King Louis the Fifteenth.
THE KING ENTERED with head erect, with a firm step, his eye full of life, and a smile on his lips. As the doors were opened, a double file of bowing heads was seen, belonging to the courtiers, who had been long waiting in the antechamber, and who were now more desirous of admittance than ever, since they could thus pay their court to two powers at once; but the doors closed on them, for the king made a sign that no one should follow him. He found himself alone, therefore, with the countess and the minister of police (for we need not reckon the waiting-maid or the little negro boy).
“Good-morning, countess!” said the king, kissing Madame Dubarry’s hand; “ha! fresh as any rose, I see! Good morning, Sartines! Is this your cabinet, where you write your dispatches? Heavens! what heaps of papers! Hide them, hide them! Ha! what a beautiful fountain, countess!”
And, with the versatile curiosity of one always in search of something to amuse him, he fixed his eyes on a large china ornament, which had been brought in since the evening before and placed in a corner of the countess’s bedroom.
“Sire,” replied the countess, “it is a Chinese fountain; by turning this cock, the water comes out and makes these birds sing and these fishes swim; then the doors of the pagoda open, and there comes out a procession of mandarins.”
“Very pretty — very pretty indeed!”
At this moment the little negro walked across the room, dressed in the fantastic fashion in which, at this period, they dressed their Osmans and Othellos; he wore a little turban, ornamented with a lofty plume of feathers, on one side of his head; a vest, embroidered with gold, which permitted his ebony arms to be seen; and slashed breeches of white brocaded satin; round his waist was a scarf of various bright colors, which connected the breeches with a richly-embroidered jacket; and a dagger, ornamented with precious stones, was stuck in the scarf bound around his waist.
“Peste!” cried the king, “how splendid Zamore is to-day!”
The negro stopped to admire himself before a mirror.
“Sire, he has a favor to ask of your majesty.”
“Madame,” replied the king, with a courtly smile, “I am afraid Zamore is very ambitious.”
“How so, sire?”
“Because he has already been granted the greatest favor he can desire.”
“What is that?”
“The same that has been granted me.”
“I do not understand you, sire.”
“You have made him your slave.”
“Oh, how charming, sire!” cried the countess.
The minister of police bowed in assent, and bit his lip to prevent himself from smiling.
“But,” asked the king, “what can Zamore desire?”
“The reward of his long and numerous services.”
“Yes; he is twelve years old.”
“His long and numerous future services.”
“Oh, very well!”
“Yes, indeed, sire. Past services have been rewarded long enough; it is now time to begin and reward future ones. There would not then be so much ingratitude.”
“Ha! not a bad idea,” said the king. “What do you think of it, Sartines?”
“That it would benefit all devoted servants of your majesty, sire; therefore I support it.”
“Well, countess, what does Zamore want?”
“Sire, you know my little country seat of Luciennes?”
“I have merely heard it spoken of.”
“It is your own fault; I have invited you to it a hundred times.”
“You know the etiquette, dear countess; unless on a journey, the king can only sleep in a royal chateau.”
“And for that very reason I wish you to make Luciennes a royal chateau, and Zamore its governor.”
“But, countess, that would be a burlesque.”
“I love burlesques, sire.”
“The governors of the other castles would all exclaim, and this time with reason.”
“Let them exclaim; they have often done so without reason. Kneel down, Zamore.” The little fellow knelt.
“For what is he kneeling?” asked the king.
“For the reward you are going to give him for bearing my train, and putting all the prudes of the court in a rage.”
“He is really a hideous creature,” said the king, bursting into a fit of laughter.
“Rise, Zamore,” said the countess; “you are appointed governor of Luciennes.”
“But indeed, madame—”
“I shall send Zamore all the writings necessary for his governorship. And now, sire, you may come to Luciennes; you have one more royal chateau from this day.”
“Is there any way of refusing her anything, Sartines?”
“There may be a way, sire,” replied Sartines, “but it has not yet been discovered.”
“And if it should be found out, sire, there is one thing certain — it is M, de Sartines who will be the discoverer.”
“How can you think so, madame,” asked Sartines, trembling.
