International Short Stories: French by - (young adult books to read .TXT) 📖

year was within three weeks of expiring when the infamous major, who was an Italian, goaded the unfortunate young man into open defiance of his sovereign’s mandate. His pardon was at once annulled and his confinement now became most rigorous.

Another plot, headed by three officers and several soldiers of the guard, who were friendly to Trenck, was discovered at the last moment—in time for the conspirators themselves to escape to Bohemia, but under circumstances which prevented Baron de Trenck from accompanying them.

This also served to increase the hardships of the prisoner’s lot, and he now found himself deprived of the former companionship of his friends and surrounded by strangers, the one familiar face remaining being that of Lieutenant Bach, a Danish officer, a braggart swordsman and ruffler, who had always been hostile to him.

But, despite his isolation, the energy and strength of Trenck’s character were only augmented by his misfortunes, and he never ceased to plot for his deliverance. Weeks passed without any fruitful event occurring in the life of the prisoner, yet help was to come to him from a source from which he could never have expected it. But before that fortuitous result was destined to take place—in fact, as preliminary to its achievement—he was destined to be an actor in the most remarkable scene that ever has been recorded in the annals of prison life, and in one of the strangest duels of modern times.

One day Trenck had cast himself fully clothed upon his bed, in order to obtain a change of position in his cramped place of confinement. Lieutenant Bach was on duty as his guard.

The young baron had retained in prison the proud and haughty demeanor which had formerly brought upon him so much censure at court. Lieutenant Bach’s countenance also bore the imprint of incarnate pride.

The two exchanged from time to time glances of insolence; for the rest, they remained silently smoking, side by side.

Trenck was the first to break the silence, for prisoners grasp every opportunity for conversation, and at any price.

“It appears to me your hand is wounded, lieutenant,” Trenck said. “Have you found another opportunity to cross swords?”

“Lieutenant Schell, it seemed to me, looked somewhat obliquely at me,” replied the Dane. “Therefore, I indulged him in a pass or two directed against his right arm.”

“Such a delicate youth, and so mild-mannered! Are you not ashamed?”

“What could I do? There was no one else at hand.”

“Nevertheless he seems to have wounded you?”

“Yes, accidentally though, without knowing what he did.”

“The fact, then, of having been expelled from two regiments for your highhanded acts, and finally transferred to the garrison of the fortress of Glatz as punishment, has not cured you of your fire-eating propensities?”

“When a man has the reputation of being the best swordsman in Prussia he values that title somewhat more than your military rank, which any clumsy fool can obtain.”

“You, the best swordsman!” exclaimed Trenck, concluding his remark with an ironical puff of smoke.

“I flatter myself that such is the case,” retorted Bach, emitting in turn a great cloud of tobacco-smoke.

“If I were free,” said Trenck, “I might, perhaps, prove to you in short order that such is not the case.”

“Do you claim to be my master at that art?”

“I flatter myself that such is the case.”

“That we shall soon see,” cried Bach, flushing with rage.

“How can we? I am disarmed and a prisoner.”

“Ah, yes, you make your claim out of sheer boastfulness, because you think we cannot put it to the test!”

“Truly, lieutenant, set me at liberty and I swear to you that on the other side of the frontier we will put our skill to the test as freely as you like!”

“Well, I am unwilling to wait for that. We will fight here, Baron Trenck.”

“In this room?”

“After your assertion, I must either humble your arrogance or lose my reputation.”

“I shall be glad to know how you propose to do so?”

“Ah, you talk of Bohemia because that country is far away. As for me, I prefer this one, because it affords an immediate opportunity to put the matter to the test.”

“I should ask nothing better if it were not impossible.”

“Impossible! You shall see if it be.”

Bach sprang up. An old door, supported by a couple of benches, had been placed in the chamber for a table. He hammered at the worm-eaten wood and knocked off a strip which he split in half. One of these substitutes for rapiers he gave to Trenck, retaining the other himself, and both placed themselves on guard.

After the first few passes, Trenck sent his adversary’s make-shift sword flying through space, and with his own he met the lieutenant full in the chest.

“Touché!” he cried.

“Heavens! It is true!” growled Bach. “But I’ll have my revenge!”

He went out hastily. Trenck watched him in utter amazement and he was even more astounded when, an instant later, he saw Bach return with a couple of swords, which he drew out from beneath his uniform.

“Now,” he said to Trenck, “it is for you to show what you can do with good steel!”

“You risk,” returned the baron, smiling calmly, “you risk, over and above the danger of being wounded, losing that absolute superiority in matters of the sword of which you are so proud.”

“Defend yourself, braggart!” shouted Bach. “Show your skill instead of talking about it.”

He flung himself furiously upon Trenck. The latter, seeming only to trifle lightly with his weapon at first, parried his thrusts, and then pressed the attack in turn, wounding Bach severely in the arm.

The lieutenant’s weapon clattered upon the floor. For an instant he paused, immovable, overcome by amazement; then an irresistible admiration—a supreme tenderness, invaded his soul. He flung himself, weeping, in Trenck’s arms, exclaiming:

“You are my master!”

