Александр Дюма
The Queen's Necklace
CHAPTER LII.
DELIRIUM
M. De Charny conquered the fever. The next day the report was favorable. Once out of danger, Doctor Louis ceased to take so much interest in him; and after the lapse of a week, as he had not forgotten all that had passed in his delirium, he wished to have him removed from Versailles: but Charny, at the first hint of this, rebelled, and said angrily, "that his majesty had given him shelter there, and that no one had a right to disturb him."
The doctor, who was not patient with intractable convalescents, ordered four men to come in and move him; but Charny caught hold of his bed with one hand, and struck furiously with the other at every one who approached; and with the effort, the wound reopened, the fever returned, and he began to cry out that the doctor wished to deprive him of the visions that he had in his sleep, but that it was all in vain; for that she who sent them to him was of too high rank to mind the doctor.
Then the doctor, frightened, sent the men away, and dressed the wound again; but as the delirium returned stronger than ever, he determined to go once more to the queen.
Marie Antoinette received him with a smile; she expected to hear that the patient was cured, but on hearing that he was very ill, she cried:
"Why, yesterday you said he was going on so well!"
"It was not true, madame."
"And why did you deceive me? Is there, then, danger?"
"Yes, madame, to himself and others; but the evil is moral, not physical. The wound in itself is nothing; but, madame, M. de Charny is fast becoming a monomaniac, and this I cannot cure. Madame, you will have ruined this young man."
"I, doctor! Am I the cause, if he is mad?"
"If you are not now, you soon will be."
"What must I do, then? Command me, doctor."
"This young man must be cured either with kindness or coercion. The woman whose name he evokes every instant must kill or cure him."
"Doctor, you exaggerate. Can you kill a man with a hard word, or cure a madman with a smile?"
"If your majesty be incredulous, I have only to pay my respects, and take leave."
"No, doctor; tell me what you wish."
"Madame, if you desire to free this palace from his cries, and from scandal, you must act."
"You wish me to come and see him?"
"Yes."
"Then I will call some one – Mademoiselle de Taverney, for example – and you have all ready to receive us. But it is a dreadful responsibility to run the risk of kill or cure, as you say."
"It is what I have to do every day. Come, madame, all is ready."
The queen sighed, and followed the doctor, without waiting for Andrée, who was not to be found.
It was eleven o'clock in the morning, and Charny was asleep, after the troubled night he had gone through. The queen, attired in an elegant morning dress, entered the corridor. The doctor advised her to present herself suddenly, determined to produce a crisis, either for good or ill; but at the door they found a woman standing, who had not time to assume her usual unmoved tranquillity, but showed an agitated countenance, and trembled before them.
"Andrée!" cried the queen.
"Yes, your majesty; you are here too!"
"I sent for you, but they could not find you."
Andrée, anxious to hide her feelings, even at the price of a falsehood, said, "I heard your majesty had asked for me, and came after you."
"How did you know I was here?"
"They said you were gone with Doctor Louis, so I guessed it."
"Well guessed," replied the queen, who was little suspicious, and forgot immediately her first surprise.
She went on, leaving Andrée with the doctor.
Andrée, seeing her disappear, gave a look full of anger and grief. The doctor said to her:
"Do you think she will succeed?"
"Succeed in what?"
"In getting this poor fellow removed, who will die here."
"Will he live elsewhere?" asked Andrée, surprised.
"I believe so."
"Oh, then, may she succeed!"
CHAPTER LIII.
CONVALESCENCE
The queen walked straight up to where Charny lay, dressed, on a couch. He raised his head, wakened by her entrance.
"The queen!" cried he, trying to rise.
"Yes, sir, the queen," she replied, "who knows how you strive to lose both reason and life; the queen, whom you offend both dreaming and waking; the queen, who cares for your honor and your safety, and therefore comes to you. Is it possible," continued she, "that a gentleman, formerly renowned like you for his loyalty and honor, should become such an enemy as you have been to the reputation of a woman? What will my enemies do, if you set them the example of treason?"
"Treason!" stammered Charny.
"Yes, sir. Either you are a madman, and must be forcibly prevented from doing harm; or you are a traitor, and must be punished."
"Oh, madame, do not call me a traitor! From the mouth of a king, such an accusation would precede death; from the mouth of a woman, it is dishonor. Queen, kill me, or spare me!"
"Are you in your right mind, M. de Charny?" said the queen, in a moved voice.
"Yes, madame."
"Do you remember your wrongs towards me, and towards the king?"
"Mon Dieu!" he murmured.
"For you too easily forget, you gentlemen, that the king is the husband of the woman whom you insult, by raising your eyes to her – that he is the father of your future master, the dauphin; you forget, also, that he is a greater and better man than any of you – a man whom I esteem and love."
"Oh!" murmured Charny, with a groan, and seemed ready to faint.
