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Marie Antoinette Romances, Vol 2: The Mesmerist's Victim

<h2>CHAPTER XV. THE ROAD TO PREMIERSHIP IS NOT STREWN WITH ROSES.</h2> WHILE all these petty plots were going on at Trianon amid the trees and flowers, making things lively for the people of that trifling world, the vast plots of the capital, threatening tempests, were unfolding their black wings over the Temple of Themis, as they said in those high-flown days. The Parliaments, degenerate remnant of old French opposition to royalty, had recovered the art of hating under the capricious reign of Louis XV., and since they felt danger impending when their shield, Choiseul, was removed, they prepared to conjure it away. The appointment of the Duke of Aiguillon, ex-Governor of Brittany, to the command of the Light Cavalry, thanks to Lady Dubarry’s influence over the King, was, to quote Jean Dubarry, “a smack in the face” for the Third Estate, from Feudality. How would they take it? Lawyers and politicians were keen-sighted gentlemen and where most folks are perplexed, they see clearly. They resolved: “The Parliamentary Court will deliberate on the conduct of the ex-Governor of Brittany and give its opinion.” The King parried this thrust by intimating to the peers and princes that they must not go to the Parliament session to take part in the discussion, as far as Duke Aiguillon was concerned. Already unpopular, the Duke of Aiguillon was discouraged and sat in a state of torpor at the impending overthrow when his uncle, the Duke of Richelieu, was announced. He ran to welcome him with all the more eagerness as he had been trying to meet him lately without the old fox being discoverable. “Uncle,” he began when he had cornered the other in an armchair so he could not retreat, “is it true that you, the wittiest man in France could not see that I should be as selfish for us two as for myself alone? you have been shunning me when I most have need of you.” “Upon honor, I do not understand you.” “I will in that case make all clear. The King was not inclined to make you Prime Minister vice Choiseul banished, and he did make me commander of the Light Cavalry, so that you suppose I sold you to get my reward.” “If I failed, you have won, and that is enough for the house of Richelieu. You have nothing to grumble about for you are high in favor and in six months will be ruler. Suppose I am the dog who snapped at the shadow of the meat—and letting the meat drop, sees another run away with it. I have learnt a lesson—but the meat is ours all the same. But what do I hear?” “Nothing uncle; pray go on.” “But it is a carriage—I am in the way.” “No, no, go on for I love fables—— ” “Nay, it may be the appointment as minister—the meat! the little countess—— ” “She heartily loves you, uncle—— ” “Well she has been working for you in camera—— ” The servant entered. “A deputation from Parliament,” he said with some trepidation. “What did I tell you?” sneered the old noble. “A Parliamentary deputation here?” queried the younger duke, far from encouraged by the other’s smile. “What can they want with me?” “In the King’s name!” thundered a sonorous voice at the end of the anteroom. “Whew!” muttered Richelieu. Aiguillon rose, quite pale, and went to show in two members of Parliament, behind whom appeared two impassive ushers while at a distance a legion of frightened servants appeared. Bowing to the duke, whom they officially recognized, the spokesman of the gentlemen of the Commission read a paper in a loud voice. It was the complete, particularised, circumstantial declaration that the Duke of Aiguillon was gravely inculpated and tainted with suspicions, moreover, guilty of deeds befouling his honor and that he was suspended in his functions as peer of France. The duke heard the reading like a man struck with lightning might listen to the thunder. He moved no more than a statue on its pedestal, and did not even put out his hand to take the document from the official of the Parliament. It was the marshal, standing up, alert and clear-headed, who took it, and returned the bow to the bearer. The Commission members were far while the duke remained in stupor. “This is a heavy blow!” remarked Richelieu; “no longer a peer of the realm—it is humiliating.” The victim turned round as if only now restored to life. “Did you not expect it?” asked the elder. “Did you, uncle?” was the retort. “How could anybody suspect that Parliament would so smartly rap the favorite of the King and of the King’s favorite? these fellows will get themselves ground to powder.” The duke sank into a seat, with his hand on his burning cheek. “If they do such a thing because you are made commander of the Light Cavalry,” continued the old marshal, turning the dagger in the wound, “they will condemn you to be burnt at the stake when you are appointed Premier. These fellows hate you, Aiguillon; better distrust them.” The duke bore this untimely joking with heroic constancy; his misfortune magnified him and purified his spirit. But the other took it for insensibility or even want of intelligence, perhaps, and thought that he had not stung deeply enough. “However, being no longer a peer, you will be exposed to the long bills of these blackbirds,” he proceeded; “take refuge in obscurity for a few years. Besides, this safeguard, obscurity, will help you without your imagining it. Unpropped by your title, you will more grandly become the minister, because with more effort. Lady Dubarry will do more for you thus disarmed, for she wears you in her heart—and is a solid supporter.” Aiguillon rose without shooting at the jester one angry look for all the suffering he inflicted. “You are right, uncle,” he said, tranquilly, “and your wisdom shows in the last piece of advice. Lady Dubarry will defend me—she, to whom you introduced me and to whom you recommended me so warmly. Thank God! she likes me. She is brave and has full power over the King’s mind. I thank you, uncle, for your hint, and I shall hie to her residence at Luciennes as to a haven of safety. What, ho there! my horses to be put to the carriage.” The