Certainly, at that moment, the song was a mockery, for Monsieur Etienne was a most unhappy and distracted father.
"Gentlemen," said he, pathetically, "oblige me by going on to the next town. Indeed—"
"Why, will you not give us dinner?" asked the gentleman who had spoken before. "I see a number of people passing us and entering the house. How is that?"
"Sir, they are—that is—I am," stammered the landlord; then suddenly plunging into a desperate resolve, he said, "Are you a father?"
A shade passed over the stranger's face as he replied, "I have been a father. But why such a question?"
"Oh, if you have been a father," answered Etienne, "you will sympathize with me, when I tell you that to-day we christen our first-born child."
"Ah, indeed!" exclaimed the passenger, with a kind smile. "Then these persons are—"
"My guests," interrupted the landlord and postmaster, "and you will know how to excuse me if—"
"If you wish us to the devil," returned the blue-eyed stranger, laughing merrily. "But, indeed, I cannot oblige you my excellent friend, for I don't know where his infernal majesty is to be found; and if I may be allowed a preference, I would rather remain in the society of the two priests whom I see going into your house."
"You will not go farther, then—"
"Oh, no, we ask to be allowed to join your guests, and attend the christening. The baptism of a first-born child is a ceremony which touches my heart, and yours, also, does it not?" said the stranger to his companion.
"Certainly," replied the other, laughing, "above all, when it is joined to another interesting ceremony—that of a good dinner. "
"Oh, you shall have a good dinner!" cried Etienne, won over by the sympathy of the first speaker. "Come in, gentlemen, come in. As the guests of our little son, you are welcome."
CHAPTER CVII.
THE GODFATHER.
"We accept with pleasure," said the strangers, and they followed the host into the house. The door of the room where the guests were assembled was open, and the strangers, with a self-possession which proved them to be of the aristocracy, walked in and mingled at once in the conversation.
"Allow me, gentlemen," said the host, when he had greeted the remainder of his guests, "allow me to present you to Madame Etienne. She will he proud to receive two such distinguished strangers in her house to-day."
Madame Etienne, with a woman's practised eye, saw at once that these unknown guests, who were so perfectly unembarrassed and yet so courteous, must belong to the very first ranks of society; and she was happy to be able to show off her savoir vivre before the rest of the company.
She received the two travellers with much grace and affability; and whereas the curates were to have been placed beside her at table, she assigned them to her husband, and invited the strangers to the seats instead. She informed them of the names and station of every person present, and then related to them how the winter previous, at the ball of the sub-prefect, she had danced the whole evening, while some of the prettiest girls in the room had wanted partners.
The gentlemen listened with obliging courtesy, and appeared deeply interested. The blue-eyed stranger, however, mingled somewhat in the general conversation. He spoke with the burgomaster from Solanges of the condition of his town, with the curates of their congregations, and seemed interested in the prosperity of French manufactures, about which much was said at table.
All were enchanted with the tact and affability of the strangers. Monsieur Etienne was highly elated, and as for madame, her paleness had been superseded by a becoming flush, and she never once complained of over-exertion.
The dinner over, the company assembled for the baptism. It was to take place in the parlor, where a table covered with a fine white cloth, a wax-candle, some flowers, a crucifix, and an improvised font, had been arranged for the occasion.
The noble stranger gave his arm to Madame Etienne. "Madame," said he, "may I ask of you the favor of standing godfather to your son?"
Madame Etienne blushed with pleasure, and replied that she would be most grateful for the honor.
"In this way," thought she, "we shall find out his name and rank."
The ceremony began. The curate spoke a few impressive words as to the nature of the sacrament, and then proceeded to baptize the infant. The water was poured over its head, and at last came the significant question: "What is the name of the godfather?" All eyes were turned upon him, and Madame Etienne's heart beat hard, for she expected to hear the word "count" at the very least.
"My name?" said he. "Joseph."
"Joseph," repeated the priest. "Joseph—and the surname?"
"I thought Joseph would be enough," said the stranger, with some impatience.
"No, sir," replied the priest. "The surname, too, must be registered in the baptismal records."
"Very well then—Joseph the Second."
"The Second?" echoed the curate, with a look of mistrust. "The SECOND!
Is that your surname?"
"Yes, my name is 'The Second.'"
"Well, be it so," returned the curate, with a shrug. "Joseph— the—Second. Now, what is your profession—excuse me, sir, but I ask the customary questions."
The stranger looked down and seemed almost confused. The curate mildly repeated his question. "What is your profession, or your station, sir?"
"Emperor of Austria," replied Joseph, smiling.
A cry of astonishment followed this announcement. The pencil with which the priest was about to record the "profession" of the godfather fell from his hands. Madame Etienne in her ecstasy fell almost fainting into an arm-chair, and Monsieur Etienne, taking the child from the arms of the nurse, came and knelt with it at the emperor's feet.
