CHAPTER VI.
THE DELIVERANCE OF TRIER.
The equipage thundered along the streets of Paris, and drew up before the hooded door, at the side entrance of the Louvre, which was especially reserved for the use of the royal family.
The duchess sprang from her carriage, hurried up the staircase, almost stumbling over the sentry as he made an attempt to present arms, and flew into the antechamber that led to the cabinet of the king.
She came in like a frigate under full sail, but was encountered by a gentleman of the privy chamber, who barred the entrance.
"Make way for me—do!" said she, clasping her hands. "I must see his majesty this very moment."
"His majesty is in secret conference with the Marquis de Louvois and Madame de Maintenon," was the reply. "Not even your royal highness can obtain admittance."
"So much the better if Louvois is there. Let me pass—I command you, let me pass!"
"Indeed, madame, you know not what you ask. I have received stringent orders to admit nobody."
"The royal family are never included in these prohibitions," cried the duchess.
"But to-day, your royal highness, I was placed here to prevent their coming! You well know that none but the princes and princesses of the blood would presume to make use of this entrance."
"It concerns the lives of thousands!" urged the duchess.
"Did it concern that of my own son, I would know better than to seek to save it by disobeying his majesty's orders."
"You will not—positively will not let me pass?"
"I dare not, madame."
"Then you must excuse me, but I shall force my way," returned Elizabeth-Charlotte, grasping the slender form of the king's gentleman, and, with her powerful hands, flinging him into the corner of the room, while she strode rapidly to the opposite door, and opened and had closed it again before her opponent had recovered his breath. Before touching the bolt of the door which opened directly into the king's cabinet, she paused to recover her breath, and to gather courage for the coming interview. She trembled from head to foot, and leaned against the wall for support. But Elizabeth-Charlotte was not a woman to be deterred, by fear of kings, from what she deemed her duty. "With the resolution that characterized her, she uttered one short ejaculation for help from above, and opened the door."
Louvois was in the act of speaking. "Sire, our arms are as successful in Italy as they have been in Germany, where town after town has been taken without the drawing of a sword—where the people have offered the keys of all the fortresses to your generals, and have welcomed the advent of our troops with joy."
"Your majesty," cried the duchess, coming forward, "do not believe him! He tells a falsehood—O God! what a falsehood!"
The astonishment of that cabinet-council is not to be described. The king rose from his seat and confronted her with eyes that named with anger.
"Madame," exclaimed the grand monarque, in a rage, "were you not told that I would see nobody this morning?"
"Yes, your majesty; so emphatically told, that, before I could make my way to your presence, I was obliged to hurl your gentleman to the other side of the room. It is not his fault that I am here!"
Madame de Maintenon rolled up her eyes, Louvois sneered and Louis, looking as if he wished that he could consume his sister-in-law with a glance, turned around to his minister.
"Monsieur Louvois, be so good as to forget the imprudent words that madame has just spoken. It is impossible that a princess of the blood should so far forget her own dignity as to lay hands on an attendant of the king. Take care that the indiscretion of her royal highness go no farther than these walls; and, if you hear it spoken of, contradict it flatly."
"Your majesty," exclaimed the duchess, "that is the very way to make everybody believe it, for surely nobody will believe Monsieur Louvois."
"Sire," said Louvois, shrewdly, "I was about to communicate tidings of the greatest importance to your majesty. I would be glad of your permission to resume our conference. It is late, and—"
"Madame," cried Louis, "once for all, leave this room, and interrupt us no longer."
"Does your majesty suppose that, after forcing my way to your presence, I intend to retreat without accomplishing the object for which I came? I entreat of you, hear me, and judge for yourself whether my pertinacity is not justified by the occasion of my intrusion."
"Very well, madame," replied Louis. "I will remember that you are my brother's wife, and forget an excess of presumption which, were you not my sister-in-law, would merit the Bastile. Speak, and let us hear your petition. It needs to be one of moment to earn your pardon."
With these words, Louis threw himself into his arm-chair, and, pointing to a tabouret at hand, requested her royal highness to be seated. The duchess looked around the room, and, seeing a vacant arm-chair a little farther off, she rolled it forward, and seated herself with great grandeur. This chair belonged to Madame de Maintenon, who, a moment previous, had risen and walked to the window.
