“No need, Monsieur; you audited the accounts, so tell me the balance.”
“Easily done, Sire. Empty everywhere, money nowhere.”
“Take care, Monsieur, you’re impugning the management of Monsieur Fouquet, whom everyone says is a capable man.”
Colbert flushed, then turned pale, for he felt that from this moment, he was at war with a man whose power was nearly as great as that of the late minister. “Indeed, Sire, a very capable man,” Colbert repeated with a bow.
“But if Monsieur Fouquet is a capable man who, despite his capability, lacks funds, whose fault is that?”
“I accuse no one, Sire, I just state the facts.”
“Very well; summarize your accounts and present them to me. There’s a deficit, you say? But a deficit can be temporary—credit comes back, the funds replenish.”
“No, Sire.”
“Not this year, perhaps, I understand that, but next year?”
“Next year, Sire, is as exhausted as this year.”
“And the year after that?”
“The same.”
“What are you telling me, Monsieur Colbert?”
“That the next four years’ revenue is expended in advance.”
“We’ll need a loan, then.”
“We’ll need three, Sire.”
“I’ll create offices and sell them, and the price of the posts will be paid into the treasury.”
“Impossible, Sire, for post upon post has already been created and sold, most with their requirements left blank so that the purchasers need do nothing to fulfill them—which means Your Majesty can’t even force them to resign for noncompliance. Furthermore, Monsieur le Surintendant sold the posts at a one-third discount, so the people are further burdened, and Your Majesty doesn’t even profit from it.”
The king frowned. “Explain that to me, Monsieur Colbert.”
“If Your Majesty can formulate his question more clearly, I shall try to explain what he wishes to know.”
“You’re right—clarity is what we need.”
“Yes, Sire, clarity. God is God above all because he made the light.”
“Then, tell me, for example, if Monsieur le Cardinal is dead,” asked Louis XIV, “now that I rule as king, what if I want some money?”
“Your Majesty has none.”
“How can that be, Monsieur? Can’t the superintendent find me any money?”
Colbert shook his heavy head.
“Why?” said the king. “Are the State’s revenues so completely committed that there’s no income at all?”
“At this point, Sire, yes.”
The king frowned. “In that case, I’ll have the King’s Council draw up orders to sell off our notes at a low rate for quick liquidation.”
“Impossible, for the notes have been converted into mortgages and the mortgages have been leveraged, with the debts divided into so many parts and resold that the original note could never be reconstructed.”
Louis, upset, was walking back and forth, frowning. “But if it’s as you say, Monsieur Colbert,” he said, stopping suddenly, “wouldn’t I be ruined before I’ve even reigned?”
“That is, in fact, the case, Sire,” replied the impassive compiler of figures.
“But surely, Monsieur, there’s some money somewhere?”
“There is, Sire, and as a beginning, I bring Your Majesty an account of funds that Monsieur le Cardinal de Mazarin wasn’t willing to list in his last will and testament, or in any testament at all, but which he entrusted to me.”
“To you?”
“Yes, Sire, with instructions to deliver them to Your Majesty.”
“What? Money beyond the forty million in the will?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Monsieur de Mazarin had even more money?”
Colbert bowed.
“What a bottomless pit that man was!” murmured the king. “Monsieur de Mazarin on the one hand, Monsieur Fouquet on the other, and maybe a hundred million between them! It’s no wonder my coffers are empty.”
Colbert just waited.
“And is the sum you bring me worth the trouble?” asked the king.
“Yes, Sire, it’s a goodly sum.”
“Amounting to…?”
“Thirteen million livres, Sire.”
“Thirteen million!” cried Louis XIV, trembling with joy. “Did you say thirteen million, Monsieur Colbert?”
“I said thirteen million, yes, Your Majesty.”
“That nobody knows about?”
“That nobody knows about.”
“And which are in your hands?”
“In my hands, yes, Sire.”
“And when could I have it?”
