Wœrth in the morning, for afterwards we had to fight, tooth and nail, to try and recapture it. But we didn't succeed. Ah! my boys, we did have a job there. You should have seen all the bellies ripped open and the brains scattered about. It was incredible. Then we had a set-to round another village—Elsasshausen, a beastly name to remember. We were being mowed down by a lot of guns which were firing at their ease from another cursed hill, which we had also given up in the morning. And then it was that I saw, yes, I myself saw the charge of the Cuirassiers. Ah! how the poor devils did get themselves killed! It was pitiful to send men and horses charging over such ground as that, a slope covered with scrub and full of ditches. And, besides, worse luck, it could be of no earthly use. All the same, however, it was brave, it was a grand sight to see. And after that? Well, after that it seemed as if we had no other course but to try and take ourselves off. The village was burning like tinder, the Badeners, the Wurtembergers, and the Prussians—the whole band, in fact—one hundred and twenty thousand of those beasts, had ended by surrounding us. But we didn't go off. The music began again round Frœschweiler. The plain truth is, MacMahon may be a duffer, but he's plucky. You should have seen him on his big horse in the midst of the shells! Any other man would have bolted at the outset, thinking it no shame to refuse battle when one isn't in force. But he, as the fighting had begun, determined to let the skull-cracking go on to the bitter end. And he managed it, too! In Frœschweiler we weren't like men fighting; we were like animals, eating one another. For a couple of hours the gutters ran with blood——. And then? Well, we had to skedaddle at last! And to think we learned just then that we had overthrown the Bavarians on our left! Ah! curse it, if we, too, had only had a hundred and twenty thousand men, if we had only had enough guns and not quite such duffing officers!'
Still exasperated and violently inclined, Coutard and Picot, in their ragged uniforms grey with dust, were cutting themselves hunks of bread and bolting big bits of cheese, whilst venting their nightmare-like souvenirs under the beautiful vine with its ripe grapes spangled with golden darts by the sun. They had now come to the fearful rout that had followed the battle; the disbanded, demoralised, hungry regiments fleeing through the fields; the high roads one stream of men, horses, carts, and guns in frightful confusion; all the wreckage of an annihilated army, lashed onward in its retreat by the mad blast of panic. Since they had not been able to fall back in good order and defend the passages of the Vosges, where ten thousand men might have stopped a hundred thousand, at least they might have blown up the bridges and filled up the tunnels. But the generals bolted in the universal scare, and such a tempest of stupefaction swept along, carrying off both vanquishers and vanquished, that for a moment the two conflicting armies lost one another—MacMahon hurrying in the direction of Lunéville, whilst the Crown Prince of Prussia was looking for him in the direction of the Vosges. On August 7 the remnants of the First French Army Corps swept through Saverne like a muddy, overflowing stream laden with wreckage. On the 8th, the Fifth Corps fell in with the First at Saarburg, like one torrent flowing into another. The Fifth Corps was also in full flight, beaten without having fought, and carrying along with it its commander, that sorry General de Failly, who was distracted to find that the responsibility of the defeat was ascribed to his inaction. On the 9th and 10th the flying gallop continued, a mad sauve-qui-peut, in which no one halted even to look round. On the 11th, in the pouring rain, they descended towards Bayon, so as to avoid Nancy, which was falsely rumoured to be in the enemy's hands. On the 12th they encamped at Haroué; on the 13th at Vicherey; and next day they reached Neufchâteau, where the railway at last gathered together this drifting mass of men, who, during three entire days, were shovelled into the trains, so that they might be conveyed to Châlons. Four-and-twenty hours after the last train had started the Prussians came up.
'Ah! cursed luck!' concluded Picot. 'We had to use our legs, and no mistake. And we two had been left at the infirmary.'
Coutard was just emptying the bottle into his comrade's glass and his own: 'Yes,' said he, 'we took ourselves off, and we've been on the road ever since. All the same, however, one feels better now that one can drink to the health of those that haven't had their skulls cracked.'
