A CAMPAIGN OF PLEASURE
We returned from the chateau of Capello in the spring of 1740, and
from then until the autumn there was hard work to be done at the
Castle of Chambord. My master proposed to entertain a great and noble
company of guests, including the king himself, during the time of the
boar hunting, a very royal sport which prevails in Touraine. The king
was to come the first week in December and to remain three days. Among
those invited to be of this royal party were Gaston and Francezka
Cheverny. They were to stay a fortnight at Chambord and to spend the
rest of the winter in Paris.
There was, however, a visitor who arrived before we were prepared for
any one. This was Madame Riano. One night, quite early in the autumn,
when there was an army of six hundred workmen at Chambord, and Count
Saxe himself was but indifferently lodged, a traveling chaise drove
up, and out got Madame Riano, come to pay Count Saxe a visit before
she departed for England on one of her expeditions to recover the
crown for Prince Charles Edward Stuart.
My master swore up and down and crosswise when he recognized Madame
Riano's equipage crossing the Bridge of the Lions, but went down to
the courtyard to receive her. He expressed great joy at seeing her,
and also regrets that he could not lodge her, having but two bedrooms
in order, his own and a small one next him, where I, as always, was
lodged. Madame Riano coolly informed him that she should stay the
week, and would occupy his bedroom; he could take mine, and I could
sleep in her traveling chaise.
"But, Madame," said my master, "think of my reputation; a woman, still
young, still handsome like yourself--"
"Great God!" cried Madame Riano, "_you_ have no reputation to lose,
and as for myself, mine is far too robust to be hurt by a little thing
like this. Not that I ever wanted for lovers when I was young, from
the time I was thirteen years old, when that foolish Bishop of Louvain
wanted to marry me; I had a plenty as long as I wanted them."
"It is singular," said Count Saxe, "that a bishop should want to marry
a thirteen-year-old girl."
"He was not in orders then, but was a soft-headed great oaf of a young
man of nineteen, and that you should have understood. Maurice of Saxe,
I think you have never been so sensible a man since you made that
ridiculous fiasco in Courland. It seems to have addled your brain
somewhat!"
And Count Saxe had to entertain that woman a whole week! She took
possession of his only bedchamber, and he, putting it on the score of
propriety, slept on the hay in the stable lofts!
It may be imagined how we worked to be ready to receive the king and
his suite and all the guests asked for that memorable visit. Count
Saxe utilized all of that stupendous genius he had heretofore shown in
his campaigns in preparing a campaign of pleasure for those royal
festivities at Chambord. Besides the king, there were two princes of
the blood, the Duc d'Orleans and the Duc de Bourbon, seven dukes and
peers of France, two marshals of France, and a horde of other great
people.
Three days in the week there were to be stag hunts and boar hunts in
the forest. Two nights in the week there were to be balls, three
nights there were to be cards, and the two other nights plays in the
theater of the castle, otherwise the great yellow saloon. The
playwright was to be no less a person than Monsieur Voltaire, who did
not require much coaxing to follow the king. The ostensible bait held
out to him was that Francezka, with whose beauty, faith and tenderness
all Paris was ringing, would be at Chambord and would take part in
Monsieur Voltaire's plays. He remembered her early triumphs in the
garden of the Hotel Kirkpatrick, and was not averse to a beautiful and
brilliant woman assisting in the making of his fame.
My master was to be in one of these plays, and went to Paris several
times to attend the rehearsals, which were under the direction of
Monsieur Voltaire. Francezka and Gaston had then arrived in Paris.
Count Saxe came back with famous accounts of these rehearsals.
Monsieur Voltaire was very difficult, and everything about the
performance had to be changed a dozen times, except one--Madame Gaston
Cheverny was to play opposite the great Voltaire. He had never seen
her act since that afternoon in the garden so long ago, but he
declared the memory of it remained with him. Other great ladies were
chosen, tried and flung aside. Gentlemen of the best blood of France
were put through their paces before the son of Arouet, the notary.
