when i awoke at about three o’clock in the morning on that particular day, i was lying on the hard ground tired out, and with my face bathed in perspiration. the hot heavy atmosphere of a july night weighed me down.
my companions were sleeping around me, wrapped in their hooded cloaks; they speckled the grey ground with black, and the obscure plain panted; i fancied i heard the heavy breathing of a slumbering multitude. indistinct sounds, the neighing of horses, the clash of arms rang out amidst the rustling silence.
the army had halted at about midnight, and we had received orders to lie down and sleep. we had been marching for three days, scorched by the sun and blinded by dust. the enemy were at length in front of us, over there, on those hills on the horizon. at daybreak a decisive battle would be fought.
i had been a victim to despondency. for three days i had been as if trampled on, without energy and without thought for the future. it was the excessive fatigue, indeed, that had just awakened me. now, lying on my back, with my eyes wide open, i was thinking whilst gazing into the night, i thought of this battle, this butchery, which the sun was about to light up. for more than six years, at the first shot in each fight, i had been saying good-bye to those i loved the most fondly, babet and uncle lazare. and now, barely a month before my discharge, i had to say good-bye again, and this time perhaps for ever.
then my thoughts softened. with closed eyelids i saw babet and my uncle lazare. how long it was since i had kissed them! i remembered the day of our separation; my uncle weeping because he was poor, and allowing me to leave like that, and babet, in the evening, had vowed she would wait for me, and that she would never love another. i had had to quit all, my master at grenoble, my friends at dourgues. a few letters had come from time to time to tell me they always loved me, and that happiness was awaiting me in my well-beloved valley. and i, i was going to fight, i was going to get killed.
i began dreaming of my return. i saw my poor old uncle on the threshold of the parsonage extending his trembling arms; and behind him was babet, quite red, smiling through her tears. i fell into their arms and kissed them, seeking for expressions—
suddenly the beating of drums recalled me to stern reality. daybreak had come, the grey plain expanded in the morning mist. the ground became full of life, indistinct forms appeared on all sides; a sound that became louder and louder filled the air; it was the call of bugles, the galloping of horses, the rumble of artillery, the shouting out of orders. war came threatening, amidst my dream of tenderness. i rose with difficulty; it seemed to me that my bones were broken, and that my head was about to split. i hastily got my men together; for i must tell you that i had won the rank of sergeant. we soon received orders to bear to the left and occupy a hillock above the plain.
as we were about to move, the sergeant-major came running along and shouting:
“a letter for sergeant gourdon!”
and he handed me a dirty crumpled letter, which had been lying perhaps for a week in the leather bags of the post-office. i had only just time to recognise the writing of my uncle lazare.
“forward, march!” shouted the major.
i had to march. for a few seconds i held the poor letter in my hand, devouring it with my eyes; it burnt my fingers; i would have given everything in the world to have sat down and wept at ease whilst reading it. i had to content myself with slipping it under my tunic against my heart.
i have never experienced such agony. by way of consolation i said to myself what my uncle had so often repeated to me: i was in the summer of my life, at the moment of the fierce struggle, and it was essential that i should perform my duty bravely, if i would have a peaceful and bountiful autumn. but these reasons exasperated me the more: this letter, which had come to speak to me of happiness, burnt my heart, which had revolted against the folly of war. and i could not even read it! i was perhaps going to die without knowing what it contained, without perusing my uncle lazare’s affectionate remarks for the last time.
we had reached the top of the hill. we were to await orders there to advance. the battle-field had been marvellously chosen to slaughter one another at ease. the immense plain expanded for several leagues, and was quite bare, without a house or tree. hedges and bushes made slight spots on the whiteness of the ground. i have never since seen such a country, an ocean of dust, a chalky soil, bursting open here and there, and displaying its tawny bowels. and never either have i since witnessed a sky of such intense purity, a july day so lovely and so warm; at eight o’clock the sultry heat was already scorching our faces. o the splendid morning, and what a sterile plain to kill and die in!
firing had broken out with irregular crackling sounds, a long time since, supported by the solemn growl of the cannon. the enemy, austrians dressed in white, had quitted the heights, and the plain was studded with long files of men, who looked to me about as big as insects. one might have thought it was an ant-hill in insurrection. clouds of smoke hung over the battle-field. at times, when these clouds broke asunder, i perceived soldiers in flight, smitten with terrified panic. thus there were currents of fright which bore men away, and outbursts of shame and courage which brought them back under fire.
i could neither hear the cries of the wounded, nor see the blood flow. i could only distinguish the dead which the battalions left behind them, and which resembled black patches. i began to watch the movements of the troops with curiosity, irritated at the smoke which hid a good half of the show, experiencing a sort of egotistic pleasure at the knowledge that i was in security, whilst others were dying.
at about nine o’clock we were ordered to advance. we went down the hill at the double and proceeded towards the centre which was giving way. the regular beat of our footsteps appeared to me funeral-like. the bravest among us panting, pale and with haggard features.
i have made up my mind to tell the truth. at the first whistle of the bullets, the battalion suddenly came to a halt, tempted to fly.
