Chapter 14

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_ CHAPTER XIV

Our confidence returned a little after I worked at the arsenal, but still we were anxious, for hundreds of men on furloughs for six months, conscripts, and old soldiers enlisted for one campaign, passed through the town in citizens' clothes but with knapsacks on their backs. They all shouted "Vive l'Empereur!" and seemed to be furious. In the great hall of the town-house they received one a cloak, another a shako, and others epaulettes and gaiters and shoes, at the expense of the department, and off they went, and I wished them a pleasant journey. All the tailors in town were making uniforms by contract, the gendarmes gave up their horses to mount the cavalry, and the mayor, Baron Parmentier, urged the young men of sixteen and seventeen to join the partisans of Colonel Bruce, who defended the defiles of the Zorne, the Zinselle, and the Saar.

The baron was going to the "Champ de Mai," and his enthusiasm redoubled. "Go!" cried he, "courage!" as he spoke to them of the Romans who fought for their country. I thought to myself as I listened to him, "If you think all that so beautiful why do you not go yourself."

You can imagine with what courage I worked at the arsenal; nothing was too much for me. I would have passed night and day in mending the guns and adjusting the bayonets and tightening the screws. When the commandant, Mr. Montravel, came to see us, he praised me.

"Excellent!" said he, "that is good! I am pleased with you, Bertha."

These words filled me with satisfaction, and I did not fail to report them to Catherine, in order to raise her spirits. We were almost certain that Mr. Montravel would keep me at Pfalzbourg.

The gazettes were full of the new constitution, which they called the "Additional Act," and the act of the "Champ de Mai." Mr. Goulden always had something to say, sometimes about one article and sometimes another, but I mixed no more in these affairs, and repented of having complained of the processions and expiations; I had had enough of politics.

This lasted till the 23d of May. That morning about ten o'clock I was in the great hall of the arsenal, filling the boxes with guns. The great door was wide open, and the men were waiting with their wagons before the bullet park, to load up the boxes. I had nailed the last one, when Robert, the guard, touched me on the shoulder and said in my ear:

"Bertha, the Commandant Montravel wishes to see you. He is in the pavilion."

"What does he want of me?"

"I do not know."

I was afraid directly, but I went at once. I crossed the grand court, near the sheds for the gun-carriages, mounted the stairs, and knocked softly at the door.

"Come in," said the commandant.

I opened the door all in a tremble, and stood with my cap in my hand. Mr. Montravel was a tall, brown, thin man, with a little stoop in his shoulders. He was walking hastily up and down his room, in the midst of his books and maps, and arms hung on the wall.

"Ah! Bertha, it is you, is it? I have disagreeable news to tell you, the third battalion to which you belong leaves for Metz."

On hearing this my heart sank, and I could not say a word. He looked at me, and after a moment he added:

"Do not be troubled, you have been married for several months, and you are a good workman, and that deserves consideration. You will give this letter to Colonel Desmichels at the arsenal at Metz; he is one of my friends, and will find employment in some of his workshops for you, you may be certain."

I took the letter which he handed me, thanked him, and went home filled with alarm. Zebede, Mr. Goulden, and Catherine were talking together in the shop, distress was written on every face. They knew everything. "The third battalion is going," I said as I entered, "but Mr. Montravel has just given me a letter to the director of the arsenal at Metz. Do not be anxious, I shall not make the campaign."

I was almost choking. Mr. Goulden took the letter and said, "It is open; we can read it."

Then he read the letter, in which Mr. Montravel recommended me to his friend, saying that I was married, a good workman, industrious, and that I could render real service at the arsenal. He could have said nothing better.

"Now the matter is certain," said Zebede.

"Yes, you will be retained in the arsenal at Metz," said Father Goulden.

Catherine was very pale, she kissed me and said, "What happiness, Joseph!"

They all pretended to believe that I should remain at Metz, and I tried to hide my fears from them. But the effort almost suffocated me, and I could hardly avoid sobbing, when happily I thought I would go and announce the news to Aunt Gredel. So I said, "Although it will not be very long, and I shall stay in Metz, yet I must go and tell the good news to Aunt Gredel. I will be back between five and six, and Catherine will have time to prepare my haversack, and we will have supper."

"Yes, Joseph, go!" said Father Goulden. Catherine said not a word, for she could hardly restrain her tears. I set off like a madman. Zebede, who was returning to the barracks, told me at the door, that the officer in charge at the town-house would give me my uniform, and that I must be there about five o'clock. I listened, as if in a dream, to his words, and ran till I was outside of the city. Once on the glacis I ran on without knowing where, in the trenches, and by the Trois-Chateaux and the Baraques-a-en-haut, and along the forest to Quatre Vents.

I cannot describe to you the thoughts that ran through my brain. I was bewildered, and wanted to run away to Switzerland. But the worst of all was when I approached Quatre Vents by the path along the Daun. It was about three o'clock. Aunt Gredel was putting up some poles for her beans, in the rear of the garden, and she saw me in the distance, and said to herself:

"Why it is Joseph! what is he doing in the grain?"