Count Saxe noted this impudence of Monsieur Voltaire's, and had said
in his hearing that if he, Count Saxe, were hauled and pulled about
unseemly, he would, by the blessing of God, run Monsieur Voltaire
through the body. This insured Count Saxe the most respectful
treatment imaginable from Monsieur Voltaire. My master had told me, on
his return from these Paris rehearsals, that Monsieur Voltaire
maintained the most conciliatory attitude throughout toward Francezka,
who, he declared, was the only actress among all the ladies to be at
Chambord. Francezka's spirit was well known; she was not the niece of
Peggy Kirkpatrick for nothing, and once or twice, so Count Saxe said,
a word on her part and a flash of her eyes showed Monsieur Voltaire
that she would throw up her part at the least hint of impertinence
from him, so he behaved himself perfectly to her, as to Count Saxe.
Madame du Chatelet regarded Monsieur Voltaire as much her own as her
warming pan, or Newton's Principia, so she, of course, had to be asked
to the festivities at Chambord. Then, Madame Villars must be of the
party. She was the daughter-in-law of Marshal Villars, and daughter of
my master's old friend, Marshal, the Duc de Noailles, of whom the
latter would be among the guests. It was that very autumn that Madame
Villars had kissed Voltaire publicly, in her box at the theater, at
the first performance of _Merope_, and to the delight of the audience.
Perhaps Monsieur Voltaire's head was not a little turned by this;
perhaps Madame du Chatelet could have told a tale of the airs he gave
himself with all the women after that, but no matter.
Of course, there were numbers of other young and beautiful women
besides Francezka Cheverny and Madame Villars. Were any of Count
Saxe's loves among them? Perhaps. I, at least, knew not, except that
all women who looked on him fell in love with him, but he can not be
found fault with for that; the fault must be found with the God who
made him so all-conquering, beautiful and bewitching. This is not a
chronicle of Count Saxe's love affairs. He chose his own loves, wrote
his own love letters, and I knew no more about them than I did of the
royal princes of Tatar, from which I was supposed to be descended. As
far as I know he was a veritable St. Anthony. I have heard Chambord
called the castle built for intrigues, and for the "flying squadrons,"
as the gay ladies of the court were named. But whether this be true or
not must be asked of some one better informed about Chambord than
Captain Babache.
By the first day of December all was ready, and on the evening of that
day the king was to arrive, and also Francezka and Gaston Cheverny.
These, with other guests, were to precede the king's arrival by two
hours. It was a cold, bright December evening, the wintry sun just
setting, when the procession of coaches began to roll across the
Bridge of the Lions and into the great courtyard. My Uhlans formed a
guard of honor at the bridge and in the courtyard itself. A subaltern
commanded, but I was present as the ranking officer of Count Saxe's
household.
At least forty ladies and gentlemen had arrived before the coach drove
up from which Francezka and Gaston Cheverny alighted. Count Saxe
awaited them at the foot of the grand staircase, but I was on the
ground to welcome Francezka. It was near dusk of a winter's evening,
but the torches' glare, and the row of crystal lanterns hung above the
entrance gate showed me her face plainly, even inside the coach. She
was a little pale, probably from traveling, but smiled her own sweet
smile at me as soon as she recognized me opening the coach door for
her. Gaston, descending, embraced me cordially. He looked to be in the
highest health and spirits. Francezka, her slender figure wrapped in a
great furred mantle, and her fair face looking out from a black hat
with feathers, stepped down with her usual airy grace.
"The finest thing in this great castle is the face of a friend like
you, my Babache," she said.
There was no time to say more, for she saw Count Saxe and advanced
quickly toward him. If she had been Queen Marie Lecszynska he could
not have greeted her with greater devotion.
I showed them at once to their rooms, which were agreeable but rather
high up, overlooking that wonderful spiral staircase which is the
glory of Chambord. I explained that I had placed them so high that
they might not be disturbed by the noise and commotion which was
pretty sure to be going on night and day in the lower part of the
castle.
