WHEN Gilbert resumed his place in the hackney coach by the side of Billot and opposite to Pitou, he was pale, and the perspiration was standing in large drops on his forehead.
But it was not in the nature of this man to remain for any time overwhelmed by any emotion whatsoever. He threw himself back into the corner of the carriage, pressed both his hands to his forehead as if he wished to repress the boiling thoughts which raged within it, and after remaining a few moments motionless, he withdrew his hands, and instead of an agitated countenance, he exhibited features which were particularly calm.
“You told me, I think, my dear Monsieur Billot, that the king had dismissed Monsieur de Necker?”
“Yes, indeed, Monsieur Gilbert.”
“And that the commotions in Paris originated in some measure from the disgrace of the minister?”
“And you added that Monsieur de Necker had immediately left Versailles.”
“He received the king's letter while at dinner. In an hour afterwards he was on the road to Brussels.”
“Did you not hear it said that he had stopped somewhere on the road?”
“Oh, yes; he stopped at St. Ouen, in order to take leave of his daughter, the Baroness de Staël.”
“Did Madame de Staël go with him?”
“I was told that he and his wife alone set out for Brussels.”
“Coachman!” cried Gilbert, “stop at the first tailor's shop you see.”
“You wish to change your coat?” said Billot.
“Yes. In good sooth, this one smells too much of its contact with the walls of the Bastille; and a man cannot in such a dress discreetly pay a visit to the daughter of an ex-minister in disgrace. Search your pockets, and see if you cannot find a few louis for me.”
“Ho, ho!” cried the farmer, “it seems that you have left your purse in the Bastille.”
“That is according to the regulations,” said Gilbert, smiling. “All articles of value are deposited in the registry office.”
“And they remain there,” said the farmer.
And opening his huge fist, which contained about twenty louis:—
“Take these, Doctor,” said he.
Gilbert took ten louis. Some minutes afterwards the hackney coach stopped at the door of a ready-made clothes shop.
It was still the usage in those days.
Gilbert changed his coat, soiled by the walls of the Bastille, for a very decent black one, such as was worn by the gentlemen of the Tiers État in the National Assembly.
A hair-dresser in his shop, a Savoyard shoe-cleaner in his cellar, completed the doctor's toilette.
The doctor then ordered the coachman to drive him to St. Ouen, by the exterior Boulevards, which they reached by going behind the walls of the park at Monceaux.
Gilbert alighted at the gate of Monsieur Necker's house, at the moment when the cathedral clock of Dagobert struck seven in the evening.
Around this house, which erewhile was so much sought, so much frequented, reigned the most profound silence, disturbed only by the arrival of Gilbert.
And yet there was none of that melancholy appearance which generally surrounds abandoned country-houses,—of that gloominess even generally visible in a mansion, the master of which has been disgraced.
The gates being closed, the garden-walks deserted, merely announced that the heads of the family were absent, but there was no trace of misfortune or of precipitation.
Besides this, one whole portion of the château, the east wing, had still its window-shutters open, and when Gilbert was advancing towards this side, a servant, wearing the livery of Monsieur de Necker, approached the visitor.
The following dialogue then took place through the iron gratings of the gate.
“Monsieur de Necker is not at home, my friend?” said Gilbert.
“No; the baron left St. Ouen last Saturday for Brussels.”
“And her ladyship, the baroness?”
“Madame de Staël has remained here; but I do not know whether madame will receive any one; it is her hour for walking.”
“Please to find out where she is, and announce to her Doctor Gilbert.”
“I will go and inquire whether madame is in the house or not. Doubtless she will receive you, sir; but should she be talking a walk, my orders are that she is not to be disturbed.”
“Very well; go quickly, I beg of you.”
The servant opened the gate, and Gilbert entered the grounds.
While relocking the gate, the servant cast an inquisitive glance on the vehicle which had brought the doctor, and on the extraordinary faces of his two travelling companions; then he went off, shaking his head, like a man who feels somewhat perplexed, but who defies any other intellect to see clearly into a matter where his own has been altogether puzzled.
Gilbert remained alone, waiting his return.
In about five minutes the servant reappeared.
“The Baroness de Staël is taking a walk,” said he, and he bowed in order to dismiss Gilbert.
But the doctor was not so easily got rid of.
“My friend,” said he, “be pleased to make a slight infraction in your orders, and tell the baroness, when you announce me to her, that I am a friend of the Marquis de Lafayette.”
