Александр Дюма
The Queen's Necklace
CHAPTER LXXVI.
EXPLANATIONS
"Madame," said the cardinal, bowing, "you know what is passing concerning the necklace?"
"No, monsieur; I wish to learn it from you."
"Why has your majesty for so long only deigned to communicate with me through another? If you have any reason to hate me, why not explain it?"
"I do not know what you mean. I do not hate you; but that is not, I think, the subject of our interview. I wish to hear all about this unlucky necklace; but first, where is Madame de la Motte?"
"I was about to ask your majesty the same question."
"Really, monsieur, if any one knows, I think it ought to be you."
"I, madame! why?"
"Oh! I do not wish to receive your confessions about her, but I wish to speak to her, and have sent for her ten times without receiving any answer."
"And I, madame, am astonished at her disappearance, for I also sent to ask her to come, and, like your majesty, received no answer."
"Then let us leave her, monsieur, and speak of ourselves."
"Oh no, madame; let us speak of her first, for a few words of your majesty's gave me a painful suspicion; it seemed to me that your majesty reproached me with my assiduities to her."
"I have not reproached you at all, sir."
"Oh! madame, such a suspicion would explain all to me; then I should understand all your rigor towards me, which I have hitherto found so inexplicable."
"Here we cease to understand each other, and I beg of you not to still further involve in obscurity what I wished you to explain to me."
"Madame," cried the cardinal, clasping his hands, "I entreat you not to change the subject; allow me only two words more, and I am sure we shall understand each other."
"Really, sir, you speak in language that I do not understand. Pray return to plain French; where is the necklace that I returned to the jewelers?"
"The necklace that you sent back?"
"Yes; what have you done with it?"
"I! I do not know, madame."
"Listen, and one thing is simple; Madame de la Motte took away the necklace, and returned it to the jewelers in my name. The jewelers say they never had it, and I hold in my hands a receipt which proves the contrary; but they say the receipt is forged; Madame de la Motte, if sincere, could explain all, but as she is not to be found, I can but conjecture. She wished to return it, but you, who had always the generous wish to present me the necklace, you, who brought it to me, with the offer to pay for it – "
"Which your majesty refused."
"Yes. Well, you have persevered in your idea, and you kept back the necklace, hoping to return it to me at some other time. Madame de la Motte was weak; she knew my inability to pay for it, and my determination not to keep it when I could not pay; she therefore entered into a conspiracy with you. Have I guessed right? Say yes. Let me believe in this slight disobedience to my orders, and I promise you both pardon; so let Madame de la Motte come out from her hiding-place. But, for pity's sake, let there be perfect clearness and openness, monsieur. A cloud rests over me; I will have it dispersed."
"Madame," replied the cardinal, with a sigh, "unfortunately it is not true. I did not persevere in my idea, for I believed the necklace was in your own hands; I never conspired with Madame de la Motte about it, and I have it no more than you say you or the jewelers have it."
"Impossible! you have not got it?"
"No, madame."
"Is it not you who hide it?"
"No, madame."
"You do not know what has become of it?"
"No, madame."
"But, then, how do you explain its disappearance?"
"I do not pretend to explain it, madame; and, moreover, it is not the first time that I have had to complain that your majesty did not understand me."
"How, sir?"
"Pray, madame, have the goodness to retrace my letters in your memory."
"Your letters! – you have written to me?"
"Too seldom, madame, to express all that was in my heart."
The queen rose.
"Terminate this jesting, sir. What do you mean by letters? How can you dare to say such things?"
"Ah! madame, perhaps I have allowed myself to speak too freely the secret of my soul."
"What secret? Are you in your senses, monsieur?"
"Madame!"
"Oh! speak out. You speak now like a man who wishes to embarrass one before witnesses."
"Madame, is there really any one listening to us?"
"No, monsieur. Explain yourself, and prove to me, if you can, that you are in your right senses."
"Oh! why is not Madame de la Motte here? she could aid me to reawaken, if not your majesty's attachment, at least your memory."
"My attachment! my memory!"
"Ah, madame," cried he, growing excited, "spare me, I beg. It is free to you to love no longer, but do not insult me."
"Ah, mon Dieu!" cried the queen, turning pale: "hear what this man says."
