AN UGLY DUCHESS
The town of Mitau is an ugly place, built near a dull and sluggish
river, rudely spanned by a bridge of boats at the market-place. The
palace, however, is a fine building, and there dwelt the ugly Duchess
Anna Iwanowna--bad luck forever to her!--and there could have dwelt
Count Saxe if he would but have obliged the duchess by marrying her.
But he could not swallow the pill.
We were in Mitau from June, 1726, when those rascally Courlanders
pretended they meant to make Count Saxe Duke of Courland, until
August, 1727, when we made our way out of the place--only twenty of
us; and not without trouble, either, of which I shall speak
presently.
To this rag of a remnant of twenty was Count Saxe's following reduced.
It is true my master had three hundred men, many of them my Uhlans,
the "Clear-the-way-boys," intrenched on the island in the Lake of
Uzmaiz, five days' march away, where they stood guard over a military
chest of considerable value, and a large quantity of arms and
ammunition. Our enemies would have given their ears to know where our
money and arms were--for they knew Count Saxe had both--and it
finally took near five thousand Russians a month to find them.
I reckon those fourteen months in Mitau as going far to atone for our
sins. It was a time of negotiations, contentions, bickerings,
proclamations and counter proclamations, Count Saxe on the one side,
and the Russian Empire on the other; the Courlanders in between,
handing out lies by the shovelful, with equal impartiality on either
hand! What liars they were! There was an open green field near the
town, where the Diet met in those summers of 1726 and 1727, which
Count Saxe called the Field of Lies, after the celebrated spot in
France, where the heirs of Charlemagne met to divide the empire. I am
sure more lies were told about the duchy of Courland than were told
about the division of the empire of Charlemagne. We had promises
enough, and even votes enough to elect Count Saxe Duke of Courland, if
only he could have put his hand on ten thousand stout soldiers, to
make the election good. The Russians very rightly paid no attention to
the pretensions of the Holsteiners, and the Hessians, and the rest of
the crown snatchers, as Madame Riano had called them. They were but
lath and plaster; but Count Saxe was a man well fashioned by nature of
her strongest metal, and him the Russians reckoned with, and him
only.
We had but one piece of good luck in Mitau, and that was the place in
which we were lodged. It was an old stone schloss near the river, and
had been the residence of the dukes of Courland until they screwed the
money from their miserable people with which to build the fine palace.
They had made themselves secure from their lieges in case the lieges
should rise against their masters; for the walls of the old schloss
were nine feet thick, with mere slits for windows, and it was
surrounded by a moat, with a drawbridge. Moreover, there was a brick
tunnel a half of a quarter of a mile long, which debouched at the
river's edge. The market-place, however, had sprung up at that point,
and also, the bridge of boats, so that it was no longer available for
the escape of armed men.
We did not reckon upon either defense or escape, until it was too
late--the first, the last, and the only time Count Saxe was ever
caught napping by his enemies. And it was by my forethought--I say it
with diffidence--that the drawbridge was put in working order. It came
about in this manner.
The ugly duchess, having fallen in love with Count Saxe the first time
she saw him, as all the women did, poor souls, they could not help
themselves--invited him to lodge with his suite at the palace, instead
of at the old schloss with the rats. Never were there such rats. We
used to have regular battues of rats, killing them with our swords.
But Count Saxe was wary--he had no mind to be lodged too far away from
his horses. As it was, our stabling was at an inconvenient distance
from the schloss. But how to get away from the pressing attentions of
a lady is a problem; all will admit that.
One morning, however, a placard was found affixed to the palace gates,
making light of Count Saxe's alleged intention to take up his quarters
at the palace. He happened to arrive just as a great crowd had
assembled, laughing and jeering. He rode up, dismounted, tore the
placard from the iron gateway, cuffed half a dozen grinning fellows,
and like a walking volcano marched into the palace. He demanded
instantly to see the duchess, and after tearing the placard to shreds
in her presence, declared that nothing would induce him to subject her
to such indignities; consequently he would remain at the schloss with
the rats. The duchess glared at him, and in her turn cuffed a saucy
page that laughed behind his hand; and from that hour she was his
enemy. No woman ever forgives a man for being more prudent than she,
and although I swear I know nothing of Count Saxe's affairs with the
ladies, I will admit this, that he was not reckoned a prudish man
exactly.
When he returned to the schloss, and with mirth and heartfelt joy told
me of the thing, my reply was to go and examine the drawbridge. Our
arms and accoutrements were always kept in perfect order, so there was
no need to inspect them. The chains and blocks of the drawbridge were
rusty and moss-grown, but I speedily got them in working order, well
oiled, and the drawbridge moved up and down as smoothly as my lady's
fan opening and shutting. Count Saxe, seeing me at work, with several
men, came to find out what we were doing.
