Francezka Part 28

We traveled rapidly. A journey is fast or slow, according as there is money forthcoming. Old Peter, in spite of his years, acted admirably as an avant-courier. He always rode ahead two stages to secure post-horses; and if there was any dispute about it, I could always bring the postmaster to the right way of thinking. But what was quite as effective was Francezka's soft and insinuating address, which never failed to get horses or anything else she wanted. It is a part of human nature to delight in exercising a power with which one is gifted. Francezka had the power of persuasion in a high degree, and it pleased her self-love to see a postmaster or an innkeeper succ.u.mb to it, as quickly as a Maurice of Saxe.

We had fine weather from the day we left Philipsburg. The Duke of Berwick used to say that travel was the best means ever devised to wean the human mind from the continual contemplation of sorrow. So it proved in this instance. There is something in the motion of a horse under one, which is a subtile distraction. The horse itself becomes a component part of being, and exacts a share of attention. Francezka, who was fond of horse exercise, left the chaise almost entirely to Madame Chambellan and rode on horseback with me.

There could be no doubt of her high and even feverish hope. She was never more to have that serene expectation of happiness which I had seen in the soft and lambent light of her eyes on my first knowing of her marriage to Gaston Cheverny. Rather was it an excited and over-sanguine hope that built itself most lovely visions on nothing at all. She seemed to think it probable that at any moment Gaston might appear. The least movement startled her. If she were at table and the door opened suddenly she would half rise, with the flash of expectation in her face. At night every sound brought her to the window. She was still under the sweet illusion of youth, that happiness was her right. I really believe she thought that G.o.d, having given her so much--such love, beauty, youth, health, and wealth--could not in justice refuse her happiness.

As we traveled on we found the highroads full of equipages: officers'

wives, French and Austrian ladies of rank and many persons of consideration from such large towns as Brussels and Cologne, to say nothing of the constant pa.s.sing to and fro, such as two great armies, one on each side of the Rhine, required. Francezka was known to many of these people. The story of her romantic marriage and her loving quest for her husband had got abroad, and at every stopping place she received sympathy and wishes for success in her search. I saw that Francezka took all these polite expressions for gospel truths, and thought everybody who spoke a word of encouragement to her was profoundly versed in wisdom.

I had neither the power nor the wish to rob her of this beautiful illusion. She had by nature a great and glowing imagination, and she pictured to herself and to me the charm of her return journey with Gaston. She admitted the possibility that he might be ill and worn, but then her tenderness would nurse him back to health. It would be necessary for him to ride in a chaise, perhaps, so she would give up her horse and ride with him. How exquisite it would be, as they pa.s.sed along the swift flowing Rhine, through the purple vineyards, the radiant mornings, the glorious sunsets, the dreamy purple twilights--all would be beautiful. But these glowing visions did not impair Francezka's watchfulness nor lead her to relax one single effort in her vigilant hunt.

This rosy hope lasted her until we reached Prince Eugene's headquarters in the Taunus hills. There, one interview with Prince Eugene himself brought home to Francezka the gray and gloomy outlook before her. It left her with but one rational basis of hope, that of finding Gaston in some Austrian prison.

On the night of this interview with Prince Eugene, at which I was present, Francezka sent for me to come to her room at the little inn where we were staying. I saw by the gravity of her look that the old hunchback prince's clear, but not unkind, statement of the case had produced its effect upon her. And she also proved to me, in our conversation, what I had long known, that although self-willed and impetuous, Francezka was neither selfish nor inconsiderate.

"Babache," she said to me on entering, "I think you know that you are the most comforting and helpful person in the world to me now, and that if I consent to part with you it is not because you are of no more use or good to me. But I see plainly that my search in the Austrian prisons for my husband is likely to last the whole year if, oh G.o.d! I find him even then! And I see that I can contrive all that is necessary myself. Therefore, much as you are to me now, I can not think it right to deprive Count Saxe of your services, and so I give you leave to return at once. When I want you, be sure I will send for you."

In reply, I told her that I belonged to her and to Count Saxe, and either could make any disposition of me that was desired.

We then deliberated on the singular silence of Regnard Cheverny.

Although he was not with Prince Eugene's own contingent, yet it was scarcely possible that he had not received one of the several letters which had been written him by Francezka as well as other persons, concerning his brother's disappearance; nor could he fail to know of the catastrophe from other sources; but not one line or word had come from him. Francezka was very deeply incensed at him. She had never really liked nor trusted Regnard, and was not disposed to excuse him in anything.

Her next move would be to Vienna, in order to complete her plan of searching the Austrian prisons. With her usual promptness, she decided to start on the morrow.

