Chapter 41 of the D'Artagnan Romances, Volume 3 Part 1 by Alexander Dumas, translated by William Robson, this certainly provokes recording as in the public domain. The Recital The maliciousness of the cardinal did not leave much for the ambassador to say. Nevertheless, the word restoration had struck the king, who, addressing the comp upon whom his eyes have been fixed since his entrance. Mr. said he, Will you have the kindness to give us some details concerning the affairs of England?  Monsieur, said the cardinal, turning toward the queen mother, he is an ancient servant of your majesty's, Monsieur le Comte de la Faire. Anne of Austria was as oblivious as a queen whose life had been mingled with fine and stormy days. She looked at Mazarin, whose evil smile promised her something disagreeable. Then she solicited from Athos by another look, an explanation. Monsieur, continued the cardinal, What a trivial musketeer in the service of the late king. Monsieur is well acquainted with England. Whether he has made several voyages at various periods, he is a subject of the highest merit. These words made allusion to all the memories which Anne of Austria trembled to evoke. England, that was her hatred of Richelieu and her love for Buckingham, a trivial musketeer, that was the whole odyssey of the triumphs which had made the heart of the young woman throb, and of the dangers which had been so near overturning the throne of the young queen. These words had much power, for they rendered mute and attentive all the royal personages who, with very various sentiments, set about recomposing at the same time the mysteries which the young had not seen and which the old had believed to be forever effaced. Speak, Monsieur, said Louis XIV, the first to escape from troubles, suspicions, and remembrances. Yes, speak! added Mazarin, to whom the little malicious thrust directed against Anne of Austria had restored energy and gaiety. Sire, said the Compt, a sort of miracle has changed the whole destiny of Charles II, that which men, till that time, had been unable to do, God resolved to accomplish. Mazarin coughed, while tossing about in his bed. King Charles II continued Athos, left the Hague neither as a fugitive nor a conqueror, but as an absolute king, who, after a distant voyage from his kingdom, returns amidst universal benedictions. A great miracle indeed, said Mazarin, for, if the news was true, King Charles II, who has just returned amidst the benedictions, went away amidst the musket shots. The king remained impassable. Philip, younger and more frivolous, could not repress a smile, which flattered Mazarin as an applause of his pleasantry. It is plain, said the king. There is a miracle but God, who does so much for kings, Mr. Lecompt, nevertheless employs the hand of man to bring about the triumph of his designs. To what men does Charles II principally owe his re-establishment? Why, interrupted Mazarin without any regard for the king's pride, does not your majesty know that it is to miss your monk? I ought to know it, replied Louis XIV resolutely, and yet I ask my lord ambassador the causes of the change in this general monk. And your majesty touches precisely the question, replied Athos, for without the miracle of which I have had the honor to speak, general monk would probably have remained an implacable enemy of Charles II. God willed that a strange, bold and ingenious idea should enter into the mind of a certain man, whilst a devoted and courageous idea took possession of the mind of another man. The combination of these two ideas brought about such a change in the position of Mr. Monk that from an inveterate enemy he became a friend to the deposed king. These are exactly the details I asked for, said the king, who and what are the two men of whom you speak? Two Frenchmen, Sire. Indeed, I am glad of that. And the two ideas, said Mazarin, I am more curious about ideas than about men for my part. Yes, murmured the king. The second idea, the devoted, reasonable idea, the least important, sir, was to go and dig up a million in gold, buried by King Charles I at Newcastle, and to purchase with that gold the adherence of monk.  But Newcastle was at that time occupied by Monk. Yes, Mr. Le Cardinal, and that is why I ventured to call the idea courageous, as well as devoted. It was necessary, if Monk refused the offers of the negotiator, to reinstate King Charles II in possession of this million, which was to be torn as it were, from the loyalty and not the royalism of general Monk. This was effected in spite of many difficulties, the general proof to be loyal, and allowed the money to be taken away. It seems to me, said the timid, thoughtful king, that Charles II could not have known of this million whilst he was in Paris. It seems to me, rejoined the cardinal maliciously, that his majesty, the King of Great Britain, knew perfectly well of this million, but that he preferred having two millions to having one. Sire, said Athos firmly, the King of England whilst in France, was so poor that he had not even money to take the post, so destitute of hope, that he had frequently thought of dying. He was so entirely ignorant of the existence of the million at Newcastle, that but for a gentleman, one of your majesty's subjects, the moral depository of the million, who revealed the secret to King Charles II, that Prince would still be vegetating in the most cruel forgetfulness. Let us pass on to the strange, bold and ingenious idea, interrupted Masarine, whose sagacity foresaw a check. What was that idea? This, Mr. Monk, formed the only obstacle to the re-establishment of the fallen King. A Frenchman imagined the idea of suppressing this obstacle. But he is a scoundrel, that Frenchman, said Masarine, and the idea is not so ingenious as to prevent its author being tied up by the neck at the Place de Grave by decree of the Parliament. Your Eminence is mistaken, replied Athos dryly. I did not say that the Frenchman in question had resolved to assassinate Mr. Monk, but only to suppress him. The words in the French language have a value which the gentlemen of France know perfectly. Besides, this is an affair of war, and when men serve kings against their enemies, they are not to be condemned by a Parliament. God is their judge. This French gentleman, then, formed the idea of gaining possession of the person of Monk, and he executed his plan. The King became animated at the recital of great actions. The King's younger brother struck the table with his hand exclaiming, Ha! that is fine! He carried off Monk, said the King. Why, Monk was in his camp. And the gentleman was alone, Sire. That is marvellous, said Philip. Marvellous indeed, cried the King. Good! There are the two little lions unchained, murmured the cardinal, and with an air of spite which he did not dissemble. I am unacquainted with these details. Will you guarantee their authenticity, monsieur? All the more easily, my Lord cardinal, from having seen the events. You have? Yes, Monsignor. The King had unvalentarily drawn close to the count. The duke d'en jus had turned sharply round and pressed Athos on the other side. What next, monsieur? What next? cried they both at the same time. Sire, monsieur Monk, being taken by the Frenchman, was brought to the King Charles II at the Hague. The King gave back his freedom to Monk, and the grateful general, in return, gave Charles II the throne of Great Britain, for which so many valiant men had fought in vain. Philip clapped his hands with enthusiasm. Louis XIV, more reflective, turned toward the compel affair. Is this true, said he, in all its details? Absolutely true, Sire. That one of my gentlemen knew the secret of the million, and kept it? Yes, Sire. The name of that gentleman? It was your humble servant, said Athos, simply and bowing. A murmur of admiration made the heart of Athos swell with pleasure. He had reason to be proud, at least. Mathedene himself had raised his arms toward heaven. Monsieur, said the King, I shall seek and find means to reward you. Athos made a movement. Oh, not for your honesty. To be paid for that would humiliate you, but I owe you a reward for having participated in the restoration of my brother, King Charles II. Certainly, said Mathedene. It is the triumph of a good cause, which fills the whole house of France with joy, said Anne of Austria. I continue, said Louis XIV. Is it also true that a single man penetrated to Monk in his camp and carried him off? That man had ten auxiliaries taken from a very inferior rank. And nothing but them? Nothing more. And he is named? Monsieur d'Artagnan, formerly Lieutenant of the Musketeers of your Majesty. Anne of Austria coloured, Mazorine became yellow with shame. Louis XIV was deeply thoughtful, and a drop of moisture fell from his pale brow. What men? murmured he, and involuntarily he darted a glance at the minister, which would have terrified him if Mazorine at the moment had not concealed his head under his pillow. Monsieur, said the young Duke d'Anjou, placing his hand, delicate and white as that of a woman, upon the arm of Athos. Tell that brave man, I beg you, that Monsieur, brother of the King, will tomorrow drink his health before five hundred of the best gentlemen of France. And on finishing these words, the young man perceiving that his enthusiasm had deranged one of his ruffles, set to work to put it to rights with the greatest care imaginable. Let us resume business, Sire, interrupted Mazorine, who never was enthusiastic, and who wore no ruffles. Yes, Monsieur, replied Louis XIV. Pursue your communication, Monsieur Lacombe. Added he, turning toward Athos. Athos immediately began and offered in due form the hand of the Princess Henrietta Stewart to the young Prince, the King's brother. The conference lasted an hour, after which the doors of the chamber were thrown open to the courtiers, who resumed their places as if nothing had been kept from them in the occupations of that evening. Athos then found himself again with Raoul, and the father and son were able to clasp each other's hands. End of Chapter 41, Recording by John Van Stan, Savannah, Georgia Chapter 42 of the D'Artagnan Romances, Volume 3, Part 1, by Alexandre Dumas, translated by William Robson. This, Libravox Recording, is in the public domain. In which Mazorine becomes prodigal. Whilst Mazorine was endeavouring to recover from the serious alarm he had just experienced, Athos and Raoul were exchanging a few words in a corner of the apartment. Well, here you are at Paris then, Raoul, said the Count. Yes, Monsieur, since the return of Monsieur Le Prance. I cannot converse freely with you here, because we are observed. But I shall return home presently, and shall expect you as soon as your duty permits. Raoul bowed, and at that moment, Monsieur Le Prance came up to them. The Prince had that clever and keen look which distinguishes birds of prey of the noble species. His physiognomy itself presented several distinct traits of this resemblance. It is known that in the Prince-de-Con, the aquiline nose rose out sharply and incisively from a brow slightly retreating rather low than high, and according to the railers of the court, a pitiless race even for genius, constituted rather an eagle's beak than a human nose in the air of the illustrious princes of the House of Cond. This penetrating look, this imperious expression of the whole countenance, generally disturbed those to whom the Prince spoke. More than either majesty or regular beauty could have done