by Edmond About
CHAPTER XII.
THE CONVALESCENT'S FIRST MEAL.
The messenger whom Leon had sent to Moret, could not reach there beforeseven o'clock. Supposing that he would find the ladies at table withtheir hosts, that the great news would cut the dinner short, and thatthere would be a carriage handy, Clementine and her aunt would probablybe at Fontainebleau between ten and eleven o'clock. Young Renaultrejoiced in advance over the happiness of his _fiancee_. What a joy itwould be for her and for him when he should present to her themiraculous man whom she had protected against the horrors of the tomb,and whom he had resuscitated in answer to her entreaty!
Meanwhile Gothon, proud and happy to the same degree that she had beforebeen scandalized and annoyed, spread the table for a dozen persons. Heryoke-fellow, a young rustic of eighteen, half-fledged in the commune ofSablons, helped her with all his might, and amused her with hisconversation.
"Well, now, Ma'm'selle Gothon," said he, setting down a pile of emptyplates, "this is what one might call a ghost coming out of its box toupset the commissary and the sub-prefect!"
"Ghost, if you'll have it so, Celestin; it's certain-sure that he comesfrom a good ways, poor young man! But perhaps 'ghost' isn't a properword to use in speaking of our masters."
"Is it true, then, that he has come to be our master too? Too many of_them_ come every day. I'd like it better if more servants and helpwould come!"
"Shut up, you lizard of laziness! When the gentlemen leaves tips for uson going away, you don't complain because there's only two to divide'em."
"That's all well enough as far as it goes! I've carried more than fiftybuckets of water for him to simmer in, that Colonel of yours, and I knowmighty well that he won't give me a cent, for he hasn't a farthing inhis pockets. We've got to believe that money isn't plenty in the countryhe just came from!"
"They say there's wills in his favor in Strasburg; a gentleman who'dhurt his fortune----"
"Tell me now, Ma'm'selle Gothon--you who read a little book everySunday--where he could have been, our Colonel, while he was not in thisworld."
"Eh! In purgatory, of course!"
"Then why don't you ask him about that famous Baptiste, your sweetheartin 1837, who let himself tumble off a roof, and on whose account youhave so many masses said? They ought to have met each other down there!"
"That's very possible."
"Unless Baptiste has left there since the time when you paid so muchmoney to get him out."
"Very well. I'll go this very evening to the Colonel's chamber, and,since he's not proud, he'll tell me all he knows about it.--But,Celestin, are'nt you never going to act different? Here you've rubbed mysilver pickle knives on the grindstone again!"
The guests came into the parlor, where the Renault family with M. Niborand the Colonel were already assembled. There were successivelypresented to M. Fougas the mayor of the city, Doctor Martout, MasterBonnivet the notary, M. Audret, and three members of the Pariscommittee; the other three had been obliged to return before dinner. Theguests were not entirely at their ease; their sides, bruised by thefirst movements of Fougas, left room for them to suppose that possiblythey were dining with a maniac. But curiosity was stronger than fear.The Colonel soon reassured them by a most cordial reception. He excusedhimself for acting the part of a man just returned from the other world.He talked a great deal--a little too much, perhaps; but they were sowell pleased to listen to him, and his words borrowed such an importancefrom the singularity of recent events, that he gained an unqualifiedsuccess. He was told that Dr. Martout had been one of the principalagents of his resuscitation, in conjunction with another person whomthey promised soon to present to him. He thanked M. Martout warmly, andasked how soon he could evince his gratitude to the other person.
"I hope," said Leon, "that you will see her this evening."
No one came later than the colonel of the 23d of the line, M. Rollon. Hemade his way with no little difficulty through the crowds of people whofilled the Rue de la Faisanderie. He was a man of forty-five, with aquick voice, and full figure. His hair was a little grizzled, but hisbrown mustache, full, and twisted at the ends, looked as young as ever.He said little, spoke to the point, knew a great deal, and did noboasting--all in all, he was a fine specimen of a colonel. He came rightup to Fougas, and held out his hand like an old acquaintance.
"My dear comrade," said he, "I have taken great interest in yourresurrection, as much on my own account as on account of the regiment.The 23d which I have the honor to command, yesterday venerated you as anancestor. From to-day, it will cherish you as a friend."--Not theslightest allusion to the affair of the morning, in which M. Rollon hadundergone his pummelling with the rest.
