Chapter X. Crown and Tiara.
Aramis was the first to descend from the carriage; he held the door open
for the young man. He saw him place his foot on the mossy ground with
a trembling of the whole body, and walk round the carriage with an
unsteady and almost tottering step. It seemed as if the poor prisoner
was unaccustomed to walk on God’s earth. It was the 15th of August,
about eleven o’clock at night; thick clouds, portending a tempest,
overspread the heavens, and shrouded every light and prospect underneath
their heavy folds. The extremities of the avenues were imperceptibly
detached from the copse, by a lighter shadow of opaque gray, which, upon
closer examination, became visible in the midst of the obscurity.
But the fragrance which ascended from the grass, fresher and more
penetrating than that which exhaled from the trees around him; the warm
and balmy air which enveloped him for the first time for many years
past; the ineffable enjoyment of liberty in an open country, spoke
to the prince in so seductive a language, that notwithstanding the
preternatural caution, we would almost say dissimulation of his
character, of which we have tried to give an idea, he could not restrain
his emotion, and breathed a sigh of ecstasy. Then, by degrees, he raised
his aching head and inhaled the softly scented air, as it was wafted in
gentle gusts to his uplifted face. Crossing his arms on his chest, as if
to control this new sensation of delight, he drank in delicious draughts
of that mysterious air which interpenetrates at night the loftiest
forests. The sky he was contemplating, the murmuring waters, the
universal freshness--was not all this reality? Was not Aramis a madman
to suppose that he had aught else to dream of in this world? Those
exciting pictures of country life, so free from fears and troubles,
the ocean of happy days that glitters incessantly before all young
imaginations, are real allurements wherewith to fascinate a poor,
unhappy prisoner, worn out by prison cares, emaciated by the stifling
air of the Bastile. It was the picture, it will be remembered, drawn
by Aramis, when he offered the thousand pistoles he had with him in
the carriage to the prince, and the enchanted Eden which the deserts of
Bas-Poitou hid from the eyes of the world. Such were the reflections of
Aramis as he watched, with an anxiety impossible to describe, the
silent progress of the emotions of Philippe, whom he perceived gradually
becoming more and more absorbed in his meditations. The young prince was
offering up an inward prayer to Heaven, to be divinely guided in this
trying moment, upon which his life or death depended. It was an anxious
time for the bishop of Vannes, who had never before been so perplexed.
His iron will, accustomed to overcome all obstacles, never finding
itself inferior or vanquished on any occasion, to be foiled in so vast a
project from not having foreseen the influence which a view of nature in
all its luxuriance would have on the human mind! Aramis, overwhelmed by
anxiety, contemplated with emotion the painful struggle that was taking
place in Philippe’s mind. This suspense lasted the whole ten minutes
which the young man had requested. During this space of time, which
appeared an eternity, Philippe continued gazing with an imploring and
sorrowful look towards the heavens; Aramis did not remove the piercing
glance he had fixed on Philippe. Suddenly the young man bowed his head.
His thought returned to the earth, his looks perceptibly hardened, his
brow contracted, his mouth assuming an expression of undaunted courage;
again his looks became fixed, but this time they wore a worldly
expression, hardened by covetousness, pride, and strong desire. Aramis’s
look immediately became as soft as it had before been gloomy. Philippe,
seizing his hand in a quick, agitated manner, exclaimed:
“Lead me to where the crown of France is to be found.”
“Is this your decision, monseigneur?” asked Aramis.
“It is.”
“Irrevocably so?”
Philippe did not even deign to reply. He gazed earnestly at the bishop,
as if to ask him if it were possible for a man to waver after having
once made up his mind.
“Such looks are flashes of the hidden fire that betrays men’s
character,” said Aramis, bowing over Philippe’s hand; “you will be
great, monseigneur, I will answer for that.”
“Let us resume our conversation. I wished to discuss two points with
you; in the first place the dangers, or the obstacles we may meet with.
That point is decided. The other is the conditions you intend imposing
on me. It is your turn to speak, M. d’Herblay.”
“The conditions, monseigneur?”
“Doubtless. You will not allow so mere a trifle to stop me, and you will
not do me the injustice to suppose that I think you have no interest in
this affair. Therefore, without subterfuge or hesitation, tell me the
truth--”
“I will do so, monseigneur. Once a king--”
“When will that be?”
“To-morrow evening--I mean in the night.”
“Explain yourself.”
“When I shall have asked your highness a question.”
“Do so.”
“I sent to your highness a man in my confidence with instructions to
deliver some closely written notes, carefully drawn up, which will
thoroughly acquaint your highness with the different persons who compose
and will compose your court.”
“I perused those notes.”
“Attentively?”
“I know them by heart.”