“forward, forward!” shouted the chiefs.
but we were riveted to the ground, bowing our heads when a bullet whistled by our ears. this movement is instinctive; if shame had not restrained me, i would have thrown myself flat on my stomach in the dust.
before us was a huge veil of smoke which we dared not penetrate. red flashes passed through this smoke. and, shuddering, we still stood still. but the bullets reached us; soldiers fell with yells. the chiefs shouted louder:
“forward, forward!”
the rear ranks, which they pushed on, compelled us to march. then, closing our eyes, we made a fresh dash and entered the smoke.
we were seized with furious rage. when the cry of “halt!” resounded, we experienced difficulty in coming to a standstill. as soon as one is motionless, fear returns and one feels a wish to run away. firing commenced. we shot in front of us, without aiming, finding some relief in discharging bullets into the smoke. i remember i pulled my trigger mechanically, with lips firmly set together and eyes wide open; i was no longer afraid, for, to tell the truth, i no longer knew if i existed. the only idea i had in my head, was that i would continue firing until all was over. my companion on the left received a bullet full in the face and fell on me; i brutally pushed him away, wiping my cheek which he had drenched with blood. and i resumed firing.
i still remember having seen our colonel, m. de montrevert, firm and erect upon his horse, gazing quietly towards the enemy. that man appeared to me immense. he had no rifle to amuse himself with, and his breast was expanded to its full breadth above us. from time to time, he looked down, and exclaimed in a dry voice:
“close the ranks, close the ranks!”
we closed our ranks like sheep, treading on the dead, stupefied, and continuing firing. until then, the enemy had only sent us bullets; a dull explosion was heard and a shell carried off five of our men. a battery which must have been opposite us and which we could not see, had just opened fire. the shells struck into the middle of us, almost at one spot, making a sanguinary gap which we closed unceasingly with the obstinacy of ferocious brutes.
“close the ranks, close the ranks!” the colonel coldly repeated.
we were giving the cannon human flesh. each time a soldier was struck down, i was taking a step nearer death, i was approaching the spot where the shells were falling heavily, crushing the men whose turn had come to die. the corpses were forming heaps in that place, and soon the shells would strike into nothing more than a mound of mangled flesh; shreds of limbs flew about at each fresh discharge. we could no longer close the ranks.
the soldiers yelled, the chiefs themselves were moved.
“with the bayonet, with the bayonet!”
and amidst a shower of bullets the battalion rushed in fury towards the shells. the veil of smoke was torn asunder; we perceived the enemy’s battery flaming red, which was firing at us from the mouths of all its pieces, on the summit of a hillock. but the dash forward had commenced, the shells stopped the dead only.
i ran beside colonel montrevert, whose horse had just been killed, and who was fighting like a simple soldier. suddenly i was struck down; it seemed to me as if my breast opened and my shoulder was taken away. a frightful wind passed over my face.
and i fell. the colonel fell beside me. i felt myself dying. i thought of those i loved, and fainted whilst searching with a withering hand for my uncle lazare’s letter.
when i came to myself again i was lying on my side in the dust. i was annihilated by profound stupor. i gazed before me with my eyes wide open without seeing anything; it seemed to me that i had lost my limbs, and that my brain was empty. i did not suffer, for life seemed to have departed from my flesh.
the rays of a hot implacable sun fell upon my face like molten lead. i did not feel it. life returned to me little by little; my limbs became lighter, my shoulder alone remained crushed beneath an enormous weight. then, with the instinct of a wounded animal, i wanted to sit up. i uttered a cry of pain, and fell back upon the ground.
but i lived now, i saw, i understood. the plain spread out naked and deserted, all white in the broad sunlight. it exhibited its desolation beneath the intense serenity of heaven; heaps of corpses were sleeping in the warmth, and the trees that had been brought down, seemed to be other dead who were dying. there was not a breath of air. a frightful silence came from those piles of inanimate bodies; then, at times, there were dismal groans which broke this silence, and conveyed a long tremor to it. slender clouds of grey smoke hanging over the low hills on the horizon, was all that broke the bright blue of the sky. the butchery was continuing on the heights.
