A nameless nobleman

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CHAPTER PAGE

I. Louis the Grand and Louis the Little . i

II. Provence Roses . n

Chapter I. Louis The Grand, And Louis The Little

THE Montespan is in great beauty to-night,” said the Marquis de Vannes to the Comte de Chablais, as the two stood waiting with all the rest of the world for the entrance of the royal party. It was the grand gallery of Versailles where they stood; and from the lofty ceiling the grim warriors depicted there by LeBrun looked down in surly admiration upon the beauties of the world, so notably assembled at the French court during the first half of the reign of Louis XIV. ; for Anne of Austria, always a Spaniard, loved to see herself surrounded by the dark eyes and to hear the lisping accents of her native land ; nor did she fail to encourage her poor, timid daughter-in-law in the same tastes, if, indeed, Maria Th£r£sa can be said to have had any thing so decisive as a taste, ex¬ cept in the direction of chocolate. Differing subtly from the Spaniards, and yet resembling them in racemarks, came a troop of Italy’s fairest and best-born,

A NAMELESS NOBLEMAN.

following the Mancinis and Maxtinozzis, all hoping for tune and preferment from Mazarin. Poor, charming, doomed Henrietta of England was the magnet of a bevy of fair aristocrats, whose blonde loveliness con¬ trasted, to their mutual advantage, with the brown beauties of Spain, Italy, and France, and surpassed in refinement that of the Germans who had already appeared at the court of France, heralding, perhaps, the advent of their queer countrywoman, the second Duchess of Orleans. But we return to the two gal¬ lants, themselves no mean personages at court, who stood discussing the scene with the gay cynicism of their age.

“ In beauty, yes,” replied De Chablais, glancing across the galleiy at the Marquise de Montespan, who stood surrounded by flatterers, rivals, imitators, ene¬ mies, every thing but friends : “ she looks as content as the cat who has just lapped up the cream, and is still singing jubilate over the fall of poor dear La Valli&re.”

“ Don’t be uncharitable, mon cher ,” replied De Vannes maliciously. “ Madame de Montespan was Ihe friend of the Duchess de la Valliere, and proved it by dragging an earthly crown from between her hands and giving her an heavenly one instead. No doubt Sister Louise de la Mis£ricorde feels deeply grateful.”

“ Oh, of course ! especially as this devoted friend prevents any danger of a lapse from grace by herself monopolizing the peril formerly shared by both.”

“ While the widow Scarron meekly offers herself as a

THE GRAND AND THE LITTLE LOUIS . 3 monument of pious peace set in the very whirlpool ol these contending passions.”

Monsieur de Chablais turned, and looked keenh> at his friend, then breathlessly asked, —

“What do you say, De Vannes? Surely this prude of a gouvcrnante will not presume to supersede hei mistress, as her mistress did her friend and equal ! ”

“ If by mistress you mean Madame de Montespam my friend, I beg to contradict you. Madame de Maintenon, as we are now to style the widow Scarron, is the governess, not of Madame de Montespan’s chi! dren, but of the king’s.”

“ A distinction, I perceive ; but where is the differ¬ ence ? ”

“ The difference of serving a master or — a mistress.”

“ I perceive ; but allow me to observe it is a danger¬ ous b on-mot, since that master is also our master, and possesses sharp ears, keen eyes, and remarkably long arms.”

“All which will presently exercise themselves, unless he is the more careful, upon that handsome youth devoting himself so frankly to the fair marquise.”

“ I see. He seems about to devour her bodily, and she conquers in his behalf that timid and shrinking reserve we all recognize as her distinctive charm. Who is he ? ”

“ Son of that poor old Count de Montamaud, J believe.”

“What, the courtier of King Clovis? Is he still extant?”

“ Oh, yes ! and is forever in the king’s path, asking him to make this boy generalissimo of the French army.”

“ Is that all? The young fellow is making out a better road to advancement for himself, if he plays his cards well.”

“ If the king surprises him making eyes at madame, he is likely to be advanced with a vengeance,— advanced to the front ranks of the next forlorn-hope, against some Dutch city with an unpronounceable name.”

