CHAPTER III.
MEANWHILE the young Marquis pursued his way thoughtfully through the
streets, and entered the Champs Elysees. Since we first, nay, since we
last saw him, he is strikingly improved in outward appearances. He has
unconsciously acquired more of the easy grace of the Parisian in gait and
bearing. You would no longer detect the Provincial--perhaps, however,
because he is now dressed, though very simply, in habiliments that belong
to the style of the day. Rarely among the loungers in the Champs Elysees
could be seen a finer form, a comelier face, an air of more unmistakable
distinction.
The eyes of many a passing fair one gazed on him, admiringly or
coquettishly. But he was still so little the true Parisian that they got
no smile, no look in return. He was wrapped in his own thoughts; was he
thinking of M. Louvier?
He had nearly gained the entrance of the Bois de Boulogne, when he was
accosted by a voice behind, and turning round saw his friend Lemercier
arm-in-arm with Graham Vane.
"Bonjour, Alain," said Lemercier, hooking his disengaged arm into
Rochebriant's. "I suspect we are going the same way."
Alain felt himself change countenance at this conjecture, and replied
coldly, "I think not; I have got to the end of my walk, and shall turn
back to Paris;" addressing himself to the Englishman, he said with formal
politeness, "I regret not to have found you at home when I called some
weeks ago, and no less so to have been out when you had the complaisance
to return my visit."
"At all events," replied the Englishman, "let me not lose the opportunity
of improving our acquaintance which now offers. It is true that our
friend Lemercier, catching sight of me in the Rue de Rivoli, stopped his
coupe and carried me off for a promenade in the Bois. The fineness of
the day tempted us to get out of his carriage as the Bois came in sight.
But if you are going back to Paris I relinquish the Bois and offer myself
as your companion."
Frederic (the name is so familiarly English that the reader might think
me pedantic did I accentuate it as French) looked from one to the other
of his two friends, half amused and half angry.
"And am I to be left alone to achieve a conquest, in which, if I succeed,
I shall change into hate and envy the affection of my two best friends?
Be it so.
"' Un veritable amant ne connait point d'amis.'"
"I do not comprehend your meaning," said the Marquis, with a compressed
lip and a slight frown.
"Bah!" cried Frederic; "come, _franc jeu_; cards on the table. M. Gram
Varn was going into the Bois at my suggestion on the chance of having
another look at the pearl-coloured angel; and you, Rochebriant, can't
deny that you were going into the Bois for the same object."
"One may pardon an _enfant terrible_," said the Englishman, laughing,
"but an _ami terrible_ should be sent to the galleys. Come, Marquis, let
us walk back and submit to our fate. Even were the lady once more
visible, we have no chance of being observed by the side of a Lovelace so
accomplished and so audacious!"
"Adieu, then, recreants: I go alone. Victory or death." The Parisian
beckoned his coachman, entered his carriage, and with a mocking grimace
kissed his hand to the companions thus deserting or deserted.
Rochebriant touched the Englishman's arm, and said, "Do you think that
Lemercier could be impertinent enough to accost that lady?"
"In the first place," returned the Englishman, "Lemercier himself tells
me that the lady has for several weeks relinquished her walks in the
Bois, and the probability is, therefore, that he will not have the
opportunity to accost her. In the next place, it appears that when she
did take her solitary walk, she did not stray far from her carriage, and
was in reach of the protection of her _laquais_ and coachman. But to
speak honestly, do you, who know Lemercier better than I, take him to be
a man who would commit an impertinence to a woman unless there were
_viveurs_ of his own sex to see him do it?"
Alain smiled. "No. Frederic's real nature is an admirable one, and if
he ever do anything that he ought to be ashamed of, 'twill be from the
pride of showing how finely he can do it. Such was his character at
college, and such it still seems at Paris. But it is true that the lady
has forsaken her former walk; at least I--I have not seen her since the
day I first beheld her in company with Frederic. Yet--yet, pardon me,
you were going to the Bois on the chance of seeing her. Perhaps she has
changed the direction of her walk, and--and--"
The Marquis stopped short, stammering and confused.
