The Man in the Iron Mask by Alexandre Dumas (read people like a book txt) 📕

touched him to the very heart.”

And thereupon he saluted M. Fouquet with so much reverence of manner, that the latter, incapable of understanding a man whose diplomacy was of so prodigious a character, remained incapable of uttering a single syllable, and equally incapable of thought or movement. D’Artagnan fancied he perceived that these two men had something to say to each other, and he was about to yield to that feeling of instinctive politeness which in such a case hurries a man towards the door, when he feels his presence is an inconvenience for others; but his eager curiosity, spurred on by so many mysteries, counseled him to remain.

Aramis thereupon turned towards him, and said, in a quiet tone, “You will not forget, my friend, the king’s order respecting those whom he intends to receive this morning on rising.” These words were clear enough, and the musketeer understood them; he therefore bowed to Fouquet, and then to Aramis,—to the latter with a slight admixture of ironical respect,—and disappeared.

No sooner had he left, than Fouquet, whose impatience had hardly been able to wait for that moment, darted towards the door to close it, and then returning to the bishop, he said, “My dear D’Herblay, I think it now high time you should explain all that has passed, for, in plain and honest truth, I do not understand anything.”

“We will explain all that to you,” said Aramis, sitting down, and making Fouquet sit down also. “Where shall I begin?”

“With this first of all. Why does the king set me at liberty?”

“You ought rather to ask me what his reason was for having you arrested.”

“Since my arrest, I have had time to think over it, and my idea is that it arises out of some slight feeling of jealousy. My fete put M. Colbert out of temper, and M. Colbert discovered some cause of complaint against me; Belle-Isle, for instance.”

“No; there is no question at all just now of Belle-Isle.”

“What is it, then?”

“Do you remember those receipts for thirteen millions which M. de Mazarin contrived to steal from you?”

“Yes, of course!”

“Well, you are pronounced a public robber.”

“Good heavens!”

“Oh! that is not all. Do you also remember that letter you wrote to La Valliere?”

“Alas! yes.”

“And that proclaims you a traitor and a suborner.”

“Why should he have pardoned me, then?”

“We have not yet arrived at that part of our argument. I wish you to be quite convinced of the fact itself. Observe this well: the king knows you to be guilty of an appropriation of public funds. Oh! of course I know that you have done nothing of the kind; but, at all events, the king has seen the receipts, and he can do no other than believe you are incriminated.”

“I beg your pardon, I do not see—”

“You will see presently, though. The king, moreover, having read your love-letter to La Valliere, and the offers you there made her, cannot retain any doubt of your intentions with regard to that young lady; you will admit that, I suppose?”

“Certainly. Pray conclude.”

“In the fewest words. The king, we may henceforth assume, is your powerful, implacable, and eternal enemy.”

“Agreed. But am I, then, so powerful, that he has not dared to sacrifice me, notwithstanding his hatred, with all the means which my weakness, or my misfortunes, may have given him as a hold upon me?”

“It is clear, beyond all doubt,” pursued Aramis, coldly, “that the king has quarreled with you—irreconcilably.”

“But, since he has absolved me—”

“Do you believe it likely?” asked the bishop, with a searching look.

“Without believing in his sincerity, I believe it in the accomplished fact.”

Aramis slightly shrugged his shoulders.

“But why, then, should Louis XIV. have commissioned you to tell me what you have just stated?”

“The king charged me with no message for you.”

“With nothing!” said the superintendent, stupefied. “But, that order—”

“Oh! yes. You are quite right. There is an order, certainly;” and these words were pronounced by Aramis in so strange a tone, that Fouquet could not resist starting.

“You are concealing something from me, I see. What is it?”

Aramis softly rubbed his white fingers over his chin, but said nothing.

“Does the king exile me?”

“Do not act as if you were playing at the game children play at when they have to try and guess where a thing has been hidden, and are informed, by a bell being rung, when they are approaching near to it, or going away from it.”

“Speak, then.”

“Guess.”

“You alarm me.”

“Bah! that is because you have not guessed, then.”

“What did the king say to you? In the name of our friendship, do not deceive me.”

“The king has not said one word to me.”

“You are killing me with impatience, D’Herblay. Am I still superintendent?”

“As long as you like.”

“But what extraordinary empire have you so suddenly acquired over his majesty’s mind?”

“Ah! that’s the point.”

“He does your bidding?”

“I believe so.”

“It is hardly credible.”

“So any one would say.”

“D’Herblay, by our alliance, by our friendship, by everything you hold dearest in the world, speak openly, I implore you. By what means have you succeeded in overcoming Louis XIV.‘s prejudices, for he did not like you, I am certain.”

“The king will like me now,” said Aramis, laying stress upon the last word.

“You have something particular, then, between you?”

“Yes.”

“A secret, perhaps?”

“A secret.”

“A secret of such a nature as to change his majesty’s interests?”

“You are, indeed, a man of superior intelligence, monseigneur, and have made a particularly accurate guess. I have, in fact, discovered a secret, of a nature to change the interests of the king of France.”

“Ah!” said Fouquet, with the reserve of a man who does not wish to ask any more questions.

“And you shall judge of it yourself,” pursued Aramis; “and you shall tell me if I am mistaken with regard to the importance of this secret.”

“I am listening, since you are good enough to unbosom yourself to me; only do not forget that I have asked you about nothing which it may be indiscreet in you to communicate.”

