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
Six o'clock was striking from the little steeple of Dontrien when
Loubet called: 'The _soupe_ is ready!' The squad seated itself devoutly
round the pot. At the last moment Loubet had been able to procure some
vegetables from a peasant living close by, so that the broth had a fine
scent of carrots and leeks, and was as soft to the palate as velvet.
Then Jean, the distributor, had to divide the meat into strictly equal
portions, for the men's eyes were aglow, and there would certainly have
been much growling had any one portion appeared to be in the smallest
degree larger than the others. Everything was devoured, the men gorging
themselves to their very eyes.
Even Maurice felt replete and happy, no longer thinking of his foot,
the smarting of which was passing away. He now accepted this brutish
comradeship, principles of equality being forced upon him, by the
physical needs of their common life. That night, too, he enjoyed the
same sound slumber as his five companions, the whole lot of them being
heaped together in the tent, well pleased at feeling themselves warm
whilst the dew was falling so abundantly outside. It should be added
that Lapoulle, egged on by Loubet, had removed some large armfuls of
straw from a neighbouring rick, and on this the six men snored as
comfortably as though they had been provided with feather beds. And
in the clear night, along the pleasant banks of the Suippe, flowing
slowly between the willows, the camp fires of those hundred thousand
men illumined the five leagues of plain from Auberive to Heutrégiville,
like trailing stars.
Coffee was made at sunrise, the grains being pounded in a platter
with the butt of a gun, and thrown into boiling water, to which a
drop of cold water was added in order to precipitate the grounds. The
sun rose that morning with regal magnificence, amid great clouds of
gold and purple. Maurice, however, no longer looked at the horizon
or the sky, and only Jean, like the thoughtful peasant he was, gazed
with an expression of uneasiness at this ruddy dawn which betokened
rain. Indeed, before they started, when the bread baked the day before
had been given out, and Loubet and Pache had fastened the three long
loaves which the squad received to their knapsacks, he blamed them for
having done so. The tents were already folded, however, and everything
had been strapped to the knapsacks, so that he was not listened to.
Six o'clock was striking from all the village steeples when the army
set out again, gallantly resuming its forward march in the early
hopefulness of this new day.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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