"Follow the man in the brown great-coat who has just left me," said he; "follow him throughout the day, and come to report to me to-morrow morning."
Until late in the evening the poor pastor could not move a foot or hand, or speak a word without a note being made of it by the clever spy who had become his shadow; so that on the next day, when he received the order to enter the cabinet of Desmarest, the latter knew better than he did himself all that he had said or done the preceding evening.
"Now," thought the chief of division, "unless he is deaf, blind, or dumb, he will not be silent this morning;" and desiring him to be seated—"Come," said he, "you are about, I hope, to give me an account of yesterday's business."
The good pastor was always somewhat surprised at the interest which his chief seemed to take in his actions or movements; he replied, with an air of astonishment—
"My business of yesterday! I passed my time, since our last interview, in nearly the same manner as I passed all the other days since our first meeting. In the morning I walked to the Tuileries; in the evening I strolled on the Boulevards."
"I am not asking about your acts or movements," interrupted Desmarest, "but about what you were able to observe."
"Oh! nothing new," replied Michel Perrin; "I am beginning to know all these places as well as I do my own pocket."
"This man cannot be of a sane mind," said Desmarest to himself. Then taking patience—
"Do me the favor of telling me where you dined yesterday, citizen Perrin."
"At a restaurateur's in the Palais-Royal," replied the pastor, whom this kind of interrogatory surprised to the utmost.
"And afterwards?"
"I went to take my coffee at the cafe du Caveau."
"And whilst you were taking your coffee, what passed there? I beg of you to tell me."
"Oh! nothing that I know."
"What! did you not remark three young fellows who were talking just beside you, whose table was next to yours?"
"Stay, stay; I recollect now that there were indeed, just beside me, some gentlemen; I cannot say whether three or four, but I know they had a bowl of punch."
"And they used most horrible language regarding the First Consul," added the chief of division with anger; "they even went so far as to threaten his life!"
"As for that, I am completely uninformed on the subject, inasmuch as, having observed two or three times that these gentlemen lowered their voices when I turned my head towards them, I moved off to a table farther from them. I did not wish to have even the appearance of listening to them, you understand."
"By my faith, this is too bad!" exclaimed Desmarest. "What occupation do you think that you have at the ministry of police?"
"Ah!" said the pastor, quickly, "that is exactly what I have been desiring to know during the last fifteen days."
"Eh, zounds! you are a spy for the police!"
"A mouchard?"
"A mouchard!"
The pastor bounded from his seat, his cheeks flushed, his lips quivering. "Monsieur!—But it is not to you that I have to speak," said he, hastily rushing from the apartment.
He ran to the door of the minister, and wished to have it opened.
"The minister has gone out," answered one of the ushers, laughing in his face.
"I shall wait for him; I shall wait the whole day if it be necessary."
"Wait for him, then, in the street," said the usher, "for you cannot remain here."
"Be it so," replied the poor pastor, resolved to place himself before the gate of the hotel, but he had barely crossed the courtyard, when Fouché, on his return, alighted from his carriage.
Michel Perrin did not hesitate to rush towards the door.
"I beg of you to hear me for a minute, citizen minister," said he, in an altered tone.
Fouché, although somewhat surprised at the sight of this excited applicant, recognised Michel Perrin, and permitted him to follow him.
"Well! what now?" asked he, when they were alone. "Have you discovered some conspiracy, to be thus almost beside yourself?"
"I have discovered that you have made a jest of the friend of your youth," replied the good pastor, with a courage derived from resentment. "Poor as I am, and powerful as you are, I would never wish to have been subjected to such treatment."
"May I die if I know what you are speaking about," replied Fouché, looking closely at him to ascertain if he was in his right senses.
"Have you not issued your orders to your citizen Desmarest?"
"Undoubtedly; he has even told me," added Fouché, laughing, "that you earned your money very badly."
"Ah! my deepest regret is having received that sum of money, for unfortunately I am unable to return it: I have sent the half to my poor sister Madeleine. I have remaining at most only"——
"Eh! who says a word about your returning money,you fool? As long as I choose to employ you, what has Desmarest to say about it?"
"To employ me! to employ me as a spy!" cried Michel, reddening with indignation.
"Methinks your scruples arise rather late, when you have been attached to the police for fifteen days," replied Fouché.
"It was only on this day that I discovered it," cried the poor pastor.
"What! did you not know it? Was it only to-day you ascertained your function?" said the minister, as, struck by the comic tendency of the matter, he indulged in great laughter.
"I should never have supposed it," answered Michel Perrin, proudly; "your man told me of it."
"It was a fortunate thing that he afforded you such an interesting disclosure," said Fouché, who vainly endeavoured to resume his gravity; "but, in fact, Michel, did you not come to me, stating that you were dying of hunger, and that you were resolved to do anything to provide the means of supporting life?"
"Certainly; I would have agreed to sweep your apartments, to carry the fuel for your stoves, to do everything that might be done without forfeiting reputation and losing self-respect." And, in saying these words, the poor pastor raised his fine head, which fretting and privation had already covered with snowy locks.
Honor exercises an influence even upon those who have tampered with their own. Fouché discontinued his laughter, and approaching his class-fellow—
"There has been a misunderstanding, Michel," said he, taking his hand; "let us forget this, and continue good friends, especially," he added, "as I have most delightful news for you: it is that they are about to restore your parish to you."
"Another hoax," said Michel Perrin, shrugging his shoulders, with an air of incredulity.
