- Summary
- Maupassant
- Pumpkin
The French army is defeated. Surviving soldiers pass through the city. Civilians are walking with them. When the soldiers leave the city of Rouen, its residents close their windows and doors, the streets are empty, and the noise subsides.
The next day, the Prussian army appears, causing fear among the city's residents. They try to please the victorious soldiers in everything.
After some time, the townspeople get used to the proximity of the Prussians. They interact nicely with the guests.
Gradually, Rouen comes to life. Traders are given permission to leave the city. They complete the paperwork and leave Rouen with their families. In one of the stagecoaches there were wine merchants - husband and wife Loiseau, a manufacturer and his wife, the spouses of Hubert de Breville, nuns, a democrat Cornudet and a frivolous person nicknamed "Dumpling". The woman has a charming curvy body. The carriage gets stuck in snowdrifts every now and then. Passengers often look disapprovingly towards Pyshka.
Travelers begin to experience unbearable hunger. At this moment, Pyshka takes out a basket with a lot of food. A woman eats chicken on a plate with appetite. The ladies look at her disapprovingly. The wine merchant praises Pyshka for such forethought. She treats him, Cornudet and the nuns to a piece of chicken. The meal is washed down from one glass - a glass of Pyshka.
The manufacturer's young wife faints from hunger. The nuns drink it with wine. Pumpkin shares food with pious ladies. A conversation ensues. Men talk about politics. Pyshka says that she had to leave the city because she almost strangled a Prussian soldier in her anger.
It starts to get cold, and the ladies offer Pyshka a hot water bottle. Arriving at night in the city of Thoth, passengers stay at a hotel. Her owner tells Pyshka that a Prussian officer is waiting for her in his room. Elisabeth Rousset - that's Pyshka's name - refuses to go, but the guests persuade her. A few minutes later, Elizabeth returns in an angry mood. Everyone sits down at the table. The innkeeper's wife scolds the war and believes that the kings are to blame for it.
Loiseau sees through the keyhole how Elizabeth refuses Cornudet's advances. Pyshka does not want to indulge in love in the house where the enemy lives.
In the morning, French passengers see Prussian soldiers helping local women prepare food and look after their children. The priest explains to them that these are not soldiers, but the same poor people.
The German officer does not allow the French to go further. The travelers try to get an explanation, but they fail. The officer again demands Pyshka to come to him. She refuses to go and tells everyone that the German is forcing her into love. At first everyone supports Elizabeth, but later they begin to condemn her.
Pyshka goes to church to watch the baby's christening. At this time, travelers start a conspiracy. When Elizabeth returns, her companions persuade her to sacrifice herself for the sake of many lives. The nuns say that they are going to help the wounded soldiers, and they really need their help.
Pyshka agrees. While she is spending time with the Prussian officer, the ladies and their companions joke frivolously about this. Only Cornudet accuses them of meanness.
The next day the stagecoach sets off. Passengers do not look towards Pyshka. Knowing that she forgot to take provisions, they do not offer her food. Elizabeth cries, feeling angry and self-pitying.
The novella teaches that people often do things only to benefit themselves.
You can use this text for a reader's diary
Guy Maupassant - Pumpkin
1
Guy de Maupassant
Pumpkin
For several days, the remnants of the defeated army passed through the city. It was no longer an army, but a disorderly horde. People with long dirty beards, in uniforms that had turned into rags, trudged along listlessly, without banners, having lost their parts. It was clear that everyone was depressed, exhausted, had lost the ability to think and make any decisions - and they walked only out of habit, falling from fatigue as soon as they stopped. Here were mainly mobilized reserves, peace-loving people, calm rentiers, now bending under the weight of a gun; There were still young soldiers of the Mobile Guard, [1] easily inspired, but also easily succumbing to fear, equally ready for attack and flight. Among them there were groups of soldiers in red trousers - the remnants of some division defeated in a big battle; artillerymen in dark uniforms, lost in the mass of assorted infantrymen; and here and there the helmet of a heavily striding dragoon shone, as he with difficulty hurried after the lighter step of the infantry.
Detachments of bandit-like free shooters passed by, bearing heroic nicknames: “Avengers of Defeat,” “Citizens of the Grave,” “Allies in Death.”
Their commanders - former merchants of cloth, grain, lard or soap, random warriors who received the rank of officers, some for money, some for long mustaches - people hung with weapons, dressed in thin cloth, embroidered with galloons, spoke in thunderous voices, discussed the plan of the campaign and boastfully asserted that they alone were holding perishing France on their shoulders; and yet they were sometimes afraid even of their own soldiers, vagabonds and robbers, often desperately brave, and inveterate mazurks.
There were rumors that today or tomorrow the Prussians would enter Rouen.
The National Guard, who for two months had been carrying out reconnaissance in the surrounding forests with great caution, sometimes shooting down their own sentries and preparing for battle every time a rabbit stirred somewhere in the bushes, now went home. The weapons, uniforms, and all the deadly paraphernalia that had recently brought fear to the boundary posts along the main roads for three miles around immediately disappeared.