This was the signal for a renewal of life and movement in the room. All followed the example of the host, and in one moment old and young, men and women, were on their knees.
"Your majesty," said Etienne, in a voice choked with tears, "you have made my child famous. For a hundred years the honor you have conferred upon him will be the wonder of our neighborhood, and never will the people of Vitry forget the condescension of your majesty in sitting among us as an equal and a guest. My son is a Frenchman at heart he shall also be a German, like our own beautiful queen, who is both Austrian and French. God bless and preserve you both! Long live our queen, Marie Antoinette, and long live her noble brother, the Emperor of Austria!"
The company echoed the cry, and their shouts aroused Madame Etienne, who arose and advanced toward her imperial visitor. He hastened to replace her gently in her arm-chair.
"Where people are bound together by the ties of parent and god-father," said he, "there must be no unnecessary ceremony. Will you do me one favor, madame?"
"Sire, my life is at your majesty's disposal."
"Preserve and treasure it, then, for the sake of my godson. And since you are willing to do me the favor," continued he, drawing from his bosom a snuff-box richly set with diamonds, "accept this as a remembrance of my pleasant visit to you to-day. My portrait is upon the lid, and as I am told that all the lovely women in France take snuff perhaps you will take your snuff from a box which I hope will remind you of the giver.
"And now," continued the emperor, to the happy Monsieur Etienne, "as I have been admitted to the christening, perhaps you will accommodate me with a pair of horses with which I may proceed to the next stage."
CHAPTER CVIII.
THE ARRIVAL AT VERSAILLES.
The French court was at Versailles, it having been decided by the king and queen that there they would receive the emperor's visit. A magnificent suite of apartments had been fitted up for his occupation, and distinguished courtiers appointed as his attendants. He was anxiously expected; for already many an anecdote of his affability and generosity had reached Paris.
A courier had arrived too say that the emperor had reached the last station, and would shortly be in Versailles. The queen received this intelligence with tears of joy, and gathered all her ladies around her in the room where she expected to meet her brother. The king merely nodded, and a shade of dissatisfaction passed over his face. He turned to his confidential adviser, Count Maurepas, who was alone with him in his cabinet.
"Tell me frankly, what do you think of this visit?"
The old count raised his shoulders a la Francaise. "Sire, the queen has so often invited the emperor, that I presume he has come to gratify her longings."
"Ah, bah!" said Louis, impatiently. "He is not so soft-hearted as to shape his actions to suit the longings of his family. Speak more candidly."
"Your majesty commands me to be perfectly sincere?"
"I entreat you, be truthful and tell me what you think."
"Then I confess that the emperor's visit has been a subject of much mystery to your majesty's ministers. You are right in saying that he is not the man to trouble himself about the state of his relatives' affections. He comes to Paris for something nearer to his heart than any royal sister. Perhaps his hope is that he may succeed in removing me, and procuring the appointment of De Choiseul in my stead."
"Never! Austria cannot indulge such vain hopes, for her watchful spies must ere this have convinced the Hapsburgs that my dislike toward this duke, so precious in the eyes of Maria Theresa, is unconquerable. My father's shade banished him to Chanteloup, and I will follow this shade whithersoever it leads. If my father had lived (and perchance Choiseul had a hand in his death) there would have been no alliance of France with Austria. I am forced to maintain it, since my wife is the daughter of Maria Theresa; so that neither the Austrian nor the anti-Austrian party can ever hope to rule in France. Marie Antoinette is the wife of my heart, and no human being shall ever dislodge her thence. But my love for her can never influence my policy, which is steadfast to the principles of my father. If Joseph has come hither for political purposes, he might have spared his pains."
"He may have other views besides those we have alluded to. He may come to gain your majesty's sanction to his ambitious plans of territorial aggrandizement. The emperor is inordinately ambitious, and is true to the policy of his house."
"Which, nevertheless, was obliged to yield Silesia," said Louis, derisively.
That is the open wound for which Austria seeks balsam from Turkey. If your majesty does not stop him, the emperor will light the torch of war and kindle a conflagration that may embrace all Europe. "
"If I can prevent war, it is my duty to do so; for peace is the sacred right of my people, and nothing but imperative necessity would drive me to invade that right."
"But the emperor is not of your majesty's mind. He hopes for war, in expectation of winning glory."
"And I for peace, with the same expectation. I, too, would win glory—the glory of reigning over a happy and prosperous people. The fame of the conqueror is the scourge of mankind; that of the legislator, its blessing. The last shall be my portion—I have no object in view but the welfare of the French nation."
"The emperor may endeavor to cajole your majesty through your very love for France. He may propose to you an extension of French territory to reconcile you to his acquisitions in Turkey. He may suggest the Netherlands as an equivalent for Bosnia and Servia."
