LETTERS TO M. DE POMPONNE.

The following Letters, relating to the trial of M. Fouquet, were addressed to the Marquis de Pomponne, who was afterward Minister of Foreign Affairs.

The trial of Fouquet was not the least curious and least interesting event of the reign of Louis XIV. The plan of ruining him was laid with such odious art, and the conduct of his enemies, many of whom were his judges, was so inveterate, that it would have been impossible not to have been interested for him, even had he been more criminal than he really was. Accused and tried for financial peculations, he was sentenced to banishment for a crime against the state. His crime was a vague plan of resistance and flight into a foreign country, which he had thrown upon paper five years before, when the factions of the Fronde divided France, and when he thought he had reason to complain of the ingratitude of Cardinal Mazarin. This plan, which he had wholly forgotten, was found among the papers that were seized at his house.

It is well known that Louis XIV. was led to believe that Fouquet was a dangerous man. A guard of fifty musketeers were appointed to conduct him to the citadel of Pignerol, the king having changed the sentence of banishment into perpetual imprisonment. It was still apprehended that he had formidable friends. Among these were Pelisson and Lafontaine; one defended him eloquently, and the other bewailed his misfortunes in a very beautiful and pathetic elegy, in which he went so far as to ask the king to pardon him.

LETTER I.

To-day, Monday, November the 17th, 1664, M. Fouquet was brought a second time before the chancellor. He seated himself without ceremony upon the sellette,[264] as he had done the first time. The chancellor began by bidding him hold up his hand. He replied, that he had already assigned the reasons which prevented him from taking the oath. The chancellor then made a long speech to prove the legal authority of the court, that it had been established by the king, and that the warrants had been confirmed by the parliament.

M. Fouquet replied, that things were often done under the name of legal authority which were found upon reflection to be unjust.

The chancellor interrupted him: “What! do you mean to say that the king abuses his power?” M. Fouquet replied, “It is you, sir, who say it, not I; this was not my idea, and, in my present situation, I can not but wonder at your wishing to implicate me still further with his majesty; but, sir, you yourself well know that we may be mistaken. When you sign a sentence, you believe it just, yet the next day you annul that sentence; thus you see it is possible to change our opinion.”

“But,” said the chancellor, “though you will not acknowledge the power of the court, you answer and put interrogatories, and you are now upon the sellette.” “It is true, I am so,” he replied, “but it is not voluntarily; I am brought here against my will; it is a power I must obey, and a mortification which God has inflicted upon me, and which I receive from his hands; after the services I have rendered, and the offices I have had the honor to bear, I might have been spared this humiliation.”

The chancellor then continued the examination respecting the pension of the gabelles, to which the replies of M. Fouquet were extremely satisfactory. The examination will proceed, and I shall send you a faithful account of it; I am anxious to know whether my letters come safely to your hands.

Your sister, who is with our ladies at the Faubourg, has signed; she is now with the community, and seems perfectly satisfied.

Your aunt does not appear at all displeased with her; I did not think it was she who had taken the leap, but some other person. You know, of course, of our defeat at Gigeri,[265] and as those who formed the plan wish to throw the failure upon those who executed it, they intend to bring Gadagne to trial. There are some who will be satisfied with nothing less than his head; but the public is persuaded that he could not have advised otherwise than he did. M. d’Aleth, who excommunicated the subaltern officers of the king, who were for compelling the clergy to sign, is very much talked of here. This will ruin him with your father, while it will bring him into favor with Père Annat.[266]

Adieu! The desire of gossiping has seized me, but I must not yield to it; the narrative style should be concise.

LETTER II.

Friday, November 20, 1664.

M. Fouquet was examined this morning respecting the gold mark; he answered extremely well; several of the judges bowed to him; the chancellor reproved them and said that, as he was a Breton, it was not the custom. “It is because you are Bretons that you bow so low to M. Fouquet.” In returning on foot from the arsenal, M. Fouquet asked what the workmen were doing; he was told they were making the vase of a fountain; he went to them, and gave his opinion, and afterward returned smiling to Artagan. “You wonder, no doubt,” said he, “at my interfering, but I formerly understood these things well.” The friends of M. Fouquet, and I among the rest, are pleased at this delightful composure; others call it affectation; such is the world. Madame Fouquet, his mother, has given the queen a plaster that has cured her convulsions, which, properly speaking, were nothing but the vapors.

Many, believing what they wish, imagine that the queen will, on this account, intercede with his majesty to pardon the unfortunate prisoner; but I, who hear a great deal of the kindness of this country, do not believe a word of it. The noise the plaster has made is wonderful; every body says that Madame Fouquet is a saint, and has the power of working miracles.

To-day, the 21st, M. Fouquet has been questioned respecting the wax and sugar taxes. At certain objections that were raised, and which appeared to him ridiculous, he lost his temper. This was going a little too far, and there was a haughtiness in his manners that gave offense. He will correct himself; for this mode of proceeding is by no means advisable; but patience will sometimes escape; it seems to me as if I should have done the same.

I have been at Sainte-Marie, where I saw your aunt, who appeared to be swallowed up in devotion; she was at mass, and in quite a religious ecstasy. Your sister was looking very pretty; fine eyes, and great animation; the poor child fainted this morning; she is very much indisposed, her aunt is uniformly kind to her. M. de Paris has given her a sort of defeasance, which gained her heart, and induced her to sign the wicked formulary.[267] I have not mentioned the subject to either of them; M. de Paris[268] has forbidden it. But I must give you an idea of prejudice; our sisters of Sainte-Marie said to me, “God be praised, who has at length touched the heart of this poor child! she is now in the way of obedience and salvation.” From thence I went to Port Royal, where I found a certain great recluse[269] of your acquaintance, who accosted me with, “Well, this silly goose has signed; God, in short, has abandoned her; she is lost.” I thought I should have died with laughing, when I reflected on the different effects of prejudice; in this, you see the world in its true mirror. I think extremes should always be avoided.

