HIS GRACE AND PEGGY
Although it was not necessary for me to rise early at this place of
peace and beauty, the chateau of Capello, yet, long habit was upon me,
and, by sunrise, I was up and dressed and out in the fair, fresh
autumn morning. I made straight for the Italian garden, and was not
surprised to find Francezka there before me.
She was sitting on the bench by the statue of Petrarch. The hoar frost
glittered on the ground, just touched by the shafts of light which
were to grow into the great sun. The air was soft and mild, and
Francezka had no hat upon her dark hair, but sat wrapped in her
crimson mantle.
She was gravely studying the inscription on the statue of Petrarch.
"Life flies apace and tarries not an hour," she said, translating to
me. "Monsieur Gaston Cheverny was mistaken in saying the next line is
here--about Death following Life with huge strides. I am glad it is
not here--it would be too sad."
"Whoever placed the inscription here had looked into the serious face
of Life which always confronts us," I said.
Francezka turned on me two laughing eyes.
"Life turns a face all smiles to me now," she said. "I am glad I am
not complete mistress of myself and my possessions yet. One should sip
and taste of pleasure before drinking a full draft. My father, you
must know, did not have the French idea of marrying me out of hand;
and I mean not to marry until I find a man I can not live without. It
will be time enough then. And as for being timid--only look at my Aunt
Peggy! She does as she likes and has done so all her life; and instead
of being herself afraid, everybody is afraid of her--and she is very
much esteemed by all who know her."
I had seen, for long, that Madame Riano's example was not wasted on
her niece, but Francezka, like most young spirits--or rather, all
young spirits--knew not how to weigh and compare. Madame Riano had
never enjoyed the beauty or the fortune of this young girl, and her
youth was safe from the dangers that lie in the path of beauty and
riches.
"But one thing I am resolved upon," said Francezka. "However happy I
may be--and I am at this moment so happy I can scarcely forbear to
sing--I danced this morning in my bedroom for very joy--I say no
matter how happy I may be, I shall try to do some good in the world.
At least I can make gifts."
"Yes," I answered, "that is the cheapest form of goodness. You give
away what would else be in your way." An ungallant speech, but made
with a purpose.
Francezka looked at me angrily for a moment, then smiled and took my
hand in her two velvet palms.
"Babache, you are like a chestnut bur, sometimes--but I love you--and
I shall always heed what you tell me. Can I do more?"
She then rose and we walked about the garden, and looked down at the
lake, still darkly shaded by the cedars on the brink, although the sun
was now blazing in the east. We spoke not much. Francezka's joy seemed
to have grown quieter, if more intense. In the pauses of our talk, I
found the lake had a voice--a voice like itself, sad. There was some
subterranean outlet which gave a motion and a sound to the water, and
this sound was a mournful one. Francezka stopped and called my
attention to it.
"I remember that moan of the lake," she said--"or I think I remember
it--as Monsieur Gaston Cheverny thought he remembered the inscription
on the statue."
"Yonder comes Gaston, now," I said.
"No," said she, sweeping her glance toward a figure afar off,
descending the steps of the terrace. "It is Monsieur Regnard
Cheverny."
"And here is the other Cheverny," said Gaston's voice behind us.
He did not look particularly happy; the splendors of the chateau of
Capello were in marked contrast to his own modest house, the Manoir
Cheverny, which lay a mile or two away.
Gaston pointed toward it--a low-lying building, of moderate size, with
a carved stone gateway opening into a courtyard, and with a fair-sized
pleasure ground around it. There was both comfort and beauty about it,
but nothing in the least to compare with Capello.
"It is good enough for a bachelor," said Gaston, grimly. "There shall
I end my lonely old age."
I have observed that when a man is deeply in love, he is apt to
threaten the lady of his love with the suggestion of losing him.
To this Francezka replied, demurely:
"I shall be happy to have company; for, perhaps, I shall die a
spinster."
The whole rich and peaceful landscape lay before us--the red-tiled
village, the little stone church, the windmills--all singularly
pleasant to look upon, giving one a sense of the well-being of the
people; and to one who has seen the gardens of the world ravaged by
fire and sword, this means much. Gaston assured us that as soon as
his house was in order, he would have me to stay with him, thereby
abandoning Count Saxe for the time; and Francezka diverted herself
with asking me, if she and Count Saxe were in a burning building
and I could only save one of them, which would it be--and other
pleasantries.
