AS CAGLIOSTRO had said, as Mirabeau had foretold, it was the king who had caused all Gilbert's plans to prove abortive. The queen, who in the offers made to Mirabeau had placed more reliance on the curiosity of a woman than the policy of a queen, saw without great regret the fall of the whole constitutional structure. As for the king, it was his policy to wait, to gain time and profit by circumstances. There were also the two intrigues for an escape from Paris and a retreat to some fortress; this was his favourite idea..
These two negotiations we know were those brought about on the one hand by M. de Favras, the agent of Monsieur, and that of Charny, emphatically the man of Louis XVI.
Charny had gone from Paris to Metz in two days. He had found M. de Bouille at Mete, and had given him a letter. This letter, be it remembered, was but a method of putting Charny in communication with M. de Bouille, who, though much discontented with the state of things, acted with great reserve.
Before he gave Charny an answer, Bouille determined, under the pretext that Charny's powers were not extensive enough, to send to Paris and communicate directly with the king. For this mission he selected his son, Count Louis de Bouille.
Charny would, during these negotiations, remain at Metz. There was nothing to call him to Paris, and his almost exaggerated honour made him feel it obligatory on him to remain at Metz, as it were a hostage.
Count Louis reached Paris about the middle of November. At this time the king was watched by M. de Lafayette, and Count Louis de Bouille was his cousin.
He went to the house of one of his friends, whose patriotic sentiments were well known, and who then travelled in England.
To enter the Tuileries unknown to M. de Lafayette was then, if not impossible, at least very dangerous to the young man.
On the other hand, as Lafayette must necessarily be in total ignorance of the communications of the king to M. de Bouille, nothing was easier than for Count Louis to call on his cousin Lafayette.
Circumstances seemed to contribute to the young officer's wishes.
He had been three days in Paris without coming to any decision, and ever thinking on a way to reach the king, and asking himself if it was not better to call at once on Lafayette, when he received a letter, stating that his presence in Paris was known, and inviting him to the head-quarters of the staff of the guard, at the Hotel de Noailles.
The count went to head-quarters. The general had just gone to the Hotel de Ville, where he had business with Bailly. He, however, saw the general's aide-de-camp, Romoeuf.
Romoeuf had served in the same regiment with the young count, and though one belonged to the aristocracy and the other to the democracy, they were friends. Since then, Romoeuf had gone into one of the regiments disbanded after July 14th, and served only in the National Guard, where he was aide-de-camp of Lafayette. The two young men, though differing in other matters, each bore love and respect to the king. One loved him, however, as a patriot, provided he swore and maintained the constitution; while the other loved him as the aristocrats did, on condition that he would refuse the oath, and appeal, if necessary, to strangers to bring the people to their senses.
Romoeuf was twenty-six, Louis de Bouille twenty-two. They could not therefore talk politics long.
Count Louis, too, did not wish even to be suspected to have any serious idea.
As a great secret, he told Romoeuf that, on a simple leave, he had come to Paris to see a woman he adored.
While he thus confided in the aide-decamp, Lafayette appeared at the threshold of the door, which had remained open; though he perfectly saw the new-comer in the glass placed before him, M. de Bouille went on with his story; only, that in spite of the signs of Romoeuf, which he pretended not to understand, he raised his voice, so that the general did not lose a word of what was said.
The general heard all, precisely as young Bouille had intended he should.
He continued to advance behind the narrator, and put his hand on his shoulder. “Ah, ha! M. de Libertin. This is the reason why you hide yourself from your relations.”
The young general of thirty-two was not a very rigid monitor, for at that time he was much sought after by the women of fashion. Louis was not much afraid of the blowing-up he was to get.
“I did not conceal myself, my dear cousin, for on this very day I intended to have the honour to present myself to the most illustrious of them, and would have done so, had I not been anticipated by this message.”
He showed the letter he had just received.
“Well, then, do you country gentlemen say that the Parisian police is badly organized?” said the general, with an air of satisfaction, proving that on that head his self-esteem was interested.
“We know, general, that we can hide nothing from him who watches over the people's liberty and the king's life.”