Saturday evening. M. Fouquet entered the chamber this morning, and was interrogated upon the subject of grants; he was attacked weakly and defended himself ably. Between you and me, this is not the worst part of the business. Some good angel must have informed him that he had carried himself too proudly; for he altered his manner to-day, and the judges altered theirs, by not bowing to him. The examination will not be resumed till Wednesday; and I shall not write to you till then. I have only to add, that if you continue to pity me so much, for the trouble I take in writing to you, and desire me not to go on, I shall think my letters tire you, and that you do not like the fatigue of answering them; but I promise not to write such long ones in future, and I absolve you from answering them, though I prize your letters highly. After these declarations, I should think you would not attempt to interrupt the course of my gazettes. In flattering myself that I contribute a little to your pleasure, I add greatly to my own. I have so few opportunities of proving my friendship and esteem for you, that I must not neglect such as present themselves. Pray make my compliments to your family and your neighbors. The queen is much better.

LETTER III.

Monday, November 24, 1664.

If I know my own heart, it is I who am the party obliged, by your receiving so kindly the information I send you. Do you think I have no pleasure in writing to you? Believe me, I have a great deal, and am as much gratified in writing, as you can be in reading what I write. The sentiments you entertain upon the subject of my letter are very natural; hope is common to us all, without our knowing why; but it supports the heart. I dined at Sainte-Marie de Sainte-Antoine two days ago; the lady abbess related to me the particulars of four visits she has received from Puis***,[270] within the last three months, at which I am very much astonished. He came to tell her that the now blessed Bishop of Geneva (François de Sales) had been so extremely kind to him during his illness last summer, that he could not help feeling most strongly the obligations he owed him; and he requested her to obtain the prayers of the community for the deceased. He gave her, for the accomplishment of his holy purpose, a thousand crowns, and entreated her to show him the bishop’s heart. When he was at the grate, he fell upon his knees, and remained full a quarter of an hour, bathed in tears, apostrophizing this heart, and praying for a spark of the divine fire which had consumed it. The lady abbess also melted into tears; and gave him the relics of the deceased, with which he hurried away. During these visits, he appeared so earnest about his salvation, so disgusted with the court, so transported with the idea of his conversion, that a person more clear-sighted than the abbess would have been deceived. She contrived to introduce the subject of Fouquet; he answered her as a man who was interested in nothing but religion; that he was not sufficiently known; that justice would be done him, agreeably to the will of God, if from no other consideration. I never was more surprised than at this conversation. If you ask me what I think of it, I must answer, that I do not know; that it is perfectly unintelligible to me; that I can not see the drift of this comedy, nor, if it is not a comedy, how the steps he has since taken are to be reconciled with his fine speeches.

Time must explain all this, for it is at present perfectly enigmatical. Do not mention it, for the lady abbess desired me not to make the circumstance known.

I have seen M. Fouquet’s mother. She told me she had sent the plaster to the queen by Madame de Charost.[271] The effect was certainly wonderful: in less than an hour the queen felt her head relieved, and so great a discharge of offensive matter took place, that had it remained it might have suffocated her in the next fit. The queen said aloud that it was this matter which had occasioned the convulsions of the preceding night, and that Madame de Fouquet had cured her. The queen-mother thought the same, and said so to the king, who did not attend to her. The physicians, who had not been consulted in applying the plaster, withheld their sentiments on the subject, but made their court at the expense of truth. The same day, these poor women threw themselves at the feet of the king, who took no notice of them. Every body is acquainted with the circumstance of the cure; but no one knows what will come of it: we must wait the event with patience.

M. Fouquet was interrogated again this morning, but the chancellor’s manner was changed; it seems as if he were ashamed of receiving his lesson every day from Boucherat.[272] He told the reporter to read the article, upon which he wished to examine the accused; and the reading lasted so long, that it was half-past ten o’clock before it was finished. He then said, “Let Fouquet be brought in;” but corrected himself immediately by saying “M. Fouquet;” as, however, he had not directed the prisoner to be sent for, he was still at the Bastille. A messenger was then dispatched for him, and he arrived at eleven o’clock. He was questioned respecting the grants, and answered extremely well; but he was a little at a loss as to certain dates, which would have injured him considerably, if the examiner had been skillful and awake; but, instead of this, the chancellor was asleep. This was observed by M. Fouquet, who would have laughed heartily, if he had dared. At length the chancellor roused himself, and continued the examination; and though M. Fouquet rested too much on a prop that might have failed him, the event proved that he knew what he was about; for, in his misfortune, he has certain little advantages that belong exclusively to himself. If they go on slowly every day, the trial will last a long time.

I shall write to you every evening; but I shall not send my letter till Saturday or Sunday evening: it will give you an account of the proceedings of Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, and I will contrive that you shall receive one on Thursday, informing you of the proceedings of Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday: in this way your letters will not be long detained. I beg my compliments to your recluse, and to your better half. I say nothing of your dear neighbor; it will soon be my turn to give you news of her myself.

LETTER IV.

Thursday, November 21, 1664.

The examination upon the subject of the grants was resumed to-day. The chancellor kindly endeavored to drive M. Fouquet to extremities, and to embarrass him, but he did not succeed. M. Fouquet acquitted himself admirably; he did not come into the chamber of justice till eleven o’clock, because the chancellor made the reporter read as before; but in spite of this parade of justice, he said the worst he could of our poor friend. The reporter[273] always took his part, because the chancellor evidently leaned to the other side of the question. At last he said, “Here is a charge to which the accused will not be able to answer.” “And here, sir,” said the reporter, “is a plaster that will cure the weakness;” he made an excellent justification of him, and then added: “In the place in which I stand, sir, I shall always speak the truth, in whatever form it presents itself to me.”

This allusion to a plaster called forth a smile from the audience, as it reminded them of the one that has lately made so much noise at court. The accused was then brought in; he only remained an hour in court; and, on his leaving it, M. d’Ormesson was complimented by several persons upon his firmness.