Fougas answered becomingly, but with, a tinge of coldness:
"My dear comrade, I thank you for your kindly sentiments. It is singularthat Destiny places me in the presence of my successor on the very daythat I reopen my eyes to the light; for, after all, I am neither deadnor a general; I have not been transferred, nor have I been retired; yetI see another officer, more worthy, doubtless, at the head of my noble23d. But if you have for your motto 'Honor and Courage,' as I am wellsatisfied you have, I have no right to complain, and the regiment is ingood hands."
Dinner was ready. Mme. Renault took Fougas' arm. She had him sit at herright, and M. Nibor at her left. The Colonel and the Mayor took theirplaces at the sides of M. Renault; the rest of the company distributedthemselves as it happened, regardless of etiquette.
Fougas gulped down the soup and _entrees_, helping himself to everydish, and drinking in proportion. An appetite of the other world!"Estimable Amphitryon," said he to M. Renault, "don't get frightened atseeing me fall upon the rations. I always ate just so; except during theretreat in Russia. Consider, too, that I went to sleep last night, atLiebenfeld, without any supper."
He begged M. Nibor to explain to him by what course of circumstances hehad come from Liebenfeld to Fontainebleau.
"Do you remember," said the doctor, "an old German who acted asinterpreter for you before the court-martial?"
"Perfectly. An excellent man, with a violet-colored wig. I'll rememberhim all my life, for there are not two wigs of that color in existence."
"Very well; it was the man with the violet wig, otherwise known as thecelebrated Doctor Meiser, who saved your life."
"Where is he? I want to see him, to fall into his arms, to tell him----"
"He was sixty-eight years old when he did you that little service; hewould then be, to-day, in his hundred and fifteenth year, if he hadwaited for your acknowledgments."
"And so, then, he is no more! Death has robbed him of my gratitude!"
"You do not yet know all that you owe to him. He bequeathed you, in1824, a fortune of seventy-five thousand francs, of which you are therightful owner. Now, since a sum invested at five per cent, doublesitself in fourteen years--thanks to compound interest--you were worth,in 1838, a trifle of seven hundred and fifty thousand francs; and in1852, a million and a half. In fine, if you are satisfied to leave yourproperty in the hands of Herr Nicholas Meiser, of Dantzic, that worthyman will owe you three millions at the commencement of 1866--that is tosay, in seven years. We will give you, this evening, a copy of yourbenefactor's will; it is a very instructive document, and you canconsider it when you go to bed."
"I'll read it willingly," said Colonel Fougas. "But gold has noattractions for my eyes. Wealth engenders weakness. Me, to languish inthe sluggish idleness of Sybaris!--to enervate my senses on a bed ofroses! Never! The smell of powder is dearer to me than all the perfumesof Arabia. Life would have no charm or zest for me, if I had to give upthe inspiriting clash of arms. On the day when you are told that Fougasno longer marches in the columns of the army, you can safely answer, 'Itis because Fougas is no more!'"
He turned to the new colonel of the 23d, and said:
"Oh! do you, my dear comrade, tell them that the proud pomp of wealth isa thousand times less sweet than the austere simplicity of thesoldier--of a col
onel, more than all. Colonels are the kings of thearmy. A colonel is less than a general, but nevertheless he hassomething more. He lives more with the soldier; he penetrates furtherinto the intimacy of his command. He is the father, the judge, thefriend of his regiment. The welfare of each one of his men is in hishands; the flag is placed under his tent or in his chamber. The coloneland the flag are not two separate existences; one is the soul, the otheris the body."
He asked M. Rollon's permission to go to see and embrace the flag of the23d.
"You shall see it to-morrow morning," said the new colonel, "if you willdo me the honor to breakfast with me in company with some of myofficers."
He accepted the invitation with enthusiasm, and flung himself into themidst of a thousand questions touching pay, the amount retained forclothing, promotion, roster, reserve, uniform, full and fatigue dress,armament, and tactics. He understood, without difficulty, the advantagesof the percussion gun, but the attempt to explain rifled cannon to himwas in vain. Artillery was not his forte; but he avowed, nevertheless,that Napoleon had owed more than one victory to his fine artillery.
While the innumerable roasts of Mme. Renault were succeeding each otheron the table, Fougas asked--but without ever losing a bite--what werethe principal wars in progress, how many nations France had on herhands, and if it was not intended ultimately to recommence the conquestof the world? The answers which he received, without completelysatisfying him, did not entirely deprive him of hope.
