The Sun King Conspiracy (14 page)

A
S the churches of Paris still echoed with prayers for the soul of Cardinal Mazarin, one of the capital’s most fashionable salons was buzzing with its guests’ many conversations. Society life stopped for no man; nothing seemed able to interrupt its course. Who was going to succeed as Chief Minister? Would Fouquet and Le Tellier fall into disgrace? And who would replace them? Everyone had their own ideas on the subject, according to their friendships or interests.

Madeleine de Scudéry, mistress of the salon, pirouetted from group to group in search of confidential snippets or the latest news about one or other of the Kingdom’s inhabitants. Her loyalty to the Superintendent of Finance was well known. The author of
Clélie, histoire romaine
, she regarded Nicolas Fouquet as a Richelieu-like protector of the arts; in this period of political transition, she continually made strenuous efforts to sing the praises of the lord of Vaux-le-Vicomte. Her salon was one of the most popular and accommodated a random assortment of nobles who lacked any real political role, members of the bourgeoisie in search of recognition, and artists in search of a patron or an admirer. This evening, one of the attractions of the reception was the presence of Blaise Pascal, the genius who had created the arithmetical machine and a brilliant scholar of physics and mathematics. In fact, Pascal scarcely ever
went out since his accident at Neuilly, on 24 November 1654. That evening, after his brush with death, Pascal had written a fervent text inspired by his encounter with God. Since that date he had become a brilliant theologian, and spent less and less time in society circles. This man whom everyone admired, and who was already afflicted by illness, was engrossed in conversation with Molière.

‘Well, I would wager on Zongo Ondedei. The bishop of Fréjus seems to me to be the man best suited to succeed His Eminence.’

‘There is also much talk about the Maréchal de Villeroy,’ replied the ever-cautious author of
Les Précieuses ridicules
, who was unwilling to reveal to Pascal the nature of his current links with the Superintendent.

‘The truth is,’ said the scholar with a sad smile, ‘that this question of succession seems to be the only matter that interests anyone in Paris, when the real subject that ought to occupy us, the only one worthy of any interest, is entirely different: it concerns the stability of the Kingdom. You see,’ he continued, noticing Molière’s expression of surprise as the playwright wondered where Pascal was leading him, ‘the common people have been bled dry; civil wars, religious wars, external wars, all these have taken their toll. They are now incapable of determining whether it is more important for them to be subjects of the King of France, or of a local squire who may tyrannise them and have a much more direct influence on their future …’

‘That is why we must pray that we are given a strong Chief Minister who is capable of combating these local abuses …’

‘Not a strong Chief Minister,’ Pascal corrected him in measured tones, ‘a just King. Where does the strength of a sovereign really lie? Not in weapons, but in the natural support of his people.’

‘But that is not in question: it derives from the monarchy’s sacred origins!’ Molière exclaimed.

‘I’m pleased to hear you say so,’ smiled Pascal. ‘But it won’t have escaped you that it was in the name of a sacred cause that our sovereign’s grandfather, Henri IV, was assassinated. For my part, I am convinced that it will be necessary in the future for a King not to rely solely on the dictates of divine law for his authority, but to complement that with another more prosaic authority based on recognition of the common people’s personal and collective happiness. Faith is vital, and it is a powerful driving force in many ways. I am, however, suspicious of it in politics, and more so with each day that passes.’

‘“Complement,”’ repeated Molière with quiet admiration for such boldness. ‘May it please Heaven that no one misinterprets “complement” as “replace”, Monsieur … it might be your undoing.’

Pascal gave Molière a distant look.

‘Possibly. But people like us might be undone for any number of reasons, or who knows, for no reason at all. Much better to understand why things happen to us …’

Olympe Mancini, Comtesse de Soissons, was only a few feet away, dressed in a very severe and sober gown; she had arranged for Louise de La Vallière to be introduced to her. She was trying to obtain information from the girl about the incident which had allegedly occurred the previous day between Henrietta of England and Monsieur, the King’s brother.

