homme à l'oreille cassée. English

by Edmond About

  CHAPTER XV.

  IN WHICH THE READER WILL SEE THAT IT IS NOT FAR FROM THE CAPITAL TO THETARPEIAN ROCK.

  The next day, after a visit to M. du Marnet, he wrote thus toClementine:

  "Light of my life, I am about to quit these scenes, the witnesses of my fatal courage and the repositories of my love. To the bosom of the capital, to the foot of the throne, I will first betake my steps. If the successor of the God of Combats is not deaf to the voice of the blood that courses in his veins, he will restore me my sword and epaulettes, so that I may lay them at thy feet. Be faithful to me--wait, hope! May these lines be to thee a talisman against the dangers threatening thy independence. Oh, my Clementine, tenderly guard thyself for thy

  "VICTOR FOUGAS!"

  Clementine sent him no answer, but, just as he was getting on the train,he was accosted by a messenger, who handed him a pretty red leatherpocket-book, and ran away with all his might. The pocket-book wasentirely new, solid, and carefully fastened. It contained twelve hundredfrancs in bank notes--all the young girl's savings. Fougas had no timeto deliberate on this delicate circumstance. He was pushed into a car,the locomotive puffed, and the train started.

  The Colonel began to review in his memory the various events which hadsucceeded each other in his life during less than a week. His arrestamong the frosts of the Vistula, his sentence to death, his imprisonmentin the fortress of Liebenfeld, his reawakening at Fontainebleau, theinvasion of 1814, the return from the island of Elba, the hundred days,the death of the emperor and the king of Rome, the restoration of theBonapartes in 1852, his meeting with a young girl who was thecounterpart of Clementine Pichon in all respects, the flag of the 23d,the duel with the colonel of cuirassiers--all this, for Fougas, had nottaken up more than four days. The night reaching from the 11th ofNovember, 1813, to the 17th of August, 1859, seemed to him even a littleshorter than any of the others; for it was the only time that he had hada full sleep, without any dreaming.

  A less active spirit, and a heart less warm, would, perhaps, have lapsedinto a sort of melancholy. For, in fact, one who has been asleep forforty-six years would naturally become somewhat alien to mankind ingeneral, even in his own country. Not a relation, not a friend, not afamiliar face, on the whole face of the earth! Add to this a multitudeof new words, ideas, customs, and inventions, which make him feel theneed of a cicerone, and prove to him that he is a stranger. But Fougas,on reopening his eyes, following the precept of Horace, was thrown intothe very midst of action. He had improvised for him friends, enemies, asweetheart, and a rival. Fontainebleau, his second native place, was,provisionally, the central point of his existence. There he felt himselfloved, hated, feared, admired--in a word, well known. He knew that inthat sub-prefecture his name could not be spoken without awakening anecho. But what attached him more than all to modern times, was hiswell-established relationship with the great family of the army.Wherever a French flag floats, the soldier, young or old, is at home.Around that church-spire of the fatherland, though dear and sacred in away different from the village spire, language, ideas, and institutionschange but little. The death of individuals has little effect; they arereplaced by others who look like them, and think, talk, and act in thesame way; who do not stop on assuming the uniform of their predecessors,but inherit their souvenirs also--the glory they have acquired, theirtraditions, their jests, and even certain intonations of their voices.This accounts for Fougas' sudden friendship, after a first feeling ofjealousy, for the new colonel of the 23d; and the sudden sympathy whichhe evinced for M. du Marnet as soon as he saw the blood running from hiswound. Quarrels between soldiers are family quarrels, which never blotout the relationship.

  Calmly satisfied that he was not alone in the world, M. Fougas derivedpleasure from all the new objects which civilization placed before hiseyes. The speed of the rail-cars fairly intoxicated him. He was inspiredwith a positive enthusiasm for this force of steam, whose theory was aclosed book to him, but on whose results he meditated much.

  "With a thousand machines like this, two thousand rifled cannon, and twohundred thousand such chaps as I am, Napoleon would have conquered theworld in six weeks. Why doesn't this young fellow on the throne makesome use of the resources he has under his control? Perhaps he hasn'tthought of it. Very well, I'll go to see him. If he looks like a man ofcapacity, I'll give him my idea; he'll make me minister of war, andthen--Forward, march!"

