_PROEM:-To Present Mr. Vanringham as Nuntius_
However profoundly the Duc de Puysange now approved of the universe and of
its management, it is not to be supposed that in consequence he intended
to overlook de Soyecourt's perfidy. De Puysange bore his kinsman no
malice; indeed, he was sincerely fond of the Marquis, sympathized with
him at bottom, and heartily regretted that the excellence of poor Louis'
taste should be thus demonstrably counterbalanced by the frailty of his
friendship. Still, one cannot entirely disregard the conventions: Louis had
betrayed him, had before the eyes of de Puysange made love to de Puysange's
wife. A duel was the inevitable consequence, though of course the Duke did
not intend to kill poor Louis, who might before long be very useful to
French statesmanship. So the Duke sent Ormskirk to arrange a meeting.
A floridly handsome man in black was descending the stairway of the Hôtel
de Soyecourt at the moment the Duke of Ormskirk stepped cheerily from his
coach. This person saluted the plump nobleman with due deference, and was
accorded in return a little whistling sound of amazement.
"Mr. Vanringham, as I live--and in Paris! Man, will you hare-brained
Jacobites never have done with these idiotic intrigues? Nay, in sincerity,
Mr. Vanringham, this is annoying."
"My Lord Duke," said the other, "I venture to suggest that you forget
I dare no longer meddle with politics, in light of my recent mishap at
Tunbridge. Something of the truth leaked out, you comprehend--nothing
provable, thank God!--but while I lay abed Captain Audaine was calling
daily to inquire when would my wound be healed sufficiently for me to have
my throat cut. I found England unsalubrious, and vanished."
Ormskirk nodded his approval. "I have always esteemed your common-sense.
Now, let us consider--yes, I might use you here in Paris, I believe. And
the work is light and safe,--a trifle of sedition, of stirring up a street
riot or two."
Vanringham laughed. "I might have recognized your hand in the late
disturbances, sir. As matters stand, I can only thank your Grace and regret
that I have earlier secured employment. I've been, since April, valet to
the old Prince de Gâtinais, Monsieur de Soyecourt's father."
"Yet lackeyship smacks, however vaguely, of an honest livelihood. You
disappoint me, Mr. Vanringham."
"Nay, believe me, I yet pilfer a cuff-button or perhaps a jewel, when
occasion offers, lest any of my talents rust. For we reside at Beaujolais
yonder, my Lord Duke, where we live in retirement and give over our old
age to curious chemistries. It suits me well enough. I find the air of
Beaujolais excellent, my duties none too arduous, and the girls of the
country-side neither hideous nor obdurate. Oho, I'm tolerably content at
Beaujolais--the more for that 'tis expedient just now to go more softly
than ever Ahab did of old."
"Lest your late associates get wind of your whereabouts? In that I don't
question your discretion, Mr. Vanringham. And out of pure friendliness I
warn you Paris is a very hotbed of hot-headed Jacobites who would derive
unmerited pleasure from getting a knife into your ribs."
"Yet on an occasion of such importance--" Vanringham began; then marvelled
in reply to the Duke's look of courteous curiosity: "You han't heard,
sir, that my master's son is unexpectedly become the next Grand Duke of
Noumaria!"
"Zounds!" said his Grace of Ormskirk, all alert, "is old Ludwig dead
at last? Why, then, the damned must be holding a notable carnival by
this, in honor of his arrival. Hey, but there was a merry rascal, a
thorough-paced--" He broke off short. He laughed. "What the devil, man!
Monsieur de Soyecourt is Ludwig's nephew, I grant you, on the maternal
side, but Ludwig left a son. De Soyecourt remains de Soyecourt so long
as Prince Rudolph lives,--and Prince Rudolph is to marry the Elector of
Badenburg's daughter this autumn, so that we may presently look for any
number of von Freistadts to perpetuate the older branch. Faith, you should
study your _Genealogischer Hofkalender_ more closely, Mr. Vanringham."
