CHAPTER XVIII.
A MARRIAGE NOT "A LA MODE."
The marriage took place in a little out-of-the-way Protestant chapelbeyond the barriers, at about a quarter before ten o'clock the nextmorning. Dalrymple and I were there first; and Madame de Courcelles,having, in order to avoid observation, come part of the distance in acab and part on foot, arrived a few minutes later. She was very pale,and looked almost like a _religieuse_, with her black veil tied closelyunder her chin, and a dark violet dress, which might have passed formourning. She gave her hand to Dalrymple without speaking; then kneltdown at the communion-table, and so remained till we had all taken ourplaces. As for Dalrymple, he had even less color than she, but held hishead up haughtily, and betrayed no sign of the conflict within.
It was a melancholy little chapel, dusty and neglected, full of blackand white funereal tablets, and damp as a vault. We shivered as we stoodabout the altar; the clergyman's teeth chattered as he began themarriage service; and the echoes of our responses reverberated forlornlyup among the gothic rafters overhead. Even the sunbeams struggled sadlyand palely down the upper windows, and the chill wind whistled in whenthe door was opened, bringing with it a moan of coming rain.
The ceremony over, the books signed in the vestry, and the clergyman,clerk, and pew-opener duly remunerated for their services, we preparedto be gone. For a couple of moments, Dalrymple and his bride stood apartin the shadow of the porch. I saw him take the hand on which he had justplaced the ring, and look down upon it tenderly, wistfully--I saw himbend lower, and lower, whispering what no other ears might hear--sawtheir lips meet for one brief instant. Then the lady's veil was lowered;she turned hastily away; and Dalrymple was left standing in thedoorway alone.
"By Heaven!" said he, grasping my hand as though he would crush it."This is hard to bear."
I but returned the pressure of his hand; for I knew not with what wordsto comfort him. Thus we lingered for some minutes in silence, till theclergyman, having put off his surplice, passed us with a bow and wentout; and the pew-opener, after pretending to polish the door-handle withher apron, and otherwise waiting about with an air of fidgetypoliteness, dropped a civil curtsey, and begged to remind us that thechapel must now be closed.
Dalrymple started and shook himself like a water-dog, as if he would soshake off "the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune."
"_Rex est qui metuit nihil_!" said he; "but I am a sovereign in badcircumstances, for all that. Heigho! Care will kill a cat. What shall wedo with ourselves, old fellow, for the rest of the day?"
"I hardly know. Would you like to go into the country?"
"Nothing better. The air perhaps would exorcise some of theseblue-devils."
"What say you to St. Germains? It looks as if it must rain before night;yet there is the forest and...."
"Excellent! We can do as we like, with nobody to stare at us; and I amin a horribly uncivilized frame of mind this morning."
With this, we turned once more toward Paris, and, jumping into the firstcab that came by, were driven to the station. It happened that a trainwas then about to start; so we were off immediately.
There were no other passengers in the carriage, so Dalrymple infringedthe company's mandate by lighting a cigar, and I, finding himdisinclined for talk, did the same thing, and watched the passingcountry. Flat and uninteresting at first, it consisted of a mere sandyplain, treeless, hedgeless, and imperfectly cultivated with strugglingstrips of corn and vegetables. By and by came a line of stuntedpollards, a hamlet, and a little dreary cemetery. Then the landscapeimproved. The straight line of the horizon broke into gentleundulations; the Seine, studded with islets, wound through themeadow-land at our feet; and a lofty viaduct carried us from height toheight across the eddying river. Then we passed into the close greenshade of a forest, which opened every here and there into long vistas,yielding glimpses of
"--verdurous glooms, and winding mossy ways."
Through this wood the line continued to run till we reached ourdestination. Here our first few steps brought us out upon the Place,directly facing the old red and black chateau of St. Germain-en-Laye.Leaving this and the little dull town behind us, we loitered for sometime about the broad walks of the park, and then passed on into theforest. Although it was neither Sunday nor a fete-day, there werepleasure parties gipseying under trees--Parisian cockneys ridingraw-boned steeds--pony-chaises full of laughing grisettes dashing up anddown the broad roads that pierce the wood in various directions--oldwomen selling cakes and lemonade--workmen gambling with half-pence onthe smooth turf by the wayside--_bonnes_, comely and important, withtheir little charges playing round them, and their busy fingers plyingthe knitting-needles as they walked--young ladies sketching trees, andprudent governesses reading novels close by; in short, all the life andvariety of a favorite suburban resort on an ordinarily fine day aboutthe beginning of autumn.
