The Man in the Iron Mask
In Which the Squirrel Falls,—the Adder Flies.
It was two o’clock in the afternoon. The king, full of impatience, to his cabinet on the terrace, and opening the door of the corridor, to see what his were doing. M. Colbert, seated in the same place M. de Saint-Aignan had so long in the morning, was in a low voice with M. de Brienne. The king opened the door suddenly, and them. “What is it you are saying?”
“We were speaking of the of the States,” said M. de Brienne, rising.
“Very well,” the king, and returned to his room.
Five minutes after, the of the Rose, hour it was.
“Have you your copies?” asked the king.
“Not yet, sire.”
“See if M. d’Artagnan has returned.”
“Not yet, sire.”
“It is very strange,” the king. “Call M. Colbert.”
Colbert entered; he had been this all the morning.
“Monsieur Colbert,” said the king, very sharply; “you must what has of M. d’Artagnan.”
Colbert in his voice replied, “Where your him to be for?”
“Eh! monsieur! do you not know on what I have sent him?” Louis, acrimoniously.
“Your did not me.”
“Monsieur, there are that must be guessed; and you, above all, are to them.”
“I might have been able to imagine, sire; but I do not to be positive.”
Colbert had not these when a voice than that of the king the thus the and his clerk.
“D’Artagnan!” the king, with joy.
D’Artagnan, and in humor, to the king, as he entered, “Sire, is it your who has orders to my musketeers?”
“What orders?” said the king.
“About M. Fouquet’s house?”
“None!” Louis.
“Ha!” said D’Artagnan, his mustache; “I was not mistaken, then; it was here;” and he pointed to Colbert.
“What orders? Let me know,” said the king.
“Orders to turn the house topsy-turvy, to M. Fouquet’s servants, to the drawers, to give over a peaceful house to pillage! Mordioux! these are orders!”
“Monsieur!” said Colbert, pale.
“Monsieur,” D’Artagnan, “the king alone, understand,—the king alone has a right to my musketeers; but, as to you, I you to do it, and I tell you so his majesty; who do not their ears.”
“D’Artagnan! D’Artagnan!” the king.
“It is humiliating,” the musketeer; “my soldiers are disgraced. I do not reitres, thank you, of the intendant, mordioux!”
“Well! but what is all this about?” said the king with authority.
“About this, sire; monsieur—monsieur, who not your majesty’s orders, and not know I was gone to M. Fouquet; monsieur, who has the iron to be for his of yesterday—has sent M. de Roncherolles to the of M. Fouquet, and, under the of the surintendant’s papers, they have taken away the furniture. My have been posted the house all the morning; such were my orders. Why did any one to order them to enter? Why, by them to in this pillage, have they been in it? Mordioux! we the king, we do; but we do not M. Colbert!” 5
“Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said the king, sternly, “take care; it is not in my presence that such explanations, and in such a tone, should take place.”
“I have for the good of the king,” said Colbert, in a voice. “It is hard to be so by one of your majesty’s officers, and that without redress, on account of the respect I the king.”
“The respect you the king,” D’Artagnan, his fire, “consists, in the place, in making his authority respected, and his person beloved. Every agent of a power without that power, and when people the hand which them, it is the hand that God reproaches, do you hear? Must a soldier, by years of and blood, give you this lesson, monsieur? Must be on my side, and on yours? You have the to be arrested, bound, and imprisoned!”
“Accomplices, perhaps, of M. Fouquet,” said Colbert.
“Who told you M. Fouquet had accomplices, or that he was guilty? The king alone that; his is not blind! When he says, ‘Arrest and imprison’ such and such a man, he is obeyed. Do not talk to me, then, any more of the respect you the king, and be of your words, that they may not to the menace; for the king will not allow those to be who do him service by others who do him disservice; and if in case I should have, which God forbid! a master so ungrateful, I would make myself respected.”
Thus saying, D’Artagnan took his station in the king’s cabinet, his flashing, his hand on his sword, his trembling, much more anger than he felt. Colbert, and with rage, to the king as if to ask his permission to the room. The king, in and in curiosity, not which part to take. D’Artagnan saw him hesitate. To longer would have been a mistake: it was necessary to score a over Colbert, and the only method was to touch the king so near the quick, that his would have no other means of but the two antagonists. D’Artagnan as Colbert had done; but the king, who, in to else, was to have all the exact of the of the of the from him who had him for a moment,—the king, that the ill-humor of D’Artagnan would put off for an hour at least the he was to be with,—Louis, we say, Colbert, who had nothing new to tell him, and his captain of the musketeers.
