Louise de la Valliere by Alexandre Dumas (best sales books of all time TXT) 📗

On his return from the promenade, which had been so prolific in poetical effusions, and in which every one had paid his or her tribute to the Muses, as the poets of the period used to say, the king found M. Fouquet waiting for an audience. M. Colbert had lain in wait for his majesty in the corridor, and followed him like a jealous and watchful shadow; M. Colbert, with his square head, his vulgar and untidy, though rich costume, somewhat resembled a Flemish gentleman after he had been over-indulging in his national drink—beer. Fouquet, at sight of his enemy, remained perfectly unmoved, and during the whole of the scene which followed scrupulously resolved to observe a line of conduct particularly difficult to the man of superior mind, who does not even wish to show his contempt, for fear of doing his adversary too much honor. Colbert made no attempt to conceal his insolent expression of the vulgar joy he felt. In his opinion, M. Fouquet’s was a game very badly played and hopelessly lost, although not yet finished. Colbert belonged to that school of politicians who think cleverness alone worthy of their admiration, and success the only thing worth caring for. Colbert, moreover, who was not simply an envious and jealous man, but who had the king’s interest really at heart, because he was thoroughly imbued with the highest sense of probity in all matters of figures and accounts, could well afford to assign as a pretext for his conduct, that in hating and doing his utmost to ruin M. Fouquet, he had nothing in view but the welfare of the state and the dignity of the crown. None of these details escaped Fouquet’s observation; through his enemy’s thick, bushy brows, and despite the restless movement of his eyelids, he could, by merely looking at his eyes, penetrate to the very bottom of Colbert’s heart, and he read to what an unbounded extent hate towards himself and triumph at his approaching fall existed there. But as, in observing everything, he wished to remain himself impenetrable, he composed his features, smiled with the charmingly sympathetic smile that was peculiarly his own, and saluted the king with the most dignified and graceful ease and elasticity of manner. “Sire,” he said, “I perceive by your majesty’s joyous air that you have been gratified with the promenade.”

“Most gratified, indeed, monsieur le surintendant, most gratified. You were very wrong not to come with us, as I invited you to do.”

“I was working, sire,” replied the superintendent, who did not even seem to take the trouble to turn aside his head in merest respect of Colbert’s presence.

“Ah! M. Fouquet,” cried the king, “there is nothing like the country. I should be delighted to live in the country always, in the open air and under the trees.”

“I should hope that your majesty is not yet weary of the throne,” said Fouquet.

“No; but thrones of soft turf are very pleasant.”

“Your majesty gratifies my utmost wishes in speaking in that manner, for I have a request to submit to you.”

“On whose behalf, monsieur?”

“Oh behalf of the nymphs of Vaux, sire.”

“Ah! ah!” said Louis XIV.

“Your majesty, too, once deigned to make me a promise,” said Fouquet.

“Yes, I remember it.”

“The fete at Vaux, the celebrated fete, I think, it was, sire,” said Colbert, endeavoring to show his importance by taking part in the conversation.

Fouquet, with the profoundest contempt, did not take the slightest notice of the remark, as if, as far as he was concerned, Colbert had not even thought or said a word.

“Your majesty is aware,” he said, “that I destine my estate at Vaux to receive the most amiable of princes, the most powerful of monarchs.”

“I have given you my promise, monsieur,” said Louis XIV., smiling; “and a king never departs from his word.”

“And I have come now, sire, to inform your majesty that I am ready to obey your orders in every respect.”

“Do you promise me many wonders, monsieur le surintendant?” said Louis, looking at Colbert.

“Wonders? Oh! no, sire. I do not undertake that. I hope to be able to procure your majesty a little pleasure, perhaps even a little forgetfulness of the cares of state.”

“Nay, nay, M. Fouquet,” returned the king; “I insist upon the word ‘wonders.’ You are a magician, I believe; we all know the power you wield; we also know that you can find gold even when there is none to be found elsewhere; so much so, indeed, that people say you coin it.”

Fouquet felt that the shot was discharged from a double quiver, and that the king had launched an arrow from his own bow as well as one from Colbert’s. “Oh!” said he, laughingly, “the people know perfectly well out of what mine I procure the gold; and they know it only too well, perhaps; besides,” he added, “I can assure your majesty that the gold destined to pay the expenses of the fete at Vaux will cost neither blood nor tears; hard labor it may, perhaps, but that can be paid for.”

Louis paused quite confused. He wished to look at Colbert; Colbert, too, wished to reply to him; a glance as swift as an eagle’s, a king-like glance, indeed, which Fouquet darted at the latter, arrested the words upon his lips. The king, who had by this time recovered his self-possession, turned towards Fouquet, saying, “I presume, therefore, I am now to consider myself formally invited?”

“Yes, sire, if your majesty will condescend so far as to accept my invitation.”

“What day have you fixed?”

“Any day your majesty may find most convenient.”

“You speak like an enchanter who has but to conjure up in actuality the wildest fancies, Monsieur Fouquet. I could not say so much, indeed, myself.”

“Your majesty will do, whenever you please, everything that a monarch can and ought to do. The king of France has servants at his bidding who are able to do anything on his behalf, to accomplish everything to gratify his pleasures.”

Colbert tried to look at the