Balsamo, the Magician; or, The Memoirs of a Physician

"So I have hit the vital spot, have I?" said the archduchess. "Every great man has a mystery, particularly when he is a diplomatist. Let me warn your eminence that I also am a witch, and that I can see into matters – if not curious and impossible – incredible."

This was an incomprehensible enigma to all but the cardinal, for he was plainly embarrassed. The gentle eye of the Austrian had flared with one of those fires denoting a storm gathering. But there was no thunderous outbreak, for she went on, restraining herself:

"Come my lord of Taverney, make the feast complete by producing your magician. Where is he? In what box have you put Old Hocus Pocus?"

"Labrie, notify Baron Joseph Balsamo that her Royal Highness the Dauphiness desires to see him."

"Balsamo?" repeated the high lady, as the valet started off. "What an odd name!"

"I fancy I have heard it before," murmured the cardinal.

Five minutes passed with none thinking of breaking the stillness, when Andrea shuddered, for she heard before any other the step beneath the foliage. The branches were parted and right in front of Marie Antoinette, Joseph Balsamo appeared.

CHAPTER XI

A MARVEL OF MAGIC

Humble was Balsamo's bow; but immediately raising his intelligent and expressive brow, he fixed his clear eye, though with respect, on the chief guest, silently waiting for her to question him.

"If you are the person Baron Taverney has mentioned, pray draw nigh that we may see what a magician is like."

Balsamo came a step nearer and bowed to Marie Antoinette.

"So you make a business of foretelling?" said the latter, sipping the milk while regarding the new comer with more curiosity than she liked to betray.

"I make no business of it, but I do foretell, please your royal highness?" was the answer.

"Educated in an enlightened faith, we place faith solely in the mysteries of our religion."

"Undoubtedly they are worthy of veneration," responded the other dialoguist with a profound congé. "But the Cardinal de Rohan here, though Prince of the Church, will tell you that they are not the only ones worthy of respect."

The cardinal started, for his title had not been announced.

Not appearing to notice this revelation, Marie Antoinette pursued:

"But you must allow that they alone cannot be controverted."

"There can be fact as well as faith," replied Balsamo, with the same respect but with the same firmness.

"You speak a trifle darkly, my lord Baron of Magic. I am at heart a good Frenchwoman, but not in mind, and do not yet understand all the fineness of the language. They say I shall soon pick it up, even to the puns. Meanwhile, I must urge you to speak more plainly if you want my comprehension."

"I ask your highness to let me dwell obscure," said the baron, with a melancholy smile. "I should feel too much regret to reveal to so great a princess a future not equal to her hopes."

"Dear me, this is becoming serious," said Marie Antoinette, "and Abracadabra whets my curiosity in order to make me beg my fortune to be told."

"Heaven forbid my being forced into it," observed Balsamo coldly.

"Of course, for you would be put to much pains for little result," laughed the princess.

But her merriment died away without a courtier's echoing it; all suffered the influence of the mystic man who claimed the whole attention.

"Still it was you foretold my coming to Taverney?" said the mighty lady, to which Balsamo silently bowed. "How was the trick done, my lord baron?"

"Simply by looking into a glass of water, my liege lady," was the old noble's answer.

"If that be truly your magic mirror, it is guileless at any rate; may your words be as clear!"

The cardinal smiled, and the master of the place said:

"Your highness will not have to take lessons in punning."

"Nay, my dear host, do not flatter me, or flatter me better. It seems to me it was a mild quip; but, my lord," she resumed, turning toward Balsamo by that irresistible attraction drawing us to a danger, "if you can read the future in a glass for a gentleman, may you not read it for a lady in a decanter?"

"Perfectly; but the future is uncertain, and I should shrink from saddening your royal highness if a cloud veiled it, as I have already had the honor to say."

"Do you know me beforetimes? Where did you first see me?"

"I saw you as a child beside your august mother, that mighty queen."

"Empress, my lord."

"Queen by heart and mind, but such have weaknesses when they think they act for their daughters' happiness."

"I hope history will not record one single weakness in Maria Theresa," retorted the other.

"Because it does not know what is known solely to your highness, her mother and myself."

"Is there a secret among us three?" sneered the lady. "I must hear it."