A louis, slipped into the lackey's hands, completely removed the scruples he had entertained, which the name of the marquis had nearly half dispelled.
“Come in, sir,” said the servant.
Gilbert followed him; but instead of taking him into the house he led him into the park.
“This is the favorite walk of the baroness,” said the lackey to Gilbert, pointing out to him the entrance to a species of labyrinth; “will you remain here a moment?”
Ten minutes afterwards he heard a rustling among the leaves, and a woman between twenty-three and twenty-four years of age, and of a figure rather noble than graceful, appeared to the eyes of Gilbert.
She seemed surprised on finding a man who still appeared young, when she had doubtless expected to meet one advanced in years.
Gilbert was a man of sufficiently remarkable appearance to strike at first sight so able an observer as Madame de Staël.
The features of few men were formed with such pure lines, and these lines had assumed, by the exercise of an all-powerful will, a character of extraordinary inflexibility. His fine black eyes, which were always so expressive, had become somewhat veiled by his literary labors and the sufferings he had undergone, and had lost a portion of that mobility which is one of the charms of youth.
A wrinkle, which was at once deep and graceful, hollowed out at the corner of his thin lips, that mysterious cavity in which physiognomists place the seat of circumspection. It appeared that time alone, and a precocious old age, had given to Gilbert that quality with which nature had neglected to endow him.
A wide and well-rounded forehead, slightly receding towards the roots of his fine black hair, which for years powder had no longer whitened, gave evidence at once of knowledge and of thought, of study and imagination. With Gilbert, as with his master, Rousseau, his prominent eyebrows threw a deep shade over his eyes, and from this shade glanced forth the luminous rays which revealed life.
Gilbert, notwithstanding his unassuming dress, presented himself before the future authoress of “Corinne,” with a remarkably dignified and distinguished air,—an air of which his well-shaped tapering white hands, his small feet, and his finely formed and muscular legs, completed the noble appearance.
Madame de Staël devoted some moments to examining Gilbert.
During this, Gilbert, on his side, had given a stiff sort of bow, which slightly recalled the modest civility of the American Quakers, who grant to women only the fraternity which protects instead of the respect which smiles.
Then, with a rapid glance, he, in his turn, analyzed the person of the already celebrated young woman, whose intelligent and expressive features were altogether devoid of beauty; it was the head of an insignificant and frivolous youth, rather than that of a woman, but which surmounted a form of voluptuous luxuriance.
She held in her hand a twig from a pomegranate-tree, from which, from absence of mind, she was biting off the blossoms.
“Is it you, sir,” inquired the baroness, “who are Doctor Gilbert?”
“Yes, Madame, my name is Gilbert.”
“You are very young, to have acquired so great a reputation, or rather, does not that reputation appertain to your father, or to some relative older than yourself?”
“I do not know any one of the name of Gilbert but myself, Madame. And if indeed there is, as you say, some slight degree of reputation attached to the name, I have a fair right to claim it.”
“You made use of the name of the Marquis de Lafayette, in order to obtain this interview with me, sir; and, in fact, the marquis has spoken to us of you, of your inexhaustible knowledge—”
“A knowledge which is so much the more remarkable and so much the more replete with interest,” continued the baroness, “since it appears that you are not a mere ordinary chemist, a practitioner, like so many others, but that you have sounded all the mysteries of the science of life.”
“I clearly perceive, Madame, that the Marquis de Lafayette must have told you that I am somewhat of a sorcerer,” replied Gilbert, smiling; “and if he has told you so, I know that he has talent enough to prove it to you, had he wished to do so.”
“In fact, sir, he has spoken to us of the marvellous cures you often performed, whether on the field of battle, or in the American hospitals, upon patients whose lives were altogether despaired of; you plunged them, the general told us, into a factitious death, which so much resembled death itself, that it was difficult to believe it was not real.”
“That factitious death, Madame, is the result of a science almost still unknown, now confided only to the hands of some few adepts, but which will soon become common.”
“It is mesmerism you are speaking of, is it not?” asked Madame de Staël with a smile.
“Did you take lessons of the master himself?”
“Alas! Madame, Mesmer himself was only a scholar.
Mesmerism, or rather magnetism, was an ancient science, known to the Egyptians and the Greeks. It was lost in the ocean of the middle ages. Shakespeare divined it in Macbeth. Urbain Grandier found it once more, and died for having found it. But the great master—my master—was the Count de Cagliostro.”
