 Chapter 8 of the D'Artagnan Romances, Volume 3, Part 1 by Alexandre Dumas, translated by William Robson. This Leap Of Box recording is in the public domain. What is Majesty King Louis XIV was at the age of twenty-two. It has been seen, by the account we have endeavored to give of it, that the entree of King Louis XIV into the city of Blois had been noisy and brilliant, as young Majesty had therefore appeared perfectly satisfied with it. On arriving beneath the porch of the castle of the States, the King met surrounded by his guards and gentlemen with S. A. R. the Duke Gaston of Olyan, whose physiognomy, naturally rather majestic, had borrowed on this solemn occasion a fresh luster and a fresh dignity. On her part Madame, dressed in her robes of ceremony, awaited in the interior balcony the entrance of her nephew. All the windows of the old castle, so deserted and dismay on ordinary days, were resplendent with ladies and lights. It was then to the sound of drums, trumpets, and vivats that the young King crossed the threshold of that castle, in which seventy-two years before Henry III had called in the aid of assassination and treachery to keep upon his head and in his house a crown which was already slipping from his brow to fall into another family. All eyes, after having admired the young King, so handsome and so agreeable, sought for that other King of France, much other wise King than the former, and so old, so pale, so bent, that people called him the Cardinal Massarine. Louis was at that time endowed with all the natural gifts which make the perfect gentleman. His eye was brilliant, mild, and of a clear azure blue, but the most skillful physiognomists, those divers into the soul, on fixing their looks upon it, if it had been possible for a subject to sustain the glance of the King, the most skillful physiognomists, we say, would never have been able to fathom the depths of that abyss of mildness. It was with the eyes of the King as with the immense depths of the azure heavens, or with those more terrific and almost as sublime, which the Mediterranean reveals under the keels of its ships in a clear summer day, a gigantic mirror in which heaven delights to reflect sometimes its stars, sometimes its storms. The King was short of stature. He was scarcely five feet two inches, but his youth made up for this defect, set off likewise by great nobleness in all his movements, and by considerable address in all bodily exercises. Chertis, he was already quite a King, and it was a great thing to be a King in that period of traditional devotedness and respect. But as, up to that time, he had been but seldom and always poorly shown to the people, as they, to whom he was shown, saw him by the side of his mother, a tall woman, and Mr. La Cardinal, a man of commanding presence, many found him so little of a King as to say, Why, the King is not so tall as Mr. La Cardinal. Whatever may be thought of these physical observations, which were principally made in the capital, the young King was welcomed as a God by the inhabitants of Blois. You know, almost like a King by his uncle and aunt, Monsieur and Madame, the inhabitants of the castle. It must, however, be allowed, that when he saw in the hall of reception chairs of equal height placed for himself, his mother, the Cardinal, and his uncle and aunt, a disposition artfully concealed by the semicircular form of the assembly, Louis XIV became red with anger, and looked around him to ascertain by the countenance of those that were present if this humiliation had been prepared for him. But as he saw nothing upon the impassable visions of the Cardinal, nothing on that of his mother, nothing on those of the assembly he resigned himself, and sat down, taking care to be seated before anybody else. The gentlemen and ladies were presented to their Majesties, and Mr. La Cardinal. The King remarked that his mother and he scarcely knew the names of any of the persons who were presented to them, whilst the Cardinal on the contrary never failed, with an admirable memory and presence of mind, to talk to everyone about his estates, his ancestors, or his children, some of whom he named, which enchanted those worthy country gentlemen and confirmed them in the idea that he alone is truly King who knows his subjects, from the same reason that the sun has no rival because the sun alone warms and lightens. The study of the young King, which had begun a long time before without anybody suspecting it, was continued then, and he looked around him attentively to endeavour to make out something in the physionomies which had at first appeared the most insignificant and trivial. A collation was served, the King, without daring to call upon the hospitality of his uncle, had waited for it impatiently, this time, therefore, he had all the honours due, if not to his rank, at least to his appetite. As to the Cardinal, he contented himself with touching with his withered lips a bullion served in a gold cup. The all-powerful minister, who had taken her regency from the Queen and his royalty from the King, had not been able to take a good stomach from nature. Anne of Austria, already suffering from the cancer which six or eight years after caused her death, ate very little more than the Cardinal, for Monsieur already puffed up with the great event which had taken place in his provincial life, he ate nothing whatever. Madame, alone, like a true lorainer, kept pace with his Majesty, so that Louis XIV, who, without this partner, might have eaten nearly alone, was at first much pleased with his aunt, and afterwards with Monsieur de Saint-Rémy, her maitre d'hôtel, who had really distinguished himself. The collation over, at a sign of approbation from Monsieur