The Frontier/Part 3/Chapter 1
CHAPTER I
THE ARMED VIGIL
"Ma'am!"
"What is it? What's the matter?" asked Mme. Morestal, waking with a start.
"It's I, Catherine."
"Well?"
"They have sent from the town-hall, ma'am.... They are asking for the master.... They want instructions.... Victor says the troops are being mobilized...."
The day before, after his fainting-fit at the Butte-aux-Loups, old Morestal was carried back to the Old Mill on a litter by the soldiers of the detachment. Marthe, who came with him, flung a few words of explanation to her mother-in-law and, without paying attention to the good woman's lamentations, without even speaking to her of Philippe and of what could have become of him, ran to her room and locked herself in.
Dr. Borel was hurriedly sent for. He examined the patient, diagnosed serious trouble in the region of the heart and refused to give an opinion.
The house was at sixes and sevens during the evening and all through that Sunday night. Catherine and Victor ran to and fro. Mme. Morestal, generally so level-headed, but accustomed to bewail her fate on great occasions, nursed the sick man and issued a multiplicity of orders. Twice she sent the gardener to the chemist at Saint-Élophe.
At midnight, the old man was suffering so much that Dr. Borel was called in again. He seemed anxious and administered an injection of morphia.
There followed a few hours of comparative calm; and Mme. Morestal, although tortured at Philippe's absence and fearing that he might do something rash, was able to lie down on the sofa.
It was then that Catherine rushed into the room, at the risk of disturbing the patient's rest.
Mme. Morestal ended by bundling her off:
"Hold your tongue, can't you? Don't you see that your master's asleep?"
"They're mobilizing the troops, ma'am.... It's certain that we shall have war...."
"Oh, don't bother us with your war!" growled the good woman, pushing her out of the room. "Boil some water for your master and don't waste your time talking nonsense."
She herself went to work at once. But all around her was a confused noise of murmurs and exclamations, coming from the terrace, the garden and the house.
Morestal woke up at nine o'clock.
"Suzanne! Where's Suzanne?" he asked, almost before he opened his eyes.
"What! Suzanne! ..."
"Why, yes ... why, of course, Suzanne!... I promised her father.... No one has a better right to live in this house.... Philippe's not here, I suppose?"
He raised himself in bed, furious at the mere thought.
"He has not come in," said his wife. "We don't know where he is...."
"That's all right! He'd better not come back! ... I've turned him out.... And now I want Suzanne.... She shall nurse me ... she alone, do you understand?..."
"Come, Morestal, you surely wouldn't ask ... It's not possible for Suzanne to ..."
But her husband's features were contracted with such a look of anger that she dared not protest further:
"As you please," she said. "After all, if you think right...."
She consulted Dr. Borel by telephone. He replied that the patient must on no account be thwarted. Moreover, he undertook to see the girl, to point out to her the duty that called her to the Old Mill and to overcome any reluctance on her part.
Dr. Borel himself brought Suzanne to the house at about twelve o'clock. Red with shame, her eyes swollen with tears, she submitted to Mme. Morestal's humiliating reception and took her seat by the old man's bedside.
He gave a sigh of content when he saw her:
"Ah, I'm glad! ... I feel better already.... You won't leave me, will you, my little Suzanne?"
And he fell asleep again almost at once, under the action of a fresh injection of morphia.
As on the previous evening, the dining-room at the Old Mill remained empty. The maid took a light meal on a tray to Mme. Morestal and, next, to Marthe. But Marthe did not even answer her knock.
Marthe Morestal had not left her room during the morning; and all day she stayed alone, with her door bolted and her shutters closed. She sat on the edge of a chair and, bent in two, held her fists to her jaws and clenched her teeth so as not to scream aloud. It would have done her good to cry; and she sometimes thought that her suffering was about to find an outlet in sobbing; but the relief of tears did not come to moisten her eyes. And, stubbornly, viciously, she went over the whole pitiful story, recalling Suzanne's stay in Paris, the excursions on which Philippe used to take the young girl and from which they both returned looking so happy and glad, their meeting at the Old Mill, Philippe's departure for Saint-Élophe and, the next day, Suzanne's strange attitude, her ambiguous questions, her spiteful smile, as of a rival endeavouring to hurt the wife and hoping to supplant her. Oh, what a cruel business! And how hateful and wicked life, once so sweet, now seemed to her!
At six o'clock, driven by hunger, she went down to the dining-room. As she came out, after eating a little bread and drinking a glass of water, she saw Mme. Morestal going down the front-door steps to meet the doctor. She then remembered that her father-in-law was ill and that she had not yet seen him. His bedroom was close by. She crossed the passage, knocked, heard a voice—the voice of a nurse, she thought—say "Come in," and opened the door.
Opposite her, at a few steps' distance, beside the sleeping man, was Suzanne.
"You! You!" fumed Marthe. "You here!..."
Suzanne began to tremble under her fixed gaze and stammered:
"It was your father-in-law.... He insisted.... The doctor came ..."
And, with her knees giving way beneath her, she said, over and over again:
"I beg your pardon.... Forgive me ... forgive me.... It was my fault.... Philippe would never have ..."
