The Chronicles of a Gay Gordon Part 3

On my calling at the War Office on receipt of their wire the Military Secretary informed me that it was expected that Don Carlos, accompanied by several officers, might arrive at any time in London, and instructed me to make all the necessary arrangements for his comfort and welfare.

Soon after receiving these instructions I got a further telegram advising me that Don Carlos would arrive that very same evening at about 8 p.m. at Charing Cross Station, and further, that he and his party would actually arrive in the very clothes in which they had left the field of battle, for they had had no time or opportunity to obtain any personal effects during their flight through France.

It was then that my mind took me back to Brown's Hotel and Mr. Ford, its proprietor, at which hotel King Alfonso had often stayed, and Mr. Ford promised me to arrange to put up Don Carlos and his suite. My next business was to call upon tailors, hosiers, hatters and bootmakers in Bond Street, and to arrange for them to have their representatives at the hotel that evening to receive their orders.

I was at the station at the appointed time, and the travel-stained party, in their picturesque Carlist uniforms, arrived. I can well remember the impression that they made on their arrival. Such of the public as happened to be present looked on in silent wonder at the group of foreign officers. The rumour soon spread that the tall, commanding figure, erect and distinguished, whose handsome face and black beard were surmounted by the Carlist headgear, the "Boyna," was the celebrated Don Carlos himself, of whom some of them had heard as a great leader and who was now seeking refuge in England. We were not long in reaching our carriages--there was no luggage to cause us any delay--and we were glad to arrive at Brown's Hotel and sit down to the good dinner that awaited us.

The tradesmen who attended to the personal wants of our guests worked wonders, and, in a very few days, the visitors were all provided with complete outfits. Many thoughts went through my mind in those few days.

Within a year I had been the companion of a young prince, whose mother had practically been expelled from her throne and who had himself been exiled from his country; a young prince who, for some years, had been full of hopes of succeeding to the Crown and whose hopes had seemed always to be difficult of fulfilment and not likely to be realized. Yet he was now King. On the other hand, the man who had fought for that throne and had almost succeeded in attaining it was taking refuge, not only in the same country and city, but also in the same hotel where his successful antagonist had spent the last hours of his exile. The ways of Providence are certainly wonderful.

As a result of diplomatic communications, Don Carlos and those with him were permitted to reside in England until arrangements could be made for their return to France. At his request permission was granted me to be attached to his Staff during his stay. He was naturally very much run after by lion-hunters, and many were the entertainments that were given in his honour. But the hours he enjoyed best were those which he spent amongst his old supporters, not only those whose homes were in London and in the country, but also those who, after his refusal to accept the amnesty offered by Alfonso, had been compelled to leave Spain and take refuge in England. There were some seventeen thousand families then expelled from Spain. My days were fully occupied in making all the arrangements for visiting in the country, dinners, b.a.l.l.s, theatre parties. In fact, it was a constant round of pleasure and amus.e.m.e.nt.

The visitors--especially Don Carlos himself--were most anxious to ride to hounds. It was a difficult matter to mount so large a number, as the horses had to be hired, and we all know how difficult it is to depend on hired horses in the hunting field. Perhaps the biggest problem was to find a horse suitable to Don Carlos. He stood six-foot three and must have ridden somewhere over sixteen stone. I was despairing of success when I mentioned my difficulty to Mr. Ford. He at once relieved me of all anxiety. He told me he thought he could mount Don Carlos and two or three of the others out of his own private stables. It was a right jolly good day we had. There was to be a meet of Sir Robert Harvey's Harriers somewhere in the neighbourhood of Staines, I think, and Mr. Ford kindly arranged all the details. The party returned home more than satisfied with the day's sport. So time pa.s.sed, only too quickly, and the day came for their departure. We said good-bye, and I went back to duty.

[Ill.u.s.tration: DON CARLOS]

Some three months later I was agreeably surprised to receive an official letter stating that Don Carlos had written from Paris expressing the wish, if it could be granted, that, as some recompense for all the trouble and, as he put it, hard work, that had fallen to my lot while looking after him during his stay in London, I might be allowed a month's leave to stay with him in Paris. The official letter notified me that the necessary leave had been granted. Once again I was crossing the Channel, full of contentment, as in the days when I left Woolwich to join him in Spain. But my hopes were very much brighter. I was not going to see battles fought or undergo hards.h.i.+ps. No; I was going to enjoy myself thoroughly.

