The Sun King Conspiracy

by Yves Jégo

  *

  This last despairing cry made Gabriel de Pontbriand smile.

  Poor Vatel, he thought as he reached the main entrance, can cakes really be the cause of so much torment …?

  Once again, he felt the apprehension that had scarcely left him recently. They were close to their goal, and if everything went as they hoped, the evening would mark the dawning of a new era. Feelings ran through his heart as fast as the white clouds rushed towards the horizon. Tonight would be the realisation of his father’s dream.

  The young man strode up the chateau’s steps looking for Fouquet. From the top of the steps the sight was amazing. Everywhere he looked, Gabriel could see little figures running about, busying themselves with the final preparations for the celebration. Gabriel grimaced as he recognised his former companions from the troupe amongst those on the actors’ platform standing around Molière, who was waving his arms about in anger like a miniature puppet. Gabriel had met him that morning during an inspection with Fouquet. The coldness with which the great author had greeted him had at first wounded him, then strengthened him in his conviction that Providence had sent him in the right direction. Closer to him, groups of workmen emerged from thickets behind which he could imagine the fountains and rockeries, waterfalls, statues and mechanisms. The musicians were setting up alongside the lawns, magnificently aligned with the view of the chateau in the August sunshine. Turning round, he saw the crowd of guests converging slowly upon the chateau, filing past the gilded gates embossed with the Superintendent’s arms. His heart thudded as he narrowed his eyes to try and make out Louise’s face in the coloured mass of gowns and suits.

  The familiar voice of La Fontaine drew him out of his contemplation.

  ‘Well, Gabriel? Is that an outfit in which to welcome the King? The whole Court is hurrying to our gates and you have not even put on your waistcoat.’

  Gabriel looked down at his shirt and bounded towards the stairs.

  ‘Curious child,’ murmured the poet, watching him hurtle towards his room.

  Gabriel rushed down the stairs four at a time, trying to attach the blue silk ribbon that held his collar together. Stumbling, he almost fell head first, bumped into the stone banister to the sound of rending fabric, and found himself sitting on the first-floor landing.

  ‘Confound it, my sleeve!’ he exclaimed as he realised that the seam of his coat had ripped. ‘Too bad,’ he added, getting to his feet.

  A glance through the window stopped him in his tracks. There before him, less than a hundred yards away, the King had just emerged from his carriage. Standing there with a pommel-topped cane in his hand, dressed in a close-fitting suit of golden fabric and a black hat decorated with white feathers, the King of France was smiling at a compliment from Nicolas Fouquet, who was bowing respectfully before him. Seeing that the retinue was on the move, Gabriel ran down the rest of the stairs, emerged onto the rear steps of the chateau and circled back round to slip discreetly into the procession. Peering over the heads of the crowd of courtiers who followed the King, Gabriel saw Fouquet explaining the layout and construction of his estate, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. The windows revealed so much of the gardens’ magnificence that the walls seemed almost transparent. Impassive, the King gazed at the chateau and its dome with such intensity that Gabriel’s heart missed a beat.

  Come now, compose yourself, he told himself. It is not yet time. And what is d’Orbay doing? If everything is to go to plan, he will have to be there, he thought, biting his lip.

  ‘Gabriel!’

  ‘Louise!’ exclaimed the young man as he saw a hand waving at him, struggling against the tide of guests.

  Pushing his way through, Gabriel managed to catch up with the girl and draw her out of the crowd.

  ‘So here you are, master of a very fine chateau,’ she laughed.

  Gabriel could not take his eyes off her dazzling gown embroidered with gold, her sparkling eyes, her white skin.

  ‘Go ahead and mock, you cold-hearted girl. It takes a celebration for me to be able to see you these days. The Court has made you entirely its own,’ he said mournfully.

  ‘Come now, you’re the one who’s invisible!’

  ‘No one is more invisible than a man one never thinks about,’ retorted Gabriel seriously. ‘And you know very well that I am here if needed.’

  The allusion brought colour to Louise’s cheeks.

