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_ In the meantime, usurped royalty was playing out its part bravely at
Vaux. Philippe gave orders that for his _petit lever_ the _grandes
entrees_, already prepared to appear before the king, should be
introduced. He determined to give this order notwithstanding the absence
of M. d'Herblay, who did not return - our readers know the reason. But
the prince, not believing that absence could be prolonged, wished, as all
rash spirits do, to try his valor and his fortune far from all protection
and instruction. Another reason urged him to this - Anne of Austria was
about to appear; the guilty mother was about to stand in the presence of
her sacrificed son. Philippe was not willing, if he had a weakness, to
render the man a witness of it before whom he was bound thenceforth to
display so much strength. Philippe opened his folding doors, and several
persons entered silently. Philippe did not stir whilst his _valets de
chambre_ dressed him. He had watched, the evening before, all the habits
of his brother, and played the king in such a manner as to awaken no
suspicion. He was thus completely dressed in hunting costume when he
received his visitors. His own memory and the notes of Aramis announced
everybody to him, first of all Anne of Austria, to whom Monsieur gave his
hand, and then Madame with M. de Saint-Aignan. He smiled at seeing these
countenances, but trembled on recognizing his mother. That still so
noble and imposing figure, ravaged by pain, pleaded in his heart the
cause of the famous queen who had immolated a child to reasons of state.
He found his mother still handsome. He knew that Louis XIV. loved her,
and he promised himself to love her likewise, and not to prove a scourge
to her old age. He contemplated his brother with a tenderness easily to
be understood. The latter had usurped nothing, had cast no shades
athwart his life. A separate tree, he allowed the stem to rise without
heeding its elevation or majestic life. Philippe promised himself to be
a kind brother to this prince, who required nothing but gold to minister
to his pleasures. He bowed with a friendly air to Saint-Aignan, who was
all reverences and smiles, and trembling held out his hand to Henrietta,
his sister-in-law, whose beauty struck him; but he saw in the eyes of
that princess an expression of coldness which would facilitate, as he
thought, their future relations.
"How much more easy," thought he, "it will be to be the brother of that
woman than her gallant, if she evinces towards me a coldness that my
brother could not have for her, but which is imposed upon me as a duty."
The only visit he dreaded at this moment was that of the queen; his heart
- his mind - had just been shaken by so violent a trial, that, in spite
of their firm temperament, they would not, perhaps, support another
shock. Happily the queen did not come. Then commenced, on the part of
Anne of Austria, a political dissertation upon the welcome M. Fouquet had
given to the house of France. She mixed up hostilities with compliments
addressed to the king, and questions as to his health, with little
maternal flatteries and diplomatic artifices.
"Well, my son," said she, "are you convinced with regard to M. Fouquet?"
"Saint-Aignan," said Philippe, "have the goodness to go and inquire after
the queen."
At these words, the first Philippe had pronounced aloud, the slight
difference that there was between his voice and that of the king was
sensible to maternal ears, and Anne of Austria looked earnestly at her
son. Saint-Aignan left the room, and Philippe continued:
"Madame, I do not like to hear M. Fouquet ill-spoken of, you know I do
not - and you have even spoken well of him yourself."
"That is true; therefore I only question you on the state of your
sentiments with respect to him."
"Sire," said Henrietta, "I, on my part, have always liked M. Fouquet. He
is a man of good taste, - a superior man."
"A superintendent who is never sordid or niggardly," added Monsieur; "and
who pays in gold all the orders I have on him."
"Every one in this thinks too much of himself, and nobody for the state,"
said the old queen. "M. Fouquet, it is a fact, M. Fouquet is ruining the
state."
"Well, mother!" replied Philippe, in rather a lower key, "do you likewise
constitute yourself the buckler of M. Colbert?"
"How is that?" replied the old queen, rather surprised.
"Why, in truth," replied Philippe, "you speak that just as your old
friend Madame de Chevreuse would speak."
"Why do you mention Madame de Chevreuse to me?" said she, "and what sort
of humor are you in to-day towards me?"
Philippe continued: "Is not Madame de Chevreuse always in league against
somebody? Has not Madame de Chevreuse been to pay you a visit, mother?"
"Monsieur, you speak to me now in such a manner that I can almost fancy I
am listening to your father."
"My father did not like Madame de Chevreuse, and had good reason for not
liking her," said the prince. "For my part, I like her no better than
_he_ did, and if she thinks proper to come here as she formerly did, to
sow divisions and hatreds under the pretext of begging money - why - "
"Well! what?" said Anne of Austria, proudly, herself provoking the storm.
