CHAPTER XVIII.
THE CONSUL DUILIUS.
The morning following the day, or rather the night, on which the eventswe have just related had occurred, the Duc d'Orleans, who had returnedto the Palais Royal without accident, after having slept all night asusual, passed into his study at his accustomed hour--that is to say,about eleven o'clock. Thanks to the sang-froid with which nature hadblessed him, and which he owed chiefly to his great courage, to hisdisdain for danger, and his carelessness of death, not only was itimpossible to observe in him any change from his ordinary calm, whichennui only turned to gloom, but he had most probably already forgottenthe strange event of which he had so nearly been the victim.
The study into which he had just entered was remarkable as belonging toa man at once a savant, a politician, and an artist. Thus a large tablecovered with a green cloth, and loaded with papers, inkstand, and pens,occupied the middle of the room; but all round, on desks, on easels, onstands, were an opera commenced, a half-finished drawing, a chemicalretort, etc. The regent, with a strange versatility of mind, passed inan instant from the deepest problems of politics to the most capriciousfancies of painting, and from the most delicate calculations ofchemistry to the somber or joyous inspirations of music. The regentfeared nothing but ennui, that enemy against whom he struggledunceasingly, without ever quite succeeding in conquering it, and which,repulsed by work, study, or pleasure, yet remained in sight--if one maysay so--like one of those clouds on the horizon, toward which, even inthe finest days, the pilot involuntarily turns his eyes. The regent wasnever unoccupied, and had the most opposite amusements always at hand.
On entering his study, where the council were to meet in two hours, hewent toward an unfinished drawing, representing a scene from "Daphnisand Chloe," and returned to the work, interrupted two days before bythat famous game of tennis, which had commenced by a racket blow, andfinished by the supper at Madame de Sabran's.
A messenger came to tell him that Madame Elizabeth Charlotte, hismother, had asked twice if he were up. The regent, who had the mostprofound respect for the princess palatine, sent word that not only washe visible, but that if madame were ready to receive him, he would payher a visit directly. He then returned to his work with all theeagerness of an artist. Shortly after the door opened, and his motherherself appeared.
Madame, the wife of Philippe, the first brother of the king, came toFrance after the strange and unexpected death of Madame Henriette ofEngland, to take the place of that beautiful and gracious princess, whohad passed from the scene like a dream. This comparison, difficult tosustain for any new-comer, was doubly so to the poor German princess,who, if we may believe her own portrait, with her little eyes, her shortand thick nose, her long thin lips, her hanging cheeks and her largeface, was far from being pretty. Unfortunately, the faults of her facewere not compensated for by beauty of figure. She was little and fat,with a short body and legs, and such frightful hands that she avowsherself that there were none uglier to be found in the world, and thatit was the only thing about her to which Louis XIV. could never becomeaccustomed. But Louis XIV. had chosen her, not to increase the beautiesof his court, but to extend his influence beyond the Rhine.
By the marriage of his brother with the princess palatine, Louis XIV.,who had already acquired some chance of inheritance in Spain, bymarrying Maria Theresa, and by Philippe the First's marriage with thePrincess Henriette, only sister of Charles II., would acquire new rightsover Bavaria, and probably in the Palatinate. He calculated, andcalculated rightly, that her brother, who was delicate, would probablydie young, and without children.
Madame, instead of being treated at her husband's death according to hermarriage contract, and forced to retire into a convent, or into the oldcastle of Montargis, was, in spite of Madame de Maintenon's hatred,maintained by Louis XIV. in all the titles and honors which she enjoyedduring her husband's lifetime, although the king had not forgotten theblow which she gave to the young Duc de Chartres at Versailles, when heannounced his marriage with Mademoiselle de Blois. The proud princess,with her thirty-two quarterings, thought it a humiliation that her sonshould marry a woman whom the royal legitimation could not prevent frombeing the fruit of a double adultery, and at the first moment, unable tocommand her feelings, she revenged herself by this maternal correction,rather exaggerated, when a young man of eighteen was the object, for theaffront offered to the honor of her ancestors.
