Tuesday, December 9, 1664.
I assure you the days pass very tediously; suspense is extremely
painful: but it is an evil to which the whole family of the unfortunate
prisoner is habituated. I have seen, and can not sufficiently express
my admiration of them. It seems as if they had never known, never read,
the events that have taken place in former times. What surprises me
most is, that Sappho is just like the rest; she, whose understanding
and penetration are unlimited. When I reflect upon this circumstance,
I persuade myself, or, at least, I wish to persuade myself, that they
know more of the matter than I do. When I reason too with others, on
whose judgment I can rely, and who are less prejudiced, because less
interested, I find all our measures so just that it will be really a
miracle if the business does not terminate according to our wishes.
We are sometimes only lost by a single voice, but that voice is every
thing. I remember, however, the recusations, respecting which these
poor women thought themselves so sure, and we lost them by five to
seventeen; since that time their confidence has been my distrust. Yet
I have a little spark of hope in my heart; I hardly know from whence
it comes, nor whither it would lead, nor is it sufficient to make me
sleep in peace. I talked over this affair yesterday with Madame du
Plessis;[279] I can see nobody, but those who will converse with me
on the subject, and who are of the same opinion as myself. She hopes,
as I do, without knowing the reason. “Why do you hope?” “Because I
do;” this is our answer; a notable one, it must be confessed. I told
her, with the greatest sincerity in the world, that if the sentence
should be in conformity to our wishes, the height of my joy would be to
dispatch instantly a man on horseback with the pleasing intelligence to
you; and that the pleasure of picturing the delight I should give you,
would render my own delight complete. She perfectly agreed with me; and
our imagination gave us more than a quarter of an hour’s holiday on
the occasion. I must correct my last day’s report of the examination
respecting the project against the state. I related it to you exactly
as I heard it; but the same person has since tasked his memory, and
told it to me over again more accurately. Every body has heard it from
the different judges. After M. Fouquet had said that the only effect
that could be drawn from this project was the confusion the reading it
had occasioned him, the chancellor observed, “You can not deny that
this is a crime against the state.” “I confess, sir,” he replied, “that
it is a foolish and extravagant thing, but not a crime against the
state. I entreat you, gentlemen,” said he, turning toward the judges,
“to suffer me to explain what constitutes a state crime; not that I
consider you less capable of defining it than myself, but I have had
more time perhaps than you to examine the question. A crime against
the state, is when a person, holding an important office, and being in
the secrets of a prince, suddenly goes over to the side of his enemy,
engages his whole family in the same interests, opens the gates of a
city, of which he is the governor, to the foe, shuts them against his
lawful sovereign, and reveals to his enemy the secrets of the state.
This, gentlemen, is what is called a state crime.” The chancellor did
not know which way to look, and the judges could scarcely refrain from
laughter. This is the truth without any embellishment. You will agree
with me, that nothing could be more spirited, more delicate in its
satire, and at the same time more diverting.
[279] Madame du Plessis Belliere, the intimate friend of Fouquet.
He had commissioned her to take his papers from his house at St.
Mandé. She was not in due time to execute it. She was at first
exiled, and afterward recalled. She died in 1705, aged 100 years.
The whole kingdom knows and admires the prisoner’s reply on this
occasion. He afterward entered minutely into his defense, and said what
I told you before. I should have been quite unhappy if you had not
known this circumstance, and our dear friend would have lost much by
it. This morning M. d’Ormesson began the recapitulation. He spoke well
and clearly. On Thursday he will give his opinion; his colleague will
then speak for two days; it will take several more for the rest to give
their opinions. Some of the judges say that they shall enlarge a great
deal upon the subject, so that we have to languish in expectation till
next week. In this state of suspense we can scarcely be said to live.
Wednesday, December 10.
M. d’Ormesson has continued the recapitulation; he has done wonders,
that is, he has spoken with extraordinary clearness, intelligence, and
ability. Puissort interrupted him five or six times, with no other
intention than to embarrass him, and prevent his speaking so well: he
said to him in one instance, where his argument went strongly in favor
of M. Fouquet, “Sir, we shall speak after you, we shall speak after
you.”