Part 9

— Sire, said he, here are the carriages. The first, in fact, contains two ladies with their chambermaids; the second holds footmen, provisions, and baggage.

— Very well, very well, replied the king in a voice quite moved. Well then! go, I pray you, tell those ladies that a cavalier of the court desires to present his respects to them alone.

The officer set off at a gallop.

— Blood and thunder! said he as he rode, here is a new and honorable employment, I hope! I complained of being nobody; I am now the king's confidant. A musketeer — it is enough to burst with pride!

He approached the carriage and delivered his message as a gallant and witty messenger.

Two ladies were indeed in the carriage: one of great beauty, though somewhat thin; the other less favored by nature, but lively, graceful, and gathering in the slight folds of her brow all the signs of will. Her quick and piercing eyes, above all, spoke more eloquently than all the loving phrases in fashion in those times of gallantry. It was to this one that d'Artagnan addressed himself without mistake, though, as we have said, the other was perhaps prettier.

— Mesdames, said he, I am the lieutenant of the musketeers, and there is a cavalier upon the road who awaits you and desires to present his respects to you.

At these words, whose effect he curiously watched, the lady with the black eyes uttered a cry of joy, leaned out of the door, and, seeing the cavalier come running, stretched out her arms, crying:

— Ah! my dear Sire!

And tears immediately sprang from her eyes. The coachman stopped his horses, the chambermaids rose in confusion at the back of the carriage, and the second lady attempted a curtsy ended by the most ironic smile that jealousy ever traced upon a woman's lips.

— Marie! dear Marie! cried the king, taking in both his hands the hand of the lady with the black eyes.

And, opening himself the heavy door, he drew her from the carriage with such ardor that she was in his arms before touching the ground. The lieutenant, posted on the other side of the carriage, saw and heard without being noticed.

The king offered his arm to Mlle de Mancini, and made a sign to the coachmen and lackeys to continue their road.

It was about six o'clock; the road was fresh and charming; great trees whose foliage was still bound in its golden down let filter the morning dew suspended like liquid diamonds upon their quivering branches; the grass spread at the foot of the hedges; the swallows, returned for some days, traced their graceful curves between sky and water; a breeze perfumed by the woods in their blossoming ran along this road and rippled the sheet of water of the river; all these beauties of the day, all these perfumes of plants, all these aspirations of the earth toward heaven, intoxicated the two lovers, walking side by side, leaning one upon the other, eyes upon eyes, hand in hand, and who, lingering by a common desire, dared not speak, so much had they to say to one another.

The officer saw that the abandoned horse wandered here and there and troubled Mlle de Mancini. He profited by the pretext to draw near by stopping the horse, and, on foot also between the two mounts which he held, he lost not a word nor a gesture of the two lovers. It was Mlle de Mancini who began.

— Ah! my dear Sire, said she, you do not then abandon me, do you?

— No, replied the king: you see it well, Marie.

— Yet they told me so much: that scarcely should we be separated, you would think of me no more!

— Dear Marie, is it only from today that you perceive we are surrounded by those interested in deceiving us?

— But finally, Sire, this voyage, this alliance with Spain? They are marrying you!

Louis lowered his head.

At the same time the officer could see shine in the sun the glances of Marie de Mancini, brilliant as a dagger leaping from its sheath.

— And you have done nothing for our love? asked the young girl after a moment of silence.

— Ah! mademoiselle, how can you believe that! I threw myself at my mother's knees; I prayed, I supplicated; I said that all my happiness was in you; I threatened...

— Well? asked Marie eagerly.

— Well! the queen mother wrote to the court of Rome, and they answered her that a marriage between us would have no validity and would be annulled by the Holy Father. Finally, seeing there was no hope for us, I asked that at least my marriage with the infanta be delayed.

— Which does not prevent you from being on the road to go meet her.

— What would you have! to my prayers, to my supplications, to my tears, they answered with reason of State.

— Well?

— Well! what would you have me do, mademoiselle, when so many wills league against me?

It was Marie's turn to lower her head.

— Then, I must say farewell to you forever, said she. You know that I am exiled, that I am buried; you know they do more still, you know they are marrying me also, me!

Louis grew pale and carried a hand to his heart.

— If it had been only my life, I too have been so sorely persecuted that I should have yielded; but I believed it was yours that was at stake, my dear Sire, and I fought to preserve your good.

— Oh! yes, my good, my treasure! murmured the king, more gallantly than passionately, perhaps.

— The cardinal would have yielded, said Marie, if you had addressed yourself to him, if you had insisted. The cardinal call the king of France his nephew! do you understand, Sire! He would have done all for that, even war; the cardinal, assured to govern alone, under the double pretext that he had raised the king and given him his niece, the cardinal would have combated all wills, overturned all obstacles. Oh! Sire, Sire, I answer for it. I, I am a woman and I see clearly in all that is love.

