Part 11

It was an order from the commander of Phalsbourg to leave the country within twenty-four hours!

You understand, George, what an impression that made on me; I turned pale and asked what could have drawn upon me so terrible a sentence.

"That is no affair of ours," answered one of the _gens-d'armes_. "Try to obey, or we will have to take other measures."

Thereupon they mounted their horses again and rode off; and Father Ykel, alone with me, seeing me cast down and overwhelmed by such an abomination, not knowing himself what to say, or to think, cried out:

"In the name of Heaven, Frederick, what have you been doing? You are not a man of any importance, and, in our little village, I should have thought they would have forgotten you long ago!"

I made no reply; I remembered nothing; I thought only of the grief of my daughter and of the poor old grandmother when they learned of this new misfortune.

However, at last I remembered my imprudent words at the Cafe Vacheron, the day of my dispute with Toubac; and Father Ykel at the first word told me that it all came from that; that Toubac had certainly denounced me; that there was only one thing left for me to do, and that was to go at once to the commander and beg him to grant me a little time, in consideration of the grandmother, over eighty years of age, seriously ill, and who would certainly die on the road. He also sent for the schoolmaster, and gave me, as Mayor of the parish, a regular attestation concerning my good qualities, my excellent antecedents, the unhappy position of our family; in short, he said all the most touching and the truest things that could be said on such an occasion. He also recommended me to go to M. Simperlin, too, and get a certificate of illness, to confirm his attestation, thinking that thus the commander would be touched and would wait till the poor old woman was well enough to travel.

In my trouble, seeing nothing else to do, I set out. Marie-Rose knew nothing of it, nor the grandmother, either; I had not the courage to announce the blow that was threatening us. To set out alone, to fly far away from those savages, who coolly plunged us into all sorts of miseries, would have been nothing to me; but the others! Ah! I dared not think of it!

Before noon I was at Phalsbourg, in a frightful state of wretchedness; all the misfortunes that crushed us rose before my eyes.

I saw the doctor, who declared simply in his certificate that the invalid, who was old, weak, and, moreover, entirely without resources, could not stand a journey, even of two hours, without dying.

"There," said he, giving me the paper, "that is the exact truth. I might add that your departure will kill her also, but that would be nothing to the commander; if this does not touch his heart, the rest would be useless also."

I went then to the commander's quarters, which were in the old government house, in the Rue du College. The humiliation of addressing supplications to rascals whom I detested was not the least of my sorrows; that I, an old French forester, an old servant of the state, gray-headed and on the point of retiring on a pension, should stoop to implore compassion from enemies as hard-hearted, as proud of their victories, gained by sheer force of numbers, as they were! However, for the grandmother, for the widow of old Burat, I could bear everything.

A tall rogue, in uniform, and with red whiskers, made me wait a long time in the vestibule; they were at breakfast, and only about one o'clock was I allowed to go up stairs. Up there another sentinel stopped me, and then, having received permission to enter a rather large room, opening on the garden of the Arsenal, I knocked at the commander's door, who told me to come in. I saw a large, red-faced man, who was walking to and fro, smoothing down the sleeves of his uniform and puffing out his cheeks in an ill-natured way. I told him humbly of my position, and gave him my certificates, which he did not even take the trouble to read, but flung them on the table.

"That has nothing at all to do with it," said he sharply; "you are described as a dangerous person, a determined enemy of the Germans. You prevented your men from entering our service; your son-in-law has gone to join the bandits of Gambetta. You boasted openly in a restaurant of having refused the offers of the Oberfoerster of Zornstadt; that is four times more than is necessary to deserve being turned out of doors."

I spoke of the grandmother's condition.

"Well! leave her in her bed," said he; "the order of the _Kreissdirector_ is for you alone."

Then, without listening to me any longer, he went into a side room, calling a servant, and closed the door behind him. I went down stairs again, feeling utterly crushed; my last hope was gone; I had no other resource; I had to leave; I had to announce this bad news to my daughter, to the grandmother! I knew what would be the result of it; and, with hanging head, I went through that German doorway, the bridge, the sentinels, without seeing anything. On the glacis, at Biechelberg, all along the road through the woods and through the valley, I was as if mad with despair; I talked to myself, I cried out, looking at the trees and raising my hand toward heaven.

