A GASCON, AND A GASCON AND A HALF.
D'Artagnan had determined to lose no time, and in fact he never was in
the habit of doing so. After having inquired for Aramis, he had
looked for him in every direction until he had succeeded in finding him.
Besides, no sooner had the king entered into Vaux, than Aramis had
retired to his own room, meditating, doubtlessly, some new piece of
gallant attention for his majesty's amusement. D'Artagnan desired the
servants to announce him, and found on the second story, (in a beautiful
room called the Blue Room, on account of the color of its hangings) the
bishop of Vannes in company with Porthos and several of the modern
Epicureans. Aramis came forward to embrace his friend, and offered him
the best seat. As it was after awhile generally remarked among those
present that the musketeer was reserved, and wished for an opportunity
for conversing secretly with Aramis, the Epicureans took their leave.
Porthos, however, did not stir; for true it is that having dined
exceedingly well, he was fast asleep in his armchair; and the freedom of
conversation therefore was not interrupted by a third person. Porthos
had a deep, harmonious snore, and people might talk in the midst of its
loud bass without fear of disturbing him. D'Artagnan felt that he was
called upon to open the conversation.
[ILLUSTRATION: "YOU WILL LOOK THROUGH THE OPENING, WHICH ANSWERS TO
ONE OF THE FALSE WINDOWS MADE IN THE DOME OF THE KING'S APARTMENT. CAN
YOU SEE?"--_Page 356._]
"Well, and so we have come to Vaux," he said.
"Why, yes, D'Artagnan. And how do do you like the place?"
"Very much, and I like M. Fouquet also."
"Is he not a charming host?"
"No one could be more so."
"I am told that the king began by showing a great distance in his manner
toward M. Fouquet, but that his majesty became much more cordial
afterward."
"You did not notice it, then, since you say you have been told so?"
"No; I was engaged with those gentlemen who have just left the room
about the theatrical performances and the tournament which are to take
place to-morrow."
"Ah, indeed! you are the comptroller-general of the fetes, here, then?"
"You know I am a friend of all kinds of amusement where the exercise of
the imagination is required; I have always been a poet in one way or
another."
"Yes, I remember the verses you used to write, they were charming."
"I have forgotten them; but I am delighted to read the verses of others,
when those others are known by the names of Moliere, Pellisson, La
Fontaine, etc."
"Do you know what idea occurred to me this evening, Aramis?"
"No; tell me what it was, for I should never be able to guess it, you
have so many."
"Well, the idea occurred to me, that the true king of France is not
Louis XIV."
"What!" said Aramis, involuntarily, looking the musketeer full in the
eyes.
"No, it is Monsieur Fouquet."
Aramis breathed again and smiled.
"Ah! you are like all the rest, jealous," he said. "I would wager that
it was M. Colbert who turned that pretty phrase." D'Artagnan, in order
to throw Aramis off his guard, related Colbert's misadventure with
regard to the vin de Melun.
"He comes of a mean race, does Colbert," said Aramis.
"Quite true."
"When I think, too," added the bishop, "that that fellow will be your
minister within four months, and that you will serve him as blindly as
you did Richelieu or Mazarin--"
"And as you serve M. Fouquet," said D'Artagnan.
"With this difference, though, that M. Fouquet is not M. Colbert."
"True, true," said D'Artagnan, as he pretended to become sad and full of
reflection; and then, a moment after, he added, "Why do you tell me that
M. Colbert will be minister in four months?"
"Because M. Fouquet will have ceased to be so," replied Aramis.
"He will be ruined, you mean?" said D'Artagnan.
"Completely so."
"Why does he give these fetes, then?" said the musketeer, in a tone so
full of thoughtful consideration, and so well assumed, that the bishop
was for the moment deceived by it. "Why did you not dissuade him from
it?"
The latter part of the phrase was just a little too much, and Aramis'
former suspicions were again aroused. "It is done with the object of
humoring the king."
"By ruining himself?"
"Yes, by ruining himself for the king."
"A singular calculation that."
"Necessity."
"I don't see that, dear Aramis."
"Do you not? Have you not remarked M. Colbert's daily increasing
antagonism, and that he is doing his utmost to drive the king to get rid
of the surintendant?"
"One must be blind not to see it."
