THE BOAR HUNT
It was bruited about the castle that Madame Cheverny was ill and could
not appear, which did not in the least surprise me, after our
interview that afternoon. In the midst of the ball, however, Francezka
appeared, perfectly radiant, and repeated her triumphs of the night
before. I hoped from this that our conversation had dissipated all
those strange ideas concerning Gaston which had lodged in her mind.
If Francezka was admired by the men, Gaston certainly succeeded in
captivating the ladies. Many of them declared that any woman could
have been faithful to a man as charming, as witty, as gallant, as
Gaston Cheverny. The king retired from the ball at midnight; he had
grown lazy by that time, but the gentlemen and the "flying squadrons"
kept going for two hours more, although they had to rise at daylight,
to go upon a great boar hunt, and this was the second day and night
they had been pleasure-driven. Francezka was among the last to leave
the ball room, and if a sparkling face and smiles and laughter are any
indication of a heart at ease, Francezka was a happy woman. But she
was, also, a consummate actress.
Next morning, daybreak saw us assembled in the courtyard. The hunting
of the wild boar is serious business. There is a song about the
--firm seat and eagle eye
He must acquire who would aspire
To see the wild boar die.
For my part, I dread to see many men and any woman take part in this
dangerous sport. I especially wished that Gaston Cheverny, with his
infirm right arm, and Francezka, with her adventurous spirit, should
not be of the hunting party; but I had no doubt they would be, and my
apprehension was verified; for both of them were in the great
courtyard when the company was mustered.
The king, being lazy and brave--for most lazy men are brave--frankly
declared he meant only to be a spectator of it. So did the old Marshal
de Noailles. There are some men who have attained the highest form of
courage in being able to refuse danger. There are others who fear to
refuse it; others again, who despise it; and a small remnant by whom
the zest of danger can no more be resisted than the drunkard can
resist wine. These last are always found in a boar hunt.
The preparation for this sport shows that it is seriously regarded.
All who take part in it must eat lightly on that morning. The host,
before starting, gives such instructions as he thinks necessary,
especially to listen for a shout of "Take care!" Also, he warns all
present against the boar when he seems to be dying or even dead, for
the brute is capable of doing great damage in the very article of
death. The final words spoken on these occasions are always solemn--
"And may God have us in His keeping."
Although ladies were allowed upon this hunt, and were even armed with
hunting knives, it was not expected, nor indeed permitted, that they
should take an active part in it, being mostly spectators, and
especially keeping at a safe distance when the final tussle with the
boar is on. A full-grown boar, luckily, is bulky and noisy and not
swift of foot, as reckoned with other animals, so it is quite possible
to see the sport without being in actual danger. I was in hopes that
this was Gaston Cheverny's plan, but found I was mistaken. He had
acquired considerable dexterity with his left arm, and carried his
boar spear in his left hand with both ease and strength. But the
command of a left arm gained by a man after he is thirty years of age
is not to be depended upon in an encounter with the most savage animal
of which we have any record.
We set out as soon as the king appeared, and proceeded to a place in
the forest, about two leagues away, in which the beaters had found for
us a _marcassin_, or wild pig, which would afford very good sport, and
not so dangerous as a full-grown boar. But the lovers of danger in our
party--and there were many--I knew, would never be satisfied with
hunting the pig, and there would probably be some dangerous business
before we returned to the castle. We had dogs of the ancient
boar-hound breed, black marked with tan, as large as mastiffs, and
with prodigious ears. Our _piqueurs_ were especially trained to hunt
the boar, and it was inspiring to see how both men and dogs took to
their work. We reached the forest before the sun was high. The woods
had already been beaten by boys with kiaki--a kind of wooden clapper,
of which the name describes the noise. The _marcassin_ had been found,
and the dogs put in at once. The whole thing could have been over in
fifteen minutes, but the piqueurs, with great skill, managed to make a
whole morning's amusement out of it, and it was noon before the joyous
_hallili_ of the huntsman's horn proclaimed that the wild pig was
dead.
