From the Memoirs of a Minister of France

S >> Stanley Weyman >> From the Memoirs of a Minister of France

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Baffled in the only direction in which I could hope for success,
I had to confess my defeat to the King, whose curiosity was only
piqued the more by the rebuff. He adjured me not to let the
matter drop, and, suggesting a number of persons among whom I
might possibly find the unknown, proposed also some theories. Of
these, one that the benevolent was a disguised lady, who
contrived in this way to give the rein at once to gallantry and
charity, pleased him most; while I favoured that which had first
occurred to me on the night of our sally, and held the unknown to
be a clever rascal, who, to serve his ends, political or
criminal, was corrupting the commonalty, and drawing people into
his power.

Things remained in this state some weeks, and, growing no wiser,
I was beginning to think less of the affair--which, of itself,
and apart from a whimsical interest which the King took in it,
was unimportant--when one day, stopping in the Quartier du Marais
to view the works at the new Place Royale, I saw the boy. He was
in charge of a decent-looking servant, whose hand he was holding,
and the two were gazing at a horse that, alarmed by the heaps of
stone and mortar, was rearing and trying to unseat its rider.
The child did not see me, and I bade Maignan follow him home, and
learn where he lived and who he was.

In an hour my equerry returned with the information I desired.
The child was the only son of Fauchet, one of the Receivers-
General of the Revenue; a man who kept great state in the largest
of the old-fashioned houses in the Rue de Bethisy, where he, had
lately entertained the King. I could not imagine anyone less
likely to be concerned in treasonable practices; and, certain
that I had made no mistake in the boy, I was driven for a while
to believe that some servant had, perverted the child to this
use. Presently, however, second thoughts, and the position of
the father, taken, perhaps, with suspicions that I had for a long
time entertained of Fauchet--in common with most of his kind--
suggested an explanation, hitherto unconsidered. It was not an
explanation very probable at first sight, nor one that would have
commended itself to those who divide all men by hard and fast
rules and assort them like sheep. But I had seen too much of the
world to fall into this mistake, and it satisfied me. I began by
weighing it carefully; I procured evidence, I had Fauchet
watched; and, at length, one evening in August, I went to the
Louvre.

The King was dicing with Fernandez, the Portuguese banker; but I
ventured to interrupt the game and draw him aside. He might not
have taken this well, but that my first word caught his
attention.

"Sire," I said, "the shutter is open."

He understood in a moment. "St. Gris!" He exclaimed with
animation. "Where? At the same house?"

"No, sire; in the Rue Cloitre Notre Dame."

"You have got him, then?"

"I know who he is, and why he is doing this."

"Why?" the King cried eagerly.

"Well, I was going to ask for your Majesty's company to the
place," I answered smiling. "I will undertake that you shall be
amused at least as well as here, and at a cheaper rate."

He shrugged his shoulders. "That may very well be," he said with
a grimace. "That rogue Pimentel has stripped me of two thousand
crowns since supper. He is plucking Bassompierre now.

Remembering that only that morning I had had to stop some
necessary works through lack of means, I could scarcely restrain
my indignation. But it was not the time to speak, and I
contented myself with repeating my request. Ashamed of himself,
he consented with a good grace, and bidding me go to his:
closet, followed a few minutes later. He found me cloaked to the
eyes, and with a soutane and priest's hat; on my arm. "Are those
for me?" he said.

"Yes, sire."

"Who am I, then?"

"The cure of St. Germain."

He made a wry face. "Come, Grand Master," he said; "he died
yesterday. Is not the jest rather grim?"

"In a good cause," I said equably.

He flashed a roguish look at me. "Ah!" he said, "I thought that
that was a wicked rule which only we Romanists avowed. But,
there; don't be angry. I am ready."

Coquet, the Master of the Household, let us out by one of the
river gates, and we went by the new bridge and the Pont St.
Michel. By the way I taught the King the role I wished him to
play, but without explaining the mystery; the opportune
appearance of one of my agents who was watching the end of the
street bringing Henry's remonstrances to a close.

"It is still open?" I said.

"Yes, your excellency."

"Then come, sire," I said, "I see the boy yonder. Let us ascend,
and I will undertake that before you reach the street again you
shall be not only a wiser but a richer sovereign."

