The Man With The Broken Ear

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"Accept, &c."

A gloomy silence succeeded the reading. The _Mene mene tekel upharsin_
of the oriental legends could not have more completely produced the
effect of thunderbolts. The _gendarme_ was still there, standing in the
position of the soldier without arms, awaiting Fougas' receipt. The
Colonel called for pen and ink, signed the paper, gave the _gendarme_
drink-money, and said to him with ill-suppressed emotion:

"You are happy, you are! No one prevents you from serving the country.
Well," added he, turning toward the Marshal, "what do you say to that?"

"What would you have me say, my poor old boy? It breaks me all up.
There's no use in arguing against the law; it's express. The stupid
thing on our parts was not to think of it sooner. But who the Devil
would have thought of the retired list in the presence of such a fellow
as you are?"

The two colonels avowed that such an objection would never have entered
their heads; now that it had been suggested, however, they could not see
what to rebut it with. Neither of them would have been able to enlist
Fougas as a private soldier, despite his ability, his physical strength
and his appearance of being twenty-four years old.

"If some one would only kill me!" cried Fougas. "I can't set myself to
weighing sugar or planting cabbages. It was in the career of arms that I
took my first steps; I must continue in it or die. What can I do? What
can I become? Take service in some foreign army? Never! The fate of
Moreau is still before my eyes.... Oh Fortune! What have I done to thee
that I should be dashed so low, when thou wast preparing to raise me so
high?"

Clementine tried to console him with soothing words.

"You shall live near us," said she. "We will find you a pretty little
wife, and you can rear your children. In your leisure moments you can
write the history of the great deeds you have done. You will want for
nothing: youth, health, fortune, family, all that makes up the
happiness of men, is yours. Why then should you not be happy?"

Leon and his parents talked with him in the same way. Everything
appertaining to the festive occasion was forgotten in the presence of an
affliction so real and a dejection so profound.

He roused himself little by little, and even sang, at dessert, a little
song which he had prepared for the occasion.

Here's a health to these fortunate lovers
Who, on this thrice blessed day,
Have singed with the torch of chaste Hymen,
The wings with which Cupid doth stray.
And now, little volatile boy-god,
You must keep yourself quiet at home--
Enchained there by this happy marriage
Where Genius and Beauty are one.

He'll make it, henceforth, his endeavor
To keep Pleasure in Loyalty's power,
Forgetting his naughty old habit
Of roaming from flower to flower.
And Clementine makes the task easy,
For roses spring up at her smile:
From thence the young rascal can steal them
As well as in Venus's isle.

The verses were loudly applauded, but the poor Colonel smiled sadly,
talked but little, and did not get fuddled at all. The man with the
broken ear could not at all console himself for having a slit ear.[11]
He took part in the various diversions of the day, but was no longer
the brilliant companion who had inspired everything with his impetuous
gayety.

The Marshal buttonholed him during the evening and said: "What are you
thinking about?"

"I'm thinking of the old messmates who were happy enough to fall at
Waterloo with their faces toward the enemy. That old fool of a Dutchman
who preserved me for posterity, did me but a sorry service. I tell you,
Leblanc, a man ought to live in his own day. Later is too late."

"Oh, pshaw, Fougas, don't talk nonsense! There's nothing desperate in
the case. Devil take it! I'll go to see the Emperor to-morrow. The
matter shall be looked into. It will all be set straight. Men like you!
Why France hasn't got them by the dozen that she should fling them among
the soiled linen."

"Thanks! You're a good old boy, and a true one. There were five hundred
thousand of us, of the same, same sort, in 1812; there are but two left;
say, rather, one and a half."

About ten o'clock in the evening, M. Rollon, M. du Marnet and Fougas
accompanied the Marshal to the cars. Fougas embraced his comrade and
promised him to be of good cheer. After the train left, the three
colonels went back to town on foot. In passing M. Rollon's house, Fougas
said to his successor:

"You're not very hospitable to-night; you don't even offer us a pony of
that good Andaye brandy!"

"I thought you were not in drinking trim," said M. Rollon. "You didn't
take anything in your coffee or afterwards. But come up!"