"Now the curse is upon us! Now pity, the disgrace of crime, the remorse of conscience are abolished! Nothing is left now but strength. Let them exterminate us, let them cut our throats! Let the rascals strangle the old woman in her bed; let them hang my daughter before the door, and as for me, let them chop me into pieces! That would be better. That would be less barbarous than to tear us from each other's arms; to force the son to abandon his mother on her death-bed!"

And I continued on my road, stumbling along. The forests, the ravines, the rocks seemed to me full of those old brigands, of those Pandoras of whom I had heard tell in my childhood; I thought I heard them singing round their fires, as they shared the plunder; all the old miseries of the time before the great revolution came back to me. The distant trumpet of the Prussians in the city that sounded its three wild notes to the echoes, seemed to me to arouse those old villains who had been reduced to dust centuries before.

*XXXII*

All at once the sight of the cottages of Graufthal aroused me from my dreams; I shivered at the thought that the moment was come to speak, to tell my daughter and the grandmother that I was banished, driven away from the country. It seemed to me like a sentence of death that I myself was about to pronounce against those whom I loved best in the world. I slackened my steps so as not to arrive too quickly, when, raising my eyes, after having passed the first houses, I saw Marie-Rose waiting in the dark little entry of the inn; my first glance at her told me that she knew all.

"Well, father?" said she in a low voice, as she stood on the threshold.

"Well," I answered, trying to be calm, "I must go. But you two can stay--they have granted you permission to stay."

At the same time I heard the grandmother moaning up stairs in her bed. Katel, that morning, directly after I set out, had gone up stairs to tell my daughter the bad news; the poor old woman had heard all. The news had already spread through the village; the people round us were listening; and, seeing that the blow had fallen, I told all who wished to hear how the Prussian commander had received me. The crowd of neighbours listened to me without a word; all were afraid of sharing my fate. The grandmother had heard my voice, and she called me:

"Frederick! Frederick!"

When I heard her voice, a cold perspiration broke out on my face. I went up stairs, answering:

"Here I am, grandmother, here I am! Don't cry so! It will not last long. I will come back! Now they distrust me. They are wrong, grandmother; but the others are the strongest!"

"Ah!" she cried, "you are going away, Frederick--you are going away like poor Jean. I knew that he had gone away to fight. I knew all. I will never see either of you again."

"Why not, grandmother, why not? In a few weeks I will be allowed to come back, and Jean will come back, too, after the war!"

"I will never see you again!" she cried.

And her sobs grew louder. The people, curious, and even cruel in their curiosity, had come up stairs one after another; our three little rooms were filled with them; they held their breath, they had left their sabots at the foot of the stairs; they wanted to see and hear everything; but then, seeing the poor old woman in the shadow of her great gray curtains, sobbing and holding out her arms to me, almost all hastened to go down stairs again and to return to their homes. No one was left but big Starck, Father Ykel, and his daughter, Katel.

"Grandmother Anne," said Father Ykel, "don't get such ideas into your head. Frederick is right. You must be reasonable. When peace is declared all will be right again. You are eighty-three years old and I am nearly seventy. What does that matter? I hope to see again Jean, Father Frederick, and all those who are gone."

"Ah!" said she, "I have suffered too much; now it is all over!"

And till night she did nothing but cry. Marie-Rose, always courageous, opened the cupboards and packed up my bundle, for I had no time to lose; the next day I must be on my road. She took out my clothes and my best shirts and put them on the table, asking me, in a low voice, while the grandmother continued to cry:

"You will take this, father? And that?"

I answered:

"Do as you think best, my daughter. I have no sense left to think of anything with. Only put my uniform in the bundle--that is the principal thing."

Ykel, knowing that we were pressed for time, told us not to worry about the supper, that we should sup with them. We accepted.

That evening, George, we spoke little at table. Katel was up stairs with the grandmother. And when night came, as my bundle was packed, we went to bed early.

You may readily believe that I slept but little. The moans of the grandmother, and then my reflections, the uncertainty as to my destination, the small amount of money that I could take with me, for I had to leave enough to live on at home--all these things kept me awake in spite of my fatigue and the grief that was weighing me down. And all through that long night I asked myself where I should go, what I should do, what road I should take, to whom I should address myself in order to make my living? Turning these ideas over a hundred times in my head, I at last remembered my former chief of the guards, M. d'Arence, one of the best men I had ever known, who had always liked me, and even protected me during the time that I was under his orders as a simple guard many years before; I remembered that people said that he had retired to Saint Die, and I hoped, if I had the good luck to find him yet alive, that he would receive me well and would help me a little in my misfortune. This idea occurred to me towards morning; I thought it a good one, and I fell asleep for an hour or two. But at daybreak I was up. The terrible moment was approaching; I was scarcely out of bed, the grandmother heard me and called to me. Marie-Rose was also up; she had prepared our farewell breakfast; Ykel had sent up a bottle of wine.

