“Monseigneur! ”—and Colbert blushed.
“This is a voyage that will cost those who have to pay for it dear, Monsieur l’Intendant!” said Fouquet. “But you have, happily, arrived—You see, however,” he added, a moment after, “that I, who had but eight rowers, arrived before you.” And he turned his back towards him, leaving him uncertain whether all the tergiversations of the second lighter had escaped the notice of the first. At least he did not give him the satisfaction of showing that he had been frightened. Colbert, so annoyingly attacked, did not give way.
“I have not been quick, monseigneur,” he replied, “because I followed your example whenever you stopped.”
“And why did you do that, Monsieur Colbert?” cried Fouquet, irritated by this base audacity; “as you had a superior crew to mine, why did you not either join me or pass me?”
“Out of respect,” said the Intendant, bowing to the ground.
Fouquet got into a carriage which the city sent to him, we know not why or how, and he repaired to la Maison de Nantes, escorted by a vast crowd of people, who for several days had been boiling with the expectation of a convocation of the States. Scarcely was he installed, when Gourville went out to order horses upon the route to Poitiers and Vannes, and a boat at Paimbœuf. He performed these various operations with so much mystery, activity, and generosity, that never was Fouquet, then labouring under an access of fever, more near being saved, except for the co-operation of that immense disturber of human projects—chance. A report was spread during the night, that the King was coming in great haste upon post horses, and that he would arrive within ten or twelve hours at latest. The people, while waiting for the King, were greatly rejoiced to see the musketeers, freshly arrived with Monsieur d‘Artagnan, their captain, and quartered in the castle, of which they occupied all the posts, in quality of guard of honour. M. d’Artagnan, who was very polite, presented himself about ten o‘clock, at the lodgings of the Surintendant, to pay his respectful compliments to him; and although the minister suffered from fever, although he was in such pain as to be bathed in sweat, he would receive M. d’Artagnan, who was delighted with that honour, as will be seen by the conversation they had together.
66
Friendly Advice
FOUQUET WAS GONE TO bed, like a man who clings to life, and who economises as much as possible, that slender tissue of existence, of which the shocks and angles of this world so quickly wear out the irreparable tenuity. D‘Artagnan appeared at the door of this chamber, and was saluted by the Surintendant with a very affable “good-day.”
“Bon jour! monseigneur,” replied the musketeer, “how did you get through the journey?”
“Tolerably well, thank you.”
“And the fever?”
“But sadly. I drink, as you see. I am scarcely arrived, and I have already levied a contribution of cooling drinks upon Nantes.”
“You should sleep first, monseigneur.”
“Eh! corbleu! my dear Monsieur d’Artagnan, I should be very glad to sleep.”
“Who hinders you?”
“Why you, in the first place.”
“I? Ah, monseigneur! ”
“No doubt you do. Is it at Nantes as it was at Paris; do you not come in the King’s name?”
“For Heaven’s sake, monseigneur,” replied the captain, “leave the King alone! The day on which I shall come on the part of the King, for the purpose you mean, take my word for it, I will not leave you long in doubt. You will see me place my hand on my sword, according to the book, and you will hear me say at once in my ceremonial voice, ‘Monseigneur, in the name of the King, I arrest you.’ ”
“You promise me that frankness?” said the Surintendant.
“Upon my honour! But we are not come to that, believe me!”
“What makes you think that, Monsieur d’Artagnan? For my part I think quite the contrary.”
“I have heard speak of nothing of the kind,” replied d’Artagnan.
“Eh! eh!” said Fouquet.
“Indeed, no. You are an agreeable man, in spite of your fever. The King ought not, cannot help loving you at the bottom of his heart.”
Fouquet’s face implied doubt. “But, M. Colbert?” said he, “does M. Colbert love me as much as you say?”
“I don’t speak of M. Colbert,” replied d’Artagnan. “He is an exceptional man, is that M. Colbert! He does not love you; that is very possible; but, mordioux! the squirrel can guard himself against the adder with very little trouble.”
