CHAPTER I.
It was the year of grace 1779. In one of the most beautiful corners ofbeautiful France stood a grand old chateau. It was a fine oldbuilding, with countless windows large and small, with high-pitchedroofs and pointed towers, which in good taste or bad, did its best tobe everywhere ornamental, from the gorgon heads which frowned from itsturrets to the long row of stables and the fantastic dovecotes. Itstood (as became such a castle) upon an eminence, and looked down.Very beautiful indeed was what it looked upon. Terrace below terraceglowed with the most brilliant flowers, and broad flights of steps ledfrom one garden to the other. On the last terrace of all, fountainsand jets of water poured into one large basin, in which were gold andsilver fish. Beyond this were shady walks, which led to a lake onwhich floated water-lilies and swans. From the top of the topmostflight of steps you could see the blazing gardens one below the other,the fountains and the basin, the walks and the lake, and beyond thesethe trees, and the smiling country, and the blue sky of France.
Within the castle, as without, beauty reigned supreme. The sunlight,subdued by blinds and curtains, stole into rooms furnished with everygrace and luxury that could be procured in a country that thenaccounted itself the most highly-civilized in the world. It fell uponbeautiful flowers and beautiful china, upon beautiful tapestry andpictures; and it fell upon Madame the Viscountess, sitting at herembroidery. Madame the Viscountess was not young, but she was not theleast beautiful object in those stately rooms. She had married into arace of nobles who (themselves famed for personal beauty) had beenscrupulous in the choice of lovely wives. The late Viscount (forMadame was a widow) had been one of the handsomest of the gaycourtiers of his day; and Madame had not been unworthy of him. Evennow, though the roses on her cheeks were more entirely artificial thanthey had been in the days of her youth, she was like some exquisitepiece of porcelain. Standing by the embroidery frame was Madame's onlychild, a boy who, in spite of his youth, was already Monsieur theViscount. He also was beautiful. His exquisitely-cut mouth had a curlwhich was the inheritance of scornful generations, but which wasredeemed by his soft violet eyes and by an under-lying expression ofnatural amiability. His hair was cut square across the forehead, andfell in natural curls behind. His childish figure had already beentrained in the fencing school, and had gathered dignity fromperpetually treading upon shallow steps and in lofty rooms. From therosettes on his little shoes to his _chapeau a plumes_, he also waslike some porcelain figure. Surely, such beings could not exist exceptin such a chateau as this, where the very air (unlike that breathed bycommon mortals) had in the ante-rooms a faint aristocratic odour, andwas for yards round Madame the Viscountess dimly suggestive offrangipani!
Monsieur the Viscount did not stay long by the embroidery frame; hewas entertaining to-day a party of children from the estate, and hadcome for the key of an old cabinet of which he wished to display thetreasures. When tired of this, they went out on to the terrace, andone of the children who had not been there before exclaimed at thebeauty of the view.
"It is true," said the little Viscount, carelessly, "and all, as faras you can see, is the estate."
"I will throw a stone to the end of your property, Monsieur," said oneof the boys, laughing; and he picked one off the walk, and steppingback, flung it with all his little strength. The stone fell before ithad passed the fountains, and the failure was received with shouts oflaughter.
"Let us see who can beat that," they cried; and there was a generalsearch for pebbles, which were flung at random among the flower beds.
"One may easily throw such as those," said the Viscount, who waspoking under the wall of the first terrace; "but here is a stone thatone may call a stone. Who will send this into the fish-pond? It willmake a fountain of itself."
The children drew round him as, with ruffles turned back, he tuggedand pulled at a large dirty looking stone, which was half-buried inthe earth by the wall. "Up it comes!" said the Viscount, at length;and sure enough, up it came; but underneath it, his bright eyesshining out of his dirty wrinkled body--horror of horrors!--there laya toad. Now, even in England, toads are not looked upon with muchfavour, and a party of English children would have been startled bysuch a discovery. But with French people, the dread of toads isludicrous in its intensity. In France toads are believed to haveteeth, to bite, and to spit poison; so my hero and his young guestsmust be excused for taking flight at once with a cry of dismay. On thenext terrace, however, they paused, and seeing no signs of the enemy,crept slowly back again. The little Viscount (be it said) began tofeel ashamed of himself, and led the way, with his hand upon theminiature sword which hung at his side. All eyes were fixed upon thefatal stone, when from behind it was seen slowly to push forth, firsta dirty wrinkled leg, then half a dirty wrinkled head, with onegleaming eye. It was too much; with cries of, "It is he! he comes! hespits! he pursues us!" the young guests of the chateau fled in goodearnest, and never stopped until they reached the fountain and thefish-pond.
But Monsieur the Viscount stood his ground. At the sudden apparitionthe blood rushed to his heart, and made him very white, then itflooded back again and made him very red, and then he fairly drew hissword, and shouting, "_Vive la France!_" rushed upon the enemy. Thesword if small was sharp, and stabbed the poor toad would mostundoubtedly have been, but for a sudden check received by the valiantlittle nobleman. It came in the shape of a large heavy hand thatseized Monsieur the Viscount with the grasp of a giant, while a voicewhich could only have belonged to the owner of such a hand said inslow deep tones,
"_Que faites-vous?_" ("What are you doing?")
It was the tutor, who had been pacing up and down the terrace with abook, and who now stood holding the book in his right hand, and ourhero in his left.