The Englishman scanned his countenance with the rapid glance of a
practised observer of men and things, and after a short pause said: "If
the lady has selected some other spot for her promenade, I am ignorant of
it; nor have I ever volunteered the chance of meeting with her, since I
learned--first from Lemercier, and afterwards from others--that her
destination is the stage. Let us talk frankly, Marquis. I am accustomed
to take much exercise on foot, and the Bois is my favourite resort: one
day I there found myself in the _allee_ which the lady we speak of used
to select for her promenade, and there saw her. Something in her face
impressed me; how shall I describe the impression? Did you ever open a
poem, a romance, in some style wholly new to you, and before you were
quite certain whether or not its merits justified the interest which the
novelty inspired, you were summoned away, or the book was taken out of
your hands? If so, did you not feel an intellectual longing to have
another glimpse of the book? That illustration describes my impression,
and I own that I twice again went to the same _allee_. The last time I
only caught sight of the young lady as she was getting into her carriage.
As she was then borne away, I perceived one of the custodians of the
Bois; and learned, on questioning him, that the lady was in the habit of
walking always alone in the same _allee_ at the same hour on most fine
days, but that he did not know her name or address. A motive of
curiosity--perhaps an idle one--then made me ask Lemercier, who boasts of
knowing his Paris so intimately, if he could inform me who the lady was.
He undertook to ascertain."
"But," interposed the Marquis, "he did not ascertain who she was; he
only ascertained where she lived, and that she and an elder companion
were Italians;--whom he suspected, without sufficient ground, to be
professional singers."
"True; but since then I ascertained more detailed particulars from two
acquaintances of mine who happen to know her,--M. Savarin, the
distinguished writer, and Mrs. Morley, an accomplished and beautiful
American lady, who is more than an acquaintance. I may boast the honour
of ranking among her friends. As Savarin's villa is at A------, I asked
him incidentally if he knew the fair neighbour whose face had so
attracted me; and Mrs. Morley being present, and overhearing me,
I learned from both what I now repeat to you.
"The young lady is a Signorina Cicogna,--at Paris, exchanging (except
among particular friends), as is not unusual, the outlandish designation
of Signorina for the more conventional one of Mademoiselle. Her father
was a member of the noble Milanese family of the same name, therefore the
young lady is well born. Her father has been long dead; his widow
married again an English gentleman settled in Italy, a scholar and
antiquarian; his name was Selby. This gentleman, also dead, bequeathed
the Signorina a small but sufficient competence. She is now an orphan,
and residing with a companion, a Signora Venosta, who was once a singer
of some repute at the Neapolitan Theatre, in the orchestra of which her
husband was principal performer; but she relinquished the stage several
years ago on becoming a widow, and gave lessons as a teacher. She has
the character of being a scientific musician, and of unblemished private
respectability. Subsequently she was induced to give up general
teaching, and undertake the musical education and the social charge of
the young lady with her. This girl is said to have early given promise
of extraordinary excellence as a singer, and excited great interest among
a coterie of literary critics and musical _cognoscenti_. She was to have
come out at the Theatre of Milan a year or two ago, but her career has
been suspended in consequence of ill-health, for which she is now at
Paris under the care of an English physician, who has made remarkable
cures in all complaints of the respiratory organs. ------, the great
composer, who knows her, says that in expression and feeling she has no
living superior, perhaps no equal since Malibran."
"You seem, dear Monsieur, to have taken much pains to acquire this
information."
"No great pains were necessary; but had they been I might have taken
them, for, as I have owned to you, Mademoiselle Cicogna, while she was
yet a mystery to me, strangely interested my thoughts or my fancies.
That interest has now ceased. The world of actresses and singers lies
apart from mine."
"Yet," said Alain, in a tone of voice that implied doubt, "if I
understand Lemercier aright, you were going with him to the Bois on the
chance of seeing again the lady in whom your interest has ceased."
"Lemercier's account was not strictly accurate. He stopped his carriage
to speak to me on quite another subject, on which I have consulted him,
and then proposed to take me on to the Bois. I assented; and it was not
till we were in the carriage that he suggested the idea of seeing whether
the pearly-robed lady had resumed her walk in the allee. You may judge
how indifferent I was to that chance when I preferred turning back with
you to going on with him. Between you and me, Marquis, to men of our
age, who have the business of life before them, and feel that if there be
aught in which noblesse oblige it is a severe devotion to noble objects,
there is nothing more fatal to such devotion than allowing the heart to
be blown hither and thither at every breeze of mere fancy, and dreaming
ourselves into love with some fair creature whom we never could marry
consistently with the career we have set before our ambition. I could
not marry an actress,--neither, I presume, could the Marquis de
Rochebriant; and the thought of a courtship which excluded the idea of
marriage to a young orphan of name unblemished, of virtue unsuspected,
would certainly not be compatible with 'devotion to noble objects.'"
