AN OLD NOBLEMAN AND AN OLD
MAÎTRE-D'HÔTEL.
It was the beginning of April, 1784, between twelve and one
o'clock. Our old acquaintance, the Marshal de Richelieu, having
with his own hands colored his eyebrows with a perfumed dye, pushed
away the mirror which was held to him by his valet, the successor
of his faithful Raffè and shaking his head in the manner peculiar
to himself, "Ah!" said he, "now I look myself;" and rising from his
seat with juvenile vivacity, he commenced shaking off the powder
which had fallen from his wig over his blue velvet coat, then,
after taking a turn or two up and down his room, called for his
maître-d'hôtel.
In five minutes this personage made his appearance,
elaborately dressed.
The marshal turned towards him, and with a gravity befitting
the occasion, said, "Sir, I suppose you have prepared me a good
dinner?"
"Certainly, your grace."
"You have the list of my guests?"
"I remember them perfectly, your grace; I have prepared a
dinner for nine."
"There are two sorts of dinners, sir," said the
marshal.
"True, your grace, but——"
The marshal interrupted him with a slightly impatient
movement, although still dignified.
"Do you know, sir, that whenever I have heard the word 'but,'
and I have heard it many times in the course of eighty-eight years,
it has been each time, I am sorry to say, the harbinger of some
folly."
"Your grace——"
"In the first place, at what time do we dine?"
"Your grace, the citizens dine at two, the bar at three, the
nobility at four——"
"And I, sir?"
"Your grace will dine to-day at five."
"Oh, at five!"
"Yes, your grace, like the king——"
"And why like the king?"
"Because, on the list of your guests, is the name of a
king."
"Not so, sir, you mistake; all my guests to-day are simply
noblemen."
"Your grace is surely jesting; the Count
Haga,[A]who is among the
guests——"
"Well, sir!"
"The Count Haga is a king."
"I know no king so called."
"Your grace must pardon me then," said the maître-d'hôtel,
bowing, "but, I believed, supposed——"
"Your business, sir, is neither to believe nor suppose; your
business is to read, without comment, the orders I give you. When I
wish a thing to be known, I tell it; when I do not tell it, I wish
it unknown."
The maître-d'hôtel bowed again, more respectfully, perhaps,
than he would have done to a reigning monarch.
"Therefore, sir," continued the old marshal, "you will, as I
have none but noblemen to dinner, let us dine at my usual hour,
four o'clock."
At this order, the countenance of the maître-d'hôtel became
clouded as if he had heard his sentence of death; he grew deadly
pale; then, recovering himself, with the courage of despair he
said, "In any event, your grace cannot dine before five
o'clock."
"Why so, sir?" cried the marshal.
"Because it is utterly impossible."
"Sir," said the marshal, with a haughty air, "it is now, I
believe, twenty years since you entered my service?"
"Twenty-one years, a month, and two weeks."
"Well, sir, to these twenty-one years, a month, and two
weeks, you will not add a day, nor an hour. You understand me,
sir," he continued, biting his thin lips and depressing his
eyebrows; "this evening you seek a new master. I do not choose that
the word impossible shall be pronounced in my house; I am too old
now to begin to learn its meaning."
The maître-d'hôtel bowed a third time.
"This evening," said he, "I shall have taken leave of your
grace, but, at least, up to the last moment, my duty shall have
been performed as it should be;" and he made two steps towards the
door.
"What do you call as it should be?" cried the marshal.
"Learn, sir, that to do it as it suits me is to do it as it should
be. Now, I wish to dine at four, and it does not suit me, when I
wish to dine at four, to be obliged to wait till
five."
"Your grace," replied the maître-d'hôtel, gravely, "I have
served as butler to his highness the Prince de Soubise, and as
steward to his eminence the Cardinal de Rohan. With the first, his
majesty, the late King of France, dined once a year; with the
second, the Emperor of Austria dined once a month. I know,
therefore, how a sovereign should be treated. When he visited the
Prince de Soubise, Louis XV. called himself in vain the Baron de
Gonesse; at the house of M. de Rohan, the Emperor Joseph was
announced as the Count de Packenstein; but he was none the less
emperor. To-day, your grace also receives a guest, who vainly calls
himself Count Haga—Count Haga is still King of Sweden. I shall
leave your service this evening, but Count Haga will have been
treated like a king."
"But that," said the marshal, "is the very thing that I am
tiring myself to death in forbidding; Count Haga wishes to preserve
his incognito as strictly as possible. Well do I see through your
absurd vanity; it is not the crown that you honor, but yourself
that you wish to glorify; I repeat again, that I do not wish it
imagined that I have a king here."
"What, then, does your grace take me for? It is not that I
wish it known that there is a king here."
"Then in heaven's name do not be obstinate, but let us have
dinner at four."
"But at four o'clock, your grace, what I am expecting will
not have arrived."
"What are you expecting? a fish, like M. Vatel?"
"Does your grace wish that I should tell you?"
"On my faith, I am curious."
"Then, your grace, I wait for a bottle of wine."
"A bottle of wine! Explain yourself, sir, the thing begins to
interest me."
"Listen then, your grace; his majesty the King of Sweden—I
beg pardon, the Count Haga I should have said—drinks nothing but
tokay."
"Well, am I so poor as to have no tokay in my cellar? If so,
I must dismiss my butler."
"Not so, your grace; on the contrary, you have about sixty
bottles."
"Well, do you think Count Haga will drink sixty bottles with
his dinner?"
"No, your grace; but when Count Haga first visited France,
when he was only prince royal, he dined with the late king, who had
received twelve bottles of tokay from the Emperor of Austria. You
are aware that the tokay of the finest vintages is reserved
exclusively for the cellar of the emperor, and that kings
themselves can only drink it when he pleases to send it to
them."
