GILBERT SNAPS GOLDEN CHAINS.
It is time to return to Gilbert.
Our little philosopher had cooled in his admiration for Chon since at
the outbreak of the collision between Chevalier Jean and Philip of
Taverney he had learnt the name of his protectress.
Often, at Taverney, when he was skulking and listening to the chat of
the baron and his daughter, he had heard the old noble express himself
plainly about the favorite Dubarry. His interested hatred had found a
sympathetic echo in the boy's bosom; and Andrea never contradicted her
father's abuse, for, it must be allowed, Lady Dubarry's name was deeply
scorned in the country.
What completely ranked Gilbert on the side of the old noble was that
Nicole had sometimes exclaimed:
"I wish I were Dubarry."
Chon was too busy after the duel to think about Gilbert, who forgot his
bad impression as he entered the court capital in his frank admiration.
He was still under the spell when he slept in the attic of the royal
palace. The only matter in his dreams was that he, the poor boy, was
lodged like the foremost noblemen of France, without his being a
courtier or a lackey.
Gilbert was in one of the thinking fits common to him when events
surpassed his will or comprehension, when he was told that
Mademoiselle Chon wanted to see him. She was waiting in her carriage
for him to accompany her on a ride. She sat in the front seat, with a
large chest and a small dog. Gilbert and a steward named Cranche were
to have the other places.
To preserve his position, Gilbert sat behind Chon, and the steward,
without even thinking of objecting, sat behind the dog and box.
Like all who lived in Versailles, Chon drew a free breath with pleasure
in quitting the grand palace for the woods and pastures, and said as
she turned half round on their leaving the town:
"How does the philosopher like Versailles?"
"It is very fine. So we are quitting it so soon?"
"We are going to our place."
"Your place, you mean," grumbled Gilbert in the tone of a bear becoming
tamed.
"I mean that I am going to introduce you to my sister, whom you must
try to please, for she is hand and glove with all the great lords of
the kingdom. By the way, Master Cranche, we must have a suit of clothes
made for this young gentleman."
"The ordinary livery?" queried the man.
"Livery?" snarled Gilbert, giving the upper servant a fierce look.
"Oh, no; I will tell you the style after I communicate my notion to my
sister. But it must be ready at the same time as Zamore's new clothes."
Gilbert was startled at this talk.
"Zamore is a little playfellow for you, the governor of the royal
castle of Luciennes," explained Chon. "Make friends with him, as he is
a good fellow, in spite of his color."
Gilbert was eager to know what color Zamore was, but he reflected that
philosophers ought not to be reproved for inquisitiveness, and he
contained himself.
"I will try," replied the youth with a smile which he thought full of
dignity.
Luciennes was what had been described to him.
"So this is the pleasure house which has cost the country so dearly!"
he mused.
Joyous dogs and eager servants came to greet the mistress' sister.
Jeanne had not come, and Chon was glad to see her first of all.
"Sylvie," she said to a pretty girl who came to take the lap dog and
the chest, "give Misapoof and the box to Cranche, and take my little
philosopher to Zamore!"
The chambermaid did not know what kind of animal a philosopher was, but
Chon's glance directed her to Gilbert, and she beckoned him to follow
her. But for the tone of command which Chon had used, the youth would
have taken Sylvie for other than a servant. She was dressed more like
Andrea than Nicole. She gave Gilbert a smile, for the recommendation
denoted that Chon had a fancy, if not affection for the new-comer.
Gilbert was rather daunted by the idea of appearing before so grand
an official as a royal governor, but the words that Zamore was a good
fellow reassured him. Friend of a viscount and a court lady already, he
might face a governor.
"How the court is slandered!" he thought; "for it is easy to make
friends among the courtiers. They are kind and hospitable."
In a noble Roman room, on cushions, with crossed legs, squatted Zamore,
eating candies out a satin bag.
"Oh!" exclaimed the incipient philosopher, "what do you call this
thing?"
"Me no ting--me gubbernor," blubbered Zamore.
Gilbert had never before seen a negro. The uneasy glance which he
turned up to Sylvie caused that lively girl to burst into a peal of
laughter.
Grave and motionless as an idol, Zamore kept on diving with his paw in
the bag of sweetmeats and munching away.
At this moment the door opened to give admission to Steward Cranche and
a tailor to take the measures of Gilbert.
"Do not pull him about too much," said the steward.
"Oh, I am done," said the knight of the thimble; "the costume of
Sganarelle is a loose one, and we never bother about a fit."
"Oh, he will look fine as Sganarelle," said Sylvie. "And is he to have
the high hat like Mother Goose's?"
Gilbert did not hear the reply, as he pushed aside the tailor and would
not help any more preparations. He did not know that Sganarelle was a
comic character in a popular play, but he saw that it was a ludicrous
one, and he was enlightened further by Sylvie's laughter. She departed
with tailor and steward, leaving him alone with the black boy, who
continued to roll his eyes and devour the bonbons.
What riddles for the country boy! what dreads and pangs for the
philosopher who guessed that his manly dignity was in as much danger in
Luciennes as at Taverney.
Still he tried to talk to Zamore, but that interesting African, sitting
astride of a chair on casters, made it run him round the room a dozen
times with a celerity which ought to have shown by anticipation that
the velocipede was a practical machine.
Suddenly a bell tinkled and Zamore darted out of the room with as much
rapidity as he had shown on the novel quadricycle.
