THE RETURN
The day of his return to Paris, just as he was taking off his boots,
getting ready to go to Versailles, in great haste to approach the king,
he was called upon by the Baron of Ugeon, a relative of Madame Soubise.
Accompanied by two seconds, this gentleman came to demand satisfaction
for the discourtesy which the Marquis had shown towards Madame Rohan
Soubise at her hotel.
Very much astonished at this revengefulness, for which there was no
reason, Monsieur de Létorière, without declining the challenge,
declared that having ridden post from Vienna to see the king, his
master, for the last time, who was said to be dying, he could consent to
fight only after having fulfilled this sacred duty.
The bravery of the Marquis was so well known, that his proposition could
not be rejected. It was settled that when he was ready for the meeting,
the seconds should inform Monsieur d'Ugeon.
After begging Dominique to go to the Abbey of Montmartre, and carry a
letter from him to the princess Julie, the Marquis started for
Versailles.
Louis XV. was dying with the confluent small-pox.
This terrible malady, so rapidly contagious, and which left such
frightful traces, had caused great alarm in the court. Létorière found
the small rooms occupied by the dying king almost deserted. The panic
was much greater, as vaccination was not then known. Even the officers
on duty were hardly to be found at their posts. Louis XV. had strictly
forbidden the dauphin and the other princes and princesses to enter his
apartment, for fear of exposing the royal family to the fatal contagion.
The Viscount of T***, one of the gentlemen of the bedchamber, then on
duty, was in the room next to that of the king, when Létorière
arrived, pale and agitated.
The Marquis, forgetting court etiquette in this dreadful moment, was
about to raise the curtain of the king's chamber, when the viscount
hurriedly advanced, and said in a low voice, laying his hand upon the
Marquis's arm:
"Stop, sir, you have not the _entrée_ to his majesty's chamber."
"It is said, sir, that the king is almost deserted by his attendants;
they fear contagion. . . . If it be true that death reigns in this
chamber, one can brave all etiquette to enter it," said Létorière,
bitterly, and he made a movement to enter.
"Once more, you cannot go into the presence of his majesty, sir,"
replied the Viscount T***. "I am not sure that he will consent to
receive you."
"Go, then, and ask him, sir; the king will not refuse the services of
one whom he has always loaded with favors."
The proposition to enter the king's chamber seemed to frighten Monsieur
T***, who haughtily answered the Marquis, still in a low voice:
"I receive orders only from the first gentleman-in-waiting, sir."
At that instant a feeble voice, well known to both who heard it, asked:
"Who is there? Who is speaking in whispers?"
"It is the king! . . . He has heard you, sir. You are responsible for
the consequences of this," said Monsieur T***; and he replied aloud:
"Will his majesty deign to excuse me if I answer him without entering?
but I only execute his formal orders. The person who is here, Sire,
is . . ."
"'Tis Létorière, who supplicates the king to be permitted to approach
him," said the marquis aloud, interrupting M. T***.
"Indeed, . . . is it you, my child? You have returned, then?" cried
Louis XV., in a tone of great pleasure. Then reflecting that he should
expose the Marquis to the danger of contagion in permitting him to enter
his chamber, he added:
"No . . . no . . . the air of this apartment is fatal . . . don't come
in; I forbid it." . . .
"For the first time in my life I shall dare to disobey an order of the
king. . . . But I have a duty to accomplish, and I will accomplish it,"
cried Létorière; and raising the curtain, he advanced towards the
monarch's bed.
"Go out . . . go out this instant, ill-fated child!" cried the prince,
raising himself to a sitting posture, and extending his hand towards the
door with an imperious air.
But Létorière threw himself on the king's hand; which, despite his
majesty's resistance, he kissed respectfully several times. Then he
knelt near the bed, saying:
"May the king pardon my audacity . . . but there is now no longer any
reason for forbidding my presence." . . .
"Go away . . . leave me;" replied Louis XV.
"Four years ago I was happier . . . the king deigned to allow me to kiss
his royal hand in the garden of Versailles," said the Marquis, with an
accent of filial veneration.
