The Erckmann-Chatrian Megapack: 20 Classic Novels and Short Stories

by Émile Erckmann

  CHAPTER VII

  Two days afterward I was married to Catherine at Aunt Grédel’s at Quatre Vents. Mr. Goulden represented my father. Zébédé was my best man, and some old comrades remaining from the battalion were also at the wedding. The next day we were installed in our two little rooms over the workshop at Father Goulden’s, Catherine and I. Many years have rolled away since then! Mr. Goulden, Aunt Grédel, and the old comrades have all passed away, and Catherine’s hair is as white as snow! Yet often, even now, when I look at her, those times come back again, and I see her as she was at twenty, fresh and rosy, I see her arrange the flower-pots in the chamber-window, I hear her singing to herself, I see the sun opposite, and then we descend the steep little staircase and say together, as we go into the workshop: “Good-morning, Mr. Goulden;” he turns, smiles, and answers, “Good-morning, my children, good-morning!” Then he kisses Catherine and she commences to sweep and rub the furniture and prepare the soup, while we examine the work we have to do during the day.

  Ah, those beautiful days, that charming life. What joy in being young and in having a simple, good, and industrious wife! How our hearts rejoice, and the future spreads out so far—so far—before us! We shall never be old; we shall always love each other, and always keep those we love! We shall always be of good heart; we shall always take our Sunday walk arm in arm to Bonne-Fontaine; we shall always sit on the moss in the woods, and hear the bees and May bugs buzzing in the great trees filled with light; we shall always smile! What a life! what a life!

  And at night we shall go softly home to the nest, as we silently look at the golden trains which spread over the sky from Wecham to the forests of Mittelbronn, we shall press each other’s hand when we hear the little clock at Pfalzbourg ring out the “Angelus,” and those of all the villages will respond through the twilight. Oh, youth! oh, life!

  All is before me just as it was fifty years ago; but other sparrows and larks sing and build in the spring, other blossoms whiten the great apple-trees. And have we changed too, and grown old like the old people of those days? That alone makes me believe that we shall become young again, that we shall renew our loves and rejoin Father Goulden and Aunt Grédel and all our dear friends. Otherwise we should be too unhappy in growing old. God would not send us pain without hope. And Catherine believes it too. Well! at that time we were perfectly happy, everything was beautiful to us, nothing troubled our joy.

  It was when the allies were passing through our city by hundreds of thousands on their way home. Cavalry, artillery, infantry, foot and horse, with oak leaves in their shakos, on their caps, and on the ends of their muskets and lances. They shouted so that you could hear them a league away. Just as you hear the chaffinches, thrushes, and blackbirds, and thousands of other birds in the autumn. At any other time this would have made me sad, because it was the sign of our defeat, but I consoled myself by thinking that they were going away, never to return. And when Zébédé came to tell me that every day the Russian, Austrian, Prussian, and Bavarian officers crossed the city to visit our new commandant, Mons. de la Faisanderie, who was an old émigré, and who covered them with honors—that such an officer of the battalion had provoked one of these strangers, and that such another half-pay officer had killed two or three in duels at the “Roulette,” or the “Green Tree,” or the “Flower Basket,” for they were everywhere—our soldiers could not bear the sight of the foreigners, there were fights everywhere, and the litters of the hospital were constantly going and coming—when Zébédé told me all these things, and when he said that so many officers had been put upon half-pay in order to replace them by officers from Coblentz, and that the soldiers were to be compelled to go to mass in full uniform, that the priests were everything and epaulettes nothing any more; instead of being vexed, I only said, “Bah! all these things will get settled by and by. So long as we can have quiet, and can live and labor in peace, we will be satisfied.”

  I did not think that it is not enough that one is satisfied; to preserve peace and tranquillity, all must be so likewise. I was like Aunt Grédel, who found everything right now that we were married. She came very often to see us, with her basket full of fresh eggs, fruits, vegetables, and cakes for our housekeeping, and she would say:

  “Oh! Mr. Goulden, there is no need to ask if the children are well, you have only to look at their faces.”

