282CHAPTER XXIIHER BEST BELOVED
I considered within myself whether it were not my duty to confide to Count Saxe the fact that Francezka was Gaston’s wife, and I quickly concluded that it was my duty. And so one night, sitting at the writing table, I told him the story of Francezka’s and Gaston’s love.
Count Saxe listened to me attentively.
“So, my lady Francezka takes the bit between her teeth and marries the man of her choice. Well, any one might safely have predicted as much. It is a good thing, though, that her fancy turned to Gaston instead of Regnard Cheverny, for Gaston is much the better man. But it is impossible—I say, Babache, it is impossible—that Gaston Cheverny should not shortly reappear.”
When Count Saxe used the word impossible, I knew for the first time he felt a poignant doubt and anxiety.
“And how shall Madame Cheverny be informed?” I asked.
“As Gaston Cheverny’s coolness saved me from the consequences of my own rashness—for look you, Babache, I was rash, and showed all the qualities of a bad general in remaining here practically unguarded—it is283as little as I can do to have the news of his disappearance gently conveyed to his wife. So, be prepared to ride for Brabant by the day after to-morrow if nothing be heard of Gaston Cheverny by that time.”
My heart leaped and then sank into an abyss. I should see Francezka, but what news should I carry to her!
“It would be well,” added Count Saxe, “that Regnard Cheverny be formally notified of his brother’s disappearance, that he may assist in the search.”
Which was done, a special messenger taking the letter to Prince Eugene’s headquarters, from whence it would be forwarded to Regnard Cheverny.
I made my preparations next day to leave the following morning, for I felt an inward painful conviction that nothing would be heard that day of Gaston Cheverny. Count Saxe gave me leave to remain as many days in Brabant as necessary, and if Francezka wished to return with me, I was to escort her. Such was the generous nature of the man. I took with me that last letter Gaston had written, but his other papers and belongings I left under my master’s care, hoping—but alas! not believing—that before I returned Gaston Cheverny would have been found. I rode hard on that journey, and on the fifth evening after leaving Hüningen, about ten o’clock, I reached the château of Capello. It had been less than a month since I had left Francezka full of hope and joy, and I had come now to rob her of all except hope.
Although it was the fragrant time of the year, the evening was chill, with a fine, cold rain falling. The284lights were still burning in the little yellow room where Francezka usually sat.
My knock at the great door of the château sounded to me like the crack of doom. Old Peter opened the door, and by some magic of thought, he saw at a glance that I was a messenger of evil. Without a word, he led me to the yellow saloon, and announced in a trembling voice, which was a warning in itself:
“Here, Madame, is Captain Babache.”
Francezka was alone, but not without companionship. The dog Bold lay at her feet. Her harpsichord was open, a book lay by her on the table, and her fingers were busily employed on some fine needlework, for she was an expert needlewoman. I had schooled my countenance, but I verily believe, without levity, that there is something sinister in extreme ugliness, and it was that which gave old Peter the warning of evil, and also Francezka. As she heard my name, she sprang up, her vivid face breaking into a smile like sunlight, and she cried, in her sweet and penetrating voice:
“Oh, Babache, how glad I am to see you! And how is my lord? And where is the letter, for surely he has written me.”
I handed her silently the letter I had found on Gaston’s table. She snatched it from my hand, kissed the signature, and read it and re-read it, smiling joyfully all the while; then, for the first time, looking closely at me, her smile faded, her eyes grew anxious, and stepping forward, she laid her hand on my arm. She said not one word, but her eyes commanded me to speak. She told me afterward that the look in my face frightened285her so that she could hardly stand. But I, obeying the command in her eyes, told her every word concerning Gaston that I knew. She heard me to the end, and I could see that like all really courageous persons, she grew calmer as the danger got closer. When I had finished, she said to me in a steady voice:
“And you say, Babache, there is not the smallest evidence that my husband is dead?”
“Not the least, Madame. Not a handkerchief belonging to him has been found. There is a boom at the narrowest part of the river, below Hüningen, which would stop the body of a ferret, much less a man’s, and nothing has been found there.”
She drew a long breath of relief, and sat down, leaning her head on her hand—a favorite attitude of hers. The dog Bold, knowing as well as I that Francezka was troubled, lay down at her feet, and licked the half-open hand that hung at her side. I then told her that Count Saxe had directed me to place myself at her service.
“How good that was of him!” she said. “And you, of all persons, would be the most helpful to me, for, of course, I intend myself to go in search of my husband. Has Regnard been notified of Gaston’s disappearance?”
I replied that he had, but so far no word had come from him. Francezka reflected a little while. Then she said:
“Babache, you are the best and truest of souls, and are my chief dependence. But I think it would be an abuse of Count Saxe’s indulgence to keep you here. I can not, as Mademoiselle Capello, go in search of Gaston Cheverny. I shall have to assemble my friends286and neighbors and announce to them my marriage. Then I shall provide myself with a stout traveling chaise and travel to Hüningen, and search and search until I find my best beloved.”
I had often remarked upon the natural good sense which was the basis of Francezka’s character, and saw at once the justness of her course.
“So,” she said, bravely recovering her cheerfulness, “you will remain here to rest, and you shall leave when you like and I will follow you within the week.”
