Part 4

In later times, on that same spot where noble knights broke lances to entertain the ladies of their thoughts, who, seated on the balconies of the neighboring houses, enjoyed the jousting, and encouraged the champions of their charms by tender glances and by showing them in advance the knot of ribbon which was to be the guerdon of victory--on that same spot, we have seen and may still see the peaceable inhabitant of the Marais, who has nothing in common with the paladins of old, exercising his faithful dog and selecting a bench whereon to rest a moment in the sunshine, whose beneficent warmth allays his rheumatic pains. And the young nursemaid, too, with the children in her care, whom she often leaves to bump against trees, or to fall as they run hither and thither, while she is gossiping with other maids on the subject of their employers, which is much more amusing than to watch children. And the modest seamstress, on her way to carry home the work intrusted to her, who crosses the Place Royale, although it is not directly on her road, because she ordinarily meets there a young man who makes flattering remarks to her; there is no law against seeking pleasant meetings.

All this is far removed from the tourneys, the fanfares of trumpets, the sound of clarion and drum; from the great ladies at the windows, from the knights in the arena, from the esquires and pages and servants carrying their masters' weapons and bucklers, and from the charming troubadours, or _trouvères_, who had seats of honor beside the high and mighty nobles, because they were destined, later, to sing in laudation of it all.

Other times, other manners!

The old Marquis de Marvejols gazed gloomily enough at the portraits which adorned his study--for the enormous room in which he sat was nothing more than that. Soon he leaned over his desk once more, and seizing a bell rang it violently.

A valet, almost as old as his master, instantly showed his bald head beneath a velvet portière which he raised. His face, in respect to the general effect of the features and their mild expression, might have served as a model for a painting of Obedience, as personified in a servant, except that when he raised the corners of his mouth in a smile there were some slight indications of a tendency to be cunning; but if that tendency actually existed in the old servant, it never went beyond the corners of his mouth.

"Did monsieur le marquis ring?" inquired a shrill, cracked voice.

"Has my son gone out this morning, Hector?"

Old Hector pressed his lips together, and the corners of his mouth assumed their sly expression, as he replied in a drawling tone:

"Monsieur le Comte Léodgard de Marvejols certainly has not left the house this morning; I am certain of that."

"In that case, go to my son and tell him that I wish to speak with him--at once, before he goes out."

The old servant looked down at his feet, but did not budge.

"Well! did you not hear me, Hector?" continued the marquis, testily; "have your ears grown dull, that I have to give you the same order twice?"

"No, monsieur le marquis, no, thank heaven! my ears are still good. I have not the least occasion to reproach them. And if I have not obeyed the command you have done me the honor to give me, it is because----"

"Well! because what? finish, I say!"

"I cannot tell Monsieur le Comte Léodgard to come to speak with you, because he is not in the house."

"Not in the house? Why, you told me only a moment ago that my son had not gone out this morning!"

"That is true, monseigneur; he has not gone out this morning, because he did not come in last night."

The marquis put his hand to his forehead.

"Ah!" he cried; "of course, I understand! You did not wish to tell me that, my poor Hector; you would like to conceal my son's disorderly conduct from me! But it is useless for you to try to deceive me. I know everything; and it is much better that I should know everything; for one must know where the trouble lies, in order to put a stop to it. All this has been going on a very long while, and it must come to an end!"

"Monsieur le Comte Léodgard is still very young," murmured Hector, still draped by the portière.

"Very young--when he has nearly reached his twenty-sixth year! A man is a man at that age, and he no longer has the first effervescence of youth for an excuse! Ah! when I was at that age, you were already in my service--do you remember, Hector?"

"As if it was yesterday, monseigneur; my memory is as sound as my ears."

"Very well! I served in the army, I fought, I lived in camp. But, although I was a bachelor,--for I married quite late,--did I ever lead this life of licentiousness, of debauchery, which makes me blush for my son?"

"All young men are not as irreproachable as monseigneur has always been--as bachelor, husband, and widower."

