Fine names--Gustavus Adolphus and the cabbages--Gustavus Adolphus!

no hero!--The Parisian Sportsman--Partridge-shooting despicable--Wild boar-hunting--Rousing the grisly monster--His approach--The post of honour--Good nerves--The death--The trophy and congratulations.

Few persons well acquainted with France can have failed to observe how fond the lower orders, indeed all cla.s.ses, are of giving high-sounding names to their children; and it is sometimes truly amusing to notice the strange upset of a.s.sociations which in consequence jar the auricular nerve, and ill.u.s.trate the singularly exalted notions of the G.o.dfathers and G.o.dmothers. "Gustave Adolphe!" I once heard an old cook vociferate from the kitchen of a small inn to a boy in the yard. "Gustave Adolphe!"

shrieked the aged heroine of the sauce-pans, pitching her voice in A alto, "_Coupez donc les choux!_" Cutting cabbages! What an ant.i.thesis to the glorious victor of Lutzen. The remark will apply with equal force to the Gustave Adolphe of the last chapter, though on a different point, and the contrast between the great Gustavus and he of Paris, was most diverting. My accomplished friend, a charming dancer, a _beau parleur_, a first-rate singer, who made sad havoc among the fresh and fair gazelles of every ballroom, this tremendous _cha.s.seur-de-salon_, I very soon perceived, was by no means so tremendous in the stubbles;--a covey fairly startled him, and if a hare rose between his legs he turned quite pale.

"My good fellow," I said to him one day, seeing his extraordinary trepidation, "if you are so staggered by a covey of partridges, what in the world will you do when I set you face to face with a wolf or a wild boar?"

"Oh! that is a very different affair. A wolf or a wild boar? Why, I should kill one and eat the other, of course."

"Not so easy," I should think, "for a novice like you."

"Novice, indeed! me a novice. Oh! you are quite in error. The fact is, these devils of birds and rabbits lie hidden, do you see, under the gra.s.s like frogs, one never knows where; so that I never see them till they are all but in my eyes, or cutting capers like Taglioni's under my feet, and your dogs putting out their tongues, and staring at me."

"Why, of course they do; the intelligent brutes are ready to expire at your awkwardness."

"Much obliged to you for the compliment. Again, you say, they turn their tails to the right by way of telling me that I am to go to the left; and to the left, when I am to walk to the right. Who, I ask you, is to understand such telegraphs as these? I have not yet learned how to converse with dogs' tails--intelligence, indeed! I believe it is all humbug; for, when my whole soul is absorbed in watching the tips of these very tails, a crowd of partridges jump up just in front of me, making as much noise as if they were drummers beating the retreat. If I am hurried and stupefied"....

"And if," I added, "you are much disposed to throw down your gun as to fire it."

"Well! supposing I am; what is the wonder? 'Tis no fault of mine--I am not used to partridge-shooting! I am not a wild man of the woods, like you! I did not cut my teeth gnawing a cartridge, as you did!"

"Come, come! don't be affronted."

"Affronted? No; but you have no consideration. You're a Robin Hood, an exterminator! if you look at one partridge, you kill four! You sleep with your rifle, turn your game-bag into a nightcap, and shave with a _couteau-de-cha.s.se_!"

"May be so! but let us have the fact."

"The fact! Then I hate your long-tailed dogs, and your detestable flights of noisy birds! Let me have them one by one, like larks in the plain of St. Denis, and I'll soon clear the province for you."

"Upon my word, Adolphe, we should have something to thank you for!"

"I tell you what, Henri; those partridges, after all, are trumpery things to kill. 'Tis mere hurry that prevents my hitting them. Don't imagine I am frightened! If you wish to give me real pleasure, let us go to India and shoot a lion or a tiger;--give me a chance with an elephant!"

"Willingly; but allow me to suggest, that if we set out for India, we shall not get back in time for dinner."

"We will keep in Europe, then; but, at least, show me some game worthy of me. A serpent--I will cut him in two at a stroke. A bull--I will soon send a brace of b.a.l.l.s into him."

"Well done! just like a Parisian."

"Parisian! Pray what do you mean by that?"