"In Schoenbrunn Palace is the Saxony Cabinet, where the empress sits in private. One morning, about seven, the empress not being up, your highness entered this study, and perceived a letter of hers, open, on the writing-table."

The hearer blushed.

"Reading it, your highness took up a pen and struck out the three words beginning it."

"Speak them aloud!"

"'My dear Friend.'"

Marie Antoinette bit her lips as she turned pale.

"Am I to tell to whom the letter was addressed?" inquired the seer.

"No, no, but you may write it."

The soothsayer took out his memorandum book fastening with a gilt clasp, and with a kind of pencil from which flowed ink, wrote on a leaf. Detaching this page, he presented it to the princess, who read:

"The letter was addressed to the marchioness of Pompadour, mistress of King Louis XV."

The dauphiness' astounded look rose upon this clearly speaking man, with pure and steady voice, who appeared to tower over her although he bowed lowly.

"All this is quite true," she admitted, "and though I am unaware how you could learn this secret, I am bound to allow, before all, that you speak true."

"Then I may retire upon this innocent proof of my science."

"Not so, my lord baron," said the princess, nettled; "the wiser you are, the more I long for your forecast. You have only spoken of the past, and I demand the future."

Her feverish agitation could not escape the bystanders.

"Let me at least consult the oracle, to learn whether the prediction may be revealed."

"Good or bad, I must hear it!" cried Marie Antoinette with growing irritation. "I shall not believe it if good, taking it for flattery; but bad, I shall regard it as a warning, and I promise any way not to bear you ill will. Begin your witchcraft."

Balsamo took up the decanter with a broad mouth and stood it in a golden saucer. He raised it thus high up, and, after looking at it shook his head.

"I cannot speak. Some things must not be told to princes," he said.

"Because you have nothing to say?" and she smiled scornfully.

Balsamo appeared embarrassed, so that the cardinal began to laugh in his face and the baron grumbled.

"My wizard is worn out," he said. "Nothing is to follow but the gold turning into dry leaves, as in the Arabian tale."

"I would have preferred the leaves to all this show; for there is no shame in drinking from a nobleman's pewter goblet, while a dauphiness of France ought not to have to use the thimble-rigging cup of a charlatan."

Balsamo started erect as if a viper had bitten him.

"Your highness shall know your fate, since your blindness drives you to it."

These words were uttered in a voice so steady but so threatening that the hearers felt icy chills in their veins. The lady turned pale visibly.

"Do not listen to him, my daughter," whispered the old governess in German to her ward.

"Let her hear, for since she wanted to know, know she shall!" said Balsamo in the same language, which doubled the mystery over the incident. "But to you alone, lady."

"Be it so," said the latter. "Stand back!"

"I suppose this is just an artifice to get a private audience?" sneered she, turning again to the magician.

"Do not try to irritate me," said he; "I am but the instrument of a higher Power, used to enlighten you. Insult fate and it will revenge itself, well knowing how. I merely interpret its moves. Do not fling at me the wrath which will recoil on yourself, for you can not visit on me the woes of which I am the sinister herald."

"Then there are woes?" said the princess, softened by his respectfulness and disarmed by his apparent resignation.

"Very great ones."

"Tell me all. First, will my family live happy?"

"Your misfortunes will not reach those you leave at home. They are personal to you and your new family. This royal family has three members, the Duke of Berry, the Count of Provence, and the Count of Artois. They will all three reign."

"Am I to have no son?"

"Sons will be among your offspring, but you will deplore that one should live and the other die."

"Will not my husband love me?"

"Too well. But his love and your family's support will fail you."

"Those of the people will yet be mine."

"Popular love and support – the ocean in a calm. Have you seen it in a storm?"

"I will prevent it rising, or ride upon the billows."

"The higher its crest, the deeper the abyss."

"Heaven remains to me."

"Heaven does not save the heads it dooms."

"My head in danger? Shall I not reign a queen?"

"Yes – but would to God you never did."

The princess smiled disdainfully.

"Hearken, and remember," proceeded Balsamo. "Did you remark the subject on the tapestry of the first room you entered on French ground? The Massacre of the Innocents; the ominous figures must have remained in your mind. During that storm, did you see that the lightning felled a tree on your left, almost to crush your coach? Such presages are not to be interpreted but as fatal ones."

