The Maid of Honour: A Tale of the Dark Days of France. Vol. 1 (of 3)

by Lewis Wingfield

  CHAPTER IV.

  THE CHATEAU OF "LORGE."

  In Touraine, midway between Tours and Blois, the venerable chateau ofLorge stands out from a wooded background, bathing its feet in theswiftly flowing Loire, morosely contemplating the details of its grimreflection. Profoundly interesting from an archaeological point ofview, the historic pile is not a lively dwelling, and it is no wonderthat the jolly old marechal should have ungrudgingly passed it to hisdaughter. Privileged to occupy a place in one of the most smilingprovinces of France, it is within a drive of Amboise on one side andChinon on the other, dignified castles both; and not very far away isDiane de Poictier's Chenonceaux, whimsically spanning a river, aspecimen of elfin architecture straight from fairyland. Lorge datesfrom the iron period; not the time of prehistoric man, who hadrecently blossomed out of monkeydom, but of the early mediaeval barons,who slept in their armour--as they still do on their tombs--whose petpastimes were the cleaving of pates and the quaffing of usquebaugh.

  With the march of centuries Amboise, Chinon, and the rest found itadvisable to polish themselves up, and modify their native harshnessto be in touch with less rugged epochs; but no coaxing ingenuity ofarchitect or landscape gardener could ever smooth the frown from thefrowning face of Lorge. It seemed to say with pride, "The darkest andmost cruel deeds have been perpetrated within my walls. Down below Ihave smothered the cries for mercy of weak women outraged, andchildren brutally maltreated. My favourite music is the clank ofsteel. I was baptised with blood, whose reek may never fade, whosestain may never be effaced."

  You cannot make a junketting house out of a fortress, and Lorge,despite changes, is a fortress still. On the facade, defended by theriver, are the stately reception rooms, opening one into the other ina string; a long suite which occupies the first floor, whose heavilymullioned casements are large enough to permit the sun to gild theantique hangings. Each of these windows is adorned by a ponderousstone balcony, which can be used for purposes of defence. The othersides of the edifice seem blank and blind, the high enclosing wallsbeing unbroken, save by a dentilated series of merlons and crenels,with cruciform embrasures below, The chambers on these sides areparticularly depressing to the spirits, since they afford no prospect,save a bare paved court with the enclosing wall beyond.

  Courageous chatelaines, striving after cheerfulness, have made effortsfrom time to time to brighten Lorge. The drawbridge and portcullis,which jealously barred the entrance, have been removed from the doublearchway and replaced by wooden doors. The moat which guarded the threesides landward, with a defensive wall along the outer bank, has becomea garden with trim green slopes, and a wealth of glorious roses. Theends that used to join the river have been walled up, and adorned withflights of steps which lead to decaying boat-houses. Private posterns,drilled in the masonry, afford easy access from the courtyard to themoat-pleasaunce for such as may possess the keys; but in spite ofevery effort, the flowering hedges and rose-bushes only serve bycontrast to make Lorge more dreary--a skull bedecked with flowers. Onespecially brave lady had the hardihood once to plan great gardens inthe Dutch style beyond the moat, on the other side of the road. Therewere long alleys of clipped yew and beech; _tonelles_ or arched bowersto give grateful shade; a procession of weird animals, fashioned ofholly, that cast fantastic shadows on the sward; oblong tanks whereswans serenely sailed, steering among isles of water-lily. But nosubsequent chatelaine was sturdy enough to carry on the hopeless war.The alleys were soon choked, the _tonelles_ grew into thickets, themimic menagerie degenerated into ragged rows of bushes. By the timethe marechal inherited, there was no place devoted to flowers exceptthe moat-pleasaunce, and even that was sadly neglected.