The next morning I saw her depart. She went in the chaise with Madame Chambellan, discarding her riding horse. When she bade me farewell at the chaise door she tried to express her thanks to me, but instead, she burst into a pa.s.sion of tears. I closed the door hastily and turned away. I could not bear to see her weep, and I could not, myself, utter one word.

I returned to Count Saxe. On the first of January, 1735, peace was proclaimed; and as Count Saxe said, the rain having ceased, the cloaks were laid away.

For the two years that followed I was often with Francezka, and never out of her reach, and worked for her diligently; yet I speak of some things that I did not actually see, but heard.

Francezka proceeded to Vienna, where she was received with distinction by the Emperor Charles and his empress. They became much interested in her story, and gave her every facility possible. The young Princess Maria Theresa, who was destined to reign with the energy of a king and the sweetness of a queen, was then in her eighteenth year. She became deeply interested in Francezka, and showed her many kind attentions.

Armed with letters from the emperor, Francezka proceeded to examine the Austrian prisons, from which the prisoners were being released on their exchange at the prospect of peace, and all of the records were laid before her. But she found not the smallest trace of her husband.

This consumed the entire autumn, winter and spring. At the beginning of summer, this source of hope being exhausted, Francezka reluctantly turned toward Brabant. But on pa.s.sing through the Taunus country she made a discovery at the very center of the region that had been combed over a dozen times for Gaston Cheverny by the French, the Austrians and Francezka herself. This was the indubitable proof that Gaston Cheverny had been alive and at that place three months after his disappearance, and in the very midst of the hunt for him!

Francezka unearthed this fact by the acuteness of her understanding, which reckoned nothing too small or too great for her to attempt in this undertaking. On her way to Brabant, after nearly a year of fruitless effort, she stopped over night in a village not far from the Rhine and on the way to Frankfort. She did not fail to ask of the authorities if any person answering to Gaston Cheverny's description had been seen at any time in the place, and to cause a large reward to be posted; but no one could tell her anything.

At the inn she noticed a pointer that somewhat resembled Bold. The dog took a fancy to Francezka, which she returned, being touched by the dog's resemblance to her old friend. The innkeeper's little daughter, not ten years old, seeing this, said in Francezka's hearing, that the dog was as fond of "the great lady" as it had been of "the French prisoner with his head bound up." Francezka, calling to the child, questioned her closely, and received the startling information from the little girl that the prisoner, who was a gentleman, had fondled the dog, because he said it was like a dog at home which he loved. It was brought out at once that this prisoner was one of a number on their way to Bohemia. His description tallied perfectly with Gaston Cheverny, and the absolute certainty was reached by the innkeeper's wife producing a fine handkerchief which had been left behind, with Gaston Cheverny's initials embroidered on it by Francezka's own hand!

When Francezka heard this she was like one ready to die with joy. It proved at once that nothing concerning Gaston's disappearance could be taken as final. Francezka, by her own wit, had found out what all the machinery of two great commanders had failed to discover. Was it strange that after this she should trust to no one's efforts but her own? All this I gathered in hurried but ecstatic letters written me in the first flush of her delight. At once all her hopes bloomed afresh--nor could any one, in reason, discourage her.

But this joy was the joy of Tantalus--for in spite of months of time and great sums of money spent on the spot by Francezka, not one scintilla of light more was thrown upon this tragic mystery of her life.

At last, having spent a whole year in her pursuit, Francezka was forced to turn her steps homeward. This did not mean that she gave up either hope or work, that was impossible to her; but that she would rest and wait a while. She told over to herself, so she wrote me, all the stories she had ever heard, including those of Count Saxe, of persons who, having been sought diligently, at last returned when all hope was abandoned. Francezka apparently forgot that although strange disappearances and equally strange reappearances take place often in troublous times, but few persons in the world had been searched for as thoroughly, as patiently, and with such lavish expenditure of time and money as had Gaston Cheverny. To his honor be it said that at no time was there the smallest suspicion in any mind that he had made way with himself, or had voluntarily abandoned Francezka.

It was in September of 1735 that Francezka again saw the chateau of Capello. She entered her own house with sadness and disappointment, but not in despair. Hope could not die within her. As she wrote me, "My heart can not--will not--break."

It is not to be wondered at, however, that the rest of Francezka's world reckoned Gaston Cheverny a dead man. Father Benart, the little priest, who was a courageous man, even hinted to Francezka that she should wear mourning. This went to her heart like a knife. To put on the garments of widowhood would be the last abandonment of hope, and to this she would not consent. She adopted, however, the Spanish costume, which is black, but not mourning, and no one could accuse her of unseemliness in her attire.

She found her house swept and garnished, for Francezka's administrative qualities were of that order which make affairs apparently go on of themselves. The dog Bold was overjoyed to see her and became, as formerly, her inseparable companion. The harvests had been good, her flocks and herds had prospered; all belonging to Francezka seemed to bask in the sunlight of good fortune, except Francezka herself.

