The Man With Broken Ear

By Alice Jackson

The story of a soilder in first French empire,who got trapped due to false accusation.

This is a satirical examination oncultural mores,with lots of romance and drama

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alice Jackson
• Release date: Jun 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393245469

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The Man With Broken Ear

Paris, November 3, 1861.

I - Where one kills the fat calf to celebrate the return of a thrifty child.

On May 18, 1859, Mr. Renault, a former professor of physics and chemistry, currently the owner at Fontainebleau and a member of the municipal council of this amiable little town, put the following letter to the post office:

"To Monsieur Leon Renault, civil engineer, remaining office,

Berlin, Prussia.

"My dear child,

"The good news that you have dated from St. Petersburg has caused us the sweetest joy. Your poor mother had been suffering since the winter; I did not speak to you for fear of worrying you at this distance. I myself was hardly valiant; there was still a third person (you'll guess his name if you can) who yearned not to see you. But reassure yourself, my dear Leon, we are reborn to the best since the date of your return is almost fixed. We are beginning to believe that the Ural mines will not eat the one that is dearer to us than anything in the world. God be praised! This fortune so honorable and so rapid will not have cost you your life, nor even your health, if it is true that you have grown fat in the desert, as you assure us. We will not die without kissing our son! Too bad for you if you have not finished all your stuff there: we are three who swore you would not go back. Obedience will not be difficult for you will be happy in our midst. At least that's Clementine's opinion ... I forgot that I had promised myself not to name her! Maître Bonnivet, our excellent neighbor, did not content himself with placing your capital on a good mortgage; he has written in his lost moments a touching little act, which only awaits your signature. Our worthy mayor has ordered for you a new scarf which has just arrived from Paris. It is you who will have the opening. Your apartment, which will soon be your apartment, is up to your present fortune. You live ... but the house has changed so much for three years, that my descriptions would be a close letter for you. It is Mr Audret, the architect of the imperial castle, who directed the works. He absolutely wanted to build me a laboratory worthy of Thénard or Desprez. I protested and said that I was no longer good for nothing, since my famous memoir on the Condensation of gasesIt is still in chapter IV, as your mother was complicit with this old scoundrel friend, it turns out that Science now has a temple here. A real wizard shop, following the picturesque expression of your old Gothon. Nothing is missing, not even a four-horsepower steam engine: what will I do with it? Alas! I expect, however, that these expenses will not be lost for everyone. You will not fall asleep on your laurels. Ah! if I had your property when I was your age! I would have devoted my days to pure science, instead of losing the best part of it with those poor little boys who only took advantage of my class to read Mr. Paul de Kock! I would have been ambitious! I would have liked to attach my name to the discovery of some very general law, or at least the construction of some very useful instrument. It is too late today; my eyes are tired and the brain itself is refusing work. In your turn, my boy! You are not twenty-six, the Ural mines have given you what to live at ease, you do not need anything for yourself, the time has come to work for the kind human. It is the strongest desire and the dearest hope of your old father who loves you and awaits you with open arms. the time has come to work for the human race. It is the strongest desire and the dearest hope of your old father who loves you and awaits you with open arms. the time has come to work for the human race. It is the strongest desire and the dearest hope of your old father who loves you and awaits you with open arms.

"J. RENAULT.

PS By my calculations, this letter must arrive in Berlin two or three days before you. You will have already learned from the newspapers of the 7th instant the death of the illustrious Mr. Humboldt. It is a mourning for science and for humanity. I have had the honor of writing to this great man many times in my life, and he has deigned to answer a letter which I keep piously. If you had the opportunity to buy some souvenir of his person, some manuscript from his hand, some fragment of his collections, you would make me a real pleasure.

A month after the departure of this letter, the much desired son returned to his father's house. Mr. and Mrs. Renault, who came to pick him up at the train station, found him growing, growing, and embellishing in every respect. To tell the truth, he was not a remarkable boy, but a good and friendly figure. Leon Renault represented a mean man, blond, plump and well taken. His big blue eyes, his soft voice and his silky beard indicated a nature more delicate than powerful. A very white neck, very round and almost feminine, cut singularly with his face scorched by the tan. His teeth were beautiful, very cute, a little re-entrant, not at all sharp. When he took off his gloves, he found two little square hands, quite firm, quite soft, neither hot nor cold, nor dry nor wet,

As he was, his father and mother would not have exchanged him for the Apollo Belvedere. We kissed him, God knows! overwhelming him with a thousand questions he forgot to answer. Some old friends of the house, a doctor, an architect, a notary had rushed to the station with the good parents: each of them had his turn, each gave him a hug, everyone asked him if he was well, if he had had a good trip? He listened patiently and even joyfully to that banal melody whose words did not mean much, but whose music went to the heart, because it came from the heart.

