Marie Antoinette and Her Son Part 38

Mirabeau had on the day before gone from Paris to the estate of his niece, the Marchioness of Aragan. There he spent the night; and the next morning, accompanied by his nephew, M. de Saillant, he walked to the park of St. Cloud.

At the nether gate of the park, which had been left open for this secret visit, Mirabeau took leave of his companion, and extended him his hand.

"I do not know," he said, and his voice, which so often had made the windows of the a.s.sembly hall shake with its thunder, was now weak and tremulous, "I do not know why this dreadful presentiment creeps over me all at once, and why voices whisper to me, 'Turn, back, Mirabeau, turn back! Do not step over the threshold of this door, for there you are stepping into your open grave!' "

"Follow this voice, uncle, there is still time," implored M. de Saillant; "it is with me as it is with you. I, too, have a sad, anxious feeling!"

"May they not have laid snares for me here?" whispered Mirabeau, thoughtfully. "They are capable of every thing, these artful Bourbons. Who knows whether they have not invited me here to take me prisoner, and to cast me, whom they hold to be their most dangerous enemy, into one of their oubliettes, their subterranean dungeons? My friend," he continued, hastily, "wait for me here, and if in two or three hours I do not return, hasten to Paris, go to the National a.s.sembly, and announce to them that Mirabeau, moved by the queen's cry of distress, has gone to St. Cloud, and is there held a prisoner."

"I will do it, uncle," said the marquis, "but I do not believe in any such treachery on the part of the queen or her husband. They both know that without Mirabeau they are certainly lost, and that he, perhaps, is able to save them. I fear something entirely different."

"And what do you fear?"

"I fear your enemies in the National a.s.sembly," said M. de Saillant, and with a pained expression. "I fear these enraged republicans, who have begun to mistrust you since you have begun to speak in favor of royalty and mon archy, and since you have even ventured to defend the queen personally against the savage and mean attacks which Marat hurls against Marie Antoinette in his journal, the Ami du Peuplt."

"It is true," said Mirabeau, with a smile, "they have mistrusted me, these enraged republicans, since then, and they tell me that Petion, this republican of steel and iron, turned to Danton at the close of my speech, and said: 'This Mirabeau is dangerous to liberty, for there is too much of the blood of the count flowing through the veins of the tribune of the people. Danton answered him with a smile: 'In that case we must draw off the count's blood from the tribune of the people, that he may either be cured of his reactionary disease or die of it!'"

"And when they told Marat, uncle, that you had spoken angrily and depreciatingly of his attacks upon the queen, he raised his fist threateningly, and cried: 'Mirabeau is a traitor, who wants to sell our new, young liberty to the monarchy. But he will meet the fate of Judas, who sold the Saviour. He will one day atone for it with his head, for if we tap him for his treachery, we shall do for him what Judas did for himself. This Mirabeau Judas must take care of himself."

"And do you suppose that this disputatious little load of a Marat will hang me?" asked Mirabeau, with a scornful smile.

"I think that you must watch him," answered M. de Saillant. "Last evening, in the neighborhood of our villa, I met two disguised men, who, I would swear, were Perion and Marat; and on our way here, as I looked around, I feel certain that I saw these same disguised figures following us!"

"What if it be?" answered Mirabeau, raising himself up, and looking around him with a proud glance. "The lion does not fear the annoying insect that buzzes about him, he shakes it off with his mane or destroys it with a single stroke of his paw. And Mirabeau fears just as little such insects as Petion and Marat; they would much better keep out of his way. I will tread them under foot, that is all! And now, farewell, my dear nephew, farewell, and wait for me here!"

He nodded familiarly to his nephew, pa.s.sed over the threshold, and entered the park, from whose entrance the popular indignation had long since removed the obnoxious words, De par la Reine, the garden belonging now to the king only because the nation willed it so.

