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
In fact, as the day grew lighter, it served to show more and more
people arriving by all the different paths of the mountain. There were
then already several hundred men in the valley: woodcutters, charcoal
burners, watermen, without reckoning the women and children.
Nothing more picturesque can be imagined than this halt in the midst of
the snow, in the deep defiles, surrounded by tall pines towering to the
skies; to the right, valleys linked with each other, stretching away
far out of sight; to the left, the cloud-capp'd ruins of Falkenstein.
At a distance, they might have been taken for large flocks of cranes
herding together for comfort, 'mid the snow and ice; but, on a nearer
view, you could then behold these rough men, with beards bristling like
the skin of the wild boar, stern eyes, broad square shoulders, and
horny hands. Some among them, taller than the rest, belonged to that
fiery red race with white skins, hairy to the very finger-ends, and
strong enough to uproot oaks. Of this number were Materne of Hengst,
and his two sons Frantz and Kasper. These stalwart fellows, all three
armed with long carbines, from Inspruck, wearing long gaiters of blue
cloth, with leather buttons, reaching high above the knee, a sort of
tunic made of goat-skin, and their hats pushed to the very back of the
head, had not even deigned to approach the fire. For the last hour they
had been sitting together on the trunk of a felled tree by the river's
edge, with watchful eye and keen scent, like hunters lying in ambush,
with their feet on the snow.
From time to time the old man would say to his sons: "What are they
shivering about, down there? I never knew a milder night for the
season. It's like a spring night; the rivers are not even touched by
the frost!"
All the forest-rangers of the country round, as they passed, gave them
a hearty shake of the hand, and then closed in around them, so that
they formed, in a manner, a band apart. These people spoke but little,
being used to keeping silence for whole days and nights together, for
fear of frightening the game.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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