Part 20

Now, let us picture this royal intruder, his eye dark and his body trembling. He resembles the tiger strayed by a stormy night, who came through the reeds, through the unknown ravine, to lie down in the cavern of the absent lion. The feline scent drew him, that tepid vapor of the customary dwelling. He found a bed of dry grasses, of broken bones pasty like marrow; he arrives, casts through the shadow his gaze that flames and sees; he shakes his dripping limbs, his pelt fouled with mud, and crouches heavily, his broad muzzle upon his enormous paws, ready for sleep, but also ready for combat. From time to time, the lightning that shines and glimmers in the crevices of the den, the noise of branches clashing, of stones that cry as they fall, the vague apprehension of danger, rouse him from that lethargy caused by fatigue.

One may be ambitious to lie in the lion's bed, but one must not hope to sleep there in peace.

Philippe lent his ear to every sound, let his heart swing upon the breath of every terror; but, confident in his strength, doubled by the exaggeration of his supreme resolution, he awaited without weakness that a decisive circumstance might permit him to judge himself. He hoped that a great danger would gleam for him, like those phosphores of the tempest that show navigators the height of the waves against which they struggle.

But nothing came. Silence, that mortal enemy of restless hearts, that mortal enemy of the ambitious, enveloped the whole night, in its thick vapor, the future king of France, sheltered beneath his stolen crown.

Toward morning, a shadow rather than a body slipped into the royal chamber; Philippe expected it and was not astonished.

— Well! Monsieur d'Herblay? said he.

— Well! Sire, all is finished.

— How?

— All that we awaited.

— Resistance?

— Fierce: tears, cries.

— Then?

— Then stupor.

— But finally?

— Finally, complete victory and absolute silence.

— Does the governor of the Bastille suspect?...

— Nothing.

— This resemblance?

— Is the cause of the success.

— But the prisoner cannot fail to explain himself, think of it. I could well do it, I who had to combat a power far more solid than my own.

— I have already provided for all. In a few days, perhaps sooner if need be, we shall draw the captive from his prison, and remove him by an exile so distant...

— One returns from exile, Monsieur d'Herblay.

— So far, said I, that the material forces of man and the span of his life would not suffice for the return.

Once again, the gaze of the young king and that of Aramis crossed with a cold intelligence.

— And Monsieur du Vallon? asked Philippe, to turn the conversation.

— He will be presented to you today, and, in confidence, will congratulate you on the danger that this usurper made you run.

— What will be done with him?

— With Monsieur du Vallon?

— A duke by patent, is it not?

— Yes, a duke by patent, replied Aramis with a singular smile.

— Why do you laugh, Monsieur d'Herblay?

— I laugh at the foresighted idea of Your Majesty.

— Foresighted? What do you mean by that?

— Your Majesty fears, no doubt, that this poor Porthos may become an embarrassing witness, and wishes to be rid of him.

— By making him a duke?

— Assuredly. You kill him; he will die of joy, and the secret will die with him.

— Ah! my God!

— I, said Aramis phlegmatically, shall lose a very good friend.

At this moment, and in the midst of these futile exchanges beneath which the two conspirators hid the joy and pride of success, Aramis heard something that made him prick up his ear.

— What is it? said Philippe.

— Daylight, Sire.

— Well?

— Well! before lying down yesterday upon this bed, you had probably decided to do something this morning, at daybreak?

— I told my captain of the musketeers, replied the young man briskly, that I would await him.

— If you told him that, he will assuredly come, for he is a punctual man.

— I hear a step in the vestibule.

— It is he.

— Come, let us begin the attack, said the young king with resolution.

— Take care! cried Aramis. To begin the attack, and by d'Artagnan, would be folly. D'Artagnan knows nothing, d'Artagnan has seen nothing, d'Artagnan is a hundred leagues from suspecting our mystery; but let him penetrate here this morning first, and he will scent that something has passed of which he must take heed. You see, Sire, before letting d'Artagnan enter here, we must give much air to the chamber, or introduce so many people that the finest hound of this kingdom be thrown off the scent by twenty different traces.

