THE GAME OF LOVE AND WAR.
As she was evidently backward in falling into his arms, Fougas imitated
Mahomet, and ran to the mountain.
"Oh, Clementine!" said he, covering her with kisses, "the friendly Fates
give you back to my devotion. I clasp once more the partner of my life
and the mother of my child!"
The young lady was so astounded, that she did not even dream of
defending herself. Happily, Leon Renault extricated her from the hands
of the Colonel, and placed himself between them, determined to defend
his own.
"Monsieur," cried he, clenching his fists, "you deceive yourself
entirely, if you think you know _Mademoiselle_. She is not a person of
your time, but of ours; she is not your _fiancée_, but mine; she has
never been the mother of your child, and I trust that she will be the
mother of mine!"
Fougas was iron. He seized his rival by the arm, sent him off spinning
like a top, and put himself face to face with the young girl.
"Are you Clementine?" he demanded of her.
"Yes, Monsieur."
"I call you all to witness that she is my Clementine!"
Leon returned to the charge, and seized the Colonel by the collar, at
the risk of getting himself dashed against the walls.
"We've had joking enough!" said he. "Possibly you don't pretend to
monopolize all the Clementines in the world? Mademoiselle's name is
Clementine Sambucco; she was born at Martinique, where you never set
your foot, if I am to believe what you have said within an hour. She is
eighteen years old----"
"So was the other!"
"Eh! The other is sixty-four to-day, since she was eighteen in 1813.
Mlle. Sambucco is of an honorable and well-known family. Her father, M.
Sambucco, was a magistrate; her grandfather was a functionary of the war
department. You see, she is in no way connected with you, nearly or
remotely; and good sense and politeness, to say nothing of gratitude,
make it your duty to leave her in peace."
He gave the Colonel a shove, in his turn, and made him tumble between
the arms of a sofa.
Fougas bounded up as if he had been thrown on a million springs. But
Clementine stopped him, with a gesture and a smile.
"Monsieur," said she in her most caressing voice, "do not get angry with
him; he loves me."
"So much the more reason why I should! Damnation!"
He cooled down, nevertheless, made the young lady sit down beside him,
and regarded her from head to foot with the most absorbed attention.
"This is surely she," said he. "My memory, my eyes, my heart, everything
in me, recognizes her, and tells me that it is she. And nevertheless the
testimony of mankind, the calculation of times and distances, in a word,
the very soul of evidence, seems to have made it a special point to
convict me of error.
"Is it possible, then, that two women should so resemble each other?
Am I the victim of an illusion of the senses? Have I recovered life
only to lose reason? No; I know myself, I find myself the same; my
judgment is firm and accurate, and can make its way in this world
so new and topsy-turvy. It is on but one point that my reason
wavers--Clementine!--I seem to see you again, and you are not you! Well,
what's the difference, after all? If the Destiny which snatched me from
the tomb has taken care to present to my awaking sense the image of her
I loved, it must be because it had resolved to give me back, one after
another, all the blessings which I had lost. In a few days, my
epaulettes; to-morrow, the flag of the 23d of the line; to-day this
adorable presence which made my heart beat for the first time! Living
image of all that is sweetest and clearest in the past, I throw myself
at your feet! Be my wife!"
The devil of a fellow joined the deed to the word, and the witnesses of
the unexpected scene opened their eyes to the widest. But Clementine's
aunt, the austere Mlle. Sambucco, thought that it was time to show her
authority. She stretched out her big, wrinkled hands, seized Fougas,
jerked him sharply to his feet, and cried in her shrillest voice:
"Enough, sir; it is time to put an end to this scandalous farce! My
niece is not for you; I have promised her and given her away. Know that,
day after to-morrow, the 19th of this month, at ten o'clock in the
morning, she will marry M. Leon Renault, your benefactor!"
"And I forbid it--do you hear, Madame Aunt? And if she pretends to marry
this boy----"
"What will you do?"
"I'll curse her!"
Leon could not help laughing. The malediction of this
twenty-five-year-old Colonel appeared rather more comic than terrible.
But Clementine grew pale, burst into tears, and fell, in her turn, at
the feet of Fougas.