"I do not expect that he shall be faultless! I do not demand the impossible! But I do not propose that weaknesses shall become vices; faults, crimes!"

"Oh! monsieur le marquis! be indulgent to monsieur your son!"

"I have been indulgent enough, too much so, perhaps. I must see Léodgard; he must be made acquainted with my irrevocable determination!--And that rascally Latournelle, his valet--is he still in the house?"

"No, monseigneur; I have not seen him for several days."

"I told my son to discharge that knave; a scoundrel, a blackleg, a gambler, who ought to be hanged."

At that moment, the conversation was interrupted by the sound of a horse galloping into the courtyard.

Hector let the portière fall, went into a reception room, looked out of the window, and returned with a radiant face, saying to his master:

"Here is Monsieur le Comte Léodgard, just coming in."

"Go to him, then; tell him that I await him. Go--do not lose an instant, for he may have gone away again."

Old Hector disappeared to execute his master's command.

In a few moments, Léodgard entered his father's apartment. The young count was pale, his face was drawn and haggard, his eyes sunken from loss of sleep; and the disorder of his clothes, the dust with which they were covered, seemed to indicate that he had recently ridden a long distance on horseback.

He walked forward with a respectful air, but was evidently out of temper. He bowed to his father and remained standing in the middle of the room.

The old marquis pointed to a chair, saying in a stern tone:

"Be seated, monsieur; what I have to say to you will take some moments, and deserves to be listened to with attention."

"I beg pardon, monsieur, but you see the disordered state of my dress; I am ashamed to appear before you in such disarray; allow me simply the necessary time to change, and I will at once return."

"No, monsieur! your dress is a matter of great consequence, in very truth! By Saint Jacques! what matters it to me whether your doublet is more or less fresh? It is not the dust with which your clothes are covered that will mar your escutcheon, but your disgraceful conduct! That it is which sullies the honor of your name much more than the storm has injured your cloak! Be seated--I insist!"

Léodgard restrained with difficulty an impatient outburst; but he threw himself on a chair, and his father continued:

"I have remonstrated with you several times, monsieur, concerning your dissolute conduct; you have not listened to me, you have despised your father's judicious counsel. To-day, when your misconduct has gone beyond all bounds, when your evil deeds--for they are no longer the escapades of a young man, but evil deeds, of which you are guilty----"

"Father----"

"Do not interrupt me!--To-day, when your evil deeds recognize no restraint, I no longer advise, I command you; and you will respect my commands, or this _lettre de cachet_ will deal with you for me.--Look, monsieur; you know that I do not indulge in empty threats; here is your passport to the Bastille, sent me by Monsieur le Cardinal de Richelieu, who also is aware of all your misconduct and has given me permission to make use of this whenever I may think best, leaving in my hands the punishment of him who bears my name."

Léodgard could not help shuddering inwardly when he saw the _lettre de cachet_ which his father took from his desk, and he faltered in a tremulous voice:

"What have I done--what more than many young gentlemen of my age, to deserve to be treated so harshly?"

"Ah! you ask what you have done? That, I presume, is because you hope that I know only a part of it. Unhappily, monsieur, your conduct is too notorious, your vices make too much noise in the world; you are cited too often by all the wellborn debauchees, for the echo not to reach your father's ears. Stealing wives from their husbands, young girls from their parents, passing the night in wine shops and gambling hells, fighting with the king's archers, with the watch, with citizens, incurring debts and not paying them, breaking shop windows and offering no other compensation than a sword thrust, binding yourself to Jews and usurers, thrashing your creditors when they presume to demand what you owe them, what they have been waiting for so long--such are your noble exploits, monsieur! a descendant of the Marvejols does not blush to conduct himself thus!--And yet, cast your eyes about you, look at these portraits which surround you, your ancestors who have left you a glorious name--are not you of their blood, you, who debase it? Ah! if they could come forth from their tombs,--and your excellent mother, who was so proud to have brought forth a descendant of our line,--it would be to crush you with their wrath!"

