CHAPTER XVI
PRINCESS VOCQSAL
It was an accommodating _menage_, that of Prince and Princess Vocqsal,and was carried on upon the same system, whether they were "immured," asMadame la Princesse called it, in the old chateau near Sieberiburgen, ordisporting themselves, as now, in the sunshine and gaiety of _her_ dearParis, as the same volatile lady was pleased to term that very livelyresort of the gay, the idle, and the good-for-nothing. It was the sortof _menage_ people do not understand in England quite so thoroughly asabroad; the system was simple enough--"live and let live" being ineffect the motto of an ill-matched pair, who had better never have cometogether, but who, having done so, resolved to make the best of thatwhich each found to be a bad bargain, and to see less of each other thanthey could possibly have done had they remained as formerly, simply anold cousin and a young one, instead of as now, husband and wife.
Prince Vocqsal was the best of fellows, and the most sporting ofHungarians. Time was, "before the Revolution, _mon cher_"--a good whilebefore it, he might have added--that the Prince was the handsomest manof his day, and not indisposed to use his personal advantages for thecaptivation of the opposite sex. His conquests, as he called them, inFrance, Spain, Italy, not to mention the Fatherland, were, by his ownaccount, second only to those of Don Juan in the charming opera whichbears the name of that libertine; but his greatest triumph was todetail, in strict confidence, of course, how he had met with _un grandsucces_ amongst _ces belles blondes Anglaises_, whose characters he wasgood enough to take away with a sweeping liberality calculated to altera Briton's preconceived notions as to the propriety of those prudishdames whom he had hitherto been proud to call his countrywomen. Icannot say I consider myself bound to believe all an old gentleman, or ayoung one either, has to say on that score. Men are given to lying, andwoman is an enigma better let alone. The Prince, however, clung stoutlyto his fascinations, long after time, good living, and field-sports hadchanged him from a slim, romantic swain to a jolly, roundabout oldgentleman. He dyed his moustaches and whiskers, wore a belt patented tocheck corpulency, and made up for the ravages of decay by the artificesof the toilet. He could ride extremely well (for a foreigner), not inthe break-neck style which hunting men in England call "going," andwhich none except an Englishman ever succeeds in attaining; butgracefully, and like a gentleman. He could shoot with the rifle or thesmooth-bore with an accuracy not to be surpassed, and was an"ace-of-diamonds man" with the pistol. Notwithstanding the many timeshis amours had brought him "on the ground," it was his chief boast thathe had never killed his man. "I am sure of my _coup_, my dear," hewould say, with an amiable smile, and holding you affectionately by thearm, "and I always take my antagonist just below the knee-pan. I sighta little over the ankle, and the rise of the ball at twelve paces hitsthe exact spot. There is no occasion to repeat my fire, and he lives tobe my friend."
Added to this he was a thorough _bon vivant_, and an excellent linguist.On all matters connected with field-sports he held forth in English,swearing hideously, under the impression that on these topics the use offrightful oaths was national and appropriate. He was past middle age,healthy, good-humoured, full of fun, and he did not care a straw forPrincess Vocqsal.
Why did he marry her? The reason was simple enough. Hunting, shooting,horse-racing, gaiety, hospitality, love, life, and libertinism, willmake a hole in the finest fortune that ever was inherited, even inHungary; and Prince Vocqsal found himself at middle age, or what hecalled the prime of life, with all the tastes of his youth as strong asever, but none of its ready money left. He looked in the glass, andfelt that even he must at length succumb to fate.
"My cousin Rose is rich; she is moreover young and beautiful; _une femmetres distinguee et tant soit peu coquette_. I must sacrifice myself,and Comtesse Rose shall become Princess Vocqsal." Such was the fruit ofthe Prince's reflections, and it is but justice to add he made a mostaccommodating and good-humoured husband.
Comtesse Rose had no objection to being Princess Vocqsal. A thousandflirtations and at least half-a-dozen _grandes passions_, had a littletarnished the freshness of her youthful beauty; but what she had lost inbloom she had gained in experience. Nobody had such a figure, so round,so shapely, of such exquisite proportions; nobody knew so well how todress that figure to the greatest advantage. Her gloves were a study;and as for her feet and ankles, their perfection was only equalled bythe generosity with which they were displayed. Then whataccomplishments, what talents! She could sing, she could ride, shecould waltz; she could play billiards, smoke cigarettes, drive fourhorses, shoot with a pistol, and talk sentiment from the depths of a low_fauteuil_ like a very Sappho. Her lovers had compared her at differenttimes to nearly all the heroines of antiquity, except Diana. She hadbeen painted in every costume, flattered in every language, andslandered in every boudoir throughout Europe for a good many years; andstill she was bright, and fresh, and sparkling, as if Old Time too couldnot resist her fascinations, but, like any other elderly gentleman, gaveher her own way, and waited patiently for his turn. Thrice happyPrincess Vocqsal!--can it be possible that you, too, are bored?
