The Duke's Motto: A Melodrama Page 19

  XVIII

  THE FACTION OF GONZAGUE

  A little later in the day a company of joyous gentlemen made their wayfrom the fair of Neuilly and came to a halt opposite the tavern whosegreen arbors seemed inviting enough after the heat of the dusty road. Allof the company were richly dressed, most of the company were young--thejoyous satellites of the central figure of the party. This was a tall,graceful Italianate man, who carried his fifty years with the grace andease of thirty. He had a handsome face; those that admired him, and theywere many, said there was no handsomer man at the court of the king thanthe king's familiar friend Louis de Gonzague. A man of the hour and a manof the world, Gonzague delighted to shine almost unrivalled and quiteunsurpassed in the splendid court which the cardinal had permitted theking to gather about him. Something of a statesman and much of a scholar,Gonzague delighted to be the patron of the arts, and to lend, indirectly,indeed, but no less efficaciously, his counsels to the service of thecardinal during the cardinal's lifetime, and to the king now that thecardinal was gone. A man of pleasure, Gonzague was careful to enjoy allthe delights that a society which found its chief occupation in thepursuit of amusement afforded. Even the youngest cavalier in Paris orVersailles would have regretted to find himself in rivalry with Gonzaguefor the favors of the fair. But in his pleasures, as in his policy,Gonzague was always discreet, reserved, even slightly mysterious, andthough rumor had linked his name time and time again with the names ofsuch gracious ladies as the cardinal had permitted to illuminate thecourt of the king, Gonzague had always been far too cautious, or tooindifferent, to drift into anything that could in the least resemble anenduring entanglement. Indeed, there was an element of the Oriental inhis tastes, which led him rather to find his entertainment in such lightlove as came and went by the back ways of palaces or could be sequesteredin cheerful little country villas remote from curious eyes. This,however, was a matter of gossip, rumor, speculation. What was certainlyknown about Louis de Gonzague was that he delighted always to besurrounded by young gentlemen of blood and spirit, with whom hisexquisite affability seemed at once to put him on a footing of equal age,and whose devotion to himself, his person, and his purposes he was alwayscareful to acquire by a lavish generosity and that powerful patronagewhich his former friendship with the cardinal and his present influenceover the king allowed him to extend.

  Perhaps the most remarkable proof of Gonzague's astuteness, of Gonzague'ssuppleness, was afforded by the manner in which he had succeeded inholding the favor of the great cardinal through all the long years ofRichelieu's triumph, and yet at the same time in retaining so completelythe friendship of the king. When the cardinal died, and many gentlementhat served the Red Robe found themselves no longer in esteem, Gonzaguepassed at once into the circle of the king's most intimate friends.Gonzague, as the comrade of a ruling potentate, proved himself a masterof all arts that might amuse a melancholic sovereign newly redeemed froman age-long tutelage, and eager to sate those many long-restrainedpleasures that he was at last free to command. Gonzague's ambitionappeared to be to play the Petronius part, to be the Arbiter ofElegancies to a newly liberated king and a newly quickened court.

  Very wisely Gonzague had never made himself a politician. He had alwaysallowed himself to appear as one that was gracefully detached, by hisItalianate condition, from pledge to any party issues, and so in hissuave, affable fashion he went his way, liked by all men who knew himslightly, counted on by the few men who believed they knew him well, andhugely admired by that vast congregation of starers and gapers whopassionately display their approval of an urbane, almost an austere,profligacy.

  In the long years in which Gonzague had contrived to establish forhimself the enviable reputation of the ideal of high gentlehood, he hadvery quietly and cautiously formed, as it were, a kind of court within acourt--a court that was carefully formed for the faithful service of hisinterests. He managed, by dexterously conferring obligations of one kindor another, to bind his adherents to him by ties as strong as the ties ofkinship, by ties stronger than the ties of allegiance to an unsettledstate and a shadowy idea of justice. There was a Gonzague party among thearistocracy of the hour, and a very strong party it promised to be, andvery ably guided to further his own ends by the courteous, so seemingamiable gentleman who was its head.

