 Chapter 6 of the Queen's Necklace, by Alexandre Dumas. The translator is unknown. This Loupe-Revoix recording is in the public domain. Recording by Gael Timmerman Vaughn. CHAPTER VI LOREN At this moment our heroines heard the clock strike from the Church of Saint-Louis. Oh, mon dieu, a quarter to twelve they cried, in terror. See, all the doors are shut, said André. Oh, that is nothing, for if they were open we would not go in here. Let us go round by the reservoirs. And they turned to the right where there was a private entrance. When they arrived there, the door is shut, André, said the elder lady rather uneasily. Let us knock, madame. No, we will call. Laurent must be waiting for me, for I told him perhaps I should return late. I will call, said André, approaching the door. Who is there? said a voice from inside. Oh, it's not Laurent. Said she terrified. Is it not? And the other lady advanced and called softly. Laurent. No answer. Laurent. She again called, louder. There is no Laurent here, replied the voice, rudely. But, said André, whether he be here or not, open the door. I cannot open it. But Laurent would have opened it immediately. I have my orders, was the reply. Who are you, then? Rather, who are you? Rude as the question was, it was no time to find fault, so they answered. We are ladies of Her Majesty's suite, we acknowledge in the castle, and we wish to get home. While I, madame, am a Suisse of the Salishmada Company, and I shall do just the contrary of Laurent, for I shall leave you at the door. Oh! murmured the ladies in terror and anger. Then, making an effort over herself, the elder lady said, My friend, I understand that you are obeying orders, and I do not quarrel with you for that. It is a soldier's duty, only do me the favourite to call Laurent. He cannot be far distant. I cannot quit my post. Then send someone. I have no one to send. For pity's sake. All mondia sleep in the town. That is no great thing. If I were shut out of the barracks, I would soon find a bed. Listen, said the lady again. You shall have twenty Louis if you open this door. And twelve years at the galleys, no, thank you. Forty-eight francs a year is not sufficient pay for that. I will get made a sergeant. Yes, and he who gave me the order will have me shot. And who did give you the order? The king. The king! cried they. Oh, we are lost. Is there no other door? Oh, madame, if this one is closed, be sure. All the others will be also, said André. You are right, André. It is a horrible trick of the king. She said, with a contempt, almost menacing. There is a sort of bank outside the door which they sank down upon in despair. They could see the light under the door and could hear the steps of the sentinel, as he paced to and fro. Within this little door was salvation, without shame and scandal. Oh, to-morrow, to-morrow, when they will find out, murmured the elder lady. You will tell them the truth, madame. But shall I be believed? Oh, we can prove it. Besides, the soldier will not stay all night. He will be relieved, and perhaps the successor will be more complacent. Yes, but the patrol will pass directly, and will find me here waiting outside. It is infamous. I am suffocated with rage. Oh, take courage, madame, you, who are always so brave. It is a plot, André, in order to ruin me. This door is never closed. Oh, I shall die. At this moment they heard a step approaching, and then the voice of a young man singing gaily, as he went along. That voice, cried the lady, I know it, I am sure. Oh yes, madame, he will save us. A young man wrapped up in a fur-writing coat came quickly up, and without noticing them, knocked at the door and called Laurent. Brother, said the elder lady, touching him on the shoulder. The queen, he cried, taking off his hat. Hush! said she. You are not alone. No, I am with mademoiselle André de Tavernay. Oh, good evening, mademoiselle. Good evening, monsieur. Are you going out, madame? He asked. No. Then are you going in? We wished to do so. Have you not called Laurent? Yes, we have, but— But what? You call Laurent, and you will see. The young man, whom the reader has perhaps already recognized, as the conductoir, approached and again called Laurent. I warn you, answered from within the voice of the Swiss, that if you torment me any more, I will go and fetch my commanding officer. Who is this? Asked the count, turning round an astonishment to the queen. A Swiss, who has been substituted for Laurent. By whom? By the king. The king? Yes, he told us so himself. And with orders? Most strict, apparently. Diabla, we must capitulate. What do you mean? She asked. Offer him money. I've already done so, and he has refused it. Offer him promotion. I have offered that also, but he would not listen. Then there is but one way. What? To make a noise. My dear Charles, you will compromise us. Not the least in the world you keep in the background. I will knock like thunder and shout like a madman. They will open at last, and you can slide in with me. Try, then. The young prince began calling Laurent, knocking at the door, and striking with his sword till at last the Swiss said, Ah, well, I will call my officer. Go and call him, that is just what I want. They soon heard other steps approaching. The queen and André kept close, ready to slip in, if the door should open. Then they heard the Swiss say, It is a gentleman, Lieutenant, who insists on coming in. Well, I suppose that is not astonishing, as we belong to the castle, said the Count. It is no doubt a natural wish, but a forbidden one, replied the officer. Forbidden? By whom? More blue. By the king. But the king would not wish an officer of the castle to sleep outside. Sir, I am not the judge of that. I have only to obey orders. Come, Lieutenant, open the door. We cannot talk through this oak. Sir, I repeat to you that my orders are to keep it shut, and if you are an officer, as you say, you know that I must obey. Lieutenant, you speak to the colonel of a regiment. Excuse me, then, colonel, but my orders are positive. But they cannot concern a prince. Come, sir, a prince cannot be kept out. My prince, I am a despair, but the king has ordered. The king has ordered you to turn away his brother, like a beggar or a robber. I am the condo-tois, sir. More blue. You are keeping me here freezing at the door. Monsignor, God is my witness, that I would shed my blood for your royal highness. But the king gave me his orders in person, and confiding to me the charge of this door, ordered me not to open it to anyone, should it be even himself, after eleven o'clock. Therefore, Monsignor, I ask you pardon humbly for disobeying you, but I am a soldier, and were to Her Majesty the queen who asked admittance, I should be forced most unwillingly to refuse. Having said this, the officer turned away and left the place. We are lost, said the queen. Do they know that you are out, asked the count? Alas, I know not. Perhaps then this order is levelled against me. The king knows I often go out at night and stay late. Madame la Conteste Artois must have heard something, and complained to him, and hence this tyrannical order. Ah, no, brother, I thank you for trying to reassure me, but I feel that it is against me that these precautions are taken. Impossible, sister! The king has too much esteem. Meanwhile, I am left at the door, and to-morrow a frightful scandal will be the result. I know well I have an enemy near the king. It is possible. However, I have an idea. What? Only be quick. If you can but save us from the ridicule of this position, it is all I care for. Oh, I will save you. I am not more foolish than he for all his learning. Than whom? À part Dieu, the con de Provence. Ah, then you also know my enemy. Is he not the enemy of all that are young and beautiful, of all who are better than himself? Count. I believe you know something about this order. Perhaps, but do not let us stop here. Come with me, dear sister. Where? You shall see. Somewhere where, at least, you will be warm and en route. I will tell you all that I know about this. Take my arm, sister, and you, the other, mademoiselle de Tavernet, and let us turn to the right. Well, but now go on, said the queen. This evening, after the king's supper, he came to his cabinet. He had been talking all day to Count Haga. You had not been seen. Know it, to a clock I left to go to Paris. I know it. The king, allow me to tell you, dear sister, was thinking no more about you, than about Haroun al-Rashid and his vizier Jafar, and was talking geography. I listened with some impatience, for I also wanted to go out, probably not with the same object as you. Where are we going? Interrupted the queen. Oh, close by. Take care, there is a snow heap. Mademoiselle de Tavernet, if you leave my arm, you will certainly fall. But to return to the king, he was thinking of nothing but latitude and longitude, when Monsieur de Provence said to him, I should like to pay my respects to the queen. The queen's supper at home, replied the king. Oh, I believed her at Paris. No, she is at home, said the king quietly. I have just come from there, and been denied to her, said Monsieur de Provence. Then he saw the king frown. He dismissed us, and doubtless went to make inquiries. Louis is jealous by fits, you know. He must have asked to see you, and being refused, become suspicious. Yes, Madame de Miserie had orders to do so. Then to know whether you were out or not, he has given these strict orders. Oh, it is shameful treatment, confess, is it not? Indeed, I think so. But here we are. This house? Does it displease you? No, I do not say that. It is charming. But your servants? Well, if they see me, come in, sister, and I will guarantee that no one sees you, not even whoever opens the door. Impossible. We will try, said he, laughing, and laying his hand on one of the panels the door flew open. Enter, I pray you, said he. There is no one near. The queen looked at André. Then making up her mind went in, and the door shut behind them. She found herself in a vestibule, small but ornamented in perfect taste. The floor was mosaic work, representing bouquets of flowers. While numerous rose-trees on marble brackets scented the air with a perfume equally delicious, as rare at that time of the year. It looked also charming that the ladies began to forget their fears and scruples. So far well, said the queen, we have a shelter at all events, and seemingly a very charming one, but you had better see the one thing that is, to keep off your servants. Oh, nothing more easy! And the prince seizing a little bell, which hung on one of the pillars rang one clear stroke. Oh! cried the queen, frightened. Is that the way to cave them off? I should have thought it would bring them. If I had rung again it would have done so, but when I only ring once they know they are not wanted. Oh! you are a man of precaution! So the queen laughing. Now, dear sister, take the trouble to go upstairs. Let us obey, said the queen. The genius of this place appears not disagreeable. And they went up, their steps making no sound, on the thick oboe-son carpet. At the top the prince rang another bell, which gave them a fresh start of surprise, and their astonishment increased when they saw the doors open of themselves. Really, André, said the queen, I begin to tremble. Do not you? Oh, madame, I shall follow fearlessly wherever your majesty goes. Enter, said the prince, for here is your apartment. And he ushered them into a charming little room, furnished en boule, with a painted ceiling and walls, and a rosewood floor. It opened into a boudoir fitted up with white cashmere, beautifully embroidered with groups of flowers, and hung with tapestry of exquisite workmanship. Beyond the boudoir was a bedroom painted blue, hung with curtains of silk and lace, and with a sumptuous bed in an alcove. A fire burned on the hearth, and a dozen perfumed wax lights in cantalabra. Such were the marvels which presented themselves to the eyes of the wandering ladies. No living being was to be seen. Fire and lights seemed to have come without hands. The queen stopped on the threshold of the bedroom, looking half-afraid to enter. Sister, said the count, these are my bachelor apartments. Here I come alone. Always? asked the queen. Doubtless, answered he. I understand now, said the queen, why Madame La Contesse is sometimes unquiet. Confess, however, that if she is unquiet tonight, it will be without reason. Tonight I do not say but other nights. Then, sitting down, I am dreadfully tired, said she. Are not you, André? I can scarcely stand, and if your majesty permits. Indeed you look ill, madame, said the count. You must go to bed, said the queen. Monsieur La Conte gives us up this room. Do you not, Charles? Entirely, madame. One moment, count. If you go away, how can we recall you? You will not need me. You are mistress of this house. But there are other rooms. Certainly there is a dining room, which I advise you to visit. With a table already spread, no doubt? Oh, yes. And mademoiselle de tavernée, who seems to me to need it much, will find their jellies, or chicken, and wine, and new sister, plenty of those fruits you are so fond of. And no servants? None. We will see, but how to return. You must not think of returning to-night. At six o'clock the gates will be opened. Go out a quarter before. You will find in these drawers mantles of all colors and all shapes, if you wish to disguise yourselves. Go, therefore, to the chateau, regain your rooms, go to bed, and all will be right. But you, what will you do? Oh, I'm going away. We turn you out, my poor brother. It is better for me not to remain in the same house with you. But you must sleep somewhere. Do not fear I have three other houses like this. The queen laughed, and he pretends madame La Contesse has no cause to be anxious. Oh, I will tell her. You dare not. It is true we are dependent upon you, then to go away tomorrow morning without seeing anyone? You must ring once, as I did below, and the door will open. By itself? By itself. Then good night, brother. Good night, sister. He bowed and disappeared. End of Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Of the Queen's Necklace by Alexandre Dumas The translator is unknown. This Libor Vox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Gail Timmerman Vaughn Chapter 7 The Queen's Bedchamber The next day, or rather the same morning, for our last chapter brought us to two o'clock. The King, Louis XVI, in a violet-coloured morning-dress, in some disorder, and with no powder in his hair, knocked at the door of the Queen's anti-chamber. It was opened by one of her women. The Queen asked Louis in a brusque manner. Her majesty is a sleep