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1870 -
Correspondant de guerre
Août 1870 : Sir
William Howard RUSSELL (1820-1907), journaliste
irlandais, accompagne l'armée allemande comme
correspondant de presse du Times. On peut estimer
qu'il traverse Blâmont le 14 août 1870, accompagnant
l'avancée de l'armée prussienne (comme on l'a déjà vu
avec l'observateur britannique colonel
Charles Pyndar Beauchamp Walker).
Il s'agit d'un observateur direct qui témoigne de ses
impressions... même s'il semble qu'il soit accompagné
d'un guide « quelque peu » approximatif dans ses
explications historiques, puisqu'on relève cette cocasse
et anachronique confusion : « That old castle over
Blamont belonged to a Sieur de Klobstein, who was hanged
over his own pont-levis by the Republicans. Our driver
had plenty of stories about the various villages, [...]
»
MY DIARY DURING THE
LAST GREAT WAR
W.H. RUSSELL
Ed. London and New York, 1874
From Ottwiller there
was but a few miles to cross to the frontier, and we
passed through villages with such names as Scholbach,
Bickenholtz, Fleisheim, and Lixheim, before we came to
Sarrebourg. Here there were German and French names over
the shops, with their callings in French, and sometimes
with German translations of the same - " Schwartz,
Schneider, Tailleur," &c. But there is no German feeling
in Blamont, and we are beginning to drop many signs and
tokens of German connection and knowledge of the
language. The Counts of Blamont were pure Lorrainers.
The town was ruined in the Thirty Years' War. The little
streamlet called the "Vezouze," on which it is situated,
"has often," says an old chronicler, "run red with the
blood of many knights." Now, at all events, it will be
only thickened by the mud of many cart-wheels. The
hatred excited by requisitions is on the increase. It
drives the people into frenzy. One man, who complained
he had fifty horses, and no corn to give them, was put
out of pain by a requisition for the fifty horses. The
Prussians must be cock-sure of victory, or they would
never lay up such stores of enmity in case of defeat.
Other signs of war are all around us. Notifications,
signed "Guillaume," or "Frederic Guillaume, Prince Royal
de Prusse," menace with the penalty of death persons who
do things which would be considered very meritorious by
their countrymen. Think how angry we should be if we saw
notices on the walls of Dover, Canterbury, &c., signed "
Bazaine" or "Napoleon III.," warning Englishmen that "if
they acted as guides to English troops, or destroyed
bridges or telegraphs, or acted as or harboured spies,
they would be shot." "Mon Dieu! est-ce que nous sommes
Français, et est-ce que nous sommes en France?" asks a
fierce little man, sewing a button on my coat, and at
every word he drove his needle as if he were sticking a
Prussian. That button won't come off in a hurry. Colonel
W. spoke again about "L. G." He said that the Crown
Prince was inconvenienced by his presence, and suggested
he should become a Johanniter. While engaged in
negotiations respecting horses, came up an unmistakeable
Briton, who introduced himself as Lord Adare. He had
just arrived to accompany the Crown Prince's Quarters as
correspondent of the Daily Telegraph, but had been
refused permission, and was told to return to
Strasbourg. This was easier said than done. It was
anything but an enviable position for a young nobleman
to be left standing in the streets of Blamont in an
enemy's country without the smallest idea of the roads
or of the means of going to the place to which he was
recommended. Anyway, we could not help him, however
inclined. It was a hot day and dusty. Perhaps boys would
do the same everywhere, but I own it struck me as very
strange to see the band of the 58th, which played the
head of the Prussian column out of Blamont, headed by
some twenty or thirty well-dressed boys marching to the
time, and in some sort of military order, apparently in
the best possible spirits. Sometimes-I do not wish to
particularise-a Prussian band adds new terrors to
victory and conquest; but the music of their musketry is
undeniably effective and in good tune. The little
village churches tinkled out their summons to the
congregations to come and say Mass on St. Napoleon's
Day, but the villages generally were stiffly closed -
shutters and Venetians down, a few blouses and
petticoats in the corners and by-ways. Lorraine
hereabouts is not fair to look upon. There has been a
rainless season, and the country looks burnt up, the
great bare brown fields seeming all the worse because of
the absence of hedges. Potatoes flourish, however,
lately; but there is no hay and little oats or wheat.
And on the top of this comes war ! Although Lorraine has
been so lately made part of France, it is intensely
French, and it will not make them less so to have the
Prussians living at free quarters.. The country has been
a battle-field for centuries. That old castle over
Blamont belonged to a Sieur de Klobstein, who was hanged
over his own pont-levis by the Republicans. Our driver
had plenty of stories about the various villages, rather
poor for the most part. We passed many châteaux and
picturesque places. There are ruined castles all about,
such as the two towers guarding Ogewiller, which we
passed at 10 o'clock; but the people do not seem very
much the better for the destruction of their feudal
masters. They do not look very friendly, and yet I hear
some half-pleased opinions about the defeat of the Army.
"There were twenty-three officers, mostly of high grade,
stopped at our place to dine after the Battle of Worth,"
said one, "and there was only one of them who was comme
il faut, for he was furious, and only longed for a
chance to retrieve his disgrace as a fuyard." Another
said, "A good many French prisoners have escaped, and
have got through in disguise already. Perhaps some will
not be able to find their corps again." What will poor
"Madame Cogly, cantinière, 56th Regiment, 3rd battalion,"
do? I saw her cart in the midst of a long train of
Prussian baggage, and I doubt if she will ever see it
again. The road from Blamont to Luneville is one of
those terrible ordeals from which railroads have saved
innocent travellers. It runs through the landscape in
frightful rectilinearity, so that as it ascends a hill
before you it looks like a tape trained up against the
wall of a house, and when it descends a hill below it
seems suddenly to have played a trick and cut itself off
short in a hole. This, lined of course by poplars which
resemble gigantic shaving-brushes with long handles and
electrified heads, produces an effect, and to-day we
have 30 kilometres of it before Luneville. We passed
Herbwiller, Frémenil, Benaménil, Thibeauménil, and
Marainviller in due course, all close up, over a road
much the worse for recent wear. The day was intensely
hot, but the infantry did their 30 kilometres in heavy
marching order with only one halt. There are married men
and sad hearts among them. Outside our quarter there was
one poor fellow who neither ate nor drank, but sat all
the evening with his head between his hands, thinking of
his children, who, very probably, were quite free from,
care on their father's account. When offered bread and
wine he said his heart was too sick to let him eat. This
is a condition of things the French can scarcely realise.
One officer said to the Crown Prince, "It is a terrible
cruelty to take married men for soldiers." A ridge over
which the road passed gave the twin steeples of
Luneville to view, while the town was yet six or seven
kilometres away. It lies in a hollow dominated by a flat
hill or plateau, and from afar looked fresh and clean in
its nest of wood. Luneville, the French cavalry station,
where so many of our officers have been to admire the
splendid barracks for five regiments of horse, the
riding schools, and the exercise ground - Luneville, the
city of Napoleon's Treaty with vanquished Austria, all
full of spiked helmets, and an armed crowd in the
streets talking various Deutschland tongues! At half-past
1 o'clock our trap rolled into the streets of Luneville.
These entries of troops
into surrendered cities, in all the pomp of war and
conquest, are very full of emotion !
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