These old memories are always fresh; when we speak of past dangers we seem to be in the midst of them again; when we recall our old friends, we again press their hands in imagination, and our beloved is again seated on our knee, and we look in her face, thinking, "She is beautiful!" and that which seemed to us just and wise and right in those old days, seems right and wise and just still.
I remember—and I must here finish my long story—that for many months and even years there was great sorrow in many families, and nobody dared to speak openly, or wish for the glory of the country.
Zébédé came back with those who had been disbanded on the other side of the Loire, but even he had lost his courage. This came from the vengeance and the condemnations and shootings, massacres and revenge of every kind which followed our humiliation; from the hundred and fifty thousand Germans, English, and Russians, who garrisoned our fortresses, from the indemnities of war, from the thousands of émigrés, from the forced contributions, and especially from the laws against suspects, and against sacrilege, and the rights of primogeniture which they wished to be re-established.
All these things so contrary to reason and to the honor of the nation, together with the denunciations of the Pinacles and the outrages that the old revolutionists were made to suffer—altogether these things have made us melancholy, so that often when we were alone with Catherine and the little Joseph, whom God had sent to console us for so many misfortunes, Mr. Goulden would say, pensively:
"Joseph, our unhappy country has fallen very low. When Napoleon took France she was the greatest, the freest, and most powerful of nations, all the world admired and envied us, but to-day we are conquered, ruined, our fortresses are filled with our enemies, who have their feet on our necks; and what was never before seen since France existed, strangers are masters of our capital—twice we have seen this in two years. See what it costs to put liberty, fortune, and honor in the hands of an ambitious man. We are in a very sad condition, the great Revolution is believed to be dead, and the Rights of Man are annihilated. But we must not be discouraged, all this will pass away, those who oppose liberty and justice will be driven away, and those who wish to re-establish privileges and titles will be regarded as fools. The great nation is reposing, is reflecting upon her faults, is observing those who are leading her contrary to her own interests: she reads their hearts, and in spite of the Swiss, in spite of the royal guard, in spite of the Holy Alliance, when once she is weary of her sufferings she will cast them out some day or other. Then it will be finished, for France wants liberty, equality, and justice.
"The one thing which we lack is instruction, though the people are instructing themselves every day, they profit by our experiences, by our misfortunes.
"I shall not have the happiness, perhaps, of seeing the awakening of the country, I am too old to hope for it, but you will see it, and the sight will console you for all your sufferings; you will be proud to belong to that generous nation which has outstripped all others since '89; these slight checks are only moments of repose on a long journey."
This excellent man preserved to his last hour his calm confidence.
I have lived to see the accomplishment of his predictions, I have seen the return of the banner of liberty, I have seen the nation grow in wealth, in prosperity, and in education. I have seen those who obstructed justice and who wished to establish the old regime, compelled to leave. I have seen that mind always progresses, and that even the peasants are willing to part with their last sou for the good of their children.
Unfortunately we have not enough schoolmasters. If we had fewer soldiers and more teachers the work would go on much faster. But—patience—that will come.