THE ROAD TO PREMIERSHIP IS NOT STREWN WITH ROSES.
While all these petty plots were going on at Trianon amid the trees and
flowers, making things lively for the people of that trifling world, the
vast plots of the capital, threatening tempests, were unfolding their
black wings over the Temple of Themis, as they said in those high-flown
days.
The Parliaments, degenerate remnant of old French opposition to royalty,
had recovered the art of hating under the capricious reign of Louis XV.,
and since they felt danger impending when their shield, Choiseul, was
removed, they prepared to conjure it away.
The appointment of the Duke of Aiguillon, ex-Governor of Brittany, to
the command of the Light Cavalry, thanks to Lady Dubarry’s influence
over the King, was, to quote Jean Dubarry, “a smack in the face” for the
Third Estate, from Feudality.
How would they take it?
Lawyers and politicians were keen-sighted gentlemen and where most folks
are perplexed, they see clearly.
They resolved: “The Parliamentary Court will deliberate on the conduct
of the ex-Governor of Brittany and give its opinion.”
The King parried this thrust by intimating to the peers and princes that
they must not go to the Parliament session to take part in the
discussion, as far as Duke Aiguillon was concerned.
Already unpopular, the Duke of Aiguillon was discouraged and sat in a
state of torpor at the impending overthrow when his uncle, the Duke of
Richelieu, was announced. He ran to welcome him with all the more
eagerness as he had been trying to meet him lately without the old fox
being discoverable.
“Uncle,” he began when he had cornered the other in an armchair so he
could not retreat, “is it true that you, the wittiest man in France
could not see that I should be as selfish for us two as for myself
alone? you have been shunning me when I most have need of you.”
“Upon honor, I do not understand you.”
“I will in that case make all clear. The King was not inclined to make
you Prime Minister _vice_ Choiseul banished, and he did make me
commander of the Light Cavalry, so that you suppose I sold you to get my
reward.”
“If I failed, you have won, and that is enough for the house of
Richelieu. You have nothing to grumble about for you are high in favor
and in six months will be ruler. Suppose I am the dog who snapped at the
shadow of the meat--and letting the meat drop, sees another run away
with it. I have learnt a lesson--but the meat is ours all the same. But
what do I hear?”
“Nothing uncle; pray go on.”
“But it is a carriage--I am in the way.”
“No, no, go on for I love fables---- ”
“Nay, it may be the appointment as minister--the meat! the little
countess---- ”
“She heartily loves you, uncle---- ”
“Well she has been working for you _in camera_---- ”
The servant entered.
“A deputation from Parliament,” he said with some trepidation.
“What did I tell you?” sneered the old noble.
“A Parliamentary deputation here?” queried the younger duke, far from
encouraged by the other’s smile. “What can they want with me?”
“In the King’s name!” thundered a sonorous voice at the end of the
anteroom.
“Whew!” muttered Richelieu.
Aiguillon rose, quite pale, and went to show in two members of
Parliament, behind whom appeared two impassive ushers while at a
distance a legion of frightened servants appeared.
Bowing to the duke, whom they officially recognized, the spokesman of
the gentlemen of the Commission read a paper in a loud voice. It was the
complete, particularised, circumstantial declaration that the Duke of
Aiguillon was gravely inculpated and tainted with suspicions, moreover,
guilty of deeds befouling his honor and that he was suspended in his
functions as peer of France. The duke heard the reading like a man
struck with lightning might listen to the thunder. He moved no more than
a statue on its pedestal, and did not even put out his hand to take the
document from the official of the Parliament. It was the marshal,
standing up, alert and clear-headed, who took it, and returned the bow
to the bearer. The Commission members were far while the duke remained
in stupor.
“This is a heavy blow!” remarked Richelieu; “no longer a peer of the
realm--it is humiliating.”
The victim turned round as if only now restored to life.
“Did you not expect it?” asked the elder.
“Did you, uncle?” was the retort.
“How could anybody suspect that Parliament would so smartly rap the
favorite of the King and of the King’s favorite? these fellows will get
themselves ground to powder.”
The duke sank into a seat, with his hand on his burning cheek.
“If they do such a thing because you are made commander of the Light
Cavalry,” continued the old marshal, turning the dagger in the wound,
“they will condemn you to be burnt at the stake when you are appointed
Premier. These fellows hate you, Aiguillon; better distrust them.”
The duke bore this untimely joking with heroic constancy; his misfortune
magnified him and purified his spirit. But the other took it for
insensibility or even want of intelligence, perhaps, and thought that he
had not stung deeply enough.
“However, being no longer a peer, you will be exposed to the long bills
of these blackbirds,” he proceeded; “take refuge in obscurity for a few
years. Besides, this safeguard, obscurity, will help you without your
imagining it. Unpropped by your title, you will more grandly become the
minister, because with more effort. Lady Dubarry will do more for you
thus disarmed, for she wears you in her heart--and is a solid
supporter.”
Aiguillon rose without shooting at the jester one angry look for all the
suffering he inflicted.
“You are right, uncle,” he said, tranquilly, “and your wisdom shows in
the last piece of advice. Lady Dubarry will defend me--she, to whom you
introduced me and to whom you recommended me so warmly. Thank God! she
likes me. She is brave and has full power over the King’s mind. I thank
you, uncle, for your hint, and I shall hie to her residence at Luciennes
as to a haven of safety. What, ho there! my horses to be put to the
carriage.”
