Gallantry: Dizain des Fetes Galantes by James Branch Cabell (ereader for comics txt) 📗

her husband.

"I would not be surprised," said the Grand Duke, raising his eyes toward heaven, "if by this time it were all over the palace."

VII

Then, as his wife waited, speechless, the Grand Duke gravely asked: "You, too, have heard of this sad affair, Victoria? Ah, I perceive you have, and that you come in haste to prevent it,—even to pursue these misguided beings, if necessary, as the fact that you come already dressed for the journey very eloquently shows. You are self-sacrificing, you possess a good heart, Victoria."

"I did not know—" began the Grand Duchess.

"Until the last moment," the Grand Duke finished. "Eh, I comprehend. But perhaps," he continued, hopefully, "it is not yet too late to bring them to their senses."

And turning toward the Baroness and de Châteauroux, he said:

"I may not hinder your departure if you two in truth are swayed by love, since to control that passion is immeasurably beyond the prerogative of kings. Yet I beg you to reflect that the step you contemplate is irrevocable. Yes, and to you, madame, whom I have long viewed with a paternal affection—an emotion wholly justified by the age and rank for which it has pleased Heaven to preserve me,—to you in particular I would address my plea. If with an entire heart you love Monsieur de Châteauroux, why, then—why, then, I concede that love is divine, and yonder carriage at your disposal. But I beg you to reflect—"

"Believe me," said the Baroness, "we are heartily grateful for your
Highness' magnanimity. We may, I deduce, depart with your permission?"

"Oh, freely, if upon reflection—"

"I can reflect only when I am sitting down," declared the Baroness. She handed her portmanteau to de Châteauroux, and stepped into the carriage. And the Grand Duke noted that a coachman and two footmen had appeared, from nowhere in particular.

"To you, Monsieur le Comte," his Highness now began, with an Olympian frown, "I have naught to say. Under the cover of our hospitality you have endeavored to steal away the fairest ornament of our Court; I leave you to the pangs of conscience, if indeed you possess a conscience. But the Baroness is unsophisticated; she has been misled by your fallacious arguments and specious pretence of affection. She has evidently been misled," he said to the Grand Duchess, kindly, "as any woman might be."

"As any woman might be!" his wife very feebly echoed.

"And I shall therefore," continued the Grand Duke, "do all within my power to dissuade her from this ruinous step. I shall appeal to her better nature, and not, I trust, in vain."

He advanced with dignity to the carriage, wherein the Baroness was seated. "Amalia," he whispered, "you are an admirable actress. 'O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all whooping!"

The Baroness smiled.

"And it is now time," said his Highness, "for me to appeal to your better nature. I shall do so in a rather loud voice, for I have prepared a most virtuous homily that I am unwilling the Grand Duchess should miss. You will at its conclusion be overcome with an appropriate remorse, and will obligingly burst into tears, and throw yourself at my feet—pray remember that the left is the gouty one,—and be forgiven. You will then be restored to favor, while de Châteauroux drives off alone and in disgrace. Your plan works wonderfully."

"It is true," the Baroness doubtfully said, "such was the plan."

"And a magnificent one," said the Grand Duke.

"But I have altered it, your Highness."

"And this alteration, Amalia—?"

"Involves a trip to Vienna."

"Not yet, Amalia. We must wait."

"Oh, I could never endure delays," said the Baroness, "and, since you cannot accompany me, I am going with Monsieur de Châteauroux."

The Grand Duke grasped the carriage door.

"Preposterous!" he cried.

"But you have given your consent," the Baroness protested, "and in the presence of the Grand Duchess."

"Which," said the Grand Duke, "was part of our plan."

"Indeed, your Highness," said the Baroness, "it was a most important part. You must know," she continued, with some diffidence, "that I have the misfortune to love Monsieur de Châteauroux."

"Who is in love with Victoria."

"I have the effrontery to believe," said the Baroness, "that he is, in reality, in love with me."

"Especially after hearing him last night," the Grand Duke suggested.

"That scene, your Highness, we had carefully rehearsed—oh, seven or eight times! Personally, I agreed with your Highness that the quotation from Theocritus was pedantic, but Philippe insisted on it, you conceive—"

The Grand Duke gazed meditatively upon the Baroness, who had the grace to blush.

"Then it was," he asked, "a comedy for my benefit?"

"You would never have consented—" she began. But the Grand Duke's countenance, which was slowly altering to a greenish pallor, caused her to pause.

"You will get over it in a week, Louis," she murmured, "and you will find other—baronesses."

"Oh, very probably!" said his Highness, and he noted with pleasure that he spoke quite as if it did not matter. "Nevertheless, this was a despicable trick to play upon the Grand Duchess."

"Yet I do not think the Grand Duchess will complain," said the Baroness von
Altenburg.

And it was as though a light broke on the Grand Duke. "You planned all this beforehand?" he inquired.

"Why, precisely, your Highness."

"And de Châteauroux helped you?"

"In effect, yes, your Highness."

"And the Grand Duchess knew?"

"The Grand Duchess suggested it, your Highness, the moment that she knew you thought of eloping."

"And I, who tricked Gaston—!"

"Louis," said the Baroness von Altenburg, in a semi-whisper, "your wife is one of those persons who cling to respectability like a tippler to his bottle. To her it is absolutely nothing how many women you may pursue—or conquer—so long as you remain here under her thumb, to be exhibited, in fair sobriety, upon the necessary public occasions. I pity you, my Louis." And she sighed with real compassion.

He took possession of one gloved hand. "At the bottom of your heart," his
Highness said, irrelevantly, "you like me better than you do Monsieur de
Châteauroux."

