THE HOUSE IN THE RUE ST. GILLES.
Philippe jumped into the first coach he saw, and told the man to drive
to the Rue St. Gilles, where he stopped at the house of M. de
Cagliostro.
A large carriage, with two good horses, was standing in the courtyard;
the coachman was asleep, wrapped in a greatcoat of fox-skins, and two
footmen walked up and down before the door.
“Does the Count Cagliostro live here?” asked Philippe.
“He is just going out.”
“The more reason to be quick, for I wish to speak to him first.
Announce the Chevalier Philippe de Taverney;” and he followed the men
up-stairs.
“Ask him to walk in,” said, from within, a voice at once manly and
gentle.
“Excuse me, sir,” said the chevalier to a man whom we have already
seen, first at the table of M. de Richelieu, then at the exhibition of
M. Mesmer, in Oliva’s room, and with her at the Opera ball.
“For what, sir?” replied he.
“Because I prevent you from going out.”
“You would have needed an excuse had you been much later, for I was
waiting for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes, I was forewarned of your visit.”
“Of my visit?”
“Yes; two hours ago. It is about that time, is it not, since you were
coming here before, when an interruption caused you to postpone the
execution of your project?”
Philippe began to experience the same strange sensation with which this
man inspired every one.
“Sit down, M. de Taverney,” continued he; “this armchair was placed for
you.”
“A truce to pleasantry, sir,” said Philippe, in a voice which he vainly
tried to render calm.
“I do not jest, sir.”
“Then a truce to charlatanism. If you are a sorcerer, I did not come to
make trial of your skill; but if you are, so much the better, for you
must know what I am come to say to you.”
“Oh, yes, you are come to seek a quarrel.”
“You know that? perhaps you also know why?”
“On account of the queen. Now, sir, I am ready to listen;” and these
last words were no longer pronounced in the courteous tones of a host,
but in the hard and dry ones of an adversary.
“Sir, there exists a certain publication.”
“There are many publications,” said Cagliostro.
“Well, this publication to-day was written against the queen.”
Cagliostro did not reply.
“You know what I refer to, count?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You have bought one thousand copies of it?”
“I do not deny it.”
“Luckily, they have not reached your hands.”
“What makes you think so, sir?”
“Because I met the porter, paid him, and sent him with them to my
house; and my servant, instructed by me, will destroy them.”
“You should always finish yourself the work you commence, sir. Are you
sure these thousand copies are at your house?”
“Certainly.”
“You deceive yourself, sir; they are here. Ah, you thought that I,
sorcerer that I am, would let myself be foiled in that way. You thought
it a brilliant idea to buy off my messenger. Well, I have a steward,
and you see it is natural for the steward of a sorcerer to be one also.
He divined that you would go to the journalist, and that you would meet
my messenger, whom he afterwards followed, and threatened to make him
give back the gold you had given him, if he did not follow his original
instructions, instead of taking them to you. But I see you doubt.”
“I do.”
“Look, then, and you will believe;” and, opening an oak cabinet, he
showed the astonished chevalier the thousand copies lying there.
Philippe approached the count in a menacing attitude, but he did not
stir. “Sir,” said Philippe, “you appear a man of courage; I call upon
you to give me immediate satisfaction.”
“Satisfaction for what?”
“For the insult to the queen, of which you render yourself an
accomplice while you keep one number of this vile paper.”
“Monsieur,” said Cagliostro, “you are in error; I like novelties,
scandalous reports, and other amusing things, and collect them, that I
may remember at a later day what I should otherwise forget.”
“A man of honor, sir, does not collect infamies.”
“But, if I do not think this an infamy?”
“You will allow at least that it is a lie.”
“You deceive yourself, sir. The queen was at M. Mesmer’s.”
“It is false, sir.”
“You mean to tell me I lie?”
“I do.”
“Well, I will reply in a few words—I saw her there.”
“You saw her!”
“As plainly as I now see you.”
Philippe looked full at Cagliostro. “I still say, sir, that you lie.”
Cagliostro shrugged his shoulders, as though he were talking to a
madman.
“Do you not hear me, sir?” said Philippe.
“Every word.”
“And do you not know what giving the lie deserves?”
“Yes, sir; there is a French proverb which says it merits a box on the
ears.”
“Well, sir, I am astonished that your hand has not been already raised
to give it, as you are a French gentleman, and know the proverb.”
“Although a French gentleman, I am a man, and love my brother.”
“Then you refuse me satisfaction?”
“I only pay what I owe.”
“Then you will compel me to take satisfaction in another manner.”
“How?”
“I exact that you burn the numbers before my eyes, or I will proceed
with you as with the journalist.”
“Oh! a beating,” said Cagliostro, laughing.
“Neither more nor less, sir. Doubtless you can call your servants.”
“Oh, I shall not call my servants; it is my own business. I am stronger
than you, and if you approach me with your cane, I shall take you in my
arms and throw you across the room, and shall repeat this as often as
you repeat your attempt.”
“Well, M. Hercules, I accept the challenge,” said Philippe, throwing
himself furiously upon Cagliostro, who, seizing him round the neck and
waist with a grasp of iron, threw him on a pile of cushions, which lay
some way off, and then remained standing as coolly as ever.
Philippe rose as pale as death. “Sir,” said he, in a hoarse voice, “you
are in fact stronger than I am, but your logic is not as strong as your
arm; and you forgot, when you treated me thus, that you gave me the
right to say, ‘Defend yourself, count, or I will kill you.’”
Cagliostro did not move.
