Francezka Part 34

"Do you know, Madame," said I, "that when one reaches the very heights of happiness--near the blue heavens--the least little speck of unhappiness is visible?"

"True," replied Francezka, her somber eyes brightening. "To think, after what I have suffered for seven years that I let this trifle--yes, Babache, your word was the right one--give me one clouded moment. But--" her eyes were darkened again; "no one walks those heights of happiness long. It is only for a short time that one can live in that too pure air. The old Greeks knew this."

"Madame," said I, "give me leave to say that you have lived too much with your own thoughts and emotions for your own good. No human being, least of all a sensitive woman, could have endured what you have for so long without retaining some marks of it. So, although I am only Babache, a savage Tatar prince, the son of a poor notary in the Marais, yet, take my advice: be happy when you have achieved your heart's desire and trouble not yourself with old dogs or old Greeks, either."

Francezka's face suddenly dimpled into smiles. The sun came out radiantly at that moment, and the gra.s.s and trees, diamond hung, glittered in the golden sheen of the morning. The earth seemed new-born; life and joy seemed new created. Francezka looked toward the chateau and waved her hands to Gaston, on his way to the stables. He turned and came toward her. I could not but remark how comely a man he was. He had never been a beautiful creature, like poor silly Bellegarde, but a good figure of a man, with regular and well-marked features, full of grace and intelligence. In a minute or two he had joined us. I had not before noticed the behavior of Gaston and the dog to each other, but now I observed that when Gaston approached, Bold exhibited an active dislike toward his former master.

His bristles rose, he showed his teeth, and in spite of Francezka's command, and even entreaty, he trotted off and would not return. I have always been sensitive to the dislike of dogs, believing them to be better judges of character than men are. But Gaston Cheverny did not seem to mind Bold's disaffection; he was satisfied with Francezka's constancy.

We remained a pleasant hour in the Italian garden. Gaston was, as he had been from the first, kind and courteous to me; pressed me to return in the autumn for the wolf hunting, which is one of the great sports of the region, and thanked me again for what I had been enabled to do for Francezka in his absence. When we returned to the chateau the sun was high, but Count Saxe had not yet left his room. He had then acquired the habit of lying late abed, except when he was in the field. Then he never slept at all, so his enemies said.

Madame Riano had threatened to accompany us back to Paris, but we were not sure whether she would go or not. Paris dragged her one way, the hope of meeting the Bishop of Louvain and triumphing over him, dragged her the other. But we saw her great traveling chaise hauled out of the coach house and her people busy, so we were not surprised when she met us and announced that she, with her maids and her _maitre d'hotel_, was ready to start with us. I allowed Beauvais to communicate this intelligence to Count Saxe, not liking to be the bearer of bad news, and I heard my master swearing furiously in his bedroom. But when he appeared in traveling dress, at ten o'clock, he was smiling and polite as usual, and expressed great joy at being allowed to journey in Madame Riano's suite. Count Saxe was a prudent as well as a courageous man, and he never belittled his antagonists, least of all Madame Riano. He often said he reckoned Madame Riano to be the first warrior of the age with Prince Eugene and Marshal the Duke of Berwick a considerable distance behind.

At ten o'clock the start was made, Madame Riano in her traveling chaise leading. She bade an affectionate farewell to Francezka and a kindly one to Gaston, placed her hotel in Paris at their disposal whenever they wished to come to Paris, said adieu to old Peter, sent poor Lisa a gold piece and a terrible denunciation, mounted into her chaise and started.

I had said farewell to Francezka several times in the last few years from the terrace, when she stood alone and lonely, but with undaunted courage and undying hope. Now that hope and courage were rewarded; she stood with Gaston by her side, the two happiest creatures on earth.

That last vision of Francezka in her beauty and happiness haunted me like a ravishing strain of music in a lovely dream.

When we had traveled a couple of stages Madame Riano invited Count Saxe to ride in her chaise, an honor which he dared not decline. Next day it was my turn. I loathe riding in a stuffy chaise, full of packages and waiting maids, but, like my master, needs must when Madame Riano drives. The first question she asked of me amazed me.

"What think you," said she, "of my nephew Gaston Cheverny?"

"What I always thought," I replied. "An admirable man."

"Nevertheless," replied Madame Riano, "you loved him once. You love him no longer."

That was the worst of this terrible old lady. She always found out the awkward truths and proclaimed them at inconvenient seasons. I made no reply to this, and she continued:

"Men grow hard with time. It is vain to expect of a man separated from you for seven years, and but three and thirty years of age, the same sensibility he had when he was six and twenty and had spent many preceding years in your company."

This was true, and I had often said so to myself, so I told Madame Riano.

"As for yourself, Babache," continued this indomitable woman, "you are like old Peter, only fit to love and forgive and lay your heart down to be trampled on."