“Within two hours.”
“But where is it, then?”
“In the cellar of a house that Monsieur le Cardinal had in the city, and which he was good enough to leave to me in a particular clause in his will.”
“You’re familiar with the cardinal’s will?”
“I have a legal copy signed by his hand.”
“A copy?”
“Yes, Sire. Here it is.” Colbert drew the will from his doublet and showed it to the king.
Louis read the article relative to the gift of the house. “But,” he said, “this is only about the house, and doesn’t mention any money.”
“Your pardon, Sire, but that part was confided to my conscience.”
“And Monsieur de Mazarin confided that to you?”
“Why not, Sire?”
“Him, the most suspicious of all men?”
“He wasn’t so with me, Sire, as Your Majesty can see.”
Louis paused to admire that face, vulgar but expressive. “You’re an honest man, Monsieur Colbert,” said the king.
“It’s not a virtue, Sire, it’s a duty,” replied Colbert coolly.
“But isn’t that money intended for his family?” asked Louis XIV.
“If that money were for his family, it would be listed in the cardinal’s will with the rest of his fortune. If that money was owed to the family, I, who drew up the deed of bequest in favor of His Majesty, would have added the sum of thirteen million to the forty million already offered to you.”
“What!” said Louis XIV. “It was you who drew up the bequest, Monsieur Colbert?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“And yet the cardinal trusted you?” added the king naïvely.
“I told His Eminence that Your Majesty would never accept it,” said Colbert in his usual tone, calm and rather solemn.
Louis wiped his hand across his brow. “Oh, how young I am,” he murmured under his breath, “to think I can command men!”
Colbert waited until the end of this interior dialogue and Louis lifted his head. “At what time should I bring the money to Your Majesty?” he asked.
“Tonight, at eleven o’clock. And I don’t want anyone to know that I have this money.”
Colbert made no reply, as if he preferred to talk as little as necessary about secrets.
“This sum, is it in ingots or in coins?”
“In gold coins, Sire.”
“Good.”
“Where shall I bring it?”
“To the Louvre. Thank you, Monsieur Colbert.”
Colbert bowed and left.
“Thirteen million!” whispered Louis XIV when he was alone. “It’s like a dream!”
He leaned his forehead into his hands, as if he were preparing to sleep. But after a moment he raised his head, shook his shining hair, rose, and throwing open the window, bathed his burning forehead in the brisk morning breeze that brought him the bitter scent of the trees and the sweet perfume of the flowers. A resplendent dawn was rising on the horizon, and the first rays of the sun gilded the young king’s brow.
“This golden dawn is the first of my reign,” murmured Louis XIV. “Is this an omen that you send me, Almighty God?”
L The First Day of the Reign of Louis XIV
That morning the news of the cardinal�
�s death spread throughout the château, and from the château to the city. The ministers Fouquet, Lyonne, and Le Tellier went to the King’s Council chamber for a meeting; the king, hearing of it, sent for them immediately. “Messieurs,” he said, “while Monsieur le Cardinal lived, I allowed him to govern my affairs, but now I intend to govern them myself. You will give me your opinion when I ask you for it. Now go!”
The ministers looked at each other in surprise. If they managed not to openly smile it was with great effort, for they knew that the prince, raised in absolute ignorance of affairs, had taken on, out of pride, a burden far beyond his abilities.
Fouquet took leave of his colleagues on the staircase, saying, “So much the less work for us, Messieurs.” And he went cheerfully to his carriage. The other two, rather anxious about this turn of events, returned together to Paris.
The king, around ten o’clock, went to visit his mother, with whom he had a long conversation, and then, after the midday meal, he called for a closed carriage and went straight to the Louvre. There he received a great many people, taking a certain pleasure in their curiosity and hesitation.
