Love and Honor

by Harry Samkange

  “I suppose you are right, Francis,” the marquis observed.

  “In any case, he needs a bit of sympathy. When Madame de Blaise finds out what he’s done, his backside won’t be sore from just the hard riding,” Francis said with a dry laugh. The marquis nodded his head.

  “On that point, Francis, we are, to his misfortune, in absolute agreement.”

  While this pleasant conversation concerning his fate was occurring, Nicolas was already riding along the road to Cap François, the mounts of his father and brother roped loosely together as they trailed behind him. He quickened his pace to a triple gallop as he rode warily by the stretch of wood where earlier in the day, as they had ridden toward the Salvagnac’s plantation, his mount had been spooked by the grisly remainder of a headless corpse which had been left by the road and looked to have been gnawed on by animals. Riding by the same spot, Nicolas searched guardedly around him in the darkness for lurking brigands or highwaymen, hoping his breakneck pace would discourage any potential attackers. Despite his apparent prudence, his head was still so clouded with visions of Sérolène and tender remembrances of their sweet stolen kisses, that he had only a cursory appreciation for the very real danger he risked; the powerful residue of lingering passion making him feel invincible.

  It was just past dawn, the grey-orange light rising in the eastern sky, when Nicolas finally rode past the outposts of his father’s estate. He was so tired and sore that he could barely stay upright in the saddle, but he rode proudly up the road toward the main part of the extensive château grounds. The field hands, who were already at work in the midst of the plantation’s thousands of acres of cane, watched Nicolas ride by with looks of puzzled amazement, noting the earliness of the hour and the two empty saddles which trailed behind him. Once he reached the main courtyard, Nicolas went straight from the saddle to bed, only allowing his valet to remove his boots, jacket, and waistcoat before collapsing in an exhausted heap. His last vision as his head settled into the pillow, was of the Vicomtesse de La Bouhaire, face uplifted toward him, eyes closed as he kissed her a final sweet goodbye. Wrapped securely in the cocoon of that pleasant remembrance, he fell at last into a deep, contented sleep.

  IV. Runaway Horses

  Charlotte Marie du Plessis de Talonge glided elegantly across the polished wooden floors of her salon, pleased at the appreciative looks she received as she nodded her head in confident greeting to a select few of her guests. On occasion she paused to allow her hand to be kissed by one of her many admirers, her golden tresses pulled tightly back above her forehead to accentuate the classical lines of a face that had attracted the attention of painters and poets since her debut in society more than a decade ago. Signaling almost imperceptibly to her steward, a tall enslaved African named Casimir, she surveyed the realm of her salon with a practiced, discerning eye.

  “Casimir, see that the Comte de Tonnere has his favorite tobacco, but remind him that if he wishes to smoke it he must retire to the study or the billiards room. Though I tolerate his habit, I don’t want my whole house to smell of it,” she instructed.

  “Yes Madame,” Casimir bowed.

  “Has the Baron de Ginestas arrived yet?”

  “No, Madame.”

  “When he does I want a few moments with him alone in my study. Make sure you are watching at your usual place of concealment, in case he should become troublesome. I have some rather delicate matters I wish to discuss with him.”

  “Of course Madame.”

  “And make sure that Monsieur Petitfleur has nothing more fortified than wine -- no strong spirits at all for him, do you hear? I’ll not have him repeat the scene he made at Madame Valadoir’s here. What’s more, he is to be kept well away from my person and my maids,” she said.

  “As you wish, Madame.”

  “How do I look?” she asked, with a furtive glance toward him, knowing that he would tell her the unvarnished truth, having been in her service since she had purchased him as a young boy.

  “Radiant but tired, Madame, and a bit irritated, if I may say so. If you would but heed my advice and sleep in the north bedroom where the air is more favorable…” Casimir suggested.

  “Enough of your scolding, dear Casimir; you know I prefer my rooms to the south because the sunlight always delights me in the morning. Now go and see to your duties,” she commanded, relaxing the muscles of her face as she moved away to return to the company of her guests.

