THE DOWNFALL.

Pukekohe & Waiuku Times, Volume 4, Issue 14, 19 February 1915, Page 4 (Supplement)

THE DOWNFALL.

By EMILE ZOLA.

(From the Sheffield " Weekly Telegraph".)

Note.—Zola's La Debacle is probab-' ly the most realistic presentment of tile horrors of war ever given to the world of readers. It exhibits in a panorama, vivid and often gruesome, the terrible drama. oi, the last Franco-Geran war, from the tragic retreat on Sedan to the final collapse of Paris in a sea of fire and an ocean of blood. So enormous and so crowded with figures is tlie canvas that it is only possible in the space available to relate the story in its relation to the principal characters, and in its most- human aspects. But the story, which is of peculiar interest at the present cime, is certainly one of the most thrilling ever penned, as it is also the mo6t powerful argument against war ever presented in the guise of fiction.

"Beaten. France beaten! Those Prussian p' rr s beat such men as we!" thundered Lieutenant Rochas. his tall, slim, knight-errant figure quivering with rage. "Listen to me, sir; if the Prussians dare to come here we'll kick them all the way back —all the way back to Berlin. You hear me?" Dazed and almost convinced, Weiss hastily declared that he asked nothing better. As for Maurice, who held his tongue, not daring to speak out before his superior, he ended by laughing in unison with him. It was the close of a sultry August day: the French Seventh Army Corps had just pitched its camp in the centre of a lain a m'le or so from Mulhausen, towards the Rhine, after marching from Bel fort; and, the work completed, a small group of men had been discussing tho prospects of the war—Jean Macquart, peasant-corporal in the 106 th Regiment of the line; Maurice Lasseur, a young Paris avocat, one of the privates of his squad; Monsieur Weiss, accountant. who had married Maurice's twin sister, Henriette; and the fire-eat-ing lieutenant, whose anger had been so roused by Weiss's fears that the French might be beaten. As for Maurice, like his lieutenant, he scoffed at the very idea that the Pruss;an hogs" could humble the pride of his beloved France. Young and full of patriotic ardour, he recalled with a thrill of pride that day. but a fortnight earlier, when the boulevards of Paris became a human sea, and bands of men waving torches, shouted "To Berlin! lo Berlin!" To him nothing could be more certain than a glorious victory for France; the war would be a mere military parade. And he listened with angiy impatience as his brother-in-law spoke of the strength of the German army; of Franco's unpreparedness and of the disasters that had already overtaken her, beginning with the crushing reverse of Weissnbure. The French regiments, he said, were all under-manned; the generals were jealous of each other; the mobilisation had resulted in inextricable confusion; and above all, that creeping paralysis, originating with the ailing and vacilla - ing Emperor, had begun to 6piead to the entire army. No wonder such rank heresy roused the lieutenant to anger; or that his outburst had the entire sympathy of Maurice and his stolid corporal Jean who nodded his head in warm approval. " We'll Kick them all the way back, sir, all the way back, were the lieutenant's word? as he strode away. \ quarter of an hour later, news came that the French army had been obliged to abandon W'erth, and was in full retreat; Macmahon. Fossard, De FaiUy had all been beaten—rout and panic were already everywhere, and France was open to tho invader. At the terrible news Maurice sprang from the ground. "My God!" he stammered. It was all that he could say; while Jean an icy chill at his heart, muttered, All! what cursed luck! Your relative was right after all, when he sa.d they were stronger than we." With tho remainder of the army in retreat, there could be no rost for the the Seventh Army Corps was retracing morning, hungry, footsore and dejected, the Seventh Army Corps was ertracing its stops to Belfort and Rheims, where news of further disasters was waiting. It was one unbroken story of demoralisation and disaster. France was not ready; she had neither cannon nor men, nor generals; she was beinn: swept on all sides lief ore the conquering Germans, and already she was doomed. Everywhere there was confusion and chaos; orders given one hour were countermanded the next; and Maurice now heard without surprise that the order to fall back on Par's was cancelled .and that they were to march on \erlThe next morning a hundred thousand men of the army of Chalons flowed awav in an immense, disordered stream, through a deluge of rain and over a vast dreary plain, over which smokeclouds drifted from the burning camp of Chalons set on tire by the Emperor s ordera. and from ricks of forage which smoked like gigantic torches Alter passing St. Etienne the road became frightful; and to add to their sufteito the hopeless congestion and confusion of the march, supplies of provisions failed absolutely. Convoys had been abandoned, droves of cattle had gone astray; the men were starving. As for Maurice, his condition had become pitiful; he was suffering agonies o pain from his swollen feet, from which the slc'n had been torn away. Eveiy step was a torture, until Corporal Jean, with infinite tenderness, washed his sorts and dressed them with strips of clean linen. He had begun by hating the low-born man who had been set in authority over him- hut the feeling had gradually changed to gr.it:hide and admiral'on for the peasant who showed himself so kind, and so good a patriot- unt 1 between the two a warm friendship began tO -&, trie valley of tV Aisne the rabble army swarmed, and so fait, ' had not seen a solitary Prussian. W of valuable time had been worse than waited: contradictory orders still followed each other; now the.v were to retire on Paris, now on the Meuse, until anger and cVsgust filled every man at tho blundering and incompetence ot tho leaders. Th\v burned to fight, to pit their skulls cracked, anyth ng ratncr than to continue fleeing without knowing whither or why. When at last. after six weeks they heard the boom of cannon afar off, every heart bounded in response to the call; the shells began to scream over their heads : but still no order came to strike a blow , and feel in"- of impotent fury reached its climax when they saw the remnants of the Fifth Corps ponrm# towards thorn in panic fl :<r ht —wounded officers. di<handorl aud" unarmed soldiers, galloping train wagons, men and horses all fleeing distracted Wore a hurricane of disaster. Then in their rage they cried e are betrayal! We have been sold to the Prussians!" , The night was falling when at last from the heights of Rem illy they saw the s'lver ribbon of the Mouse winding thrmHi a rolling expanse of plain; and Maurice, stretching out his arm towards s-inio distant tinv lights, exclaimed joyously to .Tean—"There—look over yonder—that is Sedan! A few hours laW. intoxicated with weariness, hunger and cold, tho Seventh Army Corps entered]