sire. The King made a movement, as though to pass in, but the woman did not move. Do not see, he said, that I wish to come in. But the Queen is a sleep sire. Again she said, timidly, I told you to let me pass, answered the King, going in as he spoke. When he reached the door of the bedroom, the King saw Madame de Miserie, the first lady in waiting, who was sitting reading from her mass-book. She rose on seeing him. Sire, she said, in a low voice, and with profound reverence. Her majesty has not yet called for me. Really? said the King in an ironical tone. But sire, it is only half-past six, and her majesty never rings before seven. And you are sure that her majesty is asleep in bed? I cannot affirm that she is a sleep sire, but I can that she is in bed. The King could contain himself no longer, but went straight to the door, which he opened with some noise. The room was in complete darkness, the shutters closed, and the curtains drawn. A night lamp burned on a bracket, but it only gave a dim and feeble light. The King walked rapidly towards the bed. Oh, Madame de Miserie said the Queen, how noisy you are, you have disturbed me. The King remained stupefied. It is not Madame de Miserie, he murmured. What is it you, sire? said Marie Antoinette, raising herself up. Good morning, Madame, said the King, in a surly tone. What good wind blows you here, sire? Madame de Miserie, come and open the shutters. She came in instantly, as usual, opened all the doors and windows to let in light and fresh air. You sleep well, Madame, said the King, seating himself in casting scrutinizing glasses round the room. Yes, sire, I read late, and had your Majesty not disturbed me, might have slept for some time longer. How was it that you did not receive visitors yesterday? Asked the King. Whom do you mean, Monsieur de Provence? Said the Queen, with great presence of mind. Yes, exactly, he wished to pay his respects to you, and was refused. Well, they said you were out. Did they say that? Asked the Queen carelessly. Madame de Miserie. The Lady appeared bringing in with her a number of letters on a gold salver. Did your Majesty call? She asked. Yes. Did they tell Monsieur de Provence yesterday that I was out? Will you tell the King, for really I forget? Sire, said Madame de Miserie, while the Queen took her letters and began to read. I told Monsignor de Provence that her Majesty did not receive. And by whose orders? By the Queen's sire. Meanwhile the Queen had opened one of the letters and read these lines. You returned from Paris yesterday and entered the château at eight o'clock in the evening. Laurent saw you. Madame de Miserie left the room. Pardon, Sire, said the Queen, but will you answer me one question? What, Madame? Am I or am I not at liberty to see Monsieur de Provence, only, when it pleases me? Oh, perfectly at liberty, Madame, but— Well, his conversation wearies me. Besides, he does not love me, and I like him no better. I expected his visit and went to bed at eight o'clock to avoid it. But you looked disturbed, Sire. I believed you to be in Paris yesterday. At what time? At the time at which you pretend to have gone to bed. Doubtless I went to Paris, but what of that? All, Madame, depends on what time you returned. Oh, you wish to know at what time I exactly returned? Yes. It is easy, Madame de Miserie. The lady reappeared. What time was it when I returned from Paris yesterday? About eight o'clock, your Majesty. I do not believe it, said the King. You make a mistake, Madame de Miserie. The lady walked to the door and called, Madame de Rale. Yes, Madame, replied a voice. At what time did Her Majesty return from Paris yesterday? About eight o'clock, Madame, replied the other. The King thinks we are mistaken. Madame de Rale put her head out of the window and cried, Laurent. Who is Laurent? asked the King. The porter of the gate where Her Majesty entered, said Madame de Miserie. Laurent, said Madame de Rale. What time was it when Her Majesty came home last evening? About eight o'clock, answered Laurent. Madame de Miserie then left the room and the King and the Queen remained alone. He felt ashamed of his suspicions. The Queen, however, only said coldly. Well, Sire, is there anything else you wish to know? Oh, nothing! cried he, taking her hands in his. Forgive me. I do not know what came into my head. My joy is as great as my repentance. You will not be angry, will you? I am in despair at having annoyed you. The Queen withdrew her hand and said, Sire, a Queen of France must not tell a false head. What do you mean? I mean that I did not return at eight o'clock last evening. The King drew back in surprise. I mean, continued the Queen in the same cold manner, that I only returned at six o'clock this morning. Madame! and that but for the kindness of Monsieur Necombe d'Artois, who gave me an asylum and lodged me out of pity in one of his houses, I should have been left all night at the door of the chateau like a beggar. Ah, you had not then returned, said the King, gloomily, that I was right. Sire, you have not behaved towards me as a gentleman should. In what, Madame? In this, that if you wish to know whether I return later early, you have no need to close the gates with orders, not to open them, but simply to come to me and ask. Madame, at what time did you return? You have no more reason to doubt, Sire. Your spies have been deceived, your precautions nonefied, and your suspicions dissipated. I saw you ashamed of the part you had played, and I might have continued to triumph in my victory, but I think you're proceeding shameful for a King, and unworthy of a gentleman, and I would not refuse myself the satisfaction of telling you so. It is useless, Sire, she continued, seeing the King about to speak. Nothing can excuse your conduct toward me. On the contrary, Madame, replied he, nothing is more easy. Not a single person in the chateau suspected that you had not already returned. Therefore no one could think that my orders referred to you. Probably they were attributed to the dissipations of Monsieur le Cont d'Artois. For that I care nothing. Therefore, Madame, appearances were saved, as far as you were concerned. I wish simply to give you a secret lesson, from which the amount of irritation you show needs me to hope you will profit. Therefore I still think I was in the right, and do not repent what I have done. The Queen listened and seemed to calm herself by an effort to prepare for the approaching contest. Then, Sire, she said, you think you need no excuse for keeping at the door of your castle, the daughter of Maria Teresa, your wife, and the mother of your children? No, it is in your eyes a pleasantry worthy of a King, and of which the morality doubles the value. It is nothing to you to have forced the Queen of France to pass the night in this petit maison where the Cont d'Artois receives the ladies of the opera, and the femme galante of your court? Oh no, that is nothing. A philosopher King is above all such considerations. Only on this occasion I have reason to thank heaven that my brother-in-law is a dissipated man, as his dissipation has saved me from disgrace, and his vices have sheltered my honour. The King coloured and moved unasily on his chair. Oh yes, continue the Queen with a bitter laugh. I know that you were a moral King, but your morality produces strange effects. You say that no one knew that I was out. Will you tell me that Monsieur de Provence, your instigator, did not know of it? Or Monsieur de Cont d'Artois? Or my women? Who, by my orders, told you falsehoods this morning? Or Laurent bought by Monsieur d'Artois and by me? Let us continue this habit, Sire, you to set spies and Swiss guards, and I to buy them over and cheat you, and in a month we will calculate together how much the dignity of the throne and our marriage has gained by it. It was evident that her words had made a great impression on him, to whom they were addressed. You know, said he in an altered voice, that I am always sincere and willing to acknowledge if I have been wrong. Will you prove to me that you were right to go into Paris in sledges accompanied by a gay party which, in the present unhappy state of things, is likely to give offence? Will you prove to me that you were right to disappear in Paris like maskers at a ball, and only to reappear scandalously late at night when everyone else was asleep? You have spoken of the dignity of the throne and of marriage. Think you that it befits a queen, a wife, and a mother to act thus? I will reply in a few words, Sire, for it seems to me that such accusations merit nothing but contempt. I left Versailles in a sledge because it is the quickest way of getting to Paris at present. I went with Mademoiselle de Tavernay, whose reputation is certainly one of the purest in our court. I went to Paris, I repeat, to verify the fact that the King of France, the great upholder of morality, he who takes care of poor strangers, warms the beggars, and earns the gratitude of the people by his charities, leaves dying of hunger, exposed to every attack of vice and misery, one of his own family, one who is as much as himself, a descendant of the Kings, who have reigned in France. What! cried the King in surprise. I mounted, continued the Queen, into a garret in their saw without fire, almost without light and without money, the granddaughter of a great Prince, and I gave one hundred Louis to this victim of royal forgetfulness and neglect. Then as I was detained late there, and as the frost was severe and horses, go slowly over ice, particularly hackney-coach horses. Hackney-coach horses, cried the King. You returned in a hackney-coach? Yes, sire, number 107. Oh, oh! said the King with every sign of vexation. Yes, and only too happy to get it, said the Queen. Madame, interrupted he. You are full of noble feelings, but this impetuous generosity becomes a fault. Remember, continued he, that I never suspected you of anything that was not perfectly pure and honest. It is only your mode of acting an adventurous spirit that displeased me. You have, as usual, been doing good, but the way you said about it makes it injurious to yourself. This is what I reproach you with. You say that I have faults to repair, that I have failed in my duty to a member of my own family. Tell me who the unfortunate is, and he shall no longer have a reason to complain. The name of Valois, sire, is sufficiently illustrious, not to have escaped your memory. Ah! cried Louis, with a shout of laughter. I know now whom you mean. L'appétit de Valois, is it not? A countess of something or other. De la mort, sire. Precisely, de la mort. Her husband is a gendarme. Yes, sire, and his wife is an intrigante. Oh! you need not trouble yourself about her. She is moving heaven and earth. She worries my ministers. She teases my aunts, and overwhelms me with supplications, memorials, and genealogies. And all this useless, he sire. I must confess it. Is she or is she not a Valois? I believe she is. Well, then, I ask an honourable penchant for her, and a regiment for her husband. In fact, a decent position for this branch of the royal family. An honourable penchant? Mon Dieu! How you run on, madame! Do you know what a terrible wholeness winter has made in my funds? A regiment for this little gendarme, who speculated in marrying a Valois. Why, I have no regiments to give, even to those who deserve them, or who can pay for them. An income befitting a Valois for these people, when we, monarch as we are, have not one befitting a rich gentleman. Why, M. Durléin has sent his horses and mules to England for sale, and has cut off a third of his establishment. I have put down my wolf hounds, and given up many other things. We are all on the privation list, great and small. But these Valois must not die of hunger. Have you not just given them one hundred Louis? And what is that? A royal gift. Then give such another. Yours will do for both of us. No, I want a penchant for them. No, I will not bind myself to anything fixed. They will not let me forget them, and I will give when I have money to spare. I do not think much of this little Valois. Saying these words, Louis held out his hand to the queen, who, however, turned from him and said, No, you are not good to me, and I am angry. You bear malice, said the king, and I. Oh, you shut the gates against me. You come at half past six to my room, and force open the door in a passion. I was not in a passion, said the king. You are not now, you mean. What will you give me, if I prove that I was not, even when I came in? Let me see the proof. Oh, it is very easy. I have it in my pocket. Bah! said the queen. But adding with curiosity. You have brought something to give me, but I warn you I shall not believe you, unless you show it me at once. Then, with a smile full of kindness, the king began searching in his pockets, with that slowness which makes the child doubly impatient for his toy, the animal for his food, and the woman for her present. At last he drew out a box of red Morocco leather, artistically ornamented in gold. A jewel box cried the queen. The king laid it on the bed. She opened it impatiently, and then called out, Oh, Montieux, how beautiful! The king smiled with delight. Do you think so? said he. The queen could not answer. She was breathless with admiration. Then she drew out of the box a necklace of diamonds, so large, so pure, so glittering, and so even that, with sparkling eyes, she cried again, Oh, it is magnificent! Then are you content? said the king. Enchanted sire, you make me too happy. Really? see this first row? The diamonds are as large as filbrates, and so even you could not tell one from the other. Then how beautifully the gradation of the rows is managed. The jeweler who made this necklace is an artist. They are too. Then I wager it is boomer and massage. You have guessed right. Indeed, no one but they would risk making such a thing. Madame, take care, said the king. You will have to pay too dear for this necklace. Oh, sire, cried the queen all the delight fading from her countenance. You must pay the price of letting me be the first to put it on, and he approached her, holding in his hands the two ends of the magnificent necklace, of which the clasp was one great diamond. She stopped him, saying, But, sire, is it very dear? Have I not told you the price? Allowy, we must not just put the necklace back again. You refuse to allow me to put it on? Oh, no, sire, if I were going to wear it. What? said the king, surprised? No. No one shall see a necklace of this price around my neck. You will not wear it? Never. You refuse me. I refuse to wear a million or a million and a half of francs around my neck, for this