Monday, November 24, 1664.
If I know my own heart, it is I who am the party obliged, by your
receiving so kindly the information I send you. Do you think I have no
pleasure in writing to you? Believe me, I have a great deal, and am
as much gratified in writing, as you can be in reading what I write.
The sentiments you entertain upon the subject of my letter are very
natural; hope is common to us all, without our knowing why; but it
supports the heart. I dined at Sainte-Marie de Sainte-Antoine two days
ago; the lady abbess related to me the particulars of four visits she
has received from Puis***,[270] within the last three months, at which
I am very much astonished. He came to tell her that the now blessed
Bishop of Geneva (François de Sales) had been so extremely kind to him
during his illness last summer, that he could not help feeling most
strongly the obligations he owed him; and he requested her to obtain
the prayers of the community for the deceased. He gave her, for the
accomplishment of his holy purpose, a thousand crowns, and entreated
her to show him the bishop’s heart. When he was at the grate, he fell
upon his knees, and remained full a quarter of an hour, bathed in
tears, apostrophizing this heart, and praying for a spark of the divine
fire which had consumed it. The lady abbess also melted into tears; and
gave him the relics of the deceased, with which he hurried away. During
these visits, he appeared so earnest about his salvation, so disgusted
with the court, so transported with the idea of his conversion, that
a person more clear-sighted than the abbess would have been deceived.
She contrived to introduce the subject of Fouquet; he answered her
as a man who was interested in nothing but religion; that he was not
sufficiently known; that justice would be done him, agreeably to the
will of God, if from no other consideration. I never was more surprised
than at this conversation. If you ask me what I think of it, I must
answer, that I do not know; that it is perfectly unintelligible to
me; that I can not see the drift of this comedy, nor, if it is not a
comedy, how the steps he has since taken are to be reconciled with his
fine speeches.
[270] This name appears to be altered, and ought, as will be seen
further on, to be Puissort.
Time must explain all this, for it is at present perfectly enigmatical.
Do not mention it, for the lady abbess desired me not to make the
circumstance known.
I have seen M. Fouquet’s mother. She told me she had sent the plaster
to the queen by Madame de Charost.[271] The effect was certainly
wonderful: in less than an hour the queen felt her head relieved,
and so great a discharge of offensive matter took place, that had it
remained it might have suffocated her in the next fit. The queen said
aloud that it was this matter which had occasioned the convulsions of
the preceding night, and that Madame de Fouquet had cured her. The
queen-mother thought the same, and said so to the king, who did not
attend to her. The physicians, who had not been consulted in applying
the plaster, withheld their sentiments on the subject, but made their
court at the expense of truth. The same day, these poor women threw
themselves at the feet of the king, who took no notice of them. Every
body is acquainted with the circumstance of the cure; but no one knows
what will come of it: we must wait the event with patience.
[271] Fouquet’s daughter.
M. Fouquet was interrogated again this morning, but the chancellor’s
manner was changed; it seems as if he were ashamed of receiving his
lesson every day from Boucherat.[272] He told the reporter to read
the article, upon which he wished to examine the accused; and the
reading lasted so long, that it was half-past ten o’clock before
it was finished. He then said, “Let Fouquet be brought in;” but
corrected himself immediately by saying “M. Fouquet;” as, however,
he had not directed the prisoner to be sent for, he was still at the
Bastille. A messenger was then dispatched for him, and he arrived at
eleven o’clock. He was questioned respecting the grants, and answered
extremely well; but he was a little at a loss as to certain dates,
which would have injured him considerably, if the examiner had been
skillful and awake; but, instead of this, the chancellor was asleep.
This was observed by M. Fouquet, who would have laughed heartily, if
he had dared. At length the chancellor roused himself, and continued
the examination; and though M. Fouquet rested too much on a prop that
might have failed him, the event proved that he knew what he was about;
for, in his misfortune, he has certain little advantages that belong
exclusively to himself. If they go on slowly every day, the trial will
last a long time.
[272] Boucherat, then master of requests, and afterward
chancellor, had been appointed to put the seals on the papers of
the superintendent. He was on the commission charged with the
prosecution.
I shall write to you every evening; but I shall not send my letter
till Saturday or Sunday evening: it will give you an account of the
proceedings of Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, and I will contrive that
you shall receive one on Thursday, informing you of the proceedings of
Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday: in this way your letters will not be
long detained. I beg my compliments to your recluse, and to your better
half. I say nothing of your dear neighbor; it will soon be my turn to
give you news of her myself.