"I know it."
"Then, your grace, of these twelve bottles of which the
prince royal drank, only two remain. One is in the cellar of his
majesty Louis XVI.——"
"And the other?"
"Ah, your grace!" said the maître-d'hôtel, with a triumphant
smile, for he felt that, after the long battle he had been
fighting, the moment of victory was at hand, "the other one was
stolen."
"By whom, then?"
"By one of my friends, the late king's butler, who was under
great obligations to me."
"Oh! and so he gave it to you."
"Certainly, your grace," said the maître-d'hôtel with
pride.
"And what did you do with it?"
"I placed it carefully in my master's cellar."
"Your master! And who was your master at that
time?"
"His eminence the Cardinal de Rohan."
"Ah, mon Dieu! at Strasbourg?"
"At Saverne."
"And you have sent to seek this bottle for me!" cried the old
marshal.
"For you, your grace," replied the maître-d'hôtel, in a tone
which plainly said, "ungrateful as you are."
The Duke de Richelieu seized the hand of the old servant and
cried, "I beg pardon; you are the king of maîtres
d'hôtel."
"And you would have dismissed me," he replied, with an
indescribable shrug of his shoulders.
"Oh, I will pay you one hundred pistoles for this bottle of
wine."
"And the expenses of its coming here will be another hundred;
but you will grant that it is worth it."
"I will grant anything you please, and, to begin, from to-day
I double your salary."
"I seek no reward, your grace; I have but done my
duty."
"And when will your courier arrive?"
"Your grace may judge if I have lost time: on what day did I
have my orders for the dinner?"
"Why, three days ago, I believe."
"It takes a courier, at his utmost speed, twenty-four hours
to go, and the same to return."
"There still remain twenty-four hours," said the marshal;
"how have they been employed?"
"Alas, your grace, they were lost. The idea only came to me
the day after I received the list of your guests. Now calculate the
time necessary for the negotiation, and you will perceive that in
asking you to wait till five I am only doing what I am absolutely
obliged to do."
"The bottle is not yet arrived, then?"
"No, your grace."
"Ah, sir, if your colleague at Saverne be as devoted to the
Prince de Rohan as you are to me, and should refuse the bottle, as
you would do in his place——"
"I? your grace——"
"Yes; you would not, I suppose, have given away such a
bottle, had it belonged to me?"
"I beg your pardon, humbly, your grace; but had a friend,
having a king to provide for, asked me for your best bottle of
wine, he should have had it immediately."
"Oh!" said the marshal, with a grimace.
"It is only by helping others that we can expect help in our
own need, your grace."
"Well, then, I suppose we may calculate that it will be
given, but there is still another risk—if the bottle should be
broken?"
"Oh! your grace, who would break a bottle of wine of that
value?"
"Well, I trust not; what time, then, do you expect your
courier?"
"At four o'clock precisely."
"Then why not dine at four?" replied the
marshal.
"Your grace, the wine must rest for an hour; and had it not
been for an invention of my own, it would have required three days
to recover itself."
Beaten at all points, the marshal gave way.
"Besides," continued the old servant, "be sure, your grace,
that your guests will not arrive before half-past
four."
"And why not?"
"Consider, your grace: to begin with M. de Launay; he comes
from the Bastile, and with the ice at present covering the streets
of Paris——"
"No; but he will leave after the prisoners' dinner, at twelve
o'clock."
"Pardon me, your grace, but the dinner hour at the Bastile
has been changed since your grace was there; it is now
one."
"Sir, you are learned on all points; pray go
on."
"Madame Dubarry comes from the Luciennes, one continued
descent, and in this frost."
"That would not prevent her being punctual, since she is no
longer a duke's favorite; she plays the queen only among barons;
but let me tell you, sir, that I desire to have dinner early on
account of M. de la Pérouse, who sets off to-night, and would not
wish to be late."
"But, your grace, M. de la Pérouse is with the king,
discussing geography and cosmography; he will not get away too
early."
"It is possible."
"It is certain, your grace, and it will be the same with M.
de Favras, who is with the Count de Provence, talking, no doubt, of
the new play by the Canon de Beaumarchais."
"You mean the 'Marriage of Figaro'?"
"Yes, your grace."
"Why, you are quite literary also, it seems."
"In my leisure moments I read, your grace."
"We have, however, M. de Condorcet, who, being a
geometrician, should at least be punctual."
"Yes; but he will be deep in some calculation, from which,
when he rouses himself, it will probably be at least half an hour
too late. As for the Count Cagliostro, as he is a stranger, and not
well acquainted with the customs of Versailles, he will, in all
probability, make us wait for him."
"Well," said the marshal, "you have disposed of all my
guests, except M. de Taverney, in a manner worthy of Homer, or of
my poor Raffè."
The maître-d'hôtel bowed. "I have not," said he, "named M. de
Taverney, because, being an old friend, he will probably be
punctual."
"Good; and where do we dine?"
"In the great dining-room, your grace."
"But we shall freeze there."
"It has been warmed for three days, your grace; and I believe
you will find it perfectly comfortable."
"Very well; but there is a clock striking! Why, it is
half-past four!" cried the marshal.
"Yes, your grace; and there is the courier entering the
courtyard with my bottle of tokay."
"May I continue for another twenty years to be served in this
manner!" said the marshal, turning again to his looking-glass,
while the maître-d'hôtel ran down-stairs.
"Twenty years!" said a laughing voice, interrupting the
marshal in his survey of himself; "twenty years, my dear duke! I
wish them you; but then I shall be sixty—I shall be very
old."
"You, countess!" cried the marshal, "you are my first
arrival, and, mon Dieu! you look as young and charming as
ever."
