Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed
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[Transcriber's Note: This text is taken from a nine-volume edition of
the works of Alexandre Dumas, published in 1893 by Peter Fenelon
Collier. _The Regent's Daughter_ was published in volume 6, along with
_The Forty-Five Guardsmen_ and _The Conspirators_, both of which are
also available from Project Gutenberg. The translator of these texts is
unknown.
The use of accents in the original text was erratic, and some names
appear with more than one spelling. Except where one version was clearly
predominant, all spellings are left as they appear in the original
text.]
THE WORKS OF ALEXANDRE DUMAS
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER
A SEQUEL TO "THE CONSPIRATORS"
Copiously Illustrated with elegant Pen and Ink and Wood Engravings,
specially drawn for this edition by eminent French and American Artists
COMPLETE IN NINE VOLUMES
VOLUME SIX
NEW YORK
PETER FENELON COLLIER, PUBLISHER
1893
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
1. An Abbess of the Eighteenth Century 431
2. Decidedly the Family begins to settle down 435
3. What passed three Nights later at eight hundred 438
Leagues from the Palais Royal
4. Showing how Chance arranges some Matters better 442
than Providence
5. The Journey 444
6. A Room in the Hotel at Rambouillet 447
7. A Servant in the Royal Livery--Monseigneur le 449
Duc d'Orleans
8. The Utility of a Seal 452
9. The Visit 455
10. In which Dubois proves that his Police was 459
better organized at an Expense of three hundred
thousand Francs than the general Police for
three Millions
11. Rambouillet again 461
12. Captain la Jonquiere 463
13. Monsieur Moutonnet, Draper at St. Germain-en-Laye 466
14. Trust to Signs of Gratitude 468
15. His Excellency the Duc d'Orleans 471
16. "Monseigneur, we are Bretons" 474
17. Monsieur Andre 475
18. The Faubourg Saint Antoine 479
19. The Artist and the Politician 481
20. Blood reveals itself 484
21. What passed in the Rue du Bac while waiting for 488
Gaston
22. In Bretagne 502
23. The Sorceress of Savernay 505
24. The Arrest 509
25. The Bastille 512
26. How Life passed in the Bastille while waiting 516
for Death
27. How the Night passed in the Bastille while 519
waiting for the Day
28. A Companion in the Bastille 522
29. The Sentence 527
30. The Family Feud 531
31. State Affairs and Family Affairs 538
32. Showing that we must not always judge Others 543
by Ourselves
33. Monceaux 547
34. The Pardon 550
35. The last Interview 553
36. Nantes 555
37. The Tragedy of Nantes 560
38. The End 564
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
13.--Captain la Jonquiere.
14.--Philip V.
15.--Gaston rose hastily, and met D'Argenson with a law officer.
16.--Abbe Brigaud.
17.--Mademoiselle de Launay.
18.--The Regent.
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
CHAPTER I.
AN ABBESS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.
On the 8th February, 1719, a carriage, bearing the fleur-de-lis of
France, with the motto of Orleans, preceded by two outriders and a page,
entered the porch of the Abbey of Chelles, precisely as the clock struck
ten, and, the door having been quickly opened, its two occupants stepped
out.
The first was a man of from forty-five to forty-six years of age, short,
and rather stout, with a high color, easy in his movements, and
displaying in every gesture a certain air of high breeding and command.
The second, who followed slowly, was short, and remarkably thin. His
face, though not precisely ugly, was very disagreeable, although bearing
the evidences of a keen intellect. He seemed to feel the cold, and
followed his companion, wrapped up in an ample cloak.
The first of these two made his way up the staircase with the air of a
man well acquainted with the locality. Passing through a large
antechamber containing several nuns, who bowed to the ground as he
passed, he ran rather than walked to a reception-room, which, it must be
confessed, bore but little trace of that austerity which is ordinarily
ascribed to the interior of a cloister.
The other, who followed leisurely, was saluted almost as humbly by the
nuns.
"And now," said the first, "wait here and warm yourself, while I go to
her, and in ten minutes I will make an end of all these abuses you
mention: if she deny, and I want proof, I will call you."