  He had explained to him the use of the great iron wires running on polesall along the road.

  "The very thing!" said he. "Here are aides-de-camp both fleet andjudicious. Get them all into the hands of a chief-of-staff likeBerthier, and the universe would be held in a thread by the mere will ofa man!"

  His meditations were interrupted, a couple of miles from Melun, by thesounds of a foreign language. He pricked up his ears, and then boundedfrom his corner as if he had sat on a pile of thorns. Horror! it wasEnglish! One of those monsters who had assassinated Napoleon at St.Helena for the sake of insuring to themselves the cotton monopoly, hadentered the compartment with a very pretty woman and two lovelychildren.

  "Conductor, stop!" cried Fougas, thrusting his body halfway out of thewindow.

  "Monsieur," said the Englishman in good French, "I advise you to havepatience until we get to the next station. The conductor doesn't hearyou, and you're in danger of falling out on the track. If I can be ofany service to you, I have a flask of brandy with me, and a medicinechest."

  "No, sir," replied Fougas in a most supercilious tone, "I'm in want ofnothing, and I'd rather die than accept anything from an Englishman! IfI'm calling the conductor, it's only because I want to get into adifferent car, and cleanse my eyes from the sight of an enemy of theEmperor."

  "I assure you, monsieur," responded the Englishman, "that I am not anenemy of the Emperor. I had the honor of being received by him while hewas in London. He even deigned to pass a few days at my littlecountry-seat in Lancashire."

  "So much the better for you, if this young man is good enough to forgetwhat you have done against his family; but Fougas will never forgiveyour crimes against his country."

  As soon as they arrived at the station at Melun, he opened the door andrushed into another saloon. There he found himself alone in the presenceof two young gentlemen, whose physiognomies were far from English, andwho spoke French with the purest accent of Touraine. Both had coats ofarms on their seal-rings, so that no one might be ignorant of theirrank as nobles. Fougas was too plebeian to fancy the nobility much; butas he had left a compartment full of Britons, he was happy to meet acouple of Frenchmen.

  "Friends," said he, inclining toward them with a cordial smile, "we arechildren of the same mother. Long life to you! Your appearance revivesme."

  The two young gentlemen opened their eyes very wide, half bowed, andresumed their conversation, without making any other response to Fougas'advance.

  "Well, then, my dear Astophe," said one, "you saw the king atFroshdorf?"

  "Yes, my good Americ; and he received me with the most affectingcondescension. 'Vicomte,' said he to me, 'you come of a house well knownfor its fidelity. We will remember you when God replaces us on thethrone of our ancestors. Tell our brave nobility of Touraine that wehope to be remembered in their prayers, and that we never forget them inours.'"

  "Pitt and Coburg!" said Fougas between his teeth. "Here are two littlerascals conspiring with the army of Conde! But, patience!"

  He clenched his fists and opened his ears.

  "Didn't he say anything about politics?"

  "A few vague words. Between us, I don't think he bothers with them much;he is waiting upon events."

  "He'll not wait much longer."

  "Who can tell?"

  "What! Who can tell? The empire is not good for six months longer.Monseigneur de Montereau said so again last Monday to my aunt thecanoness."

  "For my part, I give them a year, for their campaign in Italy hasstrengthened them with the lower orders. I didn't pu
t myself out to tellthe king so, though!"

  "Damnation! gentlemen, this is going it a little too strongly!"interrupted Fougas. "Is it here in France that Frenchmen speak thus ofFrench institutions? Go back to your master; tell him that the empire iseternal, because it is founded on the granite of popular support, andcemented by the blood of heroes. And if the king asks you who told youthis, tell him it was Colonel Fougas, who was decorated at Wagram by theEmperor's own hand!"

  The two young gentlemen looked at each other, exchanged a smile, and theViscount said to the Marquis:

  "What is that?"

  "A madman."

  "No, dear; a mad dog."

  "Nothing else."[6]

  "Very well, gentlemen," cried the Colonel. "Speak English; you're fitfor it!"