in the Conqueror of Rokroy. Besides this, the fire mounted so suddenly to his projecting eyes, that with the Prince every sort of animation resembled passion. Now, on account of his rank, everybody at the court respected Monsieur Le Prance, and many even, seeing only the man, carried their respect as far as terror. Louis-de-Con, then advanced toward the Comp de la Faire in Raoul, with the marked intention of being saluted by the one and of speaking to the other, no man bowed with more reserved grace than the Comp de la Faire. He disdained to put into a salutation all the shades which a courtier ordinarily borrows from the same color, the desire to please. Athos knew his own personal value, and bowed to the Prince like a man, correcting by something unsympathetic and undefinable, that which might have appeared offensive to the pride of the highest rank of the inflexibility of his attitude. The Prince was about to speak to Raoul. Athos forestalled him. If Monsieur Le Vique Comp de Braguelon, said he, were not one of the humble servants of your royal highness, I would beg him to pronounce my name before you, ma Prince. I have had the honor to address Monsieur Le Comp de la Faire, said Conte instantly. My protector, added Raoul, blushing. One of the most honorable men in the kingdom, continued the Prince. One of the first gentlemen of France, and of whom I have heard so much that I have frequently desired to number him among my friends. An honor of which I should be unworthy, replied Athos, but for the respect and admiration I entertain for your royal highness. Monsieur de Braguelon, said the Prince, is a good officer, and it is plainly seen that he has been to a good school. Ha! Monsieur Le Comte, in your time generals had soldiers! That is true, my lord, but nowadays soldiers have generals. This compliment, which savored so little of flattery, gave a thrill of joy to the man whom already Europe considered a hero, and whom might be thought to be satiated with praise. I regret very much, continued the Prince, that you should have retired from the service, Monsieur Le Comte, for it is more than probable that the King will soon have a war with Holland, or England, and opportunities for distinguishing himself would not be wanting for a man who, like you, knows Great Britain as well as you do, France. I believe I may say, Monsignor, that I have acted wisely in retiring from the service, said Athos, smiling. France and Great Britain will henceforward live like two sisters if I can trust my presentiments. Your presentiments? Stop, Monsignor. Listen to what is being said yonder at the table of my lord, the Cardinal. Where are they playing? Yes, my lord. The Cardinal had just raised himself on one elbow and made a sign to the King's brother, and went to him. My lord, said the Cardinal, you pick up, if you please, all of those gold crowns. And he pointed to the enormous pile of yellow and glittering pieces which the Comte d'Aguiche had raised by degrees before him by a surprising run of luck at play. For me? cried the duke Donju. Those are fifty thousand crowns. Yes, Monsignor, they are yours. Do you give them to me? I have been playing on your account, Monsignor, replied the Cardinal, getting weaker and weaker as if this effort to giving money had exhausted all his physical and moral faculties. Oh, good heavens! exclaimed Philip, wild with joy. What a fortunate day! And he himself, making a rake of his fingers, drew a part of the summon to his pockets, which he filled, and still full a third remained on the table. Chevaet! Chevaet! said Philip to his favorite, the Chevaet de Lorraine. Come here, the Chevaet! the favorite quickly obeyed. Pocket the rest! said the young Prince. This singular scene was considered by the person's present only as a touching kind of family-fat. The Cardinal assumed the heirs of a father with the sons of France, and the two young princes had grown up under his wing. No one then imputed to pride, or even in pertinence, as would be done nowadays, this liberality on the part of the First Minister. The courtiers were satisfied with envying the Prince. The King turned away his head. I have never had so much money before, said the young Prince joyously, as he crossed the chamber with his favorite to go to his carriage. No, never! what a weight these crowns are! But why has Miss Shirley Cardinal given all this money at once? asked Miss Shirley-Prance of the Compte de La Faire. He must be very ill, the dear Cardinal. Yes, my lord, very ill. Without doubt, he looks very ill, as your royal highness may perceive.  Oh, it is incredible! But Compte, tell me a reason for it. Patience, Monsignor, I beg of you. Here comes Miss Shirley Duc d'Anjou, talking with the Chevalier de la Reine. I should not be surprised if they spared us the trouble of being in discreet. Listen to them. In fact, the Chevalier said to the Prince in a low voice, My lord, it is not natural for Miss your Mazardine to give you so much money. Take care. You will let some of the pieces fall, my lord. What design has the Cardinal upon you? to make him so generous? As I said, whispered Athos in the Prince's ear, that perhaps is the best reply to your question. Tell me, my lord. Repeated the Chevalier impatiently as he was calculating, by weighing them in his pocket the quota of the sum which had fallen to his share by rebound. My dear Chevalier, a wedding present. How a wedding present? Eh, yes, I am going to be married. Replied the Duc d'Anjou, without perceiving at the moment he was passing the Prince and Athos who both bowed respectfully. The Chevalier darted at the young Duc a glance so strange and so malicious that the Comp de la Faire quite started on beholding it. You? You to be married? Repeated he. Oh, that's impossible.  Bah! I don't do it myself. I am made to do it. Replied the Duc d'Anjou. But come, quick, let us get rid of our money. Thereupon he disappeared with his companion, laughing and talking whilst all heads were bowed on his passage. Then, whispered the Prince to Athos, that is the secret. It was not I that told you so, my lord. He is to marry the sister of Charles II. I believe so. The Prince reflected for a moment and his eye shot forth one of its not-unfrequent flashes. Said he slowly as if speaking to himself. Our swords are once more to be hung on the wall. For a long time. And he sighed. All that sigh contained of ambitions silently stifled, of extinguished illusions and disappointed hopes, Athos alone divined, for he alone had heard that sigh. Immediately after the Prince took leave and the King left the apartment. Athos, by a sigh made to brag alone, renewed the desire he had expressed at the beginning of the scene. By degrees the chamber was deserted, and Mazarin was left alone, a prey to suffering which he could no longer dissemble. Banuann, Banuann, cried he in a broken voice. What does Monsignor want? A gynald, and let gynald be sent for. Said his eminence. I think I'm dying. Banuann, in great terror, rushed into the cabinet to give the order, and the piqueur, who hastened to fetch the physician, passed the King's carriage in the rue Saint Anor. End of Chapter 42 Recording by John Van Stan Savannah, Georgia Chapter 43 of the D'Artagnan Romances Volume 3 Part 1 by Alexander Dumas Translated by William Robson This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Gynald The Cardinal's order was pressing. Gynald quickly obeyed it.  Mazarin had a severe attack of gout. He suffered tortures with the impatience of a man who has not been accustomed to resistances. On seeing Gynald, said he, Now I am saved! Gynald was a very learned and circumspect man who stood in no need of the critiques of Wallow to obtain a reputation. When facing a disease, if it were personified in a king, he treated the patient as a Turk treats a Moor. He did not therefore reply to Mazarin as the minister expected. Here is the doctor, goodbye disease, on the contrary, on examining his patient with a very serious air. Said he, Hey, what? Gynald, how you look at me? I look as I should on seeing you complaint, my lord. It is a very dangerous one. The gout? Oh, yes, the gout. With complications, my lord. Mazarin raised himself upon his elbow and questioning by look and gesture. What do you mean by that? Am I worse than I believed myself to be? My lord, said Gynald, seating himself beside the bed. Your eminence has worked very hard during your life. Your eminence has suffered much. But I am not old, I fancy. The late Mr. Darishelu was but 17 months younger than I am when he died and died of a mortal disease. I am young, Gynald. Remember, I am scarcely 52. Oh, my lord, you are much more than that. How long did the front last? For what purpose do you put such a question to me? For medical calculation, Monsignor. Well, some ten years off and on. Very well. Be kind enough to reckon every year of the front as three years. That makes thirty. Now, twenty and fifty-two makes seventy-two years. You are seventy-two, my lord, and that is a great age. Whilst saying this, he felt the pulse of his patient. This pulse was full of such fatal indications that the physician continued notwithstanding the interruptions of the patient.  Are you speaking seriously, Gynald? Alas, yes, Monsignor. You take a roundabout way, then, to inform me that I am very ill. Mahfois. Yes, my lord, and with a man of the mind and courage of your eminence, it ought not to be necessary to do. The cardinal breathed with such difficulty that he inspired pity even in a pitiless physician. There are diseases and diseases, resumed Massarine. From some of them people escape. That is true, my lord. Is it not? cried Massarine, almost joyously. For, in short, what else would be the use of power, of strength of will? What would the use of genius be? Your genius, Gynald. What would be the use of science and art if the patient who disposes of all that cannot be saved from peril? Gynald was about to open his mouth, but Massarine continued. Remember, said he, I am the most confiding of your patients. Remember, I obey you blindly, and that, consequently. I know all that, said Gynald. I shall be cured, then. Monsignor, there is neither strength of will nor power nor genius nor science that can resist a disease which, God doubtless sends, or which he casts upon the earth at the creation, with full power to destroy and kill mankind. When the disease is mortal, it kills, and nothing can. Is my disease mortal? asked Massarine. Yes, my lord. His eminence sank down for a moment, like an unfortunate wretch who was crushed by a falling column. But the spirit of Massarine was a strong one, or rather his mind was a firm one. Gynald, said he, recovering from his first shock, you will permit me to appeal from your judgment. I will call together the most learned men of Europe. I will consult them. I will live, in short, by the virtue of I care not what remedy. My lord must not suppose, said Gynald, that I have the presumption to pronounce a loan upon an existence so valuable as yours. I have already assembled all the good physicians and practitioners of France and Europe. There are twelve of them. And they said? They said that your eminence was suffering from a mortal disease. I have the consultation signed in my portfolio. If your eminence will please to see it, you will find the names of all the incurable diseases we have met with. There is first? No, no, cried Massarine, pushing away the paper. No, no, Gynald. I yield. I yield. And a profound silence, during which the cardinal resumed his senses and recovered his strength, succeeded to the agitation of the scene. There is another thing, murmured Massarine. There are empirics and charlatans. In my country, those whom physicians abandon run the chance of a quack, who kills them ten times, but saves them a hundred times. Has not your eminence observed that, during the last month, I have changed my remedies ten times? Yes. Well… Well, I have spent fifty thousand crowns in purchasing the secrets of all these fellows. The list is exhausted. And so is my purse. You are not cured. And but for my art, you would be dead. That ends it. Moment the cardinal. That ends it. And he threw a melancholy look upon the riches which surrounded him. And must I quit all of that? Said he. I am dying, Gynald. I am dying. Or not yet, my lord. Said the physician. Massarine seized his hand. In what time? Asked he, fixing his two large eyes upon the impassable countenance of the physician. My lord, we never tell that. To ordinary men, perhaps. But not to me. To me, whose every minute is worth a treasure. Tell me, Gynald. Tell me. No. No, my lord. I insist upon it.  