Malicorne and Manicamp
The introduction of these two new personages into this history and that
mysterious affinity of names and sentiments, merit some attention on
the part of both historian and reader. We will then enter into some
details concerning Messieurs Malicorne and Manicamp. Malicorne we know,
had made the journey to Orleans in search of the brevet destined for
Mademoiselle de Montalais, the arrival of which had produced such a
strong feeling at the castle of Blois. At that moment, M. de Manicamp
was at Orleans. A singular person was this M. de Manicamp; a very
intelligent young fellow, always poor, always needy, although he dipped
his hand freely into the purse of M. le Comte de Guiche, one of the
best furnished purses of the period. M. le Comte de Guiche had had, as
the companion of his boyhood, this De Manicamp, a poor gentleman,
vassal-born, of the house of Grammont. M. de Manicamp, with his tact
and talent, had created himself a revenue in the opulent family of the
celebrated marechal. From his infancy he had, with calculation beyond
his age, lent his name and complaisance to the follies of the Comte de
Guiche. If his noble companion had stolen some fruit destined for
Madame la Marechale, if he had broken a mirror, or put out a dog’s eye,
Manicamp declared himself guilty of the crime committed, and received
the punishment, which was not made the milder for falling on the
innocent. But this was the way this system of abnegation was paid for:
instead of wearing such mean habiliments as his paternal fortunes
entitled him to, he was able to appear brilliant, superb, like a young
noble of fifty thousand livres a year. It was not that he was mean in
character or humble in spirit; no, he was a philosopher, or rather he
had the indifference, the apathy, the obstinacy which banish from man
every sentiment of the supernatural. His sole ambition was to spend
money. But, in this respect, the worthy M. de Manicamp was a gulf.
Three or four times every year he drained the Comte de Guiche, and when
the Comte de Guiche was thoroughly drained, when he had turned out his
pockets and his purse before him, when he declared that it would be at
least a fortnight before paternal munificence would refill those
pockets and that purse, Manicamp lost all his energy, he went to bed,
remained there, ate nothing and sold his handsome clothes, under the
pretense that, remaining in bed, he did not want them. During this
prostration of mind and strength, the purse of the Comte de Guiche was
getting full again, and when once filled, overflowed into that of De
Manicamp, who bought new clothes, dressed himself again, and
recommenced the same life he had followed before. The mania of selling
his new clothes for a quarter of what they were worth had rendered our
hero sufficiently celebrated in Orleans, a city where, in general, we
should be puzzled to say why he came to pass his days of penitence.
Provincial debauches, petits-maitres of six hundred livres a year,
shared the fragments of his opulence.
Among the admirers of these splendid toilettes, our friend Malicorne
was conspicuous; he was the son of a syndic of the city, of whom M. de
Conde, always needy as a De Conde, often borrowed money at enormous
interest. M. Malicorne kept the paternal money-chest; that is to say,
that in those times of easy morals, he had made for himself, by
following the example of his father, and lending at high interest for
short terms, a revenue of eighteen hundred livres, without reckoning
six hundred livres furnished by the generosity of the syndic, so that
Malicorne was the king of the gay youth of Orleans, having two thousand
four hundred livres to scatter, squander, and waste on follies of every
kind. But, quite contrary to Manicamp, Malicorne was terribly
ambitious. He loved from ambition; he spent money out of ambition; and
he would have ruined himself for ambition. Malicorne had determined to
rise, at whatever price it might cost, and for this, at whatever price
it did cost, he had given himself a mistress and a friend. The
mistress, Mademoiselle de Montalais, was cruel as regarded love; but
she was of a noble family, and that was sufficient for Malicorne. The
friend had little or no friendship, but he was the favorite of the
Comte de Guiche, himself the friend of Monsieur, the king’s brother,
and that was sufficient for Malicorne. Only, in the chapter of charges,
Mademoiselle de Montalais cost per annum:—ribbons, gloves, and sweets,
a thousand livres. De Manicamp cost—money lent, never returned—from
twelve to fifteen hundred livres per annum. So that there was nothing
left for Malicorne. Ah! yes, we are mistaken; there was left the
paternal strong box. He employed a mode of proceeding, upon which he
preserved the most profound secrecy, and which consisted in advancing
to himself from the coffers of the syndic, half a dozen year’s profits,
that is to say, fifteen thousand livres, swearing to himself—observe,
quite to himself—to repay this deficiency as soon as an opportunity
should present itself.
