MY FIRST ENGAGEMENT
I had been in Paris about three weeks when it came to the mind of Don
Carlos that he could arrange an excellent marriage for me. Any of my
readers who know how marriages are managed in France and Spain could not
be surprised that his liking for me personally prompted this kind
thought. Without my knowledge, but with the aid of my cousin's wife and
other feminine confederates, he had selected a charming girl, some
seventeen years of age, the only daughter of a rich financier, scion of
an old French family, whose wife was a Spaniard. During my visit I had
met her at times. She was as desirable a partner for life as any, prince
or peasant, could have wanted. Educated in one of the best convents in
Paris, she spoke English and Spanish equally as well as her own language.
She was tall, for a Frenchwoman, and her love for sport was equal to her
personal charms. Up to this time I had, I suppose, not had time to fall
in love with anyone in particular. This was probably due to the fact that
I was imbued somewhat with the spirit which prompted a Spanish songster
to write:
"Me gustan todas,
Me gustan todas en general."[1]
Then came the day when I was told that practically my engagement to her
had been approved by her family. This came, I need hardly say, as a
considerable surprise. The future was as rosy as the rosiest sunrise in
any part of the world could be--a most desirable and charming wife, a
life of contentment and pleasure. Who could ask for a better future? No
more soldiering. On the contrary, a ready-made road to success, in
whatever walk of life I chose to pursue. Some such thoughts--and many
others--passed through my mind and I plucked up courage. Still, my heart
was not in the affair, as you will see; but I argued to myself that, if
the marriage did not finally take place, it could mean only the breaking
of a family arrangement, which would not result in much grief or sorrow
to my _fiancee_, as she certainly could not have become very devoted to
me personally.
A fortnight or so passed, during which some further family affairs were
discussed, and the day was at hand when the engagement was to be made
public. Unfortunately a stroke of ill luck overtook me the night before
that very day. It was the custom in Paris for those engaged in the
theatrical profession to hold annually an Artists' Ball in aid of the
charities supported by them. This year the ball was to be held at the
Grand Hotel. It was always a brilliant and picturesque pageant. The
companies playing in the theatres entered the magnificent ballroom
dressed in their theatrical costumes, while others appeared in fancy
dresses. Remembering the fame for good taste, smartness and chic of
Frenchwomen, the beauty of such a gathering is not surprising. The
younger members of our party promised ourselves a thoroughly enjoyable
night, while the elder ones looked forward to much pleasure too. It was
about half-past twelve that the guests assembled in the ballroom to watch
the arrival of the artists. Company after company entered, amidst much
applause, and took up the position allotted to them. At a given signal
the men approached the ladies to beg for the honour of dancing with them;
it was a thoroughly Bohemian _fete_, and it was not necessary to obtain
personal introductions. One very politely made his request of a lady for
a dance. If it was granted, all was well. If it was not granted, then a
polite bow--and all was not well.
I had been much attracted by a very sweet and charming actress. She
appeared to me as the impersonation of all that was lovely. Her
complexion was fair, and her hair golden--a head that Murillo would have
loved to paint. She was rather petite, but, oh dear me, what a figure!
What ankles! What sweetly moulded neck and arms! What delicately coloured
flesh! Are you surprised that she looked all lovable? She had a
companion, differing in type, but with equally as many charms of her own.
One of my friends seemed to be much taken with her, and we at once
decided to try our fortune and beg of them to honour us by accepting us
as partners for the opening dance. As soon as the signal was given we did
so, and, to our great joy, we obtained their permission. No two young men
were happier than we were, for one dance followed another till supper was
ready. Of course, the fact had quite escaped my mind that, in France and
Spain, it is not usual for engaged men to dance with other ladies than
their _fiancee_--and certainly _outre_ for them to make themselves
conspicuous by paying too much attention to any ladies, especially at
such public functions. Still I continued to enjoy myself. My friend was
equally successful with his partner.
Before going to supper Louise (my charming companion's name) told me that
she had another ball to attend that night, and that, as it was then about
2 a.m., she and her friend Estelle would take a light supper and leave
immediately afterwards. Their will was, of course, law to us. We sent out
a message by our footman for our carriage to be ready at the exit gateway
in half an hour, and our _partie carree_ continued to enjoy itself. While
at supper my cousin came to our table. We introduced him to Louise and
Estelle. He joined us in a glass of champagne, and, as he left us, he
said to me in Spanish, "Ten cuidado; tomas demasiados riesgos."[2] But,
what think you? Did I care? No. I did not even realize that he was
alluding to my engagement. I just thought that he had noticed that we
four had passed the whole evening together, and that possibly we might be
opening a friendship that might result in a liaison which might not be so
judicious. We wished him good night and he passed on.
