 chapter 9 of THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK. CHAPTER IX. THE TEMPTER. MY PRINCE. SID ERAMUS. TURNING IN THE CARAGE. TOWARDS HIS COMPANION. WEAK CREATURE AS I AM. SO UNPRETENDING AND GENIUS. SO LOW IN THE SCALE OF INTELLIGENT BEINGS. It has never yet happened to me to converse with a man without penetrating his thoughts through that living mask which has been thrown over our mind, in order to retain its expression. But tonight, in this darkness, in the reserve which you maintain, I can read nothing on your features, and something tells me that I shall have great difficulty in resting from you, a sincere declaration. I beseech you, then, not for love of me, for subjects should never weigh as anything in the balance which princes hold, but for love of yourself, to retain every syllable, every inflection which, under the present most grave circumstances, will all have a sense and value as important as any ever uttered in the world. I listen, replied the young prince, decidedly, without either eagerly seeking or fearing anything that you are about to say to me. And he buried himself still deeper in the thick cushions of the carriage, trying to deprive his companion not only of the sight of him, but even of the very idea of his presence. Black was the darkness which fell wide and dense from the summits of the intertwining trees. The carriage, covered in by this prodigious roof, would not have received a particle of light, not even if a ray could have struggled through the wreaths of mist that were already rising in the avenue. Maud-senure, resumed Eremus. You know the history of the government which today controls France. The king issued from an infancy imprisoned like yours, obscure as yours, and confined as yours, only, instead of ending, like yourself, this slavery in a prison, this obscurity in solitude, these straightened circumstances in concealment. He was feigned to bear all these miseries, humiliations, and distresses, in full daylight, under the pitiless sun of royalty, on an elevation flooded with light where every stain appears a blemish, every glory a stain. The king has suffered, it rankles in his mind, and he will avenge himself. He will be a bad king. I say not that he will pour out his people's blood like Louis XI or Charles IX, for he has no mortal injuries to avenge, but he will devour the means and substance of his people, for he has himself undergone wrongs in his own interest and money. In the first place, then, I acquit my conscience when I consider openly the merits and the faults of this great prince, and if I condemn him, my conscience absolves me. Hermes paused. It was not to listen if the silence of the forest remained undisturbed, but it was to gather up his thoughts from the very bottom of his soul, to leave the thoughts he had uttered sufficient time to eat deeply into the mind of his companion. All that heaven does, heaven does well, continued the bishop of Van, and I am so persuaded of it that I have long been thankful to have been chosen depository of the secret which I have aided you to discover. To adjust providence was necessary an instrument, at once penetrating, persevering, and convinced to accomplish a great work. I am this instrument. I possess penetration, perseverance, conviction. I govern a mysterious people who has taken for its motto, the motto of God, patiens chia o eternis. The prince moved. I defy Monsignor, while you are raising your head, and are surprised at the people I have under my command. You did not know you were dealing with a king. Oh, Monsignor, king of a people very humble, much disinherited, humble because they have no force save when creeping, disinherited because never, almost never in this world, do my people reap the harvests they sow, nor eat the fruit they cultivate. They lay before an abstract idea. They heap together all the atoms of their power, to from a single man. Around this man, with a sweat of their labour, they create a misty halo, which his genius shall, in turn, render a glory gilded with the rays of all the crowns in Christendom, such as the man you have beside you, Monsignor. It is to tell you that he has drawn you from the abyss for a great purpose, to raise you above the powers of the earth, above himself. The Latin motto translates as, he is patient because he is eternal. It is from St. Augustine, this motto was sometimes applied to the papacy, but not to the Jesuits. And the prince lightly touched Eremus' arm. You speak to me, he said, of that religious order whose chief you are. Tell me, the result of your words is, that the day you desire to hurl down the man you shall have raised, the event will be accomplished, and that you will keep under your hand your creation of yesterday. Undeceive yourself, Monsignor. replied the bishop. I should not take the trouble to play this terrible game with your royal highness, if I had not a double interest in gaining it. The day you are elevated, you are elevated for ever. You will overturn the footstool as you rise, and will send it rolling so far, that not even the sight of it will ever again recall to you its right to simple gratitude. Oh, monsieur. Your movement, Monsignor, arises from an excellent disposition. I thank you. Be well assured, I aspire to more than gratitude. I am convinced that, when arrived at the summit, you will judge me still more worthy to be your friend. And then, Monsignor, we too will do such great deeds that ages hereafter shall long speak of them. Tell me plainly, monsieur. Tell me without disguise what I am today, and what you aim at my being tomorrow. You are the son of King Louis XIII. Brother of Louis XIV. Natural and legitimate heir to the throne of France. In keeping you near him, as monsieur has been kept. Monsieur, your younger brother. The king reserved to himself the right of being legitimate sovereign. The doctors only could dispute his legitimacy. But the doctors always prefer the king who is to the king who is not. Saint says willed that you should be persecuted. This persecution today consecrates you, king of France. You had, then, a right to reign, seeing that it is disputed. You had a right to be proclaimed, seeing that you have been concealed. And you possess royal blood, since no one has dared to shed yours, as that of your servants has been shed. Now see, then, what this providence, which you have so often accused of having in every way thwarted you, has done for you. It has given you the features, figure, age, and voice of your brother, and the very causes of your persecution are about to become those of your triumphant restoration. Tomorrow, after tomorrow, from the very first regal phantom living shade of Louis XIV, you will sit upon his throne, wence the will of heaven, confided in execution to the arm of man, will have hurled him without hope of return. I understand, said the prince. My brother's blood will not be shed, then. You will be the sole arbiter of his fate. The secret of which they made an evil use against me? You will employ it against him. What did he do to conceal it? He concealed you. Seeing image of himself, you will defeat the conspiracy of Mazara and of Austria. You, my prince, will have the same interest in concealing him, who will, as a prisoner, resemble you, and as you will resemble him as a king. I fall back on what I was saying to you. Who will guard him? Who guarded you? You know this secret. You have made use of it with regard to myself. Who else knows it? The queen mother and Madame de Chevreuse. What will they do? Nothing, if you choose. How is that? How can they recognize you if you act in such a manner that no one can recognize you? It is true, but there are grave difficulties. State them, prince. That brother is married. I cannot take my brother's wife. I will cause Spain to consent to a divorce. It is in the interest of your new policy. It is human morality. All that is really noble and really useful in this world will find its account therein. The imprisoned king will speak. To whom do you think he will speak? To the walls. You mean, by walls, the men in whom you put confidence? If need be, yes. And besides your royal highness? Besides I was going to say that the designs of Providence do not stop on such a fair road. Every scheme of this caliber is completed by its results, like a geometrical calculation. The king, imprisoned, will not be for you the cause of embarrassment that you have been for the king enthroned. His soul is naturally proud and impatient. It is, moreover, disarmed and enfeebled by being accustomed to honors and by the license of supreme power. The same Providence which has willed that the concluding step in the geometrical calculation I had had the honor of describing to your royal highness, should be your ascension to the throne, and the destruction of him who is hurtful to you, has also determined that the conquered one shall soon end both his own and your sufferings. Therefore his soul and body have been adapted for but a brief agony. Put into prison as a private individual. Left alone with your doubts, deprived of everything, you have exhibited the most sublime, enduring principle of life in withstanding all this. But your brother, a captive, forgotten, and in bonds, will not long endure the calamity, and heaven will resume his soul at the appointed time. That is to say, soon. At this point in Aramis's gloomy analysis, a bird of night uttered from the depths of the forest that prolonged and plaintive cry which makes every creature tremble. "'I will exile the deposed king,' said Philippe, shuddering. "'Twill be more human.' "'The king's good pleasure will decide the point,' said Aramis. "'But has the problem been well put? Have I brought out of the solution