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Marie Antoinette Romances, Vol 2: The Mesmerist's Victim

<h2>CHAPTER XVI. THE ENDLESS LAW SUIT.</h2> IT is not hard to guess what the dainty duke suffered in passing through the dirty and nauseating Paris of his era to reach the foul hole among ill-kempt houses which was called a street. Before Flageot’s door the way for the ducal coach was stopped by another vehicle. He perceived a female’s headdress coming out of it, and as his seventy-five years had not rebuffed him in his reputation as a lover of the ladies, he hastened to wade through the mud to offer his arm to the lady who was stepping out unassisted. He was not in luck: for the foot was the bony one of an old dame. Wrinkled face, the tan showing under a thick layer of rouge, proved that she was not merely old but decrepit. But the marshal could not draw back: besides he was no chicken himself. The client—she must have been a client to be at this door—did not hesitate like he did: she put her paw with a horrible grin in the duke’s hand. “I have seen this Gorgon’s head somewhere before,” he thought. “Going to call on Flageot?” he inquired. “Yes, your grace.” “Oh, have I the honor of being known to you?” he exclaimed, disagreeably surprised as he stopped at the opening of the park passage. “There is no woman who does not know the Duke of Richelieu,” was the reply. “This baboon flatters herself that she is a woman,” muttered the Victor at Mahon: but he saluted with the utmost grace, saying aloud: “May I venture to ask to whom I have the honor of speaking?” “I am your servant, the Countess of Bearn,” replied the old lady, making a court reverence on the miry planks of the alley, three paces from a sort of open trapdoor in which the marshal expected to see her tumble when she got to the third courtsey. “Enchanted to hear it, my lady,” he responded. “So your ladyship has some law business on hand?” “Law business, indeed! it is only one suit, but you must have heard about it as it is so long in the courts—my defense against the claim of the Saluce Brothers.” “Of course! there is a popular song about it—it is sung to the tune of ‘the Bourbon Lass;’ and runs some way thus—— <div class="poem"> “‘My lady countess, how I want Your help, which I should ever vaunt, For I am in a stew’</div> “You understand that is Lady Dubarry who sings. It is saucy to her, but these ballad-mongers respect nobody. Lord, how greasy this rope for a handrail is! Then you reply as follows: <div class="poem"> “‘A lady old and obstinate, Unsettled lawsuits are my fate, To win I must rely on you.’”</div> “How shocking, my lord,” said the countess, who was a descendant of the house of Bearn and Navarre which gave Henry IV as King to France: “how dare they thus insult a woman of quality?” “Excuse my singing out of tune, but this staircase puts me in a heat. Ah, we have reached his door. Let me pull the bell.” The old dame let the duke pass her, but grumbled. He rang and Madame Flageot, the lawyer’s daughter as well as lawyer’s wife, did not think it beneath her to open the door. Introduced into the office a furious man was seen with a pen in his hand which he flourished, dictating to his principal clerk. “Good heavens, what are you doing, Master Flageot?” asked the old countess whose voice made the proctor turn round. “Oh, your ladyship’s most faithful! A chair for the Countess of Bearn. And the Duke of Richelieu, if my eyes do not deceive me. Another seat, Bernardet, for my Lord of Richelieu.” “How is my suit going on,” inquired the lady. “Fine, my lady, I was just busy on your behalf, and it will make a noise now, I can tell you.” “If you have my action in motion, then you can attend to my lord duke.” “If you please.” “Well, you must know what brought me—— ” “The papers M. Rafté brought from your lordship? It is put off indefinitely, at least it may be a year before the case comes up in the courts.” “Eh, I should like to know the reasons?” “Circumstances, my lord. The King having cancelled the Parliamentary decree about Duke Aiguillon, we reply by ‘burning our ships.’” “I did not know you Parliament gentlemen had any ships.” “Both Houses have refused to proceed with any cases before the courts until the King withdraws Lord Aiguillon.” “You don’t say so?” exclaimed Richelieu. “What, they won’t try my case?” said Lady Bearn with a terror she did not try to dissimulate. “This is iniquitous—rebellion to our Lord the King!” “My lady, the King forgets himself—and we forget our duty too,” rejoined the lawyer loftily. “You will be lugged into the Bastile.” “I shall go, singing, and my colleagues will escort me, bearing palms.” “The man is mad,” said the lady to the nobleman. “We are all of a feather,” continued the proctor. “This is curious,” observed the marshal. “But you said you were attending to my suit,” protested the lady. “And so I was. Yours is the first example I cite among the cases which will be suspended by our action—or, rather, inaction—he he! Here is the very paragraph concerning