The torches we have just referred to, the eager attention every one displayed, and the new ovation2 paid to the king by Fouquet, arrived in time to suspend the effect of a resolution which La Valliere had already considerably3 shaken in Louis XIV.‘s heart. He looked at Fouquet with a feeling almost of gratitude4 for having given La Valliere an opportunity of showing herself so generously disposed, so powerful in the influence she exercised over his heart. The moment of the last and greatest display had arrived. Hardly had Fouquet conducted the king towards the chateau5, when a mass of fire burst from the dome6 of Vaux, with a prodigious7 uproar8, pouring a flood of dazzling cataracts9 of rays on every side, and illumining the remotest corners of the gardens. The fireworks began. Colbert, at twenty paces from the king, who was surrounded and feted by the owner of Vaux, seemed, by the obstinate10 persistence11 of his gloomy thoughts, to do his utmost to recall Louis’s attention, which the magnificence of the spectacle was already, in his opinion, too easily diverting. Suddenly, just as Louis was on the point of holding it out to Fouquet, he perceived in his hand the paper which, as he believed, La Valliere had dropped at his feet as she hurried away. The still stronger magnet of love drew the young prince’s attention towards the souvenir of his idol12; and, by the brilliant light, which increased momentarily in beauty, and drew from the neighboring villages loud cheers of admiration13, the king read the letter, which he supposed was a loving and tender epistle La Valliere had destined14 for him. But as he read it, a death-like pallor stole over his face, and an expression of deep-seated wrath15, illumined by the many-colored fire which gleamed so brightly, soaringly around the scene, produced a terrible spectacle, which every one would have shuddered16 at, could they only have read into his heart, now torn by the most stormy and most bitter passions. There was no truce17 for him now, influenced as he was by jealousy and mad passion. From the very moment when the dark truth was revealed to him, every gentler feeling seemed to disappear; pity, kindness of consideration, the religion of hospitality, all were forgotten. In the bitter pang18 which wrung19 his heart, he, still too weak to hide his sufferings, was almost on the point of uttering a cry of alarm, and calling his guards to gather round him. This letter which Colbert had thrown down at the king’s feet, the reader has doubtlessly guessed, was the same that had disappeared with the porter Toby at Fontainebleau, after the attempt which Fouquet had made upon La Valliere’s heart. Fouquet saw the king’s pallor, and was far from guessing the evil; Colbert saw the king’s anger, and rejoiced inwardly at the approach of the storm. Fouquet’s voice drew the young prince from his wrathful reverie.
“What is the matter, sire?” inquired the superintendent20, with an expression of graceful21 interest.
Louis made a violent effort over himself, as he replied, “Nothing.”
“I am afraid your majesty22 is suffering?”
“I am suffering, and have already told you so, monsieur; but it is nothing.”
And the king, without waiting for the termination of the fireworks, turned towards the chateau. Fouquet accompanied him, and the whole court followed, leaving the remains23 of the fireworks consuming for their own amusement. The superintendent endeavored again to question Louis XIV., but did not succeed in obtaining a reply. He imagined there had been some misunderstanding between Louis and La Valliere in the park, which had resulted in a slight quarrel; and that the king, who was not ordinarily sulky by disposition24, but completely absorbed by his passion for La Valliere, had taken a dislike to every one because his mistress had shown herself offended with him. This idea was sufficient to console him; he had even a friendly and kindly25 smile for the young king, when the latter wished him good night. This, however, was not all the king had to submit to; he was obliged to undergo the usual ceremony, which on that evening was marked by close adherence26 to the strictest etiquette27. The next day was the one fixed28 for the departure; it was but proper that the guests should thank their host, and show him a little attention in return for the expenditure29 of his twelve millions. The only remark, approaching to amiability30, which the king could find to say to M. Fouquet, as he took leave of him, were in these words, “M. Fouquet, you shall hear from me. Be good enough to desire M. d’Artagnan to come here.”
But the blood of Louis XIV., who had so profoundly dissimulated31 his feelings, boiled in his veins32; and he was perfectly33 willing to order M. Fouquet to be put an end to with the same readiness, indeed, as his predecessor34 had caused the assassination35 of le Marechal d’Ancre; and so he disguised the terrible resolution he had formed beneath one of those royal smiles which, like lightning-flashes, indicated coups36 d’etat. Fouquet took the king’s hand and kissed it; Louis shuddered throughout his whole frame, but allowed M. Fouquet to touch his hand with his lips. Five minutes afterwards, D’Artagnan, to whom the royal order had been communicated, entered Louis XIV.‘s apartment. Aramis and Philippe were in theirs, still eagerly attentive37, and still listening with all their ears. The king did not even give the captain of the musketeers time to approach his armchair, but ran forward to meet him. “Take care,” he exclaimed, “that no one enters here.”
