Waterloo: A sequel to The Conscript of 1813

She spoke quite low as she explained all this, and seemed well satisfied with her ingenuity. I felt happy too, and thought, "That is what we must do, Aunt Grédel is right." But on looking at Father Goulden, I saw he was very grave, and that he had turned away and was looking at a watch through his glass, and knitting his big white eyebrows. So, knowing he was not pleased, I said:

"I think myself, that would succeed, but before we do anything I would like to have Father Goulden's opinion."

Then he turned round and said:

"Every one is free, Joseph, to follow his own conscience. To make an expiation for the death of Louis XVI. is all very well; honest people of all parties will have nothing to say, if they are royalists, of course; but if you kneel from self-interest, you had better stay at home. As for Louis XVI., I will let him pass, but for Pichegru, Moreau, and Cadoudal, – that is altogether another thing. Pichegru surrendered his troops to the enemy, Moreau fought against France, and George Cadoudal was an assassin, – three kinds of ambitious men, who asked for nothing but to oppress us, and all three deserved their fate. That is what I think."

"But what has all that to do with us, pray?" exclaimed Aunt Grédel. "We will not go for them, we will go to get our permit. I despise all the rest, and so does Joseph, do you not?"

I was greatly embarrassed, for what Father Goulden said seemed to me to be right, and he, seeing this, said:

"I understand the love of young people, Mother Grédel, but we must not use such means to induce a young man to sacrifice what he thinks is right. If Joseph does not hold the same opinion as I do of Pichegru and Moreau and Cadoudal, very well, let him go to the procession. I shall not reproach him for it, but as for me, I shall not go."

"I shall not go either. Mr. Goulden is right," I replied.

I saw Aunt Grédel was displeased, she turned quite red, but was calm again in a moment, and added:

"Very well! Catherine and I will go, because we mock at all those old notions."

Father Goulden could not help smiling as he saw her anger.

"Yes, everybody is free," said he, "to do as he pleases, so do as you like."

Aunt Grédel took up her basket and went away, and he laughed and made a sign to me to go with her. I very quickly had my coat on and overtook her at the corner of the street.

"Listen, Joseph," said she, as she went toward the square, "Father Goulden is an excellent man, but he is an old fool! He has never since I knew him been satisfied with anything. He does not say so, but the Republic is always in his head. He thinks of nothing but his old Republic, when everybody was a sovereign – beggars, tinkers, soap-boilers, Jews, and Christians. There is no sense in it. But what are we to do? If he were not such an excellent man I would not care for him, but we must remember he has taught you a good trade, and done us all many favors, and we owe him great respect, that is why I hurried away, for I was inclined to be angry."

"You did right," I said, "I love Father Goulden like my father, and you like my mother, and nothing could give me so much pain as to see you angry with one another."

"I quarrel with a man like him!" said Aunt Grédel. "I would rather jump out of the window. No, no, but we need not listen to all he says, for I insist that this procession is a good thing for us, that the priest will get the permit for us, and that is the principal thing. Catherine and I will go, and as Mr. Goulden will stay at home, you had best stay too. But I am certain that three-fourths of the town and country round will go, and whether it be for Moreau or Pichegru or Cadoudal it is of no consequence. It will be very fine. You will see!"

"I believe you," I answered.

We had reached the German gate; I kissed her again, and went back quite happy to my work.

III

I recollect this visit of Aunt Grédel because eight days after the processions and atonements and sermons commenced, and did not end till the return of the Emperor in 1815, and then they commenced again and continued till the fall of Charles X. in 1830. Everybody who was then alive knows there was no end to them. So when I think of Napoleon, I hear the cannon of the arsenal thunder and the panes of our windows rattle, and Father Goulden cries out from his bed: "Another victory, Joseph! Ha! ha! ha! Always victories." And when I think of Louis XVIII., I hear the bells ring and I imagine Father Brainstein and his two big boys hanging to the ropes, and I hear Father Goulden laugh and say: "That, Joseph, is for Saint Magloire or Saint Polycarp."