de Mazarin, the King arose and, at the invitation of his aunt, walked about among the ranks of the assembly. The ladies then observed—there are certain things for which women are as good observers at blois, at Paris—the ladies then observed that Louis XIV had a prompt and bold look, which premised a distinguished appreciator of beauty. The men on their part observed that the Prince was proud and haughty, that they loved to look down on those who fixed their eyes upon him too long or too earnestly, which gave pressage of a master. Louis XIV had accomplished about a third of his review when his ears were struck with a word which his eminence pronounced whilst conversing with Monsieur. This word was the name of a woman. Scarcely had Louis XIV heard this word than he heard, or rather listened to nothing else, and neglecting the arc of the circle which awaited his visit, his object seemed to be to come as quickly as possible to the extremity of the curve. Monsieur, like a good courtier, was inquiring of Monsieur le Cardinal after the health of his nieces. He regretted, he said, not having the pleasure of receiving them at the same time with their uncle. They must certainly have grown in stature, beauty, and grace, as they had promised to do the last time Monsieur had seen them. When it first struck the king, was a certain contrast in the voices of the two interlocutors. The voice of Monsieur was calm and natural while he spoke thus, while that of Monsieur de Mazarin jumped by a note and a half to reply above the diapason of his usual voice. It might have been said that he wished that voice to strike at the end of the salon any ear that was too distant. Monsignor, replied he, made was else de Mazarin have still to finish their education. They have duties to fulfill and a position to make, and about in the young and brilliant court would dissipate them a little. Louis at this last sentence smiled sadly. The court was young, it was true, but the avarice of the Cardinal had taken good care that it should not be brilliant. You have nevertheless no intention, replied Monsieur, to cloister them or make them bourgeoisie. Not at all, replied the Cardinal, forcing his Italian pronunciation in such a manner that from soft and velvety as it was it became sharp and vibrating. And not at all. I have a full and fixed intention to marry them, and that as well as I shall be able. Parties will not be wanting, Monsieur, the Cardinal, replied Monsieur with a bonomy worthy of one tradesman congratulating another. I hope not, Monsignor, and with reason, as God has been pleased to give them grace, intelligence, and beauty. During this conversation Louis XIV, conducted by Madame, accomplished, as we have described, the circle of presentations. Mademoiselle Oricule, said the Princess, presenting to His Majesty a fat, fair girl of two and twenty, who at a village fat might have been taken for a peasant in Sunday finery. The daughter of my music mistress. The King smiled. Madame had never been able to extract four correct notes from either Viol or Harpsichord. Mademoiselle Oricule continued Madame, a young lady of rank and my good attendant. For this time it was not the King that smiled. It was the young lady presented, because for the first time in her life she heard given to her by Madame, who generally showed no tendency to spoil her such an honorable qualification. Our old acquaintance Montelet, therefore, made His Majesty a profound courtesy. The more respectful from the necessity she was under of concealing certain contradictions of her laughing lips, which the King might not have attributed to their real cause. It was just at this moment that the King caught the word which startled him. And the name of the third? asked Monsieur. Marie, Manceignere, replied the Cardinal. There was doubtless some magical influence in that word, for, as we have said, the King started adhering it and drew Madame toward the middle of the circle, as if he wished to put some confidential question to her, but in reality for the sake of getting nearer to the Cardinal. Madame, my aunt, said he laughing and in a suppressed voice, my geography master did not teach me that blah was at such an immense distance from Paris. What do you mean, nephew? asked Madame. Why, because it would appear that it requires several years as regards fashion to travel the distance. Look at those young ladies. Well, I know them all. Some of them are pretty. Don't say that too loud, Monsieur, my nephew. You will drive them wild. Stop a bit. Stop a bit, dear aunt, said the King, smiling. For the second part of my sentence will serve as a corrective to the first. Well, my dear aunt, some of them appear old and others ugly, thanks to their ten-year-old fashions. But Sire, blah is only five days' journey from Paris. Yes, that is it, said the King, two years behind for each day. Indeed, you really think so. Wow, that is strange. It never struck me. Now, look, aunt, said Louis XIV, drawing still nearer to Mazarine under the pretext of gaining a better point of view. Look at that simple white dress by the side of those antiquated specimens of finery and those pretentious coiffures. She is probably one of my mother's maids of honour, though I don't know her. My dear nephew, replied Madame, laughing, permit me to tell you that your divinatory science is at fault for once. The young lady you honour with your praise is not a Parisian, but a blazoise. Oh, aunt, replied the King with a look of doubt. Come here, Louise, said Madame, and the fair girl already known to you under that name approached them, timid, blushing, and almost bent beneath the royal glance. Madame was a Louise Francois de la Blanc, the daughter of the Marquis de la Valière, said