  About him at this moment were grouped some of the joyous members of thatjovial sodality. There was Navailles, the brisk, the dissolute, thewitty, always ready to risk everything, including honor, for a cast ofthe dice, for a kiss, for a pleasure or a revenge. There was Noce,pleasure-loving, pleasure-giving, always good-tempered, alwaysgood-humored, always serenely confident that the world as it existed wasmade chiefly for his amusement and the amusement of his friends. Therewas Taranne, a darker spirit, as ready as the rest of the fellowship totake the wine of life from the cup of joy in the hands of thedancing-girl, but a less genial drinker, a less cheerful and perhaps moregreedy lover and feaster, as one who dimly and imperfectly appreciatesthat the conditions of things about him might not be destined to endureforever, and was, therefore, resolved to get as much of his share of thespoil of the sport while it lasted as any bandit of them all. There, too,was Oriol, the fat country gentleman, at once the richest and mostfoolish of the company. There, too, was Albret, who loved women more thanwine; and Gironne, who loved wine more than women; and Choisy, who neverknew which to love the best, but with whom both disagreed.

  At the present moment the party was extremely hilarious. Its members hadransacked the toy-shops of the fair, and every man was carrying someplaything and making the most of it, and extolling its greater virtuesthan the playthings of his fellows. Taranne carried a pea-shooter, andpeppered his companion's legs persistently, grinning with delight if anyof his victims showed irritation. Oriol had got a large trumpet, and wasblowing it lustily. Noce had bought a cup-and-ball, and was trying, notvery successfully, to induce the sphere to abide in the hollow preparedfor it. Navailles had got a large Pulcinello doll that squeaked, and waspretending to treat it as an oracle, and to interpret its mechanicalutterances as profound comments on his companions and prophecies as totheir fortunes. Albret was tripping over a skipping-rope; Gironne puffedat a spinning windmill; Choisy played on a bagpipes, and Montaubert on aflute. In the background Monsieur Peyrolles watched all this mirthfulnesswith indifference and his master's face with attention.

  Gonzague looked round upon his friends with the indulgent smile of astill youthful school-master surrounded by his promising pupils. "Well,gentlemen, does the fair amuse you?" he asked, urbanely.

  Navailles turned to his doll for inspiration, made it give its metallicsqueak, and then, as if repeating what Pulcinello had whispered to him,replied: "Enormously."

  Oriol trumpeted his approval loudly, and the expressions of the othersbore ample testimony to their enjoyment.

  "Well, gentlemen," said Gonzague, "I hope and think that I reserved thebest for the end." He made a sign to Peyrolles, who approached him."Where is the girl?" he questioned, in a low voice.

  Peyrolles pointed to the caravan. "Shall I bring her?" he asked.

  Gonzague nodded. Peyrolles crossed the grass, his course followedcuriously by the eyes of Gonzague's friends, till he halted at thecaravan and knocked at the door. Flora put out her head, and, recognizingPeyrolles, greeted him with an eager smile.

  "The time has come," said Peyrolles, in a low voice, "for you to dance tothis gentleman."

  Flora touched him eagerly on the arm. "Which is my prince?" she asked.

  Peyrolles gave a jerk of his head in the direction of Gonzague, andanswered: "He in black with the star."

  In a moment Flora had retired within the caravan, and emerged again witha pair of castanets in her hands. She advanced to Gonzague and made him areverence. "Shall I dance for you, pretty gentleman?" she asked.

  Gonzague watched her curiously, seeing in one swift, incisive glance thatshe might very well serve for his purpose. "With all my heart," heanswered, courteously.

