Part 45 (1/2)

”Then, Monsieur, I shall detain your horses. It is a law of _le grand monarque_.”

There was no dodging it. The coach and horses came back to the inn door. The pa.s.sengers went out into the dark, rainy night to plod along in the mud, another six miles or so, that the seigneur and his suite could enjoy that comfort the weary travelers had been forced to leave.

Such was the power of privilege with which the great Louis had saddled his kingdom.

They proceeded to Ancenis, Angers and Breux. From the latter city the road to Versailles was paved with flat blocks of stone. There were swarms of beggars in every village and city crying out, with hands extended, as the coach pa.s.sed them:

”_La charite, au nom de Dieu_!”

”France is in no healthy condition when this is possible,” the young man wrote.

If he met a priest carrying a Bon Dieu in a silver vase every one called out, ”_Aux genoux_!” and then the beholder had to kneel, even if the mud were ankle deep. So on a wet day one's knees were apt to be as muddy as his feet.

The last stage from Versailles to Paris was called the post royale.

There the postillion had to be dressed like a gentleman. It was a magnificent avenue, crowded every afternoon by the wealth and beauty of the kingdom, in gorgeously painted coaches, and lighted at night by great lamps, with double reflectors, over its center. They came upon it in the morning on their way to the capital. There were few people traveling at that hour. Suddenly ahead they saw a cloud of dust. The stage stopped. On came a band of hors.e.m.e.n riding at a wild gallop.

They were the King's couriers.

”Clear the way,” they shouted. ”The King's hunt is coming.”

All travelers, hearing this command, made quickly for the sidings, there to draw rein and dismount. The deer came in sight, running for its life, the King close behind with all his train, the hounds in full cry. Near Jack the deer bounded over a hedge and took a new direction.

His Majesty--a short, stout man with blue eyes and aquiline nose, wearing a lace c.o.c.ked hat and brown velvet coatee and high boots with spurs--dismounted not twenty feet from the stage-coach, saying with great animation:

”_Vite! Donnez moi un cheval frais_.”

Instantly remounting, he bounded over the hedge, followed by his train.

2

A letter from Jack presents all this color of the journey and avers that he reached the house of Franklin in Pa.s.sy about two o'clock in the afternoon of a pleasant May day. The savant greeted his young friend with an affectionate embrace.

”St.u.r.dy son of my beloved country, you bring me joy and a new problem,”

he said.

”What is the problem?” Jack inquired.

”That of moving Margaret across the channel. I have a double task now.

I must secure the happiness of America and of Jack Irons.”

He read the despatches and then the Doctor and the young man set out in a coach for the palace of Vergennes, the Prime Minister. Colonel Irons was filled with astonishment at the tokens of veneration for the white-haired man which he witnessed in the streets of Paris.

”The person of the King could not have attracted more respectful attention,” he writes. ”A crowd gathered about the coach when we were leaving it and every man stood with uncovered head as we pa.s.sed on our way to the palace door. In the crowd there was much whispered praise of '_Le grand savant_.' I did not understand this until I met, in the office of the Compte de Vergennes, the eloquent Senator Gabriel Honore Riquetti de Mirabeau. What an impressive name! Yet I think he deserves it. He has the eye of Mars and the hair of Samson and the tongue of an angel, I am told. In our talk, I a.s.sured him that in Philadelphia Franklin came and went and was less observed than the town crier.

”'But your people seem to adore him,' I said.

”'As if he were a G.o.d,' Mirabeau answered. 'Yes, it is true and it is right. Has he not, like Jove, hurled the lightning of heaven in his right hand? Is he not an unpunished Prometheus? Is he not breaking the scepter of a tyrant?'

”Going back to his home where in the kindness of his heart he had asked me to live, he endeavored, modestly, to explain the evidences of high regard which were being showered upon him.

”'It happens that my understanding and small control of a mysterious and violent force of nature has appealed to the imagination of these people,' he said, 'I am the only man who has used thunderbolts for his playthings. Then, too, I am speaking for a new world to an old one.