the town whose name was to be associ- 1 ated for ever with France's downfall, j In Sedan, Corporal Jean and Maurice found a welcome under the roof of Weiss and hi wife; and J-?an's peasant heart was completely won by Madame Weiss, his friend Maurice's beloved sister—by her frail, golden-haired beauty, her sweet grey eyes, her soft movements and her gracious hospitality. From the first clasp of her little hand he knew that h 0 had in her a true friend and guardian angel. When they awoke in the morning after a long night's blessed slumber, Weiss led them to a window overlooking the valley of the Meu.se, and sad. "Can't you see those black lines on tho march along the hill-tops there, and those black ants swarming past p Those are the Prussians; the ground is covered with them, and ever they swarm and swarm. They are closing u.s in, in a blind alley whence there is no escape. We are about to be crushed ; the army is lost." While Jean and Maurice made the'r way to the camp of the 106 th. on the slope of the plateau, Weiss was at the neighbouring village of Bazeilles, at the dye-worics of his employer, listening to the roar of the German cannon and th-3 ever-neanng crackle of their rifles. The shells were already falling on Bazeilles; flames were flashing from every one of the wide circle of hill crests; and but- a few hundred yards away he saw the German hordes advancing to the attack. Again and again a strong column of Bavarians hurled themselves on the Place de l'Eglise; again and again they were filing back by the gallant Frenchmen.

As ho watched. as if entranced, the ebb and flow of the battle, there was a deaf ining crash, and to his horror he saw Francoise, tho portress of tho works, lying dead at his feet, a bundle of human rags, covered with blood. At the sight his blood boiled in fury, and shaking his fist at the Bavarians, he cried. "Curse them! so now they are killing women 1" Rushing to a dead soldier he seized h's chassepot and car-tridge-pouch, and putting on his spectacles. he began to blaze away at the enemy. From that moment he was as one posssessed with the madness of hatred and destruction. H-a was no longer an onlookmg civilian; he was a warrior of France.

