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<h2> Chapter XXIV. The False King. </h2>
<p>In the meantime, usurped royalty was playing out its part bravely at Vaux.
Philippe gave orders that for his <i>petit lever</i> the <i>grandes
entrees</i>, already prepared to appear before the king, should be
introduced. He determined to give this order notwithstanding the absence
of M. d'Herblay, who did not return—our readers know the reason. But
the prince, not believing that absence could be prolonged, wished, as all
rash spirits do, to try his valor and his fortune far from all protection
and instruction. Another reason urged him to this—Anne of Austria
was about to appear; the guilty mother was about to stand in the presence
of her sacrificed son. Philippe was not willing, if he had a weakness, to
render the man a witness of it before whom he was bound thenceforth to
display so much strength. Philippe opened his folding doors, and several
persons entered silently. Philippe did not stir whilst his <i>valets de
chambre</i> dressed him. He had watched, the evening before, all the
habits of his brother, and played the king in such a manner as to awaken
no suspicion. He was thus completely dressed in hunting costume when he
received his visitors. His own memory and the notes of Aramis announced
everybody to him, first of all Anne of Austria, to whom Monsieur gave his
hand, and then Madame with M. de Saint-Aignan. He smiled at seeing these
countenances, but trembled on recognizing his mother. That still so noble
and imposing figure, ravaged by pain, pleaded in his heart the cause of
the famous queen who had immolated a child to reasons of state. He found
his mother still handsome. He knew that Louis XIV. loved her, and he
promised himself to love her likewise, and not to prove a scourge to her
old age. He contemplated his brother with a tenderness easily to be
understood. The latter had usurped nothing, had cast no shades athwart his
life. A separate tree, he allowed the stem to rise without heeding its
elevation or majestic life. Philippe promised himself to be a kind brother
to this prince, who required nothing but gold to minister to his
pleasures. He bowed with a friendly air to Saint-Aignan, who was all
reverences and smiles, and trembling held out his hand to Henrietta, his
sister-in-law, whose beauty struck him; but he saw in the eyes of that
princess an expression of coldness which would facilitate, as he thought,
their future relations.</p>
<p>"How much more easy," thought he, "it will be to be the brother of that
woman than her gallant, if she evinces towards me a coldness that my
brother could not have for her, but which is imposed upon me as a duty."
The only visit he dreaded at this moment was that of the queen; his heart—his
mind—had just been shaken by so violent a trial, that, in spite of
their firm temperament, they would not, perhaps, support another shock.
Happily the queen did not come. Then commenced, on the part of Anne of
Austria, a political dissertation upon the welcome M. Fouquet had given to
the house of France. She mixed up hostilities with compliments addressed
to the king, and questions as to his health, with little maternal
flatteries and diplomatic artifices.</p>
<p>"Well, my son," said she, "are you convinced with regard to M. Fouquet?"</p>
<p>"Saint-Aignan," said Philippe, "have the goodness to go and inquire after
the queen."</p>
<p>At these words, the first Philippe had pronounced aloud, the slight
difference that there was between his voice and that of the king was
sensible to maternal ears, and Anne of Austria looked earnestly at her
son. Saint-Aignan left the room, and Philippe continued:</p>
<p>"Madame, I do not like to hear M. Fouquet ill-spoken of, you know I do not—and
you have even spoken well of him yourself."</p>
<p>"That is true; therefore I only question you on the state of your
sentiments with respect to him."</p>
<p>"Sire," said Henrietta, "I, on my part, have always liked M. Fouquet. He
is a man of good taste,—a superior man."</p>
<p>"A superintendent who is never sordid or niggardly," added Monsieur; "and
who pays in gold all the orders I have on him."</p>
<p>"Every one in this thinks too much of himself, and nobody for the state,"
said the old queen. "M. Fouquet, it is a fact, M. Fouquet is ruining the
state."</p>
<p>"Well, mother!" replied Philippe, in rather a lower key, "do you likewise
constitute yourself the buckler of M. Colbert?"</p>
<p>"How is that?" replied the old queen, rather surprised.</p>
