It was winter. Rain fell constantly, mingled with snow. There were no
gutters, and the wind blew the rain as it fell from the tiles quite
into the middle of the street. We could hear it pattering all day
while Catherine was running about, watching the fire, and lifting the
covers of the saucepans, and sometimes singing quietly to herself as
she sat down to her spinning. Father Goulden and I were so accustomed
to this kind of life that we worked on without thinking. We troubled
ourselves about nothing, the table was laid and the dinner served
exactly on the stroke of noon. At night Mr. Goulden went out after
supper to read the gazette at Hoffman's, with his old cloak wrapped
closely round his shoulders and his big fox-skin cap pulled down over
his neck.
But in spite of that, often when he came in at ten o'clock, after we
had gone to bed, we heard him cough; he had dampened his feet. Then
Catherine would say, "He is coughing again, he thinks he is as young as
he was at twenty," and in the morning she did not hesitate to reproach
him.
"Monsieur Goulden," she would say, "you are not reasonable; you have an
ugly cold, and yet you go out every evening."
"Ah! my child, what would you have? I have got the habit of reading
the gazette, and it is stronger than I. I want to know what Benjamin
Constant and the rest of them say, it is like a second life to me and I
often think 'they ought to have spoken further of such or such a thing.
If Melchior Goulden had been there he would have opposed this or that,
and it would not have failed to produce a great effect.'"
Then he would laugh and shake his head and say:
"Every one thinks he has more wit and good sense than the others, but
Benjamin Constant always pleases me."
We could say nothing more, his desire to read the gazette was so great.
One day Catherine said to him:
"If you wish to hear the news, that is no reason why you should make
yourself sick, you have only to do as the old carpenter Carabin does,
he arranged last week with Father Hoffman, and he sends him the journal
every night at seven o'clock, after the others have read it, for which
he pays him three francs a month. In this way, without any trouble to
himself, Carabin knows everything that goes on, and his wife, old
Bevel, also; they sit by the fire and talk about all these things and
discuss them together, and that is what you should do."
"Ah! Catherine, that is an excellent idea, but--the three francs?"
"The three francs are nothing," said I, "the principal thing is not to
be sick, you cough very badly and that cannot go on."
These words, far from offending, pleased him, as they proved our
affection for him and that he ought to listen to us.
"Very well! we will try to arrange it as you wish, and the rather as
the cafe is filled with half-pay officers from morning till night, and
they pass the journals from one to the other so that sometimes we must
wait two hours before we can catch one. Yes, Catherine is right."
He went that very day to see Father Hoffman, so that after that,
Michel, one of the waiters at the cafe brought us the gazette every
night at seven o'clock, just as we rose from the table. We were happy
always when we heard him coming up the stairs, and we would say, "There
comes the gazette."
Catherine would hurry off the cloth and I would put a big bullet of
wood in the stove, and Mr. Goulden would draw his spectacles from their
case, and while Catherine spun and I smoked my pipe like an old
soldier, and watched the blaze as it danced in the stove, he would read
us the news from Paris.
You cannot imagine the happiness and satisfaction we had in hearing
Benjamin Constant and two or three others maintain the same opinions
which we held ourselves. Sometimes Mr. Goulden was forced to stop to
wipe his spectacles, and then Catherine would exclaim:
"How well these people talk. They are men of good sense. Yes, what
they say is right--it is the simple truth."
And we all approved it. Sometimes Father Goulden thought that they
ought to have spoken of this or that a little more, but that the rest
was all very well. Then he would go on with his reading, which lasted
till ten o'clock, and then we all went to bed, reflecting on what we
had just heard. Outside the wind blew, as it only can blow at
Pfalzbourg, and vanes creaked as they turned, and the rain beat against
the walls, while we enjoyed the warmth and comfort, and thanked God
till sleep came, and we forgot everything. Ah! how happily we sleep
with peace in our souls, and when we have strength and health, and the
love and respect of those whom we love.
Days, weeks, and months went by, and we became, after a manner,
politicians, and when the ministers were going to speak, we thought:
"Now the beggars want to deceive us! the miserable race! they ought to
be driven out, every one of them!"
Catherine above all could not endure them, and when Mother Gredel came
and talked as before about our good King, Louis XVIII., we allowed her
to talk out of respect, but we pitied her for being so blind to the
real interests of the country.
