the very beginning the reader is 
 bound to fall under the spell of a style which fascinates irresistibly even in 
 the most horrible scenes of the most realistic of the realist's works. . . . 
 It requires an uncommon amount of courage to open a story with a descrip- 
 tion of the much-described camp life of 1870-71, but M. Zola dares it with 
 brilliant success.'— Pa// Mall Gazette. 
 
 LoNDOx: CHATTO & WiNDUS, iii St. Martin's Lane. W.C. 
 
THE DISASTER 
 
PRINCIPAL WORKS 
 
 BY 
 
 PAUL MARGUERITTE. 
 
 JOURS D'EPREUVE. i vol. The story of a small 
 middle-class household. In the midst of poverty and the diffi- 
 culties of daily existence the husband and wife, at first unsympa- 
 thetic, finish by understanding and loving each other. 
 
 LA FORCE DES CHOSES. i vol. A man still young, 
 who is broken-hearted owing to the death of the woman of his 
 choice, insensibly begins to take an interest in life again and to 
 love. 
 
 LA TOURMENTE. i vol. In this story the author 
 depicts the soul-tragedy of a man who pardons his erring wife, 
 and, in his great pity, continues to share life with her. 
 
 MA GRANDE, i vol. A novel having for its heroine 
 an aged sister who, seeing her brother married and happy with 
 his wife, dies of a broken heart. 
 
 LE JARDIN DU PASSE. A volume of impressions 
 and souvenirs. 
 
 BY 
 
 PAUL AND VICTOR MARGUERITTE. 
 
 LA PARIETAIRE. i vol. A collection of short stories, 
 vivid and accurate pictures of sad and comic episodes in life. 
 
 LE CARNAVAL DE NICE, i vol. A short novel, 
 descriptive of the famous carnival of the Cote d'Azur. In the 
 midst of the intoxication of a life of pleasure, there suddenly develops 
 the happiness of two young married people. 
 
 POUM. I vol. A humorous story of the touching and 
 comical caprices of a little boy, from the time of his birth until he 
 goes to college. 
 
 Published by E. Plon, Nourrit et Cie., io, Rue Garanxu-re, Paris. 
 
THE DISASTER 
 
 PAUL AND VICTOR MARGUERITTE 
 
 TRANSLATED 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR 
 
 BY 
 
 FREDERIC LEES 
 
 LONDON 
 CHATTO & WINDUS 
 
 1898 
 
TO THE 
 MEMORY OF OUR FATHER 
 
 GENERAL M ARGUERITTE 
 
 AND 
 
 IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE ARMY 
 
 AND OF 
 
 THE TOWN OF METZ 
 
 P. AND V. M 
 
 Paris, Januavy, 1898. 
 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 On August 30th, 1870, General Margueritte, who, since the 
 opening of the Franco-German War, had shown almost unex- 
 ampled activity and bravery, proceeded to the Monzon plateau, 
 rejoining the routed army of Marshal de MacMahon. A 
 juncture with Bazaine being out of the question, the army 
 proceeded towards Sedan. After camping at Sally, and hold- 
 ing a consultation with General Ducrot, Margueritte reached 
 Illy, near the Illy Calvary, sleeping his troubled sleep on the 
 plateau there, rolled in the same mantle as his comrade in 
 arms. General de GallifFet. When day broke Marshal de 
 MacMahon opened the battle. 
 
 On the night of August 31st, the Margueritte division 
 camped near the small village of Vaux, about three miles 
 north of Sedan. The soldiers who slept that night must have 
 been sound sleepers, for there was a ceaseless crackle of rifles 
 in the darkness, a warning that at dawn the battle would 
 recommence with renewed vigour. Indeed, hardly had the 
 light appeared than the fusillade became brisker, and the 
 booming of cannon could be heard on the opposite side of the 
 Meuse, on the left bank. 
 
 Projectiles were commencing to deal destruction among 
 Margueritte's troops. Drawing his men up in echelons, the 
 General was preparing to charge in the direction of Givonne, 
 when suddenly a whole Prussian army corps appeared from 
 
X INTRODUCTION 
 
 the woods between him and the Belgian frontier, and, after 
 establishing its batteries, opened up a hot fire. General 
 Margueritte charged at the head of the ist and 2nd regiments 
 of Chasseurs d'Afrique. The fight, which had opened at ten 
 o'clock, dragged on for hours. About two o'clock in the 
 afternoon Margueritte was seen to fall suddenly from his 
 horse, with his face to the ground. M. Reverony, his orderly 
 officer, at once dismounted, and, taking the general in his 
 arms, saw that his face was covered with blood, that he was 
 unable to speak, but that he had not lost consciousness. 
 Margueritte remounted his horse, and, supported on each side 
 by Rev6rony and another officer, proceeded under the enemy's 
 fire towards his soldiers. 
 
 * I shall never forget the spectacle of which I was then a 
 witness,' wrote M. Reverony, in a letter to Mme. Margueritte, 
 which is one of the most stirring military narratives ever 
 penned. * As soon as they had recognised the General, conster- 
 nation was depicted on every face, each feeling what he had 
 lost in losing his well-beloved chief. Every head was bent, 
 swords were respectfully lowered, and one cry issued from 
 every throat: ** Long live the General! Let us avenge 
 him ! . . ." The General thanked them with a movement 
 of his head, and still had sufficient strength to point out the 
 direction of the enemy, striving to cry ** Forward !" The 
 regiments made a fresh and murderous charge, and those 
 words, " Long live the General ! Let us avenge him !" were 
 the last which many of those intrepid officers and brave 
 soldiers spoke.' A few days afterwards, namely, on Septem- 
 ber 6th, General Margueritte died at the house of the Duke 
 of Ossuna, at Beauraing, in Belgium. The bullet which 
 killed him entered the left cheek and came out at the right, 
 doing serious injury to the palate and the tongue. 
 
 I do not propose to give a detailed account of the career of 
 this remarkable soldier, the hero who was the father of Paul 
 and Victor Margueritte, whose story of the war of 1870-71 is 
 here presented to English readers in a translation. Such an 
 
INTRODUCTION xi 
 
 account would need a bulky volume, and the few pages at my 
 disposal will only permit me to touch lightly on the subject 
 of his eventful life. 
 
 Auguste Margueritte was the son of Antoine Margueritte, a 
 quartermaster of gendarmes, and he was born on January 17th, 
 1823, at Manheulle, in the department of the Meuse, in the 
 country of Joan of Arc, of Fran9ois de Guise, and of Chevert. 
 His early years were passed in Algeria, in the midst of the 
 wildest adventures. Before he had reached the age of twenty 
 he had served with distinction in a squadron of Moorish 
 gendarmes, notably during the Holy War declared by Abd-al- 
 Kader. When his regiment was disbanded, in 1842, D'Allon- 
 ville, his chief, offered to pay all his expenses if he would 
 come to Paris to study for Saint-Cyr. He preferred, how- 
 ever, to enlist as a private in the 4th regiment of Chasseurs 
 d'Afrique, at Toulon, his bravery and his genius for organiza- 
 tion soon winning for him rank after rank and post after post 
 in Algeria. When he returned to France from that country 
 in 1 86 1, Margueritte held the rank of Lieut. -Colonel, and at 
 the age of forty-seven he was made a General — at the time 
 the youngest officer of that rank in the French army. 
 
 Though General Margueritte was a soldier by profession, he 
 did not love war for itself, rather did he regard it as a necessary 
 evil. As a proof of this may be quoted an extract from one 
 of his letters, written on the eve of an African or Mexican ex- 
 pedition. ' Allons,' he writes, • il faut encore mettre ces gens-la 
 a la raison, et les rosser un peu. Quel ennui !' Margueritte's 
 true r61e was that of an administrator. His knowledge of the 
 language, manners, topography, and religion of Algeria made 
 him respected among the inhabitants, and successful in work 
 in the carrying out of which others would have failed. And, 
 as has been truly said, * his name, his works, his prowess are 
 celebrated there — everybody knows of them. They are handed 
 down from father to son ; in the interior of the country, where 
 the black coats of bureaucrats do not appear, he is becoming, 
 is already, a heroic and legendary figure.' 
 
xii INTRODUCTION 
 
 In addition to possessing remarkable qualities as soldier and 
 administrator, General Margueritte had the faculty of literary 
 expression in a marked degree — a faculty which his sons, Paul 
 and Victor, have inherited. His early reading of the Bible 
 and Plutarch undoubtedly served to form that simple, pure, 
 and clear style which is so noticeable in his * Chasses de 
 I'Algerie ' ; and the directness of those letters — * written under 
 tents at random, on days when out hunting, or upon the eve of 
 battles, upon improvised tables * — letters which his sons have 
 done well to collect. 
 
 Paul Margueritte, who was born at Laghouat, in Algeria, in 
 i860, was a pupil at the Prytanee Militaire de la Fl^che, and 
 has devoted himself to literature from his youth. He made 
 his debut by a short history of General Margueritte, entitled 
 * Mon P^re,' and from 1883 to 1896 he has published twenty- 
 three volumes, the most noteworthy of which are * Jours 
 d'Epreuve,' ' La Force des Choses,' * Ma Grande,' and * La 
 Tourmente ' ; several volumes of short stories, among which 
 may be mentioned ' Le Cuirassier blanc ' ; and a volume of 
 delicate impressions, ' Le Jardin du Passe.' 
 
 Victor Margueritte was born in 1866 at Blidah, in Algeria. 
 His first published work was a small but charming volume of 
 verse, ' La Chanson de la Mer,' which appeared in 1889. He 
 enlisted in the Spahis in 1886, entered the cavalry school at 
 Saumur in 1891, and after four years, during which time he 
 served as an officer in the Dragoons in Paris and at Versailles, 
 he gave in his resignation in order to devote his whole time 
 and thought to literature. 
 
 The collaboration of the two brothers dates nearly three 
 years back, when they started work upon ' Le Desastre,' the 
 most important, up to the present, of their joint productions. 
 Several of their short stories, including * La Parietaire,' are 
 already well known to readers of Cosmopolis. I believe that 
 their first published work appeared in September, 1896. 
 
 For the production^of such a work as * The Disaster,' which 
 is the daily narrative of the first part of the Franco- Prussian 
 
INTRODUCTION xiii 
 
 War, the two authors have been in an exceptionally favourable 
 position. Their sympathy with the subject of war, and the 
 intimate knowledge of the army which the younger brother 
 possesses, have stood them in good stead. Upon the pubHca- 
 tion of such a work as * The Disaster,' it is not unnatural that 
 some comparison should be made with M. Emile Zola's work, 
 ' La Debacle,' though in many ways the two works differ to a 
 considerable extent : it may be as well to point out in what 
 respect. M. Zola has depicted the disorganization of the 
 Chalons army and the Sedan catastrophe ; the Marguerittes 
 narrate the heroic struggle of the army of the Rhine at Borny, 
 Rezonville, Saint-Privat, and Noisseville ; the long agony of 
 the finest troops in the French army, day after day duped until 
 the fatal hour of the capitulation of Metz by Bazaine. In 
 ' La Debacle ' we have a vivid picture of war from the common 
 soldier's point of view ; in ' The Disaster ' we have a descrip- 
 tion of war as seen by the officers. Pierre Du Breuil, the 
 hero of the story, is an officer of the general staff, and an 
 orderly officer of the Minister of War. He is, consequently, 
 at the very centre of the military movement. At the time of 
 the declaration of war against Germany, he has, like nearly 
 everybody else, illusions which by degrees are destroyed as the 
 war continues and the country is invaded. The Marguerittes 
 have described the struggle between the conscience and the 
 sense of duty of this officer, between discipline and revolt ; the 
 brilliant soiree at the palace of Saint- Cloud, the departure of 
 the imperial train for Metz, Paris at the opening of the war, 
 the disorganization of the army during the first few days of the 
 campaign, the battlefields, the ambulances, the feverish excite- 
 ment at Metz, the stagnation of the army in the rain and the 
 mud, the horses disappearing by hundreds to provide food for 
 the soldiers, the inhabitants of the Lorraine town encircled by 
 Prussian troops, and, in conclusion, the heart-rending scenes 
 of the capitulation. 
 
 It will be found that considerable space is devoted to the 
 suspicious conduct of that remarkable man, Marshal Bazaine. 
 
xiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 ' The Disaster ' is, indeed, in many respects a character study 
 of the man whose ambition led to his trial for treason, his 
 sentence to death, and, after his escape from Fort Sainte- 
 Marguerite on August loth, 1874, ^is death in Spain in 
 obscurity. 
 
 Unlike M. Zola's novel, * The Disaster ' contains its lesson ; 
 it is calculated, despite its sadness, to sustain, not to cast down. 
 The author of ' La Debacle ' gives a picture of war upon a 
 majestic scale, after the fashion of a Tolstoi ; Paul and Victor 
 Margueritte belong to a younger school of writers, their de- 
 scriptions of battle scenes being more episodic than those of 
 the novelists already mentioned, so that at times the reader is 
 almost reminded of the work of Stephen Crane in * The Red 
 Badge of Courage.' 
 
 But the Marguerittes have not given us a book wholly 
 devoted to military matters. The affection of Du Breuil's 
 friend Lacoste for his dog Titan and his horses Musette and 
 Conquerant ; the hero's love for Anine, besides many other 
 incidents and characters too numerous to mention, serve to 
 add brightness to a picture which might otherwise have been 
 gloomy and monotonous. Sometimes we come across a de- 
 scription almost Stevensonian in its charm, as, for instance, 
 that which puts before the reader the little cavalry soldier 
 Jubault playing on his flute in a stable at dead of night the air 
 of * Marlbrough s'en va t'en guerre,' the melody striking upon 
 Du Breuil's ears above the silence of the Ban Saint- Martin 
 ' like an ironical and sad streamlet of water.' 
 
 The writing of such a work as ' The Disaster ' has entailed 
 upon its authors an enormous amount of research. During 
 the two years and three months they were occupied in reading 
 their authorities and planning their romance, they came to 
 comprehend how vast was this subject of the Franco-German 
 War, and how well-nigh impossible it was to treat of it 
 adequately in a single volume. They have decided, therefore, 
 to follow up ' The Disaster ' with two other volumes dealing 
 with the same subject — namely, * Les Tron9ons du Glaive ' 
 
INTRODUCTION xv 
 
 and ' La Commune.* This trilogy, each part of which will be 
 complete in itself, is given the general title of ' Une Epoque.* 
 In * Les Tron9ons du Glaive ' the siege of Paris, the army of 
 the North, the army of the East, and the two armies of the 
 Loire, will furnish the authors with material for a careful 
 study of the French soldier and peasant. ' La Commune ' 
 will, for the first time, give an impartial account of a period 
 which embraces many things of which the actors have need to 
 reproach themselves. 
 
 In conclusion, I may add that Paul and Victor Margueritte, 
 while continuing their work on the subject of the 1870-71 war, 
 at once romantic and historic — for the concluding novels of the 
 trilogy ' Une jfepoque ' will be prepared with the same care 
 for historical exactitude as was ' The Disaster ' — are writing 
 a novel on the woman's rights movement, entitled ' Femmes 
 Nouvelles,' which will appear in the Revue des Deux Mondes. 
 They also intend to write for the stage. One of their plays, 
 * L'Impasse,' has been accepted by the management of the 
 Odeon, and the same theatre will shortly produce M. Victor 
 Margueritte's play in verse, ' Le Pire n'est pas toujours 
 certain,' translated from Calderon. M. Victor Margueritte 
 will, in addition, publish in March a volume called ' Au Fil de 
 THeure,' which will contain some poems written by the author 
 since 1866, in the intervals of his military career. 
 
 FREDERIC LEES. 
 
 Paris, January, 1898. 
 
THE DISASTER 
 
 PART I. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Coffee and liqueurs had just been served by the butlers and 
 servants. The majestic footmen, in green liveries, closed the 
 dining-room doors. In the four large rooms from the Salon 
 des Vernet, where their Majesties were, to the Salon Rouge, 
 the guests were scattered in little groups. 
 
 Through the windows opening on to the Emperor's garden 
 came the gentle night breeze mingled with the scent of flower- 
 beds. The flames of the candles in the chandeliers and 
 branched candlesticks were steady, unwavering, and were 
 reflected to infinity in the tall mirrors. The floors glistened. 
 Under the gilded ceiling, upon which were painted mytho- 
 logical triumphs, between the walls sparkling with light, was 
 a movement of decorated uniforms — blue, red, and green ; 
 black coats covered with decorations ; light dresses and bare 
 shoulders. 
 
 Pierre du Breuil was dazed with this state of agitation and 
 fdte. He smiled politely at the last words of Mme. de 
 Vernelay, and bowed without offering a reply. At that moment 
 a stout man came up — a man with a ruddy complexion, white 
 whiskers, and a honeyed manner, which was beUed, however, by 
 his hawk-like eyes. He was one of the honorary Chamberlains 
 of the Emperor. Formerly the creature of Charles X., and 
 the zealous adherent of Louis Philippe, he had succeeded as 
 the crowning-point in his career in becoming attached, in 
 partibiis, to the civil household since its organization. He was 
 
 I 
 
2 THE DISASTER 
 
 disconsolate at now being useless and forgotten, a man eaten 
 up with regret and the necessity of being subordinate. With 
 bitter amiability he asked the Major, who was an orderly 
 officer of the Minister of War, for news of his uncle, the 
 Marquis de Champreux, the Chamberlain on duty. 
 
 ' You are on your way to him. He is with their Majesties.' 
 
 * And where are they ?' asked the stout man precipitately. 
 ' In the Salon des Vernet.' 
 
 He had already gone some distance. Du Breuil smiled. 
 
 The Salon Rouge was filling. After the grave events of the 
 day, it was easy to see that all who had the entry to Court would 
 be at Saint-Cloud this evening. One by one, in fact, showed 
 their faces — those faces upon which could be read dissimula- 
 tion, anguish, curiosity, or joy. 
 
 The library doors being open, Du Breuil crossed the Salon 
 de la Verite. On the right, and to the left, the Salon de 
 Mercure and the Salon de Venus were peopled by new-comers. 
 There was a constant stream of ofiicial personages, members 
 of the diplomatic corps, an ever-increasing crowd of embroidered 
 coats and fresh toilettes from the vestibule of the large apart- 
 ments. 
 
 ' Is that you, Du Breuil ? What are you doing here ?' 
 
 The Major recognised the shrill voice of General Jaillant, 
 one of the directors at the Ministry of War. 
 
 * Nothing, General. I have been dining at the palace.' 
 ' My congratulations.' 
 
 There was a suspicion of patronizing good-will in the 
 General's tone of secret envy. 
 
 ' Well, what fresh in your department ? If the Due de 
 Grammont's speech results in what it forebodes, we shall have 
 some work to do. Everything isn't very roseate for us. The 
 very idea of saying there are people who envy us.' 
 
 ' They are in the wrong. General. The only duty of com- 
 rades is to fight. . . .' 
 
 * Bah ! When one has gone through the Italian campaign 
 like you and I, nothing astonishes one. By-the-by, as you are 
 one of the intimates at Court, can you tell me at what hour 
 their Majesties will cross the saloons ? Ah, Chenot ! how are 
 you, my old friend ?' 
 
 ' Not so bad. Have you heard the news ? Good-evening, 
 Du Breuil.' 
 
 The Major saluted. The two Generals walked away arm-in- 
 arm, talking in a low tone. 
 
THE DISASTER 3 
 
 Du Breuil looked at Chenot's arched back and the red 
 swollen neck which pressed against his gold - embroidered 
 collar. The General walked with an unequal and halting step, 
 the stride which he took with his right leg being longer than 
 that which he took with his left. This action, stamping him 
 as worse than a courtesan, was in imitation of the Emperor. 
 Chenot — the stout, insensible Chenot, but a man possessed of 
 great acuteness under his outward appearance of a Danube 
 peasant — seemed to be on the best of terms at the present time 
 with Jaillant. In reality he execrated him. 
 
 A new arrival had caused some sensation. The publicist 
 Favergues, a tall pallid man of an ugliness at once spirittielle 
 and malicious, who had been at the palace every day of late, 
 jolted up against a fat, bandy-legged senator. 
 
 * Well ?' inquired the latter. 
 
 * The people in the streets are restless. Paris is in a state 
 of fever. The Minister's declaration has resounded like a 
 blow upon a gong. "Vive la Guerre!" is being cried on the 
 boulevard.' 
 
 * Yes,' said a deputy of the Opposition, subventioned by the 
 Government, but who nevertheless betrayed both the Right 
 and the Left ; ' but stocks have gone down more than a 
 franc' 
 
 Du Breuil listened with anxiety. He had left the Ministry 
 of War without knowing a thing. Arriving at the palace 
 late, at the very hour of the invitation to dinner which had 
 been transmitted to him by his uncle, the Chamberlain, he had 
 hardly had time to salute the Marquis de Champreux, much 
 less to inform himself of events. However, like a true soldier, 
 he was a fatalist, and allowed himself to drift. War was in 
 the air. Very well, let the storm break ! 
 
 He approached a group where he recognised the grimacing 
 smile of Mme. de Vernelay, a lady of the palace, who was 
 afflicted with an envy which was kindled by everything, no 
 matter how insignificant. To be envious was to her as natura 
 as the act of breathing to others. Mme. de Vernelay 
 glanced at Du Breuil bitterly. The stout banker, Manhers, 
 roUing his white eyes, was holding forth in a low voice : 
 
 * This teclaration is a crave imprutence. Eurobe vill be 
 tismayed. I haf heard from the Ampassador of a creat power 
 that it would haf been breverable to take diplomatic steps. 
 Nothing is Gained by hurrying madders.' 
 
 The Comtesse de Limal interrupted him with an impertinent 
 
 I — 2 
 
4 THE DISASTER 
 
 imitation of his nasal pronunciation. She was a lady of high 
 colotir, and her manners were distinctly masculine. Her 
 beautiful bare shoulders were like those church steps which 
 have become poUshed by the lips of the faithful. She was a 
 charitable woman ; long prayers on the part of those who 
 desired were never necessary. 
 
 * Hurrying ? What do you mean ? Oh, war disquiets you, 
 Baron ? These Germans deserve a thrashing. And we shall 
 give it them, shall we not, Admiral ?' 
 
 M. La V^ronnech, a little old man with a smooth Breton 
 face, and eyes the colour of sandstone, very sad because of the 
 death one after another of his wife and daughter, replied with- 
 out a sign of enthusiasm : 
 
 * Certainly, madame.' 
 
 ' The Duke spoke admirably !' exclaimed Comte Duclos, 
 one of the Empress's friends, in a decided tone. * Besides, he 
 only acted in conformity with the programme which was 
 decided upon this very morning by the Cabinet.' 
 
 There was a tone of arrogance in everything Comte Duclos 
 said, an arrogance which had something to do with the pro- 
 vocative expression in his face, the hard look in his eyes, and 
 his waxed moustache, or perhaps with the annoyance which 
 his wife's conduct caused him. He adored this superb creature 
 with large, soft eyes, and, it was said, beat her. She deceived 
 him with imperturbable serenity. 
 
 * All the same,' repeated Manhers, ' the pisness has been 
 started too soon.' 
 
 Nobody agreed with him. The Comtesse de Limal shrugged 
 her shoulders and, as General Jaillant was passing, took his 
 arm. As he leaned towards the lady, the General — who in 
 his uniform had a dry and puny appearance — fingered his 
 moustache. According to scandalmongers, he had once 
 ardently loved her. Du Breuil then saw advancing towards 
 him the most redoubtable, the most captious of chatterers, 
 M. Jousset-Gournal, a counsellor at the imperial Court, but he 
 could not avoid meeting him — the man stuck like glue. 
 
 * Well, my boy,' said M. Jousset-Gournal, whose family 
 relation to Du Breuil allowed of this familiarity of speech, * what 
 am I to say to you ?' 
 
 He lingered with delight upon his words ; his gray eyes 
 sparkled ; one would have thought that he was experiencing a 
 similar pleasure to that taken by an executioner who is about 
 to torture his victim. 
 
THE DISASTER 5 k 
 
 * It was inevitable ! Unless one was blind, it was impossible 
 to overlook the fact. The equilibrium of Europe has been 
 destroyed since Sadowa, and sooner or later it was bound to 
 re-establish itself. The occasion is a good one. Southern 
 Germany, where Prussia is by no means honoured, will eagerly 
 seize this opportunity to obtain her independence. What is 
 more, the Northern Confederation will declare itself on our 
 side. Hanover will take up arms. Saxony, it is very evident, 
 will support Austria, which is with us.' 
 
 Du Breuil cast a look of despair to right and left, but nobody 
 came to his aid. M. Jousset-Gournal seized him by one of 
 the olive-shaped buttons of his uniform. 
 
 * Follow me closely,' he said, pulling the button as though 
 Du Breuil's whole attention was concentrated upon it. ' You 
 must understand, I am not bothering myself with what will 
 happen should war be declared ; I have nothing to do with 
 that side of the question. That is the business of you 
 specialists. What really interests me is to see my previsions 
 on the point of being realized. To-day is July 6. Well, four 
 years ago to the very day, when I heard of the success of 
 Prussian arms in the provinces, I said to myself: " There is 
 our future enemy." And, as a matter of fact, on the following 
 day the question of the Grand-Duchy of Luxemburg nearly 
 showed I was right.' 
 
 The Marquise d'Avilar, a dowager with bold features and 
 the piercing eyes of an intriguer, passed them. Du Breuil 
 saluted her. M. Jousset-Gournal stuck to him like a leech. 
 
 * Unless I am very much mistaken, we shall very soon 
 splendidly regild the imperial eagles. A Prussian prince 
 reigns at our very doors. How can we think of such a state 
 of things without indignation ?' 
 
 And in a convinced tone of voice he recited, with due 
 hesitation at each comma, so as to taste the sweets of the 
 phrase, a portion of the speech delivered that day by the 
 Minister from the tribune of the Chamber of Deputies : 
 
 * Respect of the rights of a neighbouring people is not a 
 reason why we should suffer that a foreign power, by placing 
 one of its princes upon the throne of Charles V., should destroy 
 the present equilibrium of forces in Europe to our detriment, 
 and jeopardize the interests and honour of France.' 
 
 He recommenced with vehemence : 
 
 * The Empire is strengthened by the imposing majority of 
 the plebiscite. The will of France has made itself known. 
 
6 THE DISASTER 
 
 By the mouth of seven million five hundred thousand affirma- 
 tions it says to the Sovereign: "Persevere in the way so 
 gloriously opened up by the canon of Sebastopol and Solferino." 
 Dare people pretend that public opinion is disquieted, and 
 that our credit is falling ? Let us dictate our reply from 
 Berlin.' 
 
 A bilious-looking little man came up and cut short the 
 tedious speech which was upon the tip of M. Jousset-Gournal's 
 tongue. 
 
 * What a state of enthusiasm, counsellor ! Considering you 
 are one of the supporters of the Liberal Empire, you are 
 extremely bellicose.' 
 
 ' But after the declaration read by the Minister at the 
 Chamber ' 
 
 * The Duke was energetic, but, after all . . . he is a man 
 who prides himself upon making Napoleons yield simply by 
 squeezing them between his fingers. . . . Now, just think : 
 without alliances in case of war we are lost. Austria ? A 
 country disorganized and without resources. Italy ? That 
 is worse still. Therefore we are alone, going to face united 
 Germany, a country which will rise like a single man. You 
 will then have on the one hand, my dear M. Jousset-Gournal, 
 a strong nation, passionately devoted to its princes, served by 
 numerous troops superlatively well drilled and armed. On 
 the other hand ' 
 
 Clement Bris, the playwright, looked fixedly at Du Breuil, 
 who recollected having seen him at the house of the Princess 
 Mathilde. The two men shook hands. Bris's hand was 
 limp ; contact with it was displeasing. Du Breuil remembered 
 that in the Princess's saloon, open to the elite in literature and 
 art, Bris had charmed him with a number of others by the 
 sobriety, the clearness, the wit, of his conversation, which was 
 as bitter as truth. On this occasion also he submitted to the 
 irritating charm. 
 
 * On the other hand,' continued Bris, and the Com- 
 mander could not deny it, * we have a brave but, nevertheless, 
 an inferior army. Our effective forces are feeble and scattered. 
 No army can enter upon a campaign without a special pre- 
 paration. What is more, the law of 1868, which created the 
 Garde Mobile, has remained a dead letter. Yes, I know very 
 well that we have the chassepot, the mitrailleuse, and that 
 our arsenals are full. ... I am apparently blaspheming.' 
 
 Du Breuil, who was hurt at the manner in which this 
 
THE DISASTER 7 
 
 admirably-informed literary man encroached upon his pro- 
 fession, looked at him and envied the intelligence of his bright 
 eyes. Such truths as he had spoken seemed to him to be a 
 little unpatriotic, and dangerous things to say. As a com- 
 pensation, M. Jousset-Gournal made him feel inclined to laugh. 
 His eyes were so much those of the chatterer, and his lips 
 must ever be on the move. The effect which this stout man 
 produced was one of solemn imbecihty. However, his know- 
 ledge as a jurisconsult was to be admired. 
 
 'Very well. Why not speak?' he malignantly insinuated. 
 * The Emperor does not despise any advice, and you are in 
 a position ' 
 
 Bris shrugged his shoulders, and said : 
 
 * The Emperor knows much more than we do. He doesn't 
 cherish any illusion. Should war become inevitable, he will 
 suffer it, but he does not desire it.' 
 
 * People around him desire it,' said M. Jousset-Gournal, 
 lowering his voice. 
 
 And forthwith he entered upon some interminable anec- 
 dotes. 
 
 * Good-evening, Pierre,' uttered a young and cheerful voice. 
 And a white hand was laid on Du Breuil's shoulder. 
 
 ' Is that you, Maxime ?' 
 
 He recognised a club companion, Vicomte Judin,an Embassy 
 attache. They strolled into another saloon. 
 
 ' Will you take supper with us ?' asked Judin. ' My trotters 
 will take us in an hour to Tortoni's. All our set will be 
 there — big Peyrode, little Bloomfield, and Baron Lapoigne.' 
 
 All of them came up in Du Breuil's mind — Peyrode, with 
 his big red nose ; Bloomfield, with his turnspit legs ; Baron 
 Lapoigne, an old night-bird, decorated with all manner of 
 orders, who was recognised as an arbitrator in duelling affairs, 
 and who was without a rival at cards, which he could shuffle 
 like a conjurer. Judin added : 
 
 ' Nini Deglaure and Rose Noel will be there. Do come. 
 Rose is free, and you know she isn't a girl to be frightened at 
 nothing. You know her motto : ** Short and good." ' 
 
 * No, this evening it is impossible.' 
 
 * Ah, I see you don't want to be unfaithful to a beautiful 
 lady whose name I won't mention, but who, at the Opera- 
 Comique yesterday, was looking for you all the evening from 
 behind her fan.' 
 
 ' Who do you mean ? ' 
 
8 THE DISASTER 
 
 ' That's all right ! Come, now, don't blush. I envy you. 
 The Countess was magnificent. She was the admiration of 
 the whole house, and Mme. Herbeau was wild with jealousy.' 
 
 * Because ' 
 
 * Her faithful one, Zurli, left her to go to the Countess, and 
 the fine gentleman remained standing an entire act in her box, 
 leaning over those admirable shoulders of hers. He admired 
 them with that meditative air of the gourmand which he wears, 
 you know, when he eats macaroni.' 
 
 * The comparison is somewhat ' 
 
 Du Breuil smiled and knit his brows, an action which gave 
 a curious expression to his face. He did not like to hear 
 Mme. de Guionic spoken of. He even avoided thinking 
 too much about her. His affection for her had remained in 
 his clear soul like a pool of water after a storm has passed : 
 delicious glimpses of sky, clouds and trees were reflected in 
 it, but the foundation of it all had been trouble. He admitted 
 the fact with ennui. Frank, upright, thoughtless, at times a 
 child, a man contented to live on from day to day, he looked 
 upon love as either a very frivolous or a very serious thing. 
 Women like Rose Noel had an evanescent, a charming effect 
 upon him. But he saw well enough that deep love, allied 
 as it is to fate, had nothing in common with those pleasant 
 meetings at which that bird of passage, woman, when the 
 billing and cooing was finished, plumed its feathers and flew 
 away. In his liaison with Mme. de GuTonic the thing which 
 he regretted was that he had too long loved her as a friend, 
 not daring to confess the full extent of his desire. The 
 generous gift which she had made of herself had come too 
 late, and was followed with regret, if not with remorse. His 
 sense of loyalty was wounded when he shook the Count by 
 the hand, though he well knew he was Isaure's husband only 
 in name. Such scruples as these he still retained at thirty- 
 three years of age, notwithstanding the fact that he had seen 
 something of life, and that women had always spoiled him. 
 
 He dismissed the thought from his mind, for it had called 
 up other thoughts, also melancholy. Why not, indeed, have 
 supper with Judin and their mutual friends ? He was tempted, 
 but in accepting the invitation he would hurt the feelings of 
 one of his old comrades. Captain Lacoste, Adjutant- Major of 
 the squadron of Lancers of the Guard cantoned at Saint-Cloud, 
 to whom he had written. A camp-bed awaited him in the 
 small whitewashed bedroom on the first floor of the barracks, 
 
THE DISASTER 9 
 
 which lay in the shadow of the palace. They had been 
 friends when children, but, their paths in life having diverged, 
 had rarely had an opportunity of seeing each other. Du Breuil 
 had eagerly seized this opportunity of spending a few hours 
 with him. 
 
 * Well,' said Judin, * I must present my respects to the 
 beautiful Mme. Langlade. Come along !' 
 
 The diamonds of the senator's wife were brought into relief 
 upon her bare skin like jewels in a jewel-case. They sparkled 
 like large drops of dew. Her forehead was prominent, she had 
 superb fair hair, and her under lip protruded somewhat like a 
 split cherry. No sooner did she see the two young men than 
 she shot at them that quick glance with which she usually 
 summed up the youth of a rival or the performance of a 
 thoroughbred. It was a look which had the pretension of 
 infallibility, and, so well does assurance carry the day, it did 
 intimidate important personages. 
 
 'Silence, Chartrain!' she said in a peremptory tone, as she 
 closed her fan with a sharp blow upon the fingers of a stout 
 gentleman. He was ridiculously fat-cheeked and sanctimonious. 
 Round his neck he wore the red tie of a Commander. * How 
 can you retain such a hope ? We shall never have a better 
 opportunity. Ask our lords and masters over there ' — she 
 turned her head towards the saloon where their Majesties were 
 sitting — ' what they think.' 
 
 * It is none the less true that the Government has appealed 
 for the semi-official intervention of the Foreign Office. The 
 Cabinets of Vienna and Florence will also act. As to Senor 
 Olozaga, who represents the Spanish Government here, he 
 this very day wrote a most pressing letter to the Regent, 
 asking him to place Prince Leopold on one side. That gives 
 one hope for a pacific solution of the difficulty.' 
 
 Mme. Langlade shrugged her shoulders, and called Judin 
 and Du Breuil to witness what she said. 
 
 * Speak for yourself, Chartrain — you who are not even a 
 militiaman. We are going to have a war, aren't we, gentle- 
 men ? We must ! It is in the interest of the country and the 
 dynasty.' She again turned her head towards the imperial 
 saloon, which was the object for all eyes, the centre for all 
 preoccupations. * The Empress is exceedingly beautiful this 
 evening.' 
 
 * The Emperor apparently suffers,' said the stout official 
 with respectful fervour. 
 
lo THE DISASTER 
 
 'Oh, the Emperor!' 
 
 Mme. Langlade's drawHng tone contrasted strangely with 
 her former passionate vivacity, and it clearly revealed the 
 secession of a party — that to which she herself belonged. She 
 continued : 
 
 ' How gracious the Prince Imperial is ! What an admirable 
 disposition ! Do you know, he really wants to set off, to place 
 himself in the front rank. A very Napoleon !' 
 
 * Poor child !' exclaimed Chartrain, who, stout and ridiculous 
 though he was, had suddenly assumed the air of a very fine 
 fellow. ' I hope that God will spare him the spectacle of such 
 a horror.' He turned towards Du Breuil, and said very 
 simply, as though in excuse for his words : ' You see, I myself 
 have a son who is going with the army. He is so timid and 
 delicate that his mother and I shall be very anxious.' 
 
 Mme. Langlade eyed him from head to foot. 
 
 ' The very idea ! I also have a son, but he is dying to fight. 
 If he were otherwise disposed I should renounce him.' 
 
 A sadness came upon the fat-cheeked face ; a silent reproach 
 appeared momentarily in his large eyes, which filled with tears. 
 
 Du Breuil was touched. His own family in their chateau in 
 the department of the Creuse rose up before him — the manly 
 face of his father, an officer who had fought in the first African 
 campaign, and who had retired when young with the rank of 
 Major, when his right arm was shattered by a Kabyle bullet ; 
 the sweet, thoughtful face of his mother. They would be 
 getting alarmed at the news — the father stoical, the mother 
 keeping back her tears ; both silent, as was their wont. He 
 knew the full meaning of this silence between two beings who 
 adored each other. His younger brother, a Lieutenant of 
 Zouaves, had fallen a victim to the Mexican expedition. His 
 parents did well never to speak of their dead son ; they never 
 ceased to think of him. Should war break out, he also might 
 disappear. 
 
 For the first time the idea struck him forcibly. The sudden 
 shock caused him to momentarily lose consciousness. The 
 lustres and girandoles, and the flames of the candles, became 
 vacillating and black. When he again saw the light dresses, 
 the bare shoulders, and the uniforms a second afterwards, he 
 felt as though he had just awoke from a dream. He had lost 
 all idea of time. Was it caused by dizziness, fatigue, or simply 
 by the stifling heat ? He mechanically crossed the saloons. 
 Judin was conversing with a toothless old lady. Mme. 
 
THE DISASTER ii 
 
 Langlade questioned a passing Minister. They seemed to be 
 ever so far off. 
 
 Suddenly he found himself behind the large shoulders of 
 Jaillant and De Chenot. They partly hid the wide, open door- 
 way which led into the Salon des Vernet, and above their 
 heads could be seen the sparkle of a lustre, and the large gilt 
 frame of the ' Orage sur Mer.' 
 
 Du Breuil leant forward and saw the Emperor seated, speak- 
 ing to the Marquis de Champreux. The Chamberlain was bend- 
 ing towards him, respectfully nodding his head. A vague smile 
 appeared and disappeared upon the dull face of the Emperor. 
 Slowly he turned towards the group formed by the Empress 
 and the Prince Imperial, around whom, in a circle, were Comte 
 Duclos, General Frossard, and two ladies of the palace. Du 
 Breuil was seized with the fleeting and irrational idea that the 
 Sovereign felt his isolation. His heavy face, upon which silent 
 resignation was stamped, was puffed out under the eyes ; the 
 corners of the mouth were drawn in, and his long gray hair 
 hung down like a symbol of old age. A tired look was in 
 his eyes. When at table, Du Breuil had felt a sense of 
 uneasiness at the heavy fixedness of that look, and he imagined 
 he could read in it the paralysis of powerless goodwill, the 
 clairvoyance of a mind disabused, and like that semi-lethargy 
 upon which fatality has placed its mark. Suffering caused by 
 the cruel ailment, on the subject of which the most intimate 
 at Court avoided speaking, had given the august face a 
 harassed appearance, which indefinitely disquieted him. 
 
 Prince Louis approached his father. He was a slender 
 young man, and his black dress-coat, his white turn-down collar, 
 his fair hair, and his bright eyes, gave him the look of a young 
 Enghshman. The Emperor looked at him as he approached 
 with grave tenderness, and a peaceful, happy smile upon his 
 face. He felt that he was no longer isolated. 
 
 A sense of shame came over Du Breuil, and, as though his 
 curiosity was indelicate, he turned away his eyes. At the 
 same moment he heard Jaillant whisper into De Chenot's ear : 
 
 ' Not very brilliant this evening. . . .' 
 
 They turned round, and, upon seeing him, were silent. He 
 could not exactly make out what he experienced ; it was a 
 feeling of something very solemn and very sad. 
 
 The Marquis de Champreux left the saloon to look for 
 M. Favergues, for whom the Emperor had inquired. The name 
 of the publicist was whispered from person to person, and, like 
 
12 THE DISASTER 
 
 a train of powder, reached the owner in a corner of the room 
 where he was conversing with Mme. d'Avilar and the banker 
 Manhers. He rushed forward in the midst of the envious and 
 smiling people, the former servile, the latter malicious. It was 
 Favergues's newspaper which directed opinion. Mme. Lang- 
 lade stopped the Marquis de Champreux as he was passing 
 her. The Marquis, still a fine-looking man, but clothed with 
 importance and exaggerated British sluggishness, was the 
 possessor of the highest domestic virtues. His irreproachable 
 dress and his tact set off one of those agreeable but selfish 
 egoistic natures which protect men from all disagreeable 
 emotions. His life had been a continued model of nice per- 
 ception. His motto was * Just enough.' Even when zealous 
 he exhibited prudence. 
 
 Du Breuil, accidentally elbowed by someone near him, again 
 turned his head towards the Salon des Vernet. He saw the 
 Emperor proceeding with heavy step to his private rooms, his 
 head upon his breast, and his back slightly bowed, followed 
 by Favergues. The sight reminded him that time was passing, 
 and that the destinies of this ruler of France and of the country 
 itself were at stake. 
 
 How depressed the Emperor was ! On the eve of a pro- 
 bable war, that seemed to him regrettable. But the glorious 
 past was a sufficient answer for the future. Recollections 
 crowded upon him. The victorious Empire greeted with 
 trumpet-blasts and shouts ; that radiant and magnificent return 
 of the troops from Italy, in August, 1859: the streets and 
 the showers of flowers, the horses covered with garlands, the 
 bayonets decorated with bouquets, and, behind the trumpets, 
 ahead of the wounded, the Emperor Napoleon, alone, pre- 
 ceding the army. He saw him again on the Place Vendome, 
 seated motionless upon his chestnut horse, sword in hand, the 
 grand red cordon saltire-wise. He heard the tremendous huzzas 
 from the stands, the shouts, the delirious cheering of the 
 crowd. . . . Then, again, in June, 1867 — those were always 
 summer fetes, with a clear blue sky and an unclouded sun — 
 the Longchamps review, when the whole of the Guard, 
 regiments from the four corners of France, one hundred 
 thousand soldiers, were massed on the Boulogne plain, and 
 an immense crowd of spectators filled the amphitheatre of 
 Suresnes. In the midst of great silence, following upon the 
 salutes from Mont Val6rien, the Emperor, between the Tzar 
 and the King of Prussia, advanced upon his black thorough- 
 
THE DISASTER 
 
 13 
 
 bred, ablaze with gilding. One hundred and one cannon 
 roared out, and the sound of prolonged cheering rose towards 
 the blue sky. . . . 
 
 The Marquis de Champreux, bowing to this one, smiling to 
 that, and, further on, straightening his figure to its full height, 
 came towards Du Breuil, who said to him, somewhat ironically : 
 
 ' Well, uncle, what decision does M. Favergues come to ? 
 Shall we have to pack our kits ?' 
 
 The Chamberlain placed a finger upon his lips and raised 
 his eyes towards the ceiling. His silence implied an infinity 
 of secrets ; the fate of Europe seemed to hang upon his lips. 
 Du Breuil's mind intuitively conceived all those great and 
 small mysteries — the most serious political mi-dit, as well as 
 the most petty details of the wardrobe — which for years past 
 had been hidden in the old beau's official brain. The Marquis 
 de Champreux held out his hand to him, a white hand, with 
 nails so neat that people said he placed sheaths over them 
 every evening. 
 
 * Good-bye, if I don't see you again soon.* 
 
 He glided with suppleness and firmness into the adjoining 
 saloon. Detained by M. Jousset-Gournal, he said : 
 
 ' Wait awhile. Her Majesty the Empress will shortly pass 
 into the saloons.' 
 
 Du Breuil felt behind him a breath of night wind. He 
 leaned against the side of one of the high windows and looked 
 out upon the park, as black as ink, and at the sky, dotted with 
 stars. The penetrating scent from the flower-beds carried him 
 back to the conclusion of dinner, when he had also deeply 
 inhaled that odour, deUcate and mysterious as the presence 
 of woman. He recollected his arrival at Saint-Cloud, and his 
 presentation to their Majesties. Certain details, such as the 
 conversation, the Emperor's lack of appetite — he hardly 
 touched the dishes placed before him by his pages — and the 
 vivacity with which the Empress rose from table, came back 
 to him. That dinner was an exquisite and flattering impres- 
 sion, and he would retain the remembrance of it all his life. 
 He was content, upon the whole, at not having cut a bad 
 figure, with his stripes, his cross of officer of the Legion of 
 Honour, and his youthful appearance. 
 
 He felt himself especially attracted towards the person of 
 the Emperor. The Empress had fascinated him, but to 
 him she was the Sovereign, not an ordinary being, in whom 
 the woman had been overshadowed by splendour of rank. 
 
14 THE DISASTER 
 
 The Emperor appeared to him to be more human. He 
 had a desire to serve him, to assist him in the coming 
 danger. The splendid name of Napoleon had exercised an 
 irresistible power over his childhood, and behind the Cassar 
 of the present he saw the laurelled profile of the Other. The 
 epic shade rose up, dominating an overwhelming din of battles. 
 He saw the defeat of kingdoms, battle-fields from which rose 
 cries and smoke — Jena, Austerlitz, Marengo — the incense of 
 the Te Deu7n, the imperial purple, the golden bees, and then 
 the white retreat from Russia, the island of Elba, the eagle 
 flying from steeple to steeple as far as the towers of Notre 
 Dame ; and, in conclusion, the most tragic downfall which the 
 world had ever seen — Waterloo and Saint-Helena ! — moment- 
 arily vibrated in his soul, and, in spite of the warm and 
 luminous atmosphere, in the midst of ladies in evening dress 
 and the decorated uniforms of officers, in the presence of 
 that night of flowers and stars, the same singular sadness 
 penetrated him. 
 
 A suppressed hubbub broke upon his reflections — the Empress 
 was crossing the saloons. He saw her escorted by the Prince 
 Imperial, and followed by the courtiers on duty, passing 
 between a triple row of people, who bowed low. Mme. de 
 Limal and Mme. d'Avilar were in the front rank, court 
 smiles upon their faces. Jaillant and Chenot, swelling out 
 their breasts, wore the fervent air of pious worshippers at 
 high mass. Manhers smiled grotesquely, and the stout, fat- 
 cheeked M. Chartrain, disconsolate at being hidden from view 
 by the banker, was standing on tip-toe. 
 
 Du Breuil, standing in the embrasure of his window, behind 
 dress-coats and bare shoulders, watched the Empress for a 
 long time. She was tall, and in the full splendour of her 
 maturity. There was something despotic about the charm of 
 her fair beauty. Her eyes, of an icy magnificence, sparkled 
 with pride and power of will. The restlessness of her thoughts 
 gave her complexion, which was more animated than usual, 
 an ardent and tender expression, the haughtiness of which 
 impressed him. 
 
 She bowed to right and left, with much grace, and, as she 
 moved away in deep silence, she every now and then let drop 
 a word, nodded her head, or smiled. 
 
 He still retained her image after she had disappeared. 
 
THE DISASTER 15 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 The whole length of the double flight of steps of the grand 
 staircase was brilliantly illuminated by triple candelabra. He 
 momentarily stopped upon the landing to allow a lady, upon 
 the train of whose dress he almost trod, to move forward. 
 
 In the courtyard he took a deep breath. The water in the 
 fountain-basins was of an inky blackness, and in the centre of 
 one of them was reflected a star. The warm night was per- 
 meated with the wildness of the park, with the smell from the 
 earth and trees. The whiteness of the statues, which stood in 
 their recesses around the walls of the palace — the two wings of 
 which they served to decorate — was strikingly apparent in the 
 flood of light from the large windows. Carriages were in 
 waiting for the guests. He passed through the gates before 
 the guard, and descended the avenue. 
 
 Du Breuil liked this soHtude. He took in deep breaths of 
 air ; he had a feeling of thirst. Then he experienced a sense 
 of astonishment upon recovering possession of himself — his 
 very self — ^just as though being at the palace and the import- 
 ance of the events of the evening had conferred upon him 
 a transient prestige which he had abdicated upon leaving. 
 He regained possession of his precise and limited personahty 
 — a personality which was the result of his everyday life, and 
 which was regulated by habit. The Du Breuil who had just 
 dined at their Majesties' table was again the man who, in the 
 morning, had been awakened in his small first-floor apartment 
 in the Rue de Bourgogne by the pawing of his mare Cydalise, 
 and the grumbling of honest Frisch, his Alsatian orderly. 
 Dressed in a couple of seconds, he had set off for a gallop in 
 the Bois to get rid of a headache, caused by a sleepless night, 
 and a feeling of regret consequent upon losing fifty louis at his 
 club. He felt certain that his horse had got w4nd-galls, and 
 that his shoemaker had sent in his bill for the third time. 
 
 He almost passed the barracks without seeing it. 
 
 A sudden movement of the sentry near the entrance dragged 
 him from his reverie. He approached the door and searched 
 for the bell. He heard its tinkle, the grumbling of the sleepers 
 inside the building, and a heavy step approaching. Then a 
 key was turned, and the door silently opened. 
 
i6 THE DISASTER 
 
 ' Captain Lacoste ?' said Du Breuil. 
 
 Upon seeing the visitor's rank, the corporal, who was half 
 asleep, suddenly became wide awake. He stammered a few 
 unintelligible words, and went for the quartermaster, who 
 appeared from the guard-room, still very sleepy. He was a 
 veteran covered with medals ; a kind of giant with a pheno- 
 menal moustache. His figure showed off well in his white 
 coat, and his czapska, tilted on one side of his gray head, gave 
 him a droll appearance. 
 
 'Captain Lacoste?' repeated Du Breuil sharply, somewhat 
 annoyed at having to wait. ' Come now, quartermaster, 
 wake up !' 
 
 An expression of sorrow, mingled with resignation, came 
 upon the manly face. The non-commissioned officer bustled 
 his men. 
 
 ' Quick there ! Light the lantern ! Gouju, show the Major 
 the way !' 
 
 When his guide was ready, and the old soldier, motionless, 
 his heels together, his right hand on a level with his forehead, 
 his eyes fixed, straightened himself in a miUtary salute, Du 
 Breuil still felt confused at his hastiness. The silent attitude 
 of the quartermaster was like a reproach. He turned towards 
 him, and in a softened voice, full of politeness, thanked him, 
 at the same time inclining his head. 
 
 Gouju preceded him. And as they crossed the courtyard, 
 the lantern, swinging in the man's hand, sent forth diverging 
 rays of light resembling the cords fastening a balloon to its 
 car. The feeble cone of light emphasized the surrounding 
 darkness. The sleeping barracks was wrapped in deep silence. 
 Du Breuil could only hear a few slight sounds coming from 
 the direction of the stables — a monotonous refrain murmured 
 by a soldier on guard, the sneezing of a horse, and the rattle 
 of a rack-chain. 
 
 * There are two steps, sir.' 
 
 Du Breuil entered a large building. A smoking lamp which 
 was hanging on the wall gave forth a strong smell of oil. In 
 the semi-darkness he could dimly make out a staircase. At the 
 landing on the first floor the man knocked timidly at a door. 
 
 • Come in !' exclaimed a loud voice. 
 
 Lacoste, dressed in a small canvas coat and red trousers, 
 sprang from the hammock in which he had been smoking his 
 pipe. He silently held out a bony hand to his friend. He 
 was a man with a long sun-burnt race, a red moustache and 
 
THE DISASTER 17 
 
 imperial, and his frank blue eyes — the eyes of a child — gave 
 him an air of coldness. 
 
 * Good-evening/ he said ; * Gouju, be here with the lantern 
 in half an hour.' 
 
 The man left the room. Lacoste smiled at his friend. 
 
 * There is your bed,' he said, pointing to his own, which con- 
 sisted of some very rough but very white sheets, across which 
 was thrown a quilt of Jouy cloth bearing a pattern of red 
 flowers. ' And here is mine,' he added, pointing to the ham- 
 mock. * Don't think you are inconveniencing me. I sleep in 
 it every night.' 
 
 He fetched out a bottle of beer, which was standing in a 
 bucket of water to keep fresh, and filled two large tumblers. 
 
 * Here's to your health !' 
 
 They drank. Then Lacoste pointed out his pipe-rack, 
 which was filled with pipes of all sizes — in cherrywood, meer- 
 schaum, and white and red clay — all of them admirably 
 coloured. 
 
 * Take your choice.' 
 
 Du Breuil took a diminutive pipe with a small negress-head 
 bowl, and methodically filled it. Lacoste pulled forward the 
 cane rocking-chair. 
 
 * There you are !' 
 
 After these essential rites had been carried out there was a 
 silence. Du Breuil had become accustomed to his friend's 
 laconism, and did not hurry himself to speak. He settled him- 
 self in the easy-chair, and felt quite at ease in that small room 
 with Lacoste. He had a great affection for his friend. The 
 window was open, and looked on to a mass of trees. Every 
 now and then a gnat, attracted by the light, would fly in and 
 circle round and round the lamp. Suddenly the edge of the 
 green cloth which covered a table burdened with registers 
 and papers was raised, and the enormous head of an Ulm dog 
 made its appearance. His large eyes, like nightlights burning 
 upon oil, turned towards Du Breuil, who called the animal to 
 him. The powerful beast came forward, and, resting its head 
 upon his knee, looked at him so searchingly that it seemed to 
 say: 
 
 * Are you a friend of my master ?' 
 Lacoste's face softened. 
 
 * Last night he pinned a thief to the ground by his throat. 
 Three ruffians tried to rob me on the river-bank. One of them 
 I knocked into the river, the other took to his heels, and Titan 
 
 2 
 
i8 THE DISASTER 
 
 kept the third between his teeth until the patrol came up. 
 Titan!' cried Lacoste. 
 
 The dog darted forward, beating the air with its heavy tail. 
 It placed its paws upon Lacoste's shoulders, and looked at him 
 — trying to read his thoughts — with infinite tenderness. Its 
 red lips moved back over its white teeth, so that it seemed to 
 be laughing, and did really laugh with delight. 
 
 * He is my brother,' said Lacoste. 
 
 The dog gave a low whine, and stretched itself at his feet. 
 
 ' What are you going to do with him,' asked Du Breuil, 
 * should war break out ?' 
 
 ' I shall take him with me.' 
 
 Animals are adopted, not only by officers, but by regiments ; 
 and w^herever the one goes the other follows. As an example, 
 on the day of the return of the troops from Italy, there was to 
 be seen a white goat with a black head, belonging to the Light 
 Infantry, and the Zouaves' dog, decorated with flowers, and a 
 flag stuck in his collar. 
 
 Thinking to please Lacoste, who had a great affection for 
 his horses, Du Breuil said : 
 
 ' Are Conquerant and Musette all right ?' 
 
 * In splendid form. Ready to set off to-morrow.' 
 
 Again there was a silence. Then Lacoste, winking his eyes, 
 said, in what was meant to be an off-hand way : 
 
 * Are they talking about it ? 
 'Where?' 
 
 * Up there.' 
 
 The point of his moustache indicated the palace. 
 Du Breuil took a draw at his pipe. 
 
 * Yes. They smell powder.' 
 
 Lacoste blushed like a child who has been surprised by some 
 unexpected pleasure. 
 
 ' All the better ! One gets rusty. A soldier who doesn't 
 fight isn't a man.' 
 
 He wearily stretched out his lean arms, and unintentionally, 
 knocked against his large lancer's sabre, with its gold sword- 
 knot, which was suspended upon the wall. 
 
 Du Breuil smiled. 
 
 * You will be promoted to rank of Major.' 
 
 Lacoste looked at him, did not immediately understand, and 
 growled : 
 
 * Major ? Well, I don't mind for the sake of the old people ' 
 — like a model son he sent half his pay to his parents, poor 
 
THE DISASTER 19 
 
 peasants in the department of the Creuse — *but in other 
 respects, you know, I'm all right as I am.* 
 
 He looked at Du Breuil's cross of an officer of the Legion of 
 Honour, at his gold shoulder-knots, and the embroidery upon 
 his dolman. It was not an envious look, it was only an 
 appreciative one, and seemed to say : ' We are of equal worth, 
 but you have the additional advantages of luck and influence. 
 All the better for you !' 
 
 * As for myself,' said Du Breuil, with a show of modesty, ' I 
 have nothing to gain, unless it be one or two years on the 
 service-list.' 
 
 * Pooh !' exclaimed Lacoste philosophically. ' After that 
 you have a right to be ambitious. How old are you ?' 
 
 * Thirty-three.' 
 
 Lacoste drew at his pipe ; it was a way he had of expressing 
 his opinion. He was six years older than his friend ; he had 
 one stripe less, and he was only a Knight of the Legion of 
 Honour. But he was not envious ; he fully recognised Du 
 Breuil's superiority. They had been intimately acquainted 
 when boys at the same village school, and Du Breuil, notwith- 
 standing the difference in their ages, was even then in his eyes 
 a fortunate and privileged person. The peasant's son naturally 
 looked upon the young gentleman from the chateau as quicker 
 and more intelligent. The Du Breuils were hked in the 
 district. Lacoste next came across Du Breuil in Italy, after 
 leaving Saumur, where he entered after four years' service in 
 Algeria — four hard years of expeditions and bivouacs. And the 
 Second Lieutenant of dragoons and the Lieutenant of artillery 
 renewed acquaintance. Since then Lacoste had been steadily 
 promoted, while Du Breuil had advanced in the army by leaps 
 and bounds. 
 
 At twenty years of age Du Breuil left the Polytechnic, and 
 spent two years at the Metz School of Artillery. What an 
 abundance of memories he possessed of those days ! His 
 friend D'Avol and their mutual friends, the Bersheims, rich 
 manufacturers — grandmother Sophia, the admirable house- 
 hold of the Bersheims, little Anine and her brothers ! For- 
 gotten were they ? No ; but separated and far off. . . . He was 
 a Lieutenant when he left the school, and his first stripes had 
 hardly had the newness worn off before he went on the Italian 
 campaign with the two batteries of the Motterouge division 
 which formed part of MacMahon's 2nd Army Corps. It was 
 a brilliant and rapid campaign. His guns had opened fire, 
 
20 THE DISASTER 
 
 first upon Buflfalora, where the Austrian forces were established, 
 and then upon Magenta. In conjunction with General 
 Auger's reserve artillery, they had destroyed the entrance to 
 the main street and its surroundings, and prepared the way for 
 the infantry attack. Du Breuil was wounded by the blowing 
 up of a caisson, but had remained under fire, notwithstanding 
 his bleeding face and his shattered arm. He was given the 
 cross for that act of bravery. Shortly afterwards he was 
 drafted into the Guard through the kindness of Marshal 
 Canrobert, who had known his father intimately. He left the 
 Guard to go to Mexico, a country of sinister memories, with its 
 rains, its mud, its poisonous insects, and its unhealthy waters. 
 
 A fixture at the siege of Puebla, the third to enter the peni- 
 tentiary, and wounded at the attack of a qiiadre during one of 
 those terrible house-to-house assaults under a shower of bullets, 
 he had been promoted to the rank of Captain. At that very 
 time his brother, whose constitution was undermined by fever, 
 had been invalided to Vera Cruz, and died there in one of those 
 infectious streets which the zopilotes, those terrible vultures, 
 alone kept clean under the leaden sun. 
 
 Since that time Du Breuil had lived more a fashionable life 
 than the life of a soldier. He was attached to the Paris Hat- 
 major, and with Marshal Canrobert, the Governor, found he 
 was at the very fountain-head of useful and brilliant con- 
 nections. During the 1867 Exhibition he acted as guide to 
 the foreign officers, and several of these, including Baron 
 Hacks, a Captain in the Brunswick Hussars, had left an excel- 
 lent impression upon him. He called to mind Baron Hacks' 
 haughty poHteness. Were they going to meet again as enemies, 
 face to face on German soil ? It would be a curious experience. 
 . . . Since August 15, 1869, Du Breuil, who had been made a 
 Major, was appointed orderly officer to the Minister of War. 
 
 ' No, really,' he repeated, * there is nothing I desire. But, 
 comrades ' 
 
 ' We don't fight on that account,' said Lacoste. * It is a sad 
 promotion which follows upon the death of a neighbour. A 
 man of heart does his duty without expecting anything for it.* 
 
 Du Breuil smiled in dissent. 
 
 * There are very few disinterested officers. The best of them 
 dream of promotion and the cross.' 
 
 All the same, he had known men of simple heart, very 
 heroes, very saints, such as Deresse, his Major, at Buffalora — 
 Deresse, a friend and a father to his soldiers. 
 
THE DISASTER 21 
 
 Lacoste raised his stern face. His tempered and noble soul 
 appeared in his limpid eyes. 
 
 * Egoists and cynics may be found everywhere,' he said ; 
 ' but you won't find they are worth much. ... It is only by 
 introducing sacrifice into our business that it becomes the 
 noblest of all.' 
 
 Du Breuil was more sceptical. 
 
 * When one is brought into contact with those high up in 
 the ranks, one meets with so much ambition and emptiness.' 
 
 Lacoste replied : 
 
 * What does it matter ? Just think : if, from the Sovereign 
 down to the common soldier who is about to be made a 
 corporal, war was only the sum and total of covetousness ! 
 Why, I should know nothing more abject ! No ; there is 
 something sacred in war to everybody but the man with a 
 heart of clay. War is the school of sacrifice — of the greatest 
 sacrifice a man can make, that of his life. Take the case of a 
 hobbledehoy of the fields, an uneducated countryman, who has 
 never heard tell of honour and fatherland. He enters a regi- 
 ment, a gun is placed in his hands, and he is taught how to 
 use it. Then war breaks out, and you will find him under- 
 going cold and hunger, sleeping in the mud, and making his 
 twenty-mile marches. The bugle sounds, and he will rush at 
 the enemy, and will defend the flag, a hundred times risking 
 his life. He is a changed man, having learnt courage, endur- 
 ance, solidarity, heroism — all the highest virtues. But for war 
 he would have been ignorant of them.' 
 
 Du Breuil agreed with him, but reservedly. 
 
 War might be the means of raising souls above themselves, 
 but it also let loose the fierce animal natures of brutes. He 
 thought of the cowards who came under the Provost's juris- 
 diction, the insubordinates and those looters who were shot. 
 Every army had its black sheep. It was only by means of 
 terrible punishments that these men could be made obedient. 
 Like a funereal echo he recalled those words — Death, Death, 
 Death — which were inscribed in almost every line in the Mili- 
 tary Code. 
 
 Lacoste filled the glasses. He blew away a fly which 
 persisted in settling upon his forehead and on his hand ; he 
 was incapable of killing it. Then he continued : 
 
 ' Times of great shedding of blood are salutary. Fire puri- 
 fies and blood washes. In times of peace surveillance is 
 relaxed and discipline is bad. You yourself know this.' 
 
22 THE DISASTER 
 
 Du Breuil nodded. Certain Generals had recently com- 
 plained to the Emperor, and asked for the re-establishment of 
 an inflexible discipline. 
 
 ' I can see serious symptoms of disorder in our army, which 
 resembles the fresh complexions of those consumptives who 
 are racked by disease. We shall have to take care. Debility 
 slowly disintegrates large bodies of men. The reason I heartily 
 welcome war is that it strengthens the nerves and the muscles, 
 and puts new life into the blood.' 
 
 Du Breuil said : 
 
 * Yes ; there is something great about war. War is a 
 terrible angel. There is not a man of us at the present time 
 who is not ready to do his duty. . . . But when one thinks of 
 those who meet with their death, and the grief of those who 
 loved them with their whole heart and soul, is it not enough 
 to accept this curse as a necessary evil without hoping for it V 
 
 Lacoste, an expression of gloom upon his face, seemed to be 
 looking far out into the night at his parents' cottage, the trees, 
 and their native place. Perhaps the old people, unable to 
 sleep, were thinking of their absent son and the rumours of 
 war. 
 
 * One can only die once,' he said, * and I don't know a more 
 glorious death.' He raised his eyes, full of sincerity, and said 
 religiously : * It comes from God !' 
 
 ^AmenT said Du Breuil to himself, moved by such con- 
 viction. He ventured to say, however : * It is all very well to 
 fight, but one must win. We do well to count upon success, 
 because in high places people are disquieted.* 
 
 Lacoste smiled somewhat bitterly. 
 
 ' There is something more important than numbers, and that 
 is valour. Then, there is moral force.' 
 
 ' There is no doubt about our valour,' said Du Breuil 
 emphatically. 
 
 Lacoste rose to his feet. His shadow reached the ceiling, 
 making him look gigantic. 
 
 * With moral force, which everyone possesses,* he said, ' all 
 will go well.' 
 
 * Really, I don't know what has come over me this evening !* 
 exclaimed Du Breuil, throwing himself back in his armchair. 
 * There are times, like to-day, when one is alarmed at nothing. 
 But we are not frightened at the thought of war, old fellow. 
 We have seen many others, and we shall come out of this all 
 right.' 
 
THE DISASTER 23 
 
 There was a hesitating step at the door. 
 ' Come in !' shouted Lacoste. 
 Gouju appeared with the lantern. 
 
 * It is half-past twelve, sir.' 
 
 ' I must go on my round,' said Lacoste. ' Will you accom- 
 pany me?' 
 
 He pulled on his blue jacket, and buckled on his sword. 
 
 * All right ; I'm not sleepy,' Du Breuil answered. 
 
 They descended the stairs, perceiving through a half-open 
 door a long succession of bedrooms. In the courtyard great 
 white phantom-like figures with bare legs were moving towards 
 the troughs. One could feel that the barracks was crammed with 
 men and horses ; the air was oppressive, and a deep silence 
 reigned over all things. Crossing the courtyard and skirting 
 the kitchens, from which came an unpleasant, musty smell, 
 they passed the mess-rooms, and reached the stables, which 
 were situated in a long building with windows shaped like half- 
 moons. Lacoste pushed open a door. A breath of hot air 
 met them. In the darkness could be seen the sleeping horses, 
 some of which sneezed, while others, lying down, rose painfully 
 to their feet as they entered. Some dogs were sleeping with 
 their four paws stretched out and their heads thrown back, as 
 though dead. A stableman came towards them carrying a 
 lantern, in the light of which glistened the cruppers of the 
 horses ; the whitewashed beams stood out, and the straw 
 matting which edged the litters gleamed. The man saluted. 
 
 ' Who relieves you ?' asked Lacoste. 
 
 The man opened his sleepy eyes. 
 
 * Labourette.' 
 
 ' Where is he sleeping ?' 
 
 * There, sir.' 
 
 At a vacant place between two hanging bars, which 
 separated the stalls one from another, were sleeping three 
 bare-chested stablemen. They were lying amongst the straw 
 upon their cloaks. One of them was snoring ; another was 
 lying flat upon his stomach, so that one could only see the fat 
 nape of his neck, which was of an astonishing whiteness ; the 
 third had his rigid, hairy, and yellow-nailed feet stretched out 
 — feet which looked like those of a dead man. The last- 
 named was the one who was next to be on sentry duty. 
 
 Lacoste walked through the stable to assure himself that no 
 accidents had happened. Once he went to see if a large mare, 
 which was restlessly pulling at her chain, had eaten her oats. 
 
24 THE DISASTER 
 
 * She won't drink, sir,* said the man. 
 
 * You must show her to the veterinary.' 
 
 He passed on towards the horse-boxes which were reserved 
 for the officers* horses, and pointed out his own. 
 
 Conqu6rant was stretched upon her flank, her large muscles 
 standing out under her shining chestnut coat. Du Breuil 
 expressed his admiration. 
 
 'If you could only see what a jumper she is!' added 
 Lacoste. 
 
 Musette, which was a more refined animal, was sleeping 
 standing up, her legs a little apart. She started, and turned 
 her head. Her eye was black, with a white and pink pupil. 
 She recognised her master, and neighed. 
 
 'My beauty!' he exclaimed, gomg up to her and putting 
 his arms round her neck. He kissed her upon the nose. 
 * She's a splendid animal ! Can do her five miles at a gallop 
 without turning a hair.' . . . 
 
 He did not leave her without regret, and, with an eye for 
 everything, he pointed out to the stableman one of the stall- 
 bars which had just fallen, waiting until it was hooked up 
 again before leaving. When outside they again breathed 
 freely; the healthy but heavy odour, charged with life in a 
 state of repose, had enervated them. 
 
 Lacoste continued his round. They made an inspection of 
 the quarter, and then remounted the staircase to pass into the 
 barracks proper. 
 
 * You'll forgive me,' said Lacoste ; * this doesn't smell very 
 nice.' 
 
 Du Breuil advanced to the threshold of the open door of a 
 dormitory. By the light of Gouju's lantern the almost naked 
 sleepers could be seen stretched out to right and left. Above 
 their heads were two shelves — one for the equipments and 
 helmets ; another for their saddle-bags and cloaks rolled into 
 cylindrical bundles; at the bed -heads gleamed sabres and 
 bridles, hanging from hooks. Racks for the lances could be 
 seen on the walls, and under the bread-shelves were spoons 
 and tin mugs. The succession of beds and kits was lost in the 
 darkness. The only sound was that of hoarse and halting 
 breathing. The first lancer, a very fine, fair man, was snoring 
 with wide-open mouth. He was showing his teeth, and had 
 the appearance of a man who laughs. His hairy breast slowly 
 rose and fell. Du Breuil suddenly comprehended the brute 
 force which was asleep before him. These men conjured up a 
 
THE DISASTER 25 
 
 picture of manly energy, muscles ready for action, destructive 
 vigour, and in the four corners of France at that very hour, in 
 all far-off barracks — horse soldiers, foot soldiers, artillerymen 
 — the drowsy army was sleeping like an enormous animal, 
 whose breathing he witnessed. He imagined the awakening 
 of these thousands and thousands of men should the cry, 
 'To arms! War is declared!' strike upon their ears. The 
 vision was instantaneous and fearful. For the first time for 
 a great while the dormitory, this simple room smelling like a 
 den, with its naked sleepers, its accoutrements, and the flash 
 of the steel of lances and sabres, appeared to him as a thing 
 terrible and awe-inspiring. 
 
 * I am tiring you,' said Lacoste, continuing his round. * You 
 know the way.' 
 
 He pointed out a small door on the landing. 
 
 Du Breuil remained motionless, fascinated, on the threshold 
 of the long room, lit up less and less distinctly as Gouju 
 moved away with his lantern. The atmosphere was even 
 more stifling than in the stables. The symmetry of the beds, 
 the equipments, the sabres and lances arranged in regular lines, 
 called up ideas of order and discipline — supreme virtues in an 
 army. A great hope inspirited him ; he felt young and strong. 
 It might be that he had been seized with doubts and uneasi- 
 ness in the gilded saloons of the palace, in the midst of bloated 
 and cunning courtesans, and that even the Emperor's old age 
 had disquieted him ; but here, in the presence of these men 
 asleep beside their arms, he fully recovered confidence. These 
 were soldiers like himself, rough and inferior brothers ; they 
 symbolized the energy of France and the hope of triumph. 
 
 He again entered Lacoste's room. Titan raised its head, 
 recognised him, and went to sleep again. The young officer 
 walked a few steps, his hands crossed behind his back. 
 Lacoste's shaving mirror shone from its hook near the 
 window. He looked at himself in it for a long time. The 
 examination satisfied him. He saw a large forehead, brown 
 eyes, a silky moustache, a diminutive beard, a dark com- 
 plexion, and skin the texture of which was firm and smooth — 
 in short, a face containing evidences of good birth, and that 
 seductive pride which pleases woman. Mme. de Guionic's 
 image came between him and the mirror. Then he had a 
 sudden vision of his own face, disfigured. Supposing a bullet 
 should pierce his temple, or the bursting of a shell should tear 
 his face ! . . . With a soldier's fatalism he shrugged his shoulders. 
 
26 THE DISASTER 
 
 Everyone was destined to a certain fate. The best thing was 
 not to think about it. He went to the window, and pictured 
 to himself the sleeping palace, recently so uproarious. Then 
 he looked at the stars, and turned his head towards the great 
 red glow which floated over Paris in the dark sky. One word 
 from the mouth of those two masters — the Emperor and the 
 Empress — and France would rise tumultuously. 
 
 Until Lacoste's return he looked for a long time at the 
 reddish light. A profound silence reigned ; even the leaves 
 stirred without noise. Never had the stars been more 
 beautiful. 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 Du Breuil was seated at a desk burdened with papers, letters, 
 and telegrams, in a room in which the Minister's orderly officers 
 were working. Three of his companions were seated with bent 
 heads at other tables feverishly transcribing into registers 
 orders which had been written in great haste, dashed off with 
 coloured pencil. Yellow, blue, and green portfolios, bursting 
 with carefully copied service-lists, were in every corner, all 
 along the walls, and upon chairs. There were piles of 
 memoranda and reports. 
 
 A double padded door in green leather was continually open- 
 ing and shutting. Aides-de-camp came and went after deliver- 
 ing hasty messages. A second door with glass panels, which 
 opened on to the lobbies, was also ceaselessly being opened by 
 restless and busy officers, who carried bundles of documents to 
 be signed and stamped. Others came for information. The 
 Ministry of War had been transformed into an enormous 
 humming hive for the last fortnight. On every hand there 
 reigned complete disorder. From morning to night the 
 Minister's office was inundated with requests. The fever of 
 the whole country seemed to be concentrated in those narrow 
 rooms. Claims and complaints converged there ; a thousand 
 difficult questions had to be solved ; there was an infinite com- 
 plexity of detail. Hundreds of orders and counter-orders were 
 sent out each day, carrying agitation and disarray to the four 
 corners of France. 
 
 Du Breuil and his companions were over head and ears in 
 work. He had been writing for four hours bent over his desk, 
 
THE DISASTER 27 
 
 and every now and then the words came to have no meaning 
 for him. He raised his head, his pen having ceased to ghde 
 over the paper, 
 
 ' What is the date ?* he cried. ' This is too much ! Here 
 I've been dating more than two hundred service-letters, and I 
 don't know what day it is. This is enough to drive one mad !' 
 
 *July the 2oth. Come, now,' growled Major Blache, nick- 
 named the Wild Boar, from the adjoining table. 
 
 He was a tough-looking old man, with a ruddy complexion, 
 white, short-cropped hair, and an upper lip which stuck out 
 because of two prominent teeth. 
 
 * Thanks, Blache. Are not you like me ? I've scribbled so 
 much that no use is left in my fingers. Oh for a little rest !' 
 
 He threw himself back in his chair. 
 
 ' Upon my word,' exclaimed Captain Clemendot in a falsetto 
 voice, ' we don't know we're living !' 
 
 He turned a bird-like profile towards Du Breuil, and, satisfied 
 at the great depth of his remark, smiled Avith an air of 
 superiority. He readjusted his fair, cunningly-curled moustache. 
 
 * Isn't it so. Major ?' 
 
 Du Breuil nodded his head. It was quite true. Such an 
 existence made one lose all notion of time. What events there 
 had been since the dinner at Saint-Cloud ! 
 
 It was on the 7th that activity had commenced. War 
 appeared so likely that everybody was at work in the offices. 
 The plan of campaign remained secret. There was talk of 
 organizing three armies — one in Alsace, under the command of 
 MacMahon ; one in Lorraine, under Marshal Bazaine ; and 
 the third, in reserve, at Chalons, under the orders of Canrobert. 
 On the nth, to his painful surprise, everything was modi- 
 fied. There was only one army. The Emperor was the 
 Commander-in-Chief, the Minister became General Com- 
 mandant, and Generals Lebrun and Jarras, Deputy General 
 Commandants. Du Breuil received the heart-rending infor- 
 mation that he would remain in Paris with two of his com- 
 rades at the disposal of General Dejean, the future Minister of 
 War ad interim. 
 
 He had been dumfounded by the news. At all cost he 
 wanted to set out for the field of action. The prospect of 
 remaining occupied with work which was unworthy of him, 
 this wretched business of scribbling, caused him to pass from 
 a state of great agitation to one of profound dejection. From 
 seven o'clock in the morning until eight o'clock in the evening, 
 
28 THE DISASTER 
 
 and even part of the night, he was there, in that stifling and 
 heavy atmosphere, bent over his table. Events were coming 
 to a crisis ; incredible disorder, which was daily increasing, 
 reigned in the offices, and the same state of affairs was spread- 
 ing to the army. 
 
 He passed over in his mind the events of that never-to-be- 
 forgotten fortnight. At one time it had been thought that the 
 storm would blow over. It was on the 12th that Prince 
 Leopold renounced the throne of Spain, and the King of 
 Prussia approved of his action. But the same day troops and 
 materiel commenced to be sent, and Count Benedetti asked the 
 King to make an engagement that henceforth he would dis- 
 countenance the candidature of the HohenzoUern. It was 
 even whispered that Baron Werther, the Prussian Charge 
 d'Affaires, had been sounded by the Ministry, with the object of 
 obtaining from his Sovereign a letter of excuse. There was 
 then no longer any doubt — war was wanted in high places. 
 ... On the 14th, when he learnt of the unsuccess of the 
 pourparlers at Ems, following upon Bismarck's telegram noti- 
 fying the check to the representatives of Northern Germany 
 abroad, Du Breuil saw that this time it was irremediable. 
 That very evening he had worked far into the night, sending 
 orders of recall to the reserve. The meeting of the Chamber 
 on the following day was still fresh in his mind. Hour after 
 hour his friends had brought him the news to the Rue Saint- 
 Dominique. By their mouths he had heard the ringing speech 
 of Emile OUivier ; he had been present when M. Thiers made 
 his reply speech calling for calmness and reflection. But 
 passions were let loose, the enthusiasm was general ; and that 
 midnight he had sanctioned with all his heart the last words of 
 the Keeper of the Seals. It was impossible not to draw the 
 sword and avenge the insult. With the whole army and with 
 France he felt light-hearted and valiant of soul. 
 
 He was disenchanted in the days which followed. He was 
 irritated by the agitation in the streets and the delirious 
 patriotism of the crowd ; he would have liked more seemly 
 conduct. The departure of the troops was tumultuous. At 
 the Eastern railway-station the people treated the soldiers to 
 drinks, and very many of them became drunk. The hour, 
 however, was a solemn one. The Due de Grammont had just 
 informed the Corps Legislatif that the declaration of war had 
 been officially notified on the previous evening at Berlin. 
 
 These reflections, which he took care not to communicate to 
 
THE DISASTER 29 
 
 his neighbours, the energetic Blache and the bland Clemendot, 
 perplexed him. 
 
 The whole of the day he had been concerned with orders 
 relative to the concentration of the Army of the Rhine. Figures 
 and names still whirled in his brain, and while he continued to 
 copy other documents he again distinctly saw the composition 
 and position of the various army corps — the first, composed of 
 the African troops and those of the East, under MacMahon, at 
 Strasburg ; the second, troops from the Chalons camp, under 
 Frossard, at Saint-Avoid ; the third, the Paris Army and the 
 Metz Military Division, under Bazaine, at Metz ; the fourth, 
 the Northern regiments, under Ladmirault, at Thionville ; the 
 fifth, the divisions of the Lyons Army, under Failly, at Bitche 
 and Phalsburg ; the sixth, the regiments of the West and the 
 Centre, under Canrobert, at Chalons ; the seventh, the regi- 
 ments of the South-East, under Douay, at Colmar and Belfort ; 
 and the Guard, under Bourbaki, at Nancy. He could not 
 help thinking of the dissemination of the troops scattered along 
 the frontier, and also the difficulties of their concentration. 
 
 The reserves had been mobihzed on the night of the 14th ; 
 but the depots were at too great a distance from the regiments. 
 Du Breuil thought that there would certainly be trouble in 
 that respect ; valuable time was being lost. A man living at 
 Perpignan had to go into Brittany for his uniform and equip- 
 ment before reaching Metz or Strasburg ; and then, say, an 
 Alsacian, whose regiment was in Alsace, had to hurry to 
 Bayonne to get his shoulder-belt. It was very evident that 
 the German method of district recruitment was preferable. 
 As to the active troops, which were converging towards the 
 frontier from all parts, they had come from the four corners of 
 France, and it would not take less than a fortnight to arrange 
 that, to divide up the men and classify the various elements. 
 There, again, the Prussians, with their autonomous army 
 corps ready in advance, seemed to him to have the advantage. 
 
 Upon the occasion of preceding wars, Du Breuil, in the 
 limited sphere of action of a Lieutenant of artillery, had only to 
 set off and to fight. Now things were reversed. Formerly he 
 had been one of the wheels of a machine, which he was now 
 putting in motion. He was at the centre of agitation, at the 
 very heart of the army. Everything sprang from that centre 
 and reverberated there. Thousands of telegrams were de- 
 spatched and received. Generals and their staffs, adminis- 
 trative services, artillery, engineers, infantry, cavalry, active 
 
30 THE DISASTER 
 
 and reserve forces, crowded the trains. At the mustering- 
 points men, horses, materiel, and stores ahghted pele-mele in 
 great confusion. The railway-stations were crowded, but the 
 magazines were empty. Complaints and demands came in 
 from all sides. 
 
 That very morning a telegram from the Commissary of 
 Stores had turned the offices upside down : ' At Metz there is 
 neither sugar, coffee, rice, brandy, nor salt, and very little 
 bacon or biscuit. Send at least one million rations immediately 
 to Thionville.' 
 
 Du Breuil had had the text under his eyes, while Clemendot 
 near him was classifying copies of despatches which had 
 arrived each day. 
 
 The swing door was pushed sharply open by Colonel Laune, 
 a very young, small, dry man, with steely eyes. He handed a 
 bundle of minutes to Major Blache to be recopied. 
 
 * Urgent !' he said, disappearing. 
 
 Du Breuil stood up and stretched himself. 
 
 * Five o'clock ! To think that I'm going to the Opera this 
 evening ! Doesn't it strike you as curious, Clemendot, that 
 one can go to the Opera after such a day ?' 
 
 The door again opened. Du Breuil turned his head. 
 Colonel Laune said to him : 
 
 ' Have you nothing to do ? Take these papers to the Ninth 
 Department, and tell General la Billardi^re that it is for him 
 to furnish the particulars for which he asks. He must get out 
 of the difficulty himself.' 
 
 Du Breuil bowed. When in the lobbies he met Captain 
 Vacoissart, a little red-haired dragoon, who appeared delighted, 
 and who cried without stopping : 
 
 * Good-evening, Major ! Do you know I leave this evening ?' 
 'How's that?' 
 
 * I rejoin the 4th Army Corps.' 
 
 * You're in luck's way!* exclaimed Du Breuil, continuing on 
 his way. 
 
 It was too much, all the same ! After so many times inspiring 
 envy in others, was he himself to know what it was to envy ? 
 
 At a turning of a passage he nearly knocked over an employe, 
 who was loaded with registers to the chin. 
 
 ' Major ! . . . Major !' exclaimed a stentorian voice. 
 
 There was the sound of large shoes behind him and a knotty 
 hand was placed on his sleeve. It was a priest, his cassock 
 hitched up at one side and a stick in his hand. 
 
THE DISASTER 31 
 
 * I am the Abb6 Trudaine. I beg of you to tell me where I 
 must address myself, to know whether or not my services are 
 accepted. Wherever I go I am sent away !' 
 
 Du Breuil looked at him. His robust head, thickset neck 
 and shoulders, and his air of jovial frankness, inspired good- 
 will. But Du Breuil hardly had time to stop. 
 
 * First Department, second bureau.' 
 
 * But I've just come from there,' said the Abbe piteously. 
 'Then, the Minister's office. You see, M. I'Abbe, we are 
 
 buried in work.' 
 
 Orderlies moved out of his way. He mounted a staircase, 
 on the landing of which was a group of officers in conver- 
 sation. 
 
 'Good-evening, Du Breuil!' cried a tall artilleryman. 
 ' You're going, aren't you ?' 
 
 * Go to the devil 1' fumed the Major, who replied with a 
 vague gesture. 
 
 He reached the Ninth Department. 
 ' General la Billardifere ?' 
 
 * Busy, busy — cannot receive anybody !' came from a harsh 
 voice, that of a dyspeptic chef de bureau in blue spectacles, who 
 never even looked to see who the speaker was. 
 
 * Communication from the Minister,* replied Du Breuil 
 dryly. 
 
 The doors flew open, and the General in person rushed out, 
 followed by a tearful Aide-de-camp, whom he had been rating. 
 Seeing the Major, he exclaimed in a rough tone : 
 
 'What is it?' 
 
 His nose was pointed forward like a double-barrelled pistol ; 
 his white moustache bristled from his purple face. 
 
 Du Breuil carried out his mission. 
 
 ' Get out of the difficulty myself!' cried the General, whose 
 cheeks were bursting with indignation. Stupor and bewilder- 
 ment were in his voice. ' This is too much ! ... A pen. Wait 
 a bit, Major, and you shall take my letter back to His Ex- 
 cellency. I will add two lines. No, I won't ; I'll go myself.' 
 
 He went out like a whirlwind. Du Breuil was about to 
 smile, when a look from the dumfounded Aide-de-camp 
 stopped him. 
 
 ' Ah, Major,' he sighed, * I would rather be dead than con- 
 tinue such a calling.' 
 
 And again there were the comings and goings of feverish 
 employes in the labyrinth of passages, and words hastily 
 
32 THE DISASTER 
 
 uttered by people as they passed. Du Breuil had to rid him- 
 self of an inventor who buttonholed him. The idiot sang the 
 praises of his new gun with perfected projectiles. In one of 
 the passages of the First Department, before the door of the 
 sixth bureau (Infantry), Du Breuil was surprised to meet one 
 of his cousins, a Captain- Instructor in the 93rd of the line. 
 
 * Hullo, Vedel ! What are you doing here ?' 
 
 ' Good-evening, Pierre. They asked us for some docu- 
 ments, so I am taking them.' 
 
 It wasn't with pleasure that Du Breuil stopped. Vedel was 
 a poor relative with common manners. He wore thick-soled 
 boots, and the gloves on his red hands were eight and a 
 quarter. He was so timid that he stammered at the least 
 embarrassment. He professed great gratitude, mingled with 
 admiration, for his cousin. The Major, who had been of 
 service to him several times, in his idea lived in a superior 
 sphere of luxury, pleasure, and authority. 
 
 * What's the bet,' thought Du Breuil, * that he also asks me 
 if I'm going to leave ?' 
 
 ' Well, how goes the regiment ?' 
 
 * Not very well. Heaps of work,* replied Vedel. * There 
 are miscalculations, and we are far below the effective.' 
 
 * It's like that everywhere,' said Du Breuil. 
 Vedel opened wide his eyes. 
 
 ' Things will go, all the same,' he affirmed. * It will be 
 sufficient to open the ball.' 
 
 Du Breuil thought the phrase a comical one in the mouth 
 of his cousin. He remembered having seen him looking so 
 embarrassed one evening blundering through a quadrille at a 
 ball. 
 
 * I haven't a minute to spare. An vevoiv, my dear fellow, 
 and good luck.' He held out his hand. Vedel several times 
 shook it violently. He left to-morrow. . . . Would they see each 
 other again ? Du Breuil was somewhat overcome at this 
 sudden expansion of feeling. *A decent fellow,' he thought, 
 continuing on his way, * but not very intelligent.' 
 
 Upon entering his office, Blaehe exclaimed : 
 
 * The Minister wants you.* 
 
 His heart throbbed. What did the Marshal want with 
 him ? He crossed an antechamber — a large office in which 
 Colonel Laune and several officers were working — pushed 
 open a leather-upholstered door, and knocked at a second door. 
 
 * Come in !' 
 
THE DISASTER 33 
 
 He caught the conclusion of a phrase which General Jaillant 
 pronounced with animation. 
 
 * Not at all — not at all, Jaillant. Everything will go right,' 
 replied the Marshal, seated at a large table, the armchair 
 turned so as to face his interlocutor. 
 
 He thrust a hand into his trousers pocket, and with the 
 other took a large green pencil, which he rolled between his 
 fingers. He was a man with a large nose and heavy, droop- 
 ing moustache. His powerful face, heavy body, and full voice, 
 breathed out assurance and authority. Although he also was 
 buried in work, he affected a comforting calm, and seemed to 
 have neither preoccupations nor doubts. He cast at Du 
 Breuil a vague look, which, however, changed to one of mean- 
 ing as he remembered the order which he had to give him. 
 
 * Go quickly to the central depot of artillery, and ask for the 
 report on the manufacture of arms. This is the third time I 
 have asked for it.' He turned towards General Jaillant. * I 
 have telegraphed to hurry on the manufacture of the last 
 mitrailleuses.' Du Breuil was waiting. * Go, my friend.' 
 
 As he was closing the door behind him, he saw Jaillant take 
 a cigar from a box which the Marshal serenely held out to him. 
 
 He proceeded to the Rue Saint-Thomas-d'Aquin, but it 
 appeared that he crossed on the way there with the officer 
 charged to take the report to the Ministry. He returned and 
 gave an account of his visit. A fresh piece of work awaited 
 him. He was not able to leave the office before seven o'clock. 
 
 He made one bound to his first-floor apartment in the Rue 
 de Bourgogne. His concierge was occupied in sticking small 
 tricolour flags into a mignonette-box before the window of his 
 lodge. In his warlike ardour, increased by recent libations at 
 the wine-shop, he was crying to the equally important cobbler 
 opposite : * To Berlin ! To Berlin ! Forward !' 
 
 Recognising the Major, he made a bad attempt at a military 
 salute, and cried : ' Long live the army !' 
 
 A martyr to catarrh, this man, ordinarily, never left his lodge, 
 but sat there, with crossed legs, botching trouser-seats. His 
 wife, an enormous woman, a scandalmonger and a coward, 
 whose unique ideal was to make very sweet cafe au laity ran 
 after Du Breuil with his letters and newspapers. 
 
 ' Ah, sir, how glad I am,' she exclaimed, ' that war is declared ! 
 And you're going to hack those fat sausages in pieces ?' 
 
 He made no reply. 
 
 His orderly, who was a long-bodied man with flaxen hair, 
 
 3 
 
34 THE DISASTER 
 
 was very shrewd, notwithstanding his awkward manners, and 
 was devoted to his master. He had given up expecting him. 
 
 * Anything new, Frisch ?* 
 
 ' Major d'Avol came twice. He has left a letter for you, sir.' 
 
 Frisch, who had risen with a start, and stood motionless, 
 succeeded in hiding a plate of potilet an hlanc which the second 
 cook had passed out to him. 
 
 ' Jacques in Paris — what a surprise !' 
 
 Du Breuil entered a small drawing-room hung with cherry- 
 coloured damask, where, above an Oriental divan, some ancient 
 weapons were crossed upon the wall. One of Octave Feuillet's 
 novels, its pages half cut, was resting at the corner of the 
 mantelpiece. Music scores overburdened the open piano. 
 D'Avol's letter was lying prominently upon a table. Du 
 Breuil opened it. His friend, who had obtained twenty-four 
 hours' leave of absence, made an appointment to meet him for 
 dinner at the Caf6 Riche. 
 
 He entered his bedroom. His full-dress uniform was lying 
 ready upon the bed. Frisch had already carried hot water 
 into the cabinet de toilette. Du Breuil's refinement was to be 
 seen in the smallest details, from the large scent-bottles in 
 Baccarat crystal, to the exquisite toilet requisites arranged 
 with the ivory-backed brushes upon a dressing-table with a 
 mirror, framed in silver, which Mme. de Guionic herself would 
 not have disavowed. 
 
 She had paid a few short and radiant visits to this small 
 apartment. He smiled with pleasure as he recalled the last 
 one. A great impulse of tenderness carried him towards his 
 friend. He reproached himself with not having loved her 
 better and more ; for no woman was worthier oi inspiring a 
 deep passion. Why was he not happy ? All the same, he 
 possessed the puerilities of a sincere lover, treasuring one of 
 her gloves and a hair-pin— /w^ and annulated like her fair curls 
 — in a small box. He had dined with her on the Thursday 
 before at the house of Mme. Sutton. Since then, on Sunday, 
 her receiving-day, he had hardly seen her. It had been 
 impossible to exchange twenty words because of visitors. 
 When he left she simply said to him : 
 
 ' You will be at the Opera on Wednesday ? I will reserve a 
 seat for you in my box.' 
 
 He determined to make up for lost time this evening. He 
 would sit near her, and they would converse for a long time. 
 Would they be in harmony ? It was strange to think that 
 
THE DISASTER 35 
 
 soon, perhaps, they would no longer see one another. How 
 quickly that evening would pass ! He felt deeply how 
 ephemeral things were, and his heart was oppressed. To- 
 morrow was dark and impenetrable ; he lost sight of the way 
 before him. What would become of their love when it was 
 submitted to the test of their being parted at a great distance ? 
 
 * Fetch me a cab,' he cried to Frisch. 
 
 The orderly was in his small and untidy kitchen washing 
 down his fowl with a bottle of chablis, another gift from the 
 enamoured cook. He wiped his mouth with the back of his 
 hand, and rushed down the staircase. 
 
 * A quarter to eight I' Du Breuil cursed himself for his late- 
 ness. D'Avol would be furious. He recalled his friend such 
 as he had known him since their youth — a' slender, well- 
 made man, with an obstinate wrinkle on his forehead and a 
 concentrated look of ardour in his eyes. They had left the 
 Polytechnic on the very same day, and had gone through the 
 courses together at the Metz Artillery School. Jacques 
 d'Avol, with his stubborn, fiery, proud, and despotic nature, 
 was difficult to get on with in daily intercourse. Antipathetic 
 to the majority, he remained to his friends a man of exquisite 
 nobleness of soul and delicacy of heart. 
 
 * The cab is waiting, sir.' 
 
 An astonishingly thin horse was blowing between the shafts. 
 The cabman was stout, as if in compensation for its leanness. 
 
 As soon as the cabman saw Du Breuil's uniform, he showed 
 great zeal, brushing the cushions of his vehicle, and smiling 
 when he asked for the address. He finished by hoisting him- 
 self on to his seat with joyous ponderosity, and with a cut of 
 his whip cried : ' Geeho, Bismarck !' 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The evening twilight was in suspense in the splendour of one 
 of those magnificent summer days which are long in dying. 
 The Avenue des Champs Elysees, crowded with promenaders, 
 was, as far as the sombre mass of the Arc de Triomphe, 
 wrapped in a half-light. The Place de la Concorde was like 
 an ant-hill, and a clamour arose therefrom. The crowd was 
 running in the direction of the Pont- Royal, whence sounded 
 the bugles of a squadron on the march. There were cries of 
 'Vivel'arme — e — ee!' words which, repeated by a thousand 
 
 3—2 
 
36 THE DISASTER 
 
 throats, were prolonged in an uproar which died away in the 
 distance like the sound of the wind and the sea. 
 
 The street-lamps were lit in the Rue Royale. The caf6 
 tables had been taken by storm. A compact crowd was in 
 movement on the boulevards. A double current of people 
 walked along the causeways. People were discussing the 
 contents of newspapers which had just been published, talking 
 in a high tone of voice, and sneering. The women, in light- 
 coloured dresses, were the most excited. Stout bourgeois 
 pulled themselves to their full height, a martial expression 
 upon their faces; some were leading by the hand children 
 dressed as soldiers. Three girls in blue, white, and red dresses 
 were entwined in a cab, and saluted the crowd in the midst of 
 a storm of cheers and jests. The one in blue, who was rather 
 a pretty blonde, was deHghted with Du Breuil's gold shoulder- 
 knots, and threw kisses to him. 
 
 Suddenly there resounded the * Marseillaise,' bellowed at the 
 top of the voice. The traffic had to stop. Some men in white 
 blouses, at the head of a column of people (some with caps 
 and others with silk hats upon their heads), forced their way 
 across the causeway. The ruffians seized the bridles of the 
 horses and brandished their sticks. A bearded old man was 
 shouting so loudly that his eyes started out of his head. At 
 his side was a young man with a pallid face, whose head, 
 heavy with drink, fell from side to side. The stream passed 
 on, followed by an acrid odour of perspiration and wine. Some 
 young men and boys, capering like monkeys, formed an escort. 
 
 The cab stopped at the corner of the Rue le Peletier. Du 
 Breuil, impatient, handed the cabman his fare, and struck out 
 for the Cafe Riche. He had hardly reached the door than he 
 heard the man, in a drunken voice, calling to prospective fares : 
 * Here's a good horse for you ! Two seats for Berlin !' 
 
 A crowd was forming. Du Breuil turned round. Some 
 people were making a great fuss. He saw the soft hat and the 
 red beard of a man, at whom the crowd, with violent gestures, 
 was hooting and hurling insults. A poHceman appeared just 
 as blows were given. A caf6 waiter explained : 
 
 * It's nothing . . . teaching a Prussian a lesson. It appears he 
 advised the cabman to get a better animal if he wanted to 
 reach Berlin.' 
 
 Du Breuil glanced at the terrace. Not a table was free ! 
 D'Avol was probably waiting for him in the restaurant. The 
 sudden heat and the smell from the kitchen were suffocating. 
 
THE DISASTER 37 
 
 * Are you looking for someone, sir ?' asked the butler, with 
 marked obsequiousness. 
 
 The animation under the white gas-globes and in the midst 
 of the uproar of voices was extraordinary. Busy waiters, 
 carrying a dish in each hand, wound their way in and out in 
 the large room ; even the cellarmen put off their usual air of 
 solemn gravity, and went from table to table with quick step. 
 
 ' Yes, sir. If you will allow me ' and the butler guided 
 
 Du Breuil amidst the diners. 
 
 < We don't notice our friends any more. How proud this 
 soldier is !' 
 
 It was big Peyrode, seated between Rose Noel and Bloom- 
 field, who spoke. He made pretence to propose a toast. Du 
 Breuil smiled at the group, and thanked them with a nod of 
 his head. Peyrode's nose was redder than ever. . . . 
 
 D'Avol at last ! He was buried in the Figaro, his elbows 
 resting on the tablecloth. The table was set. A number of 
 unfolded newspapers were near him, witnessing to a lengthy 
 wait. The two officers shook hands. Du Breuil sat down. 
 One waiter took his sword, another his shako. 
 
 ' Serve us quickly,' said D'Avol. 
 
 The butler bowed respectfully, and straightened himself up 
 again as though worked by a spring. He placed the liovs- 
 d'ceuvre upon the table, and hurried the cellarman. 
 
 ' Decidedly the army is held in honour to-day,' thought Du 
 Breuil. 
 
 He was very pleased to see his friend again. He inquired 
 after his health and his affairs. What had happened at Ver- 
 sailles ? How was it that he had obtained leave of absence ? 
 
 Jacques, without losing a mouthful, placed him an couvant. 
 Between two train times he had come to kiss his mother. He 
 had taken lunch with her at Saint-Germain, where she resided. 
 The afternoon had been occupied in making purchases and 
 transacting business. He would return after the Op6ra. 
 
 While the cold trout was being removed and a duckling a la 
 Rouennaise was being brought, the butler inquired what they 
 would take next. 
 
 * Lamb cutlets ? Asparagus-heads ? And as an entremets, 
 iced peaches, Macedoine a la Prussienne ' — he smiled discreetly 
 — < or Bombe Magenta ?' 
 
 The hum of conversation, the blue spirals of tobacco-smoke, 
 the brilUant light of lustres reflected to infinity in the mirrors 
 — everything excited D'Avol. He forgot the day's fatigue, 
 
38 THE DISASTER 
 
 and felt a keen happiness from the warmth of the repast and 
 the movement in the room. The noise of the street came in 
 through the open windows, a continual humming, with now 
 and then cheers and cries. 
 
 ' How I envy you !' he said feverishly. * You are at the very 
 source. Decisions and news — everything passes through your 
 hands. I don't deny you have work. We have quite as much, 
 but we are in complete ignorance. Reviews . . . reviews . . . 
 reviews the whole week. Time passes very slowly with these 
 minutiae. Orders and counter-orders. . . . First we're going 
 to set off, and then we're not. However, the great day comes 
 after to-morrow, and then farewell, Versailles ! En route for 
 Nancy, and Metz at our journey's end. Eh ! but it will be a 
 pleasure to us, old fellow, to see Metz again. You are very 
 lucky in not having been chosen, but, as certain as I am sitting 
 here, you will trail your sword on the Esplanade before I do.' 
 
 • May God hear you !' exclaimed Du Breuil. 
 
 * You recollect the Cafe Parisien . . . and the games at billiards 
 . . . and our dinners at the Hotel de I'Europe on Sundays when 
 we were not invited to the Bersheims' ?' 
 
 Recollections crowded upon them. They called over the 
 names of their professors, smiling as they conjured up their 
 fads and their ridiculous ways. They evoked the hospitable 
 Bersheim household, where, in all truth, they had passed many 
 happy hours. M. Bersheim, a distant cousin of D'Avol, was 
 a rich manufacturer, possessed of a jovial and upright nature — 
 in short, one of the best of men. And Mme. Bersheim, that 
 amiable woman, so beautiful and so sweet ! Du Breuil recalled 
 the honnet a cogues and the peaceful old face of Grandmother 
 Sophia, the gaiety of the two sons, and, in particular, the deli- 
 cate charm of little Anine. 
 
 ' It is curious to think,' he said, * that we shall perhaps very 
 shortly be fighting in that smiling country of the Moselle, on 
 the spot where we drank the rosy-coloured wine of Sey. Over 
 the roads which we followed with slackened rein on our morning 
 rides, we shall again pass revolver in hand and eyes alert.' 
 
 ' You must be mad !' exclaimed D'Avol. * Metz will never 
 be the scene of the struggle. A well-informed man like you 
 tell me such a thing as that !' 
 
 ' The man who knows the true plan of campaign is a very 
 sharp fellow. Only one thing is certain : the first one ready 
 has the advantage.' 
 
 D'Avol shrugged his shoulders. 
 
THE DISASTER 39 
 
 * We have been ready a week,' he said, ' and a child can 
 trace the plan of campaign. Once the army is concentrated, 
 and we cross the Rhine between Maxau and Germersheim, 
 issuing into the Baden country. Northern Germany is 
 separated from the south. Bavaria and Wurtemberg are 
 immobilized. Austria and Italy take up arms. And that 
 famous Northern Germany remains.' He made a gesture of 
 indifference. ... ' Our grandfathers were at Jena.' 
 
 The iced peaches were served. At the same moment the 
 conversation was drowned in the noise from the street. There 
 were peals of laughter and ironical cheers ; the crowd had 
 become rowdy. Suddenly the people swept in the direction of 
 the Variet6s. Some hustled women screamed. A number of 
 voyous were descending the boulevard, holding brooms coated 
 with resin, which did duty for torches. Three of their 
 number were carrying in triumph a soldier of the line. They 
 were singing at the top of their voices, and as much out of 
 tune as possible, the hymn of the Girondins. Smoky tongues 
 of flame sprang from their brands in the gathering darkness. 
 They passed the Cafe Riche, and the diners from their seats 
 saw the red train of fire which, amidst a multitude of sparks, 
 waved above the heads of the people. * Mourir pour la patrie !' 
 . . . ever yelled voices thickened by wine. Then, at the end 
 of the strophes, there came, with animal cries : ' To Chaillot, 
 the King of Prussia !' 
 
 Du Breuil continued : 
 
 ' I have good hope. The stupidities of these first few days 
 are inevitable. Everything will come right. It is a curious 
 thing, however, that, in spite of this general enthusiasm, there 
 are so few voluntary enlistments. There has not been the 
 great zeal shown which was expected.' 
 
 'AH the better!' exclaimed D'Avol sharply. He raised his 
 face and looked at Du Breuil. His hair, thick and fine, was* 
 short-cut, resembling a brush. An intelligent look was in his 
 eyes. ' So far, only trained soldiers. What results have the 
 militia given ? Nothing very great. We have no need of 
 anybody. Once the mitrailleuses are working, and it will be 
 a matter of a fortnight. Aren't these mitrailleuses simply 
 astonishing ? You've read the account of the trials at Satory?'''- 
 
 * The trials of the new weapon were made at Meudon, in the presence 
 of Colonel Verchfere de Reffye and other officers. The greatest secrecy 
 was observed. It was only after the war that the capabilities of the 
 mitrailleuse were publicly known, the report of the General who com- 
 
40 THE DISASTER 
 
 * I was there/ answered Du Breuil. * Three hundred 
 ** screws," purchased from the knacker at four and sixpence 
 apiece, were massed on the plain. Two mitrailleuses were 
 being worked, and at the second discharge the whole cavalry 
 was down. On the next day the experiments were continued, 
 and there was a general massacre at the first round.' 
 
 'Marvellous!' 
 
 * Unfortunately, they have only been able so far to manufac- 
 ture one hundred and ninety.' 
 
 However confident Du Breuil might be, he could not forget 
 the undoubted superiority of the Prussian artillery. He had 
 read at the Ministry the reports of Colonel Stoppel, the military 
 attache at Berlin. Various reports of officers sent on missions 
 spoke well also of the Belgian artillery, which had recently 
 been imported from Germany ; range and accuracy of shooting 
 were surprising. 
 
 D'Avol replied : 
 
 ' Don't bother me ! There is some good in the Solferino 
 artillery. Since we compare armaments, however, I reply by 
 calling attention to the chassepot, which is worth fifty Dreysse 
 rifles. . . . First of all, it has a small bore ; then, it is easily 
 handled, and can readily be brought to the shoulder. The 
 other gun is heavy and cumbersome. That, however, is not 
 the question. A club which is manipulated with strength will 
 always be better than the finest blade in unskilful hands. 
 Courage is everything. . . .* 
 
 He sipped a cup of coffee. Liqueurs and various boxes of 
 cigars were brought. Du Breuil chose a dry, light-coloured 
 Havana, and cut off the end. 
 
 ' I was just reading a very well-written article,' continued 
 D'Avol. * The newspapers are unanimous, aren't they ?' 
 
 ' Quite,' replied Du Breuil. ' And what enthusiasm ! I 
 saw the 7th battalion of Chasseurs go by, headed by some 
 workmen. The staff was surrounded by friends, Saint-Cyrians 
 and young ladies carrying bouquets. The people had mingled 
 with the rank and file. One had seized a gun, and another a 
 knapsack. There were citizens with kepis, and soldiers with 
 caps upon their heads. The waggons, decorated with small 
 flags, followed. Kisses were thrown to the cantini^res.' 
 
 ' That promises well for the return,' said D'Avol, in con- 
 clusion. 
 
 manded the troops at the Sarrebriick engagement stating that the officers 
 were enthusiastic over its destructive powers— F L. 
 
THE DISASTER 41 
 
 The two officers took down their swords, and placed their 
 shakos upon their heads. The room was half empty. The 
 waiters moved to one side out of their way. The patriotic 
 butler, a napkin under his arm, followed them at a distance, 
 and, as they were about to pass out, made a deep bow, reveal- 
 ing a pink and shiny baldness. 
 
 The boulevard was black with people. A prodigious success 
 was obtained by a cab from which gesticulated ten young men 
 piled one on the top of another. Above a medley of arms, 
 holding Chinese lanterns, swayed an enormous flag. Someone 
 cried : * Long live peace !' There was a grumbling among the 
 crowd ; fifty furious voices protested, crying : ' Down with 
 cowards !' A diversion was created by two officers in brilliant 
 uniforms, who came out. The people cried : * Long live 
 France !' 
 
 Du Breuil's spur caught a lady's skirt. She was dark, and 
 had blue eyes — the air of a young bride. He apologized, but 
 she prettily answered : 
 
 * Not at all— not at all, sir.' 
 
 And, blushing, not only she, but her husband as well, 
 appeared delighted. D'Avol and Du Breuil wound their way 
 along the Rue le Peletier. Between the houses on a level with 
 the causeway a strong light came through the doors of the 
 Opera. The ticket-takers bowed and smiled, an usher with a 
 chain round his neck preceded them to the foot of the stair- 
 case, where D'Avol took his leave to find one of his cousins in 
 the orchestra stalls. 
 
 * So long!' exclaimed Du Breuil. 
 
 The box-keeper introduced him. Mme. de Gui'onic turned 
 her beautiful eyes towards him, and greeted him with a slight 
 inflection of the neck, whose proud grace rippled to the 
 shoulders. The two front-seats she had given up to Mme. 
 and Mdlle. le Pr6cheur. Du Breuil liked these people very 
 much. The daughter was ugly, simple, and good ; the mother, 
 who at one time had got herself talked about, was still indul- 
 gent, notwithstanding the hypercriticism which she affected. 
 She even countenanced, with serene complicity, certain liaisons. 
 Mme. le Precheur's father, a respectable old man, was at the 
 back of the box, and had been asleep since the dances in the 
 first act. Being stone-deaf, the music didn't trouble him 
 much. 
 
 Du Breuil sat near to Mme. de Gui'onic and explained the 
 reason for his lateness. Mme. le Precheur smiled and singled 
 
42 THE DISASTER 
 
 out D'Avol in the orchestra with her opera-glass. Mdlle. le 
 Precheur's whole attention was riveted on the stage. She was 
 engrossed in Masaniello, and fanned herself with emotion. 
 
 At that very moment Fenella, La Muette, abandoned by the 
 Viceroy of Naples, and made the wife of Elvire, was confessing 
 her dishonour to her brother. Masaniello swore to avenge 
 her. 
 
 DvL Breuil found Mme. de Guionic possessed of a charm 
 more absorbing than ever. Until his appearance she had been 
 cold and serious, the regularity alone of her features, and the 
 harmonious contour of her bust, making her a beautiful woman. 
 * A marble !' Mme. Herbeau, in a box opposite, was about to 
 spitefully say to the Chevalier Zurli. 
 
 But she was living now. 
 
 A slight colour had mounted to her face ; the texture of her 
 skin had taken a nacreous lustre ; she seemed transfigured. 
 
 Du Breuil saw Mme. Herbeau bend towards Zurli, and 
 from their expression saw that she was speaking of them. 
 
 Diamonds sparkled on white throats, faces were lit up in the 
 light which flooded the gay house, decorated in red and gold 
 after the Italian style. Many of those present were well known 
 to Du Breuil. Everybody of note in Paris was there. It had 
 been rumoured that the Emperor and Empress would be 
 present at the performance. It was known now, however, 
 that their Majesties would not come ; but, to give an official 
 character to the occasion, the Due de Grammont and Vicomte 
 Laferri^re were seated in the small official box. The Due and 
 the Duchesse de Mouchy made their appearance. Du Breuil 
 admired the Duchess's fine profile, crowned with a garland of 
 corn-flowers. In the orchestra stalls he recognised Jaillant, 
 Bris, Jousset-Gournal ; in the first boxes Manhers and his 
 family, farther on General Chenot — with a moustache like a 
 grenadier — Mme. Langlade and the Marquise d'Avilar. The 
 last-named escorted a young lady, whom she was trying to lead 
 astray (under the very eyes of the husband), for the benefit of 
 a bald diplomatist. People were impatiently waiting for Marie 
 Sass, who was to sing the * Marseillaise.' The whole house 
 was in a state of feverish excitement. It was plain from keen 
 glances and animated faces that everybody was similarly pre- 
 occupied — these women in ball-dresses, these men mostly 
 covered with decorations, Generals, artists, literary men, 
 senators, deputies, lights of the Bar and of the medical faculty, 
 large manufacturers, and idlers, all those in this luxurious and 
 
THE DISASTER 43 
 
 showy gathering of the elite who this evening represented 
 France. 
 
 The Neapolitan fishermen on the stage were revolting at the 
 instigation of Masaniello ; then, to hide their designs they sang 
 a barcarolle. The chorus of young girls was resumed : 
 
 • L' Amour s'enfuit, le temps s'envole ; 
 Le temps emporte nos plaisirs 
 Comma les flots une gondole !' 
 
 The curtain fell. After exchanging a few words with the 
 Le Precheur ladies, Du Breuil rejoined Mme. de Guionic, who 
 was readjusting the aigrette in her hair before a mirror in the 
 saloon adjoining the box. He admired the pure line of her 
 raised arm. She drooped her long and silky eyelashes under 
 his expressive look. He admired the delicacy of her eyelids, 
 convex like rose-leaves. They spoke calmly, however, of 
 ordinary things. But Du Breuil's look, passionately fixed 
 upon her, compelled Mme. de Guionic to look up. His gaze 
 penetrated to the very centre of her being. A movement of 
 his lips expressed • I love you.' 
 
 The delight which she felt made her still more beautiful. 
 She turned away her head. A worshipper of heroism, she was 
 both exalted and saddened by war. To lose him. .. . Suppose 
 he was wounded ! Her proud heart prompted her to dismiss 
 all personal sentiments of egoism or cowardice. So she smiled 
 courageously, and was persuaded, as was stated on every 
 hand, that the campaign would be short, and that glory would 
 compensate for its perils. Du Breuil appeared to her greater 
 because he was going to fight ; she loved him better. 
 
 * Do you recollect our visit to the Salon ?' he asked. * You 
 had on a pearl-gray moire dress. We lingered for a long time 
 before Robert Fleury's picture.' 
 
 What picture ? Ah yes ! * Le Dernier Jour de Corinthe.' It 
 had made quite a sensation, had obtained the gvande mHaille d'ov. 
 The canvas reappeared before him. Women and children in 
 the midst of the supreme disaster had taken refuge under the 
 statue of Minerva. In the distance the Consul Mummius, on 
 horseback, was appearing with his legions. The massacre had 
 commenced, and the survivors were being sold as slaves. 
 Among the half-naked group in the foreground — beautiful 
 bodies stretched on the ground, virgins and mothers driven to 
 despair — was a veiled woman on her knees, with uncovered 
 breast, watching the approach of the conquerors. 
 
 * Why do you ask ?' she said. 
 
44 THE DISASTER 
 
 He smiled without replying. If he especially recollected 
 the face of that woman, it was because she strangely resembled 
 Mme. de Guionic. Other people had made the same remark 
 that day. Other recollections crowded upon him. 
 
 * And the hunt at Fontainebleau, when you received the 
 button ? On the previous day you showed . me your green 
 cloth habit, and you wore upon your head a little lampion hat 
 with a white feather, which gave you an audacious and 
 charming air.' He spoke low ; his breath caressed her. ' I 
 can see you yet at the last ball at the Tuileries. I followed 
 you up the wide, long staircase between the soldiers of the 
 Cent-gardes drawn up in line and the flowers on the staircase. 
 The opal bracelet which you wear came undone just as you 
 were entering the Salle des Marechaux.' 
 
 * This bracelet,' she said, ' has never caused me anything 
 but trouble.' 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 * Opals are unlucky.' 
 
 The door of the box was opened. Maxime Judin and 
 M. Langlade entered. The senator inquired after the health 
 of Mme. de Guionic. And how was the Count ? He was, 
 then, going to remain in Brittany this year ? The pretext 
 which she gave was her husband's indisposition, but everybody 
 knew the real reason for this prolonged absence — a certain 
 Mme. de Ploguern, their neighbour, was not a stranger to it. 
 M. Langlade had only come, however, to speak to Du Breuil. 
 When would the Chasseurs d'Afrique leave ? — his son, a 
 Second Lieutenant at Oran, was burning to set off. 
 
 * At his age young men think the more mischief there is, the 
 better the sport.' 
 
 Vicomte Judin was telling Mme. de Guionic the latest 
 pieces of scandal. He raised his head at the senator's words, 
 and said joyously : 
 
 'Certainly ! Do you know, Pierre, I've enlisted.' 
 He enjoyed the effect which this announcement produced. 
 They congratulated him. 
 
 ' The Colonel of the 93rd consents to take me.' 
 
 ' The 93rd ? Why, that is my Cousin Vedel's regiment !' 
 
 * You'll recommend me !' exclaimed Judin, laughing. 
 
 Why had this titled and rich young man, who enjoyed a 
 sinecure at the Quai d'Orsay, enlisted ? Because it was chicy 
 and because of a liking for action and adventure. And, then, 
 he was tired of living a wild life. 
 
THE DISASTER 45 
 
 ' Pooh !' he concluded, ' it is only a little voyage on the 
 Rhine.' 
 
 D'Avol appeared. He came to offer his respects to Mme. le 
 Precheur. He bowed low before Mme. de Gui'onic, to whom 
 he was introduced. Judin and Langlade had left. The three 
 blows announcing the raising of the curtain rang out, and 
 D'Avol only remained a moment. He nervously clasped 
 Du Breuil's hand. 
 
 *Au revoir, my dear fellow !' 
 
 The door was closed again. 
 
 * I am happy to make his acquaintance,' said Mme. de 
 Gulonic. 
 
 Du Breuil had often spoken to her of Jacques as his best 
 friend. The curtain rose, and disclosed a room of a palace. 
 Alphonse was imploring Elvire's pardon, and, in a pathetic 
 duo, obtained it. The scene was changed. Some young 
 flower-girls danced on to the Place du Marche. M. de 
 Precheur roused himself to find his opera-glasses. But the 
 soldiers forcibly took La Muette away. Masaniello urged 
 on the people. * Marchons ! Aux armes ! Des flambeaux !' 
 Marie Sass at last appeared amidst the tumult of the last 
 measures. 
 
 A thrill passed through the house, and cries and cheers 
 mingled in a single acclamation at the sight of her. She wore 
 a white tunic and a peplum, upon which was a pattern of 
 golden bees. She advanced in that splendid tragic manner of 
 hers, holding in her hand the tricolour flag. She commenced 
 the first notes, ' Allons, enfants de la patrie,' in the midst of 
 indescribable emotion. 
 
 The Duchesse de Mouchy rose to her feet, and part of the 
 spectators imitated her example. Then an imperious voice — 
 it was Emile de Girardin — cried : ' Everybody stand up !' The 
 whole house obeyed. Each one felt possessed of a new, col- 
 lective, and immense soul. Something strong and harsh, 
 sudden, passed like a breath to the roots of their hair, to the 
 marrow of their bones. The orchestra accompanied the glorious 
 hymn. Marie Sass sang the first strophe in a trembling voice, 
 calling up red blood and the flash of swords. Tremendous 
 applause burst forth. She recommenced in a higher, louder 
 key, and the song increased in volume, filled the enormous 
 building, passed through the walls, and seemed to spread over 
 Paris in revolt and the country in arms. In its ardent words 
 the roll of cannon mingled with the clamour of the tocsin. 
 
46 THE DISASTER 
 
 The feeling of the country in danger rose in every heart. The 
 national anthem, for so long a time prohibited, appeared more 
 beautiful, burnt with a new life and a flame eternal. 
 
 ' Nous entrerons dans la carriere 
 Quand nos aines n'y seront plus !' 
 
 Emotion was at its height. People panted with enthusiasm. 
 Men and women became dizzy. The former laughed ner- 
 vously and bit their moustaches, some shouted like madmen ; 
 the latter tore their fans to pieces and waved their handker- 
 chiefs. The actress with her tragic eyes and mouth was then, 
 white under her golden bees, the very incarnation of imperial 
 France. Her stature increased, and, borne up by the universal 
 delirium, she prophesied victory. Jena, Austerlitz, Sebastopol, 
 and Solferino blazed out ! 
 
 Du Breuil, transported, looked at his neighbours. Mme. le 
 Precheur was leaning forward, completely carried away. 
 Mme. de Guionic turned towards him an exalted face, down 
 which large tears were rolling. A frantic clamour drowned 
 the finale. The whole house was traversed by one of those 
 electric currents which galvanize a crowd and convert it into 
 a single person. The people cried by a thousand mouths, in 
 the midst of an irresistible outburst, the stamping of feet, arms 
 raised on high, and faces drunk with joy : ' Long live the 
 Emperor ! Long live France ! To Berlin !' 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The train moved away. 
 
 ' Good-bye, father,' said Du Breuil. 
 
 Motionless, he watched, with sinking heart, the last carriages 
 as they vanished in the distance. The old officer was at one 
 of the carriage doors, nodding his gray head, and smiling with 
 an air of constraint. A moment before he had manfully 
 embraced his son. The two men tried to assume an air of 
 indiflference, even of gaiety. Pierre promised to write. He 
 hoped his mother would be reasonable ; there was no reason 
 for alarm ; they were not separating for long. And soon he 
 failed to distinguish the features of the old soldier — the smooth, 
 shining forehead, the aquiline nose, the clear blue eyes. The 
 
THE DISASTER 47 
 
 luggage-van, the only thing visible, sped over the shining rails, 
 and, like a black point, quickly disappeared. 
 
 Then his feverish excitement subsided, and a sudden feeling 
 of anguish caused a lump to rise in his throat, and overwhelmed 
 his heart with bitterness. He realized with what deep affec- 
 tion he loved this father whom he saw so seldom, that mother 
 hidden away in the old chateau. To think that he could not 
 even kiss the sweet old lady on the forehead before leaving ! 
 
 To leave for the war — the thought calmed his spirit. But 
 his troubled sensations disappeared as quickly as they had 
 come. To leave ! What joy ! what deliverance ! In the 
 confused state of things that prevailed at headquarters, would 
 he have to submit to another counter-order ? No ; the service- 
 letter had already been signed. His father's intervention and 
 that of the Marquis de Champreux had been providential. 
 
 At first, the Chamberlain had done nothing for him. Fortu- 
 nately, Comte du Breuil, unable to understand his son's in- 
 action now that war had been declared, came to see him, and 
 had also gone to Saint -Cloud to urge on the old beau. As it 
 happened, a Council of Ministers was being held, and by great 
 good luck the Count came across an old comrade. General 
 Lebrun, Deputy-Commandant-General, who had set out for 
 Metz on the 24th with Marshal Leboeuf, but had hastily 
 returned. The mobihzation of the army was far from being 
 as well advanced as had been hoped. In consternation, the 
 Marshal had despatched to the Minister of War ad interim his 
 first Deputy-Commandant-General to insure prompt measures 
 being taken. Comte du Breuil had asked his friend for an 
 introduction to General Dejean. Thus, thanks to Lebrun's 
 support, and at the instance of the Marquis de Champreux, he 
 succeeded in getting his son appointed to the general army 
 staff. 
 
 He met him at the entrance to the Ministry of War. 
 
 ' You can pack your kit,' he said. That was all. 
 
 Pierre fell upon his neck and embraced him. They went 
 immediately to dine with one of their oldest acquaintances, the 
 well-known Jules Th6denat. This man had been Professor of 
 History at the College of France at the time of the Revolution 
 of 1848, but he had resigned after the coup d'etat, and since 
 then had spent a long time in travelling. In his self-imposed 
 exile he had met Victor Hugo in Brussels and Quinet in 
 Switzerland. He lived in great seclusion. Pierre looked 
 upon him as eccentric. 
 
48 THE DISASTER 
 
 Father Thedenat — that was the name he was given with 
 sympathetic irreverence — was an old man with the face of an 
 apostle : smooth-shaven, clear-cut, and full of energy. His 
 snow-white hair, like that of a woman, was tied in a knot, and 
 encircled his face. Comte du Breuil, who was out of all 
 sympathy with his ideas, said laughingly : * He's a furious 
 Revolutionary.' And thus they talked on in their usual 
 animated and confidential way in the poor little dining-room 
 of that humble and admirable creature, Mme. Th6denat, whose 
 canaries flitted about in their cages overhead. 
 
