CHAPTER XLII. THE 'COUNT DE MAUREPAS,' ALIAS--------
There is a wide gulf between him who opens his waking eyes in a splendidchamber, and with half-drowsy thoughts speculates on the pleasuresof the coming day, and him, who, rising from the dew-moistened earth,stretches his aching limbs for a second or so, and then hurries away tomake his toilet at the nearest fountain.
I have known both conditions, and yet, without being thoughtparadoxical, I would wish to say that there are some sensationsattendant on the latter and the humbler lot which I would not exchangefor all the voluptuous ease of the former. Let there be but youth, andthere is something of heroism, something adventurous in the notion ofthus alone and unaided breasting the wide ocean of life, and, likea hardy swimmer, daring to stem the roughest breakers without one tosuccour him, that is worth all the security that even wealth can impart,all the conscious ease that luxury and affluence can supply. In a worldand an age like ours, thought I, there must surely be some course forone young, active and daring as I am. Even if France reject me, thereare countries beyond the seas where energy and determination will opena path. 'Courage, Maurice,' said I, as I dashed the sparkling water overmy head, 'the past has not been all inglorious, and the future may proveeven better.'
A roll and a glass of iced water furnished my breakfast, after whichI set forth in good earnest on my search. There was a sort ofself-flattery in the thought that one so destitute as I was could devotehis thoughts and energies to the service of another, that pleased megreatly. It was so 'unselfish'--at least I thought so. Alas and alas!how egotistical are we when we fancy ourselves least so. That day Ivisited St. Roch and Notre Dame at early mass, and by noon reached theLouvre, the gallery of which occupied me till the hour of meeting thecure drew nigh.
Punctual to his appointment, I found him waiting for me at the corner ofthe quay, and although disappointed at the failure of all his efforts,he talked away with all the energy of one who would not suffer himselfto be cast down by adverse fortune. 'I feel,' said he, 'a kind ofinstinctive conviction that we shall find her yet. There is somethingtells me that all our pains shall not go unrewarded. Have you neverexperienced a sensation of this kind,--a species of inward prompting topursue a road, to penetrate into a pass, or to explore a way, withoutexactly knowing why or wherefore?'
This question, vague enough as it seemed, led me to talk about myselfand my own position; a theme which, however much I might have shrunkfrom introducing, when once opened, I spoke of in all the freedom of oldfriendship.
Nothing could be more delicate than the priest's manner during all thistime; nor even when his curiosity was highest did he permit himself toask a question or an explanation of any difficulty that occurred; andwhile he followed my recital with a degree of interest that was mostflattering, he never ventured on a word or dropped a remark that mightseem to urge me to greater frankness. 'Do you know,' said he, at last,'why your story has taken such an uncommon hold upon my attention? Itis not from its adventurous character, nor from the stirring and strangescenes you have passed through; it is because your old pastor and guide,the Pere Delamoy, was my own dearest friend, my school companion andplayfellow from infancy. We were both students at Louvain together; bothcalled to the priesthood on the same day. Think, then, of my intensedelight at hearing his dear name once more--ay, and permit me to say it,hearing from the lips of another the very precepts and maxims that I canrecognise as his own. Ah, yes! _mon cher_ Maurice,' cried he, graspingmy hand in a burst of enthusiasm, 'disguise it how you may, cover it upunder the uniform of a "Bleu," bury it beneath the shako of the soldierof the Republic, but the head and the heart will turn to the ancientaltars of the Church and the Monarchy. It is not alone that your goodblood suggests this, but all your experience of life goes to prove it.Think of poor Michel, self-devoted, generous, and noble-hearted; thinkof that dear cottage at Kuffstein, where, even in poverty, the dignityof birth and blood threw a grace and an elegance over daily life; thinkof Ettenheim and the glorious prince--the last Conde--and who now sleepsin his narrow bed in the fosse of Vincennes!'
'How do you mean?' said I eagerly; for up to this time I knew nothing ofhis fate.
'Come along with me, and you shall know it all,' said he; and, rising,he took my arm, and we sauntered along out of the crowded street, tillwe reached the Boulevards. He then narrated to me every incident of themidnight trial, the sentence, and the execution. From the death-warrantthat came down ready filled from Paris, to the grave dug while thevictim was yet sleeping--he forgot nothing; and I own that my very bloodran cold at the terrible atrocity of that dark murder. It was alreadygrowing dusk when he had finished, and we parted hurriedly, as he wasobliged to be at a distant quarter of Paris by eight o'clock, againagreeing to meet, as before, on the Quai Voltaire.
