Chapter LIV. M. Fouquet's Friends.
The king had returned to Paris, and with him D'Artagnan, who, intwenty-four hours, having made with greatest care all possible inquiriesat Belle-Isle, succeeded in learning nothing of the secret so well keptby the heavy rock of Locmaria, which had fallen on the heroic Porthos.The captain of the musketeers only knew what those two valiantmen--these two friends, whose defense he had so nobly taken up, whoselives he had so earnestly endeavored to save--aided by three faithfulBretons, had accomplished against a whole army. He had seen, spread onthe neighboring heath, the human remains which had stained with cloutedblood the scattered stones among the flowering broom. He learned alsothat a bark had been seen far out at sea, and that, like a bird of prey,a royal vessel had pursued, overtaken, and devoured the poor littlebird that was flying with such palpitating wings. But there D'Artagnan'scertainties ended. The field of supposition was thrown open. Now, whatcould he conjecture? The vessel had not returned. It is true that abrisk wind had prevailed for three days; but the corvette was known tobe a good sailer and solid in its timbers; it had no need to fear a galeof wind, and it ought, according to the calculation of D'Artagnan, tohave either returned to Brest, or come back to the mouth of the Loire.Such was the news, ambiguous, it is true, but in some degree reassuringto him personally, which D'Artagnan brought to Louis XIV., when theking, followed by all the court, returned to Paris.
Louis, satisfied with his success--Louis, more mild and affable as hefelt himself more powerful--had not ceased for an instant to ride besidethe carriage door of Mademoiselle de la Valliere. Everybody was anxiousto amuse the two queens, so as to make them forget this abandonment byson and husband. Everything breathed the future, the past was nothing toanybody. Only that past was like a painful bleeding wound to the heartsof certain tender and devoted spirits. Scarcely was the king reinstalledin Paris, when he received a touching proof of this. Louis XIV. hadjust risen and taken his first repast when his captain of the musketeerspresented himself before him. D'Artagnan was pale and looked unhappy.The king, at the first glance, perceived the change in a countenancegenerally so unconcerned. "What is the matter, D'Artagnan?" said he.
"Sire, a great misfortune has happened to me."
"Good heavens! what is that?"
"Sire, I have lost one of my friends, M. du Vallon, in the affair ofBelle-Isle."
And, while speaking these words, D'Artagnan fixed his falcon eye uponLouis XIV., to catch the first feeling that would show itself.
"I knew it," replied the king, quietly.
"You knew it, and did not tell me!" cried the musketeer.
"To what good? Your grief, my friend, was so well worthy of respect. Itwas my duty to treat it gently. To have informed you of this misfortune,which I knew would pain you so greatly, D'Artagnan, would have been, inyour eyes, to have triumphed over you. Yes, I knew that M. du Vallon hadburied himself beneath the rocks of Locmaria; I knew that M. d'Herblayhad taken one of my vessels with its crew, and had compelled it toconvey him to Bayonne. But I was willing you should learn these mattersin a direct manner, in order that you might be convinced my friends arewith me respected and sacred; that always in me the man will sacrificehimself to subjects, whilst the king is so often found to sacrifice mento majesty and power."
"But, sire, how could you know?"
"How do you yourself know, D'Artagnan?"
"By this letter, sire, which M. d'Herblay, free and out of danger,writes me from Bayonne."
"Look here," said the king, drawing from a casket placed upon the tablecloset to the seat upon which D'Artagnan was leaning, "here is a lettercopied exactly from that of M. d'Herblay. Here is the very letter, whichColbert placed in my hands a week before you received yours. I am wellserved, you may perceive."
"Yes, sire," murmured the musketeer, "you were the only man whose starwas equal to the task of dominating the fortune and strength of my twofriends. You have used your power, sire, you will not abuse it, willyou?"