Madame ceremoniously. The young girl bowed with so much grace, mingled with the profound timidity inspired by the presence of the King, that the latter lost, while looking at her, a few words of the conversation of Monsieur and the Cardinal. Daughter-in-law, continued Madame, of Monsieur de Saint-Remy, my maitre d'hôtel, who presided over the confection of that excellent drab trophée, which your majesty seemed so much to appreciate. No grace, no youth, no beauty could stand out against such a presentation. The King smiled. Whether the words of Madame were a pleasantry or uttered in all innocencey, they proved the pitiless emulation of everything that Louis had found charming or poetic in the young girl. Manoiselle de la Valière, for Madame, and by rebound for the King, was for a moment no more than the daughter of a man of a superior talent over dinde trophée. But princes are thus constituted. The gods, too, were just like this in Olympus. Diana and Venus, no doubt, abused the beautiful alchmena and poor Io, when they condescended for distraction's sake to speak amidst nectar and ambrosia of mortal beauties at the table of Jupiter. Fortunately, Louise was so bent in her reverential salute that she did not catch either Madame's words or the King's smile. In fact, if the poor child who had so much good taste as alone to have chosen to dress herself in white amidst all her companions, if that doves heart, so easily accessible to painful emotions, had been touched by the cruel words of Madame, or the egotistical cold smile of the King, it would have annihilated her. And Montelet herself, the girl of ingenious ideas, would not have attempted to recall her to life, for ridicule kills beauty even. But, fortunately, as we have said, Louise whose ears were buzzing and her eyes veiled by timidity, Louise saw nothing and heard nothing, and the King, who had still his attention directed to the conversation of the Cardinal and his uncle, hastened to return to them. He came up just at the moment Masoudine terminated by saying, Mary, as well as her sisters, has set off for Bruage, I make them follow the opposite bank of the Loire, to that along which we have travelled, and if I calculate their progress correctly, according to the orders I have given, they will to-morrow be opposite Blois. These words were pronounced with that tact, that measure, that distinctness of tone, of intention and reach, which made Del Signore Giulio Masoudine the first comedian in the world. It resulted that they went straight to the heart of Louis XIV, and the Cardinal, on turning round at the simple noise of the approaching footsteps of his Majesty, saw the immediate effect of them upon the countenance of his pupil, an effect betrayed to the keen eyes of his eminence by a slight increase of colour. But what was the ventilation of such a secret to him, whose craft had for twenty years deceived all the diplomatists of Europe? From the moment the young King heard these last words, he appeared as if he had received a poisoned arrow in his heart. He could not remain quiet in a place, but cast around an uncertain, dead and aimless look over the assembly. He, with his eyes, interrogated his mother more than twenty times, but she, given up to the pleasure of conversing with her sister-in-law, and likewise constrained by the glance of Masoudine, did not appear to comprehend any of the supplications conveyed by the looks of her son. From this moment music, lights, flowers, beauties all became odious and insipid to Louis XIV. After he had a hundred times bitten his lips, stretched his legs and his arms like a well-brought-up child who, without daring to gape, exhausts all the modes of evincing his weariness. After having uselessly again implored his mother and the minister, he turned a despairing look toward the door, that is to say, toward liberty. At this door, in the embrasure of which he was leaning, he saw, standing out strongly, a figure with a brown and lofty countenance, an aquiline nose, a stern but brilliant eye, gray and long hair, a black mustache, the true type of military beauty whose gorge, more sparkling than a mirror, broke all the reflected lights which concentrated upon it, and sent them back as lightning. This officer wore his gray hat with its long red plumes upon his head, a proof that he was called there by his duty and not by his pleasure. If he had been brought to there by his pleasure, if he had been accordier instead of a soldier, as pleasure must always be paid for at the same price, he would have held his hat in his hand. That which proved still better that this officer was upon duty and was accomplishing a task to which he was accustomed, was that he watched with folded arms remarkable indifference and supreme apathy the joys and ennuis of this FET. Above all, he appeared like a philosopher, and all old soldiers are philosophers. He appeared above all to comprehend the ennuis infinitely better than the joys, but in the one he took his part knowing very well how to do without the other. Now he was leaning as we have said against the cart door frame when the melancholy weary eyes of the king by chance met his. It was not the first time as it appeared that the eyes of the officer had met those eyes, and he was perfectly acquainted with the expression of them, for as soon as he had cast his look upon the countenance of Louis XIV and had read by it what was passing in his heart, that is to say all the ennuis that oppressed him, all the timid desire to go out which agitated him, he perceived he must render the king a service without his commanding it, almost in spite of himself. Boldly, therefore, as if he had given the word of command to Calvary in battle. On the king's