Alain involuntarily bowed his head in assent to the proposition, and, it
may be, in submission to an implied rebuke.
The two men walked in silence for some minutes, and Graham first spoke,
changing altogether the subject of conversation. "Lemercier tells me you
decline going much into this world of Paris, the capital of capitals,
which appears so irresistibly attractive to us foreigners."
"Possibly; but, to borrow your words, I have the business of life before
me."
"Business is a good safeguard against the temptations to excess in
pleasure, in which Paris abounds. But there is no business which does
not admit of some holiday, and all business necessitates commerce with
mankind. A propos, I was the other evening at the Duchese de
Tarascon's,--a brilliant assembly, filled with ministers, senators, and
courtiers. I heard your name mentioned."
"Mine?"
"Yes; Duplessis, the rising financier--who rather to my surprise was not
only present among these official and decorated celebrities, but
apparently quite at home among them--asked the Duchess if she had not
seen you since your arrival at Paris. She replied, 'No; that though you
were among her nearest connections, you had not called on her;' and bade
Duplessis tell you that you were a monstre for not doing so. Whether or
not Duplessis will take that liberty I know not; but you must pardon me
if I do. She is a very charming woman, full of talent; and that stream
of the world which reflects the stars, with all their mythical influences
on fortune, flows through her salons."
"I am not born under those stars. I am a Legitimist."
"I did not forget your political creed; but in England the leaders of
opposition attend the salons of the Prime Minister. A man is not
supposed to compromise his opinions because he exchanges social
courtesies with those to whom his opinions are hostile. Pray excuse me
if I am indiscreet, I speak as a traveller who asks for information: but
do the Legitimists really believe that they best serve their cause by
declining any mode of competing with its opponents? Would there not be a
fairer chance of the ultimate victory of their principles if they made
their talents and energies individually prominent; if they were known as
skilful generals, practical statesmen, eminent diplomatists, brilliant
writers? Could they combine,--not to sulk and exclude themselves from
the great battle-field of the world, but in their several ways to render
themselves of such use to their country that some day or other, in one of
those revolutionary crises to which France, alas! must long be subjected,
they would find themselves able to turn the scale of undecided councils
and conflicting jealousies."
"Monsieur, we hope for the day when the Divine Disposer of events will
strike into the hearts of our fickle and erring countrymen the conviction
that there will be no settled repose for France save under the sceptre of
her rightful kings. But meanwhile we are,--I see it more clearly since I
have quitted Bretagne,--we are a hopeless minority."
"Does not history tell us that the great changes of the world have been
wrought by minorities,--but on the one condition that the minorities
shall not be hopeless? It is almost the other day that the Bonapartists
were in a minority that their adversaries called hopeless, and the
majority for the Emperor is now so preponderant that I tremble for his
safety. When a majority becomes so vast that intellect disappears in the
crowd, the date of its destruction commences; for by the law of reaction
the minority is installed against it. It is the nature of things that
minorities are always more intellectual than multitudes, and intellect is
ever at work in sapping numerical force. What your party want is hope;
because without hope there is no energy. I remember hearing my father
say that when he met the Count de Chambord at Ems, that illustrious
personage delivered himself of a _belle phrase_ much admired by his
partisans. The Emperor was then President of the Republic, in a very
doubtful and dangerous position. France seemed on the verge of another
convulsion. A certain distinguished politician recommended the Count de
Chambord to hold himself ready to enter at once as a candidate for the
throne. And the Count, with a benignant smile on his handsome face,
answered, 'All wrecks come to the shore: the shore does not go to the
wrecks.'"
"Beautifully said!" exclaimed the Marquis.
"Not if 'Le beau est toujours le vrai.' My father, no inexperienced nor
unwise politician, in repeating the royal words, remarked: 'The fallacy
of the Count's argument is in its metaphor. A man is not a shore. Do
you not think that the seamen on board the wrecks would be more grateful
to him who did not complacently compare himself to a shore, but
considered himself a human being like themselves, and risked his own life
in a boat, even though it were a cockleshell, in the chance of saving
theirs?"
