“And I have come now, sire, to inform your Majesty that I am ready to obey your orders in every respect.”
“Do you promise me many wonders, Monsieur le Surintendant?” said Louis, looking at Colbert.
“Wonders? Oh! no, sire. I do not undertake that; I hope to be able to procure your Majesty a little pleasure, perhaps even a little forgetfulness of the cares of state.”
“Nay, nay, M. Fouquet,” returned the King; “I insist upon the word ‘wonders.’ You are a magician, I believe; we all know the power you wield; we also know that you can find gold even when there is none to be found elsewhere; so much so, indeed, that the people say you coin it.”
Fouquet felt that the shot was discharged from a double quiver, and that the King had launched an arrow from his own bow as well as one from Colbert’s. “Oh!” said he laughingly, “the people know perfectly well out of what mine I procure the gold; and you know it only too well, perhaps; besides,” he added, “I can assure your Majesty that the gold destined to pay the expenses of the fête at Vaux will cost neither blood nor tears; hard labour it may, perhaps, but that can be paid for.”
Louis paused, quite confused. He wished to look at Colbert; Colbert, too, wished to reply to him; a glance as swift as an eagle’s, a proud, loyal, king-like glance, indeed, which Fouquet darted at the latter, arresting the words upon his lips. The King, who had by this time recovered his self-possession, turned towards Fouquet, saying, “I presume, therefore, I am now to consider myself formally invited?”
“Yes, sire, if your Majesty will condescend so far as to accept my invitation.”
“What day have you fixed?”
“Any day your Majesty may find most convenient.”
“You speak like an enchanter who has but to conjure up the wildest fancies, Monsieur Fouquet. I could not say so much indeed.”
“Your Majesty will do, whenever you please, everything that a monarch can and ought to do. The King of France has servants at his bidding who are able to do anything on his behalf, to accomplish everything to gratify his pleasures.”
Colbert tried to look at the Surintendant, in order to see whether this remark was an approach to less hostile sentiments on his part; but Fouquet had not even looked at his enemy, and Colbert hardly seemed to exist as far as he was concerned. “Very good, then,” said the King. “Will a week hence suit you?”
“Perfectly well, sire.”
“This is Tuesday; if I give you until next Sunday week, will that be sufficient?”
“The delay which your Majesty deigns to accord me will greatly aid the various works which my architects have in hand for the purpose of adding to the amusement of your Majesty and your friends.”
“By the bye, speaking of my friends,” resumed the King; “how do you intend to treat them?”
“The King is master everywhere, sire; your Majesty will draw up your own list and give your own orders. All those you may deign to invite will be my guests, my honoured guests indeed.”
“I thank you!” returned the King, touched by the noble thought expressed in so noble a tone.
Fouquet, therefore, took leave of Louis XIV, after a few words had been added with regard to the details of certain matters of business. He felt that Colbert would remain behind with the King, that they would both converse about him, and that neither of them would spare him in the least degree. The satisfaction of being able to give a last and terrible blow to his enemy seemed to him almost like a compensation for everything they were about to subject him to. He turned back again immediately, as soon indeed as he had reached the door and, addressing the King, said, “I was forgetting that I had to crave your Majesty’s forgiveness.”
“In what respect?” said the King graciously.
“For having committed a serious fault without perceiving it.”
“A fault! You! Ah! Monsieur Fouquet, I shall be unable to do otherwise than forgive you. In what way or against whom have you been found wanting?”
“Against every sense of propriety, sire. I forgot to inform your Majesty of a circumstance that has lately occurred of some little importance.”
“What is it?”
Colbert trembled; he fancied that he was about to frame a denunciation against him. His conduct had been unmasked. A single syllable from Fouquet, a single proof formally advanced, and before the youthful loyalty of feeling which guided Louis XIV, Colbert’s favour would disappear at once; the latter trembled, therefore, lest so daring a blow might not overthrow his whole scaffold; in point of fact, the opportunity was so admirably suited to be taken advantage of, that a skilful, practised player like Aramis would not have let it slip. “Sire,” said Fouquet, with an easy unconcerned air, “since you have had the kindness to forgive me, I am perfectly indifferent about my confession; this morning I sold one of the official appointments I hold.”
