St. Clair obeyed the order, and got off the horse.
Létorière, a little displeased at the last words of the unknown, replied to him with respectful firmness:
"I will always receive with pleasure or with resignation any lesson which I ask for, or which I deserve, sir; but here I do not find myself in either one of these cases."
The unknown and M. de Richelieu looked at each other, suppressing a great desire to laugh.
"You must take care," said the Marshal softly, "he looks like a famous fighter!"
"You'll see that he will challenge me—and before you, the senior of the Marshals of France, the President of the tribunal of honor"—said the other;—and he added, regarding the Marquis with a very serious air:
"You take it with a high hand, my young master!"
"God bless me! I take it as I must, sir," cried Létorière, resolutely setting his hand on his hip.
At this bravado, M. de Richelieu and the unknown burst out laughing, and the Marquis began to feel very much irritated, when St. Clair, who had not dismounted from the horse without difficulty, approached, hat in hand, and said to the gentleman clothed in gray:
"Sire, nothing can be done with that mare."
"The King!" cried the Marquis in confusion, and he knelt and bowed his head with a repentant air.
"By St. Louis, my young friend," said Louis XV., smiling, "I have seen the time when you would remind us that all gentlemen are our peers, and that in the old times a chevalier could cross lances with a king."
"Ah, Sire! pardon . . . pardon." . . .
"Come! rise, rise, my gentle knight," . . . and by a movement full of that majestic grace that this most amiable and most graceful of kings exhibited, in even the most trifling acts, he touched slightly, with the tip of his finger, Létorière's cheek, who, still on his knee, kissed this beautiful royal hand with profound veneration.
Létorière arose, his forehead suffused with a charming blush, his beautiful black eyes moist with tears, so profoundly was he touched with the ineffable kindness of his sovereign.
This emotion, so pure, so youthful and so naïve, struck Louis XV. delightfully. The most adroit flattery could not have effected this favorable impression.
"What is your name, my child?" he asked, regarding the Marquis with interest.
"Charles-Louis de Vighan, Marquis of Létorière, Sire."
"You are from Xaintonge," said the king, who knew wonderfully well the genealogy of his nobility.
"But you have deposited your titles," added he. "You ought to be presented to me. Why have you not been?"
"Sire, I await the return of M. the Count of Appreville, my relative, to have that honor." . . .
"Marshal Richelieu, will you act as sponsor?" said the king, addressing the duke, who replied by a respectful gesture.
"That's right!" said the king. . . . "I do not forget, my child, that you have almost censured St. Clair . . . you must make him some amends. . . . Are you bold enough to encounter Barbara?" And the king pointed to the mare, who, held by the bridle, still kicked and pranced, notwithstanding the threats and caresses of the groom. "Are you not afraid of this fiery beast?"
"I fear but one thing, Sire: it is to show myself unworthy of the eminent grace with which the king deigns to honor me in ordering me to mount a horse in his presence."
"Is he not charming? He answers with such perfect grace . . . with such exquisite tact," . . . said the king to M. de Richelieu, while Létorière, his heart palpitating with emotion, approached the redoubtable Barbara.
"The king has told me sometimes that I'm a connoisseur of faces. Yes, yes, I can predict to the king that before six months this young falcon will have taken flight,—and then, beware of him;—there'll be a great flutter among the doves, I'll answer for it."
"Your example will have been of great service to him," said the king, smiling; then suddenly crying out with fright: "Ah, the unhappy child! he will kill himself. . . . St. Clair has given up the reins, and the cursed mare will not let him approach her. . . . What kicks . . . what plunges. . . . She is a devil to mount . . . St. Clair, why did you not hold her while he mounted?"
"Sire," said the old groom in a peevish tone, "the gentleman told me that he would manage the affair himself . . ."
"And by Heaven, he does manage it" . . . said the king with astonishment;—"see there, marshal! on my word . . . he has bewitched her! . . . See how he approaches her, and she does not budge. . . . He caresses her, and the beast does not answer him with a bite, or a kick. . . . What do you say to that, St. Clair?"
"Sire, I say . . . I say . . . I say that I don't understand it at all. . . . Ordinarily she can only be mounted by the aid of the nose-twister, she is so skittish and wild." . . .
"Now see him in the saddle . . . faith! . . . he is wonderful . . . full of grace and agility. . . . What do you say to it Richelieu? What do you say, St. Clair?" said the king, whose whole face was radiant with pleasure at seeing the prowess of his young protégé.
"Faith! I should say to the king that the boy, young as he is, is an accomplished horseman,—but he must possess some charm to have quieted the villainous kicker," . . . replied the marshal.
"One cannot say, Sire, that the posture of the gentleman is absolutely bad," said old St. Clair. "He sits firm; his body and limbs are well poised, and he seems to have a hand at once light and steady". . .
"And what the devil do you want more?" said the king; "but let us see . . . will she pass before the marble statue which so frightened her before? . . . No . . . no . . . she refuses—what bounds! Ah! poor boy!" . . .
"He seems screwed to her back. She'll have to give in," cried the marshal; "and with his little figure. He must be strong as Hercules."
"Monseigneur well knows that there is no great skill in keeping one's seat while a horse rears . . . the science is in foreseeing and preventing the rearing," rejoined St. Clair.
"Even in that case you ought to be satisfied. Look! look, see how she passes the statue . . . as easy, as comfortably as an old hack. Well done! is he a sorcerer?" cried Louis XV., looking with astonishment at the marshal and St. Clair, not less surprised than himself.
Létorière, having made the mare pass and repass several times before, the statue which had at first so much frightened her, approached the king: the Marquis held his hat in his right hand, and with the left he patted Barbara, who tossed her head and champed her bit with a most coquettish air; one would have said she was proud of the light weight she carried. The face of the young gentleman, still animated by the exercise, and the proud joy of having succeeded so well in presence of the king, was resplendent with brightness and beauty.
Seeing his protégé so handsome, so radiant and so young, Louis XV. regarded him with the tender and melancholy interest which men advanced in age, or satiated with pleasure, often feel in contemplating the confident joy, the simple ardor of youth.
This excellent prince felt himself happy in the power, by a generous caprice, open to this youth a future as brilliant as a fairy tale. "It is sometimes good to be a king," said he to M. de Richelieu, with involuntary emotion.
The old marshal, before answering, appeared to interrogate the expression of the prince, in order to penetrate the sense of this exclamation, which he did not comprehend. All was dead in this heart worn out by a narrow but unbridled ambition, and hardened by a cruel egotism. Incapable of seizing the meaning of the king, the marshal replied by a courtly insipidity:
"If it is sometimes good to be a king, Sire, it is always good to be the subject of your majesty."
Louis XV. smiled with a polite, frigid air, and replied: "It is pleasant to find one's self so well understood." Then addressing Létorière, who awaited his orders: "Well, my child, tell me, how have you conquered so quickly and easily this unconquerable creature?"
"Your majesty told me that this animal came from Germany; knowing that the Germans talk much to their horses, and that they drive them almost as much by the voice as by the hand or the spur, I spoke German to her. Recognizing, undoubtedly, a language to which she was accustomed, she almost immediately became calm."
"He is right. Nothing is more simple . . . don't you see, St. Clair?" . . . said the king.