Finally the last French soldiers crossed the Seine, heading through Saint-Sever and Bourg-Acchard to Pont-Audemer. Behind everyone, between two adjutants, a general walked on foot, falling into complete despair. He could do nothing with these pitiful scattered remnants of the army, and he himself lost his head amid the complete defeat of a nation accustomed to winning, and now, despite its legendary courage, suffering such a catastrophic defeat.
A deep silence hung over the city, a silent, terrified expectation. Many of the obese bourgeoisie, huddled behind their counters, awaited the winners with melancholy anxiety, trembling with fear, afraid that their spits and large kitchen knives would be mistaken for weapons.
Life seemed to have stopped: the shops were closed, the street was silent and deserted. Only occasionally did some ordinary person, frightened by this silence, hastily make his way along the walls.
The wait was so agonizing that many wished for the enemy to arrive as soon as possible.
The next day after the departure of the French troops, a small detachment of lancers, who had come from nowhere, quickly rushed through the city. A short time later, a black avalanche rolled down onto the city from the slopes of Sainte-Catherine, and two other streams of conquerors appeared from the direction of Darnetal and Boisguillaume. The vanguards of all three corps simultaneously converged on the square near the city hall, and from all the neighboring streets the German army was advancing, deploying its battalions, under whose heavy and peaceful step the pavement hummed.
The command in an unfamiliar guttural language rang out along the houses that seemed abandoned, extinct; but from behind closed shutters many eyes watched these victors, who, by the “law of war,” now received power over the city, over the property and lives of citizens. Residents in the darkness of their rooms were gripped by the panic horror that accompanies natural disasters that bring death, great cataclysms, against which all human wisdom and power are powerless. This feeling always appears when the established order of things is overthrown, when security no longer exists, when everything that was protected by the laws of people or nature is given over to the mercy of senseless, cruel and brute force. An earthquake burying an entire population under collapsed houses; a river overflowing its banks, carrying away the corpses of people along with the carcasses of bulls and beams torn out of roofs; or an army covered with glory, which exterminates those who defend themselves and takes the rest captive, which plunders in the name of the sword and, amid the roar of guns, gives praise to God - all these are equally formidable disasters, undermining all faith in eternal justice, all the faith that inspire us with the protection of heaven and the power of the human mind.
Meanwhile, small detachments knocked on every house and then entered. After the invasion, the occupation began. Now the vanquished had the responsibility to please the victors.
After some time, the first fear passed and calm was restored. In many houses, the Prussian officer dined at the same table with the owners. Sometimes he turned out to be a well-bred man and, out of politeness, expressed sympathy for France, assuring that it was difficult for him to participate in this war. Such feelings evoked gratitude. Besides, not today or tomorrow his patronage might be needed. By caring for him, it was possible, perhaps, to get rid of several extra soldiers' mouths. And why insult those on whom our fate entirely depends? It would not be so much courage as it would be recklessness. And reckless courage is no longer a shortcoming of the Rouen bourgeoisie, as it once was during the heroic defense that glorified their city. Finally, the most convincing argument was presented, dictated by French politeness: it is quite acceptable to be polite to a foreign soldier at home, as long as you do not show friendly intimacy towards him in public. On the street they pretended that they did not know the guest, but at home they willingly talked to him, and every evening the German sat longer and longer, warming himself by the common fire.
The city little by little took on its normal appearance. The French were still hardly visible, but the streets were swarming with Prussian soldiers. In the end, the commanders of the Blue Hussars, arrogantly dragging their long instruments of death along the pavement, showed little more contempt towards ordinary citizens than the commanders of the French riflemen who visited the same cafes a year ago.
And yet, there was something elusive and unknown in the air, an unbearably alien atmosphere was felt, like some kind of smell, the smell of an invasion spreading everywhere. It filled public places and homes, gave a certain flavor to food, and created the impression that you were traveling somewhere far away, among wild and dangerous tribes.
The conquerors demanded money, a lot of money. Residents always paid. True, they were quite rich; but the wealthier the Norman merchant, the more difficult is any sacrifice for him, the more he suffers when any particle of his wealth passes into the hands of another.
Meanwhile, outside the city, two or three leagues downstream, near Croisset, Diepdal or Biessard, boatmen and fishermen more than once caught from the river bottom the bloated corpses of Germans in uniforms, either killed with a blow of a fist, or stabbed to death, or with their heads broken by a stone, then simply thrown into the water from the bridge. The river silt shrouded these victims in a shroud of mystery, wild and lawful vengeance, unknown heroism, silent attacks more dangerous than battles in broad daylight, and devoid of an aura of glory.
For there will always be a few desperate daredevils, inspired by hatred of the foreigner and ready to die for an idea.
Since the Germans, although they subjugated the city to iron discipline, did not commit at all the atrocities that rumor attributed to them throughout their victorious march, the residents of Rouen became emboldened, and local merchants again began to yearn for their trade. Some of them had important business in Le Havre, which was occupied by French troops, and they decided to make an attempt to reach this port, traveling by land to Dieppe, and then by sea.
