III

The next day, the 18th of December, I arose about six in the morning.

It was terribly cold; my little window was covered with a sheet of

frost.

I had taken care the night before to lay out on the back of a chair my

sky-blue coat, my trousers, my goat-skin vest, and my fine black silk

cravat. Everything was ready; my well-polished shoes lay at the foot

of the bed; I had only to dress myself; but the cold I felt upon my

face, the sight of those window-panes, and the deep silence without,

made me shiver in anticipation. If it had not been Catharine's

birthday, I would have remained in bed until midday; but suddenly that

recollection made me jump out of bed, and rush to the great delf stove,

where some embers of the preceding night almost always remained among

the cinders. I found two or three, and hastened to collect and put

them under some split wood and two large logs, after which I ran back

to my bed.

Monsieur Goulden, under the huge curtains, with the coverings pulled up

to his nose and his cotton night-cap over his eyes, woke up, and cried

out:

"Joseph, we have not had such cold for forty years. I never felt it

so. What a winter we shall have!"

I did not answer, but looked out to see if the fire was lighting; the

embers burnt well; I heard the chimney draw, and at once all blazed up.

The sound of the flames was merry enough, but it required a good

half-hour to feel the air any warmer.

At last I arose and dressed myself. Monsieur Goulden kept on chatting,

but I thought only of Catharine, and when at length, toward eight

o'clock, I started out, he exclaimed:

"Joseph, what are you thinking of? Are you going to Quatre-Vents in

that little coat? You would be dead before you had got half way. Go

into my closet, and take my great cloak, and the mittens, and the

double-soled shoes lined with flannel."

I was so smart in my fine clothes that I reflected whether it would be

better to follow his advice, and he, seeing my hesitation, said:

"Listen! a man was found frozen yesterday on the way to Wecham. Doctor

Steinbrenner said that he sounded like a piece of dry wood when they

tapped upon him. He was a soldier, and had left the village between

six and seven o'clock, and at eight they found him; so that the frost

did not take long to do its work. If you want your nose and ears

frozen, you have only to go out as you are."

I knew then, that he was right; so I put on the thick shoes, and passed

the cord of the mittens over my shoulders, and put the cloak over all.

Thus accoutred, I sallied forth, after thanking Monsieur Goulden, who

warned me not to stay too late, for the cold increased toward night,

and great numbers of wolves were crossing the Rhine on the ice.

I had not gone as far as the church when I turned up the fox-skin

collar of the cloak to shield my ears. The cold was so keen that it

seemed as though the air were filled with needles, and one's body

shrank involuntarily from head to foot.

Under the German gate, I saw the soldier on guard, in his great gray

mantle, standing back in his box like a saint in his niche; he had his

sleeve wrapped about his musket where he held it, to keep his fingers

from the iron, and two long icicles hung from his mustaches. No one

was on the bridge, not even the toll-gatherer, but a little farther on,

I saw three carts in the middle of the road with their canvas-tops all

covered and glistening with frost; they were unharnessed and abandoned.

Everything in the distance seemed dead; all living things had hidden

themselves from the cold; and I could hear nothing but the snow

crunching under my feet. Running along the cemetery, where the crosses

and gravestones glistened in the snow, I said to myself: "Those who

sleep there are no longer cold!" I drew my cloak over my breast, and

hid my nose in the fur collar, thanking Monsieur Goulden for his lucky

thought. I also thrust my hands into the muffler to the elbows, and

ran along in the deep trench, extending farther than the eye could

reach, that the soldiers had made from the town as far as Quatre-Vents.

On each side were walls of ice. In some places swept by the wind, I

could see the oak forest and the bluish mountain, both seeming much

nearer than they were, on account of the clearness of the air. Not a

dog barked in a farm-yard; it was too cold even for that.

But in spite of all this the thought of Catharine warmed my heart, and

soon I descried the first houses of Quatre-Vents. The chimneys and the

thatched roofs, to the right and left of the road, were scarcely higher

than the mountains of snow, and the villagers had dug trenches along

the walls, so that they could pass to each other's houses. But that

day every family kept around its hearth, and the little round

window-panes seemed painted red, from the great fires burning within.

Before each door was a truss of straw to keep the cold from entering

beneath it.

At the fifth door to the right I stopped to take off my mittens; then I

opened and closed it very quickly. I was at the house of Gredel Bauer,

the widow of Matthias Bauer, and Catharine's mother.

As I entered, and while Aunt Gredel, seated by the hearth, astonished

at my fox-skin collar, was yet turning her gray head, Catharine, in her

Sunday dress--a pretty striped petticoat, a kerchief with long fringe

folded across her bosom, a red apron fastened around her slender waist,

a pretty cap of blue silk with black velvet bands setting off her rosy

and white face, soft eyes, and rather short nose--Catharine, I say,

exclaimed:

"It is Joseph!"