"I am putting the drawbridge in order, sir, because you were so
extremely decorous with the duchess," I said to him; at which he
shouted with laughter, but owned I was right.
There was an open plaza in front of the schloss, with several mean
streets making off from it. Within was a courtyard of some extent,
with a few dismal trees growing, and around us was the stagnant green
water of the moat. Oh, what a dreary place that was!
I had mountains of writing to do, those devilish Courlanders
presenting endless petitions, protests, pieces, justifications, and
other rubbish, all of which had to be answered civilly. We kept up a
brisk correspondence with France when we could; but the Courlanders
have no notion that a courier is a sacred object, so a vast number of
our letters never got farther than Mitau.
Our communication from the rest of the world was scant and uncertain.
Even Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's letters rarely reached us, although we
knew she wrote faithfully and often to Count Saxe. We knew scarce
anything that was happening outside, except that Monsieur Voltaire was
in England, and Count Saxe hoped he would remain there.
There was one person of whom I thought daily and hourly, but could
hear no word of--Mademoiselle Francezka Capello. All I knew was that
she and Madame Riano had set forth from Paris, in great state, on
their travels. I was not the only person athirst for news of
Francezka. Gaston Cheverny was as eager. He wrote continually to his
brother Regnard imploring and demanding to know of Mademoiselle
Capello's welfare; but he admitted, with the utmost chagrin, that
Regnard, in those of his letters which were received, never so much as
mentioned Mademoiselle Capello's name, which led me to infer that
Regnard Cheverny knew all about her.
I have never known a man who early acquired a fortune that was not a
calculator and an acute reckoner of his own and other men's chances.
But Gaston Cheverny was not a calculator in the mean sense. The motto
of his house well described him. It ran, in the old French--_Un Loy,
Un Foy, Un Roy_. One faith was Gaston Cheverny's in all things. He was
full of youthful spirits, of ridiculous young daring, always wanting
to achieve the impossible, and of the sort, when he could not conquer
the world, to beat the watch. But those men are to be loved. Gaston
Cheverny had great capacity for love and romance. The image of
Francezka Capello had been deeply graven on his heart, and I saw what
one does not often see in a young man barely one and twenty--a real
devotion to an ideal, a faithfulness that can and will endure.
He was not one of the loose-tongued sort, who tell all to everybody. I
think he never spoke of Mademoiselle Capello to any one but to me,
and occasionally to Count Saxe. At night, when I sat in my room
reading by a single candle, before I went to bed, Gaston Cheverny
would come in, throw himself on my bed, and begin to rave over
Francezka. He would go back to his earliest childhood, and aided by
a very active imagination, prove that he had loved her ever since she
was born. He explained this to me very ingeniously, saying he was
in love with Francezka before he saw her, because he was in love
with a dream, of which Francezka was the reality. I listened
smiling and with a good heart. Knowing Gaston Cheverny well, I
thought him worthy, if any man was, of Francezka Capello. Sometimes he
would rave over her beauty, and would threaten to run me through
when I ventured to say that it was her wit and charm which made her
beautiful. Again, he was full of adoration for her lofty, high
spirit; and then bewailed it, as likely to lead her into unnumbered
dangers, from which Madame Riano was small protection--for Scotch Peg
loved adventures as a cat loves cream.
Gaston Cheverny was of a bookish turn, and was the first one who
quoted to me the saying about books: "In winter, you may read them,
_ad ignem_, by the fireside; and in summer, _ad umbram_, under some
shady tree; and therewith pass away the tedious hours." We passed away
some of our tedious hours at Mitau in this manner, but we had few
books. Among them luckily was a volume of Bourdaloue's sermons, of
which Count Saxe always made me read one whenever the Courlanders were
more devilish than usual in giving us fair words of emptiness for
truth; and my master always fitted the preacher's denunciations to his
enemies.
Gaston Cheverny and I made bold to correct Count Saxe's theology, but
he called us a couple of cheek turners, and declared he knew that the
Psalmist, as well as Bourdaloue, had the Courlanders in mind when he
denounced liars and hypocrites. Next to sermons my master liked the
verses and songs of that rogue of rogues, Francois Villon. Gaston
Cheverny sang these songs of Villon's very agreeably, accompanying
himself on the viol, and so whiled away some of our heaviest hours.
These diversions, together with our rat-killings, were the sum of our
amusements, for I do not reckon the balls at the palace as amusements.
