the four horsemen of the apocalypse-第52部分

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Desnoyers　saw　men；　many　men；　men　everywhere。　　They　were　like　gray　ants；　marching　in　endless　files　towards　the　South；　coming　out　from　the　woods；　filling　the　roads；　crossing　the　fields。　　The　green　of　vegetation　was　disappearing　under　their　tread；　the　dust　was　rising　in　spirals　behind　the　dull　roll　of　the　cannons　and　the　measured　trot　of　thousands　of　horses。　　On　the　roadside　several　battalions　had　halted；　with　their　accompaniment　of　vehicles　and　draw　horses。　　They　were　resting　before　renewing　their　march。　　He　knew　this　army。　　He　had　seen　it　in　Berlin　on　parade；　and　yet　it　seemed　to　have　changed　its　former　appearance。　　There　now　remained　very　little　of　the　heavy　and　imposing　glitter；　of　the　mute　and　vainglorious　haughtiness　which　had　made　his　relatives…in…law　weep　with　admiration。　　War；　with　its　realism；　had　wiped　out　all　that　was　theatrical　about　this　formidable　organization　of　death。　　The　soldiers　appeared　dirty　and　tired；　out。　The　respiration　of　fat　and　sweaty　bodies；　mixed　with　the　strong　smell　of　leather；　floated　over　the　regiments。　　All　the　men　had　hungry　faces。

For　days　and　nights　they　had　been　following　the　heels　of　an　enemy　which　was　always　just　eluding　their　grasp。　　In　this　forced　advance　the　provisions　of　the　administration　would　often　arrive　so　late　at　the　cantonments　that　they　could　depend　only　on　what　they　happened　to　have　in　their　knapsacks。　　Desnoyers　saw　them　lined　up　near　the　road　devouring　hunks　of　black　bread　and　mouldy　sausages。　　Some　had　scattered　through　the　fields　to　dig　up　beet　roots　and　other　tubers；　chewing　with　loud　crunchings　the　hard　pulp　to　which　the　grit　still　adhered。　　An　ensign　was　shaking　the　fruit　trees　using　as　a　catch…all　the　flag　of　his　regiment。　　That　glorious　standard；　adorned　with　souvenirs　of　1870；　was　serving　as　a　receptacle　for　green　plums。　Those　who　were　seated　on　the　ground　were　improving　this　rest　by　drawing　their　perspiring；　swollen　feet　from　high　boots　which　were　sending　out　an　insufferable　smell。

The　regiments　of　infantry　which　Desnoyers　had　seen　in　Berlin　reflecting　the　light　on　metal　and　leather　straps；　the　magnificent　and　terrifying　Hussars；　the　Cuirassiers　in　pure　white　uniform　like　the　paladins　of　the　Holy　Grail；　the　artillerymen　with　breasts　crossed　with　white　bands；　all　the　military　variations　that　on　parade　had　drawn　forth　the　Hartrotts'　sighs　of　admirationthese　were　now　all　unified　and　mixed　together；　of　uniform　color；　all　in　greenish　mustard　like　the　dusty　lizards　that；　slipping　along；　try　to　be　confounded　with　the　earth。

The　persistency　of　the　iron　discipline　was　easily　discernible。　　A　word　from　the　chiefs；　the　sound　of　a　whistle；　and　they　all　grouped　themselves　together；　the　human　being　disappearing　in　the　throngs　of　automatons；　but　danger；　weariness；　and　the　uncertainty　of　triumph　had　for　the　time　being　brought　officers　and　men　nearer　together；　obliterating　caste　distinction。　　The　officers　were　coming　part　way　out　of　their　overbearing；　haughty　seclusion；　and　were　condescending　to　talk　with　the　lower　orders　so　as　to　revive　their　courage。　　One　effort　more　and　they　would　overwhelm　both　French　and　English；　repeating　the　triumph　of　Sedan；　whose　anniversary　they　were　going　to　celebrate　in　a　few　days！　　They　were　going　to　enter　Paris；　it　was　only　a　matter　of　a　week。　　Paris！　　Great　shops　filled　with　luxurious　things；　famous　restaurants；　women；　champagne；　money。　。　。　。　　And　the　men；　flattered　that　their　commanders　were　stooping　to　chat　with　them；　forgot　fatigue　and　hunger；　reviving　like　the　throngs　of　the　Crusade　before　the　image　of　Jerusalem。　　〃Nach　Paris！〃　　The　joyous　shout　circulated　from　the　head　to　the　tail　of　the　marching　columns。　〃To　Paris！　　To　Paris！〃