The opportunity was expected to be the concession of a good post in the
household of Monsieur, when that household would be established at the
period of his marriage. This juncture had arrived, and the household
was about to be established. A good post in the family of a prince of
the blood, when it is given by the credit, and on the recommendation of
a friend, like the Comte de Guiche, is worth at least twelve thousand
livres per annum; and by the means which M. Malicorne had taken to make
his revenues fructify, twelve thousand livres might rise to twenty
thousand. Then, when once an incumbent of this post, he would marry
Mademoiselle de Montalais. Mademoiselle de Montalais, of a half noble
family, not only would be dowered, but would ennoble Malicorne. But, in
order that Mademoiselle de Montalais, who had not a large patrimonial
fortune, although an only daughter, should be suitably dowered, it was
necessary that she should belong to some great princess, as prodigal as
the dowager Madame was covetous. And in order that the wife should not
be of one party whilst the husband belonged to the other, a situation
which presents serious inconveniences, particularly with characters
like those of the future consorts—Malicorne had imagined the idea of
making the central point of union the household of Monsieur, the king’s
brother. Mademoiselle de Montalais would be maid of honor to Madame. M.
Malicorne would be officer to Monsieur.
It is plain the plan was formed by a clear head; it is plain, also,
that it had been bravely executed. Malicorne had asked Manicamp to ask
a brevet of maid of honor of the Comte de Guiche; and the Comte de
Guiche had asked this brevet of Monsieur, who had signed it without
hesitation. The constructive plan of Malicorne—for we may well suppose
that the combinations of a mind as active as his were not confined to
the present, but extended to the future—the constructive plan of
Malicorne, we say, was this:—To obtain entrance into the household of
Madame Henrietta for a woman devoted to himself, who was intelligent,
young, handsome, and intriguing; to learn, by means of this woman, all
the feminine secrets of the young household, whilst he, Malicorne, and
his friend Manicamp, should, between them, know all the male secrets of
the young community. It was by these means that a rapid and splendid
fortune might be acquired at one and the same time. Malicorne was a
vile name; he who bore it had too much wit to conceal this truth from
himself; but an estate might be purchased; and Malicorne of some place,
or even De Malicorne itself, for short, would ring more nobly on the
ear.
It was not improbable that a most aristocratic origin might be hunted
up by the heralds for this name of Malicorne; might it not come from
some estate where a bull with mortal horns had caused some great
misfortune, and baptized the soil with the blood it had spilt? Certes,
this plan presented itself bristling with difficulties: but the
greatest of all was Mademoiselle de Montalais herself. Capricious,
variable, close, giddy, free, prudish, a virgin armed with claws,
Erigone stained with grapes, she sometimes overturned, with a single
dash of her white fingers, or with a single puff from her laughing
lips, the edifice which had exhausted Malicorne’s patience for a month.
Love apart, Malicorne was happy; but this love, which he could not help
feeling, he had the strength to conceal with care; persuaded that at
the lest relaxing of the ties by which he had bound his Protean female,
the demon would overthrow him and laugh at him. He humbled his mistress
by disdaining her. Burning with desire, when she advanced to tempt him,
he had the art to appear ice, persuaded that if he opened his arms, she
would run away laughing at him. On her side, Montalais believed she did
not love Malicorne; whilst, on the contrary, in reality she did.
Malicorne repeated to her so often his protestation of indifference,
that she finished sometimes, by believing him; and then she believed
she detested Malicorne. If she tried to bring him back by coquetry,
Malicorne played the coquette better than she could. But what made
Montalais hold to Malicorne in an indissoluble fashion, was that
Malicorne always came cram full of fresh news from the court and the
city; Malicorne always brought to Blois a fashion, a secret, or a
perfume; that Malicorne never asked for a meeting, but, on the
contrary, required to be supplicated to receive the favors he burned to
obtain. On her side Montalais was no miser with stories. By her means
Malicorne learnt all that passed at Blois, in the family of the dowager
Madame; and he related to Manicamp tales that made him ready to die
with laughing, which the latter, out of idleness, took ready-made to M.
de Guiche, who carried them to Monsieur.
Such, in two words, was the woof of petty interests and petty
conspiracies which united Blois with Orleans and Orleans with Paris;
and which was about to bring into the last named city, where she was to
produce so great a revolution, the poor little La Vallière, who was far
from suspecting, as she returned joyfully, leaning on the arm of her
mother, for what a strange future she was reserved. As to the good man,
Malicorne—we speak of the syndic of Orleans—he did not see more clearly
into the present than others did into the future; and had no suspicion
as he walked, every day, between three and five o’clock, after his
dinner, upon the Place Sainte-Catherine, in his gray coat, cut after
the fashion of Louis XIII. and his cloth shoes with great knots of
ribbon, that it was he who was paying for all those bursts of laughter,
all those stolen kisses, all those whisperings, all those little
keepsakes, and all those bubble projects which formed a chain of
forty-five leagues in length, from the palais of Blois to the
Palais-Royal.