“And understand them? Pardon me, but I may venture to ask that question
of a poor, abandoned captive of the Bastile? In a week’s time it will
not be requisite to further question a mind like yours. You will then be
in full possession of liberty and power.”
“Interrogate me, then, and I will be a scholar representing his lesson
to his master.”
“We will begin with your family, monseigneur.”
“My mother, Anne of Austria! all her sorrows, her painful malady. Oh! I
know her--I know her.”
“Your second brother?” asked Aramis, bowing.
“To these notes,” replied the prince, “you have added portraits so
faithfully painted, that I am able to recognize the persons whose
characters, manners, and history you have so carefully portrayed.
Monsieur, my brother, is a fine, dark young man, with a pale face; he
does not love his wife, Henrietta, whom I, Louis XIV., loved a little,
and still flirt with, even although she made me weep on the day she
wished to dismiss Mademoiselle de la Vallière from her service in
disgrace.”
“You will have to be careful with regard to the watchfulness of the
latter,” said Aramis; “she is sincerely attached to the actual king. The
eyes of a woman who loves are not easily deceived.”
“She is fair, has blue eyes, whose affectionate gaze reveals her
identity. She halts slightly in her gait; she writes a letter every day,
to which I have to send an answer by M. de Saint-Aignan.”
“Do you know the latter?”
“As if I saw him, and I know the last verses he composed for me, as well
as those I composed in answer to his.”
“Very good. Do you know your ministers?”
“Colbert, an ugly, dark-browed man, but intelligent enough, his hair
covering his forehead, a large, heavy, full head; the mortal enemy of M.
Fouquet.”
“As for the latter, we need not disturb ourselves about him.”
“No; because necessarily you will not require me to exile him, I
suppose?”
Aramis, struck with admiration at the remark, said, “You will become
very great, monseigneur.”
“You see,” added the prince, “that I know my lesson by heart, and with
Heaven’s assistance, and yours afterwards, I shall seldom go wrong.”
“You have still an awkward pair of eyes to deal with, monseigneur.”
“Yes, the captain of the musketeers, M. d’Artagnan, your friend.”
“Yes; I can well say ‘my friend.’”
“He who escorted La Vallière to Le Chaillot; he who delivered up Monk,
cooped in an iron box, to Charles II.; he who so faithfully served
my mother; he to whom the crown of France owes so much that it owes
everything. Do you intend to ask me to exile him also?”
“Never, sire. D’Artagnan is a man to whom, at a certain given time, I
will undertake to reveal everything; but be on your guard with him, for
if he discovers our plot before it is revealed to him, you or I will
certainly be killed or taken. He is a bold and enterprising man.”
“I will think it over. Now tell me about M. Fouquet; what do you wish to
be done with regard to him?”
“One moment more, I entreat you, monseigneur; and forgive me, if I seem
to fail in respect to questioning you further.”
“It is your duty to do so, nay, more than that, your right.”
“Before we pass to M. Fouquet, I should very much regret forgetting
another friend of mine.”
“M. du Vallon, the Hercules of France, you mean; oh! as far as he is
concerned, his interests are more than safe.”
“No; it is not he whom I intended to refer to.”
“The Comte de la Fere, then?”
“And his son, the son of all four of us.”
“That poor boy who is dying of love for La Vallière, whom my brother
so disloyally bereft him of? Be easy on that score. I shall know how to
rehabilitate his happiness. Tell me only one thing, Monsieur d’Herblay;
do men, when they love, forget the treachery that has been shown them?
Can a man ever forgive the woman who has betrayed him? Is that a French
custom, or is it one of the laws of the human heart?”
“A man who loves deeply, as deeply as Raoul loves Mademoiselle de la
Vallière, finishes by forgetting the fault or crime of the woman he
loves; but I do not yet know whether Raoul will be able to forget.”
“I will see after that. Have you anything further to say about your
friend?”
“No; that is all.”
“Well, then, now for M. Fouquet. What do you wish me to do for him?”
“To keep him on as surintendant, in the capacity in which he has
hitherto acted, I entreat you.”
“Be it so; but he is the first minister at present.”
“Not quite so.”
“A king, ignorant and embarrassed as I shall be, will, as a matter of
course, require a first minister of state.”
“Your majesty will require a friend.”
“I have only one, and that is yourself.”
“You will have many others by and by, but none so devoted, none so
zealous for your glory.”
“You shall be my first minister of state.”
“Not immediately, monseigneur, for that would give rise to too much
suspicion and astonishment.”
“M. de Richelieu, the first minister of my grandmother, Marie de Medici,
was simply bishop of Lucon, as you are bishop of Vannes.”