"A boaster, if you prefer the word."

"Ha! ha! a boaster, indeed! Do you mean to say that I'm afraid of a bull?"

"Of course not. However, as there are no bulls here, I will send the head _piqueur_ upon the track of a wild boar which was seen near the chateau last night; he will exactly suit you. I consider him as doomed."

"Thank you, Henri; thank you; the moment I am fairly in front of him, I shall fire at his eyes, and no doubt lodge both b.a.l.l.s in them. Poor Belisarius! how he will charge me in his agony! but I shall retire, reload, and then, having drawn my hunting-knife, dispatch him without further ceremony."

"Never fear, you shall have the post of honour; and if you do not turn upon your heel, why, my dear friend, you will rise at least a dozen pegs in my estimation."

"Turn on my heel! you little know me; and then, what a sensation I shall create in Paris with my boar's skin. I'll have it stuffed, gild his tusks, and silver-mount his hoofs. I shall be quite the hero of the _salons_."

That very afternoon orders were given to the head-keeper to send the _traqueurs_ into the forest on the following day, and on their return, they announced that not only traces of wild boar had been met with, but one had actually been seen. Great were the preparations and cleaning of rifles and _couteaux-de-cha.s.se_ when this intelligence was received; but, in spite of his a.s.sumed composure, Adolphe's ardour seemed considerably to diminish, and the conversation that evening over the fire was not calculated to inspire him with fresh courage.

"How very soon they find the boar!" said he to me. "Tell me how the affair commences."

"Why these _traqueurs_ are not long in discovering him. They know exactly where to look for one, for they study their habits; the traces of the grisly rascal are seen by them immediately; they mark his favourite paths, the thickets he prefers, the marshy ground in which he delights to wallow, and then as to the times he is likely to be seen, they can tell almost to a minute when he will pa.s.s,--for the wild boar is very methodical, and an excellent time-piece. The animal, therefore, having been traced, and his retreat carefully ascertained, a day is fixed, and each person having been a.s.signed a separate post, remains watching for his appearance on his way to or from his haunt."

"Oh! of course, they merely watch and wait," replied Adolphe, with a hollow, unmeaning laugh.

"Yes; but you don't suppose that a boar will allow himself to be killed as easily as a squirrel. I fear, in spite of all your professions, you will find it not so agreeable a sport as shooting larks on the plain of St. Denis. The bristly fellow who comes trotting and grunting towards you, showing his teeth, stopping occasionally to sharpen them against the root of some old oak, is not generally in the best of humours; but you can, at any rate, reckon upon the great advantage,--the want of which you deprecate in partridge-shooting. For instance, you cannot fail to see him; you have notice of his coming; you are not taken off your guard, and they very seldom appear but one at a time. It is a combat face to face, and his, with two long prominent teeth, so unfortunate in a woman, and positively hideous in a boar, effectually warns you that it is well you should be prepared to receive him. But the excitement is grand; after the volley every one is at him with his knife, and, with the exception of a few inexperienced dogs, and a Parisian novice like yourself, who, of course, are occasionally put _hors de combat_, the affair ends gloriously. Yes, yes, I am beginning to think you are right, Adolphe; partridge-shooting and knocking over a timid hare is very cowardly sport."

The _traqueurs_ also, whom Adolphe catechised, in the hope of preserving his own skin entire at the same time, though they gave him all sorts of good advice, failed not to add to it, as people of their cla.s.s generally do, a budget of most fearful histories and hair-breadth escapes--of horses and dogs ripped open, and men killed or gored; but that which put a finishing-stroke to Adolphe's courage, was the entrance of a friend of mine, who had himself been a sad sufferer in one of these adventures.

Wounded, but not mortally, the boar had charged him before he could reload, tearing up with his tusk the inside of his thigh; and, as he lay insensible on the ground, gnawing one of his calves off before any one could come to his a.s.sistance. During the next two months death shook him by the hand in vain, for he had fortunately an excellent const.i.tution; "And, though the proportions of his left leg," whispered I, "have been restored by a slice out of a friendly cork-tree, he is, as you see, quite recovered."