‘How is your mistress this morning?’ asked the Cardinal’s niece after the usual exchange of compliments. ‘Rumour has it that she has been ill since yesterday evening?’

‘His Majesty’s future sister-in-law will be happy to know of the Comtesse’s concern for her health,’ replied Louise evasively.

She realised at that moment that everyone in Paris must have found out about poor Henrietta’s misfortune.

The ways of folk in the capital are very strange
, she said to herself, thinking again of Louis XIV, who had recently begun to preoccupy her.

In the neighbouring room, Jean de La Fontaine was involved in a debate between Colbert’s supporters and Fouquet’s. As a faithful friend, the author was energetically defending the Superintendent of Finance.

Meanwhile, as Molière had insisted on bringing him to this salon, Gabriel was trying without success to find someone who might help him to decipher the papers. An idea came to him just as the author was introducing him to his publisher, the voluble Barbin.

‘Monsieur,’ said the young actor to Barbin, ‘I have a great favour to ask of you.’

‘Ask away, my young friend, always ask,’ replied Molière’s publisher, who was also the owner of a well-known bookshop in the capital.

‘Monsieur Molière has entrusted me with an extremely complicated task and I should like to ask for your help with it. In order to enrich the plot of his next play, my master has instructed me to write him a coded document, which he will use to write the character of the spy in the play. But you see, I know nothing of the art of code and I fear that my work will be of little use.’

‘There’s an interesting idea,’ replied Barbin, delighted to learn that his author had started writing again. ‘You might usefully ask Bernard Barrême for help. He is a renowned mathematician whose friend I am honoured to be. I’m sure he will turn you into a great
expert on the art of codes. Come to my shop tomorrow, and I will give you a letter of recommendation.’

Gabriel smiled at this prospect and then bowed, thanking Barbin and asking him not to reveal to Molière this serious gap in his secretary’s knowledge.

But when he noticed Louise de La Vallière talking to Olympe Mancini, the young man froze. He had feared for his friend since the previous day. The sincere concern Louise had shown for his situation, and the natural closeness which had sprung up between them once again, made Gabriel feel even more uneasy. His Eminence’s niece had been swift to begin the surveillance she had promised the King’s brother. But Gabriel, who was not supposed to know the contents of the correspondence between Louise and the young King, could not think how to inform Louise of what he had learned, or how to warn her of Olympe’s machinations.

Just as the young girl smiled at him, clearly pleased to see him there, he turned on his heel and left the salon, telling himself that, after all, dear Louise would doubtless pay more attention to the King’s compliments than to an apprentice actor’s advice to be careful.

A
BBÉ Claude Joly was so absorbed in his preaching that he did not understand his beadle’s frantic gestures. Admittedly, at ninety yards long, the ‘church of a hundred columns’ was extremely dark, despite its twenty-five windows. The priest of Saint-Nicolas-des-Champs finished his sermon and left the transept in the pause provided by the playing of a piece on the organ, one of the finest in Paris. A soldier of the King’s guards was waiting by the side chapel.

‘Father,’ he said solemnly, ‘the King requests that you come immediately to Vincennes, to the bedside of His Eminence Cardinal Mazarin, in order to administer the last rites.’

‘Go and fetch my oils,’ the priest told his beadle at once, realising the urgency of this royal request. ‘You will have to ask Father Girardon to finish the service. He’s in the sacristy,’ he added, and left without bothering to take off his chasuble.

The priest followed the musketeer, climbed into the carriage that was waiting for him at the foot of the front steps, and left the area escorted by eight mounted guards.

At that moment, the Cardinal and his trusted colleague were alone in his bedchamber at Vincennes.

‘Colbert, I asked for you because I wish to add a certain codicil
to my will,’ said the Chief Minister, suddenly appearing to recover a little of his strength.

While Colbert prepared to take down his dictation, the Cardinal sat up in bed, wincing with pain.

‘My beloved niece, Olympe, Comtesse de Soissons, is to become Superintendent of the Queen’s House,’ dictated the old man, aware that these were his very last wishes. ‘And the Princesse de Conti is to receive the superintendency of the Queen Mother’s house,’ he breathed, exhausted.

