THE ENDLESS LAW SUIT.
It is not hard to guess what the dainty duke suffered in passing through
the dirty and nauseating Paris of his era to reach the foul hole among
ill-kempt houses which was called a street.
Before Flageot’s door the way for the ducal coach was stopped by another
vehicle. He perceived a female’s headdress coming out of it, and as his
seventy-five years had not rebuffed him in his reputation as a lover of
the ladies, he hastened to wade through the mud to offer his arm to the
lady who was stepping out unassisted.
He was not in luck: for the foot was the bony one of an old dame.
Wrinkled face, the tan showing under a thick layer of rouge, proved that
she was not merely old but decrepit.
But the marshal could not draw back: besides he was no chicken himself.
The client--she must have been a client to be at this door--did not
hesitate like he did: she put her paw with a horrible grin in the duke’s
hand.
“I have seen this Gorgon’s head somewhere before,” he thought.
“Going to call on Flageot?” he inquired.
“Yes, your grace.”
“Oh, have I the honor of being known to you?” he exclaimed, disagreeably
surprised as he stopped at the opening of the park passage.
“There is no woman who does not know the Duke of Richelieu,” was the
reply.
“This baboon flatters herself that she is a woman,” muttered the Victor
at Mahon: but he saluted with the utmost grace, saying aloud: “May I
venture to ask to whom I have the honor of speaking?”
“I am your servant, the Countess of Bearn,” replied the old lady, making
a court reverence on the miry planks of the alley, three paces from a
sort of open trapdoor in which the marshal expected to see her tumble
when she got to the third courtsey.
“Enchanted to hear it, my lady,” he responded. “So your ladyship has
some law business on hand?”
“Law business, indeed! it is only one suit, but you must have heard
about it as it is so long in the courts--my defense against the claim of
the Saluce Brothers.”
“Of course! there is a popular song about it--it is sung to the tune of
‘the Bourbon Lass;’ and runs some way thus----
“‘My lady countess, how I want
Your help, which I should ever vaunt,
For I am in a stew’
“You understand that is Lady Dubarry who sings. It is saucy to her, but
these ballad-mongers respect nobody. Lord, how greasy this rope for a
handrail is! Then you reply as follows:
“‘A lady old and obstinate,
Unsettled lawsuits are my fate,
To win I must rely on you.’”
“How shocking, my lord,” said the countess, who was a descendant of the
house of Bearn and Navarre which gave Henry IV as King to France: “how
dare they thus insult a woman of quality?”
“Excuse my singing out of tune, but this staircase puts me in a heat.
Ah, we have reached his door. Let me pull the bell.”
The old dame let the duke pass her, but grumbled. He rang and Madame
Flageot, the lawyer’s daughter as well as lawyer’s wife, did not think
it beneath her to open the door. Introduced into the office a furious
man was seen with a pen in his hand which he flourished, dictating to
his principal clerk.
“Good heavens, what are you doing, Master Flageot?” asked the old
countess whose voice made the proctor turn round.
“Oh, your ladyship’s most faithful! A chair for the Countess of Bearn.
And the Duke of Richelieu, if my eyes do not deceive me. Another seat,
Bernardet, for my Lord of Richelieu.”
“How is my suit going on,” inquired the lady.
“Fine, my lady, I was just busy on your behalf, and it will make a noise
now, I can tell you.”
“If you have my action in motion, then you can attend to my lord duke.”
“If you please.”
“Well, you must know what brought me---- ”
“The papers M. Rafté brought from your lordship? It is put off
indefinitely, at least it may be a year before the case comes up in the
courts.”
“Eh, I should like to know the reasons?”
“Circumstances, my lord. The King having cancelled the Parliamentary
decree about Duke Aiguillon, we reply by ‘burning our ships.’”
“I did not know you Parliament gentlemen had any ships.”
“Both Houses have refused to proceed with any cases before the courts
until the King withdraws Lord Aiguillon.”
“You don’t say so?” exclaimed Richelieu.
“What, they won’t try my case?” said Lady Bearn with a terror she did
not try to dissimulate. “This is iniquitous--rebellion to our Lord the
King!”
“My lady, the King forgets himself--and we forget our duty too,”
rejoined the lawyer loftily.
“You will be lugged into the Bastile.”
“I shall go, singing, and my colleagues will escort me, bearing palms.”
“The man is mad,” said the lady to the nobleman.
“We are all of a feather,” continued the proctor.
“This is curious,” observed the marshal.
“But you said you were attending to my suit,” protested the lady.
“And so I was. Yours is the first example I cite among the cases which
will be suspended by our action--or, rather, inaction--he he! Here is
the very paragraph concerning your ladyship.”
