THE COUNT OR CONVICT, WHICH?--THE FAWN'S ESCAPE.
I now proceed to the narration of the other case which I received from
M. Hubert, the facts of which are far more extraordinary than any of the
exuberant fictions presented in the pages of romance.
In the early part of May, 1818, the Place Vendome was occupied by
detachments from the garrison of Paris, for the purpose of effecting
certain military requirements and arrangements. They were under the
command of the Comte de Pontis de Sainte-Helene, colonel of the 72nd
Legion. Amidst a brilliant cortege, he appeared, bearing on his breast
the insignia of officer of the Legion of Honor, Chevalier de
Saint-Louis, and also the Spanish orders of Alcantara and
Saint-Wladimir. One of the spectators, meanly attired, and of rather
sinister appearance, attempted to approach the distinguished officer,
but he was unceremoniously repelled by those to whom the duty of keeping
the ground had been assigned. He found no difficulty, however, in
ascertaining that the residence of the Comte was in the Rue
Basse-Saint-Denis; and when the military duties of the day had been
fulfilled, and the gallant nobleman returned to his house, he was
apprised that a stranger was waiting in the ante-chamber on some affairs
which he declared to be of paramount importance. The Count proceeded to
the apartment, and was there accosted in rather familiar terms.
"You must remember me; I am Darios, your former comrade of the chain. I
bear you no ill-will, and do not wish to take any advantage of you, but
you are rich and I am miserably destitute. Give me your succour, relieve
my necessities, and you may depend on my prudence and gratitude."
The Comte de Pontis de Sainte-Helene affected to treat this intruder as
an impostor or madman. He summoned his attendants, and had Darios at
once expelled from the premises. The latter, in the highest state of
exasperation at such treatment, betook himself to the office of the
Minister of the Interior, and having eventually succeeded in obtaining
an audience of the Duc Decazes, declared to the minister that the Comte
de Pontis de Sainte-Helene was no other than Pierre Coignard, who, on
the 18th October, 1800, had been condemned by the criminal tribunal of
the department of the Seine to fourteen years of hard labor, for various
robberies committed by nocturnal housebreaking, and also by means of
false keys. That in about five years he had managed to elude the
vigilance of the prison authorities of Toulon, and had escaped from the
Bagne. The Duc Decazes was completely amazed at this statement, and
inasmuch as it was made by one who acknowledged himself to be a
convicted criminal, he at first considered it to be false and malicious.
Other reasons, of a political nature, made him determine to avoid any
personal participation in an inquiry resulting from such averments; and
as the imputations were directed against a person in a high military
position, he referred the matter to General Despinoy, who commanded the
division of the army to which the accused belonged. The co-operation of
the police was obtained, and the celebrated Vidocq was brought into
requisition. It was fully ascertained that Coignard, after escaping from
Toulon, had made his way to Catalonia, in Spain, where he formed an
intimate acquaintance with a young female, named Maria Rosa. She
constituted the entire domestic establishment of the veritable Comte de
Pontis de Sainte-Helene, who was a French emigrant, and of an ancient
family belonging to Soissons. He had been in the Spanish service, and
had distinguished himself in South America. Having returned to Europe in
broken health, he was reduced to great poverty by the inability of the
Spanish government to meet the claims of their dependants, or even to
make any effectual resistance against the French invasion, which was
then in very active progress. Death relieved him from his privations,
and Coignard induced Maria Rosa to become his accomplice in assuming
the designation of the deceased nobleman. The family papers and pedigree
were made available by the spurious Comte and Comtesse, and Coignard
proceeded to join the irregular troops or guerilla bands, which were
under the orders of Mina, to whom he introduced himself as a French
nobleman, exiled as a legitimist, and anxious to combat to the utmost
the upstart who had usurped the throne of his country. He either
received, or subsequently pretended that he received, the orders of
Alcantara and Saint-Wladimir during his time of service under Mina, but
he did not remain long in the Spanish ranks, and alleged that ill health
rendered his retirement unavoidable. In a short time, however, he
presented himself to Soult, and implored to be received into the army of
his native country. He continued in a military capacity, fortunate in
escaping the casualties of war, and in gradually attaining higher rank,
until the departure of Napoleon for Elba, and then, free from all
suspicions of his false pretensions, he professed to belong to the
_ancienne noblesse_, and to regard the restoration of the Bourbon
dynasty as the vindication of a right and the realization of a blessing.