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sp; He seated himself at a table under the trees, with his little courtgrouped about him, and Flora began to dance. It was such a dance as onlya Spaniard trained in the gypsy school could dance--a dance whosetraditions go back to days when the Roman Empire was old, to days whenthe Roman Empire was young. Now active, now languid, by turns passionate,daring, defiant, alluring, a wonderful medley of exquisitecontradictions, the girl leaped hither and thither, clicking hercastanets and sending her bright glances like arrows towards the admiringspectators. She moved like a flame fluttered by the wind, like abutterfly, like a leaf, like any swift, volatile, shifting, shimmeringthing. She seemed as agile as a cat, as tireless as a monkey, as free asa bird. Suddenly the dance that was all contradiction ended in a finalcontradiction. At the moment when her exuberance seemed keenest, hervitality fiercest, her action most animated, when her eyes were shiningtheir brightest, her lips smiling their sweetest, and her castanetsclicking their loudest, she suddenly became rigid, with arms extended,like one struck motionless by a catalepsy, her face robbed of allexpression, her limbs stiff, her arms extended. She stood so for a fewseconds, then a smile rippled over her face, her arms dropped to hersides, and she seemed to swoon towards the ground in a surrenderingcourtesy. The dance was at an end.

  The delighted gentlemen applauded enthusiastically. All would have beeneager to seek closer acquaintance with the gypsy, but all refrainedbecause Gonzague himself rose from his seat and advanced towards thegirl, who watched him, respectful and excited, with lowered lids.

  Gonzague laid his hand on her shoulder with a caress that was almostpaternal while he spoke: "I know more about you than you know yourself,child. Go back now. I have long been looking for you."

  Flora could scarcely find breath to stammer: "For me?" She ventured tolook up into the face of this grave and courtly gentleman, and she foundsomething very attractive in the dark eyes that were fixed upon her witha look of so much benevolence. Gonzague pointed to Peyrolles, who wasstanding a little apart from the group of gentlemen.

  "Peyrolles will come for you presently," he said. "Peyrolles will tellyou what to do. Obey him implicitly."

  Flora made him another courtesy. "Yes, monseigneur," she faltered, and,turning, ran swiftly to the caravan and disappeared within its depths.Each of the young gentlemen gladly would have followed her, but, asbefore, they were restrained by the action of Gonzague, who seemed tohave taken the girl under his protection, and no one of them wasfoolhardy enough to dream of crossing Gonzague in a pleasure or acaprice.

  But during the progress of the dance there had been an addition to thelittle group of gentlemen. Chavernay had come over the bridge, with,curiously enough, Cocardasse and Passepoil at his heels. When he saw thata dance was toward, he made a sign to his followers to remain upon thebridge, while he himself mingled with his habitual companions. When thedance was over and Flora had disappeared, Chavernay advanced to Gonzague.He, at least, was foolhardy enough for anything. "I give you my word,cousin," he said, "that I have already lost the half of my heart to yourdancer. Are we rivals with the gypsy lass, cousin?"

  Gonzague looked urbanely and yet gravely at his impudent kinsman. "Youmust look for love elsewhere," he said, decisively. "I have reasons,though not such reasons as yours; but you will oblige me."

  Chavernay laughed contentedly. "My faith! there are plenty of prettywomen in the world, and plenty of ugly men, as it would seem. I havebrought you some friends of yours."

  He made a signal as he spoke, and Cocardasse and Passepoil, descendingfrom their post upon the bridge, advanced towards the brilliant group,bowing grotesquely as they did so, with their big hats in their hands andtheir long rapiers tilting up their ragged cloaks. All the party gazed inamazement at the whimsical apparitions, to the great indignation ofCocardasse, who whispered angrily to his companion: "Why the devil dothey stare at us so?" While to him his companion replied, soothingly:"Gently, gently."

  The gentlemen were screaming with laughter. Taranne fired a volley ofpeas, which rattled harmlessly against the long boots of Passepoil.Navailles consulted his oracle, and declared that he liked the big onebest. Oriol, with a flourish of his trumpet, announced that he preferredthe smug fellow. Peyrolles, with a look of horror on his face, rushedforward and attempted to intercept the new-comers, but he was too late.Cocardasse was already in front of Gonzague, and had made him atremendous obeisance. "We have the honor to salute your highness," hesaid, sonorously.

  Gonzague observed him with well-restrained astonishment, and questionedChavernay: "Who are these--gentlemen?"

