Ange Pitou

by Alexandre Dumas

  "It was myself. Can you trust me with that letter?"

  "No; but I can tell you by whom it is signed."

  "Please to do so."

  "By the Countess de Charny."

  "The Countess de Charny," repeated Gilbert. "I do not know her. I have done nothing to displease her."

  And he raised his head gently, as if endeavoring to recall to mind the name of the person in question.

  "There is, moreover, a small postscript," continued Necker, "without any signature, but written in a hand I know."

  Gilbert stooped down and read in the margin of the letter:—

  "Do what the Countess de Charny demands immediately."

  "It is strange," said Gilbert. "I can readily conceive why the queen should have signed it, for I mentioned both her and the Polignacs in my essays. But Madame de Charny—"

  "Do you not know her?"

  "It must be an assumed name. Besides, it is not at all to be wondered at that the notabilities of Versailles should be unknown to me. I have been absent from France for fifteen years, during which time I only came back twice; and I returned after my second visit to it, some four years ago. Who is this Countess de Charny?"

  "The friend, the bosom companion of the queen; the much beloved wife of the Count de Charny; a woman who is both beautiful and virtuous,—a prodigy, in short."

  "Well, then, I do not know this prodigy."

  "If such be the case, doctor, be persuaded of this, that you are the victim of some political intrigue. Have you never spoken of Count Cagliostro?"

  "Yes."

  "Were you acquainted with him?"

  "He was my friend. He was even more than my friend; he was my master, my saviour."

  "Well, then, either Austria or the Holy See must have demanded your incarceration. You have published some pamphlets, have you not?"

  "Alas! yes."

  "That is it, precisely. All their petty revenges point towards the queen, like the magnetic needle which points towards the pole,—the iron towards the loadstone. They have been conspiring against you; they have had you followed. The queen has ordered Madame de Charny to sign the letter, in order to prevent any suspicion; and now all the mystery is cleared up."

  Gilbert reflected for a moment. This moment of reflection reminded him of the box which had been stolen from Billot's house; and with which neither the queen, nor Austria, nor the Holy See had any connection. This recollection led his mind to consider the matter in its right point of view.

  "No," said he, "it is not that; it cannot be that. But it matters not. Let us talk of something else."

  "Of what?"

  "Of you."

  "Of me? What can you have to say of me?"

  "Only what you know as well as any one else. It is that before three days have elapsed you will be reinstated in your ministerial capacity; and then you may govern France as despotically as you please."

  "Do you think so?" said Necker, smiling.

  "And you think so, too, since you are not at Brussels."

  "Well then," exclaimed Necker, "what will be the result? For it is the result I wish to come to."

  "Here it is. You are beloved by the French; you will soon be adored by them. The queen was already tired of seeing you beloved. The king will grow tired of seeing you adored. They will acquire popularity at your expense, and you will not suffer it. Then you will become unpopular in your turn. The people, my dear Monsieur de Necker is like a starving lion, which licks only the hand that supplies it with food, be it whose hand it may."

  "After that?"

  "After that you will again be lost in oblivion."

  "I—lost in oblivion?"

  "Alas! yes."

  "And what will cause me to be forgotten?"

  "The events of the times."

  "My word of honor for it, you speak like a prophet."

  "It is my misfortune to be one to a certain extent."

  "Let us hear now what will happen?"

  "Oh, it is not difficult to predict what will happen, for that which is to happen is already in embryo in the Assembly. A party will arise that is slumbering at this moment. I am mistaken; it is not slumbering, but it hides itself. This party has for its chief a principle, and its weapon is an idea."

  "I understand you; you mean the Orleanist party?"

  "No. I should have said of that one that its chief was a man, and its weapon popularity. I speak to you of a party whose name has not even yet been pronounced. Of the republican party."

  "Of the republican party? Ah! that is too ridiculous."

  "Do you not believe in its existence?"

  "A chimera."

