CHAPTER XV.
WHAT IT IS TO BE A CAVALIERE SERVENTE.
"Everye white will have its blacke, And everye sweet its sowere."
_Old Ballad_.
Neither the example of Oscar Dalrymple nor the broadcloth of the greatMichaud, achieved half so much for my education as did theapprenticeship I was destined to serve to Madame de Marignan. Havingonce made up her mind to civilize me, she spared no pains for theaccomplishment of that end, cost what it might to herself--or me. BeforeI had been for one week her subject, she taught me how to bow; how topick up a pocket-handkerchief; how to present a bouquet; how to hold afan; how to pay a compliment; how to turn over the leaves of amusic-book--in short, how to obey and anticipate every imperious wish;and how to fetch and carry, like a dog. My vassalage began from the veryday when I first ventured to call upon her. Her house was small, butvery elegant, and she received me in a delicious little room overlookingthe Champs Elysees--a very nest of flowers, books, and birds. Before Ihad breathed the air of that fatal boudoir for one quarter of an hour, Iwas as abjectly her slave as the poodle with the rose-colored collarwhich lay curled upon a velvet cushion at her feet.
"I shall elect you my _cavaliere servente_," said she, after I had twicenervously risen to take my leave within the first half hour, and twicebeen desired to remain a little longer. "Will you accept the office?"
I thought it the greatest privilege under heaven. Perhaps I said so.
"The duties of the situation are onerous," added she, "and I ought notto accept your allegiance without setting them before you. In the firstplace, you will have to bring me every new novel of George Sand,Flaubert, or About, on the day of publication."
"I will move heaven and earth to get them the day before, if that beall!" I exclaimed.
Madame de Marignan nodded approvingly, and went on telling off myduties, one by one, upon her pretty fingers.
"You will have to accompany me to the Opera at least twice a week, onwhich occasions you will bring me a bouquet--camellias being myfavorite flowers."
"Were they the flowers that bloom but once in a century," said I, withmore enthusiasm than sense, "they should be yours!"
Madame de Marignan smiled and nodded again.
"When I drive in the Bois, you will sometimes take a seat in mycarriage, and sometimes ride beside it, like an attentive cavalier."
I was just about to avow that I had no horse, when I remembered that Icould borrow Dalrymple's, or hire one, if necessary; so I checkedmyself, and bowed.
"When I go to an exhibition," said Madame de Marignan, "it will be yourbusiness to look out the pictures in the catalogue--when I walk, youwill carry my parasol--when I go into a shop, you will take care of mydog--when I embroider, you will wind off my silks, and look for myscissors--when I want amusement, you must make me laugh--and when I amsleepy, you must read to me. In short, my _cavaliere servente_ must bemy shadow."
"Then, like your shadow, Madame," said I, "his place is ever at yourfeet, and that is all I desire!"
Madame de Marignan laughed outright, and showed the loveliest littledouble row of pearls in all the world.
"Admirable!" said she. "Quite an elegant compliment, and worthy of anaccomplished lady-killer! _Allons_! you are a promising scholar."
"In all that I have dared to say, Madame, I am, at least, sincere," Iadded, abashed by the kind of praise.
"Sincere? Of course you are sincere. Who ever doubted it? Nay, to blushlike that is enough to spoil the finest compliment in the world.There--it is three o'clock, and at half-past I have an engagement, forwhich I must now make my _toilette_. Come to-morrow evening to my box atthe _Italiens_, and so adieu. Stay--being my _cavaliere_, I permit you,at parting, to kiss my hand."
Trembling, breathless, scarcely daring to touch it with mine, I liftedthe soft little hand to my lips, stammered something which was, nodoubt, sufficiently foolish, and hurried away, as if I were treading onair and breathing sunshine.
All the rest of that day went by in a kind of agreeable delirium. Iwalked about, almost without knowledge where I went. I talked, withoutexactly knowing what I said. I have some recollection of marching to andfro among the side-alleys of the Bois de Boulogne, which at that timewas really a woody park, and not a pleasure-garden--of lying under atree, and listening to the birds overhead, and indulging myself in someidiotic romance about love, and solitude, and Madame de Marignan--ofwandering into a _restaurant_ somewhere about seven o'clock, and sittingdown to a dinner for which I had no appetite--of going back, sometimeduring the evening, to the Rue Castellane, and walking to and fro on theopposite side of the way, looking up for ever so long at the darkenedwindows where my divinity did not show herself--of coming back to mylodgings, weary, dusty, and not a bit more sober, somewhere abouteleven o'clock at night, driven to-bed by sheer fatigue, and, even then,too much in love to go to sleep!
