CHAPTER 16
"Remember!"
A horseman was going rapidly along the road leading towards
Blois, which he had left nearly half an hour before, passed
the two travelers, and, though apparently in haste, raised
his hat as he passed them. The king scarcely observed this
young man, who was about twenty-five years of age, and who,
turning round several times, made friendly signals to a man
standing before the gate of a handsome white-and-red house;
that is to say, built of brick and stone, with a slated
roof, situated on the left hand of the road the prince was
traveling.
This man, old, tall, and thin, with white hair, -- we speak
of the one standing by the gate; -- this man replied to the
farewell signals of the young one by signs of parting as
tender as could have been made by a father, The young man
disappeared at the first turn of the road, bordered by fine
trees, and the old man was preparing to return to the house,
when the two travelers, arriving in front of the gate,
attracted his attention.
The king, we have said, was riding with his head cast down,
his arms inert, leaving his horse to go what pace he liked,
whilst Parry, behind him, the better to imbibe the genial
influence of the sun, had taken off his hat, and was looking
about right and left. His eyes encountered those of the old
man leaning against the gate; the latter, as if struck by
some strange spectacle, uttered an exclamation, and made one
step towards the two travelers. From Parry his eyes
immediately turned towards the king, upon whom they rested
for an instant. This exclamation, however rapid, was
instantly reflected in a visible manner upon the features of
the tall old man. For scarcely had he recognized the younger
of the travelers -- and we say recognized, for nothing but a
perfect recognition could have explained such an act --
scarcely, we say, had he recognized the younger of the two
travelers, than he clapped his hands together, with
respectful surprise, and, raising his hat from his head,
bowed so profoundly that it might have been said he was
kneeling. This demonstration, however absent, or rather,
however absorbed was the king in his reflections, attracted
his attention instantly; and checking his horse and turning
towards Parry, he exclaimed, "Good God, Parry, who is that
man who salutes me in such a marked manner? Can he know me,
think you?"
Parry, much agitated and very pale, had already turned his
horse towards the gate. "Ah, sire!" said he, stopping
suddenly at five of six paces' distance from the still
bending man: "sire, I am seized with astonishment, for I
think I recognize that brave man. Yes, it must be he! Will
your majesty permit me to speak to him?"
"Certainly."
"Can it be you, Monsieur Grimaud?" asked Parry.
"Yes, it is I," replied the tall old man, drawing himself
up, but without losing his respectful demeanor.
"Sire," then said Parry, "I was not deceived. This good man
is the servant of the Comte de la Fere, and the Comte de la
Fere, if you remember, is the worthy gentleman of whom I
have so often spoken to your majesty that the remembrance of
him must remain, not only in your mind, but in your heart."
"He who assisted my father at his last moments?" asked
Charles, evidently affected at the remembrance.
"The same, sire."
"Alas!" said Charles; and then addressing Grimaud, whose
penetrating and intelligent eyes seemed to search and divine
his thoughts, -- "My friend," said he, "does your master,
Monsieur le Comte de la Fere, live in this neighborhood?"
"There," replied Grimaud, pointing with his outstretched arm
to the white-and-red house behind the gate.
"And is Monsieur le Comte de la Fere at home at present?"
"At the back, under the chestnut trees."
"Parry," said the king, "I will not miss this opportunity,
so precious for me, to thank the gentleman to whom our house
is indebted for such a noble example of devotedness and
generosity. Hold my horse, my friend, if you please." And,
throwing the bridle to Grimaud, the king entered the abode
of Athos, quite alone, as one equal enters the dwelling of
another. Charles had been informed by the concise
explanation of Grimaud, -- "At the back, under the chestnut
trees;" he left, therefore, the house on the left, and went
straight down the path indicated. The thing was easy; the
tops of those noble trees, already covered with leaves and
flowers, rose above all the rest.
On arriving under the lozenges, by turns luminous and dark,
which checkered the ground of this path according as the
trees were more or less in leaf, the young prince perceived
a gentleman walking with his arms behind him, apparently
plunged in a deep meditation. Without doubt, he had often
had this gentleman described to him, for, without
hesitating, Charles II. walked straight up to him. At the
sound of his footsteps, the Comte de la Fere raised his
head, and seeing an unknown man of noble and elegant
carriage coming towards him, he raised his hat and waited.
At some paces from him, Charles II. likewise took off his
hat. Then, as if in reply to the comte's mute interrogation,
--
"Monsieur le Comte," said he," I come to discharge a duty
towards you. I have, for a long time, had the expression of
a profound gratitude to bring you. I am Charles II., son of
Charles Stuart, who reigned in England, and died on the
scaffold."
