Читать книгу The Maid of Honour - Wingfield Lewis - Страница 7

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In Touraine, midway between Tours and Blois, the venerable chateau of Lorge stands out from a wooded background, bathing its feet in the swiftly flowing Loire, morosely contemplating the details of its grim reflection. Profoundly interesting from an archæological point of view, the historic pile is not a lively dwelling, and it is no wonder that the jolly old maréchal should have ungrudgingly passed it to his daughter. Privileged to occupy a place in one of the most smiling provinces of France, it is within a drive of Amboise on one side and Chinon on the other, dignified castles both; and not very far away is Diane de Poictier's Chenonceaux, whimsically spanning a river, a specimen of elfin architecture straight from fairyland. Lorge dates from the iron period; not the time of prehistoric man, who had recently blossomed out of monkeydom, but of the early mediæval barons, who slept in their armour--as they still do on their tombs--whose pet pastimes were the cleaving of pates and the quaffing of usquebaugh.

With the march of centuries Amboise, Chinon, and the rest found it advisable to polish themselves up, and modify their native harshness to be in touch with less rugged epochs; but no coaxing ingenuity of architect or landscape gardener could ever smooth the frown from the frowning face of Lorge. It seemed to say with pride, "The darkest and most cruel deeds have been perpetrated within my walls. Down below I have smothered the cries for mercy of weak women outraged, and children brutally maltreated. My favourite music is the clank of steel. I was baptised with blood, whose reek may never fade, whose stain may never be effaced."

You cannot make a junketting house out of a fortress, and Lorge, despite changes, is a fortress still. On the façade, defended by the river, are the stately reception rooms, opening one into the other in a string; a long suite which occupies the first floor, whose heavily mullioned casements are large enough to permit the sun to gild the antique hangings. Each of these windows is adorned by a ponderous stone balcony, which can be used for purposes of defence. The other sides of the edifice seem blank and blind, the high enclosing walls being unbroken, save by a dentilated series of merlons and crenels, with cruciform embrasures below, The chambers on these sides are particularly depressing to the spirits, since they afford no prospect, save a bare paved court with the enclosing wall beyond.

Courageous chatelaines, striving after cheerfulness, have made efforts from time to time to brighten Lorge. The drawbridge and portcullis, which jealously barred the entrance, have been removed from the double archway and replaced by wooden doors. The moat which guarded the three sides landward, with a defensive wall along the outer bank, has become a garden with trim green slopes, and a wealth of glorious roses. The ends that used to join the river have been walled up, and adorned with flights of steps which lead to decaying boat-houses. Private posterns, drilled in the masonry, afford easy access from the courtyard to the moat-pleasaunce for such as may possess the keys; but in spite of every effort, the flowering hedges and rose-bushes only serve by contrast to make Lorge more dreary--a skull bedecked with flowers. One specially brave lady had the hardihood once to plan great gardens in the Dutch style beyond the moat, on the other side of the road. There were long alleys of clipped yew and beech; tonelles or arched bowers to give grateful shade; a procession of weird animals, fashioned of holly, that cast fantastic shadows on the sward; oblong tanks where swans serenely sailed, steering among isles of water-lily. But no subsequent chatelaine was sturdy enough to carry on the hopeless war. The alleys were soon choked, the tonelles grew into thickets, the mimic menagerie degenerated into ragged rows of bushes. By the time the maréchal inherited, there was no place devoted to flowers except the moat-pleasaunce, and even that was sadly neglected.

Though you see them not, dank dungeons honeycomb the foundations. There are noisome cells on the level of the water-line that may at will be flooded. You know that they are there, although some lord with tender nerves fastened them up long since. There they are, under your feet, audibly crooning their low song of woe unmerited, of dumb despair, of remorseless cruelty. The ancient implements of torture that still ornament the wainscot of the banquet-hall take up their parable, and sing. Time does not still that wailing chaunt which tells of robbery, and tyranny, and persecution. No skill may exorcise the train of shades, undone for greed or lust, or victims for conscience' sake, who parade the corridors of Lorge.

Not but what it has charms of its own: a plaintive sweetness set in a minor key. The view across the Loire in summer time of emerald woodland is superb. The long drawing-rooms overlooking the stream are of stately proportions. Their immense overhanging chimney-pieces are blazoned with coats of arms sculptured in the stone. Carved crests are repeated again and again in the fretted ceilings. The tapestries, with their shadowy story of mad King Charles the Sixth and his treacherous wife, and the faithful girl, Odette, with their warm background of dimmed gold, have been pronounced by experts to be priceless. The little boudoir at the end which closes the suite is a dainty and cosy nest. Than the country round nothing can be more delightful; you may ride for hours unchecked amid the leafy woods over a velvet carpet; or you may boat and explore the erratic sinuosities of the river, dreaming out epics as you go anent the lordly, but for the most part empty, dwellings that look down on you from either bank. As an irreverent Parisian visitor once observed to a horror-stricken neighbour, "Lorge would be a charming séjour if one might pull down the castle and erect instead a villa."

