CHAPTER 76
In which D'Artagnan finishes by at length
placing his Hand upon his Captain's Commission
The reader guesses beforehand whom the usher preceded in
announcing the courier from Bretagne. This messenger was
easily recognized. It was D'Artagnan, his clothes dusty, his
face inflamed, his hair dripping with sweat, his legs stiff;
he lifted his feet painfully at every step, on which
resounded the clink of his blood-stained spurs. He perceived
in the doorway he was passing through, the superintendent
coming out. Fouquet bowed with a smile to him who, an hour
before, was bringing him ruin and death. D'Artagnan found in
his goodness of heart, and in his inexhaustible vigor of
body, enough presence of mind to remember the kind reception
of this man; he bowed then, also, much more from benevolence
and compassion, than from respect. He felt upon his lips the
word which had so many times been repeated to the Duc de
Guise: "Fly." But to pronounce that word would have been to
betray his cause; to speak that word in the cabinet of the
king, and before an usher, would have been to ruin himself
gratuitously, and could save nobody. D'Artagnan then
contented himself with bowing to Fouquet and entered. At
this moment the king floated between the joy the last words
of Fouquet had given him, and his pleasure at the return of
D'Artagnan. Without being a courtier, D'Artagnan had a
glance as sure and as rapid as if he had been one. He read,
on his entrance, devouring humiliation on the countenance of
Colbert. He even heard the king say these words to him; --
"Ah! Monsieur Colbert, you have then nine hundred thousand
livres at the intendance?" Colbert, suffocated, bowed, but
made no reply. All this scene entered into the mind of
D'Artagnan, by the eyes and ears, at once.
The first word of Louis to his musketeer, as if he wished it
to contrast with what he was saying at the moment, was a
kind "good day." His second was to send away Colbert. The
latter left the king's cabinet, pallid and tottering, whilst
D'Artagnan twisted up the ends of his mustache.
"I love to see one of my servants in this disorder," said
the king, admiring the martial stains upon the clothes of
his envoy.
"I thought, sire, my presence at the Louvre was sufficiently
urgent to excuse my presenting myself thus before you."
"You bring me great news, then, monsieur?"
"Sire, the thing is this, in two words: Belle-Isle is
fortified, admirably fortified; Belle-Isle has a double
enciete, a citadel, two detached forts; its ports contain
three corsairs; and the side batteries only await their
cannon."
"I know all that, monsieur," replied the king.
"What! your majesty knows all that?" replied the musketeer,
stupefied.
"I have the plan of the fortifications of Belle-Isle," said
the king.
"Your majesty has the plan?"
"Here it is."
"It is really correct, sire: I saw a similar one on the
spot."
D'Artagnan's brow became clouded.
"Ah! I understand all. Your majesty did not trust to me
alone, but sent some other person," said he in a reproachful
tone.
"Of what importance is the manner, monsieur, in which I have
learnt what I know, so that I know it?"
"Sire, sire," said the musketeer, without seeking even to
conceal his dissatisfaction; "but I must be permitted to say
to your majesty, that it is not worth while to make me use
such speed, to risk twenty times the breaking of my neck, to
salute me on my arrival with such intelligence. Sire, when
people are not trusted, or are deemed insufficient, they
should scarcely be employed." And D'Artagnan, with a
movement perfectly military, stamped with his foot, and left
upon the floor dust stained with blood. The king looked at
him, inwardly enjoying his first triumph.
"Monsieur," said he, at the expiration of a minute, "not
only is Belle-Isle known to me, but, still further,
Belle-Isle is mine."
"That is well! that is well, sire, I ask but one thing
more," replied D'Artagnan. -- "My discharge."
"What! your discharge?"
"Without doubt I am too proud to eat the bread of the king
without earning it, or rather by gaining it badly. -- My
discharge, sire!"
"Oh, oh!"
"I ask for my discharge, or I will take it."
"You are angry, monsieur?"
"I have reason, mordioux! Thirty-two hours in the saddle, I
ride night and day, I perform prodigies of speed, I arrive
stiff as the corpse of a man who has been hung -- and
another arrives before me! Come, sire, I am a fool! -- My
discharge, sire!"
"Monsieur d'Artagnan," said Louis, leaning his white hand
upon the dusty arm of the musketeer, "what I tell you will
not at all affect that which I promised you. A king's word
given must be kept." And the king going straight to his
table, opened a drawer, and took out a folded paper. "Here
is your commission of captain of musketeers; you have won
it, Monsieur d'Artagnan."