As the young Duc de Chartres had himself only consented unwillingly tothis marriage, he easily understood his mother's dislike to it, thoughhe would have preferred, doubtless, that she should have shown it in arather less Teutonic manner. The result was, that when Monsieur died,and the Duc de Chartres became Duc d'Orleans, his mother, who might havefeared that the blow at Versailles had left some disagreeablereminiscence in the mind of the new master of the Palais Royal, found,on the contrary, a more respectful son than ever. This respectincreased, and as regent he gave his mother a position equal to that ofhis wife. When Madame de Berry, his much-loved daughter, asked herfather for a company of guards, he granted it, but ordered at the sametime that a similar company should be given to his mother.
Madame held thus a high position, and if, in spite of that position, shehad no political influence, the reason was that the regent made it aprinciple of action never to allow women to meddle with state affairs.It may be also, that Philippe the Second, regent of France, was morereserved toward his mother than toward his mistresses, for he knew herepistolary inclinations, and he had no fancy for seeing his projectsmade the subjects of the daily correspondence which she kept up with thePrincess Wilhelmina Charlotte, and the Duke Anthony Ulric of Brunswick.In exchange for this loss, he left her the management of the house andof his daughters, which, from her overpowering idleness, the Duchessed'Orleans abandoned willingly to her mother-in-law. In this lastparticular, however, the poor palatine (if one may believe the memoirswritten at the time) was not happy. Madame de Berry lived publicly withRiom, and Mademoiselle de Valois was secretly the mistress of Richelieu,who, without anybody knowing how, and as if he had the enchanted ring ofGyges, appeared to get into her rooms, in spite of the guards whowatched the doors, in spite of the spies with whom the regent surroundedhim, and though, more than once, he had hidden himself in his daughter'sroom to watch.
As to Mademoiselle de Chartres, whose character had as yet seemed muchmore masculine than feminine, she, in making a man of herself, as onemay say, seemed to forget that other men existed, when, some days beforethe time at which we have arrived, being at the opera, and hearing hermusic master, Cauchereau, the finished and expressive singer of theAcademic Royal, who, in a love scene, was prolonging a note full of themost exquisite grace and feeling, the young princess, carried away byartistic enthusiasm, stretched out her arms and cried aloud--"Ah! mydear Cauchereau!" This unexpected exclamation had troubled her mother,who had sent away the beautiful tenor, and, putting aside her habitualapathy, determined to watch over her daughter herself. There remainedthe Princess Louise, who was afterward Queen of Spain, and MademoiselleElizabeth, who became the Duchesse de Lorraine, but as to them there wasnothing said; either they were really wise, or else they understoodbetter than their elders how to restrain the sentiments of their hearts,or the accents of passion. As soon as the prince saw his mother appear,he thought something new was wrong in the rebellious troop of which shehad taken the command, and which gave her such trouble; but, as nothingcould make him forget the respect which, in public and in private, hepaid to his mother, he rose on seeing her, and after having bowed, andtaking her hand to lead her to a seat, he remained standing himself.
"Well, my son," said madame, with a strong German accent, "what is thisthat I hear, and what happened to you last evening?"
"Last evening?" said the regent, recalling his thoughts and questioninghimself.
"Yes," answered the palatine, "last evening, in coming home from Madamede Sabran's."
"Oh! it is only that," said the prince.
"
How, only that! your friend Simiane goes about everywhere saying thatthey wanted to carry you off, and that you only escaped by coming acrossthe roofs: a singular road, you will confess, for the regent of thekingdom, and by which, however devoted they may be to you, I doubt yourministers being willing to come to your council."
"Simiane is a fool, mother," answered the regent, not able to helplaughing at his mother's still scolding him as if he were a child, "itwas not anybody who wanted to carry me away, but some roisterers who hadbeen drinking at some cabaret by the Barriere des Sergents, and who werecome to make a row in the Rue des Bons Enfants. As to the road wefollowed, it was for no sort of flight upon earth that I took it, butsimply to gain a wager which that drunken Simiane is furious at havinglost."
"My son, my son," said the palatine, shaking her head, "you will neverbelieve in danger, and yet you know what your enemies are capable of.Believe me, my child, those who calumniate the soul would have fewscruples about killing the body; and you know that the Duchesse de Mainehas said, 'that the very day when she is quite sure that there is reallynothing to be made out of her bastard of a husband, she will demand anaudience of you, and drive her dagger into your heart.'"
