Under the Empire I see too at nightfall, Father Coiffe, Nicholas Rolfo,
and five or six other veterans, loading their cannon for the evening
salute of twenty-one guns, while half of Pfalzbourg stand on the
opposite bastion looking at the red light, and smoke, and watching the
wads as they fall into the moat; then the illuminations at night and
the crackers and rockets, I hear the children cry _Vive l'Empereur_,
and then some days after, the death notices and the conscription.
Under Louis XVIII. I see the altars and the peasants with their carts
full of moss and broom and young pines; the ladies coming out of their
houses with great vases of flowers; people carrying their chandeliers
and crucifixes, and then the processions--the priest and his vicars,
the choir boys and Jacob Cloutier, Purrhus, and Tribou, the singers;
the beadle Koekli, with his red robe and his banner which swept the
skies, the bells ringing their full peals; Mr. Jourdan, the new mayor,
with his great red face, his beautiful uniform with his cross of St.
Louis, and the commandant with his three-cornered hat under his arm,
his great peruke frosted with powder, and his uniform glittering in the
sunshine, and behind them the town council, and the innumerable
torches, which they lighted for each other as the wind blew them out;
the Swiss, Jean-Peter Siroti, with his blue beard closely shaven and
his splendid hat pointing across his shoulders, his broad white silk
shoulder-belt sprinkled with fleur-de-lis across his breast, his
halberd erect, glistening like a plate of silver; the young girls,
ladies, and thousands of country people in their Sunday clothes,
praying in concert with the old people at their head, from each
village, who kept repeating incessantly, "pray for us, pray for us."
With the streets full of leaves and garlands and the white flags in the
windows, the Jews and the Lutherans looking out from their closed
blinds and the sun lighting up the grand sight below. This continued
from 1814 to 1830, except during the hundred days, not to speak of the
missions, the bishop's visits, and other extraordinary ceremonies. I
like best to tell you all this at once, for if I should undertake to
describe one procession after another the story would be too long.
Well! this commenced the 19th of May, and the same day that Harmentier
announced the grand atonement, there arrived five preachers from Nancy,
young men, who preached during the whole week, from morning until
midnight. This was to prepare for the atonement; nothing else was
talked about in the town, the people were converted, and all the women
and girls went to confession. It was rumored also that the national
property was to be restored, and that the poor men would be separated
from the respectable people by the procession, because the beggars
would not dare to show themselves. You may imagine my chagrin at being
obliged, in spite of myself, to remain among the poor people; but,
thank God! I had nothing to reproach myself with in regard to the
death of Louis XVI., and I had none of the national property, and all I
wanted was permission to marry Catherine. I thought with Aunt Gredel
that Father Goulden was very obstinate, but I never dared to say a word
to him about that. I was very unhappy, the more so, because the people
who came to us to have their watches repaired, respectable citizens,
mayors, foresters, etc., approved of all these sermons, and said that
the like had never been heard. Mr. Goulden always kept on his work
while listening to them, and when it was done he would turn to them and
say, "Here is your watch, Mr. Christopher or Mr. Nicholas; it is so and
so much." He did not seem to be interested in these matters, and it
was only when one and another would speak of the national property, of
the rebellion of twenty-five years, and of expiating past crimes, that
he would take off his spectacles and raise his head to listen, and
would say with an air of surprise, "Pshaw! well! well! that is fine!
that is, Mr. Claude! indeed you astonish me. These young men preach so
well then? Well, if the work were not so pressing, I would go and hear
them. I need instruction also."
I always kept thinking that he would change his mind, and the next
evening as we were finishing our supper I was happy enough to hear him
say good-humoredly:
"Joseph, are you not curious to hear these preachers? They tell so
many fine things of them, that I want to hear how it is for myself."
"Oh! Mr. Goulden, I should like nothing better! but we must lose no
time, for the church is always full by the second stroke of the bell."
"Very well! let us go," said he, rising and taking down his hat. "I am
curious to see how it is. Those people astonish me. Come!"
We went out; the moon was shining so brightly that we could recognize
people as easily as in broad daylight. At the corner of the rue
Fouquet we saw that even the steps of the church were already covered
with people. Two or three old women, Annette Petit, Mother Balaie, and
Jeannette Baltzer, with their big shawls wrapped closely round them,
and the long fringes of their bonnets over their eyes, hurried past us,
when Father Goulden exclaimed, "Here are the old women! Ha! ha! ha!
always the same!"
He laughed, and as he went on said, that since Father Colin's time
there had never been so many people seen at the evening service. I
could not believe that he was speaking of the old landlord of the
"Three Roses," opposite the infantry barracks, so I said:
"He was a priest, Mr. Goulden?"
