Memoirs of a Physician (20 page)

The people lined the road which the carriage was to take, while the members of the parliament and the court, who could not be received by the duke, stationed themselves in their carriages in front of the crowd of people, that they might salute him as he passed, and bid him adieu.

The procession was the densest at the Barriere d’Enfer, which is on the road to Touraine, at which place there was such a conflux of foot-passengers, horsemen, and carriages, that the traffic was interrupted for several hours.

When the duke had crossed the barriere, he found him-

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self escorted by more than a hundred carriages, which formed a sort of triumphant procession around him.

Acclamations and sighs followed him on all sides, but he had too much sense and penetration not to know that all this noise was not so much occasioned by regret for him personally as by the fear of those unknown people who were to rise upon his ruin.

A short way from the barriere a post-chaise, galloping along the crowded road, met the procession, and had it not been for the skill of the postilion, the horses, white with foam and dust, would have dashed against M. de Choiseul’s equipage.

A head bent forward out of the carriage window, and M. de Choiseul leaned out also from his.

M. d’Aiguillon bowed profoundly to the fallen minister whose heritage he had come to canvass. M. de Choiseul threw himself back in the carriage ; a single second had sufficed to wither the laurels which had crowned his disgrace.

But at the same moment, as a compensation, no doubt, a carriage drawn by eight horses and bearing the royal arms of France, which was seen advancing along the cross-road from Sevres to St. Cloud, and which, whether by accident, or on account of the crowd, did not turn into the high-road, also crossed before M. de Choiseul’s carriage. The ‘dauphiness, with her lady of honor,
Mme.
de Noailles, was on the back seat of the carriage, on the front was Mile. Andre de Taverney. M. de Choiseul, crimson with exul-tation and joy, bent forward out of the door, and bowed profoundly.

” Adieu, madame,” said he, in a low voice.

” Au revoir, Monsieur de Choiseul,” replied the dauphiness, with an imperial smile, and a majestic contempt of all etiquette.

” Long live Monsieur de Choiseul ! ” cried a voice, en-thusiastically, after the dauphiness had spoken. .

At the sound of the voice, Mile. Andre turned round qnickly.

” Make way ! make way ! ” cried her highness’s grooms,

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forcing Gilbert, pale as death, and pressing forward in his eagerness to range himself with the other people on road.

It was indeed our hero, who, in his philosophical enthusiasm, had cried out, ” Long live Monsieur de Choiseul.”

CHAPTER XX. THE DUKE D’AIGUILLON.

WHILE melancholy visages and red eyes were the order of the day on the road from Paris to Chanteloup, Luciennes was radiant with blooming faces and charming smiles.

It was because at Luciennes was enthroned not a mere mortal, although the most beautiful and most adorable of mortals, as the poets and courtiers declared, but the real divinity which governed France.

The evening after M. de Choiseul’s disgrace, therefore, the road leading to Luciennes was thronged with the same carriages which, in the morning, had rolled after the exiled minister. There were, besides, the partisans of the chancellor, and the votaries of corruption and self-interest, and altogether they made an imposing procession.

But
Mme.
Dubarry had her police, and Jean knew, to a baron, the names of those who had strewn the last flowers over the expiring Choiseuls. He gave a list of these names to the countess, and they were pitilessly excluded, while the courage of the others in braving public opinion was re-warded by the protecting smile and the complete view of the goddess of the day. What joy and what congratulations echoed on all sides. Pressings of the hand, little smothered laughs, and enthusiastic applause, seemed to have become the habitual language of the inhabitants of Luciennes.

After the great throng of carriages, and the general crowd, followed the private receptions. Richelieu, the secret and modest hero, indeed, but yet the real hero of the day, saw the crowd of visitors and petitioners pass away, and remained the last in the countess’s boudoir.

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“It must be confessed,” said the countess, “that the Count Balsamo, or De Fenix, whichever name you give him, marshal, is one of the first men of the age. It would be a thousand pities if such sorcerers were still burned.”

” Certainly, countess, he is a great man,” replied Richelieu.

