Heath's Modern Language Series

MADAME THÉRÈSE

PAR

ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN

EDITED WITH INTRODUCTION, NOTES, AND
VOCABULARY

BY

EDWARD MANLEY

Englewood High School, Chicago

D. C. HEATH & CO., PUBLISHERS
BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO

Copyright, 1910
By D. C. Heath & Co.

Printed in U. S. A.

INTRODUCTION

The French Revolution

Madame Thérèse is a story of the French Revolution. The events described in it occur between the summer of 1793 and the following spring. It abounds in allusions to episodes in the Revolution itself and contains many references to customs which owed their origin to the Revolution. Though it presents no difficulties to the intelligent Frenchman, still, by the constant introduction of these allusions to events and institutions of the Revolution, it refers to many things which are not clear to readers of other nations, unless they are familiar with the leading facts of French history preceding the revolutionary outbreak. The following sections contain an account of many things mentioned in Madame Thérèse.

1. The French Revolution was the culmination of the revolt of the French people against royal despotism and class privilege. The spectacular part of the Revolution began in 1789, the real revolution was complete before that date. In 1786 the king, Louis XVI, called together the ancient representative and legislative body of the nation to ascertain whether the members could suggest any means of securing the great and constantly increasing sums of money which he thought necessary for maintaining an extravagant court--and incidentally the government.

2. If the king was compelled as a last resort to summon this ancient legislative body, called the Estates General, the financial condition of the government must have been bad indeed; for the Estates General had not met for two centuries. It was unable to devise any increase in taxation which the people could bear, for the poorer classes were already taxed to the utmost and the upper classes were unwilling to tax themselves. The Estates General, therefore, was not able to plan ways and means of increasing the income of the government.

3. But in this session the non-privileged part of the people had leaders. Certain nobles and ecclesiastics, of whom Mirabeau and Abbé Sieyès are the best known, purposely became representatives, not of the upper classes but of the lower. Under their guidance representatives of the Third Estate (the three estates were the Nobility, the Clergy, and the Commons) in the Estates General now assumed power on behalf of the French people to regulate taxation. They represented ninety-six per cent of the population and took the name of National Assembly.

4. This was revolution. It stirred the king to assert his authority and he directed them to adjourn. They refused. The Assembly now proceeded to a consideration of changes in the government. The king brought soldiers to Paris. This act of intimidation won for the Assembly the support of the Parisian mob. One of the first acts of this mob was to destroy the Bastille, which was the ancient state prison and a monument of royal oppression.

5. The peasantry in France rose, and in some places demolished the castles of the nobility. The mob brought the king from the royal residence at Versailles to Paris, where he was kept practically a prisoner. Thus in a few months the people had secured control of the government, but without overthrowing the monarchy. On the fourth of August, 1789, the National Assembly "swept away all the odious privileges of the old regime and decreed in law the reign of equality in France." This was the beginning of the Republic, and the people began to call themselves Republicans. Later, income-producing church lands--perhaps one-fifth of the area of the country--were confiscated and the Church was made a department of the state.

6. But the National Assembly needed money, so it issued paper called assignats, whose value was secured by these church lands. This money was subsequently issued in such large quantities that a dollar of it came to be worth only a quarter of a cent. It was finally repudiated altogether.

7. From 1791, the history of the Revolution is a recital of factious quarrels, and of wars with the rest of Europe. These latter did not cease until the battle of Waterloo, in 1815.

8. European sovereigns watched the progress of the Revolution with anxiety. No people would have the same respect for monarchy and kingly authority, if the French were successful in overthrowing their government. Kings made common cause against the common danger and resolved to crush this uprising in France. Frederick William II, King of Prussia, Emperor Leopold II of Austria and his successor Francis II were the first to make war on the French. The French armies were so badly beaten at first that the mob in Paris believed that those around the king were giving information to the enemy. They accordingly made the king an actual prisoner to prevent further betrayals. Thereupon the Duke of Brunswick, in command of the Prussian army on the borders of France, issued a proclamation threatening destruction to Paris if harm should be done to the French king. Straightway the mob attacked the palace in which the king was prisoner and massacred the Swiss guards. This was on the tenth of August, 1792, a memorable day in the history of France.