necklace must cost that. I do not deny it, said the king. Then I do refuse to wear such a necklace, while the king's coffers are empty. When he is forced to stint his charities, and to say to the poor, God help you, for I have no more to give. Are you serious in saying this? Listen, sire, Monsieur de Sartine told me a short time since, that with that sum we could buy a ship of the line. And in truth, sire, the king has more need of a ship than the queen of a necklace. Oh! cried the king, joyfully, and with his eyes full of tears. What you do is sublime. Thanks, Antoinette. You are a good wife. And he threw his arms round her neck and kissed her. Oh, how France will bless you! continued he. And it shall hear what you have done. The queen sighed. You regret, said he. It is not too late. No, sire, shut this case, and return it to the jewelers. But listen, first I have arranged the terms of payment, and I have the money. No, I have decided. I will not have the necklace. But I want something else. Diabla. Then my one million, six hundred thousand francs, are gone after all. What? It would have cost that? Indeed it would. Reassure yourself what I ask is much cheaper. What do you wish for? To go to Paris once more. Oh, that is easy enough, and not dear. But wait. Diabla. To the Place Vendome, to see Monsieur Miss Mer. Diabla. Again, said the king, but added. Well, as you have denied yourself the necklace, I suppose I must let you go. But on one condition. What? You must be accompanied by a princess of the blood. Shall it be madame de l'ambal? Yes, if you like. I promise. Then I consent. Thanks, sire. And now, said the king, I shall order my ship of the line, and call it the Queen's Necklace. You shall stand godmother, and then I will send it out to La Perousse. And kissing his wife's hand, he went away quite joyful. End of Chapter 7. Chapter 8 Of the Queen's Necklace By Alexandre Dumas The translator is unknown. The Slippervox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Gail Timmerman Vaughn. Chapter 8 The Queen's Petite Levé No sooner was the king gone than the Queen rose, and went to the window. The morning was lovely, and had the charming feeling of the commencement of spring, while the sun seemed almost warm. The wind had gone round to the west, and if it remained in that quarter, this terrible winter was probably at an end. The snow was beginning to drip from the trees, under the influence of this genial morning. If we wish to profit by the ice, cried the Queen, I believe we must make haste. For look, madame de Miserie, the spring seems to have begun. I much wish to make up a party on the Swiss lake, and will go to-day, for to-morrow it may be too late. Then at what hour will your Majesty wish to dress? Immediately. I will breakfast, and then go. Are there any other orders, madame? See if mademoiselle de Teflonet has risen, and tell her I wish to speak to her. She is already waiting for you in the Boudoir, madame. Already, said the Queen, who knew at what time she had gone to bed. She has been there for twenty minutes, madame. Ask her to come in. André soon entered, dressed with her usual care and smiling, though rather un-quiet. The Queen's answering smile quite reassured her. Go, my good Miserie, and send me Léonard. When she was gone. The King has been charming, said the Queen de André. He has laughed, and is quite disarmed. But does he know, madame? You understand, André, that a woman does not tell falsehoods, when she has done no wrong, and is the Queen of France. Certainly, madame. Still, my dear André, it seems we have been wrong. Dallas, madame, but how? Why, impeding, madame de Lamotte. The King dislikes her, but I confess she pleased me. Here is Léonard, said madame de Miserie, returning. The Queen seated herself before her silver-guilt toilet table, and the celebrated hairdresser commenced his operations. She had the most beautiful hair in the world, and was fond of looking at it. Léonard knew this, and therefore with her was always tardy in his movements, that she might have time to admire it. Marie Antoinette was looking beautiful that morning. She was pleased and happy. Her hair finished, she turned again to André. You have not been scolded, she said. You are free. Besides, they say everyone is afraid of you, because, like Minerva, you are too wise. I'm a dame. Yes, you, but oh, mon dieu! How happy you are to be unmarried, and above all, to be content to be so. André blushed and tried to smile. It is a vow that I have made, said she, and which you will keep beautiful-vestle. I hope so. Apropos, said the Queen, I remember that although unmarried, you have a master since yesterday morning. A master, madame? Yes, your dear brother. What do you call him? Philippe, is it not? Yes, madame. Has he arrived? He came yesterday. And you have not yet seen him. I took you away to Paris, selfish that I was. It was unpardonable. Oh, madame, I pardon you willingly, and Philippe also. Are you sure? I answer for both of us. How is he? As usual, beautiful and good, madame. How old is he now? Thirty-two. Poor Philippe. Do you know that it is fourteen years since I first met him? But I have not seen him now for nine or ten. Whenever your Majesty pleases to receive him, he will be but too happy to assure you that this long absence has not altered the sentiment of respectful devotion which he has ever felt for his Queen. I will see him at once. In a quarter of an hour he will be at your Majesty's feet. Scarcely was André going when the Queen saw reflected in the glass an arch and laughing face. My brother d'Artois cried the Queen, how you frightened me. Good morning, your Majesty, said the young Prince. How did your Majesty pass the night? Very badly, brother. And the morning? Very well. That is the most important. I guessed that all had gone right, for I have just met the King and he was smiling most graciously. The Queen laughed and he echoed it. The Queen had just cast off her dressing gown of India muslin and put on her morning dress. When the door opened and André entered, leading by the hand a handsome man with a brown complexion, noble black eyes, profoundly imbued with melancholy, and a soldier-like carriage, he looked like one of Kuipels or Gainsborough's beautiful portraits. He was dressed in a dark grey coat, embroidered in silver and a white cravat and a dark waist coat. And this rather somber style of dress seemed to suit the manly character of his beauty, your Majesty. Said André, here is my brother, Philippe, bad gravely. The Queen, who had until now been looking at his figure reflected in her mirror, turned round and saluted him. She was beautiful, with that royal beauty which made all around her, not only partisans of the throne, but adorers of the woman. She possessed the power of beauty, and if we may make use of the inversion, the beauty of power. Philippe, seeing her smile and feeling those limpid eyes, at once soft and proud fixed upon him, turned pale and could hardly restrain his emotion. It appears, M. Deterrenais, said she, that you pay me your first visit. I thank you for it. Your Majesty deigns to forget that it is I who should give thanks. How many years have passed since we last met, M. Deterrenais? Alas, the most beautiful part of our lives! For me, Madame, but not for your Majesty, to whom all days are alike charming. You were then pleased with America, M. Deterrenais, as you remain there so long? Madame, answered Philippe, M. de Lafayette, when he left the new world, had need of an officer, in whom he could place confidence, to take command of the French auxiliaries. He proposed me, therefore, to General Washington, who accepted me. It seems, said the Queen, that this new country sends us home many heroes. Your Majesty does not mean that for me, asked Philippe, laughing. Why not? Then turning to the comte d'artroit. See, brother, she said, has not M. Deterrenais the look of a hero? Philippe, seeing himself thus introduced to the young Prince, bowed low. He returned it and said, Philippe, seeing himself thus introduced to the young Prince, bowed low. He returned it and said, I am most happy, to make the acquaintance of such a gentleman. What are your intentions in returning to France, sir? M. Deterrenais answered Philippe, my sister is my first consideration. Whatever she wishes, I shall do. But she has a father, I believe, said the Count. Never mind him, said the Queen, quickly. I prefer André under her brother's protection, and he under yours count. You will take charge of M. Deterrenais. Will you not? The Count bowed in assent. For do you know, continued she, that a very strong link binds me to M. Deterrenais? What do you mean, sister? That he was the first Frenchman who presented himself to my eyes when I arrived in this country, and I had taken a very sincere vow to promote the happiness of the first Frenchman I should meet. Philippe felt the blood rush to his face, and André looked at him rather sadly. The Queen observed these looks of the brother and sister, and fancied she divined the cause. Why, she thought, should not M. Deterrenais have partaken the epidemic passion which pervaded all France for the Dauphinès in 1774? Marie Antoinette, therefore, attributed these looks to some confidence of this kind, which the brother had made to his sister, and in consequence she smiled still more upon him and redoubled her kindness toward André. The Queen was a true woman and gloried in being loved. It was an innocent coquetry, and the most generous souls have the most strongly, these aspirations, for the love of all who surround them. Allas! a time is coming for thee, poor Queen, when those smiles towards those who love thee, with which thou hast been reproached, thou shalt vainly bestow on those that love thee not. The Condatois approached Philippe when the Queen was talking to André and said, Do you think Washington so very great a general? Certainly a great man, Monsignor. And what effect did our French produce out there? As much good as the English did harm. Ah! you are a partisan of the new ideas. My dear Monsieur Philippe Deterrenais, what have you reflected on one thing? What, Monsignor? I assure you that out there encamped in the fields, and in the savannas on the borders of the Great Lakes I had plenty of time for reflection. On this, that in making war out there, it was neither on the Indians nor on the English, but on us. A Monsignor, I do not deny that that is possible. Therefore, I do not admire so much these victories of Monsieur de Lafayette and Washington. It is egotism, perhaps, but it is not egotism for myself alone. O Monsignor! But do you know why I will support you with all my power? Whatever be the reason, I shall be truly grateful. It is because you are not one of those whose names have been blazed forth. You have done your duty bravely, but you have not thrust yourself forward. You are not known in Paris. The young man then kissed the Queen's hand, and bowing to André left the room. Then the Queen turned again to Philippe, saying, Have you seen your father, sir? No, madame. Why did you not go to see him first? I sent home my valet and my luggage, but my father sent the servant back again, with orders to present myself first to you, or the King. It is a lovely morning, said the Queen. Tomorrow the ice will begin to melt. Madame de Miserie, order my sledge and send my chocolate in here. Will not your Majesty take something to eat? You had no supper last night. You mistake, my good Miserie. We had supper, had we not, André. A very good one, madame. So I will only have my chocolate. Quick, madame de Miserie. This fine weather tempts me, and the Swiss lake will be full of company. Your Majesty is going to skate, asked Philippe. Ah, you will laugh at us, Monsieur la Merriquaine. You, who have traversed lakes, where there are more miles than we have feet here. Madame, replied Philippe. Here you amuse yourself with a cold, but there they die of it. Ah, here is my chocolate. André, take a cup with me. André bowed, colouring with pleasure. You see, Monsieur de Tavernet, I am always the same, hating all etiquette as in all times. Do you remember those old days? Are you changed since then, Monsieur Philippe? No, madame, replied the young man. I am not changed, at least, not in heart. Well, I am glad to hear that, for it was a good one. A cup for Monsieur de Tavernet, madame de Miserie. Oh, madame, cried Philippe. You cannot mean it such an honour for a poor, obscure soldier like me. An old friend, said the Queen. This day seems to remind me of my youth. I seem again happy, free, proud, and yet foolish. This day recalls to me that happy time at my dear Triennel and our frolics there, André and I together. This day brings back to my memory my roses, my strawberries, and my birds. That I was so fond of all, even to my good gardeners, whose happy faces often announced to me a new flower, or a delicious fruit. And, Monsieur de Ducie, and that original old Rousseau, who was since dead, but come, continued she, herself pouring the chocolate into his cup. You are a soldier, and a customer to fire, so burn yourself gloriously with his chocolate. For I am in a hurry. She laughed, but Philippe, taking it seriously, drank it off most heroically. The Queen saw him, and, laughing still more, said, You are indeed a perfect hero, Monsieur de Tevrenet. She then rose, and her woman brought her bonnet, her mantel, and gloves. Philippe took his hat under his arm, and followed her and André out. Monsieur de Tevrenet, I do not mean you to leave me, said the Queen. Come round to my right. They went down the great staircase. The drums were beating, the clarions of the bodyguard were playing, and this whole scene in the enthusiasm everywhere shown towards that beautiful Queen, by whose side he was walking completed the intoxication of the young man. The change was too sudden, after so many years of exile and regret, to such great joy and honour. End of Chapter 8 Chapter 9 of The Queen's Necklace by Alexandre Dumas The translator is unknown. The Slipper-Vox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Gail Timmerman Vaughn. Chapter 9 The Swiss Lake Everyone knows this piece of water, which still goes by the same name. An avenue of linden trees skirts each bank, and these avenues were on this day throng with pedestrians of all ranks and ages, who had come to enjoy the sight of the sledges and the skating. The toilets of the ladies presented a beautiful spectacle of luxury and gaiety. Their high coiffures, gay bonnets with the veils half down, fermentals and brilliant silks, with deep flounces, were mingled with the orange or blue coats of the gentleman. Gay neckies also, in blue and red, passed