FENELON'S SUCCESSOR.
The events which were to rouse our lovers from their happy idleness were
preparing in silence. The Duc de Richelieu had kept his promise. The
Marshal Villeroy, who had intended to remain a week away from the
Tuileries, was recalled on the fourth day by a letter from his wife, who
wrote to him that his presence was more than ever necessary near the
king, the measles having declared itself at Paris, and having already
attacked several persons in the Palais Royal. Monsieur de Villeroy came
back directly, for, it will be remembered, that all those successive
deaths which three or four years before had afflicted the kingdom, had
been attributed to the measles, and the marshal would not lose this
opportunity of parading his vigilance. It was his privilege, as governor
of the king, never to leave him except by an order from himself, and to
remain with him whoever entered, even though it was the regent himself.
It was especially with regard to the regent that the marshal affected
such extraordinary precaution; and as this suited the hatred of Madame
de Maine and her party, they praised Monsieur de Villeroy highly, and
spread abroad a report that he had found on the chimney piece of Louis
XV. some poisoned bon-bons which had been placed there.
The result of all this was an increase of calumny against the Duc
d'Orleans, and of importance on the part of the marshal, who persuaded
the young king that he owed him his life. By this means he acquired
great influence over the king, who, indeed, had confidence in no one but
M. de Villeroy and M. de Frejus. M. de Villeroy was then the man they
wanted for the message; and it was agreed that the following Monday, a
day when the regent rarely saw the king, the two letters of Philip V.
should be given to him, and M. de Villeroy should profit by his solitude
with the king to make him sign the convocation of the States-General,
and that it should be made public the next day before the hour of the
regent's visit, so that there should be no means of drawing back.
While all these things were plotting against him, the regent was leading
his ordinary life in the midst of his work, his studies, and his
pleasures, and above all, of his family bickerings. As we have said,
three of his daughters gave him serious trouble. Madame de Berry, whom
he loved the best, because he had saved her when the most celebrated
doctors had given her up, throwing off all restraint, lived publicly
with Riom, whom she threatened to marry at every observation her father
made. A strange threat, but which, if carried out, would at that time
have caused far more scandal than the amours, which, at any other time,
such a marriage would have sanctified.
Mademoiselle de Chartres persisted in her resolution of becoming a nun,
although she still, under her novitiate, continued to enjoy all the
pleasures she could manage to introduce into the cloister. She had got
in her cell her guns and pistols, and a magnificent assortment of
fireworks, with which she amused her young friends every evening; but
she would not leave the convent, where her father went every Wednesday
to visit her.
The third person of the family who gave him uneasiness was Mademoiselle
de Valois, whom he suspected of being Richelieu's mistress, but without
ever being able to obtain certain proof--although he had put his police
on the watch, and had himself more than once paid her visits at hours
when he thought it most probable he should meet him. These suspicions
were also increased by her refusal to marry the Prince de Dombe, an
excellent match, enriched as he was by the spoils of La Grande
Mademoiselle. The regent had seized a new opportunity of assuring
himself whether this refusal were caused by her antipathy to the young
prince, or her love for the duke, by welcoming the overtures which
Pleneuf, his ambassador at Turin, had made for a marriage between the
beautiful Charlotte Aglae and the Prince de Piedmont. Mademoiselle de
Valois rebelled again, but this time in vain; the regent, contrary to
his usual easy goodness, insisted, and the lovers had no hope, when an
unexpected event broke it off. Madame, the mother of the regent, with
her German frankness, had written to the queen of Sicily, one of her
most constant correspondents, that she loved her too much not to warn
her that the princess, who was destined for the young prince, had a
lover, and that that lover was the Duc de Richelieu. It may be supposed
that this declaration put an end to the scheme.
