II

In spite of my great impatience every day brought something new, and it

comes back to me now like the comedies that are played at the fairs.

The mayors and their assistants, the municipal counsellors, the grain

and wood merchants, the foresters and field-guards, and all those

people who had been for ten years regarded as the best friends of the

Emperor, and had been very severe if any one said a word against his

majesty, turned round and denounced him as a tyrant and usurper, and

called him "the ogre of Corsica." You would have thought that Napoleon

had done them some great injury, when the fact was that they and their

families had always had the best offices.

I have often thought since, that this is the way the good places are

obtained under all governments, and still I should be ashamed to abuse

those who could not defend themselves, and whom I had a thousand times

flattered. I should prefer to remain poor and work for a living rather

than to gain riches and consideration by such means. But such are men!

And I ought to remember too, that our old mayor and three or four of

the counsellors did not follow this example, and Mr. Goulden said that

at least they respected themselves, and that the brawlers had no honor.

I remember how, one day, the Mayor of Hacmatt had come to have his

watch put in order at our shop, when he commenced to talk against the

Emperor in such a way that Father Goulden, rising suddenly, said to him:

"Here, take your watch, Mr. Michael, I will not work for you. What!

only last year you called him constantly 'the great man.' And you

never could call him Emperor simply, but must add, Emperor and King,

protector of the Helvetic Confederation, etc., while your mouth was

full of beef; now you say he is an ogre, and you call Louis XVIII.,

'Louis the well-beloved!' You ought to be ashamed of yourself! Do you

take people for brutes? and do you think they have no memories?"

Then the mayor replied, "It is plain to be seen that you are an old

Jacobin."

"What I am is nobody's business," replied Father Goulden, "but in any

case I am not a slanderer." He was pale as death, and ended by saying,

"Go, Mr. Michael, go! beggars are beggars under all governments."

He was so indignant that day he could hardly work, and would jump up

every minute and exclaim:

"Joseph, I did like those Bourbons, but this crowd of beggars has

disgusted me with them already. They are the kind of people who spoil

everything, for they declare everything perfect, beautiful, and

magnificent; they see no defect in anything, they raise their hands to

heaven in admiration if the king but coughs. They want their part of

the cake. And then, seeing their delight, kings and emperors end by

believing themselves gods, and when revolutions come, these rascals

abandon them, and begin to play the same role under some one else. In

this way they are always at the top, while honest people are always in

trouble."

This was about the beginning of May, and it had been announced that the

King had just made his solemn entry into Paris, attended by the

marshals of the Empire, that nearly all the population had come out to

meet him, and that old men and women and little children had climbed

upon the balconies to catch a glimpse of him, and that he had at first

entered the church of Notre Dame to give thanks to God, and immediately

after retired to the Tuileries.

It was announced also that the Senate had pronounced a high-sounding

address, assuring him there need be no alarm on account of all the

disturbances, urging him to take courage and promising the support of

the senators in case of any difficulties.

Everybody approved this address. But we were soon to have a new sight,

we were to witness the return of the _emigres_ from the heart of

Germany and from Russia. Some returned by the government vessels, and

some in simple "salad baskets," a kind of wicker carriage, on two and

four wheels. The ladies wore dresses with immense flower patterns, and

the men wore the old French coats and short breeches, and waistcoats

hanging down to the thighs, as they are represented in the fashions of

the time of the Republic.

All these people were apparently proud and happy to see their country

once more. In spite of the miserable beasts which dragged their

wretched wagons filled with straw, and the peasants who served as

postilions--in spite of all this, I was moved with compassion as I

recalled the joy I felt five months before on seeing France again, and

I said to myself:

"Poor people! they will weep on beholding Paris again, they are going

to be happy!"

They all stopped at the "Red Ox," the hotel of the old ambassadors and

marshals and princes and dukes and rich people, who no longer

patronized it, and we could see them in the rooms brushing their own

hair, dressing and shaving themselves.

About noon they all came down, shouting and calling "John!" "Claude!"

"Germain!" with great impatience, and ordering them about like

important personages, and seating themselves around the great tables,

with their old servants all patched up and standing behind them with

their napkins under their arms. These people with their old-fashioned

clothes, and their fine manners and happy air, made a very good

appearance, and we said to ourselves: "There are the Frenchmen

returning from exile; they did wrong to go, and to excite all Europe

against us, but there is mercy for every sin; may they be well and

happy! That is the worst we wish them."

Some of these _emigres_ returned by post, and then our new mayor, Mr.

