The Man With The Broken Ear
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Edmond About >> The Man With The Broken Ear
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"Gad! _I_ haven't been preserved in a jug of spirits of wine. I've
_lived_, for my part!"
"You know my history, then?"
"I heard it told last night at the Minister's of Public Instruction. He
had there the savant who set you on your legs again. I even wrote to
you, on getting back home, to offer you a bunk and a place at mess; but
my letter is on the way to Fontainebleau."
"Thanks! You're a sound one! Ah, my poor old boy, what things have
happened since Beresina! You know all the misfortunes that have come?"
"I've seen them, and that's sadder still. I was a major after Waterloo;
the Bourbons put me aside on half-pay. My friends got me back into
service again in 1822, but I had bad luck, and lazed around in garrisons
at Lille, Grenoble, and Strasburg, without getting ahead any. My second
epaulette did not reach me till 1830; then I took a little turn in
Africa. I was made brigadier-general at Isly, got home again, and banged
about from pillar to post until 1848. During that year we had a June
campaign in Paris itself. My heart still bleeds every time I think of
it, and, upon my soul, you're blest in not having seen it. I got three
balls in my body and a commission as general of division. After all,
I've no right to complain for the campaign in Italy brought me good
luck. Here I am, Marshal of France, with a hundred thousand francs
income, and Duke of Solferino in the bargain. Yes, the Emperor has put a
handle to my name. The fact is, that short 'Leblanc' was a little too
short."
"Thunderation!" cried Fougas, "that's splendid! I swear, Leblanc, that
I'm not jealous of your good fortune! It's seldom enough that one
soldier rejoices over the promotion of another; but indeed, from the
bottom of my heart, I assure you that I do now. It's all the better,
since you deserved your honors, and the blind goddess must have had a
glimpse of your heart and talents, over the bandage that covers her
eyes!"
"You're very kind! But let's talk about yourself now: where were you
going when I met you?"
"To see the Emperor."
"So was I; but where the devil were you looking for him?"
"I don't know; somebody was showing me the way."
"But he is at the Tuilleries!"
"No!"
"Yes! There's something under all this; tell me about it."
Fougas did not wait to be urged. The Marshal soon understood from what
sort of danger he had extricated his friend.
"The _concierge_ is mistaken," said he; "the Emperor is at the Palace;
and, as we've reached there now, come with me; perhaps I can present you
after my audience."
"The very thing! Leblanc, my heart beats at the idea of seeing this
young man. Is he a good one? Can he be counted upon? Is he anything like
the other?"
"You can see for yourself. Wait here."
The friendship of these two men dated from the winter of 1812. During
the retreat of the French army, chance flung the lieutenant of artillery
and the colonel of the 23d together. One was eighteen years old, the
other not quite twenty-four. The distance between their ranks was easily
bridged over by common danger. All men are equal before hunger, cold,
and fatigue. One morning, Leblanc, at the head of ten men, rescued
Fougas from the hands of the Cossacks; then Fougas sabred a half dozen
stragglers who were trying to steal Leblanc's cloak. Eight days later,
Leblanc pulled his friend out of a hut which the peasants had set on
fire; and Fougas, in turn, fished Leblanc out of the Beresina. The list
of their dangers and their mutual services is too long for me to give
entire. To finish off, the Colonel, at Koenigsberg, passed three weeks
at the bedside of the lieutenant, who was attacked with fever and ague.
There is no doubt that this tender care saved his life. This reciprocal
devotion had formed between them bonds so strong that a separation of
forty-six years could not break them.
Fougas, alone in a great saloon, was buried in the recollections of that
good old time, when an usher asked him to remove his gloves, and go into
the cabinet of the Emperor.
Respect for the powers that be, which is the very foundation of my
character, does not permit me to bring august personages upon the scene.
But Fougas' correspondence belongs to contemporaneous history, and here
is the letter which he wrote to Clementine on returning to his hotel:
"PARIS (what am I saying?)--HEAVEN, _Aug._ 21, 1859.
"MY SWEET ANGEL: I am intoxicated with joy, gratitude,
and admiration. I have seen him, I have spoken to him;
he gave me his hand, he made me be seated. He is a great
prince; he will be the master of the world. He gave me
the medal of St. Helena, and the Cross of an Officer.