Leaving the frequented routes to the right, we turned into one of themany hundred tracks that diverge in every direction from the beatenroads, and wandered deeper and deeper into the green shades andsolitudes of the forest. Pausing, presently, to rest, Dalrymple threwhimself at full length on the mossy ground, with his hands clasping theback of his head, and his hat over his eyes; whilst I found a luxuriousarm-chair in the gnarled roots of a lichen-tufted elm. Thus we remainedfor a considerable time puffing away at our cigars in that sociablesilence which may almost claim to be an unique privilege of masculinefriendship. Women cannot sit together for long without talking; men canenjoy each other's companionship for hours with scarcely the interchangeof an idea.
Meanwhile, I watched the squirrels up in the beech-trees and the dancingof the green leaves against the sky; and thought dreamily of home, of myfather, of the far past, and the possible future. I asked myself how,when my term of study came to an end, I should ever again endure the oldhome-life at Saxonholme? How settle down for life as my father'spartner, conforming myself to his prejudices, obeying all the demands ofhis imperious temper, and accepting for evermore the monotonous routineof a provincial practice! It was an intolerable prospect, but no lessinevitable than intolerable. Pondering thus, I sighed heavily, and thesigh roused Dalrymple's attention.
"Why, Damon," said he, turning over on his elbow, and pushing up hishat to the level of his eyes, "what's the matter with you?"
"Oh, nothing--at least, nothing new."
"Well, new or old, what is it? A man must be either in debt, or in love,when he sighs in that way. You look as melancholy as Werter redivivus!"
"I--I ought not to be melancholy, I suppose; for I was thinking ofhome."
Dalrymple's face and voice softened immediately.
"Poor boy!" he said, throwing away the end of his cigar, "yours is not abright home, I fear. You told me, I think, that you had lostyour mother?"
"From infancy."
"And you have no sisters?"
"None. I am an only child."
"Your father, however, is living?"
"Yes, my father lives. He is a rough-tempered, eccentric man;misanthropic, but clever; kind enough, and generous enough, in his ownstrange way. Still--"
"Still what?"
--"I dread the life that lies before me! I dread the life withoutsociety, without ambition, without change--the dull house--the boundedsphere of action--the bondage.... But of what use is it to trouble youwith these things?"
"This use, that it does you good to tell, and me to listen. Sympathy,like mercy, blesseth him that gives and him that takes; and if I cannotactually help you, I am, at all events, thankful to be taken out ofmyself. Go on--tell me more of your prospects. Have you no acquaintanceat Saxonholme whose society will make the place pleasant to you? Noboyish friends? No pretty cousins? No first-loves, from amongst whom tochoose a wife in time to come?"
I shook my head sadly.
"Did I not tell you that my father was a misanthrope? He visits no one,unless professionally. We have no friends and no relations."
"Humph! that's awkward. Ho
wever, it leaves you free to choose your ownfriends, when you go back. A medical man need never be without avisiting connection. His very profession puts a thousand opportunitiesin his way."
"That is true; but--"
"But what?"
"I am not fond of the profession. I have never liked it. I would givemuch to relinquish it altogether."
Dalrymple gave utterance to a prolonged and very dismal whistle.
"This," said he gravely, "is the most serious part of the business. Tolive in a dull place is bad enough--to live with dull people is badenough; but to have one's thoughts perpetually occupied with anuncongenial subject, and one's energies devoted to an uncongenialpursuit, is just misery, and nothing short of it! In fact 'tis a moralinjustice, and one that no man should be required to endure."
"Yet I must endure it."
"Why?"
"Because it is too late to do otherwise."
"It is never too late to repair an evil, or an error."
"Unless the repairing of it involved a worse evil, or a more fatalerror! No--I must not dream now of turning aside from the path that hasbeen chosen for me. Too much time and too much money have been given tothe thing for that;--I must let it take its course. There's no helpfor it!"
"But, confound it, lad! you'd better follow the fife and drum, or gobefore the mast, than give up your life to a profession you hate!"