We had been there for a good quarter of an hour, and the train had resumed its course by whistling, and the omnibus of the various hotels had started one after the other at a trot in the avenue which leads to the city. ; and the June sun did not tire of enlightening this happy group of good people. But Madame Renault suddenly exclaimed that the poor child must die of hunger, and that it was barbarous to delay the time of his dinner so long. He protested that he had lunched in Paris and that hunger spoke less than joy: the whole company threw himself into two large carriages of hiring, the son beside the mother, the father opposite, as if he could not satisfy his eyes with the sight of this dear son. A cart came behind with the trunks, the big long and square boxes and all the baggage of the traveler. At the entrance of the city, the coachmen cracked their whips, the carter followed the example, and this joyful noise attracted the inhabitants to their gates and animated for a moment the tranquility of the streets. Madame Renault looked her right and left, looking for witnesses to her triumph, and greeting with the most cordial friendship people she barely knew. More than one mother greeted her too, almost without knowing her, for there is no mother indifferent to these pleasures, and moreover the family of Leon was loved by everyone! And the neighbors approached, saying with a joy free from jealousy: and this happy noise attracted the inhabitants to their gates, and animated for a moment the tranquility of the streets. Madame Renault looked her right and left, looking for witnesses to her triumph, and greeting with the most cordial friendship people she barely knew. More than one mother greeted her too, almost without knowing her, for there is no mother indifferent to these pleasures, and moreover the family of Leon was loved by everyone! And the neighbors approached, saying with a joy free from jealousy: and this happy noise attracted the inhabitants to their gates, and animated for a moment the tranquility of the streets. Madame Renault looked her right and left, looking for witnesses to her triumph, and greeting with the most cordial friendship people she barely knew. More than one mother greeted her too, almost without knowing her, for there is no mother indifferent to these pleasures, and moreover the family of Leon was loved by everyone! And the neighbors approached, saying with a joy free from jealousy: almost without knowing it, for there is no mother indifferent to these pleasures, and moreover the family of Leon was loved by everyone! And the neighbors approached, saying with a joy free from jealousy: almost without knowing it, for there is no mother indifferent to these pleasures, and moreover the family of Leon was loved by everyone! And the neighbors approached, saying with a joy free from jealousy:

- This is the Renault son, who worked for three years in the Russian mines and who shares his fortune with his old parents!

Leon also saw some faces of knowledge, but not all those he wished to see again. For he leaned for a moment in his mother's ear, saying:

- And Clementine?

This speech was pronounced so low and so close that Mr. Renault himself could not know whether it was a word or a kiss. The good lady smiled tenderly and answered a single word:

- Patience!

As if patience was a virtue common among lovers!

The door of the house was wide open, and the old Gothon on the threshold. She raised her arms to the sky and cried like a beast, for she had known little Leo no higher than that! There was another beautiful embrace on the last step of the steps between the good servant and her young master. Mr. Renault's friends pretended to retire by discretion, but it was a waste of time: it was clear to them that the day was over. And when everyone was gathered in the salon, except for the invisible Clémentine, the large armchairs with medallions extended their arms towards the son of Mr Renault; the old mirror of the fireplace is pleased to reflect its image, the big crystal chandelier played a small chime, the mandarins on the shelf began to wank their heads as a sign of welcome, as if it were

No one can say why the kisses and tears began to rain again, but it is certain that it was like a second arrival.

- The soup! shouted Gothon.

Madame Renault took her son's arm, contrary to all the laws of etiquette, and without even asking pardon of the respectable friends who were there. She barely excused herself from serving the child before the guests. Leon allowed himself to be done and well took it from him; there was no one who was not able to pour soup into his vest rather than taste it before him.

Mother, cried Leon, spoon in his hand, "this is the first time in three years that I have eaten good soup!