"Duke, I am frozen."
"Come into the boudoir, then."
"Oh! tête-à-tête, marshal?"
"Not so," replied a somewhat broken voice.
"Ah! Taverney!" said the marshal; and then whispering to the
countess, "Plague take him for disturbing us!"
Madame Dubarry laughed, and they all entered the adjoining
room.
[A]The name of Count Haga was well known as one
assumed by the King of Sweden when traveling in
France.
II.—M. DE LA PEROUSE.
At the same moment, the noise of carriages in the street
warned the marshal that his guests were arriving; and soon after,
thanks to the punctuality of his maître-d'hôtel, nine persons were
seated round the oval table in the dining-room. Nine lackeys,
silent as shadows, quick without bustle, and attentive without
importunity, glided over the carpet, and passed among the guests,
without ever touching their chairs, which were surrounded with
furs, which were wrapped round the legs of the sitters. These furs,
with the heat from the stoves, and the odors from the wine and the
dinner, diffused a degree of comfort, which manifested itself in
the gaiety of the guests, who had just finished their
soup.
No sound was heard from without, and none within, save that
made by the guests themselves; for the plates were changed, and the
dishes moved round, with the most perfect quiet. Nor from the
maître d'hôtel could a whisper be heard; he seemed to give his
orders with his eyes.
The guests, therefore, began to feel as though they were
alone. It seemed to them that servants so silent must also be
deaf.
M. de Richelieu was the first who broke the silence, by
saying to the guest on his right hand, "But, count, you drink
nothing."
This was addressed to a man about thirty-eight years of age,
short, fair-haired, and with high shoulders; his eye a clear blue,
now bright, but oftener with a pensive expression, and with
nobility stamped unmistakably on his open and manly
forehead.
"I only drink water, marshal," he replied.
"Excepting with Louis XV.," returned the marshal; "I had the
honor of dining at his table with you, and you deigned that day to
drink wine."
"Ah! you recall a pleasing remembrance, marshal; that was in
1771. It was tokay, from the imperial cellar."
"It was like that with which my maître-d'hôtel will now have
the honor to fill your glass," replied Richelieu,
bowing.
Count Haga raised his glass, and looked through it. The wine
sparkled in the light like liquid rubies. "It is true," said he;
"marshal, I thank you."
These words were uttered in a manner so noble, that the
guests, as if by a common impulse, rose, and cried,—
"Long live the king!"
"Yes," said Count Haga, "long live his majesty the King of
France. What say you, M. de la Pérouse?"
"My lord," replied the captain, with that tone, at once
flattering and respectful, common to those accustomed to address
crowned heads, "I have just left the king, and his majesty has
shown me so much kindness, that no one will more willingly cry
'Long live the king' than I. Only, as in another hour I must leave
you to join the two ships which his majesty has put at my disposal,
once out of this house, I shall take the liberty of saying, 'Long
life to another king, whom I should be proud to serve, had I not
already so good a master.'"
"This health that you propose," said Madame Dubarry, who sat
on the marshal's left hand, "we are all ready to drink, but the
oldest of us should take the lead."
"Is it you, that that concerns, or me, Taverney?" said the
marshal, laughing.
"I do not believe," said another on the opposite side, "that
M. de Richelieu is the senior of our party."
"Then it is you, Taverney," said the duke.
"No, I am eight years younger than you! I was born in 1704,"
returned he.
"How rude," said the marshal, "to expose my eighty-eight
years."
"Impossible, duke! that you are eighty-eight," said M. de
Condorcet.
"It is, however, but too true; it is a calculation easy to
make, and therefore unworthy of an algebraist like you, marquis. I
am of the last century—the great century, as we call it. My date is
1696."
"Impossible!" cried De Launay.
"Oh, if your father were here, he would not say impossible,
he, who, when governor of the Bastile, had me for a lodger in
1714."
"The senior in age, here, however," said M. de Favras, "is
the wine Count Haga is now drinking."
"You are right, M. de Favras; this wine is a hundred and
twenty years old; to the wine, then, belongs the
honor——"
"One moment, gentlemen," said Cagliostro, raising his eyes,
beaming with intelligence and vivacity; "I claim the
precedence."
"You claim precedence over the tokay!" exclaimed all the
guests in chorus.
"Assuredly," returned Cagliostro, calmly; "since it was I who
bottled it."
"You?"
"Yes, I; on the day of the victory won by Montecucully over
the Turks in 1664."
A burst of laughter followed these words, which Cagliostro
had pronounced with perfect gravity.
"By this calculation, you would be something like one hundred
and thirty years old," said Madame Dubarry; "for you must have been
at least ten years old when you bottled the wine."
"I was more than ten when I performed that operation, madame,
as on the following day I had the honor of being deputed by his
majesty the Emperor of Austria to congratulate Montecucully, who by
the victory of St. Gothard had avenged the day at Especk, in
Sclavonia, in which the infidels treated the imperialists so
roughly, who were my friends and companions in arms in
1536."
"Oh," said Count Haga, as coldly as Cagliostro himself, "you
must have been at least ten years old, when you were at that
memorable battle."
"A terrible defeat, count," returned Cagliostro.
"Less terrible than Cressy, however," said Condorcet,
smiling.
"True, sir, for at the battle of Cressy, it was not only an
army, but all France, that was beaten; but then this defeat was
scarcely a fair victory to the English; for King Edward had cannon,
a circumstance of which Philip de Valois was ignorant, or rather,
which he would not believe, although I warned him that I had with
my own eyes seen four pieces of artillery which Edward had bought
from the Venetians."
"Ah," said Madame Dubarry; "you knew Philip de
Valois?"