When Napoleon returned, Louis the Eighteenth betook himself to Ghent,
and the Comte de Pontis de Sainte-Helene conciliated his confidence and
esteem by becoming a participator of his short exile. He was basking in
courtly favor, when his former "comrade of the chain" recognised him in
the Place Vendome, and when his prudence, nay, even his instinctive
caution, so completely deserted him that he effected to treat a
statement which he knew to be perfectly true, as the threats of an
impostor or the ravings of a lunatic. It is highly probable that a small
pension, paid weekly or monthly, to Darios would have ensured his
silence.
But in reference to this most extraordinary culprit, it remains to be
mentioned that the police discovered and proved before the _Cour
d'assises de la Seine_, on the 10th July, 1819, that Coignard, even
after he had attained to rank and opulence, was in communication with
several of the most accomplished robbers of Paris, and that he aided
them by using the opportunities derived from his intimacy with persons
of wealth and proprietors of costly mansions, to ascertain where their
money and plate were kept, and at what time the property might be
pillaged with the least risk of interruption or detection. When he found
the proofs of his past and of his continued delinquencies accumulated
beyond any possibility of resisting an adverse judgment, he attempted to
escape, and on being arrested, he discharged several pistol shots at the
police officers, by which two of them were dangerously wounded and
permanently disabled. Amongst the associates of his aristocratic career,
there was far less indignation expressed at his robberies or dishonest
proclivities, than at his audacious assumption of exalted rank, and his
intrusion amongst a class, the members of which would evince greater
lenity to the opening of a banker's coffers by means of false keys, than
to the attainment of admission to a courtly circle by a pretended title
of nobility. Conclusive evidence having been adduced of the identity of
Coignard as an escaped convict, and also of his subsequent complicity in
several criminal transactions, he was remitted to Toulon, there to be
imprisoned for life and kept to hard labor. When he left the Bicetre, on
the 24th July, 1819, on the galley chain, an enormous crowd assembled to
witness his departure, and his demeanour was remarked as indicating
neither despondency nor contrition. In the towns through which he
passed, he excited the utmost curiosity. The false Comtesse, Maria Rosa,
proceeded to Toulon, and subsisting on whatever she had been able to
save from the wreck of her previous fortunes, she continued firmly
attached to the wretched Coignard. She visited him whenever permitted,
and afforded him every attention that the rules of the prison allowed.
She died in 1829, and he survived her only until the succeeding spring.
I think that in laying before my readers the details of this romantic
reality, I have given them an instance of fact being far more
extraordinary than fiction. The materials in the narrative last related,
are not suitable for being woven into one piece in the loom of fiction.
Those who would make a Count the hero or principal character of an
imaginative production, would shrink from choosing him amongst the
galley slaves of Toulon. Those who would make a convict a prominent
actor in any ideal drama, would consider it too ridiculous to dignify
him with a title immediately after his escape from penal servitude.
As to the memoirs derived from the archives of the Police of Paris, a
person disposed to make selections would have two difficulties to
encounter; namely, where to commence and where to conclude his extracts.
I may mention that there are some which certainly should not be
presented for public perusal, and which I would totally abstain from
translating; for although I might have no intention of publishing them,
I would not leave their details in manuscript. They might vitiate, but
could not improve. I could not, in these pages, insert all that I
consider amusing or instructive, although perfectly unobjectionable,
without extending this publication to an unusual amplitude, and causing
the result of my Parisian visit, comparatively to monopolise it. I have
translated every incident in the memoirs which I felt confident of being
free from impropriety, and perhaps, at a future period, I shall venture
to submit them to public consideration. At present I shall content
myself by submitting two narratives to my readers, and then, with a few
remarks on some of the novels of Alexandre Dumas, and with one or two of
my personal recollections, I shall leave Paris for Dublin, until an
interval of ten years has elapsed, when my acquaintance with the French
capital shall be renewed as satisfactorily, I hope, to my readers as it
was to myself.
THE FAWN'S ESCAPE.
The tale on which I am entering is designated in the memoirs, "The
Fawn's Escape," and the applicability of that title will appear when the
reader arrives at the Deer Park, (Parc-aux-Cerfs.) The preliminary
observations were certainly not written on any previous edition to that
of 1838, when the Orleans branch of the Bourbon family was in the
ascendency.