"No, no," he answered smiling, "I mean old Colin. In 1792, when we had
a club in the church, everybody could preach; but Colin spoke best of
all. He had a magnificent voice, and said many forcible and true
things, and the people came from far and near, from Saverne and
Saarburg, and even still farther away to hear him; women and girls,
'citoyennes' as they called them then, filled the choir galleries and
the pews. They wore little cockades in their bonnets, and sang the
'Marseillaise' to arouse the young men. You never saw anything like
it! Annette Petit, Mother Baltzer, and all those whom you see running
before us, with their prayer-books under their arms, were among the
foremost. But they had white teeth and beautiful hair then, and loved
'Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity.' Ha! ha! poor Bevel! poor Annette!
Now they are going to repent, though they were good patriots then; I
believe God will pardon them." He laughed as he recalled these old
stories, but when we had reached the steps of the church he grew sober,
and said:
"Yes--yes--everything changes, everything! I remember the day in '93,
when old Colin spoke of the country being in danger, when three hundred
young men left the country to join the army of Hoche; Colin followed
them, and became their commander. He was a terrible fellow among his
grenadiers. He would not sign the proposition to make Napoleon
emperor,--now he sells over the counter by the glass!"
Then looking at me as if he were astonished at his own thoughts, he
said, "Let us go in, Joseph."
We entered under the great pillars of the organ; the crowd was very
great, and he did not say a word more. There were lights burning in
the choir over the heads of the people. The only sound which broke the
silence was the opening and shutting of the doors of the pews. At last
we heard Sirou's halberd on the floor, and Mr. Goulden said, "There he
is!"
A light near the vessel for the holy water enabled us to see a little.
A shadow mounted to the pulpit at the left, while Koekli lighted two or
three candles with his stick. The preacher might have been twenty-five
or thirty years old, he had a pleasant, rosy face and heavy blonde hair
below his tonsure, that fell in curls over his neck. They commenced by
singing a psalm, the young girls of the village sang in the choir "What
joy to be a Christian." After that the preacher from the desk said,
that he had come to defend the faith, the law, and the "right divine"
of Louis XVIII., and demanded if any one had the audacity to take the
other side. As nobody wished to be stoned, there was a dead silence.
Then a brown, thin man, six feet high with a black cloak on, rose in
one of the pews opposite, and exclaimed:
"I have! I maintain that faith, religion, and the right of kings, and
all the rest, are nothing but superstitions. I maintain that the
republic is just, and that the worship of reason is worth them all!"
and so on.
The people were indignant. There never was anything like it! When he
had finished speaking, I looked at Mr. Goulden, who laughed softly, and
said: "Listen! listen!"
Of course I listened; the young preacher prayed to God for this
infidel, and then he spoke so beautifully that the crowd was entranced.
The big thin man replied, saying, "They had done right to guillotine
Louis XVI., Marie Antoinette, and all the family." The indignation
increased, and the men from Bois-de-Chenes, and especially their wives,
wanted to get into the pew to knock him down, but just then Sirou came
up, crying "Room! room!" and old Koekli in his red gown threw himself
before the man, who escaped into the sacristy, raising his hands to
heaven and declaring that he was converted, and that he renounced the
devil and all his works. Then the preacher made a prayer for the soul
of the sinner. It was a real triumph for religion.
Everybody left about eleven o'clock, and it was announced that there
would be a procession the next day, which was Sunday.
In consequence of the great crowd, which had pushed us into the corner,
Mr. Goulden and I were among the last to get out, and by the time we
reached the street, the people from Quatre Vents and the other villages
were already beyond the German gate, and nothing was heard in the
streets but the closing of the shutters by the townspeople, and a few
old women talking about the wonderful things they had heard, as they
went home by the rue de l'Arsenal.
Father Goulden and I walked along in the silence, he with his head bent
down and smiling, though without speaking a word. When we reached home
I lighted the candle, and while he was undressing asked:
"Well! Father Goulden, did they preach well?"
"Yes," he replied smiling, "yes, for young men who have seen nothing,
it was not bad." Then he laughed aloud and said, "But if old Colin had
been in the Jacobin's place, he would have puzzled the young man
terribly." I was greatly surprised at that, and as I still waited to
hear what more he had to say, he slowly pulled his black silk cap over
his ears and added thoughtfully, "but it's all the same; all the same.
These people go too fast, much too fast. They will never make me
believe that Louis XVIII. knows about all this. No, he has seen too
much in his life not to know men better than that. But, good-night,
Joseph, good-night. Let us hope that an order will soon arrive from
Paris sending these young men back to their seminary."
I went to bed and dreamed of Catherine, the Jacobin, and of the
procession we were going to see.