[adapted]

by
Guy de Maupassant

Paris had just heard of the disaster at Sedan. A republic had been declared. All France was on the edge of this madness which lasted until after the Commune. From one end of the country to the other everybody was playing soldier.

Hat makers became colonels, doing the work of generals; pistols and swords were worn around big, peaceful stomachs wrapped in bright red belts; small shopkeepers became soldiers leading large groups of fighting volunteers, and swearing like pirates to make themselves look important.

The simple fact of handling guns made these people crazy, who up to that time had only used scales, and made them, for no reason, dangerous to everyone. Innocent people were shot to show that they knew how to kill; in forests that had never seen a Prussian, lost dogs, cows eating grass and horses eating leaves were killed.

Each person thought he was meant to play a big part in the army. The cafes of the smallest villages, full of workers in uniform, looked like army camps or hospitals.

The town of Canneville still did not know the bad news from the army and the capital; but there had been great excitement for the last month, with the opposite sides face to face.

The mayor, Viscount de Varnetot, a thin, little old man, a conservative, who had recently, because he wanted power, changed sides to support the Empire, had found a strong enemy in Dr. Massarel, a big, strong man, leader of the local Republican party, an important member of the local Masonic lodge, president of the Agricultural Society and of the firemen’s dinner, and the organizer of the village militia that was supposed to save the country.

In two weeks, he was able to gather together sixty-three volunteers, fathers of families, careful farmers and town shopkeepers, and every morning he would train them in the square in front of the town hall.

When, by chance, the mayor would come to the town hall, Commander Massarel, wearing pistols, would walk proudly in front of his soldiers, his sword in his hand, and make all of them shout: “Long live the Fatherland!” And it had been noticed that this shout upset the little viscount, who probably saw in it a danger, a threat, as well as the hateful memory of the great Revolution.

On the morning of the fifth of September, the doctor, in full uniform, his gun on the table, was seeing an old couple, a farmer who had been suffering from swollen veins for the last seven years and had waited until his wife had them also, before he would see the doctor, when the postman brought in the paper.

M. Massarel opened it, turned pale, suddenly stood up, and, lifting his hands to the sky in a sign of great joy, began to shout as loud as he could in front of the two scared country people:

“Long live the Republic! long live the Republic! long live the Republic!”

Then he fell back in his chair, weak from his feelings.

And as the farmer continued: “It started with the ants, which began to run up and down my legs —” Dr. Massarel shouted:

“Shut up! I don’t have time for your nonsense. The Republic has been announced, the emperor has been taken prisoner, France is saved! Long live the Republic!”

Running to the door, he shouted:

“Celeste, quick, Celeste!”

The servant, frightened, hurried in; he was trying to talk so fast, that he could only stutter:

“My boots, my sword, my bullet box and the Spanish knife which is on my bedside table! Hurry!”

As the farmer who would not stop, using a moment of silence, continued, “I seemed to get big lumps that hurt me when I walk,” the doctor, angry, shouted:

“Be quiet and go out! If you had washed your feet it would not have happened!”

Then, grabbing him by the collar, he shouted at him:

“Can’t you understand that we are a country with no king, you stupid idiot!”

But professional feeling soon calmed him, and he pushed the confused couple out, saying:

“Come back tomorrow, come back tomorrow, my friends. I don’t have any time today.”

As he got himself ready from head to foot, he gave several important orders to his servant:

“Go to Lieutenant Picart and to Second Lieutenant Pommel, and tell them that I am waiting for them here right now. Also send me Torchebeuf with his drum. Quick! quick!”

When Celeste had gone out, he sat down and thought about the situation and the problems that he would have to deal with.

The three men arrived together in their working clothes. The commander, who expected to see them in uniform, felt a little shocked.

“Don’t you people know anything? The emperor was captured, the Republic was announced. We must act. My situation is difficult, I might even say dangerous.”

He thought for a few moments in front of his confused people under him, then he continued:

“We must act and not wait; minutes are like hours in times like these. All depends on the speed of our decision. You, Picart, go to the priest and tell him to ring the alarm bell, to gather the people, to whom I am going to tell the news. You, Torchebeuf, beat the drum through the whole neighborhood as far as the small villages of Gerisaie and Salmare, to gather the local guards in the public square. You, Pommel, put your uniform on quickly, just the coat and cap. We are going to the town hall to demand that Monsieur de Varnetot give up his powers to me. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Now do those orders quickly. I will go to your house with you, Pommel, because we will work together.”

Five minutes later, the commander and his men, fully armed, came onto the square, just as the little Viscount de Varnetot, his legs in leg covers as for a hunting trip, his gun on his shoulder, was coming down the other street very fast, followed by his three guards in green coats, with their swords at their sides and their guns over their shoulders.

While the doctor stopped, confused, the four men entered the town hall and closed the door behind them.

“They have got ahead of us,” said the doctor, “we must now wait for help. There is nothing to do for now.”

Lieutenant Picart now arrived there.

“The priest won’t do as he is told,” he said. “He has even locked himself in the church with the church caretaker and the church helper.”

On the other side of the square, opposite the white, shut tight town hall, the church stood, silent and dark, with its very big oak wood door covered with iron nails.

But just as the confused people were putting their heads out of the windows or coming out to their doorsteps, the drum was suddenly heard, and Torchebeuf appeared, beating the drum very hard. He crossed the square running, and disappeared down the road to the fields.

The commander took out his sword, and walked forward alone to half way between the two buildings behind which the enemy had hidden itself, and, waving his sword over his head, he shouted as loud as he could:

“Hooray for the Republic! Death to traitors!”

Then he returned to his officers.

The butcher, the baker and the chemist, very worried, were nervously pulling down their blinds and closing their shops. Only the grocer stayed open.

However, the local soldiers were arriving little by little, each man in a different uniform, but all wearing a black cap with a gold band, the cap being the main part of the outfit. They carried old rusty guns, the old guns that had hung for thirty years on the kitchen wall; and they looked a lot like an army of beggars.

When he had about thirty men about him, the commander, in a few words, explained the situation to them. Then, turning to his team: “Let’s act,” he said.

The people from the village were gathering together and talking about it.

The doctor quickly decided on a plan.

“Lieutenant Picart, you will go under the windows of this town hall and tell Monsieur de Varnetot, in the name of the Republic, to give me the keys.”

But the officer, a master mason, said no:

“You’re smart, you are. I don’t want to get killed, thank you. Those people in there shoot well, don’t you forget it. Do your jobs yourself.”

The commander turned very red.

“I order you to go to keep discipline!”

The officer refused:

“I’m not going to have my looks ruined without knowing why.”