"No; on my faith. Public worship is re-established. You know, or perhaps you do not know, that CardinalGonsalvi was here for a considerable time, to arrange the basis of a concordat with the Pope. This concordat is signed; the First Consul communicated it yesterday to his Council of State."
"Ah! if I again saw my good peasants! If I returned to my manse with Madeleine!" cried the good pastor, his eyes sparkling with joy; "but," added he, "perhaps the parish will be given to another?"
"I shall take special care that it shall not," replied the minister. "Your parish was in Burgundy, I believe?"
"Just beside Dijon. I had it for a year."
"You shall receive news from me very soon; but, in the meantime, I advise you to return to your sister. Paris is full of people too crafty for you; and as you must live," continued Fouché, "take this rouleau of twenty-five louis."
"No, no; I shall take no more money," said the good pastor, pushing aside the hand of the minister.
"You must take it. You do not imagine, I hope, that this would be a recompense for the services you have rendered," said Fouché, laughing heartily. "It is given to you by me for yourself, for your sister."
"Well, be it so," replied Michel, greatly softened. "I cannot reject the gift of an honest man."
Fouché stifled a sigh. "Adieu," said he; "return to Dijon."
The following year, Michel Perrin had resumed his clerical functions; and Madeleine again became the lady and mistress of the manse. The peace, the comfort, the security for the future which they enjoyed, seemed to be enhanced by the recollection of past sufferings.
If Madeleine, in whom there was a little vanity, remarked to her brother, when returning from church, that all the peasants took off their hats—
"Yes, yes," the pastor answered in a low voice, and with a smile, "The worthy fellows are not at all aware that for fifteen days I was a Police Spy."
FOOTNOTES:[13]I was informed by M. Turpin that Fouché frequently related the incidents of this narrative which were subsequent to the interview, but without naming his old class-fellow.—F. T. P.[14]The word in the original is "badaud."
[13]I was informed by M. Turpin that Fouché frequently related the incidents of this narrative which were subsequent to the interview, but without naming his old class-fellow.—F. T. P.
[13]I was informed by M. Turpin that Fouché frequently related the incidents of this narrative which were subsequent to the interview, but without naming his old class-fellow.—F. T. P.
[14]The word in the original is "badaud."
[14]The word in the original is "badaud."
I now proceed to the narration of the other case which I received from M. Hubert, the facts of which are far more extraordinary than any of the exuberant fictions presented in the pages of romance.
In the early part of May, 1818, the Place Vendome was occupied by detachments from the garrison of Paris, for the purpose of effecting certain military requirements and arrangements. They were under the command of the Comte de Pontis de Sainte-Helene, colonel of the 72nd Legion. Amidst a brilliant cortege, he appeared, bearing on his breast the insignia of officer of the Legion of Honor, Chevalier de Saint-Louis, and also the Spanish orders of Alcantara and Saint-Wladimir. One of the spectators, meanly attired, and of rather sinister appearance, attempted to approach the distinguished officer, but he was unceremoniously repelled by those to whom the duty of keeping the ground had been assigned. He found no difficulty, however, in ascertaining that the residence of the Comte was in the Rue Basse-Saint-Denis; and when the military duties of the day had been fulfilled, and the gallant nobleman returned to his house, he was apprised that a stranger was waiting in the ante-chamber on some affairs which he declared to be of paramount importance. The Count proceeded to the apartment, and was there accosted in rather familiar terms.
"You must remember me; I am Darios, your former comrade of the chain. I bear you no ill-will, and do not wish to take any advantage of you, but you are rich and I am miserably destitute. Give me your succour, relieve my necessities, and you may depend on my prudence and gratitude."
The Comte de Pontis de Sainte-Helene affected to treat this intruder as an impostor or madman. He summoned his attendants, and had Darios at once expelled from thepremises. The latter, in the highest state of exasperation at such treatment, betook himself to the office of the Minister of the Interior, and having eventually succeeded in obtaining an audience of the Duc Decazes, declared to the minister that the Comte de Pontis de Sainte-Helene was no other than Pierre Coignard, who, on the 18th October, 1800, had been condemned by the criminal tribunal of the department of the Seine to fourteen years of hard labor, for various robberies committed by nocturnal housebreaking, and also by means of false keys. That in about five years he had managed to elude the vigilance of the prison authorities of Toulon, and had escaped from the Bagne. The Duc Decazes was completely amazed at this statement, and inasmuch as it was made by one who acknowledged himself to be a convicted criminal, he at first considered it to be false and malicious. Other reasons, of a political nature, made him determine to avoid any personal participation in an inquiry resulting from such averments; and as the imputations were directed against a person in a high military position, he referred the matter to General Despinoy, who commanded the division of the army to which the accused belonged. The co-operation of the police was obtained, and the celebrated Vidocq was brought into requisition. It was fully ascertained that Coignard, after escaping from Toulon, had made his way to Catalonia, in Spain, where he formed an intimate acquaintance with a young female, named Maria Rosa. She constituted the entire domestic establishment of the veritable Comte de Pontis de Sainte-Helene, who was a French emigrant, and of an ancient family belonging to Soissons. He had been in the Spanish service, and had distinguished himself in South America. Having returned to Europe in broken health, he was reduced to great poverty by the inability of the Spanish government to meet the claims of their dependants, or even to make any effectual resistance against the French invasion, which was then in very active progress. Death relieved him from his privations, and Coignard induced Maria Rosa to become his accomplice in assumingthe designation of the deceased nobleman. The family papers and pedigree were made available by the spurious Comte and Comtesse, and Coignard proceeded to join the irregular troops or guerilla bands, which were under the orders of Mina, to whom he introduced himself as a French nobleman, exiled as a legitimist, and anxious to combat to the utmost the upstart who had usurped the throne of his country. He either received, or subsequently pretended that he received, the orders of Alcantara and Saint-Wladimir during his time of service under Mina, but he did not remain long in the Spanish ranks, and alleged that ill health rendered his retirement unavoidable. In a short time, however, he presented himself to Soult, and implored to be received into the army of his native country. He continued in a military capacity, fortunate in escaping the casualties of war, and in gradually attaining higher rank, until the departure of Napoleon for Elba, and then, free from all suspicions of his false pretensions, he professed to belong to theancienne noblesse, and to regard the restoration of the Bourbon dynasty as the vindication of a right and the realization of a blessing. When Napoleon returned, Louis the Eighteenth betook himself to Ghent, and the Comte de Pontis de Sainte-Helene conciliated his confidence and esteem by becoming a participator of his short exile. He was basking in courtly favor, when his former "comrade of the chain" recognised him in the Place Vendome, and when his prudence, nay, even his instinctive caution, so completely deserted him that he effected to treat a statement which he knew to be perfectly true, as the threats of an impostor or the ravings of a lunatic. It is highly probable that a small pension, paid weekly or monthly, to Darios would have ensured his silence.
