A DESCENDANT OF HENRI OF NAVARRE
In a human existence there may be a culminating moment,—a moment in which ambitions are realized and reality adapts itself to the dreamed-of ideal. The maneuvers of a subterranean state-craft during that epoch of incessant conspiracy had raised Lecazes to the pinnacle of glory. The Police was in its apogee, holding triumphantly in its hands the warp whose reverse side was espionage, provocation, indictment, torture, and whose obverse consisted of brilliant court ceremonials, stormy discussions in Councils and diplomatic strife in the royal coterie, wherein conservative and reactionary parties contended bitterly. Dominating the maneuvers from his cabinet, the genial Minister reigned,—the arbiter of the nation. He was the real master. He held the reins and guided the King with well dissembled strategy, as well as the other members of the royal family and the courtiers and officials,—all of whom complacently obeyed him, in their solicitude for the maintenance of the legitimate government.
Nevertheless, to use his own expression, "his life flowed between two walls of paper." He was accustomed to say that Paper was his worst enemy, adding, "You may rid yourself of a man but not of a piece of written paper." Excepting those retained as future shields, he tore all such sheets into bits, and compromising documents he burned.
It was the month of February. Lecazes sat in the same closet in which he had received the Duchess de Rousillon. A cloud was upon his face and an expression at once stealthy and rapacious, such as characterizes the countenances of all selfishly ambitious men, when alone. The cause of his preoccupation was a letter just received. It was anonymous and contained only these brief clauses:
"Naundorff is despoiled, de Brezé murdered, Giacinto executed. They shall be avenged. Guard the trunk; as for the limbs they are despicable."
Such communications seldom troubled the Minister, accustomed as he was to the language of charlatans. He usually destroyed the epistles, smiling a Machiavellian smile. But this letter troubled him, for it was not the first of the series; others had periodically preceded it, giving no clue to the writer and seeming to have for object a warning to the intended victim.
"There is not a thread of the net which I may not snap at will," he soliloquized. "They are not indeed thinking of avenging de Brezé or Naundorff—nor even that insignificant Carbonaro whom I have had to execute. I did not do so as retaliation for Volpetti's death. However much I miss him, I can not replace him. He was my hands and feet. But pshaw! in state-craft we waive vengeance and travel direct to our ends,—the Carbonari to the demolishing of the throne, I to the sustaining of it. To sustain it I have wrought miracles. Had I not obtained the papers which have cost me Volpetti, alas for the dynasty! The happy exit must console me for the loss of my best man."
Re-reading the anonymous sheet, his attention was arrested by the phrase "Guard the trunk."
"Who is the trunk?" he asked himself. "I should overestimate even my own importance to suppose they mean me. Can it be the King? Poor decayed trunk, soon to fall beneath the great woodman's ax! Can it be his brother? Impossible!—that hollow reactionary, incorrigible trunk. He is the Carbonari's best ally. I know not what will be the outcome of the King's succumbing to gout. Can it be the Duke Louis? Sterile trunk! No, if any one in particular is signified, 'tis Ferdinand,—the destined perpetuator of the race. Let us see! Lecazes, imagine yourself a conspirator. Whom would you attack? Why Ferdinand! Ferdinand the debonnaire, the well-loved, the generator of heirs. May this writing be the effusion of some fool? Or is it a conspirator's dash of romantic honor in warning the intended victim? However that be, I must warn the Prince. He is as unsuspicious and gay and heroic as his ancestor, Henry of Navarre. Flatterers assure him that he is that great monarch's prototype. He and his wife go about so freely and to every kind of diversion. During one of these sky-larkings—Ah! kings may not live as other men. Naundorff little realizes the good turn I did him and his family by barring his approach to the throne, nor she either, the audacious little intriguante. She has ample opportunity now to devote her energies to the weaving of Flemish laces."
These thoughts still occupied him when he that afternoon entered the royal cabinet. Before the monarch stood a table whose draperies were arranged to conceal the swollen feet, for the gout grew daily worse. Nevertheless, in frequent carriage rides and an incessant sortie of fine classic raillery from his patrician lips, Louis XVIII demonstrated an increased activity.
When Lecazes entered, the valetudinarian smiled piquantly, as one might in slipping manacles on the wrists of an astute diplomat. Handing the Minister a threatening letter, he vehemently asked:
"What does this mean, Baron? I am asked for an audience. I am told that some one possesses knowledge of impending evil to the royal family. I am warned that the refusing of this interview will be the cause of disaster to those dearest to me. It follows that some one is better informed than I concerning our interests. Is not this a humiliating position for a King?"
As Lecazes was about to answer, there entered unannounced a man in the prime of life. He had a prepossessing nonchalant impetuous manner. This was Prince Ferdinand, second son of the King's brother Charles, sole hope of the race's continuation. He was not handsome but he possessed in a high manner the simple frankness and graceful address characteristic of certain members of the Bourbon family, which was so captivating as to create around them, even in times of popular discontent, an atmosphere of loyalty. Ferdinand was short of stature and irregular in feature, but his bright glance and irradiating vitality acted always as a great jubilant wave enveloping all near him. A generous and cordial nature, rising spontaneously to heroism, was revealed in his face, mingled with a noble energy.
"Sire," he said, kissing his uncle's hand, "I pray you to pardon my intrusion. I have an urgent communication which must not be delayed a moment."
Lecazes made a discreet movement of withdrawal.