  And to me she would say: “There is some difference, Joseph, between being married, and trudging along under a knapsack and musket at Lutzen!”

  “I believe you, Mamma Grédel,” I would answer.

  Then she would sit down, with her hands on her knees, and say: “All this comes from peace; peace makes everybody happy, and to think of that mob of barefoot beggars who shout against the King!”

  At first Mr. Goulden, who was at work, would say nothing, but when she kept on he would say, “Come, Mother Grédel, a little moderation, you know that opinion is free now, we have two chambers and constitution, and each one has a voice.”

  “But it is also true,” said aunt looking at me maliciously, “that one must hold his tongue from time to time, and that shows a difference too.”

  Mr. Goulden never went farther than this, for he looked upon aunt as a good woman, but who was not worth the trouble of converting. He would only laugh when she went too far, and matters went on without jarring until something new happened. At first there was an order from Nancy to compel the people to close all their shutters during service on Sunday—Jews, Lutherans, and all. There was no more noise in the inns and wine-shops, it was still as death in the city during mass and vespers. The people said nothing, but looked at each other as if they were afraid.

  The first Sunday that our shutters were closed, Mr. Goulden seemed very sad, and said, as we were dining in the dark, “I had hoped, my children, that all this was over, and that people would have common-sense, and that we should be tranquil for years, but unhappily I see that these Bourbons are of the same race as Dagobert. Affairs are growing serious.”

  He did not say anything else on this Sunday, and went out in the afternoon to read the papers. Everybody who could read went, while the peasants were at mass, to read the papers after shutting their shops. The citizens and master-workmen then got in the habit of reading the papers, and a little later they wanted a Casino. I remember that everybody talked of Benjamin Constant and placed great confidence in him. Mr. Goulden liked him very much, and as he was accustomed to go every evening to Father Colin’s, to read of what had taken place, we also heard the news. He told us that the Duke d’Angoulême was at Bordeaux, the Count d’Artois at Marseilles, they had promised this, and they had said that.

  Catherine was more curious than I, she liked to hear all the news there was in the country, and when Mr. Goulden said anything, I could see in her eyes that she thought he was right. One evening he said, “The Duke de Berry is coming here.”

  We were greatly astonished. “What is he going to do here, Mr. Goulden?” asked Catherine.

  “He is coming to review the regiment,” he answered, “I have a great curiosity to see him. The papers say that he looks like Bonaparte, but that he has a great deal more mind. It is not astonishing for if a legitimate prince had no more sense than the son of a peasant it would be a great pity. But you have seen Bonaparte, Joseph, and you can judge of the matter.”

  You can imagine how this news excited the country. From that day nothing was thought of but erecting triumphal arches, and making white flags, and the people from all the villages kept coming with their carts covered with garlands. They raised a triumphal arch at Pfalzbourg and another near Saverne. Every evening after supper Catherine and I went out to see how the work progressed. It was between the hotel “de la Ville de Metz” and the shop of the confectioner Dürr, right across the street. The old carpenter Ulrich and his boys built it. It was like a great gate covered with garlands of oak leaves, and over the front were displayed magnificent white flags.

  While they were doing this, Zébédé came to s
ee us several times. The prince was to come from Metz, the regiment had received letters, which represented him as being as severe as if he had gained fifty battles. But what vexed Zébédé most was, that the prince called our old officers, “Soldiers of fortune.”

  He arrived the 1st of October, at six in the evening, we heard the cannon when he was at Gerberhoff. He alighted at the “Ville de Metz,” without going under the arch. The square was crowded with officers in full uniform, and from all the windows the people shouted, “Long live the King, Long live the Duke de Berry,” just as they cried in the time of Napoleon, “Long live the Emperor.”