It must be remembered, too, that these emigres, ministers, and princes,
conducted themselves in the most insolent manner possible toward us.
If the Count d'Artois and his sons had put themselves at the head of
the Vendeeans and Bretons, and marched on Paris and had been
victorious, they would have had reason to say, "We are masters, and
will make laws for you." But to be driven out at first, and to be
brought back by the Prussians and the Russians, and then to come and
humiliate us, that was contemptible, and the older I grow the more I am
confirmed in that idea--it was shameful!
Zebede came to see us from time to time, and he knew all that was in
the gazette. It was from us that he first learned that the young
emigres had driven General Vandamme from the presence of the King.
This old soldier, who had just returned from a Russian prison, and whom
all the army respected in spite of his misfortune at Kulm, they
conducted from the royal presence, and told him that was not his place.
Vandamme had been colonel of a regiment at Pfalzbourg, and you cannot
imagine the indignation of the people at this news.
And it was Zebede who told us, that processes had been made out against
the generals on half-pay, and that their letters were opened at the
post, that they might appear like traitors. He told us a little
afterward that they were going to send away the daughters of the old
officers who were at the school of St. Denis and give them a pension of
two hundred francs; and later still, that the emigres alone would have
the right to put their sons in the schools at "St. Cyr" and "la Fleche"
to be educated as officers, while the people's sons would remain
soldiers at five centimes (one cent) a day for centuries to come.
The gazettes told the same stories, but Zebede knew a great many other
details--the soldiers knew everything.
I could not describe Zebede's face to you as he sat behind the stove,
with the end of his black pipe between his teeth, recounting all these
misfortunes. His great nose would turn pale, and the muscles would
twitch around the corners of his light gray eyes, and he would pretend
to laugh from time to time, and murmur, "It moves, it moves."
"And what do the other soldiers think of all this?" said Father Goulden.
"Ha! they think it is pretty well when they have given their blood to
France for twenty years, when they have made ten, fifteen, and twenty
campaigns, and wear three chevrons, and are riddled with wounds, to
hear that their old chiefs are driven from their posts, their daughters
turned out of the schools, and that the sons of those people are to be
their officers forever--that delights them, Father Goulden!" and his
face quivered even to his ears as he said this.
"That is terrible, certainly," said Father Goulden, "but discipline is
always discipline there. The marshals obey the ministers, and the
officers the marshals, and the soldiers the officers."
"You are right," said Zebede, "but there, they are beating the
assembly."
And he shook hands and hurried off to the barracks.
The winter passed in this way, while the indignation increased every
day. The city was full of officers on half-pay, who dared not remain
in Paris,--lieutenants, captains, commandants, and colonels of infantry
and cavalry,--men who lived on a crust of bread and a glass of wine a
day, and who were the more miserable because they were forced to keep
up an appearance--think of such men with their hollow cheeks and their
hair closely cropped, with sparkling eyes and their big mustaches and
their old uniform cloaks, of which they had been forced to change the
buttons, see them promenading by threes and sixes and tens on the
square, with their sword-canes at their button-holes, and their
three-cornered hats so old and worn, though still well brushed; you
could not help thinking that they had not one quarter enough to eat.
And yet we were compelled to say to ourselves, these are the victors of
Jemmapes, of Fleurus, of Zurich, of Hohenlinden, of Marengo, of
Austerlitz, and of Friedland and Wagram. If we are proud of being
Frenchmen, neither the Comte d'Artois nor the Duke de Berry can boast
of being the cause; on the contrary, it is these men, and now they
leave them to perish, they even refuse them bread and put the emigres
in their place. It does not need any extraordinary amount of
common-sense, or heart, or of justice to discover that this is contrary
to nature.
I never could look at these unhappy men; it made me miserable. If you
have been a soldier for only six months, your respect for your old
chiefs, for those whom you have seen in the very front under fire,
always remains. I was ashamed of my country for permitting such
indignities.
One circumstance I shall never forget: it was the last of January,
1815, when two of these half-pay officers--one was a large, austere,
gray-haired man, known as Colonel Falconette, who appeared to have
served in the infantry, the other was short and thick and they called
him Commandant Margarot, and he still wore his hussar whiskers--came to
us and proposed to sell a splendid watch. It might have been ten
o'clock in the morning. I can see them now as they came gravely in,
the colonel with his high collar, and the other one with his head down
between his shoulders.