<p>"Why, in truth," replied Philippe, "you speak that just as your old friend
Madame de Chevreuse would speak."</p>
<p>"Why do you mention Madame de Chevreuse to me?" said she, "and what sort
of humor are you in to-day towards me?"</p>
<p>Philippe continued: "Is not Madame de Chevreuse always in league against
somebody? Has not Madame de Chevreuse been to pay you a visit, mother?"</p>
<p>"Monsieur, you speak to me now in such a manner that I can almost fancy I
am listening to your father."</p>
<p>"My father did not like Madame de Chevreuse, and had good reason for not
liking her," said the prince. "For my part, I like her no better than <i>he</i>
did, and if she thinks proper to come here as she formerly did, to sow
divisions and hatreds under the pretext of begging money—why—"</p>
<p>"Well! what?" said Anne of Austria, proudly, herself provoking the storm.</p>
<p>"Well!" replied the young man firmly, "I will drive Madame de Chevreuse
out of my kingdom—and with her all who meddle with its secrets and
mysteries."</p>
<p>He had not calculated the effect of this terrible speech, or perhaps he
wished to judge the effect of it, like those who, suffering from a chronic
pain, and seeking to break the monotony of that suffering, touch their
wound to procure a sharper pang. Anne of Austria was nearly fainting; her
eyes, open but meaningless, ceased to see for several seconds; she
stretched out her arms towards her other son, who supported and embraced
her without fear of irritating the king.</p>
<p>"Sire," murmured she, "you are treating your mother very cruelly."</p>
<p>"In what respect, madame?" replied he. "I am only speaking of Madame de
Chevreuse; does my mother prefer Madame de Chevreuse to the security of
the state and of my person? Well, then, madame, I tell you Madame de
Chevreuse has returned to France to borrow money, and that she addressed
herself to M. Fouquet to sell him a certain secret."</p>
<p>"A certain secret!" cried Anne of Austria.</p>
<p>"Concerning pretended robberies that monsieur le surintendant had
committed, which is false," added Philippe. "M. Fouquet rejected her
offers with indignation, preferring the esteem of the king to complicity
with such intriguers. Then Madame de Chevreuse sold the secret to M.
Colbert, and as she is insatiable, and was not satisfied with having
extorted a hundred thousand crowns from a servant of the state, she has
taken a still bolder flight, in search of surer sources of supply. Is that
true, madame?"</p>
<p>"You know all, sire," said the queen, more uneasy than irritated.</p>
<p>"Now," continued Philippe, "I have good reason to dislike this fury, who
comes to my court to plan the shame of some and the ruin of others. If
Heaven has suffered certain crimes to be committed, and has concealed them
in the shadow of its clemency, I will not permit Madame de Chevreuse to
counteract the just designs of fate."</p>
<p>The latter part of this speech had so agitated the queen-mother, that her
son had pity on her. He took her hand and kissed it tenderly; she did not
feel that in that kiss, given in spite of repulsion and bitterness of the
heart, there was a pardon for eight years of suffering. Philippe allowed
the silence of a moment to swallow the emotions that had just developed
themselves. Then, with a cheerful smile:</p>
<p>"We will not go to-day," said he, "I have a plan." And, turning towards
the door, he hoped to see Aramis, whose absence began to alarm him. The
queen-mother wished to leave the room.</p>
<p>"Remain where you are, mother," said he, "I wish you to make your peace
with M. Fouquet."</p>
<p>"I bear M. Fouquet no ill-will; I only dreaded his prodigalities."</p>
<p>"We will put that to rights, and will take nothing of the superintendent
but his good qualities."</p>
<p>"What is your majesty looking for?" said Henrietta, seeing the king's eyes
constantly turned towards the door, and wishing to let fly a little
poisoned arrow at his heart, supposing he was so anxiously expecting
either La Valliere or a letter from her.</p>
<p>"My sister," said the young man, who had divined her thought, thanks to
that marvelous perspicuity of which fortune was from that time about to
allow him the exercise, "my sister, I am expecting a most distinguished
man, a most able counselor, whom I wish to present to you all,
recommending him to your good graces. Ah! come in, then, D'Artagnan."</p>
<p>"What does your majesty wish?" said D'Artagnan, appearing.</p>
<p>"Where is monsieur the bishop of Vannes, your friend?"</p>
<p>"Why, sire—"</p>
