THE CHEVALIER.
The Chevalier Raoul d'Harmental, with whom, before going further, it is
necessary that our readers make a better acquaintance, was the last of
one of the best families of Nivernais. Although that family had never
played an important part in history, yet it did not want a certain
notoriety, which it had acquired partly alone and partly by its
alliances. Thus the father of the chevalier, the Sire Gaston
d'Harmental, had come to Paris in 1682, and had proved his genealogical
tree from the year 1399, an heraldic operation which would have given
some trouble to more than one duke and peer. In another direction, his
maternal uncle, Monsieur de Torigny, before being named chevalier of the
order in the promotion of 1694, had confessed, in order to get his
sixteen quarterings recognized, that the best part of his scutcheon was
that of the D'Harmentals, with whom his ancestors had been allied for
three hundred years. Here, then, was enough to satisfy the aristocratic
demands of the age of which we write.
The chevalier was neither poor nor rich--that is to say, his father,
when he died, had left him an estate in the environs of Nevers, which
brought him in from 20,000 to 25,000 livres a year. This was enough to
live well in the country, but the chevalier had received an excellent
education, and was very ambitious; therefore he had at his majority, in
1711, quitted his home for Paris. His first visit was to the Comte de
Torigny, on whom he counted to introduce him at court. Unfortunately, at
that time the Comte de Torigny was absent from home; but as he
remembered with pleasure the family of D'Harmental, he recommended his
nephew to the Chevalier de Villarceaux, who could refuse nothing to his
friend the Comte de Torigny, and took the young man to Madame de
Maintenon.
Madame de Maintenon had one good quality--she always continued to be the
friend of her old lovers. She received the Chevalier d'Harmental
graciously, thanks to the old recollections which recommended him to
her, and some days afterward, the Marechal de Villars coming to pay his
court to her, she spoke a few such pressing words in favor of her young
protege, that the marechal, delighted to find an opportunity of obliging
this queen "in partibus," replied that from that hour he attached the
chevalier to his military establishment and would take care to offer
him every occasion to justify his august protectress's good opinion of
him.
It was a great joy to the chevalier to see such a door opened to him.
The coming campaign was definitive. Louis XIV. had arrived at the last
period of his reign--the period of reverses. Tallard and Marsin had been
beaten at Hochstett, Villeroy at Ramilies, and Villars himself, the hero
of Friedlingen, had lost the famous battle of Malplaquet against
Marlborough and Eugene. Europe, kept down for a time by Colbert and
Louvois, rose against France, and the situation of affairs was
desperate.
The king, like a despairing invalid who changes his doctor every hour,
changed ministers every day. Each new attempt but revealed a new
weakness. France could not sustain war and could not obtain peace.
Vainly she offered to abandon Spain, and limit her frontier. This was
not sufficient humiliation. They exacted that the king should allow the
hostile armies to cross France, in order to chase his grandson from the
throne of Spain; and also that he should give up, as pledges, Cambray,
Mettray, La Rochelle, and Bayonne, unless he preferred dethroning him
himself, by open force, during the following year.
These were the conditions on which a truce was granted to the conqueror
of the plains of Senef, Fleurus, of Steerekirk, and of La Marsalle; to
him who had hitherto held in the folds of his royal mantle peace and
war; to him who called himself the distributer of crowns, the chastiser
of nations, the great, the immortal; to him in whose honor, during the
last half century, marbles had been sculptured, bronzes cast, sonnets
written, and incense poured.
Louis XIV. had wept in the full council. These tears had produced an
army, which was intrusted to Villars.
Villars marched straight to the enemy, whose camp was at Denain, and who
slept in security while watching the agony of France. Never had greater
responsibility rested on one head. On one blow of Villars hung the
salvation of France. The allies had established a line of
fortifications between Denain and Marchiennes, which, in their pride of
anticipation, Albemarle and Eugene called the grand route to Paris.
Villars resolved to take Denain by surprise, and, Albemarle conquered,
to conquer Eugene. In order to succeed in this audacious enterprise, it
was necessary to deceive, not only the enemy's army, but also his own,
the success of this coup de main being in its impossibility.
Villars proclaimed aloud his intention of forcing the lines of
Landrecies. One night, at an appointed hour, the whole army moves off in
the direction of that town. All at once the order is given to bear to
the left. His genius throws three bridges over the Scheldt. Villars
passes over the river without obstacle, throws himself into the marshes
considered impracticable, and where the soldier advances with the water
up to his waist; marches straight to the first redoubts; takes them
almost without striking a blow; seizes successively a league of
fortifications; reaches Denain; crosses the fosse which surrounds it,
penetrates into the town, and on arriving at the place, finds his young
protege, the Chevalier d'Harmental, who presents to him the sword of
Albemarle, whom he has just taken prisoner.
