ed so disastrously in Leipsic and the capitulation of
Paris. Poor Joseph Bertha, who tells the affecting and exciting story,
is snatched away from his betrothed and his peaceful trade by the
conscription, and his individual experiences in the campaign are as
interesting, from the point of view of romance, as their representative
nature and his shrewd and simple reflections upon them are historically
and philanthropically suggestive. Certainly, war, in the minutiae of
its reality, has never been more graphically painted than in "The
Conscript of 1813."

THE STORY OF A CONSCRIPT

I

Those who have not seen the glory of the Emperor Napoleon, during the
years 1810, 1811, and 1812, can never conceive what a pitch of power
one man may reach.

When he passed through Champagne, or Lorraine, or Alsace, people
gathering the harvest or the vintage would leave everything to run and
see him; women, children, and old men would come a distance of eight or
ten leagues to line his route, and cheer and cry, "_Vive l'Empereur!
Vive l'Empereur!_" One would think that he was a god, that mankind
owed its life to him, and that, if he died, the world would crumble and
be no more. A few old Republicans would shake their heads and mutter
over their wine that the Emperor might yet fall, but they passed for
fools. Such an event appeared contrary to nature, and no one even gave
it a thought.

I was in my apprenticeship since 1804, with an old watchmaker, Melchior
Goulden, at Phalsbourg. As I seemed weak and was a little lame, my
mother wished me to learn an easier trade than those of our village,
for at Dagsberg there were only wood-cutters and charcoal-burners.
Monsieur Goulden liked me very much. We lived on the first story of a
large house opposite the "Red Ox" inn, and near the French gate.

That was the place to see princes, ambassadors, and generals come and
go, some on horseback and some in carriages drawn by two or four
horses; there they passed in embroidered uniforms, with waving plumes
and decorations from every country under the sun. And in the highway
what couriers, what baggage-wagons, what powder-trains, cannon,
caissons, cavalry, and infantry did we see! Those were stirring times!

In five or six years the innkeeper, George, had made a fortune. He had
fields, orchards, houses, and money in abundance; for all these people,
coming from Germany, Switzerland, Russia, Poland, or elsewhere, cared
little for a fe