Monsieur Beaucaire

B >> Booth Tarkington >> Monsieur Beaucaire

MONSIEUR BEAUCAIRE


by Booth Tarkington




Chapter One


The young Frenchman did very well what he had planned to do. His guess
that the Duke would cheat proved good. As the unshod half-dozen figures
that had been standing noiselessly in the entryway stole softly into the
shadows of the chamber, he leaned across the table and smilingly plucked
a card out of the big Englishman's sleeve.

"Merci, M. le Duc!" he laughed, rising and stepping back from the table.

The Englishman cried out, "It means the dirty work of silencing you with
my bare hands!" and came at him.

"Do not move," said M. Beaucaire, so sharply that the other paused.
"Observe behind you."

The Englishman turned, and saw what trap he had blundered into; then
stood transfixed, impotent, alternately scarlet with rage and white
with the vital shame of discovery. M. Beaucaire remarked, indicating the
silent figures by a polite wave of the hand, "Is it not a compliment
to monsieur that I procure six large men to subdue him? They are quite
devote' to me, and monsieur is alone. Could it be that he did not wish
even his lackeys to know he play with the yo'ng Frenchman who Meestaire
Nash does not like in the pomp-room? Monsieur is unfortunate to have
come on foot and alone to my apartment."

The Duke's mouth foamed over with chaotic revilement. His captor
smiled brightly, and made a slight gesture, as one who brushes aside
a boisterous insect. With the same motion he quelled to stony quiet a
resentful impetus of his servants toward the Englishman.

"It's murder, is it, you carrion!" finished the Duke.

M. Beaucaire lifted his shoulders in a mock shiver. "What words! No, no,
no! No killing! A such word to a such host! No, no, not mur-r-der; only
disgrace!" He laughed a clear, light laugh with a rising inflection,
seeming to launch himself upon an adventurous quest for sympathy.

"You little devilish scullion!" spat out the Duke.

"Tut, tut! But I forget. Monsieur has pursue' his studies of deportment
amongs' his fellow-countrymen.

"Do you dream a soul in Bath will take your word that I--that I--"

"That M. le Duc de Winterset had a card up his sleeve?"

"You pitiful stroller, you stableboy, born in a stable--"

"Is it not an honor to be born where monsieur must have been bred?"

"You scurvy foot-boy, you greasy barber, you cutthroat groom--"

"Overwhelm'!" The young man bowed with imperturbable elation. "M. le Duc
appoint' me to all the office' of his househol'."

"You mustachioed fool, there are not five people of quality in Bath will
speak to you--"

"No, monsieur, not on the parade; but how many come to play with me
here? Because I will play always, night or day, for what one will, for
any long, and always fair, monsieur."

"You outrageous varlet! Every one knows you came to England as the
French Ambassador's barber. What man of fashion will listen to you? Who
will believe you?"

"All people, monsieur. Do you think I have not calculate', that I shall
make a failure of my little enterprise?"

"Bah!"

"Will monsieur not reseat himself?" M. Beaucaire made a low bow. "So. We
must not be too tire' for Lady Malbourne's rout. Ha, ha! And you,
Jean, Victor, and you others, retire; go in the hallway. Attend at the
entrance, Francois. So; now we shall talk. Monsieur, I wish you to think
very cool. Then listen; I will be briefly. It is that I am well known to
be all, entire' hones'. Gamblist? Ah, yes; true and mos profitable;
but fair, always fair; every one say that. Is it not so? Think of it.
And--is there never a w'isper come to M. le Duc that not all people
belief him to play always hones'? Ha, ha! Did it almos' be said to
him las' year, after when he play' with Milor' Tappin'ford at the
chocolate-house--"

"You dirty scandal-monger!" the Duke burst out. "I'll--"

"Monsieur, monsieur!" said the Frenchman. "It is a poor valor to insult
a helpless captor. Can he retort upon his own victim? But it is for you
to think of what I say. True, I am not reco'nize on the parade; that my
frien's who come here do not present me to their ladies; that Meestaire
Nash has reboff' me in the pomp-room; still, am I not known for being
hones' and fair in my play, and will I not be belief, even I, when I
lif' my voice and charge you aloud with what is already w'isper'? Think
of it! You are a noble, and there will be some hang-dogs who might not
fall away from you. Only such would be lef' to you. Do you want it tol'?
And you can keep out of France, monsieur? I have lef' his service, but
I have still the ear of M. de Mirepoix, and he know' I never lie. Not a
gentleman will play you when you come to Paris."

