Book I Chapter 3 The Marquis of Carabas by Rafael Sabatini
THE BROTHERS
In the week that followed Mademoiselle de Chesnières was too often in Quentin's thoughts, and her cousins not at all. Yet it was these who were presently to force themselves upon his attention. They were brought to him on a Sunday, close upon noon, by the Baron de Fragelet, an habitué of the academy, a flippant, laughter-loving scatterbrain, youthful in all but years.
The day and the hour could not have been better chosen if it was desired to find Morlaix at leisure. Actually he had given some lessons, and still wearing the high-buttoned white plastron above his black satin smalls he was idling with O'Kelly, his chief assistant, in the bay of the window that overlooked his little garden, at the end of his main fencing-room.
In this bay which was abnormally wide and deep Quentin had fashioned a lounging-place, with deep chairs set about a round mahogany table, cushioned window-seats and an Eastern rug or two, all in sybaritic contrast to the bare austerity of the fencing-room itself.
His servant Barlow had announced the Baron, and the Baron announced and presented his companions.
"I bring you two compatriots who conceive themselves your kinsmen, my dear Morlaix, and who think, consequently, that you should become acquainted. For myself I do not perceive the consequence, kinsmen being the misfortunes with which we are supplied at birth. I always say that provided I may choose my friends for myself, the devil may have a kin for which I am not responsible."
Morlaix came forward, leaving O'Kelly in the embrasure.
"I have not your experience, Baron. Fate has been sparing to me in the matter of kinsfolk."
"Well, here's to supplement it." And he named them: "Monsieur Armand de Chesnières, Chevalier de St. Gilles, and his brother Constant."
They were as dissimilar as brothers could be. St. Gilles was moderately tall, well-knit and graceful, his face narrow and of an attractive regularity of feature something marred by an expression of disdain. His younger brother towered by a half-head above him and was of a heavy, powerful build. He was black-haired and very swarthy, and his wide, coarse mouth was almost as thick in the lips as an Ethiopian's. Both displayed an affluence in their dress, which reminded Quentin of Lionne's comment upon their resources; but whereas St. Gilles' neat figure was a mirror of elegance in a coat that was striped in two shades of blue, the modishness of Constant but stressed the clumsiness of his shape.
A harsh, domineering manner that went with the younger Chesnières' exterior was advertised as much by his readiness to answer for both as by his choice of terms.
"I'll not suppose the kinship, sir, more than that which is shared by all men of a common name, implying a common tribal origin. A good many Frenchmen bear the name of Morlaix. We, however, are Morlaix of Chesnières."
"Whilst I, of course, am Morlaix of nowhere. Still, as a Morlaix I bid you welcome; as a compatriot I am at your service."
He led them down the room to the embayed lounge, presented O'Kelly, proffered chairs, and dispatched Barlow for decanters.
The Chevalier de St. Gilles proved gracious. "You are in great repute, sir, as a fencing-master."
"You are very good."
"Under royal patronage, even."
"I have been fortunate."
"I cannot forgive myself that I should have been six months in London without making your acquaintance and availing myself of the opportunities your school affords. In a modest way I am, myself, something of a swordsman."
"Modesty, indeed," laughed Fragelet, and Constant laughed with him.
"My school is at your disposal. You will meet many émigrés here; some who come to fence, and more who come simply to meet one another. You will also meet many Englishmen of birth whose sympathies are warmly enlisted by our exiled fellow-countrymen."
"And others, I suppose," said Constant with his sneering air. "For there are plenty of the school of thought of Mr. Fox."
Quentin smiled tolerantly. "It is not for me to discriminate. Besides, I am of those who respect opinions even when they do not share them."
"A suspiciously Republican sentiment," said St. Gilles.
"Do not, I beg, account me a Republican merely because I seek to cultivate a sense of justice."
"Acquired, I presume," countered the younger Chesnières, his sneer now definite, "from some of the levellers and jacobins who are active here in England, and hope to set up the Tree of Liberty in Whitehall and the guillotine in Palace Yard."
"Why, no." Quentin remained unruffled. "I do not think that I have been to school to them. Nor do I think that we need take them seriously. The English are of a model calm. It is a virtue that I seek to emulate." He looked Constant between the eyes and pointed his remark by a little smile. "Besides, they already possess a constitution."
"A dishonour to the Crown," snapped Constant, and then Fragelet cut into the discussion.
"They also possess a Society of the Friends of Man, which is busy spreading here the gospel according to those dirty evangelists, Marat and Robespierre."
"Perhaps your British phlegm and sense of justice approve of that," Constant taunted Quentin.
St. Gilles intervened. "I am afraid, my dear Monsieur de Morlaix, that we are less than courteous. Forgive it on the score of our unhappy situation. We have unfortunately drifted to the fringe of a subject on which the feelings of all French émigrés are very tender; and where feelings are tender, restraint is difficult."