At the time which occupies us there was but one near neighbour resident. The Chateau de Montbazon was not much more than a mile away, having been built on a little bit of Lorge property beyond the Loire, which had changed hands one night at cards. The spot commanded an exceptionally fine prospect, so the owner placed a house on it. It was bought a generation later by the Baron de Vaux, who dwelt there with his wife and daughter, Angelique, and great was the joy of those ladies upon hearing that Lorge, which was so little occupied, was again to be inhabited.

Country life at this period was, from a fashionable point of view, a singular anomaly. Marie Antoinette's dairymaid proclivities at Trianon had rendered it de rigueur to find pleasure in bucolic occupations. Old customs were giving way to new-fangled habits borrowed from other nations. You were offered tea as in England instead of coffee, and were invited to join in the game of "boston," brought from the infant republic beyond seas by the followers of Lafayette. Dress, except at the Parisian court, grew simpler. Ladies, instead of brocaded damasks, wore muslins and flimsy materials. Men donned garments of plain cloth instead of satin or velvet. Noble dames grown tired of expensive jewellery affected a badge made of some hero's head executed in miniature. Franklin's or Rousseau's profile was modish, though the more sentimental preferred a pet cat's portrait set on a ribbon in place of a diadem and feathers. Emancipated from trains and furbelows, you could now really move about in the country without much discomfort.

The court circle was perforce a narrow one. Those who had not the entrée to Versailles withdrew to their estates when the queen retired to Trianon, and there drank milk and made believe to hunt, or acted tragedies and spouted epic poesy, pretending to be vastly entertained; not but what they were ready to rush back to the capital with all despatch when Fashion declared it possible.

But then, of late years, the decrees of Fashion had been sorely interfered with by that aggressive Third Estate. Refusal to pay rents was annoying, but an evil to which all were accustomed. In some parts evil-disposed persons declared landlords to be the natural foes of the sovereign people, and discussed how the vermin was to be got rid of. A deep-rooted, bitter hate, sprung from long and systematic oppression, divided class from class by an intangible but impenetrable barrier; a hate that grew all the stronger, in that it had long been veiled by fear and lashed by supercilious scorn. Republicanism was in execrable taste--a subject for contemptuous laughter on the part of the provincial seigneurie. Its exponents bore on a pole a turnip with a candle in it, which could frighten none but children. The country nobility attached no special meaning to the unseemly snarling. Until the great crash came, and the rural palaces were sacked and burned, the seigneurie never fully realized the thinness of the crust they had been dancing on. In certain provinces it had been unsafe for some time past for landlords to show their noses at all, much less prate of paying rent. These not unwillingly left their chateaux to fate, whereby the condition of small shopkeepers and such local fry was not ameliorated. In more favoured districts dislike and discontent lay smouldering, and my lords were still free to amuse themselves with their guests from town, indifferent to the feelings of the masses.

The de Vaux family were not of the court circle; indeed, they rarely travelled to the metropolis, but were content to ape its manners from a distance. The trio were dull enough, as narrow in their views and as obstinately fixed in the tenets of their grandsires as most country gentlefolk are, but they were well intentioned, and availed themselves of the earliest opportunity to pay their respects at Lorge. Gabrielle received them with open arms. Was she not bent on inaugurating a new era for herself and Clovis, and had she not been informed by her father's unseemly merriment, that it is not well to bore a husband? Not that the newcomers, who had driven over in the craziest of shanderydans, showed signs of being an acquisition. On the contrary. Long before the sun went down, Gabrielle felt that she could see too much of Madame de Vaux, while Clovis listened, marvelling, to the old gentleman's platitudes which were at least a century old.

The baroness was not slow to tumble out upon the floor her peck of troubles. She always had a waggon-load about her. Angelique examined the gown of the marquise with absorbed interest. The baron lectured on affairs, with an occasional raid into his wife's country, to rout her army of Jeremiads.

