CHAPTER II.
HUSBAND AND WIFE.
When it is so plain to lookers-on that people ought to be happy, howperverse it is of them to be miserable! As the queen had declared,Gabrielle Marquise de Gange had no ostensible excuse for wretchedness.The specks on the sun of her good fortune were so tiny as to bewell-nigh invisible. Upon the background of her portrait by Madame leBrun, that ingenious artist had inscribed in a hand so clear that allwho ran might read, "The fairest woman of her time."
Mademoiselle Gabrielle de Breze, when she appeared at court in thecapacity of maid of honour, took the town by storm. Veteranlady-killers withdrew gold toothpicks from their gums to vow that sobrilliant a complexion, such melting eyes that changed like the moodysea, from blue to deepest violet, such a bewitching little nose, andsuch deliciously fresh lips, had never been seen before; "and herfigure! and her ankle!! and her arm and shoulder!!!" chimed in theyounger swains whose hearts were already in their hands to be flungdown as a palpitating carpet for her dainty little shoes.
The queen was enchanted with the success of her _protegee_, who wasspeedily surrounded by an increasing circle of danglers who mincedwith toes turned out, shook back their costly ruffles, and lisped themost honeyed compliments from morn to dewy eve. She enjoyed her newposition vastly, was blithe as a young bird, and gazed fearlessly oninto a future, which seemed an interminable vista paved with roses.Nor was she the least spoilt by adulation. She liked flattery, asevery pretty woman does, but looked forward at no very distant periodto the sober, substantial enjoyment of calm domestic happiness. Whenit pleased her parents to provide a spouse, she was prepared to takehim to her heart as a dutiful daughter should, and lavish on him allthe treasures of a young and guileless affection.
The king was glad of her success, because she was the child of theMarechal de Breze, a veteran of the good old school, whose body hadbeen improved and beautified by honourable scars won in his country'sbattles. As for Madame de Breze, people endured her existence. She wasa fool and a chatterbox, and wrinkled to boot, with an extraordinarycapacity for seeing things awry, and sagely commenting on them afterthe fashion of a Greek chorus. No one took heed of her, but all likedand respected the red-visaged old soldier whose rough rind covered agenerous nature, and whose purse-strings were always slack.
For the Marechal de Breze was no mere soldier of fortune with naughtin his valise except a baton. He was rich in moneys safely banked withNecker at Geneva; possessed estates in smiling Touraine; and,moreover, was afflicted with the possession of an ancient and dismalchateau on the Loire, whose waters mirrored a labyrinth ofhigh-pitched roofs, gaunt turrets, and grim gargoyles.
Of noble birth, entrancingly lovely, and an heiress. Heavens! what acombination; and at a time, too, as the queen had remarked, wheneveryone was out at elbows. It was evident that such a phenomenon mustbe snapped up at once; and straightway--helter-skelter up the widestairs of the Hotel de Breze rushed a mob of needy suitors--a hungrypack, yelling in full cry, whose ravenous ardour so scared madame thatshe forgot to improve the occasion. They had never loved till now,they cried in unison. Their quarterings were legion, their rent-rollswere miles long. The tenants never paid, and the ermine was somewhatmud-stained, but these were trifling details. They all adored thedivine Gabrielle for herself--her angel form alone; that she shouldhappen to be an heiress was another detail, and of course rather adrawback than otherwise.
The marechal laughed till his round red face was blue, for thesedisinterested persons oozed with ravening greed. The queen lookedgrave. To save her favourite from the maw of vultures was aresponsibility she would not shirk. A spouse must be found forGabrielle who might be trusted not to be outrageously bad to her. Inthese days a good husband of fitting rank was an extinct animal.Warily scanning the horizon, Marie Antoinette fixed, as the fittingswain, on Clovis, Marquis de Gange, and de Breze agreed with hermajesty that Clovis was just the man.
