FILIAL LOVE, OR THE WOODEN LEG
Charles returned to Madame Teutch's house on a run, like the hare to his
form, or the fox to his hole. It was his refuge; once there he thought
himself safe; once upon the threshold of the Hôtel de la Lanterne he
thought he had nothing more to fear.
He asked after his young friend, and learned that he was in his room,
where he was taking a fencing-lesson of the sergeant-major of a
Strasbourg regiment.
This sergeant-major had served under his father, the Marquis de
Beauharnais, who had occasion to notice him three or four times for his
extreme bravery.
As soon as he learned that his son was to go to Strasbourg to seek for
papers which might be useful to him, the marquis advised him not to
discontinue the exercises which were a part of the education of a young
man of good family. He bade him ascertain whether Sergeant Pierre
Augereau were still at Strasbourg, and if so, to ask him to practice
fencing with him from time to time.
Eugene had found Pierre Augereau, but he had become a sergeant-major,
and no longer practiced fencing except for his own amusement. As soon,
however, as he learned that the young man who wished to take fencing
lessons from him was the son of his old general, he insisted upon going
to him at the Hôtel de la Lanterne. But what made the sergeant-major
especially interested was the fact that in the young man he found, not a
pupil, but a master who defended himself wonderfully well against the
rough, incoherent play of the old tactician; and, furthermore--a thing
which was by no means to be despised--every time he had a fencing-bout
with his young pupil, the latter invited him to dinner; and a dinner at
the Lanterne was far better than one at the barracks.
Pierre Augereau belonged to the regiment which had left the city that
morning to give chase to the Austrians, and he had seen his pupil on the
rampart, gun in hand. He had saluted him repeatedly with his sabre, but
the lad had been too engrossed in sending balls after the Austrians to
heed the telegraphic signals of the sergeant-major. From the citizeness
Teutch, Augereau had learned how nearly Eugene had escaped being killed;
she had shown him the bullet hole, and had told him how the boy had
returned shot for shot--a return that had proved fatal to the Austrian.
Therefore, Augereau had greatly complimented his pupil, and had been
invited to the meal, which, coming between the great noon breakfast and
the supper, which is generally eaten at ten in the evening, constitutes
the dinner of Germany.
When Charles arrived the master and the pupil were in the act of
saluting each other; the lesson was over, Eugene had been unusually full
of vigor, strength and agility, and Augereau was therefore doubly proud
of him. The table was laid in the little room where the two boys had
breakfasted in the morning.
Eugene presented his new friend to the sergeant-major, who, seeing him
so pale and thin, did not conceive a very exalted opinion of him. Eugene
asked Madame Teutch to lay another cover; but Charles was not hungry,
having just risen from table; he declared therefore that he would
content himself with drinking to the sergeant-major's advancement, but
that he did not care to eat. And to explain his preoccupation he related
the scene which he had just witnessed.
Pierre Augereau in his turn related the story of his life: how he was
born in the Faubourg Saint-Marceau, the son of a journeyman mason and a
fruit-seller. From his infancy he had a decided talent for fencing,
which he learned as the gamin of Paris learns everything. His
adventurous life had led him to Naples, where he had taken service in
the carabineers of King Ferdinand; then he had turned fencing-master,
having combined the French and Neapolitan methods, which made his
fencing extremely dangerous. In 1792, when the order was given for all
Frenchmen to leave the city, he returned to France, where he arrived a
few days after the 2d of September, in time to join the volunteers whom
Danton was despatching to the armies from the Champ de Mars, and who
played such a brilliant part in the victory of Jemmapes. Augereau had
received his first promotion there; then he had passed to the Army of
the Rhine, where the Marquis de Beauharnais raised him to sergeant, and
in which he had just become a sergeant-major. He was thirty-six years
old, and his great ambition was to reach the rank of captain.
Eugene had no tale to tell, but he had a proposition to make, which was
received with enthusiasm; it was to go to the play in order to divert
Charles from his melancholy.