D'Artagnan opened the paper eagerly, and scanned it twice.
He could scarcely believe his eyes.
"And this commission is given you," continued the king, "not
only on account of your journey to Belle-Isle, but,
moreover, for your brave intervention at the Place de Greve.
There, likewise, you served me valiantly."
"Ah, ah!" said D'Artagnan, without his self-command being
able to prevent a blush from mounting to his eyes -- "you
know that also, sire?"
"Yes, I know it."
The king possessed a piercing glance and an infallible
judgment, when it was his object to read men's minds. "You
have something to say," said he to the musketeer, "something
to say which you do not say. Come, speak freely, monsieur;
you know that I told you, once for all, that you are to be
always quite frank with me."
"Well, sire! what I have to say is this, that I would prefer
being made captain of musketeers for having charged a
battery at the head of my company, or taken a city, than for
causing two wretches to be hung."
"Is this quite true you tell me?"
"And why should your majesty suspect me of dissimulation, I
ask?"
"Because I know you well, monsieur; you cannot repent of
having drawn your sword for me."
"Well, in that your majesty is deceived, and greatly; yes, I
do repent of having drawn my sword on account of the results
that action produced; the poor men who were hung, sire, were
neither your enemies nor mine; and they could not defend
themselves."
The king preserved silence for a moment. "And your
companion, M. d'Artagnan, does he partake of your
repentance?"
"My companion?"
"Yes, you were not alone, I have been told."
"Alone, where?"
"At the Place de Greve."
"No, sire, no," said D'Artagnan, blushing at the idea that
the king might have a suspicion that he, D'Artagnan, had
wished to engross to himself all the glory that belonged to
Raoul; "no, mordioux! and as your majesty says, I had a
companion, and a good companion, too."
"A young man?"
"Yes, sire; a young man. Oh! your majesty must accept my
compliments, you are as well informed of things out of doors
as things within. It is M. Colbert who makes all these fine
reports to the king."
"M. Colbert has said nothing but good of you, M. d'Artagnan,
and he would have met with a bad reception if he had come to
tell me anything else."
"That is fortunate!"
"But he also said much good of that young man."
"And with justice," said the musketeer.
"In short, it appears that this young man is a fire-eater,"
said Louis, in order to sharpen the sentiment which he
mistook for envy.
"A fire-eater! Yes, sire," repeated D'Artagnan, delighted on
his part to direct the king's attention to Raoul.
"Do you not know his name?"
"Well, I think ---- "
"You know him then?"
"I have known him nearly five-and-twenty years, sire."
"Why, he is scarcely twenty-five years old!" cried the king.
"Well, sire! I have known him ever since he was born, that
is all."
"Do you affirm that?"
"Sire," said D'Artagnan, "your majesty questions me with a
mistrust in which I recognize another character than your
own. M. Colbert, who has so well informed you, has he not
forgotten to tell you that this young man is the son of my
most intimate friend?"
"The Vicomte de Bragelonne?"
"Certainly, sire. The father of the Vicomte de Bragelonne is
M. le Comte de la Fere, who so powerfully assisted in the
restoration of king Charles II. Bragelonne comes of a
valiant race, sire."
"Then he is the son of that nobleman who came to me, or
rather to M. Mazarin, on the part of King Charles II., to
offer me his alliance?"
"Exactly, sire."
"And the Comte de la Fere is a great soldier, say you?"
"Sire, he is a man who has drawn his sword more times for
the king, your father, than there are, at present, months in
the happy life of your majesty."
It was Louis XIV. who now bit his lip.
"That is well, M. d'Artagnan, very well! And M. le Comte de
la Fere is your friend, say you?"
"For about forty years; yes, sire. Your majesty may see that
I do not speak to you of yesterday."
"Should you be glad to see this young man, M. d'Artagnan?"
"Delighted, sire."
The king touched his bell, and an usher appeared. "Call M.
de Bragelonne," said the king.
"Ah! ah! he is here?" said D'Artagnan.
"He is on guard to-day, at the Louvre, with the company of
the gentlemen of monsieur le prince."
The king had scarcely ceased speaking, when Raoul presented
himself, and, on seeing D'Artagnan, smiled on him with that
charming smile which is only found upon the lips of youth.
"Come, come," said D'Artagnan, familiarly, to Raoul, "the
king will allow you to embrace me; only tell his majesty you
thank him."