"Monsieur," cried she, kissing his hands, "do not overwhelm a poor girl
who venerates you, who loves you, who will sacrifice her happiness if
you demand it! By all the marks of tenderness which I have lavished upon
you for a month, by the tears I have poured upon your coffin, by the
respectful zeal with which I have urged on your resuscitation, I conjure
you to pardon our offences. I will not marry Leon if you forbid me; I
will do anything to please you; I will obey you in everything; but, for
God's sake, do not pour upon me your maledictions!"
"Embrace me," said Fougas. "You yield; I pardon."
Clementine raised herself, all radiant with joy, and held up her
beautiful forehead. The stupefaction of the spectators, especially of
those most interested, can be better imagined than described. An old
mummy dictating laws, breaking off marriages, and imposing his desires
on the whole house! Pretty little Clementine, so reasonable, so
obedient, so happy in the prospect of marrying Leon Renault,
sacrificing, all at once, her affections, her happiness, and almost her
duty, to the caprice of an interloper. M. Nibor declared that it was
madness. As for Leon, he would have butted his head into all the walls,
if his mother had not held him back.
"Ah, my poor child!" said she, "why did you bring that thing from
Berlin?"
"It's my fault!" cried old Monsieur Renault.
"No," interrupted Dr. Martout, "it's mine."
The members of the Parisian committee discussed with M. Rollon the new
aspect of the case. "Had they resuscitated a madman? Had the
revivification produced some disorder of the nervous system? Had the
abuse of wine and other drinkables during the first repast caused a
delirium? What an interesting autopsy it would be, if they could dissect
M. Fougas at the next regular meeting!"
"You would do very well as far as you would go, gentlemen," said the
Colonel of the 23d. "The autopsy might explain the delirium of our
unfortunate friend, but it would not account for the impression produced
upon the young lady. Is it fascination, magnetism, or what?"
While the friends and relations were weeping, counselling, and buzzing
around him, Fougas, serene and smiling, gazed at himself in Clementine's
eyes, while they, too, regarded him tenderly.
"This must be brought to an end!" cried Mlle. Sambucco the severe.
"Come, Clementine!"
Fougas seemed surprised.
"She doesn't live here, then?"
"No, sir; she lives with me."
"Then I will escort her home. Angel! will you take my arm?"
"Oh, yes, Monsieur, with great pleasure!"
Leon gnashed his teeth.
"This is admirable! He presumes on such familiarity, and she takes it
all as a matter of course!"
He went to get his hat, for the purpose of, at least, going home with
the aunt, but his hat was not in its place; Fougas, who had not yet one
of his own, had helped himself to it without ceremony. The poor lover
crowded his head into a cap, and followed Fougas and Clementine, with
the respectable Virginie, whose arm cut like a scythe.
By an accident which happened almost daily, the Colonel of cuirassiers
met Clementine on the way home. The young lady directed Fougas'
attention to him.
"That's M. du Marnet," said she. "His restaurant is at the end of our
street, and his room at the side of the park. I think he is very much
taken with my little self, but he has never even bowed to me. The only
man for whom my heart has ever beaten is Leon Renault."
"Ah, indeed! And me?" said Fougas.
"Oh! as for you, that's another matter. I respect you, and stand in awe
of you. It seems to me as if you were a good and respectable parent."
"Thank you!"
"I'm telling you the truth, as far as I can read it in my heart. All
this is not very clear, I confess, but I do not understand myself."
"Azure flower of innocence, I adore your sweet perplexity! Let love take
care of itself; it will speak to you in master tones."
"I don't know anything about that; it's possible! Here we are at home.
Good evening, Monsieur; embrace me.--Good night, Leon; don't quarrel
with M. Fougas. I love him with all my heart, but I love you in a
different way!"
The aunt Virginie made no response to the "Good evening" of Fougas. When
the two men were alone in the street, Leon marched along without saying
a word, till they reached the next lamp-post. There, planting himself
resolutely opposite the Colonel, he said,
"Well, sir, now that we are alone, we had better have an explanation. I
don't know by what philter or incantation you have obtained such
prodigious influence over my betrothed; but I know that I love her, that
I have been loved by her more than four years, and that I will not stop
at any means of retaining and protecting her."
"Friend," answered Fougas, "you can brave me with impunity; my arm is
chained by gratitude. It shall never be written in history that Pierre
Fougas was an ingrate!"
