THE HALF-BROTHERS.
Never was there a greater bit of luck for the Lorge hermits than the
epigram that was too pungent, and its consequences. With the arrival
of the fugitives there was inaugurated a new _regime_. Cobwebs seemed
to vanish at a stroke. The dismal old chateau stirred and rubbed its
eyes, for, as by magic, the spirit of ennui who had his dwelling there
was routed and put to flight.
The Abbe Pharamond was made of quicksilver. Such a mass of ubiquitous
ever-moving energy would have awakened the seven sleepers. Everyone
felt his influence; and no one had a word to say against him, except
Toinon and Jean Boulot. Even the objections of these, as might be
expected in low-born persons, were of the vaguest. The one found fault
with his effeminate manners and mincing ways, the other vowed that he
was so sweet as to be mawkish. Balanced one on either knee, the
prodigies (with clean pinafores and polished visages) were taught to
warble the amorous ditties of the south, an absurd performance which
frequently brought over Madame de Vaux in the shanderydan, and caused
her to explode with laughter. His presence acted like a magnet. There
was always a stock of the neatest compliments on hand for Angelique;
the most respectfully rapt attention for the baron's platitudes. He
was constantly riding to Montbazon on his way to somewhere else, bent
on organizing a picnic or a hunt, and even discovered and dragged from
their retreats into the light a variety of country gentlemen who
seldom left their burrows. "If the dear man were a layman!" grieved
the baroness. "The very thing for Angelique." But since he was a
churchman, she must do her best with the other.
"Pooh! Stuff and nonsense!" objected the baron. "They were of good
family--could boast, indeed, of most superior blood--but were as poor
as church mice, both."
Whereupon his spouse remarked from out her nightcap folds that she did
dislike a mole. Was not the marquis a good-natured gentleman, if
stupid, and was he not plainly devoted to his brothers--proud at least
of one? It could be seen with half an eye that the abbe's influence
was great, and would grow greater. Out of Gabrielle's wealth, after de
Breze's death, he would, of course, provide for his brothers in a
fitting and lavish manner.
Gabrielle fell at once, and without resistance, under the spell of the
abbe. She had never known so charming and accomplished a person.
Faugh! the tawdry butterflies of Versailles! The gaudy numskulls! Mere
contemptible machines, that mopped and mowed to order. In Pharamond
she beheld for the first time a man whose masterful nature somehow
compelled obedience. Among other fascinating ways, he had a trick
(aware of a trim and graceful figure) of tossing himself down in a
picturesque attitude at Gabrielle's feet, burningly eager for advice;
and on considering the interview afterwards, she was pleasantly
surprised to find how she had shone--how undoubtedly, yet
unaccountably, sage had been her counsel. "He exerts a good influence
over me," she murmured. "Like flowers under the sun's first rays I
expand. Till he arrived, I knew not how dense had been our darkness.
Alas! if Clovis were a little like him how different had been my
fate!"
Even Clovis was the better for the abbe's advent. His brother would
walk straight into his sanctum and drag him from his books to join
some party of pleasure; but, lest he should turn restive, would argue
in his nimble fashion, as they rode along, upon abstruse points of
philosophy. Though not fully believing in the tremendous powers
claimed by the prophet, he declared himself open to conviction with
regard to Mesmer; and Gabrielle was amazed to perceive how animated
her husband could become in his efforts to convince the doubter. When
hounded from the capital, Mesmer had travelled south before settling
at Spa, and the abbe had seen him perform his marvels. Hunted out of
Paris by the Academy of Medicine, persecution had produced the usual
result--attacked, defended, abused, glorified, Fame shook all her
bauble bells, and rescued his name from neglect. At Montpelier, his
following was so great that he and his small staff could not supply
the necessary treatment. There was no denying that under his magnetic
passes certain patients did recover. However much argument might
meander, it always came back to that point. In what the mysterious
healing fluid consisted, was the difficult question. Did an invisible
current actually flow from the manipulator to the patient, or was it
but the effect of ascendency of will--of the strong nature bearing
down the weak?
During the discussions on the subject, the abbe would jokingly wave
his whip at the chevalier, whose sleek figure jogged behind. "There is
a case in point," he laughed. "Phebus's will is completely subservient
to mine, and he knows it. Tell them, chevalier, is there anything I
could not make you do?"
Then the broad visage of Phebus would beam with respectful pride as he
surveyed his clever brother. "No, abbe," he would quietly rejoin. "You
are wiser and better than I, and I am content that you should think
for both."