She became very red in the face, and, coming directly in front of the duchess, said: "Madame, this is my own arm-chair; be so good as to excuse me if I ask you to rise."
"Impossible, my dear marquise, impossible!" was the rejoinder. "His majesty requests me to be seated, and this is the only seat in the room that accords with my rank. If his majesty allows you to seat yourself in his presence, and that of a princess of the blood, there is a tabouret which doubtless was placed for your accommodation on such occasions."
Madame de Maintenon looked imploringly at the king, hoping that he would interfere; but he did not. His eyes were cast down, and it was plain that no help was to be expected from him. His unacknowledged spouse was therefore obliged to yield the point, and put up with the tabouret.
"Now, madame," said Louis, as though rousing himself from profound meditation, "I await your pleasure."
"Sire," cried the duchess, "I have come hither to accuse yonder traitor, who, in your majesty's name, is perpetrating deeds of horror that are enough to brand any sovereign with infamy. Did I not hear him say, as I entered this room, that the French army was received with open arms by the Germans?"
"You did, madame. As a proof of the truth of this assertion, here are the very keys of all the towns and fortresses we have besieged."
The king pointed to a basket wreathed with flowers, wherein lay a heap of gigantic keys.
"Oh, sire," exclaimed the duchess, "these keys were purchased with blood and pillage. Your soldiers have not marched into Germany like the invading armies of a civilized nation; they have come as incendiaries and assassins. Witness my father's castle, which they reduced to a heap of ashes."
"My dear madame," said Louis, deprecatingly, "war is not a pastime. I regret that it was necessary to burn your father's castle; but you perceive that it was not burned in vain, for your countrymen, since then, have shown themselves amenable to reason."
"Sire, you are shamefully deceived; and I have come to lay at the foot of your throne the plaint of an unhappy people. Ah, you little know what crimes are being committed in your name! General Montclas himself shed tears when Mannheim was sacked and destroyed; and, when the people of Durlach were driven by your soldiery into the very midst of the flames that were consuming their homes, the Duke de la Roche remonstrated with the Marquis de Crequi on the atrocity of the crime. What do you suppose was the answer of the marquis? 'Le roi le veut!'"
"Is this so?" asked the king, turning to Louvois, who was hiding his troubled countenance in the embrasure of a window.
"Sire, I have never heard of it before," replied the minister.
"Well may he say that he never heard of it, if he means that your majesty never gave such an order to him!" cried Elizabeth-Charlotte. "But if he means that he did not order these massacres, he tells an untruth. He is avenging on the people of Germany the laurels which Prince Eugene has earned in the service of the emperor, and which, but for him, would have redounded to the glory of France. Oh, sire! this war is one of personal vengeance on the part of your wicked subject; it is not waged for your honor or advantage. I ask in his presence, did the King of France order the destruction of Worms and Speier? Was it by the order of our gracious sovereign that the very house of God was committed to the flames?"
"Can such a crime have been perpetrated in my name?" cried Louis, with indignation.
"Sire," replied Louvois, "your majesty has said it—'War is no pastime.'"
"He does not deny it," cried the duchess, wiping away her tears, and struggling for composure to go on. "But what is done, is done—Worms and Speier are in ashes, and their murdered inhabitants at rest. But, oh, my liege, my gracious lord, the city of Trier is threatened with the same fate! For three days the people have been crying in vain for mercy.—At your feet, sire, I implore you, have pity, and save them from butchery!"
And the duchess, with hands upraised, and eyes that were streaming with tears, sank on her knees before the king.
Louis rose hastily from his seat.
"Rise, madame," said he, "and let us retire to yonder embrasure. I wish to speak with you in private."
So saying, he gave her his hand, and conducted her to a deep recess at the farther end of the room, which was, in fact, a small apartment furnished with seats—A cabinet within a cabinet. He loosened the gold cord that confined the curtain to the side, and it fell to the floor—a thick, heavy portiere that shut all sound from the apartment without. Not satisfied with this, the king opened the casement, that the hum from the street below might effectually drown their voices.
"Now, madame," said he, "we will converse openly and without reserve, as it befits near relatives to do. Has your husband confided to you my wishes?"
"What wishes?" asked the duchess, who, in her anxiety for the fate of Trier, had forgotten the occurrences of the day.