"Yes, Sire," timidly replied Létorière, throwing a glance on the old St. Clair, who appeared profoundly humiliated; "yes, Sire, nothing is more simple when one speaks German" . . .
This almost bold answer was dictated by a sentiment so delicate and generous, that Louis XV., greatly moved, cried: "Well, very well, my child . . . you are right . . . if my old St. Clair had known how to speak German, he would have done as you did; . . . but as he is too old to learn that now, and as Barbara does not appear to have any taste for the French language, keep this mare . . . Marquis of Létorière, the King gives her to you."
The Marquis bowed respectfully . . .
"Richelieu, you will present him to me to-morrow, at my first reception, without ceremony," said the king to the marshal. Then making an affectionate gesture to Létorière, Louis XV. entered the palace.
The next day Létorière was officially presented; a few days after, Louis XV. appointed him master of the horse, and later, he gave him a cornetcy in the Mousquetaires.
From this moment the fortunes of Létorière did nothing but grow, for the king's affection for him increased every day.
It would take too long to tell how the favorite became the most conspicuous man at court: but this progress was simple and natural. To all his rare advantages of mind, of person, of birth, and of heart, there was soon added an exquisite taste in everything. His horses, his furniture, and his dress became the type of elegance and good taste. In short, at the end of four years the poor scholar of Plessis College had become one of the most brilliant courtiers, and inspired at once admiration, envy, hatred, adoration, as do all people endowed with superior parts.
This narrative will not allow the recital of many brilliant exploits of which the Marquis was the hero, or of which he was supposed to be the hero, for his discretion was rare.
But it was well known that he could never be reproached with baseness or perfidy in love. In two duels he showed himself brave and generous: the only fault with which he could be charged, was great extravagance; but this he could well afford, owing to the gaining of his lawsuit against the Intendancy of Poitou, and also to the munificence and bounties of the king, who successively appointed him Commendatory Abbé of the Trinité de Vendôme, commander of the united orders of St. Lazare and Notre-Dame-du-Mont-Carmel, a colonel of cavalry, counsellor of State, of the sword, and grand seneschal of Aunis.
Such was the prodigious prosperity which Létorière reached during the four years after his fortunate encounter with the king.
Amid all his successes, Létorière had never forgotten the great blue eyes of the Opera Ball, and almost every day he contemplated his ring with sadness.
Notwithstanding this device, it follows you everywhere, written under an eye of such a charming blue, which appeared to regard him with a tenderness full of confidence and serenity, the Marquis feared that he had been completely forgotten by his mysterious protectress. In four years he had received no news from her. Sometimes he trembled lest his reputation as a man of gallantry, by awaking in the breast of the unknown a just jealousy, might forever alienate her from him; sometimes he feared that absence, or sickness, or death even, might have deprived him of this strange friendship.
Moved by a singular and inexplicable sentiment, Létorière had always, in his gallantries, carefully shunned the seductions of blue eyes, however cruel this self-denial had often appeared to him. He had dreaded to profane, perhaps unwittingly, a love which he thought was so little like other loves. The more he prospered in a life which destiny had made so beautiful, and perhaps too easily happy for him, the more idolatrously did he dwell, almost with regret, on that season of calmness and tranquil happiness, when the only emotion of his life was excited by one of the letters in which his unknown had given him counsel so full of wisdom.
He noted, almost with affright, the approach of the fatal limit that had been assigned to him, when he was to receive a last letter which would decide his destiny. This letter he received that very day, four years after the meeting at the Opera Ball. It was as follows:
"For five years I have loved you . . . for five years I have followed you through all the phases of your life, obscure or brilliant, poor or fortunate. You are worthy of the heart which I offer you with confidence. I am an orphan, my hand is free. I offer it to you. . . . No human power can change my resolution to be yours. If you refuse to realize my most cherished projects, withdrawn into a cloister, each day I shall pray Heaven to grant you that happiness I would so willingly have made for you.
"JULIE DE SOISSONS,
"Princess of S . . . C . . ."
Mademoiselle Victoire-Julie de Soissons, Princess of S . . . C . . . , lived with her aunt, the Princess of Rohan-Soubise. Aged about twenty-five years, the princess Julie was rather pretty than beautiful; she was of medium size, and perfectly graceful. Although the use of powder was then in the height of fashion, very rarely did Mlle. de Soissons consent to cover lightly with it her magnificent flaxen hair, which, in a manner peculiar to herself, she rolled off her face with most becoming effect. Her eyes were blue, her lips vermilion, her teeth pearls, her face a pure and delicate oval, her complexion, too brown for a blonde, was nevertheless so pure and brilliant, that one could not desire it to be whiter. The habitual expression of her countenance was melancholy, yet sweet.
Of a nature at once impressible and reserved, the least emotion brought a lovely blush to her cheeks and charming neck.
If she heard a touching or pitiful tale, her eyes would fill with tears. Although a princess of royal blood, no one felt less than she the pride of birth; the requirements of her lofty station weighed upon her. By natural disposition and taste, she preferred a simple and obscure life, to the ostentatious career to which she had been appointed. Very retiring, very proud, with the noble pride of a soul conscious of its own superiority, the princess Julie was esteemed disdainful, when she was, in fact, only delicate and timid.
Vulgar natures, pretentious or egotistic, especially repelled her. The most striking feature of her character was an indomitable will. Her frail bodily envelope concealed a most valiant and resolute heart. No human consideration could influence her decisions when she believed them based on justice and reason. By a singular contrast, notwithstanding her princely birth, the nobility of her heart, her firmness, her mind as lovely as it was cultivated, the princess Julie almost always displayed the most incredible timidity, even among persons who were in nowise her equals.
An orphan, and having lived for seven years with Madame de Rohan-Soubise, Mlle. de Soissons felt no sympathy with her relative. All the secrets of her heart were reserved for Martha, her nurse, a simple, good-hearted creature who had brought her up, and who loved her with the blind tenderness of a mother.
For five years Mlle. de Soissons had persistently refused the most brilliant offers of marriage from persons of suitable birth and fortune; for five years she had loved the Marquis of Létorière.
Her singularly good heart, her rather romantic temperament, her independent spirit, had not remained insensible to the history of misfortunes so courageously borne by that young gentleman.
When Jerome Sicard went to execute Létorière's commission, after having carried him gratuitously to Palais Marchand, it will be remembered that a man getting out of the carriage had seen Dame Landry in the height of her wrath against the Marquis. Curious to learn the termination of the affair, this man, the steward of Madame Rohan-Soubise, returning several days after to The Golden Scissors, found Dame Landry full of enthusiasm for her debtor. The steward described this singular drama to Dame Martha, Mlle. de Soisson's nurse, relating all the details. Dame Martha, in turn, communicated them to the princess Julie. Such was the first cause of the lively interest which the latter soon felt for M. de Létorière.
During the illness of the young Marquis, Julie often sent her faithful nurse, well disguised in her long black cloak, to get tidings of Dominique's pupil.
When Létorière was convalescent, Dame Martha was deputed to convey secretly the basket of flowers and fruit, of which mention has been made, without allowing any one to guess whence the gift came, and afterwards to find out the day on which he would be able to go out; the princess desired very much to see this enchanter who charmed the most pedantic regent of the college, the most rebellious wife of a tailor, and the coarsest of coachmen.