 The old officer, who could use his remaining arm with great 
 skill, held in his hand a short briarwood pipe, which he filled 
 and lighted without help. He sent out quick, short puffs of 
 smoke. Thedenat, as he listened, fixed his quick, bright-green 
 eyes upon him. They talked of war and hoped-for alliances. 
 There was no indication that the Austro- Hungarian army was 
 to be mobihzed. A letter received from Colonel de Brouill6, 
 military attache at Vienna (a letter of which General Lebrun 
 was cognizant), removed all doubt as to the pacific intentions 
 of Austria. Comte du Breuil related the remark made at 
 Saint-Cloud on the previous evening by his old companion-in- 
 arms. The Due de Grammont, to whom the General com- 
 municated his apprehensions, said, tapping him lightly on 
 the shoulder : ' And you think Colonel de Brouill6 knows all 
 that is going on at Vienna ? Come, come, man ! Have 
 confidence.' 
 
 Th6denat interrupted him impatiently. 
 
 ' Why should Austria help us ? We cowardly abandoned her 
 at Sadowa. Don't tell me that it was Mexico that paralyzed our 
 army, because we only had twenty-eight thousand men there 
 — not a man more. And Hanover, Hesse, Nassau, Frankfort, 
 and Sleswick, which we have allowed those Prussian dogs to 
 swallow up. No, no ; we will fight alone, and serve us right ! 
 All sins meet with retribution — those of nations as well as 
 those of men.* 
 
 He continued with vivid and fiery words, in spite of the 
 interruptions of the two Du Breuils, to attack the source itself 
 of all this trouble, the Imperial Government, which he styled 
 the personification of falsehood and rottenness, a paper empire, 
 the work of gamblers and adventurers, based on luck and a 
 fixed ideal, I EtoiU. He portrayed the Emperor, full of bold 
 and visionary dreams, but shrinking from decisive action, 
 indecisive and vacillating, a man living in a state of somnam- 
 
THE DISASTER 49 
 
 bulism, in a dream of opium. How Bismarck had outplayed 
 him, the inimitable actor, with his sullen face of a soldier- 
 diplomatist hidden under the visor of his pointed helmet, and 
 his mask of swaggering bombast. As for the Empress, 
 Thedenat, although his language was respectful, was neverthe- 
 less severe. He detested her Spanish and clerical tendencies, 
 and the political domination which she exercised over the 
 Emperor. * Both of them gamblers, both foreigners.' 
 
 He spoke with enthusiasm of Rochefort, and of Emile 
 OUivier with bitterness. He heaped scorn upon the shameful 
 mockery of a Parliament ; it was simply duping the people. 
 The mass of the nation did not want war. For example, this 
 famous garde-mobile could not be constituted. The deputies 
 had only secured their election by promising to vote for peace. 
 The plebiscite was a fraud. 
 
 He rose brusquely, and took from a drawer a picture which 
 was being scattered broadcast by the miUion. At the head of 
 one column was the word ' No,' underneath a pictorial repre- 
 sentation of pillage — the burning of cottages and harvests ; at 
 the top of another, the word * Yes,' with a pleasing picture of 
 peace — barns overflowing with plenty, and cellars full of wine. 
 The peasant had voted * Yes,' for peace, and they had given 
 him war. 
 
 Thedenat pointed out Prussia in arms, and all Germany at 
 her back. In his rising excitement he expressed a fervent 
 hope that a disaster was not near at hand. On that point, for 
 instance, the Du Breuils differed profoundly from him. The 
 father openly, the son silently, regarded him as a fanatic. 
 Mme. Thedenat, her knitting in her hands, was silent ; she 
 listened with anxious suffering depicted on her drawn face. 
 
 * Pooh !' said the old officer ; ' you won't discourage him.' 
 
 He pointed to the Major, who sat smiling incredulously. 
 Thedenat hurriedly brushed back his beautiful white hair, 
 which had fallen upon his temples. He filled up the glasses 
 with some precious marc ; then, holding his glass at arm's 
 length, he said in a loud voice : 
 
 ' Come, this time we will agree. To our native country.' 
 
 Father Thedenat passionately loved the Fatherland. 
 
 'This,' thought Du Breuil, 'atones for all.' 
 
 At the end of a fatiguing day, seated in his carriage, he 
 could now laugh, buoyed up as he was by the excitement of 
 departure. Escaping from his disordered apartment, where 
 Frisch had heaped up a great pile of clothes and linen, he 
 
 4 
 
50 THE DISASTER 
 
 resolved to make his final visits. This evening he would say 
 good-bye to Mme. de Guionic ; to-morrow morning he would 
 go to Saint- Cloud and thank his uncle ; then he would take 
 the train at the Eastern station, and on the following night he 
 would be at Metz. 
 
 Was there anything that he had forgotten ? If Frisch 
 would only remember to get some nose-bags ! He feared the 
 effect of the heat on his two horses, Brutus and Cydalise, 
 during the journey. With what a feeling of relief had he left 
 the Ministry of War and shaken hands with C16mendot, who 
 groaned continually over the rheumatism in his joints, which 
 kept him tied to the office ! He passed over in his mind the 
 visits he had to make. First to his notary in the Rue de 
 Provence. After going there he went to Devismes'. 
 
 When he reached the boulevard, his cab had to stop on 
 account of the ever-increasing tumult of the mob. There was 
 the noise of trumpets and drums. An old Colonel was mounted 
 on a little black Barbary horse, which impatiently pawed the 
 ground ; behind him was the mounted staff. A regiment of 
 the line filed past. In the rear file sergeants and sergeant- 
 majors were keeping step. All were veterans, decorated with 
 medals of the Crimean and of the Italian campaigns. Soldiers 
 with gray moustaches could be seen in the ranks. Du Breuil 
 admired their bearing. From front to rear the guns moved 
 up and down at the same parallel angle. Their legs opened 
 and shut like big red scissors ; left arms were swung hither and 
 thither like pendulums ; every head was held bolt upright. 
 An old sergeant cried to his platoon : ' Mark time !' 
 
 Mechanically the men stamped their feet, and then, at a 
 sudden command, set off again in a body. The people ap- 
 plauded. A boy who had climbed into a tree lost his balance 
 and fell among the spectators, without, however, doing himself 
 injury. A bare-headed woman, carried away with joy, was 
 sitting astride the shoulders of a workman, in whose curly hair 
 she buried her hands to prevent herself from falling. The heat 
 was oppressive ; perspiration poured down the faces of the 
 onlookers. Still the regiment filed past. Suddenly, when the 
 4th battalion was passing, a soldier fell like a lump of lead. 
 The crowd pressed forward to raise him. An assistant 
 medical officer got down from his horse and examined the 
 prostrate body. 
 
 ' Rupture of an aneurism. Nothing to be done.' 
 
 He remounted his animal and took his place again behind 
 
THE DISASTER 51 
 
 the column. Some workmen carried the body towards a 
 chemist's. The regiment continued on its way ; not a man had 
 left the ranks ; hardly a comrade had turned his head. The 
 red trousers moved away with the same rhythmical and in- 
 exorable step — One, two ! One, two ! 
 
 * Pooh !' exclaimed a man with an evil countenance, looking 
 at Du Breuil, ' he won't be the last.' 
 
 The carriage moved on. Further on a drunken man was 
 sitting on a bench surrounded by idlers. His hat was crushed 
 in and tilted over one eye. He made a motion that he wanted 
 to speak. Salivating on to his beard, he vociferated : 
 
 * Down with Charles X. !' 
 
 He collapsed. The people laughed and pushed him about. 
 A cuirassier, who was carrying a despatch, raised himself in his 
 stirrups the better to see, and was very nearly thrown from his 
 horse because of a dog which got between the animal's legs. 
 At Devismes' Du Breuil was shown some revolvers of a new 
 pattern, and purchased a perfected one. When leaving he 
 thought of buying some maps of the Rhine country, but he 
 asked himself if he wouldn't find as many as he wanted at 
 Metz. Why burden himself ? He wanted a field-glass, how- 
 ever, so he purchased one. He almost forgot gloves. 
 
 * Cabman, Rue de RicheUeu.' 
 
 He patronized a glove-shop, the proprietress of which was 
 well-known for her amiability towards officers. She had in 
 her employment a number of smart shop-girls. With many 
 glances and Uttle grimaces they pressed forward to serve Du 
 Breuil, and one of them, a girl with auburn hair, black eyes, 
 and a milky-white complexion, took his measure. The powder 
 upon her face gave her such a sweet, fresh smell. Blushing, 
 she tried him on a pair of gloves. While her companions were 
 taking down boxes, they nudged her with their elbows, laugh- 
 ing to themselves. Du Breuil chose half a dozen pairs of 
 strong buckskin gloves which would be soft to the reins and 
 to a sword-handle. He also bought ten white pairs for use on 
 the field of battle. He was flattered by the smile of the 
 pretty auburn-haired girl ; she gave herself up to him in a look. 
 He experienced a small and ridiculously vain pleasure, 
 which passed away, however, outside, with the smoke of his 
 cigarette. 
 
 Compliments were showered upon Du Breuil at his club. 
 He shook hands with more than fifty comrades. Baron 
 Lapoigne spoke a few warm, friendly words to him. But 
 
 4—2 
 
52 THE DISASTER 
 
 when the first moment of curiosity was over, everybody went 
 about his own little business, recommencing a game at cards 
 which had been interrupted, or taking up a newspaper which 
 had been laid down. Pierre remained in the clutches of old 
 General de Castree, who since 1857 had retired from the 
 army. When eighteen years of age the General had gone 
 through the French campaign. He had been a corporal at 
 Champaubert, a Second Lieutenant at Waterloo, and his 
 recollections of the imperial epopee were prolix in the extreme : 
 the old hero shot forth a perfect torrent of words. Du Breuil 
 had to put up with his eloquence until dinner-time. 
 
 His attention was occupied by several people, including 
 Lapoigne and big Peyrode. He ate but little. Already his 
 existence of the previous day seemed to him afar off; his 
 neighbours, companions of many a fete, partners at play, 
 seemed to him to have new faces to which he was indifferent. 
 Even the toast which Peyrode energetically proposed, amid 
 discreet applause, annoyed him. He drank his coffee without 
 taking any pleasure in doing so, and then perceived, when his 
 cigar was smoked, that people around him were in conversa- 
 tion. Nine o'clock already ! Baron Lapoigne was keeping 
 the bank. Pierre, standing up, staked his money on the left, 
 and won several times in succession. When it came to his 
 turn to be banker, he lost all his winnings, and £1^ in addition 
 It was half-past nine o'clock. Mme. de Gui'onic was awaiting 
 him. He left the club without saying good-bye to anybody. 
 
 What vanity all this was ! The war, to which he felt drawn 
 as towards a precipice, again occupied his thoughts. Did 
 these petty emotions of gambling, the pleasures of society, 
 constitute life ? At the proper hour war claimed both body 
 and soul, and what an intense pleasure there was in the unfore- 
 seen and in dangers ! The mask of propriety fell, and there 
 stepped forth the primitive man struggling with craft, audacity 
 and despair against his equals. He measured his strength 
 with the elements and with destiny. Du Breuil recalled the 
 terrible frenzies which he had experienced when his battery 
 was destroying Magenta. Wounded, pale, clenching his teeth, 
 the sight of his own blood had raised him up to so strong 
 a feeling that he had wished to die that very instant, standing 
 upright, under the sun. The heaps of bodies and the horror 
 of the battle-field alone had called him to his senses. How 
 pale was Deresse, his chief, and yet so admirably cool ! With 
 sorrowful gravity he saluted the wounded. 
 
THE DISASTER 
 
 53 
 
 The carriage passed quickly towards Mme. de Guionic's 
 house, but never had he felt so far from her. He called up to 
 mind the brief passions of the soldiers of the First Empire. In 
 the interval between two battles they clasped their ladies in 
 their arms. It was a rude period ! Had they time even to 
 know they were living ? Ah, those who then pressed to their 
 breast some loved one must have experienced intense and vivid 
 happiness ! Love and death were entwined in a smile. How 
 he himself would have relished the exaltation of a similar 
 departure ! Pooh ! . . . would he ever meet with absolute love, 
 the love in which two souls mingled and made themselves 
 one ? Marriage dismayed him, notwithstanding the fine 
 chances which had been held out to him. He could not resign 
 himself to simply an association of interests ; he thought with 
 uneasiness of the case of Mme. de Guionic, so tender and so 
 proud. Poor friend ! 
 
 The night was heavy. In spite of the lateness of the hour, 
 there were a large number of people on the Place de la 
 Concorde. Some artillery caissons were passing with a 
 low, rumbling noise before the Corps Legislatif. Horses and 
 men had the appearance of being asleep. There were two 
 mitrailleuses, their broad and short gun-barrels encased in 
 leather coverings. 
 
 The carriage stopped in the Rue de Grenelle before the 
 porch of a house of sombre appearance. At the bottom of the 
 courtyard there filtered through the blinds the light of the 
 lamps of Mme. de Guionic's boudoir. She awaited him with 
 anxiety. Du Breuil was touched by her pallor and the bright- 
 ness of her eyes. He kissed her hand and sat down. The 
 tone of the conversation was at first so natural that one would 
 have thought he was setting out on the morrow upon some 
 excursion. Ordinarily, the usages of society introduced some- 
 thing artificial into their sincerity. She only recovered herself 
 little by little upon every fresh meeting. It was necessary for 
 her to come under the fire of his eyes, and to hear vibrate the 
 deeper tone of his voice. And especially at Mme. de Guionic's 
 how great was his power ! 
 
 ' You will be at Metz to-morrow night,' she said. 
 
 'And you,' he repUed, 'will be at Lord Ramsey's ball?' 
 
 ' Yes, if Mme. Sutton comes for me.' 
 
 ' I shall think of you. What will be the colour of your dress ?' 
 
 She would wear a skirt of gray and pink changeable silk, 
 with bows of pearls and a ruby velvet bodice. 
 
54 THE DISASTER 
 
 ' You will resemble one of Rubens' princesses.' 
 
 What they were saying appeared to him poor and incom- 
 plete. Why was it so difficult to express his true thought? 
 Kneeling before her, he would have liked to have murmured 
 to her : ' Dear friend, my dear friend, who have done me the 
 honour to love me, I do not bring you a commonplace fare- 
 well ! I am too conscious of my powerlessness to show my 
 gratitude towards you — a gratitude which, however, is infinite. 
 Your charming form has haunted my dreams and sleepless 
 nights for years and years. In it I have adored the chaste and 
 exquisite mistress which you have consented to become. You 
 have, however, especially been a friend. ... So inconstant and 
 wretched is the heart of man ! If I do not know how to 
 love you better, at least, believe that recollection of you will 
 sweeten the best years of my life. To forget you is impossible. 
 I shall regret you the more for having lost you.' 
 
 He had an indistinct feeling that upon his return he would not 
 find her as she was then, he would not find themselves as they 
 were at that supreme minute. 
 
 ' You will be present at the Emperor's departure ?' he asked. 
 
 ' No,' she replied. ' I dislike everything which smacks of 
 curiosity and untimely zeal.' 
 
 He looked at her. Her rose-leaf, transparent eyelids drooped ; 
 her nostrils palpitated ; her mouth opened like a living fruit. 
 A subtle fire — her very soul, sorrowful and passionate — appeared 
 in her face. 
 
 Du Breuil rose suddenly, and held towards her an envelope. 
 She looked at it, but did not take it. 
 
 ' Your letters,' he said. She did not at once understand the 
 instinct of delicacy and prudence which had prompted him. 
 ' I bring them back to you, so that you may burn them,' he 
 added, lowering his voice. 
 
 She blushed. Her modesty, equalling her tenderness, was 
 great and sensible. Her heart was troubled by everything 
 which these letters called up. It seemed to her that by 
 destroying them she would give material sanction to their 
 separation, would consecrate the past. She felt that the 
 present was so precarious and unstable, and to her also it was 
 tinged with melancholy. She almost had the feeling of having 
 committed a fault, or, worse still, an error, because she could 
 not hide from herself the fact that Pierre loved her less than 
 she loved him. 
 
 She did not take the letters, but merely said : * Not here.' 
 
THE DISASTER 55 
 
 She passed into her bedroom. It was the second time that 
 he had entered. He felt troubled. She lit a candle which she 
 used when sealing her letters. 
 
 ' Give them to me,' she said. 
 
 Then she set fire to the bundle and threw it into the fire- 
 place. Little portions of them sprang out, burning, on to the 
 carpet. She placed her foot upon them, and her skin appeared 
 through her white stocking. She scattered the cinders with 
 the point of her small shoe. It was as if they had burnt their 
 love. 
 
 They now looked at each other fixedly, almost with hard 
 gravity, and one would have said they had suddenly become 
 strangers. Anguish was mingled with their silence, and the 
 pendulum of the Saxony clock, wdth its loud tic-tac, prolonged 
 the hopeless passing of life, and seemed to say : ' Pa-st ! 
 pa- St ! pa-st !' 
 
 ' Farewell, then,' said Du Breuil. 
 
 * Farewell,' she repeated. 
 
 They tried to smile, but their smiles were such as those with 
 w^hich sick people are imposed upon. He opened his arms, 
 and Mme. de Guionic threw herself towards him. Clasping 
 her to him, he buried his lips in her hair. She it was who first 
 gently repulsed him. There was an expression of sufi"ering 
 on her face. Little by httle, however, as he clasped her hands 
 her features relaxed, and there came into her beautiful eyes a 
 look of manly valour. 
 
 * God protect you !' she said. 
 
 There was the noise of something light which fell to the 
 ground and broke. Du Breuil, grazing against a small table, 
 had upset a jewel-tray. The opal bracelet had fallen to the 
 ground. 
 
 ' Ah !' she exclaimed, with an expression of sorrow. 
 
 He rushed forward to pick it up. One of the milky stones 
 had become detached, by the shock, from its setting. 
 
 * It is broken,' he said. * How clumsy I am !' Without 
 knowing why, he added : ' This opal will be of no use to you 
 any more. Give it to me in remembrance of this minute. It 
 shall never leave me.' 
 
 * You know very well,' she said, ' that the opal brings mis- 
 fortune.' 
 
 ' On the contrary, happiness,' he replied, with an ardour 
 which surprised even himself. He added : ' I beg of you.' 
 She consented. 
 
56 THE DISASTER 
 
 Their farewell was constrained. Was this the effect of the 
 sorcery of the opal, or, rather, the feeling of that which they 
 wished to say, which they had not said, which they would 
 never say ? However, their hands, joined for the last time, had 
 a difficulty in unclasping. 
 
 ' Farewell !' exclaimed Mme. de Guionic abruptly. 
 
 Then it was that he left. 
 
 Outside, he painfully admitted that he felt as though a 
 burden had been taken from his shoulders. 
 
 He rose at daybreak, classified his papers, and saw that his 
 toilet-case was in order. At seven o'clock he left for Saint- 
 Cloud. The surroundings of the palace were crowded with 
 people ; the large courtyard was encumbered with breaks and 
 omnibuses waiting for the servants ; coachmen and livery- 
 servants rushed hither and thither. General officers of the 
 staff, who were to accompany His Majesty, the Ministers, and 
 the faithful of the Court, could be seen arriving. 
 
 Du Breuil had great difficulty in finding the Marquis de 
 Champreux, who, although it did not come within his duties, 
 was here, there, and everywhere in the forced disorder and 
 agitation. A tall lackey had seen him pass ; a butler affirmed 
 that he was there a few minutes before. At last Du Breuil 
 found him in an office, behind a partition, having a cup of 
 chocolate. 
 
 * Ah, friend!' he exclaimed; 'you have no idea what a life 
 I am having.' 
 
 He listened without paying much attention, replied in the 
 same way, and, at bottom hostile to the war which was turn- 
 ing men and things upside down, always returned to the subject 
 of the departure, the importance of which deranged his habits. 
 He never lost a mouthful, but dipped large pieces of brioche 
 into his chocolate, and then, slowly and steadily, swallowed 
 them. He had the air of carrying out one of the important 
 duties of his rank, just as upon days of ceremony, when 
 dressed in his scarlet, gold-embroidered dress-coat, he related 
 the latest news of the palace ; that of Paris did not interest 
 him. 
 
 The Chamberlain wiped his lips. An orderly officer ran past. 
 
 * Farewell, friend ; I will see you after the Emperor's 
 departure. You are coming to the station ?' 
 
 In the courtyard Du Breuil found Lacoste, who was in full- 
 dress uniform. Two platoons of Lancers of the Guard were on 
 picket. 
 
THE DISASTER 57 
 
 * I saw you pass just now,' said the Captain. 
 
 He was flushed over the cheek-bones, his eyes sparkled, 
 and his hand was burning. In reply to Du Breuil's anxious 
 inquiry, he said : 
 
 * A little enervated. I can't sleep. Everybody's going. 
 Our regiment has set off, and here the Emperor is going to 
 leave us. When do you rejoin your battalion ?' 
 
 Upon learning that Du Breuil set off that very day he 
 sighed. 
 
 * I hope that at last our turn is coming. Those Badois 
 scoundrels who have blown up the Kehl bridge ! . . . The 
 Emperor's proclamation is mild ; I should have liked some- 
 thing with more fire in it. But he is doing well to take his 
 son with him.' 
 
 They had reached the private gardens. While breaks and 
 family omnibuses were stationed in the A116e de la Carriere, 
 imperial livery carriages and large open vis-a-vis were drawn 
 up before the small apartments of the palace. Du Breuil 
 picked out well-known faces — Jousset-Gournal, whose ubiquity 
 was prodigious, and the publicist Favergues, very much sur- 
 rounded by people. General Jaillant, who was accompanying 
 the Emperor, was talking in the midst of a group of general 
 officers. Mme. d'Avilar and Mme. Langlade had not missed 
 the opportunity to pay their court ; they were laughing with 
 some old gentlemen with waxed imperials and red rosettes. 
 They talked gradually louder and louder ; then, recollecting 
 the occasion, their faces became composed, and they spoke in 
 a low tone. 
 
 The face 01 everybody was animated by the unique 
 thought of the appearance of the Sovereigns. M. Jousset- 
 Gournal, with sanctimonious smile and ears on the alert ; 
 Jaillant, with his eagle eye ; and the zealous Mme. d'Avilar, 
 watched the window-doors of the saloon through which their 
 Majesties were to pass. . . . How many were there who 
 thought of the Emperor's departure after he had passed the 
 gates ? How many who followed him in heart ? And how 
 many would turn upon their heels, after the farewell had been 
 uttered, only to think of themselves ? . . . Was it caused by 
 the wan daylight under the low sky ? Du Breuil noticed on 
 nearly everybody's face a tired and heavy expression. High 
 dignitaries, senators, and deputies appeared to be extinguished 
 under the same satiated and fatigued mask. Comte Duclos 
 alone retained his lordliness. Admiral La V6ronnech was more 
 
58 THE DISASTER 
 
 downcast than ever. Under the lights these people had 
 seemed to him to be younger, fuller of life. He doubted if 
 the Empire was growing old. He was soon smiling and 
 calmed, however, when he saw the comings and goings of the 
 Aides-de-camp, with their quick gestures and martial air. The 
 calm and authority of the Generals in campaign dress filled 
 him with great confidence, with instinctive respect. Lacoste's 
 energetic face, full of devotion and will power, gave him 
 pleasure. He thought of the redoubtable force which he had 
 seen the other day on the threshold of the soldiers' dormitory 
 at the barracks, and his heart was borne up by a great hope. 
 
 There was a movement of attention, and all eyes were 
 directed to the Salon des Vernet at the end of the terrace. 
 The Emperor, Empress, and Prince Imperial appeared. The 
 Emperor wore the uniform of General-in-Chief, with crosses 
 and* medals. He was, as usual, grave, and he appeared to be 
 suffering and extremely dejected. He searched for someone 
 around him. Du Breuil momentarily met his indefinable 
 look. An officer of the suite called for General Jaillant, to 
 whom His Majesty spoke a few words. The Empress had 
 never had a finer air, but her anguish was apparent. A 
 mother's anxiety was the cause, it was supposed, of her 
 nervousness. The Prince Imperial, standing at her side, his 
 eyes red, his complexion animated, and a resolute look upon 
 his face, looked at her with charming tenderness. He was 
 wearing a uniform of a Grenadier of the Guard, a field-glass 
 slung over his shoulder intersecting his tunic of a Second 
 Lieutenant. 
 
 There was a great movement of carriages. The horses of 
 the imperial equipage pawed the ground. Their Majesties led 
 the way in an open carriage, and were followed by their house- 
 holds. Du Breuil, still accompanied by Lacoste, was with the 
 Marquis de Champreux in one of the large vis-^-vis. Some 
 Ministers and the high personnel of the palace got into the 
 breaks and the omnibuses in the A116e de la Carri^re. Those 
 who could not find seats set out on foot. The cortege of 
 carriages entered the main avenues under the shadow of the 
 trees. Du Breuil thought of his own departure in the after- 
 noon, and felt inspired with a manly joy. He experienced an 
 inexpressible relief at the idea of being on the eve of entering 
 into action. 
 
 Spectators were already in waiting near the small railway- 
 station, which was situated on a branch of the circular railway 
 
THE DISASTER 59 
 
 which entered the park. A thatched kiosk, ornamented with 
 bronze lamps, served as a shelter. Everybody left the 
 carriages. The Sovereigns stood on the platform surrounded 
 by those on duty. Then the defile commenced. Those who 
 were leaving paid homage to the Regent ; the Emperor re- 
 ceived the farewells of his Ministers ; the Prince Imperial, very 
 excited, went from one to the other. His pride got the better 
 of his sorrow. His sword kept striking against his legs. 
 
 Du Breuil divided his attention between the various groups 
 and the train drawn up on the line. The train consisted of a 
 dozen carriages, communicating by an interior passage, painted 
 dark green, with the exception of the carriage-terrace, which 
 was of polished iron. Each of the panels was decorated with 
 a gilded N, surmounted by the imperial crown. He admired 
 the Beauvais tapestries, which could be seen through the 
 saloon doorways. The bedroom — a voice remarked behind 
 him — was lacking, but two ordinary carriages had been added 
 in view of the numerous suite. 
 
 The Emperor gave the signal to get into the train. There 
 was a confused uproar around the carriages of people rushing 
 hither and thither. When he saw his staff he said, smiling : 
 
 * It is a very army corps.' 
 
 The Empress was standing near the carriage-terrace, agitated 
 and fevered. 
 
 It was a solemn moment. Dead silence reigned for a 
 minute. Finally the whistle blew and the train moved off. 
 
 ' Do your duty, Louis !' exclaimed the Empress, looking 
 tenderly at her son. 
 
 More than one was moved by the scene. All heads were un- 
 covered. There was a general cry of • Long live the Emperor !' 
 
 Du Breuil, with burning cheeks and full of hope, as though 
 the first battle had been won, felt his soul go out towards 
 Napoleon. The Emperor was leaning on the balustrade, his 
 dull eyes fixed upon the Empress with a tender and sad 
 expression. He remained there, motionless, until the train 
 was on a level with the gateway which opened on to the main 
 line. He then moved to the other side to salute the Montre- 
 tout inhabitants who were cheering him. 
 
 Du Breuil, like everybody present, watched with agitation 
 the train which, with its cortege of Generals, with the Emperor 
 and his son, was disappearing in the full light, carrying towards 
 the unknown the very destiny of the country, the fortune of 
 France. 
 
PART II, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 • Pass the turkey to the doctor,' said M. Bersheim. * There 
 isn't his equal for carving.' 
 
 Everyone looked at M. Sohier, the surgeon of the Metz 
 Military Hospital. He stuffed a corner of his napkin into the 
 collar of his coat and took the large carving-knife in his hand. 
 A fair - complexioned servant, with rosy cheeks, under the 
 supervision of old Lisbeth, who had immediately recognised 
 Du Breuil, received, with outstretched arms, the dish on which 
 lay the large turkey, stuffed with truffles and bro^vned to a 
 nicety. M. Bersheim, with a joviality which accorded well 
 with his rosy face, encircled by a gray beard, announced, with 
 some little pride : 
 
 * She weighs fifteen pounds. General. The queen of my 
 poultry-yard, brought to me yesterday from Noisseville by my 
 tenant.' 
 
 General Boisjol, who was in the act of drinking a glass of 
 wine, surveyed the bird with the air of a connoisseur. He 
 resembled an old yellow wolf, with his large nose, short hair, 
 and fierce looks. 
 
 * Now, just look !' exclaimed M. Bersheim enthusiastically. 
 The masterly skill with which M. Sohier carved was indeed 
 
 worthy of admiration. The doctor smiled as he separated the 
 joints ; the pieces fell apparently of their own accord, and 
 arranged themselves, as if by enchantment, around the dish. 
 The mathematical precision of the carver disquieted Boisjol, 
 and he expressed the thoughts of all by exclaiming : 
 
 * The devil ! I shouldn't like to be under the doctor's knife.* 
 M. Sohier grinned with satisfaction. He had a high idea of 
 
 surgery in general and of his own talents as an operator in 
 
THE DISASTER 6i 
 
 particular. There was nothing like the surgeon's knife ! At 
 the hospital he was called 'Coupe toujours ' (ahvays cutting). 
 His manners were rough, but he was a good-hearted fellow. 
 A close-shaven man with a skin like parchment and bright 
 eyes, he carried his age remarkably well. 
 Boisjol continued in the same strain : 
 
 * You won't be without work, doctor.' 
 M. Sohier replied : 
 
 ' The hospital is filling up. Nothing but simple accidents, 
 it's true. They just brought to me an artilleryman who had 
 had his foot smashed by a caisson. There are plenty of cases 
 of dysentery, but no interesting ones yet.' 
 
 * You must have patience,' remarked Du Breuil. 
 
 Boisjol eyed him askance. He was nettled by Du Breuil's 
 youth and his position on the staff. The General, proud of 
 serving in the Guard, and as an old African Zouave who had 
 gained his rank by regular promotion, despised educated officers. 
 Du Breuil emptied his glass. The wine of the district, which 
 they were drinking, was warm, dry, and had a strong aroma. 
 The air was filled with the odour of truffles. The candelabra, 
 which flanked each end of the table, cast a vivid glow upon 
 the dark panels and the carved cupboards. The Major found 
 everything, both men and things, just as he had left it fifteen 
 years before. There was the same air of ease and comfort, the 
 same family intimacy. A garland of roses, as of yore, adorned 
 the table, and one of the four preserve-dishes contained pre- 
 served mirabelle plums. Mme. Bersheim, her eyes still as 
 limpid as ever, listened to Father Desroques with a pleasant 
 smile. The priest was one of the superiors of Saint-Clement's, 
 an accomphshed man of the world, with a handsome face, full 
 of fire and energy. He was saying : 
 
 * It is said that the soldiers are irreHgious ; but everywhere 
 our Fathers are received with the most becoming respect ; they 
 hear their confessions, and the men complain that they have 
 not a sufficient number of chaplains. If we cannot serve them 
 in that capacity, the school will at least have the honour of 
 being transformed into an ambulance. Our pupils have 
 recently been occupying their time in making lint. As soon 
 as they are gone, the house will be made ready to receive the 
 wounded.' 
 
 Old Lisbeth brought him a plate of spinach without any 
 meat, which had been specially prepared for him on account 
 of the day being Friday. 
 
62 THE DISASTER 
 
 Sophia's grandmother nodded her head. She had not aged ; 
 she was still the same erect woman, carrying high that serene 
 head upon which was the bonnet a coques. She said to the 
 Father : 
 
 * We had news this morning from Andr6 and Maurice, and 
 they are getting along well.' 
 
 ' Two of our best pupils,' replied Father Desroques. * They 
 will do credit, I am sure, both to Saint-Clement and to the army.' 
 
 Du Breuil looked at Anine. She smiled proudly as she heard 
 her brothers mentioned. Anine was no longer the frail little 
 girl of old ; her blue eyes and beautiful golden hair endowed 
 her with a pensive beauty, a sedate charm. Silent, given to 
 reflection, full of good sense withal, with pure and lofty ideas 
 in her soul, she was indeed a child of Lorraine, a true daughter 
 of Metz. A virginal grace set off her three-and-twenty years. 
 
 ' Alas ! my big boys,' sighed Mme. Bersheim. 
 
 She had need for all her Christian fortitude, for the peril 
 her sons were running tortured her. Andre, a Lieutenant of 
 Cuirassiers in the Duhesme division, and Maurice, a Sergeant- 
 Major of Zouaves in the Ducrot division, had written from 
 Strasburg, where Marshal MacMahon had just arrived. 
 
 * MacMahonI — there's the man for you !' cried Bersheim. 
 * As trusty as his sword. He'll sweep the ground for us.' 
 
 Du Breuil, who had arrived the night before, had commenced 
 his duties the same day at headquarters. He was appointed to 
 the manoeuvre department, under the orders of Colonel Laune. 
 The Emperor had just forbidden MacMahon to make any move 
 for a week. Du Breuil had copied the order. He confined 
 himself to saying in reply that the Marshal's four divisions had 
 just completed their organization. What he did not express 
 was the discontent which he felt after working for an hour in 
 the small room of the Hotel de I'Europe, in the midst of un- 
 heard-of confusion and disorder. There were assembled there 
 thirty officers, scribbling, laughing, chattering, amidst the noise 
 of doors constantly opening and shutting, and the incessant 
 to-and-fro movement of officers. He again noticed the delays 
 and disarray in concentrating the army, the incapacity of the 
 administrative departments, the feebleness of the effective forces, 
 and the empty magazines. But this time, right in front of the 
 enemy, it was indeed a serious matter. 
 
 * There's nothing to be done but to push forward,' said the 
 optimistic Bersheim. * But the interference of the Emperor 
 in matters pertaining to the high command alarms me. All 
 
THE DISASTER 63 
 
 these changes and delays are of no avail. They say that 
 Bazaine is hurt at being reduced to the command of a simple 
 corps.' 
 
 * Well, and what about the 2nd, the 4th, and the 5th Army 
 Corps ?' asked Boisjol. ' The Marshal superintended their 
 formation up to the Commandant-General's arrival. . . .' 
 
 * Doubtless,' continued M. Bersheim, * only you will admit 
 that he didn't stay here for long. . . . His sudden departure 
 was that of one discontented.' 
 
 * He returned to salute the Emperor,' remarked Mme. Ber- 
 sheim. 
 
 Du Breuil made himself acquainted with the reception 
 accorded the Sovereign. He recollected that Metz had voted 
 in the negative at the time of the plebiscite. Bersheim gave 
 an account of the arrival. Dark, thick -set detectives of 
 Southern and Corsican types had been seen prowling about 
 the Prefecture — the surroundings of which were strewn with 
 sand — from five o'clock. At a quarter to seven the cortege 
 had passed through the gate of the Rue Serpenoise, which was 
 also strewn with sand, a fine rain having made the pavements 
 slippery. The reception was indifferent and lacking in en- 
 thusiasm. For the past week the town had been decorated 
 with flags, and not one flag had been added to the windows. 
 A picket of one hundred Guards preceded the carriages, in the 
 first of which was seated the Emperor, visibly broken down. 
 His head had fallen upon his breast, and his long hair extended 
 from under his kepi down to the collar of his coat. In the 
 second carriage, by the side of the impassive Prince Napoleon, 
 was the Prince Imperial, saluting and smiling. 
 
 *I heard a peasant murmur,' said M. Bersheim, '"One of 
 them is too young, and the other is too old." ' He added : 
 * Bazaine, alone, in an open caliche followed in the midst of 
 the cortege of Generals, equerries, and outriders. He was 
 very pale, his eyes were swollen, there were wrinkles upon his 
 face, and he had a careworn and tired look. I must confess he 
 didn't produce upon me a very excellent impression. There 
 was something impenetrable in his face — the expression of a 
 man who is thinking of himself.' 
 
 ' An ambitious man,' added the doctor. * His conduct in 
 Mexico showed it.' 
 
 * It's possible,' said Boisjol. * I don't know anything about 
 it, but he's as brave as they make 'em. I knew him in Italy.' 
 
 Somebody came and told M. Sohier that an infirmary 
 
64 THE DISASTER 
 
 attendant was waiting to see him. He left the table, and did 
 not return. Lisbeth said he went off in a furious state. An 
 officer had just put a bullet in his head. 
 
 * Such misfortunes must happily be rare,' said Mme. Ber- 
 sheim, moved to pity. 
 
 Boisjol, again helping himself to asparagus, replied : 
 
 * It is true that the officer has a higher conception of duty 
 than the common soldier, but suicides among the rank and file 
 are common. More than one blow out their brains when a 
 comrade, worn out by fatigue, marching continually under the 
 sun, sets them the example. Examples came under my notice 
 in Africa.' 
 
 A look of sadness came into the ardent face of Father 
 Desroques. 
 
 ' It is terrible !' sighed a lady, Mme. Le Martrois, who up to 
 the present had said nothing. Her eyes were centred upon 
 her son Gustave, a tall, awkward, bearded youth in spectacles. 
 
 * The reason for that,' said the General philosophically, ' is 
 that the soldier's equipment when campaigning is too heavy.' 
 
 * Speaking of equipments,' resumed M. Dumaine, a stout old 
 gentleman of independent means, with a fresh complexion, 
 benevolent eyes and smile, ' the scene at the railway-station at 
 the present time is unbelievable. Never have I seen so many 
 kits and luggage. The wholly inadequate staff are at their 
 wits' end, the warehouses are obstructed, and the confusion 
 increases daily. Everybody is giving orders. The company, 
 notwithstanding its wiUingness, doesn't know to whom to 
 listen.' 
 
 ' Nothing is astonishing with such an organization,' ex- 
 plained M. Bersheim. 
 
 Regiments had arrived pell-mell from the very first. The 
 floating mass of isolated soldiers had been placed on the 
 railways. The disorder had commenced at the landing-place, 
 owing to the foreseen division of the troops. The trains were 
 packed. Luggage remained unclaimed. At the same time 
 there flowed in the consignments of materiel and rations, which 
 the territorial commissariat unfortunately had had no orders to 
 receive. As to the divisionary commissariat attached to the 
 army corps, and in ignorance as to whether the army would 
 break the journey at Metz or not, it had not dared to empty 
 the trucks which, in long files, were encumbering the railway 
 sidings. The company's employes passed their time in 
 receiving the consignments, transmitting them to the com- 
 
THE DISASTER 65 
 
 missariat, to the artillery, to the engineers, and to the arsenal. 
 Forthwith coffee had to be delivered to one, cartridges to 
 another, and flour to a third. Very often drays carried goods 
 to a great distance — goods which, after being unloaded, were 
 placed on the drays again, and taken back to the trucks, 
 whence they were again transported. Trains still continued 
 to arrive, however, from the four corners of France, and in the 
 end the company was driven to piling the goods on the platform. 
 
 Mme. Le Martrois confided to Father Desroques that she 
 had seen the Prince Imperial during the morning. He was 
 on horseback, and had a numerous military suite. Some boys 
 ran behind and cheered. Handfuls of half-pence were thrown 
 to them. 
 
 Gustave Le Martrois said timidly : 
 
 ' I saw two German dragoons taken to the Hotel de Metz, 
 where the chief Provost holds his court. They looked very 
 cunning, and they held themselves as stiff as stakes in their 
 short coats.' 
 
 * I saw a spy, disguised as a woman, being led away,' said 
 M. Dumaine. ' The crowd was hooting him. It appears the 
 number of spies the Prussians employ is incredible.' 
 
 * Yes,' said Du Breuil ; ' that department is perfectly 
 organized with them.' 
 
 On the other hand, we knew nothing precisely. The 
 collecting of troops at Mayence, Winden, Maxau, and Carls- 
 ruhe was reported ; but the composition of the German armies 
 and their plans remained unknown. . . . Notwithstanding 
 the prescriptions of the Commandant-General, who had ordered 
 patrols, reconnoitring parties, and cavalry deviations, the forces 
 had not come into collision. We were facing an enemy which, 
 though present, remained invisible. Impatience and doubt 
 were kept alive by a few unimportant skirmishes, the capture 
 of some Uhlans, and shots fired by outposts. 
 
 'All the same,' said M. Bersheim returning to his idea, 
 which, at heart, was everybody else's, * why don't they 
 move ? I'm not a soldier, but it seems to me that expectation 
 is contrary to the French temperament. It is true a Colonel 
 of the staff told me they had no biscuit to take with them. 
 Leboeuf telegraphed to Paris yesterday to send some here and 
 to Strasburg ; but, hang it all ! there is bread and corn in 
 Germany. What are they waiting for ?' 
 
 Boisjol did not reply. He had a feeling that his adventurous 
 courage of an old African campaigner was slighted ; he 
 
66 THE DISASTER 
 
 grumbled at being kept waiting, sword in hand. When 
 people declared war, it meant they were ready, and when they 
 were ready it was time to march. 
 
 After a special kind of plum-tart, for which the household 
 was famed, dessert was concluded. Lisbeth, in accordance 
 with custom, placed the liqueur-case on the table, and M. Ber- 
 sheim opened it. The square glass bottles, ornamented with 
 gold, the colour of topaz, ruby, and emerald, were half full of 
 brandy, cura9ao, cvhne d'angelique, and a fourth with old Black 
 Forest kirsch, limpid as water, ardent as fire. 
 
 ' I can recommend it,' said M. Bersheim. 
 
 Du Breuil accepted a glass. Undoubtedly nothing had 
 changed. The old residence retained its air of calm happiness. 
 In the carved case of the tall kitchen clock the pendulum, a 
 disc of copper, marked time with a regular, pulse-like beat, 
 swinging backwards and forwards, alternately revealing and 
 hiding from view the motto in black enamel : ' Omnes vul- 
 nerant, ultima necat.' Du Breuil would have a difficulty soon 
 in leaving this peaceful place. Mme. Bersheim's smile and 
 Anine's clear look went straight to his heart. He remembered 
 this tall young lady when she was a child in short dresses, and 
 even then she had a serious forehead. She loved to read 
 pretty stories in picture-books, and D'Avol used to comment 
 on them with much animation and comic invention. Once 
 more he saw before him the two brothers — the robust Andre 
 and the somewhat pale Maurice — the one rowdy, undisciplined; 
 the other taciturn and somewhat sly. ... As they were pass- 
 ing into the drawing-room the clock struck. It had a grave, 
 deep, and solemn note, which used to make D'Avol laugh 
 when it inflexibly hammered out the hour for returning to the 
 school. One Avould have sworn, he used to affirm, that it was 
 the voice of the professor of mihtary art and of geodesy. Good 
 old Jacques! As M. Bersheim had remarked, before sitting 
 down to table, he would miss being there that evening. He 
 had arrived two days before, and was bivouacking at the Poly- 
 gone ; he had been prevented by his duties from attending the 
 gathering. Bersheim had hardly shaken him by the hand. 
 His visit to the Guards' camp had filled him with enthusiasm. 
 
 * What soldiers !' he exclaimed. * And Bourbaki, what a 
 leader ! Come, come ! I've good hope. What, friend, going 
 already ?' 
 
 Du Breuil excused himself on the ground of pressing work. 
 General Boisjol sharply nodded his head. He wholly blamed 
 
THE DISASTER 67 
 
 the staff for the slowness and disorder of the movements ; and 
 when the door had closed behind the Major, he explained 
 matters with bitterness. 
 
 Du Breuil crossed the courtyard, and passed through the 
 porch with fluted columns, still surmounted by their stone 
 balls overgrown with green. He imagined he had gone back 
 fifteen years, when he was a pupil Second Lieutenant, with 
 hardly a shadow of a moustache upon his lip. ... No more 
 general headquarters, no more work, and no war ahead. Just 
 as though he were going to enter the Ecole d'Application, he 
 passed along the Rue aux Ours. It was a singular sensation 
 to find himself, almost the same person, at the point from which 
 he had set out. He seemed to know every gable and black 
 corner — everything, down to the unequal quartz paving-stones, 
 which under his heel revived a familiar contact. Notwith- 
 standing the dark lane, Metz rose up in all its antique grace of 
 a provincial town, with its buildings painted yellow ochre ; the 
 slightly overhanging mud roofs of the houses ; its bridges, its 
 squares, its quincunx ; and, dominating the stretch of house- 
 tops, the mighty pile of the cathedral, like a shepherd watching 
 over his sheep. Parcelled out by the lusty waters of the Seille 
 and the Moselle, full of barracks, shops, arsenals, and schools, 
 he saw once more the old military town in its entirety, narrowly 
 enclosed in its belt of fortifications and grassy dykes. Was 
 Metz la Pucelle sufficiently proud of this corset with lace of 
 stone ? She defied all attack, and the countryside was reached 
 only by way of mistrustful drawbridges and narrow prison doors. 
 
 He passed before the school where two of the best years of 
 his youth had been spent. Several drunken troopers passed 
 with stumbling step and a great clanking of swords. At the 
 corner of the Rue de la Garde the sobbing of a child behind a 
 window made him turn his head. Near the Palais de Justice 
 a patrol passed him. A fresher air blew upon his face. He 
 skirted the Esplanade. . . . Formerly so calm at the hour 
 when the petite cloche was going to be sounded, it was now 
 animated in the feeble light from the gas-lamps, which were 
 placed at intervals under the trees, by the to-and-fro motion of 
 shadows. Other soldiers, worn out by fatigue, were sleep- 
 ing on the ground, with their heads upon their knapsacks ; 
 a white cat darted under the bottom of a door ; there was the 
 rumbling of carts in the distance ; then, in the Rue des Clercs, 
 the heaviness of the atmosphere oppressed him — an atmosphere 
 saturated with the life and silence of these thousands of men 
 
 5—2 
 
68 THE DISASTER 
 
 and horses camping in all directions, filling the forts, the 
 barracks, the glacis, the Ban Saint-Martin, and the tie Cham- 
 bi^re, the ground dotted with gray tents, and the grass 
 blackened by innumerable camp-fires. 
 
 At the Hotel de I'Europe were sentinels, many lights, and 
 much noise, and in the room of the general headquarters, the 
 windows of which were open, were officers bending over papers 
 in the midst of clouds of tobacco-smoke. Du Breuil entered. 
 Two fashionably-dressed ladies smiled at him on the threshold. 
 One was the General's wife, who was stopping there with her 
 lady and nurse as though in the country for a holiday. Some 
 orderlies and inquisitive people were in one of the lobbies. A 
 journalist, who had applied to Du Breuil during the afternoon 
 for information, barred his passage. He was wearing a com- 
 plete suit of clothes, a Tyrolese hat, and patent-leather shoes. 
 In his hand was a carpet bag. 
 
 ' Only too happy to give up my room to you, Major. I 
 leave for Boulay. Nothing is known here, and I'm longing to 
 learn something. What is being done ? What are they wait- 
 ing for?' 
 
 He was a man with a long, clown-like face, and his manner 
 was bantering. He slightly shrugged his shoulders. Du Breuil 
 saw from his sparkling eyes that he had been dining too well. 
 
 * I respect the secret of armies, Major ! But journaUsts are 
 not in favour. Everything is kept from us. I've been twice 
 arrested as a spy. . . . Now, between ourselves, how is it 
 nothing is known ? Perhaps you gentlemen don't know any 
 more yourselves ' 
 
 The lobby door opened, and Major Blache appeared. As the 
 orderly officer of Marshal Leboeuf, he was constantly in com- 
 munication with the general staff. The journalist, whom he 
 had snubbed a few minutes before, stammered out : 
 
 ' Glad to see you, Major!' 
 
 He saluted coldly, and Du Breuil saw the journalist slink 
 away with the gliding step of the rope-dancer, his carpet bag 
 
 hand. 
 
 ' You were speaking to that clown ?' growled the Wild 
 Boar. * The first journalist who comes bothering me I shall 
 throw through the window — chatterers that they are !' 
 
 He had been in a state of anger for three days. The only 
 words which he had had in his mouth were, * A regular mess 
 1 — a regular mess !' and these words had been repeated over and 
 again with a fury which was really comic. Everything was 
 
THE DISASTER 69 
 
 going wrong. He was in a room swarming with bugs ; some 
 of his young comrades had been wanting in respect ; and one 
 of his horses had been injured during the journey. Moreover, 
 being a man of method, he could not reconcile himself to the 
 uproar in the workroom, to the presence there of strangers, 
 who entered as though into the common room of an inn. The 
 same agitation and looseness of action reigned in the four 
 departments of the general headquarters, namely, the informa- 
 tion, movement, personnel and materiel departments. The 
 smallest telegraphic despatch was sufficient to throw every- 
 body into a state of excitement. People had the air of those 
 who are troubled by hallucinations. 
 
 ' Great Jupiter ! let's be calm,' he growled twenty times a day. 
 They entered the room, where the uproar was on the 
 increase. 
 
 'Du Breuil,' said Colonel Laune, 'I've got some work 
 for you.' 
 
 The Colonel was slenderer and dryer than ever, and on the 
 stretch like a steel bow. He was one of those rare men who, 
 in spite of work, retain their lucidity, promptness, and decision. 
 Heads were raised. Major Decherac, a friendly fellow, shook 
 Du Breuil by the hand. Several officers smiled at him in 
 recognition. Others didn't move an inch. A look of envy came 
 into the white, sickly, sardonic face of Captain Floppe. 
 
 ' Here ! write me out this report,' said Laune, lowering his 
 voice. ' General Lebrun is waiting for it.' 
 
 Du Breuil settled down to work. On his right a spectacled, 
 gray-haired, barrel-bellied Lieutenant-Colonel, with very little 
 of the soldier about him, was trimming a quill pen with extra- 
 ordinary attention. Facing him was Major Kelm, one of his 
 comrades in Mexico, who was writing at a furious pace, biting 
 his moustache the while. When, every now and then, Du 
 Breuil raised his head, he met at the other end of the room the 
 serious look of an officer named Restaud, who was unknown to 
 him, but whose intelligent ugliness awoke in him a commence- 
 ment of sympathy. 
 
 The heat was stifling. A waiter entered carrying some 
 mugs of beer on a tray. He had to return with others. One 
 officer called for ice, and another for lemonade, and as Du 
 Breuil once more plunged into his work the tall, very tall, 
 Colonel Charlys, chief of the information department, came to 
 confer with Laune a couple of feet away. They talked loud 
 enouo:h to be heard. 
 
70 THE DISASTER 
 
 ' Really, it was insupportable !' Charlys was saying. His 
 bony face reminded one of Don Quixote. ' Nine times out of 
 ten, information was transmitted to the Emperor and to 
 Marshal Leboeuf by secret agents. The staff w^as thus 
 ignorant of everything concerning the general policy and the 
 reason for operations. The espionage staff was insignificant. 
 Consequently, the daily information sheet, made up of par- 
 ticulars at second-hand and those furnished each day by the 
 commanders of the corps, didn't mention a single important fact.' 
 
 Colonel Laune, in reply to these grievances, said it was the 
 same with certain movement orders, which, given directly by 
 the Emperor or the Major-General, never came to the know- 
 ledge of the offices. Both men complained of these irregu- 
 larities. What was w^anted was a single management, a 
 guiding will. 
 
 ' Our duty,' resumed Colonel Charlys, ' should not be reduced 
 to actual service and writing. If we don't know by what con- 
 siderations and news the orders Vv^hich we transmit are justified, 
 our role is diminished. The whole army may suffer from 
 it • 
 
 On the advice of Laune he lowered his voice. 
 
 Du Breuil, hearing nothing more, resumed work upon 
 his report. Yes ; this division of authority had many incon- 
 veniences. The Emperor ? He doubtless had some plan in 
 view, but the indecision of his character, the disquietude which 
 the disarray of the army, so slow in fitting itself out, inspired 
 in him, paralyzed his mind, which at the best of times was 
 prone to procrastination. . . . The command was in the 
 hands of the Sovereign, the Commandant-General, and the 
 Deputy- Commandant- General. It was felt that what was 
 lacking was a vigorous impulse. Hardly had Du Breuil 
 arrived than he saw the state of uncertainty and confusion 
 which reigned. They were actually only completing the 
 equipment and the armament ! And while the magazines at 
 Metz were emptying, considerable ordnance stores were being 
 collected at Forbach and at Sarreguemines — towns which, 
 being in proximity to the enemy, were open to their attack. 
 To lighten the troops they had been relieved of their blankets 
 and shakos ; on the other hand, other men had received the 
 additional burden of ninety cartridges. . . . The Guard had 
 put off their bearskin caps, and would go through the campaign 
 in foraging caps. It had needed nothing less than one day to 
 arrange that, and three different orders and counter-orders had 
 
THE DISASTER 71 
 
 been given. . . . When Du Breuil came to matters of detail, 
 he was simply stupefied ! Whatever the Minister might say 
 in the Chamber, everything was wanting. There were no 
 campaign-ovens, utensils, or camp effects ; no tents, or pans, 
 or soldiers' mugs, or bowls ; no infirmary attendants or 
 administration employes ; no medicine-chests, or stretchers, or 
 cacolets''' ; and no harness. And, in spite of the fine bearing 
 of the old regiments, what stragglers, pillagers, and drunkards 
 there were ! 
 
 He passed over in mind the journey from Paris to Metz, 
 and saw again the stations crammed with soldiers ; trains, 
 packed to overflowing, in the sidings ; again heard the cries 
 and the songs and the tumult. At Vitry an officer was unable 
 to obtain obedience. i\t Chalons some Zouaves were dancing 
 a farandole to the sound of a blatant cornopean ! . . . Then, 
 the arrival in the gray dawn, the pell-mell of bivouacs and 
 camps, the glacis crowded with tents, piles of arms and canteen 
 carriages ; soldiers of different regiments, horses on picket, the 
 silent mouths of the cannon drawn up in parks, the caissons, 
 the carriages, and the immense river of men which had flowed 
 there over a thousand routes of France. And suspended over 
 this stagnant army was the vision of carnage, the impression 
 of enervation and waiting. Du Breuil recalled the evening at 
 Saint-Cloud ; the ' Marseillaise' at the Opera. . . . That was the 
 prelude. The drama was now about to commence. In the 
 feverish impatience which made his pen scratch over the paper 
 it seemed to him that the actors had missed their entry. . . . 
 
 Ah, what a relief it would be to hear the report of the first 
 cannon ! 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Two days afterwards he took advantage of a moment's freedom 
 to rejoin D'Avol at the Cafe Parisien. His heart was over- 
 joyed at the news which he had just heard. At last, then, 
 they were going to move ; a grand operation on Sarrebriick 
 was imminent. He walked as fast as he could. 
 
 * Originally a basket for carrying travellers or wounded persons on the 
 backs of mules. The word here refers to a special kind of ambulance used 
 in the French army. It was made of triangles of iron rods, which were 
 covered with cloth bands to give elasticity. — F. L. 
 
72 THE DISASTER 
 
 The Place de la Comedie was covered with soldiers, 
 bourgeois, and peasants in their Sunday dress. The whole 
 length of the parapet facing the old houses, which dipped their 
 feet into the waters of the Moselle, upon the bridge, under the 
 lime-trees in quincunx — everywhere, in fact — was a medley of 
 uniforms, and loungers walking about with an air of amuse- 
 ment. Admiration was centred preferably upon the fine 
 uniform of the Guard, the white galloons on the uniforms of 
 the Grenadiers, the yellow on those of the Light Infantry, the 
 Tunisian cap of the Zouaves, audaciously tilted over on to 
 the nape of the neck, and the light green cloth coats of the 
 Empress's Dragoons. A carabineer, who passed at a trot, 
 made quite a sensation with his sky-blue tunic and shining 
 copper breastplate. His horse reared, and an old woman had 
 a narrow escape from being crushed. 
 
 Du Breuil's attention was momentarily drawn to some 
 officers, whose faces he thought he knew. There were so 
 many faces, and all marked with the same professional wrinkle. 
 He had been perplexed for the past three days by this crowd 
 of anonymous faces. Certain of them, however, he remarked ; 
 an attitude, gesture, or physiognomy lingered in his mind. 
 Some of them still retained their affectations, shaving them- 
 selves each morning, wearing their moustache and imperial ; 
 others had let their beard grow. But he noticed in the case 
 of nearly every one a kind of negligence, unceremoniousness, 
 as though they had returned to an instinctive, animal life of 
 freedom. . . . Comrades were voracious, thirsts were un- 
 quenchable at the caf6, and there was more familiarity in the 
 midst of their everyday life together. 
 
 Not a seat was vacant at the small tables of the Cafe 
 Parisien. The terrace, ornamented with bay-trees in boxes, 
 swarmed with uniforms. He recognised General Boisjol, in 
 campaign uniform, with high yellow boots ; his comrade, 
 Decherac, of the staff ; Captain Laprune, of the Dragoons ; 
 and Colonel Maisonval. Some journalists in eccentric dress — 
 one had on a suit of black velvet, another was dressed like a 
 brigand in an operetta — were mingled among the groups. 
 People were looking askance at a tall, red-headed young fellow 
 with prominent jaw-bones, the correspondent of the London 
 Gazette. He was boasting of being perfectly an coiiratit with 
 what was going on in the offices. His less fortunate confrere 
 of the Standard had been imprisoned. 
 
 Du Breuil noticed the proboscidian gravity with which a 
 
THE DISASTER 73 
 
 Captain of gendarmerie, a man with an enormous nose, carried 
 a petit-verve to his mouth ; the circular motion of his arm re- 
 minded one somewhat of the movement of an elephant's trunk. 
 A commissary of stores was conversing with a hairy gorilla of 
 a man, a member of the International Society for Succouring the 
 Wounded, upon whose cap and the band round his arm was a 
 red cross upon a white ground. A group quite apart was com- 
 posed of Post-Office employes in green and silver uniforms, with 
 stripes over all the seams. Above the din of conversation 
 could be heard the stentorian voice of Major Couchorte, of the 
 Cuirassiers of the Guard, a Celtic giant, resplendent with 
 steel. 
 
 Du Breuil at last discovered D'Avol. 
 
 'Do you know these gentlemen?' he said. * Captain de 
 Serres and Lieutenant Thomas, belonging to my first battery.' 
 
 Salutes were exchanged, hands were clasped, and glasses of 
 beer were drunk. 
 
 * Well, member of the staff,' said D'Avol, ' do you bring us 
 the order to move ? I'm inclined to think so, judging from the 
 mysterious air which you all wear to-day. Just look at this 
 spectacled Colonel to the left. One would think he had 
 swallowed his tongue.' 
 
 Du Breuil recognised Lieutenant - Colonel Poterin, his 
 neighbour of the workroom at the Hotel de I'Europe. His 
 notebook was open before him, and this time he was in the 
 act of sharpening a pencil. Was he always sharpening a 
 pencil or trimming a quill pen ? 
 
 * Really, this uncertainty is irritating !' exclaimed Captain de 
 Serres, a very handsome, almost too handsome a fellow : it was 
 said he wore stays. * We know nothing of the Germans ; but 
 they, informed by journalists, know everything, even to the 
 position of our troops. Come now. Major, isn't it absurd ?' 
 
 Upon hearing this embarrassing question, Lieutenant Thomas 
 — his moustache consisted of only a couple of hairs — turned 
 away his head out of hierarchical respect, and commenced to 
 rub the inflamed corner of his eyelid. 
 
 'And what of that?' exclaimed D'Avol. ' In the days of 
 the Other that didn't lengthen out matters. You recollect the 
 withering campaign of 1806. The Prussian monarchy was 
 demolished in seventeen days.' 
 
 ' There are different men at different periods,' exclaimed Du 
 Breuil. 
 
 ' No, no,* replied D'Avol. ' Men change but little. They 
 
74 
 
 THE DISASTER 
 
 are what they are made. One can say with certainty : Like 
 Captain, like army.' 
 
 ' If we don't move,' exclaimed Captain de Serres, ' was it 
 really worth while distributing to us so many maps of Germany 
 — whole piles of them ? I hope that we haven't to pass through 
 all the districts they contain.' 
 
 * In the meanwhile maps of the frontier are wanting,' re- 
 marked D'Avol. ' Impossible to get them. Have you one, 
 gentlemen ?' 
 
 The three officers answered in the negative. At the 
 neighbouring tables there was the sound of rising voices : 
 ' There is not a single map in Metz !' 
 
 * Not a library possesses one !' 
 
 ' What is the war depot thinking about ?* 
 
 D'Avol lowered his voice, and, turning towards Du Breuil, 
 said : 
 
 ' Just now, when I was waiting for you, I saw that old 
 Colonel of Dragoons gravely unfold his map. Do you know 
 what he said to the Captain who accompanies him ?' Du 
 Breuil recognised La Maisonval and Captain Laprune. 
 ' *' Isn't this the Rhine which passes Sarrelouis ?" And the 
 Captain replied: "I beg your pardon, Colonel, it is the 
 Moselle." ' 
 
 The loud voice of Major Couchorte was heard. He appeared 
 to be angry. In front of him was seated an acute -minded, 
 dark-complexioned, small - statured Light Infantry Captain. 
 He looked like a gnat annoying a lion. 
 
 ' Leave me in peace,' clamoured the giant. * What stuff 
 and nonsense all this talk about the range and accuracy of 
 your Prussian guns ! Do you think all the balls and bullets in 
 the world are equal to a fine cavalry charge ? Our tactic. 
 Captain, is to form into large, compact masses, to open out 
 and then to charge. And a devilish good tactic too, as was 
 shown at the Moskova and at Waterloo.' 
 
 * However, Major, I'll undertake to say that Marshal Niel in 
 his " Observations sur le Service de la Cavalerie en Campagne," 
 expounds different principles, and ones more in accordance with 
 the destructive progress of firearms. The reconnoitring of 
 columns, connecting them, harassing the enemy, and then, 
 when the battle is about to start, off like the wind to be on the 
 watch. . . .' 
 
 'Marshal Niel is out of date!' cried Couchorte. ' Marshal 
 Leboeuf very quickly did away with that instruction. No, sir. 
 
THE DISASTER 75 
 
 cavalry is a first-rate fighting tool. We are there to give the 
 decisive blow of the battle ; we are the iron corner which forces 
 its way forward and destroys everything. To charge and sabre 
 right and left is the only thing I know.' 
 
 The Dragoons approved of what he said. Old Colonel La 
 Maisonval twirled his moustache between his powerful fingers. 
 Captain Laprune gave forth a laugh under his helmet, with its 
 horse's tail, which resembled the neigh of a horse. The infantry- 
 men discreetly shrugged their shoulders. 
 
 From the adjoining table came complaints about the com- 
 missariat. 
 
 ' The Emperor is very displeased with it,' Lieutenant Mar- 
 quis, a Light Infantry officer, was saying gravely. He was 
 always full of news, whether it was true or not. He had large 
 round eyes, his hair was untidy, and his air was at once foolish 
 and important. * We met His Majesty this morning when 
 returning from a military march, and, notwithstanding our 
 cheers, his face remained cold. It appeared he had just been 
 doing execution among the commissariat officials. It is also 
 said that he is furious with the state of the forts ' 
 
 ' It is evident,' resumed D'Avol, ' that many things are not 
 progressing, but if we are to wait until we lack neither a mug 
 nor a biscuit, the Prussians will have a fine time. . . . Hallo, 
 Barrus !' he exclaimed, catching sight of an officer of the 
 garrison, a captain in the Engineers. ' He will explain to us 
 the reason for the delay in arming the forts.' 
 
 The new arrival answered bitterly : 
 
 ' It is a question of money, Major.' 
 
 Captain Barrus — small, dark, the possessor of an intelligent 
 face, a sectarian forehead, and a dark, fiery gleam in his eyes — 
 added : 
 
 ' Yes, the budget of war and the defence of towns — all those 
 things are mere nonsense . . . while a ball at the Tuileries, and 
 a splendid income for the Master of the Hounds, one hundred 
 thousand francs here and one hundred thousand francs there — 
 those things are all right.' 
 
 He summed up the situation. Four works in course of con- 
 struction were to be added to the two forts — namely, Moselle 
 and Bellecroix — which flanked Metz on the north-east and on 
 the north-west. These were Plappeville and Saint-Quentin on 
 the left bank, Queuleu and Saint-Julien on the right bank. 
 The first two were the most advanced ; the only thing that had 
 to be done was to cover the remblais and parapets with earth. 
 
76 THE DISASTER 
 
 On the other hand, there remained much to be done to forts 
 Queuleu and Saint- Julien, which were large bastioned penta- 
 gons, still open at the gorge. But the unprotected parts of 
 the escarps were being hurriedly stockaded, and the breaches 
 were being barred by means of strong blinds. The armament 
 was being completed tolerably well. As a matter of fact, the 
 number of guns unHmbered was insufficient. ... A new fort 
 (that of Saint-Privat), which was intended to protect the rail- 
 way and the station, had been commenced in May, but it was 
 hardly finished. As to works of minor importance, intended to 
 connect the system of forts, they only existed on paper. 
 
 ' It's all the same,' he continued, with that acrimony which 
 opponents of the Empire manifested ; ' one has only to take the 
 offensive, and the condition of the forts will be a matter for less 
 disquietude. Unfortunately, yesterday's proclamation isn't one 
 which shows a strong will. What is : " To defend the honour 
 and the Fatherland " ? Are we, then, threatened with inva- 
 sion ? What is the meaning of: " Whatever route we follow 
 beyond our frontiers"? We don't know, then, yet which to 
 choose ? And it concludes with Bossuet's " Dieu des Armees," 
 with the freshness taken off.' 
 
 He added : 
 
 ' That is not the way men are roused.' 
 
 * Pooh ! words — mere words !' exclaimed D'Avol. ' We're 
 only talking to kill time. Let the signal to saddle be given, 
 and you will see.' 
 
 Captain de Serres gave a cruel laugh. 
 
 ' My orderly was still busy sharpening my sword this morn- 
 ing. I said to him : " The point in preference. The edge 
 wounds, but the point kills." ' 
 
 Couchorte cried : 
 
 * The sword — there is nothing like the sword ! It is the very 
 first of arms. When on the gallop, with one's blade securely 
 fixed to the wrist, one can go through one's man as though he 
 were butter.' 
 
 More than one agitated his sword-knot at the murderous 
 vision. Over certain faces there passed a hard expression. 
 Even among the group of Post-Office employes there were 
 belHcose smiles. All looked brilliant in their fresh green 
 uniforms, and were filled with self-sufficiency, which was, 
 perhaps, only embarrassment. One of them even complacently 
 assured himself that his sword was loose in its scabbard. The 
 action attracted Captain Laprune's attention. 
 
THE DISASTER 77 
 
 * Sir,' said he, with jeering politeness, ' you have placed the 
 hilt wrong way round.' 
 
 The employe slightly reddened. 
 
 * Sir,' continued Laprune, with the same coldness, ' your 
 spurs are buckled on upside down.' 
 
 The man became scarlet. There was laughter around him, 
 and his comrades cowardly joined in. But their prestige was 
 damaged. 
 
 D'Avol considered Couchorte was making himself ridiculous. 
 He growled in a low voice : 
 
 ' A fine fellow that ! Let him try to spit shells and cleave 
 bullets with his larding-knife and he'll see ! . . . Are you off 
 already, Pierre ? I'll come with you.' 
 
 He paid for the drinks, and said good-bye to his comrades. 
 When leaving, they passed by the side of Lieutenant Marquis. 
 The chatterer was holding forth in the midst of a circle of 
 attentive listeners, tracing campaign plans on the marble table 
 with a match dipped in coffee. 
 
 The two friends walked for a moment in silence. 
 
 ' I'm going to Pere Gugl's,' said Du Breuil. ' Do you 
 remem.ber him — the Jew watchmaker ? When I say P^re, 
 I really mean the son, who has succeeded him. But the 
 resemblance is astonishing. He has quite the air of the 
 old man.' 
 
 ' P^re Gugl,' said D'Avol, * who used to lend us money when 
 we were at the school at fifty per cent ? Old thief!' 
 
 ' Yes, but a very clever jeweller. I want this stone set in a 
 ring.' 
 
 Du Breuil showed Mme. de Guionic's opal. 
 
 ' It is cracked, isn't it ?' said D'Avol. 
 
 * I shall keep it, all the same.' 
 
 Jacques did not ask for an explanation, doubtless remember- 
 ing the opal bracelet. He had admired Mme. de Guionic's 
 slender wrist in the box at the Opera. Du Breuil was astonished 
 to feel how far off that recollection was. It was only four days 
 since he had left her, but it seemed almost four months. 
 
 Gugl's shop was half open, half closed. 
 
 His eye blinked — that single eye with which the Jew 
 scrutinized the officers, for he was blind of one eye, like his 
 father, since birth. He cast an anxious look in the direction 
 of his wife, who, wrapped in a cashmere, wore black silk bands 
 upon her head and forehead to do duty for hair. She immedi- 
 ately left them. A Jew-like smell issued from the small, dark 
 
78 THE DISASTER 
 
 room. In the shop-window, behind a dirty glass, were some 
 old broken watches and small bric-a-brac. 
 
 * Well, Gugl, don't you recognise me ?' asked Du Breuil. 
 He had to refresh his memory. 
 
 The Jew, who was pulling at his forked beard with a 
 perplexed air, raised his hands. He had seen so many pupils 
 of the school — goot young men ! But trate vas not goot. Ah, 
 Got of Israel ! trate vas very pat. . . . 
 
 * Reassure yourself, Gugl ; I don't want to borrow any of 
 your money. Can you show me some old rings ?' 
 
 * Beautiful rinks ? Goot rinks ?' 
 
 He hesitated, with anxious air, to call his better half. He 
 decided to do so, however, as though he had a fear for the 
 dusty treasures in his shop-window. The venerable matron 
 arrived, dragging with her two untidy children — almost albinos, 
 they were so fair. Gugl, reassured, disappeared in a corner, 
 which was hidden by a tattered hanging, and returned with 
 some rings of pale chased gold. Du Breuil was a long time 
 in making a choice and in beating down the price. He finally 
 decided to purchase a foliated ring, the empty bezel of which 
 was just the size of his opal. D'Avol was getting impatient. 
 When Du Breuil had been conducted to the door, amid the 
 blessings of the IsraeUte and his wife, and was outside, D'Avol 
 said: 
 
 ' Frankly, do you know anything ? What is our position ?' 
 
 Du Breuil smiled. 
 
 * Strictly in confidence, eh ? Well, a grand movement 
 upon Sarrebruck is being prepared. The Emperor heard 
 yesterday that the Prussians were advancing from that side. 
 There was some talk of forty thousand men. It is, therefore, 
 an urgent matter, and under these circumstances the 3rd and 
 5th corps will support the 2nd. Bazaine will direct the 
 attack.' 
 
 * Bravo !' exclaimed D'Avol, his eyes sparkling with pleasure. 
 * And the Guard?' 
 
 ' The Guard remains at Metz.' 
 
 D'Avol stifled an oath. His face was contracted almost 
 maliciously. 
 
 ' At Metz ? And what shall wc do w^iile the others are 
 fighting ? Go fishing ?' 
 
 * Be patient ; there will be more than one change. The last 
 word hasn't been said. Come as far as the hotel, and we may 
 perhaps learn more.' 
 
THE DISASTER 79 
 
 D'Avol was raging : 
 
 ' It doesn't matter, but I would willingly have fired the first 
 cannon-shot.' 
 
 Du Breuil imagined, almost heard, that first report. There 
 was a deafening crash, the great plaintive whistling of the 
 shell, the bursting in all directions in the midst of a group of 
 Germans. There were cries, a stomach ripped open and a 
 head shattered. That was what everybody eagerly and 
 joyously wished. He saw himself in a flash carrying orders. 
 . . . He was surrounded ; he was striking right and left with 
 his sword. . . . Suddenly an unknown face beset him — a red 
 face with hard blue eyes and tawny beard ; an anonymous 
 face, which to him was the face of the Enemy. He thought 
 of Baron Hacks, of his haughty politeness, of the Exhibition, 
 and of the hours they had passed together. What would he 
 feel if he met him in a melee ? . . . Nothing new was known 
 at headquarters. The Guard was not going to move. 
 
 The night passed without incident. On the following day 
 he knew that a conference had been held at Forbach between 
 Marshal Bazaine, Generals Frossard, De Failly, Lebrun, 
 Soleille, in command of the artillery, and Cofiini^res, in com- 
 mand of the Genie. It had been decided at that meeting that 
 the 2nd corps, supported by Bazaine on the right and by 
 Failly on the left, should attack Sarrebriick. The Emperor 
 fixed the action for August 2. 
 
 Du Breuil reflected. Incalculable results might depend 
 upon this first battle on the Sarre — the confidence and the 
 enthusiasm of the troops, the moral effect, everything which, 
 in the terrible game of military probabilities, reverberated so 
 deeply in the soul of the army and of the country. Appointed 
 in the morning, and a quarter of an hour afterwards told he 
 would have to stay where he was, he had the annoyance of 
 seeing his comrade Kelm leave for Sarrebriick in his place. 
 He seemed to feel displeasure at the little yellow Captain, 
 whose envious face had a cunning smile upon it, at the bottom 
 of the room at headquarters. In compensation he had ex- 
 changed a few words with Restaud, the officer whose intelligent 
 ugliness and serious look attracted him. Until two o'clock he 
 could hardly keep himself still ; contradictory despatches and 
 rumours brought the stifled echo, the great murmur of the 
 fight. He imagined the army on the march, the attack, the 
 battle with its sudden changes, the cries, the assaults, the 
 recoils, the wavering lines of men amid the smoke and the 
 
8o THE DISASTER 
 
 smell of the powder. His former chief, Colonel Deresse, of 
 the Artillery, would certainly be taking part in it. 
 
 Suddenly Colonel Laune called him. Stout Colonel Jacque- 
 mfere, head of the materiel department, was in consultation 
 with him. Du Breuil was to go to the station. Some trains, 
 intended to assure the immediate transport of an army corps, 
 were to be held in reserve, and to again leave for the stations 
 between Metz, Frouard, and Thionville. He was to see if 
 these important measures could be put into execution from one 
 hour to another. 
 
 He went in the direction of the railway-station thinking 
 deeply. Hardly, however, had he reached the Porte Serpenoise, 
 where innumerable recruiting carriages blocked the way, than 
 a voice called to him : 
 
 ' Du Breuil !' 
 
 He turned. Decherac galloped up to him. Counter-order. 
 Those in authority had changed their minds. Du Breuil 
 shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 * I was certain,' he said. He had been disturbed three times 
 that day for nothing. 
 
 They had some difficulty in extricating themselves from 
 among the vehicles. A huge cart-horse with shaggy hoofs 
 and disorderly mane, excited by Decherac's mare, had com- 
 menced to neigh furiously. The animal plunged right and 
 left between the shafts, and tried, by a series of jerks, to raise 
 the heavy load. Its master ran up and calmed its ardour with 
 a storm of blows from his whip. 
 
 < Come, now, don't strike so hard,' said a sly-looking old 
 peasant, lighting his pipe. ' He isn't a Prussian.' 
 
 * If he was,' said the carter, a rosy-cheeked, red-haired, ugly 
 man, glowing with health, ' I should strike harder than that.' 
 
 He laughed, showing his animal teeth, and looked for the 
 approbation of the two officers. They turned their heads. 
 
 * Ah, la, la !' fumed the annoyed carter. ' Fine fellows these 
 with their hobby-horses !' 
 
 ' I have a good mind to go on to the station,' said Du Breuil. 
 * Perhaps we may hear something.' 
 
 A Light Infantry Lieutenant with sparkling eyes appeared, 
 almost at a run. Du Breuil recognised Marquis, the news- 
 monger. The man was waving his kepi. 
 
 * Victory, Major !' he cried. ' The Prussians are routed ; we 
 sent them to the devil. The mitrailleuses worked splendidly ! 
 Sarrebriick is in ashes. There are several thousand prisoners.' 
 
THE DISASTER 8i 
 
 A gig, harnessed to an old horse, stopped. A stout gentle- 
 man with a fresh complexion saluted them. It was M. Dumaine, 
 one of the guests at the Bersheim dinner-party, and he had just 
 come from the railway-station. 
 
 ' Quite a triumph, gentlemen. We have invaded Germany. 
 The Emperor and the Prince Imperial exposed themselves 
 during the fight with admirable courage. At the present time 
 our army, like one man, is moving on Sarrelouis.' 
 
 The hearts of Du Breuil and Decherac beat violently. They 
 were encircled by carters, estafettes, and passers-by. Du Breuil 
 thought but little of spilt blood. * Sarrebruck in ashes. The 
 mitrailleuses worked splendidly!' — words which he repeated 
 awakened in him only thoughts of hope and success. In his soul 
 of a soldier and of a Frenchman he had doubted, he had feared. 
 This victory filled him with proud joy. Come, the Empire 
 still possessed its star ! 
 
 Some people arrived from the railway -station. The news 
 was in everybody's mouth. An old woman, passing near the 
 officers, said : 
 
 ' They have killed them, they have killed them ! . . .' 
 She shook her head ; and in her accent, in her gaze, was 
 mystery and stupor. . . . Those young men who would no 
 longer eat or drink, and who, up yonder on the heights and in 
 the ditches, strewed the ground ! 
 
 * Yes ; they must have killed them,' said M. Dumaine, in a 
 peaceable tone, as though nothing was more natural. ' Gentle- 
 men, pleased to have met you.' 
 
 A cruel disillusion awaited them at headquarters. Major 
 Kelm had arrived from Sarrebruck. Surrounded by quite a 
 large number of officers, he gave an account of the action. 
 The Bataille division, assisted by a brigade of the Laveau- 
 coupet division, alone had taken part in it. They had stormed 
 the heights and dislodged the Germans from Sarrebruck. 
 That was all. Questions came from all sides. The dry, 
 precise Laune summed them up by saying : 
 ' What were the German forces ? ' 
 
 ' Nothing very great. Colonel. A small garrison of two 
 regiments at the most. The cavalry and artillery were in- 
 significant.' 
 
 But Kelm's pessimism, his horror oi exaggeration and 
 boasting, were well known. He was an excellent officer, but 
 his disbelief in the most averred piece of news was carried 
 too far. 
 
 6 
 
82 THE DISASTER 
 
 ' But the prisoners and the enemy's losses ?' 
 
 ' Prisoners ! Hardly a hundred. As to the mitrailleuses, it 
 is true they did some destruction to a few platoons on the 
 railway embankment.' 
 
 Du Breuil met Decherac's eyes. They mistrusted the sudden 
 change in their feelings, not wishing to pass from a state of 
 enthusiasm to too great a state of deception. Kelm was un- 
 doubtedly under-estimating things. But in the evening they 
 had to accept the evidence. The action had been a combat de 
 parade, and was reduced to elements so simple that a child 
 could have traced them in the sand. The ist brigade of the 
 Bataille division had stormed the heights by way of the rail- 
 way, the woods, and the road leading from Forbach to Sarre- 
 briick; the 2nd brigade took Saint-Arnual, and fell back 
 on the manoeuvring - ground, the Exercitz-Platz. And both 
 had dislodged the enemy, and then vigorously cannonaded 
 them from that place. The railway-station and the bridge had 
 also been bombarded.* 
 
 It was undoubtedly a success, but it by no means justified 
 the exaggeration of the first account. The disenchantment 
 spread to the whole army and to the town. Du Breuil asked 
 himself why the troops were stopping where they were. Why 
 had they not occupied Sarrebriick, which was captured first ? 
 This long-awaited, long - hoped - for battle was, then, only an 
 official ceremony — a baptism of fire. Comments were made 
 upon Bazaine's abstention from the fight. Had he wished to 
 leave the honour, some said the responsibility, to General 
 Frossard ? Was he still discontentedly holding himself apart ? 
 However that may be, he had not appeared, leaving the three 
 army corps under his orders to get out of their difficulties with- 
 out him. . . . The Emperor had asked for him in vain upon 
 arriving on the battle-field. The Marshal had left Forbach in 
 the morning, going across the woods in the direction of Werden. 
 General Lebrun had not been able to find him again. 
 
 What matter ? The day had been a satisfactory one. There 
 had been an awakening from this nightmare of inaction and 
 waiting. At last they were commencing business. It was the 
 first step. 
 
 * The field was badly chosen, owing to ignorance on the part of the 
 French generals both of the topography of the region and of the position of 
 the enemy. Only about seventy soldiers were wounded on either side. It 
 is stated that the only true despatch concerning the battle was the one sent 
 to Berlin by the Prussians. — F. L. 
 
THE DISASTER 83 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 Du Breuil spent the night of the 3rd and the early morning of the 
 4th of August in transcribing despatches and movement orders. 
 
 At that very time a projected operation of the 4th corps on 
 Sarrelouis had just been abandoned. The Thionville pohce 
 commissary reported, in fact, the passage at Treves of forty 
 thousand Prussians. From which side would they debouch ? 
 . . . The energy of his faculties seemed to him to be doubled. 
 Nothing damped his zeal. It was in obedience to a feeling of 
 honour and solidarity that he thus expended his energy. There 
 were too many complaints, too many grievances against the 
 staff, for there not to be reason for an example. 
 
 Besides, his department was the worst overburdened of all. 
 Of the two Captains occupied with the same work, one of 
 them, Massoli, stout, short-sighted, a man with jet-black hair, 
 was continually moaning. He had to have his food cooked 
 without seasoning, milk at every meal, and a cushion to sit 
 upon. The other, De Francastel, a flighty chatterer with a 
 bird-like face, had his head full of stories about women and 
 recollections of the boulevard. His misadventures were a 
 source of enlivenment. He pretended that he could speak 
 German admirably, but when he was charged to question a 
 prisoner, he jabbered in such a grotesque jargon that the non- 
 commissioned officer, a stiff Uhlan with red hair, burst into 
 laughter. 
 
 It was only at daybreak that Du Breuil was able to take 
 some rest. When he awoke two hours afterwards, he saw at 
 his bedside a powerful gray dog, looking at him patiently and 
 attentively. Behind the animal, seated upon a chair, was a 
 Captain of the Lancers of the Guard, his sword between his 
 legs, dressed in a sky-blue kurka and a czapska upon his head. 
 Lacoste, his face still energetic, his look still frank, not in the 
 least changed, smiled at him. 
 
 * What, is that you ? Why didn't you wake me ?' 
 
 ' Titan and I have just arrived. You were sleeping so 
 soundly. . . .' Lacoste had a joyous air. * Here we are, all 
 the same ! Arrived yesterday evening after twenty -four hours 
 in the train. Men and horses worn out. But what a reception 
 on the route ! Everybody's head has been turned by the news 
 
 6—2 
 
84 THE DISASTER 
 
 from Sarrebriick. Flowers and cries of " Long live the army !" 
 Just think ! The first victory. We heard of it in Paris when 
 we were about to leave. You should have seen the enthusiasm. 
 It was simply tremendous. . . . Then, hardly had we got 
 camped than I had the pleasure to learn we are to set off at 
 five in the morning with the whole of the division. But it's 
 almost certain they won't leave till after breakfast. Then, as 
 I had to come to the Place, I wanted to shake you by the 
 hand. After that I must be off, for there is work to be done.' 
 
 Du Breuil drew aside the curtains and opened the window. 
 Both men leant on the sill and inhaled the air. 
 
 * The weather is cool and cloudy,' said Lacoste. ' Excellent 
 for marching. Do you know exactly where we're going ?' 
 
 * To Boulay.' 
 
 ' Anywhere, provided we march ; I don't care. What a 
 deception this Sarrebriick ! You cannot imagine the joy and 
 the delirium in Paris. A bundle of straw on fire — we're just 
 like that. . . . But this time the great blow will be given. 
 Well, my time's up.' 
 
 They descended together. Lacoste accepted a glass of hot 
 coffee. Titan at one bite swallowed the petit-pain thrown to 
 him by his master. 
 
 A graceful mare, under the care of the orderly, was waiting 
 in the street. 
 
 ' Good-morning, Musette,' said Du Breuil, stroking her neck. 
 
 ^ Au vevoir, my dear fellow,' said Lacoste, with tears in his 
 eyes. ' God knows when I shall see you again.' 
 
 He jumped into the saddle. Musette, who was pawing the 
 ground impatiently, set off at a slow trot ; Titan, overflowing 
 with joy, preceded her with heavy bounds. Du Breuil ex- 
 perienced a feeling of pleasure. 
 
 * Good old Lacoste!' 
 
 He then saw M. Bersheim, who appeared looking radiant. 
 He was holding a letter in his hand. 
 
 * Good-morning, my dear friend. I hope you have had news 
 from home. The postal service is very irregular. Here is a 
 letter which has been delayed for some considerable time.' 
 
 Du Breuil had, indeed, twice written to his parents, and had 
 as yet received no reply. Bersheim added : 
 
 ' It's my cuirassier, Andre, who wrote this. He tells me that 
 our Zouave again feels the effects of the African fevers. Poor 
 Maurice was always delicate, but the climate of Alsace will 
 cure him. He has great hopes of winning promotion at the 
 
THE DISASTER 85 
 
 first engagement. It's terrifying, isn't it ? to have children 
 in the fight. Well, my dear friend, I am very calm. And my 
 daughter, too, is brave. You see, when one is told that the 
 people we love are doing their duty, one is comforted. My 
 wife alone is unreasonable. The motherly love in her is 
 awakened, and she worries herself to death. '' Pooh ! all 
 bullets don't kill," I've said to her over and over again. She 
 had a terrible time last night.* 
 
 Bersheim retained the face of a man who sleeps, whose con- 
 science is at rest. But perhaps he was putting on a better 
 countenance than he had a mind to, for suddenly his eyes filled 
 with tears and his mouth trembled slightly. 
 
 ' I have faith in God,' he said ; then, after a silence : ' Guess 
 where I am going. To say good-bye to D'Avol. I am taking 
 him a few good cigars to slip into his saddle-bags. I am sure 
 he's never thought of any. But Anine thinks of everything. 
 And I am taking General Boisjol a bottle of that old kirsch 
 which he seemed to appreciate. What are you thinking about ?' 
 
 Du Breuil reddened. He had called Anine to mind, and, 
 in a very indefinite and dim way, was envying her kind atten- 
 tion for D'Avol, at the same time considering it was the most 
 natural thing in the world. She would certainly not have had 
 the same attention for him. But what was he, after all ? A 
 former friend of the family, perhaps almost forgotten. All the 
 same, she had welcomed him like a close friend. 
 
 The Guard had commenced to leave Metz since morning. 
 
 Bands played. A stream of men and cannon passed out by 
 the Porte des Allemands beyond the walls, convoys following 
 amid clouds of dust. 
 
 After breakfast he saw the cavalry division go by. It 
 advanced, four abreast, at a walk, headed by the light 
 brigade. The light green pelisses of the light cavalry soldiers, 
 the dark green of the flugelmen, the white cross-belts and rows 
 of shining buttons on their breasts, gave this pomp of war a 
 joyous appearance, the small, fiery, foaming gray horses of the 
 cavalry contrasting w^ith the large, quieter Normandy horses of 
 the flugelmen. Ofiicers and soldiers, with that mocking indif- 
 ference customary to horsemen, gazed over the heads of the 
 people. The Empress's Dragoons and the lancers next appeared, 
 the former in green, and the latter in their blue uniforms. The 
 small flags on the lances fluttered. Lacoste, mounted on 
 Musette, saw Du Breuil from a distance and saluted him with 
 his sword. In the rear-rank was an old quartermaster, covered 
 
86 THE DISASTER 
 
 with medals — the one who had received Du Breuil at the 
 barracks at Saint-Cloud. Stiff and grave, he turned his head 
 neither one way nor another. The carabineers and cuirassiers 
 on their huge horses were in the rear, the former with gold, 
 and the latter with silver, breastplates. At the head of these 
 squadrons was the gigantic Couchorte, looking like a man of 
 another age. Harsh and strident trumpets sounded, making 
 the horses prick up their ears and the men straighten their 
 figures. Veterans, covered with medals, and robust horses — 
 still the cavalry filed past. This splendid division gave an 
 impression of redoubtable force — a force which was still more 
 emphasized by the guns of two batteries which rolled over the 
 paving-stones with a noise like thunder. Du Breuil, filled with 
 pride, watched the last breastplates and the last horses dis- 
 appear in the distance. 
 
 The day passed without any news being received. Towards 
 evening vague and mysterious rumours, foreboding ill-omened 
 occurrences, spread about. One of MacMahon's divisions had 
 been attacked and beaten back. Du Breuil could not believe 
 it. People and officers from the town, eager for news, poured 
 into headquarters. Nothing was known. He was then ordered 
 to take some registers to the Prefecture to Marshal Leboeuf. 
 
 The Prefecture, with its small courtyard always full of 
 comers and goers, its open windows of the central first-floor, 
 occupied by officers of all ranks who had accompanied the 
 Emperor, the confusion of its kitchens in the right wing — 
 some scullions dressed in white and some livery-servants were 
 just at that time occupied in unloading a waggon-load of pro- 
 visions — with its superabundance of employes and officials, its 
 inquisitive and idle people, seemed to him more hke a branch 
 of the Hotel de 1' Europe than the quiet residence of the Sove- 
 reign. More than once, when his duties had called him there, 
 he had glanced at the high closed windows on the second-floor, 
 where the private apartments of the Emperor and the Prince 
 Imperial were situated. The destiny of the army, the destiny 
 of France, was there. 
 
 An unusual state of agitation reigned there that evening. 
 Groups of people were standing here and there ; shadows 
 appeared on the blinds of the brilliantly illumined windows. 
 A stout butler crossed the courtyard on tiptoe, looking, in his 
 maroon coiit, like a large cockchafer. When on the threshold, 
 he turned round, bringing to view a discomfited face. Then he 
 proceeded towards a buffet which had been fitted up in one of 
 
THE DISASTER 87 
 
 the large rooms. His face was known to Du Breuil ; he had 
 noticed the man full of assurance and majesty at the dinner at 
 Saint-Cloud. 
 
 Hardly had he entered the room, in which Aides-de-camp, 
 orderly officers, and Generals were crowding, than the bad 
 news struck him full in the face. There was a confused noise 
 of exclamations, incredulous sneers and low complaints. The 
 telegram had just arrived at the telegraph-office which had 
 been fitted up in one of the offices of the Prefecture. It stated 
 that a brigade of the Abel Douay division," belonging to the 
 ist Army Corps, had been surprised at Wissemberg by very 
 superior forces ; that General Douay was killed, and his troops 
 repulsed from Geissberg. Their camp was in the hands of the 
 enemy. On the other hand, the Baden- Wurtemberger corps 
 had crossed the frontier at the low part of the river Lauter, 
 and occupied Lauterberg. 
 
 Du Breuil was thunderstruck. Everybody was stupefied. 
 Blache was purple, and his prominent teeth made his air of a 
 wild-boar still more pronounced. In the middle of a group of 
 officers. General Jaillant was commenting upon the occurrence 
 in a decisive tone of voice, and always with quibbles, evasions, 
 ifs and huts — an exemplification of the impossibility in the 
 French character of acknowledging that they could have been 
 badly informed, badly instructed, and badly protected. 
 
 ' Douay surprised /' they repeated, as if in emulation of one 
 another. 
 
 The emotion produced in the imperial entourage resulted on 
 the following day in important measures being taken. A 
 general order from the Emperor gave the command of the 
 2nd, 3rd, and 4th corps to Marshal Bazaine ; that of the ist, 
 5th, and 7th to MacMahon — but for miUtary operations only. 
 The Guard, recalled on Metz and sent to Courcelles, remained 
 at the disposal of the Sovereign. The 5th corps was to be 
 directed from Sarreguemines on to Bitche ; and Marshal Can- 
 robert was urgently summoned to Nancy with his four divisions. 
 The situation was serious. The 2nd corps being too hemmed 
 in at Sarrebriick, General Frossard, during the day, asked for 
 and obtained authorization to fall back on Forbach. The 
 
 * This was the first defeat the French received. General Abel Douay 
 was camped on the Geissberg, a hill south-east of Wissemberg, with 9,000 
 men. He was attacked by the Prince Royal, who had 180,000 men at his 
 command. The French advanced as best they could across the Lauter 
 against the Germans, who were in ambuscade on the opposite heights. This 
 battle opened up Alsace to the German forces. — F. L. 
 
88 THE DISASTER 
 
 German forces on that side were increasing in numbers. It 
 was still asked, however, at the general staff if the 7th 
 Prussian x\rmy Corps was proceeding from Treves on Sarre- 
 louis or was going to join the remains of the first army in the 
 direction of Sarrebriick. 
 
 The giving up of the command to Bazaine was much com- 
 mented upon. Many, basing their conclusions on the Marshal's 
 merit, saw in the step a pledge of future success. People were 
 unanimous in deploring the interference of the Emperor and 
 the Commander-General in the management of affairs. Certain 
 people, through policy, rejoiced to see authority, which public 
 opinion claimed for him, restored to Bazaine, tardy and in- 
 complete though it was. His disgrace upon returning from 
 Mexico, although he had since been in command of the 3rd 
 corps at Nancy and then of the Imperial Guard, had made 
 him dear to the Opposition. His partisans glorified him, and 
 complained aloud of the discontent which had been caused by 
 placing him on one side at the commencement of the campaign. 
 
 Towards night-time Du Breuil was again called to the 
 Prefecture, and was charged, to his great joy, with a special 
 mission. The vanguard of the first Prussian army was only 
 a few miles from Sarrebriick. He was ordered to take to 
 General Frossard all information in regard to the enemy's 
 forces which the staff had been able to collect. Steinmetz, 
 it was said, was going to appear on the Sarre with the heads 
 of the columns of the 7th corps (Zastrow) and 8th corps 
 (Goeben). And Prince Frederick Charles's army was not far 
 off. Du Breuil was also to restore the 2nd corps to its former 
 position. 
 
 He took the train at dawn for Forbach. 
 
 Notwithstanding the early hour, the station was crowded 
 with travellers. The approach of the Germans had resulted 
 in the whole length of the line being crowded to an extraordinary 
 extent. The compartment in which Du Breuil was seated with 
 Decherac, who was charged with a similar mission to Bazaine 
 at Saint -Avoid, was coupled between two files of carriages 
 filled with reservists, who were rejoining their corps. Their 
 heads hanging out of the carriage windows, they were greeting 
 everything which attracted their attention with exclamations 
 and laughter. Some had resumed their military habits, brusque 
 and free ; others, fathers of families, maintained a homely 
 physiognomy. Du Breuil looked at his travelling companions. 
 He recognised a tall individual dressed in a soft hat and a 
 
THE DISASTER 89 
 
 complete suit of velvet, leather gaiters, a field-glass slung 
 across his shoulder, and his pocket bursting with notebooks. 
 It was one of the journaUsts of the Cafe Parisien. The train 
 crossed the plain of Sablon. He lowered the window. They 
 passed the Pate Redoute, with its group of trees, the hill of 
 Queuleu, its gardens in the shape of an amphitheatre, their 
 sombre verdure arranged on the clear sky in rows one above 
 the other. A blue mist wavered above the Seille, and in the 
 keen air there floated a smell of the fresh earth and of the 
 morning. Some peasants were working in the fields. The sun 
 appeared. The wet grass sparkled. A cow raised its head as 
 the train passed. 
 
 The two officers exchanged a look. How beautiful it was 
 this morning ! Exquisite hour ! ... It was a pleasure to live. 
 The rain, which had fallen all night, had washed the sky. The 
 roads were still hollowed into little ravines by the water. 
 
 At Faulquemont a property-owner of the district got into 
 the compartment to go to Crehange, where he owned some 
 land. He had a fear for his young plants ; in all probability 
 they had been ravaged by the terrible storm of the previous 
 night, which had raged over all the district. 
 
 Du Breuil said : 
 
 ' The army must be like a wet rag. This rain, you know, 
 on the eve of fighting is terrible. Icy-cold shirts, stiff godillots, 
 muddy trousers — all these things in the end tell on the morale of 
 the soldiers.* 
 
 ' Pooh !' exclaimed Decherac ; ' the sun will remedy that.' 
 
 The train was travelling at full speed across a rich country — 
 fields, the soil of which was red and fertile ; extensive prairies, 
 smoking in a golden light ; the blue waters of the German 
 Nied. Far into the distance, on the roads, broken up by the 
 storm, convoys were winding their way ; long files of vehicles, 
 the wheels half buried in ruts, provision and ammunition 
 waggons, equipages of all kinds, proceeded under the protection 
 of small escorts. One carried away a vision of muddy horses 
 and men toiling along the roads. 
 
 In the frame of the carriage window he saw the regular rise 
 and fall of the telegraph-wires, the sudden interception of an 
 embankment. Then came the rumbling of the train as it 
 passed through a tunnel. A small wood, a copse with fresh 
 foliage sparkling with rain, Folsch wilier, the camp of a 
 division of infantry with the lines of camp-fires, the piles of 
 guns, the red and blue movement of the bivouac, appeared. 
 
90 THE DISASTER 
 
 Saint-Avoid was reached. D6cherac left the train, as well as 
 part of the reservists. 
 
 The train now followed the valley of the Rosselle. Rosbriick ! 
 Du Breuil, through an opening between two hills, in the 
 distance saw German territory, with its horizon of fields, 
 villages, and trees. By simple reason of a demarcation post this 
 territory, exactly like that of France, with its fields, its villages, 
 and its trees, became a mysterious region of ambushes and 
 hatred. As he approached the frontier, he experienced a feel- 
 ing of anxiety and anguish. It was a new and deep feeling — 
 one full of repulsion, mystery, intoxication. For the first time 
 he understood how much he was bound to the earth, this red 
 and fertile soil, to the fatherland, by secret living fibres. 
 
 One or two gunshots in the distance — scouts or vedettes were 
 they who were firing ? — resounded in his heart. He entered 
 into a special atmosphere. At last Forbach was reached. 
 The railway skirted the whole length of the town. The 
 presence there of the headquarters of the 2nd corps filled the 
 small and usually silent streets with agitation. Men, carriages, 
 and horses crowded the squares. 
 
 The train stopped. Everybody got out. 
 
 As soon as he arrived he made some inquiries. An orderly 
 officer, whom he met at the station exit, was able to give him 
 the information he required. On the previous evening the 
 2nd corps had carried out the movement ordered for the morn- 
 ing, and the troops occupied their new camp. They were 
 expecting to be attacked any minute. Headquarters were still 
 at Forbach. Du Breuil would be certain to find General 
 Frossard there. 
 
 He took the road leading to the town, and when on the way 
 met a squadron of dragoons. Sitting bolt upright on their 
 mud-covered horses, with their stiffened sheepskins, their white 
 cloaks turned to a dirty yellow, their rusty scabbards, their 
 long moustaches drooping down under their tarnished helmets, 
 they had the air of a horde of barbarians. The storm had left 
 traces of its passage on the road. Du Breuil bestrode large 
 puddles and rivulets of water. Every yard he met single 
 soldiers or small detachments of men with soiled coats and 
 kepis knocked out of shape by the rain. All wore a martial 
 air ; all were full of confidence and high spirits. A dense 
 roseate fog was disappearing in the sun. How long the night 
 must have been under the small tents for all these brave 
 fellows sleeping on the uplands and in the valleys, in the midst 
 
THE DISASTER 91 
 
 of the darkness impregnated with water ! He thought to him- 
 self of the black hours, interrupted by showers and squalls, 
 the disturbed sleep, the dampness, the cold, and the gloomy 
 awakening on the sticky earth in the pale morning. . . . He 
 entered the town at eight o'clock, as General Frossard and his 
 staff were about to leave. 
 
 * Hullo, Du Breuil !' cried Major Laisnc. 
 
 They had known each other during the Italian campaign. 
 Laisne wasn't a bit changed. He was the same tall, dry man, 
 with an enormous nose and moustache resembling a cat's 
 whiskers. 
 
 ' And what are you going to do here ?' he asked. 
 
 * Special mission. I want to see your General.' 
 
 General Frossard, wrapped in a hooded cloak, appeared on 
 the threshold of the Bouc d'Or. He advanced upon seeing 
 Du Breuil, inquiry in his look. . . . He was quite another 
 man to the guest at the dinner at Saint-Cloud ; one felt that 
 here was a leader, a man with a responsible intelligence, 
 engaged in a struggle with events and the unknown. Du 
 Breuil read the particulars which he had brought. The 
 General nodded his head. 
 
 ' Arrange with Laisne about the position of the troops. I 
 took upon myself to commence the movement yesterday. It 
 was time.' 
 
 There was the sound of a horse galloping over the paving- 
 stones. A Second Lieutenant in the Light Artillery reined 
 up sharp before the decorated group and saluted, his hand on 
 a level with his talpack. 
 
 ' Columns of the enemy's infantry, preceded by lines of 
 sharp-shooters, are descending the heights of Sarrebriick. 
 Squadrons of Uhlans and cuirassiers are advancing along the 
 road ; they can be seen distinctly from the spur of Spickeren.' 
 
 Du Breuil was questioning Major Laisne, who consulted 
 some notes and unfolded a map. 
 
 * You will understand better. . . . There is Sarrebriick, 
 where we were yesterday ; here is our position to-day. You 
 see, we are at the base of a triangle, of which Sarrebriick is 
 the apex ; the Sarre to the east is one of the sides, and the 
 railway with the Saint-Avoid road on the west is the other ' 
 
 ' Yes, yes ; I know the country !' exclaimed Du Breuil. 
 
 And upon the map, striated with fine hatchings, he saw the 
 configuration of the district as upon a plan in relief — the 
 heights of Spickeren, its wooded slopes descending on the right 
 
92 THE DISASTER 
 
 to Saint-Arnual and the Sarre, on the left to Forbach and the 
 road. 
 
 In the centre of the Rotheberg was the spur advancing into 
 the valley which separates Spickeren and Sarrebriick. To the 
 left, on a spur of the forest of Forbach the tall chimneys of the 
 Styring iron-works. Then, further back, was the plain of 
 CEtingen, and that of Cadenbronn, the culminating point in 
 this mountainous whole. 
 
 ' The 3rd division, Laveaucoupet,' continued Laisne, point- 
 ing out on the map some small red marks, * are in two lines 
 on the plain of Spickeren, facing north. His battalion of 
 chasseurs occupies the spur, which has been fortified. The 
 valley and the road can be commanded from there, and a down- 
 ward fire can be directed to the ground before Styring. . . . 
 The 2nd division, Bataille, is in reserve at CEtingen. The 
 ist, under the command of Verge, is in the plain. Forbach, 
 the head of our railway, our materiel, our supplies, must be 
 defended. The Jolivet brigade covers Styring. The Valaze 
 brigade to the west of the town on the Kaninchensberg, com- 
 mands the road and Sarrelouis.' 
 
 Du Breuil wrote accordingly in his pocket-book. 
 
 ' That being so,' he said, ' you will be able to stoutly await 
 attack. Besides, the 3rd corps is not far off.' 
 
 A telegram from the Emperor, which was sent to the general 
 staff two nights before, had, in fact, ordered Marshal Bazaine 
 to remove the Decaen division with the headquarters and 
 reserves to Saint-Avoid, the Methan division to Marientoual, 
 the Montaudon division to Sarreguemines, and the Castagny 
 division to Puttelange. All these points were not more than 
 fifteen or sixteen kilometres from Forbach. 
 
 A rumbling was heard. 
 
 ' Cannon,' murmured Laisne nervously. . . . ^ An revoiv, my 
 dear fellow. I must leave you.' 
 
 * And what's become of Deresse ?' asked Du Breuil, as 
 Laisne moved towards his horse, a beautiful chestnut. 
 
 The whole staff mounted on horseback. 
 
 ' Wounded at the Sarrebriick attack. . . . You didn't 
 know ? . . . Ball in his stomach. . . . He's at the 
 ambulance here. . . . You can see him. . . .' 
 
 He lowered his voice. General Frossard passed before 
 them — silent, his eyes fixed, his thoughts elsewhere. He 
 moved away, with bent head, at a walking pace upon a large 
 bay thoroughbred, followed by his cortege of indifferent 
 
THE DISASTER 93 
 
 officers who laughed and conversed in a low voice about one 
 thing and another. 
 
 An inhabitant, to whom Du Breuil made an inquiry about 
 the ambulance, offered to guide him. 
 
 Deresse ! On the way he called up the never-to-be-forgotten 
 silhouette of the old officer who had grown gray in the service 
 of his country, adored by his men, severe and good, with his 
 imperial already turning gray, his high bald forehead and his 
 pure eyes. Truly, a man of duty ! Deresse wounded ! A 
 feeling of revolt against the blind bullet which had struck him, 
 the injustice of fate, came over him. Why this man rather 
 than another ? His heart beat fast upon reaching the 
 ambulance. 
 
 But there were only some soldiers and two non-com- 
 missioned officers there. Du Breuil felt the eyes of one of 
 them, a small, beardless, pale-faced sergeant, fixed upon his 
 gold shoulder-knots — a hostile look in which there was a 
 mixture of curiosity and raillery. One of his legs had been 
 amputated, and he was smoking quite philosophically. By 
 his side was a gigantic Westphalian Uhlan, whose cheeks had 
 been pierced by a bullet, and who was now dying with a con- 
 vulsive rattle in his throat. At the bottom of the room Du 
 Breuil saw the broad back of a man in a cassock bending over 
 a soldier, who was turning his head away in fierce silence. 
 
 ' AI. I'Abbe !' he exclaimed. 
 
 The priest turned. A frank smile Ht up his face. That 
 broad back, that jovial bearing. . . . Du Breuil recognised 
 the Abbe Trudaine, whom he had met a fortnight before in the 
 lobbies of the Ministry of War. 
 
 ' Ah, Major ! Happy to see you again.' 
 
 He had succeeded in getting his services accepted as 
 assistant-chaplain to the 2nd corps. He had bought a small 
 vehicle and a horse, stocked his boxes with provisions, and 
 with this equipage followed the troops, distributing Liebig's 
 beef-tea, medals which had been blessed by the Pope, and 
 chocolate. . . . His pockets bulged with packets of tobacco. 
 While he was talking to Du Breuil, he gave three of them to 
 soldiers who had been sUghtly wounded, suddenly stopped 
 before a window from which could be seen the distant woods, 
 black against the blue sky, sighed, ' They are in ambush 
 there,' and concluded by asking the Major in what way he 
 could be of service to him. 
 
 He gave an exclamation at the name of Deresse. The 
 
94 THE DISASTER 
 
 Colonel was being nursed at a private house, that of M. 
 Schneiber, very decent people, glue manufacturers. He was 
 just going there. On the way he again pointed out the woods, 
 with their heavy, impenetrable blackness ; at night-time sinister 
 flashes of light could be seen there. They were swarming 
 with Prussians. 
 
 ' A single shell fired from there and it's all up with the 
 ambulance. I've warned the General. Do you know what he 
 said to me in reply ? " Get to your patients, M. I'Abbe, and 
 leave us to our cannon !" ' 
 
 With a bitterness which Du Breuil thought very comical, he 
 branched out into military questions. A dull explosion re- 
 sounded, then a second one, and a third. A confused rumbling 
 could be heard. The Abbe Trudaine listened. . . . Not a 
 sound more. . . . Perhaps it was thunder. . . . He rang 
 the bell at a gate grown over by large violet clematis. A 
 thickset, red-haired young man, with an intelligent air, opened 
 the door. The Abbe introduced him: * M. Schneiber junior.' 
 . . . The Colonel wasn't any better ; he hadn't closed his eyes 
 since noon. 
 
 There was a small and very neat gravelled courtyard, four 
 lime-trees, a border of grass and geranium plants, a large vase 
 made of blue glass ; the house was freshly plastered, the flight 
 of steps leading up to the door was made of enamelled bricks, 
 and the house had green shutters. The whole gave an im- 
 pression of composure, silence, and the provinces. 
 
 Colonel Deresse was stretched in the middle of a bed in a 
 fine bedroom on the first-floor, facing the window open to the 
 sun and the pure air. He had not changed. There was the 
 same high bald forehead and blue eyes. But he was horribly 
 pale, and his imperial also was white. He recognised Du 
 Breuil, smiled at him pleasantly and pressed his hand. The 
 sinister rumbling in the distance recommenced. Everybody 
 turned towards the window and listened. An expression of 
 sadness came into the eyes of the wounded man. Then he 
 said in a low but distinct voice : 
 
 ' They are fighting.' 
 
 With sudden precision Du Breuil again beheld events of 
 which he had never thought during the past ten years : the 
 morning of the fight of Buffalora, the solicitude with which 
 Deresse had fed his men — ' his children ' — at dawn, his grave, 
 attentive face from the time firing was commenced, and his 
 restrained sorrow when the first men were wounded. . . . 
 
THE DISASTER 95 
 
 As though he had read his thoughts, Deresse said : 
 
 * It was my turn. . . . Come, friend, I am resigned. The 
 bullet which kills us is cast for all eternity. Our only duty is 
 to be ready.' 
 
 The low rumbling in the blue sky commenced again. 
 Deresse, exhausted, closed his eyes. Du Breuil left the room 
 on tip-toe, followed by the Abbe Trudaine and M. Schneiber. 
 The last-named had an astonishing resemblance to his son, 
 only he was stouter, and his hair was gray. Downstairs a 
 servant was laying some luncheon on a corner of the table in 
 the dining-room — a smoking omelette, brown bread, creamy 
 butter pearled with water, and Lorraine sausage. The sun 
 was shining full into the courtyard, bathing the fresh grass 
 and the brilliant red of the geraniums in a warm light. A 
 light covered cart, its shafts in the air, was standing in the 
 middle, and through the open door of a stable could be seen 
 young Schneiber harnessing a soHd little roan pony. 
 
 In the distance — the Abbe Trudaine said from the direction 
 of Spickeren — the cannonade became brisker. 
 
 * A regular battle,' said M. Schneiber. 
 
 Du Breuil was so impatient he could not hold himself still. 
 He gazed at the horizon. He went to the window and came 
 back, with every now and then a remark thrown in. 
 
 ' My son is hke yourself, Major. As soon as he hears the 
 cannon, it is stronger than himself. I've reasoned with him, 
 but off he goes. He prowls about in the neighbourhood of the 
 warmest part of the fight. And then one never knows. Some- 
 times one can do some good — carry off a wounded soldier. . . .' 
 
 The horse was between the shafts, and luncheon was ready, 
 
 ' If you have a mind. Major, have a bit of something to eat, 
 and the youngster will drive you.' 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 One hour afterwards the light covered cart ascended the 
 steep slope of the Kreutzberg. Sitting by the side of young 
 Schneiber, Du Breuil had kept his ears well open, but not a 
 sound was to be heard. The battle, however, had commenced. 
 When he was leaving he had met near the railway-station an 
 officer of the staff who had just taken a telegram from General 
 Frossard to Marshal Bazaine to the telegraph-office, announc- 
 
96 THE DISASTER 
 
 ing the battle, and asking for assistance. The struggle was at 
 Spickeren. 
 
 It was eleven o'clock. The road wound up the mountain 
 between thick underwood, its dense thickets with tree-trunks 
 crowded together, and black foliage rising up on each side. 
 The deep-blue, cloudless sky was stretched far above like a 
 canopy. The weather was hot ; not a sound could be heard. 
 Some insects only flew round and round in the heavy atmo- 
 sphere. The grass on the slopes was motionless. 
 
 This silence in the long-run was disquieting. Doubtless, 
 when the top of the hill was reached, something would be 
 heard. . . . Du Breuil was astonished to think he was on this 
 road, seated in a cart, a few kilometres from the battle-field. 
 When his mission was accomplished, why had he not taken 
 the train again ? Bah ! he was just as well there as in his 
 office at Metz. . . . He might even make himself useful, take 
 back some fresh information to headquarters. . . . And, then, 
 this itching for action, this need of knowledge ! . . . He had 
 no difficulty in convincing himself that by remaining he was, in 
 short, only doing his duty. 
 
 Why did they hear nothing more ? Perhaps the wind had 
 changed, or the mountain intercepted the sound. . . . They 
 had just reached the top of the Kreutzberg. The road turned 
 sharply. Immediately there broke upon their ears, at first 
 muffled, and then distinctly, the roar of the battle. The view 
 in front was still restricted by a bend in the road, and at each 
 side by woody slopes ; there was nothing but deep verdure and 
 blue sky. But at the turning, on the declivity which rose 
 towards them in a straight line, Du Breuil saw some horses 
 harnessed to artillery caissons pass at full speed, amid a cloud 
 of dust. They were headed by a quartermaster ; the drivers 
 were leaning forward on their horses' necks, urging them for- 
 ward with blows from their whips, the heavy vehicles rolling 
 along with a tremendous noise — a convoy without ammunition, 
 which was doubtless going to Forbach to get a fresh stock. . . . 
 They passed some estafettes proceeding at a gallop ; peasants 
 who were driving before them troops of sheep and oxen ; carts 
 filled with furniture, tables, chairs, mattresses, articles thrown 
 pele-mele. Their cart passed a file of ammunition waggons 
 loaded with bread. The officer under whose guidance they 
 were had a very troubled look in his face. The cannon roared 
 with violence. The small escort of fatigue-duty men, guns in 
 their hands, cursed as they tramped alongside the vehicles. 
 
THE DISASTER 97 
 
 On the low side of the road, to the left, a staff officer, carry- 
 ing some despatch or other, was sweeping forward upon his 
 horse with slackened rein. He cried out : * Get out of the 
 way — get out of the way !' Du Breuil only had time to catch 
 a glimpse of his red face. They reached Etzling. As they 
 were about to leave the main road to strike out northwards to 
 Spickeren by way of a road through the wood, Schneiber 
 recognised one of his cousins, M. Briand, an inhabitant of 
 For bach, in a break drawn up on the square facing the church. 
 M. Briand brought triumphant news from Sarreguemines. 
 Since morning it had been persistently rumoured that Mac- 
 Mahon had gained a great victory. It was the revenge of 
 Wissemberg. The Marshal had overcome the army of the 
 Prince Royal, and taken forty thousand prisoners. . . . 
 M. Briand, carried away with joy, waved his cap, crying, 
 * Long live France !' 
 
 The cart moved towards Spickeren, from the plateau of 
 which could be seen the red roofs of "the village, and the 
 Geneva flag floating from the top of the church. It was a 
 district of deep ravines, steep slopes, hills, and everywhere, in 
 the hollows and on the heights, black woods intersecting the 
 red furrows of the cultivated soil with dense underwood. Du 
 Breuil listened with pride to the increasing uproar of the 
 struggle. The sun was resplendent in his eyes ; the azure 
 became light, and Victory passed through it, beating the pure 
 air with her quivering wing. Frossard was perhaps going to 
 follow up MacMahon's splendid success. That news was a 
 good omen. ... It might, of course, be lessened in import- 
 ance ; but what matter ? It warmed the heart. 
 
 Suddenly, on the hill to the right, he saw two regiments of 
 the line massed in battalions. They were waiting, their rifles at 
 rest, for their turn to enter the fight. With their knapsacks 
 on their backs, motionless, the men conversed. Far into the 
 distance waved the line of blue coats and red trousers. Du 
 Breuil contemplated with emotion this moving string of faces, 
 this long and quivering line of flesh, possessed of thought and 
 Hfe. At times a joke would travel the whole length of the 
 ranks, causing a ripple of laughter. Some of the men who 
 were nervous looked straight before them, mechanically biting 
 their moustaches, stamping the ground ; others, who were 
 resigned, waited in silence. 
 
 Tents were still erected around the village ; camp effects 
 were lying pele-mele near overturned pans ; the fires were dying 
 
 7 
 
98 THE DISASTER 
 
 out ; the streets were filled with troops. Before the Mayor's 
 residence and the church, which had been transformed into 
 temporary hospitals, were stationed the divisionary ambulances. 
 It was impossible to advance. The roads leading to the 
 plateau where the Micheler Brigade was fighting were crowded 
 with foot soldiers, horse soldiers, artillerymen ; there was a 
 constant coming and going of infirmary attendants, with their 
 stretchers, an incessant flow of ammunition-waggons. Empty 
 battery caissons came to be refilled at the reserve ammuni- 
 tion-waggons. Bullets whistled down the streets. A horse 
 harnessed to a canteen carriage was frightened by the increas- 
 ing noise of musketry, and bolted, the heavy vehicle disappear- 
 ing in the direction of the woods in the midst of the shrill cries 
 of the women. . . . 
 
 Du Breuil wished at all cost to see how the fight was pro- 
 gressing. He thought of the church tower. What a splendid 
 idea ! And while young Schneiber was putting up his cart in 
 the courtyard of a wine-merchant, he entered the church, which 
 was commencing to fill with wounded, stretched upon chairs, 
 benches, or upon the ground, their heads resting against steps, 
 their breasts bare, covered with blood. Sisters of Charity and 
 some women were bathing their wounds with water, and bind- 
 ing them up with lint. The leader of a band acted as doctor, 
 his only remedy being a bottle of smelling-salts. Complaints 
 and sighs mingled in a single groan, which followed Du Breuil 
 to the end of his ascent. When he had mounted the staircase, he 
 succeeded, by means of his crampoons, in hoisting himself, white 
 with dust and covered with cobwebs, to the topmost luthern. 
 
 He could not refrain from a cry of astonishment. Before 
 him, in the foreground, was stretched out under the sun, and 
 in the midst of smoke, the Spickeren plateau, with its woods, 
 its glades, its fields, and its ravines. Everywhere was a blue 
 and red movement of soldiers. He could distinguish the sharp- 
 shooters spread out, and the denser lines of the companies. 
 Black helmets moved from the side of the forest of Saint- 
 Armal. Every second the batteries belched forth flame and 
 were enveloped in small clouds of smoke which were quickly 
 dispersed in the immense red, floating cloud which here and 
 there mounted skywards. Beyond the Spur, the opposite side 
 of the valley, with its distant slopes rising one above the other 
 to the heights of the Galgensberg and the Keppertsberg, was 
 every now and then visible, when the wind rose. 
 
 German batteries crowned these heights with a circle of fire. 
 
THE DISASTER 99 
 
 and there could be seen the black columns of the infantry 
 descending on the right and left with a circular movement 
 towards the woods. A crowd of helmets was also in move- 
 ment more to the left on the ground lying before Styring. His 
 eyes were riveted on this living landscape. At certain discharges, 
 more violent than usual, the whole church tower vibrated, and 
 the acrid smell of powder was so strong that it produced a 
 sensation of choking. Amid confused noise he distinguished 
 far-off calls, cries of rage and triumph, supreme commands, the 
 complaints of the dying. 
 
 A view^ of the Spur was partly hidden by a small wood. 
 Du Breuil was able, however, by means of his field-glass to 
 make out an unusual movement at that spot. He saw some 
 foot-soldiers out of breath ; heard cries of joy. Was it possible ? 
 Pointed helmets were glittering in the first intrenchment. What 
 were the vitrieys''''' thinking about ? However, the loth battalion 
 of Chasseurs was there. Suddenly, after a long hand-to-hand 
 fight, the wavering line retreated, and took shelter in the second 
 intrenchment. But it again rushed forward and captured the 
 Spur. Not a pointed helmet was to be seen. A cloud of smoke 
 blocked out the view. In a minute, however, it had gone, and Du 
 Breuil beheld in consternation that in the place of the Chasseurs 
 was a black, moving mass. Were these Prussians mad ? 
 
 Three o'clock struck. Du Breuil was intoxicated, and had 
 lost all notion of time or place. Almost unconsciously he 
 descended and found himself in the square. A General and 
 his staff were standing under a quincunx of trees in the shade. 
 Two escort hussars were in charge of the snorting horses, their 
 flanks hollow. Not being able to find any grass, they threw 
 back their heads and shoulders so as to crop the low branches, 
 masticating their bits, the leaves and the froth. Du Breuil 
 recognised General Doens. They only had time to exchange 
 a couple of words. One of General Laveaucoupet's Aides- 
 de-camp galloped up, his face, down which perspiration was 
 pouring, covered with dust, his horse bleeding. He asked for 
 three battalions. 
 
 Du Breuil went in search of his cart. Some foot-soldiers 
 were filing past at a quick step. They had deposited their 
 knapsacks, and were walking cheerfully along, their rifles 
 
 * These were the so-called Chasseurs de Vincennes. They originally 
 took their name because of their polished leather coats, which shone in the 
 sunlight as though made of glass, vitvier meaning ordinarily a mender of 
 windows. — F. L. 
 
 7—2 
 
100 THE DISASTER 
 
 on their shoulders. * Order ! Order !' repeated an old Captain, 
 in a fatherly tone. A battery of mitrailleuses went by at a 
 quick trot. He could see nothing of the cart. Suddenly a 
 riderless horse, its reins hanging loose, charged down a street. 
 The animal drew up sharp on its four hoofs and neighed loudly. 
 Its flank, wet with perspiration, moved up and down like a 
 blacksmith's bellows. Without a moment's thought Du Breuil 
 leapt into the saddle. An officer's cloak was on the cantle. 
 In the holsters were a revolver and some maps. The poor 
 beast had a large gash, from which blood was flowing, at the 
 juncture of the neck and the shoulders. 
 
 The horse again neighed upon receiving the spur, and 
 dashed off over the cultivated land in the direction of the 
 plateau. Horse and rider were carried away by a furious 
 madness. Du Breuil no longer retained possession of himself. 
 Amid the bullets and the smoke he thus for a long time 
 galloped on, crossed a ravine, jumped over tree-trunks, ditches, 
 advanced and withdrew as though in a dream, in the very 
 vortex of the melee. Whether this ride lasted a quarter of 
 an hour or a century he had not the faintest idea. When he 
 recovered consciousness, he was astonished to find himself, 
 sword in hand, charging with the staff of General Laveau- 
 coupet, whose gold - embroidered kepi he distinguished ten 
 metres away. The Prussians were trying to extricate them- 
 selves from a wood. A running fire crepitated. But with 
 savage cries the two battalions, headed by their officers, rushed 
 madly forward brandishing their bayonets. They commenced 
 to run, and Du Breuil felt himself at once drawn on by 
 enthusiasm, and pushed forward by an irresistible force. The 
 enemy gave way, followed by the maddened foot-soldiers. 
 
 He was then able to disengage himself, replace his sword in 
 its scabbard, and slowly, because his horse was halting, to 
 take the Spickeren road again. He tried to collect his ideas, 
 but when he arrived before the church, he was still asking 
 himself what motive he had obeyed. At that moment his 
 horse fell dead. It had a splinter of a shell in its breast. 
 
 Fortunately, Schneiber, who was anxious, appeared on the 
 scene. He had been looking for a long time for Du Breuil. 
 . . . What time was it ? Only four o'clock. The cart was 
 ready. They set off again, but made little progress, being 
 obliged almost at every yard to alter their course. The 
 narrow streets were obstructed by vehicles in disorder. It 
 was necessary to proceed through a confused mass of peasants, 
 
THE DISASTER loi 
 
 people in flight, and wounded soldiers, who were lying upon 
 straw, and were being evacuated on Forbach by cartloads. 
 Every minute there were crushes among the people. Chasseurs 
 and dragoons passed at a gallop with a volley of oaths. 
 Further on were four sappers carrying a stretcher made of 
 some tent canvas and four chassepots, upon which was 
 stretched the rigid body of an officer. His coat and shirt were 
 open, revealing a gaping wound in his breast. Du Breuil 
 recognised by the pale face, the suffering eyes of which were 
 open beyond all measure, a Colonel whom he had formerly 
 met, but whose name he could not call to mind. Instinctively 
 he rose, and, as a last homage, raised his hand to his kepi 
 and made the military salute. 
 