"Would it have been more ungrateful in you to cut my throat, than to rob
me of my wife?"
"Oh, my benefactor! Learn to understand and pardon! God forbid that I
should marry Clementine in spite of you, in spite of herself. It is
through her consent and your own that I hope to win her. Realize that
she has been dear to me, not for four years, as to you, but for nearly
half a century. Reflect that I am alone on earth, and that her sweet
face is my only consolation. Will you, who have given me life, prevent
my spending it happily? Have you called me back to the world only to
deliver me over to despair?--Tiger! Take back, then, the life you gave
me, if you will not permit me to consecrate it to the adorable
Clementine!"
"Upon my soul, my dear fellow, you are superb! The habit of victory must
have totally twisted your wits. My hat is on your head:--keep it; so far
so good. But because my betrothed happens to remind you vaguely of a
girl in Nancy, must I give her up to you? I can't see it!"
"Friend, I will give you back your hat just as soon as you've bought me
another one; but do not ask me to give up Clementine. In the first
place, do you know that she will reject me?"
"I'm sure of it."
"She loves me."
"You're crazy!"
"You've seen her at my feet."
"What of that? It was from fear, from respect, from superstition, from
anything in the devil's name you choose to call it; but it was not from
love."
"We'll see about that pretty clearly, after six months of married life."
"But," cried Leon Renault, "have you the right to dispose of yourself?
There is another Clementine, the true one; she has sacrificed everything
for you; you are engaged, in honor, to her. Is Colonel Fougas deaf to
the voice of honor?"
"Are you mocking me? What! I marry a woman sixty-four years old?"
"You ought to; if not for her sake, at least for your child's."
"My child is a pretty big boy. He's forty-six years old; he has no
further need of my care."
"He does need your name, though."
"I'll adopt him."
"The law is opposed to it. You're not fifty years old, and he's not
fifteen years younger than you are; quite the reverse!"
"Very well; I'll legitimize him by marrying the young Clementine."
"How can you expect her to acknowledge a child twice as old as she is
herself?"
"But then I can't acknowledge him any better; so there's no need of my
marrying the old woman. Moreover, I'd be excessively accommodating to
break my head for a child who is very likely dead. What do I say? It is
possible that he never saw the light. I love and am loved--that much is
substantial and certain; and you shall be my groomsman."
"Not yet awhile. Mlle. Sambucco is a minor, and her guardian is my
father."
"Your father is an honorable man; and he will not have the baseness to
refuse her to me."
"At least he will ask you if you have any position, any rank, any
fortune to offer to his ward."
"My position? colonel; my rank? colonel; my fortune? the pay of a
colonel. And the millions at Dantzic--I mustn't forget them!--Here we
are at home; let me have the will of that good old gentleman who wore
the lilac wig. Give me some books on history, too--a big pile of
them--all that have anything to say about Napoleon."
Young Renault sadly obeyed the master he had given himself. He conducted
Fougas to a fine chamber, brought him Herr Meiser's will and a whole
shelf of books, and bid his mortal enemy "Good night." The Colonel
embraced him impetuously, and said to him,
"I will never forget that to you I owe life and Clementine. Farewell
till to-morrow, noble and generous child of my native land! farewell!"
Leon went back to the ground floor, passed the dining-room, where Gothon
was wiping the glasses and putting the silver in order, and rejoined his
father and mother, who were waiting for him in the parlor. The guests
were gone, the candles extinguished. A single lamp lit up the solitude.
The two mandarins on the étagère were motionless in their obscure
corner, and seemed to meditate gravely on the caprices of fortune.
"Well?" demanded Mme. Renault.
"I left him in his room, crazier and more obstinate than ever. However,
I've got an idea."
"So much the better," said the father, "for we have none left. Sadness
has made us stupid. But, above all things, no quarrelling. These
soldiers of the empire used to be terrible swordsmen."
"Oh, I'm not afraid of him! It's Clementine that makes me anxious. With
what sweetness and submission she listened to the confounded babbler!"
"The heart of woman is an unfathomable abyss. Well, what do you think of
doing?"
Leon developed in detail the project he had conceived in the street,
during his conversation with Fougas.