I explained, however, that if I were at liberty to return at once I should go back to Brussels that very night and start for the Rhine country next morning. To this she agreed, when she saw I had reason on my side, but before I went she made me sup, and had brought out for me a bottle of the true lachrymæ christi, of which her father had laid in a small store at a great price. By midnight I had said farewell to Francezka and was again in the saddle.
As I rode through the blackness and solitariness of the night I could but reflect upon the extraordinary courage and constancy of women when really put to the test. Francezka was the last woman in the world to be weak in the face of calamity. She had in her the making of ten good soldiers, including a general.
My master was at Philipsburg with his command when I again saw him. He was assisting the Duke of Berwick in the siege of that important place. I did not need to ask him if there was any news of Gaston Cheverny; I saw at the first glance there was none.
The siege went on steadily. We had in our army too many “red heels” andtourlourous. The red heels287were those luxurious and worthless young gentlemen sent us in chaises from the court, who had not one single idea of a soldier in their empty heads, and who were fit for nothing but to lead the forlorn hope, waving their swords frantically, and bawling “Follow me!” Thetourlourouswere the raw levies, of whom we had more than was quite comfortable. To balance this, Prince Eugene had in his army eighty royal princes, which in itself was enough to account for the strange paralysis of this active old general.
But a dreadful misfortune lay in store for us. On the twelfth of June, at nine o’clock in the morning, Marshal, Duke of Berwick, while standing upon the banquette, and directing the captain of the siege, was struck by a cannon ball—whether French or Austrian, was never known—and was blown to pieces. In an instant of time he had made the whole journey from this country into the other one, and suffered not one pang. He had made twenty-nine campaigns, and had commanded in fifteen, and had never had his skin broken. Glory holds an invisible shield before her children. Cæsar was never wounded, nor Pompey, nor Charlemagne, nor Henry IV, nor any of the great generals of Louis XIV. But sometimes, the days of a warrior being accomplished, he is accorded death upon the Bed of Honor, as it was anciently called. The great Constable de Bourbon never received but one wound, and that his death wound, while leading the assault. Old Marshal Villars, lying at the age of eighty on his deathbed, said, when he heard how the Duke of Berwick had been called higher: “That man was ever lucky.”
The sorrow and confusion brought about by this288terrible loss is not to be described. But the soldiers, infuriated by the death of the great marshal, demanded Philipsburg as a sacrifice to his ashes, and the siege was conducted with the greatest fury.
Within three weeks from the time I had parted from Francezka in Brabant I received a message from her. She was at a little village, three miles from Philipsburg, and desired to see me.
I had no difficulty in getting away, and I reached the village where Francezka was, in the late afternoon. It was a small, peaceful place, lying in the lap of the hills, and the inn on the outskirts of it was plain, but comfortable. When I rode up, Francezka was awaiting me on the balcony of her room. Her traveling chaise was in the tavern yard, and I caught sight of Peter, with two men servants, and Elizabeth, Francezka’s maid.
As always, Francezka seemed glad to see me. She knew I had no news of Gaston, and only asked me if search was still kept up for him. I told her yes, and that Count Saxe had increased the already large reward offered for news of Gaston. Also I told her that we were well convinced Gaston must be on the farther side of the Rhine; I did not say “if alive.” I could not, with Francezka’s lovely, miserable eyes upon me. But she was perfectly calm and collected. I never saw her more entirely mistress of herself.
I then asked her of her own affairs since we had parted. She told me that she had thought best to make the announcement of her marriage as public and as ceremonious as possible, and for that reason had invited all of the most considerable people of the neighborhood to the château of Capello on a certain day. She told289me—poor, unhappy Francezka—that in anticipation of a gala when Gaston should return, she had prepared handsome new liveries for all her servants, and had refurnished the red saloon, and had hung the Diana gallery with mirrors. These things she determined to display on the day she made the announcement.
“For, in spite of my heavy misfortune in not knowing where my husband is, it must ever be a day of congratulation and of honor with me when I tell the world that I am Gaston Cheverny’s wife,” she said proudly.
She had written to the Bishop of Louvain with her own hand, but by some accident he had heard before receiving the letter that Francezka was privately married—only that Count Bellegarde, his relative, was the happy man, instead of Gaston Cheverny. The bishop, pleased at his nephew’s good fortune, wrote Francezka a letter of congratulation, warmly approving her marriage, and most indulgent toward the secrecy of it. But on receiving Francezka’s letter, saying she was Gaston Cheverny’s wife, the bishop changed his tune and sent Francezka a fulmination, in which he denounced the secrecy of the marriage excessively. To this Francezka replied, saying as the bishop was so incensed with her, she would reconsider a considerable gift she had intended making toward building the new wing of the palace, to which Madame Riano was so much opposed. This brought the bishop down on his marrow bones. Francezka, in spite of her trouble, was still Francezka, and a gleam of her old humor shone in her eyes when she told of the bishop’s discomfiture, and especially that the threatened withdrawal of the gift was the suggestion of Father Benart, the bishop’s brother. I290always knew the little priest was not devoid of either sense or humor.
When the day came Francezka said she was so torn with emotions she could scarcely go through with it, but pride and devotion to Gaston Cheverny held her up. And a great piece of good fortune befell her at the crucial moment—Madame Riano arrived unexpectedly from Scotland. Another gleam of humor shot from Francezka’s eyes when she told me that Madame Riano claimed to have had supernatural information in Scotland that a Kirkpatrick was in trouble, which brought her home; but Francezka thought that Madame Riano had by that time grown a little tired of her sojourn in the land of Goshen, as she represented Scotland to be. At all events, her coming was of extraordinary good fortune to Francezka; for having countenanced the marriage, and advised secrecy, Madame Riano could do no less than sustain Francezka.