— But how to dismiss him, since I gave him a rendezvous? observed the prince, impatient to measure himself against so redoubtable an adversary.

— I take charge of that, replied the bishop, and, to begin, I shall strike a blow that will stun our man.

— He too strikes a blow, added the prince quickly.

Indeed, a knock sounded from without.

Aramis had not been mistaken: it was indeed d'Artagnan who thus announced himself.

We have seen him pass the night in philosophizing with Monsieur Fouquet; but the musketeer was weary, even of feigning sleep; and as soon as dawn came to illuminate with its bluish halo the sumptuous cornices of the superintendent's chamber, d'Artagnan rose from his armchair, straightened his sword, put his coat back on with its sleeve and brushed his hat like a guardsman ready to pass inspection before his corporal.

— You are going out? asked Monsieur Fouquet.

— Yes, my lord; and you?

— I remain.

— On your word?

— On my word.

— Very well. I go out only to fetch that reply, you know?

— That sentence, you mean.

— See here, I have a bit of the old Roman in me. This morning, on rising, I noticed that my sword caught in no aiguillette, and that the baldric slid well. It is an infallible sign.

— Of prosperity?

— Yes, picture it well. Each time that this devil of a buffalo hooked onto my back, it was a punishment from Monsieur de Tréville, or a refusal of money from Monsieur de Mazarin. Each time the sword caught in the baldric itself, it was a bad errand, such as pleased him to give me all my life. Each time the sword itself danced in the scabbard, it was a happy duel. Each time it lodged against my calves, it was a slight wound. Each time it came quite out of the scabbard, I was fixed, and got off with staying on the battlefield, with two or three months of surgeon and compresses.

— Ah! but I did not know you were so well advised by your sword, said Fouquet with a pale smile that was the struggle against his own weaknesses. Have you a tisona or a tranchante? Is your blade fay or charmed?

— My sword, see you, is a member that forms part of my body. I have heard tell that certain men are warned by their leg or by a beating of their temple. I am warned by my sword. Well! it told me nothing this morning. Ah! yes indeed!... there it goes falling all by itself into the last fold of the baldric. Do you know what that foretells me?

— No.

— Well! it foretells an arrest for today.

— Ah! but, said the superintendent more astonished than angered at this frankness, if nothing sad is predicted you by your sword, it is therefore not sad for you to arrest me?

— Arrest you! you?

— Doubtless... the omen...

— Does not concern you, since you have been all arrested since yesterday. It is therefore not you I shall arrest. That is why I rejoice, that is why I say my day will be happy.

And, on these words, pronounced with an affectionate good grace, the captain took leave of Monsieur Fouquet to betake himself to the king.

He was about to cross the threshold of the chamber, when Monsieur Fouquet said to him:

— One last mark of your benevolence.

— Agreed, my lord.

— Monsieur d'Herblay; let me see Monsieur d'Herblay.

— I shall endeavor to bring him back to you.

D'Artagnan little knew how truly he spoke. It was written that the day would pass for him in fulfilling the predictions that morning had made him.

He came to knock, as we have said, at the door of the king. That door opened. The captain might believe the king came himself to open. This supposition was not inadmissible after the state of agitation in which the musketeer had left Louis XIV the eve before. But, instead of the royal countenance, which he prepared to salute respectfully, he perceived the long and impassive face of Aramis. He all but cried out, so violent was his surprise.

— Aramis! said he.

— Good day, dear d'Artagnan, replied the prelate coldly.

— Here? stammered the musketeer.

— His Majesty prays you, said the bishop, to announce that he rests, after having been much fatigued all night.

— Ah! said d'Artagnan, who could not understand how the bishop of Vannes, so slight a favorite the eve before, had become, in six hours, the tallest mushroom of fortune that had yet sprung up in the alcove of a royal bed.