<p>"I am waiting for him, and he does not come. Let him be sought for."</p>
<p>D'Artagnan remained for an instant stupefied; but soon, reflecting that
Aramis had left Vaux privately on a mission from the king, he concluded
that the king wished to preserve the secret. "Sire," replied he, "does
your majesty absolutely require M. d'Herblay to be brought to you?"</p>
<p>"Absolutely is not the word," said Philippe; "I do not want him so
particularly as that; but if he can be found—"</p>
<p>"I thought so," said D'Artagnan to himself.</p>
<p>"Is this M. d'Herblay the bishop of Vannes?"</p>
<p>"Yes, madame."</p>
<p>"A friend of M. Fouquet?"</p>
<p>"Yes, madame; an old musketeer."</p>
<p>Anne of Austria blushed.</p>
<p>"One of the four braves who formerly performed such prodigies."</p>
<p>The old queen repented of having wished to bite; she broke off the
conversation, in order to preserve the rest of her teeth. "Whatever may be
your choice, sire," said she, "I have no doubt it will be excellent."</p>
<p>All bowed in support of that sentiment.</p>
<p>"You will find in him," continued Philippe, "the depth and penetration of
M. de Richelieu, without the avarice of M. de Mazarin!"</p>
<p>"A prime minister, sire?" said Monsieur, in a fright.</p>
<p>"I will tell you all about that, brother; but it is strange that M.
d'Herblay is not here!"</p>
<p>He called out:</p>
<p>"Let M. Fouquet be informed that I wish to speak to him—oh! before
you, before you; do not retire!"</p>
<p>M. de Saint-Aignan returned, bringing satisfactory news of the queen, who
only kept her bed from precaution, and to have strength to carry out the
king's wishes. Whilst everybody was seeking M. Fouquet and Aramis, the new
king quietly continued his experiments, and everybody, family, officers,
servants, had not the least suspicion of his identity, his air, his voice,
and manners were so like the king's. On his side, Philippe, applying to
all countenances the accurate descriptions and key-notes of character
supplied by his accomplice Aramis, conducted himself so as not to give
birth to a doubt in the minds of those who surrounded him. Nothing from
that time could disturb the usurper. With what strange facility had
Providence just reversed the loftiest fortune of the world to substitute
the lowliest in its stead! Philippe admired the goodness of God with
regard to himself, and seconded it with all the resources of his admirable
nature. But he felt, at times, something like a specter gliding between
him and the rays of his new glory. Aramis did not appear. The conversation
had languished in the royal family; Philippe, preoccupied, forgot to
dismiss his brother and Madame Henrietta. The latter were astonished, and
began, by degrees, to lose all patience. Anne of Austria stooped towards
her son's ear and addressed some words to him in Spanish. Philippe was
completely ignorant of that language, and grew pale at this unexpected
obstacle. But, as if the spirit of the imperturbable Aramis had covered
him with his infallibility, instead of appearing disconcerted, Philippe
rose. "Well! what?" said Anne of Austria.</p>
<p>"What is all that noise?" said Philippe, turning round towards the door of
the second staircase.</p>
<p>And a voice was heard saying, "This way, this way! A few steps more,
sire!"</p>
<p>"The voice of M. Fouquet," said D'Artagnan, who was standing close to the
queen-mother.</p>
<p>"Then M. d'Herblay cannot be far off," added Philippe.</p>
<p>But he then saw what he little thought to have beheld so near to him. All
eyes were turned towards the door at which M. Fouquet was expected to
enter; but it was not M. Fouquet who entered. A terrible cry resounded
from all corners of the chamber, a painful cry uttered by the king and all
present. It is given to but few men, even those whose destiny contains the
strangest elements, and accidents the most wonderful, to contemplate such
a spectacle similar to that which presented itself in the royal chamber at
that moment. The half-closed shutters only admitted the entrance of an
uncertain light passing through thick violet velvet curtains lined with
silk. In this soft shade, the eyes were by degrees dilated, and every one
present saw others rather with imagination than with actual sight. There
could not, however, escape, in these circumstances, one of the surrounding
details; and the new object which presented itself appeared as luminous as
though it shone out in full sunlight. So it happened with Louis XIV., when
he showed himself, pale and frowning, in the doorway of the secret stairs.