“I made the announcement myself,” said Francezka, “standing at the top of the Diana gallery, with the Bishop of Louvain on one side of me, my aunt on the other, and Father Benart, with Madame Chambellan, behind me, and before fifty persons of the highest quality I could gather together. I dressed myself splendidly for the occasion and wore all my jewels, and I don’t think, Babache, that there was any note of apology in my voice for having married Gaston Cheverny. I told of his gallant ruse to save Count Saxe, of his being carried off, and being lost sight of, and of my determination to go in search of him. I felt, rather than saw, in the beginning, that many of those present were hostile to me, and did not cordially approve291my course, but before I finished speaking there was a subtile change, a warming toward me. When I had concluded, the Sieur de Montigny, eighty years old, arose and expressed for the company heartfelt wishes that I might find my husband, and that we might live long in joy and peace together.”
Yes, it was easily understood how courage and devotion in the person of Francezka, with her eloquent voice and eyes to plead for her, had won her the victory over these people.
“The ordeal had begun for me most painfully, but it ended most hopefully. Surely if all those people believed that Gaston would be found, it was not for me, his wife, to give way to despair. Just as at the hour of our marriage, a storm had come up, followed by a clear and beautiful evening, so, on the morning of the day of which I have been telling you, rain fell, and a cold northeast wind made the June day as dreary as November. But while I was speaking I caught the gleam of the sun upon the canal, under the windows, and suddenly the day became inexpressibly beautiful; so I think, Babache, that my day and Gaston’s will yet be sunshiny.”
With this Francezka’s face grew almost gay, but it was a lightning flash; it was not the steady and cheerful hope I had seen in her eyes when she told me first of her marriage.
She further told me that she was accompanied on her travels by Madame Chambellan for the sake of propriety; but beyond securing Madame Chambellan’s comfort, I do not fancy that Francezka concerned herself further. This good, insipid, incapable lady was292not a person to uphold any one, and answered Francezka’s requirement for a lay figure perfectly.
I asked after my old friend Bold. Him, she said, she had left behind, not being minded to take the chances of traveling with him.
“And if Gaston should reach Capello while I am away he will have at least one faithful heart to greet him,” she said.
Madame Riano remained at the château, and Francezka spoke with gratitude of her courage and sympathy, which were never wanting in a good cause. I returned to camp by nightfall and reported to Count Saxe. Next day he went with me to pay his respects to Francezka and to concert with her any plan she might desire for the prosecution of the search. Francezka received us with her old grace and dignity, and blushed with pleasure at Count Saxe’s tribute to Gaston Cheverny.
“And apart from my affection for Monsieur Cheverny,” he said, “I feel myself peculiarly obliged to use every means to find him. We can not afford to lose such a man as your husband, Madame Cheverny.”
Francezka thanked Count Saxe, and then sitting down at a table, we discussed pros and cons. The extent of the search which had already been made for Gaston seemed to frighten Francezka a little, but she bravely rallied. She said to Count Saxe that her whole fortune should be spent, if necessary, in this quest for her husband. Then Francezka told him of a new plan she had—to search all the Austrian prisons. It was by no means improbable that Gaston Cheverny, wandering about in his French uniform, and dazed with his wound, might have fallen in with Austrians, who would293send him away with other chance prisoners. This was so plausible a theory that Count Saxe was much struck with it, and said to Francezka:
“Madame, you would be a much better general than I, if once you would put your keen wit to the business.”
Francezka smiled with pleasure. No sorrow nor anxiety that ate into her soul could keep her from relishing a compliment from so great a man as Count Saxe. My master, however, gently put before her the discomforts and dangers that might lie before her. Francezka only looked at him calmly and replied:
“Discomfort and danger are nothing to a woman in comparison with her best beloved.”
Count Saxe said not one word further to discourage her, but, on the contrary, set himself seriously to work to help her. He offered to get letters from many royal and noble persons and officers of rank in both armies. Francezka, in thanking him, said, with tears in her eyes:
“I realize at this moment that I am, for the present, strangely alone in the world. I know not whom to advise with, except you, Count Saxe, and my good Babache. I know, however, one thing which is necessary to me, and that is, Babache. When you are not actually fighting, will you not lend me Babache, to help me search until I find my husband?”
“Madame,” replied Count Saxe, “I do not lend him to you—I give him to you as long as you need him. He is the most valuable possession I have on earth; therefore you may measure my regard for you.”
They both rose—so did I—and Francezka turned294her cheek to Count Saxe, who kissed her reverently. Let those sneer at Count Saxe who will, about his Mademoiselle Verières, his Duchesse de Bouillon and the rest. I say no one respected a woman of honor more than Count Saxe. He was bewitched by Francezka’s beauty, tears and devotion, and he began to tell her of so many officers, supposed to be lost in war, who had returned, sometimes after long years, to their friends, that he fixed the idea in Francezka’s head, Gastonmustreturn. I said to him afterward, privately, that Francezka’s determined belief that Gaston would be found would be unalterable after this conversation. Count Saxe looked a little disturbed, but striking his forehead, cried out:
“Babache, I swear I knew not half I was saying; I saw only distressed beauty, faithful and devoted, and I would have perjured my soul to comfort her!”
