by Yves Jégo
‘I know what everyone in Paris knows!’
‘Namely?’ she retorted, with her lips pursed.
‘Namely that, scarcely after her arrival at Court, young La Vallière lost no time in seducing the King, with the sole aim of satisfying her ambitions. Namely, that a romantic rendezvous recently took place at Versailles. Do you dare deny it?’
‘My poor Gabriel, you clearly know nothing about Court relationships. How do you know that the meeting wasn’t dictated by my position as companion to Henrietta of England? And anyway,’ the girl added angrily, ‘why should I have to account to you for my actions?’
Gabriel suddenly felt his anger dissolve. The quiver in Louise’s voice, the tears she held back, but that made her eyes shine, her flushed cheeks: all these signs proved her sincerity.
‘You do not know him, you cannot imagine how different he is from the impression he gives in public.’ The young girl waved her hand helplessly and let out a sigh of dismay. ‘Oh! What is the use of trying to explain … I do not know why I imagined that you … Is that all you came to say to me?’ she concluded sharply.
Gabriel shook his head, then approached her and took her hands.
‘Look at me, Louise,’ he ordered her gently. ‘Will you believe me if I tell you that I am simply afraid for you? I am not accusing you, I am not judging you. I will just be there.’
Louise stopped avoiding his gaze. Their eyes met for a moment in the silence, then Gabriel continued:
‘There is something else. I found out this evening that Molière has offered his services to Colbert. I thought that your proximity to Monsieur, who is so generous towards the troupe at the Palais-Royal, might enable me to find out more so that I can inform the Superintendent of Finance without delay.’
Louise was now smiling.
‘So it might be useful to have a friend in high places? You don’t sound so moralistic now!’ she replied. ‘Take off your coat and sit down.’
The young woman covered her shoulders with a white woollen shawl, and as she prepared some mulled wine with cinnamon, told Gabriel all she knew about the latest scheming at Court. Several times over the past few days she had in fact had the opportunity to overhear the King’s brother’s conversations. Gabriel was relieved to learn that Nicolas Fouquet had obtained the King’s pardon at Fontainebleau, regaining his place in the forefront of the Kingdom’s Government, but a confirmation that Lulli and Molière had rallied to Colbert’s side worried him.
‘Clearly I will have to remain in exile,’ said Gabriel, conscious that Molière might distance himself from him for fear of arousing the suspicions of Colbert’s police.
‘You will certainly have to be discreet, and whatever you do, stay under Fouquet’s protection,’ Louise advised him.
‘If anything happens to me,’ said the young man as he was leaving, ‘you should know that I have hidden documents of the greatest importance in the grounds of the Château de Vaux. They are at the bottom of the shaft, at the foot of the giant statue overlooking the gardens. You’re the only one to know about this hiding place, and the existence of the papers! I cannot tell you any more for the moment,’ he added. ‘You’ll have to trust me.’
The young girl stroked Gabriel’s cheek affectionately.
‘I’m so glad to have seen you this evening, and to have regained your trust, Monsieur Spy,’ murmured Louise as Gabriel hurtled down the stairs.
A moment later he was galloping through the slumbering streets on his cold journey back to the Château de Vaux-le-Vicomte.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Paris, Palais de la Cité – Friday 18 March, four o’clock in the afternoon
STEWARD of Finance: the title went round and round in Jean-Baptiste Colbert’s mind like a deafening litany. When he had taken the oath a few moments earlier, the deceased Cardinal’s protégé had felt his heart fill with joy and pride as the words spoken by the Parlement’s president resounded in his ears. Steward of Finance. Colbert was sitting on a gold-trimmed red banquette in the great gallery beside the meeting hall, now emptied of its crowd. Dressed as usual in black from top to toe, enlivened for the occasion by a belt of watered silk, he tried to hold on for a moment to his public recognition. Closing his eyes, he tried to recall the exact feeling he had experienced, to picture once again the faces of each of his assistants … Footsteps striking the marble floor of the corridor and echoing beneath the vaulted stone roof made him turn his head.
