CHAPTER 55
The Abbe Fouquet
Fouquet hastened back to his apartment by the subterranean
passage, and immediately closed the mirror with the spring.
He was scarcely in his closet, when he heard some one
knocking violently at the door, and a well-known voice
crying: -- "Open the door, monseigneur, I entreat you, open
the door!" Fouquet quickly restored a little order to
everything that might have revealed either his absence or
his agitation: he spread his papers over the desk, took up a
pen, and, to gain time, said, through the closed door, --
"Who is there?"
"What, monseigneur, do you not know me?" replied the voice.
"Yes, yes," said Fouquet to himself, "yes, my friend I know
you well enough." And then, aloud: "Is it not Gourville?"
"Why, yes, monseigneur."
Fouquet arose, cast a last look at one of his glasses, went
to the door, pushed back the bolt, and Gourville entered.
"Ah, monseigneur! monseigneur!" cried he, "what cruelty!"
"In what?"
"I have been a quarter of an hour imploring you to open the
door, and you would not even answer me."
"Once for all, you know that I will not be disturbed when I
am busy. Now, although I might make you an exception,
Gourville, I insist upon my orders being respected by
others."
"Monseigneur, at this moment, orders, doors, bolts, locks,
and walls, I could have broken, forced and overthrown!"
"Ah! ah! it relates to some great event, then?" asked
Fouquet.
"Oh! I assure you it does, monseigneur," replied Gourville.
"And what is this event?" said Fouquet, a little troubled by
the evident agitation of his most intimate confidant.
"There is a secret chamber of justice instituted,
monseigneur."
"I know there is, but do the members meet, Gourville?"
"They not only meet, but they have passed a sentence,
monseigneur."
"A sentence?" said the superintendent, with a shudder and
pallor he could not conceal. "A sentence! -- and on whom?"
"Two of your best friends."
"Lyodot and D'Eymeris, do you mean? But what sort of a
sentence?"
"Sentence of death."
"Passed? Oh! you must be mistaken, Gourville; that is
impossible."
"Here is a copy of the sentence which the king is to sign
to-day, if he has not already signed it."
Fouquet seized the paper eagerly, read it, and returned it
to Gourville. "The king will never sign that," said he.
Gourville shook his head.
"Monseigneur, M. Colbert is a bold councilor: do not be too
confident!"
"Monsieur Colbert again!" cried Fouquet. "How is it that
that name rises upon all occasions to torment my ears,
during the last two or three days? Thou make so trifling a
subject of too much importance, Gourville. Let M. Colbert
appear, I will face him; let him raise his head, I will
crush him; but you understand, there must be an outline upon
which my look may fall, there must be a surface upon which
my feet may be placed."
"Patience, monseigneur, for you do not know what Colbert is
-- study him quickly; it is with this dark financier as it
is with meteors, which the eye never sees completely before
their disastrous invasion; when we feel them we are dead."
"Oh! Gourville, this is going too far," replied Fouquet,
smiling; "allow me, my friend, not to be so easily
frightened; M. Colbert a meteor! Corbleu, we confront the
meteor. Let us see acts, and not words. What has he done?"
"He has ordered two gibbets of the executioner of Paris,"
answered Gourville.
Fouquet raised his head, and a flash gleamed from his eyes.
"Are you sure of what you say?" cried he.
"Here is the proof, monseigneur." And Gourville held out to
the superintendent a note communicated by a certain
secretary of the Hotel de Ville, who was one of Fouquet's
creatures.
"Yes, that is true," murmured the minister; "the scaffold
may be prepared, but the king has not signed; Gourville, the
king will not sign."
"I shall soon know," said Gourville.
"How?"
"If the king has signed, the gibbets will be sent this
evening to the Hotel de Ville, in order to be got up and
ready by to-morrow morning."
"Oh! no, no!" cried the superintendent once again; "you are
all deceived, and deceive me in my turn; Lyodot came to see
me only the day before yesterday; only three days ago I
received a present of some Syracuse wine from poor
D'Eymeris."