marshal was sorely puzzled but he had some consolation when at evening he saw the delight of the Parisians on reading the posters proclaiming the disgrace of Aiguillon. “Do you think, Rafté, that the duke will get out of this scrape?” asked the old intriguer of his valet and confidential man, who rather deserved the name of Crafty. He had been forty years in his service. “The King will.” “Oh, the King will always have a loophole. But the King has nothing to do with this case.” “Why, my lord, if the King can get through, Lady Dubarry will follow, and lead my lord of Aiguillon with her.” “You do not understand politics, Rafté.” Rafté was as keen as his master. “Well, my lord, our lawyer, Flageot, who is member of Parliament, he thinks the King will not get out of it.” “Who will net the lion?” “The rat, instead of helping him out.” “Oh, is Flageot the rat?” “He says so. I always believe a lawyer when he promises anything unkind.” “We must look into the Flageot method, then, Rafté. But let me have something to eat before I go to sleep. It has upset me to see my poor nephew unmade peer of France and his chances of the Prime-Minister-ship knocked on the head. An uncle naturally feels for his nephew, eh?” From sighing he set to laughing. “You would have made as good a minister yourself,” said Rafté. On the morrow of the day when the terrible Parliamentary decree filled Paris and Versailles with noise, and all were in expectation of the next step, Richelieu returned to Versailles and carrying on his ordinary court life, saw his man Rafté enter with a letter which seemed to fill him with disquietude participated in by his master. “The King is good,” said the duke after opening the letter and smiling though he had frowned at the start. “He appoints Aiguillon Prime Minister.” Thus ran the letter: <div class="blockquot"> “MY DEAR UNCLE: Your kind advice has borne fruit. I confided my chagrin to that excellent friend of our house, Lady Dubarry, who was good enough to repeat the confidence to his Majesty. The King is indignant at the rudeness done me by the Parliamentary gentry, after my having so faithfully employed myself in his service. In his State Council this day, he has cancelled the decree and bids me continue in my place as peer and duke. I know the pleasure this news will give you, my dear uncle. You have the news before anybody else in the world. Believe in my tender respect, my dear uncle, and continue your good graces and good advice to your affectionate AIGUILLON.” </div> “He pokes fun at me into the bargain,” said the reader. “The idea of the King jumping into this hornet’ nest!” “You would not believe me yesterday saying so.” “I said that he would get out of it. You see he does.” “In fact, Parliament is beaten.” “So am I. And forever. I must pay the forfeit. You do not understand how grating on me will be the laughs at Luciennes. The duke is there now, laughing at me in chorus with La Dubarry, Jean and Chon, while the black boy snaps his fingers at me over the candy I gave him. ‘Odsboddikins!’ I have a soft heart, but this makes me furious.” “Then you should not have acted as you did, my lord.” “You goaded me on.” “I? what do I care whether the Duke of Aiguillon is or is not a peer of France? Man of brains though you are, your grace makes blunders that I would not forgive in a low-bred fellow like me.” “Explain, my old Rafté, and I will own if I am wrong.” “You wanted to be revenged yesterday, did you not? you aimed to humble your nephew because he was likely to be the Premier instead of your grace—well, such revenge costs dear. But you are rich and can afford to pay.” “What would you have done in my place, you knowing dog?” “Nothing; you could not but show your spite because the Dubarry woman thought your nephew was younger than yourself.” A growl from the old marshal was all the comment. “Parliament was egged on by you to do what it has done; knowing the decree would be issued, you offered your services to your unsuspecting nephew.” “I admit I was wrong. You ought to have given me a warning.” “I, prevent you doing ill? you are always saying that I am of your making and I should be little after your model if I was not joyful at your making a mistake, or bringing about evil.” “Oh, you think evil will come of it?” “Certainly; you are obstinate and will keep open the breach—Aiguillon will be the bridge between Dubarry and Parliament on which all the fighting will take place. After he shall have been very well trampled upon, he will suffer the fate of used-up wood—they will cast him away into the lumber-room—that is, into the Bastile. He will be minister first, but you will be exiled all the same.” “Bastile?” repeated Richelieu, shrugging his shoulders so sharply that he spilt half his snuff on the carpet. “Is our Louis the Fourteenth one?” “No; but Lady Dubarry, with Aiguillon to back her, is up to the mark of Lady Maintenon. Beware! at present I do not know any princesses who will take you green goslings and sweetmeats when you lie in prison.” “Pretty prognostics, these!” said the duke after a long silence. “You read the future, do you? what about the present?” “Your grace is too wise for me to offer advice.” “You knave, are you still poking fun at me?” “Mind, my lord, a man is not a knave after forty, and I am sixty-seven.” “If not a knave you are your own counsel—be mine.” “If the King’s act is not known yet, why not let the President of Parliament have the duke’s letter and the royal decree in Council? Wait till the Parliament has debated on them, and then go and see your lawyer, Flageot. As he is your grace’s lawyer he must have some case of ours in hand. Ask him about it and learn how things stand.” “But seeing the family lawyer is your province, Master Rafté.” “Nay, that was all very well when Flageot was a simple ‘paper-stainer,’ but henceforth Flageot is an Attila, a scourge of kings, and only a duke and peer of France can talk to the likes of him.” “Are you serious or having a jest?” “To-morrow it will be serious, my lord.” <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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