The Philter.
AS LORENZA had foretold, it was Madame Dubarry who had just knocked at the gate.
The beautiful countess had been ushered into the salon. While awaiting Balsamo’s arrival, she was looking over that curious Book of Death engraved at Mayence, the plates of which, designed with marvelous skill, show death presiding; over all the acts of man’s life, waiting for him at the door of the ballroom after he has pressed the hand of the woman he loves, dragging him to the bottom of the water in which he is bathing, or hiding in the barrel of the gun he carries to the chase. Madame Dubarry was at the plate which represents a beautiful woman daubing her face with rouge and looking at herself in the glass, when Balsamo opened the door and bowed to her, with the smile of happiness still beaming upon his face.
“ Excuse me, madame, for having made you wait; but I had not well calculated the distance, or was ignorant of the speed of your horses. I thought you still at the Place Louis XV.”
“What do you mean?” asked the countess. “You knew I was coming, then?”
“Yes, madame; it is about two hours ago since I saw you in your boudoir lined with blue satin, giving orders for your horses to be put to the carriage.”
“And you say I was in my blue satin boudoir?”
“Embroidered with flowers colored after nature. Yes, countess, you were reclining upon a sofa; a pleasing thought passed through your mind; you said to yourself, ‘I will go and visit the Count de Fenix,’ then you rang the bell.”
“And who entered?”
“Your sister, countess — am I right? You requested her to transmit your orders, which were instantly executed.”
“Truly, count, you are a sorcerer. You really alarm me.”
“Oh! have no fear, countess; my sorcery is very harmless,”
“And you saw that I was thinking of you?”
“Yes; and even that you thought of me with benevolent intentions.”
“Ah! you are right, my dear count; I have the best possible intentions toward you, but confess that you deserve more than intentions — you, who are so kind and so useful, and who seem destined to play in my life the part of tutor, which is the most difficult part I know.”
“In truth, madame, you make me very happy. Then I have been of use to you?”
“What! you are a sorcerer, and cannot guess?”
“Allow me, at least, the merit of being modest.”
“As you please, my dear count; then I will first speak of what I have done for you.”
“I cannot permit it, madame; on the contrary, speak of yourself, I beseech you.”
“Well, my dear count, in the first place, give me that talisman which renders one invisible; for on my journey here, rapid as it was, I fancied I recognized one of M. de Richelieu’s grays.”
“And this gray?”
“Followed my carriage, carrying on his back a courier.”
“What do you think of this circumstance, and for what purpose could the duke have caused you to be followed?”
“With the intention of playing me some scurvy trick. Modest as you are, my dear Count de Fenix, you must be aware that Nature has gifted you with personal advantages enough to make a king jealous of my visits to you, or of yours to me.”
“M. de Richelieu cannot be dangerous to you in any way, madame,” replied Balsamo.
“But he was so, my dear count; he was dangerous before this last event.”
Balsamo comprehended that there was a secret concealed beneath these words which Lorenza had not yet revealed to him. He did not therefore venture on the unknown ground, and replied merely by a smile.
“He was indeed,” repeated the countess; “and I was nearly falling a victim to a most skillfully constructed plot — a plot in which you also had some share, count.”
“I! engaged in a plot against you? Never, madame!”
“Was it not you who gave the Duke de Richelieu the philter?”
“What philter?”
“A draught which causes the most ardent love.”
“No, madame; M. de Richelieu composes those draughts himself, for he has long known the receipt; I merely gave him a simple narcotic.”
“Ah! indeed?”
“Upon my honor!”
“And on what day did M. de Richelieu ask for this narcotic? Remember the date, count; it is of importance.”
“Madame, it was last Saturday — the day previous to that on which I had the honor of sending you through Fritz, the note requesting you to meet me at M. de Sartines’.”
“The eve of that day!” exclaimed the countess. “The eve of the day on which the king was seen going to the Little Trianon! Oh! now everything is explained.”
“Then, if all is explained, you see I only gave the narcotic.”
“Yes, the narcotic saved us all.”
This time Balsamo waited; he was profoundly ignorant of the subject.