Citizen Bergere's troupe was at that time playing, at the hall of
Breuil, "Brutus," one of Voltaire's plays, and "Filial Love, or the
Wooden Leg," by Demoustiers.
They hastened their dinner, and at six o'clock, protected by the
sergeant, who was a head taller than they, and who possessed two strong
fists, not only for his own service but also for his friends, the three
entered the body of the theatre, and found with difficulty three places
in the seventh or eighth row of the orchestra. At that period arm-chairs
were unknown in the theatres.
The fortunate termination of the battle of the morning had made a sort
of festival of the day, and the tragedy of "Brutus," which they were
playing, seemed in the nature of a tribute to the courage of the
populace. Several heroes of the day were pointed out among the audience,
and it was universally known that the young actor who played the part of
Titus had fought in the first ranks and been wounded.
In the midst of the confusion of sounds which always precedes a
performance when the spectators are more numerous than the seats which
the theatre contains, the manager struck his three raps, and instantly,
as if by magic, everything was quiet. Following the three raps of the
manager, Tétrell, in a voice of thunder, commanded silence. The latter
was extremely proud of the victory he had gained over Schneider at the
Propagande.
Charles recognized his protector of the previous night, and pointed him
out to Eugene, but without speaking of his meeting with him, and the
advice which he had given him.
Eugene knew Tétrell through having seen him in the streets of
Strasbourg; he had heard that he was one of his father's denunciators,
and he naturally regarded him with aversion.
As for Augereau, he saw him for the first time, and, caricaturist that
he was, like all the children of the faubourgs, he immediately noticed
the man's enormous nostrils, which seemed to extend over his cheeks in
an exaggerated fashion, and which resembled those extinguishers on the
end of poles which sacristans carry to put out the flame of the tall
candles which they cannot reach with their breath.
Little Charles was seated just below Tétrell; Augereau, who sat on the
other side of Eugene, proposed that he change places with Charles.
"Why?" asked Charles.
"Because you are just within range of citizen Tétrell's breath," replied
Augereau. "And I am afraid that when he draws it in he will draw you in
with it."
Tétrell was more feared than loved, and the remark, despite its poor
taste, caused a laugh.
"Silence!" roared Tétrell.
"What did you say?" asked Augereau, in the mocking tone peculiar to
Parisians. And as he stood up to look in his interlocutor's face, the
audience recognized the uniform of the regiment that had made the sortie
in the morning. They burst into applause, mingled with shouts of
"Bravo, sergeant-major! Long live the sergeant-major!"
Augereau gave the military salute and sat down; and as the curtain rose
just then, attracting the attention of the audience, nothing more was
thought of Tétrell's nose, nor of the sergeant-major's interruption.
The curtain rises, it will be remembered, upon a session of the Roman
senate, in which Junius Brutus, first consul of Borne with Publicola,
announces that Tarquin, who is besieging Rome, has sent an ambassador.
From the beginning it was easy to see the spirit which animated the
spectators. After the first few lines, Brutus pronounces these:
Rome knows I prize her liberty beyond!
All that is dear. Yet though my bosom glows
With the same ardor, my opinion differs.
I cannot but behold this embassy
As the first homage paid by sovereign power
To Rome's free sons; we should accustom thus
The towering and despotic power of kings
To treat on even terms with our republic;
Till, Heaven accomplishing its just decrees,
The time shall come to treat with them as subjects.
A thunder of applause burst forth; it seemed as if France, like Rome,
could foresee her lofty destiny. Brutus, interrupted in his speech, had
to wait nearly ten minutes before he could continue. He was interrupted
a second time, and with still more enthusiasm, when he came to these
lines:
The realm, long crushed beneath his iron rod,
Through dint of suffering hath regained its virtue.
Tarquin hath fixed again our native rights;
And from the uncommon rankness of his crimes
Each public blessing sprang. Yon Tuscans now
May follow, if they dare, the bright example,
And shake off tyrants.