Philippe Auguste de Sainte-Foix, Chevalier d'Arc, was the grandson of
Louis the Fourteenth. The career of this person, during the succeeding
reign, powerfully illustrates the fearful state into which society had
merged, and proves that when the door is opened for the entry of one
vice, several others are likely to gain admission. It is worthy of
notice that the profligacy of the higher classes during the reign of the
depraved Louis the Fifteenth, was fully equal to the ferocity that
overthrew the throne of his successor, and, on the ruins of all civil
and religious institutions, established a reign of Terror. The people
witnessed all the precepts of divine or moral authority not only
violated but openly ridiculed; and we cannot feel much surprise at the
utter disregard of all the claims put forward by the higher classes,
when we recollect that they had long ceased to possess the slightest
self-respect. The robes of nobility were not torn to rags by the wild
and furious passions of a fierce democracy, until long after they had
been trailed in the mire by their aristocratic owners. But we are not
proceeding to write political considerations on the causes or effects of
revolutions; we only invite attention to the peculiar state of society
at the period to which our tale refers, and leaving the reader to
reflect for himself upon its consequences. We return to the chevalier
d'Arc.
An illustrious though illegitimate origin might be expected to elevate
his mind, render him susceptible of high feelings, and capable of noble
deeds; but in him it only inspired a ridiculous vanity and unmeasured
impudence. Perverted in his youth by the vicious philosophy of the time,
he followed its abominable maxims to the letter, and speedily compelled
all who had any respect for themselves, to repulse his approaches and
repudiate his intimacy. He consequently soon became admissible only to
those haunts which were open to any person who had a title to disgrace
and a sword to carry.
On reaching manhood, he entered into possession of an estate in the
vicinity of St. Cloud, which had been bequeathed to him by his father,
the Comte de Toulouse, one of the sons of Madame de Montespan. Being of
a handsome person, and of insinuating though frivolous manners, he
attracted the notice of a young widow, who had been, soon after her
marriage, bereaved of a very old and very wealthy husband, for whose
death she was prevented from becoming utterly inconsolable by the
acquisition of a very ample fortune. The chevalier perceived that to the
fair widow he was not an indifferent object, and, without the slightest
intention of ultimate matrimony, he professed the most boundless love.
He was warmly received, vows were interchanged, and to encourage his
advances, the widow occasionally spoke of her extensive possessions in
different parts of the kingdom; but far from insinuating that she wished
to reserve any portion of her property from her future husband, she
generally managed to introduce a favorite maxim--"That between two
united hearts there should be a community of interests."
The chevalier dined at the widow's mansion; the entertainment was
superb, and the table was covered with plate, with the exception of the
soups, which were served in porcelain. Affecting the familiarity of a
lover, the chevalier insisted that his fair hostess should permit him to
supply this deficiency, and on the following day two splendid soup
tureens were sent to Madame, with a _billet doux_, to which the dear,
fond creature attached more value than to the handsome present it
accompanied.
In about a fortnight after, the chevalier took an opportunity of
mentioning that he was unpleasantly circumstanced through the oversight
of his house steward, who had neglected to have his plate brought from a
chateau in Picardy, where he had passed the previous autumn. "Dear
friend," he added, "I am to entertain to-morrow the Comte Ecouy and the
Duc de Rohan, and owing to this fatality I find myself unable to make an
appearance even respectable. Will you lend me whatever you can spare,
and thus save my credit with my guests?"
Charmed at an opportunity of obliging her well-beloved, the widow
reserved not even a spoon, all was sent with alacrity; but in two days
she received a letter enclosing the duplicates of her plate, and
containing the assurance, that he should never have made it available
for his necessities but for the recollection of her own sentiment, "That
between two united hearts there should be a community of interests."
Impoverished by his profligacy, he petitioned the King. Louis the
Fifteenth recollected him as a playmate of his youth, and sent him a
draft on the treasurer of his household for eight thousand livres. As
the amount was specified in figures, the chevalier added a cipher, which
augmented the royal generosity to an unreasonable amount. The King was
urged to compel the restitution of the sum thus obtained, and his
majesty replied, "In my situation I cannot pay too dearly for a useful
lesson. It will teach me, for the future, to economise less the letters
of the alphabet."
Afterwards the Chevalier d'Arc became one of the most indefatigable
purveyors for the Parc-aux-Cerfs; and in reference to this part of his
life, we have to notice the following, which is romantic in the extreme,
and is also free from any details of an immoral tendency, rather a rare
feature in any adventure connected with the Parc-aux-Cerfs.
The chevalier being admitted, by reason of the reputation of his father
and his consanguinity to the Duc de Penthievre, to an intimacy with some
respectable gentlemen of Querci sojourning at Paris, whither they had
come to solicit official employment, or seek royal favor, was not long
in remarking the exquisite beauty of the only daughter of one of them.