‘There you are, Monsieur!’ exclaimed Toussaint Roze, waving his arms. ‘I feared you had left alone, or in another carriage.’
Colbert gave him an icy look.
‘I was merely meditating for a few moments. Well, let us go if we must,’ he grumbled.
‘The fact is, Monsieur Perrault is waiting for you, Monsieur, by the carriage,’ Roze apologised as they headed for the door. ‘And Monsieur Le Tellier has said that he would like to see you this evening, to discuss an important matter relating, so he told me, to the security of the State …’
Colbert did not respond, but his gaze clouded. What had he been thinking, summoning his investigator here at this hour? The presence of Perrault reminded him of the bad news of recent days, detracting from the dazzling success of his promotion.
‘Did you flush him out?’ he demanded of his investigator, without even greeting him.
Perrault stammered, holding open the door of the carriage for Colbert, followed by Roze.
‘No, of course you didn’t,’ said Colbert as he warmed himself. ‘But he cannot have flown away, damn him! That boy must be somewhere. So find him. Between that man Molière, who does not even know his secretary’s full name, and you, who have no idea where he is hiding, what am I supposed to do? Look for him myself?’
Leaning out of the window, Colbert stopped talking for a moment and scowled at Perrault, who had not moved a muscle.
‘I need results, Perrault. Quickly. Find that boy, find the papers, but for the love of God find something!’
Colbert angrily pulled down the curtain and rapped sharply on the carriage partition, signalling that it was time to leave. Perrault could barely swallow as he watched the carriage move off into the distance.
Colbert breathed deeply. The words and tone of voice he had used to reprimand Perrault had left a pleasant taste in his mouth. Not enough however for him to relax completely nor to restore his earlier feeling of satisfaction.
‘I have yet to determine what is really on the King’s mind,’ he mused. ‘I am not happy with the audience granted to Fouquet, nor this business of a council for overseas trade. I must know more.’
Suddenly, a broad smile lit up his ugly face.
Ah yes! Now there’s an idea, he thought. I’ll find out more about the King’s intentions and at the same time solve the problem in which Perrault has become mired, despite such a promising start.
Looking pleased, he turned to Toussaint Roze who was sitting beside him.
‘As soon as we get back, organise a meeting with the Cardinal’s niece.’
‘But which one?’ Roze enquired fearfully.
Colbert sighed.
‘Olympe, of course.’
Colbert settled down on the carriage’s comfortable seat and closed his eyes to relive the moment when he had sworn his oath as Steward of Finance …
Roze, who sat with his hands resting on his knees, thought it best not to ask if the meeting was very urgent.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Mont-Louis – Sunday 3 April, eight o’clock in the evening
COLBERT recognised the road which was taking him to Mont-Louis. But this time his visit was not undercover, unlike that of the night of 10 March. Having used Le Tellier as a go-between, he was on his way to meet the Archbishop of Paris, absent from the capital for almost ten years. Paul de Gondi’s semi-clandestine return to the city and the prospect of their meeting titillated Colbert, who was now anxious to leave no stone unturned in his frenzied quest for support.
The former Fronde member ha
d prepared his mission to Paris as soon as he heard that his enemy Mazarin was dead. As he still feared arrest, the Roman exile had deliberately asked the Superior of La Chaise for his hospitality, and it was in the latter’s private apartments that he now awaited his visitor. Colbert took pleasure in imagining him gazing nostalgically through the window at the outskirts of the city he had been parted from for so long.
‘Spring brightened up Paris this afternoon, Monseigneur, but I am sure the French sun is no match for the Italian one,’ said Colbert with pointed irony as he entered the room.
Paul de Gondi turned calmly at the sound of the voice which had interrupted his reverie.
‘Winter is at an end, Monsieur Colbert, and the sun now shines for everyone,’ replied the Archbishop, not displeased with the direct tone their conversation had taken.
After the usual polite exchanges, the two men sat down opposite each other in the only armchairs the Superior’s modest dwelling had to offer.