"The most urgent thing," said he, "is to relieve Clementine from this
influence. If we could get him out of the way to-morrow, reason would
resume its empire, and we would be married the day after to-morrow. That
being done, I'll answer for the rest."
"But how is such a madman to be gotten rid of?"
"I see but one way, but it is almost infallible--to excite his dominant
passion. These fellows sometimes imagine that they are in love, but, at
the bottom, they love nothing but powder. The thing is, to fling Fougas
back into the current of military ideas. His breakfast to-morrow with
the colonel of the 23d will be a good preparation. I made him understand
to-day that he ought, before all, to reclaim his rank and epaulettes,
and he has become inoculated with the idea. He'll go to Paris, then.
Possibly he'll find there some leather-breeches of his acquaintance. At
all events, he'll reënter the service. The occupations incident to his
position will be a powerful diversion; he'll no longer dream of
Clementine, whom I will have fixed securely. We will have to furnish him
the wherewithal to knock about the world; but all sacrifices of money
are nothing in comparison with the happiness I wish to save."
Madame Renault, who was a woman of thrift, blamed her son's generosity a
little.
"The Colonel is an ungrateful soul," said she. "We've already done too
much in giving him back his life. Let him take care of himself now!"
"No," said the father; "we've not the right to send him forth entirely
empty-handed. Decency forbids."
This deliberation, which had lasted a good hour and a quarter, was
interrupted by a tremendous racket. One would have declared that the
house was falling down.
"There he is again!" cried Leon. "Undoubtedly a fresh paroxysm of raving
madness!"
He ran, followed by his parents, and mounted the steps four at a time. A
candle was burning at the sill of the chamber door. Leon took it, and
pushed the door half open.
Must it be confessed? Hope and joy spoke louder to him than fear. He
fancied himself already relieved of the Colonel. But the spectacle
presented to his eyes suddenly diverted the course of his ideas, and the
inconsolable lover began laughing like a fool. A noise of kicks, blows,
and slaps; an undefined group rolling on the floor in the convulsions of
a desperate struggle--so much was all he could see and understand at the
first glance. Soon Fougas, lit up by the ruddy glow of the candle,
discovered that he was struggling with Gothon, like Jacob with the
angel, and went back, confused and pitiable, to bed.
The Colonel had gone to sleep over the history of Napoleon, without
putting out the candle. Gothon, after finishing her work, saw the light
under the door. Her thoughts recurred to that poor Baptiste, who,
perhaps, was groaning in purgatory for having let himself tumble from a
roof. Hoping that Fougas could give her some news of her lover, she
rapped several times, at first softly, then much louder. The Colonel's
silence and the lighted candle made it seem to the servant that there
was something wrong. The fire might catch the curtains, and from thence
the whole building. She accordingly set down the candle, opened the
door, and went, with cat-like steps, to put out the light. Possibly the
eyes of the sleeper vaguely perceived the passage of a shadow; possibly
Gothon, with her big, awkward figure, made a board in the floor creak.
Fougas partially awoke, heard the rustling of a dress, dreamed it one of
those adventures which were wont to spice garrison life under the first
empire, and held out his arms blindly, calling Clementine. Gothon, on
finding herself seized by the hair and shoulders, responded by such a
masculine blow that the enemy supposed himself attacked by a man. The
blow was returned with interest; further exchanges followed, and they
finished by clinching and rolling on the floor.
If anybody ever did feel shamefaced, Fougas was certainly the man.
Gothon went to bed, considerably bruised; the Renault family talked
sense into the Colonel, and got out of him pretty much what they wanted.
He promised to set out next day, accepted as a loan the money offered
him, and swore not to return until he should have recovered his
epaulettes and secured the Dantzic bequest.
"And then," said he, "I'll marry Clementine."
On that point it was useless to argue with him; the idea was fixed.
Everybody slept soundly in the mansion of the Renaults; the heads of the
house, because they had had three sleepless nights; Fougas and Gothon,
because each had been unmercifully pummelled; and the young Célestin,
because he had drunk the heeltaps from all the glasses.
