Produced by David Widger.
*THE COUNTESS DE SAINT-GERAN*
_By_
*Alexandre Dumas, Pere*
_From the set of Eight Volumes of "Celebrated Crimes"_
1910
CONTENTS
*THE COUNTESS DE SAINT-GERAN--1639*
*THE COUNTESS DE SAINT-GERAN--1639*
About the end of the year 1639, a troop of horsemen arrived, towards
midday, in a little village at the northern extremity of the province of
Auvergne, from the direction of Paris. The country folk assembled at the
noise, and found it to proceed from the provost of the mounted police
and his men. The heat was excessive, the horses were bathed in sweat,
the horsemen covered with dust, and the party seemed on its return from
an important expedition. A man left the escort, and asked an old woman
who was spinning at her door if there was not an inn in the place. The
woman and her children showed him a bush hanging over a door at the end
of the only street in the village, and the escort recommenced its march
at a walk. There was noticed, among the mounted men, a young man of
distinguished appearance and richly dressed, who appeared to be a
prisoner. This discovery redoubled the curiosity of the villagers, who
followed the cavalcade as far as the door of the wine-shop. The host
came out, cap in hand, and the provost enquired of him with a swaggering
air if his pothouse was large enough to accommodate his troop, men and
horses. The host replied that he had the best wine in the country to
give to the king's servants, and that it would be easy to collect in the
neighbourhood litter and forage enough for their horses. The provost
listened contemptuously to these fine promises, gave the necessary
orders as to what was to be done, and slid off his horse, uttering an
oath proceeding from heat and fatigue. The horsemen clustered round the
young man: one held his stirrup, and the provost deferentially gave way
to him to enter the inn first. No, more doubt could be entertained that
he was a prisoner of importance, and all kinds of conjectures were made.
The men maintained that he must be charged with a great crime, otherwise
a young nobleman of his rank would never have been arrested; the women
argued, on the contrary, that it was impossible for such a pretty youth
not to be innocent.
Inside the inn all was bustle: the serving-lads ran from cellar to
garret; the host swore and despatched his servant-girls to the
neighbours, and the hostess scolded her daughter, flattening her nose
against the panes of a downstairs window to admire the handsome youth.
There were two tables in the principal eating-room. The provost took
possession of one, leaving the other to the soldiers, who went in turn
to tether their horses under a shed in the back yard; then he pointed to
a stool for the prisoner, and seated himself opposite to him, rapping
the table with his thick cane.
"Ouf!" he cried, with a fresh groan of weariness, "I heartily beg your
pardon, marquis, for the bad wine I am giving you!"
The young man smiled gaily.
"The wine is all very well, monsieur provost," said he, "but I cannot
conceal from you that however agreeable your company is to me, this halt
is very inconvenient; I am in a hurry to get through my ridiculous
situation, and I should have liked to arrive in time to stop this affair
at once."
The girl of the house was standing before the table with a pewter pot
which she had just brought, and at these words she raised her eyes on
the prisoner, with a reassured look which seemed to say, "I was sure
that he was innocent."
"But," continued the marquis, carrying the glass to his lips, "this wine
is not so bad as you say, monsieur provost."
Then turning to the girl, who was eyeing his gloves and his ruff--
"To your health, pretty child."
"Then," said the provost, amazed at this free and easy air, "perhaps I
shall have to beg you to excuse your sleeping quarters."
"What!" exclaimed the marquis, "do we sleep here?"
"My lord;" said the provost, "we have sixteen long leagues to make, our
horses are done up, and so far as I am concerned I declare that I am no
better than my horse."
The marquis knocked on the table, and gave every indication of being
greatly annoyed. The provost meanwhile puffed and blowed, stretched out
his big boots, and mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. He was a
portly man, with a puffy face, whom fatigue rendered singularly
uncomfortable.
"Marquis," said he, "although your company, which affords me the
opportunity of showing you some attention, is very precious to me, you
cannot doubt that I had much rather enjoy it on another footing. If it
be within your power, as you say, to release yourself from the hands of
justice, the sooner you do so the better I shall be pleased. But I beg
you to consider the state we are in. For my part, I am unfit to keep the
saddle another hour, and are you not yourself knocked up by this forced
march in the great heat?"
"True, so I am," said the marquis, letting his arms fall by his side.
"Well, then, let us rest here, sup here, if we can, and we will start
quite fit in the cool of the morning."
"Agreed," replied the marquis; "but then let us pass the time in a
becoming manner. I have two pistoles left, let them be given to these
good fellows to drink. It is only fair that I should treat them, seeing
that I am the cause of giving them so much trouble."
He threw two pieces of money on the table of the soldiers, who cried in
chorus, "Long live M. the marquis!" The provost rose, went to post
sentinels, and then repaired to the kitchen, where he ordered the best
supper that could be got. The men pulled out dice and began to drink and
play. The marquis hummed an air in the middle of the room, twirled his
moustache, turning on his heel and looking cautiously around; then he
gently drew a purse from his trousers pocket, and as the daughter of the
house was coming and going, he threw his arms round her neck as if to
kiss her, and whispered, slipping ten Louis into her hand--
"The key of the front door in my room, and a quart of liquor to the
sentinels, and you save my life."
