CHAPTER 14
In which the King and the Lieutenant each give Proofs of Memory
When the king, like all the people in the world who are in
love, had long and attentively watched disappear in the
distance the carriage which bore away his mistress; when he
had turned and turned again a hundred times to the same side
and had at length succeeded in somewhat calming the
agitation of his heart and thoughts, he recollected that he
was not alone. The officer still held the horse by the
bridle, and had not lost all hope of seeing the king recover
his resolution. He had still the resource of mounting and
riding after the carriage; they would have lost nothing by
waiting a little. But the imagination of the lieutenant of
the musketeers was too rich and too brilliant; it left far
behind it that of the king, who took care not to allow
himself to be carried away to any such excess. He contented
himself with approaching the officer, and in a doleful
voice, "Come," said he, "let us be gone; all is ended. To
horse!"
The officer imitated this carriage, this slowness, this
sadness, and leisurely mounted his horse. The king pushed on
sharply, the lieutenant followed him. At the bridge Louis
turned around for the last time. The lieutenant, patient as
a god who has eternity behind and before him, still hoped
for a return of energy. But it was groundless, nothing
appeared. Louis gained the street which led to the castle,
and entered as seven was striking. When the king had
returned, and the musketeer, who saw everything, had seen a
corner of the tapestry over the cardinal's window lifted up,
he breathed a profound sigh, like a man unloosed from the
tightest bounds, and said in a low voice:
"Now, then, my officer, I hope that it is over."
The king summoned his gentleman. "Please to understand I
shall receive nobody before two o'clock," said he.
"Sire," replied the gentleman, "there is, however, some one
who requests admittance."
"Who is that?"
"Your lieutenant of musketeers."
"He who accompanied me?"
"Yes, sire."
"Ah," said the king, "let him come in."
The officer entered. The king made a sign, and the gentleman
and the valet retired. Louis followed them with his eyes
until they had shut the door, and when the tapestries had
fallen behind them, -- "You remind me by your presence,
monsieur, of something I had forgotten to recommend to you,
that is to say, the most absolute discretion."
"Oh! sire, why does your majesty give yourself the trouble
of making me such a recommendation? It is plain you do not
know me."
"Yes, monsieur, that is true. I know that you are discreet;
but as I had prescribed nothing ---- "
The officer bowed. "Has your majesty nothing else to say to
me?"
"No, monsieur; you may retire."
"Shall I obtain permission not to do so till I have spoken
to the king, sire?"
"What have you to say to me? Explain yourself, monsieur."
"Sire, a thing without importance to you, but which
interests me greatly. Pardon me, then, for speaking of it.
Without urgency, without necessity, I never would have done
it, and I would have disappeared, mute and insignificant as
I always have been."
"How! Disappeared! I do not understand you, monsieur."
"Sire, in a word," said the officer, "I am come to ask for
my discharge from your majesty's service."
The king made a movement of surprise, but the officer
remained as motionless as a statue.
"Your discharge -- yours, monsieur? and for how long a time,
I pray?"
"Why, forever, sire."
"What, you are desirous of quitting my service, monsieur?"
said Louis, with an expression that revealed something more
than surprise.
"Sire, I regret to say that I am."
"Impossible!"
"It is so, however, sire. I am getting old; I have worn
harness now thirty-five years; my poor shoulders are tired;
I feel that I must give place to the young. I don't belong
to this age; I have still one foot in the old one; it
results that everything is strange in my eyes, everything
astonishes and bewilders me. In short, I have the honor to
ask your majesty for my discharge."
"Monsieur," said the king, looking at the officer, who wore
his uniform with an ease that would have caused envy in a
young man, "you are stronger and more vigorous than I am."
"Oh!" replied the officer, with an air of false modesty,
"your majesty says so because I still have a good eye and a
tolerably firm foot -- because I can still ride a horse, and
my mustache is black; but, sire, vanity of vanities all that
-- illusions all that -- appearance, smoke, sire! I have
still a youthful air, it is true, but I feel old, and within
six months I am certain I shall be broken down, gouty,
impotent. Therefore, then sire ---- "
"Monsieur," interrupted the king, "remember your words of
yesterday. You said to me in this very place where you now
are, that you were endowed with the best health of any man
in France; that fatigue was unknown to you! that you did not
mind spending whole days and nights at your post. Did you
tell me that, monsieur, or not? Try and recall, monsieur."
