THE CONSUL DUILIUS.
The morning following the day, or rather the night, on which the events
we have just related had occurred, the Duc d'Orleans, who had returned
to the Palais Royal without accident, after having slept all night as
usual, passed into his study at his accustomed hour--that is to say,
about eleven o'clock. Thanks to the sang-froid with which nature had
blessed him, and which he owed chiefly to his great courage, to his
disdain for danger, and his carelessness of death, not only was it
impossible to observe in him any change from his ordinary calm, which
ennui only turned to gloom, but he had most probably already forgotten
the strange event of which he had so nearly been the victim.
The study into which he had just entered was remarkable as belonging to
a man at once a savant, a politician, and an artist. Thus a large table
covered with a green cloth, and loaded with papers, inkstand, and pens,
occupied the middle of the room; but all round, on desks, on easels, on
stands, were an opera commenced, a half-finished drawing, a chemical
retort, etc. The regent, with a strange versatility of mind, passed in
an instant from the deepest problems of politics to the most capricious
fancies of painting, and from the most delicate calculations of
chemistry to the somber or joyous inspirations of music. The regent
feared nothing but ennui, that enemy against whom he struggled
unceasingly, without ever quite succeeding in conquering it, and which,
repulsed by work, study, or pleasure, yet remained in sight--if one may
say so--like one of those clouds on the horizon, toward which, even in
the finest days, the pilot involuntarily turns his eyes. The regent was
never unoccupied, and had the most opposite amusements always at hand.
On entering his study, where the council were to meet in two hours, he
went toward an unfinished drawing, representing a scene from "Daphnis
and Chloe," and returned to the work, interrupted two days before by
that famous game of tennis, which had commenced by a racket blow, and
finished by the supper at Madame de Sabran's.
A messenger came to tell him that Madame Elizabeth Charlotte, his
mother, had asked twice if he were up. The regent, who had the most
profound respect for the princess palatine, sent word that not only was
he visible, but that if madame were ready to receive him, he would pay
her a visit directly. He then returned to his work with all the
eagerness of an artist. Shortly after the door opened, and his mother
herself appeared.
Madame, the wife of Philippe, the first brother of the king, came to
France after the strange and unexpected death of Madame Henriette of
England, to take the place of that beautiful and gracious princess, who
had passed from the scene like a dream. This comparison, difficult to
sustain for any new-comer, was doubly so to the poor German princess,
who, if we may believe her own portrait, with her little eyes, her short
and thick nose, her long thin lips, her hanging cheeks and her large
face, was far from being pretty. Unfortunately, the faults of her face
were not compensated for by beauty of figure. She was little and fat,
with a short body and legs, and such frightful hands that she avows
herself that there were none uglier to be found in the world, and that
it was the only thing about her to which Louis XIV. could never become
accustomed. But Louis XIV. had chosen her, not to increase the beauties
of his court, but to extend his influence beyond the Rhine.
By the marriage of his brother with the princess palatine, Louis XIV.,
who had already acquired some chance of inheritance in Spain, by
marrying Maria Theresa, and by Philippe the First's marriage with the
Princess Henriette, only sister of Charles II., would acquire new rights
over Bavaria, and probably in the Palatinate. He calculated, and
calculated rightly, that her brother, who was delicate, would probably
die young, and without children.
Madame, instead of being treated at her husband's death according to her
marriage contract, and forced to retire into a convent, or into the old
castle of Montargis, was, in spite of Madame de Maintenon's hatred,
maintained by Louis XIV. in all the titles and honors which she enjoyed
during her husband's lifetime, although the king had not forgotten the
blow which she gave to the young Duc de Chartres at Versailles, when he
announced his marriage with Mademoiselle de Blois. The proud princess,
with her thirty-two quarterings, thought it a humiliation that her son
should marry a woman whom the royal legitimation could not prevent from
being the fruit of a double adultery, and at the first moment, unable to
command her feelings, she revenged herself by this maternal correction,
rather exaggerated, when a young man of eighteen was the object, for the
affront offered to the honor of her ancestors.
