ALBERONI.
When D'Harmental awoke, he wondered if all had been a dream. Events had,
during the last thirty-six hours, succeeded each other with such
rapidity, that he had been carried away, as by a whirlpool, without
knowing where he was going. Now for the first time he had leisure to
reflect on the past and the future.
These were times in which every one conspired more or less. We know the
natural bent of the mind in such a case. The first feeling we
experience, after having made an engagement in a moment of exaltation,
is one almost of regret for having been so forward. Little by little we
become familiarized with the idea of the dangers we are running.
Imagination removes them from our sight, and presents instead the
ambitions we may realize. Pride soon becomes mingled with it, as we
think that we have become a secret power in the State. We walk along
proudly, with head erect, passing contemptuously those who lead an
ordinary life; we cradle ourselves in our hopes, and wake one morning
conquering or conquered; carried on the shoulders of the people, or
broken by the wheels of that machine called the government.
Thus it was with D'Harmental. After a few moments' reflection, he saw
things under the same aspect as he had done the day before, and
congratulated himself upon having taken the highest place among such
people as the Montmorencies and the Polignacs. His family had
transmitted to him much of that adventurous chivalry so much in vogue
under Louis XIII., and which Richelieu with his scaffolds, and Louis
XIV. with his antechambers, had not quite been able to destroy. There
was something romantic in enlisting himself, a young man, under the
banners of a woman, and that woman a granddaughter of the great Conde.
D'Harmental lost no time in preparing to keep the promises he had made,
for he felt that the eyes of all the conspirators were upon him, and
that on his courage and prudence depended the destinies of two kingdoms,
and the politics of the world. At this moment the regent was the
keystone of the arch of the European edifice; and France was beginning
to take, if not by arms, at least by diplomacy, that influence which she
had unfortunately not always preserved. Placed at the center of the
triangle formed by the three great Powers, with eyes fixed on Germany,
one arm extended toward England, and the other toward Spain, ready to
turn on either of these three States that should not treat her according
to her dignity, she had assumed, under the Duc d'Orleans, an attitude of
calm strength which she had never had under Louis XIV.
This arose from the division of interests consequent on the usurpation
of William of Orange, and the accession of Philip V. to the throne of
Spain. Faithful to his old hatred against the stadtholder, who had
refused him his daughter, Louis XIV. had constantly advanced the
pretensions of James II., and, after his death, of the Chevalier de St.
George. Faithful to his compact with Philip V., he had constantly aided
his grandson against the emperor, with men and money; and, weakened by
this double war, he had been reduced to the shameful treaty of Utrecht;
but at the death of the old king all was changed, and the regent had
adopted a very different line of conduct. The treaty of Utrecht was only
a truce, which had been broken from the moment when England and Holland
did not pursue common interests with those of France.
In consequence, the regent had first of all held out his hand to George
I., and the treaty of the triple alliance had been signed at La Haye, by
Dubois, in the name of France; by General Cadogan, for England; and by
the pensioner, Heinsiens, for Holland. This was a great step toward the
pacification of Europe, but the interests of Austria and Spain were
still in suspense. Charles VI. would not recognize Philip V. as king of
Spain; and Philip V., on his part, would not renounce his rights over
those provinces of the Spanish empire which the treaty of Utrecht had
given to the emperor.
It was in the hopes of bringing these things about that the regent had
sent Dubois to London, where he was pursuing the treaty of the quadruple
alliance with as much ardor as he had that of La Haye. This treaty would
have neutralized the pretensions of the State not approved by the four
Powers. This was what was feared by Philip V. (or rather the Cardinal
d'Alberoni).
It was not thus with Alberoni; his was one of those extraordinary
fortunes which one sees, always with new astonishment, spring up around
the throne; one of those caprices of destiny which chance raises and
destroys; like a gigantic waterspout, which advances on the ocean,
threatening to annihilate everything, but which is dispersed by a stone
thrown from the hand of a sailor; or an avalanche, which threatens to
swallow towns, and fill up valleys, because a bird in its flight has
detached a flake of snow on the summit of the mountain.