Toward evening, he ordered the gates of the Louvre to be closed, all but one that opened onto the river quay. He sent as sentries to this gate two of the Hundred Swiss who didn’t speak a word of French, with orders to admit all bearers of deliveries but no one else, and then to let no one leave. At eleven exactly he heard the rumbling of a heavy wagon outside the river gate, then another, and finally a third, and then the gate squealed on its hinges as it closed. Shortly thereafter someone scratched at the door123 to his study; the king opened it himself to find Colbert, whose first words were, “The money is in Your Majesty’s cellars.”
Louis then went down personally to see for himself the barrels of coins, gold, and silver, that, under the eye of Colbert, four men had just rolled down into a vault the key to which the king had given Colbert that morning. His inspection completed, the king returned to his rooms, followed by Colbert, whose chilly demeanor seemed not the least bit warmed by the satisfaction of this personal success.
“Monsieur,” said the king, “what would you desire as your reward for this devotion and integrity?”
“Absolutely nothing, Sire.”
“What, nothing? Not even the opportunity to serve me?”
“If Your Majesty doesn’t give me an opportunity, I will serve him nonetheless. It’s impossible for me not to serve the king as well as I’m able.”
“You will be my Intendant des Finances, Monsieur Colbert.”
“But isn’t there a superintendent, Sire?”
“Indeed.”
“Sire, the Surintendant des Finances is the most powerful man in the realm.”
“Oh?” exclaimed Louis, flushing. “Is that what you think?”
“I won’t last a week under him, Sire, unless Your Majesty gives me independent authority. An intendant under a superintendent has none.”
“You don’t think you could depend upon me?”
“As I had the honor to tell Your Majesty, while Monsieur Mazarin was alive, Monsieur Fouquet was the second man in the kingdom; now that Monsieur Mazarin is dead, he’s the first.”
“Monsieur, I’m willing to tolerate hearing you say such things to me today, but tomorrow, believe me, I won’t put up with it.”
“Then I shall be of no use to Your Majesty?”
“You’re already useless, since you’re afraid to compromise yourself by serving me.”
“The only thing I fear is not having the means to serve.”
“What do you want, then?”
“I want Your Majesty to give me some assistants to serve in his intendancy.”
“Won’t that diminish your position?”
“It will add to its security.”
“Name your colleagues.”
“Messieurs Breteuil, Marin, and Hervard.”
“They’ll be in place tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Sire!”
“Is that all you need?”
“No, Sire, one thing more…”
“What’s that?”
“Allow me to empanel a Court of Justice.”
“A Court of Justice? To do what?”
“To try the corrupt tax-farmers and debt collectors who’ve been cheating the treasury for the past ten years.”
“But… what will we do to them?”
“We’ll hang two or three of them, which will make the rest come clean.”
“But I can’t begin my reign with a spate of executions, Monsieur Colbert.”
“On the contrary, Sire, better to begin with a few executions than to end in mass upheaval.”
The king said nothing to this.
“Does Your Majesty agree?” said Colbert.
“I’ll think about it, Monsieur.”
“A delay to think about it will render it too late.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re dealing with men whose positions, given time to reinforce them, are stronger than ours.”
“Empanel your Court of Justice, Monsieur.”
“I shall do so.”
“Is that all?”
“No, Sire, there’s one more important thing. What authority does Your Majesty give to this intendancy?”
“Well, I don’t know… the usual authority, I suppose.”
“Sire, I need this intendancy to include the right to read any correspondence with England.”
“Impossible, Monsieur—that correspondence isn’t even shared with the King’s Council. Monsieur le Cardinal handled it personally.”
“I thought Your Majesty had declared this morning that he would handle such affairs without the council.”
“Yes, I did declare that.”
“Then let Your Majesty himself be the only one to read such correspondence, particularly from England; I must emphasize the importance of this.”
“Monsieur, you shall handle that particular correspondence, and give me a full account of it.”
“Now, Sire, what shall I do regarding the finances?”
“Everything that Monsieur Fouquet doesn’t do.”