It was concluded, at this conference, that as soon as Philipsburg fell, I was to accompany Francezka and Madame Chambellan to Prince Eugene’s headquarters, and if necessary to Vienna, that the plan of looking for Gaston Cheverny in the Austrian prisons might be carried out.
We returned to our stations before Philipsburg, but I had several opportunities of seeing Francezka in the next few weeks. She posted large rewards for news of Gaston Cheverny, but not one single person appeared to claim them.
Philipsburg fell on the eighteenth of July. As soon as this was accomplished the campaign became perfunctory. In August, everything had simmered down, and actually the Crown Prince of Prussia, with some of the other too numerous princes in Prince Eugene’s army,295were given passports to visit the French camp. This young Crown Prince of Prussia, afterward known as Frederick the Great, was the same one who had so much admired Francezka at the camp of Radewitz, four years before. Count Saxe suggested that Francezka should see him, and ask, through him, the help of the Prussians in her search.
On the day of this visit, therefore, a beautiful August forenoon, after a whole mob of princes had been entertained by the Duc de Noailles and other officers of high rank, Count Saxe invited to his tent the Crown Prince of Prussia. This tent was of purple and white silk, and was very luxurious; but luxury did not prevent Count Saxe from being a soldier as hardy as those old Greeks, who furiously chased and fought their enemies over the windy plains of Troy.
I had seen the crown prince many times at Radewitz. He always bore on his countenance some indications of greatness: the clear, steel blue eye of him, the forehead of a man born a captain. But at Radewitz his old brute of a father had treated him worse than a dog. Like his friend, Voltaire, he had been caned more than once. Now, times were better with him; but no man ever submitted to have a cane laid on his back without bearing marks upon his character long after the marks on his skin had disappeared. When I was a private soldier I always carried around my neck a little bag which contained my few treasures, and one of these treasures was a bullet for the sergeant who should order a lash laid on me. No sergeant ever ordered this.
When the crown prince was seated in Count Saxe’s tent I went and fetched Francezka, who appeared with296Madame Chambellan as herdame de compagnie. Francezka was dressed in the Spanish fashion that day—the costume was black, and I think she felt a distaste for gay colors, and meanwhile, she would not assume mourning; so this Spanish mantilla, which she wore with a grace inherited from her Spanish mother, well became her. The crown prince received her amiably, recalled their previous acquaintance at Radewitz, and repeated Count Saxe’s compliments to Gaston Cheverny. At this, Francezka’s face, which was a little pale, grew red with gratified pride. She asked the crown prince’s assistance in publishing her rewards and making known Gaston’s disappearance—and he promised with a fine grace. He had excellent manners when he chose, particularly when he had been his own master long enough for the novelty to have abated. He told Count Saxe afterward that Francezka, without being the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, was the most interesting.
In all this time no word had come from Regnard Cheverny. Francezka commented bitterly on this, and it much amazed me, as I had never seen any lack of affection on either side between the brothers.
At last, toward the middle of August, all things being arranged, I set out with Francezka on our travels in search of her lost love.
297CHAPTER XXIIIA LOVING QUEST
Francezka had a natural desire to see the spot from which Gaston had disappeared, and to satisfy herself as to the search in those parts. We traveled to Hüningen, therefore, crossed the Rhine at the point below where the boat had crossed and came to the place, a low-lying Austrian outpost, at which Gaston had been last seen alive. From thence we hunted the Rhine country on both sides of the river before proceeding to Prince Eugene’s headquarters, which had been moved farther back in the interior, toward the Taunus hills.
We traveled rapidly. A journey is fast or slow, according as there is money forthcoming. Old Peter, in spite of his years, acted admirably as an avant-courier. He always rode ahead two stages to secure post-horses; and if there was any dispute about it, I could always bring the postmaster to the right way of thinking. But what was quite as effective was Francezka’s soft and insinuating address, which never failed to get horses or anything else she wanted. It is a part of human nature to delight in exercising a power with which one is gifted. Francezka had the power of persuasion in a high degree, and it pleased her self-love to see a postmaster or an innkeeper succumb to it, as quickly as a Maurice of Saxe.
298
We had fine weather from the day we left Philipsburg. The Duke of Berwick used to say that travel was the best means ever devised to wean the human mind from the continual contemplation of sorrow. So it proved in this instance. There is something in the motion of a horse under one, which is a subtile distraction. The horse itself becomes a component part of being, and exacts a share of attention. Francezka, who was fond of horse exercise, left the chaise almost entirely to Madame Chambellan and rode on horseback with me.
There could be no doubt of her high and even feverish hope. She was never more to have that serene expectation of happiness which I had seen in the soft and lambent light of her eyes on my first knowing of her marriage to Gaston Cheverny. Rather was it an excited and over-sanguine hope that built itself most lovely visions on nothing at all. She seemed to think it probable that at any moment Gaston might appear. The least movement startled her. If she were at table and the door opened suddenly she would half rise, with the flash of expectation in her face. At night every sound brought her to the window. She was still under the sweet illusion of youth, that happiness was her right. I really believe she thought that God, having given her so much—such love, beauty, youth, health, and wealth—could not in justice refuse her happiness.