Mirabeau hastened with an anxious mind and a light step along the walk, and again it seemed to him as if dark spirits were whispering to him, "Turn back, Mirabeau, turn back! for with every step forward you are only going deeper into your grave." He stopped, and with his hand-kerchief wiped away the drops of cold sweat which gathered upon his forehead.

"It is folly," he said, "perfect folly. Truly I am as tremulous as a girl going to her first rendezvous. Shame on you, Mirabeau, be a man!"

He shook his head as if he wanted to dispel these evil forebodings, and hastened forward to meet Count de la Marck, who appeared at the bending of the allee.

"The queen is already here, and is waiting for you, Mirabeau," said the marquis, with a slight reproach in his voice.

Mirabeau shrugged his shoulders instead of replying, and went on more rapidly. There soon opened in front of them a small gra.s.s-plat, surrounded by bushes, and on the bench opposite, the lady in the white, neat dress, with a straw hat on her arm, her hair veiled with black lace--that lady was Marie Antoinette.

Mirabeau stopped in his walk, and fixed a long, searching look upon her. When he turned again to his friend, his face was pale, and bore plain traces of emotion.

"My friend," whispered he to La Marck, "I know not why, but I have a strange feeling! I have not wept since the day on which my father drove me with a curse from the house of my ancestors, but, seeing yonder woman, I could weep, and an unspeakable sympathy fills my soul."

The queen had seen him, too, and had grown pale, and turned tremblingly to the king, who stood beside her, half concealed by the foliage.

"There is the dreadful man!" said Marie Antoinette, with a shudder.

"My G.o.d! a thrill of horror creeps through all my veins, and if I only look at this monster, I have a feeling as though I should sicken with loathing!" [Footnote: The queen's own words. See "Madame du Campan," vol. II.]

"Courage, my dear Marie, courage," whispered the king. "Remember that the welfare of our future, and of our children, perhaps, depends upon this interview. See, he is approaching. Receive him kindly, Marie. I will draw back, for you alone shall have the honor of this day, and monarchy has in you its fairest representative."

"But remain so near me, sire, that you can hear me if I call for help," whispered Marie Antoinette.

The king smiled. "Fear nothing, Marie," he said," and believe that the danger for Mirabeau is greater than for you. The name of criminal will be fastened not to us, but to Mirabeau, if it shall be known that he has come to visit us here. I will withdraw, for there is Mirabeau."

And the king withdrew into the thicket, while Mirabeau stopped near the queen, and saluted her with a profound bow.

Marie Antoinette rose from her marble seat. At this moment she was not the queen giving an audience, but the anxious lady, advancing to meet danger, and desirous to mitigate it by politeness and smiles.

"Come nearer, count," said Marie Antoinette, still standing. But as he approached, the queen sank slowly upon the seat, and raised her eyes to Mirabeau, with an almost timid look, who now did not seem to her a monster, for his mien was disturbed, and his eyes, which had always been represented as so fearful, had a gentle, respectful expression.

"Count," said the queen, and her voice trembled a little "count, if I found myself face to face with an ordinary enemy, a man who was aiming at the destruction of monarchy, without seeing of what use it is for the people, I should be taking at this moment a very useless step. But when one talks with a Mirabeau, one is beyond the ordinary conditions of prudence, and hope of his a.s.sistance is blended with wonder at the act." [Footnote: The queen's own words.--See "Marie Antoinette et sa Famille" Par M. de Lescure, p. 484.]

"Madame," cried Mirabeau, deeply moved, "I have not come here as your enemy, but as your devoted servant, who is ready cheerfully to give his life if he can be of any service to the monarchy."

"You believe, then, that it is a question of life, or, if you prefer, of death, which stands between the French people and the monarchy?" asked the queen, sadly.

"Yes, I am convinced of that," answered Mirabeau. "But I still hope that we can answer the question in favor of the monarchy, provided that the right means are applied in season."

"And what, according to your views, are the right means, count?"

Mirabeau smiled and looked with amazement into the n.o.ble face of the queen, who, with such easy composure, had put into this one short question what for centuries had perplexed the greatest thinkers and statesmen to answer.