"Bah! my mother," answered the regent, laughing, "have you become asufficiently good Catholic no longer to believe in predestination? Ibelieve in it, as you know. Would you wish me to plague my mind about adanger which has no existence; or which, if it does exist, has itsresult already inscribed in the eternal book? No, my mother, no; theonly use of all these exaggerated precautions is to sadden life. Lettyrants tremble; but I, who am what St. Simon pretends to be, the mostdebonnaire man since Louis le Debonnaire, what have I to fear?"
"Oh, mon Dieu! nothing, my dear son," said the palatine, taking the handof the prince, and looking at him with as much maternal tenderness asher little eyes were capable of expressing, "nothing, if every one knewyou as well as I do, and saw you so truly good that you cannot hate evenyour enemies; but Henry IV., whom unluckily you resemble a little toomuch on certain points, was as good, and that did not prevent theexistence of a Ravaillac. Alas! mein Gott," continued the princess,mixing up French and German in her agitation, "it is always the bestkings that they do assassinate; tyrants take precautions, and theponiard never reaches them. You must never go out without a guard; it isyou, and not I, my son, who require a regiment of soldiers."
"My mother," answered the regent, "will you listen to a story?"
"Yes, certainly, for you relate them exquisitely."
"Well, you know that there was in Rome, I forget in what precise year ofthe republic, a very brave consul, who had the misfortune, shared byHenry IV. and myself, of going out of a night. It happened that thisconsul was sent against the Carthaginians, and having invented animplement of war called a crow, he gained the first naval battle inwhich the Romans had been victors, so that when he returned to Rome,congratulating himself beforehand, no doubt, on the increase of fortunewhich would follow his increase of reputation, he was not deceived; allthe population awaited him at the city gates, and conducted him intriumph to the capitol, where the senate expected him.
"The senate announced to him that, in reward for his victory, they weregoing to bestow on him something which must be highly pleasing to him,which was, that whenever he went out he should be preceded by amusician, who should announce to every one, by playing on the flute,that he was followed by the famous Duilius, the conqueror of theCarthaginians. Duilius, you will understand, my mother, was at theheight of joy at such an honor. He returned home with a proud bearing,and preceded by his flute-player, who played his best, amid theacclamations of the multitude, who cried at the top of their voices,'Long live, Duilius; long live the conqueror of the Carthaginians; longlive the savior of Rome!' This was so intoxicating that the poor consulnearly went crazy with joy. Twice during the day he went out, althoughhe had nothing to do in the town, only to enjoy the senatorialprivilege, and to hear the triumphal music and the cries whichaccompanied it. This occupation had raised him by the evening into astate of glorification such as it is not easy to explain. The eveningcame. The conqueror had a mistress whom he loved, and whom he was eagerto see again--a sort of Madame de Sabran--with the exception that thehusband thought proper to be jealous, while ours, as you know, is not soabsurd.
"The consul therefore had his bath, dressed and perfumed himself withthe greatest care, and when eleven o'clock arrived he set out on tiptoefor the Suburranian Road. But he had reckoned without his host; or,rather, without his musician. Hardly had he gone four steps when theflute-player, who was attached to his service by night as well as day,darted from a post on which he was seated and went before, playing withall his might and main. The consequence of this was, that those who werein the streets turned round, those who were at home came to the door,and those who were in bed got up and opened their windows, all repeatingin chorus--'Here is the Consul Duilius; long live Duilius; long live theconqueror of the Carthaginians; long live the savior of Rome!' This washighly flattering, but inopportune. The consul wished to silence hisinstrumentalist, but he declared that the orders he had received fromthe senate were precise--not to be quiet a minute--that he had tenthousand sesterces a year to blow his flute, and that blow he would aslong as he had any breath left.