The marshal was sorely puzzled but he had some consolation when at
evening he saw the delight of the Parisians on reading the posters
proclaiming the disgrace of Aiguillon.
“Do you think, Rafté, that the duke will get out of this scrape?” asked
the old intriguer of his valet and confidential man, who rather deserved
the name of _Crafty_.
He had been forty years in his service.
“The King will.”
“Oh, the King will always have a loophole. But the King has nothing to
do with this case.”
“Why, my lord, if the King can get through, Lady Dubarry will follow,
and lead my lord of Aiguillon with her.”
“You do not understand politics, Rafté.”
Rafté was as keen as his master.
“Well, my lord, our lawyer, Flageot, who is member of Parliament, he
thinks the King will not get out of it.”
“Who will net the lion?”
“The rat, instead of helping him out.”
“Oh, is Flageot the rat?”
“He says so. I always believe a lawyer when he promises anything
unkind.”
“We must look into the Flageot method, then, Rafté. But let me have
something to eat before I go to sleep. It has upset me to see my poor
nephew unmade peer of France and his chances of the Prime-Minister-ship
knocked on the head. An uncle naturally feels for his nephew, eh?”
From sighing he set to laughing.
“You would have made as good a minister yourself,” said Rafté.
On the morrow of the day when the terrible Parliamentary decree filled
Paris and Versailles with noise, and all were in expectation of the next
step, Richelieu returned to Versailles and carrying on his ordinary
court life, saw his man Rafté enter with a letter which seemed to fill
him with disquietude participated in by his master.
“The King is good,” said the duke after opening the letter and smiling
though he had frowned at the start. “He appoints Aiguillon Prime
Minister.”
Thus ran the letter:
“MY DEAR UNCLE: Your kind advice has borne fruit. I confided my
chagrin to that excellent friend of our house, Lady Dubarry, who
was good enough to repeat the confidence to his Majesty. The King
is indignant at the rudeness done me by the Parliamentary gentry,
after my having so faithfully employed myself in his service. In
his State Council this day, he has cancelled the decree and bids me
continue in my place as peer and duke. I know the pleasure this
news will give you, my dear uncle. You have the news before anybody
else in the world. Believe in my tender respect, my dear uncle, and
continue your good graces and good advice to your affectionate
AIGUILLON.”
“He pokes fun at me into the bargain,” said the reader. “The idea of the
King jumping into this hornet’ nest!”
“You would not believe me yesterday saying so.”
“I said that he would get out of it. You see he does.”
“In fact, Parliament is beaten.”
“So am I. And forever. I must pay the forfeit. You do not understand how
grating on me will be the laughs at Luciennes. The duke is there now,
laughing at me in chorus with La Dubarry, Jean and Chon, while the black
boy snaps his fingers at me over the candy I gave him. ‘Odsboddikins!’
I have a soft heart, but this makes me furious.”
“Then you should not have acted as you did, my lord.”
“You goaded me on.”
“I? what do I care whether the Duke of Aiguillon is or is not a peer of
France? Man of brains though you are, your grace makes blunders that I
would not forgive in a low-bred fellow like me.”
“Explain, my old Rafté, and I will own if I am wrong.”
“You wanted to be revenged yesterday, did you not? you aimed to humble
your nephew because he was likely to be the Premier instead of your
grace--well, such revenge costs dear. But you are rich and can afford to
pay.”
“What would you have done in my place, you knowing dog?”
“Nothing; you could not but show your spite because the Dubarry woman
thought your nephew was younger than yourself.”
A growl from the old marshal was all the comment.
“Parliament was egged on by you to do what it has done; knowing the
decree would be issued, you offered your services to your unsuspecting
nephew.”
“I admit I was wrong. You ought to have given me a warning.”
“I, prevent you doing ill? you are always saying that I am of your
making and I should be little after your model if I was not joyful at
your making a mistake, or bringing about evil.”
“Oh, you think evil will come of it?”
“Certainly; you are obstinate and will keep open the breach--Aiguillon
will be the bridge between Dubarry and Parliament on which all the
fighting will take place. After he shall have been very well trampled
upon, he will suffer the fate of used-up wood--they will cast him away
into the lumber-room--that is, into the Bastile. He will be minister
first, but you will be exiled all the same.”
“Bastile?” repeated Richelieu, shrugging his shoulders so sharply that
he spilt half his snuff on the carpet. “Is our Louis the Fourteenth
one?”
“No; but Lady Dubarry, with Aiguillon to back her, is up to the mark of
Lady Maintenon. Beware! at present I do not know any princesses who
will take you green goslings and sweetmeats when you lie in prison.”
“Pretty prognostics, these!” said the duke after a long silence. “You
read the future, do you? what about the present?”
“Your grace is too wise for me to offer advice.”
“You knave, are you still poking fun at me?”
“Mind, my lord, a man is not a knave after forty, and I am sixty-seven.”
“If not a knave you are your own counsel--be mine.”
“If the King’s act is not known yet, why not let the President of
Parliament have the duke’s letter and the royal decree in Council? Wait
till the Parliament has debated on them, and then go and see your
lawyer, Flageot. As he is your grace’s lawyer he must have some case of
ours in hand. Ask him about it and learn how things stand.”
“But seeing the family lawyer is your province, Master Rafté.”
“Nay, that was all very well when Flageot was a simple ‘paper-stainer,’
but henceforth Flageot is an Attila, a scourge of kings, and only a duke
and peer of France can talk to the likes of him.”
“Are you serious or having a jest?”
“To-morrow it will be serious, my lord.”