"Well, madame," said he, getting still more excited, "I think I have been sufficiently discreet and reserved not to be ill-treated. But I should have known that when a queen says, 'I will not any longer,' it is as imperious as when a woman says, 'I will.'"
"But, sir, to whom, or when, have I said either the one or the other?"
"Both, to me."
"To you! You are a liar, M. de Rohan. A coward, for you calumniate a woman; and a traitor, for you insult the queen."
"And you are a heartless woman and a faithless queen. You led me to feel for you the most ardent love. You let me drink my fill of hopes – "
"Of hopes! My God! am I mad, or what is he?"
"Should I have dared to ask you for the midnight interviews which you granted me?"
The queen uttered a cry of rage, as she fancied she heard a sigh from the boudoir.
"Should I," continued M. de Rohan, "have dared to come into the park if you had not sent Madame de la Motte for me?"
"Mon Dieu!"
"Should I have dared to steal the key? Should I have ventured to ask for this rose, which since then I have worn here on my heart, and burned up with my kisses? Should I have dared to kiss your hands? And, above all, should I have dared even to dream of sweet but perfidious love."
"Monsieur!" cried she, "you blaspheme."
"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed the cardinal, "heaven knows that to be loved by this deceitful woman I would have given my all, my liberty, my life."
"M. de Rohan, if you wish to preserve either, you will confess immediately that you invented all these horrors; that you did not come to the park at night."
"I did come," he replied.
"You are a dead man if you maintain this."
"A Rohan cannot lie, madame; I did come."
"M. de Rohan, in heaven's name say that you did not see me there."
"I will die if you wish it, and as you threaten me; but I did come to the park at Versailles, where Madame de la Motte brought me."
"Once more, confess it is a horrible plot against me."
"No."
"Then believe that you were mistaken – deceived – that it was all a fancy."
"No."
"Then we will have recourse," said she, solemnly, "to the justice of the king."
The cardinal bowed.
The queen rang violently. "Tell his majesty that I desire his presence."
The cardinal remained firm. Marie Antoinette went ten times to the door of the boudoir, and each time returned without going in.
At last the king appeared.
CHAPTER LXXVII.
THE ARREST
"Sire," cried the queen, "here is M. de Rohan, who says incredible things, which I wish him to repeat to you."
At these unexpected words the cardinal turned pale. Indeed, it was a strange position to hear himself called upon to repeat to the king and the husband all the claims which he believed he had over the queen and the wife.
But the king, turning towards him, said, "About a certain necklace, is it not, sir?"
M. de Rohan took advantage of the king's question, and chose the least of two evils. "Yes, sire," he murmured, "about the necklace."
"Then, sir, you have brought the necklace?"
"Sire – "
"Yes, or no, sir."
The cardinal looked at the queen, and did not reply.
"The truth, sir," said the queen, answering his look. "We want nothing but the truth."
M. de Rohan turned away his head, and did not speak.
"If M. de Rohan will not reply, will you, madame, explain?" said the king. "You must know something about it; did you buy it?"
"No."
M. de Rohan smiled rather contemptuously.
"You say nothing, sir," said the king.
"Of what am I accused, sire?"
"The jewelers say they sold the necklace either to you or the queen. They show a receipt from her majesty – "
"A forged one," interrupted the queen.
"The jewelers," continued the king, "say that in case the queen does not pay, you are bound to do so by your engagements."
"I do not refuse to pay, sire. It must be the truth, as the queen permits it to be said." And a second look, still more contemptuous than the first, accompanied this speech.
The queen trembled, for she began to think his behavior like the indignation of an honest man.
"Well, M. le Cardinal, some one has imitated the signature of the Queen of France," said the king.
"The queen, sire, is free to attribute to me whatever crimes she pleases."
"Sir," said the king, "instead of justifying yourself, you assume the air of an accuser."
The cardinal paused a moment, and then cried, "Justify myself? – impossible!"
"Monsieur, these people say that this necklace has been stolen under a promise to pay for it; do you confess the crime?"
"Who would believe it, if I did?" asked the cardinal, with a haughty disdain.
"Then, sir, you think they will believe – "
"Sire, I know nothing of what is said," interrupted the cardinal; "all that I can affirm is, that I have not the necklace; some one has it who will not produce it; and I can but say, let the shame of the crime fall on the person who knows himself guilty."
"The question, madame, is between you two," said the king. "Once more, have you the necklace?"
