Part 30

— Eh! were they not, madame, answered Fouquet, when they were made to sweat out the forty millions given by that deed? Moreover, His Majesty asked my advice, there it is; let His Majesty ask my assistance, and it shall be the same.

— Come, come, accept, my son, said Anne of Austria; you are above rumors and interpretations.

— Refuse, Sire, said Fouquet. So long as a king lives, he has no other measure than his conscience, no other judge than his desire; but, dead, he has posterity which applauds or accuses.

— Thank you, my mother, replied Louis, bowing respectfully to the queen. Thank you, Monsieur Fouquet, said he, civically dismissing the superintendent.

— Do you accept? asked Anne of Austria again.

— I shall reflect, replied the king, looking at Fouquet.

Chapter XLVIII — Agony

The very day the donation had been sent to the king, the cardinal had himself conveyed to Vincennes. The king and the court had followed him there. The last gleams of that torch still cast enough brilliance to absorb, in their radiance, all other lights. Besides, as may be seen, a faithful satellite of his minister, the young Louis XIV moved, to the last moment, in the direction of his gravitation. The illness, according to Guénaud's prognostics, had worsened; it was no longer a fit of gout, it was a fit of death. Then there was a thing that made this dying man yet more dying: it was the anxiety cast into his mind by that donation sent to the king, and which, according to Colbert, the king was to send back unaccepted to the cardinal.

The cardinal had great faith, as we have seen, in his secretary's predictions; but the sum was large, and whatever Colbert's genius, from time to time the cardinal thought to himself that the Theatin, he too, might well have been mistaken, and that there were at least as many chances he would not be damned as there were that Louis XIV would send his millions back to him.

Moreover, the longer the donation delayed in returning, the more Mazarin found that forty millions are well worth the risk of something, and above all of a thing as hypothetical as the soul. Mazarin, in his capacity as cardinal and first minister, was nearly atheist and quite materialist.

Each time the door opened, he therefore turned sharply toward it, believing he saw his unhappy donation enter thereby; then, deceived in his hope, he lay down again with a sigh and found his pain the sharper for having forgotten it an instant. Anne of Austria, too, had followed the cardinal; her heart, though age had made her selfish, could not refuse to bear this dying man a sadness she owed him as a woman, said some, as a sovereign, said others.

She had, as it were, put on the mourning of her countenance in advance, and the whole court wore it as she did.

Louis, so as not to show upon his face what passed in the depths of his soul, persisted in remaining confined to his apartment, where his nurse alone kept him company; the more he believed he approached the term where all constraint would cease for him, the more he made himself humble and patient, withdrawing into himself like all strong men who have some design, so as to give himself more spring at the decisive moment. Extreme unction had been secretly administered to the cardinal, who, faithful to his habits of dissimulation, struggled against appearances, and even against reality, receiving in his bed as if he had been struck but by a passing ill.

Guénaud, for his part, kept the most absolute secrecy: questioned, weary of pursuits and questions, he answered nothing, save: "His Eminence is still full of youth and strength; but God wills what He wills, and when He has decided that man must be struck down, man must be struck down."

These words, which he sowed with a sort of discretion, reserve, and preference, two persons commented on with great interest: the king and the cardinal.

Mazarin, despite Guénaud's prophecy, still deceived himself, or, rather, he played his role so well that the sharpest, in saying he deceived himself, proved they were dupes. Louis, removed from the cardinal for two days; Louis, his eye fixed on that donation which so occupied the cardinal; Louis knew not exactly where Mazarin stood. The son of Louis XIII, following paternal traditions, had been so little king hitherto, that, while ardently desiring royalty, he desired it with that terror which always accompanies the unknown. Thus, having taken his resolution, which moreover he communicated to no one, he resolved to ask Mazarin for an interview. It was Anne of Austria who, ever assiduous near the cardinal, first heard this proposal of the king and transmitted it to the dying man, making him start. To what end did Louis XIV ask him for an interview? Was it to return, as Colbert had said? Was it to keep after thanks, as Mazarin thought? Nevertheless, as the dying man felt this uncertainty increase his ill yet more, he hesitated not an instant.

— His Majesty shall be welcome, yes, most welcome, cried he, making a sign to Colbert, who sat at the foot of the bed, a sign the latter understood perfectly. Madame, continued Mazarin, would Your Majesty be so good as to assure the king herself of the truth of what I have just said?

Anne of Austria rose; she, too, was in haste to be fixed as to the forty millions which were the mute thought of everyone.

Anne of Austria gone, Mazarin made a great effort, and raising himself toward Colbert:

— Well! Colbert, said he, here are two unhappy days! here are two deadly days, and, as you see, nothing has come back from there.

— Patience, monseigneur, said Colbert.

— Are you mad, wretch! you counsel me patience! Oh! truly, Colbert, you mock me: I am dying, and you cry to me to wait!