But in reference to this most extraordinary culprit, it remains to be mentioned that the police discovered and proved before theCour d'assises de la Seine, on the 10th July, 1819, that Coignard, even after he had attained to rank and opulence, was in communication with several of the most accomplished robbers of Paris, and that heaided them by using the opportunities derived from his intimacy with persons of wealth and proprietors of costly mansions, to ascertain where their money and plate were kept, and at what time the property might be pillaged with the least risk of interruption or detection. When he found the proofs of his past and of his continued delinquencies accumulated beyond any possibility of resisting an adverse judgment, he attempted to escape, and on being arrested, he discharged several pistol shots at the police officers, by which two of them were dangerously wounded and permanently disabled. Amongst the associates of his aristocratic career, there was far less indignation expressed at his robberies or dishonest proclivities, than at his audacious assumption of exalted rank, and his intrusion amongst a class, the members of which would evince greater lenity to the opening of a banker's coffers by means of false keys, than to the attainment of admission to a courtly circle by a pretended title of nobility. Conclusive evidence having been adduced of the identity of Coignard as an escaped convict, and also of his subsequent complicity in several criminal transactions, he was remitted to Toulon, there to be imprisoned for life and kept to hard labor. When he left the Bicetre, on the 24th July, 1819, on the galley chain, an enormous crowd assembled to witness his departure, and his demeanour was remarked as indicating neither despondency nor contrition. In the towns through which he passed, he excited the utmost curiosity. The false Comtesse, Maria Rosa, proceeded to Toulon, and subsisting on whatever she had been able to save from the wreck of her previous fortunes, she continued firmly attached to the wretched Coignard. She visited him whenever permitted, and afforded him every attention that the rules of the prison allowed. She died in 1829, and he survived her only until the succeeding spring.
I think that in laying before my readers the details of this romantic reality, I have given them an instance of fact being far more extraordinary than fiction. The materials in the narrative last related, are not suitable forbeing woven into one piece in the loom of fiction. Those who would make a Count the hero or principal character of an imaginative production, would shrink from choosing him amongst the galley slaves of Toulon. Those who would make a convict a prominent actor in any ideal drama, would consider it too ridiculous to dignify him with a title immediately after his escape from penal servitude.
As to the memoirs derived from the archives of the Police of Paris, a person disposed to make selections would have two difficulties to encounter; namely, where to commence and where to conclude his extracts. I may mention that there are some which certainly should not be presented for public perusal, and which I would totally abstain from translating; for although I might have no intention of publishing them, I would not leave their details in manuscript. They might vitiate, but could not improve. I could not, in these pages, insert all that I consider amusing or instructive, although perfectly unobjectionable, without extending this publication to an unusual amplitude, and causing the result of my Parisian visit, comparatively to monopolise it. I have translated every incident in the memoirs which I felt confident of being free from impropriety, and perhaps, at a future period, I shall venture to submit them to public consideration. At present I shall content myself by submitting two narratives to my readers, and then, with a few remarks on some of the novels of Alexandre Dumas, and with one or two of my personal recollections, I shall leave Paris for Dublin, until an interval of ten years has elapsed, when my acquaintance with the French capital shall be renewed as satisfactorily, I hope, to my readers as it was to myself.
The tale on which I am entering is designated in the memoirs, "The Fawn's Escape," and the applicability of that title will appear when the reader arrives at the DeerPark, (Parc-aux-Cerfs.) The preliminary observations were certainly not written on any previous edition to that of 1838, when the Orleans branch of the Bourbon family was in the ascendency.