Regnard Cheverny had evidently been looking for Mademoiselle Capello,
and presently joined us, and by that time we were called to the
chateau for breakfast. The parish priest, a modest, homely, shabby
little man, named Benart, was already at the chateau, to pay his
respects to the ladies. He remained to breakfast, and I formed a high
opinion of his judgment by the respect he paid to Count Saxe, although
purposely kept in ignorance of my master's rank and condition. The
little priest mentioned that his brother, the Bishop of Louvain, would
soon be coming to visit him, at which Madame Riano snorted like a
war-horse. I suspected that she and the bishop did not deeply love
each other, and Jacques Haret afterward enlightened us on the
subject. I began to wonder where Jacques Haret would bestow himself,
for I suspected that Mademoiselle Capello would not permit her
hospitality to be imposed upon. This was settled by the action of
Gaston Cheverny, who told me before breakfast, when we had a word in
private, that he intended to ask Jacques Haret to the Manoir
Cheverny.
"Otherwise he will remain here to Mademoiselle Capello's annoyance,
and that I wish to spare her," he said to me.
When he had risen from table, Gaston therefore announced that he and
his brother and Jacques Haret would be quartered at the Manoir
Cheverny, but he hoped to see much of the ladies at the chateau of
Capello, and also of Count Saxe and Captain Babache--which we all
suitably acknowledged. Then, meaning to give the ladies time to rest,
Count Saxe and myself accepted Gaston's invitation to accompany him to
his own house. This we did, walking across the park in the bright
autumn morning. Jacques Haret diverted us on the way by his history of
the bloody warfare which had raged for thirty years between the Bishop
of Louvain and Madame Riano.
"The bishop," said Jacques Haret, as we strolled along, "is one of
those ecclesiastics who expect to appear in full canonicals--velvet
robe, jeweled crozier and shining miter--before the judgment seat of
God. Peggy Kirkpatrick thinks the Archangel Michael keeps the family
tree of the Kirkpatricks always in mind. You may imagine how Peggy and
the bishop agree. They were well acquainted in their youth before the
bishop took orders, and Peggy has got a notion in her head that the
bishop was once in love with her, when it is well known that he hated
her like perdition from their childhood. The bishop is as militant as
Peggy, and I believe either one of them would travel twenty leagues
for a bout. You will see that the bishop will shortly appear in these
parts. He can not let his old enemy dwell in peace, and Peggy will
welcome him joyfully. That woman reckons that day a holiday, when she
meets an enemy in fight."
So, with pleasant converse, we reached Gaston Cheverny's house. Over
the gateway was inscribed the arms and motto of the Chevernys, _Un
Loy, Un Foy, Un Roy_.
The old stone house, of a story and a half, was plain, but spacious.
Within it was an abundance of good furniture, linen and plate. Unlike
most bachelors' houses, there was no need to apologize for anything.
At the Manoir Cheverny, therefore, Gaston Cheverny took up his abode,
with his brother and Jacques Haret as guests. Regnard showed no
disposition to live at Castle Haret, alleging that he must furnish it
and equip it from Brussels, which he proceeded to do; but I think he
meant not to leave Gaston alone so close to the chateau of Capello.
Regnard had two servants, and four horses quartered on his brother,
and he bought another horse, giving three hundred good crowns for it.
I never saw the least want of hospitality or affection for Regnard on
Gaston's part. He was as generous a soul as I ever knew.
As for Jacques Haret, he openly said he had only given up his quarters
at the chateau of Capello because he could not wear the clothes of
either Madame Riano or Mademoiselle Capello. He wore, however, both
Gaston and Regnard Cheverny's clothes, until the two brothers
presented him with a complete outfit, as the price for letting their
wardrobes alone.
