Franco-Prussian War, 1870-1871 -- Fiction; War stories
Hours passed, and now distant lights that began to twinkle in the open
fields beyond the ramparts excited afresh her apprehensions. It was so
dark that it cost her an effort of memory to recall localities. She
knew that the broad expanse that lay beneath her, reflecting a dim
light, was the flooded meadows, and that flame that blazed up and was
suddenly extinguished, surely it must be on la Marfée. But never, to
her certain knowledge, had there been farmer’s house or peasant’s
cottage on those heights; what, then, was the meaning of that light?
And then on every hand, at Pont-Maugis, Noyers, Frenois, other fires
arose, coruscating fitfully for an instant and giving mysterious
indication of the presence of the swarming host that lay hidden in the
bosom of the night. Yet more: there were strange sounds and voices in
the air, subdued murmurings such as she had never heard before, and
that made her start in terror; the stifled hum of marching men, the
neighing and snorting of steeds, the clash of arms, hoarse words of
command, given in guttural accents; an evil dream of a demoniac crew, a
witch’s sabbat, in the depths of those unholy shades. Suddenly a single
cannon-shot rang out, ear-rending, adding fresh terror to the dead
silence that succeeded it. It froze her very marrow; what could it
mean? A signal, doubtless, telling of the successful completion of some
movement, announcing that everything was ready, down there, and that
now the sun might rise.
It was about two o’clock when Henriette, forgetting even to close her
window, at last threw herself, fully dressed, upon her bed. Her anxiety
and fatigue had stupefied her and benumbed her faculties. What could
ail her, thus to shiver and burn alternately, she who was always so
calm and self-reliant, moving with so light a step that those about her
were unconscious of her existence? Finally she sank into a fitful,
broken slumber that brought with it no repose, in which was present
still that persistent sensation of impending evil that filled the dusky
heavens. All at once, arousing her from her unrefreshing stupor, the
firing commenced again, faint and muffled in the distance, not a single
shot this time, but peal after peal following one another in quick
succession. Trembling, she sat upright in bed. The firing continued.
Where was she? The place seemed strange to her; she could not
distinguish the objects in her chamber, which appeared to be filled
with dense clouds of smoke. Then she remembered: the fog must have
rolled in from the near-by river and entered the room through the
window. Without, the distant firing was growing fiercer. She leaped
from her bed and ran to the casement to listen.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account