"Madame, I had the honor to be one of the five lords who
escorted him off the field of battle; I came to France with the
poor old King of Bohemia, who was blind, and who threw away his
life when he heard that the battle was lost."
"Ah, sir," said M. de la Pérouse, "how much I regret, that
instead of the battle of Cressy, it was not that of Actium at which
you assisted."
"Why so, sir?"
"Oh, because you might have given me some nautical details,
which, in spite of Plutarch's fine narration, have ever been
obscure to me."
"Which, sir? I should be happy to be of service to
you."
"Oh, you were there, then, also?"
"No, sir; I was then in Egypt. I had been employed by Queen
Cleopatra to restore the library at Alexandria—an office for which
I was better qualified than any one else, from having personally
known the best authors of antiquity."
"And you have seen Queen Cleopatra?" said Madame
Dubarry.
"As I now see you, madame."
"Was she as pretty as they say?"
"Madame, you know beauty is only comparative; a charming
queen in Egypt, in Paris she would only have been a pretty
grisette."
"Say no harm of grisettes, count."
"God forbid!"
"Then Cleopatra was——"
"Little, slender, lively, and intelligent; with large
almond-shaped eyes, a Grecian nose, teeth like pearls, and a hand
like your own, countess—a fit hand to hold a scepter. See, here is
a diamond which she gave me, and which she had had from her brother
Ptolemy; she wore it on her thumb."
"On her thumb?" cried Madame Dubarry.
"Yes; it was an Egyptian fashion; and I, you see, can hardly
put it on my little finger;" and taking off the ring, he handed it
to Madame Dubarry.
It was a magnificent diamond, of such fine water, and so
beautifully cut, as to be worth thirty thousand or forty thousand
francs.
The diamond was passed round the table, and returned to
Cagliostro, who, putting it quietly on his finger again, said, "Ah,
I see well you are all incredulous; this fatal incredulity I have
had to contend against all my life. Philip de Valois would not
listen to me, when I told him to leave open a retreat to Edward;
Cleopatra would not believe me when I warned her that Antony would
be beaten: the Trojans would not credit me, when I said to them,
with reference to the wooden horse, 'Cassandra is inspired; listen
to Cassandra.'"
"Oh! it is charming," said Madame Dubarry, shaking with
laughter; "I have never met a man at once so serious and so
diverting."
"I assure you," replied Cagliostro, "that Jonathan was much
more so. He was really a charming companion; until he was killed by
Saul, he nearly drove me crazy with laughing."
"Do you know," said the Duke de Richelieu, "if you go on in
this way you will drive poor Taverney crazy; he is so afraid of
death, that he is staring at you with all his eyes, hoping you to
be an immortal."
"Immortal I cannot say, but one thing I can
affirm——"
"What?" cried Taverney, who was the most eager
listener.
"That I have seen all the people and events of which I have
been speaking to you."
"You have known Montecucully?"
"As well as I know you, M. de Favras; and, indeed, much
better, for this is but the second or third time I have had the
honor of seeing you, while I lived nearly a year under the same
tent with him of whom you speak."
"You knew Philip de Valois?"
"As I have already had the honor of telling you, M. de
Condorcet; but when he returned to Paris, I left France and
returned to Bohemia."
"And Cleopatra."
"Yes, countess; Cleopatra, I can tell you, had eyes as black
as yours, and shoulders almost as beautiful."
"But what do you know of my shoulders?"
"They are like what Cassandra's once were; and there is still
a further resemblance,—she had like you, or rather, you have like
her, a little black spot on your left side, just above the sixth
rib."
"Oh, count, now you really are a sorcerer."
"No, no," cried the marshal, laughing; "it was I who told
him."
"And pray how do you know?"
The marshal bit his lips, and replied, "Oh, it is a family
secret."
"Well, really, marshal," said the countess, "one should put
on a double coat of rouge before visiting you;" and turning again
to Cagliostro, "then, sir, you have the art of renewing your youth?
For although you say you are three or four thousand years old, you
scarcely look forty."
"Yes, madame, I do possess that secret."
"Oh, then, sir, impart it to me."
"To you, madame? It is useless; your youth is already
renewed; your age is only what it appears to be, and you do not
look thirty."
"Ah! you flatter."
"No, madame, I speak only the truth, but it is easily
explained: you have already tried my receipt."
"How so?"
"You have taken my elixir."
"I?"
"You, countess. Oh! you cannot have forgotten it. Do you not
remember a certain house in the Rue St. Claude, and coming there on
some business respecting M. de Sartines? You remember rendering a
service to one of my friends, called Joseph Balsamo, and that this
Joseph Balsamo gave you a bottle of elixir, recommending you to
take three drops every morning? Do you not remember having done
this regularly until the last year, when the bottle became
exhausted? If you do not remember all this, countess, it is more
than forgetfulness—it is ingratitude."
"Oh! M. Cagliostro, you are telling me things——"
"Which were only known to yourself, I am aware; but what
would be the use of being a sorcerer if one did not know one's
neighbor's secrets?"
"Then Joseph Balsamo has, like you, the secret of this famous
elixir?"
"No, madame, but he was one of my best friends, and I gave
him three or four bottles."
"And has he any left?"
"Oh! I know nothing of that; for the last two or three years,
poor Balsamo has disappeared. The last time I saw him was in
America, on the banks of the Ohio: he was setting off on an
expedition to the Rocky Mountains, and since then I have heard that
he is dead."
"Come, come, count," cried the marshal; "let us have the
secret, by all means."
"Are you speaking seriously, sir?" said Count
Haga.
"Very seriously, sire,—I beg pardon, I mean count;" and
Cagliostro bowed in such a way as to indicate that his error was a
voluntary one.
"Then," said the marshal, "Madame Dubarry is not old enough
to be made young again?"
