Part 21

Then La Vallière, who, at the paroxysm of her grief, had sunk down seated upon a stone, rose and walked toward the convent of the Carmelites, which could be seen standing out in the nascent light. D'Artagnan followed her from afar.

The door of the parlor was ajar; she slipped through it like a pale shadow, and, thanking D'Artagnan with a single gesture of the hand, she vanished from his sight.

When D'Artagnan found himself quite alone, he reflected deeply upon what had just taken place.

— Well, by my faith! said he, this is what one calls an awkward position... To keep such a secret is to carry a live coal in one's pocket and hope it will not burn the cloth. Not to keep the secret, when one has sworn to keep it, is the act of a man without honor. Ordinarily, good ideas come to me when I am running; but, this time, either I am much mistaken, or I must run a great deal to find the solution of this affair... Where to run?... My faith! after all, in the direction of Paris; that is the right direction... Only, let us run fast... But to run fast, four legs are better than two. Unfortunately, for the moment, I have only my two legs... A horse! as I heard them say at the London theatre; my crown for a horse!... I am thinking, it will not cost me as much as that... There is a post of musketeers at the Conference gate, and, for one horse that I need, I shall find ten.

In virtue of this resolution, taken with his habitual rapidity, D'Artagnan suddenly descended the heights, reached the post, took there the best courser he could find, and was brought back to the palace in ten minutes.

Five o'clock was striking on the clock of the Palais-Royal.

D'Artagnan inquired for the king.

The king had gone to bed at his usual hour, after working with M. Colbert, and was still sleeping, in all probability.

— Come, said he, she told me true, the king knows nothing; if he knew but half of what has passed, the Palais-Royal would, at this hour, be topsy-turvy.

Still agitated by the quarrel he had just had with La Vallière, he wandered in his cabinet, very desirous of finding an occasion to make a scene, after having restrained himself so long.

Colbert, on seeing the king, judged the situation at a glance, and understood the monarch's intentions. He tacked.

When the master demanded an account of what must be said on the morrow, the sub-intendant began by finding it strange that His Majesty had not been informed by M. Fouquet.

— M. Fouquet, said he, knows all this affair of Holland: he receives directly all the correspondence.

The king, accustomed to hearing M. Colbert pillage M. Fouquet, let this sally pass without reply; only he listened.

Colbert saw the effect produced, and hastened to retrace his steps, saying that M. Fouquet was not, however, as guilty as he appeared at first sight, seeing that he had, at this moment, great preoccupations.

The king lifted his head.

— What preoccupations? said he.

— Sire, men are but men, and M. Fouquet has his faults along with his great qualities.

— Ah! faults, who is without them, M. Colbert?...

— Your Majesty has some, boldly said Colbert, who knew how to launch a muffled flattery within a slight blame, like the arrow that splits the air despite its weight, thanks to the weak feathers that sustain it.

The king smiled.

— What fault, then, has M. Fouquet? said he.

— Always the same, Sire; they say he is in love.

— In love, with whom?

Chapter CLXVI — How Louis, for his part, had spent the time from half past ten to midnight

The king, on leaving the chamber of the maids of honor, had found at his rooms Colbert, who awaited him to take his orders concerning the ceremony of the next day.

It was a question, as we have said, of a reception of Dutch and Spanish ambassadors.

Louis XIV had grave subjects of discontent against Holland; the States had already shuffled several times in their relations with France, and, without perceiving or without troubling about a rupture, they were once more leaving the alliance with the Most Christian King, to tie all sorts of intrigues with Spain.

Louis XIV, on his accession, that is to say at the death of Mazarin, had found this political question sketched out.

It was of difficult solution for a young man; but as, then, the whole nation was the king, all that the head resolved, the body found itself ready to execute.

A little anger, the reaction of a young and vigorous blood in the brain, was enough to change an old political line and create another system.

The role of the diplomats of the epoch was reduced to arranging among themselves the coups d'état of which their sovereigns might have need.

Louis was not in a state of mind capable of dictating a learned policy to him.