This cry pierced the queen's heart; she thought he was about to die, and was going to call for assistance; but, after an instant's reflection, she went on: "Let us converse quietly, and be a man. Doctor Louis has vainly tried to cure you; your wound, which was nothing, has been rendered dangerous through your own extravagances. When will you cease to present to the good doctor the spectacle of a scandalous folly which disquiets him? When will you leave the castle?"
"Madame," replied Charny, "your majesty sends me away; I go, I go!" And he rose with a violent effort, as though he would have fled that instant, but, unable to stand, fell almost into the arms of the queen, who had risen to stop him.
She replaced him on the sofa; a bloody foam rose to his lips. "Ah, so much the better!" cried he; "I die, killed by you!" The queen forgot everything but his danger; she supported his drooping head on her shoulders, and pressed her cold hands to his forehead and heart. Her touch seemed to revive him as if by magic – he lived again; then she wished to fly, but he caught hold of her dress, saying:
"Madame, in the name of the respect which I feel for you – "
"Adieu, adieu!" cried the queen.
"Oh, madame, pardon me!"
"I do pardon you."
"Madame, one last look."
"M. de Charny," said the queen, trembling, "if you are not the basest of men, to-morrow you will be dead, or have left this castle."
He threw himself at her feet; she opened the door, and rushed away.
Andrée saw for an instant the young man on his knees before her, and felt struck with both hate and despair. She thought, as she saw the queen return, that God had given too much to this woman in adding to her throne and her beauty this half-hour with M. de Charny.
The doctor, occupied only with the success of the negotiation, said, "Well, madame, what will he do?"
"He will leave," replied the queen; and, passing them quickly, she returned to her apartment.
The doctor went to his patient, and Andrée to her room.
Doctor Louis found Charny a changed man, declaring himself perfectly strong, asking the doctor how he should be moved, and when he should be quite well, with so much energy that the doctor feared it was too much, and that he must relapse after it. He was, however, so reasonable as to feel the necessity of explaining this sudden change. "The queen has done me more good by making me ashamed of myself," he said, "than you, dear doctor, with all your science. She has vanquished me by an appeal to my amour propre."
"So much the better," said the doctor.
"Yes. I remember that a Spaniard – they are all boasters – told me one day, to prove the force of his will, that it sufficed for him in a duel which he had fought, and in which he had been wounded, to will that the blood should not flow in the presence of his adversary in order to retain it. I laughed at him. However, I now feel something like it myself; I think that if my fever and delirium wished to return, I could chase them away, saying, Fever and delirium, I forbid you to appear!"
"We know such things are possible," replied the doctor. "Allow me to congratulate you, for you are cured morally."
"Oh yes."
"Well, the physical cure will soon follow. Once sound in mind, you will be sound in body within a week."
"Thanks, doctor."
"And, to begin, you must leave this place."
"I am ready immediately."
"Oh, we will not be rash; we will wait till this evening. Where will you go?"
"Anywhere – to the end of the world if you like."
"That is too far for a first journey; we will content ourselves with Versailles. I have a house there where you shall go to-night."
Accordingly, that evening the four valets, who had been so rudely repulsed before, carried him to his carriage. The king had been hunting all day; Charny felt somewhat uneasy at leaving without apprizing him; but the doctor promised to make his excuses.
Andrée, concealed behind her curtains, saw the carriage drive off.
"If he resumes his desire to die," thought the doctor, "at least it will not be in my rooms, and under my care."
Charny arrived safely, however, and the next day the doctor found him so well, that he told him he thought he would require him no longer.
He received a visit from his uncle, and from an officer sent by the king to inquire after him. At the end of a week he could ride slowly on horseback: then the doctor advised him to go for a time to his estates in Picardy to regain strength. He accordingly took leave of the king, charged M. de Suffren with his adieus to the queen, who was ill that evening, and set off for his château at Boursonnes.
CHAPTER LIV.
TWO BLEEDING HEARTS
On the day following the queen's visit to M. de Charny, Madlle. de Taverney entered the royal bedroom as usual at the hour of the petite toilette. The queen was just laughing over a note from Madame de la Motte. Andrée, paler than usual, looked cold and grave: the queen, however, being occupied, did not notice it, but merely turning her head, said in her usual friendly tone, "Bon jour, petite." At last, however, Andrée's silence struck her, and looking up she saw her sad expression and said, "Mon Dieu! Andrée, what is the matter? Has any misfortune happened to you?"
"Yes, madame, a great one."
"What is it?"
"I am going to leave your majesty."
"Leave me!"
"Yes, madame."
"Where are you going? and what is the cause of this sudden departure?"
"Madame, I am not happy in my affections; in my family affections, I mean," added Andrée, blushing.
"I do not understand you – you seemed happy yesterday."
"No, madame," replied Andrée, firmly. "Yesterday was one of the unhappy days of my life."