So far as family went, the De Ganges could compete with the noblest.Acres had dwindled; tenants were recalcitrant; Clovis's income waslittle more than nominal, but nowadays poverty was modish in thehighest circles; and, besides, it is well that the husband of a greatheiress should be kept under due control. The cunning old soldier hadsettled long ago that the spouse of his daughter should not make ducksand drakes of her broad pieces, at least without her full consent. Hehad arranged in his own mind that he would bind up the money tight,and place it in her hands, hedged about with safeguards when called toanother world. Till then he would himself dispense his fortune as hisdarling should wish and dictate. To this arrangement de Gange wasquite agreeable, knowing that the marechal was no skin-flint who wouldneed abject suing. The old gentleman, who flattered himself that hewas a judge of character, scanned the young man's features with keenscrutiny, and on the smooth surface could detect nothing of theravenous wolf. The marquis was a tall, well-built, handsome fellow,dreamy and absent in manner, pedantic in his ways, a trifle too muchenamoured of the crotchets of his day.
In the waning eighteenth century, while ladies were hopelesslyfrivolous or else weighed down with pedantry, the gentlemen came forthe most part under three categories. There was the debauchedvoluptuary, ruined alike in health, purse, and reputation, whosehonour was perforce upon his sleeve, since there was no room in hisbody for aught but selfishness. Then there was a feeble imitator whowas as artistically unsatisfactory as nondescripts always are, for hisfragment of conscience pulled him one way, and his envious admirationof stupendous wickedness another. He was always on the see-saw betweenvice and virtue, barely within touch of either. The third class wasthe most interesting, for it was clothed in mystery and draped inparadox. The dark and uncanny and incomprehensible engrossed the mindsof this set. Revealed religion having been voted out of date by theencyclopaedists and others, it was necessary to replace the broken idolwith another. It was affirmed that Nature was moved by secret springs,governed by a world of spirits whom it was possible to coerce andbring under man's dominion. It was discovered that talismans,astrology, magic sciences, were not the vulgar impostures denounced bya jealous priestcraft; that the _genus homo_ was composed of twodistinct organisms, one visible and one invisible, the latter of whichwas privileged to roam freely about the universe, paying morning callsin remote planets, communing with angelic hosts. This was afascinating theory for many reasons. The spirits who pulled ourworld-strings were good and bad, and alike vulnerable. Clearly, then,it was the distinct duty of philanthropists to fight and conquer thosewho were responsible for human ills. How delightful a sensation toseize a naughty spirit by the hair and administer a sound drubbing! Towrestle with the one, for instance, who is responsible for gout, andreturn him tweak for tweak! The yoke of the evil ones must be thrownoff, that humanity, comfortably free from pain and sorrow, might sitdown and enjoy millennium.
Hence, the dreamy people who vaguely wished well to their fellows,joined the train of mystics, laid claim to superior virtue, andtitillated their petty vanity by posing cheaply as philanthropists.
Then think of the refreshing variety which might be introduced intoone's amours! A weariful succession of mundane mistresses is sopalling to a jaded palate. But according to the new creed, as yourearthly tenement was occupied, _faute de mieux_, by commonplacelovemaking and intrigue, your more fortunate other self was blessed byan ethereal Affinity. While, in the flesh, you dallied, for want ofsomething more amusing to do, at the feet of Phryne, your soul wasflirting with a seraph somewhere in rarified space. It is gravely andseriously related of the visionary Swedenborg that while he resided inLondon, his fleshly frame was continually being refreshed. And how?His ethereal essence was in constant communion with that of a noblelady in Gutemburg. Their entwined spirits sat on a satin sofa in aboudoir illumined by wax candles--which candles were punctuallylighted by respectful footmen at the accustomed hour of therendezvous.