  Though you see them not, dank dungeons honeycomb the foundations.There are noisome cells on the level of the water-line that may atwill be flooded. You know that they are there, although some lord withtender nerves fastened them up long since. There they are, under yourfeet, audibly crooning their low song of woe unmerited, of dumbdespair, of remorseless cruelty. The ancient implements of torturethat still ornament the wainscot of the banquet-hall take up theirparable, and sing. Time does not still that wailing chaunt which tellsof robbery, and tyranny, and persecution. No skill may exorcise thetrain of shades, undone for greed or lust, or victims for conscience'sake, who parade the corridors of Lorge.

  Not but what it has charms of its own: a plaintive sweetness set in aminor key. The view across the Loire in summer time of emeraldwoodland is superb. The long drawing-rooms overlooking the stream areof stately proportions. Their immense overhanging chimney-pieces areblazoned with coats of arms sculptured in the stone. Carved crests arerepeated again and again in the fretted ceilings. The tapestries, withtheir shadowy story of mad King Charles the Sixth and his treacherouswife, and the faithful girl, Odette, with their warm background ofdimmed gold, have been pronounced by experts to be priceless. Thelittle boudoir at the end which closes the suite is a dainty and cosynest. Than the country round nothing can be more delightful; you mayride for hours unchecked amid the leafy woods over a velvet carpet; oryou may boat and explore the erratic sinuosities of the river,dreaming out epics as you go anent the lordly, but for the most partempty, dwellings that look down on you from either bank. As anirreverent Parisian visitor once observed to a horror-strickenneighbour, "Lorge would be a charming _sejour_ if one might pull downthe castle and erect instead a villa."

  At the time which occupies us there was but one near neighbourresident. The Chateau de Montbazon was not much more than a mile away,having been built on a little bit of Lorge property beyond the Loire,which had changed hands one night at cards. The spot commanded anexceptionally fine prospect, so the owner placed a house on it. It wasbought a generation later by the Baron de Vaux, who dwelt there withhis wife and daughter, Angelique, and great was the joy of thoseladies upon hearing that Lorge, which was so little occupied, wasagain to be inhabited.

  Country life at this period was, from a fashionable point of view, asingular anomaly. Marie Antoinette's dairymaid proclivities at Trianonhad rendered it _de rigueur_ to find pleasure in bucolic occupations.Old customs were giving way to new-fangled habits borrowed from othernations. You were offered tea as in England instead of coffee, andwere invited to join in the game of "boston," brought from the infantrepublic beyond seas by the followers of Lafayette. Dress, except atthe Parisian court, grew simpler. Ladies, instead of brocaded damasks,wore muslins and flimsy materials. Men donned garments of plain clothinstead of satin or velvet. Noble dames grown tired of expensivejewellery affected a badge made of some hero's head executed inminiature. Franklin's or Rousseau's profile was modish, though themore sentimental preferred a pet cat's portrait set on a ribbon inplace of a diadem and feathers. Emancipated from trains and furbelows,you could now really move about in the country without muchdiscomfort.

  The court circle was perforce a narrow one. Those who had not theentree to Versailles withdrew to their estates when the queen retiredto Trianon, and there drank milk and made believe to hunt, or actedtragedies and spouted epic poesy, pretending to be vastly entertained;not but what they were ready to rush back to the capital with alldespatch when Fashion declared it possible.

  But then, of late years, the decrees of Fashion had been sorelyinterfered with by that aggressive Third Estate. Refusal to pay rentswas annoying, but an evil to which all were accustomed. In some partsevil-disposed persons declared landlords to be the natural foes of thesovereign people, and discussed how the vermin was to be got rid of. Adeep-rooted, bitter hate, sprung from long and systematic oppression,divided class from class by an intangible but impenetrable barrier; ahate that grew all the stronger, in that it had long been veiled byfear and lashed by supercilious scorn. Republicanism was in execrabletaste--a subject for contemptuous laughter on the part of theprovincial seigneurie. Its exponents bore on a pole a turnip with acandle in it, which could frighten none but children. The countrynobility attached no special meaning to the unse
emly snarling. Untilthe great crash came, and the rural palaces were sacked and burned,the seigneurie never fully realized the thinness of the crust they hadbeen dancing on. In certain provinces it had been unsafe for some timepast for landlords to show their noses at all, much less prate ofpaying rent. These not unwillingly left their chateaux to fate,whereby the condition of small shopkeepers and such local fry was notameliorated. In more favoured districts dislike and discontent laysmouldering, and my lords were still free to amuse themselves withtheir guests from town, indifferent to the feelings of the masses.

