THE ARSENAL.
They both maintained a profound silence during the route. This
adventure, which at first had presented itself under the appearance of
an amorous intrigue, had soon assumed a graver aspect, and appeared to
turn toward political machinations. If this new aspect did not frighten
the chevalier, at least it gave him matter for reflection. There is a
moment in the affairs of every man which decides upon his future. This
moment, however important it may be, is rarely prepared by calculation
or directed by will. It is almost always chance which takes a man as the
wind does a leaf, and throws him into some new and unknown path, where,
once entered, he is obliged to obey a superior force, and where, while
believing himself free, he is but the slave of circumstances and the
plaything of events.
It was thus with the chevalier. Interest and gratitude attached him to
the party of the old court. D'Harmental, in consequence, had not
calculated the good or the harm that Madame de Maintenon had done
France. He did not weigh in the balance of genealogy Monsieur de Maine
and Monsieur d'Orleans. He felt that he must devote his life to those
who had raised him from obscurity, and knowing the old king's will,
regarded as a usurpation Monsieur d'Orleans' accession to the regency.
Fully expecting an armed reaction against this power, he looked around
for the standard which he should follow. Nothing that he expected
happened; Spain had not even protested. Monsieur de Maine, fatigued by
his short contest, had retired into the shade. Monsieur de Toulouse,
good, easy, and almost ashamed of the favors which had fallen to the
share of himself and his elder brother, would not permit even the
supposition that he could put himself at the head of a party. The
Marshal de Villeroy had made a feeble and systemless opposition. Villars
went to no one, but waited for some one to come to him. D'Axelles had
changed sides, and had accepted the post of secretary for foreign
affairs. The dukes and peers took patience, and paid court to the
regent, in the hope that he would at last take away from the Dukes of
Maine and Toulouse the precedence which Louis XIV. had given them.
Finally, there was discontent with, and even opposition to, the
government of the Duc d'Orleans, but all impalpable and disjointed. This
is what D'Harmental had seen, and what had resheathed his half-drawn
sword: he thought he was the only one who saw another issue to affairs,
and he gradually came to the conclusion that that issue had no
existence, except in his own imagination, since those who should have
been most interested in that result seemed to regard it as so
impossible, that they did not even attempt to attain to it.
Although the carriage had been on the road nearly half an hour, the
chevalier had not found it long: so deep were his reflections, that,
even if his eyes had not been bandaged, he would have been equally
ignorant of what streets they passed through.
At length he heard the wheels rumbling as if they were passing under an
arch. He heard the grating of hinges as the gate opened to admit him,
and closed behind him, and directly after, the carriage, having
described a semi-circle, stopped.
"Chevalier," said his guide, "if you have any fear, there is still time
to draw back; if, on the contrary, you have not changed your resolution,
come with me."
D'Harmental's only answer was to extend his hand.
The footman opened the door; the unknown got out first, and then
assisted the chevalier. His feet soon encountered some steps; he mounted
six--still conducted by the masked lady--crossed a vestibule, passed
through a corridor, and entered a room.
"We are now arrived," said the unknown, "you remember our conditions;
you are free to accept or refuse a part in the piece about to be played,
but, in case of a refusal, you promise not to divulge anything you may
see or hear."
"I swear it on my honor," replied the chevalier.
"Now, sit down; wait in this room, and do not remove the bandage till
you hear two o'clock strike. You have not long to wait."
At these words his conductress left him. Two o'clock soon struck, and
the chevalier tore off the bandage. He was alone in the most marvelous
boudoir possible to imagine. It was small and octagonal, hung with lilac
and silver, with furniture and portieres of tapestry. Buhl tables,
covered with splendid china; a Persian carpet, and the ceiling painted
by Watteau, who was then coming into fashion. At this sight, the
chevalier found it difficult to believe that he had been summoned on
grave matters, and almost returned to his first ideas.
At this moment a door opened in the tapestry, and there appeared a
woman who, in the fantastic preoccupation of his spirit, D'Harmental
might have taken for a fairy, so slight, small, and delicate was her
figure. She was dressed in pearl gray satin, covered with bouquets, so
beautifully embroidered that, at a short distance, they appeared like
natural flowers; the flounces, ruffles, and head-dress was of English
point; it was fastened with pearls and diamonds. Her face was covered
with a half-mask of black velvet, from which hung a deep black lace.
D'Harmental bowed, for there was something royal in the walk and manner
of this woman which showed him that the other had been only an envoy.
"Madame," said he, "have I really, as I begin to believe, quitted the
earth for the land of spirits, and are you the powerful fairy to whom
this beautiful palace belongs?"
