Gerald Fitzgerald, the Chevalier: A Novel

by Charles James Lever

  CHAPTER V. A SUDDEN REVERSE

  'What is it?--what has happened?' cried Gerald, as he awoke suddenlyfrom a deep sleep, the first he had enjoyed after some nights of pain.'Oh, it is you, Count Dillon,' and he tried to smile an apology for hisabruptness.

  'Lie down again, my lad, and listen to me, patiently too, if you can,for I have tidings that might try your patience.'

  'I see you _have_ bad news for me,' said Gerald calmly; 'out with it atonce.'

  The other made no reply, but turned toward him a look of compassionatetenderness.

  'Come, Count, uncertainty is the worst of penalties--what are yourtidings?'

  'Tell me, first of all, Gerald, is it true that you supped on Fridaylast at Paris with a party, at the house of a certain Monsieur duSaillant, and there met Desmoulins, Rivarol, and several others of thatparty?'

  'Yes, quite true.'

  'And they drank patriotic toasts--which means that they pledged bumpersin insult to the court?'

  'They made an attempt to do so, which I resisted. I said that I wouldnot sit there and hear one word to disparage my sovereign or his cause,on which one of them cried out, "And who are you who dares to prescribeto us how we are to speak, or what to toast?" "He is _my_ friend," saidDu Saillant, "and that is enough." "Nay," broke in the others, "it isnot enough. We have placed our necks in a halter, if this youth shouldturn out a spy of the court, or a Garde du Corps." "And I am a Garde duCorps," said I. "_Parbleu!_" said one, "I know him well now; he is thefellow they call the Ecossais--the Queen's minion." With that I struckhim across the face--the others fell upon me, and pressed me toward thewindow, I believe, to throw me out; at all events there was a severestruggle, from which I escaped, roughly handled and bruised, into anadjoining room. Here they followed and arranged that meeting of whichyou have heard.'

  'You ran him through?'

  'Yes, a bad wound, I fear; but it was no time to measure consequences;besides, three others claimed to fight me.'

  'And did they?'

  'No, the affair stands over; for Carcassone--that's his name--theythought was dying, and all their care was turned to him. Meanwhile I wasbleeding tremendously, for he had cut a blood-vessel in my arm.'

  'Well, and then----'

  'Then I can't well tell you what happened. I found myself in the street,with my cravat bound round my arm, and one man, they called Boulet,beside me. He said all he could to cheer me, bade me be of good heart,and that if I liked to make my fortune he would show me the way. "Comewith me," said he, "to the 'Trois Etoiles,' declare yourself for us: youare well known in Paris--every one has heard how the Queen likes you."I tried to strike him, but I only tore off the bandage by my effort, andfell all bathed in blood on the pavement.'

  'And it was in that state you were found underneath the Queen's window?'

  'I know no more,' said Gerald drearily, as he lay back, and crossedhis eyes with his hand. 'I have a hundred confused memories of whatfollowed, but can trust none of them. I can recall something of acaleche driven furiously along, while I lay half-fainting within;something of wine or brandy poured down my throat; something ofbeing carried in men's arms, but through all these are drifting otherthoughts, vague, incoherent, almost impossible.'

  'Is it true that the Queen, with one of her ladies, found you stilllying in the garden when day broke?'

  'It may have been the Queen--I did not know her,' said he despondently.'Now, then, for your tidings.'

  'You remember, of course, the events which have occurred since yourillness, that you have been examined by a military commission, inpresence of two persons deputed by the "States-General?"

  'Yes--yes, I have had two weary days of it; ten minutes might havesufficed for all I was going to tell them.'

  'So you really did refuse to answer the questions asked of you?'

  'I refused to speak of what was intrusted to my honour to preservesecret.'

  'Or even to tell by whom you were so intrusted?'

  'Of course.'

  'And you thus encountered the far worse peril of involving in aninfamous slander the highest and purest name in France.'

  'I do not understand you,' cried Gerald wildly.

  'Surely you know the drift of all this inquiry--you cannot be ignorantthat it was to assail her Majesty with a base scandal that you wereplaced beneath her window, and so discovered in the morning, at the verymoment of her finding you there. Are you not aware that no falsehood istoo gross nor too barefaced not to meet credence if she be its object?Do not all they who plan the downfall of the monarchy despair of successwhile her graceful virtues adorn her high station? Is not every effortof the vile faction directed solely against her? Have you not witnessedhow, one by one, have been abandoned all the innocent pleasures to whichscandal attached a blame. The Trianon deserted--the graceful amusementsshe loved so well--all given up. Unable to meet slander face to face,she has tried to make it impossible, as if one yet could obliterate thevenomous poison of this rancorous hate!'