  The de Vaux family were not of the court circle; indeed, they rarelytravelled to the metropolis, but were content to ape its manners froma distance. The trio were dull enough, as narrow in their views and asobstinately fixed in the tenets of their grandsires as most countrygentlefolk are, but they were well intentioned, and availed themselvesof the earliest opportunity to pay their respects at Lorge. Gabriellereceived them with open arms. Was she not bent on inaugurating a newera for herself and Clovis, and had she not been informed by herfather's unseemly merriment, that it is not well to bore a husband?Not that the newcomers, who had driven over in the craziest ofshanderydans, showed signs of being an acquisition. On the contrary.Long before the sun went down, Gabrielle felt that she could see toomuch of Madame de Vaux, while Clovis listened, marvelling, to the oldgentleman's platitudes which were at least a century old.

  The baroness was not slow to tumble out upon the floor her peck oftroubles. She always had a waggon-load about her. Angelique examinedthe gown of the marquise with absorbed interest. The baron lectured onaffairs, with an occasional raid into his wife's country, to rout herarmy of Jeremiads.

  "Figure to yourself, my dear," groaned Madame de Vaux, after arefreshing pinch of snuff, "that though we have had little disturbancehere so far, we are surrounded by snakes in the grass. Our Angeliqueis always doing something for the ungrateful monsters who, when herback's turned, gnash their teeth. All last winter, in spite of thehard times, we distributed broken victuals to the destitute, and theysaid that the refuse from our table had already been refused by thedogs. Did you ever hear the like? Horrid, spiteful, ungratefulcreatures!"

  "They know no better," replied Angelique, with a contemptuous curl ofthe lip. "We can afford to laugh at them and their threats when we areconscious of having done our duty."

  "My brave child!" ejaculated madame with fervour; "what a comfort tobe mother of a child who would rise equal to any emergency!"

  "Noblesse oblige!" snorted the baron, proudly. "We may be poor andcompelled to fill ourselves with over much _bouilli_, but our blood isof the ancestral colour. A daughter of yours and mine, madame, would,of course, be equal to an emergency."

  The sentiment was mighty fine--one that might not be disputed. Clovislanguidly bowed and murmured something polite, while Gabrielle yawnedbehind her fan. Good gracious! Was the intercourse of the newneighbours to consist in mutual admiration of pedigrees?

  The marquis turned the conversation to his favourite subject. Had thebaron, who doubtless was acquainted with matters of current interest,by means of the _Gazette_, at all occupied himself with animalmagnetism?

  With what? A pretty subject for gentlefolk! Rumour had alreadywhispered that the young marquis's pursuits were uncanny. The baronglanced at the baroness, who looked unutterable things, whileAngelique detected a shade of sadness flitting over the face of themarquise.

  "God forbid!" cried the old lady, leaping into the breach, "that weshould know aught of devil's sabbats."

  Clovis laughed, amused. "It is so easy to denounce what we do notcomprehend," he observed, demurely. "Some day, when you are howlingwith pain, we will drive over to Montbazon, and cure you by laying onof hands."

  Gabrielle frowned. Such an ill-chosen expression, a parody on HolyWrit, or something like it! She began to perceive that it might not beso easy to vanquish Mesmer, and, seeing them as shocked as she was,felt rather anxious to be rid of her guests.

  "I won't be cured by devils!" stoutly declared the baroness. "I'drather grin and bear it."

  "For my part, I care little to inquire into the means, provided that Iam cured," civilly remarked Angelique.