Marthe at first listened without stirring. Perhaps she might have been just able to restrain herself. But, at the name of Philippe, at the name of Philippe uttered by Suzanne, she gave a bound, clutched the girl by the throat and flung her back against the table. She quivered with rage like an animal that at last holds its foe. She would have liked to destroy that body which her husband had clasped in his arms, to tear it, bite it, hurt it, hurt it as much as she could.
Suzanne gurgled under the onslaught. Then, losing her head, Marthe, stiff-fingered, clawed her with her nails on the forehead, on the cheeks, on the lips, those moist, red lips which Philippe had kissed. Her hatred gained new life with every movement. Blood flowed and mingled with Suzanne's tears. Marthe vilified her with abominable words, words which she had never spoken before. And, drunk with rage, thrice she spat in her face.
She ran out of the room, turned back, hissed a parting insult, slammed the door and went down the passage, calling:
"Victor! Catherine!"
Once in her room, she pressed the bell-push until the servants came:
"My trunk! Bring it down! And get the carriage ready, Victor, do you hear? At once! ..."
Mme. Morestal appeared, attracted by the noise. Dr. Borel was with her.
"What's the matter, Marthe? What is it?"
"I refuse to stay here another hour!" retorted Marthe, heedless of the presence of the doctor and the servants. "You can choose between Suzanne and me...."
"My husband promised ..."
"Very well. As you choose that woman, I am going."
She opened the drawers of the chest and flung the dresses and linen out promiscuously. With an abrupt movement, she pulled the cloth from the table. All the knicknacks fell to the floor.
Dr. Borel tried to argue with her:
"This is all very well, but where are you going?"
"To Paris. My boys will come to me there."
"But haven't you seen the papers? The position is growing more serious every hour. The frontier-corps are being mobilized. Are you sure of getting through?"
"I am going," she said.
"And suppose you don't reach Paris?"
"I am going," she repeated.
"What about Philippe?"
She shrugged her shoulders. He understood that nothing mattered to her, neither her husband's existence nor the threat of war, and that there was no fighting against her despair. Nevertheless, as he went away with Mme. Morestal, he said, loud enough for Marthe to hear:
"By the way, don't be uneasy about Philippe. He has been to see me and to enquire after his father. He will come back. I promised to let him know how things were going...."
When Victor came, at seven o'clock, to say that the carriage was ready, Marthe had changed her mind. The thought that Philippe was hanging about the neighbourhood, that he might return to the house, that Suzanne and he would stay under the same roof and see each other as and when they pleased was more than she could bear. She remained, therefore, but standing behind her door, with her ears pricked up to catch the first sound. When everybody had gone to bed, she went downstairs and hid herself, until break of day, in a recess in the entrance-hall. She was prepared to spring out at the least creak on the stair, for she felt convinced that Suzanne would slip out in the dark with the object of joining Philippe. This time, Marthe would have killed her. And her jealousy was so exasperated that she lay in wait, not with fear, but with the fierce hope that Suzanne was really going to appear before her.
Fits such as these, which are abnormal in a woman like Marthe, who, at ordinary times, obeyed her reason more readily than her instinct, fits such as these do not last. Marthe ended by suddenly bursting into sobs. After crying for a long time, she went up to her room and, worn out with fatigue, got into bed.
⁂
That morning, on the Tuesday, Philippe came to the Old Mill. Mme. Morestal was told and hurried down, in a great state of excitement, eager to vent her wrath upon her unworthy son. But, at the sight of him standing outside on the terrace, she overcame her need of recrimination and uttered no reproach, so frightened was she at seeing him look so pale and sad.
She asked:
"Where have you been?"
"What does it matter?" replied Philippe. "I ought not to have come back ... but I could not keep away, because of father.... I was too much upset.... How is he?"
"Dr. Borel won't say anything definite yet."
"And what is your opinion?"
"My opinion? Well, frankly speaking, I am very hopeful. Your father is so strong! But, all the same, it was a violent shock...."
"Yes," he said, "that is what alarms me. I have not lived, these last two days. How could I possibly go before knowing for certain? ..."
She hinted, with a certain feeling of apprehension:
"Then you want to stay here?"
"Yes ... provided he does not know."
"The fact is ... it's like this ... Suzanne is here, in your father's room.... He insisted on her coming...."
"Oh!" he said. "Is Suzanne here?"
"Where would you have her go? She has no one left. Who knows when Jorancé will be out of prison? And, besides, will he ever forgive her?"
He stood wrapped in thought and asked:
"Has Marthe met her?"
"There was a terrible scene between them. I found Suzanne with her face streaming with blood, all over scratches."
"Oh, the poor things!" he murmured. "The poor things! ..."
His head fell; and, presently, she saw that he was weeping.
As she had no word of consolation to offer him, she turned round and walked to the drawing-room, where she shifted the furniture so as to have the satisfaction of putting it back in its place. She tried to find a pretext to utter her resentment. When Philippe sat down at the table, she showed him the newspapers:
"Have you seen them?"