“ Gentlemen, gentlemen ! the king ! ” announced an usher passing in front of the speakers, who immedi¬ ately fell back into the formal line adopted by the courtiers about to be passed in review by the mon¬ arch, at this moment appearing in the folding-doors thrown open at his approach. A slight murmur of adulation and delight replaced the busy hum of con¬ versation in the grande galerie , a sort of courtly para¬ phrase of the song issuing from the lips of Memnon as the first rays of morning sunlight touched them; and then Louis, followed by several members of the royal family, passed slowly down the hall, pausing at almost every step to address now one and then anoth¬ er of the rustling and glittering ranks of courtiers, who bent before his look as a parterre of tulips bends before the west wind.

“ Did you mark the glance his Majesty shot at the Montespan and her new breloque ?” murmured De Vannes to De Chablais without turning his head. “ I would not be in the shoes of that captain of cavalry "or something, unless the marquise puts him in hei pocket before his Majesty reaches that spot.”

THE GRAND AND THE LITTLE LOUIS. 5

“My Barbary horse against your Damascus sword that she don’t, and that Montamaud is either ban¬ ished, imprisoned, or punished in some manner.”

“ Done, although I shall lose my sword.”

“ You will if he does.” And as the king’s sonorous and measured accents drew nearer, the courtiers be* came mute and expectant.

It was in fact true, that the Grande Monarque, who, like all potent rulers, had microscopic as well as telescopic powers of vision, had, upon his first entrance into the hall, singled his favorite from among the glit¬ tering throng, and at once perceived that she was carrying on one of those audacious and sudden flirta¬ tions which some women toss off as others do a glass of champagne, or a full inhalation of volatile salts, — a brief exhilaration and stimulus, only fitting them for more serious and systematic efforts in some other direction.

Already the stimulus told ; for never had Madame de Montespan looked more magnificently handsome than to-night, with her great dark eyes overflowing with bril¬ liancy, her cheeks and lips burning with color, her wonderful hands and arms showing like those of a statue against the garnet-colored velvet of her robe, her shoulders and bust rising invincible from a sea-foam border of priceless lace. Arms and bosom and head glittered with the jewels this woman loved so much better than she did soul or honor, and which her royal lover lavished upon her with such princely munifi¬ cence that she boasted of owning a richer collection than any queen could claim as private property. T«

A NAMELESS NOBLEMAN.

be sure, they were not all paid for in that reign ; but the bill was brought in to Louis XVI. about a cen» tury later, and he, poor scapegoat, settled for all.

Yes, the Montespan was in great beauty to-night ; and so evidently thought the handsome young man in the uniform of a captain of cavalry, who stood beside her, devouring her with his bold black eyes, and bend¬ ing more confidentially than deferentially to catch the words murmured for his ear alone. At the entrance of the king he drew himself up, and made a move¬ ment of adieu : but the marquise, not appearing to notice the gesture, continued the conversation in a yet more familiar tone ; and the Vicomte de Montamaud, bred in the school of reckless gallantry, whether of love or war, so popular in that day, followed her lead without further hesitation or comment, so that in point of fact a more patient and humble man than Louis Dieu-donn£ might have felt a little annoyed at the slight to himself involved in this absorbing interest in another, displayed by his haughty mistress. A slight but ominous frown gathered upon the Olympian brow ; and the courteous phrases scattered hither and thither among the expectant crowd by the “ lips of fate,” as some people called the royal mouth, grew scanter and more mechanical, so that several courtiers, not sure of favor, skilfully contrived to melt away behind their companions, preferring not to risk the compliments vheir royal master was quite capable of bestowing when in an ill humor.

Suddenly the king’s eyes lightened wrathfully, and yet unaccountably; for the figure upon which they

THE GRAND AND THE LITTLE LOUIS. J rested was as harmless an one as could be imagined, and surely a very familiar one, for the Comte de Montamaud had been longer at court by many years than Louis himself. An old man, wigged, painted, padded, decrepit, and courtly, — a man whose face nature had made handsome and noble, and seventy years of court life had rendered insignificant, crafty, and crin¬ ging. As he perceived that the king would address him, the wizened face lighted with servile joy, and the poor old back bent in a bow so profound that one knew not whether to fear the vertebrae should become dislocated or the peruke tumble off ; misfortunes about equal, since one meant death, and the other the royal displeasure. Before either danger was fully overpast ihe king spoke coldly and haughtily : —

“Monsieur de Montamaud, you asked permission some time since to marry your eldest son to Mademoi¬ selle de Rochenbois, your ward.”