  Here was one ready for conversion! Clovis woke up, and drawing hischair closer, detailed with eager admiration the triumphs of theprophet, to which the baron listened with the polite sceptical smilethat becomes one who is a noble--a superior person--and knows it.Gabrielle looked grave and apologetic. The ground was slippery, andthe baroness, agile, despite her figure, again jumped into the breach.

  "Yes. Just one more dish of tea, my sweetest marquise," she cried,"and then we must go home to Montbazon. When you come to see us, ifyou like to walk, you have only to cross the river in a boat, youknow, and the distance by the bridle-path is nothing. But I would notwander alone if I were you, there are such sinister men about. Do youknow--of course you don't--that you've a nice thorn in your own sidethat will soon prick you--he! he! That Jean Boulot of yours is ashocking character, one of the odious, deceitful, crawling kind, whichis the worst of all!"

  "Nothing of the sort, my dear!" interrupted the baron. "His opinionsare regretable, but he is a rough, honest fellow who professes ahumble fondness for the de Breze family, which does him honour!"

  "And in the same breath he derides the aristocracy!" retorted the oldlady, with a giggle.

  "Which can well look after itself!" replied her husband.

  "Take my advice, dear, and get rid of him, or you'll regret it," urgedthe baroness.

  "He's a confidential servant, who was born and bred here!" objectedGabrielle. "He and those who went before have always served us well,and Jean would not hurt a hair of any of our heads, I warrant. He didsomething silly the other day in the way of talking nonsense, and myfather rated him for it. That episode is over and forgotten."

  "He's a democrat, or worse, if possible," asserted the baroness withmany nods. "Capable of anything, my dear; get rid of him; a scorpion!"she continued, wagging her head; and content with this firstimpression, the old lady gathered up her wraps, and with an elaboratecurtsey, swept away the family, delighted with the effect she hadproduced.

  Neither Gabrielle nor Clovis were equally charmed. These tiresomepeople were their only neighbours! Then it must be solitude indeed.Angelique seemed a nice girl enough; but the baroness was overwise inher own conceit; and the baron ridiculously puffed with theoverweening vanity of class. If the pair were to live absolutelyalone, Gabrielle, doubting her own strength of will and power offascination, already trembled for her experiment. Where could societybe found which should rub off the jagged edges of a _tete-a-tete_? Thechateaux round about were unoccupied. Nobody dwelt at Blois exceptbourgeoisie and common persons. Perhaps this move into the desert hadbeen imprudent. Well, if it proved disastrous, they could return toParis and no harm done, considering how far apart they had driftedalready. A little society--just two or three congenial persons--wouldmake all the difference; but where might such fowls be caught?

  What of this communication about Jean Boulot? surely it was idletittle-tattle, born in the murky brain of a stupid old woman. He ascorpion on the hearth, to be got rid of before he could sting? Thecharge was ridiculous, and yet demanded attention, considering theBastile episode such a brief while ago. And he was engaged to Toinontoo. Under the seal of strictest secrecy that damsel had shared herdelicious secret with her foster-sister, and the latter with a heartykiss had wished her joy. It was only fair to both the lovers that thematter should be cleared up, and to that end the damsel must becross-examined.

  When charged with the lamentable leanings of her affianced, Toinonmade no attempt to laugh the matter off. She was fain to confessherself disappointed in Jean Boulot. He was too straightforward tostoop to knavery. You only had to look into his fearless, clear greyeyes to be assured of it; but his sentiments were distressing. He toldhis love when she remonstrated that reason and justice could only bedeparted from by paths watered with tears; and when she retorted thathe wo
uld certainly be hanged if he were heard to indulge in such talk,he only shrugged his shoulders and remarked that the gallows were madefor the unlucky. In the middle of an impressive lecture he snatched akiss and laughed, and actually confessed with something that lookedlike pride that he had just been selected from among his fellows to bechief of some new society. He was constantly moving about among therustics discoursing about the improvement of their condition at theexpense of a superior class. All Toinon could be sure of was that Jeanwas beyond her control. Perhaps madame might succeed in managing theyoung man and bring him to a sense of his enormities.

