The Attack on the Mill, and Other Sketches of War

by Émile Zola

Among the most distinguished in these conflicts was a tall, fair lad, who always got chosen General. Louis, who belonged to an old Breton family that had come to live in the South, assumed victorious airs. I can see him yet, with a handkerchief tied on his forehead by way of plume, a leather belt girded round him, leading on his soldiers with a wave of the hand as if it were the great wave of a sword. He filled us with admiration; we even felt a sort of respect for him. Strangely enough he had a twin-brother, Julien, who was much smaller, frail and delicate, and who greatly disliked these violent games. When we divided into two camps, he would go apart, sit down on a stone bench, and thence watch us with his sad and rather frightened eyes. One day, Louis, hustled and attacked by a whole band, fell under their blows, and Julien gave a cry, pallid, trembling, half-fainting like a woman. The two brothers adored each other, and none of us would have dared to laugh at the little one about his want of courage, for fear of the big one.

The memory of these twins is closely involved for me in the memory of that time. Towards the spring, I became a day-boarder, and no longer slept at the college, but came in the morning for the seven o’clock lessons. The two brothers, also, were day-boarders. The three of us were inseparable. As we lived in the same street we used to wait to go in to college together. Louis, who was very precocious and dreamed of adventures, seduced us. We agreed to leave home at six, so as to have a whole hour of freedom in which we could be men. For us “to be men” meant to smoke cigars and to go and have drinks at a shabby wine-shop, which Louis had discovered in an out-of-the-way street. The cigars and the drinks made us frightfully ill; but, then, what an emotion it was to step into the wine-shop, casting glances to right and left, and in terror of being observed.

These fine doings occurred towards the close of the winter. I remember there were mornings when the rain fell in torrents. We waded through, and arrived drenched. After that, the mornings became mild and fair, and then a mania took hold of us—that of going to see off the soldiers. Aix is on the road to Marseilles. Regiments came into the town by the road from Avignon, slept one night, and started off on the morrow by the road to Marseilles. At that time, fresh troops, especially cavalry and artillery, were being sent to the Crimea. Not a week elapsed without troops passing. A local paper even announced these movements beforehand, for the benefit of the inhabitants with whom the men lodged. Only we did not read the paper, and we were much concerned to know overnight whether there would be soldiers leaving in the morning. As the departure occurred at five in the morning, we were obliged to get up very early, often to no purpose.

What a happy time it was! Louis and Julien would come and call me from the middle of the street, where not a person was yet to be seen. I hurried down. It would be chilly, notwithstanding the spring-time mildness of the days, and we three would cross the empty town. When a regiment was leaving, the soldiers would be assembling on the Cours, before a hotel where the colonel generally stayed. Therefore, the moment that we turned into the Cours, our necks were stretched out eagerly. If the Cours was empty, what a blow! And it was often empty. On these mornings, though we did not say so, we regretted our beds, and cooled our heels till seven o’clock, not knowing what to do with our freedom. But, then, what joy it was, when we turned the street and saw the Cours full of men and horses! An amazing commotion arose in the slight morning chill. Soldiers came in from every direction, while the drums beat and the bugles called. The officers had great difficulty in forming them on this esplanade. However, order was established, little by little, the ranks closed up, while we talked to the men and slipped under the horses legs, at the risk of being crushed. Nor were we the only people to enjoy this scene. Small proprietors appeared one by one, early townsfolk, and all that part of the population which rises betimes. Soon there were crowds. The sun rose. The gold and steel of the uniforms shone in the clear morning light.

We thus beheld, on the Cours of that peaceful and still drowsy town, Dragoons, Cavalry Chasseurs, Lancers, and, in fact, all branches of light and heavy cavalry. But our favourites, those who aroused our keenest enthusiasm, were the Cuirassiers. They dazzled us as they sat square on their stout horses, with the glowing star of their breastplates before them. Their helmets took fire in the rising sun; their ranks were like rows of suns, whose rays shone on the neighbouring houses. When we knew that there were Cuirassiers going, we got up at four, so eager were we to fill our eyes with their glories.

At last, however, the colonel would appear. The colours, which had passed the night with him, were displayed. And all at once, after two or three words of command cried aloud, the regiment gave way. It went down the Cours, and with the first fall of the hoofs on the dry earth, rose a beat of drums which made our hearts leap within us. We ran to keep at the head of the column, abreast of the band, which was greeting the town, as it went at a double. First there came three shrill bugle notes as a summons to the players, then the trumpet call broke out, and covered everything with its sounds. Outside the gates the “double” was ended in the open, where the last notes died away. Then there was a turn to the left along the Marseilles road, a fine road planted with elms hundreds of years old. The horses went at a foot pace, in rather open order, on the wide highway, white with dust. We felt as if we were going, too. The town was remote, college was forgotten; we ran and ran, delighted with our outbreak. It was like setting out to war ourselves every week.

Ah, those lovely mornings! It was six o’clock, the sun, already high, lighted the country with great sloping rays. A milder warmth breathed through the little chill breeze of morning. Groups of birds flew up from the hedges. Far off the meadows were bathed in pink mist; and amid this smiling landscape these beautiful soldiers, the Cuirassiers shining like stars, passed with their glowing breasts. The road turned suddenly at the dip of a deep valley. The curious townsfolk never went farther; soon we were the only ones persisting. We went down the slope and reached the bridge crossing the river at the very bottom. It was only there that uneasiness would fall on us. It must be nearly seven; we had only just time to run home, if we did not wish to miss college. Often we suffered ourselves to be carried away; we pushed on farther still; and on those days we played truant, roaming about till noon, hiding ourselves in the grassy holes at the edge of the waterfall. At other times we stopped at the bridge, sitting on the stone parapet, and never losing sight of the regiment, as it went up the opposite slope of the valley before us. It was a moving spectacle. The road went up the hillside in a straight line for rather more than a mile. The horses slackened their pace yet more, the men grew smaller with the rhythmic swaying of their steeds. At first, each breastplate and each helmet was like a sun. Then the suns dwindled, and soon there was only an army of stars on the march. Finally, the last man disappeared and the road was bare. Nothing was left of the beautiful regiment that had passed by, except a memory.

We were only children; but, all the same, that spectacle made us grave. As the regiment slowly mounted the steep, we would be taken by a great silence, our eyes fixed upon the troop, in despair at the thought of losing it, and when it had disappeared, something tightened in our throats, and for a moment or two we still watched the distant rock behind which it had just vanished. Would it ever come back? Would it some day come down this hillside again? These questions, stirring sadly within us, made us sad. Good-bye, beautiful regiment.

Julien, in particular, always came home very tired. He only came so far in order not to leave his brother. These excursions knocked him up, and he had a mortal terror of the horses. I remember that one day we had lingered in the train of an artillery regiment, and spent the day in the open fields. Louis was wild with enthusiasm. When we had breakfasted on an omelette, in a village, he took us to a bend of the river, where he was set upon bathing. Then he talked of going for a soldier as soon as he was old enough.

“No, no!” cried Julien, flinging his arms round his neck. He was quite pale. His brother laughed, and called him a great stupid. But he repeated: “You would be killed, I know you would.”