Philippe Auguste de Sainte-Foix, Chevalier d'Arc, was the grandson of Louis the Fourteenth. The career of this person, during the succeeding reign, powerfully illustrates the fearful state into which society had merged, and proves that when the door is opened for the entry of one vice, several others are likely to gain admission. It is worthy of notice that the profligacy of the higher classes during the reign of the depraved Louis the Fifteenth, was fully equal to the ferocity that overthrew the throne of his successor, and, on the ruins of all civil and religious institutions, established a reign of Terror. The people witnessed all the precepts of divine or moral authority not only violated but openly ridiculed; and we cannot feel much surprise at the utter disregard of all the claims put forward by the higher classes, when we recollect that they had long ceased to possess the slightest self-respect. The robes of nobility were not torn to rags by the wild and furious passions of a fierce democracy, until long after they had been trailed in the mire by their aristocratic owners. But we are not proceeding to write political considerations on the causes or effects of revolutions; we only invite attention to the peculiar state of society at the period to which our tale refers, and leaving the reader to reflect for himself upon its consequences. We return to the chevalier d'Arc.
An illustrious though illegitimate origin might be expected to elevate his mind, render him susceptible of high feelings, and capable of noble deeds; but in him it only inspired a ridiculous vanity and unmeasured impudence. Perverted in his youth by the vicious philosophy of the time, he followed its abominable maxims to the letter, and speedily compelled all who had any respect for themselves, to repulse his approaches and repudiate his intimacy. He consequently soon became admissible only to those haunts which were open to any person who had a title to disgrace and a sword to carry.
On reaching manhood, he entered into possession of an estate in the vicinity of St. Cloud, which had been bequeathed to him by his father, the Comte de Toulouse, one of the sons of Madame de Montespan. Being of a handsome person, and of insinuating though frivolous manners, he attracted the notice of a young widow, who had been, soon after her marriage, bereaved of a very old and very wealthy husband, for whose death she was prevented from becoming utterly inconsolable by the acquisition of a very ample fortune. The chevalier perceived that to the fair widow he was not an indifferent object, and, without the slightest intention of ultimate matrimony, he professed the most boundless love. He was warmly received, vows were interchanged, and to encourage his advances, the widow occasionally spoke of her extensive possessions in different parts of the kingdom; but far from insinuating that she wished to reserve any portion of her property from her future husband, she generally managed to introduce a favorite maxim—"That between two united hearts there should be a community of interests."
The chevalier dined at the widow's mansion; the entertainment was superb, and the table was covered with plate, with the exception of the soups, which were served in porcelain. Affecting the familiarity of a lover, the chevalier insisted that his fair hostess should permit him to supply this deficiency, and on the following day two splendid soup tureens were sent to Madame, with abillet doux, to which the dear, fond creature attached more value than to the handsome present it accompanied.
In about a fortnight after, the chevalier took an opportunity of mentioning that he was unpleasantly circumstanced through the oversight of his house steward, who had neglected to have his plate brought from a chateau in Picardy, where he had passed the previous autumn. "Dear friend," he added, "I am to entertain to-morrow the Comte Ecouy and the Duc de Rohan, and owing to this fatality I find myself unable to make an appearance even respectable. Will you lend me whatever you can spare, and thus save my credit with my guests?"
Charmed at an opportunity of obliging her well-beloved, the widow reserved not even a spoon, all was sent with alacrity; but in two days she received a letter enclosing the duplicates of her plate, and containing the assurance, that he should never have made it available for his necessities but for the recollection of her own sentiment, "That between two united hearts there should be a community of interests."
Impoverished by his profligacy, he petitioned the King. Louis the Fifteenth recollected him as a playmate of his youth, and sent him a draft on the treasurer of his household for eight thousand livres. As the amount was specified in figures, the chevalier added a cipher, which augmented the royal generosity to an unreasonable amount. The King was urged to compel the restitution of the sum thus obtained, and his majesty replied, "In my situation I cannot pay too dearly for a useful lesson. It will teach me, for the future, to economise less the letters of the alphabet."
Afterwards the Chevalier d'Arc became one of the most indefatigable purveyors for the Parc-aux-Cerfs; and in reference to this part of his life, we have to notice the following, which is romantic in the extreme, and is also free from any details of an immoral tendency, rather a rare feature in any adventure connected with the Parc-aux-Cerfs.
The chevalier being admitted, by reason of the reputation of his father and his consanguinity to the Duc de Penthievre, to an intimacy with some respectable gentlemen of Querci sojourning at Paris, whither they had come to solicit official employment, or seek royal favor, was not long in remarking the exquisite beauty of the only daughter of one of them. Mademoiselle de Pal——[15]was beloved by a young officer of musketeers, of honorable family and high character, every way worthy of her hand, and they deferred the marriage only until the realizationof their hopes from courtly favor would leave the family in more easy circumstances.
But a demon entered their residence when they admitted the Chevalier d'Arc. He applied himself to stimulate the soul of the Comte de Pal——, father of Mademoiselle Helene, with suggestions of guilty ambition, until the foolish but obstinate old man determined to effect the admission of his daughter into the Parc-aux-Cerfs. But how to procure the concurrence of the two brothers of the old gentleman, one Lieutenant-Colonel the Baron de M——, the other an abbé, and grand vicar of the Bishop of Tulle. These gentlemen, high in their sense of honor, and proud in their family recollections, would scorn to see fortune coming through so vile an avenue. How to reconcile a virtuous girl to her own degradation. Above all, how to dispose of her lover.