All the ceremonies of presenting the boar's head were gone through
with before the king, in an open glade in the forest. Although it was
December, the day was mild and the sun warmed the brown earth and the
crystal-clear air. A great fire was built, and from it a royal dinner
was served by a regiment of cooks. The rude tables were covered with
embroidered cloths, and gold and silver plate abounded. It was a feast
worthy of Francis the First. Monsieur Voltaire was at the dinner,
along with others of the guests who did not take part in the hunt; and
the notary's son kept the whole company in a roar with his witticisms.
Francezka was in high spirits, and had the honor of much notice by the
king, by Count Saxe, and Monsieur Voltaire, to say nothing of the
Dukes of Bourbon and Richelieu.
It was two o'clock before the dinner was over, and then the major part
of the company made ready to return to the castle. The word was
quietly passed around, however, that for those who wished real work,
there was an old "solitary" which had been placed, and those who liked
might go after him. The ladies were not informed of this, and when
Count Saxe, and half a dozen others remained, it was supposed that
they would have nothing more dangerous or exciting than another chase
after a _marcassin_. When the cavalcade, including the king, were
riding off, Francezka turned in her saddle, and, looking toward
Gaston, who remained behind, cried:
"Remember, you have but one good arm and part of another one--so,
having so lately got you back, let me not lose you now."
"I promise to take all care," Gaston answered. The look they
exchanged, full of genuine affection, made yesterday's interview seem
dreamlike to me.
There were not more than a dozen of us in this party, including Count
Saxe and Gaston Cheverny. It was not for me to warn Gaston against
what we were about to engage in. Count Saxe gave him a gently civil
intimation of the danger ahead, but Gaston took no note of it, and was
as eager as any one to find the "solitary." We put off into another
part of the forest. I rode by Gaston Cheverny's side, and privately
resolved to remain there. We talked together and I found him more like
the old Gaston than I had yet seen him.
This foolhardy expedition was exactly like Gaston; but when I saw the
quickness of his eye, and the alertness of his movements, I concluded
he could take care of himself better than any of us supposed. It was
about three o'clock when we got to the circle in which the beaters had
surrounded the old boar. He had been hunted twice that season and had
escaped both times. Huntsmen are very superstitious, and they had got
the notion that if this boar were not killed in the third chase, there
was something unearthly about him. This was fostered by some laughing
remark of Count Saxe about the hunt of Thibaut of Champagne, and the
"solitary" being the ghost of a boar. His ghostship, however, was soon
disproved, by finding his huge tracks in the soft brown earth.
Soon the dogs gave tongue, and the chase was on. We could get
occasional glimpses of the boar's vast bulk, as he made prodigious
speed for so heavy an animal through the thickets. There was a small
ravine through which a brook flowed, and for this the boar made. We
could hear him crashing through the underwood, and he got across the
brook. The dogs and huntsmen followed quickly after him. The dogs
found the scent again immediately after crossing the water, but on
reaching a large, open plateau above the ravine, they suddenly and
inexplicably lost it. There were no tracks to be seen, and the boar
must have turned off either to the right or the left, in a fringe of
thick underwood that bordered the ravine. The dogs ran aimlessly
about, keeping up a dismal yelping of despair. The huntsmen encouraged
them by horn and voice, but were evidently chagrined by this singular
disappearance. My master twitted them with stories of the ghostly hunt
of Thibaut, but it was plain the huntsmen thought it no joking matter.
They succeeded in putting the hounds into the thicket on the right,
but, although there was an infinity of barking and yelping and
whining, it was plain that the scent had not yet been found.
Meanwhile, as we were standing about this open space, in the clear
December afternoon, listening to the dogs and men, Gaston Cheverny
dismounted, and ran a short distance toward the thicket on the left.
Count Saxe called out to him to keep a firm hold on his spear, which
he held in his left hand. He turned to answer, when we saw, breaking
from the cover directly behind Gaston, the boar, his horrible mouth
wide open, his tusks grinding and churning blood and foam, his
eyeballs like coals of fire, and his bristles rising like a mane.