"St. Gris!" he answered with alacrity. Why did you not say that
before, and I should have asked no questions. On, on, in God's
name, and the devil take Pimentel!"

I restrained the caustic jest that rose to my lips, and we
proceeded in silence down the street. The boy, whom I had espied
loitering in a doorway a little way ahead, as if the great bell
above us which had just tolled eleven had drawn him out, peered
at us a moment askance; and then, coming forward, accosted us.
But I need not detail the particulars of a conversation which was
almost word for word the same as that which had passed in the Rue
de la Pourpointerie; suffice it that he made the same request
with the same frank audacity, and that, granting it, we were in a
moment following hint up a similar staircase.

"This way, messieurs, this way!" he said; as he had on that
other night, while we groped our way upwards in the dark. He
opened a door, and a light shone out; and we entered a room that
seemed, with its bare walls and rafters, its scanty stool and
table and lamp, the very counterpart of that other room. In one
wall appeared the dingy curtains of an alcove, closely drawn; and
the shutter stood open, until, at the child's request, expressed
in the same words, I went to it and closed it.

We were both so well muffled up and disguised, and the light of
the lamp shining upwards so completely distorted the features,
that I had no fear of recognition, unless the King's voice
betrayed him. But when he spoke, breaking the oppressive silence
of the room, his tone was as strange and hollow as I could wish.

"The shutter is closed," be said; "but the shutter of God's mercy
is never closed!"

Still, knowing that this was the crucial moment, and that we
should be detected now if at all, I found it; an age before the
voice behind the curtains answered "Amen!" and yet another age
before the hidden speaker continued "Who are you?"

"The cure of St. Germain," Henry responded.

The man behind the curtains gasped, and they were for a moment
violently agitated, as if a hand seized them and let them go
again. But I had reckoned that the unknown, after a pause of
horror, would suppose that he had heard amiss and continue his
usual catechism. And so it proved. In a voice that shook a
little, he asked, "Whom do you bring to me?"

"A sinner," the King answered.

"What has he done?"

"He will tell you."

"I am listening," the unknown said.

The light in the basin flared up a little, casting dark shadows
on the ceiling, and at the same moment the shutter, which I had
failed to fasten securely, fell open with a grinding sound. One
of the curtains swayed a little in the breeze, "I have robbed my
master," I said, slowly.

"Of how much?"

"A hundred and twenty thousand crowns."

The bed shook until the boards creaked under it; but this time no
hand grasped the curtains. Instead, a strained voice--thick and
coarse, yet differing from that muffled tone which we had heard
before--asked, "Who are you?"

"Jules Fauchet."

I waited. The King, who understood nothing but had listened to
my answers with eager attention, and marked no less closely the
agitation which they caused in the unknown, leant forward to
listen. But the bed creaked no more; the curtain hung still;
even the voice, which at last issued from the curtains, was no
more like the ordinary accents of a man than are those which he
utters in the paroxysms of epilepsy. "Are you--sorry?" the
unknown muttered--involuntarily, I think; hoping against hope;
not daring to depart from a formula which had become second
nature. But I could fancy him clawing, as he spoke, at his
choking throat.

France, however, had suffered too long at the hands of that race
of men, and I had been too lately vilified by them to feel much
pity; and for answer I lifted a voice that to the quailing wretch
must have been the voice of doom. "Sorry?" I said grimly. "I
must be--or hang! For to-morrow the King examines his books, and
the next day I--hang!"

The King's hand was on mine, to stop me before the last word was
out; but his touch came too late. As it rang through the room
one of the curtains before us was twitched aside, and a face
glared out, so ghastly and drawn and horror-stricken, that few
would have known it for that of the wealthy fermier, who had
grown sleek and fat on the King's revenues. I do not know
whether he knew us, or whether, on the contrary, he found this
accusation, so precise, so accurate, coming from an unknown
source, still more terrible than if he had known us; but on the
instant he fell forward in a swoon.

"St. Gris!" Henry cried, looking on the body with a shudder,
"you have killed him, Grand Master! It was true, was it?"

"Yes, sire," I answered. "But he is not dead, I think." And
going to the window I whistled for Maignan, who in a minute came
to us. He was not very willing to touch the man, but I bade him
lay him on the bed and loosen his clothes and throw water on his
face; and presently M. Fauchet began to recover.