‘Will that be all, Monseigneur?’ asked Colbert calmly, although he was infuriated by the latest whims of the Cardinal’s nieces.

They will strip him of everything, right up until his last breath
, he thought.

‘In all conscience, Colbert, ought I not to advise the King to dispense with Monsieur Fouquet?’ said Mazarin after a long period of reflection.

Colbert was so surprised by this that he dropped the pen he had been using to write the addenda to the will. The evening before, at the end of the council meeting, Mazarin had assembled Le Tellier, Lionne and Fouquet in the presence of Louis XIV and recommended all three to the King. Had he not said of the Superintendent that he ‘gave judicious advice on all matters of State, whatever their nature’? Although inwardly jubilant at this change of course, which for weeks he had been hoping for, the devoted Colbert did not display any reaction, and answered as always without apparent emotion.

‘Taking account of the Superintendent’s numerous financial manipulations, I can only advise Your Eminence to exercise the greatest caution. Moreover, the number and power of his supporters
must be taken into account before any decision of this nature is made. Finally,’ Fouquet’s sworn enemy added treacherously, ‘the considerable forces the Superintendent has assembled at his estates on Belle-Île could endanger the internal peace of the Kingdom, and cast a dark shadow over His Majesty’s future.’

‘Thank you for your frankness, my good Colbert; as always you reason solely in the interests of the State and your analysis is prudent and correct. Moreover, as my hours are now numbered, I shall not hide from you the fact that I have recommended you to His Majesty, assuring him that you would manage affairs of State as you would a private house,’ whispered the dying man. ‘The King has consented to the creation of a third appointment, that of Steward of Finance, which will be given to you as a reward for your dedication,’ concluded the Chief Minister, fighting for breath. ‘I also wanted your merits to be written into this document in black and white. You shall insert these lines,’ he said, handing him a small sheet of paper covered with his handwriting, which was more shaky than usual.

Colbert took it without a word and bowed his head as a sign of gratitude. Swiftly he scanned the first lines, his heart thumping faster as he read the document which guaranteed the success of his ambitions. ‘Integrity, fidelity and intelligence, of which I am very sure, having witnessed them in an infinite number of encounters …, after experiencing the affection and zeal which the said Monsieur Colbert has shown in serving me for almost twelve years, I cannot speak too highly of the satisfaction I have received from him … That is why I approve of everything carried out by Monsieur Colbert, both regarding the general exercise of his power of attorney and in following orders he has received verbally … desire that Monsieur Colbert’s word should be believed as regards everything that
has been received, spent and managed at his command, whatever the nature of the matter … desire also that all the accounts which concern the affairs of my household remain or are put into the hands of Monsieur Colbert, for his discreet safekeeping.’

The blood was pounding in his temples; he was convinced that this was the first, irreversible step in his quest for power. Henceforth he, Colbert, the industrious and obscure petty accountant, would be on a level with Fouquet.

‘The hours to come are going to prove decisive,’ he told himself, approaching Mazarin’s bed in order for him to sign his will. The tension within him was so great at that moment that he started when a voice rang out.

‘The King!’

At this announcement, the Cardinal opened his eyes again to see his godson, the King of France, enter his bedchamber. This impromptu visit overturned all the rules of etiquette.

‘Your presence honours me, Sire, and warms my heart. Nevertheless it informs me that without a shadow of a doubt the hour of my terrible journey has come. As you can see, Louis, I am ready; I was even about to sign my will. As the Queen Mother has told me that Your Majesty refuses the bequests to him, I have in fact been forced to make other arrangements. Monsieur Colbert will explain them to you if you wish.’

The King of France sat down on the chair by the side of the minister’s bed. Although infinitely sad at the prospect of the inevitable, Louis XIV smiled and took the old man’s hand.

‘My dear godfather, my visit is guided only by the affection which
I feel for you. I sent for Abbé Joly, as you asked, and he is waiting in your antechamber. But after what he wrote about you ten years ago, I am still surprised by your choice. Why him?’

