The Wilmingtonian, And Delaware Advertiser

THE LEG—A TRUE STORY.

(Translated from the German.)

In the autumn of 1732, Lewis Thevenet, a distinguished surgeon at Calais, in France, received a billet without signature, requesting him to repair to a public house, not far off, with such instruments as were necessary for an amputation.

Thevenet was somewhat surprised at the manner of the invitation, but concluding that it was the work of some wag, paid no regard to it. Three days after, he received a second invitation still more pressing, and containing the information that the next day at 9 o'clock, a carriage would stop before his house in order to convey him.—Thevenet concluded to let the affair take its course, and when on the following day, at the striking of the clock, an elegant carriage stopped before the door, he seated himself in it, and asked the driver to whom he was to carry him?

The driver replied in English, "What I do not know, I cannot tell."

At length the carriage stopped before the designated public house. A handsome young man of about 28 years of age, received the surgeon at the door, and conducted him up stairs into a large chamber, where they held the following dialogue.

Thevenet—You have sent for me.

Englishman.—I am much obliged to you for the trouble you have taken to visit me. Here is coffee, chocolate or wine, if you would take any thing before the operation.

T.—Show me the patient, sir; I must first ascertain whether the injury is such as to render an amputation necessary.

E.—It is necessary, Mr. Thevenet, seat yourself; I have perfect confidence in you—listen to me. Here is a purse of one hundred guineas; this is the pay you will receive for the operation. If done successfully, it is yours. Should you refuse to comply with my wishes, see, here is a loaded pistol. You are in my power; I will shoot you.

T.—Sir, I am not afraid of your pistols. But what is your particular desire; tell me without preamble.

E.—You must cut off my right leg.

T.—With all my heart; and if you please your head too. But the leg is sound." You sprang up stairs just now with the agility of a dancing master. What ails your leg?

—Sir, you are a fool.

E.—Why does that trouble you, Thevenet?

—Only what sin has the leg committed?

E.—None; but are you ready to take it off?

T.—Sir. I do not know. Bring me evidence that you are of a sound mind.

E.—Will you comply with my request?

T.—Yes, sir, so soon as you give me sufficient reasons for such mutilation of yourself.

E.—I cannot tell you the truth perhaps for some years; but I will lay a wager that after a certain time you shall understand that my reasons are most noble—that my happiness, my very existence depends upon my being freed from the leg.

T.—Sir, I lay no wagers. Tell me your name, residence, family and occupation.

E.—You shall know all that hereafter.—Do you take me for an honorable man?

T.—I cannot. A man of honor does not threaten his physician with pistols. I have duties towards you as a stranger. I will not mutilate you. If you wish to be the murderer of a guiltless father of a family, then shoot.

E.—Well, Mr. Thevenet, I will not shoot you; but I will force you to take off my leg. That which you will not do for all the love of money, nor the fear of a bullet, you shall do from compassion.

T.—And how so?

E.—I will break my leg by discharging my pistols, and here before your eyes.

The Englishman seated himself, and placed the mouth of the pistol close to his knee. Thevenet was on the point of springing to prevent him, but he replied stir not, or I fire. Now, says he, will you increase and lengthen out my pains for nothing.

You are a fool, says Thevenet, but it shall be done, I will take off the unfortunate leg.

The Englishman calmly laid down the pistol, and all was made ready for the operation. As soon as the surgeon began to cut, the Englishman lighted his pipe, and swore it should not go out. He kept his word.—The leg lay upon the floor, and the Englishman was still smoking. Thevenet did his work like a master; the wound, by his skill, and the patient's own good nature, was healed at a fixed time—he rewarded the surgeon like a king; thanked him with tears of joy for the loss of his leg, and sailed over the streets with a wooden one.

About eight weeks after his departure, Thevenet received a letter from England with the following contents:

"You will receive enclosed, as a proof of my most heartfelt gratitude, an order for 250 guineas upon Mr. Panchard, in Paris.—You have made me the happiest mortal on earth in depriving me of my leg, for it was the only hindrance to my earthly felicity.—Brave man, you may not know the cause of my foolish humor as you call it. You concluded at the time that there could be no reasonable ground for such self mutilation I offered to lay a wager; you did well in not accepting it.