On arrival in Paris I met my cousin, Pepe Ponce de Leon, the aide-de-camp referred to before. He had, shortly after his return to Paris from England, married a very rich widow, whose husband had been one of Don Carlos's princ.i.p.al supporters. They had a beautiful and magnificent house in the Champs Elysees, which, as a matter of fact, became the headquarters of the Carlist supporters in Paris, and Pepe had arranged that it should be my home during my stay. Life indeed was worth living in those days. Every luxury that one could wish for was at hand, and perhaps the most enjoyable one was the splendid stud of horses, harness and riding, which my cousin had got together.

Our usual routine was as follows: _Dejeuner_ was served at noon, at which Don Carlos generally was present and as many of his late officers and supporters as cared to come. These _dejeuners_ were full of interest, party affairs being discussed, but often also full of conviviality notwithstanding the evil fortunes which had fallen upon the cause. Later on in the afternoon riding and driving parties were arranged for. In the evening banquets or private dinner parties were the order of the day, after which we all made our own plans to amuse ourselves. Paris was very gay and we generally managed to foregather again at midnight, or thereabouts, for supper at one or other of the many cafes, where music and dancing would be enjoyed. I soon discovered that some of our intimate friends were in the habit, instead of proceeding home to their beds after supper, of visiting the Turkish baths. After enjoying the bath they would sleep until the carriages arrived, and then, after partaking of chocolate or coffee, as they desired, they would be driven off home to sleep again until the time to appear at _dejeuner_ should arrive once more. And so the days and nights pa.s.sed, and enough for the day was the pleasure thereof.

It was about this time that a reconciliation took place between King Alfonso's mother, Queen Isabella, and Don Carlos, of a personal but not official character. The proverb, "Blood is thicker than water," sometimes comes true. The two were near relations. They had no personal quarrels.

Her own destiny was settled and Don Carlos's own efforts to wrest the Crown from her son had ended in failure. Why, therefore, any need for further enmity? I am reminded of a quaint conceit of Isabella's, which amused not only her but also her friends. Isabella had grown to be a woman of large proportions--in fact, of unmistakable proportions. One of her favourite ladies-in-waiting was similarly endowed by nature, if not more so. Isabella's hospitality was noted for its old magnificence. Her entertainments were, one might say, superb. She delighted in masked b.a.l.l.s, and it was her pleasure to move in the crowd of guests, masked, without being recognized. As her wish in this was made known to her guests, the pleasing illusion was kept up till the hour for unmasking arrived.

CHAPTER VII

MY FIRST ENGAGEMENT

I had been in Paris about three weeks when it came to the mind of Don Carlos that he could arrange an excellent marriage for me. Any of my readers who know how marriages are managed in France and Spain could not be surprised that his liking for me personally prompted this kind thought. Without my knowledge, but with the aid of my cousin's wife and other feminine confederates, he had selected a charming girl, some seventeen years of age, the only daughter of a rich financier, scion of an old French family, whose wife was a Spaniard. During my visit I had met her at times. She was as desirable a partner for life as any, prince or peasant, could have wanted. Educated in one of the best convents in Paris, she spoke English and Spanish equally as well as her own language.

She was tall, for a Frenchwoman, and her love for sport was equal to her personal charms. Up to this time I had, I suppose, not had time to fall in love with anyone in particular. This was probably due to the fact that I was imbued somewhat with the spirit which prompted a Spanish songster to write:

"Me gustan todas, Me gustan todas en general."[1]

Then came the day when I was told that practically my engagement to her had been approved by her family. This came, I need hardly say, as a considerable surprise. The future was as rosy as the rosiest sunrise in any part of the world could be--a most desirable and charming wife, a life of contentment and pleasure. Who could ask for a better future? No more soldiering. On the contrary, a ready-made road to success, in whatever walk of life I chose to pursue. Some such thoughts--and many others--pa.s.sed through my mind and I plucked up courage. Still, my heart was not in the affair, as you will see; but I argued to myself that, if the marriage did not finally take place, it could mean only the breaking of a family arrangement, which would not result in much grief or sorrow to my _fiancee_, as she certainly could not have become very devoted to me personally.