I think all of us, after our adventures and disappointments and
travels, enjoyed to the full this short season of peace and rest. We
apprehended great influx of company, for which Count Saxe had, at
present, no taste. But the weather suddenly turning very harsh, the
roads became bad, and we saw but few guests. Among them was Count
Bellegarde, the young man who had been Gaston Cheverny's friend at our
first meeting. He was the same handsome, stupid, watery, no-ideaed
fellow as that night in the Temple gardens. His family had put the
notion into his head that he would do well to marry Mademoiselle
Capello. He thought that a sight of his beauty was enough to
accomplish his object. We had much diversion out of him, Jacques Haret
and the two Chevernys slyly putting him up to many follies.
Our days and evenings, however, were in general spent together without
other guests, and naturally there was a bond amongst us. The better we
came to know Madame Riano the more we saw to esteem in her, in spite
of her extraordinary pride and everlasting blowing of the trumpet of
the Kirkpatricks and her general desire to dominate the universe. And
it was easy to see, in Francezka, those same sterling qualities of
integrity, courage and generosity which distinguished Madame Riano,
and with them infinitely more tact and suavity. The rains and the
snows made all of us haunt the firesides of Capello. Every one of us
felt that relaxing of the mind and body which accompanies a period of
rest after action. Softer pleasures appealed to us. Our days slipped
away, I knew not how, and our evenings were given to cards,
conversation and music. Madame Riano was an inveterate card player,
and well-nigh invincible, so we often had cards for diversion.
Mademoiselle Capello played charmingly on the harpsichord and Gaston
Cheverny sang often to her accompaniment, which was not calculated to
please Regnard, though he took it cheerfully. Jacques Haret was the
very soul of entertainment. I have never known a man whose mind was
always so much at ease as Jacques Haret's. The most virtuous person
that ever lived might envy this rogue his cheerful acquiescence in
fate.
About a fortnight after our arrival the news came that the Bishop of
Louvain intended to visit his brother, the little priest, and likewise
proposed to pay his respects to the ladies of the chateau of Capello.
Jacques Haret assured us that the parish priest's larder was not of
the sort to satisfy this particular bishop very long.
Madame Riano marshaled her forces to meet the bishop. The Chevernys
were to be at hand, likewise Jacques Haret, who was a valuable ally on
the present occasion.
Nobody looked forward to the meeting between Madame Riano and the
bishop more than Count Saxe, who declared that he expected to learn
much of the art of war from the two belligerents. His incognito was to
be strictly observed even with the bishop.
On the day named for his Grace's arrival, precisely at six o'clock,
the hour named by the bishop, his chariot all gilding and coats of
arms, and drawn by four horses, drew up before the great entrance of
the chateau. Madame Riano, with the light of battle in her eye,
sustained Francezka, who was to receive the bishop in her quality of
chatelaine for the first time. Count Saxe was in the background, and
behind him stood Jacques Haret and myself. The two Chevernys were also
present, awaiting the bishop on the terrace. When the bishop's coach
came rumbling up, the Chevernys dutifully opened the coach door to
assist his Grace to alight. First stepped out the little parish
priest, the bishop's brother, dressed in a shabby surtout. That silent
little man was a humorist of the first water. He seemed to love his
brother, but not one single absurdity of the bishop's escaped him.
After Father Benart came the bishop, a fine, large, well-built,
handsome man, enveloped in a huge purple velvet mantle. He stepped
gingerly as if afraid of giving his dignity a jolt. The two Chevernys
greeted him respectfully, to which the bishop replied with amiable
condescension. Then came the meeting with his arch enemy, Madame
Riano, which was highly courteous on the bishop's side, but a little
brusque on the part of Madame Riano. The sight of the bishop's coach
and velvet mantle and grand airs seemed to stir the Scotch lady's
blood instantly to the boiling point.
Francezka was all youthful grace and courtesy, and no man not an ogre
could fail to be charmed with her. Then Count Saxe as Count Moritz was
presented to the bishop, and myself later; Jacques Haret had known him
always and assumed a hail-fellow-well-met air with this pompous
ecclesiastic, which was evidently disconcerting to him. But the bishop
was no match for Jacques.
As I am to be judged at the last day, I will swear that the bishop was
no more impressed by Count Saxe than if that immortal man had been the
cat's aunt, as the peasants say; passed him by with a negligent nod,
to which Count Saxe returned a bow so low and with such a sparkling
light of laughter in his eyes that only a wind-blown dullard like this
bishop would have failed to perceive that he was a man of consequence
in disguise. The little priest had seen all along that Count Saxe was
a personage, and treated him always with the greatest deference.