After my second return from the East Indies, I became acquainted with Emilie Harley, the most perfect of women, I loved her most passionately. Her wealth, her family connexions, influenced my friends in her favor; but I was influenced only by her beauty and her noble heart. I joined the number of her admirers. Ah! excellent Thevenet, I was so fortunate as to become the most unfortunate of rivals. She loved me above all, made no secret of it, but still she rejected me. I sought her hand in vain; in vain I implored her parents and her friends to intercede for me; she was still immoveable. For a long time I was unable to conjecture the cause of her rejecting me; since, as she confessed herself, she loved me almost to distraction. One of her visitors at length betrayed to me the secret. Miss Harley was a wonder of beauty, but she had but one leg. On account of this imperfection she feared to become my wife lest I should esteem her the less for it. My resolution was taken. I resolved to become like her; thanks to you, I became so. I came with my wooden leg to London, and in the first place visited Miss Harley. It had been reported, and I myself had written to England, that by a fall from my horse I had broken my leg, which was consequently taken off. It was much regretted. Emilie fell into a swoon the first time she saw me. She was for a long time inconsolable, but now she is my wife. The first day after our marriage, I entrusted to her the sacrifice I had made in consequence of my wish to obtain her hand. She loves me now the more affectionately. O, my brave Thevenet, had I ten legs to lose, I would without a single contortion of feature, part with them for Emilie. So long as I live I will be grateful towards you. Come to London; visit us; become acquainted with my wife; and then say I was a fool.

CHARLES TEMPLE."

Answer of Mr. Thevenet.

"Sir—I thank you for your valuable present, for so I must call it, because I cannot consider it as pay for the little trouble I was at. I congratulate you on your marriage with a woman so worthy of your affections. It is true a leg is much to lose, even for a beautiful, virtuous, and affectionate wife,—but not too much. To gain possession of Eve, Adam was obliged to part with a rib; and beautiful women have cost some men their heads. But after all, permit me to adhere to my former judgment. Truly for the moment you were correct, but with this difference the correctness of my judgment was founded on long experience, (as every truth should be, which we are not disposed to acknowledge.) Sir mind me, I lay a wager that after two years, you repent that your leg was taken off above the knee. You will find that below the knee had been enough. After three years you will say convinced that the loss of the foot had been sufficient. After four years you will think that the sacrifice of the great toe had been much. After five years, of the little toe, I After six years you will complain to me that the pairing of a nail had been
But I do not say this in prejudice of the merits of your charming wife. In my youth, for I devoted myself to love, but I never parted tho with a leg--had I done so I should at this pro day, have said, Thevenet thou wast a fool. oth I have the honor to be yours, &c. LEWIS THEVENET."

In 1795, eleven years after, during the horrors of the Revolution, Thevenet, against whom a person that envied his reputation caused to be suspected of aristocracy, fled to London to save himself from the guillotine. He enquired after Sir Charles Temple, and was shown his house. He made himself known and was received. In an arm chair by the fire, surrounded by twenty or so newspapers, sat a corpulent man who could hardly stand up he was so unwieldy. Ah! welcome Mr. Thevenet! cried the corpulent man, who was no other than Sir Charles Temple, excuse me if I do not rise; this cursed leg is a hindrance to me in every thing. 'You have come to see if your judgment was correct.' 'I come as a fugitive, and seek your protection.' You shall have it with pleasure. You must live with me from this day, for truly you are a wise man. You must console me." "Surely, Thevenet, probably now I had been an admiral of the blue, in service of my country. Then I read the Gazettes. The brown and the blue make me angry, because I can have nothing to do with them. Come console me." "Your wife can do better than I." "Say nothing of her - her wooden leg prevented her dancing, so she betook herself to cards and to fashions. There is no such thing as living peaceably with her." "What! was my judgment correct then?" "O, welcome beloved Thevenet, but be silent on that point. It was a silly adventure. Had I my leg again, I would not now give the paring of a nail. Between you and me, I was a fool, but keep this to yourself."