Francesca Carrara/Chapter 82
CHAPTER XXIII.
"The royal marriage has engrossed all tongues."
Before they met next morning, the Chevalier de Joinville had learned as much of Francesca's history as was known in the Castle. It is wonderful what a talent some people have for extracting information, and combining it when extracted—how one fact is made to elucidate another, and the conclusion inferred from evidence fine as the spider's thread! It is a pity that this genius should be wasted on the events of ordinary life. Half the ingenuity lavished on news—by news we mean the topics of the day as connected with their own circle—half this ingenuity would set up a whole Society of Antiquaries, and immortalise at least a dozen of them.
The Chevalier possessed in its perfection that happy art which illuminates the known by the imaginative, and in such light discovers the actual. Having satisfied his curiosity, he had only another desire to gratify, viz., that of communication. Just now his sphere was somewhat limited; for, from their terms of familiarity, he might infer that Madame de Soissons knew all he could tell—and the fair Hortense was préoccupée et distraite. Lord Craven was engaged with the Queen; and to Francesca herself, he had too much tact not to know, that beyond a brief congratulation, the less he said the better. However, he promised himself ample dédommagement, when he returned to Paris; and in the meantime he shared the usual lot of mortals—that is, he lived on expectation. Ah! what would life be without its perspective. Still he had a little present enjoyment—how much he had to tell of all that had occurred in France during Francesca's absence!
After a long and magnificent breakfast, the Queen—well aware that, next to themselves and their own merits, people are most alive to those observed in their houses and lands—proposed to Lord Avonleigh that he should show them his superb palace; and a happy man was he while doing the honours of old tapestries, carved cornices, and portraits in mail armour, or silks nearly as stiff.
At length the beautiful morning tempted the whole party into the open air; and, while walking up and down the terrace, the Chevalier easily contrived to engross Francesca's ear. After a few compliments and acknowledgments, the conversation naturally reverted to Paris; and Francesca soon found that she was as ready to make inquiries as De Joinville was ready to answer them.
"In good truth," replied he to some question, "one single subject has engaged all our attention—we have asked, we have heard, we have dreamed of nothing but his Majesty's marriage. The Cardinal declared, that the alliance having given peace to France, he should die content—the Queen Mother, that the hope of her life having been realised, she could die content too. I began to be alarmed lest the whole world, fancying it could never find a finer opportunity, might also come to an end in'One last great act—the winding-up of fate.'
However, the consequences have not been quite so desperate—no one died after all."
"But the young Queen," asked Francesca—"what is she like?"
"Why, she is one of those persons whom negatives seem invented to describe—I doubt whether she is worth one single bad quality."
"Surely," said she, smiling, "that is a deficiency which may readily be pardoned."
"No such thing!" exclaimed he; "we need bad qualities to set off our good ones. A few faults are indispensable in those with whom we are to live—they are needed to excuse our own. This sort of dull perfection is a perpetual reproach to ourselves; besides, light cannot exist without shadow. Choose what fault you please; but, for pity's sake, have one, if you ever mean to be liked or loved."
"Still you have not told me if your new Queen be handsome."
"Ah! I should have known that a lady's is always a personal question. Well, then, she is pretty, but it is the mere prettiness of youth—a radiant complexion, and long bright hair. I thought her handsomer the first time I saw her in Spain than I have ever thought her since—a sure sign that she is not beautiful, for nothing grows upon you more than beauty."
"You have been in Spain, then, since we last met?"
"Yes; I accompanied the embassy sent to negotiate this very marriage. Such an ambassador for a love affair as the Bishop of Fréjus! The King had given him a letter for the Infanta, which, however, the strict etiquette of the Spanish court forbade her receiving. However, with a Christian charity worthy of commendation, he resolved that he would give her the epistle. Accordingly, on his first interview, he watched his opportunity, and said, while he held the scroll in his hand, 'Madam, I have a secret to tell you.' Now the very word secret is enough to rouse any one's curiosity; and, giving a quick glance round to see if her duennas were on the alert, she prepared to listen, and I saw that her eye had caught sight of the letter. Our excellent Bishop continued: 'Alas, my master is not so happy as he believed, for your father will not allow you to receive this epistle, which I yet venture to offer.' Can you imagine aught so stupid as this—suggesting the idea of her father's anger at the very time when his object was to make her forget that there was such a thing as a father in the world? What could he expect but the answer he received—'I cannot take it without permission of the King, my father?' 'And will you not say one word to his Highness?' asked Fréjus. 'What I say to the Queen, my aunt, may also be understood by the King, her son.' Now, if this was not encouragement, I do not know what is; and yet our stupid envoy went away with the letter still in his possession."
"I do not see how he could help it," said Francesca.
"Help it! why, he might have dropped it at her feet, and trusted to her ingenuity for its concealment. Believe me, it is the greatest mistake ever to ask a consent in such cases. Pray, allow the fair lady the decent excuse of 'But how could I help it?'"
"Very considerate, indeed," answered his companion, laughing.
