Wednesday, December 17, 1664.
You languish, my dear friend, after intelligence, and so do we. I was
sorry I sent you word that judgment would be pronounced on Tuesday;
for, not hearing from me, you must have thought it was all over; but
our hopes are as strong as ever. I informed you, on Saturday, in
what way M. d’Ormesson had reported the cause, and how he had voted,
but I did not sufficiently express the extraordinary esteem he has
acquired by his conduct in this business. I have heard several of this
profession say that his speech was a master-piece; that he explained
himself with great clearness, and rested his opinion upon the most
convincing arguments: it was eloquence and grace combined. In short,
no man had ever a finer opportunity of making himself known, and no
man ever made a better use of it. If he had wished to open his door
to congratulations, his house would have been crowded; but he was too
modest for this, and kept out of the way. His colleague, Sainte-Hélène,
indignant at his success, spoke on Monday and Tuesday. He resumed the
affair weakly and miserably, reading what he had to say, without adding
any new circumstance or giving a different turn to it. He voted, but
did not assign his reasons, that M. Fouquet should lose his head for
his crime against the state; and to gain votes on his side, he played
the Normand, and alleged that it was probable the king, who alone could
do it, would remit the sentence and pardon him. It was yesterday he
performed this brilliant action, at which we were as much grieved as we
had before been satisfied with the conduct of M. d’Ormesson.
This morning Puissort spoke for four hours, but with so much vehemence,
fury, rage, and rancor, that several of the judges were shocked; and
it is thought his intemperance will do more good than harm to our poor
friend. He even redoubled his violence toward the end, and said, upon
the subject of the crime against the state, that the example of a
certain Spaniard, who had so great a horror for a rebel that he ordered
his house to be burned, because Charles of Bourbon had passed through
it, ought to make us blush at our moderation; that we had much greater
reason to hold in abhorrence the crime of M. Fouquet; that the halter
and the gibbet were the only proper punishments for him; but that, in
consideration of the high offices he had held, and the noble families
to which he was related, he would relax his opinion, and vote with M.
de Sainte-Hélène, that he be beheaded.
What say you to this moderation? Is it because he is the uncle of M.
de Nesmond, and was excepted against, that he conducts himself so
generously? For my part, I can scarcely contain myself when I think
of this scandalous proceeding. I do not know whether judgment will be
pronounced to-morrow, or the business be protracted to the end of the
week. We have still many difficulties to encounter: but perhaps some
one will side with M. d’Ormesson, whose opinion at present stands alone.
But I have to beg your attention to two or three little incidents,
which are no less extraordinary than true. In the first place, then,
a comet made its appearance about four days ago. It was announced, at
first, by some women only, who were laughed at for their pains; but it
has now been seen by every one. M. d’Artagan sat up last night, and
saw it very distinctly. M. de Neuré, a great astronomer, says it is
of considerable magnitude. M. du Foin has seen it, with three or four
other learned men. I have not seen it myself, but I intend sitting up
to-night for the purpose: it appears about three o’clock. I tell you
of this, ignorant whether you will be pleased or displeased with the
intelligence.
Berrier, in the literal sense of the word, is become mad; he has been
bled profusely, and is in a perfect frenzy. He raves of wheels and
gibbets, and has even mentioned particular trees; he declares he is
going to be hanged, and makes so dreadful a noise that his keepers are
obliged to chain him. This is evidently a judgment of Providence, and
a very just one. A criminal of the name of Lamothe, who was in prison
and about to be tried, has deposed that Messrs. de B***,[281] C***,
and B*** (they add also Puissort, or Poncet, but of him I am not so
certain) urged him several times to implicate M. Fouquet and Lorme,
promising if he would do so that they would obtain his pardon; but he
refused, and published the circumstance in court, before his trial
took place. He was condemned to the galleys. The wife and mother of M.
Fouquet have procured a copy of the deposition, and will present it
to-morrow at the chamber. Perhaps it will not be received, because the
judges are now giving their opinions; but it may be made known, and
must produce a strong impression on the court. Is not all this very
extraordinary?
[281] M. de Boucherat was one of the commissioners: the other,
B***, is, no doubt, Berrier.
I must tell you, also, of a heroic act of Masnau. He had been
dangerously ill, for a whole week, of a bladder complaint; he took
a variety of medicines, and was at last bled, at midnight. The next
morning, at seven o’clock, he insisted on being carried to the
chamber of justice, where he suffered the most excruciating pain. The
chancellor saw him turn pale, and said, “This is not a fit place for
you, sir; you had better retire.” “True, sir,” he replied, “but I may
as well die here.” The chancellor perceiving him ready to faint, and
finding him bent upon remaining, said, “Well, sir, retire; we will
wait for you.” Upon this he went out for a quarter of an hour, during
which time he passed two stones, of so enormous a size, that it might
be considered as a miracle, if men were deserving that God should work
miracles in their favor. This worthy man then returned into court, gay
and cheerful, every one astonished at the adventure.
This is all I know. Every body is interested in this weighty affair.
Nothing else is talked of. Men reason, infer, calculate, pity, fear,
wish, hate, admire, are overwhelmed; in short, my dear sir, our present
situation is a most singular one; but the resignation and firmness of
our dear unfortunate friend is perfectly heavenly. He knows every day
what passes, and every day volumes might be written in his praise.
I beg you to thank your father[282] for the gratifying note he has
written me, and the charming works he sent me. I have read them, though
my head feels, alas, as if it were split into pieces. Tell him I am
delighted he loves me a little--a great deal, I mean--and that I love
him still more. I have received your last letter; alas! you overpay
so abundantly the trifling services I render you, that I remain your
debtor.
[282] Arnaud d’Andilly, the translator of Josephus.