“Do you know that you are speaking to me, quite as a friend,” replied Fouquet; “and that, upon my life! I have never met with a man of your intelligence, and your heart?”
“You are pleased to say so,” replied d’Artagnan. “Why did you wait till to-day to pay me such a compliment?”
“Blind as we are!” murmured Fouquet.
“Your voice is getting hoarse,” said d’Artagnan; “drink, monseigneur, drink!” And he offered him a draught, with the most friendly cordiality; Fouquet took it and thanked him by a bland smile. “Such things only happen to me,” said the musketeer. “I have passed ten years under your very beard, while you were rolling about tons of gold. You were clearing an annual pension of four millions; you never observed me; and you find out there is such a person in the world, just at the moment—”
“I am about to fall,” interrupted Fouquet. “That is true, my dear Monsieur d’Artagnan.”
“I did not say so.”
“But you thought so; and that is the same thing. Well! if I fall, take my word as truth I shall not pass a single day without saying to myself as I strike my brow, ‘Fool! fool!—stupid mortal ! You had a Monsieur d’Artagnan under your eye and hand, and you did not employ him, you did not enrich him! ’”
“You quite overwhelm me,” said the captain. “I esteem you greatly. ”
“There exists another man, then, who does not think as M. Colbert does,” said the Surintendant.
“How this M. Colbert sticks in your stomach! He is worse than your fever.”
“Oh! I have good cause,” said Fouquet. “Judge for yourself.” And he related the details of the course of the lighters, and the hypocritical persecution of Colbert. “Is not this a clear sign of my ruin?”
D’Artagnan became serious. “That is true,” said he. “Yes; that has a bad odour, as M. de Tréville used to say.” And he fixed upon M. Fouquet his intelligent and significant look.
“Am I not clearly designated in that, captain? Is not the King bringing me to Nantes to get me away from Paris, where I have so many creatures, and to possess himself of Belle-Isle?”
“Where M. d‘Herblay is,” added d’Artagnan. Fouquet raised his head. “As for me, monseigneur,” continued d’Artagnan, “I can assure you the King has said nothing to me against you.”
“Indeed!”
“The King commanded me to set out for Nantes, it is true; and to say nothing about it to M. de Gesvres.”
“My friend.”
“To M. de Gesvres, yes, monseigneur,” continued the musketeer, whose eyes did not cease to speak a language different from the language of his lips. “The King, moreover, commanded me to take a brigade of musketeers, which is apparently superfluous, as the country is quite quiet.”
“A brigade!” said Fouquet, raising himself upon his elbow.
“Ninety-six horsemen, yes, monsieur. The same number as were employed in arresting MM. de Chalais, de Cinq-Mars, and Montmorency.”
Fouquet pricked up his ears at these words, pronounced without apparent value. “And besides?” said he.
“Well! nothing but insignificant orders; such as guarding the castle, guarding every lodging, allowing none of M. de Gesvres’ guards to occupy a single post—M. de Gesvres, your friend.”
“And for myself,” cried Fouquet, “what orders had you?”
“For you, monseigneur?—not the smallest word.”
“Monsieur d’Artagnan; the safety of my honour, and, perhaps, of my life, i
s at stake. You would not deceive me?”
“I?—and to what end? Are you threatened? Only there really is an order with respect to carriages and boats—”
“An order?”
“Yes; but it cannot concern you—a simple measure of police.”
“What is it, captain—what is it?”
“To forbid all horses or boats to leave Nantes, without a pass, signed by the King.”
“Great God; but—”
D’Artagnan began to laugh. “All that is not to be put into execution before the arrival of the King at Nantes. So that you see plainly, monseigneur, the order in no wise concerns you.”
Fouquet became thoughtful, and d’Artagnan feigned not to observe his preoccupation—“It is evident, by my thus confiding to you the orders which have been given to me, that I am friendly towards you, and that I endeavour to prove to you that none of them are directed against you.”
“Without doubt!—without doubt!” said Fouquet, still absent.