Maurice now understood everything. After so stupidly allowing themselves to be surprised at Weissenburg, the crushing, lightning stroke of Frœschweiler had fallen on the French, its sinister glare casting a vivid light upon the terrible truth. France was not ready, she had neither cannon, nor men, nor generals; and the enemy, treated with such contempt, proved to be strong and solid, innumerable, perfect alike in discipline and tactics. Through the weak screen formed of the seven French Army Corps, disseminated between Metz and Strasburg, the foe had literally punched his way. Of a certainty France would now be left to her own resources; neither Austria nor Italy would join her; the Emperor's plan had crumbled away through the delay in the operations and the incapacity of the commanders. And even fatality was working against the French, accumulating mishaps and deplorable coincidences, and enabling the Prussians to carry out their secret plan, which was to cut the French armies in two and throw one portion of them under Metz, that it might be isolated from the rest of France, whilst they—the invaders—marched upon Paris, after destroying the other portion. Already, at this stage, everything was mathematically clear. France was bound to be beaten, through causes the inevitable effects of which were already apparent; and this war was but a conflict between unintelligent bravery on the one hand, and superiority of numbers and calm methodical strategy on the other. Dispute about it as one might later on, in any and every case, no matter what might have been done, defeat was a fatal certainty, predetermined by the laws that rule the world.
Suddenly, as Maurice's dreamy eyes wandered away, they espied those words, 'Vive Napoléon!' traced in charcoal on the high yellow wall in front of him. He experienced an unbearable feeling of uneasiness at the sight; a sudden burning pang shot through his heart. So it was true that France, the France of the legendary victories, that had marched with beating drums through Europe, had now been thrown to the ground by a petty nation which it had despised. Fifty years had sufficed to change the world, and defeat was falling heavy and fearful on those who had once been conquerors. Maurice remembered all that his brother-in-law Weiss had told him on that night of anguish before Mulhausen. Yes, Weiss alone had shown any prescience, guessing the slow, hidden causes of the decline of France, perceiving what a breeze of youth and strength was blowing from Germany. One warlike age was ending; another was beginning. Woe to those who halt in the continuous effort which nations must make; victory belongs to those who march in the van, to the most accomplished, the healthiest, and the strongest!
Just then a girl's screams were heard. Lieutenant Rochas, like a conquering trooper, was kissing the pretty servant in the smoky old kitchen, brightened by cheap coloured prints. He stepped into the arbour and ordered coffee, and, having overheard the last words of Coutard and Picot, he gaily remarked, 'Pooh! my lads, all that's nothing. It's only the beginning of the dance; you're going to see the revenge we'll have now. So far, they've been five to one. But it's all going to change, take my word for it. There are three hundred thousand of us here. All the movements we are making, and which you don't understand, are to draw the Prussians down on us, whilst Bazaine, who's watching them, takes them in flank. Then we'll just squash them—like this fly.'
As he spoke he crushed a passing fly with a loud clap of his hands; and he talked on gaily, believing, in his childish simplicity, in the success of this easy plan, and having recovered all his pristine faith in the invincibility of bravery. He obligingly acquainted the two soldiers with the exact positions of their regiments, and then, feeling quite happy, he sat himself down with a cigar between his teeth, in front of his cup of coffee.
'The pleasure has been mine, comrades,' replied Maurice to Coutard and Picot, as, in taking themselves off, they thanked him for the cheese and the bottle of wine. He also had ordered some coffee, and he sat there looking at Rochas, and sharing his good humour, though he was surprised that an officer should talk of three hundred thousand men when they were barely more than one hundred thousand, and that he should consider the crushing of the Prussians between the army of Châlons and the army of Metz such a remarkably easy affair. But, on the other hand, Maurice felt such a need of illusions! Might he not continue hoping in victory, when the glorious past was carolling so loudly in his memory? The old guinguette