The girl went backwards nearly to the door, and returning with an
expressive look, made an affirmative sign with her hand. The provost
returned, and two hours later supper was served. He ate and drank like a
man more at home at table than in the saddle. The marquis plied him with
bumpers, and sleepiness, added to the fumes of a very heady wine, caused
him to repeat over and over again--
"Confound it all, marquis, I can't believe you are such a blackguard as
they say you are; you seem to me a jolly good sort."
The marquis thought he was ready to fall under the table, and was
beginning to open negotiations with the daughter of the house, when, to
his great disappointment, bedtime having come, the provoking provost
called his sergeant, gave him instructions in an undertone, and
announced that he should have the honour of conducting M. the marquis to
bed, and that he should not go to bed himself before performing this
duty. In fact, he posted three of his men, with torches, escorted the
prisoner to his room, and left him with many profound bows.
The marquis threw himself on his bed without pulling off his boots,
listening to a clock which struck nine. He heard the men come and go in
the stables and in the yard.
An hour later, everybody being tired, all was perfectly still. The
prisoner then rose softly, and felt about on tiptoe on the chimneypiece,
on the furniture, and even in his clothes, for the key which he hoped to
find. He could not find it. He could not be mistaken, nevertheless, in
the tender interest of the young girl, and he could not believe that she
was deceiving him. The marquis's room had a window which opened upon the
street, and a door which gave access to a shabby gallery which did duty
for a balcony, whence a staircase ascended to the principal rooms of the
house. This gallery hung over the courtyard, being as high above it as
the window was from the street. The marquis had only to jump over one
side or the other: he hesitated for some time, and just as he was
deciding to leap into the street, at the risk of breaking his neck, two
taps were struck on the door. He jumped for joy, saying to himself as he
opened, "I am saved!" A kind of shadow glided into the room; the young
girl trembled from head to foot, and could not say a word. The marquis
reassured her with all sorts of caresses.
"Ah, sir," said she, "I am dead if we are surprised."
"Yes," said the marquis, "but your fortune is made if you get me out of
here."
"God is my witness that I would with all my soul, but I have such a bad
piece of news----"
She stopped, suffocated with varying emotions. The poor girl had come
barefooted, for fear of making a noise, and appeared to be shivering.
"What is the matter?" impatiently asked the marquis.
"Before going to bed," she continued, "M. the provost has required from
my father all the keys of the house, and has made him take a great oath
that there are no more. My father has given him all: besides, there is a
sentinel at every door; but they are very tired; I have heard them
muttering and grumbling, and I have given them more wine than you told
me."
"They will sleep," said the marquis, nowise discouraged, "and they have
already shown great respect to my rank in not nailing me up in this
room."
"There is a small kitchen garden," continued the girl, "on the side of
the fields, fenced in only by a loose hurdle, but----"
"Where is my horse?"
"No doubt in the shed with the rest."
"I will jump into the yard."
"You will be killed."
"So much the better!"
"Ah monsieur marquis, what have, you done?" said the young girl with
grief.
"Some foolish things! nothing worth mentioning; but my head and my
honour are at stake. Let us lose no time; I have made up my mind."
"Stay," replied the girl, grasping his arm; "at the left-hand corner of
the yard there is a large heap of straw, the gallery hangs just over
it--"
"Bravo! I shall make less noise, and do myself less mischief." He made a
step towards the door; the girl, hardly knowing what she was doing,
tried to detain him; but he got loose from her and opened it. The moon
was shining brightly into the yard; he heard no sound. He proceeded to
the end of the wooden rail, and perceived the dungheap, which rose to a
good height: the girl made the sign of the cross. The marquis listened
once again, heard nothing, and mounted the rail. He was about to jump
down, when by wonderful luck he heard murmurings from a deep voice. This
proceeded from one of two horsemen, who were recommencing their
conversation and passing between them a pint of wine. The marquis crept
back to his door, holding his breath: the girl was awaiting him on the
threshold.
"I told you it was not yet time," said she.
"Have you never a knife," said the marquis, "to cut those rascals'
throats with?"
"Wait, I entreat you, one hour, one hour only," murmured the young girl;
"in an hour they will all be asleep."
The girl's voice was so sweet, the arms which she stretched towards him
were full of such gentle entreaty, that the marquis waited, and at the
end of an hour it was the young girl's turn to tell him to start.
The marquis for the last time pressed with his mouth those lips but
lately so innocent, then he half opened the door, and heard nothing this
time but dogs barking far away in an otherwise silent country. He leaned
over the balustrade, and saw: very plainly a soldier lying prone on the
straw.
"If they were to awake?" murmured the young girl in accents of anguish.
