Francezka Part 6

Monsieur Voltaire p.r.i.c.ked up his ears; it was well-known that he loved the society of the great. As for myself, the company listened to me, because they had never known me to open my mouth before, at supper, except to put something in it.

"Ah," said Monsieur Voltaire, putting his snuff-box in his pocket, and speaking debonairly. "It was probably Cardinal Fleury--and the Duc de Bourbon. I have reason to know they would like to make peace with me; but it must be peace on my terms, not theirs!"

"No, Monsieur," I replied. "They were the Duc de Rohan and Monsieur Beauregard!"

Now, these were the two men who had each caused Voltaire a caning, and whom he had been burning to meet for revenge. When I spoke their names there was a pause--Monsieur Voltaire's eyes lighted up like two volcanoes. He turned on me a look that would have split a barrel, but did not make me wink an eyelash. Then there was a shout, a brawl of laughter, that rang to the ceiling and made the girandoles dance. I think what made the company laugh so was the notion that I, Babache, captain of Uhlans, should measure my wit against Monsieur Voltaire's, and whether it were wit at all or not mattered little, for it served its purpose; it drove Monsieur Voltaire away from the supper table. He glared at the laughing faces about him, sat still a moment, then rising, with a half bow, half scowl at Mademoiselle Lecouvreur, stalked out of the room. It was well known that, like most wits, he bore ridicule extremely ill, and could not stand being laughed at. As for Count Saxe, he hugged me, and I had so many compliments made to me that I was alarmed for fear I should be reckoned a wit.

When supper was over, Mademoiselle Lecouvreur, by a sign, indicated that Count Saxe was to remain after the rest had left. All took their departure, including Regnard Cheverny, who bade me a civil adieu.

Mademoiselle Lecouvreur took Count Saxe into her boudoir. I went into the saloon, where the candles were dying in their sockets. Presently the two came out of the boudoir. Count Saxe had a casket in his hand, which he gave to me. His eyes were full of tears, and he was silent from emotion. Mademoiselle was smiling--smiling when she said to him:

"Trouble not yourself about returning it. I think I shall not have use for money much longer. I am often ill--more ill than any one supposes--and when I leave the theater I am more dead than alive. So give me in return but an occasional thought--a word of remembrance--it will be enough."

Count Saxe said something--I know not what; the beauty, the touching sweetness, the majesty of this woman's love was enough to overcome any man. He kissed her hand and her cheek in farewell; she gave me, as always, some kind words, and we left her, bowing to her with the reverence due a queen.

Count Saxe said not one word to me on our way to the Luxembourg. I believe he shed some tears as he sat back in the corner of the coach.

CHAPTER VI

ON THE BALCONY

The hour of action was at hand, however. The next day came the storm and stress of preparation. Count Saxe was besieged with persons wishing to go to Courland with him, chiefly gentlemen out at elbows who had nothing to lose; men of a doubtful past, men who had failed at everything else and thought themselves fitted to conquer a kingdom.

Out of these and others Count Saxe selected three hundred men, whom he armed and equipped as Uhlans, and who were added to the body-guard I had under me before. There were other troops promised, and these Uhlans were meant to be the human rampart between Count Saxe and harm.

Monsieur Voltaire had gone to England, his departure hastened, so Count Saxe declared, laughing uproariously, by his dread of encountering Babache, the rival wit.

I found time, in the midst of running about from one end of Paris to the other, to call daily at Gaston Cheverny's lodgings and ask after the young man. His improvement continued rapidly and steadily. I did not once see the young girl, Mademoiselle Capello, who had brought about all this fine coil, but she was not out of my mind for a moment.

I may be, as I am, the ugliest man on earth, without riches and not wanting them, humbly born and not disguising it, but yet I can have my dreams as well as any man. I often pa.s.sed the great Hotel Kirkpatrick in those days, and longed to know how Mademoiselle Capello fared, and whether her escapade had come to Madame Riano's ears or not. Several times I caught sight of old Peter, who seemed to be majordomo of the establishment. The man's face always arrested my attention. He was an ordinary looking elderly man, still retaining something of his soldier's life about him, but the look in his eyes always went to the heart like a poniard. Afterward I heard why this was so. I saw Madame Riano often enough driving in or out of her courtyard in her great purple and gold coach, with her purple and canary postilions and four cream-colored horses. When she went to court she had six horses.

The days on which I saw Mademoiselle Capello were well marked in my memory. I never forgot the hour, nor the place, nor whether the sun shone, nor if she looked well or ill. Once on a soft and lovely evening I saw her sitting opposite Madame Riano in the coach, as it rolled over the Pont Neuf. The young lady leaned forward and smiled and bowed to me. Another time I saw her walking in the garden of the Hotel Kirkpatrick. It was morning then, a May morning, and she was bare-headed, the sun kissing freely her dark rich hair, with the little rings around her milk-white brow and throat. Another day, toward sunset, when a great thunder storm was brewing, I pa.s.sed the back part of the garden where the theater had been set up, and I saw her walking there alone. As I watched Mademoiselle Capello's pensive face--for that day she seemed to be in a reflective mood--the rain suddenly descended in sheets. She ran laughing toward the hotel. Her face, her flying figure, her unconscious grace, were all childlike that day, and after all she was only fourteen; but maids were married often at fourteen.

On the twelfth day after I had made a hole in Gaston Cheverny's carca.s.s I was admitted to see him; we then thought ourselves on the verge of our departure for Courland. It was in the evening, and I was ushered into Gaston Cheverny's saloon, where he sat in a great chair.

He was pale and thin and showed his sufferings, but his eye was undimmed and full of light and laughter. With him sat Jacques Haret, dressed in Gaston Cheverny's coat, waistcoat, breeches, stockings, and everything from his skin. He greeted me with the utmost cheerfulness and complaisance. In parting with most of his virtues he had retained two of the greatest--cheerfulness and courage.

"Good evening, Captain Babache," cried Gaston, in a pleasant, though weak voice. "I swear to you by all the great G.o.ds of Olympus that from the moment I felt your sword sticking into me I have believed Count Saxe to be greater than Hannibal, Caesar, Alexander the Great, St.

Louis and the Cid Campeador, rolled in one."

"That is most wise of you," I replied, sitting down by him. "Believe that always and you will keep out of trouble."

Here Jacques Haret, who was lolling in a chair, said:

"Our friend has been much concerned to know what has become of my late leading lady, Mademoiselle Capello. It is in vain that I have reminded him of that old Spanish malediction on an enemy: 'May you marry an only child; may you have a law suit, win it, and have to pay the lawyers!'"

A flush came into Gaston Cheverny's pale face, and he looked displeased, as well he might, at hearing Mademoiselle Capello's name in Jacques Haret's mouth. I took no notice of his question, but began to tell Gaston Cheverny of our plans for Courland. His eyes kindled as I spoke, and at last he filled my heart with rapture by asking, eagerly:

"Do you think Count Saxe would take me with him?"

"With great joy!" I answered, for that was exactly what I was leading up to. And, to tell the truth, there were very few men of Gaston Cheverny's character and standing among us.

Jacques Haret got up and whistled.

"I must leave you now, my friend," he said to Gaston; "I am going for a promenade. I wish you would have your shoes made of Spanish leather--I don't like these at all. And a gentleman should always wear silk stockings. That rascal of a valet of yours has twice brought me woolen ones. I am a patient man, but I can't stand everything."

To this Gaston replied: "Go to the devil."

Jacques Haret went out.

Gaston Cheverny and I talked long and earnestly together. I did everything in my power to induce him to cast his fortunes with us. At every moment the sympathy between us grew keener. At last he said, blushing like a girl, and fingering the love locks that hung from his temple:

"To tell you the truth, Babache, I am set upon some adventure, out of which glory and fortune may be wrung. For I love a young lady, not indeed above me in rank, but as far beyond me in fortune as in merit, and I must bridge the gulf between us before I can aspire to her. It is--it is--Mademoiselle--"

"Francezka Capello," I said.

He was very much surprised at my guess, but the young always think their elders have no eyes. Then he burst forth, as young men of twenty do, raving over her beauty, her wit, her grace, lamenting her venturesomeness as if he were Solomon and Methuselah in one. I felt not one pang of jealousy. Francezka Capello was not for me, nor I for her--but that was no reason why I should not love her as one loves a star.

"And why does not Madame Riano keep a closer watch over her?" he demanded angrily, as if I had something to do with it. "Jacques Haret says that because Madame Riano always ruled her father, her husband, her confessor, her lawyers, and her doctors, she thinks to rule this girl by mere precept; but Francezka has the spirit of a fiery Scot and a hot Spaniard in her, and no one can rule her except by gentleness and persuasion. Then she is a lamb."

