The Hero of the People: A Historical Romance of Love, Liberty and Loyalty. Dumas Alexandre
if fresh from a band-box. One thought was alive within her, fierce and luminous – love for some unknown – perchance her husband, or hate for Gilbert – at whom she darted lightnings involuntarily whenever their glances crossed. But she felt that she might not defy his with impunity, for he was a pupil of Balsamo Cagliostro, the arch-mesmerist, and might sway her with the same art.
A hundred paces on the other side of the little drinking saloon, the royal train stopped. All along the line the clamor doubled.
The Queen bent out of the window and as the movement looked like a bow to the crowd, there was a long murmur. She called Dr. Gilbert.
He went up to the window: as he had kept his hat off all the way, he had no need to bare his head in respect. His attitude showed he was entirely under her orders.
“What are your people shouting and singing?” she requested to know.
The Queen’s form of putting the question showed that she had been ruminating it for some time. He sighed as much as to say, it is the same old story.
“Alas, my lady,” he proceeded with profound melancholy, “those you call my people, were yours in former times, and it is less than twenty years ago when Lord Brissac, a delightful courtier whom I look in vain for here, showed you the same people shouting for the Dauphin under the City Hall windows and said: ‘You behold twenty thousand admirers there.'”
The Queen bit her lips from the impossibility of catching this man in want of a repartee or of respect.
“That is true – it only proves that the many-headed change,” she said.
Gilbert bowed this time, without retort.
“I asked you a question, doctor,” persisted the lady, with the obstinacy she had for even disagreeable matters.
“Yes, and I answer since your Majesty insists. They are singing that the Baker’s Wife has plenty of money which it gave her no trouble to get. You are aware that they style your Majesty the Baker’s Wife?”
“Just as they called me Lady Deficit before. Is there any connection between the nicknames?”
“So much also as the finances are concerned. They mean by your money being easily come by that you had complaisant treasurers such as Calonne in particular, who gave you whatever you asked; the people therefore assume that you got your money readily for the asking.”
The Queen’s hand was clenched on the red velvet carriage-window ledge.
“So much for what they are singing. Now, for what they bellow out?”
“They say that they shall no longer want for bread since they have the Baker, the Baker’s Wife and the Baker’s Son among them.”
“I expect you to make this second piece of insolence clear.”
“You would see that they are not so much to blame as you fancy if you were to look to the intention and not weigh the words of the people. Wrongly or rightfully, the masses believe that a great Grain Trust is carried on at Versailles. This prevents flour from coming freely into the capital. Who feeds the Paris poor? the Baker. Towards whom does the working man and his wife hold out their supplicating hands when their children cry for food? the baker and the baker’s wife. Who do they pray to after the Sender of the harvest? the lady of the estate – that is, the loaf-giver, as the name is derived. Are not you three the loaf-givers for the country, the King, yourself and this august child? Do not be astonished at the mighty, blessed name the people give you, but thank them for cherishing the hope that as soon as the King, the Queen and their son are in the midst of the famished thousands, they will no longer be in want.”
For an instant the royal lady closed her eyes, and she made the movement of swallowing as though to keep down her hatred as well as bitter saliva which scorched her throat.
“So we ought to thank these howlers for their songs and nick-names upon us?”
“Yes, and most sincerely: the song is but an expression of their good humor as the shouts are of their expectations. The whole explains their desire.”
“So they want Lafayette and Mirabeau to live long?”
“Yes,” returned Gilbert, seeing that the Queen had clearly heard the cries, “for those two leaders, separated by the gulf over which you hang, may, united, save the monarchy.”
“Do you mean that the monarchy has sunk so low that it can be picked up by those two?” queried the lady.
He was going to make some kind of reply when a burst of voices, in dread, with atrocious peals of laughter and a great swaying of the gathering, driving Gilbert closer to the vehicle, announced that he would be needed in defense of the Queen by speech or action. It was the two head-carriers, who, after having made Leonard barb and curl the hair, wanted to have the fun of presenting them to Marie Antoinette – as other roughs, or perhaps the same – had presented the dead heads of sons to their fathers.
The crowd yelled with horror and fell away as these ghastly things came up.
“In heaven’s name, do not look to the right,” cried Gilbert.
The Queen was no woman to obey such an injunction without a peep to see the reason. So her first movement was to turn her gaze in the forbidden direction and she uttered a scream of fright. But, all of a sudden, as she tore her sight from this horrible spectacle as if they were Gorgon heads, they became fixed as though they met another view even more awful, from which she could not detach it.
This Medusa’s head was the stranger’s who had been drinking and chatting with Locksmith Gamain in the wine-store: with folded arms, he was leaning against a tree.
The Queen’s hand left the window cushion, and resting on Gilbert’s shoulder, he felt her clench her nails into its flesh. He turned to see her pale, with fixed eyes and quivering, blanched lips.
He would have ascribed the emotion to the two death’s heads but for her not looking at either. The gaze was in another direction, traveling visually in which he descried the object and he emitted a cry of amaze.
“Cagliostro!” both uttered at the same time.
The man at the tree clearly saw the Queen, but all he did was beckon for Gilbert to come to him.
At this point of time the carriages started on once more. By a natural and mechanical impulse the Queen gave Gilbert an outward push to prevent his being run over by the wheel. It looked as though she urged him towards the summoner. Anyhow, he was not sufficiently master of himself not to obey the mandate. Motionless, he let the party proceed; then, following the mock gunsmith who merely looked back to be sure he was followed, he entered behind him a little lane going uphill to Bellevue, where they disappeared behind a wall at the same time as the procession went out of sight in a declivity of the hills, as though plunging into an abyss.
CHAPTER IV
FATALITY
GILBERT followed his guide half-way up the slope where stood a handsome house. The foregoer pulled out a key and opened a side door intended for the master to go in or come out without the servants knowing when he did so. He left the door ajar to signify that the companion of the journey was to use it. Gilbert entered and shut the door gently but it silently closed itself tightly with a pneumatic arrangement at the hinges which seemed the work of magic. Such an appliance would have been the delight of Master Gamain.
Through luxuriously fitted passages Gilbert finally came into a drawing room, hung with Indian satin tapestry; a fantastic Oriental bird held the lustre in its beak and it emitted a light which Gilbert knew was electricity, though its application thus would have been a puzzle to others than this specialist in advanced science. The lights represented lily-blooms, which again was an anticipation of modern illuminators.
One picture alone adorned this room but it was Raphael’s Madonna.
Gilbert was admiring this masterpiece when the host entered by a secret door behind him from a dressing room.
An instant had sufficed for him to wash off the stain and the pencillings and to give his black hair, without any grey, a stylish turn. He had also changed his