The Sword of Honor; or, The Foundation of the French Republic

by Eugène Sue

  CHAPTER V.

  COUNT AND JESUIT.

  More than four months had elapsed since the night on which VictoriaLebrenn was received into the society of the Illuminati, and on whichlittle Rodin, with froward slyness, had penetrated the secrets of theJew Samuel, the guardian of the Rennepont fortune. In short, it was thenight of July 13, 1789.

  The Plouernel mansion, in the suburb of St. Germain, had been built, inthe beginning of the Seventeenth Century, by the order of Raoul ofPlouernel, peer and Marshal of France, and ambassador to Spain. Thisseigneur, residing habitually at Versailles or at Paris, left to hisstewards and bailiffs the administration of his domains in Auvergne,Beauvoisis, and Brittany. He never visited his country seat ofPlouernel, devastated at the time of the Breton uprising.[5] MarshalPlouernel had had transported to his establishment in Paris all hisfamily portraits, the oldest of which represented Neroweg, the leude ofClovis and count of the country of Auvergne. These portraits now adornedone of the halls of the Plouernel mansion; among them was one draped inblack crepe, in token of mourning. The effigy hidden beneath the veil ofblack was that of Colonel Plouernel, traitor, according to thetraditions of the monarchy, to his faith and to his King.

  The first lackey of the Count of Plouernel, named Lorrain, the same whosome months previously had carried the missive to Samuel the Jew, wasshowing into the Hall of the Portraits Abbot Morlet, of the Society ofJesus, a holy man of God and god-father to little Rodin, who, in fact,resembled him so closely as to be taken with reason for his son ratherthan his god-son. The Abbot was about forty years of age, clad in black,of middle height, weazened and nervous, with a fleshless, almost baldforehead over which fell a few straggling hairs of tawny yellow. Hisphysiognomy, evil, insidious or beaming in turn, was above allremarkable for its caustic smile and its half-veiled glance, resemblingthat of a serpent. The Abbot was agitated, uneasy; he said to the lackeywho introduced him:

  "Announce me to your master without delay."

  "Monsieur Abbot," respectfully answered Lorrain, "my lord will not keepyou waiting an instant. His valets are just completing his toilet."

  "His toilet!" exploded the Abbot. "To be thinking of such trifles--hemust be out of his head!"

  Then pausing a moment and recalling the air of preparation and thebrilliant lighting of the parlors he had passed through on the groundfloor, he added:

  "The Count seems to be expecting a large company?"

  "My lord is giving a grand supper."

  "How is it that the agitation prevailing in Paris since day beforeyesterday and up to this very night does not compel the Count to be atthe head of his regiment of the Guards?"

  "Monsieur the Abbot is unaware that my lord journeyed this morning toVersailles to hand in his resignation, and to surrender the command ofhis regiment."

  "To surrender the command of his regiment!" echoed the Jesuit,stupefied, and as if he could not believe what he heard. "What--"

  At that moment Lorrain left the hall, walking backward as his masterentered.

  Count Gaston of Plouernel had reached at this time his thirtieth year.The facial traits of his Germanic ancestry were reproduced in him. Thewhole effect of his person was one of audacity, haughtiness andarrogance. He presented the accepted type of the great seigneur of histime, and wore with grace his costume of plain blue cloth of Tours,spangled with silver and embroidered in gold. His taffeta vest was halflost to view under the billows of Alencon point lace which formed hisshirt frill and rivalled for costly workmanship the flowing ruffles ofhis cuffs. His red-heeled shoes were fastened with diamond buckles.Diamonds also glittered in the hilt of his small-sword, which he woreostentatiously slung under one of the tails of his coat.

  At the sight of Abbot Morlet the Count seemed greatly surprised. Hecordially extended to him his hand, however, saying:

  "Well! good day, holy Father. What good wind blows you to us? I thoughtyou at this time still a hundred leagues from Paris!"