“Sire, only imagine that I have requested a favor of M, de Sartines for three months past, and it is not yet granted.
“And what is it?” asked the king.
“Oh, he knows very well!”
“I! — I swear to you, madame —
“Does it fall under the duties of his office?”
“Yes; either in his or those of his successor.”
“Madame,” cried Sartines, “you really make me uneasy.”
“What is the request?” again inquired the king.
“To find me a sorcerer.”
Sartines breathed more freely.
“To burn him,” said the king. “It is rather too hot, countess; wait till the winter.”
“No, sire; I wish to present him with a golden wand.”
“Then the sorcerer foretold you some misfortune which has not befallen you.”
“On the contrary, sire, he predicted a piece of good fortune which has come to pass.”
“Let us hear it then, countess,” said (lie king, throwing himself back in an armchair, like one who was not quite sure whether the tale would tire him or amuse him, but who must run the chance.
“With all my heart; but if I tell the tale, you must contribute the half of the sorcerer’s reward.”
“The whole, if you like!”
“Royalty said — now listen.”
“I am all attention.”
“There was once —
“It begins like a fairy tale.”
“It is one, sire.”
“Delightful — I love enchanters!”
“There was once a poor young girl, who, at the time my story commences, had neither page, nor carriage, nor negro, nor parrot, nor monkey —
“Nor king,” added Louis.
“Oh, sire!”
“And what did the poor young girl do?”
“She trotted about through the streets of Paris like any other common mortal, only she always went very quick; for it is said she was very pretty, and she was afraid of meeting some rude man.”
“The young girl was a Lucretia — eh?”
“Oh, your majesty knows there have been no Lucretias since the year — I don’t know what — of the foundation of Rome.”
“Oh, heavens! countess, are you going to become learned?”
“No; if I were learned I should have given you a wrong date; now, I gave you none.”
“True,” said the king; “go on.”
“The young girl one day was trotting along, as usual, when all at once, while crossing the Tuileries, she discovered that a man was following her.”
“Oh, the deuce! Then she stopped, I presume.”
“Ah, sire, what a bad opinion you have of women! It is easily seen you have only associated with marchionesses and duch —
“And princesses! — eh?”
“I am too polite to contradict your majesty; but what frightened the young girl was, that a fog came on, which became every moment denser.”
“Sartines, do you know what causes fogs?” The minister, thus taken unawares, started.
“Ma foi, no, sire!”
“Nor I. Well, go on, dear countess.”
“She ran as fast as she could, passed through the gate, and found herself in the square which bears your majesty’s name, when she found the unknown, from whom she thought she had escaped, face to face with her. She uttered a cry—”
“Was he so very ugly, then?”
“No, sire, he was a handsome young man, of six or eight and twenty, of a dark complexion, with large speaking eyes, and a pleasing voice.”
“And the heroine was afraid! Peste! how easily she was frightened!”
“She was not quite so much so when she looked at him; still, it was not a pleasant situation in that dense fog. So, clasping her hands, she said; ‘I implore you, sir, not to do me any harm.’ The unknown shook his head, smiled, and replied, ‘Heaven is my witness. I have no evil intentions toward you.’ ‘What, then do you want?’ I asked. ‘To obtain a promise from you.’ ‘What can I promise you, sir?’ ‘Promise to grant me the first favor I shall ask when—’ ‘When?’ repeated the young girl likewise. ‘When you are queen.’”
“And what did the young girl do?” said the king.
“Sire, she thought it would be engaging herself to nothing, so she promised.”
“And what became of the sorcerer?”
“He disappeared.”
“And Sartines refuses to find him? he is wrong.”
“Sire, I do not refuse; but I cannot find him.”
“Oh, sir,” said the countess, “that word cannot should never be in the dictionary of the police.”
“Madame, we are on his track.”
“Yes; what you always say when you are baffled.”
“It is the truth; but consider what trivial directions you have given.”
“How! — trivial! — young, handsome, dark complexion, black hair, splendid eyes, a pleasing voice.”
“Oh, the devil I how you speak of him, countess! — Sartines, I forbid you to find that young man,” said the king.
“You are wrong, sire; for I only wish to ask one simple question.”