I must relate to you what I myself did. Some ladies proposed to me to accompany them to a house exactly opposite the arsenal, where we could see the return of our poor friend. I was masked,[274] but my eye caught him the moment he was in view. M. d’Artagan was at his side, and fifty mousquetaires about thirty or forty steps behind him. He appeared thoughtful. The moment I saw him my legs trembled, and my heart beat so violently that I could scarcely support myself. In approaching us to re-enter his dungeon, M. d’Artagan pointed out to him that we were there, and he saluted us with the same delightful smile you have so often witnessed. I do not believe he recognized me; but I own I was strangely affected when I saw him enter the little door. If you knew the misfortune of having a heart like mine, I am sure you would pity me; but from what I know of you, I do not think you have much the advantage of me in this point. I have been to see your dear neighbor. I pity you as much at losing her as I rejoice at her being with us. We have had a good deal of conversation upon the subject of our poor friend; she has seen Sappho,[275] who has considerably raised her spirits. I shall go there to-morrow, to recruit my own; for I often feel the want of consolation; it is not that I do not hear a thousand things, that should inspire hope; but alas! my imagination is so lively, that every thing which is uncertain destroys me.

Friday, November 28.

The court opened early this morning. The chancellor said he had now to speak of the four loans: D’Ormesson observed, that it was a very unimportant affair, and one upon which no blame could be attached to M. Fouquet, as he had declared from the beginning. An attempt was made to contradict him: he begged leave to explain the matter according to his own view of it, and desired his colleagues to listen to him. The court was attentive, and he convinced them that it was a very trifling business. The accused was then ordered to be brought in; it was eleven o’clock. You will remark that he has never been more than an hour upon the sellette. The chancellor still wished to speak of the loans. M. Fouquet requested he might be allowed to state what he had omitted the day before, respecting the grants; leave was given him, and he said wonders. The chancellor asked him, “Have you had your acquittance for the employment of this sum?” He replied that he had, but that it was conjointly with other things which he had marked, and which will come in their course. “But,” said the chancellor, “at the time you received these acquittances you had not incurred the expenses?” “True,” replied M. Fouquet, “but the sums were set apart for the purpose.” “This is not enough,” said the chancellor, “Pardon me, sir,” said M. Fouquet; “when I gave you your appointments, for instance, I sometimes received the acquittance a month beforehand, and as the sum was set apart, it was exactly the same as if it had been paid.” “That is true,” said the chancellor; “I was much indebted to you.” M. Fouquet replied that he had no intention to reproach him, and that he was at that time happy to serve him; but the circumstance had occurred to his mind, as an instance in point, and he could not help making use of it.

The court has closed till Monday. They seem determined to prolong the affair as much as possible. Puis*** has promised to give the accused as few opportunities of speaking as he can. The fact is, they are afraid of him. They would, therefore, interrogate him summarily, and even pass over some of the articles; but he is determined they shall not do this, nor will he suffer them to judge his cause without his being permitted to justify himself upon every separate head of accusation. Puis*** is in continual apprehension of offending Petit. He excused himself the other day by saying that M. Fouquet had certainly spoken too long, but that he had no means of interrupting him. Ch*** is constantly behind the screen whenever the examinations take place; he hears all that is said, and offers to go to the judges and explain the reasons by which he is led to draw such opposite conclusions. All this is irregular, and shows a great inveteracy against the unfortunate prisoner. I own I have no longer any hope. Adieu, sir, till Monday. I wish you could see my heart, you would then be convinced of the sincerity of a friendship which you profess to prize.

LETTER V.

Two days ago every one believed that it was intended to protract M. Fouquet’s affair as much as possible; but now the reverse of this appears to be the case, and the interrogations are hurried over in a most extraordinary manner. This morning the chancellor took his paper and read, as he would an inventory, ten heads of accusation, without giving the accused time to reply. M. Fouquet said, “I do not wish, sir, to prolong the business, but I entreat you to give me time to answer the charges that are brought against me. You question me, and it appears as if you did not wish me to reply; but it is of consequence to me to speak. There are many articles I must explain; and it is but justice that I should answer to all those which are formally alleged against me.” The court was then obliged to attend, contrary to the wishes of the ill-disposed, who could not bear to hear him defend himself so ably. He answered extremely well to every accusation. The trial will now go on, but will be conducted so rapidly that I expect the examination will close this week. I have just been supping at the Hôtel de Nevers; the mistress of the house and I conversed a good deal upon this subject. We are uneasy to a degree, which you only can comprehend, for I have just received your letter; it surpasses even my own feelings upon the subject. You put my modesty to too great a trial in asking me upon what terms I am with you and your dear recluse. It seems to me that I see him and hear him say what you tell me. I am quite piqued that it was not I who metamorphosed Pierrot to Tartuffe;[276] it was so natural that if I had half the wit you ascribe to me, it would have flowed mechanically from my pen.

I must relate to you a little anecdote, which is perfectly true, and which can not fail to amuse you. The king has lately employed himself in making verses; Messieurs de Saint Aignan and Dangeau put him in the way of it. He wrote a little madrigal the other day with which he was not much pleased. One morning he said to Marshal de Grammont, “M. le maréchal, read this little madrigal, if you please, and tell me if you ever saw so silly a one; because it is known that I have lately been fond of poetry they bring me all the nonsense that is written.” The marshal having read it, said to the king, “Your majesty is an excellent judge of every thing: this is certainly without exception the most silly and ridiculous madrigal I ever read.” The king laughed, and continued, “Must not the writer be a great fool?” “There is no other name for him,” said the marshal. “O!” said the king, “how delighted I am that you have spoken your sentiments so freely! I am myself the author of it.” “Ah! sire, what treason have I uttered! I entreat your majesty to give it me again. I read it hastily.” “No, M. le maréchal; the first sentiments are always the most natural.” The king was very much entertained at this little frolic; but those about him thought it the most cruel thing that could be done to an old courtier. For myself, I love to make reflections, and I wish the king would reflect in like manner on this adventure, that he might see how far he is from knowing the truth. We are upon the point of experiencing a still more painful instance of royal delusion, in the repurchase of our rents, at an expense that will send us all to the workhouse. The emotion it occasions is great, but the hardship is greater. Do you not think this is undertaking too much at once? The loss of a part of my income is not the point that affects me the most.