"I will not accept the bribe," cried Louis hastily. "France needs no aggrandizement. If her boundaries were extended, she would lose in strength what she gained in size; so that Joseph will waste his time if he seeks to awaken in me a lust of dominion. I thirst for conquest, it is true—the conquest of my people's hearts. May my father's blessing, and my own sincere efforts enable me to accomplish the one purpose of my life!"
"You have accomplished it, sire," replied De Maurepas, with enthusiasm.
"You are the absolute master of your subjects' hearts and affections."
"If so, I desire to divide my domains with the queen." said Louis, with a searching look at De Maurepas. The minister cast down his eyes. The king went on: "You have something against her majesty—what is it?"
"The queen has something against me, sire. I am an eyesore to her majesty. She thinks I am in the way of De Choiseul, and will try every means to have me removed."
"You know that she would try in vain. I have already told you so. As a husband, I forget that Marie Antoinette is an Archduchess of Austria, but as my father's son—never! It is the same with her brother. I may find him agreeable as a relative; but as Emperor of Austria, he will know me as King of France alone. Be his virtues what they may, he never can wring the smallest concession from me. But hark!—I hear the sound of wheels. You know my sentiments-communicate them to the other ministers. I go to welcome my kinsman."
When the king entered the queen's reception-room, she was standing in the midst of her ladies. Her cheeks were pale, but her large, expressive eyes were fixed with a loving gaze upon the door through which her brother was to enter. When she saw the king, she started forward, and laying both her hands in his, smiled affectionately.
"Oh, sire," said she, "the emperor has arrived, and my heart flutters so, that I can scarcely wait for him here. It seems to me so cold that we do not go to meet him. Oh, come, dear husband, let us hasten to embrace our brother. Good Heaven! It is not forbidden a queen to have a heart, is it?"
"On the contrary, it is a grace that well becomes her royalty," said Louis, with a smile. "But your brother does not wish us to go forward to meet him. That would be an acknowledgment of his imperial station, and you know that he visits us as Count of Falkenstein."
"Oh, etiquette, forever etiquette!" whispered the queen, while she opened her huge fan and began to fan herself. "There is no escape from its fangs. We are rid of Madame de Noailles, but Madame Etiquette has stayed behind to watch our every look, to forbid us every joy—"
Just then the door opened, and a tall, manly form was seen upon the threshold. His large blue eyes sought the queen, and recognizing her, his face brightened with a bewitching smile. Marie Antoinette, heedless of etiquette, uttered a cry of joy and flew into his arms. "Brother, beloved brother!" murmured she, in accents of heartfelt tenderness.
"My sister, my own dear Antoinette!" was the loving reply, and Joseph drew her head upon his breast and kissed her again and again. The queen, overcome by joy, burst into tears, and in broken accents, welcomed the emperor to France.
The bystanders were deeply affected, all except the king—he alone was unmoved by the touching scene. He alone had remarked with displeasure that Marie Antoinette had greeted her brother in their native tongue, and that Joseph had responded. It was a German emperor and a German archduchess who were locked in each other's arms—and near them stood the King of France, for the moment forgotten. The position was embarrassing, and Louis had not tact enough to extricate himself gracefully. With ruffled brow and downcast eyes he stood, until, no longer able to restrain his chagrin, he turned on his heel to leave the room.
At this moment a light hand was laid upon his arm, and the clear, sonorous voice of the queen was heard.
"My dear husband, whither are you going?"
"I am here too soon," replied he, sharply. "I had been told that the Count of Falkenstein had arrived, and I came to greet him. It appears that it was a mistake, and I retire until he presents himself."
"The Count of Falkenstein is here, sire, and asks a thousand pardons for having allowed his foolish heart to get the better of his courtesy," said Joseph, with the superiority of better breeding. "Forgive me for taking such selfish possession of my sister's heart.. It was a momentary concession from the Queen of France to the memories of her childhood; but I lay it at your majesty's feet, and entreat you to accept it as your well-won trophy."
He looked at the king with such an expression of cordiality, that Louis could not withstand him. A smile which he could not control, rippled the gloomy surface of the king's face; and he came forward, offering both hands.
"I welcome you with my whole heart, my brother," said he in reply. "Your presence in Versailles is a source of happiness both to the queen and to myself. Let me accompany you to your apartments that you may take possession at once, and refresh yourself from the fatigues of travelling."
"Sire," replied Joseph, "I will follow your majesty wheresoever you please; but I cannot allow you to be inconvenienced by my visit. I and a soldier, unaccustomed to magnificence, and not worthy of such royal accommodation as you offer."
"How!" cried the queen." You will not be our guest?"