9. On the twentieth of September the battle of Valmy was fought, in which the French defeated their enemies decisively. The next day the Republic was formally established, and on the twenty-second began Year One of the French Republic. In the January following, the king was executed. Prussia, Austria, England, Holland, Sweden, Spain, Portugal, the Holy See, and Russia now combined to crush the young republic and restore monarchy. La Vendée, one of the western districts of France, rose against the radical changes introduced by the Revolution.

10. The National Assembly was succeeded by the Convention, among whose members dissensions arose and produced the Reign of Terror, from June to October, 1793. Among the excesses of this period was the abolition of the Christian religion in France and the substitution therefor of the worship of the Goddess of Reason.

11. The causes which led the French people to rise and overthrow its oppressors are fivefold:

(a). A despotic government. Over a century before the Revolution, Louis XIV had said, "L'état, c'est moi." In his opinion the people existed merely for him to tax, and despise in exact proportion to the burdens which they bore. His successors held the same doctrine. For nearly two centuries no king had summoned the national legislative body to make laws and lay taxes. Successive kings had, by royal decree, enacted such laws as they had seen fit, and had enforced them as they pleased. They arrested, imprisoned, and executed citizens, almost as they wished. Their taxation was extravagant, for the most part unnecessary, unreasonable, and brutal. They lived scandalous lives utterly regardless of their responsibility to their people. Their courts were notorious for extravagance, frivolity and vice.

(b). Another cause was a contemptible nobility. In profligacy the nobles imitated the kings. They despised their people, and robbed them of the little left by the king's tax collectors. They had many ancient feudal privileges but were unwilling to relinquish any of them to help the people. The nobility, like the clergy, on the pretext of saving their dignity exempted themselves from the necessity of paying taxes.

(c). The clergy. It has sometimes happened that oppression of the people by religious organizations has been commensurate with the tyranny of the ruling classes. On this account the oppressors representing religion have been despised by the people, quite as much as lay tyrants. The higher clergy, who were lords over nearly one fifth of the land of France, did not treat their vassals appreciably better than did the nobility. During the violence at the outbreak of the Revolution the people in some parts of France burned castles, churches, and monasteries alike. As Erckmann and Chatrian say in another work, "The peasants were weary of monasteries and châteaux; they wished to till the fields for themselves."

(d). The condition of the people. The life, liberty, and property of the peasant were at the mercy of the king and the upper classes. Yet the condition of the peasant was not utterly bad. He seems to have been oppressed because he was not intelligent enough to better himself.

(e). Taxation. It was a recognized principle of the French government, that the people might be forced to pay taxes and to build roads at pleasure. If the peasant did not pay taxes by the time appointed, collectors went to his home and seized whatever would satisfy the claim, even taking clothes laid on bushes to dry, and sometimes going so far as to remove doors from their hinges, or to take beams and boards from the buildings and carry them away in place of taxes.

The salt tax (la gabelle) was an odious burden in its lack of uniformity. It was thirty times as high in some parts of France as it was in others. Besides, every person had to buy seven pounds a year for household use; this salt could not be devoted to any other use. A peasant needing salt for other purposes was forced to buy other salt, on which there was of course a tax. To all the nobility, however, the king made an annual free distribution of salt.

The corvée, or forced contribution to build roads, was an oppressive and tyrannical tax. Public good may have required community of labor on roads, but the later abuse by which royal officers "tore away poor peasants from their families and work, and drove them off to build roads" was not to be endured. While building roads peasants had only what food they brought along or what they begged out of working hours.

Louis Blanc makes the peasant soliloquize thus under the pre-Revolutionary taxation:

"They condemn me to work without pay. My family counts on my work in the field, but they take me away and force me to level the highway under coach wheels, under the feet of the trader or the priest or the elegant gentleman. I don't know how to surface roads; yet they take no account of my ignorance and if my work is ill-done, they will come in a few months and take my time to repair it. I am a human being, yet they treat me with a harshness which oxen and mules are spared. I pay a tax that the nobility and clergy may be exempt; and they make me break stone on the road for them, profiting by it without even being grateful to me. They make me buy salt at twelve cents a pound; they rob me on tobacco; they billet soldiers on me; and when I give them a whole week of my work, they don't pay me; if any of my animals die of fatigue while working for them, they never reimburse me. If I am maimed in their service, they brutally thrust me out on a charitable public."