Madame Renault felt herself blush and Gothon broke something; both imagined that the child spoke thus to flatter their self-esteem, and yet he had said the truth. There are two things in this world that man does not often find outside his home: good soup is the first; the second is selfless love.

If I began here the truthful enumeration of all the dishes that appeared on the table, there would not be one of my readers to whom the water did not come to the mouth. I even think that more than one sensitive reader might be at risk of indigestion. Add, please, that this list would extend to the end of the volume and that I would not have a single page left to write the wonderful story of Fougas. That's why I'm going back to the living room, where the coffee is already served.

Leon took barely half his cup, but beware of concluding that the coffee was too hot or too cold, or too sweet. Nothing in the world would have prevented him from drinking to the last drop, if a blow of a hammer knocked at the street door had not sounded in his heart.

The next minute seemed to be of extraordinary length. No! never in his travels he had met a minute as long as this one. But finally Clementine appeared, preceded by the worthy Miss Virginie Sambucco, her aunt. And the mandarins who were smiling on the shelf heard the sound of three kisses.

Why three? The superficial reader who pretends to guess things before they are written, has already found a probable explanation. Assuredly, said he, Leon was too respectful to kiss the worthy Miss Sambucco more than once, but when he saw himself in the presence of Clementine, who was to be his wife, he doubled the dose and did well. sir, what I call a reckless judgment. The first kiss fell from Leon's mouth on Miss Sambucco's cheek; the second was applied by Miss Sambucco's lips to Leon's left cheek; the third was a real accident that plunged two young hearts into profound consternation.

Leon, who was very much in love with his future, rushed towards her blindly, uncertain whether he would kiss the right cheek or the left, but decided not to delay a pleasure he had been promising since the spring of 1856. Clementine did not think of defending herself, but of applying her beautiful red lips to Leon's right cheek, or to the left indifferently. The precipitation of the two young men was the cause that neither the cheeks of Clementine nor those of Leon received the offering destined for them. And the mandarins on the shelf who expected to hear two kisses, heard only one. And Leo was forbidden, Clementine blushed to the ears, and the two betrothed recoiled a step by looking at the rosettes of the carpet, which remained eternally engraved in their memory.

Clementine was, in the eyes of Leon Renault, the prettiest person in the world. He had loved her for a little over three years, and it was a little for her that he had made the trip to Russia. In 1856 she was too young to marry and too rich for an engineer at 2,400 francs to be able to claim her hand. Leon, as a true mathematician, had posed the following problem: Given a girl of fifteen and a half, rich of 8,000 francs annuity and threatened with the inheritance of Miss Sambucco, or 200,000 francs of capital, to make a fortune at least equal to hers in a time that would allow her to become a granddaughter without giving her time to pass an old maid. He had found the solution in the copper mines of the Urals.

For three long years he had corresponded indirectly with the beloved of his heart. All the letters he wrote to his father or mother passed to Miss Sambucco, who did not hide them from Clementine. Sometimes even they were read aloud, as a family, and Mr. Renault was never obliged to skip a sentence, for Leon wrote nothing that a young girl could not hear. The aunt and niece had no other distractions; they lived retired in a little house at the bottom of a beautiful garden, and they only received old friends. Clementine had little merit in keeping her heart for Leon. Except for a great colonel of cuirassiers who pursued her sometimes on the promenade, no man had made her there.

She was very beautiful, however, not only in the eyes of her lover, or the Renault family, or the small town she lived in. The province is inclined to settle for little. It gives cheap the reputations of pretty woman and great man, especially when it is not rich enough to be demanding. It is in capitals that one claims to admire only absolute merit. I heard a village mayor who said, with a certain pride: Admit that my maid Catherine is very pretty for a town of six hundred souls! Clementine was pretty enough to be admired in a city of eight hundred thousand inhabitants . Imagine a little blonde Creole, with black eyes, a matte complexion and bright teeth. Its size was round and flexible like a rush. What cute hands she had, and what pretty Andalusian feet, arched, rounded iron! All his looks were like smiles, and all his movements were caresses. Add that she was neither silly nor fearful, nor even ignorant of all things, like the little girls brought up at the convent. His education, begun by his mother, had been completed by two or three respectable old teachers, of the choice of Mr. Renault, his guardian. She had a good mind and a well-furnished brain. But, in truth, I wonder why I speak of it in the past, for it still lives, thanks to God, and none of its perfections perished. nor even ignorant of all things,