As a woman of her rank could go out neither alone nor on foot, Martha endeavored to ascertain if there were not, in the Rue St. Florentin, some shop where she could lie concealed, to watch this young invalid, under the pretence of making purchases.
She found an obscure milliner, almost opposite Létorière's house; and knowing the hour in which the Marquis regularly went out, Julie, at the risk of passing for an eccentric, took a carriage with one of the female attendants of her aunt, and went to the milliner's, ostensibly for the purpose of making purchases.
She soon saw, through the windows, the ex-professor and his pupil. The expression of melancholy on the charming countenance of the young gentleman, and the tender assiduities of Dominique, moved her to tears.
Her errand accomplished, the princess drove to the Tuilleries. Létorière soon arrived there, and took a seat in the sunshine with Dominique.
When Mlle. de Soissons could contemplate, at her ease, the ravishing countenance of this young man, she experienced a profound and new impression; her heart beat violently; she trembled, she blushed . . . she loved.
To the singular character of this princess it was undoubtedly owing, that in her eyes, one of Létorière's principal attractions was the misfortune which pursued him. For in the generous and elevated soul of this young girl, misfortune always found ready sympathy.
Mistress of a considerable revenue, and sure of the secrecy and fidelity of Brissot, who had faithfully served her father, Mlle. de Soissons employed him to keep her informed of Létorière's affairs. Fully instructed, the steward wrote to Létorière's lawyer, who was also his own, to follow up the lawsuit, and to make the necessary advances to the Marquis. It was he, also, who obtained for Landry his appointment, by means of a present made to one of the Duke of Bourbon's subalterns, who had the charge of all such nominations.
For a long time the princess contented herself with the secret reveries of this chaste and passionate love, watching eagerly for rare opportunities, when she could meet the Marquis, and writing to him from time to time. Then, when, by her secret influence, he had gained his lawsuit, she resolved to leave him free, and see if he would prove worthy of her. She wrote for the last time, gave him the note at the Opera Ball, and waited.
The day on which the Marquis was presented to the king, Mlle. de Soissons accompanied the dauphiness, and was sufficiently near to Louis XV. to hear that prince say, to all approaching him, pointing out his young protégé:
"Admit that he is charming!"
With much joy and pride the princess saw her choice approved, as one may say, by these words of the king, who, as has been already said, soon attached the Marquis to his person.
Mlle. de Soissons, until then very indifferent to court fêtes and excursions to Marly, now sought to join them on all occasions. Louis XV. felt a warm interest in his young equerry, whom he soon promoted to his military staff. At the chase and on the promenade, he marked with complacency the grace and address of Létorière, and quoted his fine and delicate repartees.
By a curious contradiction, the more the princess Julie's love increased in her heart, the more she shunned all occasions, not only of meeting, but of making the acquaintance of M. de Létorière.
After two years' connection with the court, the favor and success of the Marquis were at their highest. A thousand gallantries were imputed to him. Strange as it may seem, the jealousy of Mlle. de Soissons was not excited. The chaste and proud passion of this young girl gave her courage to view with pity the ephemeral and foolish loves which were attributed to the Marquis. She felt so sure, so worthy of being passionately adored, of being preferred to all when she revealed herself to him, that she remained for a long time almost heedless of the numerous flirtations of Létorière.
The princess Julie wished to watch him whom she loved, in order to judge if he were worthy of her. . . . She readily perceived that these successes were the natural result of the rare attractions with which he was endowed. But she wished to know if his heart remained noble and generous amid such intoxicating circumstances.
In a question of lofty sentiments no proofs are trifling; the daily walk is in such cases more trustworthy, perhaps, than great bursts of devotion; the former is the habit, the latter the accidents, of life.
Thus three poor and obscure persons had rendered important services to Létorière during his adversity,—Dominique, the tailor, and his wife.
With keen delight, Mlle. de Soissons learned from Martha that the Marquis continued to keep Dominique near him, and that he always treated him with deferential affection.
Very often Létorière recounted, with manifestations of profound gratitude, the obligations he was under to these excellent people. A man of his age, whom the most unbounded prosperity and the most brilliant success did not blind, who remained simple, good, and emphatically grateful to such obscure benefactors, ought to be esteemed a man of noble heart.
The project of Mlle. de Soissons was irrevocably resolved upon. She would freely, boldly, offer her hand to him whom she found so worthy.
No objection of birth or fortune could change her resolution. She was an orphan, and felt herself free to choose a husband. Profoundly indifferent to all the reasons which her aunt daily brought to prove to her that she, a princess of a royal house, ought to make certain alliances, the princess Julie replied distinctly, that though she saw no need of quoting example, Mlle. de Montpensier married M. de Lanzun. . . . As to herself, she would marry an artizan, without scruple, if an artizan seemed to her to deserve her love.
Madame Rohan-Soubise, utterly ignorant of her niece's secret, treated these ideas as phantasies, foolish reveries, encouraged by the romances of Rousseau. Mlle. de Soissons answered nothing, but secretly followed her plan with incredible pertinacity.
Her love increased, so to speak, in proportion to the successes of him she loved. One would have said that she waited until the Marquis was at the height of his triumphs, in order that she might offer him her love as their supreme consecration.
When she was assured of the nobility and solidity of his character, without remorse, without shame, with all the security of candor, all the serene confidence of an exalted soul, she wrote to M. de Létorière the letter which we have already seen, to offer him her hand.
Happily for him, and for Mlle. de Soissons, Létorière comprehended all the grandeur and all the devotion of such a love. Satiated with too easy successes, he consecrated himself from that time to the adoration of the young girl who so nobly confided to him her future.
He often saw the princess alone, and in Martha's presence. Mlle. de Soissons desired that he should at once ask her hand of Madame Rohan-Soubise, purely as a matter of form. The young girl held in reserve her rights and her invincible will, awaiting the decision of her aunt.
As a man of honor and good sense, Létorière gave Mlle. de Soissons to understand, that according to the loss or gain of the important lawsuit which was still pending against the dukes of Brunswick-Oëls and the prince of Brandebourg-Bareuth, he should or should not be recognized as of princely blood; and if successful, that he would have a fortune equal to the support of that rank. In his judgment, it would be better to wait the issue of this lawsuit, before applying to Madame Rohan-Soubise.
If it were gained, his position would be so eminent that no reasonable objection could be made to his marriage with the princess Julie; if it were lost, it would then be time to dispense with the consent of Mlle. de Soissons' family; but there was no need of uselessly and prematurely provoking publicity, which is always mortifying. Such was the opinion of M. de Létorière. The princess Julie took the opposite view; her resolute character could not accommodate itself to such temporizing. The Marquis proposed to leave it to the judgment of the king, who continued to bestow upon him proofs of the most touching goodness.
Mlle. de Soissons accepted this arbitration. Louis XV. approved of Létorière's delicacy, and promised to write to the French ambassador at Vienna, to push forward his just claims.
A month before, the good Dominique had gone to Vienna, in order to get precise information in regard to the dispositions of the members of the Aulic Council, called to decide, finally, this important lawsuit which had already lasted nearly a century.
One can imagine with how much impatience Létorière awaited the return of the old professor. On the issue of his cause, his marriage with Mlle. de Soissons might almost be said to rest.