"Explain yourself."
"It would but fatigue your majesty, and the details are not worthy of your hearing. Suffice it to say, that I have no satisfaction in my family – that I have no good to expect in this world. I come, therefore, to beg your majesty's permission to retire into a convent."
The queen rose, and although with some effort to her pride, took Andrée's hand, and said: "What is the meaning of this foolish resolution? Have you not to-day, like yesterday, a father and a brother? and were they different yesterday from to-day? Tell me your difficulties. Am I no longer your protectress and mother?"
Andrée, trembling, and bowing low, said, "Madame, your kindness penetrates my heart, but does not shake my resolution. I have resolved to quit the court. I have need of solitude. Do not force me to give up the vocation to which I feel called."
"Since yesterday?"
"I beg your majesty not to make me speak on this point."
"Be free, then," said the queen, rather bitterly; "only I have always shown you sufficient confidence for you to have placed some in me. But it is useless to question one who will not speak. Keep your secrets, and I trust you will be happier away than you have been here. Remember one thing, however, that my friendship does not expire with people's caprices, and that I shall ever look on you as a friend. Now, go, Andrée; you are at liberty. But where are you going to?"
"To the convent of St. Denis, madame."
"Well, mademoiselle, I consider you guilty towards me of ingratitude and forgetfulness."
Andrée, however, left the room and the castle without giving any of those explanations which the good heart of the queen expected, and without in any way softening or humbling herself. When she arrived at home, she found Philippe in the garden – the brother dreamed, while the sister acted. At the sight of Andrée, whose duties always kept her with the queen at that hour, he advanced, surprised, and almost frightened, which was increased when he perceived her gloomy look.
He questioned her, and she told him that she was about to leave the service of the queen, and go into a convent.
He clasped his hands, and cried, "What! you also, sister?"
"I also! what do you mean?"
"'Tis a cursed contact for us, that of the Bourbons. You wish to take religious vows; you, at once the least worldly of women, and the least fitted for a life of asceticism. What have you to reproach the queen with?"
"I have nothing to reproach her with; but you, Philippe, who expected, and had the right to expect, so much – why did not you remain at court? You did not remain there three days; I have been there as many years."
"She is capricious, Andrée."
"You, as a man, might put up with it. I, a woman, could not, and do not wish to do so."
"All this, my sister, does not inform me what quarrel you have had with her."
"None, Philippe, I assure you. Had you any when you left her? Oh, she is ungrateful!"
"We must pardon her, Andrée; she is a little spoiled by flattery, but she has a good heart."
"Witness what she has done for you, Philippe."
"What has she done?"
"You have already forgotten. I have a better memory, and with one stroke pay off your debts and my own."
"Very dear, it seems to me, Andrée – to renounce the world at your age, and with your beauty. Take care, dear sister, if you renounce it young, you will regret it old, and will return to it when the time will be passed, and you have outlived all your friends."
"You do not reason thus for yourself, brother. You are so little careful of your fortunes, that when a hundred others would have acquired titles and gold, you have only said – she is capricious, she is perfidious, and a coquette, and I prefer not to serve her. Therefore, you have renounced the world, though you have not entered into a monastery."
"You are right, sister; and were it not for our father – "
"Our father! Ah, Philippe! do not speak of him," replied Andrée, bitterly. "A father should be a support to his children, or accept their support. But what does ours do? Could you confide a secret to M. de Taverney, or do you believe him capable of confiding in you? M. de Taverney is made to live alone in this world."
"True, Andrée, but not to die alone."
"Ah, Philippe! you take me for a daughter without feeling, but you know I am a fond sister; and to have been a good daughter, required only to have had a father; but everything seems to conspire to destroy in me every tender feeling. It never happens in this world that hearts respond; those whom we choose prefer others."
Philippe looked at her with astonishment. "What do you mean?" said he.
"Nothing," replied Andrée, shrinking from a confidence. "I think my brain is wandering; do not attend to my words."
"But – "
Andrée took his hand. "Enough on this subject, my dearest brother. I am come to beg you to conduct me to the convent of St. Denis; but be easy, I will take no vows. I can do that at a later period, if I wish. Instead of going, like most women, to seek forgetfulness, I will go to seek memory. It seems to me that I have too often forgotten my Creator. He is the only consolation, as He is really the only afflictor. In approaching Him more nearly, I shall do more for my happiness than if all the rich and great in this world had combined to make life pleasant to me."
"Still, Andrée, I oppose this desperate resolution, for you have not confided to me the cause of your despair!"
"Despair!" said she, with a disdainful air. "No, thank God, I am not despairing; no, a thousand times, no."
"This excess of disdain shows a state of mind which cannot last. If you reject the word 'despair,' I must use that of 'pique.'"
