CHAPTER XCVII.
THE KING'S GRATITUDE.
The two men were on the point of darting toward each other when theysuddenly and abruptly stopped, as a mutual recognition took place, andeach uttered a cry of horror.
"Have you come to assassinate me, monsieur?" said the king when herecognized Fouquet.
"The king in this state!" murmured the minister.
Nothing could be more terrible indeed than the appearance of the youngprince at the moment Fouquet had surprised him; his clothes were intatters; his shirt, open and torn to rags, was stained with sweat, andwith the blood which streamed from his lacerated breast and arms.Haggard, ghastly pale, his hair in disheveled masses, Louis XIV.presented the most perfect picture of despair, hunger, and fearcombined, that could possibly be united in one figure. Fouquet was sotouched, so affected and disturbed by it, that he ran toward him withhis arms stretched out and his eyes filled with tears. Louis held up themassive piece of wood of which he had made such a furious use.
"Sire," said Fouquet, in a voice trembling with emotion, "do you notrecognize the most faithful of your friends?"
"A friend--you!" repeated Louis, gnashing his teeth in a manner whichbetrayed his hate and desire for speedy vengeance.
"The most respectful of your servants," added Fouquet, throwing himselfon his knees. The king let the rude weapon fall from his grasp. Fouquetapproached him, kissed his knees, and took him in his arms withinconceivable tenderness.
"My king, my child," he said, "how you must have suffered!"
Louis, recalled to himself by the change of situation, looked athimself, and ashamed of the disordered state of his apparel, ashamed ofhis conduct, and ashamed of the air of pity and protection that wasshown toward him, drew back. Fouquet did not understand this movement;he did not perceive that the king's feeling of pride would never forgivehim for having been a witness of such an exhibition of weakness.
"Come, sire," he said, "you are free."
"Free?" repeated the king. "Oh! you set me at liberty, then, afterhaving dared to lift up your hand against me."
"You do not believe that!" exclaimed Fouquet, indignantly; "you cannotbelieve me to be guilty of such an act."
And rapidly, warmly even, he related the whole particulars of theintrigue, the details of which are already known to the reader. Whilethe recital continued, Louis suffered the most horrible anguish of mind;and when it was finished, the magnitude of the danger he had run struckhim far more than the importance of the secret relative to his twinbrother.
"Monsieur," he said suddenly to Fouquet, "this double birth is afalsehood; it is impossible--you cannot have been the dupe of it."
"Sire!"
"It is impossible, I tell you, that the honor, the virtue of my mothercan be suspected. And my first minister has not yet done justice on thecriminals?"
"Reflect, sire, before you are hurried away by your anger," repliedFouquet. "The birth of your brother--"
"I have only one brother--and that is _Monsieur_. You know it as well asmyself. There is a plot, I tell you, beginning with the governor of theBastille."
"Be careful, sire, for this man has been deceived as every one else hasby the prince's likeness to yourself."
"Likeness? Absurd!"
"This Marchiali must be singularly like your majesty to be able todeceive every one's eye," Fouquet persisted.
"Ridiculous!"
"Do not say so, sire; those who had prepared everything in order to faceand deceive your ministers, your mother, your officers of state, themembers of your family, must be quite confident of the resemblancebetween you."
"But where are these persons, then!" murmured the king.
"At Vaux."
"At Vaux! and you suffer them to remain there!"
"My most present duty seemed to be your majesty's release. I haveaccomplished that duty; and now, whatever your majesty may command shallbe done. I await your orders."
Louis reflected for a few minutes.
"Muster all the troops in Paris," he said.
"All the necessary orders are given for that purpose," replied Fouquet.
"You have given orders!" exclaimed the king.
"For that purpose, yes, sire! your majesty will be at the head of tenthousand men in less than an hour."
The only reply the king made was to take hold of Fouquet's hand withsuch an expression of feeling, that it was very easy to perceive howstrongly he had, until that remark, maintained his suspicions of theminister, notwithstanding the latter's intervention.
"And with these troops," he said, "we shall go at once and besiege inyour house the rebels who, by this time, will have established andentrenched themselves there."
"I should be surprised if that were the case," replied Fouquet.
"Why?"
"Because their chief--the very soul of the enterprise having beenunmasked by me, the whole plan seems to me to have miscarried."
"You have unmasked this false prince also?"
"No, I have not seen him."
"Whom have you seen, then?"
"The leader of the enterprise, not that unhappy young man; the latteris merely an instrument, destined through his whole life towretchedness, I plainly perceive."
"Most certainly."
"It is M. l'Abbe d'Herblay, eveque de Vannes."
"Your friend."
"He was my friend, sire," replied Fouquet, nobly.
"An unfortunate circumstance for you," said the king in a less generoustone of voice.
"Such friendships, sire, had nothing dishonorable in them so long as Iwas ignorant of the crime."