‘My dear Colbert, I shall not prevaricate about the reason for my visit. The death of Mazarin opens up a new era for the Kingdom. It seems to me that the time has come to purge the past,’ said the Archbishop firmly. ‘There are many who demand my return to Paris and beseech me to occupy at long last the archiepiscopal throne which is mine by right!’
He’s mighty sure of himself, Colbert said to himself, making an effort to look as if he was hanging on Paul de Gondi’s every word.
‘I would like to believe that I was unable to return to my dear homeland because of a misunderstanding between the King and His Holiness,’ the Archbishop said in an increasingly confident tone. ‘For my part, I have always been faithful to His Majesty, which is what led me to oppose the Cardinal’s intolerable financial irregularities. Today, exile weighs heavily upon me. My dearest wish is to be able to return to Paris. I know the price of this request, and am willing to provide the King with several tokens of my goodwill.’
Here we go, Colbert said to himself, nodding his encouragement to the Archbishop.
‘In short, Monsieur Colbert, I am firmly resolved to lay my rights to the Archbishopric of Paris at His Majesty’s feet …’
Excellent, thought Colbert, remaining silent to allow Paul de Gondi to reveal a little more about his intentions.
‘Clearly,’ went on the former rebel, ‘it would be appropriate, as a sign of his new-found trust, for the King to grant me the guarantees hoped for by an exiled former prisoner who is anxious to have the freedom to come and go as he wishes.’
‘I hear you, Monsieur Archbishop,’ Colbert said soberly. ‘But you spoke just now of several tokens?’
Surprised by this decidedly cold reaction, Paul de Gondi reflected for a moment before continuing.
‘If this comes about, my friends will be in your debt – and you are aware of the influence they wield in the Kingdom.’
This is more interesting, thought Colbert, picking up on the allusion to the zealots and to their previous unerring support of Fouquet and his family.
‘And what else?’ persisted the little man, keen to push his advantage further.
‘I am coming to that, Monsieur Colbert. You are searching for some documents stolen from the Cardinal’s palace, and you know that those documents are no longer in the hands of those responsible for their disappearance.’
Colbert started. Cunning Archbishop, he said to himself, astonished by these revelations. Now I know what he’s come back for.
‘But you probably do not know the exact nature of the stolen papers. I have a theory about them which I believe is extremely credible.’
‘I am all ears, Monseigneur,’ declared Colbert, suddenly amused.
‘Mazarin threw me into prison at Nantes, and I shared a cell with a man whose real name I never knew,’ explained Gondi. ‘He called himself “Naum”. We had time to get to know each other and I can attest that the man was highly educated and trustworthy. Several times I had the opportunity to test the quality of his reasoning and the truth of what he told me. Naum was ill. Sensing his end was near, he decided to confide in me. He told me that he had given Cardinal Mazarin some extraordinary documents in exchange for a large sum of money, by what means I do not know. He was arrested shortly afterwards, and was convinced that the Cardinal wanted to kill him. As he lay dying, the poor man revealed to me where he had hidden his money. In fact it was this little gold mine that enabled me to go back to Rome and live there after my escape,’ added Paul de Gondi, clearly still pleased to have cocked a snook at Mazarin.
‘But,’ interrupted Colbert, ‘what did these “extraordinary documents” contain?’
‘According to him, they gave the formula that gained access to a text which was capable on its own of casting doubt upon the foundations of the State and of the Holy Church. I know little else. Naum was not a talkative man, particularly as his illness rendered him unconscious a good deal of the time. Surely this name, Naum, will not have escaped you in His Eminence’s accounts?’ Paul de Gondi asked with a small smile.
Colbert did not know what to say. He did indeed recall having noticed this peculiar name against some very large sums of money in the Cardinal’s private accounts. In fact he had asked Mazarin for clarification, but had not received an answer. The Chief Minister had merely told him to classify this sum under the heading ‘Exceptional Service to His Majesty’.
It was all slowly becoming clear in his mind. The Cardinal’s anguish when he learned of the disappearance of his papers must have been partly down to the loss of this Secret he had purchased at such a high price from Naum some years earlier.