On hearing this illustrious name, Athos felt a kind of
shudder creep through his veins, but at the sight of the
young prince standing uncovered before him, and stretching
out his hand towards him, two tears, for an instant, dimmed
his brilliant eyes. He bent respectfully, but the prince
took him by the hand.
"See how unfortunate I am, my lord count; it is only due to
chance that I have met with you. Alas! I ought to have
people around me whom I love and honor, whereas I am reduced
to preserve their services in my heart, and their names in
my memory: so that if your servant had not recognized mine,
I should have passed by your door as by that of a stranger."
"It is but too true," said Athos, replying with his voice to
the first part of the king's speech, and with a bow to the
second; "it is but too true, indeed, that your majesty has
seen many evil days."
"And the worst, alas!" replied Charles, "are perhaps still
to come."
"Sire, let us hope."
"Count, count," continued Charles, shaking his head, "I
entertained hope till last night, and that of a good
Christian, I swear."
Athos looked at the king as if to interrogate him.
"Oh, the history is soon related," said Charles.
"Proscribed, despoiled, disdained, I resolved, in spite of
all my repugnance, to tempt fortune one last time. Is it not
written above, that, for our family, all good fortune and
all bad fortune shall eternally come from France? You know
something of that, monsieur, -- you, who are one of the
Frenchmen whom my unfortunate father found at the foot of
his scaffold, on the day of his death, after having found
them at his right hand on the day of battle."
"Sire," said Athos modestly, "I was not alone. My companions
and I did, under the circumstances, our duty as gentlemen,
and that was all. Your majesty was about to do me the honor
to relate ---- "
"That is true. I had the protection, -- pardon my
hesitation, count, but, for a Stuart, you, who understand
everything, you will comprehend that the word is hard to
pronounce; -- I had, I say, the protection of my cousin the
stadtholder of Holland; but without the intervention, or at
least without the authorization of France, the stadtholder
would not take the initiative. I came, then, to ask this
authorization of the king of France, who has refused me."
"The king has refused you, sire!"
"Oh, not he; all justice must be rendered to my younger
brother Louis; but Monsieur de Mazarin ---- "
Athos bit his lips.
"You perhaps think I should have expected this refusal?"
said the king, who had noticed the movement.
"That was, in truth, my thought, sire," replied Athos,
respectfully, "I know that Italian of old."
"Then I determined to come to the test, and know at once the
last word of my destiny. I told my brother Louis, that, not
to compromise either France or Holland, I would tempt
fortune myself in person, as I had already done, with two
hundred gentlemen, if he would give them to me, and a
million, if he would lend it me."
"Well, sire?"
"Well, monsieur, I am suffering at this moment something
strange, and that is, the satisfaction of despair. There is
in certain souls, -- and I have just discovered that mine is
of the number, -- a real satisfaction in the assurance that
all is lost, and the time is come to yield."
"Oh, I hope," said Athos, "that your majesty is not come to
that extremity."
"To say so, my lord count, to endeavor to revive hope in my
heart, you must have ill understood what I have just told
you. I came to Blois to ask of my brother Louis the alms of
a million, with which I had the hopes of re-establishing my
affairs; and my brother Louis has refused me. You see, then,
plainly, that all is lost."
"Will your majesty permit me to express a contrary opinion?"
"How is that, count? Do you think my heart of so low an
order that I do not know how to face my position?"
"Sire, I have always seen that it was in desperate positions
that suddenly the great turns of fortune have taken place."
"Thank you, count, it is some comfort to meet with a heart
like yours, that is to say, sufficiently trustful in God and
in monarchy, never to despair of a royal fortune, however
low it may be fallen. Unfortunately, my dear count, your
words are like those remedies they call `sovereign,' and
which, though able to cure curable wounds or diseases, fail
against death. Thank you for your perseverance in consoling
me, count, thanks for your devoted remembrance, but I know
in what I must trust -- nothing will save me now. And see,
my friend, I was so convinced, that I was taking the route
of exile with my old Parry; I was returning to devour my
poignant griefs in the little hermitage offered me by
Holland. There, believe me, count, all will soon be over,
and death will come quickly, it is called so often by this
body, eaten up by its soul, and by this soul, which aspires
to heaven."
"Your majesty has a mother, a sister, and brothers; your
majesty is the head of the family, and ought, therefore, to
ask a long life of God, instead of imploring Him for a
prompt death. Your majesty is an exile, a fugitive, but you
have right on your side; you ought to aspire to combats,
dangers, business, and not to rest in heavens."