“Very good, sire,” replied the captain, whose glance had for a long time past analyzed38 the stormy indications on the royal countenance39. He gave the necessary order at the door; but, returning to the king, he said, “Is there something fresh the matter, your majesty?”
“How many men have you here?” inquired the king, without making any other reply to the question addressed to him.
“What for, sire?”
“How many men have you, I say?” repeated the king, stamping upon the ground with his foot.
“I have the musketeers.”
“Well; and what others?”
“Twenty guards and thirteen Swiss.”
“How many men will be required to —”
“To do what, sire?” replied the musketeer, opening his large, calm eyes.
“To arrest M. Fouquet.”
D’Artagnan fell back a step.
“To arrest M. Fouquet!” he burst forth40.
“Are you going to tell me that it is impossible?” exclaimed the king, in tones of cold, vindictive41 passion.
“I never say that anything is impossible,” replied D’Artagnan, wounded to the quick.
“Very well; do it, then.”
D’Artagnan turned on his heel, and made his way towards the door; it was but a short distance, and he cleared it in half a dozen paces; when he reached it he suddenly paused, and said, “Your majesty will forgive me, but, in order to effect this arrest, I should like written directions.”
“For what purpose — and since when has the king’s word been insufficient42 for you?”
“Because the word of a king, when it springs from a feeling of anger, may possibly change when the feeling changes.”
“A truce to set phrases, monsieur; you have another thought besides that?”
“Oh, I, at least, have certain thoughts and ideas, which, unfortunately, others have not,” D’Artagnan replied, impertinently.
The king, in the tempest of his wrath, hesitated, and drew back in the face of D’Artagnan’s frank courage, just as a horse crouches43 on his haunches under the strong hand of a bold and experienced rider. “What is your thought?” he exclaimed.
“This, sire,” replied D’Artagnan: “you cause a man to be arrested when you are still under his roof; and passion is alone the cause of that. When your anger shall have passed, you will regret what you have done; and then I wish to be in a position to show you your signature. If that, however, should fail to be a reparation, it will at least show us that the king was wrong to lose his temper.”
“Wrong to lose his temper!” cried the king, in a loud, passionate44 voice. “Did not my father, my grandfathers, too, before me, lose their temper at times, in Heaven’s name?”
“The king your father and the king your grandfather never lost their temper except when under the protection of their own palace.”
“The king is master wherever he may be.”
“That is a flattering, complimentary45 phrase which cannot proceed from any one but M. Colbert; but it happens not to be the truth. The king is at home in every man’s house when he has driven its owner out of it.”
The king bit his lips, but said nothing.
“Can it be possible?” said D’Artagnan; “here is a man who is positively46 ruining himself in order to please you, and you wish to have him arrested! Mordioux! Sire, if my name was Fouquet, and people treated me in that manner, I would swallow at a single gulp47 all sorts of fireworks and other things, and I would set fire to them, and send myself and everybody else in blown-up atoms to the sky. But it is all the same; it is your wish, and it shall be done.”
“Go,” said the king; “but have you men enough?”
“Do you suppose I am going to take a whole host to help me? Arrest M. Fouquet! why, that is so easy that a very child might do it! It is like drinking a glass of wormwood; one makes an ugly face, and that is all.”
“If he defends himself?”
“He! it is not at all likely. Defend himself when such extreme harshness as you are going to practice makes the man a very martyr48! Nay49, I am sure that if he has a million of francs left, which I very much doubt, he would be willing enough to give it in order to have such a termination as this. But what does that matter? it shall be done at once.”
“Stay,” said the king; “do not make his arrest a public affair.”
“That will be more difficult.”
“Why so?”
“Because nothing is easier than to go up to M. Fouquet in the midst of a thousand enthusiastic guests who surround him, and say, ‘In the king’s name, I arrest you.’ But to go up to him, to turn him first one way and then another, to drive him up into one of the corners of the chess-board, in such a way that he cannot escape; to take him away from his guests, and keep him a prisoner for you, without one of them, alas50! having heard anything about it; that, indeed, is a genuine difficulty, the greatest of all, in truth; and I hardly see how it is to be done.”
“You had better say it is impossible, and you will have finished much sooner. Heaven help me, but I seem to be surrounded by people who prevent me doing what I wish.”
“I do not prevent your doing anything. Have you indeed decided51?”