your ladyship.” Snatching from his clerk the sheet of paper on which he was writing, he read with emphasis: “—— ‘Their estate lost, fortune compromised, and their duties trodden under foot. His Majesty may imagine what such will suffer. For instance, the dependent must hold inert in his hands an important affair on which depends the fortune of one of the first families of the kingdom: by his care, industry and I make so bold as to say his talent, he was bringing this matter at length—great length—to a brilliant close, and the rights of the most high and powerful lady Angelique Charlotte Veronique de Bearn, were just going to be acknowledged and proclaimed when the breath of Discord—’ I stopped at the breath, my lady; the figure of speech was so fine—— ” said the proctor. “Master Flageot,” said the old litigant, “forty years ago I selected your father to be my lawyer, a worthy gentleman: I continued you in the matter; in which you have made some ten or twelve thousand a-year and might be making more—” “Write that down,” interrupted the legal gentleman: “it is a proof, an item of testimony—it shall be inserted in the appendix of supporting documents.” “Stay,” went on the countess: “I withdraw my papers; henceforth you lose my trust.” This disgrace struck the lawyer like a thunderbolt: recovering from the stupefaction, he raised his eyes like a martyr ready for the golden chariot to mount to heaven, and said: “Be it so. Bernardet, give the lady her documents and register this fact, that the petitioner preferred his conscience to his fees.” “I beg your ladyship’s pardon,” interposed Richelieu, “but it is useless to withdraw your papers, for this worthy practitioner’s legal brethren, I take it, will not accept the case. He is not so dull as to be the only one to protest and lose his business. As for me, I declare Master Flageot a very honest lawyer, in whose box my papers are as safe as in my own. So here I leave them, paying the fees just the same as though the case was up for trial.” “How right they are who say that your lordship is generous and liberal!” burst forth the proctor; “I shall propagate your lordship’s fame.” Richelieu bowed as though overwhelmed. “Bernardet,” cried the enthusiastic lawyer, “in the peroration, insert the eulogium of the Duke of Richelieu.” “No, never! I like to do good deeds by stealth, sir. Do not disoblige me, my master, or I should deny it—I would give you the lie, sir—my modesty is so touchy. Come, countess, what say you?” “That my case ought to be tried and it shall have a hearing.” “It will not be tried unless the King sends his army and all the great guns into the courtroom,” replied the proctor. “Do you not think that the King will wriggle out of this bag,” asked Richelieu of the proctor in a whisper. “Impossible. A country without courts going on is a land without daily bread.” “But this will anger the King.” “We have screwed up our minds to anything—prison, death. A man may wear a black gown, but a heart can be under it.” And he thumped his chest. “This is a black lookout for the cabinet,” said the duke to his fellow-client. “It seems to me that you might apply to your presentee at court, Lady Dubarry, who is perhaps powerful enough to open this deadlock.” “Thanks, you give me the idea of going to her country house, and she shall tell the King that this stoppage of legal business will not suit me, whom she has reasons to oblige. His Majesty will speak to the Lord High Chancellor and he has a long arm. Master Flageot, please to refresh your mind with my case, for it will soon be coming up, I warrant you.” Flageot turned his head with incredulity not remarked by the willful old dame. “Since you will go to Luciennes,” suggested Richelieu, “you might convey my compliments. We are companions in affliction since my law case will not be tried. Besides you can testify to the displeasure these pettifoggers are causing me; and you might kindly add that it was at my hint that your ladyship thought of taking this clever step. Do me the honor to accept my hand as far as your carriage. Adieu, Master Flageot, I leave you to your petition.” “Rafté was right,” mused the duke when by himself. “These Flageots are going to make a revolution. However, God be thanked. I am carrying water on both shoulders! I am for the court and of the Parliamentarians. Lady Dubarry will plunge into politics and get drowned. Decidedly, this Rafté is a good scholar of mine and I will make him my Chief Secretary when I am Premier.” Lady Bearn profited literally by the duke’s advice so that, in two hours and a half, she was dancing attendance at Luciennes, in company with Lady Dubarry’s pet page, the black boy Zamore. Her name raised some curiosity in the Countess’s boudoir, as it was well-known from her having been sponsor at the presentation of the favorite to the court. No other lady of title would do this office and she only accepted the shameful mission of go-between on her own conditions. Duke Aiguillon was plotting with the favorite when Chon asked a