Little Leblanc, an old friend and a true heart,
conducted me into his presence; he is Marshal of France,
too, and a Duke of the new empire! As for promotion,
there's no more need of speculation on that head. A
prisoner of war in Prussia and in a triple coffin, I
return with my rank; so says the military law. But in
less than three months I shall be a
brigadier-general--that's certain; he deigned to promise
it to me himself. What a man! A god on earth! No more
conceited than he of Wagram and Moscow, and, like him,
the father of the soldier. He wanted to give me money
from his private purse to replace my equipments. I
answered, 'No, sire; I have a claim to recover at
Dantzic; if it is paid, I shall be rich; if the debt is
denied, my pay will suffice for me.' Thereupon (O
Beneficence of Princes, thou art not, then, but an empty
name!) he smiled slightly, and said, twisting his
moustache, 'You remained in Prussia from 1813 to
1859?'--'Yes, sire.'--'Prisoner of war under exceptional
conditions?'--'Yes, sire.'--'The treaties of 1814 and
1815 stipulated for the release of prisoners?'--'Yes,
sire.'--'They have been violated, then, in your
case?'--'Yes, sire.'--'Well, then, Prussia owes you an
indemnity. I will see that it is recovered by diplomatic
proceedings.'--'Yes sire. What goodness!' Now, there's
an idea which would never have occurred to me! To
squeeze money out of Prussia--Prussia, who showed
herself so greedy for our treasures in 1814 and 1815!
_Vive l'Empereur!_ My well-beloved Clementine! Oh, may
our glorious and magnanimous sovereign live forever!
_Vivent l'Imperatrice et le Prince Imperial!_ I saw
them! The Emperor presented me to his family! The Prince
is an admirable little soldier! He condescended to beat
the drum on my new hat. I wept with emotion. Her Majesty
the Empress said, with an angelic smile, that she had
heard my misfortunes spoken of. 'Oh, Madame!' I replied,
'such a moment as this compensates them a hundred
fold.'--'You must come and dance at the Tuilleries next
winter.'--'Alas, Madame, I have never danced but to the
music of cannon; but I shall spare no effort to please
you! I will study the art of Vestris."--'_I_'ve managed
to learn the quadrille very nicely,' joined in Leblanc.
"The Emperor deigned to express his happiness at getting
back an officer like me, who had yesterday, so to speak,
taken part in the finest campaigns of the century, and
retained all the traditions of the great war. This
encouraged me. I no longer feared to remind him of the
famous principle of the good old time--to treat for
peace only in capitals! 'Take care!' said he; 'it was on
the strength of that principle that the allied armies
twice came to settle the basis of peace at
Paris.'--'They'll not come here again,' cried I,
'without passing over my body!' I dwelt upon the
troubles apt to come from too much intimacy with
England. I expressed a hope of at once proceeding to the
conquest of the world. First, to get back our frontiers
for ourselves; next, the natural frontiers of Europe:
for Europe is but the suburb of France, and cannot he
annexed too soon. The Emperor shook his head as if he
was not of my opinion. Does he entertain peaceful
designs? I do not wish to dwell upon this idea; it would
kill me!
"He asked me what impressions I had formed regarding the
appearance of the changes which had been made in Paris.