Indeed, to transmit at the threshold of the monarch's chamber the wishes of the king, to serve as intermediary to Louis XIV, to command in his name two steps from him, one must have been more than Richelieu ever was with Louis XIII.

The expressive eye of d'Artagnan, his dilated mouth, his bristling mustache, said all that in the most flashing of languages to the superb favorite, who was not moved thereby.

— Moreover, continued the bishop, you will be so good, Monsieur Captain of the Musketeers, as to admit only those of the great entries this morning. His Majesty wishes to sleep yet.

— But, objected d'Artagnan, ready to revolt and above all to let burst the suspicions inspired in him by the king's silence; but, Monsieur the Bishop, His Majesty gave me a rendezvous this morning.

— Let us defer, let us defer, said from the depth of the alcove the voice of the king, a voice that ran a shiver through the veins of the musketeer.

He bowed, dumbfounded, stupid, stupefied by the smile with which Aramis crushed him, once these words were spoken.

— And then, continued the bishop, to answer what you came to ask the king, my dear d'Artagnan, here is an order of which you will take cognizance at once. This order concerns Monsieur Fouquet.

D'Artagnan took the order tendered him.

— Release? he murmured. Ah!

And he gave a second ah! more intelligent than the first.

That is because this order explained to him the presence of Aramis with the king; that is because Aramis, having obtained the pardon of Monsieur Fouquet, must be deep in royal favor; that is because this favor in turn explained the incredible assurance with which Monsieur d'Herblay gave orders in the name of His Majesty.

It sufficed d'Artagnan to have understood something to understand all. He saluted and made two steps to depart.

— I accompany you, said the bishop.

— Where?

— To Monsieur Fouquet's; I wish to enjoy his contentment.

— Ah! Aramis, how you intrigued me just now, said d'Artagnan again.

— But, now, you understand?

— Pardieu! if I understand, said he aloud.

Then, very low:

— Well! no! he hissed between his teeth; no, I do not understand. All the same, there is an order.

And he added:

— Go before, my lord.

D'Artagnan led Aramis to Fouquet.

Chapter CCXXVII — The King's Friend

Fouquet awaited with anxiety; he had already dismissed several of his servants and friends who, anticipating the hour of his customary receptions, had come to his door. To each of them, hiding the danger hanging over his head, he asked only where one might find Aramis.

When he saw d'Artagnan return, when he glimpsed behind him the bishop of Vannes, his joy was at its height; it equaled all his unease. To see Aramis was for the superintendent a compensation for the misfortune of being arrested.

The prelate was silent and grave; d'Artagnan was overwhelmed by all this accumulation of incredible events.

— Well! captain, you bring me Monsieur d'Herblay?

— And something better still, my lord.

— What then?

— Liberty.

— Am I free?

— You are. Order of the king.

Fouquet regained all his serenity to question Aramis well with his gaze.

— Oh! yes, you may thank the Bishop of Vannes, pursued d'Artagnan, for it is to him indeed you owe the king's change of heart.

— Oh! said Monsieur Fouquet, more humiliated by the service than grateful for the success.

— But you, continued d'Artagnan addressing Aramis, you who protect Monsieur Fouquet, will you not do something for me?

— All that may please you, my friend, replied the bishop in his calm voice.

— One thing only, and I declare myself satisfied. How have you become the king's favorite, you who have spoken to him but twice in your life?

— To a friend like you, replied Aramis finely, one hides nothing.

— Ah! good. Speak.

— Well! you believe I have seen the king but twice, whereas I have seen him more than a hundred times. Only, we hid ourselves, that is all.

And, without seeking to extinguish the fresh redness that this revelation brought to the brow of d'Artagnan, Aramis turned toward Monsieur Fouquet, as surprised as the musketeer.

— My lord, he resumed, the king charges me to tell you that he is more than ever your friend, and that your feast so beautiful, so generously offered, touched his heart.

Thereupon, he saluted Monsieur Fouquet so reverently that the latter, incapable of comprehending anything of a diplomacy of that force, remained without voice, without idea and without movement.