Tuesday, December 2.

Our dear unfortunate friend spoke for two hours this morning, but so uncommonly well that several persons could not help expressing their admiration. Among others, M. de Renard said, “This man, it must be owned, is incomparable; he never spoke so well in the parliament; he maintains his self-possession better than he has ever done.” The subject was the six millions, and his own expenses. Nothing could exceed what he said. I shall write to you on Thursday and on Friday; these will be the last days of the examination, and I shall go on to the end.

God grant my last letter may contain the information I so ardently wish. Adieu, my dear sir; desire our recluse (Arnauld) to pray for our poor friend. I heartily embrace you both, and, for modesty’s sake, I include your wife.

IN CONTINUATION.

Tranquillity reigns throughout the family of the unfortunate Fouquet. It is said that M. de Nesmond declared on his death-bed, that his greatest sorrow was that he had not excepted to these two judges; that if he had lived to the end of the trial he would have repaired his fault, and that he prayed God to pardon his error.

M. Fouquet, as I observed before, spoke to-day two complete hours, upon the subject of the six millions; he commanded attention, and performed wonders. Every one was affected in his way. Puissort made gestures of disbelief and disapprobation, that shocked every honest man in court.

When M. Fouquet had done, M. Puissort rose impetuously, and said, “Thank God, it can never be said that he has not had his bellyful of speaking.” What say you to this speech? Was it not worthy of a judge? It is said that the chancellor is very much alarmed at the erysipelas that occasioned the death of M. de Nesmond, fearing there may be a repetition of the judgment in store for himself. If the apprehension could inspire him with the sentiments of a man about to appear before God, it would be something; but it will be said of him, I fear, as of Argante, e mori come visse;[277] he died as he lived.

Wednesday, December 3.

I have received your letter; it has proved to me that I have not obliged a person who is ungrateful; nothing can be more kind, nothing more gratifying. I must be wholly exempt from vanity to be insensible to such praises. I assure you, I am delighted at the good opinion you entertain of my heart, and I further assure you, without meaning compliment for compliment, that my esteem for you infinitely surpasses the power of ordinary language to express, and that I experience real pleasure and consolation in being able to inform you of events in which we are both so much interested. I am very glad your dear recluse takes her part in them; I supposed you would make them known also to your incomparable neighbor. You gratify me extremely in telling me that I have made some progress in her heart; there is no one in whose affections I would more gladly establish myself, and when I would indulge in a little gayety, I think of her and her enchanted palace. But I return to business, from which I have been insensibly led, to tell you of the sentiments I entertain for yourself and your amiable friend.

M. Fouquet was upon the sellette again to-day. The Abbé d’Effiat bowed to him, as he passed. In returning his bow, he said to him, with the same enchanting smile we have so often observed, “Sir, I am your very humble servant.” The abbé was so much affected that he could not speak.

As soon as M. Fouquet was in the chamber, the chancellor desired him to be seated. He replied, “Sir, you took advantage, yesterday, of my placing myself upon the sellette: you infer from my doing so that I acknowledge the authority of the court; as that is the case, I beg leave to stand.” The chancellor then told him he might withdraw. M. Fouquet replied, “I do not mean by this to advance any new objection; I only wish to make my protestation, as usual, and, the charge being cited against me, to be permitted to reply.”

This was agreed to. He then seated himself, and the examination respecting the pension of the gabelles was resumed, to which he replied admirably. If this mode continue, the interrogations will be favorable to him. The spirit and firmness he displays are the subject of general conversation at Paris. He has asked one thing of a friend which makes me tremble: he has entreated him to let him know his sentence, whether favorable or otherwise, in some private way, by signal, the instant it is pronounced, that he may have time to reconcile himself to his fate before it be announced to him officially; adding, that if he has half an hour to prepare himself, he shall hear without emotion the worst that can be told him. This has made me weep, and I am certain it will affect you also very painfully.

There were few persons at the examination, on account of the queen’s illness; she was supposed to be dying, but is now somewhat better. Yesterday evening she received the viaticum. It was the most affecting and solemn spectacle that can be imagined, to see the king and the whole court going for the holy sacrament, and conducting it to the palace. It was received with a profusion of lights. The queen made an effort to rise, and took it with a devotion that reduced every one to tears. It was not without difficulty that she had been brought to consent; the king was the only one who could make her listen to reason; to every other person she said that she was very willing to receive the communion, but not the viaticum; it was full two hours before she could be prevailed upon.

The general approbation that is given to M. Fouquet’s answers, is very grating to Petit.[278] It is even thought he will engage Puis*** to feign illness, in order to interrupt the torrent of admiration, and to have time himself to take breath at this, and other instances of his ill success. I am the most obedient servant of the dear recluse, of your lady, and the adorable Amalthée.

It may further be remarked that the conduct of Colbert and Le Tellier, in this business, was extremely well characterized by a criticism of the great Turenne, who interested himself warmly for Fouquet. To some one who blamed the violence of Colbert, and praised the moderation of Le Tellier, Turenne replied, “True, sir; M. Colbert has most desire that he should be hanged, and M. Le Tellier most fear lest he should not be.”

LETTER VI.

Thursday, December 4, 1664.

At length the examinations are over. M. Fouquet entered the chamber this morning. The chancellor ordered his project against the state to be read throughout. M. Fouquet spoke first upon the subject. “I believe, sir,” said he, “you can derive nothing from this paper, but the effect it has just produced, of overwhelming me with confusion.” The chancellor replied, “You have yourself heard and seen by it that your regard for the state, which you have so much insisted upon in court, was not so considerable but that you would have embroiled it from one end to the other.” “Sir,” replied M. Fouquet, “this idea occurred to me only in the height of the despair in which the cardinal often placed me; especially when, after contributing more than any man in the world to his return to France, I found myself repaid by the basest ingratitude. I had a letter from himself, and one from the queen-mother, in proof of what I say; but they have been taken away with my papers, as have several letters. It is to be lamented that I did not burn this unfortunate paper which had so completely escaped my mind and my memory that I have been nearly two years without thinking of it or knowing even that it existed. However this affair may terminate, I disown it with my whole heart, and I entreat you, sir, to believe, that my regard for the person and the service of the king has never been in the slightest degree diminished.” “It is very difficult to believe this,” said the chancellor, “when we see such contrary sentiments expressed at a different period.” M. Fouquet replied, “At no period, sir, even though at the hazard of my life, have I ever abandoned the king’s person; and at the time in question, you, sir, were at the head of the council of his enemies, and your relations gave free passage to the army against him.”