"They will not take me alive, be assured," said the marquis.
"Adieu, then," replied she, sobbing; "may Heaven preserve you!"
He bestrode the balustrade, spread himself out upon it, and fell heavily
on the dungheap. The young girl saw him run to the shed, hastily detach
a horse, pass behind the stable wall, spur his horse in both flanks,
tear across the kitchen garden, drive his horse against the hurdle,
knock it down, clear it, and reach the highroad across the fields.
The poor girl remained at the end of the gallery, fixing her eyes on the
sleeping sentry, and ready to disappear at the slightest movement. The
noise made by spurs on the pavement and by the horse at the end of the
courtyard had half awakened him. He rose, and suspecting some surprise,
ran to the shed. His horse was no longer there; the marquis, in his
haste to escape, had taken the first which came to hand, and this was
the soldier's. Then the soldier gave the alarm; his comrades woke up.
They ran to the prisoner's room, and found it empty. The provost came
from his bed in a dazed condition. The prisoner had escaped.
Then the young girl, pretending to have been roused by the noise,
hindered the preparations by mislaying the saddlery, impeding the
horsemen instead of helping them; nevertheless, after a quarter of an
hour, all the party were galloping along the road. The provost swore
like a pagan. The best horses led the way, and the sentinel, who rode
the marquis's, and who had a greater interest in catching the prisoner,
far outstripped his companions; he was followed by the sergeant, equally
well mounted, and as the broken fence showed the line he had taken,
after some minutes they were in view of him, but at a great distance.
However, the marquis was losing ground; the horse he had taken was the
worst in the troop, and he had pressed it as hard as it could go.
Turning in the saddle, he saw the soldiers half a musket-shot off; he
urged his horse more and more, tearing his sides with his spurs; but
shortly the beast, completely winded, foundered; the marquis rolled with
it in the dust, but when rolling over he caught hold of the holsters,
which he found to contain pistols; he lay flat by the side of the horse,
as if he had fainted, with a pistol at full cock in his hand. The
sentinel, mounted on a valuable horse, and more than two hundred yards
ahead of his serafile, came up to him. In a moment the marquis, jumping
up before he had tune to resist him, shot him through the head; the
horseman fell, the marquis jumped up in his place without even setting
foot in the stirrup, started off at a gallop, and went away like the
wind, leaving fifty yards behind him the non-commissioned officer,
dumbfounded with what had just passed before his eyes.
The main body of the escort galloped up, thinking that he was taken; and
the provost shouted till he was hoarse, "Do not kill him!" But they
found only the sergeant, trying to restore life to his man, whose skull
was shattered, and who lay dead on the spot.
As for the marquis, he was out of sight; for, fearing a fresh pursuit,
he had plunged into the cross roads, along which he rode a good hour
longer at full gallop. When he felt pretty sure of having shaken the
police off his track, and that their bad horses could not overtake him,
he determined to slacken to recruit his horse; he was walking him along
a hollow lane, when he saw a peasant approaching; he asked him the road
to the Bourbonnais, and flung him a crown. The man took the crown and
pointed out the road, but he seemed hardly to know what he was saying,
and stared at the marquis in a strange manner. The marquis shouted to
him to get out of the way; but the peasant remained planted on the
roadside without stirring an inch. The marquis advanced with threatening
looks, and asked how he dared to stare at him like that.
"The reason is," said the peasant, "that you have----", and he pointed
to his shoulder and his ruff.
The marquis glanced at his dress, and saw that his coat was dabbled in
blood, which, added to the disorder of his clothes and the dust with
which he was covered, gave him a most suspicious aspect.
"I know," said he. "I and my servant have been separated in a scuffle
with some drunken Germans; it's only a tipsy spree, and whether I have
got scratched, or whether in collaring one of these fellows I have drawn
some of his blood, it all arises from the row. I don't think I am hurt a
bit." So saying, he pretended to feel all over his body.
"All the same," he continued, "I should not be sorry to have a wash;
besides, I am dying with thirst and heat, and my horse is in no better
case. Do you know where I can rest and refresh myself?"
The peasant offered to guide him to his own house, only a few yards off.
His wife and children, who were working, respectfully stood aside, and
went to collect what was wanted--wine, water, fruit, and a large piece
of black bread. The marquis sponged his coat, drank a glass of wine, and
called the people of the house, whom he questioned in an indifferent
manner. He once more informed himself of the different roads leading
into the Bourbonnais province, where he was going to visit a relative;
of the villages, cross roads, distances; and finally he spoke of the
country, the harvest, and asked what news there was.
The peasant replied, with regard to this, that it was surprising to hear
of disturbances on the highway at this moment, when it was patrolled by
detachments of mounted police, who had just made an important capture.
"Who is that?--" asked the marquis.
"Oh," said the peasant, "a nobleman who has done a lot of mischief in
the country."
"What! a nobleman in the hands of justice?"
"Just so; and he stands a good chance of losing his head."
"Do they say what he has done?"
