In the absorption of those dreams which sometimes confer second sight, Louis XIV. might have discerned his immediate successor hastening the fall of the arches in the Eure Valley to take from them the materials for the mean pavilions of his ignoble mistresses[477]. After Louis XV, he might have seen yet another shadow kneel down, bow its head and lay it silently on the pediment of the aqueduct, as though on a scaffold raised in the sky. Lastly, who knows if, in one of those presentiments attached to royal Houses, Louis XIV. might not, one night, in that Château de Maintenon, have heard a knock at his door:
"Who goes there?"
"Charles X., your descendant."
Louis XIV. did not wake up to see Madame de Maintenon's corpse dragged with a rope round its neck around Saint-Cyr.
Maintenon, September 1836.
My host[478] has described to me the half-a-night which Charles X., banished, spent at the Château de Maintenon. The Monarchy of the Capets ended in a castle-scene of the middle-ages; the Kings of the past had gone back into their centuries to die. As in the time of Cæsar, "the gods announce a great change and revolution in affairs[479]."
The manuscript of one of M. le Duc de Noailles's nieces[480], which he was good enough to show me, relates the incidents which that young lady witnessed. He has permitted me to make the following extracts:
"My uncle, anticipating that the King was going to come to ask him for shelter, gave orders to have the castle made ready.... We got up to receive the King and, while awaiting his arrival, I went to a window in the turret which comes before the billiard-room, to watch what was happening in the court-yard. The night was calm and clear, the half-veiled moon made every object visible in a pale, sad light, and the silence, as yet, was disturbed only by the hoofs of the horses of two regiments of cavalry defiling across the bridge; after them, over the same bridge, defiled the artillery of the Guard, with matches lighted. The dull sound of the guns, the appearance of the black ammunition-wagons, the sight of the torches amid the shadows of the night oppressed my heart terribly and presented the image—alas, too true!—of the funeral procession of the Monarchy.
"Soon, the horses and the first carriages arrived; next, M. le Dauphin and Madame la Dauphine, Madame la Duchesse de Berry, M. le Duc de Bordeaux and Mademoiselle; lastly, the King and all his suite. As the King alighted from his carriage, he seemed extremely dejected: his head had fallen on his chest; his features were drawn and his face distorted with sorrow. This almost sepulchral march of four hours, at a foot's pace[481] and in the midst of the darkness, had also helped to depress his spirits; and, besides, did not the crown weigh heavily enough, at that moment, on his brow? He had some difficulty in ascending the stair-case. My uncle showed him to his apartment, which had been that of Madame de Maintenon; he remained there a few moments alone with his family, after which each of the Princes withdrew to his own room. My uncle and aunt[482] then went in to the King. He spoke to them with his ordinary kindness, told them how wretched he was at not having succeeded in rendering France happy, that that had always been his dearest wish:
"'My one despair is,' he added, 'to see the state in which I am leaving her; what is going to happen? The Duc d'Orléans himself is not sure that his head will be on his shoulders a fortnight hence. All Paris is there, on the road, marching against me; the commissaries have assured me so. I did not trust their report entirely; I called Maison, when they had gone out, and said to him, "I ask you on your honour to tell me, on your word as a soldier, is what they have told me true?" He answered, "They have told you only half the truth[483].'"
"After the King had retired, we all returned to our rooms in succession. I would not go to bed, and I went back to the window to watch the sight that lay before my eyes. A foot-guard was standing sentry at the little door of the grand stair-case, a body-guard was posted on the outer balcony which leads from the square tower to the part where the King was sleeping. In the first rays of the dawn, that warlike figure was outlined in a picturesque manner on the walls darkened by time and his steps resounded on those time-worn stones, as did, perhaps, in former days, those of the steel-clad gallants who had trodden them....
"At half past seven, I went to dress in my aunt's room and, at nine o'clock, I went down, with Madame de Rivera, to M. le Duc de Bordeaux's, where Mademoiselle came soon after. M. le Duc de Bordeaux was amusing himself, with my aunt's children, in throwing bread to the fish and tumbling with the others on mattresses spread out in the room. Nothing was so heart-rending as the sight of those children thus laughing at the misfortunes that struck them. At ten o'clock, the King went to Mass in the castle chapel. It was in that little chapel that the unfortunate Monarch made his sacrifice to God and laid at His feet that brilliant crown which had been so grievously snatched from him, with that admirable, but useless virtue of resignation which is an hereditary heroism in his unhappy family.
"It was, in fact, at Maintenon that Charles X. really ceased to reign; it was there that he disbanded the Royal Guard and the Swiss, keeping only the body-guards for his escort. From that moment, he gave no more orders and in some measure constituted himself a prisoner: the commissaries settled his road to Cherbourg.
"After Mass, the King went back for a moment to his room, and then the sinister procession started off again, at half-past ten. The departure was heart-breaking: every misfortune and the noblest resignation were depicted on the face of Madame la Dauphine, so long accustomed to sorrow. She spoke a few words to me; then, stepping towards the guards who were drawn up in the court-yard, she held out her hand to them; they flung themselves upon it, shedding tears; her own eyes were full, and she uttered these words, in a firm voice:
"'It is not my fault, my friends, it is not my fault.'
"M. le Dauphin embraced M. de Diesbach, who commanded the guards, and mounted his horse. M. le Duc de Bordeaux and Mademoiselle each climbed into a separate carriage. The King went last; he spoke for some time to my uncle, in a manner full of kindness, and thanked him for the hospitality which he had shown him; then he went up to the troops and took leave of them with that accent of the heart which belongs to him:
"'I hope,' he said, 'that we shall soon meet again.'
"A rural gendarme threw himself at his feet and kissed his hand sobbing; he gave it to several others and, turning to the foot-guard who was on sentry and who presented arms to him:
"'Come,' he said, 'I thank you, you have done your duty well. I am pleased with you; but you must be very tired.'
"'Ah, Sire,' answered the old soldier, while great tears trickled down upon his white mustachios, 'it's nothing to be tired: if only we had been able to save Your Majesty!'
"A grenadier, at that moment, made his way through the crowd and came up and stood in front of the King:
"'What do you want?' asked His Majesty.
"'Sire,' answered the soldier, raising his hand to his bear-skin, 'I wanted to look at you once more.'
"The King, deeply moved, threw himself into his carriage, and the whole scene disappeared."
Maintenon, September 1836.
Calamities extend their effect by the fate of him who describes them: this narrative is the work of Madame de Chalais-Périgord, née Beauvilliers-Saint-Aignan. The Duc de Beauvilliers[484] was, under Louis XIV., the governor of the Prince who was the stock of the family outlawed to-day. The last daughter of Fénelon's friend came unexpectedly upon the Duc de Bordeaux on his road and hastened to go to tell her father that she had seen the last heir of the Duc de Bourgogne pass. In the young princess, beauty, rank and fortune were combined; she had first turned her thoughts to the world, in search of pleasure; her hope, like the dove after the Deluge, finding the earth soiled, flew back to the Ark of God.