AN IMPATIENT LOVER
Why do I always call Mademoiselle Capello beautiful? I can not tell.
Her features were only tolerably regular, not even so regular as
Madame Riano's; but Francezka had on her eloquent face the power, if
not the substance, of the most dazzling loveliness. She put handsomer
women behind the door, at the mere look of her. Everything became her.
If she were splendidly appareled, that seemed the best and only dress
for her. If she rode a-horseback, with her hat and feather, that was
the right thing for her, and when she wore a simple linen gown and a
straw hat, we wondered how she could endure to wear any other costume.
That, I take it, is the essence of beauty--not that I am learned in
beauty, though I am an expert in ugliness.
The coach was stopped, and I hastened to pay my duty to the ladies.
Madame Riano's greeting was kind, Francezka's more than kind. They
were to be the guests of some great people at the fine mansion for
which they were bound, during the remainder of the camp--about a
fortnight longer. Madame Riano was disposed to grumble a little that
so many sovereigns and princes should waste their time in pageants
instead of using their arms to set Prince Charles Stuart upon the
throne of his ancestors; but otherwise she was reasonable enough.
Francezka looked scarcely a day older than when I had last seen her
two years and a half before. She leaned forward, out of the coach
door, one little red-heeled shoe showing coquettishly. A large straw
hat, fit for a woodland nymph to wear shaded her dark eyes, now soft,
now sparkling. She expressed many wishes to see much of me, and
reminded me, as did Madame Riano, that I was due at the chateau of
Capello on our return to France. Presently, the coach rolled away,
along the highroad, under the dappled shadows of the linden trees, and
that was the only satisfactory interview I had with Francezka that
bout.
Gaston Cheverny had not so much as even one satisfactory interview,
for, straightway, Francezka was pounced upon by every man who felt the
need of fortune for himself or his sons, and every woman who thought
the estates of Capello would be desirable in her family. Besides this,
there were numbers of young officers who were deeply smitten by
Francezka's own dark eyes, for she was one of those women born to
trouble the hearts of men. No young girl ever had more of admiration
and adulation than Francezka had, on this her first entrance upon a
larger stage than that of a province.
Count Saxe showed her marked, but respectful attention. The Crown
Prince Frederick of Prussia admired her openly, and always danced with
her at the grand balls given every other night by the King of Saxony.
As for the young sprigs of royalty and nobility, Mademoiselle Capello
was the toast of the hour with them, and he that could rob her of her
little slipper and drink her health in it was reckoned a hero.
It may be imagined how pleasant this was to Gaston Cheverny, who could
scarce come near Francezka for the press. Moreover, Count Saxe
attended that camp to work, and he made everybody under him work; so
that Gaston Cheverny had not many hours to play the gallant to any
one. Regnard Cheverny, who was merely a guest, had all the time he
wanted to pursue Mademoiselle Capello, but not even he, the
persistent, the tenacious, could charge successfully through the
cordon of admirers which always surrounded Francezka now. I saw her
sometimes at a distance, dancing at a ball, and looking like a fairy
princess out of a story book; or, riding like a lapwing with Count
Saxe, and other officers; or again, in gorgeous pleasure parties on
the river. But she was like a comet in its brilliant but erratic
course through the heavens, and no longer a fixed star, whose orbit is
known.
Gaston Cheverny's misery was extreme. He passed at once from the high
heaven of delight to the lowest deeps of wretchedness, because,
forsooth, Mademoiselle Capello did not show him the exclusive
consideration she had bestowed on him in Brabant. He called her many
of the hardest names in the lexicon; one would have thought to hear
him rail at her, that she was under a strict obligation not to speak
to another man than himself. Count Saxe and I rallied him often, but
he grew so savage about it that presently we desisted. Regnard was far
more debonair and reasonable, but I have always distrusted that man
who is entirely reasonable in his loves and his hates.
At last the June days came to an end, and with it, the gorgeous
pageantry of the camp of Radewitz. In a night the splendid scene
vanished. The silken tents, the canvas palaces, suddenly were no more.