"I will gladly be your guest at table if you allow it," replied the emperor, "but I can dine with you without lodging at Versailles. When I travel, I do not go to castles but to inns."
The king looked astounded. "To inns?" repeated he with emphasis.
"Count Falkenstein means hotels, your majesty," cried the queen, laughing. "My brother is not quite accustomed to our French terms, and we will have to teach him the difference between a hotel and an inn. But to do this, dear brother, you must remain with us. Your apartments are as retired as you could possibly desire them."
"I know that Versailles is as vast as it is magnificent," said Joseph, "but I have already sent my valet to take rooms for me in Paris. Let us, then, say no more on the subject. [Footnote: "Memoires de Madame de Campan," vol. i., p. 172.] I am very grateful to you for your hospitality, but I have come to France to hear, to see, and to learn. I must be out early and late, and that would not suit the royal etiquette of Versailles."
"I thought you had come to Paris to visit the king and myself," said
Marie Antoinette, looking disappointed.
"You were right, dear sister, but I am not so agreeable that you should wish to have me constantly at your side. I wish to become acquainted with your beautiful Paris. It is so full of treasures of art and wonders of industry, that a man has only to use his eyes, and he grows accomplished. I am much in need of such advantages, sire, for you will find me a barbarian for whose lapses you will have to be indulgent."
"I must crave then a reciprocity of indulgence," replied Louis. "But, come, count—give your arm to the queen, and let her show you the way to dinner. To-day we dine en famille, and my brothers and sisters are impatient to welcome Count Falkenstein to Versailles."
CHAPTER CIX.
COUNT FALKENSTEIN IN PARIS.
A modest hackney-coach stood before the door of the little Hotel de Turenne, in the Rue Vivienne. The occupant, who had just alighted, was about to enter the hotel, when the hunt, who was standing before the door, with his hands plunged to the very bottom of his breeches pockets, stopped the way, and, not very politely, inquired what he wanted.
"I want what everybody else wants here, and what your sign offers to everybody—lodgings, "replied the stranger.
"That is precisely what you cannot have," said mine host, pompously. "I am not at liberty to receive any one, not even a gentleman of your distinguished appearance."
"Then, take in your sign, my friend. When a man inveigles travellers with a sign, he ought to be ready to satisfy their claims upon his hospitality. I, therefore, demand a room."
"I tell you, sir, that you cannot have it. The Hotel de Turenne has been too highly honored to entertain ordinary guests. The Emperor of Austria, brother of the beautiful queen, has taken lodgings here."
The stranger laughed. "If the emperor were to hear you, he would take lodgings with someone more discreet than yourself. He travels incognito in France."
"But everybody is in the secret, sir; and all Paris is longing for a sight of Count Falkenstein, of whom all sorts of delightful anecdotes are circulated. He is affability itself, and speaks with men generally as if they were his equals."
"And pray," said the stranger, laughing, "is he made differently from other men?"
The host eyed his interrogator with anger and contempt. "This is very presuming language," said he, "and as his majesty is my guest, I cannot suffer it. The French think the world of him, and no wonder, for he is the most condescending sovereign in Europe. He refused to remain at the palace, and comes to take up his abode here. Is not that magnanimous?"
"I find it merely a matter of convenience. He wishes to be in a central situation. Has he arrived?"
"No, not yet. His valet is here, and has set up his camp-bed. I am waiting to receive the emperor and his suite now."
"Is the valet Guther here?"
"Ah, you know this gentleman's name! Then perhaps you belong to the emperor's suite?"
"Yes," said the stranger, laughing, "I shave him occasionally. Now call
Gunther."
There was something rather imperious in the tone of the gentleman who occasionally shaved the emperor, and the landlord felt impelled to obey.
"Of course," said he, respectfully, "if you shave the emperor, you are entitled to a room here."
The stranger followed him up the broad staircase that led to the first story of the hotel. As they reached the landing, a door opened, and the emperor's valet stepped out into the ball.
"His majesty!" exclaimed he, quickly moving aside and standing stiff as a sentry by the door.
"His majesty!" echoed the landlord. "This gentleman—this—Your majesty—have I—"
"I am Count Falkenstein," replied the emperor, amused. "You see now that you were wrong to refuse me; for the man whom you took for an ordinary mortal was neither more nor less than the emperor himself."
The landlord bent the knee and began to apologize, but Joseph stopped him short. "Never mind," said he, "follow me, I wish to speak with you."
The valet opened the door, and the emperor entered the room, the frightened landlord following.
"These are my apartments!" continued Joseph, looking around.
"Yes, your majesty."
"I retain four of them—an anteroom, a sitting-room, a bedroom, and a room for my valet. I will keep them for six weeks, on one condition."
"Your majesty has only to command here."