“In the place,” said he, “let me see the result of your commission, monsieur; you may hereafter.”
D’Artagnan, who was just through the doorway, stopped at the voice of the king, his steps, and Colbert was to the closet. His almost a hue, his black and with a dark fire their thick brows; he out, the king, himself up in D’Artagnan, and away with death in his heart. D’Artagnan, on being left alone with the king, immediately, and his countenance: “Sire,” said he, “you are a king. It is by the that people judge the day will be or dull. How, sire, will the people, the hand of God has under your law, argue of your reign, if them and you, you allow angry and ministers to their mischief? But let us speak of myself, sire, let us a that may appear idle, and to you. Let us speak of myself. I have M. Fouquet.”
“You took of time about it,” said the king, sharply.
D’Artagnan looked at the king. “I that I have myself badly. I to your that I had Monsieur Fouquet.”
“You did; and what then?”
“Well! I ought to have told your that M. Fouquet had me; that would have been more just. I re-establish the truth, then; I have been by M. Fouquet.”
It was now the turn of Louis XIV. to be surprised. His was in his turn.
D’Artagnan, with his quick glance, what was in the of his master. He did not allow him time to put any questions. He related, with that poetry, that picturesqueness, which he alone at that period, the of Fouquet, the pursuit, the race, and, lastly, the of the surintendant, who might have ten times over, who might have killed the in the pursuit, but who had imprisonment, worse, to the of one who to him of his liberty. In as the advanced, the king agitated, the narrator’s words, and with his finger-nails upon the table.
“It results from all this, sire, in my eyes, at least, that the man who himself thus is a man, and cannot be an enemy to the king. That is my opinion, and I repeat it to your majesty. I know what the king will say to me, and I to it,—reasons of state. So be it! To my ears that respectable. But I am a soldier, and I have my orders, my orders are executed—very on my part, it is true, but they are executed. I say no more.”
“Where is M. Fouquet at this moment?” asked Louis, after a silence.
“M. Fouquet, sire,” D’Artagnan, “is in the iron that M. Colbert had prepared for him, and is as fast as four can him, Angers.”
“Why did you him on the road?”
“Because your did not tell me to go to Angers. The proof, the best proof of what I advance, is that the king me to be for but this minute. And then I had another reason.”
“What is that?”
“Whilst I was with him, M. Fouquet would attempt to escape.”
“Well!” the king, astonished.
“Your ought to understand, and understand, certainly, that my wish is to know that M. Fouquet is at liberty. I have him one of my brigadiers, the most I among my musketeers, in order that the might have a of escaping.”
“Are you mad, Monsieur d’Artagnan?” the king, his arms on his breast. “Do people such enormities, when they have the to think them?”
“Ah! sire, you cannot that I should be an enemy to M. Fouquet, after what he has just done for you and me. No, no; if you that he should under your lock and bolt, give him in to me; closely might be the cage, the bird would, in the end, take wing.”
“I am surprised,” said the king, in his tone, “you did not the of the man M. Fouquet to place upon my throne. You had in him all you want—affection, gratitude. In my service, monsieur, you will only a master.”
“If M. Fouquet had not gone to you in the Bastile, sire,” D’Artagnan, with a manner, “one single man would have gone there, and I should have been that man—you know that right well, sire.”
The king was to a pause. Before that speech of his captain of the musketeers, so spoken and so true, the king had nothing to offer. On D’Artagnan, Louis the D’Artagnan of times; him who, at the Palais Royal, himself the of his bed, when the people of Paris, by Cardinal de Retz, came to themselves of the presence of the king; the D’Artagnan he with his hand at the door of his carriage, when repairing to Notre Dame on his return to Paris; the soldier who had his service at Blois; the he had to be his person when the death of Mazarin his power; the man he had always loyal, courageous, devoted. Louis the door and called Colbert. Colbert had not left the where the were at work. He reappeared.
“Colbert, did you make a on the house of M. Fouquet?”
“Yes, sire.”
“What has it produced?”
“M. de Roncherolles, who was sent with your majesty’s musketeers, has me some papers,” Colbert.
“I will look at them. Give me your hand.”
“My hand, sire!”
“Yes, that I may place it in that of M. d’Artagnan. In fact, M. d’Artagnan,” added he, with a smile, the soldier, who, at of the clerk, had his attitude, “you do not know this man; make his acquaintance.” And he pointed to Colbert. “He has been but a valuable in positions, but he will be a great man if I him to the rank.”