The face of Fouquet appeared behind him, stamped with sorrow and
determination. The queen-mother, who perceived Louis XIV., and who held
the hand of Philippe, uttered a cry of which we have spoken, as if she
beheld a phantom. Monsieur was bewildered, and kept turning his head in
astonishment from one to the other. Madame made a step forward, thinking
she was looking at the form of her brother-in-law reflected in a mirror.
And, in fact, the illusion was possible. The two princes, both pale as
death—for we renounce the hope of being able to describe the fearful
state of Philippe—trembling, clenching their hands convulsively,
measured each other with looks, and darted their glances, sharp as
poniards, at each other. Silent, panting, bending forward, they appeared
as if about to spring upon an enemy. The unheard-of resemblance of
countenance, gesture, shape, height, even to the resemblance of costume,
produced by chance—for Louis XIV. had been to the Louvre and put on
a violet-colored dress—the perfect analogy of the two princes,
completed the consternation of Anne of Austria. And yet she did not at
once guess the truth. There are misfortunes in life so truly dreadful that
no one will at first accept them; people rather believe in the
supernatural and the impossible. Louis had not reckoned on these
obstacles. He expected that he had only to appear to be acknowledged. A
living sun, he could not endure the suspicion of equality with any one. He
did not admit that every torch should not become darkness at the instant
he shone out with his conquering ray. At the aspect of Philippe, then, he
was perhaps more terrified than any one round him, and his silence, his
immobility were, this time, a concentration and a calm which precede the
violent explosions of concentrated passion.</p>
<p>But Fouquet! who shall paint his emotion and stupor in presence of this
living portrait of his master! Fouquet thought Aramis was right, that this
newly-arrived was a king as pure in his race as the other, and that, for
having repudiated all participation in this <i>coup d'etat</i>, so
skillfully got up by the General of the Jesuits, he must be a mad
enthusiast, unworthy of ever dipping his hands in political grand strategy
work. And then it was the blood of Louis XIII. which Fouquet was
sacrificing to the blood of Louis XIII.; it was to a selfish ambition he
was sacrificing a noble ambition; to the right of keeping he sacrificed
the right of having. The whole extent of his fault was revealed to him at
simple sight of the pretender. All that passed in the mind of Fouquet was
lost upon the persons present. He had five minutes to focus meditation on
this point of conscience; five minutes, that is to say five ages, during
which the two kings and their family scarcely found energy to breathe
after so terrible a shock. D'Artagnan, leaning against the wall, in front
of Fouquet, with his hand to his brow, asked himself the cause of such a
wonderful prodigy. He could not have said at once why he doubted, but he
knew assuredly that he had reason to doubt, and that in this meeting of
the two Louis XIV.s lay all the doubt and difficulty that during late days
had rendered the conduct of Aramis so suspicious to the musketeer. These
ideas were, however, enveloped in a haze, a veil of mystery. The actors in
this assembly seemed to swim in the vapors of a confused waking. Suddenly
Louis XIV., more impatient and more accustomed to command, ran to one of
the shutters, which he opened, tearing the curtains in his eagerness. A
flood of living light entered the chamber, and made Philippe draw back to