Peasants were not allowed to enclose fields; and sometimes they were forbidden the necessary practice of agriculture, lest it might drive the game from the neighborhood or in some other way interfere with the lord's hunting. In seasons of bountiful crops peasants fared badly; but in years when crops failed, death and starvation walked through the land; so that the good Fénelon said to his king, "France is simply a large hospital, full of woe and empty of food." This picture is perhaps too dark and is hardly a fair presentation of the condition of French peasantry.

(f). The trend of French philosophy. Many writers in France, among them Voltaire, Rousseau, Diderot, d'Alembert, and Abbé Bergier, were publishing new doctrines about the rights of man and about government. Their teachings were too advanced for the France of the Bourbon kings. These philosophers did much to stimulate thought and discussion in the field of government and politics. Thus they prepared the minds of many for the steps that led to the Revolution. They did much to create the discontent which led the French people to assume and exercise the rights that were their own, though the result was the overthrow of established government and the downfall of kings.

(g). The success of the American Revolution, 1776-1783. Across the sea the Americans had resented and resisted tyranny and oppression; this fact was all the better known because of French interest, sympathy, and assistance. Thus the French found a recent precedent for their own attempt to overthrow a tyrannical government and establish a republic.

Erckmann and Chatrian

Erckmann and Chatrian, or Erckmann-Chatrian, as the French write this collaborative name, were two authors whose joint productions were at first short stories, and later a series of historical romances which made their fame. In these they confined their efforts to themes suggested by the history of their own country, France. The scenes are for the most part laid in localities which they themselves knew--especially the Alsace of their youth. Their best characters are from classes of their beloved people with whom they had lived, and whose virtues and faults were to them as open books. The chosen time of most of their romances is the period of the French Revolution, and the purpose--for they wrote with a purpose--is the glorification of peace and the universal brotherhood of man.

They had several successes in the dramatic field also, some of their plays being cordially received not only in France but in other countries. Their play called Alsace was intensely patriotic, and pleased the people, whenever a despotic government allowed it to be presented. Their Juif Polonais, or "The Bells", as it is known in English, has been on the stage for nearly forty years, and enjoys a great popularity yet. Probably no play in Sir Henry Irving's repertory was received with the same steady favor or was acted so many times by him.

Émile Erckmann was born at Phalsbourg, a fortified town of Alsace on the border between Germany and France, May 20, 1822. His father was a poor shopkeeper and as late as 1870 continued to serve his customers. The younger Erckmann received his education at the local college, but only after a hard struggle. Like the others who find the road to knowledge arduous he made good use of his opportunities, after he had once obtained them. He was at the head of every class of which he was a member and was graduated with first honors. So remarkable a student had he been--though his native ability was only fair--that for years he was mentioned by the professors as a model worthy of close imitation. Born and reared among a population which was essentially German, in spite of the most persistent efforts to denationalize it, he had German characteristics of body as well as of mind. He had a heavy frame, golden hair and beard, a rather broad face, blue eyes, fair complexion, and a meditative expression, all of which would easily cause him to be taken almost anywhere for a professor from a German university rather than for the Frenchman which he really was. He combined Alsatian-French vivacity with German method and minuteness; yet he hated the Germans, though he was German in name and characteristics.

After finishing his course at Phalsbourg he went to Paris to study law, following this work intermittently for fifteen years. Later he revisited the old college at Phalsbourg. Here he heard the president lament the fact that among the students he had only one worthy successor of Erckmann, namely a certain Alexandre Chatrian. Chatrian was sent for and the three dined together that evening. Erckmann was shown an article by Chatrian bristling with novel ideas on society and its organization. He was so well pleased by it that he immediately suggested to Chatrian the joint establishment of a democratic paper. This paper was suppressed by the police after eight issues.

Erckmann returned to Paris to study law, which at times he gave up for the pursuit of literature, from which in course of time he returned to the law. Meanwhile he and Chatrian had jointly written a play called Alsace. It was presented, was successful, but was suppressed (1848). This disappointment delayed for two years Chatrian's removal to Paris to join Erckmann. They wrote a volume of stories, of which L'illustre Docteur Mathéus was the principal one. When this volume appeared, they were on the verge of need. The capricious public bought three editions of the volume and gave the "name" that meant permanent fame for the authors.