"Count," said Charles II., with a smile of indescribable
sadness, "have you ever heard of a king who reconquered his
kingdom with one servant of the age of Parry, and with three
hundred crowns which that servant carried in his purse?"
"No, sire; but I have heard -- and that more than once --
that a dethroned king has recovered his kingdom with a firm
will, perseverance, some friends, and a million skillfully
employed."
"But you cannot have understood me. The million I asked of
my brother Louis was refused me."
"Sire," said Athos, "will your majesty grant me a few
minutes, and listen attentively to what remains for me to
say to you?"
Charles II. looked earnestly at Athos. "Willingly,
monsieur," said he.
"Then I will show your majesty the way," resumed the count,
directing his steps towards the house. He then conducted the
king to his study, and begged him to be seated. "Sire," said
he, "your majesty just now told me that, in the present
state of England, a million would suffice for the recovery
of your kingdom."
"To attempt it at least, monsieur, and to die as a king if I
should not succeed."
"Well, then, sire, let your majesty, according to the
promise you have made me, have the goodness to listen to
what I have to say." Charles made an affirmative sign with
his head. Athos walked straight up to the door, the bolts of
which he drew, after looking to see if anybody was near, and
then returned. "Sire," said he, "your majesty has kindly
remembered that I lent assistance to the very noble and very
unfortunate Charles I., when his executioners conducted him
from St. James's to Whitehall."
"Yes, certainly, I do remember it, and always shall remember
it."
"Sire, it is a dismal history to be heard by a son who no
doubt has had it related to him many times; and yet I ought
to repeat it to your majesty without omitting one detail."
"Speak on, monsieur."
"When the king your father ascended the scaffold, or rather
when he passed from his chamber to the scaffold on a level
with his window, everything was prepared for his escape. The
executioner was got out of the way; a hole contrived under
the floor of his apartment; I myself was beneath the funeral
vault, which I heard all at once creak beneath his feet."
"Parry has related to me all these terrible details,
monsieur."
Athos bowed, and resumed. "But here is something he has not
related to you, sire, for what follows passed between God,
your father, and myself; and never has the revelation of it
been made even to my dearest friends. `Go a little further
off,' said the august patient to the executioner; `it is but
for an instant, and I know that I belong to you; but
remember not to strike till I give the signal. I wish to
offer up my prayers in freedom.'"
"Pardon me," said Charles II., turning very pale, "but you,
count, who know so many details of this melancholy event, --
details which, as you said just now, have never been
revealed to anyone, -- do you know the name of that infernal
executioner, of that base wretch who concealed his face that
he might assassinate a king with impunity?"
Athos became slightly pale. "His name?" said he, "yes, I
know it, but cannot tell it."
"And what is become of him, for nobody in England knows his
destiny?"
"He is dead."
"But he did not die in his bed; he did not die a calm and
peaceful death, he did not die the death of the good?"
"He died a violent death, in a terrible night, rendered so
by the passions of man and a tempest from God. His body,
pierced by a dagger, sank to the depths of the ocean. God
pardon his murderer!"
"Proceed, then," said Charles II., seeing that the count was
unwilling to say more.
"The king of England, after having, as I have said, spoken
thus to the masked executioner, added, -- `Observe, you will
not strike till I shall stretch out my arms saying --
REMEMBER!'"
"I was aware," said Charles, in an agitated voice, "that
that was the last word pronounced by my unfortunate father.
But why and for whom?"
"For the French gentleman placed beneath his scaffold."
"For you, then, monsieur?"
"Yes, sire; and every one of the words which he spoke to me,
through the planks of the scaffold covered with a black
cloth, still sounds in my ears. The king knelt down on one
knee: `Comte de la Fere,' said he, `are you there?' `Yes,
sire,' replied I. Then the king stooped towards the boards."
Charles II., also palpitating with interest, burning with
grief, stooped towards Athos, to catch, one by one, every
word that escaped from him. His head touched that of the
comte.
"Then," continued Athos, "the king stooped. `Comte de la
Fere,' said he, `I could not be saved by you: it was not to
be. Now, even though I commit a sacrilege, I must speak to
you. Yes, I have spoken to men -- yes, I have spoken to God,
and I speak to you the last. To sustain a cause which I
thought sacred, I have lost the throne of my fathers and the
heritage of my children.'"
Charles II. concealed his face in his hands, and a bitter
tear glided between his white and slender fingers.
"`I have still a million in gold,' continued the king. `I
buried it in the vaults of the castle of Newcastle, a moment
before I left that city.'" Charles raised his head with an
expression of such painful joy that it would have drawn
tears from any one acquainted with his misfortunes.
