THE FAWN'S ESCAPE.
The tale on which I am entering is designated in the memoirs, "The Fawn's Escape," and the applicability of that title will appear when the reader arrives at the Deer Park, (Parc-aux-Cerfs.) The preliminary observations were certainly not written on any previous edition to that of 1838, when the Orleans branch of the Bourbon family was in the ascendency.
Philippe Auguste de Sainte-Foix, Chevalier d'Arc, was the grandson of Louis the Fourteenth. The career of this person, during the succeeding reign, powerfully illustrates the fearful state into which society had merged, and proves that when the door is opened for the entry of one vice, several others are likely to gain admission. It is worthy of notice that the profligacy of the higher classes during the reign of the depraved Louis the Fifteenth, was fully equal to the ferocity that overthrew the throne of his successor, and, on the ruins of all civil and religious institutions, established a reign of Terror. The people witnessed all the precepts of divine or moral authority not only violated but openly ridiculed; and we cannot feel much surprise at the utter disregard of all the claims put forward by the higher classes, when we recollect that they had long ceased to possess the slightest self-respect. The robes of nobility were not torn to rags by the wild and furious passions of a fierce democracy, until long after they had been trailed in the mire by their aristocratic owners. But we are not proceeding to write political considerations on the causes or effects of revolutions; we only invite attention to the peculiar state of society at the period to which our tale refers, and leaving the reader to reflect for himself upon its consequences. We return to the chevalier d'Arc.
An illustrious though illegitimate origin might be expected to elevate his mind, render him susceptible of high feelings, and capable of noble deeds; but in him it only inspired a ridiculous vanity and unmeasured impudence. Perverted in his youth by the vicious philosophy of the time, he followed its abominable maxims to the letter, and speedily compelled all who had any respect for themselves, to repulse his approaches and repudiate his intimacy. He consequently soon became admissible only to those haunts which were open to any person who had a title to disgrace and a sword to carry.
On reaching manhood, he entered into possession of an estate in the vicinity of St. Cloud, which had been bequeathed to him by his father, the Comte de Toulouse, one of the sons of Madame de Montespan. Being of a handsome person, and of insinuating though frivolous manners, he attracted the notice of a young widow, who had been, soon after her marriage, bereaved of a very old and very wealthy husband, for whose death she was prevented from becoming utterly inconsolable by the acquisition of a very ample fortune. The chevalier perceived that to the fair widow he was not an indifferent object, and, without the slightest intention of ultimate matrimony, he professed the most boundless love. He was warmly received, vows were interchanged, and to encourage his advances, the widow occasionally spoke of her extensive possessions in different parts of the kingdom; but far from insinuating that she wished to reserve any portion of her property from her future husband, she generally managed to introduce a favorite maxim—"That between two united hearts there should be a community of interests."
The chevalier dined at the widow's mansion; the entertainment was superb, and the table was covered with plate, with the exception of the soups, which were served in porcelain. Affecting the familiarity of a lover, the chevalier insisted that his fair hostess should permit him to supply this deficiency, and on the following day two splendid soup tureens were sent to Madame, with a billet doux, to which the dear, fond creature attached more value than to the handsome present it accompanied.
In about a fortnight after, the chevalier took an opportunity of mentioning that he was unpleasantly circumstanced through the oversight of his house steward, who had neglected to have his plate brought from a chateau in Picardy, where he had passed the previous autumn. "Dear friend," he added, "I am to entertain to-morrow the Comte Ecouy and the Duc de Rohan, and owing to this fatality I find myself unable to make an appearance even respectable. Will you lend me whatever you can spare, and thus save my credit with my guests?"
Charmed at an opportunity of obliging her well-beloved, the widow reserved not even a spoon, all was sent with alacrity; but in two days she received a letter enclosing the duplicates of her plate, and containing the assurance, that he should never have made it available for his necessities but for the recollection of her own sentiment, "That between two united hearts there should be a community of interests."
Impoverished by his profligacy, he petitioned the King. Louis the Fifteenth recollected him as a playmate of his youth, and sent him a draft on the treasurer of his household for eight thousand livres. As the amount was specified in figures, the chevalier added a cipher, which augmented the royal generosity to an unreasonable amount. The King was urged to compel the restitution of the sum thus obtained, and his majesty replied, "In my situation I cannot pay too dearly for a useful lesson. It will teach me, for the future, to economise less the letters of the alphabet."