  ‘That is true,’ she conceded. ‘But you’re the one who fled Amboise and abandoned me. And I’m the one who came to find you again!’

  This reversal forced a smile from Gabriel.

  ‘Go,’ she told him, as he turned his head automatically to see where the King and his host had got to. ‘Don’t make the Superintendent wait. And besides, I have to find my duchess!’

  ‘We shall see each other later at the spectacle!’ Gabriel called to her as she fled.

  In the distance, the sun sparkled on the King of France’s dazzling finery.

  The last of the guests who had dallied in the groves to watch the fountains were only just returning to the salons where Vatel had laid the dinner tables.

  Already, courtiers in their hundreds were thronging around the platters of ducklings and fattened chickens and roasted meats of every kind, accompanied by countless garnishes, baskets of fruit and spectacular cakes.

  Cries of delight sounded from the neighbouring room, where the guests were being treated to their first sight of the colossal full-length portrait of Louis XIV, which Fouquet had unveiled on the King’s arrival.

  Seated on a dais and looking down upon the throng, the King responded with cordial nods to the guests who jostled for pride of place in his field of vision. The Queen Mother, seated by his side, seemed to be suffering from the heat; she refused the food and was frantically waving a Spanish fan in front of her pale, tired face.

  Fouquet stood by the door, receiving the compliments of those who were returning from the gardens, their eyes filled with wonderment at the sights they had just witnessed.

  ‘What luxury,’ said a voice behind him.

  Fouquet turned to see Colbert, a glass of red wine in his hand, leaning against a pilaster.

  ‘What can one devise that is too beautiful to please a King?’ Fouquet replied, his cool tone tinged with hostility.

  Colbert raised his glass with a nod.

  ‘Pray excuse me,’ Fouquet cut him off icily, ‘it is time for me to go and enquire if His Majesty is ready to see Monsieur Molière’s play.’

  Turning to leave, the Superintendent did not see the little man’s gaze stab him in the back.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  Vaux-le-Vicomte – Wednesday 17 August, nine o’clock in the evening

  THE muffled sounds of the festivities reached as far as the statue of Hercules. Huddled in its shadow, Gabriel leant with all his weight on the lever he had slid beneath a flagstone joined to the monument’s plinth. He stopped for a moment to get his strength back, and turned to look at the flickering lights at the far end of the gardens. All the guests were now in the chateau. Looking upwards, he gazed briefly at the dark-blue sky. The clarity of the night, illuminated by an intense, whitish-yellow moon, was not marred by a single cloud. Tensing his muscles, he pushed down on the lever again. Little by little, the stone moved from its housing, pivoting with a muffled cracking sound to reveal the dark cavity leading to the network of channels which served the park’s lakes and fountains.

  Gabriel groped about to locate the iron rungs set into the wall. Then he went to fetch the torch he had carefully planted in the earth behind the plinth, so that it would remain invisible from the buildings, and began to climb down into the shaft.

  Taking care to gain a secure footing on the damp, rusty iron, he felt the stench of the stagnant water catch in his throat. He slipped his arm through a rung and pulled his cravat up over his face to cover his nose and mouth, and then continued his descent.

  He thought of Fouquet and d’Orbay. Everything now rested upon hi
m. He remembered d’Orbay’s solemn expression as he said:

  ‘Nicolas wouldn’t be able to get away for long. A prolonged absence would be too obvious. And the same is true for me, though to a lesser extent; Colbert’s men will be watching us. You are going to have to go and fetch the formula from wherever you hid it on your return from London. And you’ll also have to carry out the transmutation process. I will have prepared the necessary plants in the tower beneath the cupola. They’ll be hidden beneath the supporting structure – I showed you where. No one will have access to the tower except the man responsible for the fireworks, and he is one of us. The risk of fireworks exploding will keep away any intruders, as will the guards posted on the stairs. At exactly ten o’clock the moon’s rays will be shining on the cupola at the optimum angle. You must be ready. Then you’ll go to Nicolas’s bedchamber. He’ll be waiting for you to make sure the operation is a success …’

  Gabriel suddenly lost his footing on a particularly slippery rung and almost fell, only just recovering his balance in time. He paused for a moment to get his breath back, then climbed deeper into the shaft.