The chancellor felt this stroke; but our poor friend was irritated, and therefore not quite master of himself. The subject of his expenses was afterward introduced. “I undertake,” said he, “to prove that I have not incurred a single expense which, either by means of my private income, with which the cardinal was well acquainted, or my appointments, or my wife’s fortune, I was not able to afford; and if I do not prove this satisfactorily, I consent to be treated with the utmost ignominy.” In short, this interrogation lasted two hours; M. Fouquet defended himself ably, but with a degree of warmth and petulance; the reading of the project having ruffled him exceedingly.

When he had left the court, the chancellor said, “This is the last time we shall interrogate him.” M. Poncet then went up to the chancellor, and said, “You have made no mention, sir, of the proofs there are that he had attempted to put his project against the state into execution.” The chancellor replied, “They are not, sir, sufficiently strong; he would have refuted them too easily.” Upon which Saint Hélène and Puissort said, “Every one is not of that opinion.” This is a subject to muse upon. The rest to-morrow.

Friday, December 5.

This morning the subject of the requests was mentioned, which are of little importance except that there are persons, not ill disposed, who wish the sentence to refer to them. The business on the side of the prosecution is at an end. It is now M. d’Ormesson’s turn to speak; he is to recapitulate the several matters. This will occupy the whole of the next week, during which the time we shall pass can scarcely be called living. For myself, you would hardly know me, and I do not think I can hold out so long. M. d’Ormesson has desired me not to see him again till the business is over: he is in the conclave, and will have intercourse with no one. He affects great reserve; he listens to me, but does not answer. I had the pleasure, in bidding him adieu, to acquaint him with my sentiments. I will inform you of all I hear. God grant my last tidings may be good; I desire it fervently. I assure you we are all very much to be pitied. I mean you and I, and all who, like ourselves, are interested in the event. Adieu, my dear sir: I am so dull this evening, and my heart is so much oppressed that I must conclude.

LETTER VII.

Tuesday, December 9, 1664.

I assure you the days pass very tediously; suspense is extremely painful: but it is an evil to which the whole family of the unfortunate prisoner is habituated. I have seen, and can not sufficiently express my admiration of them. It seems as if they had never known, never read, the events that have taken place in former times. What surprises me most is, that Sappho is just like the rest; she, whose understanding and penetration are unlimited. When I reflect upon this circumstance, I persuade myself, or, at least, I wish to persuade myself, that they know more of the matter than I do. When I reason too with others, on whose judgment I can rely, and who are less prejudiced, because less interested, I find all our measures so just that it will be really a miracle if the business does not terminate according to our wishes. We are sometimes only lost by a single voice, but that voice is every thing. I remember, however, the recusations, respecting which these poor women thought themselves so sure, and we lost them by five to seventeen; since that time their confidence has been my distrust. Yet I have a little spark of hope in my heart; I hardly know from whence it comes, nor whither it would lead, nor is it sufficient to make me sleep in peace. I talked over this affair yesterday with Madame du Plessis;[279] I can see nobody, but those who will converse with me on the subject, and who are of the same opinion as myself. She hopes, as I do, without knowing the reason. “Why do you hope?” “Because I do;” this is our answer; a notable one, it must be confessed. I told her, with the greatest sincerity in the world, that if the sentence should be in conformity to our wishes, the height of my joy would be to dispatch instantly a man on horseback with the pleasing intelligence to you; and that the pleasure of picturing the delight I should give you, would render my own delight complete. She perfectly agreed with me; and our imagination gave us more than a quarter of an hour’s holiday on the occasion. I must correct my last day’s report of the examination respecting the project against the state. I related it to you exactly as I heard it; but the same person has since tasked his memory, and told it to me over again more accurately. Every body has heard it from the different judges. After M. Fouquet had said that the only effect that could be drawn from this project was the confusion the reading it had occasioned him, the chancellor observed, “You can not deny that this is a crime against the state.” “I confess, sir,” he replied, “that it is a foolish and extravagant thing, but not a crime against the state. I entreat you, gentlemen,” said he, turning toward the judges, “to suffer me to explain what constitutes a state crime; not that I consider you less capable of defining it than myself, but I have had more time perhaps than you to examine the question. A crime against the state, is when a person, holding an important office, and being in the secrets of a prince, suddenly goes over to the side of his enemy, engages his whole family in the same interests, opens the gates of a city, of which he is the governor, to the foe, shuts them against his lawful sovereign, and reveals to his enemy the secrets of the state. This, gentlemen, is what is called a state crime.” The chancellor did not know which way to look, and the judges could scarcely refrain from laughter. This is the truth without any embellishment. You will agree with me, that nothing could be more spirited, more delicate in its satire, and at the same time more diverting.

The whole kingdom knows and admires the prisoner’s reply on this occasion. He afterward entered minutely into his defense, and said what I told you before. I should have been quite unhappy if you had not known this circumstance, and our dear friend would have lost much by it. This morning M. d’Ormesson began the recapitulation. He spoke well and clearly. On Thursday he will give his opinion; his colleague will then speak for two days; it will take several more for the rest to give their opinions. Some of the judges say that they shall enlarge a great deal upon the subject, so that we have to languish in expectation till next week. In this state of suspense we can scarcely be said to live.

Wednesday, December 10.

M. d’Ormesson has continued the recapitulation; he has done wonders, that is, he has spoken with extraordinary clearness, intelligence, and ability. Puissort interrupted him five or six times, with no other intention than to embarrass him, and prevent his speaking so well: he said to him in one instance, where his argument went strongly in favor of M. Fouquet, “Sir, we shall speak after you, we shall speak after you.”