The Englishman's white lip showed a row of scarlet dots upon it. "How
much do you want?" he said.

The room rang with the gay laughter of Beaucaire. "I hol' your note' for
seven-hunder' pound'. You can have them, monsieur. Why does a such great
man come to play M. Beaucaire? Because no one else willin' to play M.
le Duc--he cannot pay. Ha, ha! So he come' to good Monsieur Beaucaire.
Money, ha, ha! What I want with money?"

His Grace of Winterset's features were set awry to a sinister pattern.
He sat glaring at his companion in a snarling silence.

"Money? Pouf!" snapped the little gambler. "No, no, no! It is that M.
le Duc, impoverish', somewhat in a bad odor as he is, yet command the
entree any-where--onless I--Ha, ha! Eh, monsieur?"

"Ha! You dare think to force me--"

M. Beaucaire twirled the tip of his slender mustache around the end
of his white forefinger. Then he said: "Monsieur and me goin' to Lady
Malbourne's ball to-night--M. le Duc and me!"

The Englishman roared, "Curse your impudence!"

"Sit quiet. Oh, yes, that's all; we goin' together."

"No!"

"Certain. I make all my little plan'. 'Tis all arrange'." He paused, and
then said gravely, "You goin' present me to Lady Mary Carlisle."

The other laughed in utter scorn. "Lady Mary Carlisle, of all women
alive, would be the first to prefer the devil to a man of no birth,
barber."

"'Tis all arrange'; have no fear; nobody question monsieur's You goin'
take me to-night--"

"No!"

"Yes. And after--then I have the entree. Is it much I ask? This one
little favor, and I never w'isper, never breathe that--it is to say, I
am always forever silent of monsieur's misfortune."

"You have the entree!" sneered the other. "Go to a lackeys' rout and
dance with the kitchen maids. If I would, I could not present you to
Bath society. I should have cartels from the fathers, brothers, and
lovers of every wench and madam in the place, even I. You would be
thrust from Lady Malbourne's door five minutes after you entered it."

"No, no, no!"

"Half the gentlemen in Bath have been here to play. They would know
you, wouldn't they, fool? You've had thousands out of Bantison, Rakell,
Guilford, and Townbrake. They would have you lashed by the grooms as
your ugly deserts are. You to speak to Lady Mary Carlisle! 'Od's blood!
You! Also, dolt, she would know you if you escaped the others. She stood
within a yard of you when Nash expelled you the pump-room."

M. Beaucaire flushed slightly. "You think I did not see?" he asked.

"Do you dream that' because Winterset introduces a low fellow he will be
tolerated--that Bath will receive a barber?"

"I have the distinction to call monsieur's attention," replied the young
man gayly, "I have renounce that profession."

"Fool!"

"I am now a man of honor!"

"Faugh!"

"A man of the parts," continued the the young Frenchman, "and of
deportment; is it not so? Have you seen me of a fluster, or gross ever,
or, what sall I say--bourgeois? Shall you be shame' for your guest'
manner? No, no! And my appearance, is it of the people? Clearly, no. Do
I not compare in taste of apparel with your yo'ng Englishman? Ha, ha! To
be hope'. Ha, ha! So I am goin' talk with Lady Mary Carlisle."

"Bah!" The Duke made a savage burlesque. "'Lady Mary Carlisle, may I
assume the honor of presenting the barber of the Marquis de Mirepoix?'
So, is it?"

