The Debacle - Emile Zola [119]
‘Where has the fighting been this morning, do you know?’ asked Henriette, trying to cut her short.
Rose waved the question aside and went on:
‘So you see, I wanted to find out, so I went up again four or five times during the night and glued my ear to the wall… He was still moaning and hasn’t ever stopped, and hasn’t slept a minute, I’m quite sure… Isn’t it awful to be in such pain, with all the worries he must have on his mind, for it’s a real mess, a madhouse. Upon my word, they all look mad! And always somebody else arriving, and doors banging, and people in a temper and others crying, and the whole building is being pillaged, everything upside down, what with the officers drinking out of bottles and lying in beds with their boots on! When you come to think of it, it is really the Emperor who is the nicest and takes up least room in the corner where he goes off and hides so as he can moan!’
Then as Henriette repeated her question:
‘Where the fighting is? At Bazeilles, they’ve been fighting there since first thing. A soldier on horseback came to report it to the marshal who went straight to the Emperor to warn him… It’s already ten minutes since the marshal went off, and I think the Emperor must be joining him because up there they’re dressing him… I saw just now they were combing his hair and dolling him up with all sorts of stuff on his face.’
But knowing now what she wanted to know, Henriette fled.
‘Thanks, Rose, I’m in a hurry.’
The girl obligingly escorted her to the street and threw in by way of a farewell:
‘You’re very welcome, Madame Weiss. I know I can say anything to you.’
Henriette hurried back home to the rue des Voyards. She was certain she would find her husband back, and she even thought that if he didn’t find her at home he would be very worried, and that made her quicken her step still more. As she approached the house she looked up, thinking she could see him up there leaning out of the window, watching for her return. But the window was still wide open and empty. When she got up there and had glanced round the three rooms she was sick at heart on finding nothing but the icy fog and the continual rumbling of cannon. The firing out there never stopped. She went back to the window for a moment. Now that she knew what was happening, even though the wall of morning mist was still impenetrable, she could follow out the battle going on at Bazeilles, with the crackling of machine-guns and shattering volleys of the French batteries replying to the distant volleys of the German ones. One had the impression that the detonations were getting closer together and that the battle was getting fiercer every minute.
Why wasn’t Weiss back? He had so solemnly promised to come home at the first attack! Henriette’s anxiety steadily grew as in her imagination she saw obstacles, the road cut, shells already making retreat too perilous. Perhaps something dreadful had happened to him. She thrust the thought aside, finding in hope a strong incentive for action. She thought for a moment of setting off in that direction to meet her husband, but second thoughts held her back – they might cross, and then what would happen to her if she missed him? And what agonies he would go through if he came back and didn’t find her. But the courage needed for a visit to Bazeilles at that moment seemed perfectly natural to her and not a case of foolhardy heroism, just part of her function as an active wife quietly carrying out whatever the proper running of her home demanded. Where her husband was she would be, that was all.
But then she made a sudden gesture and said aloud, as she left the window:
‘And Monsieur Delaherche… I’ll go and see.’
It had just occured to her that the mill-owner had slept at Bazeilles too, and that if he was back she would get news from him. She went downstairs again at once, but instead of going out by the rue des Voyards she crossed the narrow courtyard and took the passage leading to the huge factory buildings, the monumental frontage of which looked on to the