The high priest of the new creed was Mesmer, a Swabian doctor, who wasconspicuously su
ccessful in waging war against the envious elves whoundermine the health. As to his career of victory there was no doubtwhatever, for by hocus-pocus and laying on of hands, he succeeded incuring a variety of nervous complaints which the enemy said were dueto diseased imagination. It was idle to deny that somehow or other hedid work miracles. Even St. Thomas, arch-doubter, could believe whathe saw and felt. Under Mesmer's influence the sick took up their bedsand walked, the halt flung away their crutches. The streets about hisdwelling were choked with blazoned coaches. The frivolous and theearnest alike lost their heads. Considering the peculiarities of histemperament--too timid and too lazy to act, and therefore easilysatisfied with theory--it was in the nature of things that Clovis,Marquis de Gange, should be Mesmer's most fervent pupil.
At a period when the peccadilloes of high-born aspirants to eligiblemaidens were apt to be somewhat deep-dyed, it would have been absurdto object to a suitor on the frivolous score of mysticism. The mostexacting of wives could hardly be jealous of a passing flirtation withthe crystal ball of Doctor Dee. Nor could she fairly take umbrage atdelicate attentions to a crucible. Clovis and Gabrielle were marriedin the royal chapel, the bride being given away by the most amiableand unsinning of hard-used monarchs, and the world (who ought to know)said that the future of the happy pair could not be otherwise thanrosy. They were a model couple, for Clovis was serious and reflectivebeyond his years, with a graceful turn for music, while the lovelyface of Gabrielle beamed with affectionate pride. She was quiet,steady, and domestic, quite smothered under a heap of virtues.
Unfortunately, there were spirits at work who should have beendetected at once in their mischievous game if Mesmer had not beennapping, and duly routed by that prophet for the behoof of his dearpupil. They should have been carefully exorcised by the Master for hisbenefit, and sent packing into space to worry some one else; but asill-luck would have it, the prophet was no longer present. All themedicos of the French capital uprose with one accord, like one largeman, and sent the great Mesmer flying. If the new creed was to beaccepted, where would all the doctors be? It was altogether apestilent affair. Bread must not be snatched out of the mouths ofdoctors by designing quacks. Deputations of furious physicians rushedto the Tuileries, charging the luckless Swabian with egregiousmisdemeanours, and the king, as was his wont, gave way on the wrongoccasion. Mesmer fell a victim to professional jealousy and ignorance,and was banished from France. He paid clandestine visits to Parisbetween 1785 and 1793, and to the end his following was great, but forall that, like many another illustrious pioneer, he was kicked andbuffeted by ignorance.
The spirits, whom he was too busy in his absence and his anxieties toexorcise, played havoc in the new _menage_. Clovis, who took verykindly to the fleshpots, was proud of his wife's beauty and success,and in no wise jealous of the danglers. In truth, she was no more tohim than the _chef-d'[oe]uvre_ of a great painter, which we admire asour own until we weary of it; while we take pleasure in listening tothe praises of the critics thereanent, because it chances to be ourproperty; a noble work whose beauties we appreciate for a time withthe eye of the connoisseur, then--since it is always with us--cease tocontemplate at all. She was perfect, of course; every one knew that.Her husband, however, found little enjoyment in her society, and sooncame to prefer the contemplation of the over-vaunted charms from arespectful distance.
Accustomed as the spoilt beauty was to lavish showers of admirationfrom morning till night, the unexpected coldness of Clovis surprisedand offended Gabrielle. Had she not in her artless way said, as itwere, "You are my partner, chosen by the wise ones. I am pure, andtrue, and full of love, and you shall have it all?" It was not withinher experience to suppose that the chosen partner would care nothingfor her. How could she suppose that the angel direct from heaven(which she was assured that she was at least a dozen times a day) wasno more to the bone of her bone than a statue to be dusted andapproved? Gabrielle was extremely proud; had been pampered much. Shewas--alas, that so fair a jewel should be flawed--quite ignorant offemale wiles. So distressing and blunt an innocence was probably hermother's gift. Uncompromisingly straightforward, the young bride, who,from the first, was genuinely fond of the handsome marquis, roundlyaccused him of indifference. What had she done to deserve it? As shecomplained, she cried a little, which was tiresome. Men abhor femininewhimpering, which always reddens the nose.