“ I had thought of it, your Majesty ; but, when your Majesty deigned to remark that you did not like your officers to marry too young, I relinquished ” —

“I withdraw my opposition, and permit the mar¬ riage. Nay, more : as you have been a faithful servant of my august father as well as of myself, the marriage may take place in the royal chapel ; and we shall see if some position about the court can be found for the bride, who will remain here while the vicomte return* to his dury. Where is she now? ”

“At the Chateau de Montamaud, your Majesty.”

“ In Provence, I believe.”

“ Yes, your Majesty, near Marseilles.”

“ Ah, near Marseilles ! And what family have there, Monsieur le Comte? You are a widower, I believe.”

“ Since fifteen years, your Majesty. My family con¬ sists, besides my ward, of only two sons.”

“Two? where is the other? I never heard of him.”

“Oh! your Majesty, he is but a boy yet, hardly twenty years old, and still with his tutor. He inherits a little property from his mother, and with it the «itle of le Baron de ” —

“But where is he, I ask? At Montamaud. near Marseilles, with Mademoiselle de Rochenbois ? ”

“Yes, your Majesty,” replied the poor old courtier, feeling that the prolonged conversation, which at first had overwhelmed him with delight, was assuming a tone of menace and aggression any thing but indica¬ tive of royal favor to the house of Montamaud. Nor was the king’s parting speech calculated to assuage the cmel forebodings of the old man’s heart ; for, with a very pronounced sneer upon his Austrian lips, Louis passed on, saying, —

“ Really, Monsieur de Montamaud, you are a man of resource. Since it was not permitted to marry yoar elder son to this wealthy ward, you shut her up in a country-house with the younger one, trusting to he chapter of accidents for a marriage, public or pri¬ vate, before there should be time to prevent it. I ihall, however, expect to receive Madame la Vicom- \esse de Montamaud, nee de Rochenbois, within the tnonth.”

“Your Majesty shall be obeyed,” stammered thf

THE GRAND AND THE LITTLE LOUIS,. 9

count, trembling upon his infirm legs as the chill breath of the royal displeasure swept over his head, like the first frost of autumn over the parterre of tulips, to which but now we likened the ranks of courtiers.

Passing on, the king reached the station of the marquise and her coterie ; and while graciously ac¬ knowledging her careless salute, and the profound rev¬ erences of her companions, he gayly said to the former, —

“Madame, by the pleased expression upon this young gentleman’s face, I suspect that you are con¬ gratulating him upon his approaching marriage and the already renowned beauty of his bride.”

A slight and angry color rose to the haughty beauty’s brow ; and turning her eyes upon the startled, almost alarmed, face of the young man, she coldly said, —

“Monsieur had not informed me of his happiness.”

" His Majesty is pleased to jest. I am not so un¬ fortunate as to be in bondage as yet,” stammered the captain of cavalry, divided between the impossibility of contradicting the king or of speaking to any one else in his presence, and the desire to retain his place in the favor of the imperious beauty, to whom he had just vowed to carry her colors triumphantly through the next battle in which he should be called to en¬ gage, and of whom he had begged and obtained per¬ mission to present himself at her apartments the next Cay, and there receive from her own hands the scarf

be thus borne. And although neither the social not

IC

A NAMELESS NOBLEMAN.

the moral code of those days, nor above all the code Montespan, objected to the devotion of anybody’s husband to anybody else’s wife, it was nevertheless, as both the marquise and her admirer felt, a little out of taste that a man should in the same breath ask per¬ mission of the king to marry a charming young girl, and of the king’s mistress to carry her colors through the wars.

Louis glanced from the one face to the other, and took a pinch of snuff with uncommon zest.

“The good news is nevertheless true, monsieur,” said he, in his most debonnaire and gracious tone. “ I love to reward the good soldiers who win so many laurels for me ; and, as monsieur your father tells me your heart is set upon this marriage, I have consented, not only that it shall take place in the royal chapel, but that Madame de Montamaud shall be entertained at court during your absence in the approaching cam¬ paign in Holland. The nuptials may be, I fear, a little hurried ; but you shall have permission to fly to Mont¬ amaud at the earliest possible hour to-morrow.”