"Figure to yourself, my dear," groaned Madame de Vaux, after a refreshing pinch of snuff, "that though we have had little disturbance here so far, we are surrounded by snakes in the grass. Our Angelique is always doing something for the ungrateful monsters who, when her back's turned, gnash their teeth. All last winter, in spite of the hard times, we distributed broken victuals to the destitute, and they said that the refuse from our table had already been refused by the dogs. Did you ever hear the like? Horrid, spiteful, ungrateful creatures!"

"They know no better," replied Angelique, with a contemptuous curl of the lip. "We can afford to laugh at them and their threats when we are conscious of having done our duty."

"My brave child!" ejaculated madame with fervour; "what a comfort to be mother of a child who would rise equal to any emergency!"

"Noblesse oblige!" snorted the baron, proudly. "We may be poor and compelled to fill ourselves with over much bouilli, but our blood is of the ancestral colour. A daughter of yours and mine, madame, would, of course, be equal to an emergency."

The sentiment was mighty fine--one that might not be disputed. Clovis languidly bowed and murmured something polite, while Gabrielle yawned behind her fan. Good gracious! Was the intercourse of the new neighbours to consist in mutual admiration of pedigrees?

The marquis turned the conversation to his favourite subject. Had the baron, who doubtless was acquainted with matters of current interest, by means of the Gazette, at all occupied himself with animal magnetism?

With what? A pretty subject for gentlefolk! Rumour had already whispered that the young marquis's pursuits were uncanny. The baron glanced at the baroness, who looked unutterable things, while Angelique detected a shade of sadness flitting over the face of the marquise.

"God forbid!" cried the old lady, leaping into the breach, "that we should know aught of devil's sabbats."

Clovis laughed, amused. "It is so easy to denounce what we do not comprehend," he observed, demurely. "Some day, when you are howling with pain, we will drive over to Montbazon, and cure you by laying on of hands."

Gabrielle frowned. Such an ill-chosen expression, a parody on Holy Writ, or something like it! She began to perceive that it might not be so easy to vanquish Mesmer, and, seeing them as shocked as she was, felt rather anxious to be rid of her guests.

"I won't be cured by devils!" stoutly declared the baroness. "I'd rather grin and bear it."

"For my part, I care little to inquire into the means, provided that I am cured," civilly remarked Angelique.

Here was one ready for conversion! Clovis woke up, and drawing his chair closer, detailed with eager admiration the triumphs of the prophet, to which the baron listened with the polite sceptical smile that becomes one who is a noble--a superior person--and knows it. Gabrielle looked grave and apologetic. The ground was slippery, and the baroness, agile, despite her figure, again jumped into the breach.

"Yes. Just one more dish of tea, my sweetest marquise," she cried, "and then we must go home to Montbazon. When you come to see us, if you like to walk, you have only to cross the river in a boat, you know, and the distance by the bridle-path is nothing. But I would not wander alone if I were you, there are such sinister men about. Do you know--of course you don't--that you've a nice thorn in your own side that will soon prick you--he! he! That Jean Boulot of yours is a shocking character, one of the odious, deceitful, crawling kind, which is the worst of all!"

"Nothing of the sort, my dear!" interrupted the baron. "His opinions are regretable, but he is a rough, honest fellow who professes a humble fondness for the de Brèze family, which does him honour!"

"And in the same breath he derides the aristocracy!" retorted the old lady, with a giggle.

"Which can well look after itself!" replied her husband.

"Take my advice, dear, and get rid of him, or you'll regret it," urged the baroness.

"He's a confidential servant, who was born and bred here!" objected Gabrielle. "He and those who went before have always served us well, and Jean would not hurt a hair of any of our heads, I warrant. He did something silly the other day in the way of talking nonsense, and my father rated him for it. That episode is over and forgotten."

"He's a democrat, or worse, if possible," asserted the baroness with many nods. "Capable of anything, my dear; get rid of him; a scorpion!" she continued, wagging her head; and content with this first impression, the old lady gathered up her wraps, and with an elaborate curtsey, swept away the family, delighted with the effect she had produced.

Neither Gabrielle nor Clovis were equally charmed. These tiresome people were their only neighbours! Then it must be solitude indeed. Angelique seemed a nice girl enough; but the baroness was overwise in her own conceit; and the baron ridiculously puffed with the overweening vanity of class. If the pair were to live absolutely alone, Gabrielle, doubting her own strength of will and power of fascination, already trembled for her experiment. Where could society be found which should rub off the jagged edges of a tête-à-tête? The chateaux round about were unoccupied. Nobody dwelt at Blois except bourgeoisie and common persons. Perhaps this move into the desert had been imprudent. Well, if it proved disastrous, they could return to Paris and no harm done, considering how far apart they had drifted already. A little society--just two or three congenial persons--would make all the difference; but where might such fowls be caught?