And without waiting to look twice, she ran to greet me, saying:

"I knew the cold would not keep you from coming."

I was so happy that I could not speak. I took off my cloak, which I

hung upon a nail on the wall, with my mittens; I took off Monsieur

Goulden's great shoes, and turned pale with joy.

I would have said something agreeable, but could not; suddenly I

exclaimed:

"See here, Catharine; here is something for your birthday, but you must

give me a kiss before opening the box."

She put up her pretty red cheek to me, and then ran to the table. Aunt

Gredel also came to see the present. Catharine untied the cord and

opened the box. I was behind them; my heart jumped, jumped,--I feared

that the watch was not pretty enough. But in an instant, Catharine,

clasping her hands, said in a low voice:

"How beautiful! It is a watch!"

"Yes," said Aunt Gredel; "it is beautiful! I never saw so fine a one.

One would think it was silver."

"But it _is_ silver," returned Catharine, turning toward me inquiringly.

Then I said:

"Do you think, Aunt Gredel, that I would be capable of giving a gilt

watch to one whom I love better than my own life? If I could do such a

thing, I would despise myself more than the dirt of my shoes."

Catharine, hearing this, threw her arms around my neck; and as we stood

thus, I thought: "this is the happiest day of my life." I could not

let her go.

Aunt Gredel asked:

"But what is this painted upon the face?"

I could not speak to answer her; and only at last, when we were seated

beside each other, I took the watch and said:

"That painting, Aunt Gredel, represents two lovers who love each other

more than they can tell: Joseph Bertha and Catharine Bauer; Joseph is

offering a bouquet of roses to his sweetheart, who is stretching out

her hand to take them."

When Aunt Gredel had sufficiently admired the watch, she said:

"Come until I kiss you, Joseph. I see very well that you must have

economized closely, and worked hard for this watch, and I think it is

very pretty, and that you are a good workman, and will do us no

discredit."

I kissed Aunt Gredel's cheek, and from then until midday, I did not let

go Catharine's hand. We were as happy as could be looking at each

other. Aunt Gredel bustled about to prepare a large pancake with dried

prunes, and wine, and cinnamon, and other good things in it; but we

paid no attention to her, and it was only when she put on her red

jacket and black sabots, and called, "Come, my children; to table!"

that we saw the fine tablecloth, the great porringer, the pitcher of

wine, and the large round, golden pancake on a plate in the middle.

The sight rejoiced us not a little, and Catharine said:

"Sit there, Joseph, opposite the window, that I may look at you. But

you must fix my watch, for I do not know where to put it."

I passed the chain around her neck, and then, seating ourselves, we ate

gayly. Without, not a sound was heard; within, the fire crackled

merrily upon the hearth. It was very pleasant in the large kitchen,

and the gray cat, a little wild, gazed at us through the balusters of

the stairs without daring to come down.

Catharine, after dinner, sang _Der liebe Gott_. She had a sweet, clear

voice, and it seemed to float to heaven. I sang low, merely to sustain

her. Aunt Gredel, who could never rest doing nothing, began spinning;

the hum of her wheel filled up the silences, and we all felt happy.

When one song was ended, we began another. At three o'clock, Aunt

Gredel served up the pancake, and as we ate it, laughing, like the

happiest of beings, she would exclaim:

"Come, come; now, you are children in reality."

She pretended to be angry, but we could see in her eyes that she was

happy from the bottom of her heart. This lasted until four o'clock,

when night began to come on apace; the darkness seemed to enter by the

little windows, and, knowing that we must soon part, we sat sadly

around the hearth on which the red flames were dancing. Catharine

pressed my hand. I would almost have given my life to remain longer.

Another half-hour passed, when Aunt Gredel cried:

"Listen, Joseph! It is time for you to go; the moon does not rise till

after midnight, and it will soon be dark as a kiln outside, and an

accident happens so easily in these great frosts."

These words seemed to fall like a bolt of ice, and I felt Catharine's

clasp tighten on my hand. But Aunt Gredel was right.

"Come," said she, rising and taking down the cloak from the wall; "you

will come again Sunday."

I had to put on the heavy shoes, the mittens, and the cloak of Monsieur

Goulden, and would have wished that I were a hundred years doing so,

but, unfortunately, Aunt Gredel assisted me. When I had the great

collar drawn up to my ears, she said:

"Now, kiss us good-by, Joseph."

I kissed her first, then Catharine, who did not say a word. After that

I opened the door and the terrible cold, entering, admonished me not to

wait.

"Hasten, Joseph," said my aunt.

"Good-night, Joseph, good-night!" cried Catharine, "and do not forget

to come Sunday."

I turned round to wave my hand; and then I ran on without raising my

head, for the cold was so intense that it brought tears to my eyes even

behind the great collar.