They started making acquaintances with German officers, and permission to leave was received from the army commander.
For this trip they decided to use a large four-horse stagecoach, and ten people reserved seats from its owner. It was decided to leave early on Tuesday, before dawn, to avoid the crowd of people.
The earth had been frozen for some time, and on Monday, at about three o'clock in the afternoon, heavy black clouds moved in from the north and brought snow, which fell incessantly all evening and all night.
In the morning, at half past four, the travelers gathered in the courtyard of the Normandie Hotel, from where the stagecoach departed.
1
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Meaning
Guy de Maupassant in his novel carries the idea of protest against military actions that have a negative impact on culture, economy and innocent people. Speaking about injustice, the writer puts members of high society in an unfavorable light, showing their outer purity and inner dirt. Ordinary people can hardly get used to a world ruled by immorality, covered by such purity. But the most important thing is that such hypocrites are opinion makers and masters of destinies; they have usurped the right to enjoy people like Pyshka. Is it their inaction and indifference that is to blame for the fact that the village girl was forced to turn onto a crooked path? Maybe you won’t find other roads in a remote province? However, all the passengers judge her without stopping, although the vice has taken deep roots in their souls. It’s just not visible, which means it’s not there at all. The main idea of the short story “Pyshka” is that morality is completely different for everyone: for some it is external, but for others it comes from the heart. And a person must be valued according to the standards of true morality, and not ostentatious.
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Guy de Maupassant
Pyshka (collection)
Guy de Maupassant
Henri-René-Albert-Guy de Maupassant was born in Normandy on August 5, 1850.
He came from an impoverished noble family who moved from Lorraine to Normandy in the 18th century. The writer's grandfather, Jules de Maupassant, who died in 1875, owned an estate in Neuville-Champs-d'Oiselle, but, not knowing how to farm, sold his estate and subsequently went completely bankrupt. The writer's father, Gustave de Maupassant (1821–1899), who married in 1840 his childhood friend Laura Le Poitevin (1821–1903), who came from an old and cultured Norman bourgeois family, was forced to enter the service and became a stockbroker in Paris . He loved art, painted watercolors, and made friends with artists. He had a reputation as a refined nobleman, a dandy and a spendthrift. His frivolous disposition did not correspond well with the character of his wife, who was focused and thoughtful. After the birth of her second son, Hervé (1856–1889), Maupassant's parents separated, and the mother settled with both sons in the seaside town of Etretat in the Villa Vergie, which she owned.
Maupassant spent his childhood in Normandy. Taking advantage of complete freedom, he ran through fields and forests, climbed coastal cliffs, went to sea with fishermen, learned to fish and manage sails, knew all the local sights and customs, and mastered the Norman dialect. Even then, he became well acquainted with the small-scale life and life of farmers, peasants, fishermen, and sailors.
When the boy was thirteen years old, his mother sent him to the theological seminary in the town of Iveto. Young Guy did not like the harsh discipline here. He ran home more than once, rebelled and became mischievous in every possible way. In the end, he was expelled, the pretext for which was his humorous message in verse “Long Detached from the World,” in which the young poet announced to his cousin, who was getting married, that he did not intend to renounce all the joys of life in the seminary’s “living grave.”
In 1866, Laura de Maupassant sent her son to the Rouen Lyceum. This was also a closed educational institution, but here he still enjoyed greater freedom and no one persecuted him for writing poetry. And among his teachers was the Parnassian poet Louis Bouillet, his first mentor in literature.
In June 1869, Maupassant graduated from the Rouen Lyceum with a bachelor's degree and entered the Faculty of Law in the Norman city of Cannes. In the summer of 1870, the Franco-Prussian War broke out, and Maupassant was called up for military service. He took part in campaigns, was in besieged Paris, first at Fort Vincennes, and then was transferred to the General Commissariat. Where Maupassant was during the Paris Commune has not yet been established.
After the war, accompanied by an economic crisis, the financial situation of Maupassant's parents deteriorated sharply. Maupassant no longer has the opportunity to complete higher education and is forced to enter the service. From 1872 to November 1878, he served in the Naval Ministry, leading a difficult, semi-beggarly life.
The salary was not enough to cover the most basic expenses. Maupassant made ends meet only because he received a little help from his father.
Maupassant hated his service in the Naval Ministry and bluntly called it his “prison.” The ministry knew that the young man dreamed of becoming a writer; literary interests, which alienated him from his colleagues, aroused a suspicious and hostile attitude towards him from his superiors. Maupassant's performance appraisals, initially quite favorable, eventually became completely different. “I’m afraid that his talents will keep him away from administrative work,” the boss scoffed in one of his last evaluations.
