Heroes. What reader, whether following a true story or emersed in a fictional account, doesn’t enjoy the premise of two combatants fighting it out, whether face-to-face, or via armed combat? The classic good guy vs bad guy, the protagonist seeking to rescue the damsel in distress from the unscrupulous villain, it all appeals to us. We need our heroes.
Karl May, the talented and prolific German author of the 20th century, certainly knew how to engage his readership. His swashbuckling tales penned in the late 1880s—in the style of Dumas’ classic The Three Musketeers—still resonate with the faithful of today, including this writer. Let’s take a closer look at his masterful depiction of mano a mano.
What was it that pitted our hero, Hugo von Löwenklau against Captain Albin Richemonte? They were clearly men of influence but with considerable differences in character.
Richemonte was opportunistic, cruel, and an egotist. Löwenklau on the other hand, was compassionate, idealistic, and a man of integrity. Where Löwenklau would come to the aid of a stranger and risk possible consequences of his actions, Richemonte would think nothing of taking advantage of an individual’s dilemma and thereby gain the upper hand.
In the first installment of the Hussar’s Love series, The Prussian Lieutenant, the reader is introduced to 1800s France, at the time of Napoleon Bonaparte’s military defeat. That is the backdrop to the story, but the real action commences in Paris, in an out-of-the-way tavern, not on the battlefield. A French officer’s off handed, yet derogatory remarks toward a high-ranking Prussian officer results in the Frenchman’s chastising, the event witnessed by his fellow officers. That seemingly innocuous act may have persuaded most French officers from becoming embroiled in further mayhem with the Prussians, but not Richemonte. He swears revenge on the occupying victors and his hatred for the young lieutenant propels both men into life-long enmity that seemingly knows no bounds.
Yet Richemonte, for all his trickery and manipulation, is ever mindful of his mounting gambling debts. He looks to extricate himself by pledging his sister’s hand in marriage to a rich baron, whom she neither loves nor respects, in return for cancelling his debts. Löwenklau, unaware of Richemonte’s calculating and desperate measures, soon becomes embroiled in the two villain’s clutches.
What neither party could have predicted is that Richemonte’s actions were to foster the start of a long feud that eventually escalates to the second and third generation of both parties. This gives much fodder to Karl May’s epic story of good vs evil.
Here is a snippet of their early encounter. The setting is Paris, 1814.
On one particular afternoon, several participants were occupying the card room of the inn, engaged in a game of L’Hombre. Judging from their lively conversation, they were Frenchmen by birth and officers by their demeanor.
At an adjoining table, sitting by himself, was a man in his mid-twenties. He gave the impression of being impartial to the loud boasting, yet he caught every word uttered during pauses in the card game.
The door to the room opened and an older gentleman stepped inside. Though dressed in modest attire, he displayed an air of confidence. He nodded a greeting to the occupants and seated himself at a nearby table. Ordering his customary glass of warmbeer, he became so absorbed in its contents that he paid the card players no heed.
There was a dignified manner about the old gentleman, but unlike the players he drew no attention to himself. His head was well-proportioned, yet his large, protruding moustache eclipsed his noble forehead, stately nose, and red cheeks. The strong chin was augmented by blue, piercing eyes that revealed a trusting gentleness and hinted at a sharp, decisive disposition.
He enjoyed the refreshment and asked for another.
While the sun burned relentlessly outside, the air in the inn became sultry. Although all the occupants felt the discomfort, only he decided to shed his overcoat, hanging it on the wall. This simple gesture, though leaving him in shirtsleeves, seemed reasonable to him, though not to the Parisians, least of all the card players.
“Who might this stranger be?” inquired one of the players with disdain.
His companion nodded in agreement. “Does he think he can come here and show us his uncivilized ways?”
“One thing’s clear,” another player said. “He’s not a Frenchman. A French gentleman would never abandon the rules of decency and reprovingly ignore our good customs. Surely, he must be one of those vile Germans! Will those barbarians never learn to behave properly in accordance with good taste? Let me remind you that their military prowess is to control and oppress. Their entertainment is largely crude, and all their customs are tasteless and repulsive.”