We all involuntarily shouted "Take care! Take care!" but no one of us
was closer than thirty yards to Gaston or the boar either. As the
creature raised himself to bury his tusks in his enemy, I saw Gaston,
with the quickness of thought, drop the spear from his left hand, and
drawing his hunting knife with his right hand, plunge it once, twice,
thrice in the boar's throat. These powerful thrusts were the beast's
deathblow, but he was still capable of killing Gaston Cheverny, had
there been the least remission in those tremendous strokes with the
hunting knife. By that time we were on the ground close to him, and I
was about to use my spear when Count Saxe motioned me away. The boar,
although still fighting savagely, was clearly overmastered; a dozen
dogs were tearing at him from behind.
It would have been an outrage to interfere then, so we stood ready for
emergencies, while Gaston, with the assistance of the dogs, despatched
the huge beast. The huntsmen were all on hand then, and when, at last,
the great carcass fell over, they surrounded Gaston with shouts of
delight. He was covered with blood, but had not a scratch on him. He
could not explain how the boar got so close to him, except that he was
listening to the dogs in the distance, and the first thing he knew he
was looking down the boar's throat. The next thing he remembered, was
the plunging of his knife into the beast's throat, time after time.
Like all truly brave men Gaston did not try to make out the accidents
of good fortune as deliberately planned by him. But seldom have I, in
war or sport, seen greater courage, address and strength than Gaston
Cheverny showed on this occasion.
Count Saxe congratulated him warmly, reminding him of that other
occasion when by his quickness he had passed himself off for Count
Saxe, and so had earned for himself seven years of captivity, but had
saved Count Saxe. Gaston received this and all our congratulations
with becoming modesty. He turned away from our praises to give liberal
drink-money to the huntsmen, who were delighted beyond reason at the
killing of the old "solitary," and that, too, without a man or a dog
being injured. It was then determined to return to Chambord, whose
distant towers glowed in the sun.
Gaston, as may be imagined, was in a very wretched condition. He
washed off some of the blood in the little brook, threw away his
handsome hunting coat, borrowed a jacket from one of the huntsmen, and
we set off at a smart pace toward the castle.
From the moment I had noticed that Gaston Cheverny wielded his knife
in his right hand, my mind had been in a whirl. That right hand and
arm, so swift, so sure, so steady, so strong, was the one he had said
was so weak, that he could not even guide a pen with it, nor play the
guitar. Francezka's parting warning had been to remember the infirmity
of that arm--and then--
We rode along briskly the two leagues to the castle. Gaston Cheverny
was naturally elate, and even in the bravest of men, there is an
exhilaration, a sort of intoxication at finding one's self alive when
the chance of death was very imminent. I fell behind all the party,
and was rallied by Count Saxe on my taciturnity, and accused of
jealousy of Gaston Cheverny's prowess, but I let him have his joke.
When we reached the castle, we went to our rooms. Mine was the little
one I speak of, next to Count Saxe's bedchamber. When I was washing
off by candle-light the stains of the chase--for it was then after
dark--my master entered. He looked at me significantly, going through
with Gaston's motion of plunging the knife into the wild boar; he knew
the story of that weakly arm. I looked back at him and shook my head;
I could no more understand it than he.
We hastened down to the state supper in the great dining hall. The
king was indisposed or lazy, so his Majesty did not appear, and I
think the party was the gayer thereby. There was but one long table in
the dining hall, and at it were seated above a hundred persons. I was
near the foot, and Gaston Cheverny, in honor of his exploit, sat next
Count Saxe. Francezka sat about midway the table, with a gallant on
each side of her.
The aspect of happiness she had shown since the night before remained
with her. She wore both powder and patches, and according to the
fashion, there was a tinge of rouge upon her cheek. She was
magnificently dressed in a pale green gown, the color of water-cress,
embroidered in silver, and wore a splendid head-dress. I thought I had
never seen her more truly the great lady. She knew, of course, what
Gaston's adventure had been, but I suppose he had not given her all
the particulars.
