Tom and Maggie went downstairs together, and Maggie spoke. "Tom, forgive me; let us always love each other"--and they clung and wept together.
But they were not to be always united.
Tom lived in lodgings in the town, and was anxious to provide for his sister, but Maggie preferred to take up teaching in her old boarding- school. She met Philip Wakem again, and though Tom released her from her old promise, he could not regard Philip with any feelings of friendship.
It was when Tom had, by years of steady work, fulfilled his father"s wishes and become once more master of Dorlcote Mill that Maggie returned--to be no more separated from her brother. She was staying in the town near the river on the night when the flood came, and the river rose beyond its banks. Her first thought, as the water entered the lower part of the house, was of the mill, where Tom was. There was no time to get a.s.sistance; she must go herself, and alone. Hastily she procured a boat, and at last reached the mill. The water was up to the first story, but still the mill stood firm.
"Tom, where are you? Here is Maggie!" she called out, in a loud, piercing voice. Tom opened the middle window, and got into the boat. Tom rowed with vigour, but a new danger was before them in the river.
"Get out of the current!" was shouted at them, but it could not be done at once. Huge fragments of machinery, swept off one of the wharves, blocked the stream in one wide ma.s.s, and the current swept the boat swiftly on to its doom.
"It is coming, Maggie!" Tom said, in a deep, hoa.r.s.e voice, loosing the oars and clasping her.
The next instant the boat was no longer seen upon the water, and brother and sister had gone down in an embrace never to be parted; living through again in one supreme moment the days when they had clasped their little hands in love.
"In their death they were not divided."
ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN
Waterloo
Emile Erckmann was born at Phalsbourg, in Alsace, on May 20, 1822, and Alexandre Chatrian, at Soldatenthal, on December 18, 1826. Erckmann, the son of a bookseller, became a law student, and was admitted to the Bar in 1858. But the law studies were always uncongenial, and Erckmann meeting Chatrian as a fellow student in the gymnasium at Phalsbourg, the two young men decided to join forces in authorship. The Erckmann-Chatrian partnership lasted from 1860 to 1885, and resulted in a remarkable series of novels, short stories, plays, and operas.
"Waterloo" was published in 1865, and has enjoyed a wide popularity in many languages. Like "The Conscript," its predecessor, the charm of "Waterloo" consists largely in the character of Joseph Bertha, the young clockmaker of Phalsbourg, who tells the story. Bertha is a peaceful citizen who hates war and has no taste for glory. Yet he is nothing of a coward, and behaves like a man when he is forced to fight.
To the student of history, the light thrown on the rise and fall of the Bourbon popularity in France, 1813-14, in this novel, will always be of interest. Chatrian died in Paris on September 4, 1890, and Erckmann at Luneville, on March 14, 1899.
_I.--Napoleon Returns_
Never was anything so joyous as the spring of 1814 Louis XVIII. was king, and the war was over. All except the old soldiers were content; and only when the n.o.bles, who had fled at the Revolution, returned, and it was said that they were going to bring back all their old ideas, did M. Goulden express any dissatisfaction. There were great religious processions everywhere and expiatory services, and talk of rebuilding all the convents, and setting up the n.o.bles again in their castles. But these things did not trouble me, because I was married to Catherine, and knew nothing about politics.
The treatment of the old soldiers enraged me. On the day of the religious procession at Phalsbourg, half a dozen old veterans, restored prisoners, were set upon in our town by that rascal Pinacle and the people of Baraques, and knocked about. Pinacle did this to curry favour with Louis XVIII., and M. Goulden warned us that if ruffians like Pinacle got the upper hand it would open people"s eyes.
Sure enough, Pinacle received the cross of honour in the autumn when the Duc de Berry came to review the troops at Phalsbourg, and even Aunt Gredel, who was fond of abusing Napoleon and the Jacobins, and applauding the king and the clergy, thought this a shameful thing.
It really was scandalous the way t.i.tles and honours were given to worthless people who shouted for the king. Worse than this was the way Napoleon"s old officers were treated. Men who had fought and bled for France for twenty years were now well-nigh starving, driven out of the army to make room for the king"s favourites.
We read all this in the "Gazette," and Zebede, who had come back alive and in time for my wedding, and was still in the army, would often come in and tell us of the growing indignation of the soldiers. The whole of that winter the indignation was spreading in the town at the sight of so many brave officers, the heroes of Marengo, Austerlitz, and Wagram, wandering forlornly about, starving on half-pay, and deprived of their posts.