My lord, replied Gynald in a firm voice.  The cardinal breathed a painful sigh, and sank back upon his pillow, murmuring, Thank you, Gynald. Thank you. The physician was about to depart, the dying man raising himself up. Silence! said he with flaming eyes. Silence! My lord, I have known the secret two months. You see that I have kept it faithfully. Go, Gynald. I will take care of your fortunes. Go and tell Prienne to send me a clerk called Monsieur Corpère. Go! End of Chapter 43, Recording by John Van Stan, Savannah, Georgia Chapter 44 of the D'Artagnan Romances, Volume 3, Part 1 by Alexander Dumas, translated by William Robson. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Colbert Colbert was not far off. During the whole evening he had remained in one of the corridors, chatting with Banneuann and Prienne, and commenting with the ordinary skill of people of a court, upon the news which developed like air bubbles upon the water on the surface of each event. It is doubtless time to trace in a few words one of the most interesting portraits of the age, and to trace it with as much truth, perhaps, as contemporary painters have been able to do. Colbert was a man in whom the historian and the moralist have an equal right. He was thirteen years older than Louis XIV, his future master. Of middle height, rather lean than otherwise, he had deep-set eyes, a mean appearance. His hair was coarse, black, and thin, which, say the biographers of his time, made him take early to the skull cap. A look of severity, or harshness even, a sort of stiffness which, with inferiors, was pried, with superiors an affectation of superior virtue. A surly cast of countenance upon all occasions, even when looking at himself in a glass alone. Such is the exterior of this personage. As to the moral part of his character, the depth of his talent for accounts, and his ingenuity in making sterility itself productive, were much boasted of. Colbert had formed the idea of forcing governors of frontier places to feed the garrisons without pay, with what they drew from contributions. Such a valuable quality made Mazarin think of replacing Joubert, his intendant, who had recently died, by Monsieur Colbert, who had such skill in nibbling down allowances. Colbert, by degrees, crept into court, notwithstanding his lowly birth, for he was the son of a man who sold wine, as his father had done, but who afterwards sold cloth, and then silk-stuffs. Colbert, destined for trade, had been clerk in Lyon to a merchant, whom he had quitted to come to Paris in the office of the Châtelet procurateur, named Deterne. It was here he learned the art of drawing up an account, and the much more valuable one of complicating it. This stiffness of manner in Colbert had been of great service to him. It is so true that fortune, when she has a caprice, resembles those women of antiquity, who, when they had a fancy, were disgusted by no physical or moral defects in either men or things. Colbert, placed with Michel Atelier, Secretary of State in 1648, by his cousin Colbert, Signeur de Saint-Penange, who protected him, received one day from the Ministry of Commission for Cardinal Mazarin. His eminence was then in the enjoyment of flourishing health, and the bad years of the frond had not yet counted triple and quadruple for him. He was at Sedan, very much annoyed at a court intrigue in which Anne of Austria seemed inclined to desert his cause. Of this intrigue, Atelier held the thread. He had just received the letter from Anne of Austria, a letter very valuable to him, and strongly compromising Mazarin, but as he had already played the double part which served him so well, and by which he always managed two enemies so as to draw advantage from both, either by embroiling them more and more or by reconciling them, Michel Atelier wished to send Anne of Austria's letter to Mazarin in order that he might be acquainted with it, and consequently pleased with his having so willingly rendered him a service. To send the letter was an easy matter. To recover it again, after having communicated it, that was the difficulty. Atelier cast his eyes around him, and seeing the black and meager clerk with the scowling brow scribbling away in his office, he preferred him to be the best gendarm for the execution of this design. Colbert was commanded to set out for Sedan with positive orders to carry the letter to Mazarin and bring it back to Atelier. He listened to his orders with scrupulous attention, required the instructions to be repeated twice, and was particular in learning whether the bringing back was as necessary as the communicating, and Atelier replied sternly, more necessary. Then he set out, travelled like a courier without any care for his body, and placed in the hands of Mazarin, first a letter from Atelier, which announced to the cardinal the sending of the precious letter, and then that letter itself. Mazarin, coloured greatly whilst reading Anne of Austria's letter, gave Colbert a gracious smile and dismissed him. When shall I have the answer, Monsignor? Tomorrow. Tomorrow morning. Yes, monsieur. The clerk turned upon his heel, after making his very best bow. The next day he was at his post at seven o'clock. Mazarin made him wait till ten. He remained patiently in the antechamber, his turn having come, he entered. Mazarin gave him a sealed packet. On the envelope of this packet were these words, Monsieur Michel Atelier, etc., Colbert looked at the packet with much attention. The cardinal put on a pleasant countenance and pushed him toward the door. And the letter of the queen mother, my lord, asked Colbert. It is with the rest, in the packet, said Mazarin. Oh, very well, replied Colbert, and placing his hat between his knees, he began to unseal the packet. Mazarin uttered a cry. What are you doing? said he angrily. I am unsealing the packet, my lord. You mistrust me then, master pedant, do you? Did anyone ever see such impertinence? Oh, my lord, do not be angry with me. It is certainly not your eminence's word I place in doubt. God forbid. What then? It is the carefulness of your chance, my lord. What is a letter? A rag. May not a rag be forgotten? And look, my lord, look if I was not right. Your clerks have forgotten the rag. The letter is not in the packet.  Be gone, and away to my pleasure! While saying these words with perfectly Italian subtlety, he snatched the packet from the hands of Colbert and re-entered his apartments. But this anger could not last so long as not to be replaced in time by reason. Mazarin, every morning on opening his closet door, found the figure of Colbert like a sentinel behind the bench, and this disagreeable figure never failed to ask him humbly, but with tenacity, for the queen mother's letter. Mazarin could hold out no longer and was obliged to give it up. He accompanied this restitution with a most severe reprimand, during which Colbert contented himself with examining, feeling, even smelling as it were, the paper, the characters, and the signature, neither more nor less than if he had to deal with the greatest forger in the kingdom. Mazarin behaved still more rudely to him, but Colbert still impassable, having obtained a certainty that the letter was the true one, went off as if he had been deaf. This conduct attamed for him, afterwards the post of Jubair, for Mazarin, instead of bearing malice, admired him, and was desirous of attaching so much fidelity to himself. It may be judged by this single anecdote what the character of Colbert was. Events developing themselves by degrees allowed all the powers of his mind to act freely. Colbert was not long in insinuating himself into the good graces of the cardinal. He became, even, indispensable to him. The clerk was acquainted with all his accounts, without the cardinals ever having spoken to him about them. This secret between them was a powerful tie, and this was why, when, about to appear before the master of another world, Mazarin was desirous of taking good counsel, in disposing of the wealth he was so unwillingly obliged to leave in this world. After the visit of Gnod, he therefore sent for Colbert, desired him to sit down, and said to him, Let us converse, Mr. Colbert, and seriously, for I am very ill, and I may chance to die. Man is mortal, replied Colbert. I have always remembered that, Mr. Colbert, and I have worked with that ending view. You know that I have amassed a little wealth. I know you have, Monsignor. At how much do you estimate, as near as you can, the amount of this wealth, Mr. Colbert? At forty millions, five hundred and sixty thousand, two hundred lever, nine cents, eight farthings, replied Colbert. The cardinal heaved a deep sigh, and looked at Colbert with wonder, but he allowed a smile to steal across his lips. Known money, added Colbert, and replied to that smile. The cardinal gave quite a start in bed. What do you mean by that? said he. I mean, said Colbert, that besides those forty millions, five hundred and sixty thousand, two hundred lever, nine cents, eight farthings, there are thirteen millions that are not known. Oof! sighed Mazarene.  At this moment the head of Benouane appeared through the embrasure of the door. What is it? asked Mazarene. And though why do you disturb me? The theatre father, your Eminence's director, was sent for this evening, and he cannot come again to my lord till after tomorrow. No! Mazarene looked at Colbert, who rose and took his hat, saying, I shall come again, my lord. Mazarene hesitated. No, no, said he. I have as much business to transact with you as with him. Besides, you are my other confessor, and what I have to say to one the other may hear. Remain where you are, Colbert. But my lord, if there be no secret of penitence, will the director consent to my being here? Do not trouble yourself about that. Come into the royal. I can wait outside, Monsignor. No, no. It will do you good to hear the confession of a rich man. Colbert bowed and went into the royal. Introduce the theatre father, said Mazarene. Closing the curtains. End of Chapter 44, Recording by John Van Stan, Savannah, Georgia Chapter 45 of the D'Artagnan Romances, Volume 3, Part 1 by Alexander Dumas, translated by William Robson. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Confession of a Man of Wealth The theatron entered deliberately, without being too much astonished at the noise and agitation which anxiety for the Cardinal's health had raised in his household. Come in, my reverend father, said Mazarene after a last look at the royal. Come in and console me. That is my duty, my lord, replied the theatron. Begin by sitting down and making yourself comfortable, for I am going to begin with a general confession. You will afterwards give me a good absolution, and I shall believe myself more tranquil. My lord, said the father, you are not so ill as to make a general confession urgent, and it will be very fatiguing. Take care. You suspect, then, that it may be long, father? How can I think it otherwise, when a man has lived so completely as your eminence has done? Ah, that is true. Yes, the recital may be long. The mercy of God is great. Snuffled the theatron. Stop, said Mazarene. There, I begin to terrify myself with having allowed so many things to pass, which the lord might reprove. Is not that always so? said the theatron, naively, removing further from the lamp his thin pointed face like that of a mole. Sinners are so forgetful beforehand, and scrupulous when it is too late.  Translators note, this is quite untranslatable. It being a play upon the words, Pisscher, a sinner, and Pisscher, a fisherman, it is in very bad taste. Hum, said the theatron. That is the first scene, father, for I have allowed myself to be made to descend from two old Roman consuls, as Giganius Mazarene is the first, Mazarene is the second, and Proculeus Mazarene is the third, of whom the chronicle of Hollander speaks. From Masarenes to Mazarene, the proximity was tempting. Masarenes, a diminutive, means leanish, porridge, out of case. Oh, Reverend Father, Mazarene may now be carried to the augmentative, meager, thin as Lazarus. Look! and he showed his fleshless arms. In your having been born of a family of fishermen, I see nothing injurious to you, for St. Peter was a fisherman, and if you are a prince of the church, my lord, he was the supreme head of it. Pass on, if you please. So much the more, for my having threatened with the Bastille certain Bounet, a priest of Avignon, who wanted to publish a genealogy of the Casa Mazarene much too marvelous. To be probable, replied the Theaton. Oh, if I had acted up to his idea, Father, that would have been a device of pride, another sin. It was excessive wit, and a person is not to be reproached with such sorts of abuses. Pass on, pass on. I was all pride. Look you, Father, I will endeavor to divide that into capital sins. I like divisions when well made. I am glad of that. You must know that in 1630, alas, that is thirty-one years ago, you were then twenty-nine years old, Monsignor. A hot-headed age! I was then something of a soldier, and I threw myself at Casal into the obascades to show that I rode on horseback as well as any officer. It is true I restored peace between the French and the Spaniards. That redeems my scene a little. I see no sin in being able to ride well on horseback, said the Theaton. That is in perfect good taste, and does honor to our gown. As a Christian, I approve of your having prevented the effusion of blood. As a monk, I am proud of the bravery a monk has exhibited. Mazarene Bout has said humbly. Yes, said he, but the consequences. What consequences? Eh, that damned scene of pride has roots without end. From the time that I threw myself in that manner between two armies, that I had smelt powder and faced lines of soldiers, I have held generals a little in contempt. Ha! said the Father. There is the evil, so that I have not found one indorable since that time. The fact is, said the Theaton, that the generals we have had have not been remarkable. Oh! cried Mazarene. There was Mr. La Prance. I have tormented him thoroughly. He is not much to be pitied. He has acquired sufficient glory and sufficient wealth. That may be for Mr. La Prance, but Mr. Beaufort, for example, whom I held suffering so long in the dungeon of Vincenna. Ah, but he was a rebel, and the safety of the state required that you should make a sacrifice. Pass on. I believe I have quite exhausted pride. There is another sin which I am afraid to qualify. I can qualify it myself. Tell it. A great sin, Reverend Father. We shall judge Monsignor. You cannot fail to have heard of certain relations which I have had, with Her Majesty the Queen Mother, the malevolent. The malevolent, my Lord, are fools. Was it not necessary for the good of the state and the interests of the young king that you should live in good intelligence with the Queen? Pass on. Pass on. I assure you, said Massadine, you will remove a terrible weight from my breast. These are all trifles. Look for something serious. I have had much ambition, Father. That is the march of great minds and things, my Lord. Even the longing for the tiara. To be Pope is to be the first of Christians. Why should you not desire that? It has been printed that to gain that object I had sold Cambria to the Spaniards. You have perhaps yourself written pamphlets without severely persecuting pamphleteers. Then, Rev. Father, I have truly a clean breast. I feel nothing remaining but slight peccadillos. What are they? Play. That is rather worldly, but you were obliged by the duties of greatness to keep a good house. I like to win. No player plays to lose. I cheated a little. You took your advantage. Pass on. Well, Rev. Father, I feel nothing else upon my conscience. Give me absolution, and my soul will be able, when God shall please to call it, to mount without obstacle to the throne. The Theaton moved neither his arms nor his lips. What are you waiting for, Father? Said Massarine. I am waiting for the end. The end of what? Of the confession, Mishir. But I have ended. Oh no, your eminence is mistaken. Not that I know of. Search diligently. I have searched as well as possible. Then I shall assist your memory. Do. The Theaton coughed several times. You have said nothing of avarice, another capital sin, nor of those millions, said he. What millions, Father? Why, those you possess, my lord. Father, that money is mine. Why should I speak to you about it? Because, see you, our opinions differ. You say that money is yours, whilst I, I believe it is rather the property of others. Massarine lifted his cold hand to his brow, which was beaded with perspiration. How so? stammered he. This way, your excellency has gained much wealth in the service of the king. Um, much, that is, not too much. Whatever it may be, whence came that wealth? From the state. The state? That is the king. But what do you conclude from that, Father? said Massarine, who began to tremble. I cannot conclude without seeing a list of the riches you possess. Let us reckon a little, if you please. You have the bishopric of Metz. Yes. The abbeys of Saint Clement, Saint Arnaud, and Saint Vincente, all at Metz. Yes. You have the abbey of Saint Denis in France, a magnificent property. Yes, Father. You have the abbey of Cluny, which is rich. I have. That of Saint Medard at Soisson, with a revenue of 100,000 lever. I cannot deny it. That of Saint Victor at Marseille, one of the best in the south. Yes, Father. A good million a year, with the emoluments of the cardinal ship and the ministry. I say too little when I say two millions a year. Hey! In ten years that is twenty millions, and twenty millions put out at fifty percent give, by progression, twenty-three millions in ten years. How well you reckon for a theatre! Since your eminence placed our order in the convent we occupy, near Saint Germain de Prey in 1641, I have kept the accounts of the society. And mine, likewise, apparently, Father. One ought to know a little of everything, my lord. Very well. Conclude at present. I conclude that your baggage is too heavy to allow you to pass through the gates of Paradise. Shall I be damned? If you do not make restitution, yes. Mazurine uttered a piteous cry, Restitution! But to whom, good God, to the owner of that money, to the king. But the king did not give it all to me. One moment. Does not the king sign the ordinances? Mazurine passed from signs to groans. Absolutely. Absolution! Cried he. Impossible, my lord. Restitution! Restitution! Replyed the theatine. But you absolve me from all other sins. Why not from that? Because, replied the father, To absolve you for that motive would be a sin for which the king would never absolve me, my lord. Thereupon the confessor quitted his penitent with an air full of compunction. He then went out in the same manner he had entered. Oh, good God! Grown the cardinal. Come here, go-bear. I am very, very ill indeed, my friend. End of Chapter 45. Recording by John Van Stan. Savannah, Georgia. Chapter 46 of the D'Artagnan Romances. Volume 5. Chapter 46 of the D'Artagnan Romances. Volume 3, Part 1 by Alexander Dumas. Translated by William Robson. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. The donation. Colbert reappeared beneath the curtains. Have you heard? said Mazurine. Alas! Yes, my lord. Can he be right? Can all of this money be badly acquired? A Theotin Monsignor is a bad judge in matters of finance, replied Colbert Cooley. And yet it is very possible that according to his theological ideas your eminence has been, in a certain degree, in the wrong. People generally find they have been so when they die. In the first place they commit the wrong of dying, Colbert. That is true, my lord. Against whom, however, did the Theotin make out that you had committed these wrongs? Against the king? Mazurine shrugged his shoulders as if I had not saved both his state and his finances. That admits of no contradiction, my lord. Does it? Then I have received a merely legitimate salary in spite of the opinion of my confessor. That is beyond doubt. And I might fairly keep for my own family, which is so needy a good fortune, the whole even if of which I have earned. I see no impediment to that, Monsignor. I felt assured that in consulting you, Colbert, I should have good advice, replied Mazurine, greatly delighted. Colbert resumed his pedantic look. My lord, interrupted he, I think it would be quite as well to examine whether that the Theotin said is not a snare. Oh, no, a snare! What for? The Theotin is an honest man! He believed your eminence to be at death's door, because your eminence consulted him, did not I hear him say, distinguish that which the king has given you, from that which you have given yourself? Recollect, my lord, if he did not say something a little like that to you. That is quite a theatrical speech. That is possible. In which case, my lord, I should consider you as required by the Theotin, too. To make rest in Tussian! cried Mazurine, with great warmth. Hey, I do not say no. What of all? You do not dream of such a thing. You speak just as the confessor did. To make rest in Tussian of a part. That is to say his majesty's part, and that Monsignor may have its dangers. Your eminence is too skillful a politician not to know that. At this moment, the king does not possess a hundred and fifty thousand lever clear in his coffers. That is not my affair! said Mazurine triumphantly. That belongs to Miss Sherla's Surintendant Fouquet, whose accounts I gave you to verify some months ago. Colbert bit his lips at the name of Fouquet. His majesty, said he between his teeth, has no money, but that which Miss Sherfouquet collects, your money, Monsignor, would afford him a delicious banquet. Well, but, I am not the superintendent of his majesty's finances. I have my purse. Surely I would do much for his majesty's welfare, some legacy, but I cannot disappoint my family. The legacy of a part would dishonor you and offend the king. Leaving a part to his majesty is to avow that that part has inspired you with doubts as to the lawfulness of the means of acquisition. Miss Shercobert! I thought your eminence did me the honour to ask my advice. Yes, but you are ignorant of the principal details of the question.  