The supper was singularly merry, perhaps owing to the absence of the
king. The singing at the table was entirely of hunting songs; the
little rascals of pages took good care to keep Gaston's glass
filled--he was a great hero with them then. When it came time for the
toasts, Count Saxe arose and after drinking to the king and the
ladies, gave Gaston Cheverny's health, together with an account, as
only Maurice of Saxe could give it, of the exploit of the afternoon.
I knew not at the time if Count Saxe intended it, but he seemed to lay
the greatest stress upon Gaston's feat being performed with the right
arm--as if any man could have done it with his left one. My master
told me afterward, that it was quite involuntary with him mentioning
Gaston Cheverny's right arm, that he meant rather to avoid it, but, to
his chagrin, the words kept coming up in his speech, he, all the
while, feeling that it sounded foolish to mention that it was done
with the right arm.
I glanced toward Francezka while Count Saxe was speaking. There are
some inconveniences attached to sharpness of intellect--nothing escapes
it. As Count Saxe proceeded with his recital, I saw that Francezka
had seen at a glance the mystery in it. I had no apprehension of any
show of agitation on her part, she was a woman of too flawless
courage and too good an actress, but she would not suffer the less. I
saw a shadow come over her eyes as I had seen a black cloud darken the
face of the lake at Capello. I saw her hands tremble slightly. She
looked steadily at Count Saxe, and avoided the gaze of Gaston Cheverny
which became fixed on her. He had taken more wine than usual. His
steady glances, although smiling enough, were calculated to draw her
gaze toward him.
At last, as if forced against her will, she raised her eyes to his,
and in them was doubt and despair. All this went on secretly as it
were, amid the talking, the laughing, the singing of a hundred persons
at the supper, with a band of more than forty musicians twanging in
the music gallery above us. Soon after this, the company arose and
went into the grand ball room. The _branle_ was at once formed, and
Francezka, as on the night before, led it with Count Saxe. She showed
not the slightest tremor or agitation, but I knew of the wild beating
of her heart under the lace and jewels.
Gaston Cheverny was the hero of the hour. He danced, too, and the
women, who all adore brute courage, wooed him with their smiles and
arch glances. I saw him dancing with Madame Fontange, whom both
Francezka and I had seen him chasing up the great staircase two days
before. Francezka was dancing in the same _minuet de la cour_. There
is a part when, to languorous music, the gentlemen, with their plumed
hats, sweeping the ground, bow low to the ladies. As Gaston Cheverny
did this, I saw suddenly flash into his eyes that look of Regnard
Cheverny's. Francezka saw it, too. It was the very end of the minuet.
In the confusion that followed the breaking up of the dance Francezka
disappeared. In a little while there was a hue and cry raised for
Madame Cheverny. Messengers were sent after her. She was in her rooms,
and sent word back that she was fatigued with the chase that day, and
as she was to rehearse next day as well as act, she begged to be
excused. When I heard this message repeated, I left the ball room, and
going up the great spiral staircase, open to the moonlight which
flooded the earth, stopped opposite Francezka's window. The sky was
studded with glowing stars, and a great silver lamp of a moon made the
night radiant. Below, lights were shining from every window, and the
swell of the music kept rhythm with the beat of the dancers' feet. But
there, at that lonely height, all was still as death. Francezka's
window opened. It was not four feet from me.
"I knew your step," she said.
I remained silent and awkward. My heart, aching for her pain, had
brought my body thither, but after I had reached her, I knew not what
to say. She still wore her splendid gown and all her jewels.
"I know all about that _coup de grace_ with his right arm," she said
in a voice quiet, though trembling a little. "Do you wonder that I am
always in terror of something, I know not what? One thing is certain.
I do not know Gaston any longer. He is as strange, even stranger to me
than he is to you. Also, he is as kind, as devoted to me as ever he
was. I hate and dread mysteries--and I am enveloped in one."