"Alas! chevalier," replied the masked lady, in a sweet but decided
voice, "I am not a powerful fairy, but, on the contrary, a poor
princess, persecuted by a wicked enchanter, who has taken from me my
crown, and oppresses my kingdom. Thus, you see, I am seeking a brave
knight to deliver me, and your renown has led me to address myself to
you."
"If my life could restore you your past power, madame," replied
D'Harmental, "speak; I am ready to risk it with joy. Who is this
enchanter that I must combat; this giant that I must destroy? Since you
have chosen me above all, I will prove myself worthy of the honor. From
this moment I engage my word, even if it cost me my life."
"If you lose your life, chevalier, it will be in good company," said the
lady, untying her mask, and discovering her face, "for you would lose it
with the son of Louis XIV., and the granddaughter of the great Conde."
"Madame la Duchesse de Maine!" cried D'Harmental, falling on one knee;
"will your highness pardon me, if, not knowing you, I have said anything
which may fall short of the profound respect I feel for you."
"You have said nothing for which I am not proud and grateful, chevalier,
but, perhaps, you now repent. If so, you are at liberty to withdraw."
"Heaven forbid, madame, that having had the honor to engage my life in
the service of so great and noble a princess, I should deprive myself of
the greatest honor I ever dared to hope for. No, madame; take seriously,
I beg, what I offered half in jest; my arm, my sword, and my life."
"I see," said the Duchesse de Maine, with that smile which gave her such
power over all who approached her, "that the Baron de Valef did not
deceive me, and you are such as he described. Come, I will present you
to our friends."
The duchess went first, D'Harmental followed, astonished at what had
passed, but fully resolved, partly from pride, partly from conviction,
not to withdraw a step.
The duchess conducted him to a room where four new personages awaited
him. These were the Cardinal de Polignac, the Marquis de Pompadour,
Monsieur de Malezieux, and the Abbe Brigaud.
The Cardinal de Polignac was supposed to be the lover of Madame de
Maine. He was a handsome prelate, from forty to forty-five years of age;
always dressed with the greatest care, with an unctuous voice, a cold
face, and a timid heart; devoured by ambition, which was eternally
combated by the weakness of his character, which always drew him back
where he should advance; of high birth, as his name indicated, very
learned for a cardinal, and very well informed for a nobleman.
Monsieur de Pompadour was a man of from forty-five to fifty, who had
been a minion of the dauphin's, the son of Louis XIV., and who had so
great a love for his whole family, that, seeing with grief that the
regent was going to declare war against Philip V., he had thrown
himself, body and soul, into the Duc de Maine's party. Proud and
disinterested, he had given a rare example of loyalty, in sending back
to the regent the brevet of his pensions and those of his wife, and in
refusing for himself and the Marquis de Courcillon, his son-in-law,
every place offered to them.
Monsieur de Malezieux was a man of from sixty to sixty-five, Chancellor
of Dombes and Lord of Chatenay: he owed this double title to the
gratitude of M. de Maine, whose education he had conducted. A poet, a
musician, an author of small comedies, which he played himself with
infinite spirit; born for an idle and intellectual life; always occupied
in procuring pleasure for others, and above all for Madame de Maine,
whom he adored, he was a type of the Sybarite of the eighteenth century,
but, like the Sybarites who, drawn by the aspect of beauty, followed
Cleopatra to Actium, and were killed around her, he would have followed
his dear Benedicte through fire and water, and, at a word from her,
would, without hesitation, and almost without regret, have thrown
himself from the towers of Notre-Dame.
The Abbe Brigaud was the son of a Lyons merchant. His father, who was
commercially related with the court of Spain, was charged to make
overtures, as if on his own account, for the marriage of the young Louis
XIV. with the young Maria Theresa of Austria. If these overtures had
been badly received, the ministers of France would have disavowed them;
but they were well received, and they supported them.
The marriage took place; and, as the little Brigaud was born about the
same time as the dauphin, he asked, in recompense, that the king's son
should stand godfather to his child, which was granted to him. He then
made acquaintance with the Marquis de Pompadour, who, as we have said,
was one of the pages of honor. When he was of an age to decide on his
profession, he joined the Fathers of the Oratory. He was a clever and an
ambitious man, but, as often happens to the greatest geniuses, he had
never had an opportunity of making himself known.
Some time before the period of which we are writing, he met the Marquis
de Pompadour, who was seeking a man of spirit and enterprise as the
secretary of Madame de Maine. He told him to what the situation would
expose him at the present time. Brigaud weighed for an instant the good
and evil chances, and, as the former appeared to predominate, he
accepted it.