"Yes, the news is bad."
"That's not the point. The point is that the cabinet has fallen on the publication of the under-secretary's report. The whole Chamber rose up in protest."
"Well?"
"Well, that report is the one based upon the last enquiry ... of two days ago ... at the Butte-aux-Loups.... So you see ..."
Philippe felt a need to justify himself:
"You forget, mother, that there was an unexpected factor in the case. Before the sitting of the Chamber, a telegram had been published reporting the words spoken by the emperor after hearing the Statthalter's explanation."
He pointed to one of the papers:
"Here, mother, read this. These are the emperor's own words: 'Our conscience is now at ease. We had the might; we have the right. God decide the issue! I am ready.' And the Chamber, when condemning and overthrowing a ministry that was prepared for conciliation, intended to reply to words which it looked upon as provocative."
"Very well," said the old lady. "But, all the same, the report made no difference."
"Yes, that is so."
"Then what was the good of all your fuss and bothering? It was no use doing so much harm, considering that it served no purpose."
Philippe shook his head:
"It had to be. Certain actions must be performed and they should not be judged by the consequences which accident thrusts upon them, but by those which we expected of them, in all human logic and in all good faith."
"Empty phrases!" she said, obstinately. "You ought not to have done it.... It was a very useless piece of heroism...."
"Don't think that, mother. There was no need to be a hero to act as I did. It was enough to be an honest man. No one with the same clear vision as myself of what might happen would have hesitated any more than I did."
"So you regret nothing?"
He took her hand and, sadly:
"Oh, mother, how can you talk like that, you who know me? How can I be indifferent to all this break-up around me?"
He spoke the words with such despondency that she received an insight into his distress. But her anger with him was too great and especially their natures were too different for her to be touched by it. She concluded:
"No matter, my boy, it's all your fault. If you had not listened to Suzanne...."
He did not reply. The accusation cut into the most sensitive part of a wound which nothing could allay; and he was not the man to seek excuses.
"Come," said his mother.
She took him to another room on the second floor, further than the first from that which Marthe occupied:
"Victor will bring you your bag and serve your meals in here; that will be best. And I will let your wife know."
"Give her this letter, which I got ready for her," he said. "It is only asking for an interview, an explanation. She can't refuse."
⁂
In this way, in the course of that Tuesday, the Morestal family were once more gathered under the same roof; but in what heart-rending conditions! And how great was the hatred that now divided those beings once united by so warm an affection!
Philippe felt the disaster in a way that was, so to speak, visible and palpable, during these hours in which each of his victims remained locked up, as though in a torture-chamber. Nothing could have distracted his mind from its obsession, and even the fear of that accursed war which he had not been able to avert.
And yet news reached him at every moment, threatening news, like the news of a plague that comes nearer and nearer, despite the distance, despite the intervening waters.
At lunch-time, it was Victor, who had hardly entered the room with Philippe's tray before he exclaimed:
"Have you heard of the telegram from England, sir? The British premier has declared in parliament that, if war came, he would land a hundred thousand men at Brest and Cherbourg. That means an open alliance."
Later on, he heard the gardener's son, Henriot, returning on his bicycle from Saint-Élophe, shouting to his father and Victor:
"There's a mutiny at Strasburg! They're barricading the streets! They've blown up one of the barracks!"
And Victor at once telephoned to the Éclaireur des Vosges, pretending that he was doing so on behalf of M. Morestal, and came running up to Philippe's room:
"M. Philippe, Strasburg is in a state of insurrection.... All the peasants of the country around have taken up arms."
And Philippe reflected that there was no hope, that the governments would have their hands forced. And he reflected upon it almost calmly. His part was played. Nothing interested him now but his personal sorrow, the health of his father, the sufferings of Marthe and Suzanne, those first victims of the hateful scourge.
At five o'clock, he heard that one of the countries had issued an ultimatum against the other. Which of the two countries? And what was the purport of the ultimatum? He was unable to learn.
At nine o'clock, the telegrams announced that the new cabinet, chosen for the greater part from among the members of the opposition, had moved the immediate creation of "a Committee of National Safety, charged to take all the necessary measures for the defence of the country in case of war." The Chamber had passed the motion through its various stages in one sitting and had appointed the Governor of Paris head of the Committee of National Safety, with discretionary powers. This implied an eventual dictatorship.
All that Tuesday night, the Old Mill, silent and gloomy within doors, was filled with noise and excitement from without, a prey to the fever that precedes great catastrophes. Victor, the gardener and the gardener's son by turns bicycled at full speed to Saint-Élophe, where other people were bringing news from the sub-prefecture. The women moaned and wailed. At three o'clock in the morning, Philippe distinguished the angry voice of Farmer Saboureux.
At daybreak, there was a lull. Philippe, exhausted by so many sleepless nights, ended by dozing off and, while still asleep, heard the sound of footsteps coming and going over the pebbles in the garden. Then, suddenly, pretty late in the morning, he was awakened by a clamour outside.
He sprang out of bed. In front of the steps, Victor leapt from his horse, shouting:
"The ultimatum is rejected. It's war. It's war!"