D'Artagnan believed he understood, he, that these two men had something to say to each other, and he was about to obey that instinct of politeness which in such case precipitates toward the door him whose presence is an embarrassment to others; but his ardent curiosity, whipped by so many mysteries, counseled him to stay.

Then Aramis, turning toward him with gentleness:

— My friend, said he, you will well remember, will you not, the king's order touching the prohibitions for his small levee?

These words were clear enough. The musketeer understood them; he therefore saluted Monsieur Fouquet, then Aramis with a shade of ironic respect, and disappeared.

Then Monsieur Fouquet, whose whole impatience had hardly awaited this moment, sprang toward the door to close it, and, returning to the bishop:

— My dear d'Herblay, said he, I believe it is time for you to explain to me what is passing. In truth, I understand nothing more of it.

— We are going to explain all that to you, said Aramis sitting down and making Monsieur Fouquet sit. Where must we begin?

— By this, first. Before any other interest, why does the king have me set at liberty?

— You should rather have asked me why he had you arrested.

— Since my arrest, I have had time to think on it, and I believe it is a bit of jealousy. My feast displeased Monsieur Colbert, and Monsieur Colbert found some plan against me, the plan of Belle-Île, for example?

— No, it was not yet a question of Belle-Île.

— Of what, then?

— Do you remember those receipts for thirteen millions that Monsieur de Mazarin had stolen from you?

— Oh! yes. Well?

— Well! there you are already declared a thief.

— My God!

— That is not all. Do you recall that letter written by you to La Vallière?

— Alas! it is true.

— There you are declared traitor and seducer.

— Then, why have you pardoned me?

— We are not yet at that point of our argument. I wish you to be well fixed on the fact. Note this well: the king knows you guilty of misappropriation of funds. Oh! pardieu! I am not ignorant that you misappropriated nothing at all; but finally, the king has not seen the receipts, and he cannot do other than believe you criminal.

— Pardon, I do not see...

— You are going to see. The king, moreover, having read your amorous billet and your offers made to La Vallière, can harbor no doubt of your intentions toward that beauty, is it not so?

— Assuredly. But conclude.

— I come to it. The king is therefore for you a capital enemy, implacable, eternal.

— Agreed. But am I then so powerful, that he dared not ruin me, despite this hatred, with all the means that my weakness or my misfortune give him as hold upon me?

— It is well established, replied Aramis coldly, that the king is irrevocably estranged from you.

— But that he absolves me.

— Do you believe it? said the bishop with a searching glance.

— Without believing in the sincerity of the heart, I believe in the truth of the fact.

Aramis slightly shrugged his shoulders.

— Why then would Louis XIV have charged you to tell me what you reported to me? asked Fouquet.

— The king charged me with nothing for you.

— Nothing!... said the superintendent stupefied. Well! then, that order?...

— Ah! yes, there is an order, that is just.

And these words were pronounced by Aramis with so strange an accent that Fouquet could not refrain from starting.

— See here, said he, you are hiding something from me, I see it.

Aramis caressed his chin with his so white fingers.

— The king exiles me?

— Do not act like in that game where children guess the presence of a hidden object by the way a bell tinkles when they approach or withdraw.

— Speak, then!

— Guess.

— You make me afraid.

— Bah!... It is that you have not guessed, then.

— What did the king say to you? In the name of our friendship, do not disguise it from me.

— The king said nothing to me.

— You will make me die of impatience, d'Herblay. Am I still superintendent?

— As long as you wish.

— But what singular empire have you suddenly taken over the mind of His Majesty?

— Ah! there!

— You make him act at your will.

— I believe it.

— It is unbelievable.

— It will be said.

— D'Herblay, by our alliance, by our friendship, by all you hold dearest in the world, speak to me, I beg you. To what do you owe having thus penetrated with Louis XIV? He did not love you, I know.

— The king will love me now, said Aramis emphasizing this last word.

— You had something particular with him?

