Philip De Taverney.
PHILIP DE TAVERNEY, Chevalier de Maison-Rouge, did not in the least resemble his sister, yet was as fine a specimen of manly beauty as she was of feminine loveliness. His features were noble and regular, his figure and carriage graceful in the extreme, and the expression of his eyes was at the same time mild and haughty.
Like all distinguished minds, wearied by the narrow and chilling forms of life, he was disposed to melancholy, without being sad. To this, perhaps, he owed his mildness of temper, for he was naturally proud, imperious, and reserved. The necessity of associating with the poor, his real equals, as with the rich, his equals in rank, had softened a character inclined to be overbearing and scornful.
Philip had scarcely embraced his father when Andree, roused from her magnetic torpor by his arrival, hastened down to throw herself on his bosom. The sobs which accompanied this action showed how dear he was to the heart of the tender girl.
Philip took her hand and his father’s and drew them into the salon, where, being now alone, he sat down between them.
“You are incredulous, my dear father — you are surprised, my dear sister,” said he; “yet nothing is more true than that in a few minutes the dauphiness will be in our poor abode.”
“Ventrebleu!” cried the baron; “she must be prevented, whatever it cost! The dauphiness here! — we should be dishonored forever! This would be a specimen of the nobility of France to present her! No, no; it must not be. But tell me, ‘what the deuce put my house into her head?”
“Oh, it is a complete romance.”
“A romance!” said Andree; “relate it, brother — my dear good brother!”
“My dear good brother!” repeated the baron; “she seems quite pleased.”
“Yes; for is not Philip pleased, my dear father?”
“Because Master Philip is an enthusiast. But for me, who look at things in a more serious manner, I see nothing very agreeable in it.”
“You will be of a different opinion when I relate what has occurred.”
“Well, relate it quickly,” grumbled the old man.
“Yes, yes, relate it!” exclaimed Andree impatiently.
“Well, I was in garrison at Strasbourg, as you know. Now, you are aware that it was by Strasbourg that the dauphiness was to enter France.”
“Know it! How should we know anything in this den?” asked the baron.
“Well, at Strasbourg, brother?” said Andree.
“Well, we were waiting on the glacis from six in the morning, for we did not know positively at what hour Madame la Dauphine would arrive. It rained in torrents, and our clothes were dripping. The major sent me forward to endeavor to discover the cortege. I had galloped about a league, when all at once, at a turn in the road, I found myself close to the advanced guard of the escort. I spoke a few words to them, and just then her royal highness put her head out of the carriage window, and asked who 1 was. It seems I had been called to to stop; but I had already set off at full gallop — all my fatigue, was forgotten in an instant.”
“And the dauphiness?” asked Andree.
“She is not older than you, and beautiful as an angel.”
“But, Philip,” said the baron, rather hesitatingly.
“Well, father?”
““Does she not resemble some one you have seen?”
“Some one that I have seen?”
“Yes; endeavor to recollect.”
“No, I know no one like Madame la Dauphine!” he exclaimed, enthusiastically.
“What! not Nicole, for instance?”
“Ha! that is most strange! Now you say so, I do think she is like her; but oh, so much inferior in beauty and grace! But how could you know that she was like her?”
“Faith! a sorcerer told me.”
“A sorcerer?”
“Yes; and he predicted her coming and yours this morning.”
“The stranger?” asked Andree, timidly.
“Is it he who was beside you, sir, when I arrived, and who retired so discreetly?”
“Yes, the same; but go on, Philip, go on.”
“Perhaps it would be better to make some preparations,” said Andree.
“No — the more you prepare, the more ridiculous we shall appear. Go on, Philip, I tell you!”
“I returned to Strasbourg, and told the governor, the Count de Stainville. We set out immediately to meet her royal highness, and we were at the Kehl gate when the procession came in sight. I was close to the governor.”
“Stay!” said the baron; “I once knew a Count de Stainville.”
“Brother-in-law to the prime minister, the Duke de Choiseul.”
“It is the same. Go on, then, go on.”