These words produced upon the king a singular impression. It would have seemed that instead of exalting his passion, they cooled it. He slackened his pace and said with precipitation:

— What would you have, mademoiselle! all has failed.

— Except your will, is it not, my dear Sire?

— Alas! said the king reddening, do I have a will, I?

— Oh! escaped painfully from Mlle de Mancini, wounded by that word.

— The king has no will but that dictated to him by policy, but that imposed upon him by reason of State.

— Oh! it is that you have no love! cried Marie; if you loved me, Sire, you would have a will.

In pronouncing these words, Marie raised her eyes upon her lover, whom she saw paler and more undone than an exile who is about to leave forever his native land.

— Accuse me, murmured the king, but do not tell me that I do not love you.

A long silence followed these words, which the young king had pronounced with a feeling most true and most profound.

— I cannot think, Sire, continued Marie, attempting a last effort, that tomorrow, the day after, I shall see you no more; I cannot think that I shall go finish my sad days far from Paris, that the lips of an old man, of a stranger, would touch this hand that you hold in yours; no, in truth, I cannot think of all that, my dear Sire, without my poor heart bursting with despair.

And, in effect, Marie de Mancini melted into tears. For his part, the king, softened, carried his handkerchief to his lips and stifled a sob.

— See, said she, the carriages have stopped; my sister awaits me, the hour is supreme: what you shall decide will be decided for life! Oh! Sire, you wish then that I lose you? You wish then, Louis, that she to whom you have said: 'I love you' should belong to another than her king, her master, her lover? Oh! courage, Louis! one word, a single word! say: 'I will!' and all my life is chained to yours, and all my heart is yours forever.

The king answered nothing.

Marie then looked at him as Dido looked upon Aeneas in the Elysian Fields, fierce and disdainful.

— Farewell, then, said she, farewell life, farewell love, farewell Heaven!

And she took a step to withdraw; the king detained her, seized her hand, which he pressed to his lips, and, despair overcoming the resolution he seemed to have taken inwardly, he let fall upon that beautiful hand a burning tear of regret which made Marie start as if indeed that tear had burned her.

She saw the moist eyes of the king, his pale brow, his convulsive lips, and cried with an accent that nothing could render:

— Oh! Sire, you are king, you weep, and I depart!

The king, for all answer, hid his face in his handkerchief.

The officer gave a sort of roar which frightened the two horses. Mlle de Mancini, indignant, left the king and remounted precipitately into her carriage, crying to the coachman:

— Go, go quickly!

The coachman obeyed, whipped his horses, and the heavy carriage moved upon its creaking axles, while the king of France, alone, cast down, annihilated, dared no longer look before or behind him.

Chapter XIV — Where the king and the lieutenant each give proof of memory

When the king, like all lovers in the world, had long and attentively watched at the horizon the carriage disappear which bore away his mistress; when he had turned and turned again a hundred times to the same side, and had at last succeeded in somewhat calming the agitation of his heart and his thought, he at length remembered that he was not alone. The officer still held the horse by the bridle, and had not lost all hope of seeing the king go back upon his resolution. 'He still has the resource of remounting his horse and running after the carriage: nothing will have been lost by waiting.' But the imagination of the lieutenant of the musketeers was too brilliant and too rich; it left behind that of the king, who took good care not to carry himself to such an excess of luxury.

He contented himself with drawing near the officer, and in a doleful voice:

— Come, said he, we are finished... To horse.

The officer imitated that bearing, that slowness, that sadness and slowly and sadly bestrode his mount. The king spurred, the lieutenant followed.

At the bridge, Louis turned one last time. The officer, patient as a god who has eternity before and behind him, hoped yet for a return of energy. But it was in vain, nothing appeared. Louis gained the street which led to the castle and re-entered as seven o'clock struck. Once the king was well returned and the musketeer had well seen, he who saw all, a corner of tapestry lift at the cardinal's window, he gave a great sigh like a man unbound from the tightest fetters, and he said half-voice:

— For this time, my officer, I hope it is finished!

The king called his gentleman.

— I shall receive no one before two o'clock, said he, do you hear, monsieur?

— Sire, replied the gentleman, there is however someone who asked to enter.

— Who then?

— Your lieutenant of musketeers.

— He who accompanied me?

— Yes, Sire.

— Ah! said the king. Let us see, let him enter. The officer entered.

The king made a sign, the gentleman and the valet de chambre went out. Louis followed them with his eyes until they had closed the door, and when the tapestries had fallen behind them:

— You recall to me by your presence, monsieur, said the king, what I had forgotten to recommend to you, that is to say the most absolute discretion.