"Hate is a strong word," I replied. "I do not actually hate it--at allevents I must try to make the best of it, if only for my father's sake.His heart is set on making a physician of me, and I dare notdisappoint him."
Dalrymple looked at me fixedly, and then fell back into his oldposition.
"Heigho!" he said, pulling his hat once more over his eyes, "I was adisobedient son. My father intended me for the Church; I was expelledfrom College for fighting a duel before I was twenty, and then, soonerthan go home disgraced, enlisted as a private soldier in a cavalry corpsbound for foreign service. Luckily, they found me out before the shipsailed, and made the best of a bad bargain by purchasing me a cornetcyin a dragoon regiment. I would not advise you to be disobedient, Damon.My experience in that line has been bitter enough,"
"How so? You escaped a profession for which you were disinclined, andentered one for which you had every qualification."
"Ay; but think of the cursed _esclandre_--first the duel, then theexpulsion, then my disappearance for two months ... My mother was in badhealth at the time, too; and I, her favorite son--I--in short, theanxiety was too much for her. She--she died before I had been six weeksin the regiment. There! we won't talk of it. It's the one subjectthat ..."
His voice faltered, and he broke off abruptly.
"I wish you were going with me to Berlin," said he, after a long silencewhich I had not attempted to interrupt.
"I wish with all my heart that I were!"
"And yet," he added, "I am glad on--on her account, that you remain inParis. You will call upon her sometimes, Arbuthnot?"
"If Madame De Cour.... I mean, if Mrs. Dalrymple will permit me."
An involuntary smile flitted across his lips--the first I had seen thereall the day.
"She will be glad--grateful. She knows that I value you, and she hasproof that I trust you. You are the only possessor of our secret."
"It is as safe with me," I said, "as if I were dead, and in my grave."
"I know it, old fellow. Well--you will see her sometimes. You will writeto me, and tell me how she is looking. If--if she were to fall ill, youwould not conceal it from me? and in case of any emergency--anyannoyance arising from De Caylus ..."
"Were she my own sister," I said, earnestly, "she would not find mereadier to assist or defend her. Of this, Dalrymple, be assured."
"Thank you," he said, and stretched up his hand to me. "I do believe youare true--though there are few men, and still fewer women, of whom Ishould like to say as much. By the way, Arbuthnot, beware of that littleflirt, Madame de Marignan. She has charming eyes, but no more heart thana vampire. Besides, an entanglement with a married woman!... _cela ne sepeut pas, mon cher_. You are too young to venture on such dangerousground, and too inexperienced."
I smiled--perhaps somewhat bitterly--for the wound was still fresh, andI could not help wincing when any hand came near it.
"You are right," I replied. "Madame de Marignan is a dangerous woman;but dangerous for me no longer. However, I have paid rather dearly formy safety."
And with this, I told him the whole story from beginning to end,confessing all my follies without reservation. Surprised, amused,sometimes unable to repress a smile, sometimes genuinely compassionate,he heard my narrative through, accompanying it from time to time withmuttered comments and ejaculations, none of which were very flatteringto Madame de Marignan. When I had done, he sprang to his feet, laid hishand heavily upon my shoulder, and said:--
"Damon, there are a great many disagreeable things in life which wisepeople say are good for us, and for which they tell us we ought to begrateful in proportion to our discomfort. For my own part, however, I amno optimist. I am not fond of mortifying the flesh, and the eloquence ofSocrates would fail to persuade me that a carbuncle was a cheerfulcompanion, or the gout an ailment to be ardently desired. Yet, for allthis, I cannot say that I look upon your adventure in the light of amisfortune. You have lost time, spent money, and endured a considerableamount of aggravation; but you have, on the other hand, acquired easeof manner, facility of conversation, and just that necessary polishwhich fits a man for society. Come! you have received a valuable lessonboth in morals and manners; so farewell to Madame de Marignan, and letus write _Pour acquit_ against the score!"
Willing enough to accept this cheerful view, I flourished an imaginaryautograph upon the air with the end of my cane, and laughingly dismissedthe subject.