  The experiment was not crowned with success, for instead of confessinghis sins with a _mea culpa_, Jean smiled and delivered himself ofvarious mysterious hints. "Never you fear," he asserted, cheerfully,"whatever may happen by and by, you and yours shall be defended withmy best blood; not but what a glimpse of your sweet face will beenough to calm the boys, however spitefully inclined. As to theothers--H'm!"

  Enigmatical and unsatisfactory.

  It was certainly very dull in the desert; and before many weeks wereover, the marquise was prepared secretly to admit that her father hadjudged rightly. She was no nearer to her husband here than in Paris;and caught herself longing more and more for those two or threecongenial persons who were unattainable. It is all very well to wrapyourself in your children, to watch the young intelligence unfoldingtender leaves, to mark and record with little thrills of joy each newsally of infant wit; but carefully nurtured babes retire early to thenest, and long evening hours have to be got through which are apt tohang heavy on the hands. There was absolutely no one to talk to,Gabrielle was not of a studious turn, avoiding the library as a closeand musty place, had no _penchant_ for embroidery, cared not to tinkleon a spinette. Clovis, on the other hand, professed himself delightedwith the unbroken solitude where there was nobody to plague him withpolitics; employed his time in writing reams to Mesmer, and countingthe days which must elapse before he could receive replies. When wearyof considering the pros and cons of the prophet's theories, he lockedhimself in his study, and could be heard far into the night groaningsonatas on his 'cello. Oh, that 'cello! Its moans were extremelywearing to Gabrielle's nerves, for it always suggested to her a coffinwith some one in agony inside. Weave new bands of affection, forsooth,far from the madding crowd! How doleful a deception was hers.

  The marquis seemed to have forgotten that he was father of twocherubs, was certainly oblivious of the fact that his better half wasa reigning beauty, who, in her prime was self-deposed. Sometimes hewould sally forth on solitary rides, and return, depressed and dumb,to fall asleep in his chair. It was certain that the pair weredrifting more fatally distant from each other in the country even thanin town. This was not life, but vegetation; sure any change would be agodsend.

  At one moment the hapless marquise thought of summoning a bevy of thedanglers whom she had loftily pretended to despise; but, if they wereto come--unable to get on with Clovis--how were they to be amused? Atanother time she was on the point of imploring the marechal and hiswife to break the bonds of dulness by a visit, but then again shehesitated. How was she to parry her father's anxious questions, howavoid his sympathetic eyes? No. Come what might, she would bear whatshe must bear, and veil her wounds from her beloved ones.

  Now and again the de Vaux family drove over to spend the afternoon,and the visit was in due course returned; but though all parties werepunctiliously civil and vowed they enjoyed themselves immensely, itwas clear to both families that no intimacy could arise between them.

  Gabrielle was almost driven to lower her flag and retire from thefield; was indeed debating how she should set about it with dignity,when that for which she craved was suddenly tossed into her lap.

  One morning, the marquis actually so far broke through his secludedhabits, as without a formal message sent in advance, to invade hiswife's boudoir. Her heart gave a great bound, and looking up from thechildren's hornbook in glad surprise, she smiled gratefully on him.Was this a first advance? She was determined that the visit should bea pleasant one, and to that end proceeded forthwith to trot out theprodigies. He had no idea, she prattled, how vast were theiracquirements. They knew ever so many wondrous things which would nodoubt delight their parent. Straightway, like little clockworkparrots, well-wound up, the infants chirped forth their lore, whilethe marquis's face increased in length, the while with well-bredcourtesy he made believe to listen. His dreamy eyes wandered over amap of varied stains on their dirty little pinafores. They diffused anaroma of bread and butter; their angel fingers shone with grease.Their acquirements, he coldly agreed when they had run down, wereremarkable for tender years, and the weather being fine they hadbetter run out and play.