"Shocking things; horrid things; everything he shouldn't do. All the
province is exasperated with him."
"Do you know him?"
"No, but we all have his description."
As this news was not encouraging, the marquis, after a few more
questions, saw to his horse, patted him, threw some more money to the
peasant, and disappeared in the direction pointed out.
The provost proceeded half a league farther along the road; but coming
to the conclusion that pursuit was useless, he sent one of his men to
headquarters, to warn all the points of exit from the province, and
himself returned with his troop to the place whence he had started in
the morning. The marquis had relatives in the neighbourhood, and it was
quite possible that he might seek shelter with some of them. All the
village ran to meet the horsemen, who were obliged to confess that they
had been duped by the handsome prisoner. Different views were expressed
on the event, which gave rise to much talking. The provost entered the
inn, banging his fist on the furniture, and blaming everybody for the
misfortune which had happened to him. The daughter of the house, at
first a prey to the most grievous anxiety, had great difficulty in
concealing her joy.
The provost spread his papers over the table, as if to nurse his
ill-temper.
"The biggest rascal in the world!" he cried; "I ought to have suspected
him."
"What a handsome man he was!" said the hostess.
"A consummate rascal! Do you know who he is? He is the Marquis de
Saint-Maixent!"
"The Marquis de Saint-Maixent!" all cried with horror.
"Yes, the very man," replied the provost; "the Marquis de Saint-Maixent,
accused, and indeed convicted, of coining and magic."
"Ah!"
"Convicted of incest."
"O my God!"
"Convicted of having strangled his wife to marry another, whose husband
he had first stabbed."
"Heaven help us!" All crossed themselves.
"Yes, good people," continued the furious provost, "this is the nice boy
who has just escaped the king's justice!"
The host's daughter left the room, for she felt she was going to faint.
"But," said the host, "is there no hope of catching him again?"
"Not the slightest, if he has taken the road to the Bourbonnais; for I
believe there are in that province noblemen belonging to his family who
will not allow him to be rearrested."
The fugitive was, indeed, no other than the Marquis de Saint-Maixent,
accused of all the enormous crimes detailed by the provost, who by his
audacious flight opened for himself an active part in the strange story
which it remains to relate.
It came to pass, a fortnight after these events, that a mounted
gentleman rang at the wicket gate of the chateau de Saint-Geran, at the
gates of Moulins. It was late, and the servants were in no hurry to
open. The stranger again pulled the bell in a masterful manner, and at
length perceived a man running from the bottom of the avenue. The
servant peered through the wicket, and making out in the twilight a very
ill-appointed traveller, with a crushed hat, dusty clothes, and no
sword, asked him what he wanted, receiving a blunt reply that the
stranger wished to see the Count de Saint-Geran without any further loss
of time. The servant replied that this was impossible; the other got
into a passion.
"Who are you?" asked the man in livery.
"You are a very ceremonious fellow!" cried the horseman. "Go and tell M.
de Saint-Geran that his relative, the Marquis de Saint-Maixent, wishes
to see him at once."
The servant made humble apologies, and opened the wicket gate. He then
walked before the marquis, called other servants, who came to help him
to dismount, and ran to give his name in the count's apartments. The
latter was about to sit down to supper when his relative was announced;
he immediately went to receive the marquis, embraced him again and
again, and gave him the most friendly and gracious reception possible.
He wished then to take him into the dining-room to present him to all
the family; but the marquis called his attention to the disorder of his
dress, and begged for a few minutes' conversation. The count took him
into his dressing-room, and had him dressed from head to foot in his own
clothes, whilst they talked. The marquis then narrated a made-up story
to M. de Saint-Geran relative to the accusation brought against him.
This greatly impressed his relative, and gave him a secure footing in
the chateau. When he had finished dressing, he followed the count, who
presented him to the countess and the rest of the family.
It will now be in place to state who the inmates of the chateau were,
and to relate some previous occurrences to explain subsequent ones.
The Marshal de Saint-Geran, of the illustrious house of Guiche, and
governor of the Bourbonnais, had married, for his first wife, Anne de
Tournon, by whom he had one son, Claude de la Guiche, and one daughter,
who married the Marquis de Bouille. His wife dying, he married again
with Suzanne des Epaules, who had also been previously married, being
the widow of the Count de Longaunay, by whom she had Suzanne de
Longaunay.
The marshal and his wife, Suzanne des Epauies, for the mutual benefit of
their children by first nuptials, determined to marry them, thus sealing
their own union with a double tie. Claude de Guiche, the marshal's son,
married Suzanne de Longaunay.
This alliance was much to the distaste of the Marchioness de Bouille,
the marshal's daughter, who found herself separated from her stepmother,
and married to a man who, it was said, gave her great cause for
complaint, the greatest being his threescore years and ten.