  Mr. Goulden and Catherine and I could not get near because of the crowd, and we only saw the carriages and the hussars file past. A picket near our house cut off all communication. That same evening he received the corps of officers and condescended to accept a dinner offered to him by the Sixth, but he only invited Colonel Zaepfel. After the dinner, from which they did not rise till ten o’clock, the principal citizens gave a ball at the college. All the officers and all the friends of the Bourbons were present in black coats, and breeches and stockings of white silk, to meet the prince, and the young girls of good families were there in crowds, dressed in white. I still seem to hear the horses of the escort as they passed in the middle of the night amid the thousands shouting “Vive le Roi! Vive le Duc de Berry!”

  All the windows were illuminated, and before those of the commandant there was a great shield of sky blue, and the crown and the three fleur-de-lis in gold, sparkled in the centre. The great hall of the college echoed with the music of the regimental band.

  Mademoiselle Bremer, who had a very fine voice, was to sing the air of “Vive Henri IV.” before the prince. But all the village knew the next day, that she had been so confused by the sight of the prince, that she could not utter a word, and everybody said, “Poor Mademoiselle Félicité, poor Mademoiselle Félicité.”

  The ball lasted all night. We—Mr. Goulden, Catherine, and I—were asleep, when about three in the morning we were wakened by the hussars going by and the shouts of “Vive le Duc de Berry.” These princes must have excellent health to be able to go to all the balls and dinners which are offered to them on their journeys. And it must become very tiresome at last to be called “Your Majesty,” “Your Excellence,” “Your Goodness,” and “Your Justice,” and everything else that can be thought of, that is new and extraordinary, in order to make them believe that the people adore them and look upon them as gods. If they do despise the men at last it is not astonishing. If the same thing were done to us we might think ourselves eagles too.

  What I have told you is exactly the truth. I have exaggerated nothing.

  The next day they began again with new enthusiasm. The weather was very fine, but as the prince had slept badly, and the children who wished to imitate the court without succeeding, annoyed him, and he thought perhaps, that they had not done him sufficient honor and had not shouted “Vive le Roi, Vive le Duc de Berry” loud and long enough—for all the soldiers kept silent—he was in a very bad humor.

  I saw him very well that day, while the review was taking place—the soldiers occupied the sides of the square, we were at Wittman’s, the leather merchant, on the first floor—and also during the consecration of the flag and the Te Deum at the church, for we had the fourth pew in front of the choir. They said he looked like Napoleon, but it was not true; he was a good-looking fat fellow, short and thick, and pale with fatigue, and not at all lively, quite the contrary. During the service he did nothing but yawn and rock back and forth like a pendulum. I am telling you what I saw myself, and that shows how blind people are, they want to find resemblances everywhere.

  During the review, too, I remembered that the Emperor always came on horseback, and so would discover at a glance if everything was in order; instead of this, the duke came along the ranks on foot, and two or three times he found fault with old soldiers, examining them from head to foot. That was the worst. Zébédé was one of these men, and he never could forgive him.

  That was well enough for the review, but a more serious thing was the distribution of the crosses and the fleur-de-lis. When I tell you that all the mayors and their assistants, the councillors from the Baraques-d’en-Haut and the Baraques-du-bois-de-Chênes, from Holderloch and Hirschland, received the fleur-de-lis because they headed their village deputations with a white flag, and that Pinacle received the cross of honor, for having arrived first with the band of the Bohemian, Waldteufel, who played “Vive Henri IV.,” and had five or six white flags larger than the others; when I tell you that, you will understand what reasonable people thought. It was a real scandal!

  In the afternoon about four o’clock, the prince left for Strasbourg, accompanied by all the royalists in the country on horseback, some on good mounts, and others, like Pinacle, on old hacks.

  One event the Pfalzbourgers of that day remember until this, and that is, that after the prince was seated in his carriage and was driving slowly away, one of the émigré officers with his head uncovered and in uniform, ran after him, crying in a pitiful voice, “Bread, my prince, bread for my children!” That made the people blush, and they ran away for shame.

  We went home in silence, Father Goulden was lost in thought, when Aunt Grédel arrived.

  “Well! Mother Grédel, you ought to be satisfied,” said he.

