Story : Souvenir

 

 Souvenir

Guy De Maupassant

...We had not eaten anything since the previous day. All day long we had stayed hidden in a barn, huddled together for warmth, the officers mixed with the soldiers and everyone dizzy with fatigue.

A few sentries, lying in the snow, surveilled the surroundings of the abandoned farm that we were using as a refuge, to guard against being surprised. We changed them every hour to prevent them from drowsing off.

Those of us who could sleep, slept; the others stayed still, sitting on the ground, saying a few words to their neighbors from time to time.

For three months now the invasion had pervaded everywhere, like an overflowing ocean. There were great waves of men one after the other, flowing constantly forward, leaving marauders in their wake.

As for us, reduced to two hundred irregulars from eight hundred soldiers a month before, we were fighting in retreat, surrounded by enemies, encircled, lost. We had to get to Blainville before the next day, where we still hoped find General C… If we didn’t manage to make it across the twelve leagues that separated us from the town during the night, or if the French division had left, there was no more hope left for us.

We couldn’t move during the day as the countryside was full of Prussians.

 

At five in the afternoon it was already night; a pallid, snow-filled night. The silent white flakes were ever falling, burying everything under an enormous frozen sheet that was constantly thickening under the countless mass and incessant accumulation of the vaporous specks of crystal-like wadding.

At six o’clock the detachment went on the move again.

Four men went forward as scouts three hundreds meters in front of us. Behind them came a platoon of ten men led by a lieutenant, followed by the rest of the troop in a mass, pell-mell, in varying disorder depending on the degree of tiredness and on the length of their strides. Four hundred meters away on each flank, a few soldiers were patrolling two by two.

The white dust falling from the clouds entirely covered us up, no longer melting on the caps or on the greatcoats, making phantoms of us, like the ghosts of dead soldiers.

From time to time we rested for a few minutes. Then we only heard that vague patter of falling snow, that elusive, almost imperceptible sound of interlacing flakes. Some men shook them off, others didn’t react. Then an order circulated in a low voice. Rifles were raised up on shoulders and we wearily took up the march again.

 

Suddenly the scouts fell back. Something was worrying them. The order «Halt!» circulated. In front of us was a large wood. Six men left to reconnoitre it. We waited in a gloomy silence.

All of a sudden a sharp scream, a woman’s scream, in that harrowing, vibrating tone that they throw out in their terrors, pierced the snow-thickened night.

A few minutes later two prisoners, an old man and a young girl, were brought in.

The captain questioned them in a low voice.

—Your name?

— Pierre Bernard.

— Your profession?

— Sommelier for the Count Roufé.

—Is this your daughter?

—Yes.

—What does she do?

—She’s a laundry-maid at the castle.

—Why are you prowling around like this at nighttime, for God’s sake?

—We are escaping.

—Why?

—Twelve uhlans passed by this evening. They shot three guards and hanged the gardener. I am afraid for the girl.

—Where are you going?

—To Blainville.

—Why?

—Because there’s supposed to be a French army there.

—Do you know the way?

—Absolutely.

—That’s enough, stay by my side!

 

And the advance across the countryside recommenced. The old man silently followed the captain. His daughter was at his side, dragging her feet. Suddenly, she stoped.

—Father, she said, I’m so tired that I can’t go any further.

And she fell. She was trembling with cold and seemed on the point of death. Her father wanted to carry her. He couldn’t even lift her up.

The captain stamped his foot, cursing, furious, and at the same time feeling pity for her. «In the name of God, no matter what, I just can’t let you die there!»

But some men had gone off and come back with cut branches. A minute later a stretcher had been made.

The captain was softened by this. «Dammit, that’s good! Come on men, who can give her his greatcoat now? It’s for a woman, for Christ’s sake!»

Twenty greatcoats were immediately taken off and thrown onto the stretcher. In an instant the young girl, wrapped in these warm military cloaks, was raised up by six robust arms that carried her off.

We went on again, more cheerful and joyful, as if we had drunken wine. Some jokes were even made, and the gaiety arose that a woman’s presence always awakens in French blood.

The soldiers were marching in step now, humming tunes, all of a sudden warmed up. And an old sharpshooter, who was following the stretcher waiting his turn to replace the first comrade who dropped out, opened his heart to his neighbour. «Me, I’m no longer young, but damnit, there’s nothing like the fair sex to turn your insides upside down!»

Until three o’clock in the morning we went on almost without any rest, but the order: «Halt!» was suddenly whispered again, like an abrupt gust of wind. Almost by instinct everyone flattened themselves on the ground.

 

Over there, in the middle of the plain, something was moving. It seemed to be running, and as the snow was no longer falling we could vaguely distinguish, still quite far away, a shape like a monster that was lying down like a snake, then suddenly seemed to recoil, to curl itself up in a ball and to stretch itself out again, taking rapid strides and then stopping again, and so on continuously.

Murmured orders circulated among the men stretched out on the ground, and from time to time the clacking of a little abrupt, metallic noise could be heard.

Suddenly the meandering shape approached and we could see coming toward us at a fast trot, one behind the other, twelve uhlans lost in the night.

They were so close now that we could hear the snorting of the horses, the clanking of the weapons and the creaking of the leather saddles.

Then the harsh voice of the captain cried out: «Fire, by God!»

And fifty gunshots shattered the frozen silence of the fields; four or five delayed detonations broke out again, then another one alone, the final one; and when the blinding, burning powder had been dispersed we saw that the twelve men, and nine horses, had fallen. Three animals had fled in a frantic galop, one of them dragging the corpse of its rider bounding along behind it, hanging by his foot from the stirrup.

The captain shouted joyfully: «Twelve fewer]of them, by God!» One of the soldiers commented: «There are widows there!» Another added «It doesn’t take long to take the leap!»

 

Then, from the bottom of the stretcher under the pile of greatcoats, a sleepy little voice was heard:

«What’s happening, father? Why’s there shooting?»

The old man answered:

«It’s nothing; sleep, my little one!»

We took up the route again.

We walked on for almost four hours.

The sky started to fade, the snow became clear, luminous, shining; a cold wind swept the clouds away and a pale rosiness, like a streak of weak watercolour, stretched towards the east.

A distant voice suddenly shouted: «Who goes there?»

Another voice answered. The whole detachment stopped. And the captain himself went forward.

We waited a long time. Then we moved on again. Soon we saw a small house with a French sentry, weapon at the ready, in front of it. An officer on horseback watched us march by. All of a sudden, he asked: «What are you carrying on that stretcher?» Then the greatcoats stirred, we saw two little hands come out, moving them aside, then a a cloud of hair, a tousled head, that was smiling and answered:

«It’s me, sir, I slept well, don’t worry. I’m not cold.»

A burst of laughter rose among the men, a laugh of satisfaction; and an enthusiast, to express his joy having vociferated: «Long live the Republic!», the whole troop trumpeted frenetically, as if they had gone crazy: «Long live the Republic!»

 

 

Twelve years have passed.

 

The other day at the theatre, the delicate head of a young blond woman awoke in me a confused memory, an obsessive memory but an inconclusive one. I was soon so troubled by the desire of know the name of the woman that I asked everyone about her.

 

Someone told me: «She’s the Viscountess of L…, the daughter of Count Roufé»

 

And all the details of that night of war rose up again in my mind, so clearly that I right away recounted them to my friend sitting next to me, so that he could write about it for the public. He has signed this account.

With affection,

Ruben