” And a very handsome man, too ; I have taken quite a fancy to him, duke.”

” You will make me jealous,” said Richelieu, laughing, and eager besides to direct the conversation to a more positive and serious subject. ” The Count de Fenix would make a dreadful minister of police.”

” I was thinking of that,” replied the countess ; ” only it would be impossible.”

” Why, countess ? “

” Because he would render colleagues impossible.”

“How so?”

” Knowing everything seeing into their hand ;

Richelieu blushed beneath his rouge.

” Countess,” replied he, ” if he were my colleague I would wish him to see into mine always, and communicate the cards to you ; for you would ever see the knave of hearts on his knees before the queen, and prostrate at the feet of the king.”

” Your wit puts us all to the blush, my dear duke,” replied the countess. ” But let us talk a little of our ministry. I think you mentioned that you warned your nephew D’Aiguillon of what would take place.”

” He has arrived, madame, and with Avhat Roman augurs would have called the best conjunction of omens possible ; his carriage mct-Choiseul’s leaving Paris.”

” That is indeed a favorable omen,” said the countess. ” Then he is coming here ? “

” Madame, I thought that if Monsieur d’Aiguillon was seen at Luciennes at such a time, it would give rise to unpleasant comment; I begged him, therefore, to remain in the village, until I should send for him according to your orders.”

” Send for him immediately then, marshal, for WQ are alone, or very nearly so.”

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” The more willing that we quite understand each other; do we not, countess ? “

” Certainly, dujce, you prefer war to finance, do you not; or do you wish for the marine ? “

” I prefer war, madame ; I can be of most service in that department.”

” True, I will speak of it to the king ; you have no antipathies.”

“For whom?”

” For any colleagues his majesty might present to you.”

” I am the least difficult man in the world to live with, countess, but allow me to send for my nephew, since you are good enough to grant him the favor of an audience.”

Richelieu approached the window and looked into the courtyard, now illuminated by the last rays of the setting sun. He made a sign to one of his footmen, who was keeping his e’ye fixed upon the window, and who darted off as soon as he received the signal.

Lights were now brought in.

Ten minutes after the footman had disappeared a carriage rolled into the courtyard. The countess turned quickly toward the window.

Richelieu saw the movement, which seemed to him an excellent prognostic for M. d’Aiguillon’s affairs, and consequently for his own.

” She’likes the uncle,” said he to himself; “and she is in a fair way to like the nephew ; we shall be masters here.”

While he was feasting on these chimerical visions, a slight noise was heard at the door, and the confidential valet-de-chambre throwing it open, announced the Duke d’Aiguillon.

He was an extremely handsome and graceful nobleman, richly, and at the same time elegantly and tastefully dressed. M. d’Aiguillon had passed his earliest prime, but he was one of those men who, whether judged by their looks or minds, seem young until old age renders them in-firm.

The cares of government had traced no wrinkles on his brow ; they had only enlarged the natural fold which seems to be the birthplace of great thoughts both in statesmen

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and in poets. His air and carriage were lofty and commanding, and his handsome features wore an expression at once of intelligence and melancholy, as if he knew that the hatred of ten millions of men weighed upon his head, but at the same time wished to prove that the weight was not beyond his strength.

M. d’Aiguillon had the most beautiful hands in the world ; they looked white and delicate even when buried in the softest folds of lace. A well-turned leg was prized very highly at that period, and the duke’s was a model of manly elegance and aristocratic form. He combined the suavity of the poet with the nobility of the lord and the supple-ness and ease of the dashing guardsman. He was thus a beau-ideal for the countess in the three several qualities which the instinct of this beautiful sensualist taught her to love.

By a remarkable coincidence, or, rather, by a chain of circumstances skilfully combined by M. d’Aiguillon, these two objects of public animadversion, the favorite and the courtier, had, with all their mutual advantages, never yet met each other face to face at court.

For the last three years M. d’Aiguillon had managed to bo very busy, either in Brittany or in his closet, and had not once shown himself at court, knowing well that a favorable or unfavorable crisis must soon take place. In the first case, it would be better to be comparatively unknown; in the second, to disappear without leaving any trace behind, and thus be able easily to emerge from the gulf under new auspices, and in a new character.

