From that moment there was confusion everywhere, the half-pay officers
shouted, "_Vive l'Empereur_." The commandant gave orders to arrest
them, but the battalion did the same thing, and the gendarmes seemed to
be deaf. Nobody was at work; the tax-gatherers and overseers, the
mayor and his counsellors, grew gray with uncertainty, not knowing on
which foot they should dance. Nobody dared to come out for Bonaparte,
or for Louis XVIII., except the slaters and masons and knife-grinders,
who could not lose their offices and who wished for nothing better than
to see others in their places. With their hatchets stuck in their
leather belts and a bag of chips on their shoulders, they did not
hesitate to shout, "Down with the emigres," they laughed at the
troubles, which increased visibly.
One day the gazette said, the usurper is at Grenoble, the next he is at
Lyons, the next at Macon, and the next at Auxerre, and so on. Father
Goulden was in good-humor as he read the news at night, and he would
say:
"They can see now that the Frenchmen are for the Revolution, and that
the others cannot hold out. Everybody says, 'Down with the _emigres_.'
What a lesson for those who can see clearly! Those Bourbons wanted to
make us all Vendeeans, they ought to rejoice that they have succeeded
so well."
But one thing troubled him still, that was the great battle which was
announced between Ney and Napoleon.
"Although Ney has kissed the hand of the King, yet he is an old
soldier, and I will never believe that he will fight against the will
of the people. No, it is not possible, he will remember the old cooper
of Saar-Louis, who would break his head with his hammer, if he were
still living, on learning that Michel had betrayed the country in order
to please the King."
That was what Mr. Goulden said, but that did not prevent people from
being uneasy, when suddenly the news arrived that he had followed the
example of the army and the bourgeoisie and all those who wished to be
rid of the atonements, and that he had rallied with them. Then there
was greater confidence, but still prudent men were silent in view of
what might happen.
On the 21st of March, between five and six in the evening, Mr. Goulden
and I were at work; it had begun to grow dark, and Catherine was
lighting the lamp, a gentle rain was falling on the panes, when
Theodore Roeber, who had charge of the telegraph, passed under our
windows, riding a big dapple-gray horse at the top of his speed, his
blouse filled out by the air, he went so fast, and he was holding his
great felt hat on with one hand, while he kept striking his horse with
a whip which he held in the other, though he was galloping like the
wind. Father Goulden wiped the glass and leaned over to see better,
and said:
"That is Roeber, who is coming from the telegraph, some great news has
arrived." His pale cheeks reddened, and I felt my heart beat
violently. Catherine came and placed the lamp near us, and I opened
the window to close the shutter. That took me some moments, as I was
obliged to disarrange the glasses on the work-table, and take down the
watches before I could do it. Mr. Goulden seemed lost in thought.
Just as I had fastened the window, we heard the assembly beat from both
sides of the city at once, from the bastion of the Mittelbronn and from
Bigelberg, the echoes from the ramparts and from the target valley
responded, and a dull rumbling filled the air, Mr. Goulden rose, saying:
"The matter is decided at last," in a tone which made me shudder.
"Either they are fighting near Paris, or the Emperor is in his old
palace as he was in 1809."
Catherine ran for his cloak, for she saw plainly he was going out in
spite of the rain. He was speaking with his great gray eyes wide open,
and took no notice as she slipped on the sleeves, and as he went out
Catherine touched me on the shoulder--I was still sitting--and said:
"Go, Joseph, follow him."
We reached the square just as the battalion filed out of the broad
street at the corner by the mayor's, behind the drummers, who had their
drums over their shoulders. A great crowd followed them. When they
reached the great lindens, the drums recommenced, and the soldiers
hurriedly got into their ranks, and almost immediately the Commandant
Gemeau, who was suffering from his wounds and had not been out for two
months appeared on the steps of the "Minque." A sapper held his horse
by the bridle, and gave him his shoulder to mount. Everybody was
looking on, and the roll commenced. The commandant crossed the square,
and the captains went quickly up to meet him; he said a few words to
them, and then passed in front of the battalion, followed by a sergeant
with three chevrons, who carried a flag in its oil-cloth case. The
crowd increased every moment. Mr. Goulden had mounted on the stone
posts in front of the arch of the guard-house. After the roll was
called, the commandant waited a moment and then drew his sword and gave
the order to form a square. I tell you these things in a simple way,
because they were simple and terrible.
The commandant was very pale, and we could see, though it was almost
night, that he had fever. The gray lines of soldiers in the square,
the commandant on horseback, the officers around him in the rain, the
listening citizens, the profound silence, the opening of the windows in
the vicinity, all are present to my mind though fifty years have passed
since then. Not a word was said, for we all felt that we were going to
learn the fate of France.
"Carry arms! shoulder arms!"
After this nothing was heard but the voice of the commandant, that
voice which I had heard on the other side of the Rhine at Lutzen and
Leipzig, saying:
"Close the ranks."
The words went through my very marrow.
"Soldiers!" said he, "Louis XVIII. left Paris on the 20th of March, and
the Emperor Napoleon made his entry into the capital the same day."