"Oh, but very plainly your Grace has heard no word of the appalling tragedy
that hath made our little Louis a reigning monarch--"
With gusto Francis Vanringham narrated the details of Duke Ludwig's last
mad freak [Footnote: In his _Journal_ Horace Calverley gives a long and
curious account of the disastrous masque at Breschau of which he, then on
the Grand Tour, had the luck to be an eye-witness. His hints as to the part
played in the affair by Kaunitz are now, of course, largely discredited by
the later confessions of de Puysange.] which, as the world knows, resulted
in the death of both Ludwig and his son, as well as that of their five
companions in the escapade,--with gusto, for in progress the soul of the
former actor warmed to his subject. But Ormskirk was sensibly displeased.
"Behold what is termed a pretty kettle of fish!" said the Duke, in
meditation, when Vanringham had made an end. "Plainly, Gaston cannot fight
the rascal, since Hop-o'-my-thumb is now, most vexatiously, transformed
into a quasi-Royal Personage, Assassination, I fear, is out of the
question. So all our English plans will go to pot. A Frenchman will reign
in Noumaria,--after we had not only bought old Ludwig, but had paid for
him, too! Why, I suppose he gave that damnable masquerade on the strength
of having our money,--good English money, mark you, Mr. Vanringham, that we
have to squeeze out of honest tax-payers to bribe such, rascals with, only
to have them, cheat us by cooking themselves to a crisp! This is annoying,
Mr. Vanringham."
"I don't entirely follow your Grace--"
"It is not perhaps desirable you should. Yet I give you a key. It is
profoundly to be deplored that little Louis de Soyecourt, who cannot draw
a contented breath outside of his beloved Paris, should be forced to marry
Victoria von Uhm, in his cousin's place,--yes, for Gaston will arrange
that, of course,--and afterward be exiled to a semi-barbarous Noumaria,
where he must devote the rest of his existence to heading processions
and reviewing troops, and signing proclamations and guzzling beer and
sauerkraut. Nay, beyond doubt, Mr. Vanringham, this is deplorable. 'Tis an
appalling condition of affairs: it reminds me of Ovid among the Goths, Mr.
Vanringham!"
"I'm to understand, then--?" the valet stammered.
"You are to understand that I am more deeply your debtor than I could
desire you to believe; that I am going to tell the Marquis de Soyecourt all
which I have told you, though I must reword it for him, as eloquently as
may be possible; and that I even now feel myself to be Ciceronic." The Duke
of Ormskirk passed on with a polite nod.
* * * * *
Next day they gossiped busily at Versailles over the sudden disappearance
of Louis de Soyecourt. No more was heard of him for months. The mystery was
discussed, and by the wits embroidered, and by the imaginative annotated,
but it was never solved until the following September.
I
For it was in September that, upon the threshold of the _Golden
Pomegranate_, at Manneville in Poictesme, Monsieur Louis Quillan paused,
and gave the contented little laugh which had of late become habitual with
him. "We are en fête to-night, it appears. Has the King, then, by any
chance dropped in to supper with us, Nelchen?"
Silently the girl bestowed a provisional pat upon one fold of the white
table-cloth and regarded the result with critical approval. All being
in blameless order, she moved one of the candlesticks the width of a
needle. The table was now garnished to the last resource of the _Golden
Pomegranate_: the napery was snow, the glassware and the cutlery shone with
a frosty glitter, and the great bowl of crimson roses afforded the exact
splurge of vainglorious color and glow she had designed. Accordingly, being
now at leisure, Nelchen now came toward Monsieur Quillan, lifting her lips
to his precisely as a child might have done.
"Not quite the King, my Louis. None the less I am sure that Monseigneur
is an illustrious person. He arrived not two hours ago--" She told how
Monseigneur had come in a coach, very splendid; even his lackeys were
resplendent. Monseigneur would stay overnight and would to-morrow push
on, to Beauséant. He had talked with her,--a kindly old gentleman, but so
stately that all the while she had been the tiniest thought afraid of him.
He must be some exalted nobleman, Nelchen considered,--a marquis at the
very least.