 His fever fell, and he remained stunned, demoraHzed, tired. 
 The din of the battle behind them was abated, but, as if in 
 revenge, it increased to the right. There were two distinct 
 actions there. Those cursed helmets ! He had recently seen 
 them from the church tower. They were swarming in the 
 Styring neighbourhood. The day was evidently undecided. 
 Why didn't the Bataille division enter into line ? And the 
 3rd corps ? It was doubtless coming to the rescue. Du 
 Breuil imagined the fresh troops setting out in haste from their 
 four bivouacs, and reaching the cannon by forced marches. 
 
 The road divided into two, the light cart turning to the right 
 into the wood in the direction of the Forbacherberg. Du 
 Breuil and Schneiber turned round. A stifled voice called to 
 them. A mounted gendarme had issued forth from a small 
 covered pathway, and stood, bareheaded and his coat un- 
 buttoned, at the cross-roads, crying with the air of one who 
 has lost his way : ' Where is General Frossard ?' Then, with- 
 out waiting for a reply, he set off again hke a madman in 
 the direction of Spickeren. The road wound up the hillside 
 between the underwood of the Spickeren-W^ald, which was full 
 of troops. A Captain, whose company bordered the declivity, 
 told Du Breuil that the Breme-d'Or and Baraque Mouton had 
 just been captured. The remainder of the battalion was there 
 — he pointed to the slopes of the Forbacherberg. 
 
 ' Be easy in your mind,' he said ; ' we shall block up the road.' 
 
 The men, black with powder, their uniforms in disorder, 
 covered with soil, blood, and dust, were standing, seated, and 
 lying down, taking breath. Some were cleaning their guns ; 
 others were taking bread from their knapsacks, for they had 
 not had anything to eat on the previous night. 
 
102 THE DISASTER 
 
 The road descended perpendicularly. The small roan pony 
 refused to advance. It was necessary to get out of the cart. 
 The cracklmg of musketry, the regular report of volleys from 
 the rifles, the dry rattle of the mitrailleuses, the roll of the 
 cannon, could distinctly be heard. The Breme-d'Or captured ? 
 . . . That meant that the Forbach road was open. Fortu- 
 nately, the road was commanded from the heights. . . . Spent 
 bullets whilsted on their way. Others cut the foliage of the trees. 
 
 They reached the road. The confusion was indescribable. 
 An overflowing river of people in flight ; canteen-carriages and 
 waggons flowed along ; infirmary attendants with stretchers ; 
 wounded soldiers perched on cacolets and upon ambulance 
 carriages ; inhabitants of Styring, mad with terror. Every- 
 where, on the road and on the slopes, were disbanded soldiers, 
 old people and women with children clinging to their skirts. 
 Some peasants were carrying straw mattresses on their heads, 
 or dragging after them a lamb or a calf frightened by the 
 tumult. Artillery and ammunition convoys on their way to 
 take part in the fight tried to reascend the current. Dominating 
 the confusion was still that of the battle, which seemed to be 
 thickest towards Styring. Detonations succeeded each other 
 without stopping. But how was the road to be crossed ? 
 
 Suddenly a platoon of cavalry, the escort of General Frossard, 
 came down the right side. Du Breuil hastily profited by the 
 open passage to slip between and reach the other side, where 
 the Styring-Wendel joined. Alone, ahead of his staff", the 
 General advanced at a walking pace upon his bay thorough- 
 bred. A prey to destiny, he seemed to see nothing. His 
 officers, behind him, silently spurred on their jaded horses. 
 At the top of the Styring road the General, undecided, stopped. 
 He took in with a look the valley, the woods, the high chimneys, 
 and the ironworks, visible through the smoke. His eyes fell 
 momentarily on Du Breuil without recognising him, perhaps 
 without even seeing him. And with the same somnambulistic 
 step he again set off", trailing behind him his silent cortege. 
 
 ' Laisne !' cried Du Breuil. 
 
 The Major passed at his side. The officer turned his head, 
 turned half round, at a bound leapt the embankment at the 
 side of the road, and drew up near the cart. The enemy was 
 constantly receiving reinforcements ; everything was going 
 badly. Our reserve division had joined the fight. Ground 
 was being lost. And the 3rd corps did not arrive. . . . 
 
 * What can they be doing ?' 
 
 i 
 
THE DISASTER 103 
 
 Laisne stifled an oath. His mare was angrily pawing the 
 ground and pulling with all her force to be off again. The road 
 had become transformed into a torrent of people. He made 
 a farewell gesture, and disappeared at a gallop, skirting the 
 ditch. 
 
 * Geeho, Poulet !' The cart moved away. But after pro- 
 ceeding one hundred yards it was impossible to go any further. 
 The road followed the edge of a wood, which was occupied by 
 a battalion of the line, utilizing the embankment and the trees 
 to direct a violent fire on the woods opposite, to which the 
 Prussians had been beaten back. Du Breuil jumped out and, 
 as he wished to push on towards Styring, persuaded Schneiber 
 to put up his vehicle in the underwood. A quarter of an hour 
 afterwards he entered the works. The tall furnaces had been 
 lit, and the machinery was rumbling. The workmen were 
 going backwards and forwards as though nothing abnormal 
 was happening. The village, however, was the centre of 
 resistance. To the right and left, in front of the houses, 
 regiments and batteries were mingled, making a last effort. 
 Alt-Styring was captured. The Prussians streamed in from 
 all sides. 
 
 General Bataille and General Verge were on horseback, 
 standing at the entrance to the courtyard. Du Breuil saw 
 them consult together for a moment, then General Bataille, 
 sword in hand, reached the left of the village. Immediately 
 the whole of the 67th of the Une rushed forward with fixed 
 bayonets and bugles blowing, the three battalions dashing into 
 the woods. 
 
 Du Breuil, attracted by a groan behind him, turned his head. 
 He was about to bend over the wounded man, a little artillery 
 Lieutenant whose right leg was shattered, when cries rang out. 
 On the ground swept by the charge three cannon, abandoned 
 in the morning, were in battery. A fresh groan made him 
 start. The wounded man, his head resting against the jamb 
 of the door, moved. He raised himself on his elbow, and 
 Du Breuil, following the direction of his look, saw him fixedly 
 contemplating the abandoned cannon. 
 
 ' My guns ..." he murmured in despair. ' My guns!' 
 
 But a Major, followed by some officers and a dozen men — 
 artillerymen and foot-soldiers — spurred their horses straight 
 towards them. Under a storm of bullets they reached the 
 guns, leaped to the ground, hooked them on again, and set off 
 at a gallop. 
 
I04 THE DISASTER 
 
 * Bravo!' cried Du Breuil ; while the Httle Lieutenant, with 
 a smile of ecstasy, fell back again in a faint. 
 
 ' Fire ! fire !' Cries of alarm were heard. The works were 
 commencing to blaze. Big columns of white smoke whirled 
 above the roofs, mingling with the black tops of the tall 
 chimneys. The flames burst forth and leapt skywards. The 
 remaining workmen fled in dismay. Du Breuil was about to 
 move away, when he saw a compact group — General Verge, 
 General Frossard and his staff — standing before the door. 
 
 He approached, and Laisne came to him. 
 
 ' It's going badly up there.' 
 
 The last news received from Spickeren was disastrous : the 
 maddened enemy was always increasing in numbers ; Laveau- 
 coupet had entered the fight to the last man, the losses 
 w^ere heavy, the division was exhausted ; General Doens was 
 killed. ... 
 
 ' Killed !' exclaimed Du Breuil. ' But I only spoke to him 
 half an hour ago.' 
 
 As he again saw the brave man full of life, his heart was 
 oppressed. A Lieutenant of dragoons, his helmet dinted, his 
 epaulettes torn off, dashed up at full speed and asked for 
 General Frossard. He was pointed out to him. In a broken 
 voice the officer explained that an entire Prussian division was 
 advancing on the Sarrelouis road. Colonel Dulac's two 
 divisions and the company of Engineers could no longer hold 
 out. The Kaninchensberg was about to be evacuated. 
 
 Consternation was depicted on every face. Forbach captured, 
 the extreme left turned — it was the coup de grace ! The day 
 was irreparably lost. General Frossard ought at the com- 
 mencement of the action to have sent the brigade charged to 
 protect the town to the assistance of General Verge. He had 
 now no men left in reserve. It was only by sheer heroism that 
 the three decimated divisions were holding out. Hour after 
 hour the Prussians increased in strength. No news of the 
 3rd corps ! It was incomprehensible. Laisne did not mince 
 matters in his explanation. Despatch after despatch had been 
 sent to Marshal Bazaine. Nothing ! The scoundrel that he 
 was ! He was voluntarily leaving the 2nd corps to be crushed. 
 Du Breuil's thoughts were too deep for words. 
 
 General Frossard finished giving his orders. They caught a 
 few words : ' Retreat ... by the ridges. . . .' The musketry 
 became less intense. Night was commencing to fall. A 
 suffocating heat came from the burning works. And while the 
 
THE DISASTER 105 
 
 dejected group disappeared in the fog with its platoon escort, 
 Du Breuil watched the day as it died in its immense shroud of 
 mist, stained as though by blood by the sun and the fire. 
 
 There was a movement at the head of the troops. A few 
 battaUons commenced to retreat. And immediately from the 
 murderous circle of woods, from the heights of the Folster- 
 Hohe came a storm of shots. With renewed force the Prussian 
 attack recommenced. 
 
 Two artillerymen helped Du Breuil to carry the wounded 
 Lieutenant to the cart. Schneiber, his hands blackened with 
 powder, threw aside the rifle he had picked up, and leading 
 Poulet by the bridle, the main-road was quickly rejoined. 
 It must have been seven o'clock. A strong wind whistled 
 through the tall poplars. The sinister twilight was gathering. 
 
 Every yard the road was strewn with arms, clothing, knap- 
 sacks ; and as the vehicle jolted over them, the wounded Lieu- 
 tenant, still in a dead faint, gave forth long sighs, a very low 
 complaint as of a child. Du Breuil finally heard him no 
 more. His ears humming with the decreasing noise of the 
 struggle, his temples circled by an atrocious headache, he 
 furiously ruminated over his powerlessness. On a level with 
 him, moving in the same reflux, a retreating company was 
 plodding along. These men were beaten ! Come ! There was 
 madness in their eyes. Dog-tired, black, torn, superb — they 
 proceeded still with active step. Beaten ! Was it possible ? . . . 
 They branched off to the left, reaching the heights. 
 
 The cart now moved alongside a file of bare-headed, weapon- 
 less, disbanded Light Infantry soldiers. Intoxicated with 
 fatigue and hunger, they sang at the top of their voices : 
 
 ' Le General Frossard 
 N'est qu'un sal'rossard !' 
 
 They chuckled when they saw Du Breuil's rank. Night 
 had come. Still the cart rolled on, moving by the side of 
 women, carriages full of wounded, waggons and canteen 
 carriages. Du Breuil, cut to the heart, turned round. A 
 shrill, strident cry ground out the words : * To Berlin ! To 
 Berlin !' Who was jeering in this manner ? With a sobbing 
 laugh the hoarse voice again cried : ' To Berlin ! To Berlin !' 
 What recollections these words called up ! And on the top of 
 a canteen-carriage, its claws fastened with string to its perch, 
 Du Breuil saw a green parrot, bristling all over, screaming 
 aloud and flapping its wings. 
 
io6 THE DISASTER 
 
 A few hundred yards to the right came the crackling of 
 musketry. An indescribable panic, a free fight, a rush to 
 safety amid the cries of stifled women, was the result. Then 
 the red lights of the station came in sight. The terrified 
 crowd crushed into the waiting-rooms ; children and old people 
 rushed the whole length of the platform. Long yellow flashes 
 were seen on the Kaninchensberg. Then there was a report, 
 and in the black sky shells burst above the town. Far afield 
 the Styring ironworks cast immense gleams, and quite near the 
 railway-station the furious musketry was recommenced. 
 
 The last train had left. Only an engine remained on the 
 line. Du Breuil requested the station-master to immediately 
 set off; he would travel with the stoker and the driver. The 
 whistle blew. The line was clear. In the midst of cries and 
 maledictions the heavy locomotive commenced to move. 
 Greeted with a storm of bullets, it proceeded at full speed. As 
 it skirted the woods, swarming with Prussians, they peppered 
 it with grape-shot. Forbach, where a few houses were burn- 
 ing, was hidden by a curtain of flame and smoke, and as far as 
 the star - dotted zenith large moving clouds unrolled their 
 ruddy scrolls, spotted with flakes of fire and sparks. 
 
 It was a lamentable return, interrupted every minute by 
 stoppages before signals, backward movements along the line, 
 shuntings and danger whistles. The railway-stations were 
 blocked. Between Bening and Rosbruck they met the long file 
 of carriages of an infantry train. In the brief gleam of the 
 lamps the compartments, packed with sleeping men, appeared 
 — faces upon which were expressions of waiting, fatigue, and 
 fever, like those seen in a dream. And as each carriage 
 passed on its way, Du Breuil repeated to himself : ' Too late ! 
 too late ! too late !' 
 
 Saint-Avoid . . . Faulquemont . . . Courcelles. . . . Seated 
 upon a heap of coal, his head buried in his hands, he now wept 
 bitterly, convulsed with sobbing and with a terrible relaxation 
 of his whole being, while the stoker and the driver, moved to 
 pity, looked at him in silence. 
 
 Metz — at last ! He mechanically took the road leading to 
 the Prefecture. The news of the disaster was known. The 
 cafes were overflowing. The streets were black with people. 
 There reigned an impression of stupor. An anxious crowd 
 had collected before the gates of the building. He crossed the 
 small crowded courtyard and entered the rooms on the ground- 
 floor. He could hardly see the chief of the staff for a moment 
 
THE DISASTER 107 
 
 and inform him in a few words of occurrences. ... A piece 
 of news otherwise terrible had just been made known. Marshal 
 de MacMahon had been crushed on the same day at Woerth. 
 The Army of the Vosges no longer existed. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The night, the morning of the 7th were inexpressible. The 
 state of excitement at the Prefecture and at headquarters 
 was at its height. Men's faculties had been seized with dizzi- 
 ness, and their wills were paralyzed. The two defeats took 
 the proportion of disasters ; people imagined they could see 
 the black columns of Prussians invading the country, swarm- 
 ing over it, incessant streams of helmeted foot-soldiers, shining 
 cannon, red - haired cavalrymen astride tall, thin horses. 
 Alsace and Lorraine were open at a blow by two gaping 
 wounds. 
 
 No more news had been heard of the 2nd corps, except that 
 it was beating a retreat, worn out with fatigue and hunger. 
 MacMahon's defeat was confirmed. He had been crushed. 
 Hardly five divisions against the Prince Royal's ten ! He had 
 massed his men on the Froeschwiller heights, covering the 
 Niederbronn outlet, by which the 5th corps was awaited in 
 vain. The third Prussian army, crossing the Sauer, had 
 captured Woerth in the centre, Froeschwiller on our left, and 
 driven the Marshal on Reischoffen. The cuirassiers, to save 
 the retreat, had charged and been annihilated. The vanquished 
 and disunited troops had moved on Saverne. Only one division 
 of the 7th corps, which was shut up in Belfort, was left to pro- 
 tect Alsace. The passes of the Vosges were open to the enemy. 
 
 Despatches had poured in in the morning, and people thought 
 they could hear the tocsin of the affrighted towns. Upon the 
 arrival of the fleeing soldiers and stragglers there was a panic 
 at Strasburg, as well as at Verdun and at Thionville. Metz, 
 Verdun, Montmedy, Longwy, Thionville, Bitch, Strasburg, 
 Marsal, Toul and Belfort, were declared in a state of siege. 
 Upon waking up in the morning, the people of Metz were able 
 to read on the walls the telegrams which betrayed the anxiety 
 of the imperial Cabinet. The town was in a state of great 
 agitation ; crowds of people swarmed in the streets and on the 
 squares. General Coffini^res de Nordeck, appointed Governor, 
 
io8 THE DISASTER 
 
 organized battalions of the National Guard, decided upon the 
 way officers should be appointed, postponed the municipal 
 elections, took steps in regard to the presence of foreigners 
 of German birth. The maddened population clamoured for 
 weapons. There were more than five thousand volunteers. 
 Needle-guns in bad condition were distributed. Sedentary 
 National Guardsmen were sent to the forts to participate with 
 the militia in the supervision of the works, which were being 
 put into a state of defence in great haste. Part of the 
 Emperor's equipages — horses, carriages, and baggage — dashed, 
 in the meantime, in the direction of the railway-station. * Re- 
 treat already, flight soon ' — the Chalons saying — passed from 
 mouth to mouth. 
 
 As it was decided to pass over to the left bank, Coffini^res 
 was ordered to build as many bridges as possible over the 
 Seille and Moselle. Canrobert, who had been ordered in haste 
 to Metz, received a counter-order ; Chalons remained the centre 
 for the 6th corps. MacMahon, as well as De Failly, who was 
 disorganized before being beaten, rallied there. 
 
 The 3rd and 4th corps commenced to fall back on Metz. 
 In addition to the Guard, they were intact. But that was an 
 additional cause of rancour to everybody. How was it that 
 Bazaine, a responsible chief, had allowed his Lieutenant to be 
 beaten without assisting him ? According to some, he was 
 envious of him ; he wished, others said, to let him win his 
 Marshal's baton alone. Or did he himself fear attack at Saint- 
 Avoid ? Whatever was the reason, there was no excuse for his 
 conduct. Things were enveloped in a suspicious light, which 
 allowed of all suppositions. ' It looks as though Bazaine was 
 a traitor !' cried out one of the high personages of the imperial 
 entourage. He had doubtless given orders, but too late ; and 
 by a singular fatality not one of the three divisions had suc- 
 ceeded in crossing the few miles which separated them from 
 the battle-field. At Sarreguemines, Montaudon, who heard 
 the Sarrebriick guns from noontime, was, however, waiting 
 for orders, set off at four o'clock, and hardly accomplished his 
 movement in the direction of the 2nd corps. Castagny, at 
 Puttelange, marched in the direction of the sound of the 
 cannon, but soon, hearing nothing, stopped and, on the re- 
 assuring information of the peasants, retrograded. At five 
 o'clock the cannon roared again, and there was a fresh alarm. 
 Again they set off, and a brigade even entered Forbach in the 
 middle of the night ; but the battle had been lost a long time 
 
THE DISASTER 109 
 
 before. Finally, Metman, who set out from Marienthal, 
 reached Bening (about four and a half miles from Forbach) at 
 three o'clock. At half-past four o'clock a telegram from Fros- 
 sard summoned him in all haste. He only set off again at six 
 o'clock, and entered the town at nine o'clock to find it already 
 evacuated. 
 
 Du Breuil sat thinking, his forehead in his hands, his elbows 
 resting upon his desk. The Forbach cannon still rolled in his 
 ears ; the smoke of the batteries was in his eyes ; in his nostrils 
 was the acrid smell of powder. A chaos of ardent images 
 assailed him . . . the riderless horse, the little wounded Lieu- 
 tenant at Styring, the guns carried into safety by the horses at 
 a gallop, the retreat, the rout. . . . His thoughts always 
 returned there. As though the humiliation of so many men 
 was added to his own, he felt that his pride was wounded to 
 the quick. He knew that there were collective griefs, the 
 intensity of which surpassed the worst sufferings of the 
 individual. He felt at that time that he was a Frenchman to 
 the very marrow of his bones. At the thought of the cadenced 
 step of the heavy boots of the enemy upon the soil of his native 
 country, it seemed they were trampling upon his heart. The 
 peaceful Kreutzberg road, with its green thickets, the flies 
 circling round and round, the deep silence, everything which 
 at that moment of waiting, so near the fight, had produced 
 within him the deep love of the country which belongs to one, 
 which one loves and cherishes, because it makes life worth 
 living, and the smallest blade of grass, the least spot of earth 
 of which possesses a thousand indefinite, deep-rooted interests, 
 danced before him. Beaten ! What a maddening thought ! 
 
 And they were retreating without fighting. Ladmirault, 
 Bazaine, Bourbaki, Canrobert, were intact. Chalons, at a 
 blow — Chalons, when they might have made Metz the centre. 
 The army demoralized, and France open to the enemy. He 
 felt himself possessed of all murderous tendencies and the 
 madness of battle. Come, nothing was lost ! They would 
 lead these Germans back again. . . . Suddenly his heart was 
 filled with pity. He thought of the Bersheims, of Andre and 
 Maurice, the Lieutenant of Cuirassiers and the Sergeant- 
 Major of Zouaves. . . . Poor young men ! 
 
 A hand was laid on his shoulder. Colonel Laune had just 
 called to him without his hearing. 
 
 * New movement orders. The troops will be taken to Saint- 
 Avoid. The Chalons project is given up.' 
 
 4 
 
no THE DISASTER 
 
 Du Breuil looked at him with a stupefied air. 
 
 ' Yes,' continued Laune bitterly. ' There is no sequence in 
 their ideas, but they are right this time. Retreat was disastrous. 
 There is only one thing to do — fall vigorously upon the enemy 
 with Bazaine, Ladmirault, and the Guard. . . .' He lowered 
 his voice. ' To think we have been beaten — beaten with such 
 troops! Because, you know, the arm is strong. It is the 
 head which is weak. . . . We are in need of a man.' 
 
 And this officer, who hardly ever opened his heart, confided 
 to Du Breuil that that very morning the first Deputy-Com- 
 mandant-General, in a secret interview with the Emperor, had 
 begged him to resign the command and return to Paris. The 
 Sovereign refused, as he did not wish to return to the capital 
 except as a conqueror. The revolutionary press was already 
 accusing him of being the cause of the war, and making him 
 responsible for the public misfortunes. 
 
 Straightening up his slight figure, and putting on a more 
 self-willed air than ever, as though he was sorry for his ex- 
 pansiveness, he added : 
 
 * Come, let us get to work. This isn't the time for being 
 downhearted.' 
 
 Du Breuil took advantage of a moment's liberty towards 
 evening to pay a flying visit to the Bersheims. It was raining, 
 and the too frequent unpleasant weather made Metz, with its 
 shining pavements, look still sadder. Part of the flags had 
 been removed from the balconies of the houses. The 
 oriflamme at the top of the cathedral hung down like a large 
 piece of rag. Removing-vans and peasants' carts were stand- 
 ing on all the squares. Fatigue-duty men, in gray blouses, 
 were passing in the downpour with bent shoulders. A tall, 
 bearded young man in spectacles, a kepi too small for him 
 upon his head, and comically hampered by a sword-bayonet, 
 came out of a house and made the military salute. 
 
 * Ah, Major !' he exclaimed, in a moaning voice. 
 
 Seeing Du Breuil's look of astonishment, he stammered out 
 that he had had the honour of taking luncheon with him at the 
 Bersheims'. 
 
 * My name is Gustave — Gustave Le Martrois. Mme. 
 Bersheim,' he announced, ' is very ill. Mother is with her. 
 But there is nothing to prove that her sons are lost. . . .' 
 
 On the threshold of the large gate they met Father Desroques, 
 who bowed courteously. He had come for news. Sadness 
 made his ardent physiognomy still more expressive. 
 
THE DISASTER iii 
 
 * God help us !' he sighed. ' Never has faith been more 
 necessary.' 
 
 The glass door of the perron opened, and Bersheim, bare- 
 headed, appeared. Upon recognising the newcomers, he 
 rushed towards them, his face discomposed. 
 
 ' Have you any news ?' 
 
 Alas ! no. Du Breuil knew nothing. How could he Icnow 
 anything ? 
 
 Dr. Sohier, in his tight-fitting coat, descended the flight of 
 steps. After shaking hands with Du Breuil, he growled out : 
 
 * The calmative is commencing to have effect. Mme. Ber- 
 sheim must have sleep. Ah ! without your mother and your 
 daughter. . . . They are the only reasonable people here.' 
 
 Anine in turn came up. Her beautiful eyes were red and 
 circled with blue marks, but her face, by force of will, re- 
 mained calm. She reminded the doctor of some details for 
 the preparation of an ambulance which her parents were 
 establishing in the old house. They could find room for 
 fifteen beds in two large and three small rooms. It was the 
 duty of the rich to set the example. Because they had sorrow 
 wasn't an argument why they shouldn't do this. They were 
 only doing their duty. Sohier went. * Geeho ! Geehol'and 
 other shouts were then heard. A cart, to which two white 
 horses were harnessed, entered the courtyard. It was loaded 
 to the height of the first-floor of the house with furniture, 
 packed with mattresses, and surmounted by a cradle. In the 
 hanging compartment under the vehicle coloured plates were 
 knocking up against some kitchen utensils. A peasant, who 
 was sitting on one of the shafts holding the reins and the whip 
 in his hands, jumped down. M. Bersheim recognised Thibault, 
 the son-in-law of Father Larouy, his tenant at Noisseville. 
 
 He was a man with a sharp look and smile, his hair and 
 beard curled, and he had a very pronounced limp. 
 
 ' It's on account of Louise,' he explained. ' She said that, 
 as she is going to be confined, the child would resemble a 
 Prussian if she were so unfortunate as to see a single one. 
 She wished by all means to come away.' 
 
 They then observed, seated upon a mattress at the back of 
 the cart, Thibault's wife, heavy by reason of her approaching 
 maternity, her two children — a little boy in breeches, a little girl 
 in petticoats, both rosy and fat-cheeked as apples — at her side. 
 
 * Of course I didn't want to see them!' she cried energeti- 
 cally — ' savages like they are, who kill the wounded and burn 
 
112 THE DISASTER 
 
 the houses ! The brother-in-law of our uncle Thomas saw 
 them at Wissemberg sticking their bayonets into an officer 
 who was lying in the straw. They are savages — savages !' 
 
 The blood mounted to her cheeks, and the children looked 
 at each other as though about to cry. 
 
 ' And what of Father and Mother Larouy ?' asked Bersheim, 
 forgetting his sorrow. 
 
 * They wouldn't hear anything,' continued the peasant. 
 * They say they are too old to move. They will take care of the 
 farm. They send you these fine chickens and these fresh eggs.' 
 
 'Come, now,' exclaimed Bersheim, 'we must find room for 
 these honest folk !' 
 
 Du Breuil wanted to leave. 
 
 ' No, no, I beg of you ! Come in for a moment. Anine, 
 see that he doesn't go.' 
 
 She raised her beautiful eyes to him, and smiled with an 
 anxious gravity which moved him. He murmured : 
 
 ' I only came to bring you my deepest sympathy.' 
 
 She bent her head ; a shaft of light struck her thick golden 
 hair, tied into a large tress. 
 
 ' Grandmother will be very pleased to see you,' she said, 
 raising her face. 
 
 He followed her. In the drawing-room Mme. Le Martrois 
 was feeling at Gustave's waistcoat. 
 
 ' You must put on a wool under-jacket, my child,' she said, 
 in an alarmed voice. 
 
 Grandmother Sophia, seated bolt upright, her hands clasped 
 on her knees, which were pressed close together, seemed to be 
 frozen, in a posture of sorrowful but valiant immobility. The 
 ruches of her cap trembled when she recognised Du Breuil, for 
 whom she had a great affection. It was a pleasure to him to 
 press her hands, cold and as though worn out. After a few 
 commonplace remarks there was a painful silence. Lisbeth, 
 the old servant, entered the room noiselessly, and whispered 
 into Grandmother Sophia's ear. The old woman drew from 
 her pocket a bunch of keys, and, a slave to habit, left the room 
 preceded by Lisbeth. In the meantime Mme. Le Martrois was 
 examining Du Breuil's uniform with a frowning air, and then 
 looking at Gustave, who really did not look very brilliant in 
 his civilian jacket, his gray cloth trousers, and his small cap, 
 which he twirled between his fingers. 
 
 ' He will never be able to support military hardships,' she 
 sighed. 
 
THE DISASTER 113 
 
 Du Breuil took leave. The young lady held out her hand 
 to him. His feelings were confused. Expressions of hope rose 
 to his lips, but he judged silence was more delicate, and just as 
 expressive. Anine could not misunderstand that. 
 
 In the courtyard, Bersheim, who was superintending the 
 unloading of the cart, and who even assisted, with frank good 
 nature, in getting down the cradle, took him by the hands and 
 looked at him with eyes full of distress. His mouth opened, 
 but he was unable to utter a word. 
 
 ' Come, courage,' said Du Breuil. ' No news is good news. 
 A little patience. We know nothing yet.' 
 
 But Bersheim shook his head. 
 
 * My wife makes me fear. She has seen, she has. You 
 know that mothers have presentiments. . . . That a mis- 
 fortune has occurred is certain.' 
 
 Du Breuil, turning away his eyes, said, * Be a man !' and 
 left quickly. . . . Yes, a misfortune had come to that house, 
 must have come ! Death was in the air. Maurice or Andre ? 
 Perhaps both. . . . And suddenly he thought of his father 
 and mother, their emotion when they heard of the defeats, their 
 sorrow. . . . They must be almost out of their minds with 
 anxiety. . . . And the sweet face of Mme. de Guionic. . . . 
 
 He was entering the offices of the staff, when he met a 
 strange apparition, accompanied by a Colonel and Blache on 
 horseback. Astride a chestnut Barbary horse a little old 
 General with white hair, and old-fashioned kepi upon his head, 
 dressed in a coat too short for him, and red, bell-bottomed 
 trousers, was looking to right and left with a still lively and, 
 apparently, indifferent air at the curiosity which he excited. 
 
 ' Changarnier !"^' exclaimed a passer-by. 
 
 When the w^ar broke out he had asked to be allowed to 
 serve again, but he had been put on one side. Now they were 
 only too glad to profit by his counsels. 
 
 The impression which Du Breuil carried away of the 
 decorous, dry old man, who made him a blunt salute, was one 
 somewhat comic (inspired by his whimsical dress), but mixed 
 
 * A brave soldier but a poor general. After the Revolution of 1848 he 
 was appointed Governor of Algeria, where he did the best work of his life. 
 At the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian War he asked for a command, 
 which was refused ; but he was sent to Metz, where it is said he gave bad 
 advice to Bazaine. He was exceedingly vain. After the War he used to 
 send bouquets of flowers to Mdlle. Dosne, the sister-in-law of Thiers, with 
 the accompanying note : ' From General Changarnier, who is not yet a 
 Marshal of France.'— F. L. 
 
 8 
 
114 THE DISASTER 
 
 with tenderness. He was doing a splendid action, he who 
 was so near death, in giving up the remainder of his life to the 
 army. . . . Du Breuil at once recalled Lacoste in his small 
 bedroom at Saint-Cloud, saying, with religious fervour, that 
 there was no death more beautiful than that on the field of 
 battle, almost hoping for such a death as a reward. 
 
 The 9th was a cruel day. The sky was overcast, and the 
 rain never ceased falHng. AmpHfied accounts came in of the 
 Forbach and Woerth defeats. Consternation spread from 
 place to place ; the excitement of two days before gave place to 
 gloomy depression ; one could only meet with downcast faces. 
 The disorder at the Prefecture and at headquarters was tragic. 
 The commotion in Paris made the whole of France tremble, 
 and it was felt at Metz in a series of painful shocks. Telegrams 
 from the Empress Regent to the Emperor and Marshal Leboeuf, 
 sent off under the influence of the emotion produced at the 
 Corps Legislatif on the previous evening, begged the Marshal 
 to give in his resignation both as Minister of War and as 
 Commandant-General. 
 
 He gave way with injured dignity before the personal 
 entreaties of the Sovereign. But the Emperor only wished 
 to accept his resignation as Minister of War. Bazaine again 
 received an extension of power, an imperial decree conferring 
 upon him the definite command of the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th corps. 
 General Man^que was appointed the chief of his staff. General 
 Decaen replaced the Marshal at the head of the 3rd corps. But 
 Bazaine remained a subordinate, and military operations, always 
 wanting in the necessary impulsion, still turned in the same 
 circle of indecision and error. 
 
 The Emperor, accompanied by Changarnier, called upon the 
 Marshal at Faulquemont, and disapproved of his project, w^hich 
 was to concentrate on Nancy and Frouard, in view of rallying 
 the I St and 5th corps. They would await the enemy under the 
 walls of Metz. The 6th corps and the division of African 
 cavalry were definitely summoned there. Instead of guarding 
 Mercy-le-Haut, on the left bank of the French Nied, the army 
 fell back to Seille, under the cannon of the forts. In the mean- 
 time three German armies, masked by a dense curtain of cavalry, 
 were advancing. The Chambers in Paris having been convoked, 
 the Ministry fell. 
 
 General Comte de Palikao formed another. The Left asked 
 for the appointment of a defence committee to replace the 
 existing powers. Newspapers, representing all parties and all 
 
THE DISASTER 115 
 
 over the departments, summoned France to take up arms, 
 called for a general rising. The country was in danger. 
 
 The immigration of peasants at Metz, in the midst of the 
 rain and the wind, was a sorrowful business. The people 
 thought they could see Uhlan lances in all directions, and, 
 fleeing from their villages, they arrived with that which was 
 most precious to them. The gates of the city were encumbered, 
 and in the streets could be seen files of miserable carts and 
 drays loaded with furniture, household eflfects, and mattresses, 
 upon which were old people, women and heedless children, 
 sleeping or playing. Behind the carts bellowed a milch cow, 
 attached by a cord, or bleated a troop of sheep, their legs 
 bitten by savage dogs. And the stream still increased, strewing 
 the pavement with bits of straw and dung. The furniture 
 exhibited its lamentable nakedness ; cupboards, from the badly- 
 closed doors of which clothes were sticking out, seemed to be 
 already pillaged ; straw mattresses and red eiderdowns exposed 
 to the daylight seemed to have something sad about them. 
 The earthen pots and saucepans, looking so humble with their 
 carbonized bottoms, expressed better than anything else the 
 abandonment of the hearth and the familiar roof. It was a 
 grotesque procession which made nobody inclined to laugh. 
 On a fodder cart, in the place of honour, between a dresser and 
 some chairs, a pig was grunting. Further on a cat popped its 
 head out of a basket. Sometimes crockery was broken, to the 
 great despair of the owners. The women especially had 
 sorrowful countenances. Some of them looked out defiantly 
 and with flushed cheeks from under the handkerchiefs which 
 covered their hair ; others, with their legs hanging down from 
 the sides of the carts, laughed idiotically. There could be seen 
 savage, stiff old men and women who did not seem to under- 
 stand what you said to them. They only babbled in dialect. 
 One hard-featured old woman with white headbands, who was 
 walking along with a bundle on her back, looked like a witch. 
 All these people had the same air of stupor and expectancy, 
 an air of resignation to misery which oppressed the heart. 
 Men in blouses also arrived, some enlisting as volunteers, 
 others working at the fortifications. 
 
 The authorities were dismayed at such an influx of people. 
 In case of siege all these mouths would have to be fed. On 
 the following day the Prefect and the Mayor issued two decrees, 
 informing the inhabitants of the communes that they would 
 only be allowed to enter the town and reside there on condition 
 
 8—2 
 
ii6 THE DISASTER 
 
 of their bringing with them sufficient food to last at least forty 
 days. But how were these measures, which were, moreover, 
 tardy, to be vigorously carried out ? 
 
 Tall poplar-trees in the suburbs were felled by the militia, 
 and lay across the roads. Everywhere were empty residences 
 and silent works. General Coffini^res ordered all inhabitants 
 within the military zone to pull down their houses. Gardens, 
 villas, country residences, arl3ours, disappeared under the work- 
 man's pickaxe. A small works, built of red brick, showed its 
 side stoved in and its chimney cracked. Mud walls again 
 became mud. Bedrooms, open to the day, showed the 
 flowered wall-paper on the walls hanging in strips. To see 
 these ruins and this desolation, one would have said that fire 
 and war had already passed that way. And there was not a 
 protest or a complaint. The last inhabitants, stepping out of 
 the way of the stones, their feet in the water, left without 
 looking behind them. At the cemetery gate a wine-shop kept 
 open some time longer. Some half-drunken militiamen danced 
 there with some common girls to the tune of a fiddler, who, a 
 foraging-cap on his head, scraped away on his violin. It was 
 a grim kind of gaiety in the midst of this melancholiness of 
 inanimate things, in the midst of the fine rain which still fell 
 from a lowering sky. 
 
 Steps were taken in regard to the town water-supply. In 
 case the Gorze aqueduct should be cut, the Fonts and 
 Chaussees department had established above the Roches 
 bridge a pump for the raising of the waters of the Moselle 
 into the reservoirs. The Governor issued a decree postponing 
 all proceedings or appeals in the case of writs, bills and 
 promissory notes. The military and civil authorities were all 
 over the place ; but the people, instead of being assured, were 
 frightened, and the worst misfortunes were supposed to have 
 happened. The arming of the forts was being pushed forward. 
 Du Breuil met Barrus. He was working with feverish activity. 
 He sneered bitterly as he spoke. . . . 
 
 At the Prefecture, on the afternoon of the loth, Du Breuil 
 saw the officers of the Du Bareil division, who had arrived in 
 the morning. They were being feted by the imperial staff, 
 taken towards the buffet in one of the large rooms on the 
 ground -floor. The manly, bronzed faces of the Africans 
 obtained everybody's approbation and smile. A cheery voice 
 called to Du Breuil. He recognised one of his friends, 
 Lieutenant-Colonel de la Mause. 
 
 ' You wish to kill us, then ?' he said laughingly. * We came 
 
THE DISASTER 117 
 
 from Saint- Mihiel at one bound, by a forced march, during 
 the night. We thought the enemy was there. Your despatch 
 was so urgent. . . .' And, as Du Breuil looked at him in 
 astonishment, he continued : * Now, look innocent ! As if 
 you didn't know that Lebrun and Jarras had had a bet as 
 to the marching powers of the Chasseurs d'Afrique. Well, 
 Lebrun has won.' 
 
 A very young Second Lieutenant near them, graceful and 
 scented as a woman, had just introduced himself. It was 
 Roger Langlade. Du Breuil recalled the senator's wife at the 
 soiree at Saint-Cloud, and the husband in Mme. de Gui'onic's 
 box at the opera. How desirous they were that their son 
 should fight ! Had their enthusiasm lasted ? He spoke to the 
 young man about his family. 
 
 ' Ah, Major, I am too happy to know you. My mother has 
 often mentioned your name.' 
 
 He smiled affectedly, showed his white teeth, and assumed 
 a languid look, so as to appear more seductive. This gay 
 young man, full of confidence and in the strength of his youth, 
 thought, as his father had said, that the greater the trouble 
 the more fun there was. 
 
 Everybody was thinking about the ist and 5th corps, which 
 MacMahon had been ordered to concentrate at Nancy. Would 
 they be able to rally the Metz army in time ? Supposing the 
 enemy were quicker than they were, and reached Toul and 
 Nancy first, MacMahon and De Failly would be obliged to 
 retreat in a totally different direction. Hearts were wrung 
 with anguish. The superior numbers of the Germans were 
 redoubtable, and their artillery was better than our own. 
 Illusions must be done away with ; it v/as a critical time. 
 With two victories to their advantage, the three German 
 armies were attacking our right flank, threatening the com- 
 munications with Paris, cutting us off from MacMahon and 
 De Failly. On the morning of the 12th, the presence of the 
 enemy on the banks of the Seille was reported. 
 
 The dawn of the 13th broke, and the rain of the last few days 
 ceased. Hour after hour the time went by with the same rapidity, 
 good, false and bad news — only too true was the bad news — 
 flowing in. And no orders came. He could not understand it. 
 The eternal question continually harassed him, What are they 
 waiting for ? What is Bazaine thinking about ? Although 
 there had been no regular transmission of duties, there could 
 be no doubt that he had been in command since that morning. 
 Why didn't the general staff which had come under his orders 
 
ii8 THE DISASTER 
 
 approach him on the subject ? General Jarras, with the whole 
 of his officers, had placed himself at his disposal. The Marshal 
 replied that he would see him in the afternoon when he came 
 to consult with the Emperor ; but after he had paid his visit, 
 he set off again in his carriage for Borny without informing 
 him. Jarras went after him. Bazaine, after a few unimpor- 
 tant words, had said, as he was leaving, * I have no order to 
 give you.' Du Breuil could hardly believe his ears. 
 
 Another care weighed upon his mind. How was it that 
 nobody was occupying himself with the points at which 
 the enemy, issuing on to the left bank of the Moselle, could 
 cut off retreat ? The inhabitants of Noveant and Ars wanted 
 to know if they had not better destroy their bridges. An 
 officer in the Engineers, who had laid and charged the 
 chambers of mines at the Ars bridge, asked for urgent orders 
 which never came. Why did not General Coffini^res draw 
 Bazaine's attention to this question ? 
 
 His astonishment increased when he met Langlade — how 
 beautifully curled he was ! — at the Cafe Parisien. Langlade 
 gave him an account of the ride of the Margueritte Brigade, 
 which had been sent on the previous evening to Pont-a-Mousson, 
 occupied by the enemy's cavalry. 
 
 ' First news,' said Du Breuil. 
 
 The operation, however, had its importance. The re- 
 establishment of the line opened up the way for the 6th corps, 
 with the exception of its artillery, its engineers, its cavalry, 
 and its administrative departments. 
 
 Lieutenant Marquis, coming out of the cafe like a jack-in-a- 
 box, pounced upon him. 
 
 ' Do you know. Major, that Marshal Leboeuf is going to be 
 brought before a court-martial, and that Frossard is on the 
 eve of being shot ?' 
 
 ' You are the first to inform me of it,' said Du Breuil in- 
 differently. 
 
 Seated on the terrace. Marquis commenced to give some 
 officers of the garrison still more stupefying news. When he 
 invented or lied he always had an admirable accent of sin- 
 cerity, and could always find credulous ears. When Du 
 Breuil asked him for information about the bivouac of the 
 Lancers of the Guard, and named Lacoste, Marquis cried : 
 
 ' Lacoste ? He was killed by a kick from a horse. I knew 
 him well — a fat little man with a bald head, and troubled with 
 asthma.' 
 
 No, that was not a description of Lacoste, and Du Breuil, 
 
THE DISASTER 119 
 
 reassured, was returning to the offices of the staff, when he met 
 his friend upon horseback. He was sent upon a mission by 
 General Desvaux. He was very sorrowful. His head was 
 bent towards the pavement, and his horse, Conquerant, was 
 halting. At the sound of Du Breuil's voice he raised his head, 
 bringing to view his red cheek-bones and his eyes more sunken 
 than before. A sorrowful smile came upon his face. 
 
 * And they call that fighting !' he said bitterly. ' Tramping 
 in the mud, because that has been our work since I saw you. 
 Horses foundered and men knocked up only to beat a shameful 
 retreat, as though we were frightened of the rain. The rain and 
 the mud has been our lot for the past week. But the saddest 
 thing of all is the flight of these unfortunate inhabitants.' 
 
 Du Breuil understood him. He was thinking of his own 
 people, those poor peasants in the Creuse who were safe and 
 sound, if others were not. Lacoste, lowering his voice, con- 
 tinued with sorrowful enthusiasm : 
 
 * Just now I met an old woman — an old woman seated upon 
 a cart. My dear fellow, there are resemblances which posi- 
 tively make one ill. She was pressing a bundle of old linen 
 to her breast. I thought I could see my mother. And we 
 soldiers look at such a sight, and do nothing to repulse the 
 invader ! It is sickening ! There are times when I wish a 
 bullet was in my head, and that all was over. France is lost !' 
 
 ' Come, come !' said Du Breuil gently. 
 
 ' Lost !' repeated Lacoste in a harsh voice. ' You will see — 
 you will see !' 
 
 Du Breuil reached the offices with death in his soul. He 
 found that everything there justified his sorrow. An overflow 
 of the Moselle had submerged some of the bridges, carried 
 away others, and covered the fields and the land adjoining the 
 river with water. An enormous amount of work was to be 
 done over again. And the roads, he asked himself, once 
 the army was on the left bank, who would look after them ? 
 Why were they not sent to reconnoitre ? The most important 
 road was that which, by way of Moulins-les-Metz, ascended a 
 very steep hill, entered the valley of the Mance, and reached 
 Gravelotte, whence it divided into two, both leading to Verdun, 
 the first by way of Rezonville and Mars-la-Tour, the second 
 by Doncourt, Jarny, and Etain. 
 
 In the evening orders at last arrived. Headquarters had 
 only to transmit them to the 6th corps, and to the heads of 
 departments, General Man^que having directly informed the 
 2nd, 3rd and 4th corps and the Guard, which he held under his 
 
120 THE DISASTER 
 
 hand. It was an inexpressible relief to Du Breuil. They 
 were to be ready to set off on the next day (the 14th) at five 
 in the morning, taking with them provisions for three days, 
 the general commissary of stores taking as many rations as 
 possible, leaving Metz only with the necessary transports for 
 the garrison. Baggage was to be reduced to the smallest 
 limits. Those men who were unfit for active service were to 
 be left behind in the town, and organized in regular detach- 
 ments. The Metz garrison would, in addition, consist of the 
 depot, the militia, and as the nucleus the Laveaucoupet division, 
 detached from the 2nd corps. Du Breuil eagerly settled down 
 to work, of which there was enough and plenty, so as to kill 
 the last hours of waiting. It appeared to him that to flee from 
 Metz would be the end of a nightmare. He Avas, however, 
 leaving friends behind him. Poor Bersheims ! Would he find 
 time to say good-bye to them ? 
 
 At the thought of Anine a tumult of confused sensations 
 crowded upon him. He seemed to be living a horrible dream. 
 In a fortnight so many horrible and irreparable things had 
 happened. The fate of the army ? The future of Metz ? 
 Left to herself, could she hold out against the invaders ? And 
 he thought of the Bersheims, as though the heart of Metz and 
 their hearts were one and the same. He suffered when he 
 imagined Anine a prisoner, and Prussian officers glaring in her 
 face. i\s he was about to leave, Captain de Francastel 
 appeared in a .state of great excitement, and announced in a 
 quick voice : 
 
 ' We are betrayed ! The Prussians have been informed of 
 our retreat. Three rockets have just been seen to go up from 
 the Saint-Quentin slopes.' 
 
 Everybody thought of the signals arranged upon by spies. 
 Laune said dryly : 
 
 ' Don't spread such rumours about, and especially with so 
 much warmth.' 
 
 Francastel's light-headedness and his indiscriminate chatter- 
 ing displeased him. 
 
 * I assure you, Colonel ' 
 
 Laune had already turned his back. More orders came in. 
 Du Breuil was unable to leave the offices. He passed a 
 feverish night ; he hardly got two hours' bad sleep. As he was 
 washing himself in the morning, Frisch entered the room on 
 tip-toe. He had just fastened the canteen trunks. The horses, he 
 said, were in good trim, and were eager to set off. He had settled 
 
THE DISASTER 121 
 
 the laundrymaid's bill. Honest Frisch ! Never had Du Breuil 
 had a better appreciation of his exactitude and devotion. 
 
 'Well, Frisch, we're going.' 
 
 Frisch shook his head. He left Metz with regret. Ber- 
 sheim's pretty servant, with her sweet smile, had made him 
 forget the cook in the Rue de Bourgogne who had given him 
 such good poiilet an blanc, and chablis with which to wash it 
 down. All the same, he was suffering from the existing 
 humiliation just as much as another, perhaps more than some 
 gallooned boasters. 
 
 He was packing some white gloves, the tissue-paper of 
 which had become crinkled, and with his big red fingers was 
 folding up a new pair. Du Breuil again saw himself making 
 purchases before his departure : the auburn-haired girl in the 
 glove-shop, her glances and her smile. 
 
 ' Give me that pair,' he said to Frisch. 
 
 He carried the gloves in his hand when he went to say good- 
 bye to the Bersheims in the morning. It was Sunday, and 
 the weather was clearing up. He called to mind other Sundays 
 in former times, holidays at the Ecole d'Application, the whole 
 of his splendid youth full of strength and hope, and his heart 
 ached as though it had received a deep wound. The town was 
 filling with vehicles and troops. In the direction of the two 
 stone bridges the obstruction was extraordinary : cries, blows 
 from whips, orders, murmurs and complaints, could be heard 
 on every side. Du Breuil heard the uproar echo in the 
 distance with the cadenced step of the soldiers, which shook 
 the pavement and mingled with the rumbUng of wheels, the 
 horses' hoofs accompanying the continual uproar with the 
 rhythm of a waterfall. Men, animals, and vehicles rolled on 
 like a river, or stopped still owing to the overflow. Wherever 
 there was an empty space, soldiers sHpped into it, forming a 
 compact and living mass. 
 
 Du Breuil found Anine and Mme. Bersheim were alone at 
 home. Thibault's little girl and boy were playing in the court- 
 yard. Through an open window he saw some well-made white 
 beds waiting for the wounded. Mme. Bersheim, who wore a 
 dark dress, was making lint. Anine was rolling up bandages. 
 He thought of the two who had disappeared — Maurice and 
 Andre — and tears started to his eyes. Anine noticed it, and 
 slightly blushed. It was like an exchange of soul between 
 them. A bitter sweetness penetrated Du Breuil. Anine 
 seemed to him to be less a stranger ; invisible bonds drew 
 
122 THE DISASTER 
 
 them together. He could not understand what necessity there 
 was to leave. He contemplated the large light room in which 
 they were working, the baskets of linen, a work-box placed 
 upon the table ; all these things seemed so familiar and sweet, 
 as though they only called up peace and rest. The horror of 
 the situation, however, came upon him once more. Anine 
 pricked herself with a needle stuck in her bodice. She sucked 
 the blood from her finger. A drop had stained the linen 
 bandage. Du Breuil turned pale. Everything he felt that 
 minute was poignant, unexpected, singular. He rose ; he felt 
 his heart was choking him. Mme. Bersheim opened her arms. 
 
 ' Adieu, my dear friend !' 
 
 She embraced him like a son, Du Breuil thought : she 
 embraces her own. . . . He begged her to say good-bye for 
 him to Grandmother Sophia and to Bersheim. The two 
 women nodded * Yes, yes I' as though they were in a hurry to 
 see him leave. Anine looked in his eyes, held out her hand to 
 him — that hand so sweet, so plump. He kissed it, and 
 hurriedly left without looking behind him. The vehicles, 
 soldiers, the uproar of the river of tramping beings advancing, 
 drawing back, jostling each other, enveloped and deafened him. 
 Someone whom he did not recognise called out to him. He 
 was a man with a blackened, bronzed face, wearing a red belt 
 round his body, big high boots on his feet, and carrying a stick 
 in his hand. 
 
 * Vedel !' he exclaimed. 
 
 Yes, it was his cousin Vedel, who was passing with his 
 battalion. The meeting displeased him, notwithstanding 
 Vedel's honest eyes. Taking advantage of a stoppage of the 
 troops, a soldier of the first rank planted himself before him, 
 immobile, carrying arms, a smile upon his face. 
 
 * Maxime !' 
 
 Certainly, it was Vicomte Judin, covered with perspiration 
 and dust. Ah ! Saint-Cloud was far off now. No dress-coat, 
 no gardenia in his buttonhole, no patent-leather shoes upon his 
 feet, but a soldier's porringer upon his shoulders, and a piece 
 of bread held in position by the straps of his knapsack. He 
 had a gallant air, all the same, and, of all these men with 
 wrinkled, heavy faces, he was the one who had shaved that 
 morning. It was a brief appearance. A stout Major with a 
 croaking voice swept down upon them, and cried: 
 
 ' Forward, Captain — press forward ! Close up there, you 
 others!' 
 
THE DISASTER 123 
 
 It was a human wave, the heads representing the foam. 
 
 A brief * Adieu ! good luck !' and Du Breuil found himself 
 alone in the midst of the ever-moving town, under the canopy 
 of dust which floated above interminable carts and waggons — 
 alone, abominably alone. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 He had been sent to the tie Chambifere, to General de 
 Ladmirault, to hurry on the passage of the troops, and he had 
 just delivered his message. The Commander of the 4th corps 
 had turned his powerful face, upon which calm and reflection 
 was stamped, towards him ; then, stretching out a short stick 
 above his horse's head, he had pointed out the ponts-volants, 
 over which the infantry of the Lorencez division was defiling 
 in good order. 
 
 Du Breuil exchanged a few words with Vacossart, a 
 Captain of the escort, the little red-haired dragoon whom he 
 had formerly hurriedly passed in the lobbies of the Ministry 
 of War, and who was then so joyous he was setting out with 
 the army. He made inquiries about one of their comrades, 
 Comte de Cussac. 
 
 ' He has just gone up the Saint-Julien slope at a gallop. 
 The Governor's sent him to General de Cissey.' Vacossart 
 added : * There is need to hurry up. Much time is required.* 
 
 ' The cavalry has already passed.' 
 
 Vacossart exclaimed : ' What dust !' 
 
 His sharp eyes, his ruddy cheeks, gave him the appearance 
 of being on fire under his spotted turban helmet, the copper 
 chain of which, fastened tightly, made his bull-dog jaws stick 
 out prominently. Du Breuil was looking at the trembling 
 green water, the swaying of the nearest bridge under the 
 regular step of the foot soldiers ; was listening to the noise of 
 the batteries and waggons descending the hill, when a cannon- 
 shot rang out in the distance. Vacossart listened. There 
 came a second shot, nearer, on the left ; then another. Faces 
 took an intense and indefinable expression. 
 
 * They are attacking,' said a Lieutenant, who looked very 
 white. Was it his natural colour ? 
 
 ' At last !' growled another, an old officer whose right eye 
 was lost and whose face bore a scar. 
 
124 THE DISASTER 
 
 Du Breuil's mare nervously backed into the sides of a 
 trooper's horse which was neighing and trying to bite her. 
 Cannon-shots redoubled in violence. The escort set off. 
 Vacossart, turning round in his saddle, snapped his fingers. 
 
 * Chouette ! it's going to be warm !' 
 
 Du Breuil thought only of the threatened and retarded 
 retreat. Time had been lost, and the enemy, always on 
 their guard, always prompt, were profiting by it. Victory ? 
 Steinmetz driven back ; nothing would be better. . . . But 
 during this time Frederick Charles was advancing on the left 
 bank, and cutting off the return on Verdun. He gave his 
 horse the bridle, and Cydalise carried him back. The crovv^d- 
 ing of the streets of Metz was tremendous, and anxiety w^as 
 stamped on every face. Official despatches posted up all 
 along the walls reminded him of the Emperor's departure after 
 breakfast for Longueville. He believed he could again see 
 stationed before the Prefecture the squadron of flugelmen, the 
 Cent-gardes, and the imperial carriages. The luggage, the 
 livery servants, the kitchen staff, the provision waggons, had 
 gone on ahead. Seated on one of the vehicles he had recog- 
 nized the stout Saint-Cloud butler, wearing a waterproof dust 
 cloak, and upon his head a round felt hat. He was looking 
 like a stiff cockchafer. How sad this departure of the 
 Sovereign was ! The crowd was silent ; there was neither 
 cry nor gesture. The Emperor, pale-faced, talked with his 
 son ; Prince Napoleon's grave face compelled one to think, 
 owing to its resemblance to the face of the Other, of ancient 
 and funereal memories, some said of the adieux at Fontaine- 
 bleau. Some in the crowd said in a low voice : ' They are 
 fleeing !' 
 
 He made some inquiries from a secretary of the staff. 
 General Jarras and his staff, upon hearing the first shot, had 
 jumped into the saddle to rejoin the Marshal. Du Breuil 
 drew off the brown leather gloves, worn by the reins, which 
 he was wearing, and took his white gloves in his holsters. 
 Mme. de Guionic's opal was in his way. He slipped the ring 
 on his little finger, on the top of the glove. Its reflection was 
 milky and iridescent, the beauty of a changeable and perfidious 
 jewel. Would it bring good luck or misfortune ? Bah ! he was 
 not superstitious. Deresse was right : the bullet which strikes 
 us is moulded for eternity ; the great thing was, to be ready. 
 Then, as Cydalise was galloping towards the Porte des AUe- 
 mands, the frightened people scampering out of the way, he 
 
THE DISASTER 125 
 
 conceived the grandeur of the military profession, and raised 
 his thought towards his father, a simple, high-minded soldier. 
 Du Breuil offered the voluntary sacrifice of his life with all his 
 soul. Of course, the vital, supreme instinct made him hope 
 that he would not be killed ; but he said to himself, conscious 
 of his littleness, that he was going to plunge into the melee — 
 a drop of blood, a handful of brains, in the anonymous crowd 
 of combatants : * May my fate be fulfilled !' 
 
 Before he had gone far the wounded appeared, advancing 
 on mules and in carts. One of the men was every minute 
 slipping between the straps of the cacolet, stretching out his 
 legs until they scraped the ground, and from one of his clank- 
 ing boots flowed a red trail of blood. Those less injured had 
 a feverish and excited air. A Light Infantry officer replied to 
 his salute by a smile, and said : * They are receiving a thrashing /' 
 Some little soldiers were conversing as though intoxicated with 
 a desire to chatter : * Then, you understand, I leapt into the 
 
 ditch, brought my chassepot to my shoulder, and ' Seated 
 
 upon a bundle of straw^ w^as an old artilleryman decorated 
 with medals, holding his pipe in one hand and smoking, his 
 eyes, with an absent look in them, lost in what dream one 
 could not say. His other hand had been shot off", and his 
 arm, temporarily bound up, was bleeding. Other w^ounded 
 men passed by. ' I should like a bit of something to eat,' said 
 one. ' I'm so thirsty,' said another. A little Montmartre 
 vitriey chuckled : ' They gave us some rotten bread this morn- 
 ing.' He winked his eye. ' But there's good white bread at 
 Metz for Bibi.' Almost all of them, even the most downcast, 
 had a resigned air. In the case of some, their manner was 
 grave, others were naively childish, as though they experienced 
 an immense relief, a real joy, in fleeing from Death, who was 
 mowing down comrades behind them. 
 
 An officer in a blue spencer galloped across the field. 
 
 * The Marshal ?' cried Du Breuil. 
 
 ' Over there !' 
 
 But before his arm could point out where, the horse stumbled 
 and the officer was thrown against a tree. Du Breuil crossed 
 the embankment and called the infirmary attendants to him. 
 The horseman was raised from the ground. He was only 
 stunned. He remounted his broken-kneed horse and set off 
 again, without thanking anybody. Du Breuil then saw the 
 opal on his finger gaily, almost ironically, sparkle in the sun. 
 . . . Would it bring misfortune ? The officer had only turned 
 
126 THE DISASTER 
 
 his head for a second, but that had been quite sufficient. . . . 
 Good — what an idea! At any other time he would have 
 smiled at it. Cavalry was in movement to his right. He recog- 
 nised a dark-blue line of dragoons, a light-blue line of lancers 
 - — the Guard, a doctor of the International informed him. 
 Bourbaki had just passed with the Light Infantry and the 
 Grenadiers. The Prussians were vigorously attacking Colom- 
 bey and the Chateau of Aubigny ; our cavalry was destroying 
 them. Small white clouds from the shells could be seen 
 vanishing into the air ; the mitrailleuses cracked with a 
 strident, tearing sound. 
 
 * Do you hear ?' asked the doctor. He was humpbacked, 
 hairy, as ugly as a gorilla, and he grimaced, owing to a 
 nervous affection, as though he was rolling nuts in his mouth. 
 But his blue eyes were of an admirable purity. 
 
 < The Marshal ?' repeated Du Breuil. 
 
 The doctor removed his cap, upon which was the red cross, 
 to scratch his head with a very long finger-nail, and said : 
 
 * He was seen going in the direction of Grigy.* 
 
 Du Breuil dashed forward without hearing what the doctor, 
 with wild gestures, shouted to him. The plateau, intersected 
 with hedges and trees, ascended. A bivouac, abandoned in 
 the morning, was marked out by the round blackened patches 
 where the fires had been, and on the spot where the butchers 
 had worked was a heap of skins and intestines of oxen, covered 
 with flies, the infection of which was being matured in the sun. 
 The whole length of the line of battle, troops were advancing 
 in columns and deploying. A Prussian officer taken prisoner, 
 his head bandaged in a red handkerchief, passed, full of disdain, 
 between some gendarmes. Some canteen carriages, near a clump 
 of trees, were surrounded by some soldiers, who took to their 
 heels upon seeing advancing towards them at full gallop a 
 squadron of Light Cavalry, driving the stragglers towards the 
 battle. Everywhere foot soldiers could be seen to rise from 
 small hills and ditches, like startled sparrows, and disappear. 
 Du Breuil crossed Borny, which was full of troops, but at the 
 moment of striking out on the Grigy road an inhabitant 
 informed him that the Marshal had just gone in a north- 
 easterly direction. Du Breuil turned round and again stopped 
 at the outlet of the village, passing before a park and a chateau 
 crowded with wounded. They were lying on the borders of 
 the flower-beds, on the lawns, their backs leaning against the 
 old trees. Some honest folk and inhabitants of Metz, surprised 
 
THE DISASTER 127 
 
 in the course of their Sunday walk, were here, there and every- 
 where, improvising an ambulance in a large covered room. 
 
 He made further inquiries. Contradictory indications sent 
 him on the Colombey road. Bullets whistled. Corpses on 
 their knees appeared to be living. On the collar of the coat 
 of one he read the number of the regiment — the 41st. A shell 
 shattered a small tree a few yards away. The ricochet of a 
 pebble struck his gloved hand, covering the opal with sand. 
 He blew upon it. At that moment a row of soldiers who were 
 in front of him fell back. Five or six fell flat on their stomachs ; 
 one of these rose again, ran forward without his helmet, and 
 then fell upon his back. The din was deafening. A feeling of 
 intoxication, a desire to laugh, seized Du Breuil. He tenderly 
 stroked Cydalise and called her * Beauty.' A company 
 came running up, enveloped him, and passed on. An officer 
 cried out: * Pas gymnastique !' The soldiers' faces and their 
 brief speech seemed to him to augur well. His heart cried 
 * Victory !' 
 
 Giving his horse a touch of the spur, he dashed forward, 
 having on his right a small fir-plantation. Behind an avenue 
 of poplars some light-infantrymen and soldiers of the line were 
 keeping up a hot fire against the Prussian sharpshooters. 
 When jumping a hedge his mare stumbled. He pulled her 
 up with a sharp jerk of the reins. The animal halted. He 
 uttered a vigorous oath. Cydalise wounded ! He jumped 
 from his saddle, but could find no trace of blood. The hoofs ? 
 A stone had got between one of her shoes. He dislodged it 
 by means of his penknife, and was nearly killed by a kick. 
 The vicious beast ! Good ! A bullet coming from afar grazed 
 the crupper. Other bullets whistled past. A pail which was 
 lying on the ground was shot through. Some artillerymen ran 
 up shouting, * Look out ! look out !' A shell whistled and fell 
 with a dull thud into a ditch full of water, which splashed over 
 Du Breuil. He tried to jump into the saddle, but CydaHse 
 reared, overturned him, and, his foot fastened in the stirrup, 
 dragged him along, the nape of his neck bumping the uneven 
 ground. Thus jolted along, he saw the blue sky crossed by a 
 small white cloud ; then he closed his eyes, blinded by the sun, 
 dazzling as death. Very fortunately, an artilleryman on horse- 
 back, intercepting Cydalise in her flight, caught hold of the 
 reins, and Du Breuil, without knowing how, found himself 
 once more on his feet. No bones were broken. He brushed 
 the dust from his uniform. The beardless artilleryman, a sad- 
 
128 THE DISASTER 
 
 looking man pitted with small -pox, smiled gawkishly and 
 handed him the reins. 
 
 * Thanks.' 
 
 The saddle had slipped, so he tightened the girth. Then he 
 raised himself into the saddle on his wrists, and once more 
 astride, he wrathfully pulled at the mare's mouth and gave her 
 the spur. The little soldier appeared astonished, and a look of 
 reproach came into his gray eyes, which were without eye- 
 lashes. Du Breuil recollected that he owed his life to him. 
 
 * Your name ?' he cried, turning round. 
 
 The other shouted it to him, but his horse carried him 
 towards the moving battery. Du Breuil could not catch it. 
 This lost name pricked his conscience. The opal ring still 
 shone on his finger. He comprehended the full extent of the 
 danger which he had run, and became alternately hot and cold 
 in the small of his back. Really, he was not superstitious. 
 Had it not been . . . He had the feeling of humiliation which 
 every admirable horseman has who is thrown. And the look 
 in the small soldier's eyes — that look of astonishment and 
 reproach. . . . His heart suddenly softened towards Cydalise, 
 and he asked her forgiveness : the poor animal was bleeding. 
 Some drums rattled furiously. He skirted a line of troops, 
 and saluted a General. An officer said he had seen the 
 Marshal's escort pass a few moments before. The Prussians 
 were advancing on the Sarrelouis road. 
 
 Five minutes afterwards Du Breuil joined the squadron of 
 Light Cavalry of the escort, and found his comrades again. 
 Decherac smiled at him ; he was always smiling, a proceeding 
 which upon many occasions might appear banal, but which 
 under fire assumed a sort of grace and courage. How mis- 
 taken one could be in one's previsions upon such and such a 
 character! Honest Lieutenant-Colonel Poterin, who in appear- 
 ance had so little of the hero about him, faced danger with 
 admirable good nature. And that mativais singe Floppe was 
 courageous also ; he kept raising himself in his stirrups with 
 an air of manly bravado. Black-haired Massoli was green, 
 and the brilliant Francastel tried to offer less surface to the 
 enemy's shots by leaning sometimes on his hostels, some- 
 times on his stirrup-straps, under the vain pretext of adjusting 
 himself. 
 
 The Marshal passed near them. Du Breuil looked at him. 
 What was trouble in the presence of the man who held in his 
 hand the destiny of the army, in the presence of the chief who 
 
THE DISASTER 129 
 
 had been raised to this pinnacle of honour by public opinion ? 
 Bazaine, thick-set, heavy, and firm in his saddle, possessed a 
 strong face, the first impression of which puzzled one, so in- 
 accessible to emotion did his features seem. The Marshal's 
 legendary impassibility, in fact, seemed not only to brave 
 danger, but also to abolish it. Bullets rained around him 
 without his noticing them; he rode from one point of the 
 battle-field to the other as though in his garden. 
 
 Aides-de-camp, estafettes, came running up, and again set 
 off. There was nothing so moving to look upon as this 
 feverish excitement and this disorderly rushing about. Every- 
 thing converged towards this stout old man with gold epaulettes. 
 He seemed to direct his battle without having a taste for it, 
 simply because he was there and because it was expected of 
 him. Du Breuil heard him give some orders to a Colonel. 
 
 ' Let the attack be repulsed, but do not let the troops 
 become involved ahead. As soon as the fight is over the 
 retreat will be resumed.' 
 
 That was what was to be feared — a considerable loss of 
 time. Steinmetz was detaining us, so as to permit of the 
 advance of Frederick Charles. In what way, therefore, would 
 victory benefit us ? . . . Time, opportunity, was always a 
 stumbling-block ! 
 
 They moved in the direction of his escort, the commander 
 of the 3rd corps. General Decaen, who, ahead and without 
 escort, was tranquilly observing the enemy's movements under 
 the storm of canister-shot. Blood ran from his right leg, the 
 knee of which was shattered by a bullet. Two staff officers 
 fell wounded at his side. He refused to leave the battle- 
 field, and resisted the earnest entreaties of his Aide-de-camp. 
 Suddenly his horse was shot dead, and he was thrown to the 
 ground. This time the Marshal intervened, and obliged the 
 General, who was bruised all over by his fall, to withdraw. 
 Du Breuil was pursued by the vision of the wounded man, the 
 dismayed Aide-de-camp, and the bustling of the cavalrymen 
 of the escort. The expression of these faces moved with 
 emotion, and General Decaen's stoicism, had brought into 
 prominence the supreme grandeur of this little group. High 
 is the prestige of a wounded man ; loss by death is keenly felt 
 by every soldier. Death is energy slipping away, and some- 
 times the courage of the men is lessened by it. General 
 Metman took command, and ' he also had his horse killed 
 under him. 
 
130 THE DISASTER 
 
 ' Du Breuil !' called Laune. 
 
 And Du Breuil, his attention at its full stretch, found himself 
 in the presence of the Marshal, who spoke to him in a some- 
 what shrill voice, but with an expression of kindliness in it, 
 and fixed upon him the indecisive look of his brown eyes, a 
 distant look which revealed nothing. He despatched Du Breuil 
 to the Guard, which was to isolate itself in its passive role of a 
 supporter. 
 
 Upon arriving near the Light Infantry division, a General, 
 who had got down from his horse to stretch his legs, turned 
 towards him his yellow, wolf-like face, ready to bite, and said : 
 
 ' What do you want ?' 
 
 It was Boisjol. He was in a very bad humour. When he 
 heard that, far from calling him to the front, he was ordered 
 to remain where he was, his face took an expression of sadness. 
 He growled that his soldiers were becoming demoralized to no 
 advantage at the sight of the constant procession of wounded 
 soldiers, crying out and groaning. When Du Breuil reached 
 the Cuirassiers further on, he caught sight of the enormous 
 Couchorte, at the head of his squadron, biting his moustache. 
 At the sight of Du Breuil's gold shoulder-knots, he could not 
 restrain himself any longer. Pushing forward upon his colossal 
 horse, he cried out in a stentorian voice : 
 
 ' Well, what's the news ? Are we at last going to charge ?' 
 
 Du Breuil shook his head, and left Couchorte in a state of 
 apoplectic indignation. Bourbaki was passing in the distance 
 with his escort of Empress's Dragoons. Du Breuil came up 
 with him, accomplished his mission, and returned under fire. 
 An officer overtook him when jumping a ditch. His face was 
 pale. 
 
 ' Is that you, Decherac ?' 
 
 ' I've come from the Borny farm. Wounded are in a shed ; 
 the chateau park is full of them, and the village also.' 
 
 ' I've seen them,' said Du Breuil. 
 
 * Your friend is there, that stout Metz gentleman with a 
 beard. His name has a Heim in it.' 
 
 ' Bersheim ? How's that ?' 
 
 * He came with a Jesuit father to fetch the wounded in his 
 v/agonette. Are you going that way ?' 
 
 ' No,' replied Du Breuil, pricked with a sudden regret at 
 not being able to see Anine's father and shake the brave fellow 
 by the hand. 
 
 Without another word they spurred on their foam-covered 
 
THE DISASTER 131 
 
 horses, and returned by the shortest cut to the lines, enveloped 
 in smoke. When they rejoined the escort, the Marshal, seeing 
 the enemy's infantry again concentrating, himself brought into 
 action a battery of mitrailleuses. The destructive fire opened 
 under his very eyes. A storm of shells fell upon the battery in 
 return, and quite tranquilly the artillerymen could be seen feed- 
 ing their ' coffee-mills.' Du Breuil could not take his eyes off 
 the nearest gunner, a swarthy little Proven9al with a goat-like 
 profile, who worked his gun with prompt movements, with the 
 agile grace of an animal. All his attention was riveted on 
 the big, shining cannon ; he looked at it as though fascinated ; 
 he seemed to be connected with it by invisible bonds. One 
 felt that each discharge was a delight to him. The whole 
 battery belched forth its bullets with a dry rattle. Du Breuil 
 was exalted by such a power of destruction. He felt a 
 murderous desire to see men and horses fall, to see the blood 
 spurt and the brains dash out. What was life at such a' 
 moment ? Death only was subUme. . . . Suddenly the 
 Marshal reeled. They rushed towards him. A splinter of a 
 shell had struck him on the left shoulder ; his epaulette with 
 five stars had been torn, and deadened the blow. He con- 
 tinued to calmly give orders, and remained ten minutes longer 
 under fire. 
 
 ' He has escaped finely to-day,' murmured Restaud. ' A 
 short time ago he raised his kepi to salute upon hearing of the 
 death of a Colonel, and a bullet grazed his head.' 
 
 They again set off. A state of fever once more agitated 
 Du Breuil. The gallop choked him with dust, and made his 
 nostrils tingle with saltpetre. He looked around him, and 
 could only see nightmare visions — scarlet cloth, red blood, blue 
 great-coats, blue smoke, earth, sky, green trees snipped by 
 bullets ; then, everything which was lying on the ground con- 
 sisted of a puddle, a stain or debris ; the great stiff carcases of 
 horses, caisson wheels, knapsacks ripped open, pouring forth 
 their poor contents. Dead men haunted him, some lying 
 in a heap, others lying out flat. Seen ? When and where ? 
 They were unforgettable. Twenty were stretched out with 
 their faces to the ground, elbow to elbow, the stocks of their 
 rifles to their shoulders, and all round about were rivulets and 
 little dark splashes of blood. 
 
 The sun had set. The twilight came. The battle still con- 
 tinued. A strange feeling of tiredness, which maybe compared 
 to the leaden sleep which follows insomnia, gradually came upon 
 
 9—2 
 
132 THE DISASTER 
 
 him. So much horror filled him with a kind of stupidity. He 
 moved from one end of the melee to the other, mechanically 
 carrying out his duty. He no longer experienced a human feel- 
 ing, but came and went here and there, sleeping with open eyes. 
 One time he wiped his face, upon which the warm blood of Res- 
 taud's wounded horse had spurted. He heard it recounted at 
 his side that the enemy was everywhere repulsed, and that the 
 Ladmirault infantry had just made a fine bayonet charge. 
 * Ah !' he exclaimed. Then he learnt that the retreat was 
 going to be continued. Everything was the same to him. He 
 saw night fall, and was revived by the freshness of the air. If 
 he had been able to express a wish, it would have been to dip 
 himself into fresh water — the river baths, the pretty stream 
 which flowed in the Brittany park of the Guionics . . . the 
 Opera, the opal bracelet. . . . 
 
 ' We return !' exclaimed a comrade to him. 
 
 What ! return to Metz ? Why ? It was true, war ! 
 France was in danger. Retreat on Verdun ? It all seemed 
 very strange to him. The air was really fresh. Some wounded 
 men in a ditch groaned. They were, then, victorious ? He 
 was astonished to hear the roar of the cannon become lower. 
 There was even, suddenly, a deep silence, broken only by a 
 thousand humming noises, a thousand sighs and confused 
 complaints, like a great death-rattle. 
 
 Du Breuil shivered. Massoli and Francastel had just had 
 their names called out ; his was called out in turn. He had 
 to carry the order to the 3rd division of the 3rd corps to set 
 off again as soon as possible. He was troubled by this voice 
 which spoke to him out of the darkness. It was very dark, 
 but the moon shed her pale light upon the battle-field. 
 
 He moved towards Borny. Great red lights in the distance 
 indicated burning farms. Cydalise was tired, and stumbled, 
 each time that she did so uttering a little groan. Suddenly a 
 horse which was lying across a road rose to its feet, snuffed the 
 wind, neighed, and approached on three legs limping, its 
 entrails flowing from its side. Du Breuil was seized with 
 such a pity that he placed his hand on his revolver to put the 
 animal out of its misery. But he lacked courage, and rode on, 
 leaving the poor beast to finish dying. The freshness of the 
 night penetrated him more and more, revived his emotion, re- 
 awakened his soul to a sense of the atrocity of things. A corpse 
 with a white face was laughing there under the moon. There 
 could be heard the dull tramping of horses, the rhythmical 
 
THE DISASTER 133 
 
 step of foot soldiers, and could be seen dark forms, a moving 
 throng of men, their tin porringers shining upon their backs. 
 
 He arrived before the Borny farm, where an ambulance was 
 estabhshed. An officer of the Engineers belonging to the staff 
 of the 3rd corps, who was trying in the darkness to fasten his 
 horse to one of the racks in an empty stable, asked him if he 
 had had anything to eat. Upon receiving a reply in the nega- 
 tive, he said : 
 
 ' I'm going to see if I can find some food for my comrades.' 
 
 On the way he related what he knew : the enemy had been 
 repulsed ; it was a success all along the line. The deserted 
 and silent village was wrapped in darkness ; in only one window 
 was there a light. Some soldiers knocked at the window- 
 panes, in vain asking for bread and water. The officer of 
 Engineers joined them. Du Breuil continued to advance. 
 Everything was in movement at the chateau ; the ambulances 
 were in full swing, and frightful cries could be heard. Du 
 Breuil went outside in search of General Metinay. That took 
 some time. When he had found him he returned to the 
 chateau. Was it in hope of meeting Bersheim ? He again 
 saw the officer of Engineers, proudly carrying a knapsack on his 
 back. 
 
 'I've got some provisions,' he said. 'The doctors of the 
 International gave them me. Will you have some bread ?' 
 
 Du Breuil thanked him. 
 
 ' Don't go in there,' advised the officer, ' unless you have a 
 stout heart.' 
 
 And he went his way. Silent troops passed, and orders were 
 given in a low voice. They were retreating. 
 
 To fasten his horse to a tree, and carry her an armful of 
 fodder from a heap of straw near the dead body of a Light 
 Infantry officer, were unconscious, mechanical acts. A group 
 of sub-commissaries and doctors were conversing in the midst 
 of the coming and going of infirmary attendants. Metz men, 
 a Dominican and some chaplains were there. Nobody took 
 any notice of him. He experienced a little start by nearly 
 stepping upon a wounded man who was lying on the border of 
 a flower-bed. He leant down. A cloud passed before the 
 moon. The light returned ; he saw the face, and thought he 
 recognised it. 
 
 ' Vacossart !' 
 
 The dragoon looked at him. His coat was open, and his 
 shirt was soaked in blood. 
 
134 THE DISASTER 
 
 ' Vacossart !' he repeated. 
 
 The man looked at him with glassy eyes, in which the 
 faculty of recollection was indefinite, lost in space. Du 
 Breuil knelt by his side and looked around for a doctor. A 
 priest came to him, and by the pallor of his face and his black 
 eyes he recognised Father Desroques. 
 
 'Poor fellow!' said the priest. 'I have administered the 
 sacraments to him.' He added : ' He neither sees nor hears 
 you. God in His infinite mercy has received him.' 
 
 Du Breuil then recognised that he had spoken to a dead 
 man. Poor Vacossart ! How had he come to die there ? A 
 bullet in his heart ? How boyishly he had snapped his fingers, 
 delighted to fight ! Du Breuil upon rising felt his glove was 
 sticky. He pulled it off. The opal was smeared with blood. 
 He wiped it, but did not place it on his hand again. Screams 
 arose. The doctors were operating quite near. 
 
 ' Bersheim ?' he asked. 
 
 ' He has already set off with a cartload of wounded. He 
 will probably return.' 
 
 Without knowing why, Du Breuil then entered the charnel- 
 house, a stable from which the litter had been removed. Fresh 
 straw, which had been taken from a neighbouring barn in the 
 absence of the owners of the chateau, all the doors and locks 
 of which were fastened, had been laid down. The only light 
 was from two candle-ends placed upon a window in a little 
 corner, near a carpenter's bench, upon which they were 
 amputating arms and legs, sewing up intestines, searching 
 with big pincers in deep wounds. Wounded men were lying 
 on the ground, death-rattles could be heard, the naked flesh 
 resembled butcher's meat ; and then there was the smell of 
 human flesh and the cutting up of limbs, which an infirmary 
 attendant carried out to be thrown away. He could not stand 
 it, and fled from the stable, only to breathe when he w^as out- 
 side. Cydalise had not touched her fodder. He spoke to her 
 softly, his heart filled with bitterness. With a great longing 
 for tenderness he put his arms round her neck and kissed her 
 upon the nostrils. 
 
 A commissary of stores arrived. The ambulance must be 
 evacuated. Troops were retreating from all sides. Du Breuil 
 found himself alone in the open country. Clouds still passed 
 before the moon, and their shadows moving over the dead gave 
 one the impression that they were living. The air was calm 
 and very pure. What an abominable, sickening sight this 
 
THE DISASTER 135 
 
 stableful of wounded men, the candle burning itself out, the 
 red carpenter's bench, a doctor leaning over an open stomach — 
 a doctor attentive and patient ! . . . Only then did his face, 
 the hairy mask of a gorilla, appear before Du Breuil and haunt 
 him. Yes, it was the doctor whom he had met at the com- 
 mencement of the battle, the man with such pure blue eyes. 
 And Du Breuil for a minute could not drive the vision away 
 or flee from it, just as though it was over his own bleeding 
 stomach that the gorilla was leaning, working away with his 
 long fingers. 
 
 A vehicle attracted his attention. Groans came from it. 
 Around him he saw forms going hither and thither, and every 
 now and then leaning down. Some infirmary attendants and 
 a chaplain were searching for other wounded men and lifting 
 them on to the cacolets. He continued to advance. A man, 
 who was holding a carriage-lamp to the ground, rose to his 
 feet. It was Bersheim. A peasant was by his side. 
 
 ' You !' cried Du Breuil, startled. 
 
 'Who is there?' asked Bersheim fearfully, like a man who 
 does not expect to be recognised. He raised the lantern, trying 
 to make out who it was. 
 
 ' It is I— Du Breuil.' 
 
 'You! Ah, friend!' He turned towards the peasant and 
 held out the lantern to him. ' Take hold, Thibault. Bring 
 the cart round ; there are some wounded here.' 
 
 The light, jolted up and down by the movements of the 
 lame man, moved away, giving one so sad an impression. 
 Du Breuil trembled. Bersheim took him by the arm. 
 
 'Listen!' 
 
 Very low, very feeble complaints, with which inarticulate 
 words and weak cries were mingled, followed the succouring 
 light. The wounded saw it disappear, and with a supreme 
 effort stretched towards it — an effort which did not even have 
 the effect of raising an arm or a head, v/hich hardly moved the 
 lips, which found expression in a long cry of appeal. 
 
 ' This way : come, come . . .' whispered these breathless 
 mouths. 
 
 Oh, that death-rattle of dying men — so low, so low ! It 
 made Du Breuil's heart bleed. 
 
 ' Yes, yes !' cried Bersheim's fine voice into the darkness. 
 ' Yes, yes, my friends.' 
 
 But the dying, as if they had given up hope, were now 
 silent ; and Bersheim, his eyes full of tears, said to Du Breuil t 
 
136 THE DISASTER 
 
 * I cannot see any longer. All these poor fellows ! ... it 
 is terrible !' 
 
 Then, as they stumbled forward a few steps — the moon 
 having just disappeared — and as they heard the creaking of 
 the w^heels of the wagonette, the voice of a foreigner issued 
 from the hollow of a ditch : 
 
 * Camarates!' 
 
 Both had the same idea, the same feeling. Without a word, 
 without looking, they passed on. 
 
 The voice again cried in a supplicating tone : 
 
 ' Oh, camarates ! camarates !' 
 
 The accent was so poignant that the two Frenchmen 
 stopped. A pale face, that of a red-haired Christ, came to 
 view in the light of the lantern ; clasped hands were stretched 
 out ; they saw the soldier's gashed and bleeding neck. 
 Bersheim began to tremble, and spoke very low and very 
 quickly, as though in a fever fit. 
 
 * I cannot. There are Frenchmen. It's not my business 
 to pick up enemies ' 
 
 There was a brief silence. In the presence of this white face, 
 discomposed by fear and suffering, Du Breuil was overcome 
 by a new, until then unexperienced, confused sensation, one of 
 intense emotion. Nothing was left in him of the blind rage 
 which he had formerly felt when he imagined the face of the 
 Enemy with his ruddy complexion, hard blue eyes, and tawny 
 beard. And the feeling of hatred against the stirring, im- 
 personal masses of the enemy was also gone. An indefinite 
 feeling of fraternity seized him. His heart was drowned in an 
 irresistible flood of human compassion, and he only saw before 
 him an unfortunate man. 
 
 The Prussian looked upon them with eyes dilated by a great 
 hope. His features were exalted. His smile would have 
 softened stones. 
 
 ' My God !' groaned Bersheim. 
 
 And Du Breuil saw distinctly that he dare not help this 
 German before him because of himself, an officer, so many of 
 whose comrades and unknown brothers were lying pele-meh 
 bleeding there. He was seized with a sudden feeling of anguish. 
 What a pity this butchery ! This Prussian was a man ! 
 
 * Take him,' he said in a low voice. 
 
 * Yes, yes,' said Bersheim. ' Thibault, assist me.' 
 'Thank you, thank you, camarates!' repeated the wounded 
 
 man. He made an effort to rise, but blood spurted from his 
 mouth. They let him fall. He was dead. 
 
THE DISASTER 137 
 
 Du Breuil, overcome with disgust, could not say how he 
 left Bersheim. It seemed to him that he left him walking 
 about with his lantern suspended over the faces of the dead, 
 touching their cold cheeks, searching for wounded ; but he was 
 not sure. Alone, upon the back of Cydalise, who walked with 
 fatigued step, he proceeded towards Metz. Other burning 
 villages flared out on the heights of the plateau. In the 
 direction of Noisseville could be heard cheers, and the distant 
 strains of a German band, like to a song of victory. Our 
 tramping troops, men, horses, and cannon, slowly continued 
 their retreat. The moon had disappeared. In her place one, 
 two, three, four, and then a whole multitude of stars shone out, 
 blossomed in the sky, pure, fresh, eternal. 
 
 He thought of the thousands of dead men stretched out, 
 whose eyes were closed to this splendour — thousands of bodies 
 which had been men like himself, but which were now inert 
 masses of flesh. He thought of the wounded, the appalling 
 horror of the wounded ; the feeble death-rattle which he had 
 recently heard seemed to him to still sweep along the plain, 
 and everywhere were corpses ; the roads, houses, fields, and 
 woods were full of them. He could see nothing but corpses 
 lying flat upon their stomachs, upon their backs ; in furrows 
 and in ditches were stiffened, bloody corpses — nothing but 
 dead men in heaps. 
 
 The stars still shone brightly in the black azure. He almost 
 cried out with sorrow. Why, why this idiotic carnage ? An 
 imperceptible breeze blew. The stars twinkled. Never had 
 they been more beautiful. 
 
PART III. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A RAY of sunlight filtered underneath the door. In the cool 
 passage of the small private house was a smell of damp hnen 
 and preserves coming from the cupboards. Du Breuil, badly 
 awakened from a short sleep, hardly responded to the greetings 
 of his hosts. They were old people, M. and Mme. Poiret — 
 tradespeople of the town, who for some years had lived in retire- 
 ment in this village of MouHns, at the gates of Metz. Anguish 
 had made their voices shrill and their hands tremble. They 
 looked upon the altered face, the dusty clothes, of this officer 
 who had just slept one night under their roof, of this transient 
 stranger whom they would doubtless never see again, and then 
 they sadly turned away their eyes. What had to-morrow in 
 store for them ? What worry or grief ? And both thought 
 of their poor wrecked life, of the invasion that was imminent. 
 Every moment they peeped out from the side of the window 
 and listened. 
 
 A great and continued noise came from the road. Du Breuil, 
 still deafened by the tumult of the previous day, listened with 
 disquietude to this confused uproar — a distant murmur of cries, 
 oaths, and calls. When the door was opened, he was seized 
 with astonishment. Between the houses, the human river, 
 reaching from bank to bank, flowed on, carrying with it a 
 prodigious accumulation of vehicles comparable to wreckage. 
 
 As far as the eye could reach, in front and behind, could 
 only be seen waggons closely packed together, ambulances 
 painted gray, canteen-carriages painted green, artillery caissons, 
 fodder carts, ammunition-waggons loaded with oats and pro- 
 visions — an unprecedented agglomeration, an endless defile of 
 vehicles, from an old-fashioned peasant cart to drags and 
 
THE DISASTER 
 
 139 
 
 breaks. Some were half empty, others were full to overflowing. 
 Carters cursed and swore. Some estafettes in vain tried to 
 open up a way. Soldiers belonging to every branch of the 
 army painfully proceeded upon their way, mingled and in 
 confusion, between the spaces. Here was a battery of artillery, 
 the guns separated one from the other by carts loaded with 
 sugar ; there was a pile of wounded, with pale faces, blood- 
 stained linen, groaning at each jolt of the cacolets. Every- 
 where was disorder, hustling, an ever-renewed confusion — 
 sudden stoppages, laughter, complaints, blows from whips, 
 and, in the midst of the hubbub of this moving crowd, the sun 
 and the azure, but a sun which was already so hot that it 
 made the perspiration roll down red faces, an acrid dust fouling 
 the fresh azure, 
 
 Du Breuil's heart was oppressed. This road, upon which 
 the whole army was crowding, reminded him of that at Forbach ; 
 this morning retreat reminded him of the evening panic. His 
 brief joys of the previous day, the minutes of intoxication when 
 the mitrailleuses rent the air, and when his heart cried victory, 
 filled him with horror. He continued to feel the immense 
 disgust which he had experienced at night in the presence of 
 the corpses, the same sickening sensation, but deeper and 
 sadder. And mingled with his disquietude was a fear that 
 this so-called victory was in reality but purely ineffectual 
 butchery. Success ? It might be, but it was worse than a 
 defeat. The march upon Verdun was retarded, perhaps com- 
 promised by it. If Prince Frederick Charles's army outstripped 
 them, they would be obliged to fight again, and in a position 
 of flagrant inferiority. 
 
 Every minute's delay was an opportunity lost. The army, 
 which up to the present had been stagnant, had now to hastily 
 retire — to flee by every route. Or else it would have to reso- 
 lutely face Steinmetz's army, inferior in number, crush it, and 
 turn against that of Prince Charles. But nothing was more 
 disastrous than the slowness of the retreat. Instead of allowing 
 this long string of one hundred and seventy-five thousand men, 
 and the carriages, munitions, and baggage which the army 
 dragged after it, to pour into this single road, it would have 
 been better to keep the general convoys and the auxiliary 
 carriages behind — above all, to have made use of various routes. 
 
 He smiled bitterly as he thought of the guilty indiff"erence 
 of certain chiefs. In changing the command, had they not 
 simply replaced a one-eyed man by a man who was lame ? 
 
I40 THE DISASTER 
 
 He was troubled at the recollection of the hostility which had 
 been manifested between Bazaine and his staff from the very 
 first. Ought not Jarras, in the presence of the Marshal's 
 attitude, to have immediately withdrawn instead of clothing 
 himself in a wounded silence ? Was the fear of not finding 
 work which would compensate him an excuse for dispensing 
 with a confidence which they did not show in him ? What 
 a deplorable thing at such a time was this persistence in 
 misunderstandings, this incompetency, and this indifference ! 
 Ought not each one to have raised himself above meannesses 
 of character, and have done his duty — more than his duty ? 
 If General Coffini^res, the head of the Engineers, had brought 
 about orders to destroy the Ars, Noveant, and Pont-a-Mousson 
 bridges, if orders from high quarters had been interpreted by 
 General Jarras in the broadest sense instead of being carried 
 out to the letter — would not the army at this time have been 
 out of danger ? would it not have started off again in good 
 order on the various ways leading to Verdun ? But nobody 
 troubled himself. All isolated themselves in their limited 
 sphere of action, satisfied if they felt they were screened by 
 another's responsibility. 
 
 Francastel was passing on the causeway. He had regained 
 possession of his fine assurance. 
 
 ' Good-morning, Major,' he cried. 
 
 They walked in the direction of headquarters. The offices 
 were situated, as well as possible, in the house where General 
 Jarras had slept. Francastel was freshly shaved, wore a tight - 
 fitting light-green pelisse with small shining buttons, and 
 carried his head high under its black talpack. His sword 
 trailed along the pavement. Du Breuil for the first time 
 noticed an eyeglass, which further emphasized the habitual 
 air of brag on his physiognomy. 
 
 * What a victory. Major ! We gave them a rude lesson. 
 My word ! there were moments when it was warm.' 
 
 Du Breuil, calling to mind the bragger leaning on his 
 holsters, kept silent. Francastel, encouraged, continued with 
 an air oiF modesty : 
 
 * Each did his duty. You know that yesterday at Longue- 
 ville, where the Emperor was putting up, we dismounted for a 
 minute ? The Marshal gave an account of the fight. It 
 appears that His Majesty, holding out his hand, said : " Well, 
 M. le Marechal, you have, then, broken the spell !" The 
 entourage joined in the chorus.' 
 
THE DISASTER 141 
 
 There was a great hubbub in the room where the majority 
 of the officers of the staff were assembled. They were awaiting 
 the return of General Jarras, who had just gone to Bazaine for 
 his instructions. With wild gestures some were explaining the 
 missions which they had fulfilled, and were silent neither on 
 the subject of the dangers they had run nor their adventures ; 
 others were commenting upon the role of the leaders. With 
 an ill-will which was natural to the latter, they judged all of 
 them with extreme severity, though a great success — Massoli 
 even murmured a triumph — had been gained. The majority 
 saw in this success the turning of the tide, and allowed them- 
 selves to be filled with boundless hope and blind confidence. 
 
 Restaud ejaculated : 
 
 ' It is a triumph for which we have had to pay, and which 
 will cost us dear.' 
 
 Du Breuil thought of the death-rattle of the wounded, the 
 pallor of the dead. The terrible vision, with the fields strewn 
 with corpses, again rose up. 
 
 * From four until eight o'clock the battle by no means 
 dragged,' said Restaud. ' The 3rd and the 4th corps had their 
 work cut out.' 
 
 * The losses ?' yelped Floppe. 
 
 ' Three or four thousand men.' 
 
 * And General Decaen ?' 
 
 ' Wounded only. And poor Kelm !' 
 
 ' Well ?' exclaimed Du Breuil. 
 
 ' Bullet in his head.' 
 
 ' Kelm was a fataHst to the end. When galloping towards 
 Borny he said to Decherac : " If I am killed you will take my 
 pocket-book." He added : *' I'm certain to be killed." ' 
 
 There was a silence. They passed to other names, but they 
 were mentioned in the midst of general indifference. Each, 
 with dry eyes, was thinking of himself and of his connections ; 
 the best, who were capable, like Du Breuil, of being moved 
 before such a spectacle as that of the previous night, were 
 overcome with sorrow, and remained insensible to the trepida- 
 tion of the present. 
 
 Floppe continued : 
 
 ' Ah ! dead men's shoes are good things. There is Marshal 
 Lebceuf provided for !' 
 
 Francastel placed Du Breuil in possession of the facts. The 
 Emperor had immediately appointed the ex -Minister to the 
 command of the 3rd corps in succession to General Decaen. 
 
142 THE DISASTER 
 
 ' This time,' stated Floppe precisely, ' he has got just what 
 he wants.' Compressing his lips, he added : ' Don't let us 
 force our talent. . . .' 
 
 Laune appeared, followed by Decherac, who was saying to 
 him : 
 
 * At two o'clock in the morning some of the divisions were 
 still on the road.' 
 
 *I know — I know,' exclaimed Laune dryly. He turned 
 towards the window, from which could be seen the ceaseless 
 tumult on the road, and growled : ' This obstruction could not 
 be greater.' 
 
 The mission which Du Breuil received half an hour after- 
 wards gave him fresh confidence. He hastily scribbled in his 
 pocket-book the order to the 4th corps — ' to immediately set 
 off again, and, as soon as possible, reach the points fixed upon.' 
 Under the dictation of General Jarras the words came to have 
 a reassuring meaning. The chief's mind was on the alert. 
 Others, like Du Breuil, were going to carry varying orders to 
 the 2nd, 3rd, and 6th corps ; and the immense scattered body 
 of men, obedient to the mute voice, would immediately form 
 again, follow certain routes, and converge towards a fixed 
 point. 
 
 Frisch, apprised by an orderly, was leading Brutus by the 
 bridle up and down before the door. Du Breuil gave the 
 chestnut a friendly pat under the belly and looked to the girth. 
 
 ' Has Cydalise eaten ?' he asked, as he fell into the saddle. 
 
 Frisch smiled with an air of satisfaction. 
 
 ' Yes, sir. She refused her oats early on, but this morning 
 she's made up for lost time. Her hoofs are very swollen.' 
 
 ' Rub them with camphorated alcohol.' 
 
 ' There is none left, sir ; but I wrapped her hoofs in wet 
 flannel.' 
 
 ' Honest Frisch ! he has a great affection for his horses,' 
 thought Du Breuil, as he opened up a way. A regiment of 
 the line was following with open files the two sides of the road, 
 over which there still rolled the composite body of vehicles. 
 Brutus, disquieted at this unusual tumult, pricked up its ears 
 and gave forth short snorts. This solid Normandy horse had 
 more stamina than Cydalise, and also more character. This 
 taste for fine animals was one of Du Breuil's little vanities. 
 He had always had admirable mounts, loving the horse for 
 itself. But since the opening of the campaign, Cydalise and 
 Brutus had become to him still dearer — true companions united 
 
THE DISASTER 143 
 
 to his life, the emotions and fatigues of which they shared. 
 A good horse in time of war is invaluable. 
 
 He now descended the Longueville road, proceeded twenty 
 yards, stopped, and then set off again. Followed by an 
 orderly, a small cavalry soldier on horseback, whose gaze he 
 felt riveted on his back, he skirted the long files of tramping 
 men — soldiers of the line belonging to the Lafont de Villiers 
 division. Bent under their knapsacks, their guns slung across 
 their shoulders, they stared at him with resigned faces, some 
 jovial, others impassible. Their features were drawn, their 
 cheeks were hollow like those of galley-slaves, who eat not 
 and hardly sleep ; their uniforms were white with dust, their 
 faces young, their hands black. As he was passing he 
 recognised his cousin Vedel, and, in the ranks, Vicomte Judin 
 wearily dragging his feet along. He only had time to exchange 
 a look and a smile. 
 
 The immense river still flowed along the road. To the great 
 despair of a crimson-faced baggage-master, who, voiceless, was 
 wildly gesticulating, his eyes starting out of his head, some 
 auxiliary convoy carriages, loaded with officers' baggage, had 
 sHpped between the vehicles of a regular commissariat convoy ; 
 and the waggons full of biscuit, the ammunition waggons, were 
 drawn up to an endless extent, pele-mele with canteen-carriages, 
 ambulances and carts, upon which were pyramids of trunks. 
 Whole batteries, standing still, reserve artillery parks, and 
 squadrons of soldiers, could be seen far into the distance, 
 caught in the eddy of the almost motionless current. It was 
 impossible to move to the right or the left, to advance or to 
 move back. They were fixed there. It was necessary to wait 
 until those in front moved on. In the midst of oaths, laughter 
 and songs, mingling into a single tumult, the appalling throng 
 rolled on in the midst of the perpetual agitation of stoppages 
 and departures. A gray cloud floated above the road, and even 
 became larger. The sun in the full azure poured down its 
 heat. Du Breuil coughed, the thick dust and the acrid odour 
 of this perspiring crowd choking him. 
 
 When near Scy, the church towers of which appeared 
 among the trees, he saw, as he turned his eyes to the right, 
 on the slope of Saint-Quentin towards the plain, an escort of 
 Light Cavalry. It was coming towards him, and on the 
 opposite side of the road. A tricolour fanion waved above it. 
 
 He raised himself in his stirrups. Ahead of his staff, which 
 proceeded in Indian file, was a corpulent General, whom Du 
 
144 THE DISASTER 
 
 Breuil recognised, from his big nose and large drooping 
 moustache, to be his chief of the previous day, the ex- Minister. 
 A momentary feeling of compassion came over him. Poor 
 Marshal Leboeuf! After having been the great master, the 
 director of the army, to be reduced to coming to salute a 
 comrade who had obeyed him on the previous day, in his turn 
 to obey. It was hard. But the General's face retained its 
 heavy, indifferent look, and revealed nothing. 
 
 Pooh ! Why pity him ? He was only too happy in his 
 disgrace. All the incapable ones ought to be put to the sword. 
 Everybody according to his deserts. . . . He also thought what 
 a splendid thing this military discipline was, after all, this in- 
 flexible rule which controlled each one from the humblest 
 soldier to this Marshal of France, who yesterday had still been 
 supreme chief. 
 
 Behind the Marshal, in his proper place, was Blache, his red 
 face more smiling than usual. Those fierce eyes of a wild- 
 boar of his were lit up with satisfaction. The pleasure of 
 resuming duty, said Du Breuil to himself. He liked Blache's 
 rugged qualities, knowing him to be courageous and devoted 
 under his blunt exterior. 
 
 A great uproar dragged him from his reflections. Turning 
 his head, he saw a red-haired carter, a gigantic brute of a man 
 (he knew that figure) who was fighting on the side of the road 
 with another convoy driver, whose vehicle had become en- 
 tangled with his own. The men were separated. The convoy, 
 his chest stoved in by a blow from a fist, was left for dead in 
 the ditch. The immense river, momentarily stopped, again 
 rolled on, carrying with it a vision of the red-haired carter, his 
 heavy vehicle disengaged by a shove from the shoulder, and of 
 the neighbouring carriage henceforth without a driver. 
 
 There was a shout behind him : ' Get out of the way !' 
 
 A fresh escort arrived at a gallop from Moulins and passed 
 him. It was Marshal Canrobert, followed by his Aides -de- 
 camp. He was going at full speed. Du Breuil had only time 
 to see his manly profile and his hair floating in the wind. 
 What was the matter ? The orderly officers cast anxious 
 looks to their right as they passed. He scrutinized the plain, 
 and then suddenly perceived a confused stir on the heights of 
 Montigny, about two or three thousand yards away on the 
 other side of the Moselle. 
 
 The enemy, doubtless. We had no troops on the right bank. 
 . . . He took his field-glass, and distinctly saw the stirring of 
 
THE DISASTER 
 
 ■45 
 
 compact groups of men. Artillery or cavalry ? He was seized 
 with a sudden feeling of anger. Those cursed Prussians ! 
 Thus to advance under the guns of the fort. . . . They were 
 mad ! He guessed, how^ever, they would be dislodged. He 
 bitterly acknowledged the pertinacity of their spies ; they never 
 let them go for a second. Their invisible patrols could be felt 
 swarming around them ; and their audacious Uhlans, like a 
 swarm of wasps, were always buzzing about their ears. 
 
 He approached Longueville, and crossed the level-crossing 
 of the new railway line from Verdun to Metz, the laying of 
 which was being completed. In the meadows bordering the 
 road to the right troops were making coffee. The Tixier 
 division, belonging to the 6th corps, had put down their knap- 
 sacks. Near the dying fires squads of men were conversing. 
 The saucepans were not yet unbuckled. Foot soldiers were 
 sitting on the edge of the ditch, their legs dangling down, 
 smoking unconcernedly. A beardless, pale-faced quarter- 
 master - sergeant was snoring with open mouth, his head 
 resting against his accoutrements. Du Breuil passed some 
 officers grouped around a Colonel who was sitting on a folding 
 stool consulting a map. Suddenly, over the heights of Montigny, 
 a small white, opaque cloud was seen to rise in the air. There 
 was a report, and almost immediately a black point, a shell, 
 whistled in a straight line, increasing in size as it came. 
 Brutus, frightened, sprang forward, and the shell burst in the 
 midst of the group of officers. A moment of bewilderment 
 followed, during which, in a red flash, the wind from the 
 wings of Death struck his temples, and the horrible picture 
 appeared before him of a head clean cut from the body, three 
 bodies which were falling, and on the ground, in a pool of 
 blood near the folding stool, still upright, the Colonel, -as 
 white as a sheet, his stomach and legs shattered. He turned 
 round. The small Light Cavalry soldier was galloping behind 
 him. 
 
 A second and a third shell burst, without wounding anybody. 
 As he reached the first houses of Longueville violent reports 
 sounded to the left. The Saint-Quentin fort was replying. He 
 felt a sudden joy. Ah, ah ! they were destroying them. The 
 wasp was crushed ! But it had had time to sting. 
 
 Before a long building, the courtyard of which was full of 
 officers and men in green liveries, who overflowed into the 
 street, where waggons and equipages were stationed, he had 
 to slacken his pace. From the imperial arms on the carriages, 
 
 10 
 
146 THE DISASTER 
 
 and the company of the Guard which was standing motionless 
 under arms, he recognised the house to be that in which the 
 Sovereign had passed the night. The alarm caused by the 
 shells from Montigny was great, and orders had been given for 
 a hasty departure. This fleeing Emperor, who had become 
 from one day to the next a kind of encumbering baggage 
 — a State personage who impeded himself as well as others 
 — produced a strange, almost a painful, impression upon 
 him. 
 
 He was impressed by the face of the little cavalry soldier ; 
 it now expressed the naive joy of the hadmid. Then those eyes 
 of an inhabitant of a faubourg twinkled, and a common street 
 expression deformed the corner of his mouth. Du Breuil once 
 more saw the dinner at Saint-Cloud, the august face upon which 
 was an expression of suffering and dejection ; again he felt 
 that impulse which had already drawn him towards Napoleon ; 
 then, saddened, he thought, * The prestige of misfortune ! A 
 fine piece of fudge.' 
 
 It took one hour to ride the two kilometres separating 
 Longueville from the Ban Saint- Martin. As he was passing 
 a regiment of men of the line, who were at rest, an insupport- 
 able stench made his heart rise in his throat. He stopped up 
 his nose. Some soldiers who were passing on a waggon for 
 leading oats cried jeeringly : 
 * Heap of carrion !' 
 
 ' Imbeciles !' exclaimed scornful, somewhat envious voices. 
 But there was no doubt about it. That smell ! The whole 
 regiment aroused itself, and, from the saucepans rapidly un- 
 buckled from their knapsacks, each man quickly threw far into 
 the fields his four days' supply of cooked meat, which had 
 decomposed in the sun. 
 
 The Ban Saint- Martin, with its tall masses of verdure quite 
 white with dust, its naked plain crowded with innumerable 
 vehicles, maintained there by exhausted baggage - masters, 
 appeared in sight. All of them were waiting to take their 
 place, watching for a favourable opportunity to slip in. . . . 
 
 Troops were still leaving Metz — a whole division of them, 
 which was slowly advancing : the Zouaves and the Grenadiers 
 of the Guard. Under the coating of dust, white galloons 
 mingled with the blue coats, which, like the scarlet trousers 
 and the wide breeches of the Zouaves, had become white. 
 Each face appeared to be covered with a mask, and the 
 moustaches were as though sprinkled with flour. 
 
THE DISASTER 
 
 H7 
 
 A distant report — the explosion of a mine, the echo of which 
 was repeated to infinity — then made each one start. 
 
 ' It is the Longueville bridge which has been blown up,' 
 said a peasant, at the head of his horses, near Du Breuil. 
 
 It was noon when he arrived near the Maison de Planches. 
 He had been in the saddle for four hours, and had hardly 
 covered four miles. The 3rd and the 4th corps had not yet 
 raised their camps. The troops, harassed by the combat of 
 the previous day, by the long night march, and by sleepless- 
 ness, lined the road. Exhausted men were sleeping in the 
 ditch. Around the piles of arms were standing the over- 
 fatigued sentinels, leaning upon their chassepots. 
 
 On all sides were soldiers breathing irregularly in their heavy 
 sleep, their faces congested, legs here and there, bodies stretched 
 out on the very spot where they had fallen overcome by fatigue. 
 Some soldiers were repairing their clothes, resewing their shoes 
 with string. Upon seeing the staff officer and the little cavalry 
 soldier, a corporal, who was in the course of mending his red 
 trousers with a piece of blue cloth, took his pipe from his 
 mouth. 
 
 * The headquarters of the 4th corps ?' asked Du Breuil. 
 The man shrugged his shoulders, his elbows sticking out, 
 
 and a vacant look in his eyes. He did not know. Near the 
 officers' mess were erected some tents, and on all sides could 
 be seen saucepans, blackened by smoke, licked by small tongues 
 of flame, which rested upon little ovens hollowed out in the 
 ground, or constructed of three stones, and in which the 
 soldiers' sonpe was being cooked. 
 
 He wandered about for a long time, and after receiving 
 direction after direction reached Sansonnet. General Lad- 
 mirault was leaving table. He listened to the reading of the 
 order written down by Du Breuil in his note-book. His anxious 
 look took in the meadows where his divisions were encamped, 
 the roads crowded with vehicles, the green mass of the Saint- 
 Quentin. Between the heights, the hollow in the hill of Lessy 
 indented the clear sky — an indentation of azure through which 
 passed dense white clouds swept by the west wind. One could 
 hear an almost insensible rumbling — the distant murmur of 
 the army on the march. The General turned towards the chief 
 of his staff. They consulted together. Ladmirault was saying : 
 
 * It's easy to order the movement to be hurried on. As if 
 they didn't know that all these roads are obstructed!' He 
 raised his voice. * On the Chatel side, the road, which is not 
 
 10 — 2 
 
148 THE DISASTER 
 
 broad, is blocked for a considerable distance by a bridge 
 equipage. There's baggage belonging to all the corps ; there's 
 everything — artillery and reserves. In what way do they want 
 me to pass ? Why not use the Briey road ?' 
 
 When his mission was accomplished, Du Breuil shook the 
 Comte de Cussac, an Aide-de-camp, by the hand — that officer 
 of whom he had asked poor Vacossart for news the day before. 
 They were members of the same club ; both had kept more 
 than one bank at the Sporting Club, and finished more than 
 one supper between Rose Noel and Nini Deglaure. Strange 
 these recollections appeared to him. Had he really lived like 
 that in the past ? For the past fortnight they had been other 
 men ; they found themselves changed. 
 
 After eating a wing of a chicken and drinking a glass of 
 bordeaux — the little cavalry soldier devoured the carcass, and 
 emptied the bottom of the bottle — Du Breuil set off again. 
 He again passed through the camp of the 3rd corps, which he 
 found in a state of commotion, owing to the order to leave. 
 Tents were being pulled down, and the baggage was being 
 loaded ; some piles of arms were already unlocked ; the troops 
 were forming into line. 
 
 At the gates of Metz, and at the Ban Saint-Martin, the 
 invasion recommenced. Under the leaden sky, it was the 
 same tumult, the same forward advance of the river of men 
 and vehicles, perspiring, sorrowful, suffering, swearing, the 
 horses falling down, the drivers whipping and beating their 
 teams under the blinding dust and the fierce sun. Du Breuil 
 passed fresh regiments, which halted every instant. And 
 whenever they halted men fell down like leaden masses ; the 
 reservists especially could hold out no longer, and, without 
 the strength to unbuckle their knapsacks, many of them, with 
 red faces, immediately fell asleep. But two or three minutes 
 later it was necessary to set off again, and non-commissioned 
 officers shook these unfortunate sleepers, who, without a com- 
 plaint, once more stood upright, and once more set off with the 
 air of sleep-walkers. 
 
 Every now and then he recognised some of his comrades of 
 the general staff, who were trying to put things a little in order. 
 Restaud, whom he met near Longueville, informed him that 
 the Marshal had ordered the disbanding of the auxiliary 
 carriages. 
 
 * But they carry the provisions ?' said Du Breuil. 
 
 * We shall find provisions on the way.' 
 
THE DISASTER 149 
 
 ' It would have been simpler to have utilized since yesterday 
 the Lorry and Woippy roads, or to have left the provisions in 
 Metz,' he growled. 
 
 He could not understand the conduct of a chief who, in full 
 retreat before a daring enemy, waited until useless impedimenta 
 had produced such disorder, so disastrous a state of obstruction, 
 to get rid of it. 
 
 ' What's the good of discussing the matter ?' exclaimed 
 Restaud. ' I simply do what I'm told.' 
 
 Once discharged, however, the carriages could not be dis- 
 banded. They had then to be taken to the rear. Those 
 which had not passed through Longueville were prepared to 
 turn back along the road ; the others, caught in the defile, 
 were obliged to advance, since by turning round they would 
 only have redoubled the slowness of the disorder. And while 
 Restaud, assisted by the men of the commissariat and the 
 baggage-masters, barred the way before the frenzied convoy 
 drivers, the train - carriages, the artillery and the reserves 
 detached themselves one by one from the confusion caused 
 by the first vehicles, which stopped still, pele-mele with the 
 infantry which marched past, platoon after platoon, white with 
 dust from head to foot. 
 
 The convoys of the 2nd corps and of the chief headquarters, 
 without taking into account innumerable baggage waggons, 
 continued on their way, the slow ascent of the plateau, cease- 
 lessly tramping under the sun. 
 
 Nobody of importance remained at Moulins ; the staff had 
 just left. It was four o'clock. The orderlies were about to 
 leave with led-horses. Du Breuil noticed Frisch in the act of 
 fastening Cydalise's girth. Brutus, covered with froth, neighed. 
 Du Breuil changed his mount and got astride the disappointed 
 mare, who began to drag one of her hoofs, under the pretence 
 that she was lame. He gave her the spur and broke into a 
 gallop, while Frisch, near a bucketful of water which he had 
 hastily fetched, sponged down the delighted Brutus, preventing 
 him by little blows with the halter from drinking the dirty 
 water towards which, his lip moving back over rosy gums, he 
 stretched his neck. 
 
 How hot it was ! Du Breuil would have gi^-en anything in 
 the world to have slaked his thirst. At the point where the 
 road branches into two, towards Chatel- Saint -Germain, he 
 could stand it no longer, and drew near to a stone trough before 
 a farm. It was emp^y. The little cavalry soldier understood, 
 
150 THE DISASTER 
 
 and, with a voluntary movement, offered him his flask, which 
 he had refilled at Moulins. ' If you would like a drink, sir.' 
 He was touched by the simpUcity of the offer, and drank a 
 mouthful. 
 
 They struck off along a Roman road which reached the 
 plateau more directly than by the ordinary way. Beneath 
 them was stretched out the little valley of Rozerieulles, with 
 its meadows, its red roofs, and the deep green of its walnut- 
 trees. The more they mounted, the larger became the circle 
 of the horizon. They now dominated the valley of the 
 Moselle. Above the winding road, whence arose a confused 
 hubbub, was a thick cloud of dust. The immense landscape, in 
 a bath of sunlight, stretched out in the splendid azure. Blue 
 rivers wound in and out across the draught-board of fields and 
 clumps of trees ; and in the still air appeared white Metz, with 
 its innumerable houses, the square silhouette of the tall mass 
 of the cathedral profiled upon the azure. The Lorraine town 
 was smiling, happy, in her corset with its lace of stone. A 
 slight golden haze enveloped her in glory. 
 
 For a moment they remained motionless, the little unmindful 
 cavalry soldier finding the scene choiiette. Du Breuil was 
 moved to the bottom of his soul. 
 
 ' Adieu, Metz !' he said, after a few seconds. 
 
 Pushing forward upon their horses, they moved ahead. The 
 circle of the horizon got small and smaller, until they had 
 nothing around them but the plateau, and behind them the sky. 
 
 * What is your name, and where do you come from ?' asked 
 Du Breuil. 
 
 *Jubault, of Tours, sir.' 
 
 * You don't mind leaving Metz ?' 
 
 ' It's not too soon, sir,' smiled the man, encouraged. 
 
 Du Breuil murmured ' Yes ' ; but at the bottom of his heart 
 he was unable to say whether he was happy or sad. 
 
 The plateau was covered with troops. On the Genivaux 
 declivity the terrible crowding recommenced. The road, 
 embanked in a small ravine, was nothing more than a deep 
 cutting, broken up by the wheels and the incessant scraping of 
 boots. One sank into a yard of dust, which floated in the air 
 like a fog. Men and horses were white with it, and un- 
 recognisable. 
 
 Suddenly, when near Gravelotte, as he turned round, he saw 
 on the slope which they had just left a man, conveniently 
 stationed five hundred yards away alongside a wood, with a 
 
THE DISASTER 151 
 
 field-glass to his eyes. The Uhlan jumped from his horse, 
 calmly opened a map or a pocket-book, and made some notes. 
 
 ' He doesn't put himself out,' exclaimed the cavalry soldier. 
 
 Du Breuil made an angry movement and felt for his revolver. 
 No, he would not fire ; it would only be a bullet wasted. The 
 Uhlan had steadily folded up his map, regirthed his horse, and 
 jumped into the saddle. He disappeared. 
 
 * Good-evening,' exclaimed Jubault. ' They are everywhere. 
 They know a thing. They disguise themselves as pedlars, and 
 follow us on horseback in white blouses and sabots. . . .' 
 
 They reached the first houses of Gravelotte. The whole 
 general staff was drawn up on the highway before the 
 Emperor's residence. A little behind, some horsemen of the 
 escort were walking the horses, which were ready to start, up 
 and down by the bridle. Du Breuil dismounted, and re- 
 ported to General Jarras. The imperial suite. Generals and 
 Chamberlains, impatient for news, mingled with the groups. 
 Everyone was talking about events. Bazaine was holding a 
 consultation with the Emperor, and people were waiting for 
 the end of the interview. The Prince Imperial, with anxious 
 face, went from one group to the other. Upon his approach 
 voices were lowered and conversations changed. He questioned 
 those officers whom he knew by sight, and attempted to seize 
 the exact meaning of the words of their respectful and evasive 
 answers. The young man's preoccupations were stamped upon 
 his face ; he seemed to understand the seriousness of events. 
 
 Du Breuil encountered Decherac's everlasting smile, which 
 was sad upon this occasion, and seemed to clearly say, * Poor 
 child !' The two officers nodded. 
 
 * Do you know,' said Decherac, ' that to-day is August 15th ? 
 A queer kind of fete-day !' 
 
 The striking contrast moved Du Breuil. August 15th, with 
 the bells of Notre Dame ringing, the addresses and the delega- 
 tions of the State bodies, the streets decorated with flags, the 
 illuminations at night. ... In the bitter irony of his soul the 
 glorious series of past fetes on August 15th was passed in 
 review. All that was very far off. 
 
 ' Yes, a queer kind of fete-day,' he repeated. 
 
 ' Bazaine presented his good wishes to the Emperor upon 
 his arrival, offering him a bouquet of wretched flowers plucked 
 from the garden of the house where he is camping.' 
 
 Ah, that sickly bouquet presented to the Emperor by the 
 commander of his army ! Du Breuil found this solitary homage 
 
152 THE DISASTER 
 
 of troops still faithful truly symbolical. Past acclamations 
 commenced to sound in his ears like a knell, and to reveal to 
 him a fete-day ; this day of distress and abandonment, in the 
 dismal silence and in the midst of whisperings, appeared to 
 him still more sorrowful. Disquietude, egoism, forgetfulness, 
 were stamped upon every face. 
 
 The interview was prolonged. In turning his eyes towards 
 the closed windows of the small house, he recognised the tall, 
 dry figure of General Jaillant. He was not speaking a word, 
 his thin lips, under his imperious eagle-like nose, remaining 
 pressed together. Near him was a perturbated Chamberlain, 
 searching the woods and the outlet of Ars with a field-glass. 
 Du Breuil heard him murmur : 
 
 ' Those woods. General, are not safe.' 
 
 His voice slightly trembled. Jaillant shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 * What's there to fear ?' 
 
 The Chamberlain faced the General. This disconcerted face ! 
 Du Breuil hesitated to recognise it as that of Comte Duclos. 
 The drawn-out moustache retained a remnant of arrogance, 
 but these eyes, in which there was no fear, this tremulous 
 voice, formerly so provocative ! . . . 
 
 ' He has not yet got over the fright,' interjected Decherac. 
 * The Emperor narrowly escaped being captured this afternoon 
 by Uhlans. They were twelve hundred metres away, in view 
 of the road, and they allowed the cortege to pass. . . . Curious, 
 isn't it ?' 
 
 Floppe, who had come up, exclaimed : 
 
 ' Such is the anxiety that the Emperor wishes to set off 
 immediately, in order to reach Verdun. But there is no escort. 
 The Cavalry of the Guard is only arriving, and worn out ; so 
 that they won't start until early to-morrow morning.' 
 
 Attention was attracted by words uttered in a loud voice. 
 A General, whose coat was unbuttoned, bringing to view his 
 red belt, was speaking animatedly. He was on horseback, 
 white with dust, having, like the others, tramped the whole 
 length of the route. Du Breuil recognised stout General 
 Chenot, the commander of a division of the 6th corps. He 
 had not seen him since the soiree at Saint-Cloud, when, his 
 red neck pressing against his gold-embroidered collar, he walked 
 away under the lustres with Jaillant, talking to him, arm in 
 arm. He was complaining violently to Jarras, one of his old 
 comrades. Seeing Du Breuil, he motioned to him a * Good- 
 day,' and continued his complaints without lowering his tone 
 
THE DISASTER 153 
 
 of voice. He was now calling attention to the Generals of the 
 suite, pointing out Jaillant in the distance, and sneering bitterly. 
 * No need to be so proud ... a pretty scrape . . . counsellors 
 are not the ones who have to pay. . . .' And Du Breuil once 
 more saw him under the lustres, holding Jaillant by the arm, 
 as sincere as he was to-day. 
 
 There was a commotion, and then deep silence. The Emperor, 
 behind Bazaine, appeared on the threshold of the little door. 
 His complexion was gray ; his eyes, under which were pouches, 
 had a dead expression. He wore a General's undress uniform 
 under a civilian overcoat. His step was heavy and depressed. 
 Bazaine took his leave. The Prince Imperial approached his 
 father. The familiars of the Court bustled about. The staff, 
 in the midst of a rush hither and thither, had already mounted 
 on horseback, and reached their temporary quarters. . . . Du 
 Breuil was still thinking of the scene, when Decherac, at table, 
 gave an account of the bad effect which had been produced 
 upon the soldiers by the sight of the Sovereign upon this 
 anniversary-day. He had been present from noon at the slow 
 defile of the army. Seated upon a kitchen chair, he had 
 remained hour after hour facing the roadway before the inter- 
 minable throng of soldiers. And without a cry, without a 
 cheer, the divisions had passed in silence before this man with 
 lustreless eyes, sallow complexion, and swollen abdomen, who 
 was the Emperor Napoleon III. Nobody, not even Floppe, 
 could think, without sadness, of this reverie of the unfor- 
 tunate man, looking at what remained of his power pass before 
 him. 
 
 A diversion was made by the day's news. A little occurrence 
 was just claiming the attention of the chief headquarters. The 
 Marshal had left the house which he occupied for another, 
 situated one and a third miles ahead. In the meantime General 
 Jarras went to find him, and to receive his instructions. In 
 reply to his offer to bring the staff nearer, the Marshal said : 
 
 ' The staff is all right where it is. Let it remain.' 
 
 People were amused at the annoyance caused the chief 
 because of Jarras's mania for red-tapism, momentarily joking 
 over it without suspecting what serious results these sHght 
 collisions had, and how damaging they were to discipline and 
 the well-being of the service. 
 
 At night the news came that the Forton division had had a 
 serious engagement near Mars-la-Tour. It had had to retreat 
 on Vionville. Consequently, the 2nd corps, its front insufH- 
 
154 THE DISASTER 
 
 ciently protected, was remaining beyond Rezonville, the 6th 
 corps on its right. The last regiments of the Guard were 
 arriving. They took up a position, in addition to the artillery 
 reserves and the park, beyond Gravelotte. 
 