Raoul bowed so gracefully, that Louis, to whom all superior
qualities were pleasing when they did not overshadow his
own, admired his beauty, strength and modesty.
"Monsieur," said the king, addressing Raoul, "I have asked
monsieur le prince to be kind enough to give you up to me; I
have received his reply, and you belong to me from this
morning. Monsieur le prince was a good master, but I hope
you will not lose by the exchange."
"Yes, yes, Raoul, be satisfied; the king has some good in
him," said D'Artagnan, who had fathomed the character of
Louis, and who played with his self-love, within certain
limits; always observing, be it understood, the proprieties
and flattering, even when he appeared to be bantering.
"Sire," said Bragelonne, with a voice soft and musical, and
with the natural and easy elocution he inherited from his
father, "sire, it is not from to-day that I belong to your
majesty."
"Oh! no, I know," said the king, "you mean your enterprise
of the Greve. That day, you were truly mine, monsieur."
"Sire, it is not of that day I would speak; it would not
become me to refer to so paltry a service in the presence of
such a man as M. d'Artagnan. I would speak of a circumstance
which created an epoch in my life, and which consecrated me,
from the age of sixteen, to the devoted service of your
majesty."
"Ah! ah!" said the king, "what was that circumstance? Tell
me, monsieur."
"This is it, sire. -- When I was setting out on my first
campaign, that is to say, to join the army of monsieur le
prince, M. le Comte de la Fere came to conduct me as far as
Saint-Denis, where the remains of King Louis XIII. wait,
upon the lowest steps of the funeral basilique, a successor,
whom God will not send him, I hope, for many years. Then he
made me swear upon the ashes of our masters, to serve
royalty, represented by you -- incarnate in you, sire -- to
serve it in word, in thought, and in action. I swore, and
God and the dead were witnesses to my oath. During ten
years, sire, I have not so often as I desired had occasion
to keep it. I am a soldier of your majesty, and nothing
else; and, on calling me nearer to you, I do not change my
master, I only change my garrison."
Raoul was silent, and bowed. Louis still listened after he
had done speaking.
"Mordioux!" cried D'Artagnan, "that was well spoken! was it
not, your majesty? A good race! a noble race!"
"Yes," murmured the agitated king, without, however, daring
to manifest his emotion, for it had no other cause than
contact with a nature intrinsically noble. "Yes, monsieur,
you say truly: -- wherever you were, you were the king's.
But in changing your garrison, believe me you will find an
advancement of which you are worthy."
Raoul saw that this ended what the king had to say to him.
And with the perfect tact which characterized his refined
nature, he bowed and retired.
"Is there anything else, monsieur, of which you have to
inform me?" said the king, when he found himself again alone
with D'Artagnan.
"Yes, sire, and I kept that news for the last, for it is
sad, and will clothe European royalty in mourning."
"What do you tell me?"
"Sire, in passing through Blois, a word, a sad word, echoed
from the palace, struck my ear."
"In truth, you terrify me, M. d'Artagnan."
"Sire, this word was pronounced to me by a piqueur, who wore
crape on his arm."
"My uncle, Gaston of Orleans, perhaps."
"Sire, he has rendered his last sigh."
"And I was not warned of it!" cried the king, whose royal
susceptibility saw an insult in the absence of this
intelligence.
"Oh! do not be angry, sire," said D'Artagnan; "neither the
couriers of Paris, nor the couriers of the whole world, can
travel with your servant; the courier from Blois will not be
here these two hours, and he rides well, I assure you,
seeing that I only passed him on the thither side of
Orleans."
"My uncle Gaston," murmured Louis, pressing his hand to his
brow, and comprising in those three words all that his
memory recalled of that symbol of opposing sentiments.
"Eh! yes, sire, it is thus," said D'Artagnan,
philosophically replying to the royal thought, "it is thus
the past flies away."
"That is true, monsieur, that is true; but there remains for
us, thank God! the future; and we will try to make it not
too dark."
"I feel confidence in your majesty on that head," said
D'Artagnan, bowing, "and now ---- "
"You are right, monsieur; I had forgotten the hundred
leagues you have just ridden. Go, monsieur, take care of one
of the best of soldiers, and when you have reposed a little,
come and place yourself at my disposal."
"Sire, absent or present, I am always yours."
D'Artagnan bowed and retired. Then, as if he had only come
from Fontainebleau, he quickly traversed the Louvre to
rejoin Bragelonne.