Mademoiselle de Pal----[15] was beloved by a young officer of
musketeers, of honorable family and high character, every way worthy of
her hand, and they deferred the marriage only until the realization of
their hopes from courtly favor would leave the family in more easy
circumstances.
But a demon entered their residence when they admitted the Chevalier
d'Arc. He applied himself to stimulate the soul of the Comte de Pal----,
father of Mademoiselle Helene, with suggestions of guilty ambition,
until the foolish but obstinate old man determined to effect the
admission of his daughter into the Parc-aux-Cerfs. But how to procure
the concurrence of the two brothers of the old gentleman, one
Lieutenant-Colonel the Baron de M----, the other an abbé, and grand
vicar of the Bishop of Tulle. These gentlemen, high in their sense of
honor, and proud in their family recollections, would scorn to see
fortune coming through so vile an avenue. How to reconcile a virtuous
girl to her own degradation. Above all, how to dispose of her lover.
To make an open attack was impossible. Meanwhile, the old dotard of a
count, infatuated by the suggestions which the Chevalier d'Arc
continually whispered, fancied himself a minister of state, destined to
save France from every peril by the guidance of his sage advice;
moreover, he saw in his brother, the baron, a marshal of France, and in
his younger brother, an archbishop or cardinal. This picture enchanted
him, and instead of kicking his infamous tempter out of doors, he
listened to no other counsel but his. The virtue of his daughter became
a chimera and a trifle compared with the advantages which must result to
the entire community from an influence acquired over the yielding mind
of a libertine monarch.
The chevalier, on his part, had committed himself in the affair beyond
retreat. The King had heard something of it. His valet, Lebel, and the
portly lady, the directress of the Parc-aux-Cerfs, were impatiently
awaiting the appearance of this eighth wonder of the world. They worried
the intermeddling chevalier, and he soon concluded that the palladium of
the royal protection should be secured as soon as possible, and by all
possible means. He and the father of the young lady had recourse to
stratagem. They lived in Paris in the Rue des Moulins. One morning,
under the pretext of preferring a request to M. de Choiseul, lately
installed minister, the Comte de Pal----, his daughter, and the
Chevalier d'Arc proceeded to Versailles. On their arrival, they enquired
the hour at which the minister received public applicants, and finding
that there was some time to spare, the chevalier proposed a promenade
through the town. The suggestion was approved by the father, and the
daughter acquiesced.
They take their way through a lonely lane. The long wall, by which it is
bounded on one side, is pierced by a door which happens to be open, and
discloses a view of a beautiful garden. They ask of a domestic who is
passing if they can be permitted to walk in this delightful place. The
reply is affirmative, and they enter; and at the end of a shady avenue,
they meet a lady.
"Oh! it is the Marchioness d'Allinvilliers."
"Oh! the much-esteemed Chevalier d'Arc!--what a pleasure!"
"I am enchanted, madame, at this instance of good fortune in meeting
you. I presume to present to you the Comte de Pal----, my most intimate
friend, and Mademoiselle, his daughter."
High compliments are reciprocated. The Marchioness, so luckily
encountered, assumes the guidance of the party. They admire the beauty
and magnificence of the place. At last they arrived at a kiosque,
erected in the purest oriental style, and they find a repast of the
choicest pastry, fruits, liqueurs, wines, and iced water. Mademoiselle
Helene de Pal---- is pressed to eat and drink. She complies; and after
having taken refreshment, a sudden stupor overcomes her, and she yields
to a somnolency totally irresistible.
On awaking, she is astonished to find herself in a sumptuous bed. She is
informed of all that has passed by the Marchioness d'Allinvilliers, whom
she recognizes, and by whom she is affectionately embraced. A letter is
placed in her hands from her father, in which she is informed that he
has not been able to refuse to so kind a lady, the care of his daughter
during the period of his stay in the capital. He will see her at every
visit to Versailles, and Mademoiselle de Pal---- will be more
comfortably and respectably circumstanced than she could be in furnished
lodgings with him.
This had a great semblance of truth; and although certain precautions
and restraints appeared extraordinary, the young lady was so perfectly
innocent as to entertain no suspicion of the infamous nature of the
mansion in which she was placed. She had not acquired a knowledge of the
character of the Chevalier d'Arc, which was very different from that of
provincial gentlemen, and she had not the most remote idea of the
functions which he exercised at court. In the evening, she was induced
to enter the saloon. There, to her surprise, she recognized the King, in
a gentleman who stood with his back to the chimney.