"No, monsieur," smiled the young man. "Quite not so. You shall have
nothing to worry you, nothing in the worl'. I am goin' to assassinate my
poor mustachio--also remove this horrible black peruke, and emerge in my
own hair. Behol'!" He swept the heavy curled, mass from his head as he
spoke, and his hair, coiled under the great wig, fell to his shoulders,
and sparkled yellow in the candle-light. He tossed his head to shake the
hair back from his cheeks. "When it is dress', I am transform nobody can
know me; you shall observe. See how little I ask of you, how very little
bit. No one shall reco'nize 'M. Beaucaire' or 'Victor.' Ha, ha! 'Tis all
arrange'; you have nothing to fear."

"Curse you," said the Duke, "do you think I'm going to be saddled with
you wherever I go as long as you choose?"

"A mistake. No. All I requi--All I beg--is this one evening. 'Tis all
shall be necessary. After, I shall not need monsieur.

"Take heed to yourself--after!" vouchsafed the Englishman between his
teeth.

"Conquered!" cried M. Beaucaire, and clapped his hands gleefully.
"Conquered for the night! Aha, it ts riz'nable! I shall meet what
you send--after. One cannot hope too much of your patience. It is but
natural you should attemp' a little avengement for the rascal trap I
was such a wicked fellow as to set for you. I shall meet some strange
frien's of yours after to-night; not so? I must try to be not too much
frighten'." He looked at the Duke curiously. "You want to know why I
create this tragedy, why I am so unkind as to entrap monsieur?"

His Grace of Winterset replied with a chill glance; a pulse in the
nobleman's cheek beat less relentlessly; his eye raged not so bitterly;
the steady purple of his own color was returning; his voice was less
hoarse; he was regaining his habit. "'Tis ever the manner of the
vulgar," he observed, "to wish to be seen with people of fashion."

"Oh, no, no, no!" The Frenchman laughed. "'Tis not that. Am I not
already one of these 'men of fashion'? I lack only the reputation of
birth. Monsieur is goin' supply that. Ha, ha! I shall be noble from
to-night. 'Victor,' the artis', is condemn' to death; his throat shall
be cut with his own razor. 'M. Beaucaire--'" Here the young man sprang
to his feet, caught up the black wig, clapped into it a dice-box
from the table, and hurled it violently through the open door. "'M.
Beaucaire' shall be choke' with his own dice-box. Who is the Phoenix to
remain? What advantage have I not over other men of rank who are merely
born to it? I may choose my own. No! Choose for me, monsieur. Shall I
be chevalier, comte, vicomte, marquis, what? None. Out of compliment to
monsieur can I wish to be anything he is not? No, no! I shall be M.
le Duc, M. le Duc de--de Chateaurien. Ha, ha! You see? You are my
confrere."

M. Beaucaire trod a dainty step or two, waving his hand politely to the
Duke, as though in invitation to join the celebration of his rank.
The Englishman watched, his eye still and harsh, already gathering in
craftiness. Beaucaire stopped suddenly. "But how I forget my age! I am
twenty-three," he said, with a sigh. "I rejoice too much to be of the
quality. It has been too great for me, and I had always belief' myself
free of such ambition. I thought it was enough to behol' the opera
without wishing to sing; but no, England have teach' me I have those
vulgar desire'. Monsieur, I am goin' tell you a secret: the ladies of
your country are very diff'runt than ours. One may adore the demoiselle,
one must worship the lady of England. Our ladies have the--it is the
beauty of youth; yours remain comely at thirty. Ours are flowers, yours
are stars! See, I betray myself, I am so poor a patriot. And there is
one among these stars--ah, yes, there is one--the poor Frenchman has
observe' from his humble distance; even there he could bask in the
glowing!" M. Beaucaire turned to the window, and looked out into the
dark. He did not see the lights of the town. When he turned again, he
had half forgotten his prisoner; other pictures were before him.

