“Sir,” said the queen, “I view my rights in a different light from you, and especially my duties. I am on the throne to punish or reward.”
“I do not think so, Madame. In my opinion, on the contrary, you are seated on the throne,—you, a woman and a queen, to conciliate and to forgive.”
“I suppose you are not moralizing, sir.”
“You are right, Madame, and I was only replying to your Majesty. This Cagliostro, for instance, Madame, of whom you were speaking a few moments since, and whose science you were contesting, I remember,—and this is a remembrance of something anterior to your recollections of Trianon,—I remember that in the gardens of the Chateau de Taverney he had occasion to give the dauphiness of France a proof of his science; I know not what it was, Madame, but you must recollect it well, for that proof made a profound impression upon her, even so much as to cause her to faint.”
Gilbert was now striking blows in his turn; it is true that he was dealing them at random, but he was favored by chance, and they hit the mark so truly, that the queen became pale.
“Yes,” said she, in a hoarse voice, “yes, he made me see, as in a dream, a hideous machine; but I know not that, up to the present time, such a machine has ever really existed.”
“I know not what he made you see, Madame,” rejoined Gilbert, who felt satisfied with the effect he had produced; “but I do know that it is impossible to dispute the appellation of ‘learned’ to a man who wields such a power as that over his fellow-creatures.”
“His fellow-creatures,” murmured the queen, disdainfully.
“Be it so,—I am mistaken,” replied Gilbert; “and his power is so much the more wonderful, that it reduces to a level with himself, under the yoke of fear, the heads of monarchs and princes of the earth.”
“Infamy, infamy, I say again, upon those who take advantage of the weakness or the credulity of others!”
“Infamous! did you call infamous those who make use of science?”
“Their science is nothing but chimeras, lies, and cowardice.”
“What mean you by that, Madame?” asked Gilbert, calmly.
“My meaning is, that this Cagliostro is a cowardly mountebank, and that his pretended magnetic sleep is a crime.”
“A crime!”
“Yes, a crime,” continued the queen; “for it is the result of some potion, some philter, some poison; and human justice, which I represent, will be able to discover the mystery, and punish the inventor.”
“Madame, Madame,” rejoined Gilbert, with the same patience as before, “a little indulgence, I beg, for those who have erred.”
“Ah! you confess their guilt, then?”
The queen was mistaken, and thought from the mild tone of Gilbert’s voice, that he was supplicating pardon for himself.
She was in error, and Gilbert did not allow the advantage she had thus given him to escape.
“What?” said he, dilating his flashing eyes, before the gaze of which Marie Antoinette was compelled to lower hers, as if suddenly dazzled by the rays of the sun.
The queen remained confounded for a moment, and then, making an effort to speak:—
“A queen can no more be questioned than she can be wounded,” said she: “learn to know that also, you who have but so newly arrived at court. But you were speaking, it seems to me, of those who have erred, and you asked me to be indulgent towards them.”
“Alas! Madame,” said Gilbert, “where is the human creature who is not liable to reproach? Is it he who has ensconced himself so closely within the deep shell of his conscience that the look of others cannot penetrate it? It is this which is often denominated virtue. Be indulgent, Madame.”
“But according to this opinion, then,” replied the queen, imprudently, “there is no virtuous being in your estimation, sir,—you, who are the pupil of those men whose prying eyes seek the truth, even in the deepest recesses of the human conscience.”
“It is true, Madame.”
She laughed, and without seeking to conceal the contempt which her laughter expressed.
“Oh, pray, sir,” exclaimed she, “do remember that you are not now speaking on a public square, to idiots, to peasants, or to patriots.”