GENEROSITY AND DIPLOMACY.
Du Berry hesitated, and sat for some moments in silence, now and then
casting a doubtful glance at Mirabeau, while the color came and went
under her rouge. She had lost all delicacy years before; but there was
something in what she wished to propose that taxed all her ingenuity. At
last she spoke out.
“Mirabeau, you are the enemy of royalty.”
“Well!”
“You hate the queen.”
“And if I do?”
“This cannot be real, there is something personal under it all.”
“What makes you think so?”
“You are the idol of a people you despise!”
“Go on.”
“And might be the saviour of France; should be a close friend to the
queen.”
Mirabeau laughed again; but there was angry fire in his eyes, and a
curve of scorn on his lips.
“How long is it since the Countess Du Berry became the advocate of Marie
Antoinette?” he demanded.
“Ever since she was too generous for the persecution of a fallen enemy;
ever since she has been cruelly unfortunate, and most unjustly reviled.
Of all the people in France, I have most cause to love the woman for
whose overthrow you are toiling.”
“Nay, let me tell you a secret. You are a woman of sense, and can
comprehend the situation—Marie Antoinette rejects the friendship of
Mirabeau.”
“Has it been offered her?”
“Twice, indirectly.”
“But the time may come when that friendship will be implored. Then,
Mirabeau, be generous, be noble, use your great power for the defence of
the throne. Earn the queen’s gratitude, force her to acknowledge the
power of your genius, the grandeur of your magnanimity—promise this, my
Mirabeau.”
“When Marie Antoinette seeks my aid it will be time enough to promise.”
“But if she does seek it—if she asks your influence with the people,
your protection from her enemies—what will be your answer?”
“Perhaps, that it is too late.”
“The time will come, and then you must remember Du Berry, who wishes to
aid in this; who implores your permission to pay a vast debt of
gratitude to the grandson of Louis the Fifteenth—to the daughter of
Maria Theresa, who was so pure and good herself that she never went out
of her way to taunt and insult those who were less fortunate. To the
clemency and forbearance of Louis, and his most persecuted queen, I am
indebted for every franc that makes up my wealth; I ask nothing better
than to employ it all in their service. When you are a friend of the
monarchy, let me find the money which the cause will so much need. Thus
you and I will unite in a holy work, which shall redeem much evil that
we may have done. You, with your eloquence, and I, with money, which
justly belongs to the crown, may, perhaps, be so fortunate as to save
the monarchy of France.”
The woman spoke earnestly, sometimes with passionate warmth, that
astonished the man she addressed. He knew that she was in earnest, that
a grander element than could be found in his heart was speaking through
her words. Perhaps he felt, through all its subtle indirection, that
something like a bribe for his influence lay under all this real
generosity; but Mirabeau was not a man to revolt at an idea, so long as
it took no offensive clearness. On the contrary, he reflected that his
own power would be wonderfully enhanced by wealth, let it come in what
form it would. If his proud old father fell short of his expectations,
here was a resource.
“Have you spoken of this to the queen?” he inquired.
“How could I? She would reject it. No, there is but one way, and that I
have pointed out. The time will come when this persecuted lady will seek
the friendship of a man who controls the people of Paris, who knows how
to excite or depress the passions of her enemies. When that day arrives,
the money she would scorn now can be used in her behalf.”
“God grant that the rabble does not get beyond all control before she
comes to her senses,” said the count, thoughtfully. “Ignorance and
passion are hard things to manage; but if Mirabeau cannot control
them—where is the human power that can?”
Du Berry laid her hand on his arm.
“Some day your old friend may ask that protection for herself,” she
said.
“It shall not be asked in vain,” answered the count, holding the door
for her to pass.
When Madame Du Berry reached her lodgings she found Zamara, who had just
come in from Versailles. His clothes were muddy, his face heavy with
disappointment.
“Madame, Zamara has failed; I could not get the ring; she never takes it
from her finger,” he said. Madame only answered,
“The fates are against us, Zamara.”