A quarter of an hour later, the chateau of Versailles was deserted. The courtiers, pages, equerries, and lackeys, had all departed, delighted to leave that infected atmosphere within whose poisonous influence the iron rules of etiquette had detained them while Louis XV. lived. None of them felt inclined to do homage to departed royalty. Even the Duke de Villequier, first gentleman of the bed-chamber, in his terror, forgot etiquette; and instead of watching the king's corpse, he, too, made ready to go with the rest.
"Monsieur," said the duke to Andouille, the king's physician, "I leave you that you may be able to open and embalm the body." Andouille grew pale, for he knew perfectly well that the performance of such a ceremony as that, was his death-warrant. However, after a pause, he replied, "I am ready, your grace, but you must remain to hold the king's head. It is, as you know, a part of your duty as gentleman of the bedchamber." [Footnote: Campan, vol. i., p. 79]
The Duke de Villequier said nothing. He merely bowed and hurried from the room. Andouille followed his example, but, more considerate than the other attendants of the king, he made some provision for the deserted corpse. He sent for one of the subordinates of the palace, and ordered him to watch by the body. Then, going to his carriage, he saw several hodmen lounging about, who were carrying mortar for some repairs that were being made at the palace. The physician called them, and bade them go tell the lord-Steward that the king's coffin must be saturated with spirits of wine, and his winding-sheet also.
Such were the preparations that were made for the obsequies of the defunct king; and his body was watched by a few servants and these hodmen whom Andouille had employed as messengers.
CHAPTER XCIV.
THE MEMORANDA.
It was early in the morning. The court had accompanied the king and queen to Choisy, and thither had flocked the representatives of every class in Paris, to do homage to the king and wish him a prosperous reign.
The people seemed wild with joy, and nobody vouchsafed a thought to the memory of the "Bien-aime," whose body was even now being taken to its last rest, in the vaults of St. Denis. The funeral train was any thing but imposing. The coffin, placed upon a large hunting-wagon, was followed by two carriages, containing the Duke d'Ayen, the Duke d'Aumont, and two priests. Twenty pages and as many grooms closed the procession, which went along without attracting the notice of anybody. The burial-service was read in the crypt, and the coffin hastily lowered in the vault, which was not only walled up, but cemented also, for fear the infection imprisoned within might escape from the dungeon of the dead and infest the abodes of the living.
Not one of the royal family had followed the body. The king was at Choisy, and all hearts were turned to him. Thousands of men went in and out of the palace, each one with his burden of fears, hopes, uneasiness or expectations. Who was now to find favor at court! Would it be the queen, or the aunts of the king? What fate awaited Du Barry? Who would be prime minister?
While these matters were being discussed without, the king, who had not yet made his appearance, was in his cabinet. His disordered mien, tangled hair, and red eyes, as well as the lights that still flickered in the chaneliers, showed plainly that he had not been to bed that night.