CHAPTER XI.
THE DOWNFALL AND THE ELEVATION.
The great clock of Versailles Palace was striking eleven when King LouisXV., coming out of his private apartments, crossed the gallery nearestand called out for the Master of Ceremonies, Duke Vrilliere. He was paleand seemed agitated, though he tried to conceal his emotion. An icysilence spread among the courtiers, among whom were included DukeRichelieu and Chevalier Jean Dubarry, a burly coarse bully, buttolerated as brother of the favorite. They were calm, affectingindifference and ignorance of what was going on.
The duke approaching was given a sealed letter for Duke Choiseul whichwould find him in the palace. The courtiers hung their heads whilemuttering, like ears of wheat when the squall whistles over them. Theysurrounded Richelieu while Vrilliere went on his errand, but the oldmarshal pretended to know no more than they, while smiling to show hewas not a dupe.
When the royal messenger returned he was besieged by the inquisitive.
"Well, it was an order of exile," said he, "for I have read it. Thus itran," and he repeated what he had retained by the implacable memory ofold courtiers:
COUSIN: My discontent with your services obliges me to exile your grace to Chanteloup, where you should be in twenty-four hours. I should send you farther but for consideration of the duchess's state of health. Have a care that your conduct does not drive me to a severer measure.
The group murmured for some time.
"What did he say," queried Richelieu.
"That he was sure I found pleasure in bearing such a message."
"Rather rough," remarked Dubarry.
"But a man cannot get such a chimney-brick on his head Without cryingout something," added the marshal-duke. "I wonder if he will obey?"
"Bless us, here he comes, with his official portfolio under his arm!"exclaimed the Master of Ceremonies aghast, while Jean Dubarry had thecold shivers.
Lord Choiseul indeed was crossing the courtyard, with a calm, assuredlook blasting with his clear glance his enemies and those who haddeclared against him after his disgrace. Such a step was not foreseenand his entrance into the royal privy chambers was not opposed.
"Hang it! will he coax the King over, again?" muttered Richelieu.
Choiseul presented himself to the King with the letter of exile in hishand.
"Sire, as it was understood that I was to hold no communication fromyour Majesty as valid without verbal confirmation, I come for that."
"This time it holds good," rejoined the King.
"Such an offensive letter holds good against a devoted servitor?"
"Against the servitor--you who received a letter in your house here,from Lady Grammont, by courier---- "
"Surely brother and sister may correspond?"
"Not with such letters--" And the monarch held out a copy of the letterdictated by Balsamo's Voice--this time made by the King's own hand."Deny not--you have the original locked up in the iron safe in yourbedroom."
Pale as a spectre the duke listened to the sovereign continuingpitilessly.
"This is not all. You have an answer for Lady Grammont in yourpocketbook only waiting for its postscript to be added when you leave mypresence. You see I am well informed."
The duke bowed without saying a word and staggered out of the room asthough he were struck by apoplexy. But for the open air coming on hisface he would have dropped backwards; but he was a man of powerful willand recovering composure, he passed through the courtiers to enter hisrooms where he burnt certain papers. A quarter of an hour following heleft the palace in his coach.
The disgrace of Choiseul was a thunderbolt which set fire to France.
The Parliament which his tolerance had upheld, proclaimed that the Statehad lost its strongest prop. The nobility sustained him as one of theirorder. The clergy felt fostered by a man whose severe style made hispost almost sacerdotal. The philosophical party, very numerous by thistime and potent, because the most active, intelligent and learned formedit, shouted aloud when "their" Government escaped from the hands of theprotector of Voltaire, the pensioner of the Encyclopedist writers andthe preserver of the traditions of Lady Pompadour playing theMaccenas-in-petticoats for the newspaper writers and pamphleteers.
The masses also complained and with more reason than the others. Withoutdeep insight they knew where the shoe pinched.
From the general point of view Choiseul was a bad minister and a badcitizen, but he was a paragon of patriotism and morality compared withthe sycophants, mistresses and their parasites--particularly LadyDubarry whom a lampoonist qualified as less to be respected than acharcoal-man's wife. To see the reins pass into the hands of the pet ofa favorite made the future blacker than before.
Hence nearly everybody flocked on the road to cheer the Minister as hewent away in exile.
There was a block to the traffic at the Enfer Tollbar, on the TouraineRoad. A hundred carriages escorted the duke after he had got throughhere.
Cheers and sighs followed him, but he was too sharp not to know thatthere was less regret over his going than fear about those who wouldreplace him.
On the crowded highway a postchaise came tearing and would have run downthe minister but for a violent swerving of the postboy.
A head was stuck out of the chaise window at the same time as the Dukeof Choiseul looked out of his.
It was the Duke of Aiguillon, nephew of Richelieu, who would probablyhave a place in the cabinet which the marshal duke, as the new minister,would form. No doubt he had received the cue and was hurrying to takethe berth. He saluted the fallen one very lowly. The latter drew back inthe coach, for in this second the sight had withered all the laurels.
At the same time, as compensation up came a carriage with the royalcolors, drawn by eight horses on the Sevres branch-road, and crossingwith Choiseul's equipage by chance or the block.
On the back seat was the Dauphiness with her mistress of the Household,Lady Noailles; on the front one was Andrea de Taverney.
Red with glory and delight, Choiseul leaned out and bowed lowly.
"Farewell, princess," he said in a choking voice.
"Farewell, my lord, till soon we meet again!" was the reply. TheArchduchess gave an imperial smile and showed majestic disdain for courtetiquet, by replying.
"Choiseul forever!" shouted an enthusiastic voice close upon thesewords.
Andrea turned rapidly towards the speaker, for she knew the voice.
"Room, make room there," roared the royal squires, forcing Gilbert, paleand hot with getting to the front to see into the line along theroadside ditch.
It was indeed our hero, who had in a fit of philosophical fervor,shouted for Choiseul.
The Mesmerist's Victim Page 11