Of these four men, D'Harmental only knew the Marquis de Pompadour, whom
he had often met at the house of Monsieur de Courcillon, his son-in-law,
a distant relation of the D'Harmentals.
When D'Harmental entered the room, Monsieur de Polignac, Monsieur de
Malezieux, and Monsieur de Pompadour were standing talking at the
fireplace, and the Abbe Brigaud was seated at a table classifying some
papers.
"Gentlemen," said the Duchesse de Maine, "here is the brave champion of
whom the Baron de Valef has spoken to us, and who has been brought here
by your dear De Launay, Monsieur de Malezieux. If his name and
antecedents are not sufficient to stand sponsor for him, I will answer
for him personally."
"Presented thus by your highness," said Malezieux, "we shall see in him
not only a companion, but a chief, whom we are ready to follow wherever
he may lead."
"My dear D'Harmental," said the Marquis de Pompadour, extending his hand
to him, "we were already relations, we are now almost brothers."
"Welcome, monsieur!" said the Cardinal de Polignac, in the unctuous tone
habitual to him, and which contrasted so strangely with the coldness of
his countenance.
The Abbe Brigaud raised his head with a movement resembling that of a
serpent, and fixed on D'Harmental two little eyes, brilliant as those of
the lynx.
"Gentlemen," said D'Harmental, after having answered each of them by a
bow, "I am new and strange among you, and, above all, ignorant of what
is passing, or in what manner I can serve you; but though my word has
only been engaged to you for a few minutes, my devotion to your cause is
of many years' standing. I beg you, therefore, to grant me the
confidence so graciously claimed for me by her highness. All that I
shall ask after that will be a speedy occasion to prove myself worthy of
it."
"Well said!" cried the Duchesse de Maine; "commend me to a soldier for
going straight to the point! No, Monsieur d'Harmental, we will have no
secrets from you, and the opportunity you require, and which will place
each of us in our proper position--"
"Excuse me, Madame la Duchesse," interrupted the cardinal, who was
playing uneasily with his necktie, "but, from your manner, the chevalier
will think that the affair is a conspiracy."
"And what is it then, cardinal?" asked the duchess, impatiently.
"It is," said the cardinal, "a council, secret, it is true, but in no
degree reprehensible, in which we only seek a means of remedying the
misfortunes of the state, and enlightening France on her true interests,
by recalling the last will of the king, Louis XIV."
"Stay, cardinal!" said the duchess, stamping her foot; "you will kill me
with impatience by your circumlocutions. Chevalier," continued she,
addressing D'Harmental, "do not listen to his eminence, who at this
moment, doubtless, is thinking of his Lucrece. If it had been a simple
council, the talents of his eminence would soon have extricated us from
our troubles, without the necessity of applying to you; but it is a bona
fide conspiracy against the regent--a conspiracy which numbers the king
of Spain, Cardinal Alberoni, the Duc de Maine, myself, the Marquis de
Pompadour, Monsieur de Malezieux, l'Abbe Brigaud, Valef, yourself, the
cardinal himself the president; and which will include half the
parliament and three parts of France. This is the matter in hand,
chevalier. Are you content, cardinal? Have I spoken clearly, gentlemen?"
"Madame--" murmured Malezieux, joining his hands before her with more
devotion than he would have done before the Virgin.
"No, no; stop, Malezieux," said the duchess, "but the cardinal enrages
me with his half-measures. Mon Dieu! are these eternal waverings worthy
of a man? For myself, I do not ask a sword, I do not ask a dagger; give
me but a nail, and I, a woman, and almost a dwarf, will go, like a new
Jael, and drive it into the temple of this other Sisera. Then all will
be finished; and, if I fail, no one but myself will be compromised."
Monsieur de Polignac sighed deeply; Pompadour burst out laughing;
Malezieux tried to calm the duchess; and Brigaud bent his head, and went
on writing as if he had heard nothing. As to D'Harmental, he would have
kissed the hem of her dress, so superior was this woman, in his eyes, to
the four men who surrounded her.
At this moment they heard the sound of a carriage, which drove into the
courtyard and stopped at the door. The person expected was doubtless
some one of importance, for there was an instant silence, and the
Duchesse de Maine, in her impatience, went herself to open the door.
"Well?" asked she.
"He is here," said a voice, which D'Harmental recognized as that of the
Bat.
"Enter, enter, prince," said the duchess; "we wait for you."