I stepped a little aside that he might not see me, and
accordingly the first person on whom his eyes lighted was the
King, who had laid aside his hat and cloak, and taken the
terrified and weeping child on his lap. M. Fauchet stared at him
awhile before he recognised him; but at last the trembling man
knew him, and tottering to his feet, threw himself on his knees,
looking years older than when I had last seen him in the street.

"Sire," he said faintly, "I will make restitution."

Henry looked at him gravely, and nodded. "It is well," he said.
"You are fortunate, M. Fauchet; for had this come to my ears in
any other way I could not have spared you. You will render your
accounts and papers to M. de Sully to-morrow, and according as
you are frank with him you will be treated."

Fauchet thanked him with abject tears, and the King rose and
prepared to leave. But at the door a thought struck him, and he
turned. "How long have you done this?" he said, indicating the
room by a gesture, and speaking in a gentler tone.

"Three years, sire," the wretched man answered.

"And how much have you distributed?"

"Fifteen hundred crowns, sire."

The King cast an indescribable look at me, wherein amusement,
scorn, and astonishment were all blended. "St. Gris! man!" he
said, shrugging his shoulders and drawing in his breath sharply,
"you think God is as easily duped as the King! I wish I could
think so."

He did not speak again until we were half-way back to the Louvre;
when he opened his mouth to announce his intention of rewarding
me with a tithe of the money recovered. It was duly paid to me,
and I bought with it part of the outlying lands of Villebon--
those, I mean, which extend towards Chartres. The rest of the
money, notwithstanding all my efforts, was wasted here and there,
Pimentel winning thirty crowns of the King that year. But the
discovery led to others of a similar character, and eventually
set me on the track of a greater offender, M. l'Argentier, whom I
brought to justice a few months later.

IX. THE MAID OF HONOUR.

In accordance with my custom I gave an entertainment on the last
day of this year to the King and Queen; who came to the Arsenal
with a numerous train, and found the diversions I had provided so
much to their taste that they did not leave until I was half dead
with fatigue, and like to be killed with complaisance. Though
this was not the most splendid entertainment I gave that year, it
had the good fortune to please; and in a different and less
agreeable fashion is recalled to my memory by a peculiar chain of
events, whereof the first link came under my eyes during its
progress.

I have mentioned in an earlier part of these memoirs, a
Portuguese adventurer who, about this time, gained large sums
from the Court at play, and more than once compelled the King to
have recourse to me. I had the worst opinion of this man, and
did not scruple to express it on several occasions; and this the
more, as his presumption fell little short of his knavery, while
he treated those whom he robbed with as much arrogance as if to
play with him were an honour. Holding this view of him, I was
far from pleased when I discovered that the King had brought him
to my house; but the feeling, though sufficiently strong, sank to
nothing beside the indignation and disgust which I experienced
when, the company having fallen to cards after supper, I found
that the Queen had sat down with him to primero.

It did not lessen my annoyance, that I had, after my usual
fashion, furnished the Queen with a purse for her sport; and in
this way found myself reduced to stand by and see my good money
pass into the clutches of this knave. Under the circumstances,
and in my own house, I could do nothing; nevertheless, the table
at which they sat possessed so strong a fascination for me that I
several times caught myself staring at it more closely than was
polite; and as to disgust at the unseemliness of such
companionship was added vexation at my own loss, I might have
gone farther towards betraying my feelings if a casual glance
aside had not disclosed to me the fact that I did not stand alone
in my dissatisfaction; but that, frivolous as the majority of the
courtiers were, there was one at least among those present who
viewed this particular game with distaste.

This person stood near the door, and fancying himself secured
from observation, either by his position or his insignificance,
was glowering on the pair in a manner that at another time must
have cost him a rebuke. As it was, I found something friendly,
as well as curious, in his fixed frown; and ignorant of his name,
though I knew him by sight, wondered both who he was and what was
the cause of his preoccupation.

On the one point I had no difficulty in satisfying myself.
Boisrueil, who presently passed, told me that his name was
Vallon; that he belonged to a poor but old family in the
Cotentin, and that he had been only three months at court.

"Making his fortune, I suppose?" I said grimly. "He games?"

"No, your excellency."

"Is in debt?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"To whom does he pay his court, then?"

"To the King."

"And the Queen?"