"Well!" replied the young man firmly, "I will drive Madame de Chevreuse
out of my kingdom - and with her all who meddle with its secrets and
mysteries."
He had not calculated the effect of this terrible speech, or perhaps he
wished to judge the effect of it, like those who, suffering from a
chronic pain, and seeking to break the monotony of that suffering, touch
their wound to procure a sharper pang. Anne of Austria was nearly
fainting; her eyes, open but meaningless, ceased to see for several
seconds; she stretched out her arms towards her other son, who supported
and embraced her without fear of irritating the king.
"Sire," murmured she, "you are treating your mother very cruelly."
"In what respect, madame?" replied he. "I am only speaking of Madame de
Chevreuse; does my mother prefer Madame de Chevreuse to the security of
the state and of my person? Well, then, madame, I tell you Madame de
Chevreuse has returned to France to borrow money, and that she addressed
herself to M. Fouquet to sell him a certain secret."
"A certain secret!" cried Anne of Austria.
"Concerning pretended robberies that monsieur le surintendant had
committed, which is false," added Philippe. "M. Fouquet rejected her
offers with indignation, preferring the esteem of the king to complicity
with such intriguers. Then Madame de Chevreuse sold the secret to M.
Colbert, and as she is insatiable, and was not satisfied with having
extorted a hundred thousand crowns from a servant of the state, she has
taken a still bolder flight, in search of surer sources of supply. Is
that true, madame?"
"You know all, sire," said the queen, more uneasy than irritated.
"Now," continued Philippe, "I have good reason to dislike this fury, who
comes to my court to plan the shame of some and the ruin of others. If
Heaven has suffered certain crimes to be committed, and has concealed
them in the shadow of its clemency, I will not permit Madame de Chevreuse
to counteract the just designs of fate."
The latter part of this speech had so agitated the queen-mother, that her
son had pity on her. He took her hand and kissed it tenderly; she did
not feel that in that kiss, given in spite of repulsion and bitterness of
the heart, there was a pardon for eight years of suffering. Philippe
allowed the silence of a moment to swallow the emotions that had just
developed themselves. Then, with a cheerful smile:
"We will not go to-day," said he, "I have a plan." And, turning towards
the door, he hoped to see Aramis, whose absence began to alarm him. The
queen-mother wished to leave the room.
"Remain where you are, mother," said he, "I wish you to make your peace
with M. Fouquet."
"I bear M. Fouquet no ill-will; I only dreaded his prodigalities."
"We will put that to rights, and will take nothing of the superintendent
but his good qualities."
"What is your majesty looking for?" said Henrietta, seeing the king's
eyes constantly turned towards the door, and wishing to let fly a little
poisoned arrow at his heart, supposing he was so anxiously expecting
either La Valliere or a letter from her.
"My sister," said the young man, who had divined her thought, thanks to
that marvelous perspicuity of which fortune was from that time about to
allow him the exercise, "my sister, I am expecting a most distinguished
man, a most able counselor, whom I wish to present to you all,
recommending him to your good graces. Ah! come in, then, D'Artagnan."
"What does your majesty wish?" said D'Artagnan, appearing.
"Where is monsieur the bishop of Vannes, your friend?"
"Why, sire - "
"I am waiting for him, and he does not come. Let him be sought for."
D'Artagnan remained for an instant stupefied; but soon, reflecting that
Aramis had left Vaux privately on a mission from the king, he concluded
that the king wished to preserve the secret. "Sire," replied he, "does
your majesty absolutely require M. d'Herblay to be brought to you?"
"Absolutely is not the word," said Philippe; "I do not want him so
particularly as that; but if he can be found - "
"I thought so," said D'Artagnan to himself.
"Is this M. d'Herblay the bishop of Vannes?"
"Yes, madame."
"A friend of M. Fouquet?"
"Yes, madame; an old musketeer."
Anne of Austria blushed.
"One of the four braves who formerly performed such prodigies."
The old queen repented of having wished to bite; she broke off the
conversation, in order to preserve the rest of her teeth. "Whatever may
be your choice, sire," said she, "I have no doubt it will be excellent."
All bowed in support of that sentiment.
"You will find in him," continued Philippe, "the depth and penetration of
M. de Richelieu, without the avarice of M. de Mazarin!"
"A prime minister, sire?" said Monsieur, in a fright.
"I will tell you all about that, brother; but it is strange that M.
d'Herblay is not here!"
He called out:
"Let M. Fouquet be informed that I wish to speak to him - oh! before you,
before you; do not retire!"