"Whilst I need take no credit for finding it easy, since I am without politics."
Barlow approached with the decanters, glasses and a salver of macaroons.
O'Kelly, who, perched on the arm of a chair, had listened in an astonishment faintly tinged with indignation, jumped up to do the honours for Quentin, glad of the diversion.
"A glass of wine, Chevalier. It settles all arguments, so it does."
But whilst he was filling the glasses, Constant came back to the subject. "Is it possible that there should be a man who is without thought for the events in such a time as this?"
"Ah, pardon. I did not refer to events, but to the theories behind them."
"Do you discriminate?"
"One must, I think. The theories were conceived by great minds, to right wrongs, to make a better world, to bring happiness to unfortunates who knew none. The execution of those theories has fallen into the hands of self-seeking rascals, who have perverted liberty into anarchy."
"That," said St. Gilles, "in the circumstances is the best that could have happened. I'll not dispute with you on the quality of the minds that conceived the theories responsible for our ills. What matters to us is that the political scoundrels who have made themselves masters of the State are busily exterminating one another, and by the ineptitude of their misgovernment are hastening the day of reckoning; that is to say, the day of our return."
"When it comes perhaps it will silence even Mr. Fox," the Baron hoped. "He's almost as mischievous here as was in France Mirabeau, whom in other ways he resembles. Mirabeau had the good taste to die before the harvest that he helped to sow. Mr. Fox would be better dead before he inspires any more Horne Tookes and Lord Edward Fitzgeralds."
"The Government will know when to call a halt to their activities."
"A wise Government," said the Chevalier, "resists beginnings. Our Revolution teaches that." He drained his glass, and rose. "But we chatter and chatter under the influence of your enchanting hospitality, and I neglect the purpose of this disturbance of you. I came to enrol myself in your academy."
"I am honoured." Quentin, too, had risen. The others continued seated. "We are a little crowded, although I have another fencing-floor, beyond the antechamber, and another assistant besides O'Kelly here. But we'll find an hour for you, never fear."
"That will be kind." The Chevalier's eyes strayed down the long panelled room, whose only furniture were the benches upholstered in red leather set against the walls, and the trophies of foils and masks, gauntlets and plastrons at intervals above them. "Shall we make essay now? The first lesson?"
"Now?"
"If not too inconvenient. A fencing-room affects me with longings."
"Why, to be sure. There's a dressing-room there. O'Kelly, be so good as to find the Chevalier what he needs."
When St. Gilles came back with mask and foil, his blue coat exchanged for a fencing-jacket that set-off the compact neatness of him, the assistant's services were again required.
"O'Kelly will give you a bout, Chevalier."
The Chevalier lost countenance. "Ah . . . But . . . It is with you that I would measure myself, cher maître. I am of some force."
Quentin laughed. "So is O'Kelly, I assure you. He would not be my assistant else. He will give you all the work you'll need."
The Irishman, who had already peeled off his coat, stood arrested. He was a spare, loose-limbed young man of thirty, red of hair and of a lean, pleasant freckled countenance. His alert eyes were watchful.
"No doubt, no doubt. But it is with the master that I would test myself." The Chevalier smiled ingratiatingly. "Will you not humour me, Monsieur?"
Quentin lounged forward, in scarcely dissembled reluctance.
"If you insist."
O'Kelly handed him gauntlet, mask and foil, and they took up their positions. The Baron retained his chair in the embrasure, but Constant de Chesnières came down to find a seat against the wall, whence he could observe the fencers.
In the first passes this man reputed the second blade in France certainly revealed himself for a swordsman of exceptional skill. As the bout proceeded Constant's thick lips began to curl in a faintly sneering smile.
Soon the Chevalier had scored a hit in tierce following upon a feinte in the low lines, whereupon that ugly mouth of Constant's was stretched in a grin, which drew an answering grin from O'Kelly who was observing him.
The fencers circled, and the Chevalier, pressing with speed and vigour, planted his button for the second time upon the master's breast, and in exactly the same manner.
"Touché!" he cried this time, and paused with a broad smile. "I am not so rusty, after all."
"Why, no," Morlaix agreed pleasantly. "That was very good. You do not overrate yourself."
"Shall we try again?"
"By all means. Guard yourself."
As the blades crossed, Morlaix disengaged and lunged vigorously under the Chevalier's guard. St. Gilles swept the blade clear and straightened his arm in perfectly timed riposte. Morlaix parried it, but a moment later he was hit yet again. They fell apart.
"What do you say to that?" the Chevalier asked, and to the alert O'Kelly there seemed to be a malicious satisfaction in his smile.
"Excellent," Morlaix commended him. "You are of considerable, indeed of quite exceptional, force, Chevalier. Your only real need is practice. There is little that I can teach you." St. Gilles' smile faded into blank astonishment at words which in the circumstances he accounted presumptuous. But it remained for the harsh contempt of his brother to express it.