LETTER VIII.

Thursday, December 11, 1664.

M. d’Ormesson has not yet finished. When he came to the article of the gold mark, Puissort said, “This speaks strongly against the accused.” “It may be so,” said M. d’Ormesson, “but there are no proofs.” “What!” said Puissort, “have not the two officers been examined?” “No,” replied M. d’Ormesson. “It can not be,” said Puissort. “I can find no such thing in the proceedings,” said M. d’Ormesson. Upon this, Puissort rose in a fury, and said, “Sir, you ought rather to say, I find here a very gross omission.” M. d’Ormesson made no answer, but if Puissort had addressed another word to him, he would have replied, “I am here, sir, as a judge, and not as an informer.” You may remember what I once said to you at Fresne, that M. d’Ormesson would not discover the omission till there was no remedy. The chancellor also interrupted M. d’Ormesson several times; he told him it was not necessary to speak of the project. This must be from malice; for many will suppose it a great crime, and the chancellor would be glad that the proofs, which are truly ridiculous, should be withheld, that the idea which prevails might not be weakened. As, however, it is one of the articles of the indictment, M. d’Ormesson will not omit it. He will finish to-morrow. Sainte-Hélène will speak on Saturday. On Monday the two reporters will give their opinion, and on Tuesday, the whole committee will assemble early in the morning, and not separate till judgment be passed. I tremble when I think of this day. The hopes of the family are very sanguine. Foucault goes about every where, and shows a writing of the king’s, in which he is made to say that he should think it very improper if any of the judges leaned toward the prisoner, from the circumstance of his papers being taken away; that it was he who ordered it to be done; that there is not one that can be of use to the prisoner in his defense; that they are papers that relate merely to his office; and that he makes this known that the judges may not draw improper inferences. What say you to this magnanimous proceeding? Are you not grieved that a prince, who would love justice and truth if he were left to himself, should be prevailed upon to act thus? He said the other day at his levee, that Fouquet was a dangerous man; this has been put into his head by some one. In short, our enemies no longer keep within bounds; they run at full speed; threats, promises, every thing is resorted to; but if God be on our side, we shall be stronger than they. You will perhaps have another letter from me; if we have good news, I shall dispatch an express to you, with all possible expedition; but how I shall act, or what will become of me, in any other case, I am at a loss to conjecture. A thousand compliments to our recluse, and to your better half. Pray earnestly to God for our friend.

Saturday, December, 13.

After having fixed and changed, and fixed and changed again, it was at length resolved that M. d’Ormesson should give his opinion to-day; that Sunday might pass over, and Sainte-Hélène begin anew on Monday, which would make a stronger impression. M. d’Ormesson’s opinion was, that the accused should be sentenced to perpetual banishment, and his property confiscated to the king. M. d’Ormesson has by this means established his reputation as a judge. The sentence is a little severe,[280] but let us pray that no worse counsel may be given; it is always glorious to be the first in an assault.

LETTER IX.

Wednesday, December 17, 1664.

You languish, my dear friend, after intelligence, and so do we. I was sorry I sent you word that judgment would be pronounced on Tuesday; for, not hearing from me, you must have thought it was all over; but our hopes are as strong as ever. I informed you, on Saturday, in what way M. d’Ormesson had reported the cause, and how he had voted, but I did not sufficiently express the extraordinary esteem he has acquired by his conduct in this business. I have heard several of this profession say that his speech was a master-piece; that he explained himself with great clearness, and rested his opinion upon the most convincing arguments: it was eloquence and grace combined. In short, no man had ever a finer opportunity of making himself known, and no man ever made a better use of it. If he had wished to open his door to congratulations, his house would have been crowded; but he was too modest for this, and kept out of the way. His colleague, Sainte-Hélène, indignant at his success, spoke on Monday and Tuesday. He resumed the affair weakly and miserably, reading what he had to say, without adding any new circumstance or giving a different turn to it. He voted, but did not assign his reasons, that M. Fouquet should lose his head for his crime against the state; and to gain votes on his side, he played the Normand, and alleged that it was probable the king, who alone could do it, would remit the sentence and pardon him. It was yesterday he performed this brilliant action, at which we were as much grieved as we had before been satisfied with the conduct of M. d’Ormesson.

This morning Puissort spoke for four hours, but with so much vehemence, fury, rage, and rancor, that several of the judges were shocked; and it is thought his intemperance will do more good than harm to our poor friend. He even redoubled his violence toward the end, and said, upon the subject of the crime against the state, that the example of a certain Spaniard, who had so great a horror for a rebel that he ordered his house to be burned, because Charles of Bourbon had passed through it, ought to make us blush at our moderation; that we had much greater reason to hold in abhorrence the crime of M. Fouquet; that the halter and the gibbet were the only proper punishments for him; but that, in consideration of the high offices he had held, and the noble families to which he was related, he would relax his opinion, and vote with M. de Sainte-Hélène, that he be beheaded.

What say you to this moderation? Is it because he is the uncle of M. de Nesmond, and was excepted against, that he conducts himself so generously? For my part, I can scarcely contain myself when I think of this scandalous proceeding. I do not know whether judgment will be pronounced to-morrow, or the business be protracted to the end of the week. We have still many difficulties to encounter: but perhaps some one will side with M. d’Ormesson, whose opinion at present stands alone.

But I have to beg your attention to two or three little incidents, which are no less extraordinary than true. In the first place, then, a comet made its appearance about four days ago. It was announced, at first, by some women only, who were laughed at for their pains; but it has now been seen by every one. M. d’Artagan sat up last night, and saw it very distinctly. M. de Neuré, a great astronomer, says it is of considerable magnitude. M. du Foin has seen it, with three or four other learned men. I have not seen it myself, but I intend sitting up to-night for the purpose: it appears about three o’clock. I tell you of this, ignorant whether you will be pleased or displeased with the intelligence.

