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- Author: Alexandre Dumas
Book online «The Vicomte De Bragelonne by Alexandre Dumas (mini ebook reader txt) 📖». Author Alexandre Dumas
Charles II., to whom ten years in age gave a superior strength to master his emotions, recovered his speech the first.
"Sire," said he, "your reply? I wait for it as a criminal waits for his sentence. Must I die?"
"My brother," replied the French prince, "you ask of me for a million--me, who was never possessed of a quarter of that sum! I possess nothing. I am no more king of France than you are king of England. I am a name, a cipher dressed in fleur-de-lised velvet,--that is all. I am upon a visible throne; that is my only advantage over your majesty. I have nothing--I can do nothing."
"Can it be so?" exclaimed Charles II.
"My brother," said Louis, sinking his voice, "I have undergone miseries with which my poorest gentlemen are unacquainted. If my poor Laporte were here, he would tell you that I have slept in ragged sheets, through the holes of which my legs have passed; he would tell you that afterwards, when I asked for carriages, they brought me conveyances half-destroyed by the rats of the coach-houses; he would tell you that when I asked for my dinner, the servants went to the cardinal's kitchen to inquire if there were any dinner for the king. And look! to-day, this very day even, when I am twenty-two years of age,--to-day, when I have attained the grade of the majority of kings,--to-day, when I ought to have the key of the treasury, the direction of the policy, the supremacy in peace and war,--cast your eyes around me, see how I am left! Look at this abandonment--this disdain--this silence!--Whilst yonder--look yonder! View the bustle, the lights, the homage! There!--there you see the real king of France, my brother!"
"In the cardinal's apartments?"
"Yes, in the cardinal's apartments."
"Then I am condemned, sire?"
Louis XIV. made no reply.
"Condemned is the word; for I will never solicit him who left my mother and sister to die with cold and hunger--the daughter and grand-daughter of Henry IV.--as surely they would have if M. de Retz and the parliament had not sent them wood and bread."
"To die?" murmured Louis XIV.
"Well!" continued the king of England, "poor Charles II., grandson of Henry IV., as you are, sire having neither parliament nor Cardinal de Retz to apply to, will die of hunger, as his mother and sister had nearly done."
Louis knitted his brow, and twisted violently the lace of his ruffles.
This prostration, this immobility, serving as a mark to an emotion so visible, struck Charles II., and he took the young man's hand.
"Thanks!" said he, "my brother. You pity me, and that is all I can require of you in your present situation."
"Sire," said Louis XIV., with a sudden impulse, and raising his head, "it is a million you require, or two hundred gentlemen, I think you say?"
"Sire, a million would be quite sufficient."
"That is very little."
"Offered to a single man it is a great deal. Convictions have been purchased at a much lower price; and I should have nothing to do but with venalities."
"Two hundred gentlemen! Reflect!--that is little more than a single company."
"Sire, there is in our family a tradition, and that is, that four men, four French gentlemen, devoted to my father, were near saving my father, though condemned by a parliament, guarded by an army and surrounded by a nation."
"Then if I can procure you a million, or two hundred gentlemen, you will be satisfied; and you will consider me your well-affectioned brother?"
"I shall consider you as my saviour; and if I recover the throne of my father, England will be, as long as I reign it, a sister to France, as you will have been a brother to me."
"Well, my brother," said Louis, rising, "what you hesitate to ask for, I will myself demand; that which I have never done on my own account, I will do on yours. I will go and find the king of France--the other--the rich, the powerful one, I mean. I will myself solicit this million, or these two hundred gentlemen; and--we will see."
"Oh!" cried Charles; "you are a noble friend, sire--a heart created by God! You save me, my brother; and if you should ever stand in need of the life you restored me, demand it."
"Silence, my brother,--silence!" said Louis, in a suppressed voice. "Take care that no one hears you! We have not obtained our end yet. To ask money of Mazarin--that is worse than traversing the enchanted forest, each tree of which inclosed a demon. It is more than setting out to conquer a world."
"But yet, sire, when you ask it--"
"I have already told you that I never asked," replied Louis with a haughtiness that made the king of England turn pale.
And the latter, like a wounded man, made a retreating movement--"Pardon me, my brother," replied he. "I have neither a mother nor a sister who are suffering. My throne is hard and naked, but I am firmly seated on my throne. Pardon me that expression, my brother; it was that of an egotist. I will retract it, therefore, by a sacrifice,--I will go to monsieur le cardinal. Wait for me, if you please--I will return."
Whilst the king was directing his course rapidly towards the wing of the castle occupied by the cardinal, taking nobody with him but his valet de chambre, the officer of musketeers came out, breathing like a man who has for a long time been forced to hold his breath, from the little cabinet of which we have already spoken, and which the king believed to be quite solitary. This little cabinet had formerly been part of the chamber, from which it was only separated by a thin partition. It resulted that this partition, which was only for the eye, permitted the ear the least indiscreet to hear every word spoken in the chamber.
There was no doubt, then, that this lieutenant of musketeers had heard all that passed in his majesty's apartment.