"Not particularly--as far as I know, at least. But if you wish
to know more, M. le Duc," Boisrueil continued, "I will--"

"No, no," I said peevishly. The Queen had just handed her last
rouleau across the table, and was still playing. "Go, man, about
your business; I don't want to spend the evening gossiping with
you."

He went, and I dismissed the young fellow from my mind; only to
find him five minutes later at my elbow. To youth and good looks
he added a modest bearing that did not fail to enhance them and
commend him to me; the majority of the young sparks of the day
being wiser than their fathers. But I confess that I was not
prepared for the stammering embarrassment with which he addressed
me--nor, indeed, to be addressed by him at all.

"M. de Sully," he said, in a tone of emotion, "I beg you to
pardon me. I am in great trouble, and I think that perhaps,
stranger as I am, you may condescend to do me a service."

So many men appeal to a minister with some such formula on their
lips, and at times with a calculated timidity, that at the first
blush of his request I was inclined to bid him come to me at the
proper time; and to remove to another part of the room. But
curiosity, playing the part of his advocate, found so much that
was candid in his manner that I hesitated. "What is it?" I said
stiffly.

"A very slight, if a very unusual, one," he muttered. "M. le
Duc, I only want you to--"

"To?" for he stopped and seemed unable to go on.

"To supplement the present you have given to the Queen with
this," he blurted out, his face pale with emotion; and he
stealthily held out to me a green silk purse, through the meshes
of which I saw the glint of gold. "M. de Sully," he continued,
observing my hasty movement, "do not be offended! I know that
you have done all that hospitality required. But I see that the
Queen has already lost your gift, and that--"

She is playing on credit?"

"Yes, Monsieur."

He said it simply, and as he spoke, he again pressed on me the
purse. I took and weighed it, and calculated at a guess that it
held fifty crowns. The sum astonished me. "Why, man," I said,
"you are not mad enough to be in love with her Majesty?"

"No!" he cried, vehemently, yet with a gleam of humour in his
eye. "I swear that it is not so. If you will do me this favour
--"

It was a mad impulse that took me, but I nodded, and resolving to
make good the money out of my own pocket should the case, when
all was clear, seem to demand it, I went straight from him, and,
crossing the floor, laid the purse near her Majesty's hand, with
a polite word of regret that fortune had used her so ill, and a
hope that this might be the means of recruiting her forces.

It would not have surprised me had she shown some signs of
consciousness, and perhaps betrayed that she recognised the
purse. But she contented herself with thanking me prettily, and
almost before I had done speaking had her slender fingers among
the coins. Turning, I found that Vallon had disappeared; so that
all came to a sudden stop; and with the one and the other, I
retired completely puzzled, and less able than before to make
even a guess at the secret of the young man's generosity.

However, the King summoning me to him, there, for the time, was
an end of the matter: and between fatigue and the duties of my
position, I did not give a second thought to it that evening.
Next morning, too, I was taken up with the gifts which it was my
privilege as Master of the Mint to present to the King on New
Year's Day, and which consisted this year of medals of gold,
silver, and copper, bearing inscriptions of my own composition,
together with small bags of new coins for the King, the Queen,
and their attendants.

These I always made it a point to offer before the King rose; nor
was this year an exception, for I found his Majesty still in bed,
the Queen occupying a couch in the same chamber. But whereas it
generally fell to me to arouse them from sleep, and be the first
to offer those compliments which befitted the day, I found them
on this occasion fully roused, the King lazily toying with his
watch, the Queen talking fast and angrily, and at the edge of the
carpet beside her bed Mademoiselle D'Oyley in deep disgrace. The
Queen, indeed, was so taken up with scolding her that she had
forgotten what day it was; and even after my entrance, continued
to rate the poor girl so fiercely that I thought her present
violence little less unseemly than her condescension of the night
before.

Perhaps some trace of this feeling appeared in my countenance;
for, presently, the King, who seldom failed to read my thoughts,
tried to check her in a good-natured fashion. "Come, my dear,"
he said; "let that trembling mouse go. And do you hear what our
good friend Sully has brought you? I'll be bound--"

"How your Majesty talks!" the Queen answered, pettishly. "As if
a few paltry coins could make up for my jar! I'll be bound, for
my part, that this idle wench was romping and playing with--"

"Come, come; you have made her cry enough!" the King
interrupted--and, indeed, the girl was sobbing so passionately
that a man could not listen without pain. "Let her go, I say,
and do you attend to Sully. You have forgotten that it is New
Year's Day--"

"A jar of majolica," the Queen cried, Utterly disregarding him,
"worth your body and soul, you little slut!"

