CHAPTER XXIV. THE COUNT DE COUCY—DUMAS—A THREATENED SUICIDE.
It is probable that these pages will be perused by some who recollect a recent attempt to substitute a child procured in an English workhouse for the veritable heir to an Irish earldom. It is extremely improbable, that, in any part of the world, they may be read by any person unacquainted with the main circumstances of the lengthened investigations, which terminated in the conviction of a spurious aspirant to an English baronetcy. I shall now offer my second selection from the French memoirs. It relates to a claim to a title of nobility, and, looking to the source from which the statements have been derived, I think they may fairly be designated a true account of a falsehood.
The Marquis de Coucy sent his son to be nursed at Gonesse, where he was left during three years, as was usual at that period (the reign of Louis XIV.) The young Count was then brought back to his paternal home, and became the idolized darling of his parents, who had no other child. When the proper time arrived to commence his education, the first masters were engaged. His progress was most rapid, and at sixteen, having completed his preliminary studies, he was entered at the Military Academy.
One day, whilst he was amusing himself along with some of the Rohans, the Tremouilles, a Duguesclin or two, and several of the young Rochefoucaults, a decrepit female, hideously ugly, excessively dirty, although not badly clad, proposed to this party of high-born lads to tell their fortunes. Some haughtily rejected the old impostor, others eagerly embraced her offer, and amongst them the young Coucy. She took the hands of four or five in succession, told them her idle stories, and pocketed their money.
All, through a motive of amusement, even those who were not desirous of making a personal experience of her imaginative power, surrounded the fortune-teller. When it came to the turn of the young Count de Coucy to extend his palm, he offered it. The old hag examined his hand for a much longer time than she had devoted to the inspection of the preceding ones, and suddenly rejecting it with every indication of disdain, she exclaimed—"Back, fellow! Begone, clown! I am here to speak only to gentle-folk, and not to tell the future destiny of a peasant's son."
At these words there was a universal laugh: some ridiculing the old woman on her divining power, others venting a good-humoured raillery upon their companion. He knew not whether to be jocular or angry. They informed the old woman of the name and title of the illustrious youth whom she had designated the son of a peasant, but she continued to swear by all the saints that the young Coucy was nothing else. The uproar occasioned by this denunciation continued to such a pitch, that the captain of cavalry, the commandant of the academy, interfered, and calling a groom, directed him to turn out that woman.
"That a woman!" exclaimed the groom; "I would wager that it is a man."
Another groom declared that he had seen an individual, in the habit of a peasant, enter a neighbouring tavern, from whence, in about a quarter of an hour, he had issued disguised as a female; and he averred that the fortune-teller whom they had just expelled was the same person. The young Count de Coucy heard these statements with indifference; but as they referred to a creature who had seemed to take pleasure in insulting him, they did not entirely lapse from his recollection.
Six months passed. One morning the Marquis de Coucy, being in his room, was discussing with the Marchioness a project of marriage for the young Count; they were anxious to marry him to a princess of the house of Lorraine. In the midst of their deliberations, a valet-de-chambre appeared. He was the brother of the young Count's foster-father, and the servant to whom the Marquis manifested the greatest liking and confidence. He apologised for disturbing their conversation, and stated that a young man, of a most elegant demeanor and prepossessing manner, and whose appearance seemed almost familiar to him, requested to be admitted.
"Let him come in," said the Marquis. The stranger is introduced. He is youthful, and appears not to have passed his seventeenth year; his figure slight and symmetrical; his aspect expressive and bland; his carriage is good, he has a sweet smile, and his salute is agreeable. Still his deportment does not suggest that noble blood is coursing through his veins. He has not the aristocratic air which a courtly life imparts, or the polished manner derived from elevated society.