As we traveled on we found the highroads full of equipages: officers’ wives, French and Austrian ladies of rank and many persons of consideration from such large towns as Brussels and Cologne, to say nothing of the constant passing to and fro, such as two great armies,299one on each side of the Rhine, required. Francezka was known to many of these people. The story of her romantic marriage and her loving quest for her husband had got abroad, and at every stopping place she received sympathy and wishes for success in her search. I saw that Francezka took all these polite expressions for gospel truths, and thought everybody who spoke a word of encouragement to her was profoundly versed in wisdom.
I had neither the power nor the wish to rob her of this beautiful illusion. She had by nature a great and glowing imagination, and she pictured to herself and to me the charm of her return journey with Gaston. She admitted the possibility that he might be ill and worn, but then her tenderness would nurse him back to health. It would be necessary for him to ride in a chaise, perhaps, so she would give up her horse and ride with him. How exquisite it would be, as they passed along the swift flowing Rhine, through the purple vineyards, the radiant mornings, the glorious sunsets, the dreamy purple twilights—all would be beautiful. But these glowing visions did not impair Francezka’s watchfulness nor lead her to relax one single effort in her vigilant hunt.
This rosy hope lasted her until we reached Prince Eugene’s headquarters in the Taunus hills. There, one interview with Prince Eugene himself brought home to Francezka the gray and gloomy outlook before her. It left her with but one rational basis of hope, that of finding Gaston in some Austrian prison.
On the night of this interview with Prince Eugene, at which I was present, Francezka sent for me to come to her room at the little inn where we were staying. I saw300by the gravity of her look that the old hunchback prince’s clear, but not unkind, statement of the case had produced its effect upon her. And she also proved to me, in our conversation, what I had long known, that although self-willed and impetuous, Francezka was neither selfish nor inconsiderate.
“Babache,” she said to me on entering, “I think you know that you are the most comforting and helpful person in the world to me now, and that if I consent to part with you it is not because you are of no more use or good to me. But I see plainly that my search in the Austrian prisons for my husband is likely to last the whole year if, oh God! I find him even then! And I see that I can contrive all that is necessary myself. Therefore, much as you are to me now, I can not think it right to deprive Count Saxe of your services, and so I give you leave to return at once. When I want you, be sure I will send for you.”
In reply, I told her that I belonged to her and to Count Saxe, and either could make any disposition of me that was desired.
We then deliberated on the singular silence of Regnard Cheverny. Although he was not with Prince Eugene’s own contingent, yet it was scarcely possible that he had not received one of the several letters which had been written him by Francezka as well as other persons, concerning his brother’s disappearance; nor could he fail to know of the catastrophe from other sources; but not one line or word had come from him. Francezka was very deeply incensed at him. She had never really liked nor trusted Regnard, and was not disposed to excuse him in anything.
301
Her next move would be to Vienna, in order to complete her plan of searching the Austrian prisons. With her usual promptness, she decided to start on the morrow.
The next morning I saw her depart. She went in the chaise with Madame Chambellan, discarding her riding horse. When she bade me farewell at the chaise door she tried to express her thanks to me, but instead, she burst into a passion of tears. I closed the door hastily and turned away. I could not bear to see her weep, and I could not, myself, utter one word.
I returned to Count Saxe. On the first of January, 1735, peace was proclaimed; and as Count Saxe said, the rain having ceased, the cloaks were laid away.
For the two years that followed I was often with Francezka, and never out of her reach, and worked for her diligently; yet I speak of some things that I did not actually see, but heard.
Francezka proceeded to Vienna, where she was received with distinction by the Emperor Charles and his empress. They became much interested in her story, and gave her every facility possible. The young Princess Maria Theresa, who was destined to reign with the energy of a king and the sweetness of a queen, was then in her eighteenth year. She became deeply interested in Francezka, and showed her many kind attentions. Armed with letters from the emperor, Francezka proceeded to examine the Austrian prisons, from which the prisoners were being released on their exchange at the prospect of peace, and all of the records were laid before her. But she found not the smallest trace of her husband.
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This consumed the entire autumn, winter and spring. At the beginning of summer, this source of hope being exhausted, Francezka reluctantly turned toward Brabant. But on passing through the Taunus country she made a discovery at the very center of the region that had been combed over a dozen times for Gaston Cheverny by the French, the Austrians and Francezka herself. This was the indubitable proof that Gaston Cheverny had been alive and at that place three months after his disappearance, and in the very midst of the hunt for him!
Francezka unearthed this fact by the acuteness of her understanding, which reckoned nothing too small or too great for her to attempt in this undertaking. On her way to Brabant, after nearly a year of fruitless effort, she stopped over night in a village not far from the Rhine and on the way to Frankfort. She did not fail to ask of the authorities if any person answering to Gaston Cheverny’s description had been seen at any time in the place, and to cause a large reward to be posted; but no one could tell her anything.
At the inn she noticed a pointer that somewhat resembled Bold. The dog took a fancy to Francezka, which she returned, being touched by the dog’s resemblance to her old friend. The innkeeper’s little daughter, not ten years old, seeing this, said in Francezka’s hearing, that the dog was as fond of “the great lady” as it had been of “the French prisoner with his head bound up.” Francezka, calling to the child, questioned her closely, and received the startling information from the little girl that the prisoner, who was a gentleman, had fondled the dog, because he said it was like a dog303at home which he loved. It was brought out at once that this prisoner was one of a number on their way to Bohemia. His description tallied perfectly with Gaston Cheverny, and the absolute certainty was reached by the innkeeper’s wife producing a fine handkerchief which had been left behind, with Gaston Cheverny’s initials embroidered on it by Francezka’s own hand!
