“No, sir,” replied Louis, “it does not come within your line of duty, and devolves rather upon the minister of war; and very possibly he would object to executing such a commission; for how could I step forward as the protector of one who would shake off the moral obligation of an oath directly it suits his inclinations to doubt its legality? This affair gives me great uneasiness, and involves the most serious consequences. You will see that I shall be overwhelmed with petitions and pamphlets, demanding of me the revocation of the edict of Nantes.”
“And what, sire,” asked the chancellor gravely, “could you do, that would better consolidate the glory of your reign?”
“Chancellor,” exclaimed Louis XV, stepping back with unfeigned astonishment, “have you lost your senses? What would the clergy say or do? The very thought makes me shudder. Do you then believe, M. de Maupeou, that the race of the Clements, the Ravaillacs, the Damiens, are extinct in France?”
“Ah, sire, what needless fears.”
“Not so needless as you may deem them,” answered the king. “I have been caught once, I am not going to expose myself to danger a second time. You know the proverb,—no, no, let us leave things as my predecessors left them; besides, I shall not be sorry to leave a little employment for my successor; he may get through it how he can, and spite of all the clamouring of the philosophers, the Protestants shall hold their present privileges so long as I live. I will have neither civil nor religious war, but live in peace and eat my supper with a good appetite with you, my fair comtesse, for my constant guest, and you, M. de Maupeou, for t his evening’s visitor.”
The conversation here terminated.
CHAPTER XXXI
Madame du Barry purchases the services of Marin the
gazetteer—Louis XV and madame de Rumas—M. de Rumas and the
comtesse du Barry—An intrigue—Denouement—A present
upon the occasion—The duc de Richelieu in disgrace—100,000
livres
This Marin, a provençal by birth, in his childhood one of the choristers, and afterwards organist of the village church, was, at the period of which I am speaking, one of the most useful men possible. Nominated by M. de St. Florentin to the post of censor royal, this friend to the philosophers was remarkable for the peculiar talent, with which he would alternately applaud and condemn the writings of these gentlemen. Affixing his sanction to two lines in a tragedy by Dorat had cost him twenty-four hours’ meditation within the walls of the Bastille; and for permitting the representation of some opera (the name of which I forget) he had been deprived of a pension of 2,000 francs; but, wedded to the delights of his snug post, Marin always contrived, after every storm, to find his way back to its safe harbor. He had registered a vow never to resign the office of censor, but to keep it in despite of danger and difficulty. I soon discovered that he passed from the patronage of Lebel to that of Chamilly, and I was not slow in conjecturing that he joined to his avocations of censor and gazetteer that of purveyor to his majesty’s petits amours.