Jourdan, chevalier de St. Louis, the vicar, Mr. Loth, and the new

commandant, Mr. Robert de la Faisanderie, in his embroidered uniform,

would wait for them at the gate, and when they heard the postilion's

whip crack they would go forward, smiling as if some great good fortune

had arrived, and the moment the coach stopped, the commandant would run

and open it, shouting most enthusiastically.

At other times they would stand quite still to show their respect; I

have seen these people salute each other three times in succession,

slowly and gravely, each time approaching a little nearer to each other.

Father Goulden would laugh and say: "Do you see, Joseph, that is the

grand style--the style of the nobles of the _ancien regime_; by just

looking out of the window we can learn fine manners which may serve us

when we get to be dukes and princes." Again it would be: "Those old

fellows, there, Joseph, fired away at us from the lines at Wissembourg,

they were good riders and they fought well, as all Frenchmen do, but we

routed them after all."

Then he would wink and go back laughing to his work. But the rumor

spread among the servants of the "Red Ox," that these people did not

hesitate to say that they had conquered _us_, and that they were our

masters; that King Louis XVIII. had always reigned since Louis XVII.,

son of Louis XVI.; that we were rebels, and that they had come to

restore us to order.

Father Goulden did not relish this, and said to me in an ill-humored

way: "Do you know, Joseph, what these people are going to do in Paris?

they are going to demand the restoration of their ponds and their

forests, their parks and their chateaux, and their pensions, not to

speak of the fat offices and honors and favors of every kind. You

think their coats and perukes very old-fashioned, but their notions are

still older than their coats and perukes. They are more dangerous for

us than the Russians or the Austrians, because they are going away, but

these people are going to remain. They would like to destroy all we

have done for the last twenty-five years. You see how proud they are;

though many of them lived in the greatest misery on the other side of

the Rhine, yet they think they are of a different race from ours--a

superior race; they believe the people are always ready to let

themselves be fleeced as they were before '89. They say Louis XVIII.

has good sense; so much the better for him, for if he is unfortunate

enough to listen to these people, if they imagine even that he can act

upon their advice, all is lost. There will be civil war. The people

have _thought_, during the last twenty-five years. They know their

rights, and they know that one man is as good as another, and that all

their 'noble races' are nonsense. Each one will keep his property,

each one will have equal rights and will defend himself to the death."

That is what Father Goulden said to me, and as my permit never came, I

thought the minister had no time to answer our demands with all these

counts and viscounts, these dukes and marquises at his back, who were

clamoring for their woods and their ponds and their fat offices. I was

indignant.

"Great God," I cried, "what misery! as soon as one misfortune is over

another begins! and it is always the innocent who suffer for the faults

of the others! O God! deliver us from the _nobles_, old and new!

Crown them with blessings, but let them leave us in peace!"

One morning Aunt Gredel came in to see us; it was on Friday and

market-day. She brought her basket on her arm and seemed very happy.

I looked toward the door, thinking that Catherine was coming too, and I

said: "Good-morning, Aunt Gredel; Catherine is in town, she is coming

too?"

"No! Joseph, no; she is at Quatre Vents. We are over our ears in work

on account of the planting."

I was disappointed and vexed too, for I had anticipated seeing her.

But Aunt Gredel put her basket on the table, and said as she lifted up

the cover:

"Look! here is something for you, Joseph, something from Catherine."

There was a great bouquet of May roses, violets, and three beautiful

lilacs with their green leaves around the edge. The sight of this made

me happy, and I laughed and said: "How sweetly it smells." And Father

Goulden turned round and laughed too, saying:

"You see, Joseph, they are always thinking of you!"

And we all laughed together. My good-humor had returned, and I kissed

Aunt Gredel and told her to take it to Catherine from me.

Then I put my bouquet in a vase on the window-sill by my bedside, and

thought of Catherine going out in the early morning to gather the

violets and the fresh roses and adding one after the other in the dew,

putting in the lilacs last, and the odor seemed still more delightful.

I could not look at them enough. I left them on the window-sill,

thinking:

"I shall enjoy them through the night, and shall give them fresh water

in the morning, and the next day after will be Sunday and I shall see

Catherine and thank her with a kiss."

I went back into the room, where Aunt Gredel was talking to Father

Goulden about the markets and the price of grain, etc., both in the

best of humor. Aunt put her basket on the ground and said:

"Well, Joseph, your permit has not come yet?"

"No! not yet, and it is terrible!"