A conversation ensued, in which his Majesty used much gallant and polite
language, and in which he stated that he came there without any
ceremony, as the Marchioness was his foster-sister. On his retiring,
they surrounded the young lady, and exclaimed that she should be proud
of the distinguished attentions of the King. In short, every allurement
which can be addressed to vanity was tried on one whose mind was guided
by sentiments of a higher nature. Helene, far from acquiescing in the
views of the depraved creatures of both sexes, with whom she was
associated, regarded all their suggestions with undisguised repugnance.
The same evening, a royal page brought her a porcelain vase, containing
a bouquet of natural flowers, upon which appeared a butterfly formed of
sparkling gems. Upon the handles were fastened two diamond ornaments,
shaped like pears, of very large dimensions and surpassing brilliancy.
These were accompanied by necklaces composed of precious stones,
remarkable for splendor, purity, and magnitude.
Ecstacy seemed to pervade the circle. Mademoiselle de Pal----, in a firm
and deliberate tone, apprised the Marchioness, that, at an early hour on
the succeeding day, she wished to return to her paternal home. Her
uncle the abbé, would undertake to have the present returned. There was
an outcry--
"You darling, to quit me! Ah! you wicked one! what ingratitude!
Moreover, how could I expose you, lonely and unprotected? I would not
entrust you to anyone; my responsibility is pledged. You will remain
until the next visit of your father, the Comte."
Constrained to yield to this specious resistance, Mademoiselle de
Pal---- retired to her chamber, and there wrote to her father an account
of all that had passed, and urged the imperative necessity of
immediately flying from the gallantry of the King. The poor child
comforted herself in the expectation of a prompt succour from her
father. What would have been her feelings if she had witnessed the
transports of joy in which the old gentleman indulged at the apparent
certainty of accomplishing his designs? It was a complete delirium!
Repeatedly he embraced the Chevalier d'Arc, whose pockets he replenished
with money. Then taking his pen, he hastened to reply that it appeared
premature to impute evil designs to any person; that the King could have
no bad intentions. Finally, they owed his Majesty so much love and
respect, that all other feelings should be absorbed in reference to him.
The conclusion of this letter plunged the virtuous girl in despair.
After two more days, she received a second visit from the King, and was
offered homage of a more marked character--the most costly stuffs, and
various other articles of such enormous value as could not be authorized
by simple gallantry or innocent admiration. Mademoiselle de Pal----,
distracted, overwhelmed, saw herself abandoned by those on whom the very
feelings of nature should have imposed the duty of protecting her
innocence. She did not accuse her father directly, but her mind was
beset with frightful suspicions.
One morning, at an early hour, the Marchioness not having left her
bed-chamber, a girl, who filled some very subordinate station in the
establishment, came into the apartment of Mademoiselle, in the absence
of the _femme-de-chambre_ who had been assigned to her. This damsel,
entering cautiously, informed Helene that a handsome lad, in her
father's livery, had brought a letter which he would deliver only to
herself in person.
Too much tormented not to distinguish any favorable circumstance in her
unhappy situation--knowing, moreover, that her father had not permitted
his two old servants to bring his family livery to Paris--she was only
too ready to take advantage of the opportunity afforded by the early
hour; consequently, she consented to receive the envoy.
An exclamation of surprise and delight escaped her. It was her lover,
the Vicomte de Benavent Rhodés, a gentleman of very high extraction,
quite ready to believe that his fathers constituted a younger and
distant branch of the sovereign counts of Rhodés. He was a black
musketeer, young, brave, and thoroughly daring. The Comte de Pal----, a
man without prudence or reserve, had permitted his brother to discover
his secret, and even to become acquainted with the letter of his
daughter. This worthy ecclesiastic, indignant at the projects of his
brother, lost not a moment before informing the person most interested
in defeating the base plots of the royal seraglio. The family was
distracted, but the circumstances required delicate management. They had
to deal with the difficulty of struggling against the proceedings of an
obstinate old man, who found historic sanctions for his conduct in the
innumerable pollutions of the Court. The great evil consisted in the
abuse of an acknowledged power, the authority of a parent. Besides where
were they to find Helene? He kept the secret as soon as he found his
family in revolt against his projects. The embarrassment was great, but
the Vicomte de Benavent, better informed than the respectable abbé, at
once surmised all that passed; how, owing to the villainy of the
Chevalier d'Arc, the fair Helene was already in the infamous precincts
of the Parc-aux-Cerfs. He wished to go himself, and warn his mistress of
the dangers by which she was surrounded.