The watch was a gold one, with double case; a repeater which marked the
seconds, and was wound up only once in eight days. I had never seen
such a fine one.
While Mr. Goulden examined it I turned round on my chair and looked at
the men, who seemed to be in great need of money, especially the
hussar. His brown, bony face, his big red mustaches, and his little
brown eyes, his broad shoulders and long arms, which hung down to his
knees, inspired me with great respect. I thought that when he took his
sabre his long arm would reach a good way, that his eyes would burn
under his heavy brows, and that the parry and thrust would come like
lightning. I imagined him in a charge, half hidden behind his horse's
head, with the point advanced, and my admiration was greater still. I
suddenly remembered that Colonel Falconette and Commandant Margarot had
killed some Russian and Austrian officers in a duel in the rear of the
"Green Tree," when the allies were passing through the town six months
ago.
The large man too, without any shirt-collar, although he was thin,
wrinkled, and pale, and his temples were gray and his manner cold,
seemed respectable too.
I waited to hear what Father Goulden would say about the watch. He did
not raise his eyes, but looked at it with profound admiration, while
the men waited quietly like those who suffer from not being able to
conceal their pain. At last he said:
"This, gentlemen, is a beautiful watch, fit for a prince?"
"Indeed it is," said the hussar, "and it was from a prince I received
it after the battle of Rabbe," and he glanced at his companion, who
said nothing.
Mr. Goulden saw that they were in great need. He took off his black
silk bonnet, and said, as he rose slowly from his seat:
"Gentlemen, do not take offence at what I am going to say. I am like
you an old soldier, I served France under the Republic, and I am sure
it must be heart-breaking to be forced to sell such a thing as that, an
object which recalls some noble action, the souvenir of a chief whom we
revere."
I had never heard Father Goulden speak with such emotion, his bald head
was bowed sadly, and his eyes were on the ground, so that he might not
see the pain of those to whom he was speaking.
The commandant grew quite red, his eyes were dim, his great fingers
worked, and the colonel was pale as death. I wished myself away.
Mr. Goulden went on, "This watch is worth more than a thousand francs,
I have not so much money in hand, and besides you would doubtless
regret to part with such a souvenir. I will make you this offer, leave
the watch with me, I will hang it in my window--it shall always be
yours--and I will advance you two hundred francs, which you shall repay
me when you take it away."
On hearing this, the hussar extended his two great hairy hands, as if
to embrace Father Goulden.
"You are a good patriot," he exclaimed, "Colin told us so. Ah! sir, I
shall never forget the service you have rendered me. This watch I
received from Prince Eugene for bravery in action, it is dear to me as
my own blood, but poverty----"
"Commandant!" exclaimed the other, turning pale.
"Colonel, permit me! we are old comrades together. They are starving
us, they treat us like Cossacks. They are too cowardly to shoot us
outright."
He could be heard all over the house. Catherine and I ran into the
kitchen in order not to see the sad spectacle. Mr. Goulden soothed
him, and we heard him say:
"Yes, yes, gentlemen, I know all that, and I put myself in your place."
"Come! Margarot, be quiet," said the colonel. And this went on for a
quarter of an hour.
At last we heard Mr. Goulden count out the money, and the hussar said:
"Thank you, sir, thank you! If ever you have occasion, remember the
Commandant Margarot."
We were glad to hear the door open, and to hear them go downstairs, for
Catherine and I were much pained by what we had heard and seen. We
went back to the room, and Mr. Goulden, who had been to show the
officers out, came back with his head bare. He was very much disturbed.
"These unhappy men are right," said he, "the conduct of the government
toward them is horrible, but it will have to pay for it sooner or
later."
We were sad all day, but Mr. Goulden showed me the watch and explained
its beauties, and told me, we ought always to have such models before
us, and then we hung it in our window.
From that moment the idea never left me that matters would end badly,
and that even if the emigres stopped here, they had done too much
mischief already. I could still hear the commandant exclaiming, that
they treated the army like Cossacks. All those processions and
expiations and sermons about the rebellion of twenty-five years, seemed
to me to be a terrible confusion, and I felt that the restoration of
the national property and the rebuilding of the convents would be
productive of no good.