"I did well to come," said he; "there's work to do."
The African wars did not interest him much, although in them the 23d hadwon a good share of glory.
"As a school, it's very well," said he. "The soldier ought to trainhimself in other ways than in the Tivoli gardens, behind nurses'petticoats. But why the devil are not five hundred thousand men flungupon the back of England? England is the soul of the coalition, I cantell you that."
How many explanations were necessary to make him understand the Crimeanwar, where the English had fought by our sides!
"I can understand," said he, "why we took a crack at the Russians--theymade me eat my best horse. But the English are a thousand times worse.If this young man" (the Emperor Napoleon III.) "doesn't know it, I'lltell him. There is no quarter possible after what they did at St.Helena! If I had been commander-in-chief in the Crimea, I would havebegun by properly squelching the Russians, after which I would haveturned upon the English, and hurled them into the sea. It's theirelement, anyhow."
They gave him some details of the Italian campaign, and he was charmedto learn that the 23d had taken a redoubt under the eyes of the Marshalthe Duke of Solferino.
"That's the habit of the regiment," said he, shedding tears in hisnapkin. "That brigand of a 23d will never act in any other way. Thegoddess of Victory has touched it with her wing."
One of the things, for example, which greatly astonished him, was that awar of such importance was finished up in so short a time. He had yet tolearn that within a few years the world had learned the secret oftransporting a hundred thousand men, in four days, from one end ofEurope to the other.
"Good!" said he; "I admit the practicability of it. But what astonishesme is, that the Emperor did not invent this affair in 1810; for he had agenius for transportation, a genius for administration, a genius foroffice details, a genius for everything. But (to resume your story) theAustrians are fortified at last, and you cannot possibly get to Viennain less than three months."
"We did not go so far, in fact."
"You did not push on to Vienna?"
"No."
"Well, then, where did you sign the treaty of peace?"
"At Villafranca."
"At Villafranca? That's the capital of Austria, then?"
"No; it's a village of Italy."
"Monsieur, I don't admit that treaties of peace are signed anywhere butin capitals. That was our principle, our A B C, the first paragraph ofour theory. It seems as if the world must have changed a good deal whileI was not in it. But patience!"
And now truth obliges me to confess that Fougas got drunk at dessert. Hehad drunk and eaten like a Homeric hero, and talked more fluently thanCicero in his best days. The fumes of wine, spices, and eloquencemounted into his brain. He became familiar, spoke affectionately to someand rudely to others, and poured out a torrent of absurdities big enoughto turn forty mills. His drunkenness, however, had in it nothing brutal,or even ignoble; it was but the overflowing of a spirit young,affectionate, vain-glorious, and unbalanced. He proposed five or sixtoasts--to Glory, to the Extension of our Frontiers, to the Destructionof the last of the English, to Mlle. Mars--the hope of the Frenchstage, to Affection--the tie, fragile but dear, which unites the loverto his sweetheart, the father to his son, the colonel to his regiment!
His style, a singular mixture of familiarity and impressiveness,provoked more than one smile among the auditory. He noticed it, and aspark of defiance flashed up at the bottom of his heart. From time totime he loudly asked if "those people there" were not abusing hisingenuousness.
"Confusion!" cried he, "Confusion to those who want me to take bladdersfor lanterns! The lantern may blaze out like a bomb, and carryconsternation in its path!"
After a series of such remarks, there was nothing left for him to do butto roll under the table, and this _denouement_ was generally expected.But the Colonel belonged to a robust generation, accustomed to more thanone kind of excess, and strong to resist pleasure as well as dangers,privations, and fatigues. So when Madame Renault pushed back her chair,in indication that the repast was finished, Fougas arose withoutdifficulty, gracefully offered his arm, and conducted his partner to theparlor. His gait was a little stiff and oppressively regular, but hewent straight ahead, and did not oscillate the least bit. He took acouple of cups of coffee, and spirits in moderation, after which hebegan to talk in the most reasonable manner in the world. About teno'clock, M. Martout, having expressed a wish to hear his history, heplaced himself on a stool, collected his ideas for a moment, and askedfor a glass of water and sugar. The company seated themselves in acircle around him, and he commenced the following narrative, theslightly antiquated style of which craves your indulgence.