among the crowd, looking like poppies and cornflowers, blown about by the wind. Now and then a cry of admiration burst from the crowd, a Saint-Georges, the celebrated skater, executed some circle so perfect that a mathematician could scarcely have found a fault in it. While the banks of the lake were thus crowded, the ice itself presented a scene not less gay and still more animated. Sledges flew about in all directions. Several dogs, clothed in embroidered velvet and with plumes of feathers on their heads, looking like fabulous animals, drew a sledge in which sat Monsieur de Lausanne, who was wrapped up in a tiger skin. Here you might see a lady masked, dapless on account of the cold, in some sledge of a quieter character, while a handsome skater in a velvet-riding coat hangs over the back to assist and direct her progress. Whatever they may be saying to each other is quite inaudible, amidst this busy hum of voices. But who can blame Orandevaux, which takes place in the open air and under the eyes of all Versailles, and whatever they may be saying, matters to no one else? It is evident that in the midst of this crowd, their life is an isolated one, they think only of each other. All at once a general movement in the crowd announces that they have recognized the Queen, who is approaching the lake. A general cry of vive la reine is heard, and Orandevaux to approach as nearly as possible to the place where she has stationed herself. One person alone does not appear to share this feeling, for on her approach he disappears with all his sweet, as fast as possible in the opposite direction. Do you see, said the Condatois to the Queen, whom he had hastened to join, how my brother Provence flies from you? He fears that I should reproach him. Oh, no! It is not that that makes him fly. It is his conscience, then. Not even that, sister. What, then? I will tell you. He has just heard that Monsieur du Souffrein, our glorious commander, will arrive this evening, and as the news is important, he wishes to leave you in ignorance of it. But is the Minister of Marine ignorant of this arrival? Amon Dieu's sister, have you not learned enough of ministers? During the fourteen years you have passed here as Dauphines and Queen, to know that they are always ignorant of precisely what they ought to know? However, I have told him about this, and he is deeply grateful. I should think so, said the Queen. Yes, and I have need of his gratitude, for I want a loan. Oh! cried the Queen, laughing. How disinterested you are! Sister, said he, you must want money. I offer you half of what I am going to receive. Oh, no, brother, keep it for yourself. I thank you, but I want nothing just now. Diabla, do not wait too long to claim my promise, because if you do, I may not be in a condition to fulfill it. In that case, I must endeavour to find out some state secret, for myself. Sister, you begin to look cold. Well, here is Monsieur de Tavernay returning with my sledge. Then you do not want me any longer? No. Then send me away, I beg. Why, do you imagine you will be in my way? No, it is I who want my liberty. Adieu, then. Au revoir, dear sister. Till when? Till this evening. Is there anything to take place tonight, then? Yes. This evening the minister will bring Monsieur de Soufflain to the Jeu de Roi. Very well, then, till this evening. And the young prince, bowing with his habitual elegance, disappeared among the crowd. Old Tavernay, who was one of the nearest spectators of all this, had been watching his son eagerly and felt almost chagrined of this conversation between the queen and her brother-in-law, as it interrupted the familiar intercourse which his son had before been enjoying. Therefore, when the young man returned with the queen's sledge, and, seeing his father, whom he had not met for ten years advanced towards him, he motioned him away, saying, We will talk afterwards when you have left the queen. Philippe therefore returned to the queen, who was getting into the sledge with André. Two attendants approached to push it, but she said, Non. I do not wish to go like that. You skate, Monsieur de Tavernay. Does he not, André? Philippe used to skate remarkably well, replied she. And now I dare say he rivals Saint George, said the queen. I will do my best to justify your Majesty's opinion, said he, and putting on his skates, he placed himself behind her sledge and they commenced their course. Saint George, seeing the queen on the ice, began to execute his most skillful maneuvers, and finished off by going in circles round her sledge, making the most elegant bows each time he passed her. Then Philippe, moved to emulation, began to push along the sledge with such wonderful rapidity that Saint George found no little difficulty in keeping pace with it. Several people, however, seeing the queen, move at this marvellous rate, uttered cries of terror. If your Majesty desires, said Philippe, I will stop or go slower. Oh, no, said she, with that enthusiasm, which she carried into everything. Oh, no, I am not afraid at all. Quicker still, Chevalier, if you can. Oh, yes, madame, and you are quite safe. You may trust to me, and his vigorous arm propelled them at a still increased pace. He emulated the circles of Saint George, and flew round as fast with the sledge, as could even that experienced skater without it. Then, leaving these evolutions, he pushed the sledge straight before him, and with such force that he himself remained behind. Saint George, seeing this, made a tremendous effort to gain the sledge before him, but was distanced by Philippe, who once more seized it, turned it, and flew in a new direction. The air now rang with such acclamations that Philippe began to feel ashamed. Then the queen, who had joined the applause with her hands, turned around and said to him, and now, Monsieur de Tavernais, that you have gained the victory, stop, I beg, or you will kill me. End of Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Of the Queen's Necklace by Alexandre Dumas The translator is unknown. The Slubervox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Gail Timmerman Vaughan. Chapter 10 The Temptor Philippe, at this request of the queen, made a strong effort and stopped the sledge abruptly. And now rest yourself, said she, coming out of it all trembling. Indeed, I never could have believed the delight of going so fast, but you have made me quite tremble. And she took Philippe's arm to support herself, until a general murmur reminded her that she was once more committing a breach of etiquette. As for Philippe, overwhelmed by this great honour, he felt more ashamed than if his sovereign had insulted him publicly. He lowered his eyes and his heart beat as though it would burst. The Queen, however, withdrew her arm almost immediately, and asked for a seat. They brought her one. Thanks, Monsieur de Tavernay, said she, then in a lower tone, mourned you how disagreeable it is to be always surrounded by spying fools. A number of ladies and gentlemen soon crowded around her, and all looked with no little curiosity yetfully, who, to hide his confusion, stooped to take off his skates, and then fell into the background. After a short time, however, the Queen said, I shall take a cold if I sit here. I must take another turn, and she remounted her sledge. Philippe waited but in vain for another order. Pointy gentlemen soon presented themselves, but she said, No, I thank you. I have my attendance. And she moved slowly off while Philippe remained alone. He looked about for Saint George to console him for his defeat by some compliment, but he had received a message from his patron, the Duke d'Orliens, and had left the place. Philippe, therefore, rather tired, and half frightened at all that had passed, remained stationary. Following with his eyes the Queen's sledge, which was now at some distance, when he felt someone touch him, he turned round and saw his father. The little old man, more shrunk than ever, enveloped in furs like a laplander, had touched his son with his elbow, that he might not be obliged to take his hands out of the muff that hung round his neck. You do not embrace me, my son, said he. My dear father, I do it with all my heart. And now, said the old man, go quickly, and he pushed him away. Where do you wish me to go, sir? Why, more blue over there. Where? To the Queen. No, I thank you, father. How no, I thank you. Are you mad? You will not go after the Queen? My dear father, it is impossible. Impossible to join the Queen, who is expecting you? Who is expecting me? Yes, who wishes for you? Wishes for me. Indeed, father, he added coldly. I think you forget yourself. It is astonishing, said the old man, stamping his foot. Where on earth do you spring from? Monsieur, said his son sadly, you will make me conclude one of two things. What? Either that you are laughing at me or else excuse me, that you are losing your senses. The old man seized his son by the arms so energetically, that he made him start. Listen, Monsieur Philippe, said he. America is, I know, a country a long way from this. And there is neither King nor Queen. Nor subjects. Nor subjects, Monsieur Philosopher. I do not deny it. That point does not interest me. What what does so, is that I fear also to have come to a conclusion. What, father, that you are a simpleton, my son. Just trouble yourself to look over there. Well, sir. While the Queen looks back, and it is the third time she has done so, there she turns again. And who do you think she is looking for but you, Monsieur Puritan? Well, sir, said the young man. If it were true, which it probably is not, that the Queen was looking for— Oh! interrupted the old man angrily. This fellow is not of my blood. He cannot be a tavernet. Sir, I repeat to you that the Queen is looking for you. You have good sight, sir, said his son, Dryly. Come, said the old man, more gently, and trying to moderate his impatience. Trust my experience. Are you or are you not a man? Philippe made no reply. His father ground his teeth with anger to see himself opposed by this steadfast will. But making one more effort, Philippe, my son, said he, still more gently. Listen to me. It seems to me, sir, that I have been doing nothing else for the last quarter of an hour. Oh! thought the old man. I will draw you down from your stilts. I will find out your weak side. Then, aloud, you have overlooked one thing, Philippe. What, sir? When you left for America, there was a king but no Queen, if it were not the doubaris. Hardly a respectable sovereign. You come back and see a Queen, and you think you must be respectful. Doubtless. Poor child, said his father, laughing. How, sir? You blame me for respecting the monarchy. You, a taverny, maison rouge. One of the best names in France. I do not speak of the monarchy but only of the Queen. And you make a difference. Pardon, dear, I should think so. What is royalty, a crown that is unapproachable? But what is a Queen? A woman and she, on the contrary, is very approachable. Philippe made a gesture of disgust. You do not believe me. Continue the old man, almost fiercely. Well, ask Monsieur de Quinille, ask Monsieur de Lausanne, or Monsieur de Vaudreuil. Silence, father, cried Philippe. Or for these three blasphemies. Not being able to strike you three blows with my sword, I shall strike them on myself. The old man stepped back murmuring, Monde, what a stupid animal. Good evening, son. You rejoice me. I thought I was the father, the old man. But now I think it is I who must be the young Apollo and you the old man. And he turned away. Philippe stopped him. You did not speak seriously, did you, father? It is impossible that a gentleman of good blood, like you, should give ear to these columnies, spread by the enemies, not only of the Queen but of the Throne. He will not believe the double mule, said the old man. You speak to me as you would speak before God? Yes, truly. Before God whom you approach every day? Seems to me, my son, replied he, that I am a gentleman and that you may believe my word. It is then your opinion that the Queeness had lovers? Certainly. Those whom you have named. And others, for what I know. Ask all the town and the court. One must be just returned from America to be ignorant of all that they say. And who says this, sir, some vile pamphleteers? Oh, do you then take me for an editor? No. And there is the mischief when men like you repeat such columnies which, without that, would melt away like the unwholesome vapours which sometimes obscure the most brilliant sunshine. But people like you repeating them give them a terrible stability. Oh, monsieur, for mercy's sake, do not repeat such things. I do repeat them, however. And why do you repeat them? cried Philippe fiercely. Oh! said the old man with his satanic laugh. To prove to you that I was not wrong when I said Philippe, the Queen looks back. She is looking for you, Philippe. The Queen wishes for you. Run to her. Oh, Father, hold your tongue or you drive me mad. Really, Philippe, I do not understand you. Is it a crime to love? It shows that one has a heart and in the eyes of this woman, in her voice, in everything. Can you not read her heart? She loves. Is it you or is it another? I know not, but believe in my own experience. At this moment she loves or is beginning to love someone. But you are a philosopher, a Puritan, a Quaker, an American. You do not love. Well then, let her look. Let her turn again and again. Despise her, Philippe. I should say, Joseph de Tavernay. The old man hurried away satisfied with the effect he had produced, and fled like the serpent, who was the first tempter into crime. Philippe remained alone, his heart swelling, and his blood boiling. He remained fixed in his place for about half an hour, when the Queen, having finished her tour, returned to where he stood and called out to him. You must be rested now, Monsieur de Tavernay. Come then, for there is no one like you to guide a Queen royally. Philippe ran to her giddy, and hardly knowing what he did. He placed his hand on the back of the sledge, but started as though he had burned his fingers. The Queen had thrown herself negligently back in the sledge, and the fingers of the young man touched the locks of Marie Antoinette. End of Chapter 10 Chapter 11 of The Queen's Nicholas by Alexandre Dumas The translator is unknown. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Gail Timmerman Vaughn Chapter 11 Monsieur de Souffrene Contrary to the usual habits of a court, the secret had been faithfully confined to Louis XVI and the Condar-toi. No one knew at what time or hour Monsieur de Souffrene would arrive. The King had announced his jeûte de roi for the evening, and at seven o'clock he entered with ten princesses and princesses of his family. The Queen came holding the Princess Royal, now about seven years old, by the hand. The assembly was numerous and brilliant. The Condar-toi approached the Queen and said, Look around you, Madame. Well, what do you see? The Queen looked all around, and then she said, I see nothing but happy and friendly faces. Rather than whom view not see. Oh, I understand. I wonder if he is always going to run away from me. Oh, no. Only this is a good joke. Monsieur de Provence has gone to wait at the barrier for Monsieur de Souffrene. Well, I do not see why you laugh at that. He has been the most cunning, after all, and will be the first to receive and pay his compliments to this gentleman. Come, dear sister, replied the young Prince, laughing, you have a very mean opinion of our diplomacy. Monsieur de Provence has gone to meet him at Fontainebleu, but we have sent someone to meet him at Viajouif, so that my brother will wait by himself at Fontainebleu, while our messenger will conduct Monsieur de Souffrene straight to Versailles, without passing through Paris at all. That is excellently imagined. It is not bad, I flatter myself, but it is your turn to play. The King had noticed that Monsieur d'Artois was making the Queen laugh, and guessing what it was about, it gave them a significant glance to show that he shared their amusement. The saloon where they played was full of persons of the highest rank. Monsieur de Condé, Monsieur de Panthievre, Monsieur de Trémouilly, etc. The news of the arrival of Monsieur de Souffrene had, as we have said, been kept quiet, but there had been a kind of vague rumor that someone was expected. And all were somewhat preoccupied and watchful. Even the King, who was in the habit of playing six franc pieces, in order to moderate the play of the court, played gold without thinking of it. The Queen, however, to all appearances, entered as usual eagerly into the game. Philippe, who with his sister was admitted to the party, in vain endeavored to shake from his mind his father's words. He asked himself if indeed this old man, who had seen so much of courts, was not right, and if his own ideas were indeed those of a Puritan, and belonging to another land. This Queen, so charming, so beautiful, and so friendly towards him, was she indeed only a terrible coquette, anxious to add one lover more to her list, as the entomologist transfixes a new insect or butterfly. Without thinking the tortures of the poor creature whose heart he is piercing. Quinille, vo-toil, he repeated to himself. They loved the Queen and were loved by her. But why does this conomani haunt me so? Or why will not some ray of light discover to me the heart of this woman? Then Philippe turned his eyes to the other end of the table where, by a strange chance, these gentlemen were sitting side by side, and both seemingly equally forgetful of and insensible to the Queen. And he thought that it was impossible that these men could have loved and been so calm, and that they could have been loved and seemed so forgetful. From them he turned to look at Marie Antoinette herself, and interrogated that pure forehead, that haughty mouth, and beautiful face. And the answer they all seemed to give him was, Columnies, all Columnies, these rumours, originating only in the hates and jealousies of a court. While he was coming to these conclusions the clock struck a quarter to eight, and at that moment a great noise of footsteps and the sound of many voices were heard on the staircase. The King, hearing it, signed to the Queen and they both rose and broke up the game. She then passed into the Great Reception Hall and the King followed her. An aide-de-camp of Monsieur de Castille's, Minister of Marine, approached the King and said something in a low voice. When Monsieur de Castille's himself entered and said aloud, Will your Majesty receive Monsieur de Souffrin, who has arrived from Toulon, at this moment a general movement took place in the assembly. Yes, sir, said the King, with great pleasure. And Monsieur de Castille's left the room to explain his interest for Monsieur de Souffrin and why King, Queen, Princess and Ministers, contended who should be the first to receive him a few words will suffice. Souffrin is a name essentially French, like Turin or Jean Barthes. Since the last war with England, Monsieur de Souffrin had fought seven great naval battles without sustaining a defeat. He had taken Trinca-Mallee and Gondolure, scoured the seas, and taught the Nabob-Heider Ali that France was the first power in Europe. He had carried into his possession all the skill of a naval diplomatist, all the bravery, and all the tactics of a soldier, and all the prudence of a wise ruler. Hardy, indefeatable, and proud when the honour of the French nation was in question. He had harassed the English by land and by sea till even these fierce islanders were afraid of him. But after the battle in which he risked his life, like a meanest sailor, he ever showed himself humane, generous, and compassionate. He was now about fifty-six years of age, stout and short, but with an eye of fire and a noble carriage, and like a man accustomed to surmount all difficulties, he had dressed in his travelling carriage. He wore a blue coat embroidered with gold, a red waistcoat, and blue trousers. All the guards through whom he had passed, when he was named to them by M. de Castris, had saluted him as they would have done a king. M. de Souffrin said the king when he entered, welcomed Versailles. You bring glory with you. M. de Souffrin bent his knee to the king, who however raised him, and embraced him cordially, then turned to the queen. Madame, said he, here is M. de Souffrin, the victor of Trincombe Ali, and Gondolure, and the terror of the English. Monsieur, said the queen, I wish you to know that you have not fired a shot for the glory of France, but that my heart has beaten, with admiration and gratitude, when she ceased the condertoie approached with a son, the duke d'Angêlème. My son, said he, you see a hero, look at him well, for it is a rare sight. M. de Souffrin replied the young prince, I have read about the great men in Plutarch, but I cannot see them. I thank you for showing me M. de Souffrin. The king now took the arm of M. de Souffrin in order to lead him to his study, and talk to him of his travels, but he made a respectful resistance. Sire, said he, will your Majesty permit me? Oh, whatever you wish, sir. Then, Sire, one of my officers has committed so grave a fault against discipline, that I thought your Majesty ought to be the sole judge of the offence. Oh, M. de Souffrin, I had hoped your first request would have been a favour, and not a punishment. Your Majesty, as I have had the honour to say, shall judge what ought to be done. In the last battle the officer of whom I speak was on board, La Severe. Oh, the ship that struck her flag, cried the king frowning. Yes, Sire, the captain of La Severe had indeed struck his flag, and already Sir Hugh the English admiral had dispatched a boat to take possession of his prize. When the lieutenant, in command of the guns of the middle deck, perceiving that the firing above it ceased, and having received order to stop his own fire, went on deck, saw the flag lowered, and the captain ready to surrender. At this sight, sir, all his French blood revolted, he took the flag which lay there, and seizing a hammer ordered the men to recommence the fire, while he nailed it to the mast. It was by this action, Sire, that La Severe was preserved to your Majesty. A splendid action cried the king and queen, simultaneously. Yes, Sire, yes, madame, that a grave fault against discipline. The order had been given by the captain, and the lieutenant ought to have obeyed. I, however, asked for the pardon of the officer, and the more so, as he is my own nephew. Your nephew cried the king, and you have never mentioned him. Not to you, Sire, but I made my report to the ministers, begging them to say nothing about it, until I had obtained his pardon from your Majesty. It is granted, said the king. I promise beforehand my protection to all who may violate discipline in such a case. You must present this officer to me, Monsieur de Souffren. Monsieur de Souffren turned. Approach, Monsieur de Charny, he said. The queen stared at the sound of this name, which she had so recently heard. A young officer advanced from the crowd, and presented himself before the king. The queen and André looked anxiously at each other, but Monsieur de Charny bowed before the king, almost without raising his eyes, and after kissing his hand, retired again, without seeming to observe the queen. Come now, Monsieur de Souffren, said the king, and let us converse. I am impatient to hear all your adventures. But before leaving the room he turned to the queen and said, Apropos, madame, I am going to have built, as you know, a ship of one hundred guns. And I think of changing the name we had destined for it, and of calling it instead. Oh, yes! cried Marie Antoinette, catching his thought. We will call it Le Souffren, and I will still stand sponsor. Vive le Roi, vive la peine! cried all. And vive Monsieur de Souffren out of the king, and left the room with him. End of Chapter 11. Chapter 12 of The Queen's Necklace, by Alexandre Dumas. The translator is unknown. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Gail Timmerman Vaughan. Chapter 12. Monsieur de Charny. Monsieur de Souffren had requested his nephew to wait his return, and he therefore remained in the group as before. The queen, speaking low to André, and glancing towards him, said, It is he there is no doubt. Monde-je, yes, madame, it is indeed he. At this moment the door opened, and a gentleman dressed in the robes of a cardinal, and followed by a long train of officers and prelates, entered the room. The queen immediately recognized Monsieur de Rouen, and turned away her head without taking the trouble to hide the frown which overspread her face. He crossed the room without stopping to speak to anyone, and, coming straight up to her, bowed to her more as a man of the world, bows to a lady, then as a subject to a queen, and then addressed some rather high-flown compliments to her. But she, scarcely looked at him, and after murmuring a few cold words in reply, began to talk to Madame de Lambal. The cardinal did not seem to notice this chilling reception, but bowed again, and retired without appearing in the least disconcerted. He then turned to the king's aunts, from whom he met with a reception, as cordial as the queen's had been the reverse. The cardinal Louis de Rouen was a man in the prime of life, and of an imposing figure and noble bearing. His eyes shone with intelligence, his mouth was well cut and handsome, and his hands were beautiful. A premature baldness indicated either a man of pleasure or a studious one, and he was both. He was a man no little sought after by the ladies, and was noted for his magnificent style of living. Indeed, he found the way to feel himself poor with an income of one million, six hundred thousand francs. The queen liked him for his learning, but the queen hated him. The reasons for this hate were twofold. First, when ambassador to Vienna, he had written to Louis XV, letters so full of sarcasm on Maria Theresa, that her daughter had never forgiven him, and he had also written letters opposing her marriage, which had been read aloud by Louis XV at a supper at Madame de Paris. The embassy at Vienna had been taken from Monsieur de Bratoye and given to Monsieur de Rouen. The former gentleman, not strong enough to revenge himself alone, had procured copies of these letters, which he had laid before the Dauphinès, thus making her the eternal enemy of Monsieur de Rouen. This hatred rendered the cardinal's position at court not a little uncomfortable. Every time he presented himself before the queen, he met with the same discouraging reception. In spite of this, he neglected no occasion of being near her, for which he had frequent opportunities, as he was chaplain to the court, and he never complained of the treatment he received. A circle of friends, among whom the Baron de Planta was the most intimate, helped to then soul him for these royal rebuffs, not to speak of the ladies of the court, who by no means imitated the severity of the queen towards him. When he was gone, Marie-Antoinette recovered her serenity and said to Madame de Lambeau, do you not think this action of the nephew of Monsieur de Souffrin is one of the most remarkable of the war? What is his name by the by? Monsieur de Charny, I believe, replied the princess. Was it not? She said, turning to André. Yes, your Highness. Monsieur de Charny shall describe it to us himself, said the queen. Is he still here? Let him be sought for. An officer who stood near hastened to obey her, and immediately returned with Monsieur de Charny, and the circle round the queen made way for him to approach. He was a young man, about eight and twenty, tall and well-made. His face, animated and yet sweet, took a character of singular energy when he spoke, and dilated his large blue eyes. And he was, strange to say, for one who had been fighting in India, as fair as Philippe was dark. When he approached the place where the queen sat, with Madame Moussel de Tavernay standing near her, he did not betray his surprise in any way, although it must have been great in recognizing the ladies of the evening before. He did not look up until she addressed him, saying, Monsieur de Charny, these ladies experience the natural desire, which I share with them, to hear from yourself all the details of this action of your ship. Madame, replied the young officer, I beg your majesty to spare me the recital, not from modesty, but from humanity. What I did is, Lieutenant, a dozen other officers, doubtless wish to do. Only I was the first to put it in execution, and it is not worthy being made the subject of a narration to your majesty. Besides, the captain of La Severe is a very brave officer who on that day lost his presence of mind. Alas, Madame, we all know that the most courageous are not always equally brave. He wanted but ten minutes to recover himself. My determination not to surrender gave him the breathing time, his natural courage returned to him, and he showed himself the bravest of us all. Therefore I beg your majesty not to exaggerate the merit of my action, and thereby crush this deserving officer, who deplores incessantly the failing of a few moments. Right, said the queen, touched by these generous words, you are a true gentleman, Monsieur de Charnet, and as such I already know you to be. The young man, coloured