 On the Doncourt road, the Du Barail division alone reached 
 Jarny. It was known through estafettes that the 3rd corps 
 was on the march. As to the 4th corps, it was still stationed 
 near the Moselle, being unable to advance along the obstructed 
 roads. At the same time, various pieces of information, furnished 
 by reconnoitring-parties and spies, made known that German 
 troops, which were estimated to number twenty-five thousand 
 men, were marching over the Ars and Noveant bridges in the 
 direction of Mars-la-Tour. They swarmed the woods of Gorze. 
 If one did not want to see the road blocked before one, it was 
 time to make haste. Orders to be on the watch were sent to 
 all the corps ; the army was to be ready to set off at the earliest 
 hour. And while those of his comrades, who had not yet ful- 
 filled a mission, in turn mounted on horseback, cursing as they 
 did so, Du Breuil with delight stretched himself out on his 
 narrow camp-bed, and fell into a feverish sleep. 
 
 Before dawn the crow of a cock rang through the air. The 
 dull tramping of horses, which were being drawn up under the 
 windows, awakened him. Jumping to his feet, he looked in 
 amazement at the unknown room, the beams of the ceiling, 
 and the sideboard, upon which coloured plates were ranged. 
 Suddenly he saw a portrait of the Emperor on the wall. He 
 recollected. He was at Gravelotte. The Emperor set off this 
 morning, fleeing from the army. 
 
 It was cruel, the comparison with another departure which 
 forced itself upon him. He again saw before him the platform 
 of the little station in the Saint-Cloud park, the train drawn 
 up on the line, the green carriages with their N's surmounted by 
 a crown. Ah! the illusions of that time, the touching farewell, 
 the enthusiasm, the hope ! Again he saw the gilded courtesans, 
 the commotion of the Aides-de-camp, the Ministers, the Court 
 familiars ; then the whistle blew, and the train moved away 
 in a flood of sunlight, carrying with it the destiny, the fortune 
 of France. 
 
 From the threshold he took in the gray road, the alignment 
 of Lancers of the Guard, and the Empress's Dragoons, motion- 
 less in their white cloaks. Faces were livid in the pale dawn. 
 At times a horse snorted and pawed the ground. The majority 
 of them slept, standing stiffly upon their legs. The Court 
 
THE DISASTER 155 
 
 carriages were waiting before the Emperor's house. He took 
 a few steps, and started. A voice called to him, * Pierre !' 
 It came from the ranks. He looked hesitatingly. 
 
 * Don't you recognise me ?' said the voice. 
 
 His heart beat with delight. Lacoste ! Did he recognise 
 him ! . . . He was in battle position, at the side of the old 
 quartermaster — the Saint- Cloud veteran, egad ! 
 
 Lacoste straightened his lean chest. He seemed taller and 
 drier than ordinarily. His nostrils were drawn in and his eyes 
 were sunken. Dark was the pure water and the blue, so 
 limpid, of his eyes. Concentrated rage hardened his features. 
 His cheek-bones were red with the fire of fever. 
 
 'Beastly night !' he said. * On foot since two o'clock . . . 
 trimming ourselves up . . . not worth the while ... to 
 decamp. . . .' 
 
 Du Breuil patted Conquerant. 
 
 ' Disgusts her also. It's too stupid. To think I've never 
 seen the colour of a Prussian ! For fifteen days marching, 
 rain and mud . . . Borny at last. We're going to fight. . . . 
 It's all nonsense ! And this morning, when things look more 
 promising, we leave for Chalons. This is the work of a 
 gendarme, of a hospital attendant, of an imbecile ; it certainly 
 isn't that of a soldier.' 
 
 He became heated in his anger, and unclasped his heavy 
 cloak. Underneath appeared his sky-blue jacket. 
 
 ' What ! you are wearing your jacket !' exclaimed Du Breuil. 
 * What have you done with your white uniform ?' 
 
 Lacoste growled : 
 
 ' It is growing mouldy in Paris. We should have resembled 
 the Germans had we worn them. . . . Then we operate in 
 undress. . . . It's quite good enough for what we have to do.' 
 
 Du Breuil detected a faint smile of approbation on the hard 
 face of the quartermaster. Silent, upright in his saddle, he 
 never moved an inch. Lacoste continued : 
 
 * Musette halts. Titan is with the baggage. I shall doubt- 
 less never see them again.' 
 
 A distant command rang out : ' Shoulder . . . lances !' 
 The lances were raised in the cold air ; the little flags fluttered 
 for a moment and then hung down again like rags. 
 
 Lacoste drew his sword with an angry gesture. 
 
 * Farewell, Pierre,' he said. 
 
 The eyes of the lancers were fixed upon the little house. 
 Du Breuil drew near to it. 
 
156 THE DISASTER 
 
 The Emperor and the Prince Imperial got into the calfeche, 
 which had been harnessed at the posting-house, together with 
 two members of the suite. The Sovereign's face was dis- 
 composed by extreme fatigue. Tears seemed to have traced 
 lines down it. His breast was still more expressive of de- 
 pression. Nobody had collected around the vehicles in which 
 the sorrowful military household were taking their seats. A 
 few Cent-gardes caracoled. Their striking uniform, consisting 
 of red trousers, blue coat with gold shouldSr-knots, embroidered 
 bicorn hat, looked dull in the cold, early morn. Four or five 
 peasants were gaping in the deserted street. Du Breuil caught 
 sight of Jaillant's cadaverous face, and the drooping moustache 
 of Comte Duclos. There was a general air of sadness. 
 
 Suddenly the galloping of an estafette rang out. It was 
 rumoured that the Uhlans infested the road. Bazaine at last 
 arrived, and almost immediately after him Canrobert, then 
 Bourbaki and Frossard. Without getting down from his 
 horse the Commander-in-Chief shook Napoleon's hand. The 
 trumpets gave the signal to set off at a trot ; the Empress's 
 Dragoons proceeded ahead, and the driver silently touched his 
 horses with the whip. The carriage moved forward, followed 
 immediately by the lancers, four abreast and in column. In 
 the midst of the noise of the escort, growing fainter and 
 fainter, through the pale dawn and towards the unknown Du 
 Breuil followed with his soul this sinister caleche in which 
 were the old man and the child, their backs bowed under the 
 weight of fate. 
 
 Where were they thus departing ? The impulse which 
 yesterday again drew him towards Napoleon once more took 
 possession of him ; as he had acclaimed him in his glory, so 
 he pitied ^him in his hour of misfortune. Never would he 
 forget the sweet, peaceful smile, the expression of happiness 
 on the august face. But he could not think of this guilty 
 thoughtfulness without sorrow, or of this astounding reverse 
 without trouble. Bereft of his former faith, feehng his way 
 in the midst of darkness and doubt, he could only think. 
 
 One by one fresh pieces of information came in. The enemy 
 was not in force, and there was no need for immediate fear. 
 General Frossard, with the 2nd corps, had come to the definite 
 opinion that the German forces which had been reported at Gorze 
 did not exceed four thousand men. No news of the enemy had 
 been received by the 6th corps. And Captain Arnous- Riviere, 
 whose company of volunteer scouts had during the night 
 
THE DISASTER 157 
 
 searched the ravines in the neighbourhood of the Moselle, on 
 his part made the same report. 
 
 On the other hand, the Marshal received a letter from 
 Marshal Lebceuf, informing him that one of his divisions had 
 not yet rejoined. He also learnt that the 4th corps, far from 
 having reached Doncourt on the previous day, had hardly 
 commenced its movement. ... In the meantime the 2nd 
 corps, the 6th corps, and the Guard, were still waiting for the 
 signal to set off. Tents were folded, the horses were bridled 
 and the men were under arms since four o'clock in the morning. 
 
 * An order to be copied, gentlemen.' 
 Laune dictated in a quick voice : 
 
 * The tents can again be erected . . . the men must only go 
 to the water in bodies. . . . We shall probably leave in the 
 afternoon, when the 3rd and the 4th corps have arrived near us, 
 in short . . .' 
 
 The officers charged to carry the order rode away at a quick 
 trot in search of the commanders of the corps. Du Breuil, 
 who was now free, watched Decherac, who had been sent to 
 Verneville, disappear on his chestnut horse on the Doncourt 
 road. He felt sad ; he could not console himself for the time 
 which had been lost. . . . First of all Borny, which delayed 
 the retreat for one day ; then this senseless crowding on the 
 roads, which had frittered away two more days. . . . And these 
 contradictory reports. Which were to be believed ? An 
 obscure hope, fathered by a wish, made him preferably accept 
 the last report. The German army, on the face of it, could 
 not have thus overtaken them ; it must still be at a distance. 
 They only had reconnoitring-parties before them. 
 
 The weather, which up to that time had been foggy, cleared, 
 and a bright sun made the village golden. He took advantage 
 of his leisure to write a letter to his father. He had just taken 
 it to the post-waggon, when suddenly the cannon boomed. . . . 
 Horses were hastily saddled . . . there was a furious gallop to 
 Bazaine's house. The entire staff, grouped around the Marshal, 
 saw a body of vehicles descending the Rezonville road at a 
 giddy pace, frantically rolling along in panic. The frenzied 
 drivers were whipping their horses with all theii ^'strength. 
 They passed through a cloud of dust, uttering inarticulate 
 cries. Then bare-headed dragoons, mad with fear, riding 
 their horses bareback, appeared in sight. 
 
 The Forton division had just been surprised at the watering- 
 place, and a great battle was being fought. 
 
158 THE DISASTER 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 Behind the Marshal, whose white couvre-mique'^ floated in the 
 wind, the staff dashed at full speed in the direction of the fight. 
 Shells were commencing to rain down near Rezonville. There 
 was no doubt about it — superior forces were crushing us. A 
 sheet of iron and lead was falling upon the 2nd corps. . . . 
 
 * Francastel ! Floppe ! Decherac !' Laune's voice trans- 
 mitted the Marshal's orders, and emphasized them with brief 
 indications. Du Breuil heard : * To Marshal Leboeuf . . . 
 enter into line ... let him hurry up.' And Ladmirault ? he 
 asked himself. Doubtless, they hoped that, by reason of his 
 old experience, he would march in the direction of the cannon. 
 He again saw the General's look taking in his motionless 
 divisions, and then anxiously turning towards the Lessy hill. 
 Ah, this lost time ! If only this time it would not again be 
 like it was at Forbach ! If only they did not allow themselves 
 to be stupidly crushed ! If only assistance arrived ! 
 
 The Marshal and his staff, followed by the squadron escort, 
 ascended towards Vionville. On the left could be seen the 
 hamlet of Flavigny, which was strongly occupied by the 
 Bataille division. When on his way, Du Breuil noticed that 
 the mitrailleuses were no help at all ; they were evidently only 
 of use at short range. The firing of our cannon was also 
 inefficient, as it did not appreciably lessen the enemy's columns. 
 On the other hand, the German artillery, owing to the skill 
 with which it was grouped, and the undeniable superiority of 
 its range, was doing us enormous damage. A few battalions, 
 decimated by a terrible fire, were already giving way. 
 
 The ensemble of the ground could be seen from a hillock to 
 the left of the road. The Prussian attack upon Flavigny by 
 the woods, and upon Vionville by the plain, was clearly visible. 
 From the other side of the village could be heard the shrill 
 rattle of their little drums beating the charge. Volleys of 
 musketry crepitated. A few houses were in flames. Walls 
 fell under the explosion of shells. And at times, through the 
 smoke, while the assaulting column, routed, whirled round, 
 
 * A piece of cloth attached to the back of a helmet or hat, to protect the 
 neck from the sun. — F. L 
 
THE DISASTER 159 
 
 Du Breuil heard the joyful notes of the clarion of the Chasseurs 
 sounding forth the refrain of the battalion : 
 
 ' Ah ! Quel est done, quel est done 
 Celui qu'on aime, 
 C'est le dou . . . c'est le douzieme.' 
 
 High-spirited troops, all the same. Come! nothing was 
 lost. . . . The escort now reached Rezonville. The 2nd corps, 
 which had got over its surprise, was holding its ground. 
 Besides, was not the 6th corps and the Guard quite near ? 
 They would, without doubt, soon enter the fight. With fierce 
 joy, Du Breuil saw the Prussians crushed — swept into the 
 Moselle. They would have to pay dear for their audacity. 
 
 Just then there came a brief ' Du Breuil !' And an order 
 having been hastily given, Brutus was spurred into a gallop 
 across the fields. 
 
 * The batteries of the Guard. To the south of Gravelotte,' 
 said Laune. 
 
 And leaping over furrows, sharply turning to right and left 
 to avoid the heaped-up sheaves — the harvest, which had been 
 cut two days before, had not yet been gathered in — the fine 
 animal scampered away. Here were companies lying on the 
 ground to allow the storm of bullets to pass, the officers flat 
 upon their stomachs joking, encouraging the men with a merry 
 word ; there, deserted fields strewn with arms, knapsacks, 
 shakos ; a few wounded soldiers, some dead ones marking out 
 the passage of a troop. At a bound, Brutus grazed a very 
 young Second Lieutenant, who was stretched upon his back. 
 His twitching right hand convulsively clenched the hilt of his 
 sword. One of his legs was missing. Where was it ? The 
 poor fellow was still alive. That look ! . . . Ah, the 
 batteries ! . . . There they were spread out, facing a wood. 
 
 ' Major !' cried Du Breuil, upon arriving near a group of 
 officers. They were conversing together. Nobody moved. 
 ' Major !' he repeated violently. 
 
 An officer turned round with an irritated air. D'Avol ! 
 Recognising Du Breuil, his face softened in expression. 
 
 * Ah ! is that you, Pierre ? How dryly you speak to-day ! 
 What has your department got ?' 
 
 Du Breuil transmitted the order. For a quarter of a second, 
 he intuitively felt that he had offended his friend by the abrupt- 
 ness with which he had called out. They now galloped side 
 by side in silence. It was a slight misunderstanding which 
 
i6o THE DISASTER 
 
 separated them, but they had no time to explain matters. 
 Behind them the drivers were whipping their large dark-bay 
 horses, which swept over furrows and ditches with many a 
 bound from cannon, avant-trains, and caisson. The direction 
 they were to follow was marked out by the officers' swords 
 held on high. In the midst of an astounding, furious rush 
 and whirl, the horses and guns swooped upon a ridge. The 
 cannon were brought into action, and fire was opened. 
 
 Du Breuil thought of D'Avol's susceptibility when he had 
 returned to his post. In the meantime the Prussians were 
 capturing Vionville and threatening Flavigny. The two villages 
 commenced to break into flames. Shortly the Vionville church 
 tower oscillated, and its black spire was seen to fall into the 
 flames. 
 
 ' The devil !' exclaimed Lieutenant-Colonel Poterin to Du 
 Breuil. ' That unfortunate 2nd corps hasn't any luck.' He 
 added : 'I've just broken a finger-nail.' 
 
 He calmly took a small penknife from his pocket. Du 
 Breuil smiled. What a devil of a man he was, with his mania 
 for always trimming something ! The first time he had seen 
 Poterin, sharpening a pencil, came to his mind. How badly 
 at times one judged men ! Such minutiae under fire assumed 
 a singular character. This awkward fellow, with his bourgeois 
 courage, so simple a man, acquired a kind of grandeur. . . . 
 A regiment was disbanding. 
 
 ' The Marshal ought to advance the Guard,' muttered Du 
 Breuil. 
 
 The calm, heavy face of the Commander-in-Chief, with his 
 white couvre-nuquej could be seen in the midst of a group formed 
 by his staff. A shell burst a few yards from him. He looked 
 in the direction of the explosion, and then calmly turned his 
 head. Poterin finished trimming his finger-nail. 
 
 * The Guard is useful to the left,' he said. * It connects us 
 with Metz.' 
 
 He carefully closed the blade of his penknife, which he 
 replaced in his pocket. The galloping of Aides-de-camp 
 suddenly increased. The Prussian infantry was proceeding 
 beyond Flavigny, and the 2nd corps was about to give way. 
 General Frossard galloped up in person. Du Breuil saw him 
 exchange a few words with the Marshal, then turn round, and 
 give an order to Laisne, who set off at full speed. 
 
 Five minutes afterwards — two seconds it seemed — a regiment 
 of Lancers dashed up with slackened reins. The Unes of blue 
 
 I 
 
THE DISASTER 177 
 
 which orderlies were crowding, he saw Frisch leaning over a 
 large dog, which was crouched before the window and cease- 
 lessly howling. Its paws stretched out stiffly before it, its head 
 on one side, the Ulm dog saw Du Breuil approach, and without 
 moving again uttered its sinister howl. 
 
 ' He has been howUng at Death the whole night,' said 
 Frisch. * He is calling for his master.' 
 
 Poor Titan ! . . . In the light of a fire at night Du Breuil 
 had recognised him as he passed the baggage of the Guard 
 upon reaching Gravelotte. Immediately claimed by Frisch, 
 the dog had allowed itself to be led away. 
 
 ' He has touched nothing,' said the honest fellow, pointing 
 out a porringer of soupe, ' and since two o'clock in the morn- 
 ing he has wept after his own fashion, even when one of 
 the wounded became furious, and wanted to put a bullet in 
 him.' 
 
 Du Breuil's eyes filled with tears at the cruel recollection. 
 * Odious, stupid end !' And then his thought passed from 
 Lacoste — what had become of the body of his friend ? — to the 
 most recent occurrences. About ten o'clock at night, having 
 found the Commander-in-Chief near the post-house, he had 
 silently returned to Gravelotte in his proper position with the 
 staff. The road was covered with infantry, soldiers who had 
 left their regiments to find shelter in the village. Upon seeing 
 them the Marshal had let fall some bitter reflections. How- 
 ever, hope and joy were stamped on their faces. Orders were 
 impatiently awaited. . . . Everyone was rejoicing at the 
 victory, and thought of completing it on the following day. 
 
 ' x\t dawn,' Restaud was saying, * the movement will be 
 resumed, in order to complete the enemy's rout. . . .' 
 
 Bazaine, upon entering the inn whence the Emperor had set 
 off in the morning, had summoned to him the Chief Commissary 
 of Stores, and ordered him to immediately proceed to Metz 
 with part of his staff to obtain there a convoy of provisions. 
 He was to bring it at the break of day. 
 
 ' Little good it was disbanding on the previous day !' mur- 
 mured Floppe. 
 
 Finally, about eleven o'clock, Jarras, who had once been 
 shown to the door, was summoned before the Marshal. 
 
 Du Breuil had a fit of rage at the thought of the orders 
 which he was then obliged to copy. . . . He again saw the 
 stupor which was upon every face, and the sorrow which shone 
 forth from indignant eyes. 
 
 12 
 
178 THE DISASTER 
 
 ' . . . Lack of provisions and ammunition compels us to fall 
 back upon Metz.' 
 
 His short sleep, his feverish repose during the night, had 
 only exasperated the feeling of revolt which had taken posses- 
 sion of him at the minute when, bent over the table, he wrote, 
 and trembled as he did so, the shameful lines. . . . By force 
 of discipline and will-power he m^astered himself, but his heart 
 and his reason protested. So much heroism useless, so much 
 blood lost ! And tired — exceedingly tired — he again passed 
 over in his mind the reflections which Restaud, Decherac, and 
 himself had exchanged once they were outside, whilst through 
 the icy night, under the cold twinkle of the pure stars, comrades 
 went to carry the incomprehensible news to the sleeping and 
 confident army. 
 
 ' The finishing of the ammunition,' said Decherac, * was not 
 serious. The general and corps reserves were there. ... At 
 daybreak they could draw upon them, on the very spot, two and 
 a half miles behind, or on the Plappeville plateau.' 
 
 * But it was the great Manitou of the artillery, Soleille him- 
 self,' objected Restaud, ' who warned the Marshal.' 
 
 * He's dreaming,' murmured Decherac. ' The fall he had 
 from his horse this afternoon has ended by turning his head. 
 Besides, since provisions were recently obtained from Metz, 
 why didn't they send for shells and cartridges, if they were in 
 need of them ?' 
 
 ' That is what has been done,' said Restaud. 
 
 Decherac continued : 
 
 ' That's not the question at issue. In reality, we have 
 ammunition for three battles. It is sufficient to fight one of 
 them — one only. And, victorious, to-morrow we reach Verdun, 
 where we can take in a fresh stock of provisions. But there ! 
 Bazaine has never wanted to reach Verdun. . . .' 
 
 Was this possible ? Du Breuil remembered the Marshal's 
 hesitations since he took the command. He had only re- 
 luctantly decided upon retreat, forced as he was to do so by 
 the Emperor. And since that time he had only taken half- 
 measures, allowing events to regulate his conduct . . . the 
 slowness of the retreat, the indecision after Borny, the suspen- 
 sion of the morning movement, the surprise two hours after- 
 wards, and, during the whole of the fight, that constant pre- 
 occupation for his left. . . . 
 
 ' Was not his first step, after getting rid of the Emperor,' 
 Decherac had added, * to interrupt the march ? He was his 
 
THE DISASTER 179 
 
 master,' sighed Decherac. ' Metz is a solid base for operations. 
 Under shelter of an intrenched camp, and with an army like 
 ours, what cannot a skilful General do ? . . . Ah, gentlemen, 
 perhaps this resolution which dismays us is that of a politician. 
 . . . There we are under Metz for ever !' 
 
 Was Decherac speaking seriously ? With that sceptical 
 smile of his, one never knew. 
 
 * Let us suppose that the Mars-la-Tour road is blocked,' 
 Restaud had observed. ' The Conflans road and that of Briey 
 will remain open. . . . We can still make a way.' 
 
 ' In the meantime the German army,' replied Decherac, 'is 
 narrowing the circle by forced marches, and we are going to 
 instal ourselves with His Excellency under the walls of the 
 Place.' 
 
 ' Is it our role to discuss ?' asked Restaud. ' Can we know 
 the thought which dictated the order which we are obeying ? 
 Without doubt the Marshal has good reasons for falling back 
 under the protection of the forts. Who knows that he wouldn't 
 prefer to harass and conquer the enemy ?' 
 
 ' No, no !' Du Breuil had then cried. ' Since we have fought 
 two battles to reach Verdun, since so many brave men are 
 dead, at least the sacrifice should not be offered in vain. 
 Victory is ours, the discount which has been paid being in 
 blood. To fall back under these conditions is the act of a fool, 
 because it is giving up gained ground ; or it is the act of a 
 coward, who throws down his rifle under the pretext of going 
 to fetch cartridges. ... It is no longer a question of recoil- 
 ing, of hesitations, and of a new plan of campaign. ... It is 
 a question of doing his duty like a man, and of pushing forward 
 to the bitter end ! Since morning I have seen not a few of the 
 soldiers. . . . They fought bravely, and only ask to recom- 
 mence. I'll swear there is not a soldier or an officer who 
 to-morrow, when the order is read, will not utter a cry of 
 sorrow and astonishment. . . . Ammunition ! Provisions ! 
 We lack them in the middle of France, eleven kilometres 
 from our revictualling centre ? Well ? And the Germans — 
 how is it that they are twenty leagues from their centre ?' 
 
 These arguments crowded to Du Breuil's mind, only they 
 were still clearer and more striking. However, he preferred 
 Restaud's resignation to Decherac's somewhat disconnected 
 irony, feeling that there was hope in the simpHcity of such a 
 renunciation. 
 
 The daylight increased. Du Breuil was present at the 
 
 12 — 2 
 
i8o THE DISASTER 
 
 preparations for the departure with death in his soul. The 
 waggons were yoked. Frisch, with Titan in leash, and drag- 
 ging the Mecklenburg horse after him, passed, saying to the 
 latter : ' Geeho, William !' Followed by its interminable 
 special convoy, the chief headquarters set off, with the excep- 
 tion of five officers, who were sent by General Jarras to the 
 commanders of the corps to inform them of the direction they 
 were to follow. Du Breuil was ordered to proceed to General 
 Frossard. The whole army commenced its retreat, and again, 
 in the midst of an indescribable confusion of regimental 
 baggage waggons, ammunition caissons, transport waggons 
 for the wounded, administration vehicles, artillery, and troops, 
 the immense river flowed back by the only road which was free, 
 its troubled and tumultuous current formed of a series of little 
 compressed waves rolling in the opposite direction to that 
 which it had formerly taken. 
 
 Du Breuil and Laisne proceeded side by side. 
 
 'Fortunately, they allow us to retreat in peace!' growled 
 Frossard's Aide-de-camp, as they entered the defile of the 
 Mance. ' A few sharpshooters in the woods, a division of 
 cavalry and cannon, and we should be destroyed, swept 
 away. . . .' 
 
 ' It is evident they are not in a position to follow us,' raged 
 Du Breuil. His bitterness was doubled by this remark. ' Or 
 else they can hardly believe their eyes,' he continued, ' suppos- 
 ing our action is a feint. ' Well, my dear fellow, to confess 
 ourselves beaten when we are the conquerors !' 
 
 'Who is the rear-guard?' asked Laisne, sadly shaking his 
 head. 
 
 ' The Metman division, which was not able to rejoin the 
 main body yesterday. . . .' 
 
 * It can't be enjoying itself? Hallo !' he exclaimed, turning 
 round. ' What is that smoke ?' 
 
 Some soldiers were crying out with wild gestures. Du 
 Breuil saw black wreaths of smoke on the left behind him. 
 
 ' I'll go and see,' he said. 
 
 Cydalise, who had rested, galloped forward with little 
 bounds. Some flights of crows flew near the ground with 
 joyous caws. In a few minutes he reached Gravelotte. At 
 the entrance to the village some train soldiers were throwing 
 biscuit-boxes and provisions, camp effects, linen, and boots 
 pele-mele into an immense bonfire.' 
 
 ' Who ordered all that to be burnt ?' he inquired, stupefied, 
 
THE DISASTER i8i 
 
 from a stout official of the commissariat, who, dismayed, was 
 mopping his forehead. 
 
 ' The Commander-in-Chief, sir. Vehicles were needed for 
 the transport of the wounded, so yesterday we unloaded a large 
 number of them.' 
 
 An artilleryman, who was in the act of piling sacks of coffee 
 on a caisson, chuckled : ' That was a queer idea ! . . . Instead 
 of using the empty vehicles. . . .' Some soldiers of the line 
 tookpossessionof some blankets and trousers as they passed. . . . 
 A platoon of light infantry pounced upon a pile of boots, and 
 set off with new godillots suspended from their rifles. Large 
 flames leapt up in the midst of dense smoke. Suddenly a 
 bouquet of rockets exploded. Sacks of salt, thrown into the 
 fire by hundreds, crackled and melted. Brown sheets of 
 melted sugar blackened the earth, side by side with dried 
 vegetables, which exploded before being carbonized. An acrid 
 smell of caramel, shrivelled and twisted leather, and singed 
 cloth, went to one's throat. Preserved meats sent forth an 
 odour of roasted flesh. 
 
 'It appears that provisions are lacking!' said a roguish 
 hussar, winking at the artilleryman, who was getting ready to 
 set off with his loaded carriage. 
 
 ' Yes, appears.' He cracked his whip. ' But Vv'ounded 
 men are never lacking, old fellow. Remember that !' 
 
 Long-drawn-out complaints, appeals, and cries came from 
 the village houses, where a large number of unfortunate 
 wounded men were lying, abandoned ; and these cries mingled 
 into a single groan, very soft and very low. . . . Du Breuil 
 then remembered another similar moan which he had heard on 
 that evening at Borny. Thinking of the dead, of all those 
 dead men who were asleep, confident, with a dream of victory 
 in their dilated pupils, he spurred on his horse, in an impulse of 
 rage and horror, far from the fatal plateau. 
 
 It was a mournful road, by the side of the silent Laisne. 
 As soon as the defile was passed, the 2nd corps took 
 their positions again on the ridge which stretched as far as 
 Rozerieulles. 
 
 ' A magnificent position,' said Laisne. * Go in peace ! We 
 shall fortify that.' 
 
 Du Breuil moved away along this same Roman road over 
 which he had passed with Jubault two days previously. Slowly, 
 in the splendid azure, the circle of the horizon got bigger and 
 bigger. The vast landscape stretched out bathed in sunlight ; 
 
i82 THE DISASTER 
 
 the blue rivers wound in and out among the fields. White 
 Metz appeared with its flock of houses and the tall mass of the 
 cathedral. . . . The Lorraine town, happy, still smiled, en- 
 veloped in her golden haze. 
 
 Du Breuil rejoined the headquarters at Plappeville. He 
 found there the comfortably installed staff at the doors of a 
 pretty house reserved for the Marshal, and the roof of which 
 could be seen between the trees. One by one his comrades 
 returned and reported themselves. The 3rd corps, which was 
 to the right of the 2nd, was firmly establishing itself on the 
 plateau before Chatel-Saint-Germain, the Moscou, Leipsig, 
 and La Folie farms serving as a basis. They were commencing 
 to move the earth and provide the walls with loopholes. The 
 guard was bivouacking at Lessy, quite near, between the 
 Plappeville and Saint-Quentin forts. Its cavalry division and 
 the divisions of General de Forton and General de Valabregue 
 were crowded in the Chatel ravine at Longeau. ' Like that, if 
 our centaurs cannot charge,' Floppe remarked, ' they are at 
 least protected from all surprise.' There was no news of the 
 4th corps. Decherac arrived with news of the 6th. Marshal 
 Canrobert was at Verneville ; but he found he was in a com- 
 promised position there, being surrounded by woods. He 
 asked that his position be rectified. Deprived of several 
 regiments since the opening of the campaign because of going 
 backwards and forwards between Chalons and Metz, the 6th 
 corps was, in fact, the weakest of all, possessing neither cavalry, 
 nor mitrailleuses, nor artillery reserves, nor engineers. 
 
 One hour afterwards Massoli, whose hair was turning from 
 black to gray because of a need of dye of recent days, hoisted 
 himself on horseback, moaning all the time, to take to Marshal 
 Canrobert the authorization to estabhsh himself at Saint- 
 Privat, with the order to connect himself with the right of 
 General Ladmirault, who was occupying Amanvillers, him- 
 self prolonging the line of the 3rd corps. 
 
 At that moment one of the officers who were on the look-out 
 from the tower of the cathedral came with the warning that 
 strong columns of the enemy had been passing for several 
 hours over the various bridges of the Moselle, and were moving 
 towards Rezonville by way of Ars and Noveant. Similar 
 information had already been received from Saint-Quentin. 
 Numbers of peasants also came running up, announcing that 
 innumerable troops were on the march. . . . Du Breuil was 
 astonished that the commanders of the corps were not warned. 
 
THE DISASTER 183 
 
 that no step was taken in view of the attack w^hich was only too 
 certain. . . . 
 
 ' Why doesn't the Marshal visit the troops in their posi- 
 tions ?' he exclaimed. 
 
 ' The last few days have been hard ones. Doubtless he is 
 asleep,' said Decherac, with a smile. 
 
 ' Yes, sleeping soundly,' murmured Du Breuil bitterly. 
 Suddenly he cried : 
 ' Frisch ! saddle William.' 
 
 He was sent to the headquarters of the artillery to inquire 
 if the revictualling of the corps was progressing. He was 
 struck when on the way by the animation of a crowd of officers. 
 A hubbub of voices and laughter arose from the group. They 
 w^ere about to sell the effects of dead officers. A commissariat 
 assistant, with an indifferent air, was carrying out the duties of 
 auctioneer, standing in the midst of objects of all kinds spread 
 out on the grass. The auction commenced : ' A flannel shirt ; 
 six pairs of stockings ; a small silver tinder-box ; the complete 
 poems of Alfred de Musset ; a waterproof.' The bids were at 
 first uttered in a sad voice, which little by little gave place to a 
 jesting tone, interjected by witticisms and pleasantries. ' Tw^o 
 scent-bottles from Guerlain's,' said the expressionless voice. 
 Du Breuil thought of Langlade, the little perfumed Second 
 Lieutenant. ' A pound of Marquis chocolate. . . .' 'Marquis, 
 now's your chance!' they cried in a group of Light Infantry 
 of the Guard. Bids were made. ' A field-glass — a good field- 
 glass . . . five, ten, fifteen, seventeen francs. . . . Stendahl's 
 " La Chartreuse de Parme "... tw^enty-five centimes. . . . 
 A dozen pairs of gloves ; two pairs of cloth drawers. . . .' 
 
 The monotonous voice continued to tell its sinister chaplet. 
 Was it disrespect ? No, only thoughtlessness, a natural neces- 
 sity for reaction in the case of most of the buyers, characteristic 
 French bravery and levity. . . . Du Breuil was already far 
 off now, his eyes filled with tears. 
 
 News of Ladmirault was received about four o'clock. The 
 4th corps had as yet been unable to completely establish itself 
 in its positions. Massoli finally turned up at nightfall, red, 
 covered with perspiration, and dog-tired. The 6th corps had 
 hardly reached Saint-Privat, and because of the late hour could 
 not think of fortifying itself by temporary works. Marshal 
 Canrobert also declared that he had not been able to again 
 supply himself with artillery ammunition, namely, cartridges 
 and cannon cartridges. 
 
i84 THE DISASTER 
 
 Peasants still continued to flow in, unanimously confirming 
 the news of the increasing gathering of the enemy. 
 
 * The fight will be to-morrow,' said Restaud in the evening, 
 as they were taking a moment's fresh air in groups, walking 
 backwards and forwards. 
 
 'What is the Marshal thinking about,' asked Francastel, 
 ' placing the 6th corps at the left wing ? The flanks of a line 
 ought to be specially protected by natural or artificial obstacles, 
 and, when those are lacking, by strong masses of artillery ; but 
 the 6th corps is deprived of everything.' 
 
 Incapable of reasoning on his own account, he repeated in a 
 decided tone of voice these phrases, which he had overheard by 
 chance before dinner from the lips of Laune and Charlys. 
 
 Floppe hinted bitterly : 
 
 ' Mind your own business, Francastel. The Marshal has 
 made his plans. He is a shrewd man. Lebceuf is in the 
 treacle, Frossard is depressed, and there is only Canrobert who 
 can give him umbrage. Then ' 
 
 But Francastel was indignant, and waved his long arms. 
 
 ' What is certain,' said Massoli, ' is that the 6th corps holds 
 the Briey road, the only one which remains for us if we wish 
 to reach Verdun. . . .' 
 
 ' Reach Verdun ! ' cried Floppe. * You're behind time, old chap.' 
 
 * I beg your pardon,' said Massoh ; * I have just learnt that 
 the Marshal's Aide-de-camp, Major Magnan, has to leave 
 to-night to inform the Emperor of yesterday's success, and to 
 confirm the march towards the north-west. De Preval, the 
 commissary, accompanies him, charged with the mission to get 
 as many provisions as possible to Montmedy.' 
 
 ' Naive man !' jeered Floppe. ' Magnan is simply going to 
 ask the Emperor to replace Frossard and Jarras ; and the 
 proof that we shall remain at Metz is that His Excellency has 
 informed all the chiefs of the staffs of the army corps that they 
 will have to be before the Chatel church at ten o'clock to- 
 morrow morning. Colonel Charlys will be there. Gentlemen, 
 salute.' The officers smiled. Charlys was daily gaining the 
 favour which General Jarras lost with the Marshal. ' Colonel 
 Charlys will take the chiefs of the staffs to reconnoitre the 
 positions which we shall occupy to-morrow in the rear under 
 the cannon of the forts. . . .' 
 
 Ten o'clock struck. 
 
 * It is time to sleep,' exclaimed Laune, * as much as you can 
 get. . . .' 
 
THE DISASTER 185 
 
 Sleep ! Du Breuil, though he was over-fatigued, did not feel 
 his fatigue in the state of nervous excitement in which he had 
 been living for the past four days. . . . For a long time he 
 tossed about in his warm feather bed, tormented by fixed ideas, 
 haunted by brief visions. He passed from one thought to 
 another — Bersheim's little lantern at Borny, D'Avol, Baron 
 Hacks, Vedel, Lacoste. . . . They were retreating. Why ? 
 He was no longer astonished at anything ; he was tossed about 
 like a cork on the top of the waves, in the midst of the tumul- 
 tuous surf of events. Everything turned to trouble. . . . He 
 became drowsy. 
 
 The chirping of birds awoke him on the following day. It 
 was broad daylight. Fresh notes issued joyously from their 
 little sonorous windpipes ; the foliage of the branches moved 
 against the sky. He had a desire to close his eyes again, and 
 to stretch out once more his tired limbs, but sleep had fled. 
 Out of bed ! It was necessary to live, to act, to get rid of the 
 obsession of sorrowful thoughts and bitter reflections. But 
 immediately the nightmare of preceding days again took posses- 
 sion of him. He again entered body and soul into the whirl- 
 pool of details of which these short, never-to-be-forgotten hours 
 were to him composed. 
 
 The morning passed quickly. Every minute information 
 poured into the chief headquarters from the commanders of the 
 2nd, the 3rd, and the 6th corps. Orderly ofhcers came dashing 
 up, bearing threatening news ; then, introduced into the pre- 
 sence of the Marshal, they came out again, after the lapse of a 
 few moments, with a surprised look on their faces. 
 
 The Montaudon division of the 3rd corps was under arms 
 from ten o'clock. Important movements of troops could be 
 distinctly seen on the side of the enemy, which was passing in 
 the distance before the 2nd corps, and massing itself in front of 
 the 3rd in the Genivaux woods. Other columns, continuing 
 their march, directed themselves on our right towards the 4th 
 corps. Everybody anxiously awaited orders. Francastel gave 
 vent to his indignation when in conversation with Floppe. 
 Decherac's smile was nothing more than a nervous habit. 
 Restaud himself was deep in thought. 
 
 At ten o'clock, however, an Aide-de-camp of the Marshal's 
 special staff" jumped into the saddle. When questioned by his 
 comrades of the general staff, he stated that he was only going 
 to communicate news to General Bourbaki, and to give him a 
 free hand on behalf of the Marshal. 
 
i86 THE DISASTER 
 
 Laune and Charlys exchanged a look. Du Breuil, surprised 
 like themselves, could not help saying to Decherac : 
 
 * A good method of placing a troublesome responsibility on 
 the shoulders of a neighbour ! How do they expect Bourbaki, 
 who is in the rear, to act — he who sees nothing, and w^ho can- 
 not inform himself of anything ?' 
 
 General Jarras in turn came out of the Marshal's house. 
 They then learnt that no advice had troubled the calmness of 
 the Commander-in-Chief. He contented himself by replying 
 to Marshal Leboeuf : 
 
 ' You occupy a very strong position. It is for you to hold it.' 
 
 He seemed persuaded that the army, thanks to its defensive 
 position, was prepared to resist all attack, and, besides, he did 
 not think that this attack would be serious. ... As to the 
 w^eakness of the 6th corps, he troubled himself little with that. 
 His confidence could not be shaken. 
 
 However, emissaries followed each other in succession. It 
 was finally learnt about noon that the action had just started 
 by a violent cannonade opened on the 4th corps, and that 
 from one end to the other of the line of battle the German 
 artillery was belching forth with a fracas which announced that 
 the struggle was of the warmest character. It was only at 
 intervals, and even then very indistinctly, that the distant 
 booming was heard, but, judging from the emotion of the 
 Aides-de-camp who arrived from all parts with slackened 
 bridle, there was no question about it — the decisive battle was 
 being fought to-day. This very remoteness from the battle, 
 this indistinct uproar, interjected by long periods of silence, 
 this ignorance in the midst of which they were losing their 
 time, made everybody enervated to the highest degree. 
 
 Orderlies were walking the saddled horses up and down by 
 the bridle. 
 
 ' Well, we don't start !' exclaimed an angry voice from time 
 to time. 
 
 The complete staff was awaiting the return of the General, 
 who was at the Marshal's disposal. All eyes were turned 
 towards the closed door of the calm-looking little house, with 
 its blue slate roof among the trees. Nothing moved. The 
 horses pawed the ground. Laune was mechanically sticking 
 the scabbard of his sabre into the earth. 
 
 At last the General appeared. 
 
 *You can unsaddle, gentlemen,' he said, in an ill-resigned 
 tone of voice. 
 
THE DISASTER 187 
 
 Eh ? what ? Unsaddle ? The General is mad ! . . . All 
 faces were turned towards him with an air of stupefaction and 
 an incredulous wrinkling of the brows. . . . He had to repeat 
 the order. The Commander-in-Chief considered that the affair 
 could not be serious. It was not worth while troubling them- 
 selves. Office work was to be recommenced as soon as 
 possible. They were to occupy themselves with the promo- 
 tion-table, ' so impatiently awaited by the army.' 
 
 The promotion-table ! Du Breuil with difficulty suppressed 
 his sneers. ... It was indeed a question of the promotion- 
 table at this hour, when Death was mowing men down so 
 near them. He was undertaking to draw it up for them in 
 red ink ! 
 
 As the horses were moving away, a Captain of dragoons rode 
 up, stopped suddenly before the Marshal's house, and threw 
 his bridle to an orderly. The man was engaged in conversa- 
 tion. He belonged to the 6th corps. 
 
 ' It's getting very warm at Saint-Privat. ... At that rate, 
 ammunition will soon run out.' 
 
 In the common room were bundles of papers upon folding- 
 tables, and the scratching of pens could be heard. ... It was 
 stifling inside. The flies, maddened by the heat, were really 
 insupportable. . . . The sound of galloping horses came in 
 through the open window^s. . . . Every head was raised. . . . 
 There was a questioning look in every eye. The same expres- 
 sion of anguish and expectancy stiffened their faces. . . . 
 Nothing, still nothing ! . . . And papers accumulated, pens 
 scratched. 
 
 At two o'clock they had a quickly passing hope ; the Marshal 
 had just mounted on horseback. They were all preparing to 
 follow him, when General J arras was informed that he had to 
 see that work was continued. The Marshal had no need 
 of his staff. Five officers only were to rejoin him at Fort 
 Saint-Quentin. Du Breuil was among the num.ber, and con- 
 sequently was momentarily filled with joy. This inaction, this 
 drudgery of writing, which was using up thirty young officers, 
 boiling over with rage, while a few kilometres away their 
 services were badly needed, was enough to drive one mad. 
 
 These five chosen ones were moving away when an artillery 
 Captain, the flanks of whose horse were flecked with foam and 
 blood, met them. Quite out of breath, he asked for informa- 
 tion about the position of the reserve park of artillery. Ques- 
 tioned by Du Breuil, he spoke out : 
 
i88 THE DISASTER 
 
 ' Canrobert has no more ammunition. . . . Things are going 
 badly. He asks for an infantry division. At first Bazaine 
 had agreed to let him have it. . . . But he has received a 
 letter from I don't know what General announcing that, on 
 the other hand, all is going well. . . . He then shrugged his 
 shoulders, saying to me, " You see !" ' 
 
 Headed by Laune and two Majors, Du Breuil somewhat in 
 the rear with Francastel, the five of^cers scaled at a gallop the 
 steep rocky slope of Saint-Quentin. It was a question whether 
 the Marshal was still there. 
 
 ' He must have reached the battle-field,' said Du Breuil to 
 himself. 
 
 Upon reaching the plateau, what was his astonishment to see 
 the Commander-in-Chief, dismounted from his horse, with his 
 back turned towards the horizon in flames, and himself pointing 
 three twelve-pounders against a few Prussian battalions which 
 were stationed on the heights on the Ars side. This strange 
 spectacle surprised even Francastel. Laune could not stand 
 it any longer. Pointing out to the Marshal, who was turned 
 towards the south, the north-west direction, he remarked to 
 him the intensity of the fire. Smoke rose above the woods, 
 in the direction of Amanvillers and Saint-Privat. It was easy 
 to understand that the enemy was bearing down upon our 
 right, in order to drive us into the valley, and, by intercepting 
 the Briey road, stop up our last outlet. But the Marshal con- 
 tented himself by saying : 
 
 ' They hold good positions; let them defend them.' Upon 
 seeing Laune's look of astonishment, he added : ' Besides, I am 
 going to send two reserve batteries to the Briey road outlet to 
 guard it, if necessary.' 
 
 Aides-de-camp suddenly appeared in search of him. They 
 spurred on their horses to the very feet of the stout man, 
 who watched their approach with indifference, delivered their 
 despatches, saluted, and set off again. The five officers walked 
 about, stupid, struggling hard to understand their chief's thought. 
 What were they doing there ? Sometimes the noise of the 
 cannonade almost completely ceased. They anxiously listened, 
 and scrutinized the horizon. The Marshal concentrated his 
 attention, however, on the little diversions which the enemy 
 attempted before Ars, upon which side there was no danger. 
 The cannon of the Place and the fort were sufficient to stop 
 any serious attack. 
 
 * Always his fear of being cut off from Metz,' thought Du 
 
THE DISASTER 189 
 
 Breuil. ' To think that time is passing, and that we are 
 musing here, that the destiny of the army, perhaps that of 
 France, is in the balance at this moment !' 
 
 The tall figure of Colonel Charlys suddenly arose near them. 
 He had just concluded his reconnaissance of a line of positions 
 in the rear. He reported on it to the Marshal. Du Breuil 
 then recalled the last words of Floppe. . . . He attached no 
 importance to them. ... If the Marshal was still thinking of 
 falling back, would he thus leave thousands of men to be 
 massacred? . . . But one of their companions of the chief 
 headquarters arrived. Sent to General Frossard, he had 
 voluntarily pushed forward to the 3rd corps, and brought 
 back news of it. Marshal Leboeuf had just withstood a very 
 vigorous attack, and asked for reinforcements. 'Just now,' 
 he added, ' I met the Light Infantry of the Guard on the 
 Lessy hill with General Boisjol, who will be only too glad to 
 march.' The cannon was no longer heard. Smoke alone arose 
 in the north-west. After one hour, when the Marshal was 
 remounting his horse, the roar of the struggle again broke 
 forth. He did not appear to trouble himself about it, but 
 descended the steep slope at a walk, and crossed the bivouacs 
 of the general reserve of the artillery. The shining guns were 
 arranged in rows in the artillery park. The horses were not 
 even harnessed. The five officers followed him with bowed 
 heads, and in silence. Further on were the reserve batteries 
 of the Guard, which were also unyoked. A distant rumbling 
 was heard. What was Bazaine thinking about to allow these 
 hundred and twenty guns of big caUbre to remain there silent, 
 when the 6th corps w^as without artillery, when the German 
 cannon was everywhere crushing ours ? And Du Breuil felt a 
 desire to shout at him, at this stout, blind, and deaf man, whose 
 bowed back and thick neck with its gold embroidery he saw : 
 * But they are fighting ! they fight ! Go and see !' 
 
 The path again rose, and this time issued on to the Plappeville 
 plateau. At this distance, greater still from the battle-field, 
 no noise could be heard. But some officers of the 6th corps 
 passed at a gallop with some caissons, which they were going 
 to refill at the large park. Others came galloping up from 
 General Bourbaki, who asked for the whole of his reserve. 
 The extraordinary calm of the Marshal ended by his suite 
 being impressed. 
 
 ' Restaud is perhaps right,' thought Du Breuil. ' Perhaps 
 he has special information which puts him at his ease. . . . 
 
igo THE DISASTER 
 
 It is with a full knowledge of the state of affairs that he places 
 the matter in the hands of his lieutenants. . . . He might be 
 the most incapable of men, and give an account of himself; 
 but in that case he would be acting, trying to impose upon 
 them. He might be worst still, the most cunning of . . . 
 No, no ; those thoughts were good enough for Floppe ! A 
 Commander-in-Chief could not disinterest himself at this point 
 of the battle, if he really thought that the lot of his troops was 
 compromised by it. The Marshal's long and glorious past, 
 his legendary coolness, and his reputation for being a skilful 
 General, forbade all suspicion. Appearances certainly con- 
 demned him. . . . But ought one to pay much attention to 
 appearances ?' Du Breuil also recollected that personal bravery 
 which he had more than once admired. If Bazaine acted in 
 this manner it was because he had a reason for doing so. 
 Doubtless there was a reason why he should not be on the 
 very scene of the fight. 
 
 Suddenly, as they reached one of the dominating points of 
 the plateau, whence could be seen the Briey road, the Marshal 
 stopped. Laune and Du Breuil were behind him. Civil 
 carriages, train equipages, horsemen of the escort, were 
 fleeing pele-mele in the direction of Metz. A yellowish cloud 
 whirled into the air. Was it a disbanded convoy or routed 
 artillery ? It was not known. The dust prevented one from 
 distinguishing the forms which passed in this appalling panic. 
 The Marshal murmured : 
 
 ' What can be done with such troops ?' 
 
 The two officers quivered. They had seen these troops put 
 to the test, and they did not merit this reproach. Du Breuil 
 felt hurt, and tried to catch Laune's eye, but the Colonel was 
 turning away his head. 
 
 The two reserve batteries arrived. The Marshal decided 
 upon the position they w^ere to occupy, and, as though he had 
 foreseen everything and repaired everything, set off again with 
 the same impassibility. 
 
 On their way, near Plappeville, they met some officers of 
 Bourbaki's staft. The Marshal questioned them. They were 
 going to rejoin their chief. 
 
 ' Useless!' said Bazaine. ' Everything is going well. The 
 day may be concluded to be at an end. The Guard is going 
 to return.' 
 
 A few minutes later the Marshal reached Plappeville, and 
 thanked the officers. Du Breuil watched the large door of the 
 
THE DISASTER 191 
 
 house open. Orderlies rushed forward. The Marshal had 
 already disappeared. The door silently closed. One could 
 only see the quiet street, a roof shining among the foliage, 
 heavy masses of verdure under the blue sky. 
 
 When he entered the common room, Du Breuil was so 
 assailed by questions that he did not know to whom to listen. 
 Those staff officers who had been shut up for hours, who had 
 never stirred from their work, ill disguised their rancour. 
 Half mad with impatience and curiosity, they spoke all at 
 once. 
 
 ' What is happening ? What ! the Marshal did not send 
 anyone to the field of action ? Then, things were not serious ? 
 The enemy was repulsed ?' 
 
 The majority received this news with satisfaction. The 
 moment the Marshal returned, and the Guard was going to 
 return, it showed we had victoriously resisted every attack. 
 Besides, here they had heard almost nothing. . . . Floppe 
 alone asked, with a malicious smile : 
 
 ' And up there at Saint-Quentin ?' 
 
 Upon hearing Francastel's affirmation that he had distinctly 
 heard the noise of a cannonade, but that the Marshal had not 
 seemed to notice it, Floppe's smile was accentuated. 
 
 ' There is no one so deaf as he who ' he commenced. 
 
 A look from Laune cut short the end of the proverb. 
 
 The perfidious insinuation refuted the secret preoccupations 
 which for the past two days had not ceased to harass Du 
 Breuil. No ! Bazaine could not really be thinking of falling back 
 under Metz ! No ! Bazaine could not allow Canrobert after 
 Frossard to be crushed with a joyous heart ! . . . Could 
 a glorious soldier, in whom the Sovereign and the country had 
 placed their hope, a Marshal of France, be accessible in this 
 solemn hour to such miserable calculations, to such suspicious 
 and shameful thoughts ? . . . Besides, how could one suppose 
 an intelligent man to be capable of such a want of comprehen- 
 sion of his interests, of so deep and sudden an ineptitude ? 
 The Marshal's conduct since the morning could only be 
 dictated by the absolute conviction, the certainty, that the 
 army was running no risk. 
 
 Evening was falling. For some time the cannon had been 
 silent. No news arrived, but everyone, having become calm 
 again, was confidently waiting. About seven o'clock Du 
 Breuil thought he could hear a low rumbling. Floppe pricked 
 up his ears. 
 
192 THE DISASTER 
 
 * Ah !' he exclaimed, ' it is recommencing.' 
 
 This state of doubt was odious. Du Breuil felt that he 
 could restrain himself no longer. To obtain permission from 
 General Jarras to go in search of news, and to saddle his horse, 
 was the work of a moment. 
 
 He now passed over the road, but in an opposite direction, 
 which had led him back to the chief headquarters two hours 
 before. He galloped madly. A cool wind blew in his face. 
 The Mecklenburg horse — decidedly a fine animal — ^joyously 
 mounted the hill. Du Breuil felt it tightly gripping the bit, 
 felt the solid contact of his boots on its flanks. Once more he 
 saw himself riding side by side with Lacoste, and the two 
 horses fraternizing. A little of the enthusiasm which had 
 transported him then took possession of him. The noise of 
 the cannonade increased in volume. He shot between two 
 woods. 
 
 ' I shall get there quicker by making for Chatel,' he said to 
 himself. 
 
 The day died. Large reddish clouds rose on the left. Near 
 Gros-Chene he passed the division of Grenadiers and Zouaves 
 of the Guard. These crack battalions were waiting, motionless, 
 their arms at rest. He skirted interminable files of silent 
 men. Companies followed one after the other, their red and 
 blue masses giving an impression of calm, composure, and 
 force. The manly, sunburnt faces, with their stout moustaches, 
 all resembled each other. Du Breuil carried away an impres- 
 sion of admirable troops trembUng with expectation. 
 
 He still galloped on, little by little intoxicated by his own 
 movement, and the imperious desire to see and to know the 
 increasing uproar of the struggle. The path wound through 
 the wood. Frenzied Aides-de-camp passed, shouting unin- 
 telligible phrases. But their faces spoke, and he spurred on 
 his horse. The wood became bright. At the edge he could 
 take in the vast plateau at a glance. The church-tower of a 
 village on his left was blazing. That was Amanvillers. Large 
 gleams and thick smoke rose ahead of him at Saint-Privat. 
 The violence of the cannonade was extreme. The musketry 
 was crackling furiously. 
 
 There was no doubt about it — the hour was decisive, the 
 battle was at its height. Du Breuil felt his heart throb. 
 What was to be done ? Return whence he came, and 
 warn . . . But a distant uproar murmured ahead. He 
 thought he could hear sublime notes from drums and trumpets 
 
THE DISASTER 193 
 
 sounding to the charge. . . . Come ! it was news of victory 
 which he would carry back. Forward ! . . . He passed some 
 batteries on a hillock, which were spitting forth hell fire. 
 
 The plain was obscured by a blue smoke. One could only 
 see red flashes and whistUng, black flights of shells. Bullets 
 rained down. He went back to the edge of the wood, and 
 proceeded straight in the 'direction of the sound of the charge. 
 ' They say that blowing the trumpets puts one out of breath !' 
 In proportion as he approached, Du Breuil was astonished not 
 to hear the mad cries of the assault, the rushing forward of 
 battalions. When he reached the Briey main road he stopped, 
 mute with astonishment. Twenty drummers and trumpeters 
 were beating and blowing desperately there, while the sinister 
 stream of routed soldiers swept the road. . . . 
 
 * Is it the Guard which is arriving ?' cried to him the officer 
 who had ordered the men to sound the charge. 
 
 Du Breuil made a sign in the negative. 
 
 ' We have been thus for the past hour to make believe that 
 reinforcements were coming. . . . Bazaine wishes, then, that 
 we shall be killed here.' 
 
 The Saint-Privat church and houses in flames cast their 
 tragic brightness athwart the ruddy haze of night. The fracas 
 of the shells and the intensity of the fusillade caused a con- 
 tinued rumbling. Bands of dismayed soldiers fled along the 
 road pele-mele, with the whole of the vehicles of the rear. Ah ! 
 this lugubrious stream of ambulances, waggons, canteen- 
 carriages, and frightened peasants with carts full of mean 
 furniture. . . . Du Breuil dashed against the current, and 
 stopped the soldiers of the line, who were without rifles. 
 
 * What are you doing there ?' he cried. 
 
 And voices replied : * We are seeking our regiment.' 
 Others were marching without uttering a word. Some, who 
 were walking alone, jeered. Upon nearing the village the 
 number of fugitives increased. A regimental band passed. 
 The pale-faced men were running, their instruments in their 
 cases. One large fellow suddenly threw his instrument from 
 him, looking at Du Breuil with an insolent air. Du Breuil 
 was then seized with an inspiration. He felt the energy of his 
 race boil in him ; the red blood of his ancestors made him raise 
 himself in his stirrups and cry out. A mysterious force pro- 
 ceeded from his gesture and his order. The pale-faced 
 musicians were conquered, and stopped upon hearing his 
 voice. The instruments leapt from their cases, and, blown 
 
 13 
 
194 THE DISASTER 
 
 with all the force of the lungs of the men, a wild song — the 
 * Marseillaise ' — burst forth in the midst of the panic-stricken 
 people, and moved every heart. In the thundering fracas of 
 the evening, with its uproar of tocsins, the national anthem 
 arose, increased in volume, was the very cry of France. Every- 
 body, seized with a sudden intoxication, repeated the ardent 
 strophes, and felt the inspiration of past victories. The soul of 
 a nation filled this crowd in rout, and, as in those epic days 
 when the Fatherland has been in danger, all these fugitives, 
 galvanized, their eyes ablaze, remounted the hill, fused into a 
 single being, which rushed forward to the fight with an irre- 
 sistible impulse. 
 
 Du Breuil, intoxicated, advanced, was pushed forward by the 
 reflux. An anonymous hero, he lived that magnificent hour, 
 which was the culminating point of his life, in a state of un- 
 consciousness. Strange chance which had led him there at 
 that precise minute in order that he might accomplish as he 
 was passing that very simple act in which the whole energy of 
 a race, the existence of its obscure ancestors and his own, were 
 resumed ! . . . 
 
 Upon arriving at the first houses in the village, a small red 
 speck settled upon his arm. He looked at it in surprise. It was 
 a ladybird, its shining back spotted with black — a small winged 
 creature in the midst of the storm of death. The shells fell with 
 an infernal noise and pierced the walls with holes. Bullets 
 whizzed by hundreds. He saw some soldiers of the line fall 
 back and flee. Drums were beating an order to charge which 
 was not ours. Raucous cheers could be heard : * Vorwaertz ! 
 Vorwaertz !' He turned to the right and galloped off. In a 
 garden, behind a wall, a line of foot soldiers were alternately 
 kneeling and lying down, bringing their rifles to their shoulders 
 and firing. The fire was regulated by a Captain. 
 
 * Your turn, Judin.' 
 
 The small soldier of the line took careful aim and pulled the 
 trigger. 
 
 * Mouche !' he exclaimed, rising, ' I've no more cartridges. 
 
 * Your turn, Curly,' ordered the calm voice. 
 
 Laughs arose, and the bald soldier, who was thus named, 
 fired without hurry. 
 
 ' Vedel !' cried Du Breuil. . . . 
 
 The Captain turned towards his cousin a brave face, upon 
 which was stamped serious and calm determination. Du 
 Breuil was struck by it. 
 
THE DISASTER 195 
 
 * What are you doing there ?' 
 
 Vedel hurriedly explained that he had held his ground for 
 seven hours ; that the 6th corps, without ammunition, re- 
 inforcements, or orders, had at last been crushed, and was 
 retreating. He pointed out the plain, and made a gesture, 
 saying that the Prussian Royal Guard was sleeping there. 
 
 Vicomte Judin, black, covered with dust, unrecognisable, 
 listened with a smile. 
 
 ' Fine sight, Major, but I like the Opera quite as well, don't 
 you know\' 
 
 He drew a pipe and a tinder-box from his pocket, and 
 was getting ready to strike a light. Suddenly a bullet sang 
 through the air. Judin turned very pale, the tinder-box fell, 
 blood spurted. His wrist was clean broken. Du Breuil was 
 now carried away in a feverish gallop. The village blazed 
 in the distance. There was the uproar of an assault. He 
 was in the midst of a fusillade ; foot-soldiers ran. Vedel ? 
 Ah yes ! he was left down there behind the wall. . . . He 
 had a vision of men who rise to their feet, group themselves 
 around their Captain, and go slowly away. And behind the 
 wall a dark-blue line, which advances with unfurled flags ; 
 bayonets shine, trumpets blow — other trumpets than ours. . . . 
 And now train-carriages, waggons, and canteen-carriages roll 
 along in confusion. There ? What is there ? Foot-soldiers 
 rush forward. ... A group of officers on horseback are crying 
 wdth hoarse voices : ' Long live Canrobert !' Superb, ahead 
 of the group, is a Marshal of France, who, his body proudly 
 straightened, leads the retreat with an air of sadness and wdth 
 sparkling eyes. 
 
 Night. . . . There is the tramping of troops in flight — in- 
 describable jostlings on dark roads. Sometimes Du Breuil was 
 skirting half-grouped regiments without orders, not knowing if 
 they were to advance, to bivouac, or to go back. Against a 
 wood he recognised in the obscure light of the moon the 
 Grenadiers, and then the Zouaves, of the Guard. Ah ! these 
 red and blue masses, drawn up in lines when he first passed 
 them ! . . . The irony of these motionless crack troops, which 
 were only waiting for a sign, whilst three kilometres away the 
 crushed 6th corps was giving way, and dragging with it 
 the 4th ! 
 
 There was a deep road, the sound of horses on the march, 
 the rolling along of cannon and caisson. . . . The smoke of 
 battle, which little by little had dispersed, now seemed to float 
 
 13—2 
 
196 THE DISASTER 
 
 in the form of big clouds in the black sky, in which the moon 
 shone splendidly. Du Breuil met two batteries on the march. 
 
 'The bivouac of the Guard, Major?' asked a flute-like 
 voice. 
 
 Du Breuil looked the officer in the face. He recognised 
 Captain de Serres, with his slender figure and his tight-fitting 
 pelisse. Behind him Lieutenant Thomas was respectfully 
 smiling. 
 
 * A hundred yards away,* replied Du Breuil. ' Go straight 
 before you.' 
 
 Suddenly, like a flash of light, an idea struck him — D'Avol ! 
 These were D'Avol's batteries. The Captain's face saddened. 
 ' Killed ?' asked Du Breuil, a lump in his throat. 
 
 * I don't think so,' said De Serres. 
 ' What, then ?' 
 
 * Wounded — disappeared. A shell shattered his shoulder as 
 he was taking orders to the 4th corps, after placing the batteries 
 in position. His horse alone returned.' 
 
 The Captain saluted. The cannon moved away. D'Avol 
 now ! D'Avol after Lacoste ! . . . An infinite lassitude took 
 possession of him. His sorrow, which was cutting when he 
 had certain thoughts, was reduced to a state of dull suffering 
 because of its keenness. Sometimes he obscurely thought : 
 ' If all, however, were not lost ! If Frossard and Leboeuf had 
 been able to hold out !' Mechanically he followed the road 
 over which he had ridden a few hours before. Suddenly, near 
 Gros-Chene, he saw numerous troops massed against the edge 
 of the wood. 
 
 A group of officers were listening to an order which was 
 being read by one of them in a loud voice, and in the light of 
 a lantern which a Lieutenant was holding at arm's length. 
 Du Breuil dismounted and approached, while the Mecklenburg 
 horse, as a sign of joy, noisily pawed the ground, and then, 
 firmly fixed on its four legs, violently shook itself with a jing- 
 ling noise. A General turned his head, and inquired if Du 
 Breuil brought other orders. Upon receiving his explanations, 
 he said in a dry tone of voice, trembling with rage : 
 
 * Well, read that, Major !' 
 
 Du Breuil stretched out his arm — hallo ! the ladybird was 
 still there — and, taking the paper, he read the order, copied in 
 a large sprawling handwriting, that of Francastel. An icy 
 silence reigned. Du Breuil, mute, refolded the paper. 
 
 ' That is all right, sir. We retreat,' said the General, 
 
THE DISASTER 197 
 
 addressing the Captain who had brought the order. * Rally 
 the regiments which you meet on your way.' 
 
 Was Du Breuil dreaming ? The whole army was going to 
 return with bent head under the cannon of the forts ! . . . So 
 many brave men had died in vain. . . . 
 
 ' It was at headquarters that you were given that ?' he 
 stammered. 
 
 ' Yes,' replied the Captain. * Those are instructions dictated 
 by Colonel Charlys after his reconnaissance in the afternoon.' 
 
 Du Breuil pressed his hand to his forehead. 
 
 * And the Marshal — have you seen him ?' 
 
 * Yes,' repUed the other. * When the 4th corps gave way 
 after the 6th corps, General Ladmirault sent me to inform the 
 Commander-in-Chief. Bazaine gave me the order which you 
 have read, and, in the presence of my despair, he added : 
 *♦ Don't distress yourself. Captain. You would have had to 
 make this retrograde movement to-morrow morning. The only 
 difference is, you are making it twelve hours sooner." ' 
 
PART IV. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 An officer of Bazaine's private staff handed Du Breuil the 
 letter which he was to take. The rubicund-cheeked Marshal, 
 who was wearing a tight-fitting spencer, had just had break- 
 fast. He was conversing with a civilian who had the appearance 
 of a magistrate, his back to the chimneypiece. Another officer 
 was consulting a map at a small table. The Marshal questioned 
 a chief medical officer whom Du Breuil had not at first seen. 
 
 * We have quite fifteen thousand wounded ?' 
 
 * Certainly more than that, M. le Marechal.' . . . 
 
 The Aide-de-camp saw Du Breuil to the door. As the 
 Marshal's study was on the ground-floor, he was in the open 
 air immediately. He saw Restaud, who was leaving the house 
 in which General Jarras was lodging with part of the officers 
 of the chief headquarters. Restaud's serious and taciturn look 
 was interrogative. Du Breuil replied : 
 
 * I am going to negotiate an exchange of wounded and 
 prisoners near Jussy.' 
 
 Restaud said : 
 
 * My business is with the outposts. I will accompany you.' 
 They ordered their horses, first of all going to the apartment 
 
 which they occupied at the house of Mme. Guimbail, for they 
 were neighbours. Frisch busily occupied himself in helping 
 his master to tie his new shoulder-knots ; his Major must have 
 a fine appearance when he called upon these drinkers of schnaps. 
 All those who had been sent by the enemy to parley were high- 
 class officers, magnificently mounted. A Captain of the King's 
 Hussars, who had come on the previous day to the Ban Saint- 
 Martin, had made a sensation with his brilliant blue uniform, 
 the gold bullion of his epaulets, and his kolback with its white 
 
THE DISASTER 199 
 
 aigrette. With perfect grace, and in very pure French with- 
 out an accent, he had asked Decherac to transmit his card to 
 a French officer of his acquaintance. 
 
 From the open window could be seen the green expanse of 
 the Ban Saint-Martin full of troops. Here, too, was the bivouac 
 of the Lancers of the Guard, the sight of which was bitter to 
 Du Breuil. His heart ached at the thought of Lacoste, and 
 again when he thought of D'Avol wounded, disappeared. . . . 
 He turned his eyes towards the flowered wall-paper of the 
 small bedroom, the clock under a glass shade on the mantel- 
 piece, and three lithographs in frames. A calendar, the leaves 
 of which were daily torn off, showed the day — Tuesday, under 
 a large 23. Four days already had the army been blocked 
 under Metz ! 
 
 ' How is Titan ?' asked Restaud. 
 
 He was interested, like the whole staff, in Lacoste's big dog, 
 which Du Breuil had taken in. Since the first night that the 
 dog had howled at Death, it had refused to eat or to drink, 
 and, reduced to skin and bone, was pining away. It did not 
 even moan any longer, but remained stretched out, looking at 
 visitors with enlarged eyes, more than human, full of an 
 infinite sadness. Du Breuil made a gesture of distress. Then 
 Restaud, to change the subject, announced : 
 
 ' There are the horses !' 
 
 The escort, consisting of a trumpeter and a corporal of the 
 Chasseurs on horseback, the bearer of a small white flag, was 
 waiting in the already cold, rainy day. For some time the 
 two officers rode on in silence. Military men, resigned by 
 discipline as well as by habit, condemned to renounce them- 
 selves, speak little, except upon rare, critical occasions, of what 
 deeply concerns them. But there are silences which speak. 
 Du Breuil was the first to break silence. In the solitude of 
 his soul he was stifled, oppressed by the number of these 
 thousands, and by these thousands of men among whom there 
 were perhaps not two in whom he could confide. . . . D'Avol ! 
 Lacoste ! There was that aching at his heart. ... At first 
 he had not reflected ; the rush of events and Death striking 
 blows with a club around him had stunned, stupefied him. 
 His friends ... he only now understood how much he had 
 loved them, what a manly, fr^nk, and sure affection he had 
 had for them. Jacques must have fallen into the hands of 
 the Prussians ! What a lugubrious agony in the midst of 
 conquerors, or what a sad re-establishment to health, a prisoner 
 
200 THE DISASTER 
 
 in a foreign town. Death rather than that ! Certainly Jacques 
 would prefer it. 
 
 Restaud had already several times looked at Du Breuil, and 
 then, owing to a sense of delicacy, turned away his eyes. 
 Their feelings, owing to the fact that they had never been 
 clearly expressed, observed a reserve which was paralyzed by 
 something akin to trouble and uncertainty — the hesitations, 
 the groping about of two noble souls who would like to love 
 each other, but who did not dare or know how. However, 
 Restaud guessed to what an extent his companion was unhappy. 
 He himself was unhappy. 
 
 Du Breuil smiled. 
 
 * Who would have told us that three weeks ago ?' 
 Restaud replied, sadness in his eyes, the colour of sandstone, 
 
 and upon his serious Breton face : 
 
 * I was thinking about it on Sunday evening when I saw the 
 Saint-Quentin slopes covered with hundreds of fires, and heard 
 on all sides the cacophony of military bands. I said to myself, 
 *' So much noise for nothing !" And I added, " Since the 
 opening of the campaign our warfare has resembled that." ' 
 
 There was a silence, as if each one, of however small account 
 he might be, obscurely, vaguely felt that he was somewhat a 
 party to the weaknesses and the incapacity which had been 
 shown. Du Breuil replied : 
 
 * In the meantime we are blocked in.' 
 ' We shall get out.' 
 
 * May Bazaine hear you ! Look here, Restaud : it is really 
 inexpHcable. And a man so brave ! We saw him at Borny, 
 and at Rezonville, when he drew his sword on the point of 
 being captured in the charge of the Brunswick Hussars. . . . 
 Frankly,' repeated Du Breuil, with sincere anguish, * why 
 didn't we break through to Rezonville ? We were in a posi- 
 tion to do so. Why didn't the Marshal support Canrobert at 
 Saint- Privat ? Why are we taken back to the rear ? What 
 is going to become of us, burdened with wounded, cornered 
 in a place where provisions . . . you know the state of the 
 resources which were furnished yesterday — a fortnight's wheat, 
 a fortnight's flour, and the remainder in the same proportion ? 
 If that is true, what are we waiting for before taking possession 
 of the corn, the grain, and the provender with which the 
 neighbouring villages are full ? All the owners in the neigh- 
 bourhood have come to tell us, and to press us to do so. What 
 are we doing ? Nothing !' 
 
THE DISASTER 201 
 
 ' We shall get out,' repeated Restaud, with a tender, obstinate 
 conviction. * We are already reassured as regards ammunition, 
 the lack of which was the reason for the retreat on the evening 
 of August 1 6th.' 
 
 ' It was a mere pretext !' exclaimed Du Breuil. 
 
 ' They have discovered four million cartridges in the un- 
 emptied trucks at the station, and General Soleille's report 
 of yesterday, according to which all our batteries are restocked 
 and our parks are complete, establishes the situation. He also 
 asked that the Marshal make known this good news to the 
 army.' 
 
 * Salut, messieurs,' said a timid old man, taking off his cap. 
 
 He was in his slippers, standing on the threshold of his door 
 at the spot where the Moulins-les-Metz road slants off towards 
 Chatel-Saint-Germain. Du Breuil recognised M. Poiret, at 
 whose house he had slept on the night of the Borny fight. 
 The old man insisted, in spite of their refusal, on their accepting 
 a glass of new wine. He walked by the side of their horses. 
 
 ' Is it true, sirs, that MacMahon is at Etain ? He is coming 
 to deliver us, then ?' 
 
 The officers got rid of him by a vague reply and an imper- 
 ceptible shrug of the shoulders. He stood on the road which 
 they had taken, and which led to Sainte-Ruffine, watching 
 them move away, his hand held over his eyes to screen them 
 from the light. The horsemen sat erect in their saddles, sullen, 
 wounded by this word of deliverance, which, for those who dare 
 not admit it, summed up the secret hope that MacMahon would 
 appear, and, holding out his hand to the Metz army, raise the 
 blockade. 
 
 ' It is absurd,' said Du Breuil. ' Supposing that MacMahon's 
 troops are reorganized, where are they to-day ? On August 
 19th the Marshal sent a telegram from Chalons.' He quoted 
 it from memory : * " If you are obliged to very shortly beat a 
 retreat, as I believe you will be, I do not know how to come 
 to your assistance, owing to the distance which I am from you, 
 without uncovering Paris. If you judge otherwise, let me 
 know." Bazaine's reply compromised him but Httle : " I shall 
 very shortly follow the line of northern frontier towns to rejoin 
 you. I will inform you of my march if I can still undertake it 
 without compromising the army." ' 
 
 He shook his head. For some days his doubts had only 
 increased. Did Bazaine really think of rejoining MacMahon 
 and the Emperor ? Did he not prefer to remain free, to act as 
 
202 THE DISASTER 
 
 he liked ? His conduct of August i6th and i8th remained in- 
 explicable. Some authorities, moreover, refused to admit the 
 presence, the very existence, of MacMahon's army. Canrobert 
 had explained himself on that point, with his usual frankness, 
 before the officers of his staff. 
 
 * Let us count on ourselves alone,' said Restaud. 
 
 ' In the meantime we are blockaded !' repeated Du Breuil. 
 
 It was his fixed idea, and it had been shared by the town 
 and the army for the past four days. 
 
 He pointed with outstretched hand to the open sky, the fields, 
 and the woods. In the rear was a regiment in camp ; there, 
 some batteries ; ahead was a company of the Grand'garde 
 behind a fortified trench ; beyond was a space, then a line of 
 outposts, and further away still double sentinels. 
 
 * Isn't it curious to think that we are surrounded by an 
 invisible force, by a network of death, the meshes of which we 
 can only break by tearing ourselves and letting fresh blood ? 
 Do you know the number of our last losses ? — 12,273 men. 
 Our wounded? More than 15,000, the Marshal was saying 
 just now.' 
 
 He watched a bird, an eagle or a sparrow hawk, which was 
 flying at a great altitude towards the south-west. 
 
 * He is free,' he said. 
 Restaud bowed his head. 
 Du Breuil continued : 
 
 ' Isn't it strange to think that a few days ago we were in 
 communication with the whole of France ? The telegraph- 
 wire was cut at Nancy on August 12th, at Briey on the i8th, 
 and at Thionville on the 19th. On the last date I received a 
 letter from my father. When shall we receive fresh mails ? 
 God only knows !' 
 
 He became excited, struck by this idea — the army was 
 similar to a monster spider in the middle of its web, and by a 
 vast network of wires connected with the country ; but now 
 all the wires had been cut, and the army was isolated. The 
 fate of battles, the destiny of so many thousands of men, was 
 held in the hollow of the hand of an emissary, of a ranger, of a 
 police agent, rare and courageous men who, at the peril of their 
 lives, crossed the enemy's lines, and who, arrested, searched, 
 ill-treated, slid into streams of water, alongside hedges and 
 ditches, carrying the precious little despatch rolled in the form 
 of a cigarette or inside an indiarubber ball — the flimsy piece of 
 paper upon which depended the march of armies and the 
 
THE DISASTER 203 
 
 salvation of France. Du Breuil and Restaud spoke with 
 emotion of rangers, with their frank faces, their sunburnt hands, 
 and their dusty feet. They repeated the names of these 
 obscure heroes. One of them, on August 20th, had brought 
 a despatch from General- Commissary Wolf; another, the 
 ranger Braidy, as soon as he had arrived, brought his message 
 sewn in the vamp of his boot. The police agent Flahault, who 
 came from Thionville on August 20th, set off the next day with 
 despatches for Colonel Turnier, the commander of the town. 
 
 Restaud reined up on a level with the two sentinels, who, 
 sheltered behind a hedge, were keeping a look-out on the zone 
 of land which lay before them. They were two soldiers of the 
 line with deep-set eyes, drawn features, and they looked at the 
 officers with a kind of cunning astonishment. 
 
 * Good luck !' exclaimed Restaud. 
 
 At the same moment bullets whistled through the air. 
 
 * Don't remain there,' said Du Breuil. 
 
 And he took his sword in hand. CydaHse crossed the 
 thicket. Preceded by the escort, he advanced in the midst of 
 rifle-shots. The white flag, well in view, fluttered in the air. 
 The trumpeter, who was at the side of the man who carried the 
 flag, turned round. Dark helmets could be seen. 
 
 * Halt !' cried Du Breuil. * Trumpeter, blow !' 
 
 The three strident bugle-notes rang out, with an interval 
 between each. At the last note only did the bullets cease 
 singing through the air. A horseman arose in view on the 
 edge of the intrenchments. Du Breuil slowly replaced his 
 sword in his scabbard. Raucous voices and wild gestures 
 requested him to turn round. He obeyed the order, but found 
 the custom a hard one. There was the sound of a galloping 
 horse, and a ceremonious Captain of hussars, tall and stiff, 
 came up and saluted him. Upon stating that he had a com- 
 munication for General von Goeben, the officer repHed in 
 French : 
 
 * Certainly ; will you follow me ?' 
 
 Du Breuil had on the tip of his tongue a dry reproach : 
 ' Your soldiers fire upon those sent to parley.' 
 
 He kept silent through pride, resembling Cydalise, who com- 
 menced to step high as for a defile at a review. The officer 
 looked at her flatteringly. 
 
 * You have a fine animal there, sir !' 
 
 Du Breuil was displeased that this man should praise 
 CydaUse. He repHed, after glancing at the other's mount : 
 
204 THE DISASTER 
 
 * It is, as a matter of fact, a fine animal.' 
 
 Then only did he feel a little pleasure of superiority. 
 
 Another hussar — a bearded non-commissioned officer — 
 arrived. Du Breuil had to dismount. In order to prevent a 
 German from touching Cydalise, he quickly threw the bridle 
 to his trumpeter, a thin lascar pitted with small-pox. They 
 now bandaged his eyes in silence. Held by the arm like a 
 blind man, he walked as though in a nightmare. The officer 
 courteously warned him of obstacles. Du Breuil heard around 
 him the noise of earthworks in course of construction, the 
 striking of pickaxes on stone, the shovels being forced into the 
 ground, the throwing up of the sliding earth, and further away 
 the heavy work of paving with paving-beetles. Foreign voices 
 struck upon his ear ; they murmured : ' Fran9ose ! Fran90se !' 
 Soldier-like smells, acrid and savage, offended his nose. Sud- 
 denly they stopped. A voice of command asked him for the 
 letter which he brought. He heard a correct ' Danke ihnen !' 
 Conducted into a deep road, the firmer earth of which resisted 
 under his feet, his bandage fell off. It was a relief to him to 
 see the sky, the leaves, and the earth again. His guide, the 
 Captain, was poHtely smiling at him. Du Breuil also smiled 
 feebly. Recently he had thought of those who are going to be 
 shot ; now he again saw himself a child occupied in playing 
 blindman's buff. The officer introduced himself as Count 
 Schels-Trauben. Du Breuil in turn gave his name. The 
 restrained conversation, interrupted by silences, finished by 
 consisting of weighed words. The Captain accompanied him 
 to Jussy, to the slope of the hills which descend towards Metz. 
 There he waited for three hours for General von Goeben's 
 reply. He could only see around him abandoned houses. A 
 pillaged habitation, called the chateau, showed its doors burst 
 in, and pieces of furniture and empty bottles covered the lawns 
 of the park. He turned away his eyes. Count Schels-Trauben 
 seemed to see nothing ; he had straightened up his tall figure, 
 and was drawing an emblazoned case from his pocket. 
 
 * Do you smoke ?' 
 
 Upon Du Breuil's refusal he took a cigar and lighted it. 
 
 The little case which he used was French : one could see on 
 its coloured pasteboard side a cuirassier paying court to a 
 fellow-countrywoman. Doubtless the cigar was French. 
 Seeing the officer mechanically draw towards him a branch of 
 a mirabelle plum-tree, Du Breuil felt a pain in his heart. Was 
 the Count Schels-Trauben going to do him the honours with 
 
THE DISASTER 205 
 
 this fruit ? He saw a vision of pillaged farms, provender 
 spoilt, and provisions destroyed. What was the good of buy- 
 ing when they could take ? It was war ! . . . Ah ! doubtless 
 he would have contemplated these things with more indiffer- 
 ence if victorious in Germany . . . but here, on French land, 
 in his own country ! It was too much ! . . . A noise of fine 
 falling rain made him turn his head. Count Schels-Trauben 
 had let go the branch, and the ripe mirabelles were crushed on 
 the ground by their fall. He discreetly moved away. 
 
 Du Breuil, alone, breathed again. He was suffering. The 
 extensive landscape filled his eyes. On his right stretched out 
 the beautiful valley of the Moselle, the gray day bathing its 
 carpet of stubble, its vine-covered slopes, and its vineyards, 
 in a humid atmosphere. The river divided the town by its 
 sparkling waters ; the tower of the cathedral, dominating the 
 roofs, raised on high the tricolour flag. Facing him, on the 
 opposite side of the mountain, stretched out the Scy slopes, 
 where, more than once in the days of his youth, he had been 
 with D'Avol to drink the pretty pink wine at farmers' houses. 
 The Saint-Quentin fort crowned the summit with its heavy 
 mass, and every now and then thundered forth in a deep voice. 
 An old woman, dressed in a petticoat and sabots, appeared, 
 and behind her a white-haired man bent double. Others came 
 — a young crippled boy, a woman with red eyes, as though she 
 had been weeping blood, old men leaning upon crutches, and 
 a grandmother with doddering head. They approached him, 
 saluted, and complained in a low voice, with many disquieted 
 looks. The cripple showed his arm, black and swollen, in 
 consequence of a blow from the butt-end of a rifle. An old 
 man spoke of vines torn down, and the fruit still green. One 
 could hear the great subdued noise of the enemy working at 
 the earthworks. The bayonets of the sentinels shone. Every 
 time that the Saint-Quentin thundered, all these poor people 
 looked towards the fort, an obscure, melancholy hope passing 
 over their faces. He divided what money he had between 
 them. Then, as the Prussian officer was returning, they 
 moved away. 
 
 Mollified and eased in his mind, he suffered him without 
 hatred. Both avoided looking at each other. They spoke of 
 one thing and another, but that which they did not say remained 
 between them, and kept them at a distance. 
 
 They were bringing General von Goeben's reply, so his 
 torture was drawing to a close. Five minutes afterwards he 
 
2o6 THE DISASTER 
 
 was descending at a gallop, followed by his flag-bearer and 
 trumpeter, the path which led to Sainte-Ruffine. 
 
 It was with a feeHng of enthusiasm that he again entered the 
 enclosed camp and again took up his soldier's post. With 
 what joy he had again seen the ruddy face of the flag-bearer, 
 the thin, pock-marked face of the trumpeter. Ah, to return 
 once more to French territory, to see once more French 
 soldiers of the line, and no more to meet the enemy unless with 
 revolver and sword in hand ! The enemy was not the heavy 
 barbarian one ran up against in the thick of the melee, in the 
 midst of the feverish rush and the smoke ; it was Baron Hacks 
 or this stiff, correct, courteous hussar . . . this Prussian had 
 behaved most decorously ! Parbleu ! it was exactly that which 
 irritated him. 
 
 Upon re-entering the Ban Saint- Martin, he found that the 
 Marshal's officers wore an air of mystery. Colonel Charlys 
 was leaving Bazaine's study, his lips compressed, and a pre- 
 occupied look in his eye. The Marshal took the letter which 
 Du Breuil handed to him, read it, and, without asking for 
 further information, threw it on the table, saying indifferently : 
 
 ' That is all right, Major.' 
 
 He went to the offices, and noticed there a tall ranger, who 
 wore his beard trimmed en collier — the beard of the Anabaptists. 
 The man was answering Laune's questions. Charlys entered, 
 made a sign, and the ranger followed him. Laune also went 
 out, and the two Colonels conversed with the man outside for 
 some time. Du Breuil made inquiries. Decherac said to 
 him : 
 
 * It is believed that he is the bearer of a despatch from 
 MacMahon. The Marshal is coming to our assistance by 
 way of the north.* 
 
 ' Let us bet, then,' said Floppe, * that we shall leave by the 
 south. A good method, so as not to meet.' 
 
 Laune re-entered, but would say nothing. Outside, the 
 rumour spread about that a despatch had been brought by an 
 emissary of MacMahon. They were talking about it in the 
 town, Du Breuil learnt on the following day, and already with 
 exaggeration. . . . MacMahon had arrived at Montmedy with 
 seventy batteries of twelve-pounders, drawn by twenty-two 
 thousand Paris omnibus horses ! 
 
 Thanks to the exchange of prisoners and information obtained 
 by Charlys, they could again be described as almost equal in 
 forces to the enemy. It was known that on August i8th the 
 
 I 
 
THE DISASTER 207 
 
 King of Prussia had himself been at the head of the German 
 army. To-day two hundred thousand men blockaded us. Six 
 corps, belonging to the first and second armies commanded by 
 Frederick Charles, closed the circle ; two other corps were 
 reported near Roncourt and on the Briey road. The sortie 
 would be hot ! What direction would they take ? Opinions 
 were divided on the question. 
 
 * Why not make for the east,' said one, ' and thus cut oft 
 the communications with Germany, taking the Prussians in a 
 trap between the Vosges and the Meuse ?' 
 
 Decherac proposed : 
 
 ' By advancing to the south, supported on the flanks by the 
 Moselle and the Seille, we should cut the Red Prince's lines of 
 operation, and as soon as we had reached Frouard we should 
 threaten those of the Prince Royal.' 
 
 ' Well,' said Francastel, * I should drive the enemy from the 
 Saint-Privat positions, re-open the Briey road, and reach the 
 Meuse as quickly as possible.' 
 
 'Yes, Pichrocole!' murmured Floppe, who had read 
 Rabelais. 
 
 Massoli took no further interest in the question. 
 
 ' What 1 don't understand,' he said in his loud voice, ' is 
 that the Marshal has not yet distributed the rewards, nor made 
 the mentions on the order of the army. The bravery of our 
 troops in these three fights merited something better than a 
 bombastic general order.' 
 
 The rosette hypnotized the stout man. It seemed to him that 
 he ought to profit by the heroism of others. Francastel said : 
 
 ' Upon my faith, a piece of red ribbon would suit more 
 than one.' 
 
 He would have liked to have been this one. Looks con- 
 verged towards Du Breuil. His brilliant action on the evening 
 of the 1 8th — the ' Marseillaise' stopping the current of fugi- 
 tives — was known. Laune and Charlys had w^armly congratu- 
 lated him upon it. 
 
 The necessity of making a sortie, of stretching out a hand to 
 MacMahon, and the impossibility of further inaction under the 
 walls of Metz, were becoming apparent to the whole army. 
 After the glorious series of recent fights, each one, still quiver- 
 ing with excitement, only asked to conquer, every soul stretched 
 towards the hope of a decisive battle. 
 
 Bazaine, apparently faithful to his plan of the 19th, trans- 
 mitted by despatch to the Emperor : ' I still count upon taking 
 
2o8 THE DISASTER 
 
 a north-easterly direction, and throwing myself by way of 
 Montmedy on to the main road from Sainte-Menehould to 
 Chalons, if it is not too strongly occupied. In the contrary 
 case, I shall march by way of Sedan, and even by M6ziferes, to 
 reach Chalons.' He was faithful, it appeared, to his despatch 
 of the 23rd : * , . . There only remains on horseback on the two 
 banks of the Moselle the armies of Prince Frederick Charles and 
 General Steinmetz. ... If the above news is confirmed, I 
 shall be able to undertake the march which I have previously 
 indicated by the northern fortresses, so as to compromise 
 nothing. . . .' Bazaine had at first thought of taking the 
 Thionville main road. 
 
 After crossing the Orne at its confluence, they would make 
 their way by forced marches along the Longwy and Longuyon 
 roads. But the danger of advancing in a very narrow valley 
 under a pelting fire from the heights soon brought about a 
 change of plan. The sortie would be made by Sainte-Barbe. 
 There there was plenty of space, deployment was easy, 
 numerous roads led towards the north. The arrangements 
 which were made foreshadowed the departure. These were : 
 an order to reduce the baggage, in case they had to march ; an 
 order to General Coffini^res to throw two bridges over the 
 arm of the Moselle forming the tie Chambi^re ; joining of the 
 reserve cavalry to General Desvaux's division ; reorganization 
 of the artillery of the 6th corps. 
 
 These measures greatly excited the minds of men ; recollec- 
 tions of Borny and Rezonville revived confidence. Notwith- 
 standing frequent panics, the disorder, the relaxation of 
 discipline, the instincts of marauding — notwithstanding all the 
 elements of dissolution which this army, up to the present 
 badly commanded, badly cared for, badly fed, might drag after 
 it, Bazaine's soldiers were possessed of an invincible force. 
 Magnificent regiments, old soldiers of the Italian and Crimean 
 campaigns, of the Imperial Guard, formed unbreakable blocks 
 in this immense, moving agglomeration of men. A single cry 
 — * March !' — rose to every lip. A chief to lead them — that was 
 what everybody, from the commander of a corps to the most 
 humble foot soldier, demanded. Du Breuil, at the present 
 time, knew these innumerable faces, sometimes wearing an 
 expression of sad lassitude, sometimes that of deep rage — these 
 eyes which did not understand, these mouths which spat forth 
 invective, these arms which fell with stupor. There was not 
 a gesture which did not express incomprehension at so many 
 
THE DISASTER 209 
 
 forces sacrificed and lost. An ardent life now reappeared 
 upon faces ; eyes were ablaze at the thought of fighting at 
 last, no longer on a guarded position, but drummers drum- 
 ming to the charge — a dash forward with the French fury of 
 old ! Du Breuil had received a striking impression of it as he 
 passed near the Lancers of the Guard, who were cantoned 
 under his windows. 
 
 Three were talking among themselves. 
 
 * It's going to be warm work !' one was saying. 
 
 * Not too soon,' murmured the other. 
 
 And the third, Saint-Paul, the old Saint-Cloud quarter- 
 master who had been a witness of the death of Lacoste, was 
 sharpening his sabre in savage silence, a strange smile under 
 his enormous moustache. He raised his eyes towards Du 
 Breuil. A bond of silence connected them, with a feeling of 
 sympathy on the part of Du Breuil and embarrassment in the 
 case of both of them. Recollecting the slight humiliation which 
 he had inflicted upon him at Saint-Cloud — 'Come now, 
 quartermaster, wake up !' — Du Breuil thought he could always 
 read a reproach in the veteran's unchangeable respect. How- 
 ever, the interest which they had for Musette, Lacoste's fine 
 animal, drew them together. Old Saint-Paul jealously watched 
 over her since she had entered the rank. This time again Du 
 Breuil stopped and obtained news of the mare. He added : 
 
 * She will soon walk.' 
 
 The veteran, resting on his sabre, said in a jovial voice, a 
 distant look in his eyes : 
 
 * Fatigue is good ; it's rest which is worth nothing.' 
 
 They were conversing in the offices about the visit which 
 Generals Soleille and Coffini^res were paying the Marshal at 
 that moment. The former was the commander of the artillery 
 of the army ; the latter was the commander of the Engineers 
 and Governor of Metz, so that they lent to events a consider- 
 able importance. He found out nothing of their conversation. 
 In the evening Decherac related to Du Breuil : 
 
 ' Disagreement is now spreading to Charlys and Jarras. I 
 had just taken some documents to the General's room when 
 Charlys entered. *' General," he said, " here are the move- 
 ment orders which the Marshal ordered me to make out yester- 
 day. Will you kindly take note of them?" The General 
 replied : '* Get the Marshal to sign them." And when Charlys 
 was insisting, he said : ** You made them out ; get them 
 signed." ' 
 
 14 
 
210 THE DISASTER 
 
 The troops were to raise the camp on the following day, 
 August 26th, at daybreak. The 2nd, 4th, and 6th corps and the 
 Guard, which were massed on the left bank since August 19th, 
 would cross the Moselle by way of the town and the two 
 bridges of the fie Chambiere. The 3rd corps, which since 
 August 22nd had passed on to the right bank, would estabUsh 
 itself behind Noisseville. The Marshal meant to give his instruc- 
 tions on the field. It had rained the whole of the day. Du 
 Breuil found the night very long in that small house of the Ban 
 Saint-Martin, where he had lived for the past week. He did 
 not sleep, tormented by the deaths of those whom he had loved 
 so much — Lacoste and D'Avol ; those whom he had known — 
 Vacossart, Kelm, and others. 
 
 The Bersheims ? Du Breuil had neither had the time nor 
 the courage to visit them. What was the good of going to 
 receive their compassion ? . . . He was thinking of Anine. 
 Compassion ? Was that the sentiment she would feel ? He 
 felt his soldier's pride lessened. In the morning Frisch informed 
 him that Titan was dead. He went to see the animal, and 
 found that it was stiff'. Mme. Guimbail, the landlady, a dry 
 young woman dressed in black, whom one never met on the 
 staircase or in the passages, was there. She blushed at being 
 surprised in her nightcap, and disappeared. Frisch stroked 
 Titan's head. 
 
 * He had a bigger heart than a man,' he said. 
 
 The sky was cloudy, the dampness penetrating. Showers 
 fell between the intervals of sunshine. Since dawn troops were 
 passing over the Moselle, an interminable avalanche of regi- 
 ments over the trembling wooden bridges. They marched 
 with a monotonous rumbling, a confused uproar, enthusiasm, 
 resignation, and hope stamped upon their faces. Behind them 
 rose an unsavoury and powerful smell. . . . Aides-de-camp and 
 estafettes brought in news. The 2nd corps had set off at three 
 o'clock in the morning by the Pont des Morts, and the town. 
 No mishap had occurred on that side. But there had been 
 stoppages at the bridges up and down stream, which had been 
 thrown over the two arms of the tie Chambiere. The down- 
 stream bridge, built with old trestles in order to economize 
 the new materiel of the army, could bear neither cavalry nor 
 artillery. Cannon, caissons, ammunition waggons, and horses 
 of the 6th corps, were forced to go considerably out of their 
 way to cross the other bridge, which was reserved for the 
 4th corps. Although all the baggage had been left at Chambiere, 
 
THE DISASTER 211 
 
 the crowding of the troops on the length of the accUvity in the 
 village of Saint-Julien was enormous. They only advanced 
 with extreme slowness, and, as upon every occasion, behind- 
 hand. 
 
 The condition of the chief headquarters, around the Marshal's 
 house, was feverish, agitated, and sullen. The horses bridled, 
 they had waited since nine o'clock for the order to set off. 
 What ill-omened sadness hovered over the groups they knew 
 not. They spoke to each other in low voices. Comments were 
 made upon the attitude of Soleille and Coffini^res. Although 
 their conversation with the Marshal on the previous day had 
 not transpired, they thought they knew the sense of it. They 
 had no doubt that they had used all their efforts to induce 
 Bazaine to remain under Metz, Soleille always timorous, and 
 Coffinieres preoccupied about the fate of the town. This very 
 morning, they were assured, they had presented to him an 
 explanatory note, in which they reproduced their arguments, 
 throwing the whole responsibility in advance on the shoulders 
 of the Commander-in-Chief. What was mojre, Coffinieres pre- 
 sented himself at the Marshal's house, and again insisted. His 
 reasons were the necessity for keeping Metz as a base of 
 operations, the advantage of immobilizing the whole of the 
 enemy's army ; MacMahon would have time to reconstitute 
 himself, Paris to organize her defence. His great fear was 
 that Metz, with her insufficiently armed forts, her garrison of 
 nineteen thousand men and four thousand National Guards, 
 would not hold out a fortnight. . . . General Soleille was no 
 less anxious. In spite of the reassuring note of August 22nd, 
 were the supplies sufficient for several battles ? There was 
 indeed a convoy of provisions at Thionville, but they had not 
 yet arrived at that place. 
 
 * It's too bad, all the same !' murmured Floppe. * The Marshal 
 doesn't now seem so disposed to leave. If he listens to them 
 now !' 
 
 Du Breuil was sad, as though a misfortune was going to 
 happen to him. He no longer, however, wore Mme. de Guionic's 
 opal on his finger. Bah ! it was only the consequence of a 
 bad night. He thought of his landlady ; the widow had timidly 
 asked him, when the time came for saying good-bye, to accept 
 some provisions for the journey. These people of Lorraine 
 had good hearts. He looked at his watch. Why did they not 
 leave? . . . Charlys was white. One more who had slept 
 badly. ... 
 
 14 — 2 
 
212 THE DISASTER 
 
 A shower was falling. What mud already ! It was a sad 
 thing for the troops, under arms since three o'clock in the 
 morning, large droves on the march packed together down 
 there on the Saint-Julien slope. How they knocked them up, 
 how little they thought of their needs and of their tiredness ! 
 Really, ought not the chief of the general staff to have seen 
 to the employment of the roads which lead to the plateau ? 
 Why did he not make use of the officers of the staff ? There 
 was another squall. Half-past eleven ! In the saddle at last ! 
 They set off. 
 
 'You see we shall do nothing to-day,' said Massoli. * All 
 this slowness gives the enemy time to place themselves in 
 defence.' 
 
 A few mounted Chasseurs only as the escort ; the whole of 
 the staff, more than fifty officers, were following the Marshal. 
 
 Near the Thionville railway-station they met General Bour- 
 baki. The Marshal informed him that he had to be at the 
 Saint-Julien headquarters, upon his arrival, with the com- 
 manders of the army corps. Du Breuil shook hands with 
 Major Carrouge, one of Bourbaki's officers. Ten minutes 
 afterwards, Major d'Homolle, of Bazaine's private staff, went 
 to order the commander of the Guard to suspend the move- 
 ment and await fresh orders. 
 
 * What was I telling you ?' exclaimed Massoli. 
 He bent his head. 
 
 As they were crossing the Moselle torrents of water poured 
 upon the cortege. Certain of them buried their necks in their 
 macferlanes ; others pulled down their pointed hoods still further 
 over their heads. The storm brought with it black clouds ; 
 the water penetrated the coats, entered the boots ; the horses 
 slipped, and with their hoofs made the pools of water splash 
 around. 
 
 * Poor devils !' said Restaud. 
 
 He was thinking of the soldiers since the reveille ; the regi- 
 ments besmeared, the cannon stuck in the mire, and the horses 
 also, which made it all the harder to get along. 
 
 Massoli appeared astonished. 
 
 ' This frog-juice is for everybody.' 
 
 ' We have no need to be pitied,' protested Restaud. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon. I have not had my breakfast.' 
 
 * Nor I either,' said Restaud very dryly. 
 
 Massoli, who was annoyed, reined in his horse, and placed 
 himself at the side of Floppe. They espoused their ill-will. 
 
THE DISASTER 213 
 
 Floppe could make fun at his ease of the poseurs — Restaud, 
 Du Breuil, and Laune. 
 
 Outside the town the country presented a picture of nothing 
 but devastation — villas razed to the ground, trees cut down, 
 fields cut up, orchards sacked. Placing it in a state of defence, 
 the pillage of convoys and soldiers had made a desert of this 
 sweet country. The land, broken up by vehicles, upraised, 
 hollowed out by shells, revealed its entrails. A terrible stench 
 arose. There were dead bodies which had been badly buried. 
 Here and there one heard rifle-shots, the booming of cannon. 
 The rain redoubled in violence, the thunder rumbled, the wind 
 blew a hurricane. 
 
 ' Never shall we be able to fight in such weather,' said 
 Francastel. 
 
 They reached the Chateau de Grimont, which was guarded by 
 the 6oth Regiment of the line. They dismounted, and awaited 
 the commanders of the army corps whom Bazaine had apprised. 
 
 ' Regular scenery for a melodrama, isn't it ?' said Laune to 
 Charlys, pointing out the fortified house, the shutters hanging 
 down, the windows stopped up with sacks of earth, the garden 
 walls provided with loopholes, and the wood, which stretched 
 ahead, cut down, all the trees lying on the ground. 
 
 A singular smile came on Charlys' face. 
 
 ' May you not be a prophet without knowing it !' He added 
 ironically : ' It rains too hard to attempt anything. The Marshal 
 will quickly convince these gentlemen of it. Not melodrama, 
 but farce, will be played.' 
 
 The commanders of the corps appeared one after the other, 
 followed by their staffs. They provoked various feelings — 
 sympathy in the case of Canrobert, esteem in the case of 
 Ladmirault. Leboeuf and Frossard atoned for their mischief 
 by the fact that they had been unfortunate. There was a 
 silence when Coffini^res, a giant with Gaulish moustache, 
 passed by. They also feared the importance of General 
 Soleille. Du Breuil shook hands with Laisne, who was ac- 
 companying Frossard, and with Blache, who, behind Leboeuf, 
 was shaking himself, grumbling the while. He saw with 
 pleasure Comte de Cussac. A small man with a curled beard 
 came up to him all smiles, an Israelitish grace in his mis- 
 chievous eyes ; it was Major Gex, of Canrobert's staff. Other 
 officers, attached to Soleille and Coffini^res, and Bazaine's two 
 nephews, were there. A chaplain, the Abbe Trudaine, ap- 
 proached Du Breuil. 
 
214 THE DISASTER 
 
 *Well, Major, this is less warm than at Bruville. After 
 fire, water.' 
 
 He always had tobacco in his pockets, but in offering some 
 of it, he saw in despair that it was wet. 
 
 ' Vill you haf some try ?' said a voice. 
 
 Du Breuil was astonished to see Gugl, his shoulders huddled 
 under an old green waterproof. The Jew, raising an oil-cloth, 
 brought to view the large box with a glass top which he 
 carried at his waist. It contained all kinds of things — tobacco, 
 matches, flasks of rum, and nougat. Gugl, in the presence of 
 Du Breuil's surprise, mumbled : 
 
 * It is very hart to earn one's liflihoot.' 
 
 He smiled a humble and cunning smile, passed off a bad 
 piece of money on to Trudaine with his change, and, huddling 
 his shoulders still closer together, slipped into the midst of 
 other groups with a begging eye. 
 
 ' The council has commenced,' D6cherac announced. 
 
 Silence reigned. 
 
 * Do you know,' he added, lowering his voice, * what the 
 Marshal let slip in the presence of Jarras when coming here ? 
 *' What will they say to me ?" Strange, isn't it ?' 
 
 ' You'll laugh at me,' Restaud confided to Du Breuil, ' but 
 I'm feeling wretched. Just look around us.' 
 
 Du Breuil saw Laune impatient. Charlys, a head taller 
 than everybody else, was gazing fixedly into the distance. 
 Colonel Jacquem^re was looking desolated, but perhaps only 
 on account of his swollen cheek. The others, in a group with 
 their backs to the storm, were morose and silent. The squall 
 was cutting. Claps of thunder echoed in the distance. Groups 
 wandered about in the low rooms, camped in the kitchens and 
 under sheds. They no longer spoke in an ordinary tone, but 
 whispered. The longer the conference up there continued, the 
 more the disquietude increased. The minutes passed by and 
 seemed like hours. And down there, on the roads and in the 
 fields, receiving the pelting rain with bowed backs, the motion- 
 less regiments were waiting with mournful countenances and 
 hollow stomachs. 
 
 * There's Bourbaki !' said Floppe. 
 
 The commander of the Guard, covered with mud, superb, 
 full of enthusiasm, arrived, and, throwing from him his horse's 
 bridle, rushed away. 
 
 ' Doesn't look very comfortable !' exclaimed De Cussac. 
 
 * Well !' explained Major Carrouge, who dismounted, very 
 
THE DISASTER 215 
 
 excited, ' we were delayed by the crowded bridges. Then we 
 looked in vain at Saint-Julien for Bazaine. ... Is there bad 
 news from MacMahon ? Why don't we march ?' 
 
 ' Because it is raining !' said Blache brutally. 
 
 They nudged him with their elbows. One of Bazaine's 
 nephews was passing at his side. 
 
 * I don't care a damn !' growled the Wild Boar. 
 
 He looked at the Abbe Trudaine, who had reached his little 
 cart and was whipping his horse. 
 
 * That honest priest,' he said, ' would be better at home.* 
 Major Gex was seized with a fit of sneezing. People coughed 
 
 and yawned ferociously. Floppe, whose cigarette had gone 
 out, asked for some matches. 
 
 ' Buy some from the Jew,' said Du Breuil. 
 
 They looked for Gugl. He had disappeared. Comte de 
 Cussac bet : 
 
 * Fifty louis that we do not break through.' 
 
 Sly looks were given. A vibrating voice cried out ; it was 
 Bourbaki calling for his Aide-de-camp, Major Leperche. 
 
 * Go inform General d'Auvergne to order the v/hole of the 
 Guard and the general reserve of artillery to immediately 
 resume their morning camps.' 
 
 * The farce is played,' said Charlys to Laune. 
 Cussac chuckled : 
 
 * I should have robbed you of your fifty louis, gentlemen. I 
 knew the Marshal would return to the Ban Saint-Martin this 
 evening. He left his Guard there, and his baggage is not yet 
 packed.' 
 
 Bourbaki left. The conference still continued. The con- 
 sternation was general. Restaud was looking at Cussac with 
 eyes expressive of irritated suffering. Laisn6 was struck by 
 his physiognomy, and pulled out his long moustache with an air 
 of perplexity. 
 
 * All this is very sad, sir.' 
 
 More minutes passed, or were they hours ? The Marshals 
 reappeared — Canrobert, his eyes animated ; Leboeuf and Lad- 
 mirault, hooded and sorrowful. The staffs dispersed. There 
 was the pawing of horses, brief adieus, and from mouth to 
 mouth passed the dreaded news : ' No sortie will be made . . . 
 the bad weather ... the troops return. . . .' The 2nd corps 
 was remaining on the right bank, the 4th and the 6th corps 
 were recrossing the Moselle, and establishing themselves on 
 the left bank. 
 
2i6 THE DISASTER 
 
 Retreat ! the eternal retreat ! 
 
 ' It is not raining so much,' said Du Breuil. 
 
 The escort, with mud to the tops of their boots, slowly, 
 funereally, gradually, proceeded on horseback to headquarters. 
 ' We have no need of pity,' Restaud had said. But the troops, 
 Du Breuil was thinking — the troops soaked to the skin, a slow 
 and interminable confused mass of men with empty stomachs, 
 who proceeded in the night, step by step, halt after halt, to 
 regain their bivouacs transformed into lakes ! . . . The rain ! 
 he thought with rage — to make the rain an excuse for not 
 fighting ! Was it not also raining for the Prussians ? . . . 
 Laune was ahead, listening to Jarras with bowed head. He 
 returned, and said to Charlys : 
 
 ' It was what I feared. Coffini^res insisted upon us not 
 leaving Metz. General Soleille pleaded the insufficiency of 
 ammunition. We only have sufficient left for one battle.' 
 
 * Then, we remain ?' exclaimed Charlys. < And the others, 
 they said nothing ? They did not protest ?' 
 
 < They came round to Bazaine's opinion.' 
 ' But did he speak of MacMahon ?' 
 
 * No ; not a word.' 
 Charlys trembled. 
 
 * What is the matter ?' asked Laune. 
 
 ' Nothing.' Then he said, very low: ' If you knew !' 
 
 It was a gloomy re-entrance across the town. The inhabi- 
 tants were at the doors, wearing an astonished, sad, suspicious 
 air. The troops which they overtook were mute and harassed, 
 and cast at the silent group of the staff looks expressive of 
 blame and irony. There was nobody to whom the prospect of 
 remaining under Metz, blockaded, useless, with the running 
 out of the provisions and the provender in view, the slow 
 slipping into the quicksands of the enfeebled army, did not 
 appear unacceptable. . . . 
 
 ' It is fine !' said Du Breuil in astonishment. 
 
 A ray of sunshine slipped between the clouds. The blue 
 patch of clear sky enlarged, the weather became moderately 
 cool, radiant, the thousand pools of water shone. Each drop 
 of water sparkled ; one could see the wet bayonets shine, the 
 embroidery and the gold on the uniforms light up. But it was 
 only an ironical smile of the sky, and when the escort had 
 re-entered the Ban Saint-Martin the rain recommenced, heavy, 
 violent, inexorable. 
 
THE DISASTER 217 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 On the following day rain was still falling. Du Breuil watched 
 it as it fell, standing at the window of his little bedroom, which 
 he had found just as he had left it, in the house of Mme. Guim- 
 bail. Nothing was changed in the aspect of the muddy, cut-up 
 Ban Saint-Martin. Only the Lancers of the Guard no longer 
 bivouacked there. The calendar on the wall showed that the 
 day was Sunday, August 28th. It was just a month since the 
 Emperor entered Metz with his son, his household, his equip- 
 ages, the glorious cortege of victories of the reign — all the 
 illusions of this fatal war. 
 
 There came a knock at the door. Some orderly, was it ? 
 
 ' Come in !' 
 
 A corpulent, smiling, florid gentleman appeared, and an- 
 nounced his name : 
 
 * Dumaine.' 
 
 He it was who had had the pleasure of announcing to the 
 Major the Sarrebriick success. He gave a sigh. They had 
 dined together one month before at the house of those excellent 
 Bersheims, and had eaten that evening an admirable truffled 
 turkey. He gave another sigh. Ah ! they would not eat such 
 a one to-day. . . . Everything was getting dear ; potatoes 
 were priceless, and salt would soon be lacking. What was 
 going to become of them ? . . . He stated the object of his 
 visit : 
 
 ' It's Bersheim who sent me to capture you. Are you at 
 liberty, Major ? Come and have luncheon with us. My 
 phaeton is below.' 
 
 Always affectionate, always kind, were the Bersheims. It 
 happened that Du Breuil had a few hours' leisure. M. 
 Dumaine's old horse set off at a crooked trot. 
 
 ' Well,' said the stout man with satisfaction, * they shot him 
 this morning.' 
 
 ' Who is that ?' 
 
 ' That rascal, the spy SchuU, who was sentenced to death on 
 Sunday last by the court-martial. A very intelligent man, 
 Major. He drank his cafe an hit as usual. I know the pastor 
 who accompanied him.' He winked his left eye, and said 
 mysteriously : ' There are swarms of spies. How can you 
 
2i8 THE DISASTER 
 
 expect it to be otherwise, with this quantity of Germans that 
 they took good care not to expel from Metz ! . . . But you are 
 
 very serious, Major. However, MacMahon's triumph ' 
 
 Du Breuil looked him in the face. 
 
 * Come, now ! I'm not the one to inform you of it ? . . . A 
 Chasseur d'Afrique brought the news yesterday evening to the 
 Cafe Parisien. Metz was in a flutter of excitement. Only, by 
 a decree issued by Coffinieres, the cafes are closed at nine 
 o'clock, so that when they wanted to find the soldier nobody 
 was there. What did he say ? Unheard-of things. ... A 
 great fight under the walls of Verdun. MacMahon has killed 
 thirty-five thousand Prussians ! Steinmetz is thought to be 
 among the dead. I am inventing nothing. It is in the news- 
 paper.' 
 
 He drew from his pocket the Independant de la Moselle. Du 
 Breuil, incredulous, ran his eye over the newspaper, which also 
 related the audacity of German spies, and prescribed sanitary 
 measures for the removal of soiled lint, which was being carted 
 away by tons. 
 
 M. Dumaine then said : 
 
 ' Ah ! what a pity ! You won't recognise our beautiful 
 Esplanade. It is covered with tents, and on the Place Royal 
 are railway waggons full of beds. What wounded ! Metz is 
 nothing but a hospital.' 
 
 He enumerated the public buildings transformed into ambu- 
 lances — the Lycee, the Jesuits' College, the convents, schools, 
 orphanages, the new tobacco manufactory, the Palais de 
 Justice, the Prefecture, the Fabert Garden, the hospitals, the 
 Grand Seminary, the Sacr6 Cceur, the Ecole Normale, the 
 Bishop's Palace, the prison, the barracks, the Jews' alms- 
 house, the Protestant convent, the Ligue de I'Enseignement, 
 the Masonic lodge, and the Ecole d' Application. 
 
 * The Bishop visits the ambulances every day. The Mayor, 
 the Prefect, and Mme. Odent set an example of devotion ; each 
 rivals the other in zeal. The town has built large sheds on the 
 Polygene of the lie Chambi^re. Private individuals throw 
 open their houses. There is not an inhabitant who has not his 
 wounded. I've three of them as my share.' 
 
 He omitted to state that he had chosen them only slightly 
 injured, in order to have to give less care to them, but that his 
 bad calculation had been defeated, because they got better, and 
 ate like ten men. 
 
 ' What are lacking,' he added, * are doctors.' 
 
THE DISASTER 219 
 
 In order to increase the medical resources of Metz, they had 
 sent into the town the staffs of all the divisionary ambulances, 
 only leaving a single ambulance for each army corps. Civilian 
 medical officers looked after the wounded in the sheds on the 
 Polygone. 
 
 * There it is like it is on the Esplanade,' said Dumaine ; * the 
 air carries away the miasmata.' 
 
 And he expressed his disquietude on account of the crowding 
 in closed buildings ; he feared typhus, hospital gangrene, etc. 
 
 * In addition to that,' he said, ' they fear the medicine may 
 run out.' 
 
 His whip indicated the houses transformed into ambulances ; 
 they were marked out by the Geneva flag. Entire streets 
 exhaled the odours of phenol and chlorine. Through the 
 windows one could see beds, prostrate forms, white faces, and, 
 coming and going, the coat of a doctor or the cap of a nun. 
 They became silent upon meeting a covered tumbrel, which 
 was carrying the dead. 
 
 ' There are more than fifteen wounded at the Bersheims',* 
 continued Dumaine. * Allez, Coco !' 
 
 The old horse crossed the paved cathedral square. The 
 modern Greek front, built under Louis XV., always jarred upon 
 Du Breuil, on account of its disproportion to the immense 
 Gothic building, lighted by large pointed windows. Many 
 times as a pupil-officer had he gone in search of the shade and 
 of quietness in one of the three solemn naves, or else, mounting 
 the platform of the Midi tower, he had gazed upon the vast 
 landscape bathed in sunshine. Higher still rose the steeple, 
 which one could not climb without getting dizzy. He thought 
 of the famous old Mutte, which on days of solemnity shook the 
 tower with its powerful voice. 
 
 * A noble bell,* said M. Dumaine. * When will it ring out 
 the triumph of our arms ?' 
 
 The carriage was entering Bersheim's courtyard. In a 
 corner were stretchers ; a mattress was drying. Bersheim 
 appeared on the perron, looking aged, changed, his eyes 
 sparkling. He stretched out his hands to Du Breuil with an 
 air of reproach. 
 
 ' My friend, was it, then, necessary to look you up ?' And, 
 without allowing him to speak : * I know — I know . . . but 
 your silence has very much pained someone.' 
 
 Du Breuil blushed, and still more at his mistake. Anine ? 
 No, most certainly it was not a question of her. 
 
220 THE DISASTER 
 
 * I wrote you, however, and a porter took my letter to you.' 
 Seeing that he did not understand, he said : * You don't know, 
 then, that D'Avol is here ?' 
 
 'Here!' 
 
 The cry sHpped from him as though under the incision of a 
 lancet which pierces and alleviates. Here ! D'Avol saved ! 
 D'Avol at Metz ! D'Avol escaped from the Prussians ! 
 . . . D'Avol, of whom nobody had been able to give him news ! 
 
 ' Why, yes. On Thursday one of our doctors brought back 
 three hundred wounded from Saint -Privat. Judge of my 
 astonishment upon seeing D'Avol carried in. They had told 
 me he was killed. Quick ! come and embrace him !' And as 
 Du Breuil followed him, he took him by the arm, and said 
 confidentially : ' Don't take any notice of his bad humour ; the 
 poor fellow is a little nervous.' 
 
 As they passed through three rooms, the wounded, stretched 
 out in very white sheets, followed them with curious eyes. 
 Bersheim pushed open a door. Alone, in a small room, D'Avol, 
 his shoulder swathed and bandaged, his left arm, fractured in 
 two places, set in plaster of Paris, turned his head. His smile 
 was contracted, hostile in its gentleness. 
 
 ' Dehghted to see you, Pierre ! You are in good health, as 
 far as I can see. As for me, they have settled me. I shall 
 probably be one-armed.' 
 
 ' Come, now,' said Bersheim ; ' Dr. Sohier answers for your 
 arm.' 
 
 There was a flash in D'Avol's eye. He had taken a dislike 
 to the crusty doctor. He said to his cousin with feigned good- 
 nature : 
 
 ' So be it ! so be it ! as you Hke. . . .' 
 
 Du Breuil understood that D'Avol's pride was injured. 
 That was the great fault of this noble soul. He showed his 
 pride in his most insignificant acts, always being better dressed, 
 better mounted, more elegant, than others. But why was he 
 suffering in his pride ? Such a wound did him honour. Not 
 in the least ; it humihated him. He had a horror of being 
 pitied. They spoke of covering his wound with iodoform. 
 Then, he said, he would stink. 
 
 Bersheim left them together. D'Avol said : 
 
 * Very busy, eh ? They have hardly seen you. In these 
 critical moments one can only think of one's self.' 
 
 These unjust words did not affect Du Breuil. He had taken 
 his friend's uninjured hand, and was tenderly pressing it. 
 
THE DISASTER 221 
 
 Could a suffering man wound him ? He had no pride in the 
 case of those he loved. . . . His restrained emotion touched 
 D'Avol, who knit his eyebrows, as though he feared to become 
 tender. 
 
 ' Well, my poor Pierre, here we are in a pretty mess ! . . .' 
 
 * Bah !' Du Breuil affected gaiety. ' An army like ours gets 
 over all difficulties.' 
 
 Again there was the look of irritation, this time blended with 
 pity. 
 
 * Ah, you still have illusions ? Well, I envy you. ... In 
 that case you are at the fountain-head of news and of decisions. 
 You doubtless know the secret of these fine operations.' 
 
 Du Breuil cast an affectionate but serious look at him. 
 D'Avol knew well that his irony was out of place, but, while 
 reproaching himself for it, he took a pleasure in it. 
 
 ' Come, now !' he exclaimed in a harsh voice. * What do you 
 call the man who left Canrobert to be crushed — the man who 
 the day before yesterday led his troops in the mud ? Explain 
 to me, if you are able, your conference at Grimont. What did 
 these great chiefs, these valiant warriors, say in order to remain 
 attached to Metz?' 
 
 Du Breuil again comprehended with a look D'Avol's excite- 
 ment, who jeered : 
 
 * Have pity on a poor devil who knows nothing, and who 
 understands nothing at all !' 
 
 His hand, dry and burning, for the first time warmly, almost 
 convulsively, pressed the friendly hand. 
 
 ' My dear Pierre, you find me altered. I don't recognise 
 myself. These reverses one after the other turn my head. We 
 draw back ; we cannonade. The Prussians must have a 
 pretty opinion of us ! . . .' 
 
 Pride — always pride — but how noble this time ! Their 
 hands were united, espoused, as though the same blood, the 
 same pain, passed through them. 
 
 * Ah !' sighed Du Breuil. * Who, then, understands anything 
 about it?' 
 
 An immense lassitude took possession of him. So many 
 sleepless nights, days of fatigue, bitter emotions. . . . He 
 suddenly recollected the two contradictory despatches sent by 
 Bazaine after the conference on August 26th. One was to the 
 Minister of War : * Still under Metz, with artillery ammuni- 
 tion for one battle only. Impossible, under these condi- 
 tions, to force the lines of the enemy, who are behind their 
 
222 THE DISASTER 
 
 intrenched positions.' The other was to MacMahon : * Our 
 communications are interrupted, but feebly. We can break 
 through when we like ; we await you.' And in a condition of 
 deep dejection he saw trouble, he knew no more. . . . 
 D'Avol was moved by his sadness. 
 
 * Come, quietly explain this Grimont story to me, my old 
 Pierre.' 
 
 * The Marshal,' said Du Breuil, * unfolded the situation. 
 Soleille traced the military and political role which the Army of 
 the Rhine ought to take. In case of peace it would weigh 
 greatly in the balance, and would safeguard the possession by 
 France of Lorraine. Besides, he said, we have only ammuni- 
 tion for one battle, and he proposed to remain under Metz, 
 disquieting the enemy by operations de detail. Ladmirault and 
 Frossard approved, the latter laying stress on the exhaustion, 
 not to speak of the discouragement, of the army. Canrobert 
 begged that at least they should not remain inactive. '* Let 
 us scratch everywhere and incessantly." Leboeuf vivaciously 
 threw off the responsibility for the misfortunes of the campaign. 
 Bourbaki expressed a wish that they would give him air, as, by 
 making a way by Chateau Salins, but w^ithout ammunition, 
 what could he do ? Finally, Coffinieres stated that the Place 
 and the forts would not hold out a fortnight, and that the army 
 ought to remain under Metz. Bazaine said, '* Amen." And 
 there you are.' 
 
 * And MacMahon in all that ? What did they do about 
 him ? What ! he exposes Paris ... to come to our assist- 
 ance ; he lays himself open to being caught between two 
 armies, and we don't stir ?' 
 
 Bersheim, who had just re-entered the room, emphasized the 
 remark : 
 
 ' All that is very suspicious, my friend. On the 23rd 
 Bazaine received a despatch from MacMahon. He did re- 
 ceive it, didn't he ? Someone who knows states so.' 
 
 * Come, now,' exclaimed Du Breuil, incredulous. 
 
 * Shall I name him ?' Bersheim lowered his voice. * Colonel 
 Charlys this morning said to a person for whom I will answer 
 that on the 23rd — you hear ? — he saw with his own eyes a 
 despatch which the Marshal had just received from MacMahon. 
 This despatch announced the approach of the Chalons army 
 on the Aisne. Colonel Charlys cried out : '' M. le Marechal, 
 we must leave immediately." And the Marshal replied: 
 "Immediately? That is very quickly!" *' I mean to say 
 
THE DISASTER 223 
 
 to-morrow morning." The Marshal made the objection that 
 there was much to be done, that at least two days were neces- 
 sary. They discussed the question of baggage, and then the 
 Marshal said to the Colonel : *' Above all, do not speak to any- 
 body about this despatch." ' 
 
 Du Breuil protested, so very improbable did this appear to 
 him. Bersheim continued : 
 
 * Charlys only made the confidence this morning. This 
 sham sortie, this comedy, had sickened him.' 
 
 Du Breuil recollected, in a flash, the movement orders pre- 
 pared by Charlys ; his sad air on the day of Grimont, his start 
 when Laune informed him that Bazaine had not once during 
 the conference made an allusion to MacMahon. He had then 
 said in a low voice, * If you knew !' And Laune, startled, had 
 looked at him. 
 
 The evidence, the daylight, for a second blinded Du Breuil. 
 He closed his eyes. Bazaine ! . . . Come, it was absurd ! 
 Bazaine, receiving warning that MacMahon was coming to his 
 assistance, and carefully hiding it from everybody, letting his 
 colleague — or his rival — run the risk of being crushed alone ! 
 That was romance ! Bersheim had misunderstood. A thing 
 repeated over and over again got deformed. He felt himself 
 in a hopeless chaos, in deep obscurity, and, in spite of himself, 
 he doubted horribly. 
 
 Anine entered, carrying on a tray D'Avol's luncheon — a 
 cutlet, cut into pieces, and some mashed potatoes, a glass of 
 diluted wine, and some preserves. D'Avol took on again his 
 ill look. 
 