“That mountebank!” cried Madame de Staël.
“Madame, Madame, beware of judging as do contemporaries, and not as posterity will judge. To that mountebank I owe my knowledge, and perhaps the world will be indebted to him for its liberty.”
“Be it so,” replied Madame de Staël, again smiling: “I speak without knowing,—you speak with full knowledge of the subject. It is probable that you are right and that I am wrong. But let us return to you. Why is it that you have so long kept yourself at so great a distance from France? Why have you not returned to take your place, your proper station, among the great men of the age, such as Lavoisier, Cabanis, Condorcet, Bailly, and Louis?”
At this last name Gilbert blushed, though almost imperceptibly.
“I have yet too much to study, Madame, to rank myself all at once among these great masters.”
“But you have come at last, though at an unpropitious moment for us; my father, who would, I feel assured, have been happy to be of service to you, has been disgraced, and left here three days ago.”
“Baroness,” said he, bowing slightly, “ only six days ago I was imprisoned in the Bastille, pursuant to an order from Baron Necker.”
Madame de Staël blushed in her turn.
“Really, sir, you have just told me something that greatly surprises me. You in the Bastille!”
“What had you done to occasion your imprisonment?”
“Those alone who threw me into prison can tell that.”
“But you are no longer in prison!”
“No, Madame, because the Bastille no longer exists.”
“How can that be?—does the Bastille no longer exist?” cried Madame de Staël, feigning astonishment.
“Did you not hear the firing of cannon?”
“Yes; but cannons are only cannons, that is all.”
“Oh, permit me to tell you, Madame, that it is impossible that Madame de Staël, the daughter of Monsieur de Necker, should not know, at this present time, that the Bastille has been taken by the people.”
“I assure you, sir,” replied the baroness, somewhat confused, “that being unacquainted with any of the events which have taken place since the departure of my father, I no longer occupy my time but in deploring his absence.”
“Madame! Madame!” said Gilbert, shaking his head, “the State messengers are so familiar with the road that leads to the château of St. Ouen, that at least one bearer of despatches must have arrived during the four hours that have elapsed since the capitulation of the Bastille.”
The baroness saw that it was impossible for her to deny it without positively lying. She abhorred a falsehood; she therefore changed the subject of the conversation.
“And to what lucky event do I owe your visit, sir?” asked she.
“I wished to have the honor of speaking to Monsieur de Necker, Madame.”
“But do you know that he is no longer in France?”
“Madame, it appeared to me so extraordinary that Monsieur de Necker should be absent, so impolitic that he should not have watched the course of events—”
“That I relied upon you, I must confess, Madame, to tell me where I could find him.”
“You will find him at Brussels, sir.”
Gilbert fixed his searching gaze upon the baroness.
“Thank you, Madame,” said he, bowing; “I shall then set out for Brussels, as I have matters of the highest importance to communicate to him.”
Madame de Staël appeared to hesitate, then she rejoined:—
“Fortunately I know you, sir,” said she, “and I know you to be a man of serious character. 'Tis true, important things might lose a great deal of their value by passing through other lips. But what can there be of importance to my father, after his disgrace—after what has taken place?”
“There is the future, Madame; and perhaps I shall not be altogether without influence over the future. But all these reflections are to no purpose. The most important thing for me, and for him, is, that I should see Monsieur de Necker. Thus, Madame, you say that he is at Brussels?”
“It will take me twenty hours to go there. Do you know what twenty hours are during a revolution, and how many important events may take place during twenty hours? Oh! how imprudent it was for Monsieur de Necker, Madame, to place twenty hours between himself and any event which might take place—between the hand and the object it desires to reach.”
“In truth, sir, you frighten me,” said Madame de Staël, “and I begin to think that my father has really been imprudent.”
“But what would you have, Madame? Things are thus, are they not I have, therefore, merely to make you a most humble apology for the trouble that I have given you. Adieu, Madame.”
“I tell you, sir, that you alarm me,” she rejoined; “you owe me an explanation of all this; you must tell me something that will reassure me.”
“Alas! Madame,” replied Gilbert, “I have so many private interests to watch over at this moment, that it is impossible for me to think of those of others; my life and honor are at stake, as would be the life and honor of Monsieur de Necker if he could take advantage of the words which I shall tell him in the course of twenty hours.”
“Sir, allow me to remember something that I have too long forgotten; it is that grave subjects ought not to be discussed in the open air, in a park, within the reach of every ear.”