She insisted on knowing in what she had offended. Her listening lordcame down from an excursion in some upper sphere, somewhat irritablydisposed by the interruption, and abruptly assured the weeping ladythat she was mistaken. He admired and liked her very much, and wouldlike her still better if she would abstain from making scenes. He hadnever been in love, he tranquilly confessed, and never would be; hadnever been in the meshes of any siren. Perhaps his invisible twin-selfwas so devoted somewhere to an "Affinity" as to have engrossed thelove-capacity of both.
Such an explanation did not mend matters. An Affinity, forsooth--inspace! More likely one of flesh and blood in hiding round the corner.It is humiliating to be calmly told that the man to whom one has givenoneself till death brings parting, has never been in love--ay--andnever will be! Stung by a feeling that was half-suspicious jealousy,half-outraged pride, the young wife said cutting things which hadbetter been left unspoken. The face of the marquis darkened. "Itdepends on yourself," he remarked, coldly, "whether we dwell togetherin peace and amity or not. I have already said that I like and admireyou very much. You must be content to take people as you find them,for it is manifest that no one can give that which he does notpossess."
It is a grievous thing for a domestically inclined and affectionatewoman to be rudely exhorted to feed on her own tissues; to discoverthat, as regards herself and the chosen one, affection is all on oneside. With burning tears of mortification, Gabrielle realised thatthough Clovis was as cold as a corpse, she loved him. Perchance theunconscious fear engendered by contact with so unusual and unexpecteda type, gave birth to a surprised fascination. She set him down as avery clever and extremely learned man, and, had he so willed it, wouldhave worshipped at his shrine with the unreasoning satisfaction ofthose who are not mentally gifted. She would have whispered with armsabout his neck, "Dear Clovis! I am not clever enough to rise to yourlevel, but I believe all you say because you say it. So kiss me, for Iam yours for all in all, and so delighted to be lovely and an heiressfor your dear darling sake!" But how to coo forth such pretty prattleto a figure made of wood? How rest content with being coldly liked,when you are burning to be beloved? Scathing disappointment anddisillusion! The beautiful and pampered Gabrielle, fortune's favouredchild, moped and fretted, and was miserable.
As years went on matters did not improve, for the unseen fingers ofthe naughty spirits were tearing the pair asunder. When she wouldfain have pouted out her lips to kiss, he stretched a surface ofcheek that was aggressively passive. He was kind according to hislights--intended to be quite a model husband, but then wives andhusbands differ as to the way that leads to perfection. Since therecould be no sympathy between them, he interfered with her in no wise.A man often deems that negative condition of freedom the _summumbonum_; not so an affectionate woman. It is said that _mariages deconvenance_ are in the long run the most satisfactory unions, becauseneither party expects anything, and whatever pleasure may casuallyarise from friendly intercourse is to the good, whereas love-matchesare built upon the sand, made up of vague yearnings and unpracticaldesires. The inevitable discovery is reached with lamentable rapiditythat dolls are stuffed with bran, and that in a sadly imperfect world"things are not what they seem." But if sympathy is nil--never existedat all--what flowers of joy can spring from utter barrenness? Clovisadored music, and could discourse prettily enough on the 'cello.Alack! Gabrielle had no ear, could not tell Glueck from Lulli; thedroning of the 'cello set her nerves a tingling; and when theunappreciated player put down the bow to prate of animal magnetism, asexpounded by the immortal Mesmer, his beautiful wife grew peevish. Oh,foolish Gabrielle! why could you not be af
fectionately deceitful sinceyou loved the man. Is the better sex gifted for nothing with peculiarattributes? Why not have compelled yourself, with pardonablefalsehood, to ask tenderly after the favourite 'cello, have begged tobe told more of Mesmer? You would, doubtless, have had to listen tomuch that would have profoundly bored you; but is not sweet woman'smission self-effacement--the daily swallowing of a large dose ofboredom? Would you not have been well repaid, if you could have taughtyour husband by cunning degrees to seek your society instead ofgadding after science; to prefer to all others a seat in your bower,with the partner who has become necessary to his comfort?