Afterwards the Chevalier d'Arc became one of the most indefatigable purveyors for the Parc-aux-Cerfs; and in reference to this part of his life, we have to notice the following, which is romantic in the extreme, and is also free from any details of an immoral tendency, rather a rare feature in any adventure connected with the Parc-aux-Cerfs.
The chevalier being admitted, by reason of the reputation of his father and his consanguinity to the Duc de Penthievre, to an intimacy with some respectable gentlemen of Querci sojourning at Paris, whither they had come to solicit official employment, or seek royal favor, was not long in remarking the exquisite beauty of the only daughter of one of them. Mademoiselle de Pal——[15] was beloved by a young officer of musketeers, of honorable family and high character, every way worthy of her hand, and they deferred the marriage only until the realization of their hopes from courtly favor would leave the family in more easy circumstances.
But a demon entered their residence when they admitted the Chevalier d'Arc. He applied himself to stimulate the soul of the Comte de Pal——, father of Mademoiselle Helene, with suggestions of guilty ambition, until the foolish but obstinate old man determined to effect the admission of his daughter into the Parc-aux-Cerfs. But how to procure the concurrence of the two brothers of the old gentleman, one Lieutenant-Colonel the Baron de M——, the other an abbé, and grand vicar of the Bishop of Tulle. These gentlemen, high in their sense of honor, and proud in their family recollections, would scorn to see fortune coming through so vile an avenue. How to reconcile a virtuous girl to her own degradation. Above all, how to dispose of her lover.
To make an open attack was impossible. Meanwhile, the old dotard of a count, infatuated by the suggestions which the Chevalier d'Arc continually whispered, fancied himself a minister of state, destined to save France from every peril by the guidance of his sage advice; moreover, he saw in his brother, the baron, a marshal of France, and in his younger brother, an archbishop or cardinal. This picture enchanted him, and instead of kicking his infamous tempter out of doors, he listened to no other counsel but his. The virtue of his daughter became a chimera and a trifle compared with the advantages which must result to the entire community from an influence acquired over the yielding mind of a libertine monarch.
The chevalier, on his part, had committed himself in the affair beyond retreat. The King had heard something of it. His valet, Lebel, and the portly lady, the directress of the Parc-aux-Cerfs, were impatiently awaiting the appearance of this eighth wonder of the world. They worried the intermeddling chevalier, and he soon concluded that the palladium of the royal protection should be secured as soon as possible, and by all possible means. He and the father of the young lady had recourse to stratagem. They lived in Paris in the Rue des Moulins. One morning, under the pretext of preferring a request to M. de Choiseul, lately installed minister, the Comte de Pal——, his daughter, and the Chevalier d'Arc proceeded to Versailles. On their arrival, they enquired the hour at which the minister received public applicants, and finding that there was some time to spare, the chevalier proposed a promenade through the town. The suggestion was approved by the father, and the daughter acquiesced.
They take their way through a lonely lane. The long wall, by which it is bounded on one side, is pierced by a door which happens to be open, and discloses a view of a beautiful garden. They ask of a domestic who is passing if they can be permitted to walk in this delightful place. The reply is affirmative, and they enter; and at the end of a shady avenue, they meet a lady.
"Oh! it is the Marchioness d'Allinvilliers."
"Oh! the much-esteemed Chevalier d'Arc!—what a pleasure!"
"I am enchanted, madame, at this instance of good fortune in meeting you. I presume to present to you the Comte de Pal——, my most intimate friend, and Mademoiselle, his daughter."
High compliments are reciprocated. The Marchioness, so luckily encountered, assumes the guidance of the party. They admire the beauty and magnificence of the place. At last they arrived at a kiosque, erected in the purest oriental style, and they find a repast of the choicest pastry, fruits, liqueurs, wines, and iced water. Mademoiselle Helene de Pal—— is pressed to eat and drink. She complies; and after having taken refreshment, a sudden stupor overcomes her, and she yields to a somnolency totally irresistible.
On awaking, she is astonished to find herself in a sumptuous bed. She is informed of all that has passed by the Marchioness d'Allinvilliers, whom she recognizes, and by whom she is affectionately embraced. A letter is placed in her hands from her father, in which she is informed that he has not been able to refuse to so kind a lady, the care of his daughter during the period of his stay in the capital. He will see her at every visit to Versailles, and Mademoiselle de Pal—— will be more comfortably and respectably circumstanced than she could be in furnished lodgings with him.