 * You are very kind, Anine, but I am not hungry.' 
 
 There was a harshness in his voice, and one v/ould have 
 said that the young lady's presence humihated, annoyed him. 
 Silently, without appearing to notice it, she rearranged the 
 pillows. She had hardly replied to Du Breuil's greeting. 
 Bersheim understood that as long as they were there D'Avol 
 would not eat. 
 
 * Let us also have luncheon. Is it ready, Anine ?' 
 
 * I believe so, father.' 
 
 In her black dress, to which was pinned an apron with a bib 
 with imitation sleeves in cambric muslin, she appeared to have 
 grown taller. 
 
 * Good appetite !' cried D'Avol to them ironically. 
 
 They again passed into the sick-rooms. Mme. Bersheim, 
 Grandmother Sophia, and Thibaut's wife, big with child. 
 
224 THE DISASTER 
 
 were going from one bed to another, distributing the portions. 
 Grandmother Sophia was saying to a big fellow with a sapper's 
 beard : 
 
 ' Come, I have not the courage to refuse you a little soiipe, 
 although M. Sohier strongly advised the diet.' 
 
 Anine pretended not to hear, so as not to have to blame. 
 She would not allow the rules to be departed from. Her 
 inflexible sweetness was, however, loved by all. Du Breuil 
 was touched to see with what pleasure an old man with a gray 
 moustache was looking at his plate. 
 
 ' Going all right, Captain ?' said Bersheim. 
 
 But before one bed he turned away his head. A poor voice 
 was moaning : 
 
 ' No, thanks, that's no good to me. . . . Nothing is any 
 good to me.' 
 
 Ah ! those who died thus, without regret, without reproach, 
 tired, too feeble. ... Of his wounded, four were already dead. 
 The first time that he had seen the sheet thrown over the face 
 of the dead man he had sat down on the steps of the perron, 
 weeping. His poor sons ! . . . Come, they were undoubtedly 
 lost ! This blockade, which temporarily retarded news, was, 
 however, terrible. Bending over the last bed, a tall young 
 fellow in spectacles was clumsily tying a napkin round the 
 neck of a magnificent nigger, a cymbal-player of a regiment 
 of the Une. It was Gustave Le Martrois, who, wearing the 
 cafe an lait blouse of a Garde National, was acting as an 
 assistant infirmary attendant. 
 
 In the dining-room, where everybody had assembled, Mme. 
 Le Martrois and M. Dumaine, comfortably installed, were in 
 conversation. 
 
 * General Boisjol will doubtless not come,' said Bersheim. 
 
 * Let us commence without him. The poor General doesn't 
 get rid of his anger.' 
 
 Lisbeth and the pretty fair servant brought in the dishes — 
 beefsteaks, fried potatoes. 
 
 * Rest easy,' said Bersheim, noticing Dumaine's wry face ; 
 ' it is good beef.' 
 
 * Ah ! ah !' exclaimed M. Dumaine ; * horseflesh is making 
 its appearance at the butchers' !' 
 
 'Do you want some salt?' Bersheim asked Du Breuil. 
 
 * We economize, you see !' 
 
 And he passed him the only saltcellar, which Grandmother 
 Sophie had placed in front of her. 
 
THE DISASTER 225 
 
 Mme. le Martrois lamented : 
 
 ' When one thinks that butter costs five francs a pound !' 
 
 ' We keep the eggs for our wounded,' said the Grandmother. 
 
 Du Breuil inquired about the food-suppHes. Bersheim, who 
 was a friend of M. Bouchotte, the tenant of the town mills, was 
 informed upon the subject. 
 
 * The authorities have announced in the Metz newspapers 
 that we have sixty days' provisions. Was that to inform the 
 enemy ? Do you know the exact number of mouths to be 
 fed ? Counting the active army, the garrison, the civil popu- 
 lation, the wounded at the houses of the inhabitants, there are 
 two hundred and fifty-eight thousand. That astonishes you ! 
 The immigration from the neighbouring villages has increased 
 the population of Metz from fifty thousand to seventy thousand 
 mouths. . . . Certainly the granaries and the barns in the 
 suburbs are overflowing, because the harvest was excellent 
 this year. But who will profit by it, unless it be the Prussians ? 
 From the top of the Plappeville fort, an officer of the Engineers 
 was telling me — M. Barrus, you know him ? — one can see the 
 Germans emptying the farms and the villages in the Thionville 
 valley ; the Uhlans, pistol in hand, conduct the convoys of 
 peasants, and force them to march. Wheat, rye, barley, oats, 
 straw, and provender ; ah, parbleu ! they are there to be taken 
 away. But w^ho thinks of it ? It isn't transports we need, for 
 we have more than three thousand auxiliary waggons ! When 
 I think of the crops of my farm at Noisseville, at this hour 
 pillaged or burnt by Prussians, I get furious. . . . But there 
 is something more. Just imagine that between Hermy and 
 Courcelles, on the railway lines, there were more than two 
 thousand waggonloads of provisions belonging to the enemy, 
 and large supplies at the Courcelles, Remilly, and Hermy 
 stations. With four engines and a sufficient number of trucks, 
 it was easy to bring the Avhole lot to Metz. Eh ? That would 
 have been a fine stroke . . . because from August i8th to 
 the 25th there were hardly any Germans on the left bank. . . . 
 The Marshal did not consent.' 
 
 * Mon Dieu !' exclaimed Dumaine. * I confess he cannot 
 think of everything. But Coffini^res ! His duty is to con- 
 stitute a committee for the surveillance of supplies. Well, 
 yes. When General de Laveaucoupet sounded him on the 
 subject, he repHed to him that he knew what he had to do.' 
 
 Gustave, in order to appear informed on the military ques- 
 tion, said : 
 
 13 
 
226 THE DISASTER 
 
 ' Neither has the Governor of Metz constituted the defence 
 committee, which is ordered by the regulation on the defence 
 of the Places. But perhaps he awaits the Marshal's orders ?' 
 
 After a hash, cooked in the oven, Lisbeth served some 
 lentils. It was a more modest luncheon than usual at the 
 Bersheims'. Penury was commencing to make itself felt. 
 And Grandmother Sophia, who was pouring herself out some 
 water, said to Du Breuil : 
 
 * It comes from the Moselle. Those imbeciles of Germans 
 have cut the Gorze water-conduits.' 
 
 They spoke of the courage of the members of the partisan 
 corps, to which the brewer Hitter, an old man with a white 
 beard, gray hat, gaiters, and fowHng-piece, was attached, and 
 who had gained popularity. 
 
 * It is impossible that the army should not attempt to make 
 a sortie!' said Bersheim. He added: * Poor General Decaen 
 is very bad.' 
 
 Anine's eyes and those of Du Breuil met for the first time. 
 The young lady's meditative, absorbed attitude made him 
 suffer. It seemed to him that Mme. Bersheim herself, with 
 her admirable bright eyes, now so sad, was more reserved, 
 colder, towards him. Doubtless they were sad, engrossed in 
 their work of charity and devotion. The wounded took both 
 their time and their thoughts. 
 
 * Father Desroques is worn out with fatigue.' 
 
 After the coffee, Bersheim and Du Breuil re-entered D'Avol's 
 room by way of the garden. Upon seeing them, a sister wear- 
 ing a large cap vanished with the luncheon tray. D'Avol had 
 hardly touched his meal. His hand was burning. He was 
 sombre. 
 
 * All the same,' he murmured, ' it is funny to have re-entered 
 Metz.' And in answer to Du Breuil's questions, he said : 
 * You know that in those moments one lives as in a nightmare. 
 I shall see that Saint- Pri vat ambulance as long as I live !' 
 
 He depicted it in ardent words : the house of a farmer in easy 
 circumstances ; a lower room with dying men lying on straw ; 
 a bedroom at the back, in which the doctors were operating, 
 their sleeves turned up and their arms red to the armpits. 
 The Saxons arrived with the night. There was then a blaze 
 of fire, a tumult of pillage, raucous cries, the driving of oxen, 
 the squealing of the pigs as they were dragged away by their 
 ears. A house opposite finished burning, hot gusts blew a 
 pestiferous smell, and one saw in the glow of the beams a heap 
 
THE DISASTER 227 
 
 of corpses. Little by little the crowding became intolerable, 
 and throats rattled with thirst. All this loathsome and acrid 
 blood ! this heavy reek ! . . . 
 
 * I dragged myself,' said D'Avol, ' into the courtyard, where 
 a German platoon had piled arms. The soldiers, in search of 
 wood to make soupe, were breaking the chairs and the cup- 
 boards. In a corner there was a large iron tank, half full of 
 water, collected in the neighbourhood at the cost of much 
 trouble. The infirmary attendants dipped their soiled rags in 
 it, and the doctors had just washed their hands and arms in it. 
 My dear fellow ! when the German cooks saw that they could 
 not find a drop of water in the village, they filled their pots 
 with this bloody liquid, and placed their saucisscs aux poix in 
 it to cook ! . . .' 
 
 They shuddered, and a long silence followed. 
 
 On the evening of the next day, Du Breuil, upon returning 
 from a mission in the camps, found Restaud more animated 
 than usual. 
 
 ' A despatch from Thionville, sent by Colonel Turnier ! 
 Two emissaries — Marchal, Flahault ! . . . Their despatches 
 w^ere rolled in indiarubber balls. Flahault had his in his 
 stomach. . . .' 
 
 ' What is the news ?' asked Du Breuil eagerly. 
 
 ' Ducrot, who commands one of MacMahon's corps, was to 
 be at Stenay, on the left of the army, on August 27th. General 
 Douay is at the right, on the Meuse. We must hold ourselves 
 ready to march at the first cannon-shot.' Restaud added : 
 ' The recital of these two men is touching. They were arrested, 
 searched by the Prussians, showed out by the Mayor of 
 Saulny, received by a cure, then by a farmer, and, by force 
 of stratagem and energy, at last reached the outposts.' 
 
 It was a feverish night for the two officers — a night of hope 
 for Restaud, of doubt for Du Breuil, who was harassed by 
 Bersheim's disclosure. . . . Would they really make a sortie ? 
 Did Bazaine wish it ? Was he able ? . . . Once more, in 
 tlie confusion of his soul, he appealed to the discipline which 
 closed his eyes, his ears, his mouth, which petrified him living. 
 Who was he that he should determine and decide ? Nobody. 
 A passive instrument, he owed his labour, his intelligence, his 
 life. His fate was to obey. This renunciation of the soldier, 
 so much like that of the priest, might appear to him painful : 
 it none the less admitted of beauty and of nobihty. Military 
 servitude possesses austere grandeur. Never did Du Breuil 
 
228 THE DISASTER 
 
 understand it better than in these hours of anguish and of 
 obscurity, in which, before the unknown of the future, he said 
 to himself : ' / must not judge the man who is the supreme and 
 responsible chief, he to whom the fate of one hundred and sixty 
 thousand men is intrusted. He may have — he has certainly as a 
 guide and excuse for his conduct — reasons of which I am ignorant. 
 A soldier like myself ought not to reason.' . . . He then called 
 up Bazaine's splendid career, his brilliant actions, his im- 
 passible bravery. But a suspicious shadow weighed on his 
 insomnia. He thought of the inexplicable return to Metz after 
 Rezonville and Saint-Privat, of the despatch of August 23rd, 
 of Charlys, of the day at Grimont. If, however, it were true ! 
 . . . To betray ? No, but to manoeuvre, to tergiversate, to 
 obey the counsels of an interested prudence, the calculations 
 of a secret ambition ? . . . To take possession of the open 
 country offered risks ; Metz, on the contrary, was a sure basis. 
 A conqueror, MacMahon would raise the blockade of his 
 colleague or his rival, without the latter being exposed ; 
 conquered, what assistance would Bazaine be to him ? . . . 
 Paris would doubtless not hold out long . . . then, in case of 
 negotiations, the enemy would have to count with the Metz 
 army, intact, and with its chief. ... * Come,' he thought, ' I 
 am wandering ; I'm feverish ! . . .' He thought of his father. 
 What would the old man advise him, in the name of an 
 honourable past, if not to push on one side all cowardly 
 suppositions. Was he going to discuss like a Francastel, a 
 MassoH ? No ; Hke Restaud, he must act. And Du Breuil, 
 inviting a little repose, closed his eyes, his ears, and his lips, 
 and stretched himself out in the darkness. 
 
 He awoke in a calmer frame of mind. A fresh emissary — 
 Macherez — who arrived from Verdun in the morning, carried a 
 ciphered despatch to headquarters. Jarras immediately con- 
 ducted him to the Marshal. Du Breuil was present when they 
 left. Jarras, delighted, was saying to an artillery Colonel : 
 
 ' We have excellent news ! How we are going to flog 
 them !' And he swung his arm, as though using a whip. 
 
 The Colonel replied : 
 
 * Yes, excellent news — newG v/hich is worth an army corps !' 
 
 It was really a despatch from MacMahon. The Chalons 
 army ought to-day — August 30th — to be twenty — perhaps 
 fifteen — leagues from Metz ! He was filled with joy. Du 
 Breuil looked at the emissary with a kind of tender admiration. 
 His hope and confidence had at once returned. 
 
THE DISASTER 
 
 229 
 
 Orders which were given in the morning by the telegraph — 
 which for the past two days connected the commanders of the 
 army corps to the Ban Saint- Martin— were countermanded, 
 then in the evening were sent again, renewing with a few modi- 
 fications those of August 25th. It seemed that the day of 
 Grimont had been the * dress rehearsal ' of the grand attack. It 
 would be directed on the Sainte-Barbe by the same combined 
 movements : the 3rd corps advancing by Noisseville on the 
 flank of the position, the 4th corps marching in front, while 
 the 6th corps would advance in the plain. The Sainte-Barbe 
 position captured, the troops would turn off on to the two 
 Bettlainville and Illange roads to reach Thionville by forced 
 marches. 
 
 Decherac deplored that experience last time served no purpose. 
 Far from deceiving the enemy, they were repeating exactly the 
 same manoeuvres, on the same points, and at the same hour ! 
 There was no doubt they would be on their guard this time. . . . 
 
 ' It is an undoubted fact,' moaned stout Colonel Jacquemere, 
 ' that we do not know how to use our artillery. Why don't we 
 take all the batteries of twelve-pounders of the general reserve 
 ahead, so as to overthrow and crush the obstacle? It is 
 necessary to strike quickly and hard !' 
 
 Floppe pointed out that they were not taking bridge equip- 
 ments. Did they count upon swimming over the Moselle ? 
 Charlys and Laune were conversing animatedly in a corner. 
 Since Grimont, Charlys ill disguised his bitterness. At first, 
 deceived by that flattering good nature of the Marshal, who 
 from the beginning had employed him to Jarras's detriment, he 
 suddenly perceived the ineflicacy of his zeal and of his efl'orts. 
 Nothing had had any effect on the slippery rotundity of the 
 Commander-in-Chief. As much on account of disappointed 
 amour propve as by restless patriotism, Charlys, discontented, 
 turned his back on him. Du Breuil caught the words : ' It 
 is the same despatch, the same sense as that of the 23rd!' 
 Laune : ' Good ! In that case he will not dare not to make 
 a sortie!* He added: 'In my opinion — and it is the advice 
 of Leboeuf and Bourbaki — we ought to make a way through 
 by the south, and throw ourselves in the Vosges ; we should 
 escape by dint of speed. But the Marshal is beholden to 
 MacMahon to leave by the north, and to advance towards 
 Thionville and Montmedy. Only, Sainte-Barbe must be 
 captured by main force !' 
 
 On the morning of August 31st, Du Breuil again said fare- 
 
230 THE DISASTER 
 
 well to Mme. Guimbail, who blushed as she spoke to him with 
 tears in her eyes. Du Breuil found her less dry, less yellow, 
 almost pretty. Frisch was exulting. Cydalise was well ; the 
 fog was rising, the sun appeared. ' This time it is in earnest !' 
 each one was thinking ; eyes sparkled, and there were no more 
 careworn foreheads. Laune himself was joking ; Charlys, 
 white gloves upon his hands, was smoking a londres cigar 
 with an absorbed air, happy. 
 
 ' Well, we don't set off? Half-past eleven !' 
 
 ' The same as before,' said Floppe. 
 
 Ought not the 2nd and the 3rd corps, already on the left 
 bank, to have attacked since morning ? A chasseur of the 
 escort, who was adjusting his stirrups, murmured : 
 
 * There is no danger of them doing that.' 
 
 Du Breuil looked at him. It was Jubault. Imperturbable, 
 he withstood the Major's look. They were setting off. 
 
 Always delays, confusion. The 4th corps had not passed at 
 the prescribed hour ; the 6th corps and the Guard felt the 
 consequence. Bah ! the troops could deploy at their ease. 
 Bazaine — decidedly he had time to waste — stopping on the 
 Sainte-Barbe road, reassembled the commanders of the army 
 corps in a road-labourer's house. He gave his instructions, and 
 communicated to them Flahault and Mecherez's despatches. 
 
 ' A fine sun to cut one's way through !' said Decherac. 
 
 Yes, an admirable day ! There was a look of hope on every 
 face. Young officers laughed. In this radiant, warm weather 
 life was worth living. 
 
 ' Gargon, a bock !' ordered Juhault. * Boom, voila ! . . .' 
 
 What has happened ? Nothing. . . . Time slips by — slips 
 by irremediably. It is three o'clock. The commanders of 
 the army corps have dispersed, and behind them trot Laisne, 
 Cussac, Gex, Carrouge, Aides-de-camp, and orderly officers. 
 What had they decided ? To wait. Bazaine will give the 
 signal — a cannon fired from the Saint-Julien fort. Then 
 Lebceuf, under whose charge the whole movement was placed, 
 might march. 
 
 Du Breuil, behind the Marshal in the stream of the escort, 
 now rides over the ground occupied by the troops of the 4th 
 corps, and advances beyond the line of sharpshooters on the 
 road leading to Villers-l'Orme. The Marshal constructs an 
 epaulement to shelter a battery. Then they return towards 
 Grimont, where another epaulement is built. A battery of 
 large-calibre cannon will bar the road, will prepare the attack, 
 
THE DISASTER 231 
 
 or will assist the retreat. A company of sappers arrive, pile 
 arms, place their knapsacks on the ground, seize shovels and 
 pickaxes, and, under the direction of the non-commissioned 
 officers who measure out the regular profile of the battery, the 
 earth is piled up and the epaulement is formed. 
 
 ' Decherac !' 
 
 He dashes to the Saint-Julien fort to ask for three twenty- 
 four pounders. An artillery Captain follows him with the 
 teams. Du Breuil laments : ' What are we waiting for ?' He 
 pats Cydalise. Poor Brutus ! . . . He recalls the terrible 
 fall, the dizziness of death. . . . And thus he proceeds, 
 knocked about with the escort, until a well-known voice — that 
 of Decherac — calls to him. 
 
 ' My dear fellow, they pay for seats up there ! What a 
 view !' He points out the glacis, the parapets, the heavy mass 
 of the fort. ' It is full of Metz inhabitants, who have come to 
 look on. I saluted Mme. de Fontades ' (a very pretty woman, 
 whose husband, a gentleman farmer, had taken refuge at 
 Metz, with their two young children). ' Sainte-Barbe is 
 strongly fortified. We shall have our work cut out ! What 
 are we waiting for ? The enemy is massing.' 
 
 Every minute, in fact, German columns were reported. 
 They were advancing towards the Moselle, were going to cross 
 it. What did Bazaine say ? Only : ' That's all right ! They 
 are the troops of the left bank who arrive.' Certain faces are 
 contracted with disquietude. Well ! is the signal for to-day or 
 for to-morrow ? Eyes turn towards the Saint-Julien fort, and 
 that cannon which is not fired. 
 
 ' Fire !' curses Jubault. 
 
 * Four o'clock,' says Decherac, looking at his watch. 
 
 And under the dusty sun, in the midst of the expectation of 
 the carnage, four o'clock rings out from steeple to steeple. 
 Still nothing, and minutes become like centuries. 
 
 Du Breuil hears his name called out. That is always a 
 relief to him. A mission, however limited it may be, wholly 
 engrosses and absorbs him ; it satisfies that acute and painful 
 necessity for action which every man feels who is lost in a 
 subdued and paralyzed crowd. There are limits to renuncia- 
 tion ; sometimes one suffocates. The gallop relaxes his feeling 
 of revolt : he is no longer a thing ; he is some intelligent and 
 responsible person. 
 
 ' Go ask Marshal Leboeuf why he does not attack.' 
 
 ' And the signal?' thinks Du Breuil. Has Bazaine, then, for- 
 
232 THE DISASTER 
 
 gotten it ? He gallops, and sees batteries at rest, regiments 
 lying down, motionless cavalry, those compact masses which 
 in a few moments will be galvanized by the great signal for the 
 attack. He skirts the division of the 4th corps, reaches the 
 3rd, recognises the fanion of the Marshal, heavy and tranquil, 
 who replies that he awaits the cannon report. At the same 
 moment a rumbling breaks forth, a salvo is fired from the 
 Saint-Julien fort, and then the heavy twenty-four-pounders of 
 the battery. The great mysterious breeze passes over men and 
 horses as over fields of corn ; the cannon rend the air ; the 
 campaign guns thunder ; the mitrailleuses crackle ; large 
 clouds of smoke arise ; blue and red troops deploy between 
 the veils of dust. 
 
 From that time it was to him a battle like every other, as 
 beautiful and as lugubrious, with as much horror and more 
 intensity, because the ardent hope of making a way through fills 
 every heart with marvellous ardour. He rejoined his rank, saw 
 and heard the tumult of death — that reducing itself to brief 
 images, simple acts, a kind of mechanical Hfe. There is a 
 crossing in every direction of staff officers, gallops, dust, good 
 news : the Leboeuf infantry captures Montoy, Flanville ; the 
 dragoons Coincy. A shell ! General Jarras has his horse 
 killed under him. How excited the soldiers are ! All goes well. 
 It appears that Noisseville is taken. Decherac falls ; two of 
 his ribs are broken ; they take him away. Poor Decherac ! 
 he smiles all the same, very feeble, and covered with blood. 
 Ah ! there is Blache out of breath. Bravo ! He learns from 
 the impassible Marshal that they move upon Servigny. 
 Noisseville commences to blaze. The evening falls — wounded, 
 dead, the dew, the freshness of night. ... In the distance 
 one hears the bugle sounding to the charge ; breathless, short, 
 hurriedly it sounds, here fainter, there louder, in the valleys, on 
 the plateaux : 
 
 • II y a la goutte a boire 
 La-haut ! 
 II y a la goutte a boire !' 
 
 The refrain sounds, the heart bounds. With swords on high 
 and bayonets red, how the charge dashes forward, rushes ahead 
 in the midst of the flourish of trumpets ! Night comes, and 
 Servigny burns. Great noises are heard above the rumbling 
 of the fusillade and the drums. 
 
 * Do you hear ?' asks Restaud, whose eyes sparkle. 
 
 'Yes,' Du Breuil hears. * " Long live the Emperor!" 
 
THE DISASTER 233 
 
 Come, we are cutting our way through this time. To-morrow 
 we shall be far away. . . .' 
 
 The night is dark, but on the glacis of Saint-Julien's 
 brasiers burn ; here and there fires shine brightly. Decidedly 
 it is victory. 
 
 An icy douche, a sudden sadness, falls upon the staff. Halt ! 
 Each will camp on his own ground. Bazaine goes to the rear. 
 Twice he passes round a wretched inn crowded with dead, and 
 without saying a word, without leaving an order, takes the 
 direction of the village of Saint-Julien and of Metz. Du Breuil, 
 a choking in his throat, tries — how dark it is ! — to distinguish 
 the faces which surround him ; he recalls that voice which 
 troubled him in the darkness of the evening at Borny. He 
 hears it still ; it is the voice of Laune, whom he dares to 
 question : 
 
 ' Colonel, what are we doing ? Where are we going ?' 
 
 Laune replies : 
 
 ' God only knows ! . . . Ah, what an ordeal !' 
 
 Rumours circulate around them in very low voices. Charlys 
 has heard repeated these words, which were spoken during the 
 day by one of Bazaine's Aides-de-camp : 
 
 ' Yes, the Marshal is going to try to pass, but he really thinks 
 the attempt will be unsuccessful.' 
 
 Is it possible ? Charlys murmurs : 
 
 ' Oh, it is only too certain ! We are lost ; he does not wish 
 to make a sortie.' 
 
 The Marshal stops at the village of Saint-Julien. He will 
 pass the night there. Rendezvous for the general staff for four 
 o'clock in the morning. 
 
 No order is sent to the various corps, nor are they asked for 
 particulars as to the day's occurrences, and in regard to their 
 situation. Uncertainty hovers above them ; a few illusions are 
 retained. Restaud's conviction alone upholds Du Breuil, who 
 is shaken, who has again fallen into the depths of doubt and 
 of anguish. They still speak to impose upon themselves and 
 kill insomnia. It appears that it was old Changarnier, as white 
 as a sheet, so weak that he has to be assisted on to and from 
 his horse, who told Lebceuf to sound the charge. * Come, that 
 I may once more hear my old African refrain.' And to a 
 Major he said : ' Show that you are possessed of nerve.' They 
 speak of him with respect, smiling the while. This little old 
 man, so polite, so discreet, so brave, inspires keen sympathy. 
 , . . What else is there ? Lebceuf and Frossard are at 
 
234 THE DISASTER 
 
 loggerheads. The Fauvart-Bastoul division, separated from 
 the 2nd corps, and placed under the orders of Lebceuf, con- 
 tinued obeying Frossard. Bazaine has not intervened. All 
 the same, Sainte-Barbe, the key of the position, is not captured. 
 Will they take it to-morrow ? . . . Two hours' rest in an icy- 
 cold room, stretched upon a mattress in one's clothes, and then 
 the pale dawn appears, drowned in fog. 
 
 A bad piece of news : the Prussians have retaken Servigny 
 early this morning, and are fortified there. But what is 
 happening ? General Jarras, summoned to the Marshal, 
 returns thence, and confidentially dictates an order to four 
 Colonels of the staff, who urgently take it to the commanders 
 of the army corps. In addition, the Marshal has read to Jarras 
 two despatches prepared for the Emperor — one in view of 
 success, the other in view of a check, expressing the necessity 
 for remaining under Metz. Strange foresight, thinks Du 
 Breuil. However, the order carried by the four Colonels is 
 not kept so secret that one does not know the sense of it. . . . 
 ' Nothing is changed in the programme of the previous day, the 
 object still being to occupy Sainte-Barbe and march on Bett- 
 lainville.' But the bearers of the order to the commanders of 
 the army corps must confidentially inform them, on the Mar- 
 shal's behalf, that, if they encounter too great a resistance, they 
 must remain as long as possible in their positions, so as to 
 withdraw in the evening, in good order, under the protection 
 of the forts. When Charlys copied the order, he said to Jarras : 
 
 ' But it is impossible ! This is an order to retreat. The 
 commanders of the corps will not be deceived by it.' 
 
 The cannonade had recommenced in the midst of the fog. Esta- 
 fettes and x\ides-de-camp followed one another. The Prussians, 
 who had received reinforcements during the night, little by 
 little gained the upper hand. The 4th corps received the order 
 to remain on the defensive until the 3rd corps had recaptured 
 Servigny. The Prussians gained ground, and retook Flanville 
 and Coincy. The Fauvart-Bastoul division, owing to lack of 
 artillery, had to fall back. Lebceuf, who was compromised, 
 could hold his ground no longer. Du Breuil had been sent to 
 the Guard, the cavalry division of which was drawing up, with 
 the Forton division, to execute a gigantic charge on the open 
 ground before Servigny ; but Francastel rejoined him there, 
 carrying the order to the two cavalry divisions to withdraw. 
 
 * Our right is in retreat,' he said. ' The 3rd corps is retiring. 
 Blache has just taken a note from Lebceuf to the Marshal. . . . 
 
THE DISASTER 235 
 
 The whole army returns under Metz.' He added, ' Blache is 
 extraordinary ! furious ! He is holding his right fist stretched 
 out in an attitude of malediction. Look, like this !' (He imitated 
 the gesture.) ' He received a bullet in his elbow, and is unable 
 to unbend his arm. He appears to be threatening everybody. . . . 
 And you think that prevented him from remaining on horseback ? 
 He is made of iron. He set off again as he came, without wishing 
 them to dress his wound.' 
 
 Du Breuil galloped in silence beset by the vision of Blache, 
 w^ith outstretched list, cursing the retreat. He was unable to 
 rejoin Bazaine. The Marshal, followed by his private staff, 
 had returned to Metz for luncheon. At ten minutes to one 
 o'clock — Du Breuil looked at his watch — he was passing with 
 the whole of the general staff, headed by Jarras, over the Sainte- 
 Barbe road, returning to the Ban Saint-Martin. Decherac 
 wounded, Restaud absent, he felt abominably alone. 
 
 He was horrified by Floppe's jeering remarks and Massoli's 
 satisfied look. He drew near to Charlys, who was saying to 
 Colonel Jacquem^re : 
 
 ' Assuredly the Sphinx has fastened us all together.' 
 
 A regiment, still quivering, which they met, opened to allow 
 them to pass. As upon the occasion of the return from Grimont, 
 but with more rancour and sarcasm, the soldiers put them out 
 of countenance. The officer's eyes, seeking theirs, said with 
 painful astonishment : 
 
 ' We shall never have such a chance again. Why are we 
 returning ? We do not want, then, to get out ?' 
 
 Du Breuil felt a silent reproof weighing upon his comrades 
 and himself. Wounded men on the roadside also looked at 
 them with hatred in their eyes. They stretched out in inter- 
 minable files with their heads bandaged up, their arms set in 
 splints, their rough shirts stained with blood. Several of them 
 were waiting, motionless, upon crutches until the general staff 
 had passed away. Du Breuil cast his eyes to the ground. 
 Jubault, in the meantime, was murmuring : 
 
 ' Much good there is in smashing your head !' 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 For three days, the day after Noisseville, gangs of men had 
 buried the dead, buried the bodies of horses under lime, covered 
 up refuse of all kinds with the soil taken from the canals which 
 
236 THE DISASTER 
 
 had been hollowed out to drain off the rain. The Metz district 
 displayed its heap of ruins, its desert of cultivated land ; the 
 muddy Moselle flowed into the trendies for the defence of the 
 bastions ; the Seille looked as broad as a small arm of the sea. 
 One could only see the bare earth, the water which was agitated 
 at the hour troops of thin horses went down to it, the bare sky 
 across which rain-clouds were scudding. In the ambulances 
 and hospitals, already full in the town, crowded the three 
 thousand five hundred men who had been wounded in the last 
 fight. Public buildings, like private houses, gave forth the 
 perpetual odour of death. Everywhere were beds, stretchers, 
 straw, and upon these sick-beds of misery poor, motionless, or 
 gesticulating forms, hollow and yellow faces, acute, savage, 
 and stupefied eyes. Death-rattles arose near wounded in a 
 state of coma, the forerunner of the great sleep ; the piercing 
 screams of those who were under the knife issued from the 
 walls ; putrid expirations made one think of flesh eaten up by 
 gangrene. 
 
 Infirmary attendants and Sisters of Mercy had an air of 
 haggard insomnia; the jaded doctors were sad, as though 
 satiated with the butchery, under the large tents on the 
 Esplanade. In the waggons on the Place Royale hundreds 
 of penned-up unfortunates were suffering, and at all hours the 
 women of Metz came to bend over their bed-heads. Pale 
 hands veined with blue, as well as red fingers pricked by 
 needles, tented wounds with lint, wrapped them round and 
 bound them tight with bandages. Nothing disheartened their 
 agile courage. No wound nor pain was regarded with indifference 
 by these charitable hearts ; they were possessed of a consoling 
 devotion, an inexhaustible pity for all. Du Breuil experienced 
 a nameless feeling of distress, a sickening disgust ; he felt he 
 knew not what cowardly desire to hang his sabre on a nail, 
 and, closing the curtains, to loll upon his bed, his head buried 
 in the pillow, to sleep like a brute, to think no more, to cease 
 to be. 
 
 It was Restaud who saved him. Such a state of prostration 
 was dangerous. According to Restaud, one ought not — indeed, 
 it was impossible — to try to seek refuge in oblivion from the 
 horror of the present situation, but, on the contrary, to imbue 
 one's mind with it as with a venom which burns, irritates, and 
 sustains. To abandon one's self was to wish to lose one's self. 
 He himself was resisting, was bracing up his will and his 
 muscles, unshakable in his faith that a sortie would be made 
 
THE DISASTER 237 
 
 all the same, or that relief would come from outside. A stubborn 
 Breton, he did not doubt, did not wish to doubt, on the subject 
 of the safety of Metz and the fate of France. His obstinacy 
 reacted on Du Breuil. So many men around them were dis- 
 couraged. Many gave themselves up to the blackest pessimism, 
 welcoming every piece of false news. Characters altered. 
 Massoli, deprived of milk and vegetables, showed a face covered 
 with eczema, and complained from morn until night. Floppe, 
 whose liver was out of order, became insupportable. Laune 
 could not suffer him. Floppe took his revenge by biting remarks 
 and caricatures. Francastel was tiring of his talkative vanity. 
 
 * And all that is caused,' said the chief medical officer, Riscard, 
 to him, * because your stomach needs salt.' He added, ' You 
 wdll see many more of them ;' and he went on to express fanciful 
 theories on the subject of exclusive alimentation on horseflesh. 
 
 One could not tell whether this eccentric old fellow^ wdth his 
 ruddy punchinello face, the large wart on his eye, the white 
 hair of his eyebrow^s and his moustache, was speaking seriously 
 or making fun of everybody. 
 
 Every time that Restaud had a moment's freedom, he sought 
 Du Breuil's company. A deep friendship, one without phrases, 
 was slowdy forming between them. They never discussed. 
 Sometimes they did not even attempt to speak ; silence is a 
 communion. On certain evenings Restaud, ordinarily very 
 laconic, commented upon the day's events, trying to find a 
 ray of hope in them. Optimism w^as, however, difficult. There 
 was talk of MacMahon having received a check near Stenay. 
 Since the return of the troops to their former cantonments — 
 the 2nd and 3rd corps on the right bank of the Moselle, to the 
 south and east of Metz ; the 4th and 6th corps on the left 
 bank, to the west and to the north ; the infantry of the Guard 
 at the Ban Saint-Martin and at Plappeville ; the cavalry of 
 the Guard and the reserve cavalry at Chambi^re — headquarters, 
 reduced to the work connected with the information and parley 
 department, was unoccupied. Du Breuil took advantage of 
 the daily correspondence to ride over the bivouacs in search 
 of a comrade like Vedel, or of a cordial relative like Lieutenant- 
 Colonel de la Manse, who was camped with the 2nd Chasseurs 
 d'Afrique on the glacis of the ramparts to the north of Metz. 
 He had seen D'Avol again, and the memory of his last visit 
 remained to him painful. D'Avol had been unreasonably 
 annoying, aggressive, for him even hard, in the presence of 
 Anine. . . . Was that the reason why he had not returned ? 
 
238 THE DISASTER 
 
 He reproached himself for it, and had Cydalise saddled. Ought 
 he not to also visit Decherac, Judin, Blache, Poterin ? 
 
 On a Saturday, three days before, he had come to Metz to 
 attend the funeral of General Decaen. The brave soldier had 
 died in consequence of his wounds, also, it was said, of sorrow. 
 Lieutenant-Colonel Poterin was under treatment at the Ecole 
 d'Application. . . . Metz, the Pont des Morts, the Rue Saint- 
 Arnould, the low windows through which one saw wounded 
 men ! He loved the old buildings of the school, the remains 
 of a Dominican abbey — the cloister, the abbatial residence, 
 the library where so many times he had lingered. How the 
 wounded had encroached upon the rooms, at the bottom of one 
 of which, a small one, the Lieutenant-Colonel's tumefied face 
 stood out in relief. His hands clasped on the bedclothes, 
 Poterin seemed to sleep, but his eyes w^ere wide open. A 
 whistling sound escaped from his pierced breast. At first, 
 thanks to his robust constitution, they had hoped to save him ; 
 but for the past two days, murmured the infirmary attendant, 
 he only lived by a miracle. 
 
 ' Colonel !' murmured Du Breuil. 
 
 Poterin appeared not to hear. He was looking straight 
 before him, as one looks with anguish at an unscalable w^all 
 or at an abyss. 
 
 The infirmary attendant whispered : 
 
 ' He has called for his wife and his children the whole night.' 
 
 Du Breuil recollected. Poterin had once spoken of his people 
 — father, mother, wife, three little girls, and no fortune. The 
 fate of this brave man who was dying there, far from those he 
 loved, oppressed his heart. He turned his head, and saw in a 
 neighbouring bed a face, quite white, quite young, bound up 
 in bloody linen, which seemed, in its distress of solitude and 
 abandonment, to implore him. A black artilleryman's coat 
 with the galloons of a quartermaster was hanging above the 
 bed. Du Breuil approached. His name ? Louis Chartrain. 
 The son of the State Counsellor ? . . . He saw once more 
 the stout, honest man with a red tie, who, at Saint-Cloud, w^as 
 talking with Mme. Langlade, and trembling for his son. . . . 
 The wounded man, abashed, thanked him, blushed. Tears 
 came into his eyes when Du Breuil said : 
 
 ' Your father appeared to love you very much.' 
 
 ' Ah yes. Major ! Poor father !' 
 
 Where had he got his wound ? At Rezonville. A Bredow 
 cuirassier had split his forehead with a sabre blow. . . . 
 
THE DISASTER 239 
 
 The dying Poterin, with a mechanical movement, was rubbing 
 two of his fingers on the bedclothes, one against the other, as 
 if he were trimming, still trimming an imaginary pencil. He 
 was still looking fixedly before him without seeing. 
 
 Du Breuil held out his hand to young Chartrain. 
 
 ' Be of good courage !' 
 
 What obscure providence had until then preserved this poor 
 young fellow from death ? Was it the tenderness of his parents 
 which accompanied him from afar and protected him ? . . . 
 He thought of the Langlades, so indifferent, so superb, and 
 the little second-Heutenant who was rotting in the ground. 
 
 Now to the school of Saint-Clement ! . . . Blache was nursed 
 there in the dormitory reserved for officers. A priest, dressed 
 in an apron and occupied in humble tasks, advanced. He re- 
 cognised Father Desroques, very thin and burning with fever. 
 He smiled. Major Blache a bullet in his elbow ? Certainly, 
 they had extracted it for him with great difficulty. He had 
 supported the operation without a grimace, without a sigh. 
 
 ' See. he is down there, looking at you !' 
 
 Du Breuil approached quickly, followed by the looks of the 
 wounded who were strong enough to still retain curiosity. 
 Blache was carrying his arm in splints. 
 
 * Very kind of you, my dear fellow. . . .' 
 
 And immediately — eager for news — he questioned, growled, 
 and accused. The Marshal — Pere Vas-tu vu, as the soldiers 
 called him — had left Leboeuf to be crushed. He praised the 
 courage of his chief, who had offered up his life. Around him 
 the staff had been decimated, and General Maneque had been 
 killed. And if such sacrifices served no purpose ! . . . 
 
 ' Where are we going ?' he concluded. 
 
 It was evident that Bazaine did not wish to make a sortie. 
 Then! . . . 
 
 Du Breuil could tell him nothing which was consoling. 
 Already they were commencing to give out rations. There 
 was no more hay for the horses, which they were beginning 
 to slaughter. The last oxen and sheep were eaten. They 
 had commenced to consume horseflesh. 
 
 He shortened his visit. When leaving he saw a doctor of 
 the International, humpbacked, hairy, grimacing — the gorilla 
 of Borny — leaning over a bed. With his long finger-nails he 
 was manipulating a bistoury, w^orking in the flesh of a great, 
 stretched-out body, the arms of which were held and the face 
 of which was concealed by a Jesuit father. 
 
240 THE DISASTER 
 
 ' Major Couchorte,' said Father Desroques, who saw Du 
 Breuil out. 
 
 Now for Decherac ! 
 
 Brought back to Metz after being wounded, Decherac had 
 had the good fortune to be met by M. and Mme. de Fontades 
 near the Porte des Allemands. They had recognised^ him, 
 taken him with them, and by main force installed him in the 
 rather small apartment which they occupied for want of a 
 better at Metz. There was a smell of new-mown hay, a 
 cheerful voice, and two charming eyes. 
 
 Mme. de Fontades exclaimed : 
 
 * Major Du Breuil ! Certainly. ... M. Decherac often 
 speaks of you. Come forward, please.' 
 
 There was a dark passage, a small bedroom. Decherac, 
 still pale, was sitting in a large armchair, smiling. How could 
 he help smiling, nursed by so amiable a woman, cares and 
 attentions heaped upon him ? 
 
 ' Oh ! my wound is not dangerous. Three weeks' rest !' 
 
 He inquired of his comrades and work. 
 
 ' Nothing important,' said Du Breuil, with a sigh. 
 
 Decherac's gaiety disappointed him ; he felt sad and alone. 
 Was it the light fvou-fvou of Mme. de Fontade's dress, her 
 blue eyes, the odour of new-mown hay ? A tender feeling of 
 indolence came into his heart. How far away was Mme. de 
 Guionic, veiled in a haze of oblivion ! Anine. . . . She 
 appeared to him still further away, inaccessible. She had 
 hardly looked at him the other time. . . . Decherac, however, 
 wished to know if they were attempting anything. Nothing ! 
 Bazaine had distinctly said, when leaving the Saint-Julien 
 heights to re-enter this eternal Ban Saint-Martin : 
 
 ' Well ! Since it is thus, we shall now fight every day !' 
 
 Since then, the Marshal had ordered Canrobert to capture 
 Ladonchamps should an occasion offer, and Frossard, Mercy- 
 le-Haut. Leboeuf was to support them, come to an arrange- 
 ment with them. 
 
 ' I know that,' said Decherac, * a dubitative order !' 
 
 But that very day, finding that they had delayed too late, 
 Bazaine renounced the attack. They seemed to resign them- 
 selves to the blockade ; the roads were intersected and barri- 
 caded ; sheltered trenches were opened at several points ; 
 continued lines protected the front lines of the camps and 
 connected the forts, the armament of which was being pushed 
 forward. 
 
THE DISASTER 241 
 
 Decherac listened with polite attention. Du Breuil had 
 noticed this fact, that often a wound disinterests an officer : 
 his campaign is over; he enjoys a well-earned repose. 
 Decherac's indifference conformed, in short, to his smiling 
 egoism. 
 
 It was Judin's turn. . . . He was nursed in the neighbouring 
 street on the ground-floor of the house of Mdlle. Elise Sorbet, a 
 poor and ugly old maid with a large nose, a large forehead 
 under gray ringlets, a touching mixture of ridiculousness and 
 kindness. Her cramped apartment could only hold one wounded 
 man. She had chosen Judin, who appeared to be well brought 
 up. A motherly feeling had made her attached to him. She 
 petted him — the poor young man whose right arm was ampu- 
 tated ! Before the house — geraniums flowered in the window — 
 Du Breuil saw Vedel. Fatigue and suffering became him well. 
 Tanned, grown thin, hardened, he had a brave and unconstrained 
 air. In the condition of solitude from which Du Breuil was 
 suff'ering, the sight of his cousin gave him pleasure. For the 
 first time he greeted him by his Christian name, which he 
 found comical. 
 
 ' Good-afternoon, Casimir.' 
 
 ' Good-afternoon, Pierre. You have come to see your friend ? 
 I also. I have come from the Esplanade and the Polygone. 
 I've soldiers almost everywhere.' 
 
 Behind them the door was open. Out of patience at hearing 
 them conversing, the old maid said with ceremonious grace : 
 
 ' Will you take the trouble, gentlemen, to come in ?* 
 
 There was an odour as of a damp cellar in the small drawing- 
 room with its well-waxed floor, its rounds of tapestry before the 
 chairs, its artificial flowers on the mantelpiece, and its pious 
 images upon the walls. 
 
 * You have come for news of the Vicomte ?' 
 
 She pronounced this word with veritable pleasure. This 
 rich, titled young man, who had enlisted without anything 
 obliging him to do so, seemed to her to be a hero. And now 
 he would remain mutilated, maimed like a common workman ! 
 Lowering her voice, she said : 
 
 * He has no appetite. You must urge him, gentlemen, to eat. 
 Yet I prepared him a good tapioca broth and two fresh eggs.' 
 
 Vedel looked at Du Breuil in admiration. Fresh eggs were 
 seventy-five centimes each ! 
 
 ' I fear,' she added, ' that he doesn't exercise sufficient will 
 power. The tenants on the first-floor have lost their wounded.' 
 
 16 
 
242 
 
 THE DISASTER 
 
 And conducting them by a miniature garden, where there 
 was just room enough for a rose-tree and a canary in a cage, 
 she pushed open the glass door of a small whitewashed room. 
 
 * Some friends, Monsieur Maxime.' 
 
 Vicomte Judin raised an emaciated face. His too short right 
 arm ended in a pad of linen, and gave a sad impression ; his 
 left hand, quite white, seemed delicate, as though embarrassed, 
 constrained at being alone. It seemed to shake the hands of 
 Du Breuil and Vedel awkwardly. Mdlle. Sorbet had discreetly 
 disappeared. A fugitive colour above his cheek-bones, Judin 
 smiled — a poor smile. 
 
 * Well, what news ?' he said. * They told me that yesterday 
 smoke was seen in the direction of Briey, and that cannon 
 was heard. Was it that of MacMahon ? They also told me 
 that a great movement had occurred in the Prussian camps, 
 that they have seen troops pass from the left to the right bank. 
 A Lieutenant who came to see me this morning — Marquis, of 
 the Voltigeurs of the Guard — was talking of the intervention 
 of Austria. Bismarck and the King of Prussia will be sent 
 back precipitately to Berlin. . . .' 
 
 Marquis ! Du Breuil smiled sceptically. He said : 
 
 ' Far from that, it is rumoured that Marshal de MacMahon, 
 weakened or even beaten, has had to retreat towards the 
 north.' 
 
 Judin murmured : 
 
 ' This ignorance is exasperating. . . . Why don't they try 
 to procure information ?' 
 
 They had in vain suggested to the Marshal the ascension 
 of a manned balloon, and to Coffini^res the Immersion of a 
 telegraphic cable which would connect them with Thionville. 
 As to the floating bladders thrown on to the Moselle, the 
 despatch-balloons sent up by a chemist of the army, they had 
 had no news of them. 
 
 Judin felt he was still very weak . . . this rain, which was 
 spinning out the miasmata, made the air unbreathable. Every 
 now and then fetid smells came down from the upper story, 
 where, Judin said, a Zouave, surviving the two wounded soldiers 
 who died on the previous day, was decomposing alive, eaten up 
 by a terrible gangrene. He looked broken-heartedly at his 
 stump. 
 
 ' What will they say at the club ? Not very convenient for 
 holding the cards !' 
 
 He smiled, but at the bottom of his smile what bitterness 
 
THE DISASTER 243 
 
 there was ! It was the business of poor devils of soldiers and 
 officers to get themselves maimed, while he. . . . 
 
 When Yedel and Du Breuil had left him, Mdlle. Sorbet, 
 beseeching and embarrassed, detained them. 
 
 * Gentlemen, will you do me the pleasure of accepting one 
 of my prunes a V eau-de-vie ? I make them myself. They say I 
 am successful.' They were obliged to taste her fine large 
 plums, sweet and strong. * This poor child is very sad,' she 
 said. ' He ought to get up, go out for a walk. . . . But it is 
 always raining ! . . .' 
 
 The horrible stench descended, and entered the room. Vedel 
 very quickly swallowed the contents of the bottom of his glass. 
 Outside he said : 
 
 ' Upon my application the Colonel has proposed Judin for 
 the cross. But the Marshal is in no very great hurry to occupy 
 himself with the troops. He has not yet visited an ambulance.' 
 
 ' We are sold !' cried a voice, so guttural and so raucous that 
 he started. 
 
 Du Breuil also turned round. Attached by one leg to its 
 perch on the sill of a window, an enormous green parrot, its 
 horny eyelids half open and its beak inclined, was looking at 
 them sardonically. Du Breuil, pricked to the heart, recalled 
 the Forbach rout, the great flapping of the wings of the green 
 bird which was sobbing in the night : ' To Berlin ! to Berlin !' 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders and passed on. Vedel, indignant, 
 jeered : 
 
 * Is he not stupid with his air of a stuffed bird ! Sold ! He 
 repeats the catchword of simpletons and cowards. Sold ! . . .' 
 And showing his fist, he cried : * Shut your beak, imbecile !' 
 
 For three days the weather was wretched, a deluge inundating 
 the bivouacs, the waters of the Moselle rising higher than they 
 had ever done before, a black sky, a penetrating cold — such 
 were the auspices of that never-to-be-forgotten Wednesday, 
 the 7th, upon which the Sedan catastrophe, foreseen since 
 the 4th — Major Samuel, sent to parley, had learnt it from the 
 enemy — struck Metz and the army a stunning blow. 
 
 Two German newspapers, seized upon prisoners, reached 
 the Marshal in the morning. Eighty thousand men had capitu- 
 lated ; MacMahon was dead ; the Emperor was a prisoner. . . . 
 There was the explanation of those inexplicable movements of 
 the enemy — columns defiling from the left bank on to the 
 
 16 — 2 
 
244 THE DISASTER 
 
 right — they were simply prisoners of the Chalons army, and 
 those sounds of music, those cries of the night before last, 
 victorious cheers. . . . Major Samuel, again sent to parley, 
 returned with the confirmation of the disaster. . . . The 
 Corps Legislatif had been invaded by the crowd ; the ministry 
 had dissolved itself; the Empress had fled to England; the 
 Prince Imperial had retired into Belgium. The Republic was 
 proclaimed. Paris remained calm. Here is what was repeated, 
 exaggerated, deformed, in the midst of the incredulity of some, 
 the blind acceptation of others, the stupor of all : Thiers, 
 Minister ; the Paris deputies meeting to constitute the govern- 
 ment of the National Defence ; Trochu, President. 
 
 Before evening, six hundred French prisoners, which the 
 enemy owed to us in exchange for German prisoners, arrived, 
 and recounted what they knew — some more and others less, 
 according to the hour at which they had been captured. All 
 were in accord on the main points. MacMahon's army, com- 
 posed of four corps (the ist Ducrot, the 5th De Failly, the 
 7th Douay, the 12th Le Brun), had left Chalons on August 21st 
 to march on Reims. It had gone northwards by Rethel, 
 Chene-Populeux, and Beaumont, where Failly, on the 30th, 
 had been beaten. Pressed by the enemy, it had had on 
 September ist to renounce the march upon Metz by Stenay, 
 and had established itself at the bottom of Givonne, to the 
 right of Sedan. Until noon the action had been favourable to 
 us ; then, the enemy having crushed our left, they had re- 
 treated on Mezi^res in the greatest disorder. The six hundred 
 prisoners belonging to the left wing, which was cut off and 
 surrounded, knew nothing more. They had carefully informed 
 them 671 route of the captivity of the Emperor, and the capitu- 
 lation of MacMahon. But that was doubtless, they said, a 
 demoralizing rumour spread about by the enemy. Du Breuil 
 hoped so ; Restaud was sure of it. 
 
 Marquis came for news. The officers of the various staffs 
 accompanying the commanders of the army corps — Gex, 
 Cussac, Carrouge — all in a state of feverish anxiety, Hstened 
 to the remarks of one of the Marshal's officers. A few Turcos, 
 questioned by Bazaine, had just stated that the ist and the 7th 
 had been annihilated, the Emperor being present. But certain 
 affirmations were confused, others contradictory. Bersheim, 
 hastening from Metz, informed Du Breuil of the effervescence 
 in the town, where the strangest stories were circulated. 
 Marquis corroborated the fact, and embellished with assurance : 
 
THE DISASTER 245 
 
 MacMahon had dismissed De Failly, Douay was ravaging the 
 Palatinate, Austria had declared war on Prussia, Italy had 
 sent a hundred thousand men into the Tyrol. . . . 
 
 Bersheim asked : 
 
 ' Is it true that the Prussians, to impress us the more, 
 purposely chose its prisoners from all the regiments ?' 
 
 An officer affirmed it. Then Bersheim, very pale and tears 
 in his eyes, asked if there were any Zouaves and Cuirassiers. 
 Du Breuil comprehended his hope : his sons were perhaps in 
 the band, or perhaps a comrade would be. 
 
 That evening, before going to bed, he tore off the sheet of 
 the calendar on the wall ; the ephemerides bore the mention : 
 ' Prise de Malahoff. . . .' The next day he found the opal ring 
 in a box which he opened by accident. He had not worn it 
 since the day the blood of poor Vacossart had stained it. He 
 polished it, and having mechanically slipped it upon his fmger, 
 upon which the milky stone sparkled with pink and green 
 reflections, he let it remain. ... If this deplorable news were 
 true, what would become of Mme. de Guionic ? Doubtless 
 she had retired to Brittany — was allowing the storm to pass. 
 At once she appeared to him a thousand leagues away ; he 
 pitied her like a forgotten person, like one who is dead — felt 
 how much she had paled in his memory, an obscure, uncertain 
 image. Recent defeats, the nightmare of the blockade, the 
 Empire fallen, crushed his imagination : all that seemed 
 improbable to him. He was stunned by it ; his soul was 
 sick. 
 
 ' Frisch, my cloak !' 
 
 Rain, flooded bivouacs, benumbed men under the tents sur- 
 rounded by little lakes, fever, dysentery. . . . He would call 
 upon D'Avol ! His heart, in the apprehension of sufl"ering, 
 was oppressed. . . . Near the Porte de France he met two 
 known figures, those of a man and a horse — Saint- Paul astride 
 Musette. The Saint-Cloud veteran had one foot bound up 
 and without a boot. 
 
 ' Are you wounded, quartermaster ?' 
 
 He smiled disdainfully. A piece of flesh had been carried 
 away by a fragment of a shell on the morning of September ist, 
 as he was making a reconnaissance. It was not worth talking 
 about. Musette, so badly nourished, was more to be pitied. 
 He was walking her out to distract her. And then she some- 
 times cropped a little green, or got a handful of corn. He did 
 not say that he was marauding for her. 
 
246 THE DISASTER 
 
 ' Are you being treated at the ambulance ?' said Du Breuil, 
 looking at him kindly. 
 
 Saint-Paul saddened. No, he had nothing to do with doctors. 
 Their knives had been inserted into too much rotten flesh ; he 
 had no wish that they should poison him. He was dressing 
 his wound with his ration of brandy. 
 
 Du Breuil made a friendly motion with his head ; the veteran 
 saluted, his sunburnt complexion having turned to a ruddy 
 brown. Both of them thought of Lacoste. 
 
 When he entered the courtyard of the Bersheims, Thibaut's 
 wife, her eyes swollen, was calling to her husband. Her 
 approaching maternity deformed her face and her figure. Her 
 children — they looked ill, and the little girl had quite changed 
 • — pressed against her petticoat. Thibaut was in course of 
 filling with bucketsful of water a row of barrels and tubs. An 
 order from Coffini^res had prescribed this measure in the case 
 of each house, in view of a bombardment which was announced 
 as imminent. The lame man came up, and took Cydalise into 
 the stable. Bersheim appeared and looked sadly at Louise, 
 who fled in tears. 
 
 'Poor Louise!' said Bersheim. 'She is crying for her 
 father and mother.' 
 
 The old Larouys, his tenants at Noisseville, had remained 
 like two faithful dogs to guard the house and lands. They 
 had been killed by the same shell, one at the side of the other, 
 on the evening of August 31st. A wounded Metz corporal, who 
 was actually being nursed by the Bersheims, and who knew 
 the Larouys well, had certified their death. The barn had 
 caught fire, and the farm was destroyed. 
 
 ' How is D'Avol progressing ?* 
 
 * In spite of Dr. Sohier's orders, he wished to get up. There 
 was a stormy scene between them this morning. Between 
 you and me, Jacques' irascibility surprises me. I have never 
 seen him thus.' 
 
 ' Suffering ?' said Du Breuil. 
 
 * But my other wounded suff'er,' retorted Bersheim, * and 
 they are not so difficult to manage.' He looked at Du Breuil. 
 * My wife is very ill. Since the arrival of the Sedan prisoners, 
 she has taken no further interest in life. They have shut 
 them up in the station buildings, awaiting their reincor- 
 poration. . . .' 
 
 Du Breuil sympathized in silence with his disappointed 
 hope. Bersheim sadly shook his head, and continued : 
 
THE DISASTER 247 
 
 * It appears they are about to hand over others to us at the 
 present time. . . . What is it you want, friend ?' 
 
 He turned towards an unknown man dressed in gray cloth 
 trousers and a gallooned Zouave coat, who had just staggered 
 into the courtyard. Suddenly — what is the matter with Ber- 
 sheim ? He wildly rolled his eyes, uttered a piercing cry, and 
 opened his arms. 
 
 * Maurice, my child, is that you ?' 
 
 And they clasped each other in their arms, sobbing. 
 
 * How is it you are here ? Is it really you ? How pale you 
 are ! Ah, how happy your mother will be ! . . . And your 
 . . . brother, and . . . Andre?' 
 
 He was answered by a silence. The unfortunate fellow — 
 what was his age ? Who would think he was twenty-live ? — 
 the lamentable prisoner, feverish, shivering, with his hollow, 
 wrinkled face, his inflamed eyes, murmured : 
 
 'Oh, father! father!' 
 
 ' You do not reply to me,' groaned Bersheim. * Andre is 
 dead, is he not ?' 
 
 Still the terrible silence. Bersheim let fall his arms, an 
 infinite sorrow making him pale. All his blood flowed back to 
 his heart. 
 
 ' My God !' he murmured in a sob, and, seizing the son 
 who remained to him by the shoulders, he despairingly 
 embraced him ; then, stepping away from him, and again 
 clasping him closely in his arms, he said : * My child, how thin 
 you are ! how you must have suffered ! Come, come ! . . .' 
 
 He led him away, soaked with water, covered with mud, 
 losing one of his broken shoes. Du Breuil then saw Anine 
 rush from the perron. Without doubt she guessed. 
 
 * Father, do you want to kill mother ? Hide Maurice !' 
 She threw herself into her brother's arms, but the poor 
 
 fellow, ashamed of himself, repulsed her, murmuring in an 
 indistinct voice : 
 
 ' Do not approach me.' 
 
 She understood that it was because of his filthiness. With 
 a fine shrug of her shoulders, she drew him towards the 
 laundry, saying : 
 
 ' You must be dying from hunger. Wait ; I'll bring you 
 some broth and some eggs. . . .' 
 
 She spoke not of death, but, great God ! what must she not 
 have felt under her calm ? Bersheim took Du Breuil, who 
 wished to withdraw, by the hands. 
 
248 THE DISASTER 
 
 ' Oh, friend, remain ! Do not abandon us when a little 
 happiness comes to us. . . . Happiness so bitterly mingled ! 
 Poor Andre ! Ah, what misery ! In what a state Maurice 
 returns to us ! . . .' 
 
 And at the same time, his eyes falling upon his sleeve, he 
 rid himself of the vermin with a fillip. By means of a bath 
 and decent clothes to replace his rags, a man with a human 
 face succeeded the ragged individual of a short time before. 
 And while awaiting Father Desroques, for whom someone 
 had gone in search — he alone, with his ardent piety, could pre- 
 pare Mme. Bersheim — Maurice spoke, spoke as in a fever, w4th 
 a voice which had become young, the voice of a child who has 
 returned to the fold. Bersheim drank in his words ; Anine, 
 grave, appeared and disappeared ; while Du Breuil, his heart 
 wrung wdth pity, listened to the bubbling and the flowing, in 
 the young sergeant-major's narrative, of an inexhaustible 
 stream of miseries. 
 
 The disbanding at Woerth, the flow upon Saverne, the re- 
 organization at Chalons, then the slow flowing back of the 
 army in disorder, dying of hunger, pillaging, intoxicating itself, 
 as far as that funnel, that abyss — Sedan ! . . . The desperate 
 struggle — the ist Zouaves fought well ! — the crushing defeat, 
 the horrible rout, the agglomeration of all the debris of the 
 regiments in the Place, and, finally, the capitulation ! He said 
 the Emperor was going to give up his sword, spoke of the 
 frightful misery of the soldiers dying wdth hunger on the 
 Presqu'ile d'Iges, and of the evacuation of the successive 
 columns of prisoners on the 3rd. . . . Since then he had 
 hardly eaten ; always on the march, urged forward by blows 
 from the butt-end of rifles. Those who fell were shot. En 
 route they had learnt of the captivity of the Emperor. The 
 war would not last ; Strasburg was about to surrender ; Paris 
 could not hold out. Metz w^ould be bombarded that same 
 evening. 
 
 A dark shadow rose up before the door. It was Father 
 Desroques. He took Maurice's hands, held them clasped for 
 a long time, deep pity making his lips tremble, a sorrowful 
 faith shining in his eyes. After a few minutes' conversation he 
 sighed : 
 
 ' I shall, then, be the messenger of God !' 
 
 Anine led Maurice away, telling him to make no noise. 
 Bersheim followed them. Du Breuil, who knew the house, 
 went into D'Avol's room. He did not find him there, but 
 
THE DISASTER 249 
 
 saw him at the bottom of the garden, stretched upon a 
 couch, across which stretchers were laid. His features were 
 contracted, his air was hard. D'Avol pretended not to see 
 him advance ; did not turn his eyes until the gravel crunched 
 under Du Breuil's boots. 
 
 * Hallo ! Pierre, is that you ?' 
 ' Do you know the news?' 
 
 ' Yes, Maurice. . . . Lisbeth came to recount that to me. 
 The poor devil's not very brilliant, eh ? His brother has paid 
 his debt. I prefer not to be present at this family scene.' 
 
 This dry tone, this ironical voice ! — how they had changed 
 his Jacques ! But D'Avol continued : 
 
 ' You are looking at my arm ? Sohier is an ass. Bah ! I 
 shall be sufficiently cured for the capitulation.' 
 
 ' What do you say ?' cried Du Breuil. 
 
 ' I say, for the capitulation. Because it's that, isn't it, 
 gentlemen of chief head-quarters, officers of Bazaine, which 
 you are preparing for us ? This time I don't ask you to 
 explain to me the Noisseville sortie. Eh ? That would em- 
 barrass you ?' 
 
 Du Breuil looked at him. Such a tone ! D'Avol was mad ! 
 . . . He was going to reply, when he heard a slight rustling. 
 Anine was behind them. Her face was radiant, but her eyes 
 were full of tears. 
 
 * Mother gave a great cry, then she called for Maurice, and 
 they are now crying together. Come, rejoice with us.' 
 
 Although D'Avol had distinctly seen Gustave and Thibaut, 
 who drew near to carry him upon his couch, he said, in a 
 jeering voice : 
 
 ' It's all very well for Pierre. You forget that I am power- 
 less!' 
 
 What had come over him ? Anine's only reply was to smile 
 with a sort of compassion, the dignity of which struck Du 
 Breuil. Behind the wounded man he said, in a very low 
 voice : 
 
 ' What is the matter with D'Avol ?' 
 
 She remained silent. Then he gently murmured : 
 
 ' I participate in your joy.' 
 
 After the lapse of a moment she said : 
 
 ' Maurice has recounted the death of Andre. The Morsbronn 
 Cuirassiers fell hke heroes. . . .' 
 
 He thought of Lacoste, and said : 
 
 ' Yes, it is splendid to die in that way!' 
 
250 THE DISASTER 
 
 In the drawing-room, among the affected group which united 
 Maurice and his mother, Bersheim at one side, Grandmother 
 Sophia at the other, Father Desroques a little on one side, 
 Du Breuil sought the beautiful eyes of Mme. Bersheim. She 
 was transfigured. A sorrowful mother, she bent her head upon 
 her son's shoulder, and, with sweet and silent tears, opened her 
 heart. Du Breuil respectfully kissed the hand which she held 
 out to him. He turned towards D'Avol, whom they were 
 carrying : 
 
 * Your cousin Jacques,' said Grandmother Sophia. 
 Maurice rose to embrace D'Avol, who submitted to it, pale, 
 
 fire in his look. 
 
 * My poor fellow!' he said. 'You bring us pitiful news. 
 Things don't go very much better here.' 
 
 Hard expressions, which were followed by a feeling of 
 uneasiness. . . . With his shaven head, his wan cheeks, 
 Maurice had, indeed, the appearance of a poor fellow, a sad 
 child. Seized with bashfulness and shame, humiliated by this 
 tone, this air of reproach, he lowered his eyes. Was it his 
 fault if he had been conquered and made prisoner ? 
 
 ' Then you have capitulated ?' asked D'Avol. * A whole 
 army ? I hope you were, at all events, beaten ?' 
 
 But Anine interposed : 
 
 * To-morrow, later. . . .' 
 
 Again D'Avol's mouth contracted. Du Breuil was astonished 
 at so bitter a patriotism, at so much harshness, so much in- 
 justice. . . . 
 
 Upon returning to the Ban Saint- Martin in the midst of a 
 torrential rain, he heard the sound of a violent cannonade. 
 Night was about to fall. Flashes of lightning intercalated the 
 detonations. What was the meaning of this infernal uproar ? 
 The bombardment thundered forth until nine o'clock, and then 
 ceased ; the rain stopped, and a strong wind carried away the 
 smoke. And that was all. Du Breuil heard in the morning 
 that their losses were insignificant. They were lost in con- 
 jectures upon the subject of this noisy demonstration. 
 
 On that day they commenced to distribute corn to the 
 horses. CofBnieres was ordered to call into the town all the 
 existing provender. A rumbling was heard in the direction 
 of Verdun, said some ; of Toul, in the opinion of others. 
 Through the mouth of a wounded soldier, who had escaped 
 from Ars, and who had seen a bill which had been brought 
 from Nancy, they learnt that Paris, Lyons, Marseilles, Bor- 
 
THE DISASTER 251 
 
 deaux, and Rochefort had proclaimed the Republic. One of 
 the Sarrebriick prisoners, who had been exchanged, gave 
 precise details : Le Flo was Minister of War ; the Emperor 
 was undergoing his captivity at Cassal ; the Prince Imperial 
 was in London. There was no mention of the Empress. 
 Jules Favre, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, had written to 
 the King of Prussia to remind him of his own declaration : 
 * War was directed not against France, but against the 
 Emperor ; the time had come to prove his sincerity, and to 
 make peace.' But how could one delude one's self by such a 
 hope ? 
 
 On the following day, Major Samuel, summoned to the out- 
 posts, read the confirmation of the fatal news in the Gazette de 
 la Croix. A Prussian officer stated, upon his honour, to the 
 officer sent to parley, that the Prince Royal was to enter Paris 
 that very day. On the 12th, the Marshal convoked the 
 commanders of the corps and the generals of divisions to his 
 headquarters : in the presence of the Sedan disaster they must 
 renounce important engagements, content themselves so as to 
 keep the troops on the alert, with small operations de detail, the 
 initiative of which the commanders of the corps would have to 
 take ; they would thus await the orders of the Government. 
 He charged the general officers to communicate what they had 
 just heard to the troops. On the same day M. Debains, an 
 Embassy secretary, who had been attached to the general staff 
 since the opening of the war, asked Bazaine for authorization 
 to cross the Prussian lines. Captured and brought back to 
 Metz the same evening, he addressed to the Marshal a con- 
 fidential report of a conversation which he had had with some 
 Prussian officers. A resume was as follows : There were six 
 hundred thousand Germans in France ; the country was in no 
 way enthusiastic for war ; unless it was the Metz army, there 
 was no army regularly organized. The town was threatened 
 in the near future by a siege, which would be commenced 
 when the heavy artillery had arrived. 
 
 Immediately after taking cognizance of this document, 
 Bazaine ordered Colonel Nugues at once to send copies of it 
 to the commanders of the army corps. The officers who wrote 
 under the Colonel's dictation shared his reprobation. General 
 Jarras, to whom Colonel Nugues protested, considering the 
 transmission of a document of this nature dangerous and cen- 
 surable, went to speak about it to the Marshal. He returned 
 and ordered the suppression of the final resume in the despatches 
 
252 THE DISASTER 
 
 sent to the commanders of the army corps ; the despatch which 
 was intended for them would be read to them, and then it would 
 be destroyed. Charlys and many others vivaciously expressed 
 themselves on the subject of this communication, the clan- 
 destine character of w^hich they blamed, just as at first they 
 had blamed its disclosure. 
 
 On the 14th, a brigadier of Sapeurs-Conducteurs of the 
 ist Regiment of Engineers, named Pennetier, who had escaped 
 from Sedan, brought newspapers which the Mayor of Ars had 
 handed to him for the Marshal. They contained the pro- 
 clamation which on September 8th was addressed to the 
 French people by the new Government, and the convocation of 
 the electors on October i6th for the election of a National 
 Assembly. The Mayor of Ars had added to them a copy in 
 his own handwriting of Jules Favre's circular of September 6th. 
 On the 14th, the Indepcndant de la Moselle — printed on yellow 
 paper, since white had run out — published a proclamation, 
 signed by Coffinieres, the Prefect, and the Mayor, in which the 
 Seda.n disaster was officially announced. An appeal was made 
 for resistance and patriotism. On the i6th, a general order 
 brought to the knowledge of the Rhine army the news which 
 had been on every tongue for the past week. ' . . . Our 
 military obligations towards the country in danger,' added the 
 Marshal, * remain the same. Let us, then, continue to serve 
 it with devotion, and with the same energy by defending its 
 territory against the foreigner, and social order against evil 
 passions. I am convinced that your moral, so many proofs of 
 which you have already given, will remain on a level with all 
 circumstances, and that you will add fresh titles to the recog- 
 nition and the admiration of France.' 
 
 At the same time the Marshal had an ordinary despatch 
 handed to two horsemen of the 7th Cuirassiers addressed to 
 the Minister of War. 
 
 ' It is urgent that the army,' he said in this despatch, 
 ' should know what is going on in Paris and in France. We 
 have no communication with the interior, and the strangest 
 rumours are spread about by prisoners handed over to us by 
 the enemy, who also disseminate stories of an alarming 
 nature. It is important that we should receive instructions 
 and news. We are surroundetl by considerable forces, through 
 which, after two unfruitful hghts, we have in vain tried to 
 break.' 
 
 On the following day Du lireuil went to Metz. 
 
THE DISASTER 253 
 
 At the Ecole d' Application he had sought the eyes of Colonel 
 Poterin, but he saw only a stiff form under a sheet. 
 
 ' He died early this morning,' said young Chartrain to him. 
 And, after exchanging a few words on the subject of this 
 lugubrious end, he added timidly : ' Major, is it true that one 
 can write to one's parents by hallon-depcche ?' 
 
 A little paper or cloth balloon, made at the school, each day 
 floated away charged with letters. Du Breuil had a slip of 
 foreign-post paper upon him, and he undertook to get to the 
 Place a few lines written by Chartrain. When on the way he 
 met Barrus, who was very excited. 
 
 ' At last this Government of pleasure, waste, and lucre, has 
 fallen ! The Republic is going to save us. Jules Favre, at 
 least, speaks like a man !' 
 
 He drew from his pocket the Independant dc la Moselle — this 
 time a bright pink — and read with conviction : 
 
 ' ... If it is a challenge, we accept it ! We will give up 
 neither an inch of our territory nor a stone of our fortresses. 
 An ignominious peace would be a war of extermination at 
 short notice !' 
 
 His eyes shone, and there was a pronounced wrinkle on his 
 sectarian forehead. 
 
 ' What are they waiting for to proclaim the Republic here ?' 
 he exclaimed. He stopped short, and, pointing out a pastry- 
 cook's, said : * Look ; at such a time — that is what disgusts 
 me !' 
 
 Du Breuil carried away a brief vision of officers with large 
 moustaches eating bonbons, swallowing eclairs, and buns. 
 Barrus jeered : 
 
 * These cavalry gentlemen come to do their little marketing 
 in the morning, followed by orderlies with baskets on their 
 arms. It is said that certain chiefs only think of eating well. 
 Our soldiers, since their ration of bread has been reduced to 
 five hundred grammes, have joined the long string of people 
 waiting at the bakers' doors. The other day I saw carts with 
 white bread going through the camps. The soldiers were 
 buying it and throwing away their allowance of bread. This 
 traffic ought to be forbidden. We are not making use of the 
 resources of Metz, but wasting them.' 
 
 He stopped short and looked Du Breuil in the face : 
 
 * Is it true that Bazaine has written to Prince Frederick 
 Charles asking him for a detailed account of the truth of the 
 situation ?' 
 
254 THE DISASTER 
 
 Du Breuil started. 
 
 * I do not know.' He added, rather dryly : * I do not 
 think so.* 
 
 Barrus looked at him with a kind of strange sympathy, of 
 ironical pity. 
 
 ' Ah yes, you . . . you are honest 1' 
 
 He shook him by the hand, as though to crush it, and 
 rapidly moved away. 
 
 * A little cracked,' thought Du Breuil. And he felt mortally 
 sad. He was hardly commencing to see clearly, to obtain a 
 correct idea of the situation and its consequences. . . . 
 Touching images passed before his eyes. He pictured to 
 himself the Emperor a prisoner, the Empress and the Prince 
 Imperial in exile. These images did not remain fixed ; they 
 defiled as in a nightmare. A new Government — new men . . . 
 The Emperor, with his grave, suffering face ; the fine haughty 
 eyes of the Empress ; the eager crowd of courtiers ! And 
 all that he had heard for several days — the odious swarming of 
 reproaches, recriminations, hopes, ambitions. . . . Those who 
 lamented when thinking of what they were going to lose ; those 
 who rubbed their hands when thinking what they were going to 
 gain ! The soiree at Saint-Cloud filled his memory : the correct 
 Champreux, the chatterer Jousset-Gournal, Mme. d'Avilar 
 with her bold face of the intriguer, proud Comtesse de Limal, 
 the yellow-faced Mme. de Vernelay — courtiers ! courtiers ! 
 . . . What were they thinking, saying, and doing at present ? 
 A new Government ! . . . All that foundered with the former 
 Government : the eagles, the victories of the two Empires, the 
 fetes of peace and war, the solemn salvos of August 15th, 
 and on the morrow — Waterloo and Sedan ! Ah, a merited 
 expiation, but so bitter and so smarting ! As a chastisement for 
 their imprudence, their thoughtlessness, their feebleness, 
 how people would throw mud at the fallen sovereigns, how 
 they were going to make them pay for their days of triumph 
 and splendour ! What dirty stories already were current, 
 what pointless jests ! Du Breuil considered that the respect 
 due to misfortune was sacred. And yet, although, with three- 
 fourths of the country, he had gaily welcomed war, he cursed 
 it when he thought of the censurable lack of foresight, the 
 foolish thoughtlessness of these masters of France, who had 
 lost everything by losing themselves. 
 
 Without noticing, he had entered the Bersheims', seeing there 
 the ambulance, the faces which were already familiar to him — 
 
THE DISASTER 255 
 
 the good old Captain with a white beard, the nigger cymbal- 
 player who laughed with a clear childish laugh, showing his 
 white teeth. There was an empty bed, that of the little 
 soldier who had complained of having a taste for nothing. He 
 had been taken to the tumbrel, sewed up in a sack. Where, 
 then, were the Bersheims ? He pushed open D'Avol's door. 
 Some officers were there upon a visit, including Carrouge — 
 impetuous, like to a dry pimenta with his purple face. He 
 was crushing with his irony ' little M. Trochu,' and Gambetta, 
 whom he called ' grand beta.' No more Empire, no more 
 Imperial Guard, and no more Carrouge ! 
 
 ' I don't serve the Republic !' he said, striking his breast, 
 upon which his cross and medals jostled together. 
 
 Comte de Cussac smiled disdainfully : 
 
 ' We are going to laugh, gentlemen. I am awaiting the 
 Parisians on the ramparts. Peace wall be declared in a fort- 
 night.' 
 
 Captain de Serres, of D'Avol's battery, approved, straighten- 
 ing himself up in his pelisse, which he nipped with two fingers 
 like a corset. D'Avol had hardly turned his head towards Du 
 Breuil, and mumbled out a ' Good-day, Pierre !' He was in 
 bed. Getting up too soon did not do him any good. Sohier 
 was right. 
 
 * Politics to the devil !' he cried angrily. ' We are soldiers ; 
 we are blockaded in Metz, and our duty is to get out of it. 
 That is the only thing I know. And if we had heart, we 
 should force Bazaine to make a way out !' 
 
 'Oh, oh!' exclaimed voices. . . . 'One doesn't force a 
 Marshal of France like that.' 
 
 ' No,' said D'Avol in the midst of deep silence ; ' but one 
 can replace him when he doesn't wish to fight. There are 
 older Marshals.' 
 
 A feeling of uneasiness reigned. D'Avol felt that the silence 
 expressed indecision, blame, respect for discipline, fear of being 
 compromised. He changed his tone : 
 
 * You are wearing a pretty ring, Pierre.' He added : ' I 
 recognise it. You had it set at Metz, at the Jew Gugl's, 
 hadn't you ?' 
 
 The company rose. Anine and M. Bersheim had just 
 entered, the latter bringing lemonade, the former glasses. 
 D'Avol smiled mockingly. 
 
 * Isn't it an opal ? A fine stone ! Ah ! it reminds me of a 
 bracelet which I saw a pretty woman wearing.' 
 
256 THE DISASTER 
 
 Du Breuil felt Anine's eyes rest upon him for a second. . . . 
 What gadfly was stinging D'Avol ? Why this allusion, which 
 was evidently intentional ? . . . Usually he had so much 
 tact. Had illness changed him to this degree ? Had the 
 paroxysm of public misfortunes embittered his unaccommo- 
 dating character ? . . . ,Iie persisted : 
 
 ' Just look at Pierre's ring, Anine. In his place I should be 
 frightened to wear so fine an opal. Those stones bring with 
 them a kind of fatality. . . . But there are seductive fatali- 
 ties, aren't there, Pierre ? I recollect the evening at the 
 Opera. . . .' 
 
 ' Jacques,' said Du Breuil, and the serious accent of his 
 voice astonished himself, ' let us finish w^ith this pleasantry.' 
 
 Full of anxiety, he sought Anine's eyes. She w^as no longer 
 there. Bersheim was conversing with the officers, filling their 
 glasses. Du Breuil refused that which was held out to him. 
 D'Avol stretched out his hand, and said ironically : 
 
 ' To your amours, Pierre !' 
 
 Du Breuil pretended not to hear. He almost hated D'Avol 
 at that moment. A teasing joke ? . . . No, Jacques had 
 wished to discredit him, to lessen him in Anine's esteem by 
 letting it be supposed. ... At the thought of this disloyalty, 
 he was seized with anger. . . . Jacques, then, loved his 
 cousin ! He was jealous ? . . . Why ? Did his irascibility, 
 his bitterness, arise, then, from seeing Anine show him, Du 
 Breuil, a slight preference ? . . . He was momentarily 
 seized with stupor. Did he himself love Anine ? Had he 
 even thought of loving her ? . . . No ; and yet the idea 
 that D'Avol thought he was the preferred one caused him 
 intense joy. However, this misunderstanding left a deep 
 rancour towards his friend. Wounded amoiir-propve ? No ; 
 there was something else, which he could not clearly make 
 out, which separated them, D'Avol and he. . . . 
 
 Soon he left without being noticed. Anine met him in a 
 passage. Noble and pure, she looked him straight in the 
 face ; he lowered his eyes. . . . Did she judge him guilty ? 
 Did he owe to her account of his past ? He felt an irresistible 
 desire to say to her : ' D'Avol was joking. ... I have never 
 loved anybody !' and to renounce his sweet and proud amie. . . . 
 A few moments afterwards he was resting his elbows on the 
 parapet of the Pont de la Comedie, watching the rapid flowing 
 water, the turbid water which was descended towards Thion- 
 ville, reaching free countries. A horrible distress, a moral 
 
THE DISASTER 257 
 
 discouragement paralyzed him. All these reverses, such terrible 
 news, were too much. . . . 
 
 He thought of his parents, of Mme. de Guionic ; stretched 
 out his soul in a supreme effort, and did not even succeed in 
 feeling affected. He felt old, immediately aged at a blow. 
 By following the current of the dark water, he felt a kind of 
 dizziness. Whither were they going ? How would this 
 finish ? Would they ever leave this Metz, which, like a 
 diabolical loadstone, attracted and held them fast ? 
 
 D'Avol, Anine . . . He was suffering much. Why did 
 Jacques no longer like him ? for he foresaw, divined that 
 D'Avol no longer liked him. What had he done to him ? Is 
 it true that certain friendships are like those glass ampullae 
 which one can throw to the ground without breaking, but 
 which, if touched on a single spot, even lightly, break and fall 
 in dust ? Was their friendship like that ? . . . Anine's pure 
 face and large eyes irresistibly rose before him. Poor Mme. 
 de Guionic ! and he pitied his own past, his youth, the dis- 
 appeared Empire. He pitied himself such as he had been — a 
 man of this downfall, a man of this disaster. Ah, to retrieve 
 what was lost, if there was still time to do it ! What a lesson ! 
 what a lesson ! 
 
 He had drawn the opal ring from his finger. It sparkled in 
 the dying day, like a reflection of beauty, youth, pleasure ; he 
 examined the crack which crossed it for a moment, and 
 suspending it, without regret, as a farewell to a whole past 
 which would never return, he let it fall into the Moselle. 
 
 17 
 
PART V. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 That evening at the Ban Saint-Martin, in Mme. Guimbail's 
 small house, Du Breuil was thinking. A wretched candle was 
 burning on the mantelpiece. The mirror was dusty, the room 
 was in disorder ; the leaf of the calendar still marked Septem- 
 ber 20th. Everything had an air of negligence and abandon- 
 ment. 
 
 * May I come in ?' said a voice. 
 
 * You, Restaud ! You are not sleeping, then ?' 
 
 * Impossible.' 
 
 His forehead was marked by a furrow, his mouth was drawn 
 in. He took a few steps across the room, stopped before the 
 calendar, and tried to smile. 
 
 ' Not in advance.' 
 
 * I no longer have the courage to count the days.' And 
 Du Breuil looked at the ephemerides. * September 20th, 
 anniversary of the Alma. A splendid victory !' 
 
 Detaching the leaves one by one until September 23rd 
 appeared very clear upon the block of clean paper, he sent 
 the crumpled scraps of paper behind a piece of furniture with 
 a fillip of his thumb. Restaud watched him doing it with 
 grave attention. 
 
 * I don't bother you ?' 
 
 Du Breuil affectionately placed his two hands upon his 
 shoulders to seat him in an arm-chair. 
 
 ' My dear Restaud, I share your distress. If you had not 
 come I should have hunted you up.' 
 
 He sought for some tobacco, and discovered two cigars. 
 Restaud refused. 
 
 ' I take no pleasure in smoking, or in anything. Do you 
 
 [258 3 
 
THE DISASTER 259 
 
 eat ? As for me, I cannot swallow a mouthful. I'm thirsty 
 only.' And, foreseeing an offer : ' No, no ; I don't want to 
 drink. It's a nervous state — one's throat is dry, and then a 
 constriction of anguish, a bitterness of bile and gall. . . . 
 Come, I'm bothering you. I'll be off.' 
 
 Du Breuil said : 
 
 * We are very unfortunate. . . . We must admit that 
 things look bad.' 
 
 Restaud rested his feverish forehead on his hand. His 
 lassitude replied for him. 
 
 ' I went through the bivouacs to-day,' said Du Breuil at last. 
 * In what a state of idleness and ennui they are allowing our 
 poor soldiers to wallow ! The horses fill one with pity.' 
 
 He gave heartrending details. This hateful immobility was 
 relaxing all moral elasticity. No exercises, reviews never, 
 nothing which kept military sentiments alive, whilst with the 
 Prussians there was nothing but work, manoeuvres, and 
 parades. What had they done since September ist ? Nothing 
 — insignificant operations, simple foraging expeditions, which 
 had been successful at Magny-sur-Seille and at Lauvallier, 
 unsuccessful at Vany. . . . Behind its intrenchments the 
 inactive army, nourished on coarse bread and poor horseflesh, 
 was becoming enfeebled. The horses, reduced to cropping the 
 last blades of grass, vine-shoots, and branchlets of the poplars, 
 became skeletons. Many fell attached to their halters ; others, 
 conducted to the watering-place, fell down upon the road to 
 rise no more. The spectacle of the camps, in this country 
 shorn by scythes, as bare as a tomb, contaminated by putrid 
 miasmata around large ditches excavated on the front lines of 
 the camps, was heartrending. 
 
 The spectacle in the town was as sad, continued Du Breuil. 
 The ambulances were a mass of sores, gangrene, typhus, and 
 dysentery. The tents and the magazines were infected ; the 
 patients froze there at night. The absence of salt made scurvy 
 to be feared, and in Metz, a hospital of pain and death, the 
 soldiers and officers were thronging, notwithstanding the inter- 
 dictions. . . . Hustling sentries and gendarmes, the troops were 
 pillaging the bakers' shops. The officers bought provisions at 
 any price ; the inhabitants complained of the rise in prices. 
 He had surprised Massoli bargaining for twenty-five pots of 
 preserves. Frisch, ordered to get some salt, had paid twenty 
 francs a pound. A commander of an army corps had paid 
 three hundred francs for a truffled pullet. 
 
 17 — 2 
 
26o THE DISASTER 
 
 * Much good may it do him !' said Restaud. * Everybody 
 cannot make such purchases . . . and wouldn't want to !' He 
 added : ' Much to my sorrow, I have sold one of my horses.' 
 
 Officers' thoroughbreds, humble troop horses, a Colonel's or 
 a trumpeter's horse — for all animals the butchery contractor 
 gave the same ridiculous sum, two hundred and thirty francs 
 each. They led them by droves to the lie Chambi^re, and 
 every day two hundred and fifty fell, the frontal bone crushed 
 by a blacksmith's hammer. The number of animals to be 
 killed exceeded the needs of the provision administration owing 
 to their being unable to feed them. The surplus was handed 
 over to the Metz municipality, and to the communes in the 
 suburbs. 
 
 * I have sold Guillaume,' said Du Breuil. 
 
 In spite of care, Cydalise was growing thin. She had been 
 ill, having eaten some beech-tree leaves, gathered by Jubault, 
 who was replacing Frisch that particular morning. Unwhole- 
 some trees had, however, been mentioned in orders from head- 
 quarters. 
 
 * To think that at this hour,' murmured Restaud with rage, 
 * the Prussians may be entering Paris !' 
 
 He clenched his fist ; his mother and two sisters lived in the 
 Rue de Vaugirard. Paris ! At this word a sudden vision 
 passed before Du Breuil. * Le Dernier Jour de Corinthe ' 
 appeared before him, Tony Robert-Fleury's large picture, 
 which he had admired at the Salon with Mme. de Guionic. 
 To an astonishing degree she even resembled that kneeling 
 woman in the foreground who, uncovering her throat, was 
 watching, fascinated with terror in the midst of her dismayed 
 companions, the entry of the Consul Mummius and his barbarian 
 legions ; murder, pillage, fire, the sale by auction of captives, 
 all the horror of a people a prey to the conqueror . . . ' Le 
 Dernier Jour de Paris !* . . . A heavy sorrow seized him. 
 Paris, with its splendours, its museums, the beauty of its 
 women, the grace of its wit — Paris in the brutal hands of the 
 enemy ! No ; such a city would not let itself be violated in 
 that manner ! . . . But to organize resistance there, a prompt 
 will, energetic men, were necessary. Now, at that hour, what 
 elements of trouble were perhaps fermenting ? The Revolu- 
 tion, pessimists announced, was overthrowing everything. At 
 Lyons, Marseilles, Bordeaux, arose, in the midst of pikes, the 
 red Republic, a Phrygian cap upon her head. Strange rumours 
 — certainly he did not believe in them, but what a state of 
 
THE DISASTER 261 
 
 enervation in the long-run ! — had it that France was in the 
 midst of fire and blood. Was there a government there ? Was 
 it still in existence ? Marquis was repeating to everybody 
 that Frederick Charles had just been proclaimed Emperor of 
 the French, that he would adopt the Prince Imperial, and that 
 Prussia would give them the Rhenish provinces as an acces- 
 sion gift. Comte de Cussac heard from a good source of the 
 probable restoration of the Orleans dynasty. 
 
 Would Paris hold out ? That was the great question. . . . 
 And no one dared to hope it. Restaud doubted, Du Breuil 
 doubted ; under the frivolous exterior, under the display of 
 luxury and pleasure of the capital, they could not perceive 
 intense beating of the heart, marvellous reservoirs of energy. 
 Besides, the unanimous opinion influenced them. Barrus 
 alone — but people had shrugged their shoulders — had affirmed 
 that Paris would face everything — siege and bombardment — 
 before surrendering. 
 
 There were mental reservations at the bottom of men's souls. 
 Grown up, grown old for the past eighteen years under the 
 imperial rule, these innumerable soldiers of the Army of the 
 Rhine lived in a legend of glory, thought and reflected little, 
 accomplished their duty with blunted punctuality. With what 
 apprehensions, what doubts, must they not receive the acces- 
 sion of a new power ? If those of advanced opinions and the 
 clear-sighted saluted the dawn of the Republic, the majority, 
 who remained imperialist by habit more than by fidelity, de- 
 plored the situation ; and even those who blamed the faults of 
 the regime would have contributed, without doubt, to its 
 restoration, if only it did not cost civil war. Du Breuil him- 
 self considered the downfall of the Empire as irrevocable. 
 The future was troubled. But, free from all political con- 
 siderations, even above men, the idea of France stood out in 
 relief before his eyes above everything else. 
 
 In the meantime, there was no news of the Government of 
 the National Defence. liow was it that none of its emissaries 
 reached Metz ? How was it that Bazaine, on his side, had 
 not been able to place himself in communication ? Yet 
 Charlys and Major Samuel, the officers charged with the in- 
 formation department, had sure men at their disposal. The 
 Marshal used none of them, and discouraged good intentions. 
 Every day, men of the district, or escaped prisoners, slipped 
 by the Gorze weir, and threw themselves into the midst of 
 the vines. The arrival of a Lieutenant, who had entered by 
 
262 THE DISASTER 
 
 the aqueduct, only drew from the Marshal this reflection : 
 * I had ordered, however, that this conduit was to be 
 blown up.' 
 
 It was a strange thing, Du Breuil called to mind, that the 
 Marshal solicited information from the enemy, to whose in- 
 terest it was to mislead him. On September i6th, he sent 
 Colonel Boyer, his Aide-de-camp, to the German head- 
 quarters. Prince Frederick Charles was absent. Boyer re- 
 turned to the outposts on the following day, and insisted upon 
 being received. The Prince's reply, which arrived in the 
 evening, had confirmed the capitulation of Sedan on every 
 point ; the German armies were before Paris. Frederick 
 Charles said he was authorized to make any communication 
 which the Marshal desired. A fragment of a newspaper, con- 
 taining the names of the members of the Government of the 
 National Defence, and a few decrees drawn up and signed by 
 them, accompanied this letter. The Prince remarked that the 
 Republic, having sprung into being at the Hotel de Ville, and 
 not at the Corps Legislatif, was unrecognised by part of 
 France, as well as by the monarchical powers. 
 
 * I have no prejudice for or against,' said Restaud. * I will 
 acclaim the Republic if it helps us to drive out the Prussians. 
 Rather than sign a shameful peace, we ought to struggle to 
 the end — conquer or die !' 
 
 ' Well thought !' sighed Du Breuil. * Why cannot they 
 hear you in Bazaine's cabinet ?' 
 
 He stretched out his arm in that direction. It was a closed 
 and silent place. An air of mystery had hovered around it for 
 some time. The coming and going of German officers sent to 
 parley had attracted attention. Something was being hatched 
 which, even to those who saw nothing equivocal or suspicious, 
 remained clandestine. 
 
 Restaud was silent, so as not to express any judgment. 
 Du Breuil said : 
 
 ' No, no ! The Marshal does not ignore the feeHngs of the 
 army, yours and mine. If the great chiefs, if those who have 
 authority, do not make him hear the truth loud enough, 
 the humble ones, the anonymous crowd has spoken, speaks 
 every day. The Marshal receives and reads all the unsigned 
 letters. They adjure him to attempt the honour of arms ; beg 
 him to enter, he and his generals, into communion with the 
 army which suffers without complaint, and which obeys while 
 Champing its bit. You read, Restaud, the splendid letter which 
 
THE DISASTER 263 
 
 one of ours (Charlys, it is believed) sent to Bazaine a month 
 ago ? Since then ' — he lowered his voice — ' the tone of respect 
 has changed. Imperious, even insulting, summonses recall him 
 to those duties which he has forgotten.' 
 
 ' I want to hope,' said Restaud. ' We must. What will 
 become of us without faith ?' 
 
 ' Faith !' Du Breuil looked at him with bitter pity. * Come, 
 politics is a miserable thing. ... Is it necessary that per- 
 sonal ambition should lessen the feeling of honour in certain 
 souls ? Ought Bazaine to ask Prince Frederick Charles for 
 information ? Ought he to lend a complaisant ear to these 
 disastrous pieces of news which they have an interest in making 
 him believe ? . . . There is another thing : you have read 
 these copies of the Figaro and the Monitenv de Reims. The 
 Prussian Government is only disposed to treat with the 
 Emperor, the Empress Regent, or with the Marshal, who 
 holds his command from the Emperor. A big but an enticing 
 hook ; who knows if he isn't going to take it ?' 
 
 ' We are a force,' said Restaud hesitatingly. ' They can 
 treat with us.' 
 
 * Yes, but at what price ? Shall we be the restorers of a 
 fallen regime ? Pretorians, then ? After having fired on 
 Prussians, shall we open fire with our mitrailleuses upon 
 Frenchmen ? Are we going to re-establish order in the blood 
 of our country, so torn and so unfortunate ? . . . The army 
 is not a political instrument in the hands of the ambitious. 
 We must only serve France. Let us look the truth in the 
 face. Our inaction is leading us to the abyss.' He added 
 ironically : ' Ah, the Marshal's vacillations ! Was it not his 
 first thought to recognise the new Government ? Immediately 
 they scratch out the words imperial, empereicr, on the promotion 
 forms, and those for the Legion of Honour. They order new 
 characters at the printers' ! . . . Since then they have re- 
 turned to the old ones.' 
 
 ' But the Marshal is right,' said Restaud. * We are not 
 released from our oath.' 
 
 * Ah, only let us keep it until the end ! May Bazaine be 
 inspired by the example of Fabert, upon the base of whose 
 statue on the Place de 1' Hotel de Ville are these proud words : 
 *' If, to prevent a fort which the King has entrusted to me 
 from falling into the hands of the enemy, it was necessary for 
 me to place myself, my family, and all that is mine, into the 
 breach, I should not hesitate a moment to do it." ' 
 
264 THE DISASTER 
 
 A silence followed in the midst of deep emotion. Restaud 
 at last said : 
 
 * There are bitter hours in our profession. The powerless- 
 ness of the soldier has need to be passive ; it is not resigned. 
 What abnegation, what force of renunciation, is necessary to 
 stifle the voice of his conscience !' 
 
 ' You admit it, then — you, the man of duty ?' 
 
 * Yes ; it is true our duty is at times difficult.' 
 Du Breuil added : 
 
 * It is nothing when one knows it. But if one day we seek 
 for it?' 
 
 * I shall never know but one duty — passive obedience.' 
 And Du Breuil thought he again could see Lacoste, so 
 
 simple and so great. He objected : 
 ' Until the end, whatever happens ?' 
 
 * Until the end,' said Restaud. 
 
 But anguish discomposed his features ; a great struggle was 
 visibly going on within him. 
 
 * So,' concluded Du Breuil, choosing his words because he 
 felt the importance of what they were saying, • those who con- 
 sider that things cannot last thus, that an incapable or 
 ambitious chief ought to be replaced . . .' 
 
 D'Avol's cutting voice vibrated in his ears : 
 ' There are older Marshals !' 
 Restaud stopped him : 
 
 * Do not speak to me of the insubordinates, of rebels ! If 
 they were a hundred times right, if I myself thought as they 
 did, if my brother were in the crowd, I would shoot them at the 
 first act of insubordination. If anarchy dissolves the army, 
 what will become of us ? Discipline, Du Breuil — recollect 
 that terrible and magnificent word written on the first page 
 of the Service Interieur : "Discipline, the principal force of 
 armies." ' 
 
 He looked him in the face with proud conviction, which, 
 coming from the heart, went straight to his. Du Breuil, 
 touched, said : 
 
 * You are right, my friend.' 
 
 A pale fire shone from Restaud's face, his eyes took an 
 expression of inexpressible nobility. 
 
 ' You have never seriously doubted. A man like you can- 
 not doubt. It is for others to guard themselves against the 
 temptations of pride.' 
 
 Pride ? Why this word ? How it exactly cut D'Avol, 
 
 i 
 
THE DISASTER 265 
 
 whom Restaud, however, did not know. Yes ; noble pride, 
 certainly, but incompatible with the soldier's renunciation. 
 ... - Discipline, the principal force of armies !' 
 
 * Come,' said Restaud, * we must try to sleep. Courage !' 
 
 * Good-night, friend.' 
 
 And their hands clasped with a great impulse of affection 
 and esteem. Restaud left ; Du Breuil felt more alone, sadder. 
 Why had they not breathed a word of that mysterious per- 
 sonage who had come in the afternoon to find Bazaine ? . . . 
 After all, Restaud, who had been absent since noon, and who 
 spoke little, might be ignorant of the event of the day : that 
 unknown man in civil dress who had been brought by an 
 officer of General de Cissey in the wagonette used by the 
 officers sent to parley. Introduced into the Marshal's presence, 
 he had conversed for a long time with him, had stated he 
 came from Hastings, where the Empress was residing. They 
 knew nothing more of him. 
 
 How was it they had not spoken of that ? Bah ! what was 
 the good ? What was the use of always criticising ? . . . He 
 listened. 
 
 A little melody sounded in the distance. ... In order 
 to be more certain, he opened the window. Yes ; he had 
 heard correctly. Who, then, was amusing himself at that 
 hour by playing the flute ? It flowed like an ironical and sad 
 streamlet of water. It modulated no particular air, and re- 
 called all known tunes. The musician improvised as he recol- 
 lected. And this shrill and solitary wail had a strange effect, 
 rising in the great silence above the Ban Saint- Martin, ascend- 
 ing into the night impregnated with the slumber of the army, 
 above confused dreams and heavy nightmares. The feeble 
 sound, so feeble, only a breath, became annoying in the long- 
 run like the buzzing of an insect. Puzzled, Du Breuil noise- 
 lessly crept downstairs and walked round the house. The 
 noise came from the stable ; a ray of light from a lantern lit 
 up the face of Jubault. Was the little faubourien, his short 
 reed to his lips, killing his home-sickness ? Was he thinking 
 of some amour of the harriere ? . . . He was warbling with so 
 good a heart that Du Breuil refrained from interrupting the 
 song by a blow upon the door with his fist. When he had 
 remounted to his bedroom, he still heard in the distance the 
 strange little voice. In its tenuity there was something touch- 
 ing, a lightness which seemed to mock. With a smack of 
 vulgarity in it ; it repeated over and over again an air under 
 
266 THE DISASTER 
 
 which Du Breuil, by having heard Jubault hum it, guessed 
 the words : 
 
 • Malbrough s'en va t'en guerre, 
 
 Dans une bouteille ! . . . 
 Mais il en reviendra dans un panier . . . 
 Dans un panier perc© !' 
 
 In the afternoon of the next day, September 24th, the return 
 of the mysterious personage put the staffs of the Ban Saint- 
 Martin into a state of anxiety. There was the busy bearing 
 of chiefs, questioning looks, whispered confidences ; on every 
 face disquietude and curiosity. Truly, the unknown kept souls 
 in suspense, and comments crossed and contradicted each 
 other. To screen him from the inquisitive, the Marshal had 
 ordered the doors of his house to be closed. 
 
 ' Some spy,' said Floppe. ' One has only to see whence he 
 comes. Without any doubt, he is a Prussian agent. And, 
 between parentheses, I may say this gentleman entered here 
 as though into an inn. Why didn't they stop him at the out- 
 posts until Bazaine had decided to receive him or not ? But 
 the Marshal was doubtless in too great a hurry to wait.' 
 
 ' You see evil everywhere,' said Massoli. * You know per- 
 fectly well that this gentleman comes to take back the 
 Luxemburg doctors we have in Metz to their own country.' 
 
 As Floppe opened wide his eyes, Massoli stated precisely : 
 
 ' Certainly, the seven or eight Luxemburgers who came at 
 the opening of the war to nurse the wounded. . . .' (Du 
 Breuil saw again one of them, the gorilla of Borny and of 
 the Saint- Clement ambulance ; too striking a figure for him 
 to forget it. . . .) * These doctors form a part of the Interna- 
 tional Association of Geneva ; the blockade troubles them ; 
 they have asked the Marshal to send them home. Up to the 
 present they have feared they would divulge what they have 
 seen in our lines. This gentleman, who is their chief, simply 
 comes to fetch them, in accord with General von Stiehle.' 
 
 ' Simply !' jeered Floppe. ' Is it for that purpose that he 
 has remained closeted for hours with the Marshal, so that 
 yesterday evening at eleven o'clock they still talked ?' 
 
 ' And the proof,' said Francastel, throwing himself into the 
 discussion like a giddy-brains, ' is that when this individual 
 wished to enter the enemy's lines it was too late ; our main- 
 guard trumpet sounded in vain. And what will astonish you 
 is the fact that, having left Moulins, where he must have slept, 
 at five o'clock this morning, our man had returned from the 
 
THE DISASTER 267 
 
 Germans at noon. On the way he related in a peremptory 
 tone to Arnous-Rivi^re, the officer charged with the parley 
 department, a heap of things — that he is sent by the Empress, 
 that he brings a letter from her. He comes to ask Bazaine 
 to support the cause of the Regency with his army ; Canrobert 
 and Bourbaki are to be asked to co-operate in this restoration.' 
 
 * That is too much,' murmured Restaud incredulously. ' And 
 the name of this diplomatist ?' 
 
 ' You don't know it ?' asked Francastel. He enjoyed for a 
 moment the general curiosity, and then said : * His name is 
 Regnier.' 
 
 A deception followed : this name told them nothing. They 
 constructed a thousand suppositions, based on homonyms. 
 Laune had heard much talk formerly of a Regnier, who was 
 a kind of meddlesome adventurer mixed up in the 1848 Revo- 
 lution, and who launched unfortunate industries. . . . Was 
 this the same man ? That appeared to him doubtful. What 
 was this personage of the third order doing in the midst of 
 such great interests ? 
 
 Marquis, always informed, was saying, with an air of great 
 mystery : 
 
 ' He is an agent of the Provisional Government, skilfully 
 disguised as a member of the International ! He brings news. 
 The Emperor is not a prisoner. He is moving towards 
 Denmark, which is declaring for us.' 
 
 ' No, no, you're not in it, dear friend !' 
 
 And Floppe, in the midst of laughter, suggested that 
 the unknown one only brought some bottles of black dye 
 for Massoli's hair. He had need of them, because it was 
 turning to verdigris. Apparently the reserve stock of the 
 Metz hairdressers had been exhausted. . . . Massoli was 
 approaching, so he became silent. 
 
 Francastel continued : 
 
 ' In any case, he isn't a subaltern agent. The Marshal 
 would not personally trouble himself to go and find Canrobert 
 and Bourbaki !' 
 
 Bazaine had, in fact, after consulting with the unknown, 
 mounted on horseback. Du Breuil was perplexed. The 
 emissary appeared to him still more suspicious when Charlys 
 suddenly said to him : 
 
 * Where, then, is Laune ?' And, as if he could not remain 
 silent longer, he decided to confide in him, Du Breuil. 'Do 
 you know what I have just heard from Colonel Boyer ? 
 
268 THE DISASTER 
 
 Invited by the Marshal to sleep in the French camp yester- 
 day evening, Regnier had the cheek to reply: "No, I don't 
 want to remain here, where there is only bad horseflesh broth. 
 I prefer going to Ars, where there is good beef broth." Good 
 beef broth with Prince Frederick Charles ! . . . I should 
 have shown him out with a horse- whipping !' 
 
 Laune came up. A bilious fever was making his eyelids 
 brown, and turning his face yellow. 
 
 * And I should have had him hanged as a spy ! Don't they 
 say that the Marshal ' 
 
 He bit his lips and kept silent. 
 
 Anxiety increased when they learnt that Bazaine, who had 
 found neither Canrobert nor Bourbaki at their headquarters, 
 had urgently sent for them, and when they saw the chief 
 officers arrive one after the other. Leboeuf had made a short 
 appearance about four o'clock, but, feeling a sense of uneasiness 
 at the silence which had set in, he immediately withdrew. The 
 doors, carefully guarded by Bazaine's officers, all steeped in 
 mystery, were again closed behind Canrobert and Bourbaki. 
 
 * What are they up to inside ?' Floppe was murmuring. ' It 
 isn't fair, gentlemen. The Marshal's staff alone is in the 
 know. They are keeping us in quarantine.' 
 
 ' Don't trouble yourself, Floppe. I know everything,' declared 
 Francastel. * This Regnier is an imperialist agent. France is a 
 prey to anarchy, and a restoration may alone save the country.' 
 
 * Admitting that he accepts the remedy !' 
 
 * But a regency of the Empress with the Prince Imperial, 
 and Bazaine as Grand Constable, offers nothing inadmissible,' 
 improved Francastel. 
 
 Massoli triumphed. 
 
 ' What was I saying to you, gentlemen, with your mania for 
 finding noon at two o'clock ? . . . The only question is that 
 of sending back the Luxemburg doctors to their own country. 
 The Marshal has told them to assemble at the Ban Saint- 
 Martin. I have just spoken to one of them ; you know, the 
 one who is so ugly, and who grimaces like this.' 
 
 Massoli, to imitate him, became hideous. ' The gorilla !' 
 thought Du Breuil. This recollection aroused in him a kind 
 of superstitious uneasiness, a repugnance, as though he had 
 retained the fear of seeing bent over him on a day of battle, 
 in some solitary ambulance, the hairy face, the blue eyes, of 
 this man, armed, as at Borny, with forceps and scissors, red 
 with having been used in quivering flesh. . . . 
 
THE DISASTER 269 
 
 There was no doubt, in fact, that the negotiator had come 
 to take back the Luxemburg doctors to their own country. 
 With the dying evening they saw them arrive — almost all 
 young, smiling, happy to leave. The oldest had just received 
 a brevet of the Legion of Honour, and the gorilla was wearing 
 a kepi with the Cross of Geneva, which Regnier had asked for 
 him. One after the other they disappeared into the Marshal's 
 house. However, part of the truth transpired, in spite of the 
 silence which was kept — Bazaine was negotiating, but with 
 what object, with what idea ? . . . Night was gathering. 
 Bourbaki left, going towards his headquarters at Plappeville. 
 The conference was, then, concluded ? No ; he returned shortly 
 afterwards. The door was opened and closed again. And the 
 mysterious envoy, the chattering and peremptory man whom 
 Arnous-Rivi^re had depicted, still remained closeted with the 
 Marshal. Why did he not leave with his Luxemburg doctors ? 
 It was because he was dining with Bazaine and Bourbaki. At 
 nightfall Captain Arnous- Riviere conducted Regnier back again 
 in his wagonette, in company with a man wearing a kepi, upon 
 which was a Geneva Cross, whom he did not know. The 
 doctors followed in another carriage. 
 
 That night an aurora borealis filled the northern sky with 
 an immense red light, crossed with white rays and luminous 
 brush-Hghts. Du Breuil could not sleep. Jubault's little flute 
 sounded shrill in his ears with the persistence of a mosquito 
 until a very late hour. In the morning, great was the stupor 
 upon learning that Bourbaki had left for Hastings. The 
 Marshal had lent him his own civilian clothes, even to his 
 braces. Charlys, knowing Du Breuil to be very trustworthy, 
 related to him what he knew. The Empress, Regnier had 
 affirmed, asked for Canrobert or Bourbaki. And the former 
 refusing to leave Metz, the latter had consented, but on certain 
 conditions : he asked for a written order, and the promise that 
 the Guard should not be brought into action during his 
 absence. . . . The object of this mission ? To bring the 
 Sovereign back to Metz by proclaiming her Regent, and to 
 treat with the enemy ? Or else would the Metz army, 
 transported to a neutralized zone of the territory, protect the 
 convocation of the Corps Legislatif and the Senate, such as 
 they were constituted during the last session, and would the 
 two Chambers proclaim a regular Government, Prussia 
 engaging to recognise it, and the army to re-establish it ? . . . 
 What would become under that arrangement of the Provisional 
 
270 THE DISASTER 
 
 Governmentj so decided to fight, so eager for resistance, and, 
 whether one liked it or not, so ardent in heart, so thoroughly 
 French ? 
 
 To treat with the enemy was an expedient which revolted 
 Charlys. Alone the fate of arms, not the hazard of political 
 negotiations, had a chance, in the opinion of all patriotic 
 officers, of enlarging the prison in which they were etiolating. 
 But time was pressing : around them was a solidly intrenched 
 army riveting the circle. And in the fort they only had 
 enough to last out until October i8th. Each day was using 
 up their forces, dismounting horsemen and batteries, ruining 
 the spirit of the troops. 
 
 'Whither are we going?' said Charlys, with a shrug of his 
 shoulders, which still more lengthened out his thin body. 
 
 And everybody was saying that ; everybody who was pass- 
 ing was quarrelling, and in a state of deep rage. It seemed as 
 though the army, from the obscurest to the most illustrious, 
 stricken by a great dizziness, contemplated itself with sightless 
 eyes, powerlessly sinking into the abyss, like earth which 
 slowly settles. 
 
 That day, which was a Sunday, the departure of General 
 Bourbaki, and his replacement at the head of the Guard by 
 General Desvaux, provided matter for all conversations. The 
 stupor of General Boisjol and the emotion of Major Carrouge 
 were at their height. Others — Massoli, Francastel — were con- 
 versing about a list of decorations which had been signed on 
 the previous day ; their eyes were sparkling with desire and 
 envy. This mean egoism under such circumstances rather 
 sickened Du Breuil. The weather was fine. For a long time 
 he contemplated from his window the vast plain of the Ban 
 Saint-Martin, dust or lake of mud alternately. Between a 
 triple zone of felled trees, it displayed its naked earth, its 
 dismal desolation. Although he was free that day, he had not 
 the heart to go to see the Bersheims. He had a bitter taste 
 in his mouth, and his limbs were tired. He was eaten 
 up with ennui and a nameless disgust. He looked at the 
 calendar. The ephemerides bore the date September 25th, 
 1799 : General Massena overcomes Korsakov's Russians at 
 Zurich ! 
 
 Massena ! He thought of the admirable siege of Genoa, 
 which the Metz newspapers, all the more exalted as the military 
 censor was cutting, suppressing their articles, making a point, 
 they had said, of paralyzing their patriotism, had called to 
 
THE DISASTER 271 
 
 mind the other day. Massena, the hero of Genoa, of Rivoli, of 
 Eckmiihl, of Aspern. . . . Why had they not a similar man ? 
 On Monday Bersheim arrived at headquarters. The ex- 
 cellent man was very excited. He took Du Breuil aside. 
 
 * Are you aware of the emotion in the town, my friend ? 
 Do you know a large number of the inhabitants are drawing 
 up a petition to ask the Marshal to make a sortie, and to open 
 the campaign ? By remaining here, he is leading us to our 
 ruin. . . . Let him surrender, if he dares, with an army of 
 a hundred and sixty thousand men, but let him first get away 
 from Metz, and leave us to defend ourselves ! We have pro- 
 visions, a sufficient garrison, and, be sure of it, Bazaine gone, 
 Coffinieres will do his duty.' 
 
 In the presence of Du Breuil's darkened face, he made an 
 affectionate gesture. 
 
 * Metz does not suspect the army, friend ! The invasion of our 
 shops and our markets by officers and soldiers we would willingly 
 support. What is impoverishment to us ? We will face the 
 siege, if necessary ; the only thing we ask is to fight like Stras- 
 burg, likeToul, hke so many other towns which do their duty!' 
 
 ' Toul has just capitulated,' said Du Breuil. 
 
 * At least after resistance,' replied Bersheim. ' Strasburg, 
 the surrender of which the Marshal is in too great a hurry to 
 announce, still holds out. But here, what are we doing ? 
 What are we waiting for ? Famine ? The wheat of Metz, 
 which ought to have been reserved for man's nourishment, 
 has been bought, carried off by the military administration. 
 The army horses are eating it. There is pillage and waste, 
 and while provisions are running low in a terrifying way, they 
 have done nothing, or almost nothing, to procure others within 
 the circle itself of the investment. Is not such sluggishness 
 shameful ?' 
 
 Re-echoing the feelings of the town, he complained bitterly 
 of the Governor, of his wilfulness in constituting neither the 
 Council of Defence nor the Victualling Commission. The 
 Municipal Council was occupied with the food question for the 
 first time on September 14th, and on the 15th a decree from 
 Coffinieres had ordered returns to be made out in regard to 
 wheat and flour in Metz, and the fixing of the price of these 
 commodities, in addition to that of horseflesh. They were 
 wise measures, but insufficient, and besides that were badly 
 executed. The evil continued until the month of August, 
 when the Governor had refused to allow the resources of the 
 
272 THE DISASTER 
 
 neighbouring villages to flow into Metz, for fear of alarming 
 the inhabitants. 
 
 * And Bourbaki ? Is he really going to bring back to us the 
 Empress and the Prince Imperial ? . . . I conceive that that 
 seduces some Marshals who owe everything to the Empire, but 
 one must count with the Republican population of Metz — Metz 
 which they treat as though it did not exist. . . . Will not 
 some man rise up, then, with the courage to speak plainly to 
 the Marshal ?' 
 
 Du Breuil smiled a melancholy smile. 
 
 ' At least Metz,' said Bersheim forcibly, * will know how 
 to make itself heard by the voice of its Municipal Council and 
 Mayor. I certify that. Besides, all the general or superior 
 officers do not participate in this theory of passive renuncia- 
 tion. Those who want to recall Bazaine to his duty are 
 numerous. Obedience to the chief who leads them against 
 the enemy, refusal to obey the chief who wishes to surrender 
 them, that is what I hear professed at my house by a few men 
 of heart — General Boisjol, Barrus, D'Avol, Courrage. . . .' 
 
 ' I cannot discuss that,' said Du Breuil. 
 
 Bersheim made a gesture expressive of helplessness. 
 
 * But whither are we going ? What are they doing ? What 
 does the Marshal want ?' 
 
 Du Breuil looked at him sorrowfully. What could he know 
 — he, one of the lowest — of the projects of the man who com- 
 manded the fate of two hundred thousand soldiers and citizens, 
 of the man with the heavy face, puffed-out eyelids and im- 
 penetrable look, who, disguising his grandeur under a face or 
 a mask of simplicity, confined, intrenched himself behind the 
 railings of his park and the walls of his house, who never 
 appeared in the town, who was unknown in the hospitals and 
 ambulances, who was hidden among his little court of officers 
 in the midst of suspicious whisperings and secret meetings ? 
 
 * Time is passing by,' said Baorsheim bitterly. ' What have 
 they done during the last month ? Where shall we be in a 
 month's time ?' 
 
 One month ago it was the sham sortie of Grimont under 
 the torrential storm. What ground they had gone over, and 
 on what a slope ! Where were the illusions, the hopes which 
 persisted then ? . . . Bersheim continued : 
 
 'They even discourage those who attempt anything. An 
 engineer offered to cast war projectiles ; the artillery manage- 
 ment showed him to the door. One of my friends, M. Cordier, 
 
THE DISASTER 
 
 273 
 
 promised one thousand francs to anyone who would take a 
 letter to Pans and bring back the answer. General Coffinieres, 
 after having severely asked him on what authority he meddled 
 in these matters, said he intended to retain the most authority 
 in the execution of the project. M. Cordier introduced him to 
 some trustworthy emissaries. Not one of them has been 
 employed.' He returned to the question of Bourbaki. This 
 departure was a veritable obsession. ' To go away thus, dis- 
 guised and at night, in the midst of doctors ! These doctors 
 were not more than seven, and they affirm that the safe-con- 
 duct brought by Regnier consisted of nine persons. The 
 German headquarters foresaw, then, Bourbaki's departure ? 
 How suspicious all that is !' 
 
 ' You are very pessimistic,' said Du Breuil, in a tone of 
 friendly reproach. It seemed to him that Bersheim was talking 
 like a man who has been influenced. If he listened to that 
 sectarian Barrus, who was always in revolt, or to D'Avol, who 
 was so bitter ! . . . He felt more unhappy when he was left 
 alone. He gave a hearty welcome, however, to young Char- 
 train, who, still w^eak, had come to thank him for his kindness. 
 He even read a letter w^hich the little quarter-master had 
 asked him to send to his father, M. Chartrain, Conseiller d'Etat, 
 so as to make sure it contained no irregularities. The officers 
 who were sent to parley consented, in a spirit of surprising 
 tolerance, to an exchange of private letters, which were sub- 
 mitted to the censor in the two camps. The pleasure of his 
 good action lasted only a short time ; spleen was lying in wait 
 for him. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Happily, a diversion occurred the next day, that of the 
 Peltre engagement. Major Mourgues dared to declare that 
 the plan of attack was impracticable. The scepticism of the 
 officers of Bazaine's staff was astonishing ! If one were to 
 believe them, the soldier did not wish to march any more ; to 
 fight only irritated the enemy, who immediately took ven- 
 geance on the villages. What was the good of actions de detail^ 
 when the great fight was lost ? Why not treat for peace, 
 and take their revenge later ? . . . One should have heard 
 little IMourgues' Proven9al accent, a blustering echo of the 
 more discreet remarks of his chief, General Boyer, for 
 
 18 
 
274 
 
 THE DISASTER 
 
 Bazaine's first Aide-de-camp was wearing the stars since yes- 
 terday. 'Stats de Services?' jeered Floppe. ' Des tas de 
 Services !' The pun was a great success. Floppe was the 
 hete noire of these gentlemen, and Mourgues took care not to 
 speak so loud in his presence. But Floppe on the previous 
 day had taken over the parley department, of the deHcate 
 duties of which Captain Arnous- Riviere had just been rdieved, 
 and which in the future the captains of the staff were in turn 
 each day filling. 
 
 Detonations from Fort Queuleu, about nine o'clock, re- 
 echoed in Du Breuil's heart. Since he had heard the Saint- 
 Quentin thundering forth at the time of his first parleying 
 mission, he never listened to the loud voice of the forts without 
 emotion. They had worked without interruption, and the forts 
 were now strongly armed. He had wished to see them at 
 work, left to themselves, helping Metz to defend herself alone. 
 They were able to do it. 
 
 The cannon was redoubling in violence. Du Breuil, feeling 
 an irresistible desire to know, set off. At Fort Queuleu, 
 where he knew some officers, the situation was good. General 
 Lapasset, notwithstanding Mourgues, had conceived a bold 
 coup de main, the capture of the Chateau de Mercy and Peltre. 
 A protected locomotive, carrying a few determined men, would 
 proceed in the meantime at full speed on Courcelles-sur-Nied, 
 couple to it the waggons containing the enemy's provisions, 
 and bring them back to Metz. M. Dietz, a skilful engineer 
 of the Eastern Company, took charge of the manoeuvre. 
 
 It was a beautiful day ; the waters of the Seille sparkled in 
 the midst of the devastation of the landscape. Du Breuil 
 was commencing to ascend the Queuleu slope, which dominated 
 the plain with its pointed steeple, when he perceived, a short 
 distance away, some soldiers escorting German prisoners. A 
 bright-eyed Lieutenant, his face covered with dust, his hands 
 blackened with powder, whom he questioned, said to him with 
 volubility : 
 
 ' Victory, Major ! The Chateau de Mercy finished at a 
 mouthful ! Peltre was less easy, but we took it all the same 
 a la foiivchette ! Isn't that so, lads ?' 
 
 There were laughs among the soldiers, while the stiff 
 German prisoners continued to advance with arrogant coun- 
 tenances. A Captain added : 
 
 • Unfortunately, the protected locomotive was unable to get 
 as far as Courcelles-sur-Nied, the enemy having been warned 
 
THE DISASTER 275 
 
 and cut the line. But we are bringing the traitor back. My 
 men discovered him as he was escaping from a baker's.' 
 
 * Look !' resumed the Lieutenant. ' There he is.' 
 
 And, between two soldiers, Du Breuil saw pass a miserable 
 bundle, a wretch of a man with bound wrists, his face covered 
 with spittle, and one eye hidden under cow-dung. To his 
 profound astonishment, he recognised Gugl. 
 
 * But I know him,' he murmured. 
 
 The Jew raised his head. His eye, his polluted face, took 
 an intense and frenzied expression. All the life which the 
 miserable wretch still possessed issued forth from his skin. 
 
 ' I am innocent,' he cried, in a heartrending voice, trying to 
 escape from his keepers. ' See, the Machor knows me. I 
 know him. I mountet for him a peautiful golt rink. I am 
 an honest man, a good vater, everybody can say so. I swear 
 it on the heads of my chiltren !' 
 
 ' Judas !' said a soldier. A German prisoner commenced to 
 laugh disdainfully. 
 
 They dragged Gugl away. Du Breuil turned away his eyes. 
 
 ' Are you sure ?' he asked. 
 
 ' Not the slightest doubt,' said the Captain. ' He was 
 selling brandy in the railway workshops ; he saw the prepara- 
 tions, and early this morning he went to forewarn the enemy. 
 He has confessed it. He will suffer for it !' 
 
 A soldier was passing, holding by the legs a large red hare, 
 which was bleeding. 
 
 * Let's have a look, Feitu !' 
 
 The soldier proudly raised the animal. 
 
 ' It came to die at my feet,' said the Captain. * It received a 
 plum during the fight. That will make splendid jugged hare !' 
 
 He gave a little childlike laugh, and rejoined the prisoners' 
 convoy. A young soldier was running, behindhand, feverish, 
 hilarious ; he was talking aloud, shaking his hand, which was 
 bandaged in a checked pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 * It don't matter. I knocked the fat pig's brains out.' 
 