"Ah, what radiance!" he cried. "Those people up over the sky, they want
to show they wish the earth to be happy, so they smile, and make this
lady. Gold-haired, an angel of heaven, and yet a Diana of the chase! I
see her fly by me on her great horse one day; she touch' his mane with
her fingers. I buy that clipping from the groom. I have it here with my
dear brother's picture. Ah, you! Oh, yes, you laugh! What do you know!
'Twas all I could get. But I have heard of the endeavor of M. le Duc to
recoup his fortunes. This alliance shall fail. It is not the way--that
heritage shall be safe' from him! It is you and me, monsieur! You can
laugh! The war is open', and by me! There is one great step taken: until
to-night there was nothing for you to ruin, to-morrow you have got a
noble of France--your own protege--to besiege and sack. And you are
to lose, because you think such ruin easy, and because you understand
nothing--far less--of divinity. How could you know? You have not the
fiber; the heart of a lady is a blank to you; you know nothing of the
vibration. There are some words that were made only to tell of Lady
Mary, for her alone--bellissima, divine, glorieuse! Ah, how I have
watch' her! It is sad to me when I see her surround' by your yo'ng
captains, your nobles, your rattles, your beaux--ha, ha!--and I mus'
hol' far aloof. It is sad for me--but oh, jus' to watch her and to
wonder! Strange it is, but I have almos' cry out with rapture at a look
I have see' her give another man, so beautiful it was, so tender, so
dazzling of the eyes and so mirthful of the lips. Ah, divine coquetry! A
look for another, ah-i-me! for many others; and even to you, one day,
a rose, while I--I, monsieur, could not even be so blessed as to be
the groun' beneath her little shoe! But to-night, monsieur--ha,
ha!--to-night, monsieur, you and me, two princes, M. le Duc de
Winterset and M. le Duc de Chateaurien--ha, ha! you see?--we are goin'
arm-in-arm to that ball, and I am goin' have one of those looks, I! And
a rose! I! It is time. But ten minute', monsieur. I make my apology to
keep you waitin' so long while I go in the nex' room and execute my poor
mustachio--that will be my only murder for jus' this one evening--and
inves' myself in white satin. Ha, ha! I shall be very gran', monsieur.
Francois, send Louis to me; Victor, to order two chairs for monsieur and
me; we are goin' out in the worl' to-right!"


Chapter Two


The chairmen swarmed in the street at Lady Malbourne's door, where the
joyous vulgar fought with muddied footmen and tipsy link-boys for places
of vantage whence to catch a glimpse of quality and of raiment at its
utmost. Dawn was in the east, and the guests were departing. Singly or
in pairs, glittering in finery, they came mincing down the steps, the
ghost of the night's smirk fading to jadedness as they sought the dark
recesses of their chairs. From within sounded the twang of fiddles still
swinging manfully at it, and the windows were bright with the light of
many candles. When the door was flung open to call the chair of Lady
Mary Carlisle, there was an eager pressure of the throng to see.

A small, fair gentleman in white satin came out upon the steps, turned
and bowed before a lady who appeared in the doorway, a lady whose royal
loveliness was given to view for a moment in that glowing frame. The
crowd sent up a hearty English cheer for the Beauty of Bath.

The gentleman smiled upon them delightedly. "What enchanting people!" he
cried. "Why did I not know, so I might have shout' with them?" The
lady noticed the people not at all; whereat, being pleased, the people
cheered again. The gentleman offered her his hand; she made a slow
courtesy; placed the tips of her fingers upon his own. "I am honored, M.
de Chateaurien," she said.

"No, no!" he cried earnestly. "Behol' a poor Frenchman whom emperors
should envy." Then reverently and with the pride of his gallant office
vibrant in every line of his slight figure, invested in white satin and
very grand, as he had prophesied, M. le Duc de Chateaurien handed Lady
Mary Carlisle down the steps, an achievement which had figured in the
ambitions of seven other gentlemen during the evening.

"Am I to be lef'in such onhappiness?" he said in a low voice. "That rose
I have beg' for so long--"


"Never!" said Lady Mary.

"Ah, I do not deserve it, I know so well! But--"

"Never!"

