The Countess De Bearn.
THE PRINCIPAL object of all the fury of the court, and their stumbling-block on this dreaded occasion — the Countess de Bearn — was, as Chon said, traveling rapidly to Paris. Her journey thither was the result of one of those bright ideas which sometimes came to Viscount Jean’s Assistance in his times of trouble.
Not being able to find among the ladies of the court one who would present the Countess Dubarry, and since she could not be presented without a lady to introduce her, he cast his eye on the provinces. He examined country-seats — searched carefully in the towns — and at last found what he wanted on the banks of the Meuse, in an old Gothic-looking country seat, but one kept in good order.
Now, what he wanted was an old lady fond of law, and having a lawsuit on hand. The old lady with the lawsuit was the Countess de Bearn.
The lawsuit was an affair on which all her fortune depended, and which was to be heard before Monsieur de Maupeou, who had lately taken up the cause of the Countess Dubarry, having discovered — what had remained hidden until then — that he was related to her, and now called her cousin. Looking forward to the appointment of Lord Chancellor through her interest, he showed the king’s favorite all the warmth of a friendship naturally arising from such a substantial basis. This friendship and this interest had procured for him from the king the office of vice-chancellor, and from the world in general the pithy denomination of the vice.
The Countess de Bearn was a thin, angular, agile little woman, always on the alert, always rolling her eyes like those of a frightened cat, from under her gray eyebrows. She still wore the dress which had been fashionable in her youth, and as the capricious goddess of fashion has sensible fits now and then, it so happened that the costume of the young girl of 1740 should be precisely that of the old woman of 1770.
Broad guipure, pointed mantelet, an enormous coif, an immense bag, and a neck-handkerchief of flowered silk — such was the costume in which Chon, the well-beloved sister and confidante of the Countess Dubarry, found the Countess de Bearn arrayed, when she presented herself before her as Mademoiselle Flageot, the daughter of the lawyer in Paris who had the management of her suit. The old countess wore the costume of her early days as much from taste as from economy. She was not one of those persons who blush for their poverty, because her poverty had not been caused by her own fault. She regretted, indeed, not being rich for her son’s sake, to whom she would have wished to leave a fortune worthy of his name. The young man was thoroughly country-bred, timid to a fault, caring much more for what belonged to the substantial things of life than to the honors of renown.
The countess’s sole consolation was in calling the lands which were contested with the Saluce family “my estate”; but as she was a woman of sense, she felt that if she wanted to borrow money on that estate, not a usurer in France — and there were some bold enough in running risks at that period — would lend it her; not an attorney — and there were some not very scrupulous then, as there have been at all times — would procure her the smallest sum on such a guarantee.
Forced, then, to live on the annual rents of those lands that were not disputed, the Countess de Bearn, having only one thousand crowns a year, kept very far from court; for there she must have spent nearly twelve livres a day in the hire of a carriage to take her to her lawyer’s and to the judge’s. She was still more determined in keeping aloof, since she had despaired of her cause being heard for four or five years at least. Lawsuits, even in the present day, are, in truth, tedious affairs; but still, without living to the age of the patriarchs, a person who commences one has some hope of seeing it to an end; but, formerly, a suit extended through two or three generations, and was like those fabulous plants of the Arabian tales, which blossomed only at the end of two or three centuries.
The Countess de Bearn, therefore, did not wish to lose the remains of her patrimony in recovering the ten-twelfths of it which were disputed. She was what is always called “a woman of the old school,” sagacious, prudent, firm, avaricious. She could certainly have managed her suit much better herself than any advocate, lawyer, or attorney; but she was called Bearn, and that name prevented her from doing many things which economy might have prompted. Like the divine Achilles in his tent, suffering a thousand deaths when he heard the trumpet, although feigning to be deaf to it, she, in her retirement, was devoured by regret and anguish. She passed her days in deciphering old parchments, her spectacles on her nose; and at night, on her pillow, she pleaded with such eloquence the cause of the estate claimed by the Saluces, that she was always successful — a termination of the affair which she could but wish her advocate to arrive at.
It may readily be imagined that in such a temper of mind, the arrival of Chon and the news she brought were very agreeable to Madame de Bearn.
The young count was with his regiment.
We always believe what we wish to believe; so Madame de Bearn was very easily caught by the young lady’s tale.
There was, however, a shadow of suspicion in the countess’s mind. She had known Master Flageot twenty years, and had visited him two hundred times in his narrow, dark street; but she had never seen a child playing on the square bit of carpet which looked so little on the floor of his large office, and had there been children there, they would surely have found their way into it to get a toy or a cake from the clients.
But what was the use of thinking about the lawyer and his office, and his carpet’; What was the use of trying to remember anything about it? Flageot’s daughter was Flageot’s daughter — and there she was! Moreover, she was married, and — what banished the last shadow of suspicion — she had not come on purpose to Verdun, she was going to join her husband at Strasbourg.
Perhaps the countess ought to have asked Mademoiselle Flageot for a letter from her father to assure herself of her identity; but if a father could not send his own child without a letter, to whom could he intrust a confidential mission ‘; Then why such fears? What could cause such suspicions? Why should any one travel sixty leagues to tell her a tale without any foundation on fact?
If she had been rich, a banker’s or a financier’s wife, taking with her carriages, plate and diamonds, she might have thought it was a plot got up by robbers. But she laughed to herself when she thought what a disappointment any robbers would experience who should be so ill-advised as to attack her.
So Chon having disappeared with her plain dark dress, and her shabby little one-horse chaise which she had taken at the last post, leaving her carriage behind her, the countess, convinced that the time was come for her to make a sacrifice, got into her old coach, and urged on the postilions so well, that she passed through Lachaussee an hour before the dauphiness, and reached the gate of Saint-Denis five or six hours after Chon herself.
As she had little luggage, and as the most important thing for her was to receive information from her lawyer, she ordered her coach to drive to the Rue du Petit-Lion, and stop before Master Flageot’s door. The vehicle, we may be assured, did not stop there without attracting a great number of curious spectators — and the Parisians are all curious — who stared at the venerable machine which seemed to have issued from the coachhouse of Henry IV. — so antique was it in its solidity, its monumental form, and its scalloped leather curtains, which ran with a disagreeable creaking on a copper rod, covered with verdigris.
The Rue du Petit-Lion was not wide, and the countess’s equipage filled it up very majestically. Having alighted and paid the postilions, she ordered them to take it to the inn where she usually stopped—”Le Coq Chantant,” in the Rue Saint-Germain-des-Pres.
She ascended Monsieur Flageot’s dark stairs, holding by the greasy cord which served instead of a hand-rail. The staircase was cool, and it refreshed the old lady, who was tired by her long and rapid journey. When Margaret, his servant, announced the Countess de Bearn, Master Flageot pulled up his stockings, which he had allowed to fall nearly to his ankles on account of the heat, with one hand, fixed on his wig with the other, then hastily threw on a dimity dressing-gown, and, so adorned, advanced smiling to the door. In this smile, however, there was such an expression of surprise that the countess could not help saying, “Well, well! my dear sir, it is I.”
“Yes, indeed,” replied he, “I see plainly enough, madame, that it is you!”
Then, modestly wrapping his dressing gown round him, he led the countess to a large leathern armchair, in the lightest corner of the apartment, carefully putting aside the papers which covered his desk, for he knew the old lady to be curious in the extreme.
“And now, madame,” said Master Flageot, gallantly, “permit me to express my pleasure at this agreeable surprise.”
The countess had leaned back in her chair, and raised her feet from the floor to allow Margaret to slip between it and her brocaded satin shoes a leather cushion; but at this phrase she started up hastily. “How?” exclaimed she, drawing her spectacles from their case, and putting them on, so that she might see his face the better—” surprise?”
“Most assuredly; I thought you at your estates, madame,” replied the lawyer, adroitly flattering the old lady by bestowing this title on the countess’s three acres of kitchen-garden.
“Well. I was there; but, on the first intimation from you, I left them.”
“Intimation from me?” said the astonished advocate.
“Yes, at your first word, or counsel, or advice, or whatever you please to call it.”
Flageot’s eyes looked as large as the countess’s glasses.
“I have been very expeditious,” continued she, “and I hope you are satisfied.”
“I am delighted to see you, madame, as I always am; but allow me to say, that I do not see how I have been the cause of your visit.”
“Not the cause? Most certainly you have been the entire cause of it!”
“I?”
“Yes, you, undoubtedly. Well, have you no news to tell me?”
“Oh, yes, madame; it is said the king is meditating some great stroke of policy with regard to the parliament. But may I offer you some refreshment?”
“But what does it matter to me about the king and his strokes of policy?”
“About what, then, did you inquire, madame?”
“About my suit, of course. Is there anything new about it?”
“Oh, as to that,” said Flageot, shaking his head sorrowfully, “nothing, absolutely nothing!”
“That is to say, nothing —
“No — nothing, madame.”
“You mean nothing since your daughter spoke to me about it; but as that was only the day before yesterday, I can readily understand that there may not be much new since then.”
“My daughter, madame?”
“Yes.”
“Did you say my daughter?”
“Yes, your daughter, whom you sent to me.”
“Pardon me, madame; but it is quite impossible that I could send my daughter to you.”
“Impossible?”
“Yes, for a very simple reason — I have no daughter.”
“Are you sure?” asked the countess.
“Madame,” replied Flageot. “I have the honor to be a bachelor!”
“Come, come!” said the countess, as if she supposed him jesting.
M. Flageot became uneasy; he called Margaret to bring in some refreshment, but, more particularly, that she might watch the countess. “Poor woman!” said he to himself, “her head is turned.”
“What,” said she, returning to the charge, “you have not a daughter?”
“No, madame.”
“Not one married at Strasbourg?”
“No, madame, by no means.”
“And you did not send that daughter,” pursued the countess, “on her way thither, to tell me that my suit was called in?”
“Nothing of the kind, madame.”
The countess started from her chair, and clasped her hands.
“Drink a little of something, madame; it will do you good,” said M. Flageot, and at the same time he made a sign to Margaret to bring a tray, on which were two glasses of beer. But the old lady was not thinking of her thirst, and she pushed away the tray so rudely that Dame Margaret, who appeared to be a privileged sort of person, was affronted,
“But let us understand each other,” said the countess, eying Master Flageot over her spectacles, “explain all this, if you please.”
“Certainly, madame. Margaret, you need not go; the countess will perhaps drink something presently. Let us explain.”
“Yes, let us explain; for, upon my honor, my dear sir, you are quite incomprehensible to-day. I begin to think the hot weather has turned your brain.”
“Do not be angry, dear madame,” said Flageot, maneuvering with the hindfeet of his chair, so that he got by degrees farther from the countess, “Do not get angry, and let us talk over the matter quietly.”
“Yes, yes, certainly. You say you have not a daughter?”
“No, madame, I have not one, and I regret it deeply, since it appears you would be pleased that I had, although —
“Although what?” repeated the countess.
“Although, for my own part, I should prefer a son. Boys succeed better in the world, or rather, don’t turn out so ill as girls in the present day.”
The countess looked more and more alarmed.
“What!” said she, “have you not sent for me to Paris by a sister, a niece, a cousin — by some person, in short?”
“I never thought of such a thing, madame, knowing how expensive it is staying in Paris.”
“But my suit?”
“I should always have taken care to let you know in time, before the pleading came on.”
“Before it came on?”
“Yes.”
“Has it not come on, then?”
“Not that I know of, madame.”
“It has not been called?”
“No.”
“And it is not likely to come on soon?”
“Oh, no, madame, certainly not.”
“Then,” cried the old lady, rising, “I have been tricked! — I have been most basely deceived!”
Flageot pushed back his wig, muttering. “I fear it, indeed, madame.”
“Master Flageot!” cried the countess.
The lawyer started on his seat, and made a sign to Margaret to keep near, in order to defend him.
“Master Flageot,” continued the countess, “I will not submit to such an indignity as this; I will address the minister of police, to discover the impudent creature who insulted me thus!”
“Oh.” said Flageot, “it is a very doubtful affair.”
“And when she is found,” continued the countess, almost speechless with anger, “I shall bring an action against her.”
“Another lawsuit!” said the lawyer, sorrowfully.
These words made the poor lady fall from the height of her passion, and a heavy fall it was.
“Alas,” said she, “I came here so happy!”
“But what did that woman say to you, madame?”
“First, that she was sent by you.”
“Shocking intriguer!”
“That you desired her to say that the trial was coming on — was very near — that I could scarcely be in time with all the speed I could make.”
“Alas! madame,” repeated Flageot, in his turn, “the trial is very far from coming on.”
“Yes, so far from it, I suppose, that it is quite forgotten.”
“Forgotten! — sunk, buried, madame; and unless a miracle were to happen — and you know miracles are very rare nowadays—”
“Oh, yes!” murmured the countess, with a sigh.
M. Flageot replied by another sigh, a faithful echo of the countess’s.
“Well, sir, one thing is certain,” she added.
“What is it, madame?”
“I shall not survive this.”
“Oh, don’t say so! you would be quite wrong.”
“Oh, heaven! — oh, heaven!” exclaimed the poor countess; “my strength is completely exhausted.”
“Courage, madame, courage!” said Flageot.
“But have you no advice to give me? — none?”
“Oh, yes! — my advice is to return to your estates, and after this never believe anybody who does not bring you a letter from me, in my own hand.”
“I must return, indeed.”
“It will be the wisest plan.”
“Well, sir,” said the countess, with a groan, “believe me, we shall never meet again — at least, not in this world.”
“What an infamous affair!”
“I must have some very cruel enemies.”
“It has been a trick of the opposite party, I would swear!”
“It is a very mean trick, I must say.”
“A mean, sorry trick, indeed!”
“Justice! — justice!” cried the countess, “my dear sir, she is the cave of Cacus!”
“And why is it?” he replied; “because justice is not what it was — because the parliament is opposed — because Monsieur de Maupeou must be chancellor, forsooth, instead of remaining what he ought to be, president.”
“M. Flageot, I think I could drink something now.”
“Margaret!” cried the lawyer — for Margaret had left the room, seeing the peaceable turn affairs were taking. She now entered with the tray and the two glasses which she; had carried away. The countess drank her glass of beer very slowly, after having touched the lawyer’s glass with hers, then she gained the anteroom, after a sad and solemn curtsey and a still more sorrowful leave-taking.
The lawyer followed her, his wig in his hand. She was in the lobby, and was reaching out her hand for the cord to aid her in her descent, when a hand was laid on hers, and a head gave her a thump on the chest. The head and the hand were those of a clerk, who was mounting the stairs four steps at a time.
The old lady, muttering and grumbling, arranged her petticoats and continued on her way, while the clerk, having reached the lobby, pushed open the lawyer’s door, and with the open and joyous voice for which the clerks of the parliament were noted, cried out, “Here, Master Flageot! — here! — it is about the Bearn business;” and he held out a paper.
To rush up the stairs at that name — push by the clerk — to throw herself on Flageot — to snatch the paper from him — to shut herself up with him in his office — all this was effected by the countess before the clerk had recovered from two boxes on the ear which Margaret bestowed, or seemed to bestow on him, in return for two kisses.
“Well!” cried the old lady, “what is it? Master Flageot — what is it?”
“Faith, I can’t tell, madame; but if you will give me back the paper, I shall let you know.”
“True, true, my good Muster Flageot! Read it — read it!”
He looked at the signature.
“It is from Guildon, our attorney,” said he.
“Good heavens!”
“He desires me,” continued Flageot, with surprise amounting almost to bewilderment—”he desires me to be ready to plead on Tuesday, for your affair is to come on!”
“To come on?” cried the countess; “take care, Master Flageot, take care! — no more tricks — I should never recover from another.”
“Madame,” replied Flageot, still bewildered at the intelligence, “if there be any trick, any jest in this, Guildon is the author of it; and it is certainly the first time in his life that he has jested.”
“But are you certain the letter is from him?”
“It is signed Guildon — see!”
“I see it is. To be called this morning and pleaded on Tuesday. Well, then, you see, my dear sir, the lady who came to me was not a cheat.”
“It appears not.”
“Then, since she was not sent by you — but are you sure she was not?”
“Pardieu! — am I sure of it?”
“By whom was she sent, then?”
“Yes, by whom?”
“For she must have been sent by some one.”
“It is a complete riddle to me.”
“And to me also. Let me read the paper again. Yes, my dear Master Flageot, the pleading is to come on — it is written so — and before the president, Maupeou.”
“The devil! — is that there?”
“Yes, certainly.”
“That is vexatious.”
“How so?”
“Because M. Maupeou is a great friend of your opponents.”
“You know that!
“He is always with them.”
“Ha! — I am truly unfortunate! Now we are more embarrassed than ever!”
“But, for all that,” said the lawyer, “you must wait on him.”
“He will receive me very badly!”
“That is probable.”
“Oh, Master Flageot, what do you tell me?”
“The truth, madame.”
“What! you not only lose courage yourself, but you try to deprive me of mine?”
“With the Chancellor Maupeou you must not hope for anything favorable.”
“You, so timid! — you, a Cicero!”
“Cicero would have lost the cause of Ligarius had he pleaded before Verres instead of Caesar,” replied Master Flageot, finding nothing more humble to say in return for the high compliment of his client.
“Then you advise me not to wait on him?”
“Heaven forbid, madame, I should advise anything so irregular; but I pity you sincerely for having to undergo such an interview.”
“You really speak like a soldier who meant to desert his post. One would think you feared to, undertake the business.”
“Madame.” replied the lawyer, “I have lost causes which seemed much more likely to be gained by me than this of yours does.”
The countess sighed, but summoning all her energy, she said, with a kind of dignity which made a complete contrast to all that had been comic in the scene. “I shall carry the matter through — it shall not be said that having right on my side I gave way before a cabal. I shall lose my cause, but I shall, at least, act as a woman of rank and character — such as there are few at court in the present day. You will accompany me, will you not. M. Flageot, in my visit to the vice-chancellor?”
“Madame.” replied the lawyer, also calling up all his dignity to his aid, “we opposition members of the parliament of Paris have sworn to have no intercourse beyond necessary audiences with those who betrayed the parliament in the affair of Monsieur d’Aiguillon. ‘Union is strength.’ and as the vice-chancellor tacked about perpetually in that business, we have determined to keep aloof until he shows his real colors.”
“My suit is doomed, I see,” sighed the countess; “the lawyers quarrel with the judges — the judges with the clients. No matter! I shall persevere to the end!”
“May Heaven assist you, madame!” said Flageot, flinging his dressing-gown over his left arm as a Roman senator might have done his toga.-
“This is but a poor sort of an advocate,” murmured she to herself. “I am afraid I shall have less chance with him before the parliament than I had at home on my pillow;” then aloud, with a smile, under which she strove to hide her uneasiness, “Adieu, M. Flageot, adieu — study the case thoroughly, I entreat you — we know not how things may turn out.”
“Oh, madame,” said Master Flageot, “do not fear as to the pleading — I shall do you justice — I shall make some terrible allusions.”
“Allusions to what, sir?”
“To the corruption of Jerusalem, madame, which I shall compare to the accursed cities on which the fire of Heaven descended. You understand — no one can mistake — by Jerusalem I mean Versailles.”
“M. Flageot,” exclaimed the old lady, “do not compromise yourself — or rather, do not compromise my cause.”
“Oh, madame, with Monsieur de Maupeou for judge, your cause is lost. But then, let the world hear of us; since we cannot obtain justice, let us at least strike terror to the wicked.”
“Sir, sir!—”
“Let us be philosophic — let us thunder—”
“Deuce take you, with your thunder!” muttered the countess; “fool of a lawyer — you are thinking only of making a figure with your fag-ends of philosophy. Come, I will go to the vice-chancellor — he at least is no philosopher. I may do better with him than with you, after all.”
And the countess left M. Flageot, having, poor old lady, in two days, mounted all the degrees of the scale of hope, and descended all those in that of disappointment.