  He changed his compartment at the next station, and fell in with a lotof young painters. He called them disciples of Zeuxis, and asked themabout Gerard, Gros, and David. These gentlemen found the sport novel,and recommended him to go and see Talma in the new tragedy of Arnault.

  The fortifications of Paris dazzled him very much, and scandalized him alittle.

  "I don't like this," said he to his companions. "The true rampart of acapital is the courage of a great people. This piling bastions aroundParis, is saying to the enemy that it is possible to conquer France."

  The train at last stopped at the Mazas station. The Colonel, who had nobaggage, marched out pompously, with his hands in his pockets, to lookfor the _hotel de Nantes_. As he had spent three months in Paris aboutthe year 1810, he considered himself acquainted with the city, and forthat reason he did not fail to lose himself as soon as he got there. Butin the various quarters which he traversed at hazard, he admired thegreat changes which had been wrought during his absence. Fougas' tastewas for having streets very long, very wide, and bordered with verylarge houses all alike; he could not fail to notice that the Parisianstyle was rapidly approaching his ideal. It was not yet absoluteperfection, but progress was manifest.

  By a very natural illusion, he paused twenty times to salute people offamiliar appearance; but no one recognized him.

  After a walk of five hours he reached the _Place du Carrousel_. The_hotel de Nantes_ was no longer there; but the Louvre had been erectedinstead. Fougas employed a quarter of an hour in regarding thismonument of architecture, and half an hour in contemplating two Zouavesof the guard who were playing piquet. He inquired if the Emperor was inParis; whereupon his attention was called to the flag floating over theTuilleries.

  "Good!" said he. "But first I must get some new clothes."

  He took a room in a hotel on the _Rue Saint Honore_, and asked a waiterwhich was the most celebrated tailor in Paris. The waiter handed him aBusiness Directory. Fougas hunted out the Emperor's bootmaker,shirtmaker, hatter, tailor, barber, and glovemaker. He took down theirnames and addresses in Clementine's pocket-book, after which he took acarriage and set out.

  As he had a small and shapely foot, he found boots ready-made withoutany difficulty. He was promised, too, that all the linen he requiredshould be sent home in the evening. But when he came to explain to thehatter what sort of an apparatus he intended to plant on his head, heencountered great difficulties. His ideal was an enormous hat, large atthe crown, small below, broad in the brim, and curved far down behindand before; in a word, the historic heirloom to which the founder ofBolivia gave his name long ago. The shop had to be turned upside down,and all its recesses searched, to find what he wanted.

  "At last," cried the hatter, "here's your article. If it's for a stagedress, you ought to be satisfied; the comic effect can be dependedupon."

  Fougas answered dryly, that the hat was much less ridiculous than allthose which were then circulating around the streets of Paris.

  At the celebrated tailor's, in the _Rue de la Paix_, there was almost abattle.

  "No, monsieur," said Alfred, "I'll never make you a frogged surtout anda pair of trousers _a la Cosaque_! Go to Babin, or Morean, if you want acarnival dress; but it shall never be said that a man of as good figureas yours left our establishment caricatured."

  "Thunder and guns!" retorted Fougas. "You're a head taller than I am,Mister Giant, but I'm a colonel of the Grand Empire, and it won't do fordrum-majors to give orders to colonels!"

  Of course, the devil of a fellow had the last word. His measure wastaken, a book of costumes consulted, and a promise made that intwenty-four hours he should be dressed in the height of the fashion of1813. Cloths were presented for his selection, among them some Englishfabrics. These he threw aside with disgust.

  "The blue cloth of France," cried he, "and made in France! And cut it insuch a style that any one seeing me in Pekin would say, 'That's asoldier!'"

  The officers of our day have precisely the opposite fancy. They make aneffort to resemble all other "gentlemen"[7] when they assume thecivilian's dress.

