Boy's Cinema (1939-40)

12 bec?44se th£ people have suffered more. It will D6 fair exchange, brother. My king- dom for yoitrs." Louis opened his mouth to scream, but D'Artagnan pressed his point nearer to Louis' vital veins and Louis relapsed, shaking with fear. He closed his eyes and suddenly went limp. He had fainted. The musketeers worked fast. They stripped off the King's clothes and re- dressed him in those of Philippe. Then they put the mask over his head, and Philippe turned the key in the lock. Louis began to regain consciousness as they finished, and tried once again to shout. Quickly D'Artagnan pulled off a scarf and tied it securely over the opening in the mask that was meant for a mouth. Louis' cries died away. They half dragged, half carried him through the sewers to the Bastille. D'Artagnan pushed him into Philippe's cell, closed and locked the door. "See how you like that," he said, and returned to the opening to the sewer. Quickly he and the others untied the guard and hung the keys on his belt again. Then, with their hands over his eyes, they thrust him back into the passage and drew the swinging rock closed. "Let me out!" a voice screamed. It was Louis. "Let me out! A million francs in gold. Let me out of here!" The jailer went roimd all the cells. Nobody was missing. He returned to the cell in which Louis was screaming. By then the noise had awakened all the other prisoners, and they were all yelling in unison. The jailer unlocked the door of Louis' cell and went inside. "Let me out!" raved Louis. "I will give you a million francs." He tried to push past, but the jailer thrust him roughly back. "Let me out, I say. I command you! I am your King!" "You are, eh?" said the jailer angrily. "Then in future your Majesty will give his commands in a whisper." And he raised his whip and brought it down again and again with all his strength across Louis' shoulders. Louis screamed with the pain and fell to the floor. The jailer continued to lash him until Louis had no more strength left with which to scream. "Now perhaps you'll let people sleep," the jailer snapped, then went outside again, and closed the door with a heavy clang. "But I am the King!" moaned Louis feebly, and then for the second time that night he fainted away. THE MESSAGE THE following morning Philippe was up early. He shaved himself with care, dressed, and ordered breakfast to be sent to his private room. Then, while waiting, he sat down and did some writing. Just as he was beginning his meal Fouquet knocked and entered. "Good-morning, your Majesty," he said. "I trust you enjoyed a good night'." "An excellent night, thanks. Fouquet," Philippe replied quietly. "Pardon me!" He reached across and picked up a salt- cellar. Fouquet cleared his throat. "In accordance with your promise, your Majesty." he said. "I have informed Madame Fouquet that you have graci- ously promised to make her a duchess." Philippe frowned. "A duchess?" he said. "Your wife a duchess?" "Why, yes. Your Majesty will recall that I succeeded in exposing Colbert in some small financial dishonesty. True. I was not able to effect his arrest, but that is only a matter of time. As a reward, last night you told me that you would make my wife a duchess." "Last night!" Philippe smiled. "Last night I was probably a little—er—merry, eh. Fouquet?" "Your Majesty enjoyed himself very much," said Fouquet tactfully. November 18th. 1933, BOY'S CINEMA Philippe sifted a little of the salt over a plate of fish that was before him. "Have you ever tasted fish without salt, Fouquet?" he asked. Fouquet blinked at him, puzzled. "Why, I—er " he stammered. " It tastes terrible. You can't eat fish without salt, you know. Nobody can. The people of Prance can't, for instance. Nor can they make cloth without wool, or bread without flour. So I have decided to re- peal all those taxes." "But—but your Majesty cannot do this," Fouquet said. "You are wi'ong," Philippe replied. "You have spent your whole life assuring me that I could do anything. For instance, I could even hang you." Fouquet went his usual colour of muddy grey. "Your Majesty is in a jesting mood this morning," he managed to say. Just then Colbert entered. He bowed low to Philippe, giving no sign that he knew he was not really the King. "Good-morning, your Majesty," he said, and turned to Fouquet. "Monsieur Fouquet, I very much regret that I was absent last night when your friends called." Fouquet swallowed hard, but said nothing. "Colbert," said Philippe, "you will find some proclamations over there some- where." He waved his hand towards the writing-table. "I want you to have them put into effect at once. They abolish a number of heavy burdens about which the people complain." Colbert went across to the writing- table and picked the documents up. He smiled gently at the writing. It was a fair imitation of Louis', and no one would dare to question it. "Your Majesty," he said, "this is one of the greatest days of my life." Fouquet stumbled towards the door. "If your Majesty will excuse me," he