 He had so contented an air that Du Breuil felt a sadness 
 from it. Gugl's look, the terrible eagerness to live which was 
 stamped on that discomposed face, left in him a feeling of pity 
 mingled with disgust. Again he saw the cramped, dusty shop, 
 the woman, the children almost albinos ; then the day upon 
 which Gugl had brought the ring to him at the Hotel de 
 I'Europe, and also the glass-topped box at Grimont, containing 
 tobacco, rum, nougat. . . . He had done good ' pisness ' 
 
 18—2 
 
276 THE DISASTER 
 
 afterwards in baker's white bread, which the Jew carried into 
 the bivouacs and sold very dear. He then commenced to traffic 
 in brandy. That did not prevent him from buying watches 
 and jewellery. Gugl was all over the place. One day one saw 
 him with the 6th corps at Saint-Eloy ; the next with the 4th, 
 at Lorry. The soldiers' pleasantries and their brutality exer- 
 cised over him a fascination mingled with horror. That 
 monster beast, the army, attracted and repulsed him. But he 
 always returned to it, so strong was the desire for gain. It 
 was that, and also perhaps an inborn necessity to betray, which 
 had lost him ; having sold everything, he must in the end sell 
 himself. Besides, being a Dresden Jew, he detested the 
 French. All the same, Du Breuil would never have suspected 
 him. And Metz was swarming wath similar spies ! . . . Then 
 he suddenly remembered the opal ring, recollected Borny, 
 where he had believed in its witchcraft. It was, then, neces- 
 sary that the stone should be fatal to someone. 
 
 General Lapasset, whose hard face was aglow with pleasure, 
 appeared. Behind him, on a bed of boughs, four soldiers 
 carried a fat pig crowned with leaves ; an artilleryman was 
 dragging a recalcitrant pink sow by the leg. Others were 
 brandishing strings of fowls, loaves of bread stuck upon their 
 bayonets. Further away, light-infantry men were leading 
 cows with swollen udders, oxen, sheep, and goats. A stout 
 sapper, whose beard descended to his stomach, was clasping a 
 lamb in his arms, casting over it a protecting look. Its 
 mother, a Umping sheep, was following, bleating. The joy, 
 the pride of these honest fellows, was a pleasure to see, and 
 a pleasure also were these animals, doomed to the slaughter, 
 which brought with them the odour of fields and stables, a 
 sweetness of rustic peace in their slow walk, their vacant eyes, 
 and their plaintive cries. Du Breuil noticed the long head of a 
 sheep with closed eyes, and the slavering muzzle of a coav. 
 The appearance of these droves appeared to him unusual, for 
 it was a long time since he had seen them. Alone the innumer- 
 able agonies of the horses glutted his eyes. 
 
 He imagined he heard the Captain's cheerful voice, * That 
 will make splendid jugged hare !' Yes, and succulent pots-au- 
 feu and substantial roasts. A passing vision of smoking 
 dishes came up before him, and he found himself suddenly 
 once more at the Cafe Riche with D'Avol, on the night of the 
 * Marseillaise ' and the Opera. Again he saw the unctuous 
 butler : ' Duckling a la Rouennaise ? Lamb cutlets ?' Certainly, 
 
THE DISASTER 277 
 
 instead of horse steaks and a few pieces of potatoes, he would 
 have paid dearly for such a feast. But he thought of the 
 miseries of the soldier. . . . 
 
 What a privation it was to the troop to be without bread, 
 savoury brown bread ! At the Place there was only left a 
 mouthful of spongy, juiceless paste, mixed with bran and other 
 refuse. The supply of horseflesh, which was increased, did 
 not make up for it. Tough and fibrous, it was indigestible to 
 the most robust stomachs. Worse still was the lack of salt, 
 which was indispensable to the organism. Even in the town 
 there was almost a total lack of it. Artificial fabrications had 
 only given very meagre results. They were utilizing the 
 Bellecroix spring of salt water. Bodies of men went there 
 for the necessary water for the soupe, interminable files of 
 vehicles, loaded with barrels, were stationed there for hours ; 
 but the insufficiency of the output had not allowed of the 
 crystallization by boiling of the immense quantities which were 
 required. In the case of many this privation gave rise to a 
 keen, intolerable suffering. Officers had voraciously disputed 
 over the salt, then the brine of Metz, and finally over a pro- 
 duct which the chemists baptized with the name ' salted 
 water.' The Bellecroix spring losing many of its alkaline pro- 
 perties owing to the great consumption of it, a doctor proposed 
 to extract the precious matter from the tan-pits. His offer had 
 been declined, so as not to injure, it was said, private interests. 
 God only knows with what avidity the wretched soldiers tried 
 to procure this vital salt. They had seen some begging for it 
 at the houses ; others stole it ; certain of them, to the detri- 
 ment of their health, took saltpetre ; many at the outposts 
 would have braved rifle-shots to go and see if the salt-cellars 
 and the salt-boxes on the walls in the farms still contained a 
 few grains. 
 
 ' Du Breuil!' 
 
 An officer of Frossard's staff, with a large nose and long 
 moustache, came up at a slow gallop, on a horse in excellent 
 form. 
 
 ' Laisne ? What are you doing here ?' 
 
 They shook hands. Laisne said : 
 
 * Come for news. Half-success. However, the affair has 
 shown the spirit of the troops. But if they want provisions it 
 isn't there ; it's at Thionville that they must go seek them. . . .' 
 
 He spoke of a large convoy of biscuit and flour, affirmed 
 that the Marshal knew of its existence, having been informed 
 
278 THE DISASTER 
 
 on the previous day, or two days before, by an emissary of 
 Colonel Turnier. . . . Whence did he get these details ? He 
 added : 
 
 ' But Bazaine doesn't bother much about it. What he 
 wants is to get out of his scrape, become the arbitrator of the 
 destinies of the country. He thinks he is still in Mexico.' 
 
 Du Breuil stroked the neck of the broad-backed Normandy 
 horse. 
 
 * What do you do to keep it in such good condition ?' 
 
 The Aide-de-camp, who lived in intimate relations with a 
 Commander-in-Chief, whose table and stables passed for being 
 well served, replied with pride : 
 
 ' I feed it.' 
 
 He returned to his idea. 
 
 ' Marshal Bazaine is no enemy to a mild ambition. It's a 
 bad business when a petticoat is mixed up in it.' 
 
 He recalled the ascendancy exercised by Bazaine's first wife, 
 and her death — a case of poisoning, it was believed — which 
 put an end to the vicissitudes of a mysterious love tragedy. 
 The Marshal's animosity against MacMahon arose from the 
 fact that the latter, when Brigadier- General at Tlemcen, had 
 refused to add a recommendatory note to a letter which 
 Bazaine, then a Colonel, wrote to the Minister of War — a 
 letter asking permission to marry this woman, a Spaniard of 
 great beauty but lowly birth. 
 
 ' A fine girl !' he said. ' I should trust the second less. 
 She appears more compHcated. These Mexicans have political 
 ethics of their own.' 
 
 He winked his eye. 
 
 * Apropos of women, our comrade Decherac doesn't weary 
 himself. I saw him the other day. They were driving him 
 in a carriage. A very pretty woman was screening him with 
 her sunshade, and the husband was driving. Decherac had 
 the happiest air of the three. I shall ask him to introduce me 
 as his successor.' 
 
 And big Laisne, pulling at his moustache with an expression 
 which was partly serious and partly in jest, said : 
 
 * It is true, my dear fellow, only the wounded have time 
 for flirtations. We others live the lives of cenobites. No 
 more love ! . . . The rare, suitable crinolines are for the 
 great chiefs ; and as for those ladies you know about, they 
 have too many customers.' 
 
 Du Breuil understood to what miserable creatures, to what 
 
THE DISASTER 279 
 
 poor haunts of pleasure, Laisne alluded. He made a little 
 grimace expressive of disgust. Since the commencement of the 
 war, he was again beginning the apprenticeship of a manly and 
 pure life, wholly devoted to intellectual labour and the expen- 
 diture of physical strength. But when he thought he had 
 forgotten the exigencies of the heart and the flesh, images 
 unexpectedly assailed him during sleeplessness and in the 
 darkness ; they haunted him, more incoherent, at the approach 
 of sleep. Frail silhouettes passed in the crowd in the streets, 
 or he called up thoughts of discreet amours. Mme. de 
 Guionic appeared ; he again saw the spots on her open-work 
 stockings, her fresh, bare neck. Then the name of Rose Noel 
 sounded in his ears in the midst of a Hght clatter of glasses 
 and plates. Suddenly he thought of the auburn-haired glove- 
 shop assistant who, on the day of his departure, had beckoned 
 to him with a smile. His temples throbbed. Laisne 
 growled : 
 
 * It isn't a convoy of provisions which they ought to hold in 
 readiness for us at Thionville, but bazaars of captives, bevies 
 of beautiful slaves as with the ancients. . . . Think of a 
 hundred and sixty thousand men deprived of all opportunities 
 for love !' 
 
 He uttered a somewhat coarse expression, and then, with 
 a shrug of his shoulders, said : 
 
 ' After all, I don't care. My hostess is obliging. And yours ?' 
 
 Without waiting for the reply, he looked at his watch, and 
 with an * Au revoir !' set off at a slow gallop. 
 
 Du Breuil followed him with his eyes. This tranquil assur- 
 ance, which so many brave but frivolous officers possessed, 
 always caused him annoyance. How many thus lived from 
 day to day, correctly carrying out their duty, consoled for 
 public misfortunes by the consciousness that they did not con- 
 tribute to them ? The feeling of a higher fatality alleviated 
 that of their powerlessness. He envied these military philo- 
 sophers, so numerous — he to whom this powerlessness was the 
 most bitter heartsore. How many times had he not heard 
 the imperious voices which prompted action and initiative in 
 him, and repulsed them as suggestions of pride ! Ah, if he 
 were Bazaine ! how he would break out, and then make for 
 the open country, if necessary, to die ! Then he thought that 
 he only had his life to lose. Who knows what scruples, what 
 vertigo, might paralyze him if he were the supreme chief of 
 so many existences ? . . . * No,' he repeated to himself, ' this 
 
28o THE DISASTER 
 
 inaction is dishonourable. . . . Enough with pourparlers and 
 suspicious negotiations. The fight, and, if necessary, death 
 — the simple death of Lacoste, of Langlade, and of Poterin. 
 Life is not so precious as honour !' 
 
 Returning by the Sablon plain, he saw a tumultuous 
 gathering at the entrance to the village. Men with raised 
 arms, and faces upon which were expressions of murderous 
 madness, were crowding with yells and hoots around some 
 soldiers and a gesticulating officer. Du Breuil made out Gugl 
 bound to a tree — around him piles of fagots. His face was 
 a mass of blood, and from his mouth, a large black hole, 
 issued the convulsive yells of a stuck pig. Some children were 
 executing a Caribee dance, and an enormous red-haired carter, 
 the convoy driver of Sarrebriick and Gravelotte, the instinctive 
 brute of popular affrays, was striking a light, crying : 
 
 ' Let's burn the spy ! let's burn the spy !' 
 
 The carter's look met that of Du Breuil, who recognised him. 
 Hustling women, who were like furies, the carter yelled : 
 
 ' To my aid, friends ! Let's burn the vermin !' 
 
 But the officer to whom Gugl was entrusted — it was the 
 Captain of jugged-hare fame — energetically protested. He 
 swore in a voice of thunder, saying that the court-martial 
 would decide, that they bothered him, and that he did not 
 like brawling. 
 
 'Do you hear, man?' he declared to the carter, w^ho with 
 lowered head was already pushing himself forward. 
 
 'That the only obstacle!' sneered the brute. 'Here are 
 people siding with the Prussians !' 
 
 ' Say that again !' 
 
 ' Yes,' vociferated the man. ' Here are people siding . . .' 
 
 The phrase stuck in his throat. The dry, thick-set Captain 
 had raised him under the arms, and, his breath cut short, the 
 giant rolled in the dust. In the midst of the intimidated but 
 still raging crowd, the soldiers led, or, rather, carried away 
 Gugl, who had fainted. 
 
 In the evening the plain was ruddy with light. The foraging 
 expedition of the 3rd corps had succeeded at Colombey ; the 
 6th corps had captured Ladonchamps. In retaliation, the 
 Prussians set fire to the Chateau de Mercy, Peltre, Colombey, 
 and Petites-Tapes. The flames lighted up all parts of the 
 horizon. Everyone with oppressed heart was present in 
 thought at this return of the furious enemy, driving out the 
 inoffensive peasants, spreading savage destruction, torch in 
 
THE DISASTER 281 
 
 hand. Mourgues, however, was triumphing, with an accent 
 which had the savour of garHc. 
 
 ' Fine progress we've made ! All that for a few prisoners, a 
 few beasts. ..." 
 
 However, newspapers seized on the Germans were interest- 
 ing. Crumpled, stained with filth and blood, they brought, in 
 the ignorance in which they were living, the echo of outside 
 voices : Paris was holding out ; bloody combats were fought 
 under its walls ; the National Defence was being organized 
 everywhere. Prussia was disposed to treat with Jules Favre, 
 who had just gone to Ferri^res, where the enemy's chief head- 
 quarters was established. Du Breuil again fell back into the 
 circle of conjectures, doubts, and fears. Did not everything 
 prove the necessity of war to the bitter end ? Were they not de- 
 serving of better conditions by fatiguing the invaders ? Would 
 they resolve that Lorraine and Alsace, as they very loudly 
 plumed themselves, would remain their prey ? What was 
 Bazaine waiting for ? 
 
 Vague rumours of an attempt to make a sortie in the direction 
 of Thionville were then spread about. Sub-Commissary of 
 Stores Gaffiot received an order to collect two days' oats for 
 all the horses of the army for October ist. And Du Breuil 
 heard from Charlys that the Marshal was impatiently await- 
 ing the result of Regnier's negotiations. Unfortunately, on 
 September 29th, this fine plan, based on the delusions of a 
 boaster, or, worse still, on the manoeuvres of a spy, crumbled 
 to the ground. An officer sent by General von Stiehle to 
 parley arrived at the Ban Saint- Martin. He handed the 
 Marshal a letter from Bourbaki, dated from Hastings, and 
 one from Prince Frederick Charles, who was surprised that 
 Bourbaki asked to return to Metz. * The General could not, 
 however, be in ignorance of the fact that, if they made no 
 opposition to a political journey, it was well understood he 
 could not return to the fortress during the duration of the 
 siege. Regnier ought to have made known this condition.' 
 
 * Poor Bourbaki ! One more of whom the Sphinx had got 
 rid!' people repeated. 
 
 But Du Breuil was thinking, and was more correct in his 
 supposition that Bourbaki had set off confident in the success 
 of his mission, persuaded that everything would immediately 
 be arranged, and had conceived that he would not have to 
 return to Metz. The request he had made to Frederick 
 Charles proved without doubt that he had not been able to 
 
282 THE DISASTER 
 
 come to an understanding with the Empress, and that he found 
 himself in a false position. 
 
 The worst of it was that Bazaine himself had been fooled — 
 and with what art! — by the incomparable Bismarck. A 
 despatch from Ferri^res on the same day asked the Marshal 
 this question : Would he accept for the surrender of his army 
 the conditions which M. Regnier might stipulate ? Bazaine 
 was obliged to reply to General von Stiehle that he did not 
 know Regnier. Furnished with a pass from Bismarck, this 
 man had called himself the e^ivoye of the Empress without 
 written authorizations — had obtained information as to the 
 conditions under which the Marshal would consent to negotiate 
 a capitulation. ' I replied to him,' wrote Bazaine, ' that the 
 only thing that I could do would be to accept a capitulation 
 with the honours of war ; but that I could not include the fort 
 of Metz in the convention.' Military honour would not permit 
 him to accept other conditions. If Prince Frederick Charles 
 wished for more complete particulars, he offered to send to him 
 General Boyer, his first Aide-de-camp. 
 
 ' There, my dear fellow,' said Charlys, with indignation, 
 ' that is what Bazaine dares to propose ! Capitulation without 
 opposition ! . . . Do you know on what this Regnier was so 
 well received ? On a simple photograph of the Empress's 
 house at Hastings — a photograph bearing the signature of the 
 Prince Imperial. He made a confidant of this suspicious 
 individual — told him that we only had enough to eat until 
 October i8th. People won't believe these things later on, my 
 friend ! And he proposes his faithful Boyer, the counsellor of 
 Mexico, Boyer I'lnvahde, the preacher of an *' honourable 
 captivity," to give particulars ! Come, now ! rather to enter 
 into pouyparleYs.' He added sharply : ' Strasburg surrendered 
 yesterday after a splendid defence.' 
 
 There was a silence. Clasping his hands, which cracked, he 
 said : 
 
 * If we could only say as much ! Because I've lost all hope 
 of making a sortie !' 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Various preparations, however, seemed to belie it. Was the 
 famous sortie on Thionville going to be executed ? They were 
 clearing the railway line, and communication between the two 
 
THE DISASTER 283 
 
 banks by Longeville was re-established. Hence the great joy 
 of Floppe. 
 
 ' They took care two months ago not to destroy the dangerous 
 Noveant and Ars bridges, taking no notice of the earnest 
 entreaties of the inhabitants ! . . . On the other hand, the 
 only bridge which they could have retained without danger, 
 since it is under the cannon of the forts, besides being lined by 
 a trench, Bazaine made haste to blow up. Much good that 
 was, since it was afterwards necessary to repair it ! . . .' 
 
 They conversed about the state of provisions. Sub-Com- 
 missary Gaffiot had, on his own application, been relieved of 
 the onerous duties which had been left him on August 17th by 
 Commissary de Preval, who had been sent on a mission to 
 General-Commissary Wolf, and who, like Major Magnan, had 
 not since returned. 
 
 The situation was not very brilliant. A fortnight's supply 
 of bread, and on the 15th nothing to eat but horseflesh ! Oats, 
 provender, and leaves were also lacking. They were feeding 
 the animals on crushed rape-cakes and beetroot. 
 
 * To-morrow it will be sabre - blades !' said Francastel 
 banteringly. 
 
 He passed all his time in Metz, returning full of stories and 
 potins, which he related with the grimaces of a chattering 
 woman. 
 
 ' The people of Metz are so excited that you might imagine 
 you were walking on an ant-hill. Bah ! they can draw up 
 petitions and present them to the Marshal. It isn't that which 
 will prevent him from playing at billiards !' 
 
 ' You're behindhand,' said Floppe gravely. * It is at croquet 
 that his Excellency now deigns to strut about.' 
 
 This petition, which expressed in so dignified a fashion the 
 feelings of the Municipal Council and the population, had just 
 been taken to Bazaine by M. Marechal, the Mayor, an ardent 
 patriot. The Marshal, ordinarily a good, even an affable, man, 
 poured forth his protests. He was exactly of the opinion of 
 his interlocutor : the fate of the town ought to remain distinct 
 from that of the army. He was preoccupied with the question 
 of breaking through the enemy's lines ; the recent small opera- 
 tions foreshadowed more serious ones. On the other hand, he 
 v/as not covering up the difficulties — no horses to drag the 
 supplies and the materiel ; a sortie would sacrifice many men, 
 would crowd the already full ambulances and hospitals. . . . 
 The Mayor had to be content with his promises. 
 
284 THE DISASTER 
 
 In the meantime, they heard nothing but the voice of stout 
 Colonel Jacquemfere, who was tortured by irrepressible inflam- 
 mations. Grumbling and blowing, he gave himself an air of 
 importance, since Laune, worn out by fever, which he had 
 constantly resisted, was keeping to his room. Jacquem^re had 
 no doubt about the sortie. The order was again given to 
 lighten the baggage. On October 3rd, two days' biscuit and 
 the last ration of bacon remaining in the magazine were dis- 
 tributed. On the previous day, the Chateau de Ladonchamps 
 had been captured for the second time by the 6th corps. Two 
 days before, the 4th corps had taken possession of the Billaudel 
 chalet and the village of Lessy. 
 
 On October 4th the Marshal convoked to his house, for 
 half-past four in the afternoon, the commanders of the Army 
 Corps, and the heads of the various departments. Du Breuil 
 had gone to see Vedel at his bivouac. He never passed the 
 length of the camp of the Du Bareil division, established on 
 the Metz glacis, without sadness. He contemplated the long 
 white and gray files of little Arab horses, formerly so fiery, 
 now prostrated, lying on their sides, terribly thin. Through 
 habit, they still rose to their feet at meal-times, and, pulling at 
 their halters, neighed and pawed, in vain calling for the nose- 
 bags containing oats or the truss of provender. They gnawed 
 everything which came under their teeth, leather and wood ; 
 they ate their manes and their tails, momentarily finding 
 strength to kick and bite ; then they lay down again, distress 
 in their glassy eyes, and their long agony recommenced. 
 
 An officer of the Chasseurs d'Afrique, who was wearing his 
 grizzled beard en eventail, held out his hand to Du Breuil. 
 
 * Is the news true ?' 
 
 It was Lieutenant-Colonel de la Manse. He had aged 
 much. He no longer seemed the same man who, on the 
 morning of August 19th, at the Prefecture, where the imperial 
 staff was buzzing about, had laughingly complained, excited 
 by the long night march, that they had made them come from 
 Saint-Mihiel to Metz in one journey. 
 
 * What news ?' repeated Du Breuil. . . . Why, it was 
 stated that the Lyons and Nantes armies had totally defeated 
 the Prussians between Etampes and Fontainebleau — that 
 Trochu had completed their rout as far as Epernay. A 
 large number of Prussians were said to have been burnt 
 in the Forest of S6nart, woodmen having lighted the fire 
 with petroleum. 
 
THE DISASTER 285 
 
 He made a gesture expressive of doubt. 
 
 * So much the worse,' said La Manse. ' That would have 
 compromised negotiations. Because they are going to treat 
 for peace ?' he asked ironically. ' Marshal Canrobert, when 
 receiving the newly-promoted superior officers, told them that 
 the Regent was intervening with the King of Prussia, and that 
 wx should leave here with the honours of war ! . . . Only 
 that ? They are not exacting !' 
 
 Jeering, he crushed under his heel a clod of earth. A snail 
 which was there cracked, and spread itself out in a viscous 
 trail. 
 
 * Pugh !' exclaimed La Manse. 
 
 A gust of wind sent to their nostrils the pestilence of the 
 horses' charnel-house. And the disgust which the hideousness 
 of things inspired in them was nothing compared to that which 
 rose from their souls. 
 
 Du Breuil resumed his journey. A splendid setting sun 
 warmed the plain ; bunches of yellow leaves waved on the last 
 remaining trees in the pale red light. When at the bivouac, a 
 sergeant pointed out to him Captain Vedel's tent, which was 
 whiter than its neighbours, stretched with more care on a knoll 
 surrounded by ingenious little trenches. Vedel was seated on 
 a folding-stool, sewing a button on his great-coat with coarse 
 thread. His strong red hands were lined with scratches. 
 
 ' You have fallen ? ' 
 
 ' Among the stones at the Chateau de Ladonchamps attack.' 
 
 He related the affair. His men were rough fellows. What 
 misery when such men were hungry ! Many soldiers went 
 without arms to dig up potatoes near the outposts of the 
 enemy, who let them alone. For example, some poor devils 
 of soldiers of the line at the 4th corps, at Lessy, had been the 
 dupes of their cupidity. The Germans had hoisted a white 
 flag, held out beautiful crisp loaves of bread, appetizing pieces 
 of bacon, shouting : * Bons Frantsous, camarates, nix capout !' 
 The Frenchmen — one, then ten, then fifty — had advanced, 
 been harpooned, and kept prisoners. 
 
 * Will you believe it !' said Vedel, indignant. ' The Prussians 
 call that fishing for information !' 
 
 The worst was that some of the famished soldiers allowed 
 themselves to be captured, even deserted. He recalled other 
 tricks of the enemy. Some were funny ; for instance, it was 
 found at Ladonchamps that a battery which they had feared 
 in the distance was composed of long stove-pipes mounted on 
 
286 THE DISASTER 
 
 the fore-part of ploughs. Others were sinister ; for instance, 
 detachments in the midst of the battle raised the butts of their 
 rifles in the air, and, when the French approached without 
 suspicion, brought their weapons to their shoulders and fired. 
 He suspected the Prussians of using explosive bullets ; he 
 asked for loyal warfare. 
 
 Hospitable, he obliged his cousin to accept a * cooler ' in the 
 shape of a gill of brandy-and-water, sweetened with sugar- 
 plums. Du Breuil felt a real pleasure in seeing him move 
 about and speak of the approaching sortie. He did not trouble 
 himself about knowing whether Bourbaki was going to return, 
 whether Bazaine was negotiating. He was alone preoccupied 
 with the neatness, the food, and the dress of his company. 
 
 * Judin is improving,' he said. * He will pull through, thanks 
 to that good Mdlle. Sorbet. But it is terrible in the ambu- 
 lances ; almost all those who have been amputated die from 
 diarrhoea or typhus. The gangrene of the hospital carries off 
 the others.' 
 
 He looked Du Breuil in the eyes with a fine energetic face. 
 
 ' It's that way. What can you do ? We must be philo- 
 sophical. We shall get out of the difficulty. I don't under- 
 stand those who shout and those who cavil. One settles the 
 matter with politics, the other with plans of campaign. It is 
 so simple to mind one's own business.' 
 
 Tranquil, he folded his arms. The skin of his nose was 
 peeling ; there were knots in his beard ; his smartness 
 did not suffer from them. Firm-set in his large boots, he 
 resembled those hardy peasants who are strengthened by 
 privations. He had no needs. With his own money he pur- 
 chased potatoes for his men, but the subscription in favour of 
 the Metz poor had just emptied his purse. Pooh ! what more 
 did he want than a good cloak, a blanket, and a piece of soap ? 
 He reaccompanied Du Breuil in a brotherly manner halfway 
 on his journey. 
 
 'There's Judin invalided at one sweep,' he said.^ 'One- 
 armed — that is worth the cross ? Should the proposition pass 
 through your hands, you might give it your support ?' 
 
 ' Well, and yourself?' said Du Breuil, smiling. 
 
 ' I ?' Vedel became red. ' But there are others before 
 me. Not even the Major, a hard man, in the battalion is 
 decorated !' 
 
 ' A fine fellow, this Vedel !' thought Du Breuil upon enter- 
 ing the Ban Saint-Martin. But he no longer said it in the 
 
THE DISASTER 287 
 
 same tone as formerly. Instead of his unjust disdain, he felt 
 sympathy, almost admiration. 
 
 Restaud was waiting for him, conversing with Gex, Cussac, 
 and other members of the various staffs. The council was 
 still being held. 
 
 * General Coffinieres isn't present,' said Comte de Cussac, 
 * but his ears must be tingling. Depend upon it, he is being 
 talked about.' 
 
 The attitude of the Governor of Metz was, in fact, criticised 
 by certain commanders of corps. They stated that, in view of 
 the resources hidden in the town, a few domiciliary visits would 
 have doubled their suppUes. His weakness in regard to the 
 newspapers was their second complaint. * He is aiming at 
 popularity.' It must be confessed in this case that he suc- 
 ceeded very badly. The meetings of the council were stormy, 
 full of bitterness and recriminations. Bazaine, they said, 
 looked upon the discord of his Ueutenants without displeasure, 
 conversed with them, if need be, in secret, listening to their 
 complaints, encouraging them with perfidious good-nature. 
 As a proof of this at the present time, they told a good story. 
 A German newspaper, which had been found on a prisoner, 
 spoke of some waggons belonging to General Frossard, which 
 were cram full of champagne. A Metz newspaper at once re- 
 produced the article, and the only reply they made to the 
 General's complaints was that it had been published * by 
 order.' 
 
 In the midst of laughter, Major Gex turned his keen 
 Israehtish profile towards the Marshal's villa, and contented 
 himself with smiling. 
 
 ' Apropos,' said Captain de Verdier, of Soleille's staff, whose 
 long legs made him resemble a wading-bird, ' you know the 
 poor Wild Boar is progressing very badly ?' 
 
 'Blache?' 
 
 But Du Breuil on the preceding days had had good news 
 of him. . . . Dysentery, it appeared. . . . 
 
 'Good!' said Restaud, upon seeing the orderlies stop the 
 horses which they were leading up and down, and the sentries 
 get into position again. ' The council is over.' 
 
 The Marshals appeared — Canrobert, his features animated ; 
 Leboeuf discontented, biting his heavy moustache ; Ladmirault 
 and Frossard gloomy. What was the news ? They ques- 
 tioned each other. Jacquemere, who was on the best of terms 
 with Boyer, chattered. The Marshal had proposed to make a 
 
288 THE DISASTER 
 
 sortie towards Thionville, the 6th corps and the Guard march- 
 ing on the left bank of the Moselle, the 4th corps following the 
 heights which dominated the valley, the 3rd and the 2nd corps 
 skirting the left bank. Leboeuf had made strong objections, 
 the role assigned to his five divisions appearing to him to be 
 too heavy. The Marshal had replied : * To leave our lines 
 without fighting is impossible. I have placed before you the 
 plan which appears to me to offer least difficulty ; if you don't 
 accept it, kindly point out to me another, which will be dis- 
 cussed in its turn, and we will afterwards carry out what has 
 been decided upon by the council.' 
 
 Laune, whom Du Breuil went to salute, and who, thinner, 
 his teeth clenched, was quaking with fever upon his bed, said 
 to him : 
 
 * I understand nothing about all these discussions : they say 
 that the Marshal always tries to place upon the shoulders of 
 his subordinates the responsibility which is alone incumbent 
 upon himself. Why doesn't he order ? They will obey him.' 
 
 He added, and he must have felt very chilled in his solitude 
 to have given way to such an outburst of confidence, so little 
 in accordance with his character : 
 
 * The misfortune, my dear fellow, is that many regard the 
 captivity of war as a slight mishap, so great is their desire to 
 preserve the army intact. Interested arriere-pensees, political 
 calculations — that is what is our destruction. The hope of 
 concluding with this agent of Bismarck once disappointed, 
 there are our great chiefs asking themselves if they would not 
 do better to rally to the new Government, Yesterday it was 
 the Regency ; to-day it is the Republic. Let us save our 
 titles and our positions. Happy are those who, like myself, 
 have nothing to lose !' 
 
 Du Breuil left him to go to rest. ... In the evening he found 
 his bed covered with a large wadded quilt. Mme. Guimbail 
 had heard say that the nights were chilly. She still blushed 
 when she met him on the staircase. He now found her almost 
 pretty, so true is it that a passionate feeling transforms the 
 most displeasing face. If solitude weighed on so many men 
 in the vigour of manhood, who knows, he asked himself, what 
 the thin widow in her demure isolation might feel towards all 
 these military men ? By many little services and furtive 
 attentions, she allowed him to guess her predilection. Restaud 
 had even joked him about it. Frisch exploited her good disposi- 
 tions to his own profit, getting himself coddled in the kitchen. 
 
THE DISASTER 289 
 
 The next morning the hope of a departure was confirmed. 
 All the army ambulances were evacuated on to the town, and 
 sickly men were sent into the fort. The batteries, owing to 
 want of horses, were reduced to four guns ; in the cavalry they 
 were hardly able to form a squadron per regiment. A letter 
 from General Coffiniferes, carried by Captain Chagres, at the 
 same time asked the Marshal to increase the effective of the 
 garrison to twenty-nine thousand men. Bazaine pointed out 
 to the General that on August 14th he was contented with 
 eighteen thousand men. Nevertheless, the Laveaucoupet 
 division would be increased by small reserve companies and 
 five thousand dismounted horsemen. Metz would maintain, 
 therefore, more than twenty-five thousand regulars. 
 
 Floppe was teasing Captain Chagres ; he had a good oppor- 
 tunity. A recent misadventure of the Governor had enlivened 
 the general staff. Had not Coffini^res bethought himself of 
 writing a long letter of adhesion to the Provisional Government, 
 and of entrusting it to the balloon which each day carried the 
 correspondence written on foreign note-paper ? This letter 
 described the situation of the town, the state of opinion, and 
 contained bitter complaints against Bazaine. The balloon had 
 fallen into the hands of the Prussians, and Prince Frederick 
 Charles had just given himself the malicious pleasure of send- 
 ing back the compromising missive to the Marshal, under- 
 lined with red pencil. Bazaine was not concerned ; he had 
 even affected to joke about the bad character of General 
 Coffini^res. 
 
 ' So, Chagres, you are converted to the Republic ?' jeered 
 Floppe. 
 
 Chagres, a plain man with a mouth like that of a sleeping 
 ox, replied : 
 
 ' My friend, I don't care a damn for the Republic !' 
 
 ' But, Chagres, will the town hold out long, once you are 
 alone ?' 
 
 ' My friend, I don't care a damn for the town,' replied the 
 stout man with indifference. * I don't care a damn for Bis- 
 marck, I don't care a damn for Bazaine, I don't care a damn 
 even for you, if you must know it.' 
 
 However, the sortie remained in suspense. Leboeuf insisted 
 on the difficulty of debouching with only his troops, and asked 
 that the Guard be added. Nevertheless, during the day each 
 one thought they were going to set off. Many faces beamed. 
 In the evening they made a special distribution of two days' 
 
 19 
 
290 THE DISASTER 
 
 oats and hay to the horses. Horsemen, through affection, 
 gorged their horses, which died. Officers that night slept in 
 their clothes, waiting in the cold night for the order which did 
 not come. Du Breuil went to sleep late, dreaming that Mme. 
 Guimbail — no, it was Rose Noel — no, the auburn-haired girl in 
 the glove-shop — noiselessly entered and bent over his bedhead. 
 
 In the morning he was sent to Lessy, with the mission to 
 assure himself if the 4th corps were ready. Upon returning 
 he found a singular change. Strange news! — Leboeuf had just 
 been ordered to make an operation on Courcelles-sur-Nied. 
 
 ' That isn't the way to Thionville !' fumed Floppe. 
 
 But the most astonishing thing was the letter which Coffin- 
 ieres had just written to the Marshal. He reproached him 
 with abandoning Metz, after having exhausted its supplies ; 
 he affirmed that the town could not resist without the army ; 
 he foresaw fifteen thousand new wounded in consequence of 
 the fight, crowding the ambulances, which were already filled 
 by twenty thousand sick men. This sortie was, at short 
 notice, the fall of the town and the loss of Lorraine. He 
 threw the responsibility of events upon the Marshal, and in 
 advance called upon the judgment of posterity. 
 
 ' Do you know,' repeated Charlys, with exasperation, 'it is 
 the third time that he has insisted upon keeping us here, 
 knowing well, however, that only the resources of the town 
 can feed us, since our magazines are empty. Does he hope 
 that the presence of Bazaine will free him from responsibility, 
 and will cover his faults?' He added : 'The Marshal has a 
 conference this afternoon with the Governor of Metz and the 
 General Commander of Artillery. A bad sign. Recollect the 
 morning of Grimont. These gentlemen will give excellent 
 reasons for remaining quiet.' 
 
 He was right. The order to hotican horses, for they were 
 unable to prepare preserved meat, owing to want of salt, 
 showed almost immediately an intention of stopping. 
 
 ' Not astonishing,' Francastel was saying. ' A fcenvich 
 prisoner has just stated that the enemy knows of our projects, 
 and is preparing to receive us five against one. Forsooth, the 
 Marshal reflected !' 
 
 Mourgues, exuberant, attributed this fluctuation to news 
 learnt that very morning from the newspapers seized on the 
 prisoners, namely, that the armistice was being negotiated ; 
 that they had communicated to Jules Favre the conditions 
 imposed by the King of Prussia, and they were awaiting in 
 
THE DISASTER 
 
 291 
 
 the evening at Ferri^res the reply of the Government of the 
 National Defence. 
 
 Mourgues added : 
 
 ' Fort Montretout is in the hands of the Prussians. Masters 
 of the heights which dominate Paris, they can bombard it 
 at their ease. The terrified Parisians ' — he rolled the r's — 
 ' will force the Government to submit. Therefore, why venture 
 upon a fight ? Let us wait. Everything will come right.' 
 . ' Wait !' repeated Charlys. ' Wait until we have eaten our 
 last crust ? Wait until our weapons fall from our hands 
 through weakness ? Because you don't grow thin ' — Mour- 
 gues was stout — ' cannot you see the exhaustion of the soldiers, 
 how wan, pale, debilitated they are ? Nevertheless, it pricks 
 one's heart !' 
 
 * It is precisely with the object of filling our magazines,' 
 said D'Homolle, another of the Marshal's officers, ' that 
 Leboeuf has received the order to capture the large stores at 
 Courcelles-sur-Nied.' 
 
 Only one thing prevented that being done — Leboeuf ex- 
 plained on the following day that he considered the operation 
 impossible. Bazaine did not insist, and ordered Canrobert to 
 carry out a foraging expedition on the farms of Grandes and 
 Petites Tapes, on Bellevue and Saint-Remy. The Voltigeurs 
 of the Guard would support the operation. The 3rd and the 
 4th corps would make a diversion on their side. The attack 
 was to commence at eleven o'clock. But the troops, in conse- 
 quence of the late transmission of orders, only formed into 
 line about one o'clock. In the evening Restaud, sent to the 
 field of action, brought back news : 
 
 *The 3rd and the 4th corps engaged feebly, the 6th with 
 ardour. Boisjol, under the Marshal's eyes, headed the Volti- 
 geurs of the Guard with superb bravery. I met a German 
 officer who had been taken prisoner. Some soldiers near me 
 jeered. But he drew himself up, and said : '' It isn't well to 
 laugh." And, looking at me : " Don't be so proud. Your 
 turn is coming !" ' Restaud added : ' Unfortunately the forag- 
 ing expedition under the enemy's violent fire could not be 
 executed. The troops return in good order.' 
 
 The bulletin was known. It was always the same. So 
 that nothing should change, the two Tapes fired by the 
 Prussians blazed out in the evening. And one thousand two 
 hundred and fifty wounded went to swell the ambulances, 
 where the soldiers no longer got better — where they died. 
 
 19 — 2 
 
292 THE DISASTER 
 
 There was an overcast sky, cold weather, and rain, on the 
 morning of the 8th. P'risch, who was lighting a small fire in 
 the fireplace, asked : 
 
 ' Do you recollect, sir, the townspeople at whose house you 
 slept at Moulins, on the evening of the battle of Borny ?' 
 
 The Poirets ? Yes, they were the people — the old, busy 
 couple, with anguish in their eyes, with feeble, shrill voices. 
 Poiret ? The worthy man whom they had met at the turning 
 off of the Moulins-l^s-Metz road, a few days after Saint- 
 Privat ? Well ? 
 
 * He would like to speak to you, sir. He told Mme. Guim- 
 bail that it was a great secret.* 
 
 Du Breuil went downstairs to his landlady's. A fur cap 
 between his fingers, the old man was compressing his lips, his 
 eyelids low, full of importance. 
 
 ' Major,' he said, ' although you have not recognised me, I 
 have met you often since the evening of Borny. I have come 
 to open my heart to you, because your face inspires me with 
 confidence. Listen, then!' He lowered his voice, looking around 
 him. * Your Marshal betrays all of us ! I have seen him go 
 to the Prussians !' 
 
 ' M. Poiret, a man of your age. . . .' 
 
 The old man continued with energy : 
 
 * A man of my age. Major, knows what he says when he has 
 seen. It was on September 26th, a Monday evening. I was 
 taking a bottle of brandy to the francs-tireurs of Ars to give 
 them a drop. I must tell you I have a cousin among them. 
 I stopped at the end of the bridge. I heard some horses 
 arriving, and I saw Marshal Bazaine pass with an artillery 
 trumpeter and a chasseur or a hussar, who was carrying a 
 white flag. A little later they returned alone. I said to them, 
 ** What, you return alone ?" They answered, *' Yes, we have 
 received the order to return to the Ban Saint-Martin." I even 
 gave a pinch of snuff to the trumpeter. Where had Bazaine 
 gone, then ? To the Prussians, sir !' 
 
 He spoke with a great air of sincerity. The disquieted face 
 of Mme. Guimbail appeared through the half-open door. 
 
 * Was it really the Marshal ?' said Du Breuil. 
 
 * Yes, yes ; it was he with his white hair and his red horse. 
 I know him well. A few days before he spoke to me at Moulins, 
 and, turning towards M. Arnous- Riviere, he then ordered him 
 to have the cabarets closed at nine o'clock, and to forbid anyone 
 to walk about in the streets !' 
 
THE DISASTER 293 
 
 Du Breuil remaining incredulous, he grew warm : 
 
 ' If I were the only one ! But a Moulins carpenter — his 
 name is Paquin — has twice recognised the Marshal going 
 towards the Ars lines, and has seen him enter the Prussian 
 lines. I am a quiet old man. What interest should I have in 
 coming to tell you this to bring upon myself trouble ? I tell 
 you, and I repeat it to you. . . .' 
 
 He solemnly stretched out his hand : 
 
 ' Bazaine goes to plot with the enemy !' 
 
 Du Breuil, in order to calm the increasing excitement of the 
 old man, tried to convince him that he was mistaken, and not 
 without difficulty he sent him away, advising him to keep 
 silence. 
 
 ' It is too much,' he said to himself when alone. * It is 
 impossible !' 
 
 He thought about it all day. On the following day a 
 lugubrious duty fell to his lot. He went to the army cemetery 
 on the lie Chambi^re to assure himself that it was impossible 
 to give up the body of a Lieutenant of the Oldenburg Dragoons 
 who had died in hospital, and who was earnestly claimed by 
 his family. He contemplated the covered tomb where, in all 
 probability, the guardian explained to him, the Prussian officer 
 was at rest in the midst of two thousand bodies of both nations, 
 buried eight high. Not far away a yawning trench awaited 
 new hecatombs. Twenty-four corpses, in shrouds open to the 
 air, were stretched at the bottom side by side, some showing 
 an arm, some a head. There was something terrifying about 
 their immobility. They received the rain with a death-like 
 stiffness, the ludicrousness of which was chilling. At the corner 
 of the trench some soil was falling down with an insensible 
 slipping motion. The guardian, a man with a sparse beard 
 and very pale blue eyes, which were no longer astonished at 
 anything, was smoking his pipe. 
 
 ' At first,' he said, ' they chucked them in by cartfuls, stark 
 naked, en salad e.' 
 
 Du Breuil then crossed the bivouac of the Lancers of the 
 Guard. In the mud and under the downpour of rain large 
 raw-boned horses, without mane or tail, their coats stripped off 
 and showing the skin, stood upright on their spider legs or lay 
 down in the puddles. Here and there was stretched out a 
 dead animal, the ears of which its neighbours were eating. A 
 horse with mad eyes rushed upon Du Breuil, its ears lying flat 
 and its teeth protruding. No one to look after these animals 
 
294 THE DISASTER 
 
 in their resigned or furious agony ! Under the flooded tents 
 the Lancers were killing their disgust for life, wallowing in 
 sleep ; or else, their eyes open in a torpor of alcohol and 
 tobacco, dreaming of their native place, of peace, of rest since 
 they did not want to lead them to the fight. The yawning of 
 one of them, a fair giant, exhaled, from the opening of a red 
 jaw, the grunting of a wild animal. 
 
 The recollection of Lacoste was then poignant. How he 
 would have suffered to see that ! . . . Du Breuil perceived 
 two Lancers crouching near a stretched-out mare, so empty that 
 its ribs pierced its skin. One was that man of the Guard who, 
 carrying the lantern, had conducted him through the Saint- 
 Cloud barracks at Lacoste's, he who had lighted them on their 
 round ; the other was old Saint-Paul. The latter was placing 
 a handful of straw between the teeth of the animal. But with- 
 out having the strength to masticate it, she breathed quickly, 
 jerkingly — a series of little breaths which seemed to make the 
 supreme shudders, the last ripples of life, pass over her miserable 
 carcase. 
 
 ' There is nothing to be done,' said the quartermaster. * Take 
 that to my old Clairon.' And Du Breuil saw this rough man 
 bend over the mare to kiss her hollow nostrils with inefficient 
 and discouraged tenderness. ' Farewell, Musette,' he said in 
 a harsh voice. 
 
 Musette ! an acute and atrocious pain passed through Du 
 Breuil. How recognise, in this long, Uving corpse, the elegant 
 animal with shining coat which, awakened from a doze in its 
 box at Saint-Cloud, had neighed at its master — the pawing 
 mare which, on the day of the departure of the Guard for 
 Boulay, left the Hotel de I'Europe at a slow trot, while Titan, 
 with heavy bounds, leapt around her ? Musette, whom Lacoste 
 had so much loved — was this poor dying animal, these remains 
 for the grave. Musette ? 
 
 Three steps away Gouju was stroking an old troop-horse, 
 all muscles and nerves, a veritable anatomical piece. It was 
 masticating the straw with its yellow teeth. Saint -Paul 
 approached, and, looking at it with fixed, dry eyes, seemed 
 to centre on it all his affection. Gouju, moved, turned away 
 his head. 
 
 ' Quartermaster !' called Du Breuil. 
 
 Saint- Paul looked at him and saw a discomposed face. 
 Their souls, so different, so far apart, brought nearer together 
 by a common pity, notwithstanding difference of rank and 
 
THE DISASTER 295 
 
 station, fraternized. Du Breuil, in an impulse in which his 
 sympathy and his gratitude tried to express itself, stretched 
 out his hand to the veteran. Saint-Paul hesitated, reddened, 
 took his hand. It was a long, silent clasping of hands between 
 the officer and the soldier. Upon lowering his eyes, Du Breuil 
 noticed Saint-Paul's wounded foot. 
 
 ' You still suffer ?' 
 
 Gouju dared to intervene : 
 
 ' He doesn't want to go to the ambulance.' 
 
 ' I don't want to die from gangrene,' said the other. 
 
 In a couple of words he explained his very simple remedy : 
 he placed brandy on the wound ; then, every now and then, he 
 removed the rotten flesh with his knife, just as one hollows out 
 rotten fruit. 
 
 Du Breuil sought for some kind words, a method of obliging, 
 of helping the veteran. He feared to hurt his feelings, smiled 
 sadly, and, touching his kepi, said : 
 
 ' To better times !' 
 
 Saint-Paul, stiff, his hand at his foraging-cap, saluted. 
 Discipline had re-established the barrier. 
 
 Du Breuil re-entered the town. 
 
 * Major!' said a voice. M. Dumaine, still stout and ruddy, 
 but pitiable in the rain, having the air of a disquieted, prowling 
 dog, fastened himself on to him, and, rolling his eyes, asked: 
 * Is it true that Bourbaki is in prison at the Ecole d'Applica- 
 tion ? They affirm that he wished to make a sortie at all costs, 
 and that he told Bazaine so. Others repeat that the Marshal 
 is keeping him in his house at the Ban Saint-Martin with 
 levelled guns, for fear they come to rescue him.' 
 
 Du Breuil tried to get rid of the stout man. 
 
 * Really, you assure me that Bourbaki left with this Regnier ?' 
 repeated Dumaine. ' But it is so improbable ! Very few 
 people believe it. Just now, again, some soldiers pretended 
 that he had boxed Bazaine's ears, and that the Marshal, having 
 killed him in a duel, had buried him in his park.' 
 
 Du Breuil spoke of the Bersheims, to change the conversa- 
 tion. Dumaine, ill at ease, eluded the question ; he had not 
 seen them for some time— he had been ill. His look and his 
 honeyed voice showed he was lying. He made off. 
 ^ Du Breuil had promised to obtain news of Blache at the 
 Ecole Saint-Clement. He came across Decherac, still pale, 
 who was accompanying Mme. de Fontades. They were 
 leaving a confectioner's, where, eating mirabelles, they had 
 
296 THE DISASTER 
 
 waited until the rain stopped. Mme. de Fontades was wearing 
 in her corsage a bouquet of autumn roses, deHcate as the pale- 
 ness of her complexion. Her eyelids were * killing' ; she had 
 the grace of a sweetheart. Her attitude showed she had 
 captured Decherac, who appeared delighted. He was going 
 to resume his duties in a few days, he announced. He was 
 taking the air — he smiled at his friend — by order of the 
 doctor. He added : 
 
 ' Metz is mournful ! One meets nothing but lame men and 
 men with crutches. The day before yesterday, in the fine 
 weather, it was a veritable defile of invalids.' 
 
 Mme. de Fontades smelt her roses. From all the streets, 
 houses, and pavements transuded, in the damp air, a musty 
 smell of phenol and chlorine, which did not succeed in hiding 
 the terrible stench of purulent sores and decomposed flesh. 
 Decherac, who had a great esteem for Blache, insisted upon 
 accompanying Du Breuil. All three walked in a row, Mme. 
 de Fontades, from whose umbrella the rain dripped down their 
 necks, in the middle. 
 
 * Father Desroques ?' 
 
 A Jesuit father informed them that he was very ill ; his 
 devotion had exhausted him. ' A torch which is going to 
 extinguish,' a doctor had told him. 
 
 * Major Blache ?' 
 
 The Father made a gesture of powerlessness. 
 
 ' An operation which had succeeded so well ! . . . every 
 sign of recovery . . . and then, from one day to the other, 
 dysentery. . . . There was no hope.' 
 
 With light steps the two officers and Mme. de Fontades — the 
 Father cast an anxious look at her — advanced into the dormi- 
 tory. Their attention was attracted by a wounded man, who 
 was so big that his head and feet almost projected from the 
 bed. A wicker framework raised the sheets above him in the 
 form of a rainbow, so that they should not touch him. In 
 consequence he appeared gigantic. His red, swollen face 
 turned towards them ; his enormous moustache was turned 
 back ; his eyes were starting from his head ; he mumbled an 
 incoherent phrase. 
 
 ' He has remained afflicted in his mind,' said the Father, in 
 a low voice. Then, with naive admiration, * What a pity ! 
 Such a splendid man !* 
 
 The Father was very small, very shrivelled, so weak that a 
 fillip would have overturned him. Down there, that stiff form, 
 
THE DISASTER 297 
 
 that cadaverous face, the skin of which, too large, hung down, 
 that wasted body, reduced to nothing, was Blache. His 
 lustreless eyes did not recognise them. 
 
 * Blache, it is us — Du Breuil, Decherac, your friends !' ' 
 
 Not a movement. The Wild Boar's protruding teeth, 
 which were snarlingly shown, reminded one of the teeth of an 
 animal at bay, which is about to die. 
 
 A poignant emotion seized Du Breuil, and even the frivolous 
 Decherac was touched. Again he saw Blache, untiring at his 
 work, impassible when under fire, devoted to his master, 
 Marshal Leboeuf, like those growling dogs which are the most 
 faithful. There were few men of this stamp. Was it not a 
 stupid irony, a revolting cruelty on the part of fate, that this 
 old soldier should have escaped bullets, shells, the point of 
 sabres and bayonets, should have ridden from battle-fields in 
 flames by miraculous chances, to come, miserable and solitary, 
 to agonize in this hospital bed, drained by a foetid death in the 
 midst of the most abject pollution ?' 
 
 ' Blache, don't you recognise me ? It is I — Du Breuil !' 
 
 There was a painful silence. The cadaverous face remained 
 rigid, yet Blache saw and heard them. Du Breuil stretched 
 out his hand to take that of his old comrade, which was hang- 
 ing down on the bedclothes ; but with savage reserve he with- 
 drew it. What things were expressed by such a motion ! 
 What humiliation ! What reproach ! ' Let me die ! Why 
 contemplate my misery ?' Blache seemed to say. 
 
 Du Breuil, Decherac, and Mme. de Fontades consulted 
 together by looks. The silence was so intense that they 
 were stifled ; they felt ashamed, as though they had involun- 
 tarily insulted that which suffering and death holds most 
 sacred. Mme. de Fontades took the bouquet of roses from 
 her corsage, and, having kissed it, placed it by a pious inspira- 
 tion on the bed, against the Wild Boar's breast. Something 
 indefinable appeared on Blache's face. With trembling 
 fingers he took the roses, slowly and with precaution, smelt 
 them, and this man, who had looked Death in the face, and 
 who feared nothing, turned towards the wall and wept. 
 
 Du Breuil and Decherac now went away on tip-toe, Mme. 
 de Fontades following them with agitated face. 
 
 When going out, the umbrella of a very fashionably-dressed 
 gentleman knocked up against Du Breuil's hood. 
 
 ' Maxime !' 
 
 The thin face lit up ; Judin, his right arm in a sling, smiled. 
 
298 THE DISASTER 
 
 His umbrella hindered him from saluting. His infirmity 
 caused him more annoyance than physical pain. Especially 
 before the young lady, to whom he was introduced, his 
 humiliation was visible. Mme. de Fontades gave a little 
 cry. 
 
 ' Vicomte Judin ! He was a relative of ' 
 
 He was, in fact, related by marriage to one of her aunts, 
 and consequently was a kind of cousin to her. She quickly 
 invited him to dinner, delighted to find in him a man of her 
 society, of her tastes. So that Decherac should not be jealous, 
 she prettily pressed his arm. 
 
 * There are, then, fashionable tailors in Metz?' Du Breuil 
 asked. 
 
 In his tight-fitting frock-coat, pearl-gray trousers, white 
 gaiters, and patent-leather shoes, Du Breuil found once more 
 his Judin, the Judin of the club, of the pleasure-parties with 
 Bloomfield, Lapoigne, and Peyrode, the Judin of the times 
 which appeared to him so far, so far away. . . . 
 
 ' Parbleu !' said Judin. * I have the tailor of the Marshal and 
 General Boyer. These gentlemen have just had plain clothes 
 made. You see how informed I am, Boyer even said to this 
 man who was taking his measure : *' If I must file past the 
 Prussians, I don't want it to be in uniform." Textual ! As 
 for me, I've handed over my cloak and red trousers. Invalided ! 
 But, don't you know, had it not been for the devotion of 
 Mdlle. Sorbet, I should have died !' 
 
 Mme. de Fontades was puzzled, scented the romantic, and 
 asked for details. Was this lady Sorbet young and pretty ? . . . 
 But why remain in the street to receive the rain ? Why not 
 all three come home with her ? Her husband would be 
 charmed. . . . Du Breuil excused himself, and Judin wanted 
 to see him home. They parted. Decherac, led away by his 
 pretty nurse, cried : 
 
 * Bonjour a Restaud.' 
 
 When they were alone Du Breuil and Judin, joyful at again 
 finding one another, looked at each other ; then their smile 
 slowly faded, and gave place to the disquietude and anxiety of 
 the present. 
 
 ' Well, my poor Pierre ?' 
 
 Du Breuil did not reply. 
 
 Judin continued : 
 
 ' I now live at the Hotel du Nord. A number of officers 
 meet at the club. There is nothing but a hue and cry against 
 
THE DISASTER 299 
 
 Bazaine. Perhaps down there at the Ban Saint-Martin you 
 haven't an idea of the agitation in Metz.' 
 
 * Possibly,' said Du Breuil. • But what does it amount to ? 
 Wind !' 
 
 ' Hum !' said Judin. ' When the wind commences to blow 
 a tempest ! So much indignation may well result in a general 
 revolt. What is the obstacle to the will of the town and the 
 whole army ? A single man — Bazaine.' 
 
 * Well,' replied Du Breuil, ' will you put him aside ? 
 How ?' 
 
 The thing seemed to him absurd, inconceivable. Were 
 they going to suppress the Marshal ? By what means ? — • 
 violence ? It was foohsh : they could not go beyond the law 
 without committing a crime. Persuasion ? Obtain his resigna- 
 tion as Commander-in-Chief, get him to give up his position to 
 another ? Was that probable ? 
 
 ' Is there no hope of convincing him ?' ventured Judin. ' If 
 one appealed to his honour, to his patriotism, and if he 
 remained blind to his interest, to the feeling of responsibility 
 which he is incurring ? France would ask him for the reason 
 of his inaction, and of his pourparlers with the enemy !' 
 
 'Ah! who will convince him?' said Du Breuil, out of 
 patience. * Who w411 speak louder than his incognizance, than 
 his ambition, than his egoism ? He has neither equals nor 
 master.' 
 
 * However,' opposed Judin, ' it is unheard of, that two 
 hundred thousand men are dependent on the folly or the 
 treason of one man. Here is Bazaine now consulting the 
 Generals of Division, asking them for their opinion on the 
 situation, as though he didn't yet feel himself sufficiently 
 screened by the complicity of the commanders of the corps. 
 I was dining the day before yesterday with General Chenot, 
 when he received a message from Canrobert, asking him to go 
 and confer with him. He made a singular face, and murmured : 
 " Just so ; we are called in extremis to pronounce the absolution !" ' 
 
 ' I know. The meeting was held yesterday at the quarters 
 of the commanders of the corps. Most of the Generals, if I 
 judge by a few who have not kept their opinions secret, have 
 admitted the possibility of a military convention in accordance 
 with which the army would be allowed to retire with arms and 
 baggage to a neutral point of the territory. If not, they 
 declare themselves ready to die at the head of their troops. 
 All that is mere talk, Maxime ! The enemy cannot, will not, 
 
300 THE DISASTER 
 
 grant us a capitulation other than that of Sedan. It amuses 
 us, famine comes, and when we wish to die fighting it will be 
 too late. There you are !' 
 
 ' Then, how is it going to end ?' asked Judin. 
 
 * Badly,' concluded Du Breuil. ' Bless your stars you're 
 invalided. You are doubtless spared captivity in Germany.' 
 
 Judin suddenly became purple and protested : 
 
 * No, no, Pierre ; don't say such things. It is impossible !' 
 He was thinking, ' It is shameful !' But within himself 
 
 there rang out the secret voice which, louder than the sound 
 at reveille, or that to extinguish fires, was crying to each one, 
 morning and night, the fatal prophecy without succeeding in 
 shaking off the stupor of that crowd of men, fascinated, it 
 seemed, by the inexorable approach of its fate. 
 
 ' Look !' he said. 
 
 Behind the dripping windows of a cafe some officers were 
 wildly gesticulating and speaking in a high tone of voice. 
 Du Breuil recognised two well-known figures — Colonel la 
 Maisonval and Captain Laprune — Orestes and Pylades. 
 They were playing a game of ecarte ; one could see from the 
 manner in which they were playing that these cards were 
 more familiar than geographical maps. * Isn't this the Rhine 
 which passes Sarrelouis?' — * I beg your pardon. Colonel, it is 
 the Moselle !' 
 
 ' From my armchair in Mdlle. Sorbet's drawing-room,' said 
 Judin, ' I saw them pass before the window every day at the 
 same hour going to the cafe, the Captain supporting his lame 
 Colonel. Shall we go in ?' 
 
 * No, thanks,' said Du Breuil. 
 
 The night was falling quickly. He entered the chief head- 
 quarters soaked to the skin. 
 
 ' Do you know,' said Francastel, ' that after to-morrow they 
 will give the horses nothing more to eat ? In five days no 
 more bread ! In eleven days ! . . .' 
 
 He made his finger-nail crack on his tooth. 
 
 And there arose before Du Breuil a vision of the enormous 
 beast with two hundred thousand mouths. Tormented by a 
 voracious and regular need for sustenance, it had swallowed 
 during two months mountains of provisions, dried up rivers of 
 wine, whole harvests ; innumerable sacks of corn had been 
 eaten ; flocks had been devoured by hundreds. He was haunted 
 by the image of famished soldiers. Some were eating with 
 greedy loathing the badly cooked horseflesh, cut off from the 
 
THE DISASTER 301 
 
 carcase immediately before ; others were tearing pieces of bread. 
 All, in their pallid thinness, prostrated or febrile, had features 
 which were drawn and bestial. Those who could get provisions 
 were seized with a savage egoism, and hid themselves to eat. 
 All bonds were broken. Officers and soldiers no longer dared 
 to look each other in the face. Each one became a savage. 
 Alone the hours when food was distributed still brought to- 
 gether this unsatiated crowd. But soon, when the last horses, 
 dead from starvation, had served for food, what was to become 
 of them, what had they to hope ? 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 On the loth, in the incessant rain which transformed the Ban 
 Saint- Martin into a lake, the mud splashed up under the wheels 
 of vehicles and the hoofs of horses. The commanders of the 
 corps and the heads of departments were arriving, and under 
 the presidency of the Marshal was held the supreme council, 
 whence, according to his own terms, the definite solution of 
 the situation of the army was to issue. It lasted an inter- 
 minable time. Was it going to result in a desperate but 
 glorious inspiration, or that eternal submission, that sad resig- 
 nation to circumstances ? General Jarras, who was present 
 at it, but, as upon every occasion, without deliberative voice, 
 appeared. Generals and Colonels Charlys and Jacquem^re 
 anxiously surrounded him. A large number of officers of all 
 ranks, and belonging to all branches of the army, pressed for- 
 ward for news. Du Breuil then heard a report of the meeting. 
 
 They had been divided in opinions, throwing responsibilities 
 in each other's faces. Coffini^res, accused of making peace 
 with the political opposition which was fermenting in Metz, 
 called upon to order fresh requisitions in the town, and to 
 suppress the license of too patriotic and too republican news- 
 papers, at the mercy of the council, had justified his conduct 
 and put forward the grievances of Metz. They had decided, 
 in presence of his insistence, to leave at the fort provisions 
 necessary for its defence in case the army should move away. 
 
 Passing to the military question, the necessity of immediately 
 leaving had been recognised. All the reports of the commanders 
 of army corps concluded either for an honourable capitulation 
 or for a vigorous sortie en masse. The Marshal had shown the 
 impossibility of the latter course. A political expedient was, 
 
302 THE DISASTER 
 
 therefore, the only thing which remained. By addressing the 
 King of Prussia, in the name of order and peace, perhaps they 
 would find him disposed to utilize the Army of the Rhine for 
 the establishment or the maintenance of a stable power : the 
 Empire, everyone understood, and, if not, the actual Govern- 
 ment established at Paris and at Tours or another. . . 
 Coffiniferes — and he must be praised for it — had then protested : 
 
 ' It was not admissible that the Prussians would allow us 
 to return to France to establish order ; those overtures w^ould 
 only result in our dragging on until the exhausting of our feeble 
 resources. Would it not be better first to try the fate of arms ? 
 They would negotiate afterwards if misfortune willed that they 
 were reduced to negotiating.' 
 
 But the majority were of the contrary opinion ; first of all 
 pourparlers, and if the enemy's conditions were incompatible 
 with military honour, they would then try to make a way out 
 by force. Feeling that it was a case of urgency, Ladmirault had 
 asked that negotiations be commenced in less than forty-eight 
 hours. General Boyer had been appointed on the spot to 
 proceed to the King of Prussia at Versailles. 
 
 ' It is disastrous, disastrous !' repeated Jacquem^re. 
 
 On the previous day, after hearing the confidences of Boyer, 
 he leaned towards an accord with the enemy. His opinions 
 were changed by the last influence which acted upon him. 
 
 When Laune knew the decision of the council, a great 
 shudder passed over him, his complexion turned green under 
 a flow of bile. However, he straightened himself up. What 
 was the good of pouring one's self forth in words ? Discipline 
 stifled revolt. The bitter consciousness which he had of the 
 situation lighted him to his duty — to serve without swerving, 
 with the straightness of a steel instrument. 
 
 But Charlys cried : 
 
 * What responsibility they will bear before history ! They 
 think to save the army and rest on a rotten plank which cracks 
 under their feet. They will drown themselves, and we shall 
 all drown with them — yes, drown in this mud !' 
 
 With a gesture he indicated the sHmy slough which stretched 
 out under the window, the cloacae of the camps, Metz under 
 the muddy water of its river, under the deluge. 
 
 * Gentlemen,' Floppe was saying after dinner, ' I have a 
 sad piece of news : our eminent chief, Colonel Laune, has the 
 jaundice. As to Colonel Charlys, he appears to me to have the 
 air of a conspirator. Bazaine has only to hold his ground well !' 
 
THE DISASTER 303 
 
 On the nth the weather cleared up. Du Breuil went out, 
 as much to escape from himself as to flee from his little bed- 
 room, his comrades, and the Marshal's closed house. The 
 Ban Saint- Martin had become odious to him. He went to 
 Metz. The coming and going would deceive his sick heart, 
 his tortured spirit. He would call at the Bersheims'. Why 
 had he fled from this hospitable house ? What wretched dis- 
 grace withheld him, alternately repelled and attracted ? On 
 the one hand it was D'Avol, their misunderstanding increasing. 
 It would be painful to him again to see the friend through 
 whom he had suffered, was still sufl"ering. But, on the other 
 hand, it was Anine. She invited him by the expressive grace 
 of her silence, the serious charm of her smile. He saw her 
 always so dignified, so proud — such as she had appeared to 
 him in the passage after D'Avol's perfidious allusions to Mme. 
 de Guionic. 
 
 He asked himself what this immured young girl, mistress of 
 her emotions, possessed of so sure a tact, of so even a disposi- 
 tion, thought and felt. More and more she seemed to him one 
 of those balanced souls of Lorraine, a true daughter of Metz- 
 la-Pucelle. At times he confounded her with the city, the 
 placid pride, the inviolate prestige of which she incarnated. 
 When he heard the indignant complaints of the people of 
 Metz trembling that their town might be the price of peace, it 
 was of Anine that he thought. Metz in the hands of the 
 enemy, Metz Prussian ! — it was Anine that he imagined with a 
 feeling of terrible anguish, of jealous hatred. He recalled his 
 adieu on the morning of Borny, and what he had then felt 
 which was inexpressible. He recalled since then all the obscure 
 working of his thought, invisible, intangible, that which one 
 neither pronounces nor confesses. At the very name of Anine 
 he became sad ; he felt nothing bitter, but something serious 
 and agitated, which descended into the depths of his being. 
 Then he braced himself up and shut himself up in so pene- 
 trating an emotion that it became painful. For days after- 
 wards he avoided the remembrance with mistrustful reserve, as 
 though he feared to profane it. 
 
 Upon reaching the Porte de France, a very ruddy, white- 
 haired doctor who was coming out — hallo ! it was P^re Riscard 
 — swooped down upon him, waving his stick with his abrupt- 
 ness of an old punchinello, the hump of which he only lacked. 
 
 * Splendid news, friend ! Go to Metz ! Everything is 
 topsy-turvy !' 
 
304 THE DISASTER 
 
 Without wishing to say anything more he skipped away. 
 On the Pont des Morts an officer of the Zouaves of the Guard, 
 who was going at full speed, stopped quite out of breath 
 to cry : 
 
 * Saved, Major — saved ! And it is the rabble which has 
 come to our assistance. They are voyous who deliver us !' 
 
 ' What rabble ? What voyous ?' 
 
 ' The population of Paris has risen en masse and has crushed 
 the Prussians. There is a despatch. Where is it ? I'm in 
 search of it. But at the Ban Saint- Martin, Major, you must 
 have seen it ?' 
 
 He continued on his way. Passers-by questioned Du Breuil, 
 groups of people murmured at all the corners of the streets. 
 Women spoke with abrupt volubility. A large number of 
 people — soldiers and inhabitants of Metz — were formed in 
 a circle round a corporal of the line. 
 
 ' The despatch !' they cried to him. ' Read !' 
 
 Du Breuil elbowed his way into the crowd. 
 
 ' I copied it,' said the corporal, excited by the importance 
 which he was assuming, * from a piece of paper held by an 
 officer, who himself had copied it, I know not where.' 
 
 ' Read ! read !' cried the crowd. 
 
 The corporal read : 
 
 * Three victories before Paris. One hundred and eighty 
 thousand men hors de combat. Prussian army in retreat on 
 Chalons. Francs-tireurs of the Vosges and Franche-Comte 
 have recaptured Luneville. They march on Nancy. Let 
 Metz hold its ground ! 
 
 ' (Signed) Bazaine.' 
 
 There was a burst of cheers, bravos, and cries. Divided 
 between absurd hope and passionate increduHty, Du Breuil 
 had turned round to look at the feverish faces, agitated with 
 expectation, curiosity, and blind faith. The least expressive — 
 those, even, that were ossified by old age — were all expressive 
 of passionate souls, and some bordered on frenzy and madness. 
 The exaltation of the town, which increased the more he 
 proceeded on his way, was painful to him. Everywhere were 
 gesticulating National Guards under arms. This bubbling 
 froth on the fire would fall flat as soon as the cold truth was 
 known. 
 
 After being stopped ten times, forced to reply to questions, 
 he reached Bersheim's residence. Little Thibaut, pale and 
 
THE DISASTER 305 
 
 thin— where were his cheeks rosy as an apple ? — was playing 
 with some tadpoles which were swarming in a large tub. 
 Barrels near called to mind the threat of bombardment on 
 September 1 6th, the precautions which had been taken; the 
 water in them had stagnated, had become the colour of a dead 
 leaf. 
 
 ' Bonjour, m'sieur !' The youngster made the military 
 salute. * My little sister is very ill.' 
 
 * Don't bother the gentleman !' 
 
 Louise, enormous and near her confinement, rushed out of 
 the laundry. Du Breuil questioned her. Alas ! yes, her 
 little daughter had a violent fever. ' It is this offensive air. 
 A child, too, who was so healthy at the farm !' Three wet- 
 nurses were dead in the neighbouring houses. . . . No more 
 milk or baker's bread ! One met many Httle coflfins in the 
 streets. Everywhere were black dresses and closed shops with 
 the notice ' Pour cause de dec^s ' stuck on the shutters. 
 And to think that the Prussians, nice and warm, were stuffing 
 themselves with saucine aux poix behind their shelters. * I have 
 seen some prisoners, sir. It is disgusting ! How fat they are !' 
 
 A fit of sobbing suffocated her. She returned into her 
 laundry. 
 
 In the meantime old Lisbeth, with exclamations, was intro- 
 ducing Du Breuil. ' Had he, then, been ill that they saw him 
 no more ? It was true the house was not lively. He would 
 find the ambulance half empty, but not because the patients 
 were cured — Lord !' The old Captain, that brave fellow who 
 was so resigned ; the corporal wounded at Noisseville, who 
 had seen Louise's mother and father, the old Larrouys, killed 
 in their farm ; the other, a little Lieutenant who resembled a 
 girl — may the good God receive their souls ! they had 
 suffered much. 
 
 One after the other, Grandmother Sophia, Mme. Bersheim, 
 and Anine, came into the drawing-room. All three associated, 
 united in their devotion, and by their ministration of charity, 
 looked at him wdth such a similar expression of face that he was 
 struck by it. He was moved to see to what a degree sorrow 
 had made them identical. The joy of Maurice's return had 
 more quickly passed away than the sorrow of having lost 
 Andre, and all these deaths in their house, all these signs of 
 anguish in the streets, in the quarter, in the town, in the 
 camps, had filled them with horror. Their dry eyes seemed 
 incapable of shedding more tears. While in the case of 
 
 20 
 
3o6 THE DISASTER 
 
 Grandmother Sophia her features retained a look of admirable 
 good-nature, one read in the beautiful clear eyes of Mme. 
 Bersheim a revolt which religion could not assuage. Sudden 
 emotion had transfigured Anine. She only gave Du Breuil 
 one look, but it was eloquent ; and he retained from the brief 
 clasp of their hands an expression of rapture, confidence ; the 
 joy which he felt from it was grave and manly. The three 
 women in mourning still looked at him, appeared to wait, to 
 hope for a word of hope from him, an energetic act, no matter 
 what, to ease the tragic destiny which was crushing them all. 
 He felt his powerlessness cruelly. 
 
 ' How is Maurice ?' 
 
 ' They have — what do you call it ? — reincorporated him,' 
 said Mme. Bersheim, ' in a regiment of the line in camp at 
 Sablon. He is on duty. You won't see him to-day.' 
 
 'And D'Avol?' he asked. 
 
 ' Almost cured. He rejoins his regiment to-morrow,' said 
 the grandmother. 
 
 Silence, as heavy as a reproach, again reigned. Loud voices 
 in discussion came from the garden. 
 
 * You will find many of your comrades with my husband,' 
 continued Mme. Bersheim. * They are holding a great meet- 
 ing.' 
 
 * You will not be one too many there, if it is only to counsel 
 calmness and judgment,' said Anine. 
 
 She pulled up a bhnd, pushed open the window. Du Breuil 
 saw a stormy gathering ; disquieted and cordial faces turned 
 towards him. The discussion continued just as high and 
 as loud. He shook people by the hands. D'Avol pretended 
 not to see him — perhaps he was really absorbed by his con- 
 versation with Gex — he let go his hand as though he were an 
 indifferent person, then in astonishment said : 
 
 ' Hullo, Pierre ! You are, then, of our number ? In your 
 absence we have sown.' 
 
 He turned towards Gex : 
 
 * Changarnier is too old. Canrobert alone is our man. Do 
 you think he will consent ?' 
 
 Gex, who was prudent, and who had come there to see 
 which way the w4nd was blowing, replied : 
 
 ' Rest assured that Bazaine will resign in favour of nobody. 
 In consequence, acceptation on the part of Canrobert appears 
 to me impossible. His loyalty, his chivalrous character, his 
 respect for discipline, will not suffer any false situation.' 
 
THE DISASTER 307 
 
 Comte de Cussac approached. D'Avol sounded him about 
 Ladmirault, and received the same reply. However, notwith- 
 standing Barrus' interruptions, Carrouge was railing against 
 the Provisional Government. 
 
 * It is shameful,' the old Commander of the Imperial Guard 
 was saying, ' shameful, that these men of September 4th should 
 choose the time at which the enemy crowds native territory to 
 make a revolution !' 
 
 Barrus, his eyes ablaze, his voice ringing, protested : 
 
 ' The sword of France was lying in the mud. These men 
 have picked it up to strike the enemy. No one has over- 
 thrown the Empire. It has fallen of itself, like a thing which 
 is rotten.' 
 
 ' You speak like a demagogue !' cried Carrouge. 
 
 ' I speak as a patriot. All France has pronounced against 
 it ; we alone still recognise it.' 
 
 Carrouge declared : 
 
 ' We are bound by our oath !' 
 
 ' Our oath to whom ? To an Emperor who is prisoner ? 
 To an Empress in flight ? Are we the soldiers of a man 
 or of a country ? Where is France — at Wilhemshohe ? at 
 Hastings?' 
 
 ' Barrus is right,' intervened Bersheim. * If there is no 
 longer an Empire, the country remains ! How does the 
 Marshal's oath prevent him from carrying out his military 
 duties ? Whatever their political opinions may be, soldiers 
 should only have one idea, that of leaving Metz, and avoid by 
 all means the shameful capitulation which is being prepared.' 
 
 It was to this point, with his obstinate good sense, that he 
 brought the discussion, ever ready to wander at the mercy of 
 sterile recriminations. 
 
 ' We are agreed upon that,' growled Carrouge. ' We must 
 make a way out at all costs !' 
 
 ' Let us be practical,' cried an enthusiastic carabineer. 
 ' Those who wish to force Bazaine hold up their hands.' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon,' said another — slim Captain de Serres, 
 of D'Avol' s battery — ' not the word " force." You can only 
 mean moral pressure, respectfully consistent wdth discipline. 
 Moreover, we have recognised that general officers alone have 
 a right to make an application to the Marshal. Let us recruit 
 them as soon as possible.' 
 
 Lieutenant Thomas, faithful to the hierarchy, his eyes redder 
 than ever, nodded his head. A Captain in the Engineers, with 
 
 20 — 2 
 
3o8 THE DISASTER 
 
 an eager, sad face, then spoke. His sentiments were elevated, 
 but the declamatory way in which he delivered them marred 
 the hard things he was saying : 
 
 * For a long time discerning eyes had seen Bazaine's game. 
 In addition to being incapable, he was a traitor. The pressure 
 which he exercised over the newspapers, the systematic 
 demoralization which he was propagating in the army, left no 
 illusions as to his object — to restore the Empire, so as to derive 
 profit from it. It was therefore necessary to act, but to act at 
 once. After the 13th a sortie would be impossible; the army 
 was too enfeebled. What was the good of recruiting new 
 Generals, in losing time ? Numbers would do nothing. One 
 voice was sufficient, provided it spoke plainly. If Bazaine lent 
 a deaf ear, well, they would offer the supreme command to 
 others!' 
 
 ' Will you come to the great meeting ?' he asked. * Time is 
 pressing. It isn't in three days, it is to-morrow that Generals 
 who have heart ought to speak to the Marshal !' 
 
 ' Well said, Rossel !' cried D'Avol. 
 
 Another Captain, whose name was Boyenval, named two 
 Generals, and offered to make an immediate application to 
 them. He set off, accompanying Rossel, the carabineer, De 
 Serres, and a few others, young men who talked loud and 
 made their swords rattle. Gex and Cussac left shortly after- 
 wards. 
 
 Complaints were still made. Carrouge, who was very 
 animated, was listening, without hearing the complaints of an 
 old citizen of Metz, M. Krudger, whose son was one of the 
 most active members of the Municipal Council. 
 
 ' Compare these two sheets of to-day's Independant de la 
 Moselle /' he was saying, with exasperation. ' Here are the 
 proofs, slashed by the Censor, and here is a copy of the news- 
 paper, mutilated, with spaces. If this continues, the Metz 
 newspapers will shortly appear in white. Coffinieres and 
 Bazaine only tolerate matter communicated by themselves, 
 false news and rectifications to the enemy's advantage. Com- 
 pare ! Look !' 
 
 ' Upon my faith !' cried Bersheim, ' the suppressions are 
 instructive. Listen to this : '' News which has been brought 
 is good — very good. Let pessimists, then, have confidence, 
 and let us no longer hear pronounced that word ' capitulation,* 
 which makes one blush." Struck out ! Why ?' 
 
 ' Worse still !' continued M. Krudger. ' An article by 
 
THE DISASTER 309 
 
 Colonel Humbert, secretary at the Ecole d'Application library, 
 showed that the situation is not desperate, that France is 
 arming. Coffini^res has just destroyed it on the proofs. x\nd, 
 what you would never believe. Colonel Humbert only took his 
 pen in hand after the visit of an officer of the staff, who came 
 on behalf of Bazaine to ask for Thiers' work in which the 
 capitulations of Baylen, Genoa, and Dantzic are mentioned !* 
 
 There were a dozen officers there, some resting on crutches, 
 others with their arms in slings, still pale, owing to their 
 sojourn in the ambulance. They all looked at one another in 
 disgust. D'Avol looked at Du Breuil and chuckled. 
 
 ' A pretty commission ! Perhaps you know the officer ? 
 One of your comrades ?' 
 
 More dryly than he intended, Du Breuil replied : 
 
 * I don't know him. At any rate, he is not responsible. 
 He obeyed orders.' 
 
 ' Yes, yes, we know — passive obedience ! It takes you a 
 long way ! . . . As for me, I declare that when the yoke is 
 shameful one throws it off. Don't you recognise that at the 
 present time a sortie, with or without hope, can alone save 
 the honour of the flag ? Yes or no ?' 
 
 Du Breuil knit his brow. He foresaw the shock. His 
 loving heart, as much as his amour-propre, which was wounded 
 to the quick, was suffering because of it. Why was D'Avol 
 passionate to this extent ? 
 
 ' I recognise it,' he conceded at last. 
 
 ' Then, you approve of the steps which certain Generals are 
 going to take in regard to Bazaine ?' 
 
 ' I approve of everything which is compatible with discipline, 
 nothing else.' 
 
 ' Then,' said D'Avol, ' you blame us for substituting a better 
 leader should Bazaine refuse to make a sortie ? You would 
 blame us for preferring revolt to opprobrium — in a word, you 
 would, if necessary, capitulate?' 
 
 Du Breuil turned. Anine, accompanied by her mother, was 
 behind them. Their presence made his blood boil. He drew 
 himself up under the insult. 
 
 * I have replied to you. If Bazaine, or a leader properly 
 invested with power, leads us to the opening, I shall be at my 
 post !' 
 
 ' In the meantime you cross your arms. You say to your- 
 self, " I am screened. I obey. They order me to march, and 
 I march ; they order me to give up my arms, and I give them 
 
3IO THE DISASTER 
 
 up." Discipline always ! And don't you think that above 
 this slothful, blind, soulless discipline there is a higher law, 
 the feeling of honour ?' 
 
 ' Stop !' said Du Breuil with firmness. ' Do not let us, if 
 you please, use such a word in a courteous discussion. I 
 believe I understand honour as well as you.' 
 
 D'Avol cast a black look at him, but became silent. His 
 arm in the sling trembled. The silence was accompanied by 
 a feeling of great uneasiness. Mme. Bersheim and her husband 
 appeared very troubled. Anine remained impassible, as though 
 she heard nothing. 
 
 * It is certain,' said M. Krudger, conciUating, 'that we can 
 hold out still longer than is thought. Our resources are going 
 to be augmented by requisitions ordered in the town ; hence- 
 forth neither corn nor flour will leave Metz. The approaching 
 distribution of cartes de consommation will regulate waste. It 
 seems to me,' he added, looking at his watch, ' that the meeting 
 of officers of the National Guard at the Hotel de Ville is lasting 
 a long time.' 
 
 At this moment Gustave Le Martrois came running up, so 
 out of breath that the glasses of his spectacles were covered 
 with moisture. He announced with an inspired air that a riot 
 was being prepared, and he appeared quite proud of it, because 
 he professed advanced Republican opinions, to the alarm of his 
 mother, the prudent Mme. Le Martrois. . . . The delegates of 
 the officers of the National Guard, headed by the Mayor, had 
 just, he explained, gone to the Governor's to obtain, if possible 
 — his air was ironical — sure information. . . . These rumours 
 of negotiations, this pretended great victory — all this maddened 
 the town. During this time, one of the officers living at the 
 common house had shattered the Emperor's bust, and then, 
 in the midst of applause and whistling, had wrenched off the 
 eagle of the flag, and had thrown it on the square. They were 
 hustled a little, and in the row one of their acquaintances, 
 M. Dumaine, had just received some good knocks. 
 
 ' Well done !' said Bersheim. ' The fat egoist ! the mono- 
 polizer ! Will you believe it, that at the last domiciliary visit 
 they discovered in his cellar more than thirty-six sacks of flour, 
 corn, barrels of herrings, hams, baskets of eggs, preserves. . . . 
 Enough to feed a regiment. He was gorging himself in secret 
 without giving anything to the poor or to the wounded. We 
 let him know that, so much had his conduct revolted us, he 
 was never to put his foot in the house again !' 
 
THE DISASTER 311 
 
 Carrouge, who was furious, asked Gustave for details. The 
 eagle wrenched off and thrown on the square roused his indig- 
 nation. 
 
 ' Brawlers !' he said, hooking on his sword. ' I'm going 
 there.' 
 
 They could not retain him ; but D'Avol and old M. Krudger, 
 out of precaution, went with him. All the officers present pre- 
 served a constrained air. That eagle, shining on the staff of 
 the flag, had crossed Italy, Spain, Germany, all the battle- 
 fields of Europe, with its golden wings open. Du Breuil, 
 although he thought himself resigned to the catastrophe in 
 which the dynasty had foundered for the second time, felt the 
 affront and murmured : 
 
 ' Anarchy is commencing ! And they wish true soldiers to 
 strike a blow at discipline ? Come, it is criminal ! How is it 
 that D'Avol does not see into what a terrible mess, into what 
 a state of chaos, a military conspiracy may lead us ?' 
 
 It seemed to him that Anine, anxious, was staring at him, 
 trying to penetrate, to understand him. Under her apparent 
 calm he thought her wavering and irresolute. D'Avol's heroism 
 — a facile heroism, all nerves and bile, pride and bravado — 
 perhaps captivated her ! But perhaps also, possessed of 
 uprightness and good sense, she understood what a painful 
 sacrifice those who wished to preserve to the end inflexible 
 respect for rule were making ? Doubtless she was asking 
 herself, like himself, where duty lay. 
 
 In these troubled hours, how to recognise duty ? Above all, 
 how to do it ? How cruel to seek for it in the midst of bitter- 
 ness, recrimination, and reproaches ! How painful was this 
 debated duty which brought old friends face to face, which 
 rent the most sincere consciences ! D'Avol ? . . . Restaud ? . . . 
 Discipline ? Honour ? 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 On the 12th Du Breuil read on the new sheet of his calendar : 
 ^ Bataille d'Elchingen, 1806.' What a reproach these glorious 
 memories, these radiant names ! Yesterday, Massena ; to-day, 
 Ney, the hero of Moscow — Ney, who at Waterloo said : ' I 
 would that all these bullets might enter my stomach !' — Ney, 
 who would rather have been blown up on a powder-magazine 
 than surrender 1' 
 
312 
 
 THE DISASTER 
 
 The situation became worse from hour to hour. In a 
 communique the Marshal had contradicted the alleged great 
 victory. On the previous day all distribution of food to the 
 horses had ceased ; in two days bread would be lacking. 
 Frederick Charles had at first refused to allow Boyer to leave, 
 then, upon receiving a favourable note from Versailles, had 
 consented. His officer sent to parley had just arrived. Boyer 
 was authorized to proceed before the King ; an express train 
 was in waiting at Ars ; the Prince's Aide-de-camp would 
 accompany him. 
 
 The General left about noon. 
 
 'A fine opportunity,' said Francastel, * of showing the 
 Prussians his new stars !' 
 
 * Pooh ! shooting stars !' said Floppe mischievously. 
 
 However, the council, convoked by the Marshal in con- 
 sequence of Frederick Charles's primary refusal, continued its 
 sitting. In the presence of this favourable solution, which was 
 in accordance with the wishes of almost all the members, they 
 only had to deal with the recent manifestations in the town. 
 Frossard and Lebceuf violently demanded that the eagle be 
 replaced on the flagstaff of the H6tel de Ville. People 
 attached too much importance to that occurrence, replied 
 Coffini^res. A written order was necessary. But Bazaine 
 kept silent. Coffini^res then again asked that the lot of the 
 town should be separated from that of the army. On October 
 2oth, he could no longer give up the resources of the fort. 
 
 ' Oh ! oh ! your master is getting excited,' Floppe was 
 saying to Captain Chagres. ' One more that Bazaine has 
 nicely fooled. You see it clearly now, eh ? You're talking 
 loud. You want to save Metz. Too late, mon gros ! If we 
 surrender, you will surrender also.' 
 
 Chagres shrugged his shoulders. He was a very brave 
 man, but discussion wearied him. The other day he had 
 kicked a brawler down the stairs of his office. 
 
 Boyer was followed in thought by many in the evening. 
 Would he succeed in this strange mission, of which the wisest 
 only thought with uneasiness ? It was said that he was going 
 to propose to the King of Prussia the following clauses : the 
 town left alone to defend itself ; evacuation of the wounded ; 
 departure of the army with arms and baggage for the South of 
 France or Algeria, under the condition of remaining there 
 until the end of the war, . . . But why should the conqueror 
 accept such offers ? Through humanity ? — a sortie, even un- 
 
THE DISASTER 313 
 
 fruitful, probably costing the Prussians twenty to thirty 
 thousand men. That was very sentimental for an enemy 
 which only had results in view, which was sacrificing every- 
 thing for an object. ... In order to gain a political advantage, 
 since the Army of the Rhine alone was capable of re-establish- 
 ing social order ? A doubtful and precarious hope. In case 
 the King and his counsellors welcomed him, which was im- 
 probable, would the army follow its leaders ? 
 
 Nevertheless, so intense was the desire for hope that finely 
 tempered souls — those of solid courage, men whose honour one 
 could not suspect — came to cling to this last means of salva- 
 tion. The state of fever in which each one was living gave 
 birth to nightmares. All normal life was abolished. It was 
 necessary to make allowance for these unique circumstances : 
 this blockaded army, kept in ignorance of the tragic events 
 which succeeded each other around her, passing from starts of 
 delirious hope to the most dejected prostration. Worse than 
 the total absence of news were the foolish rumours, the great 
 invisible breaths which made people hesitate. No hope from 
 outside ; a divided Government which was itself fleeing before 
 the enemy, or blockaded in Paris, which certainly could not 
 hold out. Assuredly, had they known of the heroic defence of 
 the capital, the desperate efforts of the Provisional Government, 
 all these African, Italian, and Crimean Generals, these glorious 
 chiefs of the supreme council, would not have been struck by 
 such an insensibility of military honour, by such paralysis of 
 will. Many came to ask themselves if a fresh butchery was 
 necessary. Without horses to drag the cannon, without 
 cavalry, forced with nothing but foot soldiers to pass beyond a 
 terrible circle of shells and balls, was it not going to a monstrous 
 
 massacre 
 
 Captivity only presented to men of heart the image of a 
 worse catastrophe, the shame of a humiliation to which death 
 was preferable. Why, then, refuse an honourable convetitiofi 
 which would allow them to leave with arms and baggage ? 
 To gain time seemed the most urgent necessity. . . . Could 
 not they also believe — they had such a desire for belief — that 
 the Commanders-in-Chief yielded to a humane duty in striving 
 to safeguard this lamentable crowd of soldiers, emaciated, 
 bowed, consumptive by hundreds, not only from the sufferings 
 of captivity, but from the horrors of massacre ? Was it im- 
 probable to suppose that these Marshals and these Generals 
 had felt some pity before the innumerable faces of their 
 
314 THE DISASTER 
 
 soldiers, those yellow, pale faces upon which one could read so 
 strange an anxiety ? . . . Alas ! in that case what a lack of 
 perspicacity, what a sad blindness ! To have allowed them- 
 selves to be run to earth in this way ! 
 
 Because the misfortune was, thought Du Breuil, Restaud, 
 Laune, and many others, that these hum^ane considerations, 
 which were justifiable, if they wished to forget what personal 
 ulterior motives were mixed up in them, rested on the iridescence 
 of a soap-bubble. If Bismarck burst it by a breath, every- 
 thing vanished. The enemy, faithful to its tactics, would have 
 gained time, and the Army of the Rhine, sliding down the slope 
 simply by the weight of its dead horses and its men without 
 strength, would awaken at the bottom of the tomb. 
 
 Boyer was expected in the evening of the 13th. What 
 probability was there, however, that he could return so soon ? 
 Detained by his duty, Du Breuil's only diversion the whole 
 day was the interminable conversations of his neighbours. 
 He was sickened by them. He knew beforehand what each 
 one was going to say ; the foUies, the tics of all were familiar to 
 him. Massoli, who expectorated, annoyed him as much as 
 Francastel, squinting with satisfaction at his curled moustache. 
 They were sad hours, hearing and seeing the falling rain. It 
 unwound from the horizon its skein of gray thread ; one heard 
 the sobbing of the overflowing spouts. And Du Breuil 
 thought of the sticky bivouacs, of the little tents soaked 
 through, of the soldiers lying upon straw which had become 
 dung, of those who, to find wood, plundered the last carpentry, 
 of those who, observing a tacit armistice, crouched in the 
 trenches of the outposts, looking from under the pointed hoods 
 of their cloaks at the enemy's helmets, also motionless in the 
 misty, watery distance. 
 
 He said to himself : * What am I doing here ? Like the 
 others, I await Boyer's return, after having waited for that of 
 Bourbaki.' He reflected upon the journey of Bazaine's private 
 counsellor. What emotions might be felt by a French 
 General passing across his country in the midst of fire and 
 blood, under the guidance of a courteous but inflexible 
 guardian, who would prevent him from exchanging the slightest 
 word with his countrymen ! Doubtless he was preparing the 
 arguments and persuasive words which would entice old 
 William and his suspicious bull-dogs, Moltke and Bismarck. 
 
 Would he even return ? What had happened to Bourbaki, 
 the dupe of a similar mission ? — Bourbaki, whose inexplicable 
 
THE DISASTER 315 
 
 departure and absence had maddened Metz to such an extent 
 that a recent deputation ascertained that the General was not 
 imprisoned at the Ecole d'Application by order of Bazaine. 
 
 The rain fell — fell without stopping. Du Breuil watched it 
 with a feeling of distress. It would contribute to their loss as 
 much as famine. It w^eakened the soul, extinguished the fire 
 of revolt. History is a witness to the fact that revolutions 
 have been drowned by a storm. What was one to say of 
 these torrents, the running of which, night and day, was doing 
 away with all energetic action ? Du Breuil thought that the 
 conspiracy was in the water. To go from camp to camp, to 
 recruit adherents, the mud must not stick to the soles of their 
 boots ; they must not be blinded by the wind and the rain. 
 The Marshal, in his warm house, could play at billiards at his 
 ease, while the leaders of the great meeting — the Rossels, the 
 Boyenvals, D'Avol, Carrouge, and Charlys — soaked, covered 
 with mud, worn out with rage and fatigue, struggled hard. 
 
 That first measure, upon the occasion of which they had 
 clearly specified that all the forms of discipline would be 
 respected, that visit to Bazaine of a few Generals in a body, 
 had ended in nothing. In vain had Boisjol, eloquent in his 
 roughness, said a few words, stifled by emotion ; in vain had 
 Chenot hinted with good-nature of the advantages of a sortie. 
 Bazaine, surprised at the implicit censure of this demonstra- 
 tion, had dissembled, had put on his air of plain dealing : 
 ' He had decided not to capitulate, he gave them forynal assurance 
 of that. General Boyer was going to draw up at Versailles a 
 military convention which would allow the army to leave the 
 fort honourably. If he was not successful, the Marshal 
 agreed with them that a sortie must be made at all costs.' 
 And, taking the map, he improvised a plan of march, on both 
 banks of the Moselle, this time in a southerly direction. He 
 adjourned immediate measures, declaring himself ready, adding 
 that the situation of the army was not very agreeable, but that 
 if another person, whoever he might be, wished to take charge 
 of it, he would willingly abandon it to him. 
 
 ' Yes, count upon that !' Carrouge had murmured. 
 
 He confided to Du Breuil that they were going to look for 
 a chief who would consent to lead the army and the corps of 
 officers. Supported by the adhesion of the Generals, who 
 were decided to break a way out, he would go to the Marshal, 
 beg him to place himself at their head, or if not to authorize 
 them to act. Either the Marshal would take the direction of 
 
3i6 THE DISASTER 
 
 the movement, or his very refusal would condemn him. They 
 would be released from him by the words which he would 
 deliver ; the essential rules of discipline remained un- 
 injured. . . . But Du Breuil was watching the rain, which 
 inspired doubt and discouragement in him. 
 
 ' Ah, if Bourbaki was here !' Carrouge was repeating. ' He 
 would have got us out of the difficulty ! It is true we have 
 Deligny. He has thoroughly studied the sortie ; he has his 
 plan. . . . But will he take the command ? It is a grave 
 responsibility.' 
 
 Ah no ! thought Du Breuil, Deligny was not willing. All 
 those they put forward would excuse themselves — Cissey like 
 Deligny, Ladmirault like Cissey, Canrobert like Ladmirault. . . . 
 Canrobert ? ... his rank, his seniority, his character, would 
 have certainly marked him out for everybody's suffrages ; 
 but the attitude of efFacement which he had taken up from the 
 first, and the votes which he had made, bound him down. 
 Besides, his loyalty would not permit of intrigues and ulterior 
 designs ; he replied for Bazaine as for himself: he affirmed that 
 they would not capitulate. . . . No, no ! no chief would take 
 the supreme command. Everybody was ready to obey, nobody 
 to command. 
 
 Rain, always rain. ... It entered at the windows, flowed 
 under the door, marked the floor at each entry of dripping 
 officers. It finished by lulling Massoli to sleep with its sweet, 
 monotonous sound. He was sleeping when they came to wake 
 him. The Marshal asked for some confidential particulars 
 about the southern route. Charlys was charged to send 
 emissaries to assure themselves again of the state of the 
 defences on the Chateau-Salins, Nomeny, and Coin-sur-Seille 
 roads. Francastel, who was returning from the Marshal's, 
 announced that they were going to call upon all the horses of 
 the inhabitants to yoke to the artillery. Du Breuil, sceptical 
 — he knew these false departures so well — heard Carrouge' s 
 peevish voice like an obsession : 
 
 ' Yes, yes, count upon that !' 
 
 At reveille on the following day Frisch spoke to him of 
 distant reports heard in the night. Jubault, he said, pretended 
 it was thunder, because there had been a violent storm, inter- 
 spersed with hail. But no, it must have really been cannon. 
 And Frisch hazarded : 
 
 ' It perhaps was an army coming to their assistance ?' 
 
 Du Breuil smiled sadly, and without replying tore the sheet 
 
THE DISASTER 317 
 
 for the previous day's date from the calendar. It brought to 
 Hght the date October 14th, 1806: Jena. Napoleon's wither- 
 ing campaign — in seventeen days the Prussian monarchy 
 destroyed, crushed ! . . . What new victory on the days 
 following was going to strike him in the face ? What glorious 
 feat at arms would make him further taste the ignominy of his 
 situation ? Bersheim had lent him books to kill the insomnia 
 of his nights and the emptiness of his days. The ' Memoires ' 
 of Napoleon filled his soul with bitter home-sickness. What an 
 epoch ! How he would have liked to have lived in it ! Never had 
 a Marshal of France dreamed of making a compromise in this 
 manner. Dupont at Baylen had only surrendered twenty-five 
 thousand men, and his very name w^as an opprobrium ! 
 
 The distant cannonade still sounded. Some supposed it was 
 the bombardment of Thionville, others guessed of Longwy. 
 Decherac, resuming duty at headquarters — he was feted — 
 brought news from Metz. Coffini^res, accused of duplicity 
 and treason by an excited population, had had enough of it. 
 In a fit of temper he had just sent in his resignation to the 
 Marshal. 
 
 'General Laveaucoupet will doubtless replace him ?' risked 
 Massoli. 
 
 ' No ; the succession is too heavy for him to accept,' said 
 Decherac. ' The Marshal w^ill smooth Coffini^res dow^n, and he 
 will let himself be persuaded. This poor Governor is between 
 the hammer and the anvil. Metz reproaches him for being 
 too Imperialist, Bazaine and his lieutenants for being too 
 Republican. He no longer knows to w^hich to listen.' 
 
 He related the troubles. Two days before, Cofhni^res had 
 notified to the committees on domiciliary visits, which had 
 met at the Hotel de Ville, that the result of their operations 
 would be placed, not in the town granaries, but in the military 
 magazines. There was a great to-do, especially as the 
 Governor had announced the near departure of the army and 
 the inevitable bombardment which would follow, adding : 
 
 * Consequently, one must expect terrible things !' 
 
 ' What is more,' continued Decherac, ' Cofhni^res yesterday 
 informed the Municipal Council of the shocking state of the 
 resources of the tow^n and of the army. Thereupon indignation 
 and stupor of these gentlemen, who express their painful astonish- 
 ment in an address. Coffinieres replied to-day by an acknow- 
 ledgment of the Government of the National Defence. The 
 manifestations still last.' He added : ' The women of Metz, w^ho 
 
3i8 THE DISASTER 
 
 have been so admirable towards our wounded, show themselves 
 the most excited. The National Guards are in a state of effer- 
 vescence. At this very moment they are asking Coffinieres to 
 guard the forts. Their representatives are going to ask Chan- 
 garnier to place himself at their head. "We are betrayed, 
 sold!" they cry. A wreath of immortelles has been laid on 
 the head of Fabert's statue, and a flag has been placed in his 
 hand.' 
 
 ' It's a bear-garden,' said Massoli. * If I were Governor of 
 Metz ' 
 
 Decherac looked at him with wide-open mouth. On the 
 day he was wounded, August 31st, he had left Massoli with 
 jet-black hair. The Massoli who was speaking to him now 
 had hair completely white. His astonishment caused laughter. 
 
 Bersheim and M. Krudger, whose large beard was pearled 
 with rain, and other Metz citizens, arrived. They wished to 
 see the Marshal. They heard detonations in the distance. 
 Did they not recognise the noise of the fusillades and that of 
 the mitrailleuses ? 
 
 Certainly, affirmed M. Krudger, the Prussians had been 
 beaten under Paris, and put to flight. 
 
 A Lieutenant in the National Guard was repeating as in a 
 transport of fever : 
 
 ' Our brothers — our brothers of the Loire ! The army of 
 succour ! It is fighting at Gravelotte ! Gentlemen, to arms ! 
 to arms !' 
 
 Two of the leading citizens were at last introduced into the 
 presence of the Marshal. Bersheim confirmed to Du Breuil 
 the extraordinary agitation of Metz. On the evening of the 
 previous day, about nine o'clock, a rough crowd was stationed 
 on the Place de I'Hotel de Ville. Coffinieres had appeared 
 before the council, swearing on his honour and on his sword 
 that he would never capitulate. 
 
 ' At ten o'clock the council rose ; the last strokes of the 
 curfew-bell sounded ; the groups kept silence ; the gates of 
 the Hotel de Ville were opened. Our venerable Mayor, bare- 
 headed, surrounded by his colleagues, stood on the first steps 
 of the staircase of honour. Men holding lanterns lit up the 
 group. In an agitated voice he read aloud the address which 
 he was charged to transmit to Coffinieres. I assure you it was 
 poignant.' He added : ' There is the council of defence and 
 the committee of supervision over supplies constituted at last ! 
 Five commissions make domiciliary visits. It is quite time !' 
 
THE DISASTER 319 
 
 The Lieutenant of the National Guard said in a state of 
 frenzy to Du Breuil : 
 
 ' Bazaine betrays, Major ! He dines with Frederick Charles 
 every day. One of my friends was walking on the evening of 
 the day before yesterday near the Frescati farm. Near the 
 railway he heard horses' hoofs. He hid himself in a ditch. 
 Three horsemen came up. On a level with the crossing one 
 of them said, " It is here, Marshal, that we must dismount." 
 An orderly led the horses, while the others went in the direc- 
 tion of the Jouy road. My friend heard the rumbling of a 
 carriage which stopped and, turning round, carried away the 
 Marshal and his accomplices.' 
 
 Bersheim shook his head. Forsooth, everything was possible. 
 The fever which made one see ambushes, perfidy, and treason 
 everywhere seized him also. Had they not forbidden the 
 gevants of the newspapers, under pain of their sheets being 
 suppressed, to announce Boyer's departure ? 
 
 The two leading citizens left the Marshal's little satisfied. 
 Bazaine did not think that the cannonade indicated a battle. 
 Doubtless the Prussians bombarded Verdun. He had replied 
 to one of his interlocutors, who had reported to him suppHes 
 of corn : 
 
 ' Yes, I know where there's wheat — in Beauce ; and oxen — 
 in Normandy !' 
 
 They left in the breaks which had brought them. M. Krudger's 
 white beard floated in the wind. . . . 
 
 ' News of Boyer, gentlemen !' said Colonel Jacquem^re. * An 
 officer sent on parley has just brought a despatch dated from 
 Versailles, announcing his arrival after a journey of forty-eight 
 hours. He is going to see M. Bismarck immediately.' 
 
 Surprise and disappointment were great. Boyer not being 
 able to arrive before two or three days, the imminence of 
 measures to be taken struck the most indolent. MassoH leant 
 over the map upon which they were tracing the works built by 
 the enemy. Francastel was recopying a note on the positions 
 of the German troops. They spoke again of the sortie. They 
 were going to pay the October and November pay in advance. 
 
 ' Eh ! oh !' said Floppe jeeringly. ' The Marshal looks after 
 the cash ! That is easy to understand. The quarters' pay of 
 180,000 francs a year are good to receive.' 
 
 These remarks ill beguiled the expectation and anguish. 
 They felt too well that the fate of the army depended on Boyer's 
 success, and already two words whispered by Bazaine's staff — 
 
320 THE DISASTER 
 
 *Too late!' — sounded the knell of last hopes and vain efforts. 
 The agony of the Army of the Rhine had commenced. Maraud- 
 ing soldiers entered Metz in spite of the closing of the gates 
 and the interdictions, and forcibly took bread from the bakers. 
 Many prowled before the houses, and Bersheim had seen one 
 of them fall down through weakness in his courtyard. 
 
 On the 15th and the i6th Du Breuil was consumed by expec- 
 tation and inaction. It w^as a gloomy Sunday in his bedroom. 
 Happily, Judin was coming to see him. Metz was calming 
 down a little. The Marshal, having found nobody willing to 
 replace Coffini^res, had obliged him, in amiable terms, to take 
 back his resignation. * Both of us,' he wrote to him, ' have 
 done everything it was possible to do in the spirit of the regu- 
 lations. . . .' 
 
 The spirit of the regulations ? Come, now ! The dead letter. 
 To dare to speak of vain formulae when the life of an army, 
 the salvation of a fortress, were at stake ! . . . Du Breuil, 
 besides, was tired of hearing the town spoken about, the 
 grievances of the town, which in time irritated him. Was it 
 not the army, after all, which had placed the forts in a state 
 of defence, which by its presence had avoided a bombardment ? 
 He was more interested in the unfortunate soldiers, shivering 
 with cold and dying wdth hunger in their bivouacs. Judm 
 related to him the application of the delegates of the National 
 Guard to Changarnier. The brave old fellow had disinclined 
 them by the eulogy of Bazaine and an apology for discipline. 
 Evidently, nobody would put himself forward. Cissey and 
 Ladmirault, all those whom they had sounded, had withdrawn. 
 The Marshal had received the officers of the National Guard, 
 and repeated that, if they found his method of commanding 
 bad, they had only to appoint another chief. To put a stop 
 to the attempts of the ringleaders, knowing that they had 
 drawn up a surprise plan for the occupation of the forts and 
 the military posts in the town, he had summoned Captains 
 Rossel and Boyenval before him, admonished the first and put 
 the second in prison at Saint-Quentin. 
 
 Judin, who was walking up and down the bedroom, stopped 
 before the ephemerides of the calendar. 
 
 'October i6th, 1805: Prise d'Ulni, by the French. . . . 
 The devil !' he said. ' History has a cruel wit.' 
 
 On the following day Du Breuil, whose anxiety was increas- 
 ing hour after hour, was astonished to learn that the Marshal, 
 sounded by Jarras on the necessity of opening out a passage, 
 
THE DISASTER 321 
 
 had replied that, the i8th and the 19th being the anniversaries 
 of the battle of Leipsic, they could not fight on those days. 
 June 1 8th, 1855, chosen by our aUies the English as the 
 anniversary of Waterloo, our attack by main force at MalakofF 
 had failed. . . . Singular reply ! . . . Superstition ? An 
 excuse for attempting nothing. 
 
 At last, about three o'clock, Boyer arrived, and was closeted 
 immediately with the Marshal. His journey had again lasted 
 forty-eight hours. When going, the train had been unable to 
 pass a station beyond Chateau-Thierry, owing to the tunnels 
 and the bridges being cut. The Prussian guard had conducted 
 him to Villeneuve-Saint-Georges, whence he had gone round 
 Paris to reach Versailles. The same route was followed on the 
 return journey. 
 
 The news of his arrival spread like a train of powder. The 
 anxious army wished to know its destiny. Generals and 
 officers of all ranks thronged to headquarters ; but Boyer 
 showed himself very reserved on the reply given by the King, 
 pretending to be fairly well satisfied, and to be counting on a 
 favourable solution. As to information obtained on the sub- 
 ject of the state of France, he stated it was lamentable. France 
 was being dismembered by a horrible state of anarchy. The 
 Government of the National Defence, already divided between 
 Paris and Tours, was rending itself, even in Paris, to such 
 a point that Gambetta and Keratry had had to make off in a 
 balloon to escape the animosity of their colleagues and that of 
 the population. The phantom of power established at Tours 
 was fleeing to Toulouse — it was said even to Pau. The 
 North asked for peace, Rouen and Havre asked for Prussian 
 garrisons ; Lyons had proclaimed a Revolutionary Government, 
 Marseilles another ; the Midi was trying to separate itself, 
 the West held itself aside in the name of Catholic principles. 
 A semblance of an army — forty thousand militia on the Loire 
 — had just been defeated at Artenay, a few leagues from 
 Orleans. A National Assembly was to result from the 
 elections of October i6th and 17th ; but this decree having 
 been cancelled, the elections remained postponed until the 
 country was free. The dictatorship remained in the hands of 
 Gambetta. To so many calamities had just been added the 
 ingratitude of a country which owed France so much — Italy 
 claimed possession of Nice and Savoy. 
 
 On the 1 8th the council met to hear this heartrending recital, 
 to know the result of the negotiations, and to come to a fresh 
 
 21 
 
322 THE DISASTER 
 
 decision. Bismarck did not wish to negotiate the fate of the 
 army, except on the condition that it remained faithful to the 
 Government of the Regency, which was alone capable of 
 making peace and of re-establishing it. It was necessary, 
 therefore, to address themselves to the Empress. General 
 Boyer would set off immediately to beg her to again take over 
 the power, and to enter into pourparlers with headquarters at 
 Versailles. The army would assure her its support through 
 gratitude ; would go with her to an open town, where they 
 would convoke the former State bodies. The Imperial Govern- 
 ment would be restored, and peace signed there. 
 
 Du Breuil and Decherac passed a mournful evening in 
 Restaud's room, each one completing what the other said, 
 drawing a black and terrible picture of known miseries, alter- 
 nately facing the funereal narrow way into which Bazaine had 
 led the army, and which was blocked up by an unscalable 
 cemetery wall. 
 
 * In short,' declared Du Breuil, ' Paris and her forts still hold 
 out. As to the bad news spread about by Boyer, it all comes 
 from a German source. He has not communicated to the 
 council the newspapers which he brought back ! . . . Was 
 it because they mention the moderate acts of the Government 
 of the National Defence, and are not in accordance with his 
 pessimistic narratives ? You doubt ?' he said, in answer to a 
 gesture expressive of protest from Restaud. * Well, it is true 
 he has brought back two newspapers. The Marshal's doctor 
 has read them. ... I augur ill of a mission the account of 
 which commences with a He. Besides, has it been so difficult 
 for him to question fellow-countrymen ? He exchanged a few 
 words upon the return journey with the Mayor of Bar-le-Duc. 
 At Versailles his presence caused a manifestation at the Hotel 
 des Reservoires, the rumour of the arrival of a French General 
 having spread. They must have done everything to get in- 
 formation to him. A barber and an old female servant were 
 placed at his disposal in the house which he occupied. . . . 
 So bound to secrecy as he was, could he not obtain other 
 details ? But, after all, let us believe Boyer on parole. Are 
 the conditions which he makes known any the less a lure ? 
 What does Bismarck want ? To draw us on until we are 
 completely exhausted. Bazaine must be blinded by ambition 
 or fascinated by danger to judge otherwise.' 
 
 ' Why ?' objected Decherac. * Perhaps Bismarck's proposi- 
 tion is our salvation. Reflect ! In the present state of dis- 
 
THE DISASTER 323 
 
 order the imperial restoration might offer enough advantages 
 to Prussia to try to make it stable by her moderation.' 
 
 Restaud ventured to say, but without conviction, and as 
 though he was trying to persuade himself : 
 
 ' Since we have done so much to enter into this perilous 
 path of negotiations, the Empress's acceptation would save 
 everything. We are not released from our oath ; we have 
 received no communication from the Provisional Government. 
 If the Empress loyally places her trust in us, the army will 
 follow this beautiful and unfortunate woman, and for my 
 part ' 
 
 * But think, Restaud,' said Du Breuil, * that our last hope 
 vanishes if the Empress refuses ! Do you think that Boyer 
 has a chance of succeeding where Bourbaki doubtless failed ? 
 Because I augur no good from his silence. One must be 
 very ill to believe in such fever-phantoms. In a few days' 
 time famine will revenge itself on this demoralized crowd, 
 whose patience and resignation are exhausted. Bismarck is 
 playing with us like a cat plays with a mouse. And the 
 stupid Bazaine, the blind council does not see it ! . . . A 
 week ago they decided that overtures should be commenced 
 within forty-eight hours, and that if the enemy's conditions 
 were not compatible with military honour, they would try to 
 make a way through by force. . . . There are formal resolu- 
 tions ! To-day they recant. What is more, they cling to a 
 broken branch — the fallen regime. They do not even con- 
 sider the horror of a civil war, and in this criminal proceeding 
 not one asks himself whether the army will follow them.' 
 
 * Since the commanders of the army corps have this very 
 day,' said Restaud, ' assembled the Generals, the chiefs of the 
 corps and the departments, to unfold to them the state of 
 affairs, and to have their opinion, we shall know it to-morrow.' 
 
 * Yes,' laughed Du Breuil, ' and they anticipate the 
 Generals' replies so well that, without waiting to know what 
 those replies are, Bazaine, immediately after the meeting, asks 
 Frederick Charles for Boyer's safe-conduct.' 
 
 The three officers exchanged reflections until two o'clock in 
 the morning. Changarnier was present at the council on the 
 invitation of Bazaine. His experience was precious ; they 
 could take shelter behind it. 
 
 ' Have you noticed,' said Du Breuil, ' that the Marshal has 
 done everything to strike, to lower the vtoval of the army ? Since 
 the opening of the war our losses were carefully stated, that 
 
 2T — 2 
 
324 THE DISASTER 
 
 we may know we have lost forty thousand men, in addition to 
 three hundred officers and twenty-four general officers ! The 
 enemy's forces were enumerated in regard to the inferiority of 
 ours ! All the newspapers publishing by order the nomenclature, 
 certainly exaggerated, of German siege works ! And what of 
 the official communications made this very day to the troops 
 — the enumeration in eighteen paragraphs of the said works, 
 with the positions of the army corps !' 
 
 * Add,' said Decherac, * corruption by favours, medals and 
 crosses given in profusion !' 
 
 * Ah !' murmured Du Breuil despairingly, * if the Marshal 
 would still make a sortie !' 
 
 Decherac sadly shook his head. 
 
 * It is already very late. In three or four days what will 
 happen ? Dissolution is commencing. Thousands of dis- 
 banded men every night go beyond the outposts to dig the 
 ground, to drag up potatoes. A kind of armistice reigns. At 
 certain points the German firing has ceased ; they confer with 
 the enemy, who hold before our men the hope of immediate 
 peace. In short, the soldier is disgusted ; he's had enough.' 
 
 ' Let us try, and we shall see,' said Du Breuil. 
 
 When Decherac and Restaud had gone, the declarations of 
 the members of the council tormented him with heartrending 
 doubts. Ought they not to believe these men of tried bravery 
 when they affirmed the impossibility of an attempt by main 
 force ? And in what terms ? 
 
 Frossard : * We cannot make a sortie.' 
 
 Ladmirault : ' We shall be brought back ; we cannot count 
 upon the troops, but I am ready to obey.' 
 
 Canrobert : ' It is escape, not a sortie. No hope of success ; 
 at the end we await dispersion and disaster.' 
 
 Soleille : * No sortie ; nothing dismays him so much as the 
 thought of the inevitable disorders which would follow. They 
 will not even pass through the first lines of the enemy.' 
 
 But why these diametrically opposite opinions ? 
 
 Leboeuf : * He does not believe in success, but asks that 
 they attempt a foolish but glorious thing !' 
 
 Desvaux : * Let us make a sortie after having left our troops 
 under Metz until they could no longer live ; they can still 
 demand of them a sacrifice !' 
 
 Coffini^res : * He repeats what he said before at the first 
 conference — " If they could not obtain honourable conditions, 
 they must try to make a way by force of arms !" ' 
 
THE DISASTER 325 
 
 And while the seven others raUied to negotiations, Leboeuf 
 and Coffini^res voted in the negative. 
 
 They were right — Leboeuf partly redeeming his faults as 
 former Minister of War, Coffini^res trying to make amends 
 for his lack of foresight and his weakness. Who could know 
 the possibilities of a desperate resolution ? But they had not 
 listened to them. . . . Moreover, what a strange contradiction 
 on the part of this council, which at the time of taking the most 
 risky step unanimously decided that the Commander-in-Chief 
 must not accept any delegation to ratify this very step, because 
 it was necessary for the army to remain outside all political negotia- 
 tio7i5. Was this want of logic ? asked Du Breuil. Who did 
 they deceive ? Did they want to delude themselves ? 
 
 A second council of war w^as held on the following day, 
 the 19th. Boyer left immediately afterwards. It was a stormy 
 meeting. A warm intervention on the part of Changarnier 
 had rallied the suffrages in favour of an application to the 
 Empress. In the midst of the most bitter recriminations, 
 they had violently accused Coffini^res of over-exciting the 
 town ; they reproached him with having recognised the 
 Government of the National Defence by his official acts. One 
 commander of a corps had called him the President of the 
 Republic of Metz, and demanded his immediate removal from 
 office. Another cried that he would never pardon himself for 
 having countersigned his appointment. Coffini^res replied 
 that his resignation had been given in ; he renewed his offer to 
 the Marshal, who refused. Again, he insisted on the complete 
 separation of the town and of the army, and called to mind 
 that on the next day, the 20th, he was no longer under an 
 engagement to furnish suppHes to the army. 
 
 The Commissary General of Stores became excited. The 
 men, to whom they had distributed the last allowance of bread, 
 would only have horseflesh to eat in two days' time. It was 
 decided that each member of the council should use his influence 
 with the officers and troops to make them accept the desired 
 solution. 
 
 On the 2oth and the 21st rain was still falling. Du Breuil, 
 Restaud, even the careless Decherac, passed through all the 
 forms of morbid expectation. On Friday Du Breuil, during a 
 spell of fine weather, made a tour of the Ban Saint- Martin. 
 He stopped before each bivouac. All the bivouacs had a 
 mournful appearance. It was the hour for soupe ; the fires, 
 made with wet wood, burned with difficulty ; a strong wind 
 
326 THE DISASTER 
 
 was blowing the smoke in the soldiers' faces. The men, 
 soaked in their cloaks, proceeded with weak, bent backs, 
 porringer in hand, under the tents, swallowed their horseflesh 
 broth without bread or salt, and quickly went to sleep. Sleep 
 during the day, sleep at night, a continual torpor stupefied 
 these men, who had suffered too much. Du Breuil had 
 turned away his eyes, so as not to see the horses. One 
 thousand of them were now dying daily. There were not 
 sufficient tumbrels to carry them to the graves ; they no longer 
 even succeeded in killing and burying them. Carrion and 
 skeletons, they infected the air and putrefied the mud. 
 
 Barrus, occupied in spreading in the camps his revolutionary 
 ideas, came out of an officer's tent. His beard, which he no 
 longer shaved, was growing thick and black ; his eyes burned. 
 
 * Well, infamy is consummated !' he said. * Our leaders, 
 without shame, appeal to the Empire which has been our 
 ruin ! But history will relate some day these underhand 
 machinations. The verbal communication which the chiefs of 
 the corps have made to their officers is astounding, without a 
 parallel. And the declaration to the Generals !' He quoted it 
 from memory : * " If the Regent agrees to the propositions of 
 peace, she will be represented by Marshal Bazaine. The 
 army will not receive rations to-morrow ; the day after to- 
 morrow wine and meat will be distributed. The French army 
 will leave Metz in three days' time, with the consent of the 
 Prussians, to re-estabUsh order in France. The chiefs of the 
 corps are asked to make numerous propositions for the cross 
 and the medal. Officers will receive pay for November." 
 But what is unknown,' he added, * are the terms of the treaty 
 which Boyer is carrying. Bazaine stipulates in it such extensive 
 powers that he is made dictator. And there is nobody to act. 
 The inhabitants of Metz cavil and dispute like the Greeks of 
 Byzantium. There are times when I feel inclined to enter 
 Bazaine's house and blow out his brains. They will shoot me, 
 but what does that matter to me ?' He made a gesture of 
 despair. His excitement increased. * Look, the roads are 
 turned into rivers, and the bivouacs are marshes ! The tents 
 have become the colour of earth. To see their long files, 
 wouldn't you think they were the tumuli of a cemetery ? These 
 men in tatters are spectres rather than soldiers ! That is what 
 Bazaine has made of the finest army in France !' Suddenly 
 he drew a paper from his pocket, and said : ' Look ; read that /' 
 
 He moved rapidly away. 
 
THE DISASTER 327 
 
 It was a manuscript proclamation from the Metz National 
 Guards to their brothers of the army, an appeal to arms. 
 
 'What is the good?' thought Du Breuil, with rage. 'The 
 army, because it is powerless, will resign itself. And what 
 can the town do ? . . .' But to admit that was to him the 
 worst humiHation. Thus to be bound, strangled, stifled ; to 
 will and to be unable to act; to be nothing, to dare to do 
 nothing; to have handcuffs on one's wrists and on one's neck 
 the yoke of duty and passive obedience ! . . . 
 
 On Sunday, the 23rd, he went to Metz in wretched weather. 
 On the way he was surprised to meet D'Avol, mounted on an 
 admirable thoroughbred full of fire. Both his hands were 
 free. With sure touch he was controlling the unruly animal 
 with his left hand. Without intention, a kick from the horse 
 bespattered Du Breuil, who, shaking his stained sleeve, knit 
 his brow. D'Avol stopped. He was displeased. With an 
 aggressive smile he said : 
 
 ' He needs taking out. He only asks to be allowed to 
 charge ! ' 
 
 * A new horse ?' said Du Breuil. 
 
 ' Yes, from the Emperor's stables. Prince d'Eylau sold him 
 to me. I give it the best corn.' 
 
 ' You feed well. Last week, however, the Marshal forbade 
 horses to be so fed,' said Du Breuil, trying to smile, but his 
 bitterness gaining the upper hand. 
 
 D'Avol said : 
 
 * In future I only consult myself. The soldier who, wishing 
 to make a sortie, would allow his horse to die, and his arms to 
 rust, would be a fool. He who wishes to see the end wishes 
 for the means of accomplishing it. . . . Eh, old fellow ?' 
 
 He stroked the thoroughbred's neck. 
 
 The animal trembled, ready to bound forward, its eye 
 shining, its coat covered with perspiration. D'Avol looked 
 down upon his friend. 
 
 ' Well, and your Jew ? They have shot him !' 
 
 'What Jew?' 
 
 * The spy Gugl ! You don't wear your ring any longer ?' 
 Du Breuil uttered a dry * No.' 
 
 ' You are going to the Bersheims' ?' continued D'Avol. 
 * You'll find Anine there. There is no doubt she will be 
 charmed to see you.' 
 
 Du Breuil,]; astounded, looked at him. D'Avol's face had 
 an evil look upon it. 
 
328 THE DISASTER 
 
 ' Much pleasure may you have,' he said, and without other- 
 wise saying good-bye he quieted his horse, which was prancing. 
 Then, changing his mind, he said : ' A piece of advice ! You 
 censured me the other evening before Anine, and in my 
 absence.' 
 
 'I?' 
 
 ' Yes, you. You said that it was criminal to wish, by means 
 of a conspiracy, to get out of the shameful difficulty in which 
 we are involved.' 
 
 ' I think so.' 
 
 * That is possible. Don't say it any more.' 
 ' Why ?' 
 
 ' Because / abstain from saying before Anine what I think of 
 your inaction.' 
 
 ' However, you injured me in her presence.' 
 
 ' And you attack me from behind !' 
 
 There was a painful, a terrible silence, during which they 
 penetrated to the bottom of each other's souls. D'Avol con- 
 tinued : 
 
 * Also, while I'm here, my dear fellow, remember this : 
 Sometimes I've given you lessons, but I have never received 
 any.' 
 
 ' There is still time.' 
 
 ' What do you say ?' 
 
 ' Don't you hear ? Is it your horse which prevents you ?' 
 
 D'Avol turned pale. 
 
 * You provoke me !' 
 Du Breuil replied : 
 
 * I'm tired of your raillery and disdain. I don't merit them.' 
 
 * I don't like hypocrites,' said D'Avol, with great rage. 
 * Who introduced you to the Bersheims ? Why do you do me 
 an injury with Anine ? Do you think I haven't understood 
 your looks, silences, and the accord of your smiles ?' 
 
 * Don't let us speak of this young lady, Jacques. Neither of 
 us has the right.' 
 
 D'Avol's face became painfully rigid. 
 
 ' Yes, since you love her ! Well, let her judge between us. 
 I, at least, risk my life for honour.' 
 
 ' And I risk honour,' said Du Breuil scoffingly, * to save my 
 life. Is that what you wish to say ?' 
 
 ' You've saved me the trouble.' 
 