The next morning M. Rollon came to know if Fougas were in a condition to
breakfast with him; he feared, just the least bit, that he would find
him under a shower bath. Far from it! The madman of yesterday was as
calm as a picture and as fresh as a rosebud. He shaved with Leon's
razors, while humming an air of Nicolo. With his hosts, he was charming,
and he promised to settle a pension on Gothon out of Herr Meiser's
legacy.
As soon as he had set off for the breakfast, Leon ran to the dwelling of
his sweetheart.
"Everything is going better," said he. "The Colonel is much more
reasonable. He has promised to leave for Paris this very day; so we can
get married to-morrow."
Mlle. Virginie Sambucco praised this plan of proceeding highly, not only
because she had made great preparations for the wedding, but because the
postponement of the marriage would be the talk of the town. The cards
were already out, the mayor notified, and the Virgin's chapel, in the
parish church, engaged. To revoke all this at the caprice of a ghost
and a fool, would be to sin against custom, common sense, and Heaven
itself.
Clementine only replied with tears. She could not be happy without
marrying Leon, but she would rather die, she said, than give her hand
without the sanction of M. Fougas. She promised to implore him, on her
knees if necessary, and wring from him his consent.
"But if he refuses? And it's too likely that he will!"
"I will beseech him again and again, until he says yes."
Everybody conspired to convince her that she was unreasonable--her aunt,
Leon, M. and Mme. Renault, M. Martout, M. Bonnivet, and all the friends
of the two families. At length she yielded, but, at almost the same
instant, the door flew open, and M. Audret rushed into the parlor,
crying out,
"Well, well! here _is_ a piece of news! Colonel Fougas is going to fight
M. du Marnet to-morrow."
The young girl fell, thunderstruck, into the arms of Leon Renault.
"God punishes me!" cried she; "and the chastisement for my impiety is
not delayed. Will you still force me to obey you? Shall I be dragged to
the altar, in spite of myself, at the very hour he's risking his life?"
No one dared to insist longer, on seeing her in so pitiable a state. But
Leon offered up earnest prayers that victory might side with the colonel
of cuirassiers. He was wrong, I confess; but what lover would have been
sinless enough to cast the first stone at him?
And here is an account of how the precious Fougas had spent his day.
At ten o'clock in the morning, the youngest two captains of the 23d came
to conduct him in proper style to the residence of the Colonel. M.
Rollon occupied a little palace of the imperial epoch. A marble tablet,
inserted over the porte-cochère, still bore the words, _Ministère des
Finances_--a souvenir of the glorious time when Napoleon's court
followed its master to Fontainebleau.
Colonel Rollon, the lieutenant-colonel, the major-in-chief, the three
majors of battalions, the surgeon-major, and ten or a dozen officers
were outside, awaiting the arrival of the illustrious guest from the
other world. The flag was placed in the middle of the court, under guard
of the ensign and a squad of non-commissioned officers selected for the
honor. The band of the regiment, at the entrance of the garden, filled
up the background of the picture. Eight panoplies of arms, which had
been improvised the same morning by the armorers of the corps,
embellished the walls and railings. A company of grenadiers, with their
arms at rest, were in attendance.
At the entrance of Fougas, the band played the famous "_Partant pour la
Syrie;_" the grenadiers presented arms; the drums beat a salute; the
non-commissioned officers and soldiers cried, "_Vive le Colonel
Fougas!_" the officers, in a body, approached the patriarch of their
regiment. All this was neither regular nor according to discipline, but
we can well allow a little latitude to these brave soldiers on finding
their ancestor. For them it seemed a little debauch in glory.
The hero of the _fête_ grasped the hands of the colonel and officers
with as much emotion as if he had found his old comrades again. He
cordially saluted the non-commissioned officers and soldiers, approached
the flag, bent one knee to the earth, raised himself loftily, grasped
the staff, turned toward the attentive crowd, and said,
"My friends, under the shadow of the flag, a soldier of France, after
forty-six years of exile, finds his family again to-day. All honor to
thee, symbol of our fatherland, old partner in our victories, and heroic
support in our misfortunes! Thy radiant eagle has hovered over prostrate
and trembling Europe. Thy bruised eagle has again dashed obstinately
against misfortune, and terrified the sons of Power. Honor to thee, thou
who hast led us to glory, and fortified us against the clamor of
despair! I have seen thee ever foremost in the fiercest dangers, proud
flag of my native land! Men have fallen around thee like grain before
the reaper; while thou alone hast shown to the enemy thy front unbending
and superb. Bullets and cannon-shot have torn thee with wounds, but
never upon thee has the audacious stranger placed his hand. May the
future deck thy front with new laurels! Mayst thou conquer new and
far-extending realms, which no fatality shall rob thee of! The day of
great deeds is being born again; believe a warrior, who has risen from
the tomb to tell thee so. 'Forward!' Yes, I swear it by the spirit of
him who led us at Wagram. There shall be great days for France when thou
shalt shelter with thy glorious folds the fortunes of the brave 23d!"