During ten years all the columns of figures which are found in France have passed in review before me, and if I have painfully nailed them into my brain, they are there now so well riveted, that, from the office of Miss Sherletellier, who is sober, to the little secret largesse of Miss Sherfouquet, who is prodigal, I could recite, figure by figure, all the money that is spent in France from Marseille to Cherbourg. Then you would have me throw all the money into the coffers of the king? cried Massarine ironically, and from whom, at the same time, the gout forced painful moans. Surely the king would reproach me with nothing, but he would laugh at me while squandering my millions, and with good reason. Your eminence has misunderstood me. I did not, the least in the world, pretend that His Majesty ought to spend your money. You said so clearly, it seems to me, when you advised me to give it to him. Ah, replied Colbert. That is because your eminence, absorbed as you are by your disease, entirely loses sight of the character of Louis XIV. How so? That character, if I may venture to express myself thus, resembles that which my lord confessed just now to the Theaton. Go on, that is. Pride, pardon me, my lord, haughtiness, nobleness. Kings have no pride, that is a human passion. Pride. Yes, you are right. Next. Well, my lord, if I have divined rightly your eminence has but to give all your money to the king, and that immediately. But for what? said Massarine, quite bewildered, because the king will not accept of the whole. What? And he, a young man, and devoured by ambition? Just so. A young man who is anxious for my death? My lord. To inherit, yes Colbert, yes, he is anxious for my death in order to inherit, triple full that I am, I would prevent him. Exactly. If the donation were made in a certain form, he would refuse it. What? How? That is plain enough. A young man who has yet done nothing, who burns to distinguish himself, who burns to reign alone, will never take anything ready built, he will construct it for himself. This prince, Monsignor, will never be content with the Palais Royale, which, Monsieur de Richelieu left him, nor with the Palais Massarine, which you have had so superbly constructed, nor with the Louvre, which his ancestors inhabited, nor with Saint Germain, where he was born. All that does not proceed from him. I predict he will disdain. And you will guarantee that if I give my forty millions to the king? Saying certain things to him at the same time, I guarantee he will refuse them. But those things, what are they? I will write them, if my lord will have the goodness to dictate them. Well, but, after all, what advantage will that be to me? An enormous one. Nobody will afterwards be able to accuse your eminence of that unjust avarice with which pamphleteers have reproached the most brilliant mind of the present age. You are right, cobert. You are right. Go and seek the king on my part and take him my will. Your donation, my lord. But if he should accept it, if he should even think of accepting it, then there would remain thirteen millions for your family, and that is a good round sum. But then you would be either a fool or a traitor. And I am neither the one nor the other, my lord. You appear to be much afraid that the king will accept. You have a deal more reason to fear that he will not accept. But see you, if he does not accept, I should like to guarantee my thirteen reserved millions to him. Yes, I will do so. Yes, but my pains are returning. I shall faint. I am very ill, very ill, cobert. I am very near my end. Cobert started. The cardinal was indeed very ill. Large drops of sweat flowed down upon his bed of agony, and the frightful pallor of a face streaming with water was a spectacle which the most hardened practitioner could not have beheld without compassion. Cobert was, without doubt, very much affected, for he quitted the chamber, calling Bannouin to attend the dying man, and went into the corridor. There walking about with a meditative expression which almost gave nobility to his vulgar head, his shoulders thrown up, his neck stretched out, his lips half open to give vent to unconnected fragments of incoherent thoughts. He lashed up his courage to the pitch of the undertaking contemplated, woused within ten paces of him, separated only by a wall. His master was being stifled by anguish which drew from him lamentable cries, thinking no more of the treasures of the earth or of the joys of paradise, but much of all the horrors of hell. Whilst burning hot napkins, physics, revulsives, and ganod, who was recalled, were performing their functions with increased activity, Colbert, holding his great head in both his hands, to compress within it the fever of the projects engendered by the brain, was meditating the tenor of the donation he would make Mazarin write. At the first hour of respite his disease should afford him. He would appear, as if all the cries of the cardinal and all the attacks of death upon this representative of the past were stimulants for the genius of this thinker with the bushy eyebrows, who was turning already toward the rising sun of a regenerated society. Colbert resumed his place at Mazarin's pillow at the first interval of pain, and persuaded him to dictate a donation thus conceived. About to appear before God, the master of mankind, I beg the king who was my master on earth, to resume the wealth which is bounty as bestowed upon me, and which my family would be happy to see pass into such illustrious hands. The particulars of my property will be found, they are drawn up, at the first requisition of his majesty or at the last sigh of his most devoted servant, Jules, cardinal de Mazarin. The cardinal sighed heavily as he signed this. Colbert sealed the packet and carried it immediately to the Louvre, whether the king had returned. He then went back to his own home, rubbing his hands with the confidence of a workman who has done a good day's work. End of Chapter 46, recording by John Van Stan, Savannah, Georgia. Chapter 47 of the D'Artagnan Romance's Volume III, Part I by Alexander Dumas, translated by William Robson. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. How Anne of Austria gave one piece of advice to Louis XIV, and how Mr. Fouquet gave him another. The news of the extreme illness of the cardinal had already spread and attracted at least as much attention among the people of the Louvre as the news of the marriage of Monsieur, the king's brother, which had already been announced as an official fact. Scarcely had Louis XIV returned home with his thoughts fully occupied with the various things he had seen and heard in the course of the evening, when an usher announced that the same crowd of courtiers, who in the morning had thronged his levy, presented themselves again at his cuchée, a remarkable piece of respect which, during the reign of the cardinal, the court, not very discreet in its preferences, had accorded to the minister, without caring about displeasing the king. But the minister had had, as we have said, an alarming attack of gout, and the tide of flattery was mounting towards the throne. Courtiers have a marvellous instinct in senting the turn of events. Courtiers possess a supreme kind of science. They are diplomatists in throwing light upon the unraveling of complicated intrigues, captains in divining the issue of battles, and physicians in curing the sick. Louis XIV, to whom his mother had taught this axiom, together with many others, understood at once that the cardinal must be very ill. Scarcely had Anne of Austria conducted the young queen to her apartments, and taken from her brow the headdress of ceremony, when she went to see her son in his cabinet, where, alone, melancholy and oppressed, he was indulging, as if to exercise his will in one of those terrible inward passions, king's passions, which create events when they break out, and with Louis XIV, thanks to his astonishing command over himself, became such benign tempests that his most violent, his only passion, that which St. Simon mentions with astonishment, was that famous fit of anger which he exhibited fifty years later, on the occasion of a little concealment of the duke domains, and which had, for result, a shower of blows inflicted with a cane upon the back of a poor valet who had stolen a biscuit. The young king then was, as we have seen, a prey to a double excitement, and he said to himself as he looked in a glass, Oh king, king by name and not in fact, Phantom, vain phantom art thou, inert statue, which has no other power than that of provoking salutations from courtiers, when wilt thou be able to raise thy velvet arm, or clench thy silken hand, when wilt thou be able to open, for any purpose but to sigh or smile, lips condemned to the motionless stupidity of the marbles in thy gallery. Then, passing his hand over his brow and feeling the want of air, he approached a window and, looking down, saw below some horsemen talking together, and groups of timid observers. These horsemen were a fraction of the watch, the groups were busy portions of the people, to whom a king is always a curious thing, the same as a rhinoceros, a crocodile or a serpent. He struck his brow with his open hand, crying, King of France, what title? People of France, what a heap of creatures! I have just returned from my loo, my horses just unharnessed are still smoking, and I have created interest enough to induce scarcely twenty persons to look at me as I passed. Twenty? What do I say? No, they were not twenty anxious to see the King of France, there are not even ten archers to guard my palace of residence. Archers, people, guards, all are at the Palais Royale. Why, my good God, have not I, the King, the right to ask of you all that? Because, said a voice replying to his, and which sounded from the other side of the door of the cabinet, because at the Palais Royale lies all the gold. That is to say, all the power of him who desires to reign. Louis turned sharply around. The voice which had pronounced these words was that of Anne of Austria. The King started and advanced toward her. I hope, said he, your Majesty has paid no attention to the vain declamations which the solitude and disgust familiar to King suggests to the happiest dispositions. I only paid attention to one thing, my son, and that was that you were complaining. Who? I? Not at all. Said Louis XIV. No, in truth, you ere, madame. What were you doing, then? I thought I was under the feral of my professor and developing a subject of amplification. My son, replied Anne of Austria, shaking her head. You are wrong not to trust my word. You are wrong not to grant me your confidence. A day will come, and perhaps quickly wherein you will have occasion to remember that axiom, gold is universal power, and they alone are kings who are all powerful. Your intention, continued the King, was not, however, to cast blame upon the rich men of this age, was it? No, said the Queen warmly. No, Sire. They who are rich in this age under your reign are rich because you have been willing, they should be so, and I entertain against them neither malice nor envy. They have, without doubt, served your Majesty sufficiently well for your Majesty to have permitted them to reward themselves. That is what I mean to say by the words for which you approach me.  