“Sunday Walks of a Parisian Bourgeois”, “In the Bosom of the Family”, “Inheritance” and a number of other short stories are full of Maupassant’s bleak impressions of his service in the Naval Ministry. The writer has recreated here a world of vulgar bureaucrats, petty intriguers, career-seeking sycophants and sneaks, tormenting some downtrodden scribe with ridicule, but trembling before their superiors - before a caricatured thunderer like M. de Thorchebeuf.
After much trouble, in which Flaubert took a significant part, Maupassant managed to transfer in December 1878 to the Ministry of Public Education, where he stayed until the end of 1880, having taken a six-month sick leave after the success of Pyshka.
In the 70s, Maupassant devoted all his off-duty time to two passions - rowing and literature. In the summer, he lived on the outskirts of Paris and got up at dawn to ride along the Seine; at ten in the morning he is at work, in the evening he is again on the river.
The poetry of the river, the night fogs of the Seine, its shady green banks, races, fishing, love affairs and the entire reckless life of the rowers - all this was widely reflected in Maupassant’s short stories. Back in the 70s, he dreamed of creating a series of short stories “Boat Tales”. The plots of this cycle may have been reworked later in his short stories “On the River”, “Field’s Friend”, “A Trip to the Country”, “Yvette”, “Sa-Ira”, “Mushka” and others.
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In addition to rowing, Maupassant loved to travel; although his service did not give him much opportunity for this, he still sometimes took long walking excursions. In August 1877 he traveled to Switzerland, and in 1879 he traveled on foot in Brittany.
All the time free from service, from rowing and from love adventures, Maupassant devoted to literature. “Piglet! Always women! - Flaubert, with whom he saw often, sometimes every Sunday, grumbled at him. Flaubert demanded from his student daily regular creative work, to which everything else must be sacrificed: “From five o’clock in the evening until ten in the morning, all your time should be devoted to the muse... For an artist there is only one principle - to sacrifice everything for art.”
Flaubert's advice was not in vain: Maupassant's literary work in the 70s was very intense. “For seven years,” he recalls, “I wrote poetry, wrote stories, wrote short stories, even wrote a disgusting drama.” During these years, his huge stock of novelistic plots accumulated.
Maupassant's early works have not yet been published in full. For example, the erotic farce “The Turkish House,” written by Maupassant in collaboration with his rowing friends and twice performed with the participation of the authors in a narrow circle of writers and artists, remains unpublished. The plot of the farce was the comic adventures of the newlyweds, who, during their honeymoon, due to a misunderstanding, ended up in a brothel instead of a hotel. At the same time, Maupassant wrote many erotic poems, which are not included in the complete collection of his works.
Flaubert for a long time forbade Maupassant to publish, finding it premature and not wanting to “make him a loser.” In the same way, he prevented Maupassant from working in journalism, which he hated, although his student was driven to this by simple material need; in the end, Flaubert changed his anger to mercy and himself tried to connect him at the end of 1876 with the newspaper "Nation", but Maupassant's cooperation in it was limited to the publication of two articles.
In 1875, Maupassant published, under the pseudonym Joseph Prunier, his first short story, “The Hand of a Corpse” (later revised and reprinted under the title “The Hand”); This publication probably occurred without Flaubert's knowledge. But in March 1876, and with the blessing of the teacher, Maupassant’s first poem “On the Shore”, signed under the pseudonym Guy de Valmont, appeared in the magazine “Literary Republic”. Under the same pseudonym, Maupassant published his first article in the Literary Republic on October 22, 1876 - an essay on the work of Flaubert.
The poem “On the Shore” was reprinted in November 1879 under the name of Maupassant, but with the arbitrary title “Wench” by the magazine “Modern and Naturalistic Review”, and this circumstance unexpectedly gave rise to the prosecution of the author on charges of pornography. Maupassant was summoned on February 14, 1880 to the prosecutor's office of Etampes (the said magazine was published in this city). This event worried him extremely: as a government official, he was afraid of being fired and losing his earnings, his only source of existence. His correspondence from this time with Flaubert is full of indignation and anxiety. Thanks to Flaubert, who published an open letter to Maupassant in the Gaulois newspaper on February 21 and defended him as a writer who had also once been brought to trial on the same charge - for Madame Bovary - the prosecution was stopped. After Flaubert's death, Maupassant reprinted this letter in the third edition of the collection Poems.
Collaboration in the “Literary Republic” gave Maupassant the opportunity to meet a group of young writers - Leon Ennick, J.C. Huysmans, Henri Cear, Paul Alexis, Octave Mirbeau. The rapprochement with Zola's young followers, prose writers par excellence, corresponded to Maupassant's transition from poetry to prose, which was increasingly determined by the end of the 70s.
The resounding success of “Pyshka” was accompanied by Maupassant’s invitation to collaborate in the newspaper “Gaulois”, where a series of his short stories and essays “Sunday Walks of the Parisian Bourgeois” soon appeared. In September and October 1880, Maupassant traveled through Corsica, the impressions of which were reflected in a number of his essays and short stories, as well as in one of the chapters of the novel “Life”. In 1881, he travels to Algeria, where at that time there were uprisings of the native population against French colonial oppression; Maupassant's travel essays were published in 1884 in the form of the book “Under the Sun.” In the summer of 1882, the writer traveled around Brittany for the second time.