Louis was piqued. "I allude to my matrimonial plans for your son and my daughter; and I beg you to observe that where I have a right to command, I am gracious enough to request their fulfilment. It is understood that the Duke de Chartres is to be betrothed to Mademoiselle de Blois this evening?"
"Sire," murmured Elizabeth-Charlotte, who began to understand how much she was risking by her mediation in favor of Trier, "sire, I implore you to save the lives of thousands of human beings, and you answer me by questions as to the marriage of my son!"
"My dear sister," returned the king, with a smile, "surely you take more interest in the fate of your child, than in that of a remote town in Germany. My brother has already consented that our children should be united; and, as you are here, I wish to hear from your own lips that the union gives you as much satisfaction as it will afford to me."
"Sire, the Duke de Chartres is but a lad—wild and untamed. He is not fit to be the husband of any woman."
The king frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Sire, he is but sixteen years of age—a boy; and it is not customary for princes of the blood to marry before the age of eighteen."
"I know that as well as yourself. It is no question of marriage, only one of betrothal. Mademoiselle de Blois is but twelve, and no fitter to be married than your son. But it is well for young people to know that they are bound by honor to restrain their passions and curb their irregularities. If the Duke de Chartres is untamed, you have the means of keeping him within bounds, and of forcing him to lead a chaste and virtuous life."
"Oh, sire, you know full well that the promises of their parents do not bind youthful hearts. My Philip is inclined to dissipation, and it would be an unfortunate match for Mademoiselle de Blois."
"Give me a direct answer to my inquiry. Do you consent to the betrothal of your son with my daughter?"
Elizabeth-Charlotte burst into tears. "Sire, I—I—cannot," murmured she.
The king flushed with anger. "I thought so," said he, "You are nothing but a mass of prejudices, which you would rather die than relinquish. Very well, madame; I bow to your prejudices, and will make no vain efforts to overcome them. Excuse me if, as regards your petition, I echo your words, 'I cannot.'"
"Oh, sire," cried the duchess, "the cases are not parallel. I plead for the lives of so many unfortunates!"
"And I for my own gratification; and assuredly a wish of the King of
France is of a little more importance than the fate of a miserable
German town."
"Your majesty, it would cost you but a word to earn the blessings of so many grateful hearts."
"And it would cost you but a word to give rank and an unequivocal position to my favorite daughter. For if a woman like yourself, recognized as a model of propriety, acknowledge her as your son's bride, you insure an honorable future to all my children not born to the throne. It is in your power to raise Mademoiselle de Blois to the rank of a legitimate princess of the blood, and thereby to confer a favor upon her father."
"Oh, sire, indeed I cannot! Ask any thing of me but that! It would give the lie to all the teachings of my life! It would be an acknowledgment of the worthlessness of chastity—of honor! Oh, forgive me! My brain reels; I know not what I say!"
"BUT I DO; and I have heard enough. I shall countermand the soiree, and seek another bridegroom for Mademoiselle de Blois. But Trier shall fall, and on your head be the fate of its inhabitants!"
He rose and would have put aside the portiere, but his hand was convulsively clutched, and the duchess, in a voice that was hoarse with agony, gasped:
"Have I understood? You would barter the fate of Trier for my consent to this unnatural marriage!"
"Yes, by God, I do!" was the profane and passionate reply of the king.
"Stay—stay," murmured she, trembling in every limb. "Would you rescue the city if I consented?"
"I will do so, with pleasure."
The duchess shivered, clasped her hands together, and, closing her eyes as though to hide her humiliation from Heaven, she retracted her refusal, and then fell almost insensible into an arm-chair.
The king approached her and kissing her, said, "Madame, from my heart, I thank you."
The poor duchess scarcely heeded these gracious words. She had received a blow that well-nigh blunted her heart to the sufferings of her countrymen. But she had made the sacrifice of her principles, and she must reap the reward of that terrible sacrifice.
"Sire," said she, as soon as she had recovered strength enough to articulate, "sire, fulfil your promise immediately, or it will be too late."
"Give me your hand, dear sister," replied Louis. "Once more I thank you for the happiness you have conferred upon me, and the first gift of Mademoiselle de Blois to her mother-in-law shall be the safety of Trier. I implore you, try to love the poor child, for my sake."