"Well, then, I command you to forget what I am in Austria. In France, I am Count Falkenstein; and if ever I hear myself spoken of by any other name, I leave your house on the spot."
"I will obey your instructions, count."
"You understand, then, that I desire to be received and regarded as an ordinary traveller. Whence it follows that you will take in whatever other guests apply to you for lodging. You have proved to me to-day how unpleasant it is to be turned away, and I desire to spare other applicants the—same inconvenience."
"But suppose the Parisians should wish to see Count Falkenstein?"
"They will have to submit to a disappointment."
"Should any one seek an audience of—the count?"
"The count receives visitors, but gives audience to no one. His visitors will be announced by his valet. Therefore you need give yourself no trouble on that head. Should any unfortunate or needy persons present themselves, you are at liberty to admit them."
"Oh!" cried the host, with tears in his eyes, "how the Parisians will appreciate such generosity!"
"They will not have the opportunity of doing so, for they shall not hear a word of it. Now go and send me a barber; and take all the custom that presents itself to you, whether it comes in a chariot or a Hackney-coach."
The host retired, and as the door was closing, Count Rosenberg appeared.
The emperor took his hand, and bade him welcome.
"I Have just been to the embassy," said Rosenberg, "and Count von Mercy says—"
"That I told him I would take rooms at the Hotel of the Ambassadors, but I also reserve to myself this nice little bachelor establishment, to which I may retreat when I feel inclined to do so. The advantage of these double quarters is, that nobody will know exactly where to find me, and I shall enjoy some freedom from parade. At the Hotel of the Ambassadors I shall be continually bored with imperial honors. Here, on the contrary, I am free as air, and can study Paris at my leisure."
"And you intend to pursue these studies alone, count? Is no one to accompany you to spare you inconvenience, perchance to assist you in possible peril?"
"Oh, my friend, as to peril, you know, that I am not easily frightened, and that the Paris police is too well organized to lose sight of me. Monsieur de Sartines, doubtless, thinks that I need as much watching as a house-breaker, for it is presumed at court that I have come to steal the whole country, and carry it to Austria in my pocket."
"They know that to Count Falkenstein nothing is impossible." replied Rosenberg. "To carry away France would not be a very hard matter to a man who has robbed the French people of their hearts."
"Ah, bah! the French people have no hearts. They have nothing but imagination. There is but one man in France who has genuine sensibility—and that one is their poor, timid young king. Louis has a heart, but that heart I shall never win. Heaven grant that the queen have power to make it hers!"
"The queen? If Louis has a heart, it surely cannot be insensible to the charms of that lovely young queen!"
"It ought not to be, for she deserves the love of the best of men. But things are not as they should be here. I have learned that in the few hours of my visit to Versailles. The queen has bitter enemies, and you and I, Rosenberg, must try to disarm them."
"What can I do, count, in this matter?"
"You can watch and report to me. Swear to me, as an honest man, that you will conceal nothing you hear to the queen's detriment or to mine."
"I swear it, count."
"Thank you, my friend. Let us suppose that our mission is to free my sister from the power of a dragon, and restore her to her lover. You are my trusty squire, and together we shall prevail over the monster, and deliver the princess."
At that moment a knocking was heard at the door. It was opened, and an elegant cavalier, with hat and sword, entered the room, with a sweeping bow. The emperor stepped politely forward, and inquired his business.
The magnificent cavalier waved his hat, and with an air of proud consciousness, replied:
"I was requested to give my advice regarding the arrangement of a gentleman's hair."
"Ah, the barber," said the emperor. "Then be so good, sir, as to give your advice, and dress my hair."
"Pardon me, sir, that is not my profession," replied the cavalier, haughtily. "I am a physiognomist. Allow me to call in my subordinate."
"Certainly," said the emperor, ready to burst with laughter, as he surveyed the solemn demeanor of the artiste. The latter walked majestically to the door, and opened it.
"Jean!" cried he, with the voice of a field-marshal; and a youth fluttered in, laden with powder-purses, combs, curling-tongs, ribbons, pomatum, and the other appurtenances of a first-rate hair-dresser.
"Now, sir," said the physiognomist, gravely, "be so good as to take a seat." Joseph obeyed the polite command, upon which the physiognomist retired several paces, folded his arms, and contemplated the emperor in solemn silence.
"Be so kind as to turn your head to the left—a little more—so—that is it—I wish to see your profile," said he after a while.
"My dear sir, pray inform me whether in France it is customary to take a man's portrait before you dress his hair?" asked the emperor, scarcely able to restrain his increasing mirth; while Rosenberg retired to the window, where Joseph could see him shaking, with his handkerchief before his mouth.
"It is not customary, sir," replied the physiognomist, with grave earnestness. "I study your face that I may decide which style becomes you best."