I answered, with the sincerity of a lofty soul, 'Sire,
the new Paris is the great work of a great reign; but I
entertain the hope that your improvements have not yet
had the finishing touch.'--'What is left to be done,
now, in your opinion?'--'First of all, to remedy the
course of the Seine, whose irregular curve is positively
shocking. The straight line is the shortest distance
between two points, for rivers as well as boulevards. In
the second place, to level the ground and suppress all
inequalites of surface which seem to say to the
Government, 'Thou art less powerful than Nature!' Having
accomplished this preparatory work, I would trace a
circle three leagues in diameter, whose circumference,
marked by an elegant railing, should be the boundary of
Paris. At the centre I would build a palace for your
Majesty and the princes of the imperial family--a vast
and splendid edifice, including in its arrangements all
the public offices--the staff offices, courts, museums,
cabinet offices, archives, police, the Institute,
embassies, prisons, bank of France, lecture-rooms,
theatres, the _Moniteur_, imperial printing office,
manufactory of Sevres porcelain and Gobelin tapestry,
and commissary arrangements. At this palace, circular in
form and of magnificent architecture, should centre
twelve boulevards, a hundred and twenty yards wide,
terminated by twelve railroads, and called by the names
of twelve marshals of France. Each boulevard is built up
with uniform houses, four stories high, having in front
an iron railing and a little garden three yards wide,
all to be planted with the same kind of flowers. A
hundred streets, sixty yards wide, should connect the
boulevards; these streets communicate with each other by
lanes thirty-five yards wide, the whole built up
uniformly according to official plans, with railings,
gardens, and specified flowers. Householders should be
prohibited from allowing any business to be conducted in
their establishments, for the aspect of shops debases
the intellect and degrades the heart. Merchants could be
permitted to establish themselves in the suburbs under
the regulation of the laws. The ground floors of all the
houses to be occupied with stables and kitchens; the
first floors let to persons worth an income of a hundred
thousand francs and over; the second, to those worth
from eighty to a hundred thousand francs; the third, to
those worth from sixty to eighty thousand; the fourth,
from fifty to sixty thousand. No one with an income of
less than fifty thousand francs should be permitted to
live in Paris. Workmen are to be lodged ten miles
outside of the boundary in workmen's barracks. We will
exempt them from taxes to make them love us; and we'll
plant cannon around them to make them fear us. That's my
Paris!' The Emperor listened to me patiently, and
twisted his moustache. 'Your plan,' said he, 'would cost
a trifle.'--'Not much more than the one already
adopted,' answered I. At this remark, an unreserved
hilarity, the cause of which I am unable to explain, lit
up his serious countenance. 'Don't you think,' said he,
'that your project would ruin a great many
people?'--'Eh! What difference does it make to me?' I
cried, 'since it will ruin none but the rich?' He began
laughing again, and bid me farewell, saying, 'Colonel,
you will have to remain colonel only until we make you
brigadier-general!' He permitted me to press his hand a
second time. I waved an adieu to brave Leblanc, who has
invited me to dine with him this evening, and I returned
to my hotel to pour my joy into your sweet soul. Oh,
Clementine! hope on! You shall be happy, and I shall be
great! To-morrow morning I leave for Dantzic. Gold is a
deception, but I want you to be rich.
"A sweet kiss upon your pure brow!
"V. FOUGAS."
The subscribers to _La Patrie_, who keep files of their paper, are
hereby requested to hunt up the number for the 23d of August, 1859. In
it they will find two paragraphs of local intelligence, which I have
taken the liberty of copying here:
"His Excellency, the Marshal, the Duke of Solferino, yesterday had the
honor of presenting to his Majesty the Emperor a hero of the first
Empire, Colonel Fougas, whom an almost miraculous event, already
mentioned in a report to the Academy of Sciences, has restored to his
country."
Such was the first paragraph; here is the second
"A madman, the fourth this week, but the most dangerous of all,
presented himself yesterday at one of the entrances of the Tuilleries.
Decked out in a grotesque costume, his eyes flashing, his hat cocked
over his ear, and addressing the most respectable people with unheard-of
rudeness, he attempted to force his way past the sentry, and thrust
himself, for what purpose God only knows, into the presence of the
Sovereign. During his incoherent ejaculations, the following words were
distinguished: 'bravery, _Vendome_ column, fidelity, the dial-plate of
time, the tablets of history.' When he was arrested by one of the
detective watch, and taken before the police commissioner of the
Tuilleries section, he was recognized as the same individual who, the
evening before, at the opera, had interrupted the performance of Charles
VI. with most unseemly cries. After the customary medical and legal
proceedings, he was ordered to be sent to the Charenton Hospital. But
opposite the _porte Saint-Martin_, taking advantage of a lock among the
vehicles, and of the Herculean strength with which he is endowed, he
wrested his hands from his keeper, threw him down, beat him, leaped at a
bound into the street, and disappeared in the crowd. The most active
search was immediately set on foot, and we have it from the best
authority that the police are already on the track of the fugitive."
CHAPTER XVII.
WHEREIN HERR NICHOLAS MEISER, ONE OF THE SOLID MEN OF DANTZIC, RECEIVES
AN UNWELCOME VISIT.
The wisdom of mankind declares that ill-gotten gains never do any good.
I maintain that they do the robbers more good than the robbed, and the
good fortune of Herr Nicholas Meiser is an argument in support of my
proposition.