The contract of marriage between Claude de la Guiche and Suzanne de
Longaunay was executed at Rouen on the 17th of February 1619; but the
tender age of the bridegroom, who was then but eighteen, was the cause
of his taking a tour in Italy, whence he returned after two years. The
marriage was a very happy one but for one circumstance--it produced no
issue. The countess could not endure a barrenness which threatened the
end of a great name, the extinction of a noble race. She made vows,
pilgrimages; she consulted doctors and quacks; but to no purpose.
The Marshal de Saint-Geran died on the Loth of December 1632, having the
mortification of having seen no descending issue from the marriage of
his son. The latter, now Count de Saint-Geran, succeeded his father in
the government of the Bourbonnais, and was named Chevalier of the King's
Orders.
Meanwhile the Marchioness de Bouille quarrelled with her old husband the
marquis, separated from him after a scandalous divorce, and came to live
at the chateau of Saint-Geran, quite at ease as to her brother's
marriage, seeing that in default of heirs all his property would revert
to her.
Such was the state of affairs when the Marquis de Saint-Maixent arrived
at the chateau. He was young, handsome, very cunning, and very
successful with women; he even made a conquest of the dowager Countess
de Saint-Geran, who lived there with her children. He soon plainly saw
that he might easily enter into the most intimate relations with the
Marchioness de Bouille.
The Marquis de Saint-Maixent's own fortune was much impaired by his
extravagance and by the exactions of the law, or rather, in plain words,
he had lost it all. The marchioness was heiress presumptive to the
count: he calculated that she would soon lose her own husband; in any
case, the life of a septuagenarian did not much trouble a man like the
marquis; he could then prevail upon the marchioness to marry him, thus
giving him the command of the finest fortune in the province.
He set to work to pay his court to her, especially avoiding anything
that could excite the slightest suspicion. It was, however, difficult to
get on good terms with the marchioness without showing outsiders what
was going on. But the marchioness, already prepossessed by the agreeable
exterior of M. de Saint-Maixent, soon fell into his toils, and the
unhappiness of her marriage, with the annoyances incidental to a
scandalous case in the courts, left her powerless to resist his schemes.
Nevertheless, they had but few opportunities of seeing one' another
alone: the countess innocently took a part in all their conversations;
the count often came to take the marquis out hunting; the days passed in
family pursuits. M. de Saint-Maixent had not so far had an opportunity
of saying what a discreet woman ought to pretend not to hear; this
intrigue, notwithstanding the marquis's impatience, dragged terribly.
The countess, as has been stated, had for twenty years never ceased to
hope that her prayers would procure for her the grace of bearing a son
to her husband. Out of sheer weariness she had given herself up to all
kinds of charlatans, who at that period were well received by people of
rank. On one occasion she brought from Italy a sort of astrologer, who
as nearly as possible poisoned her with a horrible nostrum, and was sent
back to his own country in a hurry, thanking his stars for having
escaped so cheaply. This procured Madame de Saint-Geran a severe
reprimand from her confessor; and, as time went on, she gradually
accustomed herself to the painful conclusion that she would die
childless, and cast herself into the arms of religion. The count, whose
tenderness for her never failed, yet clung to the hope of an heir, and
made his Will with this in view. The marchioness's hopes had become
certainties, and M. de Saint-Maixent, perfectly tranquil on this head,
thought only of forwarding his suit with Madame-de Bouille, when, at the
end of the month of November 1640, the Count de Saint-Geran was obliged
to repair to Paris in great haste on pressing duty.
The countess, who could not bear to be separated from her husband, took
the family advice as to accompanying him. The marquis, delighted at an
opportunity which left him almost alone in the chateau with Madame de
Bouille, painted the journey to Paris in the most attractive colours,
and said all he could to decide her to go. The marchioness, for her
part, worked very quietly to the same end; it was more than was needed.
It was settled that the countess should go with M. de Saint-Geran. She
soon made her preparations, and a few days later they set off on the
journey together.
The marquis had no fears about declaring his passion; the conquest of
Madame de Bouille gave him no trouble; he affected the most violent
love, and she responded in the same terms. All their time was spent in
excursions and walks from, which the servants were excluded; the lovers,
always together, passed whole days in some retired part of the park, or
shut up in their apartments. It was impossible for these circumstances
not to cause gossip among an army of servants, against whom they had to
keep incessantly on their guard; and this naturally happened.
The marchioness soon found herself obliged to make confidantes of the
sisters Quinet, her maids; she had no difficulty in gaining their
support, for the girls were greatly attached to her. This was the first
step of shame for Madame de Bouille, and the first step of corruption
for herself and her paramour, who soon found themselves entangled in the
blackest of plots. Moreover, there was at the chateau de Saint-Geran a
tall, spare, yellow, stupid man, just intelligent enough to perform, if
not to conceive, a bad action, who was placed in authority over the
domestics; he was a common peasant whom the old marshal had deigned to
notice, and whom the count had by degrees promoted to the service of
major-domo on account of his long service in the house, and because he
had seen him there since he himself was a child; he would not take him
away as body servant, fearing that his notions of service would not do
for Paris, and left him to the superintendence of the household. The
marquis had a quiet talk with this man, took his measure, warped his
mind as he wished, gave him some money, and acquired him body and soul.