“The dauphiness, who is young, perhaps likes young faces, for she listened very inattentively to the governor and all the time fixed her eyes on me, although I kept respectfully in the background. Then, pointing to me, she said, ‘Is not that the gentleman who was the first to meet me?’ ‘Yes, madame,’ replied the governor. ‘Approach, sir,’ said she. I approached her. ‘What is your name?’ asked the dauphiness in the sweetest voice I ever heard. ‘The Chevalier de Taverney Maison-Rouge,’ I replied, stammering. ‘Pray take a note of that name on your tablets, my dear friend,’ said the dauphiness, turning to an old lady, who, I have since learned, is the Countess de Langershausen, her governess. My name was written. Then, turning again to me, she said, ‘Ah, sir, you have suffered very much from your exposure to this frightful weather; I am extremely sorry for having been the cause of it.’”
“Oh, how good the dauphiness must be! What kindness and consideration!” said Andree, with delight.
“Very well, very well indeed,” muttered the baron, with, a smile indicative of a father’s partiality, and, at the same time, of his bad opinion of women, and even of queens. “But, go on, Philip.”
“What did you say?” asked Andree.
“I said not a word; I bowed to the very ground. She passed on.”
“What! you said nothing”?” exclaimed the baron.
“I had no voice, I assure you, sir; my heart heat so rapidly — I was so much agitated.”
“What the devil! do you think I had nothing to say when, about your age, I was presented to the Princess Leczinska?”
“But, sir, you had always a great deal of wit,” Philip replied.
Andree pressed his hand.
“I profited by her royal highness’s departure,” continued Philip, “to hasten to my apartment and changed my clothes; for I was wet to the skin and covered with mud from head to foot.”
“Poor dear brother!” whispered Andree.
“When the dauphiness,” Philip continued, “reached the town-hall, she had to receive the congratulations of the principal inhabitants; that being over, it was announced that dinner was served. A friend of mine, the major of my regiment, since told me that, while at table, she looked several times round on the officers who were present, and at last she said, ‘I do not see the young officer who was sent to meet me this morning; has he not been told that I wished to thank him?’ The major stepped forward. ‘Madame,’ said he, ‘Lieutenant de Taverney was obliged to retire and change his dress, that he might present himself in a more suitable manner before you.’ A moment after, I entered the room, and I had not been five minutes in it when the dauphiness perceived me. She made a sign to me to approach; I obeyed. ‘Sir,’ said she, ‘should you object to follow me to Paris?’ ‘Oh, madame,’ I cried, ‘it would only make me too happy; but I am in garrison at Strasbourg, and I am not my own master.’ ‘Well, I shall arrange that matter with the governor;’ and she made a gesture for me to retire. In the evening she said to the governor, ‘Sir, I have a vow to fulfill, and you must assist me in it.’ ‘I shall consider it a sacred duty, madame,’ he replied. ‘You must know,’ she continued, ‘that I made a vow to take into my own service the first Frenchman, whoever he should be, whom I should meet on touching the soil of France, and that I would make him and his family happy, if, indeed, princes can make any one happy.’ ‘Madame,’ said the governor, ‘princes are God’s representatives on earth; but may I ask,’ continued he, ‘who was the person who had the good fortune to be first met by your royal highness”?’ ‘The Chevalier de Taverney Maison-Rouge, a young lieutenant.’ ‘We shall all be jealous of the Chevalier de Taverney, madame,’ replied the governor, ‘but we shall not place any obstacle in the way of his high fortune; the ties which engage him here shall be broken, and he shall depart at the same time as your highness.’ So the day on which the dauphiness left Strasbourg, I was ordered to accompany her on horseback, and since then have never left the door of her carriage.”
“Oh!” said the baron, with his former singular smile, “strange enough, but not impossible!”—”What, father?”
“Oh, never mind!”
““But, brother,” said Andree, “I don’t seen what all this has to do with the dauphiness coming hither.”