The　scarcity　of　their　food　supply　was　here　supplemented　by　the　products　of　a　country　rich　in　wines。　　When　sacking　houses　they　rarely　found　eatables；　but　invariably　a　wine　cellar。　　The　humble　German；　the　perpetual　beer　drinker；　who　had　always　looked　upon　wine　as　a　privilege　of　the　rich；　could　now　open　up　casks　with　blows　from　his　weapons；　even　bathing　his　feet　in　the　stream　of　precious　liquid。　Every　battalion　left　as　a　souvenir　of　its　passing　a　wake　of　empty　bottles；　a　halt　in　camp　sowed　the　land　with　glass　cylinders。　　The　regimental　trucks；　unable　to　renew　their　stores　of　provisions；　were　accustomed　to　seize　the　wine　in　all　the　towns。　　The　soldier；　lacking　bread；　would　receive　alcohol。　。　。　。

This　donation　was　always　accompanied　by　the　good　counsels　of　the　officersWar　is　war；　no　pity　toward　our　adversaries　who　do　not　deserve　it。　　The　French　were　shooting　their　prisoners；　and　their　women　were　putting　out　the　eyes　of　the　wounded。　　Every　dwelling　was　a　den　of　traps。　　The　simple…hearted　and　innocent　German　entering　therein　was　going　to　certain　death。　　The　beds　were　made　over　subterranean　caves；　the　wardrobes　were　make…believe　doors；　in　every　corner　was　lurking　an　assassin。　　This　traitorous　nation；　which　was　arranging　its　ground　like　the　scenario　of　a　melodrama；　would　have　to　be　chastised。　　The　municipal　officers；　the　priests；　the　schoolmasters　were　directing　and　protecting　the　sharpshooters。

Desnoyers　was　shocked　at　the　indifference　with　which　these　men　were　stalking　around　the　burning　village。　　They　did　not　appear　to　see　the　fire　and　destruction；　it　was　just　an　ordinary　spectacle；　not　worth　looking　at。　　Ever　since　they　had　crossed　the　frontier；　smoldering　and　blasted　villages；　fired　by　the　advance　guard；　had　marked　their　halting　places　on　Belgian　and　French　soil。

When　entering　Villeblanche　the　automobile　had　to　lower　its　speed。　Burned　walls　were　bulging　out　over　the　street　and　half…charred　beams　were　obstructing　the　way；　obliging　the　vehicle　to　zigzag　through　the　smoking　rubbish。　　The　vacant　lots　were　burning　like　fire　pans　between　the　houses　still　standing；　with　doors　broken；　but　not　yet　in　flames。　　Desnoyers　saw　within　these　rectangular　spaces　partly　burned　wood；　chairs；　beds；　sewing　machines；　iron　stoves；　all　the　household　goods　of　the　well…to…do　countryman；　being　consumed　or　twisted　into　shapeless　masses。　　Sometimes　he　would　spy　an　arm　sticking　out　of　the　ruins；　beginning　to　burn　like　a　long　wax　candle。　　No；　it　could　not　be　possible　。　。　。　and　then　the　smell　of　cooking　flesh　began　to　mingle　with　that　of　the　soot；　wood　and　plaster。

He　closed　his　eyes；　not　able　to　look　any　longer。　　He　thought　for　a　moment　he　must　be　dreaming。　　It　was　unbelievable　that　such　horrors　could　take　place　in　less　than　an　hour。　　Human　wickedness　at　its　worst　he　had　supposed　incapable　of　changing　the　aspect　of　a　village　in　such　a　short　time。