"And that a cabal is formed against M. Fouquet?"
"That is well known."
"What likelihood is there that the king would join a party formed
against a man who will have spent everything he had to please him."
"True, true," said D'Artagnan, slowly, hardly convinced, yet curious to
broach another phase of the conversation. "There are follies, and
follies," he resumed, "and I do not like those you are committing."
"What do you allude to?"
"As for the banquet, the ball, the concert, the theatricals, the
tournaments, the cascades, the fireworks, the illuminations, and the
presents--these are all well and good, I grant; but why were not these
expenses sufficient? Was it necessary to have new liveries and costumes
for your whole household?"
"You are quite right. I told M. Fouquet that myself; he replied that if
he were rich enough he would offer the king a newly erected chateau,
from the vanes at the top of the house to the very cellar: completely
new inside and out; and that, as soon as the king had left, he would
burn the whole building and its contents, in order that it might not be
made use of by any one else."
"How completely Spanish!"
"I told him so, and he then added this: 'Whoever advises me to spare
expense, I shall look upon as my enemy.'"
"It is positive madness; and that portrait, too!"
"What portrait?" said Aramis.
"That of the king, and the surprise as well."
"What surprise?"
"The surprise you seem to have in view, and on account of which you took
some specimens away, when I met you at Percerin's." D'Artagnan paused.
The shaft was discharged, and all he had to do was to wait and watch its
effect.
"That is merely an act of graceful attention," replied Aramis.
D'Artagnan went up to his friend, took hold of both his hands, and
looking him full in the eyes, said: "Aramis, do you still care for me a
very little?"
"What a question to ask!"
"Very good. One favor, then. Why did you take some patterns of the
king's costumes at Percerin's?"
"Come with me and ask poor Lebrun, who has been working upon them for
the last two days and two nights."
"Aramis, that may be the truth for everybody else, but for me--"
"Upon my word, D'Artagnan, you astonish me."
"Be a little considerate for me. Tell me the exact truth; you would not
like anything disagreeable to happen to me, would you?"
"My dear friend, you are becoming quite incomprehensible. What suspicion
can you possibly have got hold of?"
"Do you believe in my instinctive feelings? Formerly, you used to have
faith in them. Well, then, an instinct tells me, that you have some
concealed project on foot."
"I--a project?"
"I am convinced of it."
"What nonsense!"
"I am not only sure of it, but I would even swear it."
"Indeed, D'Artagnan, you cause me the greatest pain. Is it likely, if I
have any project in hand, that I ought to keep secret from you, I should
tell you about it? If I had one that I could and ought to have revealed,
should I not have already told it to you?"
"No, Aramis, no. There are certain projects which are never revealed
until the favorable opportunity arrives."
"In that case, my dear fellow," returned the bishop, laughing, "the only
thing now is, that the 'opportunity' has not yet arrived."
D'Artagnan shook his head with a sorrowful expression. "Oh, friendship,
friendship!" he said, "what an idle word you are! Here is a man who, if
I were but to ask it, would suffer himself to be cut in pieces for my
sake."
"You are right," said Aramis, nobly.
"And this man, who would shed every drop of blood in his veins for me,
will not open the smallest corner of his heart. Friendship, I repeat, is
nothing but a mere unsubstantial shadow and a lure, like everything else
in this world which is bright and dazzling."
"It is not thus you should speak of _our_ friendship," replied the
bishop, in a firm, assured voice: "for ours is not of the same nature as
those you have been speaking of."
"Look at us, Aramis; three out of the old 'four.' You are deceiving me;
I suspect you; and Porthos is fast asleep. An admirable trio of friends,
don't you think so? A beautiful relic of former times."
"I can only tell you one thing, D'Artagnan, and I swear it on the Bible;
I love you just as I used to do. If I ever suspect you, it is on account
of others, and not on account of either of us. In everything I may do,
and should happen to succeed in, you will find your fourth. Will you
promise me the same favor?"
"If I am not mistaken, Aramis, your words--at the moment you pronounce
them--are full of generous feeling."
"That is possible."
"You are conspiring against M. Colbert. If that be all, _mordioux_, tell
me so at once. I have the instrument in my own hand, and will pull out
the tooth easily enough."