"You should have foreseen it."
"If I am guilty, I place myself in your majesty's hands."
"Ah! Monsieur Fouquet, it was not that I meant," returned the king,sorry to have shown the bitterness of his thought in such a manner."Well! I assure you that, notwithstanding the mask with which thevillain covered his face, I had something like a vague suspicion that itmight be he. But with this chief of the enterprise there was a man ofprodigious strength, the one who menaced me with a force almostherculean, what is he?"
"It must be his friend the Baron de Valon, formerly one of themusketeers."
"The friend of D'Artagnan? the friend of the Comte de la Fere. Ah!"exclaimed the king, as he paused at the name of the latter, "we must notforget the connection that existed between the conspirators and M. deBragelonne."
"Sire, sire, do not go too far! M. de la Fere is the most honorable manin France. Be satisfied with those whom I deliver up to you."
"With those whom you deliver up to me, you say? Very good, for you willdeliver up those who are guilty to me."
"What does your majesty understand by that?" inquired Fouquet.
"I understand," replied the king, "that we shall soon arrive at Vauxwith a large body of troops, that we will lay violent hands upon thatnest of vipers, and that not a soul shall escape."
"Your majesty will put these men to death!" cried Fouquet.
"To the very meanest of them."
"Oh! sire."
"Let us understand each other, Monsieur Fouquet," said the king,haughtily. "We no longer live in times when assassination was the onlyand the last resource which kings had in their power. No! Heaven bepraised! I have parliaments who sit and judge in my name, and I havescaffolds on which my supreme authority is carried out."
Fouquet turned pale. "I will take the liberty of observing to yourmajesty, that any proceedings instituted respecting these matters wouldbring down the greatest scandal upon the dignity of the throne. Theaugust name of Anne of Austria must never be allowed to pass the lips ofthe people accompanied by a smile."
"Justice must be done, however, monsieur."
"Good, sire; but the royal blood cannot be shed on a scaffold."
"The royal blood! you believe that!" cried the king, with fury in hisvoice, stamping his foot on the ground. "This double birth is aninvention; and in that invention, particularly, do I see M. d'Herblay'scrime. It is the
crime I wish to punish rather than their violence, ortheir insult."
"And punish it with death, sire?"
"With death; yes, monsieur."
"Sire," said the surintendant with firmness, as he raised his headproudly, "your majesty will take the life, if you please, of yourbrother Philippe of France; that concerns you alone, and you willdoubtless consult the queen-mother upon the subject. Whatever she maycommand will be perfectly correct. I do not wish to mix myself up in it,not even for the honor of your crown, but I have a favor to ask of you,and I beg to submit it to you."
"Speak," said the king, in no little degree agitated by his minister'slast words. "What do you require?"
"The pardon of M. d'Herblay and of M. de Valon."
"My assassins."
"Two rebels, sire, that is all."
"Oh! I understand, then, you ask me to forgive your friends."
"My friends!" said Fouquet, deeply wounded.
"Your friends, certainly; but the safety of the state requires that anexemplary punishment should be inflicted on the guilty."
"I will not permit myself to remind your majesty that I have justrestored you to liberty, and have saved your life."
"Monsieur!"
"I will not allow myself to remind your majesty that had M. d'Herblaywished to carry out his character of an assassin, he could very easilyhave assassinated your majesty this morning in the forest of Senart, andall would have been over."
The king started.
"A pistol bullet through the head," pursued Fouquet, "and the disfiguredfeatures of Louis XIV., which no one could have recognized, would be M.d'Herblay's complete and entire justification."
The king turned pale and giddy at the idea of the danger he had escaped.
"If M. d'Herblay," continued Fouquet, "had been an assassin, he had nooccasion to inform me of his plan, in order to succeed. Freed from thereal king, it would have been impossible to guess the false king. And ifthe usurper had been recognized by Anne of Austria, he would still havebeen a son for her. The usurper, as far as Monsieur d'Herblay'sconscience was concerned, was still a king of the blood of Louis XIII.Moreover, the conspirator, in that course, would have had security,secrecy, and impunity. A pistol-bullet would have procured him all that.For the sake of Heaven, sire, grant me his forgiveness."
The king, instead of being touched by the picture he had drawn, sofaithful in all its details, of Aramis' generosity, felt himself mostpainfully and cruelly humiliated by it. His unconquerable pride revoltedat the idea that a man had held suspended at the end of his finger thethread of his royal life. Every word that fell from Fouquet's lips, andwhich he thought most efficacious in procuring his friend's pardon,seemed to pour another drop of poison into the already ulcerated heartof Louis XIV. Nothing could bend or soften him. Addressing himself toFouquet, he said, "I really don't know, monsieur, why you should solicitthe pardon of these men. What good is there in asking that which can beobtained without solicitation?"