Certain that he could never penetrate into this place if he went in his
ordinary attire, for habitual watchfulness interdicted the entry of the
_gardes-du-corps_, the _officiers-aux-gardes_, and the musketeers, grey
or black, as persons of suspicious reputation amongst those who had the
guardianship of youth and beauty, the lover flattered himself that he
would deceive the "Argus" by assuming a livery, and presenting himself
at an early hour.
He was not wrong in his conjectures; and by choosing the early hour he
gained the assistance of the poor female drudge who introduced him. Once
in presence of Mademoiselle de Pal----, he kissed her hand, and placed
in it a letter from the abbé in the following terms:--
"MY DEAREST NIECE,
"I write to you in the affliction of a broken heart. Your poor
father has been scandalously led astray by a knave, a swindler, a
man without an honourable idea, and destitute of faith and morals.
Dear niece, are you aware that you are now in the Parc-aux-Cerfs?
Who detains you there? The abominable directress of that polluted
mansion. Your ruin is resolved on. I trust that God will not
abandon you, and that this affair may terminate without crime or
scandal. Consult with the Vicomte (M. de Benavent.) He is regarded
by me as my future nephew. If your plans should not succeed, then
God will guide the steps of one of His ministers, and should I find
it necessary to approach the King, I shall not recoil from my duty.
Adieu, let us invoke the Virgin, the saints, your holy patroness,
and above all, the Three Persons of the all-powerful and
all-merciful Trinity."
The musketeer at once arranged with the young lady that precisely at
midnight she should descend from her chamber, and he furnished her, for
that purpose, with a silken ladder wrapped in a handkerchief. She was to
make for a part of the wall over which a white plume would be displayed,
and having arrived there, she was to clap her hands three times, and her
liberators would appear.
These matters having been arranged, prudence required the lovers to
separate; but the Vicomte, who at first had been more timid than the
object of his affection, protracted his adieu until Mademoiselle
Justine, an artful spy over the youthful inmates, arrived. At sight of
her, the musketeer took his leave in the style of a valet. This was in
vain; she was not to be deceived, and her practised eye detected the man
of quality. The provincial livery could not conceal true grace and
courtly bearing beneath its gaudy laces. At once she proceeded to make
her report to _Madame_. Alarm spread through the camp, and they took
immediate measures to defeat the plans of the young couple. Helene
passed the rest of the day almost alone. _Madame_ having sought
admission, a violent headache was alleged as a justification for
declining an interview. She soon returned, and being admitted by
Justine, she openly divulged the purposes which she entertained. Helene
gave full vent to her scorn and unqualified disdain. This was
indiscreet, but the error arose not more from her youthful inexperience
than from the noble sincerity and purity of her mind. Flattery was
tried, and she was addressed in terms of the highest exaggeration as to
the brilliant position to which the royal favor would necessarily exalt
her. This produced a declaration from her that love unsanctioned by
marriage commenced with infamy and terminated in perdition. This
language excited a perfect tempest of invective, her scruples were
derided, and to the most galling sneers were added direct threats of
ruin to all her kindred, and also to the family of her lover.
Tears were her reply, but her determination was unchanged. She expressed
a wish to retire early. In this she was indulged; and as midnight
sounded she attached the silken cord to the window, and abandoning
herself to Providence, she rapidly descended. Having reached the ground
in safety, she knelt and offered her thanks to Heaven for this
successful commencement. Then, approaching the exterior wall, she
perceived the white plume raised above it upon a pole. She clapped her
hands, and immediately heard all the indications of a violent contest.
Murmurs, imprecations, the clash of weapons, and several pistol shots
were almost simultaneous. The uproar increased; a struggle, hand to
hand, seemed to terminate in the departure of the combatants, and
although the signal continued displayed, profound silence ensued.
The poor girl was overwhelmed with terror, her conjectures were
tortures thoroughly agonizing; but just as the external tumult ceased,
_Madame_ issued from the mansion, attended by six male servants bearing
torches.
"Indeed, Mademoiselle," said this debased woman, "you cannot expect us
to indulge your wishes for midnight promenades in an inclement season.
The air is sharp, and your health is delicate. Please to re-enter the
mansion. The physician will hold us responsible for the results of such
indiscretion; and our tenderness for you compels us to guard against
your caprices. Until you become more reasonable, you must occupy an
apartment from which you shall not find it so easy to issue."
Mademoiselle de Pal---- did not condescend to reply to this cool
impertinence, but she understood that in such a contest her adversaries
were unscrupulous as to the means they employed. Alone, almost lifeless
with terror, and abandoned by her father, she apprehended the most
sinister designs, and her undisguised disgust excited an implacable
hostility amongst those to whom the superiority of virtue was odious.