Besides— Continue, Anne of Austria. The Lord never gives the goods of this world but for a season. The Lord, as correctives to honour and riches, the Lord has placed sufferings, sickness and death, and no one. Added she with a melancholy smile which proved she made the application of the funeral precept to herself. No man can take his wealth or greatness with him to the grave. It results, therefore, that the young gather the abundant harvest prepared for them by the old. Louis listened with increased attention to the words which Anne of Austria no doubt pronounced with a view to console him. Madame, said he, looking earnestly at his mother, one would almost say in truth that you had something else to announce to me. I have absolutely nothing, my son. Only you cannot have failed to remark that his eminence the cardinal is very ill. Louis looked at his mother, expecting some emotion in her voice, some sorrow in her countenance. The face of Anne of Austria appeared a little changed, but that was from sufferings of quite a personal character. Perhaps the alteration was caused by the cancer which had begun to consume her breast. Yes, Madame, said the King. Yes. Mr. de Maserine is very ill. And it would be a great loss to the Kingdom if God were to summon his eminence away. It's not that your opinion as well as mine, my son, said the Queen. Yes, Madame, yes, certainly. It would be a great loss for the Kingdom, said Louis, colouring. But the peril does not seem to me to be so great. Besides, the cardinal is still young. The King had scarcely ceased speaking when an usher lifted a tapestry and stood with a paper in his hand, waiting for the King to speak to him. What have you there? asked the King. A message from Mr. de Maserine, replied the usher. Give it to me, said the King, and he took the paper, but at the moment he was about to open it, there was a great noise in the gallery, the antechamber and the court. Said Louis XIV, who doubtless knew the meaning of that triple noise. How can I say there was but one King in France? I was mistaken. There are two. As he spoke or thought thus, the door opened, and the superintendent of the finances, Fouquet, appeared before his nominal master. It was he who made the noise in the antechamber. It was his horses that made the noise in the courtyard. In addition to all this, a loud murmur was heard along his passage, which did not die away till some time after he had passed. It was this murmur which Louis XIV regretted so deeply not hearing as he passed, and dying away behind him. He is not precisely a King as you fancy, said Anne of Austria to her son. He is only a man who is much too rich. That is all. While saying these words, a bitter feeling gave to these words of the Queen a most hateful expression, whereas the brow of the King, calm and self-possessed on the contrary, was without the slightest wrinkle. He nodded therefore familiarly to Fouquet, whilst he continued to unfold the paper given to him by the usher. Fouquet perceived this movement, and with a politeness at once easy and respectful, advanced toward the Queen so as not to disturb the King. Louis had opened the paper, and yet he did not read it. He listened to Fouquet, paying the most charming compliments to the Queen upon her hand and arm. Anne of Austria's frown relaxed a little. She even almost smiled. Fouquet perceived that the King, instead of reading, was looking at him. He turned half round therefore, and, while continuing his conversation with the Queen, faced the King. You know, Monsieur Fouquet, said Louis, how ill Monsieur Mazarin is. Yes, sir, I know that, said Fouquet. In fact, he is very ill. I was at my country house of Vaux when the news reached me, and the affair seemed so pressing that I left at once. You left Vaux this evening, monsieur? An hour and a half ago, yes, your Majesty, said Fouquet, consulting a watch richly ornamented with diamonds. In an hour and a half, said the King, still able to restrain his anger, but not to conceal his astonishment. I understand, you sire. Your Majesty doubts my words, and you have reason to do so, but I have really come in that time. Though it is wonderful, I received from England three pairs of the very fast horses, as I had been assured, they were placed at distances of four leagues apart, and I tried them this evening. They really brought me from Vaux to the Louvre in an hour and a half, so your Majesty sees I have not been cheated. The Queen Mother smiled with something like secret envy, but Fouquet caught her thought. Thus, madame, he promptly said, such horses are made for kings, not for subjects, for kings ought never to yield to anyone in anything. The King looked up. And yet, interrupted Anne of Austria, you are not a king that I know of, Mr. Fouquet. Truly not, madame. Therefore the horses only await the orders of his Majesty to enter the royal stables, and if I allowed myself to try them, it was only for fear of offering the King anything that was not positively wonderful. The King became quite red. You know, Mr. Fouquet, said the Queen, that at the Court of France it is not the custom for a subject to offer anything to his King. Louis started. I hoped, madame, said Fouquet, much agitated, that my love for his Majesty, my incessant desire to please him, would serve to compensate the want of etiquette. It was not so much a present that I permitted myself to offer as the tribute I paid. Thank you, Mr. Fouquet, said the King politely, and I am gratified by your intention, for I love good horses, but you know I am not very rich. You, who are my superintendent of finances, know it better than anyone else. I am not able, then, however willing I may be, to purchase such a valuable set of horses. Fouquet darted a haughty glance at the Queen Mother, who appeared to triumph at the false position in which the minister had placed himself, and replied, Luxury is the virtue of Kingsire. It is Luxury which makes them resemble God. It is by Luxury they are more than other men, with Luxury a King nourishes his subjects, and honors them. Under the mild heat of this Luxury of Kings brings the Luxury of individuals. A source of riches for the people, his majesty by accepting the gift of these six incomparable horses, would stimulate the pride of his own breeders, of Lumuzan, Pesh, and Normandy, and these emulation would have been beneficial to all, but the King is silent and consequently I am condemned. During this speech Louis was unconsciously folding and unfolding Macedene's paper, upon which he had not cast his eyes. At length he glanced upon it, and uttered a faint cry at reading the first line. What is the matter, my son? asked the Queen, anxiously and going toward the King. From the cardinal? replied the King, continuing to read. Yes, yes, it is really from him. Is he worse than? Read, said the King, passing the parchment to his mother as if he had thought that nothing less than reading would convince Anne of Austria of a thing so astonishing as was conveyed in that paper. Anne of Austria read in turn, and as she read her eyes, sparkled with a joy all the greater, from her useless endeavor to hide it, which attracted the attention of Fouquet. Oh, a regularly drawn-up deed of gift! said she. A gift! repeated Fouquet. Yes, said the King, replying pointedly to the Superintendent of Finances. Yes, at the point of death, Mr. Le Cardinal makes me a donation of all his wealth. Forty millions! cried the Queen. Oh, my son, this is very noble on the part of his eminence, and will silence all malicious rumors. Forty millions scrape together slowly, coming back all in one heap to the treasury. It is the act of a faithful subject, and a good Christian. And having once more cast her eyes over the act, she restored it to Louis XIV, whom the announcement of the sum greatly agitated. Fouquet had taken some steps backwards and remained silent. The King looked at him, and held the paper out to him in turn. The Superintendent only bestowed a haughty look of a second upon it, then bowing. Yes, Sire? said he. A donation. I see. You must reply to it, my son, said Anne of Austria. You must reply to it, and immediately. But how, madame? By a visit to the Cardinal. Why, it is but an hour since I left his eminence, said the King. Right then, Sire. Right! said the young King with evident repugnance. Well? replied Anne of Austria. It seems to me, my son, that a man who has just made such a present as a good right to expect to be thanked for it, with some degree of promptitude. Then turning toward Fouquet. Is not that likewise your opinion, monsieur? That the present is worth the trouble. Yes, madame? said Fouquet, with a lofty air that did not escape the King. Accept it, then, and thank him. insisted Anne of Austria. What says monsieur Fouquet? asked Louis XIV. Does your Majesty wish to know my opinion? Yes. Thank him, Sire. Ha! said the Queen. But do not accept. continued Fouquet. And why not? asked the Queen. You have yourself said why, madame? replied Fouquet. Because kings cannot and ought not to receive presents from their subjects. The King remained silent between these two contrary opinions. But forty millions, said Anne of Austria in the same tone as that in which, at a later period, poor Marie Antoinette replied, you will tell me as much. I know, said Fouquet, laughing, forty millions makes a good round sum, such a sum as could almost tempt a royal conscience. But, monsieur? said Anne of Austria. Instead of persuading the King not to receive this present, recall to his Majesty's mind, you, whose duty it is, that these forty millions are a fortune to him. It is precisely, madame, because these forty millions would be a fortune that I say to the King. Sire, if it be not decent for a king to accept from a subject six horses worth twenty thousand leaver, it would be disgraceful for him to owe a fortune to another subject, more or less scrupulous in the choice of the materials which contributed to the building up of that fortune. It ill becomes you, monsieur, to give your King a lesson, said Anne of Austria. Better procure for him forty millions to replace those you make him lose. The King shall have them whenever he wishes, said the Superintendent of Finances bowing. Yes, by impressing the people, said the Queen. And were they not oppressed, madame? replied Fouquet, when they were made to sweat the forty millions given by this deed. Furthermore, his Majesty has asked my opinion, and I have given it. If his Majesty asks my concurrence, it will be the same. Nonsense! accept my son! accept! said Anne of Austria. You are above reports and interpretations. Refuse, Sire, said Fouquet, as long as a King lives, he has no other measure but his conscience, no other judge than his own desires, but when dead he has posterity which applause or accuses. Thank you, mother, replied Louis bowing respectfully to the Queen. Thank you, Mr. Fouquet, said he, dismissing the Superintendent civilly. Do you accept? asked Anne of Austria once more. I shall consider of it, replied he, looking at Fouquet. End of Chapter 47, Recording by John Van Stan, Savannah, Georgia Chapter 48 of the D'Artagnan Romances, Volume 3, Part 1 by Alexander Dumas, translated by William Robson. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Agony! The day that the deed of gift had been sent to the King, the Cardinal caused himself to be transported to Vincen. The King and the Court followed him tither. The last flashes of this torch still cast splendor enough around to absorb all other lights in its rays. Besides, as it has been seen, the faithful satellite of his minister, young Louis XIV, marched the last minute in accordance with his gravitation. The disease, as Genaude had predicted, had become worse. It was no longer an attack of gout, it was an attack of death. Then there was another thing which made that agony more agonizing still, and that was the agitation brought into his mind by the donation he had sent to the King, and which, according to Colbert, the King ought to send back unaccepted to the Cardinal. The Cardinal had, as we have said, great faith in the predictions of his secretary, but the sum was a large one. And whatever might be the genius of Colbert, from time to time the Cardinal thought to himself that the Theatin also might possibly have been mistaken, and that there was at least as much chance of his not being damned, as there was of Louis XIV sending back his millions. Besides, the longer the donation wasn't coming back, the more Mazarene thought that 40 millions were worth a little risk, particularly of so hypothetical a thing as the soul. Mazarene, in his character of Cardinal and Prime Minister, was almost an atheist, and quite a materialist. Every time that the door opened he turned sharply round towards that door, expecting to see the return of his unfortunate donation.  Anne of Austria had also followed the Cardinal, her heart, though age had made it selfish, could not help evincing towards the dying man a sorrow which she owed him as a wife, according to some, and as a sovereign according to others. She had in some sort put on a morning countenance beforehand, and all the court wore it as she did. Louis, in order not to show on his face what was passing at the bottom of his heart, persisted in remaining in his own apartments, where his nurse alone kept him company. The more he saw the approach of the time when all constraint would be at an end, the more humble and patient he was, falling back upon himself as all strong men do when they form great designs, in order to gain more spring at the decisive moment. Extreme unction had been administered to the Cardinal, who faithful to his habits of dissimulation struggled against appearances, and even against reality, receiving company in his bed as if he only suffered from a temporary complaint. Genaude, on his part, preserved profound secrecy, wearied with visits and questions he answered in nothing but his eminence is still full of youth and strength, but God wills that which he wills, and when he has decided that man is to be laid low, he will be laid low. These words which he scattered with a sort of discretion, reserve, and preference, were commented upon earnestly by two persons, the King and the Cardinal. Mazarin notwithstanding the prophecy of Genaude, still lured himself with a hope, or rather played his part so well, that the most cunning, when saying that he lured himself, proved that they were his dupes. Louis, absent from the Cardinal for two days, Louis with his eyes fixed upon that same donation which so constantly preoccupied the Cardinal, Louis did not exactly know how to make out Mazarin's conduct. The son of Louis XIII, following the paternal traditions, had up to that time been so little of a king that, whilst ardently desiring royalty, he desired it with that terror which always accompanies the unknown. Thus, having formed his resolution which besides, he communicated to nobody, he determined to have an interview with Mazarin. It was Anne of Austria who, constant in her attendance upon the Cardinal, first heard this proposition of the Kings and transmitted it to the dying man whom it greatly agitated. For what purpose could Louis wish for an interview? Was it to return the deed, as Colbert had said he would? Was it to keep it, after thanking him, as Mazarin thought he would? Nevertheless, as the dying man felt that the uncertainty increased his torments, he did not hesitate an instant. He's Majesty will be welcome. Yes, very welcome! cried he, making a sign to Colbert, who was seated at the foot of the bed, and which the latter understood perfectly. Madame, continued Mazarin, will your Majesty be good enough to assure the King yourself of the truth of what I have just said? Anne of Austria rose, she herself was anxious to have the question of the forty million settled, the question which seemed to lie heavy on the mind of everyone. Anne of Austria went out, Mazarin made a great effort in raising himself up toward Colbert. Well, Colbert, said he, two days have passed away, two mortal days, and you see nothing has been returned from yonder. Patience, my lord, said Colbert.  You advise me to have patience. In sad truth, Colbert, you are laughing at me. I am dying, and you call out to me to wait. My lord, said Colbert with his habitual coolness, it is impossible that things should not come out as I have said. His Majesty is coming to see you, and no doubt he brings back the deed himself. Do you think so? Well, I, on the contrary, am sure that his Majesty is coming to thank me. At this moment Anne of Austria returned. On her way to the apartments of her son she had met with a new empiric. This was a powder which was said to have power to save the cardinal, and she brought a portion of this powder with her. But this was not what Mazarin expected, therefore he would not even look at it, declaring that life was not worth the pains that were taken to preserve it. But, whilst professing this philosophical axiom, his long confined secret escaped him at last. That, madame, said he, that is not the interesting part of my situation. I made two days ago a little donation to the king. Up to this time, from delicacy no doubt, his Majesty has not condescended to say anything about it. But the time for explanation is come, and I implore your Majesty to tell me if the king has made up his mind on that matter. Anne of Austria was about to reply when Mazarin stopped her. The truth, madame, said he, in the name of heaven, the truth. Do not flatter a dying man with a hope that may prove vain. There he stopped, a look from Colbert telling him that he was on the wrong tack. I know, said Anne of Austria taking the cardinal's hand. I know that you have generously made not a little donation as you modestly call it, but a magnificent gift. I know how painful it would be to you if the king, Mazarin listened, dying as he was, as ten living men could not have listened. If the king, replied he, if the king, continued Anne of Austria, should not freely accept what you offer so nobly. Mazarin allowed himself to sink back upon his pillow like pantaloon. That is to say, with all the despair of a man who bows before the tempest, but he still preserved sufficient strength and presence of mind to cast upon Colbert one of those looks which are well worth ten sonnets, which is to say ten long poems. Should you not, added the queen, have considered the refusal of the king as a sort of insult? Mazarin rolled his head upon his pillow without articulating a syllable. The queen was deceived, or feigned to be deceived, by this demonstration. Therefore, resumed she, I have circumvented him with good counsels, and as certain minds, jealous no doubt of the glory you are about to acquire by this generosity, have endeavored to prove to the king that he ought not to accept this donation, I have struggled in your favour, and so well have I struggled, that you will not have, I hope, that distress to undergo. Ah! murmured Mazarin with languishing eyes. Ah! that is a service I shall never forget, for a single minute of the few hours I still have to live. I must admit, continued the queen, that it was not without trouble I rendered it to your eminence. Ha! beste! I believe that. Oh! oh! Good God, what is the matter? I am burning.  As much as one of the damned. Colbert would have liked to sink through the floor.  I think so, said the queen. Mazarin annihilated Colbert with his last look. At that moment the ushers announced that the king was in the anti-chambers, which were filled with people. This announcement produced a stir of which Colbert took advantage to escape by the door of the royal. Anavostrio rose and awaited her son standing. Louis XIV appeared at the threshold of the door, with his eyes fixed upon the dying man, who did not even think it worthwhile to notice, that majesty from whom he thought he had nothing more to expect. An usher placed an armchair close to the bed. Louis bowed to his mother, then to the cardinal, and sat down. The queen took a seat in her turn. Then, as the king looked behind him, the usher understood that look and made a sign to the courtiers who filled up the doorway to go out, which they instantly did. Silence fell upon the chamber with the velvet curtains. The king, still very young and very timid in the presence of him who had been his master from his birth, still respected him much, particularly now in the supreme majesty of death. He did not dare, therefore, to begin the conversation, feeling that every word must have its weight not only upon things of this world, but of the next. As to the cardinal, at that moment he had but one thought, his donation. It was not physical pain which gave him that air of despondency and that legubrious look. It was the expectation of the thanks that were about to issue from the king's mouth and cut off all hope of restitution. Mazarene was the first to break the silence. Is your majesty come to make any stay at Vincen? said he. Louis made an affirmative sign with his head. That is a gracious favor, continued Mazarene, granted to a dying man, and which will render death less painful to him.  