"Yes," she replied, "the ministers are all alike, one is no better than

another; they take the worst and laziest to fill that place."

Then she went on: "Make yourself easy, I have a plan which will change

all that." She laughed, and as Father Goulden and I listened to hear

her plan, she continued:

"Just now while I was at the town-hall, Sergeant Harmantier announced

that we were to have a grand mass for the repose of the souls of Louis

XVI., Pichegru, Moreau, and--another one."

"Yes," interrupted Father Goulden, "for George Cadoudal,--I read it

last evening in the gazette."

"That is it, of Cadoudal," said Aunt Gredel. "You see, Joseph, hearing

that, I thought at once, 'now we will have the permit.' We are going

to have processions and atonements, and we will all go together,

Joseph, Catherine, and I. We shall be the first, and everybody will

say, 'They are good royalists, they are well disposed.' The priest

will hear of it. Now the priests have long arms, as in the time of the

generals and colonels,--we will go and see him, he will receive us

favorably, and will even make a petition for us. And I tell you this

will succeed, we shall not fail this time."

She spoke quite low as she explained all this, and seemed well

satisfied with her ingenuity. I felt happy too, and thought, "That is

what we must do, Aunt Gredel is right." But on looking at Father

Goulden, I saw he was very grave, and that he had turned away and was

looking at a watch through his glass, and knitting his big white

eyebrows. So, knowing he was not pleased, I said:

"I think myself, that would succeed, but before we do anything I would

like to have Father Goulden's opinion."

Then he turned round and said:

"Every one is free, Joseph, to follow his own conscience. To make an

expiation for the death of Louis XVI. is all very well; honest people

of all parties will have nothing to say, if they are royalists, of

course; but if you kneel from self-interest, you had better stay at

home. As for Louis XVI., I will let him pass, but for Pichegru,

Moreau, and Cadoudal,--that is altogether another thing. Pichegru

surrendered his troops to the enemy, Moreau fought against France, and

George Cadoudal was an assassin,--three kinds of ambitious men, who

asked for nothing but to oppress us, and all three deserved their fate.

_That_ is what I think."

"But what has all that to do with us, pray?" exclaimed Aunt Gredel.

"We will not go for them, we will go to get our permit. I despise all

the rest, and so does Joseph, do you not?"

I was greatly embarrassed, for what Father Goulden said seemed to me to

be right, and he, seeing this, said:

"I understand the love of young people, Mother Gredel, but we must not

use such means to induce a young man to sacrifice what he thinks is

right. If Joseph does not hold the same opinion as I do of Pichegru

and Moreau and Cadoudal, very well, let him go to the procession. I

shall not reproach him for it, but as for me, I shall not go."

"I shall not go either. Mr. Goulden is right," I replied.

I saw Aunt Gredel was displeased, she turned quite red, but was calm

again in a moment, and added:

"Very well! Catherine and I will go, because we mock at all those old

notions."

Father Goulden could not help smiling as he saw her anger.

"Yes, everybody is free," said he, "to do as he pleases, so do as you

like."

Aunt Gredel took up her basket and went away, and he laughed and made a

sign to me to go with her. I very quickly had my coat on and overtook

her at the corner of the street.

"Listen, Joseph," said she, as she went toward the square, "Father

Goulden is an excellent man, but he is an old fool! He has never since

I knew him been satisfied with anything. He does not say so, but the

Republic is always in his head. He thinks of nothing but his old

Republic, when everybody was a sovereign--beggars, tinkers,

soap-boilers, Jews, and Christians. There is no sense in it. But what

are we to do? If he were not such an excellent man I would not care

for him, but we must remember he has taught you a good trade, and done

us all many favors, and we owe him great respect, that is why I hurried

away, for I was inclined to be angry."

"You did right," I said, "I love Father Goulden like my father, and you

like my mother, and nothing could give me so much pain as to see you

angry with one another."

"I quarrel with a man like him!" said Aunt Gredel. "I would rather

jump out of the window. No, no, but we need not listen to all he says,

for I insist that this procession is a good thing for us, that the

priest will get the permit for us, and that is the principal thing.

Catherine and I will go, and as Mr. Goulden will stay at home, you had

best stay too. But I am certain that three-fourths of the town and

country round will go, and whether it be for Moreau or Pichegru or

Cadoudal it is of no consequence. It will be very fine. You will see!"

"I believe you," I answered.

We had reached the German gate; I kissed her again, and went back quite

happy to my work.