At the time of which we write, M. de Létorière occupied a charming detached house, whose garden opened on the ramparts, not far from the Pavilion of Hanover, one of the dependencies of the dwelling of the Marshal Richelieu.
The habitation of the Marquis resembled much more a palacette, as it was then called, than a chateau. Everything therein was elegant, sumptuous, mysterious and retired. In the summer, great trees enclosed the garden with a girdle of verdure impenetrable to the eye; in the winter, an immense curtain of ivy, very artistically disposed on trellises built in the form of trees, rose above the walls, and replaced the foliage of the warmer season.
On the day we speak of, Létorière was in his library awaiting the expected arrival of Dominique from Vienna.
The princes against whom the Marquis was at law, had very great influence in Germany. The Aulic Council was said to be in their interests, and single-handed, Létorière had to wrestle against these formidable adversaries.
The old professor, when he set out, was furnished with a letter from the king to the French Ambassador at Vienna. Louis XV. informed his representative that he took great interest in M. de Létorière's success in the lawsuit, and ordered him to favor with all his power the secret inquiries of the Marquis's confidential agent.
Soon the noise of a post-chaise was heard, and immediately after Jean-Francois Dominique entered Létorière's library.
"Well! Dominique, have we any chance?" said the Marquis, cordially embracing him.
"I doubt it . . . Monsieur the Marquis." . . .
"Are these Aulic councillors intractable?"
"Alas! I think so, but for the recollection of Alcibiades, who, after all, seduced Tisapherne! . . . But I believe these Germans yet more rebellious, yet more unapproachable than that distrustful satrap!"
"And who are these councillors? Have you gained some information about them?"
"I have enough. . . . I have too much information! That is why I am so grieved. These councillors are three in number: the Baron Henferester, the greatest huntsman and most redoubtable drinker in all Germany; a Nimrod who only quits his forests to sit in the council twice a week. Then there is the Doctor Aloysius Sphex, a learned commentator of Persius, I believe, always bristling with Latin, like a porcupine; and lastly, the Seigneur Flachsinfingen, an ostrich-like gourmand, governed by his wife, the leanest, most peevish, sourest Protestant that ever wore a Bible attached to her side by a silver chain . . ."
"Your portraits are drawn by a masterly hand, Dominique; they are sufficiently unattractive. And these gentlemen of the council are absolutely in the interest of the German princes?"
"Yes, entirely so. In this single case these three councillors, who detest each other cordially, undoubtedly on account of the difference of their tastes, are of one mind,—a rare thing, for generally the support of one would be sufficient to cause the opposition of the others."
"And the German princes?" . . .
"Have as much hope of gaining, as you have chances of losing; for you pass at Vienna for something worse than a demon."
"I do! . . . You are joking, Dominique!"
"I wish I were! but it is only too true. . . . Your reputation as a man of gallantry, a voluptuary, a flirt, and a sybarite, has reached even Vienna; in the eyes of these grave Germans, you are a Will'-o'-the-wisp, a sprite, a sylph,—something, in short, as brilliant as subtle, unaccountable and dangerous. Two centuries ago, they would have received you with a power of exorcisms and holy water . . . but in this philosophic and enlightened age, they will content themselves with shutting the door in your face, and saying vade retro, for they would think you are the devil himself; and unhappily your lawsuit will be definitely settled in two weeks by these three judges! . . . Ah! may Pluto . . . have them some day for their comfort!" added Dominique, by way of imprecation.
After a long silence, the Marquis rose, wrote a few words, rang his bell, and gave his letter to a servant, saying:
"Carry this to the house of Madame Rohan-Soubise; ask for Dame Martha, and wait for an answer."
"This evening I shall start for Vienna," said Létorière to his professor.
"You mean, then, to go in search of adventures, to seduce your judges? It is true that Alcibiades ate the black broth of the Spartans, made a centaur of himself in Thrace, and crowned himself with violets, while he sang voluptuous songs to the effeminate Ionians."
"I have no intention of fascinating my judges, my old friend; but in some cases it is better to see with one's own eyes."
The conversation between Dominique and his former pupil continued for some time, and turned upon the particular circumstances of the lawsuit.
At the end of half an hour, the lackey returned, bringing a note for Létorière, who cried out in great astonishment:
"What can she be thinking of? But if she wishes, let it be so . . ."
Then he ordered his carriage and went out, praying Dominique to hasten the preparations for his departure that very evening.
Four persons were chatting in a charming little boudoir, inlaid with the red lacker of Coromandel. The furniture of this delightful room, one of the marvels of the Rohan-Soubise Chateau, was covered with brocade of silver ground with large designs in crimson. The curtains of the windows and doors, made of similar material, fell in graceful folds. A Japanese vase of gold, purple and blue, three feet in height, filled with flowers, and placed before the window, resembled an enamelled screen of the most brilliant colors. On étagères of massive silver, delicately chased and inlaid with charming coral medallions, the work of some famous Florentine artist, were to be seen a quantity of Chinese knick-knacks, impossible to describe on account of their oddity.
Near a fireplace of most beautiful red antique marble, whose grate was ornamented with a garland of flowers and fruit, made of precious stones, was a little bed à la duchesse, a perfect miniature, with curtains, canopies, and coverlets, and feathered plumes on the dais; nothing was wanting. A very diminutive black spaniel, marked with tan, whose long silken hair was coquettishly braided with cherry and silver ribbons, slept on the couch, half hidden under the eider-down cover. A saucer of royal old blue Sèvres china, containing macaroons, crumbled into milk of almonds, awaited the delicate Puff on his awaking.
Madame, the Princess of Rohan-Soubise, her niece, Mlle. de Soissons, the Count de Lugeac and the Abbé of Arcueil, were the actors in the following scene:
M. de Lugeac had just come in.
"How much you lost, madame, by not being at the brilliant concert yesterday! you would have witnessed the most extraordinary thing in the world!"
"What was it?" demanded the abbé. "Have Jean Jacques and Arouet embraced each other in public? Or have they sung the praises of the chancellor?"
"Tell us at once of this fine affair," said Madame Rohan-Soubise.
"Yesterday, at the concert, M. de Létorière was applauded—yes, applauded to the skies" . . . said M. de Lugeac, with an evident feeling of jealousy.
"Applauded? As M. de Létorière is neither a prince of the blood, nor a comedian, at least so far as I know, I do not see what title he has to be applauded," . . . dryly said Madame Rohan-Soubise, who, without known motive, and undoubtedly by presentiment, cordially detested the Marquis.
Mlle. de Soissons blushed deeply, and broke a thread of her embroidery in an impatient movement which was not perceived by her aunt.
"M. de Létorière was applauded for his coat," . . . replied the count.
"What a ridiculous dress! . . . This fine Marquis must always have people talking about him," said the abbé.
"Not ridiculous . . . but in truth so magnificent, and at the same time so elegant, that even I, who will not acknowledge myself a strong friend of the Marquis, will be generous enough to allow, that I never in all my life saw anything more charming than he, dressed as he was. . . . But when one devotes one's self to such follies, it is at least satisfactory to obtain such success." . . .
"Tell us about this miraculous toilette," said Madame Rohan-Soubise; "I will tell you afterwards another story about M. de Létorière, which will furnish a curious contrast to all his present magnificence."
