It was on the 15th of September, 1812, that the news came of the great
victory of the Moskowa. Every one was full of joy, and all cried, "Now
we will have peace! now the war is ended!"
Some discontented folks might say that China yet remained to be
conquered; such mar-joys are always to be found.
A week after, we learned that our forces were in Moscow, the largest
and richest city in Russia, and then everybody figured to himself the
booty we would capture, and the reduction it would make in the taxes.
But soon came the rumor that the Russians had set fire to their
capital, and that it was necessary to retreat on Poland or to die of
hunger. Nothing else was spoken of in the inns, the breweries, or the
market; no one could meet his neighbor without saying, "Well, well,
things go badly; the retreat has commenced."
People grew pale, and hundreds of peasants waited morning and night at
the post-office, but no letters came now. I passed and repassed
through the crowd without paying much attention to it, for I had seen
so much of the same thing. And besides, I had a thought in my mind
which gladdened my heart, and made everything seem rosy to me.
You must know that for six months past I had wished to make Catharine a
magnificent present for her birthday, which fell on the 18th of
December. Among the watches which hung in Monsieur Goulden's window
was one little one, of the prettiest kind, with a silver case full of
little circles, which made it shine like a star. Around the face,
under the glass, was a thread of copper, and on the face were painted
two lovers, the youth evidently declaring his love, and giving to his
sweetheart a large bouquet of roses, while she modestly lowered her
eyes and held out her hand.
The first time I saw the watch, I said to myself: "You will not let
that escape; that watch is for Catharine, and, although you must work
every day till midnight for it, she must have it." Monsieur Goulden,
after seven in the evening, allowed me work on my own account. He had
old watches to clean and regulate; and as this work was often very
troublesome, old Father Melchior paid me reasonably for it. But the
little watch was thirty-five francs, and one can imagine how many hours
at night I would have to work for it. I am sure that if Monsieur
Goulden knew that I wanted it he would have given it me for a present,
but I would not have let him take a farthing less for it; I would have
regarded doing so something shameful. I kept saying: "You must earn
it; no one else must have any claim upon it." Only for fear somebody
else might take a fancy to buy it, I put it aside in a box, telling
Father Melchior that I knew a purchaser.
Under these circumstances, every one can readily understand how it was
that all these stories of war went in at one ear and out at the other
with me. While I worked I imagined Catharine's joy, and for five
months that was all I had before my eyes. I thought how pleased she
would look, and asked myself, "What will she say?" Sometimes I
imagined she would cry out, "Oh, Joseph! what are you thinking of? It
is much too beautiful for me. No, no; I cannot take so fine a watch
from you!" Then I thought I would force it upon her; I would slip it
into her apron-pocket, saying, "Come, come, Catharine! Do you wish to
give me pain?" I could see how she wanted it, and that she spoke so
only to seem to refuse it. Then I imagined her blushing, with her
hands raised, saying, "Joseph, now I know indeed that you love me!"
And she would embrace me with tears in her eyes. I felt very happy.
Aunt Gredel approved of all. In a word, a thousand such scenes passed
through my mind, and when I retired at night I thought: "There is no
one as happy as you, Joseph. See what a present you can make Catharine
by your toil; and she surely is preparing something for your birthday,
for she thinks only of you; you are both very happy, and, when you are
married, all will go well."
While I was thus working on, thinking only of happiness, the winter
began, earlier than usual, toward the commencement of November. It did
not begin with snow, but with dry, cold weather and heavy frosts. In a
few days all the leaves had fallen and the earth was hard as ice and
all covered with hoar-frost; tiles, pavement, and window-panes
glittered with it. Fires had to be made that winter to keep the cold
from coming in at the windows, and, when the doors were opened for a
moment, the heat seemed to disappear at once. The wood crackled in the
stoves and burnt away like straw in the fierce draught of the chimneys.
Every morning I hastened to wash the panes of the shop-window with warm
water, and I scarcely closed it when a frosty sheen covered it.
Without, people ran puffing with their coat-collars over their ears and
their hands in their pockets. No one stood still, and when doors
opened, they soon closed.
I don't know what became of the sparrows, whether they were dead or
living, but not one twittered in the chimneys, and save the reveille
and retreat sounded in the barracks, no noise broke the silence.
Often when the fire crackled merrily, did Monsieur Goulden stop his
work, and, gazing on the frost-covered panes, exclaim:
"Our poor soldiers! our poor soldiers!"
He said this so mournfully that I felt a choking in my throat as I
replied:
"But, Monsieur Goulden, they ought now to be in Poland in good
barracks; for to suppose that human beings could endure a cold like
this--it is impossible."
"Such a cold as this," he said; "yes, here it is cold, very cold from
the winds from the mountains; but what is this frost to that of the
north, of Russia and of Poland? God grant that they started early
enough. My God! my God! the leaders of men have a heavy weight to
bear."
Then he would be silent, and for hours I would think of what he had
said to me; I pictured to myself our soldiers on the march, running to
keep themselves warm. But the thought of Catharine always came back to
me, and I have often thought since that when one is happy, the misery
of others affects him but little, especially in youth, when the
passions are strongest, and when we have had little knowledge of great
griefs.
After the frosts so much snow fell that the couriers were stopped on
the road toward Quatre-Vents. I feared that I could not go to see
Catharine on her fete-day; but two companies of infantry set out with
pick-axes, and dug through the frozen snow a way for carriages, and
that road remained open until the beginning of April, 1813.
Nevertheless, Catharine's birthday approached day by day, and my
happiness increased in proportion. I had already the thirty-five
francs, but I did not know how to tell Monsieur Goulden that I wished
to buy the watch; I wanted to keep the whole matter secret; and I did
not at all like to talk about it.
At length, on the eve of the eventful day, between six and seven in the
evening, while we were working in silence, the lamp between us,
suddenly I took my resolution, and said:
"You know, Monsieur Goulden, that I spoke to you of a purchaser for the
little silver watch."
"Yes, Joseph," said he, without raising his head, "but he has not come
yet."
"It is I who am the purchaser, Monsieur Goulden."
Then he looked up in astonishment. I took out the thirty-five francs
and laid them on the work-bench. He stared at me.
"But," he said, "it is not such a watch as that you want, Joseph; you
want one that will fill your pocket and mark the seconds. Those little
watches are only for women."