"Monsieur le marquis, allow me to say a word in my own defence.--My faults have been exaggerated. I have committed some faults, I admit; but they are not so serious as you seem to think."

"And your debts--will you say that they are a mere trifle? You owe five thousand pistoles at this moment, monsieur."

"I do not know, monsieur le marquis, whether you have also been told that I have been stripped clean by that miserable Giovanni, that Italian brigand, who terrorizes all Paris?"

"Yes, I have heard of that. But how did you allow yourself to be robbed by that man?"

"I venture to believe that my father has no doubt that if I was overcome it was not without a vigorous resistance on my part."

"Oh! I do justice to your courage; you would not be my son if you were a coward!"

"It was late at night, about a fortnight ago. I was returning home alone and was passing through Rue Couture-Sainte-Catherine. Suddenly this Giovanni appeared before me, and demanded my purse as courteously as if he were inquiring for my health. The robber seemed to me such an original character that I talked with him a few minutes. But when he repeated his demand, I drew my sword. He had some sort of a short, broad weapon. Practised as I am in fighting, that devil of a man dealt me a thrust,--I do not know how to describe it,--and I was beaten. I felt the point of his sword against my breast; but he was content to take my purse, and disappeared as he had come, without giving me time to see which way he went."

"If I were lieutenant of police of this realm, that adroit thief would have been hanged before this.--However, monsieur, this Giovanni did not rob you of five thousand pistoles, I imagine?"

"No; but I had a considerable sum upon me----"

"Which you had won in some hell, I doubt not.--But let us have done, for the subject of this interview is a painful one to both of us. Here, Léodgard, are papers containing a statement of the amount of your debts; here are your obligations to the Jews who are ruining you; here are your receipts for various sums lent you at exorbitant rates, with a view, doubtless, to my death, which does not come quickly enough to supply you with another fortune to squander."

"Ah! monsieur le marquis----"

"All these papers cost me fifty thousand livres; but I paid it, to save once more your honor, so seriously compromised."

A ray of joy lighted up Léodgard's face; he stepped toward the old man, crying:

"What, father! you have deigned----"

The marquis made a gesture as if to forbid his son to approach, and continued with unabated austerity:

"Yes, monsieur, I have paid the money; but mark well what I say: long ago you squandered the last of the property which your mother left you. I do not choose that you should have debts, but neither do I propose that the fortune of my ancestors, which enables me to maintain my rank becomingly, shall be the prey of harlots, gamblers, and rakes; so attend closely to what I say: if I learn that you have contracted any new debt, I shall instantly make use of this _lettre de cachet_, and send you to the Bastille; and when you are once there, it may well be that you will remain there for some time! This, monsieur, I will do--I swear it before the portraits of my ancestors! You know now whether I will keep my oath.--Mend your ways, Léodgard; make yourself worthy once more of the name you bear. You know that it is my dearest wish to marry you to Mademoiselle Valentine de Mongarcin. I was her father's comrade in arms; the idea that our children would be united some day made the baron's heart beat fast with joy. Mademoiselle de Mongarcin is worthy of you, her family is on a par with ours; she has a large fortune and is one of the most beautiful women in France. Six months ago, she left the convent where she had completed her education, and took up her abode with her aunt; and she will soon be nineteen years old. What objection have you to urge against this alliance, Léodgard?"

"None, father. I agree that Mademoiselle de Mongarcin is very lovely, although I have seen her but rarely."

"What prevents you from paying court to her? Madame de Ravenelle, Valentine's aunt, is aware of the baron's wishes.--Cease to be a libertine, a rake, and she will give you the hand of this wealthy and noble heiress.--Well, monsieur! what have you to say?"

"Pardon me, monsieur le marquis--but--to marry--to put myself in chains already----"

"Already! A man cannot be happy too soon, monsieur; and you will be happy with a woman who is worthy of you. You will realize the difference between family joys and the orgies of debauchery. Furthermore, numerous suitors for Mademoiselle de Mongarcin's hand have already entered the lists; if you do not come forward, do you suppose that she will send to beg for your homage? Hasten to present yourself, to disperse your rivals! This marriage must take place ere long.--I have often repented, myself, that I married so late in life! I was forty-three when I married your excellent mother. What was the result? that I was already old when you became a man; and that, instead of finding in me a friend, a companion, my son has seen in me only an old man, to whom he has never confided his secrets."