according to the wishes or the foresight of your royal highness?' "'Yes, monsieur, yes. You have forgotten nothing, except, indeed, two things. The first. Let us speak of it at once, with the same fragments we have already conversed in. Let us speak of the causes which may bring about the ruin of all the hopes we have conceived. Let us speak of the risks we are running. They would be immense, infinite, terrific, insurmountable, if, as I have said, all things did not concur to render them of absolutely no account. There is no danger either for you or for me, if the constancy and intrepidity of your royal highness are equal to that perfection of resemblance to your brother, which nature has bestowed upon you.' I repeat it. There are no dangers, only obstacles. A word, indeed, which I find in all languages, but have always ill understood. A word, where I king, would have obliterated as useless and absurd. "'Yes, indeed, monsieur, there is a very serious obstacle, an insurmountable danger, which you are forgetting.' "'Ah!' said Eremus. "'There is conscience, which cries aloud, remorse that never dies.' "'True. True,' said the bishop, "'there is a weakness of heart of which you remind me.' "'You are right, too, for that, indeed, is an immense obstacle. The horse, afraid of the ditch, leaps into the middle of it and is killed. The man who, trembling crosses his sword with that of another, leaves loopholes whereby his enemy has him in his power. "'Have you a brother?' said the young man to Eremus. "'I am alone in the world,' said the latter with a hard, dry voice. "'But surely, there is someone in the world whom you love,' added Philippe. "'No one. Yes. I love you.' The young man sank into so profound desilence that the mere sound of his respiration seemed like a roaring tumult for Eremus. "'Montsigneur,' he resumed, "'I have not said all I had to say to your royal highness. I have not offered you all of the salutary counsels and useful resources which I have at my disposal. It is useless to flash bright visions before the eyes of one who seeks and loves darkness. Useless, too, is it to let the magnificence of the cannon's roar make itself heard in the ears of one who loves repose and the quiet of the country.' "'Montsigneur, I have your happiness spread out before me in my thoughts. Listen to my words, precious they indeed are, in their import and their sense, for you who look with such tender regard upon the bright heavens, the verdant meadows, the pure air. I know a country instinct with the lights of every kind, an unknown paradise, a secluded corner of the world. Where alone, unfettered and unknown, in the thick covert of the woods, amidst flowers and streams of rippling water, you will forget all the misery that human folly has so recently allotted you. Oh, listen to me, my prince, I do not jest. I have a heart, a mind, and soul, and can read your own, I, even to its depths. I will not take you unready for your task, in order to cast you into the crucible of my own desires, of my caprice, or my ambition. Let it be all or nothing. You are chilled and galled, sick at heart, overcome by excess of the emotions which but one hour's liberty has produced in you. For me, that is a certain and unmistakable sign that you do not wish to continue at liberty. Would you prefer a more humble life, a life more suited to your strength? Then is my witness, that I wish your happiness to be the result of the trial to which I have exposed you. Speak, speak, said the prince, with a vivacity which did not escape Aramis. I know, resumed the prelate, in the Bapouetou, a canton of which no one in France suspects the existence, twenty leagues of country is immense, is it not, twenty leagues, Monsignor, all covered with water and herbage, and reeds of the most luxuriant nature, the whole studded with islands covered with woods of the densest foliage. These large marshes, covered with reeds as with a thick mantle, sleep silently and calmly beneath the sun's soft and genial rays. A few fishermen with their families indolently passed their lives away there, with their great living rafts of poplar and alder, the flooring formed of reeds, and the roof woven out of thick rushes. These barks, these floating houses, are wafted to and fro by the changing winds. Whenever they touch a bank it is butt by chance, and so gently too that the sleeping fishermen is not awakened by the shock. Should he wish to land, it is merely because he has seen a large flight of landrails or plovers, of wild ducks, teal, widgen, or woodchucks, which fall on easy prey to net or gun. Silver shad, eels, greedy pike, red and gray mullet, swim in shoals into his nets, he has but to choose the finest and largest, and return the others to the waters. Never yet has the food of the stranger, be he soldier or simple citizen, never has anyone indeed, penetrated into that district. The sun's rays there are soft and tempered, in plots of solid earth, whose soil is swart and fertile, grows the vine, nourishing with generous juice its purple, white and golden grapes. Once a week a boat is sent to deliver the bread which has been baked at an oven, the common property of all. There, like the seniors of early days, powerful in virtue of your dogs, your fishing lines, your guns, and your beautiful reed-built house, would you live, rich in the produce of the chase, in plentitude of absolute secrecy. There would years of your life roll away, at the end of which, no longer recognizable, for you would have been perfectly transformed. You would have succeeded in acquiring a destiny according to you by heaven. There are a thousand pistoles in this bag, Monsignor, more, far more than sufficient to purchase the whole marsh of which I have spoken, more than enough to live there as many years as you have days to live, more than enough to constitute you, the richest, the freest, and the happiest man in the country. Accept it, as I offer it to you, sincerely, cheerfully. Forthwith, without a moment's pause, I will unharness two of my horses which are attached to the carriage yonder, and they, accompanied by my servant, my deaf and dumb attendant, shall conduct you, travelling throughout the night, sleeping during the day, to the locality I have described, and I shall at least have the satisfaction of knowing that I have rendered to my prince the major service he himself preferred. I shall have made one human being happy, and heaven for that will hold me in better account than if I have made one man powerful. The former task is far more difficult. And now, Monsignor, your answer to this proposition? Here is the money. Nay, do not hesitate. Apuatu, you can risk nothing, except the chance of catching the fevers prevalent there, and even of them the so-called wizards of the country will cure you for the sake of your pistoles. If you play the other game, you run the chance of being assassinated on a throne strangled in a prison cell. Upon my soul I assure you, now I begin to compare them together, I myself should hesitate which lot I should accept. This year, replied the young prince, before I determine, let me alight from this carriage, walk on the ground, and consult that still voice within me which heaven bids us all to hearken to. Ten minutes is all I ask, and then you shall have your answer. As you please, Monsignor, said Aramis, bending before him with respect, so solemn and august in tone and address had sounded these strange words. CHAPTER X This Libre Box recording is in the public domain, and is read by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. The Man in the Iron Mask by Alexander Dumas. CHAPTER X. CROWN AND TIERRA. This 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 the 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 fifteenth of August, about eleven o'clock at night. Thick clouds, pretending 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 cops 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 embalming air which enveloped him for the first time for many years past, the ineffable enjoyment of liberty and 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 breathe the 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 the new sensation of delight, he drank in delicious drafts 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 Arama some madman to suppose that he had ought 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 we're with to fascinate a poor, unhappy prisoner, worn out by prison-cares, emaciated by the stifling air of the Bastille. It was the picture, it will be remembered, drawn by Aramaus when he offered the thousand pistolets he had with him in the carriage to the Prince, and the enchanted aid in which the deserts of Ba Poitoux hid from the eyes of the world. Such were the reflections of Aramaus 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 Van, 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 could have on a human mind. Aramaus, 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 the space of time, which appeared in eternity, Philippe continued gazing with an imploring and sorrowful look towards the heavens. Aramaus 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. Aramaus'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, Monsignor?' asked Aramaus. "'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 Aramaus, bowing over Philippe's hand. "'You will be great, Monsignor. I will answer for that.' "'Let us resume our conversation. I wish 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. de Blay.' "'The conditions, Monsignor?' "'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, Monsignor. Once a king.' "'When will that be?' "'Tomorrow 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 peruse 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 Bastille. 