Aramis seemed, for a moment, as if he were collecting himself.

“Do not speak!” said Fouquet: “there is still time enough.”

“Do you remember,” said the bishop, casting down his eyes, “the birth of Louis XIV.?”

“As if it were yesterday.”

“Have you ever heard anything particular respecting his birth?”

“Nothing; except that the king was not really the son of Louis XIII.”

“That does not matter to us, or the kingdom either; he is the son of his father, says the French law, whose father is recognized by law.”

“True; but it is a grave matter, when the quality of races is called into question.”

“A merely secondary question, after all. So that, in fact, you have never learned or heard anything in particular?”

“Nothing.”

“That is where my secret begins. The queen, you must know, instead of being delivered of a son, was delivered of twins.”

Fouquet looked up suddenly as he replied:

“And the second is dead?”

“You will see. These twins seemed likely to be regarded as the pride of their mother, and the hope of France; but the weak nature of the king, his superstitious feelings, made him apprehend a series of conflicts between two children whose rights were equal; so he put out of the way—he suppressed—one of the twins.”

“Suppressed, do you say?”

“Have patience. Both the children grew up; the one on the throne, whose minister you are—the other, who is my friend, in gloom and isolation.”

“Good heavens! What are you saying, Monsieur d’Herblay? And what is this poor prince doing?”

“Ask me, rather, what has he done.”

“Yes, yes.”

“He was brought up in the country, and then thrown into a fortress which goes by the name of the Bastile.”

“Is it possible?” cried the surintendant, clasping his hands.

“The one was the most fortunate of men: the other the most unhappy and miserable of all living beings.”

“Does his mother not know this?”

“Anne of Austria knows it all.”

“And the king?”

“Knows absolutely nothing.”

“So much the better,” said Fouquet.

This remark seemed to make a great impression on Aramis; he looked at Fouquet with the most anxious expression of countenance.

“I beg your pardon; I interrupted you,” said Fouquet.

“I was saying,” resumed Aramis, “that this poor prince was the unhappiest of human beings, when Heaven, whose thoughts are over all His creatures, undertook to come to his assistance.”

“Oh! in what way? Tell me.”

“You will see. The reigning king—I say the reigning king—you can guess very well why?”

“No. Why?”

“Because both of them, being legitimate princes, ought to have been kings. Is not that your opinion?”

“It is, certainly.”

“Unreservedly?”

“Most unreservedly; twins are one person in two bodies.”

“I am pleased that a legist of your learning and authority should have pronounced such an opinion. It is agreed, then, that each of them possessed equal rights, is it not?”

“Incontestably! but, gracious heavens, what an extraordinary circumstance!”

“We are not at the end of it yet.—Patience.”

“Oh! I shall find ‘patience’ enough.”

“Heaven wished to raise up for that oppressed child an avenger, or a supporter, or vindicator, if you prefer it. It happened that the reigning king, the usurper—you are quite of my opinion, I believe, that it is an act of usurpation quietly to enjoy, and selfishly to assume the right over, an inheritance to which a man has only half a right?”

“Yes, usurpation is the word.”

“In that case, I continue. It was Heaven’s will that the usurper should possess, in the person of his first minister, a man of great talent, of large and generous nature.”

“Well, well,” said Fouquet, “I understand you; you have relied upon me to repair the wrong which has been done to this unhappy brother of Louis XIV. You have thought well; I will help you. I thank you, D’Herblay, I thank you.”

“Oh, no, it is not that at all; you have not allowed me to finish,” said Aramis, perfectly unmoved.

“I will not say another word, then.”

“M. Fouquet, I was observing, the minister of the reigning sovereign, was suddenly taken into the greatest aversion, and menaced with the ruin of his fortune, loss of liberty, loss of life even, by intrigue and personal hatred, to which the king gave too readily an attentive ear. But Heaven permits (still, however, out of consideration for the unhappy prince who had been sacrificed) that M. Fouquet should in his turn have a devoted friend who knew this state secret, and felt that he possessed strength and courage enough to divulge this secret, after having had the strength to carry it locked up in his own heart for twenty years.

“Go no farther,” said Fouquet, full of generous feelings. “I understand you, and can guess everything now. You went to see the king when the intelligence of my arrest reached you; you implored him, he refused to listen to you; then you threatened him with that secret, threatened to reveal it, and Louis XIV., alarmed at the risk of its betrayal, granted to the terror of your indiscretion what he refused to your generous intercession. I understand, I understand; you have the king in your power; I understand.”

“You understand nothing—as yet,” replied Aramis, “and again you interrupt me. Then, too, allow me to observe that you pay no attention to logical reasoning, and seem to forget what you ought most to remember.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know upon what I laid the greatest stress at the beginning of our conversation?”

“Yes, his majesty’s hate, invincible hate for me; yes, but what feeling of hate could resist the threat of such a revelation?”

“Such a revelation, do you say? that is the very point where your logic fails you. What! do you suppose that if I had made such a revelation to the king, I should have been alive now?”

“It is not ten minutes ago that you were with the king.”

“That may be. He might not have had the time to get me killed outright, but he would have had the time to get me gagged and thrown in a dungeon. Come, come, show a little consistency in your reasoning, mordieu!”

And by the mere use of this word, which was so thoroughly his old musketeer’s expression, forgotten by one who never seemed to forget anything, Fouquet could