Part 6

It was a cruel sight to see the ambulances stop at our door in the wind, cold, rain, and snow; to hear the groans of the sick and wounded being removed from the carts and borne in helpless. When evening came, to end the long melancholy days, the Prussian bugles sounded the retreat under the leafless elm trees, with its slowly marked time, and its last three notes thrown out like the weird screech of a night-bird at the approach of night. This was the moment when the Doctor, muddy and tired, entered my room. He himself brought my food, and, with his usual good nature, told me all he had done—about his visits, the hearsays from Paris and from the provinces, about the sick people brought to him, and his disputes with the Prussian major, who was his colleague in command of the hospital, and whose German pedantry annoyed and exasperated him. We talked in sad low tones, and then the kind man bade me good-night. Once more alone, I softly opened my window to breathe the fresh air for a few minutes. In spite of the bitter cold, it did me good. In its peaceful slumbers the country seemed to return to its former condition and resumed the aspect of its happier days. But soon the step of a patrol, the groan of a wounded man, the sound of the cannon thundering on the horizon, brought me back to the reality, and I retired into my prison, full of hatred and anger. At the end of a short time this cellular kind of existence in the midst of the army of occupation became intolerable. Having lost all hope of entering Paris, I regretted my Hermitage. There, at least, I had solitude and Nature. I was not tempted there, as I was here, to interfere in the injustices, brutalities, and constant vexations going on in the street, thereby running the risk of compromising my kind host. Therefore I resolved upon leaving.

[Picture: Robert, peering from his window]

To my great surprise, the Doctor did not even try to dissuade me from my project.

—You are quite right, he said quietly; you will be safer over there.

Since, on reflection, I have always fancied that some neighbour may have seen me behind the lattice, and that my host, although he would not admit it, feared they would betray me. We therefore decided that I should leave Draveil the next day, in the same manner in which I arrived. When it was quite dark, I went down into the stable. I hid myself in the straw of the cabriolet, the Doctor’s cloak was thrown over me, and we started off. The journey was accomplished without accident. Every hundred and fifty or two hundred yards was a sentry-box erected by the roadside at the expense of the district.

—_Wer da_? challenged the sentry, cocking his rifle.

The Doctor answered:

—_Lazareth_!

And the little gig continued its jingling rattle over the stones. At the edge of the forest he stopped. The road was clear. I hastily jumped out.

—Take this, said the kind man, holding out a basket full of food and bottles . . . Shut yourself up, and do not stir out . . . I will come and see you soon.

Thereupon he whipped up his horse, and I threw myself into the thicket. A quarter of an hour later, I was at the Hermitage.

[Picture: Being challenged by a sentry]

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[Picture: Hungry birds come for food]

_January_ 3_rd_.

. . . A fine drifting snow has been falling for the last few days. The forest is completely covered. Around me the silence was so deep that I could even hear the fall of the thickening flakes. It is impossible to go out. I watch the snow falling from the murky sky and whitening all things. The famished birds come to my very doorstep. The roedeer have taken refuge in the stable in place of my poor Colaquet, of whom I have heard nothing…

[Picture: Deer sheltering in the stable]

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[Picture: “They blew out his brains with a revolver.”]

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[Picture: Robert hears bad news from the Doctor]

_January_ 10_th_.

. . . The Doctor came to see me. Bad news: Paris still shut up, disasters in the provinces! The conquerors, worn out by such a tardy victory, redouble the humiliations and brutalities . . . At Draveil, on Christmas night, five or six Bavarians, after sitting up late drinking with old Rabot, the forester, in a public-house, blew out his brains with a revolver. The unhappy man’s brother, who lived opposite, ran in on hearing the report of the shot, and in his turn fell mortally wounded. Another man of the same family was seriously wounded. The wretches would have massacred all comers! The affair created a great sensation: a fictitious inquiry was made, and concluded by the district of Draveil being condemned to pay an indemnity of _sixteen hundred pounds_ to the Bavarians! . . .