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, Monsignor.' "'My mother, Anne of Austria. All her sorrows, her painful malady. Oh, I know her. I know her.' "'Your second brother,' asked Erema, spowing. "'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 Valière from her service in disgrace.' "'You will have to be careful with regard to the watchfulness of the latter,' said Eremus. "'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 Monsieur de Sondagne.' "'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 Monsieur 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.' Eremus, struck with admiration at the remark, said, "'You will become very great, Monsignor.' "'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, Monsignor.' "'Yes, the captain of the musketeers, Monsieur d'Artagnan, your friend.' "'Yes, I can well say, my friend.' "'He who escorted la valière to Luciaillot, 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 Monsieur Fouquette. What do you wish to be done with regard to him?' "'One moment more, I entreat you, Monsignor, 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, you're right.' "'Before we pass to Monsieur Fouquette, I should very much regret forgetting another friend of mine.' "'Monsieur Duvalon, 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 camp de l'affaire, then?' "'And his son, the son of all four of us.' "'That poor boy who is dying of love for la valière, whom my brother sowed loyally bereft him of? "'Be easy on that score. I shall know how to rehabilitate his happiness.' "'Tell me only one thing, Monsieur Dublée. 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 Rue loves mademoiselle de la valière, 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 Monsieur Fouquet, what do you wish me to do for him? To keep him on his superintendent, in the capacity in which he is 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, Monsignor, for that would give rise to too much suspicion and astonishment.' "'Monsieur de Richelieu, the First Minister of my grandmother, Marie de Medici, was simply Bishop of Lucan, 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 Hermes, 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 passed, M. de Blay, 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, Monsignor.' "'Speak, speak.' "'Monsieur 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 labours, 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 Monsieur 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. Monsieur 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 Eremus 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 council. Such a man would be acting with twofold injustice in applying these mighty resources to France alone. Besides, added Eremus, 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 Saint Peter. Whenever your loyal, firm and mailed hand should join in ties of intimate association, the hands 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 pre-elections. 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, Monsignor? I say that you render me happy and proud, for no other reason than that of having comprehended you thoroughly. Monsieur de Blay, 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 de Blay. 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 ingenious, 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 Vole-le-Vicomte. End of Chapter 11 of The Man in the Iron Mask This Lieber-Vox recording is in the public domain and is read by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. The Man in the Iron Mask by Alexandre Dumas. Chapter 11. The Chateau de Vole-le-Vicomte. The Chateau of Vole-le-Vicomte, situated about a league from Melloun, had been built by Fouquet in 1655, at a time when there was a scarcity of money in France. Mazara had taken all that there was, and Fouquet expended the remainder. However, as certain men have fertile, false, and useful vices, Fouquet, in scattering broadcast millions of money in the construction of this palace, had found a means of gathering, as the result of his generous profusion, three illustrious men together. Le Vaux, the architect of the building. Le Notre, the designer of the gardens. And Le Brune, the decorator of the apartments. If the Chateau de Vaux possessed a single fault with which it could be reproached, it was its grand pretentious character. It is even at the present day proverbial to calculate the number of acres of roofing, the restoration of which would, in our age, be the ruin of fortunes cramped and narrowed as the epic itself. Vaux-le-Vicomte, when its magnificent gates, supported by cariatids, have been passed through, has the principal front of the main building opening upon a vast, so-called court of honour, enclosed by deep ditches, bordered by a magnificent stone balustrade. Nothing could be more noble in appearance than the central forecourt raised upon the flight of steps, like a king upon his throne, having around it four pavilions at the angles, the immense ionic columns of which rose majestically to the whole height of the building. The freezes ornamented with arabesques, and the pediments which crowned the pilasters conferred richness and grace on every part of the building, while the domes which surmounted the whole added proportion and majesty. This mansion, built by a subject, bore a far greater resemblance to those royal resonances, which Woolsey fancied he was called upon to construct, in order to present them to his master from the fear of rendering him jealous. But if magnificence and splendour were displayed in any one particular part of this palace, more than another, if anything could be preferred to the wonderful arrangement of the interior, to the sumptuousness of the gilding, and to the profusion of the paintings and statues, it would be the park and gardens of vaux. The jet d'eau, which were regarded as wonderful in 1653, are still so, even at the present time. The cascades awaken the admiration of kings and princes, and as for the famous grotto, the theme of so many poetical effusions, the residents of that illustrious nymph of vaux, whom Pellissant made converse with La Fontaine, we must be spared the description of all its beauties. We will do as Despreau did. We will enter the park, the trees of which are of eight years' growth only, that is to say, in their present position, and whose summits, even yet, as they proudly tower aloft, blushingly unfold their leaves to the earliest rays of the rising sun. Le nôtre had hastened the pleasure of the mesenas of his period. All the nursery grounds had furnished trees whose growth had been accelerated by careful culture and the richest plant food. Every tree in the neighborhood which presented a fair appearance of beauty or stature had been taken up by its roots and transplanted to the park. Fouquet could well afford to purchase trees to ornament his park, since he had bought up three villages and their appurtenances to use the legal word to increase its extent. Monsieur de Scoudry said of this palace that, for the purpose of keeping the grounds and gardens well watered, Monsieur Fouquet had divided a river into a thousand fountains, and gathered the water of a thousand fountains into torrents. This same Monsieur de Scoudry had said a great many other things in his Clélye about this palace of Voltaire, the charms of which he describes most minutely. We should be far wiser to send our curious readers to Vaux to judge for themselves than to refer them to Clélye, and yet there are as many leagues from Paris to Vaux as there are volumes of the Clélye. This magnificent palace had been got ready for the reception of the greatest raining sovereign of the time. Monsieur Fouquet's friends had transported thither, some their actors and their dresses, others their troops of sculptors and artists, not forgetting others with their ready-mended pens. Floods of impromptus were contemplated. The Cascades, somewhat rebellious nymphs, though they were, poured forth their waters brighter and clearer than crystal. They scattered over the bronze triton and myriads, their waves of foam, which glistened like fire in the rays of the sun. An army of servants were hurrying to and fro in squadrons in the courtyard and corridors, while Fouquet, who had only that morning arrived, walked all through the palace with a calm, observant glance, in order to give his last orders, after his intendance had inspected everything. It was, as we have said, the 15th of August. The sun poured down its burning rays upon the heathen deities of marble and bronze. It raised the temperature of the water in the conch shells, and ripened, on the walls, those magnificent peaches, of which the king, fifty years later, spoke so regretfully, when, at Marlis, on an occasion of a scarcity of the finer sorts of peaches being complained of, in the beautiful gardens there, gardens which had cost France double the amount that had been expended on Faux. The great king observed to some one, you are far too young to have eaten any of Monsieur Fouquet's peaches. O fame, hope, laison of renown, O glory of this earth, that very man whose judgment was so sound and accurate where merit was concerned, he who had swept into his coffers the inheritance of Nicholas Fouquet, who had robbed him of le nôtre and le brun, and had sent him to rot for the remainder of his life in one of the state prisons, merely remembered the peaches of that vanquished, crushed, forgotten enemy. It was to little purpose that Fouquet had squandered thirty millions of francs in the fountains of his gardens, in the crucibles of his sculptors, in the writing desks of his literary friends, in the