— I do not know well, Sire; I meddle little with gallantry, as they say.

— But, after all, you know, since you speak?

— I have heard pronounced...

— What?

— A name.

— Which?

— But I no longer remember it.

— Say it anyway.

— I believe it is that of one of Madame's maids.

The king trembled.

— You know more than you wish to say, M. Colbert, murmured he.

— Oh! Sire, I assure you no.

— But, after all, those young ladies of Madame are known; and, in telling me their names, you would perhaps meet the one you seek.

— No, Sire.

— Try.

— It would be useless, Sire. When it is a question of the name of a compromised lady, my memory is a coffer of brass whose key I have lost.

A cloud passed in the mind and upon the brow of the king; then, wishing to appear master of himself and shaking his head:

— Let us see this affair of Holland, said he.

— And first, Sire, at what hour does Your Majesty wish to receive the ambassadors?

— Early in the morning.

— Eleven o'clock?

— That is too late... Nine o'clock.

— That is very early.

— For friends, that has no importance; one does what one will with friends; but for enemies then nothing better, if they take offense. I should not be sorry, I confess, to be done with all those marsh birds who weary me with their cries.

— Sire, it shall be as Your Majesty wishes... At nine o'clock then... I shall give orders accordingly. Is it a solemn audience?

— No. I wish to explain myself with them and not to embitter things, as always happens in presence of many people; but, at the same time, I wish to clear them up, so as not to have to begin again.

— Your Majesty will designate the persons who will assist at this reception.

— I shall make the list... Let us speak of these ambassadors: what do they want?

— Allied to Spain, they gain nothing; allied with France, they lose much.

— How so?

— Allied with Spain, they see themselves bordered and protected by the possessions of their ally; they cannot bite into them despite their desire. From Antwerp to Rotterdam, there is but a step by the Scheldt and the Meuse. If they wish to bite into the Spanish cake, you, Sire, the son-in-law of the king of Spain, you can, in two days, go from your house to Brussels with cavalry. It is therefore a question of quarrelling enough with you and of making Spain suspect enough to you that you will not meddle in its affairs.

— It is much simpler then, answered the king, to make with me a solid alliance in which I should gain something, while they would gain all?

— Not at all; for, if they arrived, by chance, to have you for neighbor, Your Majesty is not a convenient neighbor; young, ardent, warlike, the king of France can deal rude blows to Holland, especially if he approaches it.

— I understand perfectly, M. Colbert, and it is well explained. But the conclusion, if you please?

— Wisdom never fails the decisions of Your Majesty.

— What will these ambassadors say to me?

— They will say to Your Majesty that they strongly desire his alliance, and that will be a lie; they will say to the Spaniards that the three powers must unite against the prosperity of England, and that will be a lie; for the natural ally of Your Majesty, today, is England, who has ships when you have none; it is England, who can balance the power of the Dutch in the Indies: it is England, finally, a monarchical country, where Your Majesty has alliances of blood.

— Good; but what would you answer?

— I would answer, Sire, with an unequalled moderation, that Holland is not perfectly disposed toward the king of France, that the symptoms of public spirit, among the Dutch, are alarming for Your Majesty, that certain medals have been struck with injurious devices.

— Against me? cried the young exalted king.

— Oh! no, Sire, no; injurious is not the word, and I was mistaken. I meant flattering beyond measure for the Batavians.

— Oh! if that is so, little matters the pride of the Batavians, said the king sighing.

— Your Majesty is a thousand times right. However, it is never a political evil, the king knows it better than I, to be unjust in order to obtain a concession. Your Majesty, complaining with susceptibility of the Batavians, will appear to them much more considerable.

— What are these medals? asked Louis; for if I speak of them, I must know what to say.

— My faith! Sire, I do not know well... some overweening device... That is the whole sense, the words matter nothing to the thing.

— Good, I shall articulate the word medal, and they will understand if they wish.

— Oh! they will understand. Your Majesty could also let fall a few words of certain pamphlets that are circulating.