The king passed on ; Madame de Montespan stifled a yawn, and turned her back upon the young man, who with a brow as black as night made his way to the lower end of the hall, where his father awaited him with a pale and frightened face.

PROVENCE ROSES.

Chapter II. Provence Roses

T was a garden deep in the heart of Provence,

1 Provence the fair, Provence the intoxicating, Provence of the Provencals, neighbor of Languedoc and Dauphiny ; that region redolent of the traditions of poet and troubadour, of the court of Love and Beauty, of Blondel and his lion-master, of the dear, prolix, impossible, inconsequent romances that drove Don Quixote mad, but whose flavor, like a drop of attar, has been found sufficient to perfume half the more modern works of fiction

It was a garden innocent of the chilling and formal science just coming into vogue in France under the auspices of Le Notre, the impress of whose style is still to be seen, not only in the gardens of Versailles, but all over France, and even England ; a garden left very much to Nature, who, sweet prodigal, in this her beloved summer land, had pleased herself by heaping together in this little hidden nook a wealth of color and perfume, of riotous bloom, of glowing sunlight *nd alluring shadow, of food for every sensuous ca¬ pacity of eye and ear, and that subtlest of senses, the tense of smell, enough in this one garden to gild all Switzerland with a charm her grandeur has never at* tained.

A NAMELESS NOBLEMAN.

The place was old and irregular, and succeeding generations of Montarnauds had left the impress of their taste in now a dense mass of evergreen forming a background to a great clump of gorgeous bloom ; now a fountain, again an arbor, a winding labyrinth leading to a hidden nook of shaded and perfumed rest ; again a broad, glowing expanse of massed flowers, geranium, salvia, calceolaria, hydrangea, dahlias, every thing that is positive and imperious of color and form, all welter¬ ing in the thick yellow sunshine that seemed to sink into every open pore like wine into the lips of a thirsty man ; around these lay borders of pansy and mignon¬ ette, and all that is fragrant and unobtrusive, and ready to lend perfume to the beauty of their soulless neigh¬ bors ; and anon broad ribbons of tulip-beds, and trel¬ lises where passion-flower and jasmine and scarlet cypress climbed tumultuously over each other to the very topmost hold, and then waved their long slender arms hither and yon in the effort to grasp at something more. Lilies were there, queen lilies such as the Angel of the Annunciation bears, their milk-white chalices powdered with the gold-dust of promise ; lilies of the valley at their feet ; lilies faom Japan, that land still locked in mystery, yet flinging from her half-opened door this or that object of art and wonder to the French who stood knocking, louis d’or in hand ; lilies of Palestine, Solomon lilies, flaunting beneath the Provencal sun robes whose marvel was selected as the type of gorgeous apparel by Him who was bom among their glory. And the roses ! at the roses we pause for he who has not seen Provence roses in Provence

PROVENCE ROSES.

knows not the meaning of those five letters, knows not why the rose is queen of flowers, knows not why the rose is the type of love, knows not why the dear old mediaeval legend changed Bohemian Elizabeth’s hidden charity to roses rather than to another flower. The color, oh the impossible color ! for the heart of the summer pulsated in its glow, the soul of the sun burned in its intensity, the deep rich light permeated every vein of the petals sumptuous in their substance, and marvellous in their size. No, no ! we cannot describe the roses of Provence : but they are there, and you may see them ; pass by Paris, and go, if you are wise.

Besides the evergreens, the olive, the pepper-trees, the ilex, the flowers, and the labyrinth, there were the birds who made bridal journeys from all the rest of France to this garden; the butterflies who floated over the flower-beds like blossoms detached and drawn upward by the sun-god ; and there was Valerie ! Va¬ lerie, who all day long flitted through the garden, embodying flower, and bird, and butterfly, and Prov¬ encal summer, all in her own mignonne figure ; Valerie who loved them all, and was beloved by all, and had feasted ail her life upon their beauty, and whose beauty was a feast and daily food to them. A slip ot a girl, hardly seventeen : lissome as a passion-flower vine; her clear skin pale and dark with the passionate colorless glow of the South, her purple-black hair hanging in two shining braids from a head fit to be modelled for Hebe; her smooth, low forehead based by two straight black brows, beautiful and threatening as