"And I, also," . . . said the abbé. "No later than this morning, the Archbishop of Paris told me a hundred tales of this fine Marquis!"
"To finish about this toilette, madame," said M. de Lugeac. "After the first part of the concert was over, Létorière was seen entering the box of Judge Solar, ambassador of his majesty the King of Sardinia,"—and M. de Lugeac inclined his head towards Mlle. de Soissons, a cousin of this king. "The box was empty; the Marquis remained there a few moments to observe the audience. He wore a coat of plain, straw-colored moiré, with cuffs of changeable gold and sea-green stuff; his shoulder-knot was of gold and green; you see, madame, that so far, nothing could be more simple." . . .
"The shades are well enough selected, we will allow," said the abbé.
"But," continued the count, "what was truly marvellous was the trimming of this coat. First, the Marquis's Steinkerque order was fastened with a magnificent emerald buckle; then his large and small buttons, and even the mounting of his sword, were in magnificent opals, which threw green, blue and orange rays, almost as brilliant as the diamonds which encircled these superb stones."[1]
"But ornaments like those must be worth more than twenty thousand crowns!" cried the abbé.
"I can well believe it," replied M. de Lugeac, "and it is a foolish extravagance; but it is always so whenever the Marquis appears in that box, so magnificently dressed, his hair, lightly snowed like hoar-frost with unbleached powder, falling in his own fashion in waving curls on each side of his temples, he always excites in the public a kind of ecstasy of admiration, succeeded by a murmur more and more approving, until at last almost universal bravos burst forth."
"But, in truth, this foolish apotheosis of the beauty of a man is but a pagan ovation," said Madame Rohan-Soubise, with a contemptuous smile. "Besides, what is quite as amusing as the enthusiasm of the Parisians for the charming graces of M. de Létorière, is the profound admiration he has for himself. The vanity of this new Narcissus has been, they say, so ridiculously exalted for some time past, that he has become quite invincible; there are numbers of desperate and weeping beauties, who in vain call with loud cries upon this disdainful Celadon. Undoubtedly no woman now appears to him worthy of his attentions."
"Or perhaps, madame, he has found one worthy of his love," said Mlle. de Soissons, raising her noble and beautiful face, radiant with goodness, love and pride, as she listened to this indirect eulogium on the fidelity of the Marquis.
Madame Rohan-Soubise, not perceiving her niece's emotion, continued:
"But, my dear princess, if this be so, we ought to know this phoenix! For discretion is not the rôle of M. de Létorière. No, no, believe me, if he is fixed, as you say, then his choice is so unworthy of him that he is obliged to conceal it from the world."
"Perhaps, on the contrary, it is the world who, in M. de Létorière's eyes, is not worthy of knowing his secret," replied Mlle. de Soissons.
This second repartee struck her aunt, who answered:
"Truly, my dear Julie, it is easy to see that you are not acquainted with M. de Létorière, since you defend him!"
"We speak now of generalities, madame; but rest assured that if I were obliged to defend any one who interested me, I should do it boldly and without dissembling, when the time came," said Mlle. de Soissons, with a peculiar accent.
"Oh, I know you are very courageous in that way, my dear child; your friends are truly your friends; but on the contrary, your enemies are also your enemies! You must allow me also to have my preferences and my antipathies. . . . Frankly, M. de Létorière is firmly fixed in the latter; I hate everything which savors of intrigue and concealment. This Marquis had nothing, five years ago, but his cape and sword. I ask myself how it is possible that he can now have ornaments on his coat worth twenty thousand crowns, a handsome establishment, the finest horses in the world, and is enabled to play as deeply as a large landholder?"
"I believe, madame, that those who ask those questions know very well how to answer them," said Julie, dryly.
"For myself, I declare to you, my dear, that I should find it very difficult," replied Madame de Rohan-Soubise, with the most natural air; . . . "but if I had the misfortune to be one of the friends of the opulent M. de Létorière, I should desire nothing better for his reputation than to see him burned as a sorcerer, however incredulous I may be about the philosopher's stone."
At this last sarcasm Mlle. de Soissons looked at the clock with a kind of eager impatience, but said nothing.
"His magnificence is truly inconceivable," said M. de Lugeac. "It is true that some say he is fortunate at play; others affirm that the king and Madame Dubarry favor him in every way, and have gained for him two very important lawsuits; besides, it is evident that his Majesty is bewitched with him, as is all the world; and truly it may be said that everything which this Marquis touches is turned to gold. . . . If you will believe it, madame, he has brought into fashion a poor devil of a tailor, who gave him credit in his earlier days; the Marquis does not conceal it, but speaks of it quite freely. This Landry, of The Golden Scissors, whose stores are brilliant, who is now one of the richest artizans of Paris, owes his unlooked-for good fortune only to the influence of these words, repeated by all the city: 'He is the tailor of the elegant Létorière!'"
"Truly!" said Madame Rohan-Soubise, impatiently, "all these stories resemble the tales of Perrault."
"They are much more like fairy tales," replied M. de Lugeac. "And then the description of his bedchamber! they say that his toilet set is entirely of gold chased by Gouttière, and enriched with precious stones." . . .
"And I," said the abbé, "I have heard a thousand times repeated by the Archbishop of Paris that M. de Létorière was almost the serpent of the terrestrial paradise. . . . 'If it were an affair of the government of Paris,' said this good prelate to me this morning, 'I would mask him with a cowl, like a black penitent, to hide his eyes, and choke the sound of his voice; for, in a question of precedence which interested one of my relations, this tempter has turned upside down my whole chapter-house, and fascinated my prebendaries so that they speak of nothing but him.'"
At this moment the door of the boudoir was thrown open, and a valet-de-chambre announced with a loud voice: Monsieur the Marquis de Létorière!
"M. de Létorière in my house! I have never received him! What audacity!" cried Madame de Rohan-Soubise, with as much astonishment as anger.
[1]See for these details, and for other biographical particulars of Létorière, the charming Souvenirs de Madame la Marquise de Créquy.
At the announcement of the Marquis, Madame de Rohan-Soubise had risen; the count and the abbé did the same,—and so also did the princess Julie.
The Marquis found these four persons present: Madame Rohan-Soubise, in full dress, arrogant, irritated, haughty; the abbé, by way of reassuring himself, caressed Puff, who, awaking with a start, whined a little; the count, leaning his elbow on the mantle-piece, played carelessly with his watch-chain; Mlle. de Soissons, calm and resolved, supported herself with one hand on her embroidery frame, and looked at Létorière with an air at once tender and grateful.
The Marquis had hardly respectfully saluted Madame Rohan-Soubise, when she turned towards M. de Lugeac, with a gesture of supreme disdain, and asked him, "Who is this gentleman?"
The count, very much embarrassed, hesitated to answer, when the Marquis sharply said, "M. de Létorière absolves M. de Lugeac from being responsible for him to Madame de Rohan-Soubise."
"It was at my request, madame, that M. the Marquis of Létorière has been kind enough to come here," said the princess Julie, in a firm and decided voice.
"At your request? . . . yours . . . Julie?" cried Madame Rohan-Soubise, at the height of astonishment. "'Tis impossible!"