Monsieur the Viscount's tutor was a remarkable man. If he had not beenso, he would hardly have been tolerated at the chateau, since he wasnot particularly beautiful, and not especially refined. He was in holyorders, as his tonsured head and clerical costume bore witness--acostume which, from its tightness and simplicity, only served toexaggerate the unusual proportions of his person. Monsieur thePreceptor had English blood in his veins, and his northern originbetrayed itself in his towering height and corresponding breadth, aswell as by his fair hair and light blue eyes. But the most remarkableparts of his outward man were his hands, which were of immense size,especially about the thumbs. Monsieur the Preceptor was not exactly inkeeping with his present abode. It was not only that he was wanting inthe grace and beauty that reigned around him, but that his presencemade those very graces and beauties to look small. He seemed to have agift the reverse of that bestowed upon King Midas--the gold on whichhis heavy hand was laid seemed to become rubbish. In the presence ofthe late Viscount, and in that of Madame his widow, you would havefelt fully the deep importance of your dress being _a la mode_, andyour complexion _a la_ strawberries and cream (such influences stillexist); but let the burly tutor appear upon the scene, and all themagic died at once out of brocaded silks and pearl-coloured stockings,and dress and complexion became subjects almost of insignificance.Monsieur the Preceptor was certainly a singular man to have beenchosen as an inmate of such a household; but, though young, he hadunusual talents, and added to them the not more usual accompanimentsof modesty and trustworthiness. To crown all, he was rigidly pious intimes when piety was not fashionable, and an obedient son of thechurch of which he was a minister. Moreover, a family that fashiondoes not permit to be demonstratively religious, may gain a reflectedcredit from an austere chaplain; and so Monsieur the Preceptorremained in the chateau and went his own way. It was this man who nowlaid hands on the Viscount, and, in a voice that sounded like amiablethunder, made the inquiry, "_Que faites-vous?_"
"I am going to kill this animal--this hideous horrible animal," saidMonsieur the Viscount, struggling vainly under the grasp of the tutorsfinger and thumb.
"It is only a toad," said Monsieur the Preceptor, in his laconictones.
"_Only_ a toad, do you say, Monsieur?" sai
d the Viscount. "That isenough, I think. It will bite--it will spit--it will poison: it islike that dragon you tell me of, that devastated Rhodes--I am the goodknight that shall kill it."
Monsieur the Preceptor laughed heartily. "You are misled by a vulgarerror. Toads do not bite--they have no teeth; neither do they spitpoison."
"You are wrong, Monsieur," said the Viscount; "I have seen their teethmyself. Claude Mignon, at the lodge, has two terrible ones, which hekeeps in his pocket as a charm."
"I have seen them," said the tutor, "in Monsieur Claude's pocket. Whenhe can show me similar ones in a toad's head I will believe.Meanwhile, I must beg of you, Monsieur, to put up your sword. You mustnot kill this poor animal, which is quite harmless, and very useful ina garden--it feeds upon many insects and reptiles which injure theplants."
"It shall not be useful, in this garden," said the little Viscount,fretfully. "There are plenty of gardeners to destroy the insects, and,if needful, we can have more. But the toad shall not remain. Mymother would faint if she saw so hideous a beast among her beautifulflowers."
"Jacques!" roared the tutor to a gardener who was at some distance.Jacques started as if a clap of thunder had sounded in his ear, andapproached with low bows. "Take that toad, Jacques, and carry it tothe _potager_. It will keep the slugs from your cabbages."
Jacques bowed low and lower, and scratched his head, and then didreverence again with Asiatic humility, but at the same time movedgradually backwards, and never even looked at the toad.
"You also have seen the contents of Monsieur Claude's pocket?" saidthe tutor, significantly, and quitting his hold of the Viscount, hestooped down, seized the toad in his huge finger and thumb, and strodeoff in the direction of the _potager_, followed at a respectfuldistance by Jacques, who vented his awe and astonishment in alternatebows and exclamations at the astounding conduct of the incomprehensiblePreceptor.
"What is the use of such ugly beasts?" said the Viscount to his tutor,on his return from the _potager_. "Birds and butterflies are pretty,but what can such villains as these toads have been made for?"
"You should study natural history, Monsieur--" began the priest, whowas himself a naturalist.
"That is what you always say," interrupted the Viscount, with theperverse folly of ignorance; "but if I knew as much as you do, itwould not make me understand why such ugly creatures need have beenmade."
"Nor," said the priest, firmly, "is it necessary that you shouldunderstand it, particularly if you do not care to inquire. It isenough for you and me if we remember Who made them, some six thousandyears before either of us was born."
With which Monsieur the Preceptor (who had all this time kept hisplace in the little book with his big thumb) returned to the terrace,and resumed his devotions at the point where they had been interruptedwhich exercise he continued till he was joined by the Cure of thevillage, and the two priests relaxed in the political and religiousgossip of the day.
Monsieur the Viscount rejoined his young guests, and they fed the goldfish and the swans, and played _Colin Maillard_ in the shady walks,and made a beautiful bouquet for Madame, and then fled indoors at thefirst approach of evening chill, and found that the Viscountess hadprepared a feast of fruit and flowers for them in the great hall.Here, at the head of the table, with Madame at his right hand, hisguests around, and the liveried lacqueys waiting his commands,Monsieur the Viscount forgot that anything had ever been made whichcould mar beauty and enjoyment; while the two priests outside stalkedup and down under the falling twilight, and talked ugly talk of crimeand poverty that were _somewhere_ now, and of troubles to comehereafter.
And so night fell over the beautiful sky, the beautiful chateau, andthe beautiful gardens; and upon the secure slumbers of beautifulMadame and her beautiful son, and beautiful, beautiful France.
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Melchior's Dream and Other Tales Page 5