Snatching from his clerk the sheet of paper on which he was writing, he
read with emphasis:
“---- ‘Their estate lost, fortune compromised, and their duties trodden
under foot. His Majesty may imagine what such will suffer. For instance,
the dependent must hold inert in his hands an important affair on which
depends the fortune of one of the first families of the kingdom: by his
care, industry and I make so bold as to say his talent, he was bringing
this matter at length--great length--to a brilliant close, and the
rights of the most high and powerful lady Angelique Charlotte Veronique
de Bearn, were just going to be acknowledged and proclaimed when the
breath of Discord--’ I stopped at the breath, my lady; the figure of
speech was so fine---- ” said the proctor.
“Master Flageot,” said the old litigant, “forty years ago I selected
your father to be my lawyer, a worthy gentleman: I continued you in the
matter; in which you have made some ten or twelve thousand a-year and
might be making more--”
“Write that down,” interrupted the legal gentleman: “it is a proof, an
item of testimony--it shall be inserted in the appendix of supporting
documents.”
“Stay,” went on the countess: “I withdraw my papers; henceforth you lose
my trust.”
This disgrace struck the lawyer like a thunderbolt: recovering from the
stupefaction, he raised his eyes like a martyr ready for the golden
chariot to mount to heaven, and said:
“Be it so. Bernardet, give the lady her documents and register this
fact, that the petitioner preferred his conscience to his fees.”
“I beg your ladyship’s pardon,” interposed Richelieu, “but it is useless
to withdraw your papers, for this worthy practitioner’s legal brethren,
I take it, will not accept the case. He is not so dull as to be the only
one to protest and lose his business. As for me, I declare Master
Flageot a very honest lawyer, in whose box my papers are as safe as in
my own. So here I leave them, paying the fees just the same as though
the case was up for trial.”
“How right they are who say that your lordship is generous and liberal!”
burst forth the proctor; “I shall propagate your lordship’s fame.”
Richelieu bowed as though overwhelmed.
“Bernardet,” cried the enthusiastic lawyer, “in the peroration, insert
the eulogium of the Duke of Richelieu.”
“No, never! I like to do good deeds by stealth, sir. Do not disoblige
me, my master, or I should deny it--I would give you the lie, sir--my
modesty is so touchy. Come, countess, what say you?”
“That my case ought to be tried and it shall have a hearing.”
“It will not be tried unless the King sends his army and all the great
guns into the courtroom,” replied the proctor.
“Do you not think that the King will wriggle out of this bag,” asked
Richelieu of the proctor in a whisper.
“Impossible. A country without courts going on is a land without daily
bread.”
“But this will anger the King.”
“We have screwed up our minds to anything--prison, death. A man may wear
a black gown, but a heart can be under it.” And he thumped his chest.
“This is a black lookout for the cabinet,” said the duke to his
fellow-client. “It seems to me that you might apply to your presentee at
court, Lady Dubarry, who is perhaps powerful enough to open this
deadlock.”
“Thanks, you give me the idea of going to her country house, and she
shall tell the King that this stoppage of legal business will not suit
me, whom she has reasons to oblige. His Majesty will speak to the Lord
High Chancellor and he has a long arm. Master Flageot, please to refresh
your mind with my case, for it will soon be coming up, I warrant you.”
Flageot turned his head with incredulity not remarked by the willful old
dame.
“Since you will go to Luciennes,” suggested Richelieu, “you might convey
my compliments. We are companions in affliction since my law case will
not be tried. Besides you can testify to the displeasure these
pettifoggers are causing me; and you might kindly add that it was at my
hint that your ladyship thought of taking this clever step. Do me the
honor to accept my hand as far as your carriage. Adieu, Master Flageot,
I leave you to your petition.”
“Rafté was right,” mused the duke when by himself. “These Flageots are
going to make a revolution. However, God be thanked. I am carrying water
on both shoulders! I am for the court and of the Parliamentarians. Lady
Dubarry will plunge into politics and get drowned. Decidedly, this Rafté
is a good scholar of mine and I will make him my Chief Secretary when I
am Premier.”
Lady Bearn profited literally by the duke’s advice so that, in two hours
and a half, she was dancing attendance at Luciennes, in company with
Lady Dubarry’s pet page, the black boy Zamore.
Her name raised some curiosity in the Countess’s boudoir, as it was
well-known from her having been sponsor at the presentation of the
favorite to the court. No other lady of title would do this office and
she only accepted the shameful mission of go-between on her own
conditions. Duke Aiguillon was plotting with the favorite when Chon
asked a hearing for Countess Bearn.
