The Conscript: A Story of the French war of 1813. Erckmann-Chatrian

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СКАЧАТЬ the lottery; but every one loses."

      "No matter," said Aunt Grédel; "Joseph will win."

      "Yes, yes," replied Monsieur Goulden, smiling, "he cannot fail."

      Then I sallied forth with Catharine and Aunt Grédel, and we went to the town square, where the crowd was. In all the shops, dozens of conscripts, purchasing ribbons, thronged around the counters, weeping and singing as if possessed. Others in the inns embraced, sobbing; but still they sang. Two or three musicians of the neighborhood – the Gipsy Walteufel, Rosselkasten, and George Adam – had arrived, and their pieces thundered in terrible and heart-rending strains.

      Catharine squeezed my arm. Aunt Grédel followed.

      Opposite the guard-house I saw the pedler Pinacle afar off, his pack opened on a little table, and beside it a long pole decked with ribbons which he was selling to the conscripts.

      I hastened to pass by him, when he cried:

      "Ha! Cripple! Halt! Come here; I have a ribbon for you; you must have a magnificent one – one to draw a prize by."

      He waved a long black ribbon above his head, and I grew pale despite myself. But as we ascended the steps of the town-house, a conscript was just descending; it was Klipfel, the smith of the French gate; he had drawn number eight, and shouted:

      "The black for me, Pinacle! Bring it here, whatever may happen."

      His face was gloomy, but he laughed. His little brother Jean was crying behind him, and said:

      "No, no, Jacob! not the black!"

      But Pinacle fastened the ribbon to the smith's hat, while the latter said:

      "That is what we want now. We are all dead, and should wear our own mourning."

      And he cried savagely:

      "Vive l'Empereur!"

      I was better satisfied to see the black ribbon on his hat than on mine, and I slipped quickly through the crowd to avoid Pinacle.

      We had great difficulty in getting into the townhouse and in climbing the old oak stairs, where people were going up and down in swarms. In the great hall above, the gendarme Kelz walked about maintaining order as well as he could, and in the council-chamber at the side, where there was a painting of Justice with her eyes blindfolded, we heard them calling off the numbers. From time to time a conscript came out with flushed face, fastening his number to his cap and passing with bowed head through the crowd, like a furious bull who cannot see clearly and who would seem to wish to break his horns against the walls. Others, on the contrary, passed as pale as death. The windows of the town-house were open, and without we heard six or seven pieces playing together. It was horrible.

      I pressed Catharine's hand, and we passed slowly through the crowd to the hall where Monsieur the Sub-Prefect, the Mayors, and the Secretaries were seated on their tribune, calling the numbers aloud, as if pronouncing sentence of death in a court of justice, for all these numbers were really sentences of death.

      We waited a long while.

      It seemed as if there was no longer a drop of blood in my veins, when at last my name was called.

      I stepped up, seeing and hearing nothing; I put my hand in the box and drew a number.

      Monsieur the Sub-Prefect cried out:

      "Number seventeen."

      Then I left without speaking, Catharine and her mother behind me. We went out into the square, and, the air reviving me, I remembered that I had drawn number seventeen.

      Aunt Grédel seemed confounded.

      "And I put something into your pocket, too," said she; "but that rascal of a Pinacle gave you ill-luck."

      At the same time she drew from my coat-pocket the end of a cord. Great drops of sweat rolled down my forehead; Catharine was white as marble, and so we went back to Monsieur Goulden's.

      "What number did you draw, Joseph?" he asked, as soon as he saw us.

      "Seventeen," replied Aunt Grédel, sitting down with her hands upon her knees.

      Monsieur Goulden seemed troubled for a moment, but he said instantly:

      "One is as good as another. All will go; the skeletons must be filled. But it don't matter for Joseph. I will go and see Monsieur the Mayor and Monsieur the Commandant. It will be telling no lie to say that Joseph is lame; all the town knows that; but among so many they may overlook him. That is why I go, so rest easy; do not be anxious."

      These words of good Monsieur Goulden reassured Aunt Grédel and Catharine, who returned to Quatre-Vents full of hope; but they did not affect me, for from that moment I had not a moment of rest day or night.

      The Emperor had a good custom: he did not allow the conscripts to languish at home. Soon as the drawing was complete, the council of revision met, and a few days after came the orders of march. He did not do like those tooth-pullers who first show you their pincers and hooks and gaze for an hour into your mouth, so that you feel half dead before they make up their minds to begin work: he proceeded without loss of time.

      A week after the drawing, the council of revision sat at the town-hall, with all the mayors and a few notables of the country to give advice in case of need.

      The day before Monsieur Goulden had put on his brown great-coat and his best wig to go to wind up Monsieur the Mayor's clock and that of the Commandant. He returned laughing and said:

      "All goes well, Joseph. Monsieur the Mayor and Monsieur the Commandant know that you are lame; that is easy enough to be seen. They replied at once, Eh, Monsieur Goulden, the young man is lame; why speak of him? Do not be uneasy; we do not want the infirm; we want soldiers."

      These words poured balm on my wounds, and that night I slept like one of the blessed. But the next day fear again assailed me; I remembered suddenly how many men full of defects had gone all the same, and how many others invented defects to deceive the council; for instance, swallowing injurious substances to make them pale; tying up their legs to give themselves swollen veins; or playing deaf, blind, or foolish. Thinking over all these things, I trembled at not being lame enough, and determined that I would appear sufficiently forlorn. I had heard that vinegar would make one sick, and without telling Monsieur Goulden, in my fear I swallowed all the vinegar in his bottle. Then I dressed myself, thinking that I looked like a dead man, for the vinegar was very strong; but when I entered Monsieur Goulden's room, he cried out:

      "Joseph, what is the matter with you? You are as red as a cock's comb."

      And, looking at myself in the mirror, I saw that my face was red to my ears, and to the tip of my nose. I was frightened, but instead of growing pale I became redder yet, and I cried out in my distress:

      "'Now I am lost indeed! I will seem like a man without a single defect, and full of health. The vinegar is rushing to my head."

      "What vinegar?" asked Monsieur Goulden.

      "That in your bottle. I drank it to make myself pale, as they say Mademoiselle Sclapp, the organist does. O heavens! what a fool I was."

      "That does not prevent your being lame," said Monsieur Goulden; "but you tried to deceive the council, which was dishonest. But it is half-past nine, and Werner is come to tell me you must be there at ten o'clock. So, hurry."

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