The Hero of the People: A Historical Romance of Love, Liberty and Loyalty

“Is not such repugnance based on a motive, tell me?” counterqueried the lady.

“In politics, there should be neither sympathy nor antipathy; only the meetings of principles and combinations of gains, and I ought to say that gains are surer than principles.”

“Do you believe that this man who has publicly insulted me, would consent to join us?”

“He is entirely yours: when a Mirabeau turns from monarchy, it is like a horse that shies; reminded of his allegiance by whip or spur, he will resume his place in the right road.”

“But he is for the Duke of Orleans?”

“So far from him is he, that on hearing of the duke going over to England when Lafayette threatened him, he said: ‘They say I am in his pay! I would not have him for my lackey.'”

“That reconciles him some with me,” said the lady, trying to smile: “if I could believe he might be relied on – “

“Well?”

“Perhaps I should be nearer him than the King.”

“Madam, I saw him at Versailles when the mob stormed the palace: then he thought the Royal Family ought to flee but I have had a note from him this day.”

He took out a slip of rough paper.

“Excuse the writing – it is on paper found in a wine saloon and written on the counter.”

“Never mind that: it is in keeping with the present style of politics.”

Taking the paper, the Queen read:

“This bread riot changes the face of things. A great deal can be drawn from this cut-off head. The Assembly will be frightened and call for martial law. If there be a Mirabeau-Lafayette Cabinet, Mirabeau will answer for all?”

“It is not signed,” objected the Queen.

“He handed it to me himself. My advice is that he is perfectly right and that this alliance alone can save France.”

“Be it so, let the gentleman put the project on paper and I will lay it before the King, as well as support it.”

“Then I will go to the Assembly and see him. In two hours I shall return.”

The Queen waited in impatience, always fond of plotting and agitation as she was. His answer was that Mirabeau had become the spokesman of the court.

In fact, after a hot discussion, martial law was voted by the Assembly. The crime of treason was to be tried at the Chatelet Royal Court, which meant that royalty still held three fourths of the active power.

Gilbert did not go near the Queen until the cases were tried here which would test the alliance.

The triumph was great to have them tried under the Royal party’s thumb. The first trial was of three men who had killed the baker of the Assemblymen, François; two of whom were hanged on the mere accusation and public notoriety; the third was tried and sent to the gallows likewise.

Two other cases were on the docket.

Both the accused prisoners were on the court side, the contractor Augeard and Inspector General Pierre Victor Benzenval, of the Swiss Guards.

Augeard was suspected of supplying the funds for the Queen’s camerailla to pay the troops gathered in July to fight the Parisians: the contractor was not much known and the people bore him no grudge so that he was acquitted without protest.

It was not so with Benzenval, who was notorious. He had commanded the Swiss regiments during the riots and the week of the attack on the Bastile. It was remembered that he had charged the crowds, who wanted to pay him out.

But the most precious orders had been sent out by the King and the court; under no pretext must Benzenval be punished. It took at least this two-fold protection to save him. He had acknowledged himself guilty by taking to flight after the Bastile fell: caught half way to the frontier, he had been brought back to the capital.

Nevertheless he was acquitted.

Amid the hooting, angry crowd, leaving the court, was a man, dressed like a plain storekeeper who familiarly laid his hand on the shoulder of a gentleman dressed better than he, and said:

“Well, what does Dr. Gilbert think of these acquittals?”

The other started, but recognized the speaker by sight as well as by the voice, and replied:

“The Master! – you ought to be asked that, not me, for you know all, present, past and future!”

“Well, I should say: The third prisoner will catch it severely, even though he be innocent.”

“Why should the innocent, if coming next, be wrongfully punished?” inquired the doctor.

“For the simple reason that in this world the good pay for the bad,” returned the Chief of the Invisibles with the irony natural to him.

“Good-bye, Master,” said Gilbert, offering his hand; “for I have business.”

“With whom? Mirabeau, Lafayette or the Queen?”

Gilbert stopped and eyed Cagliostro uneasily.

“Let me tell you that you ofttimes frighten me,” he said.

“On the contrary, I want to encourage you,” said the magician. “Am I not your friend? You may be sure of that: I will afford you a proof if you will come with me home. I will give you such hidden particulars of this negociation which you believe secret, that you who fancy you are managing it, will confess ignorance of it.”

“Listen,” said Gilbert; “perhaps you are jesting with me by one of those marvellous funds of information familiar to you; but no matter! circumstances amid which we are treading are so grave that I would accept enlightenment though from Old Harry himself. I am following you therefore whithersoever you lead me.”

“Be easy, it will not be far and to a place not unknown to you; only let me hail this passing hack; the dress I came out in did not allow me to use my carriage and horses.”

They got into the hackneycoach which came on at a sign.

“Where am I to drive you, master?” inquired the Jehu, to Cagliostro as though, somehow, he saw that he was the leader of the pair, though the more plainly dressed.

“Where you know,” answered the Chief, making a masonic sign, “The Temple.”

The driver looked at the Grand Copt with amazement.

“Excuse me, Thou Supreme, I did not know you,” he said, replying with another sign.

“It is not thus with me,” replied Cagliostro, with a firm and lofty voice, “innumerable as are those whom the uninitiated eyes see not, I know all from the topmost to the lowest of those who bring the bricks and hew the stones.”

The coachman shut the door, got upon the box, and took the carriage at a gallop to St. Claude Street. The carriage was stopped and the door opened with a zeal which testified to the man’s respect.