  'And now,' said Gerald, drawing a long breath, 'and now for my part inthis infernal web of falsehood.'

  'If you refused to state where you had passed the evening--why you worea disguise, how you came by your wound--you must allow you furnishedmatter for whatever suspicion they desired to attach to you.'

  'They are free to believe of me what they may.' 'Ay, but not to includeothers in the imputation.'

  'I never so much as dreamed of that!' said Gerald, with a weary sigh.

  'Well, boy, it is just what has happened; not that there lives one baseenough to believe this slander, though ten thousand are ready to repeatit. There, see how the _Gazette de Paris_ treats it, a journal that onceheld a high place in public favour. Read that.'

  Gerald bent over the paper, and read, half aloud, the followingparagraph:--

  'The young officer of the Garde du Corps examined by the SpecialCommission as to the extraordinary circumstances under which he waslately discovered in the garden of her Majesty, having refused allexplanation either as to his disguise, his recent wound, or any reasonfor his presence there, has been adjudged guilty under the followingheads: First, breach of military duty in absence from the Garde withoutleave; secondly, infraction of discipline in exchanging his uniform.'

  'Well, well!' cried Gerald, 'what is the end of all this?'

  'You are dismissed the service, boy!' said Dillon sternly.

  'Dismissed the service!' echoed he, in a broken voice.

  'Your comrades bore you no goodwill, Gerald; even that last scene in theSalle des Gardes had its unhappy influence on your lot. It was to thecomment of the journalist, however, I had directed your attention. Seethere!'

  And Gerald read:--

  'France will not, we assert, accept the degradation of this youngofficer as a sufficient expiation for what, if it means anything at all,implies a grave insult to the Majesty of the realm. In the name of anoutraged public, we demand more than this. We insist on knowing how thisyouth, so devoid of friends, family, and fortune, became a soldier ofthe Garde--whence his title--who his patrons. To these questions, ifnot satisfactorily answered within a week, we purpose to append suchexplanations as mere rumour affords; and we dare promise our readers, ifnot all the rigid accuracy of an attested document, some compensationin what may fairly claim the interest of a very romantic story. Not oursthe blame if our narrative comprise names of more exalted station thanthat of this fortunate adventurer.'

  'Fortunate adventurer! I am well called by such a title,' exclaimed hebitterly. 'And so I am dismissed the service!'

  'The sentence was pronounced yesterday, but they thought you too ill tohear it. I have, however, appealed against it. I have promised that ifre-examined----'

  'Promise nothing for me, Count; I should reject the boon if theyreinstated me to-morrow,' said Gerald haughtily.

  'But remember, too, you must have other thoughts here than foryourself.'

  'I will leave France; I will seek my fortune elsewhere; I cannot livein a network of intrigue; I
have no head for plots, no heart forsubtleties. Leave me, therefore, Count, to my fate.'

  In broken, unconnected sentences the youth declined all aid or counsel.There are moments of such misery that all the offices of friendshipbring less comfort to the heart than a stern self-reliance. Arugged sense of independence supplies at such times both energy anddetermination. Mayhap it is in moments like these more of real characteris formed than even years accomplish in the slower accidents of fortune.

  'This journalist, at least, shall render me satisfaction for hiswords,' thought he to himself. 'I cannot meet the whole array of theseslanderers, but upon this one I will fix.'

  'By what mischance, Gerald, have you made Monsieur your enemy?' askedthe Count.

  'Monsieur my enemy!' repeated Gerald, in utter amazement.

  'Yes. The rumour goes that when the commission returned their reportto the King, his Majesty was mercifully inclined, and might have feltdisposed to inflict a mere reprimand, or some slight arrest, whenMonsieur's persuasions prevailed on him to take a severer course.'

  'I cannot bring myself to credit this!' cried Fitzgerald.

  'It is generally believed, nay, it is doubted by none, and all arespeculating how you came to incur this dislike.'

  'It is hard to say,' muttered Gerald bitterly.

  'This is for you, Fitzgerald,' said a sergeant of the Corps, enteringthe room hastily. 'You are to appear on the parade to-morrow, and hearit read at the head of your company,' and with these words he threw anopen paper on the table and withdrew.

  'Open shame and insult--this is too much,' said Gerald. 'You mustappeal, Gerald; I insist upon it,' cried Dillon.

  'No, sir. I have done with princes and royal guards. I could not put ontheir livery again with the sense of loyalty that once stirred my heart.Leave me, I pray, an hour or two to collect my thoughts and grow calmagain. Good-bye for a short while.