The Debacle - Emile Zola [151]
‘Oh those guns, those guns, stop them at once, at once!’
This Emperor without a throne since he had handed over his powers to the Empress-Regent, this commander-in-chief who no longer commanded since he had invested Marshal Bazaine with the supreme command, now had a reawakening of power, an irresistible desire to be master one last time. Ever since Châlons he had effaced himself, had not given a single order, but resigned himself to being a nondescript, useless thing, an embarrassing package transported in the army baggage. The Emperor in him was aroused, but only for defeat, and the first and only order he was still to give, out of a heart filled with terror and pity, was to hoist the white flag over the citadel and ask for an armistice.
‘Oh those guns, those guns… Get anything, a sheet, a tablecloth! Hurry and say they must be stopped!’
The aide-de-camp rushed out and the Emperor went on with his stumbling walk from the fireplace to the window while the batteries thundered on, shaking the whole building.
Down below Delaherche was still talking to Rose when a duty sergeant rushed in.
‘Mademoiselle, we can’t find anything and I can’t run a maid to earth… You don’t happen to have any white material, a piece of white cloth?’
‘Would you like a towel?’
‘No, no, that’s not big enough… Half a sheet, for example.’
Rose was already obligingly running to a cupboard.
‘But I haven’t got a sheet cut in half!… A big piece of white material? No, I can’t see anything that would do…Oh, but would you like a tablecloth?’
‘Yes, that’s fine. That’ll do perfectly.’
As he went off he added:
‘We’re going to make it into a white flag that will be put up over the citadel to ask for peace… Thanks very much, Mademoiselle.’
Delaherche almost jumped for joy in spite of himself. At last they were going to be quiet! Then, this joy seemed unpatriotic and he checked it. But all the same his heart throbbed with relief, and he saw a colonel, a captain and the sergeant run out of the Sub-Prefecture. The colonel was carrying the rolled cloth under his arm. Delaherche thought he would follow them, and left Rose, who was very proud of having supplied this piece of linen. At that moment it was striking two.
In front of the Hôtel de Ville Delaherche was pushed about by a stream of scruffy soldiers coming down from the Cassine district. He lost sight of the colonel and set aside his curiosity to see the white flag run up. He would certainly not be allowed to enter the Keep, and besides, as he heard that shells were coming down on the school a new fear came over him – suppose his mill had caught fire since he left it. He hurried along, giving in again to his feverish need to keep on the move and finding relief in the mere fact of rushing about like this. But the streets were blocked by groups of people and there were fresh obstacles at every corner. It was only back in the rue Maqua again that he sighed with pleasure on seeing the monumental front of his house intact, with no smoke or sparks. He went in, shouting from a distance to his mother and his wife:
‘Everything’s all right, they’re running up the white flag and there’s going to be a cease fire!’ Then he stopped dead, for the sight of the ambulance station was truly horrifying.
In the huge drying-shed, the big door of which was left open, not only were all the mattresses occupied, but there was no room even on the straw scattered at the one end. They were beginning to put down straw between the beds, packing the wounded tight against one another. Already there were more than two hundred of them and they were still coming in. A white light from the big windows lit up all this heap of human suffering. Sometimes, if somebody was moved too roughly, there would be an involuntary scream. The hot, damp air was filled with the gasps of the dying. At the far end a soft, almost sing-song whimpering went on and on. Then the silence was deeper still, it was a kind of resigned stupor,