CHAPTER CXXVIII.
THE FRIENDS OF M. FOUQUET.
The king had returned to Paris, and with him D'Artagnan, who, intwenty-four hours, having made with the greatest care all possibleinquiries at Belle-Isle, had learned 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 valiant men--whatthese two friends, whose defense he had so nobly taken up, whose liveshe had so earnestly endeavored to save--aided by three faithfulBretons--had accomplished against a whole army. He had been able to see,launched on to the neighboring heath, the human remains which hadstained with blood the stones scattered among the flowering broom. Helearned also that a bark had been seen far out at sea, and that, like abird of prey, a royal vessel had pursued, overtaken and devoured thispoor little bird which was flying with rapid wings. But thereD'Artagnan's certainties ended. The field of conjectures was thrown openat this boundary. Now, what could he conjecture? The vessel had notreturned. It is true that a brisk wind had prevailed for three days; butthe corvette was known to be a good sailer and solid in its timbers; itcould not fear gales of wind, and it ought, according to the calculationof D'Artagnan, to have either returned to Brest, or come back to themouth of the Loire. Such were the news, ambiguous, it is true, but insome degree reassuring to him personally, which D'Artagnan brought toLouis XIV., when the king, followed by all the court, returned to Paris.
Louis, satisfied with his success, Louis--more mild and more affablesince he felt himself more powerful--had not ceased for an instant toride close to the carriage door of Mademoiselle de la Valliere.Everybody had been anxious to amuse the two queens, so as to make themforget this abandonment of the son and the husband. Everything breathedof the future; the past was nothing to anybody. Only that past came likea painful and bleeding wound to the hearts of some tender and devotedspirits. Scarcely was the king re-installed in Paris, when he received atouching proof of this. Louis XIV. had just risen and taken his firstrepast, when his captain of the musketeers presented himself before him.D'Artagnan was pale and looked unhappy. The king, at the first glance,perceived the change in a countenance generally 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. de Valon, 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, is so respectable! It was my dutyto treat it kindly. To have informed you of this misfortune, which Iknew would pain you so greatly, D'Artagnan, would have been, in youreyes, to have triumphed over you. Yes, I knew that M. de Valon 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 immolatehimself to men, while the king is so often found to sacrifice men to hismajesty 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 tableclose 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 whosefortune was capable of dominating the fortunes and strength of my twofriends. You have used it, sire, but you will not abuse it, will you?"
"D'Artagnan," said the king, with a smile beaming with kindness. "Icould have M. d'Herblay carried off from the territories of the king ofSpain, 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 withhim, "I have several pieces of good news to announce to you; but youshall know 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 be a reality."
"A thousand times thanks, sire! I can wait. But I implore you, while Igo and practice patience, that your majesty will deign to notice thosepoor people who have for so long a time besieged your antechamber, 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. Pellisson, 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, "Introduce!"
The three men D'Artagnan had named soon appeared at the door of thecabinet in which were the king and his captain. A profound silenceprevailed in their passage. The courtiers, at the approach of thefriends of the unfortunate surintendant of the finances, the courtiers,we say, drew back, as if fearful of being infected by contagion withdisgrace and misfortune. D'Artagnan, with a quick step, came forward totake by the hand the unhappy men who stood trembling at the door of thecabinet; he led them to the front of the fauteuil of the king who,having placed himself in the embrasure of a window, awaited the momentof presentation, and was preparing himself to give the supplicants arigorously diplomatic reception.
The first of the friends of Fouquet that advanced was Pellisson. He didnot weep, but his tears were only restrained that the king might thebetter hear his voice and his prayer. Gourville bit his lips to checkhis tears, out of respect for the king. La Fontaine buried his face inhis handkerchief, and the only signs of life he gave were the convulsivemotions of his shoulders, raised by his sobs.
The king had preserved all his dignity. His countenance was impassible.He had even maintained the frown which had appeared when D'Artagnan hadannounced his enemies to him. He made a gesture which signified,"Speak:" and he remained standing, with his eyes searchingly fixed uponthese desponding men. Pellisson bowed down to the ground, and LaFontaine knelt as people do in churches. This obstinate silence,disturbed only by such dismal sighs and groans, began to excite in theking, not compassion, but impatience.
"Monsieur Pellisson," 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 that it is the duty of my justice to punish. A king does notallow himself to be softened but by tears and remorse; the tears of theinnocent, the remorse of guilty. I have no faith either in the remorseof M. Fouquet or the
tears of his friends, because the one is tainted tothe very heart, and the others ought to dread coming to offend me in myown palace. For these reasons, I beg you, Monsieur Pellisson, MonsieurGourville, and you, Monsieur--to say nothing that will not plainlyproclaim the respect you have for my will."
"Sire," replied Pellisson, trembling at these terrible words, "we arecome to say nothing to your majesty that is not the most profoundexpression of the most sincere respect and love which are due to a kingfrom all his subjects. Your majesty's justice is redoubtable, every onemust yield to the sentences it pronounces. We respectfully bow beforeit. Far from us be the idea of coming to defend him who has had themisfortune to offend your majesty. He who has incurred your displeasuremay be a friend of ours, but he is an enemy to the state. We abandonhim, but with tears, to the severity of the king."
"Besides," interrupted the king, calmed by that supplicating voice, andthose persuasive words, "my parliament will decide. I do not strikewithout having weighed a crime; my justice does not wield the swordwithout having employed the scales."
"Therefore have we 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 shall strike forus."
"In that case, messieurs, what do you ask of me?" said the king, withhis most imposing air.
"Sire," continued Pellisson, "the accused leaves a wife and a family.The little property he had was scarcely sufficient to pay his debts, andMadame Fouquet, since the captivity of her husband, 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, everyone flies and shuns the abode of the leprous or the plague-stricken.Sometimes, but very rarely, a generous physician alone ventures toapproach the accursed threshold, passes it with courage, and exposes hislife to combat death. He is the last resource of the dying, he is theinstrument of heavenly mercy. Sire, we supplicate you, with claspedhands and bended knees, as a divinity is supplicated! Madame Fouquethas no longer any friends, no longer any support; she weeps in her poordeserted house, abandoned by all those who besieged its doors in thehour of prosperity; she has neither credit nor hope left. At least, theunhappy wretch upon whom your anger falls, receives from you, howeverculpable he may be, the daily bread which is moistened by his tears. Asmuch afflicted, more destitute than her husband, Madame Fouquet--she whohad the honor to receive your majesty at her table--Madame Fouquet, thewife of the ancient surintendant of your majesty's finances, MadameFouquet has no longer bread."
Here the mortal silence which enchained the breath of Pellisson's twofriends was broken by an outburst of sobs: and D'Artagnan, whose chestheaved at hearing this humble prayer, turned round toward the angle ofthe cabinet to bite his mustache and conceal his sighs.
The king had preserved his eye dry and his countenance severe; but thecolor 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 Pellisson, 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 Pellisson while Fouquet was stillalive, the king turned very pale--his pride fell; pity rose from hisheart 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 toward 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 men arose in silence with dried eyes. The tears had beendried up 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 thefauteuil.
D'Artagnan remained alone with the king. "Well!" said he, approachingthe young prince, who interrogated him with his look. "Well, my master!If you had not the device which belongs to your sun, I would recommendyou one which M. Conrart should translate into Latin, 'Mild with thelowly; rough with the strong.'"
The king smiled, and passed into the next apartment after having said toD'Artagnan, "I give you the leave of absence you must want to put theaffairs of your friend the late M. de Valon in order."
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