From that moment till we met the following day, the Duc d'Enghien wasnever out of my thoughts, and I was impatient for the priest's presencethat I might tell him every little incident of our daily life atEttenheim, the topics we used to discuss, and the opinions he expressedon various subjects. The eagerness of the cure to listen stimulated meto talk on, and I not only narrated all that I was myself a witnessof, but various other circumstances which were told to me by the princehimself; in particular, an incident he mentioned to me one day of beingvisited by a stranger who came, introduced by a letter from a veryvalued friend; his business being to propose to the duke a scheme forthe assassination of Bonaparte. At first the prince suspected the wholeas a plot against himself, but on further questioning he discovered thatthe man's intentions were really such as he professed them, and offeredhis services in the conviction that no price could be deemed too highto reward him. It is needless to say that the offer was rejected withindignation, and the prince dismissed the fellow with the threat ofdelivering him up to the Government of the First Consul. The pastorheard this anecdote with deep attention, and, for the first time,diverging from his line of cautious reserve, he asked me variousquestions as to when the occurrence had taken place, and where--if theprince had communicated the circumstance to any other than myself, andwhether he had made it the subject of any correspondence. I knew littlemore than I had already told him: that the offer was made while residingat Ettenheim, and during the preceding year, were facts, however, that Icould remember.
'You are surprised, perhaps,' said he, 'at the interest I feel in allthis; but, strangely enough, there is here in Paris at this moment oneof the great 'Seigneurs' of the Ardeche; he has come up to the capitalfor medical advice, and he was a great, perhaps the greatest friend ofthe poor duke. What if you were to come and pay him a visit with me,there is not probably one favour the whole world could bestow he wouldvalue so highly. You must often have heard his name from the prince; hashe not frequently spoken of the Count de Maurepas?' I could not rememberhaving ever heard the name. 'It is historical, however,' said the cure,'and even in our own days has not derogated from its ancient chivalry.Have you not heard how a noble of the Court rode postillion to theking's carriage on the celebrated escape from Varennes? Well, even forcuriosity's sake, he is worth a visit, for this is the very Count Henride Maurepas, now on the verge of the grave!'
If the good cure had known me all my life, he could not moresuccessfully have baited a trap for my curiosity. To see and knowremarkable people, men who had done something out of the ordinary routeof everyday life, had been a passion with me from boyhood. Hero-worshipwas, indeed, a great feature in my character, and has more or lessinfluenced all my career, nor was I insensible to the pleasure of doinga kind action. It was rare, indeed, that one so humbly placed could everconfer a favour, and I grasped with eagerness the occasion to do so. Weagreed, then, on the next afternoon, towards nightfall, to meet atthe quay, and proceed together to the count's residence. I have oftenreflected, since that day, that Lisette's name was scarcely evermentioned by either of us during this interview; and yet, at the time,so preoccupied were my thoughts, I never noticed the omission. TheChateau of Ettenheim, and its tragic story, filled my m
ind to theexclusion of all else.
I pass over the long and dreary hours that intervened, and come atonce to the time, a little after sunset, when we met at our accustomedrendezvous.
The cure had provided a _fiacre_ for the occasion, as the count'sresidence was about two leagues from the city, on the way to Belleville.As we trotted along, he gave me a most interesting account of theold noble, whose life had been one continued act of devotion to themonarchy.
'It will be difficult,' said he, 'for you to connect the poor, worn-out,shattered wreck before you, with all that was daring in deed andchivalrous in sentiment; but the "Maurepas" were well upheld in alltheir glorious renown, by him who is now to be the last of the race! Youwill see him reduced by suffering and sickness, scarcely able to speak,but be assured that you will have his gratitude for this act of truebenevolence. Thus chatting we rattled along over the paved highway, andat length entered upon a deep clay road which conducted us to a spaciouspark, with a long straight avenue of trees, at the end of which stoodwhat, even in the uncertain light, appeared a spacious chateau. The doorlay open, and as we descended, a servant in plain clothes receivedus, and, after a whispered word or two from the cure, ushered us alongthrough a suite of rooms into a large chamber furnished like a study.There were hook-shelves well filled, and a writing-table covered withpapers and letters, and the whole floor was littered with newspapers andjournals.
A lamp, shaded by a deep gauze cover, threw a half-light overeverything, nor was it until we had been nearly a couple of minutes inthe room that we became aware of the presence of the count, who layupon a sofa, covered up in a fur pelisse, although the season was faradvanced in spring.
His gentle 'Good-evening, messieurs,' was the first warning we had ofhis presence, and the cure, advancing respectfully, presented me as hisyoung friend, Monsieur de Tiernay.
'It is not for the first time that I hear that name,' said the sick man,with a voice of singular sweetness. 'It is chronicled in the annals ofour monarchy. Ay, sir, I knew that faithful servant of his king, whofollowed his master to the scaffold.'
'My father?' cried I eagerly.
'I knew him well,' continued he; 'I may say, without vaunting, that Ihad it in my power to befriend him, too. He made an imprudent marriage;he was unfortunate in the society his second wife's family threw himamongst. They were not his equals in birth, and far beneath him insentiment and principle. Well, well,' sighed he, 'this is not a themefor me to speak of, nor for you to hear; tell me of yourself. The curesays that you have had more than your share of worldly vicissitudes.There, sit down, and let me hear your story from your own lips.'
He pointed to a seat at his side, and I obeyed him at once; for,somehow, there was an air of command even in the gentlest tones of hisvoice, and I felt that his age and his sufferings were not the onlyclaims he possessed to influence those around him.
