Two days ago every one believed that it was intended to protract M.
Fouquet’s affair as much as possible; but now the reverse of this
appears to be the case, and the interrogations are hurried over in a
most extraordinary manner. This morning the chancellor took his paper
and read, as he would an inventory, ten heads of accusation, without
giving the accused time to reply. M. Fouquet said, “I do not wish,
sir, to prolong the business, but I entreat you to give me time to
answer the charges that are brought against me. You question me, and it
appears as if you did not wish me to reply; but it is of consequence
to me to speak. There are many articles I must explain; and it is but
justice that I should answer to all those which are formally alleged
against me.” The court was then obliged to attend, contrary to the
wishes of the ill-disposed, who could not bear to hear him defend
himself so ably. He answered extremely well to every accusation. The
trial will now go on, but will be conducted so rapidly that I expect
the examination will close this week. I have just been supping at the
Hôtel de Nevers; the mistress of the house and I conversed a good
deal upon this subject. We are uneasy to a degree, which you only can
comprehend, for I have just received your letter; it surpasses even
my own feelings upon the subject. You put my modesty to too great
a trial in asking me upon what terms I am with you and your dear
recluse. It seems to me that I see him and hear him say what you tell
me. I am quite piqued that it was not I who metamorphosed Pierrot to
Tartuffe;[276] it was so natural that if I had half the wit you ascribe
to me, it would have flowed mechanically from my pen.
[276] The Chancellor Seguier’s name was Pierre.
I must relate to you a little anecdote, which is perfectly true, and
which can not fail to amuse you. The king has lately employed himself
in making verses; Messieurs de Saint Aignan and Dangeau put him in
the way of it. He wrote a little madrigal the other day with which he
was not much pleased. One morning he said to Marshal de Grammont, “M.
le maréchal, read this little madrigal, if you please, and tell me if
you ever saw so silly a one; because it is known that I have lately
been fond of poetry they bring me all the nonsense that is written.”
The marshal having read it, said to the king, “Your majesty is an
excellent judge of every thing: this is certainly without exception the
most silly and ridiculous madrigal I ever read.” The king laughed, and
continued, “Must not the writer be a great fool?” “There is no other
name for him,” said the marshal. “O!” said the king, “how delighted
I am that you have spoken your sentiments so freely! I am myself the
author of it.” “Ah! sire, what treason have I uttered! I entreat your
majesty to give it me again. I read it hastily.” “No, M. le maréchal;
the first sentiments are always the most natural.” The king was very
much entertained at this little frolic; but those about him thought
it the most cruel thing that could be done to an old courtier. For
myself, I love to make reflections, and I wish the king would reflect
in like manner on this adventure, that he might see how far he is from
knowing the truth. We are upon the point of experiencing a still more
painful instance of royal delusion, in the repurchase of our rents,
at an expense that will send us all to the workhouse. The emotion it
occasions is great, but the hardship is greater. Do you not think this
is undertaking too much at once? The loss of a part of my income is not
the point that affects me the most.
Tuesday, December 2.
Our dear unfortunate friend spoke for two hours this morning, but so
uncommonly well that several persons could not help expressing their
admiration. Among others, M. de Renard said, “This man, it must be
owned, is incomparable; he never spoke so well in the parliament;
he maintains his self-possession better than he has ever done.” The
subject was the six millions, and his own expenses. Nothing could
exceed what he said. I shall write to you on Thursday and on Friday;
these will be the last days of the examination, and I shall go on to
the end.
God grant my last letter may contain the information I so ardently
wish. Adieu, my dear sir; desire our recluse (Arnauld) to pray for our
poor friend. I heartily embrace you both, and, for modesty’s sake, I
include your wife.