  Gabrielle sighed. Mere politeness--such politeness as a wearied butcourteous stranger might bestow--in which was no scintilla ofaffection. Unnatural parent! After all, the darlings were perchance atrifle juvenile to interest a man. Men, as a rule, can see no beautyin babes and sucklings; vote them revolting lumps of adipose tissue;but then, sweet Victor and Camille were not babies, for one was fiveand the other four--were enjoying that most fascinating period ofexistence when we are never clean, and are always falling down andcrying.

  The unappreciated angels having shrieked off down the longdrawing-rooms, there to tumble, hurt themselves, and howl, Clovis satdown and explained the cause of his irruption.

  "A letter! Good news or bad?" inquired Gabrielle, with a presentimentof evil.

  "That depends how you read it," returned her husband, quietly. "As youare aware, I never inflicted my uncongenial presence overmuch on you;never sought to know why you were so ready to abdicate your brilliantposition in Paris to suit a passing whim of mine, but I was none theless obliged by your compliance. I now wish you to please yourself,and make arrangements for the future, such as may suit your views."

  Gabrielle stared at the automaton. Good heavens! His uncongenialpresence. Was he so blind as not to perceive how she hungered for it?A burning reproach was on her lips, but found no voice; for somehow,seeing him sit there so straight and cold and self-complacent, hercourage oozed away.

  "Do what you choose." He continued with bland indifference. "I wasnever jealous of your entourage, because I liked you to enjoy the meedof admiration that is your due, and know that you are to be trustedeven in so perilous a vortex as Versailles. For reasons with which Ineed not trouble you, I prefer myself to remain here for a while, withyour permission; but seem to see that you are weary of playing thechatelaine. Is it so? Would you like to return to Paris. Pleaseyourself. You will admit that I give you the completest liberty."

  The heart of the poor wife sank low. For what crime was she condemnedto love an icicle? If he would only find fault, or discover agrievance, or even wax wroth without a cause, and smite her! Each calmand measured sentence as he sat, with the finger-tips of one handpoised accurately on those of the other, was like the prick of a steelstiletto. His gaze was fixed on a tree a long way off. He could noteven trouble to look at her.

  Sighing wearily, she murmured, "Completest liberty, no doubt. I andthe children are to go away and leave you here alone?"

  Clovis moved his gaze to another tree and cleared his throat. "Notunless you wish it," he said, "but something has happened that is alittle embarrassing."

  "Any trouble? Am I not here to share it."

  "Scarcely a trouble--an inconvenience only, which you may object toshare," her husband answered, smiling. "Could you brook otherinmates?"

  "Other inmates! What can you mean?'

  "As you know, though you have never seen them, I have twohalf-brothers. They are inseparable--quite pattern brothers--the onebrilliantly clever, the other his admiring shadow. The Abbe Pharamond,the younger one, would be welcomed in any society on account of hissparkling talent; but he has preferred to shine alone at Toulouse,rather than consent to be a unit in the system of stars at Paris. Hehas got into trouble, and writes to ask for an asylum for himself andPhebus."

&n
bsp; "What trouble?"

  "A too pungent epigram followed by a fatal duel, makes it convenientto seek eclipse. In six months the affair will have blown over. Youwould be sure to like the abbe, if you met him; while as for poor dearPhebus, the chevalier, as he is called in the south, he is fat andsomnolent, and would not hurt a fly."

  Gabrielle reflected, Why did a voice deep down within whisper words ofwarning? Here were the congenial persons for whose advent she hadlonged. What a relief to the _tete-a-tete_ would be the brilliantabbe, and fat Phebus who would not hurt a fly! Thanks to them, Lorgemight become endurable. On the suggestion of a return to Paris, thedifficulty had occurred to her as to the excuse to be made for herhusband's lengthened absence. Clearly she must remain at Lorge, solong as he thought fit to do so. Perhaps the abbe disliked music andhated violoncellos? Together in the dead of night they would capturethe marquis's treasure and send it floating down the Loire.

  "My dear Clovis!" she exclaimed presently, with genuine pleasure; "yousingular being! What objection could I have? On the contrary, I amcharmed with the opportunity of making the acquaintance of yourbrothers."