The bishop was escorted to the red saloon and placed in a large gilt
chair--he was the sort of man to like large gilt chairs. Madame Riano
seated herself on one side of him, and Francezka, beautifully demure
and well behaved, sat on the other side. The rest of us grouped
ourselves around in a half moon. The bishop, after having formally
inquired after Madame Riano's health, with the air of a Christian and
a martyr blessing his enemies, turned to Francezka with the most
entire change of countenance, benignance shining forth effulgent, and
asked after her welfare and travels. To this Francezka responded
properly. Then both of the belligerents, unable to restrain their
martial ardor longer, broke the truce. Here is the conversation that
ensued between the bishop and Madame Riano, the rest of us maintaining
our composure and a strict neutrality.
The bishop: "Madame Riano, I hope, under God, you are well and in good
case."
Madame Riano (flaunting her fan savagely): "Thanks be to God, I am
well, your Grace. Your Grace looks a little peaked. I hope your Grace
has not been ill."
Now his Grace was in the bloom of health, and nothing vexed him so
much as any hint that he was otherwise. So he answered tartly that he
was very well, and then, addressing Gaston Cheverny, his Grace asked a
question which made us all jump in our chairs.
"Monsieur, to touch upon things in which the ladies probably take
little interest--what is the news from Count Saxe in Courland? I hear
that he has turned tail and is running for his life!"
At the bishop's intimation that the subject he wished to discuss was
above the feminine comprehension, thunder sat upon Madame Riano's
brow; but when he plunged into the abyss her countenance cleared as if
by magic, her mouth came wide open. I believe she would not have taken
a thousand crowns for that moment's pleasure.
Count Saxe did not change countenance one whit. The rest of us grew
pale, except Jacques Haret, who turned and winked rapturously at
Madame Riano, wagging her head-dress of feathers in an ecstasy of
delight. As for Gaston Cheverny, he did me then and there the only
disservice of his life. Pointing to me, he said with the most debonair
manner in the world:
"There, your Grace, sits Captain Babache, who commands Count Saxe's
body-guard. It would not become me, nor any one else, to speak of
Count Saxe's affairs in the presence of Captain Babache."
Yes, the rascal said that, and sat there smiling and stroking the lace
upon his wrists, while I yearned to give him a clip over the head
with my strong right arm. And Count Saxe appeared to enjoy my
discomfiture, and actually laughed in my face. However, I summoned
all my composure and replied to that fool of a bishop that Count
Saxe was the undoubted choice of the Diet and the nobility, and still
held the rescript of election. And the Duchess of Courland, Anna
Iwanowna, a brisk and homely widow, wished to marry Count Saxe, and
as he had no mind to put his head in the noose, he had abandoned
his enterprise for the present, to be resumed when convenient.
The bishop, with Count Saxe for his text, launched into a criticism of
all the campaigns of the ancients and the moderns, and the blunders he
committed gave Madame Riano and us the most acute enjoyment. I saw the
little priest's eyes twinkle as the oration proceeded. Nobody
interrupted the bishop, and he closed by pointing out all the mistakes
of the English at Agincourt, where there is no doubt they drubbed the
French handsomely.
It was then time for supper, which was announced by Peter, and we
proceeded to the dining saloon. It was an agreeable supper. The
bishop's harangue had put us all in a mirthful humor, and the wine of
Ximenes was of the sort described in the Scriptures, as making glad
the heart of man. Although the bishop knew nothing about war, he was
an excellent judge of wine, and had due respect for the Ximenes. There
was skirmishing all during supper between his Grace and Madame Riano,
but it was understood that no pitched battle would take place until we
went to cards, the field of the cloth of green having been their
chosen battle-ground for thirty years. Madame Riano was the very
devil at cards, and the bishop was not far behind her.
It being cold in the great red saloon, we sat, for cards, in the
little yellow room, where a huge fire blazed. We were at primero, the
whole party of us. The stakes were small, but the fire and fury with
which the bishop and Madame Riano played against each other was
something remarkable. Charges and counter charges, sarcasm, ridicule
and innuendo were freely bandied between them. Victory perched first
on one banner and then on the other, but I must say the lady got
rather the best of it. I should say that the bishop was the better
strategist; but for determined, head-long valor, Madame Riano
surpassed him.