This had a great semblance of truth; and although certain precautions and restraints appeared extraordinary, the young lady was so perfectly innocent as to entertain no suspicion of the infamous nature of the mansion in which she was placed. She had not acquired a knowledge of the character of the Chevalier d'Arc, which was very different from that of provincial gentlemen, and she had not the most remote idea of the functions which he exercised at court. In the evening, she was induced to enter the saloon. There, to her surprise, she recognized the King, in a gentleman who stood with his back to the chimney.
A conversation ensued, in which his Majesty used much gallant and polite language, and in which he stated that he came there without any ceremony, as the Marchioness was his foster-sister. On his retiring, they surrounded the young lady, and exclaimed that she should be proud of the distinguished attentions of the King. In short, every allurement which can be addressed to vanity was tried on one whose mind was guided by sentiments of a higher nature. Helene, far from acquiescing in the views of the depraved creatures of both sexes, with whom she was associated, regarded all their suggestions with undisguised repugnance. The same evening, a royal page brought her a porcelain vase, containing a bouquet of natural flowers, upon which appeared a butterfly formed of sparkling gems. Upon the handles were fastened two diamond ornaments, shaped like pears, of very large dimensions and surpassing brilliancy. These were accompanied by necklaces composed of precious stones, remarkable for splendor, purity, and magnitude.
Ecstacy seemed to pervade the circle. Mademoiselle de Pal——, in a firm and deliberate tone, apprised the Marchioness, that, at an early hour on the succeeding day, she wished to return to her paternal home. Her uncle the abbé, would undertake to have the present returned. There was an outcry—
"You darling, to quit me! Ah! you wicked one! what ingratitude! Moreover, how could I expose you, lonely and unprotected? I would not entrust you to anyone; my responsibility is pledged. You will remain until the next visit of your father, the Comte."
Constrained to yield to this specious resistance, Mademoiselle de Pal—— retired to her chamber, and there wrote to her father an account of all that had passed, and urged the imperative necessity of immediately flying from the gallantry of the King. The poor child comforted herself in the expectation of a prompt succour from her father. What would have been her feelings if she had witnessed the transports of joy in which the old gentleman indulged at the apparent certainty of accomplishing his designs? It was a complete delirium! Repeatedly he embraced the Chevalier d'Arc, whose pockets he replenished with money. Then taking his pen, he hastened to reply that it appeared premature to impute evil designs to any person; that the King could have no bad intentions. Finally, they owed his Majesty so much love and respect, that all other feelings should be absorbed in reference to him.
The conclusion of this letter plunged the virtuous girl in despair. After two more days, she received a second visit from the King, and was offered homage of a more marked character—the most costly stuffs, and various other articles of such enormous value as could not be authorized by simple gallantry or innocent admiration. Mademoiselle de Pal——, distracted, overwhelmed, saw herself abandoned by those on whom the very feelings of nature should have imposed the duty of protecting her innocence. She did not accuse her father directly, but her mind was beset with frightful suspicions.
One morning, at an early hour, the Marchioness not having left her bed-chamber, a girl, who filled some very subordinate station in the establishment, came into the apartment of Mademoiselle, in the absence of the femme-de-chambre who had been assigned to her. This damsel, entering cautiously, informed Helene that a handsome lad, in her father's livery, had brought a letter which he would deliver only to herself in person.
Too much tormented not to distinguish any favorable circumstance in her unhappy situation—knowing, moreover, that her father had not permitted his two old servants to bring his family livery to Paris—she was only too ready to take advantage of the opportunity afforded by the early hour; consequently, she consented to receive the envoy.
An exclamation of surprise and delight escaped her. It was her lover, the Vicomte de Benavent Rhodés, a gentleman of very high extraction, quite ready to believe that his fathers constituted a younger and distant branch of the sovereign counts of Rhodés. He was a black musketeer, young, brave, and thoroughly daring. The Comte de Pal——, a man without prudence or reserve, had permitted his brother to discover his secret, and even to become acquainted with the letter of his daughter. This worthy ecclesiastic, indignant at the projects of his brother, lost not a moment before informing the person most interested in defeating the base plots of the royal seraglio. The family was distracted, but the circumstances required delicate management. They had to deal with the difficulty of struggling against the proceedings of an obstinate old man, who found historic sanctions for his conduct in the innumerable pollutions of the Court. The great evil consisted in the abuse of an acknowledged power, the authority of a parent. Besides where were they to find Helene? He kept the secret as soon as he found his family in revolt against his projects. The embarrassment was great, but the Vicomte de Benavent, better informed than the respectable abbé, at once surmised all that passed; how, owing to the villainy of the Chevalier d'Arc, the fair Helene was already in the infamous precincts of the Parc-aux-Cerfs. He wished to go himself, and warn his mistress of the dangers by which she was surrounded.