We then strolled back through the wood, treading the soft moss under ourfeet, startling the brown lizards from our path and the squirrels fromthe lower branches of the great trees, and, now and then, surprising aplump little green frog, which went skipping away into the long grass,like an animated emerald. Coming back to the gardens, we next lingeredfor some time upon the terrace, admiring the superb panorama ofundulating woodland and cultivated champaign, which, seen through thegolden haze of afternoon, stretched out in glory to the remotesthorizon. To our right stood the prison-like chateau, flinging back thesunset from its innumerable casements, and seeming to drink in the warmglow at every pore of its old, red bricks. To our left, all lighted upagainst the sky, rose the lofty tree-tops of the forest which we hadjust quitted. Our shadows stretched behind us across the level terrace,like the shadows of giants. Involuntarily, we dropped our voices. Itwould have seemed almost like profanity to speak aloud while the firstinfluence of that scene was upon us.
Going on presently towards the verge of the terrace, we came upon anartist who, with his camp-stool under his arm, and his portfolio at hisfeet, was, like ourselves, taking a last look at the sunset before goingaway. As we approached, he turned and recognised us. It was Herr FranzMueller, the story-telling student of the _Chicards_ club.
"Good-afternoon, gentlemen," said he, lifting his red cap, and lettingit fall back again a little on one side. "We do not see many suchsunsets in the course of the summer."
"Indeed, no," replied Dalrymple; "and ere long the autumn tints will becreeping over the landscape, and the whole scene will assume a differentcharacter. Have you been sketching in the forest?"
"No--I have been making a study of the chateau and terrace from thispoint, with the landscape beyond. It is for an historical subject whichI have laid out for my winter's work."
And with this, he good-naturedly opened his folio and took out thesketch, which was a tolerably large one, and represented the scene undermuch the same conditions of light as we now saw it.
"I shall have a group of figures here," he said, pointing to a spot onthe terrace, "and a more distant one there; with a sprinkling of dogsand, perhaps, a head or two at an open window of the chateau
. I shallalso add a flag flying on the turret, yonder."
"A scene, I suppose, from the life of Louis the Thirteenth," Isuggested.
"No--I mean it for the exiled court of James the Second," replied he."And I shall bring in the King, and Mary of Modena, and the Prince theirson, who was afterwards the Pretender."
"It is a good subject," said Dalrymple. "You will of course findexcellent portraits of all these people at Versailles; and a livelydescription of their court, mode of life, and so forth, if my memoryserves me correctly, in the tales of Anthony, Count Hamilton. But withall this, I dare say, you are better acquainted than I."
"_Parbleu!_ not I," said the student, shouldering his camp-stool as ifit were a musket, and slinging his portfolio by a strap across his back;"therefore, I am all the more obliged to you for the information. Myreading is neither very extensive nor very useful; and as for mylibrary, I could pack it all into a hat-case any day, and find room fora few other trifles at the same time. Here is the author I chieflystudy. He is my constant companion, and, like myself, looks somewhat theworse for wear."
Saying which, he produced from one of his pockets a little, greasy,dog-eared volume of Beranger, about the size of a small snuff-box, andbegan singing aloud, to a very cheerful air, a song of which a certainfaithless Mademoiselle Lisette was the heroine, and of which the refrainwas always:--
"_Lisette! ma Lisette, Tu m'as trompe toujours; Je veux, Lisette, Boire a nos amours_."
To this accompaniment we walked back through the gardens to the railwaystation, where, being a quarter of an hour too soon, our companionamused himself by "chaffing," questioning, contradicting, and otherwiseingeniously tormenting the check-takers and porters of theestablishment. One pompous official, in particular, became so helplesslyindignant that he retired into a little office overlooking the platform,and was heard to swear fluently, all by himself, for several minutes.The time having expired and the doors being opened, we passed out withthe rest of the home-going Parisians, and were about to take our places,when Mueller, climbing like a cat to the roof-seats on the top of thesecond-class carriages, beckoned us to follow.
"Who would be shut up with ten fat people and a baby, when fresh air canbe breathed, and tobacco smoked, for precisely the same fare?" asked he."You don't mean to say that you came down to St. Germains in one of thedens below?"
"Yes, we did," I replied; "but we had it to ourselves."
"So much the worse. Man is a gregarious animal, and woman also--whichproves Zimmerman to have been neither, and accounts for the brotherhoodof _Les Chicards_. Would you like to see how that old gentleman lookswhen he is angry?"