Chatrian finally reached Paris, and the collaborators wrote on busily. In 1858-1861 they worked on subjects drawn from their usual pastoral sources, and made from them a series of longer tales which they named Romans Populaires. These were well received. Emboldened by their steady gain in popular favor the literary partners resolved in 1861 on a larger venture. They conceived the idea of writing a series of historical novels under the title of Romans Nationaux, the subjects of which were to be taken from the most dramatic episodes of modern French history after the outbreak of the first Revolution. To this happy design they became indebted for their greatest triumphs. By 1869 they had added eight volumes to the series.

In 1869 they had ready for the stage Le Juif Polonais, in which the tortures of conscience were dramatically described, and offered it to theatrical managers. It was finally put on at the Cluny Theatre in Paris, and met with immediate success.

There was nothing notable in their joint career from their assured success till the rupture of their lifelong friendship in the late eighties, an account of which is given in the next biography. After the death of Chatrian, Erckmann continued to write successfully with all the oldtime vigor that had characterized the work of the two. He died March 14, 1899.

Alexandre Chatrian was born in Soldatenthal, a village near Phalsbourg, December 18, 1826. Like Erckmann he was of an humble family, whose members had long followed the occupation of glassmaking. Chatrian's parents were intelligent and determined to educate their son. They accordingly sent him to the college at Phalsbourg, where he remained three years. Owing to business reverses his parents were unable longer to support him in school, so they set him to glassmaking in Belgium. He had here an unusually good opportunity to secure a part interest in the factory, but when he came of age, he returned home, thoroughly dissatisfied with his occupation. His parents were disappointed at his giving up such an opportunity to establish himself in business, but he had made up his mind that his career ought to be a literary one. By chance there was a vacancy at that very time in the college at Phalsbourg. The President, who had always taken an interest in him, gave him the appointment with permission to continue his studies in the college. So he was installed in charge of the study hall to supervise the work of the students and assist them in their lessons. One of his pupils has left the following account of him:--"He was of middle height and of strong but well-proportioned build. His rich auburn hair was cut short enough to bring out the outlines of a remarkably fine head. His full but closely trimmed beard framed a most intellectual face. A high forehead, large piercing eyes of brilliant black, a fine Greek nose, and a firmly set yet handsome mouth were the striking features of a countenance in which thoughtfulness, determination and nobility of purpose were reflected as from a mirror. Altogether his appearance was such that even an inexperienced observer would have pronounced him at once a more than ordinary man. The feeling of respect with which his striking exterior inspired me, as well as the other students, became warmer as I learned to know him better in the course of my private lessons.... Among the students he had the reputation of being reserved and taciturn. But I soon found out that, though not mirthful, he was really very sympathetic and communicative. In these moments he always spoke of a dear friend, Émile Erckmann, a graduate of Phalsbourg, who was then following the study of law at Paris as one who shared his ambition and who had been and would be a partner in his efforts for literary distinction. He told, with no little pride, that already the year before they had made their debut with some tales, written conjointly, in a daily published at Strasburg. One day he handed me a small volume containing the tales in question, which had attracted so much attention that a Strasburg publisher had reprinted them in a more enduring form. The tales interested me the more, in that their subjects were either incidents in rural life in Alsace and Lorraine or some of the popular saws, with which the borders of the Rhine abound. I recollect very well the fascination which the simple narrative, the charming description of scenery, the lifelike painting of characters, the quaint humor and the fanciful imagery of these first fruits of my friend's genius exercised upon my mind. I have reread the tales since and can truly say that my riper judgment does not differ much from that first impression."

Here at the college Chatrian met Erckmann, as already noted, and from here he went to join him.

In Paris, Chatrian took a position with the Eastern Railway paying him $300 a year. He held it long after the need of it had passed. During the earlier years of his stay in the metropolis this income, slender though it was, must have been a necessity to him.

In the late eighties Chatrian's health began to fail. In time he was afflicted with a stubborn and insidious ailment, which causes its victim to grow morose and suspicious. Unfortunately his suspicions directed themselves toward his old friend Erckmann, whom he suspected of cheating him in the management of their joint interests. Finally an ill-advised friend published an attack on Erckmann, accusing him of being unpatriotic. Erckmann sued the paper for libel and recovered heavy damages. The ultimate responsibility for the attack rested at Chatrian's door, and he did not long survive this melancholy incident. He died Sept. 3, 1890.