She continued looking at me for a moment; I still knew not what to
say. Then, she softly closed the window. I remained out there on the
stairs until the December cold forced me to seek the fire in the great
hall below. There sat Gaston Cheverny, among a number of gentlemen. He
was the gayest, and might be adjudged the comeliest, gracefullest,
most accomplished man there, excepting always Maurice, Count of Saxe.
The next day, the king left Chambord, but the other guests stayed on
for a full fortnight.
It often occurred to me, that Chambord in its palmiest days, of
Francis the First with his Ronsard, of Louis le Grand with his
Moliere, never sheltered more wit, beauty and courage, than it did at
this time. The wit and courage of Count Saxe are too well-known to
need comment, and the same may be said of the Duc de Noailles, Marshal
Boufflers, Monsieur d'Argental, and others then at Chambord. As for
beauty, combined with wit, Francezka Capello led all the ladies, but
there were other gifted ones. Even Madame du Chatelet, in spite of her
everlasting algebra and Newton's Principia, was not an ill-looking
woman. Madame Villars and Madame Fontange were charming. The presence
of these ladies and others, all remarkable for spirit, was ever after
alleged as the reason for the disappearance of the celebrated pane of
glass, in one of the windows of the yellow saloon which was used as
the theater.
On this window pane Francis the First had scratched this ungallant
distich:
Toute femme varie,
Mal habile qui s'y fie.
One night, Monsieur Voltaire read this aloud, and kept the whole
saloon in a roar over his idea of what Francis the First would have
said were he to come to life then. His tirade was interrupted by
Francezka and Madame Villars seizing him, blindfolding and tying him
with their scarfs and putting him for punishment into a sort of
improvised stocks. In vain Monsieur Voltaire called upon the gentlemen
to assist him; he was left helpless in the hands of the ladies, who
maltreated him severely. Monsieur Voltaire's evident enjoyment of his
punishment at the hands of these captivating creatures brought about
one of those domestic tempests which frequently disturbed the
atmosphere of Cirey and of the "Petit Palais" on the isle of St.
Louis.
It was said that in the heat of the discussion next morning about it,
Madame du Chatelet threw Newton's Principia at Monsieur Voltaire's
head, and he made a narrow miss by dodging. Certain it is, they had
high words, and Madame du Chatelet in a huff left the castle some days
before Monsieur Voltaire; and it was noted that he seemed much gayer
and more gallant after the lady's departure than before.
Meanwhile, the pane of glass mysteriously disappeared. I have no doubt
it was accidentally broken by one of those little rogues of pages of
honor, who was afraid to acknowledge his fault; but Monsieur Voltaire
chose to put it on the ladies in general and on Francezka in
particular, and there was great sport and much wit over the matter.
Francezka was the gayest, the airiest, the most daring of the ladies;
she never more said a single word to me concerning that misery which
she had represented to me as eating her heart out; and though as kind,
as tender to me as ever, she rather avoided private conversations with
me--for which I was glad.
Gaston seemed to me to become more like the Gaston of old than he had
been, but my heart did not warm to him, nor could I forget that
incident of his killing the wild boar. He made no allusion to this
whatever, and continued to use his left arm only. I would have given
much to know what he supposed we thought of it.
Of course, the play was high, on the nights when there were cards, and
Count Saxe enriched several of his guests by his losses. He lost
magnificently, and won with the greatest modesty.
During this fortnight the consumption of victuals, wine and horse feed
was something stupendous, but my master never grumbled about the
charges. Luckily, he had Beauvais to look after the wine and victual,
and myself to look after the horse feed.
At last came the day of departure. The servants and baggage wagons
were sent on some hours in advance and at nine o'clock in the morning
the company all set out together for Blois, where they were to
disperse. Gaston Cheverny rode with the gentlemen, and Francezka
traveled alone in her coach. She bade me an affectionate good by and
begged me to come with Count Saxe to the chateau of Capello, in the
spring. Apparently she was happy and composed, but I knew she was
neither. There was a searching and anxious expression in her eyes
which, in spite of her smiles and gaiety, showed me a heart disturbed.
That night every soul in the castle was in bed a little after nine
o'clock, and I think we all slept a week.