“One of your appointments,” said the King, “which?” Colbert turned perfectly livid. “That which conferred upon me, sire, a grand gown and a stern air of gravity; the appointment of procureur-général.”
The King involuntarily uttered a loud exclamation and looked at Colbert, who, with his face bedewed with perspiration, felt almost on the point of fainting. “To whom have you sold this appointment, Monsieur Fouquet?” inquired the King.
Colbert was obliged to lean against the side of the fireplace. “To a counsellor belonging to the Parliament, sire, whose name is Vanel.”
“Vanel?”
“Yes, sire, a friend of Colbert,” added Fouquet; letting every word fall from his lips with the most inimitable nonchalance, and with an admirably assumed expression of forgetfulness and ignorance. And having finished, and having overwhelmed Colbert beneath the weight of this superiority, the Surintendant again saluted the King and quitted the room, partially revenged by the stupefaction of the King and the humiliation of the favourite.
“Is it really possible,” said the King, as soon as Fouquet had disappeared, “that he has sold that office?”
“Yes, sire,” said Colbert meaningly.
“He must be mad,” the King added.
Colbert this time did not reply; he had penetrated the King’s thought, a thought which amply revenged him for the humiliation he had just been made to suffer; his hatred was augmented by a feeling of bitter jealousy of Fouquet; and a threat of disgrace was now added to the plan he had arranged for his ruin. Colbert felt perfectly assured that for the future, between Louis XIV and himself, hostile feelings and ideas would meet with no obstacles, and that at the first fault committed by Fouquet, which could be laid hold of as a pretext, the chastisement impending over him would be precipitated. Fouquet had thrown aside his weapons of defence, and hate and jealousy had picked them up. Colbert was invited by the King to the fête at Vaux; he bowed like a man confident in himself, and accepted the invitation with the air of one who almost confers a favour. The King was about to write down Saint-Aignan’s name on his list of royal commands, when the usher announced the Comte de Saint-Aignan; as soon as the royal “Mercury”s entered, Colbert discreetly withdrew.
18
Rival Affections
SAINT-AIGNAN HAD QUITTED Louis XIV hardly a couple of hours before; but in the first effervescence of his affection, whenever Louis XIV did not see La Vallière, he was obliged to talk of her. Besides, the only person with whom he could speak about her at his ease was Saint-Aignan, and Saint-Aignan had, therefore, become indispensable to him.
“Ah! is that you, Comte?” he exclaimed as soon as he perceived him, doubly delighted, not only to see him again, but also to get rid of Colbert, whose scowling face always put him out of humour. “So much the better, I am very glad to see you; you will make one of the travelling party, I suppose?”
“Of what travelling party are you speaking, sire?” inquired Saint-Aignan.
“The one we are making up to go to the fête the Surintendant is about to give at Vaux. Ah! Saint-Aignan, you will, at last, see a fête, a royal fête, by the side of which all our am
usements at Fontainebleau are petty, contemptible affairs.”
“At Vaux! the Surintendant going to give a fête in your Majesty’s honour? Nothing more than that!”
“ ‘Nothing more than that,’ do you say. It is very diverting to find you treating it with so much disdain. Are you, who express such an indifference on the subject, aware, that as soon as it is known that M. Fouquet is going to receive me at Vaux next Sunday week, people will be striving their very utmost to get invited to the fête. I repeat, Saint-Aignan, you shall be one of the invited guests.”
“Very well, sire; unless I shall, in the meantime, have undertaken a longer and less agreeable journey.”
“What journey do you allude to?”
“The one across the Styx,t sire.”
“Bah!” said Louis XIV, laughing.