  Fougas ordered, in the _Rue Richelieu_, a black satin scarf, which hidhis shirt, and reached up to his ears. Then he went toward the _PalaisRoyal_, entered a celebrated restaurant, and ordered his dinner. Forbreakfast he had only taken a bite at a pastry-cook's in the_Boulevard_, so his appetite, which had been sharpened by the excursion,did wonders. He ate and drank as he did at Fontainebleau. But the billseemed to him hard to digest: it was for a hundred and ten francs and afew centimes. "The devil!" said he; "living has become dear in Paris!"Brandy entered into the sum total for an item of nine francs. They hadgiven him a bottle, and a glass about the size of a thimble; thisgimcrack had amused Fougas, and he diverted himself by filling andemptying it a dozen times. But on leaving the table he was not drunk; anamiable gayety inspired him, but nothing more. It occurred to him to getback some of his money by buying some lottery tickets at Number 113. Buta bottle-seller located in that building apprised him that France hadnot gambled for thirty years. He pushed on to the _Theatre Francais_, tosee if the Emperor's actors might not be giving some fine tragedy, butthe poster disgusted him. Modern comedies played by new actors! NeitherTalma, nor Fleury, nor Thenard, nor the Baptistes, nor Mlle. Mars, norMlle. Raucourt! He then went to the opera, where Charles VI. was beinggiven. The music astounded him at once. He was not accustomed to hear somuch noise anywhere but on the battle-field. Nevertheless, his earssoon inured themselves to the clangor of the instruments; and thefatigue of the day, the pleasure of being comfortably seated, and thelabor of digestion, plunged him into a doze. He woke up with a start atthis famous patriotic song:

  "_Guerre aux tyrans! jamais, jamais en France,_ _Jamais l'Anglais ne regnera!_"[8]

  "No!" cried he, stretching out his arms toward the stage. "Never! Let usswear it together on the sacred altar of our native land! Perish,perfidious Albion! _Vive l'Empereur!_"

  The pit and orchestra arose at once, less to express accord with Fougas'sentiments, than to silence him. During the following _entr'acte_, acommissioner of police said in his ear, that when one had dined as hehad, one ought to go quietly to bed, instead of interrupting theperformance of the opera.

  He replied that he had dined as usual, and that this explosion ofpatriotic sentiment had not proceeded from the stomach.

  "But," said he, "when, in this palace of misused magnificence, hatred ofthe enemy is stigmatized as a crime, I must go and breathe a freer air,and bow before the temple of Glory before I go to bed."

  "You'll do well to do so," said the policeman.

  He went out, haughtier and more erect than ever, reached the Boulevard,and ran with great strides as far as the Corinthian temple at the end.While on his way, he greatly admired the lighting of the city. M.Martout had explained to him the manufacture of gas; he had notunderstood anything about it, but the glowing and ruddy flame was anactual treat to his eyes.

  As soon as he had reached the monument commanding the entrance to the_Rue Royale_, he stopped on the pavement, collected his thoughts for aninstant, and exclaimed:

  "Oh, Glory! Inspirer of great deeds, widow of the mighty conqueror ofEurope! receive the homage of thy devoted Victor Fo
ugas! For thee I haveendured hunger, sweat, and frost, and eaten the most faithful of horses.For thee I am ready to brave further perils, and again to face death onevery battle-field. I seek thee rather than happiness, riches, or power.Reject not the offering of my heart and the sacrifice of my blood! Asthe price of such devotion, I ask nothing but a smile from thy eyes anda laurel from thy hand!"

  This prayer went all glowing to the ears of _Saint Marie Madeleine_, thepatroness of the ex-temple of Glory. Thus the purchaser of a chateausometimes receives a letter addressed to the original proprietor.

  Fougas returned by the _Rue de la Paix_ and the _Place Vendome_, andsaluted, in passing, the only familiar figure he had yet found in Paris.The new costume of Napoleon on the column did not displease him in anyway. He preferred the cocked hat to a crown, and the gray surtout to atheatrical cloak.

  The night was restless. In the Colonel's brain a thousand diverseprojects crossed each other in all directions. He prepared the littlespeech which he should make to the Emperor, going to sleep in the middleof a phrase, and waking up with a start in the attempt to lay hold onthe idea which had so suddenly vanished. He put out and relit his candletwenty times. The recollection of Clementine was occasionallyintermingled with dreams of war and political utopias. But I mustconfess that the young girl's figure seldom got any higher than thesecond place.