"Ten minutes, monseigneur," replied the man in the cloak; "in two hours
your highness will not have even broached the subject of your visit. Oh!
the Abbess de Chelles is a clever woman!"
So saying, he stretched himself out in an easy chair, which he had drawn
near the fire, and rested his thin legs on the fender.
"Yes, yes," replied he who had been addressed as "your highness;" "I
know, and if I could forget it, you take care to remind me of it often
enough. Why did you bring me here to-day through all this wind and
snow?"
"Because you would not come yesterday, monseigneur."
"Yesterday, it was impossible; I had an appointment with Lord Stair at
five o'clock."
"In a house in the Rue des Bons Enfants. My lord does not live any
longer, then, at the English embassy?"
"Abbe, I had forbidden you to follow me."
"Monseigneur, it is my duty to disobey you."
"Well, then, disobey; but let me tell stories at my pleasure, without
your having the impertinence to show me that you know it, just for the
sake of proving the efficiency of your police."
"Monseigneur may rest easy in future--I will believe anything!"
"I will not promise as much in return, abbe, for here I think you have
made a mistake."
"Monseigneur, I know what I said, and I repeat it."
"But look! no noise, no light, perfect quiet, your account is
incorrect; it is evident that we are late."
"Yesterday, monseigneur, where you stand, there was an orchestra of
fifty musicians; there, where that young sister kneels so devoutly, was
a buffet: what was upon it I cannot tell, but I know it was there, and
in the gallery on the left, where a modest supper of lentils and cream
cheese is now preparing for the holy sisters, were two hundred people,
drinking, dancing, and making--"
"Well, making what?"
"Making love, monseigneur."
"Diable! are you sure of this?"
"Rather more sure than if I had seen it, and that is why you do well in
coming to-day, and would have done better in coming yesterday. This sort
of life does not become an abbess, monseigneur."
"No, it is only fit for an abbe. Ha!"
"I am a politician, monseigneur."
"Well, my daughter is a political abbess, that is all."
"Oh, let it be so, if it suits you, monseigneur; I am not so particular
in point of morals, you know. To-morrow there will be another song or
two out, but what does that matter?"----"Well, well, wait for me, and I
will go and scold."
"Take my word for it, monseigneur, if you wish to scold properly you had
better do it here, before me; if you fail in memory or arguments, sign
to me, and I will come to the rescue."
"Yes, yes, you are right," said the person who had undertaken to redress
wrongs, and in whom we hope the reader has recognized Philippe
d'Orleans. "Yes, this scandal must be quieted a little, at any rate: the
abbess must not receive more than twice a week. There must be none of
these dances and assemblies, and the cloisters must be re-established.
Mademoiselle d'Orleans passed from gayety to a religious life; she left
the Palais Royal for Chelles in spite of all I could do to prevent her;
now, for five days in the week she must be the abbess, and that will
leave her two to play the great lady."
"Ah, monseigneur, you are beginning to see the thing in its true
light."
"Is not this what you wish?"
"It is what is necessary. It seems to me that an abbess who has thirty
valets, fifteen footmen, ten cooks, eight grooms, and a mute--who
fences, plays the horn, and the violincello--who is a surgeon and a
hairdresser--who shoots and makes fireworks--cannot be very dull."
"Has not my daughter been told of my arrival," said the duke to an old
nun who crossed the room with a bunch of keys in her hand; "I wish to
know whether I shall go to her, or whether she is coming to me."
"Madame is coming, monseigneur," replied the sister, respectfully.
"It is well," murmured the regent, somewhat impatiently.
"Monseigneur, remember the parable of Jesus driving out the
money-changers from the temple; you know it, or ought to know it, for I
taught it you when I was your preceptor. Now, drive out these musicians,
these Pharisees, these comedians and anatomists; three only of each
profession will make a nice escort for our return."
"Do not fear, I am in a preaching vein."
"Then," replied Dubois, rising, "that is most fortunate, for here she
is."
At this moment a door, leading to the interior of the convent, was
opened, and the person so impatiently expected appeared.
Let us explain who was this worthy person who had succeeded, by repeated
follies, in rousing the anger of Philippe d'Orleans, the most indulgent
man and father in France.