portfolios of his painters. Veinly had he fancied that thereby he might be remembered. A peach, a blushing, rich-flavored fruit, nestling in the trellis work on the garden wall, hidden behind its long green leaves. This little vegetable production that a doormouse would nibble up without a thought was sufficient to recall to the memory of this great monarch the mournful shade of the last surintendent of France. With a perfect reliance that Aramis had made rearrangements fairly to distribute the vast number of guests throughout the palace, and that he had not omitted to attend to any of the internal regulations for their comfort, Fouquet devoted his entire attention to the ensemble alone. In one direction, Gourville showed him the preparations which had been made for the fireworks. In another, Molière led him over the theatre. At last, after he had visited the chapel, the salon, and the galleries, and was again going downstairs exhausted with fatigue, Fouquet saw Aramis on the staircase. The prelate beckoned to him. The surintendent joined his friend and, with him, paused before a large picture scarcely finished. Applying himself, hard and sold to his work, the painter Lebrun, covered with perspiration, stained with paint, pale from fatigue and the inspiration of genius, was putting the last finishing touches with his rapid brush. It was the portrait of the king, whom they were expecting, dressed in the courtsuit which Pessara had condescended to show beforehand to the bishop of Vaan. Fouquet placed himself before this portrait, which seemed to live, as one might say, in the cool freshness of its flesh and in its warmth of colour. He gazed upon it long and fixedly, estimated the prodigious labour that had been bestowed upon it, and, not being able to find any recompense sufficiently great for this herculean effort, he passed his arm round the painter's neck and embraced him. The surintendent by this action had utterly ruined a suit of clothes worth a thousand bestoys, but he had satisfied, more than satisfied, Lebrun. It was a happy moment for the artist. It was an unhappy moment for Monsieur Pessara, who was walking behind Fouquet, and was engaged in admiring, in Lebrun's painting, the suit that he had made for his majesty, a perfect objet d'art, as he called it, which was not to be matched except in the wardrobe of this surintendent. His distress and his exclamations were interrupted by a signal which had been given from the summit of the mansion. In the direction of Meleun, in the still empty, open plain, the sentinels of Vaux had just perceived the advancing procession of the king and the queens. His majesty was entering Meleun with his long train of carriages and cavaliers. In an hour, said Hermes to Fouquet, In an hour, replied the latter, sighing, and the people who asked one another, What is the good of these royal fets? continued the bishop of Vann, laughing with his false smile. Alas, I too, who am not the people, ask myself the same thing. I will answer you in four and twenty hours, Monsignor. Assume a cheerful countenance, for it should be a day of true rejoicing. Well, believe me or not, as you like, de Blay, said the surintendent with a swelling heart, pointing at the cortege of Louis, visible on the horizon. He certainly loves me but very little, and I do not care much more for him, but I cannot tell you how it is that since he is approaching my house. Well, what? Well, since I know he is on his way here as my guest, he is more sacred than ever for me, he is my acknowledged sovereign, and as such is very dear to me. Dear, yes, said Hermes, playing upon the word, as the Abbe Thuray did at a later period with Louis XV. Do not laugh, de Blay, I feel that if he really seemed to wish it, I could love that young man. You should not say that to me, returned Hermes, but rather to Monsieur Colbert. To Monsieur Colbert? exclaimed Fouquet. Why so? Because he would allow you a pension out of the king's privy purse, as soon as he becomes surintendent. Said Hermes, preparing to leave as soon as he had dealt this last blow. Where are you going? returned Fouquet with a gloomy look. To my own apartment, in order to change my costume, Monsignor. Whereabouts are you lodging, de Blay? In the blue room on the second story. The room immediately over the king's room? Precisely. You will be subject to very great restraint there. What an idea to condemn yourself to a room where you cannot stir or move about. During the night, Monsignor, I sleep, or read in my bed. And your servants? I have but one attendant with me. I find my reader quite sufficient. I do, Monsignor. Do not over-fatigue yourself. Keep yourself fresh for the arrival of the king. We shall see you by and by, I suppose, and shall see your friend Duvalon also. He is lodging next to me, and is at this moment dressing. And Fouquet, bowing with a smile, passed on like a commander-in-chief who pays the different outposts of visit after the enemy has been signalled in sight. End of chapter. Chapter 12 of The Man in the Iron Mask This LibriVox recording is in the public domain and is read by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. The Man in the Iron Mask by Alexandra Dumas. Chapter 12 The Wine of Maloun The king had, in point of fact, entered Maloun with the intention of merely passing through the city. The youthful monarch was most eagerly anxious for amusements. Only twice during the journey had he been able to catch a glimpse of la Valière, and, suspecting that his only opportunity of speaking to her would be after nightfall in the gardens, and after the ceremony of reception had been gone through, he had been very desirous to arrive at Vaux as early as possible. But he reckoned without his captain of the musketeers, and without Monsieur Colbert. Like Calypso, who could not be consoled at the departure of Ulysses, our Gaskin could not console himself for not having guessed why Aramis had asked Persara to show him the king's new costumes. There is not a doubt, he said to himself, that my friend the Bishop of Von had some motive in that. And then he began to rack his brains most uselessly. D'Artagnan, so intimately acquainted with all the court intrigues, who knew the position of Fouquet better than even Fouquet himself did, had conceived the strangest fancies and suspicions at the announcement of the Fet, which would have ruined a wealthy man, and which became impossible, utter madness even, for a man so poor as he was. And then the presence of Aramis, who had returned from Bel-Eel, and been nominated by Monsieur Fouquet, Inspector General of all the arrangements, his perseverance in mixing himself up with all the Surintended's affairs, his visits to Besmeau, all the suspicious singularity of conduct, had excessively troubled and tormented D'Artagnan during the last two weeks. With men of Aramis' stamp, he said, one is never the stronger except sword in hand. So long as Aramis continued a soldier, there was hope of getting the better of him. But since he has covered his queras with a stole, we are lost. But what can Aramis's object possibly be? And D'Artagnan plunged again into deep thought. What does it matter to me, after all? he continued. If his only object is to overthrow Monsieur Colbert, and what else can he be after? And D'Artagnan rubbed his forehead, that fertile land whence the plough-share of his nails had turned up so many and such admirable ideas in his time. He at first thought of talking the matter over with Colbert, but his friendship for Aramis, the oath of earlier days, bound him too strictly. He revolted at the bare idea of such a thing, and besides he hated the financier too cordially. Then again he wished to unburden his mind to the king, but yet the king would not be able to understand the suspicions which had not even a shadow of reality at their base. He resolved to address himself to Aramis, direct, the first time he met him. I will get him, said the musketeer, between a couple of candles suddenly, and when he least expects it I will place my hand upon his heart, and he will tell me— What will he tell me? Yes, he will tell me something for— Mordio, there is something in it, I know. Somewhat calmer, D'Artagnan made every preparation for the journey, and took the greatest care that the military household of the king, as yet very inconsiderable in numbers, should be well officered and well disciplined in its meager and limited proportions. The result was that, through the captain's arrangements, the king, on arriving at Melloun, saw himself at the head of both the musketeers and Swiss guards, as well as a picket of the French guards. It might almost have been called a small army. Monsieur Colbert looked at the troops with great delight. He even wished they had been a third more in number. But why? said the king. In order to show greater honour to Monsieur Fouquet, replied Colbert. In order to ruin him the sooner, thought D'Artagnan. When this little army appeared before Melloun, the chief magistrates came out to meet the king and to present him with the keys of the city and invited him to enter the Hotel de Ville in order to partake of the wine of honour. The king, who expected to pass through the city and to proceed de Vaux without delay, became quite red in the face from vexation. Who was full enough to occasion this delay, muttered the king between his teeth, as the chief magistrate was in the middle of a long address. Not I, certainly, replied D'Artagnan. But I believe it was Monsieur Colbert. Colbert, having heard his name pronounced, said, What was Monsieur D'Artagnan good enough to say? I was good enough to remark that it was you who stopped the king's progress, so that he might taste the vendebris. Was I right? Quite