As late even as the year 1809 Napoleon had his men collect 28,000 of the enemy's cannon-balls on the battle-field of Wagram, and shot them back at the Austrians; and had the fight continued two days longer, the opposing armies would have ricocheted the same balls back and forth so long as the cannonading made it necessary.
The grand-duke, as was proper, rewarded the constable for his discovery by an increase of pay—from sixteen to twenty thalers a month; and in addition made him a present of a barrel of strong beer, which gave offence to the commandant, who was obliged to quench his thirst with a weaker brew.
Hugo had many enviers, but none of them ventured to pick a quarrel with him. He had the frame of an athlete; his face, with its luxuriant red-beard, resembled that of a lion. He was always in a good humor; no one had ever seen Hugo angry, embarrassed, or frightened. There were no traces of trouble and grief on his countenance. He was perhaps forty years of age, was somewhat disfigured by small-pox pits, but wherever there was a pretty girl or woman to be won, Hugo was sure to attract her. He was fond of good living—liked everything to be of the best, consequently his money never remained long in his pockets.
The constable's epicurean tastes irritated the mayor, who, as chief of the city militia, outranked the artillerist. But Hugo managed on all occasions to out-do his superior officer. Rieke, the trim little suttler-wife, would slap the militia captain's fingers if he ventured to give her a chin-chuck, but a hearty hug from the smiling constable never met with a repulse. In consequence of the siege prices for the necessaries, as well as for the luxuries of life, had become exorbitant in both cities. Three thalers was the unheard-of price asked at market for a fat goose. The mayor's wife haggled for a long time about the price without success, when along came pretty Rieke.
"How much for your goose?" she asked.
"Three thalers."
"I'll take it."
She paid the money and marched away with the goose.
By some means the mayor learned that Hugo had a baked fat goose for his dinner.
"Look here, constable," he said next day to the artillerist, "how comes it that you can afford to feast on fat goose while I, the mayor, and your superior officer, must content myself with lean herring, cheese and bread? Your pay is only twenty thalers a month; mine is three florins a day. Pray tell me how you manage it?"