“Is it about yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Well, what is it? — his prediction is accomplished.”
“Do you think so?”
“Yes; yon are queen.”
“Very nearly.”
“What has the sorcerer, then, to tell you more?”
“He has to tell me when the queen will be presented.”
“That is no concern of his,” and the king made a grimace which showed that he thought they were getting on dangerous ground.
“And whose concern is it?”
“Your own.”
“Mine?”
“Yes; you must find a lady to present you.”
“Oh! very likely, among the prudes of the court! Your majesty knows they are all sold to Choiseul and Prasliu.”
“What! was there not an agreement made between us that the ministers should never be named here?”
“I did not promise, sire.”
“Well, I request you to leave them in their places, and keep your own place. Believe me, the best is yours.”
“Alas! then for foreign affairs and the navy!”
“Countess,” interrupted the king, “in Heaven’s name, no politics!”
At this moment Doree entered, and whispered a word or two in her mistress’s ear.
“Oh, certainly, certainly!” cried she.
“What is it?” asked the king.
“Chon, sire, who has just returned from a journey, and wishes to pay her respects to your majesty.”
“Let her come in! let her come in. Indeed, for some days past. I felt that I wanted something, without knowing exactly what it was.”
“Thanks, sire!” said Chon, as she entered — then, going up to her sister, she whispered; “It is all settled!”
The countess uttered an exclamation of joy.
“Well, what now!” asked the king.
“Nothing, sire. I am only glad to see her again.’
“I am glad, too. How do you do, little Chon?”
“May I say a word or two, sire, to my sister?”
“Yes, yes, child; and while you are talking together, I shall ask Sartines where you have been.”
“Sire,” said the minister, wishing to avoid being questioned on that point, “may I beg your majesty to allow me a few moments on business of the utmost importance?”
“Oh, I have very little time now. M, de Sartines.” said the king, beginning to yawn.
“Only two words, your majesty.”
“About what?”
“About those people with the second sight — these illuminati — these workers of miracles—”
“Pooh! jugglers! Give them permission to exercise their trade, and there will be nothing to fear from them.”
“The matter is more serious than your majesty supposes. Every day we have new masonic lodges formed — they are now a powerful sect, attracting to them all the enemies of monarchy — the philosophers, the encyclopedists. “Voltaire is to be received by them in great state.”
“He? he is dying.”
“He, sire! Oh! no, sire, he is not such a fool.”
“He has confessed.”
“Merely a trick.”
“In the habit of a Capuchin.”
“That was an impiety, sire. But, with regard to these freemasons, they are always active — they write, they talk, they form associations, correspond with foreign countries — they intrigue, they threaten — even now they are full of expectation of a great chief or head of the whole body, as I have learned from some words which escaped from one of their number.”
“Well. Sartines, when this chief comes, catch him and put him in the Bastille, and the whole affair is settled.”
“Sire, these persons have great resources.”
“Have they greater than you, sir, who have the whole police of a large kingdom?”
“Your majesty was induced to expel the Jesuits — it was the philosophers whom you should have expelled.”
“Come, come! — no more about those poor quill-drivers!
“Sire, those quills are dangerous which are cut by the pen-knife of Damiens.”
Louis XV turned pale.
“These philosophers, sire, whom you despise — —”
“Well, sir?”
“Will destroy the monarchy, sire.”
“How long will they take to do that?”
Sartines stared at this coolness.
“How can I tell, sire? Perhaps fifteen, twenty, or thirty years.”
“Well, my dear friend, in fifteen or twenty years I shall be no more; so talk of all these things to my successor.”
And the king turned to Madame Dubarry, who, seeming to have waited for this movement, said, with a heavy sigh, “Oh, heavens! what is it you tell me, Chon?”
“Yes, what is it?” asked the king, “for you both look very wretched.”
“Oh, sire, there is good cause for it!”
“Speak — let me hear what has happened.”
“My poor brother!”
“Poor Jean!”
“Do you think it must be cut off?”
“They hope not.”
“Cut off? — what?”“ asked the king.’
“His arm, sire!”
“Cut off the viscount’s arm! — why, pray?”
“Because he has been very seriously wounded.”
“Wounded in the arm.”