He then told me all about the chateau of Capello in Brabant. It was a superb estate, and his own modest country house was within sight of it. Castle Haret, which Regnard Cheverny had so cleverly acquired, was some distance off in the same province. In Francezka's childhood, during her parents' lifetime, she had lived at the chateau, where Gaston and his brother had often played with her as a little girl.

Since she had been in Peggy Kirkpatrick's care she had lived in Paris. But it was known that her Brabant estate was dearer to her than any or all of her possessions, and the Brabant people said that when she was her own mistress she would live in Brabant. The night at the Temple, Gaston Cheverny had gradually recognized his little playmate of years gone by, and from that moment, he confessed, with shining eyes, he had thought only of her.

"And now, in this expedition to Courland, I see the road to honor and fortune and Francezka open," cried my young game chick, and I a.s.sured him so it was.

I remained with him the best part of two hours. The last thing he said to me was:

"The surgeon says I may mount my horse in a fortnight, but you say the word, and I mount and ride for Courland to-morrow!"

When I walked back to the Luxembourg, through the dark and quiet streets, I bethought myself that this young man, take him all in all, was the best recruit we had yet got. And so I told Count Saxe that very night.

There were unlooked-for vexatious delays about starting. We had thought to leave at any hour, when I spoke to Gaston Cheverny, but my master was summoned to Versailles, and there was much parleying about nothing; for after all, it came to what we could do in Courland of ourselves.

Cardinal Fleury must see Count Saxe, that the rights of the Church be guarded. The king must talk with him about the rights of the ex-King of Poland, his father-in-law. It was all very futile. Every one of us knew that Peggy Kirkpatrick told the truth when she said we were going upon a marauding expedition after the crown of Courland; but the Russians were bent on the same errand, as were the Holsteiners and the Hessians, and it was a case of every man for himself, and the devil take the hindmost. I knew Count Saxe could beat them all to rags, and he could probably govern Courland as well as any of the other buccaneers after the crown. But I own from the beginning, I thought Count Saxe's genius lay in war, not in peace. This thought gave me great content, for if we succeeded, it was well--if we failed, it was well. War is the game of the G.o.ds, as Count Saxe had said, and in that he had not then a peer.

It was on the morning of the last day of May, 1726, that we left Paris. It was a golden morning. The river ran silver, the fountains played gold in the sun, the heavens were a cloudless blue. I was in command of the battalion of Uhlans, and we made a gallant show, in our scarlet dolmans, our lances, with their scarlet pennons, catching the sun like points of fire. Gaston Cheverny rode with Count Saxe as aide-de-camp. He looked pale, but sat his horse firmly. We wore, according to the custom on opening a campaign, a little sprig of laurel in our helmets, but Gaston Cheverny wore also a deep red rose.

As for Count Saxe, I will not speak of him, except to say that he looked like Mars himself.

Great crowds lined the streets, and we were very heartily cheered.

Many persons of distinction were out, notably old Marshal de Noailles, who, as I said before, always called my master "My Saxe." The marshal rode with us, his white hair floating over his shoulders. Numerous coaches were at the Port Royal, where we crossed the river. Among them was the coach of Mademoiselle Lecouvreur. She gave us her own heavenly smile. Count Saxe bowed to his saddlebow, and his eyes did her homage.

A little farther on we pa.s.sed the great Hotel Kirkpatrick. At the sound of our horses' hoofs clanging, Madame Riano came out on her balcony to see us. She waved at Count Saxe her great green and gold fan, without which she never budged, and actually laughed in his face and shook her head derisively when he bowed to her. That woman was enough to drive any man to drink. There was no sign of Mademoiselle Capello, but when we had pa.s.sed the front of the hotel we espied a little balcony on the side, overlooking the garden. She stood on that balcony; I remember she wore a crimson bodice and skirt and a crimson ribbon was in her unpowdered hair. Her eyes outshone the sun. She returned our bows with the lowest of curtsies. Gaston Cheverny's eyes were glued to that balcony until Mademoiselle Capello was no longer visible. His face was glowing with delight. When we were well out beyond the barriers and in the fair open country, he rode up beside me. His face was all smiles and blushes, like a girl's.

"Did you see Mademoiselle Francezka?" he asked.

I nodded, and he continued:

"Last night Madame Riano had one of her great routs. I went to it with my brother--our first visit to her since we have been in Paris. She received us well, and so did that angel, Francezka, who said she remembered us from her childhood. Ah, Babache, she was so kind to me.