Count Saxe would occasionally insist on taking me to the palace,
although I objected to going on the ground that the duchess had said
I was ugly. But this was reckoned a witticism of mine. Anyhow, as
Count Saxe remarked, I could return the compliment to the lady. The
entertainments there were dull, and besides, every Russian we saw
scowled at us--and there was a Russian at every turn. All the court
officials were Russian, and they took good care that we should not
find Mitau agreeable.
Ah, it was a dreary, weary time, especially after the winter set in.
In the spring it was scarcely more cheerful. Count Saxe's chances were
dwindling, there was no doubt about that. But he bore the gradual
fading of his hopes with the gaiety of heart which was his own.
And the Russians grew more numerous. They seemed to be enveloping us;
and from day to day we awaited the catastrophe which, I think, all of
us expected--but not exactly in the guise in which it came.
In August, things were looking black for my master, and one night, he
and I and Gaston Cheverny, being seated at supper, with Beauvais
serving us--an honest and devoted fellow, Beauvais is, with a squint
almost as bad as my cross eye--I said to Count Saxe:
"Sir, when shall we leave Mitau?"
Count Saxe looked hard at me, putting down his glass. Then he asked,
in a cool voice:
"Do you think it time, Babache, to beat the chamade?"
I remained silent. Gaston Cheverny scowled at me; he was at the age
when prudence seems but a beggarly virtue at best. Only Beauvais
winked at me approvingly, and Count Saxe saw him in a mirror opposite.
He was a very humble fellow, as brave as Julius Caesar, devoted to
Count Saxe, and understood nothing on earth about war or politics; but
Count Saxe knew, when the men of the Beauvais stamp see it is time to
march, that events have already marched.
"Beauvais," cried Count Saxe, "what think you of giving up the game
now?"
"Monsieur," replied Beauvais, "I promised my old father, when next we
returned to Paris, to have sixteen trumpeters ahead of us when we
crossed the Pont Royal, but I am afraid I was a liar."
Count Saxe laughed at this, and swore very melodiously at the
Courlanders; but being quick to decide, he gave orders that we should
prepare to leave Mitau within three days. Thence we should retire to
Uzmaiz, whence we hoped to give the Russians such a bone to pick that
they would not soon forget it.
When Count Saxe was through with swearing at his Courland subjects I
reminded him there was a court ball that night, and that he must go
and smile on the ugly duchess.
At this he swore again, and for the only time I ever knew of, plotted
revenge against a lady.
"Gaston Cheverny," he cried, "do you, when you go with me to the
palace to-night, take pains to inform some of the ladies of the court
that I admit the duchess is not handsome, but she is worthy. Be sure
and insist upon her worth--that is a form of praise hated by women;
they know if a man praises their worth it is at the expense of their
beauty. So, forget it not!"
We sat not long at table after that. I had to begin to plan our
departure, and Count Saxe and Gaston Cheverny wished to arrive early
at the palace, so as to leave before midnight. It was still daylight
when they rode away into the town--daylight lasts long in those far
northern regions. Two gentlemen rode with them as escorts.
After attending to what was necessary, I watched from the courtyard
the sun go down in darksome glory. The sky was full of coppery
clouds, and bad weather was brewing. Of course I thought of the
difference between our confident departure from Paris and our
crestfallen return; and Madame Riano's simile of the drenched hen
plagued me much. And Monsieur Voltaire--how I hoped the king's
ministers would see the usefulness of keeping him out of France! And
Mademoiselle Lecouvreur--how sweet and generous she would be--and
then came the ever-haunting thought of Francezka Capello. Where
was she at this moment? Under Italian skies, or among the peaks of
the Swiss mountains, or in some distant German city; at all events
far, far from me--so thought I.
The darkness came down suddenly, with copper clouds grown dusky and
scurrying across the night sky. The lights vanished from the shabby
town, but afar off the palace windows gleamed. All was darkness and
silence, but all was not peaceful. As I stood on the drawbridge, under
the light of the lantern swinging overhead, it seemed to me that the
town was full of moving shadows. There would be a dark mass away in
the distance, and while I was looking, it would noiselessly dissolve.
Then the mass would become serpentine, appearing and disappearing
silently and mysteriously. I had made up my mind that these softly
moving shadows, like the shapes in a dream, were not dream shapes,
but solid Russians, with arms in their hands; and I congratulated
myself that every moment since we entered the schloss two men with
loaded muskets had kept their eyes fixed on the entrance to the
courtyard. They were not sentries--oh, no--it was a mere guard of
honor suitable to Count Saxe's rank; but they were not wholly
ornamental.