"Nothing could be more splendid than the marriage; but as such details are only interesting when they are personal, I shall spare you all the cloth of gold, the embroidery, and the precious stones, displayed on the occasion, and merely tell you a pretty comparison made by the young queen. When her wedding presents, feathers, ribands, flowers, precious stuffs, &c. &c. were carried past the Escurial windows, she said, "that they put her in mind of a moving parterre."
"How did Mademoiselle," asked Francesca, who remembered all the histories de la ligne which were uppermost in every one's mind when she arrived in Paris, "endure the royal marriage, and see that crown on the brow of another which she had so long hoped for to encircle her own?"
"Oh, exceedingly well—with that best of philosophy born of les amusemens el les distractions. She made a journey incognita to Spain, and was so full of her own wonderful courage in venturing across the water in a high wind—of contempt for the dress of the Spanish women—and, finally, so intent on the etiquettes of train-bearing, and calling the Princes Palatine 'ma cousine,’ that the greater interest was lost in a succession of minor concerns. And now, I believe, little that is important remains to be told, excepting that for a whole day the discourse of the court turned on nothing but the King of Spain's meanness. The Queen Mother sent him a magnificent clock, where time sparkled as it passed—for it was literally covered with diamonds; and the only return made was a present of some Spanish gloves. I hear that Anne herself in private avowed her extreme mortification."
"And now that we have discussed the past," said Francesca, "what do you say of the present?"
"Why, that Mazarin will see no niece of his on the throne of England."
"To promote which design is the object of this visit.”
"And, like many other grand designs, will be discomfited by a very slight obstacle. Not to offend your loyalty, a pretty face, so well set (diamonds themselves require to be mounted in gold), might have its weight with your monarch, if report speak truth; but every one of the Mancinis have a will of their own, and la belle Hortense will not belie her race. Every age has its extravagances, and love belongs to her time of life. A certain Count de Meilleraye has already obtained a hint of our destination; he left Paris before us, and, profiting by his acquaintance with the Duke of Buckingham, will accompany him—and at sixteen 'l'amant vaut bien le Roi.'"
"Good Heavens!" exclaimed Francesca, "How many cross purposes there are in this intricate game of human life! We only mock ourselves by laying down plans for the future—at least if those plans embrace others."
"Whence I draw the conclusion," replied De Joinville, "that we ought to lay none, saving for ourselves. It is an old error, but one fruitful in human disappointment, that we will offer our services to Providence, and arrange the destinies of all our relations and half our acquaintances."
"Still, no one can deny that the Cardinal has been a kind and affectionate relative. His nieces, at least, have cause to be grateful."
"And of course, as they ought to be, they are not. We receive great obligations as if they were our due, and are thankless as much out of vanity as ingratitude.
"We will drop this subject, if you please," interrupted Francesca; "they are old friends of mine, and I at least do not wish to hear of faults I have no power to amend."
The Chevalier paused, and for a few minutes they pursued their walk in silence; but De Joinville soon hit on another topic. "I saw an old—friend I can scarcely say, in Paris lately—Mr. Evelyn." Francesca turned pale, and involuntarily leant against the balustrade; with an effort she muttered a faint "Indeed!" and the Chevalier, concealing his surprise at her extreme emotion, added, "but so thin, and so altered, that I think even you would forgive him could you see him."
"You are great friends," replied Francesca, scarcely knowing what she said.
"We were," replied the Chevalier; "but this time, when we met by accident in the Boulevards, he very quietly looked at me without a symptom of recognition, and, when I spoke, civilly told me 'that he could not recollect ever having seen me before.' Of course I took the hint. I saw him once since, as he was leaving the presence of Cardinal Mazarin, and he again passed me in silence. He goes into no society, participates in no amusement, and, verily, seems to be performing as much penance as even your displeasure could justify."
The Chevalier was evidently confounding the two brothers, but it could now only be Robert of whom he was speaking. To undeceive him appeared both impossible and unnecessary—at least at present—for a thousand improbable schemes of communication with Evelyn, through his means, flashed across Francesca's mind, though only to be instantly dismissed. To pursue the conversation, however, on indifferent subjects was now unbearable; her thoughts wandered, and if she still heard the sound of De Joinville's voice, the sense of his words was lost upon the air. With much good-nature he allowed their discourse, or rather his own, to drop gradually into silence, and employed himself in wondering if she still loved Evelyn, that his name could thus move her; "and if so," thought he, "I shall believe in disinterested attachment lasting upon nothing."
But Francesca was not permitted the luxury of solitude and reflection; vain was the attempt to seek her own chamber, and indulge in one quiet half hour, for at that very moment three cavaliers rode up the avenue. Lord Avonleigh, first summoning all his household, hurried to receive them. Francesca noted that the cheek of Hortense brightened, while the brow of her sister darkened, as they recognised in one of them the Count de Meilleraye. All individual emotions passed unnoticed in the general enthusiasm with which the King—for it was he—was received as he entered, leaning on the arm of the Duke of Buckingham.