  "I just got in, and after attending to some indispensable duties,hurried over to you, to communicate to you, my dear Count--to you, oneof the leaders of the court party--important information I had picked upduring my trip through several of our provinces. Judge of my surprise!When I arrived here, I learned from your first lackey--that you had thisvery day given up the command of your regiment. That's the way of it.The monarchy, the nobility, the clergy, are attacked as they never havebeen through the worst days of our history. And it is at such an hourthat you, one of the greatest lords of France, you, a man of spirit andof courage, sheath your sword--at this hour when the battle is engagedwith the Third Estate! Ah, Count, if you did not belong to the house ofPlouernel, I would say that you were a coward and a traitor. But, as youare neither coward nor traitor, I shall make bold to say that you are amadman."

  "On the contrary, my dear Abbot, never have I acted more wisely. Neverhave I more studiously served our cause, or proven better my signaldevotion, not to the King--his weakness revolts me--but to the Queen, toroyalty!"

  "So, you have judged it wise and politic to abandon the command of yourregiment in our present circumstances? Is it for me, only to-dayarrived, to have to inform you that Paris is laboring under the greatestexcitement, and perhaps on the verge of a formidable insurrection?Didn't I see them, on the other side of the Seine, beginning to throw uptheir barricades? Didn't I meet on every street corner groups ofmalcontents, harangued by caballers of the Third Estate?"

  "That is all true, Abbot. We are drawing near the moment of a decisivecrisis. The fever of revolution has lasted since day before yesterday,since Saturday, the 11th of July. The first act took place in the PalaisRoyal,[6] when the recall of Necker became known to the public. A youngman named Camille Desmoulins stirred up the gullible clowns in thegardens by crying out that the King was centering his troops on Paris,with the purpose of dissolving the National Assembly, arresting theleaders, and massacring the people of Paris. The most resolute of hishearers cried _To arms! To the barricades!_ and suited the action to theword. Bezenval, the military commander of Paris, informed of the tumult,ordered the dragoons of the Marquis of Crussol to horse. The dragoonssabered the rabble. But that only angered the populace, and theagitation spread to the suburbs. A soldier of my command told the peoplethat several French Guards had been sent to the Abbey Prison; for youmust know, good Father, that insubordination had crept into my regiment.I had sent the mutineers in irons to the Abbey to await the time toadminister to them the scourging they deserved, when the populace hurledthemselves against the prison, put to rout the sentries, and liberatedthe mutinous Guards. The latter received as great an ovation as if theyhad had the honor of being Monsieur Necker, or Monsieur Mirabeau!"

  "This detestable spirit of rebellion is only too like that which infestsmany of our provinces. But these saturnalia were, I hope, put down withthe greatest severity?"

  "Not a whit, my dear Father. A King who pretends to the title of 'Fatherof the people' does not punish them--or very little. What was theresult? The mildness of the reproof redoubled the rabble's audacity. Thesuccess of the expedition against the Abbey whetted their appetite, andthey turned their attention to the prison of La Force, where theydelivered all the debtors. The insurrection growing more and moreserious, the Prince of Lambesc at length received orders from MarshalBroglie, the new Minister of War, to mount his regiment, the RoyalGermans, and charge upon this impious populace, then excitedly huddledin the garden of the Tuileries. At the same time I was ordered to bringup my regiment, to support, if necessary, the cavalry of Lambesc."

  "The French Guards commanded by a colonel like you, Count, should easilymow down these rebels. And yet you abandon your command. Your conduct isan enigma."

  "On the contrary, nothing is more clear. Do you know the differencebetween a German and a Frenchman?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Picture to yourself a tribune of the cross-roads, an insolent drollnamed Gonchon,[7] who never spoke of himself but in the third person,come to harangue the German soldier
s in the name of the brotherhood ofman. The German soldier, understanding nothing of that demagogic trash,draws at the command of his colonel, and sabers both Gonchon and themob! That is what the dragoons of Lambesc did; that is what the cavalryof Berchiny would have done gladly, and the cavalry of Esterhazy and ofRoemer, or the regiments of Desbach, of Salis, or the Royal Swiss."