Berrier, in the literal sense of the word, is become mad; he has been bled profusely, and is in a perfect frenzy. He raves of wheels and gibbets, and has even mentioned particular trees; he declares he is going to be hanged, and makes so dreadful a noise that his keepers are obliged to chain him. This is evidently a judgment of Providence, and a very just one. A criminal of the name of Lamothe, who was in prison and about to be tried, has deposed that Messrs. de B***,[281] C***, and B*** (they add also Puissort, or Poncet, but of him I am not so certain) urged him several times to implicate M. Fouquet and Lorme, promising if he would do so that they would obtain his pardon; but he refused, and published the circumstance in court, before his trial took place. He was condemned to the galleys. The wife and mother of M. Fouquet have procured a copy of the deposition, and will present it to-morrow at the chamber. Perhaps it will not be received, because the judges are now giving their opinions; but it may be made known, and must produce a strong impression on the court. Is not all this very extraordinary?

I must tell you, also, of a heroic act of Masnau. He had been dangerously ill, for a whole week, of a bladder complaint; he took a variety of medicines, and was at last bled, at midnight. The next morning, at seven o’clock, he insisted on being carried to the chamber of justice, where he suffered the most excruciating pain. The chancellor saw him turn pale, and said, “This is not a fit place for you, sir; you had better retire.” “True, sir,” he replied, “but I may as well die here.” The chancellor perceiving him ready to faint, and finding him bent upon remaining, said, “Well, sir, retire; we will wait for you.” Upon this he went out for a quarter of an hour, during which time he passed two stones, of so enormous a size, that it might be considered as a miracle, if men were deserving that God should work miracles in their favor. This worthy man then returned into court, gay and cheerful, every one astonished at the adventure.

This is all I know. Every body is interested in this weighty affair. Nothing else is talked of. Men reason, infer, calculate, pity, fear, wish, hate, admire, are overwhelmed; in short, my dear sir, our present situation is a most singular one; but the resignation and firmness of our dear unfortunate friend is perfectly heavenly. He knows every day what passes, and every day volumes might be written in his praise. I beg you to thank your father[282] for the gratifying note he has written me, and the charming works he sent me. I have read them, though my head feels, alas, as if it were split into pieces. Tell him I am delighted he loves me a little—a great deal, I mean—and that I love him still more. I have received your last letter; alas! you overpay so abundantly the trifling services I render you, that I remain your debtor.

LETTER X.

Friday, December 19, 1664.

This is a day which gives us great hopes; but I must go back in my story. I told you that M. Puissort had, on Wednesday, voted for the death of our friend; on Thursday, Nogués, Gisaucourt, Feriol, and Péraut, voted in the same way. Roquesante concluded the day, and, after speaking well for an hour, sided with M. d’Ormesson. This morning our hopes have sailed before the wind, for several votes that were doubtful have been given: Toison, Masnau, Verdier, La Baume, and Catinet, and all in favor of M. d’Ormesson’s opinion.[283] It was then Poncet’s turn to speak; but, thinking that those who remained were almost all disposed to be lenient, he would not begin, though it was only eleven o’clock. It is thought he wishes to consult with some one what he shall say, and that he is not willing to bring disgrace upon himself, and consign a man to death unnecessarily. Such is our present situation, and, though so favorable a one, our joy is not complete; for you must know that M. N. is so enraged, that we expect some unjust and atrocious proceeding in consequence, that will plunge us again into despair. But for this, my dear sir, we should have the satisfaction of seeing our friend, though unfortunate, yet safe, as far as his life is concerned, which is a great thing. We shall see what will happen to-morrow. We are now seven to six. Le Feron, Moussy, Brillac, Bénard, Renard, Voisin, Pontchartrain, and the chancellor, have not yet voted; but of these, we shall have by far the greater number.

Saturday.

Fall on your knees, sir, and return thanks to God; the life of our poor friend is saved. Thirteen were of M. d’Ormesson’s opinion, and nine of Sainte-Hélène’s. I am almost wild with joy.

Sunday evening.

I was sadly afraid some other person would have the pleasure of communicating to you the joyful tidings. My courier was not very diligent; he said, on setting out, that he would sleep no where but at Livri; he assures me, however, he was the first that arrived. Heavens! how gratifying must the intelligence have been to you! How inconceivably sweet are the moments that relieve the heart on a sudden from the anguish of so painful a suspense! It will be a long time before I shall lose the joy I received yesterday. It was, in reality, too great—too much, almost, for me to bear. The poor man learned the news by signals, a few moments after judgment was pronounced, and I dare say felt it in all its extent. This morning the king sent the Chevalier du Guet to the mother and wife of M. Fouquet, recommending them both to go to Montluçon in Auvergne, the marquis and Marchioness of Charost to Ancenis, and the young Fouquet to Joinville in Champagne. The good old lady sent word to the king that she was seventy-two years of age; that she besought his majesty not to deprive her of her only remaining son, the support of her life, which apparently was drawing near its close. The prisoner does not yet know his sentence. It is said he will be taken, to-morrow, to Pignerol, for the king has changed his banishment into imprisonment. His wife, contrary to all rule, is not permitted to see him. But let not this proceeding abate the least particle of your joy; mine, if possible, is increased; for I see in this more clearly the greatness of our victory. I shall faithfully relate to you the sequel of this curious history. I have given you what has passed to-day; the rest to-morrow.

Tuesday evening.

This morning, at ten o’clock, M. Fouquet was conducted to the chapel of the Bastille. Foucault held the sentence in his hand. “You must tell me your name, sir,” said he, “that I may know whom I address.” M. Fouquet replied, “You know very well who I am; and as for my name, I will not give it here, as I refused to give it at the chamber of justice; by the same rule, also, I protest against the sentence you are going to read to me.” What passed being written down, Foucault put on his hat and read the sentence; M. Fouquet heard it uncovered. Pecquet and Lavalée[284] were afterward separated from him, and the cries and tears of these poor men melted every heart that was not of iron; they made so strange a noise that M. d’Artagnan was obliged to go and comfort them; for it seemed to them as if a sentence of death had just been read to their master. They were both lodged in the Bastille, and it is not known what will be done with them.