so, Monsieur. In that case, then, it was you whom the king called some name or other. What name? I hardly know, but wait a moment. Idiot! I think it was. No, no, it was... Fool or dolt! Yes, his majesty said that the man who had thought of the vande-malune was something of the sort. D'Artagnan, after this broadside, quietly caressed his mustache. Monsieur Colbert's large head seemed to become larger and larger than ever. D'Artagnan, seeing how ugly anger made him, did not stop halfway. The orator still went on with his speech while the king's colour was visibly increasing. Mordio, said the musketeer Cooley, the king is going to have an attack of determination of blood to the head. Where the deuce did you get hold of that idea, Monsieur Colbert? You have no luck. Monsieur, said the financier, drawing himself up, my zeal for the king's service inspired me with the idea. Bah! Monsieur, Mellon is a city, an excellent city, which pays well, and which it would be imprudent to displease. There now, I, who do not pretend to be a financier, saw only one idea in your idea. What was that, Monsieur? That of causing a little annoyance to Monsieur Fouquette, who is making himself quite giddy on his Don John's yonder in waiting for us. This was a home-stroke, hard enough in all conscience. Colbert was completely thrown out of the saddle by it, and retired, thoroughly disconfident. Fortunately, the speech was now at an end. The king drank the wine which was presented to him, and then everyone resumed the progress through the city. The king bit his lips in anger, for the evening was closing in, and all hope of a walk with Lavalierre was at an end. In order that the whole of the king's household should enter vaux, four hours at least were necessary, owing to the different arrangements. The king, therefore, who was boiling with impatience, hurried forward as much as possible in order to reach it before nightfall. But at the moment he was setting off again, other and fresh difficulties arose. Is not the king going to sleep at Malune? said Colbert in a low tone of voice to D'Artagnan. Mr. Colbert must have been badly inspired that day to address himself in that manner to the chief of the Musketeers, for the latter guessed that the king's intention was very far off from that of remaining where he was. D'Artagnan would not allow him to enter vaux, except he were well and strongly accompanied, and desired that his Majesty would not enter except with all the escort. On the other hand, he felt that these delays would irritate that impatient monarch beyond measure. In what way could he possibly reconcile these difficulties? D'Artagnan took up Colbert's remark and determined to repeat it to the king. Sire, he said, Mr. Colbert has been asking me if your Majesty does not intend to sleep at Malune. Sleep at Malune? What for? exclaimed Louis XIV. Sleep at Malune? Who in heaven's name can have thought of such a thing when Monsieur Fouquette is expecting us this evening? It was simply, replied Colbert quickly, the fear of causing your Majesty the least delay, for according to established etiquette, you cannot enter any place, with the exception of your own royal residences, until the soldiers' quarters had been marked out by the quartermaster, and the garrison properly distributed. D'Artagnan listened with the greatest attention, biting his moustache to conceal his vexation, and the queens were not less interested. They were fatigued and would have preferred to go to rest without proceeding any farther, more especially in order to prevent the king walking about in the evening with Monsieur de Saint-Dagnan and the ladies of the court, for, if etiquette required the princesses to remain within their own rooms, the ladies of honour, as soon as they had performed the services required of them, had no restrictions placed upon them, but were at liberty to walk about as they pleased. It will easily be conjectured that all these rival interests, gathering together in vapours, necessarily produced clouds, and that the clouds were likely to be followed by a tempest. The king had no moustache to gnaw, and therefore kept biting the handle of his whip instead, with ill-concealed impatience. How could he get out of it? D'Artagnan looked as agreeable as possible, and colbert as sulky as he could. Who was there he could get in a passion with? We will consult the queen, said Louis XIV, bowing to the royal ladies, and this kindness of consideration softened Maria to race's heart, who, being of a kind and generous disposition, when left to her own free will, replied, I shall be delighted to do whatever your majesty wishes. How long will it take us to get to Vaux? Inquired Anne of Austria in slow and measured accents, placing her hand upon her bosom, where the seat of her pain lay. An hour for your majesty's carriages, said D'Artagnan, the roads are tolerably good. The king looked at him. Anne, a quarter of an hour for the king, he hastened to add. We should arrive by daylight, said Louis XIV. But the billeting of the king's military escort, objected Colbert softly, will make his majesty lose all the advantage of his speed, however quick he may be. Double-ass that you are, thought D'Artagnan, if I had any interest or motive in demolishing your credit with the king, I could do it in ten minutes. If I were in the king's place, he added aloud, I should, and going to Monsieur Fouquette, leave my escort behind me. I should go to him as a friend. I should enter accompanied only by my captain of the guards. I should consider that I was acting more nobly and should be invested with a still more sacred character by doing so. Delight sparkled in the king's eyes. That is indeed a very sensible suggestion. We will go to see a friend as friends. The gentlemen who are with the carriages can go slowly, but we who are mounted will ride on. And he rode off, accompanied by all those who were mounted. Colbert hid his ugly head behind his horse's neck. I shall be quits, said D'Artagnan, as he galloped along, by getting a little talk with Eremus this evening, and then, Monsieur Fouquette is a man of honor. Mordio, I have said so, and it must be so. And this was the way how, towards seven o'clock in the evening, without announcing his arrival by the din of trumpets, and without even his advanced guard, without outriders or musketeers, the king presented himself before the gate of Vaux, where Fouquette, who had been informed of his royal guest's approach, had been waiting for the last half hour, with his head uncovered, surrounded by his household and his friends. End of Chapter. Chapter 13 of The Man in the Iron Mask Monsieur Fouquette held the stirrup of the king, who, having dismounted, bowed most graciously, and more graciously still, held out his hand to him, which Fouquette, in spite of a slight resistance on the king's part, carried respectfully to his lips. The king wished to wait in the first courtyard for the arrival of the carriages, nor had he long to wait, for the roads had been put into excellent order by the superintendent, and a stone would hardly have been found of the size of an egg the whole way from Melune de Vaux, so that the carriages, rolling along as though on a carpet, brought the ladies to Vaux, without jolting or fatigue, by eight o'clock. They were received by Madame Fouquette, and at the moment they made their appearance, a light as bright as day burst forth from every quarter, trees, vases, and marble statues. This species of enchantment lasted until their majesties had retired into the palace. All these wonders and magical effects which the chronicler has heaped up, or rather embalmed, in his recital, at the risk of rivaling the brain-born scenes of romances, these splendors whereby night seemed vanquished and nature corrected, together with every delight and luxury combined for the satisfaction of all the senses, as well as the imagination, Fouquette did in real truth offer to his sovereign in that enchanting retreat, of which no monarch could at that time boast of possessing an equal. We do not intend to describe the grand banquet at which the royal guests were present, nor the concerts, nor the fairy-like and more than magic transformations and metamorphoses. It will be enough for our purpose to depict the countenance the king assumed, which, from being gay, soon wore a very gloomy, constrained and irritated expression. He remembered his own resonance, royal though it was, and the mean and indifferent style of luxury that prevailed there, which comprised but little more than what was merely useful for the royal wants, without being his own personal property. The large vases of the Louvre, the older furniture and plate of Henry II, of Francis I, and of Louis XI, were but historic monuments of earlier days, nothing but specimens of art, the relics of his predecessors, while with Fouquette the value of the article was as much in the workmanship as in the article itself. Fouquette ate from a gold service, which artists in his own employ had modelled and cast for him alone. Fouquette drank wines of which the King of France did not even know the name, and drank them out of goblets, each more valuable than the entire royal cellar. What, too, was to be said of the apartments, the hangings, the pictures, the servants and officers, of every description of his household? What of the mode of service in which etiquette was replaced by order, stiff formality by personal unrestrained comfort? The happiness and contempt of the guest became the supreme law of all who obeyed the host. The perfect swarm of busily engaged persons moving about noiselessly, the multitude of guests, who were, however, even less numerous than the servants who waited on them, the myriad of exquisitely