Letting her head fall upon her bosom, the princess reflected for a space before asking:

"How will those three die?"

"Your husband the king will die headless; Count Provence, legless; and Artois heartless."

"But myself? I command you to speak, or I shall hold all this as a paltry trick. Take care, my lord, for the daughter of Maria Theresa is not to be sported with – a woman who holds in hand the destinies of thirty millions of souls. You know no more, or your imagination is exhausted."

Balsamo placed the saucer and the decanter on a bench in the darkest nook of the arbor, which thus resembled a pythoness' cave; he led her within the gloom.

"Down on your knees," he said, alarming her by the action; "for you will seem to be imploring God to spare you the terrible outcome which you are to view."

Mechanically the princess obeyed, but as Balsamo touched the crystal with his magic wand, some frightful picture no doubt appeared in it, for the princess tried to rise, reeled, and screamed as she fell in a swoon.

They ran to her.

"That decanter?" she cried, when revived.

The water was limpid and stainless.

The wonder-worker had disappeared!

CHAPTER XII

TAVERNEY'S PROSPECTS BRIGHTEN

The first to perceive the archduchess's fainting fit, was Baron Taverney who was on the lookout from being most uneasy about the interview. Hearing the scream and seeing Balsamo dart out of the bower he ran up.

The first word of the dauphiness was to call for the bewitched decanter: her second to bid no harm to be done the sorcerer. It was time to say it, for Philip Taverney had rushed after the latter.

She attributed the swoon to fever from the journey. She talked of sleeping for some hours, in Andrea's room, but the Governor of Strasburg arrived in hot haste with a dispatch from Versailles, and she had to receive Lord Stainville, who was brother in-law of the prime minister.

Opening this missive, the princess read:

"The court presentation of Lady Dubarry is fixed on, if she can find a patroness, which we hope will not be. But the surest method of blocking the project is to have your royal highness here, in whose presence none will dare suggest such an offense."

"Very good. My horses must be put to. We depart at once."

Cardinal Rohan looked at Lord Stainville as if for an explanation of this abrupt change.

"The dauphin is in a hurry to see his wife," whispered the latter with such cunning that the churchman thought it had slipped his tongue and was satisfied with it.

Andrea had been trained by her father to understand royal freaks; she was not surprised at the contradiction. So the lady saw only smoothness on her face as she turned to her, saying:

"Thank you; your welcome has deeply touched me. Baron, you are aware that I made the vow to benefit the first French gentleman and his family, whom I should meet on the frontier. But I am not going to stop at this point, and Mademoiselle Andrea is not to be forgotten. Yes, I wish her to be my maid of honor. The brother will defend the king in the army, the sister will serve me; the father will instruct the first in loyalty, the other in virtue. I shall have enviable servitors, do you not agree?" she continued to Philip, who was kneeling. "I will leave one of my carriages to bring you in my train. Governor, name somebody to accompany my carriage for the Taverneys, and notify that it is of my household."

"Beausire," called out the governor, "come forward."

A sharp-eyed cavalier, some twenty-four years old, rode out from the escort and saluted.

"Set a guard over Baron Taverney's coach, and escort it."

"We shall meet soon again, then," said the princess with a smile. "Let us be off, my lords and gentlemen."

In a quarter of an hour, all remaining of the whirling cavalcade was the carriage left in the avenue and the guardsman whose horse was cropping the dandelions.

"Where is the magician?" inquired Taverney.

"Gone, too, my lord."

"I never heard of the like – leaving all that valuable plate."

"He left a note which Gilbert is fretting to deliver."

"Father," said Andrea, "I know what is tormenting you. You know I have thirty gold pieces, and the diamond-set watch Queen Maria Leczinska gave my mother."

"That is well," said the baron, "but keep it, though we must hunt up means for a handsome robe for your court presentation. Hush! here is Labrie."

"The note, my lord, which was given Gilbert by the strange gentleman."

The baron snatched it from the servant and read in an undertone:

"My Lord: Since an august hand touched this service of plate under your roof, it belongs to your lordship, and I pray you to keep it as a memento, and sometimes to remember, your grateful guest, Balsamo."

