The comtesse de charny, p.29
THE COMTESSE DE CHARNY, page 29
Five minutes afterwards, Teisch rang the bell at the gate of the chateau.
Mirabeau, as we have already said, knew it of old, but he had never had the opportunity of examining it so closely as he did now. The gate opened, and he found himself in the first court, which was nearly square. To the right was a place inhabited by the gardener, to the left was a similar lodge.
Heliotropes and fuchsias were climbing about the windows, and a bed of lilies, cactus, and narcissus spread the whole length of I this court. It seemed to be covered by a carpet worthy of being wove by the hand of Penelope.
In looking at the lodges, lost almost amongst the roses and other flowers, Mirabeau uttered a cry of joy.
“Oh!” said he to the gardener, “is this little place to let or sell?”
“Without doubt, monsieur,” he replied, “since it belongs to the chateau, which is either to be let or sold. It is let just now, but as there is no lease, if monsieur takes the chateau it will be easy to arrange the matter.”
“And who is the inhabitant?” asked Mirabeau.
“A lady.”
“Young?”
“Of thirty or so.”
“Beautiful?”
“Very beautiful.”
“Well,” said Mirabeau, “we will see: a beautiful neighbour is never in the way. Let me see the chateau, mon ami.”
The gardener went before Mirabeau crossed a bridge which separated the first court from the second, and which was built over a small river, and then stopped.
“If monsieur,” said he, “should not wish to disturb the lady in the pavilion, it will be very easy, as this river separates the garden round the pavilion from the rest of the park of the chateau, and thus she would be by herself and monsieur alone too.”
“Good, good!” said Mirabeau; “and the chateau is here?”
And he slowly ascended the five steps leading to it.
The gardener opened the principal door.
This door opened into a vestibule in stucco, with niches containing statues and vases, on columns, according to the fashion of the time.
A door at the end of this vestibule, and opposite the entrance door, led into a garden.
To the right were the billiard and dining — -rooms.
To the left two saloons, a large and a small one.
This first arrangement pleased Mirabeau, who otherwise seemed impatient and uncomfortable. They passed on to the first floor. It consisted of a great saloon, admirably adapted for study, and three or four bedchambers. The windows of the saloon and the chambers were shut. Mirabeau went and opened one of them himself. The gardener would have opened the others; but Mirabeau made a sign with his hand, and the gardener stopped.
Just below the window which Mirabeau had opened, at the foot of an immense weeping willow, sat a woman reading, while a child of some five or six years played among the flowers.
Mirabeau understood at once that this was the lady of the pavilion. It was impossible to be dressed more gracefully and elegantly than this lady. Her hands were small and long, her nails beautiful.
The child, dressed entirely in white satin, wore a strange mixture — but sufficiently common at that time — hat a la Henri Quatre, with one of those three-coloured bindings which were called national ribbons.
Such was the costume that the young Dauphin wore the last time he had appeared on the balcony of the Tuileries with his mother.
The sign made by Mirabeau expressed his wish not to disturb the fair reader.
It was the lady of the Pavilion aux Fleurs; it was indeed the queen of the garden of lilies, cactus, and narcissus; it was indeed the beautiful neighbour that chance had given to the voluptuous Mirabeau.
Immovable as a statue, he watched this charming creature for some time, ignorant as she was of the ardent gaze fixed on her. But whether by accident, or some magnetic influence, she left off reading and looked up to the window.
She perceived Mirabeau, uttered a slight cry of surprise, called her child, and taking him by the hand, walked off, but not without turning her head two or three times, and disappeared amongst the trees, between the openings of which Mirabeau watched her appear from time to time, for her white dress was easily distinguished in the twilight, which had already commenced.
To the beautiful unknown’s cry of surprise Mirabeau answered by one of astonishment.
This woman had not only the royal step, but as her lace veil flew aside, her features seemed those of Marie Antoinette.
The child increased the resemblance; he was just the age of the second son of the queen. The gait, the countenance, the least movement of the queen, had remained so firmly fixed in the mind of Mirabeau, ever since his first and last interview, that he believed he should have been able to have recognised her if she had come surrounded by a cloud similar to that which encircled Venus when she visited her son AEneas, near Carthage.
How strange that in the park of the house Mini beau was about to rent, there should be a woman who, if she were not the queen, was so nearly her living portrait!
Next day Mirabeau bought the chateau.
CHAPTER XXII.
The Lodge Ix the Rue Platriere.
WE SHALL NOW introduce the reader to the masonic lodge in the Rue Platriere.
A low door was surmounted by three letters in red chalk, which doubtless indicated the place of a meeting, and which before morning will be effaced.
These three letters are L. P. D.
The low door seems an alley-way: a few steps are descended, and a dark passage threaded.