i imagined we were conquerors, and i experienced selfish pleasure in thinking i could die in peace on this deserted plain. around me the earth was black. on raising my head i saw the enemy’s battery on which we had charged, a few feet away from me. the struggle must have been horrible: the mound was covered with hacked and disfigured bodies; blood had flowed so abundantly that the dust seemed like a large red carpet. the cannon stretched out their dark muzzles above the corpses. i shuddered when i observed the silence of those guns.
then gently, with a multitude of precautions, i succeeded in turning on my stomach. i rested my head on a large stone all splashed with gore, and drew my uncle lazare’s letter from my breast. i placed it before my eyes; but my tears prevented my reading it.
and whilst the sun was roasting me in the back, the acrid smell of blood was choking me. i could form an idea of the woeful plain around me, and was as if stiffened with the rigidness of the dead. my poor heart was weeping in the warm and loathsome silence of murder.
uncle lazare wrote to me:
“my dear boy,—i hear war has been declared; but i still hope you will get your discharge before the campaign opens. every morning i beseech the almighty to spare you new dangers; he will grant my prayer; he will, one of these days, let you close my eyes.
“ah! my poor jean, i am becoming old, i have great need of your arm. since your departure i no more feel your youthfulness beside me, which gave me back my twenty summers. do you remember our strolls in the morning along the oak-tree walk? now i no longer dare to go beneath those trees; i am alone, i am afraid. the durance weeps. come quickly and console me, assuage my anxiety——”
the tears were choking me, i could not continue. at that moment a heartrending cry was uttered a few steps away from me; i saw a soldier suddenly rise, with the muscles of his face contracted; he extended his arms in agony, and fell to the ground, where he writhed in frightful convulsions; then he ceased moving.
“i have placed my hope in the almighty,” continued my uncle, “he will bring you back safe and sound to dourgues, and we will resume our peaceful existence. let me dream out loud and tell you my plans for the future.
“you will go no more to grenoble, you will remain with me; i will make my child a son of the soil, a peasant who shall live gaily whilst tilling the fields.
“and i will retire to your farm. in a short time my trembling hands will no longer be able to hold the host. i only ask heaven for two years of such an existence. that will be my reward for the few good deeds i may have done. then you will sometimes lead me along the paths of our dear valley, where every rock, every hedge will remind me of your youth which i so greatly loved——”
i had to stop again. i felt such a sharp pain in my shoulder, that i almost fainted a second time. a terrible anxiety had just taken possession of me; it, seemed as if the sound of the fusillade was approaching, and i thought with terror that our army was perhaps retreating, and that in its flight it would descend to the plain and pass over my body. but i still saw nothing but the slight cloud, of smoke hanging over the low hills.
my uncle lazare added:
“and we shall be three to love one another. ah! my well-beloved jean, how right you were to give her to drink that morning beside the durance. i was afraid of babet, i was ill-humoured, and now i am jealous, for i can see very well that i shall never be able to love you as much as she does, ‘tell him,’ she repeated to me yesterday, blushing, ‘that if he gets killed, i shall go and throw myself into the river at the spot where he gave me to drink.’
“for the love of god! be careful of your life. there are things that i cannot understand, but i feel that happiness awaits you here. i already call babet my daughter; i can see her on your arm, in the church, when i shall bless your union. i wish that to be my last mass.
“babet is a fine, tall girl now. she will, assist you in your work——”
the sound of the fusillade had gone farther away. i was weeping sweet tears. there were dismal moans among soldiers who were in their last agonies between the cannon wheels. i perceived one who was endeavoring to get rid of a comrade, wounded as he was, whose body was crushing his chest; and, as this wounded man struggled and complained, the soldier pushed him brutally away, and made him roll down the slope of the mound, whilst the wretched creature yelled with pain. at that cry a murmur came from the heap of corpses. the sun, which was sinking, shed rays of a light fallow colour. the blue of the sky was softer.
i finished reading my uncle lazare’s letter.
“i simply wished,” he continued, “to give you news of ourselves, and to beg you to come as soon as possible and make us happy. and here i am weeping and gossiping like an old child. hope, my poor jean, i pray, and god is good.