X
It was about the beginning of March, when a rumor began to circulate
that the Emperor had just landed at Cannes. This rumor was like the
wind, nobody ever could tell where it came from. Pfalzbourg is two
hundred leagues from the sea, and many a mountain and valley lies
between them. An extraordinary circumstance, I remember, happened on
the 6th of March. When I rose in the morning, I pushed open the window
of our little chamber which was just under the eaves, and looked across
the street at the old black chimneys of Spitz the baker, and saw that a
little snow still remained behind them. The cold was sharp, though the
sun was shining, and I thought, "What fine weather for a march!" Then
I remembered how happy we used to be in Germany, as we put out our
campfires and set off on such fine mornings as this, with our guns on
our shoulders, listening to the footfalls of the battalion echoing from
the hard frozen ground. I do not know how it was, but suddenly the
Emperor came into my mind, and I saw him with his gray coat and round
shoulders, with his hat drawn over his eyes, marching along with the
Old Guard behind him.
Catherine was sweeping our little room, and I was almost dreaming as I
leaned out into the dry, clear air, when we heard some one coming up
the stairs. Catherine stopped her sweeping and said:
"It is Mr. Goulden."
I also recognized his step, and was surprised, as he seldom came into
our chamber. He opened the door and said in a low voice:
"My children, the Emperor landed on the 1st of March at Cannes, near
Toulon, and is marching upon Paris."
He said no more, but sat down to take breath. We looked at each other
in astonishment, but a moment after Catherine asked:
"Is it in the gazette, Mr. Goulden?"
"No," he replied, "either they know nothing of it over there, or else
they conceal it from us. But, in Heaven's name, not a word of all
this, or we shall be arrested. This morning, about five o'clock,
Zebede, who mounted guard at the French gate, came to let me know of
it; he knocked downstairs, did you hear him?"
"No! we were asleep, Mr. Goulden."
"Well! I opened the window to see what was the matter, and then I went
down and unlocked the door. Zebede told it to me as a fact, and says
the soldiers are to be confined to the barracks till further orders.
It seems they are afraid of the soldiers, but how can they stop
Bonaparte without them? They cannot send the peasants, whom they have
stripped of everything, against him, nor the bourgeoisie, whom they
have treated like Jacobins. Now is a good time for the emigres to show
themselves. But silence, above all things, the most profound silence!"
He rose, and we all went down to the workshop. Catherine made a good
fire, and everyone went about his work as usual.
That day everything was quiet, and the next day also. Some neighbors,
Father Riboc and Offran, came in to see us, under pretence of having
their watches cleaned.
"Anything new, neighbor?" they inquired.
"No, indeed!" replied Mr. Goulden. "Everything is quiet. Do you hear
anything?"
"No."
But you could see by their eyes, that they had heard the news. Zebede
stayed at the barracks. The half-pay officers filled the cafe from
morning till night, but not a word transpired, the affair was too
serious. On the third day these officers, who were boiling over with
impatience, were seen running back and forth, their very faces showing
their terrible anxiety. If they had had horses or even arms, I am sure
they would have attempted something. But the guards went and came
also, with old Chancel at their head, and a courier was sent off hourly
to Saarbourg. The excitement increased, nobody felt any interest in
his work. We soon learned through the commercial travellers, who
arrived at the "City of Basle," that the upper Rhine provinces and the
Jura had risen, and that regiments of cavalry and infantry were
following each other from Besancon, and that heavy forces had been sent
against the usurper.
One of these travellers having spoken rather too freely, was ordered to
quit the town at once, the brigadier in command having examined his
passport and, fortunately for him, found it properly made out.
I have seen other revolutions since then, but never such excitement as
reigned on the 8th of March between four and five in the evening, when
the order arrived for the departure of the first and second battalions
fully equipped for service for Lons-le-Saulnier. It was only then that
the danger was fully realized, and every one thought, "It is not the
Duke d'Angouleme nor the Duke de Berry that we need to arrest the
progress of Bonaparte, but the whole of Europe."
The faces of the officers on half-pay lighted up as with a burst of
sunshine, and they breathed freely again. About five o'clock the first
roll of the drum was heard on the square, when suddenly Zebede rushed
in.
"Well!" said Father Goulden to him.
"The first two battalions are going away," he replied. He was very
pale.
"They are sent to stop him," said Mr. Goulden.
"Yes," said Zebede, winking, "they are going to stop him."
The drums still rolled. He went downstairs, four at a time. I
followed him. At the foot of the stairs, and while he was on the first
step, he seized me by the arm, and raising his shako, whispered in my
ear:
"Look, Joseph, do you recognize that?"