We had been playing over an hour, when a sudden wild, loud roaring was
heard in the chimney, the door was burst open, and a swarm of
frightened servants rushed in, crying the house was afire. At once,
each of us, except Madame Riano, laid down his cards, in some
consternation; but the Scotch lady, without so much as taking her eyes
off her hand, remarked coolly:
"'Tis nothing but the chimney catching afire, a common enough thing in
Scotland. But these foolish Brabant people know nothing about
fireplaces, and are frightened at every blaze they see."
It turned out to be truly nothing but the blazing soot in the chimney,
accompanied by a great roaring, with flames coming out of the
chimney's mouth and sparks flying. The roofs being tiled, there was no
real danger, but as Madame Riano said truly, the people in the Low
Countries, knowing nothing of open fireplaces with blazing fires,
were in a state of wild alarm. Nevertheless, we could not sit still
under the circumstances, but proposed to investigate. Francezka went
with us. She was pale, but collected. The bishop was for going with
us, being frightened, if ever I saw a man--he was a Netherlander and
as ignorant of open fireplaces as the rest of his countrymen--but
Madame Riano gibing at him for his pusillanimity, he resumed his cards
with such composure as he could, and Madame Riano proposed they should
play the game out together. We left them, therefore, seated at the
table, Madame Riano quite unconcerned at the commotion, and the
bishop, a little white about the chops, but standing to his game like
a man.
Meanwhile, in our absence from the room, the excited and panic-stricken
servants had, without any authority, opened a vast tank of water,
which was on the top of the house, and a flood began to pour down the
chimney of the little yellow room, where Madame Riano held her
unwilling enemy. Quite unconscious of this, Count Saxe and the rest of
us watched the fire burn itself out harmlessly enough; old Peter
managed to quiet the frantic servants, and we returned to the yellow
room. Then the sight that met our eyes can never be forgotten by any
of us. The burning soot had tumbled down the chimney, and if the bishop
and Madame Riano had left their play long enough there would have been
no damage done to anything.
I do not believe Madame Riano was so absorbed in her game as not to
know what was going on, but I am pretty sure she had in mind the
punishment of the bishop. A strong odor of burning wood pervaded the
room; before the flood came down the chimney there had been many
falling cinders, and these had set the wainscoting smoldering just
behind the bishop's chair. The floor had been flooded, and Madame
Riano, her skirts tucked about her, had drawn up her feet to the seat
of her chair and sat there as cool as any warrior on the eve of
battle. The bishop's feet were in the water. He held his cards
tightly, but his eye roved around and lighted up when he saw us enter,
Count Saxe and Francezka in the lead. Just as we came in the
smoldering wainscoting blazed up brightly. Gaston Cheverny, with his
hat, dipped up water enough to put out the blaze. The bishop started
and turned half round, but was recalled by Madame Riano, saying in a
voice of menace and of mockery:
"Come, your Grace. It is your play. Don't be scared by a trifle like
this. My faith, you would make but a poor figure in Scotland, where we
never stop our game for such trifles as fire and flood."
At that moment Regnard Cheverny earned the bishop's undying good-will.
Taking a jug of water from one of the distracted servants, who was
still running about wildly in the corridor, he emptied it full upon
the card table, on which a spark or two had dropped. The bishop, too,
got a drenching--for which I saw gratitude writ large on his face.
"Madame," he said, to his antagonist, "I, too, have but slight regard
for fire and flood when it interrupts a game, but necessity and my
rheumatics compel me to retire and change my garments." Which he did,
and appeared no more that night.
When the bishop had taken himself and his bedraggled dignity off we
burst involuntarily into laughter, Count Saxe and Francezka leading.
Even the little parish priest joined us. Madame Riano scowled at our
laughter, until Count Saxe, with his usual good judgment, told her we
were laughing at the bishop, at which she screeched with delight.
I was not surprised next morning to find that the bishop was leaving
earlier than he expected. He departed in the same state in which he
arrived, but I was irresistibly reminded of a conquered enemy who has
been accorded the honors of war.