Certain that he could never penetrate into this place if he went in his ordinary attire, for habitual watchfulness interdicted the entry of the gardes-du-corps, the officiers-aux-gardes, and the musketeers, grey or black, as persons of suspicious reputation amongst those who had the guardianship of youth and beauty, the lover flattered himself that he would deceive the "Argus" by assuming a livery, and presenting himself at an early hour.
He was not wrong in his conjectures; and by choosing the early hour he gained the assistance of the poor female drudge who introduced him. Once in presence of Mademoiselle de Pal——, he kissed her hand, and placed in it a letter from the abbé in the following terms:—
"My dearest Niece,
"I write to you in the affliction of a broken heart. Your poor father has been scandalously led astray by a knave, a swindler, a man without an honourable idea, and destitute of faith and morals. Dear niece, are you aware that you are now in the Parc-aux-Cerfs? Who detains you there? The abominable directress of that polluted mansion. Your ruin is resolved on. I trust that God will not abandon you, and that this affair may terminate without crime or scandal. Consult with the Vicomte (M. de Benavent.) He is regarded by me as my future nephew. If your plans should not succeed, then God will guide the steps of one of His ministers, and should I find it necessary to approach the King, I shall not recoil from my duty. Adieu, let us invoke the Virgin, the saints, your holy patroness, and above all, the Three Persons of the all-powerful and all-merciful Trinity."
The musketeer at once arranged with the young lady that precisely at midnight she should descend from her chamber, and he furnished her, for that purpose, with a silken ladder wrapped in a handkerchief. She was to make for a part of the wall over which a white plume would be displayed, and having arrived there, she was to clap her hands three times, and her liberators would appear.
These matters having been arranged, prudence required the lovers to separate; but the Vicomte, who at first had been more timid than the object of his affection, protracted his adieu until Mademoiselle Justine, an artful spy over the youthful inmates, arrived. At sight of her, the musketeer took his leave in the style of a valet. This was in vain; she was not to be deceived, and her practised eye detected the man of quality. The provincial livery could not conceal true grace and courtly bearing beneath its gaudy laces. At once she proceeded to make her report to Madame. Alarm spread through the camp, and they took immediate measures to defeat the plans of the young couple. Helene passed the rest of the day almost alone. Madame having sought admission, a violent headache was alleged as a justification for declining an interview. She soon returned, and being admitted by Justine, she openly divulged the purposes which she entertained. Helene gave full vent to her scorn and unqualified disdain. This was indiscreet, but the error arose not more from her youthful inexperience than from the noble sincerity and purity of her mind. Flattery was tried, and she was addressed in terms of the highest exaggeration as to the brilliant position to which the royal favor would necessarily exalt her. This produced a declaration from her that love unsanctioned by marriage commenced with infamy and terminated in perdition. This language excited a perfect tempest of invective, her scruples were derided, and to the most galling sneers were added direct threats of ruin to all her kindred, and also to the family of her lover.
Tears were her reply, but her determination was unchanged. She expressed a wish to retire early. In this she was indulged; and as midnight sounded she attached the silken cord to the window, and abandoning herself to Providence, she rapidly descended. Having reached the ground in safety, she knelt and offered her thanks to Heaven for this successful commencement. Then, approaching the exterior wall, she perceived the white plume raised above it upon a pole. She clapped her hands, and immediately heard all the indications of a violent contest. Murmurs, imprecations, the clash of weapons, and several pistol shots were almost simultaneous. The uproar increased; a struggle, hand to hand, seemed to terminate in the departure of the combatants, and although the signal continued displayed, profound silence ensued.
The poor girl was overwhelmed with terror, her conjectures were tortures thoroughly agonizing; but just as the external tumult ceased, Madame issued from the mansion, attended by six male servants bearing torches.
"Indeed, Mademoiselle," said this debased woman, "you cannot expect us to indulge your wishes for midnight promenades in an inclement season. The air is sharp, and your health is delicate. Please to re-enter the mansion. The physician will hold us responsible for the results of such indiscretion; and our tenderness for you compels us to guard against your caprices. Until you become more reasonable, you must occupy an apartment from which you shall not find it so easy to issue."