  "Yes, a chimera, with a mouth of fire that will devour you all."

  "Well, then, I shall become a republican. I am one already."

  "A republican from Geneva, certainly."

  "But it seems to me that a republican is a republican."

  "There is your mistake, my good baron. Our republicans do not resemble the republicans of other countries. Our republicans will first have to devour all privileges, then the nobility, and after that the monarchy. You may start with our republicans, but they will reach the goal without you, for you will not desire to follow them so far. No, Monsieur de Necker, you are mistaken; you are not a republican."

  "Oh, if you understand it in that sense, no; I love the king."

  "And I too," said Gilbert; "and everybody at this moment loves him as we do. If I were to say this to a mind of less calibre than yours, I should be hooted and laughed at; but believe what I tell you, Monsieur de Necker."

  "I would readily do so, indeed, if there were any probability of such an event; but—"

  "Do you know any of the secret societies?"

  "I have heard them much spoken of."

  "Do you believe in their existence?"

  "I believe in their existence, but I do not believe they are very extensively disseminated."

  "Are you affiliated to any one of them?"

  "No."

  "Do you belong even to a Masonic lodge?"

  "No."

  "Well, then, Monsieur de Necker, I do."

  "Are you affiliated to any of these societies?"

  "Yes, to all of them. Beware, Monsieur de Necker; they form an immense net that surrounds every throne. It is an invisible dagger that threatens every monarchy. We form a brotherhood of about three millions of men, scattered abroad in every land, disseminated throughout all classes of society. We have friends among the people, among the citizens, among the nobility, among princes, among sovereigns themselves. Take care, Monsieur de Necker; the prince with whom you might be irritated is perhaps an affiliated member. The valet who humbles himself in your presence may be an affiliated member. Your life is not yours; your fortune is not your own; your honor even is not yours. All this is directed by an invisible power, which you cannot combat, for you do not know it, and which may crush you because it knows you. Well, these three millions of men, do you see, who have already made the American republic, these three millions of men will try to form a French republic; then they will try to make a European republic."

  "But," said Necker, "their republic of the United States does not alarm me much, and I willingly accept such a form of government."

  "Yes, but between America and ourselves there is a deep gulf. America is a new country, without prejudices, without aristocratic privileges, without monarchy. It has a fertile soil, productive land, and virgin forests; America, which is situated between a sea which serves as an outlet for its commerce, and an immense solitude which is a source of wealth to its population, while France,—just consider how much it would be necessary to destroy in France before France can resemble America!"

  "But, in fine, what do you intend to prove by this?"

  "I mean to point out to you the path into which we are inevitably forced. But I would endeavor to advance into it without causing any shock, by placing the king at the head of the movement."

  "As a standard?"

  "No, but
as a shield."

  "A shield!" observed Necker, smiling. "You know but little of the king if you wish to make him play such a part."

  "Pardon me,—I know him well. Oh, gracious heaven! I know full well he is a man similar to a thousand others whom I have seen at the head of small districts in America; he is a good man without majesty, incapable of resistance, without originality of mind. But what would you have? Were it only for his sacred title, he would still be a rampart against those men of whom I was speaking to you a short time ago; and however weak the rampart may be, we like it better than no defence at all.

  "I remember in our wars with the savage tribes of North America," continued Gilbert, "I remember having passed whole nights behind a clump of bulrushes, while the enemy was on the opposite bank of the river, and firing upon us.

  "A bulrush is certainly no great defence. Still, I must frankly acknowledge to you, Monsieur de Necker, that my heart beat more freely behind those large green tubes, which were cut through by the bullets as if they were thread papers, than it did in the open field. Well, then, the king is my rush. It allows me to see the enemy, and it prevents the enemy from seeing me. That is the reason why I am a republican at New York or at Philadelphia, but a royalist in France. There our dictator was named Washington. Here, God knows what he will be named: either dagger or scaffold."