“Then that’s all I need from Your Majesty. Thank you, that puts my mind at ease.” And with these words, he took his leave.
Louis watched him go. Colbert wasn’t a hundred paces from the Louvre when the king received a courier from England. After a quick look at the envelope the king opened it and found within a letter from King Charles II. Here’s what the English prince wrote to his royal brother:
Your Majesty must be very anxious about the illness of Monsieur le Cardinal Mazarin, but this imminent danger must serve to inspire you, as the cardinal is given up for dead by his own physician. I thank you for your gracious reply to my communication regarding Lady Henrietta Stuart, my sister, and in a week the princess will leave for Paris with her court.
It warms my heart to acknowledge the fraternal friendship which you’ve shown me, and which makes you all the more my brother. And it’s good, moreover, to prove to Your Majesty just how warm my feelings are. You are quietly fortifying Belle-Île-en Mer.124 This is a mistake; we will never make war on one another. This measure doesn’t upset me, it just makes me sad. You are spending millions there uselessly and can tell your ministers as much. As you can see, my intelligencers are well informed, and I hope, my brother, that you can render me a similar service if the chance arises.
The king tugged violently on his bell pull, and his valet de chambre appeared. “Monsieur Colbert just left and can’t have gone far,” he cried. “Call him back!”
The valet was about to follow this order when the king stopped him. “No, never mind,” he said, and then continued to himself, “I see what Colbert was up to. Belle-Île belongs to Monsieur Fouquet, and fortification of it implicates Fouquet in conspiracy. Discovery of this conspiracy is the ruin of the superintendent, its discovery would be reported in correspondence from England, and that’s why Colbert wanted to handle that correspondence. But, oh!
I can’t rely solely on this man—he’s a brain, but I also need brawn.”
Louis paused, then gave a cry of satisfaction. He said to the valet, “Didn’t I have a Lieutenant of Musketeers?”
“Yes, Sire, Monsieur d’Artagnan.”
“Who recently left my service?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Find him for me, and make sure he’s here for tomorrow morning’s lever.”
The valet bowed and went out.
“Thirteen million in my cellar,” the king said, “Colbert holding my purse and d’Artagnan wielding my sword: I am king!”
The End
~ The story continues in Book Six of the Musketeers Cycle,
Court of Daggers ~
Historical Characters
ANNE OF AUSTRIA: Anne of Austria, “Anne d’Autriche,” Queen of France (1601–66). Eldest daughter of King Philip III of Spain and sister to King Philip IV, Anne was wed to King Louis XIII of France in a political marriage at the age of fourteen. A Spaniard among the French, unloved by the king, proud but intimidated, and vulnerable to manipulation by her friends, she wielded very little influence until she finally gave birth to a royal heir, the future Louis XIV, in 1638. After Louis XIII died in 1643, with his heir still a child, Anne was declared Queen Regent and thereafter came into her own, holding France together against threats both internal and external until Louis XIV was old enough to rule. Anne was intelligent and strong-willed but not a skilled politician; in that she was aided by her close association with her prime minister, Cardinal Mazarin. Were they lovers? Anne’s exact level of intimacy with Mazarin is a matter of conjecture; Dumas the novelist prefers the juiciest possible interpretation.
ARAMIS: Aramis, Chevalier René d’Herblay, Bishop of Vannes, is based loosely on Henri, Seigneur d’Aramitz (1620?–1655 or 1674), but Dumas drew the character from Courtilz de Sandras’s fictionalized Memoirs of Monsieur d’Artagnan (circa 1700). In his pseudo-biography of d’Artagnan Sandras had made Aramis the brother of Athos and Porthos, but the historical d’Aramitz was a Gascon petty nobleman, an abbot who spent at least the first half of the 1640s serving under his uncle, Captain de Tréville, in the King’s Musketeers. Sources disagree as to the date of his death. The sly and ambitious Aramis of the Musketeers Cycle is entirely an invention of Dumas.
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