Mademoiselle de Pal—— did not condescend to reply to this cool impertinence, but she understood that in such a contest her adversaries were unscrupulous as to the means they employed. Alone, almost lifeless with terror, and abandoned by her father, she apprehended the most sinister designs, and her undisguised disgust excited an implacable hostility amongst those to whom the superiority of virtue was odious. "In fact," murmured the mistress of the mansion, "we are far more foolish than she is herself, to labour for her exaltation; the insulting creature will only detest us the more for our exertions."
They placed her on the ground floor, and assigned her some apartments furnished in the most luxurious manner; but the windows were carefully fitted with iron bars. When Justine had a second time undressed her mistress, Madame betook herself to rest.
Mademoiselle de Pal—— spent the night in tears, for she understood too well what had occurred. Men previously posted had been waiting for her lover. Perhaps he had paid, even with his life, for his generous intervention. She implored God to protect the young musketeer, and to avert the crushing resentment of the King.
In the morning she requested an audience of Madame, which was immediately granted, and she earnestly implored of her not to report what had passed to his Majesty. "I know not what I might do on another occasion," was the reply, "but in the present case I have only to express my regret that the King is already fully informed upon the subject."
"It will be upon me then," promptly observed Helene, "that his wrath must fall, since my generous defender is dead."
"Dead! the Vicomte de Benavent-Rhodés! You are pleased to think so," remarked this depraved woman, in a bantering tone. "Certainly it is not owing to him and his associates that some of the King's servants did not perish. Happily, there has been more noise than actual injury; but this gentleman and four other musketeers are in the custody of the grand-prevot, and they must answer to justice for an armed attack, at midnight, on a royal residence. The laws of France attach capital punishment to such an outrage."
Mademoiselle de Pal—— uttered a piercing shriek, and fell into violent convulsions, which excited great alarm in the mind of Madame, lest the death, or even the severe indisposition, of the young beauty, should be imputed to her indiscretion. She sought to assuage her sufferings, and when restoratives had produced relief, strongly advised her to apply to his Majesty, who was of a merciful disposition, and would not refuse pardon to the musketeers at her intercession.
The dread of the price which would be demanded for this favor contributed to diminish the pleasure which the hope of clemency excited. Nevertheless she resolved to meet the peril, trusting to overcome it, and to conquer culpable intentions by purity of heart and the innate power of virtue. When she ascertained that Louis XV had arrived, she proceeded to the saloon. The conversation was gay, brilliant, and varied. Mademoiselle displayed the intrepidity which is so frequently the attendant of innocence, and although her face was suffused with blushes, her voice was distinct and unfaltering, as she gracefully and respectfully besought the King to pardon the five prisoners. Louis reverted to his feelings towards herself, and observed that it lay in her power to induce him to interfere in a matter which involved a direct offence against his personal safety and his rights. He indulged in the chivalrous levity which has so often characterised the Bourbons, remarking that he was her slave, but that even a slave should not be exasperated. Finally, he gave her distinctly to understand that the fate of the prisoners depended on her compliance.
She demanded four days' interval, which the King acceded to, adding that she could not follow a better example than that of Jephtha's daughter.
Two days had elapsed, the King was going to Mass, when a priest placed himself in front of the cortege.
"Monsieur l'Abbé," said the Duc de Richelieu, "stand aside, you impede his Majesty's passage."
"Sire," exclaimed the priest, "Sire!" and he raised his voice, notwithstanding the repeated admonitions of the Duc de Richelieu that silence should be observed, and that the King was not to be accosted then or there.
"Sire, in the name of God, and appealing to the pious traditions of your race, I implore an audience. Reflect that a moment's delay may endanger your hopes of Paradise."
The firmness and dignified demeanor of the ecclesiastic produced an extraordinary effect upon his Majesty. He stopped, reflected an instant, and then replied—
"Be it so, Monsieur; after Mass you may come to my closet, I shall hear you there."