Eloquence so martial and patriotic stirred all hearts. Fougas was
applauded, fêted, embraced, and almost carried in triumph into the
banquet hall.
Seated at table opposite M. Rollon, as if he were a second master of the
house, he breakfasted heartily, talked a great deal, and drank more yet.
You may occasionally meet, in the world, people who get drunk without
drinking. Fougas was far from being one of them. He never felt his
equanimity seriously disturbed short of three bottles. Often, in fact,
he went much further without yielding.
The toasts presented at dessert were distinguished for pith and
cordiality. I would like to recount them in order, but am forced to
admit that they would take up too much room, and that the last, which
were the most touching, were not of a lucidity absolutely Voltairian.
They arose from the table at two o'clock, and betook themselves in a
body to the _Café Militaire_, where the officers of the 23d placed a
punch before the two colonels. They had invited, with a feeling of
eminent propriety, the superior officers of the regiment of cuirassiers.
Fougas, who was drunker, in his own proper person, than a whole
battalion of _Suisses_, distributed a great many hand-shakings. But
across the storm which disturbed his spirit, he recognized the person
and name of M. du Marnet, and made a grimace. Between officers, and,
above all, between officers of different arms of the service, politeness
is a little excessive, etiquette rather severe, _amour-propre_ somewhat
susceptible. M. du Marnet, who was preëminently a man of the world,
understood at once, from the attitude of M. Fougas, that he was not in
the presence of a friend.
The punch appeared, blazing, went out with its strength unimpaired, and
was dispensed, with a big ladle, into threescore glasses. Fougas drank
with everybody, except M. du Marnet. The conversation, which was erratic
and noisy, imprudently raised a question of comparative merits. An
officer of cuirassiers asked Fougas if he had seen Bordesoulle's
splendid charge, which flung the Austrians into the valley of Plauen.
Fougas had known General Bordesoulle personally, and had seen with his
own eyes the beautiful heavy cavalry manoeuvre which decided the victory
of Dresden. But he chose to be disagreeable to M. du Marnet, by
affecting an air of ignorance or indifference.
"In our time," said he, "the cavalry was always brought into action
after the battle; we employed it to bring in the enemy after we had
routed them."
Here a great outcry arose, and the glorious name of Murat was thrown
into the balance.
"Oh, doubtless--doubtless!" said he, shaking his head. "Murat was a good
general in his limited sphere; he answered perfectly for all that was
wanted of him. But if the cavalry had Murat, the infantry had Napoleon."
M. du Marnet observed, judiciously, that Napoleon, if he must be seized
upon for the credit of any single arm of the service, would belong to
the artillery.
"With all my heart, monsieur," replied Fougas; "the artillery and the
infantry. Artillery at a distance, infantry at close quarters--cavalry
off at one side."
"Once more I beg your pardon," answered M. du Marnet; "you mean to say,
at the sides, which is a very different matter."
"At the sides, or at one side, I don't care! As for me, if I were
commander-in-chief, I would set the cavalry aside."
Several cavalry officers had already flung themselves into the
discussion. M. du Marnet held them back, and made a sign that he wanted
to answer Fougas alone.
"And why, then, if you please, would you set the cavalry aside?"
"Because the dragoon is an incomplete soldier."
"Incomplete?"
"Yes, sir; and the proof is, that the Government has to buy four or five
hundred francs' worth of horse in order to complete him. And when the
horse receives a ball or a bayonet thrust, the dragoon is no longer good
for anything. Have you ever seen a cavalryman on foot? It would be a
pretty sight!"
"I see myself on foot every day, and I don't see anything particularly
ridiculous about it."
