Sophy of Kravonia: A Novel Page 7

  I

  PHAROS, MANTIS, AND CO.

  Lady Meg left London for Paris towards the end of 1865 or the beginningof 1866, but we hear nothing of her doings until the early summer of1868. The veil lifts then (so far as it ever lifts from before the faceof the Paris period), and shows us the establishment in the Rue deGrenelle. A queer picture it is in many ways; it gives reason to thinkthat the state of mind to which Lady Meg had now come is but mildlydescribed as eccentricity.

  The eminent Lord Dunstanbury, Lady Meg's father, had been one of thatset of English Whigs and Liberals who were much at home in Paris in thedays of the July Monarchy. Among his friends was a certain Marquis deSavres, the head of an old French family of Royalist principles. Thisgentleman had, however, accepted the throne of Louis Philippe and thepolitical principles and leadership of Guizot. Between him and LordDunstanbury there arose a close intimacy, and Lady Meg as a girl hadoften visited in the Rue de Grenelle. Changed as her views were, andseparated as she was from most of her father's coterie in Paris,friendship and intercourse between her and the Savres family had neverdropped. The present head of that family was Casimir de Savres, a youngman of twenty-eight, an officer of cavalry. Being a bachelor, hepreferred to dwell in a small apartment on the other side of the river,and the family house in the Rue de Grenelle stood empty. Under somearrangement (presumably a business one, for Marquis de Savres was by nomeans rich) Lady Meg occupied the first floor of the roomy old mansion.Here she is found established; with her, besides three French servantsand an English coachman (she has for the time apparently shaken off thespaniels), is Mademoiselle Sophie de Gruche, in whose favor Sophy Grouchhas effected an unobtrusive disappearance.

  This harmless, if somewhat absurd, transformation was carried out with afutile elaboration, smacking of Lady Meg's sardonic perversity ratherthan of Sophy's directer methods. Sophy would probably have claimed theright to call herself what she pleased, and left the world to accountfor her name in any way it pleased. Lady Meg must needs fit her up witha story. She was the daughter of a Creole gentleman married to anEnglish wife. Her mother being early left a widow, Sophy had beenbrought up entirely in England--hence her indifferent acquaintance withFrench. If this excuse served a purpose at first, at any rate it soonbecame unnecessary. Sophy's marked talent for languages (shesubsequently mastered Kravonian, a very difficult dialect, in the spaceof a few months) made French a second native tongue to her within ayear. But the story was kept up. Perhaps it imposed on nobody; butnobody was rude enough--or interested enough--to question it openly.Sophy herself never refers to it; but she used the name from this timeforward on all occasions except when writing to Julia Robins, when shecontinues to sign "Sophy" as before--a habit which lasts to the end,notwithstanding other changes in her public or official style.

  The times were stirring, a prelude to the great storm which was so soonto follow. Paris was full of men who in the next few years were to makeor lose fame, to rise with a bound or fall with a crash. Into suchsociety Lady Meg's name, rank, and parentage would have carried her, hadshe cared to go; she could have shown Sophy the Emperor of the French atclose quarters instead of contenting herself with a literal fulfilmentof her promise by pointing him out as he drove in the streets. But LadyMeg was rabid against the Empire; her "Lord help him!"--the habitualexpression of contempt on her lips--was never lacking for the Emperor.Her political associates were the ladies of the Faubourg St.-Germain,and there are vague indications that Lady Meg was very busy among themand conceived herself to be engaged in intrigues of vital importance.The cracks in the imposing Imperial structure were visible enough bynow, and every hostile party was on the lookout for its chance.

  As we all know, perhaps no chance, certainly no power to use a chance,was given to Lady Meg's friends; and we need not repine that ignorancespares us the trouble of dealing with their unfruitful hopes anddisappointed schemes. Still the intrigues, the gossip, and the Royalistatmosphere were to Sophy in some sort an introduction to politicalinterests, and no doubt had an influence on her mind. So far as she everacquired political principles--the existence of such in her mind is, itmust be confessed, doubtful--they were the tenets which reigned in theRue de Grenelle and in the houses of Lady Meg's Royalist allies.

  So on one side of Lady Meg are the nobles and their noble ladies sulkingand scheming, and on the other--a bizarre contrast--her witch and herwizard, Madame Mantis and Pharos. Where the carcass is, there will thevultures be; should the carcass get up and walk, presumably the vultureswould wing an expectant way after it. Madame Mantis--the woman of theprophecy about "something bright"--had followed Lady Meg to Paris,scenting fresh prey. But a more ingenious and powerful scoundrel came onthe scene; in association with Mantis--probably very close and notcreditable association--is Pharos, _alias_ Jean Coulin. In after-days,under the Republic, this personage got himself into trouble, and wastried at Lille for obtaining no less a sum than one hundred and fiftythousand francs from a rich old Royalist lady who lived in theneighborhood of the town. The rogue got his money under cover of avaticination that MacMahon would restore the monarchy--a nearer approachto the real than he reached in his dealings with Lady Meg, but not,probably, on that account any the more favorably viewed by his judges.