hearing for Countess Bearn. “I should like you to stay by,” said she to the duke, “in case the old beggar tries for a loan. You will be useful as she will ask for less.” Lady Bearn, with her face drawn down to suit the disaster, took the armchair in front of her hostess and began: “A great misfortune brings me, news which will much afflict his Majesty—these Parliamentarians—— ” “This is the Duke of Aiguillon,” Lady Dubarry hastened to say as he groaned, for fear of something awkward being said. But the old dame was not one to make blunders; she hastened to proceed: “I know the turpitude of these crows, and their lack of respect for merit and birth.” This blunt compliment to the duke earned his handsome bow for the litigant, who rose and returned it before she went on: “But it is no longer his grace to whom they do harm, but to all the people. They will let no cases be tried.” “Tush, no more law-dealing in France,” said Jeanne Dubarry; “What difference will that make?” The duke smiled, but the old hag, instead of taking things pleasantly, looked as morose as possible. “It is a great woe, but it is plain that your ladyship has no trials on the board.” “I see, and I remember that you have an important suit.” “To which delay is dangerous.” “Poor lady!” “The King will have to do something.” “Oh, he will exile the judges.” “That will adjourn the trials indefinitely.” “If you know of any remedy, my lady, I wish you would kindly state it.” “There is one way,” remarked Aiguillon, “but the King may not like to use it. It is the ordinary resource of royalty when the other branches of the ruling powers are burdensome. The King says, ‘I will have it so!’ whether the opponents say they will not or the other thing.” “Excellent plan,” exclaimed Lady Bearn with enthusiasm. “Oh, my lady, if you who can influence the King, would get him to say: ‘I will have Lady Bearn’s case tried!’ it would be realizing what you promised long ago.” Aiguillon bit his lip, bowed and quitted the boudoir, for he heard a coach and he thought it was the royal one. “Here comes the King,” said the hostess, rising to dismiss the pleader. “Oh, won’t your ladyship let me throw myself at the royal feet to—— ” “Ask for a special court to try the case? I am most willing,” replied the countess quickly. “Stay here and have your wish.” Lady Bearn had hardly adjusted her headdress before the sovereign entered. “Ha, you have visitors?” he exclaimed. “It is my Lady Bearn,” said the other lady. “Sire, I crave for justice,” squeaked the old dame, making a low courtsey. “Against the Parliament, which will do no acts of justice. Your Majesty, I beg for a special tribunal.” “A royal special court?” said the monarch. “Why, this is almost a revolution, my lady.” “It is the means to curb these rebels of whom you are the master. Your Majesty knows that they have no right to reply if you say ‘I will do this.’” “The idea is grand,” said Lady Dubarry. “Grand, yes; but not good,” responded the King. “It would be a splendid ceremony—the King going in state to open the special court royal, with all the peers and ladies in the train, and he so glorious in the ermine-lined mantle, the royal diamonds in the crown, and the gold sceptre carried before him—all the lustre beseeming your Majesty’s handsome and august countenance.” “Do you think so?” asked the King, wavering. “It is a fact that such a sight has not been seen for a long time,” he added with affected unconcern. “I will see about it next time the Parliaments do anything vexatious.” “They have done it, Sire,” interposed La Dubarry. “The pests have determined to hold no more law courts until your Majesty lets them have their own way.” “Mere rumors.” “Please your Majesty, my proctor returned me the brief and papers in my case because there would be no trial for ever so long.” “Mere scarecrows, I tell you.” Zamore scratched at the door, that being the way to knock when royalty is in a room, and brought a letter. Lord High Chancellor Maupeou, hearing where the King was, solicited an interview through the countess’s good graces. “You may stay,” said the King to Lady Bearn. “Good morning, my lord—what is the news?” “Sire, the Parliament which annoyed your Majesty is no more. The members wish to resign and have handed in their applications to be relieved all together.” “I told you this was a serious dilemma,” whispered the young countess to her royal lover. “Very serious,” said Louis, with impatience. “Exile the pack, Maupeou!” “But they will hold no law courts in exile, Sire.” “Chancellor,” observed the ruler, gravely; “Law must be dealt out and I see no means but the efficacious if solemn one: I will hold a royal and special tribunal. Those gentry shall tremble for once.” “Sire, you are the greatest King in the whole world!” “Yes, indeed,” cried the chancellor, Chon and her fortunate sister like an echo. “That is more than the whole world says, though,” muttered the King. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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