"Will your majesty graciously pardon me if I crave permission, before I answer, to put a question in like manner to my exalted queen?"

"Ask on, count," replied Marie Antoinette, with a gentle inclination of her head.

"Well, madame, this is my question: 'Does your majesty purpose and aim at the reestablishment of the old regime, and do you deem it possible to roll the chariot of human history and of politics backward?"

"You have in your question given the answer as well," said Marie Antoinette, with a sigh. "It is impossible to reerect the same edifice out of its own ruins. One must be satisfied if out of them a house can be built, in which one can manage to live."

"Ah, your majesty," said Mirabeau, with feeling, "this answer is the first ray of light which breaks through the heavy storm-clouds! The new day can be descried and hailed with delight! After hearing this n.o.ble answer of your majesty, I look up comforted, and the clouds do not terrify me longer, for I know that they will soon be past--that is, if we employ the right means."

"And now I repeat my question, count, What, according to your view, are the right means?"

"First of all, the recognition of what is wrong," answered Mirabeau, "and then the cheerful and honest will to do what is found to be necessary."

"Well, tell me, what is it that is wrong?"

Mirabeau bowed, and then began to speak to her in his clear, sharp way, which was at the same time so full of energy, of the situation of France, the relation of the various political parties to one another, to the court, and the throne. In strongly outlined sentences he characterized the chiefs of the political clubs, the leaders of the parties in the National a.s.sembly, and spoke of the perilous goal which the demagogues, the men of the extreme Left, aimed at. He did not, from delicacy, speak the word "republican,"

but he gave the queen to understand that the destruction of the monarchy and the throne, the annihilation of the royal family, was the ultimate object aimed at by all the raving orators and leaders of the extreme Left.

The queen had listened to him with eager, fixed attention, and, at the same time, with a dignified composure; and the earnest, thoughtful look of her large eyes had penetrated and moved Mirabeau more and more, so that his words came from his lips like a stream of fire, and kindled a new hope even in himself.

"All will yet be well," he cried, in conclusion; "we shall succeed in contending with the hidden powers that wish to undermine your majesty's throne, and to take from the hands of your enemies these dangerous weapons of destruction. I shall apply all my power, all my eloquence to this. I will oppose the undertakings of the demagogues; I will show myself to be their public opponent, and zealously serve the monarchy, making use of all such means of help as are adapted to move men's minds, and not to trouble and terrify them, as if freedom and self-government were to be taken from them, and yet which will restore the credit and power of the monarchy."

"Are you, then, with honest and upright heart, a friend of ours?"

asked Marie Antoinette, almost supplicatingly. "Do you wish to a.s.sist us, and stand by us, with your counsel and help?"

Mirabeau met her inquisitive and anxious look with a cordial smile, a n.o.ble and trustworthy expression of face. "Madame," he said, with his fine, resonant voice, "I defended monarchical principles when I saw only their weakness, and when I did not know the soul nor the thoughts of the daughter of Maria Theresa, and little reckoned upon having such an exalted mediator. I contended for the rights of the throne when I was only mistrusted, when calumny dogged all my steps, and declared me guilty of treachery! I served the monarchy, then, when I knew that from my rightful, but misled king, I should receive neither kindness nor reward. What shall I do now, when confidence animates my spirit, and grat.i.tude has made my duties run directly in the current of my principles? I shall be and remain what I have always been, the defender of monarchy governed by law, the apostle of liberty guaranteed by the monarchy." [Footnote: Mirabeau's own words.--See "Memoires du Comte de Mirabeau," vol III., p. 290.]

"I believe you, count," cried Marie Antoinette, with emotion. "You will serve us with fidelity and zeal, and with your help all will yet be well. I promise yon that we will follow your counsels, and act in concord with you. You will put yourself in communication with the king; you will consult him about needful matters, and advise him about the things which are essential to his welfare and that of the people."