Another motive influenced his calculations a motive which is the mainspring of romance, but which, nevertheless, was the most powerful of all.

Before
Mme.
Dubarry was a countess, and every evening touched the crown of France with her lips, she had been a lovely, smiling, and adored creature she had been loved, a happiness she could no longer hope for since she was feared.

Among all the young, rich, powerful, and handsome men who had paid court to Jeanne Vaubernier, among all the rhymers who had coupled her in their verses with

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the epithets of angel and divinity, the Duke d’Aiguillon had formerly figured in the first rank; but whether it was that the duke was not sufficiently ardent, or whether Mile. Lange was not so easily pleased as her detractors pretended, or lastly, whether the sudden attachment of the king had separated the two hearts ready to unite, is not known; but the fact remains that M. d’Aiguillon got his verses, acrostics, bouquets, and perfumes returned, and Mile. Lange closed her door in the Kue des Petits Champs against him. The duke hastened to Brittany, suppressing his sighs; Mile. Lange wafted all hers toward Versailles, to the Baron de Gonesse, that is, the King of France.

D’Aiguillon’s sudden disappearance had troubled
Mme.
Dubarry very little, for she feared the remembrances of the past; but when subsequently she saw the silent attitude of her former adorer, she felt at^first perplexed, then astonished, and, being in a good position for judging of men, she ended by thinking him a man of profound tact and “discretion.

For the countess this was a great distinction, but it was not all, and the moment was perhaps come when she might think D’Aiguillon a man of heart.

We have seen that the marshal, in all his conversations with
Mme.
Dubarry, had never touched upon the subject of his nephew’s acquaintance with Mile. Lange. This silence from a man accustomed, as the old duke was, to say the most difficult things in the world, had much surprised and even alarmed the countess. She therefore impatiently awaited M. d’Aiguillon’s arrival to know how to conduct herself, and to ascertain whether the marshal had been discreet or merely ignorant.

The duke entered, respectful, but at the same time easy, and sufficiently master of himself to draw the distinction in his salutation between the reigning sultana and the court lady. By this discriminating tact he instantly gained a protectress quite disposed to find good perfect, and perfection wonderful.

M. d’Aiguillon then took his uncle’s hand, and the latter advancing toward the countess, said, in his most insinuating voice :

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“The Duke d’Aiguillon, madame. It is not so much my nephew as one of your most ardent servants, whom I have the honor to present to you.”

The countess glanced at ‘the duke as the marshal spoke, and looked at him like a woman, that is to say, with eyes which nothing can escape. But she saw only two heads, bowing respectfully before her, and two faces erect ; serene, and calm after the salutation was over.

” I know, marshal, that you love the duke,” said the countess. ” You are my friend. I shall request Monsieur d’Aiguillon, therefore, in deference to his uncle, to imitate him in all that will be agreeable to me.”

” That is the conduct I had traced out beforehand for myself, madame,” said D’Aiguillon, with another bow.

” You have suffered much in Brittany ? ” asked the countess.

“Yes, madame, and it is not yet over,” replied D’Aiguillon.

” I believe it is, sir ! besides, there is Monsieur de Richelieu who will be a powerful assistance to you.”

D’Aiguillon looked at Richelieu as if surprised.

” Ah,” said the countess, ” I see that the marshal has not yet had time to have any conversation with you. That is very natural, as you have just arrived from a journey. Well, you must have a thousand things to say to each other, and I shall therefore leave you, marshal, for the present. My lord duke, pray consider yourself at home here.”

So saying, the countess retired; but she did not proceed far. Behind the boudoir there opened a large closet, filled with all sorts of fantastic baubles with which the king vas very fond of amusing himself when he came to Luciennes. He preferred this closet to the boudoir, because in it one could hear all that was said in the next room.
Mme.
Dubarry therefore was certain to hear the whole conversation between the duke and his nephew, and she calculated upon forming from it a correct and irrevocable opinion of the latter.