Certainly, the second indication would confirm the first, for after having looked at the three letters, Farmer Billot descended the steps, counting them as he went, and at last stepped from the eighth; he then went boldly down the alley.
At the extremity of this alley burned a pale light, before which sat a man pretending to read a paper.
Billot advanced, and as he did so, the man arose, and with one finger pressed on his chest, waited for him to speak.
Billot made the same answer, and then placed his finger on his lip.
This was probably the passport expected by the mysterious porter, who at once opened a perfectly invisible door, and when it was shut, showed Billot a stairway with narrow, coarse steps, leading yet farther below the ground.
Billot entered, and the door rapidly but silently closed behind him.
On this occasion the farmer counted seventeen steps, and when he had reached the eighteenth, in spite of the dumbness to which he seemed to have condemned himself, he said, “Good! here I am.”
A curtain hung a few steps before the door, and Billot, going straight to it, lifted it up and found himself in a vast circular hall, in which some fifty persons were already collected. The nulls were hung with red and white curtains, on which were worked the square and compass and level. A platform, which was ascended by four steps, was prepared for the orators and recipiendaries, and on this platform, in the part nearest the wall, was a solitary desk and chair for the president.
In a few moments the hall was so filled as to make motion impossible. The crowd was composed of men of every rank and condition, from the peasant to the prince, who came one by one, as Billot had done, and who, without knowing each other, took their places as chance dictated or according to their sympathies.
Each of these men bore under his coat his ovat, the apron of the craft, if he was a simple mason, or if he was one of the illuminati also, both the apron and the scarf of the higher order.
A single lamp hung from the roof cast a circle of light around, but not sufficient to render visible those who wished to remain unknown.
Three men alone did not wear the scarf of the illuminati, but only the masonic apron.
One was Billot, the other a young man scarcely twenty, and the third a man about forty-five, who from his manners appeared to belong to the higher classes of society.
A few seconds after the last had entered, no more attention being paid to him than to the simplest member of the association, a masked door was opened, and the president appeared, bearing the insignia of the Grand Orient and the Grand Copht.
He slowly ascended the platform, and turning towards the assembly, said: “Brethren, to-day we have two things to do. We have to receive three new members, and I have to render you an account of my work, from the day I began to the present time. That work becomes every hour more difficult, and you must know if I am yet worthy of your confidence. Only by receiving light from you, and diffusing it, can I march on the dark and terrible journey I have undertaken. Let, then, the chiefs of the order alone remain in this hall, that we may proceed to the reception or rejection of the three new members who present themselves before us. These three members being accepted or rejected, all will enter the hall, from the first to the last, for to all, not alone to the supreme circle, do I wish to exhibit my conduct and receive praise or censure.”
At these words, a door opposite to the one already unmasked opened. Vast vaulted rooms, like the crypts of an ancient basilica, became open, and the crowd passed into them, like a procession of spectres, through dimly lighted arcades, in which lamps of copper were placed here and there, barely sufficient, as the poet says, “to make darkness visible.”
Three men alone remained — the recipiendaries. It chanced that they leaned against the wall at almost equal distances apart. They looked curiously at each other, but did not discover who and what they were.
At that moment the door through which the president had entered again re-opened, and six masked men appeared and placed themselves three on each side of the president.
“Let numbers two and three disappear for a moment. None but the supreme chiefs may know the secrets of the reception or rejection of a masonic brother into the order of the illuminati.”
The young man and the man of aristocratic bearing withdrew to the corridor whence they had entered.
Billot remained.
“Approach,” said the president, after a brief silence, during which the others had withdrawn. Billot drew near.
“How are you known among the profane?”
“Francis Billot.”
“Among the elect?”
“Force.”
“Where saw you the light?”
“In the Lodge of the Friends of Truth of Soissons.”
“How old are you?”
“Seven years.”
Billot made a sign to show that he was a master of his order.
“Why do you wish to ascend a degree, and to be received among us?”
“Because I have been told that it is a step towards universal light.”
“Have you sponsors?”
“I have none but him who came to me alone, and unsolicited, and offered to receive me.” Billot looked fixedly at the president.
“With what feeling will you tread the path that shall be opened to you?”
“Hatred to the powerful and love of equality.”
“Who will answer to us for your love of equality and hatred of oppression?”
“The word of a man who never has broken his word.”
“What inspires you with this love of equality?”‘
“The inferior condition of my birth.”
“What inspires you with hatred of the powerful?”
“That is my secret: that secret you know. Why make me utter aloud what I would not even whisper?”
“Will you advance according to your power, and make all around you advance towards equality?”
“Yes.”
The president turned towards the chiefs in masks. “Brothers,” said he, “this man speaks the truth. A great sorrow unites him to our cause, by the fraternity of hatred. Already he has contributed much to the revolution, and may do much more. I am his sponsor, and will be answerable for him in the present, past and future.”
“Let him be received,” said the six unanimously.
