CHAPTER V.
RETURN TO PARIS.--INTERVIEW WITH BOLINGBROKE.--A GALLANTADVENTURE.--AFFAIR WITH DUBOIS.--PUBLIC LIFE IS A DRAMA, IN WHICHPRIVATE VICES GENERALLY PLAY THE PART OF THE SCENE-SHIFTERS.
IT is a strange feeling we experience on entering a great city bynight,--a strange mixture of social and solitary impressions. I say bynight, because at that time we are most inclined to feel; and the mind,less distracted than in the day by external objects, dwells themore intensely upon its own hopes and thoughts, remembrances andassociations, and sheds over them, from that one feeling which itcherishes the most, a blending and a mellowing hue.
It was at night that I re-entered Paris. I did not tarry long at myhotel, before (though it was near upon midnight) I conveyed myself toLord Bolingbroke's lodgings. Knowing his engagements at St. Germains,where the Chevalier (who had but a very few weeks before returnedto France, after the crude and unfortunate affair of 1715), chieflyresided, I was not very sanguine in my hopes of finding him at Paris.I was, however, agreeably surprised. His servant would have ushered meinto his study, but I was willing to introduce myself. I withheld theservant, and entered the room alone. The door was ajar, and Bolingbrokeneither heard nor saw me. There was something in his attitude and aspectwhich made me pause to survey him, before I made myself known. Hewas sitting by a table covered with books. A large folio (it was theCasaubon edition of Polybius) was lying open before him. I recognizedthe work at once: it was a favourite book with Bolingbroke, and we hadoften discussed the merits of its author. I smiled as I saw that thatbook, which has to statesmen so peculiar an attraction, made still thestudy from which the busy, restless, ardent, and exalted spirit of thestatesman before me drew its intellectual food. But at the momentin which I entered his eye was absent from the page, and turnedabstractedly in an opposite though still downcast direction. Hiscountenance was extremely pale, his lips were tightly compressed, and anair of deep thought, mingled as it seemed to me with sadness, made theruling expression of his lordly and noble features. "It is the torpor ofambition after one of its storms," said I, inly; and I approached, andlaid my hand on his shoulder.
After our mutual greetings, I said, "Have the dead so strong anattraction that at this hour they detain the courted and courtlyBolingbroke from the admiration and converse of the living?"
The statesman looked at me earnestly: "Have you heard the news of theday?" said he.
"How is it possible? I have but just arrived at Paris."
"You do not know, then, that I have resigned my office under theChevalier!"
"Resigned your office!"
"Resigned is a wrong word: I received a dismissal. Immediately on hisreturn the Chevalier sent for me, embraced me, desired me to prepareto follow him to Lorraine; and three days afterwards came the Duke ofOrmond to me, to ask me to deliver up the seals and papers. I put thelatter very carefully in a little letter-case, and behold an end to theadministration of Lord Bolingbroke! The Jacobites abuse me terribly;their king accuses me of neglect, incapacity, and treachery; and Fortunepulls down the fabric she has built for me, in order to pelt me with thestones!"*
* Letter to Sir W. Windham.--ED.
"My dear, dear friend, I am indeed grieved for you; but I am moreincensed at the infatuation of the Chevalier. Surely, surely he mustalready have seen his error, and solicited your return?"
"Return!" cried Bolingbroke, and his eyes flashed fire,--"return!--Hearwhat I said to the Queen-Mother who came to attempt a reconciliation:'Madam,' said I, in a tone as calm as I could command, 'if ever thishand draws the sword, or employs the pen, in behalf of that prince,may it rot!' Return! not if my head were the price of refusal! Yet,Devereux,"--and here Bolingbroke's voice and manner changed,--"yet it isnot at these tricks of fate that a wise man will repine. We do right tocultivate honours; they are sources of gratification to ourselves: theyare more; they are incentives to the conduct which works benefitsto others; but we do wrong to afflict ourselves at their loss. 'Necquaerere nec spernere honores oportet.'* It is good to enjoy theblessings of fortune: it is better to submit without a pang to theirloss. You remember, when you left me, I was preparing myself for thisstroke: believe me, I am now prepared."
* "It becomes us neither to court nor to despise honours."
And in truth Bolingbroke bore the ingratitude of the Chevalier well.Soon afterwards he carried his long cherished wishes for retirementinto effect; and Fate, who delights in reversing her disk, leavingin darkness what she had just illumined, and illumining what she hadhitherto left in obscurity and gloom, for a long interval separated usfrom each other, no less by his seclusion than by the publicity to whichshe condemned myself.
