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 — John Shaqi
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
Hullin was in such a state of delight that he was no longer like the
same man. His martial instincts--the recollection of the camp, the
march, the fire, and the battle--all returned at full speed; his eye
sparkled, his heart beat quicker, and already ideas of defence,
entrenchments, death-struggles, whirled rapidly through his brain.
"Upon my word!" said he to himself, "all this looks well! I have made
sabots enough in my life-time; and since I have a chance of shouldering
a musket again, well and good!--so much the better; we will show the
Prussians and Austrians that we have not forgotten our old trade."
So reasoned the brave man, carried away by warlike recollections; but
his joy was not of long duration.
In the square in front of the church were stationed fifteen or twenty
carts filled with the wounded that kept arriving from Leipzig and
Hanau. These unfortunates--pale, wan, with fast glazing eye; some whose
limbs had been already amputated, others whose wounds had not been
even dressed--were patiently awaiting death. Beside them stood some
old, worn-out horses, munching their meagre allowance; while their
drivers, poor devils taken into employ at Alsace, wrapped in their
ragged cloaks, were sleeping, with their hats pulled over their brows,
and their arms folded across their breasts, on the steps of the church.
It made one shudder to see these wretched groups of human beings, in
their large gray coats, as they lay jumbled together upon the bloody
straw; one supporting his broken arm upon his knees; another with his
head bandaged with an old handkerchief; a third, already dead, serving
as a seat for the living--his blackened hands hanging over the side of
the cart. Hullin stood rooted to the ground in the presence of this
dismal spectacle. He could not turn his eyes aside. It is in the power
of great human griefs to fascinate us thus; we have a morbid wish to
see how men perish--how they face death: the best of us are not free
from this frightful curiosity. It seems as if eternity was revealing
its secrets to us.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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