  The President's interrogation of the prisoner, ranging over his wholelife, tells us the bulk of what we know of him; but the earliest sketchcomes from Sophy herself, in one of the rare letters of this periodwhich have survived. "A dirty, scrubby fellow, with greasy hair and asquint in his eye," she tells Julia Robins. "He wears a black cloak downto his heels, and a gimcrack thing round his neck that he calls his'periapt'--charm, I suppose he means. Says he can work spells with it;and his precious partner Mantis _kisses it_ (Italics are Sophy's)whenever she meets him. Phew! I'd like to give them both a dusting! Whatdo you think? Pharos, as he calls himself, tells Lady Meg he can makethe dead speak to her; and she says that isn't it possible that, sincethey've died themselves and know all about it, they may be able to tellher how not to! Seeing how this suits his book, it isn't Pharos who'sgoing to say 'no,' though he tells her to make a will in case anythinghappens before he's ready to 'establish communication'--and perhaps theywon't tell, after all, but he thinks they will! Now I come into thegame! Me being very sympathetic, they're to talk _through me_ (Italicsagain are Sophy's). Did you ever hear of such nonsense? I told MasterPharos that I didn't know whether his ghosts would talk through me, butI didn't need any of their help to pretty well see through him! But LadyMeg's hot on it. I suppose it's what I'm here for, and I must let himtry--or pretend to. It's all one to me, and it pleases Lady Meg. Only heand I have nothing else to do with each other! I'll see to that. To tellyou the truth, I don't like the look in his eye sometimes--and I don'tthink Mrs. Mantis would either!"

  As a medium Sophy was a failure. She was antagonistic--purposelyantagonistic, said Jean Coulin, attempting to defend himself against thePresident's suggestion that he had received something like threethousand pounds from Lady Meg and given her not a jot of supernaturalinformation in return. This failure of Sophy's was the first riftbetween Lady Meg and her. Pharos could have used it against her, and hispower was great; but it was not at present his game to eject her fromthe household. He had other ends in view; and there was no question ofthe hundred-pound note yet.

  It is pleasant to turn to another figure--one which stands out in themeagre records of this time and bears its prominence well. CasimirMarquis de Savres is neither futile nor sordid, neither schemer norimpostor. He was a brave and simple soldier and gentleman, holding hisancestral principles in his heart, but content to serve his country inevil times until good should come. He was courteous and attentive toLady Meg, touching her follies with a light hand; and to Sophy he gavehis love with an honest and impetuous sincerity, which he masked by agay humor--lest his lady should be grieved at the havoc she herself hadmade. His feelings about Pharos, his partner, and his jugglings, need nodescription. "If you are neither restoring the King nor raising thedevil to-morr
ow, I should like to come to breakfast," he writes in oneof his early letters. "O Lady of the Red Star, if it were to restore youto your kingdom in the star whose sign you bear, I would raise the devilhimself, all laws of Church and State notwithstanding! I came on Tuesdayevening--you were surrounded by most unimpeachable dowagers. Excellentprinciples and irreproachable French! But, _mon Dieu_, for conversation!I came on Thursday afternoon. Pharos and Mantis held sway, and I darednot look round for fear of my ancestors being there to see me in theEmperor's uniform! Tell me when there will be no ancestors living ordead, nor dowagers nor devils, that I may come and see you. If dear LadyMeg (Laidee Maig!)[1] _should_ be pursuing one or the other in otherplaces, yet forbid me not to come. She has whims, we know, but not,thank Heaven, many principles; or, if she has our principles, at leastshe scorns our etiquette. Moreover, queens make etiquette, and are notruled by what they make. And Star-Queens are more free and moreabsolute still. What a long note--all to ask for a breakfast! No, it'sto ask for a sight of your eyes--and a volume would not be too long forme to write--though it would be a bad way to make friends with the eyesthat had to read it! I believe I go on writing because it seems in someway to keep you with me; and so, if I could write always of you, I wouldlay down my sword and take up the pen for life. Yet writing to you,though sweet as heaven, is as the lowest hell from which Pharos fetchesdevils as compared with seeing you. Be kind. Farewell.

  "CASIMIR."

  [Footnote 1: He is apparently mimicking Sophy's mimicking of hispronunciation.]