Meantime diminutive Louis Quillan had led her to the window-seat beneath
the corridor, and sat holding one plump trifle of a hand, the, while
her speech fluttered bird-like from this topic to that; and be regarded
Nelchen Thorn with an abysmal content. The fates, he considered, had been
commendably generous to him.
So he leaned back from her a little, laughing gently, and marked what a
quaint and eager child it was. He rejoiced that she was beautiful, and
triumphed still more to know that even if she had not been beautiful it
would have made slight difference to him. The soul of Nelchen was enough.
Yet, too, it was desirable this soul should be appropriately clad, that she
should have, for instance, these big and lustrous eyes,--plaintive eyes,
such as a hamadryad would conceivably possess, since they were beyond doubt
the candid and appraising eyes of some woodland creature, and always seemed
to find the world not precisely intimidating, perhaps, yet in the ultimate
a very curious place where one trod gingerly. Still, this Nelchen was a
practical body, prone to laughter,--as in nature, any person would be whose
mouth was all rotund and tiny scarlet curves. Why, it was, to a dimple,
the mouth which François Boucher bestowed on his sleek goddesses! Louis
Quillan was sorry for poor Boucher painting away yonder at a noisy garish
Versailles, where he would never see that perfect mouth the artist had so
often dreamed of. No, not in the sweet flesh at least; lips such as these
were unknown at Versailles....
And but four months ago he had fancied himself to be in love with Hélène
de Puysange, he remembered; and, by and large, he still considered Hélène
a delightful person. Yes, Hélène had made him quite happy last spring: and
when they found she was with child, and their first plan failed, she had
very adroitly played out their comedy to win back Gaston in time to avoid
scandal. Yes, you could not but admire Hélène, yet, even so....
"--and he asked me, oh, so many questions about you, Louis--"
"About me?" said Louis Quillan, blankly. He was all circumspection now.
"About my lover, you stupid person. Monseigneur assumed, somehow, that I
would have a lover or two. You perceive that he at least is not a stupid
person." And Nelchen tossed her head, with a touch of the provocative.
Louis Quillan did what seemed advisable. "--and, furthermore, your
stupidity is no excuse for rumpling my hair," said Nelchen, by and by.
"Then you should not pout," replied Monsieur Quillan. "Sanity is entirely
too much to require of any man when you pout. Besides, your eyes are so
big and so bright they bewilder one. In common charity you ought to wear
spectacles, Nelchen,--in sheer compassion toward mankind."
"Monseigneur, also, has wonderful eyes, Louis. They are like the
stars,--very brilliant and cool and incurious, yet always looking at you as
though you were so insignificant that the mere fact of your presuming to
exist at all was a trifle interesting."
"Like the stars!" Louis Quillan had flung back the shutter. It was a
tranquil evening in September, with no moon as yet, but with a great
multitude of lesser lights overhead. "Incurious like the stars! They do
dwarf one, rather. Yet just now I protest to you, infinitesimal man that I
am, I half-believe le bon Dieu loves us so utterly that He has kindled all
those pretty tapers solely for our diversion. He wishes us to be happy,
Nelchen; and so He has given us the big, fruitful, sweet-smelling world
to live in, and our astonishing human bodies to live in, with contented
hearts, and with no more vain desires, no loneliness--Why, in a word, He
has given us each other. Oh, beyond doubt, He loves us, my Nelchen!"
For a long while the girl was silent. Presently she spoke, half-hushed,
like one in the presence of sanctity. "I am happy. For these three months I
have been more happy than I had thought was permissible on earth. And yet,
Louis, you tell me that those stars are worlds perhaps like ours,--think of
it, my dear, millions and millions of worlds like ours, and on each world
perhaps a million of lovers like us! It is true that among them all no
woman loves as I do, for that would be impossible. Yet think of it, mon
ami, how inconsiderable a thing is the happiness of one man and of one
woman in this immensity! Why, we are less than nothing, you and I! Ohé, I
am afraid, hideously afraid, Louis,--for we are such little folk and the
universe is so big. And always the storms go about it, and its lightnings
thrust at us, and the waters of it are clutching at our feet, and its laws
are not to be changed--Oh, it is big and cruel, my dear, and we are adrift
in it, we who are so little!"