Warned by the last words of the young king, he came out just in time to salute him on his passage, and to follow him with his eyes till he had disappeared in the corridor.
Then as soon as he had disappeared, he shook his head after a fashion peculiarly his own, and in a voice which forty years' absence from Gascony had not deprived of its Gascon accent, "A melancholy service," said he, "and a melancholy master!"
These words pronounced, the lieutenant resumed his place in his fauteuil, stretched his legs and closed his eyes, like a man who either sleeps or meditates.
During this short monologue and the mise en scene that had accompanied it, whilst the king, through the long corridors of the old castle, proceeded to the apartment of M. de Mazarin, a scene of another sort was being enacted in those apartments.
Mazarin was in bed, suffering a little from the gout. But as he was a man of order, who utilized even pain, he forced his wakefulness to be the humble servant of his labor. He had consequently ordered Bernouin, his valet de chambre, to bring him a little traveling-desk, so that he might write in bed. But the gout is not an adversary that allows itself to be conquered so easily; therefore, at each movement he made, the pain from dull became sharp.
"Is Brienne there?" asked he of Bernouin.
"No, monseigneur," replied the valet de chambre; "M. de Brienne, with your permission, is gone to bed. But if it is the wish of your eminence, he can speedily be called."
"No, it is not worth while. Let us see, however. Cursed ciphers!"
And the cardinal began to think, counting on his fingers the while.
"Oh, ciphers is it?" said Bernouin. "Very well! if your eminence attempts calculations, I will promise you a pretty headache to-morrow! And with that please to remember M. Guenaud is not here."
"You are right, Bernouin. You must take Brienne's place, my friend. Indeed, I ought to have brought M. Colbert with me. That young man goes on very well, Bernouin, very well; a very orderly youth."
"I do not know," said the valet de chambre, "but I don't like the countenance of your young man who goes on so well."
"Well, well, Bernouin! We don't stand in need of your advice. Place yourself there: take the pen and write."
"I am ready, monseigneur; what am I to write?"
"There, that's the place: after the two lines already traced."
"I am there."
"Write seven hundred and sixty thousand livres."
"That is written."
"Upon Lyons--" The cardinal appeared to hesitate.
"Upon Lyons," repeated Bernouin.
"Three millions nine hundred thousand livres."
"Well, monseigneur?"
"Upon Bordeaux, seven millions."
"Seven?" repeated Bernouin.
"Yes," said the cardinal, pettishly, "seven." Then, recollecting himself, "You understand, Bernouin," added he, "that all this money is to be spent?"
"Eh! monseigneur; whether it be spent or put away is of very little consequence to me, since none of these millions are mine."
"These millions are the king's; it is the king's money I am reckoning. Well, what were we saying? You always interrupt me!"
"Seven millions upon Bordeaux."
"Ah! yes; that's right. Upon Madrid four millions. I give you to understand plainly to whom this money belongs, Bernouin, seeing that everybody has the stupidity to believe me rich in millions. I repel the silly idea. A minister, besides, has nothing of his own. Come, go on. Rentrees generales, seven millions; properties, nine millions. Have you written that, Bernouin?"
"Yes, monseigneur."
"Bourse, six hundred thousand livres; various property, two millions. Ah! I forgot--the furniture of the different chateaux--"
"Must I put of the crown?" asked Bernouin.
"No, no; it is of no use doing that--that is understood. Have you written that, Bernouin?"
"Yes, monseigneur."
"And the ciphers?"
"Stand straight under one another."
"Cast them up, Bernouin."
"Thirty-nine millions two hundred and sixty thousand livres, monseigneur."
"Ah!" cried the cardinal, in a tone of vexation; "there are not yet forty millions!"
Bernouin recommenced the addition.
"No, monseigneur; there want seven hundred and forty thousand livres."
Mazarin asked for the account, and revised it carefully.
"Yes, but," said Bernouin, "thirty-nine millions two hundred and sixty thousand livres make a good round sum."
"Ah, Bernouin; I wish the king had it."
"Your eminence told me that this money was his majesty's."
"Doubtless, as clear, as transparent as possible. These thirty-nine millions are bespoken, and much more."
Bernouin smiled after his own fashion--that is, like a man who believes no more than he is willing to believe--whilst preparing the cardinal's night draught, and putting his pillow to rights.
"Oh!" said Mazarin, when the valet had gone out; "not yet forty millions! I must, however, attain that sum, which I had set down for myself. But who knows whether I shall have time? I sink, I am going, I shall never reach it! And yet, who knows that I may not find two or three millions in the pockets of my good friends the Spaniards? They discovered Peru, those people did, and--what the devil! they must have something left."
As he was speaking thus, entirely occupied with his ciphers, and thinking no more of his gout, repelled by a preoccupation which, with the cardinal, was the most powerful of all preoccupations, Bernouin rushed into the chamber, quite in a fright.
"Well!" asked the cardinal, "what is the matter now?"
"The king, monseigneur,--the king!"
"How?--the king!" said Mazarin, quickly concealing his paper. "The king here! the king at this hour! I thought he was in bed long ago. What is the matter, then?"
The king could hear these last words, and see the terrified gesture of the cardinal rising up
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