the alcove. Louis seized upon this movement with eagerness, and addressing
himself to the queen:</p>
<p>"My mother," said he, "do you not acknowledge your son, since every one
here has forgotten his king!" Anne of Austria started, and raised her arms
towards Heaven, without being able to articulate a single word.</p>
<p>"My mother," said Philippe, with a calm voice, "do you not acknowledge
your son?" And this time, in his turn, Louis drew back.</p>
<p>As to Anne of Austria, struck suddenly in head and heart with fell
remorse, she lost her equilibrium. No one aiding her, for all were
petrified, she sank back in her fauteuil, breathing a weak, trembling
sigh. Louis could not endure the spectacle and the affront. He bounded
towards D'Artagnan, over whose brain a vertigo was stealing and who
staggered as he caught at the door for support.</p>
<p>"<i>A moi! mousquetaire!</i>" said he. "Look us in the face and say which
is the paler, he or I!"</p>
<p>This cry roused D'Artagnan, and stirred in his heart the fibers of
obedience. He shook his head, and, without more hesitation, he walked
straight up to Philippe, on whose shoulder he laid his hand, saying,
"Monsieur, you are my prisoner!"</p>
<p>Philippe did not raise his eyes towards Heaven, nor stir from the spot,
where he seemed nailed to the floor, his eye intently fixed upon the king
his brother. He reproached him with a sublime silence for all misfortunes
past, all tortures to come. Against this language of the soul the king
felt he had no power; he cast down his eyes, dragging away precipitately
his brother and sister, forgetting his mother, sitting motionless within
three paces of the son whom she left a second time to be condemned to
death. Philippe approached Anne of Austria, and said to her, in a soft and
nobly agitated voice:</p>
<p>"If I were not your son, I should curse you, my mother, for having
rendered me so unhappy."</p>
<p>D'Artagnan felt a shudder pass through the marrow of his bones. He bowed
respectfully to the young prince, and said as he bent, "Excuse me,
monseigneur, I am but a soldier, and my oaths are his who has just left
the chamber."</p>
<p>"Thank you, M. d'Artagnan.... What has become of M. d'Herblay?"</p>
<p>"M. d'Herblay is in safety, monseigneur," said a voice behind them; "and
no one, while I live and am free, shall cause a hair to fall from his
head."</p>
<p>"Monsieur Fouquet!" said the prince, smiling sadly.</p>
<p>"Pardon me, monseigneur," said Fouquet, kneeling, "but he who is just gone
out from hence was my guest."</p>
<p>"Here are," murmured Philippe, with a sigh, "brave friends and good
hearts. They make me regret the world. On, M. d'Artagnan, I follow you."</p>
<p>At the moment the captain of the musketeers was about to leave the room
with his prisoner, Colbert appeared, and, after remitting an order from
the king to D'Artagnan, retired. D'Artagnan read the paper, and then
crushed it in his hand with rage.</p>
<p>"What is it?" asked the prince.</p>
<p>"Read, monseigneur," replied the musketeer.</p>
<p>Philippe read the following words, hastily traced by the hand of the king:</p>
<p>"M. d'Artagnan will conduct the prisoner to the Ile Sainte-Marguerite. He
will cover his face with an iron vizor, which the prisoner shall never
raise except at peril of his life."</p>
<p>"That is just," said Philippe, with resignation; "I am ready."</p>
<p>"Aramis was right," said Fouquet, in a low voice, to the musketeer, "this
one is every whit as much a king as the other."</p>
<p>"More so!" replied D'Artagnan. "He wanted only you and me."</p>
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