"True enough!" said the new arrival, who had overheard the concluding remark, "and if you have any doubts, Sir, I will show you my leg;" but Adolphe, thoroughly convinced, declined the offer, and retired to his room for the night.

The dawn was yet gray, when the court-yard of the Chateau d'Erveau presented a very animated appearance; horses, dogs, and beaters were walking up and down, neighing, yelping, and conversing,--the huntsman every now and then winding his horn, giving notice to the inmates that all was ready. The morning was superb, and as the party filed out of the yard, doffing their beavers to the ladies, who, screened behind their window-curtains, dared not return their salute, Adolphe was a little rea.s.sured. Long, however, before they reached their hunting-ground, his chivalrous feelings had so far forsaken him, that he had serious thoughts of returning, on the plea of indisposition.

"Why do you lag so far behind?" said I, riding up to him at this juncture, "why your nose is quite white. Nay, don't blush; braver men than you have felt far from comfortable the first time they went boar-hunting. You are afraid. Come, don't deny it; but, never mind, I will not quit you for a moment."

"With all my heart; for, though I cannot exactly say I am afraid, yet that infernal cork-leg is continually dancing before my eyes."

"I have not the least doubt of it; and, by Terpsich.o.r.e! what a pretty thing it would be to see the handsome Gustave Adolphe de M---- dancing polkas and redowas in the drawing-rooms of the Faubourg St. Germain with a cork-leg or a gutta-percha calf! The very idea gives me the cramp in every toe."

Conversing much in the same strain, the eight _cha.s.seurs_ arrived at the rendezvous, where they dismounted. The beaters and _gardes-de-cha.s.se_ were all at their posts, and on the alert to the movements of the boar, and as we advanced deeper in the forest, the conversation, which had been so lively on our setting forth, flagged, and at length subsided into an occasional remark on the obstacles which impeded our progress.

Nothing renders a man more reserved than his approach to an antic.i.p.ated danger. I looked askance at Adolphe, and saw that his teeth rattled like castanets; and when the foremost keepers, in doubt as to the track, blew a plaintive note, which, ere it died away, was answered by another in the distance, showing that we were in the right one, Adolphe's breathing became stentorious behind me. And then as the branches and hazel twigs, through which we forced our way more rapidly, flew back and struck him in the face, he supplicated me to stop.

"Not so fast, my dear friend, not so fast! Have mercy on my Parisian legs! Misericorde! I cannot proceed. Do stop! There, my nose is skinned by that last branch! Good--there, my breeches are breaking! For pity's sake, stop!" But to stop was impossible; and I remained silent, having quite enough to do looking out for myself. At length we arrived at the appointed spot. Adolphe, in a state bordering on the crazy, his clothes in shreds, his face and hands bleeding from the thorns, anger in his blood, and perspiration on his brow, his furious eyes looked at me as if I had been the author of his misfortunes. And here a scene would most undoubtedly have ensued, but happily the head _piqueur_ arrived, informing us that the boar was in a thick patch of underwood, about two miles from thence, in which he was supposed to be taking his mid-day _siesta_, and that a number of peasants having headed him on one side, he could not well escape. Our measures were quickly taken.

"Serpolet," said I to the _piqueur_, "have you seen the animal?"

"At a distance, Monsieur."

"What is he like?"

"Oh! a tremendous fellow--long legs, enormous head, large tusks, and such a muzzle!--he breaks through everything. A fortunate thing, Monsieur, the dogs were not with us."

"Well!" said I to my father, "of course this gentleman is to have the place of honour."

"The place of honour!" cried Adolphe, "which is the place of honour?"

"Why, the most dangerous to be sure," replied my father, "the third or fourth post from where he breaks cover. The first or second shots seldom kill him; wounded, he continues his course, and, savage and ferocious, generally turns upon the third or fourth _cha.s.seur_, at whom, with lowered head and glaring eye, he charges in full career. Oh! it is then a splendid sight, worth all the journey from Paris! Forward, my lads, forward! Hurrah! for the boar!"

"And thus--" groaned Adolphe, with thickened speech, not at all charmed with this description of his onset.