  "Good! That is the medicine for this canaille."

  "But hardly had Lambesc and his horse sabered the rabble in the gardenof the Tuileries, when that very mob poured back into Louis XV Place,where I had stationed myself at the head of my regiment in battle array.I gave the order to fire on the ructious rabble. Murmurs broke outamong the soldiers in the ranks; some made answer, _We will not fire onthe people!_ I ordered the mutinous men to be seized and shot on thespot. The murmurs grew louder. I repeated the order. Bang! Severalsoldiers struck me in the face! Whole companies broke ranks, waving thebutts of their muskets in the air."

  "Everything is lost if we cannot count on the army!" cried the Abbot indismay.

  "You have said it, Abbot--unless the court party is resolved to serveroyalty to the exclusion of the King. In the face of the stand taken bymy men, there was nothing to do but march them back to their quarters.This morning I repaired to Versailles, and on gaining an audience withthe King I pleaded with his Majesty to authorize me to call acourt-martial to judge and condemn to death within the hour about ahundred soldiers and under-officers of my regiment, the ringleaders ofthe revolt. After long consideration, his Majesty answered with a sourair that 'if it was a matter of shooting a half dozen or soinsubordinates, he saw no great obstacle in the way, but that he wouldnot listen at all to any mass slaughters.' Thereupon the King crabbedlyturned his back on me, shrugged his shoulders, and took himself off tohis private apartments. That is why, my good Father, I have renounced mycommand in the French Guards. But reassure yourself," he added, inresponse to the dumbfounded look the Abbot wore. "I shall remain neitherpassive nor idle. I hope to serve our cause more actively, and, withoutcontradiction, more usefully, now, than if I still were at the head ofmy regiment."

  "That assurance overwhelms me with joy, dear Count," cried the Abbot"What are your plans?"

  "First, I give to-night a supper, a convivial repast in which I bringtogether the influential heads of the court party, for the purpose ofdeciding on our final measures--presided over by the most remarkable andadorable woman I have ever met."

  The Jesuit gazed at Monsieur Plouernel in amaze, and answered: "Are youspeaking seriously? Are you really dreaming of having a politicalmeeting of such importance presided over by--a woman?"

  "Your astonishment will cease, my dear Abbot, when you make theacquaintance of Madam the Marchioness Aldini, a Venetian by birth, thewidow of Marquis Aldini, a great Florentine lord who left his wife animmense fortune. The Marchioness has resided in Paris for now nearly amonth."

  "You know the lady for only a month, and you dare initiate her into thesecrets of our party!"

  "Oh, Abbot, the Marchioness is more of our party than we ourselves! Apatrician and a Catholic, she nurses an invincible horror for thepopulace and for revolutions. We shall never have a more ardentauxiliary than she. And then, she isbeautiful--seductive--irresistible!"

  "And where did you meet this beautiful personage?"

  "One day last month I received a note stamped with outraged pride. Thewriter, Marchioness Aldini, addressed to me, as colonel of the Guards, acomplaint against the insolence of several of my soldiers, who hadbeaten her lackeys. Struck with the lofty tone of the missive, I calledon the Marchioness, who was occupying the establishment of the Countessof St. Megrin, now in England, and maintained there a house on thegrandest scale. One of the Marchioness's private valets introduced me toher in her parlor. Ah, Abbot! at the sight of her I stood spellbound,enchanted! The extreme beauty of the foreign dame, the fire of herglance, the expression of her face, the perfection of her stature, thecomplete admirableness of her person--all threw me into transports ofadmiration." Abbot Morlet puckered his brow dubiously, and the colonelcontinued: "In short, the Marchioness realized, she surpassed, an ideala hundred times dreamt of by me, wearied as I am of the flirtatiousbeauties of the city and the court. What a difference, or rather what adistance, separates them from the Marchioness! Pride of patrician blood,resoluteness of character, ardor, impetuosity of passion, all werelegible in her countenance of a masculine paleness, in her look offlame. Something imperious in her posture, something virile in theaccents of her tongue, gave to this extraordinary woman--none other likeher!--an irresistible charm;--for, before she had spoken a word, I feltmyself captured, enchained, bewitched."

