The Man in the Iron Mask

  Chapter XXXV. The Last Supper.

  The superintendent had no doubt received advice of the approachingdeparture, for he was giving a farewell dinner to his friends. Fromthe bottom to the top of the house, the hurry of the servants bearingdishes, and the diligence of the _registres_, denoted an approachingchange in offices and kitchen. D'Artagnan, with his order in his hand,presented himself at the offices, when he was told it was too lateto pay cash, the chest was closed. He only replied: "On the king'sservice."

  The clerk, a little put out by the serious air of the captain, replied,that "that was a very respectable reason, but that the customs of thehouse were respectable likewise; and that, in consequence, he begged thebearer to call again next day." D'Artagnan asked if he could not seeM. Fouquet. The clerk replied that M. le surintendant did not interferewith such details, and rudely closed the outer door in the captain'sface. But the latter had foreseen this stroke, and placed his bootbetween the door and the door-case, so that the lock did not catch, andthe clerk was still nose to nose with his interlocutor. This made himchange his tone, and say, with terrified politeness, "If monsieur wishesto speak to M. le surintendant, he must go to the ante-chambers; theseare the offices, where monseigneur never comes."

  "Oh! very well! Where are they?" replied D'Artagnan.

  "On the other side of the court," said the clerk, delighted to be free.D'Artagnan crossed the court, and fell in with a crowd of servants.

  "Monseigneur sees nobody at this hour," he was answered by a fellowcarrying a vermeil dish, in which were three pheasants and twelvequails.

  "Tell him," said the captain, laying hold of the servant by the endof his dish, "that I am M. d'Artagnan, captain of his majesty'smusketeers."

  The fellow uttered a cry of surprise, and disappeared; D'Artagnanfollowing him slowly. He arrived just in time to meet M. Pelisson inthe ante-chamber: the latter, a little pale, came hastily out of thedining-room to learn what was the matter. D'Artagnan smiled.

  "There is nothing unpleasant, Monsieur Pelisson; only a little order toreceive the money for."

  "Ah!" said Fouquet's friend, breathing more freely; and he took thecaptain by the hand, and, dragging him behind him, led him into thedining-room, where a number of friends surrounded the surintendant,placed in the center, and buried in the cushions of a _fauteuil_. Therewere assembled all the Epicureans who so lately at Vaux had done thehonors of the mansion of wit and money in aid of M. Fouquet. Joyousfriends, for the most part faithful, they had not fled their protectorat the approach of the storm, and, in spite of the threatening heavens,in spite of the trembling earth, they remained there, smiling, cheerful,as devoted in misfortune as they had been in prosperity. On the leftof the surintendant sat Madame de Belliere; on his right was MadameFouquet; as if braving the laws of the world, and putting all vulgarreasons of propriety to silence, the two protecting angels of thisman united to offer, at the moment of the crisis, the support oftheir twined arms. Madame de Belliere was pale, trembling, and full ofrespectful attentions for madame la surintendante, who, with one hand onher husband's, was looking anxiously towards the door by which Pelissonhad gone out to bring D'Artagnan. The captain entered at first fullof courtesy, and afterwards of admiration, when, with his infallibleglance, he had divined as well as taken in the expression of every face.Fouquet raised himself up in his chair.

  "Pardon me, Monsieur d'Artagnan," said he, "if I did not myself receiveyou when coming in the king's name." And he pronounced the last wordswith a sort of melancholy firmness, which filled the hearts of all hisfriends with terror.

  "Monseigneur," replied D'Artagnan, "I only come to you in the king'sname to demand payment of an order for two hundred pistoles."

  The clouds passed from every brow but that of Fouquet, which stillremained overcast.

  "Ah! then," said he, "perhaps you also are setting out for Nantes?"

  "I do not know whither I am setting out, monseigneur."

  "But," said Madame Fouquet, recovered from her fright, "you are notgoing so soon, monsieur le capitaine, as not to do us the honor to takea seat with us?"

  "Madame, I should esteem that a great honor done me, but I am sopressed for time, that, you see, I have been obliged to permit myself tointerrupt your repast to procure payment of my note."

  "The reply to which shall be gold," said Fouquet, making a sign to hisintendant, who went out with the order D'Artagnan handed him.

  "Oh!" said the latter, "I was not uneasy about the payment; the house isgood."

  A painful smile passed over the pale features of Fouquet.

  "Are you in pain?" asked Madame de Belliere.