"No, on my conscience."
"Well, then, I will give you another subject: here is my
friend, M. Taverney—what do you say to him? Does he not look like a
contemporary of Pontius Pilate? But perhaps, he, on the contrary,
is too old."
Cagliostro looked at the baron. "No," said he.
"Ah! my dear count," exclaimed Richelieu; "if you will renew
his youth, I will proclaim you a true pupil of Medea."
"You wish it?" asked Cagliostro of the host, and looking
round at the same time on all assembled.
Every one called out, "Yes."
"And you also, M. Taverney?"
"I more than any one," said the baron.
"Well, it is easy," returned Cagliostro; and he drew from his
pocket a small bottle, and poured into a glass some of the liquid
it contained. Then, mixing these drops with half a glass of iced
champagne, he passed it to the baron.
All eyes followed his movements eagerly.
The baron took the glass, but as he was about to drink he
hesitated.
Every one began to laugh, but Cagliostro called out, "Drink,
baron, or you will lose a liquor of which each drop is worth a
hundred louis d'ors."
"The devil," cried Richelieu; "that is even better than
tokay."
"I must then drink?" said the baron, almost
trembling.
"Or pass the glass to another, sir, that some one at least
may profit by it."
"Pass it here," said Richelieu, holding out his
hand.
The baron raised the glass, and decided, doubtless, by the
delicious smell and the beautiful rose color which those few drops
had given to the champagne, he swallowed the magic liquor. In an
instant a kind of shiver ran through him; he seemed to feel all his
old and sluggish blood rushing quickly through his veins, from his
heart to his feet, his wrinkled skin seemed to expand, his eyes,
half covered by their lids, appeared to open without his will, and
the pupils to grow and brighten, the trembling of his hands to
cease, his voice to strengthen, and his limbs to recover their
former youthful elasticity. In fact, it seemed as if the liquid in
its descent had regenerated his whole body.
A cry of surprise, wonder, and admiration rang through the
room.
Taverney, who had been slowly eating with his gums, began to
feel famished; he seized a plate and helped himself largely to a
ragout, and then demolished a partridge, bones and all, calling out
that his teeth were coming back to him. He ate, laughed, and cried
for joy, for half an hour, while the others remained gazing at him
in stupefied wonder; then little by little he failed again, like a
lamp whose oil is burning out, and all the former signs of old age
returned upon him.
"Oh!" groaned he, "once more adieu to my youth," and he gave
utterance to a deep sigh, while two tears rolled over his
cheeks.
Instinctively, at this mournful spectacle of the old man
first made young again, and then seeming to become yet older than
before, from the contrast, the sigh was echoed all round the
table.
"It is easy to explain, gentlemen," said Cagliostro; "I gave
the baron but thirty-five drops of the elixir. He became young,
therefore, for only thirty-five minutes."
"Oh more, more, count!" cried the old man
eagerly.
"No, sir, for perhaps the second trial would kill
you."
Of all the guests, Madame Dubarry, who had already tested the
virtue of the elixir, seemed most deeply interested while old
Taverney's youth seemed thus to renew itself; she had watched him
with delight and triumph, and half fancied herself growing young
again at the sight, while she could hardly refrain from endeavoring
to snatch from Cagliostro the wonderful bottle; but now, seeing him
resume his old age even quicker than he had lost it, "Alas!" she
said sadly, "all is vanity and deception; the effects of this
wonderful secret last for thirty-five minutes."
"That is to say," said Count Haga, "that in order to resume
your youth for two years, you would have to drink a perfect
river."
Every one laughed.
"Oh!" said De Condorcet, "the calculation is simple; a mere
nothing of 3,153,000 drops for one year's youth."
"An inundation," said La Pérouse.
"However, sir," continued Madame Dubarry; "according to you,
I have not needed so much, as a small bottle about four times the
size of that you hold has been sufficient to arrest the march of
time for ten years."
"Just so, madame. And you alone approach this mysterious
truth. The man who has already grown old needs this large quantity
to produce an immediate and powerful effect; but a woman of thirty,
as you were, or a man of forty, as I was, when I began to drink
this elixir, still full of life and youth, needs but ten drops at
each period of decay; and with these ten drops may eternally
continue his life and youth at the same point."
"What do you call the periods of decay?" asked Count
Haga.
"The natural periods, count. In a state of nature, man's
strength increases until thirty-five years of age. It then remains
stationary until forty; and from that time forward, it begins to
diminish, but almost imperceptibly, until fifty; then the process
becomes quicker and quicker to the day of his death. In our state
of civilization, when the body is weakened by excess, cares, and
maladies, the failure begins at thirty-five. The time, then, to
take nature, is when she is stationary, so as to forestall the
beginning of decay. He who, possessor as I am of the secret of this
elixir, knows how to seize the happy moment, will live as I live;
always young, or, at least, always young enough for what he has to
do in the world."
"Oh, M. Cagliostro," cried the countess; "why, if you could
choose your own age, did you not stop at twenty instead of at
forty?"
"Because, madame," said Cagliostro, smiling, "it suits me
better to be a man of forty, still healthy and vigorous, than a raw
youth of twenty."
"Oh!" said the countess.
"Doubtless, madame," continued Cagliostro, "at twenty one
pleases women of thirty; at forty, we govern women of twenty, and
men of sixty."
"I yield, sir," said the countess, "for you are a living
proof of the truth of your own words."
"Then I," said Taverney, piteously, "am condemned; it is too
late for me."
"M. de Richelieu has been more skilful than you," said La
Pérouse naïvely, "and I have always heard that he had some
secret."
"It is a report that the women have spread," laughed Count
Haga.
"Is that a reason for disbelieving it, duke?" asked Madame
Dubarry.