Lord Bolingbroke's dismissal was not the only event affecting me thathad occurred during my absence from France. Among the most activepartisans of the Chevalier, in the expedition of Lord Mar, had beenMontreuil. So great, indeed, had been either his services or the ideaentertained of their value, that a reward of extraordinary amount wasoffered for his head. Hitherto he had escaped, and was supposed to bestill in Scotland.
But what affected me more nearly was the condition of Gerald'scircumstances. On the breaking out of the rebellion he had been suddenlyseized, and detained in prison; and it was only upon the escape of theChevalier that he was released: apparently, however, nothing hadbeen proved against him; and my absence from the head-quartersof intelligence left me in ignorance both of the grounds of hisimprisonment and the circumstances of his release.
I heard, however, from Bolingbroke, who seemed to possess some of thatinformation which the ecclesiastical intriguants of the day so curiouslytransmitted from court to court and corner to corner, that Gerald hadretired to Devereux Court in great disgust at his confinement. However,when I considered his bold character, his close intimacy with Montreuil,and the genius for intrigue which that priest so eminently possessed,I was not much inclined to censure the government for unnecessaryprecaution in his imprisonment.
There was another circumstance connected with the rebellion whichpossessed for me an individual and deep interest. A man of the nameof Barnard had been executed in England for seditious and treasonablepractices. I took especial pains to ascertain every particularrespecting him. I learned that he was young, of inconsiderable note,but esteemed clever; and had, long previously to the death of theQueen, been secretly employed by the friends of the Chevalier. Thiscircumstance occasioned me much internal emotion, though there couldbe no doubt that the Barnard whom I had such cause to execrate had onlyborrowed from this minion the disguise of his name.
The Regent received me with all the graciousness and complaisancefor which he was so remarkable. To say the truth, my mission had beenextremely fortunate in its results; the only cause in which the Regentwas concerned the interests of which Peter the Great appeared todisregard was that of the Chevalier; but I had been fully instructed onthat head anterior to my legation.
There appears very often to be a sort of moral fitness between thebeginning and the end of certain alliances or acquaintances. Thissentiment is not very clearly expressed. I am about to illustrate it byan important event in my political life. During my absence Dubois hadmade rapid steps towards being a great man. He was daily growing intopower, and those courtiers who were neither too haughty nor too honestto bend the knee to so vicious yet able a minion had already singled himout as a fit person to flatter and to rise by. For me, I neither soughtnor avoided him: but he was as civil towards me as his _brusque_ temperpermitted him to be towards most persons; and as our careers were notlikely to cross one another, I thought I might reckon on his neutrality,if not on his friendship. Chance turned the scale against me.
One day I received an anonymous letter, requesting me to be, at suchan hour, at a certain house in the Rue------. It occurred to me asno improbable supposition that the appointment might relate to myindividual circumstances, whether domestic or political, and I certainlyhad not at the moment any ideas of gallantry in my brain. At the hourprescribed I appeared at the place of
assignation. My mind misgave mewhen I saw a female conduct me into a little chamber hung with tapestrydescriptive of the loves of Mars and Venus. After I had cooled my heelsin this apartment about a quarter of an hour, in sailed a tall woman,of a complexion almost Moorish. I bowed; the lady sighed. An_eclaircissement_ ensued; and I found that I had the good fortune to bethe object of a _caprice_ in the favourite mistress of the Abbe Dubois.Nothing was further from my wishes! What a pity it is that one cannotalways tell a woman one's mind!
I attempted a flourish about friendship, honour, and the respect due tothe _amante_ of the most intimate _ami_ I had in the world.
"Pooh!" said the tawny Calypso, a little pettishly, "pooh! one does nottalk of those things here."
"Madame," said I, very energetically, "I implore you to refrain. Do notexcite too severe a contest between passion and duty! I feel that I mustfly you: you are already too bewitching."
Just as I rose to depart in rushes the _femme de chambre_, andannounces, not Monsieur the Abbe, but Monseigneur the Regent. Of course(the old resort in such cases) I was thrust in a closet; in marches hisRoyal Highness, and is received very cavalierly. It is quite astonishingto me what airs those women give themselves when they have princes tomanage! However, my confinement was not long: the closet had anotherdoor; the _femme de chambre_ slips round, opens it, and I congratulatemyself on my escape.