He again put forth his hand toward her. "What a morbid child it is!" said
Louis Quillan. "I can assure you I have resided in this same universe just
twice as long as you, and I find that upon the whole the establishment
is very creditably conducted. There arrives, to be sure, an occasional
tornado, or perhaps an earthquake, each with its incidental inconveniences.
On the other hand, there is every evening a lavishly arranged sunset, like
gratis fireworks, and each morning (I am credibly informed) a sunrise of
which poets and energetic people are pleased to speak highly; while every
year spring comes in, like a cosmical upholsterer, and refurnishes the
entire place, and makes us glad to live. Nay, I protest to you, this is
an excellent world, my Nelchen! and likewise I protest to you that in its
history there was never a luckier nor a happier man than I."
Nelchen considered. "Well," she generously conceded; "perhaps, after all,
the stars are more like diamonds."
Louis Quillan chuckled. "And since when were you a connoisseur of diamonds,
my dear?"
"Of course I have never actually seen any. I would like to, though--yes,
Louis, what I would really like would be to have a bushelful or so of
diamonds, and to marry a duke--only the duke would have to be you, of
course,--and to go to Court, and to have all the fine ladies very jealous
of me, and for them to be very much in love with you, and for you not to
care a sou for them, of course, and for us both to see the King." Nelchen
paused, quite out of breath after this ambitious career in the imaginative.
"To see the King, indeed!" scoffed little Louis Quillan. "Why, we would see
only a very disreputable pockmarked wornout lecher if we did."
"Still," she pointed out, "I would like to see a king. Simply because I
never have done so before, you conceive."
"At times, my Nelchen, you are effeminate. Eve ate the apple for that
identical reason. Yet what you say is odd, because--do you know?--I once
had a friend who was by way of being a sort of king."
Nelchen gave a squeal of delight. "And you never told me about him! I
loathe you."
Louis Quillan did what seemed advisable. "--and, furthermore, your
loathsomeness is no excuse for rumpling my hair," said Nelchen, by and by.
"But there is so little to tell. His father had married the Grand Duke
of Noumaria's daughter,--over yonder between Silesia and Badenburg, you
may remember. And so last spring when the Grand Duke and the Prince were
both killed in that horrible fire, my friend quite unexpectedly became a
king--oh, king of a mere celery-patch, but still a sort of king. Figure to
yourself, Nelchen! they were going to make my poor friend marry the Elector
of Badenburg's daughter,--and Victoria von Uhm has perfection stamped upon
her face in all its odious immaculacy,--and force him to devote the rest
of his existence to heading processions and reviewing troops, and signing
proclamations, and guzzling beer and sauerkraut. Why, he would have been
like Ovid among the Goths, my Nelchen!"
"But he could have worn such splendid uniforms!" said Nelchen. "And
diamonds!"
"You mercenary wretch!" said he. Louis Quillan then did what seemed
advisable; and presently he added, "In any event, the horrified man ran
away."
"That was silly of him," said Nelchen Thorn. "But where did he run to?"
Louis Quillan considered. "To Paradise," he at last decided. "And there he
found a disengaged angel, who very imprudently lowered herself to the point
of marrying him. And so he lived happily ever afterward. And so, till the
day of his death, he preached the doctrine that silliness is the supreme
wisdom."
"And he regretted nothing?" Nelchen said, after a meditative while.
Louis Quillan began to laugh. "Oh, yes! at times he profoundly regretted
Victoria von Uhm."
Then Nelchen gave him a surprise, for the girl bent toward him and leaned
one hand upon each shoulder. "Diamonds are not all, are they, Louis?
I thank you, dear, for telling me of what means so much to you. I can
understand, I think, because for a long while I have tried to know and care
for everything that concerns you."