The regent was at first excessively angry at this result of his mother's
mania for writing letters, but he soon began to laugh at this epistolary
escapade, and his attention was called off for the time by an important
subject, namely that of Dubois, who was determined to become an
archbishop. We have seen how on Dubois's return from London, the thing
had first been broached under the form of a joke, and how the regent had
received the recommendation of King George; but Dubois was not a man to
be beaten by a first refusal. Cambray was vacant by the death of the
Cardinal la Tremouille, and was one of the richest archbishoprics in the
Church. A hundred and fifty thousand francs a year were attached to it,
and it was difficult to say whether Dubois was most tempted by the title
of successor to Fenelon, or by the rich benefice.
Dubois, on the first opportunity, brought it again on the tapis. The
regent again tried to turn it off with a joke, but Dubois became more
positive, and more pressing. The regent, thinking to settle it, defied
Dubois to find a prelate who would consecrate him.
"Is it only that?" cried Dubois, joyously, "then I have the man at
hand."
"Impossible!" said the regent.
"You will see," said Dubois; and he ran out.
In five minutes he returned.
"Well?" asked the regent.
"Well," answered Dubois, "I have got him."
"And who is the scoundrel who is willing to consecrate such another
scoundrel as you?"
"Your first almoner, monseigneur."
"The bishop of Nantes!"
"Neither more nor less."
"Tressan!"
"Himself."
"Impossible!"
"Here he is."
And at this moment the door was opened, and the bishop of Nantes was
announced.
"Come," cried Dubois, running to him, "his royal highness honors us both
in naming me archbishop of Cambray, and in choosing you to consecrate
me."
"M. de Nantes," asked the regent, "is it true that you consent to make
the abbe an archbishop?"
"Your highness's wishes are commands for me."
"Do you know that he is neither deacon, archdeacon, nor priest?"
"Never mind, monseigneur," cried Dubois, "here is M. de Tressan, who
will tell you all these orders may be conferred in a day."
"But there is no example of such a thing."
"Yes, Saint Ambloise."
"Then, my dear abbe," said the regent, laughing, "if you have all the
fathers of the Church with you, I have nothing more to say, and I
abandon you to M. de Tressan."
"I will give him back to you with the cross and miter, monseigneur."
"But you must have the grade of licentiate," continued the regent, who
began to be amused at the discussion.
"I have a promise from the University of Orleans."
"But you must have attestations."
"Is there not Besons?"
"A certificate of good life and manners."
"I will have one signed by Noailles."
"No, there I defy you, abbe."
"Then your highness will give me one. The signature of the regent of
France must have as much weight at Rome as that of a wicked cardinal."
"Dubois," said the regent, "a little more respect, if you please, for
the princes of the Church."
"You are right, monseigneur. There is no saying what one may become."
"You, a cardinal!" cried the regent, laughing.
"Certainly. I do not see why I should not be pope some day."
"Well! Borgia was one."
"May God give us both a long life, monseigneur, and you will see that,
and many other things."
"Pardieu!" said the regent, "you know that I laugh at death."
"Alas, too much."
"Well, you will make a poltroon of me by curiosity."
"It would be none the worse; and to commence, monseigneur would do well
to discontinue his nocturnal excursions."
"Why?"
"In the first place because they endanger his life."
"What does that matter?"
"Then for another reason."
"What?"
"Because," said Dubois, assuming a hypocritical air, "they are a subject
of scandal for the Church!"
"Go to the devil."
"You see, monsieur," said Dubois, turning to Tressan, "in the midst of
what libertines and hardened sinners I am obliged to live. I hope that
your eminence will consider my position, and will not be too severe upon
me."
"We will do our best, monsieur," said Tressan.
"And when?" asked Dubois, who was unwilling to lose an hour.
"As soon as you are ready."
"I ask for three days."
"Very well; on the fourth I shall be at your orders."
"To-day is Saturday. On Wednesday then."
"On Wednesday," answered Tressan.
"Only I warn you beforehand, abbe," answered the regent, "that one
person of some importance will be absent at your consecration."
"And who will dare to do me that injury?"
"I shall."
"You, monseigneur! You will be there, and in your official gallery."
"I say not."
"I bet a thousand louis."