A fortnight or so pa.s.sed, during which some further family affairs were discussed, and the day was at hand when the engagement was to be made public. Unfortunately a stroke of ill luck overtook me the night before that very day. It was the custom in Paris for those engaged in the theatrical profession to hold annually an Artists' Ball in aid of the charities supported by them. This year the ball was to be held at the Grand Hotel. It was always a brilliant and picturesque pageant. The companies playing in the theatres entered the magnificent ballroom dressed in their theatrical costumes, while others appeared in fancy dresses. Remembering the fame for good taste, smartness and chic of Frenchwomen, the beauty of such a gathering is not surprising. The younger members of our party promised ourselves a thoroughly enjoyable night, while the elder ones looked forward to much pleasure too. It was about half-past twelve that the guests a.s.sembled in the ballroom to watch the arrival of the artists. Company after company entered, amidst much applause, and took up the position allotted to them. At a given signal the men approached the ladies to beg for the honour of dancing with them; it was a thoroughly Bohemian _fete_, and it was not necessary to obtain personal introductions. One very politely made his request of a lady for a dance. If it was granted, all was well. If it was not granted, then a polite bow--and all was not well.

I had been much attracted by a very sweet and charming actress. She appeared to me as the impersonation of all that was lovely. Her complexion was fair, and her hair golden--a head that Murillo would have loved to paint. She was rather pet.i.te, but, oh dear me, what a figure!

What ankles! What sweetly moulded neck and arms! What delicately coloured fles.h.!.+ Are you surprised that she looked all lovable? She had a companion, differing in type, but with equally as many charms of her own.

One of my friends seemed to be much taken with her, and we at once decided to try our fortune and beg of them to honour us by accepting us as partners for the opening dance. As soon as the signal was given we did so, and, to our great joy, we obtained their permission. No two young men were happier than we were, for one dance followed another till supper was ready. Of course, the fact had quite escaped my mind that, in France and Spain, it is not usual for engaged men to dance with other ladies than their _fiancee_--and certainly _outre_ for them to make themselves conspicuous by paying too much attention to any ladies, especially at such public functions. Still I continued to enjoy myself. My friend was equally successful with his partner.

Before going to supper Louise (my charming companion's name) told me that she had another ball to attend that night, and that, as it was then about 2 a.m., she and her friend Estelle would take a light supper and leave immediately afterwards. Their will was, of course, law to us. We sent out a message by our footman for our carriage to be ready at the exit gateway in half an hour, and our _partie carree_ continued to enjoy itself. While at supper my cousin came to our table. We introduced him to Louise and Estelle. He joined us in a gla.s.s of champagne, and, as he left us, he said to me in Spanish, "Ten cuidado; tomas demasiados riesgos."[2] But, what think you? Did I care? No. I did not even realize that he was alluding to my engagement. I just thought that he had noticed that we four had pa.s.sed the whole evening together, and that possibly we might be opening a friends.h.i.+p that might result in a liaison which might not be so judicious. We wished him good night and he pa.s.sed on.

After supper we hurried to our carriage and drove to Louise's apartments, which were only a short distance from the Grand Hotel. Arriving there, Louise suggested that my friend should drive Estelle home and return to take her to the other ball to which she was going. This we, of course, agreed to, and Louise invited me to her apartments to have a gla.s.s of champagne while she placed herself in the hands of her maid to change her costume and we awaited the arrival of my friend and the carriage. They were delightful apartments--such as one expects Parisiennes of exquisite taste to dwell in. The dining-room was a work of art in white and gold.

