The Conscript. Erckmann-Chatrian

they rarely entered; the high windows, with blinds, remained closed; but there was light enough for what I had to do. I passed then through the kitchen and regulated the antique clock, which was a magnificent piece of work of white marble. Mademoiselle Louise looked on.

      "You have company, Mademoiselle Louise?" said I.

      "No, but monsieur ordered me to let no one in."

      "You are very cheerful here."

      "Ah! yes," she said; "and it is for the first time in years; I don't know what is the matter."

      My work done, I left the house, meditating on these occurrences, which seemed to me strange. The idea never entered my mind that they were rejoicing at our defeat.

      Then I turned the corner of the street to go to Father Féral's, who was called the "Standard-bearer," because, at the age of forty-five, he, a blacksmith, and for many years the father of a family, had carried the colors of the volunteers of Phalsbourg in '92, and only returned after the Zurich campaign. He had his three sons in the army of Russia, Jean, Louis, and George Féral. George was commandant of dragoons; the two others, officers of infantry.

      I imagined the grief of Father Féral while I was going, but it was nothing to what I saw when I entered his room. The poor old man, blind and bald, was sitting in an arm-chair behind the stove, his head bowed upon his breast, and his sightless eyes open, and staring as if he saw his three sons stretched at his feet. He did not speak, but great drops of sweat rolled down his forehead on his long, thin cheeks, while his face was pale as that of a corpse. Four or five of his old comrades of the times of the Republic—Father Desmarets, Father Nivoi, old Paradis, and tall old Froissard—had come to console him. They sat around him in silence, smoking their pipes, and looking as if they themselves needed comfort.

      From time to time one or the other would say: "Come, come, Féral! are we no longer veterans of the army of the Sambre-and-Meuse?"

      Or,

      "Courage, Standard-bearer: courage! Did we not carry the battery at Fleurus?"

      Or some other similar remark.

      But he did not reply; every minute he sighed, his aged, hollow cheeks swelled; then he leaned over, and the old friends made signs to each other, shaking their heads, as if to say:

      "This looks bad."

      I hastened to regulate the clock and depart, for to see the poor old man in such a plight made my heart bleed.

      When I arrived at home, I found Monsieur Goulden at his work-bench.

      "You are returned, Joseph," said he. "Well?"

      "Well, Monsieur Goulden, you had reason to stay away; it is terrible."

      And I told him all in detail.

      "Yes; I knew it all," said he, sadly, "but our misfortunes are only beginning; these Prussians and Austrians and Russians and Spaniards—all the nations we have been beating since eighteen hundred and four, are now taking advantage of our ill luck to fall upon us. We gave them kings and queens they did not know from Adam nor Eve, and whom they did not want, it seems, and now they are going to bring back the old ones with all their trains of nobles, and after pouring out our blood for the Emperor's brothers, we are about losing all we gained by the Revolution. Instead of being first among the first we will be last among the last. While you were away I was thinking of all this; it is unavoidable—We relied upon soldiers alone, and now that we have no more, we are nothing."

      He arose. I set the table, and, whilst we were dining in silence, the bells of the steeples began to ring.

      "Some one is dead in the city," said Monsieur Goulden.

      "Indeed? I did not hear of it."

      Ten minutes after, the Rabbi Rose came in to have a glass put in his watch.

      "Who is dead?" asked Monsieur Goulden.

      "Poor old Standard-bearer."

      "What! Father Féral?"

      "Yes, near an hour ago. Father Desmarets and several others tried to comfort him; at last he asked them to read to him the last letter of his son George, the commandant of dragoons, in which he says that next spring he hoped to embrace his father with a colonel's epaulettes. As the old man heard this, he tried to rise, but fell back with his head upon his knees. That letter had broken his heart."

      Monsieur Goulden made no remark on the news.

      "Here is your watch, Monsieur Rose," said he, handing it back to the rabbi; "it is twelve sous."

      Monsieur Rose departed, and we finished our dinner in silence.

V

       Table of Contents

      A few days after, the gazette announced that the Emperor was in Paris, and that the King of Rome and the Empress Marie-Louise were about to be crowned. Monsieur the Mayor, his coadjutor and the municipal councillors now spoke only of the rights of the throne, and Professor Burguet, the elder, wrote a speech on the subject which Baron Parmentier read. But all this produced but little effect on the people, because every one was afraid of being carried off by the conscription, and knew that many more soldiers were needed; all were in trouble, and I grew thinner day by day. In vain would Monsieur Goulden say: "Fear nothing, Joseph; you cannot march. Consider, my child, that any one as lame as you would give out at the end of the first mile."

      But all this did not lessen my uneasiness.

      Monsieur Goulden, often, too, when we were alone at work, would say to me:

      "If those who are now masters, and who tell us that God placed them here on earth to make us happy, would foresee at the beginning of a campaign the poor old men, the hapless mothers, whose very hearts they have torn away to satisfy their pride—if they could see the tears and hear the groans of these poor people when they are coldly told 'Your son is dead; you will see him no more; he perished, crushed by horses' hoofs, or torn to pieces by a cannon-ball, or died mayhap afar off in a hospital, after having his arm or leg cut off—burning with fever, without one kind word to console him, but calling for his parents as when he was an infant,'—if, I say, these haughty ones of earth could thus see the tears of those mothers, I do not believe that one among them would be barbarous enough to continue the war. But they think nothing of this; they think other folks do not love their children as they love theirs; they think people are no more than beasts. They are wrong; all their great genius, their lofty notions of glory, are as nothing, for there is only one thing for which a people should fly to arms—men, women, children—old and young. It is when their liberty is assailed as ours was in '92—then all should die or conquer together; he who remains behind is a coward, who would have others fight for him;—the victory then is not for a few, but for all;—then sons and fathers are defending their families; if they are killed, it is a misfortune, to be sure, but they die for their rights. Such a man, Joseph, is the only just one, the one of which no one can complain; all others are shameful, and the glory they bring is not glory fit for a man, but only for a wild beast."

      On the eighth of January, a huge placard was posted on the town-hall, stating that the Emperor would levy, after a senatus-consultus, as they said in those days, in the first place, one hundred and fifty thousand conscripts of 1813; then one hundred cohortes of the first call of 1812 who thought they had already escaped; then one hundred thousand conscripts of from 1809 to 1812, and so on to the end; so that every loop-hole was closed, and we would have a larger army than before the Russian expedition.

      When Father Fouze, the glazier, came to us with this news, one morning, I almost fell, through faintness, for I thought:

      "Now they will take all, even fathers of families. I am lost!"

      Monsieur Goulden poured some water on my neck; my arms hung useless by my side; I was pale as a corpse.

      But