— Never! Pamphlets sully those who write them, far more than those against whom they are written. M. Colbert, I thank you, you may retire.

— Sire!

— Farewell! Forget not the hour and be there.

— Sire, I await the list of Your Majesty.

— That is true.

The king fell to dreaming; he was not thinking at all of this list. The clock was striking half past eleven.

One saw upon the face of the prince the terrible combat of pride and love.

The political conversation had extinguished much irritation in Louis, and the pale, wasted face of La Vallière spoke to his imagination a far other language than the Dutch medals or the Batavian pamphlets.

He remained ten minutes asking himself whether he ought or ought not to return to La Vallière; but, Colbert having insisted respectfully for the list, the king blushed to think of love when affairs commanded.

He dictated then:

— The queen mother... the queen... Madame... Mme de Motteville... Mlle de Châtillon... Mme de Navailles. And as men: Monsieur... M. le Prince... M. de Grammont... M. de Manicamp... M. de Saint-Aignan... and the officers on duty.

— The ministers? said Colbert.

— That goes without saying, and the secretaries.

— Sire, I shall prepare all: the orders will be at the houses tomorrow.

— Say today, replied Louis sadly.

Midnight was striking.

It was the hour when the poor La Vallière was dying of sorrow, of sufferings.

The king's service entered for his bedtime. The queen had been waiting for an hour.

Louis passed to her with a sigh; but, while sighing, he congratulated himself on his courage. He applauded himself for being firm in love as in politics.

Chapter CLXVII — The ambassadors

D'Artagnan, very nearly, had learned all that we have just related; for he had, among his friends, all the useful people of the house, obliging servants, proud to be saluted by the captain of the musketeers, for the captain was a power; then, outside of ambition, proud to count for something with a man as brave as was D'Artagnan.

D'Artagnan had himself instructed thus every morning in what he had not been able to see or know the eve, not being ubiquitous, so that, from what he had known by himself each day, and from what he had learned from others, he made a bundle which he untied as needed to take therefrom such weapon as he judged necessary.

In this way, the two eyes of D'Artagnan rendered him the same service as the hundred eyes of Argus.

Political secrets, secrets of the boudoirs, words escaped by courtiers at the issue of the antechamber; thus, D'Artagnan knew all and enclosed all in the vast and impenetrable tomb of his memory, beside the royal secrets so dearly bought, so faithfully kept.

He knew then the interview with Colbert; he knew then the rendezvous given to the ambassadors for the morning; he knew then that there would be question of medals; and, while reconstructing the conversation upon these few words come to him, he regained his post in the apartments to be there at the moment the king should awake.

The king awoke very early; which proved that, he too, for his part, had slept rather badly. Toward seven o'clock, he gently opened his door.

D'Artagnan was at his post.

His Majesty was pale and seemed fatigued; besides, his toilet was not completed.

— Have M. de Saint-Aignan called, said he.

De Saint-Aignan expected doubtless to be called; for when one presented oneself at his rooms, he was fully dressed.

De Saint-Aignan hastened to obey and passed to the king.

An instant after, the king and de Saint-Aignan passed; the king walked first.

D'Artagnan was at the window giving onto the courts; he had no need to stir to follow the king with his eyes. One would have said he had divined in advance where the king would go.

The king was going to the maids of honor.

That astonished not D'Artagnan. He suspected well, although La Vallière had told him nothing of it, that His Majesty had wrongs to repair.

De Saint-Aignan followed him as the eve, a little less uneasy, a little less agitated however; for he hoped that at seven in the morning there was yet only himself and the king awake, among the august guests of the château.

D'Artagnan was at his window, careless and calm. One would have sworn he saw nothing and that he completely ignored who were those two adventurers, who crossed the courts wrapped in their cloaks.

And yet D'Artagnan, while seeming not to look at them, lost them not from view, and, while whistling that old march of the musketeers which he recalled only on great occasions, divined and calculated in advance all that tempest of cries and angers which was to rise on the return.

