The Man in the Iron Mask (AmazonClassics Edition)

CHAPTER 36

In M. Colbert’s Carriage

As Gourville had seen, the king’s musketeers were mounting and following their captain. The latter, who did not like to be confined in his proceedings, left his brigade under the orders of a lieutenant, and set off, on his part, on post-horses, recommending his men to use all diligence. However rapidly they might travel, they could not arrive before him. He had time, in passing along the Rue des Petits Champs, to see a thing which afforded him plenty of food for thought and conjecture. He saw M. Colbert coming out from his house to get into his carriage, which was stationed before the door. In this carriage D’Artagnan perceived the hoods of two women, and being rather curious, he wished to know the names of the women concealed beneath these hoods. To get a glimpse at them, for they kept themselves closely covered up, he urged his horse so near the carriage that he drove him against the step with such force as to shake everything containing and contained. The terrified women uttered, the one a faint cry, by which D’Artagnan recognized a young woman, the other an imprecation, in which he recognized the vigor and aplomb that half a century bestows. The hoods were thrown back; one of the women was Mme. Vanel, the other the Duchesse de Chevreuse. D’Artagnan’s eyes were quicker than those of the ladies; he had seen and known them, whilst they did not recognize him; and as they laughed at their fright, pressing each other’s hands:

“Humph!” said D’Artagnan, “the old duchess is not more difficult in her friendships than she was formerly. She paying her court to the mistress of Monsieur Colbert! Poor Monsieur Fouquet! that presages you nothing good!”

He rode on. M. Colbert got into his carriage, and this noble trio commenced a sufficiently slow pilgrimage toward the wood of Vincennes. Mme. de Chevreuse set down Mme. Vanel at her husband’s house, and, left alone with M. Colbert, chatted upon affairs while continuing her ride. She had an inexhaustible fund of conversation, had that dear duchess, and as she always talked for the ill of others, always with a view to her own good, her conversation amused her interlocutor, and did not fail to leave a favorable impression behind.

She taught Colbert, who, poor man! was ignorant of it, how great a minister he was, and how Fouquet would soon become nothing. She promised to rally around him, when he should become surintendant, all the old nobility of the kingdom, and questioned him as to the preponderance it would be proper to allow La Valliere to take. She praised him, she blamed him, she bewildered him. She showed him the secret of so many secrets that, for a moment, Colbert feared he must have to do with the devil. She proved to him that she held in her hand the Colbert of to-day as she held the Fouquet of yesterday; and as he asked her very simply the reason of her hatred for the surintendant:

“Why do you yourself hate him?” said she.

“Madame, in politics,” replied he, “the differences of system may bring about divisions between men. Monsieur Fouquet always appeared to me to practice a system opposed to the true interests of the king.”

She interrupted him.

“I will say no more to you about Monsieur Fouquet. The journey the king is about to take to Nantes will give a good account of him. Monsieur Fouquet, for me, is a man gone by—and for you also.”

Colbert made no reply.

“On his return from Nantes,” continued the duchess, “the king, who is only anxious for a pretext, will find that the States have not behaved well—that they have made too few sacrifices. The States will say that the imposts are too heavy, and that the surintendant has ruined them. The king will lay all the blame on M. Fouquet, and then——”

“And then?” said Colbert.

“Oh! he will be disgraced. Is not that your opinion?”

Colbert darted a glance at the duchess, which plainly said, “If Monsieur Fouquet be only disgraced you will not be the cause of it.”

“Your place, Monsieur Colbert,” the duchess hastened to say, “must be quite a marked place. Do you perceive any one between the king and yourself, after the fall of Monsieur Fouquet?”

“I do not understand,” said he.

“You will understand. To what does your ambition aspire?”

“I have none.”

“It was useless, then, to overthrow the surintendant, Monsieur Colbert. That is idle.”

“I had the honor to tell you, madame——”

“Oh, yes, I know, all about the interest of the king; but, if you please, we will speak of your own.”

“Mine! that is to say, the affairs of his majesty.”

“In short, are you, or are you not, ruining Monsieur Fouquet? Answer without evasion.”

“Madame, I ruin nobody.”

“I cannot, then, comprehend why you should purchase from me the letters of Monsieur Mazarin concerning Monsieur Fouquet. Neither can I conceive why you have laid those letters before the king.”