The nephew of the illustrious physiologist, after brewing a great deal
of beer from a very little hops, and prematurely appropriating the
legacy intended for Fougas, had amassed, by various operations, a
fortune of from eight to ten millions. "In what kind of operations?" No
one ever told me, but I know that he called all operations that would
make money, good ones. To lend small sums at a big interest, to
accumulate great stores of grain in order to relieve a scarcity after
producing it himself, to foreclose on unfortunate debtors, to fit out a
vessel or two for trade in black flesh on the African coast--such are
specimens of the speculations which the good man did not despise. He
never boasted of them, for he was modest; but he never blushed for them,
for he had expanded his conscience simultaneously with his capital. As
for the rest, he was a man of honor, in the commercial sense of the
word, and capable of strangling the whole human race rather than of
letting his signature be protested. The banks of Dantzic, Berlin,
Vienna, and Paris, held him in high esteem; his money passed through all
of them.
He was fat, unctuous, and florid, and lived well. His wife's nose was
much too long, and her bones much too prominent, but she loved him with
all her heart, and made him little sweetmeats. A perfect congeniality of
sentiment united this charming couple. They talked with each other with
open hearts, and never thought of keeping back any of their evil
thoughts. Every year, at Saint Martin's day, when rents became due, they
turned out of doors the families of five or six workmen who could not
pay for their terms; but they dined none the worse after it, and their
good-night kiss was none the less sweet.
The husband was sixty-six years old, the wife sixty-four. Their
physiognomies were such as inspire benevolence and command respect. To
complete their outward resemblance to the patriarchs, nothing was needed
but children and grandchildren. Nature had given them one son--an only
one, because they had not solicited Nature for more. They would have
thought it criminal improvidence to divide their fortune among several.
Unhappily, this only child, the heir-presumptive to so many millions,
died at the University of Heidelberg from eating too many sausages. He
set out, when he was twenty, for that Valhalla of German students, where
they eat infinite sausages, and drink inexhaustible beer; where they
sing songs of eight hundred million verses, and gash the tips of each
other's noses with huge swords. Envious Death snatched him from his
parents when they were no longer of an age to improvise a successor. The
unfortunate old millionnaires tenderly collected his effects, to sell
them. During this operation, so trying to their souls (for there was a
great deal of brand-new linen that could not be found), Nicholas Meiser
said to his wife, "My heart bleeds at the idea that our buildings and
dollars, our goods above ground and under, should go to strangers.
Parents ought always to have an extra son, just as they have a
vice-umpire in the Chamber of Commerce."
But Time, who is a great teacher in Germany and several other countries,
led them to see that there is consolation for all things except the loss
of money. Five years afterwards, Frau Meiser said to her husband, with a
tender and philosophic, smile: "Who can fathom the decrees of
Providence? Perhaps your son would have brought us to a crust. Look at
Theobald Scheffler, his old comrade. He wasted twenty thousand francs at
Paris on a woman who kicked up her legs in the middle of a quadrille. We
ourselves spent more than two thousand thalers a year for our wicked
scapegrace. His death is a great saving, and therefore a good thing!"
As long as the three coffins of Fougas were in the house, the good dame
scolded at the visions and restlessness of her husband. "What in the
name of sense are you thinking about? You've been kicking me all night
again. Let's throw this ragamuffin of a Frenchman into the fire; then
he'll no longer disturb the repose of a peaceable family. We can sell
the leaden box; it must weigh at least two hundred pounds. The white
silk will make me a good lining for a dress; and the wool in the
stuffing, will easily make us a mattress." But a tinge of superstition
prevented Meiser from following his wife's advice; he preferred to rid
himself of the Colonel by selling him.
The house of this worthy couple was the handsomest and most substantial
on the street of Public Wells, in the aristocratic part of the city.
Strong railings, in iron open work, decorated all the windows
magnificently, and the door was sheathed in iron, like a knight of the
olden time. A system of little mirrors, ingeniously arranged in the
entrance, enabled a visitor to be seen before he had even knocked. A
single servant, a regular horse for work and camel for temperance,
ministered under this roof blessed by the gods.
The old servant slept away from the house, both because he preferred to
and because while he did so he could not be tempted to wring the
venerable necks of his employers. A few books on Commerce and Religion
constituted the library of the two old people. They never cared to have
a garden at the back of their house, because the shrubbery might
conceal thieves. They fastened their door with bolts every evening at
eight o'clock, and never went out without being obliged to, for fear of
meeting dangerous people.