Aramis could not restrain a smile of disdain which passed across his
noble features. "And supposing that I were conspiring against Colbert,
what harm would there be in that?"
"No, no; that would be too trifling a matter for you to take in hand,
and it was not on that account you asked Percerin for those patterns of
the king's costumes. Oh! Aramis, we are not enemies, remember, but
brothers. Tell me what you wish to undertake, and, upon the word of a
D'Artagnan, if I cannot help you, I will swear to remain neuter."
"I am undertaking nothing," said Aramis.
"Aramis, a voice speaks within me, and seems to enlighten my darkness;
it is a voice which has never yet deceived me. It is the king you are
conspiring against."
"The king?" exclaimed the bishop, pretending to be annoyed.
"Your face will not convince me; the king. I repeat."
"Will you help me?" said Aramis, smiling ironically.
"Aramis, I will do more than help you--I will do more than remain
neuter--I will save you."
"You are mad, D'Artagnan."
"I am the wiser of the two, in this matter."
"You to suspect me of wishing to assassinate the king!"
"Who spoke of that at all?" said the musketeer.
"Well, let us understand each other. I do not see what any one can do to
a legitimate king as ours is, if he does not assassinate him."
D'Artagnan did not say a word. "Besides, you have your guards and your
musketeers here," said the bishop.
"True."
"You are not in M. Fouquet's house, but in your own."
"True; but in spite of that, Aramis, grant me, for pity's sake, but one
single word of a true friend."
"A friend's word is the truth itself. If I think of touching, even with
my finger, the son of Anne of Austria, the true king of this realm of
France--if I have not the firm intention of prostrating myself before
his throne--if in every idea I may entertain to-morrow, here at Vaux
will not be the most glorious day my king ever enjoyed--may Heaven's
lightning blast me where I stand!" Aramis had pronounced these words,
with his face turned toward the alcove of his own bedroom; where
D'Artagnan, seated with his back toward the alcove, could not suspect
that any one was lying concealed. The earnestness of his words, the
studied slowness with which he pronounced them, the solemnity of his
oath, gave the musketeer the most complete satisfaction. He took hold of
both Aramis' hands, and shook them cordially. Aramis had endured
reproaches without turning pale, and had blushed as he listened to words
of praise. D'Artagnan, deceived, did him honor: but, D'Artagnan,
trustful and reliant, made him feel ashamed. "Are you going away?" he
said, as he embraced him, in order to conceal the flush on his face.
"Yes; my duty summons me. I have to get the watchword. It seems I am to
be lodged in the king's anteroom. Where does Porthos sleep?"
"Take him away with you if you like, for he snores like a park of
artillery."
"Ah! he does not stay with you, then?" said D'Artagnan.
"Not the least in the world. He has his room to himself, but I don't
know where."
"Very good!" said the musketeer; from whom this separation of the two
associates removed his last suspicion, and he touched Porthos lightly on
the shoulder; the latter replied by a terrible yawn. "Come," said
D'Artagnan.
"What, D'Artagnan, my dear fellow, is that you! What a lucky chance! Oh,
yes--true; I had forgotten; I am at the fetes at Vaux."
"Yes; and your beautiful dress too."
"Yes, it was very attentive on the part of Monsieur Coquelin de Voliere,
was it not?"
"Hush!" said Aramis. "You are walking so heavily, you will make the
flooring give way."
"True," said the musketeer; "this room is above the dome, I think."
"And I did not choose it for a fencing-room, I assure you," added the
bishop. "The ceiling of the king's room has all the sweetness and calm
delights of sleep. Do not forget, therefore, that my flooring is merely
the covering of his ceiling. Good-night, my friends, and in ten minutes
I shall be fast asleep." And Aramis accompanied them to the door,
laughing quietly all the while. As soon as they were outside, he bolted
the door, hurriedly; closed up the chinks of the windows, and then
called out, "Monseigneur!--monseigneur!' Philippe made his appearance
from the alcove, as he pushed aside a sliding panel placed behind the
bed.
"M. d'Artagnan entertains a great many suspicions, it seems," he said.
"Ah!--you recognized M. d'Artagnan, then?"
"Before you called him by his name, even."
"He is your captain of musketeers."
"He is very devoted to _me_," replied Philippe, laying a stress upon the
personal pronoun.
