‘Meanwhile the Princesse Borghese went to Bagnères to take the waters, and it was some time before Fouché met with her at the Tuileries.
‘“I trust your Highness is pleased with the manner in which I have been able to provide for your protégé;” said the minister. “What protégé, M. le Duc?” answered Pauline. “I am afraid I do not understand.” “But, madame, I mean M. Dubois.” “M. Dubois? I don’t think I know any one of that name.” “Does not your Highness recollect a letter sent to me about three months ago, most pressingly recommending a M. Dubois, a man of letters, in whom your Highness took the greatest interest?” “One moment,” said the princess, and then a smile overspread her beautiful features. “My protégé, M. le Duc, was a poor poet, a relative of one of my maids, who sent me an ode. What have you done with him? Have you given him a stool in one of your departments?”
‘The minister, nettled at having been duped in that way, took particular care to suppress the fact of his having made a grand functionary of Dubois. Unfortunately, Fouché’s friends at Court got wind of the thing, and there was an end of the secret. Napoleon himself was vastly amused at it, and bantered his minister, whose habits, as every one knows, were not of the bantering kind.
‘Naturally, Dubois’s order of recall was despatched with the same promptitude as that for his departure. Our poet fell from his commissaryship-general as Sancho had fallen from the governorship of his island, and become a nonentity as before. But the three hundred thousand francs had been paid to him and properly invested, and on his return to Paris, he was enabled to pursue in peace his cultivation of the Muses, and we may be sure did not lack for parasites to applaud his verses and share his dinners, which were amply defrayed by the iron-mines of Elba.’
Thus far the narrative of the Comte de Marsan, to whom I leave the responsibility for the story, although I have no doubt of its veracity, for Fouché, the Terrorist of old, was an excellent courtier.
M. Cast***‘s progress on the road to fortune was not as rapid as that, yet sufficiently rapid for him to look back with satisfaction on his pluck, as exemplified in his journey to Vienna. His interview with Comte de Witt resulted in his appointment as his secretary. He came to tell me of his wonderful piece of luck, and that same night went to the Leopoldstadt theatre and was arrested by the police, who in Vienna were very severe with foreigners. He showed fight, received several blows, was bound hand and foot, and flung into a cell pending inquiry. When brought before a magistrate next morning, he referred to his new patron, the Comte de Witt, belonging to the suite of the Emperor of Russia, and on the deposition of the general, was set at liberty. Not being provided with a passport, he would, had this happened one day earlier, have been taken as a vagrant to the Austrian frontier.
Subsequently, I was told by the Abbé Chalenton, the tutor of the young Polignacs, that M. Cast***, having accompanied the Comte de Witt to Russia, married at Tulczim a Dutch girl of excellent birth, with an income of two thousand Dutch ducats, and on that occasion the abbé, at that time the tutor of Comtesse Potocka’s children, gave the bride away. M. Cast*** returned afterwards to Lyons in a different condition from that in which he had left it three years previously.
The moral of all this is that, thanks to a plucky resolve, he also had his share in the good things which were going at the Congress of Vienna. Who after this shall deny the workings of chance on our destinies and the usefulness of letters of introduction?