At this moment the arrival of Eugene is announced. Villars returns,
reaches, before him, the bridge over which he must pass, takes
possession of it, and awaits him. There the true combat takes place, for
the taking of Denain had been but a short skirmish. Eugene makes attack
after attack, returns seven times to the head of the bridge, his best
troops being destroyed by the artillery which protects it, and the
bayonets which defend it. At length, his clothes riddled with balls, and
bleeding from two wounds, he mounts his third horse, the conqueror of
Hochstett and Malplaquet retreats crying with rage and biting his gloves
with fury. In six hours the aspect of things has changed. France is
saved, and Louis XIV. is still Le Grand Roi.
D'Harmental had conducted himself like a man who wished to gain his
spurs at once. Villars, seeing him covered with blood and dust, recalled
to his mind by whom he had been recommended to him; made him draw near,
while, in the midst of the field of battle, he wrote on a drum the
result of the day.
"Are you wounded?" asked he.
"Yes, Monsieur le Marechal, but so slightly that it is not worth
speaking of."
"Have you the strength to ride sixty leagues, without resting an hour, a
minute, a second?"
"I have the strength for anything that will serve the king or you."
"Then set out instantly; go to Madame de Maintenon; tell her from me
what you have seen, and announce to her the courier who will bring the
official account."
D'Harmental understood the importance of the mission with which he was
charged, and bleeding and dusty as he was, he mounted a fresh horse and
gained the first stage. Twelve hours afterward he was at Versailles.
Villars had foreseen what would happen. At the first words which fell
from the mouth of the chevalier, Madame de Maintenon took him by the
hand, and conducted him to the king. The king was at work with Voisin,
but, contrary to his habit, in his room, for he was a little indisposed.
Madame de Maintenon opened the door, pushed D'Harmental to the feet of
the king, and raising her hands to heaven:
"Sire," said she, "give thanks to God, for your majesty knows we are
nothing by ourselves, and it is from Him comes every blessing."
"What has happened, monsieur? Speak," said the king quickly, astonished
to see this young man, whom he did not know, at his feet.
"Sire," replied the chevalier, "the camp at Denain is taken. Albemarle
is a prisoner. Prince Eugene has taken flight; and the Marechal de
Villars places his victory at your majesty's feet."
Louis XIV. turned pale, in spite of his command over himself. He felt
his limbs fail him, and leaned against the table for support.
"What ails you, sire?" said Madame de Maintenon, hastening to him.
"It is, madame, that I owe you everything," said Louis XIV.; "you save
the king, and your friends save the kingdom."
Madame de Maintenon bowed and kissed the king's hand respectfully.
Then Louis XIV., still pale and much moved, passed behind the great
curtain which hid the alcove containing his bed, and they heard a prayer
of thanksgiving. He then reappeared, grave and calm, as if nothing had
happened.
"And now, monsieur," said he, "tell me the details."
D'Harmental gave an account of that marvelous battle, which came as by a
miracle to save the monarchy; then, when he had finished:
"And have you nothing to tell of yourself?" asked Louis XIV. "If I may
judge by the blood and dust with which you are yet covered, you did not
remain idle."
"Sire, I did my best," said D'Harmental, bowing; "but if there is really
anything to tell, I will, with your permission, leave it to the Marechal
de Villars."
"It is well, young man; and if he forgets you by chance, we shall
remember. You must be fatigued. Go and rest. I am pleased with you."
D'Harmental retired joyously, Madame de Maintenon conducting him to the
door; he kissed her hand again, and hastened to profit by the royal
permission. For twenty hours he had neither eaten, drunk, nor slept. On
his awaking, they gave him a packet which had been brought from the
minister of war. It was his brevet as colonel. Two months afterward
peace was made. Spain gave up half its monarchy, but France remained
intact. Louis XIV. died. Two distinct and irreconcilable parties were in
existence. That of the bastards, centering in the Duc de Maine, and that
of the legitimate princes, represented by the Duc d'Orleans. If the Duc
de Maine had had the will, the perseverance, the courage of his wife,
Louise Benedicte de Conde, perhaps, supported as he was by the royal
will, he might have triumphed; but he had to defend himself in broad
day, as he was attacked; and the Duc de Maine, weak in mind and heart,
dangerous only because he was a coward, was only good at underhand
deeds.
