Artfulness
“Women?
“Well, what then? Women?
“Well, there are
to time. What was happening in that anguished mind? No one ever knew, for she never spoke again. Was she thinking of the dead? Was she dreaming sadly, without any precise recollection of anything that had happened? Or was her stunned memory as still as stagnant water? For fifteen years she remained thus inert and secluded.
The war broke out, and in the beginning of December the Germans came to Cormeil. I can remember it as if it were but yesterday. It was freezing hard enough to split the stones, and I, myself, was lying back in an armchair, being unable to move on account of the gout, when I heard their heavy and regular tread; I could see them pass, from my window.
They marched past interminably, with that peculiar motion of a puppet on wires which is peculiar to them. Then the officers billeted their men on the inhabitants, and I had seventeen of them. My neighbour, the mad woman, had a dozen, one of whom was a major, a regular, violent, surly swashbuckler.
During the first few days everything went on swimmingly. The officer next door had been told that the lady was ill, and he did not pay any attention to that in the least, but soon this woman, whom they never saw, irritated him. He asked what her illness was, and was told that she had been in bed for fifteen years, in consequence of terrible grief. No doubt he did not believe it, and thought that the poor mad creature would not leave her bed out of pride, so that she might not come near the Prussians, nor speak to them, nor even see them.
He insisted upon her receiving him, and he was shown into the room, and said to her roughly: “I must beg you to get up, Madame, and to come downstairs so that we may all see you,” but she merely turned her vague eyes on him, without replying, and so he continued: “I do not intend to tolerate any insolence, and if you do not get up of your own accord, I can easily find means to make you walk without any assistance.”
But she did not give any signs of having heard him, and remained quite motionless, and then he got furious, as he took that calm silence for a mark of supreme contempt, and so he added: “If you do not come downstairs tomorrow …” And then he left the room.
The next day the terrified old servant tried to dress her, but the mad woman began to scream violently, and resisted with all her might. The officer ran upstairs quickly, and the servant threw herself at his feet and cried: “She will not come down, monsieur, she will not. Forgive her, for she is so unhappy.”
The soldier was embarrassed, as in spite of his anger, he did not venture to order his soldiers to drag her out, but suddenly he began to laugh, and gave some orders in German, and soon a party of soldiers was seen coming out supporting a mattress as if they were carrying a wounded man. On that bed, which had not been unmade, the mad woman, who was still silent, was lying quietly, for she was quite indifferent to anything that went on, as long as they let her lie. Behind her, a soldier was carrying a bundle of feminine attire, and the officer said, rubbing his hands: “We will just see whether you cannot dress yourself alone, and take a little walk.”
And then the procession went off in the direction of the forest of Imauville; in two hours the soldiers came back alone, and nothing more was seen of the mad woman. What had they done with her? Where had they taken her to? No one ever knew.
The snow was falling was falling day and night, and enveloped the plain and the woods in a shroud of frozen foam, and the wolves came and howled at our very doors.
The thought of that poor lost woman haunted me, and I made several applications to the Prussian authorities in order to obtain some information, and was nearly shot for doing so. When spring returned, the army of occupation withdrew, but my neighbour’s house remained closed; the grass grew thick in the garden walks. The old servant had died during the winter, and nobody troubled any longer about that affair; I alone thought about it constantly. What had they done with the woman? Had she escaped through the forest? Had somebody found her, and taken her to a hospital, without being able to obtain any information from her? Nothing happened to relieve my doubts; but, by degrees, time assuaged my anxiety.
Well, in the following autumn the woodcock were very plentiful, and as I had some respite from my gout, I dragged myself as far as the forest. I had already killed four or five of the long-billed birds, when I knocked over one which fell into a ditch full of branches, and I was obliged to get into it, in order to pick it up, and I found that it had fallen beside a human skull, and immediately the recollection of the mad woman struck me, like a blow in the chest. Many other people had perhaps died in the wood during that disastrous year. I do not know why, yet I was sure, sure, I tell you, that I had stumbled upon the head of that wretched maniac.
And suddenly I understood, I guessed everything. They had abandoned her on that mattress in the cold, deserted wood; and, faithful to her obsession, she had allowed herself to perish under that thick and light counterpane of snow, without moving an arm or a leg.
Then the wolves had devoured her, and the birds had built their nests with the wool from her torn bed. I took charge of her remains, and I only pray that our sons may never see war again.
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