"My thirst has come back with a vengeance."

"That's a good symptom."

He drank in a melancholy fashion, and scarcely wet his lips in his
glass. He stopped a little while before the flag, took hold of the
staff, spread out the silk, counted the holes that cannon balls and
bullets had made in it, and could not repress his tears. "Positively,"
said he, "the brandy has taken me in the throat; I'm not a man to-night.
Good evening, gentlemen."

"Hold on! We'll go back with you."

"Oh, my hotel is only a step."

"It's all the same. But what's your idea in staying at a hotel when you
have two houses in town at your service?"

"On the strength of that, I am going to move to-morrow."

The next morning, about eleven o'clock, the happy Leon was at his toilet
when a telegram was brought to him. He opened it without noticing that
it was addressed to M. Fougas, and uttered a cry of joy. Here is the
laconic message which brought him so much pleasure:

"To Colonel Fougas, Fontainebleau.

"Just left the Emperor. You to be brevet brigadier until
something better turns up. If necessary, _corps
legislatif_ will amend law.

"LEBLANC."

Leon dressed himself, ran to the hotel of the blue sundial, and found
Fougas dead in his bed.

It is said in Fontainebleau, that M. Nibor made an autopsy, and found
that serious disorders had been produced by desiccation. Some people are
nevertheless satisfied that Fougas committed suicide. It is certain that
Master Bonnivet received, by the penny post, a sort of a will, expressed
thus:

"I leave my heart to my country, my memory to natural
affection, my example to the army, my hate to
perfidious Albion, fifty thousand francs to Gothon, and
two hundred thousand to the 23d of the line. And
forever _Vive l'Empereur!_

"FOUGAS."

Resuscitated on the 17th of August, between three and four in the
afternoon, he died on the 17th of the following month, at what hour we
shall never know. His second life had lasted a little less than
thirty-one days. But it is simple justice to say that he made good use
of his time. He reposes in the spot which young Renault had bought for
him. His granddaughter Clementine left off her mourning about a year
since. She is beloved and happy, and Leon will have nothing to reproach
himself with if she does not have plenty of children.

_Bourdonnel, August_, 1861.

FINIS.

NOTES

TO

THE MAN WITH THE BROKEN EAR.

NOTE 1, page 69.--_Black butterflies_, a French expression that we might
tastefully substitute for _blue devils_.

NOTE 2, page 72.--_The 15th of August_ is the Emperor's birthday.

NOTE 3, page 85.--_Centigrade_, of course.

NOTE 4, page 101.--Fougas' surprise is explained by the well-known fact
that Napoleon was obliged to forbid the playing of _Partant pour la
Syrie_ in his armies, on account of the homesickness and consequent
desertion it occasioned.

NOTE 5, page 118.--_Jeu de Paume_ (tennis-court), is the name given to
the meeting of the third-estate (_tiers-etat_) in 1789, from the
locality where it took place.

NOTE 6, page 161.--The English used by the two young noblemen is M.
About's own. It is certainly such English as Frenchmen would be apt to
speak, and it is as fair to attribute that fact to M. About's fine sense
of the requirements of the occasion, as to lack of familiarity with our
language.

NOTE 7, page 164.--It is not without interest to note that M. About used
the English word _gentlemen_.

NOTE 8, page 166.--_War against tyrants! Never, never, never shall the
Briton reign in France!_

NOTE 9, page 214.--The original here contains a neat little conceit,
which cannot be translated, but which is too good to be lost. The French
for daughter-in-law is _belle fille_, literally "beautiful girl." To
Fougas' address "_Ma belle fille!_" Mme. Langevin replies: "_I am not
beautiful, and I am not a girl._" It suggests the similar retort
received by Faust from Marguerite, when he addressed her as _beautiful
young lady!_

NOTE 10, page 230.--The Translator has intentionally used both the
singular and the plural of the second person in Fougas' apostrophe to
Clementine, as it seemed to him naturally required by the variations of
the sentiment.

NOTE 11, page 248.--The reader will bear in mind Marshal Leblanc's
allusion to condemned horses.

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