Chapter 10. The King’s Closet at the Tuileries
We will leave Villefort on the road to Paris, travelling—thanks totrebled fees—with all speed, and passing through two or threeapartments, enter at the Tuileries the little room with the archedwindow, so well known as having been the favorite closet of Napoleon andLouis XVIII., and now of Louis Philippe.
There, seated before a walnut table he had brought with him fromHartwell, and to which, from one of those fancies not uncommon to greatpeople, he was particularly attached, the king, Louis XVIII., wascarelessly listening to a man of fifty or fifty-two years of age, withgray hair, aristocratic bearing, and exceedingly gentlemanly attire, andmeanwhile making a marginal note in a volume of Gryphius’s ratherinaccurate, but much sought-after, edition of Horace—a work which wasmuch indebted to the sagacious observations of the philosophicalmonarch.
“You say, sir——” said the king.
“That I am exceedingly disquieted, sire.”
“Really, have you had a vision of the seven fat kine and the seven leankine?”
“No, sire, for that would only betoken for us seven years of plenty andseven years of scarcity; and with a king as full of foresight as yourmajesty, scarcity is not a thing to be feared.”
“Then of what other scourge are you afraid, my dear Blacas?”
“Sire, I have every reason to believe that a storm is brewing in thesouth.”
“Well, my dear duke,” replied Louis XVIII., “I think you are wronglyinformed, and know positively that, on the contrary, it is very fineweather in that direction.” Man of ability as he was, Louis XVIII. likeda pleasant jest.
“Sire,” continued M. de Blacas, “if it only be to reassure a faithfulservant, will your majesty send into Languedoc, Provence, and Dauphiné,trusty men, who will bring you back a faithful report as to the feelingin these three provinces?”
“Canimus surdis,” replied the king, continuing the annotations in hisHorace.
“Sire,” replied the courtier, laughing, in order that he might seem tocomprehend the quotation, “your majesty may be perfectly right inrelying on the good feeling of France, but I fear I am not altogetherwrong in dreading some desperate attempt.”
“By whom?”
“By Bonaparte, or, at least, by his adherents.”
“My dear Blacas,” said the king, “you with your alarms prevent me fromworking.”
“And you, sire, prevent me from sleeping with your security.”
“Wait, my dear sir, wait a moment; for I have such a delightful note onthe Pastor quum traheret—wait, and I will listen to you afterwards.”
There was a brief pause, during which Louis XVIII. wrote, in a hand assmall as possible, another note on the margin of his Horace, and thenlooking at the duke with the air of a man who thinks he has an idea ofhis own, while he is only commenting upon the idea of another, said:
“Go on, my dear duke, go on—I listen.”
“Sire,” said Blacas, who had for a moment the hope of sacrificingVillefort to his own profit, “I am compelled to tell you that these arenot mere rumors destitute of foundation which thus disquiet me; but aserious-minded man, deserving all my confidence, and charged by me towatch over the south” (the duke hesitated as he pronounced these words),“has arrived by post to tell me that a great peril threatens the king,and so I hastened to you, sire.”
“Mala ducis avi domum,” continued Louis XVIII., still annotating.
“Does your majesty wish me to drop the subject?”
“By no means, my dear duke; but just stretch out your hand.”
“Which?”
“Whichever you please—there to the left.”
“Here, sire?”
“I tell you to the left, and you are looking to the right; I mean on myleft—yes, there. You will find yesterday’s report of the minister ofpolice. But here is M. Dandré himself;” and M. Dandré, announced by thechamberlain-in-waiting, entered.
“Come in,” said Louis XVIII., with repressed smile, “come in, Baron, andtell the duke all you know—the latest news of M. de Bonaparte; do notconceal anything, however serious,—let us see, the Island of Elba is avolcano, and we may expect to have issuing thence flaming and bristlingwar—bella, horrida bella.”
M. Dandré leaned very respectfully on the back of a chair with his twohands, and said:
“Has your majesty perused yesterday’s report?”
“Yes, yes; but tell the duke himself, who cannot find anything, what thereport contains—give him the particulars of what the usurper is doing inhis islet.”
“Monsieur,” said the baron to the duke, “all the servants of his majestymust approve of the latest intelligence which we have from the Island ofElba. Bonaparte——”
M. Dandré looked at Louis XVIII., who, employed in writing a note, didnot even raise his head. “Bonaparte,” continued the baron, “is mortallywearied, and passes whole days in watching his miners at work at Porto-Longone.”
“And scratches himself for amusement,” added the king.
“Scratches himself?” inquired the duke, “what does your majesty mean?”
“Yes, indeed, my dear duke. Did you forget that this great man, thishero, this demigod, is attacked with a malady of the skin which worrieshim to death, prurigo?”
“And, moreover, my dear duke,” continued the minister of police, “we arealmost assured that, in a very short time, the usurper will be insane.”
“Insane?”