Mademoiselle de Chartres, Louise-Adelaide-d'Orleans, was the second and
prettiest of the regent's daughters. She had a beautiful complexion,
fine eyes, a good figure, and well-shaped hands. Her teeth were
splendid, and her grandmother, the princess palatine, compared them to a
string of pearls in a coral casket. She danced well, sang better, and
played at sight. She had learned of Cauchereau, one of the first artists
at the opera, with whom she had made much more progress than is common
with ladies, and especially with princesses. It is true that she was
most assiduous; the secret of that assiduity will be shortly revealed.
All her tastes were masculine. She appeared to have changed sex with her
brother Louis. She loved dogs and horses; amused herself with pistols
and foils, but cared little for any feminine occupations.
Her chief predilection, however, was for music; she seldom missed a
night at the opera when her master Cauchereau performed; and once, when
he surpassed himself in an air, she exclaimed, "Bravo, bravo, my dear
Cauchereau!" in a voice audible to the whole house.
The Duchesse d'Orleans judged that the exclamation was somewhat
indiscreet for a princess of the blood, and decided that Mademoiselle
Chartres knew enough of music. Cauchereau was well paid, and desired not
to return to the Palais Royal. The duchess also begged her daughter to
spend a fortnight at the convent of Chelles, the abbess of which, a
sister of Marechal de Villars, was a friend of hers.
It was doubtless during this retreat that mademoiselle--who did
everything by fits and starts--resolved to renounce the world. Toward
the end of the holy week of 1718, she asked and obtained her father's
permission to spend Easter at Chelles; but at the end of that time,
instead of returning to the palais, she expressed a wish to remain as a
nun.
The duke tried to oppose this, but Mademoiselle de Chartres was
obstinate, and on the 23d of April she took the vows. Then the duke
treated with Mademoiselle de Villars for the abbey, and, on the promise
of twelve thousand francs, Mademoiselle de Chartres was named abbess in
her stead, and she had occupied the post about a year.
This, then, was the abbess of Chelles, who appeared before her father,
not surrounded by an elegant and profane court, but followed by six nuns
dressed in black and holding torches. There was no sign of frivolity or
of pleasure; nothing but the most somber apparel and the most severe
aspect. The regent, however, suspected that he had been kept waiting
while all this was preparing.
"I do not like hypocrisy," said he, sharply, "and can forgive vices
which are not hidden under the garb of virtues. All these lights,
madame, are doubtless the remains of yesterday's illumination. Are all
your flowers so faded, and all your guests so fatigued, that you cannot
show me a single bouquet nor a single dancer?"
"Monsieur," said the abbess in a grave tone, "this is not the place for
fetes and amusements."----"Yes," answered the regent, "I see, that if
you feasted yesterday, you fast to-day."
"Did you come here, monsieur, to catechise? At least what you see should
reply to any accusations against me."
"I came to tell you, madame," replied the regent, annoyed at being
supposed to have been duped, "that the life you lead displeases me; your
conduct yesterday was unbecoming an abbess; your austerities to-day are
unbecoming a princess of the blood; decide, once for all, between the
nun and the court lady. People begin to speak ill of you, and I have
enemies enough of my own, without your saddling me with others from the
depth of your convent."
"Alas, monsieur, in giving entertainments, balls, and concerts, which
have been quoted as the best in Paris, I have neither pleased those
enemies, nor you, nor myself. Yesterday was my last interview with the
world; this morning I have taken leave of it forever; and to-day, while
still ignorant of your visit, I had adopted a determination from which I
will never depart."
"And what is it?" asked the regent, suspecting that this was only a new
specimen of his daughter's ordinary follies.
"Come to this window and look out," said the abbess.
The regent, in compliance with the invitation, approached the window,
and saw a large fire blazing in the middle of the courtyard. Dubois--who
was as curious as if he had really been an abbe--slipped up beside him.
Several people were rapidly passing and repassing before the fire, and
throwing various singular-shaped objects into the flames.
"But what is that?" asked the regent of Dubois, who seemed as much
surprised as himself.
"That which is burning now?" asked the abbe.----"Yes," replied the
regent.