"D'Artagnan," said the king, with a smile beaming with kindness, "Icould have M. d'Herblay carried off from the territories of the kingof Spain, and brought here, alive, to inflict justice upon him. But,D'Artagnan, be assured I will not yield to this first and naturalimpulse. He is free--let him continue free."
"Oh, sire! you will not always remain so clement, so noble, so generousas you have shown yourself with respect to me and M. d'Herblay; you willhave about you counselors who will cure you of that weakness."
"No, D'Artagnan, you are mistaken when you accuse my council of urgingme to pursue rigorous measures. The advice to spare M. d'Herblay comesfrom Colbert himself."
"Oh, sire!" said D'Artagnan, extremely surprised.
"As for you," continued the king, with a kindness very uncommon to him,"I have several pieces of good news to announce to you; but you shallknow them, my dear captain, the moment I have made my accounts allstraight. I have said that I wish to make, and would make, your fortune;that promise will soon become reality."
"A thousand times thanks, sire! I can wait. But I implore you, whilst Igo and practice patience, that your majesty will deign to notice thosepoor people who have for so long a time besieged your ante-chamber, andcome humbly to lay a petition at your feet."
"Who are they?"
"Enemies of your majesty." The king raised his head.
"Friends of M. Fouquet," added D'Artagnan.
"Their names?"
"M. Gourville, M. Pelisson, and a poet, M. Jean de la Fontaine."
The king took a moment to reflect. "What do they want?"
"I do not know."
"How do they appear?"
"In great affliction."
"What do they say?"
"Nothing."
"What do they do?"
"They weep."
"Let them come in," said the king, with a serious brow.
D'Artagnan turned rapidly on his heel, raised the tapestry which closedthe entrance to the royal chamber, and directing his voice to theadjoining room, cried, "Enter."
The three men D'Artagnan had named immediately appeared at the door ofthe cabinet in which were the king and his captain. A profound silenceprevailed in their passage. The courtiers, at the approach of thefriends of the unfortunate superintendent of finances, drew back, asif fearful of being affected by contagion with disgrace and misfortune.D'Artagnan, with a quick step, came forward to take by the hand theunhappy men who stood trembling at the door of the cabinet; he led themin front of the king's _fauteuil_, who, having placed himself in theembrasure of a window, awaited the moment of presentation, and waspreparing himself to give the supplicants a rigorously diplomaticreception.
The first of the friends of Fouquet's to advance was Pelisson. He didnot weep, but his tears were only restrained that the king might betterhear his voice and prayer. Gourville bit his lips to check his tears,out of respect for the king. La Fontaine buried his face in hishandkerchief, and the only signs of life he gave were the convulsivemotions of his shoulders, raised by his sobs.
The king preserved his dignity. His countenance was impassible. Heeven maintained the frown which appeared when D'Artagnan announced hisenemies. He made a gesture which signified, "Speak;" and he remainedstanding, with his eyes fixed searchingly on these desponding men.Pelisson bowed to the ground, and La Fontaine knelt as people do inchurches. This dismal silence, disturbed only by sighs and groans, beganto excite in the king, not compassion, but impatience.
"Monsieur Pelisson," said he, in a sharp, dry tone. "Monsieur Gourville,and you, Monsieur--" and he did not name La Fontaine, "I cannot, withoutsensible displeasure, see you come to plead for one of the greatestcriminals it is the duty of justice to punish. A king does not allowhimself to soften save at the tears of the innocent, the remorse of theguilty. I have no faith either in the remorse of M. Fouquet or the tearsof his friends, because the one is tainted to the very heart, and theothers ought to dread offending me in my own palace. For these reasons,I beg you, Monsieur Pelisson, Monsieur Gourv
ille, and you, Monsieur--,to say nothing that will not plainly proclaim the respect you have formy will."