“Sire!” Colbert, with and fear.
“I always why,” D’Artagnan in the king’s ear; “he was jealous.”
“Precisely, and his his wings.”
“He will be a winged-serpent,” the musketeer, with a of against his adversary.
But Colbert, him, offered to his a so different from that which he had been to see him wear; he appeared so good, so mild, so easy; his took the of an so noble, that D’Artagnan, a in physiognomies, was moved, and almost in his convictions. Colbert pressed his hand.
“That which the king has just told you, monsieur, proves how well his is with men. The opposition I have displayed, up to this day, against and not against men, proves that I had it in view to prepare for my king a reign, for my country a great blessing. I have many ideas, M. d’Artagnan. You will see them in the sun of public peace; and if I have not the good to the of men, I am at least certain, monsieur, that I shall obtain their esteem. For their admiration, monsieur, I would give my life.”
This change, this elevation, this mute of the king, gave the for reflection. He to Colbert, who did not take his off him. The king, when he saw they were reconciled, them. They left the room together. As soon as they were out of the cabinet, the new minister, stopping the captain, said:
“Is it possible, M. d’Artagnan, that with such an as yours, you did not, at the glance, at the impression, what of man I am?”
“Monsieur Colbert,” the musketeer, “a of the sun in our us from the most flame. The man in power radiates, you know; and since you are there, why should you continue to him who had just into disgrace, and from such a height?”
“I, monsieur!” said Colbert; “oh, monsieur! I would him. I to the and to them alone, I am ambitious, and, above all, I have the most entire in my own merit; I know that all the gold of this country will and my eyes, and I love to look at the king’s gold; because, if I live thirty years, in thirty years not a of it will in my hands; because, with that gold, I will granaries, castles, cities, and harbors; I will create a marine, I will that shall the name of France to the most people; I will create and academies; I will make France the country in the world, and the wealthiest. These are the for my against M. Fouquet, who my acting. And then, when I shall be great and strong, when France is great and strong, in my turn, then, will I cry, ‘Mercy’!”
“Mercy, did you say? then ask his of the king. The king is only him on your account.”
Colbert again his head. “Monsieur,” said he, “you know that is not so, and that the king has his own personal against M. Fouquet; it is not for me to teach you that.”
“But the king will tired; he will forget.”
“The king forgets, M. d’Artagnan. Hark! the king calls. He is going to issue an order. I have not him, have I? Listen.”
The king, in fact, was calling his secretaries. “Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said he.
“I am here, sire.”
“Give twenty of your to M. de Saint-Aignan, to a for M. Fouquet.”
D’Artagnan and Colbert looks. “And from Angers,” the king, “they will the to the Bastile, in Paris.”
“You were right,” said the captain to the minister.
“Saint-Aignan,” the king, “you will have any one who shall attempt to speak privately with M. Fouquet, the journey.”
“But myself, sire,” said the duke.
“You, monsieur, you will only speak to him in the presence of the musketeers.” The and to his commission.
D’Artagnan was about to retire likewise; but the king stopped him.
“Monsieur,” said he, “you will go immediately, and take of the and of Belle-Ile-en-Mer.”
“Yes, sire. Alone?”
“You will take a number of to prevent delay, in case the place should be contumacious.”
A of rose from the group of courtiers. “That shall be done,” said D’Artagnan.
“I saw the place in my infancy,” the king, “and I do not wish to see it again. You have me? Go, monsieur, and do not return without the keys.”
Colbert up to D’Artagnan. “A which, if you it out well,” said he, “will be a marechal’s to you.”
“Why do you the words, ‘if you it out well’?”
“Because it is difficult.”
“Ah! in what respect?”
“You have friends in Belle-Isle, Monsieur d’Artagnan; and it is not an easy thing for men like you to over the of their friends to obtain success.”
D’Artagnan his in thought, Colbert returned to the king. A of an hour after, the captain the order from the king, to up the of Belle-Isle, in case of resistance, with power of life and death over all the or refugees, and an not to allow one to escape.
“Colbert was right,” D’Artagnan; “for me the of a of France will cost the of my two friends. Only they to that my friends are not more than the birds, and that they will not wait for the hand of the to over their wings. I will them that hand so plainly, that they will have time to see it. Poor Porthos! Poor Aramis! No; my should shall not cost your a feather.”
Having thus determined, D’Artagnan assembled the army, it at Paimboeuf, and set sail, without the of an minute.