When Francezka heard this she was like one ready to die with joy. It proved at once that nothing concerning Gaston’s disappearance could be taken as final. Francezka, by her own wit, had found out what all the machinery of two great commanders had failed to discover. Was it strange that after this she should trust to no one’s efforts but her own? All this I gathered in hurried but ecstatic letters written me in the first flush of her delight. At once all her hopes bloomed afresh—nor could any one, in reason, discourage her.
But this joy was the joy of Tantalus—for in spite of months of time and great sums of money spent on the spot by Francezka, not one scintilla of light more was thrown upon this tragic mystery of her life.
At last, having spent a whole year in her pursuit, Francezka was forced to turn her steps homeward. This did not mean that she gave up either hope or work, that was impossible to her; but that she would rest and wait a while. She told over to herself, so she wrote me, all the stories she had ever heard, including those of Count Saxe, of persons who, having been sought diligently, at last returned when all hope was abandoned. Francezka apparently forgot that although strange disappearances and equally strange reappearances take place often in troublous times, but few persons in the world had been304searched for as thoroughly, as patiently, and with such lavish expenditure of time and money as had Gaston Cheverny. To his honor be it said that at no time was there the smallest suspicion in any mind that he had made way with himself, or had voluntarily abandoned Francezka.
It was in September of 1735 that Francezka again saw the château of Capello. She entered her own house with sadness and disappointment, but not in despair. Hope could not die within her. As she wrote me, “My heart can not—will not—break.”
It is not to be wondered at, however, that the rest of Francezka’s world reckoned Gaston Cheverny a dead man. Father Benart, the little priest, who was a courageous man, even hinted to Francezka that she should wear mourning. This went to her heart like a knife. To put on the garments of widowhood would be the last abandonment of hope, and to this she would not consent. She adopted, however, the Spanish costume, which is black, but not mourning, and no one could accuse her of unseemliness in her attire.
She found her house swept and garnished, for Francezka’s administrative qualities were of that order which make affairs apparently go on of themselves. The dog Bold was overjoyed to see her and became, as formerly, her inseparable companion. The harvests had been good, her flocks and herds had prospered; all belonging to Francezka seemed to bask in the sunlight of good fortune, except Francezka herself.
As soon as her return was known she was overrun with visitors, mostly impelled by curiosity, who pestered her with questions. Francezka met these with the spirit305and courage which were a part of her. Being naturally and incurably humorous, she often smiled, and even laughed, though her heart was near to breaking, at the air of surprise and even chagrin with which her calm announcement was received that she did not yet admit her husband to be dead, and should ever hope for his return. But these idle persons inflicted upon her pride a burning smart; she continually felt that she was reckoned foolish and visionary—she, the most practical, the most resourceful, the most entirely sensible of women.
She had greater courage, a more powerful imagination than most people, and so the commonplace of the earth had ever been eager to deny her common sense. She had proved herself possessed of the most sublime common sense in the management of her life and her affairs. Beautiful and alone, she had escaped slander; with a great fortune and perfect liberty, she had avoided the ever present snare of being married for her fortune, and had chosen a man who loved her for herself alone, and would have married her in her smock. She had proved herself capable in every emergency, and had commanded love and admiration, a thing not easily forgiven. Now, the small-minded, the carpers and the critics, had their opportunity, and they fell upon her in full cry like a pack of wolves.
She could sustain herself against them. They might whisper and backbite—they might point with unctuous hypocrisy at the terrible results of a marriage made solely to please herself, but none of them dared to speak before her face. It was, however, mortifying for her self-love to know that they dared speak behind her back.306Francezka was, in some respects, a spoiled child of fortune. She did not for one moment relax her efforts to find Gaston Cheverny, although she no longer attempted it personally. A number of trained men were employed by her to keep the matter alive, the rewards before the public, and to follow up every possible clue.
And then she went upon her way, unchanged and unchanging in some respects. She again took up her reading and studying; the Brabant ladies were much scandalized at the amount of money which Madame Cheverny spent on books. She again had her music and singing masters to attend her. She did all these things diligently, though she had lost much of the enjoyment they once gave her. Such hope as she had left was enough to make her unmurmuring in her present life, but not enough to make her happy. And so the year of 1735 passed.
307CHAPTER XXIVCONFIDENT TO-MORROWS
It does not matter how that time went with me, Babache. I was with my master, Count Saxe, whose glory increased with time. Every day and hour Francezka was in my mind, and so far as I could I kept up the search for Gaston Cheverny. I never met a man from the Rhine country, nor one who had taken part in any of the campaigns of 1733-34, of whom I did not make inquiry concerning Gaston Cheverny.
One thing was strange and tantalizing: while it was impossible to prove that he was alive, it was equally impossible to prove that he was dead. Nor was this an unknown man who had vanished, but an officer of distinction, for whom the search had begun within six hours of his disappearance, which was taken part in by Count Saxe and the armies of France and Austria, and carried on steadily by a woman of the wit, the wealth and the resource of Francezka Capello. I have known of strange vanishings in war, but never have I known one in the least like Gaston Cheverny’s. Regnard Cheverny seemed to have vanished, too, but his disappearance was entirely voluntary.