When a Frenchwoman is piqued, she passes all understanding. The nextday I am very quietly employed at breakfast, when my valet ushers in amasked personage, and behold my gentlewoman again! Human endurancewill not go too far, and this was a case which required one to be ina passion one way or the other; so I feigned anger, and talked withexceeding dignity about the predicament I had been placed in the daybefore.
"Such must always be the case," said I, "when one is weak enough to forman attachment to a lady who encourages so many others!"
"For your sake," said the tender dame, "for your sake, then, I willdiscard them all!"
There was something grand in this it might have elicited a few strokesof pathos, when--never was there anything so strangely provoking--theAbbe Dubois himself was heard in my anteroom. I thought this chance,but it was more; the good Abbe, I afterwards found, had traced cause forsuspicion, and had come to pay me a visit of amatory police. I openedmy dressing-room door, and thrust in the lady. "There," said I, "are theback-stairs, and at the bottom of the back-stairs is a door."
Would not any one have thought this hint enough? By no means; thisvery tall lady stooped to the littleness of listening, and, instead ofdeparting, stationed herself by the keyhole.
I never exactly learned whether Dubois suspected the visit his mistresshad paid me, or whether he merely surmised, from his spies or herescritoire, that she harboured an inclination towards me; in either casehis policy was natural, and like himself. He sat himself down, talked ofthe Regent, of pleasure, of women, and, at last, of this very tall ladyin question.
"_La pauvre diablesse_," said he, contemptuously, "I had once compassionon her; I have repented it ever since. You have no idea what a terriblecreature she is; has such a wen in her neck, quite a _goitre_. _Mortdiable_!" (and the Abbe spat in his handkerchief), "I would sooner havea _liaison_ with the witch of Endor!"
Not content with this, he went on in his usual gross and displeasingmanner to enumerate or to forge those various particulars of herpersonal charms which he thought most likely to steel me against herattractions. "Thank Heaven, at least," thought I, "that she has gone!"
Scarcely had this pious gratulation flowed from my heart, before thedoor was burst open, and, pale, trembling, eyes on fire, hands clenched,forth stalked the lady in question. A wonderful proof how much sooner awoman would lose her character than allow it to be called not worththe losing! She entered, and had all the furies of Hades lent her theirtongues, she could not have been more eloquent. It would have been avery pleasant scene if one had not been a partner in it. The old Abbe,with his keen, astute marked face, struggling between surprise, fear,the sense of the ridiculous, and the certainty of losing his mistress;the lady, foaming at the mouth, and shaking her clenched hand mostmenacingly at her traducer; myself endeavouring to pacify, and acting,as one does at such moments, mechanically, though one flatters one'sself afterwards that one acted solely from wisdom.
But the Abbe's mistress was by no means content with vindicatingherself: she retaliated, and gave so minute a description of the Abbe'sown qualities and graces, coupled with so any pleasing illustrations,that in a very little time his coolness forsook him, and he grew in asgreat a rage as herself. At last she flew out of the room. The Abbe,trembling with passion, shook me most cordially by the hand, grinnedfrom ear to ear, said it was a capital joke, wished me good-by as if heloved me better than his eyes, and left the house my most irreconcilableand bitter foe!
How could it be otherwise? The rivalship the Abbe might have forgiven;such things happened every day to him: but the having been made soegregiously ridiculous the Abbe could not forgive; and the Abbe's wasa critical age for jesting on these matters, sixty or so. And then suchunpalatable sarcasms on his appearance! "'Tis all over in that quarter,"said I to myself, "but we may find another," and I drove out that veryday to pay my respects to the Regent.
What a pity it is that one's pride should so often be the bane of one'swisdom. Ah! that one could be as good a man of the world in practiceas one is in theory! my master-stroke of policy at that moment wouldevidently have been this: I should have gone to the Regent and madeout a story similar to the real one, but with this difference, all theridicule of the situation should have fallen upon me, and thelittle Dubois should have been elevated on a pinnacle of respectableappearances! This, as the Regent told the Abbe everything, would havesaved me. I saw the plan; but was too proud to adopt it; I followedanother course in my game: I threw away the knave, and played with theking, _i.e._, with the Regent. After a little preliminary conversation,I turned the conversation on the Abbe.