"As faithful as a dog; but he bites sometimes. If D'Artagnan does not
recognize you before _the other_ has disappeared, rely upon D'Artagnan
to the end of the world; for, in that case, if he has seen nothing, he
will keep his fidelity. If he sees, when it is too late, he is a Gascon,
and will never admit that he has been deceived."
"I thought so. What are we to do, now?"
"You will go and take up your post at our place of observation, and
watch the moment of the king's retiring to rest, so as to learn how that
ceremony is performed."
"Very good. Where shall I place myself?"
"Sit down on this folding-chair. I am going to push aside a portion of
the flooring: you will look through the opening, which answers to one of
the false windows made in the dome of the king's apartment. Can you
see?"
"Yes," said Philippe, starting as at the sight of an enemy: "I see the
king!"
"What is he doing?"
"He seems to wish some man to sit down close to him."
"M. Fouquet."
"No, no; wait a moment--"
"Look at the notes and portraits, my prince."
"The man whom the king wishes to sit down in his presence is M.
Colbert."
"Colbert sit down in the king's presence!" exclaimed Aramis, "it is
impossible."
"Look."
Aramis looked through the opening in the flooring. "Yes," he said,
"Colbert himself. Oh, monseigneur! what can we be going to hear--and
what can result from this intimacy?"
"Nothing good, for M. Fouquet, at all events."
The prince did not deceive himself.
We have seen that Louis XIV. had sent for Colbert, and that Colbert had
arrived. The conversation began between them by the king according to
him one of the highest favors that he had ever done; it was true the
king was alone with his subject. "Colbert," said he, "sit down."
The intendant, overcome with delight, for he feared he should be
dismissed, refused this unprecedented honor.
"Does he accept?" said Aramis.
"No, he remains standing."
"Let us listen, then." And the future king and the future pope listened
eagerly to the simple mortals whom they held under their feet, ready to
crush them if they had liked.
"Colbert," said the king, "you have annoyed me exceedingly to-day."
"I know it, sire."
"Very good; I like that answer. Yes, you knew it, and there was courage
in having done it."
"I ran the risk of displeasing your majesty but I risked also concealing
what were your true interests from you."
"What! you were afraid of something on my account?"
"I was, sire, even if it were of nothing more than an indigestion," said
Colbert; "for people do not give their sovereigns such banquets as the
one of to-day except it be to stifle them under the weight of good
living." Colbert waited the effect which this coarse jest would produce
upon the king; and Louis XIV., who was the vainest and the most
fastidiously delicate man in his kingdom, forgave Colbert the joke.
"The truth is," he said, "that M. Fouquet has given me too good a meal.
Tell me, Colbert, where does he get all the money required for this
enormous expenditure--can you tell?"
"Yes, I do know, sire."
"Will you be able to prove it with tolerable certainty?"
"Easily; to the very farthing."
"I know you are very exact."
"It is the principal qualification required in an intendant of
finances."
"But all are not so."
"I thank your majesty for so flattering a compliment from your own
lips."
"M. Fouquet, therefore, is rich--very rich, and I suppose every man
knows he is so."
"Every one, sire; the living as well as the dead."
"What does that mean, Monsieur Colbert?"
"The living are witnesses of M. Fouquet's wealth--they admire and
applaud the result produced; but the dead, wiser and better informed
than we are, know how that wealth was obtained--and they rise up in
accusation."
"So that M. Fouquet owes his wealth to some cause or other."
"The occupation of an intendant very often favors those who practice
it."
"You have something to say to me more confidentially. I perceive; do not
be afraid, we are quite alone."
"I am never afraid of anything under the shelter of my own conscience,
and under the protection of your majesty," said Colbert, bowing.
"If the dead therefore were to speak--"
"They do speak sometimes, sire--read."
"Ah!" then murmured Aramis, in the prince's ear, who, close beside him,
listened without losing a syllable, "since you are placed here,
monseigneur, in order to learn the vocation of a king, listen to a piece
of infamy--of a nature truly royal. You are about to be a witness of one
of those scenes which the foul fiend alone can conceive and execute.
Listen attentively--you will find your advantage in it."
The prince redoubled his attention, and saw Louis XIV. take from
Colbert's hand a letter which the latter held out to him.
"The late cardinal's handwriting," said the king.