“I am delighted, madame,” replied he, “to have been useful to you, even unintentionally.”
“Oh! you are always kindness itself. But you can do more for me than you have ever yet done. Oh, doctor! I have been very ill, practically speaking, and even now I can yet scarcely believe in my recovery.”
“Madame,” said Balsamo, “the doctor, since there is a doctor in the case, always requires the details of the illness he is to cure. Will you give me the exact particulars of what you have experienced? — and if possible, do not forget a single symptom.”
“Nothing can be more simple, my dear doctor’, or dear sorcerer — whichever you prefer. The eve of the day on which this narcotic was used, his majesty refused to accompany me to Luciennes. He remained, like a deceiver as he is, at Trianon, pretending fatigue, and yet, as I have since learned, he supped at Trianon with the Duke de Richelieu and the Baron de Taverney.”
“Ha!”
“Now you understand. At supper the love-draught was given to the king.”
“Well, what happened?”
“Oh! that is difficult to discover. The king was seen going in the direction of the offices of Trianon; and all I can tell you is, that his majesty returned to Trianon through a fearful storm, pale, trembling, and feverish — almost on the verge of delirium.”
“And you think,” said Balsamo, smiling, “that it was not the storm alone which alarmed his majesty?”
“No, for the valet heard him cry several times, ‘Dead, dead, dead!’”
“Oh!” said Balsamo.
“It was the narcotic,” continued Madame Dubarry. “Nothing alarms the king so much as death, and next to death its semblance. He had found Mademoiselle de Taverney sleeping a strange sleep, and must have thought her dead.”
“Yes, yes; dead indeed,” said Balsamo, who remembered having fled without awakening Andree; “dead, or at least presenting all the appearance of death. Yes, yes — it must be so. Well, madame, and what then?”
“No one knows what happened during the night. The king, on his return, was attacked by a violent fever and a nervous trembling, which did not leave him until the morning, when it occurred to the dauphiness to open the shutters and show his majesty a lovely morning, with the sun shining upon merry faces. Then all these unknown visions disappeared with the night which had produced them. At noon the king was better, took some broth, and ate a partridge’s wing; and in the evening —
“And in the evening — ?” repeated Balsamo.
“In the evening,” continued Madame Dubarry, “his majesty, who no doubt would not stay at Trianon after his fright, came to see me at Luciennes.”
The triumphant countenance and graceful but roguish look of the countess reassured Balsamo as to the power the favorite yet exercised over the king.
“Then you are satisfied with me, madame?” inquired he.
“Delighted, count! and when you spoke of impossibilities you could create, you told the exact truth.” And in token of thanks she gave him her soft, white, perfumed hand, which was not fresh as Lorenza’s, but almost as beautiful.
“And now, count, let us speak of yourself!”
Balsamo bowed like a man ready to listen.
“If you have preserved me from a great danger.” continued Madame Dubarry, “I think I have also saved you from no inconsiderable peril.”
“Me!” said Balsamo, concealing his emotion. “I do not require that to feel grateful to you; but yet, be good enough to inform me what—”
“Yes. The coffer in question—”
“Well, madame?
“Contained a multitude of secret ciphers, which M. de Sartines caused all his clerks to translate. All signed their several translations, executed apart, and all gave the same result. In consequence of this, M. de Sartines arrived at Versailles this morning while I was there, bringing with him all these translations and the dictionary of diplomatic ciphers.”
“Ha! — and what did the king say?”
“The king seemed surprised at first, then alarmed. His majesty easily listens to those who speak to him of danger. Since the stab of Damien’s penknife, there is one word which is ever eagerly hearkened to by Louis XV.; it is — Take care!”
“Then M. de Sartines accused me of plotting?”
“At first M. de Sartines endeavored to make me leave the room; but I refused, declaring that as no one was more attached to his majesty than myself, no one had a right to make me leave him when danger was in question. M. de Sartines insisted, but I resisted, and the king, looking at me in a manner I know well, said:
“ Let her remain, Sartines; I can refuse her nothing to-day.”