“Let us recapitulate,” said the captain, his glance beaming with earnestness. “A special and severe guard of the castle in which your lodging is to be—is it not?”
“Do you know that castle?”
“Ah! monseigneur, a true prison! The total absence of Monsieur Gesvres, who has the honour of being one of your friends. The closing of the gates of the city, and of the river, without a pass; but, only when the King shall have arrived. Please to observe, Monsieur Fouquet, that, if, instead of speaking to a man like you, who are one of the first in the kingdom, I were speaking to a troubled, uneasy conscience—I should compromise myself for ever! What a fine opportunity for any one who wished to be free! No police, no guards, no orders; the water free, the roads free, Monsieur d’Artagnan obliged to lend his horses, if required! All this ought to re-assure you, Monsieur Fouquet, for the King would not have left me thus independent, if he had had any evil designs. In truth, Monsieur Fouquet, ask me whatever you like; I am at your service; and, in return, if you will consent to it, render me a service, that of offering my compliments to Aramis and Porthos, in case you embark for Belle-Isle, as you have a right to do, without changing your dress, immediately, in your robe-de-chambre-just as you are.” Saying these words, and with a profound bow, the musketeer, whose looks had lost none of their intelligent kindness, left the apartment. He had not reached the steps of the vestibule, when Fouquet, quite beside himself, hung to the bell-rope, and shouted, “My horses!—my lighter!” But nobody answered. The Surintendant dressed himself with everything that came to hand.
“Gourville!—Gourville!” cried he, while slipping his watch into his pocket. And the bell sounded again, whilst Fouquet repeated, “Gourville!—Gourville!”
Gourville at length appeared, breathless and pale.
“Let us be gone! Let us be gone!” cried Fouquet, as soon as he saw him.
“It is too late!” said the Surintendant’s poor friend.
“Too late!—why?”
“Listen!” “And they heard the sounds of trumpets and drums in front of the castle.
“What does that mean, Gourville?”
“It is the King coming, monseigneur.”
“The King!”
“The King, who has ridden double stages, who has killed horses, and who is eight hours in advance of your calculation.”
“We are lost! ” murmured Fouquet. “Brave d’Artagnan, all is over, thou hast spoken to me too late.”
The King, in fact, was entering the city, which soon resounded with the cannon from the ramparts, and from a vessel which replied from the lower part of the river. Fouquet’s brow darkened; he called his valets de chambre, and dressed in ceremonial costume. From his window, behind the curtains, he could see the eagerness of the people, and the movement of a large troop, which had followed the Prince, without its being able to be guessed how. The King was conducted to the castle in great pomp, and Fouquet saw him dismount under the portcullis, and speak something in the ear of d‘Artagnan, who held his stirrup. D’Artagnan, when the King had passed under the arch, directed his steps towards the house Fouquet was in; but so slowly, and stopping so frequently to speak to his musketeers, drawn up as a hedge, that it might be said he was counting the seconds, or the steps before accomplishing his message. Fouquet opened the window to speak to him in the court.
“Ah!” cried d’Artagnan, on perceiving him, “are you still there, monseigneur?”
And that word still completed the proof to Fouquet of how much information, and how many useful counsels were contained in the first visit the musketeer had paid him. The Surintendant sighed deeply. “Good Heavens! yes, monsieur,” replied he. “The arrival of the King has interrupted me in the projects I had formed.”
“Oh! then you know that the King has arrived?”
“Yes, monsieur, I have seen him; and this time you come from him—”
“To inquire after you, monseigneur; and, if your health is not too bad, to beg you to have the kindness to repair to the castle.”
“Directly, Monsieur d’Artagnan, directly?”
“Ah!” said the captain, “now the King is come, there is no more walking for anybody—no more free-will; the pass-word governs all now, you as well as me, me as well as you.”
Fouquet heaved a last sigh, got into his carriage, so great was his weakness, and went to the castle, escorted by d’Artagnan, whose politeness was not less terrifying this time than it had but just before been consoling and cheerful.