What of this communication about Jean Boulot? surely it was idle tittle-tattle, born in the murky brain of a stupid old woman. He a scorpion on the hearth, to be got rid of before he could sting? The charge was ridiculous, and yet demanded attention, considering the Bastile episode such a brief while ago. And he was engaged to Toinon too. Under the seal of strictest secrecy that damsel had shared her delicious secret with her foster-sister, and the latter with a hearty kiss had wished her joy. It was only fair to both the lovers that the matter should be cleared up, and to that end the damsel must be cross-examined.

When charged with the lamentable leanings of her affianced, Toinon made no attempt to laugh the matter off. She was fain to confess herself disappointed in Jean Boulot. He was too straightforward to stoop to knavery. You only had to look into his fearless, clear grey eyes to be assured of it; but his sentiments were distressing. He told his love when she remonstrated that reason and justice could only be departed from by paths watered with tears; and when she retorted that he would certainly be hanged if he were heard to indulge in such talk, he only shrugged his shoulders and remarked that the gallows were made for the unlucky. In the middle of an impressive lecture he snatched a kiss and laughed, and actually confessed with something that looked like pride that he had just been selected from among his fellows to be chief of some new society. He was constantly moving about among the rustics discoursing about the improvement of their condition at the expense of a superior class. All Toinon could be sure of was that Jean was beyond her control. Perhaps madame might succeed in managing the young man and bring him to a sense of his enormities.

The experiment was not crowned with success, for instead of confessing his sins with a mea culpa, Jean smiled and delivered himself of various mysterious hints. "Never you fear," he asserted, cheerfully, "whatever may happen by and by, you and yours shall be defended with my best blood; not but what a glimpse of your sweet face will be enough to calm the boys, however spitefully inclined. As to the others--H'm!"

Enigmatical and unsatisfactory.

It was certainly very dull in the desert; and before many weeks were over, the marquise was prepared secretly to admit that her father had judged rightly. She was no nearer to her husband here than in Paris; and caught herself longing more and more for those two or three congenial persons who were unattainable. It is all very well to wrap yourself in your children, to watch the young intelligence unfolding tender leaves, to mark and record with little thrills of joy each new sally of infant wit; but carefully nurtured babes retire early to the nest, and long evening hours have to be got through which are apt to hang heavy on the hands. There was absolutely no one to talk to, Gabrielle was not of a studious turn, avoiding the library as a close and musty place, had no penchant for embroidery, cared not to tinkle on a spinette. Clovis, on the other hand, professed himself delighted with the unbroken solitude where there was nobody to plague him with politics; employed his time in writing reams to Mesmer, and counting the days which must elapse before he could receive replies. When weary of considering the pros and cons of the prophet's theories, he locked himself in his study, and could be heard far into the night groaning sonatas on his 'cello. Oh, that 'cello! Its moans were extremely wearing to Gabrielle's nerves, for it always suggested to her a coffin with some one in agony inside. Weave new bands of affection, forsooth, far from the madding crowd! How doleful a deception was hers.

The marquis seemed to have forgotten that he was father of two cherubs, was certainly oblivious of the fact that his better half was a reigning beauty, who, in her prime was self-deposed. Sometimes he would sally forth on solitary rides, and return, depressed and dumb, to fall asleep in his chair. It was certain that the pair were drifting more fatally distant from each other in the country even than in town. This was not life, but vegetation; sure any change would be a godsend.

At one moment the hapless marquise thought of summoning a bevy of the danglers whom she had loftily pretended to despise; but, if they were to come--unable to get on with Clovis--how were they to be amused? At another time she was on the point of imploring the maréchal and his wife to break the bonds of dulness by a visit, but then again she hesitated. How was she to parry her father's anxious questions, how avoid his sympathetic eyes? No. Come what might, she would bear what she must bear, and veil her wounds from her beloved ones.

Now and again the de Vaux family drove over to spend the afternoon, and the visit was in due course returned; but though all parties were punctiliously civil and vowed they enjoyed themselves immensely, it was clear to both families that no intimacy could arise between them.

Gabrielle was almost driven to lower her flag and retire from the field; was indeed debating how she should set about it with dignity, when that for which she craved was suddenly tossed into her lap.