"Pooh! pooh!" the King said.

"Do you think that I brought it from Florence, all the way in my
own--"

"Nightcap," the King muttered. "There, there, sweetheart," he
continued, aloud, "let the girl go!"

"Of course! She is a girl," the Queen cried, with a sneer.
"That is enough for you!"

"Well, madam, she is not the only one in the room," I ventured.

"Oh, of course?, you are the King's echo!"

"Run away, little one," Henry said, winking to me to be silent.

"And consider yourself lucky," the Queen cried, venomously. "You
ought to be whipped; and if I had you in my country, I would have
you whipped for all your airs! San Giacomo, if you cross me, I
will see to it!"

This was a parting thrust; for the girl, catching at the King's
permission, had turned and was hurrying in a passion of tears to
the door. Still, the Queen had not done. Mademoiselle had
broken a jar; and there were other misdemeanours which her
Majesty continued to expound. But in the end I had my say, and
presented the medals, which were accepted by the King with his
usual kindness, and by the Queen, when her feelings had found
expression, with sufficient complaisance. Both were good enough
to compliment me on my entertainment; but observing that the
Queen quickly buried herself again in her pillows and was
inclined to be peevish, I cut short my attendance on the plea of
fatigue, and left them at liberty to receive the very numerous
company who on this day pay their court.

Of these, the greater number came on afterwards, to wait on me;
so that for some hours the large hall at the Arsenal was thronged
with my friends, or those who called themselves by that name.
But towards noon the stream began to fail; and when I sat down to
dinner at that hour, I had reason to suppose that I should be
left at peace. I had not more than begun my meal, however, when
I was called from table by a messenger from the Queen.

"What is it?" I said, when I had gone to him. Had he come from
the King, I could have understood it more easily.

"Her Majesty desires to know, your excellency, whether you have
seen anything of Mademoiselle D'Oyley."

"I?"

"Yes, M. le Duc."

"No, certainly not. How should I?" I replied.

"And she is not here?" the man persisted.

"No!" I answered, angrily. "God bless the Queen, I know nothing
of her. I am sitting at meat, and--"

The man interrupted me with protestations of regret, and,
hastening to express himself thoroughly satisfied, retired with a
crestfallen air. I wondered what the message meant, and what had
come over the Queen, and whither the girl had gone. But as I
made it a rule throughout my term of office to avoid, as far as
possible, all participation in bed-chamber intrigues, I wasted
little time on the matter, but returning to my dinner, took up
the conversation where I had left it. Before I rose, however, La
Trape came to me and again interrupted me. He announced that a
messenger from his Majesty was waiting in the hall.

I went out, thinking it very probable that Henry had sent me a
present; though it was his more usual custom on this day to
honour me with a visit, and declare his generous intentions by
word of mouth, when we had both retired to my library and the
door was closed. Still, on one or two occasions he had sent me a
horse from his stables, a brace of Indian fowl, a melon or the
like, as a foretaste; and this I supposed to be the errand on
which the man had come.

His first words disabused me. "May it please your excellency,"
he said, very civilly, "the King desires to be remembered to you
as usual, and would ]earn whether you know anything of
Mademoiselle D'Oyley."

"Of whom?" I cried, astonished.

"Of Mademoiselle D'Oyley, her Majesty's maid of honour."

"Not I, i'faith!" I said, drily. "I am no squire of dames, to
say nothing of maids!"

"But his Majesty--"

"If he has sent that message," I replied, "has yet something to
learn--that I do not interest myself in maids of honour or such
frailties."

The man smiled. "I do not think," he began, "that it was his
Majesty--"

"Sent the message?" I said. "No, but the Queen, I suppose."

On this he gave me to understand, in the sly, secretive manner
such men affect, that it was so. I asked him then what all this
ferment was about. "Has Mademoiselle D'Oyley disappeared?" I
said, peevishly.

"Yes, your excellency. She was with the Queen at eight o'clock.
At noon her Majesty desired her services, and she was not to be
found."

"What?" I exclaimed. "A maid of honour is missing for three
hours in the morning, and there is all this travelling! Why, in
my young days, three nights might have--"

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