As the young Duc de Chartres had himself only consented unwillingly to
this marriage, he easily understood his mother's dislike to it, though
he would have preferred, doubtless, that she should have shown it in a
rather less Teutonic manner. The result was, that when Monsieur died,
and the Duc de Chartres became Duc d'Orleans, his mother, who might have
feared that the blow at Versailles had left some disagreeable
reminiscence in the mind of the new master of the Palais Royal, found,
on the contrary, a more respectful son than ever. This respect
increased, and as regent he gave his mother a position equal to that of
his wife. When Madame de Berry, his much-loved daughter, asked her
father for a company of guards, he granted it, but ordered at the same
time that a similar company should be given to his mother.
Madame held thus a high position, and if, in spite of that position, she
had no political influence, the reason was that the regent made it a
principle of action never to allow women to meddle with state affairs.
It may be also, that Philippe the Second, regent of France, was more
reserved toward his mother than toward his mistresses, for he knew her
epistolary inclinations, and he had no fancy for seeing his projects
made the subjects of the daily correspondence which she kept up with the
Princess Wilhelmina Charlotte, and the Duke Anthony Ulric of Brunswick.
In exchange for this loss, he left her the management of the house and
of his daughters, which, from her overpowering idleness, the Duchesse
d'Orleans abandoned willingly to her mother-in-law. In this last
particular, however, the poor palatine (if one may believe the memoirs
written at the time) was not happy. Madame de Berry lived publicly with
Riom, and Mademoiselle de Valois was secretly the mistress of Richelieu,
who, without anybody knowing how, and as if he had the enchanted ring of
Gyges, appeared to get into her rooms, in spite of the guards who
watched the doors, in spite of the spies with whom the regent surrounded
him, and though, more than once, he had hidden himself in his daughter's
room to watch.
As to Mademoiselle de Chartres, whose character had as yet seemed much
more masculine than feminine, she, in making a man of herself, as one
may say, seemed to forget that other men existed, when, some days before
the time at which we have arrived, being at the opera, and hearing her
music master, Cauchereau, the finished and expressive singer of the
Academic Royal, who, in a love scene, was prolonging a note full of the
most exquisite grace and feeling, the young princess, carried away by
artistic enthusiasm, stretched out her arms and cried aloud--"Ah! my
dear Cauchereau!" This unexpected exclamation had troubled her mother,
who had sent away the beautiful tenor, and, putting aside her habitual
apathy, determined to watch over her daughter herself. There remained
the Princess Louise, who was afterward Queen of Spain, and Mademoiselle
Elizabeth, who became the Duchesse de Lorraine, but as to them there was
nothing said; either they were really wise, or else they understood
better than their elders how to restrain the sentiments of their hearts,
or the accents of passion. As soon as the prince saw his mother appear,
he thought something new was wrong in the rebellious troop of which she
had taken the command, and which gave her such trouble; but, as nothing
could make him forget the respect which, in public and in private, he
paid to his mother, he rose on seeing her, and after having bowed, and
taking her hand to lead her to a seat, he remained standing himself.
"Well, my son," said madame, with a strong German accent, "what is this
that I hear, and what happened to you last evening?"
"Last evening?" said the regent, recalling his thoughts and questioning
himself.
"Yes," answered the palatine, "last evening, in coming home from Madame
de Sabran's."
"Oh! it is only that," said the prince.
"How, only that! your friend Simiane goes about everywhere saying that
they wanted to carry you off, and that you only escaped by coming across
the roofs: a singular road, you will confess, for the regent of the
kingdom, and by which, however devoted they may be to you, I doubt your
ministers being willing to come to your council."
"Simiane is a fool, mother," answered the regent, not able to help
laughing at his mother's still scolding him as if he were a child, "it
was not anybody who wanted to carry me away, but some roisterers who had
been drinking at some cabaret by the Barriere des Sergents, and who were
come to make a row in the Rue des Bons Enfants. As to the road we
followed, it was for no sort of flight upon earth that I took it, but
simply to gain a wager which that drunken Simiane is furious at having
lost."
"My son, my son," said the palatine, shaking her head, "you will never
believe in danger, and yet you know what your enemies are capable of.
Believe me, my child, those who calumniate the soul would have few
scruples about killing the body; and you know that the Duchesse de Maine
has said, 'that the very day when she is quite sure that there is really
nothing to be made out of her bastard of a husband, she will demand an
audience of you, and drive her dagger into your heart.'"