M. de Saint-Aignan returned, bringing satisfactory news of the queen, who
only kept her bed from precaution, and to have strength to carry out the
king's wishes. Whilst everybody was seeking M. Fouquet and Aramis, the
new king quietly continued his experiments, and everybody, family,
officers, servants, had not the least suspicion of his identity, his air,
his voice, and manners were so like the king's. On his side, Philippe,
applying to all countenances the accurate descriptions and key-notes of
character supplied by his accomplice Aramis, conducted himself so as not
to give birth to a doubt in the minds of those who surrounded him.
Nothing from that time could disturb the usurper. With what strange
facility had Providence just reversed the loftiest fortune of the world
to substitute the lowliest in its stead! Philippe admired the goodness
of God with regard to himself, and seconded it with all the resources of
his admirable nature. But he felt, at times, something like a specter
gliding between him and the rays of his new glory. Aramis did not
appear. The conversation had languished in the royal family; Philippe,
preoccupied, forgot to dismiss his brother and Madame Henrietta. The
latter were astonished, and began, by degrees, to lose all patience.
Anne of Austria stooped towards her son's ear and addressed some words to
him in Spanish. Philippe was completely ignorant of that language, and
grew pale at this unexpected obstacle. But, as if the spirit of the
imperturbable Aramis had covered him with his infallibility, instead of
appearing disconcerted, Philippe rose. "Well! what?" said Anne of
Austria.
"What is all that noise?" said Philippe, turning round towards the door
of the second staircase.
And a voice was heard saying, "This way, this way! A few steps more,
sire!"
"The voice of M. Fouquet," said D'Artagnan, who was standing close to the
queen-mother.
"Then M. d'Herblay cannot be far off," added Philippe.
But he then saw what he little thought to have beheld so near to him.
All eyes were turned towards the door at which M. Fouquet was expected to
enter; but it was not M. Fouquet who entered. A terrible cry resounded
from all corners of the chamber, a painful cry uttered by the king and
all present. It is given to but few men, even those whose destiny
contains the strangest elements, and accidents the most wonderful, to
contemplate such a spectacle similar to that which presented itself in
the royal chamber at that moment. The half-closed shutters only admitted
the entrance of an uncertain light passing through thick violet velvet
curtains lined with silk. In this soft shade, the eyes were by degrees
dilated, and every one present saw others rather with imagination than
with actual sight. There could not, however, escape, in these
circumstances, one of the surrounding details; and the new object which
presented itself appeared as luminous as though it shone out in full
sunlight. So it happened with Louis XIV., when he showed himself, pale
and frowning, in the doorway of the secret stairs. The face of Fouquet
appeared behind him, stamped with sorrow and determination. The queen-
mother, who perceived Louis XIV., and who held the hand of Philippe,
uttered a cry of which we have spoken, as if she beheld a phantom.
Monsieur was bewildered, and kept turning his head in astonishment from
one to the other. Madame made a step forward, thinking she was looking
at the form of her brother-in-law reflected in a mirror. And, in fact,
the illusion was possible. The two princes, both pale as death - for we
renounce the hope of being able to describe the fearful state of Philippe
- trembling, clenching their hands convulsively, measured each other with
looks, and darted their glances, sharp as poniards, at each other.
Silent, panting, bending forward, they appeared as if about to spring
upon an enemy. The unheard-of resemblance of countenance, gesture,
shape, height, even to the resemblance of costume, produced by chance –
for Louis XIV. had been to the Louvre and put on a violet-colored dress –
the perfect analogy of the two princes, completed the consternation of
Anne of Austria. And yet she did not at once guess the truth. There are
misfortunes in life so truly dreadful that no one will at first accept
them; people rather believe in the supernatural and the impossible.
Louis had not reckoned on these obstacles. He expected that he had only
to appear to be acknowledged. A living sun, he could not endure the
suspicion of equality with any one. He did not admit that every torch
should not become darkness at the instant he shone out with his
conquering ray. At the aspect of Philippe, then, he was perhaps more
terrified than any one round him, and his silence, his immobility were,
this time, a concentration and a calm which precede the violent
explosions of concentrated passion.