In effect, the king entering La Vallière's rooms, and finding the chamber empty, and the bed untouched, the king began to be alarmed and called Montalais.

Montalais ran up; but her astonishment was equal to the king's.

All she could say to His Majesty was that it had seemed to her she heard La Vallière weep part of the night; but, knowing that His Majesty had returned, she had not dared inquire.

— But, asked the king, where do you believe she has gone?

— Sire, answered Montalais, Louise is a very sentimental person, and often I have seen her rise before daylight and go to the garden; perhaps she will be there this morning?

The thing appeared probable to the king, who descended at once to seek the fugitive.

D'Artagnan saw him appear, pale and speaking vivaciously with his companion.

He directed himself toward the gardens.

De Saint-Aignan followed him quite out of breath.

D'Artagnan stirred not from his window, still whistling, seeming to see nothing and seeing all.

— Come, come, murmured he when the king had disappeared, the passion of His Majesty is stronger than I believed; he is doing there, it seems to me, things he did not do for Mlle de Mancini.

The king reappeared a quarter of an hour after. He had searched everywhere. He was breathless.

It goes without saying that the king had found nothing.

De Saint-Aignan followed him, fanning himself with his hat, and asking, in an altered voice, for information from the first servants come, from all he met.

Manicamp found himself on his route. Manicamp arrived from Fontainebleau by short days; where the others had taken six hours, he had taken, himself, twenty-four.

— Have you seen Mlle de La Vallière? de Saint-Aignan asked him.

Whereto Manicamp, ever dreamy and distracted, answered, believing one spoke to him of Guiche:

— Thanks, the count is a little better.

And he continued his route to the antechamber, where he found D'Artagnan, of whom he asked explanations of that frightened air he had thought to see on the king.

D'Artagnan answered him that he was mistaken; that the king, on the contrary, was of a frantic gaiety.

Eight o'clock struck amid these occurrences.

The king, ordinarily, took his breakfast at this moment.

It was established, by the code of etiquette, that the king would always be hungry at eight o'clock.

He had himself served at a small table, in his bedchamber, and ate quickly.

De Saint-Aignan, whom he would not separate from, held him the napkin. Then he dispatched some military audiences.

During these audiences, he sent de Saint-Aignan on discoveries.

Then, ever occupied, ever anxious, ever watching for the return of de Saint-Aignan, who had put his world in campaign and had put himself there too, the king reached nine o'clock.

At nine o'clock striking, he passed into his cabinet.

The ambassadors entered themselves, at the first stroke of those nine hours.

At the last stroke, the queens and Madame appeared.

The ambassadors were three for Holland, two for Spain.

The king cast upon them a glance, and saluted.

At this moment also, de Saint-Aignan entered.

It was for the king an entrance far otherly important than that of the ambassadors, be they in what number soever and come from what country soever.

Also, before all things, the king made de Saint-Aignan an interrogative sign, to which the latter answered by a decisive negation.

The king well nigh lost all courage; but, as the queens, the great lords and the ambassadors had their eyes fixed upon him, he made a violent effort and invited the latter to speak.

Then one of the Spanish deputies made a long discourse, in which he vaunted the advantages of the Spanish alliance.

The king interrupted him, saying:

— Monsieur, I hope that what is well for France must be very well for Spain.

This word, and above all the peremptory fashion in which it was pronounced, made the ambassador pale and the two queens redden, who, Spanish the one and the other, felt themselves, by this answer, wounded in their pride of kinship and nationality.

The Dutch ambassador took the word in his turn, and complained of the prejudices the king testified against the government of his country.

The king interrupted:

— Monsieur, said he, it is strange that you come to complain, when it is I who have cause to complain; and yet, you see, I do not do it.

— Complain, Sire, asked the Dutchman, and of what offense?

The king smiled with bitterness.

— Will you blame me, perchance, monsieur, said he, for having prejudices against a government which authorizes and protects public insulters?

— Sire!...

— I tell you, resumed the king, irritating himself with his own sorrows, far more than with the political question, I tell you that Holland is an asylum land for whoever hates me, and above all for whoever injures me.