Then in his turn would Clovis laugh as he glanced at the attentive
Gabrielle. "We must be careful, lest," he observed, slyly, "we forfeit
our independence. While pretending to disbelieve, he is deceiving us,
for he is himself gifted with magnetic powers of a high order. I vow I
am half influenced already, and must take precautions lest I become a
slave."
Those were pleasant rides under the yellowing foliage in the late
autumn of '89. Clovis was galvanised into a semblance of activity, and
appeared under the process to have half realized how charming was his
wife. Instead of provokingly staring without seeing her, he observed
how fresh was her complexion, how silken and golden and heavy were the
loose plaits of her unpowdered hair. To her astonishment, following
the abbe's lead, he became almost attentive, guiding her horse over
difficult ground, even marking the fact when she was tired.
And so it came about, as by touch of fairy wand, that Gabrielle, alone
in the desert, had found a following. The husband whom she adored was
displaying a ghostly kindness, with which for the present she was
content. If he only would appreciate the prodigies--but that, under
beneficent influence, would follow, doubtless. The newly-arrived
swains vied with each other in endeavouring to forestall her wishes.
The abbe ordered everyone about for the general good and her
particular behoof, like some hovering farseeing deity; while the less
pretentious chevalier plodded at her heel like a wheezy spaniel, as
active as his redundancy permitted.
In their way, good looking fellows both. The chevalier was short and
very fair, with pale blue eyes and a weak mouth, producing a somewhat
washed-out effect. His nose was aquiline and delicately moulded. In
many respects he bore a curious resemblance to his majesty the
reigning monarch. The abbe, his junior by several years, looked a
decade younger at least. He was slim and wiry, built on a small scale,
with well-turned limbs and white hands remarkable for their fragility.
Indeed, in considering his appearance people always remembered the
soft, twining fingers which looked as weak as a woman's, and which, in
a hand-shake, could give so firm a grip. His face was round and pale,
his lips thin and tightly pressed together, his eyes steel-grey with a
strongly accentuated pupil. There was something about his usual
expression that suggested a particularly high-bred white cat--due
possibly to a purring manner and an air of sensual complacency. But
there were moments--not unknown to the chevalier--when the eyes could
gleam with tawny lightning, darken with thunder-clouds, while the
small even teeth were ground in passion, and the pale face turned
livid. Like all seemingly light and effeminate beings, who are really
of wrought steel, the gay and frolicsome abbe could become a sweeping
whirlwind; but since he usually managed to have his way unchallenged,
serious atmospheric disturbances were of rare occurrence. As the eyes
of an angry cat seem to be illumined from behind, so on rare occasions
of excessive wrath those of the abbe assumed a malevolent glitter, in
face of which the chevalier cowered, despite his breadth of beam. His
plump uncertain hands grew moist, his words were few and husky; he
whimpered and breathed hard; and the privileged observer could have
little doubt that there was absolutely nothing he could not be goaded
to essay under pressure from Abbe Pharamond.
On a certain mild evening in October, master and serf were riding home
from Montbazon, and the latter unconsciously shrank and stopped his
horse, conscious of the glitter that he feared. Wistfully and humbly
he looked up, anxious to ascertain wherein he had offended.
"The de Vaux are a charming family," remarked the abbe, airily kissing
his fingertips. "I compliment you, dear brother."
When the abbe chose to gibe, the chevalier sniffed something
disagreeable.
"Ha, ha! How lugubrious a countenance for a favoured lover! As doleful
as a bee who's lost his sting! When do we propose to marry? Never keep
a lady waiting!"
"What do you mean?" stammered Phebus, mopping his brow.
"Madame de Vaux expects you to propose for Angelique."
"But I don't want to marry Angelique."
"What! Not the delightful shoot from the family tree of which we hear
so much? Like the Indian banyan its proportions darken the sky. Why
not--tell me?"
"Because I do not wish to marry at all," replied Phebus.
"And why--and why--and why?" laughed Pharamond, in elfish mood. "Nay,
do not tell me. Cannot I read into your erring soul as through a sheet
of dirty glass? Because you are hopelessly enamoured of your brother's
handsome wife!"
Phebus started and turned scarlet.
"Don't look so exasperatingly sheepish! you quivering mass of jelly,"
sneered Pharamond.
An explosion of laughter resounded through the wood and ceased, and
the glitter shone forth again.
"Do you know that it is extremely wrong to nourish a flame for one's
brother's wife?" he inquired dryly. "Most reprehensible in itself and
not unlikely to lead to complications. Will Clovis approve, think
you?"