"Which? The one in the opposite corner?"
"The same."
"Well, that depends on circumstances. Why do you ask?"
"Because I'll engage to satisfy your curiosity in less than tenminutes."
"Oh, no, don't affront him," said I. "We shall only have a scene."
"I won't affront him. I promise not to utter a syllable, eitheroffensive or defensive."
"Leave him alone, then, poor devil!"
"Nonsense! If he chooses to be annoyed, that's his business, and notmine. Now, you'll see."
And Mueller, alert for mischief, stared fixedly at the old gentleman inthe opposite corner for some minutes--then sighed--roused himself as iffrom a profound reverie--seized his portfolio--took out a pencil andsketch-book--mended the pencil with an elaborate show of fastidiousnessand deliberation--stared again--drew a deep breath--turned somewhataside, as if anxious to conceal his object, and began sketching rapidly.Now and then he paused; stole a furtive glance over his shoulder; bithis lip; rubbed out; corrected; glanced again; and then went on rapidlyas before.
In the meanwhile the old gentleman, who was somewhat red and irascible,began to get seriously uncomfortable. He frowned, fidgeted, coughed,buttoned and unbuttoned his coat, and jealously watched every proceedingof his tormentor. A general smile dawned upon the faces of the rest ofthe travellers. The priest over the way pinched his lips together, andlooked down demurely. The two girls, next to the priest, tittered behindtheir handkerchiefs. The young man with the blue cravat sucked the topof his cane, and winked openly at his companions, both of whom werecracking nuts, and flinging the shells down the embankment. PresentlyMueller threw his head back, held the drawing off, still studiouslykeeping the back of it towards the rest of the passengers; looked at itwith half-closed eyes; stole another exceedingly cautious glance at hisvictim; and then, affecting for the first time to find himself observed,made a vast show of pretending to sketch the country through which wewere passing.
The old gentleman could stand it no longer.
"Monsieur," said he, angrily. "Monsieur, I will thank you not to take myportrait. I object to it. Monsieur."
"Charming distance," said Mueller, addressing himself to me "Wantsinterest, however, in the foreground. That's a picturesque tree yonder,is it not?"
The old gentleman struck his umbrella sharply on the floor.
"It's of no use, Monsieur," he exclaimed, getting more red and excited."You are taking my portrait, and I object to it. I know you are takingmy portrait."
Mueller looked up dreamily.
"I beg your pardon, Monsieur," said he. "Did you speak?'
"Yes, Monsieur. I did speak. I repeat that you shall not take myportrait."
"Your portrait, Monsieur?"
"Yes, my portrait!"
"But, Monsieur," remonstrated the artist, with an air of mingled candorand surprise, "I never dreamed of taking your portrait!"
"_Sacre non_!" shouted the old gentleman, with another rap of theumbrella. "I saw you do it! Everybody saw you do It!"
"Nay, if Monsieur will but do me the honor to believe that I was simplysketching from nature, as the train...."
"An impudent subterfuge, sir!" interrupted the old gentleman. "Animpudent subterfuge, and nothing less!"
Mueller drew himself up with immense dignity.
"Monsieur," he said, haughtily, "that is an expression which I mustrequest you to retract. I have already assured you, on the word of agentleman...."
"A gentleman, indeed! A pretty gentleman! He takes my portrait, and...."
"I have not taken your portrait, Monsieur."
"Good heavens!" cried the old gentleman, looking round, "was ever suchassurance! Did not every one present see him in the act? I appeal toevery one--to you, Monsieur--to you, Mesdames,--to you, reverendfather,--did you not all see this person taking my portrait?"
"Nay, then, if it must come to this," said Mueller, "let the sketch beevidence, and let these ladies and gentlemen decide whether it is reallythe portrait of Monsieur--and if they think it like?"
Saying which, he held up the book, and displayed a head, sketched, it istrue, with admirable spirit and cleverness, but--the head of an ass,with a thistle in its mouth!
A simultaneous explosion of mirth followed. Even the priest laughed tillthe tears ran down his cheeks, and Dalrymple, heavy-hearted as he was,could not help joining in the general shout. As for the old gentleman,the victim of this elaborate practical joke, he glared at us all round,swore that it was a premeditated insult from beginning to end, and,swelling with suppressed rage, flung himself back into his corner, andlooked resolutely in the opposite direction.