“Raving mad; his head becomes weaker. Sometimes he weeps bitterly,sometimes laughs boisterously, at other time he passes hours on theseashore, flinging stones in the water and when the flint makes ‘duck-and-drake’ five or six times, he appears as delighted as if he hadgained another Marengo or Austerlitz. Now, you must agree that these areindubitable symptoms of insanity.”
“Or of wisdom, my dear baron—or of wisdom,” said Louis XVIII., laughing;“the greatest captains of antiquity amused themselves by casting pebblesinto the ocean—see Plutarch’s life of Scipio Africanus.”
M. de Blacas pondered deeply between the confident monarch and thetruthful minister. Villefort, who did not choose to reveal the wholesecret, lest another should reap all the benefit of the disclosure, hadyet communicated enough to cause him the greatest uneasiness.
“Well, well, Dandré,” said Louis XVIII., “Blacas is not yet convinced;let us proceed, therefore, to the usurper’s conversion.” The minister ofpolice bowed.
“The usurper’s conversion!” murmured the duke, looking at the king andDandré, who spoke alternately, like Virgil’s shepherds. “The usurperconverted!”
“Decidedly, my dear duke.”
“In what way converted?”
“To good principles. Tell him all about it, baron.”
“Why, this is the way of it,” said the minister, with the gravest air inthe world: “Napoleon lately had a review, and as two or three of his oldveterans expressed a desire to return to France, he gave them theirdismissal, and exhorted them to ‘serve the good king.’ These were hisown words, of that I am certain.”
“Well, Blacas, what think you of this?” inquired the king triumphantly,and pausing for a moment from the voluminous scholiast before him.
“I say, sire, that the minister of police is greatly deceived or I am;and as it is impossible it can be the minister of police as he has theguardianship of the safety and honor of your majesty, it is probablethat I am in error. However, sire, if I might advise, your majesty willinterrogate the person of whom I spoke to you, and I will urge yourmajesty to do him this honor.”
“Most willingly, duke; under your auspices I will receive any person youplease, but you must not expect me to be too confiding. Baron, have youany report more recent than this, dated the 20th February, and this isthe 3rd of March?”
“No, sire, but I am hourly expecting one; it may have arrived since Ileft my office.”
“Go thither, and if there be none—well, well,” continued Louis XVIII.,“make one; that is t
he usual way, is it not?” and the king laughedfacetiously.
“Oh, sire,” replied the minister, “we have no occasion to invent any;every day our desks are loaded with most circumstantial denunciations,coming from hosts of people who hope for some return for services whichthey seek to render, but cannot; they trust to fortune, and rely uponsome unexpected event in some way to justify their predictions.”
“Well, sir, go”; said Louis XVIII., “and remember that I am waiting foryou.”
“I will but go and return, sire; I shall be back in ten minutes.”
“And I, sire,” said M. de Blacas, “will go and find my messenger.”
“Wait, sir, wait,” said Louis XVIII. “Really, M. de Blacas, I mustchange your armorial bearings; I will give you an eagle withoutstretched wings, holding in its claws a prey which tries in vain toescape, and bearing this device—Tenax.”
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“Sire, I listen,” said De Blacas, biting his nails with impatience.
“I wish to consult you on this passage, ‘Molli fugiens anhelitu,’ youknow it refers to a stag flying from a wolf. Are you not a sportsman anda great wolf-hunter? Well, then, what do you think of the mollianhelitu?”
“Admirable, sire; but my messenger is like the stag you refer to, for hehas posted two hundred and twenty leagues in scarcely three days.”
“Which is undergoing great fatigue and anxiety, my dear duke, when wehave a telegraph which transmits messages in three or four hours, andthat without getting in the least out of breath.”
“Ah, sire, you recompense but badly this poor young man, who has come sofar, and with so much ardor, to give your majesty useful information. Ifonly for the sake of M. de Salvieux, who recommends him to me, I entreatyour majesty to receive him graciously.”
“M. de Salvieux, my brother’s chamberlain?”
“Yes, sire.”
“He is at Marseilles.”
“And writes me thence.”
“Does he speak to you of this conspiracy?”
“No; but strongly recommends M. de Villefort, and begs me to present himto your majesty.”
“M. de Villefort!” cried the king, “is the messenger’s name M. deVillefort?”
“Yes, sire.”
“And he comes from Marseilles?”
“In person.”
“Why did you not mention his name at once?” replied the king, betrayingsome uneasiness.
“Sire, I thought his name was unknown to your majesty.”
“No, no, Blacas; he is a man of strong and elevated understanding,ambitious, too, and, pardieu! you know his father’s name!”
“His father?”
“Yes, Noirtier.”
“Noirtier the Girondin?—Noirtier the senator?”
“He himself.”
“And your majesty has employed the son of such a man?”
“Blacas, my friend, you have but limited comprehension. I told youVillefort was ambitious, and to attain this ambition Villefort wouldsacrifice everything, even his father.”