"A million!" murmured he. "Oh, count!"
"`You alone know that this money exists: employ it when you
think it can be of the greatest service to my eldest son.
And now, Comte de la Fere, bid me adieu!'
"`Adieu, adieu, sire!' cried I."
Charles arose, and went and leant his burning brow against
the window.
"It was then," continued Athos, "that the king pronounced
the word, `REMEMBER!' addressed to me. You see, sire, that I
have remembered."
The king could not resist or conceal his emotion. Athos
beheld the movement of his shoulders, which undulated
convulsively; he heard the sobs which burst from his
overcharged breast. He was silent himself, suffocated by the
flood of bitter remembrances he had just poured upon that
royal head. Charles II., with a violent effort, left the
window, devoured his tears, and came and sat by Athos.
"Sire," said the latter, "I thought till to-day that the
time had not yet arrived for the employment of that last
resource; but, with my eyes fixed upon England, I felt it
was approaching. To-morrow I meant to go and inquire in what
part of the world your majesty was, and then I purposed
going to you. You come to me, sire; that is an indication
that God is with us."
"My lord," said Charles, in a voice choked by emotion, "you
are, for me, what an angel sent from heaven would be, -- you
are a preserver sent to me from the tomb of my father
himself; but, believe me, for ten years' civil war has
passed over my country, striking down men, tearing up the
soil, it is no more probable that gold should remain in the
entrails of the earth, than love in the hearts of my
subjects."
"Sire, the spot in which his majesty buried the million is
well known to me, and no one, I am sure, has been able to
discover it. Besides, is the castle of Newcastle quite
destroyed? Have they demolished it stone by stone, and
uprooted the soil to the last tree?"
"No, it is still standing: but at this moment General Monk
occupies it and is encamped there. The only spot from which
I could look for succor, where I possess a single resource,
you see, is invaded by my enemies."
"General Monk, sire, cannot have discovered the treasure
which I speak of."
"Yes, but can I go and deliver myself up to Monk, in order
to recover this treasure? Ah! count, you see plainly I must
yield to destiny, since it strikes me to the earth every
time I rise. What can I do with Parry as my only servant,
with Parry, whom Monk has already driven from his presence?
No, no, no, count, we must yield to this last blow."
"But what your majesty cannot do, and what Parry can no more
attempt, do you not believe that I could succeed in
accomplishing?"
"You -- you, count -- you would go?"
"If it please your majesty," said Athos, bowing to the king,
"yes, I will go, sire."
"What! you so happy here, count?"
"I am never happy when I have a duty left to accomplish, and
it is an imperative duty which the king your father left me
to watch over your fortunes, and make a royal use of his
money. So, if your majesty honors me with a sign, I will go
with you."
"Ah, monsieur!" said the king, forgetting all royal
etiquette, and throwing his arms around the neck of Athos,
"you prove to me that there is a God in heaven, and that
this God sometimes sends messengers to the unfortunate who
groan on the earth."
Athos, exceedingly moved by this burst of feeling of the
young man, thanked him with profound respect, and approached
the window. "Grimaud!" cried he, "bring out my horses."
"What, now -- immediately!" said the king. "Ah, monsieur,
you are indeed a wonderful man!"
"Sire," said Athos, "I know nothing more pressing than your
majesty's service. Besides," added he, smiling, "it is a
habit contracted long since, in the service of the queen
your aunt, and of the king your father. How is it possible
for me to lose it at the moment your majesty's service calls
for it?"
"What a man!" murmured the king.
Then after a moment's reflection, -- "But no, count, I
cannot expose you to such privations. I have no means of
rewarding such services."
"Bah!" said Athos, laughing. "Your majesty is joking, have
you not a million? Ah! why am I not possessed of half such a
sum! I would already have raised a regiment. But, thank God!
I have still a few rolls of gold and some family diamonds
left. Your majesty will, I hope, deign to share with a
devoted servant."
"With a friend -- yes, count, but on condition that, in his
turn, that friend will share with me hereafter!"
"Sire!" said Athos, opening a casket, from which he drew
both gold and jewels, "you see, sire, we are too rich.
Fortunately, there are four of us, in the event of our
meeting with thieves."
Joy made the blood rush to the pale cheeks of Charles II.,
as he saw Athos's two horses, led by Grimaud, already booted
for the journey, advance towards the porch.
"Blaisois, this letter for the Vicomte de Bragelonne. For
everybody else I am gone to Paris. I confide the house to
you, Blaisois." Blaisois bowed, shook hands with Grimaud,
and shut the gate.