  Everyone who mattered in the society of the Cap was present at her salon, with the notable exception of the Baron and Baronne de Salvagnac. It was the sole blemish among her carefully orchestrated arrangements, and one which she marked with interest. The baronne’s many and hitherto unsuccessful attempts to form advantageous marriage alliances with families decidedly above her own on the social ladder, had made the couple a source of impassioned discussion in the circles of the Island’s social elite. Though bartering daughters with large dowries for title and position was a longstanding feudal practice, there were many who felt that the baronne’s ambitions were as excessive as her husband’s reputed fortune. Others simply enjoyed the spectacles of her past failures and hoped for more such amusements.

  Whatever the varying viewpoints, what was important to Madame de Talonge was the rather surprising fact that the Salvagnacs had apparently deigned to absent themselves from her exclusive gathering, despite having readily accepted the invitation to attend her salon. On St. Domingue there was no invitation more coveted than one received from the Comtesse de Talonge. The fact that they had chosen not to appear told her that something of greater import had occurred of which she had not as yet received word. That vexed her greatly. Her currency was information, both the collection and the dissemination of it. She hungered after it, cultivated it with the tender care and ardent attention of a lover, often going to great lengths and sometimes greater expense to acquire it. Like any good spinner of webs, she could feel when something escaped her netting, and she sensed it now.

  She passed by the sitting portrait of her husband that was mounted to the right of the hearth in the main salon, pleased that his depiction in oil was as close as she’d been to him since she had stood by his side at the altar more than fifteen years ago. He was an old nonentity with a title of comte that was utile, a penis that was not, and an overarching desire to remain in France with his male lovers and his beloved pigeons, which he cared for and coddled as substitutes for the children she had never consented to allow him. His absence made him the ideal husband. The only thing he lacked was a fortune large enough to support her voracious habits of acquisition, but that was where her interests with Madame de Salvagnac had most curiously and most advantageously intersected. How amusing that I have the baron to thank for that, she mused.

  Born of common bourgeois origins, Hervé Charles Rocheforte had, through hard work and uncommon merit, made himself a successful banker, eventually purchasing the rank of noblesse de robe and receiving the title of baron de Salvagnac from the King in reward for his considerable talents for figures, which he had put to good use on behalf of the Royal Treasury and his own interests. His efforts had made him enormously wealthy and had given him the independence to live in luxurious splendor in the Colonies, away from the prying eyes and vicious intrigues of the court. Though he doted on his wife, he much neglected her physical needs in pursuance of his mercantile and financial endeavors. They had two daughters who had been born ten years apart and were the sole fortunate fruit of the exceedingly rare carnal visitations the baron had deigned to pay his wife over the length of their marriage. It was this habit of carnal neglect that eventually brought Madame de Talonge and the Baronne de Salvagnac together.

  Unlike her husband, Agnès de Saint-Giresse de Salvagnac was born of a noble but impoverished family, her father having squandered most of the family fortune during his short but calamitous existence. Her mother was reputed to have had a very large and independent fortune of her own, which she had successfully held apart from her husband’s an
d left in its entirety to her son, Agnès’ brother, who became Vicomte de La Bouhaire upon his father’s death. Despite her mother’s attempts to provide a secure future for her son, the new Vicomte de La Bouhaire and his wife both died of small pox not long after the birth of their first and only child, leaving the single baby girl as sole issue and heir to the entire La Bouhaire legacy. Despite rumors of the great size of this inheritance, very little of the purported fortune had ever been made manifest. The young heiress and niece to the baron had come to live with the Salvagnacs after the death of her parents, confirming for most, the prevailing view that only the rumor of her grandmother’s fortune had in fact been real. Some wags noted, however, that the steepest portion of the baron’s spectacular rise to prominence as a financier and speculator without equal, had coincided almost exactly with his niece’s entry into the Salvagnac household. Whether this was merely coincidence, or perhaps something more, was in the end, entirely a matter of speculation for those outside the family and a closely guarded secret within it.