Through tho long day the peace-lov-ing accountant fought with the fierceness of a tiger. The smoke and din and bloodshed were as an intoxication to him. The more fiercely the battle raged tho more he reveled in it. When the order came to lvtreat he refused point blank to move. "I prefer to leave my carcase here." he said; and barricading himself in si do his house in the centre of the now blazing village, with a fewother men as brave as himself, he determined to perish at tho post of duty and honour. For hours the tiny fortress withstood tho assaults of the enemy: one by one its gallant defenders fell dead or dying; the shutters were reduced to matchwood, the mattress shields to shrods; and still the gallant Weiss shook a defiant fist at the enemy. At last even the garret became untenable; the last cartridge had been used; the end was at hand. A few moments later there was a loud uproar, the sound of many feet on the stairs slippery with blood; the Bavarians, who had forced the back door poured into the attic, and after a terrible melee, W eiss and tho brave remnant o: his band were taken prisoners. After a sleepless night Henriette rose, full of fears for her husband at Bazeilles. Why clid he not come? What had happened to him? She could hear the suspense no more; she must go to Bazeilles to find h : m. Through the streets of Sedan, choked and terrified townsfolk and with soldiers, she made her panting way; across the pasture lands skirting the Meuse, the shells shrieking over her head, bullets falling like hail around her. One struck her on the forehead, and she fell half stunned to rise again in an instant and stumble on. Luckily it had only grazed the skin. On she went, until, dropping from fatigue, weak from loss of blood, she arrived at last in the centre of Bazeillets, now a smouldering, widespread ruin. After a horrified glance at the blazing house which had been her husband's week-day home, her eyes fell on a still more dreadful spectacle—her husband standing with his back to a wall, in front of a platoon which w as loading its weapons.

With a loud cry she flung herself upon his nec-k. "My God ! ' she exclaimed " what is it, Thev aro not going to kill you'" Weiss gazed at her too dazed to speak, a look of mingled agony and happiness :n his eyes. In vain she pleaded with the officer to spare him, or let her die with him. Then as she seized his hand, and covering it with kisses cried. "Keep me! I want to die with you, she was dragged roughly away, her husband's last words, "la re well, dear wife!" in her ears. In less than three seconds it was all over. Weiss drew himself up proudly, and in a contemptuous tone spat forth the words, \ou filt-hv mgs!" At the same instant the vollev rang out, and lie fell like a log. Henriette had seen it all; those dying eves seeking for her, that frightful quiv?r of the death-pangs. She did not crv out, but she s'lently. ftir.ousTv bit at* what was near her mouth—the hand of the Bavarian who was carrying her away from the man for whom she would so gladly have died. . While this terrible drama was be-ng enacted Maurice at last had had his bapti.v-i of fire. For hours lie had lain side bv side with his friend Jean in a cabbage-field outside Sedan, at the enemy amidst a blizzard of 'inlets and shells; he had seen men fall to rier'ht and left of him—one with his head shattered by a splinter of a shell, another with his inside carried away. He had tasted and actually revelled in the horrors of carnage. He had been swept along in the tide of a wild charge our fields ploughed by the enemy s shells and littered with dead men. lor a time he had looked on while the pick of the French horsemen hurled themsches a«'ain and again on the Prussian masses near Calvary Hill; and again and again he saw them lunge back as a tldf lis hack the most tempestuous sea. untiL in his iage he cried aloud llnindu . bravery s not a bit ot good . , The next moment Jean wsis tbiown to the ground. A heavy blow, like that of a hammer, had struck him on the crown of the head, and Ml with the c-n -I a in done for!" he fell unconscious to the «»,-ouud. In a moment Maurice bad taken bis friend in his arms, and was carrvHi" 1 him off. stumbl ng amid the stubh'.-"and the bushes the shells 1 iirstuig all around him. N 'tu -upei human strength, now bearing linn on his shoulders, now dragging bun, he at last here him into safety. When at- 1a.4 Jean recovered con-scious-iess. Maurice found to his delight that he was not seriously hurt: he had merely been stunned, and together thenwere abb- to make their way to Sedan. Mcanwh le events had been hastening rapidly to a e'iniax. Everywhere disaster had fallen cn the French troops. Maemal.on had been wounded, and his successor. General Wimpffen. had been driven li to Sedan nnd unrounded on all s'des by n girdle of flame and t>te.d. Fne hundred guns had concentrated their destructive fire oil the doomed and densely-crowded town: one gallant charge after another of the French cavalry was hurled impotently back, until at "last th« white ling fluttered from th.> citadel. The next day Napoleon, with 83.000 iron, surrendered to the enemy. Among the disarmed pr'soner-, driven like a flock of sheep to the poninsula of