Alberoni was born in a gardener's cottage, and as a child he was the
bell-ringer. When still a young man he exchanged his smock-frock for a
surplice, but was of a merry and jesting disposition. The Duke of Parma
heard him laugh one day so gayly, that the poor duke, who did not laugh
every day, asked who it was that was so merry, and had him called.
Alberoni related to him some grotesque adventure. His highness laughed
heartily; and finding that it was pleasant to laugh sometimes, attached
him to his person. The duke soon found that he had mind, and fancied
that that mind was not incapable of business.
It was at this time that the poor bishop of Parma came back, deeply
mortified at his reception by the generalissimo of the French army. The
susceptibility of this envoy might compromise the grave interests which
his highness had to discuss with France. His highness judged that
Alberoni was the man to be humiliated by nothing, and he sent the abbe
to finish the negotiation which the bishop had left unfinished. M. de
Vendome, who had not put himself out for a bishop, did not do so for an
abbe, and received the second ambassador as he had the first; but,
instead of following the example of his predecessor, he found in M. de
Vendome's own situation so much subject for merry jests and strange
praises, that the affair was finished at once, and he came back to the
duke with everything arranged to his desire.
This was a reason for the duke to employ him a second time. This time
Vendome was just going to sit down to table, and Alberoni, instead of
beginning about business, asked if he would taste two dishes of his
cooking, went into the kitchen, and came back, a "soupe au fromage" in
one hand, and macaroni in the other. De Vendome found the soup so good
that he asked Alberoni to take some with him at his own table. At
dessert Alberoni introduced his business, and profiting by the good
humor of Vendome, he twisted him round his finger.
His highness was astonished. The greatest genius he had met with had
never done so much. The next time it was M. de Vendome who asked the
duke of Parma if he had nothing else to negotiate with him. Alberoni
found means of persuading his sovereign that he would be more useful to
him near Vendome than elsewhere, and he persuaded Vendome that he could
not exist without "soupe au fromage" and macaroni.
M. de Vendome attached him to his service, allowed him to interfere in
his most secret affairs, and made him his chief secretary. At this time
Vendome left for Spain. Alberoni put himself in communication with
Madame des Ursins; and when Vendome died, she gave him, near her, the
same post he had occupied near the deceased.
This was another step. The Princesse des Ursins began to get old, an
unpardonable crime in the eyes of Philip V. She resolved to place a
young woman near the king, through whom she might continue to reign over
him. Alberoni proposed the daughter of his old master, whom he
represented as a child, without character, and without will, who would
claim nothing of royalty but the name. The princess was taken by this
promise. The marriage was decided on, and the young princess left Italy
for Spain.
Her first act of authority was to arrest the Princesse des Ursins, who
had come to meet her in a court dress, and to send her back, as she was,
with her neck uncovered, in a bitter frost, in a carriage of which the
guard had broken the window with his elbow, first to Burgos, and then to
France, where she arrived, after having been obliged to borrow fifty
pistoles from her servants. After his first interview with Elizabeth
Farnese, the king announced to Alberoni that he was prime minister. From
that day, thanks to the young queen, who owed him everything, the
ex-ringer of bells exercised an unlimited empire over Philip V.
Now this is what Alberoni pictured to himself, having always prevented
Philip V. from recognizing the peace of Utrecht. If the conspiracy
succeeded--if D'Harmental carried off the Duc d'Orleans, and took him to
the citadel of Toledo, or the fortress of Saragossa--Alberoni would get
Monsieur de Maine recognized as regent, would withdraw France from the
quadruple alliance, throw the Chevalier de St. George with the fleet on
the English coast, and set Prussia, Sweden, and Russia, with whom he
had a treaty of alliance, at variance with Holland. The empire would
then profit by their dispute to retake Naples and Sicily; would assure
Tuscany to the second son of the king of Spain; would reunite the
Catholic Netherlands to France, give Sardinia to the Dukes of Savoy,
Commachio to the pope, and Mantua to the Venetians. He would make
himself the soul of the great league, of the south against the north;
and if Louis XV. died, would crown Philip V. king of half the world.