  “And why?”

  “Because Pinacle has been decorated.”

  She turned quite livid, and said after a minute:

  “That is the greatest trumpery that ever was seen. If the prince had known what he is, he would have hung him rather than decorate him with the cross of honor.”

  “That is just the trouble,” said Mr. Goulden, “those people do many such things without knowing it, and when they do know, it is too late.”

  CHAPTER VIII

  So it was that Monseigneur the Duke de Berry, visited the departments of the East. Every word he uttered was taken up and repeated again and again. Some praised his exceeding graciousness, and others kept silence. From that time I suspected that all these émigrés and officers on half-pay, these preachers with their processions and their expiations, would overturn everything again, and about the beginning of winter we heard that not only with us, but all over Alsace affairs were growing worse and worse in just the same way.

  One morning between eleven and twelve Father Goulden and I were both at work, each one thinking after his own fashion, and Catherine was laying the cloth. I started to go out to wash my hands at the pump, as I always did before dinner, when I saw an old woman wiping her feet on the straw mat at the foot of the stairs and shaking her skirts which were covered with mud. She had a stout staff, and a large rosary hung from her neck. As I looked at her from the top of the stairs, she began to come up and I recognized her immediately by the folds about her eyes and the innumerable wrinkles round her little mouth, as Anna-Marie, the pilgrim of St. Witt. The poor old woman often brought us watches to mend, from pious people who had confidence in her, and Mr. Goulden was always delighted to see her.

  “Ah!” he exclaimed, “it is Anne-Marie! now we shall have the news. And how is Mr. Such-an-one, the priest? How is the Vicar So-and-So? Does he still look as well as ever? and Mr. Jacob, of such a place. And the old sexton, Niclausse, does he still ring the bells at Dann, and at Hirschland, and Saint Jean? He must begin to look old?”

  “Ah! Mr. Goulden, thanks for Mr. Jacob, you know that he lost Mademoiselle Christine last week.”

  “What! Mademoiselle Christine?”

  “Yes, indeed?”

  “What a misfortune! but we must remember that we are all mortal!”

  “Yes, Mr. Goulden, and when one is so fortunate as to receive the holy consolations of the Church.”

  “Certainly—certainly, that is the principal thing.”

  So they talked on, Father Goulden laughing in his sleeve. She knew everything that happened within six leagues round the city. He looked mischievously at me from time
to time. This same thing had happened a hundred times during my apprenticeship, but you will understand how much more curious he was now to learn all that was going on in the country.

  “Ah! it is really Anna-Marie!” said he rising, “it is a long time since we have seen you.”

  “Three months, Mr. Goulden, three long months. I have made pilgrimages to Saint Witt, to Saint Odille, to Marienthal, to Hazlach, and I have vows for all the saints in Alsace, in Lorraine, and in the Vosges. But now I have nearly finished, only Saint Quirin remains.”

  “Ah! so much the better, your affairs go on well, and that gives me pleasure. Sit down, Anna-Marie, sit down and rest yourself.”

  I saw in his eyes how happy he was to have her unroll her budget of news. But it appeared she had other matters to attend to.

  “Oh! Mr. Goulden,” said she. “I cannot today. Others are before me, Mother Evig, Gaspard Rosenkranz, and Jacob Heilig. I must go to Saint Quirin, to-night. I only just came in to tell you that the clock at Dosenheim is out of order, and that they are expecting you to repair it.”

  “Pshaw! pshaw! stay a moment.”

  “No, I cannot, I am very sorry, Mr. Goulden, but I must finish my round.”

  She had already taken up her bundle, and Mr. Goulden seemed greatly disappointed; when Catherine put a great dish of cabbage on the table, and said, “What! are you going, Anna-Marie? you cannot think of it! here is your plate!”

  She turned her head and saw the smoking soup and the cabbage, which exhaled a most delicious odor.

  “I am in a great hurry,” said she.

  “Oh! pshaw! you have very good legs,” said Catherine, glancing at Mr. Goulden.