"I'm too polite to contradict you."
"And for me, sir, I am too just to combat one paradox with another. What
would you think of my logic, if I were to say to you (the idea is not
mine--I found it in a book), if I were to say to you, 'I entertain a
high regard for infantry, but, after all, the foot soldier is an
incomplete soldier, deprived of his birthright, an inefficient body
deprived of that natural complement of the soldier, called a horse! I
admire his courage, I perceive that he makes himself useful in battle;
but, after all, the poor devil has only two feet at his command, while
we have four!' You see fit to consider a dragoon on foot ridiculous; but
does the foot-soldier always make a very brilliant appearance when one
sticks a horse between his legs? I have seen excellent infantry captains
cruelly embarrassed when the minister of war made them majors. They
said, scratching their heads, 'It's not over when we've mounted a grade;
we've got to mount a horse in the bargain!'"
This crude pleasantry amused the audience for a moment. They laughed,
and the mustard mounted higher and higher in Fougas' nose.
"In my time," said he, "a foot soldier became a dragoon in twenty-four
hours; and if any one would like to make a match with me on horseback,
sabre in hand, I'll show him what infantry is!"
"Monsieur," coolly replied M. du Marnet, "I hope that opportunities will
not be lacking to you in the field of battle. It is there that a true
soldier displays his talents and bravery. Infantry and cavalry, we alike
belong to France. I drink to her, Monsieur, and I hope you will not
refuse to touch glasses with me.--To France!"
This was certainly well spoken and well settled. The clicking of glasses
applauded M. du Marnet. Fougas himself approached his adversary and
drank with him without reserve. But he whispered in his ear, speaking
very thickly:
"I hope, for my part, that you will not refuse the sabre-match which I
had the honor to propose to you?"
"As you please," said the colonel of cuirassiers.
The gentleman from the other world, drunker than ever, went out of the
crowd with two officers whom he had picked up haphazard. He declared to
them that he considered himself insulted by M. du Marnet, that a
challenge had been given and accepted, and that the affair was going on
swimmingly.
"Especially," added he in confidence, "since there is a lady in the case!
These are my conditions--they are all in accordance with the honor of
the infantry, the army, and France: we will fight on horseback, stripped
to the waist, mounted bareback on two stallions. The weapon--the cavalry
sabre. First blood. I want to chastise a puppy. I am far from wishing to
rob France of a soldier."
These conditions were pronounced absurd by M. du Marnet's seconds. They
accepted them, nevertheless, for the military code requires one to face
all dangers, however absurd.
Fougas devoted the rest of the day to worrying the poor Renaults. Proud
of the control he exercised over Clementine, he declared his wishes;
swore he would take her for his wife as soon as he had recovered his
rank, family, and fortune, and prohibited her to dispose of herself
before that time. He broke openly with Leon and his parents, refused to
accept their good offices any longer, and quitted their house after a
serious passage of high words. Leon concluded by saying that he would
only give up his betrothed with life itself. The Colonel shrugged his
shoulders and turned his back, carrying off, without stopping to
consider what he was doing, the father's clothes and the son's hat. He
asked M. Rollon for five hundred francs, engaged a room at the _Hotel du
Cadron-bleu_, went to bed without any supper, and slept straight through
until the arrival of his seconds.
There was no necessity for giving him an account of what had passed the
previous day. The fogs of punch and sleep dissipated themselves in an
instant. He plunged his head and hands into a basin of fresh water, and
said:
"So much for my toilet! Now, _Vive l'Empereur!_ Let's go and get into
line!"
The field selected by common consent was the parade-ground--a sandy
plain enclosed in the forest, at a good distance from the town. All the
officers of the garrison betook themselves there of their own accord;
there would have been no need of inviting them. More than one soldier
went secretly and billeted himself in a tree. The _gendarmerie_ itself
ornamented the little family _fête_, with its presence. People went to
see an encounter in chivalric tourney, not merely between the infantry
and the cavalry, but between the old army and the young. The exhibition
fully satisfied public expectation. No one was tempted to hiss the
piece, and everybody had his money's worth.
