LA GUIGNOLÉE
"By sports like these are all their cares beguiled."
I woke the next morning with a feeling of elation that for a moment I
did not understand; then I recognized that it was a feeling that
mademoiselle and I would never again be on any but the friendliest of
terms. No more fear of merry scoffing or haughty disdain! I had a
right to look now for only kindness and friendliness.
But I did not know mademoiselle. The morning was bleak; a fine drizzle
of rain, freezing as it fell, was hanging jeweled pendants from every
twig and branch. I went down-stairs, to find that morning coffee was
being served in the living-room, on a small table drawn up before a
blazing fire of logs. Mademoiselle, who did not often come to early
coffee, was serving it, in a warm-looking gown of some wool stuff,
deep red in color, and I thought it suited well her dark beauty and
the bleak morning. I stopped at the threshold to make my low bow, and
then went forward, expecting a less formal greeting. But she only
looked up from the silver urn, whence she was drawing a cup of coffee
for the captain, long enough to say, "Good morning, monsieur," in her
iciest tones, and then went on talking gaily to the captain of the
ball the night before. I did not understand at all, but I thought it
quite possible I had imagined her coldness; and so, without seeming to
push myself unduly, I sought to join in the conversation when
opportunity offered. I think the captain seconded my efforts out of
the courtesy natural to him; but mademoiselle made it so plain that
she desired to ignore me that I soon took my cup and withdrew to a
corner of the fireplace. I hope I did not do anything so boyish as to
sulk there, but of that I am not sure.
When the good doctor came bustling in from his laboratory a few
minutes later, half frozen, but burning with enthusiasm over some
experiments he was making with quicksilver, he brought his coffee to
my warm corner, and I at once simulated the deepest interest in his
account of his morning's work--though I confess I have never taken any
great interest in science, and from what he seemed to expect the
quicksilver to do I did not feel altogether sure that he was not, in
truth, dabbling in black art.
There was a long mirror at the other end of the room--one that Madame
Saugrain had brought from France, and the pride of her heart. As we
talked I could glance in it and see mademoiselle perfectly without
seeming to look at her. I observed that she grew more and more
distrait, only half listening to the captain, and very evidently
trying to overhear our conversation. I had not known that mademoiselle
was so interested in science, and I began to make deep and learned
speeches (or, at least, I hoped they sounded so) on quicksilver and on
every subject allied to it. I did not hesitate to make some remarkable
statements, for whose truth I modestly said I could not vouch. The
doctor was too courteous to show the surprise I think he must have
felt at some of them, but if I had not been so interested in my
investigations in the mirror (which, I am sure, is closely allied to
quicksilver) I would have noticed without doubt that knowing twinkle
of the eye that I had seen at least twice before. My glances in the
mirror, however, showed me that my learned speeches had produced their
intended effect on mademoiselle, at least, and once more I caught that
wondering glance fixed upon me.
I did not see mademoiselle again until the evening supper-hour. After
breakfast Dr. Saugrain invited the captain and me to ride with him up
to Pierre Chouteau's, and on the ride he told us that mademoiselle had
come to him that morning in the laboratory and had told him all about
the chevalier. I was much touched that she had acted upon my advice so
promptly, and half forgave her for her treatment of me at coffee,
though I understood it the less. The doctor did not say so directly,
but I judged from one or two little remarks that he and Pelagie had
had a thorough clearing up of all their misunderstandings and were
once more on the old confidential terms. He spoke especially of her
"sweetness," and said his advice had been, like mine, to write the
chevalier at once a firm refusal. But the good doctor was greatly
troubled.
"I shall never feel quite secure again," he said, "till I have Pelagie
safe with her friends in France; so I shall seek the first opportunity
of sending her there. 'Tis for that I am going to consult Pierre
Chouteau, and I thought you might have some suggestion, one or both of
you, as to how to find an escort for her."
I was so eager with my plan that had flashed on me the night before
that I could not wait to show the proper courtesy to my captain. He
certainly had a right to speak first, but I broke forth, "I have a
plan, sir--" and then was abashed and stopped short.
The doctor understood, and nodded to me.
"Yes; let the captain speak first, and then we will hear your plan."
"Nay," said the captain, with his friendliest smile; "let the lad
speak. He has a plan that seems to me not wholly unpracticable and may
prove the very thing."
Thus encouraged, I rushed ahead:
"I have been talking to Captain Clarke about it, sir, and he thinks it
can be done. My last letter from home said that Colonel Livingston was
about to join his father in Paris. My family know Colonel Livingston
well, and a letter from my father would insure the protection of both
Colonel and Mrs. Livingston for mademoiselle on the voyage."
But the good doctor shook his head.
"I could never get Pelagie to New York, I fear; to both Madame
Saugrain and myself, such a journey seems an almost impossible
undertaking."
"But Captain Clarke has that all arranged," I cried.