To make an open attack was impossible. Meanwhile, the old dotard of a count, infatuated by the suggestions which the Chevalier d'Arc continually whispered, fancied himself a minister of state, destined to save France from every peril by the guidance of his sage advice; moreover, he saw in his brother, the baron, a marshal of France, and in his younger brother, an archbishop or cardinal. This picture enchanted him, and instead of kicking his infamous tempter out of doors, he listened to no other counsel but his. The virtue of his daughter became a chimera and a trifle compared with the advantages which must result to the entire community from an influence acquired over the yielding mind of a libertine monarch.
The chevalier, on his part, had committed himself in the affair beyond retreat. The King had heard something of it. His valet, Lebel, and the portly lady, the directress of the Parc-aux-Cerfs, were impatiently awaiting the appearance of this eighth wonder of the world. They worried the intermeddling chevalier, and he soon concluded that the palladium of the royal protection should be secured as soon as possible, and by all possible means. He and the father of the young lady had recourse to stratagem. They lived in Paris in the Rue des Moulins. One morning, underthe pretext of preferring a request to M. de Choiseul, lately installed minister, the Comte de Pal——, his daughter, and the Chevalier d'Arc proceeded to Versailles. On their arrival, they enquired the hour at which the minister received public applicants, and finding that there was some time to spare, the chevalier proposed a promenade through the town. The suggestion was approved by the father, and the daughter acquiesced.
They take their way through a lonely lane. The long wall, by which it is bounded on one side, is pierced by a door which happens to be open, and discloses a view of a beautiful garden. They ask of a domestic who is passing if they can be permitted to walk in this delightful place. The reply is affirmative, and they enter; and at the end of a shady avenue, they meet a lady.
"Oh! it is the Marchioness d'Allinvilliers."
"Oh! the much-esteemed Chevalier d'Arc!—what a pleasure!"
"I am enchanted, madame, at this instance of good fortune in meeting you. I presume to present to you the Comte de Pal——, my most intimate friend, and Mademoiselle, his daughter."
High compliments are reciprocated. The Marchioness, so luckily encountered, assumes the guidance of the party. They admire the beauty and magnificence of the place. At last they arrived at a kiosque, erected in the purest oriental style, and they find a repast of the choicest pastry, fruits, liqueurs, wines, and iced water. Mademoiselle Helene de Pal—— is pressed to eat and drink. She complies; and after having taken refreshment, a sudden stupor overcomes her, and she yields to a somnolency totally irresistible.
On awaking, she is astonished to find herself in a sumptuous bed. She is informed of all that has passed by the Marchioness d'Allinvilliers, whom she recognizes, and by whom she is affectionately embraced. A letter is placed in her hands from her father, in which she is informed that he has not been able to refuse to so kind a lady, the care of his daughter during the period of his stayin the capital. He will see her at every visit to Versailles, and Mademoiselle de Pal—— will be more comfortably and respectably circumstanced than she could be in furnished lodgings with him.
This had a great semblance of truth; and although certain precautions and restraints appeared extraordinary, the young lady was so perfectly innocent as to entertain no suspicion of the infamous nature of the mansion in which she was placed. She had not acquired a knowledge of the character of the Chevalier d'Arc, which was very different from that of provincial gentlemen, and she had not the most remote idea of the functions which he exercised at court. In the evening, she was induced to enter the saloon. There, to her surprise, she recognized the King, in a gentleman who stood with his back to the chimney.
A conversation ensued, in which his Majesty used much gallant and polite language, and in which he stated that he came there without any ceremony, as the Marchioness was his foster-sister. On his retiring, they surrounded the young lady, and exclaimed that she should be proud of the distinguished attentions of the King. In short, every allurement which can be addressed to vanity was tried on one whose mind was guided by sentiments of a higher nature. Helene, far from acquiescing in the views of the depraved creatures of both sexes, with whom she was associated, regarded all their suggestions with undisguised repugnance. The same evening, a royal page brought her a porcelain vase, containing a bouquet of natural flowers, upon which appeared a butterfly formed of sparkling gems. Upon the handles were fastened two diamond ornaments, shaped like pears, of very large dimensions and surpassing brilliancy. These were accompanied by necklaces composed of precious stones, remarkable for splendor, purity, and magnitude.
Ecstacy seemed to pervade the circle. Mademoiselle de Pal——, in a firm and deliberate tone, apprised the Marchioness, that, at an early hour on the succeeding day, she wished to return to her paternal home. Her unclethe abbé, would undertake to have the present returned. There was an outcry—
"You darling, to quit me! Ah! you wicked one! what ingratitude! Moreover, how could I expose you, lonely and unprotected? I would not entrust you to anyone; my responsibility is pledged. You will remain until the next visit of your father, the Comte."
Constrained to yield to this specious resistance, Mademoiselle de Pal—— retired to her chamber, and there wrote to her father an account of all that had passed, and urged the imperative necessity of immediately flying from the gallantry of the King. The poor child comforted herself in the expectation of a prompt succour from her father. What would have been her feelings if she had witnessed the transports of joy in which the old gentleman indulged at the apparent certainty of accomplishing his designs? It was a complete delirium! Repeatedly he embraced the Chevalier d'Arc, whose pockets he replenished with money. Then taking his pen, he hastened to reply that it appeared premature to impute evil designs to any person; that the King could have no bad intentions. Finally, they owed his Majesty so much love and respect, that all other feelings should be absorbed in reference to him.