"Bah! my mother," answered the regent, laughing, "have you become a
sufficiently good Catholic no longer to believe in predestination? I
believe in it, as you know. Would you wish me to plague my mind about a
danger which has no existence; or which, if it does exist, has its
result already inscribed in the eternal book? No, my mother, no; the
only use of all these exaggerated precautions is to sadden life. Let
tyrants tremble; but I, who am what St. Simon pretends to be, the most
debonnaire man since Louis le Debonnaire, what have I to fear?"
"Oh, mon Dieu! nothing, my dear son," said the palatine, taking the hand
of the prince, and looking at him with as much maternal tenderness as
her little eyes were capable of expressing, "nothing, if every one knew
you as well as I do, and saw you so truly good that you cannot hate even
your enemies; but Henry IV., whom unluckily you resemble a little too
much on certain points, was as good, and that did not prevent the
existence of a Ravaillac. Alas! mein Gott," continued the princess,
mixing up French and German in her agitation, "it is always the best
kings that they do assassinate; tyrants take precautions, and the
poniard never reaches them. You must never go out without a guard; it is
you, and not I, my son, who require a regiment of soldiers."
"My mother," answered the regent, "will you listen to a story?"
"Yes, certainly, for you relate them exquisitely."
"Well, you know that there was in Rome, I forget in what precise year of
the republic, a very brave consul, who had the misfortune, shared by
Henry IV. and myself, of going out of a night. It happened that this
consul was sent against the Carthaginians, and having invented an
implement of war called a crow, he gained the first naval battle in
which the Romans had been victors, so that when he returned to Rome,
congratulating himself beforehand, no doubt, on the increase of fortune
which would follow his increase of reputation, he was not deceived; all
the population awaited him at the city gates, and conducted him in
triumph to the capitol, where the senate expected him.
"The senate announced to him that, in reward for his victory, they were
going to bestow on him something which must be highly pleasing to him,
which was, that whenever he went out he should be preceded by a
musician, who should announce to every one, by playing on the flute,
that he was followed by the famous Duilius, the conqueror of the
Carthaginians. Duilius, you will understand, my mother, was at the
height of joy at such an honor. He returned home with a proud bearing,
and preceded by his flute-player, who played his best, amid the
acclamations of the multitude, who cried at the top of their voices,
'Long live, Duilius; long live the conqueror of the Carthaginians; long
live the savior of Rome!' This was so intoxicating that the poor consul
nearly went crazy with joy. Twice during the day he went out, although
he had nothing to do in the town, only to enjoy the senatorial
privilege, and to hear the triumphal music and the cries which
accompanied it. This occupation had raised him by the evening into a
state of glorification such as it is not easy to explain. The evening
came. The conqueror had a mistress whom he loved, and whom he was eager
to see again--a sort of Madame de Sabran--with the exception that the
husband thought proper to be jealous, while ours, as you know, is not so
absurd.
"The consul therefore had his bath, dressed and perfumed himself with
the greatest care, and when eleven o'clock arrived he set out on tiptoe
for the Suburranian Road. But he had reckoned without his host; or,
rather, without his musician. Hardly had he gone four steps when the
flute-player, who was attached to his service by night as well as day,
darted from a post on which he was seated and went before, playing with
all his might and main. The consequence of this was, that those who were
in the streets turned round, those who were at home came to the door,
and those who were in bed got up and opened their windows, all repeating
in chorus--'Here is the Consul Duilius; long live Duilius; long live the
conqueror of the Carthaginians; long live the savior of Rome!' This was
highly flattering, but inopportune. The consul wished to silence his
instrumentalist, but he declared that the orders he had received from
the senate were precise--not to be quiet a minute--that he had ten
thousand sesterces a year to blow his flute, and that blow he would as
long as he had any breath left.