"But four years ago . . . my hand could not communicate a frightful
disease . . . death, perhaps!" said the sovereign, much moved.
The courageous pertinacity of Létorière touched more deeply this
excellent prince, because, save by some inside servants, he had been
abandoned by nearly all the courtiers.
The high officials of the crown, whose duty it was to remain near his
person, had obeyed only too faithfully his orders, which forbade them to
stay.
The fine features of the king, disfigured by his disease, already
indicated the approach of death. At this supreme moment the unfortunate
dissensions, the threatening political agitation which had darkened the
latter part of his reign, filled him with new anxieties. Létorière's
noble devotion for a moment diverted his thoughts from these painful
themes which saddened his last moments.
"You are a madman, . . . you deserve all my anger for daring to disobey
me and expose yourself thus," . . . cried Louis XV., with an expression
rather of grief than of wrath, and casting a tender look on Létorière,
who, still kneeling near the bed, kept profound silence.
"Oh, may the king have pity on me! this may perhaps be the last time I
can show him my gratitude."
"Again, I tell you this disease is contagious. . . . Do you not see that
they have abandoned me . . . that I am alone . . . that I wish to be
alone?" the prince hastened to add with bitterness, as if he wished to
disguise from himself his first thought; the devotion of the Marquis
made the ingratitude of the courtiers appear yet more shameful to him.
"Brave and noble heart!" added Louis XV., looking at the Marquis
tenderly. "That hast no fear; thou art faithful!"
"Then let the king recompense my fidelity by granting me what he grants
to no other person . . . the right to serve him, to remain near
him!" . . . said Létorière, joining his hands in supplication.
"It must be so . . . now" . . . said Louis XV. Then he added, almost in
despair: "But you are young! you are handsome! you are beloved! and all
that you risk to come to me! all that you will sacrifice to me, perhaps,
poor young man! . . . when so many others". . . and, after a moment of
silence, Louis continued: "There is probably a crowd around the dauphin
to salute the King, Louis XVI."
"Sire, what do you say?"
"That is the fate of kings when they are departing, my child. . . . Ah!
if I had only oblivion, only death to dread! But France . . .
France . . . what will become of her? And my grandson, what will his
future be?" . . .
"Sire, France has named you the _Well-beloved_; for a long time you
have borne that name, and his highness the dauphin will one day merit
it." . . .
"I am not mistaken . . . I am feeble . . . I approach my end," . . .
said the king, shaking his head sadly; "and then, I believe certain
deaths are significant; the Marshal of Armantières, the Marquis of
Chauvelin, have suddenly died before me . . . in my court. . . . It is a
warning from heaven."
"Do not think of this, Sire. This illness is dangerous, but care . . ."
"Care is powerless,--I feel it; thus it is frightful for me to think
that I have, perhaps, uselessly compromised your life . . . but now it
is too late. Your imprudence . . . no, no, . . . your generous devotion
has rendered all regret vain. . . . But tell me, I have heard with joy
of the gaining of your lawsuit. Now, nothing can prevent your marriage
with the princess Julie. . . . Oh! I have had to break many lances for
you against the _Maréchale_ and against the House of Savoy," he added,
with a kind smile. "I have been obliged to use all my authority to
prevent them from shutting up Mademoiselle de Soissons in the convent of
Montmartre."
"Ah! Sire, what goodness! you deign to think . . ."
"It is now or never; to-morrow, perhaps, it will be too late. . . . My
only fear is, that when I am gone the princess Julie will not find a
friend in my grandson. . . . But if God spares me a few days, I will
advise her; it will be sweet to me to leave you as happy as you deserve
to be, my dear child." . . .
* * * * * * *
The illness of the king made rapid and frightful progress. Létorière
did not quit him for a moment. It would be impossible to tell with what
tender, respectful, and touching cares he surrounded the dying monarch.
The sight of the Marquis seemed to calm the pains of Louis XV. Several
times he offered him his hand in silence, with a sweet expression of
gratitude. Soon all hope of saving the prince vanished, and Létorière
stood with fixed and mournful eyes at the moment of death, the end of
the sovereign who had shown for him all the affection of a father. . . .