prepared dishes, of gold and silver vases, the floods of dazzling light, the masses of unknown flowers, of which the hothouses had been despoiled, redundant with luxuriance of unequaled scent and beauty, the perfect harmony of the surroundings which, indeed, was no more than the prelude of the promised Fette, Charmedal, who were there, and they testified their admiration over and over again, not by voice or gesture, but by deep silence and rapt attention, those two languages of the courtier which acknowledged the hand of no master powerful enough to restrain them. As for the king, his eyes filled with tears, he dared not look at the queen. Anne of Austria, whose pride was superior to that of any creature breathing, overwhelmed her host by the contempt with which she treated everything handed to her. The young queen, kind-hearted by nature and curious by disposition, praised Fouquet, ate with an exceedingly good appetite, and asked the names of the strange fruits as they were placed upon the table. Fouquet replied that he was not aware of their names. The fruits came from his own stores. He had often cultivated them himself, having an intimate acquaintance with the cultivation of exotic fruits and plants. The king felt and appreciated the delicacy of the replies, but was only the more humiliated. He thought the queen a little too familiar in her manners, and that Anne of Austria resembled Juno a little too much, him being too proud and haughty. His chief anxiety, however, was himself, that he might remain cold and distant in his behavior, bordering lightly the limits of supreme disdain or simple admiration. But Fouquet had foreseen all this. He was, in fact, one of those men who foresee everything. The king had expressly declared that, so long as he remained under Fouquet's roof, he did not wish his own different repast to be served in accordance with the usual etiquette, and that he would consequently dine with the rest of society. But by the thoughtful attention of the Surin attendant, the king's dinner was served up separately, if one may so express it, in the middle of the general table. The dinner, wonderful at every respect, from the dishes of which was composed, comprised everything the king liked and generally preferred to anything else. Louis had no excuse. He indeed, who had the keenest appetite in his kingdom, for saying that he was not hungry. Day, Monsieur Fouquet did even better still. He certainly, in obedience to the king's express desire, seated himself at the table. But as soon as the soups were served, he arose and personally waited on the king, while Madame Fouquet stood behind the queen mother's armchair. The disdain of Junot and the sulky fits of temper of Jupiter could not resist this excess of kindly feeling and polite attention. The queen ate a biscuit dipped in a glass of San Lucar wine, and the king ate of everything, saying to Monsieur Fouquet, It is impossible, Monsieur le Surin attendant, to dine better anywhere. Whereupon the whole court began, on all sides, to devour the dishes spread before them, with such enthusiasm that it looked as though a cloud of Egyptian locusts were settling down on green and growing crops. As soon, however, as his hunger was appeased, the king became morose and overgloomed again. The more so in proportion to the satisfaction he fancied he had previously manifested, and particularly on account of the deferential manner which his courtiers had shown towards Fouquet. D'Artagnan, who ate a good deal and drank but little, without allowing it to be noticed, did not lose a single opportunity, but made a great number of observations which he turned to good profit. When the supper was finished, the king expressed a wish not to lose the promenade. The park was illuminated, the moon, too, as if she had placed herself at the orders of the Lord of Vaux, silvered the trees and lake with her own bright and quasi-phosphorescent light. The air was strangely soft and balmy. The daintly shell-graveled walks through the thickly set avenues yielded luxuriously to the feet. The fet was complete in every respect. For the king, having met Lavalier in one of the winding paths of the wood, was able to press her hand and say, I love you, without any one overhearing him except Monsieur D'Artagnan, who followed, and Monsieur Fouquet, who preceded him. The dreamy night of magical enchantments stole smoothly on. The king, having requested to be shown to his room, there was immediately a movement in every direction. The queens passed to their own apartments, accompanied by the music of Fiorbus and Lutz. The king found his musketeers awaiting him on the grand flight of steps, for Monsieur Fouquet had brought them on from Mellon and had invited them to supper. D'Artagnan's suspicions at once disappeared. He was weary, he had supped well, and wished for once in his life thoroughly to enjoy a fet given by a man who was in every sense of the word a king. Monsieur Fouquet, he said, is the man for me. The king was conducted with the greatest ceremony to the chamber of Morpheus, of which we owe some cursory description to our readers. It was the handsomest and largest in the palace. Lebrun had painted on the vaulted ceiling the happy as well as the unhappy dreams which Morpheus inflicts on kings as well as on other men. Everything that sleep gives birth to, that is lovely, its fairy scenes, its flowers and nectar, the wild voluptuousness or profound repose of the senses, had the painter elaborated on his frescoes. It was a composition as soft and pleasing in one part, as dark and gloomy and terrible in another. The poisoned chalice, the glittering dagger suspended over the head of the sleeper, wizards and phantoms with terrific masks, those half-dim shadows more alarming than the approach of fire or the somber face of midnight. These and such as these he had made the companions of his more pleasing pictures. No sooner had the king entered his room than a cold shiver seemed to pass through him, and on Phuket asking him the cause of it, the king replied as pale as death, I am sleepy, that is all. Does your Majesty wish for your attendance at once? No, I have to talk with a few persons first, said the king. Will you have the goodness to tell Mr. Colbert I wish to see him? Phuket bowed and left the room. End of chapter. Chapter 14 of The Man in the Iron Mask This sleeper vox recording is in the public domain and is read by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. The Man in the Iron Mask By Alexandra Dumas Chapter 14 A Gaskin and a Gaskin and a Half D'Artagnan had determined to lose no time, and in fact he never was in the habit of doing so. After having inquired for Aramis, he had looked for him in every direction until he had succeeded in fighting him. Besides, no sooner had the king entered voe than Aramis had retired to his own room, meditating doubtless, some new piece of gallant attention for his Majesty's amusement. D'Artagnan desired the servants to announce him, and found on the second story, in a beautiful room called the Blue Chamber, on account of the color of its hangings, the Bishop of Vaan, in company with Porthos and several of the modern Epicureans. Aramis came forward to embrace his friend, and offered him the best seat. As it was after a while generally remarked among those present that the musketeer was reserved, and wished for an opportunity for conversing secretly with Aramis, the Epicureans took their leave. Porthos, however, did not stir. For true it is that, having dined exceedingly well, he was fast asleep in his arm chair, and the freedom of conversation therefore was not interrupted by a third person. Porthos had a deep, harmonious snore, and people might talk in the midst of its loud bass without fear of disturbing him. D'Artagnan felt that he was called upon to open the conversation. Well, and so we have come to vo, he said. Why yes, D'Artagnan, and how do you like the place? Very much, and I like Monsieur Fouquet also. Is he not a charming host? No one could be more so. I am told that the king began by showing great distance of manner towards Monsieur Fouquet, but that his majesty grew much more cordial afterwards. You did not notice it then, since you say you have been told so? No. I was engaged with the gentlemen who have just left the room about the theatrical performances and the tournaments, which are to take place to-morrow. Ah, indeed! You are the Comptroller General of the Fets here, then? You know I am a friend of all kinds of amusement where the exercise of the imagination is called into activity. I have always been a poet in one way or another. Yes, I remember the verses he used to write. They were charming. I have forgotten them, but I am delighted to read the verses of others, when those others are known by the names of Molière, Pellissant, La Fontaine, etc. Do you know what idea occurred to me this evening, Aramis? No. Tell me what it is, for I should never be able to guess it. You have so many. Well, the idea occurred to me that the true King of France is not Louis XIV. What? said Aramis involuntarily, looking the musketeer full in the eyes. No, it is Monsieur Fouquet. Aramis breathed again and smiled. Ah, you are like all the rest. Jealous, he said. I would wager that it was Monsieur Colbert who turned that pretty phrase. D'Artagnan, in order to throw Aramis off his guard, related Colbert's misadventures with regard to the Vendamelun. He comes of a mean race, does Colbert, said Aramis. Quite true. When I think, too, added the Bishop, that that fellow will be your minister within four months, and that you will serve him as blindly as you did Richelieu, or Mazarin, and as you serve Monsieur Fouquet, said D'Artagnan. With this