  Chavernay was eager to explain that he had come across them in the fair,and had taken a great fancy to them. After some conversation he foundthat they were seeking the Prince de Gonzague, and thereupon he hadconsented to be their guide and to present them. At this point Peyrollesinterposed. Coming close to Gonzague, he whispered something to him whichcaused for a moment a slight expression of dislike, almost of dread, todisturb the familiar imperturbability of his countenance. Then he lookedat the bravos. "Gentlemen," he said, "I believe it is your wish to serveme. A man can never have too many friends. Gentlemen, I accept yourservices." He turned to his familiar, and ordered: "Peyrolles, get themsome new clothes."

  Peyrolles hurriedly beckoned Cocardasse and Passepoil apart, and could beseen at a little distance transferring money from his pocket to theirpalms, giving them instructions, and finally dismissing them.

  Chavernay looked at Gonzague. "I congratulate you on your new friends."

  Gonzague shook his head. "Judge no man by his habit. Hearts of gold maybeat beneath those tatters."

  Chavernay smiled. "I dare say they are no worse than most of yourfriends."

  Taranne, Noce, Navailles, Oriol, Albret, Choisy, Gironne, and Montaubertcaught him up angrily. They seemed offended at the suggestion. Gonzagueplacated them with a phrase: "Our dear Chavernay includes himself, nodoubt."

  Chavernay accepted the suggestion. "Oh yes; there is devilishly little tochoose between any of us."

  The impertinence of the answer and the impertinence of the speaker'scarriage were not calculated to smooth the ruffled feelings of thegentlemen, but Chavernay was never one to bridle his speech in deferenceto the susceptibility of his cousin's satellites. He now eyed themmockingly, even provokingly, full of amusement, while they fumed andfretted, and hands crept to hilts. Cheerfully courageous, Chavernay wasprepared at any moment to back his words with his sword. Gonzague,studying the lowering faces of his adherents, and smiling compassionatelyat the boyish insolence of Chavernay, interposed and stifled thethreatened brawl. "Come, gentlemen," he said, graciously, "let there beno bickering. Chavernay has a sharp tongue, and spares no one, not evenme, yet I am always ready to forgive him his impudence."

  A word of Gonzague was a command--a wish, a law--to his faithfulfollowers, and their countenances cleared as he spoke. Gonzague went on:"His Gracious Majesty the King will be leaving the fair soon, though I amglad to think that it seems to have diverted his majesty greatly. Let usattend upon him, gentlemen." Gonzague emphasized his words by leading theway across the bridge, and Chavernay and the others followed at hisheels, a laughing, chattering, many-colored company of pleasure-seekers.Only Peyrolles remained behind.

  When the last of them had crossed the bridge and was far away upon theroad to Neuilly, a man came to the door of the Inn and lookedthoughtfully after them.

  The man was clad in black from head to foot, and his body was heavilybowed. As he moved slowly across the grass, Peyrolles hastened towardshim, seeming to recognize him. "I was looking for you, Master AEsop," hecried; "I have good news for you."

  The hunchback answered, quietly: "Good news is always welcome." And tothe ears of Peyrolles the voice was the voice of AEsop, and to the eyes ofPeyrolles the form and the face of the speaker were the form and the faceof AEsop.

  Peyrolles went on: "His highness the Prince de Gonzague is delighted withthe girl you have found; she will pass admirably for the girl ofNevers."

  The seeming AE
sop nodded his head and said, quietly: "I am glad to hearit."

  "The Prince wishes to see you," Peyrolles continued. "The Prince wishesyou to enter his service. Master AEsop, Master AEsop, your fortune is made,thanks to me."

  "Thanks to me, I think," the hunchback commented, dryly.

  Peyrolles shrugged his shoulders. "As you please," he said. "Come to theHotel de Gonzague to-morrow, and ask for me."

  "I will come," the hunchback promised. Then Peyrolles hastened over thebridge, and made all speed to rejoin his master.

  When he was well on his way the hunchback drew himself into a chair,laughing heartily. "Oh, AEsop, AEsop," Lagardere murmured to himself, "howvexed you would be if you knew how useful you prove to me!"