With all the brevity in my power, my story lasted till above an hour,during which time the count only interrupted me once or twice by askingto which Colonel Mahon I referred, as there were two of the name; andagain by inquiring to what circumstances the _emigre_ family were livingas to means, and whether they appeared to derive any of their resourcesfrom France. These were points I could give no information upon, and Iplainly perceived that the count had no patience for a conjecture,and that, where positive knowledge failed, he instantly passed on tosomething else. When I came to speak of Ettenheim his attention becamefixed, not suffering the minutest circumstance to escape him, and evenasking for the exact description of the locality, and its distance fromthe towns in the neighbourhood.
The daily journeys of the prince, too, interested him much, and onceor twice he made me repeat what the peasant had said of the horse beingable to travel from Strasbourg without a halt. I vow it puzzled me whyhe should dwell on these points in preference to others of far moreinterest, but I set them down to the caprices of illness, and thoughtno more of them. His daily life, his conversation, the opinions heexpressed about France, the questions he used to ask, were all mattershe inquired into, till, finally, we came to the anecdote of themeditated assassination of Bonaparte. This he made me tell him twiceover, each time asking me eagerly whether, by an effort of memory, Icould not recall the name of the man who had offered his services forthe deed. This I could not; indeed I knew not if I had ever heard it.
'But the prince rejected the proposal?' said he, peering at me beneaththe dark shadow of his heavy brow; 'he would not hear of it?'
'Of course not,' cried I; 'he even threatened to denounce the man to theGovernment.'
'And do you think that he would have gone thus far, sir?' asked heslowly.
'I am certain of it. The horror and disgust he expressed when recitingthe story were a guarantee for what he would have done.'
'But yet Bonaparte has been a dreadful enemy to his race.' said thecount.
'It is not a Conde can right himself by a murder,' said I, as calmly.
'How I like that burst of generous Royalism, young man!' said he,grasping my hand and shaking it warmly. 'That steadfast faith in thehonour of a Bourbon is the very heart and soul of loyalty!'
Now, although I was not, so far as I knew of, anything of aRoyalist--the cause had neither my sympathy nor my wishes--I did notchoose to disturb the equanimity of a poor sick man by a needlessdisclaimer, nor induce a discussion which must be both unprofitable andpainful.
'How did the fellow propose the act? had he any accomplices? or was healone?'
'I believe quite alone.'
'Of course suborned by England? Of that there can be no doubt.'
'The prince never said so.'
'Well, but it is clear enough, the man must have had means; he travelledby a very circuitous route; he had come from Hamburg probably?'
'I never heard.'
'He must have done so. The ports of Holland, as those of France, wouldhave been too dangerous for him. Italy is out of the question.'
I owned that I had not speculated so deeply in the matter.
'It was strange,' said he, after a pause, 'that the duke never mentionedwho had introduced the man to him.'
'He merely called him a valued friend.'
'In other words, the Count d'Artois,' said the count; 'did it not strikeyou so?'
I had to confess it had not occurred to me to think so.
'But reflect a little,' said he. 'Is there any other living who couldhave dared to make such a proposal but the count? Who, but the head ofhis house, could have presumed on such a step? No inferior could havehad the audacity! It must have come from one so highly placed that crimepaled itself down to a mere measure of expediency under the loftiness ofthe sanction. What think you?'
'I cannot, I will not think so,' was my answer. 'The very indignation ofthe prince's rejection refutes the supposition.'
'What a glorious gift is unsuspectfulness!' said he feelingly. 'I ama rich man, and you I believe are not so; and yet, I'd give all thewealth, ay, ten times told, not for your vigour of health, not for thelightness of your heart, nor the elasticity of your spirits, but forthat one small quality, defect though it be, that makes you trustful andcredulous.'
I believe I would just as soon that the old gentleman had thought fit tocompliment me upon any other quality. Of all my acquisitions there wasnot one I was so vain of as my knowledge of life and character. I hadseen, as I thought, so much of life I I had peeped at all ranks andconditions of men, and it was rather hard to find an old countrygentleman, a _Seigneur de Village_, calling me credulous andunsuspecting!
I was much more pleased when he told the cure that a supper was readyfor us in the adjoining room, at which he begged we would excuse hisabsence; and truly a most admirable little meal it was, and served withgreat elegance.
'The count expects you to stop here; there is a chamber prepared foryou,' said the cure as we took our seats at table. 'He has evidentlytaken a fancy to you. I thought, indeed I was quite certain, he would.Who can tell what good fortune this chance meeting may lead to, Mon
sieurMaurice! _A votre sante, mon cher!_' cried he, as he clinked hischampagne glass against mine; and I at last began to think that destinywas about to smile on me.
'You should see his chateau in the Ardeche; this is nothing to it! Thereis a forest, too, of native oak, and a _chasse_ such as royalty neverowned!'
Mine were delightful dreams that night; but I was sorely disappointedon waking to find that Laura was not riding at my side through aforest-alley, while a crowd of _piqueurs_ and huntsmen galloped to andfro, making the air vibrate with their joyous bugles. Still, I opened myeyes in a richly furnished chamber, while a lackey handed me my coffeeon a silver stand, and in a cup of costliest Sevres.
Maurice Tiernay, Soldier of Fortune Page 42