Sky-blue draperies, deeply embroidered in j.a.panese fas.h.i.+on, with birds of the air and fishes of the seas in such bewildering colour as only the j.a.panese know how to depict. Louise's dress at the ball was in the same sky-blue tone, and--as she stood in her dining-room taking a gla.s.s of champagne before handing herself over to the tender mercies of her maid--she looked almost heavenly. Anyway, so any man would have thought if he had been in my place, and of my age, during those precious moments.

But is there not a proverb that says: "All that glitters is not gold"? It applies not only to physical but also to mental condition. My mental condition was one of happiness. Louise was beautiful. Louise was kind, and the world was good and so was the champagne. But Nemesis was not far off.

Presently Louise returned to me. She wished for a cigarette and a gla.s.s of champagne before her maid robed her for her second ball. Just clad in the filmiest and most fetching of wraps (I think that is the word), she looked as bewitching as if she had just floated down from the abodes of bliss and beauty. She had just sipped her gla.s.s of champagne and lit her cigarette, and leaned on the arm of the arm-chair in which I was sitting, when we heard the hall-door open and someone enter.

"Hus.h.!.+" she said; "it is Gustave! Leave him to me and say little."

"Louise, ma cherie, ou etes vous?"

It was Gustave. He drew apart the silken curtains separating the hall from the dining-room. "Voila, je suis retourne. Mais ... mon Dieu!"

As the curtains were drawn Louise rose from the arm of the chair (I at once rose also), and in the sweetest tones, speaking in English, Louise said: "My dear Gustave. What a pleasant surprise. No? Oh, yes, for me! I thought you would not return till the day after to-morrow. So! No? Let me introduce to you my friend, an English officer. He has been so polite to me at our _fete_ to-night."

Gustave and I stood facing each other; we had no need for introductions.

Gustave was the bachelor brother of my prospective father-in-law. He happened also to be a particular friend of Louise's. I knew him and he knew me. We looked calmly at each other. He was twice my age; it was not for me to speak. The piece was set as if for a dramatic scene--Louise, in her charming deshabille; my humble self, silent but unabashed; Gustave, practically in possession of the situation. The moment was a critical one, but though Nemesis had arrived it was not the Nemesis with a flaming sword; it was the Nemesis with a somewhat more dangerous weapon, that of French politeness, which scorns to provoke personal quarrels in the presence of ladies but awaits to obtain reparation in good time in accordance with the code of honour.

Bowing low to Louise and looking at me straight in the face, Gustave politely remarked, "It happens that I am acquainted with monsieur the English lieutenant. I regret that I have intruded and disturbed your _tete-a-tete_ at such an hour of the morning. Pray forgive me, Louise. I have no doubt monsieur the lieutenant and I will meet by and by. N'est-ce pas, monsieur le lieutenant? Good night to you both." And, as Louise moved, Gustave added, "Please, oh, please, do not bother. I know my way out quite well. Au revoir." He drew the curtains aside and, turning towards us, made the politest of bows and was gone.

"Louise," I said, as I took her hands in mine, "it is all my fault. Can you forgive me?"

"Mon jeune ami," said Louise as she looked up at me. "First of all, give me one kiss. Yes, I like that; just one more. So! Ah! Good! Now you said, 'Forgive me.' For that I love you, because it is what a man always should say to a woman. I not only forgive you, but I think you are charmant. One more kiss--eh! ah! nice. I never allowed anyone, since I remember, even to suggest to me to ask forgiveness. Certainly not any man. Don't be concerned; don't be unhappy. Gustave will come by and by and will ask me to forgive him for his conduct to-night. He was rude; he was unpleasant in front of me. He suggested, by his words, things that had not happened.

That was more than impolite; it was ungentlemanly, and you will see he will be very sorry and come to me and ask me to forgive him. At this moment I know not that I will forgive him. One more kiss. He is a good friend, but by no means indispensable to me. I have all I wish of my own and can please myself as to whom I choose for my friends. So don't be concerned. Just one more kiss and I go to make ready for the ball. Ah!

the hall door bell! Your friend returns. I will be with you bien vite.

Silence, n'est-ce pas?" And she went to her room.