“Oh, yes, sire.”
“Ay, in some drunken squabble in a filthy tavern.”
“No, sire; on the highway.”
“But how did that happen?”
“It happened because an enemy wished to assassinate him, sire.”
“Ah, the poor viscount!” exclaimed the king, who had very little feeling for the sufferings of others, although he could look wonderfully compassionate. “But to assassinate him! This is a serious matter, is it not, Sartines?”
The minister looked much less moved than the king, but was, in realty, a great deal more uneasy on the subject. He drew near the sisters.
“Can it be possible,” asked he, anxiously, “that such a misfortune has occurred?”
“Oh, yes, sir, it is but too possible,” said Chon, very mournfully.
“Assassinated! — but how?”
“He was waylaid.”
“Waylaid? Ha! Sartines, this is an affair for you,” said the king.
“Relate all the circumstances, madame,” said the minister, “and do not, I entreat you, allow your just resentment to exaggerate them. We shall, by being strictly just, be most severe; and, where things are looked at closely and coolly, they are often not so very serious as we at first apprehended.”
“Oh,” cried Chon, “this is not an affair which has been related to me! I saw the whole!”
“Well, but what did you see, Chon?” inquired the king.
“I saw a man fall on my brother, and, having forced him to draw in self-defense, wound him shockingly.”
“Was the man alone?” asked Sartines.
“No, indeed he had six others with him.”
“The poor viscount!” said the king, looking at the countess, that he might know exactly what degree of grief to exhibit—”forced to fight! poor fellow I” But, seeing that she did not relish this pleasantry—”And he was wounded?” he added in a compassionate voice.
“But how did the quarrel come about?” asked the minister of police, trying if it were possible to betray her into telling the truth.
“Oh, in the most trifling way in the world! All about post-horses which I wanted in order to hasten back to my sister, as I had promised to be with her this morning.”
“Ha! Sartines, this merits punishment, does it not?” said the king.
“It does, sire, and I shall take all the necessary information on the subject. What was the name of the aggressor, madame, his condition — his rank?”
“His rank? — he is a military man — an officer in the bodyguard of the dauphin, I think. As to his name — he is called Baverney, Faverney, Taverney — yes, Taverney — that is it.”
“Madame, to-morrow he shall sleep in the Bastille.”
“Oh, no!” said the countess, who until now had very diplomatically kept silence; “Oh, no!”
“Why, oh no?” asked the king; “why should not the fellow be imprisoned? You know I detest the military.”
“And I repeat, sire,” said the countess, doggedly, “that I am quite sure nothing will be done to the man who assassinated the viscount,”
“Ha! countess, this is very curious — explain it, if you please.”
“That is easily done — he will be protected.”
“And who will protect him?”
“The person at whose instigation he acted.”
“And that person will protect him against us? Oh, that is rather too much, countess!”
“Madame—” stammered the Count de Sartines, for he felt that a blow was coming, and he was not prepared to ward it off.
“Yes!” exclaimed the countess, “he will be protected against you, and there will be nothing said. Do you suppose you are the master, sire?”
The king felt the blow which the minister had foreseen, and he determined to bear it.
“I see that you are going to plunge into politics,” said he, “and find out some reasons of state for a paltry duel!”
“There, now! you abandon me already; the assassination has become nothing but a duel, now that you suspect the quarter whence it comes!”
“So! I am in for it!” said the king, going to the great Chinese fountain, turning the cock, and making the birds sing, the fishes swim, and the mandarins come out.
“And you don’t know who aimed this blow?” asked the countess, pulling the ears of Zamore, who was lying at her feet.
“No, on my word!” said the king.
“Or suspect?”
“I swear I don’t. Do you, countess?”
“No. I don’t suspect, I know positively — I am going to tell you, and it will be no news to you, I am certain!”
“Countess, countess, do you know that in what you said you gave the lie to your king?” and Louis tried to look dignified.
“Sire, I know I am a little warm, but if you think I shall quietly allow my brother to be killed by the Duke de Choiseul —
“Yes — there it is — Choiseul again!” exclaimed the king in a loud voice, as if he had not expected this name, which for the last ten minutes he had been dreading.