“Just look at him!” replied another. “He has the appearance of a peasant who presents himself as an uneducated coal worker. He deserves nothing more than to be put out at once.”
“Well, who would dare to stop us?” asked still another.
“Why don’t we compel the innkeeper to give this insolent lout’s face a slap and throw him out?” the first man asked. “The Germans are nothing but vermin. Like dogs, they deserve a thrashing.”
The young man, who had kept his peace, quietly stood up and came over to the card table. “Messieurs, permit me to introduce myself. I am Hugo von Löwenklau, a lieutenant in the service of His Majesty, the Emperor of Prussia. The gentleman about whom you have been speaking is none other than His Excellency, Field Marshal von Blücher. I expect you will retract all your remarks about His Excellency and our Prussian heritage.”
The L’Hombre players were shocked by the officer’s words. They were now aware that the man they had all feared, Field Marshal von BlĂĽcher, was seated in their very midst. In fact, this was the very same man who had not only defeated the patriotic forces of France, but also tarnÂished the star, their beloved Napoleon. They mumbled something unintelÂligible under their breath, scarcely what one would consider an apology. Only the first man, who had likened Germans to dogs, was not to be deterred and uttered a curse through his clenched teeth. He jumped out of his seat and, in a threatening manner, addressed the young officer.
“Monsieur, we did not ask for the pleasure of your acquaintance,” he said. “It was therefore inappropriate of you to speak to us, and furthermore, your actions simply confirm that the German people are an inferior race. With regards to this man, it is of no consequence to us whether he be a field marshal or a foot soldier. We do not intend to retract a single syllable!”
“May I inquire your name, Monsieur?”
“I am not ashamed of it,” the Frenchman replied proudly. “I am Albin Richemonte, Captain of the Emperor’s Guard.”
“You do not intend to retract your words, Captain?” the young Prussian asked neutrally.
“No!” Richemonte said loudly. He noticed Blücher was following the conversation with interest, even while feigning ignorance. “Not one word, not one syllable!” he finished.
“Do you declare then, in all seriousness, that His Excellency is a boor, and the German people are nothing but dogs fit for a thrashing?” asked LöwenÂklau, his face expressionless.
Richemonte laughed insolently. “Absolutely.”
“Then you will permit me to send you my subordinate, who will make the arrangements to settle this as gentlemen.”
“Ridiculous. I have no intention of fighting a duel with a Prussian,” Richemonte scoffed.
“Really?” Löwenklau asked. “First you insult us, and now you want to withdraw? If you suppose that we Prussians do not understand the rules of decency, then certainly you have demonstrated by your conduct that you, Monsieur Richemonte, of all men deserve this thrashing. Your lack of proper conduct is deplorable.”
Faster than anyone would have thought possible, Löwenklau slapped Richemonte squarely in the face. He followed it up with a second, a third, and a fourth, in rapid succession. The attack was so quick and unexpected that the Frenchman failed to contemplate a defense, much less find time to react. His followers were equally surprised at the speed and agility of the attack. They merely stared at the scene, failing to move a single muscle in defense of their boisterous friend.
Richemonte, disgraced and completely caught off guard, finally reacted. He reached for the dagger normally affixed to the left side of his uniform, only to withdraw an empty hand since he was wearing civilian clothes. Realizing his error, he swore and vaulted himself at his adversary in a fit of rage.
“Swine! You surprised me, but now you will forfeit your life.”
Though Richemonte threw a punch, it was met in the same instant by a powerful blow which sent him tumbling back, collapsing on the floor. More guests now occupied the card room, many of them German who came to catch a glimpse of the famous Blücher. Löwenklau’s lightning-like strike caught them flat-footed and surprised, unsure of whether or not to come to his aid.
The innkeeper, watching from nearby, stepped in, recognizing the severÂity of the situation. He knew the Germans had been victorious and were the new authority in Paris. He was shrewd enough to realize he could not allow the insult to continue. He quickly escorted Richemonte into a private room, where the reckless captain continued his ranting despite the efforts of his companions to calm him down.