These different agents undertook to stop the chatter of the servants'
hall, and thenceforward the lovers could enjoy free intercourse.
One evening, as the Marquis de Saint-Maixent was at supper in company
with the marchioness, a loud knocking was heard at the gate of the
chateau, to which they paid no great attention. This was followed by the
appearance of a courier who had come post haste from Paris; he entered
the courtyard with a letter from the Count de Saint-Geran for M. the
marquis; he was announced and introduced, followed by nearly all the
household. The marquis asked the meaning of all this, and dismissed all
the following with a wave of the hand; but the courier explained that M.
the count desired that the letter in his hands should be read before
everyone. The marquis opened it without replying, glanced over it, and
read it out loud without the slightest alteration: the count announced
to his good relations and to all his household that the countess had
indicated positive symptoms of pregnancy; that hardly had she arrived in
Paris when she suffered from fainting fits, nausea, retching, that she
bore with joy these premonitory indications, which were no longer a
matter of doubt to the physicians, nor to anyone; that for his part he
was overwhelmed with joy at this event, which was the crowning stroke to
all his wishes; that he desired the chateau to share his satisfaction by
indulging in all kinds of gaieties; and that so far as other matters
were concerned they could remain as they were till the return of himself
and the countess, which the letter would precede only a few days, as he
was going to transport her in a litter for greater safety. Then followed
the specification of certain sums of money to be distributed among the
servants.
The servants uttered cries of joy; the marquis and marchioness exchanged
a look, but a very troublous one; they, however, restrained themselves
so far as to simulate a great satisfaction, and the marquis brought
himself to congratulate the servants on their attachment to their master
and mistress. After this they were left alone, looking very serious,
while crackers exploded and violins resounded under the windows. For
some time they preserved silence, the first thought which occurred to
both being that the count and countess had allowed themselves to be
deceived by trifling symptoms, that people had wished to flatter their
hopes, that it was impossible for a constitution to change so suddenly
after twenty years, and that it was a case of simulative pregnancy. This
opinion gaining strength in their minds made them somewhat calmer.
The next day they took a walk side by side in a solitary path in the
park and discussed the chances of their situation. M. de Saint-Maixent
brought before the marchioness the enormous injury which this event
would bring them. He then said that even supposing the news to be true,
there were many rocks ahead to be weathered before the succession could
be pronounced secure.
"The child may die," he said at last.
And he uttered some sinister expressions on the slight damage caused by
the loss of a puny creature without mind, interest, or consequence;
nothing, he said, but a bit of ill-organised matter, which only came
into the world to ruin so considerable a person as the marchioness.
"But what is the use of tormenting ourselves?" he went on impatiently;
"the countess is not pregnant, nor can she be."
A gardener working near them overheard this part of the conversation,
but as they walked away from him he could not hear any more.
A few days later, some outriders, sent before him by the count, entered
the chateau, saying that their master and mistress were close at hand.
In fact, they were promptly followed by brakes and travelling-carriages,
and at length the countess's litter was descried, which M. de
Saint-Geran, on horse back, had never lost sight of during the journey.
It was a triumphal reception: all the peasants had left their work, and
filled the air with shouts of welcome; the servants ran to meet their
mistress; the ancient retainers wept for joy at seeing the count so
happy and in the hope that his noble qualities might be perpetuated in
his heir. The marquis and Madame de Bouille did their best to tune up to
the pitch of this hilarity.
The dowager countess, who had arrived at the chateau the same day,
unable to convince herself as to this news, had the pleasure of
satisfying her self respecting it. The count and countess were much
beloved in the Bourbonnais province; this event caused therein a general
satisfaction, particularly in the numerous houses attached to them by
consanguinity. Within a few days of their return, more than twenty
ladies of quality flocked to visit them in great haste, to show the
great interest they took in this pregnancy. All these ladies, on one
occasion or another, convinced themselves as to its genuineness, and
many of them, carrying the subject still further, in a joking manner
which pleased the countess, dubbed themselves prophetesses, and
predicted the birth of a boy. The usual symptoms incidental to the
situation left no room for doubt: the country physicians were all
agreed. The count kept one of these physicians in the chateau for two
months, and spoke to the Marquis of Saint-Maixent of his intention of
procuring a good mid-wife, on the same terms. Finally, the dowager
countess, who was to be sponsor, ordered at a great expense a
magnificent store of baby linen, which she desired to present at the
birth.