"However unknown I may unhappily be to Madame de Rohan-Soubise, I dare to hope that she will understand that the formal orders of Mlle. de Soissons have been necessary to bring me to the Chateau Soubise—an honor which, until now, I have at least had the modesty or the good taste never to aspire to," replied the Marquis, in a tone of marked irony.
"Princess Julie . . . explain yourself . . . this has already continued too long!" cried Madame de Rohan-Soubise, imperiously.
The count and the abbé made a movement to retire, but Mlle. de Soissons said to them:
"Have the goodness to remain, gentlemen, that you may be witnesses to what I wish to say to madame."
The two gentlemen bowed respectfully. Mlle. de Soissons then addressed her aunt: "I have begged M. de Létorière to come here, madame, that I might tell him before you, and you before him, my irrevocable intentions. I am an orphan, and free in all my actions when they are not unworthy of my birth; but you are my relative, madame, and I know what is due to you, and I cannot better prove my respect than in imparting to you a resolution on which depends my destiny." . . .
With the exception of the Marquis, the actors in this strange scene were lost in astonishment. Madame de Rohan-Soubise, stupefied at the language of the princess Julie, could not believe what she heard.
Mlle. de Soissons continued:
"I have offered my hand to M. de Létorière; he has accepted it." . . .
"You have offered your hand!!" . . . cried Madame de Rohan-Soubise. "Princess Julie, you have lost your reason . . . or is this all an ill-judged pleasantry?"
"Ah! mademoiselle," said Létorière, with a reproachful accent, seeing the young girl thus breaking the promise she had made to him, to wait the issue of the lawsuit before making a final decision.
The princess Julie turned towards him:
"You will soon learn why I have acted thus," said she; and she added, addressing her aunt with a solemn air, "I have not lost my reason; and what I say is serious. . . . Before God, who hears me, before you, madame, before you, Count de Lugeac, and before you, Abbé d'Arcueil, I, Julie Victorie de Soissons, swear to have no other husband but the Marquis of Létorière here before us;" and she tendered him her hand with a gesture of grandeur and simplicity.
The Marquis took the charming hand, which he kissed with the most respectful and lively tenderness.
This scene was so unexpected, so like a thunderbolt, that Madame Rohan-Soubise remained for a moment mute, interrogating with her eyes the count and the abbé, not less astonished.
"And I," replied the Marquis, "swear to consecrate my life to the noble princess who has honored me with her choice. . . ."
"And I, with all the authority which my relationship gives me," impetuously cried Madame de Rohan-Soubise, coming out of her stupor, "I declare to you, mademoiselle, that this shameful alliance is impossible, and that it shall never take place!"
"The honor which Mlle. de Soissons deigns to do me, madame, prevents me from answering your outrageous words," said the Marquis, much moved.
The Princess Julie replied, addressing herself to her aunt:
"With the delicacy which ought to characterize the man to whom I intrust my destiny, M. de Létorière wished to await the issue of his lawsuit, which the Aulic Council of the empire is about to decide, before accepting formally the hand which I have freely offered him; if he gains his lawsuit he will be recognized as of a princely house, and then there will be no difference of rank, as it is called; but if this proposition was noble and delicate, I was a coward to accept it; I pretended to recognize exigencies which I do not admit; I pretended to wait the favorable issue of the lawsuit before making my decision. But that did not suit me; I meant loyally and openly, madame, to declare to you my unalterable resolution, whether the lawsuit be gained or lost. M. de Létorière starts to-night for Vienna. . . . This evening I shall go to the Abbey of Montmartre, and there await his return; you will understand, madame, that it is impossible for me to live any longer in your house." . . .
"Undoubtedly the Chateau Soubise is disagreeable to you, mademoiselle; yet you must either leave it to make a marriage worthy of your family, or enter a convent forever." . . .
"At least, madame, his majesty allows me to be free to retire at once to the lady-superior of Montmartre," said Mlle. de Soissons, handing to Madame Rohan-Soubise a letter which she took from her pocket.
"The hand-writing of the king!" cried Madame Rohan-Soubise.
"Yesterday I wrote to his majesty, who is acquainted with my resolution; read his answer, which is addressed to you, madame":
"MY COUSIN: For sufficient reasons, I desire that Mlle. de Soissons may enter the Abbey of Montmartre until further orders.
"Your affectionate
"LOUIS."
Madame de Rohan-Soubise, astonished beyond expression, read the letter twice.
"Wonderful!" said she, with concentrated spite; "you have prevailed, mademoiselle, but his majesty can reconsider . . . undoubtedly will reconsider, a determination which has been surprised from him. . . . And I shall go immediately to the king."
"I believe that I am sufficiently acquainted with his majesty's intentions, madame, to be certain of the futility of your application," said Mlle. de Soissons. Then she offered her hand to M. de Létorière, saying: "Adieu, my friend; go to Vienna . . . I will wait for you at Montmartre Abbey."
That very evening M. de Létorière started for Vienna.
Ten leagues north of Vienna is the vast manor of Henferester—an old pile blackened by time, its walls covered with ivy, its roof with moss; it seemed deserted and abandoned. The main structure, and a great tower which faced the east, were almost in ruins. The only habitable part of the chateau was the western tower; through some hedges of box, pushing in every direction over the esplanade, which, surrounded by lime-trees, extended before the door of the castle, could be seen traces of an ancient parterre overgrown with brambles and parasitic plants.
Autumn was drawing towards its close; the foliage of the great clumps of trees which fringed the horizon had begun to put on their rich purple tints. The sky was gray and rainy; the air damp and cold; night approached. The high and narrow window which gave light to the basement of the tower was suddenly illuminated; the stained glass windows, although somewhat blackened by smoke, shone brilliantly, and the coat-of-arms of the lords of Henferester glittered in the darkness steadily deepening.
The lower floor of the tower formed one immense circular room; it was at once the dining-hall and the kitchen of the Governor of Henferester; the upper stories contained many dilapidated chambers, which were reached by a rough and narrow spiral stone staircase, the ascent of which was aided by a rope attached to the damp wall by rings of rusty iron.
A great fire was burning in the immense kitchen chimney; a copper lamp with three branches suspended from the smoky rafters of the ceiling, lighted the place; on the walls, whose plaster was in patches, were hung deer-horns, which supported guns and hunting-knives, wild boars' tusks and hoofs, and several wolves' heads, stuffed.
The floor, trodden hard like the threshing-floor of a barn, was strewn with hatchelled straw, by way of a carpet. In one corner an enormous hogshead of beer, between two beams, was on tap. Above it were two barrels of different sizes. One contained Rhine wine, the other, which was smaller, the kirchenwasser of the Black Forest. On either side of the barrels were ranged pewter mugs of various sizes. Near by were two great firkins set against the wall, one full of salted bacon, the other of sauer-kraut pickled in vinegar. An iron fork and spoon hanging over these two firkins, formed, so to speak, pendants to the pewter mugs ranged above the barrels.
Lastly, a kneading-trough, containing a dozen loaves of bread as big as mill-wheels, completed the list of culinary furniture.
Except a quarter of venison, which was roasting before an enormous fire in the chimney, and a great pot in which the bacon and sauer-kraut were boiling, there was nothing in the room to indicate that it was a kitchen. There were visible neither cooking-stoves, nor moulds, nor saucepans of various forms, so dear to gourmands.