Colbert, half-stupefied, looked at the duchess with an air of constraint.

“Madame,” said he, “I can less easily conceive how you, who received the money, can reproach me on that head.”

“That is,” said the old duchess, “because we must will that which we wish for, unless we are not able to obtain what we wish.”

“Will!” said Colbert, quite confounded by such coarse logic.

“You are not able, hein! Speak.”

“I am not able, I allow, to destroy certain influences near the king.”

“Which combat for Monsieur Fouquet? What are they? Stop; let me help you.”

“Do, madame.”

“La Valliere?”

“Oh! very little influence; no knowledge of business, and small means. Monsieur Fouquet has paid his court to her.”

“To defend him would be to accuse herself, would it not?”

“I think it would.”

“There is still another influence, what do you say to that?”

“Is it considerable?”

“The queen-mother, perhaps?”

“Her majesty, the queen-mother, has for Monsieur Fouquet a weakness very prejudicial to her son.”

“Never believe that,” said the old duchess, smiling.

“Oh!” said Colbert, with incredulity, “I have often experienced it.”

“Formerly?”

“Very recently, madame, at Vaux. It was she who prevented the king from having Monsieur Fouquet arrested.”

“People do not forever entertain the same opinions, my dear monsieur. That which the queen may have wished recently, she would not, perhaps, to-day.”

“And why not?” said Colbert, astonished.

“Oh! the reason is of very little consequence.”

“On the contrary, I think it is of great consequence; for, if I were certain of not displeasing her majesty, the queen-mother, all my scruples would be removed.”

“Well, have you never heard talk of a certain secret?”

“A secret?”

“Call it what you like. In short, the queen-mother has conceived a horror for all those who have participated, in one fashion or another, in the discovery of this secret, and Monsieur Fouquet I believe is one of these.”

“Then,” said Colbert, “we may be sure of the assent of the queen-mother?”

“I have just left her majesty, and she assures me so.”

“So be it, then, madame.”

“But there is something further; do you happen to know a man who was the intimate friend of Monsieur Fouquet, a Monsieur D’Herblay, a bishop, I believe?”

“Bishop of Vannes.”

“Well, this Monsieur D’Herblay, who also knew the secret, the queen-mother is having him pursued with the utmost rancor.”

“Indeed!”

“So hotly pursued that if he were dead, she would not be satisfied with anything less than his head, to satisfy her he would never speak again.”

“And is that the desire of the queen-mother?”

“An order is given for it.”

“This Monsieur D’Herblay shall be sought for, madame.”

“Oh! it is well known where he is.”

Colbert looked at the duchess.

“Say where, madame.”

“He is at Belle-Isle-en-Mer.”

“At the residence of Monsieur Fouquet?”

“At the residence of Monsieur Fouquet.”

“He shall be taken.”

It was now the duchess’ turn to smile.

“Do not fancy that so easy,” said she, “do not promise it so lightly.”

“Why not, madame?”

“Because Monsieur D’Herblay is not one of those people who can be taken just when you please?”

“He is a rebel, then.”

“Oh, Monsieur Colbert, we have passed all our lives in making rebels, and yet you see plainly that so far from being taken, we take others.”

Colbert fixed upon the old duchess one of those fierce looks of which no words can convey the expression, accompanied by a firmness which was not wanting in grandeur.

“The times are gone,” said he, “in which subjects gained duchies by making war against the King of France. If Monsieur D’Herblay conspires, he will perish on the scaffold. That will give, or will not give, pleasure to his enemies—that is of very little importance to us.”

And this us, a strange word in the mouth of Colbert, made the duchess thoughtful for a moment. She caught herself reckoning inwardly with this man—Colbert had regained his superiority in the conversation, and he was desirous of keeping it.

“You ask me, madame,” he said, “to have this Monsieur D’Herblay arrested?”

“I?—I ask you nothing of the kind!”

“I thought you did, madame. But as I have been mistaken, we will leave him alone; the king has said nothing about him.”

The duchess bit her nails.

“Besides,” continued Colbert, “what a poor capture would this bishop be! A bishop game for a king! Oh, no, no; I will not even take the least notice of him.”

The hatred of the duchess now discovered itself.