— Monseigneur, said Colbert with his habitual coolness, it is impossible things should not happen as I said. His Majesty comes to see you, meaning he brings you the donation himself.

— You believe that? Why, I, on the contrary, am sure His Majesty comes to thank me.

Anne of Austria re-entered at that moment; in going to her son, she had met in the antechambers a new empiric. It was a question of a powder that was to save the cardinal. Anne of Austria brought a sample of this powder. But that was not what Mazarin awaited, so he would not even cast his eyes upon it, assuring that life was not worth all the pains taken to preserve it. But, while uttering this philosophical axiom, his secret, so long contained, at last escaped him.

— There, madame, said he, there is not the interesting part of the situation; I made the king, some two days since, a little donation; hitherto, from delicacy no doubt, His Majesty has not wished to speak of it; but the moment for explanations arrives, and I beseech Your Majesty to tell me if the king has any ideas on this matter.

Anne of Austria made a movement to reply: Mazarin stopped her.

— The truth, madame, said he; in Heaven's name, the truth! Flatter not a dying man with a vain hope.

There, he arrested a glance from Colbert telling him he was going wrong.

— I know, said Anne of Austria, taking the cardinal's hand; I know you have generously made, not a little donation, as you say with such modesty, but a magnificent gift; I know how painful it would be to you that the king...

Mazarin listened, dying though he was, as ten living men could not have done.

— That the king? he resumed.

— That the king, continued Anne of Austria, should not accept with good heart what you so nobly offer.

Mazarin let himself fall back on the pillow like Pantaloon, that is to say with all the despair of a man abandoning himself to shipwreck, but he still kept enough strength and presence of mind to cast at Colbert one of those glances worth ten sonnets, that is to say ten long poems.

— Is it not, added the queen, that you would have considered the king's refusal as a sort of injury?

Mazarin rolled his head on the pillow without articulating a single syllable.

The queen was mistaken, or feigned to be mistaken, at this demonstration.

— Also, resumed she, I have won him over with good counsel, and as certain spirits, jealous no doubt of the glory you will acquire by this generosity, strove to prove to the king he should refuse this donation, I have struggled in your favor, and struggled so well that you will not, I hope, have this vexation to suffer.

— Oh! murmured Mazarin with languid eyes, ah! there is a service I shall not forget a minute, during the few hours left me to live!

— For the rest, I must say, continued Anne of Austria, it is not without pain I brought him back to Your Eminence.

— Ah! pest! I believe it. Oh!

— What ails you, my God?

— It is that I burn.

— Then you suffer much?

— Like a damned soul!

Colbert would have liked to disappear under the floorboards.

— So, resumed Mazarin, Your Majesty thinks the king... (he stopped some seconds) that the king, he resumed after some seconds, comes here to make me a little compliment?

— I believe so, said the queen.

Mazarin fulminated Colbert with his last glance. At that moment, the ushers announced the king in the antechambers full of people. This announcement produced a commotion of which Colbert profited to slip away by the door of the bedside. Anne of Austria rose, and standing awaited her son. Louis XIV appeared at the threshold of the chamber, his eyes fixed on the dying man, who no longer even took the trouble to stir for this Majesty from whom he thought he had nothing more to expect.

An usher rolled a armchair near the bed. Louis saluted his mother, then the cardinal, and sat. The queen sat in her turn.

Then, as the king had looked behind him, the usher understood that look, made a sign, and what remained of courtiers under the portières withdrew at once.

Silence fell again in the chamber with the velvet curtains. The king, still very young and very timid before him who had been his master since his birth, respected him yet more in this supreme majesty of death; he dared not therefore begin the conversation, feeling that each word must have a bearing, not only on the things of this world, but yet on those of the other. As for the cardinal, he had but one thought at that moment: his donation. It was not pain that gave him that cast-down air and mournful look; it was the awaiting of that thanks which was to issue from the king's mouth, and cut short all hope of restitution. It was Mazarin who first broke the silence.

— Your Majesty, said he, has come to establish himself at Vincennes?

Louis made a sign with his head.

— It is a gracious favor, continued Mazarin, which he accords a dying man, and will render death sweeter to him.

— I hope, answered the king, that I come to visit, not a dying man, but a sick man susceptible of cure.

Mazarin made a movement of the head which signified: "Your Majesty is very good, but I know more than she on that."

— The last visit, said he, Sire, the last.

— If such were the case, Monsieur le Cardinal, said Louis XIV, I would come one last time to take the counsel of a guide to whom I owe all.

Anne of Austria was a woman; she could not hold back her tears. Louis showed himself quite moved, and Mazarin more still than his two guests, but for other motives.

Here silence recommenced; the queen dried her cheeks and Louis regained firmness.

— I was saying, pursued the king, that I owed much to Your Eminence.