“No, seriously, sire,” replied Saint-Aignan, “I am invited there; and in such a way, in truth, that I hardly know what to say, or how to act, in order to refuse it.”
“I do not understand you. I know that you are in a poetical vein; but try not to sink from Apollo to Phœbus.”9
“Very well; if your Majesty will deign to listen to me, I will not put your mind on the rack any longer.”
“Speak. ”
“Your Majesty knows the Baron du Vallon?”
“Yes, indeed; a good servant to my father, the late King, and an admirable companion at table; for, I think, you are referring to the one who dined with us at Fontainebleau?”
“Precisely so; but you have omitted to add to his other qualifications, sire, that he is a most charming killer of other people.”
“What! Does M. du Vallon wish to kill you?”
“Or to get me killed, which is the same thing.”
“The deuce!”
“Do not laugh, sire, for I am not saying a word that is not the exact truth.”
“And you say he wishes to get you killed?”
“That is that excellent person’s present idea.”
“Be easy; I will defend you, if he be in the wrong.”
“Ah! there is an ‘if’!”
“Of course; answer me as candidly as if it were some one else’s affair instead of your own, my poor Saint-Aignan; is he right or wrong?”
“Your Majesty shall be the judge.”
“What have you done to him?”
“To him, personally, nothing at all; but, it seems, I have to one of his friends.”
“It is all the same. Is his friend one of the celebrated ‘four’?”
“No! It is the son of one of the celebrated ‘four,’ instead.”
“What have you done to the son? Come, tell me.”
“Why, it seems I have helped some one to take his mistress from him.”
“You confess it, then?”
“I cannot help confessing it, for it is true.”
“In that case, you are wrong; and if he were to kill you, he would be acting perfectly right.”
“Ah! that is your Majesty’s way of reasoning, then?”
“Do you think it a bad way?”
“It is a very expeditious way, at all events.”
“ ‘Good justice is prompt’; so my grandfather, Henry IV, used to say.”
“In that case, your Majesty will, perhaps, be good enough to sign my adversary’s pardon, for he is now waiting for me at the Minimes, for the purpose of putting me out of my misery.”
“His name, and a parchment!”
“There is a parchment upon your Majesty’s table; and as for his name—”
“Well, what is it?”
“The Vicomte de Bragelonne, sire.”
“ ‘The Vicomte de Bragelonne’!” exclaimed the King, changing from a fit of laughter, to the most profound stupor; and then, after a moment’s silence, while he wiped his forehead, which was bedewed with perspiration, he again murmured, “Bragelonne!”
“No other than he, sire.”
“Bragelonne, who was affianced to—”
“Yes, sire.”
“He was in London, however.”
“Yes, but I can assure you, sire, he is there no longer.”
“Is he in Paris, then?”
“He is at the Minimes, sire, where he is waiting for me, as I have already had the honour of telling you.”
“Does he know all?”
“Yes; and many things besides. Perhaps your Majesty would like to look at the letter I have received from him;” and Saint-Aignan drew from his pocket the note which we are already acquainted with. “When your Majesty has read the letter, I will tell you how it reached me.”
The King read it in great agitation, and immediately said, “Well?”
“Well, sire; your Majesty knows a certain carved lock, closing a certain door of ebony-wood, which separates a certain apartment from a certain blue and white sanctuary?”
“Of course; Louise’s boudoir.”
“Yes, sire. Well, it was in the key-hole of that lock that I found that note.”
“Who placed it there?”
“Either M. de Bragelonne, or the devil himself; but, inasmuch as the note smells of amber and not of sulphur, I conclude that it must be, not the devil, but M. de Bragelonne.”
Louis bent down his head, and seemed absorbed in sad and melancholy reflections. Perhaps something like remorse was at the moment passing through his heart. “The secret is discovered,” he said.
“Sire, I shall do my utmost, that the secret dies in the breast of the man who possesses it,” said Saint-Aignan in a tone of bravado, as he moved towards the door; but a gesture of the King made him pause.