"The consul saw that it was useless to discuss with a man who had the
dictate of the senate on his side, so he began to run, hoping to escape
from his melodious companion, but he copied his actions from those of
Duilius with such exactitude, that all the consul could gain was to get
before the flute-player instead of behind him. He doubled like a hare,
sprang like a roebuck, rushed madly forward like a wild boar--the cursed
flute-player did not lose his track for an instant, so that all Rome,
understanding nothing about the object of this nocturnal race, but
knowing that it was the victor who performed it, came to their windows,
shouting, 'Long live Duilius; long live the conqueror of the
Carthaginians; long live the savior of Rome!' The poor man had one last
hope; that of finding the people at his mistress's house asleep and the
door half-open, as she had promised to leave it. But no; as soon as he
arrived at that hospitable and gracious house, at whose door he had so
often poured perfumes and hung garlands, he found that they were awake
like all the rest, and at the window he saw the husband, who, as soon he
saw him, began to cry, 'Long live, Duilius; long live the conqueror of
the Carthaginians; long live the savior of Rome!' The hero returned home
despairing.
"The next day he hoped to escape his musician; but this hope was
fallacious; and it was the same the day after, and all following days,
so that the consul, seeing that it was impossible to keep his incognito,
left for Sicily, where, out of anger, he beat the Carthaginians again;
but this time so unmercifully, that every one thought that must be the
end of all Punic wars, past, present, or to come. Rome was so convulsed
with joy that it gave public rejoicings like those on the anniversary of
the foundation of the city, and proposed to give the conqueror a triumph
more splendid even than the last. As to the senate, it assembled before
the arrival of Duilius, to determine what reward should be conferred
upon him. They were all in favor of a public statue, when suddenly they
heard shouts of triumph and the sound of a flute. It was the consul who
had freed himself from the triumph, thanks to his haste, but who could
not free himself from public gratitude, thanks to his flute-player.
Suspecting that they were preparing something new, he came to take part
in the deliberations. He found the senate ready to vote, with their
balls in their hands.
"He advanced to the tribune. 'Conscript fathers,' said he, 'is it not
your intention to give me a reward which will be agreeable to me?' 'Our
intention,' replied the president, 'is to make you the happiest man on
earth.' 'Good,' said Duilius; 'will you allow me to ask from you that
which I desire most?' 'Speak,' cried all the senators at once. 'And you
will confer it on me?' asked he, with all the timidity of doubt. 'By
Jupiter we will!' answered the president in the name of the assembly.
'Then, Conscript fathers,' said Duilius, 'if you think that I have
deserved well of the country, take away from me, in recompense for this
second victory, this cursed flute-player, whom you gave me for the
first.' The senate thought the request strange, but they had pledged
their word, and at that period people kept their promises. The
flute-player was allowed to retire on half-pay, and the Consul Duilius,
having got rid of his musician, recovered his incognito, and, without
noise, found the door of that little house in the Suburranian Road,
which one victory had closed against him, and which another had
reopened."
"Well," asked the palatine, "what has this story to do with the fear I
have of your being assassinated?"
"What has it to do with it, my mother?" said the prince, laughing. "It
is, that if, instead of the one musician which the Consul Duilius had,
and which caused him such disappointment, I had a regiment of guards,
you may fancy what would happen to me."
"Ah! Philippe, Philippe," answered the princess, laughing and sighing at
the same time, "will you always treat serious matters so lightly!"
"No, mother," said the regent; "and the proof is, that as I presume you
did not come here solely to read me a lecture on my nocturnal courses,
but to speak on business, I am ready to listen to you, and to reply
seriously."
"Yes, you are right," said the princess; "I did come to speak to you of
other things. I came to speak of Mademoiselle de Chartres."
"Yes, of your favorite, mother; for it is useless to deny it, Louise is
your favorite. Can it be because she does not love her uncles much, whom
you do not love at all?"
"No, it is not that, but I confess it is pleasing to me to see that she
has no better opinion of bastards than I have; but it is because, except
as to beauty, which she has and I never had, she is exactly what I was
at her age, having true boy's tastes, loving dogs, horses, and
cavalcades, managing powder like an artilleryman, and making squibs like
a workman; well, guess what has happened to her."----"She wants a
commission in the guards?"
"No, no; she wants to be a nun."
"A nun! Louise! Impossible; it must be some joke of her sisters!"
"Not at all," replied the palatine; "there is no joke about it, I swear
to you."
"How has she got this passion for the cloister?" asked the regent,
beginning to believe in the truth of what his mother told him,
accustomed as he was to live at a time when the most extravagant things
were always the most probable.