The old duke colored, a rare thing for him; but replied, "Do
you wish, gentlemen, to have my receipt?"
"Oh, by all means."
"Well, then, it is simply to take care of
yourself."
"Oh, oh!" cried all.
"But, M. Cagliostro," continued Madame Dubarry, "I must ask
more about the elixir."
"Well, madame?"
"You said you first used it at forty years of
age——"
"Yes, madame."
"And that since that time, that is, since the siege of
Troy——"
"A little before, madame."
"That you have always remained forty years old?"
"You see me now."
"But then, sir," said De Condorcet, "you argue, not only the
perpetuation of youth, but the preservation of life; for if since
the siege of Troy you have been always forty, you have never
died."
"True, marquis, I have never died."
"But are you, then, invulnerable, like Achilles, or still
more so, for Achilles was killed by the arrow of
Paris?"
"No. I am not invulnerable, and there is my great regret,"
said Cagliostro.
"Then, sir, you may be killed."
"Alas! yes."
"How, then, have you escaped all accidents for three thousand
five hundred years?"
"It is chance, marquis, but will you follow my
reasoning?"
"Yes, yes," cried all, with eagerness.
Cagliostro continued: "What is the first requisite to life?"
he asked, spreading out his white and beautiful hands covered with
rings, among which Cleopatra's shone conspicuously. "Is it not
health!"
"Certainly."
"And the way to preserve health is?"
"Proper management," said Count Haga.
"Right, count. And why should not my elixir be the best
possible method of treatment? And this treatment I have adopted,
and with it have preserved my youth, and with youth, health, and
life."
"But all things exhaust themselves; the finest constitution,
as well as the worst."
"The body of Paris, like that of Vulcan," said the countess.
"Perhaps, you knew Paris, by the bye?"
"Perfectly, madame; he was a fine young man, but really did
not deserve all that has been said of him. In the first place, he
had red hair."
"Red hair, horrible!"
"Unluckily, madame, Helen was not of your opinion: but to
return to our subject. You say, M. de Taverney, that all things
exhaust themselves; but you also know, that everything recovers
again, regenerates, or is replaced, whichever you please to call
it. The famous knife of St. Hubert, which so often changed both
blade and handle, is an example, for through every change it still
remained the knife of St. Hubert. The wines which the monks of
Heidelberg preserve so carefully in their cellars, remain still the
same wine, although each year they pour into it a fresh supply;
therefore, this wine always remains clear, bright, and delicious:
while the wine which Opimus and I hid in the earthen jars was, when
I tried it a hundred years after, only a thick dirty substance,
which might have been eaten, but certainly could not have been
drunk. Well, I follow the example of the monks of Heidelberg, and
preserve my body by introducing into it every year new elements,
which regenerate the old. Every morning a new and fresh atom
replaces in my blood, my flesh, and my bones, some particle which
has perished. I stay that ruin which most men allow insensibly to
invade their whole being, and I force into action all those powers
which God has given to every human being, but which most people
allow to lie dormant. This is the great study of my life, and as,
in all things, he who does one thing constantly does that thing
better than others, I am becoming more skilful than others in
avoiding danger. Thus, you would not get me to enter a tottering
house; I have seen too many houses not to tell at a glance the safe
from the unsafe. You would not see me go out hunting with a man who
managed his gun badly. From Cephalus, who killed his wife, down to
the regent, who shot the prince in the eye, I have seen too many
unskilful people. You could not make me accept in battle the post
which many a man would take without thinking, because I should
calculate in a moment the chances of danger at each point. You will
tell me that one cannot foresee a stray bullet; but the man who has
escaped a thousand gun-shots will hardly fall a victim to one now.
Ah, you look incredulous, but am I not a living proof? I do not
tell you that I am immortal, only that I know better than others
how to avoid danger; for instance, I would not remain here now
alone with M. de Launay, who is thinking that, if he had me in the
Bastile, he would put my immortality to the test of starvation;
neither would I remain with M. de Condorcet, for he is thinking
that he might just empty into my glass the contents of that ring
which he wears on his left hand, and which is full of poison—not
with any evil intent, but just as a scientific experiment, to see
if I should die."
The two people named looked at each other, and
colored.
"Confess, M. de Launay, we are not in a court of justice;
besides, thoughts are not punished. Did you not think what I said?
And you, M. de Condorcet, would you not have liked to let me taste
the poison in your ring, in the name of your beloved mistress,
science?"
"Indeed," said M. de Launay, laughing, "I confess you are
right; it was folly, but that folly did pass through my mind just
before you accused me."
"And I," said M. de Condorcet, "will not be less candid. I
did think that if you tasted the contents of my ring, I would not
give much for your life."
A cry of admiration burst from the rest of the party; these
avowals confirming not the immortality, but the penetration, of
Count Cagliostro.
"You see," said Cagliostro, quietly, "that I divined these
dangers; well, it is the same with other things. The experience of
a long life reveals to me at a glance much of the past and of the
future of those whom I meet. My capabilities in this way extend
even to animals and inanimate objects. If I get into a carriage, I
can tell from the look of the horses if they are likely to run
away; and from that of the coachman, if he will overturn me. If I
go on board ship, I can see if the captain is ignorant or
obstinate, and consequently likely to endanger me. I should then
leave the coachman or captain, escape from those horses or that
ship. I do not deny chance, I only lessen it, and instead of
incurring a hundred chances, like the rest of the world, I prevent
ninety-nine of them, and endeavor to guard against the hundredth.
This is the good of having lived three thousand
years."
"Then," said La Pérouse, laughing, amidst the wonder and
enthusiasm created by this speech of Cagliostro's, "you should come
with me when I embark to make the tour of the world; you would
render me a signal service."