"No, by the honor of my mother, by the life of my son."
The king joyfully turned towards the cardinal. "Then, sir, the affair lies between you and justice, unless you prefer trusting to my clemency."
"The clemency of kings is for the guilty, sire; I prefer the justice of men!"
"You will confess nothing?"
"I have nothing to say."
"But, sir, your silence compromises my honor," cried the queen.
The cardinal did not speak.
"Well, then, I will speak," cried she. "Learn, sire, that M. de Rohan's chief crime is not the theft of this necklace."
M. de Rohan turned pale.
"What do you mean?" cried the king.
"Madame!" murmured the cardinal.
"Oh! no reasons, no fear, no weakness shall close my mouth. I would proclaim my innocence in public if necessary."
"Your innocence," said the king. "Oh, madame, who would be rash enough, or base enough, to compel you to defend that?"
"I beg you, madame," said the cardinal.
"Ah! you begin to tremble. I was right: such plots bear not the light. Sire, will you order M. de Rohan to repeat to you what he has just said to me."
"Madame," cried the cardinal, "take care; you pass all bounds."
"Sir," said the king, "do you dare to speak thus to the queen?"
"Yes, sire," said Marie Antoinette; "this is the way he speaks to me, and pretends he has the right to do so."
"You, sir!" cried the king, livid with rage.
"Oh! he says he has letters – "
"Let us see them, sir," said the king.
"Yes, produce them," cried the queen.
The cardinal passed his hands over his burning eyes, and asked himself how heaven could ever have created a being so perfidious and so audacious; but he remained silent.
"But that is not all," continued the queen, getting more and more excited: "M. le Cardinal says he has obtained interviews – "
"Madame, for pity's sake," cried the king.
"For modesty's sake," murmured the cardinal.
"One word, sir. If you are not the basest of men; if you hold anything sacred in this world; if you have proofs, produce them."
"No, madame," replied he, at length, "I have not."
"You said you had a witness."
"Who?" asked the king.
"Madame de la Motte."
"Ah!" cried the king, whose suspicions against her were easily excited; "let us see this woman."
"Yes," said the queen, "but she has disappeared. Ask monsieur what he has done with her."
"Others have made her disappear who had more interest in doing so than I had."
"But, sir, if you are innocent, help us to find the guilty."
The cardinal crossed his hands and turned his back.
"Monsieur," cried the king, "you shall go to the Bastile."
"As I am, sire, in my robes? Consider, sire, the scandal will commence, and will fall heavily on whomsoever it rests."
"I wish it to do so, sir."
"It is an injustice, sire."
"It shall be so." And the king looked round for some one to execute his orders. M. de Breteuil was near, anticipating the fall of his rival; the king spoke to him, and he cried immediately, "Guards! arrest M. le Cardinal de Rohan."
The cardinal passed by the queen without saluting her; then, bowing to the king, went towards the lieutenant of the guards, who approached timidly, seeming to wait for a confirmation of the order he had received.
"Yes, sir," said M. de Rohan, "it is I whom you are to arrest."
"Conduct monsieur to his apartment until I have written the order;" said the king.
When they were alone, the king said, "Madame, you know this must lead to a public trial, and that scandal will fall heavily on the heads of the guilty."
"I thank you, sire; you have taken the only method of justifying me."
"You thank me."
"With all my heart; believe me, you have acted like a king, and I as a queen."
"Good," replied the king, joyfully; "we shall find out the truth at last, and when once we have crushed the serpent, I hope we may live in more tranquillity." He kissed the queen, and left her.
"Monsieur," said the cardinal to the officer who conducted him, "can I send word home that I have been arrested?"
"If no one sees, monseigneur."
The cardinal wrote some words on a page of his missal, then tore it out, and let it fall at the feet of the officer.
"She ruins me," murmured the cardinal; "but I will save her, for your sake, oh! my king, and because it is my duty to forgive."
CHAPTER LXXVIII.
THE PROCÈS-VERBAL
When the king reentered his room he signed the order to consign M. de Rohan to the Bastile. The Count de Provence soon came in and began making a series of signs to M. de Breteuil, who, however willing, could not understand their meaning. This, however, the count did not care for, as his sole object was to attract the king's attention. He at last succeeded, and the king, after dismissing M. de Breteuil, said to him, "What was the meaning of all those signs you were making just now? I suppose they meant something."