Gilbert would have followed, but on looking through the doorway, he saw
the passage so crowded with servants guarding noblemen in gay clothes,
that he shivered and slunk back.
An hour passed, without the return of Zamore or Sylvie. Gilbert
was longing for human company, when a footman came to take him to
Mademoiselle Chon.
Free, after having informed her sister how she had conducted the
mission to Lady Bearn, Chon was breakfasting with a hearty appetite, in
a loose dressing-gown, in a morning room. She cast a glance on Gilbert
without offering him a seat.
"How have you hit off with Zamore?" she inquired, after tossing off a
glass of wine like liquid topaz.
"How could I make the acquaintance of a black boy who does not speak,
but stares and gulps down candies?"
"I thought you said all were equal?"
"He may be my equal, but I do not think him so," answered Gilbert.
"What fun he is!" muttered Chon: "you seem not to give away your heart
in a hurry?"
"With slowness, lady."
"I hoped you held me in affection?"
"I have considerable liking for you personally, but----"
"Thanks for so much! You overpower me. How long does it take for one to
win the good graces of so disdainful a fellow?"
"Much time; some would never win them."
"Ah, this explains why you could suddenly leave Taverney Castle after
staying there eighteen years. It appears that its masters could not
obtain your friendship and confidence?"
"Not all."
"What did they do? Who displeased you?"
"I am not complaining."
"Oh, very well! if you do not want to give your confidence. I might
help you to come out even with these Taverneys if you told me what they
are like."
"I take no revenge, or I take it with my own hand," said Gilbert
proudly.
"Still as you bear a grudge against them, or several, and we have one,
we ought to be allies."
"You are wrong, lady. I feel very different toward different members of
the family."
"Is Lord Philip one whom you paint black or rosy?"
"I bear no ill to Master Philip, who has done nothing to me one way or
another."
"Then you would not be a witness against him in favor of my brother
about that duel?"
"I should be bound to speak the truth, and that would be unfavorable
toward Chevalier Dubarry."
"Do you make him out wrong?"
"He was so, to insult the dauphiness."
"Are you upholding the dauphiness?"
"I stand for justice."
"You are mad, boy; never talk of justice in a royal residence. When one
serves a master, he takes the responsibility."
"Not so; every man should obey his conscience. Any way, I have no
master. I did not ask to come here, and now I will go away, freely as I
came."
"Oh, no, you don't," cried Chon, amazed at this rebellion and getting
angered.
Gilbert frowned.
"No, no, let us have peace. Here you will have but three persons to
please. The king, my sister and myself."
"How am I to please you?"
"Well, you have seen Zamore? He gets already so much a year out of the
royal private purse; he is governor of Luciennes, and though he may
be laughed at for his blubber lips and complexion, he is courted and
called my lord."
"I shall not do that."
"What, when you assert that all men are brothers?"
"That is the reason why I will not acknowledge him my lord."
Chon was beaten with her own weapons; she bit her lips.
"You do not seem to be ambitious?"
"Yes, I am," and his eyes sparkled.
"To be a doctor? You shall be a doctor. That was the costume you were
measured for. Royal physician, too."
"I? who know not the A B C of medical science. You are mocking at me,
lady."
"Does Zamore know anything about governing a castle?"
"I see: you want me to be a sham doctor, a buffoon? The king wants
another merry-maker?"
"Why not? Don't you know that the Duke of Tresmes begs my sister to
appoint him her monkey. But don't hang your head. Keep that lumpish air
for your doctoral uniform. Meanwhile, as you must live on something
better than your pills, go and have breakfast with the governor."
"With Zamore? I am not hungry."
"You will be before evening; if we must give you an appetite, we will
call in the whipper to the royal pages."
The youth trembled and turned pale.
"Go back to my Lord Zamore," continued Chon, taking the silence for
consent, or at least submission. "You will find he is fed daintily.
Mind not to be an ingrate, or you will be taught what gratitude is."
A lackey conducted Gilbert to the mock governor's dining-room, but he
would not eat anything. Nevertheless, when the costume of the doctor in
Molière's comedy was brought, he submitted to being shown how he was to
wear it.
"I thought that the doctors of that time carried an inkhorn and a quill
to write out their prescriptions," suggested Gilbert.
"By Jove they did!" exclaimed the steward. "Let us have the ****
complete while we are about it."
The foreman charged to get the articles, also acquainted Chon, who was
going to join her sister in Paris, with the astonishing willingness
of her pet. She was so pleased that she sent a little purse with some
silver in it, to be added to the doctor's girdle along with the inkhorn.
Gilbert sent his thanks, and expressed a wish to be left alone to put
on the costume.
"Make haste," said the steward, "that the young lady may see you before
she is off to Paris."
Gilbert looked out of the window to see how the gardens were arranged.
Returning to the table, he tore the long black doctoral gown into three
strips, which he made a rope of by tying the ends together. On the
table he laid the hat and the purse and the following declaration which
he wrote:
"LADY: The foremost of boons is Liberty. The holiest of duties is
to preserve it. As you do violence to my feelings, I set myself
free.
GILBERT."
He addressed this epistle to Chon, tied his twelve feet of serge rope
to the window sill, glided down like a serpent, and dropped on the
terrace at risk of breaking his neck. Though stunned a little by the
fall, he ran to some trees, scrambled up among the boughs, slipped
downward till he was on a lower level and could reach the ground where
he ran away with all his might.
When they came for him half an hour after, he was far beyond their
reach.