After supper we hurried to our carriage and drove to Louise's apartments,
which were only a short distance from the Grand Hotel. Arriving there,
Louise suggested that my friend should drive Estelle home and return to
take her to the other ball to which she was going. This we, of course,
agreed to, and Louise invited me to her apartments to have a glass of
champagne while she placed herself in the hands of her maid to change her
costume and we awaited the arrival of my friend and the carriage. They
were delightful apartments--such as one expects Parisiennes of exquisite
taste to dwell in. The dining-room was a work of art in white and gold.
Sky-blue draperies, deeply embroidered in Japanese fashion, with birds of
the air and fishes of the seas in such bewildering colour as only the
Japanese know how to depict. Louise's dress at the ball was in the same
sky-blue tone, and--as she stood in her dining-room taking a glass of
champagne before handing herself over to the tender mercies of her
maid--she looked almost heavenly. Anyway, so any man would have thought
if he had been in my place, and of my age, during those precious
moments.
But is there not a proverb that says: "All that glitters is not gold"? It
applies not only to physical but also to mental condition. My mental
condition was one of happiness. Louise was beautiful. Louise was kind,
and the world was good and so was the champagne. But Nemesis was not far
off.
Presently Louise returned to me. She wished for a cigarette and a glass
of champagne before her maid robed her for her second ball. Just clad in
the filmiest and most fetching of wraps (I think that is the word), she
looked as bewitching as if she had just floated down from the abodes of
bliss and beauty. She had just sipped her glass of champagne and lit her
cigarette, and leaned on the arm of the arm-chair in which I was sitting,
when we heard the hall-door open and someone enter.
"Hush!" she said; "it is Gustave! Leave him to me and say little."
"Louise, ma cherie, ou etes vous?"
It was Gustave. He drew apart the silken curtains separating the hall
from the dining-room. "Voila, je suis retourne. Mais ... mon Dieu!"
As the curtains were drawn Louise rose from the arm of the chair (I at
once rose also), and in the sweetest tones, speaking in English, Louise
said: "My dear Gustave. What a pleasant surprise. No? Oh, yes, for me! I
thought you would not return till the day after to-morrow. So! No? Let me
introduce to you my friend, an English officer. He has been so polite to
me at our _fete_ to-night."
Gustave and I stood facing each other; we had no need for introductions.
Gustave was the bachelor brother of my prospective father-in-law. He
happened also to be a particular friend of Louise's. I knew him and he
knew me. We looked calmly at each other. He was twice my age; it was not
for me to speak. The piece was set as if for a dramatic scene--Louise, in
her charming deshabille; my humble self, silent but unabashed; Gustave,
practically in possession of the situation. The moment was a critical
one, but though Nemesis had arrived it was not the Nemesis with a flaming
sword; it was the Nemesis with a somewhat more dangerous weapon, that of
French politeness, which scorns to provoke personal quarrels in the
presence of ladies but awaits to obtain reparation in good time in
accordance with the code of honour.
Bowing low to Louise and looking at me straight in the face, Gustave
politely remarked, "It happens that I am acquainted with monsieur the
English lieutenant. I regret that I have intruded and disturbed your
_tete-a-tete_ at such an hour of the morning. Pray forgive me, Louise. I
have no doubt monsieur the lieutenant and I will meet by and by. N'est-ce
pas, monsieur le lieutenant? Good night to you both." And, as Louise
moved, Gustave added, "Please, oh, please, do not bother. I know my way
out quite well. Au revoir." He drew the curtains aside and, turning
towards us, made the politest of bows and was gone.
"Louise," I said, as I took her hands in mine, "it is all my fault. Can
you forgive me?"
"Mon jeune ami," said Louise as she looked up at me. "First of all, give
me one kiss. Yes, I like that; just one more. So! Ah! Good! Now you said,
'Forgive me.' For that I love you, because it is what a man always should
say to a woman. I not only forgive you, but I think you are charmant. One
more kiss--eh! ah! nice. I never allowed anyone, since I remember, even
to suggest to me to ask forgiveness. Certainly not any man. Don't be
concerned; don't be unhappy. Gustave will come by and by and will ask me
to forgive him for his conduct to-night. He was rude; he was unpleasant
in front of me. He suggested, by his words, things that had not happened.
That was more than impolite; it was ungentlemanly, and you will see he
will be very sorry and come to me and ask me to forgive him. At this
moment I know not that I will forgive him. One more kiss. He is a good
friend, but by no means indispensable to me. I have all I wish of my own
and can please myself as to whom I choose for my friends. So don't be
concerned. Just one more kiss and I go to make ready for the ball. Ah!
the hall door bell! Your friend returns. I will be with you bien vite.