“I should like you to stay by,” said she to the duke, “in case the old
beggar tries for a loan. You will be useful as she will ask for less.”
Lady Bearn, with her face drawn down to suit the disaster, took the
armchair in front of her hostess and began:
“A great misfortune brings me, news which will much afflict his
Majesty--these Parliamentarians---- ”
“This is the Duke of Aiguillon,” Lady Dubarry hastened to say as he
groaned, for fear of something awkward being said.
But the old dame was not one to make blunders; she hastened to proceed:
“I know the turpitude of these crows, and their lack of respect for
merit and birth.”
This blunt compliment to the duke earned his handsome bow for the
litigant, who rose and returned it before she went on:
“But it is no longer his grace to whom they do harm, but to all the
people. They will let no cases be tried.”
“Tush, no more law-dealing in France,” said Jeanne Dubarry; “What
difference will that make?”
The duke smiled, but the old hag, instead of taking things pleasantly,
looked as morose as possible.
“It is a great woe, but it is plain that your ladyship has no trials on
the board.”
“I see, and I remember that you have an important suit.”
“To which delay is dangerous.”
“Poor lady!”
“The King will have to do something.”
“Oh, he will exile the judges.”
“That will adjourn the trials indefinitely.”
“If you know of any remedy, my lady, I wish you would kindly state it.”
“There is one way,” remarked Aiguillon, “but the King may not like to
use it. It is the ordinary resource of royalty when the other branches
of the ruling powers are burdensome. The King says, ‘I will have it
so!’ whether the opponents say they will not or the other thing.”
“Excellent plan,” exclaimed Lady Bearn with enthusiasm. “Oh, my lady, if
you who can influence the King, would get him to say: ‘I will have Lady
Bearn’s case tried!’ it would be realizing what you promised long ago.”
Aiguillon bit his lip, bowed and quitted the boudoir, for he heard a
coach and he thought it was the royal one.
“Here comes the King,” said the hostess, rising to dismiss the pleader.
“Oh, won’t your ladyship let me throw myself at the royal feet to---- ”
“Ask for a special court to try the case? I am most willing,” replied
the countess quickly. “Stay here and have your wish.”
Lady Bearn had hardly adjusted her headdress before the sovereign
entered.
“Ha, you have visitors?” he exclaimed.
“It is my Lady Bearn,” said the other lady.
“Sire, I crave for justice,” squeaked the old dame, making a low
courtsey. “Against the Parliament, which will do no acts of justice.
Your Majesty, I beg for a special tribunal.”
“A royal special court?” said the monarch. “Why, this is almost a
revolution, my lady.”
“It is the means to curb these rebels of whom you are the master. Your
Majesty knows that they have no right to reply if you say ‘I will do
this.’”
“The idea is grand,” said Lady Dubarry.
“Grand, yes; but not good,” responded the King.
“It would be a splendid ceremony--the King going in state to open the
special court royal, with all the peers and ladies in the train, and he
so glorious in the ermine-lined mantle, the royal diamonds in the crown,
and the gold sceptre carried before him--all the lustre beseeming your
Majesty’s handsome and august countenance.”
“Do you think so?” asked the King, wavering. “It is a fact that such a
sight has not been seen for a long time,” he added with affected
unconcern. “I will see about it next time the Parliaments do anything
vexatious.”
“They have done it, Sire,” interposed La Dubarry. “The pests have
determined to hold no more law courts until your Majesty lets them have
their own way.”
“Mere rumors.”
“Please your Majesty, my proctor returned me the brief and papers in my
case because there would be no trial for ever so long.”
“Mere scarecrows, I tell you.”
Zamore scratched at the door, that being the way to knock when royalty
is in a room, and brought a letter.
Lord High Chancellor Maupeou, hearing where the King was, solicited an
interview through the countess’s good graces.
“You may stay,” said the King to Lady Bearn. “Good morning, my
lord--what is the news?”
“Sire, the Parliament which annoyed your Majesty is no more. The members
wish to resign and have handed in their applications to be relieved all
together.”
“I told you this was a serious dilemma,” whispered the young countess to
her royal lover.
“Very serious,” said Louis, with impatience. “Exile the pack, Maupeou!”
“But they will hold no law courts in exile, Sire.”
“Chancellor,” observed the ruler, gravely; “Law must be dealt out and I
see no means but the efficacious if solemn one: I will hold a royal and
special tribunal. Those gentry shall tremble for once.”
“Sire, you are the greatest King in the whole world!”
“Yes, indeed,” cried the chancellor, Chon and her fortunate sister like
an echo.
“That is more than the whole world says, though,” muttered the King.