Lafayette looked aside at his cousin, with an expression at once kind, spiritual, and mixed something with raillery, which we ourselves have seen him use. He knew that the safety of the king was a great matter of interest to this branch of the family, though popular liberty was of little importance in its eyes. Hence he only answered a portion of the last speech.
“And has the Marquis de Bouille, my cousin,” said he, emphatically, using a title he had renounced after the night of the 4th of August, “given his son no commission to his king relating to this safety and protection?”
“He bade me place at his feet the greatest protestations of respect,” said the young man, “if General Lafayette does not think me unworthy of being presented to my king.”
“As soon as possible, general.”
“I believe I have had the honour of telling you or Romoeuf that I am here without a leave.”
“You told Romoeuf; but, as I heard it, it is all the same. Well, good actions should not be retarded. It is eleven; I see the king every day at noon, and the queen also. Eat with me, if you have not breakfasted, and I will take you to the Tuileries.”
“But,” said the young man, looking at his uniform, “am I in costume?”
“In the first place, my child, I will tell you that the great question of etiquette, your nurse, is very sick, if not dead, since you left. When I look, though, your coat is irreproachable and your boots clean. What costume so becomes a gentleman ready to die for his king as his uniform? Come, Romoeuf, see if breakfast is ready. I will immediately after take M. de Bouille to the Tuileries.”
The proposition was too much in accordance with the young man's wishes for him to make any real objection, so he bowed an assent at once, and thanked his kinsman.
Half an hour afterwards, the sentinels at the gates presented arms to General Lafayette and the young Count de Bouille, without suspecting that they were at once paying military compliments to both revolution and counter revolution.
Every door was opened to Monsieur de Lafayette. The sentinels saluted, the footmen bowed; the king of the king, the maise of the palace, was easily recognised, as Marat said.
Lafayette was first introduced into the rooms of the queen; the king was at his forge.
Three years had passed since M. Louis de Bouille had seen Marie Antoinette.
The queen had reached the age of thirty-four, as Michelet says, a touching age, which Vandyck so loved to paint; the age of a wife, the age of a mother, and, in the case of Marie Antoinette especially, the age of a queen.
During these three years, the queen had suffered much both in body and mind, and also in self-respect. Thirty-four years seemed, therefore, to be written on the cheeks of the poor woman, by those slight, changeable violet lines which speak of eyes full of tears and sleepless nights, which betray some deep sorrow in a woman's heart, whether she be either woman or queen—sorrow incurable until it be extinguished.
This was the age of Marie Stuart when she was in prison. It was the age of her deepest passion, when Douglas, Mortimer, Norfolk, and Babington became enamoured of her, devoted themselves to, and died for her.
The sight of this royal prisoner, hated, calumniated, maligned—the 5th of October had proved those ligns not vain—made a deep impression on the chivalric heart of young Louis de Bouille.
Women are never mistaken in the influence they produce. It is a portion of the education of kings and queens to remember faces they have seen, and as soon as Marie Antoinette saw M. de Bouille, she recognised him; as soon as she saw him, she knew she saw a friend.
The result was, that even before the count was presented, before he was at the foot of the divan on which the queen lay, and as one speaks to an old friend who has long been absent and who is welcomed back, or to a servant on whose fidelity we may rely, she exclaimed at once, “Ah! M. de Bouille.”
Without paying any attention to Lafayette, she offered her hand to the young man.
This was one of the queen's mistakes, and she committed many such. M. de Bouille was hers without this favour, and by this favour, granted in the presence of Lafayette, who had never been similarly honoured, she established a sign of demarcation which wounded the man of whom she had most need as a friend. Therefore, with a politeness which he never laid aside, but with some emotion in his voice:
“On my honour, dear cousin,” said Lafayette, “I offered to present you to her majesty, but it seems it had been better if you had presented me.”
The queen was so happy to meet a person in whom she could confide; the woman so proud of the effect she seemed to have produced on the count, that, feeling in her heart one of those rays of youth she had fancied extinguished, and around her those breezes of spring and youth she thought gone for ever, turned towards Lafayette, and, with one of those smiles of Trianon and Versailles, said:
“General, Count Louis is not a severe republican, as you are. He has come from Metz, and not from America; he has not come to Paris to establish a constitution, but to do homage. Do not, therefore, be surprised if I grant him, though a poor and half-dethroned queen, a favour which, to a country gentleman like him, deserves to be called so, while to you—”
And the queen flirted almost as much as a young girl would, anxious to say, “While to you, Sir Scipio, while to you, Sir Cincinnatus, such things would be ridiculous.”