He was threatened openly, and his numerous artifices and wiles were of
no use to him. In one day, and almost without a struggle, he was
precipitated from that height to which he had been raised by the blind
love of the old king. His fall was heavy, and above all disgraceful; he
retired mutilated, abandoning the regency to his rival, and only
preserving, out of all the favors accumulated upon him, the
superintendence of the royal education, the command of the artillery,
and the precedence over the dukes and peers.
The decree, which had just passed the parliament, struck the old court
and all attached to it. Letellier did not wait to be exiled. Madame de
Maintenon took refuge at Saint Cyr, and Monsieur le Duc de Maine shut
himself up in the beautiful town of Sceaux, to finish his translation of
Lucrece.
The Chevalier d'Harmental saw, as a passive spectator, these different
intrigues, waiting till they should assume a character which would
permit him to take part in them. If there had been an open and armed
contest, he would have taken that side to which gratitude called him.
Too young and too chaste, if we may say so, in politics, to turn with
the wind of fortune, he remained faithful to the memory of the old king,
and to the ruins of the old court.
His absence from the Palais Royal, round which hovered all those who
wished to take a place in the political sky, was interpreted as
opposition; and one morning, as he had received the brevet which gave
him a regiment, he received the decree which took it from him.
D'Harmental had the ambition of his age. The only career open to a
gentleman was that of arms. His debut had been brilliant, and the blow
which at five-and-twenty took from him his hopes for the future was
profoundly painful.
He ran to Monsieur de Villars, in whom he had found so warm a
protector. The marshal received him with the coldness of a man who not
only wishes to forget the past, but also to see it forgotten.
D'Harmental understood that the old courtier was about to change his
skin, and retired discreetly. Though the age was essentially that of
egotism, the chevalier's first experience of it was bitter to him; but
he was at that happy time of life when a disappointed ambition is rarely
a deep or lasting grief.
Ambition is the passion of those who have no other, and the chevalier
had all those proper to five-and-twenty years of age; besides, the
spirit of the times did not tend to melancholy, that is a modern
sentiment, springing from the overthrow of fortunes and the weakness of
man. In the eighteenth century it was rare to dream of abstract things,
or aspire to the unknown: men went straight to pleasure, glory, or
fortune, and all who were handsome, brave or intriguing could attain
them. That was the time when people were not ashamed to be happy. Now
mind governs matter so much that men dare not avow that they are happy.
After the long and somber winter of Louis XIV.'s old age appeared all at
once the joyous and brilliant spring of a young royalty. Every one
basked in this new sun, radiant and benevolent, and went about buzzing
and careless, like the bees and butterflies on the first fine day. The
Chevalier d'Harmental had retained his sadness for a week; then he mixed
again in the crowd, and was drawn in by the whirlpool which threw him at
the feet of a pretty woman.
For three months he had been the happiest man in the world. He had
forgotten Saint Cyr, the Tuileries, and the Palais Royal. He did not
know whether there was a Madame de Maintenon, a king, or a regent. He
only knew that it is sweet to live when one is loved, and he did not see
why he should not live and love forever. He was still in this dream,
when, as we have said, supping with his friend, the Baron de Valef, at
La Fillon's, in the Rue Saint Honore, he had been all at once brutally
awakened by Lafare. Lovers are often unpleasantly awakened, and we have
seen that D'Harmental was not more patient under it than others. It was
more pardonable in the chevalier, because he thought he loved truly, and
that in his juvenile good faith he thought nothing could replace that
love in his heart.
Thus Madame d'Averne's strange but candid letter, instead of inspiring
him with the admiration which it merited at that time, had at first
overwhelmed him. It is the property of every sorrow which overtakes us
to reawaken past griefs which we believed dead, but which were only
sleeping. The soul has its scars as well as the body, and they are
seldom so well healed but a new wound can reopen them.
D'Harmental again began to feel ambitious. The loss of his mistress had
recalled to him the loss of his regiment. It required nothing less than
the second letter, so unexpected and mysterious, to divert him from his
grief. A lover of our days would have thrown it from him with disdain,
and would have despised himself if he had not nursed his grief so as to
make himself poetically melancholy for a week; but a lover in the
regency was much more accommodating. Suicide was scarcely discovered,
and if by chance people fell into the water, they did not drown as long
as there was the least little straw to cling to. D'Harmental did not
affect the coxcombry of sadness. He decided, sighing, it is true, that
he would go to the opera ball; and for a lover betrayed in so unforeseen
and cruel a manner this was something; but it must be confessed, to the
shame of our poor species, that he was chiefly led to this philosophic
determination by the fact that the letter was written in a female hand.