"Undoubtedly, but – "
"Oh, you are quite free to say or not."
"Sire, I have just heard of the arrest of M. de Rohan."
"Well, and what then? Am I wrong to do justice even on him?"
"Oh no, brother; I did not mean that."
"I should have been surprised had you not taken part somehow against the queen. I have just seen her, and am quite satisfied."
"Oh, sire, God forbid that I should accuse her! The queen has no friend more devoted than myself."
"Then you approve of my proceedings? which will, I trust, terminate all the scandals which have lately disgraced our court."
"Yes, sire, I entirely approve your majesty's conduct, and I think all is for the best as regards the necklace – "
"Pardieu, it is clear enough. M. de Rohan has been making himself great on a pretended familiarity with the queen; and conducting in her name a bargain for the diamonds, and leaving it to be supposed that she had them. It is monstrous. And then these tales never stop at the truth, but add all sorts of dreadful details which would end in a frightful scandal on the queen."
"Yes, brother, I repeat as far as the necklace is concerned you were perfectly right."
"What else is there, then?"
"Sire, you embarrass me. The queen has not, then, told you?"
"Oh, the other boastings of M. de Rohan? The pretended correspondence and interviews he speaks of? All that I know is, that I have the most absolute confidence in the queen, which she merits by the nobleness of her character. It was easy for her to have told me nothing of all this; but she always makes an immediate appeal to me in all difficulties, and confides to me the care of her honor. I am her confessor and her judge."
"Sire, you make me afraid to speak, lest I should be again accused of want of friendship for the queen. But it is right that all should be spoken, that she may justify herself from the other accusations."
"Well, what have you to say?"
"Let me first hear what she told you?"
"She said she had not the necklace; that she never signed the receipt for the jewels; that she never authorized M. de Rohan to buy them; that she had never given him the right to think himself more to her than any other of her subjects; and that she was perfectly indifferent to him."
"Ah! she said that – ?"
"Most decidedly."
"Then these rumors about other people – "
"What others?"
"Why, if it were not M. de Rohan, who walked with the queen – "
"How! do they say he walked with her?"
"The queen denies it, you say? but how came she to be in the park at night, and with whom did she walk?"
"The queen in the park at night!"
"Doubtless, there are always eyes ready to watch every movement of a queen."
"Brother, these are infamous things that you repeat, take care."
"Sire, I openly repeat them, that your majesty may search out the truth."
"And they say that the queen walked at night in the park?"
"Yes, sire, tête-à-tête."
"I do not believe any one says it."
"Unfortunately I can prove it but too well. There are four witnesses: one is the captain of the hunt, who says he saw the queen go out two following nights by the door near the kennel of the wolf-hounds; here is his declaration signed."
The king, trembling, took the paper.
"The next is the night watchman at Trianon, who says he saw the queen walking arm in arm with a gentleman. The third is the porter of the west door, who also saw the queen going through the little gate; he states how she was dressed, but that he could not recognize the gentleman, but thought he looked like an officer; he says he could not be mistaken, for that the queen was accompanied by her friend, Madame de la Motte."
"Her friend!" cried the king, furiously.
"The last is from the man whose duty it is to see that all the doors are locked at night. He says that he saw the queen go into the baths of Apollo with a gentleman."
The king, pale with anger and emotion, snatched the paper from the hands of his brother.
"It is true," continued the count, "that Madame de la Motte was outside, and that the queen did not remain more than an hour."
"The name of the gentleman?" cried the king.
"This report does not name him; but here is one dated the next day, by a forester, who says it was M. de Charny."
"M. de Charny!" cried the king. "Wait here; I will soon learn the truth of all this."
CHAPTER LXXIX.
THE LAST ACCUSATION
As soon as the king left the room, the queen ran towards the boudoir, and opened the door; then, as if her strength failed her, sank down on a chair, waiting for the decision of M. de Charny, her last and most formidable judge.
He came out more sad and pale than ever.
"Well?" said she.
"Madame," replied he, "you see, everything opposes our friendship. There can be no peace for me while such scandalous reports circulate in public, putting my private convictions aside."
"Then," said the queen, "all I have done, this perilous aggression, this public defiance of one of the greatest nobles in the kingdom, and my conduct being exposed to the test of public opinion, does not satisfy you?"