"I find you the more entertaining company, to be sure—But what a woman most wants is to be loved. If I touch Philippe's hand for, say, the millionth part of a second longer than necessity compels, he treads for the remainder of the day above meteors; if yours—why, you at most admire my fingers. No doubt you are a connoisseur of fingers and such-like trifles; but, then, a woman does not wish to be admired by a connoisseur so much as she hungers to be adored by a maniac. And accordingly, I prefer my stupid Philippe."

"You are wise," the Grand Duke estimated, "I remember long ago … in
Poictesme yonder…."

"I loathe her," the Bareness said, with emphasis. "Nay, I am ignorant as to who she was—but O my Louis! had you accorded me a tithe of the love you squandered on that abominable dairymaid I would have followed you not only to Vienna—"

He raised his hand, "There are persons yonder in whom the proper emotions are innate; let us not shock them. No, I never loved you, I suppose; I merely liked your way of talking, liked your big green eyes, liked your lithe young body…. Hé, and I like you still, Amalia. So I shall not play the twopenny despot. God be with you, my dear."

He had seen tears in those admirable eyes before he turned his back to her.
"Monsieur de Châteauroux," he called, "I find the lady is adamant. I wish
you a pleasant journey." He held open the door of the carriage for de
Châteauroux to enter.

"You will forgive us, your Highness?" asked the latter.

"You will forget?" murmured the Baroness.

"I shall do both," said the Grand Duke. "Bon voyage, mes enfants!"

And with a cracking of whips the carriage drove off.

"Victoria," said the plump little Grand Duke, in admiration, "you are a remarkable woman. I think that I will walk for a while in the gardens, and meditate upon the perfections of my wife."

VIII

He strolled in the direction of the woods. As he reached the summit of a slight incline he turned and looked toward the road that leads from Breschau to Vienna. A cloud of dust showed where the carriage had disappeared.

"Ma foi!" said his Highness; "my wife has very fully proven her executive ability. Beyond doubt, there is no person in Europe better qualified to rule Noumaria as Regent."

LOVE'S ALUMNI: THE AFTERPIECE

As Played at Ingilby, October 6, 1755

"Though marriage be a lottery, in which there are a wondrous many blanks, yet there is one inestimable lot, in which the only heaven on earth is written. Would your kind fate but guide your hand to that, though I were wrapt in all that luxury itself could clothe me with, I still should envy you."

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

DUKE OF ORMSKIRK.
LOUIS DE SOYECOURT, formerly GRAND DUKE OF NOUMARIA, and now a tuner of
pianofortes.
DUC DE PUYSANGE.
DAMIENS, servant to Ormskirk.

In Dumb Show are presented LORD HUMPHREY DEGGE, CAPTAIN FRANCIS AUDAINE,
MR. GEORGE ERWYN, DUCHESS OF ORMSKIRK, DUCHESSE DE PUYSANGE, LADY HUMPHREY
DEGGE, MRS. AUDAINE, and MRS. ERWYN.

SCENE

The library, and afterward the dining-room, of Ormskirk's home at Ingilby, in Westmoreland.

LOVE'S ALUMNI

PROEM:-Wherein a Prince Serves His People

The Grand Duke did not return to breakfast nor to dinner, nor, in point of fact, to Noumaria. For the second occasion Louis de Soyecourt had vanished at the spiriting of boredom; and it is gratifying to record that his evasion passed without any train of turmoil.

The Grand Duchess seemed to disapprove of her bereavement, mildly, but only said, "Well, after all—!"

She saw to it that the ponds about the palace were dragged conscientiously, and held an interview with the Chief of Police, and more lately had herself declared Regent of Noumaria.

She proved a capable and popular ruler, who when she began to take lovers allowed none of them to meddle with politics: so all went well enough in Noumaria, and nobody evinced the least desire to hasten either the maturity of young Duke Anthony or the reappearance of his father.

I

Meantime had come to Ingilby, the Duke of Ormskirk's place in Westmoreland, a smallish blue-eyed vagabond who requested audience with his Grace, and presently got it, for the Duke, since his retirement from public affairs, [Footnote: He returned to office during the following year, as is well known, immediately before the attempted assassination of the French King, in the January of 1757.] had become approachable by almost any member of the public.

The man came Into the library, smiling, "I entreat your pardon, Monsieur le Duc," he began, "that I have not visited you sooner. But in unsettled times, you comprehend, the master of a beleaguered fortress is kept busy. This poor fortress of my body has been of late most resolutely besieged by poverty and hunger, the while that I have been tramping about Europe—in search of Gaston. Now, they tell me, he is here."

The travesty of their five-year-old interview at Bellegarde so tickled Ormskirk's fancy that he laughed heartily. "Damiens," said Ormskirk, to the attendant lackey, "go fetch me a Protestant minister from Manneville, and have a gallows erected in one of the drawing-rooms. I intend to pay off an old score." Meantime he was shaking the little vagabond's hand, chuckling and a-beam with hospitality.

"Your Grace—!" said Damiens, bewildered.

"Well, go, in any event," said Ormskirk. "Oh, go anywhere, man!—to the devil, for instance."

His eyes, followed the retreating lackey. "As I suspect in the end you will," Ormskirk said, inconsequently. "Still, you are a very serviceable fellow, my good Damiens. I have need of you."

And with a shrug he now began, "Your Highness,—"

"Praise God, no!" observed the other, fervently.

And Ormskirk nodded his comprehension. "Monsieur de Soyecourt, then. Of course, we heard of your disappearance, I have been expecting something of the sort for years. And,—frankly, politics are often a nuisance, as both Gaston and myself will willingly attest,—especially," he added, with a grimace, "since war between France and England became inevitable through the late happenings in India and Nova Scotia, and both our wives flatly declined to let either of us take part therein,—for fear we might catch our death of cold by sleeping in those draughty tents. Faith, you have descended, sir, like an agreeable meteor, upon two of the most