“Where are you going?” he inquired.
“Where I am waited for, sire.”
“What for?”
“To fight, in all probability.”
“You fight!” exclaimed the King. “One moment, if you please, Monsieur le Comte!”
Saint-Aignan shook his head as a rebellious child does, whenever any one interferes to prevent him throwing himself into a well, or playing with a knife.
“But yet, sire,” he said.
“In the first place,” continued the King, “I require to be enlightened a little.”
“Upon that point, if your Majesty will be pleased to interrogate me,” replied Saint-Aignan, “I will throw what light I can.”
“Who told you that M. de Bragelonne had penetrated into that room?”
“The letter which I found in the keyhole told me so.”
“Who told you that it was de Bragelonne who put it there?”
“Who but himself would have dared to undertake such a mission?”
“You are right. How was he able to get into your rooms?”
“Ah! that is very serious, inasmuch as all the doors were closed, and my lackey, Basque, had the keys in his pocket.”
“Your lackey must have been bribed.”
“Impossible, sire; for if he had been bribed, those who did so would not have sacrificed the poor fellow, whom, it is not unlikely, they might want to turn to further use by-and-by, in showing so clearly that it was he whom they had made use of.”
“Quite true. And now I can only form one conjecture.”
“Tell me what it is, sire, and we shall see if it is the same that has presented itself to my mind.”
“That he affected an entrance by means of the staircase.”
“Alas, sire, that seems to me more than probable.”
“There is no doubt that some one must have sold the secret of the trap-door.”
“Either sold it or given it.”
“Why do you make that distinction?”
“Because there are certain persons, sire, who, being above the price of a treason, give, and do not sell.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, sire! Your Majesty’s mind is too clear-sighted not to guess what I mean, and you will save me the embarrassment of naming the person I allude to.”
“You are right; you mean Madame! I suppose her suspicions were aroused by your changing y
our lodgings.”
“Madame has keys of the apartments of her maids-of-honour, and she is powerful enough to discover what no one but yourself could do, or she would not be able to discover anything.”
“And you suppose, then, that my sister-in-law must have entered into an alliance with Bragelonne, and has informed him of all the details of the affair?”
“Perhaps even better still, for she perhaps accompanied him there.”
“Which way? through your own apartments?”
“You think it impossible, sire? Well, listen to me. Your Majesty knows that Madame is very fond of perfumes?”
“Yes, she acquired that taste from my mother.”
“Vervain particularly.”
“Yes, it is the scent she prefers to all others.”
“Very good, sire! my apartments happen to smell very strongly of vervain.”
The King remained silent and thoughtful for a few moments, and then resumed, “But why should Madame take Bragelonne’s part against me?”
Saint-Aignan could very easily have replied, “A woman’s jealousy!” The King probed his friend to the bottom of his heart to ascertain if he had learned the secret of his flirtation with his sister-in-law. But Saint-Aignan was not an ordinary courtier; he did not lightly run the risk of finding out family secrets; and he was too good a friend of the Muses not to think very frequently of poor Ovidius Naso, whose eyes shed so many tears in expiation of his crime for having once beheld something, one hardly knows what, in the palace of Augustus. He therefore passed by Madame’s secret very skilfully. But as he had shown no ordinary sagacity in indicating Madame’s presence in his rooms in company with Bragelonne, it was necessary, of course, for him to repay with interest the King’s amour propre, and reply plainly to the question which had been put to him of, “Why has Madame taken Bragelonne’s part against me?”
“Why?” replied Saint-Aignan. “Your Majesty forgets, I presume, that the Comte de Guiche is the intimate friend of the Vicomte de Bragelonne?”
“I do not see the connection, however,” said the King.
“Ah! I beg your pardon, then, sire; but I thought the Comte de Guiche was a very great friend of Madame’s.”
“Quite true,” the King returned; “there is no occasion to search any further, the blow came from that direction.”
Man in the Iron Mask (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) Page 18
