The first word Catherine said to me was, "Joseph, I knew you would come
back, I had put my trust in God! Now our worst troubles are over, and
we shall always remain together."
She was still sitting on my knee with her arm on my shoulder, I looked
at her, she dropped her eyes and was very pale. That which we had
hoped for before my departure had come.
We were happy.
Mr. Goulden smiled as he sat at his workbench--Jean stood up near the
door and said:
"Now I am going, Joseph, to Harberg. Father and grandmother are
waiting for me."
"Stay, Jean, you will dine with us." Mr. Goulden and Catherine urged
him also, but he would not wait. I embraced him on the stairs and felt
that I loved him like a brother.
He came often after that, but never once for thirty years without
stopping with me. Now he lies behind the church at Hommert. He was a
brave man and had a good heart.
But what am I thinking of? I must finish my story, and I have not said
a word of Aunt Gredel, who came an hour afterward. Ah! she threw up
her hands, and she embraced me, exclaiming:
"Joseph! Joseph! you have then escaped everything! let them come now
to take you again! let them come! oh! how I repented of letting you go
away! how I cursed the conscription and all the rest! but here you are!
how good it is! the Lord has had mercy upon us!"
Yes, all these old stories bring the tears to my eyes, when I think of
them; it is like a long forgotten dream, and yet it is real. These
joys and sorrows that we recall, attach us to earth, and though we are
old and our strength is gone and our sight is dim, and we are only the
shadows of ourselves; yet we are never ready to go, we never say, "It
is enough!"
These old memories are always fresh; when we speak of past dangers we
seem to be in the midst of them again; when we recall our old friends,
we again press their hands in imagination, and our beloved is again
seated on our knee, and we look in her face, thinking, "She is
beautiful!" and that which seemed to us just and wise and right in
those old days, seems right and wise and just still.
I remember--and I must here finish my long story--that for many months
and even years there was great sorrow in many families, and nobody
dared to speak openly, or wish for the glory of the country.
Zebede came back with those who had been disbanded on the other side of
the Loire, but even he had lost his courage. This came from the
vengeance and the condemnations and shootings, massacres and revenge of
every kind which followed our humiliation; from the hundred and fifty
thousand Germans, English, and Russians, who garrisoned our fortresses,
from the indemnities of war, from the thousands of emigres, from the
forced contributions, and especially from the laws against suspects,
and against sacrilege, and the rights of primogeniture which they
wished to be re-established.
All these things so contrary to reason and to the honor of the nation,
together with the denunciations of the Pinacles and the outrages that
the old revolutionists were made to suffer--altogether these things
have made us melancholy, so that often when we were alone with
Catherine and the little Joseph, whom God had sent to console us for so
many misfortunes, Mr. Goulden would say, pensively:
"Joseph, our unhappy country has fallen very low. When Napoleon took
France she was the greatest, the freest, and most powerful of nations,
all the world admired and envied us, but to-day we are conquered,
ruined, our fortresses are filled with our enemies, who have their feet
on our necks; and what was never before seen since France existed,
strangers are masters of our capital--twice we have seen this in two
years. See what it costs to put liberty, fortune, and honor in the
hands of an ambitious man. We are in a very sad condition, the great
Revolution is believed to be dead, and the Rights of Man are
annihilated. But we must not be discouraged, all this will pass away,
those who oppose liberty and justice will be driven away, and those who
wish to re-establish privileges and titles will be regarded as fools.
The great nation is reposing, is reflecting upon her faults, is
observing those who are leading her contrary to her own interests: she
reads their hearts, and in spite of the Swiss, in spite of the royal
guard, in spite of the Holy Alliance, when once she is weary of her
sufferings she will cast them out some day or other. Then it will be
finished, for France wants liberty, equality, and justice.
"The one thing which we lack is instruction, though the people are
instructing themselves every day, they profit by our experiences, by
our misfortunes.
"I shall not have the happiness, perhaps, of seeing the awakening of
the country, I am too old to hope for it, but you will see it, and the
sight will console you for all your sufferings; you will be proud to
belong to that generous nation which has outstripped all others since
'89; these slight checks are only moments of repose on a long journey."
This excellent man preserved to his last hour his calm confidence.
I have lived to see the accomplishment of his predictions, I have seen
the return of the banner of liberty, I have seen the nation grow in
wealth, in prosperity, and in education. I have seen those who
obstructed justice and who wished to establish the old regime,
compelled to leave. I have seen that mind always progresses, and that
even the peasants are willing to part with their last sou for the good
of their children.
Unfortunately we have not enough schoolmasters. If we had fewer
soldiers and more teachers the work would go on much faster.
But--patience--that will come.
The people begin to understand their rights, they know that war brings
them nothing but increased contributions, and when _they_ shall say,
"Instead of sending our sons to perish by thousands under the sabre and
cannon, we prefer that they should be taught to be men;" who will dare
to oppose them? To-day the people are sovereign!
In this hope, my friends, I embrace you with my whole heart, and bid
you, Adieu!