“Draw your sword, I tell you, sir, or you are a dead man.”
“You are not yet sufficiently near for me to treat you as before, and I
will not expose myself to be killed by you, like poor Gilbert.”
“Gilbert!” cried Philippe, reeling back. “Did you say Gilbert?”
“Happily you have no gun this time, only a sword.”
“Monsieur,” cried Philippe, “you have pronounced a name——”
“Which has awakened a terrible echo in your remembrance, has it not? A
name that you never thought to hear again, for you were alone with the
poor boy, in the grotto of Açores, when you assassinated him.”
“Oh!” said Philippe, “will you not draw?”
“If you knew,” said Cagliostro, “how easily I could make your sword fly
from your hand!”
“With your sword?”
“Yes, with my sword, if I wished.”
“Then try.”
“No, I have a still surer method.”
“For the last time, defend yourself,” said Philippe, advancing towards
him.
Then the count took from his pocket a little bottle, which he uncorked,
and threw the contents in Philippe’s face. Scarcely had it touched him,
when he reeled, let his sword drop, and fell senseless.
Cagliostro picked him up, put him on a sofa, waited for his senses to
return, and then said, “At your age, chevalier, we should have done
with follies; cease, therefore, to act like a foolish boy, and listen
to me.”
Philippe made an effort to shake off the torpor which still held
possession of him, and murmured, “Oh, sir, do you call these the
weapons of a gentleman?”
Cagliostro shrugged his shoulders. “You repeat forever the same word,”
he said; “when we of the nobility have opened our mouths wide enough to
utter the word gentleman, we think we have said everything. What do you
call the weapons of a gentleman? Is it your sword, which served you so
badly against me, or is it your gun, which served you so well against
Gilbert? What makes some men superior to others? Do you think that it
is that high-sounding word gentleman? No; it is first reason, then
strength, most of all, science. Well, I have used all these against
you. With my reason I braved your insults, with my strength I conquered
yours, and with my science I extinguished at once your moral and
physical powers. Now I wish to show you that you have committed two
faults in coming here with menaces in your mouth. Will you listen to
me?”
“You have overpowered me,” replied Philippe; “I can scarcely move. You
have made yourself master of my muscles and of my mind, and then you
ask me if I will listen!”
Then Cagliostro took down from the chimney-piece another little gold
phial. “Smell this, chevalier,” said he.
Philippe obeyed, and it seemed to him that the cloud which hung over
him dispersed. “Oh, I revive!” he cried.
“And you feel free and strong?”
“Yes.”
“With your full powers and memory of the past?”
“Yes.”
“Then this memory gives me an advantage over you.”
“No,” said Philippe, “for I acted in defense of a vital and sacred
principle.”
“What do you mean?”
“I defended the monarchy.”
“You defended the monarchy!—you, who went to America to defend a
republic. Ah, mon Dieu! be frank; it is not the monarchy you defend.”
Philippe colored.
“To love those who disdain you,” continued Cagliostro, “who deceive and
forget you, is the attribute of great souls. It is the law of the
Scriptures to return good for evil. You are a Christian, M. de
Taverney.”
“Monsieur,” cried Philippe, “not a word more; if I did not defend the
monarchy, I defended the queen, that is to say, an innocent woman, and
to be respected even if she were not so, for it is a divine law not to
attack the weak.”
“The weak! the queen—you call a feeble being her to whom twenty-eight
million human beings bow the knee!”
“Monsieur, they calumniate her.”
“How do you know?”
“I believe it.”
“Well, I believe the contrary; we have each the right to think as we
please.”
“But you act like an evil genius.”
“Who tells you so?” cried Cagliostro, with sparkling eyes. “How, have
you the temerity to assume that you are right, and that I am wrong? You
defend royalty; well, I defend the people. You say, render to Cæsar the
things which are Cæsar’s; and I say, render to God the things that are
God’s. Republican of America, I recall you to the love of the people,
to the love of equality. You trample on the people to kiss the hands of
a queen; I would throw down a queen to elevate a people. I do not
disturb you in your adoration; leave me in peace at my work. You say to
me, die, for you have offended the object of my worship; and I say to
you, who combat mine, live, for I feel myself so strong in my
principles, that neither you nor any one else can retard my progress
for an instant.”
“Sir, you frighten me,” said Philippe; “you show me the danger in which
our monarchy is.”
“Then be prudent, and shun the opening gulf.”
“You know,” replied Philippe, “that I would sooner entomb myself in it,
than see those whom I defend in danger.”
“Well, I have warned you.”
“And I,” said Philippe, “I, who am but a feeble individual, will use
against you the arms of the weak. I implore you, with tearful eyes and
joined hands, to be merciful towards those whom you pursue. I ask you
to spare me the remorse of knowing you were acting against this poor
queen, and not preventing you. I beg you to destroy this publication,
which would make a woman shed tears. I ask you, by the love which you
have guessed, or I swear that with this sword, which has proved so
powerless against you, I will pierce myself before your eyes!”
“Ah!” murmured Cagliostro, “why are they not all like you? Then I would
join them, and they should not perish.”
“Monsieur, monsieur, I pray you to reply to me!”
“See, then,” said Cagliostro, “if all the thousand numbers be there,
and burn them yourself.”
Philippe ran to the cabinet, took them out, and threw them on the fire.
“Adieu, monsieur!” then he said; “a hundred thanks for the favor you
have granted me.”
“I owed the brother,” said Cagliostro, when he had gone, “some
compensation for all I made the sister endure.”
Then he called for his carriage.