How well I remember one day in January, 1815, two of these officers, pale and gaunt, coming into the workshop to sell a watch.
M. Goulden examined the watch with great care and said, "Do not be offended, gentlemen; I, too, served France under the Republic, and I know it must cut to the heart to be forced to sell something which recalls sacred memories."
"It was given me by Prince Eugene," said one of the officers, Commandant Margarot, a hussar.
"It is worth more than 1,000 francs," said M. Goulden, "and I cannot afford to buy it. But I will advance you 200 francs, and the watch shall remain here if you like, and shall be yours whenever you come to reclaim it."
The old hussar broke down at this, and though his comrade, Colonel Falconette, tried to restrain him, he poured forth thanks and bitter words against the government.
From that time it always seemed to me that things would end badly, and that the n.o.bles had gone too far. The old commandant had said that the government behaved like Cossacks to the army, and this was horrible.
M. Goulden read the "Gazette" aloud to us every day, and both Catherine and I were pleased to find there were men in Paris maintaining the very things we thought ourselves.
All this time the clergy were going on with their processions, and sermons were being preached about the rebellion of 1790, the rest.i.tution of property to the landowners, and the re-establishment of convents, and the need for missionaries for the conversion of France. From such ideas what good could come?
It is no wonder that when a report came early in March that Napoleon had landed at Cannes and was marching on Paris we were all very agitated at Phalsbourg.
"It is plain," said M. Goulden, "that the emperor will reach Paris. The soldiers are for him; so are the peasantry, whose property is threatened; and so are the middle cla.s.ses, provided he will make treaties of peace."
_II.--"Vive l"Empereur!"_
For some days, though all knew Napoleon had set foot in France, no one dared talk of it aloud. Only the looks of the half-pay officers betrayed their anxiety. If they had possessed horses and arms I am sure they would have set out to meet their emperor.
On March 8, Zebede entered our house and said abruptly, "The two first batallions are starting."
"They are going to stop him?" said M. Goulden.
"Yes, they"ll stop him, that is very likely," Zebede answered, winking.
At the foot of the stairs he drew me aside and whispered, "Look inside my cap, Joseph; all the soldiers have got it, too."
Sure enough it was the old tricolour c.o.c.kade, which had been removed on the return of Louis XVIII.
At last the papers had to admit that Buonaparte had escaped from Elba.
What a scene it was in the cafe the night the papers arrived! M. Goulden and I were hardly seated before the place was filled with people, and it was so close the windows had to be opened.
Commandant Margarot mounted on a table with other officers all around him, and began to read the "Gazette" aloud. It took a long time, the reading, and the people laughed and jeered at the pa.s.sages that said the troops were faithful to the king, that Buonaparte was surrounded and would soon be taken, and that the ill.u.s.trious Ney and the other marshals had hastened to place their swords at the service of the king. The commandant read on firmly in that distinct voice of his until he came to the order calling upon the French to seize Buonaparte and give him up dead or alive.
Then his whole face changed and his eyes glittered. He took the "Gazette" up and tore it into little pieces, and, drawing himself up, his long arms stretched out, cried, "Vive l"Empereur!" with all his might. Immediately all the half-pay officers took up the cry, and "Vive l"Empereur!" was repeated again by the very soldiers posted outside the town hall when they heard the shout.
The commandant was carried shoulder high round the cafe, and everyone was now calling out, "Vive l"Empereur!" I saw the tears in the eyes of the commandant, tears at hearing the name he loved best acclaimed once more.
As for me, I felt as if cold water was being forced down my back. "It"s all over," I said to myself. "It"s no good talking about peace."
But M. Goulden was more hopeful, and after we got home spoke cheerfully of the blessings of liberty and a good const.i.tution.
Aunt Gredel did not take this view. She came to see us the morning after the scene in the cafe, when all the town was discussing the great news, and began at once, "So it seems the villain has run away from his island?"
Both M. Goulden and I were anxious to avoid a dispute, for Aunt Gredel was really angry, and she couldn"t leave the subject.
M. Goulden admitted that he preferred Napoleon to the Bourbons, with their n.o.bles and missionary priests, because the emperor was bound to respect the national property, whereas the later would have destroyed all that the Revolution had accomplished. "Still, I am now, and always shall be till death, for the Republic and the rights of man," M. Goulden concluded.