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Updated: June 27, 2025
This speech stopped the dark cloud which was beginning to throw its shade over the guests. Gourville succeeded so well in animating the poets with the vin de Joigny; the abbe, intelligent as a man who stands in need of his host's money, so enlivened the financiers and the men of the sword, that, amidst the vapors of this joy and the noise of conversation, inquietudes disappeared completely.
For these reasons, I beg you, Monsieur Pelisson, Monsieur Gourville, and you, Monsieur , to say nothing that will not plainly proclaim the respect you have for my will." "Sire," replied Pelisson, trembling at these words, "we are come to say nothing to your majesty that is not the most profound expression of the most sincere respect and love that are due to a king from all his subjects.
Let the parliament subscribe among themselves to purchase, in a proper manner, the post of procureur-general; in that case, all would go well; the honor of our body would be saved, and M. Fouquet's pride spared." "That is an opening." "I considered it so, monseigneur." "Well, Monsieur Vanel, you will go at once, and find out either M. Gourville or M. Pelisson.
His memoirs give reliable details of all that relates to the Condés at this period. Still Gourville was not, even on the score of ability, the foremost spirit of his party. The person who deserved that title was a woman the celebrated Anne de Gonzagua, widow of Edward Prince Palatine.
And Gourville held out to the superintendent a note communicated by a certain secretary of the Hotel de Ville, who was one of Fouquet's creatures. "Yes, that is true," murmured the minister; "the scaffold may be prepared, but the king has not signed; Gourville, the king will not sign." "I shall soon know," said Gourville. "How?"
"I am seeking to do so." "And I," cried Fouquet, "I have found it. Listen to what has occurred to me at this moment." "I am listening." Fouquet made a sign to Gourville, who appeared to understand. "One of my friends lends me sometimes the keys of a house which he rents, Rue Baudoyer, the spacious gardens of which extend behind a certain house on the Place de Greve."
Saying these words, and with a profound bow, the musketeer, whose looks had lost none of their intelligent kindness, left the apartment. He had not reached the steps of the vestibule, when Fouquet, quite beside himself, hung to the bell-rope, and shouted, "My horses! my lighter!" But nobody answered. The surintendant dressed himself with everything that came to hand. "Gourville!
Corbleu! it is I that pay, Gourville, and I know my figures." Gourville laughed in a silent, sly manner. "Yes, yes, you mean to say it is the king pays," said the superintendent. "Ah, Gourville, that is a vile joke; this is not the place." "Monseigneur, do not be angry." "Well, then, send away the Abbe Fouquet; I have not a sou." Gourville made a step towards the door.
Fouquet seized the paper eagerly, read it, and returned it to Gourville. "The king will never sign that," said he. Gourville shook his head. "Monseigneur, M. Colbert is a bold councilor: do not be too confident!" "Monsieur Colbert again!" cried Fouquet. "How is it that that name rises upon all occasions to torment my ears, during the last two or three days?
He then found himself face to face with these three men, whose countenances wore very different expressions. With the abbe it was anger, with Gourville stupor, with Fouquet it was dejection.
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