Then, drawing away from the prisoner, he contemplated him with the same enthusiasm, but more reflectively, and observed:

“Yes, baron, you far exceed me in the use of the sword; you are the greatest duelist of the day, and a man of your caliber must not remain longer in prison.”

The baron was somewhat taken by surprise at this, but, with his usual presence of mind, he immediately set himself to derive such profit as he might from his guardian’s extravagant access of affection.

“Yes, my dear Bach,” he replied, “yes, I should be free for the reason you mention, and by every right, but where is the man who will assist me to escape from these walls?”

“Here, baron!” said the lieutenant. “You shall regain your freedom as surely as my name is Bach.”

“Oh, I believe in you, my worthy friend,” cried Trenck; “you will keep your word.”

“Wait,” resumed Bach reflectively. “You cannot leave the citadel without the assistance of an officer. I should compromise you at every step. You have just seen what a hot-tempered scatterbrain I am. But I have in mind one who admires you profoundly. You shall know who he is tonight, and together we will set you at liberty.”

Bach did, in fact, redeem his promise. He introduced Lieutenant Schell, who was to be Trenck’s companion during their arduous flight into Bohemia, into the prisoner’s cell, and himself obtained leave of absence for the purpose of securing funds for his fellow conspirators. The plot was discovered before his return and Schell, warned of this by one of the governor’s adjutants, hastened the day of their flight.

In scaling the first rampart, Schell fell and sprained his ankle so severely that he could not use it. But Trenck was equal to all emergencies. He would not abandon his companion. He placed him across his shoulders, and, thus burdened, climbed the outer barriers and wandered all night in the bitter cold, fleeing through the snow to escape his pursuers. In the morning, by a clever ruse, he secured two horses and, thus mounted, he and his companion succeeded in reaching Bohemia.

Trenck directed his course toward Brandenburg where his sister dwelt, near the Prussian and Bohemian frontiers, in the Castle of Waldau, for he counted upon her assistance to enable him to settle in a foreign land where he would be safe.

The two friends, reduced shortly to the direst poverty, parted with their horses and all but the most necessary wearing apparel. Even now, though in Bohemia, they were not free from pursuit. Impelled one night, through hunger and cold, to throw themselves upon the bounty of an inn-keeper, they found in him a loyal and true friend. The worthy host revealed to them the true identity of four supposed traveling merchants, who had that day accosted them on the road and followed them to the inn. These men were, in fact, emissaries from the fortress of Glatz who had attempted to bribe him to betray the fugitives into their hands, for they were sworn to capture Trenck and his companion and return them dead or alive to the enraged governor of the fortress.

In the morning the four Prussians, the carriage, the driver, and the horses set forth and soon disappeared in the distance.

Two hours later the fugitives, fortified by a good breakfast, took their departure from the Ezenstochow inn, leaving behind them a man whom they, at least, esteemed as the greatest honor to mankind.

The travelers hastened toward Dankow. They chose the most direct route and tramped along in the open without a thought of the infamous spies who might already be on their track.

They arrived at nightfall at their destination, however, without further hindrance.

The next day they set out for Parsemachi, in Bohemia.

They started early, and a day in the open, together with a night’s sleep, had almost obliterated the memory of their adventure at the inn.

The cold was intense. The day was gray with heavy clouds that no longer promised rain, but which shrouded the country with a pall of gloom. The wind swirled and howled, and though the two friends struggled to keep their few thin garments drawn closely about them, they still searched the horizon hopefully, thinking of the journey’s end and the peaceful existence which awaited them. To their right, the aspect of the countryside had altered somewhat. Great wooded stretches spread away into the distance, while to the left all was yet free and open.

They had gone about half a mile past the first clump of trees when they noticed, through the swaying branches by the roadside, a motionless object around which several men busied themselves. With every step they gained a clearer impression of the nature of this obstacle until, at last, an expression of half-mockery, half-anger overspread their features.

“Now God forgive me!” exclaimed Schell finally, “but that is the infernal brown traveling carriage from the inn!”

“May the devil take me!” rejoined Trenck, “if I delay or flee a step from those miserable rascals.”

And they strode sturdily onward.

As soon as they were within speaking distance, one of the Prussians, a big man in a furred cap, believing them to be wholly unsuspicious, called to them:

“My dear sirs, in heaven’s name come help us! Our carriage has been overturned and it is impossible to get it out of this rut.”

The friends had reached an angle of the road where a few withered tree branches alone separated them from the others. They perceived the brown body of the carriage, half open like a huge rat-trap, and beside it the forbidding faces of their would-be captors. Trenck launched these words through the intervening screen of branches:

“Go to the devil, miserable scoundrels that you are, and may you remain there!”

Then, swift as an arrow, he sped toward the open fields to the left of the highroad, feigning flight. The carriage, which had been overturned solely for the purpose of misleading them, was soon righted and the driver lashed his horses forward in pursuit of the fugitives, the four Prussians accompanying him with drawn pistols.

When they were almost within reaching distance of their prey they raised their pistols and shouted:

“Surrender, rascals, or you are dead men!”

This was what Trenck desired. He wheeled about and discharged his pistol, sending a bullet through the first Prussian’s breast, stretching him dead