WE RETURN HOME
We left the forest, my father leaning on the arm of his second. One man
with a torch preceded us, and lit us as we got into the carriage.
"A strange end to our visit. Major von der Goltz," said my father.
The Major bowed.
"I shall remain at the Hôtel des Hollandaise in Frankfort for three
days."
The Major bowed.
"Joubert!" said my father. And the carriage drove off; and, looking
back, I saw Major von der Goltz and the jäger with the torch vanishing
amidst the trees.
We passed through Homburg at four o'clock, and at six of a seraphic
morning spired Frankfort rose before us like a city in a fairy tale, so
beautiful, so vague, so ethereal one could not believe it a city of this
sordid earth.
We stayed three days at the Hôtel des Hollandaise. Major von der Goltz
called, and General Hahn. A paper was drawn up, I believe, signed by the
seconds and my father, and by the chief jäger. It was done as a matter
of formality, for the duel was perfectly in order.
Then we started on our return home; and one evening, towards the end of
September, we entered Paris and drew up at our house in the Avenue
Champs Elysées.
Though the Emperor and Empress were still away on their southern tour,
the streets were gay--at least to my eyes. Oh, that Paris of the Second
Empire--that lost city whose gaiety surrounds the beginning of my life,
jewelled with gas-lamps or glittering in the sunlight! Whatever may have
been its faults, its wickedness, its falsity, it knew at least the
vitality and the charm of youth. Men knew how to laugh in those days,
when the echoes of the Boulevard de Gand still were heard in the
Boulevard des Italiens, when Carvalho was Director of the Opéra Comique,
and Moray President of the Council.
"At last!" said my father, as we turned in at the gates and drew up at
the doorway.
He had been depressed on the return journey--a depression caused, I
believe, not in the least by the fact that he had slain his kinsman. The
trouble at his heart was the blow. For a guest to strike his host in his
own house was a breach of etiquette and good manners unpardonable in his
eyes. Yet he had committed that crime.
However, with our entry into Paris this depression seemed to lift.
The major-domo came down the steps, and with his own august hands opened
the door for us, and let down the steps, and gave us welcome with a real
and human smile on his magnificent white, fat, stolid face--the face of
a perfect servant, expressionless as a cheese, which would doubtless
remain just the same were he, constrained by stress of circumstances, to
open the door of the drawing-room and announce: "The Last Trumpet has
sounded, sir."
In the great hall, softly lit and flower-scented, the footmen in their
green-and-white livery stood in two gorgeous rows to give us welcome;
and Jacko, the macaw, four foot from the crest of his wicked head to the
tip of his tail-feathers, dressed also in the green-and-white livery of
the house, screamed his sentiments on the matter. My father had a word
for everyone. It was always just so. This grand seigneur, who had made
his way to fortune less with his sword than with his brilliant
personality, would speak to the meanest servant familiarly, jocularly,
yet never would he meet with disrespect. There was that about him which
inspired fear as well as love, and he was served as few other men are
served. Witness our return that night to a house as well in order as
though we had come back from a trip to Compiègne instead of a two
months' journey to a foreign country.
He dismissed the servants with a word, and, with his hat on the back of
his head, stood at the table where his letters were set out, tearing
them open and flinging the unimportant ones on the floor.
Whilst he was so engaged, a ring came to the door, and the footman who
answered it brought him a letter sealed with a great red seal, which he
tore open and read.
"Aha!" muttered he. "De Morny wants to see me to-morrow. Wonder how he
knew that I was back? But De Moray knows everything. Is the servant
waiting, François?"
"No, sir; the servant has gone."
"Very well," said my father. Then to me: "Come now; get your supper, and
off to bed. François!"
I was led off grumbling.
Joubert tucked me into bed; and as I lay listening to the
carriage-wheels from the Champs Elysées bearing people home from
supper-party and theatre, the journey, the Schloss Lichtenberg, the
mysterious pine-forest, the drums and tramping soldiers of Carlsruhe and
Mayence, the blue Rhine--all rose before me as a picture. It was the
First Act of my life, an Act tragic enough; and, as the curtain of sleep
fell upon it, the glimmer of the jägers' torches still struggled through
that veil, with the sound of the swords, the murmur of the wind in the
pine-trees, and the far-off barking of the fox in the wood.