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 nobles, 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 nobles 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 titles 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.”