Behind the chair stood the hair-dresser in a fashionable suit of nankeen, with lace cuffs and ruffles, hovering like a large yellow butterfly over the emperor, and ready at the signal to alight upon the imperial head with brush and comb.
The physiognomist continued his study. He contemplated the head of the emperor from every point of view, walking slowly around him, and returning to take a last survey of the front. Finally his eye rested majestically upon the butterfly, which fluttered with expectation.
"Physiognomy of a free negro," said he, with pathos. "Give the gentleman the Moorish coiffure." [Footnote: "Memoires d'un Voyageur qui se Repose," vol. iii., p. 42.] And with a courtly salute he left the room.
The emperor now burst into shouts of laughter, in which he was heartily joined by Rosenberg.
Meanwhile the butterfly had set to work, and was frizzing with all his might.
"How will you manage to give me the Moorish coiffure?" asked the emperor, when he had recovered his speech.
"I shall divide your hair into a multitude of single locks; curl, friz them, and they will stand out from your head in exact imitation of the negro's wool," answered the butterfly, triumphantly.
"I have no doubt that it would accord charmingly with my physiognomy," said the emperor, once more indulging in a peal of laughter, "but to-day I must content myself with the usual European style. Dress my hair as you see it, and be diligent, for I am pressed for time."
The hair-dresser reluctantly obeyed, and in a few minutes the work was completed and the artiste had gone.
"Now," said Joseph to Count Rosenberg, "I am about to pay some visits. My first one shall be to Monsieur de Maurepas. He is one of our most active opponents, and I long to become acquainted with my enemies. Come, then, let us go to the hotel of the keeper of the great seal."
"Your majesty's carriages are not here," replied Rosenberg.
"Dear friend, my equipages are always in readiness. Look on the opposite side of the street at those hackney-coaches. They are my carriages for the present. Now let us cross over and select one of the neatest."
Perfect silence reigned in the anteroom of Monsieur de Maurepas. A liveried servant, with important mien, walked forth and back before the closed door of the reception-room, like a bull-dog guarding his master's sacred premises. The door of the first anteroom was heard to open, and the servant turned an angry look toward two gentlemen who made their appearance.
"Ah," said he, "the two gentlemen who just now alighted from the hackney-coach?"
"The same," said the emperor. "Is monsieur le comte at home?"
"He is," said the servant pompously.
"Then be so good as to announce to him Count Falkenstein."
The man shrugged his shoulders. "I am sorry that I cannot oblige you, sir. Monsieur de Taboreau is with the count; and until their conference is at an end, I can announce nobody."
"Very well, then, I shall wait," replied Joseph, taking a seat, and pointing out another to Count Rosenberg.
The servant resumed his walk, and the two visitors in silence awaited the end of the conference.
"Do you know, Rosenberg," said Joseph, after a pause, "that I am grateful to Count de Maurepas for this detention in his ante-room? It is said that experience is the mother of wisdom. Now my experience of to-day teaches me that it is excessively tiresome to wait in an anteroom. I think I shall be careful for the future, when I have promised to receive a man, not to make him wait. Ah! here comes another visitor. We are about to have companions in ennui."
The person who entered the room was received with more courtesy than "the gentlemen who had come in the hackney-coach." The servant came forward with eagerness, and humbly craved his pardon while informing him that his excellency was not yet visible.
"I shall wait," replied the Prince de Harrai, advancing to a seat. Suddenly he stopped, and looked in astonishment at Count Falkenstein, who, perfectly unconcerned, was sitting in a corner of the room.
"Great Heaven! his majesty, the emperor!" cried he, shocked, but recovering himself sufficiently to make a deep inclination.
"Can your majesty pardon this unheard of oversight!"
"Peace, prince," replied the emperor, smiling; "you will disturb the ministers at their conference."
"Why, man, how is it that his excellency is not apprised of his majesty's presence here?" said the Prince de Harrai to the lackey.
"His excellency never spoke to me of an emperor," stammered the terrified lackey. "He desired me to admit no one except a foreign count, whose name, your highness, I have been so unlucky as to forget."
"Except Count Falkenstein."
"Yes, your highness, I believe—that is, I think it—"
"And you leave the count to wait here in the anteroom!"
"I beg monsieur le comte a thousand pardons. I will at once repair my error."
"Stay," said the emperor, imperatively. Then turning to the Prince de Harrai, he continued good-humoredly: "If your highness is made to wait in the anteroom, there is no reason why the Count of Falkenstein should not bear you company. Let us, then, wait together."
The ministerial conference lasted half an hour longer, but at last the door opened, and Monsieur de Maurepas appeared. He was coming forward with ineffable courtesy to receive his guests, when perceiving the emperor, his self-possession forsook him at once. Pale, hurried, and confused, he stammered a few inaudible words of apology, when Joseph interrupted and relieved him.