Iges, on the Meuse, the first stage on their way to Germany, were Jean and Maurice, happy to be companions even in such a calamity. Their plight was now indeed pitiful. No attempt was made to feed those eighty thousand men, whoso agony was now lieginning in that frightful hell which was to acquire the name of the " Camp of Msery." To such straits did hunger drive them that some of Maurice's fellows were driven to kill and eat a dying horse. When at last the vanquished army began its miserabb journey to exile and imprisonment, Jean and Maurice made up their minds to escape at the first opportunity, which at last came when they were near Mouzon. Slipping away in tlie darkness they found themselves in the friendly shelter of a wood, where, overcome by emotion, they flung themselves sobbing into each other's arms, closely clasped in a distracted embrace. They had scarcely, however, begun the'r journey when Jean was struck by a bullet in the calf of the leg. which flung him to the ground, and it was o nlv after terrible hardships and perils that Maurice was able to get his friend as far as Remilly. to the home of his unFoikhard, where to their joy they found that Henriette had taken refuge, and was trying to forget her own great sorrow by ministering to the wounded. Ilere Jean, who was now delirious with pain. found a tender nurse in Maurice's sister, whose gentle administrations completely won his heart. As tho weeks passed which gradually restored ium to strength it seemed to them as though they had never lived otherwise, as though they would go on living like that for ever. The bond of affectionate sympathy that united them grew c-los?r every day. until it merged m a mutual love, although neither then knew it.

Meanwhilo Maurice's impatience grow into a frantic longing to get away to Paris, whither the tide of war now rolled. "I must go away," lie exclaimed to his sister. "Since Jean must lie here for weeks or months I cannot stay." And bidding his sister and his friend good-bye lie set off on his way to the capital in the guise of an ambulance assistant and under the wing of Jean's friendly doctor. A few weeks later a letter from him brought news that he had reached Paris safely, and had been fortunate enough to get himself enrolled in -i Line Regiment. In h's letter he described the terrible events that had happened since his departure—how Paris overwhelmed by the thunderbolt of Sedan. had poured through the streets with the cries of " Dethronement" ; how tho Republic had been proclaimed, and the Empress Eugenie had fled, cowering in a cab and accompanied by a single female friend. While in-c last remnant of the French Army was trapped and shut up in Metz with no hop 0 of escape, the German hordes had swept on to Paris, and encompassed it in an iron chain. The proud city had become but the prison of two millions of living beings, whence came no sound, nothing but a death-like s'lence. Well m'ght Henriette murmur, in the anguish of her heart, "Ah. my God! when will it all end; and shall we ever see him again?" Bv tho end of October Jean's condition had so far improved that he, too. was impatient to be off again, to return to his duties. France, now in her deaththroes. needed every son's telp. Met* had surrendered, with 150,000 prisoners. "This time," as Jean said to Henriette, "it is the rest of our flesh and blood that has gone!" On all sides it was one unbroken story of disaster and ruin, of devastated and pillaged towns and corpse-strewn battlefields. Intoxicated with v'ctory and wino the Germans had degenerated into wild beasts, and by their inhuman outrages had struck tlie whole land with terror. And now tho end of this drama of horror was near. The fetters encompassing Paris were being drawn tighter and tighter, and famine was stalking, grisly-faced, through her streets. And now ihe fever of revolt against it all began to run not in Maurice's veins, to mount to his head. Anything, everything, rather than surrender! He had no faith in tho Republic, and was already inclining to revolutionary violence as th e only means of sw'ee.ping away the imbeciles and traitors who were slaying their own country. He was now heart and soul with the insurrectionists who were already rising as avenging spirits within the c : ty. When he heard the conditions of peace aranged by the Assembly, ho bcamo delirious at the thought of those harsh conditions—th e indemnity of five millions of francs. Metz given up, Alsace abandoned, the gold and blood of France pouring forth from that wound opened in her flank, and never to be healed. He made up his mind to desert, and to throw himself body and soul into the cause of the revolutionists. It was at this time that lie heard i from Henriette that Jean was about to start for Paris to seek active service i again, and a few days later the two I friends accidentally met, and flung themselves into each others arms with cries of delight. The first greetings over. Maurice began to rail against the Government and to explain that the people at last were about to become tlie master, and would punish both traitors and cowards and save the Republic: but when he asked his friend to join him, Jean refused point-blank, saying, it is vou that must come with us.' With a gesture of furious dissent Maurice released his hold on Jean's hands; and. a swaying of the crowd suddenly sweeping them apart they parted with the farowell words. "Till we meet again Maurice!" "Till we meet aga n, Jean! How little did either dream under what tragic circumstances that next meeting was to be! . To Maurice the Commune appeared as the avenger of all the shame and degradation France had -suffered; and in the gloomy passion for destruction which was gaining upon him lie approved ot tlie most vidk-nt measures it adopted to gain its ends. Th 0 month of Apia he sunt near Ueurilly. firing away at tho Versailles Meanwhile terror was risin,r in Paris Irritated at first against Versailles shuddering at the memory of the horrible- sufferings of. the siege, the citv was now detaching 't.self from the Commnn-?. and lie besan to realise tha the end had. come-that no caurse remaned but to meet death boldly. It was a beautiful May morning, that pioved tho terrible day for Maurice. For two days he had fought at tin, barricade which barred the Hue de Lille at its junction with the Rue du Bac. On this second day Jean who had been instructed to clear tile barricades of the neighbourhood, debouched with a rush into the Rue du Bac. followed by n, few men of h's squad. Tlu-n. over yonder. between two sandbags, he caugin ?Vlit of o Communist levelling ln.s gun. about t . fire down the Rue de hiH<>. and. running un. he naded him to the barriead > with a thrust of li s bayonet. ■Maurico gave a shriek and raised h s head. . • •, o-' -Ob Jean! mv old friend, is it yon ,Toan looked at him thunderstruck abruptly sobered. They v.ere alone; all nround tin vii the conflagrat ons were flarincr vet higher, the windows vomitin,'' rrreat r< d flames, -and one could hc7r Ihe crash of tailing houses. Then J,-un fell down near Maurice, sobbing, frolic"- him. trving to ra'so him up so p, whether he might not still be nhl« to save him. "Oh! my poor youngster." lie sobbed, as tears o f angui.sh streamed down his cheeks, • oh. mv poor youngster!' Then by the r'vul light of the conflagrations he cautiously examined tho