"The consul saw that it was useless to discuss with a man who had thedictate of the senate on his side, so he began to run, hoping to escapefrom his melodious companion, but he copied his actions from those ofDuilius with such exactitude, that all the consul could gain was to getbefore the flute-player instead of behind him. He doubled like a hare,sprang like a roebuck, rushed madly forward like a wild boar--the cursedflute-player did not lose his track for an instant, so that all Rome,understanding nothing about the object of this nocturnal race, butknowing that it was the victor who performed it, came to their windows,shouting, 'Long live Duilius; long live the conqueror of theCarthaginians; long live the savior of Rome!' The poor man had one lasthope; that of finding the people at his mistress's house asleep and thedoor half-open, as she had promised to leave it. But no; as soon as hearrived at that hospitable and gracious house, at whose door he had sooften poured perfumes and hung garlands, he found that they were awakelike all the rest, and at the window he saw the husband, who, as soon hesaw him, began to cry, 'Long live, Duilius; long live the conqueror ofthe Carthaginians; long live the savior of Rome!' The hero returned homedespairing.
"The next day he hoped to escape his musician; but this hope wasfallacious; and it was the same the day after, and all following days,so that the consul, seeing that it was impossible to keep his incognito,left for Sicily, where, out of anger, he beat the Carthaginians again;but this time so unmercifully, that every one thought that must be theend of all Punic wars, past, present, or to come. Rome was so convulsedwith joy that it gave public rejoicings like those on the anniversary ofthe foundation of the city, and proposed to give the conqueror a triumphmore splendid even than the last. As to the senate, it assembled beforethe arrival of Duilius, to determine what reward should be conferredupon him. They were all in favor of a public statue, when suddenly theyheard shouts of triumph and the sound of a flute. It was the consul whohad freed himself from the triumph, thanks to his haste, but who couldnot free himself from public gratitude, thanks to his flute-player.Suspecting that they were preparing something new, he came to take partin the deliberations. He found the senate ready to vote, with theirballs in their hands.
"He advanced to the tribune. 'Conscript fathers,' said he, 'is it notyour intention to give me a reward which will be agreeable to me?' 'Ourintention,' replied the president, 'is to make you the happiest man onearth.' 'Good,' said Duilius; 'will you allow me to ask from you thatwhich I desire most?' 'Speak,' cried all the senators at once. 'And youwill confer it on me?' asked he, with all the timidity of doubt. 'ByJupiter we will!' answered the president in the name of the assembly.'Then, Conscript fathers,' said Duilius, 'if you think that I havedeserved well of the country, take away from me, in recompense for
thissecond victory, this cursed flute-player, whom you gave me for thefirst.' The senate thought the request strange, but they had pledgedtheir word, and at that period people kept their promises. Theflute-player was allowed to retire on half-pay, and the Consul Duilius,having got rid of his musician, recovered his incognito, and, withoutnoise, found the door of that little house in the Suburranian Road,which one victory had closed against him, and which another hadreopened."
"Well," asked the palatine, "what has this story to do with the fear Ihave of your being assassinated?"
"What has it to do with it, my mother?" said the prince, laughing. "Itis, that if, instead of the one musician which the Consul Duilius had,and which caused him such disappointment, I had a regiment of guards,you may fancy what would happen to me."
"Ah! Philippe, Philippe," answered the princess, laughing and sighing atthe same time, "will you always treat serious matters so lightly!"
"No, mother," said the regent; "and the proof is, that as I presume youdid not come here solely to read me a lecture on my nocturnal courses,but to speak on business, I am ready to listen to you, and to replyseriously."
"Yes, you are right," said the princess; "I did come to speak to you ofother things. I came to speak of Mademoiselle de Chartres."
"Yes, of your favorite, mother; for it is useless to deny it, Louise isyour favorite. Can it be because she does not love her uncles much, whomyou do not love at all?"
"No, it is not that, but I confess it is pleasing to me to see that shehas no better opinion of bastards than I have; but it is because, exceptas to beauty, which she has and I never had, she is exactly what I wasat her age, having true boy's tastes, loving dogs, horses, andcavalcades, managing powder like an artilleryman, and making squibs likea workman; well, guess what has happened to her."----"She wants acommission in the guards?"
"No, no; she wants to be a nun."
"A nun! Louise! Impossible; it must be some joke of her sisters!"
"Not at all," replied the palatine; "there is no joke about it, I swearto you."
"How has she got this passion for the cloister?" asked the regent,beginning to believe in the truth of what his mother told him,accustomed as he was to live at a time when the most extravagant thingswere always the most probable.