“Then you understand, count, that as I was present, M. de Sartines, remembering our adieu, so clearly expressed, feared to displease me by attacking you. He therefore spoke of the evil designs of the king of Prussia toward France; of the disposition prevalent to facilitate the march of rebellion by supernatural means. In a word, he accused a great many people, proving always by the papers he held that these persons were guilty.”
“Guilty of what?”
“Of what! Count, dare I disclose secrets of state?”
“Which are our secrets, madame. Oh! you risk nothing. I think it is my interest not to speak.”
“Yes, count, I know that M. de Sartines wished to prove that a numerous and powerful sect, composed of bold, skillful, resolute agents, were silently undermining the respect due to the king, by spreading certain reports concerning his majesty.”
“What rumors?”
“Saying, for instance, that his majesty was accused of starving his people.”
“To which the king replied — ?”
“As the king always replies, by a joke.”
Balsamo breathed again.
“And what was the joke?” he asked.
“‘Since I am accused of starving the people,’ said he, ‘there is only one reply to make to the accusation — let us feed them.’
“‘How so, sire?’ said M. de Sartines.
“‘I will take the charge of feeding all those who spread this report, and, moreover, will give them safe lodging in my chateau of the Bastille.’”
A slight shudder passed through Balsamo’s limbs, but he retained his smiling countenance.
“What followed?” asked he.
“Then the king seemed to consult me by a smile. ‘Sire,’ said I, ‘I can never believe that those little black characters which M. de Sartines has brought to you mean that you are a bad king.’”
“Then the lieutenant of police exclaimed loudly.
“‘Any more,’ I added, ‘than they prove that our clerks can read.’”
“And what did the king say, countess?” asked Balsamo.
“That I might be right, but that M. de Sartines was not wrong.”
“Well, and then?”
“Then a great many lettres-de-cachet were made out, and I saw that M. de Sartines tried to slip among them one for you; but I stood firm, and arrested him by a single word.
“‘Sir,’ I said aloud, and before the king, ‘arrest all Paris, if you like — that is your business; but you had better reflect a little before you lay a finger on one of my friends — if not —
“‘Oh, ho!’ said the king, ‘she is getting angry; take care, Sartines.’
“‘But, sire, the interest of the kingdom—’
“‘Oh! you are not a Sully,’ said I, crimson with rage, ‘and I am not a Gabrielle.’
“‘Madame, they intend to assassinate the king, as Henry IV. was assassinated.’
“For the first time, the king turned pale, trembled, and put his hand to his head.
“I feared I was vanquished.
“‘Sire,’ said I, ‘you must let M. de Sartines have his own way; for his clerks have, no doubt, read in these ciphers that I also am conspiring against you.’
“And I left the room.
“But, dame! my dear count, the king preferred my company to that of M. de Sartines, and ran after me.
“‘Ah! for pity’s sake, my dear countess,’ said he, ‘pray do not get angry.’
“‘Then send away that horrid man, sire; he smells of dungeons.”
“‘Go, Sartines — be off with you!’ said the king, shrugging his shoulders.
“‘And, for the future, I forbid you not only to visit me, but even to bow to me,’ added I.
“At this blow our magistrate became alarmed; he approached me, and humbly kissed my hand.
“‘Well,’ said he, ‘so be it; let us speak no more of it, fair lady. But you will ruin the state. Since you absolutely insist upon it, your portege shall be respected by my agents.’”
Balsamo seemed plunged in a deep reverie.
“Well,” said the countess, “so you do not even thank me for having saved you from the pleasure of lodging in the Bastille, which perhaps might have been unjust, but assuredly no less disagreeable on that account?”
Balsamo made no reply. He drew a small phial, filled with n fluid red as blood, from his pocket.
“Hold, madame!” said he; “for the liberty you have procured for me I give you twenty years’ additional youth!”
The countess slipped the phial into her bosom, and took her leave joyous and triumphant.
Balsamo still remained thinking.
“They might perhaps have been saved,” said he, “but for the coquetry of a woman. This courtesan’s little foot dashes them down into the depths of the abyss. Decidedly, God is with us!”