"And I give you my word of honor."
"I double my bet."----"Insolent!"
"On Wednesday, M. de Tressan. At my consecration, monseigneur."
And Dubois left the room highly delighted, and spread about everywhere
the news of his nomination. Still Dubois was wrong on one point, namely,
the adhesion of the Cardinal de Noailles. No menace or promise could
draw from him the attestation to good life and morals which Dubois
flattered himself he should obtain at his hands. It is true that he was
the only one who dared to make this holy and noble opposition to the
scandal with which the Church was menaced. The University of Orleans
gave the licenses, and everything was ready on the appointed day. Dubois
left at five o'clock in the morning, in a hunting-dress, for Pautoix,
where he found M. de Tressan, who, according to his promise, bestowed on
him the deaconship, the archdeaconship, and the priesthood. At twelve
all was finished; and at four, after having attended the regent's
council, which was held at the old Louvre in consequence of the measles
having, as we have said, attacked the Tuileries, Dubois returned home in
the dress of an archbishop.
The first person whom he saw in his room was La Fillon. In her double
quality of attachee to his secret police and to his public loves, she
had admittance to his room at all hours; and in spite of the solemnity
of the day, as she had said that she had business of importance to
communicate, they had not dared to refuse her.
"Ah!" cried Dubois, on perceiving his old friend, "a lucky meeting."
"Pardieu! my dear gossip," answered La Fillon, "if you are ungrateful
enough to forget your old friends I am not stupid enough to forget
mine, particularly when they rise in the world."
"Ah! tell me," said Dubois, beginning to pull off his sacerdotal
ornaments, "do you count on continuing to call me your gossip now that I
am an archbishop?"
"More than ever. And I count on it so strongly that the first time the
regent enters my house I shall ask him for an abbey, that we may still
be on an equality one with the other."
"He comes to your house then? the libertine!"
"Alas! no more, my dear gossip. Ah! the good time is passed. But I hope
that, thanks to you, it will return, and that the house will feel your
elevation."
"Oh! my poor gossip," said Dubois, stooping down in order that La Fillon
might unclasp his frock, "you see that now things are much changed, and
that I can no longer visit you as I used to."
"You are proud. Philippe comes there."
"Philippe is only regent of France, and I am an archbishop. Do you
understand? I want a mistress at a house where I can go without scandal;
like Madame de Tencin, for example."
"Yes, who will deceive you for Richelieu."
"And how, on the contrary, do you know that she will not deceive
Richelieu for me?"
"Hey-day! and will she manage your police and your love at the same
time?"
"Perhaps. But apropos of police," answered Dubois, continuing to
undress, "do you know that yours have slept infernally during three or
four months, and that if this continues I shall be obliged to withdraw
you from the superintendence?"
"Ah! diable!" cried La Fillon; "this is the way you treat your old
friends. I come to make a revelation; well, you shall not know it."
"A revelation! and what about?"
"Pshaw! take away my superintendence; scoundrel that you are."
"Is it relating to Spain?" asked the archbishop, frowning, and feeling
instinctively that the danger came from thence.
"It relates to nothing at all. Good-evening."
And La Fillon made toward the door.
"Come here," said Dubois, stepping toward his desk; and the two old
friends, who understood each other so well, looked toward each other and
laughed.
"Come, come," said La Fillon, "I see that all is not lost, and that
there is yet some good in you. Come, open this little desk and show me
what it contains, and I will open my mouth and show you what I have in
my heart."
Dubois took out a rouleau of a hundred louis, and showed it to La
Fillon.
"How much is it?" said she; "come, tell the truth; however, I shall
count after you, to be sure."
"Two thousand four hundred francs; that is a pretty penny, it seems to
me."
"Yes, for an abbe, but not for an archbishop."
"Do you not know to what an extent the finances are involved?"
"Well, what does that matter, you humbug, when Law is going to make
millions for us?"
"Would you like in exchange ten thousand francs in Mississippi bonds?"