wound. His bayonet had pierced tin* arm and had then passed into tiie body between two of the ribs. "Are you still alive, my poor youngster ?" he exclaimed in an agony of dread. ".Don't distress yourself like that, my poor old fellow,'' feebly answered Maurice. "I am quite content to die; I would rather have done with it all." "Let mo see to it, youngster," Jean said. "1 must save you." And ripping open the sleeve of Maurice's uniform, he quickly bandaged the terrible wound. Then, as Maurice was able to walk, he led him gently iawr.y, supporting his 'ieeblla lrame. Through the blazing, crashing avenues of houses, across the river, past the Tuilleries, an inferno of fire, ho half lei, half carried, his stricken friend, until at last he was abl<> to place him in his own bed under a window through which dawn was beginning to steal over the ruined city.

Then ho dropped on his knees beside the bed. 6oW>in<? stunned, and strength, less, as the fearful thought awoke within him, that he had killed his friend. When t last he raised his head, he hardly felt any surprise at beholding Henrietle. After all, it was perfectly natural; her brother was dying and she had com?. For a few moments each gazed with a speechless sorrow at the other; then Jean spoke. "You know it was I who killed him." "Yes"—when he saw that she did not understand — "it was 1 who killed him—on a barricade yonder. He was fighting on one side, and lon the other. We were all mad and drunk; wo none of us knew what we were doing, and it was I who k'lled him." Then Henriette, quivering and ghastly pale, and gazing at him fixedly with eyes of terror, withdrew the liand she had placed in his. It was he who bad done that abominable thing! Sh 0 could no longer place her hand in his withont a revolt of her whole being; but she raised a orv in which rftng out the last hope of her wavering heart, "Oh! I will cure him; 1 must cure him now!"

Jean looked" on ill stupified silence while she washed and dressed her brother's wounds; then with a "Goodbye. I shall be bark soon," he .slipped quickly away to the horrors of city —the torn-up streets, the shattered barricades, the corpses, the pools of blood, the suffocating smoke of a Paris in flames. When next lie climbed the dark staircase he saw at once that the inevitable end had come. Maurice lay dead upon h's little bed. Henriette raised her head and shuddered as she saw him come in. He darted forward to take her hands that he might, in a loving grasp, mingle his own grief with hers; but he felt that thp little hands were trembling, and that all her quivering form was recoiling from him in revolt. "Ah. good Lord!" cried Jean sobbing, "it ig my fault. Can you ever forgive me?" And at that moment their eyes met, and they were overwhelmed by that wh'ch they now. at last, could clearly read in them. It wa6 love that she felt for the man by whose s'de she had at first merely felt comforted. And their eyes told it to them at the moment when they must part for ever. "With a lons and painful effort Jean raised himself to h's feet. He turned to ths window and looked out on Paris all Paris burning like some ancient forest of dead, dry trees, fleeting away into the heavens in soaring ftunes and sparks. Then with a heart- full of angmsh he said. "Farewell!" "Farewell!" repeated Henrette in a soh. She d'd not ra'se her head; hex face was hidden by ker ioined hands. Tne ravaged field was lying waste, tlie burnt house was level with the ground, and Jean, the most humble and the most woeful, went off marching towards tho future—to the great and laborious task of building up a new France.