  When he felt packed earth beneath his feet, he stepped away from the ladder and headed down the tunnel which had opened up before him. The sound of the water running through the conduits echoed in the enclosed space, making his ears buzz. He concentrated on counting the number of steps he took, forcing himself to space them evenly, and after a while he stopped and turned to face the brick wall on his right. Leaning his torch against it, he took the dagger from his belt and worked away to remove a brick that was at waist-height. It fell to the ground without a sound. Gabriel slid his hand into the cavity and withdrew a small box, which he slipped into a pouch that hung round his neck, then returned the way he had come.

  *

  ‘He’s late,’ grunted d’Orbay, his voice filled with tension.

  Screwing up his eyes against the summer wind’s caress, Fouquet turned to the architect and smiled.

  ‘Don’t be impatient. He will be here any moment now.’

  Then he gripped d’Orbay’s arm and pointed to a silhouetted figure running along beside the outbuildings.

  ‘Look, there he is. Allowing for the time it takes him to climb up to the tower, he will be in place in five minutes.’

  The Superintendent took out a small silver pocket watch and held it up.

  ‘Twenty minutes to ten. Perfect.’

  They fell silent. As they stood there on the terrace, their eyes once again swept across the vista laid out before them. The brightness of the moon, together with the lights from the party, combined to make the shadows of the groves and flowerbeds dance in the darkness.

  The two men returned to mingle with the crowd.

  A moment later, Gabriel emerged on the balcony of the tower. He glanced swiftly at the moon, then went back inside to examine the supporting structure and re-emerged a few seconds later with a black box clasped in his hands like some precious gem.

  Everything is ready, he said to himself feverishly as he lifted the lid, revealing twelve separate compartments filled with powders of various colours. All the components are here: the eight plants, the powdered gold, the water, oil and myrrh.

  Setting down the box, he picked up from the ground a telescope with a dial fixed to its end, and raised it to his eye. As he put it down again, he realised that he was trembling and mopped his brow.

  He unfolded one of the papers he had hidden beneath the fountain, read the first line, then took a pinch of powder from one of the compartments and put it into a glass test tube to check that he had the exact quantity required.

  His excitement mounted as he followed the instructions, and his heart beat louder and louder.

  Finally, he poured the oil and water onto the plants and then he stepped back to consult the watch d’Orbay had given him. It showed one minute to ten.

  Carefully picking up the vessel in which he had mixed the herbs, Gabriel held it above a copper basin. His eyes rested on the parchment that lay there just as the moon’s rays illuminated it with their almost unreal white light. A breath of wind swept across his cheeks as his hands tilted the vessel and slowly spread its contents throughout the basin. The thick, turbid liquid covered the manuscript, insinuating itself between its pages whose texture seemed to absorb it. Gabriel closed his eyes for a second. When he reopened them, he peered into the basin to see that the document had soaked up all the liquid.

  He touched the pages of the codex, which seemed once again dry, and cautiously picked it up. He hesitated for a moment, tempted to open it, and then changed his mind as he looked down and saw the first guests below him, escorted by footmen bearing lanterns, heading for the dais erected at the edge of the forest for Molière’s play. Fouquet must have taken advantage of this moment to vanish on the pretext of making final checks, and the King would have withdrawn to rest in his apartments until the spectators had taken their places. Perhaps the Superintendent was already in his bedchamber.

  Gabriel rolled up the codex in a length of white cambric, descended the twisting staircase as quickly as possible, and walked past the principal beam that supported the dome’s colossal frame. He lifted the trapdoor and operated the mechanism which opened a secret panel on the private staircase leading from the Superintendent’s office to his bedchamber. Stealthily, he crossed the space which separated him from Nicolas Fouquet, ears straining for the smallest sound. He felt for the lever that opened the hidden door, revealed in the near-darkness of the corridor by the thin line of light that surrounded it. The door swung open without a sound. Gabriel stood on its threshold for a moment, dazzled by the powerful light that blazed forth from the two crystal chandeliers and was reflected in an immense mirror of Venetian glass.