Next minute my friend was with me. He was so full of the charms of Estelle that I had not--even if I wished--an opportunity of saying anything. Another cigarette, a couple of gla.s.ses of champagne, the presence of Louise looking sweeter than ever, all in pink silks and satins, and we were off in the carriage to leave her at the private house where her friends, she said, would be wondering what had become of her.

We two returned home in the early hours of the morning and retired to bed. Bed was one thing. Sleep was another. The day and evening had been crowded with unexpected events, wonderful happenings and newly inspired emotions. First and foremost, one event was certain. My engagement was doomed. Why, in all creation, had I selected Louise from all those six hundred other women who had attended the ball at the Grand Hotel? Louise, who was Gustave's friend, and Gustave, my prospective uncle-in-law? There was only one answer--"Nemesis."

Then I remembered my cousin's warning at supper, "Cuidado!" Well, warnings are of no value if they are not heeded. One thing was clear. The engagement would be off. I must admit that the fault was all mine; I would not, nay, could not, offer any excuse. I had not played the game. I had failed to rise to the occasion and prove myself the correct youth that my sponsors had vouched for. So, no doubt the prospective father-in-law would soon call a family council and Gustave's relations would be discussed--and then, an end to the affair.

Curiously enough, this did not trouble me much. I felt that the worst harm I had done was to hurt the pride of my would-be benefactors. This might be pardonable, but, as regarded my _fiancee_, what should I do?

There seemed to me only one way to act that was honourable. I would ask that I might be given the privilege of seeing her for the last time and ask her forgiveness. If this was refused, then I would find my own way to see her. My thoughts ran on. All the pleasures of the evening recalled themselves. A new sensation coursed through my brain. Yes; it must be so.

I must be in love. Love at first sight--and in love with Louise. Was she to suffer--and I the cause of her sufferings? No. I would see her, tell her of my love for her, marry her. Louise, one more kiss--eh! Then I must have fallen asleep.

When I returned from the world of nod my valet had brought me my morning chocolate. My brain was anything but clear. That some happenings of a surely serious nature had taken place the night before was certain. What were they? Gradually my memory recalled them. And then I dressed. As I was just ready for _dejeuner_ my cousin sent me word that he would like to see me. I knew what it was about. Our interview was short. He was very kind. He laid all the blame on himself for expecting that the method of making marriages by arrangement would be a success where a youthful Britisher was concerned. He, however, wished I should tell him all that had happened since he had seen me at supper, and especially about my meeting with Gustave.

I just told him--as I have told you, pointing out that the affair had been quite harmless, though appearances were certainly against me. He left the house and returned later on. He had seen Gustave. The engagement, of course, was off. My escapade was looked upon as excusable.

I was young and inexperienced in the ways of the world, and permission was graciously given me to see my late _fiancee_. This I did, and, I am happy to say, she not only forgave me but we remained friends.

It suddenly dawned upon me that my leave was up and that I was due back to duty at home. Don Carlos, while somewhat resenting the unfortunate ending of his scheme, made allowances for me when the whole story was related to him. He smiled a kindly smile as I expressed to him all my regrets that I had failed to take advantage of his well-meaning efforts in my behalf.

But then, what about Louise? What about Gustave? What should I do? The solution came from Gustave himself. Next day I received an invitation from him to a supper party at the Cafe d'Helder. Naturally I accepted. We were to meet at a quarter to twelve, and my friend, Estelle's admirer, was also asked. It was a merry party; just ten of us. The hour to say "Good morning" arrived only too soon. For me it was not only "good morning" but also "good-bye." I had to leave Paris the evening of that day. My last but one good-bye was to Louise. I kissed the hands she gave me; then she said, looking towards Gustave with smiling eyes, "One last kiss for monsieur the lieutenant. N'est-ce pas, Gustave? Mais, oui. The final. Pourquoi non?" So Louise and I kissed.

Then Gustave shook hands with me, placed his hand on my shoulder, and we left the supper-room together. He came down to see me into my carriage, and as I was stepping into it he once more shook my hand and said, "You are very young. I am old enough to be your father. Always remember your English proverb: 'Look before you leap.' Good night. Bonne fortune toujours."

Thus ended my first romance and, with it, my most enjoyable visit to Paris.