"Your majesty has an excellent memory," replied Colbert, bowing; "it is
an immense advantage for a king who is destined for hard work, to
recognize handwritings at the first glance."
The king read Mazarin's letter, and, as its contents are already known
to the reader, in consequence of the misunderstanding between Madame de
Chevreuse and Aramis, nothing further would be learned if we stated them
here again.
"I do not quite understand," said the king, greatly interested.
"Your majesty has not yet acquired the habit of going through the public
accounts."
"I see that it refers to money which had been given to M. Fouquet."
"Thirteen millions. A tolerably good sum."
"Yes. Well, and these thirteen millions are wanting to balance the total
of the accounts. That is what I do not very well understand. How was
this deficit possible?"
"Possible, I do not say; but there is no doubt about the fact that it
really is so."
"You say that these thirteen millions are found to be wanting in the
accounts?"
"I do not say so, but the registry does."
"And this letter of M. Mazarin indicates the employment of that sum, and
the name of the person with whom it was deposited?"
"As your majesty can judge for yourself."
"Yes; and the result is, then, that M. Fouquet has not yet restored the
thirteen millions."
"That results from the accounts, certainly, sire."
"Well, and, consequently--"
"Well, sire, in that case, inasmuch as M. Fouquet has not yet given back
the thirteen millions, he must have appropriated them to his own
purposes; and with those thirteen millions one could incur four times,
and a little more as much expense, and make four times as great a
display as your majesty was able to do at Fontainebleau, where we only
spent three millions altogether, if you remember."
For a blunderer, the _souvenir_ he had evoked was a very
skillfully-contrived piece of baseness; for by the remembrance of his
own fete he, for the first time, perceived its inferiority compared with
that of Fouquet. Colbert received back again at Vaux what Fouquet had
given him at Fontainebleau, and, as a good financier, he returned it
with the best possible interest. Having once disposed the king's mind in
that way, Colbert had nothing of much importance to detain him. He felt
that such was the case, for the king too had again sunk into a dull and
gloomy state. Colbert awaited the first word from the king's lips with
as much impatience as Philippe and Aramis did from their place of
observation.
"Are you aware what is the natural consequence of all this, Monsieur
Colbert?" said the king, after a few moments' reflection.
"No, sire, I do not know."
"Well, then, the fact of the appropriation of the thirteen millions, if
it can be proved--"
"But it is so already."
"I mean if it were to be declared and certified, M. Colbert."
"I think it will be to-morrow, if your majesty--"
"Were we not under M. Fouquet's roof, you were going to say, perhaps,"
replied the king, with something of nobleness in his manner.
"The king is in his own palace where-ever he may be, and especially in
houses which his own money has paid for."
"I think," said Philippe, in a low tone to Aramis, "that the architect
who constructed this dome ought, anticipating what use could be made of
it, so to have contrived that it might easily be made to fall on the
heads of scoundrels such as that M. Colbert."
"I thought so too," replied Aramis; "but M. Colbert is so very near the
king at this moment."
"That is true, and that would open the succession."
"Of which your younger brother would reap all the advantage,
monseigneur. But stay, let us keep quiet, and go on listening."
"We shall not have long to listen," said the young prince.
"Why not, monseigneur?"
"Because, if I were the king, I should not reply anything further."
"And what would you do?"
"I should wait until to-morrow morning to give myself time for
reflection."
Louis XIV. at last raised his eyes, and finding Colbert attentively
waiting for his next remark, said, hastily changing the conversation,
"M. Colbert, I perceive it is getting very late, and I shall now retire
to bed. By to-morrow morning I shall have made up my mind."
"Very good, sire," returned Colbert, greatly incensed, although he
restrained himself in the presence of the king.
The king made a gesture of adieu, and Colbert withdrew with a respectful
bow. "My attendants," cried the king; and, as they entered the
apartment, Philippe was about to quit his post of observation.
"A moment longer," said Aramis to him, with his accustomed gentleness of
manner; "what has just now taken place is only a detail, and to-morrow
we shall have no occasion to think anything more about it; but the
ceremony of the king's retiring to rest, the etiquette observed in
addressing the king, that indeed is of the greatest importance. Learn,
sire, and study well how you ought to go to bed of a night. Look! look!"