The cardinal's eyes devoured Louis XIV, for he felt the supreme moment coming.

— And, continued the king, the principal object of my visit was a most sincere thanks for the last testimony of friendship you were pleased to send me.

The cardinal's cheeks hollowed, his lips parted, and the most lamentable sigh he had ever uttered prepared to issue from his breast.

— Sire, said he, I shall have stripped my poor family; I shall have ruined all my own, which may be imputed to me as ill; but at least it shall not be said I refused to sacrifice all to my king.

Anne of Austria began her weeping again.

— Dear Monsieur Mazarin, said the king in a graver tone than his youth should have promised, you have misunderstood me, as I see.

Mazarin raised himself on his elbow.

— It is not a question here of ruining your dear family, nor of stripping your servants; oh! no, that shall not be.

"Come, he is going to return me some scrap," thought Mazarin; "let us therefore draw the largest possible piece."

"The king is going to soften and be generous," thought the queen; "let us not let him impoverish himself, such an occasion of fortune will never return."

— Sire, said aloud the cardinal, my family is very numerous and my nieces will be much deprived, I being no more.

— Oh! hastened to interrupt the queen, have no unease as to your family, dear Monsieur Mazarin; we shall have no friends more precious than your friends; your nieces shall be my children, the sisters of His Majesty, and, if a favor is distributed in France, it shall be for those you love.

"Smoke!" thought Mazarin, who knew better than anyone the worth one may lay on the promises of kings. Louis read the dying man's thought on his face.

— Rest easy, dear Monsieur de Mazarin, said he with a half-sad smile under his irony, Mlles de Mazarin will lose in losing you their most precious good; but they shall none the less remain the richest heiresses of France, and since you were pleased to give me their dowry...

The cardinal was panting.

— I return it to them, continued Louis, drawing from his breast and extending toward the cardinal's bed the parchment which contained the donation that, for two days, had raised so many storms in Mazarin's mind.

— What did I tell you, monseigneur? murmured in the bedside a voice that passed like a breath.

— Your Majesty returns me my donation! cried Mazarin, so troubled by joy he forgot his role of benefactor.

— Your Majesty returns the forty millions! cried Anne of Austria, so stupefied she forgot her role of mourner.

— Yes, Monsieur le Cardinal, yes, madame, answered Louis XIV, tearing the parchment which Mazarin had not yet dared take back; yes, I annihilate this deed which despoiled a whole family; the wealth acquired by His Eminence in my service is his and not mine.

— But, Sire, cried Anne of Austria, does Your Majesty reflect you have not ten thousand écus in your coffers?

— Madame, I have just performed my first royal action, and, I hope, it shall worthily inaugurate my reign.

— Ah! Sire, you are right! cried Mazarin; it is truly great, truly generous, what you have just done!

And he looked, one after another, at the pieces of the deed scattered on his bed, to assure himself well that they had torn the minute and not a copy.

At last, his eyes met the one where his signature was, and, recognizing it, he fell back quite fainting on his bolster. Anne of Austria, without strength to hide her regrets, raised her hands and eyes to heaven.

— Ah! Sire, cried Mazarin, ah! Sire, shall you be blessed! My God! shall you be loved by all my family!... Per bacco! if ever a discontent should come to you from mine, Sire, frown and I shall issue from my tomb.

This buffoonery produced not all the effect Mazarin had counted on. Louis had already passed to considerations of a higher order; and, as for Anne of Austria, unable to bear, without abandoning herself to the anger she felt rumbling within her, both this magnanimity of her son and this hypocrisy of the cardinal, she rose and left the chamber, little mindful to thus betray her vexation.

Mazarin guessed all, and, fearing lest Louis XIV return on his first decision, he set, to draw minds onto another path, to cry as later was to do Scapin, in that sublime jest which the morose and scolding Boileau dared reproach Molière. However, by degrees the cries calmed, and when Anne of Austria was out of the chamber, they even extinguished wholly.

— Monsieur le Cardinal, said the king, have you now some recommendation to make me?

— Sire, answered Mazarin, you are already wisdom itself, prudence in person; as to generosity, I speak not of it: what you have just done surpasses what the most generous men of antiquity and modern times have ever done.

The king remained cold to this praise.

— Thus, said he, you confine yourself to a thanks, monsieur, and your experience, yet better known than my wisdom, my prudence, and my generosity, furnishes you not a friendly counsel that may serve me for the future?

Mazarin reflected a moment.

— You have just done much for me, that is to say for my own, Sire.

— Let us not speak of that, said the king.

— Well! continued Mazarin, I wish to render you something in exchange for those forty millions you so royally abandon.

Louis XIV made a movement which indicated that all these flatteries made him suffer.

— I wish, resumed Mazarin, to give you a counsel; yes, a counsel, and a counsel more precious than those forty millions.