difference, though, that Monsieur Fouquet is not Monsieur Colbert. True, true, said D'Artagnan, as he pretended to become sad and full of reflection, and then a moment after he added, Why do you tell me that Monsieur Colbert will be minister in four months? Because Monsieur Fouquet will have ceased to be so, replied Aramis. He will be ruined, you mean, said D'Artagnan. Completely so. Why does he give these fets, then? said the musketeer, in a tone so full of thoughtful consideration, and so well assumed that the Bishop was for the moment deceived by it. Why did you not dissuade him from it? The latter part of the phrase was just a little too much, and Aramis's former suspicions were again aroused. It is done with the object of humoring the King. By ruining himself? Yes, by ruining himself for the King. A most eccentric, one might say, sinister calculation that. Necessity, necessity, my friend. I don't see that, dear Aramis. Do you not? Have you not remarked Monsieur Colbert's daily increasing antagonism, and that he is doing his utmost to drive the King to get rid of the Superintendent? One must be blind not to see it, and that a cable is already armed against Monsieur Fouquet. That is well known. What likelihood is there that the King would join a party formed against a man who will have spent everything he had to please him? True. True, said D'Artagnan, slowly, hardly convinced, yet curious to broach another phase of the conversation. There are follies, and follies, he resumed, and I do not like those you were committing. What do you allude to? As for the banquet, the ball, the concert, the theatricals, the tournaments, the cascades, the fireworks, the illuminations, and the presents. These are well and good, I grant. But why were not these expenses sufficient? Why was it necessary to have new liveries and costumes for your whole household? You are quite right. I told Monsieur Fouquet that myself. He replied that if he were rich enough he would offer the King a newly erected chateau from the veins at the houses to the very sub-sellers, completely new inside and out, and that, as soon as the King had left, he would burn the whole building and its contents in order that it might not be made use of by anyone else. How completely Spanish! I told him so, and he then added this. Whoever advises me to spare expense, I shall look upon as my enemy. It is positive madness, and that portrait, too. What portrait? Said Hermes. That of the King, and the surprise as well. What surprise? The surprise you seem to have in view, and on account of which you took some specimens away when I met you at Percerance. D'Artagnan paused. The shaft was discharged, and all he had to do was wait and watch its effect. That is merely an act of graceful attention, replied Hermes. D'Artagnan went up to his friend, took hold of both his hands, and looking him full in the eyes, said, Hermes, do you still care for me a very little? What a question to ask! Very good. One favor, then. Why did you take some patterns of the King's costumes at Percerance? Come with me, and ask poor Lebrun, who has been working upon them for the last two days and nights. Hermes, that may be truth for everybody else, but for me. Upon my word, D'Artagnan, you astonish me. Be a little considerate. Tell me the exact truth. You would not like anything disagreeable to happen to me, would you? My dear friend, you were becoming quite incomprehensible. What suspicion can you have possibly got hold of? Do you believe in my instinctive feelings? Formerly you used to have faith in them. Well, then, an instinct tells me that you have some concealed project on foot. I, a project. I am convinced of it. What nonsense! I am not only sure of it, but I would even swear it. Indeed, D'Artagnan, you cause me the greatest pain. Is it likely, if I have any project in hand that I ought to keep secret from you, I should tell you about it? If I had one that I could and ought to have revealed, should I not have long ago divulged it? No, Eremus. No. There are certain projects which are never revealed until the favourable opportunity arrives. In that case, my dear fellow, return the bishop, laughing. The only thing now is that the opportunity has not yet arrived. D'Artagnan shook his head with a sorrowful expression. Oh, friendship! Friendship! He said, He said, What an idle word you are! Here is a man who, if I were but to ask it, would suffer himself to be cutting pieces for my sake. You are right, said Eremus nobly. And this man, who would shed every drop of blood in his veins for me, will not open up before me the least corner in his heart. Friendship, I repeat, is nothing but an unsubstantial shadow, allure, like everything else in this bright dazzling world. It is not thus you should speak of our friendship, replied the bishop in a firm assured voice, for ours is not of the same nature as those of which you have been speaking. Look at us, Eremus, three out of the old four. You are deceiving me, I suspect you, and Porthos is fast asleep. An admirable trio of friends, don't you think so? What an affecting relic of the former dear old times. I can only tell you one thing, D'Artagnan, and I swear it on the Bible. I love you just as I used to do. If I ever suspect you, it is on account of others, and not on account of either of us. In everything I may do, it should happen to succeed in. You will find your fourth. Will you promise me the same favor? If I am not mistaken, Eremus, your words, at the moment you pronounce them, are full of generous feeling. Such a thing is very possible. You are conspiring against Mr. Colbert. If that be all, Mordio, tell me so at once. I have the instrument in my own hand, and will pull out the tooth easily enough. Eremus could not conceal a smile of disdain that flitted over his haughty features. And supposing that I were conspiring against Colbert, what harm would there be in that? No, no, that would be too trifling a matter for you to take in hand. And it was not on that account you asked Perceraph for those patterns of the king's costumes. Oh, Eremus, we are not enemies, remember? We are brothers. Tell me what you wish to undertake, and upon the word of a Tartanian, if I cannot help you, I will swear to remain neuter. I am undertaking nothing, said Eremus. Eremus, a voice within me speaks and seems to trickle forth a rill of light within my darkness. It is a voice that has never yet deceived me. It is the king you are conspiring against. The king, exclaimed the bishop, pretending to be annoyed. Your face will not convince me. The king, I repeat. Will you help me? said Eremus, smiling ironically. Eremus, I will do more than help you. I will do more than remain neuter. I will save you. You are mad, Tartanian. I am the wiser of the two in this matter. You to suspect me of wishing to assassinate the king? Who spoke of such a thing? smiled the musketeer. Well, let us understand one another. I do not see what anyone can do to a legitimate king as ours is, if he does not assassinate him. Tartanian did not say a word. Besides, you have your guards and your musketeers here, said the bishop. True. You are not in Monsieur Fouquet's house, but in your own. True. But in spite of that, Eremus, grant me, for pity's sake, one single word of a true friend. A true friend's word is ever-truth itself. If I think of touching, even with my finger, the son of Anne of Austria, the true king of this realm of frats, if I have not the firm intention of prostrating myself before his throne, if in every idea I may entertain to-morrow, here at Vaux, will not be the most glorious day my king ever enjoyed, may heaven's lightning blast me where I stand. Eremus had pronounced these words with his face turned toward the alcove of his own bedroom, where Tartanian, seated with his back towards the alcove, could not suspect that any one was lying concealed. The earnestness of his words, the studied slowness with which he pronounced them, the solemnity of his oath, gave the musketeer the most complete satisfaction. He took hold of both Eremus's hands and shook them cordially. Eremus had endured reproaches without turning pale, and had blushed as he listened to words of praise. Tartanian, deceived, did him honor. But Tartanian, trustful and reliant, made him feel ashamed. Are you going away? he said, as he embraced him in order to conceal the flush on his face. Yes, duty summons me. I have to get the watchword. It seems I am to be lodged in the king's anti-room. Where does Porthos sleep? Take him away with you, if you like, for he rumbles through his sleepy nose like a park of artillery. Ah, he does not stay with you then? said Tartanian. Not the least in the world. He has a chamber to himself, but I don't know where. Very good, said the musketeer, from whom this separation of the two associates removed his last suspicion. And he touched Porthos lightly on the shoulder, the latter replied by a loud yawn. Come, said Tartanian. What? Ah, Tartanian, my dear fellow, is that you? What a lucky chance! Ah, yes, true, I have forgotten. I am at the fattened vo. Yes, and your beautiful dress, too. Yes, it was very attentive on the part of Mr. Cochaland de Vullier, was it not? Hush! said Hermes. You are walking so heavily you will make the flooring give way. True, said the musketeer, this room is above the dome, I think. And I did not choose it for a fencing-room, I assure you, added the bishop. The ceiling of the king's room has all the lightness and calm of wholesome sleep. Do not forget, therefore, that my flooring is merely the covering of his ceiling. Good night, my friends, and in ten minutes I shall be asleep myself. And Hermes accompanied them to the door, laughing quietly all the while. As soon as they were