Much has been written about the wonderfully uniform style of Erckmann and Chatrian. It is true that one can hardly say of any passage in their work, "Erckmann wrote this" or "Chatrian wrote that" merely on the basis of internal evidence.

Many writers have succeeded in securing statements from one or the other of the literary partners, telling how they collaborated. But if one reads all these statements side by side, one is convinced that they had no uniform method of work; that sometimes they worked together in one way and sometimes in another. It would also appear that each was slightly jealous of the other, fearing that he would receive more than his proper share of credit for the work. These facts remain--that Chatrian was better fitted to market their wares and see them through the press than was Erckmann; and that Erckmann wrote and published both before and after his partnership with Chatrian. It may therefore be fairly accurate to say that without Chatrian Erckmann could have produced, without being able to sell the works; while Chatrian without Erckmann could have sold without being able to produce the works.

The stories of Erckmann and Chatrian are noteworthy by reason of the purity of their subject matter. There is nothing in any of them to offend the most fastidious, and their popularity in the family circle is permanent. In the matter of style the authors were not so fortunate. They began with the idea of purifying the French language, and while they may have been successful in fixing some of its forms, they have laid themselves open to criticism by monotonous repetition. But it cannot be said truthfully that their works exhibit any serious faults of style.

Madame Thérèse is one of the Romans Nationaux which lends itself readily to abridgment. It contains elaborate pictures and extensive descriptions of Anstatt life that interrupt the thread of the plot itself. Periodically the story is turned over to the "local color artist"--whichever of the two he may have been--who has carte blanche to paint for us beautiful idyllic pictures of life in the little Alsatian village. But as these pictures are apart from the growth of the cause of liberty--the main theme of the Romans Nationaux--they have frequently been omitted in this edition.

E. M.

MADAME THÉRÈSE

I

Nous vivions dans une paix profonde au village d'Anstatt, ¹ au milieu des Vosges allemandes, ² mon oncle le docteur Jacob Wagner, sa vieille servante Lisbeth et moi. Depuis la mort de sa soeur Christine, ³ l'oncle Jacob m'avait recueilli chez lui. J'approchais de mes dix ans; j'étais blond, rosé et frais comme un chérubin. On m'appelait le petit Fritzel au village, et chaque soir, en rentrant de ses courses, ⁴ l'oncle Jacob me faisait asseoir ⁵ sur ses genoux pour m'apprendre à lire en français dans l'Histoire naturelle de M. de Buffon. ⁶

Il me semble encore être ⁷ dans notre chambre basse. Je vois l'oncle Jacob, élancé, le front haut, surmonté de sa belle chevelure blonde dessinant ses larges tempes avec grâce, ⁸ le nez légèrement aquilin, les yeux bleus, le menton arrondi, les lèvres tendres et bonnes.

C'était un homme sentimental, ⁹ amateur de la paix; il approchait de la quarantaine et passait pour être le meilleur médecin du pays. J'ai su depuis qu'il se plaisait à faire des théories sur la fraternité universelle, et que les paquets de livres que lui apportait de temps en temps le messager Fritz concernaient cet objet important.

Tout cela je le vois, ¹⁰ sans oublier notre Lisbeth, une bonne vieille, qui file dans un coin.

Tous les jours, vers la fin du souper un pas lourd traversait l'allée, la porte s'ouvrait, et sur le seuil apparaissait un homme qui disait:

«Bonsoir, monsieur le docteur.

--Asseyez-vous, mauser, ¹ répondait l'oncle. Lisbeth, ouvre la cuisine.»

Lisbeth poussait la porte, et la flamme rouge, dansant sur l'âtre, nous montrait le taupier en face de notre table, regardant de ses petits yeux gris ce que nous mangions.

Le mauser pouvait avoir cinquante ans; ses cheveux grisonnaient, de grosses rides sillonnaient son front rougeâtre.

On le voyait toujours aux champs en train de poser ses attrapes, ou bien à la porte de son rucher à mi-côte, dans les bruyères du Birkenwald.