"Trouble not yourself about that, Babache," cried Francezka, merrily;
"Gaston and I are not in search of quiet, but gaiety. Life was so
dark for us for seven years that we want it to be as merry as we can
make it now," to which Gaston laughingly agreed.
I had caused a harpsichord to be placed in Francezka's room. To this
she ran, opening it and dashing into a rattling air upon it. Her eyes
were sparkling, the color had come back into her cheeks--her whole air
was one of feverish gaiety. She was then eight and twenty years of
age, but I think I never saw a more girlish looking creature. The
years that most young women spend in going to balls and routs and
suppers, and spoiling their complexions with rouge, Francezka had
spent in the solitude and pure air of the country. She had all the
verve, the freshness, of one to whom the world is still new, and youth
looked out of her shining eyes. It was as if the other Francezka were
laid away with her black Spanish costumes, and this Francezka were the
Francezka who had stormed all hearts on the lake of Uzmaiz and at the
fetes of Radewitz.
I could only remain with them a few minutes, as the coming of King
Louis was imminent. Francezka, too, had to rehearse for the play to be
given that night, so both of us were hurried, but Francezka took time
to say to me:
"We must have one of our old friendly interviews soon, Babache. That
must you arrange for, if you have to neglect not only the king, but
Count Saxe himself."
Two hours later the king, followed by a large suite, arrived. I was in
command of the body-guard, and as such was presented to the king in
the grand saloon, where all the great people were ranged to receive
him. Louis XV was as handsome as ever and, I thought, less wearied,
for he loved to be with Count Saxe.
I reckoned Francezka to be easily the star of the ladies present, and
there were some of the most beautiful women in France in that saloon
of Chambord, their jewels blazing under the waxlights. Nor was Gaston
Cheverny inconspicuous among the gentlemen. He had the grand air as
much as Francezka, and his adventures made him an object of respectful
curiosity. The king conversed with him some time during the evening,
and afterward sent for Francezka. She acquitted herself so well that
she made all the women hate her. Monsieur Voltaire, who was not much
noticed by the king, said if virtue could be made the fashion Madame
Cheverny would have accomplished it.
On that evening began a veritable tempest of pleasure at Chambord, for
I can call it by no other name. I can not say I enjoyed it. First, we
had extra pages of honor, thirty of them, and I had as soon have had
thirty extra devils on my hands. They gave me twice the trouble that
my whole battalion of Uhlans did. Then I had to arrange the entire
business of the hunting--everything, in short, outside of the castle,
and Beauvais had charge of everything inside of it. I seldom got to my
camp bed, next Count Saxe's room, before two o'clock in the morning,
and I was at the stables every morning by daylight.
The first day's diversion was a grand _battue_. The _battue_ was a
magnificent spectacle in the forest, and was not over until late in
the afternoon. Then, on the return to the castle, was organized one of
those wild romps which were the amusement of the court. The
gentlemen, in hunting dress, and winding their silver horns, chased
the ladies through the vast spaces, the winding corridors, the crooked
stairs of the castle, and when caught, the ladies forfeited a kiss, or
a dozen kisses. The little devils of pages were the hounds. These,
being acquainted with the multitude of turns and windings in the
castle, ably assisted the cavaliers, and generally got a box on the
ear for catching a lady, to which the pages responded by kisses on
their own account. It was a very amusing sport, and would have been
harmless if the ladies and gentlemen concerned in it had been angels.
Francezka, to my surprise, took part in it, as in everything else, but
being full of art and finesse, was never caught except by one person,
the aged Marshal Duc de Noailles, who was brave and gallant at the age
of eighty. Gaston Cheverny excelled at this wild and gallant sport,
and the ladies vowed there was no escaping him.
On the first evening of the king's arrival Francezka had a splendid
triumph. Monsieur Voltaire gave _Nanine_ in the theater of the castle,
and Francezka was Nanine, somewhat to Madame du Chatelet's disgust, I
fancy. And for the after piece was _The Tattler_, with the greatest
cast the world ever saw: Francezka as Hortensia, Monsieur Voltaire as
Pasquin, and Count Saxe himself as Clitander.