"Father----"

"You have heard me, Léodgard. It rests with you now to be happy and to regain your father's affection. You know how you must conduct yourself for that.--Go; I will keep you no longer."

Léodgard bent his head respectfully before the old man, who responded with a slight nod which indicated no great amount of confidence as yet.

When he was out of range of his father's eyes, Léodgard tore his hair, saying to himself:

"Not incur debts! why, I have no money!--But I must have some! For I promised Camilla that beautiful pearl necklace that she wants so much! Now that I no longer owe anything, I can easily borrow.--But that _lettre de cachet_!--Ah! I know my father; he did not threaten me heedlessly; he would have me put in the Bastille, and I have no desire to go to that horrible prison!"

VI

CHAUDOREILLE'S GODSON

Among the numerous habitués of the various bathing establishments might be noticed a tall, lean man, with a yellow complexion, like the description of the Knight of the Rueful Countenance. This personage had one of those elongated faces, with prominent cheek bones which call attention to the hollowness of the cheeks; also a long, pointed nose, a chin of the same type, an enormous mouth with a full complement of long teeth, each one of which resembled a tusk, and which terrified beyond words all the little children in whose presence this gentleman was pleased to smile; for he then appeared exactly as if he proposed to swallow the innocent creatures. A low forehead, yellow hair, and moustaches of the same color, the latter twisted at the ends so that they nearly joined the corners of the eyes--such was the Chevalier Passedix, who claimed to be Chaudoreille's godson.

We like to believe, dear reader, whichever your sex, that you have known a certain _Barber of Paris_, whose adventures made some noise long ago; in that case, you may not have forgotten entirely his friend the Chevalier Chaudoreille, that vain, cowardly Gascon, gambler and shameless liar, who boasted so loudly of his long sword, which he called Roland, and who came to such a tragic end, falling from a roof, and running himself through in his fall with his faithful Roland, which he held in his hand to feel his way along the slippery roof on which he was walking.

The Chevalier Passedix, then, claimed to be the godson of Chaudoreille, albeit the latter, in his negotiations with Touquet the barber, had never mentioned his godson. But there are many people who forget that they ever held a child over the baptismal font, or who do not choose to remember that they have been godparents, in order to evade the duties which that relation imposes on them.

However, Passedix, himself a Gascon, resembled his godfather in many respects; like him, he was a glutton, a gambler, and a liar; like him, he sighed for every woman who looked at him, believing himself to be a very attractive gallant, whereas he might fittingly have served as a scarecrow in a community of women.

But there was one respect in which the resemblance between him and his godfather had no existence. Chaudoreille was always a coward, his battles were mere bluster, and his very death was tragic only because he was fleeing over the roofs from an imaginary danger.

Passedix, on the contrary, was really brave; he would draw his sword on the most trivial pretext, would often take up the cudgels for a perfect stranger, and like Don Quixote, whom he resembled in his great height and his leanness, he would readily have fought against a windmill. But his courage was rarely fortunate, and whether because he handled Roland unskilfully,--for he possessed his godfather's famous rapier,--or because his excessive ardor made him imprudent, or because he was too sure of victory, the chevalier was almost always beaten; indeed, he was very lucky when he came off with a few scratches and was not nailed to his bed to await the healing of his wounds.

On a certain beautiful warm spring morning, several young nobles were chatting and laughing in Master Hugonnet's shop. Some were waiting for their inamoratas to come from the baths, others had come thither in the hope of seeing Ambroisine, La Belle Baigneuse, and perhaps of being shaved by her. The majority were there because it was a favorite rendezvous of idlers, lady killers, and all the young dandies and rakes who were eager to learn the news, the spicy anecdotes of the court and city, to inquire concerning the scandalous intrigue of the moment, in order that they might make merry at the expense of the poor betrayed husband; for we must not forget that husbands were betrayed in the good old times no less than they are to-day.