  "And the fascination grew and grew, if that is possible," put in theJesuit sardonically, "when this beautiful lady opened her mouth? Thesiren took you by the eyes and by the ears. She greeted you, I presume,in the most charming and gallant manner?"

  "Not a bit of it! On the contrary, she greeted me with an air ofarrogance and irritation. She taxed me severely for the insolence of mysoldiers."

  "But the tigress finished by turning sweet?"

  "Yes, after the greatest protestations on my part, and my assurance thatI would chastise the guilty soldiers."

  "The anger of the Marchioness being calmed, the interview, no doubt,took a most tender turn?"

  "We spoke of the affairs of the day."

  "Strange, out of all whooping! A colonel of thirty, a man of the court,besides, to speak decorously of the events of the day--with a beautifullady--and he so lusty elsewhere!"

  "So it was, nevertheless, reverend Father. I never even thought, at thatfirst interview, of venturing upon the slightest word of gallantry, sostruck was I with the spirit of the Marchioness. Blue death! I was palewith rage at hearing the Marchioness's bitter sarcasms. I should havebeen glad--may God blast me!--to put myself at the head of my regimentand shoot down all the bourgeois in the States General."

  "This retrospective zeal flows from an excellent sentiment; and I knownot how sufficiently to applaud the beautiful Venetian for havingaroused that sentiment in you. Strongly do I approve the belle'ssarcasms, her scorn for the ranters of the Third Estate, and thepopulace which supports them. Still, methinks it is very surprising thata stranger should interest herself so warmly in our affairs," added theJesuit thoughtfully.

  Without a pause, the priest continued: "Tell me, Count--Have you dealtout the punishment to the insolent soldiers who beat the lackeys ofMadam the Marchioness?"

  "It was impossible to discover them."

  "And she hasn't asked you for an account of their punishment? Strange!Do you know what I think, Count? The outrage was an imaginary one. Itwas the Marchioness's pretext to secure a first interview with you."

  "Come, Abbot, you are insane! For what reason should she have sought toinveigle me into an interview?"

  "I'll tell you, Count, for I foresee the end of this adventure. Youreturned often to visit the Marchioness? You became enamored of her? Andsoon the beautiful Venetian, answering your passion, granted you theboon of love for thanks--after having wheedled out of you all ourparty's closest secrets."

  "You are mistaken, holy Father. On the faith of a gentleman, theMarchioness loves me as passionately as I love her; but she has placedcertain conditions on her favors."

  "And what may the conditions be with which she has hedged about herbounty?"

  "A struggle to the death against the revolution; the exaltation ofroyalty, of the privileges of the nobility and the Church; theextermination of our enemies. Only on these conditions, Abbot, shall mylove receive its sweetest recompense."

  "Count," cried the Jesuit after a moment's silence, "you are only twentyyears old! What am I saying? You are barely sixteen--you are still atthe age of innocence and childlike credulity. You have been blindfolded,duped, made game of, tossed in a blanket, like the most artless of youngfellows! Oh, the women! And you think yourself a Lovelace, alady-killer, my poor Count! And you presume to play a role in thepolitics of the court!"

&
nbsp; "Monsieur Abbot Morlet, familiarity has its limits--do not oblige me torecall the fact to you any more forcibly!" exclaimed Monsieur Plouernel,flaring into a rage. Then, calming himself with an effort, hecontinued, sarcastically: "It suits you ill indeed, my reverend sir, totwit me on the empire exercised over me by women. Has no woman everreigned over you? Could not the record of the vestry tell of a fertilegossip, the hirer-out of chairs at the Church of St. Medard, and widowof Goodman Rodin, the dispenser of holy water in the same parish? Yourmistress is the mother of that little Rodin whom you brought here oneday last year!"