— Yes.

— A secret, perhaps?

— Yes, a secret.

— A secret of a nature to change the interests of His Majesty?

— You are truly a superior man, my lord. You have guessed well. I have, indeed, discovered a secret of a nature to change the interests of the King of France.

— Ah! said Fouquet, with the reserve of a gentleman who will not question.

— And you are going to judge of it, pursued Aramis; you are going to tell me if I err on the importance of this secret.

— I listen, since you are good enough to open yourself to me. Only, my friend, note that I have solicited nothing indiscreet.

Aramis collected himself a moment.

— Do not speak, cried Fouquet. It is still time.

— Do you remember, said the bishop, eyes lowered, the birth of Louis XIV?

— As of today.

— Have you heard tell anything particular of that birth?

— Nothing, save that the king was not truly the son of Louis XIII.

— That matters nothing to our interest nor to that of the kingdom. Is son of his father, says the French law, he who has a father acknowledged by law.

— That is true; but it is grave, when it is a question of the quality of races.

— Secondary question. Therefore, you knew nothing particular?

— Nothing.

— There is where my secret begins.

— Ah!

— The queen, instead of giving birth to one son, gave birth to two children.

Fouquet lifted his head.

— And the second is dead? said he.

— You are going to see. These two twins were to be the pride of their mother and the hope of France; but the weakness of the king, his superstition, made him fear conflicts between two children equal in rights; he suppressed one of the two twins.

— Suppressed, do you say?

— Wait... These two children grew: the one, upon the throne, you are his minister; the other, in shadow and isolation.

— And that one?

— Is my friend.

— My God! what are you telling me there, Monsieur d'Herblay. And what does this poor prince do?

— Ask me first what he has done.

— Yes, yes.

— He was raised in a country house, then sequestered in a fortress named the Bastille.

— Is it possible! cried the superintendent, hands joined.

— The one was the most fortunate of mortals, the other the most unhappy of the wretched.

— And his mother is ignorant?

— Anne of Austria knows all.

— And the king?

— Ah! the king knows nothing.

— So much the better! said Fouquet.

This exclamation seemed to impress Aramis vividly. He looked worriedly at his interlocutor.

— Pardon, I interrupted you, said Fouquet.

— I was saying, then, resumed Aramis, that this poor prince was the most unhappy of men, when God, who thinks of all His creatures, undertook to come to his aid.

— Oh! how so?

— You are going to see. The reigning king... I say the reigning king, you well guess why.

— No... Why?

— Because both, legitimately benefiting from their birth, ought to have been kings. Is that your opinion?

— It is my opinion.

— Positive?

— Positive. Twins are a one in two bodies.

— I like that a legist of your force and authority gives me this consultation. It is therefore established for us that both had the same rights, is it not?

— It is established... But, my God! what an adventure!

— You are not at the end. Patience!

— Oh! I shall have it.

— God wished to raise up for the oppressed a avenger, a support, if you prefer. It came to pass that the reigning king, the usurper... You are of my opinion, are you not? it is usurpation, the tranquil, selfish enjoyment of an inheritance of which one has, at most, by right, but half.

— Usurpation is the word.

— I pursue, then. God willed that the usurper have for first minister a man of talent and great heart, a great mind, besides.

— That is well, that is well, cried Fouquet. I understand: you counted on me to help you repair the wrong done to the poor brother of Louis XIV? You thought well: I shall help you. Thanks, d'Herblay, thanks!

— It is not that at all. You do not let me finish, said Aramis, impassive.

— I am silent.

— Monsieur Fouquet, I was saying, being minister of the reigning king, was taken into aversion by the king and much threatened in his fortune, in his liberty, in his life perhaps, by intrigue and hatred, too easily hearkened to by the king. But God permitted, always for the salvation of the sacrificed prince, that Monsieur Fouquet in turn have a devoted friend who knew the state secret, and felt the strength to bring this secret to light after having had the strength to carry this secret twenty years in his heart.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”