The conclusion of this letter plunged the virtuous girl in despair. After two more days, she received a second visit from the King, and was offered homage of a more marked character—the most costly stuffs, and various other articles of such enormous value as could not be authorized by simple gallantry or innocent admiration. Mademoiselle de Pal——, distracted, overwhelmed, saw herself abandoned by those on whom the very feelings of nature should have imposed the duty of protecting her innocence. She did not accuse her father directly, but her mind was beset with frightful suspicions.
One morning, at an early hour, the Marchioness not having left her bed-chamber, a girl, who filled some very subordinate station in the establishment, came into the apartment of Mademoiselle, in the absence of thefemme-de-chambrewho had been assigned to her. This damsel,entering cautiously, informed Helene that a handsome lad, in her father's livery, had brought a letter which he would deliver only to herself in person.
Too much tormented not to distinguish any favorable circumstance in her unhappy situation—knowing, moreover, that her father had not permitted his two old servants to bring his family livery to Paris—she was only too ready to take advantage of the opportunity afforded by the early hour; consequently, she consented to receive the envoy.
An exclamation of surprise and delight escaped her. It was her lover, the Vicomte de Benavent Rhodés, a gentleman of very high extraction, quite ready to believe that his fathers constituted a younger and distant branch of the sovereign counts of Rhodés. He was a black musketeer, young, brave, and thoroughly daring. The Comte de Pal——, a man without prudence or reserve, had permitted his brother to discover his secret, and even to become acquainted with the letter of his daughter. This worthy ecclesiastic, indignant at the projects of his brother, lost not a moment before informing the person most interested in defeating the base plots of the royal seraglio. The family was distracted, but the circumstances required delicate management. They had to deal with the difficulty of struggling against the proceedings of an obstinate old man, who found historic sanctions for his conduct in the innumerable pollutions of the Court. The great evil consisted in the abuse of an acknowledged power, the authority of a parent. Besides where were they to find Helene? He kept the secret as soon as he found his family in revolt against his projects. The embarrassment was great, but the Vicomte de Benavent, better informed than the respectable abbé, at once surmised all that passed; how, owing to the villainy of the Chevalier d'Arc, the fair Helene was already in the infamous precincts of the Parc-aux-Cerfs. He wished to go himself, and warn his mistress of the dangers by which she was surrounded.
Certain that he could never penetrate into this place if he went in his ordinary attire, for habitual watchfulnessinterdicted the entry of thegardes-du-corps, theofficiers-aux-gardes, and the musketeers, grey or black, as persons of suspicious reputation amongst those who had the guardianship of youth and beauty, the lover flattered himself that he would deceive the "Argus" by assuming a livery, and presenting himself at an early hour.
He was not wrong in his conjectures; and by choosing the early hour he gained the assistance of the poor female drudge who introduced him. Once in presence of Mademoiselle de Pal——, he kissed her hand, and placed in it a letter from the abbé in the following terms:—
"My dearest Niece,"I write to you in the affliction of a broken heart. Your poor father has been scandalously led astray by a knave, a swindler, a man without an honourable idea, and destitute of faith and morals. Dear niece, are you aware that you are now in the Parc-aux-Cerfs? Who detains you there? The abominable directress of that polluted mansion. Your ruin is resolved on. I trust that God will not abandon you, and that this affair may terminate without crime or scandal. Consult with the Vicomte (M. de Benavent.) He is regarded by me as my future nephew. If your plans should not succeed, then God will guide the steps of one of His ministers, and should I find it necessary to approach the King, I shall not recoil from my duty. Adieu, let us invoke the Virgin, the saints, your holy patroness, and above all, the Three Persons of the all-powerful and all-merciful Trinity."
"My dearest Niece,
"I write to you in the affliction of a broken heart. Your poor father has been scandalously led astray by a knave, a swindler, a man without an honourable idea, and destitute of faith and morals. Dear niece, are you aware that you are now in the Parc-aux-Cerfs? Who detains you there? The abominable directress of that polluted mansion. Your ruin is resolved on. I trust that God will not abandon you, and that this affair may terminate without crime or scandal. Consult with the Vicomte (M. de Benavent.) He is regarded by me as my future nephew. If your plans should not succeed, then God will guide the steps of one of His ministers, and should I find it necessary to approach the King, I shall not recoil from my duty. Adieu, let us invoke the Virgin, the saints, your holy patroness, and above all, the Three Persons of the all-powerful and all-merciful Trinity."
The musketeer at once arranged with the young lady that precisely at midnight she should descend from her chamber, and he furnished her, for that purpose, with a silken ladder wrapped in a handkerchief. She was to make for a part of the wall over which a white plume would be displayed, and having arrived there, she was to clap her hands three times, and her liberators would appear.
These matters having been arranged, prudence required the lovers to separate; but the Vicomte, who at first had been more timid than the object of his affection, protracted his adieu until Mademoiselle Justine, an artful spy over the youthful inmates, arrived. At sight of her, themusketeer took his leave in the style of a valet. This was in vain; she was not to be deceived, and her practised eye detected the man of quality. The provincial livery could not conceal true grace and courtly bearing beneath its gaudy laces. At once she proceeded to make her report toMadame. Alarm spread through the camp, and they took immediate measures to defeat the plans of the young couple. Helene passed the rest of the day almost alone.Madamehaving sought admission, a violent headache was alleged as a justification for declining an interview. She soon returned, and being admitted by Justine, she openly divulged the purposes which she entertained. Helene gave full vent to her scorn and unqualified disdain. This was indiscreet, but the error arose not more from her youthful inexperience than from the noble sincerity and purity of her mind. Flattery was tried, and she was addressed in terms of the highest exaggeration as to the brilliant position to which the royal favor would necessarily exalt her. This produced a declaration from her that love unsanctioned by marriage commenced with infamy and terminated in perdition. This language excited a perfect tempest of invective, her scruples were derided, and to the most galling sneers were added direct threats of ruin to all her kindred, and also to the family of her lover.