“Madame,” said Lafayette, “I have ever been kind and respectful to the queen, though she never understood my respect or appreciated my devotion; this is, to me, a great misfortune, but, perhaps, is a greater one for her.” He bowed.
The queen looked at him with her clear blue eye; more than once Lafayette had spoken to her thus, and more than once had she reflected on his words. It was, however, her misfortune to entertain a repulsive and intense dislike to the man. “Come, general,” said she, “be generous; excuse me, pardon me.”
“I pardon you, madame! for what?”
“My enthusiasm for these good De Bouilles, who love me with all their heart, and of whom this young man is an almost electric chain; I saw his father, his uncles, when he appeared and kissed my hand.”
“Now,” said the queen, “having pardoned me, let there be peace. Let us shake hands, general, as Englishmen and Americans do.”
She gave him her hand; it was open, with the palm upwards, en carte. Lafayette touched, with a slow and cold hand, that of the queen, and said, “I regret that you will never remember, madame, that I am a Frenchman. The 6th of October, and 16th of November, however, are not very distant.”
“You are right, general,” said the queen, clasping his hand, “it is I who am ungrateful.” She sank back on the sofa, as if she were overcome by emotion.
“This should not surprise you,” she said; “you know the reproach is often made me.” Then, lifting up her head, she said, ''Well, general, what news from Paris?”
Lafayette had a petty vengeance to appease, and took the present opportunity to do so.
“Ah, madame,” said he, “how sorry I am that you were not yesterday at the Assembly; you would have witnessed a touching scene, which certainly would have moved your heart: an old man came to thank the Assembly and the king, for the Assembly, you know, is powerless without the king, for the happiness he owed to it.”
“Yes, madame; and what an old man! He is one of the deans of humanity, an old peasant, subject to the capital jurisdiction of his lord—a hundred and twenty years old. He was brought from the Jura to the bar of the Assembly by five generations of descendants, to thank them for the decree of August the 4th. Can you fancy how a man looked, who was for fifty years a serf under Louis XIV., and for seventy years since?”
“And what did the Assembly do for this man?”
“It rose with one accord, and made him sit down and cover himself.”
“Ah!” said the queen, with the tone peculiar to herself, “it must have been very touching; I am sorry I was not there; you, however, better than any one else, know that we cannot always be where we wish to be.”
The general, by his motions, signified that he had nothing to say. The queen continued, though without the interruption of a moment:
“No, I was here, and received the wife of Francois, whom the National Assembly suffered to be killed at its very door. What was the Assembly doing then, M. de Lafayette?”
“Madame, you speak of one of the misfortunes which are most distressing to the representatives of France. They could not prevent the murder, but, at least, they punished the murderers.”
“Yes; but that is a small consolation to the poor woman; she is almost crazy, and it is thought that she will give birth to a stillborn child. If the child live, I have promised to be its godmother, that the people may know that at least I am not insensible to its sorrows. I ask you, dear general, would it be inconvenient to christen the child at Notre Dame?”
“Madame, this is the second time you have alluded to the captivity in which it is pretended to your faithful servants I keep you.' Madame, I say before my cousin, before Paris, before Europe, before the world, I wrote yesterday to M. Monnier, who laments over your captivity in Dauphiny, that you are free. Madame, I have but one request to make, that the king resume his hunting parties, and his excursions, and that you, madame, accompany him.”
The queen smiled, like a person unconvinced.
“As for becoming godmother to the poor orphan about to be born in mourning, in promising to do so, the queen has obeyed only the dictates of that excellent heart which makes all who approach love her; when the day appointed for the ceremony shall have come, the queen can select any church she pleases; she has but to order, and she will be obeyed. Now,” said the general, “I await her majesty's orders for to-day.”
“To-day, my dear general,” said the queen, “I have no prayer to address you, but that you invite your cousin, if he remain long in Paris, to one of the circles of the Princess de Lamballe; you know she receives both for herself and me.”