Alain de Rochebriant was a brave man, with that intense sentiment of
patriotism which characterizes Frenchmen of every rank and persuasion,
unless they belong to the Internationalists; and, without pausing to
consider, he cried, "Your father was right."
The Englishman resumed: "Need I say, my dear Marquis, that I am not a
Legitimist? I am not an Imperialist, neither am I an Orleanist nor a
Republican. Between all those political divisions it is for Frenchmen
to make their choice, and for Englishmen to accept for France that
government which France has established. I view things here as a simple
observer. But it strikes me that if I were a Frenchman in your position,
I should think myself unworthy my ancestors if I consented to be an
insignificant looker-on."
"You are not in my position," said the Marquis, half mournfully, half
haughtily, "and you can scarcely judge of it even in imagination."
"I need not much task my imagination; I judge of it by analogy. I was
very much in your position when I entered upon what I venture to call my
career; and it is the curious similarity between us in circumstances,
that made me wish for your friendship when that similarity was made known
to me by Lemercier, who is not less garrulous than the true Parisian
usually is. Permit me to say that, like you, I was reared in some pride
of no inglorious ancestry. I was reared also in the expectation of great
wealth. Those expectations were not realized: my father had the fault of
noble natures,--generosity pushed to imprudence: he died poor and in
debt. You retain the home of your ancestors; I had to resign mine."
The Marquis had felt deeply interested in this narrative, and as Graham
now paused, took his hand and pressed it. "One of our most eminent
personages said to me about that time, 'Whatever a clever man of your age
determines to do or to be, the odds are twenty to one that he has only to
live on in order to do or to be it.' Don't you think he spoke truly? I
think so."
"I scarcely know what to think," said Rochebriant; "I feel as if you had
given me so rough a shake when I was in the midst of a dull dream, that I
am not yet quite sure whether I am asleep or awake."
Just as he said this, and towards the Paris end of the Champs Elysees,
there was a halt, a sensation among the loungers round them; many of them
uncovered in salute.
A man on the younger side of middle age, somewhat inclined to corpulence,
with a very striking countenance, was riding slowly by. He returned the
salutations he received with the careless dignity of a Personage
accustomed to respect, and then reined in his horse by the side of a
barouche, and exchanged some words with a portly gentleman who was its
sole occupant. The loungers, still halting, seemed to contemplate this
parley--between him on horseback and him in the carriage--with very eager
interest. Some put their hands behind their ears and pressed forward, as
if trying to overhear what was said.
"I wonder," quoth Graham, "whether, with all his cleverness, the Prince
has in any way decided what he means to do or to be."
"The Prince!" said Rochebriant, rousing himself from revery; "what
Prince?"
"Do you not recognize him by his wonderful likeness to the first
Napoleon,--him on horseback talking to Louvier, the great financier."
"Is that stout bourgeois in the carriage Louvier,--my mortgagee,
Louvier?"
"Your mortgagee, my dear Marquis? Well, he is rich enough to be a very
lenient one upon pay-day."
"_Hein_!--I doubt his leniency," said Alain. "I have promised my _avoue_
to meet him at dinner. Do you think I did wrong?"
"Wrong! of course not; he is likely to overwhelm you with civilities.
Pray don't refuse if he gives you an invitation to his soiree next
Saturday; I am going to it. One meets there the notabilities most
interesting to study,--artists, authors, politicians, especially those
who call themselves Republicans. He and the Prince agree in one thing;
namely, the cordial reception they give to the men who would destroy the
state of things upon which Prince and financier both thrive. Hillo!
here comes Lemercier on return from the Bois."
Lemercier's _coupe_ stopped beside the footpath. "What tidings of the
_Belle Inconnue_?" asked the Englishman. "None; she was not there. But
I am rewarded: such an adventure! a dame of the _haute volee_; I believe
she is a duchess. She was walking with a lap-dog, a pure Pomeranian. A
strange poodle flew at the Pomeranian, I drove off the poodle, rescued
the Pomeranian, received the most gracious thanks, the sweetest smile:
_femme superbe_, middle aged. I prefer women of forty. _Au revoir_, I am
due at the club."
Alain felt a sensation of relief that Lemercier had not seen the lady in
the pearl-coloured dress, and quitted the Englishman with a lightened
heart.