  Fouquet’s voice reached him before he actually saw the Superintendent, who was standing beside his desk.

  ‘Come here, Gabriel.’

  He obeyed, carrying the wrapped package in his hands. Fouquet took it without a word and placed it on the table. He gently removed the fabric, spent a moment contemplating the cover page, upon which had appeared green and red ornamental swirls together with a sun with fourteen rays, and caressed its surface. Then he opened up the document.

  Gabriel watched Fouquet’s hands move over the text and then looked up at his eyes. His gaze was so intense that it seemed it might set fire to the pages he was examining with such care. The Superintendent murmured some words softly as he read on.

  Finally he closed the codex and stood for a moment, gazing into space.

  When he turned towards Gabriel, the young man saw tears shining in his eyes.

  ‘It is all for the best,’ was all he said. ‘All for the best.’

  Then, as though emerging from a dream:

  ‘Did François show you the mechanism allowing access to the cavity between the two domes?’

  Gabriel nodded.

  ‘Then go,’ said the Superintendent, almost regretfully wrapping the fabric around the parchment once more. ‘Don’t waste a second: put it in place and then join us at the play.’

  Gabriel opened his mouth to answer but Fouquet was already at the door, having laid the package on the desk. Gabriel picked it up and left by the hidden door. It slammed shut, plunging him into darkness again. As he headed for the staircase leading to the dome, the young man felt his heart pounding furiously against the parchment he was clasping to his chest.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

  Vaux-le-Vicomte – Wednesday 17 August, eleven o’clock in the evening

  AS soon as the King had taken his place in the front row, Molière stepped onto the stage dressed in town clothes and looking preoccupied. The theatre had been set up on the avenue of fir trees so that its audience would benefit from the coolness of the fountains.

  ‘Sire, I am afraid we have run out of time. I hope His Majesty will forgive us for not being able to present the entertainment that was expected this evening.’

  A murmur ran through the crowd of guests i
nvited to this sumptuous party by the lord of Vaux-le-Vicomte. Louis XIV himself remained impassive as he sat beside the Superintendent of Finance, whose smile was surprising after the announcement just made by the great actor.

  But this opening artifice, devised by Molière as a prelude to the entertainment, soon gave way to Madeleine Béjart, dressed as a nymph. Thunderous applause greeted the actress’s appearance. The entertainment commissioned by Fouquet was the first of a new genre that blended theatre and dance. There were ballets by Beauchamp between each act of the play, which was entitled Les Fâcheux, and a suite by Lulli had also been included. The story lavishly praised the King’s merits, and it was a complete success. A long ovation greeted the end of the performance. Molière was exultant. The King had applauded and laughed heartily several times during the evening, which reassured Fouquet who had been suffering from a fever since the morning. As the guests began to disperse along the avenues, a firework display lit up the park, beginning with a formation of fleurs-de-lys. An enormous whale was then seen approaching along the canal, to the accompaniment of trumpets and drums. Puffs of smoke escaped from the animal, and the whole Court gasped in astonishment.

  ‘Sire,’ Fouquet ventured, ‘this feat of illumination was perfected by the great Torelli, whom I brought over from Italy expressly for you this evening.’

  Louis XIV nodded, but did not answer. He walked beside his Superintendent towards the chateau. Fouquet had been particularly attentive towards Anne of Austria, providing her with a carriage and pair so that she would be spared any exertion. Still dazzled, the crowd moved silently back towards the main building.

  ‘View it from this side, Sire,’ cried Nicolas Fouquet, pointing to the chateau’s cupola.

  At that very moment, the final, crowning piece of the firework display exploded from the dome’s pinnacle, to everyone’s great surprise. Countless fireworks now formed an arching canopy of light above the delighted and astonished crowd. The Superintendent was watching Louis XIV, who was still as impassive as ever, despite the magnificence of the spectacle.