[Picture: Bavarian preparing for the party]

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[Picture: Game-shooting party in the forest]

_January_ 15_th_.

. . . This morning the Prince of Saxony’s staff had a large shooting-party in the forest. On hearing the firing so near me, I was seized with a terrible anxiety. I thought it was the arrival of some French advanced-guard; but from the windows of the studio overlooking the woods, I saw between the leafless branches, crowds of beaters wearing the Saxon forage-caps running and shouting through the thickets, while plumed and gilded sportsmen watched at every turn of the drives. In the circle round the _Great Oak_ an enormous bivouac-fire blazed in front of a tent. Here, called by a flourish of trumpets, the shooters came to breakfast. I heard the clinking of glasses, the uncorking of bottles, and the cheering of the revellers. Then the slaughter of deer and pheasants recommenced. Ah! if old Guillard had been there! he who kept such an account of his game, watched over his coveys and his rabbit-holes, knew the favourite haunts of the deer. How he would have grieved to see this sacrilege! The bewildered birds knew not where to seek safety from the cruel guns. The startled hares and rabbits ran under the legs of the sportsmen, and in the midst of all the confusion a wounded deer took refuge in the courtyard of the Hermitage. The eyes of hunted animals have a look of piteous astonishment which is truly heart-rending. This one excited my compassion, pressing against the low wall round the well, sniffing the air, and pawing the ground with its little bleeding feet. My indignation redoubled against the plundering race that swarmed over vanquished France with the voracity of locusts, destroying its vineyards, its houses, its cornfields, its forests, and, when the country was laid bare, exterminating even the game, leaving nothing alive.

[Picture: “I heard the clinking of glasses.”]

I shall never forget that day’s sport in the midst of the war, under that dark, lowering sky, with the landscape whitened with hoar-frost, and the glitter of the gold on the helmets and the hunting-horns passing beneath the branches; while the galloping of the horses, the who-hoops of the men, reminded me of the Black Huntsman in the German ballads. At dusk, lines of carts came to gather up from the edge of the roads all the wounded and dying game. It was like the evening after a battle.

[Picture: Taking home the day’s spoils]

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[Picture: Depressed troops after the capitulation.]

_January_ 19_th_.

…They have fought all day under the walls of Paris. But the noise of the mitrailleuses was not so distinct as on the 2nd of December. There was something in the sound of that distant battle which gave me the impression of lassitude and discouragement.

_January_ 30_th_.

…All is over. Paris has capitulated. The armistice is signed.

[Picture: Abandoned equipment]

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LAST LEAFLETS.

[Picture: Robert finishing his Diary]

I end here my diary, in which I have tried to give the experiences of my five months of solitude. To-day I returned to Draveil in the Doctor’s carriage, but without hiding this time. The roads were full of peasants returning home. Many are already at work again on the land. All faces are sad, but no complaints are heard. Is it fatalism or resignation?

The Prussians still occupy the village, enforcing their triumph with cool insolence. They, however, appear less brutal with the inhabitants. I saw some walking about hand-in-hand with little children. It was like the beginning of a return to their forsaken hearths, to their sedentary lives, so long disturbed by this war . . . When I came home in the evening, I saw on the doorstep of the keeper’s house, old Guillard’s widow, dressed in deep mourning and hardly recognisable. Poor woman! her husband dead and her home a wreck. Her misfortunes are complete. I heard her weeping as she tried to put in order the remains of her household goods.

[Picture: Papers] Silence reigns at the Hermitage. It is a clear night and the air is balmy. Already the presence of spring is beginning to be felt under the fast melting snow. The forest will soon bud forth, and I shall watch to see the grass blades pushing aside the dead leaves. From the distant quiet plains rises a misty vapour like the smoke of an inhabited village; and if anything can impart consolation after a cruel war, it is this repose of all Nature and mankind, this universal calm which rests upon a shattered country—a country recruiting its strength by sleep, forgetful of the lost harvest in preparing for that of the future!

[Picture: Commencing tilling the fields]

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[Picture: Publisher’s Logo]