"Oh!" cried Charny, "you are noble and generous, I know – "
"But you believe me guilty – you believe the cardinal. I command you to tell me what you think."
"I must say, then, madame, that he is neither mad nor wicked, as you called him, but a man thoroughly convinced of the truth of what he said – a man who loves you, and the victim of an error which will bring him to ruin, and you – "
"Well?"
"To dishonor."
"Mon Dieu!"
"This odious woman, this Madame de la Motte, disappearing just when her testimony might have restored you to repose and honor – she is the evil genius, the curse, of your reign; she whom you have, unfortunately, admitted to partake of your intimacy and your secrets."
"Oh, sir!"
"Yes, madame, it is clear that you combined with her and the cardinal to buy this necklace. Pardon if I offend you."
"Stay, sir," replied the queen, with a pride not unmixed with anger; "what the king believes, others might believe, and my friends not be harder than my husband. It seems to me that it can give no pleasure to any man to see a woman whom he does not esteem. I do not speak of you, sir; to you I am not a woman, but a queen; as you are to me, not a man, but a subject. I had advised you to remain in the country, and it was wise; far from the court, you might have judged me more truly. Too ready to condescend, I have neglected to keep up, with those whom I thought loved me, the prestige of royalty. I should have been a queen, and content to govern, and not have wished to be loved."
"I cannot express," replied Charny, "how much your severity wounds me. I may have forgotten that you were a queen, but never that you were the woman most in the world worthy of my respect and love."
"Sir, I think your absence is necessary; something tells me that it will end by your name being mixed up in all this."
"Impossible, madame!"
"You say 'impossible'; reflect on the power of those who have for so long played with my reputation. You say that M. de Rohan is convinced of what he asserts; those who cause such convictions would not be long in proving you a disloyal subject to the king, and a disgraceful friend for me. Those who invent so easily what is false will not be long in discovering the truth. Lose no time, therefore; the peril is great. Retire, and fly from the scandal which will ensue from the approaching trial; I do not wish that my destiny should involve yours, or your future be ruined. I, who am, thank God, innocent, and without a stain on my life – I, who would lay bare my heart to my enemies, could they thus read its purity, will resist to the last. For you might come ruin, defamation, and perhaps imprisonment. Take away the money you so nobly offered me, and the assurance that not one movement of your generous heart has escaped me, and that your doubts, though they have wounded, have not estranged me. Go, I say, and seek elsewhere what the Queen of France can no longer give you – hope and happiness. From this time to the convocation of Parliament, and the production of witnesses must be a fortnight; your uncle has vessels ready to sail – go and leave me; I bring misfortunes on my friends." Saying this, the queen rose, and seemed to give Charny his congé.
He approached quickly, but respectfully. "Your majesty," cried he, in a moved voice, "shows me my duty. It is here that danger awaits you, here that you are to be judged, and, that you may have one loyal witness on your side, I remain here. Perhaps we may still make your enemies tremble before the majesty of an innocent queen, and the courage of a devoted man. And if you wish it, madame, I will be equally hidden and unseen as though I went. During a fortnight that I lived within a hundred yards of you, watching your every movement, counting your steps, living in your life, no one saw me; I can do so again, if it please you."
"As you please," replied she; "I am no coquette, M. de Charny, and to say what I please is the true privilege of a queen. One day, sir, I chose you from every one. I do not know what drew my heart towards you, but I had need of a strong and pure friendship, and I allowed you to perceive that need; but now I see that your soul does not respond to mine, and I tell you so frankly."
"Oh, madame," cried Charny, "I cannot let you take away your heart from me! If you have once given it to me, I will keep it with my life; I cannot lose you. You reproached me with my doubts – oh, do not doubt me!"
"Ah," said she, "but you are weak, and I, alas, am so also."
"You are all I love you to be."
"What!" cried she, passionately, "this abused queen, this woman about to be publicly judged, that the world condemns, and that her king and husband may, perhaps, also in turn condemn, has she found one heart to love her?"
"A slave, who venerates her, and offers her his heart's blood in exchange for every pang he has caused her!"
"Then," cried she, "this woman is blessed and happy, and complains of nothing!"
Charny fell at her feet, and kissed her hands in transport. At that moment the door opened, and the king surprised, at the feet of his wife, the man whom he had just heard accused by the Comte de Provence.