"What does that prove?" replied Gourville, "except that the
chamber of justice has been secretly assembled, has
deliberated in the absence of the accused, and that the
whole proceeding was complete when they were arrested."
"What! are they, then, arrested?"
"No doubt they are."
"But where, when, and how have they been arrested?"
"Lyodot, yesterday at daybreak; D'Eymeris, the day before
yesterday, in the evening, as he was returning from the
house of his mistress; their disappearance had disturbed
nobody; but at length M. Colbert all at once raised the
mask, and caused the affair to be published; it is being
cried by sound of trumpet, at this moment in Paris, and, in
truth, monseigneur, there is scarcely anybody but yourself
ignorant of the event."
Fouquet began to walk about his chamber with an uneasiness
that became more and more serious.
"What do you decide upon, monseigneur?" said Gourville.
"If it really were as you say, I would go to the king,"
cried Fouquet. "But as I go to the Louvre, I will pass by
the Hotel de Ville. We shall see if the sentence is signed."
"Incredulity! thou art the pest of all great minds," said
Gourville, shrugging his shoulders.
"Gourville!"
"Yes," continued he, "and incredulity! thou ruinest, as
contagion destroys the most robust health, that is to say,
in an instant."
"Let us go," cried Fouquet; "desire the door to be opened,
Gourville."
"Be cautious," said the latter, "the Abbe Fouquet is there."
"Ah! my brother," replied Fouquet, in a tone of annoyance,
"he is there, is he? he knows all the ill news, then, and is
rejoiced to bring it to me, as usual. The devil! if my
brother is there, my affairs are bad, Gourville; why did you
not tell me that sooner: I should have been the more readily
convinced."
"'Monseigneur calumniates him," said Gourville, laughing,
"if he is come, it is not with a bad intention."
"What, do you excuse him?" cried Fouquet; "a fellow without
a heart, without ideas; a devourer of wealth."
"He knows you are rich."
"And would ruin me."
"No, but he would like to have your purse. That is all."
"Enough! enough! A hundred thousand crowns per month, during
two years. Corbleu! it is I that pay, Gourville, and I know
my figures." Gourville laughed in a silent, sly manner.
"Yes, yes, you mean to say it is the king pays," said the
superintendent. "Ah, Gourville, that is a vile joke; this is
not the place."
"Monseigneur, do not be angry."
"Well, then, send away the Abbe Fouquet; I have not a sou."
Gourville made a step towards the door. "He has been a month
without seeing me," continued Fouquet, "why could he not be
two months?"
"Because he repents of living in bad company," said
Gourville, "and prefers you to all his bandits."
"Thanks for the preference! You make a strange advocate,
Gourville, to-day -- the advocate of the Abbe Fouquet!"
"Eh! but everything and every man has a good side -- their
useful side, monseigneur."
"The bandits whom the abbe keeps in pay and drink have their
useful side, have they? Prove that, if you please."
"Let the circumstance arise, monseigneur, and you will be
very glad to have these bandits under your hand."
"You advise me, then, to be reconciled to the abbe?" said
Fouquet, ironically.
"I advise you, monseigneur, not to quarrel with a hundred or
a hundred and twenty loose fellows, who, by putting their
rapiers end to end, would form a cordon of steel capable of
surrounding three thousand men."
Fouquet darted a searching glance at Gourville, and passing
before him, -- "That is all very well, let M. l'Abbe Fouquet
be introduced," said he to the footman. "You are right,
Gourville."
Two minutes after, the Abbe Fouquet appeared in the doorway,
with profound reverences. He was a man of from forty to
forty-five years of age, half churchman half soldier, -- a
spadassin, grafted upon an abbe; upon seeing that he had not
a sword by his side, you might be sure he had pistols.
Fouquet saluted him more as an elder brother than as a
minister.
"What can I do to serve you, monsieur l'abbe?" said he.
"Oh! oh! how coldly you speak to me, brother!"
"I speak like a man who is in a hurry, monsieur."
The abbe looked maliciously at Gourville, and anxiously at
Fouquet, and said, "I have three hundred pistoles to pay to
M. de Bregi this evening. A play debt, a sacred debt."
"What next?" said Fouquet bravely, for he comprehended that
the Abbe Fouquet would not have disturbed him for such a
want.