Having dressed myself, I went into the grandmother's room, trying to keep up my spirits, but knowing that I would never see her again.

She seemed calmer, and, calling me to her, she threw her arms round my neck, saying:

"My son, for you have been my son--a good son to me--my son Frederick, I bless you! I wish you all the happiness that you deserve. Ah! wishes are not worth much, nor the blessings of poor people either. Without that, dear Frederick, you would not have been so unhappy."

She wept, and I could not restrain my tears. Marie-Rose, standing at the foot of the bed, sobbed silently.

And as the grandmother still held me, I said:

"See here, grandmother, your benediction and your kind words do me as much good as if you could give me all the riches of the world; it is my consolation to think that I will see you soon again."

"Perhaps we will meet again in heaven," said she; "but here on this earth I must say farewell. Farewell, Frederick, farewell."

She held me tightly embraced, kissing me with her trembling lips; and then, having released me and turned away her head, she held my hand for a minute, and, beginning to sob again, she repeated, in a low voice: "Farewell!"

I left the room; my strength failed me. In the side room I took a glass of wine and I put a piece of bread in my pocket; Marie-Rose was with me; I beckoned her to come down stairs softly, so that the grandmother should not hear our sobs at the moment of parting.

We went silently down stairs into the large lower room, where Father Ykel awaited us with some other friends; Starck, who had helped us to move from the forest house, Hulot, and some other good people.

We bade each other farewell; then in the entry I kissed Marie-Rose, as an unhappy father kisses his child, and in that kiss I wished her everything that a man can wish to the being whom he loves better than his life, and whom he esteems as one esteems virtue, courage, and goodness. And then, with my bundle slung on the end of a stick, I went away without turning my head.

*XXXIII*

The path of exile is long, George, and the first steps that one takes are painful. He who said that we do not drag with us our country fastened to the soles of our shoes, was learned in human suffering.

And when you leave behind you your child; when you seem to hear as you walk along the grandmother's voice saying farewell; when from the top of the mountain that sheltered you from the wind and covered you with its shadow, at the last turn of the path, before the descent, you turn and look at your valley, your cottage, your orchard, thinking, "You will never see them more!" then, George, it seems as if the earth holds you back, as if the trees were extending their arms towards you, as if the child was weeping in the distance, as if the grandmother was calling you back in the name of God!

Yes, I felt all that on the hill of Berlingen, and I shudder yet when I think of it. And to think that worms like us dare to inflict such sufferings on their fellow-creatures! May the Almighty have mercy upon them, for the hour of justice will surely come.

I tore myself away and continued my journey. I went away; I descended the hill with bent back, and the dear country gradually vanished into the distance. Oh! how I suffered, and how many distant thoughts came back to me! The forests, the firs, the old saw-mills passed away.

I was approaching Schoenbourg, and I began to descend the second hill, lost in my reveries and my despair, when all at once a man with his gun slung over his shoulder emerged from the forest about a hundred yards in front of me, looking towards me. This sight awoke me from my sad thoughts; I raised my eyes. It was Hepp, the old brigadier, whom the Prussians had won over, and who was the only man among us that had entered their service.

"Hillo!" said he, in amazement, "it is you, Father Frederick!"

"Yes," I answered, "it is I."

"But where are you going so early in the morning with your bundle on your shoulder?"

"I am going where God wills. The Germans have turned me out. I am going to earn my living elsewhere."

He turned very pale. I had stopped for a minute to breathe.

"How!" said he, "they are turning you out of doors at your age--you, an old forester, an honest man, who never did harm to any one?"

"Yes; they do not want me in this country any longer. They have given me twenty-four hours in which to quit old Alsace, and I am on my way."

"And Marie-Rose and the grandmother?"

"They are at Graufthal, at Ykel's. The grandmother is dying. The others will bury her."

Hepp, with drooping head and eyes cast down, lifted up his hands, saying: "What a pity! what a pity!"

