The Downfall (La Débâcle): A Story of the Horrors of WarZola, Émile
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The Downfall (La Débâcle): A Story of the Horrors of War
Zola, Émile
Franco-Prussian War, 1870-1871 -- Fiction
Suddenly the old woman appeared to increase in stature. She raised her
spare, tragic figure, draped in a shred of a dress, to its full height;
and waving her long arm from west to east with so comprehensive a
gesture that it seemed to embrace the entire heavens, she shouted: 'The
Rhine is not there, you cowards--the Rhine is over _there_. Cowards!
cowards!'
At last they were resuming their march, and Maurice, whose glance
at this moment fell upon Jean's face, saw that the corporal's eyes
were full of tears. He was thunderstruck, and his own suffering was
increased at the thought that even this brutish peasant had felt
the insult--an unmerited one, but to which they must needs submit.
Everything then seemed to crumble away in Maurice's poor, aching head,
and, overcome both by physical and moral suffering, he could never
remember how he had finished the march.
The Seventh Army Corps had required an entire day to cover the fourteen
or fifteen miles separating Dannemarie from Belfort; and night was
again falling and it was very late when the troops were able to
prepare their bivouacs under the walls of the fortress, on the very
spot whence they had started four days previously to march against the
enemy. Despite the lateness of the hour and their great weariness,
the men insisted on lighting their fires and cooking their _soupe_.
It was the first time, for four days, that they had something warm
to swallow. And squatting around the fires in the freshening night
air, they were all dipping their noses into their basins, and grunts
of content were rising on all sides, when a rumour circulated, burst
upon, spread through, and stupefied the camp. Two fresh telegrams had
arrived at brief intervals. The Prussians had not crossed the Rhine at
Markolsheim, and there was no longer a single Prussian at Huningen. The
passage of the Rhine at Markolsheim, the pontoon bridge thrown across
the river at night, thanks to powerful electric lights--all those
alarming stories were mere dreams, the unaccountable hallucinations of
the sub-prefect of Schelestadt. As for the army corps that threatened
Huningen, the famous army corps of the Black Forest, which had made
all Alsace tremble, this was composed of a petty detachment of
Wurtembergers--two battalions of foot and a squadron of horse--who by
skilful tactics, repeated marching and counter-marching, sudden and
unforeseen apparitions, had created a belief in the presence of thirty
or forty thousand men. To think the Dannemarie Viaduct had narrowly
escaped being blown up that morning! Twenty leagues of prosperous
country had been ravaged through an idiotic panic, for no reason
whatever; and at thought of all they had seen that dreadful day--the
inhabitants flying in terror, driving their cattle into the mountains,
and the stream of furniture-laden vehicles flowing towards the town
amid a troop of women and children--the soldiers felt thoroughly
enraged, and vented their anger in exasperated jeers.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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