“I perceive that your royal highness has studied my notes to great
advantage; your amazing perspicacity overpowers me with delight.”
“I am perfectly aware that M. de Richelieu, by means of the queen’s
protection, soon became cardinal.”
“It would be better,” said Aramis, bowing, “that I should not be
appointed first minister until your royal highness has procured my
nomination as cardinal.”
“You shall be nominated before two months are past, Monsieur d’Herblay.
But that is a matter of very trifling moment; you would not offend me if
you were to ask more than that, and you would cause me serious regret if
you were to limit yourself to that.”
“In that case, I have something still further to hope for, monseigneur.”
“Speak! speak!”
“M. Fouquet will not keep long at the head of affairs, he will soon get
old. He is fond of pleasure, consistently, I mean, with all his labors,
thanks to the youthfulness he still retains; but this protracted youth
will disappear at the approach of the first serious annoyance, or at
the first illness he may experience. We will spare him the annoyance,
because he is an agreeable and noble-hearted man; but we cannot save him
from ill-health. So it is determined. When you shall have paid all M.
Fouquet’s debts, and restored the finances to a sound condition, M.
Fouquet will be able to remain the sovereign ruler in his little court
of poets and painters,--we shall have made him rich. When that has been
done, and I have become your royal highness’s prime minister, I shall be
able to think of my own interests and yours.”
The young man looked at his interrogator.
“M. de Richelieu, of whom we were speaking just now, was very much to
blame in the fixed idea he had of governing France alone, unaided. He
allowed two kings, King Louis XIII. and himself, to be seated on the
self-same throne, whilst he might have installed them more conveniently
upon two separate and distinct thrones.”
“Upon two thrones?” said the young man, thoughtfully.
“In fact,” pursued Aramis, quietly, “a cardinal, prime minister of
France, assisted by the favor and by the countenance of his Most
Christian Majesty the King of France, a cardinal to whom the king his
master lends the treasures of the state, his army, his counsel, such
a man would be acting with twofold injustice in applying these mighty
resources to France alone. Besides,” added Aramis, “you will not be a
king such as your father was, delicate in health, slow in judgment, whom
all things wearied; you will be a king governing by your brain and by
your sword; you will have in the government of the state no more than
you will be able to manage unaided; I should only interfere with you.
Besides, our friendship ought never to be, I do not say impaired, but
in any degree affected, by a secret thought. I shall have given you
the throne of France, you will confer on me the throne of St. Peter.
Whenever your loyal, firm, and mailed hand should joined in ties of
intimate association the hand of a pope such as I shall be, neither
Charles V., who owned two-thirds of the habitable globe, nor
Charlemagne, who possessed it entirely, will be able to reach to half
your stature. I have no alliances, I have no predilections; I will not
throw you into persecutions of heretics, nor will I cast you into the
troubled waters of family dissension; I will simply say to you: The
whole universe is our own; for me the minds of men, for you their
bodies. And as I shall be the first to die, you will have my
inheritance. What do you say of my plan, monseigneur?”
“I say that you render me happy and proud, for no other reason than that
of having comprehended you thoroughly. Monsieur d’Herblay, you shall be
cardinal, and when cardinal, my prime minister; and then you will point
out to me the necessary steps to be taken to secure your election as
pope, and I will take them. You can ask what guarantees from me you
please.”
“It is useless. Never shall I act except in such a manner that you will
be the gainer; I shall never ascend the ladder of fortune, fame, or
position, until I have first seen you placed upon the round of the
ladder immediately above me; I shall always hold myself sufficiently
aloof from you to escape incurring your jealousy, sufficiently near to
sustain your personal advantage and to watch over your friendship. All
the contracts in the world are easily violated because the interests
included in them incline more to one side than to another. With us,
however, this will never be the case; I have no need of any guarantees.”
“And so--my dear brother--will disappear?”
“Simply. We will remove him from his bed by means of a plank which
yields to the pressure of the finger. Having retired to rest a crowned
sovereign, he will awake a captive. Alone you will rule from that
moment, and you will have no interest dearer and better than that of
keeping me near you.”
“I believe it. There is my hand on it, Monsieur d’Herblay.”
“Allow me to kneel before you, sire, most respectfully. We will embrace
each other on the day we shall have upon our temples, you the crown, I
the tiara.”
“Still embrace me this very day also, and be, for and towards me, more
than great, more than skillful, more than sublime in genius; be kind and
indulgent--be my father!”
Aramis was almost overcome as he listened to his voice; he fancied
he detected in his own heart an emotion hitherto unknown; but this
impression was speedily removed. “His father!” he thought; “yes, his
Holy Father.”
And they resumed their places in the carriage, which sped rapidly along
the road leading to Vaux-le-Vicomte.