outside he bolded the door, hurriedly, closed up the chinks of the windows, and then called out, Monsignor! Monsignor! Philippe made his appearance from the alcove as he pushed aside a sliding panel placed behind the bed. Monsieur d'Artagnan entertains a great many suspicions, it seems, he said. Ah, you recognize Monsieur d'Artagnan, then? Before you called him by his name, even. He is your captain of musketeers. He is very devoted to me. Replied Philippe, laying a stress upon the personal pronoun. As faithful as a dog, but he bites sometimes. If d'Artagnan does not recognize you before the other has disappeared, rely upon d'Artagnan to the end of the world, for in that case, if he has seen nothing, he will keep his fidelity. If he sees when it is too late, he is aghastkin, and will never admit that he has been deceived. I thought so. What are we to do now? Sit in this folding chair. I am going to push aside a portion of the flooring. You will look through the opening, which answers to one of the false windows made in the dome of the king's apartment. Can you see? Yes, said Philippe, starting as at the sight of an enemy. I see the king. What is he doing? He seems to wish some man to sit down close to him. Monsieur Fouquette? No? Oh, wait a moment. Look at the notes and the portraits, my prince. The man whom the king wishes to sit down in his presence is Monsieur Colbert. Colbert sit down in the king's presence, exclaimed Aramis. It is impossible. Look! Look! Aramis looked through the opening in the floor. Yes, he said, Colbert himself. Oh, Monsignor, what can we be going to hear, and what can result from this intimacy? Nothing good for Monsieur Fouquette at all events. The prince did not deceive himself. We have seen that Louis XIV had sent for Colbert, and Colbert had arrived. The conversation began between them by the king according to him one of the highest favors that he had ever done. It was true the king was alone with this subject. Colbert, said he, sit down. The intended, overcome with delight, for he feared he was about to be dismissed, refused this unprecedented honor. Does he accept? said Aramis. No, he remained standing. Let us listen, then. And the future king and the future pope listened eagerly to the simple mortals they held under their feet, ready to crush them when they liked. Colbert, said the king, you have annoyed me exceedingly today. I know it, Sire. Very good. I like that answer. Yes, you knew it, and there was courage in the doing of it. I ran the risk of displeasing your majesty, but I risked also the concealment of your best interests. What? You were afraid of something on my account? I was, Sire, even if it were nothing more than an indigestion, said Colbert. For people do not give their sovereign such banquets as the one of today, unless it be to stifle them beneath the burden of good living. Colbert awaited the effect this coarse jest would produce upon the king, and Louis XIV, who was the vainest and the most fastidiously delicate man in his kingdom, forgave Colbert the joke. The truth is, he said, that Monsieur Fouquet has given me too good a meal. Tell me, Colbert, where does he get all the money required for this enormous expenditure? Can you tell? Yes, I do know, Sire. Will you be able to prove it with tolerable certainty? Easily, and to the utmost farthing. I know you are very exact. Exactitude is the principle qualification required in an intended of finances. But all are not so. I thank your majesty for so flattering a compliment from your own lips. Monsieur Fouquet, therefore, is rich, very rich, and I suppose every man knows he is so. Everyone, Sire, the living as well as the dead. What does that mean, Monsieur Colbert? The living are witnesses of Monsieur Fouquet's wealth. They admire and applaud the result produced. But the dead, wiser and better informed than we are, know how that wealth was obtained, and they rise up in accusation. So that Monsieur Fouquet owes his wealth to some cause or other, the occupation of an intended very often favors those who practice it. You have something to say to me more confidentially, I perceive. Do not be afraid, we are quite alone. I am never afraid of anything under the shelter of my own conscience, and under the protection of your majesty, said Colbert, bowing. If the dead, therefore, were to speak, they do speak sometimes, Sire, read. Ah, Mervin Hermès and the princes here, beside him, listened without losing a syllable. Since you are placed here, Monsignor, in order to learn your vocation of a king, listen to a piece of infamy, of a nature truly royal. You are about to be a witness of one of those scenes which the falfiend alone conceives and executes. Listen attentively, you will find your advantage in it. The prince redoubled his attention, and saw Louis XIV take from Colbert's hands a letter. The latter held out to him. The late Cardinal's handwriting, said the king. Your majesty has an excellent memory, replied Colbert, bowing. It is an immense advantage for a king who is destined for hard work to recognize handwritings at the first glance. The king read Mazzorent's letter, and as his contents are already known to the reader, in consequence of the misunderstanding between Madame de Chevreuse and Aramis, nothing further would be learned if we stated them here again. I do not quite understand, said the king, greatly interested. Your majesty has not acquired the utilitarian habit of checking the public accounts. I see that it refers to money that has been given to Monsieur Fouquette. Thirteen millions! A tolerably good sum! Yes, well, these thirteen millions are wanting to balance the total of the account. That is what I do not very well understand. How was this deficit possible? Possible, I do not say, but there is no doubt about fact that it is really so. You say that these thirteen millions are found to be wanting in the accounts? I do not say so, but the registry does. And this letter of Monsieur Mazzorent indicates the employment of that sum, and the name of the person with whom it was deposited. As your majesty can judge for yourself. Yes, and the result is then that Monsieur Fouquette has not yet restored the thirteen millions. That results from the accounts certainly, Sire. Well, and consequently, well, Sire, in that case, it is much as Monsieur Fouquette has not given back the thirteen millions. He must have appropriated them to his own purpose. And with those thirteen millions one could incur four times, and a little more as much expense, and make four times as great a display, as your majesty was able to do at Fontainebleau, where we only spent three millions altogether, if you remember. For a blunderer, the souvenir he had evoked was a rather skilfully contrived piece of baseness, for by remembrance of his own fet, he, for the first time, perceived its inferiority compared with that of Fouquette. Colbert received back again at Vaux, when Fouquette had given him at Fontainebleau, and, as a good financier, returned it with the best possible interest. Having once disposed the king's mind in this artful way, Colbert had nothing of much importance to detain him. He felt that such was the case, for the king, too, had again sunk into a dull and gloomy state. Colbert awaited the first words from the king's lips with as much impatience as Philippe and Eremus did, from their place of observation. Are you aware what is the usual and natural consequence of all this, Monsieur Colbert? said the king, after a few moments' reflection. No, Sire, I do not know. Well, then, the fact of the appropriation of the thirteen millions, if it can be proved, but it is so already. I mean, if it were to be declared and certified, Monsieur Colbert. I think it will be, to-morrow, if your Majesty were we not under Monsieur Fouquette's roof, you were going to say, perhaps, replied the king, with something of nobility in his demeanor. The king is in his own palace, wherever he may be, especially in houses which the royal money has constructed. I think, said Philippe in a low tone to Eremus, that the architect who planned this dome ought, anticipating the use it could be put to, at a future opportunity, so to have contrived that it might be made to fall upon the heads of scoundrels such as Monsieur Colbert. I think so, too, replied Eremus, but Monsieur Colbert is so very near the king at the moment. That is true, and that would open the succession, of which your younger brother would reap all the advantage, Monsignor, but stay, let us keep quiet, and go on listening. We shall not have long to listen, said the young prince. Why not, Monsignor? Because if I were king, I should make no further reply. And what would you do? I should wait until tomorrow morning to give myself time for reflection. Louis XIV at last raised his eyes, and, finding Colbert attentively waiting for his next remarks, said hastily, changing the conversation. Monsieur Colbert, I perceive it is getting very late, and I shall now retire to bed. By tomorrow morning I shall have made up my mind. Very good, Sire! returned Colbert greatly incensed, though he restrained himself in the presence of the king. The king made a gesture of adieu, and Colbert withdrew with a respectful bow. My attendants cried the king, and as they entered the apartment, Philippe was about to quit his post of observation. A moment longer sent Eremus to him, with his accustomed gentleness of manner. What has just now taken place is only a detail, and tomorrow we shall have no occasion to think anything more about it. But the ceremony of the king's retiring to rest, the etiquette observed in addressing the king, that indeed is of the greatest importance. Learn, Sire, and study well how you ought to go to bed of a night.