A NAMELESS NOBLEMAN.

a just-defined thunder-cloud ; her great lustrous eyes full of slumberous passion, full of the joy of happy girl¬ hood, full of pride and courage, and with a power of pathos nascent in their depths which the birds and the butterflies and the roses had never yet seen called out, had never demanded or dreamed of. But her mouth there was perhaps the keystone of Valerie’s beauty. Yes, the petals of the roses were velvety, and pul¬ sating with fire, were of a color impossible to define or reproduce, were fragrant, and delicious to the touch; but the rose-leaves were not alive, they did not curve, and pout, and suddenly part in dazzling smiles above little pearls of teeth : they were not the lips of Valerie, nor could they by movement produce those little wells of mirth and caresses, and possible tears, the fossettes, the dimples which came and went as Valerie smiled. It was after all the mouth, Fran¬ cois said to himself as he stood gazing at her while she played with El Moro her Spanish greyhound, forcing him to eat the purple and amber grapes she pulled from the vine above her head, while she sat throned upon a seat formed in the lowest branches of an oak near the borders of the garden. Flecks of sunlight pierced the foliage and lay like golden orna¬ ments upon the whiteness of her dress, glowed in the ruby bracelet upon her arm, and lighted the dusky masses of her hair to purple sheen. Yes, it was her mouth, that mouth whose coy kisses had grown so rare within the last year, but had become so much more precious than the soulless caresses of childhood I>ast night, when they quarrelled and were reconciled, he kissed him twice, and —

PROVENCE ROSES.

“Well, Monsieur le Baron,” broke in the ringing roice of Valerie, “are you envying El Moro his feast, or are you composing a Latin poem for your tutor, or have you gone to sleep? You stand there leaning against that tree, and looking at me as if you never had seen me before.”

“ Perhaps I wish I never had,” replied Francois a Little moodily, as he sauntered across the space of sun¬ light between the cork-tree and the oak, and stood leaning against the latter, his arm resting upon the footstool of the rustic seat.

“ Perhaps you, — there, run away, mon Moro : run and catch a cricket to take the flavor of the grapes out of your mouth, — perhaps you wish you had never seen me, Francois? And why?”

She leaned one cheek upon her hand, as she stooped smiling toward him, and the other hand rested lightly and caressingly upon his head. He caught it in his own, and, raising his face, looked long and ardently up into hers. And it is a pity some great painter had not been hidden among the roses to catch that picture, and make himself immortal by it ; for the baron Francois was as nearly handsome as a manly man should be, and had inherited from his Norman mother all the high and haughty characteristics of her race, — the cold, clear eyes, blue as steel, and betimes as trenchant and as cruel, the fair complexion, proud, thin-lipped mouth, and tawny golden hair. His figare, too, differed largely from the delicate elegance lapsing into sensuous roundness of his Provencal sires, and was tall, large-boned, powerful, and soldierly, like those companions who followed William the Conquer w to the field of Hastings. But just now the stevMj eyes were dim with tender fears, and the severe mouth was tremulous with loving words ; and the hand fit to wield a battle-axe was clasped in timid constraint ovei the tiny fingers of the Provencal girl, as he slowly answered : —

“ Because, if you do not love me, and love me always, you will be the misfortune of my life.”

“ What, I, little I ? I who can never learn the fine things you and the abb£ try to teach me ? Little frivo¬ lous, childish I, who am fit for nothing but to play with El Moro, and pelt Mademoiselle Saleme with roses, and tease old Marie’s life out, and sing chansons to my guitar, and ” —

“ And make the joy of my poor life, Valerie.”

“ I again? What ! poor little I, the present joy and possible misfortune of life to so very grave and learned a youth as Francois, le Baron de ” —

“ Francois, the lover of Valerie ! ” interposed the young baron, catching in his own the other little hand, and covering them both with kisses, beneath whose breath a dusky crimson crept slowly up into the girl’s cheek, and lighted its pallor as fire shows through cream-white porcelain.