The doctor looked at the captain, who answered, smiling:
"It is my good Achates who has arranged it, but I heartily approve of
his plans. It is time we were getting back to Kentucky, and he
proposes that we take mademoiselle with us to my sister, Mrs.
O'Fallon. There she can stay until we can find a suitable escort up
the Ohio to Port Duquesne, and across the mountains to New York. There
are boats going up the river every week, and always some one going
back to the old home to whom we could intrust mademoiselle. I think it
a good and feasible plan."
But we had quite reached Pierre Chouteau's before we had persuaded the
doctor that our plan was at all a practical one. Not, as he assured
us, that he could not trust mademoiselle with us, but the
difficulties, dangers, and inconveniences of such a trip, for a young
maiden with no woman in the party but her colored maid, seemed to him
almost insurmountable. However, he was so nearly convinced by my
eloquence and the captain's logic that just as we were turning in at
Mr. Chouteau's he said:
"Well, well, my dear friends, it may be possible. We will see! I must
take time to consult Madame Saugrain, and, until then, not a word to
mademoiselle, I beg of you both."
We both readily promised, though I was so elated at what I considered
the already assured success of my plan that I might have found it
difficult not to speak to mademoiselle about it if she had not been
in the same icy mood to me at supper (though sweet and most charming
to the captain and her guardian) as she had been at breakfast.
The next day Dr. Saugrain told us that he and his wife had talked far
into the night about Pelagie, and they had come to the conclusion that
our plan was the best solution of the difficulties. He said madame had
wept much at the thought of parting with Pelagie, and of all the
difficulties and dangers she must encounter, before she could become
reconciled to the thought of it; but now she was quite resigned, and
had already begun to plan what clothes and other conveniences it would
be necessary for Pelagie to take with her, and how they could best be
got ready.
"And, after the manner of women," the doctor said, "from the moment
she began to think about clothes, she began to grow cheerful. And she
has such confidence in Clotilde, who will go with her, and who has had
entire charge of her since her babyhood, that she thinks she will be
as well taken care of as if she were with her herself. But we both
think," he added, "that it will be wiser to say nothing to Pelagie
about it until it is almost time to make the start. If, for any
reason, our plan should fail, her mind will not be unsettled by it,
and she will be no worse off than if we had not thought of it.
Moreover, the fewer we take into our confidence the better, for I am
assured the chevalier has spies and secret emissaries that we do not
suspect. We will give him no chance to thwart our plans!"
The good doctor spoke the last words so grimly that it was easy to
understand in what esteem he held the villain, and both the captain
and I heartily approved his precaution.
There followed busy days for me. The captain, who was much engaged in
settling up the business for his brother which had brought him to St.
Louis, had little time for aught else, though Governor Delassus, the
Chouteaus, and Mr. Gratiot made many demands upon him for counsel and
for social festivities, in which last I was courteously included. When
these fell upon the evening I was very ready to join in them, but my
days were more than full. All the arrangements for mademoiselle's
comfort on the boat my captain had intrusted to me, and I was
determined that nothing should be left undone to make her voyage on
the Great River as comfortable as possible. The cabin, a rough affair
at its best, was partitioned into two, and the larger one made as
clean as six blacks scrubbing hard on hands and knees could make it.
Then I got from Pierre Chouteau a small stove such as he often used on
his boat in winter trips up the Missouri, and set it up in the cabin,
cutting a hole in the roof to give egress to the stovepipe. From
Madame Saugrain I got some strips of warm, bright carpet and some
clean warm bedding, and I set Yorke to work, under my careful
supervision, to make the two beds for mademoiselle and her maid, to
tack down the strips of carpet, to put up some white ruffled curtains
(also Madame Saugrain's gift) at the square bit of window, and to
polish up the brass handles of the portable locker that was to hold
mademoiselle's wardrobe. I thought, when all was done,--the small
table covered with a white cloth, and two shining candlesticks on it,
and the three comfortable chairs arranged about it,--I thought it cozy
and complete enough for a trip to France; and my heart beat high when
I thought of the tête-à-têtes with mademoiselle that must almost
necessarily fall to my lot on a voyage of at least a week. But, in the
meantime, I was seeing very little of her, between being busy all day
and often invited out in the evening--and not getting much
satisfaction when I did; for either she was incased in her icy
hauteur, or, if she chanced to be kind, I was so brimming over with my
secret, so afraid I should let it slip, I was unnaturally constrained
with her.
Before I knew it the Jour de l'An was upon us, and the doctor and the
captain had both agreed it would be wise to set out on the day before
the Jour des Rois. On no account would it do to risk remaining over
the Jour des Rois, lest the chevalier should accomplish his purpose in
spite of mademoiselle's letter of refusal.