By this time we were half-way to Paris, and the student, satisfied withhis success, packed up his folio, brought out a great meerschaum with asnaky tube, and smoked like a factory-chimney.
When we alighted, it was nearly five o'clock.
"What shall we do next?" said Dalrymple, pulling drearily at hismoustache. "I am so deuced dull to-day that I am ashamed to ask anybodyto do me the charity to dine with me--especially a _bon garcon_ likeHerr Mueller."
"Don't be ashamed," said the student, laughingly, "I would dine withPluto himself, if the dishes were good and my appetite as sharpas to-day."
"_Allons_, then! Where shall we go; to the _Trois Freres_, or the_Moulin Rouge_, or the _Maison Doree_?"
"The _Trois Freres_" said Mueller, with the air of one who deliberates onthe fate of nations, "has the disadvantage of being situated in thePalais Royal, where the band still continues to play at half-past fiveevery afternoon. Now, music should come on with the sweets and thechampagne. It is not appropriate with soup or fish, and it distractsone's attention if injudiciously administered with the made dishes,"
"True. Then shall we try the _Moulin Rouge_?"
Mueller shook his head.
"At the _Moulin Rouge_" said he, gravely, "one can breakfast well; buttheir dinners are stereotyped. For the last ten years they have notadded a new dish to their _carte_; and the discovery of a new dish, saysBrillat Savarin, is of more importance to the human race than thediscovery of a new planet. No--I should not vote for the_Moulin Rouge_."
"Well, then, Vefours, Very's, the Cafe Anglais?"
"Vefours is traditional; the Cafe Anglais is infested with English; andat Very's, which is otherwise a meritorious establishment, one'sdigestion is disturbed by the sight of omnivorous provincials, who drinkchampagne with the _roti_, and eat melon at dessert."
Dalrymple laughed outright.
"At this rate," said he, "we shall get no dinner at all! What is tobecome of us, if neither Very's, nor the _Trois Freres_, nor the _MoulinRouge_, nor the _Maison Doree_...."
"_Halte-la!"_ interrupted the student, theatrically; "for by my halidom,sirs, I said not a syllable in disparagement of the house yelept Doree!Is it not there that we eat of the crab of Bordeaux, succulent androseate? Is it not there that we drink of Veuve Cliquot the costly, andof that Johannisberger, to which all other hocks are vinegar and water?Never let it be said that Franz Mueller, being of sound mind and body,did less than justice to the reputation of the _Maison Doree_."
"To the _Maison Doree_, then," said Dalrymple, "with what speed andappetite we may! By Jove! Herr Franz, you are a _connoisseur_ in thematter of dining."
"A man who for twenty-nine days out of every thirty pays his sixty-fivecentimes for two dishes at a student's Restaurant in the Quartier Latin,knows better than most people where to go for a good dinner when he hasthe chance," said Mueller, philosophically. "The ragouts of theTemple--the _arlequins_ of the _Cite_--the fried fish of the Odeonarcades--the unknown hashes of the _guingettes_, and the 'funeral bakedmeats' of the Palais Royal, are all familiar to my pocket and my palate.I do not scruple to confess that in cases of desperate emergency, I haveeven availed myself of the advantages of _Le hasard_."
"_Le hasard_." said I. "What is that?"
"_Le hasard de la fourchette_," replied the student, "is the resort ofthe vagabond, the _gamin_, and the _chiffonier_. It lies down by theriver-side, near the Halles, and consists of nothing but a shed, a fire,and a caldron. In this caldron a seething sea of oleaginous liquidconceals an infinite variety of animal and vegetable substances. Thearrangements of the establishment are beautifully simple. The votarypays his five centimes and is armed by the presiding genius of the placewith a huge two-pronged iron fork. This fork he plunges in once;--he mayget a calf's foot, or a potato, or a sheep's head, or a carrot, or acabbage, or nothing, as fate and the fork direct. All men are gamblersin some way or another, and _Le hasard_ is a game of gastronomic chance.But from the ridiculous to the sublime, it is but a step--and whiletalking of _Le hasard_ behold, we have arrived at the _Maison Doree_."