“Then, sire, may I present him?”
“This instant, duke! Where is he?”
“Waiting below, in my carriage.”
“Seek him at once.”
“I hasten to do so.”
The duke left the royal presence with the speed of a young man; hisreally sincere royalism made him youthful again. Louis XVIII. remainedalone, and turning his eyes on his half-opened Horace, muttered:
“Justum et tenacem propositi virum.”
M. de Blacas returned as speedily as he had departed, but in theantechamber he was forced to appeal to the king’s authority. Villefort’sdusty garb, his costume, which was not of courtly cut, excited thesusceptibility of M. de Brezé, who was all astonishment at finding thatthis young man had the audacity to enter before the king in such attire.The duke, however, overcame all difficulties with a word—his majesty’sorder; and, in spite of the protestations which the master of ceremoniesmade for the honor of his office and principles, Villefort wasintroduced.
The king was seated in the same place where the duke had left him. Onopening the door, Villefort found himself facing him, and the youngmagistrate’s first impulse was to pause.
“Come in, M. de Villefort,” said the king, “come in.”
Villefort bowed, and advancing a few steps, waited until the king shouldinterrogate him.
“M. de Villefort,” said Louis XVIII., “the Duc de Blacas assures me youhave some interesting information to communicate.”
“Sire, the duke is right, and I believe your majesty will think itequally important.”
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“In the first place, and before everything else, sir, is the news as badin your opinion as I am asked to believe?”
“Sire, I believe it to be most urgent, but I hope, by the speed I haveused, that it is not irreparable.”
“Speak as fully as you please, sir,” said the king, who began to giveway to the emotion which had showed itself in Blacas’s face and affectedVillefort’s voice. “Speak, sir, and pray begin at the beginning; I likeorder in everything.”
“Sire,” said Villefort, “I will render a faithful report to yourmajesty, but I must entreat your forgiveness if my anxiety leads to someobscurity in my language.” A glance at the king after this discreet andsubtle exordium, assured Villefort of the benignity of his augustauditor, and he went on:
“Sire, I have come as rapidly to Paris as possible, to inform yourmajesty that I have discovered, in the exercise of my duties, not acommonplace and insignificant plot, such as is every day got up in thelower ranks of the people and in the army, but an actual conspiracy—astorm which menaces no less than your majesty’s throne. Sire, theusurper is arming three ships, he meditates some project, which, howevermad, is yet, perhaps, terrible. At this moment he will have left Elba,to go whither I know not, but assuredly to attempt a landing either atNaples, or on the coast of Tuscany, or perhaps on the shores of France.Your majesty is well aware that the sovereign of the Island of Elba hasmaintained his relations with Italy and France?”
“I am, sir,” said the king, much agitated; “and recently we have hadinformation that the Bonapartist clubs have had meetings in the RueSaint-Jacques. But proceed, I beg of you. How did you obtain thesedetails?”
“Sire, they are the results of an examination which I have made of a manof Marseilles, whom I have watched for some time, and arrested on theday of my departure. This person, a sailor, of turbulent character, andwhom I suspected of Bonapartism, has been secretly to the Island ofElba. There he saw the grand-marshal, who charged him with an oralmessage to a Bonapartist in Paris, whose name I could not extract fromhim; but this mission was to prepare men’s minds for a return (it is theman who says this, sire)—a return which will soon occur.”
“And where is this man?”
“In prison, sire.”
“And the matter seems serious to you?”
“So serious, sire, that when the circumstance surprised me in the midstof a family festival, on the very day of my betrothal, I left my brideand friends, postponing everything, that I might hasten to lay at yourmajesty’s feet the fears which impressed me, and the assurance of mydevotion.”
“True,” said Louis XVIII., “was there not a marriage engagement betweenyou and Mademoiselle de Saint-Méran?”
“Daughter of one of your majesty’s most faithful servants.”
“Yes, yes; but let us talk of this plot, M. de Villefort.”
“Sire, I fear it is more than a plot; I fear it is a conspiracy.”
“A conspiracy in these times,” said Louis XVIII., smiling, “is a thingvery easy to meditate, but more difficult to conduct to an end, inasmuchas, re-established so recently on the throne of our ancestors, we haveour eyes open at once upon the past, the present, and the future. Forthe last ten months my ministers have redoubled their vigilance, inorder to watch the shore of the Mediterranean. If Bonaparte landed atNaples, the whole coalition would be on foot before he could ev
en reachPiombino; if he land in Tuscany, he will be in an unfriendly territory;if he land in France, it must be with a handful of men, and the resultof that is easily foretold, execrated as he is by the population. Takecourage, sir; but at the same time rely on our royal gratitude.”
“Ah, here is M. Dandré!” cried de Blacas. At this instant the ministerof police appeared at the door, pale, trembling, and as if ready tofaint. Villefort was about to retire, but M. de Blacas, taking his hand,restrained him.
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