 Du Breuil said haughtily : 
 
 * Your horse is getting impatient. . . ,' 
 
THE DISASTER 329 
 
 D'Avol cried : 
 
 ' We shall see each other again !' 
 
 In his look of mingled jealousy, hatred, and reproach, there 
 appeared all the horror of an affection which is infected by 
 malice. He made a gesture expressing threats and farewell. 
 His horse, spurred on its flanks, made a bound of surprise, 
 carrying him away in the midst of the splashing of puddles. 
 Du Breuil felt a smart, mingled with regret and remorse. 
 His injured pride, however, did not prevent him from growing 
 tender. By losing D'Avol he felt how dear his friend had 
 been to him. He cursed this hideous war which was poison- 
 ing the blood, irritating men's characters. The appeal to 
 Anine's verdict left in him a feeling of deep anxiety. Thus 
 Jacques confessed, proclaimed himself his rival, and both 
 struggled, without knowing what the young lady — the stake 
 they were quarrelling over — would think upon seeing herself 
 thus disputed. Were they not doing her an offence simply by 
 bandying her name ? Du Breuil suffered to see his doubts 
 and suspicions realized. . . . What ! D'Avol had loved, 
 desired her ! Being a bold man, perhaps he had confessed his 
 love ? . . . He was filled with jealousy. . . . He experi- 
 enced a feeling of hatred, and at the same time the injustice 
 of his friend's accusations revolted him. He who was so 
 discreet, so reserved, a hypocrite ! He who only thought of 
 Anine with respectful fervour ! 
 
 A small Second Lieutenant, white and shivering under his 
 cloak, saluted him in Bersheim's courtyard. Maurice had 
 received the epaulet three days before. He also had come 
 from the camps, the African fevers having again seized him. 
 He was trembling like an old man. Bersheim came out from 
 one of the ground-floor rooms, accompanied by Dr. Sohier. 
 * P^re Coupe-Toujours ' had aged by reason of overwook — too 
 many amputations ! His lip curled up in a grimace of disgust, 
 and his eyes expressed a violent antipathy for everything he 
 looked upon. He had seen too much ; he had had enough 
 of it ! 
 
 'What would you have me do?' he was saying. 'This 
 child has a raging typhoid fever. She will be lucky if she pulls 
 through.' He was speaking of Thibaut's little girl. ' And 
 the mother on the eve of her confinement ! She has chosen 
 her time well ! . . . And this fellow,' he said, feeling 
 Maurice's pulse. 'Go, my boy; you can take your quinine. 
 If Boyer doesn't get us out of this, we shall all die here.' 
 
330 THE DISASTER 
 
 He made a gesture of anger against the sombre sky, the 
 rain, the town full of wounded, with its odour of fever and 
 gangrene. 
 
 ' Father Desroques, a victim of his charity and devotion, is 
 dying,' said Bersheim to Du Breuil. * You know how much 
 we love him.' 
 
 At that moment Maurice coughed — a dry, violent, continued 
 fit. Everybody looked at him in silence. Sohier suddenly 
 became furious, and repeated : 
 
 * Take your quinine, my boy, and wear wool next to the 
 skin !' 
 
 A painful uneasiness followed upon his departure. They 
 entered Bersheim's study. Maurice made off. 
 
 ' General Boisjol, who is out of all patience, has just left 
 here,* Bersheim announced. * He said to me that each day 
 was a battle lost. Well, what is there fresh ? Boyer ?' 
 
 A telegram from Luxemburg had announced that the General 
 had been delayed twenty-four hours. His return was not far 
 off. Du Breuil knew nothing else, save stories about the 
 check Bourbaki had received. . . . The Empress had let him 
 see to what an extent they had taken advantage of his credulity. 
 She did not know this Regnier, had refused to receive him ; the 
 passport with which he was invested, and that photograph 
 signed by the Prince Imperial, came from the entourage. With 
 noble patriotism, she was reluctant to go against the wishes of 
 France. Du Breuil had a vision of the Sovereign, with her 
 despotic charm, her haughty eyes, in all the magnificence of 
 her fair beauty, crossing the saloons at Saint-Cloud. Such 
 a face could not deceive ; it would retain, proud to the end, the 
 majesty of renunciation and silence. . . . Boyer, when at 
 Versailles, had seen a letter from Bourbaki to the King of 
 Prussia, in which the General, authorized by him to enter 
 Metz, thanked William. How was it, therefore, that he had 
 not yet returned ? Doubtless he had gone to place himself 
 under the orders of the Government of the Defence. On the 
 other hand, the Marshal had just decided to send emissaries to 
 the new power. Two interpreters — Valcount and Prieskiwitch 
 — had taken a despatch in which Bazaine, complaining that 
 he had received no news, urgently asked for some, as famine 
 would very shortly oblige him to come to a decision in the 
 interest of France and of the army. 
 
 ' What !' exclaimed Bersheim indignantly. * He is running 
 after two hares at the present time ! Ah yes ! I understand. 
 
THE DISASTER 331 
 
 If the Empress refuses, he will try to make an arrangement 
 with the present Government. He only thinks of himself — 
 always of himself — but in truth a little late. What does 
 it matter to him if his army rots and dies of starvation ! . . . 
 They have shot traitors for less than that !' He continued : 
 ' Assuredly this is the end of Metz, the end of the army, the 
 end of everything. Coffini^res has informed the council that 
 on the 28th the inhabitants will eat their last mouthful of 
 bread. Then, if the army abandons us, it is a very simple 
 matter — the Germans will enter the town after a few days ; 
 and when they have taken possession of Metz, they will never, 
 never give it up. They will tear away a large part of France, 
 and will make it Prussian territory. What wuU become of us, 
 inhabitants of Metz, French citizens ? As for me, I shall 
 expatriate myself with my family. I shall say farewell to 
 this town in which my family has lived, where my father and 
 mother are at rest in the cemetery. I won't speak of my 
 fortune. I will leave the ruins behind me. The war will 
 have taken all from me. My son Andre is dead, and he 
 who remains is feeble and weak. My God ! my God ! the 
 affliction is too great ! . . .' 
 
 Bersheim, his elbows upon his desk, burst into tears. Du 
 Breuil was touched to the heart. 
 
 * My poor friend . . . courage. Nothing is lost. . . . 
 Boyer may succeed. . . . We may yet make a way out. . . . 
 One knows not what to-morrow will bring forth.' 
 
 But he did not beHeve it, and Bersheim did not believe it 
 either. It was a horrible misfortune for the two men. The 
 door opened, and Anine entered. She saw her father sobbing, 
 rushed forward, and threw her arms around him. 
 
 ' Father . . . you, who are so brave ! You, who set the 
 example ! . . . What ! you also !' she said, turning towards 
 Du Breuil, whose eyes were filled with tears. ' If I were a 
 man I should not cry. One doesn't cry when one has done 
 one's duty, and when one has nothing to reproach one's self 
 with.' 
 
 In the heavy nightmare which oppressed him, Du Breuil 
 felt an inexpressible alleviation. She absolved him then ; she 
 understood, she pitied him. She was not satisfied with words 
 and bravado. She gave him the credit of honour ; she did not 
 doubt that he had done, that he was ready to do, everything 
 possible. 
 
 ' Your conscience is here, father !' 
 
332 THE DISASTER 
 
 She turned once more towards Du Breuil. He could not 
 mistake the affectionate brightness in her look. 
 
 ' If you knew,' she said, with touching enthusiasm, ' all that 
 he has expended in devotion, zeal, and charity in these three 
 months ! But our workmen, our wounded, all who know us, 
 will remember. Come, father ! If Metz must die, it will not 
 be your fault. It will not be the fault of any soldier or officer 
 of this brave army. The burden must be borne by those who 
 are responsible; censure and dishonour is theirs. If Metz 
 ceases to be French, we will leave, and will press still closer 
 together, so as to feel the coldness of exile less. . . .' 
 
 ' Ah !' murmured Bersheim, ' if the army were wilhng !' 
 
 It was his last cry of revolt. He did not explain what the 
 army could do, by what means it ought to act. He thought 
 that it had only to rush forward in a mass, a blind crowd. He 
 forgot that the soldiers needed leaders, that this speechless 
 giant needed a motive brain. 
 
 * Father,' said Anine sweetly, ' do you think our friends are 
 not willing ? . . . They need the means.' 
 
 ' Our friends !' In saying these words, she enveloped Du 
 Breuil with a look of pity and loyal goodness. ... It warmed 
 his heart. 
 
 * Assuredly, one has gone as far as one can,' he said, ' with- 
 out ruining discipline. Lapasset and Bisson asked for troops, 
 and offered to make a sortie. Desvaux, Deligny, and Boisjol 
 only ask to rush upon the enemy with the Guard ; but an 
 order is necessary.' 
 
 * Ah !' exclaimed Bersheim. ' I understand why Bazaine 
 does not dare to show himself in the town. He would be 
 insulted, scoffed at ; the very cobble-stones would rise to stone 
 him.' 
 
 Du Breuil returned sadly to the Ban Saint-Martin. Marquis, 
 whom he met on the Place Fabert, confided to him that the 
 Comte de Paris was King of France, with Thiers and Trochu 
 as Ministers. Peace was signed, and it cost them 4,000,000,000 
 francs. Marquis appeared disconsolate. 
 
 * Just at the moment resolute men were going to make a 
 sortie!' 
 
 Du Breuil was tired with his boasting. Around them Metz 
 presented a lamentable spectacle. Everywhere were wretched 
 groups of people, the eddies of the swell of the populace. In 
 the low quarters of the town sick people in rags, and bands of 
 famished men and women, besieged the bakers' shops, which 
 
THE DISASTER 333 
 
 had been closed by order, for they only sold bread at fixed 
 hours, and on the presentation of personal cards. Upon 
 returning to headquarters, Du Breuil again found the same 
 state of idle and gloomy waiting. He experienced a miserable 
 little pleasure when looking over the list of decorations to 
 see the name of Judin. He saw on the list neither that of 
 Restaud nor of Vedel. With scandalous frenzy men's am- 
 bitions, egoisms, and meannesses made them crowd to the 
 Marshal's office. He was signing all propositions for the medal 
 and the cross, thus pacifying bitternesses and hostility, satisfy- 
 ing the vilest amouv propre at the expense of solidarity in the 
 common misfortune. 
 
 On the 24th the rain was torrential. Frisch, in pushing open 
 the door, brought in with his sabots the mud and cold from 
 outside. 
 
 ' There is no more oats, sir, for CydaHse. But I've found 
 a sack of beetroot seeds which is for sale. Captain Restaud's 
 horse is very bad. . . .' He ventured to say : ' They say there 
 are some regiments where the men weep for hunger.' 
 
 Three hours afterwards the arrival of an officer bearing a 
 despatch from Frederick Charles shattered Bazaine's last 
 hopes. Bismarck telegraphed the check which Boyer had 
 received. The Empress had refused to sanction any kind 
 of transaction, just the same as she refused to sign any treaty 
 the basis of which was a surrender of territory. The Imperial 
 Government, decidedly, would not find any support in France. 
 The King did not wish to impose it. Besides, the Marshal had 
 given none of the guarantees which were asked for as the 
 primary basis of every convention — that is to say, the surrender 
 of the town of Metz and the signatures of the leaders of the 
 army recognising the Regency, and undertaking to re-establish 
 it. Under these conditions there was no longer any need to 
 continue political negotiations. The question was a military 
 one, and its solution must be found in war. 
 
 It was a strange thing that, though Du Breuil foresaw and 
 awaited this reply from the Chancellor, it came upon him as 
 such a cruel deception that he was filled with unspeakable rage. 
 The Marshal and his council fooled, duped ! The Empress, 
 with meritorious dignity, refused to interfere ; the case for the 
 Empire was lost from the first day. By placing before us this 
 mirage of negotiations, Bismarck had brought us to final 
 exhaustion ! He raised the mask now ! What step was the 
 council, which had been convoked immediately, going to take ? 
 
334 THE DISASTER 
 
 What energetic and desperate resolutions ? . . . He awaited 
 the Marshal's decision, every now and then exchanging a word 
 with Restaud and Decherac with exceedingly anxious feelings 
 of hope and doubt. Certain faces at that time appeared to him 
 odious — those of MassoH, Francastel, Floppe. . . . Laune, 
 badly cured of his jaundice, had recovered his dry rigidity. 
 Charlys, always out of doors, went from camp to camp, his 
 thinness more and more emphasizing his Don-Quixote-Hke 
 silhouette. 
 
 When this interminable meeting came to an end, Du Breuil 
 and his companions learnt that recourse to arms was considered 
 impossible. Credulous to the end, Bazaine and his council 
 placed in the hands of General Changarnier the painful mission 
 of parleying with the conqueror. With the authority of his 
 illustrious name, the veteran consented to go and ask Prince 
 Frederick Charles to consent to the following conditions : 
 Neutralization of the army on the spot, and an armistice for 
 revictualling ; offer to appeal to the deputies and the powers 
 in office at the time of the Constitution of May, 1870, to 
 treat for peace. If this first article were not accepted, to ask 
 for the relegation to a spot of the territory to fulfil there 
 the same mission of order ; or to obtain, in the clauses of a 
 capitulation for lack of supplies, the sending of the army into 
 Algeria. 
 
 * No !' exclaimed Du Breuil. * At such a time still to delude 
 one's self with political hopes passes all imagination !' 
 
 The opinions of the Commanders-in-Chief were severely dis- 
 cussed. Desvaux, Leboeuf, and Coffini^res alone had asked 
 for a desperate sortie. Desvaux had said the Guard would 
 follow its Generals and officers. But all the others had disagreed 
 with such a sortie. Ladmirault, who was ready, however, to 
 obey, foresaw the greatest disaster. Frossard and Soleille con- 
 firmed his statements ; the cavalry was dismounted, the artillery 
 could not be yoked. All directions for a sortie had been recog- 
 nised impracticable. There was no bread left, and meat was 
 running out. The only thing to do was to treat. 
 
 Du Breuil passed a mournful night. In vain did he try to 
 go to sleep ; he was devoured by a thousand furious, gadfly- 
 like thoughts. The darkness stifled him. In spite of the cold 
 and the dampness of the walls, he panted, his forehead flushed. 
 He relighted his candle. Where was he ? Why was he there ? 
 Never had the horror of his situation appeared to him so 
 striking. 
 
THE DISASTER 335 
 
 This was what they had reached hour by hour, minute by 
 minute, by reason of heedlessness, inactivity, lured on by potiv- 
 parleys. . . . Capitulation ! . . . Notwithstanding the flashes 
 which, in certain lucid moments, had disclosed to him the dark 
 declivity, he had never sounded the depth of the abyss. All 
 the protestations of his indignant conscience then came to light. 
 His restrained feelings of revolt rebelled against the leader 
 who, by his thoughtlessness, carelessness, and incapacity, had 
 prepared the disaster which his egoism and ambition was now 
 completing. He lived those three months over again, so many 
 hours not one of which had been without its suffering. He 
 was troubled by the unintentional or intentional faults of the 
 Marshal. 
 
 These were, at the time of the retreat on Verdun, on 
 August 14th, the placing on one side of his indispensable 
 collaborator. General Jarras, the slowness of orders, late or 
 inadequate, neglecting to destroy bridges, the employment of 
 a single road when four were free, the disbanding of the 
 auxiliary commissariat waggons which carried the suppUes ; 
 then, as soon as the Emperor was got rid of, that incompre- 
 hensible stoppage on August i6th, after the glorious Rezonville 
 fight. Afterwards, the return under Metz, which was justified 
 neither by the state of provisions nor that of the ammunition ; 
 the shameful way in which he had left Canrobert to be crushed 
 on the 1 8th, notwithstanding his urgent and repeated appeals 
 for help. He had deceived the Emperor by pleading lack of 
 provisions as a reason for not continuing his march, by letting 
 him believe on the 19th that he was going to reach Mont- 
 medy (which had made MacMahon determine to come to his 
 assistance) ; finally, by informing the Minister of War, on 
 August 26th, that he could not force the enemy's lines, while 
 he assured MacMahon that he could break through when he 
 wanted ! 
 
 Once within the intrenched camp, what measures had he 
 taken to supply his army with food if he had decided not to 
 make a sortie ? Not one. He had not gathered in the 
 resources of the suburbs of Metz. And those which existed 
 he had squandered by not immediately placing the army and 
 the town on short allowances, by allowing the soldiers to waste 
 the provisions and bread, by giving the horses corn or rye 
 which should have nourished the men. . . . But perhaps he 
 had counted on making a sortie ? The conference of Grimont 
 was, then, only a farce. He had deceived his lieutenants : 
 
336 THE DISASTER 
 
 not content with hiding from them the march of the Chalons 
 army, of which he had been informed by a despatch, he took 
 good care not to communicate to them his own despatches to 
 the Emperor, to the Minister, and to the Marshal. Knowing 
 that supplies had been reconstituted, he had let Soleille affirm 
 that there Avas only sufficient ammunition for one battle. And 
 why had he not made a sortie at Noisseville on August 31st 
 and September ist ? Since Sedan, what had he done with 
 the exception of engaging in negotiations with the enemy : 
 asking Prince Frederick Charles for information, making Regnier 
 a confidant, allowing Bourbaki to freely proceed to Hastings, 
 sending Boyer to Bismarck, and then to the Empress ? 
 
 He had disguised the truth to the end. On October loth 
 he had kept silent on the subject of his pourparlers , the Regnier 
 incident, the motives for Bourbaki's departure, the depots of 
 provisions at Thionville and at Longwy ! He did not confess 
 that he had himself already unsuccessfully entered into the 
 negotiations which the council decided to make ! On the 
 1 8th he intercepted the newspapers which were brought back 
 by Boyer. He exaggerated bad news — spread it about in 
 the camps. The Marshal had tried to unnerve his army by 
 every means, to destroy all its energy, to transform it into a 
 docile eunuch, into a passive instrument of his policy. 
 
 What had been the dream of this fortunate soldier, this 
 parvenu of war, enriched in honours ? By what underground 
 operations of thought had he descended to this fierce egoism, 
 to this monstrous blindness ? How and why ? By what 
 madness of ambition ? The hope of supplanting Trochu, of 
 thrusting himself before the Emperor and France as the 
 saviour, the arbitrator of the destinies of the country ? A very 
 miserable speculation ! It was an unworthy calculation on 
 the part of a leader who was created for the manoeuvres of war, 
 not for those of politics — politics which Avere always fatal to 
 Generals who lost their way in them ! There were, however, 
 the examples of Dumouriez, Pichegru and Moreau ; still more 
 recently Cavaignac, Bedeau and Lamoriciere had broken their 
 backs on that fatal spring-board. But what warning, what 
 voice, had awakened his torpid conscience ? What ! not 
 once had he been moved by the distress, the hunger and misery 
 of his soldiers ! Never had the death-rattle in the throats of 
 wounded reached his ears, never had he placed his foot within 
 the hospitals or ambulances ! Unknown even to the troops, 
 passing in their midst, mysterious and without escort, quickly 
 
THE DISASTER 337 
 
 withdrawing to his awe-inspiring house, he seemed to be un- 
 concerned with all these sufferers who were in his keeping, 
 with all these lives whose honour had been entrusted to him. 
 
 The faults and errors of each one did not cover his. In vain 
 had he tried to take refuge behind those whom he had left in 
 danger to be crushed. The law was formal. He commanded 
 all, and he would pay for all. The doors of history were open 
 before him — one led towards fields of laurels in the light, the 
 other was half open upon a mysterious well. 
 
 He had chosen. 
 
 22 
 
PART VI 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 * Have you heard the news ?' said Restaud. ' Changarnier is 
 proceeding towards Corny. Frederick Charles consents to 
 receive him.* 
 
 Du Breuil shook his head. All steps would be in vain. All 
 the same, this abnegation of the old soldier, who was certainly 
 a stranger to the catastrophe, was fine. But what bitter reflec- 
 tions he must be making — he, the hero of the Constantine 
 retreat, the former Major of the 2nd Light Horse, formerly 
 unbreakable under the shock of Arab charges, in the centre of 
 his square — in thus going to beg for pity for one hundred and 
 seventy-five thousand men ! What a sad crowning of his 
 career ! 
 
 It was a day of anguish, a mournful day, passed with one's 
 face to the window-panes, watching the rain falling, falling. In 
 the midst of whisperings, incomplete phrases, deep silences, 
 the minutes passed and passed, drawing out the sadness and 
 melancholy. Floppe's pleasantries hung fire. Everyone in 
 the dark room felt a deadly cold at his heart. Registers were 
 closed, pens had rusted, desks were empty. Every now and 
 then an order was copied, the leaves of a portfolio were turned 
 over, and again there came the inaction which mortifies, the 
 waiting which consumes. 
 
 About five o'clock the doors swung open. Laune, his face 
 expressive of irritation, appeared. He threw off his streaming 
 waterproof and placed some papers on a table. Ardent eyes 
 scrutinized his face, and without uttering a word he came and 
 went in the midst of general curiosity, striking the floor with 
 his muddy heels. He could control himself no longer. He 
 gave vent to his sorrow. 
 
I 
 
 THE DISASTER 339 
 
 * They tell fine stories down there ! Changarnier has 
 returned. . . .' There was a solemn silence. * It appears 
 they received him admirably ! . . . Tavo Aides-de-camp came 
 to meet him, a Colonel, courteous men, but such courtesy ! 
 The Prince showed the greatest respect for the old gentleman, 
 who is still quite flattered at it.' 
 
 * Flies are not caught with vinegar,' murmured Floppe. 
 The silence increased. 
 
 ' In short,' uttered the lashing voice, * the conditions are 
 plain — complete surrender in the case of the army as in that of 
 the town, capitulation pure and simple. Frederick Charles 
 pretended that he is informed hour by hour of what passes 
 among us. He said that secret councils, resolutions of the 
 Council of War, the day even were known to him. He gave 
 an account of such a speech or project which had been 
 made. ... " Your troops are famished, incapable of the 
 least effort ; mine await, standing at ease, for the end of the 
 agony, which cannot be prolonged." And pointing out 
 waggons full of supplies crowded on the line, he said : " Those 
 are convoys which I have had brought here to revictual the 
 army and the town, once the capitulation is signed." ' 
 
 These words quivered like arrows in souls which were bleed- 
 ing. The emotion was so infectious that even Massoli's face 
 was harassed. Du Breuil and Restaud — shame on their 
 cheeks I — exchanged long looks, which were charged with 
 rage. D^cherac, after a moment, asked : 
 
 ' And that famous possibility of a sojourn in Algeria or on 
 some spot of the territory ? The army neutral, withdrawing 
 with arms and baggage ?' 
 
 * A chimera, like the rest,' exclaimed Laune. ' The enemy 
 fears that there would be trouble with the population with 
 whom we came into contact. They haven't confidence in the 
 present Government. They complain of the conduct of the 
 general officers, who, since Sedan, have not kept their engage- 
 ments, who have commenced service again. ... In a word, 
 they are our master ; they have us, and they will not let 
 us go.' 
 
 * Then ?' cried D6cherac. 
 
 * Then,' continued Laune, in a deep voice, * the Prince, 
 with consideration, really with infinite consideration, gave 
 Changarnier to understand the necessity of an immediate 
 solution. ** The step which you have taken itself proves the 
 urgency. . . ." And that under penalty of compromising the 
 
 22 — 2 
 
340 THE DISASTER 
 
 existence of so many thousands of men ! At five o'clock, 
 therefore, the chief of his staff, General von Stiehle, awaits on 
 the line of outposts the negotiator chosen by the Marshal to 
 settle questions of detail.' 
 
 All eyes turned towards the clock on the mantelpiece, which 
 was striking five o'clock with a shrill note. One could have 
 heard a pin drop. 
 
 * So that at this very minute,' concluded Laune, whose face, 
 still injected with bile, paled, * General de Cissey, gentlemen, 
 is learning the hard conditions which the conqueror dictates to 
 us.' 
 
 He became silent, there was a choking in his throat. Every- 
 one thought over the same bitterness, and again silence 
 reigned. The wind blew in squalls, the rain dashed against 
 the windows, and for a long time each one heard, in the midst 
 of the cold, the humidity, the blackness — heard like a distant 
 roll veiled by crape — the funeral march which Laune was 
 mechanically tapping out with his fingers on the window- 
 panes. 
 
 The twilight entered by windows and the oozing doors, and 
 through the bare walls. It rose from the ground, floated in 
 the form of black draperies in the corners of the ceiling, 
 insinuated itself into their hearts, froze feelings of mute revolt 
 and bitter dreams. The light from the lamps did not succeed 
 in dispersing its invisible presence. 
 
 It was a lugubrious evening, a mournful dinner. What 
 news was General de Cissey going to bring back? Ah! un- 
 doubtedly only odious humiliation, meditated over and over 
 again beforehand. To hope for other conditions, one must be 
 mad ! Du Breuil was astonished to find himself at table as 
 usual. While eating, he thought of the anxious army, of the 
 hundred thousand minds which were watching under the tents, 
 of that immense emaciated crowd, soaked to the skin, which 
 was shivering with hunger, fever, and hope, in the icy mud and 
 in the icy darkness. Thus could they submit to such a sorrow 
 and continue to live as though there was nothing, accomplish 
 the same daily actions. . . . People around him were even in 
 conversation. His eyes sought those of Restaud, and their 
 distress was united. 
 
 Outside the rain was still falling. Black drops of water 
 and cold wind struck them. They walked on in silence. 
 Upon entering Mme. Guimbail's both sat down at a corner of 
 the fireplace. Savage, their lips closed, they continued the 
 
THE DISASTER 341 
 
 eternal contemplation of their troubles in the solitary room, 
 lighted by a smoky candle. 
 
 Du Breuil thought with reprobation of the members of the 
 council. Was not one of them, with awakened energy, at last 
 going to cry the words which would relieve the universal 
 weakness and cowardice ? Dulled by old age and honours, 
 they had first of all allowed themselves to be led astray by their 
 attachment to the Empire, allowed themselves momentarily to 
 doubt France, even to persuade themselves that Paris would 
 not hold out. . . . Whence this indifference, this blind resig- 
 nation, this kind of torpor and feebleness which had swallowed 
 up the best ? Peace was imminent. They would get out of 
 the difficulty. . . . Du Breuil imagined their terrible start on 
 the brink of the abyss suddenly yawning before them. They 
 would doubtless rebel. Their long lives of bravery and honour 
 were a guarantee for them. All of them — yes, all — would rise 
 like one man after hearing Changarnier and De Cissey's reports, 
 would strike the table with their fists, and, seizing the traitor 
 by the collar. . . . 
 
 A secret voice at the bottom of his conscience protested. 
 On the face of it nobody would act in that way. The secret 
 voice added : because nobody has a right to do so. Feehng 
 his reason shatter against the wall of the inflexible problem, 
 Du Breuil, half mad, buried his face in his hands. Restaud, 
 his eyes dry and shining, still kept silence. Thus they re- 
 mained for hours, the silence of the room only broken by the 
 streaming of the rain and the plaintive fury of the wind, which 
 shook the doors and whistled in the chimney. The candle- 
 end burnt itself out. Restaud left without unclenching his 
 teeth. Never had they felt themselves to be so near or so far 
 away in heart. 
 
 It was still raining the next morning, when, at the hour 
 which had been fixed, the great chiefs appeared, followed by 
 their orderly officers. One by one they entered the Marshal's 
 house, where Changarnier and De Cissey had preceded them. 
 Du Breuil, in his proper position, was present at the file past 
 of the groups, with their bowed backs and pointed hoods, the 
 steaming horses and the carriages splashed with mud. The 
 solemnity of the circumstances gave a mournful grandeur to 
 this ordinary spectacle. Clouds violently scudded across the 
 gray sky. Shortly afterwards the officers came out again. 
 Orderlies were walking the horses, for which they had been 
 unable to find shelter, up and down by the bridle. As usual. 
 
342 THE DISASTER 
 
 there was the confusion of mobs and meetings in the downpour 
 before this closed house, where so many human destinies were 
 at stake. 
 
 The result of the Changarnier and De Cissey missions was 
 known : the town surrendered, the army a prisoner of war, 
 colours, arms, baggage, and material in the hands of the 
 conqueror. 
 
 * It is madness !' repeated Carrouge, scarlet with fury. 
 
 * Are we going to allow ourselves to be led to the slaughter- 
 house like a flock of sheep ?' 
 
 He was gesticulating in the middle of a group in which Du 
 Breuil recognised De Cussac, who approved with his head, 
 while he indignantly polished his eyeglass. Gex was smiling 
 in a way which might be taken to be ironical or sorrowful, 
 just as one pleased. He pointed to the impenetrable walls. 
 
 ' I shouldn't like to be in my master's shoes,' he murmured. 
 
 * What step is to be taken ?' 
 
 * There is only one,' exclaimed Francastel. * In any and 
 every case make a sortie, make a sortie !' 
 
 He was visibly excited. Gex's smile was emphasized, but 
 voices were lowered upon the approach of a long, dry Captain. 
 It was Captain de Verdier, one of Soleille's officers. His 
 master's attachment to the Marshal's ideas made him regarded 
 with suspicion. Du Breuil was moved by a downcast face 
 and eyes in which appeared stupor and terror. A number of 
 faces were thus desolated — faces of men condemned to death, 
 up to that time asleep in the hope of reprieve and pardon, and 
 which the ruddy dawn awakened, haggard. 
 
 The rain redoubled. The room of chief headquarters filled 
 with Aides-de-camp. Those who were still working laid down 
 their pens. All waited in a state of feverish impatience. Con- 
 versations, broken by silences, were resumed. . . . Eyes were 
 turned towards the mysterious house. The sitting continued. 
 Du Breuil felt Restaud's terribly anxious look resting upon 
 him. At last, after three mortal hours, each one uttered a 
 sigh of deliverance. Aides-de-camp rushed to their chiefs. 
 
 Although resigned beforehand to the worst news, it was with 
 extreme dejection that in the afternoon they learnt the final 
 resolutions taken by the Marshal. 
 
 ' Bazaine has need to shield himself ceaselessly by the 
 approval of the council, for he alone,' said Charlys — ' he alone 
 is responsible. The law recognises no other authority than 
 that of the Commander-in-Chief.' 
 
THE DISASTER 343 
 
 No, thought Du Breuil, each had a part in the responsibility 
 — Canrobert, Leboeuf, Ladmirault, Frossard, Coffini^res, and 
 Soleille — all would be censured in the future for having re- 
 mained silent, for having accepted this dishonour, this infamy, 
 without revolt. A rumour was afloat, however, in praise of 
 General Desvaux. He had uttered noble words, but nobody 
 agreed to a desperate effort. The commander of the Guard 
 had to accept the general decision, which was to surrender 
 Metz at the same time as the army. The supplies reserved in 
 case of siege would be placed at the disposal of all from that 
 day. General Jarras, the council's delegate, in spite of his 
 recriminations, was going to Frescati to draw up and sign a 
 military convention. 
 
 The rain was still falling fast, streaming in cascades, or else, 
 swept by the wind, passing in vapours. A dim light was over 
 all things. A few officers were completing the work necessi- 
 tated by the morning meeting. 
 
 Du Breuil collated the despatch to General Coffinieres, in- 
 timating to him the order to place the last resources of the 
 town at the disposal of the Commissary General of the army ; 
 he would see to their distribution. Hot discussions were con- 
 tinued around him. 
 
 * Well,' exclaimed Floppe, ' this is tough for men who 
 formerly pushed from them all conditions inconipatihle with oiiv 
 honour and the sentiment of military duty /' 
 
 * I cannot see,' said Massoli, very dignified with his white 
 hair, * how an honourable convention, which you know they 
 have been negotiating for a long time, can surprise you.' 
 
 Francastel, his moustache bristling, and a wild look in his 
 eye, cried : 
 
 * An honourable convention ! Call things by their proper 
 name ! Bazaine may be reluctant to pronounce the word 
 capitulation, which takes the skin off his lips, but he will 
 deceive nobody.' 
 
 ' Finally,' continued Massoli, with serene tranquillity, ' what 
 must we do, what can we do ?' 
 
 * Everything with the exception of what is being arranged !' 
 howled Francastel. ' Is a pitched battle impossible ? Let 
 brave men, officers and soldiers, concert ! We will break 
 through the German lines. Better danger than a shameful 
 captivity. And if we don't find leaders brave enough to place 
 themselves at our head, then everyone for himself. We will 
 break through all the same ! Hurrah for those who will 
 
344 THE DISASTER 
 
 escape ! The blood of the others will at least have washed 
 the honour of the army ! . . .' 
 
 * Always talking,' thought Du Breuil. * You will be the 
 first to be resigned!' And that spiteful fellow Floppe would 
 also suffer the common lot, contenting himself with a very 
 bitter witticism. As to MassoH, his canteens were ready. . . . 
 But a doubt came over him. * What must we do, what can 
 we do?' 
 
 In the confusion of his thoughts he saw an obscure place 
 where cross-roads met. He hesitated, lost. Which way was 
 he to take ? The same anguish was painted upon the faces of 
 Decherac and Restaud ; but the latter mastered himself by a 
 violent effort, and deep faith shone from his pure eyes. He 
 raised himself a thousand leagues above this discussion. Deaf 
 to words which weaken, deaf to the very cry in his own heart, 
 he was fervently celebrating his own sacrifice. A voluntary 
 victim, he was sacrificing himself to the supreme religion of 
 his life. With torn soul and closed mouth, he left the obscure 
 cross-roads and struck off into the road of opprobrium, whence 
 afar off his eyes of a believer distinguished the little altar-lamp. 
 Du Breuil, indecisive, read in his eyes, this time shining, the 
 humble and great thought — obey and be silent. 
 
 Such abnegation at that hour appeared to him above his own 
 strength. He admired it in Restaud. He would have blamed 
 it in himself. He said to himself, * What is heroism in one may 
 be cowardice in another.' He turned towards Decherac : 
 
 * It is true, we must make a passage sword in hand. . . . 
 We shall find leaders ! There are solemn circumstances in 
 which obedience becomes an imposition. A General, responsible 
 for thousands of men, is not bound down to the same slavery 
 as the inferior officer or the soldier, who is responsible for him- 
 self alone. Duties change according to circumstances. Let 
 us remember Napoleon's admirable words : " The sovereign or 
 the country commands from the inferior officer and the soldier 
 obedience towards their General in everything which conforms 
 to the welfare or the honour of the service." And further on : 
 *' A General has received orders and instructions to employ his 
 troops in the country's defence. How can he have authority to 
 order his soldiers to give up their arms and to receive chains ?" ' 
 
 * Never will you find a General willing to compromise him- 
 self,' said Decherac, with a disabused smile. * The habit of 
 discipline little by little kills initiative, personal reflection and 
 ardour.' 
 
THE DISASTER 345 
 
 ' I consider,' said Massoli, ' that one ought to resign one's 
 self to things when one can do nothing. A sortie would simply 
 bring about useless massacres, fresh hecatombs. Humanity 
 and pity necessitate renouncing what would only be a glorious 
 piece of folly.' 
 
 * Then be logical !' exclaimed Du Breuil dryly. ' Give up 
 your rosette. The cross has two pieces of foolishness for a 
 motto — honour and country. . . .' 
 
 ' Massoli puts forward new theories,' railed D6cherac. * The 
 town may be taken, so what is the good of enduring a siege ? 
 Why defend one's self in the open country since one can 
 capitulate ? . . . In future we shall consider the Captain who 
 charges with his equipage rather than haul down his flag a 
 fool, and the hero who gains a bloody victory a criminal. No 
 more war, and no more army !' 
 
 * No more France !' replied Du Breuil. 
 
 They knew now a few details of the sitting. The council 
 had received Changarnier's and Cissey's communications with 
 painful surprise. But the fatal question was asked : What 
 was to be done ? Commissary of Stores Lebrun had stated 
 there were no more supplies. Certain corps had had no bread 
 for the past two days. The Guard could hold out until the 
 27th. The 3rd corps alone had a little bread. As to the town, 
 Coffini^res had said it could stand out until November 5th if 
 left to itself. Horseflesh constituted almost the exclusive food 
 for the troops. Their moral and physical state was growing 
 worse every minute. General Soleille, circumspect as he always 
 was, spoke last. A sortie seemed to him to be a veritable 
 suicide. They had no right to condemn to certain death so 
 many soldiers of whom France would later call for account ; 
 and as to the survivors, they would only present a spectacle 
 of an army without discipline, ready to give way to the most 
 regrettable excesses. . . . Consequently everything was said. 
 They resolved only to ask for a detachment which would go to 
 Algeria with arms and baggage, the honour which was refused 
 to the whole army. They would also beg the enemy to allow 
 the officers to retain their swords. 
 
 There were also other rumours, to which Du Breuil refused 
 to attach any faith, although Floppe stated he had received the 
 information from Jarras himself. One of the members of the 
 council had asked if it would not be better to make the cannon 
 and rifles useless, and to drown the powder. General Soleille 
 had contended that, simply by having entered into negotiations, 
 
346 THE DISASTER 
 
 the French army was pledged. Honour required that every- 
 thing should be left in its present state. Besides, this work of 
 destruction would be the signal for acts of insubordination. It 
 was more dignified to accept misfortune in its entirety, shielding 
 themselves from the reproach of having acted in a manner contrary 
 to loyalty. That the whole council coolly listened to such 
 monstrosities, and even approved of them, Du Breuil could 
 not believe. And the proof was, he repeated, that General 
 Desvaux, people said, had asked the Marshal upon leaving : 
 
 * And the colours?' 
 
 * Ah ! true !' Bazaine had cried ; and he had immediately 
 given orders to have them taken to the arsenal, where they 
 would be burnt. 
 
 Hours passed in a state of infectious trepidation, a feverish 
 trouble of feelings and ideas, without him noticing. Suddenly 
 the door was pushed open by stout Captain Chagres. The 
 rain came in from the outer darkness, and a gust of wind blew 
 the papers across the room. 
 
 * Well, Chagres,' ejaculated Floppe, upon seeing Coffini^res' 
 orderly officer, * what is it you don't care a damn for to-day ? 
 Have you come from Metz ? What weather, eh ?' 
 
 * I don't care a damn for it,' said Chagres staidly. ' Where 
 is Colonel Charlys ?' 
 
 Since morning he was not to be found. Chagres brought 
 Coffini^res' reply, acknowledging the receipt of the order rela- 
 tive to provisions. He gave the news of the town. At the 
 close of the sitting of the Municipal Council, which the General 
 had attended to announce the Marshal's resolution to the in- 
 habitants of Metz, the bad news had quickly passed from 
 mouth to mouth. Crowds had formed. Everywhere were 
 indignant outcries and threats. But the rain dispersed the 
 groups, and all these fine revolts ended in silent consternation. 
 
 ' However, when I left the General's house,' he added, ' a 
 few enraged men were in the act of covering Fabert's statue 
 on the Place d'Armes with an immense black piece of 
 crape. . . .* He concluded philosophically: 'They veil his 
 face, and that satisfies them. . . .' 
 
 It was hardly five o'clock. It was pitch-dark outside. 
 General Jarras' safe-conduct arrived. The rain, which had 
 been fine and persistent until then, commenced to fall in 
 torrents. A terrific storm arose. The wind, with furious 
 moans, shook the roofs. Projected with terrible force, the 
 steaming water squirted in pointed fashion, crushing as it fell 
 
THE DISASTER 347 
 
 in torrents. With ever-increasing violence the blind struggle 
 of the unchained elements whirled in the black sky. Then, 
 General Jarras, escorted by Lieutenant - Colonel Fay, and 
 Major Samuel, who were to act as his secretaries, got into an 
 old omnibus, to which two lean ' screws ' were harnessed. Du 
 Breuil watched the poor vehicle move away in the icy night, 
 in the midst of the torrents of Avater which the storm brought 
 in squalls. The destinies of the army and the town moved 
 away at the same time under cover of the darkness. He 
 imagined he was present at the suspicious departure of a 
 clandestine interment. . . . Again the thought of the army 
 haunted him. Still the rain fell, and the wind blew wildly. . . . 
 Plank sheds collapsed in the mud ; tent canvas was torn 
 away and flapped like the debris of sails. . . . The whole 
 night he saw this innumerable crowd rolled in its muddy 
 shroud, sleeping in its sink the sleep of the brutes, or dreaming 
 like himself, dead yet living. 
 
 A shivering, pale dawn came through the window-panes. 
 Restaud, with drawn features, entered the room, followed by 
 Decherac. Du Breuil sprang to his feet. Well ? . . . 
 Neither Restaud nor Decherac had slept a wink. As the 
 latter lodged in the same house as Major Samuel, he had been 
 the first to hear the news upon that officer's return at three 
 o'clock in the morning. It had been impossible to get to sleep 
 again. 
 
 He spoke of the slowness of the journey in the rain to Metz, 
 the broken windows of the omnibus, the horses refusing to 
 advance. At the Porte de France the three officers waited in 
 vain, the wind preventing the shouts of the sentinels from 
 reaching the doorkeeper. They succeeded at last in finding 
 another carriage, and at ten o'clock they left the town. At 
 the outposts they got out, and a violent wind, which was driving 
 cold hail before it, extinguished the lantern. They walked on 
 like machines, their heads buried in their hoods. Suddenly 
 there was a ' Wer da !' It was the enemy's outpost. 
 
 ' In short,' said Decherac, ' they reached Frescati. Jarras 
 and Stiehle for a long time discussed in one of the rooms, 
 while Samuel and Fay waited two mortal hours in the adjoin- 
 ing drawing-room, silent, face to face with officers of the 
 German staff. They were summoned in turn. Stiehle com- 
 menced to dictate the clauses upon which Jarras and he had 
 just come to an understanding.' 
 
348 THE DISASTER 
 
 Du Breuil and Restaud looked at each other. 
 
 * Article ist,' continued Decherac, after a short silence, 'the 
 French Army is a prisoner of war. Article 2nd, the fortress 
 and the town of Metz, with all the forts, the material of war, 
 suppHes of all kinds, and everything which is the property of 
 the State, will be surrendered on Saturday, the 29th, at noon, 
 to the Prussian Army in the condition which it was at the 
 time of the signing of the convention. . . . The discussion of 
 Article 3rd was resumed. ** In recognition of the courage of 
 the French army, it was stipulated, the King authorizes those 
 officers who will undertake not to serve against Germany until 
 the end of the war to return home with their swords." ' 
 
 * Oh,' said Du Breuil, his face purple. 
 
 * Yes, it is a singular way of recognizing the army's 
 courage ! . . . Fay and then Samuel bravely protested. 
 Why not accord the whole army the honours of war, the last 
 defile ? Stiehle categorically refused. He also refused to let 
 all the officers have their swords. " I will refer the matter to 
 the Marshal," Jarras said. Stiehle appeared very irritated. 
 "What!" he cried, "we shall not sign to-night?" Finally, 
 after a long debate, Article 3rd was drawn up in two ways — 
 one granting and the other not granting honours. Stiehle 
 even asked : " How would you that your troops should defile 
 in such weather, and over such roads, numerous as they are ?" 
 And Fay, on the spot, drew up some routes. They made a 
 rendezvous for to-day. Stiehle wanted it for the morning, but 
 it was already two o'clock. Samuel drew near to Jarras, 
 murmuring : " Don't fix an hour, try to gain time. . . ." ' 
 
 ' Parbleu !' said Du Breuil. 
 
 ' All the more so,' resumed Decherac, ' as yesterday, before 
 setting off, Samuel, fancy to yourself, was translating news- 
 papers in Bazaine's office. . . . Commissary General Lebrun 
 entered, crying : " Good news. Monsieur le Mar^chal ! We 
 have still provisions for four days !" But Stiehle insisted, and 
 they sign at five o'clock this evening.' 
 
 It was now almost daylight. A gray morning, drowned in 
 fog, emerged. All three looked at their cadaverous faces in 
 the livid light. Decherac shook Du Breuil and Restaud by 
 the hands, and left with an anxious gesture. When alone the 
 two friends could not find a word to say. Phrases rose, how- 
 ever, to their lips. Dissent and complaints filled their souls. 
 Words stuck in their throats. At last Restaud asked : 
 
 ' I shall see very little of you to-day ? You are going to Metz ?' 
 
THE DISASTER 349 
 
 To Metz. ... Ah ! yes, the funeral of Major de 
 Sahuqu6. ... He was one of Du Breuil's friends, nursed 
 at the Grand Seminary ; a Major in the Cuirassiers of the 
 Guard, who had been wounded like a brave man in the 
 Rezonville charge, and who had died like a Christian on the 
 previous day. 
 
 * I shall return immediately,' he murmured. 
 
 They were thinking of the possibilities which lurked in the 
 formidable unknown of these twenty-four hours. That evening 
 the capitulation signed, to-morrow the funereal preparations, 
 and, hovering over each minute, the inverse flight of their 
 thoughts, one all revolt, the other all discipHne. Under 
 Restaud's attitude, unyielding owing to savage will power, his 
 mind inflexibly made up to submit and be silent, Du Breuil 
 thought he could distinguish an afl'ectionate censure. 
 
 'Au revoir,' he said suddenly; 'I'm going to bury this 
 unfortunate man.' 
 
 Restaud shook his head, then, with terrible bitterness, he 
 said : 
 
 * You mean to say that fortunate man !' 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 A NUMBER of officers had assembled at the Chapel of the 
 Grand Seminary. The gigantic statures of the survivors of 
 the charge rose in the front rank. Couchorte dominated them 
 by a head. And behind gold and silver epaulets, humble 
 epaulets of red wool also pressed, good, big Cuirassiers, very 
 thin, who had come there because they loved their chief. In 
 addition, there were all the able-bodied wounded of the estab- 
 blishment, a few civilians, and some priests. Du Breuil was 
 not surprised to see Judin, who he knew to be a friend of the 
 deceased. They shook hands in silence. A little red ribbon, 
 the colour of spilt blood, ornamented the Viscount's fashion- 
 able coat. Suddenly, upon turning his head, Du Breuil's 
 heart received a little shock. D'Avol was behind them. 
 
 He felt a mortal trouble come over him. His internal 
 wound quivered. The last few days it had somewhat healed. 
 So many sorrows ! . . . To think of it had reopened it. An 
 intolerable pain shot through him. His wounded friendship 
 bled. 
 
35© THE DISASTER 
 
 The bald-headed priest, wearing a black chasuble, was 
 earnestly mumbling the words of the gradual : In memoria 
 aterna evit Justus. . . . The altar and catafalque candles, a 
 coffin on trestles, shone. An odour of wax and incense im- 
 pregnated the somewhat stifling atmosphere in which each 
 one was unbending himself in meditation. 
 
 Du Breuil experienced only a feeling of aversion and rancour. 
 Offences, misunderstandings, then bitterness and secret hos- 
 tility, finally evident unfriendliness with words which cut and 
 thoughts which poison, he lived over again, in a second, hours 
 of suffering. The abscess burst in an outburst of hatred. 
 Hatred all the more bitter as it was poisoned with affection. 
 Anine's pure face was mingled with it painfully. 
 
 In the silence, broken by coughs and the clanking of swords, 
 the priest's voice intoned the terrible hymn : 
 
 ' Dies irae, dies ilia, 
 Solvet sseclum in favilla. . . .' 
 
 Du Breuil found himself a young man again, in the days 
 when he still went to church, moved by the incomparable 
 splendour of the Catholic ritual. The same emotion was 
 softening the majority of those rude military faces. They 
 were thinking, in connection with themselves, of the various 
 events in life and death which religion accompanied. Emotion 
 hovered over the melancholy stanzas. In the Latin tongue the 
 trumpets of the Last Judgment rang out : 
 
 • Tuba mirum spargens sonum 
 Per sepulchra regionum, 
 Coget omnes ante thronum.' 
 
 Yes, the century was crumbling into dust. That death, to 
 which they had consecrated themselves by their profession, 
 was there, crouching around them, within them. Du Breuil, 
 horrified, felt the passing breath of the invisible Mower. The 
 Borny battlefield stretched out under the moon its harvest of 
 corpses. The battlefields of Gravelotte, Rezonville, Mars-la- 
 Tour, Amanvillers, Saint-Privat, and Servigny, appeared before 
 him, ploughed up with shells, and sown over with bones. The 
 rich, ruddy soil of Lorraine turned his stomach. Through the 
 walls he breathed a pestilential musty smell, which was the 
 breath even of Metz, of the streets infected with phenol and 
 chlorine, and of the stinking cemeteries. And he, Du Breuil, 
 was dying like the others. Ah ! war, the horrible, odious 
 
THE DISASTER 351 
 
 thing ! It had taken Lacoste from him. It had taken D'Avol 
 from him living. He felt himself miserable and alone. 
 
 A bell tinkled. There was a movement of chairs, a bowing 
 forward of heavy shoulders and bronzed faces. Some knelt 
 down. One enormous Cuirassier, above bowed foreheads, 
 .ostentatiously stuck out his chest as though for a challenge. 
 The bell still tinkled in the deep silence. . . . Then they 
 heard an abrupt chuckle. It was Couchorte who, tossing his 
 head, was giving vent to his pride. They tried to lead him 
 out, but he made a sign that they were to leave him alone. 
 It was nothing ; he was already getting better. 
 
 With instinctive repulsion, Du Breuil felt D'Avol's breath 
 on his back. He only had to turn round and their hands 
 might have clasped, their eyes might have penetrated into each 
 other as in former times. But an irresistible force riveted him 
 to his seat. Every second the gulf between them increased. 
 The priest, who had come down from the altar, pronounced 
 the absolution. Athwart the sacramental words shone a corner 
 of heaven : Requiem atentam dona ei, Domine. . . . Et lux per- 
 petua luceat ei. . . . Then he psalmodized, in a plain-chant 
 voice, the supreme cry, De profundis^ and the words were lost 
 in a mute prayer. . . . Finally, he raised the silver holy- 
 water sprinkler, for the quadruple gesture which nails to 
 coffins an imaginary cross. 
 
 Those present filed out. Du Breuil was about to follow 
 when the noise of a disturbance arose. He saw Couchorte 
 struggUng between two officers. The giant was speaking with 
 volubility, his eyes starting out of his head : 
 
 * Cavalry is a first-rate fighting tool ! Trumpet sound to 
 saddle at six o'clock. . . . We are betrayed, dishonoured ! . . . 
 Sabre in hand !' 
 
 He had half drawn his sword. Foaming at the mouth, he 
 was challenging Bismarck, and, on the threshold of the chapel, 
 he was still shouting in a harsh voice : 
 
 ' For the attack ! . . . Charge !' 
 
 They led him away. 
 
 The shock to Du Breuil's disordered nerves was so great 
 that again he experienced a loathing of life. War intoxicated 
 him with disgust. This time he descended to the very depths 
 of misery and soUtude. He found himself outside. Judin's 
 voice called to him : 
 
 * Pierre!' 
 
 Maxime was talking with D'Avol. ... It was, indeed, the 
 
352 THE DISASTER 
 
 familiar silhouette, tall and slender, the self-willed wrinkle on 
 the forehead, the concentrated ardour in the eyes ! It was, 
 indeed, the same Jacques he had always known, always 
 loved ! . . . And now they were enemies ! Du Breuil, in 
 his love of loving, in his native egoism, suffered to the full. 
 Could they never, then, understand each other, support and 
 aid each other ? . . . Why cut in this way the poor bonds" 
 of affection which connect one to life ? Life was so sad, so 
 precarious ! . . . Bashfully, he loyally held out his hand to 
 D'Avol. . . . Jacques, with a disdainful gesture, gave his — 
 * What is the good?' said his icy look. . . . Du Breuil 
 imagined he might have been shaking a piece of rag. The 
 contact of this soft thing, the soul of which was absent, was 
 to him a supreme laceration, an atrocious wound, caused by 
 rage and humiliation. 
 
 ' You'll take luncheon with me ?' said Judin to them. 
 
 No. D'Avol had business elsewhere ; he thanked him in 
 a trenchant tone, and, with intractable face, parted company 
 without further farewell. 
 
 ' What a bear !' exclaimed Judin. 
 
 Du Breuil let himself drift — be led away. 
 
 * You're going to see, Pierre, how curious the Hotel du Nord 
 is at this time.' And, in the presence of the sullen silence of 
 his friend, Judin added : ' You'll find there a few men of 
 courage. Brave fellows like Clinchant, Boissonnet, Charlys, 
 Barrus, Carrouge, Rossel, Cremer. . . . The first demonstra- 
 tion against Bazaine took place yesterday. A Captain in the 
 Carabineers gave it a start. The Majors of the National 
 Guard have promised their support. It's a long time, how- 
 ever, since that has been in preparation. Ladmirault and 
 Changarnier did well to refuse to take the head of the move- 
 ment. Thank God there are other generals ! First of all, 
 Clinchant. They speak also of Boisjol. . . . Are you with 
 them ?' 
 
 Du Breuil, agitated with hope, seized hold of the idea. 
 Judin continued : 
 
 * You don't know anything, then ? Hasn't Charlys asked 
 you to sign the small paper ? He is one of the leaders ! . . . 
 But he only wants to make a sortie, that is to say, what 
 honour commands, eh ?' 
 
 Du Breuil gravely made a sign of acquiescence. Restaud's 
 thought, however, troubled him. 
 
 * A few of the discontented go further,' continued Judin. 
 
THE DISASTER 
 
 353 
 
 * These speak of nothing less than deposing the Marshal, and 
 offering the command to the worthiest.' He winked. * D'Avol, 
 Barrus, and others that you know, preach that way. All the 
 same, it's a little severe.' 
 
 Du Breuil was thinking. The Provisional Government, on 
 September 4th, did nothing else but that. The Empire itself 
 was born from a coup d'etat. There was not a power which 
 had not sprung from violence, and was not based on disdain 
 for laws which until then had been considered good. But 
 a secret voice whispered to him : * Let ambitious men 
 think thus. Obey and keep silent. Unless an army is disci- 
 plined it has no mison d'etre. Its grandeur and force is the 
 result alone of deaf, dumb, blind discipline.' . . . Again the 
 cry of common-sense dominated : Passive obedience to-day 
 would be a crime. When a general-in-chief loses his head, 
 neglects his duties, and surrenders his troops, the subalterns 
 should take counsel only of their courage and attachment to 
 the country. . . . 
 
 * The officers of the Engineers,' said Judin, ' have persuaded 
 Colonel Boissonnet to place himself at their head. As soon 
 as Clinchant has twenty thousand men he will take the general 
 command. Meeting at one o'clock this afternoon to count. . . . 
 You will number thirty thousand to-morrow !' 
 
 Yes, it was deliverance, salvation ! Du Breuil, with feverish 
 joy, imagined that he could at last discern his true duty. Let 
 D'Avol and Barrus conspire after their own fashion ! Let 
 Bazaine and his generals cowardly stretch out their necks 
 towards the final cavcan ! He, Du Breuil, an obscure soldier 
 of the sacred battalion, far removed from these guilty plots as 
 from this ignominy, would proceed down the bloody road with 
 head on high. The sun of France shone brilliantly at the 
 end ! 
 
 Then again he saw Restaud's ardent face, his eyes of a 
 fanatic, in which danced the light of the far-off little altar- 
 lamp. How far, he thought, could the strictness of a principle 
 lead one ! 
 
 After luncheon, consisting of stewed horse, horse steaks, and 
 horse pie — ' You are requested to bring your own bread ' was 
 the recommendation on white notices stuck on the mirrors — the 
 large room of the cafe commenced to fill. More than sixty 
 officers crowded there already. 
 
 ' Ah, there you are, Du Breuil ! That's good, friend,' said 
 Charlys, warmly shaking hands. 
 
 23 
 
354 THE DISASTER 
 
 He showed a tired face, sparkling eyes, hollow cheeks. His 
 large body was slightly bowed. He had passed the afternoon 
 of the previous day in making journeys, applications, in 
 recruiting adherents. He appeared somewhat sad, as though 
 he doubted beforehand of success. Du Breuil shook Carrouge 
 and Barrus by the hand. 
 
 * We must act without delay,' continued Charlys. 
 
 ' Is it true,' uttered Barrus, ' that there are still four days' 
 provisions ?' 
 
 * Yes,' said Charlys. ' I was with Samuel in Bazaine's office 
 when the Commissary General of Stores came to announce it. 
 Lebrun affirmed that with what remains hidden away in Metz, 
 with the thirteen thousand living horses, one can hold out still 
 longer. Do you know what reply the Marshal made ? *' What 
 has that to do with me. Commissary of Stores ? If you had 
 provisions for a fortnight, it wouldn't alter the situation. 
 Pourparlers are opened. We must finish with this, and get 
 away.'" 
 
 * Death to the traitor !' came from the stentorian voice of 
 the Captain of Carabineers who had distinguished himself on 
 the previous day by his virulence. 
 
 ' He's throwing the mask off now !' growled Carrouge. 
 * You should have heard him five days ago, when Lapasset 
 went to see him ! One of the General's Aides-de-camp told 
 me this. Lapasset wished to make a sortie with his brigade. 
 Bazaine was already informed of that. " Lapasset, come 
 now !" ' Carrouge imitated the Marshal's good-natured tone, 
 his crafty frankness. ' " No rashness, no individual action !" 
 At that moment Canrobert entered. The General making as 
 if to withdraw through deference, Bazaine resumed : "No, 
 remain ! Lapasset, you're welcome !" And, taking a map, 
 he made them sit down. Then, turning towards Canrobert, 
 he said : " Marshal, I'm in a cruel perplexity. I haven't the 
 slightest news of Boyer or the Empress ; provisions are lacking ; 
 we must make a sortie !" Bending over the map, he said : 
 " It will be for Monday. You, Marshal, will be the right 
 column, and will take the Cheminot road. Leboeuf will form 
 the left column, and will follow the Strasburg road. I shall 
 be in the centre, with the Lapasset brigade to assist both. But 
 we must not hide one thing : safety is in our legs. Woe to 
 him who falls, for he won't be picked up ! . . . The direction ? 
 Chateau-Salins. . . . Once there, I will decide. . . . We 
 shall have almost no artillery or provisions. But I repeat, our 
 
THE DISASTER 355 
 
 safety will be in our legs." And when Lapasset, transported, 
 cried, " Thanks, Marshal ! We are the last French army. If 
 we must fall, may posterity, at least, uncover before us ! . . ." 
 he replied : *' No ; we shall break through in a body. Come, 
 we shall not die !" And in conclusion he said : " You under- 
 stand the gravity of these words, gentlemen ? I needn't advise 
 you to keep secret. Go to your quarters, and await my orders." 
 Now, Monday,' concluded Carrouge, 'was the 24th, the day 
 upon which news of Boyer was received, the day upon which 
 the final decision was taken : Let us capitulate !' 
 
 ' Tartuffe !' gnashed Barrus. ' He has no more moral sense 
 than a pebble.' 
 
 ' Only lay the blame on yourselves, gentlemen democrats!' 
 jeered Carrouge. * You wanted him for a leader, and you have 
 him.' 
 
 ' We will depose him !' said Barrus, whose eyes were 
 sparkling. 
 
 ' Shoot him !' gesticulated the Carabineer. ' There are several 
 who need a little lead in their heads.' 
 
 A Lieutenant of Voltigeurs was perorating in the middle of 
 a group. 
 
 ' First of all, we must replace all the members of the council. 
 Canrobert, Leboeuf, and Frossard are sold to the Empire. 
 Coffini^res is treading in their footsteps. Only Ladmirault is 
 sound. As to Soleille ' — he made a movement in imitation of 
 a head which falls — ' into the basket ! . . . Appoint me 
 Captain, and I'll undertake to raise my company !' 
 
 Du Breuil recognised Marquis's shrill voice and silly 
 smile. Colonel Boissonnet stood aside with some officers of 
 the Engineers. He perceived Rossel, determination in his 
 obstinate eyes. Captain Cremer, Clinchant's Aide-de-camp — 
 the General had been unable to come — and Captain de Serres. 
 The last-named came and saluted Du Breuil. 
 
 ' Major D'Avol was, unfortunately, on duty,' he announced. 
 ' Fie will be consoled by making proselytes.' 
 
 Lieutenant Thomas shot a look of approval from his red 
 eye. Major Leperche, Bourbaki's Aide-de-camp, Vv^ho wished 
 at all costs to rejoin his chief, was making a great fuss. The 
 uproar increased. Discussions became virulent. Charlys in 
 vain asked for silence, begged that they count themselves. . . . 
 Time was pressing if they wished to make a sortie in a body ! 
 . . . Recriminations and complaints came from all sides. 
 This one should be dismissed, that one should be exalted. An 
 
 23 — 2 
 
356 THE DISASTER 
 
 enthusiast jumped on to a table, and offered himself as General- 
 in-Chief. Charlys decided that they meet the next day in the 
 offices of the Engineers at the Esplanade to finish coming to 
 an understanding. One by one the superior officers went off, 
 leaving Captains and Lieutenants to continue in the midst 
 of cries, like big children, their sterile debates. 
 
 Du Breuil entered the Ban Saint- Martin with death in his 
 soul. Must they, then, renounce the glorious hope of a sortie ? 
 So many good intentions ended in this — this market of interests, 
 this mess ! He imagined he could see in it the inevitable 
 effect of a first breach of discipline, and with all his rage he 
 cursed the traitors who had placed before him this horrible 
 alternative of faiUng in his duties or accepting dishonour. 
 
 Shortly before reaching the staff offices he nearly ran up 
 against a long, dry man at the corner of a small, muddy 
 street, which was overlooked by General Soleille's house. 
 Surprised in the midst of their thoughts, they looked at each 
 other. He recognised Captain de Verdier, whose downcast 
 face had moved him on the previous day. The Aide-de-camp 
 seemed to be a prey to a terrible distress. As Du Breuil 
 spontaneously held out his hand to him, the unfortunate man, 
 yielding to an irresistible need to make confidences, suddenly 
 unbosomed himself in a flow of words. He would have made 
 them to the first-comer. His loquacity reHeved him. 
 
 He would never survive such dishonour ! The immense 
 material of the army and the forts : mitrailleuses, cannon, 
 rifles, more than twenty million projectiles — all that given up to 
 the enemy without reserve ! What was more, even before the 
 signing of the capitulation, making them the masters of these 
 treasures, those accountable for them striving to preserve them 
 intact ! A French General yielding to this aberration, owing 
 one knows not to what unacknowledgable scruples ! And he, 
 he, De Verdier, obliged to write these shameful orders with 
 his own hands ! . . . They might talk about inventories and 
 restitution after the war ! All those were lies ! Never would 
 the Germans give up a bit. 
 
 ' You can believe me or not, as you like. Major, but just now, 
 at the meeting of Generals of artillery, Soleille sharply censured 
 General de Berckheim for having made the mitrailleuses of the 
 6th corps useless. Censured ! yes, censured ! an act of simple 
 military duty which the whole army ought to imitate !' 
 
 ' And the colours ?' asked Du Breuil. 
 
 De Verdier paled. 
 
THE DISASTER 357 
 
 * That is enough to make one mad ! . . . We informed the 
 commanders of the corps this morning that, by the Marshal's 
 orders, they had to have them taken to the Arsenal. Colonel 
 de Girels, the Governor, also received the order to preserve 
 them. They will form part of the inventory drawn up by a 
 commission of French and Prussian officers.' 
 
 He burst into a harsh laugh. Du Breuil, stupefied, moved 
 away. Each minute which slipped by was a small part of 
 himself, which w^ent away and was dissolved. All his ideas of 
 honour heavily flew away. What madness, then, had taken 
 possession of these men ? 
 
 An unusual commotion surprised him when passing before 
 Bazaine's house. There was the same uproar at head- 
 quarters. A great quantity of decorations had been given out 
 in the morning. Some of them had bespattered the staft\ 
 Francastel was sporting a new pelisse with four galloons. A 
 new cross shone on Massoli's breast. He carried his head 
 high with modesty, every now and then casting a satisfied 
 look at his rosette. 
 
 * It finished by coming, and not too soon,' he replied to Du 
 Breuil's brief compliment. 
 
 Francastel rushed towards his former chief, and, taking his 
 hands, shook them familiarly. He was more than ever 
 resolved to make a sortie ! He had even been present, he 
 declared with unbelievable impudence, at the great afternoon 
 meeting at the Hotel du Nord. Everything was going well. 
 
 Du Breuil, who did not remember having seen him, was 
 sickened, and turned his back. Restaud, Decherac, and 
 Laune were not at headquarters, so there were few friendly 
 faces. He made himself acquainted with events from stout 
 Jacquem^re, whose inflammation was again troubling him. 
 Not very much w^as known. In the afternoon Jarras had 
 received a letter from General von Stiehle, announcing that 
 honours of war would be accorded to the French army, and 
 that all the officers would be allowed their swords. He had 
 immediately set off with Samuel and Fay for Frescati. 
 Colonel Nugues was replacing him. That was all. Ah yes, 
 there was something else ! . . . Captain de Mornay-Soult, on 
 behalf of the Marshal, had come to tell Nugues, a quarter of 
 an hour ago, to conclude a letter dealing with current matters, 
 which was going to be sent to the commanders of the corps, 
 with the following postscriptum : ' In giving the order to take 
 the colours to the Arsenal, the statement that they will be 
 
358 THE DISASTER 
 
 burnt there was omitted in error.' Nugues, surprised — since 
 nobody had heard of this first order ! — had gone for informa- 
 tion to Bazaine. . . . 
 
 ' A big piece of news !' ejaculated a voice. It was Floppe, 
 who had returned from the bivouacs of the Guard. ' There is 
 some squabbHng down there. An order from the artillery, 
 prescribing the deposit of the colours, had turned the Picard 
 division upside down. Colonel Pean has just broken his eagle. 
 I saw the staff sawn up and the silk torn. The Grenadiers 
 are dividing the pieces between them.' 
 
 Joy rose in Du Breuil's heart. Had Bazaine, then, reflected ? 
 A remnant of shame was palpitating in this soul of mud. . . . 
 
 ' They say,' continued Floppe, * that Desvaux, on the appli- 
 cation of General Picard, has asked His Excellency by letter 
 for explanations !' 
 
 All eyes were turned towards the door. Colonel Nugues 
 entered. He held in his hand the minutes of two orders. 
 
 ' Write, gentlemen,' he said to the officers on duty. 
 
 * To the Commanders of the Army Corps. 
 
 ' Have the kindness to give orders that the eagles of the 
 infantry regiments of your army corps be collected early 
 to-morrow morning . . .' 
 
 (' Why to-morrow?' thought Du Breuil. * If they wish to 
 destroy them before the capitulation, there is not a minute to 
 be lost.') 
 
 ' . . . early to-morrow morning by your artillery commander 
 and taken to the Metz Arsenal. You will inform the chiefs of 
 the corps that they will be burnt there. These eagles, en- 
 closed in their cases, will be carried in a closed waggon. The 
 Governor of the Arsenal will receive them, and will deliver a 
 receipt for them to the corps. 
 
 * (Signed) Bazaine.' 
 
 ' One !' said Colonel Nugues ; ' now for the other.' 
 
 ' To General Coffinieres, Gover^wr of Metz. 
 
 * Have the kindness to give orders that the Metz Arsenal 
 receive to-morrow morning the eagles of the infantry regi- 
 ments of all the army corps. . . .' 
 
 The clear voice separated the words in the midst of silence. 
 One heard the pens gliding over the paper. At the same time 
 
THE DISASTER 359 
 
 a secretary of the staff was marking a registry in the corre- 
 spondence book. 
 
 ' But they do not order him to have the eagles burnt,' 
 remarked Du Breuil, when the order was dictated. 
 
 ' Coffini^res doubtless knows all about it,' replied Colonel 
 Nugues. ' " It is useless to say anything else to him," the 
 Marshal clearly stated. And in the case of Soleille he added : 
 ' '' Don't write to him. He may make difficulties. I intend 
 to write to him when the moment arrives." ' 
 
 Officers and secretaries had put down their pens, and with 
 raised heads were waiting for the order to read over what they 
 had written. 
 
 ' You, Massoli,' said Nugues. 
 
 In a monotonous voice, and in the midst of general indiffer- 
 ence, the stout man read over again : 
 
 ' Have the kindness to give orders that the eagles of the 
 infantry regiments ' 
 
 ' It is inconceivable !' said Du Breuil to himself. He again 
 saw Verdier with his bewildered eyes murmuring the strange 
 confidence that a formal order to make an inventory of the 
 colours had been given in the morning to Colonel de Girels. 
 Bazaine's fresh orders could only, then, be a manoeuvre to 
 deceive the commanders of the corps, to calm the army's 
 emotion, but leaving its detestable effect on primitive order. 
 This idea was confirmed within him. First of all the transport 
 of the eagles put off until the next day. Between now and 
 then the capitulation would have taken place ! Then silence 
 on the subject of the burning in the letter to Coffini^res. Con- 
 sequently Girels would confine himself to storing them in the 
 Arsenal. And this way of acting towards Soleille. ' He may 
 make difficulties !' . . . Unworthy speech for a man who, sure of 
 absolute obedience, of the complicity of his subordinate, still 
 sought to give himself the leading role at the expense of his 
 neighbour. 
 
 Like so many flashes these thoughts tore his soul. But they 
 were only a small part of his sorrows and troubles ; they 
 quickly passed. Other thoughts immediately followed — 
 Lacoste ! Restaud ! D'Avol! Anine ! He wandered about 
 for a long time in the rain and the mud. The autumn wind 
 carried away the clouds ; the last leaves turned somersaults in 
 the air soaked in water. Interminable hours of agony passed. 
 Evening, like a tombstone, at last fell. 
 
 Eight o'clock was striking when he found himself in his 
 
36o THE DISASTER 
 
 room, where a good fire was burning. A noise behind the 
 partition told him that Restaud was there. He knocked several 
 times on the wall. After a moment the door opened and 
 Restaud appeared. His boots covered with mud, his soaked 
 clothes, and his face discomposed with fatigue, showed that he 
 also had been walking for a long time without plan or purpose. 
 He sat down near the fireplace, and then said, in a voice which 
 wished to appear gay : 
 
 ' You're very comfortable.' 
 
 Mme. Guimbail, by a touching attention, had given to 
 Frisch some old pieces of wood studded with nails, although 
 her small stock had diminished. She came herself to 
 place them in the room, to prepare the fire and to light the 
 lamp. 
 
 'Bless me, it's true!' exclaimed Du Breuil, who only just 
 noticed it. He drew up some chairs, and they crouched in a 
 chilled fashion in the semicircular flood of light. The flame 
 darted out its golden tongues, licking the wet wood, which 
 groaned and smoked, or else, crackling, sent forth jets of 
 blue, scarlet, and yellow sunlight. They looked at it in silence. 
 
 ' At this hour,' said Du Breuil at last, ' everything must be 
 concluded. We are doubtless prisoners.' 
 
 Restaud sharply raised his head, and, as though he was going 
 to meet the struggle, said • 
 
 ' Wen ?' 
 
 ' Do you accept that ?' murmured Du Breuil, with a bitter 
 smile. 
 
 * There is a kind of joy in the accomplishment of the worst 
 duty,' replied Restaud hardly. 
 
 ' It remains to be known what is one's true duty,' said Du 
 Breuil. 
 
 * Does a soldier ask that ?' cried Restaud, with indignant 
 sorrow. 
 
 Du Breuil reflected a moment. 
 
 ' You are right,' he declared. ' There is only one duty, just 
 as there is only one honour. ... It is not the first time, 
 unfortunately, that a French army has capitulated. Recollect 
 Dupont, at Baylen ! Twenty-five thousand men surrendered 
 to the Spaniards without a fight. Only Major de Sainte-£glise 
 declared there were no longer any orders to be received from a 
 General who was a prisoner. He brought back his battalion 
 to Madrid, and the Emperor made him a Cojonel on th^ 
 spot.* 
 
THE DISASTER 361 
 
 * He ought to have made him a General,' said Restaud, 
 * and then shot him.' 
 
 'Ah yes!' railed Du Breuil. 'Always your system! . . . 
 Passive obedience, resignation. I know — I know ! No, friend. 
 In a situation like ours the resolution to die is alone worthy 
 and salutary.' 
 
 He rose to his feet with a bound, took the tattered seventh 
 volume of Napoleon's ' Memoires,' and read in a feverish 
 voice : ' " What apparently impossible things have been done 
 by resolute men with no other resources than death." . . .' 
 
 ' And he is a judge,' continued Du Breuil, ' one does not 
 challenge.' 
 
 * Yes,' said Restaud. ' Pride blinds him. . . . What you 
 take for the cry of honour is only the cry of pride. Now, a 
 soldier Hke you and I, a simple figure, ought not to have 
 pride. Such a death would be foolish, because a soldier is 
 not responsible for the faults of his chief ; it would be a crime, 
 because he can no more dispose of his death than of his life. 
 And do you think such a renunciation is not without terrible 
 torture ? . . . But rest assured our sacrifice will be counted. 
 The bitterest duty bears fruit, and what we have sown we 
 shall some day gather in.' 
 
 Du Breuil looked at Restaud's face, and recollecting the 
 unfruitful afternoon meeting, he sat down again with a dis- 
 couraged air. 
 
 ' Listen, my poor friend,' continued Restaud ; * let us bet 
 that you arrived at nothing to-day ?' 
 
 Du Breuil kept silent. It was painful to admit the failure 
 of his dream, the vain tumult of the meeting, the postponement 
 of projects until the next day. 
 
 ' Your silence answers,' said Restaud. ' You were one hundred 
 to-day ; you wdll be ten to-morrow. Such undertakings are 
 condemned beforehand.' 
 
 ' No,' protested Du Breuil. ' There are already more than 
 five thousand adherents. And if we were only one hundred, 
 only ten, we ought to make a sortie, all the same.' 
 
 ' I cannot admit that,' declared Restaud. * Yesterday when 
 you spoke of making a sortie in a body, I respected your 
 chimera. " We shall be twenty thousand," you said, and you 
 counted on finding a leader. You see, not one has dared to 
 violate the terrible rule. And now you are going to fall back 
 on individual effort, but in this case I affirm to you with all 
 jny friendship that you are on the wrong track.' 
 
362 THE DISASTER 
 
 < Why ?' 
 
 * Because the same chain binds all of us. Nobody has a 
 right to avoid the common humiliation and pain. The foetid 
 water and the black bread must be divided until it is finished. 
 Think of the unfortunate soldiers ! We brought them here ; 
 we must not leave without them. Are we going to abandon 
 them — we, the sheep-dogs — when they are going to drag them- 
 selves along by thousands over the roads of Germany ?' 
 
 ' We can make ourselves more useful elsewhere.' 
 Restaud shook his head : 
 
 * Your place is in their midst. Think well about it, my dear 
 fellow. There is a sacred obligation above ideas and personal 
 suffering — the solidarity of misfortune. To flee from it is 
 desertion.' 
 
 ' You need not say any more about it,' sighed Du Breuil, 
 who was, however, shaken. ' It is terrible !' 
 
 Restaud took his hand, looked in his eyes, and, in a broken 
 voice, simply said : 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 The fire was burning out ; it consisted of brands from which 
 every now and then twisted a thin flame, incandescent embers 
 downy with bluish ashes. They followed the dying reflection 
 with their thoughts. They remained thus, in a state of silent 
 stupor, for a long time. About eleven o'clock the rumbling of 
 a vehicle dragged them from it. The fire was extinguished. 
 
 ' There they are !' exclaimed Du Breuil, jumping up. 
 
 Both shivered at the thought of this cab which was carrying 
 through the night the sentence of the town and the army. 
 
 ' We must go for news,' said Restaud sharply, as though he 
 had retained a ray of hope. 
 
 Outside the icy humidity penetrated them. The wind was 
 still blowing. Pelting rain. Their lantern several times almost 
 went out. Du Breuil, whose fingers were numbed, had to 
 shield it with his cloak. They advanced with difficulty, being 
 up to the ankles in liquid mud. At last they reached the 
 house occupied by Decherac. The door was wide open, as 
 though death had just entered. They found their comrade 
 seated in the dark on one of the staircase steps. 
 
 * Samuel has just arrived,' he said. ' He is in his room 
 there. He won't see anybody.' 
 
 In the light of the lantern his face appeared very pale. This 
 time his smile was shrivelled up by rage. In short, bitter 
 phrases, he detailed what he knew\ It was finished, signed, 
 
THE DISASTER 363 
 
 settled ! The army, the town, were surrendered prisoners ! . . . 
 As a peace ransom, the officers might take their baggage into 
 Germany ! They could even keep their swords, since that 
 pleased them. As to those who undertook no longer to serve 
 in the war, they were free . . . Bazaine allowed them to go. 
 Frederick Charles begged them to do so. . . . They recog- 
 nised the courage of the French army in consequence ! . . . 
 Decherac jeered. But there was a still more dishonouring 
 clause ! Bazaine refused — yes, refused — the honours of war 
 which had been asked for on the previous day with so many 
 earnest entreaties, and which had at last been accorded in 
 answer to their prayers ! 
 
 ' What !' cried Du Breuil. ' The only compensation !' 
 
 * Yes,' said Decherac. ' Does that astonish you ? It doesn't 
 me.' He smiled heartrendingly. ' Not such a fool as to defile 
 more than one hundred thousand armed men, still capable of 
 brandishing a sword or a rifle, before an enemy the very sight 
 of which would have maddened these unfortunates ! . . . But 
 what he refused for all he might, don't you think, have asked 
 for a few. Honour was safe . . . only he never thought of 
 it. . . . No ! Imagine the stupefaction of Stiehle himself 
 when Jarras declared that Bazaine saw difficulties in the w^ay 
 of the execution of the clause! . . . "What difficulties?" 
 asked Stiehle. And Jarras stammered : " The weather is bad, 
 the ground and the roads deplorable. ... It will doubtless 
 be difficult to defile. . . ." To which Stiehle repHed : "These 
 considerations never exist in the case of the Prussian army." 
 Then Jarras proposed, while renouncing the defile, to specify 
 all the same in the document that honours of war were 
 accorded. " Let us write it down," he said, " but do not let 
 us carry it out." But Stiehle declared: "That which is 
 written will be executed." ' 
 
 Du Breuil sought for Restaud's face in the darkness. His 
 head was obstinately bowed. His hands hanging down alone 
 slightly trembled. 
 
 ' And do you know,' continued Decherac, * one of the 
 motives for which Bazaine no longer wishes this " formality" ? 
 I wonder if you can guess it ? The difficulty of contenting the 
 Generals in regard to their positions in consequence of the 
 difference in their ranks and personal situations ! . . . But 
 the true motive, the one which he has been unable to say, is 
 his shame of reappearing before the army, his fear of our 
 insults and our scorn.' 
 
364 THE DISASTER 
 
 * Assuredly,' said Du Breuil, * he would have proudly filed 
 past the first had he done everything which honour and duty 
 requires. He judges and condemns himself by his refusal.' 
 
 ' That is not all,' exclaimed Decherac. ' There are the 
 colours. Has not this gloomy imbecile taken care to draw 
 the enemy's attention to them ! By his orders, Jarras informed 
 Stiehle that there would not be very many eagles to give up, 
 alleging that the custom of troops in our unfortunate country 
 was to burn the flag upon the occasion of each new Govern- 
 ment. Stiehle naturally smiled. " No, General, I don't 
 believe that that has been done. But it is quite understood 
 that everything which remains — colours as well as material — 
 is ours." And what is more equivocal,' concluded Decherac, 
 * is that, in giving Jarras his instructions before leaving, Bazaine 
 added : *' I know there are some colours burnt, and I don't 
 want Prince Frederick Charles to accuse me of having broken 
 my engagements." ' 
 
 There was deep silence. After a moment, Decherac re- 
 sumed : 
 
 ' But the worst is that in drawing up the appendix — a 
 series of articles concerning Metz which were proposed by 
 Coffini^res — Stiehle commenced to speak of the measures 
 which the Prussian authorities intended to take for the trans- 
 port of the prisoners. Once our troops were conducted to the 
 German lines by their officers, the latter would first of all 
 be evacuated. *' As to the eighty thousand soldiers," he 
 added. ... " But there are many more," protested Jarras. 
 " Yes, I know, with the invalids and wounded. . . ." " No, 
 not at all," repeated Jarras. "There are a hundred and 
 twenty-six thousand combatants, without counting the Metz 
 garrison, the invalids, and the wounded — more than a hundred 
 and sixty thousand men." Stiehle contented himself by re- 
 plying : "Really, is that possible?" Stupor, which was de- 
 picted on his face, said more than words. . . .' 
 
 * Really, is that possible ?' They felt these words like the 
 burning of a red-hot iron. 
 
 Decherac rose abruptly. 
 
 ' Au revoir, gentlemen,' he exclaimed. ' Good luck !' 
 They redescended the staircase, plunging into the darkness 
 and the rain. Du Breuil was bathed in cold perspiration. 
 Had they at last drained the cup ? Could they descend deeper 
 into ignominy ? Then all the plotting in connection with the 
 colours appeared before him ; they were a package to be sent 
 
THE DISASTER 365 
 
 to Berlin ; to-morrow morning they would be taken to the 
 Arsenal, intact in their closed waggons. If some of them un- 
 fortunately escaped, Bazaine was excused beforehand. . . . 
 Pugh ! he put his foot in a rut. The mud splashed in his 
 face. Restaud, with his face turned away, was walking by his 
 side. They advanced in silence, lashed in the face by a wind 
 mingled with rain. 
 
 The lantern sent out a troubled light, which made the sur- 
 rounding night appear darker. . . . Du Breuil saw once more 
 a similar light. It was swinging in the hand of a man of the 
 guard ; it guided him in a starlit night towards Lacoste's 
 room ; it revealed a barracks full of men and horses asleep in 
 their force. The arms shone, and in the hoarse breathing of 
 the Lancers was the energy of France. . . . 
 
 A gust of wind blew out the flame. 
 
 They found themselves plunged in an ocean of darkness, in 
 which they distinguished neither heaven nor earth. Groping 
 and stumbling, it seemed to them that they were foundering in 
 the wind, the rain, and the mud. The mud — how they were 
 sinking in it ! . . . It clasped them, rose, filled their mouths, 
 eyes, and ears. . . . Like a drowning man, Du Breuil in a 
 flash lived over again so many feverish days from the illusions 
 at the commencement to the downfall. Restaud, more and 
 more sullen, was silent. 
 
 Suddenly a shrill tune arose. They recognised the modula- 
 tion of the little flute. It alternately wept and laughed on 
 Jubault's lips. In his hlaque fauhouvienne, he was beguiling 
 distress and sarcasm. One would have said the feeble voice 
 was the very breath of the army. Its revengeful complaint 
 had something bitter about it which pierced the heart. Du 
 Breuil, guided by the sound, said : 
 
 * Here is our house.' 
 
 A ray of light filtered through the stable windows. Losing 
 breath, the little flute became harsh and laughing. Restaud, 
 who was exasperated by it, shook the door with a kick. There 
 w^as nothing but darkness and silence. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 After crossing the Moyen-Pont Du Breuil struck off to the 
 right. The meeting was at nine o'clock at the barracks of the 
 Engineers. The nearest way was to follow the Rue de la 
 Garde, and to skirt the Esplanade. 
 
366 THE DISASTER 
 
 Although the meeting on the previous day had appeared to 
 him to augur badly, he clung to the hope of a sortie en masse 
 with an ardour all the more desperate as he felt the branch 
 cracking beneath him. Restaud's words had haunted him the 
 whole night. If the mirage of a supreme sortie, headed by a 
 responsible, qualified chief, vanished — and Du Breuil would 
 only think with infinite perplexity of the case of conscience of an 
 individual flight. Then, what there slumbered within himx of 
 adventure and passion arose with violence, but the feeling of 
 discipline and this new idea of solidarity immediately bound 
 him in every limb ; they were chains revealed by their tension. 
 
 In the rain and the wind, more furious every day, the leafless 
 quincunx, in rows, of the Esplanade, swayed their skeleton 
 branches. He passed near large conical tents made into 
 ambulances. Twenty wounded men shivered under each of 
 them. Through the stiff"ened canvas, hermetically closed, he 
 heard broken words, groans, and death-rattles. He imagined 
 that pain-stricken flesh rolling on its camp-beds, the wretched, 
 torn blankets, the water filtering through a thousand holes, the 
 ground turned into a lake, the heavy, moist atmosphere. He 
 hurried on. The immense sigh from the suffering camp pur- 
 sued him like a murmur of appeal. A little further on, on the 
 Place Royale, long piles of waggons formed avenues of hospitals, 
 continually crossed by the raised cassock of a priest, the 
 turned-down hood of a doctor. Every step was the hurried 
 coming and going of infirmary attendants under their streaming 
 umbrellas. Certain waggons were overflowing with wounded. 
 Death had thinned others. Through the chinks of doors he 
 saw stretched out forms, pale faces, pale linen, all the horror 
 of sanies and black blood. And from these motionless waggons, 
 in which so many unfortunates, soldiers like himself, were 
 completing their human journey, an immense sigh also rose. 
 He thought he could hear the lament of dear voices — Lacoste, 
 Restaud, Vedel. . . . Through the complaint of the wounded 
 passed the far-off" hum of the army, and cries rose in himself, 
 hereditary echoes of a line of soldiers. That feeble sigh ! It 
 was his father who uttered it, his arm shattered in the abandon 
 of a Kabyle battle-field ; that harsh complaint escaped, under 
 the sword of Bliicher's horsemen, from the lips of his grand- 
 father, a Lieutenant of the last square at Waterloo ; that death- 
 rattle was the agony of his great-uncle, commander of a demi- 
 brigade at Valmy. His heart replied to the murmur of appeal. 
 
 Someone called to him. Carrouge ! 
 
THE DISASTER 367 
 
 * Useless to push on as far as the barracks, my dear fellow. 
 I have come from there. You'll only find Rossel seated at a 
 table with two white paper books before him. They come in 
 and out. Curious for information, Adjutant-Majors sent by 
 their Colonels to ask for explanations. . . . He notes down the 
 effectives, the positions and the movement. ... A pupil of 
 the Polytechnic at the same time makes registry on a large 
 map of the intrenched camp. Five thousand six hundred men 
 are inscribed. Clinchant will be there at one o'clock. His 
 Aide-de-camp has promised it. That is making progress!' 
 
 He appeared to be very pleased. His complexion, of a dry 
 pimenta, shone with hope. He vigorously rubbed his hands 
 together. 
 
 ' We did good business this morning. The colours ' 
 
 * Well?' said Du Breuil with a start, seized by the horrible 
 suspicion. 
 
 Carrouge made an energetic gesture. 
 
 ' Burnt, destroyed ! . . . Not a colour of the Guard is left. 
 The Grenadiers and the Zouaves commenced by destroying 
 theirs yesterday spontaneously. And when the Marshal's 
 orders came, do you know what Jeanningros replied ? '* The 
 colours have been torn up by my orders ; the staffs and the 
 eagles have been sawn up. The colours of my brigade shall 
 not go to Berlin." Isn't that speaking out ? All the others 
 were taken at break of day to the Arsenal by Melchior, the 
 chief of the artillery staff. I saw the waggon and the escort 
 pass — a Lieutenant and four non-commissioned officers on 
 horseback. I followed. It was hardly light. W^e entered 
 with the first workmen. They lit the forge furnace, and before 
 the workmen and a few Chasseurs and Voltigeurs who happened 
 to be there the flags were unfurled. Melchior cut off the 
 numbers of the regiments, and then a white-haired Adjutant, a 
 veteran, burnt the silk, sawed the staffs to pieces, hammered 
 and cut the eagles. You should have seen his hands trembling. 
 Not one is left, I swear to you,' he said, wiping away a tear. 
 * Then I left, sick at heart.' 
 
 Du Breuil clasped Carrouge's arm. 
 
 ' And the others,' he murmured — * the other colours ? Are 
 they burning them ?' 
 
 ' Ma foi !' said Carrouge, ' I suppose so. . . . W^e arrived 
 the first. When I was leaving the forge I saw Colonel de 
 Girels. The old Adjutant had also destroyed a few cavalry 
 standards which had been deposited at the Arsenal, it appears, 
 
368 THE DISASTER 
 
 for some time. He was in the act of breaking the last eagle, 
 and said to the Colonel: "Here's one at least which the 
 Prussians shall not have !" De Girels seemed pleased.' 
 
 Du Breuil retained a feeling of disquietude. He told 
 Carrouge of Captain de Verdier's confidence, the order to 
 preserve the colours and make an inventory of them. 
 
 * We must be distrustful of everything,' said Carrouge. 
 * Let's go to the Arsenal.' 
 
 They followed the Rue Serpenoise, the Rue du Plat-d'Etain, 
 and the Rue Taison. Everywhere, in the rain, were anxious 
 groups and sad faces. On the thresholds of the doors old 
 women were on the look-out for news. Hanging from a 
 window was the faded shred of a tricolour flag — a sorry 
 remnant of the decorations. Certain shops, full of unsaleable 
 objects, were half closed, their shutters were up ; on the other 
 hand, grocers', pork-butchers', confectioners', and fruiterers' 
 shops were completely devastated, only showing bare walls 
 and empty shelves. The blockade had left its mark even in 
 the relations of life. Only needs which were necessities were 
 satisfied, and what was ruin to one part of commerce enriched 
 the other part. 
 
 At the corner of the Protestant Church they met Barrus, 
 who was very excited. He had come from the Arsenal. 
 
 * Do you know what is happening?' he said. 'They are 
 polishing, cleaning, and repairing. Instead of surrendering to 
 the enemy a dismantled fort and useless material, they are 
 putting everything in order, counting everything down to the 
 last nail. A civil engineer has just been summoned to put a 
 large bore cannon, which was damaged by a Prussian bullet, 
 in order. To think that two days ago we were still mounting 
 cannon on the ramparts. . . .' 
 
 ' The capitulation is signed. Everything will be surrendered 
 at noon to-morrow,' said Du Breuil. 
 
 Barrus became extremely red. Ideas flocked upon him with 
 such violence that words, strangled, would not flow. Suddenly 
 they burst forth in a stream : 
 
 ' To leave the fortifications of the town and the intrenched 
 camp intact is a crime. Science gives us all the means of 
 destruction. By ruining the forts, the sluices, the fortifica- 
 tions, and the military buildings, we shall deprive the enemy of 
 an almost impregnable point d'appui. They would find neither 
 buildings for their garrisons nor magazines for their supplies. 
 The town would have a few windows broken by the explosion, 
 
THE DISASTER 369 
 
 but it would gain by expanding, and by breathing freely out- 
 side the stone corset which stifles it. But go find patriotism 
 and energy among all these Generals, ready for killing, who 
 have been fattened by the Empire, who regret only one thing, 
 their flesh-pots, and who sigh after their beds !' 
 
 Carrouge shrugged his shoulders. Barrus' exaltation in- 
 creased. 
 
 ' Yes, the Empire is the cause of everything. Rotten head 
 and dead arms ! All this is just, France must atone !' A 
 dark flame shone in his eyes. Hard wrinkles barred his 
 sectarian forehead. ' But the Republic is going to sweep away 
 this filth. She carries in her pure hands justice and liberty.' 
 He gave a sneer of rage. * Ah, ah ! we have fortified Metz 
 for the past two months. . . . We have toiled and perspired 
 well. . . .' His voice suddenly became calm. ' There is other 
 work to be done. I've had enough of working for the King of 
 Prussia.' 
 
 He left gesticulating. 
 
 ' Queer chap !' growled Carrouge. ' x\s if politics had any- 
 thing to do with the matter !' 
 
 A convinced Imperialist, he retained within himself the belief 
 in the past ; the faults of the Empire remained hidden from 
 him. On the previous day he still admitted that, faithful to 
 its oath, the army, leaving Metz with arms and baggage, was 
 going to contribute to a restoration ; but, reduced to the abrupt 
 horror of capitulation, he had now but one thought — to make 
 a sortie, at all cost. 
 
 They reached the gardens which at the left border the ex- 
 tremity of the Rue des Carmes. The Arsenal rose before 
 them with its double zone of walls and water. As they were 
 going to cross a narrow, small bridge, after passing through 
 the first door, they saw some infantry officers who were coming 
 towards them, speaking in a high tone of voice and greatly 
 excited. Du Breuil recognised Vedel's fine, downcast face 
 among the group. 
 
 ' Is that you, Pierre ?' cried the Captain, feverishly taking 
 hold of his hands. ' A terrible thing has happened to me !' 
 
 He showed the copy of an order. He unfolded the paper 
 with his clumsy fingers. Du Breuil read it at a glance. It 
 was Bazaine's last orders relative to the colours. He imagined 
 he could hear Massoli's expressionless voice muttering : ' . . . 
 and taken to the Metz Arsenal. You will inform the chief of 
 the corps that they will be burnt there. . . .' 
 
 24 
 
370 THE DISASTER 
 
 'Well?' he asked. 
 
 * Well,' said Vedel, * the waggon came into the camp at 
 nightfall yesterday to take away the flag as though it were a 
 shameful corpse. The idea that it would be burnt with the 
 others consoled us a little. But this morning, when the troopers 
 looked for " their village steeple," there was such excitement 
 that the Colonel at once sent me off to the Arsenal to ascertain 
 the incineration de visu. But . . . upon arriving ' 
 
 His voice was broken with anguish. Du Breuil then saw 
 that his cousin's eyes were red and swollen. He was deeply 
 moved at this grief; he pressed the big moist hands in his own. 
 Ah ! the suspicions of the previous day ! 
 
 * Upon arriving . . . the director of the Arsenal to whom I 
 showed my order said to me : *' It is impossible. This is what 
 I received one hour ago." And he made me read a letter from 
 General Soleille ordering him to preserve the eagles. "They 
 must form part of the inventory drawn up by a commission of 
 French and Prussian officers. . . ." Then, suddenly, surprise 
 and the idea of losing my flag in this way made me burst into 
 tears. Colonel de Girels, seeing this, was as moved as myself. 
 '' Take back your flag," he said to me, " in exchange for the 
 receipt, and do what you like with it. . . ." But, you under- 
 stand, what is to be done ? I don't know. I haven't an order. 
 Then . . . then ... I set off again. Ah ! my poor Pierre, I 
 am very unfortunate.' 
 
 Two large tears rolled down his sunburnt cheeks. He looked 
 at Du Breuil with all his distressed affection, as though he was 
 asking for counsel, support. But, guessing that his powerless- 
 ness was equal to his own, he went away with an unsettled air. 
 
 Carrouge, after a moment's pause, burst out : 
 
 * Damn it, you're right ! Ours have had a narrow escape !' 
 ' Yes,' murmured Du Breuil; 'that's plain.' 
 
 They now met other waggons. The funereal convoys suc- 
 ceeded each other, with their escorts of muddy non-commis- 
 sioned officers and lean * screws.' Du Breuil and Carrouge, 
 under the gray sky and in the fine rain, shivered with anger 
 and shame as they passed. They skirted also long files of 
 men who had been soldiers. Some were going to give up 
 their arms ; others, who had abandoned them already, silently 
 walked along with hands hung down. All appeared to be 
 dismayed at the act which they were made to commit. At 
 the Pont de Grilles, Carrouge, who had some business to see 
 to at the Chambi^re barracks, moved away. 
 
THE DISASTER 371 
 
 Du Breuil thought of the colours. The trick was played ! 
 The day before yesterday, the 26th, after the council, public 
 order to Soleille to collect and burn them ; Soleille, as was 
 right, did not hesitate. Yesterday, the 27th, after the report, 
 fresh orders. First, the commanders of the corps will send 
 their eagles to the Arsenal ; second, the director will preserve 
 them until the inventory is made out. But, as the last order 
 would dismay the army, the first part alone is sent. The 
 emotion, however, gradually increases. Then, in order to 
 calm it, the last orders to the commanders of the corps — that 
 the eagles be collected and burnt. But they omit to inform 
 Soleille, and take care to inform the Arsenal, through Cof- 
 finieres, to limit itself to the receipt of the colours pure and 
 simple. Besides, the colours must only be taken the next 
 morning, at the hour at which Colonel de Girels will have 
 received the order to preserve them, and place them in the 
 inventory, at the hour at which the capitulation will be signed, 
 and thus, out of respect for a given promise, making all 
 destruction impossible. Finally, in case a few fanatics succeed 
 in saving their flags, Bazaine is excused with the conqueror 
 beforehand. 
 
 The waters of the Moselle, swollen by recent storms, flowed 
 in a muddy torrent. Du Breuil watched for a moment the 
 little tumultuous waves. Sometimes they spread out into 
 heavy sheets of water, then hollowed out in eddies. He called 
 to mind the day upon which, bending over the green water, 
 he had watched it fleeing towards Thionville, reaching free 
 countries. . . . 'Where was it going?' he thought then. 
 ' How would this finish ? Would they ever leave this diabolical 
 Metz ?' He saw himself even then suffering in his friendship 
 for D'Avol, in his love for Anine. He saw himself again 
 drawing the opal ring from his finger. It sparkled in the 
 dying day like a reflection of beauty, youth, and pleasure. 
 And the sweet face of Mme. de Guionic reappeared. . . . Then 
 the cracked jewel fell into the dark water. . . . Whither had 
 the current taken it ? . . . He felt himself to be also a dead 
 thing, drifting, lost ! 
 
 One hour afterwards he found Judin again, at the H6tel 
 du Nord. What was the good of returning to head-quarters 
 when there was nothing to do, as he was not on duty ? He 
 had better wait in Metz for he knew not what — the unknown 
 of events, the possibility of a sortie. . . . 
 
 They did not exchange twenty words at table. As they 
 
 24 — 2 
 
372 THE DISASTER 
 
 were rising Du Breuil, with hurried words, opened his 
 heart. He spoke of all the ignominies of the last few days, 
 and, to crown all, the infamous comedy of the flags. The 
 evening of Rezonville rose in his memory. He recollected the 
 cold night, the bivouac lighted by a large fire, the flag lying 
 upon its bed of arms. The earth around was strewn with 
 corpses. Their souls reposed in its folds. To-morrow with 
 the dawn it would shake its glorious tatter of silk ; from the 
 shroud with golden letters would spring towards the sun the 
 flock of past victories. And now these emblems of the Father- 
 land were arranged in rows against an office wall, waiting in 
 their black cases until a Prussian commissary, armed with a 
 notebook, came to take them at the point of the pencil. 
 Judin raised his head. 
 
 * I know some which will escape,' he said. * By chance this 
 morning I passed the house which Laveaucoupet occupies. 
 Four waggons, containing the eagles of the garrison scattered 
 in the forts, were standing before the door. The General, they 
 said in a crowd, refused to send his flags to the Arsenal, " as 
 an old horse is sent to the knacker's !" They were going to burn 
 them in the courtyard of the house in the presence of the staff 
 and the escorts. . . . But almost immediately the waggons 
 went back along the roads to the forts, and the order given by 
 the General spread among the groups : " Take the flags from 
 the hearse, in which they are enclosed, before the regiments ! 
 Let the last honours be rendered them, and then let them be 
 burnt !" ' 
 
 At these words a tall oflicer, with a long nose and long 
 moustache, who entered the dining-room with a portfolio 
 under his arm, passed them. 
 
 ' Is that you, Laisne ?' exclaimed Du Breuil. 
 
 * Yes, returned from the Ban Saint-Martin. You were speak- 
 ing of the colours, eh?' And in a proud tone, as though the 
 heroism of one rebounded upon all, he said : ' The 2nd corps 
 has done its duty ! Read this.* 
 
 He proudly held out a letter written by Lapasset to General 
 Frossard. Du Breuil read : 
 
 * General, 
 
 * The mixed brigade gives up its colours to nobody, and 
 the sad mission of burning them rests with nobody. It has 
 itself carried out this mission this morning, and I have the 
 official report of this lugubrious operation in my possession.' 
 
THE DISASTER 373 
 
 When Laisne had gone, Du Breuil said to Judin : 
 
 ' That is splendid ! . . . Such are the chiefs we ought to 
 have had !' 
 
 They found a great stir in the courtyard, and in the office 
 at the Engineers' barracks. More than three hundred officers 
 had assembled. Extreme excitement reigned. It was a con- 
 tinued hum of voices, traversed by shouts and cries. ' Time 
 presses ! Where is General Chnchant ? Our mitrailleuses 
 are at the Arsenal ! They are disarming the 4th corps ! They 
 are taking the last guns to the magazines !' 
 
 The most excited struggled and floundered among the groups. 
 
 ' They told us there was a General ? Where is he ? Let 
 him come forward !' 
 
 And in the midst of the growing tumult there were still the 
 disputes and recriminations, the puerile disturbance of the 
 previous day. Complaints without an object, threats of death 
 sprang from all mouths. Some gave vent to their ambitious 
 intrigues. This spectacle sickened Du Breuil. There was a 
 movement of keen curiosity. Colonel Boissonnet was with- 
 drawing. 
 
 ' Hullo, Charlys !' cried Judin. 
 
 Behind the Colonel appeared D'Avol, Carrouge, De Serres, 
 and Thomas, who retained him. 
 
 ' No, D'Avol ! I shall go also,' Charlys was saying. He 
 saw Du Breuil, and made a sign to him. ' And you, friend ? 
 Are you going to remain ? There is nothing to be done here. 
 I renounce.' 
 
 D'Avol cast upon them a scornful look, and in a hard voice 
 which was meant for Du Breuil, although he had pretended 
 not to see him, he said : 
 
 * Rest easy, Colonel. You won't be the only one.' 
 
 ' I only admit of a sortie in a body,' continued Charlys. 
 Sadness passed over his bony face. ' Lacking a leader, I see 
 that it is impossible. All other attempts are seditious. I have 
 no right to give orders. I withdraw.' 
 
 'Joy to you!' cried D'Avol. Charlys was already some 
 distance away. ' I shall get out of this trap, cost what it may ! 
 For one must have a solid stomach,' he added, turning towards 
 Du Breuil with eyes full of disdain and hatred, ' to remain 
 here.' 
 
 ' What do you say ?' exclaimed Du Breuil dryly, advancing 
 a step. 
 
 ' I say,' continued D'Avol in a cutting tone, ' that to recog- 
 
374 THE DISASTER 
 
 nise capitulation is to confess one's self responsible with 
 Bazaine. Let him participate who wishes his infamy. I 
 don't eat of that bread !' 
 
 There was a short silence. Judin with his uninjured hand 
 sought that of Du Breuil, who, white with rage, was looking 
 at D'Avol with compressed lips. 
 
 D'Avol continued : 
 
 ' Let all brave men imitate me, and to-morrow, on French 
 territory, the army will be able to say : *' Nothing is lost, 
 honour is saved !" * 
 
 ' Leave me, Maxime,' said Du Breuil with the calm of a 
 man who has just come to a definite decision. Turning 
 towards D'Avol he said : 
 
 * It is because the army is made up of brave men that 
 it will not imitate you ! Have no care for its honour ; it is 
 above your judgment ! But you are free to take to flight, and 
 to-morrow, on French territory, you will be able to say : " All 
 is lost, pride is saved !' 
 
 ' The treason of a chief releases the soldier,' exclaimed 
 D'Avol, shrugging his shoulders. ' Leaders are only to fight.' 
 
 * It remains for comrades to suffer.' 
 
 ' Mere words ! The ship is sinking. Everybody for himself.' 
 
 * That is the excuse of the coward who deserts !' 
 D'Avol started under the insult. 
 
 ' Which of the two is a coward — he who risks his life or he 
 who ' 
 
 * Does his duty,' cut in Du Breuil. 
 
 * Ah ! ah !' jeered D'Avol with insulting raillery. ... * His 
 duty ! . . . Do you know what your duty is ?' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Du Breuil, who was with difficulty controlling 
 himself. * Duty in such misfortune is to do that which costs 
 the most.' 
 
 D'Avol smiled outrageously. 
 
 ' Really ? Prudence requires an effort ? I should have bet 
 on bravery. . . .' 
 
 ' You he !' cried Du Breuil. 
 
 The word cracked like a box on the ears. D'Avol saw red 
 and rushed forward. But Judin, Carrouge, and others inter- 
 posed. Captain de Serres and Lieutenant Thomas dragged 
 away their Major, who, furious, turned his head at each step, 
 still uttering insults. 
 
 The emotion caused by this short scene was lost in the 
 general tumult. Excitement was at its height. Some pro- 
 
THE DISASTER 375 
 
 posed to burn the Arsenal and to get back the flags, others to 
 shoot Bazaine. The Captain of Carabineers cried, in a paroxysm 
 of rage : 
 
 * The rappel ! The tocsin ! To arms ! to arms ! . . .' 
 Carrouge and Major Leperche made a suggestion that the 
 
 ' most resolute meet at nine o'clock at night on the Sarrebriick 
 road to try to make a sortie.' 
 
 * Let's go,' said Du Breuil to Judin. 
 
 He experienced a feeling of disgust, an inexpressible bitter- 
 ness. He had hastened to leave this place of sterile agitation. 
 The words uttered by D'Avol pierced him Hke so many 
 wounds ; those which he had not pronounced envenomed them 
 the more. The thought of Anine rose up between them like 
 a forest of swords. They were separated by icy steppes, 
 burning deserts, a whole world. To think that two months 
 ago they were two friends, two brothers ! Why, how had 
 they come to this ? Du Breuil did not succeed in explaining 
 it. The open wound bled the more. In his sorrow he felt 
 a bitter voluptuousness, a frenzy of aversion so keen that it 
 became intoxicating. His hatred was possessed of the violence 
 of love. 
 
 Their attention was attracted in the street by an unusual 
 tumult. Workmen, citizens, and women were running in the 
 direction of the Place d'Armes, whence confused noises arose. 
 Men seized old rifles, swords, and pikes. When crossing 
 the Place Saint-Louis they saw some madmen tearing up 
 Coflini^res' last proclamation with cries of ' Death !' 
 
 ' Have you read it ?' asked Judin. 
 
 Upon receiving a sign in the negative, he quoted some of 
 its essential features : 
 
 ' '* Metz succumbs with honour ! . . . Never in military 
 history had a fortified town held out until so complete an ex- 
 haustion of its resources. . . . Four or five days of resistance 
 would, besides, only result in an aggravation of the inhabitants' 
 situation, etc." Yes, dust in one's eyes !' continued Judin. 
 ' The only powder these gentlemen use. I blushed with 
 shame yesterday upon reading it, for the markets are over- 
 flowing : there are thousands of horses to eat, wine, coffee, 
 brandy, powder, shells, cartridges ; a hundred thousand men 
 ready to die, and they dare to do this ! . . .' 
 
 Two men passed them. 
 
 ' Is that you !' cried Du Breuil, recognising Bersheim and 
 old Krudger. 
 
376 THE DISASTER 
 
 * Yes,' said Bersheim ; * we are going to the Engineers' 
 barracks. It appears there are a few brave men there re- 
 solved for anything.' 
 
 Du Breuil shook his head sadly. 
 
 ' Resolved for nothing ! All is over.' 
 
 Judin questioned Krudger. The mob was in a state of 
 agitation on the Place d'Armes. A crowd of citizens had in- 
 vaded the Divisionary Hotel, heaping reproaches and insults 
 upon Coffinieres. And the old Lorraine man always returned 
 to the same subject : Metz protected by her forts, her ramparts 
 bristling with cannon ; Metz defended by her garrison of 
 twenty-nine thousand men and its manly population ; Metz 
 impregnable and a virgin v/as going to open her gates, capitu- 
 late without a breach and without assault ! . . . 
 
 * And this,' he concluded, casting a look of hatred towards 
 Du Breuil, ' in view of the powerless eyes of the bravest army, 
 the cause and the witness of our shame !' 
 
 ' Provisions are lacking,' affirmed Bersheim categorically. 
 
 Judin and Krudger cried that they could hold out for several 
 days yet. The Met ' citizen, whose white beard trembled, 
 ironically apostrophized Du Breuil : 
 
 * Are not the military regulations formal. Major ? '* On the 
 surrender of a fort, advanced or retarded by a single day, may 
 depend the salvation of the country ?..."' 
 
 He trembled with exasperation. Du Breuil sympathized 
 with him in a look. As they advanced, he read stupor de- 
 picted upon people's faces. Tradesmen were talking before 
 their half-open shops. Women formed groups, talking in low 
 tones ; some were weeping. 
 
 ' I tell you, Krudger,' said Bersheim, ' that provisions are 
 acking. We are eating the last morsel of bread. My friend 
 Bouchotte, who mills for the whole town, told me yesterday 
 that his bushels were empty. He could only find three sacks 
 of wheat for sale — one of the 1851 harvest, and the two others 
 of that of 1852 ! And you won't suspect Bouchotte after his 
 fme action of to-day. He has just refused the Cross,' he 
 added to Du Breuil. ' Yes, never would he have seen the ink 
 upon his brevet without sorrow — the ink which was used, per- 
 haps, to draw up the capitulation. Those were his very words.' 
 
 ' And I assure you,' said Krudger, ' that there are resources 
 in hiding !' 
 
 The discussion was becoming bitter. They bitterly re- 
 proached each other for their difference of opinion. They 
 
THE DISASTER 377 
 
 exhausted themselves in trying to find an outlet. The projects 
 of the one seemed absurd to the other. 
 
 * The Municipal Council,' said Bersheim, ' has allowed itself 
 to be flouted like a child.' 
 
 Krudger became violently angry at these words, which con- 
 cerned his son. So the two Metz citizens wasted their strength 
 in fruitless rage and sterile desolation. 
 
 The growing uproar mingled into a single shout. They 
 reached the Place d'Armes, which was covered with people, a 
 mass of gesticulating groups and furious men running in 
 bodies. Some rushed towards the Rue de la Princerie, where 
 Coffinieres resided ; others waved flags. The length of the 
 cathedral some National Guards succeeded in disarming a 
 company which was carrying its rifles to the Arsenal. The 
 soldiers quietly made no resistance. Some fanatics were 
 brandishing chassepots and distributing cartridges, which had 
 been stolen from the military stations. Here and there shots 
 were fired. Du Breuil recognised in the midst of a group the 
 editor of a Metz newspaper, who, astride a large horse, was 
 vociferating the ' Marseillaise,' at the same time firing his 
 pistol in the air. A tall, beautiful woman, dressed like a God- 
 dess of Liberty, was holding the horse's bridle. Suddenly the 
 eternal Captain of Carabineers, bare-breasted, haggard, arose 
 before them. 
 
 ' Forward, friends !' he howled. ' Follow me ! I stake my 
 head, but I don't care a damn !' 
 
 A formidable pushing near the cathedral made a diversion. 
 The doors gave way, and the crowd invaded the towers. A 
 handful of strong men hung themselves on to the Mutte, and 
 over the Place d'Armes in delirium, over Metz and over the 
 army, the enormous bell of days of mourning sent out, even to 
 the enemy's camps, its funereal groans, in reply to which there 
 came from church to church the sobbing appeal of tocsins. 
 
 * Georges !' cried M. Krudger. 
 
 He had just caught sight of his son. The long-bodied 
 municipal councillor, with a rough, open face, was haranguing 
 the crowd. 
 
 ' Ah, father!' he uttered, pointing out the invaded divisionary 
 residence, ' if you had heard Coffinieres stammering in the 
 midst of all these brave men mad with rage and sorrow ! He 
 replied with vague words, called for respect due to his duties. 
 How he must now regret the false position he has been in, 
 suffer in his soldier's heart for having seen clearly too late !' 
 
378 THE DISASTER 
 
 Cheers and cries interrupted his speech. A National Guard, 
 the tricolour flag in his hand, was proclaiming the Republic 
 before Fabert's statue, draped in crape. Above the tumult of 
 the town the Mutte sent forth its lamentations. Ringing a full 
 peal, the Lorraine bell exhaled its fury mingled with com- 
 plaints. It was the very voice of the ancient city. In the 
 vibrations of the bronze passed the harsh cries of inviolate 
 Metz, the malediction of mothers, the death-rattle of wounded 
 men, and the sigh of the dead. Du Breuil fled, pursued by 
 the terrible resonance, the obsession of this knell, which tor- 
 mented his heart. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 At the Ban Saint-Martin everything spoke of the final agony. 
 The impedimenta of the headquarters staff lay piled in the 
 mud. Long files of artillery, and commissariat waggons and 
 vehicles belonging to other sections, invaded the old parade 
 ground. One saw nothing but teams wandering aimlessly, or 
 dying where they stood — a jumble of trappings and dirt. The 
 oflices of the general stafl" were almost empty. Around Laune, 
 a few faithful officers — Fay, Samuel, Restaud, and Decherac — 
 attended to their last duties. It was necessary to make a little 
 order in the unspeakable confusion. Officer by officer, the 
 chief headquarters staff had, since the previous day, dissolved 
 and become disintegrated. Just as Du Breuil was going to 
 open the door, the clatter of hoofs resounded. Floppe dis- 
 mounted. 
 
 ' Well, Floppe, what news ?' 
 
 A grin passed over his rugged face. There was nothing 
 good to speak of. They were surrendering their arms, care- 
 fully cleaned, so that the Prussians should be able to use them 
 as soon as possible. Rumours were circulating in the camps 
 with the object of allaying the soldiers' wrath : they were to 
 be allowed to return home ; only the officers would be made 
 prisoners. Or else : the enemy would treat our forces with 
 rigour if the arms were not surrendered in good condition. Or, 
 again : that after their captivity, which was to be short, the 
 regiments would return to Metz, and be given back their rifles 
 and guns. . . . Floppe added : 
 
 * I met a good many troops on my way to Moulins, where I 
 went with the officer in charge of the parleying party.' 
 
THE DISASTER 379 
 
 Du Breuil looked at him questioningly. 
 
 ' Why, don't you know ?' said Floppe. * We had a bad 
 fright while you were away. At noon came an insolent letter 
 from Stiehle to Jarras, declaring that he could have no faith in 
 the assurances of the previous day. It was such a habit to 
 destroy insignia at each revolution ! Consequently, he de- 
 manded to know the exact number of the eagles, threatening 
 in so many words to consider the treaty null and void in case 
 there was a deficiency. You ought to have seen the panic ! 
 They ran for Soleille, and drew up a nice letter, promising to 
 be good, and to deliver all the forty-one remaining colours. 
 Then Soleille trotted off to the Arsenal to count them again, 
 and Girels was admonished not to let one escape.' 
 
 Du Breuil moved to enter without answering, 
 
 ' Just listen !' said Floppe. ' Here's the finest bit. When 
 Nugues saw Jarras this morning, he reported to him about 
 yesterday's orders — that great joke, you know, about burning 
 . . . The chief, vastly worried because of his signature and 
 its attendant responsibility, posted off at once to the Marshal, 
 and, with the help of Stiehle's letter, came back with a fresh 
 order. GaUing enough it was, too ! Restaud, who carried it 
 out while I was there, found the pill bitter.' 
 
 ' Restaud ?' exclaimed Du Breuil. 
 
 And Floppe nodded, adding : 
 
 ' Poor chap ! What a look !' 
 
 They entered together. Eight or ten officers were writing, 
 grouped in a corner of the room. Restaud remained aloof, 
 brooding, with the look of a wounded animal. The hand he 
 stretched out in response to Du Breuil's greeting drew back. 
 
 Floppe turned towards Du Breuil. 
 
 ' Fancy, Jarras made him tear out of the order-book the 
 page on which the order to burn the colours was entered ! It 
 happened to be in the middle of a page, so he took the sheet 
 out, and a secretary copied on to the next page what writing 
 there remained. . . . That's how the trick was done ! Clean 
 record, you see, in case our books fall into the hands of 
 Frederick Charles !' 
 
 Restaud looked up at Du Breuil w^ith an expression of the 
 deepest distress. What he must have suffered in destroying 
 the page ! what horrible torture for this conscientious man, this 
 pure, unswerving heart ! Du Breuil was shaken with the pity 
 of it. Poor fellow ! . . . Revolting with all his soul against 
 such fraud, his native honesty rising up against it, yet simply 
 
38o THE DISASTER 
 
 obeying without a word. He could picture the shivering 
 movement of the hand. Assuredly, Restaud must have found 
 upon that occasion his bitterest trial, felt the horrors of the 
 worst torture. His face spoke of it. Unseen tears had left 
 their deep marks. 
 
 The door opened, and Charlys entered. Fatigue bent his 
 slender shoulders and long legs. His prominent cheekbones 
 burned with fever. 
 
 * Still at work ?' was his remark to Laune. 
 He sat down. 
 
 * The Generals bade farewell to their officers. It was not all 
 smooth sailing, so they say. . . . Regular chorus of rebukes 
 and reproaches.' 
 
 He shook his head and looked at Laune. * I thought that 
 Jarras had put the key under the door ?' 
 
 ' The archives are in safety,' replied Laune. ' The General 
 had them taken yesterday to Saint Clement's school.' 
 
 * Ah, yes !' jeered Charlys ; * his precious account books !' 
 Floppe smiled maUciously. The coolness between Charlys 
 
 and Jarras, a counterpart of that between the chief of the 
 general staff and Bazaine, was one of his stock subjects of 
 mirth. 
 
 * You will see,' he said, ' they alone are not going to lay 
 down their arms.' 
 
 Charlys began a story. The name of Clinchant made every- 
 one look up. 
 
 ' Leboeuf summoned him for a lecturing,' Charlys narrated 
 in his tired voice, ' and Changarnier was there to receive him. 
 Clinchant stuck to his guns, declaring himself in favour of 
 attempting a sortie. But Changarnier snubbed him most 
 unmercifully, and, at last, losing all patience, pushed him right 
 up to the open door leading into the orderly-room. At the 
 same time, he shouted, " I don't like insubordination, do you 
 hear, General ? I would rather see the army perish than save 
 itself at the cost of discipline !"' 
 
 All the officers had laid down their pens, Ustening attentively. 
 Du Breuil saw a strange look pass over Restaud's face at the 
 last words. Charlys went on : 
 
 ' Exhausted by this effort, Changarnier thereupon threw 
 himself into Clinchant's arms ; then fell helplessly on to a sofa, 
 and, before all the Aides-de-camp, this old hero burst into tears. 
 In his breast the citizen is as strong as the soldier.' 
 
 In the silence which followed no one noticed the entrance of 
 
THE DISASTER 381 
 
 Major Mourgues. He handed Laune the minute of an order, 
 and, without saying a word, made off. Having read the paper, 
 Laune offered it to Charlys with an incisive gesture ; then in a 
 dry voice he said : 
 
 ' Now, gentlemen ! A last effort !' 
 
 Du Breuil sat down beside the others, and with a sputtering 
 pen, which he felt like crushing through the paper at the end 
 of each line, he wrote, with throbbing temples and flushed 
 brow, the general order in which Bazaine, comparing himself 
 with Massena, Kleber, and Gouvion Saint-Cyr, had the audacity 
 to boast of having gJoviously accomplished his duty to the nttevmost 
 hitman limits, and, to extort resignation from the troops, lied 
 without end, promising them, as soon as peace had been signed, 
 that Metz and their arms and baggage would be restored to 
 them. 
 
 The silent reproof aroused by this tissue of hollow, slippery 
 phrases, his fury and indignant resignation, were still in Du 
 Breuil's mind when he reached his cold room. Frisch had not 
 been able to make up his mind to light a fire. Mme. Guimbail 
 was doubtless asleep, her light being out. The remnant of a 
 candle cast a sad light on the walls. On the other side of the 
 partition he could hear Restaud moving now and then. Several 
 times Du Breuil had called him, tapping gently at his door. 
 In vain. Absorbed, no doubt, in his grief, Restaud obstinately 
 kept silence. This idea of his friend avoiding him to suffer 
 undisturbed heightened his wretchedness. It seemed as if this 
 lonely evening, the last he would spend under that roof, was 
 an epitome of all those preceding it, resuming and multiplying 
 their sadness and their solitude to dizzy proportions. The 
 blackened, rain-bespattered panes did not intercept the dark- 
 ness. He surveyed the narrow room, the bare walls, the 
 untidy table whereon the candle-end threw its fitful Ught upon 
 the still open volume of Napoleon's ' Memoires.' Over the 
 mantelpiece the inexorable calendar marked the day. Two 
 black figures showed the date — October 28. He went closer 
 and read the ephemerides : October 28, 1806, Prise de Berlin ! 
 The irony of history, like a whip-lash, cut him to the heart. 
 Turning to the window he felt the loneliness of the empty 
 house and the icy autumn night. The tocsin of the Mutte was 
 sending forth its warning of riot and of burial, ringing, ringing, 
 ringing. Like the shiver of immense draperies of woe every 
 clang of the bronze vibrated with a groan in the darkness. 
 The image of the sleeping city rose before him, coupled with 
 
382 THE DISASTER 
 
 the dolorous slumbers of Anine. He longed to figure in her 
 dreams. The bell persisted in its far-reaching summons. He 
 was thinking now of the grandsons of those who took Berlin ; 
 of the disbanded army, a troop of phantoms. He saw once 
 more the slough of the camping grounds, thousands of men 
 snoring under the tents clad in tatters, lying in the rain and 
 mud. Betwixt nightmares they were doubtless smiling at the 
 thought of peaceful barrack-rooms in Germany, the promised 
 shelter, the warm coverlet, and steaming rations ! The behaviour 
 of their chiefs gave them good excuse. . . . The clamour from 
 the Mutte suddenly ceased. 
 
 It was broad daylight when Du Breuil awoke, unrested. 
 
 * Captain Restaud has already gone,' Frisch told him while 
 stropping his razor and preparing the basin for his shave. 
 * He said he was going to the office to finish the work.' 
 
 Du Breuil unconsciously followed along the customary road. 
 Everything seemed different. Houses and trees wore an 
 unfamiliar, deserted look under the sombre sky. He looked 
 towards Saint Quentin enveloped in mist, the clouds hanging 
 low. . . . The imminence of departure estranged him from 
 outside things. 
 
 In front of the Marshal's residence, the empty bivouac of 
 the two escort troops made the square look vaster. Chasseurs 
 and hussars had just rejoined their regiments. Only a com- 
 pany of Grenadiers of the Guard, who had been on permanent 
 duty for a month past, remained lined up against the garden- 
 walls, standing at ease. Orderlies were holding chargers 
 harnessed for the march. Officers belonging to the Marshal's 
 personal headquarters staff came and went, giving their last 
 orders. Baggage-waggons were lined up, ready to start. As 
 Du Breuil was going away, Major Mourgues caught sight of 
 him, and running up, came to bid him adieu. His joy was ill- 
 concealed. A brand-new ribbon, topped with a large rosette, 
 glittered on his tunic. Du Breuil pretended not to see it, 
 replying dryly : 
 
 * Bon voyage!' 
 
 Mourgues was not to be shaken off: 
 
 *You are looking at my cross? ... I got the officer's 
 ribbon only yesterday.' 
 
 * Oh !' was all Du Breuil's reply. 
 Mourgues went on : 
 
 * Yes. Why don't you ask for something ? His Excellency 
 will sign what you like !' (Du Breuil made a wry face.) ' You 
 
THE DISASTER 383 
 
 are too particular ! It is right enough to accept a distinction 
 when you have deserved it ! Bigger men than yourself have 
 not turned up their noses. . . .' (He smiled insinuatingly.) 
 * What do you suppose we are waiting for now ? . . . Nothing 
 more,' he continued after a slight pause, ' than to give the 
 Marshal time to finish distributing badges and commissions. 
 He is besieged this morning !' 
 
