THE PRINCESS DE LAMBALLE.
The Princesse de Lamballe entered beautiful and calm. Her hair drawn
back from her noble forehead, her dark penciled eyebrows, her clear
blue eyes and beautiful lips, and her unrivaled figure, formed a lovely
tout ensemble. She seemed always surrounded by an atmosphere of virtue
and grace.
The king looked at her with a troubled expression, dreading what he was
about to hear; then bowing, said, “Sit down, princess.”
“What does your majesty desire?” asked she, in a sweet voice.
“Some information, princess: what day did you last go with the queen to
Paris?”
“Wednesday, sire.”
“Pardon me, cousin,” said Louis XVI.; “but I wish to know the exact
truth.”
“You will never hear anything else from me, sire.”
“What did you go there for?”
“I went to M. Mesmer’s, Place Vendôme.”
The two witnesses trembled. The king colored with delight.
“Alone?” asked the king.
“No, sire; with the queen.”
“With the queen?” cried Louis, seizing her hand.
“Yes, sire.”
M. de Provence and M. de Crosne looked stupefied.
“Your majesty had authorized the queen to go; at least, so she told
me,” continued the princess.
“It was true, cousin: gentlemen, I breathe again; Madame de Lamballe
never tells a falsehood.”
“Never, sire.”
“Oh, never, sire,” said M. de Crosne, with perfect sincerity. “But will
you permit me, sire?”
“Certainly, monsieur; question, search as much as you please; I place
the princess at your disposal.”
Madame de Lamballe smiled. “I am ready,” she said.
“Madame,” said the lieutenant of police, “have the goodness to tell his
majesty what you did there, and how the queen was dressed.”
“She had on a dress of gray taffeta, a mantle of embroidered muslin, an
ermine muff, and a rose-colored velvet bonnet, trimmed with black.”
M. de Crosne looked astonished. It was a totally different dress from
that which he had had described to him. The Comte de Provence bit his
lips with vexation, and the king rubbed his hands.
“What did you do on entering?” asked he.
“Sire, you are right to say on entering, for we had hardly entered the
room——”
“Together?”
“Yes, sire; and we could scarcely have been seen, for every one was
occupied with the experiments going on, when a lady approached the
queen, and, offering her a mask, implored her to turn back.”
“And you stopped?”
“Yes, sire.”
“You never went through the rooms?” asked M. de Crosne.
“No, monsieur.”
“And you never quitted the queen?” asked the king.
“Not for a moment, sire. Her majesty never left my arm.”
“Now!” cried the king, “what do you say, M. de Crosne? and you,
brother?”
“It is extraordinary, quite supernatural,” said the count, who affected
a gaiety which could not conceal his disappointment.
“There is nothing supernatural,” said M. de Crosne, who felt real
remorse: “what Madame de Lamballe says is undoubtedly true; therefore
my informants must have been mistaken.”
“Do you speak seriously, sir?” asked the count.
“Perfectly, monseigneur. Her majesty did what Madame de Lamballe
states, and nothing more, I feel convinced; my agents were, somehow or
other, deceived. As for this journalist, I will immediately send the
order for his imprisonment.”
Madame de Lamballe looked from one to the other with an expression of
innocent curiosity.
“One moment,” said the king; “you spoke of a lady who came to stop you;
tell us who she was?”
“Her majesty seemed to know her, sire.”
“Because, cousin, I must speak to this person; then we shall learn the
key to this mystery.”
“That is my opinion also, sire,” said M. de Crosne.
“Did the queen tell you that she knew this person?” said the count.
“She told me so, monseigneur.”
“My brother means to say that you probably know her name.”
“Madame de la Motte Valois.”
“That intriguer!” cried the king.
“Diable!” said the count; “she will be difficult to interrogate: she is
cunning.”
“We will be as cunning as she,” said M. de Crosne.
“I do not like such people about the queen,” said Louis; “she is so
good that all the beggars crowd round her.”
