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Marjorie Bowen
The Quest of Glory
Published by Good Press, 2021
EAN 4064066202033
Table of Contents
CHAPTER II THE CHAPEL OF ST. WENCESLAS
CHAPTER IV CARDINAL FLEURY’S BLUNDER
CHAPTER V THE RETREAT FROM PRAGUE
CHAPTER VIII CLÉMENCE DE SÉGUY
CHAPTER III A PAVILION AT VERSAILLES
CHAPTER V THE DEPARTURE FROM AIX
CHAPTER VII THE ROSES OF M. MARMONTEL
CHAPTER VIII THE END OF THE QUEST
CHAPTER I
PRAGUE, 1742
The Austrian guns had ceased with the early sunset, and the desolate city of Prague was silent, encompassed by the enemy and the hard, continuous cold of a Bohemian December: in the hall of Vladislav in the Hradcany, that ancient palace of ancient kings that rose above the town, several French officers wrapped in heavy cloaks were walking up and down, as they had done night after night since the dragging siege began. In the vast spaces of the huge pillarless hall with the high arched Gothic roof, bare walls and floor, imperfectly lit by a few low-placed lamps, their figures looked slight to insignificance, and the sound of their lowered voices was a mere murmur in the great frozen stillness. At one end of the hall rose a tall carved wooden throne and rows of benches divided from the main hall by a light railing; these, which had once been the seats of the King and nobility of Bohemia, were now decayed and broken, and behind the empty chair of state was thrust a Bourbon flag tied with the blue and white colours that the French carried in compliment to the Elector of Bavaria, whom they, for many intricate reasons,—some wise, and some foolish, and none just,—were seeking to place on the Austrian throne as Charles II.
These officers, who were the unquestioning instruments of this policy of France, ceased talking presently and gathered round the degraded throne before which burnt a handful of charcoal over an iron tripod. The only near light was a heavy lamp suspended before the window; a stench of rank oil and powder filled even the cold air, which rasped the throat and the nostrils and had no freshness in it but only a great lifeless chill.
There were four of these officers, and as they stood round the struggling flame that leapt and sank on the brazier, the cross lights of fire and lamp showed a great similarity in their persons. It was noticeable how totally different they were from their surroundings; no one ever would have thought that they were of the breed that had built this vast barbaric hall or carved the bold monsters on the rude throne: in every line they stood confessed foreign, alien to this crude grandeur and of another nation, another civilization, old and thrice refined.
They were all slight men, though two were tall; they all wore under their cloaks the uniforms of the famous régiment