  "Do you feel your attack coming on?" asked Madame Fouquet.

  "Neither, thank you both," said Fouquet.

  "Your attack?" said D'Artagnan, in his turn; "are you unwell,monseigneur?"

  "I have a tertian fever, which seized me after the _fete_ at Vaux."

  "Caught cold in the grottos, at night, perhaps?"

  "No, no; nothing but agitation, that was all."

  "The too much heart you displayed in your reception of the king,"said La Fontaine, quietly, without suspicion that he was uttering asacrilege.

  "We cannot devote too much heart to the reception of our king," saidFouquet, mildly, to his poet.

  "Monsieur meant to say the too great ardor," interrupted D'Artagnan,with perfect frankness and much amenity. "The fact is, monseigneur, thathospitality was never practiced as at Vaux."

  Madame Fouquet permitted her countenance to show clearly that if Fouquethad conducted himself well towards the king, the king had hardly donethe like to the minister. But D'Artagnan knew the terrible secret. Healone with Fouquet knew it; those two men had not, the one the courageto complain, the other the right to accuse. The captain, to whom thetwo hundred pistoles were brought, was about to take his leave, whenFouquet, rising, took a glass of wine, and ordered one to be given toD'Artagnan.

  "Monsieur," said he, "to the health of the king, _whatever may happen_."

  "And to your health, monseigneur, _whatever may happen_," saidD'Artagnan.

  He bowed, with these words of evil omen, to all the company, who rose assoon as they heard the sound of his spurs and boots at the bottom of thestairs.

  "I, for a moment, thought it was I and not my money he wanted," saidFouquet, endeavoring to laugh.

  "You!" cried his friends; "and what for, in the name of Heaven!"

  "Oh! do not deceive yourselves, my dear brothers in Epicurus," said thesuperintendent; "I do not wish to make a comparison between the mosthumble sinner on the earth, and the God we adore, but remember, he gaveone day to his friends a repast which is called the Last Supper, andwhich was nothing but a farewell dinner, like that which we are makingat this moment."

  A painful cry of denial arose from all parts of the table. "Shut thedoors," said Fouquet, and the servants disappeared. "My friends,"continued Fouquet, lowering his voice, "what was I formerly? What amI now? Consult among yourselves and reply. A man like me sinks whenhe does not continue to rise. What shall we say, then, when he reallysinks? I have no more money, no more credit; I have no longer anythingbut powerful enemies, and powerless friends."

  "Quick!" cried Pelisson. "Since you explain yourself with suchfrankness, it is our duty to be frank, likewise. Yes, you areruined--yes, you are hastening to your ruin--stop. And, in the firstplace, what money have we left?"

  "Seven hundred thousand livres," said the intendant.

  "Bread," murmured Madame Fouquet.

  "Relays," said Pelisson, "relays, and fly!"

  "Whither?"

  "To Switzerland--to Savoy--but fly!"

  "If monseigneur flies," said Madame Belliere, "it will be said that hewas guilty--was afraid."

  "More than that, it will be said that I have carried away twentymillions with me."

  "We will draw up memoirs to justify you," said La Fontaine. "Fly!"

  "I will remain," said Fouquet. "And, besides, does not everything serveme?"

 
"You have Belle-Isle," cried the Abbe Fouquet.

  "And I am naturally going there, when going to Nantes," replied thesuperintendent. "Patience, then, patience!"

  "Before arriving at Nantes, what a distance!" said Madame Fouquet.

  "Yes, I know that well," replied Fouquet. "But what is to be done there?The king summons me to the States. I know well it is for the purpose ofruining me; but to refuse to go would be to evince uneasiness."

  "Well, I have discovered the means of reconciling everything," criedPelisson. "You are going to set out for Nantes."

  Fouquet looked at him with an air of surprise.

  "But with friends; but in your own carriage as far as Orleans; in yourown barge as far as Nantes; always ready to defend yourself, if you areattacked; to escape, if you are threatened. In fact, you will carry yourmoney against all chances; and, whilst flying, you will only have obeyedthe king; then, reaching the sea, when you like, you will embark forBelle-Isle, and from Belle-Isle you will shoot out wherever it mayplease you, like the eagle that leaps into space when it has been drivenfrom its eyrie."

  A general assent followed Pelisson's words. "Yes, do so," said MadameFouquet to her husband.

  "Do so," said Madame de Belliere.