But Fouquet! who shall paint his emotion and stupor in presence of this
living portrait of his master! Fouquet thought Aramis was right, that
this newly-arrived was a king as pure in his race as the other, and that,
for having repudiated all participation in this _coup d'etat_, so
skillfully got up by the General of the Jesuits, he must be a mad
enthusiast, unworthy of ever dipping his hands in political grand
strategy work. And then it was the blood of Louis XIII. which Fouquet
was sacrificing to the blood of Louis XIII.; it was to a selfish ambition
he was sacrificing a noble ambition; to the right of keeping he
sacrificed the right of having. The whole extent of his fault was
revealed to him at simple sight of the pretender. All that passed in the
mind of Fouquet was lost upon the persons present. He had five minutes
to focus meditation on this point of conscience; five minutes, that is to
say five ages, during which the two kings and their family scarcely found
energy to breathe after so terrible a shock. D'Artagnan, leaning against
the wall, in front of Fouquet, with his hand to his brow, asked himself
the cause of such a wonderful prodigy. He could not have said at once
why he doubted, but he knew assuredly that he had reason to doubt, and
that in this meeting of the two Louis XIV.s lay all the doubt and
difficulty that during late days had rendered the conduct of Aramis so
suspicious to the musketeer. These ideas were, however, enveloped in a
haze, a veil of mystery. The actors in this assembly seemed to swim in
the vapors of a confused waking. Suddenly Louis XIV., more impatient and
more accustomed to command, ran to one of the shutters, which he opened,
tearing the curtains in his eagerness. A flood of living light entered
the chamber, and made Philippe draw back to the alcove. Louis seized
upon this movement with eagerness, and addressing himself to the queen:
"My mother," said he, "do you not acknowledge your son, since every one
here has forgotten his king!" Anne of Austria started, and raised her
arms towards Heaven, without being able to articulate a single word.
"My mother," said Philippe, with a calm voice, "do you not acknowledge
your son?" And this time, in his turn, Louis drew back.
As to Anne of Austria, struck suddenly in head and heart with fell
remorse, she lost her equilibrium. No one aiding her, for all were
petrified, she sank back in her fauteuil, breathing a weak, trembling
sigh. Louis could not endure the spectacle and the affront. He bounded
towards D'Artagnan, over whose brain a vertigo was stealing and who
staggered as he caught at the door for support.
"_A moi! mousquetaire!_" said he. "Look us in the face and say which is
the paler, he or I!"
This cry roused D'Artagnan, and stirred in his heart the fibers of
obedience. He shook his head, and, without more hesitation, he walked
straight up to Philippe, on whose shoulder he laid his hand, saying,
"Monsieur, you are my prisoner!"
Philippe did not raise his eyes towards Heaven, nor stir from the spot,
where he seemed nailed to the floor, his eye intently fixed upon the king
his brother. He reproached him with a sublime silence for all
misfortunes past, all tortures to come. Against this language of the
soul the king felt he had no power; he cast down his eyes, dragging away
precipitately his brother and sister, forgetting his mother, sitting
motionless within three paces of the son whom she left a second time to
be condemned to death. Philippe approached Anne of Austria, and said to
her, in a soft and nobly agitated voice:
"If I were not your son, I should curse you, my mother, for having
rendered me so unhappy."
D'Artagnan felt a shudder pass through the marrow of his bones. He bowed
respectfully to the young prince, and said as he bent, "Excuse me,
monseigneur, I am but a soldier, and my oaths are his who has just left
the chamber."
"Thank you, M. d'Artagnan.... What has become of M. d'Herblay?"
"M. d'Herblay is in safety, monseigneur," said a voice behind them; "and
no one, while I live and am free, shall cause a hair to fall from his
head."
"Monsieur Fouquet!" said the prince, smiling sadly.
"Pardon me, monseigneur," said Fouquet, kneeling, "but he who is just
gone out from hence was my guest."
"Here are," murmured Philippe, with a sigh, "brave friends and good
hearts. They make me regret the world. On, M. d'Artagnan, I follow you."
At the moment the captain of the musketeers was about to leave the room
with his prisoner, Colbert appeared, and, after remitting an order from
the king to D'Artagnan, retired. D'Artagnan read the paper, and then
crushed it in his hand with rage.
"What is it?" asked the prince.
"Read, monseigneur," replied the musketeer.
Philippe read the following words, hastily traced by the hand of the king:
"M. d'Artagnan will conduct the prisoner to the Ile Sainte-Marguerite.
He will cover his face with an iron vizor, which the prisoner shall never
raise except at peril of his life."
"That is just," said Philippe, with resignation; "I am ready."
"Aramis was right," said Fouquet, in a low voice, to the musketeer, "this
one is every whit as much a king as the other."
"More so!" replied D'Artagnan. "He wanted only you and me." _
Read next: CHAPTER XXV - In Which Porthos Thinks He Is Pursuing a Duchy
Read previous: CHAPTER XXIII - The King's Gratitude
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