There were oceans of trouble about this play, and poor Beauvais was
near wild, for Monsieur Voltaire was a troublesome manager, a
troublesome actor, a troublesome guest, a troublesome person
altogether. The play was given in that great yellow saloon,
opening off from the grand staircase, where Moliere first gave _Le
Bourgeois Gentilhomme_, and where Lulli jumped from the stage into
the orchestra to amuse Louis le Grand when he was bored with
_Pourceaugnac_. Monsieur Voltaire was, I am sure, much harder to
please than Louis le Grand, and Madame du Chatelet was harder to
please than Monsieur Voltaire. The performance began at seven
o'clock. The king paid the strictest attention to it, and even
Madame du Chatelet, who was furiously jealous of every woman on whom
Monsieur Voltaire cast his eye, was obliged to behave reasonably.
Monsieur Voltaire was stage manager only in this play. The entire
cast was good, but not one of the ladies and gentlemen could stand
any comparison with Francezka. She was born to be in the very front
rank of actresses; she could have stepped from the theater of the
castle of Chambord on to the stage of the House of Moliere and have
won renown. She swayed the audience, an audience composed wholly of
fine people, whose hearts are hard to reach, and whose souls are
infinitesimal; she swayed them, I say, as if they had all been
shopkeepers, and lackeys, and ladies' maids. As for the pages of
honor, the little rogues did nothing but scream with laughter at
the comedy parts and blubber vociferously at the moving parts.
The applause at the end of each act was deafening, the king leading
off. When the play was over there was frantic hand-clapping, and
shouts of "Brava!" succeeded by a general quiet, for the piece was yet
to come in which Francezka, Count Maurice of Saxe, and Francois Marie
Voltaire were to be the sole actors and Monsieur Voltaire sole
author.
The whole world knows _The Tattler_, but only those who saw it done
at the castle of Chambord on that December night can have any idea of
the wit of the lines, the glow of the sentiment, the pure beauty of
the acting. Monsieur Voltaire was great as an actor in his own
immortal creations. Nobody except that impudent dog of a Jacques Haret
ever dreamed of classing Monsieur Voltaire with any but the great of
the earth, and Jacques Haret did it out of sheer impudence. I had no
love for Monsieur Voltaire, but I can not deny his greatness.
The acting of Count Saxe was like everything else he did, superb. As
for Francezka, I ever thought, as was said of the English poet
Shakespeare, that she showed her art in her tragedy, but her nature in
her comedy. The soft exquisite humor of her Hortensia can not be
adequately described. She kept her audience, including the king, in a
roar of laughter, and when, fastening her glowing eyes on Count Saxe,
as Clitander, she said, in the most innocent sweet voice imaginable,
that she had chosen him because he was "sober, sensible, constant and
discreet," even I had to join the shrieks of amusement; and I never
thought to laugh at Count Saxe.
I could see that the applause had got into Francezka's blood. She
dearly loved a triumph, and she had one now. She was ever the most
graceful creature alive and knew how to make what beauty she had
shine, for I have ever said her taste, her grace, her charm and her
wit were three-fourths of her beauty. At that moment, therefore, all
these things, beauties in themselves, were most in evidence. Her
eyes were luminous and had a kind of veiled brilliance. She was
smiling--her mouth was not perfectly straight, and when she smiled
there was a charming little curve and dimple in the left corner of it,
which gave a piquancy to her eloquent face.
She had a tiny foot, and always wore the most beautiful shoes
imaginable--and in some way, although she seemed careful not to show
her feet, they were always seen. I glanced toward Gaston Cheverny. I
was far back, leaning against the wall, that being my usual station,
and he was one of a number of gentlemen for whom seats were provided,
but who preferred to stand back of the ladies. I saw in his face his
pride and love of Francezka. He seemed to me then more like the Gaston
of former days than I had yet seen him. My heart warmed a little to
him.