In 1881–1883, Maupassant became especially close to Turgenev, gave him his new works to view, was a member of the committee for the construction of the monument to Flaubert, and visited him, who was sick, in the last weeks of his life.
Fully sharing the opinion of Flaubert and Turgenev that only the books of a writer belong to the public, Maupassant tried in every possible way to hide his personal life from the annoying curiosity of newspapermen, was indignant at gossip about himself that got into print, and forbade the publication of his portraits and correspondence. When one day a certain journalist mentioned a woman’s name in the press in connection with Maupassant’s name, the matter almost ended in a duel.
Women played a very important role in Maupassant's life, he had many affairs and casual relationships, the names of many of his lovers are known, and it is also known that in 1883 he seriously thought about getting married, but the matter fell through and he remained a bachelor. ...
PyshkaText
For several days in a row, the remnants of the defeated army passed through the city. It was not an army, but disorderly hordes. The soldiers had grown long, unkempt beards, their uniforms were torn; They moved at a sluggish pace, without banners, randomly. All of them were clearly depressed, exhausted, unable to think or act, and walked only by inertia, falling from fatigue at the first stop. There were especially many militiamen - peaceful people, harmless rentiers, exhausted under the weight of a rifle, and mobiles, equally susceptible to fear and inspiration, ready for both attack and flight; here and there red trousers flashed among them - the remnants of a division crushed in a big battle; Along with the infantrymen of various regiments, there were also gloomy artillerymen, and from time to time the shiny helmet of a dragoon flashed, whose heavy tread could hardly keep up with the lighter step of the infantry.
Squads of free riflemen also passed by, bearing heroic names: “Avengers of Defeat,” “Participants in Death,” “Citizens of the Grave,” but they had the most robber appearance.
Their bosses, who had recently traded in cloth or grain, former sellers of lard or soap, random warriors promoted to officers for money or for long mustaches, dressed in uniforms with braid and hung with weapons, ranted noisily, discussed campaign plans, smugly asserting that their shoulders are the only support of dying France, and yet they were often afraid of their own soldiers, sometimes too brave - hanged men, robbers and libertines.
It was rumored that the Prussians were about to enter Rouen.
The National Guard, which for the past two months had been making very timid reconnaissance in the neighboring forests - sometimes shooting down its own sentries and beginning to prepare for battle as soon as some little rabbit wandered into the bushes - now returned to the hearths of their homes. Her weapons, uniforms, all the deadly equipment with which she had recently frightened the milestones of the main roads three leagues in circumference suddenly disappeared somewhere.
The last French soldiers finally crossed the Seine, heading to Pont-Audemer via Saint-Sever and Bourg-Acchard; and behind everyone, on foot, trudged a general with two adjutants; he completely lost heart, did not know what to do with such scattered groups of people, and he himself was stunned by the great defeat of a people accustomed to winning and hopelessly defeated, despite their legendary courage.
Then a deep silence hung over the city, a silent, eerie expectation. Many bourgeois, who had grown fat and lost all masculinity behind their counters, waited anxiously for the winners, fearing that their roast spits and large kitchen knives would be considered weapons.
Life seemed to stand still; The shops were closed, the streets became silent. From time to time, a passerby hurriedly made his way along the walls, frightened by this ominous silence.
The wait was agonizing; I wanted the enemy to appear as soon as possible.
The next day after the departure of the French troops, in the evening, several lancers rushed through the city, having arrived from nowhere. A little later, a black avalanche rolled down the slope of Sainte-Catherine; two other streams gushed from the Darnetal and Boisguillaume roads. The vanguards of the three corps simultaneously appeared on the square near the town hall, and the German army began to arrive in entire battalions along all the neighboring streets; the pavement hummed with the measured soldier's tread.
The words of the command, shouted in unusual guttural voices, echoed along the houses that seemed extinct and abandoned, and meanwhile, from behind the closed shutters, someone’s eyes furtively looked at the victors, the people who “by the right of war” became the masters of the city, property and lives. The inhabitants, sitting in dimly lit rooms, were gripped by the horror caused by natural disasters, great and destructive geological upheavals, in the face of which all the wisdom and power of man are powerless. This feeling arises equally whenever the established order is overthrown, when the consciousness of security is lost, when everything that was protected by human laws or the laws of nature finds itself in the grip of a senseless, violent force. An earthquake burying townspeople under the ruins of buildings, a flood of a river dragging drowned peasants along with the corpses of oxen and torn off rafters of roofs, or a victorious army that exterminates all who defend themselves, takes the rest captive, plunders in the name of the Sword and, amid the roar of cannons, gives thanks to whomever -that to the deity - all these are terrible scourges that undermine faith in eternal justice and in the trust instilled in us from childhood in the goodness of heaven and the mind of man.