“Well, it is because your majesty is determined not to see that he is my worst enemy; but I see it plainly, for he does not even take the trouble to hide his hatred from me.”
“He is far from hating any one to that degree that he would cause him to be assassinated.”
“There you see — when Choiseul is mentioned, you are on his side immediately.”
“Now, my dear countess, politics again!”
“Oh, Monsieur de Sartines!” cried she, “is it not dreadful to be treated thus?”
“No, no — if it be as you think —
“I know what I think,” she interrupted, passionately, “and what I am sure of — the affair will be given up!”
“Now, do not get angry, countess,” said the king, “it shall not be given up — you shall be defended, and so well—”
“So well what?”
“So well that he who attacked poor Jean shall pay dearly for it.”
“Yes, the instrument will be broken, but the hand that directed it will be taken and kindly pressed!”
“Well, but is it not right to punish this Monsieur Taverney, who actually committed the assault?”
“Oh, certainly, but it is not right, that what you do for me is no more than would be done to a soldier who should give a blow to a shopkeeper at the theater. I will not be treated like every common person. If you do not do more for those whom you love than for those who are indifferent to you, I had rather remain alone in obscurity like these latter — their relations, at least, are not assassinated!”
“Oh, countess!” said the king, imploringly, “I got up for once in such good spirits, disposed to be gay, happy, and pleased with every one, and now you are spoiling my morning completely.”
“Very fine, indeed! It is a delightful morning for me, of course, when my relations are being massacred!”
The king, in spite of his internal fears of the terrible storm that was gathering, could not help smiling at the word “massacred.” The countess started up in a towering passion.
“Ah! is that the way you pity me?” said she.
“Now, now — do not get angry.”
“Yes — I will get angry!”
“You are very wrong — you look lovely when you smile — but really ugly in a passion.”
“What matters it to me how I look, when my beauty does not prevent me from being sacrificed to state intrigues.”
“Now, my dear countess —
“No, no. Choose between me and Choiseul!”
“Dear creature, it is impossible to choose — you are both necessary to me.”
“Well, then, I shall retire and leave the field to my enemies; I shall die of grief, but the Duke de Choiseul will be satisfied, and that will console you.”
“I swear to you, countess, that he has not any dislike to you; on the contrary, he admires you. He is an excellent man, after all,” added the king, in a louder tone, that the minister of police might hear him.
“An excellent man! Sire, you wish to drive me to desperation. An excellent man who causes people to be assassinated?”
“Mere suspicion.” said the king.
“And, besides,” Sartines ventured to say, “a quarrel, a duel between military men is so common — so natural!”
“Ha! Monsieur le Sartines, and are you also against me?” cried the countess.
The minister of police understood this tu quoque, and retreated before her anger. There was a moment of deep and ominous silence.
“Ah, Chon!” said the king, in the midst of the general consternation, ““you see your handiwork!”
“Your majesty will pardon me,” said she, “if the grief of the sister has made me forget for a moment my duty as a subject.”
“Kind creature!” murmured the king. “Come, countess, forget and forgive!”
“Yes, sire, I shall forgive — only I shall set out for Luciennes, and thence for Boulogne.”
“Boulogne-sur-mer?” asked the king.
“Yes, sire; I shall quit a kingdom where the king is afraid of his minister.”
“Madame!” exclaimed Louis, with an offended air.
“Sire, that I may not any longer be wanting in respect to you, permit me to retire,” and the countess rose, observing with the corner of her eye what effect her movement had produced.
The king gave his usual heavy sigh of weariness, which said plainly, “I am getting rather tired of this.” Chon understood what the sigh meant, and saw that it would be dangerous to push matters to extremity. She caught her sister by the gown, and approaching the king:
“Sire,” said she, “my sister’s affection for the poor viscount has carried her too far. It is I who have committed the fault — it is I who must repair it. As the humblest of your majesty’s subjects, I beg from your majesty justice for my brother. I accuse nobody — your wisdom will discover the guilty.”