M. Fouquet went to the apartment of M. d’Artagnan: while he was there, he saw M. d’Ormesson, who came for some papers that were in the hands of M. d’Artagnan, pass by the window. On perceiving him, M. Fouquet saluted him with an open countenance, expressive of joy and gratitude; he even cried out to him that he was his humble servant. M. d’Ormesson returned the salutation with very great civility, and came with grief of heart to tell me what had passed.

At eleven o’clock a coach was ready, into which M. Fouquet entered, with four guards. M. d’Artagnan was on horseback with fifty musqueteers; he will escort him to Pignerol, where he will leave him in prison, in the care of a man of the name of St. Mars, who is a very honest fellow: he will have fifty soldiers to guard his prisoner. I do not know whether another servant has been allowed our friend; you can form no idea how cruel the circumstance of taking Pecquet and Lavalée from him appears to every one: some even go so far as to draw dreadful inferences from it. May God preserve him, as he has hitherto done: in him we must put our trust, and leave our friend to the protection of that Providence which has been so gracious to him. They still refuse him his wife, but have permitted the mother to remain at Parc, with the abbess her daughter. L’Ecuyer will follow his sister-in-law; he has declared that he has no other means of subsistence. M. and Madame de Charost are going immediately to Ancenis. M. Bailly, the attorney-general, has been turned out of office, for having said to Gisaucourt, before judgment was pronounced, that he ought to retrieve the honor of the Grand Council, which would be disgraced if C***, Poncet, and himself acted together in the business. I am sorry for this upon your account: it is a rigorous measure. Tantæne animis cœlestibus iræ?[285]

But no, it does not mount so high as that. Such harsh and low revenge can not proceed from a heart like that of our monarch’s. His name is employed, and, as you see, profaned. I will let you know the rest: how much better could we converse upon these things! it is impossible to communicate by letter all we have to say. Adieu, my dear sir, I have not so much modesty as you, and, without taking refuge in the crowd, I assure you I love and esteem you highly. I have seen the comet; its train is of a beautiful length. I partly found my hopes on it. A thousand compliments to your dear wife.

Tuesday.

I send you something to amuse you for a few minutes. You will certainly find it worth reading. It is charity to entertain you both in your solitude. If the friendship I bear the father and the son were a remedy against dullness, it is an evil of which you would never have to complain. I am just come from a place where, it seems, I have renewed this sentiment, by talking of you with five or six persons, male and female, who, like me, rank themselves among your friends; it was at the Hôtel de Nevers. Your wife was of the party; she will tell you of the delightful little comedians we met there. I believe our dear friend is arrived, but I have had no certain intelligence. It is only known that M. d’Artagnan, continuing his obliging manners, gave him the necessary fur clothing, that he might pass the mountains without inconvenience. I know also that M. d’Artagnan has received letters from the king, and that he told M. Fouquet to keep up his spirits and his courage, and that every thing would go well. We are always looking forward to some mitigation, and I in particular: hope has been too kind for me to abandon it. Whenever I see the king at our ballets, these two lines of Tasso come into my head:

But I care not to despond: we must follow the example of our poor prisoner; he is tranquil and gay; let us be so too. It will give me real pleasure to see you here. I can not think your exile will be of long duration. Assure your good father of my affection; I can not help expressing myself thus; and let me know your opinion of the stanzas. Some of them are admired, as well as some of the couplets.

FAVORABLE.

D’Ormesson, Le Feron, Moussy, Brillac, Renard,

Benard, Roquesante, La Toison, La Baume, Verdier,

Masnau, Catinet, Pontchartrain.

ADVERSE.

St. Hélène, Puissort, Gisaucourt, Feriol, Nogués,

Heraut, Poncet, Père Seguier, The Chancellor.

Hoole’s Translation.

LETTER XI.

Thursday Evening, January, 1665.

At length, the mother, the daughter-in-law, and the brother have obtained leave to be together; they are going to Montluçon in the heart of Auvergne. The mother had permission to go to Parc-aux-Dames to her daughter, but her daughter-in-law has prevailed on her to accompany her. M. and Madame de Charost are on their way to Ancenis. Pecquet and Lavalée are still in the Bastille. Can any thing be more dreadful than this injustice? They have given M. Fouquet another servant. M. d’Artagnan was his only comfort in his journey. It is said that the person who is to have the care of him at Pignerol is a very worthy creature. God grant he may be so! or rather, God protect our friend! He has already protected him so visibly that we ought to think he has an especial care of him. La Forêt, his old esquire, accosted him as he was going away. “I am delighted to see you,” said Fouquet to him; “I know your fidelity and affection: tell my wife and mother not to despair, that my courage remains, and that I am in good health.” Is not this admirable? Adieu, my dear sir; let us be like him; let us have courage, and dwell on the joy occasioned by the glorious sentence of Saturday.

Madame de Grignan is dead.[287]

Friday Evening.

It seems, by your thanks, as if you were giving me my dismissal; but I will not receive it yet. I intend to write to you whenever I please, and as soon as I have the verses from Pont-neuf, I shall send them to you. Our dear friend is still upon the road: it was reported that he had been ill; every body exclaimed, “What! already?” It was reported also that M. d’Artagnan had sent to court to know what he was to do with his sick prisoner, and that he had been answered unfeelingly, that he must proceed with him, however ill he might be. This is all false: but it shows the general feeling, and the danger of furnishing materials with which to build whatever horrid castles we please. Pecquet and Lavalée are still in the Bastille: this conduct is truly unaccountable. The chamber will be resumed after the Epiphany.

I should think the poor exiles must be arrived ere this at the place of their destination. When our poor friend has reached his, I will inform you; for we must follow him to Pignerol: would to God we could bring him thence to the place we wish![288] And how much longer, my dear sir, will be your exile? I often think of this. A thousand compliments to your father. I have been told your wife is here: I shall call upon her. I supped last night with one of your lady friends, and we talked of paying you a visit.