“Madame,” said Gilbert, “I am now at your house, and permit me to observe that consequently it is you who have chosen the place where we now are. What do you wish? I am entirely at your command.”
“I wish you to do me the favor to finish this conversation in my cabinet.”
“Ah! ah!” said Gilbert to himself, “if I did not fear to confuse her, I would ask her whether her cabinet is at Brussels.”
But without further question he contented himself with following the baroness, who began to walk quickly toward the château.
The same servant who had admitted Gilbert was found standing in front of the house. Madame de Staël made a sign to him, and opening the doors herself, she led Gilbert into her cabinet, a charming retreat, more masculine, it is true, than feminine, of which the second door and the two windows opened into a small garden, which was not only inaccessible to others, but also beyond the reach of all strange eyes.
When they had gone in, Madame de Staël closed the door, and turning towards Gilbert:—
“Sir, in the name of humanity, I call upon you to tell me the secret which is so important to my father, and which has brought you to St. Ouen.”
“Madame,” said Gilbert, “if your father could now hear me, if he could but know that I am the man who sent the king the secret memoirs entitled, 'Of the State of Ideas and of Progress,' I am sure the Baron de Necker would immediately appear, and say to me, 'Doctor Gilbert, what do you desire of me? Speak; I am listening.'“
Gilbert had hardly pronounced these words when a secret door which was concealed by a panel painted by Vanloo was noiselessly slid aside, and the Baron de Necker, with a smiling countenance, suddenly appeared, standing at the foot of a small, winding staircase, at the top of which could be perceived the dim rays of a lamp.
Then the Baroness de Staël courtesied to Gilbert, and kissing her father's forehead, left the room by the same staircase which her father had just descended, and having closed the panel, she disappeared.
Necker advanced towards Gilbert, and gave him his hand, saying,—
“Here I am, Monsieur Gilbert; what do you desire of me? Speak, I am listening.”
“Monsieur le Baron,” said Gilbert, “you have just heard a secret which has revealed all my ideas to you. It was I who, four years ago, sent an essay to the king on the general state of Europe; it is I who, since then, have sent him from the United States the various works he has received on all the questions of conciliation and internal administration which have been discussed in France.”
“Works of which his Majesty,” replied Monsieur de Necker, bowing, “has never spoken to me without expressing a deep admiration of them, though at the same time a profound terror at their contents.”
“Yes, because they told the truth. Was it not because the truth was then terrible to hear, and, having now become a fact, it is still more terrible to witness?”
“That is unquestionably true, sir,” said Necker.
“Did the king send these essays to you for perusal?” asked Gilbert.
“Not all of them, sir; only two: one on the subject of the finances—and you were of my opinion with a very few exceptions; but I nevertheless felt myself much honored by it.”
“But that is not all; there was one in which I predicted all the important events which have taken place.”
“And which of them, sir, I pray?”
“There were two in particular; one was that the king would find himself some day compelled to dismiss you, in consequence of some engagements he had previously entered into.”
“Did you predict my disgrace to him?”
“That was the first event: what was the second?”
“Did you predict the taking of the Bastille?”
“Monsieur le Baron, the Bastille was more than a royal prison, it was the symbol of tyranny. Liberty has commenced its career by destroying the symbol; the Revolution will do the rest.”
“Have you duly considered the serious nature of the words you have just uttered, sir?”
“And you are not afraid to express such a theory openly?”
“Afraid lest some misfortune should befall you.”
“Monsieur de Necker,” said Gilbert, smiling, “ after once having got out of the Bastille, a man has nothing more to fear.”
“Have you, then, come out of the Bastille?”
“And why were you thrown into the Bastille?”
“I ought to ask you that question.”
“Because it was you who caused my imprisonment there.”
“I had you thrown into the Bastille?”
“Six days ago; the date, as you see, is not so very remote that you should not be able to recollect it.”
“Do you recognize your own signature?”
And Gilbert showed the ex-minister the leaf of the jail-book of the Bastille, and the lettre de cachet which was annexed to it.
“Yes,” said Necker, “that is doubtless the lettre de cachet. You know that I signed as few as possible, and that the smallest number possible was still four thousand annually; besides, at the moment of my departure, they made me sign several in blank. Your warrant of imprisonment, sir, must have been one of the latter.”
“Do you mean to imply by this that I must in no way attribute my imprisonment to you?”