“I, madame,” said Lafayette, “will take advantage of the invitation, both for him and myself. If your majesty has not seen me there before, I beg you believe it was because you had ceased to manifest any wish to do so.”
The queen replied by a bow and a smile. This was a dismissal. Each one understood his own part of the scene. Lafayette took the dismissal to himself—Count Louis took the smile as his.
They both retired backwards, the one having acquired, from this scene, far more bitterness, and the other inspired with far more devotion.
At the door of the queen's room the two visitors found the valet de chambre of the king, Huet.
The king wished him to say to M. de Lafayette, that having begun a curious piece of locksmithing, he wished him to come to the forge.
A forge was the first thing Louis XVI. asked after, on his arrival at the Tuileries; and when he learned that this necessity had been forgotten by Catherine de Medici and Philibert de Lorraine, he selected, on the second story, just above his bedroom, a great garret with two stairways, one in his room and the other in the corridor, as his locksmith shop.
Amid all the troubles that had assailed him, during the five weeks he had been at the Tuileries, Louis XVI. had not forgotten his forge. His forge had been his fixed idea, and he had himself taken charge of the arrangement, prescribing a place for the bellows, the hearth, the anvil, the bench, and the vice. The forge being fixed sound, bastards, hooks, pincers of every variety, were soon in their places, and every other imaginable thing which locksmiths use was in reach. Louis XVI. had not been able to resist any longer, and, ever since morning, had been busy at that trade which distracted his attention so completely, and in which, if we believe Master Gamain, he would have been a proficient, had not certain idlers, like Turgot de Calonne and M. Necker, diverted him from his business by talking of the affairs of France, which Gamain might have submitted to, but also of the affairs of Brabant, Austria, England, America and Spain. This is the reason why, being busy with his work, Louis XVI., instead of coming to see Lafayette, had asked the general to come to him.
Perhaps, too, having shown the commandant of the National Guard his weakness as a king, he was not unwilling to exhibit himself in his majesty as a locksmith.
At the door of the forge, the valet bowed and said, as he was ignorant of De Bouille's name, “Whom shall I announce?”
“The General-in-Chief of the National Guard. I will present this gentleman to his majesty.”
“The Commander-in-Chief of the National Guard,” said the valet.
“Ah, ah, is it you, M. de Lafayette? I beg you excuse me for making you come hither, but the locksmith assures you that you are welcome to his forge. A charcoal-burner told Henri IV., my grandfather, that every charcoal-burner is lord of his kiln. I tell you, general, that you are master both of the smith and of the king.” Louis XVI., it will be seen, began the conversation in almost the same manner that Marie Antoinette had.
“Sire,” said Lafayette, “under whatever circumstances I may have the honour to present myself to you, in whatever story, or in whatever costume I find you, to me the king is ever the king, and I who now offer you my homage will ever be your true and devoted servant.”
“I do not doubt it, marquis. Have you, though, changed your aide-de-camp?—for I see that you are not alone. Does this young officer occupy the place of either M. Gouvion or of M. Romoeuf?”
“This young officer, sire, and I ask permission to present him to you, is my cousin, Count Louis de Bouille, captain of Monsieur's regiment of dragoons.”
“Ah, ah!” said the king, exhibiting a slight emotion; “yes. Count Louis de Bouille, son of the Marquis de Bouille; excuse me for not having recognised you, but I am very shortsighted. Have you been long from Metz?”
“About five days, sire; I am in Paris without any official leave, but by permission of my father, and I came to ask General Lafayette, my kinsman, the honour of being presented to your majesty.”
“M. de la Fayette! you did well. No one was better calculated to present you at any time, and presentation by no one would be more agreeable to me.”
“Your majesty,” said Lafayette, not a little puzzled how to approach a king who had received him with his sleeves turned up, with a file in his hand, and wearing a leathern apron, “has undertaken an important work?”
“Yes, general, I have undertaken the great masterpiece of a locksmith, an entire lock. I tell you what I do, so that if Marat knew I had gone to work and should say that I forged chains for France, you might tell him you know better. You, M. de Bouille, are neither locksmith nor journeyman.”