All these things were now in the hands of a young man of twenty-six
years of age; and it was not astonishing that he should be, at first,
frightened at the responsibility which weighed upon him.
As he was still in deep thought, the Abbe Brigaud entered. He had
already found a lodging for the chevalier, at No. 5, Rue du Temps-Perdu;
a small furnished room, suitable to a young man who came to seek his
fortune in Paris. He brought him also two thousand pistoles from the
Prince of Cellamare.
D'Harmental wished to refuse them, for it seemed as if he would be no
longer acting according to conscience and devotion; but Brigaud
explained to him that in such an enterprise there are susceptibilities
to conquer, and accomplices to pay; and that besides, if the affair
succeeded, he would have to set out instantly for Spain, and perhaps
make his way by force of gold. Brigaud carried away a complete suit of
the chevalier's, as a pattern for a fresh one suitable for a clerk in an
office. The Abbe Brigaud was a useful man.
D'Harmental passed the rest of the day in preparing for his pretended
journey, and removed, in case of accident, every letter which might
compromise a friend; then went toward the Rue St. Honore, where--thanks
to La Normande--he hoped to have news of Captain Roquefinette. In fact,
from the moment that a lieutenant for his enterprise had been spoken of,
he had thought of this man, who had given him, as his second, a proof of
his careless courage. He had instantly recognized in him one of those
adventurers always ready to sell their blood for a good price, and who,
in time of peace, when their swords are useless to the State, place them
at the service of individuals.
On becoming a conspirator one always becomes superstitious, and
D'Harmental fancied that it was an intervention of Providence which had
introduced him to Roquefinette. The chevalier, without being a regular
customer, went occasionally to the tavern of La Fillon. It was quite
fashionable at that time to go and drink at her house. D'Harmental was
to her neither her son, a name which she gave to all her "habitues," nor
her gossip, a word which she reserved for the Abbe Dubois, but simply
Monsieur le Chevalier; a mark of respect which would have been
considered rather a humiliation by most of the young men of fashion. La
Fillon was much astonished when D'Harmental asked to see one of her
servants, called La Normande.
"Oh, mon Dieu! Monsieur le Chevalier!" said she, "I am really
distressed; but La Normande is waiting at a dinner which will last till
to-morrow evening."
"Plague! what a dinner!"
"What is to be done?" replied La Fillon. "It is a caprice of an old
friend of the house. He will not be waited on by any one but her, and I
cannot refuse him that satisfaction."
"When he has money, I suppose?"
"You are mistaken. I give him credit up to a certain sum. It is a
weakness, but one cannot help being grateful. He started me in the
world, such as you see me, monsieur--I, who have had in my house the
best people in Paris, including the regent. I was only the daughter of a
poor chair-bearer. Oh! I am not like the greater part of your beautiful
duchesses, who deny their origin; nor like two-thirds of your dukes and
peers, who fabricate genealogies for themselves. No! what I am, I owe to
my own merit, and I am proud of it."
"Then," said the chevalier, who was not particularly interested by La
Fillon's history, "you say that La Normande will not have finished with
this dinner till to-morrow evening?"
"The jolly old captain never stays less time than that at table, when
once he is there."
"But, my dear presidente" (this was a name sometimes given to La Fillon,
as a certain quid pro quo for the presidente who had the same name as
herself), "do you think, by chance, your captain may be my captain?"
"What is yours called?"
"Captain Roquefinette."
"It is the same."
"He is here?"
"In person."
"Well, he is just the man I want; and I only asked for La Normande to
get his address."
"Then all is right," said the presidente.
"Have the kindness to send for him."
"Oh! he would not come down for the regent himself. If you want to see
him you must go up."
"Where?"
"At No. 2, where you supped the other evening with the Baron de Valef.
Oh! when he has money, nothing is too good for him. Although he is but a
captain, he has the heart of a king."