As for utensils, there was only one gridiron hanging before the mouth of the oven, which was wide open, under the mantle-piece, and a great turnspit operated by a dog.
A quarter of venison, like that before the fire, was hanging, all bloody, on an iron hook near the door.
Thanks to the combined odors of the venison, the bacon, the sauer-kraut, the beer, the wine, and the kirchenwasser, the atmosphere of the room was so thick, or perhaps we may say, so nourishing, that a very little of it would have satisfied a delicate stomach.
Without, the rain, mingled with hail, fell violently, pelting the windows.
Two white-haired old Germans, clothed in loose gray coats, fastened at the waist by belts of buffalo hide, were preparing the repast of the lord of Henferester, who had been out hunting since the morning, and had not yet returned.
These preparations were simple. The domestics drew towards the fireplace a long and massive oak table; at the upper end they placed the master's oaken seat, coarsely sculptured with his coat-of-arms, the back carried up to form a canopy, and to which no cushion gave ease.
Before this seat they placed a plate, or rather a great dish of silver, a piece of bread weighing about two pounds, and three tankards, also of silver, which served at once as glasses and bottles. The first, destined for beer, held two pints; the second, for wine, one pint, the third, for kirchenwasser, half a pint.
These tankards were generally filled a second time during the meal. Table-cloths, napkins, and covers were things merely remembered, and were deemed ridiculous superfluities. Hunters of that day always carried two knives in their belts; one straight and long, for stabbing the beast; the other, thick, curved, and a little larger than an ordinary table-knife, was used for cutting him up. This last they invariably employed for carving their meat at table.
The servants then laid pewter plates and pieces of bread at each side of the table. These inferior places were reserved for the servitors of the baron, according to their rank.
The lord of Henferester, faithful to old and patriarchal traditions, ate with his domestics. On his right was the place of Erhard Trusches, his huntsman; on the left that of Selbitz, his major-domo.
This last-named personage, having set the sauer-kraut to boil, and the venison to roast, aided Link, an old groom, in preparing the table.
As to women, they were never seen in the castle. Every Saturday, old Wilhelmina, the minister's housekeeper, came to make and bake the bread for the week, while the baron was at the council at Vienna. Wednesday, the other council day, she put in order the linen of the castle, always in the absence of the governor, who regarded the fair sex with profound dislike.
"The master is late to-night," said the major-domo, sadly looking at the quarter of venison, which was beginning to dry up.
"The night is dark, the rain is falling heavily, Master Selbitz . . . perhaps the chase will have carried the governor into the forest of Harterassen. . . . Master Erhard Trusches sent word this morning by Karl, the dog-keeper, that the baron was to hunt a wild boar; . . . and wild boars always start in the woods of Ferstenfak, gain the plain of Marais, return to their lair in the forest of Harterassen, and then are captured at the pond of the priory. All that would make a run of at least eight leagues, and as many to return, Master Selbitz." . . .
"And what with the night and the rain, and the bad roads of the forest, that is a long way. . . . But listen, Link," . . . said the major-domo, putting his hand to his ear; "is not that the sound of the governor's trumpet?"
"No, Master Selbitz, it is the wind blowing the weathercock." . . .
"What time is it?" asked the major-domo; for clocks were almost as unknown in the castle as at Otaheite.
"It must be between six and seven, Master Selbitz, for Elphin, the governor's roan horse, has been calling for his grain for some time. . . . Hark! listen! do you hear him? Patience, patience, old Elphin!" said the groom, coming back from the door. . . . "When your companions, Kol and Lipper, get back, you will have your supper, but not before, you old glutton!"
"This time it surely is the governor's trumpet," cried the major-domo. . . . "God be praised! What weather! Come! run and hold the master's stirrup. Link, while I go and throw some pine cones on the fire, to make a blaze."
"That is certainly the governor's trumpet," said Link, after listening attentively, . . . "but he does not sound a joyful flourish, or the retreat. . . . Ah, Master Selbitz, bad luck, bad luck!"
"The better reason for not keeping him waiting,—go—hurry!"
The groom ran out. . . . Selbitz, having brightened the fire, put on his lord's silver plate a letter with a great red seal, which an express had brought from Vienna during the day.
At this moment they heard the loud snapping of a whip, and a stentorian and harsh voice, crying: "Go to the black devil! you cursed dogs! Erhard, see if the piebald horse eats well; for the day has been a hard one!"
Then they heard the clatter of great iron-heeled and spurred boots; the door opened, and the lord of Henferester entered in the midst of a dozen dogs, covered with mud and streaming with rain, who rushed into the kitchen, and crowded before the fire to dry themselves.
The baron allowed them this privilege as much for love of the canine race, as for his own interest, knowing that dogs who go into their kennels shivering and cold, often fall sick.
The lord of Henferester, a man of enormous size, and from forty-five to fifty years old, seemed to possess herculean strength. On entering, he threw his old felt hat into the kneading-trough. His bright red hair was cut short; his russet beard, which he shaved only on council days, was so thick that it covered nearly all his face. His features, strongly marked, and tanned by exposure to the open air, were hard, yet not devoid of a certain nobility.
His old green jacket was soaked with rain, and buttoned up to his chin. His deer-skin breeches were black with age, and his great thick boots, covered with mud, reached more than half-way up his thighs; a leather belt held his hunting-knives, with horn handles. He carried across his breast a great trumpet of tarnished copper, and held in his large, hairy hand, a whip and a carbine.
Having given this weapon and the trumpet to his major-domo, who hung them upon the wall, the master approached the fire with a discontented air, distributed several rude kicks among his dogs, to make them move out of his way, and threw himself heavily in his chair, saying to his hounds, sharply:
"Get out, you lazy, clumsy wretches! you are much more worthy to turn the spit than to follow the chase of a noble animal. . . . To give out after a five-hours' run, and all because the haunt of the wild boar is too brambly! You have, it seems, become very delicate! Hum! and even you, old Ralph!" he added, with a furious look, aiming a kick at the dog thus addressed.
The major-domo, seeing the humor of his master, tried to calm him by recalling his more successful sport.
"I can understand that my lord may be displeased when he has had bad luck, for he is not used to it; but—"
"Well, well," said the baron, in a harsh tone, "take the venison from the spit, and give me my supper, for I am as hungry as the devil. This boar led us through the forest of Harterassen; then the dogs gave out before a hedge so thick that one should have the hide of a wild boar itself to penetrate it." . . .
"My lord sees, then, that it is not altogether the fault of his brave dogs. But my lord is wet through; if he would but change his clothes." . . .
"Change my clothes! and why would you have me change, Master Selbitz the tender-skinned?" cried the governor, wrathfully; "do you take me for a silly woman, for a Frenchman? Do I change my clothes when I return from the chase? Do my dogs change? do my horses change?"
"No, of course not, my lord, but your clothes smoke on your body, like Dame Wilhelmina's tub when she is making the washing lye." . . .
"That shows that they are drying, and the dampness is leaving them!"
"But, my lord". . .
"But, hold your tongue, Master Selbitz the blockhead, Master Selbitz the babbler, and give me a mug of kirchenwasser."
Then, seeing the letter which was on his plate, the baron asked:
"What is that, Selbitz?"