But people were already knocking at each door, and then small detachments were entering the houses. The invasion was followed by occupation. The vanquished had a new duty: to show courtesy to the victors.
Some time passed, the first rush of fear subsided, and calm reigned again. In many families, the Prussian officer ate at a common table. Sometimes it was a well-bred man; Out of politeness, he pitied France and said that it was difficult for him to participate in this war. The Germans were grateful for such feelings; besides, his patronage could be needed any day. By pleasing him, perhaps, you can get rid of a few extra soldiers. And why bother hurting a person on whom you completely depend? After all, it would be more reckless than courage. And the Rouen bourgeoisie no longer suffer from recklessness, as in the old days of heroic defenses [1] that glorified this city. And finally, each brought an indisputable argument, prompted by French politeness: at home it is quite acceptable to be polite to a foreign soldier, as long as not to show intimacy with him in public. They didn’t recognize him on the street, but at home they willingly talked to him, and day by day the German sat longer and longer in the evenings, warming himself by the family fireplace.
The city little by little took on its normal appearance. The French still avoided leaving the house, but the streets were swarming with Prussian soldiers. However, the officers of the Blue Hussars, arrogantly dragging their long instruments of death along the sidewalks, apparently despised ordinary townspeople not much more than the officers of the French huntsmen who caroused in the same coffee houses a year ago.
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For several days in a row, the remnants of the defeated army passed through the city. It was not an army, but a disorderly horde. The soldiers had grown long, unkempt beards, their uniforms were torn; They moved at a sluggish pace, without banners, randomly. All of them were clearly depressed, exhausted, unable to think or act, and walked only out of habit, falling from fatigue at the first stop. There were especially many reserves - peaceful people, harmless rentiers, exhausted under the weight of a rifle, and agile mobiles, equally susceptible to fear and inspiration, ready for both attack and flight; here and there among them flashed red trousers - the remnants of a division shattered in a big battle; along with the infantrymen of various regiments there were also gloomy artillerymen, and occasionally - the shiny helmet of a dragoon, who with difficulty kept up with the lighter step of the infantry.
There were also squads of free riflemen with heroic names: “Avengers of Defeat”, “Citizens of the Grave”, “Participants in Death”, but they had the most predatory appearance.
Their chiefs, former cloth or grain merchants, recent merchants of lard or soap, random warriors promoted to officers for money or for long mustaches, dressed in uniforms and hung with weapons, ranted in deafening voices, discussed plans for the campaign, smugly asserting that their shoulders - the only support of dying France, and yet they were often afraid of their own soldiers, sometimes too brave - hanged men, robbers and libertines.
They said that the Prussians were about to enter Rouen.
The National Guard, which for the past two months had been carrying out very careful reconnaissance in the neighboring forests - sometimes shooting down its own sentries and preparing for battle if some little rabbit wandered into the bushes - now returned to the hearths of their homes. Her weapons, uniforms, all the deadly equipment with which she had recently frightened the milestones of the main roads three leagues in circumference suddenly disappeared somewhere.
The last French soldiers finally crossed the Seine, heading to Pont-Audemer via Saint-Sever and Bourg-Acchard; and behind everyone walked a general with two adjutants; he completely lost heart, did not know what to do with such scattered groups of people, he himself was confused by the great defeat of the people, accustomed to winning and hopelessly defeated, despite their legendary bravery.
Then a deep silence, a silent and eerie expectation, stretched over the city. Many bourgeois, who had grown fat and lost all masculinity behind their counters, waited anxiously for the winners, fearing that their roast spits and large kitchen knives would be considered weapons.
Life seemed to stop; The shops were closed, the deserted streets were silent. Occasionally a passerby would hastily make his way along the walls, frightened by this silence.
The wait was painful; I wanted the enemy to appear as soon as possible.
The next day after the departure of the French troops, in the evening, several lancers rushed through the city, appearing from nowhere. Then, a little later, a black avalanche descended down the slope of Sainte-Catherine; two other streams gushed from the Darnetal and Boisguillaume roads. The vanguards of the three corps simultaneously appeared on the square near the town hall, and the German army began to arrive in deployed battalions along all the neighboring streets; the pavement hummed with the soldier's measured step.
The words of the command, shouted in unusually guttural voices, echoed along the houses that seemed to be extinct and abandoned, and meanwhile, from behind the closed shutters, someone’s eyes furtively looked at the victors, the people who “by the right of war” became the masters of the city, property and lives. The inhabitants, sitting in dimly lit rooms, were seized with the horror caused by natural disasters, great and destructive geological upheavals, against which all the wisdom and power of man are powerless. The same feeling arises whenever the established order is overthrown, when the consciousness of security is lost, when everything that was protected by the laws of people or the laws of nature finds itself in the grip of a senseless, brute and merciless force. An earthquake that destroys townspeople under the ruins of buildings, a river flood that carries drowned peasants along with the corpses of oxen and torn off rafters of roofs, or a victorious army that massacres everyone who defends itself, takes the rest captive, plunders in the name of the Sword and, amid the roar of cannons, gives thanks to whomever - to God - all these are terrible scourges that undermine faith in eternal justice and in the trust instilled in us in the protection of heaven and the mind of man.