As soon as her return was known she was overrun with visitors, mostly impelled by curiosity, who pestered her with questions. Francezka met these with the spirit and courage which were a part of her. Being naturally and incurably humorous, she often smiled, and even laughed, though her heart was near to breaking, at the air of surprise and even chagrin with which her calm announcement was received that she did not yet admit her husband to be dead, and should ever hope for his return.

But these idle persons inflicted upon her pride a burning smart; she continually felt that she was reckoned foolish and visionary--she, the most practical, the most resourceful, the most entirely sensible of women.

She had greater courage, a more powerful imagination than most people, and so the commonplace of the earth had ever been eager to deny her common sense. She had proved herself possessed of the most sublime common sense in the management of her life and her affairs. Beautiful and alone, she had escaped slander; with a great fortune and perfect liberty, she had avoided the ever present snare of being married for her fortune, and had chosen a man who loved her for herself alone, and would have married her in her smock. She had proved herself capable in every emergency, and had commanded love and admiration, a thing not easily forgiven. Now, the small-minded, the carpers and the critics, had their opportunity, and they fell upon her in full cry like a pack of wolves.

She could sustain herself against them. They might whisper and backbite--they might point with unctuous hypocrisy at the terrible results of a marriage made solely to please herself, but none of them dared to speak before her face. It was, however, mortifying for her self-love to know that they dared speak behind her back. Francezka was, in some respects, a spoiled child of fortune. She did not for one moment relax her efforts to find Gaston Cheverny, although she no longer attempted it personally. A number of trained men were employed by her to keep the matter alive, the rewards before the public, and to follow up every possible clue.

And then she went upon her way, unchanged and unchanging in some respects. She again took up her reading and studying; the Brabant ladies were much scandalized at the amount of money which Madame Cheverny spent on books. She again had her music and singing masters to attend her. She did all these things diligently, though she had lost much of the enjoyment they once gave her. Such hope as she had left was enough to make her unmurmuring in her present life, but not enough to make her happy. And so the year of 1735 pa.s.sed.

CHAPTER XXIV

CONFIDENT TO-MORROWS

It does not matter how that time went with me, Babache. I was with my master, Count Saxe, whose glory increased with time. Every day and hour Francezka was in my mind, and so far as I could I kept up the search for Gaston Cheverny. I never met a man from the Rhine country, nor one who had taken part in any of the campaigns of 1733-34, of whom I did not make inquiry concerning Gaston Cheverny.

One thing was strange and tantalizing: while it was impossible to prove that he was alive, it was equally impossible to prove that he was dead. Nor was this an unknown man who had vanished, but an officer of distinction, for whom the search had begun within six hours of his disappearance, which was taken part in by Count Saxe and the armies of France and Austria, and carried on steadily by a woman of the wit, the wealth and the resource of Francezka Capello. I have known of strange vanishings in war, but never have I known one in the least like Gaston Cheverny's. Regnard Cheverny seemed to have vanished, too, but his disappearance was entirely voluntary.

The only communication which was received from him was to his agent.

As soon as peace was a.s.sured this agent received orders from Regnard Cheverny to sell Castle Haret, which he presently did, for a good round sum. It was known soon after that Regnard had resigned from the Austrian army and had accepted a high command in the East India Company's army in British India. I concluded that the chagrin Regnard had felt at losing Francezka was very deep and had much increased his distaste for his native country, but on the whole, his conduct appeared both unfeeling and ungenerous. Madame Riano oscillated between Paris and Brabant. I think the att.i.tude of her mind had something to do with Francezka's obstinate clinging to the belief that Gaston Cheverny was alive and would be found. Madame Riano's belief was superst.i.tious, pure and simple. She actually believed that n.o.body married to a Kirkpatrick could be called out of this world without ceremony. There must be all the ghostly accessories by which the exits of the Kirkpatricks were made as imposing as the Deity could contrive--so thought she; but to Francezka it always seemed the height of wisdom to believe Gaston Cheverny to be alive.

Much of the year 1736 we spent at Paris, and Count Saxe again occupied himself with his _amusettes_, and in the invention of a wheel by which boats could be propelled through the water. The women, I admit, still chased him vigorously; one brazen princess would not let him get the length of a cow's tail away from her. But was this to be wondered at?

Maurice of Saxe seemed to be sent into this world to conquer all women as well as all men.

We were always lodged magnificently in Paris, at the Luxembourg, and at Versailles and Fontainebleau, and Marly-le-Roi, when we went to court. The king could not do enough for Count Saxe, and had already begun to consider giving him the Castle of Chambord, as he afterward did. Count Saxe could, if he had wished, put the king's shirt on him every morning, but Count Saxe was not a perfect courtier, after the sort described by the Regent of Orleans, who defined a perfect courtier as a man without pride or temper. Count Saxe had both, and did not like the business of valeting, even for kings.