"A thousand to my butcher, who will supply no more meat."
"Next?"
"Twelve hundred to my tailor," continued the abbe; "the
fellow has made me take back seven suits of my people's,
which compromises my liveries, and my mistress talks of
replacing me by a farmer of the revenue, which would be a
humiliation for the church."
"What else?" said Fouquet.
"You will please to remark," said the abbe, humbly, "that I
have asked nothing for myself."
"That is delicate, monsieur," replied Fouquet; "so, as you
see, I wait."
"And I ask nothing, oh! no, -- it is not for want of need,
though, I assure you."
The minister reflected a minute. "Twelve hundred pistoles to
the tailor; that seems a great deal for clothes," said he.
"I maintain a hundred men," said the abbe, proudly; "that is
a charge, I believe."
"Why a hundred men?" said Fouquet. "Are you a Richelieu or a
Mazarin, to require a hundred men as a guard? What use do
you make of these men? -- speak."
"And do you ask me that?" cried the Abbe Fouquet; "ah! how
can you put such a question, -- why I maintain a hundred
men? Ah!"
"Why, yes, I do put that question to you. What have you to
do with a hundred men? -- answer."
"Ingrate!" continued the abbe, more and more affected.
"Explain yourself."
"Why, monsieur the superintendent, I only want one valet de
chambre, for my part, and even if I were alone, could help
myself very well; but you, you who have so many enemies -- a
hundred men are not enough for me to defend you with. A
hundred men! -- you ought to have ten thousand. I maintain,
then, these men in order that in public places, in
assemblies, no voice may be raised against you, and without
them, monsieur, you would be loaded with imprecations, you
would be torn to pieces, you would not last a week; no, not
a week, do you understand?"
"Ah! I did not know you were my champion to such an extent,
monsieur l'abbe."
"You doubt it!" cried the abbe. "Listen, then, to what
happened, no longer ago than yesterday, in the Rue de la
Hochette. A man was cheapening a fowl."
"Well, how could that injure me, abbe?"
"This way. The fowl was not fat. The purchaser refused to
give eighteen sous for it, saying that he could not afford
eighteen sous for the skin of a fowl from which M. Fouquet
had sucked all the fat."
"Go on."
"The joke caused a deal of laughter," continued the abbe;
"laughter at your expense, death to the devils! and the
canaille were delighted. The joker added, `Give me a fowl
fed by M. Colbert, if you like! and I will pay all you ask.'
And immediately there was a clapping of hands. A frightful
scandal! you understand; a scandal which forces a brother to
hide his face."
Fouquet colored. "And you veiled it?" said the
superintendent.
"No, for it so happened I had one of my men in the crowd; a
new recruit from the provinces, one M. Menneville, whom I
like very much. He made his way through the press, saying to
the joker: `Mille barbes! Monsieur the false joker, here's a
thrust for Colbert!' `And one for Fouquet,' replied the
joker. Upon which they drew in front of the cook's shop,
with a hedge of the curious round them, and five hundred as
curious at the windows."
"Well?" said Fouquet.
"Well, monsieur, my Menneville spitted the joker, to the
great astonishment of the spectators, and said to the cook:
-- `Take this goose, my friend, it is fatter than your
fowl.' That is the way, monsieur," ended the abbe,
triumphantly, "in which I spend my revenues; I maintain the
honor of the family, monsieur." Fouquet hung his head. "And
I have a hundred as good as he," continued the abbe.
"Very well," said Fouquet, "give the account to Gourville,
and remain here this evening."
"Shall we have supper?"
"Yes, there will be supper."
"But the chest is closed."
"Gourville will open it for you. Leave us, monsieur l'abbe,
leave us."
"Then we are friends?" said the abbe, with a bow.
Oh yes. friends. Come Gourville."
"Are you going out? You will not stay to supper, then?"
"I shall be back in an hour; rest easy, abbe." Then aside to
Gourville -- "Let them put to my English horses," said he,
"and direct the coachman to stop at the Hotel de Ville de
Paris."