I cannot think of those days in any other way.

Under the Empire I see too at nightfall, Father Coiffé, 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 Grédel 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-Chênes, 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.

IV

Next morning the bells began to ring as soon as it was light. I rose and opened my shutters and saw the red sun rising from behind the Magazine, and over the forest of Bonne-Fontaine. It might have been five o'clock, and you could feel beforehand how hot it was going to be, and the air was laden with the odor of the oak and beech and holly leaves which were strewn in the streets. The peasants began to arrive in companies, talking in the still morning. You could recognize the villagers from Wechem, from Metting, from the Graufthal and Dasenheim, by their three-cornered hats turned down in front and their square coats, and the women with their long black dresses and big bonnets quilted like a mattress hanging on their necks; and those from Dagsberg, Hildehouse, Harberg, and Houpe with their large round felt hats, and the women without bonnets and with short skirts, small, brown, dry, and quick as powder, with the children behind with their shoes in their hands, but when they reached Luterspech they sat down in a row and put them on to be ready for the procession.

Some priests from the different villages, also came by twos and threes, laughing and talking among themselves in the best of humor.

And I thought, as I rested my elbows on the window-sill, that these people must have risen before midnight to reach here so early in the morning, and that they must have come over the mountains walking for hours under the trees, crossing the little bridges in the moonlight; as I thought this I reflected that religion is a beautiful thing, that the people in towns do not know what it is, and that for thousands upon thousands of field laborers and wood-choppers, uncultivated and rude beings, who at the same time were good and loved their wives and children and honored their aged parents, supporting them and closing their eyes in the hope of a better world; this was the only consolation. And in looking at the crowd, I imagined that Aunt Grédel and Catherine had the same thoughts, and I was happy to know that they prayed for me. It grew lighter and lighter, and the bells rang while I continued to look on. I heard Father Goulden rise and dress himself, and a few minutes after he came into my chamber in his shirt-sleeves, and seeing me so thoughtful, he exclaimed:

"Joseph, the most beautiful thing in the world is the religion of the people."

I was quite astonished to hear him express precisely my own thoughts.

"Yes," he added, "the love of God, the love of country and of family, are one and the same thing; but it is sad to see the love of country perverted to satisfy the ambition of a man, and the love of God to exalt the pride and the desire to rule in a few."

These words impressed me deeply, and I have often thought since that they expressed the sad truth. Well! to return to those days, you know that after the siege we were obliged to work on Sundays, because Mr. Goulden while serving as a gunner on the ramparts had neglected his work and we were behindhand. So that on that morning as on the others I lighted the fire in our little stove and prepared the breakfast; the windows were open and we could hear the noise from the streets.

Mr. Goulden leaned out of the window and said: "Look! all the shops except the inns and the beer-houses are closed!"

He laughed, and I asked, "Shall we open our shutters, Mr. Goulden?"

He turned round as if surprised: "Look here, Joseph, I never knew a better boy than you, but you lack sense. Why should we close our shutters? Because God created the world in six days and rested the seventh? But we did not create it ourselves, and we need to work to live. If we shut our shop from interest and pretend to be saints and so gain new customers, that will be hypocrisy. You speak sometimes without thinking."

I saw at once that I was wrong, and I replied: "Mr. Goulden, we will leave our windows open and it will be seen that we have watches to sell, and that will do no harm to any one."

We were no sooner at table than Aunt Grédel and Catherine came. Catherine was dressed entirely in black, on account of the service for Louis XVI. She had a pretty little bonnet of black tulle, and her dress was very nicely made, and this set off her delicate red and white complexion and made her look so beautiful that I could hardly believe that she was Joseph Bertha's beloved; her neck was white as snow, and had it not been for her lips and her rosy little chin, her blue eyes and golden hair, I should have thought that it was some one who resembled her, but who was more beautiful. She laughed when she saw how much I admired her, and at last I said: "Catherine, you are too beautiful now; I dare not kiss you."

"Oh! you need not trouble yourself," said she.