The only communication which was received from him was to his agent. As soon as peace was assured308this agent received orders from Regnard Cheverny to sell Castle Haret, which he presently did, for a good round sum. It was known soon after that Regnard had resigned from the Austrian army and had accepted a high command in the East India Company’s army in British India. I concluded that the chagrin Regnard had felt at losing Francezka was very deep and had much increased his distaste for his native country, but on the whole, his conduct appeared both unfeeling and ungenerous. Madame Riano oscillated between Paris and Brabant. I think the attitude of her mind had something to do with Francezka’s obstinate clinging to the belief that Gaston Cheverny was alive and would be found. Madame Riano’s belief was superstitious, pure and simple. She actually believed that nobody married to a Kirkpatrick could be called out of this world without ceremony. There must be all the ghostly accessories by which the exits of the Kirkpatricks were made as imposing as the Deity could contrive—so thought she; but to Francezka it always seemed the height of wisdom to believe Gaston Cheverny to be alive.
Much of the year 1736 we spent at Paris, and Count Saxe again occupied himself with hisamusettes, and in the invention of a wheel by which boats could be propelled through the water. The women, I admit, still chased him vigorously; one brazen princess would not let him get the length of a cow’s tail away from her. But was this to be wondered at? Maurice of Saxe seemed to be sent into this world to conquer all women as well as all men.
We were always lodged magnificently in Paris, at the309Luxembourg, and at Versailles and Fontainebleau, and Marly-le-Roi, when we went to court. The king could not do enough for Count Saxe, and had already begun to consider giving him the Castle of Chambord, as he afterward did. Count Saxe could, if he had wished, put the king’s shirt on him every morning, but Count Saxe was not a perfect courtier, after the sort described by the Regent of Orleans, who defined a perfect courtier as a man without pride or temper. Count Saxe had both, and did not like the business of valeting, even for kings.
He spent much time on his book,Mes Rêves, he dictating and I writing it. He also studied the seven books on war by that Florentine secretary, Niccolo Machiavelli, who knew more about war than any man who ever wore a black cloak. He was the first who invented the battalion formation. Count Saxe used to say, laughing, that according to Machiavelli, I lacked an essential of a good soldier—gaiety of heart. I always replied that the Tatars, my royal ancestors, like other princes, had not much cause for gaiety, and that my somberness was due to the exalted rank with which I had been invested. When I was a barefooted boy, trotting about the Marais, I was as happy as a bird in spring.
I think Mademoiselle Lecouvreur’s death had a lasting effect on Count Saxe. I ever believed that he grieved more for her than did Voltaire, who wrote verses on her. Voltaire, at that time, was hanging to the petticoats of that lean, brown Madame du Châtelet, who spent her time working out Newton’s Principia and henpecking Voltaire. No woman ever henpecked my310master. But I must admit Voltaire was a sorcerer, and could spur a dead horse into life. He confused me very much about that time by asking me if the writing I was engaged upon was a life of Count Saxe, and when I said not, the rogue remarked that he supposed I was like Amyot, who said that he did not write the life of his various masters because he was too much attached to them. Now, what answer is a man to make to such things?
In spite of all the distractions of Paris, Count Saxe by no means lost interest in Francezka, and kept in constant communication with her. Madame Riano had urged Francezka to join her in Paris, but Francezka declined to leave Brabant for two reasons why she must not stir from home; that Gaston, if living, might find her there; and if he were dead, she preferred the seclusion of her own home to the gaiety of Paris.
In the spring of 1737 Madame Riano was seized with the notion of going to England again. I judge she had had enough of Scotland, that land of milk and honey, as she represented it to be. This time she went straight to London, where she took a great house, proclaimed herself a Jacobite, put white cockades on every one of her servants, down to the very scullions in the kitchen, and defied Sir Robert Walpole’s government to arrest her. To her cruel disappointment, the ministry took not the least notice of her. In vain she gave balls on Prince Charles Stuart’s birthday, whom she called James III, made everybody curtsy to his portrait, which was placed in the main lobby of her house,311and never failed to revile and ridicule the Elector of Hanover, as she called King George, and all his family. The straw that broke the camel’s back was when her coach locked wheels with that of the Duke of Newcastle, then secretary of state under Sir Robert Walpole, and known as the greatest fool in England. It was on the way to a levee at St. James’s Palace. Madame Riano upbraided the duke for his treachery to his lawful sovereign, King James the Third, called King George a Hanoverian rat, and then triumphantly demanded in the face of a great crowd which collected around the combatants:
“And now, will your Grace have me arrested?”
The poor foolish duke, who stuttered and stammered fearfully, replied to this:
“M-m-m-madame, the king’s orders are n-n-not to arrest anybody except p-persons of the f-f-first consequence, M-madame!”
Fancy Madame Riano’s rage! And the crowd actually cheered the duke, so we heard in Paris. This, however, drove Scotch Peg out of London. She returned to Paris, reopened the Hôtel Kirkpatrick, and announced that she only lived for the purpose of hurling the Hanoverian rats from the throne of England and Scotland. My master went to call on her and took me with him. Madame Riano received us in her usual state, which was lofty, for one of the merits which Madame Riano possessed in common with Francezka was a perfect capacity for affairs. Madame Riano might furnish food for laughter in Paris and London and Brabant, but her debts were always promptly paid; she312lived splendidly, but without waste, and she always had more money in her pocket than those who laughed at her.