When the plays were over Monsieur Voltaire made a short speech. At
that stage of his career he was very anxious to curry favor with the
great, especially as he knew the king did not like him, but no matter
how hard he struggled to be universally flattering, some tinge of his
native sardonic humor would crop out in spite of him. For example, he
complimented Francezka so highly that there was nothing left to be
said of the other ladies, and of course the perfunctory praise he gave
them did not make them love him any the better. Then he made a slight
though obvious allusion to Francezka's long waiting for her husband's
return, comparing it to Penelope, which would have been mightily
effective if he had not said something further about her bringing
conjugal faith into fashion, which was an allusion some of the ladies
could not stand at all, and caused Count Saxe to laugh in spite of
himself. But on the whole, the affair passed off with the greatest
brilliance.
The next thing was the great supper in the hall. Although this was
Beauvais's affair, I was not without responsibility. I had devised a
new and splendid form of candlestick for these royal suppers. These
candlesticks consisted of a hundred Uhlans, the handsomest men in the
battalion, in uniforms of silk and velvet, holding their lances
upright, and from the lance-head blazed a flame of perfumed wax. Then
there were those damnable little pages. It was their duty to hand the
wine at supper and to attend the more distinguished guests; but they
were certain to play some pranks if I were not on hand to stop them.
So I always remained through the supper.
The king's table was set as always, on a dais raised a couple of
inches from the floor, under a royal canopy of crimson velvet with
golden _fleur-de-lis_. To this table he invited Francezka, besides
Madame Villars, Count Saxe, the Duc de Richelieu and one or two
others, but he did not ask Monsieur Voltaire. I heard a subdued murmur
of speculation as to whether he would be asked or not, and I never yet
saw Monsieur Voltaire discomfited that it did not give the assemblage
a wicked delight. Madame du Chatelet was already beginning to fume and
scowl. It was said that sometimes she and Monsieur Voltaire quarreled
to the point of throwing dishes at each other across the table, but
they were always ready enough to quarrel with the world on each
other's account.
Francezka, escorted by the Duc de Richelieu, walked the length of the
great hall, herself a picture of grace and dignity. On her way she
passed Monsieur Voltaire. He stood on one leg, like a stork, his eyes
blazing with rage, chagrin, hope and expectancy. He had not yet been
invited to the king's table, although Francezka had, and this man, who
was capable of writing _Nanine_, and _The Tattler_, was in acute
misery because he had not been asked to take a seat at a certain
table! I saw compassion for him in Francezka's face, and thought she
might contrive to help Monsieur Voltaire. She curtsied low to the
king, ascended the dais at his invitation, and then I heard her say,
as if to herself:
"I must leave room for Monsieur Voltaire," and at the same time
flashed from under her long lashes a look so full of meaning, so
droll, and saying at the same time, "I pray your Majesty will excuse
my awkward country ways."
The king burst out laughing and told Count Saxe to fetch Monsieur
Voltaire, which he did. I never saw a creature so pleased as Monsieur
Voltaire was at this. I am sure Moliere did not show the same childish
delight when Louis le Grand divided with him the celebrated wing of
chicken.
Supper over, the king led the way to the ballroom, where, from a great
orchestra of twenty-four violins, an ocean of music rose and fell like
the waves of the sea. Count Saxe walked the _minuet de la cour_ with
Francezka. It seemed as if this night was to be her apotheosis, for
everything seemed designed to show her off and to give her the first
place. Monsieur Voltaire did not dance, but overwhelmingly grateful
for the ruse by which Francezka had got him to the king's table, could
not be too assiduous to her or praise her wit too highly. From that
hour she was queen at Chambord. It was after midnight that the ball
began. I remained only an hour or two, and then went to my rest, but
not in my chamber next Count Saxe's for once. I had not had much sleep
for several nights, so I betook myself to the stables, where, upon a
pile of oats designed for the morning's feed, I wrapped myself in my
cloak and fell into a deep slumber.