Silence, n'est-ce pas?" And she went to her room.
Next minute my friend was with me. He was so full of the charms of
Estelle that I had not--even if I wished--an opportunity of saying
anything. Another cigarette, a couple of glasses of champagne, the
presence of Louise looking sweeter than ever, all in pink silks and
satins, and we were off in the carriage to leave her at the private house
where her friends, she said, would be wondering what had become of her.
We two returned home in the early hours of the morning and retired to
bed. Bed was one thing. Sleep was another. The day and evening had been
crowded with unexpected events, wonderful happenings and newly inspired
emotions. First and foremost, one event was certain. My engagement was
doomed. Why, in all creation, had I selected Louise from all those six
hundred other women who had attended the ball at the Grand Hotel? Louise,
who was Gustave's friend, and Gustave, my prospective uncle-in-law? There
was only one answer--"Nemesis."
Then I remembered my cousin's warning at supper, "Cuidado!" Well,
warnings are of no value if they are not heeded. One thing was clear. The
engagement would be off. I must admit that the fault was all mine; I
would not, nay, could not, offer any excuse. I had not played the game. I
had failed to rise to the occasion and prove myself the correct youth
that my sponsors had vouched for. So, no doubt the prospective
father-in-law would soon call a family council and Gustave's relations
would be discussed--and then, an end to the affair.
Curiously enough, this did not trouble me much. I felt that the worst
harm I had done was to hurt the pride of my would-be benefactors. This
might be pardonable, but, as regarded my _fiancee_, what should I do?
There seemed to me only one way to act that was honourable. I would ask
that I might be given the privilege of seeing her for the last time and
ask her forgiveness. If this was refused, then I would find my own way to
see her. My thoughts ran on. All the pleasures of the evening recalled
themselves. A new sensation coursed through my brain. Yes; it must be so.
I must be in love. Love at first sight--and in love with Louise. Was she
to suffer--and I the cause of her sufferings? No. I would see her, tell
her of my love for her, marry her. Louise, one more kiss--eh! Then I must
have fallen asleep.
When I returned from the world of nod my valet had brought me my morning
chocolate. My brain was anything but clear. That some happenings of a
surely serious nature had taken place the night before was certain. What
were they? Gradually my memory recalled them. And then I dressed. As I
was just ready for _dejeuner_ my cousin sent me word that he would like
to see me. I knew what it was about. Our interview was short. He was very
kind. He laid all the blame on himself for expecting that the method of
making marriages by arrangement would be a success where a youthful
Britisher was concerned. He, however, wished I should tell him all that
had happened since he had seen me at supper, and especially about my
meeting with Gustave.
I just told him--as I have told you, pointing out that the affair had
been quite harmless, though appearances were certainly against me. He
left the house and returned later on. He had seen Gustave. The
engagement, of course, was off. My escapade was looked upon as excusable.
I was young and inexperienced in the ways of the world, and permission
was graciously given me to see my late _fiancee_. This I did, and, I am
happy to say, she not only forgave me but we remained friends.
It suddenly dawned upon me that my leave was up and that I was due back
to duty at home. Don Carlos, while somewhat resenting the unfortunate
ending of his scheme, made allowances for me when the whole story was
related to him. He smiled a kindly smile as I expressed to him all my
regrets that I had failed to take advantage of his well-meaning efforts
in my behalf.
But then, what about Louise? What about Gustave? What should I do? The
solution came from Gustave himself. Next day I received an invitation
from him to a supper party at the Cafe d'Helder. Naturally I accepted. We
were to meet at a quarter to twelve, and my friend, Estelle's admirer,
was also asked. It was a merry party; just ten of us. The hour to say
"Good morning" arrived only too soon. For me it was not only "good
morning" but also "good-bye." I had to leave Paris the evening of that
day. My last but one good-bye was to Louise. I kissed the hands she gave
me; then she said, looking towards Gustave with smiling eyes, "One last
kiss for monsieur the lieutenant. N'est-ce pas, Gustave? Mais, oui. The
final. Pourquoi non?" So Louise and I kissed.
Then Gustave shook hands with me, placed his hand on my shoulder, and we
left the supper-room together. He came down to see me into my carriage,
and as I was stepping into it he once more shook my hand and said, "You
are very young. I am old enough to be your father. Always remember your
English proverb: 'Look before you leap.' Good night. Bonne fortune
toujours."
Thus ended my first romance and, with it, my most enjoyable visit to
Paris.
-----
[1] "I like them all; I like them all equally well."
[2] Take care. You are taking too many risks.