The fleet of purple-sailed pleasure boats upon the Elbe floated away;
the fair green slopes, the gardens created as if by magic were
trampled on by thirty thousand men on the march. The highway was
choked with coaches and baggage-wagons and horsemen and horsewomen,
and the inns on the roads that led from Radewitz were like camps, so
many persons being forced to lodge out of doors. Count Saxe and
myself, with Gaston Cheverny and faithful Beauvais, the valet, and
other servants, scarcely slept in a bed from the time we left Radewitz
until we reached Brussels. One reason was, that in common with other
officers, Count Saxe was more generous than prudent, and after having
lodged with kings at the camp, often he had not the money for a good
inn. Then we were glad to take up our quarters in a roomy, clean barn;
and one or two of the June nights we slept on the ground in our
cloaks, as soldiers should.
In Brussels, my master made known his necessities to his father, the
King of Saxony, who sent him a splendid remittance. Count Saxe
remained in Brussels while awaiting this remittance, so that he might
judiciously determine, in advance, how to spend it; and after it came,
he naturally continued there, so as to carry out the intentions so
carefully formed.
This time he allowed me to spend in Brabant, and also gave Gaston
Cheverny leave; and Gaston inviting, or rather commanding me to become
his guest, we had a whole fortnight at the Manoir Cheverny.
Regnard went to his own castle of Haret. He civilly entreated me to
visit him, but Gaston putting in his claim strongly to all my time, I
was, very willingly, driven to decline.
We parted from Regnard at Brussels, and rode out in a morning to the
Manoir Cheverny. At every step of the road, Gaston swore a new, strong
and strange oath, that he was done with Mademoiselle Capello; that no
word or act of hers could ever induce him to return to her, no, not if
she made her way from the chateau of Capello to the Manoir Cheverny on
her knees. From reproaching her, he turned to bitterly reviling me,
because I had not stuck my sword all the way through his body, instead
of only about six inches, on our first acquaintance. To this I made
irreverent answers as we rode through the pleasant country. It was
barely noon of the summer day when we came within sight of the Manoir
Cheverny, and at the same time saw the chateau of Capello sitting,
white and beautiful and stately upon its marble terraces and above its
fair gardens and green slopes, like a queen upon her throne. We
skirted the domain and entered the pleasure grounds of the Manoir
Cheverny, and soon were reposing ourselves in the ancient and
comfortable old house.
Two or three old servants had been kept in the place, and it was well
aired and in good order. Scarce had we sat down to an excellent dinner
with good wine, when a letter was brought to Gaston Cheverny. It was
from Mademoiselle Capello, and invited us, both in her own name and
Madame Riano's, to become her guests at supper that evening.
Without one word of apology, Gaston Cheverny dashed away from the
dinner table, wrote a letter of acceptance, and came back looking
exactly as a man does when he has won the first prize in the lottery,
or has just received a field marshal's baton. In an instant of time,
and by a stroke of Francezka's pen, all of his grievances, his
resolves, his fierce resentment, melted away like the mists of the
morning. Nobody could complain that Gaston Cheverny was coldly
reasonable in his love.
Six o'clock was the hour named in Francezka's letter, but Gaston's
impatience was so great that we set out a little after five, and spent
the time loitering in the great park. If I had thought the chateau of
Capello lovely in the autumn days, more than two years before, when
the woods were russet, the earth brown, how much lovelier did it
appear in this rare summer afternoon when it was one vast garden of
beauty! The green, softly rolling hills, the rich park, the purple
woods, the chateau rising from its emerald terraces, its marble
balustrades gleaming white, the fountains plashing diamonds, the lake
blue and still and melancholy, the Italian garden like a poet's
dream--my senses ached with so much beauty--but I forgot it all, when,
in the sunset glow, I saw Francezka Capello.
The bell in the little village church was clanging musically, as
Gaston Cheverny and I mounted the terrace steps. A table was set out
in the rose garden by the side of the canal, for an _al fresco_
supper, and there in the sweet, warm evening air, sat Francezka,
dressed in white, a book, her usual companion, in her hands. Madame
Riano had not yet appeared. As soon as Francezka saw us, she dropped
her book, and ran toward us merrily, like a child, a thin white scarf
floating cloudlike behind her.