“But still, Monsieur le Baron,” said Gilbert, smiling, “you understand my motives for being so curious; it is absolutely necessary that I should know to whom I am indebted for my captivity. Be good enough, therefore, to tell me.”
“Oh! there is nothing easier. I have always taken the precaution never to leave my letters at the ministry, and every evening I brought them back here. Those of this month are in the drawer B of this chiffonnier; let us look for the letter G in the bundle.”
Necker opened the drawer, and looked over an enormous file, which might have contained some five or six hundred letters.
“I only keep those letters,” said the ex-minister, “which are of such a nature as to cover my responsibility. Every arrest that I order insures me another enemy. I had therefore to guard myself against such a contingency. An omission to do so would surprise me greatly. Let us see—G—G, that is the one. Yes, Gilbert—your arrest was brought about by some one in the queen's household, my dear sir. Ah—ah!—in the queen's household—yes, here is a request for a warrant against a man named Gilbert. Profession not mentioned; black eyes, black hair. The description of your person follows. Travelling from Havre to Paris. That is all. Then the Gilbert mentioned in the warrant must have been you.”
“It was myself. Can you trust me with that letter?”
“No; but I can tell you by whom it is signed.”
“The Countess de Charny,” repeated Gilbert. “I do not know her. I have done nothing to displease her.”
And he raised his head gently, as if endeavoring to recall to mind the name of the person in question.
“There is, moreover, a small postscript,” continued Necker, “without any signature, but written in a hand I know.”
Gilbert stooped down and read in the margin of the letter:—
“Do what the Countess de Charny demands immediately.”
“It is strange,” said Gilbert. “I can readily conceive why the queen should have signed it, for I mentioned both her and the Polignacs in my essays. But Madame de Charny—”
“It must be an assumed name. Besides, it is not at all to be wondered at that the notabilities of Versailles should be unknown to me. I have been absent from France for fifteen years, during which time I only came back twice; and I returned after my second visit to it, some four years ago. Who is this Countess de Charny?”
“The friend, the bosom companion of the queen; the much beloved wife of the Count de Charny; a woman who is both beautiful and virtuous,—a prodigy, in short.”
“Well, then, I do not know this prodigy.”
“If such be the case, doctor, be persuaded of this, that you are the victim of some political intrigue. Have you never spoken of Count Cagliostro?”
“Were you acquainted with him?”
“He was my friend. He was even more than my friend; he was my master, my saviour.”
“Well, then, either Austria or the Holy See must have demanded your incarceration. You have published some pamphlets, have you not?”
“That is it, precisely. All their petty revenges point towards the queen, like the magnetic needle which points towards the pole,—the iron towards the loadstone. They have been conspiring against you; they have had you followed. The queen has ordered Madame de Charny to sign the letter, in order to prevent any suspicion; and now all the mystery is cleared up.”
Gilbert reflected for a moment. This moment of reflection reminded him of the box which had been stolen from Billot's house; and with which neither the queen, nor Austria, nor the Holy See had any connection. This recollection led his mind to consider the matter in its right point of view.
“No,” said he, “it is not that; it cannot be that. But it matters not. Let us talk of something else.”
“Of me? What can you have to say of me?”
“Only what you know as well as any one else. It is that before three days have elapsed you will be reinstated in your ministerial capacity; and then you may govern France as despotically as you please.”
“Do you think so?” said Necker, smiling.
“And you think so, too, since you are not at Brussels.”
“Well then,” exclaimed Necker, “what will be the result? For it is the result I wish to come to.”
“Here it is. You are beloved by the French; you will soon be adored by them. The queen was already tired of seeing you beloved. The king will grow tired of seeing you adored. They will acquire popularity at your expense, and you will not suffer it. Then you will become unpopular in your turn. The people, my dear Monsieur de Necker is like a starving lion, which licks only the hand that supplies it with food, be it whose hand it may.”
“After that you will again be lost in oblivion.”
“And what will cause me to be forgotten?”
“My word of honor for it, you speak like a prophet.”
“It is my misfortune to be one to a certain extent.”
“Let us hear now what will happen?”
“Oh, it is not difficult to predict what will happen, for that which is to happen is already in embryo in the Assembly. A party will arise that is slumbering at this moment. I am mistaken; it is not slumbering, but it hides itself. This party has for its chief a principle, and its weapon is an idea.”
“I understand you; you mean the Orleanist party?”