Tears were her reply, but her determination was unchanged. She expressed a wish to retire early. In this she was indulged; and as midnight sounded she attached the silken cord to the window, and abandoning herself to Providence, she rapidly descended. Having reached the ground in safety, she knelt and offered her thanks to Heaven for this successful commencement. Then, approaching the exterior wall, she perceived the white plume raised above it upon a pole. She clapped her hands, and immediately heard all the indications of a violent contest. Murmurs, imprecations, the clash of weapons, and several pistol shots were almost simultaneous. The uproar increased; a struggle, hand to hand, seemed to terminate in the departure of the combatants, and although the signal continued displayed, profound silence ensued.
The poor girl was overwhelmed with terror, her conjectures were tortures thoroughly agonizing; but just as the external tumult ceased,Madameissued from the mansion, attended by six male servants bearing torches.
"Indeed, Mademoiselle," said this debased woman, "you cannot expect us to indulge your wishes for midnight promenades in an inclement season. The air is sharp, and your health is delicate. Please to re-enter the mansion. The physician will hold us responsible for the results of such indiscretion; and our tenderness for you compels us to guard against your caprices. Until you become more reasonable, you must occupy an apartment from which you shall not find it so easy to issue."
Mademoiselle de Pal—— did not condescend to reply to this cool impertinence, but she understood that in such a contest her adversaries were unscrupulous as to the means they employed. Alone, almost lifeless with terror, and abandoned by her father, she apprehended the most sinister designs, and her undisguised disgust excited an implacable hostility amongst those to whom the superiority of virtue was odious. "In fact," murmured the mistress of the mansion, "we are far more foolish than she is herself, to labour for her exaltation; the insulting creature will only detest us the more for our exertions."
They placed her on the ground floor, and assigned her some apartments furnished in the most luxurious manner; but the windows were carefully fitted with iron bars. When Justine had a second time undressed her mistress,Madamebetook herself to rest.
Mademoiselle de Pal—— spent the night in tears, for she understood too well what had occurred. Men previously posted had been waiting for her lover. Perhaps he had paid, even with his life, for his generous intervention. She implored God to protect the young musketeer, and to avert the crushing resentment of the King.
In the morning she requested an audience ofMadame, which was immediately granted, and she earnestly implored of her not to report what had passed to his Majesty. "I know not what I might do on another occasion," was thereply, "but in the present case I have only to express my regret that the King is already fully informed upon the subject."
"It will be upon me then," promptly observed Helene, "that his wrath must fall, since my generous defender is dead."
"Dead! the Vicomte de Benavent-Rhodés! You are pleased to think so," remarked this depraved woman, in a bantering tone. "Certainly it is not owing to him and his associates that some of the King's servants did not perish. Happily, there has been more noise than actual injury; but this gentleman and four other musketeers are in the custody of the grand-prevot, and they must answer to justice for an armed attack, at midnight, on a royal residence. The laws of France attach capital punishment to such an outrage."
Mademoiselle de Pal—— uttered a piercing shriek, and fell into violent convulsions, which excited great alarm in the mind ofMadame, lest the death, or even the severe indisposition, of the young beauty, should be imputed to her indiscretion. She sought to assuage her sufferings, and when restoratives had produced relief, strongly advised her to apply to his Majesty, who was of a merciful disposition, and would not refuse pardon to the musketeers at her intercession.
The dread of the price which would be demanded for this favor contributed to diminish the pleasure which the hope of clemency excited. Nevertheless she resolved to meet the peril, trusting to overcome it, and to conquer culpable intentions by purity of heart and the innate power of virtue. When she ascertained that Louis XV had arrived, she proceeded to the saloon. The conversation was gay, brilliant, and varied. Mademoiselle displayed the intrepidity which is so frequently the attendant of innocence, and although her face was suffused with blushes, her voice was distinct and unfaltering, as she gracefully and respectfully besought the King to pardon the five prisoners. Louis reverted to his feelings towards herself, and observed that it lay in her power to inducehim to interfere in a matter which involved a direct offence against his personal safety and his rights. He indulged in the chivalrous levity which has so often characterised the Bourbons, remarking that he was her slave, but that even a slave should not be exasperated. Finally, he gave her distinctly to understand that the fate of the prisoners depended on her compliance.
She demanded four days' interval, which the King acceded to, adding that she could not follow a better example than that of Jephtha's daughter.
Two days had elapsed, the King was going to Mass, when a priest placed himself in front of the cortege.
"Monsieur l'Abbé," said the Duc de Richelieu, "stand aside, you impede his Majesty's passage."
"Sire," exclaimed the priest, "Sire!" and he raised his voice, notwithstanding the repeated admonitions of the Duc de Richelieu that silence should be observed, and that the King was not to be accosted then or there.
"Sire, in the name of God, and appealing to the pious traditions of your race, I implore an audience. Reflect that a moment's delay may endanger your hopes of Paradise."
The firmness and dignified demeanor of the ecclesiastic produced an extraordinary effect upon his Majesty. He stopped, reflected an instant, and then replied—
"Be it so, Monsieur; after Mass you may come to my closet, I shall hear you there."