He offered his hand with a smile, saying: "Do not apologize; it is unnecessary. It is nothing but right that business of state should have precedence over private visitors." [Footnote: The emperor's own words. Hubner. "Life of Joseph H.," p. 141.]
"But your majesty is no private individual!" cried the minister, with astonishment.
"Pardon me," said the emperor, gravely. "As long as I remain here. I am nothing more. I left the Emperor of Austria at Vienna: he has no concern with the Count of Falkenstein, who is on a visit to Paris, and who has come hither, not to parade his rank, but to see and to learn where there is so much to be learned. May I hope that you will aid Count Falkenstein in his search after knowledge?"
CHAPTER CX.
THE QUEEN AND THE "DAMES DE LA HALLE."
A brilliant crowd thronged the apartments of the Princess d'Artois. The royal family, the court, and the lords and ladies of high rank were assembled in her reception-rooms, for close by an event of highest importance to France was about to transpire. The princess was giving birth to a scion of royalty. The longings of France were about to be fulfilled—the House of Bourbon was to have an heir to its greatness.
The accouchement of a royal princess was in those days an event that concerned all Paris, and all the authorities and corporations of the great capital had representatives in those reception-rooms. It being only a princess who was in labor, and not a queen, none but the royal family and the ministers were admitted into her bedchamber. The aristocracy waited in the reception-rooms, the people in the corridors and galleries. Had it been Marie Antoinette, all the doors would have been thrown open to her subjects. The fishwives of Paris, the laborers, the gamins, even the beggars had as much right to see the Queen of France delivered, as the highest dignitary of the land. The people, then, who thronged both palace and gardens, were awaiting the moment when the physician should appear upon the balcony and announce to the enraptured populace that a prince or princess had been vouchsafed to France.
From time to time one of the royal physicians came out to report the progress of affairs, until finally the voice of the accoucheur proclaimed that the Princess d'Artois had given birth to a prince.
A cry of joy followed this announcement. It was that of the young mother. Raising her head from her pillow, she cried out in ecstasy, "Oh, how happy, how happy I am!" [Foreword: Madame de Campan, vol. i., p 216. The prince whose advent was a source of such triumph to his mother, was the Duke de Berry, father of the present Count de Chambord. He it was who, in 1827, was stabbed as he was about to enter the theatre, and died in the arms of Louis XVIII., former Count de Provence.]
The queen bent over her and kissed her forehead, whispering words of affectionate sympathy in her ear; but no one saw the tears that fell from Marie Antoinette's eyes upon the lace-covered pillow of her fortunate kinswoman.
She kissed the princess again, as though to atone for those tears, and with tender congratulations took her leave. She passed through the reception-rooms, greeting the company with smiling composure, and then went out into the corridors which led to her own apartments. Here the scene changed. Instead of the respectful silence which had saluted her passage through the rooms, she encountered a hum of voices and an eager multitude all pressing forward to do her homage after their own rough fashion.
Every one felt bound to speak a word of love or of admiration, and it was only by dint of great exertion that the two footmen who preceded the queen were able to open a small space through which she could pass. She felt annoyed—even alarmed—and for the first time in her life regretted the etiquette which once had required that the Queen of France should not traverse the galleries of Versailles without an escort of her ladies of honor.
Marie Antoinette had chosen to dispense with their attendance, and now she was obliged to endure the contact of those terrible "dames de la halle," who for hundreds of years had claimed the privilege of speaking face to face with royalty, and who now pressed around her, with jokes that crimsoned her cheeks while they were rapturously received by the canaille.
With downcast eyes and trembling steps, she tried to hurry past the odious crowd of poissardes.
"Look, look," cried one, peering in her face, "look at the queen and see her blushing like a rose-bud!"
"But indeed, pretty queen, you should remember that you are not a rose-bud, but a full-blown rose, and it is time that you were putting forth rose-buds yourself."
"So it is, so it is," shouted the multitude. "The queen owes us a rose-bud, and we must have it." "See here, pretty queen," cried another fish-wife, "it is your fault if we stand here on the staircases and out in the hot sun to-day. If you had done your duty to France instead of leaving it to the princess in yonder, the lackeys would have been obliged to open the doors to us as well as to the great folks, and we would have jostled the dukes and princes, and taken our ease on your velvet sofas. The next time we come here, we must have a tramp into the queen's room, and she must let us see herself and a brave dauphin, too."
"Yes, yes," cried the fish-wives in chorus, "when we come back we must see the young dauphin."
The queen tried to look as though she heard none of this. Not once had she raised her eyes or turned her head. Now she was coming to the end of her painful walk through the corridors, for Heaven be praised! just before her was the door of her own anteroom. Once across that threshold she was safe from the coarse ribaldry that was making her heart throb and her cheeks tingle; for there the rights of the people ended, and those of the sovereign began.
