CHARNY, CARDINAL, AND QUEEN.
At the same moment as M. de Breteuil asked for an audience of the king,
M. de Charny, pale and agitated, begged one of the queen. He was
admitted, and touching tremblingly the hand she held out to him, said
in an agitated voice, “Oh! madame, what a misfortune!”
“What is the matter?”
“Do you know what I have just heard? What the king has perhaps already
heard, or will hear to-morrow.”
She trembled, for she thought of her night with Charny, and fancied
they had been seen. “Speak,” said she; “I am strong.”
“They say, madame, that you bought a necklace from M. Bœhmer.”
“I returned it,” said she quickly.
“But they say that you only pretended to do so, when the king prevented
you from paying for it by refusing you the money, and that you went to
borrow the amount from some one else, who is your lover.”
“And,” cried the queen, with her usual impetuous confidence, “you,
monsieur—you let them say that?”
“Madame, yesterday I went to M. Bœhmer’s with my uncle, who had brought
some diamonds from the Indies, and wished to have them valued. There we
heard this frightful story now being spread abroad by your majesty’s
enemies. Madame, I am in despair; if you bought the necklace, tell me;
if you have not paid, tell me; but do not let me hear that M. de Rohan
paid for you.”
“M. de Rohan!”
“Yes, M. de Rohan, whom they call your lover—whom they say lent the
money—and whom an unhappy man, called Charny, saw in the park in
Versailles, kneeling before the queen, and kissing her hand.”
“Monsieur,” cried Marie Antoinette, “if you believe these things when
you leave me, you do not love me.”
“Oh!” cried the young man, “the danger presses. I come to beg you to do
me a favor.”
“What danger?”
“Oh, madame! the cardinal paying for the queen dishonors her. I do not
speak now of the grief such a confidence in him causes to me. No; of
these things one dies, but does not complain.”
“You are mad!” cried Marie Antoinette, in anger.
“I am not mad, madame, but you are unhappy and lost. I saw you in the
park—I told you so—I was not deceived. To-day all the horrible truth
has burst out. M. de Rohan boasts, perhaps——”
The queen seized his arm. “You are mad,” repeated she, with
inexpressible anguish. “Believe anything—believe the impossible—but, in
the name of heaven, after all I have said to you, do not believe me
guilty. I, who never even thought of you without praying to God to
pardon me for my fault. Oh, M. de Charny! if you do not wish to kill
me, do not tell me that you think me guilty.”
Charny wrung his hands with anguish. “Listen,” said he, “if you wish me
to serve you efficaciously.”
“A service from you?—from you, more cruel than my enemies? A service
from a man who despises me? Never, sir—never.”
Charny approached, and took her hands in his. “This evening it will be
too late. Save me from despair, by saving yourself from shame.”
“Monsieur!”
“Oh, I cannot pick my words with death, before me! If you do not listen
to me, we shall both die; you from shame, and I from grief. You want
money to pay for this necklace.”
“I?”
“Do not deny it.”
“I tell you——”
“Do not tell me that you have not the necklace.”
“I swear!”
“Do not swear, if you wish me to love you. There remains one way to
save at once your honor and my love. The necklace is worth 1,600,000
francs—you have paid 100,000. Here is the remainder; take it, and pay.”
“You have sold your possessions—you have ruined yourself for me! Good
and noble heart, I love you!”
“Then you accept?”
“No; but I love you.”
“And let M. de Rohan pay. Remember, madame, this would be no generosity
towards me, but the refinement of cruelty.”
“M. de Charny, I am a queen. I give to my subjects, but do not accept
from them.”
“What do you mean to do, then?”
“You are frank. What do the jewelers say?”
“That as you cannot pay, M. de Rohan will pay for you.”
“What does the public say?”
“That you have the necklace hidden, and will produce it when it shall
have been paid for; either by the cardinal, in his love for you, or by
the king, to prevent scandal.”
“And you, Charny; in your turn, I ask, what do you say?”
“I think, madame, that you have need to prove your innocence to me.”
The Prince Louis, Cardinal de Rohan, was at that moment announced by an
usher.
“You shall have your wish,” said the queen.
“You are going to receive him?”
“Yes.”
“And I?”
“Go into my boudoir, and leave the door ajar, that you may hear. Be
quick—here he is.”
M. de Rohan appeared in his robes of office. The queen advanced towards
him, attempting a smile, which died away on her lips.
He was serious, and said, “Madame, I have several important things to
communicate to you, although you shun my presence.”
“I shun you so little, monsieur, that I was about to send for you.”
“Am I alone with your majesty?” said he, in a low voice. “May I speak
freely?”
“Perfectly, monseigneur. Do not constrain yourself,” said she aloud,
for M. de. Charny to hear.
“The king will not come?”
“Have no fear of the king, or any one else.”
“Oh, it is yourself I fear,” said he, in a moved voice.
“Well, I am not formidable. Say quickly and openly what you have to
say. I like frankness, and want no reserve. They say you complain of
me; what have you to reproach me with?”
The cardinal sighed.