“ Mamzelle ! Mamzelle Valerie ! Ma petite ! where, then, do you hide ? Answer, for the love of the Virgin 1 Mamzelle, I say ! ”

“Now what does Marie want, do you suppose?* exclaimed Marie’s nursling, in a tone of comic vexa¬ tion. “Has she found another egg in my canary

PROVENCE ROSES.

*7 oird's nest? or has the cat turned over in her sleep? or — oh, horrors ! has she discovered the fearful rent I made in my new dress last night, by running against a rose-bush in the dark? Now that was your fault, Francois, and ” —

“ Here she is ! I was just going to propose escap¬ ing into the labyrinth ; but it is too late. Well, Marie, here is Mademoiselle Valerie.”

“So I .see, Monsieur le Baron,” panted the old woman, holding on to her fat sides, and casting re¬ proachful glances up into the tree, where Valerie’s bright and glowing face laughed down at her.

“If you had but answered me, mademoiselle, you would have had the news sooner.”

“And saved your poor old legs, nursey,” replied the child with a burst of tinkling laughter. “Well, now you have found me, what is it ? Has the king come to ask me to marry monseigneur the dauphin? He is a thought young for me, but still ” —

“You might have guessed farther afield, my pop¬ pet,” replied the nurse with a sagacious nod of the head ; “ for it is, if not the king, one of the king’s gentlemen ; and, as for his errand, who knows ? ”

“ One of the king’s gentlemen ! What do you mean, nurse?” demanded Francois, turning so sud¬ denly that the old woman uttered an affected little iliriek.

~ Mercy, Monsieur le Baron ! you need not eat me tp alive with your sharp way, so like madarae the x>mtesse. whom you do not remember.”

And Marie crossed herself with a very expressive lhake of the head, as if she were not sorry that the Norman countess was at rest and quiet.

“But who is it? Speak, will you, you provoking creature?” demanded Valerie petulantly, as she put one foot down to the lower branch of the tree is preparation for descent.

“Well then,” replied the old woman with evident enjoyment of the consternation she was about to evoke, — “ well, then, Monsieur le Comte has arrived, and with him Monsieur le Vicomte Gaston.”

“ My father and Gaston ! ” exclaimed Francois in great astonishment ; while Valerie sprang lightly to the ground, and passed her hand over her hair, adjusted ner necklace and bracelets, and plumed herself like a bird.

“Yes, as I tell you, and here they are,” replied Marie, pointing to the terrace leading down from the chateau, where now appeared the mean and insignifi¬ cant figure of the Comte de Montamaud, his handsome scowling son Gaston, and two or three attendants, the latter apparently offering explanations and apologies which the count waved impatiently and contemptu¬ ously aside.

“ Valerie ! ” murmured Francois, as the two hastened to meet the new-comers ; and Marie kept as close as possible upon their heels, not to lose the explanatioa and possible scene impending.

“Valerie, I am sure that ill fortune is upon us. Promise me that you will always love me; promise \hat you will never marry another man ; promise ” —

“ Oh, hush, Francois ! you make me nervous with

PROVENCE ROSES.

four tragic air, and your 1 Promise, promise ! ’ Who speaks of marrying anybody? See, your father is already frowning at you ; hold up your head, and look like a man instead of a schoolboy. How handsome Gaston has grown ! ”

“ Frivolous and trifling ! ” muttered Francois bit¬ terly, and he dropped a step behind his companion, who ran eagerly forward, both hands extended, eyes and lips bright with smiles, exclaiming joyfully, —

“Ah, monsieur my god-papa, how glad we are to receive you ! Monsieur Gaston also ! But why did not you let us know that you were coming? We would have received you more worthily.”

“Truth to tell, mademoiselle,” replied the count, whose brow showed a decided cloud, “the chateau seems but carelessly kept, considering it holds so rare a treasure as yourself. I found Monsieur l’Abb£ Despard, my son’s tutor, confessing Mademoiselle Saleme, my ward’s governess, while their two charges were hidden, — who knows where ? ’

Chapter III. A Blight Upon The Roses

AS tfie master of the house thus publicly pith claimed his discontent with his reception, a kmall tumult of defence arose from the parties ac¬ cused. The abb£, a handsome young priest, whom Frangois had for a considerable period governed a* he would, bowed humbly and exclaimed, —