— Oh! Sire, why does Your Majesty give himself the trouble of making me such a recommendation? one sees well that he does not know me.

— Yes, monsieur, it is the truth; I know that you are discreet; but as I had prescribed nothing...

The officer inclined.

— Your Majesty has nothing more to say to me? asked he.

— No, monsieur, and you may retire.

— Shall I obtain permission not to do so before having spoken to the king, Sire?

— What have you to say to me? Explain yourself, monsieur.

— Sire, a thing of no importance to you, but which interests me enormously, myself. Pardon me then for speaking to you of it. Without the urgency, without the necessity, I should never have done so, and I should have disappeared, silent, and small, as I have always been.

— How, disappeared! I do not understand you.

— Sire, in a word, said the officer, I come to ask my leave of Your Majesty.

The king made a movement of surprise, but the officer moved no more than a statue.

— Your leave, you, monsieur? and for how long, I pray?

— But forever, Sire.

— How, you would leave my service, monsieur? said Louis with a movement that betrayed more than surprise.

— Sire, I have that regret.

— Impossible.

— Indeed, Sire: I am growing old; there are thirty-four or thirty-five years that I bear the harness; my poor shoulders are weary; I feel that it is necessary to leave place for the young.

'I am not of the new century, I! I still have one foot caught in the old; it results that all being strange to my eyes, all astonishes me and all bewilders me. In short! I have the honor to ask my leave of Your Majesty.

— Monsieur, said the king looking at the officer, who wore his cassock with an ease a young man would have envied, you are stronger and more vigorous than I.

— Oh! answered the officer with a smile of false modesty. Your Majesty tells me that because I still have the eye tolerably good and the foot tolerably sure, because I am not bad on horseback and my moustache is still black; but, Sire, vanity of vanities all that; illusions all that, appearance, smoke, Sire! I seem still young, it is true, but I am old at bottom, and before six months, I am sure of it, I shall be broken, gouty, impotent. Thus then, Sire...

— Monsieur, interrupted the king, recall your words, yesterday you said to me at this same place where you are that you were endowed with the best health in France, that fatigue was unknown to you, that you had no care to pass nights and days at your post. Did you say that to me, yes or no? Recall your memories, monsieur.

The officer gave a sigh.

— Sire, said he, old age is vain, and one must well pardon old men for praising themselves that no one praises more. I said that, it is possible; but the fact is, Sire, that I am very weary and that I ask my retirement.

— Monsieur, said the king advancing upon the officer with a gesture full of finesse and majesty, you do not give me the true reason; you wish to quit my service, it is true, but you disguise from me the motive of this retirement.

— Sire, believe well...

— I believe what I see, monsieur; I see an energetic man, vigorous, full of presence of mind, the best soldier of France, perhaps, and that personage does not persuade me in the least that you have need of rest.

— Ah! Sire, said the lieutenant with bitterness, what praise! Your Majesty confounds me, in truth! Energetic, vigorous, witty, brave, the best soldier of the army! but, Sire, Your Majesty exaggerates my little merit, to the point that however good opinion I have of myself, I no longer recognize myself in truth. If I were vain enough to believe but half only the words of Your Majesty, I should regard myself as a precious man, indispensable; I should say that a servant, when he unites so many and such brilliant qualities, is a priceless treasure. Now, Sire, I have been all my life, I must say it, except today, appreciated, in my opinion, far below what I was worth. I repeat it, Your Majesty exaggerates then.

The king frowned, for he saw a raillery smile bitterly at the bottom of the officer's words.

— Come, monsieur, said he, let us frankly approach the question. Does my service not please you, say? Come, no roundabout ways, answer boldly, frankly, I wish it.

The officer, who had been rolling for some instants with a rather embarrassed air his felt hat between his hands, raised his head at these words.

— Oh! Sire, said he, that puts me a little more at ease. To a question posed so frankly, I shall answer myself frankly. To tell truth is a good thing, as much because of the pleasure one feels to relieve one's heart, as because of the rarity of the fact. I shall then say the truth to my king, while supplicating him to excuse the frankness of an old soldier.

Louis looked at his officer with a lively inquietude which manifested itself by the agitation of his gesture.

— Well then, speak, said he; for I am impatient to hear the truths you have to tell me.

The officer threw his hat upon a table, and his face, already so intelligent and so martial, took all at once a strange character of grandeur and solemnity.

— Sire, said he, I quit the service of the king because I am discontented. The valet, in these times, may approach respectfully his master as I do, give him the employment of his labor, report to him the tools, render account of the funds that were confided to him, and say: 'Master, my day is done, pay me, I pray you, and let us part.'