“Wait till you hear. Yesterday morning we arrived at Nancy about eleven o’clock, and were passing through the town by torch-light. The dauphiness called me to her. ‘I wish,’ said she, ‘to depart early to-morrow morning.’ ‘Your highness is going to make a long march, then?’ ‘No — that I wish to stop on the road, and can you guess where?’ she asked, smiling. ‘No, madame.’ ‘I mean to stop at Taverney, to see your father and sister.’ ‘My father and my sister! — what — your royal highness knows—’ ‘I have made inquiries, and know that they live only two hundred paces from the road which we are traveling.’ The perspiration broke on my forehead, and trembling, as you may suppose, I hastened to reply, ‘My father’s house, madame, is not worthy to receive so great a princess — we are poor.’ ‘So much the better,’ replied she; ‘I shall therefore, I am certain, be received more cordially and more simply; however poor you may be, there will be always a cup of milk for a friend who wishes to forget for a moment that she is Archduchess of Austria and Dauphiness of France.’ ‘Oh, madame,’ said I. This was all — respect forbade me to go farther.”
“Stupid fellow!” cried the baron.
“One might have thought that her royal highness guessed what was passing in my mind, for she added; ‘Do not be afraid; I shall not stay long; but since you think that I shall suffer any inconvenience by this visit, it is only fair, for I caused you to suffer on my arrival at Strasbourg.’ Who could resist such charming words, father?”
“Oh, it would have been impossible!” cried Andree; “she is so sweet, so good, she will be satisfied with my flowers and a cup of my milk, as she says.”
“Yes; but she will not be very well satisfied with my chairs, which will dislocate her bones, and my hangings, which will disgust her. Devil take all whims! So! France will be well governed with a woman who takes such caprices. Plague on it! A strange reign it will be, to judge from the commencement,” said the baron, angrily.
“Oh, father, how can you say such things of a princess who is honoring us so highly?”
“Who is dishonoring us, rather!” cried the old man. “Taverney was forgotten, buried under the ruins of Maison Rouge. I intended that if it came to light again it should be in a suitable manner, and now the whims of a girl are going to drag us into day — dusty, shabby, wretched I — and the gazettes, on the watch for everything absurd, will amuse their readers with the visit of a great princess to this den of Taverney. Cordieu! I have an idea—”
The young people started at the manner in which he pronounced these words.
“What do you mean, sir?” demanded Philip.
The baron muttered to himself—”If the Duke of Medina burned his palace that he might embrace a queen, I may well burn my kennel to get rid of the visit of a princess. Let her come! — let her come!”
Philip and Andree only heard the last words, and they looked at each other uneasily.
“It cannot be long before she be here, sir,” said Philip. “I took the way through the wood, in order to get some minutes in advance of the cortege; it will soon be here.”
“Then I must not lose time,” said the baron; and, with the agility of twenty, he left the salon. He hastened to the kitchen, snatched a flaming piece of wood from the hearth, and proceeded to his barns; but just as he raised his arm to throw it into a heap of straw, he was seized by Balsamo, who flung to a safe distance the burning brand.
“What are you about, sir,” cried he; “the Archduchess of Austria is not a Constable de Bourbon, whose presence contaminates, so that we should rather burn our house than permit her to enter it!”
The old man stopped, pale, trembling, and his habitual smile banished from his lips; he had gathered all his strength to enable him to resolve on making his poverty yet greater by the destruction of his dwelling, rather than be disgraced, according to his ideas, by allowing its mediocrity to be seen.
“Come, sir, come,” continued Balsamo; “you have only time to throw off your dressing-gown and put yourself in better trim. The Baron of Taverney, whom I knew at the siege of Philipsbourg, wore the grand cross of the order of St. Louis — any coat will be rich and elegant when decorated with that.”
“But, sir, shall I show to our dauphiness that poverty which I wished to hide from you?”
“Be not uneasy, we shall manage to occupy her attention so that she shall not know whether your house be new or old, poor or rich. Be hospitable, sir, it is your duty as a gentleman! What will the enemies of the dauphiness — and she has many — what will they do, if her friends burn their castles rather than receive her under their roof? Let us not thus anticipate that vengeance which is to come! — everything in its predestined time.”
The baron again showed an involuntary submission to Balsamo, and hurried to his children, who, uneasy at his absence, were seeking him on every side.
As to Balsamo, he retired in silence, like a man intent on some work which he had undertaken, and which he must complete.