"It is the greatness of my onworthiness that alone can claim your
charity; let your kin' heart give this little red rose, this great alms,
to the poor beggar."

"Never!"

She was seated in the chair. "Ah, give the rose," he whispered. Her
beauty shone dazzlingly on him out of the dimness.

"Never!" she flashed defiantly as she was closed in. "Never!"

"Never!"

The rose fell at his feet.


"A rose lasts till morning," said a voice behind him.

Turning, M. de Chateaurien looked beamingly upon the face of the Duke of
Winterset.

"'Tis already the daylight," he replied, pointing to the east.
"Monsieur, was it not enough honor for you to han' out madame, the aunt
of Lady Mary? Lady Rellerton retain much trace of beauty. 'Tis strange
you did not appear more happy."

"The rose is of an unlucky color, I think," observed the Duke.

"The color of a blush, my brother."

"Unlucky, I still maintain," said the other calmly.

"The color of the veins of a Frenchman. Ha, ha!" cried the young man.
"What price would be too high? A rose is a rose! A good-night, my
brother, a good-night. I wish you dreams of roses, red roses, only
beautiful red, red roses!"

"Stay! Did you see the look she gave these street folk when they shouted
for her? And how are you higher than they, when she knows? As high as
yonder horse-boy!"

"Red roses, my brother, only roses. I wish you dreams of red, red
roses!"


Chapter Three


It was well agreed by the fashion of Bath that M. le Duc de Chateaurien
was a person of sensibility and haut ton; that his retinue and equipage
surpassed in elegance; that his person was exquisite, his manner
engaging. In the company of gentlemen his ease was slightly tinged with
graciousness (his single equal in Bath being his Grace of Winterset);
but it was remarked that when he bowed over a lady's hand, his air
bespoke only a gay and tender reverence.

He was the idol of the dowagers within a week after his appearance;
matrons warmed to him; young belles looked sweetly on him, while the
gentlemen were won to admiration or envy. He was of prodigious wealth:
old Mr. Bicksit, who dared not, for his fame's sake, fail to have seen
all things, had visited Chateaurien under the present Duke's father,
and descanted to the curious upon its grandeurs. The young noble had one
fault, he was so poor a gambler. He cared nothing for the hazards of a
die or the turn of a card. Gayly admitting that he had been born with no
spirit of adventure in him, he was sure, he declared, that he failed of
much happiness by his lack of taste in such matters.

But he was not long wanting the occasion to prove his taste in the
matter of handling a weapon. A certain led-captain, Rohrer by
name, notorious, amongst other things, for bearing a dexterous and
bloodthirsty blade, came to Bath post-haste, one night, and jostled
heartily against him, in the pump-room on the following morning. M.
de Chauteaurien bowed, and turned aside without offense, continuing a
conversation with some gentlemen near by. Captain Rohrer jostled
against him a second time. M. de Chateaurien looked him in the eye, and
apologized pleasantly for being so much in the way. Thereupon Rohrer
procured an introduction to him, and made some observations derogatory
to the valor and virtue of the French. There was current a curious piece
of gossip of the French court: a prince of the blood royal, grandson of
the late Regent and second in the line of succession to the throne
of France, had rebelled against the authority of Louis XV, who had
commanded him to marry the Princess Henriette, cousin to both of them.
The princess was reported to be openly devoted to the cousin who refused
to accept her hand at the bidding of the king; and, as rumor ran, the
prince's caprice elected in preference the discipline of Vincennes, to
which retirement the furious king had consigned him. The story was the
staple gossip of all polite Europe; and Captain Rohrer, having in his
mind a purpose to make use of it in leading up to a statement that
should be general to the damage of all Frenchwomen, and which a
Frenchman might not pass over as he might a jog of the elbow, repeated
it with garbled truths to make a scandal of a story which bore none on a
plain relation.