— Monsieur, monsieur! cried the king, purple with anger.

— Ah! Sire, answered the officer bending for a moment the knee, never was servant more respectful than I am before Your Majesty; only, you ordered me to tell the truth. Now that I have begun to tell it, it must burst forth, even if you commanded me to silence it.

There was such resolution expressed in the frowning muscles of the officer's face, that Louis XIV had no need to tell him to continue; he continued then, while the king looked at him with a curiosity mixed with admiration.

— Sire, here are soon thirty-five years, as I said, that I serve the house of France; few people have worn out as many swords as I in this service, and the swords of which I speak were good swords, Sire. I was a child, I was ignorant of all things except courage, when the king your father divined in me a man. I was a man, Sire, when the cardinal de Richelieu, who knew the matter, divined in me an enemy. Sire, the history of this enmity of the ant and the lion, you might have read it from the first to the last line in the secret archives of your family. If ever the wish takes you, Sire, do it; this history is worth the trouble, it is I who tell you so. You would there read that the lion, weary, tired, panting, at last asked grace, and, justice must be rendered him, that he granted it also. Oh! it was a fine time, Sire, sown with battles, like an epic of Tasso or Ariosto! The marvels of that time, which ours would refuse to believe, were for us all commonplaces. During five years, I was a hero every day, at least as some persons of merit have told me; and it is long, believe me, Sire, a heroism of five years! However I believe what those people told me, for they were good judges: they were called M. de Richelieu, M. de Buckingham, M. de Beaufort, M. de Retz, a rough genius also, that one, in the war of the streets! finally, the king Louis XIII, and even the queen, your august mother, who deigned to say to me one day: Thanks! I no longer know what service I had had the honor to render her. Pardon me, Sire, for speaking so boldly; but what I tell you there, I have already had the honor to say to Your Majesty, it is history.

The king bit his lips and sat violently in an armchair.

— I obsess Your Majesty, said the lieutenant. Eh! Sire, that is what truth is! It is a hard companion, it is bristling with iron; it wounds whom it reaches, and sometimes also whom it is told.

— No, monsieur, answered the king; I invited you to speak, speak then.

— After the service of the king and the cardinal, came the service of the regency, Sire; I well fought also in the Fronde, less well however than the first time. Men began to diminish in stature. I have none the less conducted the musketeers of Your Majesty in some perilous occasions which have remained in the standing orders of the company. It was a fine lot then that was mine! I was the favorite of M. de Mazarin: Lieutenant here! lieutenant there! lieutenant to the right! lieutenant to the left! There was not a cuff distributed in France that your very humble servant was not charged with the distribution; but soon he was not content with France, M. the cardinal! he sent me to England on account of M. Cromwell. Another monsieur who was not tender, I answer to you, Sire. I have had the honor to know him, and I could appreciate him. One had promised me much touching this mission; also, as I did there quite other thing than that which one had recommended me to do, I was generously paid, for I was at last named captain of musketeers, that is to say to the most envied charge of the court, to that which gives precedence over the marshals of France; and it is justice, for to say captain of musketeers is to say the flower of the soldier and the king of the brave!

— Captain, monsieur, replied the king, you are mistaken, it is lieutenant you mean to say.

— Not at all, Sire, I never make mistakes; that Your Majesty rely upon me on this point: M. de Mazarin gave me the commission.

— Well?

— But M. de Mazarin, you know better than anyone, does not often give; and even sometimes takes back what he gives: he took it back from me when peace was made and he had no more need of me. Certainly, I was not worthy to replace M. de Tréville, of illustrious memory; but in short, one had promised me, one had given me, it was necessary to rest there.

— That is what discontents you, monsieur? Well! I shall take information. I love justice, I, and your claim, though made militarily, does not displease me.

— Oh! Sire, said the officer, Your Majesty has ill understood me, I reclaim nothing now.

— Excess of delicacy, monsieur; but I wish to watch over your affairs and later...

— Oh! Sire, what a word! Later! There are thirty years that I live on this word full of goodness, which has been pronounced by so many great personages, and which comes in its turn to be pronounced by your mouth. Later! that is how I received twenty wounds, and how I attained fifty-four years without ever having a louis in my purse and without ever having found a protector upon my road, I who have protected so many people! Also, I change formula, Sire, and when one says to me: Later, now, I answer: Immediately. It is rest that I solicit, Sire. One may well grant it me: it will cost no one anything.

— I did not expect that language, monsieur, especially from a man who has always lived near the great. You forget that you speak to the king, to a gentleman who is of as good house as you, I suppose, and when I say later, I, it is a certainty.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”