38
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 all light and prospect beneath their heavy folds. The
extremities of the avenues were imperceptibly detached from the
copse by a lighter shadow of opaque grey, 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 seducing a language that, notwithstanding
the great caution, we would almost say the dissimulation of his
character, of which we have tried to give an idea, he could not
restrain his emotion, and breathed a sigh of joy. Then, by degrees,
he raised his aching head and inhaled the perfumed air, as it was
wafted in gentle gusts across 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 penetrates
at night-time through lofty forests. The sky he was contemplating,
the murmuring waters, the moving creatures, was not 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 cares, from fears, and troubles, that ocean of happy days
which glitters incessantly before all youthful imaginations, are
real allurements wherewith to fascinate a poor unhappy prisoner,
worn out by prison life, and emaciated by the close air of the
Bastille. It was the picture, it will be remembered, drawn by
Aramis, when he offered the thousand pistoles which 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
for 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 which 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 thoughts returned to the earth, his
looks perceptibly hardened, his brow contracted, his mouth assuming
an expression of fierce courage; and then again his look became
fixed, but this time it wore a worldly expression, hardened by
covetousness, pride, and strong desire. Aramis’s look then became
as soft as it had before been gloomy. Philippe, seizing his hand in
a quick, agitated manner, exclaimed,—
“Let us go 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.
“These looks are flashes of fire, which portray
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 upon 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 all the notes.”
“Attentively?”
“I know them by heart.”
“And understood them? Pardon me, but I may venture
to ask that question of a poor, abandoned captive of the Bastille.
It will not be requisite in a week’s time to further question a
mind like yours, when you will then be in full possession of
liberty and power.”
“Interrogate me, then, and I will be a scholar
repeating 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 recognise
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
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 will reveal her identity. She halts slightly in her gait; she
writes a letter every day, to which I shall 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 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 a very 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, fastened in an iron box, to Charles II; he who
so faithfully served my mother;y 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, enterprising man.”
“I will think over it. 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 in questioning you
further.”
“It is your duty to do so, and more than that, your
right also.”
“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 fortune is safe.”
“No; it is not he whom I intended to refer
to.”
“The Comte de la Fère, 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 deprived him of? Be easy on
that score; I shall know how to restore him. 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 know if 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 continue him as Surintendant, as 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 will 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 Luçon, 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 after your Royal
Highness had 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
so with his labours, thanks to that amount of youthfulness which he
still retains; but this youthfulness 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, but we shall have made him rich. When
that has been done, and I shall 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 blamable in the fixed idea he had of governing France
alone, unaided. He allowed two kings, King Louis XIII and himself,
to be seated upon the 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 favour 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 could manage unaided; I should only interfere with you.
Besides, our friendship ought never to be, I do not say impaired,
but in any way 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 shall have joined
in ties of intimate association the hand of a pope such as I shall
be, neither Charles the Fifth, 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 shall 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. I shall never act except in such a
manner that you are the gainer; I shall never ascend the ladder of
fortune, fame, or position, until I shall 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 interest included in them inclines
more to one side than to another. With us, however, it will never
be the case; I have no need of any guarantees.”
“And so—my 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 as a crowned sovereign, he will awaken in
captivity. 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 both
have on our temples, you the crown, and I the tiara.”
“Still embrace me this very day also, and be, for
and towards me, more than great, more than skilful, 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 to him; 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.