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

by Émile Zola

A gay little laugh resounded, the laugh of one who is well pleased, and the gentle voice replied: 'All right, I know who it is.'

Then as the corporal, stifling and ill at ease, stopped short on the landing, the voice continued: 'Come in, Monsieur Jean. Maurice has been here a couple of hours, and we have been waiting for you so impatiently!'

Then, in the pale light of the room he entered, Jean saw Henriette, and at once noticed her striking likeness to Maurice, that extraordinary resemblance common between twins that seems to make each of them the other's double. Her beautiful fair hair was of the light tint of ripe oats, and excepting that her mouth appeared somewhat large her features were small and delicate. She was, however, shorter than her brother, and still more slight and frail of build. But it was especially her grey eyes that distinguished her from Maurice—her calm, brave, grey eyes from which shone forth such another heroic soul as that of her grandfather, the hero of the Grand Army. She spoke but little, moved about noiselessly, and displayed such skilful, activity, such smiling gentleness, that she imparted a caress as it were to the atmosphere in which she lived.

'Here, come in here, Monsieur Jean,' she repeated. 'Everything will be ready directly.'

He stammered a reply, unable to express his thanks in the emotion he felt at being welcomed in such a brotherly manner. Moreover, his eyelids were closing, and in the irresistible drowsiness that had seized hold of him, he saw her through a kind of film, a mist in which she appeared to be vaguely floating without touching the ground. Was this kindly young woman, who smiled at him with so much simplicity, merely a charming apparition then? For a moment he had his doubts on the subject. However, it certainly seemed to him that she took hold of his hand, and that he could feel hers, small and firm, loyal, like the hand of an old friend.

From that moment Jean lost all precise consciousness of what took place. They were in the dining-room, it seemed, there was meat and bread on the table, but he lacked the strength to carry the morsels to his mouth. A man was seated on a chair there, and at last he recognised Weiss, whom he had previously seen at Mulhausen. He failed to understand, however, what Weiss was saying with a sorrowful air and slow despondent gestures. As for Maurice, he was already asleep, lying motionless, like one dead, on a trestle-bedstead in front of the stove. And Henriette was busy with a divan, on which a mattress had already been thrown. She brought a bolster, a pillow, and blankets, and with ready skilful hands she spread out a pair of white sheets, beautiful sheets, white like snow.

Oh! those white sheets, those white sheets so ardently coveted! Jean had eyes for nothing else. He had not undressed and slept in a bed for six weeks, and he experienced a gluttonous craving, a childish impatience, an irresistible longing to slip in between all that whiteness and freshness, and lose himself in the midst of it. And, as soon as he had been left alone, a few seconds sufficed him to undress; in a trice he was in his shirt, barefooted, and popped into bed and satisfied his desire, grunting the while like a contented animal. The pale morning light was streaming into the room through the lofty window, and as, already half asleep, he partially reopened his eyes, there came to him another apparition of Henriette, less distinct, more immaterial than the first. It seemed to him that she glided into the room on tip-toe, and placed a water decanter and a glass, which she had forgotten, on the table near him, and he fancied that she remained there for a few seconds looking at both of them, her brother and himself, with that quiet smile of hers, full of infinite kindness. Then she vanished, and Jean, overwhelmed, fell fast asleep between the white sheets.

Hours, years flowed past. Jean and Maurice no longer existed, not a dream broke upon their slumbers. They were unconscious of everything, even of the slight beating of their pulses. Ten years or ten minutes, whatever the lapse of time they could not count it; this was the revenge, as it were, of their jaded bodies, reaping satisfaction in the annihilation of their entire beings. Then, all at once, starting at the same moment, both of them awoke. Hallo! what was the matter, how long had they been asleep? The same pale light was streaming through the lofty window. They still felt extenuated, their joints had become stiffened, their limbs seemed more wearied, the bitter taste in their mouths was more pronounced than when they had gone to bed. Fortunately, they could only have slept an hour or so, and they were in no wise surprised to see Weiss seated in the same chair as before, and in the same despondent attitude, as though he had been waiting for them to awaken.

'Dash it!' stammered Jean. 'All the same, we must get up, for we must join the regiment before noon.' Then, with a slight cry of pain, he sprang on to the tiled floor, and began to dress.