This strange incident perplexed the court. The Comte and the Baron de Pal—— were well known amongst the courtiers; but their brother, pious and unpresuming, passed unnoticed in a place where no one appeared important unless by the favor they received, or by the influence they possessed. Impelled by curiosity, a crowd surrounded the abbé, and were lost in various conjectures. Mass being over, the door of the royal closet opened, and the captain of the guard advanced and enquired for the abbé to whom the King had promised an audience. The abbé presented himself and was admitted. He addressed the King in terms of profound respect, but protested against thedetention of his niece, and also pleaded the cause of the young musketeer and his companions. In speaking of the young lady and her lover, his language was pathetic and persuasive; but he did not hesitate to remind the monarch of the enormity of deliberate, premeditated sin, and of the awful consequences before that tribunal of eternal justice where monarchs would be judged without reference to earthly power, save as to how far they had abused it. He was urging his arguments, when the official entered and presented a letter which the King immediately perused, and raised his eyes and hands in great perturbation. "Ah! Monsieur l'Abbé," he exclaimed, "do not proceed any further. The danger is imminent. Go, invested with plenary authority, at once to the Parc-aux-Cerfs."
"Me, sire!"
"Yes, you; I want not your indignant looks. Lose not a moment, run, demand Mademoiselle de Pal——."
"My niece!"
"The same; prevent the accomplishment of her fatal resolution. Let her know that I renounce—but no, she is destroyed; it is all over. Take and read that. My God, how obstinate and self-willed these little girls are!"
The abbé, astonished at this event, hastily perused the letter.
"Sire," wrote the young lady, "I am apprised that it is by my dishonour the life of the Vicomte de Benavent can be saved. I prefer saving his life by the sacrifice of my own. If you do not wish to be answerable for my fate before an Almighty judge, do not punish a lover whom you have rendered sufficiently miserable already by my untimely death. I shall have ceased to live when this letter meets your eyes."
"Sire," wrote the young lady, "I am apprised that it is by my dishonour the life of the Vicomte de Benavent can be saved. I prefer saving his life by the sacrifice of my own. If you do not wish to be answerable for my fate before an Almighty judge, do not punish a lover whom you have rendered sufficiently miserable already by my untimely death. I shall have ceased to live when this letter meets your eyes."
"But go, Monsieur," the King exclaimed again. "These priests are effective only in the pulpit; they can advise well, but cannot act with energy."
The horror of that note imparted speed to the abbé; he ran to the Parc-aux-Cerfs, preceded by the Marquis de Pontecoulant, who was sent specially by the King. The mansion was in an indescribable state, its inmates filledwith consternation at the desperate course adopted by the hapless Helene. Several physicians were present, and various antidotes had been tried, but without any satisfactory results. At sight of the abbé, the bedside was left free for his approach.
"Oh! my niece," said the priest, in a voice almost choked with grief, "how could you presume to dispose of your life?"
"I preferred death to infamy."
"My niece, your honor is respected, and the King concedes your requests. The Vicomte de Benavent and his comrades are at liberty."
"Then I go to my grave consoled and contented."
"Dearest Helene! live to make a husband happy; live to impart joy to your family."
"It is too late."
The abbé cast imploring looks on the medical men, whose countenances mutely indicated their conviction of the hopelessness of the case. The sad sacrifice appeared nearly consummated. How she had obtained the poison none could tell. Dissolution seemed imminent, when a man of lofty stature, whose features, though extremely swarthy, expressed great intelligence, entered the room. In one hand he bore a small glass, and in the other a phial, containing a liquid of the deepest green color, and perfectly clear. "I come by the King's command," he exclaimed; and passing, through the yielding crowd, to the bedside, he half filled the glass with water, into which he dropped a portion of the green elixir. Directing Justine to raise the drooping head of the apparently expiring girl, he succeeded in getting her to swallow the medicine. Immediately a fierce spasm convulsed her frame; she raised herself with surprising energy, but instantly fell back on the pillow.
"She is dead!" exclaimed many of those present.
"She is saved," replied the tall, swarthy man, in a tone of perfect confidence. He was the celebrated Comte de Saint-Germain, whose influence with Louis XV. appeared mysterious to the courtiers, but really arose from hisextensive information and research. In theory and practice his scientific attainments were of a very high order, and appeared still more surprising when contrasted with the ignorance and imbecility of the aristocracy of that period.
Mademoiselle de Pal—— recovered so speedily as to be capable of removing, under her uncle's care, in about a week. On leaving the Parc-aux-Cerfs,The Escaped Fawnreceived, by order of the King, a splendid note-case, in which there was a draft on the Controller-General for five hundred thousand francs (£20,000.) On the previous evening, the King said to the Vicomte de Benavent:—
"Monsieur, on this occasion I am endowing virtue." Then he added, with a laugh, "One swallow does not make a summer."[16]
On the day that Mademoiselle left the Parc-aux-Cerfs, her worthless father was banished from court, and enjoined to live on his estate at Vivarais, The Chevalier d'Arc had the effrontery to present himself at court as if nothing to his discredit had occurred! The King remarked to him, that in affairs of gallantry, the consent of the young lady was more necessary than that of her father; and suggested that he should in future avoid appearing in Paris or Versailles, and fix his residence at Tulle. He accordingly retired to that place, where he died in 1779.