crimson, and looked almost frightened at André, fearing what the queen's rashed generosity might later to say. For, continued the intrepid queen, I must tell you all that this is not the first time I have heard the name of Monsieur de Charnet, who deserves to be known and admired by all ladies, and to show you that he is as indulgent to our sex as he is merciless to his enemies. I will relate a little history of him, which does him the greatest honour. Oh Madame, stammering the young man, who felt as if he would have given a year of his life to be back in the West Indies. This, then, is it, continued the queen to her eager listeners. Two ladies whom I know were detained out late, and became embarrassed in a crowd. They ran a great risk, a real danger away to them. Monsieur de Charnet passed happily by at the moment. He dispersed the crowd, and, although they were unknown to him, and it was impossible to recognise their rank, took them under his protection and escorted them a long way. Ten miles from Paris, I believe. Oh, your Majesty exaggerates, said Monsieur de Charnet, laughing, and now quite reassured. Well, we will call it five, said the Count d'Artois, suddenly joining in the conversation. Let it be five, then, brother, said the queen, but the most admirable part of the story is that Monsieur de Charnet did not seek even to know the names of these ladies whom he had served. But left them at the place where they wished to stop, and went away without even looking back, so that they escaped from his protection without even a moment's disquietude. All expressed their admiration. A night of the round table could not have acted better, Her Majesty went on. And so Monsieur de Charnet, as the king will doubtless take upon himself to reward Monsieur de Souffrene, I, for my part, wished to do something for the nephew of this great man. As she spoke, she held out her hand to him, and Charnet, pale with joy, pressed his lips to this beautiful hand, while Philippe looked on from an obscure corner, pale with an opposite emotion. The voice of Monsieur d'Artois interrupted this scene, saying loudly, Ah, Provence, you come too late. You have missed a fine sight. The reception of Monsieur de Souffrene. Really? It was one that a Frenchman can never forget. How the devil did it happen that you were not here. You, who are generally the punctual man of par excellence. Monsieur de Provence bit his lips with vexation, and whispered to Monsieur de Favreur, his captain of the guards, how does it come to pass that he is here? Ah, Monsignor, I have been asking myself that question for the last hour, and have not yet found an answer. End of Chapter 12 Now we have introduced the principal characters of this history to our readers, and have taken them both into the petit maison of the Cond d'Artois, and into the king's palace at Versailles. We will return to that house in the Rue Saint-Claude, where we saw the queen enter incognito with mademoiselle André de Tavernay. We left Madame de la Mort counting over and alight it with her fifty double Louis. Next to the pleasure of having them, she knew no greater than that of displaying them, and having no one else, she called Dame Clotilde, who was still in the antechamber. When she entered, come and look here, said her mistress. Oh, Madame! cried the old woman, clasping her hands in astonishment. You were uneasy about your wages, said the Countess. Oh, Madame! I never said that. I only asked Madame if she could pay me, as I had received nothing for three months. Do you think there is enough there to pay you? Oh, Madame! If I had had all that, I should be rich for the rest of my life. But in what will Madame spend all that? In everything. The first thing I think, Madame, will be to furnish the kitchen, for you will have good dinners cooked now. Listen! said Madame de la Mort. Someone knocks. I did not hear it, said the old woman. But I tell you that I did, so go at once. She hastily gathered up her money and put it into a drawer murmuring. Oh, if Providence will send me another such a visitor! Then she heard the steps of a man below, but she could not distinguish what he said. Soon, however, the door opened, and Clotilde came in with a letter. The Countess examined it attentively and asked, was this brought by a servant? Yes, Madame. In livery. No, Madame. I know these arms, surely. S'agent to herself. Who can it be from? But the letter will soon show for itself. And opening it she read, Madame, the person to whom you wrote, will see you tomorrow evening, if it be agreeable to you to remain at home, for that purpose. And that was all. I have written to so many people, thought the Countess. Is this a man or a woman? The writing is no guide, nor is the style. It might come from either. Who is it that uses these arms? Oh, I remember now the arms of Laurent. Yes, I wrote to Monsieur de Guémanet and to Monsieur de Laurent. It is one of them. But the shield is not quartered. It is therefore the cardinal. Ah, Monsieur de Laurent, the man of gallantry, the fine gentleman, the ambitious one. He will come to see Jean de Lamotte, if it be agreeable to her. Oh yes, Monsieur de Laurent, it is very agreeable. A charitable lady, who gives a hundred louis, may be received in a garret. For he is in my cold room, and suffer on my hard chair. But a clerical prince, a lady's man. That is quite another thing. He must have luxury to greet him. Then turning to Coatield, who was getting her bed ready, she said, be sure to call me early tomorrow morning. And when she did retire to rest, so absorbed was she in her expectations and plans, that it was nearly three o'clock before she fell asleep. Nevertheless, she was quite ready, when Dame Coatield called her according to her directions, early in the morning, and had finished her toilette by eight o'clock. Although this day it consisted of an elegant silk dress, and her hair was elaborately dressed. She thanked Coatield for a coach, and ordered the man to drive to the Place Royale, where, under one of the arcades was the shop of Monsieur Fin-Gray, an upholsterer and decorator, and who had furniture always ready for sale or hire. She entered his immense showrooms, of which the walls were hung with different tapestries, and the ceiling, completely hidden by the number of chandeliers and laps that hung from it, on the ground were furniture, carpets, and cornices of every fashion and description. End of Chapter 13 Chapter 14 of The Queen's Necklace by Alexandre Dumas The translator is unknown. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Gail Timmerman Vaughn. Chapter 14 Monsieur Fin-Gray, Madame de Lamont looking at all this, began to perceive how much she wanted. She wanted a drawing-room to hold sofas and lounging chairs, a dining-room for tables and sideboards, and a boudoir for Persian curtains, screens, and knick-knacks. Above all, she wanted the money to buy all these things. But in Paris, whatever you cannot afford to buy, you can hire. And Madame de Lamont set her heart on a set of furniture covered in yellow silk with gilt nails, which she thought would be very becoming to her dark complexion. With this furniture she felt sure would never go into her rooms on the fifth story. It would be necessary to hire the third, which was composed of an antechamber, a dining-room, small drawing-room, and bedroom, so that she might, she thought, receive on this third story the visits of the cardinal, and on the fifth, those of the ladies of charity, that is to say, receive in luxury those who give from ostentation, and in poverty those who only desire to give when it is needed. The Countess, having made all these reflections, turned to where Monsieur Fangray himself stood, with his hat in his hand waiting for her commands. Madame, said he in a tone of interrogation, advancing towards her, Madame la Conteste de la mort valois, said Jean. At this high-sounding name, Monsieur Fangray bowed low and said, but there is nothing in this room worthy of Madame la Conteste's inspection. If Madame will take the trouble to step into the next one, she will see what is new and beautiful. Jean colored. All this had seemed so splendid to her, too splendid even to hope to possess it. In this high opinion of Monsieur Fangray's, concerning her perplexed her not a little, she regretted that she had not announced herself as a simple bourgeois, but it was necessary to speak. So she said, I do not wish for new furniture. Madame has doubtless some friends' apartments to furnish. Just so, she replied. Well, Madame then choose, said Monsieur Fangray, who did not care whether he sold new or old as he gained equally by both. This set, said Jean, pointing to the yellow silk one, that is such a small set, Madame. Oh, the rooms are small. It is nearly new, as Madame may see. But the price—eight hundred francs— the price may the Countess tremble, and how was she to confess that a Countess was content with second-hand things, and then could not afford to pay eight hundred francs for them? She therefore thought the best thing was to appear angry, and said, Who thinks of buying, sir? Who do you think would buy such old things? I only want to hire. Fangray made it grimace. His customer began gradually to lose her value in his eyes. She did not want to buy new things, only to hire old ones. You wish it for a year, he asked? No, only for a month. It is for someone coming from the country. It will be one hundred francs a month. You just surely miss your Hawaiian eight months. I should have paid the full price of it. Granted, Madame la Countess. Well, isn't that too bad? I shall have the expense of doing it up again when you return it. Madame la Montt reflected. One hundred francs a month is very dear, certainly, but either I can return it at the end of that time and say it is too dear, or I shall then perhaps be in a situation to buy. I will take it, she said, with curtains to match. Yes, Madame, and carpets. Here they are. What can you give me for another room? These oak chairs, this table with twisted legs, and green damask curtains. And for bedroom, a large and handsome bed, a counter-pane of velvet embroidered in rose-colour and silver, an excellent couch and blue curtains. And for my dressing-room, a toilet table hung with Michelin lace, chest of doors with market-tree, sofa and chairs of tapestry. The whole came from the bedroom of Madame de Pompadour Echoisie. And this for what price? For a month? Yes. Four hundred francs. Come, Mr. Fengray, do not take me for a grisette who is deviled by your fine descriptions. Pleased to reflect that you are asking, at the rate of four thousand eight hundred francs a year. And for that I can take a whole furnished house. You disgust me with the plos royale. I am very sorry, Madame. Prove it, then. I will only give half that price. Jean pronounced these words with so much authority, that the merchant began again to think she might be worth conciliating. So be it, then, Madame. And on one condition, Mr. Fengray. What, Madame? Let everything be arranged in its proper place by three o'clock. But consider, Madame, it is now ten. Can you do it or not? Where must they go to? Rue Saint-Claude. Close by. Precisely. The upholsterer opened a door and called. Sylvain, Landry, Rémy. Three men answered the call. The carts and the trucks instantly. Rémy, you shall take this yellow furniture. Sylvain, you take that for the dining room. And you, Landry, that for the bedroom. Here is the bill, Madame. Shall I receipt it? Here are six double Louis, she said. And you can give the change to these men, if the order is completed in time. And having given her address, she re-entered her coach. On her return she engaged the third floor. And in a few hours on was an order. The lodgings thus transformed. The windows cleaned and the fires lighted. Jean went again to her toilette, which she made as recherché as possible, and then took a last look at all the lights around her. Nothing had been forgotten. There were gilded branches from the walls for wax lights. And glass clusters on each side of the mirror. Jean had also added flowers to complete the embellishment of the paradise in which she intended to receive his eminence. She took care even to leave the door of the bedroom a little open, through which the light of a bright fire gave a glimpse of the luxuries within. All these preparations completed. She seated herself in a chair by the fire, with a book in her hand, listening eagerly to the sound of every carriage that passed. But nine, ten, and eleven o'clock struck. And no one came. So she did not despair. It was not too late for a gallant prelate, who had probably been first to some supper, and would come to her from there. But at last twelve struck. No one appeared. The lights were burning low, and the old servant, after many lamentations over her new cap, had fallen asleep in her chair. At half past twelve, Jean rose furious from her chair, looked out of the window for the hundredth time, and seeing no one near undressed herself and went to bed, refusing supper, or to answer any of the remarks made to her by Clotilde. And on her sumptuous bed, under her beautiful curtains, she experienced no better rest than she had on the previous night. At last, however, her anger began a little to abate, and she commenced framing excuses for the cardinal. He had so much to occupy him. He must have been detained and most potent of all. He had not yet seen her. She would not have been so easily consoled if he had broken the promise of a second visit. End of Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Of the Queen's Necklace by Alexandre Dumas The translator is unknown. The Slupervox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Gail Timmerman Vaughn. Chapter 15 The Cardinal de Rouen The next evening Jean, not discouraged, renewed all her preparations of the night before, and on this occasion she had no time to grow impatient, for at seven o'clock a carriage drove up to the door, from which a gentleman got out. At the sound of the doorbell, Jean's heart beat so loud that you might almost have heard it. However, she composed herself as well as she could. And in a few minutes Cotill'd opened the door and announced the person who had written the day before. Let him come in, said Jean, and a gentleman dressed in silk and velvet, and with a lofty carriage entered the room. Jean made a step forward and said, to whom have I the honour of speaking? I am the Cardinal de Rouen, he replied, at which Madame de la Motte feigning to be overwhelmed with the honour curtsied as though he were a king. Then she advanced an armchair for him and placed herself in another. The Cardinal laid his hat on the table and