On the fifteenth of January, 1814, two months and a half after the
battle of Hanau, I awoke in a good bed, and at the end of a little,
well-warmed room; and gazing at the rafters over my head, then at the
little windows, where the frost had spread its silver sheen, I
exclaimed: "It is winter!" At the same time I heard the crash of
artillery and the crackling of a fire, and turning over on my bed in a
few moments, I saw seated at its side a pale young woman, with her arms
folded, and I recognized--Catharine! I recognized, too, the room where
I had spent so many happy Sundays before going to the wars. But the
thunder of the cannon made me think I was dreaming. I gazed for a long
while at Catharine, who seemed more beautiful than ever, and the
question rose, "Where is Aunt Gredel? am I at home once more? God
grant that this be not a dream!"
At last I took courage and called softly:
"Catharine!" And she, turning her head cried:
"Joseph! Do you know me?"
"Yes," I replied, holding out my hand.
She approached, trembling and sobbing, when again and again the cannon
thundered.
"What are those shots I hear?" I cried.
"The guns of Phalsbourg," she answered. "The city is besieged."
"Phalsbourg besieged! The enemy in France!"
I could speak no more. Thus had so much suffering, so many tears, so
many thousands of lives gone for nothing, ay, worse than nothing, for
the foe was at our homes. For an hour I could think of nothing else;
and now, old and gray-haired as I am, the thought fills me with
bitterness. Yes, we old men have seen the German, the Russian, the
Swede, the Spaniard, the Englishman, masters of France, garrisoning our
cities, taking whatever suited them from our fortresses, insulting our
soldiers, changing our flag, and dividing among themselves, not only
our conquests since 1804, but even those of the Republic. These were
the fruits of ten years of glory!
But let us not speak of these things, the future will pass upon them.
They will tell us that after Lutzen and Bautzen, the enemy offered to
leave us Belgium, part of Holland, all the left bank of the Rhine as
far as Bale, with Savoy and the kingdom of Italy; and that the Emperor
refused to accept these conditions, brilliant as they were, because he
placed the satisfaction of his own pride before the happiness of France!
But to return to my story. For two weeks after the battle of Hanau,
thousands of wagons, filled with wounded, crowded the road from
Strasbourg to Nancy, and passed through Phalsbourg.
They stretched in one long line through all Alsace to Lorraine.
Not one in the sad _cortege_ escaped the eyes of Aunt Gredel and
Catharine. What their thoughts were, I need not say. More than twelve
hundred wagons had passed;--I was in none of them. Thousands of
fathers and mothers sought among them for their children. How many
returned without them!
The third day Catharine found me among a heap of other wretches, in
basket wagons from Mayence, with sunken cheeks and glaring eyes--dying
of hunger. She knew me at once, but Aunt Gredel gazed long before she
cried:
"Yes! it is he! It is Joseph!"
She took me home, and watched over me night and day. I wanted only
water, for which I constantly shrieked. No one in the village believed
that I would ever recover, but the happiness of breathing my native air
and of once more seeing those I loved, saved me.
It was about six months after, on the 15th of July, 1814, that
Catharine and I were married; Monsieur Goulden, who loved us as his own
children, gave me half his business, and we lived together as happy as
birds.
Then the wars were ended; the allies gradually returned to their homes;
the Emperor went to Elba, and King Louis XVIII. gave us a reasonable
amount of liberty. Once more the sweet days of youth returned--the
days of love, of labor, and of peace. The future was once more full of
hope--of hope that every one, by good conduct and economy, would at
some time attain a position in the world, win the esteem of good men,
and raise his family without fear of being carried off by the
conscription seven or eight years after.
Monsieur Goulden, who was not too well satisfied at seeing the old
kings and nobility return, thought, notwithstanding, that they had
suffered enough in foreign lands to understand that they were not the
only people in the world, and to respect our rights; he thought, too,
that the Emperor Napoleon would have the good sense to remain
quiet--but he was mistaken. The Bourbons returned with their old
notions, and the Emperor only awaited the moment of vengeance.
All this was to bring more miseries upon us, which I would willingly
relate, if this story did not seem already long enough. But here let
us rest. If people of sense tell me that I have done well in relating
my campaign of 1813--that my story may show youth the vanity of
military glory, and prove that no man can gain happiness save by peace,
liberty, and labor--then I will take up my pen once more, and give you
the story of Waterloo!