And nevertheless, on the 29th of April, 1859, at eleven o'clock in the
morning, Nicholas Meiser was far away from his beloved home. Gracious!
how very far away for him--this honest burgher of Dantzic! He was
traversing, with heavy tread, the promenade in Berlin, which bears the
name of one of Alphonse Karrs' romances: _Sous les tilleuls._ In German:
_Unter den Linden._
What mighty agency had thrown out of his bon-bon box, this big red
bon-bon on two legs? The same that led Alexander to Babylon, Scipio to
Carthage, Godfrey de Bouillon to Jerusalem, and Napoleon to
Moscow--Ambition! Meiser did not expect to be presented with the keys of
the city on a cushion of red velvet, but he knew a great lord, a clerk
in a government office, and a chambermaid who were working to get a
patent of nobility for him. To call himself Von Meiser instead of plain
Meiser! What a glorious dream!
This good man had in his character that compound of meanness and vanity
which places lacqueys so far apart from the rest of mankind. Full of
respect for power, and admiration for conventional greatness, he never
pronounced the name of king, prince, or even baron, without emphasis and
unction. He mouthed every aristocratic syllable, and the single word
"Monseigneur" seemed to him like a mouthful of well-spiced soup.
Examples of this disposition are not rare in Germany, and are even
occasionally found elsewhere. If they could be transported to a country
where all men are equal, homesickness for boot-licking would kill them.
The claims brought to bear in favor of Nicholas Meiser, were not of the
kind which at once spring the balance, but of the kind which make it
turn little by little. Nephew of an illustrious man of science,
powerfully rich, a man of sound judgment, a subscriber to the _New
Gazette of the Cross_, full of hatred for the opposition, author of a
toast against the influence of demagogues, once a member of the City
Council, once an umpire in the Chamber of Commerce, once a corporal in
the militia, and an open enemy of Poland and all nations but the strong
ones. His most brilliant action dated back ten years. He had denounced,
by an anonymous letter, a member of the French Parliament who had taken
refuge in Dantzic. While Meiser was walking under the lindens, his cause
was progressing swimmingly. He had received that sweet assurance from
the very lips of its promoters. And so he tripped lightly toward the
depot of the North-Eastern Railroad, without any other baggage than a
revolver in his pocket. His black leather trunk had gone before; and was
waiting for him at the station. On the way, he was glancing into the
shop windows, when he stopped short before a stationer's, and rubbed his
eyes--a sovereign remedy, people say, for impaired vision. Between the
portraits of Mme. Sand and M. Merimee, the two greatest writers of
France, he had noticed, examined, recognized a well-known countenance.
"Surely," said he, "I've seen that man before, but he was paler. Can our
old lodger have come to life? Impossible! I burned up my uncle's
directions, so the world has lost--thanks to me--the secret of
resuscitating people. Nevertheless, the resemblance is striking. Is it a
portrait of Colonel Fougas, taken from life in 1813? No; for photography
was not then invented. But possibly it's a photograph copied from an
engraving? Here are Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette reproduced in the
same way: that doesn't prove that Robespierre had them resuscitated.
Anyhow, I've had an unfortunate encounter."
He took a step toward the door of the shop to reassure himself, but a
peculiar reluctance held him back. People might wonder at him, ask him
questions, try to learn the reason of his trouble. He resumed his walk
at a brisk pace, trying to reassure himself.
"Bah! It's an hallucination--the result of dwelling too much on one
idea. Moreover, the portrait was dressed in the style of 1813; that
settles the question."
He reached the station, had his black leather trunk checked, and flung
himself down at full length in a first-class compartment. First he
smoked his porcelain pipe, but his two neighbors being asleep, he soon
followed their example, and began snoring. Now this big man's snores had
something awe-inspiring about them; you could have fancied yourself
listening to the trumpets of the judgment day. What shade visited him in
this hour of sleep, no other soul has ever known; for he kept his dreams
to himself, as he did everything that was his.
But between two stations, while the train was running at full speed, he
distinctly felt two powerful hands pulling at his feet--a sensation,
alas! too well known, and one which called up the ugliest recollections
of his life. He opened his eyes in terror, and saw the man of the
photograph, in the costume of the photograph. His hair stood on end, his
eyes grew as big as saucers, he uttered a loud cry, and flung himself
headlong between the seats among the legs of his neighbors.
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