"Thanks, my dear, I prefer the hundred louis; give them to me; I am a
good woman, and another day you will be more generous."
"Well, what have you to tell me? Come."--"First promise me one thing."
"What is it?"
"That as it is about an old friend, he shall come to no harm."
"But if your old friend is a beggar who deserves to be hanged, why
should you cheat him of his due?"
"I have my own reasons."
"Go along; I promise nothing."
"Well, good-evening then. Here are the hundred louis."
"Ah! you are getting scrupulous all at once."
"Not at all; but I am under obligations to this man; he started me in
the world."
"He may boast of having done a good thing for society that day."
"Rather, my friend; and he shall never have cause to repent it, for I
will not speak a word to-day unless his life is safe."
"Well, safe it shall be, I promise you; are you content?"
"By what do you promise it me?"
"On the faith of an honest man."
"Ah! you are going to deceive me."
"Do you know that you are very tiresome?"
"Oh! I am very tiresome. Well, good-by."
"Gossip, I will have you arrested."
"What do I care?"
"You shall be sent to prison."
"That is a good joke."
"I will leave you to die there."
"Till you do it yourself. It will not be long."
"Well, what do you want?"
"My captain's life."
"You shall have it."
"On what faith?"
"On the faith of an archbishop."
"I want a better."
"On the faith of an abbe."
"Better still."
"On the faith of Dubois."
"That will do."
"First, I must tell you that my captain is the most out at elbows of any
in the kingdom."
"Diable! he has a rival."
"Still, he will have the prize."
"Continue."
"Well, you must know that lately he has become as rich as Croesus."
"He must have robbed some millionaire."
"Incapable. Killed maybe--but robbed! What do you take him for?"
"Do you know where the money comes from?"
"Do you know the different coinages?"
"Yes."
"Where does this come from, then?"
"Ah! a Spanish doubloon."
"And without alloy, with the effigy of King Charles II. Doubloons which
are worth forty-eight francs if they are worth a penny, and which run
from his pockets like a stream, poor dear fellow."
"And when did he begin to sweat gold?"
"The day after the regent was nearly carried off in the Rue des Bons
Enfants. Do you understand the apologue, gossip?"
"Yes; and why have you not told me before to-day?"
"Because his pockets were full then; they are now nearly empty, which is
the time to find out where he will fill them again."
"And you wished to give him time to empty them?"
"Well, all the world must live."
"And so they shall; even your captain. But you understand that I must
know what he does?"
"Day by day."
"And which of your girls does he love?"
"All when he has money."
"And when he has none?"
"La Normande."
"I know her; she is as sharp as a needle."
"Yes, but you must not reckon on her."
"Why not?"
"She loves him, the little fool."
"Ah! he is a lucky fellow."
"And he merits it. He has got the heart of a prince, not like you, old
miser."
"Oh! you know that sometimes I am worse than the prodigal son, and it
depends on you to make me so."
"I will do my best."
"Then day by day I shall know what your captain does?"
"You shall."
"On what faith?"
"On the faith of an honest woman."
"Something better."
"On the faith of Fillon."
"That will do."
"Adieu, monseigneur the archbishop."
"Adieu, gossip."
La Fillon was going toward the door, when at that moment an usher
entered.
"Monseigneur," said he, "here is a man who wants to speak to your
eminence."
"And who is he, idiot?"
"An employe of the royal library, who, in his spare time, makes copies."
"And what does he want?"
"He says that he has an important revelation to make to your eminence."
"Oh! it is some poor fellow begging."
"No, monseigneur; he says that it is a political affair."
"Diable! about what?"
"Relative to Spain."
"Send him in; and you, gossip, go into this closet."
"What for?"
"Suppose my writer and your captain should know each other?"
"Ah, that would be droll."
"Come, get in quickly."
La Fillon entered the closet which Dubois showed her.
An instant afterward, the usher opened the door and announced Monsieur
Jean Buvat.
We must now show how this important personage came to be received in
private audience by the archbishop of Cambray.