67
How the King, Louis XIV, Played His Little Part
As FOUQUET WAS ALIGHTING from his carriage to enter the castle of Nantes, a man of mean appearance went up to him with marks of the greatest respect, and gave him a letter. D‘Artagnan endeavoured to prevent this man from speaking to Fouquet, and pushed him away, but the message had been given to the Surintendant. Fouquet opened the letter and read it, and instantly a vague terror, which d’Artagnan did not fail to penetrate, was painted upon the countenance of the first minister. Fouquet put the paper into the portfolio which he had under his arm, and passed on towards the King’s apartments. D‘Artagrtan, through the small windows made at every landing of the donjon stairs, saw, as he went up behind Fouquet, the man who had delivered the note, look around him on the place, and make signs to several persons, who disappeared into the adjacent streets, after having themselves repeated the signals made by the person we have named. Fouquet was made to wait for a moment upon the terrace of which we have spoken, a terrace which abutted on the little corridor, at the end of which the closet of the King was established. Here d’Artagnan passed on before the Surintendant, whom, till that time, he had respectfully accompanied, and entered the royal cabinet.
“Well,” said Louis XIV, who, on perceiving him, threw on to the table covered with papers a large green cloth.
“The order is executed, sire.”
“And Fouquet?”
“Monsieur le Surintendant follows me,” said d’Artagnan.
“In ten minutes let him be introduced,” said the King, dismissing d’Artagnan again with a gesture. The latter retired; but had scarcely reached the corridor at the extremity of which Fouquet was waiting for him, when he was recalled by the King’s bell.
“Did he not appear astonished?” asked the King.
“Who, sire?”
“Fouquet,” repeated the King, without saying monsieur, a particularity which confirmed the captain of the musketeers in his suspicions.
“No, sire,” replied he.
“That’s well!” And a second time Louis dismissed d’Artagnan.
Fouquet had not quitted the terrace where he had been left by his guide. He reperused his note, which was thus conceived: —
“Something is being contrived against you. Perhaps they will not dare to carry it out at the castle; it will be on your return home. The house is already surrounded by musketeers. Do not enter. A white horse is waiting for you behind the esplanade!”
Fouquet recognised the writing and t
he zeal of Gourville. Not being willing that, if any evil happened to himself, this paper should compromise a faithful friend, the Surintendant was busy tearing it into a thousand morsels, spread about by the wind from the balustrade of the terrace. D’Artagnan found him watching the flight of the last scraps into space.
“Monsieur,” said he, “the King waits for you.”
Fouquet walked with a deliberate step into the little corridor, where MM. de Brienne and Rose were at work, whilst the Duc de Saint-Aignan, seated in a little chair, likewise in the corridor, appeared to be waiting for orders with feverish impatience, his sword between his legs. It appeared strange to Fouquet that MM. Brienne, Rose, and de Saint-Aignan, in general so attentive and obsequious, should scarcely take the least notice, as he, the Surintendant, passed. But how could he expect to find it otherwise among courtiers, he whom the King no longer called anything but Fouquet? He raised his head, determined to look every one and every thing bravely in the face, and entered the King’s apartment, where a little bell, which we already know, had announced him to His Majesty.
The King, without rising, nodded to him, and with interest: “Well! how are you, Monsieur Fouquet?” said he.
“I am in a high fever,” replied the Surintendant, “but I am at the King’s service.”
“That is well; the States assemble to-morrow; have you a speech ready?”
Fouquet looked at the King with astonishment. “I have not, sire,” replied he; “but I will improvise one. I am too well acquainted with affairs to feel any embarrassment. I have only one question to ask; will your Majesty permit me?”
“Certainly; ask it.”
“Why has your Majesty not done his first minister the honour to give him notice of this in Paris?”
“You were ill; I was not willing to fatigue you.”
“Never did a labour—never did an explanation fatigue me, sire; and, since the moment is come for me to demand an explanation of my King—”
“Oh! Monsieur Fouquet! an explanation upon what?”
“Upon your Majesty’s intentions with respect to myself.”
Man in the Iron Mask (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) Page 61