The Great Invasion of 1813-14; or, After Leipzig: Being a story of the entry of the allied forces into Alsace and Lorraine, and their march upon Paris after the Battle of Leipzig, called the Battle of the Kings and NationsErckmann-Chatrian
History
The Great Invasion of 1813-14; or, After Leipzig: Being a story of the entry of the allied forces into Alsace and Lorraine, and their march upon Paris after the Battle of Leipzig, called the Battle of the Kings and Nations
Erckmann-Chatrian
France -- History -- Invasion of 1814 -- Fiction; French fiction -- Translations into English
"No, I will be a man; I will preach peace, fraternity, justice! Ah!
my friends," he would say, "we suffer by our own fault. What have we
done, on the other side of the Rhine, for the last ten years? By what
right did we want to impose masters on those peoples? Why did we not
exchange our ideas, our sentiments, the products of our arts and of
our industry, with them? Why did we not go to seek them as brothers,
instead of wishing to subjugate them? We should have been well
received. What must they have suffered--the unfortunates--during those
ten years of violence and rapine? Now they avenge themselves; and it is
justice! May the curse of Heaven alight on the wretches who divide the
peoples to oppress them!"
After these moments of excitement, he would sink fainting against the
wall of the tower, murmuring:
"Bread. Oh, for nothing but a morsel of bread!"
The sons of Materne, crouching among the bushes, gun on shoulder,
seemed to be awaiting the passage of game which never arrived; the idea
of perpetual ambush sustained their expiring strength.
Some, bent double, were shivering, and felt consumed by fever; they
accused Jean-Claude of having led them to the Falkenstein.
Hullin, with superhuman strength of character, still went and came,
observing what was passing in the surrounding valleys, without saying
anything.
At times he advanced to the very edge of the rock, and with his large
compressed jaws, and flashing eye, watched Yégof sitting before a large
fire, on the plateau of the Bois-des-Chênes, in the midst of a troop
of Cossacks. Since the arrival of the Germans in the valley of the
Charmes, the fool had not quitted this post; he seemed, from there, to
gloat over the agony of his victims.
Such was the aspect of these unfortunates under the vast canopy of
heaven.
The punishment of hunger at the bottom of a dungeon is frightful,
no doubt, but beneath a sky bathed in light, in the eyes of a whole
country, in face of the resources of nature, it passes all expression.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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