En dehors des taupes et des abeilles, du miel et de la cire, le mauser avait encore une autre occupation grave: il prédisait l'avenir moyennant le passage des oiseaux et certaines traditions inscrites dans un gros livre à couvercle de bois, qu'il avait hérité d'une vieille tante de Héming, ² et qui l'éclairait sur les choses futures.

Mais pour entamer le chapitre de ses prédictions, il lui fallait la présence de son ami Koffel, le menuisier, le tourneur, l'horloger, le tondeur de chiens, le guérisseur de bêtes, bref, le plus beau génie d'Anstatt et des environs.

Koffel faisait de tout: ³ il rafistolait la vaisselle fêlée avec du fil de fer, ⁴ il étamait les casseroles, il réparait les vieux meubles détraqués, il remettait l'orgue en bon état quand les flûtes ou les soufflets étaient dérangés; l'oncle Jacob avait même dû lui défendre de redresser les jambes et les bras cassés, car il se sentait aussi du talent pour la médecine. Le mauser l'admirait beaucoup et disait quelquefois: «Quel dommage que Koffel n'ait pas étudié!... quel dommage!»

Mais tout cela ne faisait pas bouillir sa marmite, et le plus clair de ses ressources était encore d'aller couper de la choucroute en automne, son tiroir à rabots ¹ sur le dos en forme de hotte, criant de porte en porte: «Pas de choux? ² pas de choux?»

Voilà ³ pourtant comment les grands esprits sont récompensés.

Koffel entrait quelques instants après le mauser, et, s'avançant à petits pas, il disait d'un air grave:

«Bon appétit, monsieur le ⁴ docteur.

--Si le coeur vous en dit? ⁵ répondait l'oncle.

--Bien des remerciements; nous avons mangé ce soir de la salade; c'est ce que j'aime le mieux.»

Après ces paroles, Koffel allait s'asseoir derrière le fourneau et ne bougeait pas jusqu'au moment où l'oncle disait:

«Allons, Lisbeth, allume la chandelle et lève la nappe.»

Alors, à son tour, l'oncle bourrait sa pipe et se rapprochait du fourneau. On se mettait à causer de la pluie et du beau temps, ⁶ etc.; le taupier avait posé tant d'attrapes pendant la journée, ou bien il venait de retirer tant de miel de ses ruches.

Koffel, lui, ⁷ ruminait toujours quelque invention; il parlait de son horloge sans poids, où les douze apôtres devaient paraître au coup de midi, pendant que le coq chanterait et que la mort faucherait; ou bien de sa charrue, qui devait marcher toute seule, en la remontant comme une pendule, ou de telle autre découverte merveilleuse.

L'oncle écoutait gravement; il approuvait d'un signe de tête, en rêvant à ses malades.

Moi, je profitais d'un bon moment pour courir à la forge de Klipfel, dont la flamme brillait de loin, dans la nuit, au bout du village. Hans Aden, Frantz Sépel et plusieurs autres s'y trouvaient déjà réunis. Nous regardions les étincelles partir comme des éclairs sous les coups de marteau; nous sifflions ¹ au bruit de l'enclume. Se présentait-il une vieille ² rosse à ferrer, nous aidions à lui lever la jambe.

Ainsi se passaient les jours ordinaires de la semaine; mais les lundis et les vendredis l'oncle recevait la Gazette de Francfort, et ces jours-là les réunions étaient plus nombreuses à la maison. Outre le mauser et Koffel, nous voyions arriver notre bourgmestre Christian Meyer et M. Karolus Richter, le petit-fils d'un ancien valet du comte de Salm-Salm ³. Ni l'un ni l'autre ne voulait s'abonner à la gazette, mais ils aimaient d'en entendre la lecture pour rien.

Que de fois je me suis rappelé le grand Karolus, le plus grand usurier ⁴ du pays, qui regardait tous les paysans du haut de sa grandeur, parce que son grand-père avait été laquais de Salm-Salm, et qui s'imaginait vous faire des grâces en fumant votre tabac. Combien de fois je l'ai revu en rêve, allant, venant dans notre chambre basse, écoutant, fronçant le sourcil, plongeant tout à coup la main dans la grande poche de l'habit de l'oncle, pour lui prendre son paquet de tabac, bourrant sa pipe et l'allumant à la chandelle en disant:

«Permettez!»

Oui, toutes ces choses, je les revois.