I ran on thus some twenty minutes, scarcely daring to breathe, when a

drunken voice called out:

"Who goes there?"

I looked through the dim night, and saw, fifty paces before me,

Pinacle, the pedler, with his huge basket, his otter-skin cap, woollen

gloves, and iron-pointed staff. The lantern hanging from the strap of

his basket lit up his debauched face, his chin bristling with yellow

beard, and his great nose shaped like an extinguisher. He glared with

his little eyes like a wolf, and repeated, "Who goes there?"

This Pinacle was the greatest rogue in the country. He had the year

before a difficulty with Monsieur Goulden, who demanded of him the

price of a watch which he undertook to deliver to Monsieur Anstett, the

curate of Homert, and the money for which he put into his pocket,

saying he paid it to me. But although the villain made oath before the

justice of the peace, Monsieur Goulden knew the contrary, for on the

day in question neither he nor I had left the house. Besides, Pinacle

wanted to dance with Catharine at a festival at Quatre-Vents, and she

refused because she knew the story of the watch, and was, besides,

unwilling to leave me.

The sight, then, of this rogue with his iron-shod stick in the middle

of the road did not tend to rejoice my heart. Happily a little path

which wound around the cemetery was at my left, and, without replying,

I dashed through it although the snow reached my waist.

Then he, guessing who I was, cried furiously:

"Aha! it is the little lame fellow! Halt! halt! I want to bid you

good-evening. You came from Catharine's, you watch-stealer."

But I sprang like a hare through the heaps of snow; he at first tried

to follow me, but his pack hindered him, and, when I gained the ground

again, he put his hands around his mouth, and shrieked:

"Never mind, cripple, never mind! Your reckoning is coming all the

same; the conscription is coming--the grand conscription of the

one-eyed, the lame, and the hunch-backed. You will have to go, and you

will find a place under ground like the others."

He continued his way, laughing like the sot he was, and I, scarcely

able to breathe, kept on, thanking Heaven that the little alley was so

near; for Pinacle, who was known always to draw his knife in a fight,

might have done me an ill turn.

In spite of my exertion, my feet, even in the thick shoes, were

intensely cold, and I again began running.

That night the water froze in the cisterns of Phalsbourg and the wines

in the cellars--things that had not happened before for sixty years.

On the bridge and under the German gate the silence seemed yet deeper

than in the morning, and the night made it seem terrible. A few stars

shone between the masses of white cloud that hung over the city. All

along the street I met not a soul, and when I reached home, after

shutting the door of our lower passage, it seemed warm to me, although

the little stream that ran from the yard along the wall was frozen. I

stopped a moment to take breath; then I ascended in the dark, my hand

on the baluster.

When I opened the door of my room, the cheerful warmth of the stove was

grateful indeed. Monsieur Goulden was seated in his arm-chair before

the fire, his cap of black silk pulled over his ears, and his hands

resting upon his knees.

"Is that you, Joseph?" he asked without turning round.

"It is," I answered. "How pleasant it is here, and how cold out of

doors! We never had such a winter."

"No," he said gravely. "It is a winter that will long be remembered."

I went into the closet and hung the cloak and mittens in their places,

and was about relating my adventure with Pinacle, when he resumed:

"You had a pleasant day of it, Joseph."

"I have had, indeed. Aunt Gredel and Catharine wished me to make you

their compliments."

"Very good, very good," said he; "the young are right to amuse

themselves, for when they grow old, and suffer, and see so much of

injustice, selfishness, and misfortune, everything is spoiled in

advance."

He spoke as if talking to himself, gazing at the fire. I had never

seen him so sad, and I asked:

"Are you not well, Monsieur Goulden?"

But he, without replying, murmured:

"Yes, yes; this is to be a great military nation; this is glory!"

He shook his head and bent over gloomily, his heavy gray brows

contracted in a frown.

I knew not what to think of all this, when raising his head again, he

said:

"At this moment, Joseph, there are four hundred thousand families

weeping in France; the grand army has perished in the snows of Russia;

all those stout young men whom for two months we saw passing our gates

are buried beneath them. The news came this afternoon. Oh! it is

horrible! horrible!"

I was silent. Now I saw clearly that we must have another

conscription, as after all campaigns, and this time the lame would most

probably be called. I grew pale, and Pinacle's prophecy made my hair

stand on end.

"Go to bed, Joseph; rest easy," said Monsieur Goulden. "I am not

sleepy; I will stay here; all this upsets me. Did you remark anything

in the city?"

"No, Monsieur Goulden."

I went to my room and to bed. For a long time I could not close my

eyes, thinking of the conscription, of Catharine, and of so many

thousands of men buried in the snow, and then I plotted flight to

Switzerland.

About three o'clock Monsieur Goulden retired, and a few minutes after,

through God's grace, I fell asleep.