“You hear? Are you ready to take the oath?”
“Dictate, and I will repeat it.”
The president lifted up his hand, and with a slow solemn voice said:
“In the name of the crucified Son, I swear to break the carnal bonds which unite me yet to father, mother, brothers, sisters, wife, kindred, friends, mistresses, kings, benefactors, or any one else, or to any being to whom I have promised faith, obedience, gratitude, or service.”
Billot repeated in a voice firmer even than that of the president, the same words.
“Good!”said the president. “Henceforth you are freed from oaths to your country and its laws. Swear to reveal to the new chief you have recognised all you shall hear, learn or guess, and even to seek and spy out what may not come before your eyes.”
“I swear!” said Billot.
“Swear,” continued the president, “to honour and respect poison, steel, and fire, as prompt, pure, and necessary means to purge the globe by the death of those who seek to defile truth and wrest it from our hands.”
“I swear!” repeated Billot.
“Swear to avoid Naples, Rome, Spain, and every accursed land. Swear to avoid the temptation to reveal aught you may hear in our assemblies, for thunder is not more prompt than the invisible knife to reach and slay you wherever you may be.”
“I swear!” repeated Billot.
“Now,” said the president, “live in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”
A brother hidden in the dark opened the door of the crypt, where, until the conclusion of the triple reception, the brothers waited. The president made a sign to Billot, who bowed and joined those to whom the oath he had taken had assimilated him.
“Number 2!” said the president in a loud voice, and the closed door opened again, and the young man appeared.
“Draw near,” said the president.
The young man did so.
We have already said that he was a young man of twenty or twenty-two, who, thanks to his fine white skin, might have passed for a woman. The huge cravat worn at that time might induce one to believe that the dazzling transparency of that skin was not to be attributed to purity of blood, but, on the contrary, to some secret and concealed malady.
In spite of his high stature and great cravat, his neck was short, his forehead low, and the whole front of the head depressed.
The result was that his hair, without being longer than it was usually worn at that time, touched the shoulders behind, and in front hung over his forehead. There was in the whole bearing of this man, as yet on the threshold of life, something of automatic harshness which made him look like an envoy of the other world — a deputy from the tomb.
The president looked for a moment at him with attention, and then began to question him. His glance, though exceedingly fixed, could not make the young man look away. He waited and listened.
“Your name among the profane?”
“Antoine St. Just.”
“Among the elect?”
“Humility.”
“Where saw you light?”
“In the Lodge of the Humanitarians of Laon.”
“How old are you?”
“Five years old.”
The president made a sign to show that he was a free and accepted mason.
“Why do you wish to ascend a degree and to be one of us?”
“Because it is man’s nature to aspire to elevations, and that on the heights the air is purer and the light more brilliant.”
“Have you a model?”
“The philosopher of Genera, the man of nature, the immortal Rousseau.”
“Have you sponsors?”
“Two.”
“Who are they?”
“The two Robespierres.”
“With what feeling will you march in the path we open to you?”
“With faith.”
“Whither will that faith conduct France and the world?”
“France to liberty, the world to freedom.”
“What would you give to have France and the world reach that liberty?”
“My life is all I have, my fortune I have already given.”
“Then, if received, you will advance with all your force and power, and cause all around you to advance in the path that leads to liberty and freedom?”
“I will, and will urge all others.”
“Then in proportion to your power you will overturn every obstacle you meet with in your journey?”
“I will.”
“Are you free from all obligation, or if any obligation contrary to our laws has been assumed by you, will you break it?”
“I am free.”
“Brothers, have you heard him?”
“Yes,” said they.
“Has he spoken the truth?”
“Yes,” said they again.
“Are you ready to take the oath?”
“I am.”
And the president repeated the same oaths he had administered to Billot.
When the door of the crypt had closed on St. Just, in a loud tone the president called, “Number 3!”
This was, as we hare said, a man of forty or forty-two, flushed in his face, almost bloated, but very tall, and in every lineament showing an aristocratic air, which at the first glance revealed Anglomania. His dress, though elegant, bore something of that simplicity just begun to be adopted in France, the true origin of which was the relations of Prance with America.
His step, though it did not tremble, was not firm like St. Just’s, nor heavy like Billot’s.
“Draw near.” The candidate obeyed.
“Your name among the profane?”
“Louis Philippe, Duke of Orleans.”
“Your name among the elect?”
“Equality.”
“Where saw you the light?”
“In the Lodge of the Freemen of Paris.”
“How old are you?”
“I have no age,” — and the duke made a masonic sign, showing that he had reached the dignity of rose cross.
“Why do you wish to be received by us?”
“Because, having till now lived with the great, I now wish to live with men. Because, having ever lived with my enemies, I would now live with my brothers.”
“Have you sponsors?’’
“Two.”
__english_preview.jpg)