— Oh! Sire!...

— Ah! proofs, is it not? Well! one will easily have proofs. Whence are born these insolent pamphlets which represent me as a monarch without glory and without authority? Your presses groan with them. If I had my secretaries there, I would cite to you the titles of the works with the names of the printers.

— Sire, answered the ambassador, a pamphlet cannot be the work of a nation. Is it equitable that a great king, such as is Your Majesty, render a great people responsible for the crime of some famished madmen?

— Be it, I grant you that, monsieur. But, when the mint of Amsterdam strikes medals to my shame, is that also the crime of some madmen?

— Medals? stammered the ambassador.

— Medals, repeated the king looking at Colbert.

— It would be needful, ventured the Dutchman, that Your Majesty be very sure...

The king still looked at Colbert, but Colbert had the air of not understanding, and was silent, despite the king's provocations.

Then D'Artagnan approached, and, drawing from his pocket a piece of coin which he put into the king's hands:

— There is the medal Your Majesty seeks, said he.

The king took it.

Then he could see with that eye which, since he was truly master, had done but hover, then he could see, we say, an insolent image representing Holland who, like Joshua, stopped the sun, with this legend: _In conspectu meo, stetit sol._

— In my presence, the sun stood still, cried the king furiously. Ah! you will not deny it now, I hope.

— And the sun, said D'Artagnan, is this one.

And he showed, upon all the panels of the cabinet, the sun, emblem multiplied and resplendent, which displayed everywhere its superb device: _Nec pluribus impar_.

The anger of Louis, fed by the pangs of his particular grief, had no need of this aliment to devour all. One saw in his eyes the ardor of a lively quarrel all ready to burst.

A glance from Colbert chained the storm.

The ambassador ventured excuses.

He said that the vanity of peoples was of no consequence; that Holland was proud to have, with so few resources, sustained its rank of great nation, even against great kings, and that, if a little smoke had intoxicated its compatriots, the king was prayed to excuse this drunkenness.

The king seemed to seek counsel. He looked at Colbert, who remained impassive.

Then at D'Artagnan.

D'Artagnan shrugged his shoulders.

This movement was a sluice raised, by which the anger of the king, contained too long, was unchained.

Each not knowing where this anger carried, all kept a dreary silence.

The second ambassador profited thereby to begin also his excuses.

While he spoke and the king, fallen little by little into his personal reverie, listened to this voice full of trouble like a distracted man listens to the murmur of a cascade, D'Artagnan, who had at his left de Saint-Aignan, approached him, and, in a voice perfectly calculated to strike the king:

— Do you know the news, count? said he.

— What news? made de Saint-Aignan.

— But the news of La Vallière.

The king trembled and made involuntarily a step to the side toward the two talkers.

— What then has happened to La Vallière? asked de Saint-Aignan in a tone one can easily imagine.

— Eh! poor child! said D'Artagnan, she has entered religion.

— Into religion? cried de Saint-Aignan.

— Into religion? cried the king amid the discourse of the ambassador.

Then, under the empire of etiquette, he composed himself, but still listening.

— What religion? asked de Saint-Aignan.

— The Carmelites of Chaillot.

— From whom the devil do you know that?

— From herself.

— You have seen her?

— It is I who conducted her to the Carmelites.

The king lost not a word; he boiled within and began to roar.

— But why this flight? asked de Saint-Aignan.

— Because the poor girl was yesterday driven from the Court, said D'Artagnan.

He had no sooner let fall this word, than the king made a gesture of authority.

— Enough, monsieur, said he to the ambassador, enough!

Then, advancing toward the captain:

— Who says that, cried he, that La Vallière is in religion?

— M. d'Artagnan, said the favorite.

— And is it true, what you say there? made the king turning back toward the musketeer.

— True as the truth.

The king closed his fists and paled.

— You have added something else, M. d'Artagnan, said he.

— I no longer know, Sire.

— You added that Mlle de La Vallière had been driven from the Court.

— Yes, Sire.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”