A sort of shiver went through the crowd, but it lasted for a moment
only, and the commandant continued:
"Soldiers, the flag of France is the flag of Arcola, of Rivoli, of
Alexandria, of Chebreisse, of the Pyramids, of Aboukir, of Marengo, of
Austerlitz, and of Jena, of Eylau, of Friedland, of Sommo-Sierra, of
Madrid, of Abensberg, of Eckmuel, of Essling, of Wagram, of Smolensk, of
Moscowa, of Weissenfels, of Lutzen, of Bautzen, of Wurtschen, of
Dresden, of Bischofswarda, of Hanau, of Brienne, of Saint Dizier, of
Champaubert, of Chateau-Thierry, of Joinvilliers, of Mery-sur-Seine, of
Montereau, and of Montmirail. It is the flag which we have dyed with
our blood, and it is that which makes it our glory."
The old sergeant had drawn the torn flag from its case, and the
commandant continued:
"Here is the flag! you recognize it; it is the flag of the nation, it
is that flag which the Russians and Austrians and Prussians took from
us on the day of their first victory, because they feared it."
A great number of the old soldiers, on hearing these words, turned away
their heads to hide their tears; while others, deathly pale, looked and
listened with flashing eyes.
"I," said the commandant, raising his sword, "know no other. _Vive la
France! Vive l'Empereur!_"
The words had hardly left his mouth when from every window, from the
square, from the streets, rose the shouts, "_Vive la France! Vive
l'Empereur!_" like the blast of a trumpet. The people and the soldiers
embraced each other, you would have thought that everything was safe,
that we had found all that France lost in 1814. It was almost dark,
and the people went away in companies of threes, sixes, and twenties,
shouting, "_Vive l'Empereur!_" When near the hospital a red flash
lighted up the sky, the cannon thundered, another responded from the
rear of the arsenal, and so they continued to roar from second to
second.
Mr. Goulden and I left the square arm in arm, crying, "_Vive
l'Empereur!_" also, and as at each discharge of cannon the flash
lighted up the square, in one of them we saw Catherine, who was coming
to meet us with old Madelon Schouler. She had put on her little cloak
and hood, protecting her rosy little nose from the mist, and she
exclaimed, on seeing us:
"There they are, Madelon! The Emperor is master, is he not, Mr.
Goulden?"
"Yes, my child," he replied, "it is decided."
Catherine took my arm, and I kissed her two or three times as we were
going home. Perhaps I felt that we should soon be forced to part, and
that then, it would be long before I should kiss her again. Father
Goulden and Madelon were before us, and he said:
"Come up, Madelon; I want to drink a good glass of wine with you." But
she declined, and left us at the door. I can only say that the joy of
the people was as great as on the return of Louis XVIII., and perhaps
still greater.
Father Goulden took off his cloak and sat down in his place at table,
as supper was waiting. Catherine ran down to the cellar and brought up
a bottle of good wine, we laughed and drank while the cannon made our
windows rattle. Sometimes people's heads are turned, even those who
love nothing but peace. So the sound of the cannon made us happy, and
we went back in a measure to our old habits.
"The commandant," said Mr. Goulden, "spoke well, but he might have kept
on till to-morrow with his victories, commencing with Valmy,
Hundschott, Wattignies, Fleurus, Neuwied, Ukerath, Froeeschwiller,
Geisberg, to Zurich and Hohenlinden. These were also great victories,
and even the most splendid of all, for they preserved liberty. He only
spoke of the last ones, that was enough for the moment. Let those
people come! let them dare to move! The nation wants peace, but if the
allies commence war woe be unto them. Now we shall again talk of
liberty, equality, and fraternity. All France will be roused by it, I
warn you beforehand. There will be a national guard, and the old men
like me and the married men will defend the towns, while the younger
ones will march, but no one will cross the frontiers. The Emperor,
taught by experience, will arm the artisans, the peasants, and the
bourgeoisie, and when we are attacked, even if they are a million, not
one shall escape. The day for soldiers is past, regular armies are for
conquest, but a people who can defend themselves do not fear the best
armies in the world. We proved that to the Prussians and Austrians, to
the English and the Russians from 1792 to 1800, and since then the
Spaniards have shown us the same thing, and even before that, the
Americans demonstrated it to the English. The Emperor will speak to us
of liberty, be sure of that; and if he will send his proclamations into
Germany, many Germans will be with us; they were promised liberty in
order to make them rise against France, and now the sovereigns in
conference at Vienna mock at their own promises. Their plan is fixed.
They divide the people among themselves as they would a flock of sheep.
Those who have good sense will unite, and in that way peace will be
established by force. The kings alone have any interest in war, the
people do not need to conquer themselves, provided that they arrange
for the freedom of commerce, that is the principal thing."
In his excitement everything looked bright to him. And all that he
said seemed to me so natural, that I was sure that the Emperor would
direct matters as we had supposed. Catherine believed it too. We
thanked God for what had come, and about eleven o'clock, after having
laughed and drank and shouted, we went to bed with the brightest hopes.
All the city was illuminated, and we had put lamps in our windows also.
Every moment we heard the crackers in the street and the children were
shouting, "Vive l'Empereur!" and the soldiers were coming out of the
inns, singing, "Down with the emigres." This lasted till very late,
and it was one o'clock before we slept.