mumbled, " I feel slightly indisposed." He tottered out and went back to his own quarters. Philippe and Colbert smiled at each other. It was a great day for them both. Then Colbert looked grave. "Philippe, there is something you must do at once—you must marry Maria Theresa," he said. "Once she is your wife, and the peoples of both Prance and Spain acknowledge her to be Queen of France, there can be no question who is King." "You are right, Colbert. Have the pre- parations put in hand at once," Philippe replied. " I will go and see her this morn- ing." Colbert bowed and went out. A week later Fouquet was sitting in his bed-room dressing. His valet was holding up a mirror so that he could see himself. "It may be his Majesty who is getting married, my Excellency," the valet said, "but it will be you who will be the most handsome man at the ceremony." He looked out of the window. "The carriage of the Princess has just passed over the bridge on its way to Fontainebleau." Fouquet yawned. "Really?" he said. "How very fortunate the bridge did not collapse." Another servant hurried in, and behind him shuffled a ragged workman. The ser- vant held out a metal plate of the kind that is used in the Bastille for the prisoners' food. "Your Excellency," the servant said, "this person insists upon you having this plate. It has some silly writing upon it, and the man says he has been promised a matter of five thousand francs reward." Fouquet frowned. "What non.sense is this?" he demanded. "What is the silly writing of which you speak?" " It says ' Philippe of Gascony sits upon the throne of France.' It is quite absurd, your Excellency. Everyone knows that the King's name is Louis." Fouquet held out his hand. " Give me that plate," he said sharply. Every Tuesday "Five thousand francs, it says, your Excellency," said the workman, shuffling forward. Fouquet read the words on the plate, then suddenly made up his mind. " Send for the captain of the guard!" he shouted. The captain came hurrying in a few minutes later, and by then Fouquet had made ready for the road. "Captain, take my carriage and my entire guard." he said rapidly. "You will go to the Bastille and take from his cell a prisoner who wears an iron mask. Deliver him to me at the church at Fontaine- bleau." The captain stared at him in amaze- ment. "But, your Excellency—the Bastille!" he exclaimed. "Are you afraid of hanging, my friend?" Fouquet asked grimly. " At this point it is necessary for all of us to hang together, or we will hang separately. Hurry!" "Yes, your Excellency," the captain answered, saluted, and ran out of the room. Fouquet followed him and sprang upon his horse. The hoofs of the animal died away quickly, and Fouquet applied his spurs. JUSTICE ! THE church at Fontainebleau was crowded with the lords and ladies of the Court. Philippe and Maria were standing before the altar, their heads bowed. Before them was the Cardinal. " Dearly beloved," the Cardinal said, " we are gathered here together in the sight of God and of man, and of our Holy Mother church, to join this man unto this woman in the bonds of matrimony. If there be any among you who know why this should not be done, let them now speak or for ever hold their peace." There was silence. It was suddenly broken by the drumming of hoofs, and a man hurried into the church. It was Fouquet. "My Lord ;Cardinal, I warn you," he said. " I have to bring you a warning. You perform this marriage at your pern." He pointed at Philippe. "That man is not the King of France." Philippe's face went grim. He glanced at those who stood near him—D'Artagnan and the musketeers. They were fingering their swords. The High Constable stepped forward angrily. " The man is mad!" he shouted. " Seize him!" Fouquet's hand suddenly appeared from under his cloak. It held a pistol. "Stay where you are!" he said sharplv. He addressed the Cardinal again. " He mav look like the King of France, he may dress like the King of France, he might even speak like the King of France, but he is not the King. But do not fear, my Lord Cardinal. The real King of France will attend the ceremony. In fact, he is at this moment on his way " There was a sudden movement amongst the people in one of the aisles and Made- moiselle de la Valliere stepped forward. Fouquet thought it was a sudden attack, and his finger involuntarily tightened on the trigger. There was an explosion, and a ga^sp of horror. Mademoiselle de la Valliere sank down, clutching at her side. "Stop that man!" shouted the Con- stable, but it was too late. Fouquet escaped in the crowds. D'Artagnan turned to the musketeers and beckoned to them to follow him. Philippe stepped forward. "Where are you going?" he asked. " After a murderer, and to bar the Paris road." D'Artagnan replied briskly. "1 pledge my life that you are the only King who will come by that road this day." Philippe smiled. "You forget, my friend, that only a King can bar a road." he said. "So I will come with you." He turned back to the others. " My Lord Cardiual. and my lords