But when I got into the road, which was full of ruts and sand and which the sun made as hot as a furnace, I went on more slowly with my head bent down, thinking I should never dare to go in, when, suddenly aunt exclaimed from behind the hedge, "Is it you, Joseph?"

Then I shivered. "Yes, it is I."

She ran out into the little elder alley, and seeing me so pale she said, "I know why you have come, you are going away!"

"Yes," I replied, "the others are going, but I am to stay in Metz; it is very fortunate."

She said nothing, and we went into the kitchen, which was very cool compared with the heat outside. She sat down, and I read her the commandant's letter. She listened to it, and repeated, "Yes, it is very fortunate."

And we sat and looked at each other without speaking a word, and then she took my head between her hands and kissed me, and embraced me for a long time, and I could see she was crying, though she did not say a word.

"You weep," said I, "but since I am to stay in Metz!"

Still she did not speak, but went and brought some wine. I took a glass, and she asked, "What does Catherine say?"

"She is glad that I am to remain at the arsenal; and Mr. Goulden also."

"That is well; and are they preparing what you need?"

"Yes, Aunt Gredel, and I must be at the city hall before five o'clock to receive my uniform."

"Well! then you must go; kiss me, Joseph. I will not go with you. I do not wish to see the battalion leave--I will stay here. I must live a long while yet--Catherine has need of me--" here her restraint gave way.

Suddenly she checked herself, and said, "At what time do you leave?"

"To-morrow, at seven o'clock, Mamma Gredel."

"Well! at eight o'clock I will be there. You will be far away, but you will know that the mother of your wife is there, that she will take care of her daughter, that she loves you, that she has only you in the whole world."

The courageous woman sobbed aloud; she accompanied me to the door, and I left her. It seemed as if I had not a drop of blood left in my veins. Just as the clock struck five I reached the town-house. I went up and saw that hall again where I had lost, that cursed hall where everybody drew unlucky numbers. I received a cloak and coat, pantaloons, gaiters, and shoes. Zebede, who was waiting for me, told one of the musketeers to take them to the mess-room.

"You will come early and put them on," said he; "your musket and knapsack have been in the rack since morning."

"Come with me," said I.

"No, I cannot, the sight of Catherine breaks my heart; and besides I must stay with my father. Who knows whether I shall find the old man alive at the end of a year? I promised to take supper with you, but I shall not go."

I was obliged to go home alone. My haversack was all ready; my old haversack, the only thing I had saved from Hanau, as my head rested on it in the wagon. Mr. Goulden was at work. He turned round without speaking, and I asked, "Where is Catherine?"

"She is upstairs."

I knew she was crying, and I wanted to go up, but my legs and my courage both failed me.

I told Mr. Goulden of my visit to Quatre-Vents, and then we sat and waited, thinking, without daring to look each other in the face. It was already dark when Catherine came down. She laid the table in the twilight, and then I took her hand, and made her sit down on my knee, and we remained so for half an hour.

Then Mr. Goulden asked:

"Is not Zebede coming?"

"No, he cannot come."

"Well! let us take our supper then."

But no one was hungry. Catherine removed the table about nine o'clock, and we all retired. It was the most terrible night I ever passed in my life. Catherine was in a deathly swoon. I called her, but she did not answer. At midnight I wakened Mr. Goulden, and he dressed himself and came up to our chamber. We gave her some sugar-water, when she revived and got up. I cannot tell you everything; I only know that she sank at my feet and begged me not to abandon her, as if I did it voluntarily! but she was crazed. Mr. Goulden wanted to call a doctor, but I prevented him. Toward morning she recovered entirely, and after a long fit of weeping, she fell asleep in my arms. I did not even dare to embrace her, and we went out softly and left her.

When we feel all the miseries of life, we exclaim: "Why are we in the world? Why did we not sleep through the eternal ages? What have we done, that we must see those we love suffer, when we are not in fault? It is not God, but man, who breaks our hearts."

After we went downstairs Mr. Goulden said to me, "She is asleep, she knows nothing of it all, and that is a blessing; you will go before she wakes." I thanked God for His goodness, and we sat waiting for the least sound, till at last the drums beat the assembly. Then Mr. Goulden looked at me very gravely, we rose, and he buckled my knapsack on my shoulders in silence.

At last he said: "Joseph, go and see the commandant in Metz, but count upon nothing; the danger is so great that France has need of all her children for her defence, and this time it is not a question of acquiring from others, but of saving our own country. Remember that it is yourself and your wife and all that is dearest to you in the world that is at stake." We went down to the street in silence, embraced each other, and then I went to the barracks. Zebede took me to the mess-room and I put on my uniform. All that I remember after so many years is, that Zebede's father, who was there, took my clothes and made them into a bundle and said he would take them home after our departure; and the battalion filed out by the little rue de Lanche through the French gate. A few children ran after us, and the soldiers on guard presented arms; we were _en route_ for _Waterloo_. _

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