Mazarene replied by a movement of the head. Your majesty is very kind, but I know more than you on that subject. The last visit, Sire. said he. The last visit. If it were so, Mr. the Cardinal, said Louis, I would come a last time to ask the councils of a guide to whom I owe everything. Anafostria was a woman. She could not restrain her tears. Louis showed himself much affected and Mazarene instilled more than his two guests but from very different motives. Here the silence returned, the queen wiped her eyes and the king resumed his firmness. I was saying, continued the king, that I owed much to your eminence. The eyes of the Cardinal devoured the king, for he felt the great moment had come. And, continued Louis, the principal object of my visit was to offer you very sincere thanks for the last evidence of friendship you have kindly sent me. The cheeks of the Cardinal became sunken, his lips partially opened, and the most lamentable sigh he had ever uttered was about to issue from his chest. Sire, said he, I shall have despoiled my poor family. I shall have ruined all who belong to me, which may be imputed to me as an error, but at least it shall not be said of me that I have refused to sacrifice everything to my king. Anafostria's tears flowed afresh. My dear Mr. Mazurine, said the king in a more serious tone than might have been expected from his youth. You have misunderstood me, apparently. Mazurine raised himself upon his elbow. I have no purpose to despoil your dear family, nor to ruin your servants. Oh no, that must never be. Thought Mazurine, he is going to restore me some scraps, and let us get the largest piece we can. The king is going to be foolishly affected and play the generous, thought the queen. He must not be allowed to impoverish himself. Such an opportunity for getting a fortune will never occur again. Sire, said the cardinal aloud, and my family is very numerous, and my nieces will be destitute when I am gone. Oh, interrupted the queen eagerly. Have no uneasiness with respect to your family, dear Mr. Mazurine. We have no friends dearer than your friends. Your nieces shall be my children, the sisters of his majesty, and if a favour be distributed in France, it shall be to those you love. Smoke! thought Mazurine, who knew better than any one the faith that can be put in the promises of kings, Louis read the dying man's thought in his face. Be comforted, my dear Mr. Mazurine, said he with a half-smile, sad beneath its irony. The Mademoiselle de Mancini will lose, in losing you, their most precious good, but they shall nonetheless be the richest heiresses of France, and since you have been kind enough to give me their dowry, the cardinal was panting. I restore it to them. Continued Louis, drawing from his breast and holding toward the cardinal's bed, the parchment which contained the donation that during two days had kept alive such tempests in the mind of Mazurine. What did I tell you, my lord? murmured in the alcove of voice which passed away like a breath. Your majesty returns my donation! cried Mazurine, so disturbed by joy as to forget his character of a benefactor. Your majesty rejects the forty millions! cried Anne of Austria, so stupefied as to forget her character of an afflicted wife or queen. Yes, my lord cardinal. Yes, madame. replied Louis XIV, tearing the parchment which Mazurine had not yet ventured to clutch. Yes, I annihilate this deed which despoiled a whole family. The wealth acquired by his eminence in my service is his own wealth and not mine. But, Sire, does your majesty reflect? said Anne of Austria, that you have not ten thousand crowns in your coffers. Madame, I have just performed my first royal action, and I hope it will worthily inaugurate my reign. Sire, you are right! cried Mazurine. That is truly great! that is truly generous which you have just done! And he looked, one after the other at the pieces of the act, spread over his bed, to assure himself that it was the original and not a copy that had been torn. At length his eyes fell upon the fragment which bore his signature, and recognizing it he sunk back on his bolster in a swoon. Anne of Austria, without strength to conceal her regret, raised her hands and eyes toward heaven. Oh, Sire! cried Mazurine. May you be blessed, my god! may you be beloved by all my family, per bucko! If ever any of those belonging to me should cause your displeasure, Sire, only frown, and I will rise from my tomb! This pantolonade did not produce all the effect Mazurine had counted upon. Louis had already passed to considerations of a higher nature, and as to Anne of Austria, unable to bear without abandoning herself to the anger she felt burning within her, the magnanimity of her son and the hypocrisy of the cardinal, she arose and left the chamber, heedless of thus betraying the extent of her grief. Mazurine saw all this in fearing that Louis XIV might repent his decision in order to draw attention another way he began to cry out, as, at a later period, Scapin was to cry out in that sublime piece of pleasantry, with which the morose and grumbling Boillot dared to reproach Molière. His cries, however, by degrees became fainter, and when Anne of Austria left the apartment, they ceased altogether. Mr. Le Cardinal, said the King, have you any recommendations to make me? Sire, replied Mazurine, you are already wisdom itself, prudence personified, and your generosity, I shall not venture to speak, that which you have just done exceeds all that the most generous men of antiquity or modern times have ever done. The King received this praise coldly. So you can find yourself, said he, to your thanks, and your experience much more extensive than my wisdom, my prudence or my generosity does not furnish you with a single piece of friendly advice to guide my future. Mazurine reflected for a moment. You have just done much for me, Sire, said he, and that is for my family. Say no more about that, said the King. Well, continued Mazurine, I shall give you something in exchange for these forty millions you have refused so royally. Louis XIV indicated by a movement that these flatteries were displeasing to him. I shall give you a piece of advice, continued Mazurine. Yes, a piece of advice, advice more precious than the forty millions. My Lord Cardinal, interrupted Louis. Sire, listen to this advice. I am listening. Come nearer, Sire, for I am weak. Nearer, Sire, nearer. The King bent over the dying man. Sire, said Mazurine, in so low a tone that the breath of his words arrived only, like a recommendation from the tomb in the attentive ears of the King. Sire, never have a Prime Minister. Louis drew back astonished. The advice was a confession, a treasure, in fact. Was that sincere confession of Mazurine? The legacy of the Cardinal to the young King was composed of six words only, but those six words, as Mazurine had said, were worth forty millions. Louis remained for an instant bewildered. As for Mazurine, he appeared only to have said something quite natural. A little scratching was heard along the curtains of the outcove. Mazurine understood. Yes, yes, cried he warmly. Yes, Sire, I recommend to you a wise man, an honest man, and a clever man. Tell me his name, my lord. His name is yet almost unknown, Sire. It is Mishorko Baer, my attendant. Oh, try him, added Mazurine, and an earnest voice. All that he has predicted has come to pass. He has a safe glance. He is never mistaken, either in things or in men, which is more surprising still. Sire, I owe you much, but I think I acquit myself of all toward you in giving you Mishorko Baer. So be it, said Louis faintly, for as Mazurine had said, the name of Ko Baer was quite unknown to him, and he thought the enthusiasm of the cardinal partook of the delirium of a dying man. The cardinal sank back on his pillows. For the present, adieu, Sire, adieu, murmured Mazurine. I am tired, and I have yet a rough journey to take before I present myself to my new master. Adieu, Sire. The young king felt the tears rise to his eyes. He bent over the dying man, already half a corpse, and then hastily retired.


and welcome back viewer normally this is where I'd apologize for subjecting you to the boiling septic pit of ignorance known as the view but apparently this is what you want to see and by what you want to see I mean another episode of holy s*** the view is so racist and by racist I mean all of you if you are white and also happen to notice that Kamala Harris gives speeches like she's stoned out of her mind because she has this tendency they call it the word salad but where she starts to almost I don't know if she's going off script and and ad-libbing or or improving and if that's the case she needs to stay on script if it's her speech writer they need to change the speech writer because when you're two years in they need to protect her more well I don't need to go to I was using that clip to show and I think everyone's seen it when she starts well we'll just show the clip then it's the significance of the passage of time right the significance of the passage of time so when you think about it there is great significance to the passage of time that's racist and she will fairly or unfairly be the most scrutinized vice president in history because she's running with the oldest vice or the oldest president running for president and she's also a black woman but I think you have to be able to fear just look at that smug look of self satisfaction she really thinks she owned her on that one she's a black woman what help I guess that about wraps that up because there's nothing else to say apparently because being black means you're above scrutiny and no offense but Kamala Harris isn't exactly a black woman she's half Jamaican and half Indian her Jamaican father was actually half white but I get it I get it making her a black woman comes with certain privileges like avoiding legitimate criticisms of the freaking vice president this is what we expect from racist sunny host and though who has a very long history of not just attacking white people who she wants compared to roaches but also other Indian people who she considers race traders like Nikki Haley along with black and Latino people who don't agree with her views I think you have to be able to fairly critique the vice president of the United States without just saying it's the color of their skin or the fact she's a woman but it is part of it what what makes you say that well we're in the United States of America well like with like someone like me saying I do you think I have legitimate policy no it's not it's it's uh would that be the same United States that gave your prissy little ass a millionaire lifestyle and your own tv show where you can be as ignorant and racist you want without fear of any pushback whatsoever it amazes me how brimming with hatred racism and paranoia she is as she accuses everyone else of being those things she hates this country and isn't afraid to say it which is just mind blowing considering her entire lavish lifestyle it's thanks to this country there's literally nothing America could do outside of ceasing to exist making her dictator or shipping all the white stool camps that would appease her it's it's it's it's not you it's just we're in the United States of America what and and and black women and this is just not me saying it I mean there have been studies black women what are these studies she knows so well but never cites or shows are considered less articulate uh they are considered uglier they are considered all of these beautiful i'm by yeah i what by you know this country and it's because of the history of course of misogyny of course see it doesn't matter how you actually think or feel or even if you vote for black men and women to lead this country you're still a racist if you have anything outside of slavish bootlegging adoration to say but sonny's not done no now she's going to tell us her theory you might call it a racist conspiracy theory I think that women white women in particular want to protect this patriarchy here because it's to their benefit they want to make sure that their husbands do well they want to make sure that their sons do well they want to make sure that their children do well and they want to make sure that they do well here's a good idea have a point wow you know so much about this entire group of people how they think how they feel and based on nothing but their skin color it's almost like we have a word for that there was a little Spanish beat a record star he thought he'd be wild to me that she just says these things out loud you got that if you're white and you want your family to do well that means you're the enemy apparently I guess we're just supposed to go away and forget our own self-interest or that other groups don't also want their families to do okay this is just crazy I'm amazed that they allow this stuff on the national airways but that's all I can take of it for now so if you enjoyed it please hit that like button share subscribe and make sure to leave a comment to help the algo rhythm thanks a lot I'll see you guys on the other one