Pauvre oncle Jacob qu'il était bonhomme de se laisser fumer son tabac, mais il n'y prenait pas même garde; il lisait avec tant d'attention les nouvelles du jour. Les Républicains ¹ envahissaient le Palatinat, ² ils descendaient le Rhin, ils osaient regarder en face les trois électeurs, ³ le roi ⁴ Wilhelm de Prusse et l'empereur Joseph. ⁵

Tous les assistants s'étonnaient de leur audace.

M. Richter disait que cela ne pouvait ⁶ durer, et que tous ces mauvais gueux seraient exterminés jusqu'au dernier.

Sur cette réflexion, il s'acheminait vers la porte; les autres le suivaient.

«Bonne nuit! criait l'oncle.

--Bonsoir!» répondait le mauser en s'éloignant dans la rue sombre.

II

Or, un vendredi soir du mois de novembre 1793, Lisbeth, après le souper, pétrissait la pâte pour cuire le pain du ménage, selon son habitude. Enfin elle me dit:

«Maintenant, Fritzel, allons nous coucher; demain, quand tu te lèveras, il y aura de la tarte.»

Nous montâmes donc dans nos chambres. Je me couchai, rêvant de bonnes choses, et ne tardai point à m'endormir comme un bienheureux.

Cela durait depuis assez longtemps, mais il faisait encore nuit, et la lune brillait en face de ma petite fenêtre, lorsque je fus éveillé par un tumulte étrange. On aurait dit que tout le village était en l'air: les portes s'ouvraient et se refermaient au loin, une foule de pas traversaient les mares boueuses de la rue. En même temps j'entendais aller et venir dans notre maison, et des reflets pourpres miroitaient sur mes vitres.

Qu'on se figure mon épouvante.

Après avoir écouté, je me levai doucement et j'ouvris une fenêtre. Toute la rue était pleine de monde, et non seulement la rue, mais encore les petits jardins et les ruelles aux environs: rien que ¹ de grands gaillards, coiffés d'immenses chapeaux à cornes, ² et revêtus de longs habits bleus, la grande queue pendant sur le dos, sans parler des sabres et des gibernes.

Je compris aussitôt que les Républicains avaient surpris le village, et, tout en m'habillant, j'invoquai le secours de l'empereur Joseph, dont M. Karolus Richter parlait si souvent.

Les Français étaient arrivés durant notre premier sommeil, et depuis deux heures au moins, car lorsque je me penchai pour descendre, j'en vis trois, qui retiraient le pain de notre four. Ces gens savaient tout faire, rien ne les embarrassait.

Lisbeth, assise dans un coin, les mains croisées sur les genoux, les regardait d'un air assez paisible; sa première frayeur était passée. Elle me vit au haut de la rampe, et s'écria:

«Fritzel, descends... ils ne te feront pas de mal!»

Alors je descendis. A droite, par la porte de la salle, je voyais l'oncle Jacob assis près de la table, tandis qu'un homme vigoureux, à gros favoris, était installé dans le fauteuil et déchiquetait un de nos jambons avec appétit. De temps en temps, il prenait le verre, levait le coude, buvait un bon coup et poursuivait.

Tout en déchiquetant, l'homme aux gros favoris parlait d'une voix brusque:

«Ainsi, tu es médecin? disait-il à l'oncle.

--Oui, monsieur le commandant.

--Appelle-moi «commandant» tout court, ou «citoyen ¹ commandant,» je te l'ai déjà dit; les «monsieur» ² et les «madame» ³ sont passés de mode. Mais tu dois connaître le pays; un médecin de campagne est toujours sur les quatre chemins. ⁴ A combien sommes-nous de Kaiserslautern?

--A sept lieues, commandant.

--Et de Pirmasens?

--A huit environ.

--Et de Landau?

--Je crois à cinq bonnes lieues.

--Je crois... à peu près... environ... est-ce ainsi qu'un homme du pays doit parler? Écoute, tu m'as l'air d'avoir peur; tu crains que, si les habits blancs ⁵ passent par ici, on ne te pende pour les renseignements que tu m'auras donnés. Ôte-toi cette idée de la tête: la République française te protège.»

Le jour grisâtre commençait à poindre dehors; on voyait l'ombre de la sentinelle se promener l'arme au bras devant nos fenêtres. Une sorte de silence s'était établi. La pendule allait lentement, le feu pétillait toujours dans la cuisine.