"Pique! do you believe that I am so weak as to yield up my place in the world through pique? Judge me by yourself, Philippe; if you were to retire to La Trappe, what would you call the cause of your determination?"
"I should call it an incurable grief."
"Well, Philippe, I adopt your words, for they suit me."
"Then," he replied, "brother and sister are alike in their lives: happy together, they have become unhappy at the same time." Then, thinking further remonstrance useless, he asked, "When do you want to go?"
"To-morrow, even to-day, if it were possible."
"I shall be ready whenever you require me."
Andrée retired to make her preparations. Soon she received this note from Philippe:
"You can see our father at five o'clock this evening. You must be prepared for reproaches, but an adieu is indispensable."
She answered:
"At five o'clock I will be with M. de Taverney all ready to start, and by seven we can be at St. Denis, if you will give me up your evening."
CHAPTER LV.
THE MINISTER OF FINANCE
We have seen that the queen, before receiving Andrée, was smiling over a note from Madame de la Motte. She was, however, rendered serious by the interview with Mademoiselle de Taverney. Scarcely had she gone, when Madame de Misery came to announce M. de Calonne. He was a man of much intellect, but, foreseeing that disaster was hanging over France, determined to think only of the present, and enjoy it to the utmost. He was a courtier, and a popular man. M. de Necker had shown the impossibility of finding finances, and called for reforms which would have struck at the estates of the nobility and the revenues of the clergy; he exposed his designs too openly, and was overwhelmed by a torrent of opposition; to show the enemy your plan of attack is half to give them the victory. Calonne, equally alive to the danger, but seeing no way of escape, gave way to it. He completely carried with him the king and queen, who implicitly believed in his system, and this is, perhaps, the only political fault which Louis XVI was guilty of towards posterity. M. de Calonne was handsome, and had an ingratiating manner; he knew how to please a queen, and always arrived with a smile on his face, when others might have worn a frown.
The queen received him graciously, and said, "Have we any money, M. de Calonne?"
"Certainly, madame; we have always money."
"You are perfectly marvelous," replied she, "an incomparable financier, for you seem always ready when we want money."
"How much does your majesty require?"
"Explain to me first how you manage to find money, when M. Necker declared that there was none."
"M. Necker was right, madame; for when I became minister on the 3d of November, 1783, there were but one thousand and two hundred francs in the public treasury. Had M. Necker, madame, instead of crying out, 'There is no money,' done as I have done, and borrowed 100,000,000 the first year, and 125,000,000 the second, and had he been as sure as I am of a new loan of 80,000,000 for the third, he would have been a true financier. Every one can say there is no money, but not that there is plenty."
"That is what I compliment you on, sir; but how to pay all this?"
"Oh, madame, be sure we shall pay it," replied he, with a strange smile.
"Well, I trust to you," said the queen.
"I have now a project, madame," replied he, bowing, "which will put 20,000,000 into the pockets of the nation, and 7,000,000 or 8,000,000 into your own."
"They will be welcome, but where are they to come from?"
"Your majesty is aware that money is not of the same value in all the countries of Europe."
"Certainly. In Spain gold is dearer than in France."
"Your majesty is perfectly right. Gold in Spain has been for the last five or six years worth considerably more than in France; it results that the exporters gain on eight ounces of gold, that they send from here, about the value of fourteen ounces of silver."
"That is a great deal."
"Well, madame, I mean to raise the price of gold one-fifth of this difference, and where we have now thirty louis we shall then have thirty-two."
"It is a brilliant idea!" cried the queen.
"I believe it, and am happy that it meets your majesty's approbation."
"Always have such, and I am sure you will soon pay our debts."
"But allow me, madame, to return to what you want of me," said the minister.
"Would it be possible to have at present – I am afraid it is too much – "
Calonne smiled in an encouraging manner.
"500,000 francs?" continued the queen.
"Oh, madame, really your majesty frightened me; I was afraid it was something great."
"Then you can?"
"Assuredly."
"Without the king's knowledge?"
"Oh, madame, that is impossible. Every month all my accounts are laid before the king; however, he does not always read them."
"When can I have it?"
"What day does your majesty wish for it?"
"On the fifth of next month."
"Your majesty shall have it on the third."
"Thanks, M. de Calonne."
"My greatest happiness is to please your majesty, and I beg you never will allow yourself to be embarrassed for want of money." He rose, the queen gave him her hand to kiss, and then said, "After all, this money causes me some remorse, for it is for a caprice."
"Never mind; some one will gain by it."
"That is true; you have a charming mode of consoling one."
"Oh, madame, if we had none of us more reasons for remorse than you, we should all go straight to heaven."
"But it will be cruel to make the poor people pay for my caprices."
"Have no scruples, madame; it is not the poor who will pay."
"How so?" asked the queen, in some surprise.
"Because, madame, they have nothing to pay with."
He bowed and retired.