Suddenly hoofbeats sounded out of the darkness, and Count Saxe
himself, with his two gentlemen, clattered over the drawbridge. He
flung himself off his horse and said to me:
"You were right, Babache. This night must we ride for Uzmaiz."
Our horses were stabled some little distance away toward the river
side. I sent four men after them, with orders to bring them as quietly
as possible.
"And Gaston Cheverny, sir?" I asked of Count Saxe.
There was that in his present circumstances which would have quenched
mirth in most men, but Count Saxe was one of those men who could laugh
in the face of fate.
"Gone to fetch Peggy Kirkpatrick," he said. "We arrived at the
ball--everything hostile to us--the duchess uglier than I ever saw
her, and the Russians elbowing us at every turn. The first person my
eyes rested on was General Bibikoff. I wondered what an officer of his
rank was doing at Mitau just now. I surmised, however, that it was not
for his health, and that he was not alone. And whom, think you, was he
talking with--Peggy Kirkpatrick! She arrived at Mitau to-day on her
way to France. She had with her that charming young creature,
Mademoiselle Capello, grown wonderfully handsome, and splendidly
dressed. I thought Gaston Cheverny would die of delight, he was so
joyful to see her. Peggy was a blaze of jewels and feathers, and
looked more like an ostrich than ever. By heaven! If I had ten
thousand men like Scotch Peg I could conquer Europe. But she did me
one of the greatest services of my life. She took the first chance to
speak to me aside.
"'The Russians are after you,' she said, 'eight hundred of them under
Bibikoff. A fool, Bibikoff; a dozen of the Kirkpatricks are worth, for
fighting, his whole eight hundred. But mind you, General Lacy is
behind him with four thousand, and Lacy is a Scotchman, so you need to
beware of him.'
"'Madame,' said I, 'we march before daylight--every hoof and toe of
us.' For I knew her information was sound. Then, after I had expressed
my everlasting thanks, what do you think she said? 'If, then, you are
so eternally grateful to me, you will kindly allow me and my niece to
travel to France with you.' I told her I was not going to France
yet--still holding some cards in my hand--but to the island in Lake
Uzmaiz, where I proposed to make a stand. That delighted her. To
Uzmaiz she would go, and for very shame, I could not refuse, after the
service she had just done me, for she had taken not only trouble, but
risk, to find out about Lacy. She desired that I let Gaston Cheverny
go to her lodgings with her to make ready for her departure, and the
young fool was charmed, of course. They left before the end of the
ball. I remained to the last, so as to avoid the appearance of running
away--but where are the horses?"
There had scarcely been time enough for them to be brought, but I
saw my four men come running back along the dusky street; and they
brought the alarming news that our horses, stablemen, and all had
disappeared.
This put another face on our affairs. We had exactly three horses
champing quietly in the courtyard, and nineteen men, not counting
Gaston Cheverny, needing to ride to save their skins.
And before we could draw breath, the open place in front of the
drawbridge grew black with men; the restless, serpentine shadows were,
in truth, Bibikoff's Russians.
In half a minute our men were tugging at the chains of the drawbridge.
They had raised it about a foot when out of the gloomy night rode a
horseman, straight upon the drawbridge. The weight of man and horse
slowly brought the bridge down again. It was Gaston Cheverny. He
turned his horse's head toward the town, and sat motionless, holding
the bridge down. There had been no moon until that moment, when softly
and quickly the murky clouds parted, and a great, white moon glared
out, making all things light as day. Then we saw plainly the Russian
soldiers duly ranked, with their officers. The moonlight fell full
upon Gaston Cheverny sitting upon his horse. The only sounds that
broke the silence were the horse's pawing gently on the bridge and a
growl from our men that the bridge was held down.
But presently another sound was heard--a very dreadful and menacing
sound, though faint and muffled--that of a hundred muskets raised and
leveled upon the man and the horse, which made the finest target in
the world. When Gaston Cheverny saw the gleam of the musket barrels in
the moonlight I believe he thought his hour had come, and determined
to meet it as a man who knows how to die; for he brought his sword to
the salute, so that he might meet the Great Commander as became an
officer and a gentleman. And as I have seen a hundred times and known
of a thousand times, the coolness of his courage was his shield and
breastplate; for no man among the Russians could slay so brave a man.
Even the murmuring among our own men at his holding the drawbridge
down ceased, when they saw Gaston Cheverny standing at salute as if
the king were passing.
I knew instantly why Gaston Cheverny waited, in such imminent peril;
it was for Francezka Capello, and, incidentally, Madame Riano. It was
but a scant five minutes by Count Saxe's watch that he had to wait for
them, but it was the longest five minutes I had known for many a day.