The marchioness devoured her rage, and among the persons who went beside
themselves with joy not one remarked the disappointment which overspread
her soul. Every day she saw the marquis, who did all he could to
increase her regret, and incessantly stirred up her ill-humour by
repeating that the count and countess were triumphing over her
misfortune, and insinuating that they were importing a supposititious
child to disinherit her. As usual both in private and political affairs,
he began by corrupting the marchioness's religious views, to pervert her
into crime. The marquis was one of those libertines so rare at that
time, a period less unhappy than is generally believed, who made science
dependent upon, atheism. It is remarkable that great criminals of this
epoch, Sainte-Croix for instance, and Exili, the gloomy poisoner, were
the first unbelievers, and that they preceded the learned of the
following age both, in philosophy and in the exclusive study of physical
science, in which they included that of poisons. Passion, interest,
hatred fought the marquis's battles in the heart of Madame de Bouille;
she readily lent herself to everything that M. de Saint-Maixent wished.
The Marquis de Saint-Maixent had a confidential servant, cunning,
insolent, resourceful, whom he had brought from his estates, a servant
well suited to such a master, whom he sent on errands frequently into
the neighbourhood of Saint-Geran.
One evening, as the marquis was about to go to bed, this man, returning
from one of his expeditions, entered his room, where he remained for a
long time, telling him that he had at length found what he wanted, and
giving him a small piece of paper which contained several names of
places and persons.
Next morning, at daybreak, the marquis caused two of his horses to be
saddled, pretended that he was summoned home on pressing business,
foresaw that he should be absent for three or four days, made his
excuses to the count, and set off at full gallop, followed by his
servant.
They slept that night at an inn on the road to Auvergne, to put off the
scent any persons who might recognise them; then, following
cross-country roads, they arrived after two days at a large hamlet,
which they had seemed to have passed far to their left.
In this hamlet was a woman who practised the avocation of midwife, and
was known as such in the neighbourhood, but who had, it was said,
mysterious and infamous secrets for those who paid her well. Further,
she drew a good income from the influence which her art gave her over
credulous people. It was all in her line to cure the king's evil,
compound philtres and love potions; she was useful in a variety of ways
to girls who could afford to pay her; she was a lovers' go-between, and
even practised sorcery for country folk. She played her cards so well,
that the only persons privy to her misdeeds were unfortunate creatures
who had as strong an interest as herself in keeping them profoundly
secret; and as her terms were very high, she lived comfortably enough in
a house her own property, and entirely alone, for greater security. In a
general way, she was considered skilful in her ostensible profession,
and was held in estimation by many persons of rank. This woman's name
was Louise Goillard.
Alone one evening after curfew, she heard a loud knocking at the door of
her house. Accustomed to receive visits at all hours, she took her lamp
without hesitation, and opened the door. An armed man, apparently much
agitated, entered the room. Louise Goillard, in a great fright, fell
into a chair; this man was the Marquis de Saint-Maixent.
"Calm yourself, good woman," said the stranger, panting and stammering;
"be calm, I beg; for it is I, not you, who have any cause for emotion. I
am not a brigand, and far from your having anything to fear, it is I, on
the contrary, who am come to beg for your assistance."
He threw his cloak into a corner, unbuckled his waistbelt, and laid
aside his sword. Then falling into a chair, he said--
"First of all, let me rest a little."
The marquis wore a travelling-dress; but although he had not stated his
name, Louise Goillard saw at a glance that he was a very different
person from what she had thought, and that, on the contrary, he was some
fine gentleman who had come on his love affairs.
"I beg you to excuse," said she, "a fear which is insulting to you. You
came in so hurriedly that I had not time to see whom I was talking to.
My house is rather lonely; I am alone; ill-disposed people might easily
take advantage of these circumstances to plunder a poor woman who has
little enough to lose. The times are so bad! You seem tired. Will you
inhale some essence?"
"Give me only a glass of water."
Louise Goillard went into the adjoining room, and returned with an ewer.
The marquis affected to rinse his lips, and said--
"I come from a great distance on a most important matter. Be assured
that I shall be properly grateful for your services."
He felt in his pocket, and pulled out a purse, which he rolled between
his fingers.
"In the first place; you must swear to the greatest secrecy."
"There is no need of that with us," said Louise Goillard; "that is the
first condition of our craft."
"I must have more express guarantees, and your oath that you will reveal
to no one in the world what I am going to confide to you."
"I give you my word, then, since you demand it; but I repeat that this
is superfluous; you do not know me."
"Consider that this is a most serious matter, that I am as it were
placing my head in your hands, and that I would lose my life a thousand
times rather than see this mystery unravelled."
"Consider also," bluntly replied the midwife, "that we ourselves are
primarily interested in all the secrets entrusted to us; that an
indiscretion would destroy all confidence in us, and that there are even
cases----You may speak."
When the marquis had reassured her as to himself by this preface, he
continued: "I know that you are a very able woman."
"I could indeed wish to be one, to serve you.".
"That you have pushed the study of your art to its utmost limits."
"I fear they have been flattering your humble servant."
"And that your studies have enabled you to predict the future."
"That is all nonsense."
"It is true; I have been told so."
"You have been imposed upon."
"What is the use of denying it and refusing to do me a service?"