looking as Jean began. It is then true, mademoiselle. Madame, interrupted Jean. Pardon me, I forget. My husband is called de la Motte Monsignor. Oh, yes, a gendarme, is he not? Yes, sir. And you, Madame, are of Valois? I am Monsignor. A great name, said the Cardinal, but rare, believed extinct. Not extinct, sir, since I bear it, and as I have a brother, Baron de Valois, recognised? That has nothing to do with it. Recognised or unrecognised rich or poor, he is still Baron de Valois. Madame, explain to me this descent, it interests me, and love heraldry. Jean repeated all that the reader already knows. The Cardinal listened and looked. He did not believe either her story or her merit, but she was poor and pretty. So that, he said carelessly, when she had finished, you have really been unfortunate. I do not complain, Monsignor. Indeed, I had heard a most exaggerated account of the difficulties of your position. This lodging is comodious and well furnished. For a grisette, no doubt, replied Jean. What do you call these rooms fit for a grisette? I do not think you can call them fit for a princess, replied Jean. And are you a princess? He said, in an ironical tone, I was born of Valois Monsignor, as you were Errand, said Jean, with so much dignity that he felt a little touched by it. Madame, said he, I forget that my first words should have been an apology. I wrote to you that I would come yesterday, but I had to go to Versailles to assist at the reception of Monsieur de Soufrenne. Monsignor does me too much honour in remembering me today, and my husband will more than ever regret the exile to which poverty compels him, since it prevents him from sharing this favour with me. You live alone, Madame, asked the Cardinal. Absolutely alone, I should be out of place in all society, but that from which my poverty debars me. The genealogists do not contest your claim. No, but what good does it do me? Madame, continued the Cardinal. I shall be glad to know in what I can serve you. In nothing, Monsignor, she said. How? In nothing. Pray be frank. I cannot be more frank than I am. You were complaining just now. Certainly I complain. Well, then? Well, then, Monsignor, I see that you wish to bestow charity on me. Oh, Madame. Yes, I have taken charity, but I will do so no more. I have borne great humiliation. Madame, you were wrong. There is no humiliation in misfortune. Not even with a name I bear. Would you beg, Monsieur Durand? I do not speak of myself, said he, with an embarrassment mingled with auteur. Monsignor, I only know two ways of begging, in a carriage, or at a church door in velvet, or in rags. Well, just now. I did not expect the honour of this visit. I thought you had forgotten me. Oh, you knew, then, that it was I who wrote? Were not your arms on the seal? However, you feigned not to know me, because you did not do me the honour to announce yourself. This pride pleases me, said the cardinal. I had then, continued Jean, despairing of seeing you taking the revolution, of throwing off all this flimsy parade which covers my real poverty, and of going in rags, like other mendicans, to beg my bread from the passer-spaille. You are not at the end of your resources, I trust, Madame. Jean did not reply. You have some property, even if it be mortgaged, some family jewels, this, for example, and he pointed to a box with which the delicate fingers of the lady had been playing. A singular box upon my word. Will you permit me to look? Oh, a portrait! He continued, with a look of great surprise. Do you know the original of this portrait, asked Jean? It is that of Maria Theresa. A Maria Theresa? Yes, the Empress of Austria. Really? Are you sure, Monsignor? Where did you get it, he asked? From a lady who came the day before yesterday. To see you. Yes. The cardinal examined the box with my new detention. There were two ladies, continued Jean. And one of them gave you this box, he said, with evident suspicion. No, she dropped it here. The cardinal remained thoughtful for some time, and then he said, What was the name of this lady? I beg pardon for being inquisitive. Indeed, it is a somewhat strange question. Indiscreet perhaps, but not strange. Yes, very strange, for if I had known her name, I should have returned it long before this. Then you do not know who she is. I only know she is the head of some charitable house. In Paris? No, in Versailles. From Versailles, the head of a charitable house. Monsignor, I accept charity from ladies. That does not so much humiliate a poor woman. And this lady who had heard of my wants left a hundred louis on my table when she went away. A hundred louis? Said the cardinal in surprise. Then fearing to offend, he added, I am not astonished, madame, that they should give you such a sum. You merit, on the contrary, all the solicitude of charitable people, and your name makes it a duty to help you. It is only the title of the sister of charity that surprised me. They are not in the habit of giving such donations. Could you describe this lady to me? Not easily, sir. How so since she came here? Yes, but probably did not wish to be recognized, for she hid her face as much as possible in her hood, and was besides enveloped in furs. Well, but you saw something. My impressions were that she had blue eyes and a small mouth, though the lips were rather thick, taller short, of middle height, her hands—perfect, her throat—long and slender, her expression—severe and noble, but you perhaps know this lady amongst in here. Why should you think so, madame? From the manner in which you question me besides, there is sympathy between the doers of good works. No, madame, I do not know her. But, sir, if you had some suspicion, how should I? Oh, from this portrait, perhaps. Yes, certainly the portrait, said the cardinal, rather uneasily. Well, sir, this portrait you still believe to be there of Maria Turisa. I believe so, certainly. Then you think that you have received a visit from some German lady, who has founded one of these houses. But it was evident that the cardinal doubted, and he was pondering how this box, which he had seen a hundred times in the hands of the Queen, came into the possession of this woman. Had the Queen really been to see her? If she had been, was she indeed unknown to Jean? Or if not, why did she try to hide the knowledge from him? If the Queen had really been there, it was no longer a poor woman he had to deal with, but a princess, suckered by the Queen, who bestowed her gifts in person. Jean saw that the cardinal was thoughtful, and even suspicious of her. She felt uneasy and knew not what to say. At last, however, he broke the silence by saying, and the other lady. Oh, I could see her perfectly. She is tall and beautiful, with a determined expression and a brilliant complexion. And the other lady did not give her name. Yes, once, but her Christian name. What was that? André. André, repeated the cardinal with a start. This name put an end to all his doubts. It was known that the Queen had gone to Paris on that day, with mademoiselle de tavernée. It was evident also that Jean had no intention of deceiving him. She was telling him all she knew. Still, he would try one more proof. Countess, he said, one thing astonishes me, that you have not addressed yourself to the King. But, sir, I have sent him twenty petitions. Without result? Yes. Well, then, the Princess of the Blood. Monsieur le Duc d'Orléans is charitable, and often likes to do what the King refuses. I have tried him equally fruitlessly. That astonishes me. Oh, when one is poor and not supported by any one. There is still the Conductoir. Sometimes dissipated men do more generous actions. Than charitable ones. It is the same story with him. Whether Princesses, the Outs of the King, Madame Elizabeth particularly, would refuse assistance to no one. It is true Monsignor, her Royal Highness, to whom I wrote promise to receive me. Well, I know not why, after having received my husband, I could never get any more notice from her. It is strange, certainly, said the pardoner. Then, as if the thought had just struck him, he cried, Amondia! But we are forgetting the person to whom you should have addressed yourself, first of all. Whom do you mean? To the dispenser of all favours. She who never refuses help where it is deserved. To the Queen. Have you seen her? Non, answered Jean. You have never presented your petition to the Queen? Never. You have not tried to obtain an audience of her? I have tried, but failed. Have you tried to throw yourself in her way, that she might remark you? No, Monsignor. But that is very strange. I have only been twice to Versailles, and then, so about two persons there. One was Dr. Louis, who had attended my poor father, at the Hotel Dieu, and the other was M. le Baron de Tavernis, to whom I had an introduction. What did M. de Tavernis say to you? He might have brought you to the Queen. He told me that I was very foolish to bring forward as a claim to the benevolence of the King, a relationship which would be sure to displease him, as nobody likes poor relations. I recognise the egotistical and rude old Baron. Well, continued he, I will conduct you myself to Versailles, and will open the doors for you. Oh, Monsignor, how good you are, cried Jean, overwhelmed with joy. The cardinal approached her and said, It is impossible that before long almost interest themselves in you. Alas, Monsignor, said Jean with a sigh. Do you think so? I am sure of it. I fear you flatter me, she said, looking earnestly at him. For she could hardly believe in his sudden change of manner. He had been so cold and suspicious at first. This look had no small effect on the cardinal. He began to think he had never met a woman prettier or more attractive. Ah, ma foie, he said to himself, with the eternally scheming spirit of a man used to diplomacy, it would be too extraordinary and too fortunate if I have met at once an honest woman with the attractions of a scheming one, and found in this poverty an able co-adjetress to my desires. Monsignor, the silence you keep every now and then disquietes me. Why so countess? Because a man like you only fails in politeness, to two kinds of women. Oh, dear countess, you frighten me. What are you about to say? And he took her hand. I repeat it, said she, with women that you love too much, or with women who mean to not esteem enough to be polite to. Countess, you make me blush. Have I then failed in politeness towards you? Rather so, Monsignor, and yet you cannot love me too much, and I have given you no cause to despise me. Oh, countess, you speak as if you were angry with me. No, Monsignor, you have not yet merited my anger. And I never will, madame, from this day in which I have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance my solicitude for you will not cease. Oh, sir, do not speak to me of your protection. Oh, Monde, I should humiliate myself, not you, in mentioning such a thing, and he pressed her hand, which he continued to hold, to his lips. She tried to withdraw it, but he said, only politeness, madame, and she let it remain to know, she said, that I shall occupy a place, however small. In the mind of a man so eminent and so busy would console me for a year, let us hope the consolation will last longer than that, countess. Well, perhaps, Monsignor, I have confidence in you, because I feel that you are capable of appreciating a mind like mine, adventurous, brave, and pure, in spite of my poverty, and of the enemies which my position has made me. Your eminence will, I am sure, discover all the good that is in me and be indulgent to all the rest. We are then warm friends, madame, and he advanced towards her, but his arms were a little more extended than the occasion required. She avoided him instead in laughing. It must be a friendship among three, cardinal. Among three, doubtless for there exists an exile, a porjant d'arm, who is called Monsieur de la Motte. Oh, countess, what a deplorably good memory you have. I must speak to you of him that you may not forget him. Do you know why I do not speak of him, countess? No, pray tell me, because he will speak enough for himself. Husbands never let themselves be forgotten. We shall hear that Monsieur de la Motte found it good or found it bad that the cardinal de Rouen came two, three, or four times a week to visit his wife. Ah, but will you come so often, Monsignor? Without that, where would be our friendship? Four times. I should have said six or seven. Jean laughed. I should not indeed wonder in that case if people did talk of it. Oh, but we can easily prevent them. How? Quite easily, the people know me. Certainly, Monsignor, but you, they have the misfortune not to know. Well, therefore, if you would, what, sir, come out instead of me. Come to your hotel, Monsignor. You would go to see a minister. Oh, a minister is not a man. You are adorable, countess, but I did not speak of my hotel. I have a house. Oh, but you may zone. No, a house of yours. A house of mine, cardinal. Indeed, I did not know it. Tomorrow at ten o'clock you shall have the address. The countess blushed. The cardinal took her hand again and imprinted another kiss upon it at once bold, respectful, and tender. They then bowed to each other. Night Monsignor down, said the countess, and he went away. Well, thought she, I have made a great step in the world. Come, said the cardinal to himself as he drove off. I think I have killed two birds with one stone. This woman has too much talent not to catch the queen as she has caught me. End of Chapter 15 Chapter 16 of the Queen's Necklace by Alexandre Dumas The translator is unknown. This little Vox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Gail Timmerman Vaughn Chapter 16 Mesmer and Saint Martin The fashionable study in Paris at this time, and that which engrossed most of those who had no business to attend to, was mesmerism. A mysterious science, badly defined by its discoverers, who did not wish to render it too plain to the eyes of the people. Dr. Mesmer, who had given to it his own name, was then in Paris, as we have already heard from Marie Antoinette. This Dr. Mesmer deserves a few words from us, as his name was then in all mouths. He had brought this science from Germany, the land of mysteries, in 1777. He had previously made his debut there by a theory on the influence of the planets. He had endeavored to establish that these celestial bodies drew the same power by which they attract each other, exercised an influence over living bodies, and particularly over the nervous system by means of a subtle fluid with which the air is impregnated. But this first theory was too abstract. One must understand it, be initiated into all the