“answer me quickly, and give me, if possible, the date of your return. babet and i are counting the weeks. we trust to see you soon; be hopeful.”
the date of my return!—i kissed the letter, sobbing, and fancied for a moment that i was kissing babet and my uncle. no doubt i should never see them again. i would die like a dog in the dust, beneath the leaden sun. and it was on that desolated plain, amidst the death-rattle of the dying, that those whom i loved dearly were saying good-bye. a buzzing silence filled my ears; i gazed at the pale earth spotted with blood, which extended, deserted, to the grey lines of the horizon. i repeated: “i must die.” then, i closed my eyes, and thought of babet and my uncle lazare.
i know not how long i remained in a sort of painful drowsiness. my heart suffered as much as my flesh. warm tears ran slowly down my cheeks. amidst the nightmare that accompanied the fever, i heard a moan similar to the continuous plaintive cry of a child in suffering. at times, i awoke and stared at the sky in astonishment.
at last i understood that it was m. de montrevert, lying a few paces off, who was moaning in this manner. i had thought him dead. he was stretched out with his face to the ground and his arms extended. this man had been good to me; i said to myself that i could not allow him to die thus, with his face to the ground, and i began crawling slowly towards him.
two corpses separated us. for a moment i thought of passing over the stomachs of these dead men to shorten the distance; for, my shoulder made me suffer frightfully at every movement. but i did not dare. i proceeded on my knees, assisting myself with one hand. when i reached the colonel, i gave a sigh of relief; it seemed to me that i was less alone; we would die together, and this death shared by both of us no longer terrified me.
i wanted him to see the sun, and i turned him over as gently as possible. when the rays fell upon his face, he breathed hard; he opened his eyes. leaning over his body, i tried to smile at him. he closed his eyelids again; i understood by his trembling lips that he was conscious of his sufferings.
“it’s you, gourdon,” he said to me at last, in a feeble voice; “is the battle won?”
“i think so, colonel,” i answered him.
there was a moment of silence. then, opening his eyes and looking at me, he inquired—
“where are you wounded?”
“in the shoulder—and you, colonel?”
“my elbow must be smashed. i remember; it was the same bullet that arranged us both like this, my boy.”
he made an effort to sit up.
“but come,” he said with sudden gaiety, “we are not going to sleep here?”
you cannot believe how much this courageous display of joviality contributed towards giving me strength and hope. i felt quite different since we were two to struggle against death.
“wait,” i exclaimed, “i will bandage up your arm with my handkerchief, and we will try and support one another as far as the nearest ambulance.”
“that’s it, my boy. don’t make it too tight. now, let us take each other by the good hand and try to get up.”
we rose staggering. we had lost a great deal of blood; our heads were swimming and our legs failed us. any one would have mistaken us for drunkards, stumbling, supporting, pushing one another, and making zigzags to avoid the dead. the sun was setting with a rosy blush, and our gigantic shadows danced in a strange way over the field of battle. it was the end of a fine day.
the colonel joked; his lips were crisped by shudders, his laughter resembled sobs. i could see that we were going to fall down in some corner never to rise again. at times we were seized with giddiness, and were obliged to stop and close our eyes. the ambulances formed small grey patches on the dark ground at the extremity of the plain.
we knocked up against a large stone, and were thrown down one on the other. the colonel swore like a pagan. we tried to walk on all-fours, catching hold of the briars. in this way we did a hundred yards on our knees. but our knees were bleeding.
“i have had enough of it,” said the colonel, lying down; “they may come and fetch me if they will. let us sleep.”
i still had the strength to sit half up, and shout with all the breath that remained within me. men were passing along in the distance picking up the wounded; they ran to us and placed us side by side on a stretcher.
“comrade,” the colonel said to me during the journey, “death will not have us. i owe you my life; i will pay my debt, whenever you have need of me. give me your hand.”
i placed my hand in his, and it was thus that we reached the ambulances. they had lighted torches; the surgeons were cutting and sawing, amidst frightful yells; a sickly smell came from the blood-stained linen, whilst the torches cast dark rosy flakes into the basins.
the colonel bore the amputation of his arm with courage; i only saw his lips turn pale and a film come over his eyes. when it was my turn, a surgeon examined my shoulder.
“a shell did that for you,” he said; “an inch lower and your shoulder would have been carried away. the flesh, only, has suffered.”
and when i asked the assistant, who was dressing my wound, whether it was serious, he answered me with a laugh:
“serious! you will have to keep to your bed for three weeks, and make new blood.”
i turned my face to the wall, not wishing to show my tears. and with my heart’s eyes i perceived babet and my uncle lazare stretching out their arms towards me. i had finished with the sanguinary struggles of my summer day.