"Ah! the _scelerat_!" said Philip, smiling, "'tis a sad dog, but veryclever and _loves me_, he would be incomparable, if he were but decentlyhonest."
"At least," said I, "he is no hypocrite, and that is some praise."
"Hem!" ejaculated the Duke, very slowly, and then, after a pause, hesaid, "Count, I have a real kindness for you, and I will therefore giveyou a piece of advice: think as well of Dubois as you can, and addresshim as if he were all you endeavoured to fancy him."
After this hint, which in the mouth of any prince but Philip of Orleanswould have been not a little remarkable for its want of dignity, myprospects did not seem much brighter; however, I was not discouraged.
"The Abbe," said I, respectfully, "is a choleric man: one _may_displease him; but dare I hope that so long as I preserve inviolate myzeal and my attachment to the interests and the person of your Highness,no--"
The Regent interrupted me. "You mean nobody shall successfullymisrepresent you to me? No, Count" (and here the Regent spoke with theearnestness and dignity, which, when he did assume, few wore witha nobler grace)--"no, Count, I make a distinction between those whominister to the state and those who minister to me. I consider yourservices too valuable to the former to put them at the mercy of thelatter. And now that the conversation has turned upon business I wish tospeak to you about this scheme of Gortz."
After a prolonged conference with the Regent upon matters of business,in which his deep penetration into human nature not a little surprisedme, I went away thoroughly satisfied with my visit. I should not havebeen so had I added to my other accomplishments the gift of prophecy.Above five days after this interview, I thought it would be but prudentto pay the Abbe Dubois one of those visits of homage which it wasalready become policy to pay him. "If I go," thought I, "it will seem asif nothing had happened; if I stay away, it will seem as if I attachedimportance to a scene I should appear to have forgotten."
It so happened that the Abbe had a very unusual visitor that morning,in the person of the austere but admirable D
uc de St. Simon. There was asingular and almost invariable distinction in the Regent's mind betweenone kind of regard and another. His regard for one order of personsalways arose either out of his vices or his indolence; his regard foranother, out of his good qualities and his strong sense. The Duc de St.Simon held the same place in the latter species of affection that Duboisdid in the former. The Duc was just coming out of the Abbe's closet asI entered the anteroom. He paused to speak to me, while Dubois, who hadfollowed the Duc out, stopped for one moment, and surveyed me with alook like a thundercloud. I did not appear to notice it, but St. Simondid.
"That look," said he, as Dubois, beckoning to a gentleman to accompanyhim to his closet, once more disappeared, "that look bodes you no good,Count."
Pride is an elevation which is a spring-board at one time anda stumbling-block at another. It was with me more often thestumbling-block than the spring-board. "Monseigneur le Duc," said I,haughtily enough, and rather in too loud a tone considering the chamberwas pretty full, "in no court to which Morton Devereux proffers hisservices shall his fortune depend upon the looks of a low-born insolentor a profligate priest."
St. Simon smiled sardonically. "Monsieur le Comte," said he, rathercivilly, "I honour your sentiments, and I wish you success in theworld--and a lower voice."
I was going to say something by way of retort, for I was in a verybad humour, but I checked myself: "I need not," thought I, "make twoenemies, if I can help it."
"I shall never," I replied gravely, "I shall never despair, so long asthe Duc de St. Simon lives, of winning by the same arts the favour ofprinces and the esteem of good men."
The Duc was flattered, and replied suitably, but he very soon afterwardswent away. I was resolved that I would not go till I had fairly seenwhat sort of reception the Abbe would give me. I did not wait long, hecame out of his closet, and standing in his usual rude manner with hisback to the fireplace, received the addresses and compliments of hisvisitors. I was not in a hurry to present myself, but I did so at lastwith a familiar yet rather respectful air. Dubois looked at me from headto foot, and abruptly turning his back upon me, said with an oath, to acourtier who stood next to him,--"The plagues of Pharaoh are come again;only instead of Egyptian frogs in our chambers, we have the still moretroublesome guests,--English adventurers!"