"No, no, Baron," interposed Ferdinand. "I pray you to remain. I expected to find you here. I know, besides, that His Majesty has no secrets from you. Indeed, I suppose you are better informed concerning this tangle than I, for your fingers it is that have woven the mesh."
"To what does your Royal Highness allude?" asked Lecazes guardedly.
"To letters which I constantly receive," replied Ferdinand sharply. "Letters which have kept me awake more than one night."
"Love letters?" ironically inquired Lecazes. "Your Royal Highness inspires innumerable passions. 'Tis no marvel that these letters rain upon you. What I find amusing is your simplicity in taking them seriously."
The Prince's frank countenance darkened. His brow contracted and his lips curled disdainfully as he replied:
"Baron, I am not accustomed to discuss such questions with others,—least of all with the police! The matter concerns,—bah! why should I relate this to you?—the matter concerns a member of our family who has been rifled of personal documents and forced into exile, in order to avoid even more barbarous treatment."
"Will Your Royal Highness be good enough to mention the name of—this—member of the royal House?"
"You know his name better than I, since 'twas you who prepared the villainous ambuscade and the other iniquities which I shall not enumerate."
"Who is Your Royal Highness's informant?" asked Lecazes, turning livid.
"One who knows whereof he speaks," replied the Prince producing a packet of letters.
"But Ferdinand, my son, why do you credit such calumniators?" interposed the King.
"Sire, these are not calumnies. If you consider them such, why not turn upon them the light of day? To me they have ample confirmation in the face of Monsieur the Superintendent of Police, or in your own, Sire, or in that of Madame my cousin and sister-in-law. I have seen her swoon on hearing the name of the man whose personal history contains the tragic episodes enacted last summer in Versailles park. The life of that true knight and gentleman, my dear friend, René de Giac, there paid the penalty for his loyalty—he, the son of one of the most valiant of Condé's officers—"
"Ferdinand," stammered the King, his face growing paler and paler, "your words are audacious and unwarranted. From any other than you, I should pronounce them the ravings of a madman. What inference is to be drawn from your asseverations? None other than that we are a usurper, that the Restoration was a robbery and that as restitution, we must deliver up the throne, after having played the role of thief, and retire into private life amid the jeers of the spectators. What would follow then, think you? Nothing less than an armed intervention of Europe to restore order in France a second time and clear the bandit caves of their booty."
"We are not speaking of an impostor," insisted Ferdinand bravely.
"Dare you call us usurper, then?" shrieked the King.
The smile on Lecazes's lips was a discharge of gall and the gleam in his eyes was Satanic.
"For my part, Sire," retorted the nephew, "I believe you to be such. I refuse—O more than the glory of thrones and crowns do I cherish honor and the religion of Knighthood. I may or may not have a right to the tide Royal Highness, but beyond question I am a soldier, and notwithstanding certain gallantries, a Christian. I do not proclaim my virtue as does my brother Louis, but neither do I ravish another man of his rights. I will not longer live this life. I have tried to make light of these letters. Does Your Majesty know why? Because in all of them breathes a threat, and no man shall think me coward. If God gives me life and France wars,'twill be demonstrated whether or not I am such. My coming to you now has for object that of declaring to your Majesty that if this matter be not adjudicated according to law and justice and in a manner befitting our family dignity, I shall be forced to the alternative of going to Holland and offering my services to my cousin, as a partial reparation for the iniquity practised upon him."
"And I should not be surprised at your extravagance, my dear nephew," replied the King, irate and sarcastic. "Your action would be in keeping with the conduct of a man who never considers the consequences of his acts, a man who married a London woman of base extraction,—the plebeian Amy Brown, a man who disregards court etiquette so far as to imitate the Corsican in his policy of acquiring popularity with the army, a man whose language in public is such as to undermine the established regime. You would be more satisfactory nephew, were you to fulfill your office, of furnishing France with a male heir of whom we stand in so great need."
Ferdinand, far from evincing annoyance at the burst of wrath, answered serenely:
"Sire, I scarcely think you hold me accountable for failing to counteract the decrees of Providence regarding the birth of an heir. As for the matter which brings me here, I declare that my regard for Your Majesty cannot prevent my speaking my mind. I have considered that it was due you to make you a party to the knowledge of the iniquity, that you might have the opportunity of seconding my resolution. But if our strength is to have its foundation in infamy, a sad future has the House! I ask for but my commission in the army or to be a soldier in the ranks. Your Majesty accuses me of imitating the Corsican. I reply that the only glory I seek is the glory of arms and of a fearless heart."
"Is this all you would say, nephew?" asked the King, white with rage.
"Your Majesty is offended? Your Majesty dismisses me?"
"His Majesty's strength is unequal to such shocks," interposed Lecazes.
"My Lord Baron," said the Prince, "you are right. I retire. Henceforth, Ferdinand de Bourbon has no guide but his conscience."
Saluting the monarch gravely and the Minister with mock respect, he departed.
Lecazes followed him with a smile. As his footsteps died away, the Baron shrugged his shoulders.
"What do you think of this Lecazes?" inquired the King.
"That we must let the Prince continue the road he has chosen. Place no obstacles in his way—and do not trouble your mind about him.—Many important historical events have just such origins as this.—I shall not meddle in the affairs of His Royal Highness."
In the minister's mind there was formed the picture of a young vigorous tree felled at a blow.