Cagliostro did not reply.
"M. de Richelieu," continued La Pérouse, "as the Count
Cagliostro, which is very intelligible, does not wish to quit such
good company, you must permit me to do so without him. Excuse me,
Count Haga, and you, madame, but it is seven o'clock, and I have
promised his majesty to start at a quarter past. But since Count
Cagliostro will not be tempted to come with me, and see my ships,
perhaps he can tell me what will happen to me between Versailles
and Brest. From Brest to the Pole I ask nothing; that is my own
business."
Cagliostro looked at La Pérouse with such a melancholy air,
so full both of pity and kindness, that the others were struck by
it. The sailor himself, however, did not remark it. He took leave
of the company, put on his fur riding coat, into one of the pockets
of which Madame Dubarry pushed a bottle of delicious cordial,
welcome to a traveler, but which he would not have provided for
himself, to recall to him, she said, his absent friends during the
long nights of a journey in such bitter cold.
La Pérouse, still full of gaiety, bowed respectfully to Count
Haga, and held out his hand to the old marshal.
"Adieu, dear La Pérouse," said the latter.
"No, duke, au revoir," replied La Pérouse, "one would think I
was going away forever; now I have but to circumnavigate the
globe—five or six years' absence; it is scarcely worth while to say
'adieu' for that."
"Five or six years," said the marshal; "you might almost as
well say five or six centuries; days are years at my age, therefore
I say, adieu."
"Bah! ask the sorcerer," returned La Pérouse, still laughing;
"he will promise you twenty years' more life. Will you not, Count
Cagliostro? Oh, count, why did I not hear sooner of those precious
drops of yours? Whatever the price, I should have shipped a tun.
Madame, another kiss of that beautiful hand, I shall certainly not
see such another till I return; au revoir," and he left the
room.
Cagliostro still preserved the same mournful silence. They
heard the steps of the captain as he left the house, his gay voice
in the courtyard, and his farewells to the people assembled to see
him depart. Then the horses shook their heads, covered with bells,
the door of the carriage shut with some noise, and the wheels were
heard rolling along the street.
La Pérouse had started on that voyage from which he was
destined never to return.
When they could no longer hear a sound, all looks were again
turned to Cagliostro; there seemed a kind of inspired light in his
eyes.
Count Haga first broke the silence, which had lasted for some
minutes. "Why did you not reply to his question?" he inquired of
Cagliostro.
Cagliostro started, as if the question had roused him from a
reverie. "Because," said he, "I must either have told a falsehood
or a sad truth."
"How so?"
"I must have said to him,—'M. de la Pérouse, the duke is
right in saying to you adieu, and not au revoir.'"
"Oh," said Richelieu, turning pale, "what do you
mean?"
"Reassure yourself, marshal, this sad prediction does not
concern you."
"What," cried Madame Dubarry, "this poor La Pérouse, who has
just kissed my hand——"
"Not only, madame, will never kiss it again, but will never
again see those he has just left," said Cagliostro, looking
attentively at the glass of water he was holding up.
A cry of astonishment burst from all. The interest of the
conversation deepened every moment, and you might have thought,
from the solemn and anxious air with which all regarded Cagliostro,
that it was some ancient and infallible oracle they were
consulting.
"Pray then, count," said Madame Dubarry, "tell us what will
befall poor La Pérouse."
Cagliostro shook his head.
"Oh, yes, let us hear!" cried all the rest.
"Well, then, M. de la Pérouse intends, as you know, to make
the tour of the globe, and continue the researches of poor Captain
Cook, who was killed in the Sandwich Islands."
"Yes, yes, we know."
"Yes," interrupted Count Haga, "the King of France is a
clever geographer; is he not, M. de Condorcet?"
"Is this a lesson, marquis?" said Count Haga,
smiling.
"Well, he is gone," said Madame Dubarry, anxious to bring the
conversation back to La Pérouse.
"That would be a pity," said De Condorcet; "this is the time
to set out: it is even now rather late—February or March would have
been better."
"He has got good officers, I suppose?" said
Richelieu.
"Why unhappily?"
"No."
"No."
A murmur of affright escaped from all the
guests.
"He sails, he lands, he reembarks; I see one, two years, of
successful navigation; we hear news of him, and
then——"
"Years pass——"
"The sea is vast, the heavens are clouded, here and there
appear unknown lands, and figures hideous as the monsters of the
Grecian Archipelago. They watch the ship, which is being carried in
a fog amongst the breakers, by a tempest less fearful than
themselves. Oh! La Pérouse, La Pérouse, if you could hear me, I
would cry to you. You set out, like Columbus, to discover a world;
beware of unknown isles!"
"But why did you not warn him?" asked Count Haga, who, in
spite of himself, had succumbed to the influence of this
extraordinary man.
The marshal rose to ring the bell.
"Oh, we believe," said Madame Dubarry and the Duke de
Richelieu; "and I believe," murmured Taverney; "and I also," said
Count Haga politely.
"I confess that what would have made me believe, would have
been, if you had said to him, 'Beware of unknown isles;' then he
would, at least, have had the chance of avoiding
them."
"Yes," said De Condorcet; "the veil which hides from us our
future is the only real good which God has vouchsafed to
man."
Cagliostro shook his head, with a faint smile.
"You wish me to tell you what I would not tell La
Pérouse?"
Cagliostro opened his mouth as if to begin, and then stopped,
and said, "No, count, no!"
Cagliostro still remained silent.
"Incredulity is better than misery."
"Then," said Cagliostro, "command me; if your majesty
commands, I will obey."
At this moment, as Count Haga had dropped his incognito in
speaking to Cagliostro, M. de Richelieu advanced towards him, and
said, "Thanks, sire, for the honor you have done my house; will
your majesty assume the place of honor?"