Louise Goillard defended herself long: she could not understand a man of
this quality believing in fortune-telling, which she practised only with
low-class people and rich farmers; but the marquis appeared so earnest
that she knew not what to think.
"Listen," said he, "it is no use dissembling with me, I know all. Be
easy; we are playing a game in which you are laying one against a
thousand; moreover, here is something on account to compensate you for
the trouble I am giving."
He laid a pile of gold on the table. The matron weakly owned that she
had sometimes attempted astrological combinations which were not always
fortunate, and that she had been only induced to do so by the
fascination of the phenomena of science. The secret of her guilty
practices was drawn from her at the very outset of her defence.
"That being so," replied the marquis, "you must be already aware of the
situation in which I find myself; you must know that, hurried away by a
blind and ardent passion, I have betrayed the confidence of an old lady
and violated the laws of hospitality by seducing her daughter in her own
house; that matters have come to a crisis, and that this noble damsel,
whom I Love to distraction, being pregnant, is on the point of losing
her life and honour by the discovery of her fault, which is mine."
The matron replied that nothing could be ascertained about a person
except from private questions; and to further impose upon the marquis,
she fetched a kind of box marked with figures and strange emblems.
Opening this, and putting together certain figures which it contained,
she declared that what the marquis had told her was true, and that his
situation was a most melancholy one. She added, in order to frighten
him, that he was threatened by still more serious misfortunes than those
which had already overtaken him, but that it was easy to anticipate and
obviate these mischances by new consultations.
"Madame," replied the marquis, "I fear only one thing in the world, the
dishonour of the woman I love. Is there no method of remedying the usual
embarrassment of a birth?"
"I know of none," said the matron.
"The young lady has succeeded in concealing her condition; it would be
easy for her confinement to take place privately."
"She has already risked her life; and I cannot consent to be mixed up in
this affair, for fear of the consequences."
"Could not, for instance," said the marquis, "a confinement be effected
without pain?"
"I don't know about that, but this I do" know, that I shall take very
good care not to practise any method contrary to the laws of nature."
"You are deceiving me: you are acquainted with this method, you have
already practised it upon a certain person whom I could name to you."
"Who has dared to calumniate me thus? I operate only after the decision
of the Faculty. God forbid that I should be stoned by all the
physicians, and perhaps expelled from France!"
"Will you then let me die of despair? If I were capable of making a bad
use of your secrets, I could have done so long ago, for I know them. In
Heaven's name, do not dissimulate any longer, and tell me how it is
possible to stifle the pangs of labour. Do you want more gold? Here it
is." And he threw more Louis on the table.
"Stay," said the matron: "there is perhaps a method which I think I have
discovered, and which I have never employed, but I believe it
efficacious."
"But if you have never employed it, it may be dangerous, and risk the
life of the lady whom I love."
"When I say never, I mean that I have tried it once, and most
successfully. Be at your ease."
"Ah!" cried the marquis, "you have earned my everlasting gratitude!
But," continued he, "if we could anticipate the confinement itself, and
remove from henceforth the symptoms of pregnancy?"
"Oh, sir, that is a great crime you speak of!"
"Alas!" continued the marquis, as if speaking to himself in a fit of
intense grief; "I had rather lose a dear child, the pledge of our love,
than bring into the world an unhappy creature which might possibly cause
its mother's death."
"I pray you, sir, let no more be said on the subject; it is a horrible
crime even to think of such a thing."
"But what is to be done? Is it better to destroy two persons and perhaps
kill a whole family with despair? Oh, madame, I entreat you, extricate
us from this extremity!"
The marquis buried his face in his hands, and sobbed as though he were
weeping copiously.
"Your despair grievously affects me," said the matron; "but consider
that for a woman of my calling it is a capital offence."
"What are you talking about? Do not our mystery, our safety, and our
credit come in first?
"They can never get at you till after the death and dishonour of all
that is dear to me in the world."
"I might then, perhaps. But in this case you must insure me against
legal complications, fines, and procure me a safe exit from the
kingdom."
"Ah! that is my affair. Take my whole fortune! Take my life!"
And he threw the whole purse on the table.
"In this case, and solely to extricate you from the extreme danger in
which I see you placed, I consent to give you a decoction, and certain
instructions, which will instantly relieve the lady from her burden. She
must use the greatest precaution, and study to carry out exactly what I
am about to tell you. My God! only such desperate occasions as this one
could induce me to---- Here----"
She took a flask from the bottom of a cupboard, and continued--
"Here is a liquor which never fails."
"Oh, madame, you save my honour, which is dearer to me than life! But
this is not enough: tell me what use I am to make of this liquor, and in
what doses I am to administer it."
"The patient," replied the midwife, "must take one spoonful the first
day; the second day two; the third----"
"You will obey me to the minutest particular?"
"I swear it."
"Let us start, then."
She asked but for time to pack a little linen, put things in order, then
fastened her doors, and left the house with the marquis. A quarter of an
hour later they were galloping through the night, without her knowing
where the marquis was taking her.