Now, as its name signifies, the Jour de l'An is the greatest of all
days to these St. Louis Frenchmen. Preparations had been making for it
all the week. The governor himself was to give a grand ball at
Government House, and I had heard mademoiselle telling Captain Clarke,
as we sat at supper on New Year's eve, how that would be only the
beginning of a round of festivities, and that Marguerite Papin,
Pelagie Chouteau, and she had been making the bean-cake that
afternoon.
"And what is the bean-cake, pray, Mademoiselle?" I inquired,
determined to take matters into my own hands and be no longer shut out
from conversation as if I were infected.
Mademoiselle looked up in surprise at my audacity, and for a moment
was of half a mind not to reply to me; but she thought better of it,
and answered coolly and formally:
"'Tis a cake, Monsieur, with four beans baked in it. It will be cut
to-morrow night at the governor's ball, and the four maidens who
receive the slices with the beans will be the queens of the ball. They
will choose four kings, who will then be obliged to get up the ball
for the Jour des Rois, and at that these four kings will choose four
queens, who will choose four other kings, who must give the next ball.
'Tis an endless chain of balls till Shrove Tuesday arrives, to finish
it all up with one grand carnival ball; and so you see, sir, if you
stay in St. Louis I can promise you a merry winter."
I almost laughed as I thought how little she dreamed that she would
not be here herself. Yet the prospect sounded alluring, and I could
have been well pleased to spend the winter in the gay little village,
if the fates had ordained. I answered her to that effect, and then I
added:
"If you could but give me any hope that I should be chosen a king, I
might take fate into my own hands and stay anyway."
"There is much ground for hope, sir," she answered demurely, "since
both Pelagie Chouteau and Marguerite Papin are almost certain to be
queens."
Then, with a quick beat of the heart, I thought perhaps she had not
liked it that they had been friendly and I had been polite. If her
manner to me could be so accounted for I was well content, for at
least it did not argue indifference.
But before I could reply there was a great noise, outside on the
gallery, of shuffling feet and smothered whispers, and mademoiselle
clapped her hands and cried:
"La Guignolée!" And at the same moment there arose, to the quaintest
air, a chorus of men's voices:
"Bon soir, le maître et la maîtresse,
Et tout le monde du logis!
Pour le premier jour de l'année
La Guignolée vous nous devez.
Si vous n'avez rien à nous donner,
Dites-nous le;
Nous vous demandons pas grande chose, une échinée--
Une échinée n'est pas bien longue
De quatre-vingt-dix pieds de longue.
Encore nous demandons pas de grande chose,
La fille ainée de la maison.
Nous lui ferons faire bonne chère--
Nous lui ferons chauffer les pieds."
Horrified at these last words of the song, I scarcely dared glance at
mademoiselle; but when I did dare, to my amazement, she was smiling
good-humoredly, and I saw the words meant nothing to her. But the
chorus was interrupted at that moment by a single voice which I
recognized at once as Josef Papin's, singing a ditty about doves and
cuckoos and nightingales, and winding up by declaring that he was
dying for the soft eyes of his mistress. I saw that mademoiselle
recognized the voice, too, and I was vexed to see the bright color and
downcast eyes that betokened she understood these words perfectly.
But the chorus began again immediately:
"Nous saluons la compagnie
Et la prions nous excuser.
Si l'on a fait quelque folie."
(I thought this apology most becoming.)
"C'était pour vous désennuyer;
Une autre fois nous prendrons garde
Quand sera temps d'y revenir.
Dansons la guenille,
Dansons la guenille,
Dansons la guenille!"
And then the doors were flung open, and there burst in upon us a
motley crew of grotesque and hideous masks, each one bearing a basket
or bucket or sack, and all singing and shouting in every key and in no
time:
"Bon soir, le maître et la maîtresse,
Et tout le monde du logis!"
Madame Saugrain and mademoiselle sprang up from the table and ran to
the kitchen, returning with both hands full, and followed by a
procession of servants bringing eggs and sugar and butter and flour
and poultry and wine--a goodly donation indeed for the Jour des Rois
ball, and for which the maskers showed their thanks by dancing _la
guenille_, a truly Saturnalian performance, somewhat shocking to my
Eastern notions of propriety. But evidently neither the doctor nor his
wife nor mademoiselle saw any harm in it, for they applauded it
greatly, after the French fashion, by clapping of hands and crying
"Encore!"
Yorke had come in with the other servants from the kitchen, and it was
a sight to see his great eyes rolling in ecstasy and his white teeth
displayed from ear to ear as he watched the mummers, and I was not
surprised to see him follow them like one bewitched as they went up
toward the Rue des Granges to Paschal Cerré's house, singing:
"Bon soir, le maître et la maîtresse,
Et tout le monde du logis!"
"You will be having Yorke dancing la guenille," I said to the captain,
"when he gets back to Kentucky."
"An he does," answered the captain, with a grim smile, "I will
bastinado him." For I think the captain did not like some of the
figures of la guenille any better than did I.