 There was a commotion. Mourgues ran to his charger. 
 The steps of the interior entrance were crowded with officers, 
 personal friends, or self-seekers. The Marshal appeared. He 
 walked heavily and, beneath a placid look, his face was 
 bloated and worried. Du Breuil saw him mount. A file was 
 detached from the company on duty, and marched ahead. 
 Then, flanked by a double row of Grenadiers, Bazaine, followed 
 by his general staff, silently passed out of the gate. The rest 
 of the soldiers and the baggage-waggons moved off. Du 
 Breuil saw them turn the corner of the street and disappear in 
 the gloomy daylight. 
 
 At headquarters he found the faithful few of the preceding 
 day around Laune and Fay. Restaud looked up. His eyes 
 were calm, and his face austere, but peaceful. He seemed 
 reconciled ; cheerful again in his serious fashion, almost 
 sprightly. He was working with his usual ardour. His bear- 
 ing made Du Breuil's spirits rise a little, sickened though he 
 was at Bazaine's shameful departure. He had felt strangely 
 before this Marshal of France hurrying towards the enemy's 
 lines Hke an escaping criminal. Floppe, who had seen him 
 pass, cried out : 
 
 * What a hurry he must be in to give himself up ! He sent 
 word to Frederick Charles yesterday to know at what hour he 
 could proceed to Corny ! And he has not waited for a reply.' 
 
 ' No doubt,' exclaimed Decherac, ' he is afraid to face the 
 sight of the army !' 
 
 ' Ugh !' said Floppe, ' I am only surprised that he didn't 
 leave sooner. Yesterday evening, when he asked for the pass- 
 word, which they had forgotten to send him, I thought he was 
 going to scuttle at daybreak.' 
 
 Du Breuil wanted to know more. It seemed that the out- 
 posts had remained under arms to prevent any escape by 
 night. Bazaine would want the password if he had wished to 
 cross the lines at sunrise. 
 
 ' That's true,' said Floppe. ' You were not here, then, 
 yesterday, so you couldn't know ! . . . Imagine our surprise 
 
384 THE DISASTER 
 
 when going over the Hst of passwords to find those selected for 
 the 28th were : 'Dumouriez,' 'Dijon.' . . . Yes, Dumouriez ! . . . 
 So that the very moment our Commander-in-Chief deserts us, 
 when the sentinel challenges him, Bazaine will have to reply 
 by giving him the name of a traitor !' 
 
 * The irony of fate !' said Du Breuil bitterly, and he thought 
 of the calendar. 
 
 Changing the subject, Floppe growled : 
 
 ' I have just met Lieutenant-Colonel Gex !' 
 
 Some exclamations of surprise were heard. Floppe continued 
 pleasantly : 
 
 ' Quite so. He is one of the deathbed promotions ! . . . 
 It's incredible what a batch there has been of them the last few 
 days. The throng at the Marshal's never diminished. Those 
 who had been his bitterest accusers rubbed shoulders with the 
 worst time-servers in his ante-chamber. A score of ribbons 
 gratuitously given for one that was deserved. Shoulder-knots, 
 crosses, stars. . . . The regular blanks having been exhausted, 
 Bazaine took to signing sheets of white paper. It seems that 
 the Government official attached to his household for this work 
 pointed out the irregularity of such procedure. Bazaine re- 
 plied : *' What does that matter if it pleases them ? You know 
 quite well that all these things will not be confirmed." ' 
 
 There was an awkward silence. Du Breuil thought of 
 Mourgues. 
 
 * Do you know,' resumed Decherac, ' what was one of the 
 reasons why our ex-chiefs accepted the rigorous clauses of the 
 treaty ? I was yesterday in the Marshal's orderly-room, when 
 a sterling fellow, one of the Guards' commissariat chiefs, and 
 a friend of Bazaine, rushed in trembling with indignation, 
 with a copy of the general order in his hand. " Where is the 
 Marshal ?" he cried. " His Excellency does not receive." 
 "But you know me well; I am always admitted!" •* The 
 Marshal will see no one." Then, while he proceeded to vent 
 his indignation, a voice rose in disclaimer : " We had, after 
 all, to save our baggage." ' 
 
 Decherac went on to tell of the failure of yesterday's sortie 
 along the Sarrebriick road — the last attempt to pierce the 
 enemy's lines. Scarcely sixty took part in it. Their plans 
 were denounced by a report from General de Cissey, and only 
 a few managed to escape. At the present moment the Guards 
 as well as tho troops at the outposts were giving up their 
 chassepots. The Marshal had allowed them to keep their 
 
THE DISASTER 385 
 
 rifles till now to assure the maintenance of order. Only yes- 
 terday three battalions of Voltigeurs had been sent into Metz 
 to check rioting. 
 
 A gallop was heard outside. Captain Yung, who had that 
 morning taken charge for the last time of the parleying service 
 at Moulins-l^s-Metz, was the arrival. He dismounted hurriedly, 
 and entered the room, holding several letters. 
 
 ' Is General Jarras still here ?' he asked. 
 
 Laune pointed with his finger to the first-floor, where the 
 chief of the general staff" had shut himself up since the signing 
 of the capitulation. 
 
 ' Oh ! oh !' ejaculated Floppe. * That means news.' 
 
 When Captain Yung came down all surrounded him. He 
 told his story in hurried words : 
 
 * I had been at Mouhns about half an hour. The bugle 
 signalled an approach. An officer of Prussian dragoons comes 
 up and hands me a despatch in a large square envelope, and 
 some letters for Jarras. " Please make haste, Captain," he 
 said. " Go as quickly as possible." He even repeated, while 
 I was mounting : " Eilen Sie." I came back at a gallop. 
 Abreast of Longueville I met the Marshal. He asked me if 
 I had any letters. I handed him the large envelope. He 
 seemed much taken aback and disheartened. He unfolded 
 the despatch. It was in German. " Can you translate it ?" 
 he asked. And, remaining in my saddle, I read aloud. . . . 
 Five paragraphs, signed by Stiehle. It began this way : " His 
 Highness shares his satisfaction with you at the manner in 
 which instructions have been carried out for surrendering the 
 arms, material of war, and colours of the army of Metz. As 
 regards your desire to be at headquarters before noon, in 
 accordance with agreement. His Highness regrets his inability 
 to accede to it, and hopes to be able to receive you this 
 evening at five o'clock, or to-morrow morning at ten. He 
 will send you further orders." ' 
 
 ' What a smack !' said Floppe. 
 
 ' And it ended up,' proceeded the Captain, ' with directions 
 for the residence of Prince Murat and of Jarras. As for 
 Changarnier, he is free. . . . The Marshal was evidently 
 much affected. "What is to be done?" he said to me. I 
 advised him to wait at the outpost for fresh orders from 
 Frederick Charles.' 
 
 Yung having left, Decherac and Floppe disappeared, one 
 after the other. 
 
 25 
 
386 THE DISASTER 
 
 Du Breuil came over to shake hands with Restaud. 
 
 * Are you coming ?' he said. * This place stifles me.' 
 
 In the silent office the faithful few gathered round Laune 
 were making it a point of honour to complete their tasks, 
 putting all in order. 
 
 * No,' said Restaud, ' not till mid-day. The chief head- 
 quarters staff will cease to exist at the same time as the 
 army.' 
 
 They looked at each other fixedly. Du Breuil murmured, 
 * You are a plucky fellow, no mistake !' and went out. 
 
 Rain was streaming. It enveloped him in eddying torrents, 
 while through the obliqueness of the downpour floated a whirling 
 mist. Trees and houses became indistinct like a landscape in 
 dreams, only stranger and more deserted. The Ban Saint- 
 Martin stretched out in slimy expanse, strewn with a chaos 
 of vehicles. There they were by the hundred, waggons of all 
 sorts, smithies, ambulances, canteens, forage, and amongst 
 them wandered the last remaining horses. This was only a 
 small part of the material being abandoned. Du Breuil 
 thought of all the squares and cross-roads where enormous 
 masses of impedimenta were stacked. 
 
 He took the road. When approaching the Porte de France, 
 he came across long bodies of men making their way through 
 the mist. Nearer, he recognised the uniform of the Grenadiers 
 of the Guard. They were marching nearly in line, still with 
 their knapsacks, and almost in step. The veteran was too 
 strong in them. Although orders were wanting, and discipline 
 had been slackened, the soldiering instinct compelled them to 
 march steadily with the old proud bearing. Out of esprit de 
 corps and respect for themselves, they had carefully burnished 
 their accoutrements that morning. Their gaiters and straps 
 were pipeclayed, and their eagled buttons shone. All the 
 range of expressions between irony and furious anger distorted 
 their faces. Some looked tense and rigid, as if petrified by 
 despair. It was heartrending to see such an end for troops 
 full of the vigour of life, the flower of the army, thus allowed 
 to wither aimlessly. . . . Du Breuil thought of the battalions 
 at Saint- Privat, and their enforced inaction within a few steps 
 of the firing line. What a crime to neglect using such men ! 
 And now they were going away, lost forces, into the final dis- 
 solution. He pictured the country laid waste, this simultaneous 
 exodus, the sad tramp of the troops. They were even then 
 falling in for the last time, and from every direction, under the 
 
THE DISASTER 387 
 
 rain, in the mud, the stricken columns were dragging their 
 weary way, like the dismembered sections of a gigantic serpent. 
 
 The Voltigeurs were now advancing, recognisable by the 
 yellow-green of their facings and braid. They followed on 
 the steps of the Grenadiers towards the city glacis, in the 
 direction of the Nancy road. In several regiments, the officers 
 of the week had been alone told off to accompany the troops to 
 the place of surrender. But almost in every case, from the 
 youngest Subaltern to the Colonel, everyone had felt himself 
 in honour bound to escort his men. Among the Voltigeurs 
 every officer was present, marching in order of battle, the 
 Generals in the van. Rank was lost sight of. All hearts 
 beat in unison. There were no longer chiefs and subordinates, 
 only one vast household of sufferers, bound together by one 
 comm.on tie of grief. Du Breuil caught sight of Boisjol. He 
 looked like a wolf wdth blood-stained muzzle. A splinter from 
 a shell had cut into his upper lip. The old African fighter 
 went by, carrying his head thrown back, his eyes glistening. 
 
 The infantry Chasseurs and Zouaves came next. The small 
 jacket, baggy Arab trousers and Chechia made one think of 
 battlefields scorched by the African sun, of the far-off skies 
 of Italy and the Crimea. 
 
 Saddest of all was the unwonted silence which hung over 
 this army on the march. Braying bugle and beating drum, 
 all were in the hands of the victor, and mourning v/as blacker 
 for their muteness. Suddenly, as the last battalion defiled, the 
 column came to a halt. Du Breuil was going to take this 
 opportunity for crossing, when up lumbered one of the Chasseurs' 
 canteens, drawn by two sorry * screws.' It came along with diffi- 
 culty, keeping the right side of the road. The Zouaves made 
 way. Du Breuil looked pityingly at the miserable waggon, all 
 shattered and encrusted with dirt, and its spectral team. All 
 at once he shivered as if struck to the heart. 
 
 A hoarse voice, sounding old, sarcastic, and desperate, cried : 
 
 ' We are sold !' 
 
 Oh, how true that cry was now ! It seemed to him that 
 it burst from a thousand tongues, extending far on the lips of 
 each Zouave. 'We are sold! we are sold!' thought every 
 man. In the empty vehicle which brushed past him, Du 
 Breuil recognised Forbach's memorable parrot perched on a 
 case of brandy. How had he drifted there ? Bristling with 
 rage, the bird flapped its wings, and in a strident scream 
 repeated : 
 
 25—2 
 
388 THE DISASTER 
 
 * We are sold !' 
 
 Du Breuil remembered the day when this strange prophet 
 of evil had uttered his first Avarnings. It was while leaving 
 Mdlle. Sorbet's house, after a visit to Judin. Vedel was with 
 him. . . . How indignantly they had repudiated such a foul 
 slander, such blasphemy ! But now the ignoble brute was 
 right. Du Breuil felt humiliated and irritable. He looked at 
 the parrot hatefully. The bird, seeing itself noticed, blinked 
 its eyes mockingly under their horny lids. He raised in turn 
 each of his scaly, thick-jointed claws, sharpened his beak on 
 the side of the case, then, with sudden earnestness, called 
 out : 
 
 *To Berlin! to Berlin !' 
 
 Laughter arose — laughter in which sobbed all the illusions 
 of the past. Every man felt that this parody of human 
 speech, solemn in its oddity, re-echoed his own accents. 
 With cruel preciseness, the portrait developed out of the 
 caricature. Some rowdies shouted in tones whose gaiety was 
 painful : 
 
 * Passengers for Berlin, please take your seats ! Passengers 
 for the Rhine, hurry up !' 
 
 Excited by the noise, the parrot began humming jumbled 
 songs, snatches of tunes that tailed on ludicrously, ending in 
 hoarse gurgles. Then he softened his voice, and asked, in 
 mincing, old maid's accents : ' Have you had a good breakfast, 
 Jacky?' continuing without a break, in sonorous growls: 
 ' Shoulder-r-r ar-rms ! Pr-resent ar-rms ! Vive Bazaine ! 
 Rub-a-dub, dub, dub. . . .' 
 
 Murmuring arose, and groans. At the grotesque command, 
 some of the bronzed Zouave faces became pale. . . . Their 
 arms ? They were far away ! . . . 
 
 'Silence, Bazaine!' muttered an old corporal covered with 
 medals. And the bird, intoxicated by its noise, only put on 
 extra energy : 
 
 ' Shoulder-r ar-rms ! . . . Pr-resent ar-rms !' 
 
 In vain the canteen driver tried to quiet it. The ironical 
 voice continued without cessation : 
 
 * R-rub-a-dub, r-rub-a-dub, dub ! Shoulder-r ar-rms ! . . . 
 Pr-resent ar-rms !' 
 
 All together, the disarmed soldiers yelled furiously : ' Make 
 him shut up ! Kill him ! Stop, or I'll strangle you !' 
 
 A veteran, in a hurry to carry out his threat, made a bound 
 on to the vehicle. Instinctively the crazy bird jumped off, 
 
THE DISASTER 389 
 
 landing on the horses, flapping his wings. A broken waggon 
 sticking out of the ditch attracted him. The parrot ahghted 
 on it, and, reaUzing his danger, proceeded to sing all the more 
 lustily, out of sheer bravado. His whole repertory burst out 
 afresh, in confused remembrance. He trilled it like a string of 
 ghastly beads, in which the voices of his different owners came 
 out in ridiculous, pitiful juxtaposition. Despite the outstretched 
 hands and rush of angry Zouaves, he warbled blindly on : 
 
 ' Have you seen the moon, my love ? . . . Scr-ratch ! 
 scr-ratch ! . . . I've got some baccy, but you shan't get . . . 
 You rascal ! . . . 'Tention ! Pr-resent ! Fire ! . . .' 
 
 The bemedalled corporal seized him by a claw. A cutting 
 stroke of the beak made him leave hold. The clumsy bird was 
 escaping. Seized again by a dozen hands, he jerked out in a 
 feathery spasm, as his neck was being wrung, a final : ' To 
 Ber-rl ' which expired in a quack. 
 
 The column resumed its march. Pursued by the vision of 
 this dead thing, now a ruffle of green feathers mixed with mud, 
 Du Breuil walked quickly across the road. He felt mortified, 
 as if summary execution had been meted to a portion of him- 
 self, to some of the thoughts and longings they all shared, by 
 the stifling of this voice of grotesque similarity. 
 
 Behind him artillerymen were now passing. At the thought 
 of D'Avol, his hatred was aroused. He overcame an impulse 
 to look back. Perhaps Jacques had managed to cut through, 
 after all. A wave of envious dislike passed over him. He 
 looked round. The gunners were in the distance, cavalry was 
 going by. From afar he could recognise through the curtain 
 of rain the swaggering gait of heavy carabineers and cuirassiers 
 under their red cloaks. Then came what were once the white 
 cloaks of the Empress's Dragoons. Suddenly his eyes clouded. 
 A sky-blue tunic among other white cloaks disclosed to him 
 the Lancers of the Guard. The memory of Lacoste over- 
 powered him. He hungrily watched the passage of these men, 
 among whom his friend had lived. In that strapping fellovv 
 with the jacket, who had attracted his notice, he fancied he 
 recognised old Saint-Paul, hobbling along. . . . Again he 
 saw the old warrior galloping, lance in hand, to the rescue of 
 his Captain, and scattering Legrand's murderous dragoons ! 
 And Du Breuil recalled the vision of the Yron plateau, the 
 whirlwind of yells and dust, and Lacoste cut to pieces by 
 French sabres. His eyes filled with tears. The Chasseurs 
 and Guides were still defiling:. 
 
390 THE DISASTER 
 
 He recovered himself, and went on his way. Just as he was 
 nearing the Porte de France a cannon-shot burst from Fort 
 Saint-Quentin. Mid-day ! Through the silence waves of sound, 
 re-echoing back, shivered and died away. Du Breuil had 
 been startled, accustomed for three days past to this oppressive 
 silence, which had fallen from the stilled forts like a leaden 
 sheet over the city and cantonments. Instinctively, he turned 
 his gaze towards Saint-Quentin, and, despite the distance, he 
 divined rather than saw the final manoeuvre A flag was 
 being lowered, and another hoisted in its place. Metz lay 
 under German colours. France had just lost an army of 
 173,000 men, including 3 Field-Marshals, 6,000 officers, 41 
 eagles, 1,407 cannon, and 300,000 rifles, in addition to vast 
 material of war. 
 
 He crossed the outworks of the gate and traversed the old 
 fortifications, the drawbridge over the moats filled with water, 
 and the heavy ramparts. The city could only be entered by a 
 narrow passage between the walls of two bastions. In a 
 sentry-box he caught sight of the spiked helmet and rifle of a 
 hostile sentinel. There was nothing for it but to choke down 
 shame and pass before the fellow's insolent stare. 
 
 The Rue de Paris was empty. Not a soul on the Pont des 
 Morts or the Moyen Pont. The Moselle rolled its torrent of 
 yellowish water, over which the rain was knitting its threads. 
 As he went along he felt the silence of the last few days weigh 
 more heavily. Broken for an instant by the gun-fire, its broad 
 sheet extended more oppressively. Shops all closed and 
 windows shuttered. Here and there a woman in 
 walking fast. 
 
 Mechanically he followed the road to the Place d'Armes. 
 A detachment of the 14th Infantry Regiment was occupying it. 
 Between the two great stone trophies, Fabert, in his shroud of 
 crape, rendered adherent by the rain, seemed to be in fixed 
 contemplation of the sombre dress and low helmets of the 
 Prussian advance guard. Du Breuil hastily drew back. 
 He wandered long through the half-deserted streets, where 
 only such inhabitants as were compelled, and a few women 
 carrying tricolour ribbons on their black bodices, could be seen. 
 The rain still fell. He had lost all count of time. 
 
 All at once came the sound of harsh music in the distance, 
 coming in the direction of the Rue Serpenoise. German 
 faces were already to be seen, a motley throng of Jews, 
 officials, and doctors. Grating foreign accents broke on the 
 
THE DISASTER 391 
 
 ears. Multiplied a hundredfold, he recognised the typical 
 features of the Enemy— hard blue eyes, red complexion, and 
 tawny beard. He was surprised to be rubbing shoulders 
 peacefully with men whom yesterday he would have been 
 obliged to kill. His powerlessness revived his hate. He paled 
 with suffering at the thought of meeting Baron von Hacks, 
 and reading in his eyes, as at the hand-to-hand fight of Rezon- 
 ville, a look of mingled irony, of sardonic politeness. The 
 noise of fanfares increased. Dishevelled wenches were rushing 
 to meet the conquerors. He followed them. On the Place 
 Royale, before the statue of Marshal Ney, he saw a Prussian 
 regiment march past, colours flying, to the sound of fife and 
 drum. 
 
 This strident noise was insufferable after the days of mortal 
 silence. He wanted to rush away. Squadrons blocked the 
 road. Just then a gigantic Cuirassier of the Guard came out of 
 a house. It was Major Couchorte, in full uniform. He came 
 forward, his arms crossed and head erect. His cheeks were 
 suffused with blood. He glared fiercely around. At the sight 
 of this man in the transports of heroic madness, the German 
 ranks opened to let him pass, and their commander, affected 
 by so much suffering, lowered his sw^ord in salute. 
 
 Du Breuil made off through the Rue de I'Esplanade. He 
 encountered more regiments. Trousers tucked into their boots, 
 and their necks gripped in the stiff collar, the ponderous 
 infantrymen walked in stiff, rhythmic cadence. They advanced 
 in a mass, with one movement. With the heavy tread of 
 their heels on the pavement, they seemed to be trampling on 
 Metz. Bands began playing everywhere, making brazen 
 announcement of victory to the four corners of the town. 
 And Du Breuil, like a hunted animal, felt the deafening 
 sound overpower him, struck to the depths of his soul by the 
 triumphal tally-ho ! of the fifes and drums. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 On Sunday, the 30th, he awoke at the Bersheims', in a small 
 room which was prolific in memories. It was here that D'Avol, 
 wounded, had vented his rancour. It was in the same bed 
 that D'Avol had lain. He opened the door ; pale faces were 
 slumbering restlessly on the couches in the large room 
 which served as a hospital. Du Breuil's thoughts were 
 
392 THE DISASTER 
 
 troubled and doleful. Rain blurred the window-panes. He 
 dressed quickly, and went out on tiptoe through the room 
 where the wounded lay. One of them turned in his sleep, 
 another was moaning. Du Breuil came to the entrance hall. 
 Lisbeth was sweeping, her eyes red and swollen. She insisted 
 that he should take a cup of coffee. No, he would not. 
 ' Is there any news of Bersheim ?' 
 
 * No ; master has not returned. Neither has Thibaut. If 
 something should have happened to them ! . . / 
 
 'And the little girl ?' 
 
 'She is delirious. Sang all night through. Her mother 
 knows nothing, fortunately. She is so taken up with the 
 baby.' 
 
 In saying this, Lisbeth smiled in spite of her grief. 
 
 * Didn't you hear anything, sir ? The pains set in at two in 
 the morning. At four o'clock she gave birth to a little boy, 
 rather delicate, but lively enough, all the same. He has done 
 nothing but cry. Mme. Sophia and Madame passed the night 
 together. They are in a great state because master does not 
 return.' 
 
 Du Breuil went out. In the yard were three stacks of 
 Dreysse rifles. And from the outhouses came the hubbub of 
 guttural breathing. He looked in : stretched on the straw in 
 two bare chambers were soldiers of the Landwehr, packed 
 closely, snoring. Stupefaction came over him at the sound. 
 He trembled with shame at the brutal violation of it : Metz 
 awaking a German city ! And the Thibauts' little girl was 
 probably on her death-bed. Another child had just been born. 
 Its mournful whinings had followed, only by a few hours, the 
 turmoil of fife and drum. Nothing had changed. Death and 
 life, joy and pain, continued on. And they were the same 
 pavements, the same streets, the same rain. . . . Ownerless 
 horses wandered about, driven from their stables overnight to 
 make room for the horses of the conqueror. At the Porte de 
 France two Prussian sentries mounted guard, smoking cigars. 
 By the roadside lay a dead horse between the shafts of a small 
 cart — a ghastly heap, torn in places. Bodies of horses were 
 lying everywhere, producing evil smells. In the gutters was 
 a jumble of thousands of arms, broken drums, and bundles of 
 cartridges. The camp appeared to be one mass of refuse, 
 offal, discarded effects, rotting canvas — a dung-heap, a charnel- 
 house. Yellow leaves whirled beneath the lowering sky. 
 
 The Ban Saint- Martin was still encumbered with the sQme 
 
THE DISASTER 393 
 
 vast quantity of stores, waiting to be delivered ; waggons piled 
 in inextricable confusion ; horses fastened to them for the last 
 twenty-four hours, all harnessed and saddled, dying of hunger. 
 Those that had broken their halters were pattering about in 
 the slime. Countrymen, horse-dealers, and soldiers foraged 
 around, picking out all but the worst. A spectral gelding 
 tumbled into a ditch full of water near Du Breuil, had not the 
 strength to rise, and died. ... At last, at last, this night- 
 mare was going to end. Du Breuil reached Mme. Guimbail's 
 little house. A yellowish light shone from Restaud's window. 
 It was to see him that Du Breuil had come back, feeling 
 desperate need of shaking the hand of a brave and loyal 
 comrade. What a silence in the little house ! . . . The door 
 had yielded to his touch. No one to show him in. He went 
 upstairs, filled with evil forebodings. A ghostly figure rose 
 before him : it was Mme. Guimbail, with pale and sorrowful 
 visage, faltering in her black dress as though she would faint. 
 She pointed to Restaud's room without speaking. The 
 door was open. Two candles burned in the sickly daylight. 
 Restaud lay stretched on his bed, his tunic open, and shirt all 
 blood-stained, revealing a reddish hole on the left breast. 
 They had removed the regulation revolver from his tightened 
 clasp. Restaud had shot himself with a bullet through the 
 heart. He left a letter on the table. And Du Breuil, with 
 clouded eyes, stiffening himself in agony not to burst into sobs, 
 read the final farewell, biting his lips till they bled : 
 
 * My dear Du Breuil, 
 
 ' Up to the last minute I did what I thought was my 
 duty : I remained at my post. As a soldier I submitted to, 
 and endured, that which I could not prevent. I set an 
 example of discipline and resignation. I thought God would 
 give me strength to go to the end. I made a mistake ; I could 
 not bear so much shame. I prefer to die. I hope, dear friend, 
 that you will be stronger than I, for my principles, my whole 
 life, condemn my weakness, and I die in despair. . . .' 
 
 He could not read further. Restaud spoke of his mother 
 and sisters, confiding to him the task of telling them some 
 day what were his last thoughts and dying remembrance. 
 Unhappy man ! These dear ones had not kept him back. . . . 
 He had lain down on his Calvary, crushed by his cross. The 
 sacrifice had been beyond his strength. And Du Breuil 
 
394 THE DISASTER 
 
 thought with hatred of the impious chief who would have to 
 answer for all this suffering, all these dead ! He cursed him 
 from the bottom of his heart, the senseless scoundrel, mur- 
 derer of his army and murderer of France ! He listened with 
 throbbing temples to the stories of Frisch and of Mme. 
 Guimbail. The orderly, good fellow, was quite broken up. 
 
 ^ It was yesterday evening, sir, that T told him the 
 Prussians were entering Longueville, occupying the houses. 
 He said to me, ''All right!" and shut himself up till nine 
 o'clock in the evening.' 
 
 ' I knocked several times,' went on Mme. Guimbail. * It 
 made me anxious that he did not wish to have dinner. All at 
 once Jubault rushes upstairs, crying : *' The Prussians are 
 coming here !" . . . Five seconds — yes, five seconds more, 
 and I hear an explosion. Frisch and Jubault got quite pale. 
 I leant against the wall to save myself from falling. We all 
 had a presentiment of what had happened. . . .' 
 
 And then the rest : the door burst open, no doctor to be 
 found, no one at the general staff, and the dead-watchers softly 
 coming and going through the silent hours of the night. Du 
 Breuil could Hsten no longer. The mention of presentiment 
 pursued his mind, besetting him with vague remorse. ' Restaud 
 is asleep,' he had thought the other night, after knocking vainly 
 at the partition wall. He could now picture his dreadful 
 insomnia, the staring eyes, and chin resting on his clenched 
 hands. . . . What torture the idea of suicide must have 
 meant ! Boldly faced, confronted with reason, dispersed, yet 
 ever returning, till it had driven its poisoned shaft deep into 
 the brain of this man who was so brave, so loyal, so pure. . . . 
 Yet supposing Du Breuil had insisted ! If he had forced the 
 privacy of this chamber, had compelled Restaud to open, to 
 speak, to argue ! . . . Who knows if he might not have saved 
 him from death ? He remembered Restaud fiercely tearing 
 out the page of the register, submissively rendering himself an 
 accomplice in what was very much like a criminal act. That 
 was what had finished him. Then Changarnier's words, re- 
 peated by Charlys ! . . . 
 
 * Let the army perish rather than save itself at the loss of 
 discipline.' 
 
 They had pushed Restaud's hesitating soul into the abyss. 
 They had pronounced the verdict, and written the fatal decree 
 in his blood. 
 
 Du Breuil performed the last sad rites. His hands were 
 
THE DISASTER 395 
 
 trembling. With Frisch's help, he laid the body out, clothing 
 Restaud in full uniform. He kept a medal which his friend 
 wore, and cut a lock of his hair. Then he kissed the pale 
 forehead, and went away to arrange for the funeral. Would 
 he find a priest to bury the suicide ? Formalities and declara- 
 tions were necessary, for even at this hour the conqueror was 
 laying his heavy hand everywhere. Du Breuil was saddened 
 to think of how little account was this death. So many other 
 preoccupations abounded. There was the herding of innumer- 
 able starving prisoners, the garrisoning and revictualling of 
 Metz, the influx of strangers with their harsh, guttural tongue, 
 and, behind the armed throng, all that followed in its wake : 
 officials, barterers, Jews — an avalanche in which Du Breuil 
 was tossed about unceasingly. By good fortune, he met a 
 rugged, jovial face — the Abbe Trudaine, who, with cassock 
 lifted over his ankles, was vainly seeking a conveyance to take 
 him to Ars. He consented to help Du Breuil out of his diffi- 
 culty, making a sad gesture, and murmuring : ' Poor fellow ! 
 God will have mercy on him. He must have suffered so 
 much !' Then, kindly and simply : 
 
 ' You may count on me. Major. I will say mass for your 
 friend. He shall have Christian burial, I'll answer for it. In 
 such an hour as this, we can only have humble thoughts.' 
 But suddenly his eyes flamed out, and he waved his knotty 
 stick. * There is only one man here who deserves no pity ; it 
 is the Judas who betrayed us.' He poured out a stream of 
 execration against Bazaine in the blunt speech of one ac- 
 customed to hear soldiers' confessions. * The Prussians them- 
 selves,' said he, * have admitted the man's treachery.' 
 
 He accompanied Du Breuil to Mme. Guimbail's. There a 
 little old man, who had heard of the death, saluted him. It 
 was M. Poiret, and behind him stood Mme. Poiret. They had 
 come to help Mme. Guimbail in her trouble. 
 
 ' Will you believe me now. Major,' said the old fellow, in his 
 piping voice, ' when I assure you that Bazaine used to go and 
 confer with Frederick Charles ? . . . Houzelle, the game- 
 keeper, and many others, have seen him.' 
 
 He lowered his voice (his wife was pulling him by the sleeve), 
 and ofl"ered to find a joiner for the coffin. The Abbe Trudaine 
 was already beside the dead body, praying. 
 
 Du Breuil went out with M. Poiret. The latter, drawing 
 himself up revengefully, held forth : 
 
 * The captain of a sinking ship is last to leave. Bazaine 
 
396 THE DISASTER 
 
 saved himself first. But he is already suffering for his crimes. 
 . . . Frederick Charles gave him a taste of shame yesterday 
 morning. There was no longer any need to deal gently, so the 
 Prince refused to receive him before five o'clock. The traitor 
 had to pass the day at Moulins, in the house where he stopped 
 after Borny. He was victorious that evening, and commanded 
 the finest army in France. . . . What a reversion with the 
 past ! what humiliation, if he only understood it ! They tell 
 me his eyes were full of tears as he looked at the Grenadiers of 
 his escort. That did not prevent him eating an omelette. At 
 four o'clock he drove on in his carriage. When passing through 
 Ars, the people recognised and followed him with groans and 
 hisses. The carriage windows were smashed w^ith stones, and 
 women fiung mud over him.' 
 
 Du Breuil bent his head. The old man's chirping tones 
 were unbearable. It seemed as if all these reproaches re- 
 bounded on himself. Why should he feel guilty if his con- 
 science uttered no reproach ? 
 
 He left M. Poiret and returned into town. The lifeless 
 image of Restaud haunted him. There was such grave peace 
 on those features, as if in death alone he had found perfect 
 content. Then again he saw Restaud full of life and ardent 
 faith, his eyes burning with feverish light. He compared the 
 two visions, and could not believe the sad thing that had 
 happened. Restaud was not dead ; that could not be ! . . . 
 He mused : ' Here am I, alive, coming and going. It is I, the 
 unsubmissive one, who passively accept the laws of fate. And 
 Restaud, the resigned, Restaud, w^ho was my example, is no 
 more.' 
 
 Respect for discipline — a courageous life was his, yet death 
 had breathed into his soul. Even this suicide, which seemed 
 to have belied a strong, determined career, did not belittle his 
 friend. It only bore out the great law of humanity — the law 
 of sacrifice, sterile for the one who conceives it, but fruitful 
 for others. . . . But D'Avol's visage arose in his mind, rigid 
 with insult and irony. . . . What had become of him, that 
 man Jacques whom he had loved even while hating him, and 
 whom he now detested with all the strength of his former 
 affection ? Had he kept his purpose ? Had he really passed 
 the enemy's lines ? And the others — Barrus, Carrouge — all 
 those who had become desperate at the last hour, driven along 
 by one idea of escape ? 
 
 He followed the old, familiar road. A battlefield quivering 
 
THE DISASTER 397 
 
 with ravens was not so loathsome as this foetid mass of mud 
 and carrion, remnants of dead horses, and heaps of swollen 
 intestines. . . . Passing the Porte de France, he saw on the 
 ramparts a trio of Prussian artillery officers busy examining a 
 gun in its embrasure. In Metz the scene was no less doleful : 
 women in mourning, shops closed, the narrow streets full of 
 people, disbanded soldiers carrying their little sackful under 
 their arms, townspeople at the windows and doors, Prussians 
 everywhere. Victors and vanquished walked side by side, in 
 proximity, without intermingling. A poor, humble face turned 
 aside as he passed. He saw it was Mdlle. Sorbet, the old maid 
 whose devoted care had saved Judin from dying. 
 
 * Ah, mademoiselle!' he said, quite overcome. She recog- 
 nised him and bent her head. Her smile was sadder than 
 tears. A few faltering, confused words passed between them, 
 then she let down her veil and went away, her Prayer-Book 
 under her arm. She could pray, at least, seeking refuge at the 
 feet of a merciful God ! 
 
 The eternal fanfare resounded. German troops came past. 
 The bandsmen in front beat their flat drums, while some of 
 the soldiers were executing grotesque dances. The men looked 
 well fed and cared for. They turned curiously at the pale, 
 emaciated French officers whom they met. On such occasions 
 their officers looked another way. Behind the last file there 
 arose a scramble. It was over a cart filled with salt. People 
 ate it by handfuls. 
 
 Waggons containing French soldier-prisoners now followed 
 in succession. They were being brought up in loads from their 
 cantonments, where they were dying of cold and hunger. 
 Many of them, thoroughly emaciated, rolled their eyes listlessly ; 
 others, quite stiff, had died on the way. An old Captain, who 
 was going into a house with the help of crutches, said indig- 
 nantly to Du Breuil : 
 
 ' So many the less to transport into Germany ! Those poor 
 fellows have not eaten for two days. . . .' 
 
 He pointed to some artillery tumbrels that were being driven 
 by German horses and gunners. 
 
 'Do you recognise them?' he said. 'They are our own. 
 They will be sent on to Thionville. Our artillery, just think 
 of it, serving to bombard a French town ! . . . Oh, Bazaine ! 
 Bazaine ! . . .' 
 
 A woman wrapped in cashmere, a Jewess's black scalp-cap 
 encircling her brow, passed them. She was leading two 
 
398 THE DISASTER 
 
 children, almost albinos. Du Breuil recognised Gugl's wife. 
 There were some German Jews with her. They talked in 
 loud tones, with an arrogant air, looking disdainfully at the 
 officers. Mme. Gugl cast an exulting glance at Du Breuil. 
 
 'That riff-raff swarms at present !' said the old officer. 
 * Yesterday some of the enemy's waggons came into town 
 bringing quantities of bread, wine, meat, eggs, butter and milk. 
 Would you believe it, these Shy locks wanted to buy up every- 
 thing so as to sell at a big profit ! The enemy would have 
 none of their sordid offers, and the provisions have been dis- 
 tributed all round at fair prices.' 
 
 ' Oh,' he went on, ' these Prussians know what organization 
 is ! Prisons, police, street-cleaning, they have taken hold of 
 every department. Their officials are already at work every- 
 where. General von Kummer is the Governor of Metz. 
 Have you seen his proclamation ? He's a man that won't be 
 trifled with ! At the divisional headquarters, a German officer, 
 speaking French, distributes road-passes. . . . And their 
 spies,' he added, looking squarely at an individual who was 
 listening to them, ' they are everywhere ! Poor Strasburg ! 
 poor Metz ! They will never give them back !' 
 
 A Prussian officer, whose passage was blocked by the old 
 man's crutch, turned aside with a polite salute. 
 
 * They are courteous enough, for all that ! . . . Another 
 military band ! They are crossing Metz in every direction, 
 taking the Paris, Orleans, and Amiens roads. The capitula- 
 tion of Metz was all they awaited in order to fall upon our poor 
 comrades ! Oh, Bazaine ! Bazaine ! . . .' 
 
 A fit of coughing interrupted him, swelling the veins in his 
 neck. He retired into the house. 
 
 * Pierre !' 
 
 * Maxime !' 
 
 A trunk at his feet, Vicomte Judin was passing in a car- 
 riage. He ordered his driver to stop, and called out joyously : 
 
 * What luck to shake hands with you again ! No more 
 army — no more headquarters staff or anything ! . . . Didn't 
 know where to find you in this hurly-burly. ... I am going 
 back to France : is there anything you would like done ?' 
 
 ' No, thanks. I have written a long letter to my father, and 
 no doubt he will get it.' 
 
 A question rose to Judin's lips. He was thinking of T^Ime. 
 de Guionic. Out of delicacy he refrained. But giving vent to 
 their mutual thoughts, he went on : 
 
THE DISASTER 399 
 
 * How awfully long it has seemed ! Three months ? No, 
 three centuries ! . . . Do you know you are getting gray, 
 Pierre ? And many others have become white-haired ! As 
 for me, I shall go back a cripple. Will the pretty girls 
 recognise us ? . . . Our friends at the club must have for- 
 gotten our existence.' 
 
 He tried to smile, but his heart was not in it. Du Breuil 
 shook his head : 
 
 ' All that is far away.' 
 
 ' Yes, such is my impression. What changes . . . another 
 Government, another France ! Habits and customs, nothing 
 remains of what we left behind. . . .' 
 
 * The past is dead,' responded Du Breuil. ' We must heal 
 our wounds, and get some fresh blood into us.' 
 
 * It will take long !' sighed Judin. 
 
 They were silent. Of course it would take long ; but 
 France was still standing, though wounded, amputated, and 
 bleeding, and her perennial vigour palpitated even at this 
 moment in her solitary armies, in the strong heart of Paris — of 
 Paris which ever held out, of Paris whom all had unjustly 
 doubted. 
 
 * I am going to take the train at Ars,' said Judin. * The 
 Prussians turned me out of my hotel. They are selecting the 
 best for their quarters. It's the Hotel de I'Europe that the 
 Governor von Kummer and his staff have chosen.' 
 
 The Hotel de I'Europe ! What a bustle there was at that 
 place when the war broke out ! Du Breuil called to mind the 
 little drawing-room on the first-floor, in which thirty officers 
 of the great French general staff scribbled, gossiped, and 
 laughed, doors banging and windows open, amidst a continuous 
 stream of inquirers and journalists. Judin said : 
 
 * I went there yesterday for my passport. Two sentries at 
 the gate, two others at the foot of the stairs. Courtyard 
 empty, an icy stillness ! Oh ! The cold-blooded precision, 
 the polite stiffness of the officer on duty, brr — ! . . .' 
 
 He pretended to shiver. Du Breuil's thoughts went to 
 Restaud. He said sadly : 
 
 * Well, good-bye, old friend ! I hope we shall meet again 
 soon !' 
 
 ' Don't lose heart,' responded Judin. ' Do you know where 
 you will be sent into captivity ?' 
 ' Mayence, I think. . . .' 
 They embraced. Judin waved his hat as the carriage was 
 
400 THE DISASTER 
 
 disappearing. Du Breuil thought enviously : * Happy man to 
 be able to leave !' A hand rested on his shoulder : it was 
 Laune, looking ghastly pale, his dry features convulsed, but 
 spick and span as ever. 
 
 * Do you know what has become of Colonel Charlys ?' he 
 asked anxiously. 
 
 * No, Colonel.' 
 
 * He surely cannot have gone ? I refuse to believe, although 
 they assure me of it, that he went with Carrouge, Barrus, and 
 the other hot-heads. . . .' 
 
 Du Breuil did not think so. Charlys had disapproved of 
 any such sortie. Laune breathed again. Beneath his icy 
 exterior there lurked an affection for Charlys. His anxiety 
 showed it. 
 
 ' Our duty now,' he declared, ' is to submit !' 
 
 Duty ! Oh yes — always duty ! He also invoked duty. . . . 
 And no doubt he had a right to do so, never having failed 
 therein. But Restaud had died of it ! He told the news to 
 Laune, whose face, after a tremor of surprise, became hard and 
 severe : 
 
 * So much the worse,' he said ; ' it's sad !' 
 
 His tone said clearly, * It's culpable.' That was all Laune's 
 oration. The sortie made by the last ' piercers ' still worried 
 him, for he repeated : 
 
 ' They could not have got through. Orders were given to 
 stop them.' He looked at Du Breuil in sudden expansiveness. 
 * You were not present yesterday when General Jarras bade 
 farewell ?' 
 
 ' I had made my excuses to him, Colonel.' 
 
 ' There were some twenty-five of us, comrades in good and 
 evil fortune, around him,' said Laune. ' All the little jarrings 
 and difficulties of the office were forgotten. It is only right 
 to admit that General Jarras's task was an ungrateful one. 
 He tried to say a few farewell words, but emotion over- 
 powered him. Silently he shook each of us by the hand, and 
 then we were dismissed.' 
 
 Laune's steely eyes dimmed with sudden moisure. But 
 he recovered himself, and with a handshake left Du Breuil. 
 
 They were all in a state of anxiety at the Bersheims'. Sohier, 
 who tended a wounded man, was casting frequent glances into 
 the courtyard, which the Germans were at that moment 
 leaving. In the drawing-room Du Breuil found Grandmother 
 Sophia, Anine, and Maurice. Mme. Bersheim had withdrawn 
 
THE DISASTER 401 
 
 to her room to pray. Her husband should have been back 
 long ago. He had left yesterday with Thibaut, for his farm 
 at Noisseville, wishing, as he put it, to ascertain the damages. 
 They could not account for his continued absence. Had 
 the Prussians arrested him ? Or were they detaining him 
 as a hostage ? Von Rummer's proclamation threatened 
 summary justice to anyone who might be obnoxious to the 
 Germans. . . . 
 
 Quaking with fever, Maurice sat by the fireside, staring 
 fixedly at the embers. He narrated to Du Breuil the story 
 of the mixed brigade's surrender. 
 
 * Lapasset,' he said proudly, ' came with us as far as the 
 outposts. You should have heard the simple, hearty words 
 he spoke. . . . When the leave-taking came all the soldiers 
 were in tears. They could not tear themselves away from us.' 
 
 He described his return through the empty, silent canton- 
 ments, the solitude caused by the departure of all these men, 
 who had left nothing but traces of dirt behind, remembrance 
 of their past misery. 
 
 Du Breuil, overcome by lassitude, took refuge at the other 
 end of the drawing-room, where he proceeded to tell Anine 
 of Restaud's death. She listened with deep compassion, and, 
 seeing him disheartened, said gently : 
 
 * Duty that we may not have strength to fulfil, is duty, none 
 the less. Despite his sufferings, your friend Restaud did not 
 lose sight of the promised land. Let us pity him that could 
 not enter !' 
 
 She added : 
 
 ' Thibaut's little girl is very bad. Think of the poor man's 
 grief when he returns ! . . . Will you come and see her ?' 
 
 Du Breuil followed. In a side-room, on a snow-white bed, 
 the child lay, encircled by her blond hair, her eyes closed, 
 her mouth and nose wearing a pinched look. The brother, 
 although forbidden to come, had slipped in, and was then 
 beside her, his eyes wide open with silent terror, listening to 
 that soft, prolonged rattle. Anine crossed herself. Du Breuil 
 felt faint at the sight of this childish innocence sacrificed to 
 war, dying of the poisoned air of a besieged city. He longed 
 to lose all feeling, to suffer no more, to be non-existent. 
 Mechanically he stepped after Anine into Bersheim's study. 
 There they were alone, and she said in a low voice : 
 
 * D'Avol came to bid good-bye the day before yesterday. 
 He rode off in full uniform. Could he have passed through ? 
 
 26 
 
402 THE DISASTER 
 
 I doubt it. His demeanour made me anxious. He seemed 
 ready to dare anything.' 
 
 * Yes,* said Du Breuil bitterly, * anything ! By his insults 
 he severed the last ties which bound me to him. My friend 
 Lacoste died first, then Restaud — D'Avol is nothing more 
 than a stranger to me. I am alone in this scattered army, in 
 this place.' 
 
 Anine took his hand. 
 
 * Don't say that ; it is unjust.' 
 Her smile, her look, told the rest. 
 
 ' Anine,' he murmured, tender hopes struggling with doubt 
 in his heart, * can it be true ! . . . You feel for me ; you have 
 some regard for me ?' 
 
 He pressed her hand with fervour. She whispered : 
 
 * I suffer with you, dear friend. So many things are clear 
 to me now !' 
 
 ' Oh, how good you are !' he replied fervently. 
 She read the avowal on his lips, in his look. Beseechingly, 
 she stopped it : 
 
 * No, dear friend, we do not belong to ourselves at present ; 
 we have not the right to think of ourselves ! . . . Later, 
 later. . . .' 
 
 * You are right, Anine. But moments are precious. Later — 
 when will that be ? Yet . . . But now I dare not utter the 
 word which burns my lips.' 
 
 * Why say it, friend ? My heart can hear.' 
 
 She became scarlet all at once, as if the heart's blood had 
 leapt to her face. Du Breuil gazed at her in sad enchant- 
 ment. 
 
 A carriage drove into the courtyard, its horse all sweltering. 
 Two men, whose faces glistened with fever, utterly exhausted, 
 got down. They were Bersheim and Thibaut. 
 
 ' Father !' 
 
 Bersheim was in Anine's arms. The three of them scanned 
 each other. 
 
 * D'Avol has escaped,' said Bersheim. * By this time he 
 must have reached the frontier !' 
 
 Du Breuil's heart beat as if it would burst. What ! D'Avol 
 had crossed the Prussian lines ! He could serve and fight 
 again ! . . . His thoughts were inflamed with jealousy and 
 hatred. Bersheim's story exalted and chilled him. D'Avol 
 had got away in a madcap fit of folly. . . . Followed by the 
 carriage, he went off through fields and forests. Fifteen miles 
 
THE DISASTER 403 
 
 from Metz, two Uhlans had stopped him, asking by what 
 authority he was thus taking his departure. In reply, D'Avol 
 handed one a printed form, and while the Prussian was trying 
 to read it, he pulled a pistol out of his holster and blew the 
 man's brains out. The other Uhlan ran away. D'Avol then, 
 putting spurs to his horse, rode on at full speed. . . . 
 
 The tragedy happened before Bersheim's eyes. Questioned 
 as to his delay, he explained that there had been an accident — 
 one of the wheels broke. They had to go back to Noisseville 
 to find a blacksmith. . . . Maurice came in, followed by 
 Mme. Bersheim, who flung herself on her husband's neck. 
 Under a storm of questions, he recounted afresh the story of 
 D'Avol's escape, which the young Subaltern heard with glisten- 
 ing eyes. Then Bersheim began complaining of the state in 
 which he had found his farm. Nothing was left but smoulder- 
 ing walls. Only one vision hauntingly pursued Du Breuil — 
 D'Avol as he split the Uhlan's skull and escaped ! From 
 envying him for his success, he hated him all the more. 
 
 In the drawing-room, so Lisbeth announced, were M. Krudger, 
 Sohier, Mme. Le Martrois, and Gustave, waiting. Bersheim 
 began to recite his troubles again. He spoke of the earth laid 
 waste, farm buildings ruined, the garden torn up, trees sawn 
 off at the roots, vineyards pillaged. There would be no harvest 
 for five or six years. All the wine in the cellars had been 
 drunk or wasted. Live stock, corn, forage, furniture, bedding, 
 all had disappeared in the systematic Prussian method of 
 destruction. . . . His resentment exhaled itself in bitter 
 words. While the carriage was being repaired at Noisseville, 
 he had gone in a peasant's cart to explore the neighbourhood, 
 wishing to assure himself of the existence of that threefold 
 girdle of hostile earthworks, the details and plans of which 
 Bazaine had purposely spread abroad. . . . But it proved 
 to be a wild-goose chase ! The famous batteries of Sainte- 
 Barbe turned out to be nothing more or less than a simple 
 trench. 
 
 M. Krudger smiled grimly. 
 
 • To the north-west of Metz, it appears that the Prussian 
 camps at Marange and Moyeuvre, and the batteries at F^ves 
 and Sem6court, have been abandoned for some time. As for 
 the north-east, my son yesterday saw what terrible earthworks 
 they were ! Just a pitiful intrenchment, not more than two 
 feet high. We have simply been played with all round ! No 
 more stores, they said. But the forts had their stock of pro- 
 
 26 — a 
 
404 THE DISASTER 
 
 visions ! At Plappeville it has been found that there were 
 quantities of barrels of salt pork, biscuits, bags of rice, coffee, 
 fodder, wine, and brandy. . . . And the cellars at the Engineers' 
 barracks contain large stores of pork !' 
 
 ' And did you know,' said Gustave Le Martrois, ' that at the 
 Ursulines, in the Rue Saint-Marcel, there are two hundred 
 and forty thousand metres of cloth and twenty-five thousand 
 pairs of boots ? They could have clothed and shod all those 
 poor soldiers, who still shiver and die in the cold and rain !' 
 
 Mme. Le Martrois spoke pityingly of the sufferings of the 
 soldiers and poor of Metz, and described with satisfaction all 
 the aid that was arriving from outside. Caravans of charitable 
 folk were swarming, German deaconesses, ladies' societies 
 from Belgium. Women of Metz hailed with delight these 
 sisters and brethren from foreign lands, from England, Holland, 
 and Luxemburg, who had come to help them in the relief of 
 so much misery. She went into raptures over an enormous 
 ambulance waggon drawn by four horses under the guidance of 
 a chief with flowing beard. 
 
 In the silence which followed Maurice's teeth could be heard 
 chattering. He sat doubled up near the fire. 
 
 * Come along, you come with me !' suddenly called out 
 Sohier, who had listened sombrely without a word. ' Come 
 with me, my boy ! A good bed at the hospital is better than 
 those plans of escape you are meditating !' 
 
 And repaid by a grateful look from Anine, who kissed her 
 brother, shrugging his shoulders at the superfluous recom- 
 mendations with which Bersheim followed him, Sohier led the 
 young Lieutenant away by the arm, with the same bullying 
 air as if he were taking him to the police-station. Du Breuil 
 went out with them. . . . Again there was the cold, the rain, 
 the darkness and mud, and the mournful return to the little 
 house, where two men were nailing Restaud in his coffin. 
 There was the last night-watch over the remains of his friend, 
 the making ready for exile. Breaking the stillness came the 
 occasional sound of a halter-chain and a horse kicking its 
 stall-bar. Cydalise was frisky again, eating away to her 
 heart's desire. . . . 
 
 Restaud's funeral took place in the morning. The worthy 
 priest kept his promise, and performed his sacred office. Mme. 
 Guimbail, the Poirets, and a few stray uniforms stood grouped 
 in the little church. Home again, Du Breuil took a general 
 look round — the simple furniture, the iron bedstead, on which 
 
THE DISASTER 405 
 
 he had passed so many feverish nights, the flowered wall-paper, 
 the belated calendar, still marking 28 : Prise de Berlin ! . . . 
 
 Never would he forget that little room ! . . . Going down 
 to take leave of Mme. Guimbail, he waited a long time in the 
 parlour. The furtive attentions of his hostess recurred to him, 
 with the idea that it had only rested with himself to find a 
 ready affection on her part. During the requiem he had 
 noticed that she avoided his gaze, keeping her eyes obstinately 
 on her Prayer-Book when she was not wiping the tears from 
 them. At last the door opened to admit the widow. She had 
 been to bathe her tear-stained face. Its emaciated pallor had 
 a delicate charm, which was reflected by the slender body in its 
 plain black dress. Du Breuil thought of this frail form suddenly 
 bending in his embrace, of the lips turning away in a half- 
 reciprocated kiss. He bowed, and in a few heartfelt words 
 thanked her for what she had done for Restaud and for him- 
 self. She listened in extreme agitation, flushed and pale by 
 turns. As he shook her hand, a thin, cold hand, rather red, 
 she uttered a little cry, and, rushing away, all in tears, 
 to the door, disappeared, leaving him with the soft, but some- 
 what ludicrous, memory of what might have been, if he had 
 wished. . . . 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 In Metz, Du Breuil came across Marquis. 
 
 ' Not at all surprising,' said that gossip, ' that Bazaine 
 should have turned traitor. Do you know what Germany 
 gave him ? Five millions. Sentence of death has been hang- 
 ing over him since October 20th. Bah ! he is taking away his 
 treasure. That will furnish him every delight at Cassel. It is 
 there that the Field-Marshals will go.' 
 
 Du Breuil inquired after Carrouge. 
 
 ' Carrouge ?' repeated Marquis. * He cut through the enemy's 
 lines with Barrus and seven hundred and thirty-three gunners.' 
 
 A long string of carts came by, loaded with boxes, beds, 
 and furniture. It was the exodus of the country people to 
 their ruined villages. They had flocked in before the siege, 
 fleeing before the invader ; now they were returning. Old 
 women propped on mattresses, and little children, gazed 
 around with astonished eyes. Du Breuil thought he knew 
 some faces : women and girls with features distorted by weep- 
 
4o6 THE DISASTER 
 
 ing, who looked at him as they passed, and sombre peasant 
 lads, who turned away their heads. The procession crept 
 along, broken at every step by market carts besieged by hungry 
 buyers or anxious housewives. Soldiers begged for bread ; 
 others, heavy with liquor, were cursing Bazaine while a couple 
 of Prussians led them away. The cartloads of red quilting, 
 cradles, and bedsteads still came on. Behind one of them, bare- 
 foot, a bundle at the end of a stick thrown over her shoulder, 
 marched a white-haired crone, one of the Pythonesses of the 
 highway. Here and there came gipsies with their waggons. 
 
 Suddenly one of the countrymen — a man in a blue smock, with 
 unkempt beard, and red bandanna round his neck — who was 
 whistling as he whipped up a sorry nag, looked at him with 
 curious eyes. Barrus! There were spies there, then — enemies. 
 . . . Barrus facetiously pulled off his cap to Du Breuil, and 
 went on his way, rolling his shoulders like a true carter. 
 
 ' But I know him,' lisped a very pretty woman, hanging on 
 the arm of her ruddy-faced escort. Mme. de Fontades had 
 caught sight of Du Breuil, and, drawing him closer with a 
 handshake, said : 
 
 ' Henri, this is M. Du Breuil. Is it not true. Major, that 
 man is M. Barrus? What a strange fellow! I know him 
 well, with his red Republican ideas !' 
 
 * My dear,' muttered her husband, with visible fright, * speak 
 lower. Do you want to get him arrested ?' 
 
 Her cheeks were aglow, and the eyes gleamed mischievously. 
 She persuaded Du Breuil to accompany them. 
 
 ' Do come ; we are going to have some tea !' 
 
 He owed her that much for the sake of the visit they had 
 paid together to poor Blache at Saint-Clement's college. 
 
 ' I will make you acquainted with my brother, who arrived 
 yesterday,' she added, ' and with whom we are leaving.' 
 
 M. de Fontades again grumbled to himself. But she un- 
 ceremoniously despatched him to buy some cakes, and took 
 Du Breuil's arm. She was in a joyous mood. It made him 
 feel his sorrow more beside this elegant, capricious woman. 
 
 * You do not know the Abbe ?' she resumed. ' He is charm- 
 ing !' And in the parlour, where she led Du Breuil : * Georges,' 
 she said, ' a friend.' 
 
 Looking slender in his fine cassock, a young, sleek-faced 
 man rose to meet them. He was smiling. It was by that 
 smile that Du Breuil, after a little hesitation, which greatly 
 amused Mme. de Fontades, recognised the priest. 
 
THE DISASTER 407 
 
 ' You !' he cried. He drew back so quickly that Decherac's 
 smile faded in uneasiness. ' How you have changed !' he said 
 at last. ' The epaulet suited you better.' 
 
 ' He is quite unrecognisable !' exclaimed Mme. de Fontades. 
 * Why, look, he is even tonsured !' 
 
 Without a moustache, Decherac's nose seemed to have 
 lengthened, and his chin become more projecting. He had 
 lost all semblance of martial looks. Du Breuil was shocked 
 at such a disguise. But since Restaud's death and the flight 
 of D'Avol, his judgment had become somewhat blunted. 
 Decherac got the benefit of this indulgent listlessness. But 
 his sensitive nature had felt the unvoiced aspersion ; and so, 
 resuming his confident air and smile, he said : 
 
 ' We have to get through as best we can. This dress does 
 honour to its wearer.' 
 
 To think that self-respecting people should be reduced to 
 such sophistry ! Well ! . . . What if he also thought it his 
 duty to escape, no matter how ; to go and take his place in the 
 ranks of the defenders ? . . . Was it possible in this chaos to 
 do otherwise than interpret duty according to one's convic- 
 tions ? . . . What an awful doubt if he, Du Breuil, should 
 have made a mistake! . . . M. de Fontades came in holding 
 a parcel tied with pink ribbon. 
 
 ' The French colours,' he said, with a satisfied air, ' still float 
 from the cathedral spire, making fun of the Prussians, who 
 gape up at them in disgust.' 
 
 Having drunk some tea, Du Breuil took leave. Despite the 
 kindness of his hosts, he had been unable to overcome his dis- 
 comfort, and Decherac's smile was still constrained. After all, 
 there would be some danger for him, especially with so com- 
 promising a guide as this pretty woman. Du Breuil thought 
 only of the cheery comrade who used to laugh when the bullets 
 were whistling. He gripped the disguised man's hand cor- 
 dially, and wished him good-luck with all his heart. They 
 had avoided the burning question of the hour, the departure 
 into captivity which was even then encumbering the railway- 
 station of Metz. A first convoy of five hundred general and 
 field officers had left two days previously. Another had been 
 timed to leave last night, and the next one, which started on 
 the morrow, would carry away Du Breuil with Frisch and 
 CydaUse. 
 
 Some feverish hours, a night broken with oppressive dreams, 
 and the time of departure for Germany at last came. An hour 
 
4o8 THE DISASTER 
 
 before the train left, Du Breuil was on the spot, obeying the 
 victors' orders. On the previous day a Prussian officer had 
 handed him his road - pass at the divisional headquarters. 
 Above the hubbub of a roomful of officers waiting there, irre- 
 spective of rank, the German had suddenly rapped his bony 
 fingers on the table, demanding silence. . . . He offered im- 
 mediate liberty to those who would give their parole not to 
 serve again while the war lasted. . . . An indignant murmur 
 was the only reply. Du Breuil vainly looked for V6del. He, 
 however, met La Manse, who told him the end of the Chasseurs 
 d'Afrique : 
 
 * We had halted by the roadside. A young officer of the 
 Prussian general staff came by, making his charger prance 
 and caracol to the top of his bent. The mud flew all over the 
 Chasseurs' uniforms. Complaints were heard, but he went on. 
 " Stop it !" cried a voice. He pretended not to hear. Then 
 they made one rush, and in the twinkling of an eye horse and 
 rider were swept into the ditch.' 
 
 Another incident came to Du Breuil's mind, a touching one 
 this time. Entering the noisy, encumbered room had come 
 those two inseparables. Colonel la Maisonval, hobbling as 
 usual, and Captain Laprune — Orestes and Pylades, as they 
 were called. The brave fellows wanted permission to join their 
 men. Du Breuil concluded that Vedel had done the same. 
 
 Just at this moment, while he was in the waiting-room at 
 the station, uniforms everywhere — Generals, Aides-de-camp, all 
 the chief personnel of the Army of the Rhine — Vcdel came up 
 to him, and in quiet tones replied to his questioning : 
 
 ' Why, of course, Pierre, I am going with my men. And I 
 am not the only one. Colonel Saussier with a thousand others 
 have refused to be prisoners on parole. We shall go to some 
 distant fortress. Well, we shall be able to take care of our 
 soldiers. With you it is different ; you have not the personal 
 responsibility of a regimental officer. You have only to do 
 w4th your superiors and yourself.' 
 
 In a voice struggling with emotion, he related the pitiful 
 ordeal of leading his company to the corral. 
 
 * If you had seen those brave fellows — old fighters w^io had 
 never flinched — marching with bent heads like a herd of sheep. 
 No ; I cannot tell you what I suffered, tramping alongside in 
 the mud. ... I fancied myself back in the ranks the day of 
 our retreat on Verdun. What dust ! . . . Then at Saint- 
 Privat — pretty warm work that was ! . . . On reaching the 
 
THE DISASTER 409 
 
 Chateau de Ladonchamps gate, we had to say good-bye. 
 What adieux !' 
 
 Du Breuil smiled sadly. 
 
 * Poor Casimir ! Do you remember the day you brought 
 those documents to the Ministry of War ?' 
 
 He thought of their meeting, and reproached himself for the 
 poor opinion he had then formed of his cousin. Later he had 
 learned to know and appreciate him. He no longer thought 
 him coarse, despite his thick hands and hob-nailed shoes. 
 
 ' What a lot of big epaulets !' said Vedel. 
 
 ' It's the train for Generals and the headquarters staff,' 
 replied Du Breuil. 
 
 And while he exchanged salutes, a feeling of bitterness came 
 over him to see them hurrying along — these men with energetic 
 features, some with white hair, some whose dry, tanned looks 
 marked the sprightly African warrior ; others stout and heavy, 
 as if fossilized by the cosy inertia of a provincial command, or 
 exhausted by society life — drawing-room officers, habitues of 
 the Opera. Those who had served in the cavalry could be 
 picked out by their brisk, decisive bearing, while the infantry 
 and staff generals were less wieldy. Surrounded by their 
 Aides-de-camp, who hovered about on the alert, all these chiefs, 
 whether old or young, wore, under their oak-leaf-embroidered 
 caps, the pride of command in their steely eyes. If some 
 stooped as if under the weight of a crushing burden, many, on 
 the other hand, stood erect, boldly facing the past, and thinking 
 of the future. Many had fulfilled their duty, and could boast 
 themselves free of reproach. Their frank, stern faces, crossed 
 with suffering and resignation, had that day an expression of 
 greater dignity than ever, coupled with the splendour that 
 comes from the soul. 
 
 In silence Du Breuil and Vedel regarded them, thinking of 
 a leader's duties, the terrible responsibility assumed by these 
 lords of the soldier's life and honour ! They recounted their 
 names as they passed, and their hearts warmed with the hope 
 that some of them one day, sooner or later, would lead them to 
 revenge. If they saw one of them compelled to approach the 
 Prussian officers who were arranging the departure, they were 
 sorry for him. Some held aloof, encircled by their Aides-de- 
 camp. Others were giving orders in a loud, imperious voice, 
 as if they were still in command. But, despite the endeavour 
 to remain dignified to the end, none could repress an occasional 
 look of fury, a laugh of despair. Boisjol saw Du Breuil, but 
 
410 THE DISASTER 
 
 turned his back. Chenot huddled his shoulders, wrapped in a 
 fur coat, his red neck gleaming over the collar. . . . Du Breuil 
 thought of all the missing ones who, at the outbreak of hostilities, 
 had formed part of the imperial general staff : Jaillant, Lebrun, 
 and others who were in captivity since Sedan fell.. . . And 
 when he came out on the platform and saw the immense 
 train of over fifty compartments and waggons coupled to two 
 locomotives, it reminded him of another sight ; the feverish 
 bustle of the crowd, with all its gold lace and crosses, amid 
 a constant rustling of heavy-bullioned epaulets, made him 
 think of the departure from the little station at Saint-Cloud 
 one summer day, of another train, of dark-green carriages with 
 a gilt N, bearing the Emperor and the Prince Imperial and 
 their escort of Generals and Aides-de-camp, and, along with 
 them, the destinies of the country, the fortunes of France ! 
 
 Where were they now, the destinies of the country, the 
 fortunes of France ? Who could distinguish them through 
 the gloom of this mournful autumn day ? . . . Generals and 
 Aides-de-camp piled into the gigantic train ; this time they 
 were not travelling to glory, but to exile and bondage, in the 
 bitterness of humiliation such as had not been seen. 
 
 Vedel smiled. 
 
 * Some third-class carriages ! You will have a seat, at all 
 events !' 
 
 Du Breuil understood ; the officers who came in the next 
 trains and the thousands of soldiers would have to journey in 
 goods or cattle waggons, exposed to all the inclemency of the 
 weather. 
 
 He had already shaken hands with Charlys and Laune, who 
 were taking places in front. 
 
 * Are you getting in with us ?' Laune had asked. 
 
 And Du Breuil reserved a seat by covering it with his cloak 
 and satchel. Around them there was a general rush. Horses 
 were being entrained amidst the bustle of orderlies. 
 
 ' We do not start for another hour,' said Massoli, coming up. 
 He looked twenty years younger, cleanly shaven, and his hair 
 shining like boot-blacking. Had they provisioned the Metz 
 hairdressers ? ' The Guards are awaiting their turn,' he said. 
 ' The officers have been standing in the rain for some hours 
 past.' He lowered his voice: 'Is there any news of Major 
 Leperche?' 
 
 Bourbaki's Aide-de-camp had determined to get away at all 
 hazards. 
 
THE DISASTER 411 
 
 ' And of Carrouge ?' 
 
 ' Carrouge ?' said Massoli, with satisfied irony ; * why, he is 
 there with his comrades ! He couldn't cross the lines, and 
 gave it up. That's wisest.' 
 
 Du Breuil set out to look for Carrouge. He found him 
 outside the station, trembling with rage, his arms crossed, 
 glaring fixedly at a sentry who formed part of the line of 
 surveillance. 
 
 ' Would you believe it ?' he murmured. ' Those brutes have 
 just loaded their rifles before us, just as if we were convicts !' 
 He added : * I didn't get through. Wandered about all Friday 
 night, and stumbled against the French outposts. They kept 
 me under guard, and brought me back to camp. I hope 
 Leperche was more lucky !' 
 
 Marquis broke in. But before he had time to say a word, 
 Carrouge scorched him with a look. 
 
 * Oh, come now ! enough of your nonsense ! You just leave 
 us alone, old moon-calf!' And in a lower voice he said, with 
 a shrug : ' I never saw such a fool !' 
 
 In the large waiting-room, Du Breuil, still followed by 
 Vedel, suddenly found himself confronting Bersheim and Anine. 
 Everyone noticed the girl. She looked very tall in her mourning. 
 
 Du Breuil was overcome with joy mixed with sadness. He 
 had bidden farewell to the hospitable house, taken cheery leave 
 of Grandmother Sophia, Mme. Bersheim and her husband, 
 and kissed Anine's hand. He did not expect to see them again. 
 The feeling of kindness and affection which had brought them 
 there affected him to tears. So they had wished to relieve his 
 departure of its bitter loneliness. Bersheim got hold of Vedel, 
 while there before everybody Du Breuil and Anine, with the 
 loyalty of simple hearts who have nothing to conceal, gazed 
 into each other's eyes, all their being deliciously thrilled. 
 
 Love transfigured the lame, homely words they exchanged, 
 giving a strange sweetness to the agony of departure. He 
 and she seemed all alone, and through the cold and darkness 
 of the road the girl's image would remain before him. The 
 vision disappeared. Orders to take their seats ! Bersheim 
 and Anine went away. The crape veil, the brown hair, and 
 white neck vanished in the distance. Du Breuil could only 
 see Vedel, who was smiling. 
 
 Then they hugged each other again and again. 
 
 ' Don't lose heart !' they both urged with a smile ; but the 
 tears would fall down their cheeks. 
 
412 THE DISASTER 
 
 * Here, Du Breuil !' called Charlys. 
 
 He got into the compartment. Francastel and Floppe were 
 there, also fat Colonel Jacquem^re, who was mopping himself, 
 having run. Then followed half an hour's wait. Du Breuil 
 saw Frisch's anxious face, wanting to tell him that Cydalise 
 was all right. Vedel stood on the platform, ever smiling. 
 Charlys talked as though in a fever-fit, and Jacquemere was 
 overhauling his trunk. Du Breuil withdrew into himself, 
 under a darkly-luminous spell. ... A short hallucination came 
 over him, revealing past incidents in the glitter of street-lamps 
 on wet, black pavement. It was night on the Place de la 
 Concorde, and Mme. de Guionic's brougham sped along, its 
 lamps gleaming yellow on the shiny roadway. . . . Change 
 of scenery to polished floors reflecting many tapers at the 
 evening reception at Saint-Cloud : Jousset-Gournal sancti- 
 monious, M. Chartrain anxious. ... ' Well, he will see his 
 son again, if he does not die in a dungeon ! . . .' Mme. 
 d'Avilar, Mme. Langlade . . . ah ! The little Lieutenant 
 stretched out with rifled pockets on the battlefield of Rezon- 
 ville, his ring-finger sawn off. 
 
 Big Manhers, Favergues the publicist. Admiral La Veron- 
 nech, the arrogant Count Duclos, the whole array of councillors 
 and mainstays of the Empire, are there, in humming groups, 
 excited over the Due de Grammont's declaration. . . . Where 
 are they now ? . . . The whirlwind has passed. No doubt 
 many are saying, * I told you so !' while they blaspheme the 
 Government which made them. . . . What are the old Du 
 Breuils thinking of, withdrawn far from the world in their 
 chateau in the recesses of the Creuse ? . . . And Thedenat in 
 his little parlour, where the caged canaries flap their wings, does 
 he ponder on the fulfilment of his prophecies, while Mme. 
 Thedenat plies her needle, giving ear to the boom of siege- 
 guns ? 
 
 ♦We are off!' cried Francastel joyously, with a sigh of 
 relief. 
 
 The train started, and in mortified silence Generals and 
 officers of the Army of the Rhine sped out of the city whither 
 they had come so full of hope. Charlys and Du Breuil 
 exchanged looks. 
 
 * On the road again !' said Charlys. 
 
 Yes, thought Du Breuil, it was they wlio remained that 
 were to be pitied, the ones upon whom devolved the task of 
 making lists and inventories ; they would have to drink the 
 
THE DISASTER 413 
 
 cup to the last dregs. Floppe was relating the arrest of 
 M. Mayer, editor of the Independant de la Moselle. A Prussian 
 officer had made it in the station. The last order signed by 
 Bazaine had been one for the punishment of this journalist, 
 who, despite intimidation and censure, had been courageous 
 enough, on the very day of the capitulation of Metz, to call 
 attention in his foremost columns to Article 209 of the Military 
 Code : ' Punishment of death and degradation for any Governor 
 or Commandant who surrenders the fort which has been 
 entrusted to him ;' and Article 210 : * Punishment of death and 
 degradation for any Commander-in-Chief who capitulates in the 
 field before doing all that duty and honour require.' 
 
 Laune's head was riveted at the window, his lips com- 
 pressed, and his whole manner breathing dignified silence. 
 They passed by the station workshops and sped beside the 
 Nancy road, of which the trees had been cut down, exposing 
 to view the meadows sloping towards the Moselle. This road 
 had been the via dolorosa of the negotiator for capitulation and 
 his officers. To the left rose the hills of Montigny, whence, 
 on August 15th, had sped that insulting shell which, falling 
 beside the imperial quarters, hastened the Emperor's flight. 
 
 The train slackened, heads craned out ; they were stopping. 
 
 * What's the matter ?' asked Francastel. 
 
 Laune did not answer. At length Jacquem^re said : 
 
 ' Our men !' 
 
 A long column of prisoners was passing some distance from 
 the road, with bent heads and shoulders, flanked on each side 
 by soldier-guards. Many a white face in the crowd had 
 turned towards the train. And these old Generals, who had 
 braved death on the battlefield, and heard without flinching 
 the desperate cries of the wounded, now paled and lowered 
 their eyes. Many a one, perhaps, that had isolated himself in 
 the altitude of his rank, felt remorse and bitterly felt his 
 impotence. Too late now for the cheering word or the look 
 that consoles. All realized how much gratitude they owed 
 these men, who to the last day had done them credit, and 
 with flushed faces, moved by a common impulse, they rushed to 
 the windows to salute their noble comrades in misfortune, the 
 obscure heroes of Rezonville and Saint- Privat. 
 
 When every man in this immense convoy had tasted his 
 sorrow, the train resumed its way. 
 
 Some minutes later it stopped again. 
 
 * What's the matter ?' asked Du Breuil this time. 
 
414 THE DISASTER 
 
 Laune did not answer. His face could not be seen, but 
 his shoulders heaved convulsively. 
 
 Charlys got up precipitately, uttering a shout of rage : 
 
 < Oh, our colours !' 
 
 Du Breuil, Jacquem^re, and Floppe, squeezed in to get a 
 look. From the whole length of the train arose the fierce, 
 desperate cry: 'Our colours! our colours!' . . . Facing 
 Frescati Chateau a long, broad lawn extended to the railway 
 line, and there, planted in two rows, forming an avenue of fame, 
 were all the standards. A Prussian foot soldier quietly mounted 
 guard. The eagles surmounting the poles glittered with out- 
 stretched wing. Their folds of glorious tattered silk, whereon 
 the deeds of each regiment were blazoned in letters of gold, 
 hung limply. Some had the cross of honour, reflecting an 
 added distinction. In the tricolour gleamed the blood of the 
 dead and the blue sky of their country. The soul of the 
 Revolution and the triumphs of the two Empires throbbed in 
 those fame-laden trophies. 
 
 * Fifty-three eagles !' counted Charlys. 
 
 * No,' said Floppe. Forty-one — that's the official number.' 
 Charlys growled : 
 
 * Count them yourself ! Bazaine didn't stick at a dozen 
 colours, more or less. He gave good measure. . . . By the 
 spadeful ! ... by the heap I . . .' 
 
 He wrung his hands. Laune kept down the tears. Floppe 
 ground out : 
 
 * We can't come up to them ! . . . What a brutal stage- 
 effect I what refinement of torture ! . . .' 
 
 Du Breuil raised his head. 
 
 Had the enemy captured those standards in battle ? No. . . . 
 It was only by subterfuge that Bazaine could deliver them into 
 the enemy's hands. And those that were lost, either by burn- 
 ing or destruction, discounted the humiliation meted out to 
 the remainder ! . . . This row of eagles was nothing but a 
 mass of dumb, lifeless matter. . . . How could it affect the 
 vanquished ? . . . The enemy might buffet captive Generals 
 with these profaned tatters ; they might strew our soldiers 
 along the muddy road to the uttermost parts of Germany ; 
 but every Frenchman there could look without shame, boldly, 
 at the dazzling proofs of France's immortal pride thus dis- 
 played. What mattered the overthrow of the Empire, or such 
 reverses as Sedan and Metz ? What mattered the misfortunes 
 that might follow ? Hope revived in every breast ; fortune 
 
THE DISASTER 415 
 
 would change ; the blackest clouds have a silver lining. 
 Despair was banished. 
 
 In the chilly compartment, where every man was silent as 
 if in a death-room, Du Breuil mused with gleaming eyes. . . . 
 Lacoste, Restaud, Blache, and so many brave fellows whom 
 he loved, were no more ! . . . War with its red sickle had cut 
 deep into the quivering flesh of the nation. A chorus of wailing 
 rose up from desolate hearths. He cursed these times of dreadful 
 trial. But since he had lived through them, let them at least 
 serve as a lesson ! They had drifted into presumptuous idle- 
 ness, into the disintegrating influence of a life of carelessness 
 and pleasure, and the awaking had been full of horror. But 
 over this black darkness would rise a morn of redemption. 
 However dreadful it might be, war had taught him to know 
 himself, and to know others. In many souls it had wakened 
 dormant energies. It had given the lesson of endurance, of 
 unity, of heroism. It had slain many men, but created others. 
 The example of the dead would fortify the hving. 
 
 In the awful crucible where the disaster had heaped, along 
 with the trophies of the Empire, arms, filth, ruined fortunes, 
 illusions destroyed, all the despair of a nation — the future 
 boiled like metal in fusion. Out of it a new France would 
 arise. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD 
 
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 A Journey Round My Koora. P.y X. de Maistre, 
 
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 Melancholy Anatomised : Abridtjinent of BURTON. 
 Poetical Ingenuities. By \V. T. Dobson. 
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 The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table. By ULIVER 
 
 Wendell Holmes. 
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 Forensic Anecdotes. By Jacob Larwocd. 
 
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 Mus2s of Mayfair. Edited by H. C. Pennell. 
 Thoreau : His Life and Aims. By H. A. PAGE. 
 Puniana. By Hon. HUGH Rowlev. 
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 The Philosophy of Handwriting. 
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 Leaves from a Naturalist's Mote-Book. By Dr. 
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 Tale for a Chimney Corner. By Leigh Hunt. 
 
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 Maxims and Reflections of Rochefoucauld. 
 
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 Citation and Examination of William Shakspeare. i Christie Johnstone. By Charles Reade. 
 
 By W. S. LANDOR. Peg Wofiingtou. By Charles Rhai.i:. 
 
 The Journal of Maurice de Guerln . ' The Dramatic Essays of Charles Lamb. 
 
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 The Essays of Elia. By Charles Lamr. 
 Robinson Crusoe. Illustrated by G. CRuii-CSHANK. 
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 The Barber's Chair. By Douglas Jekrold. 
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CHATTO & WlHDU^^n^iL^arti^^ 
 
 27 
 
 dC Wll- VMM.^' ••' - - 
 
 " THE PiCCADILLY NOVELS.^ ^^^^^^ ^^ ^, ^,^.„ 
 
 «—'=?;'qRANT ALLEN. 
 
 The Great Taboo. 
 Duniaresq'3 Daug;-it<.r. 
 Duchess of Powyalaud. 
 BioodKoyal. „^ ._ 
 Ivan Greets Master- 
 piece. 
 The Scallywag 
 At Market Value. 
 TTndei- Scaled Ordeia. 
 
 P'uilistia. 
 
 Straage Stories. 
 
 Babylon. „ , „ 
 
 i or Maimie s Sake, 
 
 ja all Shades. 
 
 •Tue Beckoning Hand 
 
 Ihe Devil's Die. 
 
 This Mortal Coil. 
 
 TheTeuts^ofShem.^^ ANDERSON.- 
 
 Othello's Occupation. adNOI D. 
 
 '■■«° "'Sy "frank BARRBTT. 
 ^'uv'sir W.'IeSANT and ,1. RICE. 
 
 The Monks of The\enia. 1 The xen ^^^^^ 
 
 The Real Lady Ki'da. 
 Married or bingle .' 
 Two Masters. .„^^.^ 
 Inthe'XingdomofKerry 
 
 Interference. 
 A Third Person, 
 
 "tions of Men. 
 The Captains' Room 
 AH in a Garden Fair. 
 Dorothy Forster. 
 Uncle Jack. „ ^ „ „ 
 The World Went Very 
 
 Well Then. 
 Cdildren of Glbeon. 
 HerrPaulus. 
 For FaiUi and Freedom 
 To Call Her Mine. 
 T^e^^^'g/AMBROSE BIERCE. 
 totheMigto^Life.^ BOURGET. 
 ALlvinsLie BUCHANAN. 
 
 The Holy Rcse. 
 
 Armorel of Lyonpsse. 
 
 S.Katherine'8 bv Tower 
 
 Verbena Camellia Ste- 
 phanotis. 
 
 The ivory Gate. 
 
 The Rebel Queen. 
 Beyond the Dreams of 
 
 Avarice. 
 
 The Master Craftsman, 
 The City of Refuge, 
 
 The New Abeiard. 
 Matt. I Rachel Dene. 
 Master of the Mme. 
 The Heir cf Linne^ 
 Woman and the l!.x?.n. 
 Red and Wliite Heather. 
 
 "••^"^'I'iISray. 
 
 Shav^owofthe Sword 
 A Child of Nature. 
 God and the Man 
 Martvrdom of Madeline 
 Love "Me for Ever. 
 Annan Water. 
 
 ^R^t'lfuCHANAN & HY 
 
 Tue ^»^--; MITCHELL CHAPPLE. 
 
 TheM.norCnord^^^j^^^^,j,g 
 Tho Shadow of a Crime. 1 The Deemster. 
 ^^-"^^g^ANNE COATES. 
 ^'^''''%W1LK!E COLLINS 
 
 Basil. I Hide and Seek. 
 The Dead Secret. 
 Oueen of Hearts. 
 My Miscellanies^ 
 The Woman m White. 
 The Moonstone. 
 Man and Wife. 
 Poor Miss Finch. 
 MisBorMrs.? 
 The New Magdalen. 
 The Frozen Deep. 
 
 ■rne i.aw a,i.u "">""■ 
 Ths Haunted hotel. 
 The Fallen Leaves. 
 Jezebels Daughter. 
 The Black Roue. 
 
 Heart and Science. . 
 ' I Say No.' 
 
 Little Novels. 
 
 The Evil Geniuf. 
 
 The Legacy of CalQ. 
 
 A Rogue's Life. 
 
 Blind Love, 
 
 By E. H. COOPER. 
 
 Geoffory Hamilton^^^j^^ ^^^^^ 
 
 Two Girls on a Barge. „n.T\v\t\Cii 
 By C. EflBF.RT CRADDOCK. 
 
 «" ^""'g' .It N. CRELLIN. 
 Ko»a„c..o.^y™s.™^-,,,. 
 
 "■•-BTrt'cROCKElT and other,. 
 
 '^'•"'-^'S!m.CRPKBR; 
 
 Diana Barrington. 
 proper Pride. 
 A Family Likeness. 
 Pretty Miss Neville. 
 A Bird of Passage. 
 'To Let.' I Mr. Jervis. 
 Village Tales & Jungle 
 
 ■^'^''% WILLUM CYPLES. 
 
 h«"«»«'»^''lphonse daudet. 
 
 ""grr&LESiN' DAVIDSON. 
 "■n^ERA'Ss DAWSON. 
 By JAMBS DE MILLE. 
 ""bv'T'leith DERWENT. 
 
 Old Corcora^ns^Money^^j^ ^^^^^ 
 
 The Firm of Glr^e|ton^;j, DUNCAN. 
 
 -''^=|Sv.LLrEf^. 
 
 r^t'^lZ"^ FRANCILLON. 
 
 By K. L- I 7^opes of Sand. 
 ^i^^^ Shadow. \l^'- Doyle's Daughter. 
 ^-^•^trHAROLD FREDE^JC.^^^ 
 
 ^l5S?ed%V sft BARTLE FRERE. 
 
 PaniurangHan^^y^^ GAULOT. 
 
 Tha K«* ^^^%ARLES GIBBON. 
 
 By CHAKi-K Rijh Degree 
 
 Tl,eFo.sioWr.|^ J. GOODMAN. 
 I" gJ'&J.'t'BTftrNQ QOULD. 
 
 "'"■"ty CECIL QRiFFITH. 
 
 Corlnthia Maraaion, 
 
a8 
 
 GHATTO &. VViNDUS, tii St. Mcrtin's Lang, London, W.Ci 
 
 The Piccadilly (3/6) Kovei^s— continued. 
 
 By SYDNEY GRUNDY. 
 
 The Days of hia Vanity. 
 
 By OWEN HALL. 
 
 The Track of a Storm. | Jetsam. 
 
 By THOMAS HARDY. 
 Under the Greenwood Tree. 
 
 By BRET HARTE. 
 
 A Waif of the Plains. ■ A Prot ^ee of Jack 
 A Ward of the Go den j Hamiin s. 
 
 Gate. .Springs. 
 
 A Sappho of Green 
 Col. Starbottle s Client. 
 
 Susy. I Sally Dows. 
 
 BellRinger of Angel's. ' Three Partners 
 Tales of Trail ana Town. 
 By JULIAN HAWTHORNE. 
 
 Clarence. 
 Barker s Luck. 
 Devil s Ford, [celsior.' 
 The Crusade of the ' Ex- 
 
 Beatrix Randolph. 
 
 David Poindexter a Dis- 
 appearance. 
 
 The Spectre of the 
 Camera. 
 
 Garth. 
 
 Ellice Qnentin. 
 
 Sebastian Strom* 
 
 Dust. 
 
 Fortune's Fool. 
 
 By Sir A. HELPS. 
 Ivan de Birou. 
 
 By L HENDERSON. 
 Agatha Page. 
 
 By G. A. KENTY. 
 Eujub the Juggler. I The Queen's Cup. 
 
 Dorothy s Double. | 
 
 By JOHN HILL. 
 Ihe Common Ancestor. 
 
 By TIGHE HOPKINS. 
 ■Twixt Love and Duty. 
 
 By Mrs. HUNGERFORD. 
 lady 'Verner's Flight. I Ncra Creina. 
 The Red-House Mystery An Anxious Moment. 
 The Three Graces. | April s Lady. 
 
 Professor s Experiment. { Peter s Wife. 
 A Point of Conscience. | 
 
 By Mrs. ALFRED HUNT. 
 The Leaden Casket. I Self-Condemned. 
 That Other Person. 1 Mrs. Juliet. 
 
 By C. J. CUTCLIFFE HYNE. 
 Honour of Thieves. 
 
 By EDMOND LEPELLETIER. 
 Madame Sans Gene. 
 
 By HARRY LINDSAY. 
 Rhoda Roberta. 
 
 By HENRY W. LUCY. 
 Gideon Flevce. 
 
 By E. LYNN LINTON. 
 Patricia Kemball. 1 The Atonement of Leam 
 
 TJnder which Lord 7 Dundas. 
 
 • My Love I ' | lone. | The World Well Lost, 
 
 Paston Carew 
 Bowing the Wind 
 
 The One Too Many. 
 Dulcie Everton. 
 
 By JUSTIN MCCARTHY. 
 
 A Fair Saxon. 
 
 Lialey Rochford. 
 
 Dear Lady Disdain. 
 
 Camiola 
 
 Waterdale Neighbours. 
 
 My Enemy's Daughter. 
 
 Miss Misanthrope. 
 
 Donna Quixote. 
 
 Maid of Athens. 
 
 The Comet of a Season. 
 
 The Dictator. 
 
 Red Diamonds. 
 
 The Riddle Ping. 
 
 The Three Disgraces. 
 
 By JUSriN H. AlcCARTHY. 
 
 A London Legend. | The Royal Christopher. 
 
 By GEORGE A1ACDONALD. 
 Heather and Snoiv. | Phanta.stes. 
 
 Hy PAUL & VICTOR MARGUERITTE 
 The Disaster 
 
 By L. T. AlEADE. 
 A Soldier of Fortune. I The 'Voice of the 
 In an Iron Grip. I Charmer. 
 
 By L. T. MEADE and CLIFFORD 
 HALIFAX, Al.D. 
 Dr. Ramsey's Patient. 
 
 By LEONARD MERRICK. 
 This Stage of Fools. | Cynthia. 
 
 By BERTRAM MITFORD. 
 The Gun Runner. I The King a Assegai. 
 
 The Luck of Gerard Renshaw Fannins's 
 fiidgeley. | Quest. 
 
 By J. E. AlUDDOCK. 
 
 Maid Marian and Robin Hood. 
 Basile the Jester. i Young Lochinvar. 
 
 By D. CHRISTIE MURRAY. 
 
 Cvnic Fortune. 
 j The Way or the World. 
 I BobMartin's Little GirL 
 j Time's Revenges. 
 
 A Wasted Crime. 
 
 In Direst Peril. 
 
 Mount Despair. 
 
 A Capful o ^ai■8. 
 
 Taes and Poems. 
 
 A Life s Atonement 
 
 Joseph's Coat. 
 
 Coals of Fire. 
 
 Old Blazer s Hero. 
 
 Val Stranore. | Hearts, 
 
 A Model Father. 
 
 By the Gate of the Sea, 
 
 A Bit of Human Nature, 
 
 First Person Singular. 
 
 By MURRAY and HER.^IAN. 
 
 The Bishops' Bible. I Paul Jones s Alia.3. 
 
 One Traveller Returns, | 
 
 By HUME NISBET. 
 ' Bail ITp I ■ 
 
 By W. E. NORRIS. 
 Saint Ann's. | Billy Bellew. 
 
 By G. OHNET. 
 A Weird Gift. 
 
 By Mrs. OLIPHANT. 
 The SorceiesB. 
 
 By OUIDA. 
 Held in Bondage, 
 Strathmore. 
 Chandos 
 
 Under Two Flags. 
 Idalia. tGage. 
 
 Cecil Castlemaine s 
 Tricotrin. | Puck. 
 FoUe Farine. 
 A Dog of Flanders. 
 Pascarel. | Signa. 
 Princess Napraxino. 
 Ariadne. 
 
 By MARGARET A. PAUL. 
 Gentle and Simple. 
 
 By JAMES PAYN. 
 
 Two Litt'e Wooden 
 
 In a Winter City. Shoea 
 
 Friendship. 
 
 Moths. I Rnfiino. 
 
 Pipistrello. 
 
 A Village Coromtine. 
 
 Bimbi. | Wai.da. 
 
 Frescoes. | Othmar. 
 
 In Maremma. 
 
 Byriin. | Guilderoy, 
 
 Santa Barbara. 
 
 Two Offenders. 
 
 Lost Sir Massingberd. 
 Less Black than We're 
 
 Painted. 
 A Confidential Agent. 
 A Grape from a Thorn. 
 In Peril and Privation. 
 J he Mystery of Mir- 
 Bv Proxy. [bridge. 
 
 The Canon's Ward, 
 Walter s Word. 
 
 High Spirits. 
 Under One Roof. 
 Glow-worm Ta es 
 The Talk of the'Town. 
 Holiday Tasks. 
 For Cash Orly. 
 The Burnt Million. 
 The Word and the WilL 
 Sunny Stories. 
 A Trying Patient. 
 By WILL PAYNE. 
 Jerry the Dreamer. 
 
 By Mrs. CAMPBELL PRAED. 
 Outlaw and Lawmaker. I Mis. Tregaskiss. 
 Christina Chard. | 
 
 By E. C. PRICE. 
 Valentina. | Foreigners. | Mrs. Lancaster s Rival. 
 
 By RICHARD PRYCE. 
 Miss Maxwells Affections, 
 
 By CHARLES READE. 
 Peg WofEiigton ; and Love Me Little, love 
 Christie Johnstone. Me Long 
 
 Hard Cash. 
 Cloister & the Hearth. 
 Never Too Late to Mend 
 The Course of True 
 
 Love Never Did Run 
 
 Smooth ; and Single- 
 heart andDoubleface. 
 Autobiogiaphy of a 
 
 Thief; Jack of all 
 
 Tjades; A Hero and 
 
 a Martyr ; and The 
 
 Wandering Heir. 
 Griffith Gaunt. 
 
 By Mrs. J. H. RIDDELL. 
 Weird Stories. 
 
 By AMELIE RIVES. 
 Barbara Denng. 
 
 By F. W. ROBINSON. 
 The Hands of Justice. | Woman In the Dark. 
 
 The Double Marrage. 
 
 Foul Play. 
 
 Put Yourself in His 
 Place. 
 
 A Terrible Temptation. 
 
 A Simpleton. 
 
 A Wom.-in Hater, 
 
 The Jilt. >V..tl.ctSriips; 
 & Good Stories of Man 
 and other Animals. 
 
 A Perilous Secret 
 
 Readiana; and Bible 
 Characters. 
 
CHaTTo & WlNDUSi in St. Martin's Lane, London, W.C. 
 
 29 
 
 'he Piccadilly (2/6) 'Novki.s— continued. 
 By VV. CLARK RUSSELL. 
 
 ■ ■ - •■ -• My Shipmate Louise. 
 
 Alone onWideWide Sea. 
 The Phantom Death. 
 Is He the Man ? 
 Good Shit) Mohock.' 
 The Convict Ship. 
 Heart of Oak. 
 The Tale of t^; Ten. 
 The Last Eni.y. 
 RUSSELL. 
 The Drift of Fate. 
 
 Round the Galley Fire. 
 In the Middle Watch. 
 On the Fo'k'sle Head. 
 A Voviee to the Cape. 
 Book fur the Hammock 
 Mysteryof 'Ocean Star' 
 Tbe Romance of Jenny 
 
 Harlowe. 
 An Ocean Tragedy. 
 
 By DORA 
 A Country sweetheart. 
 
 By HERBERT RUSSELL. 
 True Blue. 
 
 By BAYLE ST. JOHN. 
 A Levantine Family. 
 
 By ADELINE SERGEANT. 
 Dr. Endicott s Experiment. 
 
 By HAWLEY SAIART. 
 Without Love or Licence. I The Outsider. 
 The Master of Rathkelly. Beatrice & Benedick. 
 Long Odds. I A Racini; Rubber. 
 
 " T. VV. SPEIGHT. 
 ion of tl 
 
 Ihs Grey Monk. I The Secret of Wyvsrn 
 
 Tn-Masterof Trenance I Towers. 
 
 By ALAN ST. AUBYN. 
 
 By IVAN TURGENIEFF, &c. 
 
 Stories from Foreign Novelists. 
 
 By MARK TWAIN. 
 
 In Face of the World. 
 
 Orchard Damerel. 
 
 The Tremleit Diamonds. 
 
 A Fellow of Trinity. 
 The Junior Dean. 
 Ma=iter of St. Benedict's. 
 To his Own Master. 
 
 By JOHN STAFFORD. 
 Doris and I. 
 
 By RICCARDO STEPHENS. 
 The Cruciform Mark. 
 
 By R. A. STERNDALE. 
 The Afghan Knife. 
 
 By R. LOUIS STEVENSON. 
 The Suicide Olub. 
 
 By BERTHA THOMAS. 
 Proud Maisie. | The Violin Player. 
 
 By ANTHONY TROLLOPE. 
 The Way we Live Now. I ScarboroaEjh s Family. 
 Frau Frohmann. | The Land Leasjuera 
 
 By FRANCES E. TROLLOPE. 
 Like Ships upon the I Anne Furness. 
 Sea. I 
 
 Mabels Progres?. 
 
 Mark Twains Choice 
 
 Works. 
 Mark Twain's Library 
 
 of Humour. 
 The Innocents Abroad. 
 Roughing It ; and The 
 
 Innocents at Home. 
 A Tramp Abroad. 
 1 he American Claimant. 
 AdventuresTomSawyer 
 Tom Sawyer Abroad. 
 
 Tom Sawyer. Detective. 
 Pudd nhead WiJson. 
 The Crilded Age. 
 Prince and the Pauper. 
 Life on the Iilississippi. 
 The Adventures of 
 
 Huckleberry Finn. 
 A Yankee at the Court 
 
 of King Arthur. 
 Stolen White E.ephant. 
 £1.0C0.0 BtnKnote. 
 
 By C. C. 
 
 Mistress Judith. 
 
 FRASER=TYTLER. 
 
 By SARAH TYTLER. 
 
 Lady Bel'. I The MacdoniM Lass. 
 
 Burled Diamonds. The Witch Wife. 
 
 The Blackball Ghosts. | 
 
 By ALLEN UPWARD. 
 The Queen against Owen I The Prince of Balkistan. 
 
 By E. A. VIZETELLY. 
 The Scorpion : A Rom.mce of Spain. 
 
 By CY WARMAN. 
 The Express Messenger, 
 
 By WILLIAM WESTALL. 
 
 Sons of Belial. 
 
 By ATHA WESTBURY. 
 
 The Shadow of Bilton Fernbrook. 
 
 By C. J. WILLS. 
 An Easy-going Fellow. 
 
 By JOHN STRANGE WINTER. 
 
 Cavalry Life and Regimental Legends. 
 A Solciier.s ChUdren. 
 
 By MARGARET WYNMAN. 
 My Flirtations. 
 
 By E. ZOLA. 
 The Fortune of the Rougons. 
 The Abbe Mouret's Transsression. 
 
 The Downfall. 
 
 The Dream. 
 
 Dr. Pascal. 
 
 Money. | Loardes. 
 
 By 
 
 The Fat and the Thin. 
 His Excellency. 
 The Dram-Shop. 
 Rome. I Paris. 
 Z Z.' 
 
 A Nineteenth Century Miracle. 
 
 CHEAP EDITIONS OF POPULAR NOVELS. 
 
 Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each. 
 
 By ARTEMUS WARD. 
 
 Artemus Ward Complete. 
 
 By EDMOND ABOUT. 
 
 The Fellah. 
 
 By HAMILTON AIDE. 
 
 Carr of Carrlyon. | Confidences. 
 
 By Mrs. ALEXANDER. 
 
 Maid, Wife, or Widow? I A Life Interest. 
 Blind Fate. Mona's Choice. 
 
 Valerie's Fate. | By Woman's Wit. 
 
 By GRANT ALLEN. 
 
 PhiUstia. | Babylon. 
 Strange Stories. 
 For Maimie's Sake, 
 In all Shades. 
 The Beckoning Hand 
 The Devil's Die. 
 The Tents of Shem. 
 The Great Taboo. 
 
 By E. LESTER ARNOLD. 
 Phra the Phoenician. 
 
 BY FRANK BARRETT. 
 
 Dumaresq's Daughter. 
 Duchess of Powysiaiid. 
 Blood RoyaL (piece- 
 Ivan Greet's Master. 
 The Scallywag. 
 This Mortal Coil. 
 At Market Value. 
 Under Sealed Orders. 
 
 Fettered for Life. 
 Little Lady Linton. 
 Between Life & Death. 
 Bin of Olga Zassoulich. 
 Folly Morrison. 
 Lieut. BB.rnaba3. 
 Honest Davie. 
 
 A Prodigal's Progress. 
 Found Guilty. 
 A Recoiling Vengeance. 
 For Love and Honour, 
 John Ford. &c. 
 Woman of Iro n Brace ts 
 The Harding Scandal. 
 
 By SHELSLEY BEAUCHAMP. 
 
 Grantlev Grange. 
 By Sir W. BESANT and J. RICE. 
 
 By Celia s Artour. 
 
 Ready-Money Mortiboy 
 My Little Girl. 
 With Harp and Crown 
 This Son of Vulcan. 
 The Golden Butterfly. 
 The Monks of Thelema. 
 
 Chaplain of the Fleet 
 The Seamy Side. 
 The Case of Mr. Lucraft. 
 In Trafalgar s Bay. 
 The Ten Years Tenant. 
 
 By Sir WALTER BESANT. 
 
 All Sorts and Condi- 
 tions of Men. 
 
 The Captains' Room. 
 
 All in a Garden Fair. 
 
 Dorothy Forster. 
 
 Uncle Jack. 
 
 The World Went Very 
 Well Then. 
 
 Children of Gibeon. 
 
 Herr Paulus. 
 
 For Faith and Freedom. 
 
 To Call Her Mine. 
 
 By AMBROSE BIERCE. 
 
 In the Midst of Life. 
 
 By FREDERICK BOYLE. 
 
 Camp Notes, I Chronicles of No man's 
 
 Savage Life. I Land. 
 
 BY BRET HARTE. 
 
 Califomian Stories. I Flip. | Maruja. 
 
 Gabriel Conroy. A Phyllis of the Sierras. 
 
 Luck of Roaring Camp. A Waif of the Plains. 
 
 An Heii-es3 of Red Dog. 1 Ward of Golden Gat*. 
 
 The Bell of St. Paul'i. 
 The Holy Rose. 
 Armorel of Lyonesse. 
 S.Katherine sby Tower. 
 Veibena Camellia Ste- 
 
 phauotis. 
 The Ivory Gate. 
 The Rebel Queen. 
 Beyond the Dreams of 
 
 Avarice. 
 The Revolt of Man. 
 In Deacon s Orders. 
 
30 
 
 CHATTO & WINDUS, 111 St. Martinis Lane, London, W.C. 
 
 Two-Shilling liovEhs— continued , 
 By HAROLD BRYDGES. 
 Uncle Sam at Home. 
 
 By ROBERT BUCHANAN. 
 
 The Martyrdom of Ma- 
 deline. 
 The New Abelard. 
 The Heir of Linne. 
 Woman and the Man. 
 Kachel Dene. | Matt. 
 Lady Kilpatrick. 
 
 Shadow of the Sword. 
 A Child of Nature. 
 God and the Man. 
 Love Me for Ever. 
 Foxglove Manor. 
 The Master of the Mine 
 Annan Water, 
 
 By BUCHANAN and MURRAY. 
 The Charlatan. 
 
 By HALL CAINE. 
 The Shadow of a Crime. I The Deemster. 
 ft. Son of Hagar. | 
 
 By Commander CAMERON. 
 
 The CruiHe of the ' Black Prince.' 
 
 By HAYDEN CARRUTH. 
 The Adventures of Jones. 
 
 By AUSTIN CLARE. 
 
 For the Love cf a Lass. 
 
 By Mrs. ARCHER CLIVE. 
 
 Paul FerroU. 
 
 Why Paul Ferroll Killed his Wife. 
 
 By MACLAREN COBBAN. 
 
 The Cure of Souls, | The Red Sultan. 
 
 By C. ALLSTON COLLINS. 
 
 The Bar Sinister. 
 
 By MORT. & FRANCES COLLINS. 
 
 Sweet Anne Page. I Sweet and Twenty. 
 
 Transmigration. The ViUage Comedy. 
 
 From Midnight to Mid You Play me False. 
 
 night. Blacksmith and Scholar 
 
 A Fight with Fortune. 1 Fra.nce3. 
 
 By WILKIE COLLINS. 
 
 Armadale. | AfterDark 
 
 No Name. 
 
 Antonina. 
 
 Basil. 
 
 Hide and Seek. 
 
 The Dead Secret. 
 
 Queen of Hearts, 
 
 Miss or Mrs. ? 
 
 The New Magdalen. 
 
 The Frozen Deep. 
 
 The Law and the Lady 
 
 The Two Destinies. 
 
 The Haunted Hotel. 
 
 A Rogue's Life. 
 
 By M. J. COLQUHOUN. 
 Every Inch a Soldier. 
 
 By BUTTON COOK. 
 Leo. I Paul Foster's Daughter, 
 
 By C. EGBERT CRADDOCK. 
 The Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains. 
 
 By MATT CRIM. 
 The Adventures of a Fair Rebel. 
 
 By B. M. CROKER. 
 
 Mv Miscellanies. 
 Tile Woman in White. 
 The Moonstone. 
 Man and Wife. 
 Poor Miss Finch. 
 The Fallen Leaves. 
 Jezebel's Daughter. 
 The Black Robe. 
 Heart and Science. 
 ' I Say No ! ■ 
 The Evil Genius. 
 Little Novels. 
 Legacy of Cain. 
 Blind Love. 
 
 Village Tales and Jungle 
 
 Tragedies. 
 Two Masters. 
 Mr. Jervis. 
 The Real Lady Hilda. 
 Married or Single ? 
 
 Pretty Miss Neville, 
 
 Diana Barringtoa. 
 
 'To Let.' 
 
 A Bird of Passage, 
 
 Proper Pride. 
 
 A Family Likeness. 
 
 By W. CYPLES. 
 Hearts of Gold. 
 
 By ALPHONSE DAUDET, 
 The Evangelist ; or, Port Salvation. 
 
 By ERASMUS DAWSON. 
 
 The Fountain of Youth. 
 
 By JAMES DE MILLE. 
 A Castle in Spain. 
 
 By J. LEITH DERWENT. 
 Oar Lady of Tears. ] Circe's Lovers. 
 
 By DICK DONOVAN 
 
 The Man-Eunter 
 Tracked and Taken. 
 Caught at Last I 
 Wanted I 
 Who Poisoned Hetty 
 
 Duncan ? 
 Man from Manchester. 
 A Detective's Triumphs 
 The Mystery of Jaai.aica Terrace. 
 The Chronicles of Michael Danevitch, 
 
 By Mrs. ANNIE EDWARDES. 
 
 A Point of Honour. | Archie Lovell. 
 By m. BETHAM = EDWARDS. 
 
 Felicia. | Kitty. 
 
 In the Grip of the Law 
 From Inlormation Re- 
 ceived. 
 Tracked to Doom. 
 Link by Link 
 Suspicion Aroused. 
 Dark Deeds. 
 Riddles Read. 
 
 Roz> 
 
 By EDWARD EGGLESTON. 
 
 By G. MANVfLLE FENN. 
 
 The New Mistress. I The Tig'-r Lilv. 
 
 Witness to the Deed. | The Whits Viigiu. 
 
 By PERCY FITZGERALD. 
 
 Bella Donna. 
 Never Forgotten. 
 Polly. 
 Fatal Zero. 
 
 second Mi'a. Tiilotson. 
 Seventy - five Brooke 
 
 Street. 
 The Lady of Brantome 
 
 By P. FITZGERALD and others. 
 
 strange Secrets. 
 
 By ALBAnV DE FONBLANQUE. 
 
 Filthy Lucre. 
 
 By R. E. FRANCiLLON. 
 
 Oiympia. I King or Knave? 
 
 One by One. Romances of the Law. 
 
 A Real Queen. Ropes of Sand. 
 
 Queen Cophetua. I A Dog and his Shadow, 
 
 By HAROLD FREDERIC 
 Scth's Brother's Wife. I The Lawton Girl. 
 Prefaced by Sir BARTLE FRERE. 
 Pandurang Hari. 
 
 By EDWARD GARRETT. 
 The Capel Girls. 
 
 By GILBERT GAUL. 
 
 A Strange Manuscript, 
 
 By CHARLES GIBBON. 
 
 Robin Gray. 
 
 Fancy Free, 
 
 For Lack of Gold. 
 
 What will World Say "! 
 
 In Love and War. 
 
 For the King. 
 
 In Pastures Green. 
 
 Queen of the Ivleadow. 
 
 A Heart's Problem. 
 
 The Dead Heart. 
 
 In Honour Bound. 
 Flower of the Forest, 
 The Braes of Yarrow, 
 The Golden Shaft, 
 Of High Degree. 
 By Mead and Stream. 
 Loving a Dream. 
 A Hard Knot. 
 Heart's Delight, 
 Blood-Money, 
 
 By WILLIAM GILBERT. 
 
 Dr. Austin's Guests, i The Wizard of 
 James Duke, | Mountain, 
 
 By ERNEST QLANVILLE. 
 
 The Lost Heiress, I The Fossickcr. 
 
 A Fair Colonist, | 
 
 By Rev. S. BARING GOULD. 
 
 Red Spider, | Eve. 
 
 By HENRY QREVILLE. 
 
 A Noble Woman. | Nikanor, 
 
 Bv CECIL GRIFFITH. 
 
 Corinthia Marazion, 
 
 By SYDNEY GRUNDY. 
 
 The Days of his Vanity. 
 
 By JOHN HABBERTON. 
 Brueton's Bayou. | Country Luck. 
 
 By ANDREW HALLIDAY. 
 Every day Papers. 
 
 By THOMAS HARDY, 
 Under the Greenwood Tree. 
 
CHATTO & WINDUS, in St. Martin's Lane, London, W.C. 
 
 Love— or a Name. 
 
 David Poindester's Dis- 
 appearance. 
 
 The Spectre of the 
 Camera. 
 
 Two-Shilling t^ovEi.s— continued. 
 By JULIAN HAWTfiORNE. 
 
 Garth. I Beatrix Kandolph 
 
 Elllce Quentin. '' — " — - «" — 
 
 Fortune s Fool. 
 Miss Cadogaa. 
 Sebastian Strome 
 
 "^ ' By Sir ARTHUR HELPS. 
 
 Ivan de Biron. 
 
 By G. A. HENTY. 
 
 Rujub t>ie Juggler. 
 
 By HENRY HERMAN. 
 A Leading Lady. 
 
 By HEADON KILL. 
 Zambra the Detective. 
 
 By JOHN HiLL. 
 Treason Felony. 
 
 By Mrs. CASHEL HOEY. 
 The Lover s Creed. 
 
 By Mrs. GEORGE HOOPER 
 The House of Fvaby. 
 
 By Mrs. HUNGERFORD. 
 
 Tlie Three Graces 
 Unsatisfactory Lover. 
 Lady Patty. 
 Nora Creina. 
 The Froressor's Ezpori- 
 ment. 
 
 A Maiden all Forlorn, 
 
 In Durance Vile. 
 
 Marvel. 
 
 A Mental Struggle. 
 
 A Modern Circe. 
 
 Lady Verners Flight 
 
 The Red House Mystei y 
 
 Bv Mrs. ALFRED HUNT. 
 Thoriiicrof'c's Model. i Self Condemned. 
 Tliat Other Person. | The Leaden Casket. 
 
 By WM. JAAIESON. 
 My Dead Self. 
 
 By HARRIETT JAY. 
 The Dark Colieen. | Queen of Connaught 
 
 By MARK KERSHAW. 
 Colonial Facts and Fictions. 
 
 By R. ASHE KING. 
 A Drawn Game. j Passion s Slave. 
 
 • The Wearing of the Bell Barry. 
 Green.' I 
 
 By EDMOND LEPELLETIER. 
 Madame Sans Gene. 
 
 By JOHN LEYS. 
 Che Lindsays. 
 
 By E. LYNN LINTON. 
 
 Patricia Keraball 
 
 The AVorld Well Lost. 
 
 Under which Lord? 
 
 Paston Carew, 
 
 ' My Lovs 1 ' 
 
 lone. 
 
 V/ith a Silken Tliread 
 
 By HENRY W. LUCY. 
 GideoFleyce. 
 
 By JUSTIN McCarthy 
 
 The Atonement of Learn 
 
 Dundas. ^ 
 Rebel of the family. 
 Sowing the Wind. 
 The One Too Many. 
 Dulcie Everton. 
 
 Donna Quixote 
 
 Maid of Athens. 
 
 The Comet of a Season. 
 
 The Dictator. 
 
 Red Diamonds. 
 
 The Riddle Ring. 
 
 Dear Lady Disdain 
 Waterdale Neighbours. 
 Mv Enemy's Daughter. 
 A Fair Saxon. 
 Linley Rochiord. 
 Miss Misanthrope. 
 Camioia. 
 
 By HUGH MACCOLL. 
 Mr. Strangers Sealed Packet. 
 
 By GEORGE MACDONALD. 
 Heather and Snow. 
 
 By AGNES MACDONELL. 
 Quaker Cousins. 
 
 By KATHARINE S. MACQUOID 
 The Evii F.ye. | Lost Bose. 
 
 By W. H. MALLOCK. 
 A Romance of the Niue- 1 The New Republic, 
 teenlh C^tttuty. i 
 
 By J. MASTERMAN. 
 
 Half a dozen Daughters. 
 
 By BRANDER MATTHEWS. 
 
 A Secret of the Sea. 
 
 By L, T. MEADE. 
 
 A Soldier of Fortune. 
 
 By LEONARD MERRICK. 
 
 The Man who was Good. 
 
 By JEAN MIDDLEMASS. 
 
 Touch and Go. | Mr. Doriliion. 
 
 By Mrs. MOLESWORTH. 
 
 Kathercourt Rectory. 
 
 By J. E. MUDDOCK. 
 
 Stories Weird and Won- I From the Bosom of the 
 
 deriul. Deep. 
 
 The Dead Man's Secret. | 
 
 By D. CHRISTIE MURRAY, 
 
 A Bit of Human Nature. 
 First Person J^insulnr. 
 Bob Martini; Little Girl 
 Time's Revenges. 
 A Wasted Crime. 
 In Direst Peril. 
 Mount Desnair 
 A Capful o'Naiis. 
 
 A Model Father, 
 
 Joseph's Coat. 
 
 Coals of Fire. 
 
 Val Strange. | Hearts. 
 
 Old Blazer s Hero. 
 
 Tlie Way of the World 
 
 Cynic Fortune. 
 
 A Life 3 Atonement. 
 
 By the Gate of the Sea. 
 
 By MURRAY and HERMAN. 
 One Traveller Returns. I The Bishops' Sibie. 
 Paul Jones D Alias. I 
 
 By HENRY MURRaV. 
 
 A Game of Blun. | A Song of Sixpence. 
 
 By HUME NISBET. 
 
 ' Bail Up ! ' 1 Dr.Bcrnard St. Vincent. 
 
 By W. E. NORRIS. 
 
 Saint Ann s. 
 
 By ALICE O'HANLON, 
 
 The Unforeseen. i Chance ? or Fate 7 
 
 By GEORGES OHNET. 
 Dr. Rameau. I A Weird Gift. 
 
 A Last Love. | 
 
 By Mrs. OLIPHANT. 
 Whiteladies. I The Greatest Heiress in 
 
 Tne Primrose Path. | England. 
 
 By Airs. ROBERT O'REILLY. 
 
 Phosbe 3 Fortunes. 
 
 By OUIDA. 
 
 Wit, 
 
 Held in Bondage. 
 Strathmore. 
 Chandos. 
 Idalia. 
 
 Under Two Flags. 
 Cecil Castlemaine sGage 
 Tricotrin. 
 Puck. 
 
 Folle Fa,ri?ie. 
 A Dog of Flanders. 
 Pascarel. 
 Sign a. 
 
 Princess Napraxlne. 
 , In a 'Winter City. 
 Ariadne. 
 Friendship. 
 
 By MARGARET AGNES PAUL. 
 Gentle and Simple. 
 
 By EDGAR A. POE. 
 
 The Mystery of Marie Roget. 
 
 By Mrs. CAAIPBELL PRAED. 
 The Romance of a Station. 
 The Soul of Countess Adrian. 
 Out' aw and Lawmaker. 
 Christina Chard. [ Mrs. Tregaskiss. 
 
 By E. C. PRICE. 
 Valentina. I Mrs. Lancaster s RivaL 
 
 The Foreigners. | Gerald. 
 
 By RICHARD PRYCE. 
 Jliss Maxwell's Affections. 
 
 Two Lit. Wooden Shoes, 
 Moths. 
 Bimbi. 
 Pipistrello. 
 A Village Commune. 
 Wanda. 
 Othmar 
 Frescoes. 
 In Maremma. 
 Guildcroy. 
 Ruffino. 
 Syrlin. 
 
 Santa Barbara. 
 
 Two Oifenders. 
 
 Cuidas Wisdom, 
 
 and Pathos. 
 
CHATTO & WINDUS, in St. Martin's Lane, London, W.C. 
 
 Two-Shilling Novels — continued. 
 By JAMES PAYN 
 
 Bentinck's Tutor. 
 
 Murphy s Master. 
 
 A County Family. 
 
 At Her Mercy. 
 
 Cecil s Tryst. 
 
 The Clyffards of CTyflfe. 
 
 The Foster Brothers. 
 
 Found Dead. 
 
 The Best of Husbands. 
 
 Waltor'2 Word 
 
 Halves. 
 
 Fallen Fortunes. 
 
 Humorous Stories. 
 
 £200 Reward. 
 
 A Marine Residence. 
 
 Mirk Abbey 
 
 By Proxy. 
 
 Under One Roof. 
 
 High Spirits 
 
 Carlyon's Year. 
 
 From Exile. 
 
 For Cash Only. 
 
 Kit. 
 
 The Canon s W3r( 
 
 The Talk of the Towu. 
 Holiday Tasks. 
 A Perfect Treasure. 
 What He Cost Her. 
 A Confidential Agent. 
 Glow-worm Tales. 
 Tiie Burnt Million. 
 Sunny Stories. 
 Lost Sir Massmgberd. 
 A Woman's Vengeance. 
 The Family .Scapegrai-s. 
 Gwendoline s Harvest. 
 Like Father. Like Son. 
 Married Beneath Him. 
 Not Wooed, but Won. 
 Less Black than We re 
 
 Painted. 
 Some Private Views. 
 A Grape from a Thorn. 
 The Mystery of Mir- 
 
 bridge. 
 The V/ord and the WiU. 
 A Prince of the Blood. 
 A Trying Patient. 
 
 By CHARLES READE. 
 
 It is Never Too Late to 
 
 Mend. 
 Christie Johnstone. 
 The Double Marriage. 
 Put Yourself in His 
 
 Place 
 Love Me Little, Love 
 
 Me Long. 
 The Cloister and the 
 
 Hearth. 
 The Course of True 
 
 Love. 
 The Jilt. 
 The Autobiography of 
 
 a Thief. 
 
 By Alr5. J. H. RIDDELL 
 
 The Uninhabited Kousp. 
 The Mystery in Palace 
 
 Gardens. 
 The Nun's Curse. 
 Idle Talcs. 
 
 Weird Stories. 
 Fairy Wat>»r. 
 Her Mother s Darling. 
 The Prince of V/ales s 
 Garden Party. 
 
 By AMELIE RIVES. 
 Barbara Derin?. 
 
 By F. W. ROBINSON. 
 Women are Strange. I The Woman in the Dark 
 The Hands of Justice. | 
 
 By JAMES RUNCtMAN. 
 Skippers and Shellbacks. | Schools and Scholars. 
 Grace B?.lmaign s Sweetheart. 
 
 By W. CLARK RUSSELL. 
 
 F.ound the Gallev Fire. 
 
 On the Fo k sle Head. 
 
 In 'he Middle Watch. 
 
 A Voyage to the Cape. 
 
 A Book for the Ham- 
 mock. 
 
 The Mystery of the 
 ' Ocean Star.' 
 
 Th'? Romance of Jenny 
 Harlowe. 
 
 By DORA RUSSELL. 
 
 A Countrv Sweetheart. 
 By GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. 
 
 Gafiliaht and Daylicht. 
 
 By GEORGE R. SIAIS. 
 
 An Ocean Tragedy. 
 My Shipmate Louise. 
 Alone onWideWide Spa. 
 The Good Ship 'Mo- 
 hock.' 
 The Phantom Death. 
 Is He the Man. 
 Heart of Oak. 
 The Cjuvict Ship. 
 
 The ■Ring o Bells. 
 I-'^ary Jane's Memoirs, 
 Mary Jane Married. 
 Tales of To day. 
 Dramas of Life. 
 Tinkletop's Crime. 
 My Two Wives. 
 
 By ARTHUR SKETCHLEY. 
 A Match in the Dark. 
 
 By HAWLEY SAIART. 
 Without Love or Licence. I The P unger. 
 Beatrice and Benedick. Long Odds. 
 The Master of Kathkelly. | 
 
 A Terrible Temptation. 
 
 Foul Play. 
 
 The Wandering Heir. 
 
 Hard Cash. 
 
 Singleheart and Double- 
 face. 
 
 Good Stories of Man and 
 other Animals. 
 
 Peg WofRngtoa. 
 
 Griffith Gaunt. 
 
 A Perilous Secret. 
 
 A Simpleton. 
 
 Readiana. 
 
 A Woman Hater. 
 
 Zeph. 
 
 Memoirs of a LacdJady. 
 Scenes from the Show. 
 The 1!) Commandments. 
 Dagonet Abicad. 
 Rogues and Vagabonds. 
 
 By T. VV. SPEIGHT. 
 
 The Mysteries of Heron 
 
 Dyke. 
 The Golden Hoop. 
 Hoodwinked. 
 By Devious Ways. 
 
 Back to Life. 
 
 The LoudwaterTragedy, 
 
 Burgo s Romance. 
 
 Quittance in Full. 
 
 A Husband from the Sea 
 
 By ALAN ST. AUBYN. 
 
 Orchard Damerol. 
 
 In the Face of the World. 
 
 The Tremlett Diamonds. 
 
 A Fellow of Trinity. 
 The Junior Dean. 
 Master cf St. B3:iedicts 
 To His O-.vn Master. 
 
 By R. A. STERNDALE. 
 The Afghan Knife. 
 
 By R. LOUIS STEVENSON. 
 New Arabian Nights. 
 
 By BERTHA THOMAS. 
 Cressida. I The Violin-Player. 
 
 Proud Maisie. | 
 
 By WALTER THORNBURY. 
 Tales for the Marines. | Old Stories Retold. 
 
 By T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE. 
 Diamond Cut Diamond. 
 
 By F. ELEANOR TROLLOPE. 
 Like Ships upon the I Anne Furness. 
 Sea. I Mabel's Progress. 
 
 By ANTHONY TROLLOPE. 
 
 The Land-Leaguers. 
 The American Senator. 
 Mr. Scarboroughs 
 
 Family. 
 GoIdenLion of Granpere 
 
 Frau Frohmana, 
 Marion Fav. 
 Kejot in the Dark. 
 John Caldigate. 
 The Way We Live Now, 
 
 By J. T. TROWBRIDGE. 
 Farnell's Folly. 
 
 By IVAN TURQENIEFF, &c 
 Stories from Foreign Novelists. 
 
 By MARK TWAIN 
 
 A Pleasure Trip on the 
 
 Continent. 
 The Gilded Age. 
 Huckleberry Finn. 
 MarkTwain s Sketches. 
 Tom Sawyer. 
 A Tramp Abroad. 
 Stolen White Elephant. 
 
 By C. C. FRASER=TYTLER. 
 Mistress Judith. 
 
 Life on the Mississippi. 
 The Prince and the 
 
 Pauper. 
 A Yankee 0-t the Court 
 
 of King Arthur. 
 The £1,000,000 Bank- 
 
 Note. 
 
 By SARAH TYTLER. 
 
 The Huguenot Fimi^r. 
 The Blackball Ghosts. 
 What SheCameThrough 
 Beauty and the Beast, 
 Citoyenne Jaqueline. 
 
 The Bride s Pass 
 Buried Diamonds 
 St. Mun^o's City. 
 Lady Bell. 
 Noblesse Oblige. 
 Disappeared. 
 
 By ALLEN UPWARD. 
 The Queen agaiast Oweii. ] Prince of Balkisfcan. 
 •God Save the Queen I" 
 
 By AARON WATSON and LILLIAS 
 
 WASSERMANN. 
 The Marquis of Carabas. 
 
 By WILLIAM WESTALL. 
 Trust-Money. 
 
 Bv Mrs. F. H. WILLIAMSON. 
 A Child Widow. 
 
 By J. S. WINTER. 
 Cavalry Life. | Regimental Legends. 
 
 By H. F. WOOD. 
 The Passenger from Scotland Yard. 
 The Englishman of the Rue Cain. 
 
 By CELIA PARKER WOOLLEY. 
 Rachel Armstrong ; or. Love antl Theolo^'y. 
 
 By EDMUND YATES. 
 The Forlorn Hope. | Castaway. 
 
 Land at Last. 
 
 Ghetto Trageaies 
 
 By I. ZANQWILL. 
 
 reaie 
 
 OGDEN, SMALL AND CO. LIMITED, PRINTERS, GREAT SAFFRON HILL, E.C» 
 
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