"Ma foi, monseigneur, it looks to me very much like a violincello."
"It is mine," said the abbess, "an excellent violincello by Valeri."
"And you are burning it!" exclaimed the duke.
"All instruments are sources of perdition," said the abbess, in a tone
which betrayed the most profound remorse.
"Eh, but here is a harpsichord," interrupted the duke.
"My harpsichord, monsieur; it was so perfect that it enticed me toward
earthly things; I condemned it this morning."
"And what are those chests of papers with which they are feeding the
fire?" asked Dubois, whom the spectacle seemed to interest immensely.
"My music, which I am having burned."
"Your music?" demanded the regent.
"Yes, and even yours," answered the abbess; "look carefully and you will
see your opera of 'Panthee' follow in its turn. You will understand that
my resolution once taken, its execution was necessarily general."
"Well, madame, this time you are really mad! To light the fire with
music, and then feed it with bass-viols and harpsichords is really a
little too luxurious."
"I am doing penance, monsieur."
"Hum, say rather that you are refitting your house, and that this is an
excuse for buying new furniture, since you are doubtless tired of the
old."
"No, monseigneur, it is no such thing."
"Well, then, what is it? Tell me frankly."
"In truth, I am weary of amusing myself, and, indeed, I intend to act
differently."
"And what are you going to do?"
"I am going with my nuns to visit my tomb."
"Diable, monseigneur!" exclaimed the abbe, "her wits are gone at last."
"It will be truly edifying, will it not, monsieur?" continued the
abbess, gravely.
"Indeed," answered the regent, "if you really do this, I doubt not but
people will laugh at it twice as much as they did at your suppers."
"Will you accompany me, messieurs?" continued the abbess; "I am going to
spend a few minutes in my coffin; it is a fancy I have had a long time."
"You will have plenty of time for that," said the regent; "moreover, you
have not even invented this amusement; for Charles the Fifth, who became
a monk as you became a nun, without exactly knowing why, thought of it
before you."
"Then you will not go with me, monsieur?" said the abbess.
"I," answered the duke, who had not the least sympathy with somber
ideas, "I go to see tombs! I go to hear the De Profundis! No, pardieu!
and the only thing which consoles me for not being able to escape them
some day, is, that I shall neither see the one nor the other."
"Ah, monsieur," answered the abbess, in a scandalized tone, "you do not,
then, believe in the immortality of the soul?"
"I believe that you are raving mad. Confound this abbe, who promises me
a feast, and brings me to a funeral."
"By my faith, monseigneur," said Dubois, "I think I prefer the
extravagance of yesterday; it was more attractive."
The abbess bowed, and made a few steps toward the door. The duke and
Dubois remained staring at each other, uncertain whether to laugh or
cry.
"One word more," said the duke; "are you decided this time, or is it not
some fever which you have caught from your confessor? If it be real, I
have nothing to say; but if it be a fever, I desire that they cure you
of it. I have Morceau and Chirac, whom I pay for attending on me and
mine."
"Monseigneur," answered the abbess, "you forget that I know sufficient
of medicine to undertake my own cure, if I were ill: I can, therefore,
assure you that I am not. I am a Jansenist; that is all."
"Ah," cried the duke, "this is more of Father le Doux's work, that
execrable Benedictine! At least I know a treatment which will cure
him."
"What is that?" asked the abbess.
"The Bastille."
And he went out in a rage, followed by Dubois, who was laughing
heartily.
"You see," said the regent, after a long silence, and when they were
nearing Paris, "I preached with a good grace; it seems it was I who
needed the sermon."
"Well, you are a happy father, that is all; I compliment you on your
younger daughter, Mademoiselle de Chartres. Unluckily your elder
daughter, the Duchesse de Berry--"
"Oh, do not talk of her; she is my ulcer, particularly when I am in a
bad temper."
"Well?"
"I have a great mind to make use of it by finishing with her at one
blow."
"She is at the Luxembourg?"
"I believe so."
"Let us go to the Luxembourg, monseigneur."
"You go with me?"
"I shall not leave you to-night."
"Well, drive to the Luxembourg."