“Take care of M. Fouquet, until I shall have made up my mind by tomorrow morning.”
“That shall be done, sire.”
“And return, when I rise in the morning, for further orders; and now leave me to myself.”
“You do not even want M. Colbert, then?” said the musketeer, firing his last shot as he was leaving the room. The king started. With his whole mind fixed on the thought of revenge, he had forgotten the cause and substance of the offense52.
“No, no one,” he said; “no one here! Leave me.”
D’Artagnan quitted the room. The king closed the door with his own hands, and began to walk up and down his apartment at a furious pace, like a wounded bull in an arena53, trailing from his horn the colored streamers and the iron darts54. At last he began to take comfort in the expression of his violent feelings.
“Miserable wretch55 that he is! not only does he squander56 my finances, but with his ill-gotten plunder57 he corrupts58 secretaries, friends, generals, artists, and all, and tries to rob me of the one to whom I am most attached. This is the reason that perfidious59 girl so boldly took his part! Gratitude! and who can tell whether it was not a stronger feeling — love itself?” He gave himself up for a moment to the bitterest reflections. “A satyr!” he thought, with that abhorrent60 hate with which young men regard those more advanced in life, who still think of love. “A man who has never found opposition61 or resistance in any one, who lavishes62 his gold and jewels in every direction, and who retains his staff of painters in order to take the portraits of his mistresses in the costume of goddesses.” The king trembled with passion as he continued, “He pollutes and profanes63 everything that belongs to me! He destroys everything that is mine. He will be my death at last, I know. That man is too much for me; he is my mortal enemy, but he shall forthwith fall! I hate him — I hate him — I hate him!” and as he pronounced these words, he struck the arm of the chair in which he was sitting violently, over and over again, and then rose like one in an epileptic fit. “To-morrow! tomorrow! oh, happy day!” he murmured, “when the sun rises, no other rival shall that brilliant king of space possess but me. That man shall fall so low that when people look at the abject64 ruin my anger shall have wrought65, they will be forced to confess at last and at least that I am indeed greater than he.” The king, who was incapable66 of mastering his emotions any longer, knocked over with a blow of his fist a small table placed close to his bedside, and in the very bitterness of anger, almost weeping, and half-suffocated, he threw himself on his bed, dressed as he was, and bit the sheets in his extremity67 of passion, trying to find repose68 of body at least there. The bed creaked beneath his weight, and with the exception of a few broken sounds, emerging, or, one might say, exploding, from his overburdened chest, absolute silence soon reigned69 in the chamber70 of Morpheus.
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1
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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ovation
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| n.欢呼，热烈欢迎，热烈鼓掌 | |
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3
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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8
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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cataracts
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| n.大瀑布( cataract的名词复数 )；白内障 | |
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10
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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13
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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14
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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15
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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16
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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17
truce
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| n.休战，(争执，烦恼等的)缓和；v.以停战结束 | |
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18
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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19
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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20
superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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21
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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22
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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23
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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24
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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25
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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26
adherence
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| n.信奉，依附，坚持，固着 | |
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etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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28
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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29
expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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30
amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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31
dissimulated
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| v.掩饰（感情），假装（镇静）( dissimulate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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33
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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34
predecessor
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| n.前辈，前任 | |
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35
assassination
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| n.暗杀；暗杀事件 | |
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36
coups
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| n.意外而成功的行动( coup的名词复数 )；政变；努力办到难办的事 | |
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37
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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38
analyzed
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| v.分析( analyze的过去式和过去分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析 | |
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39
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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40
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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41
vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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42
insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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43
crouches
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| n.蹲着的姿势( crouch的名词复数 )v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的第三人称单数 ) | |
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44
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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45
complimentary
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| adj.赠送的，免费的，赞美的，恭维的 | |
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46
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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47
gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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48
martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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49
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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50
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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51
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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52
offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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53
arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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54
darts
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| n.掷飞镖游戏；飞镖( dart的名词复数 )；急驰，飞奔v.投掷，投射( dart的第三人称单数 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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55
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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56
squander
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| v.浪费，挥霍 | |
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57
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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58
corrupts
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的第三人称单数 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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59
perfidious
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| adj.不忠的，背信弃义的 | |
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60
abhorrent
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| adj.可恶的，可恨的，讨厌的 | |
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61
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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62
lavishes
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的第三人称单数 ) | |
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63
profanes
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| n.不敬（神）的( profane的名词复数 )；渎神的；亵渎的；世俗的v.不敬( profane的第三人称单数 )；亵渎，玷污 | |
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64
abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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65
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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66
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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67
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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68
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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69
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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