‘He is a sincere and brilliant man of the Church. He does not like me, I know that. But at least I have the certainty that his absolution, if he gives it to me, will not be feigned!’

The King nodded in silence. Then, seeing a shiver pass through the old man’s body, he turned towards the fireplace and left his seat to poke the fire energetically, watched with emotion by Mazarin.

Having obtained his master’s signature on all his last wishes, Colbert left the room, bowing deferentially as his narrowed eyes glinted in the darkness.

‘My dear Louis, permit me one last piece of advice,’ said Mazarin, taking his godson by the arm. ‘I have been reassessing the situation for several hours now. Information in my possession leads me to beg you to be suspicious of the ambitions of our Superintendent of Finance from now on. Of course I do not take back anything I have told you about him; he would be capable of great things if only he could stop thinking about women and architecture. For pity’s sake, be circumspect.’

‘Your advice in this matter is precious to me, my dear godfather,’ the King replied, trying to banish the blush which had appeared on his cheeks at the allusion to Fouquet’s tastes for the fairer sex, ‘like all the advice I have received from you since the early days of my childhood …’

‘Sire, I have merely done my duty as a minister and a man. Today I can reveal to you how precious your affection has been to me, first as a small boy and then as a sovereign. My life, my entire life,’ said Mazarin, his eyes filling with tears, ‘would have been poor and futile without you, my dear Louis.’

After a pause to allow the wave of emotion which had overwhelmed him to subside, the old man continued:

‘Be careful in your alliances. Be careful in war; its prospect intoxicates and glorifies, but it can also subdue the most resolute hearts. Be wary of those who conspire in the shadows against your authority …’

The King shuddered.

‘The threat is everywhere, Sire,’ went on Mazarin. ‘Royalty maintains its position through honour and fear, but there will always be dreamers imbued with visions of a perfect world. I have devoted my time to keeping them at a distance, Your Majesty. I fought them for years, and with some success I believe,’ he added with the shadow of a smile, ‘but I was never vain enough to imagine that they had been defeated and eradicated.’

His breathing quickened, the dying man had to pause again to inhale some air.

‘Beware, Sire, of these dreamers and their manipulations. Be prudent – not excessively so, but stand firm. Follow Colbert’s advice when I am no longer here …’

He tightened his grip on the young King’s hand.

‘If I do not succeed in putting my affairs in order before I pass away, I shall tell him certain things of the highest importance, so important that I thought I would never share them with anyone for fear of harming your interests. You must listen to him …’

His voice was no more than a whisper now.

‘I owe you everything, Sire. You have refused my fortune, but I believe I am acquitting myself to some extent by giving you Colbert,’ added the Cardinal faintly.

Louis XIV did not respond to his Chief Minister, who was suddenly overcome again by the somnolence of the dying. He
laid the old man’s fleshless hand upon the sheet and left the room without a sound. On his way out, he sombrely asked the priest of Notre-Dame-des-Champs to go to the sick man’s bedside without further delay. Then he strode down the stairs and, rejecting his carriage with a wave of his hand as it moved forward, signalled to d’Artagnan to dismount and let him have his horse. Jumping into the saddle, almost knocking over the musketeer who was holding the reins, he furiously spurred the animal into a gallop. As he leant forward over its neck, the King of France felt burning tears running down his cheeks on to the horse’s windswept mane.

Just then, in the chateau’s darkened bedroom, a dialogue was beginning between the two former enemies as Abbé Joly attended the dying man with great piety. But when he attempted to persuade the Cardinal to tell him about the public monies, the Italian summoned up his last ounce of strength and found the authority to put the priest in his place.

‘Monsieur Abbé, if I have summoned you here it is to talk to me of God. So I beg you to confine yourself to your ministry,’ Mazarin told him, thus proving that even in the face of death he remained as determined as he had always been.

Early that afternoon, on 7 March, Cardinal Jules Mazarin received the last sacraments of the Holy Church and was absolved of his sins.