"Labrie, is there a good goldsmith at Bar-le-Duc?"

"Yes, my lord, the one who mended our young lady's jewelry."

"Put aside the cup the princess used, and pack up the rest of the plate in our carriage. And then, haste to the cellar and serve that officer with all the liquor left. Come, come, Andrea, courage! We are going to court, a splendid place where the sun never fails. You are naturally lovely and have only to set the gem becomingly to outshine them all."

Nicole followed Andrea to her room.

"I am off to arrange my titles of nobility and proofs of service," continued the baron, trotting to his room briskly. "We shall be off from this den in an hour; do you hear, Andrea? And we leave by the golden gates, too. What a trump that magician is! Really, I have become as superstitious as the devil's own. But make haste, Labrie!" he cried to his man groping about in the cellar.

"I can't get on faster, master – we have not a candle left."

"It is plain that we are getting out in the right time," thought the baron.

CHAPTER XIII

NICOLE'S DOWER

Nicole aided her young mistress in her traveling preparations with ardor which speedily dissipated the cloud risen that morning between maid and mistress. The latter smiled as she found that she would have no need to scold her.

"She is a good, devoted girl and grateful," she mused; "only she has weaknesses, like all womankind. Let us forget."

On her part, Nicole was not the girl not to watch her mistress' face, and she saw the kindliness increasing.

"I was a fool nearly to get into a scrape with her for that rascal Gilbert, when she is going to town, where everybody makes a fortune."

"Put my lace in my box. Stop! I gave you that box, I remember; and you will want it, as you are going to set up housekeeping."

"Oh, my lady," said Nicole, reddening, and replying merrily, "my wedding garments will be easily kept in no great space."

"How so? I want you to be well off when you wed."

"Have you found me a rich match?"

"No, but a dower of twenty-five gold pieces."

"You would give me such a treasure!" Emotion followed her surprise, and tears gushed into her eyes as she kissed Andrea's hand.

Nicole began to think that Gilbert had rejected her from fear of poverty, and that now she had funds, she had better marry the ambitious spark to whom she would appear more desirable. But a germ of pride mingled with the generosity, as she wanted to humble one who had jilted her.

"It looks as though you really loved your Gilbert," observed the lady. "How incredible for something in the lad to please you. I must have a look at this lady-killer next time I see him."

Nicole eyed her with lingering doubt. Was this deep hypocrisy or perfect ignorance?

"Is Gilbert coming to Paris with us?" she inquired, to be settled on the point.

"What for? he is not a domestic and is not fitted for a Parisian establishment. The loungers about Taverney are like the birds which can pick up a living on their own ground; but in Paris a hanger-on would cost too much, and we cannot tolerate that. If you marry him, you must stay here. I give you an hour to decide between my household or your husband's. I detest these connubial details and will not have a married servant. In any case, here is the money; marry, and have it as dower; follow me, and it is your first two years' wages, in advance."

Nicole took the purse from her hand and kissed it.

The lady watched her go away and muttered: "She is happy, for she loves."

Nicole in five minutes was at the window of Gilbert's room, at the back of which he was turning over his things.

"I have come to tell you that my mistress wants me to go with her to Paris."

"Good!" said the young man.

"Unless I get married and settled here."

"Are you thinking still of that?" he asked, without any feeling.

"Particularly, since I am rich from my lady dowering me," and she showed the bright gold.

"A pretty sum," he said drily.

"That is not all. My lord is going to be rich. He will rebuild the castle, and the house will have to be guarded – "

"By the happy mate of Nicole," suggested Gilbert with irony, not sufficiently wrapped up not to wound the girl, though she contained herself. "I refuse the offer, for I am not going to bury myself here when Paris is open to me also. Paris is my stage, do you understand?"

"And mine, and I understand you. You may not regret me; but you will fear me, and blush to see to what you drive me. I longed to be an honest woman, but, when I was leaning over the verge, you repulsed me instead of pulling me back. I am slipping and I shall fall, and heaven will ask you to account for the loss. Farewell, Gilbert!"

The proud girl spun round without anger now, or impatience, having exhausted all her generosity of soul.