“Why, that is precisely what I wish myself,” said the king, “that justice should be done. If a man have not committed a certain crime, let him not be reproached with it; but if he have, let him be punished.” And Louis looked toward the countess as he spoke, with the hope of once more catching the hopes he had entertained of an amusing morning — a morning which seemed turning out so dismally. The good-natured countess could not help pitying the king, whose want of occupation and emptiness of mind made him feel tired and dispirited except when with her. She turned half round, for she had already made a step toward the door, and said, with the sweetest submission, “Do I wish for anything but justice? — only let not my well-grounded suspicions be cruelly repulsed.”
“Your suspicions are sacred to me, countess,” cried the king; “and if they be changed into certainty, you shall see. But now I think of it — how easy to know the truth! — let the Duke de Choiseul be sent for.”
“Oh, your majesty knows that he never comes into these apartments — he would scorn to do so. His sister, however, is not of his mind — she wishes for nothing better than to be here.”
The king laughed. The countess, encouraged by this, went on; “The Duke de Choiseul apes the dauphin — he will not compromise his dignity.”
“The dauphin is religious, countess.”
“And the duke a hypocrite, sire.”
“I promise you, — my dear countess, you shall see him here, for I shall summon him. He must come, as it is on state business, and we shall have all explained in Chon’s presence, who saw all — we shall confront them, as the lawyers say. Eh, Sartines? Let some one go for the Duke de Choiseul.”
“ And let some one bring me my monkey. Doree, my monkey!” cried the countess.
These words, which were addressed to the waiting-maid, who was arranging a dressing-box, could be heard in the anteroom when the door was opened to dispatch the usher for the prime minister, and they were responded to by a broken, lisping voice:
“The countess’s monkey! — that must be me — I hasten to present myself.”
And with these words entered a little hunchback, dressed with the utmost splendor.
“The Duke de Tresmes!” said the countess, annoyed by his appearance; “I did not summon you, duke.”
“You asked for your monkey, madame,” said the duke, bowing to the king, the countess, and the minister, “and seeing among the courtiers no ape half so ugly as myself, I hastened to obey your call,” and the duke laughed, showing his great teeth so oddly that the countess could not help laughing also.
“Shall I stay?” asked the duke, as if his whole life could not repay the favor.
“Ask his majesty, duke — he is master here.”
The duke turned to the king, with the air of a suppliant.
“Yes, stay, duke, stay!” said the king, glad to find any additional means of amusement. At this moment the usher threw open the doors.
“Oh!” said the king, with a slight expression of dissatisfaction on his face, “is it the Duke de Choiseul already!”
“No, sire,” replied the usher, “it is monseigneur the dauphin, who desires to speak to you.”
The countess almost started from her chair with joy, for she imagined the dauphin was going to become her friend; but Chon, who was more clear-sighted, frowned.
“Well, where is the dauphin?” asked the king, impatiently.
“In your majesty’s apartments — his royal highness awaits your return.”
“It is fated I shall never have a minute’s repose,” grumbled the king. Then, all at once remembering that the audience demanded by the dauphin might spare him the scene with M, de Choiseul, he thought better of it. “I am coming,” said he, “I am coming. Good-by, countess. See how I am dragged in all directions!”
“But will your majesty go just when the Duke de Choiseul is coming?”
“What can I do? — the first slave is the king. Oh, if those rogues of philosophers knew what it is to be a king! — but above all, a king of France.”
“But, sire, you can stay.”
“Oh, I must not keep the dauphin waiting. People say already that I have no affection except for my daughters.”
“But what shall I say to the duke?”
“Oh, tell him to come to my apartments, countess.”
And, to put an end to any farther remonstrance, he kissed her hand, and disappeared running, as was his habit whenever he feared to lose a victory gained by his temporizing police and his petty cunning. The countess trembled with passion, and clasping her hands she exclaimed, “So he has escaped once more!”
But the king did not hear those words; the door was already closed behind him, and he passed through the anterooms, saying to the courtiers, “Go in, gentlemen, go in, the countess will see you; but you will find her very dull, on account of the accident which has befallen poor Viscount Jean.”
The courtiers looked at one another in amazement, for they had not heard of the accident. Many hoped that the viscount was dead, but all put on countenances suitable to the occasion. Those who were best pleased looked the most sympathetic, and they entered.