  "You seem to view things in colors of blood, Doctor."

  "You would see them in the same light as myself, if you had been, as I was, on the Place de Grève to-day."

  "Yes, that is true; I was told that a massacre had taken place there."

  "There is something magnificent, do you see, in the people; but it is when well disposed. Oh, human tempests!" exclaimed Gilbert, "how much do you surpass in fury all the tempests of the skies!"

  Necker became thoughtful.

  "Why can I not have you near me, Doctor?" said he; "you would be a useful counsellor in time of need."

  "Near you, Monsieur de Necker? I should not be so useful to you, nor so useful to France, as where I wish to go."

  "And where do you wish to go?"

  "Listen to me, sir; near the throne itself there is a great enemy of the throne; near the king there is a great enemy of the king; it is the queen. Poor woman! who forgets that she is the daughter of Maria Theresa, or rather, who only remembers it in a vain-glorious point of view; she thinks to save the king, and ruins more than the king, for she destroys the monarchy. Well, it is necessary that we who love the king, we who love France, should unite together to neutralize her power, and to annihilate her influence."

  "Well, then, do as I said, sir: remain with me, assist me."

  "If I were to remain near you, we should have but one sphere of action; you would be I, and I should be you. We must separate our forces, sir, and then they will acquire a double weight."

  "And, with all that, what can we accomplish?"

  "We may retard the catastrophe, perhaps, but certainly we cannot prevent it, although I can answer for the assistance of a powerful auxiliary, the Marquis de Lafayette."

  "Is not Lafayette a republican?"

  "As far as a Lafayette can be a republican. If we are absolutely to submit to the level of equality, believe me, we had better choose the level of nobility. I like equality that elevates, and not that which lowers mankind."

  "And you can answer for Lafayette?"

  "Yes, so long as we shall require nothing of him but honor, courage, and devotedness."

  "Well, then, speak; tell me what is it you desire?"

  "A letter of introduction to his Majesty, Louis XVI."

  "A man of your worth does not need a letter of introduction; he may present himself without it."

  "No, it suits me that I should be your creature; it is part of my project to be presented by you."

  "And what is your ambition?"

  "To become one of the king's physicians in ordinary."

  "Oh, there is nothing more easy. But the queen?"

  "When I have once seen the king, that will be my own affair."

  "But if she should persecute you?"

  "Then I will make the king assert his will."

  "The king assert his will? You will be more than a man if you accomplish that."

  "He who can control the physical part of a man, must be a great simpleton indeed if he does not some day succeed in controlling the mind."

  "But do you not think that having been imprisoned in the Bastille is but a sorry recommendation for you, who wish to become the king's physician."

  "On the contrary, it is the very best. Have I not been, according to you, persecuted for the crime of philosophy?"

  "I fear such is the case."

  "Then the king will vindicate his reputation; the king will become popular by taking as his physician a pupil of Rousseau, a partisan of the new doctrines,—a prisoner who has left the Bastille, in short. The first time you see him, make him duly weigh the advantage of such a course."

  "You are always in the right; but when once you are employed by the king, can I rely upon you?"

  "Entirely, so long as you shall follow the line of politics which we shall adopt."

  "What will you promise me?"

  "To warn you of the precise moment when you must retreat."

  Necker looked at Gilbert for a moment; then in a more thoughtful tone:—

  "Indeed; that is the greatest service which a devoted friend can render to a minister, for it is the last one."

  And he seated himself at his table to write to the king.

  While he was thus occupied, Gilbert was again examining the letter demanding his arrest; he several times repeated,—

  "The Countess de Charny? Who can she be?"

  "Here, sir," said Necker, a few moments after, while he presented Gilbert with the letter he had just written.

  Gilbert took the letter and read it.

  It contained the following lines:—

  SIRE,—Your Majesty needs the services of a trustworthy person, with whom you may converse upon your affairs. My last gift, my last service in leaving the king, is the present I make him of Doctor Gilbert.