She sits in her own magnificent _salon_, where once every week she"receives" all the most distinguished people in Paris. How blooming shelooks with her back to the light, and her little feet crossed upon thatlow footstool. Last night she had "a reception," and it was gayer andmore crowded than usual. Why did she feel a little dull to-day? Pooh!it was only a _migraine_, or the last French novel was so insufferablystupid; or--no, it was the want of excitement. She could not livewithout that stimulus--excitement she must and would have. She hadtried politics, but the strong immovable will at the head of theGovernment had given her a hint that she must put a stop to _that_; andshe knew his inflexible character too well to venture on trifling with_him_. She was tired of all her lovers, too; she began to think, if herhusband were only thirty years younger, and less good-humoured, he wouldbe worth a dozen of these modern adorers. _That_ Count de Rohan, to besure, was a good-looking boy, and seemed utterly fancy free.By-the-bye, he was not at the "reception" last night, though she askedhim herself the previous evening at "the Tuileries." That was veryrude; positively she must teach him better manners. A countryman, too;it was a duty to be civil to him. And a fresh character to study, itwould be good sport to subjugate him. Probably he would call to-day toapologise for being so remiss. And she rose and looked in the glass atthose eyes whose power needed not to be enhanced by the dexterous touchof rouge; at that long, glossy hair, and shapely neck and bosom, as asportsman examines the locks and barrels of the weapon on which hedepends for his success in the chase. The review was satisfactory, andPrincess Vocqsal did not look at all bored now. She had hardly settledherself once more in a becoming attitude, ere Monsieur le Comte de Rohanwas announced, and marched in, hat in hand, with all the grace of hisnatural demeanour, and the frank, happy air that so seldom survivesboyhood. Victor was handsomer than ever, brimful of life and spirits,utterly devoid of all conceit or affectation; and moreover, since hisfather's death, one of the first noblemen of Hungary. It was a conquestworth making.
"I thought you would not go back without wishing me good-bye," said thePrincess, with her sweetest smile, and a blush through her rouge thatshe could summon at command--indeed, this weapon had done more executionthan all the rest of her artillery put together. "I missed you lastnight at my reception; why did you not come?"
Victor blushed too. How could he explain that a little supper-party atwhich some very fascinating ladies who were not of the Princess'sacquaintance had _assisted_, prevented him. He stammered out someexcuse about leaving Paris immediately, and having to make preparationsfor departure.
"And you are really going," said she, in a melancholy, pleading tone ofvoice,--"going back to my dear Hungary. How I wish I could accompanyyou."
"Nothing could be easier," answered Victor, laughing gaily; "if madamewould but conde
scend to accept my escort, I would wait her convenience.Say, Princess, when shall it be?"
"Ah, now you are joking," she said, looking at him from under her longeyelashes; "you know I cannot leave Paris, and you know that we poorwomen cannot do what we like. It is all very well for you men; you getyour passports, and you are off to the end of the world, whilst we canbut sit over our work and think."
Here a deep sigh smote on Victor's ear. It began to strike him that hehad made an impression; the feeling is very pleasant at first, and theyoung Hungarian was keenly alive to it. He spoke in a much softer tonenow, and drew his chair a little nearer that of the Princess.
"I need not go quite yet," he said, in an embarrassed tone, whichcontrasted strongly with his frank manner a few minutes earlier: "Parisis very pleasant, and--and--there are so many people here one likes."
"And that like you," she interrupted, with an arch smile, that made herlook more charming than ever. "One is so seldom happy," she added,relapsing once more into her melancholy air; "one meets so seldom withkindred spirits--people that understand one; it is like a dream to beallowed to associate with those who are really pleasing to us. A happy,happy dream; but then the waking is so bitter, perhaps it is wiser notto dream at all. No! Monsieur de Rohan, you had better go back toHungary, as you proposed."
"Not if you tell me to stay," exclaimed Victor, his eyes brightening,and his colour rising rapidly; "not if I can be of the slightest use orinterest to you. Only tell me what you wish me to do, madame; your wordshall be my law. Go or stay, I wait but for your commands."
He was getting on faster than she had calculated; it was time to damphim a little now. She withdrew her chair a foot or so, and answeredcoldly--
"Who--I, Monsieur le Comte? I cannot possibly give you any command,except to ring that bell. The Prince would like to see you before yougo. Let the Prince know Monsieur de Rohan is here," she added, to theservant who answered her summons. "You were always a great favourite ofhis--of _ours_, I may say;" and she bade him adieu, and gave him hersoft white hand with all her former sweetness of manner; and told herservant, loud enough for her victim to hear, "to order the carriage, forshe meant to drive in the Bois de Boulogne:" and finally shot a Parthianglance at him over her shoulder as she left the room by one door, whilsthe proceeded by another towards the Prince's apartments.