“No, sire, hut I am an apprentice, and if I could in any way he useful to your majesty—
“Ah! true, my dear cousin, was not the husband of your nurse a locksmith? Your father used to say, that although no admirer of the advice of the author of 'Emile,' if he had to follow it with regard to you, he would make you a locksmith.”
“Exactly, sir; and that is why I had the honour to tell his majesty that if he needed an apprentice—
“An apprentice would not be without his use to me, sir,” said the king; “what I want, though, is a master.”
“What kind of a lock is your majesty making, though?” asked young De Bouille. “Spring, double bolt, catch lock, or what?”
“Cousin,” said Lafayette, “I do not know you to be a practical man, but as a man of theory, you seem to me quite en courant du jour —I will not say of the trade, for the king has ennobled it, but of the art.”
Louis heard the young gentleman mention the different kind of locks with visible pleasure, and said:
“No, it is simply a secret lock, known as the Benarde lock, with bolts on both sides. I feel, though, that I have over-estimated my power. Ah! had I but Gamain; he used to call himself master over master, master over all.”
“No,” said the king, glancing at the young nobleman, with an expression, which seemed to say. “Do you not understand?—No: he is at Versailles, Rue des Reservoirs, No. 9. The old fellow would not dare to come to see me at the Tuileries.”
“How so, sire?” said Lafayette.
“For fear of compromising himself. Just now a King of France is a very dangerous acquaintance, and the evidence is, that all my friends are either at London, Coblentz, or Turin. But, my dear general, if you do not think it inconvenient for him to come with one of his apprentices to give the finishing stroke, I will send for him.”
“Sire,” said M. de Lafayette, quickly, “your majesty knows perfectly well that you can order what you please, and send for whom you will.”
“Yes, provided they submit to be felt and handled by your sentinels as if they were smugglers. Poor Gamain would think himself lost, if his files were considered poignards and his sack a cartouch box.”
“I cannot, sire, excuse myself: but I answer to Paris, to France, to Europe, for the king's life, and I cannot take too much precaution to preserve that precious life. As far as the man you speak of is concerned, your majesty may give any orders you please.”
“That is well; thank you, M. de Lafayette, but I shall not need him or his apprentice for ten days,” added he, looking at M. de Bouille aside. “I will send my valet de chambre, Durey, who is one of his friends, for him.”
“When he comes, sire, he will be admitted to his king. His name will be his passport. God protect me, sir, from bearing the reputation of a jailer, of a watch dog, or a turnkey. No king was ever more free than you are now. I have come even to beg your majesty to resume your hunting parties and your excursions.”
“My hunting parties! no, thank you. Besides, just now I am thinking of other matters. My excursions, you see, are different. My last one, from Versailles to Paris, has cured me of all desire to wander—at least with so many persons.”
The king again glanced at young De Bouille, who by a slight motion of the eyes showed that he understood his words.
“Sire,” said young De Bouille, “in two or three days I leave Paris; not, however, for Metz, but for Versailles, where I have an old grand-mother, in the Rue des Reservoirs, whom I must see. Besides, I am authorised by my father to terminate an important family affair, and eight or ten days hence I am to see the person from whom I am to receive orders. I shall not, therefore, see my father until the early part of December, unless the king wishes me at once to go to Metz.”
Lafayette smiled at hearing this allusion to his omnipotence.
“Sire, I would long ago have recommended both the Messieurs de Bouille to M. de Portail, had I not the honour of being their relation. The fear that it should be said I used the king's favour for the benefit of my family alone has prevented me.”
“The king will permit me to say that my father would regard as an unkindness, as a disgrace, almost any promotion which would deprive him of the means of serving his king.”
“Oh! that is well understood, and I will not permit the position of M. de Bouille to be touched, except to make it more consonant with his wishes and with mine. Let M. de Lafayette and myself attend to that, while you attend to pleasure without neglecting business. Go, gentlemen, go.”
He dismissed the two nobles with an air of majesty which strangely contrasted with his vulgar dress. Then, when the door was shut, he said: “Well, I think the young man understood me, and that in eight or ten days, I will find Master Gamain and his apprentice, to aid me in putting on my lock.”