Here the consuls returned to the altar with the senate, and their march
was accompanied with cries and applause; then there was silence, in
expectation of the invocation.
The actor who played the part of Brutus pronounced the words in a loud
voice:
O immortal power,
God of heroic chiefs, of warring hosts,
And of illustrious Rome! O Mars! receive
The vows we pour forth on thy sacred altar,
In the consenting senate's mingled name,
In mine and that of all thy genuine sons,
Who do not disgrace their fire! If hid within
Rome's secret bosom there exists a traitor
Who with base mind regrets the loss of kings,
And would behold again a tyrant lord--
May the wretch expire beneath a thousand tortures!
His guilty ashes scattered through the air,
The sport of winds, while naught remains behind
But his vile name, more loathsome to the tongue
Of latest times than that which Rome condemns
To utmost infamy, detested Tarquin's.
In times of political excitement it is not the value of the lines which
is applauded, but simply their accordance with the sentiments of the
audience. Rarely have more common-place tirades proceeded from the human
mouth, yet never were the splendid verses of Corneille and Racine
welcomed with such enthusiasm. But this enthusiasm, which seemed as if
it could not increase, knew no bounds when, the curtain rising on the
second act, the audience saw the young actor who played the part of
Titus enter with his arm in a sling. An Austrian ball had broken it. It
seemed as if the play could never proceed, so incessant was the
applause.
The few lines referring to Titus and his patriotism were encored, and
then, repulsing the offers of Porsenna, Titus says:
Yet, born a Roman, I will die for Rome!
This vigorous senate, though to me unjust,
Pull of suspicious jealousy, and fear,
I love beyond the splendor of a court
And the proud sceptre of a single lord.
I am the son of Brutus, and my heart
Deep-graven bears the love of liberty,
And hate of kings.
Finally when, in the following scene, he exclaims, renouncing his love:
Banish far
The vain delusion! Rome with loud acclaim
Invites me to the Capitol; the people
Seek the triumphal arches raised on high,
Thick with my glory crowned, and full adorned
With all my labors; underneath their shade
Convened, they wait my presence to begin
The sacred rites, the strict coercive oath,
Inviolable surety of our freedom--
the most enthusiastic of the people darted upon the stage, in order to
embrace the player and press his hand, while the ladies waved their
handkerchiefs and threw bouquets. Nothing was lacking to the triumph of
Voltaire and Brutus, and above all Fleury, the young actor, for he
carried off the honors of the evening.
As has been said, the second piece was by the Frenchman Demoustier, and
was called "Filial Love, or the Wooden Leg." It was one of those idyls
prompted by the Republic's muse; for it is a remarkable fact that never
was dramatic literature more roseate than during the years '92, '93 and
'94--that is the time that produced "The Death of Abel," "The
Peacemaker," and "The Farmer's Beautiful Wife." It seemed as if, after
the blood-stained iniquities of the street, the people had need of these
insipidities to restore their equilibrium. Nero crowned himself with
flowers after the burning of Rome.
But an incident occurred which, though it had to do with the morning's
battle, threatened to put an end to the performance. Madame Fromont, who
played the part of Louise, the only woman in the piece, had lost both
her father and her husband in the morning's skirmish. It was therefore
almost impossible for her, under the circumstances, to play the part of
a lover, or, in fact, any part at all.
The curtain rose between the two plays and Titus-Fleury reappeared. At
first the audience applauded, then, seeing that he had something to
say, they were silent. In fact he had come with tears in his eyes to
say, in the name of Madame Fromont, that the management be allowed to
replace "Filial Love" with "Rose and Colas," since Madame Fromont
mourned her father and husband, who had been killed for the Republic.
Cries of "Yes, yes!" mingled with cheers, were heard all over the house,
and Fleury had already bowed to depart, when Tétrell, rising, made a
sign that he wished to speak. At once several voices cried: "It is
Tétrell, the friend of the people! Tétrell, the terror of the
aristocrats! Let him speak! Long live Tétrell!"