  Unmoved by the raillery of Monsieur Plouernel, the Jesuit replied:

  "Your sarcasm is in the last degree pleasant, and moreover, well to thepoint, in that it furnishes me the occasion, Count, to give you anexcellent lesson. You need the bit, the bridle, and also the whip, myfine gentleman."

  "I am listening, reverend sir."

  "Your love for fine ladies of irresistible beauty is capable of leadingyou into the most mournful follies; while I, by reason of my love for mygossip Rodin, shall be, I hope, able to prevent, and what is more, torepair your insanities."

  "This is getting curious, Abbot. Continue."

  "About four months ago, about the beginning of April, at a late hour ofthe night, a child, overcome with fatigue, fell on the doorstep of ahouse in St. Francois Street, in the Swamp."

  "St. Francois Street, in the Swamp! A rascal of a Jew, a skin-flint of ausurer, lives there. You know him, Abbot? He does business with theclergy too?"

  "It was at the door of that very house that the child sank down withweariness, crying and shivering. The Jew, out of the pity of his heart,took in the little fellow, who, he supposed, had lost his way. Then,succumbing to fatigue and drowsiness, the lad fell asleep on a bench inthe room in which the Jew and his wife were conversing."

  "Bless my heart, holy Father! Your voice is trembling, your nose isgrowing red, your look is softening, and your eye grows moist! Thatinfant gifted with so precocious an intelligence, that prodigy, surelycan be no other than little Rodin, your god-son! Honor to you, Abbot,and to your gossip! You have performed a prodigy, like the Virgin Marywith the Holy Ghost!"

  "Throughout, the little fellow lost not a word of the conversationbetween the Jew and his wife; and thanks to a false alarm, adroitlygiven without by one of our brothers and myself, my god-son, in thecourse of his feigned sleep, surprised two secrets of inestimable importfor the welfare of religion and the nobility. You shall judge--"

  "You are deceiving yourself, Abbot, in trying to make me believe thatfrom the chatter of a miserable Jew and his wife, a chatter surprised byan urchin, secrets of such importance can be won."

  "Count--what do you think of a fortune of nearly 220 millions of francs?Isn't it a magnificent sum? If these 220 millions should pass into thepossession of a party religious, able, tireless, blessed with clevernessand boldness, would they not become a lever of immense power? Again,suppose there were a mysterious sect, the object of which was theannihilation of the Catholic Church, the overthrow of thrones, theabolition of the privileges of birth and of fortune; suppose that sectextended its ramifications throughout all Europe, that it counted in itsranks classes the most diversified in society, from the lowest to thehighest, and that some of them were even of kingly rank; suppose thatassociation had at its disposal a considerable treasure; suppose itsmasters, men and women, to be capable of assuming, at need, any mask,any role; that, thanks to their specious masquerade, they introducedthemselves among the royalists, and fathomed the secrets of ourparty;--then, Count, what would you think of the discovery of that sect?Would it not be of the primest importance? What say you?"

  "Surely; but only if the pretended sect existed. Come, holy Father, itis with surprise and regret that I see a man of your good sense fallinto the net of these absurd fables about the Voyants of France, theIlluminati of Germany, and other fish-yarns, veritable Mother Goosetales!"

  "If I prove to you the existence of this society--if I show you theplace where their leaders meet, will you admit that the revealer of thesecret has rendered a signal service to the throne and the altar? Well,Count, compare now the results of your mad-cap passion for the beautifulforeign Marchioness, with the consequences of what you term my love formy gossip Rodin. According to you, my god-son is one of the visible andcarnal outcomes of that love; if so I owe to the wily youngsterfirst--the discovery of a treasure which should some day reach more than200 millions, on the trail of which our Society of Jesus has been forover a century; and, second--the unearthing of a den of Voyants."