“No. I should have said of that one that its chief was a man, and its weapon popularity. I speak to you of a party whose name has not even yet been pronounced. Of the republican party.”
“Of the republican party? Ah! that is too ridiculous.”
“Do you not believe in its existence?”
“Yes, a chimera, with a mouth of fire that will devour you all.”
“Well, then, I shall become a republican. I am one already.”
“A republican from Geneva, certainly.”
“But it seems to me that a republican is a republican.”
“There is your mistake, my good baron. Our republicans do not resemble the republicans of other countries. Our republicans will first have to devour all privileges, then the nobility, and after that the monarchy. You may start with our republicans, but they will reach the goal without you, for you will not desire to follow them so far. No, Monsieur de Necker, you are mistaken; you are not a republican.”
“Oh, if you understand it in that sense, no; I love the king.”
“And I too,” said Gilbert; “and everybody at this moment loves him as we do. If I were to say this to a mind of less calibre than yours, I should be hooted and laughed at; but believe what I tell you, Monsieur de Necker.”
“I would readily do so, indeed, if there were any probability of such an event; but—”
“Do you know any of the secret societies?”
“I have heard them much spoken of.”
“Do you believe in their existence?”
“I believe in their existence, but I do not believe they are very extensively disseminated.”
“Are you affiliated to any one of them?”
“Do you belong even to a Masonic lodge?”
“Well, then, Monsieur de Necker, I do.”
“Are you affiliated to any of these societies?”
“Yes, to all of them. Beware, Monsieur de Necker; they form an immense net that surrounds every throne. It is an invisible dagger that threatens every monarchy. We form a brotherhood of about three millions of men, scattered abroad in every land, disseminated throughout all classes of society. We have friends among the people, among the citizens, among the nobility, among princes, among sovereigns themselves. Take care, Monsieur de Necker; the prince with whom you might be irritated is perhaps an affiliated member. The valet who humbles himself in your presence may be an affiliated member. Your life is not yours; your fortune is not your own; your honor even is not yours. All this is directed by an invisible power, which you cannot combat, for you do not know it, and which may crush you because it knows you. Well, these three millions of men, do you see, who have already made the American republic, these three millions of men will try to form a French republic; then they will try to make a European republic.”
“But,” said Necker, “their republic of the United States does not alarm me much, and I willingly accept such a form of government.”
“Yes, but between America and ourselves there is a deep gulf. America is a new country, without prejudices, without aristocratic privileges, without monarchy. It has a fertile soil, productive land, and virgin forests; America, which is situated between a sea which serves as an outlet for its commerce, and an immense solitude which is a source of wealth to its population, while France,—just consider how much it would be necessary to destroy in France before France can resemble America!”
“But, in fine, what do you intend to prove by this?”
“I mean to point out to you the path into which we are inevitably forced. But I would endeavor to advance into it without causing any shock, by placing the king at the head of the movement.”
“A shield!” observed Necker, smiling. “You know but little of the king if you wish to make him play such a part.”
“Pardon me,—I know him well. Oh, gracious heaven! I know full well he is a man similar to a thousand others whom I have seen at the head of small districts in America; he is a good man without majesty, incapable of resistance, without originality of mind. But what would you have? Were it only for his sacred title, he would still be a rampart against those men of whom I was speaking to you a short time ago; and however weak the rampart may be, we like it better than no defence at all.
“I remember in our wars with the savage tribes of North America,” continued Gilbert, “I remember having passed whole nights behind a clump of bulrushes, while the enemy was on the opposite bank of the river, and firing upon us.
“A bulrush is certainly no great defence. Still, I must frankly acknowledge to you, Monsieur de Necker, that my heart beat more freely behind those large green tubes, which were cut through by the bullets as if they were thread papers, than it did in the open field. Well, then, the king is my rush. It allows me to see the enemy, and it prevents the enemy from seeing me. That is the reason why I am a republican at New York or at Philadelphia, but a royalist in France. There our dictator was named Washington. Here, God knows what he will be named: either dagger or scaffold.”
“You seem to view things in colors of blood, Doctor.”
“You would see them in the same light as myself, if you had been, as I was, on the Place de Grève to-day.”
“Yes, that is true; I was told that a massacre had taken place there.”
“There is something magnificent, do you see, in the people; but it is when well disposed. Oh, human tempests!” exclaimed Gilbert, “how much do you surpass in fury all the tempests of the skies!”