He spent much time on his book, _Mes Reves_, he dictating and I writing it. He also studied the seven books on war by that Florentine secretary, Niccolo Machiavelli, who knew more about war than any man who ever wore a black cloak. He was the first who invented the battalion formation. Count Saxe used to say, laughing, that according to Machiavelli, I lacked an essential of a good soldier--gaiety of heart. I always replied that the Tatars, my royal ancestors, like other princes, had not much cause for gaiety, and that my somberness was due to the exalted rank with which I had been invested. When I was a barefooted boy, trotting about the Marais, I was as happy as a bird in spring.

I think Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's death had a lasting effect on Count Saxe. I ever believed that he grieved more for her than did Voltaire, who wrote verses on her. Voltaire, at that time, was hanging to the petticoats of that lean, brown Madame du Chatelet, who spent her time working out Newton's Principia and henpecking Voltaire. No woman ever henpecked my master. But I must admit Voltaire was a sorcerer, and could spur a dead horse into life. He confused me very much about that time by asking me if the writing I was engaged upon was a life of Count Saxe, and when I said not, the rogue remarked that he supposed I was like Amyot, who said that he did not write the life of his various masters because he was too much attached to them. Now, what answer is a man to make to such things?

In spite of all the distractions of Paris, Count Saxe by no means lost interest in Francezka, and kept in constant communication with her.

Madame Riano had urged Francezka to join her in Paris, but Francezka declined to leave Brabant for two reasons why she must not stir from home; that Gaston, if living, might find her there; and if he were dead, she preferred the seclusion of her own home to the gaiety of Paris.

In the spring of 1737 Madame Riano was seized with the notion of going to England again. I judge she had had enough of Scotland, that land of milk and honey, as she represented it to be. This time she went straight to London, where she took a great house, proclaimed herself a Jacobite, put white c.o.c.kades on every one of her servants, down to the very scullions in the kitchen, and defied Sir Robert Walpole's government to arrest her. To her cruel disappointment, the ministry took not the least notice of her. In vain she gave b.a.l.l.s on Prince Charles Stuart's birthday, whom she called James III, made everybody curtsy to his portrait, which was placed in the main lobby of her house, and never failed to revile and ridicule the Elector of Hanover, as she called King George, and all his family. The straw that broke the camel's back was when her coach locked wheels with that of the Duke of Newcastle, then secretary of state under Sir Robert Walpole, and known as the greatest fool in England. It was on the way to a levee at St. James's Palace. Madame Riano upbraided the duke for his treachery to his lawful sovereign, King James the Third, called King George a Hanoverian rat, and then triumphantly demanded in the face of a great crowd which collected around the combatants:

"And now, will your Grace have me arrested?"

The poor foolish duke, who stuttered and stammered fearfully, replied to this:

"M-m-m-madame, the king's orders are n-n-not to arrest anybody except p-persons of the f-f-first consequence, M-madame!"

Fancy Madame Riano's rage! And the crowd actually cheered the duke, so we heard in Paris. This, however, drove Scotch Peg out of London. She returned to Paris, reopened the Hotel Kirkpatrick, and announced that she only lived for the purpose of hurling the Hanoverian rats from the throne of England and Scotland. My master went to call on her and took me with him. Madame Riano received us in her usual state, which was lofty, for one of the merits which Madame Riano possessed in common with Francezka was a perfect capacity for affairs. Madame Riano might furnish food for laughter in Paris and London and Brabant, but her debts were always promptly paid; she lived splendidly, but without waste, and she always had more money in her pocket than those who laughed at her.

She was kind, if patronizing, to Count Saxe, and acted as if I were rather the more important of the two. She delivered a long account of the outrages heaped upon her by the Elector of Hanover, as she called George of England, which outrages, as nearly as I could make out, consisted wholly in not having her sent to the Tower of London and tried for high treason as she ardently desired. After the recital of Madame Riano's wrongs at the hands of the Kings of England, Spain and France--for she had something against the last two as well as the first, and complained that they had all treated her as if she were of no more account than the drummer's cat--the conversation turned on Francezka. Madame Riano heard from her regularly. She was well, endeavored to be cheerful, and held an undying hope.

Madame Riano freely declared she believed Gaston Cheverny to be still alive, but could give no better reason for it than the belief that Omnipotence would not trifle with the life of one connected with the Kirkpatrick family by marriage. She told us that she was going to Brabant for the summer and later to pay a round of visits in Luxembourg. Shortly after our visit she took her proposed departure.