Gilbert quietly closed the window and resumed the mysterious business which Nicole's coming had interrupted.

She returned to her mistress with a deliberate air.

"I shall not marry," she said.

"But your great love?"

"It is not worth the kindness your ladyship has done me. I belong to you and shall ever so belong. I know the mistress which heaven gave me; but I might never know the master whom I give myself."

Andrea was touched by this display of emotion, which she was far from expecting in the maid. She was of course ignorant that Nicole was making her a pillow to fall back upon. She smiled to believe a human creature was better than she estimated.

"You are doing right," she said. "If bliss befalls me, you shall have your share. But did you settle with your sweetheart?"

"I told him that I would have no more to do with him."

She was restored to her former suspicions, and it was fated that the two should never understand each other – one with her diamond purity and the other with her tendency to evil.

Meanwhile, the baron had packed up his scanty valuables, and Labrie shouldered the half-empty trunk, containing them, to accompany his master out to where the corporal of guards was finishing the wine to the last drop.

This soldier gallant had remarked the fine waist and pretty limbs of Nicole, and he was prowling round the pool to see her again. He was drawn from his reverie by the baron calling for his carriage. Saluting him, he called in a ringing voice for the driver to come up the avenue. Labrie put the trunk on the rack behind with unspeakable pride and delight.

"I am going to ride in the royal coaches," he muttered.

"But up behind, my old boy," corrected Beausire, with a patronizing smile.

"Who is to keep Taverney if you take Labrie, father?" inquired Andrea.

"That lazy philosopher, Gilbert; with his gun he will have ample to eat, I warrant, for there is plenty of game at Taverney."

Andrea looked at Nicole, who laughed and added:

"He is a sly dog; he will not starve."

"Leave him a trifle," suggested Andrea.

"It will spoil him. He is bad enough now. If he wants anything we will send him help."

"He would not accept money, my lord."

"Your Gilbert must be pretty proud, then?"

"Thank heaven, he is no longer my Gilbert!"

"Deuse take Gilbert, whoever's property he is," said Taverney, to cut short what annoyed his selfishness. "The coach is stopping the way; get in, daughter."

Andrea gave the house a farewell glance and stepped into the vehicle. The baron installed himself next her; Labrie in his glorious livery and Nicole got upon the box, for the driver turned himself into a postillion and bestrode one of the horses.

"But the corporal?" queried the baron.

"I ride my charger," responded Beausire, ogling Nicole, who colored up with pleasure at having so soon replaced the rustic lad with a stylish cavalier.

Gilbert stood with his hat off at the gate, and, without seeming to see, looked on Andrea alone. She was bending out of the opposite window to watch the house to the last.

"Stop a bit," ordered Baron Taverney; "hark you, master idler," he said to Gilbert, "you ought to be a happy dog to be left by yourself, as suits a true philosopher, with nobody to bother you or upbraid you. Don't let the house catch afire while you brood, and take care of the watchdog. Go ahead, coachman!"

Gilbert slammed the gates, groaning for want of oil, and ran back to his little room, where he had his little bundle ready. It also contained his savings in a silver piece.

Mahon was howling when he came out, and straining at his chain.

"Am I not cast off like a dog? why should not a dog be cast off like a man? No, you shall at least be free to seek your livelihood like myself."

The liberated dog ran round the house, but finding all the doors closed, he bounded the ruins.

"Now we are going to see who fares the better – man or dog," said Gilbert. "Farewell, mansion where I have suffered and where all despised me! where bread was cast to me with the reproach that I was stealing it by making no return. Farewell – no, curses on you! My heart leaps with joy at no longer being jailed up in your walls. Forever be accursed, prison, hell, lair of tyrants!"

CHAPTER XIV

THE OUTCAST'S LUCK

But in his long journey to Paris he had often to regret this abode which he had cursed. Sore, wearied, famished – for he had lost his coin – he fell in the dusty highway, but with clenched fists and eyes glaring with rage.

"Out of the way, there!" yelled a hoarse voice, amid cracking of a whip.

He did not hear, for his senses left him. He remained before the hoofs of the horses, drawing a postchaise up a side road between Vauclere and Thieblemont, which he had not perceived.