The officer sighed. "Sire," said he, "old age is boastful;
and it is pardonable for old men to praise themselves when
others no longer do it. It is very possible I said that; but
the fact is, sire, I am very much fatigued, and request
permission to retire."
"Monsieur," said the king, advancing towards the officer
with a gesture full of majesty, "you are not assigning me
the true reason. You wish to quit my service, it may be
true, but you disguise from me the motive of your retreat."
"Sire, believe that ---- "
"I believe what I see, monsieur; I see a vigorous, energetic
man, full of presence of mind, the best soldier in France,
perhaps; and this personage cannot persuade me the least in
the world that you stand in need of rest."
"Ah! sire," said the lieutenant, with bitterness, "what
praise! Indeed, your majesty confounds me! Energetic,
vigorous, brave, intelligent, the best soldier in the army!
But, sire, your majesty exaggerates my small portion of
merit to such a point, that however good an opinion I may
have of myself, I do not recognize myself; in truth I do
not. If I were vain enough to believe only half of your
majesty's words, I should consider myself a valuable,
indispensable man. I should say that a servant possessed of
such brilliant qualities was a treasure beyond all price.
Now, sire, I have been all my life -- I feel bound to say it
-- except at the present time, appreciated, in my opinion,
much below my value. I therefore repeat, your majesty
exaggerates."
The king knitted his brow, for he saw a bitter raillery
beneath the words of the officer. "Come, monsieur," said he,
"let us meet the question frankly. Are you dissatisfied with
my service, say? No evasions; speak boldly, frankly -- I
command you to do so."
The officer, who had been twisting his hat about in his
hands, with an embarrassed air, for several minutes, raised
his head at these words. "Oh! sire," said he, "that puts me
a little more at my ease. To a question put so frankly, I
will reply frankly. To tell the truth is a good thing, as
much from the pleasure one feels in relieving one's heart,
as on account of the rarity of the fact. I will speak the
truth, then, to my king, at the same time imploring him to
excuse the frankness of an old soldier."
Louis looked at his officer with anxiety, which he
manifested 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 countenance,
always so intelligent and martial, assumed, all at once, a
strange character of grandeur and solemnity. "Sire," said
he, "I quit the king's service because I am dissatisfied.
The valet, in these times, can approach his master as
respectfully as I do, can give him an account of his labor,
bring back his tools, return the funds that have been
intrusted to him, and say, `Master, my day's work is done.
Pay me, if you please, and let us part.'"
"Monsieur! monsieur!" exclaimed the king, crimson with rage.
"Ah! sire," replied the officer, bending his knee for a
moment, "never was servant more respectful than I am before
your majesty; only you commanded me to tell the truth. Now I
have begun to tell it, it must come out, even if you command
me to hold my tongue."
There was so much resolution expressed in the deep-sunk
muscles of the officer's countenance, that Louis XIV. had no
occasion to tell him to continue; he continued, therefore,
whilst the king looked at him with a curiosity mingled with
admiration.
"Sire, I have, as I have said, now served the house of
France thirty-five years; few people have worn out so many
swords in that service as I have, and the swords I speak of
were good swords, too, sire. I was a boy, ignorant of
everything except courage, when the king your father guessed
that there was a man in me. I was a man, sire, when the
Cardinal de Richelieu, who was a judge of manhood,
discovered an enemy in me. Sire, the history of that enmity
between the ant and the lion may be read from the first to
the last line, in the secret archives of your family. If
ever you feel an inclination to know it, do so, sire; the
history is worth the trouble -- it is I who tell you so. You
will there read that the lion, fatigued, harassed, out of
breath, at length cried for quarter, and the justice must be
rendered him to say that he gave as much as he required. Oh!
those were glorious times, sire, strewed over with battles
like one of Tasso's or Ariosto's epics. The wonders of those
times, to which the people of ours would refuse belief, were
every-day occurrences. For five years together, I was a hero
every day; at least, so I was told by persons of judgment;
and that is a long period for heroism, trust me, sire, a
period of five years. Nevertheless, I have faith in what
these people told me, for they were good judges. They were
named M. de Richelieu, M. de Buckingham, M. de Beaufort, M.
de Retz, a mighty genius himself in street warfare, -- in
short, the king, Louis XIII., and even the queen, your noble
mother, who one day condescended to say, `Thank you.' I
don't know what service I had had the good fortune to render
her. Pardon me, sire, for speaking so boldly; but what I
relate to you, as I have already had the honor to tell your
majesty, is history."