  "Do it! do it!" cried all his friends.

  "I will do so," replied Fouquet.

  "This very evening?"

  "In an hour?"

  "Instantly."

  "With seven hundred thousand livres you can lay the foundation ofanother fortune," said the Abbe Fouquet.

  "What is there to prevent our arming corsairs at Belle-Isle?"

  "And, if necessary, we will go and discover a new world," added LaFontaine, intoxicated with fresh projects and enthusiasm.

  A knock at the door interrupted this concert of joy and hope. "A courierfrom the king," said the master of the ceremonies.

  A profound silence immediately ensued, as if the message brought by thiscourier was nothing but a reply to all the projects given birth to amoment before. Every one waited to see what the master would do. Hisbrow was streaming with perspiration, and he was really suffering fromhis fever at that instant. He passed into his cabinet, to receive theking's message. There prevailed, as we have said, such a silence in thechambers, and throughout the attendance, that from the dining-room couldbe heard the voice of Fouquet, saying, "That is well, monsieur." Thisvoice was, however, broken by fatigue, and trembled with emotion. Aninstant after, Fouquet called Gourville, who crossed the gallery amidstthe universal expectation. At length, he himself re-appeared among hisguests; but it was no longer the same pale, spiritless countenance theyhad beheld when he left them; from pale he had become livid; and fromspiritless, annihilated. A breathing, living specter, he advanced withhis arms stretched out, his mouth parched, like a shade that comes tosalute the friends of former days. On seeing him thus, every one criedout, and every one rushed towards Fouquet. The latter, looking atPelisson, leaned upon his wife, and pressed the icy hand of the Marquisede Belliere.

  "Well," said he, in a voice which had nothing human in it.

  "What has happened, my God!" said some one to him.

  Fouquet opened his right hand, which was clenched, but glisteningwith perspiration, and displayed a paper, upon which Pelisson cast aterrified glance. He read the following lines, written by the king'shand:

  "'DEAR AND WELL-BELOVED MONSIEUR FOUQUET,--Give us, upon that which youhave left of ours, the sum of seven hundred thousand livres, of which westand in need to prepare for our departure.

  "'And, as we know your health is not good, we pray God to restore you,and to have you in His holy keeping. "'LOUIS.

  "'The present letter is to serve as a receipt.'"

  A murmur of terror circulated through the apartment.

  "Well," cried Pelisson, in his turn, "you have received that letter?"

  "Received it, yes!"

  "What will you do, then?"

  "Nothing, since I have received it."

  "But--"

  "If I have received it, Pelisson, I have paid it," said thesurintendant, with a simplicity that went to the heart of all present.

  "You have paid it!" cried Madame Fouquet. "Then we are ruined!"

  "Come, no useless words," interrupted Pelisson. "Next to money, life.Monseigneur, to horse! to horse!"

  "What, leave us!" at once cried both the women, wild with grief.

  "Eh! monseigneur, in saving yourself, you save us all. To horse!"

  "But he cannot hold himself on. Look at him."

  "Oh! if he takes time to reflect--" said the intrepid Pelisson.

  "He is right," murmured Fouquet.

  "Monseigneur! Monseigneur!" cried Gourville, rushing up the stairs, foursteps at once. "Monseigneur!"

  "Well! what?"

  "I escorted, as you desired, the king's courier with the money."

  "Yes."

  "Well! when I arrived at the Palais Royal, I saw--"

  "Take breath, my poor friend, take breath; you are suffocating."

  "What did you see?" cried the impatient friends.

  "I saw the musketeers mounting on horseback," said Gourville.

  "There, then!" cried every voice at once; "there, then! is there aninstant to be lost?"

  Madame Fouquet rushed downstairs, calling for her horses; Madame deBelliere flew after her, catching her in her arms, and saying: "Madame,in the name of his safety, do not betray anything, do not manifestalarm."

  Pelisson ran to have the horses put to the carriages. And, in themeantime, Gourville gathered in his hat all that the weeping friendswere able to throw into it of gold and silver--the last offering, thepious alms made to misery by poverty. The surintendant, dragged along bysome, carried by others, was shut up in his carriage. Gourville took thereins, and mounted the box. Pelisson supported Madame Fouquet, who hadfainted. Madame de Belliere had more strength, and was well paid forit; she received Fouquet's last kiss. Pelisson easily explained thisprecipitate departure by saying that an order from the king had summonedthe minister to Nantes.