"In fact," murmured the mistress of the mansion, "we are far more
foolish than she is herself, to labour for her exaltation; the insulting
creature will only detest us the more for our exertions."
They placed her on the ground floor, and assigned her some apartments
furnished in the most luxurious manner; but the windows were carefully
fitted with iron bars. When Justine had a second time undressed her
mistress, _Madame_ betook herself to rest.
Mademoiselle de Pal---- spent the night in tears, for she understood too
well what had occurred. Men previously posted had been waiting for her
lover. Perhaps he had paid, even with his life, for his generous
intervention. She implored God to protect the young musketeer, and to
avert the crushing resentment of the King.
In the morning she requested an audience of _Madame_, which was
immediately granted, and she earnestly implored of her not to report
what had passed to his Majesty. "I know not what I might do on another
occasion," was the reply, "but in the present case I have only to
express my regret that the King is already fully informed upon the
subject."
"It will be upon me then," promptly observed Helene, "that his wrath
must fall, since my generous defender is dead."
"Dead! the Vicomte de Benavent-Rhodés! You are pleased to think so,"
remarked this depraved woman, in a bantering tone. "Certainly it is not
owing to him and his associates that some of the King's servants did not
perish. Happily, there has been more noise than actual injury; but this
gentleman and four other musketeers are in the custody of the
grand-prevot, and they must answer to justice for an armed attack, at
midnight, on a royal residence. The laws of France attach capital
punishment to such an outrage."
Mademoiselle de Pal---- uttered a piercing shriek, and fell into violent
convulsions, which excited great alarm in the mind of _Madame_, lest the
death, or even the severe indisposition, of the young beauty, should be
imputed to her indiscretion. She sought to assuage her sufferings, and
when restoratives had produced relief, strongly advised her to apply to
his Majesty, who was of a merciful disposition, and would not refuse
pardon to the musketeers at her intercession.
The dread of the price which would be demanded for this favor
contributed to diminish the pleasure which the hope of clemency excited.
Nevertheless she resolved to meet the peril, trusting to overcome it,
and to conquer culpable intentions by purity of heart and the innate
power of virtue. When she ascertained that Louis XV had arrived, she
proceeded to the saloon. The conversation was gay, brilliant, and
varied. Mademoiselle displayed the intrepidity which is so frequently
the attendant of innocence, and although her face was suffused with
blushes, her voice was distinct and unfaltering, as she gracefully and
respectfully besought the King to pardon the five prisoners. Louis
reverted to his feelings towards herself, and observed that it lay in
her power to induce him to interfere in a matter which involved a
direct offence against his personal safety and his rights. He indulged
in the chivalrous levity which has so often characterised the Bourbons,
remarking that he was her slave, but that even a slave should not be
exasperated. Finally, he gave her distinctly to understand that the fate
of the prisoners depended on her compliance.
She demanded four days' interval, which the King acceded to, adding that
she could not follow a better example than that of Jephtha's daughter.
Two days had elapsed, the King was going to Mass, when a priest placed
himself in front of the cortege.
"Monsieur l'Abbé," said the Duc de Richelieu, "stand aside, you impede
his Majesty's passage."
"Sire," exclaimed the priest, "Sire!" and he raised his voice,
notwithstanding the repeated admonitions of the Duc de Richelieu that
silence should be observed, and that the King was not to be accosted
then or there.
"Sire, in the name of God, and appealing to the pious traditions of your
race, I implore an audience. Reflect that a moment's delay may endanger
your hopes of Paradise."
The firmness and dignified demeanor of the ecclesiastic produced an
extraordinary effect upon his Majesty. He stopped, reflected an instant,
and then replied--
"Be it so, Monsieur; after Mass you may come to my closet, I shall hear
you there."
This strange incident perplexed the court. The Comte and the Baron de
Pal---- were well known amongst the courtiers; but their brother, pious
and unpresuming, passed unnoticed in a place where no one appeared
important unless by the favor they received, or by the influence they
possessed. Impelled by curiosity, a crowd surrounded the abbé, and were
lost in various conjectures. Mass being over, the door of the royal
closet opened, and the captain of the guard advanced and enquired for
the abbé to whom the King had promised an audience. The abbé presented
himself and was admitted. He addressed the King in terms of profound
respect, but protested against the detention of his niece, and also
pleaded the cause of the young musketeer and his companions. In speaking
of the young lady and her lover, his language was pathetic and
persuasive; but he did not hesitate to remind the monarch of the
enormity of deliberate, premeditated sin, and of the awful consequences
before that tribunal of eternal justice where monarchs would be judged
without reference to earthly power, save as to how far they had abused
it. He was urging his arguments, when the official entered and presented
a letter which the King immediately perused, and raised his eyes and
hands in great perturbation. "Ah! Monsieur l'Abbé," he exclaimed, "do
not proceed any further. The danger is imminent. Go, invested with
plenary authority, at once to the Parc-aux-Cerfs."