This strange incident perplexed the court. The Comte and the Baron de Pal—— were well known amongst the courtiers; but their brother, pious and unpresuming, passed unnoticed in a place where no one appeared important unless by the favor they received, or by the influence they possessed. Impelled by curiosity, a crowd surrounded the abbé, and were lost in various conjectures. Mass being over, the door of the royal closet opened, and the captain of the guard advanced and enquired for the abbé to whom the King had promised an audience. The abbé presented himself and was admitted. He addressed the King in terms of profound respect, but protested against the detention of his niece, and also pleaded the cause of the young musketeer and his companions. In speaking of the young lady and her lover, his language was pathetic and persuasive; but he did not hesitate to remind the monarch of the enormity of deliberate, premeditated sin, and of the awful consequences before that tribunal of eternal justice where monarchs would be judged without reference to earthly power, save as to how far they had abused it. He was urging his arguments, when the official entered and presented a letter which the King immediately perused, and raised his eyes and hands in great perturbation. "Ah! Monsieur l'Abbé," he exclaimed, "do not proceed any further. The danger is imminent. Go, invested with plenary authority, at once to the Parc-aux-Cerfs."
"Me, sire!"
"Yes, you; I want not your indignant looks. Lose not a moment, run, demand Mademoiselle de Pal——."
"My niece!"
"The same; prevent the accomplishment of her fatal resolution. Let her know that I renounce—but no, she is destroyed; it is all over. Take and read that. My God, how obstinate and self-willed these little girls are!"
The abbé, astonished at this event, hastily perused the letter.
"Sire," wrote the young lady, "I am apprised that it is by my dishonour the life of the Vicomte de Benavent can be saved. I prefer saving his life by the sacrifice of my own. If you do not wish to be answerable for my fate before an Almighty judge, do not punish a lover whom you have rendered sufficiently miserable already by my untimely death. I shall have ceased to live when this letter meets your eyes."
"But go, Monsieur," the King exclaimed again. "These priests are effective only in the pulpit; they can advise well, but cannot act with energy."
The horror of that note imparted speed to the abbé; he ran to the Parc-aux-Cerfs, preceded by the Marquis de Pontecoulant, who was sent specially by the King. The mansion was in an indescribable state, its inmates filled with consternation at the desperate course adopted by the hapless Helene. Several physicians were present, and various antidotes had been tried, but without any satisfactory results. At sight of the abbé, the bedside was left free for his approach.
"Oh! my niece," said the priest, in a voice almost choked with grief, "how could you presume to dispose of your life?"
"I preferred death to infamy."
"My niece, your honor is respected, and the King concedes your requests. The Vicomte de Benavent and his comrades are at liberty."
"Then I go to my grave consoled and contented."
"Dearest Helene! live to make a husband happy; live to impart joy to your family."
"It is too late."
The abbé cast imploring looks on the medical men, whose countenances mutely indicated their conviction of the hopelessness of the case. The sad sacrifice appeared nearly consummated. How she had obtained the poison none could tell. Dissolution seemed imminent, when a man of lofty stature, whose features, though extremely swarthy, expressed great intelligence, entered the room. In one hand he bore a small glass, and in the other a phial, containing a liquid of the deepest green color, and perfectly clear. "I come by the King's command," he exclaimed; and passing, through the yielding crowd, to the bedside, he half filled the glass with water, into which he dropped a portion of the green elixir. Directing Justine to raise the drooping head of the apparently expiring girl, he succeeded in getting her to swallow the medicine. Immediately a fierce spasm convulsed her frame; she raised herself with surprising energy, but instantly fell back on the pillow.
"She is dead!" exclaimed many of those present.
"She is saved," replied the tall, swarthy man, in a tone of perfect confidence. He was the celebrated Comte de Saint-Germain, whose influence with Louis XV. appeared mysterious to the courtiers, but really arose from his extensive information and research. In theory and practice his scientific attainments were of a very high order, and appeared still more surprising when contrasted with the ignorance and imbecility of the aristocracy of that period.
Mademoiselle de Pal—— recovered so speedily as to be capable of removing, under her uncle's care, in about a week. On leaving the Parc-aux-Cerfs, The Escaped Fawn received, by order of the King, a splendid note-case, in which there was a draft on the Controller-General for five hundred thousand francs (£20,000.) On the previous evening, the King said to the Vicomte de Benavent:—
"Monsieur, on this occasion I am endowing virtue." Then he added, with a laugh, "One swallow does not make a summer."[16]
On the day that Mademoiselle left the Parc-aux-Cerfs, her worthless father was banished from court, and enjoined to live on his estate at Vivarais, The Chevalier d'Arc had the effrontery to present himself at court as if nothing to his discredit had occurred! The King remarked to him, that in affairs of gallantry, the consent of the young lady was more necessary than that of her father; and suggested that he should in future avoid appearing in Paris or Versailles, and fix his residence at Tulle. He accordingly retired to that place, where he died in 1779.