"A letter which Count Stasfield's carrier has brought."
"Oh! let business go to the devil! Tis enough to go to Vienna twice a week," said the governor, breaking the seal of the letter.
It read thus:
"I wish to inform you, my dear baron, that the French Marquis M. de Létorière will arrive to-day at your house to converse with you on the subject of his lawsuit; I need not remind you of the formal promise you have made me to add your vote to those of your colleagues, in favor of the Duke of Brandenbourg. Believe me, my dear baron, etc."
"And what the devil is this Frenchman coming here for?" cried the governor, in a passion. "By the Holy Kings of Cologne, am I never to have one moment of repose? Here is this beau of Versailles coming to rouse me like a wild boar from his lair. . . . In my opinion his lawsuit is lost . . . totally lost. . . . What does he want more? Does he believe that I am going to interest myself about him? An impudent little fellow, who embroiders in tambour, and who uses, they say, rouge and patches! One of these men of gallantry, as corrupt as effeminate, always hanging on the skirts of the women! But, by the infernal, I can't escape from this Marquis! If he comes, I shall be obliged to offer him hospitality; it is fifteen leagues from here to Vienna, and I can't send him back without seeing him! I wish the devil had all the lawyers and lawsuits! and he's coming to-night! We must offer him a bed; but where shall he sleep? Everything is dilapidated here, and this beauty will come in a litter, like a woman in labor!"
The baron stamped his foot in anger, and calling his major-domo, said with an air of vexation:
"Perhaps we shall have a Frenchman here to-night—a Marquis—a pleader;—in such weather we cannot let him go back to Vienna. Where can we put him, him and his suite? For this dandy undoubtedly travels with his train of hair-dressers, bathers and perfumers!"
"Faith, my lord," said the major-domo, scratching his ear, "there is only the rat-chamber, where the rain does not come in."
"Well then, put him in the rat-chamber." Then the baron added, with a sort of bitter irony: "In order to convey a brilliant impression of the hospitality bestowed at the castle of Henferester, and especially that this delicate visitor may have all his comforts, don't forget, major-domo, to cover his bed with the most beautiful silk curtains, to furnish it with eider-down, and the finest linens of Friesland; to beat well the Turkey carpet; to put perfumed candles into the silver-gilt candlesticks, and to warm his bed with charcoal of aloes wood. Do you understand, major-domo?"
"Yes, yes, my lord," said Martin Selbitz, busily occupying himself with dishing up the quarter of venison, the bacon and the sauer-kraut, and rejoiced at the peasantry of his master; "yes, my lord, be easy; I understand you; the straw of his bed shall be fresh, and well stirred up; the woollen coverlid well beaten, the floor well swept, the curtains and tapestry of cobwebs well shaken, and the shutters set wide open, that the moon may throw a bright light into the chamber of your guest; in short, if he is so delicate and sensitive to cold, his bed shall be warmed,—by the dog of the turnspit."
The baron could not help laughing at the factiousness of his major-domo, who had so exactly described the rat-chamber, which was very like his own apartment, so indifferent was he to the commonest conveniences of life.
"To supper!" said the governor, drawing up his chair and taking his hunting-knife from his belt.
At this moment was heard the sound of the trumpet, habitually used by German postilions.
"Perhaps it is that confounded Marquis," cried the baron. "Hullo, Erhard, Selbitz, run to receive him!"
The governor, rising heavily from his seat, went to the door, saying in a growling tone: "He must have a devilish strong body to travel such weather as this. . . . Bah, shut up in his post-chaise, he is much better off than he will be in the castle. Let us see, then, this beautiful darling, this beau, this most effeminate of all the effeminates in the Court of France."
And the governor went forward to fulfil, in spite of himself, the duties of hospitality towards his guest.
Contrary to the expectation of the baron, Létorière dismounted from a horse, instead of getting out of a chaise, and gave his animal in charge of the postilion.
The master of Henferester understood the duties of his position too well not to accord a polite reception to a gentleman who had come to ask a favor of him. He saw, moreover, that Létorière was much less effeminate than he had been led to believe. A certain amount of energy was necessary to bring him fifteen leagues on a post-horse, in a dark night and frightful weather.
When the Marquis entered, he was nearly suffocated by the substantial atmosphere of which we have spoken, to which was now added the strong odor of the kennel, exhaling from the crowded hounds. At sight of the stranger, they began to bay with marvellous accord.
The Marquis stopped, seemed to listen to their howlings with unspeakable satisfaction, and said in very good German:
"On my faith, baron, I have never heard dogs with better throats than yours. By St. Hubert! here is something to make the true huntsman's heart beat!" Then, without noticing the governor, he began to examine in detail, with serious interest, the qualities of the dogs who approached him; and exclaimed, in a tone of increasing admiration: "Good dogs! brave dogs! our dogs of Normandy and Poitou are not so good as these; yours have better heads, are better formed about the flanks. See them! They are the most beautiful dogs of their kind I ever saw in my life! Come here, my fine fellow!" And Létorière took a great white dog, marked with black, by his two forepaws, looked at him with the eye of a connoisseur for several minutes, and, with an air of approbation, said to the baron, who stood by astonished: "That's one of your best dogs, baron; that's one of your blood-hounds, isn't it? He has served you a long time; so much the better; years improve blood-hounds."
Confounded by the assurance and volubility of the Marquis, the governor, a downright huntsman, too proud of his dogs to take offence at any attention which they excited, and, above all, struck by the remarks of Létorière about the blood-hound, answered almost mechanically:
"But who told you that this dog Moick was my blood-hound?"
"How, who told me, baron? First the mark of the collator which is to be seen on his neck, on his worn hair, as clearly as the marks of the breastplate on a draft-horse; and then his deep and hollow voice, which proves also that he never barks. All this is more than enough to indicate a blood-hound to one who is not a novice in the brotherhood of joyous huntsmen. And then what a well-developed nose! and the chase-bone, as salient as a linger! Believe me, baron, in all your life you will never find a finer blood-hound! make the most of him! Ah well! I see there a quarter of venison, which is getting cold; don't let us wait any longer, I am as hungry as forty devils! You shall see how I'll play the knife and fork! Give us your hand, baron! By St. Hubert, our common patron, you are a brave old German; I was told so, and now I'm sure of it."
"Monsieur, may I know to whom I have the honor of speaking?" demanded the baron, more and more astonished at the cavalier manner of the stranger.
"That's right, baron. My name is Létorière; I have come to speak with you about my lawsuit . . . But as we must see clearly in this chaos, blacker than hell, and as it is now night, we will wait for the day . . . that is to say, to-morrow morning, before talking about it . . . Now, let's go to table, since I have invited myself without ceremony. Excuse the rudeness of my manner, but I am a child of the forests."
The governor was stupefied. He had expected to see a little dandy, speaking with the tips of his lips, pretentious, scented, delicate, as ignorant of horses and dogs as a Leipsic shopkeeper; and he found him a jovial, stanch young fellow, who seemed to know all about hunting, and whose dress vied in negligence with his own.
The baron felt most favorably disposed towards Létorière. The admiration which the latter had shown for the dogs, increased the good-will of the governor for his guest, so that he cordially answered: "The castle of Henferester is at your disposal, Monsieur; I only wish I could offer you greater hospitality."