Certain it is that some of us have a dismal knack of turning our leastcomely side to those whom we like best. Whilst inwardly longing tofling herself prone in the mire and embrace his dear, lovely legs, themarquise grew nervous in her husband's presence; was fatally impelledsomehow to play the somnambule, and close up like a sleeping flower.
And so it came about that as time wore on the husband sought hiswife's society less and less; grew daily more indifferent.
The Marquise de Gange was not one of those who could find distractionamong danglers. Both education and temperament forbade so improper butmodish a proceeding. To her the circle of admirers were wired dolls,and tiresome puppets, too. Eating her heart in solitude, she mighthave been goaded in time to fly the empty world, and seek theconsolation of a cloister. But she was saved from such grim comfort bythe arrival of a pair of cherubs. A boy and a girl were born unto her,and thanking God for the saving boon, she arose and felt brave again.
Gabrielle's nature, which had been hardening, though she knew it not,softened. For the sake of the pink mites she could consent to live onin a world that was no longer empty. By some magical metamorphosis theugly cracks that had yawned across the stony plain had been filled up.The dun hideousness which by its drear monotony made the eyes ache wasmasked by blossom and verdure. Crooning over the silver cradle inwhich both treasures slumbered (an extravagance of the enchantedmarechal) she built airy palaces of amazing gorgeousness for them todwell in. They were to be shielded by triple walls from care andsorrow. To money all, we are told, is possible. Then fell the palaceslike piles of cards. Had she not herself been shielded? Had not goldbeen freely squandered that not one of her rose leaves should becrumpled? Yet--but for the advent of the cherubs, and despite thewatchful affection of the doting marechal--had she not been very nearfleeing from the tinsel grandeur of a squalid globe to take refuge atthe altar-foot?
The castles insisted on being built, however. Patience andlong-suffering would reap their reward some day. The cherubs wouldgrow up and weave an indissoluble link with their young fingers whichshould draw the estranged parents together and bind them tight atlast. Their mother would fondly teach them to adore their father, tosee none but his best side. They would learn to respect his crotchets.And at this point she would herself be lost in dreamy reverie. Couldhis tenets with regard to the prophet be aught but midsummer madness?There was no doubt that he cured the sick. What if it were reallypossible to rout the wicked demons and produce millennium? To herpractical but limited intelligence the creed was a farrago of folly.But then, Clovis, who was so clever, believed in it. Was she morestupid and ignorant even than humility confessed? Then she would risesuddenly and go about some household business, with the head-shake ofthe antlered stag that scatters dewdrops. The new creed was blasphemy,and she would have naught to do with it. The holy angels would guardherself and the dear innocents, if angelic suffrages could be securedby never-ceasing fervent prayer.
Sages do not care for babies, though mothers generally do. Clovis,when exhorted to that effect, contemplated his offspring once a day assome curious product from a distant land, gave each cherub a finger tosuck, then retired with unseemly alacrity to his 'cello and his books.
The ramifications of secret societies in the metropolis were spreadingin all directions--societies which deliberated with closed doors toescape vulgar ribaldry--bands of philanthropists urged by purebenevolence, in search now of a universal panacea. Humanity was a vastbrotherhood to be united for mutual defence against the machinationsof the devils. Exhorted by Mesmer from a distance, the faithful toiledquietly on, that the name of their master might be exalted.