As there were no cafés in those days for the idlers and gossips, the bathing establishments filled their place. As there were no newspapers to read, people were accustomed to collect to listen to the man who came there to tell some anecdote or some new occurrence. The gossips were welcome and held the floor. Many falsehoods were told, as will always be the case in such assemblages; the man who lied with the most assurance was almost always the one who was most eagerly listened to, and most loudly applauded by those at whom he laughed in his sleeve. To-day, we find _blagueurs_ who delight to hoodwink their auditors. The words have changed, but the characters are the same.

Some of the idlers who were assembled at Master Hugonnet's stood in the doorway of the shop, both wings of the door being thrown open, and amused themselves by watching the passers-by. Rue Saint-Jacques was frequented by students, clerks of the Basoche, and a great number of the lower classes; moreover, the proximity of the Hôtel de Cluny brought to the quarter many ecclesiastics and doctors of the Sorbonne.

Our young gentlemen did not always confine themselves to ogling the passers-by. When a woman who was at all attractive, or a clown with a particularly idiotic face, passed the barber's shop, they addressed a compliment or an obscene jest to the one, to the other some unflattering epithet or some insulting question. And woe to the unlucky wight who should take the jest in bad part! for if he lost his temper and presumed to reply, all the idlers and all the customers assembled at the baths instantly ran out to listen to the complainant; and then, instead of one jest, he had to undergo a perfect hailstorm of witticisms from all sides.

"Pardieu! messeigneurs," said one young blade, all covered with ribbons and lace, as he left the door and threw himself carelessly on one of the hard chairs in the shop, "I have just seen two women of rather attractive aspect go in at the door leading to the baths."

"How were they dressed, Sénange?" inquired the young man who was at that moment in the barber's hands.

"Oh! how curious this little Monclair is! He wants to make us believe that he is waiting here for a fair; that someone is to come here to fetch him!"

"Yes, sambleu! I am expecting someone; what is there so surprising in that? Haven't you at least one mistress yourself, Sénange?"

"One mistress! Vertudieu! if I had but one, it seems to me that it would be almost the same as if I had none."

"Very pretty! but I shouldn't expect it from anyone but Léodgard.--Come, Sénange, be decent; how were the damsels dressed who have just gone into the baths?"

"One--and she must have been the dowager--wore a brown pelisse and hood; her head was all wrapped up in the hood, and there was a thick veil over all; guess at the face, if you can!"

"And the other?"

"The other was dressed in pink; there was a border of black lace to her hood, and it fell over her eyes; but her feet were small, her slippers embroidered with silver thread, and her leg well turned, as one could easily see, for she raised her skirts very generously!"

"Oh! it is she, I am sure!"

"By Notre-Dame de Paris!" cried Master Hugonnet, holding his razor in the air; "if you move about like this, my lord, something will happen to your face; that leap of yours nearly cost you your nose, and I assure you that it would not have been my fault. Keep quiet, or I will not answer for the consequences!"

"'Tis well, barber; go on, do your duty; I will try to be calm.--By the way, messieurs, it seems to me that it is a long while since we last saw Passedix in this quarter!"

"True; the valiant Passedix no longer shows himself; where can he be?--Have you seen him lately, Hugonnet?"

"No, messeigneurs; it is several weeks since the Chevalier Passedix has been here."

"That is the more surprising, because, if I remember aright, he was deeply in love with your daughter Ambroisine."

"In love with my daughter--he! He is in love with all women; but it amounts to nothing."

"Did you treat him a little--harshly? You are quite capable of it."

"No, I was not put to that trouble; the chevalier has always been too respectful for me to be angry with him."

"Then it must be that poor Passedix has had some new affair of honor; he has probably fought a duel and come out second best, as usual; and doubtless he is stretched out on his bed of pain at this moment."