I think she felt that Gaston perhaps had some cause for complaint of
her behavior at Radewitz, for never was woman kinder to a man than she
to him at that meeting. And as for myself, one would have thought
Babache, the Tatar prince, and native of the Marais, was the Crown
Prince of Prussia. She wished to know how my health was, and praised
and admired Count Saxe to my heart's content, and desired to know if I
was ready to desert his service for hers.
Thus, warming our hearts with her sweetness, Francezka took us back to
the rustic seats by the canal, where Madame Riano now awaited us.
As we had the good fortune to be favorites of that lady, we were well
received by her also. Gaston Cheverny was a prime favorite of hers,
having won her good will by many warm protestations of his devotion to
what she called the cause of England's rightful king; a devotion which
I think Gaston Cheverny very much exaggerated for purposes of his
own.
We spent a pleasant hour at supper. Old Peter directed the servants
who waited on us. The old man blushed under his tan and wrinkles when
I greeted him kindly. I saw that the story of his niece's disgrace was
ever present with him, and my presence recalled the fate of poor Lisa.
After supper, when the harvest moon was rising in pale beauty, and the
western sky glowed with gold and amber and green, we walked to the
Italian garden. The air of retirement and repose and distance of the
spot grew upon me. It seemed a place for sweet meditation. Francezka,
pointing to the sun dial, said to me:
"So far, it has had none but sunny hours to mark for me." She said
this with a little note of triumph in her voice; but what young girl
situated as Francezka Capello was, at this period of her life, could
have remained wholly undazzled?
Below us lay the lake, dark and solemn under the shadow of the
cedars.
"Listen," said Francezka; and listening, we heard that faint, sad
murmur of the water, that came, no one knew how.
We spent an hour sitting on the stone benches, under the yew and box
hedges, and watching the purple twilight enfold the landscape, as we
conversed. Francezka declared we must have some music, and calling in
her clear voice, a servant heard and answered her, and brought from
the chateau a Spanish guitar. To this Gaston Cheverny sang. Presently,
in response to the silent request of Francezka's eyes, and an eloquent
assent from his own, he sang that song to which I always thought they
attached a fond and secret meaning:
O Richard, O mon roi!
Francezka, with her white scarf about her dark head, listened in her
favorite attitude, her cheek upon her hand; listened with an air that
would have made any man's heart beat the quicker for it.
We did not leave the garden until late, and then it was time for us to
go back to the Manoir Cheverny. On the way through the park and
fields, under the harvest moon, Gaston Cheverny raved as only lovers
rave; but I, of all men, excused him, knowing the object of his love.
The time sped away during that fortnight, albeit I was separated from
Count Saxe. We saw the ladies at the chateau of Capello daily. The
extraordinary kindness of Mademoiselle Capello toward me rather
increased. It seemed as if she lay bare her mind, her heart, her soul,
to me. I was not, and never could be, her lover, but I was her friend.
I found out many things about her that I did not know before. One
was--whether it were a defect or not I do not know--she had few
intimates. She was not only so differently placed, but so different in
herself from most young creatures of her age, that she had not much in
common with them. She confessed to me more than once that she had been
disappointed in feminine friendships.
"When I think I have found a friend and companion I invariably find in
the background a brother or a cousin--some one who wants to rule
here," she said to me one day.
"And whenever you find one of the other sex who seems to know what
friendship is, does he not also resolve himself into a lover after a
while?" I asked.
Francezka laughed and blushed.
"All, except you," she answered. "That is why I turn to you with so
much confidence, Babache. You alone of the whole wide world, as I know
it, can I call my friend, without any admixture of love or flattery.
You alone ever found fault with me, or told me my way was not a
reasonable way."
"But I can not now recall ever having dared to find fault with you,
Mademoiselle," I said, cudgeling my brains.
"Oh, it matters not exactly in words; but I know you would find fault
with me, if you thought I was wrong, and would tell me so, though I
can not bear to be told of my faults--and so I love you"--and then she
laughed, as I did, at her own peculiar logic.