"Me, sire!"
"Yes, you; I want not your indignant looks. Lose not a moment, run,
demand Mademoiselle de Pal----."
"My niece!"
"The same; prevent the accomplishment of her fatal resolution. Let her
know that I renounce--but no, she is destroyed; it is all over. Take and
read that. My God, how obstinate and self-willed these little girls
are!"
The abbé, astonished at this event, hastily perused the letter.
"Sire," wrote the young lady, "I am apprised that it is by my
dishonour the life of the Vicomte de Benavent can be saved. I
prefer saving his life by the sacrifice of my own. If you do not
wish to be answerable for my fate before an Almighty judge, do not
punish a lover whom you have rendered sufficiently miserable
already by my untimely death. I shall have ceased to live when this
letter meets your eyes."
"But go, Monsieur," the King exclaimed again. "These priests are
effective only in the pulpit; they can advise well, but cannot act with
energy."
The horror of that note imparted speed to the abbé; he ran to the
Parc-aux-Cerfs, preceded by the Marquis de Pontecoulant, who was sent
specially by the King. The mansion was in an indescribable state, its
inmates filled with consternation at the desperate course adopted by
the hapless Helene. Several physicians were present, and various
antidotes had been tried, but without any satisfactory results. At sight
of the abbé, the bedside was left free for his approach.
"Oh! my niece," said the priest, in a voice almost choked with grief,
"how could you presume to dispose of your life?"
"I preferred death to infamy."
"My niece, your honor is respected, and the King concedes your requests.
The Vicomte de Benavent and his comrades are at liberty."
"Then I go to my grave consoled and contented."
"Dearest Helene! live to make a husband happy; live to impart joy to
your family."
"It is too late."
The abbé cast imploring looks on the medical men, whose countenances
mutely indicated their conviction of the hopelessness of the case. The
sad sacrifice appeared nearly consummated. How she had obtained the
poison none could tell. Dissolution seemed imminent, when a man of lofty
stature, whose features, though extremely swarthy, expressed great
intelligence, entered the room. In one hand he bore a small glass, and
in the other a phial, containing a liquid of the deepest green color,
and perfectly clear. "I come by the King's command," he exclaimed; and
passing, through the yielding crowd, to the bedside, he half filled the
glass with water, into which he dropped a portion of the green elixir.
Directing Justine to raise the drooping head of the apparently expiring
girl, he succeeded in getting her to swallow the medicine. Immediately a
fierce spasm convulsed her frame; she raised herself with surprising
energy, but instantly fell back on the pillow.
"She is dead!" exclaimed many of those present.
"She is saved," replied the tall, swarthy man, in a tone of perfect
confidence. He was the celebrated Comte de Saint-Germain, whose
influence with Louis XV. appeared mysterious to the courtiers, but
really arose from his extensive information and research. In theory and
practice his scientific attainments were of a very high order, and
appeared still more surprising when contrasted with the ignorance and
imbecility of the aristocracy of that period.
Mademoiselle de Pal---- recovered so speedily as to be capable of
removing, under her uncle's care, in about a week. On leaving the
Parc-aux-Cerfs, THE ESCAPED FAWN received, by order of the King, a
splendid note-case, in which there was a draft on the Controller-General
for five hundred thousand francs (£20,000.) On the previous evening, the
King said to the Vicomte de Benavent:--
"Monsieur, on this occasion I am endowing virtue." Then he added, with a
laugh, "One swallow does not make a summer."[16]
On the day that Mademoiselle left the Parc-aux-Cerfs, her worthless
father was banished from court, and enjoined to live on his estate at
Vivarais, The Chevalier d'Arc had the effrontery to present himself at
court as if nothing to his discredit had occurred! The King remarked to
him, that in affairs of gallantry, the consent of the young lady was
more necessary than that of her father; and suggested that he should in
future avoid appearing in Paris or Versailles, and fix his residence at
Tulle. He accordingly retired to that place, where he died in 1779.
FOOTNOTES:
[15] This abbreviation strictly copied from the memoirs, appears to be
intended to conceal the complete designation of the young lady and her
family.
[16] The original phrase is "Une fois n'est pas coutume."