sciences of Galileo, or Newton. And it would have been necessary for this to have become popular, that the nobility should have been transformed into a body of savants. He therefore abandoned this system and took up that of the lodestone, which was then attracting great attention, people fancying that this wonderful power was efficacious in curing illnesses. Unhappily for him, however, he found a rival in this, already established in Vienna. Therefore he once more announced that he abandoned mineral magnetism and intended to affect his cures through animal magnetism. This, although a new name, was not in reality a new science. It was as old as the Greeks and Egyptians, and had been preserved in traditions and revived every now and then by the sorcerers of the 13th, 14th, and 15th centuries, many of whom had paid for their knowledge with their lives. Bourbain-Rendier was nothing but an animal magnetizer, and Joseph Bossama we have seen practicing it. Messmer only condensed this knowledge into a science and gave it a name. He then communicated his system to the scientific academies of Paris, London, and Berlin. The first two did not answer him, and the third said that he was mad. He came to France, and took out of the hands of Dr. Storck and of the Oculus Vensel a young girl seventeen years old, who had a complaint of the liver and gut a serena, and after three months of this treatment restored her health and her sight. This cure convinced many people, and among them a doctor called Dysnell, who from his enemy became his pupil. From this time his reputation gradually increased. The academy declared itself against him, but the court for him. At last the government offered him in the king's name an income for life of twenty thousand francs to give lectures in public, and ten thousand more to instruct three persons who should be chosen by them in his system. Messmer however, indignant at the royal parsimony, refused and set out for the spa waters with one of his patients. But while he was gone Dysnell, his pupil, possessor of the secret which he had refused to sell for thirty thousand francs a year, opened a public establishment for the treatment of patients. Messmer was furious and exhausted himself in complaints and menaces. One of his patients however, Monsieur de Bergas, conceived the idea of forming a company. They raised a capital of three hundred and forty thousand francs on the condition that the secret should be revealed to the shareholders. It was a fortunate time, the people having no great public events to interest them entered eagerly into every new amusement and occupation, and this mysterious theory possessed no little attraction, professing as it did to cure invalids, restore mind to the fools, and amuse the wise. Everywhere Messmer was talked of, what had he done? On whom had he performed these miracles? To what great Lord had he restored sight? To what lady worn out with dissipation had he renovated the nerves? To what young girl had he shown the future in a magnetic trance? The future. That word of ever entrancing interest and curiosity. Voltaire was dead. There was no one left to make France laugh, except perhaps Bonmarché, who was still more bitter than his master. Rousseau was dead, and with him the sect of religious philosophers. War had generally occupied strongly the minds of the French people, but now the only war in which they were engaged was in America, where the people fought for what they called independence, and what the French called liberte, and even this distant war in another land and affecting another people was on the point of termination. Therefore they felt no more interest just now in Monsieur Mesmer, who was near than in Washington or Lord Cornwallis, who were so far off. Mesmer's only rival in the public interest was Saint-Martin, the professor of spiritualism, as Mesmer was one of materialism, and who professed to cure souls as he did bodies. Imagine an atheist with a religion more attractive than religion itself, a republican full of politeness and interest for kings. A gentleman of the privileged class is tender and solicitous for the people, endowed with a most startling eloquence, attacking all the received religions of the earth. Imagine Epicurus in white powder embroidered coat and silk stockings, not content with endeavoring to overturn a religion in which he did not believe, but also attacking all existing governments, and promulgating the theory that all men are equal, or, to use his own word, that all intelligent beings are kings. Imagine the effect of all this in society as it then was, without fixed principles or steady guides, and how it was all assisting to light the fire with which France, not long after, began to consume herself. End of Chapter 16 Chapter 17 of The Queen's Necklace by Alexandre Dumas The translator is unknown. The slip-revox recording is in the public domain, recording by Gail Timmerman Vaughn. Chapter 17 The Bucket We have endeavored to give an idea in the last chapter of the interest and enthusiasm which drew such crowds of people to see M. Messmer perform publicly his wonderful experiments, thinking as we know had given permission to the Queen to go and see what all Paris was talking of, accompanied by one of the princesses. It was two days after the visit of M. de Laurent to the Countess. The weather was fine and the thaw was complete, and hundreds of sweepers were employed in cleaning away the snow from the streets. The clear blue sky was just beginning to be illumined by its first stars, when M. de Laurent, elegantly dressed, and presenting every appearance of opulence, arrived in a coach, which Clotilde had carefully chosen as the best-looking at the Place Vendome, and stopped before a brilliantly lighted house. It was that of M. Messmer. Numbers of other carriages were waiting at the door, and a crowd of people had collected to see the patients arrive and depart, who seemed to derive much pleasure, when they saw some rich invalid, enveloped in furs and sentence, carried in by footmen. From the evident proof it afforded that God made men healthy or unhealthy, without reference to their purses or their genealogies. A universal murmur would arise when they recognized some duke, paralyzed in an armour leg, or some marshal, whose feet refused their office, less in consequence of military fatigues and marches, than from halts made with the ladies of the opera, or of the Comedienne Italian. Sometimes it was a lady carried in by her servants, with drooping head and languid eye, who, weakened by late hours, and in a regular life, came to demand from M. Messmer the health she had vainly sought to regain elsewhere. Many of these ladies were as well known as the gentlemen, but a great many escaped the public gaze, especially on this evening, by wearing masks, for there was a ball at the opera that night, and many of them intended to drive straight there, when they left the doctor's house. Through this crowd, M. Delamo walked erect and firm, also with a mask on, and elicited only the exclamation, this one does not look ill at all events. Ever since the Cardinals visit, the attention with which he had examined the box and portrait had been on Jean's mind, and she could not but feel that all his graciousness commenced after seeing it, and she therefore felt proportionate curiosity to learn more about it. First she had gone to Versailles to inquire at all the houses of charity about German ladies, but there were there, perhaps, a hundred and fifty or two hundred, and all Jean's inquiries about the two ladies who had visited her had proved fruitless. In vain she repeated that one of them was called André. No one knew a German lady of that name, which indeed was not German. Baffled in this, she determined to try elsewhere, and having heard much of M. Messmer, and the wonderful secrets revealed through him determined upon going there. Many were the stories of this kind in circulation. Mme de Durin had recovered a child who had been lost. Mme de Chantouille, an English dog, not much bigger than her fist, for which she would have given all the children in the world, and M. de Ventre, a lock of hair, which he would have bought back with half his fortune. All these revelations had been made by Claire Voyance after the magnetic operations of Dr. Messmer. Those who came to see him, after traversing the anti-chambers, were admitted into a large room from which the darkened and hermetically host windows excluded light and air. In the middle of this room under a luster, which gave but a feeble light, was a vast, unornamented tank filled with water impregnated with sulfur, and to the cover of which was fastened an iron ring. Attached to this ring was a long chain, the object of which we shall see presently. All the patients were seated round the room, men and women indiscriminately. Then of LA, taking the chain, wound it round the limbs of the patients, so that they might all feel, at the same time, the effects of the electricity contained in the tank. They were then directed to touch each other in some way, either by the shoulder, the elbow, or the feet, and each was to take in his hand a bar of iron, which was also connected with the tank, and to place it to the heart, head, or whatever was the seat of the malady. When they were already a soft and pleasing strain of music executed by invisible performers was heard, among the most eager of the crowd, on the evening of which we speak, was a young, distinguished-looking and beautiful woman, with a graceful figure, and rather showly dressed, who pressed the iron to her heart with wonderful energy, rolling her beautiful eyes, and beginning to show in the trembling of her hands the first effects of the electric fluid. As she constantly threw back her head, resting it on the cushions of her chair, all around could see perfectly her pale but beautiful face, and her white throat. Many seemed to look at her with great astonishment, and a general whispering commenced among those who surrounded her. Madame Le Mans was one of the most curious of the party, and of all she saw around her nothing attracted her attention, so much as this young lady, and after gazing earnestly at her for some time, at last she murmured, oh, it is she there is no doubt. It is the lady who came to see me, the other day, and convinced that she was not mistaken, she advanced towards her, congratulating herself that chance had affected for her what she had so long been vainly trying to accomplish. But at this moment the young lady closed her eyes, contracted her mouth, and began to beat the air feebly with her hands, which hands, however, did not seem to genre the white and beautiful ones she had seen in her room a few days before. The patients now began to grow excited under the influence of the fluid. Men and women began to utter sighs and even cries, moving convulsively their heads, arms, and legs. Then a man suddenly made his appearance. No one had seen him enter. He might have fancy he came out of the tank. He was dressed in a lilac robe and held in his hand a long wand, which he several times dipped into the mysterious tank. Then he made a sign. The doors opened, and twenty robust servants entered, and seizing such of the patients as began to totter on their seats, carried them into an adjoining room. While this was going on, Madame de la Motte heard a man who had approached near to the young lady before mentioned, and who was in a perfect paroxysm of excitement, say in a loud voice, it is surely she. John was about to ask him who she was when her attention was drawn to two ladies who had just entered followed by a man who, though disguised as a bourgeois, had still the appearance of a servant. The tournure of one of these ladies struck John so forcibly that she made a step towards them, when a cry from the young woman near her startled everyone, the same man whom John had heard speak before now called out. But look, gentlemen, it is the Queen. The Queen cried many voices in surprise. The Queen here, the Queen in that state, impossible. But look, said he again, do you know the Queen or not? Indeed, said many, the resemblance is incredible. Monsieur, said John to the speaker, who was a stout man with quick, observant eyes. Did you say the Queen? Oh, Madame, there is no doubt of it. And where is she? Why, that young lady that you see there, on the violet cushions, and in such a state that she cannot moderate her transports, is the Queen. But on what do you found such an idea, Monsieur? Simply because it is the Queen, and he left John to go and spread his news among the rest. She turned from the almost revolting spectacle, and going near to the door found herself face to face with the two ladies she had seen enter. Scarcely had she seen the elder one, then she uttered a cry of surprise. What is the matter? asked the lady. John took off her mask and asked, Do you recognize me, Madame? The lady made, but quickly suppressed, a movement of surprise, and said, No, Madame. Well, Madame, I recognize you and will give you a proof. And she drew the box from her pocket, saying, You left this at my house. But supposing this to be true, what makes you so agitated? I am agitated by the danger that your Majesty is incurring here. Explain yourself. Not before you have put on this mask. And she offered her to the Queen, who, however, did not take it. I beg your Majesty, there is not an instant to lose. The Queen put on the mask. And now pray come away, added John. But why? said the Queen. Your Majesty has not been seen by anyone? I believe not. So much the better. The Queen mechanically moved to the door, but said again, Will you explain yourself? Will not your Majesty believe your humble servant for the present, that you were running a great risk? But what risk? I will have the honour to tell your Majesty, whenever you will grant me an hour's audience, but it would take too long now. And seeing that the Queen looked displeased, Pray Madame, said she, turning to the Princess Lambelle, join your petitions to mine that the Queen should leave this place immediately. I think we had better Madame, said the Princess. Well then I will, answered the Queen, then turning to Madame de Lambelle. You ask for an audience, she said. I beg for that honour that I may explain this conduct to your Majesty. I'll bring this box with you, and you will be admitted. Laurent, the porter, shall have orders to do so. Then going into the street, she called in German, Comenzi da Weber. A carriage immediately drove up. They got in, and were immediately out of sight. When they were gone, Madame de Lambelle said to herself, I have done right in this, for the rest I must consider. End of Chapter 17