So matters progressed in humdrum fashion for several years, and Cloviswas placidly content; but as the procession of the months went by, agradual change came over the societies, which, when he became aware ofit, filled the unmilitant soul of the marquis with dread. Boldphilanthropists, at midnight meetings, would sometimes give vent tonew and startling views, affecting not health, but politics. A fewpresumed openly to declare that the evil spirits had got into theministers, from whom they must be quickly expelled. Considering thatministries fell and rose just now at brief intervals, it was shockingto think how many bad spirits must be at work. M. Necker and Turgot,and brilliantly fertile Calonne, were all occupied by fiends whoentered in and made themselves comfortable, as the hermit-crab invadesthe shell of the creature he has devoured. This theorem beingestablished, it became the duty of the philanthropists to busythemselves on behalf of their country, which needed special as well asprompt doctoring. Then uprose speakers whose discourse smacked littleof philanthropy, but savoured rather of iconoclasm. The Marquis deGange, noble and wealthy, would make a splendid figure-head for thebudding movement. Ere he could recover breath, or gather the scatteredstrands of his scared wits, Clovis found himself on the point ofbecoming an important political personage, and at a moment whenprominence and personal peril marched hand in hand abreast. Heprudently took to shunning the places of meeting, which but the otherday had been his favourite resorts, for he had a horror of politics,and objected to being made a hero; but the agitators declined to lethim escape so easily. They pursued him to his home, strove to convincehim that he was a patriot; by turns threatened and cajoled, till thedreamer in an agony beheld no safety but in flight. A pretty state ofthings! Was not his wife the favourite of the queen; his father-in-lawesteemed by the king? What would the verdict of his class be, were heto turn round and bite the hands that had caressed him? He would beostracised, undone, held up to merited obloquy. He had no ambition tobecome another Lafayette, and declined to be convinced by argument. Toavoid being mixed in complications fraught with danger, it would beprudent to vanish for a time, but whither to retire was the rub. Hewished to stay and yet to go, and bit his nails in indecision.Concealed anxiety made calm Clovis querulous and snappish, andGabrielle was not slow to perceive that he was suffering, though thecause she could not guess. He had got himself into some mess. Was itmoney? If only he would let her share his worries! Her timid overtureswere promptly nipped; terror made him absolutely harsh. Sighing, shefell back upon herself, as usual, and kissed the cherubs in their bed.
At the time when this story opens, July, 1789, the marquis and hiswife had been married six years. The latter, though easily led bykindness, could fitfully display sometimes symptoms of independence.As a loving and self-respecting woman, she had kept with infinite careher catalogue of troubles from her parents. They, content withconstant assurances that all was well, desired no further information.Madame de Breze had settled, to her complete satisfaction, that herson-in-law was a harmless lunatic. When she obliged him with herviews, he looked through her at something beyond. But then, who hadever appreciated her sagacity? Well, well. Have not some of ourbrightest lights been misunderstood while alive, to be tardilycanonized afterwards? As for M. de Breze, he was perfectly satisfiedwith Clovis, who, if eccentric and somewhat fish-like, wasdelightfully free from vices. If a man is perfect in manners anddeportment, always civil and obliging, surely you may forgive thesmall drawbacks which go with the visionary and the bookworm. Thebluff soldier would have had him drink and gamble more, just to showthat he was human and a man, and be less fond of mysterious societies.But as Clovis had himself remarked, we must take people as we findthem, and be content with mercies vouchsafed. Why! The marquis mighthave turned out an incorrigible rake; have squander
ed large sumscoaxed from his wife on low theatrical hussies. Thank goodness, heshowed no signs of breaking out in that direction; and it was notuntil the _soiree intime_ at the palace that it came home to thedoting father that there might be something amiss in the _menage_.
Gabrielle had looked so unaccountably distressed and confused. She wasconcealing something--what? Was the placid marquis an ogre in private?Of course not. As he strolled home the marechal made up his mind topump Toinon on the morrow, and, from hints ingeniously extracted fromthat astute damsel, severely catechise his daughter.
The Maid of Honour: A Tale of the Dark Days of France. Vol. 1 (of 3) Page 2