"Madame, I have laid my heart at the feet of two persons only,"

replied I, with spirit; "one is my master, Count Saxe. Surely he never trampled on it. The other is Madame Cheverny, whom I have reverenced ever since I first knew her, and with whom, by the strange turns of fate, I have been much cast for some years."

"Count Saxe and my niece do not tread on you because they both have n.o.ble natures. If they were otherwise now--"

"I should not have had for them the reverent love I cherish, had they been otherwise," I answered, and just then, Madame Riano taking snuff, she gave a stupendous sneeze that nearly shook the chaise to pieces and actually jarred the door open; so I slipped out, mounted my horse and was glad to lay my legs across his back once more.

I had never mentioned to Count Saxe any change I saw in Gaston Cheverny, for indeed, I saw none--I only felt it. On that Paris journey, however, we talked together much concerning Francezka and her strange fate; and I found that Count Saxe, like myself, saw a subtile and unpleasing change in Gaston. But Francezka was happy--that was enough. Nothing could matter very much so long as Francezka smiled.

CHAPTER XXVIII

A CAMPAIGN OF PLEASURE

We returned from the chateau of Capello in the spring of 1740, and from then until the autumn there was hard work to be done at the Castle of Chambord. My master proposed to entertain a great and n.o.ble company of guests, including the king himself, during the time of the boar hunting, a very royal sport which prevails in Touraine. The king was to come the first week in December and to remain three days. Among those invited to be of this royal party were Gaston and Francezka Cheverny. They were to stay a fortnight at Chambord and to spend the rest of the winter in Paris.

There was, however, a visitor who arrived before we were prepared for any one. This was Madame Riano. One night, quite early in the autumn, when there was an army of six hundred workmen at Chambord, and Count Saxe himself was but indifferently lodged, a traveling chaise drove up, and out got Madame Riano, come to pay Count Saxe a visit before she departed for England on one of her expeditions to recover the crown for Prince Charles Edward Stuart.

My master swore up and down and crosswise when he recognized Madame Riano's equipage crossing the Bridge of the Lions, but went down to the courtyard to receive her. He expressed great joy at seeing her, and also regrets that he could not lodge her, having but two bedrooms in order, his own and a small one next him, where I, as always, was lodged. Madame Riano coolly informed him that she should stay the week, and would occupy his bedroom; he could take mine, and I could sleep in her traveling chaise.

"But, Madame," said my master, "think of my reputation; a woman, still young, still handsome like yourself--"

"Great G.o.d!" cried Madame Riano, "_you_ have no reputation to lose, and as for myself, mine is far too robust to be hurt by a little thing like this. Not that I ever wanted for lovers when I was young, from the time I was thirteen years old, when that foolish Bishop of Louvain wanted to marry me; I had a plenty as long as I wanted them."

"It is singular," said Count Saxe, "that a bishop should want to marry a thirteen-year-old girl."

"He was not in orders then, but was a soft-headed great oaf of a young man of nineteen, and that you should have understood. Maurice of Saxe, I think you have never been so sensible a man since you made that ridiculous fiasco in Courland. It seems to have addled your brain somewhat!"

And Count Saxe had to entertain that woman a whole week! She took possession of his only bedchamber, and he, putting it on the score of propriety, slept on the hay in the stable lofts!

It may be imagined how we worked to be ready to receive the king and his suite and all the guests asked for that memorable visit. Count Saxe utilized all of that stupendous genius he had heretofore shown in his campaigns in preparing a campaign of pleasure for those royal festivities at Chambord. Besides the king, there were two princes of the blood, the Duc d'Orleans and the Duc de Bourbon, seven dukes and peers of France, two marshals of France, and a horde of other great people.

Three days in the week there were to be stag hunts and boar hunts in the forest. Two nights in the week there were to be b.a.l.l.s, three nights there were to be cards, and the two other nights plays in the theater of the castle, otherwise the great yellow saloon. The playwright was to be no less a person than Monsieur Voltaire, who did not require much coaxing to follow the king. The ostensible bait held out to him was that Francezka, with whose beauty, faith and tenderness all Paris was ringing, would be at Chambord and would take part in Monsieur Voltaire's plays. He remembered her early triumphs in the garden of the Hotel Kirkpatrick, and was not averse to a beautiful and brilliant woman a.s.sisting in the making of his fame.

My master was to be in one of these plays, and went to Paris several times to attend the rehearsals, which were under the direction of Monsieur Voltaire. Francezka and Gaston had then arrived in Paris.

Count Saxe came back with famous accounts of these rehearsals.

Monsieur Voltaire was very difficult, and everything about the performance had to be changed a dozen times, except one--Madame Gaston Cheverny was to play opposite the great Voltaire. He had never seen her act since that afternoon in the garden so long ago, but he declared the memory of it remained with him. Other great ladies were chosen, tried and flung aside. Gentlemen of the best blood of France were put through their paces before the son of Arouet, the notary.