She was kind, if patronizing, to Count Saxe, and acted as if I were rather the more important of the two. She delivered a long account of the outrages heaped upon her by the Elector of Hanover, as she called George of England, which outrages, as nearly as I could make out, consisted wholly in not having her sent to the Tower of London and tried for high treason as she ardently desired. After the recital of Madame Riano’s wrongs at the hands of the Kings of England, Spain and France—for she had something against the last two as well as the first, and complained that they had all treated her as if she were of no more account than the drummer’s cat—the conversation turned on Francezka. Madame Riano heard from her regularly. She was well, endeavored to be cheerful, and held an undying hope.
Madame Riano freely declared she believed Gaston Cheverny to be still alive, but could give no better reason for it than the belief that Omnipotence would not trifle with the life of one connected with the Kirkpatrick family by marriage. She told us that she was going to Brabant for the summer and later to pay a round of visits in Luxembourg. Shortly after our visit she took her proposed departure.
That year of 1737 was an active one for Count Saxe. I could make a very pretty history of our travels and adventures in Paris, Dresden, Leipsic, Brussels and other gay towns, but I will not. For myself all places were alike to me, provided I was with Count Saxe313or with Francezka. I hoped eagerly that Francezka would send for me, knowing that would mean some clue to Gaston Cheverny, but she did not. I had from her three letters, however, in which her soul shone forth. In the spring of 1738 we were at Paris again. The women were very troublesome that year after Count Saxe, and a gay set of rival duchesses came near driving him to drink. One night in May he came into my chamber at midnight, and throwing himself on a chair, said:
“Babache, I am weary of this town of Paris, and there is a duchess or two that I would as lief were somewhere else. But as they will not go, I have bethought me of our errand to Brussels. We can travel slowly through the pleasant French country in this month of May; we can stop at the château of Capello and see that matchless Francezka, and for a little while we can live like men, instead of courtiers. What do you think of this?”
I thought it well; my heart leaped at the mention of the château of Capello. It was arranged that we should not give the least hint where we were going. In fact, I was instructed to say that we were going to the Pyrenees, and the story took so well that both the duchesses sent their private spies to Spain to find out what my master was doing there. Meanwhile we were on the high road to Brabant.
No one was with Count Saxe except myself and Beauvais. We left Paris on a spring morning, very like the one so many years before when I had been led out to be shot. We traveled briskly, and at every step that we left the duchesses behind my master’s spirits rose. As314we had given out that this journey was to the Pyrenees, the ladies sent their couriers with their love-letters in the wrong direction, and Count Saxe did not get a single love-letter between Paris and Brussels, and his health and spirits visibly improved. Trust a woman of rank for hounding a man to death.
We sent word ahead to the château of Capello of our coming, and planned to arrive about sunset. The country of Brabant is everywhere beautiful, rich and well tilled, but the estate of Capello was the most beautiful, the richest and the best tilled of any we saw. Francezka had not increased the park land, rightly thinking she had no right to reduce the arable land of the peasants, but she had made them keep their cottages like the cottages of a theater scene, and she had planted most charming hedges of roses and of lilacs, and other beautiful plants and trees. I think I never saw anything lovelier than the rich meadow, where cows were grazing, almost encircled by a lilac hedge, with occasional rose trees; and the cows had sense enough to prefer the rich grass to the thorny roses or tough lilac foliage. This was characteristic of Francezka. She loved beauty, as a Spaniard does, but this love was tempered by that stern Scotch sense which does not lose sight of what is useful.
Count Saxe had not seen the château since 1732, and he, too, was lost in admiration at the beauty, order and fruitfulness of it all. The windows of the château blazed in the sinking sun when we crossed the stone bridge, dismounted, and walked up the steps of the terrace. Francezka met us on the highest terrace. She wore, as when I had last seen her, a rich Spanish costume315of black, but not of mourning. She was then in her twenty-seventh year, and was in the full perfection of her charms. She received us joyfully, gave Count Saxe her cheek to kiss and me her hand, and thanked us for coming to see her. Bold was still her inseparable companion, and barked a joyful welcome to me.
As I had noted in her, after she had married Gaston Cheverny, a new and sweet humility, so I now saw a new development of gentle patience and quiet courage. She had taken up at last the burden of anxiety which is a part of every creature’s burden on this earth, and she bore it more sweetly than would have been thought possible by one who knew how dazzlingly happy and brilliant her path had been heretofore. Unlike most persons whose lives and fortunes are dedicated to a single pursuit, Francezka had not become ill balanced or fanciful. I thought I had never seen her more dignified or sensible than when she presided at supper that night.
She was perfectly informed on public affairs in Europe, being naturally a great reader, and the retired life she led inclining her the more to reading. She blushed with pleasure at Count Saxe’s compliments upon her acquirements. But Francezka, in spite of all changes, was still Francezka. She knew perfectly well how to entertain a great man like Count Saxe. While we supped she had musicians in the gallery, who sang a song recounting Count Saxe’s triumphs in war. My master listened with pleasure, the greater when Francezka admitted that she was the author of both the words and the music. In her voluntary retirement she had cultivated gifts that would have lain fallow had she kept her place in the world.