  As the size of her husband’s fortune grew, Madame de Salvagnac, who had long been celebrated for her beauty, developed tastes and lavish spending habits commensurate with her family’s ever increasing prosperity and influence. Despite the physical inattention of her husband to her romantic needs, she had taken no lovers as solace to his neglect, content enough it seemed, that her husband freely shared his wealth, if not his seed with her. The baronne’s singular steadfastness had at first attracted Madame de Talonge’s curiosity, and then later as she had discovered more about the delicate Agnès’ particular predilections, decidedly more intimate attentions. Captivated by the slender baronne’s beauty and intrigued by her apparent lack of promiscuity, the comtesse had cultivated the baronne most carefully, and in time they had become the most intimate and interdependent of friends, each providing what the other lacked and wanted most. The baronne received the fulfillment her husband denied her, in all the meanings of the word. The comtesse never again had to trouble herself with mundane concerns about money or the lack of it.

  “There you are, my dear Madame de Talonge. We’ve been admiring the splendid decor of your sitting room while we waited to greet you. May I have the honor of presenting to you my eldest daughter Virginie?” Madame Dupluie said, rising to greet her hostess as Madame de Talonge made the obligatory rounds among her guests.

  Madame de Talonge smiled tightly, hiding her distaste behind a mask of tranquil contentment; Madame Dupluie being one of those necessary but unwanted guests who plagued the salons of both high and low. Others tolerated her because they feared her sharp tongue and ability through innuendo and inference to spread scandal. Madame de Talonge abided her because as an inveterate gossip and snipe, Madame Dupluie often brought information that was only sometimes of interest but often of use.

  “How do you do, my dear?” Madame de Talonge said sweetly, her hand gently brushing the cheek of the plump but kind-faced young girl whose face was pockmarked with so many pimples that even the copious amounts of white powder and rouge she wore failed to completely conceal them.

  “Very well, thank you, Madame,” Virginie replied with an awkward curtsey. Madame Dupluie moved closer to her hostess, lowering her voice in confidence.

  “Have you heard the latest rumors concerning Madame de Salvagnac? I understand the fortunes of that lady’s family have greatly improved through the most unexpected -- and dare I say shocking -- of alliances,” Madame Dupluie whispered furtively.

  “Oh?” Madame de Talonge said, turning slightly to acknowledge the arrival of the Vicomte de Tollaincourt, long an ardent admirer of hers.

  “Madame de Talonge, how well you look today. Your salon is as splendid as ever and the enjoyment and envy of everyone,” the vicomte declared wholeheartedly, bowing in greeting as he kissed the outstretched hand of his hostess with sincere delight.

  “Monsieur de Tollaincourt, you are indeed the outrageous flatterer everyone claims you to be, but I am very glad to see you nonetheless. Do you know Madame Dupluie and her daughter?” Madame de Talonge asked, nodding toward the other members of the party. Tollaincourt paid the ritual courtesies to the other ladies whom he found decidedly less appealing than his hostess. He had long tried to make the pretty and vivacious Madame de Talonge his lover, so far without the slightest indication that his persistent and sincere efforts might one day lead to success.

  “Madame Dupluie brings us interesting news dear Tollaincourt; news of your friend Salvagnac,” Madame de Talonge said enticingly.

  “Well then -- I pray you continue, Madame,” Tollaincourt said.

  “You know I don’t like to gossip and do not abide gossipers myself, but I was informed by a very reliable source that Mademoiselle Julienne de Salvagnac was only yesterday very advantageously engaged to Monsieur le Comte de Marbéville!”

  “Are you sure, Madame?” Madame de Talonge said, her raised eyebrow indicating the full degree of her skepticism.

  “I am as sure as I can be of it without declaring it a certainty,” Madame Dupluie replied. Madame de Talonge wondered if this were in fact the reason for the absence of the Salvagnacs.

  “It must be considered a splendid match for the Salvagnacs, as the Comte de Marbéville will one day inherit the titles and estates of his father, the Marquis de Blaise,” Tollaincourt observed.

  “That’s true my dear Tollaincourt, but it is also rather surprising, particularly given Madame de Salvagnac’s openly stated opinions about the marquis and his family,” Madame de Talonge replied. How could you keep such a thing secret from me, Agnès...or any secrets, for that matter? And to make alliance with the Marquis de Blaise! What words can I put to your actions other than those of treachery and betrayal? Madame de Talonge seethed inwardly, though her face remained an unreadable mask.