I made no reply, and wiped my face, which was covered with perspiration. After a moment's pause, without looking at me, he said:

"Ah! if I had been alone with my wife! But I have six children. I am their father. I could not let them die of hunger. You had a little money laid aside. I had not a _sou_."

Then, seeing this man with a good situation--for he was a German brigadier forester--seeing this man making excuses to a poor, wretched exile like me, I did not know any more than he did what to answer, and I said:

"That is the way of the world. Every one has his burden to bear. Well! well! good-bye till I see you again."

He wanted to shake hands with me, but I looked another way, and continued my journey, thinking:

"That man, Frederick, is even more unhappy than you; his grief is terrible; he has sold his conscience to the Prussians for a piece of black bread; at least you can look every one in the face; you can say, in spite of your misery, 'I am an honest man,' and he does not dare to look at an old comrade; he blushes, he hangs his head. The others have profited by the fact of his having six children to buy him."

And, thinking of that, I grew a little more courageous, knowing that I had done well, in spite of everything, and that in Hepp's place I would have hanged myself long ago in some corner of the wood. That comforted me a little. What would you have? One is always glad to have done the best thing, even when one had nothing to choose between but the greatest of misfortunes.

Then those thoughts vanished, too; others took their place. I must tell you that in all the villages, and even in the smallest hamlets I passed through, the poor people, seeing me travelling at my age, with my bundle slung over my shoulder, received me kindly; they knew that I was one of those who were being sent away from the country because they loved France; the women standing before their doors with their children in their arms said to me, with emotion, "God guide you!"

In the little taverns, where I halted from time to time to recruit my strength, at Lutzelbourg, at Dabo, at Viche, they would not receive any money from me. As soon as I had said, "I am an old brigadier forester; the Germans have exiled me because I would not enter their service," I had the respect of everybody.

Naturally, also, I did not accept the kind offers they made me; I paid my way, for at this time of forced requisitions no one had anything too much.

The whole country sympathized with the republic, and the nearer I got towards the Vosges the more they spoke of Garibaldi, of Gambetta, of Chanzy, of Faidherbe; but also the requisitions were larger and the villages overrun with _landwehr_.

At Schirmeck, where I arrived the same day, about eight o'clock in the evening, I saw, on entering the inn, a _Feldwebel_, a schoolmaster, and a commissioner, who were drinking and smoking among a quantity of their people, who were seated at tables like themselves.

They all turned round and stared at me, while I asked a lodging for the night.

The commissioner ordered me to show him my papers; he examined them minutely, the signatures and the stamps; then he said to me:

"You are all right at present, but by daybreak to-morrow you must be on your way."

After that the innkeeper ventured to serve me with food and drink; and, as the inn was filled with the German officials, they took me to the barn, where I fell asleep on a heap of straw. It was freezing outside, but the barn was near the stable; it was warm there; I slept well because of my fatigue. Slumber, George, is the consolation of the wretched; if I had to speak of the goodness of God, I would say that every day He calls us to Him for a few hours to make us forget our misfortunes.

*XXXIV*

The next day a sort of calm had replaced my dejection; I went away more resolute, hastening across the plain to reach Rothau. I began to think of Jean Merlin. Perhaps he had followed the same route as I, for it was the shortest. How glad I would be if I could hear some news of him on my way, to send to Marie-Rose and the grandmother; what a consolation it would be in our misfortune! But I must not hope for it, so many others during the last three months had climbed from Rothau to Provencheres, French and Germans, strangers whom no one could have remembered.

Nevertheless, I thought of it. And as I walked swiftly along I admired the beautiful forests of this mountainous country, the immense fir trees that bordered the road and recalled to me those of Falberg, near Saverne. The sight of them touched me; it was like old comrades who escort you for several hours on your journey before saying a last farewell.

At last the rapid motion, the fresh, bracing air of the mountains, the kind welcome from the good people, the hope of finding M. d'Arence, my old chief of the guard, and, above all, the wish not to let myself be discouraged, when my poor daughter and the grandmother still had need of me, all that revived me, and I said to myself at each step I took:

"Courage, Frederick! The French are not yet all dead; perhaps after a while the happy days will return. Those who despair are lost; the poor little birds that the winter drives away from their nests and who are obliged to go far away to seek the seeds and the insects upon which they live suffer also; but the spring brings them back again. That ought to be an example to you. Another effort, and you will reach the top; from Provencheres you will only have to go down hill."