"Where did she get it?" replied madame; "why, from the devil, I suppose;I do not know where else she could have got it. The day before yesterdayshe passed with her sister, riding, shooting, laughing; in fact, I hadnever seen her so gay; but this evening Madame d'Orleans sent for me. Ifound Mademoiselle de Chartres at her mother's knees, in tears, andbegging permission to retire to the Abbey des Chelles. Her mother turnedto me, and said, 'What do you think of this, madame?' 'I think,' Ireplied, 'that we can perform our devotions equally well in any placeand that all depends on our own preparations;' but hearing my words,Mademoiselle de Chartres redoubled her prayers, and with so muchearnestness that I said to her mother, 'It is for you to decide.' 'Oh,'replied the duchess, 'we cannot prevent this poor child from performingher devotions.' 'Let her go then,' I replied, 'and may God grant thatshe goes in that intention.' 'I swear to you, madame,' said Mademoisellede Chartres, 'that I go for God alone, and that I am influenced by noworldly idea.' Then she embraced us, and yesterday morning at seveno'clock she set out."
"I know all that, since I was to have taken her there," replied theregent. "Has nothing happened since then?"
"Yes, yesterday evening she sent back the carriage, giving the coachmana letter addressed to you, to her mother, and to me, in which she saysthat finding in the cloister that tranquillity and peace which shecannot hope for in the world, she does not wish to leave it."
"And what does her mother say to this resolution?"
"Her mother!" replied madame. "To tell you the truth, I believe hermother is very glad, for she likes convents, and thinks it a greatpiece of good-luck to have a daughter a nun; but I say there is nohappiness where there is no vocation."
The regent read and re-read the letter of Mademoiselle de Chartres,trying to discover, by the expression of her desire to remain atChelles, the secret causes which had given rise to it. Then, after aninstant of meditation, as deep as if the fate of empires depended on it:
"There is some love pique here," said he; "do you know if Louise lovesany one?"
Madame told the regent the adventure of the opera, and the exclamationof the princess, in her admiration for the handsome tenor.
"Diable!" cried the regent, "and what did you and the Duchesse d'Orleansdo in your maternal council?"
"We showed Cauchereau the door, and forbade the opera to Mademoiselle deChartres; we could not do less."
"Well!" replied the regent, "there is no need to seek further. We mustcure her at once of this fancy."
"And how will you do that, my son?"
"I will go to-day to the Abbey des Chelles, and interrogate Louise. Ifthe thing is but a caprice, I will give it time to pass off. I willappear to adopt her views, and, in a year hence, when she is to take theveil, she herself will come and beg us to free her from the difficultyshe has got herself into. If, on the contrary, the thing is serious,then it will be different."
"Mon Dieu!" said madame, rising, "remember that poor Cauchereau has,perhaps, nothing to do with it, and that he is even ignorant of thepassion he has inspired."
"Do not be afraid," replied the prince, laughing at the tragicinterpretation which the princess, with her German ideas, had given tohis words. "I shall not renew the lamentable history of the lovers ofthe Paraclete; Cauchereau's voice shall neither lose nor gain a singlenote in this adventure, and we do not treat a princess of the blood inthe same manner as a little bourgeoise."
"But, on the other hand," said madame, almost as much afraid of theregent's real indulgence as of his apparent severity, "no weaknesseither."
"My mother," said the regent, "if she must deceive some one, I wouldrather that it was her husband than God." And kissing his mother's handrespectfully, he led her to the door, quite scandalized at those easymanners, among which she died, without ever having accustomed herself tothem. Then the Duc d'Orleans returned to his drawing, humming an airfrom his opera of Porthee.
In crossing the antechamber, madame saw a little man in greatriding-boots coming toward her, his head sunk in the immense collar of acoat lined with fur. When he reached her he poked out of his surtout alittle face with a pointed nose, and bearing a resemblance at once to apolecat and a fox.
"Oh!" said the palatine, "is it you, abbe?"
"Myself, your highness. I have just saved France--nothing but that." Andbowing to madame, without waiting for her to dismiss him, as etiquetterequired, he turned on his heel, and entered the regent's study withoutbeing announced.