"That is ours," he said, "all the soldiers have it."
I hardly had time to glance at it when he shook my hand and, turning
away, hurried to Fouquet's corner. I went upstairs, saying to myself,
"Now for another breaking up, in which Europe will be involved; now for
the conscription, Joseph, the abolition of all permits and all the
other things that we read of in the gazettes. In the place of quiet,
we must be plunged in confusion; instead of listening to the ticking of
clocks, we must hear the thunder of cannon; instead of talking of
convents, we must talk of arsenals; instead of smelling flowers and
incense, we must smell powder. Great God! will this never come to an
end? Everything would go prosperously without missionaries and
emigres. What a calamity! What a calamity! We who work and ask for
nothing are always the ones who have to pay. All these crimes are
committed for our happiness, while they mock us and treat us like
brutes." A great many other ideas passed through my head, but what
good did they do me? I was not the Comte d'Artois, nor was I the Duke
de Berry; and one must be a prince in order that his ideas may be of
consequence, and that every word he speaks may pass for a miracle.
Father Goulden could not keep still a moment that afternoon. He was
just as impatient as I was when I was expecting my permit to marry. He
would look out of the window every moment and say, "There will be great
news to-day; the orders have been given, and there is no need of hiding
anything from us any longer." And from time to time he would exclaim,
"Hush! here is the mail coach!" We would listen, but it was Lanche's
cart with his old horses, or Baptiste's boat at the bridge. It was
quite dark and Catherine had laid the cloth, when for the twentieth
time Mr. Goulden exclaimed, "Listen!"
This time we heard a distant rumbling, which came nearer every moment.
Without waiting an instant, he ran to the alcove and slipped on his big
waistcoat, crying:
"Joseph, it has come."
He rolled down the stairs, as it were, and from seeing him in such a
hurry the desire to hear the news seized me, and I followed him. We
had hardly reached the street when the coach came through the dark
gateway, with its two red lanterns, and rushed past us like a
thunder-bolt. We ran after it, but we were not alone; from all sides
we heard the people running and shouting, "There it is, there it is!"
The post-office was in the rue des Foins, near the German gate, and the
coach went straight down to the college and turned there to the right.
The farther we went the greater was the crowd; it poured from every
door.
[Illustration: People were heard shouting, "There it is, there it is!"]
The old mayor, Mr. Parmentier, his secretary, Eschbach, and Cauchois,
the tax-gatherer, and many other notables were in the crowd, talking
together and saying:
"The decisive moment has come."
When we turned into the Place d'Armes, we saw the crowd already
gathered in front of the postoffice; innumerable faces were leaning
over the iron balustrade, one trying to get before the other, and
interrogating the courier, who did not answer a word.
The postmaster, Mr. Pernette, opened the window, which was lighted up
from the inside, and the package of letters and papers flew from the
coach through this window into the room; the window closed, and the
crack of the postilion's whip warned the crowd to get out of the way.
"The papers, the papers!" shouted the crowd from every side. The coach
set off again and disappeared through the German gate.
"Let us go to Hoffman's cafe," said Mr. Goulden. "Hurry! the papers
will go there, and if we wait we shall not be able to get in."
As we crossed the square we heard some one running behind us, and the
clear, strong voice of Margarot, saying:
"They have come, I have them."
All the half-pay officers were following him, and as the moon was
shining we could see they were coming at a great pace. We rushed into
the cafe and were hardly seated near the great stove of Delft ware,
when the crowd at once poured in through both doors. You should have
seen the faces of the half-pay officers at that moment. Their great
three-cornered hats, defiling under the lamps, their thin faces with
their long mustaches hanging down, their sparkling eyes peering into
the darkness, made them look like savages in pursuit of something.
Some of them squinted in their impatience and anxiety, and I think that
they did not see anything at all, and that their thoughts were
elsewhere with Bonaparte;--that was fearful.
The people kept coming and coming, till we were suffocating, and were
obliged to open the windows. Outside in the street, where the cavalry
barracks were, and on the Fountain Square, there was a great tumult.
"We did well to come at once," said Mr. Goulden, springing on a chair
and steadying himself with his hand on the stove. Others were doing
the same thing, and I followed his example. Nothing could be seen but
the eager faces and the big hats of the officers, and the great crowd
on the square outside in the moonlight. The tumult increased and a
voice cried, "Silence." It was the Commandant Margarot, who had
mounted upon a table. Behind him the gendarmes Keltz and Werner looked
on, and at all the open windows people were leaning in to hear. On the
square at the same instant somebody repeated, "Silence, silence." And
it was at once so still that you would have said, there was not a soul
there.