"Better and better," said D'Harmental, mounting the staircase, without
being deterred by the recollection of the misadventure which had
happened to him in that room; "that is exactly what I want."
If D'Harmental had not known the room in question, the voice of the
captain would soon have served him for a guide.
"Now, my little loves," said he, "the third and last verse, and together
in the chorus." Then he began singing in a magnificent bass voice, and
four or five female voices took up the chorus.
"That is better," said the captain; "now let us have the 'Battle of
Malplaquet."
"No, no," said a voice; "I have had enough of your battle."
"What! enough of it--a battle I was at myself?"
"That is nothing to me. I like a romance better than all your wicked
battle-songs, full of oaths." And she began to sing "Linval loved
Arsene--"
"Silence!" said the captain. "Am I not master here? As long as I have
any money I will be served as I like. When I have no more, that will be
another thing; then you may sing what you like; I shall have nothing to
say to it."
It appeared that the servants of the cabaret thought it beneath the
dignity of their sex to subscribe to such a pretension, for there was
such a noise that D'Harmental thought it best to announce himself.
"Pull the bobbin, and the latch will go up," said the captain.
D'Harmental followed the instruction which was given him in the words of
Little Red Riding-hood; and, having entered, saw the captain lying on a
couch before the remains of an ample dinner, leaning on a cushion, a
woman's shawl over his shoulders, a great pipe in his mouth, and a cloth
rolled round his head like a turban. Three or four servants were
standing round him with napkins in their hands. On a chair near him was
placed his coat, on which was to be seen a new shoulder-knot, his hat
with a new lace, and the famous sword which had furnished Ravanne with
the facetious comparison to his mother's spit.
"What! is it you?" cried the captain. "You find me like Monsieur de
Bonneval--in my seraglio, and surrounded by my slaves. You do not know
Monsieur de Bonneval, ladies: he is a pasha of three tails, who, like
me, could not bear romances, but who understood how to live. Heaven
preserve me from such a fate as his!"
"Yes, it is I, captain," said D'Harmental, unable to prevent laughing at
the grotesque group which presented itself. "I see you did not give me a
false address, and I congratulate you on your veracity."
"Welcome, chevalier," said the captain. "Ladies, I beg you to serve
monsieur with the grace which distinguishes you, and to sing him
whatever songs he likes. Sit down, chevalier, and eat and drink as if
you were at home, particularly as it is your horse we are eating and
drinking. He is already more than half gone, poor animal, but the
remains are good."
"Thank you, captain, I have just dined; and I have only one word to say
to you, if you will permit it."
"No, pardieu! I do not permit it," said the captain, "unless it is about
another engagement--that would come before everything. La Normande, give
me my sword."
"No, captain; it is on business," interrupted D'Harmental.
"Oh! if it is on business, I am your humble servant; but I am a greater
tyrant than the tyrants of Thebes or Corinth--Archias, Pelopidas,
Leonidas, or any other that ends in 'as,' who put off business till
to-morrow. I have enough money to last till to-morrow evening; then,
after to-morrow, business."
"But at least after to-morrow, captain, I may count upon you?"
"For life or death, chevalier."
"I believe that the adjournment is prudent."
"Prudentissimo!" said the captain. "Athenais, light my pipe. La
Normande, pour me out something to drink."
"The day after to-morrow, then, captain?"
"Yes; where shall I find you?"
"Listen," replied D'Harmental, speaking so as to be heard by no one but
him. "Walk, from ten to eleven o'clock in the morning, in the Rue du
Temps Perdu. Look up; you will be called from somewhere, and you must
mount till you meet some one you know. A good breakfast will await you."
"All right, chevalier," replied the captain; "from ten to eleven in the
morning. Excuse me if I do not conduct you to the door, but you know it
is not the custom with Turks."
The chevalier made a sign with his hand that he dispensed with this
formality, and descended the staircase. He was only on the fourth step
when he heard the captain begin the famous song of the Dragoons of
Malplaquet, which had perhaps caused as much blood to be shed in duels
as there had been on the field of battle.