Part 24 (1/2)
And during this week Mr. Bulmer had seen a deal of Claire de Puysange, with results that you will presently ascertain. It was natural she should desire to learn something of the man she was so soon to marry, and of whose personality she was so ignorant; she had not even seen a picture of him, by example. Was he handsome?
John Bulmer believed him rather remarkably handsome, when you considered how frequently his love-affairs had left disastrous souvenirs: yes, for a man in middle life so often patched up by quack doctors, Ormskirk looked wholesome enough, said Mr. Bulmer. He may have had his occult purposes, this poor cousin, but of Ormskirk he undoubtedly spoke with engaging candor. Here was no parasite cringingly praising his patron to the skies. The Duke's career was touched on, with its grimy pa.s.sages no whit extenuated: before Dettingen Cousin Ormskirk had, it must be confessed, taken a bribe from de Noailles, and in return had seen to it that the English did not follow up their empty victory; and 'twas well known Ormskirk got his dukedom through the Countess of Yarmouth, to whom the King could deny nothing. What were the Duke's relations with this liberal lady?--a shrug rendered Mr. Bulmer's avowal of ignorance tolerably explicit. Then, too, Mr. Bulmer readily conceded, the Duke's atrocities after Culloden were somewhat over-notorious for denial: all the prisoners were shot out-of-hand; seventy-two of them were driven into an inn-yard and ma.s.sacred _en ma.s.se_. Yes, there were women among them, but not over a half-dozen children, at most. Mademoiselle was not to cla.s.s his n.o.ble patron with Herod, understand,--only a few brats of no importance.
In fine, he told her all the highly colored tales that envy and malice and ignorance had been able to concoct concerning the great Duke. Many of them John Bulmer knew to be false; nevertheless, he had a large mythology to choose from, he picked his instances with care, he narrated them with gusto and discretion,--and in the end he got his reward.
For the girl rose, flame-faced, and burlesqued a courtesy in his direction.
”Monsieur Bulmer, I make you my compliments. You have very fully explained what manner of man is this to whom my brother has sold me.”
”And wherefore do you accord me this sudden adulation?” said John Bulmer.
”Because in France we have learned that lackeys are always powerful. Le Bel is here omnipotent, Monsieur Bulmer; but he is lackey to a satyr only; and therefore, I felicitate you, monsieur, who are lackey to a fiend.”
John Bulmer looked rather grave. ”Civility is an inexpensive wear, mademoiselle, but it becomes everybody.”
”Lackey!” she flung over her shoulder, as she left him.
John Bulmer began to whistle an air then popular across the Channel. Later his melody was stilled.
”'Beautiful as an angel, and headstrong as a devil!'” said John Bulmer.
”You have an eye, Gaston!”
IV
That evening came a letter from Gaston to de Soyecourt, which the latter read aloud at supper. Gossip of the court it was for the most part, garrulous, and peppered with deductions of a caustic and diverting sort, but containing no word of a return to Bellegarde, in this vocal rendering.
For in the reading one paragraph was elided.
”I arrive,” the Duke had written, ”within three or at most four days after this will be received. You are to breathe not a syllable of my coming, dear Louis, for I do not come alone. Achille Cazaio has intimidated Poictesme long enough; I consider it is not desirable that a peer of France should be at the mercy of a chicken-thief, particularly when Fortune whispers, as the lady now does:
”Viens punir le coupable; Les oracles, les dieux, tout nous est favorable.
”Understand, in fine, that Madame de Pompadour has graciously obtained for me the loan of the dragoons of Entrechat for an entire fortnight, so that I return not in submission, but, like Caesar and Coriola.n.u.s and other exiled captains of antiquity, at the head of a glorious army. We will harry the Taunenfels, we will hang the vile bandit more high than Haman of old, we will, in a word, enjoy the supreme pleasure of the chase, enhanced by the knowledge we pursue a note-worthy quarry. Homicide is, after all, the most satisfying recreation life affords us, since man alone knows how thoroughly man deserves to be slaughtered. A tiger, now, has his deficiencies, perhaps, viewed as a roommate; yet a tiger is at least acceptable to the eye, a vision very pleasantly suggestive, we will say, of b.u.t.tered toast; whereas, our fellow-creatures, my dear Louis,--” And in this strain de Puysange continued, with intolerably scandalous examples as parapets for his argument.
That night de Soyecourt re-read this paragraph. ”So the Pompadour has kindly tendered him the loan of certain dragoons? She is very fond of Gaston, is la pet.i.te etoiles, beyond doubt. And accordingly her dragoons are to garrison Bellegarde for a whole fortnight. Good, good!” said the Marquis; ”I think that all goes well.”
He sat for a long while, smiling, preoccupied with his imaginings, which were far adrift in the future. Louis de Soyecourt was a subtle little man, freakish and amiable, and, on a minute scale, handsome. He reminded people of a dissipated elf; his excesses were notorious, yet always he preserved the face of an ecclesiastic and the eyes of an aging seraph; and bodily there was as yet no trace of the corpulence which marred his later years.
To-night he slept soundly. His conscience was always, they say, to the very end of his long life, the conscience of a child, vulnerable by physical punishment, but by nothing else.
V
Next day John Bulmer rode through the Forest of Acaire, and sang as he went. Yet he disapproved of the country.
”For I am of the opinion,” John Bulmer meditated, ”that France just now is too much like a flower-garden situate upon the slope of a volcano. The eye is pleasantly t.i.tillated, but the ear catches eloquent rumblings. This is not a very healthy country, I think. These s.h.a.ggy-haired, dumb peasants trouble me. I had thought France a nation of de Puysanges; I find it rather a nation of beasts who are growing hungry. Presently they will begin to feed, and I am not at all certain as to the urbanity of their table manners.”
However, it was no affair of his; so he put the matter out of mind, and as he rode through the forest, carolled blithely. Trees were marshalled on each side with an effect of colonnades; everywhere there was a sniff of the cathedral, of a cheery cathedral all green and gold and full-bodied browns, where the industrious motes swam, like the fishes fairies angle for, in every long and rigid shaft of sunlight,--or rather (John Bulmer decided), as though Time had just pa.s.sed by with a broom, intent to garnish the least nook of Acaire against Spring's occupancy of it. Then there were tiny white b.u.t.terflies, frail as dream-stuff. There were anemones; and John Bulmer sighed at their insolent perfection. Theirs was a frank allure; in the solemn forest they alone of growing things were wanton, for they coquetted with the wind, and their pink was the pink of flesh.
He recollected that he was corpulent--and forty-five. ”And yet, praise Heaven,” said John Bulmer, ”something stirs in this sleepy skull of mine.”
Sang John Bulmer:
”April wakes, and the gifts are good Which April grants in this lonely wood Mid the wistful sounds of a solitude, Whose immemorial murmuring Is the voice of Spring And murmurs the burden of burgeoning.