But small detachments were already knocking at each door, and then entering the houses. The invasion was followed by occupation. The vanquished had a new duty: to show courtesy to the victors.
Some time passed, the first rush of fear subsided, and calm reigned again. In many families, the Prussian officer ate at a common table. Sometimes he was a well-bred man, out of politeness he pitied France, saying that it was difficult for him to participate in this war. He was grateful for such feelings; besides, his patronage could be needed any day. By pleasing him, perhaps, you can get rid of a few extra soldiers. And why bother hurting a person on whom you completely depend? After all, this is more recklessness than courage. And recklessness is no longer a shortcoming of the Rouen bourgeoisie, as it used to be during the heroic defenses that glorified this city. And, finally, each brought the highest argument, suggested by French politeness: at home it is quite acceptable to be polite to a foreign soldier, as long as in public, not to show intimacy with him. They didn’t recognize him on the street, but at home they willingly talked to him, and day by day the German stayed longer and longer in the evenings, warming himself by the common fireplace.
The whole city little by little took on its normal appearance. The French still avoided leaving the house, but Prussian soldiers swarmed the streets. However, the officers of the Blue Hussars, defiantly dragging their long instruments of death along the sidewalks, despised ordinary citizens, apparently not much more than the officers of the French huntsmen who caroused in the same coffee houses a year ago.
And yet there was something in the air, something elusive and unusual, a heavy and alien atmosphere, like some kind of smell - a smell, an invasion. It filled homes and public places, gave a special flavor to food, and gave rise to the feeling that you were traveling through a far, far away country, among dangerous wild tribes.
The winners demanded money, a lot of money. The inhabitants paid endlessly; however, they were rich. But the richer the Norman merchant is, the more he suffers from the slightest loss, from the spectacle of the slightest grain of his property passing into other hands.
Meanwhile, outside the city, two or three leagues down the river, near Croisset, Diepdal or Biessard, boatmen and fishermen more than once caught the bloated corpses of Germans in uniform from the river bottom; either killed with a knife or fist, or with their heads broken by a stone, or simply thrown into the water from a bridge. The river silt shrouded these victims in a shroud of secret savage and lawful vengeance, unknown heroism, silent attacks more dangerous than battles in broad daylight, and devoid of an aura of glory.
For hatred of the foreigner from time immemorial arms a handful of Fearless, ready to die for the Idea.
But since the conquerors, although they had subjected the city to their inflexible discipline, had yet committed none of those monstrous cruelties which rumor had invariably attributed to them during their victorious march, the inhabitants at last grew bolder, and the need for commercial transactions revived again in their hearts. local businessmen. Some of them were connected with large monetary interests in Le Havre, which was occupied by the French army, and wanted to try to get to this port - to get by land to Dieppe, and then board a steamer.
The influence of familiar German officers was brought into play, and the city commandant gave permission to leave.
For this journey, for which ten people signed up, a large stagecoach with four horses was hired, and it was decided to start on Tuesday morning, before dawn, in order to avoid any kind of gatherings.
Over the past few days, frost had already frozen the ground, and on Monday, at about three o'clock, large black clouds moved in from the north and brought with them snow, which fell continuously all evening and all night.
In the morning at half past four, the travelers gathered in the courtyard of the Normandy Hotel, where they were to board the carriage.
They had not yet woken up properly and were wrapped in blankets, shivering from the cold. In the darkness they could barely distinguish each other, and their numerous heavy winter clothes made everyone look like corpulent priests in long cassocks. But then the two men recognized each other, a third approached them, and they started talking.
“I’m going with my wife,” said one of them.
- Me too.
- And me too. The first one added:
“We won’t return to Rouen, but if the Prussians approach Le Havre, we’ll move to England.”
They all had the same intentions, since they were people of the same type.
Meanwhile, the carriage was still not pawned. The groom's flashlight appeared from time to time from one dark door and immediately disappeared into another. From the depths of the stable came the clatter of horses and a man's voice, muffled by manure and straw bedding, admonishing and scolding the horses. From the slight tinkling of the bells one could understand that the harness was being adjusted; the tinkling soon turned into a distinct, continuous ringing, corresponding to the measured movements of the horse; sometimes it froze, then resumed after a sharp jerk, accompanied by the dull thud of a shod hoof on the ground.
Suddenly the door closed. Everything was quiet. The frozen travelers fell silent; they stood motionless, numb from the cold.
A continuous curtain of white flakes flickered continuously, falling to the ground; she blurred all outlines, covered all objects with icy moss; and in the great silence of the silent city, buried under the cover of winter, one could hear only the vague, inexplicable, unsteady rustle of falling snow - rather a sensation of sound than the sound itself, a light rustle of white atoms that seemed to fill all space, envelop the whole world.