“Game for a woman!” said she, “and the queen is a woman. If she wishes to have Monsieur D’Herblay arrested, she has her reasons for it. Besides, is not Monsieur D’Herblay the friend of him who is destined to fall?”

“Oh! never mind that!” said Colbert. “This man shall be spared, if he is not the enemy of the king. Is that displeasing to you?”

“I say nothing.”

“Yes; you wish to see him in prison, in the Bastile, for instance.”

“I believe a secret better concealed behind the walls of the Bastile than behind those of Belle-Isle.”

“I will speak to the king about it; he will clear up the point.”

“And while waiting for that enlightenment, Monsieur l’Evêque de Vannes will have escaped. I would do so.”

“Escaped! he—and whither would he escape? Europe is ours, in will, if not in fact.”

“He will always find an asylum, monsieur. It is evident you know nothing of the man you have to do with. You do not know D’Herblay; you do not know Aramis. He was one of those four musketeers who, under the late king, made Cardinal de Richelieu tremble, and who, during the regency, gave so much trouble to Monseigneur Mazarin.”

“But, madame, what can he do, unless he has a kingdom to back him?”

“He has one, monsieur.”

“A kingdom? he? what, Monsieur D’Herblay?”

“I repeat to you, monsieur, that if he wants a kingdom, he either has it or will have it.”

“Well, as you are so earnest that this rebel should not escape, madame, I promise you he shall not escape.”

“Belle-Isle is fortified, Monsieur Colbert, and fortified by him.”

“If Belle-Isle were also defended by him, Belle-Isle is not impregnable; and if Monsieur l’Evêque de Vannes is shut up in Belle-Isle, well, madame, the place will be besieged, and he will be taken.”

“You may be very certain, monsieur, that the zeal which you display for the interests of the queen-mother will affect her majesty warmly, and that you will be magnificently rewarded for it; but what shall I tell her of your projects respecting this man?”

“That when once taken, he shall be shut up in a fortress from which her secret shall never escape.”

“Very well, Monsieur Colbert, and we may say that, dating from this instant, we have formed a solid alliance, that is, you and I, and that I am absolutely at your service.”

“It is I, madame, who place myself at yours. This Chevalier D’Herblay is a kind of Spanish spy, is he not?”

“More than that.”

“A secret ambassador?”

“Higher still.”

“Stop—King Phillip III of Spain is a bigot. He is, perhaps, the confessor of Phillip III.”

“You must go much higher than that.”

“Mordieu!” cried Colbert, who forgot himself so far as to swear in the presence of this great lady, of this old friend of the queen-mother—of the Duchesse de Chevreuse, in short. “He must, then, be the general of the Jesuits?”

“I believe you have guessed at last,” replied the duchess.

“Ah, then, madame, this man will ruin us all if we do not ruin him; and we must make haste to do it, too.”

“That was my opinion, monsieur, but I did not dare to give it you.”

“And it is fortunate for us he has attacked the throne, and not us.”

“But, mark this well, Monsieur Colbert. Monsieur D’Herblay is never discouraged; if he has missed one blow, he will be sure to make another; he will begin again. If he has allowed an opportunity to escape of making a king for himself, sooner or later, he will make another, of whom, to a certainty, you will not be prime minister.”

Colbert knitted his brow with a menacing expression.

“I feel assured that a prison will settle this affair for us, madame, in a manner satisfactory for both.”

The duchess smiled again.

“Oh! if you knew,” said she, “how many times Aramis has got out of prison!”

“Oh!” replied Colbert, “we will take care that he shall not get out this time.”

“But you have not attended to what I said to you just now. Do you remember that Aramis was one of the four invincibles whom Richelieu dreaded? And at that period the four musketeers were not in possession of that which they have now—money and experience.”

Colbert bit his lips.

“We will renounce the idea of the prison,” said he, in a lower tone; “we will find a retreat from which the invincible will not possibly escape.”

“That was well spoken, our ally!” replied the duchess. “But it is getting late; had we not better return?”

“The more willingly, madame, from my having my preparations to make for setting out with the king.”

“To Paris!” cried the duchess, to the coachman.

And the carriage returned toward the Faubourg St. Antoine, after the conclusion of the treaty which gave up to death the last friend of Fouquet, the last defender of Belle-Isle, the ancient friend of Marie Michon, the new enemy of the duchess.