  To this he adds a postscript, referring apparently to some unrecordedincident: "Yes, the Emperor did ask who it was the other day. I was surehis eye _hit the mark_. I have the information direct."

  * * * * *

  It is very possible that this direct information pleased Sophy.

  Last among the prominent members of the group in which Sophy lived inParis is Madame Zerkovitch. Her husband was of Russian extraction, hisfather having settled in Kravonia and become naturalized there. The sonwas now in Paris as correspondent to one of the principal papers ofSlavna. Madame Zerkovitch was by birth a Pole; not a remarkable woman inherself, but important in this history as the effective link betweenthese days and Sophy's life in Kravonia. She was small and thin, withauburn hair and very bright, hazel eyes, with light-colored lashes. Anagreeable talker, an accomplished singer, and a kind-hearted woman, shewas an acquaintance to be welcomed. Whatever strange notions sheharbored about Sophy in after-days, she conceived from the beginning,and never lost, a strong affection for her, and their friendshipripened quickly from their first meeting at Lady Meg's, where MarieZerkovitch was a frequent visitor, and much interested in Pharos'shocus-pocus.

  The occasion was one of the seances where Sophy was to be medium. It wasa curious scene. Gaunt Lady Meg, with her eyes strained and eager,superintended the arrangements. "Lord help you!" was plentiful foreverybody, even for the prophet Pharos himself when his miracle wasbehind time. Mantis was there, subterraneously scornful of her unwillingrival; and the rogue Pharos himself, with his oily glibness, his cheapmystery, and his professional jargon. Two or three dowagers and Casimirde Savres--who had to unbuckle his sword and put it outside the door forreasons insufficiently explained--completed the party. In the middle satSophy, smiling patiently, but with her white brow wrinkled just a littlebeneath the arching masses of her dark hair. On her lips the smilepersisted all through; the mark was hardly visible. "No more than theslightest pinkness; I didn't notice it till I had looked at her for fullfive minutes," says Marie Zerkovitch. This was, no doubt, the normalexperience of those who met Sophy first in moments of repose or ofdepression.

  Sophy is to "go off." Pharos makes his passes and goes through the restof his performance.

  "I feel nothing at all--not even sleepy," said Sophy. "Only just tiredof staring at monsieur!"

  Casimir de Savres laughed; old Lady Meg looked furious; Mantis hid asickly smile. Down go the lights to a dull gloom--at the prophet'srequest. More gestures, more whisperings, and then sighs of exhaustionfrom the energetic wizard.

  "Get on, Lord help you!" came testily from Lady Meg. Had Pharos beenveritably her idol, she would have kicked him into granting her prayer.

  "She won't give me her will--she won't be passive," he protests, almosteliciting a perverse sympathy.

  He produced a glittering disk, half as large again as a five-francpiece; it gave forth infinite sparkles through the dark of the room."Look at that! Look hard--and think of nothing else!" he commanded.

  Silence fell on the room. Quick breaths came from eager Lady Meg;otherwise all was still.

  "It's working!" whispered the wizard. "The power is working."

  Silence again. Then a sudden, overpowering peal of laughter from themedium--hearty, rippling, irrepressible and irresistible.

  "Oh, Lady Meg, I feel such a fool--oh, such a fool!" she cried--and herlaughter mastered her again.

  Irresistible! Marie Zerkovitch joined in Casimir's hearty mirth,Mantis's shrill cackle and the sniggers of the dowagers swelled thechorus. Casimir sprang up and turned up the gas, laughing still. Thewizard stood scowling savagely; Lady Meg glared malignantly at herill-chosen medium and disappointing _protegee_.

  "What's the reason for it, Lord help you?" she snarled, with a verynasty look at Pharos.

  He saw the danger. His influence was threatened, his patroness's beliefin him shaken.

  "I don't know," he answered, in apparent humility. "I can't account forit. It happens, so far as I know, only in one case--and Heaven forbidthat I should suggest that of mademoiselle."

  "What is the case?" snapped Lady Meg, by no means pacified--in fact,still dangerously sceptical.

  Pharos made an answer, grave and serious in tone in purpose and effectmalignantly nonsensical: "When the person whom it is sought to subjectto this particular influence (he touched the pocket where his preciousdisk now lay) has the Evil Eye."

  An appeal to a superstition old as the hills and widespread as the humanrace--would it ever fail to hit some mark in a company of a dozen?Casimir laughed in hearty contempt, Sophy laughed in mischievousmockery. But two of the dowagers crossed themselves, Lady Meg startedand glowered--and little Madame Zerkovitch marked, recorded, andremembered. Her mind was apt soil for seed of that order.

  That, in five years' time, five years in jail awaited the ingeniousMonsieur Pharos occasions a consoling reflection.