"Sire," replied Pelisson, trembling at these words, "we are come to saynothing to your majesty that is not the most profound expression ofthe most sincere respect and love that are due to a king from all hissubjects. Your majesty's justice is redoubtable; every one must yield tothe sentences it pronounces. We respectfully bow before it. Far from usthe idea of coming to defend him who has had the misfortune to offendyour majesty. He who has incurred your displeasure may be a friend ofours, but he is an enemy to the state. We abandon him, but with tears,to the severity of the king."
"Besides," interrupted the king, calmed by that supplicating voice,and those persuasive words, "my parliament will decide. I do not strikewithout first having weighed the crime; my justice does not wield thesword without employing first a pair of scales."
"Therefore we have every confidence in that impartiality of the king,and hope to make our feeble voices heard, with the consent of yourmajesty, when the hour for defending an accused friend strikes."
"In that case, messieurs, what do you ask of me?" said the king, withhis most imposing air.
"Sire," continued Pelisson, "the accused has a wife and family. Thelittle property he had was scarcely sufficient to pay his debts,and Madame Fouquet, since her husband's captivity, is abandoned byeverybody. The hand of your majesty strikes like the hand of God. Whenthe Lord sends the curse of leprosy or pestilence into a family,every one flies and shuns the abode of the leprous or plague-stricken.Sometimes, but very rarely, a generous physician alone ventures toapproach the ill-reputed threshold, passes it with courage, and riskshis life to combat death. He is the last resource of the dying, thechosen instrument of heavenly mercy. Sire, we supplicate you, withclasped hands and bended knees, as a divinity is supplicated! MadameFouquet has no longer any friends, no longer any means of support; sheweeps in her deserted home, abandoned by all those who besieged itsdoors in the hour of prosperity; she has neither credit nor hope left.At least, the unhappy wretch upon whom your anger falls receives fromyou, however culpable he may be, his daily bread though moistened byhis tears. As much afflicted, more destitute than her husband, MadameFouquet--the lady who had the honor to receive your majesty at hertable--Madame Fouquet, the wife of the ancient superintendent of yourmajesty's finances, Madame Fouquet has no longer bread."
Here the mortal silence which had chained the breath of Pelisson's twofriends was broken by an outburst of sobs; and D'Artagnan, whose chestheaved at hearing this humble prayer, turned round towards the angle ofthe cabinet to bite his mustache and conceal a groan.
The king had preserved his eye dry and his countenance severe; butthe blood had mounted to his cheeks, and the firmness of his look wasvisibly diminished.
"What do you wish?" said he, in an agitated voice.
"We come humbly to ask your majesty," replied Pelisson, upon whomemotion was fast gaining, "to permit us, without incurring thedispleasure of your majesty, to lend to Madame Fouquet two thousandpistoles collected among the old friends of her husband, in order thatthe widow may not stand in need of the necessaries of life."
At the word _widow_, pronounced by Pelisson whilst Fouquet was stillalive, the king turned very pale;--his pride disappeared; pity rose fromhis heart to his lips; he cast a softened look upon the men who kneltsobbing at his feet.
"God forbid," said he, "that I should confound the innocent with theguilty. They know me but ill who doubt my mercy towards the weak. Istrike none but the arrogant. Do, messieurs, do all that your heartscounsel you to assuage the grief of Madame Fouquet. Go, messieurs--go!"
The three now rose in silence with dry eyes. The tears had been scorchedaway by contact with their burning cheeks and eyelids. They had notthe strength to address their thanks to the king, who himself cut shorttheir solemn reverences by entrenching himself suddenly behind the_fauteuil_.
D'Artagnan remained alone with the king.
"Well," said he, approaching the young prince, who interrogated him withhis look. "Well, my master! If you had not the device which belongs toyour sun, I would recommend you one which M. Conrart might translateinto eclectic Latin, 'Calm with the lowly; stormy with the strong.'"
The king smiled, and passed into the next apartment, after having saidto D'Artagnan, "I give you the leave of absence you must want to put theaffairs of your friend, the late M. du Vallon, in order."
The Man in the Iron Mask Page 54