But the "dames de la halle" were perfectly aware of this, and they were determined that she should not escape so easily.
"Promise us," cried a loud, shrill voice, "promise us that we shall have a young dauphin as handsome as his mother and as good as his father."
"Yes, promise, promise," clamored the odious throng; and men and women pressed close upon the queen to see her face and hear her answer.
Marie Antoinette had almost reached her door. She gave a sigh of relief, and for the first time raised her eyes with a sad, reproachful look toward her tormentors.
Just then a strapping, wide-shouldered huckster, pushed her heavy body between the queen and the door, and barring the entrance with her great brown arms, cried out vociferously: "You to not pass until you promise! We love you and love the king we will none of the Count de Provence for our king; we must have a dauphin."
The queen still pretended not to hear. She tried to evade the poissarde and to slip into her room; but the woman perceived the motion, and confronted her again.
"Be so kind, madame," said Marie Antoinette, mildly, "as to allow me to pass."
"Give us the promise, then," said the fish-wife, putting her arms a-kimbo.
The other women echoed the words, "Give us the promise, give us the promise!"
Poor Marie Antoinette! She felt her courage leaving her—she must be rid of this fearful band of viragos at any price. She would faint if she stood there much longer.
Again the loud cry. "Promise us a dauphin, a dauphin, a dauphin!"
"I promise," at last replied the queen. "Now, madame, in mercy, let me have entrance to my own rooms."
The woman stepped back, the queen passed away, and behind her the people shouted out in every conceivable tone of voice, "She has promised. The queen has promised a dauphin!"
Marie Antoinette walked hurriedly forward through the first anteroom where her footman waited, to the second wherein her ladies of honor were assembled.
Without a word to any of them she darted across the room and opening the door of her cabinet, threw herself into an arm-chair and sobbed aloud. No one was there excepting Madame de Campan.
"Campan," said she, while tears were streaming down her cheeks, "shut the door, close the portiere. Let no one witness the sorrow of the Queen of France."
With a passionate gesture, she buried her face in her hands and wept aloud.
After a while she raised her tearful eyes and they rested upon Madame de Campan, who was kneeling before her with an expression of sincerest sympathy.
"Oh, Campan, what humiliation I have endured today! The poorest woman on the street is more fortunate than I; and if she bears a child upon her arm, she can look down with compassion upon the lonely Queen of France,—that queen upon whose marriage the blessing of God does not rest; for she has neither husband nor child."
"Say not so, your majesty, for God has smitten your enemies, and with His own tender hand He is kindling the fire of love in the heart of the king your husband."
Marie Antoinette shook her head sadly. "No—the king does not love me. His heart does not respond to mine. He loves me, perhaps, as a sister, but no more—no more!"
"He loves your majesty with the passion and enthusiasm of a lover, but he is very timid, and waits for some token of reciprocity before he dares to avow his love."
"No, he does not love me," repeated Marie Antoinette with a sigh. "I have tried every means to win his heart. He is indulgent toward my failings, and kindly anticipates my wishes; sometimes he seems to enjoy my society, but it is with the calm, collateral affection of a brother for his sister. And I!—oh, my God! my whole heart is his, and craves for that ardent, joy-bestowing love of which poets sing, and which noble women prize above every earthly blessing. Such love as my father gave to my happy mother, I would that the king felt for me."
"The king does not know the extent of his love for your majesty," said De Campan soothingly. "Some fortunate accident or dream of jealousy will reveal it to him before long."
"God speed the accident or the dream!" sighed the queen; and forthwith her tears began to flow anew, while her hands lay idly upon her lap.
Those burning tears at last awakened her from the apathy of grief. Suddenly she gave a start and threw back her head. Then she rose from her seat, and, like Maria Theresa, began to pace the apartment. Gradually her face resumed its usual expression, and her demeanor became, as it was wont to be, dignified and graceful. Coming directly up to Madame de Campan, she smiled and gave her hand. "Good Campan," said she, "you have seen me in a moment of weakness, of which I am truly ashamed. Try to forget it dear friend, and I promise that it shall never be repeated. And now, call my tire-women and order my carriage. Leonard is coming with a new coiffure, and Bertin has left me several beautiful hats. Let us choose the very prettiest of them all, for I must go and show myself to the people. Order an open carriage, that every one may see my face, and no one may say that the queen envies the maternal joys of the Countess d'Artois. Tonight we are to have the opera of 'Iphigenia'—it is one of my magnificent teacher's chefs-d'oeuvre. The emperor and I are to go together to listen to our divine Gluck's music, and Paris must believe that Marie Antoinette is happy—too happy to envy any woman! Come, Campan, and dress me becomingly."