One morning, the marquis actually so far broke through his secluded habits, as without a formal message sent in advance, to invade his wife's boudoir. Her heart gave a great bound, and looking up from the children's hornbook in glad surprise, she smiled gratefully on him. Was this a first advance? She was determined that the visit should be a pleasant one, and to that end proceeded forthwith to trot out the prodigies. He had no idea, she prattled, how vast were their acquirements. They knew ever so many wondrous things which would no doubt delight their parent. Straightway, like little clockwork parrots, well-wound up, the infants chirped forth their lore, while the marquis's face increased in length, the while with well-bred courtesy he made believe to listen. His dreamy eyes wandered over a map of varied stains on their dirty little pinafores. They diffused an aroma of bread and butter; their angel fingers shone with grease. Their acquirements, he coldly agreed when they had run down, were remarkable for tender years, and the weather being fine they had better run out and play.

Gabrielle sighed. Mere politeness--such politeness as a wearied but courteous stranger might bestow--in which was no scintilla of affection. Unnatural parent! After all, the darlings were perchance a trifle juvenile to interest a man. Men, as a rule, can see no beauty in babes and sucklings; vote them revolting lumps of adipose tissue; but then, sweet Victor and Camille were not babies, for one was five and the other four--were enjoying that most fascinating period of existence when we are never clean, and are always falling down and crying.

The unappreciated angels having shrieked off down the long drawing-rooms, there to tumble, hurt themselves, and howl, Clovis sat down and explained the cause of his irruption.

"A letter! Good news or bad?" inquired Gabrielle, with a presentiment of evil.

"That depends how you read it," returned her husband, quietly. "As you are aware, I never inflicted my uncongenial presence overmuch on you; never sought to know why you were so ready to abdicate your brilliant position in Paris to suit a passing whim of mine, but I was none the less obliged by your compliance. I now wish you to please yourself, and make arrangements for the future, such as may suit your views."

Gabrielle stared at the automaton. Good heavens! His uncongenial presence. Was he so blind as not to perceive how she hungered for it? A burning reproach was on her lips, but found no voice; for somehow, seeing him sit there so straight and cold and self-complacent, her courage oozed away.

"Do what you choose." He continued with bland indifference. "I was never jealous of your entourage, because I liked you to enjoy the meed of admiration that is your due, and know that you are to be trusted even in so perilous a vortex as Versailles. For reasons with which I need not trouble you, I prefer myself to remain here for a while, with your permission; but seem to see that you are weary of playing the chatelaine. Is it so? Would you like to return to Paris. Please yourself. You will admit that I give you the completest liberty."

The heart of the poor wife sank low. For what crime was she condemned to love an icicle? If he would only find fault, or discover a grievance, or even wax wroth without a cause, and smite her! Each calm and measured sentence as he sat, with the finger-tips of one hand poised accurately on those of the other, was like the prick of a steel stiletto. His gaze was fixed on a tree a long way off. He could not even trouble to look at her.

Sighing wearily, she murmured, "Completest liberty, no doubt. I and the children are to go away and leave you here alone?"

Clovis moved his gaze to another tree and cleared his throat. "Not unless you wish it," he said, "but something has happened that is a little embarrassing."

"Any trouble? Am I not here to share it."

"Scarcely a trouble--an inconvenience only, which you may object to share," her husband answered, smiling. "Could you brook other inmates?"

"Other inmates! What can you mean?'

"As you know, though you have never seen them, I have two half-brothers. They are inseparable--quite pattern brothers--the one brilliantly clever, the other his admiring shadow. The Abbé Pharamond, the younger one, would be welcomed in any society on account of his sparkling talent; but he has preferred to shine alone at Toulouse, rather than consent to be a unit in the system of stars at Paris. He has got into trouble, and writes to ask for an asylum for himself and Phebus."

"What trouble?"

"A too pungent epigram followed by a fatal duel, makes it convenient to seek eclipse. In six months the affair will have blown over. You would be sure to like the abbé, if you met him; while as for poor dear Phebus, the chevalier, as he is called in the south, he is fat and somnolent, and would not hurt a fly."

Gabrielle reflected, Why did a voice deep down within whisper words of warning? Here were the congenial persons for whose advent she had longed. What a relief to the tête-à-tête would be the brilliant abbé, and fat Phebus who would not hurt a fly! Thanks to them, Lorge might become endurable. On the suggestion of a return to Paris, the difficulty had occurred to her as to the excuse to be made for her husband's lengthened absence. Clearly she must remain at Lorge, so long as he thought fit to do so. Perhaps the abbé disliked music and hated violoncellos? Together in the dead of night they would capture the marquis's treasure and send it floating down the Loire.

"My dear Clovis!" she exclaimed presently, with genuine pleasure; "you singular being! What objection could I have? On the contrary, I am charmed with the opportunity of making the acquaintance of your brothers."