Precisely at nine o'clock, the combatants entered the lists, attended by
their four seconds and the umpire of the field. Fougas, naked to the
waist, was as handsome as a young god. His lithe and agile figure, his
proud and radiant features, the manly grace of his movements, assured
him a flattering reception. He made his English horse caper, and saluted
the lookers-on with the point of his sword.
M. du Marnet, a man rather of the German type, hardy, quite hairy,
moulded like the Indian Bacchus, and not like Achilles, showed in his
countenance a slight shade of disgust. It was not necessary to be a
magician to understand that this duel _in naturalibus_, under the eyes
of his own officers, appeared to him useless and even ridiculous. His
horse was a half-blood from Perche, a vigorous beast and full of fire.
Fougas' seconds rode badly enough. They divided their attention between
the combat and their stirrups. M. du Marnet had chosen the best two
horsemen in his regiment, a major and captain. The umpire of the field
was Colonel Rollon, an excellent rider.
At a signal given by Colonel Rollon, Fougas rode directly at his
adversary, presenting the point of his sabre in the position of "prime,"
like a cavalry soldier charging infantry in a hollow square. But he
reined up about three lengths from M. du Marnet, and described around
him seven or eight rapid circles, like an Arab in a play. M. du Marnet,
being forced to turn in the same spot and defend himself on all sides,
clapped both spurs to his horse, broke the circle, took to the field,
and threatened to commence the same manoeuvre about Fougas. But the
gentleman from the other world did not wait for him. He rushed off at a
full gallop, and made a round of the hippodrome, always followed by M.
du Marnet. The cuirassier, being heavier, and mounted on a slower horse,
was distanced. He revenged himself by calling out to Fougas:
"Oh, Monsieur! I must say that this looks more like a race than a
battle. I ought to have brought a riding-whip instead of a sword!"
But Fougas, panting and furious, had already turned upon him.
"Hold on there!" cried he; "I have shown you the horseman; now I will
show you the soldier!"
He lanched a thrust at him, which would have gone through him like a
hoop if M. du Marnet had not been as prompt as at parade. He retorted by
a fine cut _en quarte_, powerful enough to cut the invincible Fougas in
two. But the other was nimbler than a monkey. He wholly shielded his
body by letting himself slide to the ground, and then remounted his
horse in the same second.
"My compliments!" said M. du Marnet. "They don't do any better than that
in the circus."
"No more do they in war," rejoined the other. "Ah, scoundrel! so you
revile the old army? Here's at you! A miss! Thanks for the retort, but
it's not good enough yet. I'll not die from any such thrust as that! How
do you like that?--and that?-and that? Ah, you claim that the
foot-soldier is an incomplete man! Now we're going to make _your_
assortment of limbs a little incomplete. Look out for your boot! He's
parried it! Perhaps he expects to indulge in a little promenade under
Clementine's windows this evening. Take care! Here's for Clementine! And
here's for the infantry! Will you parry that? So, traitor! And that? So
he does! Perhaps you'll parry them all, then, by Heavens! Victory! Ah,
Monsieur! Your blood is flowing! What have I done? Devil take the sword,
the horse, and all! Major! major! come quickly! Monsieur, let yourself
rest in my arms. Beast that I am! As if all soldiers were not brothers!
Oh, forgive me, my friend! Would that I could redeem each drop of your
blood with all of mine! Miserable Fougas, incapable of mastering his
fierce passions! Ah, you Esculapian Mars, I beg you tell me that the
thread of his days is not to be clipped! I will not survive him, for he
is a brave!"
M. du Marnet had received a magnificent cut which traversed the left arm
and breast, and the blood was streaming from it at a rate to make one
shudder. The surgeon, who had provided himself with hemostatic
preparations, hastened to arrest the hemorrhage. The wound was long
rather than deep, and could be cured in a few days. Fougas himself
carried his adversary to the carriage, but that did not satisfy him. He
firmly insisted on joining the two officers who took M. du Marnet home;
he overwhelmed the wounded man with his protestations, and was occupied
during most of the ride in swearing eternal friendship to him. On
reaching the house, he put him to bed, embraced him, bathed him with
tears, and did not leave him for a moment until he heard him snoring.
When six o'clock struck, he went to dine at the hotel, in company with
his seconds and the referee, all of whom he had invited after the fight.
He treated them magnificently, and got drunk himself, as usual.