  It will be sufficient for me to tell your Majesty that Doctor Gilbert is not only one of the most skilful physicians living, but also the author of the works entitled "Administrations and Politics," which made so lively an impression upon your mind.

  At your Majesty's feet,

  BARON DE NECKER.

  Necker did not date the letter, and gave it to Doctor Gilbert, closed only with an ordinary seal.

  "And now," added he, "I am again at Brussels, am I not?"

  "Yes, certainly, and more so than ever. To-morrow morning, at all events, you shall hear from me."

  The baron struck against the panel in a peculiar manner. Madame de Staël again appeared; only this time, in addition to her branch of pomegranate, she held one of Doctor Gilbert's pamphlets in her hands.

  She showed him the title of it with a sort of flattering coquetry.

  Gilbert took leave of Monsieur de Necker, and kissed the hand of the baroness, who accompanied him to the door of the cabinet.

  And he returned to his coach, where he found Pitou and Billot sleeping upon the front seat, the coachman sleeping on his box, and the horses sleeping upon their exhausted limbs.

  | Go to Contents |

  Chapter XXII

  The King Louis XVI

  THE interview between Gilbert, Madame de Staël, and Monsieur de Necker had lasted about an hour and a half. Gilbert re-entered Paris at a quarter-past nine o'clock, drove straight to the post-house, ordered horses and a post-chaise; and while Billot and Pitou were gone to rest themselves, after their fatigue, in a small hotel in the Rue Thiroux, where Billot generally put up when he came to Paris, Gilbert set off at a gallop on the road to Versailles.

  It was late, but that mattered little to Gilbert. To men of his nature, activity is a necessity. Perhaps his journey might be a fruitless one. But he even preferred a useless journey to remaining motionless.
For nervous temperaments, uncertainty is a greater torment than the most frightful reality.

  He arrived at Versailles at half-past ten; in ordinary times, every one would have been in bed and wrapped in the profoundest slumber; but that night no eye was closed at Versailles. They had felt the counter-shock of the terrible concussion with which Paris was still trembling.

  The French Guards, the body-guards, the Swiss, drawn up in platoons and grouped near the openings of all the principal streets, were conversing among themselves, or with those of the citizens whose fidelity to the monarchy inspired them with confidence.

  For Versailles has, at all times, been a royalist city. Religious respect for the monarchy, if not for the monarch, is engrafted in the hearts of its inhabitants, as if it were a quality of its soil. Having always lived near kings, and fostered by their bounty, beneath the shade of their wonders,—having always inhaled the intoxicating perfume of the fleurs-de-lys, and seen the brilliant gold of their garments, and the smiles upon their august lips, the inhabitants of Versailles, for whom kings have built a city of marble and porphyry, feel almost kings themselves; and even at the present day, even now, when moss is growing round the marble, and grass is springing up between the slabs of the pavement, now that gold has almost disappeared from the wainscoting, and that the shady walks of the parks are more solitary than a graveyard, Versailles must either belie its origin, or must consider itself as a fragment of the fallen monarchy, and no longer feeling the pride of power and wealth, must at least retain the poetical associations of regret, and the sovereign charms of melancholy. Thus, as we have already stated, all Versailles, in the night between the 14th and 15th July, 1789, was confusedly agitated, anxious to ascertain how the King of France would reply to the insult offered to the throne, and the deadly wound inflicted on his power.

  By his answer to Monsieur de Dreux Brézé, Mirabeau had struck royalty in the face.

  By the taking of the Bastille, the people had struck royalty to the heart.

  Still, to narrow-minded and short-sighted persons the question seemed easy of solution. In the eyes of military men in particular, who were accustomed to see nothing more than the triumph or defeat of brute-force in the result of events, it was merely necessary to march upon Paris. Thirty thousand men and twenty pieces of cannon would soon reduce to a nonentity the conceit and the victorious fury of the Parisians.