Perceiving that Phebus was too confused and upset by the sudden attack
to answer, the abbe frisked on, urging forward both horses with his
whip.
"See!" he observed, addressing nature generally. "How lenient Mother
Church can be to the shortcomings of the weak! Do I blame this culprit
for adoring the lovely Gabrielle? Not a bit! If he did not his heart
would be of stone instead of pulp. Stout Phebus is consumed with
hopeless adoration. But is it hopeless? Ah! There's the rub. Don't
babble like an idiot, but confess. Have we openly given vent to our
boiling passion? Yes, or no?"
The chevalier bent his head and sobbed out, "I'm a miserable wicked
wretch!"
"Of course you are," affably agreed the abbe. "Make a clean breast of
it to Mother Church, who will straightway absolve the sinner. Do we
adore her to the ends of our fat fingers? Eh?"
"How can I help adoring her?" replied harassed Phebus.
"Certainly not--how could you?" echoed his tormentor. "Ho! ho! ho!
ho!" The abbe's mocking laugh reverberated among the trees. "I've half
a mind to tell Clovis--shall I? How he'd enjoy the jest!" And at
contemplation of the maze of mischief that might result from such a
proceeding, he laughed again, "Ho! ho!"
"Does she return your love? Have you really made the trial?" he
inquired suddenly, with a sneer upon his lips. "No? Then, my poor
fellow, I am genuinely sorry for your plight. Presto! The Church has
run away! Behold a doctor; hearken to words of wisdom. Your ailment's
very bad, but curable. This is a queer world, I'd have you know, in
which there is one unpardonable crime, failure. We hunt down and
exterminate the exposed bungler, who, if he bungles, and would yet
save his skin, must take precautions not to be found out. Now I found
you out at once, you simple oaf, so you deserve to be delivered to
Clovis. I ought to sacrifice so paltry a specimen of intrigue, but
then--are you not, too, my brother?"
The chevalier knitted his brows in a vain effort to comprehend what
underlay the abbe's banter.
"Oh! what a tender brother!" the latter continued; "for I will even
assist you in your quest. Yes, I, the virtuous Abbe Pharamond. The
doctor prescribes a fervent wooing--a scaling of the ramparts--a
storming of the citadel. You have gone too timidly to work. Between
this husband and wife there can be no bond of union. That much we
know. _Ergo_, the heart of the beauty is yet to win, since she is
fancy free. You shall try your luck in earnest, and I will give you
all my help--on one condition."
"You will!" murmured Phebus, melted to tears by admiring gratitude,
"How shall I repay such kindness?"
"Thus. You try your hand and do your best, but if you fail you retire
for ever from the field. If she likes you, well and good. Win and wear
her and be happy. If not, promise to worry her no more with annoying
importunities."
The suggested arrangement was so singular, that the chevalier,
recovering himself a little, knew not what to think. What could his
astute brother be driving at? Why should he desire to throw the
hitherto unstained wife into a lover's arms? Had he a spite against
the marquis? No. Against Gabrielle? Hardly. Perhaps he was sorry, as
Phebus had been, to observe Clovis's neglect, and anxious to see
Ariadne consoled? How kind of the abbe to select him, the chevalier,
as the proposed comforter! A new vista of possibilities unrolled
itself. Unaided he would have gone on sympathetically sighing, but
with the abbe's encouragement and active assistance, wonders might be
accomplished.
The latter was beaming on him now with bonhomie. Clearly he wished,
fraternally, to see sister-in-law and brother happy, and imbued with
the spirit of the times in which they lived, was doing his best to
make them so. Warmly the chevalier blurted out his thanks. His brother
was good and kind, as he always meant to be, though now and then so
puzzling and strange. He would follow his instructions dutifully to
the letter, and Gabrielle won, would be till death her slave.
"That is well," assented the abbe with a friendly clap on the
shoulder. "You have beaten about the bush too long, instead of making
straight for the goal. Women have sharp instincts, and since they
require wooing, despise too bashful swains. This very night the coast
shall be kept clear for you. The balmy autumn breeze is to love vows
the softest of accompaniments. I will retain Clovis in his study with
arguments about the prophet he reveres."
The two jogged on in amicable silence, both equally satisfied, to all
appearances, with the result of the conference, until the peaked
turrets of Lorge frowned black against a primrose sunset. Then, before
entering the courtyard, the abbe turned and whispered sternly, "A
compact, mind, which you will break at your peril. Win or withdraw. Do
not attempt to deceive me, for I never forgive deceit."