  But if the night appeared too long, the morning seemed short inproportion. The idea of meeting the new master of the empire face toface, inspired and chilled him in turn. For an instant he hoped thatsomething would be lacking in his toilet--that some shopkeeper wouldfurnish him an honorable pretext for postponing his visit until the nextday. But everybody displayed the most desperate punctuality. Preciselyat noon, the trousers _a la Cosaque_ and the frogged surtout were on thefoot of the bed opposite the famous Bolivar hat.

  "I may as well be dressing," said Fougas. "Possibly this young man maynot be at home. In that case I'll leave my name, and wait until he sendsfor me."

  He got himself up gorgeously in his own way, and, although it may appearimpossible to my readers, Fougas, in a black satin scarf and froggedsurtout, was not homely nor even ridiculous. His tall figure, lithebuild, lofty and impressive carriage, and brusque movements, were all ina certain harmony with the costume of the olden time. He appearedstrange, and that was all. To keep his courage up, he dropped into arestaurant, ate four cutlets, a loaf of bread, a slice of cheese, andwashed it all down with two bottles of wine. The coffee and supplementsbrought him up to two o'clock, and that was the time he had set forhimself.

  He tipped his hat slightly over one ear, buttoned his buckskin gloves,coughed energetically two or three times before the sentinel at the _Ruede Rivoli_, and marched bravely into the gate.

  "Monsieur," cried the porter, "what do you want?"

  "The Emperor!"

  "Have you an audience letter?"

  "Colonel Fougas does not need one. Go and ask references of him whotowers over the _Place Vendome_. He'll tell you that the name of Fougashas always been a synonym for bravery and fidelity."

  "You knew the first Emperor?"

  "Yes, my little joker; and I have talked with him just as I am talkingwith you."

  "Indeed! But how old are you then?"

  "Seventy years on the dial-plate of time; twenty-four years on thetablets of History!"

  The porter raised his eyes to Heaven, and murmured:

  "Still another! This makes the fourth for this week!"

  He made a sign to a little gentleman in black, who was smoking his pipein the court of the Tuilleries. Then he said to Fougas, putting his handon his arm:

  "So, my good friend, you want to see the Emperor?"

  "I've already told you so, familiar individual!"

  "Very well; you shall see him to-day. That gentleman going along therewith the pipe in his mouth, is the one who introduces visitors; he willtake care of you. But the Emperor is not in the Palace; he is in thecountry. It's all the same to you, isn't it, if you do have to go intothe country?"

  "What the devil do you suppose I care?"

  "Only I don't suppose you care to go on foot. A carriage has alreadybeen ordered for you. Come, my good fellow, get in, and be reasonable!"

  Two minutes later, Fougas, accompanied by a detective, was riding to apolice station.

  His business was soon disposed of. The commissary who received him wasthe same one who had spoken to him the previous evening at the opera. Adoctor was called, and gave the best verdict of monomania that ever senta man to Charenton. All this was done politely and pleasantly, without aword which could put the Colonel on his guard or give him a suspicion ofthe fate held in reserve for him. He merely found the ceremonial ratherlong and peculiar, and prepared on the spot several well-soundingsentences, which he promised himself the honor of repeating to theEmperor.

  At last he was permitted to resume his route. The hack had been keptwaiting; the gentleman-usher relit his pipe, said three words to thedriver, and seated himself at the left of the Colonel. The carriage setoff at a trot, reached the _Boulevards_, and took the direction of theBastille. It had gotten opposite the _Porte Saint-Martin_, and Fougas,with his head at the window, was continuing the composition of hisimpromptu speech, when an open carriage drawn by a pair of superbchestnuts passed, so to speak, under his very nose. A portly man with agray moustache turned his head, and cried, "Fougas!"

  Robinson Crusoe, discovering the human footprint on his island, was notmore astonished and delighted than our hero on hearing that cry of"Fougas!" To open the door, jump out into the road, run to the carriage,which had been stopped, fling himself into it at a single bound, withoutthe help of the step, and fall into the arms of the portly gentlemanwith the gray moustache, was all the work of a second. The barouche hadlong disappeared, when the detective at a gallop, followed by his hackat a trot, traversed the line of the _Boulevards_, asking all thepolicemen if they had not seen a crazy man pass that way.