Cela durait depuis quelques instants, lorsqu'un grand bruit s'éleva dans la rue; des vitres sautèrent, une porte s'ouvrit avec fracas, et notre voisin, Joseph Spick, le cabaretier, se mit à crier:

«Au secours! au feu!»

Mais personne ne bougeait dans le village; chacun était bien content de se tenir tranquille chez soi. Le commandant écoutait.

«Sergent Laflèche!» dit-il.

Le sergent était allé voir, il ne parut qu'au bout d'un instant.

«Qu'est-ce qui se passe? lui demanda le commandant.

--C'est un aristocrate de cabaretier qui refuse d'obtempérer aux réquisitions de la citoyenne Thérèse, répondit le sergent d'un air grave.

--Eh bien! qu'on me l'amène.»

Le sergent sortit.

Deux minutes après, notre allée se remplissait de monde; la porte se rouvrit, et Joseph Spick parut sur le seuil, entre quatre soldats de la République.

Derrière, dans l'ombre, se voyait la tête d'une femme pâle et maigre, qui attira tout de suite mon attention; elle avait le front haut, le nez droit, le menton allongé et les cheveux d'un noir bleuâtre. Ses yeux étaient grands et noirs.

Le commandant attendait que tout le monde fût entré, regardant surtout Joseph Spick, qui semblait plus mort que vif. Puis, s'adressant à la femme, qui venait de relever son chapeau d'un mouvement de tête:

«Eh bien, Thérèse, fit-il, qu'est-ce qui se passe?

--Vous savez, commandant, qu'à la dernière étape je n'avais plus une goutte d'eau-de-vie, ¹ dit-elle d'un ton ferme et net; mon premier soin, en arrivant, fut de courir par tout le village pour en trouver, en la payant, bien entendu. Mais les gens cachent tout, et depuis une demi-heure seulement j'ai découvert ² la branche ³ de sapin à la porte de cet homme. Le caporal Merlot, le fusilier Cincinnatus et le tambour-maître Horatius Coclès me suivaient pour m'aider. Nous entrons, nous demandons du vin, de l'eau-de-vie, n'importe quoi; mais le kaiserlick¹ n'avait rien, il ne comprenait pas, il faisait le sourd.² On se met donc à chercher, à regarder dans tous les coins, et finalement nous trouvons l'entrée de la cave au fond d'un bûcher, dans la cour, derrière un tas de fagots qu'il avait mis devant.

«Nous aurions pu nous fâcher; au lieu de cela, nous descendons et nous trouvons du vin, du lard, de la choucroute, de l'eau-de-vie; nous remplissons nos tonneaux, nous prenons du lard, et puis nous remontons sans esclandre. Mais, en nous voyant revenir chargés, cet homme, qui se tenait tranquillement dans la chambre, se mit à crier comme un aveugle,³ et, au lieu d'accepter mes assignats,⁴ il les déchira et me prit par le bras en me secouant de toutes ses forces. Cincinnatus ayant déposé sa charge sur la table, prit ce grand flandrin au collet et le jeta contre la fenêtre de sa baraque. C'est alors que le sergent Laflèche est arrivé. Voilà tout, commandant.»

Quand cette femme eut parlé de la sorte, elle se retira derrière les autres.

Et le commandant s'adressant en allemand à Joseph Spick, lui dit en fronçant les sourcils:

«Dis donc, toi, est-ce que tu veux être fusillé? Cela ne coûtera que la peine de te conduire dans ton jardin! Ne sais-tu pas que le papier de la République vaut mieux que l'or des tyrans? Écoute, pour cette fois je veux bien te faire grâce, en considération de ton ignorance; mais s'il t'arrive encore de cacher tes vivres et de refuser les assignats en payement, je te fais¹ fusiller sur la place du village, pour servir d'exemple aux autres. Allons, marche, grand imbécile!»

Puis se tournant vers la cantinière:

«C'est bien, Thérèse, dit-il.»

Tout le monde sortit, Thérèse en tête et Joseph le dernier.

Le commandant se leva, s'avança jusqu'à l'une des fenêtres et se mit à regarder le village. L'oncle et moi nous regardions à l'autre fenêtre. Il pouvait être alors cinq heures du matin.