The Downfall (La Débâcle): A Story of the Horrors of War

by Émile Zola

Then in a trice it was all over; the brute planted the knife in his throat with such violence that he did not even raise a cry. His arms relaxed, and the hunk of bread rolled to the ground, into the blood that had spurted from the wound.

At sight of this mad, imbecile murder, Maurice, hitherto motionless, seemed all at once to lose his reason. Shaking his fists at the three men, he called them assassins with such vehemence that his frame shook from head to foot. Lapoulle, however, did not even seem to hear him. Still crouching on the ground near the corpse, he was devouring the blood-splashed bread with an air of fierce stupor, as though stunned by the loud noise of his own jaws; and he appeared so terrible whilst he thus satisfied his craving appetite, that Chouteau and Loubet did not even dare to ask him for their share.

Night had now completely gathered in, a clear night with a beautiful starry sky; and Maurice and Jean, who had betaken themselves to the little wood, were soon only able to see Lapoulle, who went wandering up and down the river-bank. Chouteau and Loubet had disappeared, they had no doubt gone back to the canal-bank, uneasy with regard to that corpse which they were leaving behind them. Lapoulle, on the contrary, seemed afraid to go and join his comrades. Oppressed by the weight of that big chunk of bread which he had swallowed too fast, he was now, too, after the dizziness of the murder-moment, seized with an anguish which made motion a necessity; and not daring to turn back along the road, across which the corpse was lying, he tramped incessantly along the steep river-bank, with a wavering, irresolute step. Was remorse already dawning in the depths of that dark soul? Or was it not simply the fear of discovery? He paced up and down like a wild beast before the bars of its cage, with a sudden, growing longing to flee, a longing which was painful like a physical ailment, and which he felt would cause his death if he did not satisfy it. Quick, quick, he must at once get out of that prison where he had killed. And yet, despite that eager desire, he all at once sank down, and for a long time remained wallowing among the rushes on the bank.

Meantime Maurice, in his horror and disgust, was saying to Jean: 'Listen, I can't stay here a moment longer. It will drive me mad, I assure you—I'm astonished that my body has held out—my health is not so bad—but I'm losing my head, I'm losing it sure enough—I shall be lost if you leave me another day in this hell. Let's get off, I beg of you, let's get off.' And thereupon he began unfolding various extravagant plans of escape which he had formed. They would swim across the Meuse, spring upon the sentinels, and strangle them with a bit of rope which he had in his pocket; or else they would stone them to death; or else bribe them and put on their uniforms so as to make their way through the Prussian lines.

'Be quiet, youngster,' repeated Jean, despairingly. 'It frightens me to hear you say such foolish things. Is there any sense in it all, is it possible to get away as you think? Wait till to-morrow, we'll see what happens. And now don't talk about it any more.'

For his own part, although his heart was overflowing with anger and disgust, although he was greatly weakened by privation, he still retained his common sense amid all that nightmare-kind of life which verged on the profoundest depths of human misery. And as his comrade became more and more desperate and wished to fling himself into the Meuse, he had to hold him back and even do him violence, alternately scolding and supplicating, with tears standing in his eyes. 'There! look!' he exclaimed all at once.

The water had just splashed, and they saw that Lapoulle had made up his mind to slip into the river after doffing his capote, for fear lest it might impede his movements. His shirt could be plainly descried, forming a whitish spot on the bosom of the black, flowing water. He was swimming slowly upstream, doubtless on the look-out for some spot where he might land. Meantime, on the opposite bank, the slim silhouettes of the motionless sentinels could be plainly distinguished. Then, all at once, a flash rent the night asunder, and a report crackled, re-echoing as far as the rocks of Montimont. The river merely bubbled as though struck downward by a pair of oars, and that was all; forsaken and inert, Lapoulle's body, the white speck on the dark water, began floating away, carried along by the current.

At daybreak on the morrow, which was Saturday, Jean again brought Maurice back to the camping-ground of the 106th in the hope that they might be leaving the peninsula that day. But there were no orders; it seemed as though the regiment had been forgotten. Many had now taken their departure, the camp was emptying, and those who were still left in it sank more and more deeply into the blues. For eight long days insanity had been germinating and spreading in that hell. The rain, no doubt, had given over, but the oppressive, burning sunlight had only wrought a change of torture. The excessive heat put the finishing touch to the men's exhaustion, and imparted an alarming epidemical character to the attacks of dysentery. What with nausea and diarrhœa, this army of sick men quite poisoned the atmosphere in which it lived. It was no longer possible to skirt the banks either of the Meuse or the canal, so foul had become the stench of the drowned horses and soldiers rotting among the herbage. Moreover, the horses which had died of starvation lay putrefying in the fields, exhaling such a pestilence that the Prussians began to fear for themselves, and bringing picks and shovels, compelled the prisoners to bury the bodies.

That Saturday, by the way, the famine ceased. As their numbers were now greatly reduced, and provisions were coming in from all sides, the captives passed, all at once, from extreme destitution to the most abundant plenty. There was no lack of bread or meat, or even wine, and they ate from dawn till sunset, to the point of killing themselves. Night fell and some were still eating, and even went on eating till the following morning. And naturally enough many of them gave up the ghost.

Throughout the day Jean's one preoccupation was to keep a watch on Maurice, for he realised that the young fellow was now ripe for any extravagant action. Heated by wine he had even talked of cuffing a German officer in order that he might be sent away. Accordingly, in the evening, having discovered a vacant corner in the cellar of one of the outbuildings of Glaire Tower, Jean thought it prudent to go and sleep there with his companion, in the hope that the latter would be calmed by a good night's rest. But it proved the most fearful night of their whole sojourn in the camp, a perfect night of horrors, during which they were not once able to close their eyes. Other soldiers helped to fill the cellar, and among them were two men lying side by side in the same corner, and dying of dysentery. As soon as the darkness had come, these two did not cease complaining, with hollow groans, inarticulate cries, followed at last by a death-rattle which became louder and louder, sounding so awful in the pitchy darkness that the other men who were lying there, longing to sleep, became quite enraged, and called to the dying soldiers to hold their peace. But the latter did not hear, and the rattle went on, ceasing for a moment perhaps every now and then, but suddenly breaking forth anew, and then drowning every other sound; whilst, in the intervals, the drunken clamour of the comrades who were still eating, unable to satisfy themselves, was wafted from without.