Somehow or other my compliments rarely tell; I am lavish enough of them,but they generally have the air of sarcasms; thank Heaven, however, noone can accuse me of ever wanting a rude answer to a rude speech. "Ha!ha! ha!" said I now, in answer to Dubois, with a courteous laugh, "youhave an excellent wit, Abbe. _A propos_ of adventures, I met a MonsieurSt. Laurent, Principal of the Institution of St. Michael, the otherday. 'Count,' said he, hearing I was going to Paris, 'you can do me anespecial favour!' 'What is it?' said I. 'Why, a cast-off valet of mineis living at Paris; he would have gone long since to the galleys, if hehad not taken sanctuary in the Church: if ever you meet him, give him agood horsewhipping on my account; his name is William Dubois.' 'Dependupon it,' answered I to Monsieur St. Laurent, 'that if he is servant toany one not belonging to the royal family, I will fulfil your errand,and horsewhip him soundly; if _in_ the service of the royal family, why,respect for his masters must oblige me to content myself with puttingall persons on their guard against a little rascal, who retains, in allsituations, the manners of the apothecary's son and the roguery of thedirector's valet.'"
All the time I was relating this charming little anecdote, it would havebeen amusing to the last degree to note the horrified countenances ofthe surrounding gentlemen. Dubois was too confounded, too aghast, tointerrupt me, and I left the room before a single syllable was uttered.Had Dubois at that time been, what he was afterwards, cardinal and primeminister, I should in all probability have had permanent lodgings inthe Bastile in return for my story. Even as it was, the Abbe was not sograteful as he ought to have been for my taking so much pains to amusehim! In spite of my anger on leaving the favourite, I did not forgetmy prudence, and accordingly I hastened to the Prince. When the Regentadmitted me, I flung myself on my knee, and told him, _verbatim_, allthat had happened. The Regent, who seems to have had very little realliking for Dubois, could not help laughing when I ludicrously describedto him the universal consternation my anecdote had excited.*
* On the death of Dubois, the Regent wrote to the Count de Noce, whom hehad banished for an indiscreet expression against the favourite, utteredat one of his private suppers: "With the beast dies the venom: I expectyou to-night to supper at the Palais Royal."
"Courage, my dear Count," said he, kindly, "you have nothing to fear;return home and count upon an embassy!"
I relied on the royal word, returned to my lodgings, and spent theevening with Chaulieu and Fontenelle. The next day the Duc de St. Simonpaid me a visit. After a little preliminary conversation, he unburdenedthe secret with which he was charged. I was desired to leave Paris inforty-eight hours.
"Believe me," said St. Simon, "that this message was not intrusted to meby the Regent without great reluctance. He sends you many condescendingand kind messages; says he shall always both esteem and like you,and hopes to see you again, some time or other, at the Palais Royal.Moreover, he desires the message to be private, and has intrusted itto me in especial, because hearing that I had a kindness for you, andknowing I had a hatred for Dubois, he thought I should be the leastunwelcome messenger of such disagreeable tidings. 'To tell you thetruth, St. Simon,' said the Regent, laughing, 'I only consent to havehim banished, from a firm conviction that if I do not Dubois will takesome opportunity of having him beheaded.'"
"Pray," said I, smiling with a tolerably good grace, "pray give my mostgrateful and humble thanks to his Highness, for his very considerateand kind foresight. I could not have chosen better for myself than hisHighness has chosen for me: my only regret on quitting France is atleaving a prince so affable as Philip and a courtier so virtuous as St.Simon."
Though the good Duc went every year to the Abbey de la Trappe for thepurpose of mortifying his sins and preserving his religion in so impiousan atmosphere as the Palais Royal, he was not above flattery; and heexpressed himself towards me with particular kindness after my speech.
At court, one becomes a sort of human ant-bear, and learns to catchone's prey by one's tongue.
After we had eased ourselves a little by abusing Dubois, the Duc tookhis leave in order to allow me time to prepare for my "journey," as hepolitely called it. Before he left, he, however, asked me whither mycourse would be bent? I told him that I should take my chance with theCzar Peter, and see if his czarship thought the same esteem was due tothe disgraced courtier as to the favoured diplomatist.
That night I received a letter from St. Simon, enclosing one addressedwith all due form to the Czar. "You will consider the enclosed," wroteSt. Simon, "a fresh proof of the Regent's kindness to you; it is a mostflattering testimonial in your favour, and cannot fail to make the Czaranxious to secure your services."
I was not a little touched by a kindness so unusual in princes to theirdiscarded courtiers, and this entirely reconciled me to a change ofscene which, indeed, under any other circumstances, my somewhat morbidlove for action and variety would have induced me rather to relish thandislike.
Within thirty-six hours from the time of dismissal, I had turned my backupon the French capital.