No wonder Victor de Rohan quitted the house not so wise a man as he hadentered it; no wonder he was seen that same afternoon caracolling hisbay horse in the Bois de Boulogne; no wonder he went to dress moody andout of humour, because, ride where he would, he had failed to catch asingle glimpse of the known carriage and liveries of Princess Vocqsal.
They met, however, the following evening at a concert at the Tuileries.The day after--oh, what good luck!--he sat next her at dinner at theEnglish ambassador's, and put her into her carriage at night when shewent home. Poor Victor! he dreamed of her white dress and floatinghair, and the pressure of her gloved hand. Breakfast next morning wasnot half so important a meal as it used to be, and he thought thefencing-school would be a bore. She was rapidly getting the upper handof young Count de Rohan.
Six weeks afterwards he was still in Paris. The gardens of theTuileries were literally sparkling in the morning sun of a brightParisian day. The Zouaves on guard at the gate lounged over theirfirelocks with their usual reckless brigand air, and leered under everybonnet that passed them, as though the latter accomplishment were partand parcel of a Zouave's duty. The Rue de Rivoli was alive withcarriages; the sky, the houses, the gilt-topped railings--everythinglooked in full dress, as it does nowhere but in Paris; the very flowersin the gardens were two shades brighter than in any other part ofFrance. All the children looked clean, all the women well dressed; eventhe very trees had on their most becoming costume, and the long closealleys smelt fresh and delicious as the gardens of Paradise. Why shouldVictor de Rohan alone look gloomy and morose when all else is so brightand fair? Why does he puff so savagely at his cigar, and glance sorestlessly under the stems of those thick-growing chestnuts? Why doeshe mutter between his teeth, "False, unfeeling! the third time she hasplayed me this trick? No, it is not she. Oh! I should know her a mileoff. She will not come. She has no heart, no pity. She will _not_come. _Sappramento!_ there she is!"
In the most becoming of morning toilettes, with the most killing littlebonnet at the back of her glossy head, the best-fitting of gloves, andthe tiniest of _chaussures_, without a lock out of its place or a foldrumpled, cool, composed, and beautiful, leaving her maid to amuseherself with a penny chair and a _feuilleton_, Princess Vocqsal walks upto the agitated Hungarian, and placing her hand in his, says, in hermost bewitching accents, "Forgive me, my friend; I have risked so muchto come here; I could not get away a moment sooner. I have passed thelast hour in such agony of suspense!" The time to which the ladyalludes has been spent, and well spent, in preparing the brilliant andeffective appearance which she is now making.
"But you have come at last," exclaims Victor, breathlessly. "I may nowspeak to you for the first time alone. Oh, what happiness to see youagain! All this week I have been so wretched without you; and why wereyou never at home when I called?"
"_Les convenances_, my dear Count," answers the lady. "Everything I dois watched and known. Only last night I was taxed by Madame d'Alenconabout you, and I could not help showing my confusion; and you--you areso foolish. What must people think?"
"Let them think what they will," breaks in Victor, his honest truthfulface pale with excitement. "I am yours, and yours alone. Ever since Ihave known you, Princess, I have felt that you might do with me what youwill. Now I am your slave. I offer you----"
What Victor was about to offer never came to light, for at that instantthe well-tutored "Jeannette" rose from her chair, and hurriedlyapproaching her mistress, whispered to her a few agitated words. ThePrincess dropped her veil, squeezed Victor's hand, and in anotherinstant disappeared amongst the trees, leaving the young Hungarian verymuch in love, very much bewildered, and not a little disgusted.
One or two more such scenes, one or two more weeks of alternate delight,suspense, and disappointment, made poor Victor half beside himself. Hehad got into the hands of an accomplished flirt, and for nine men out often there would have been no more chance of escape than there is for themoth who has once fluttered within the magic ring of a ground-glasslamp. He may buzz and flap and fume as he will, but the more heflutters the more he singes his wings, the greater his struggles theless his likelihood of liberty. But Victor was at that age when a manmost appreciates his own value: a few years earlier we want confidence,a few years later we lack energy, but in the hey-day of youth we do noteasily surrender at discretion; besides, we have so many to console us,and we are so easily consoled. De Rohan began to feel hurt, then angry,lastly resolute. One night at the opera decided him. His box had amirror in it so disposed as to reflect the interior of the adjoiningone; a most unfair and reprehensible practice, by-the-bye, and onecalculated to lead to an immensity of discord. What he saw he neverproclaimed, but as Princess Vocqsal occupied the box adjoining his own,it is fair to suppose that he watched the movements of his mistress.
She bit her lip, and drew her features together as if she had beenstung, when on the following afternoon, in the Bois de Boulogne, VicomteLascar informed her, with his insipid smile, that he had that morningmet De Rohan at the railway station, evidently en route for Hungary,adding, for the Princess was an excellent linguist, and Lascar pridedhimself much on his English, "'Ome, sweet 'ome, no place like 'ome."