The lively adventures of Gavin Hamilton

by Molly Elliot Seawell

“And she is worthy of it!” cried St. Arnaud, roused from his habitual calm, and speaking before Gavin had time to take breath after Kalenga’s recital. Madame Ziska supplemented her husband’s glowing words by many stories of the Empress Queen’s excellence as a wife and mother, and Gavin and St. Arnaud were eager listeners. Gavin was ready to believe anything of the courage and nobility of a woman defending her rights—he had seen an example of it in his own mother. St. Arnaud, familiar with a corrupt court, where evil and designing women held empire, was glad to know that a royal and imperial lady could make virtue fashionable and decorum popular.

“And now,” said Madame Ziska after a while, “let us go upstairs and see the apartment that I wish our landlord to let to you.”

Taking candles, she led them upstairs, where, above her, was a comfortable suite of rooms to be had. Gavin, in the impetuosity of his gratitude and affection for Madame Ziska, would have leased a dog-kennel recommended by her. St. Arnaud, cooler and more experienced, saw that the rooms were really desirable, and that Madame Ziska was a good counsellor in the every-day affairs of life. Gavin declared that he meant to stay that very night, as they had no other lodgings, and it was not likely the landlord would come and turn them out. St. Arnaud laughingly agreed; Madame Ziska abetted them by lending them sheets and pillows, and at midnight they tumbled into bed and slept the sleep of the just, untroubled by any qualms as trespassers.

Next morning, by ten o’clock, they had engaged the lodgings. But earlier even than that Gavin had gone after his commission, and had received with it a small sum of money, by way of pay, in advance. It was modest enough, but it was more money than Gavin had ever seen at any one time in his life. With it he could pay back his part of Madame Ziska’s loan and fit himself out with clothes and uniforms. St. Arnaud could draw, in Vienna, on his funds in Paris—so they could establish themselves in comfort in their new quarters, which they proceeded to do. The proudest moment of Gavin’s life was when he stood up to be measured for his uniform in the hussar regiment to which he had been assigned. It was approached, however, by the joy he felt in signing his name to a long letter to his mother—“Your affectionate son, Gavin Hamilton, sublieutenant in the Jascinsky Regiment of Hussars of her Imperial Majesty, the Empress Queen Maria Theresa.”

It is not often that any human being enjoys perfect happiness, even for a single day; but for a time it fell to Gavin Hamilton’s fortunate lot. It is true, he felt it necessary to his credit, as well as his happiness, that his mother should be redeemed from her life of toil, and he ardently longed to have her with him. This, however, he knew to be practicable, and with his sanguine temperament, he regarded it as already accomplished. And so it was a time of happiness that he entered upon at Vienna, the memory of which was a joy to him as long as he lived. Within the week he had completed the formalities necessary to receive his commission, and he was to attend the Empress Queen’s levee, to “kiss hands” upon entering the royal service. St. Arnaud was also to go, to pay his formal respects at court. The levee was held in the evening, and Madame Ziska, who danced at the opera that night, actually drove home, in the intervals of the performance, to see her two friends. St. Arnaud, who had recovered his good looks, along with regularity in having something to eat, and fresh air and exercise, was exquisitely handsome in his new and dazzling uniform. Gavin, who had no regular beauty, but a fine figure and a frank, speaking face, looked his best in his white hussar jacket and glittering accoutrements. No mother admiring her young daughters dressed for their first ball could have shown more pride and pleasure than Madame Ziska. The children, who were allowed to stay up as a special privilege, were in raptures of delight, while even Kalenga, who was always patient, but seldom gay, smiled in sympathy with the pleasure of those around him. At last St. Arnaud and Gavin set off in a hired coach.

A great crowd of notabilities filled the anterooms of the palace, but way was made everywhere for Gavin and St. Arnaud. Their story had been told broadcast in Vienna, and the proudest and most exclusive society in Europe was prepared to welcome them. St. Arnaud was already well known, and Gavin’s relationship to the haughty and unpopular Sir Gavin Hamilton was public property. St. Arnaud had remarked to Gavin, on entering the palace:

“Surely Sir Gavin Hamilton will absent himself from this levee. He will not wish to be brought face to face with you.”

“You little know my father,” replied Gavin. “It is not in him to avoid anybody or anything. This much I must say of him—he does not know how to skulk.”

True as Gavin had said. As they reached the door of the imperial apartments, Sir Gavin Hamilton, plainly but elegantly dressed, and wearing a diamond-hilted sword and a single splendid decoration on his breast, barred the way. He was conversing with the Chancellor, the celebrated Prince Kaunitz, known as “the coach driver of Europe,” from his superior management of affairs. Great as Kaunitz was, he had an obtrusive vanity, amazing in a man of so much power and ability. In contrast to Sir Gavin Hamilton’s studied simplicity of attire, Kaunitz was a mass of jewels and embroidery, while the entire breast of his blue velvet coat was covered with medals, orders, and decorations. Sir Gavin, a single eyeglass in his eye, surveyed the Chancellor with cool arrogance, and even the mighty Kaunitz was impressed by the calm assurance of the English baronet.

Sir Gavin directly blocked the doorway, and after waiting a few momenta, Gavin, exchanging glances with St. Arnaud, tapped Sir Gavin on the arm lightly, and said: