Richelieu Is Disabused.
FURIOUS AT this extremely provoking exit, Jean made two steps after the baron; then, returning to the marshal, he said, shrugging his shoulders:
“You receive such people here?”
“Oh! my dear sir, you mistake; on the contrary, I send such people away.”
“Do you know who this gentleman is?”
“Alas! Yes.”
“No, but do you know really?”
“He is a Taverney.”
“He is a man who wishes to make his daughter the king’s favorite —
“Oh, come!”
“A man who wishes to supplant us, and who takes all possible means to do so. But Jean is there, and Jean has his eyes about him.”
“You think he wishes—”
“It is a very difficult matter to see what he wishes, is it not? One of the dauphin’s party, my dear sir; — and they have their little stabber too.”
“Bah!”
“A young man, who looks quite ready to fly at people’s throats — a bully, who pinks Jean’s shoulder — poor Jean!”
“Yours? Is it a personal enemy of yours, my dear count?” asked Richelieu, feigning surprise.
“Yes; he was my adversary in that affair of the relay, you know.”
“Indeed! What a strange sympathy. I did not know that, and yet I refused all his demands; only, if I had known, I should not only have refused him but kicked him out. But do not be uneasy, count, I have now this worthy bully under my thumb, and he shall find it out to his cost.”
“Yes, you can cure him of his taste for attacking people on the highway. For in fact — hah! by-the-by, I have not yet congratulated you.”
“Why, yes, count; it seems the affair is definitely settled.”
“Oh! it is all completed. Will you permit me to embrace you?”
“With all my heart.”
“Faith, there was some trouble; but the trouble is nothing when you succeed. You are satisfied, are you not?”
“Shall I speak frankly? Yes; for I think I can be useful.”
“No doubt of that. But it is a bold stroke; there will be some growling.”
“Am I not liked by the public?”
“You? Why, there is no question of you, either one way or other; it is he who is execrated.”
“He?” said Richelieu, with surprise; “who? he?”
“Of course,” interrupted Jean. “Oh! the parliament will revolt, it will be a second edition of the flagellation of Louis XIV. They are whipped, duke, they are whipped.”
“Explain.”
“Why, it explains itself. The parliament of course hate the author of their persecutions.”
“Ah! you think that?”
“I am certain of it, as all France is. No matter, duke, it was a capital stroke of you to send for him that way, just at the very heat of the affair.”
“Whom? Whom, duke? I am on thorns — I do not understand one word of what you say.”
“Why, I speak of M. d’Aiguillon, your nephew.”
“Well! what then?”
“Well, I say it was well-advised of you to send for him.”
“Ah! very good, very good. You mean to say he will assist me?”
“He will assist us all. Do you know he is on the best terms with little Jeanne?”
“Oh! indeed?”
“On the best terms. They have already had a chat together, and understand each other perfectly, as it seems to me.”—”You know that?”
“Why, I saw D’Aiguillon’s carriage leave Luciennes late yesterday evening, and as he only arrived yesterday morning in Paris, it seems to me that he must be a great favorite with Jeanne to obtain an audience so early.”
“Yes, yes,” said Richelieu, rubbing his hands; “he must have supped there. Bravo, d’Aiguillon!”
“And so there you are all three, like Orestes and Pylades, with the addition of another Pylades.”
At this moment, and as the marshal was rubbing his hands with great glee, d’Aiguillon entered the salon.
The nephew saluted his uncle with an air of condolence which was sufficient to enable Richelieu, without understanding the whole truth, at least to guess the greatest part of it.
He turned pale, as though he had received a mortal wound. It flashed across his mind that at court there exist neither friends nor relatives, and that every one seeks only their own aggrandizement.
“I was a great fool!” thought he. “Well, d’Aiguillon?” continued he aloud, repressing a deep sigh.
“Well, marshal?”
“It is a heavy blow to the parliament,” said Richelieu, repeating Jean’s words.
d’Aiguillon blushed.
“You know it?” said he.
“The count has told me all,” replied Richelieu; “even your late stay at Luciennes last night. Your appointment is a triumph for my family.”
“Be assured, marshal, of my extreme regret.”
“What the devil does he mean by that?” said Jean, folding his arms.
“Oh, we understand each other.” interrupted Richelieu; “we understand each other.”
“That is a different affair; but for my part, I do not understand you. Regret! Ah! yes, because he will not be recognized as minister immediately — yes, yes, I see.”
“Oh! there will be an interim!” said the marshal, feeling a ray of hope — that constant guest in the heart of the ambitious man and the lover — once more dawn in his breast.
“Yes, marshal, an interim.”
“But, in the meantime,” cried Jean, “he is tolerably well paid; the finest command in Versailles.”
“Ah! a command?” said Richelieu, pierced by a new wound.
“M. Dubarry perhaps exaggerates a little,” said the Duke d’Aiguillon.
“But, in one word, what is this command?”
“The king’s light horse.”
Richelieu again felt his furrowed cheeks grow pale.
“Oh! yes,” said he, with a smile which it would be impossible to describe; “yes, it is indeed a trifling appointment for such a charming man. But what can you expect, duke — the loveliest woman in the world, were she even the king’s favorite, can only give what she has.”
It was now d’Aiguillon’s turn to grow pale.
Jean was scrutinizing the beautiful Murillus which adorned Richelieu’s walls.
Richelieu slapped his nephew on the shoulder.
“Luckily,” said he, “you have the promise of approaching advancement. Accept my congratulations, duke — my sincere compliments. Your address, your cleverness in negotiations, is only equaled by your good fortune. Adieu, I have some business to transact. Do not forget me in the distribution of your favors, my dear minister.”
d’Aiguillon only replied:
“Your interests and mine, my lord marshal, are henceforth one and the same.”
And, saluting his uncle, he left the room with the dignity which was natural to him; thus escaping from one of the most embarrassing positions he had ever experienced in a life strewn with so many difficulties.
“An admirable trait in d’Aiguillon’s character,” said Richelieu, the moment the former had disappeared, to Jean, who was rather at a loss to know what to think of this exchange of politeness between the nephew and uncle, “and one that I admire particularly, is his artlessness. He is at once frank and high-spirited; he knows the court, and is withal as simpleminded as a girl.”
“And then he loves you so well!” said Jean.—” Like a lamb.”
“Oh.” said Jean, “he is more like your son than M. de Fronsac.”
“By my faith, yes, count — by my faith, yes.”
While replying thus, Richelieu kept walking round his chair in great agitation; he sought but could not find.
“Ah, countess,” he muttered, “you shall pay me for this!”
“Marshal,” said Jean, with a cunning look, “we four will realize that famous fagot of antiquity; you know, the one that could not be broken.”
“We four, my dear M. Jean! how do you understand that?”
“My sister as power. d’Aiguillon as authority, you as advice, and I as vigilance.”
“Very good! very good!
“And now let them attack my sister; I defy them all.”
“Pardieu!” said Richelieu, whose brain was boiling.
“Let them set up rivals now!” exclaimed Jean, in ecstasies with his plans and his visions of triumph.
“Oh!” said Richelieu, striking his forehead.
“Well, my dear marshal, what is the matter?”
“Nothing! I think your idea of a league admirable.”
“Is it not?”
“And I enter body and soul into your plans.”
“Bravo!”
“Does Taverney live at Trianon with his daughter?”
“No; he lives in Paris.”
“The girl is very handsome, my dear count.”
“If she were as beautiful as Cleopatra or — my sister, I do not fear her, now that we are leagued together.”
“You said Taverney lives in Paris, in the Rue St. Honore. I think?”
“I did not say Rue St. Honore; it is the Rue Coq-Heron in which he lives. Have you any plan of chastising these Taverneys, that you ask?”
“Yes, count, I think I have found a capital plan.”
“You are an incomparable man, but I must leave you now; I will to see what they say in town.”
“Adieu, then, count. Apropos, you have not told me who the new ministers are.”
“Oh, mere birds of passage; Terray, Berlin, and I know not who else. Mere counters in the hands of d’Aiguillon — the real minister, though his appointment is deferred for a short time.”
“And perhaps indefinitely adjourned,” thought the marshal, directing his most gracious smile to Jean as an affectionate adieu.
Jean retired, Rafte entered. He had heard all, and knew how to conduct himself; all his suspicions were now realized. He did not utter a word to his master, he knew him too well. He did not even call the valet-de-chambre; he assisted him with his own hands to undress, and conducted him to his bed, in which the old marshal, shivering with fever, immediately buried himself, after taking a pill which his secretary made him swallow.
Rafte drew the curtains and retired. The antechamber was thronged with eager listening valets. Rafte took the head valet aside.
“Attend to the marshal carefully,” said he, “he is ill. He has had a serious vexation this morning; he was obliged to disobey the king.”
“Disobey the king!” exclaimed the alarmed valet.
“Yes, his majesty sent a portfolio to my lord, but as he was aware that he owed it to the solicitations of the Dubarry, he refused. Oh! it was a noble resolve, and the Parisians ought to build him a triumphal arch; but the shock was great, and our master is ill. Look to him carefully!”
After these words, whose circulating power he knew beforehand, Rafte returned to his closet.
A quarter of an hour afterward all Versailles was informed of the noble conduct and lofty patriotism of the marshal, who in the meantime slept soundly upon the popularity his secretary had gained for him.