  “I agree entirely with your general sentiments, Madame, though with regard to the situation of the comte, I feel that no aspersion may be cast upon him for the faults of his father. His mother was, after all, of noble and pure French blood. Neither she, God rest her soul, nor her son should suffer any ill opinion because of the father’s shameful and abominable cohabitation with that woman,” Madame Dupluie opined, her eyebrows raised in challenge to any other potential point of view.

  “Might I point out, Madame, that Monsieur de Blaise did marry the woman you speak of -- some time ago, in fact, and with His Majesty’s approval? As I was on the commission that reviewed the marriage petition I do have some detailed knowledge of the circumstances. While there was no doubt that the bloodlines of Madame de Blaise’s mother were neither pure nor wholly French, it was impossible to say with surety what she really was despite the rumors that have since circulated based on her appearance, that she was the greater part Nègre[1][1]. What was known of her mother at the time, and has not since been further illuminated, was that she was determined by the courts to be freeborn and of indeterminate ancestry,” Tollaincourt explained, rising to Madame Dupluie’s challenge.

  “How fascinating, my dear vicomte. I did not know you possessed such detailed knowledge of so obscure a matter. Please continue,” Madame de Talonge replied. The vicomte smiled generously at her encouragement, continuing with his explanation in the hope, however slim, that perhaps the comtesse might at last feel inclined to grant other more tender marks of her favor.

  “The weight of the case was decided on the merits of Madame de Blaise’s father’s antecedents. Her father, a Monsieur Olaf Galtung von Hardanger, had a recognized patent of nobility from the court of Norway. He married a free woman of indeterminate origin and they had a daughter, which patent of nobility by the customs of the court of Norway, passed through to her. Regardless of what one might think based on appearances alone, there was nothing in the law to prevent the marriage of that daughter to the Marquis de Blaise or to inhibit the title of marquise passing on to her through her husband. The court rightly felt, and most agreed, that if Monsieur de Blaise was willing to live with the public censure he should surely un
dergo as a result of allying himself to such a woman, then so be it. It was made clear to him at the time that if he did so he would no longer be welcomed at court. Some even profess that the King was happy to oblige the marquis precisely as a means of removing him from Versailles and curbing his influence without His Majesty having to resort to the heavy-handed mechanism of the lettre de cachet. Despite the considerable obstacles to such a marriage, one saw how Monsieur de Blaise chose to act. Society was much divided at the time; some choosing to applaud his courage, others condemning him and his new wife in the most strident terms. But that was more than fifteen years ago, surely such passions have by now long since cooled,” Tollaincourt concluded with more hope in his assertion than he perhaps felt himself.

  “Well, regardless of what the law might say, I know with my own eyes what she is and what her mother was. She is a Nègre and therefore so is her son, and to keep society with them pretending they are our equals is to risk the position of all of us -- not to mention that it also encourages and rewards the loose morals and debauches that the lesser races are prone to which stain the honor of our men and make mockery of the virtues of true French womanhood,” Madame Dupluie said with surety.

  What an absolute bore, Tollaincourt thought to himself, though she was right about one thing. The pretty black and Creole girls of all hues and delights were part of the reasons many Frenchmen chose to remain in the Colonies and away from France. Who would wish to spend his time in the company of such homely fare as Mademoiselle Dupluie, when there was an endless supply of delectable island women for the taking, and more arriving each day in the slave markets of Cap François and Porte-au-Prince? Besides, the idea that an impoverished gasbag like Madame Dupluie, whose family was on the lowest rungs of the nobility, would ever move in the same social circles as the Marquis de Blaise, was simply preposterous. The marquis’ family was older than old. They were chevaliers – knights, since before the time of Charlemagne, their nobility a fact even before the advent of Kings. Their coat of arms was well known and studied in the courts of Europe, as was the livery of their house. The lesser-born could say what they would of him, but the marquis’ blood was bluer than the depths of the ocean, and his wealth the stuff of legend. All of which makes the marriage with Salvagnac all the more curious, Tollaincourt thought to himself. It was impossible to think that the marquis actually needed Salvagnac’s money. What, then, is the alliance’s real purpose? Tollaincourt wondered to himself.