Regnard Cheverny by no means allowed his brother a monopoly of
Mademoiselle Capello's company, but duly appeared, after a few days. I
watched Francezka's behavior to him and came to the conclusion that in
spite of the entertainment she derived from his company, she liked him
no better than she had two years and a half before. I happened to
speak to her one day of the resemblance between the two brothers,
which was so marked.
"How can you think that?" she replied. "I never mistake one for the
other. One is charming--the other is not."
That very evening, the two Chevernys and myself being at the chateau,
we sat down to cards with Francezka and Madame Riano. It was stormy
outside, and a sudden gust of wind coming, all the lights were in an
instant blown out. While we sat in the dark, waiting for the servants
to come and relight the candles, Regnard Cheverny spoke, and his voice
being so much like his brother's, Francezka answered him for Gaston,
and they talked together, much to our diversion. Francezka did not
find out her mistake until the candles were again alight, and then,
instead of laughing, was strangely vexed and offended at the
pleasantry played upon her.
Regnard Cheverny, as well as Gaston, was fond of books, and on that
ground he could hold his own with Francezka. She had all of the new
books sent her from Paris, Brussels and the Hague, including Monsieur
Voltaire's, much to Madame Riano's horror. Likewise, she diligently
studied the harpsichord, having masters from Brussels to instruct her.
She loved to be praised for her good management of her affairs, but I
was inclined to think that old Peter, whose gray, humble head was full
of sound sense for other people's affairs, deserved more credit for
this than he got. One morning, meeting him as I walked through the
park, I remarked upon the beauty and order of the estate and
congratulated him on having so capable a mistress to serve.
"Truly," he said, "mademoiselle has a good understanding of affairs,
but, in confidence, Captain Babache, she makes her mistakes. I tell
her a certain man is lazy, is not doing his work; that I have given
him a fair trial, have warned him, and yet he will not work, so I have
discharged him. The rascal waylays mademoiselle in the park; tells her
a pitiful tale about a wife and seven children all starving. My lady
offers to take him back into her service. Oh, no; my rogue does not
want that; he wants money enough to get to the next town, where he has
a brother who will get him work. Mademoiselle hands him out a gold
piece, returns to the chateau, sends for me, storms at me, and at last
permits me, as a favor, to explain to her that the fellow has no
wife, no child, no brother that I know of, but her gold piece will
enable him to get drunk and to live without work for a month. Oh,
young ladies of fortune are difficult to manage--very. Mine is no
worse than others, I dare say. Rather better than some, for at least
she knows her own mind."
I had said no word concerning Lisa or Jacques Haret, but before the
old man left me he spoke of his misfortune to me, looking as if he
were the guilty one instead of Jacques Haret.
"It was I who was blind--I who should have watched my niece. But I did
not--I was much to blame." The scanty tears of age dropped from his
eyes as he spoke. I asked if anything had been heard of Lisa.
"Not a word," he said, "but I believe, and mademoiselle believes, that
as soon as Monsieur Jacques deserts her, Lisa will return."
So, even poor Peter knew that Jacques Haret would desert Lisa.
Madame Riano was ever talking during that fortnight of her projected
journey to Scotland. I saw that the mention of it made Mademoiselle
Capello very uneasy. Fearless as Francezka was, she knew better than
to attempt to remain alone and unmarried in Brabant, for there was no
strain of deep-seated folly in her. She might find some _dame de
compagnie_ to take Madame Riano's place, but that was not an agreeable
thought to her, and she was very far from being ready to give up her
liberty to any man--just then. She confided to me with secret laughter
that her one hope of keeping her aunt in Brabant was, that the war was
still on with unabated fury between Madame Riano and the Bishop of
Louvain, and Madame Riano had not yet scored a conclusive victory over
her enemy. At present the bishop was trying to get the consent of the
government to add to the episcopal palace, and Madame Riano, who loved
to enact the role of a she-Jupiter, had determined that the palace was
already large enough for the bishop, and was preaching a crusade
through the country against the proposed improvement.