"Where did she get it?" replied madame; "why, from the devil, I suppose;
I do not know where else she could have got it. The day before yesterday
she passed with her sister, riding, shooting, laughing; in fact, I had
never seen her so gay; but this evening Madame d'Orleans sent for me. I
found Mademoiselle de Chartres at her mother's knees, in tears, and
begging permission to retire to the Abbey des Chelles. Her mother turned
to me, and said, 'What do you think of this, madame?' 'I think,' I
replied, 'that we can perform our devotions equally well in any place
and that all depends on our own preparations;' but hearing my words,
Mademoiselle de Chartres redoubled her prayers, and with so much
earnestness that I said to her mother, 'It is for you to decide.' 'Oh,'
replied the duchess, 'we cannot prevent this poor child from performing
her devotions.' 'Let her go then,' I replied, 'and may God grant that
she goes in that intention.' 'I swear to you, madame,' said Mademoiselle
de Chartres, 'that I go for God alone, and that I am influenced by no
worldly idea.' Then she embraced us, and yesterday morning at seven
o'clock she set out."
"I know all that, since I was to have taken her there," replied the
regent. "Has nothing happened since then?"
"Yes, yesterday evening she sent back the carriage, giving the coachman
a letter addressed to you, to her mother, and to me, in which she says
that finding in the cloister that tranquillity and peace which she
cannot hope for in the world, she does not wish to leave it."
"And what does her mother say to this resolution?"
"Her mother!" replied madame. "To tell you the truth, I believe her
mother is very glad, for she likes convents, and thinks it a great
piece of good-luck to have a daughter a nun; but I say there is no
happiness where there is no vocation."
The regent read and re-read the letter of Mademoiselle de Chartres,
trying to discover, by the expression of her desire to remain at
Chelles, the secret causes which had given rise to it. Then, after an
instant of meditation, as deep as if the fate of empires depended on it:
"There is some love pique here," said he; "do you know if Louise loves
any one?"
Madame told the regent the adventure of the opera, and the exclamation
of the princess, in her admiration for the handsome tenor.
"Diable!" cried the regent, "and what did you and the Duchesse d'Orleans
do in your maternal council?"
"We showed Cauchereau the door, and forbade the opera to Mademoiselle de
Chartres; we could not do less."
"Well!" replied the regent, "there is no need to seek further. We must
cure her at once of this fancy."
"And how will you do that, my son?"
"I will go to-day to the Abbey des Chelles, and interrogate Louise. If
the thing is but a caprice, I will give it time to pass off. I will
appear to adopt her views, and, in a year hence, when she is to take the
veil, she herself will come and beg us to free her from the difficulty
she has got herself into. If, on the contrary, the thing is serious,
then it will be different."
"Mon Dieu!" said madame, rising, "remember that poor Cauchereau has,
perhaps, nothing to do with it, and that he is even ignorant of the
passion he has inspired."
"Do not be afraid," replied the prince, laughing at the tragic
interpretation which the princess, with her German ideas, had given to
his words. "I shall not renew the lamentable history of the lovers of
the Paraclete; Cauchereau's voice shall neither lose nor gain a single
note in this adventure, and we do not treat a princess of the blood in
the same manner as a little bourgeoise."
"But, on the other hand," said madame, almost as much afraid of the
regent's real indulgence as of his apparent severity, "no weakness
either."
"My mother," said the regent, "if she must deceive some one, I would
rather that it was her husband than God." And kissing his mother's hand
respectfully, he led her to the door, quite scandalized at those easy
manners, among which she died, without ever having accustomed herself to
them. Then the Duc d'Orleans returned to his drawing, humming an air
from his opera of Porthee.
In crossing the antechamber, madame saw a little man in great
riding-boots coming toward her, his head sunk in the immense collar of a
coat lined with fur. When he reached her he poked out of his surtout a
little face with a pointed nose, and bearing a resemblance at once to a
polecat and a fox.
"Oh!" said the palatine, "is it you, abbe?"
"Myself, your highness. I have just saved France--nothing but that." And
bowing to madame, without waiting for her to dismiss him, as etiquette
required, he turned on his heel, and entered the regent's study without
being announced.