The commandant read the gazette, his clear voice pronouncing every word
with a sort of quaver in it, resembling the tic-tac of our clock in the
middle of the night, and it could be distinctly heard in the square.
The reading lasted a long time, for the commandant omitted nothing. I
remember it commenced by declaring that the one called Bonaparte, a
public enemy, who for fifteen years had held France in despotic
slavery, had escaped from his island, and had had the audacity to set
his foot on the soil deluged with blood through his own crimes, but
that the troops--faithful to the King and to the nation--were on the
march to stop him, and that in view of the general horror, Bonaparte,
with the handful of beggars that accompanied him, had fled into the
mountains, but that he was surrounded on all sides and could not escape.
I remember too, according to that gazette all the marshals had hastened
to place their glorious swords at the service of the King, the father
of the people and of the nation, and that the illustrious Marshal Ney,
Prince of Moscowa, had kissed the King's hand and promised to bring
Bonaparte to Paris dead or alive. After that there were some Latin
words which no doubt had been put there for the priests.
From time to time I heard some one behind me laughing and jeering at
the journal. On turning round, I saw that it was Professor Burguet and
two or three other noted men who had been taken after the "Hundred
days," and had been forced to remain at Bourges because, as Father
Goulden said, they had too much spirit. That shows plainly that it is
better to keep still at such times, if one does not wish to fight on
either side; for words are of no use, but to get us into difficulty.
But there was something worse still toward the end, when the commandant
commenced to read the decrees.
The first indicated the movement of the troops, and the second,
commanded all Frenchmen to fall upon Bonaparte, to arrest and deliver
him dead or alive, because he had put himself out of the pale of law.
At that moment the commandant, who had until then only laughed when he
read the name of Bonaparte, and whose bony face had only trembled a
little as it was lighted up by the lamp--at that moment his aspect
changed completely, I never saw anything more terrible; his face
contracted, fold upon fold, his little eyes blazed like those of a cat,
and his mustaches and whiskers stood on end; he seized the gazette and
tore it into a thousand pieces, and then pale as death he raised
himself to his full height, extended his long arms, and shouted in a
voice so loud that it made our flesh creep, _Vive l'Empereur!_
Immediately all the half-pay officers raised their three-cornered hats,
some in their hands and some on the end of their sword-canes, and
repeated with one voice, _Vive l'Empereur!_
You would have thought the roof was coming down. I felt just as if
some one had thrown cold water down my back. I said to myself, "It is
all over now. What is the use in preaching peace to such people?"
Outside among the groups of citizens, the soldiers of the post repeated
the cry, _Vive l'Empereur_. And as I looked in great anxiety to see
what the gendarmes would do, they retired without saying a word, being
old soldiers also.
But it was not yet over. As the commandant was getting down from the
table, an officer suggested that they should carry him in triumph.
They seized him by the legs, and forcing the crowd aside, carried him
around the room, screaming like madmen, _Vive l'Empereur_. He was so
affected by the honor shown him by his comrades and by hearing them
shout what he so much loved to hear, that he sat there with his long
hairy hands on their shoulders, and his head above their great hats,
and wept. No one would have believed that such a face could weep; that
alone was sufficient to upset you and make you tremble. He said not a
word; his eyes were closed and the tears ran down his nose and his long
mustaches. I was looking on with all my eyes, as you can imagine, when
Father Goulden got down from his chair and pulled me by the arm,
saying: "Joseph, let us go, it is time."
Behind us the hall was already empty. Everybody had hurried out by the
brewer Klein's alley for fear of being mixed up in a disagreeable
affair, and we went that way also.
As we crossed the square, Father Goulden said, "There is danger that
matters will take a bad turn. To-morrow the gendarmerie may commence
to act, the Commandant Margarot and the others have not the air of men
who will allow themselves to be arrested. The soldiers of the third
battalion will take their part, if they have not already. The city is
in their power."
He was talking to himself, and I thought as he did.
When we reached home, Catherine was waiting anxiously for us in the
workshop. We told her all that had happened. The table was set, but
nobody was inclined to eat. Mr. Goulden drank a glass of wine, and
then as he took off his shoes he said to us:
"My children, after what we have just heard we may be sure that the
Emperor will reach Paris; the soldiers wish it, and the peasants desire
it, and if he has considered well since he has been on his island and
will give up his ideas about war, and will respect the treaties, the
bourgeoise will ask nothing better, especially if we have a good
Constitution that will guarantee to everyone his liberty, which is the
best of all good things. Let us wish it for ourselves and for him.
Good-night."