— Monsieur le Cardinal! interrupted Louis XIV.

— Sire, hear this counsel.

— I hear.

— Draw near, Sire, for I weaken... Nearer, Sire, nearer.

The king bent over the dying man's bed.

— Sire, said Mazarin, so low that the breath of his word alone arrived like a recommendation from the tomb to the attentive ears of the young king... Sire, never take a First Minister.

Louis straightened, astonished.

The counsel was a confession.

It was a treasure, indeed, that sincere confession of Mazarin. The cardinal's legacy to the young king consisted of but seven words; but these seven words, Mazarin had said, were worth forty millions.

Louis remained a moment stunned.

As for Mazarin, he seemed to have said a thing quite natural.

— Now, apart from your family, asked the young king, have you anyone to recommend to me, Monsieur de Mazarin?

A little scratching was heard along the curtains of the bedside.

Mazarin understood.

— Yes! yes! cried he eagerly; yes, Sire; I recommend you a wise man, an honest man, an able man.

— Say his name, Monsieur le Cardinal.

— His name is almost unknown to you yet, Sire: it is that of M. Colbert, my intendant. Oh! try him, added Mazarin in an accented voice; all he predicted to me has come to pass; he has the eye, and has never been mistaken, neither on things nor on men, which is yet more surprising. Sire, I owe you much; but I believe I acquit myself toward you, in giving you M. Colbert.

— So be it, said Louis XIV faintly; for, as Mazarin said, that name of Colbert was quite unknown to him, and he took this enthusiasm of the cardinal for the saying of a dying man.

The cardinal had fallen back on his pillow.

— For this time, farewell, Sire... farewell, murmured Mazarin... I am weary and have yet a hard road to travel before presenting myself before my new master. Farewell, Sire.

The young king felt tears in his eyes; he leaned over the dying man, already half corpse... then he withdrew precipitately.

Chapter XLIX — The First Appearance of Colbert

The whole night passed in common anguish, for the dying man and the king.

The dying man awaited his deliverance.

The king awaited his liberty.

Louis lay not down. An hour after his leaving the cardinal's chamber, he learned that the dying man, recovering some strength, had himself dressed, painted, combed, and had wished to receive the ambassadors.

Like Augustus, he no doubt considered the world a great theater, and wished to play properly the last act of his comedy.

Anne of Austria appeared no more at the cardinal's; she had nothing more to do there. Decency was a pretext for her absence. Besides, the cardinal inquired not after her: the counsel the queen had given her son had remained on his heart. Toward midnight, still all painted, Mazarin entered agony. He had reviewed his will, and as this will was the exact expression of his will, and he feared some interested influence might profit from his weakness to change something in this will, he had given the password to Colbert, who walked in the corridor leading to the cardinal's bedchamber, like the most vigilant of sentinels. The king, shut in his own rooms, dispatched every hour his nurse toward Mazarin's apartment, with order to report to him the exact bulletin of the cardinal's health.

After learning that Mazarin had had himself dressed, painted, combed and had received the ambassadors, Louis learned that the prayers for the dying were begun for the cardinal.

At one in the morning, Guénaud had tried the last remedy, called heroic remedy. It was a remnant of the old habits of that age of fencing, which was to disappear to make place for another age, to believe one could keep against death some good secret thrust. Mazarin, having taken the remedy, breathed for near ten minutes.

Straightway, he gave order that the rumor of a happy crisis be spread everywhere and at once.

The king, at this news, felt pass like a cold sweat upon his brow: he had glimpsed the day of liberty, slavery seemed to him darker, and less acceptable than ever.

But the bulletin which followed changed entirely the face of things.

Mazarin breathed not at all, and scarcely followed the prayers the curate of Saint-Nicolas-des-Champs recited near him. The king resumed walking with agitation in his chamber, and consulting, while walking, several papers drawn from a casket of which he alone had the key.

A third time the nurse returned. M. de Mazarin had just made a play on words and ordered his Titien Flora revarnished.

At last, toward half past two in the morning, the king could not resist exhaustion; for four-and-twenty hours he had not slept.

Sleep, so powerful at his age, seized him and laid him low for about an hour.

But he lay not down during that hour; he slept in his armchair.

Toward four o'clock, the nurse, re-entering the chamber, woke him.

— Well? asked the king.

— Well! my dear Sire, said the nurse, joining her hands with an air of commiseration, well! he is dead.

The king rose at a single bound, as if a steel spring had set him on his legs.

— Dead! cried he.

— Alas! yes.

— Is it then quite sure?

— Yes.

— Official?

— Yes.

— Is the news given out?

— Not yet.

— But who told you, you, that the cardinal was dead?

— M. Colbert.

— M. Colbert?

— Yes.

— And was he himself sure of what he said?

— He came from the chamber and had held, for some minutes, a mirror before the cardinal's lips.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”