The king bit his lips, and threw himself violently on a
chair.
"I appear importunate to your majesty," said the lieutenant.
"Eh! sire, that is the fate of truth; she is a stern
companion; she bristles all over with steel; she wounds
those whom she attacks, and sometimes him who speaks her."
"No, monsieur," replied the king; "I bade you speak -- speak
then."
"After the service of the king and the cardinal came the
service of the regency, sire; I fought pretty well in the
Fronde -- much less, though, than the first time. The men
began to diminish in stature. I have, nevertheless, led your
majesty's musketeers on some perilous occasions, which stand
upon the orders of the day of the company. Mine was a
beautiful luck at that time. I was the favorite of M. de
Mazarin. Lieutenant here! lieutenant there! lieutenant to
the right! lieutenant to the left! There was not a buffet
dealt in France, of which your humble servant did not have
the dealing; but soon France was not enough. The cardinal
sent me to England on Cromwell's account; another gentleman
who was not over gentle, I assure you, sire. I had the honor
of knowing him, and I was well able to appreciate him. A
great deal was promised me on account of that mission. So,
as I did much more than I had been bidden to do, I was
generously paid, for I was at length appointed captain of
the musketeers, that is to say, the most envied position in
court, which takes precedence over the marshals of France,
and justly, for who says captain of the musketeers says the
flower of chivalry and king of the brave."
"Captain, monsieur!" interrupted the king, "you make a
mistake. Lieutenant, you mean."
"Not at all, sire -- I make no mistake; your majesty may
rely upon me in that respect. Monsieur le cardinal gave me
the commission himself."
"Well!"
"But M. de Mazarin, as you know better than anybody, does
not often give, and sometimes takes back what he has given;
he took it back again as soon as peace was made and he was
no longer in want of me. Certainly I was not worthy to
replace M. de Treville, of illustrious memory; but they had
promised me, and they had given me; they ought to have
stopped there."
"Is that what dissatisfies you, monsieur? Well I shall make
inquiries. I love justice; and your claim, though made in
military fashion, does not displease me."
"Oh, sire!" said the officer, "your majesty has ill
understood me; I no longer claim anything now."
"Excess of delicacy, monsieur; but I will keep my eye upon
your affairs, and later ---- "
"Oh, sire! what a word! -- later! Thirty years have I lived
upon that promising word, which has been pronounced by so
many great personages, and which your mouth has, in its
turn, just pronounced. Later -- that is how I have received
a score of wounds, and how I have reached fifty-four years
of age without ever having had a louis in my purse, and
without ever having met with a protector on my way, -- I who
have protected so many people! So I change my formula, sire;
and when any one says to me `Later,' I reply `Now.' It is
rest that I solicit, sire. That may be easily granted me.
That will cost nobody anything."
"I did not look for this language, monsieur, particularly
from a man who has always lived among the great. You forget
you are speaking to the king, to a gentleman who is, I
suppose, of as good a house as yourself; and when I say
later, I mean a certainty."
"I do not at all doubt it, sire, but this is the end of the
terrible truth I had to tell you. If I were to see upon that
table a marshal's stick, the sword of constable, the crown
of Poland, instead of later, I swear to you, sire, that I
should still say Now! Oh, excuse me, sire! I am from the
country of your grandfather, Henry IV. I do not speak often;
but when I do speak, I speak all."
"The future of my reign has little temptation for you,
monsieur, it appears," said Louis, haughtily.