"One does not speak the truth to kings, sire."
Cagliostro looked again through his glass, and one might have
imagined the particles agitated by this look, as they danced in,
the light. "Sire," said he, "tell me what you wish to
know?"
"By a gun-shot, sire."
Cagliostro drooped his head, without replying.
"No, sire."
"No, not in a sedition, sire."
"At a ball, sire."
Every one looked pale and frightened; then M. de Condorcet
took the glass of water and examined it, as if there he could solve
the problem of all that had been going on; but finding nothing to
satisfy him, "Well, I also," said he, "will beg our illustrious
prophet to consult for me his magic mirror: unfortunately, I am not
a powerful lord; I cannot command, and my obscure life concerns no
millions of people."
"Thanks," said De Condorcet; "but, perhaps, your opinion on
this subject is not shared by M. de Cagliostro."
"Seriously, count, upon my honor."
"Oh, but if I throw it away?"
"You allow that that would be easy."
"Oh, yes, marquis," cried Madame Dubarry; "throw away that
horrid poison! Throw it away, if it be only to falsify this prophet
of evil, who threatens us all with so many misfortunes. For if you
throw it away you cannot die by it, as M. de Cagliostro predicts;
so there at least he will have been wrong."
"Bravo, countess!" said Richelieu. "Come, marquis, throw away
that poison, for now I know you carry it, I shall tremble every
time we drink together; the ring might open of itself,
and——"
"No," returned De Condorcet, "I shall not throw it away; not
that I wish to aid my destiny, but because this is a unique poison,
prepared by Cabanis, and which chance has completely hardened, and
that chance might never occur again; therefore I will not throw it
away. Triumph if you will, M. de Cagliostro."
"Then I shall die by poison," said the marquis; "well, so be
it. It is an admirable death, I think; a little poison on the tip
of the tongue, and I am gone. It is scarcely dying: it is merely
ceasing to live."
"Then, sir," said M. de Favras, "we have a shipwreck, a
gun-shot, and a poisoning which makes my mouth water. Will you not
do me the favor also to predict some little pleasure of the same
kind for me?"
"Better!" said M. de Favras, laughing; "that is pledging
yourself to a great deal. It is difficult to beat the sea, fire,
and poison!"
"The cord! what do you mean?"
"Hanged! the devil!" cried Richelieu.
"I do not speak of a suicide, sir."
"Yes."
"What?"
"You may arrange this, if you can, with the executioner,"
replied Cagliostro.
"Do you know that I tremble at last," said M. de Launay; "my
predecessors have come off so badly, that I fear for myself if I
now take my turn."
"Oh! M. de Launay," said Madame Dubarry, "I hope you will not
be less courageous than the others have been."
"It is easy," replied Cagliostro; "a blow on the head with a
hatchet, and all will be over."
"To hear you talk, count," said Madame Dubarry, "one would
think the whole universe must die a violent death. Here we were,
eight of us, and five are already condemned by you."
"Certainly we will laugh," said Count Haga, "be it true or
false."
She stopped, and seemed to wait for the prophet to reassure
her. Cagliostro did not speak; so, her curiosity obtaining the
mastery over her fears, she went on. "Well, M. de Cagliostro, will
you not answer me?"
She hesitated—then, rallying her courage, "Yes," she cried,
"I will run the risk. Tell me the fate of Jeanne de Vaubernier,
Countess Dubarry."
"A jest, sir, is it not?" said she, looking at him with a
supplicating air.
"Oh, because to die on the scaffold one must have committed
some crime—stolen, or committed murder, or done something dreadful;
and it is not likely I shall do that. It was a jest, was it
not?"
The countess laughed, but scarcely in a natural manner.
"Come, M. de Favras," said she, "let us order our
funerals."
"Why so, sir?"
"Oh, how horrible! This dreadful man, marshal! for heaven's
sake choose more cheerful guests next time, or I will never visit
you again."
"At least I hope you will grant me time to choose my
confessor."
"Why?"
All were silent.
"Oh," cried he, in terror, "do not tell me anything; I do not
wish to know!"
"You, marshal, be happy; you are the only one of us all who
will die in his bed."
But before passing into the drawing-room, Count Haga,
approaching Cagliostro, said,—
"Of a muff, sir," replied Cagliostro.
"Of an omelet."
"And I?" said M. de Favras; "what must I fear?"
"And I?" said De Launay.
"Oh, you quite reassure me." And he went away
laughing.
"You, beautiful countess, shun the Place Louis
XV."
She left the room, and Cagliostro was about to follow her
when Richelieu stopped him.
"M. de Taverney begged me to say nothing, and you, marshal,
have asked me nothing."
"But come, to prove your power, tell us something that only
Taverney and I know," said Richelieu.
"Tell us what makes Taverney come to Versailles, instead of
living quietly in his beautiful house at Maison-Rouge, which the
king bought for him three years ago."
"Oh!" growled Taverney.
"On my word," said Taverney, trembling, "this man is a
sorcerer; devil take me if he is not!"
"It is frightful," murmured Taverney, and he turned to
implore Cagliostro to be discreet, but he was gone.
But when they arrived there, the room was empty; no one had
courage to face again the author of these terrible
predictions.
"Ma foi, old friend, it seems we must take our coffee
tête-à-tête. Why, where the devil has he gone?" Richelieu looked
all around him, but Taverney had vanished like the rest. "Never
mind," said the marshal, chuckling as Voltaire might have done, and
rubbing his withered though still white hands; "I shall be the only
one to die in my bed. Well, Count Cagliostro, at least I believe.
In my bed! that was it; I shall die in my bed, and I trust not for
a long time. Hola! my valet-de-chambre and my drops."