Count Saxe noted this impudence of Monsieur Voltaire's, and had said in his hearing that if he, Count Saxe, were hauled and pulled about unseemly, he would, by the blessing of G.o.d, run Monsieur Voltaire through the body. This insured Count Saxe the most respectful treatment imaginable from Monsieur Voltaire. My master had told me, on his return from these Paris rehearsals, that Monsieur Voltaire maintained the most conciliatory att.i.tude throughout toward Francezka, who, he declared, was the only actress among all the ladies to be at Chambord. Francezka's spirit was well known; she was not the niece of Peggy Kirkpatrick for nothing, and once or twice, so Count Saxe said, a word on her part and a flash of her eyes showed Monsieur Voltaire that she would throw up her part at the least hint of impertinence from him, so he behaved himself perfectly to her, as to Count Saxe.

Madame du Chatelet regarded Monsieur Voltaire as much her own as her warming pan, or Newton's Principia, so she, of course, had to be asked to the festivities at Chambord. Then, Madame Villars must be of the party. She was the daughter-in-law of Marshal Villars, and daughter of my master's old friend, Marshal, the Duc de Noailles, of whom the latter would be among the guests. It was that very autumn that Madame Villars had kissed Voltaire publicly, in her box at the theater, at the first performance of _Merope_, and to the delight of the audience.

Perhaps Monsieur Voltaire's head was not a little turned by this; perhaps Madame du Chatelet could have told a tale of the airs he gave himself with all the women after that, but no matter.

Of course, there were numbers of other young and beautiful women besides Francezka Cheverny and Madame Villars. Were any of Count Saxe's loves among them? Perhaps. I, at least, knew not, except that all women who looked on him fell in love with him, but he can not be found fault with for that; the fault must be found with the G.o.d who made him so all-conquering, beautiful and bewitching. This is not a chronicle of Count Saxe's love affairs. He chose his own loves, wrote his own love letters, and I knew no more about them than I did of the royal princes of Tatar, from which I was supposed to be descended. As far as I know he was a veritable St. Anthony. I have heard Chambord called the castle built for intrigues, and for the "flying squadrons,"

as the gay ladies of the court were named. But whether this be true or not must be asked of some one better informed about Chambord than Captain Babache.

By the first day of December all was ready, and on the evening of that day the king was to arrive, and also Francezka and Gaston Cheverny.

These, with other guests, were to precede the king's arrival by two hours. It was a cold, bright December evening, the wintry sun just setting, when the procession of coaches began to roll across the Bridge of the Lions and into the great courtyard. My Uhlans formed a guard of honor at the bridge and in the courtyard itself. A subaltern commanded, but I was present as the ranking officer of Count Saxe's household.

At least forty ladies and gentlemen had arrived before the coach drove up from which Francezka and Gaston Cheverny alighted. Count Saxe awaited them at the foot of the grand staircase, but I was on the ground to welcome Francezka. It was near dusk of a winter's evening, but the torches' glare, and the row of crystal lanterns hung above the entrance gate showed me her face plainly, even inside the coach. She was a little pale, probably from traveling, but smiled her own sweet smile at me as soon as she recognized me opening the coach door for her. Gaston, descending, embraced me cordially. He looked to be in the highest health and spirits. Francezka, her slender figure wrapped in a great furred mantle, and her fair face looking out from a black hat with feathers, stepped down with her usual airy grace.

"The finest thing in this great castle is the face of a friend like you, my Babache," she said.

There was no time to say more, for she saw Count Saxe and advanced quickly toward him. If she had been Queen Marie Lecszynska he could not have greeted her with greater devotion.

I showed them at once to their rooms, which were agreeable but rather high up, overlooking that wonderful spiral staircase which is the glory of Chambord. I explained that I had placed them so high that they might not be disturbed by the noise and commotion which was pretty sure to be going on night and day in the lower part of the castle.

"Trouble not yourself about that, Babache," cried Francezka, merrily; "Gaston and I are not in search of quiet, but gaiety. Life was so dark for us for seven years that we want it to be as merry as we can make it now," to which Gaston laughingly agreed.

I had caused a harpsichord to be placed in Francezka's room. To this she ran, opening it and dashing into a rattling air upon it. Her eyes were sparkling, the color had come back into her cheeks--her whole air was one of feverish gaiety. She was then eight and twenty years of age, but I think I never saw a more girlish looking creature. The years that most young women spend in going to b.a.l.l.s and routs and suppers, and spoiling their complexions with rouge, Francezka had spent in the solitude and pure air of the country. She had all the verve, the freshness, of one to whom the world is still new, and youth looked out of her shining eyes. It was as if the other Francezka were laid away with her black Spanish costumes, and this Francezka were the Francezka who had stormed all hearts on the lake of Uzmaiz and at the fetes of Radewitz.

I could only remain with them a few minutes, as the coming of King Louis was imminent. Francezka, too, had to rehea.r.s.e for the play to be given that night, so both of us were hurried, but Francezka took time to say to me: