The Portland daily press., 1875-03-27


kead1usting his Page
TRANSLATED for the Press from the French of Erik
mann-Chatrian.1
The Brigadier Frederic.
The Story ola Frenchman Hunted by the
Germans.
"When I was brigadier forester in Stein
BACH" said Father Fredric to me, ''and
when 1 was inspector of the most beautiful
forest in all the district of Saverne, had a
pretty little cottage among the trees, garden,
and orchard in the rear, filled with apple,
pear, and plum trees where the fruit hung in
autumn, and with that, four good acres of
meadow along the bank of the river, while
grandmother Anne in spite of her eighty years
still spun in her corner behind the stove
and could assist in the work of the
house, while my wife and daughter took care
of the household, stable and farm, when the
weeks, months and years, passed as single
day-if in these times any one had come to
me saying, look Father Fredrc, you see this
great valley of Alsace as far as the banks of
the Rhine, these hundreds of villages, sur
rounded by harvests of all kinds, tobacco,
hemp, hops, fax and wheat, over which the
wind sweeps as over sea, these factories
with their tall chimneys smoking in the air,
these saw mills and flour mills, these hills
covered with vines, these grand forests of oak
and beach, the best in France for ship build
ing these old chateauX on the summit of the
mountains, in ruins since many ages, these
fortresses of Neuf Brisach, Schestadt, Plaz-
bourg and Bitche, which defend the passes of
the Vosges-look Brigader, as far as the eye
can see, from the line of Wssembourg to
Belfort; alb well, all that in a few years will
belong to the Prussians; they will be masters
of every thing, they will have garrisons every
where, they will levy imposts, send tax gather
ers, internal revenue officers, foresters, school
masters into all the villages! and the people
of the country will bend theback, they will
drill in the German ranks commanded by
sergeant of the Emperor William If any
one had told me that, should have thought
the man was fool and even in my indgna-
ton, should have been tempted to slap him
in the face with the back of my hand.
Yet he would have told only the truth, and
even then he would not have said enough;
for we have seen many other things. But
the most terrible of all for me who had never
left the mountain is to find myself at my age
in this garrett where one can see only brick
walls and chimneys alone, abandoned of
heaven and earth, and dreaming night and
day tbs fearful history.
Yes George, the most terrible of all, is to
dream. When one breaks the paw of wolf
and fox they lick themselves and are cured,
the wounded deer dies at once, or hides him
self in the thicket until he is cured, and when
one takes away from the dogs their young,
the poor beasts pine for a few days, then
forget them and all is effaced. But we can
not forget. The longer we live the more we
remember our misery, the more we
see the sad things we had hardly felt at first;
the injustice, egotism, bad faith, all grow be-
fore our eyes like thorns and briers.
Well, since you wish to know how have
been driven into this miserable garrett in the
suburbs of Paris, and the manner in which
have passed my lite until now, will not re-
fuse to tell you. You can question many
others, men of all callings, working men,
peasants, emgrants from Alsace. All the
garrets of La Chapee and La Villette, are full
of them. 1t is said that more than 100000
have fed. 1t is possible, for at the time | left
the country the roads were already full. But
you know all these things as well as I. l
shall speak then, of that which concerns my
self alone, beginning at the beginning; that
is the simplest way.
In the middle of the winter of 1867 when
all the mountain paths were covered with
snow, and we heard every night the branches
of the beeches loaded with snow. snap like
glass, one evening" my wife, who since the
commencement of the winter, had grown
feeble day by day without complaining, said to
me near six O'Clock, after having
lighted the fire on the hearth, ''Fredric am
going:to lie down, I am not well. am cold.'
She had never said anything like it before.
She was a woman who never complained,
and thought nothing of it saying Catherine
do as you please-you work too much now.
Go lie down. Marie Rose will cook the sup
per-"
thought once in twenty years, was not a
great deal. She-could take little rest. Ma
RE Rose heated a jug of water, and put it to
her feet, and we ate our supper of potatoes
and curd as quietly as usual. Not single
anxious thought troubled us. About nine
o'clock after ha ring smoked my pipe Fear the
T Tod forh aJ T
the couch saw that my wife was deathly
pale, ard her eyes wide open. called
Catherine"
But she did not stir. / repeated 'Cathe-
rine' shaking her arm. She was already cold.
This courageous woman had kept up until
the last moment. She had lost much blood
without complaining. 1 was alone. My
poor Marie Rose had no longer mother. 1t
was heartrending, and I thought 1 could
never recover from the blow.
The grandmother who for some time past
had scarcely left her chair, and seemed al
ways in dream, awoke. Marie Rose sobbed
so loud that they heard her out of doors,
and Calas, the poor idiot, murmured to him
self-"Ah, if I were only dead instead of
her."
As we were a long way eff in the woods we
had to carry my wife to the church at Dos
senhein for burial, through the heavy SHOWS
We went in file, the coffin before us On the
cart. Marie Rose cried so that was obliged
to aid her at every step. Happily the grand
mother did not go. She sat in her chair and
recited the prayers for the dead, at home
We returned in the evening.
And now the mother was yonder, under
the snow, with the ancient Burats, who are
all in the cemetery of Dossenhein behind the
church-she was there, and 1 thought:
What will become of the house? Never shall
/ marry again. have had one good vile.
Who knows whether the second would not
be the worst and most thriftless in the coun-
try? Never shall I take another. 1 shall
live all alone. But what can / do2 Who
will take care of everything? Who will