"Forgetfulness, forgetfulness everywhere!" cried the
officer, with a noble air; "the master has forgotten the
servant, so that the servant is reduced to forget his
master. I live in unfortunate times, sire. I see youth full
of discouragement and fear, I see it timid and despoiled,
when it ought to be rich and powerful. I yesterday evening,
for example, open the door to a king of England, whose
father, humble as I am, I was near saving, if God had not
been against me -- God, who inspired His elect, Cromwell! I
open, I said, the door, that is to say, the palace of one
brother to another brother, and I see -- stop, sire, that is
a load on my heart! -- I see the minister of that king drive
away the proscribed prince, and humiliate his master by
condemning to want another king, his equal. Then I see my
prince, who is young, handsome, and brave, who has courage
in his heart, and lightning in his eye, -- I see him tremble
before a priest, who laughs at him behind the curtain of his
alcove, where he digests all the gold of France, which he
afterwards stuffs into secret coffers. Yes -- I understand
your looks, sire. I am bold to madness; but what is to be
said? I am an old man, and I tell you here, sire, to you, my
king, things which I would cram down the throat of any one
who should dare to pronounce them before me. You have
commanded me to pour out the bottom of my heart before you,
sire, and I cast at the feet of your majesty the pent-up
indignation of thirty years, as I would pour out all my
blood, if your majesty commanded me to do so."
The king, without speaking a word, wiped the drops of cold
and abundant perspiration which trickled from his temples.
The moment of silence which followed this vehement outbreak
represented for him who had spoken, and for him who had
listened, ages of suffering.
"Monsieur," said the king at length, "you spoke the word
forgetfulness. I have heard nothing but that word; I will
reply, then, to it alone. Others have perhaps been able to
forget, but I have not, and the proof is, that I remember
that one day of riot, that one day when the furious people,
raging and roaring as the sea, invaded the royal palace;
that one day when I feigned sleep in my bed, one man alone,
naked sword in hand, concealed behind my curtain, watched
over my life, ready to risk his own for me, as he had before
risked it twenty times for the lives of my family. Was not
the gentleman, whose name I then demanded, called M.
d'Artagnan? say, monsieur."
"Your majesty has a good memory," replied the officer,
coldly.
"You see, then," continued the king, "if I have such
remembrances of my childhood, what an amount I may gather in
the age of reason."
"Your majesty has been richly endowed by God," said the
officer, in the same tone.
"Come, Monsieur d'Artagnan," continued Louis, with feverish
agitation, "ought you not to be as patient as I am? Ought
you not to do as I do? Come!"
"And what do you do, sire?"
"I wait."
"Your majesty may do so, because you are young; but I, sire,
have not time to wait; old age is at my door, and death is
behind it, looking into the very depths of my house. Your
majesty is beginning life, its future is full of hope and
fortune; but I, sire, I am on the other side of the horizon,
and we are so far from each other, that I should never have
time to wait till your majesty came up to me."
Louis made another turn in his apartment, still wiping the
moisture from his brow, in a manner that would have
terrified his physicians, if his physicians had witnessed
the state his majesty was in.
"It is very well, monsieur," said Louis XIV., in a sharp
voice; "you are desirous of having your discharge, and you
shall have it. You offer me your resignation of the rank of
lieutenant of the musketeers?"
"I deposit it humbly at your majesty's feet, sire."
"That is sufficient. I will order your pension."
"I shall have a thousand obligations to your majesty."
"Monsieur," said the king, with a violent effort, "I think
you are losing a good master."
"And I am sure of it, sire."
"Shall you ever find such another?"
"Oh, sire! I know that your majesty is alone in the world;
therefore will I never again take service with any king upon
earth, and will never again have other master than myself."
"You say so?"
"I swear so, your majesty."
"I shall remember that word, monsieur."
D'Artagnan bowed.
"And you know I have a good memory," said the king.
"Yes, sire, and yet I should desire that that memory should
fail your majesty in this instance, in order that you might
forget all the miseries I have been forced to spread before
your eyes. Your majesty is so much above the poor and the
mean that I hope ---- "
"My majesty, monsieur, will act like the sun, which looks
upon all, great and small, rich and poor, giving luster to
some, warmth to others, and life to all. Adieu Monsieur
d'Artagnan -- adieu: you are free."
And the king, with a hoarse sob, which was lost in his
throat, passed quickly into the next room. D'Artagnan took
up his hat from the table upon which he had thrown it, and
went out.