As she leaned upon my shoulder I gave her a long kiss, so that Aunt Grédel and Mr. Goulden looked on and laughed, and I wished them far enough away, that I might tell Catherine that I loved her more and more, and that I would give my life a thousand times for her; but as I could not do that before them, I only thought of these things and was sad.

Aunt had a black dress on also, and her prayer-book was under her arm.

"Come, kiss me too, Joseph; you see I too have a black dress, like Catherine's."

I embraced her, and Mr. Goulden said, "You will come and dine with us – that is understood; but, meanwhile you will take something, will you not?"

"We have breakfasted," replied Aunt Grédel.

"That is nothing; God knows when this procession will end, you will be all the time on your feet, and will need something to sustain you."

Then they sat down, Aunt Grédel on my right, and Catherine on my left, and Father Goulden opposite. They drank a good glass of wine, and aunt said the procession would be very fine, and that there were at least twenty-five priests from the neighborhood round; that Mr. Hubert, the pastor of Quatre Vents, had come, and that the grand altar in the cavalry quarter was higher than the houses; that the pine-trees and poplars around had crape on them, and that the altar was covered with a black cloth. She talked of everything under the sun, while I looked at Catherine, and we thought, without saying anything, "Oh! when will that beggarly minister write and say, 'Get married and leave me alone?'"

At last, toward nine o'clock, and when the second bell had rung, Aunt Grédel said, "That is the second ringing; we will come to dinner as soon as possible."

"Yes, yes, Mother Grédel," replied Mr. Goulden, "we will wait for you."

They rose, and I went down to the foot of the stairs with Catherine in order to embrace her once again, when Aunt Grédel cried, "Let us hurry, let us hurry!"

They went away, and I went back to my work; but from that moment till about eleven o'clock I could do nothing at all. The crowd was so very great that you could hear nothing outside but a ceaseless murmur; the leaves rustled under foot, and when the procession left the church the effect was so impressive that even Mr. Goulden himself stopped his work to listen to the prayers and hymns. I thought of Catherine in the crowd more beautiful than any of the others, with Aunt Grédel near her, repeating "Pray for us, pray for us," in their clear voices. I thought they must be very much fatigued, and all these voices and chants made me dream, and though I held a watch in my hand and tried to work, my mind was not on it. The higher the sun rose the more uneasy I became, till at last Mr. Goulden said, laughing, "Ah! Joseph, it does not go to-day!" and as I blushed rosy red, he continued, "Yes, when I was dreaming of Louisa Bénédum I looked in vain for springs and wheels. I could see nothing but her blue eyes."

He sighed, and I too, thinking, "you are quite right, Mr. Goulden."

"That is enough," he added a moment after, taking the watch from my hands. "Go, child, and find Catherine. You cannot conquer your love, it Is stronger than you."

On hearing this, I wanted to exclaim "Oh, good, excellent man! you can never know how much I love you," but he rose to wipe his hands on a towel behind the door, and I said, "If you really wish it, Mr. Goulden."

"Yes, yes; certainly!"

I did not wait for another word. My heart bounded with joy, I put on my hat and went down the stairs at a leap, exclaiming, "I will be back in an hour, Mr. Goulden."

I was out of doors in a moment, but what a crowd, what a crowd! they swarmed! military hats, felt hats, bonnets, and over all the noise and confusion, the church bell tolled slowly.

For a minute I stood on our own steps, not knowing which way to turn, and seeing at last that it was impossible to take a step in that crowd I turned into the little lane called the Lanche, in order to reach the ramparts and run and wait for the procession at the slope by the German gate, as then it would turn up the rue de Collége. It might have been eleven o'clock. I saw many things that day which have suggested many reflections since; they were the signs of great trouble but nobody noticed them, nobody had the good sense to comprehend their significance. It was only later, when everybody was up to their necks in trouble, when we were obliged to take our knapsacks and guns, again to be cut in pieces; then they said, "if we had only had good sense and justice and prudence we should have been so much better off, we should have been quiet at home instead of this breaking up, which is coming; we can do nothing but be quiet and submit; what a misfortune!"