"Is there anything you can teach him?"
O'Kelly permitted himself a laugh, that drew the haughty stare of the speaker. "What amuses you, sir?"
Morlaix answered for him. "The humour of the question. After all, to teach is my trade."
Constant got up. "And you flatter yourself that you could give lessons to my brother?"
"That is not to flatter myself. Monsieur de St. Gilles is of great force; yet there are faults I should be happy to correct."
"In a swordsman who has shown you that he can hit as he pleases?" Constant's tone could scarcely have been more offensive. But Morlaix's cool urbanity was not touched.
"Oh, no. Not as he pleases. As I please."
"As you please! Really! Did it please you to be hit thrice without being able to hit him once?"
O'Kelly laughed again. "Faith, it might be dangerous to take the ability for granted."
St. Gilles spoke at last for himself. "It seems idle to dispute. You spoke of faults in my fencing, sir. Would you point them out?"
"That is what I am for. I will demonstrate them. On guard! So. Now attack me as before."
The Chevalier complied. He launched the botte with which he had twice got home. This time, however, the stroke was not only parried, but with a swift counter Morlaix hit the Chevalier vigorously over the heart.
He lowered his blade. "That should not have happened," was his quiet comment, to be hotly answered: "It shall not happen again. On guard!"
The attack was repeated, with an increase of both vigour and speed. Yet once again it was met and answered by that hit in quarte.
The Chevalier fell back and spoke sharply in a manifest annoyance that was shared by his scowling, startled brother. "But what is this, then? Were you trifling with me before?"
Morlaix was of a perfect amiability. "You confuse a master-at-arms with an ordinary opponent, Chevalier. That is an effective botte of yours, to which I must suppose that you have given much practice. The fault in its execution lies in that you offer too much body. Keep yourself narrower. Then if you are hit it will be less fatally. On guard again. So. That is better, but not yet good enough. Swing your left shoulder farther back, more in line with your right. Now hold yourself so, whilst making your attack. Allongez! Excellent. For whilst I counter-parry it thus, and make my riposte on the binding of the blade, I can touch you only in quinte. Thus."
The blades were lowered again and Morlaix expounded to the discomfited swordsman. "That correction of your position to an unaccustomed one will have cramped you a little, so that you lost pace and force, and left it easier for the counter to get home. With practice, however, that will be overcome. When it is corrected, we will come to your other faults," he promised, and added the cruellest cut of all: "You display so much aptitude that it should be easy to render you really formidable."
The Chevalier plucked the mask from his head, and displayed a face dark with chagrin. Formidable he had long been accounted and had accounted himself. It was difficult to preserve his urbanity whilst feeling himself birched like a schoolboy. He contrived to force a laugh.
"You teach me that mastery, after all, is for masters." He turned, still laughing to his scowling brother. "For a moment I think we were in danger of forgetting it."
"That," said Constant, without mercy, "is because you've deceived the world with the pretence that you are a swordsman."
They conceived themselves invited to laugh, and did so, whilst Morlaix defended the Chevalier. "It is no pretence. I have some swordsmen in my academy, but not one against whom I should hesitate to match your brother."
"What good is that?" was the ill-humoured grumble.
"Good? It is very good. Place yourself in my care, Chevalier; and if in a month I do not make a master of you I'll shut my academy."
When with many compliments they had taken their departure, "You'ld be a fool to do that," said O'Kelly.
"Why so?"
"Sure, now you'ld be teaching him to cut your own throat. What's their quarrel with you, Quentin?"
"Quarrel. I've never seen them till this day."
"D'ye tell me that? Well, well." O'Kelly laughed. "Faith, ye've cut a comb very prettily this morning. It was amusing to see his lordship's arrogance diminished. They're all alike, these French fops in their vanity. It helps one to understand how necessary they made their Revolution. But--devil take me!--they learn nothing from it, least of all their own empty worthlessness. Anyhow," he ended, "I'ld like to know what Messieurs de Chesnières can have against you."
"What maggot's astir under your red thatch, Ned?"
"A suspicion of what brought them here this morning. Whilst you were busy with the Chevalier, I was watching his black-visaged brother. His satisfaction at supposing the Chevalier your master was as ferocious as his rage when you demonstrated that he wasn't."
"That's natural in ruffled vanity."
"It's natural in disappointment, too. I'm a fool if they didn't come here to take your measure."
"But to what end?"
"Do I know that now? But I'll be sworn 'twas to no good end."
Morlaix stared with incredulity into the pleasant freckled face of his assistant, and loosed a laugh.
"Ye can be as merry as ye please, Quentin. But it wasn't a fencing-lesson they came for. I know hate when I see it, and I never saw it plainer than in the eyes of Monsieur Constant. Oh, ye may laugh now. But here's a prophecy for you: You'll not be seeing either of those gentlemen in your school again. It's not lessons they want from you."