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 passed 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 passed 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
carcass 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 gods 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 assured
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 gods, 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 passed 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 passed 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.
It seems she knew all about our little fracas--she had got the whole
story out of old Peter--and was full of the sweetest regrets. She even
begged my pardon--the darling!--for having been so rude to me the
night of our first encounter. I think she is now awake to the
imprudence of her conduct, and most anxious for it not to be known,
instead of being defiant, as she was at the time. She asked me to give
you her thanks and her remembrance."
"It is enough," said I; "if I can but always merit her thanks and her
remembrance I shall be satisfied. It is for men placed like you to
aspire for more."
"Babache," he cried, "you are an honest fellow, and I am glad you made
that hole in me, if it won me your friendship."
"I did not wish to make a hole in you," I replied. "What has your
brother to say to your going with us?"
"He tried to dissuade me from going. I tried to persuade him into
going. Regnard has more of that beggarly virtue of prudence than I.
But, Babache, here is the devil to pay; my brother fell desperately in
love with Mademoiselle Capello at first sight."
"That is nothing," said I, unfeelingly. "You are so much alike it can
matter but little to her which one she may love."
"Out, rascal! But--but--mademoiselle was much kinder to me than to
Regnard. Indeed, she was not kind at all to him."
"Oh, poor brother! How that must have pained you!"
"No! no! My brother and I are nearer to each other than most brothers,
but when a young lady is concerned we are as man to man. So I was
rather pleased not to have my brother for a rival."
"He will be in Paris while you are away, and may make his hay in your
absence."
Gaston's face was flooded with laughter and color as he replied:
"Well--under the rose, remember--Mademoiselle Capello will not be in
Paris long. She confided to me that her aunt was setting out upon her
travels shortly, meaning to go as far north as Russia. Then, on their
return, they will stop in Brabant, probably until mademoiselle attains
her majority. It will go hard with me if I am not at my own house for
a little while at least, while Mademoiselle Capello is my neighbor.
And Babache!" he rode closer and whispered in my ear: "She told me
last night she would be watching on a certain balcony when we passed,
and I asked her what color of gown she would wear, because I should
wear a flower of that color, and she said crimson, and here I have a
crimson rose in my helmet."
His boyish eyes were radiant with joy and triumph. His was a spirit
daring in love as in war, and surely Francezka Capello had the spirit
of ten good men in her young soul. I began to wonder what two such
eaglets would contrive between them.