The man with the lantern reappeared, dragging a dejected, reluctant horse on a rope. He placed it near the drawbar, tied the lines and spun around for a long time, strengthening the harness with one hand, since he was holding a lantern in the other. Heading after the second horse, he noticed the motionless figures of travelers, completely white with snow, and said:
- Why don’t you get on the stagecoach? At least you'll be protected from the snow there.
They probably didn't think about it and now rushed towards the stagecoach at once. The three men placed their wives in the back of the carriage and followed them in themselves; then the remaining seats were silently occupied by other vague and indistinct figures.
The floor of the stagecoach was covered with straw, in which the feet sank. The ladies sitting in the back of the carriage took with them copper heating pads with chemical charcoal; Now they lit these devices and for some time whispered to each other their qualities, repeating everything that each of them had known for a long time.
Finally, when the stagecoach was drawn by six horses instead of the usual four, due to the difficult road, a voice from outside asked:
— Is everyone seated?
A voice from inside answered:
- All.
Then we set off.
The stagecoach drove very slowly, almost at a walk. The wheels got stuck in the snow, the whole body groaned and crackled dully; the horses slid, snored, and steam rose from them; the driver's long whip clapped tirelessly, flying in all directions, coiling and unfurling like a thin snake, and suddenly lashing at some protruding rump, which then tensed even more desperately.
Gradually it dawned. Light snowflakes, which one of the passengers, a purebred Rouen, compared to rain of cotton, stopped falling to the ground. Muddy light filtered through large dark and heavy clouds, which even more sharply emphasized the dazzling whiteness of the fields, where either a row of tall trees covered with frost or a hut under a snow cap could be seen.
In the light of this dull dawn, the passengers began to look at each other with curiosity.
In the very depths, in the best places, opposite each other, the Loiseau couple, wholesale wine merchants from the Rue Grand-Ion, were dozing.
Loiseau, a former clerk, bought the business from his bankrupt owner and made a fortune. He sold the worst wine to small provincial merchants at the lowest price and was known among friends and acquaintances as a notorious rogue, a real Norman - cunning and cheerful.
His reputation as a swindler became so strong that once at an evening in the prefecture, Mr. Tournel, a writer of fables and songs, a caustic and sharp mind, a local celebrity, invited the ladies dozing off from boredom to play the game “the bird flies”; his joke spread throughout all the prefect's living rooms, then penetrated into the living rooms of the townspeople, and for a whole month the whole district was rolling with laughter.
In addition, Loiseau was famous for all sorts of funny antics, as well as sometimes successful, sometimes flat witticisms, and everyone who spoke about him invariably added:
- This Loiseau is truly inimitable!
He was short and seemed to consist of one spherical belly, above which towered a red face framed by graying sideburns.
His wife, a tall, plump, energetic woman, distinguished by a sharp voice and a decisive disposition, was the soul of order and accounting in the trading house, while Loiseau himself enlivened it with his cheerful bustle.
Near them, with a clear consciousness of his dignity and high position, sat M. Carré-Lamadon, a manufacturer, a person of great importance in the cotton industry, the owner of three paper spinning mills, an officer of the Legion of Honor and a member of the General Council. Throughout the Empire, he led a well-intentioned opposition with the sole purpose of subsequently receiving more for joining the system with which he fought, as he put it, with noble weapons. Madame Carré-Lamadon, being much younger than her husband, served as a consolation for officers from good families assigned to the Rouen garrison.
She sat opposite her husband - small, pretty, wrapped in furs - and sadly looked at the pitiful interior of the stagecoach.
Her neighbors, Count and Countess Hubert de Breville, bore one of the oldest and most noble Norman names. The count, an elderly nobleman with a majestic posture, tried to emphasize his natural resemblance to King Henry IV with the tricks of his costume, from whom, according to a flattering family legend, a certain lady Breville became pregnant, and her husband on this occasion received the title of count and governorship.
Count Hubert, M. Carré-Lamadon's colleague on the General Council, represented the Orléanist party of the department. The story of his marriage to the daughter of a small Nantes shipowner has forever remained a mystery. But since the countess had majestic manners, received better than everyone and was even reputed to be the former lover of one of Louis Philippe’s sons, all the nobility courted her and her salon was considered the first in the department, the only one where the old courtesy was still preserved and which was not easy to get into .
The Breville property, which consisted entirely of real estate, brought in, according to rumors, five hundred thousand livres of annual income.
These six persons occupied the depth of the carriage and personified a rich, self-confident and powerful layer of society, a layer of influential people, faithful to religion and strong foundations.
By a strange coincidence, all the women were seated on one bench, and next to the countess sat two nuns, fingering long rosaries and whispering “Pater” and “Ave.” One of them was elderly, with a face riddled with smallpox, as if she had once been shot at point-blank range with buckshot. Another, very frail, had a beautiful sickly face and a consumptive breast, which was tormented by that all-consuming faith that creates martyrs and fanatics.