An　abrupt　stoppage　of　the　motor　made　him　look　around　involuntarily。　This　time　the　obstruction　was　the　dead　bodies　in　the　streettwo　men　and　a　woman。　　They　had　probably　fallen　under　the　rain　of　bullets　from　the　machine　gun　which　had　passed　through　the　town　preceding　the　invasion。　　Some　soldiers　were　seated　a　little　beyond　them；　with　their　backs　to　the　victims；　as　though　ignoring　their　presence。　　The　chauffeur　yelled　to　them　to　clear　the　track；　with　their　guns　and　feet　they　pushed　aside　the　bodies　still　warm；　at　every　turn　leaving　a　trail　of　blood。　　The　space　was　hardly　opened　before　the　vehicle　shot　through　。　。　。　a　thud；　a　leapthe　back　wheels　had　evidently　crushed　some　very　fragile　obstacle。

Desnoyers　was　still　huddled　in　his　seat；　benumbed　and　with　closed　eyes。　　The　horror　around　him　made　him　think　of　his　own　fate。　Whither　was　this　lieutenant　taking　him？　。　。　。

He　soon　saw　the　town　hall　flaming　in　the　square；　the　church　was　now　nothing　but　a　stone　shell；　bristling　with　flames。　　The　houses　of　the　prosperous　villagers　had　had　their　doors　and　windows　chopped　out　by　axe…blows。　　Within　them　soldiers　were　moving　about　methodically。　They　entered　empty…handed　and　came　out　loaded　with　furniture　and　clothing。　　Others；　in　the　upper　stories；　were　flinging　out　various　objects；　accompanying　their　trophies　with　jests　and　guffaws。　Suddenly　they　had　to　come　out　flying；　for　fire　was　breaking　out　with　the　violence　and　rapidity　of　an　explosion。　　Following　their　footsteps　was　a　group　of　men　with　big　boxes　and　metal　cylinders。　Someone　at　their　head　was　pointing　out　the　buildings　into　whose　broken　windows　were　to　be　thrown　the　lozenges　and　liquid　streams　which　would　produce　catastrophe　with　lightning　rapidity。

Out　of　one　of　these　flaming　buildings　two　men；　who　seemed　but　bundles　of　rags；　were　being　dragged　by　some　Germans。　　Above　the　blue　sleeves　of　their　military　cloaks　Don　Marcelo　could　distinguish　blanched　faces　and　eyes　immeasurably　distended　with　suffering。　Their　legs　were　dragging　on　the　ground；　sticking　out　between　the　tatters　of　their　red　pantaloons。　　One　of　them　still　had　on　his　kepis。　　Blood　was　gushing　from　different　parts　of　their　bodies　and　behind　them；　like　white　serpents；　were　trailing　their　loosened　bandages。　　They　were　wounded　Frenchmen；　stragglers　who　had　remained　in　the　village　because　too　weak　to　keep　up　with　the　retreat。　Perhaps　they　had　joined　the　group　which；　finding　its　escape　cut　off；　had　attempted　that　insane　resistance。

Wishing　to　make　that　matter　more　clearly　understood；　Desnoyers　looked　at　the　official　beside　him；　attempting　to　speak；　but　the　officer　silenced　him　instantly：　〃French　sharpshooters　in　disguise　who　are　going　to　get　the　punishment　they　deserve。〃　　The　German　bayonets　were　sunk　deep　into　their　bodies。　　Then　blows　with　the　guns　fell　on　the　head　of　one　of　them　。　。　。　and　these　blows　were　repeated　with　dull　thumps　upon　their　skulls；　crackling　as　they　burst　open。

Again　the　old　man　wondered　what　his　fate　would　be。　　Where　was　this　lieutenant　taking　him　across　such　visions　of　horror？　。　。　。

They　had　reached　the　outskirts　of　the　village；　where　the　dragoons　had　built　their　barricade。　　The　carts　were　still　there；　but　at　one　side　of　the　road。　　They　climbed　out　of　the　automobile；　and　he　saw　a　group　of　officers　in　gray；　with　sheathed　helmets　like　the　others。　The　one　who　had　brought　him　to　this　place　was　standing　rigidly　erect　with　one　hand　to　his　visor；　speaking　to　a　military　man　standing　a　few　paces　in　front　of　the　others。　　He　looked　at　this　man；　who　was　scrutinizing　him　with　his　little　hard　blue　eyes　that　had　carved　his　spare；　furrowed　countenance　with　lines。　　He　must　be　the　general。　His　arrogant　and　piercing　gaze　was　sweeping　him　from　head　to　foot。　Don　Marcelo　felt　a　presentiment　tha