“Madame de la Motte is a true Valois,” said the princess.
“However that may be, I will not see her here. I prefer depriving
myself of the pleasure of hearing the queen’s innocence confirmed, to
doing that.”
“But you must see her, sire,” said the queen, entering at that moment,
pale with anger, beautiful with a noble indignation. “It is not now for
you to say, ‘I do, or I do not wish to see her.’ She is a witness from
whom the intelligence of my accusers,” said she, looking at her
brother-in-law, “and the justice of my judges,” turning to the king and
M. de Crosne, “must draw the truth. I, the accused, demand that she be
heard.”
“Madame,” said the king, “we will not do Madame de la Motte the honor
of sending for her to give evidence either for or against you. I cannot
stake your honor against the veracity of this woman.”
“You need not send for her, she is here.”
“Here!” cried the king.
“Sire, you know I went to see her one day; that day of which so many
things were said,” and she looked again at the Comte de Provence, who
felt ready to sink through the ground; “and I then dropped at her house
a box, containing a portrait, which she was to return to me to-day, and
she is here.”
“No, no,” said the king; “I am satisfied, and do not wish to see her.”
“But I am not satisfied, and shall bring her in. Besides, why this
repugnance? What has she done? If there be anything, tell me; you, M.
de Crosne? you know everything.”
“I know nothing against this lady,” replied he.
“Really?”
“Certainly not; she is poor, and perhaps ambitious, but that is all.”
“If there be no more than that against her, the king can surely admit
her.”
“I do not know why,” said Louis; “but I have a presentiment that this
woman will be the cause of misfortune to me.”
“Oh! sire, that is superstition; pray fetch her, Madame de Lamballe.”
Five minutes after, Jeanne, with a timid air, although with a
distinguished appearance, entered the room.
Louis XVI., strong in his antipathies, had turned his back towards her,
and was leaning his head on his hands, seeming to take no longer a part
in the conversation. The Comte de Provence cast on her a look which,
had her modesty been real, would have increased her confusion; but it
required much more than that to trouble Jeanne.
“Madame,” said the queen, “have the goodness to tell the king exactly
what passed the other day at M. Mesmer’s.”
Jeanne did not speak.
“It requires no consideration,” continued the queen; “we want nothing
but the simple truth.”
Jeanne understood immediately that the queen had need of her, and knew
that she could clear her in a moment by speaking the simple truth; but
she felt inclined to keep her secret.
“Sire,” said she, “I went to see M. Mesmer from curiosity, like the
rest of the world. The spectacle appeared to me rather a coarse one; I
turned and suddenly saw her majesty entering, whom I had already had
the honor of seeing, but without knowing her till her generosity
revealed her rank. It seemed to me that her majesty was out of place in
this room, where much suffering and many ridiculous exhibitions were
going on. I beg pardon for having taken it on myself to judge; it was a
woman’s instinct, but I humbly beg pardon if I passed the bounds of
proper respect.” She seemed overcome with emotion as she concluded.
Every one but the king was pleased.
Madame de Lamballe thought her conduct delicate, and herself timid,
intelligent, and good.
The queen thanked her by a look.
“Well,” she said, “you have heard, sire.”
He did not move, but said, “I did not need her testimony.”
“I was told to speak,” said Jeanne timidly, “and I obeyed.”
“It is enough,” answered he; “when the queen says a thing she needs no
witnesses to confirm her; and when she has my approbation, and she has
it, she need care for that of no one else.”
He cast an overwhelming look on his brother, and kissing the hands of
the queen and the princess, and begging pardon of the latter for having
disturbed her for nothing, made a very slight bow to Jeanne.
The ladies then left the room.
“Brother,” said Louis to the count, “now I will detain you no longer; I
have work to do with M. de Crosne. You have heard your sister’s
complete justification, and it is easy to see you are as pleased as
myself. Pray sit down, M. de Crosne.”