The Archbishop knows a great deal more about this than he’s letting on, thought Colbert, more and more convinced that Gondi was manipulating the networks of zealots from Rome, and was behind the burglary of the Cardinal’s apartments too.
‘Thank you for confiding in me, Monseigneur,’ said Colbert, trying to sound flattering. ‘As far as His Majesty is concerned, I shall be your faithful mediator. I know how much the Kingdom would stand to gain by welcoming back a man of your worth. I shall try to ensure that our conversation bears fruit.’
Paul de Gondi smiled at these words, thinking that his aim had been true.
Having taken leave of the exile at the door of the building, Colbert climbed into his carriage. As the vehicle moved off, he gazed at the distant outline of the capital and mused that the Archbishop of Paris’s dream of a triumphant return to Court might come true after all.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Saint-Mandé, Nicolas Fouquet’s residence – Sunday 10 April, evening
‘LOOK, Louise, the horse chestnut trees are in blossom!’
Leaning against the window of her carriage door, Louise de La Vallière bent forward to look at the white flowers that were illuminated by the last rays of sunlight. They had just passed the toll-gate at Vincennes and were now travelling through the outskirts of the city. Dusk had brought with it a cool breeze making the carriage’s occupants shiver.
Spring has arrived, thought Louise, my first spring in Paris. She tried to imagine what the lodge at Versailles would be like in springtime. She could not help it, everything made her think of the King.
‘Louise, are you daydreaming?’
Louise started in surprise, making her companion laugh. Aude de Saint-Sauveur, another of the maidens of honour attached to the household of the future wife of Monsieur, the King’s brother, pointed towards the lights that had appeared to the left of the carriage.
‘Look, daydreamer: there’s the keep of Vincennes. And there,’ she added, pointing to the left, ‘that avenue of flaming torches leads to Monsieur Superintendent’s house!’
Louise listened in amused silence, observing her companion’s excitement.
‘Pray God that this marriage takes place soon, so that we can celebrate too,’ added Aude, as if Henrietta of England’s marriage was also to some small extent her own.
Much good will it do her, thought Louise, gazing into space, but the truth is, this is all
she has, this life as a maid of honour.
She felt herself blush at the superior tone of her inner voice and rearranged her necklace to disguise her lack of composure.
‘We’ve arrived, we’ve arrived,’ cried Aude, bursting with impatience.
The carriage made its way up the avenue, which was lined on either side by blue-and gold-liveried footmen, all of them carrying torches, whose light added to that of the nearby keep.
From the window of his office, Nicolas Fouquet watched his guests arrive thinking that he ought to have postponed these festivities. Coming only a month after the death of the Cardinal and the King’s reorganisation, the event was taking place for no reason other than his wife’s goodwill – and in spite of her pregnancy, which tired her and was sure to prevent her enjoying her guests. For the first time, the revels seemed futile to him. Come, he told himself, attributing his bad mood to having worked too many hours over the past few weeks, I must join the guests and put on a brave face against ill-fortune. But his mind was filled with thoughts of another celebration, the only one he was really looking forward to: the one to mark the completion of his chateau at Vaux.
Fouquet paused for another moment at the top of the grand staircase that overlooked the entrance hall. The guests had now all arrived and an uninterrupted tide was ebbing and flowing from the salons to the garden, where two chamber orchestras were playing.
At least the weather is on our side, he thought to encourage himself. And, taking a deep breath, he plunged into the crowd.
*
Louise was bored, yet she had barely been there for half an hour. She had to admit that she was not in the mood to enjoy herself, however splendid the evening and however prestigious the list of guests. The opening display of Roman candles had entertained her for only a moment. Tables groaned under plates of meat and pyramids of vegetables, but even the most exotic fruits did not tempt her. And the little animals – monkeys and brightly coloured birds – which mingled amongst the guests had merely drawn a smile. Aude had vanished without her noticing, and Louise now found herself sitting on a bench seat next to a pillar, topped with an antique bust carved from black marble.