He did not reach his deduction. M. de Chateaurien, breaking into his
narrative, addressed him very quietly. "Monsieur," he said, "none but
swine deny the nobleness of that good and gentle lady, Mademoiselle la
Princesse de Bourbon-Conti. Every Frenchman know' that her cousin is a
bad rebel and ingrate, who had only honor and rispec' for her, but was
so wilful he could not let even the king say, 'You shall marry here,
you shall marry there.' My frien's," the young man turned to the others,
"may I ask you to close roun' in a circle for one moment? It is clearly
shown that the Duke of Orleans is a scurvy fellow, but not--" he wheeled
about and touched Captain Rohrer on the brow with the back of his gloved
hand--"but not so scurvy as thou, thou swine of the gutter!"

Two hours later, with perfect ease, he ran Captain Rohrer through the
left shoulder--after which he sent a basket of red roses to the Duke
of Winterset. In a few days he had another captain to fight. This was
a ruffling buck who had the astounding indiscretion to proclaim M.
de Chateaurien an impostor. There was no Chateaurien, he swore. The
Frenchman laughed in his face, and, at twilight of the same day, pinked
him carefully through the right shoulder. It was not that he could
not put aside the insult to himself, he declared to Mr. Molyneux,
his second, and the few witnesses, as he handed his wet sword to his
lackey--one of his station could not be insulted by a doubt of that
station--but he fought in the quarrel of his friend Winterset. This
rascal had asserted that M. le Duc had introduced an impostor. Could he
overlook the insult to a friend, one to whom he owed his kind reception
in Bath? Then, bending over his fallen adversary, he whispered: "Naughty
man, tell your master find some better quarrel for the nex' he sen'
agains' me."

The conduct of M. de Chateaurien was pronounced admirable.

There was no surprise when the young foreigner fell naturally into the
long train of followers of the beautiful Lady Mary Carlisle, nor was
there great astonishment that he should obtain marked favor in her eyes,
shown so plainly that my Lord Townbrake, Sir Hugh Guilford, and the rich
Squire Bantison, all of whom had followed her through three seasons,
swore with rage, and his Grace of Winterset stalked from her aunt's
house with black brows.

Meeting the Duke there on the evening after his second encounter de
Chateaurien smiled upon him brilliantly. "It was badly done; oh, so
badly!" he whispered. "Can you afford to have me strip' of my mask by
any but yourself? You, who introduce' me? They will say there is some
bad scandal that I could force you to be my god-father. You mus' get the
courage yourself."

"I told you a rose had a short life," was the answer.

"Oh, those roses! 'Tis the very greates' rizzon to gather each day
a fresh one." He took a red bud from his breast for an instant, and
touched it to his lips.

"M. de Chateaurien!" It was Lady Mary's voice; she stood at a table
where a vacant place had been left beside her. "M. de Chateaurien, we
have been waiting very long for you."

The Duke saw the look she did not know she gave the Frenchman, and he
lost countenance for a moment.

"We approach a climax, eh, monsieur?" said M. de Chateaurien.



Chapter Four


There fell a clear September night, when the moon was radiant over town
and country, over cobbled streets and winding roads. From the fields the
mists rose slowly, and the air was mild and fragrant, while distances
were white and full of mystery. All of Bath that pretended to fashion or
condition was present that evening at a fete at the house of a country
gentleman of the neighborhood. When the stately junket was concluded, it
was the pleasure of M. de Chateaurien to form one of the escort of Lady
Mary's carriage for the return. As they took the road, Sir Hugh Guilford
and Mr. Bantison, engaging in indistinct but vigorous remonstrance with
Mr. Molyneux over some matter, fell fifty or more paces behind, where
they continued to ride, keeping up their argument. Half a dozen other
gallants rode in advance, muttering among themselves, or attended laxly
upon Lady Mary's aunt on the other side of the coach, while the happy
Frenchman was permitted to ride close to that adorable window which
framed the fairest face in England.

He sang for her a little French song, a song of the voyageur who dreamed
of home. The lady, listening, looking up at the bright moon, felt a warm
drop upon her cheek, and he saw the tears sparkling upon her lashes.