"I do not understand you, sire."
"It is not difficult either. Where am I now?"
"In the Bastille, sire."
"Yes; in a dungeon. I am looked upon as a madman, am I not?"
"Yes, sire."
"And no one is known here but Marchiali?"
"Certainly."
"Well; change nothing in the position of affairs. Let the madman rot inthe dungeon of the Bastille, and M. d'Herblay and M. de Valon will standin no need of my forgiveness. Their new king will absolve them."
"Your majesty does me a great injustice, sire, and you are wrong,"replied Fouquet, dryly; "I am not child enough, nor is M. d'Herblaysilly enough, to have omitted to make all these inflections; and if Ihad wished to make a new king, as you say, I had no occasion to havecome here to force open all the gates and doors of the Bastille, to freeyou from this place. That would show a want of common sense even. Yourmajesty's mind is disturbed by anger; otherwise you would be far fromoffending, groundlessly, the very one of your servants who has renderedyou the most important service of all."
Louis perceived that he had gone too far, that the gates of the Bastillewere still closed upon him; while, by degrees, the flood-gates weregradually being opened, behind which the generous-hearted Fouquet hadrestrained his anger. "I did not say that to humiliate you, Heavenknows, monsieur," he replied. "Only you are addressing yourself to me,in order to obtain a pardon, and I answer you according as my consciencedictates. And so, judging by my conscience, the criminals we speak ofare not worthy of consideration or forgiveness." Fouquet was silent.
"What I do is as generous," added the king, "as what you have done, forI am in your power. I will even say, it is more generous, inasmuch asyou place before me certain conditions upon which my liberty, my life,may depend; and to reject which is to make a sacrifice of them both."
"I was wrong, certainly," replied Fouquet. "Yes.--I had the appearanceof extorting a favor; I regret it, and entreat your majesty'sforgiveness."
"And you are forgiven, my dear Monsieur Fouquet," said the king with asmile, which restored the serene expression of his features which somany circumstances had altered since the preceding evening.
"I have my own forgiveness," replied the minister, with some degree ofpersistence; "but M. d'Herblay, and M. de Valon?"
"They will never obtain theirs, as long as I live," replied theinflexible king. "Do me the kindness not to speak of it again."
"Your majesty shall be obeyed."
"And you will bear me no ill will for it?"
"Oh! no, sire; for I anticipated it as being most likely."
"You had 'anticipated' that I should refuse to forgive those gentlemen?"
"Certainly; and all my measures were taken in consequence."
"What do you mean to say?" cried the king, surprised.
"M. d'Herblay came, as may be said, to deliver himself into my hands. M.d'Herblay left to me the happiness of saving my king and my country. Icould not condemn M. d'Herblay to death; nor could I, on the other hand,expose him to your majesty's most justifiable wrath; it would have beenjust the same as if I had killed him myself."
"Well! and what have you done?"
"Sire, I gave M. d'Herblay the best horses in my stables, and fourhours' start over all those your majesty might, probably, dispatch afterhim."
"Be it so!" murmured the king. "But still, the world is wide enough andlarge enough for those whom I may send to overtake your horses,notwithstanding the 'four hours' start' which you have given to M.d'Herblay."
"In giving him those four hours, sire, I knew I was giving him his life,and he will save his life."
"In what way?"
"After having galloped as hard as possible, with the four hours' start,before your musketeers, he will reach my chateau of Belle-Isle, where Ihave given him a safe asylum."
"That may be! But you forget that you have made me a present ofBelle-Isle."
"But not for you to arrest my friends."
"You take it back again, then?"
"As far as that goes--yes, sire."
"My musketeers will capture it, and the affair will be at an end."
"Neither your musketeers, nor your whole army could take Belle-Isle,"said Fouquet, coldly. "Belle-Isle is impregnable."
The king became perfectly livid; a lightning flash seemed to dart fromhis eyes. Fouquet felt that he was lost, but he was not one to shrinkwhen the voice of honor spoke loudly within him. He bore the king'swrathful gaze; the latter swallowed his rage, and after a few moments'silence, said, "Are we going to return to Vaux?"
"I am at your majesty's orders," replied Fouquet, with a low bow; "but Ithink that your majesty can hardly dispense with changing your clothesprevious to appearing before your court."
"We shall pass by the Louvre," said the king. "Come." And they left theprison, passing before Baisemeaux, who looked completely bewildered ashe saw Marchiali once more leave; and, in his helplessness, tore out thefew remaining hairs he had left. It was perfectly true, however, thatFouquet wrote
and gave him an authority for the prisoner's release, andthat the king wrote beneath it, "Seen and approved. Louis;" a piece ofmadness that Baisemeaux, incapable of putting two ideas together,acknowledged, by giving himself a terrible blow with his fist on hisjaws.
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