“Why can I not have you near me, Doctor?” said he; “you would be a useful counsellor in time of need.”
“Near you, Monsieur de Necker? I should not be so useful to you, nor so useful to France, as where I wish to go.”
“And where do you wish to go?”
“Listen to me, sir; near the throne itself there is a great enemy of the throne; near the king there is a great enemy of the king; it is the queen. Poor woman! who forgets that she is the daughter of Maria Theresa, or rather, who only remembers it in a vain-glorious point of view; she thinks to save the king, and ruins more than the king, for she destroys the monarchy. Well, it is necessary that we who love the king, we who love France, should unite together to neutralize her power, and to annihilate her influence.”
“Well, then, do as I said, sir: remain with me, assist me.”
“If I were to remain near you, we should have but one sphere of action; you would be I, and I should be you. We must separate our forces, sir, and then they will acquire a double weight.”
“And, with all that, what can we accomplish?”
“We may retard the catastrophe, perhaps, but certainly we cannot prevent it, although I can answer for the assistance of a powerful auxiliary, the Marquis de Lafayette.”
“Is not Lafayette a republican?”
“As far as a Lafayette can be a republican. If we are absolutely to submit to the level of equality, believe me, we had better choose the level of nobility. I like equality that elevates, and not that which lowers mankind.”
“And you can answer for Lafayette?”
“Yes, so long as we shall require nothing of him but honor, courage, and devotedness.”
“Well, then, speak; tell me what is it you desire?”
“A letter of introduction to his Majesty, Louis XVI.”
“A man of your worth does not need a letter of introduction; he may present himself without it.”
“No, it suits me that I should be your creature; it is part of my project to be presented by you.”
“To become one of the king's physicians in ordinary.”
“Oh, there is nothing more easy. But the queen?”
“When I have once seen the king, that will be my own affair.”
“But if she should persecute you?”
“Then I will make the king assert his will.”
“The king assert his will? You will be more than a man if you accomplish that.”
“He who can control the physical part of a man, must be a great simpleton indeed if he does not some day succeed in controlling the mind.”
“But do you not think that having been imprisoned in the Bastille is but a sorry recommendation for you, who wish to become the king's physician.”
“On the contrary, it is the very best. Have I not been, according to you, persecuted for the crime of philosophy?”
“Then the king will vindicate his reputation; the king will become popular by taking as his physician a pupil of Rousseau, a partisan of the new doctrines,—a prisoner who has left the Bastille, in short. The first time you see him, make him duly weigh the advantage of such a course.”
“You are always in the right; but when once you are employed by the king, can I rely upon you?”
“Entirely, so long as you shall follow the line of politics which we shall adopt.”
“To warn you of the precise moment when you must retreat.”
Necker looked at Gilbert for a moment; then in a more thoughtful tone:—
“Indeed; that is the greatest service which a devoted friend can render to a minister, for it is the last one.”
And he seated himself at his table to write to the king.
While he was thus occupied, Gilbert was again examining the letter demanding his arrest; he several times repeated,—
“The Countess de Charny? Who can she be?”
“Here, sir,” said Necker, a few moments after, while he presented Gilbert with the letter he had just written.
Gilbert took the letter and read it.
It contained the following lines:—
SIRE,—Your Majesty needs the services of a trustworthy person, with whom you may converse upon your affairs. My last gift, my last service in leaving the king, is the present I make him of Doctor Gilbert.
It will be sufficient for me to tell your Majesty that Doctor Gilbert is not only one of the most skilful physicians living, but also the author of the works entitled “Administrations and Politics,” which made so lively an impression upon your mind.At your Majesty's feet,
BARON DE NECKER.Necker did not date the letter, and gave it to Doctor Gilbert, closed only with an ordinary seal.
“And now,” added he, “I am again at Brussels, am I not?”
“Yes, certainly, and more so than ever. To-morrow morning, at all events, you shall hear from me.”
The baron struck against the panel in a peculiar manner. Madame de Staël again appeared; only this time, in addition to her branch of pomegranate, she held one of Doctor Gilbert's pamphlets in her hands.
She showed him the title of it with a sort of flattering coquetry.
Gilbert took leave of Monsieur de Necker, and kissed the hand of the baroness, who accompanied him to the door of the cabinet.
And he returned to his coach, where he found Pitou and Billot sleeping upon the front seat, the coachman sleeping on his box, and the horses sleeping upon their exhausted limbs.