The next day I went through my duties at Dr. Cheron's, and attended anafternoon lecture at the hospital; but mechanically, like one dreaming.In the evening I presented myself at the Opera, where Madame de Marignanreceived me very graciously, and deigned to accept a superb bouquet forwhich I had paid sixteen francs. I found her surrounded by elegant men,who looked upon me as nobody, and treated me accordingly. Driven to theback of the box where I could neither speak to her, nor see the stage,nor achieve even a glimpse of the house, I spent an evening whichcertainly fell short of my anticipations. I had, however, thegratification of seeing my bouquet thrown to Grisi at the end of thesecond act, and was permitted the privilege of going in search of Madamede Marignan's carriage, while somebody else handed her downstairs, andassisted her with her cloak. A whispered word of thanks, a tiny pressureof the hand, and the words "come early to-morrow," compensated me,nevertheless, for every disappointment, and sent me home as blindlyhappy as ever.
The next day I called upon her, according to command, and wastransported to the seventh heaven by receiving permission to accompanyher to a morning concert, whereby I missed two lectures, and spentten francs.
On the Sunday, having hired a good horse for the occasion, I had thehonor of riding beside her carriage till some better-mountedacquaintance came to usurp my place and her attention; after which I wasforced to drop behind and bear the eclipse of my glory asphilosophically as I could.
Thus day after day went by, and, for the delusive sake of Madame deMarignan's bright eyes, I neglected my studies, spent my money, wastedmy time, and incurred the displeasure of Dr. Cheron. Led on from follyto folly, I was perpetually buoyed up by coquetries which meant nothing,and as perpetually mortified, disappointed, and neglected. I hoped; Ifeared; I fretted; I lost my sleep and my appetite; I felt dissatisfiedwith all the world, sometimes blaming myself, and sometimes her--yetready to excuse and forgive her at a moment's notice. A boy inexperience even more than in years, I loved with a boy's headlongpassion, and suffered with all a boy's acute susceptibility. I wasintensely sensitive--abashed by a slight, humbled by a glance, and soeasily wounded that there were often times when, seeing myselfforgotten, I could with difficulty drive back the tears that kept risingto my eyes. On the other hand, I was as easily elated. A kind word, anencouraging smile, a lingering touch upon my sleeve, was enough at anytime to make me forget all my foregone troubles. How often the mere giftof a flower sent me home rejoicing! How the tiniest show of preferenceset my heart beating! How proud I was if mine was the arm chosen to leadher to her carriage! How more than happy, if allowed for even onehalf-hour in the whole evening to occupy the seat beside her own! Todangle after her the whole day long--to traverse all Paris on hererrands--to wait upon her pleasure like a slave, and this, too, withouteven expecting to be thanked for my devotion, seemed the most naturalthing in the world. She was capricious; but caprice became her. She wasexacting; but her exactions were so coquettish and attractive, that onewould not have wished her more reasonable. She was, at least, ten ortwelve years my senior; but boys proverbially fall in love with womenolder than themselves, and this on
e was in all respects so charming,that I do not, even now, wonder at my infatuation.
After all, there are few things under heaven more beautiful, or moretouching, than a boy's first love.
Passionate is it as a man's--pure as a woman's--trustingas a child's--timid, through the very excess of itsunselfishness--chivalrous, as though handed down direct from the days ofold romance--poetical beyond the utterances of the poet. To theboy-lover, his mistress is only something less than a divinity. Hebelieves in her truth as in his own; in her purity, as in the sun atnoon. Her practised arts of voice and manner are, in his eyes, theunstudied graces that spring as naturally from her beauty as the scentfrom the flower. Single-hearted himself, it seems impossible that shewhom he adores should trifle with the most sacred sentiment he has everknown. Conscious of his own devotion, he cannot conceive that his wealthis poured forth in vain, and that he is but the plaything of her idlehours. Yet it is so. The boy's first love is almost always misplaced;seldom rated at its true value; hardly ever productive of anything butdisappointment. Aspirant of the highest mysteries of the soul, he passesthrough the ordeal of fire and tears, happy if he keep his faithunshaken and his heart pure, for the wiser worship hereafter. We allknow this; and few know it better than myself. Yet, with all itssuffering, which of us would choose to obliterate all record of hisfirst romance? Which of us would be without the memory of its smiles andtears, its sunshine and its clouds? Not I for one.
In the Days of My Youth: A Novel Page 12