service cried he in a clearest sonorous voice, at these words which produced the effect of appeal of thunder prevailing over the orchestra, the singing in the buzz of the promenaders, the cardinal and the queen mother looked at each other with surprise. Louis XIV pale but resolved, supported as he was by that intuition of his own thought, which he had found in the mind of the officer of the musketeer, and which he had just manifested by the order given arose from his chair and took a step towards the door. Are you going, my son? said the queen, whilst Masarine satisfied himself with interrogating by a look which might have appeared mild if it had not been so piercing. Yes, madame? replied the king. I am fatigued, and besides wish to write this evening. A smile stole over the lips of the minister who appeared by a bend of the head to give the king permission. Monsieur and madame hastened to give orders to the officers who presented themselves. The king bowed, crossed the hall, and gained the door where a hedge of twenty musketeers awaited him. At the extremity of this hedge stood the officer, impassable with his drawn sword in his hand. The king passed, and all the crowd stood on tiptoe to have one more look at him. Ten musketeers, opening the crowd of the antechambers and the steps made way for his majesty. The other ten surrounded the king and monsieur who had insisted upon accompanying his majesty. The domestics walked behind. This little cortege escorted the king to the chamber destined for him. The apartment was the same that had been occupied by Henry III during his sojourn in the States. Monsieur had given his orders. The musketeers led by their officer took possession of the little passage by which one wing of the castle communicates with the other. This passage was commenced by a small square antechamber, dark even in the finest days. Monsieur stopped Louis XIV. You are passing now, Sire? said he. The very spot where the duke-diggies received the first stab of the punyard. The king was ignorant of all historical matters. He had heard of the fact, but he knew nothing of the localities or the details. Ha! said he with a shutter. And he stopped. The rest both behind and before him stopped likewise. Oh, the duke-sire, continued Gaston, was nearly where I stand. He was walking in the same direction as your majesty. Monsieur de Lorne was exactly where your lieutenant of musketeers is. Monsieur de Saint-Maline and his majesty's ordinaries were behind him and around him. It was here that he was struck. The king turned towards his officer and saw something like a cloud pass over his marshal and daring countenance. Yes, from behind murmured the lieutenant with a gesture of supreme disdain, and he endeavored to resume the march, as if ill at ease at being between walls formerly defiled by treachery. But the king who appeared to wish to be informed was disposed to give another look at this dismal spot. Gaston perceived his nephew's desire. Look, sire! said he, taking a flambeau from the hands of Monsieur de Saint-Remy. This is where he fell. There was a bed there, the curtains of which he tore with catching at them. Why does the floor seem hollowed out at this spot? asked Louis. Because it was here the blood flowed, replied Gaston. The blood penetrated deeply into the oak, and it was only by cutting it out that they succeeded in making it disappear. And even then, added Gaston, pointing the flambeau to the spot, even then this red stain resisted all the attempts made to destroy it. Louis XIV raised his head. Perhaps he was thinking of that bloody trace that had once been shown him at the Louvre, and which, as a pendant to that oblois, had been made there one day by the king his father with the blood of Concini. Let us go on, said he. The march was resumed promptly, for emotion no doubt had given to the voice of the young prince a tone of command, which was not customary with him. When arrived at the apartment destined for the king, which communicated not only with the little passage we have passed through, but further with the great staircase leading to the court. Will your majesty, said Gaston, can descend to occupy this apartment all unworthy as it is to receive you. Uncle, replied the young king, I render you my thanks for your cordial hospitality. Gaston bowed to his nephew, embraced him, and then went out. Of the twenty musketeers who had accompanied the king, ten reconducted monsieur to the reception rooms, which were not yet empty, notwithstanding the king had retired. The ten others were posted by their officer, who himself explored in five minutes all the localities with that cold and certain glance, which not even habit gives, unless that glance belongs to genius. Then, when all were placed, he chose as his headquarters the antechamber, in which he found a large fatoya, a lamp, some wine, some water, and some dry bread. He refreshed his lamp, drank half a glass of wine, curled his lip with a smile full of expression, installed himself in his large armchair, and made preparations for sleeping. End of Chapter 8 Recording by John Van Stan, Savannah, Georgia Chapter 9 of the D'Artagnan Romances, Volume 3, Part 1, by Alexander Dumas, translated by William Robson. This sleep-revox recording is in the public domain. In which the unknown of the hostory of Le Medici loses his incognito. This officer, who was sleeping or preparing to sleep, was notwithstanding his careless air charged with a serious responsibility. Lieutenant of the king's musketeers. He commanded all the company which came from Paris, and that company consisted of a hundred and twenty men. But with the exception of the twenty of whom we have spoken, the other hundred were engaged in guarding the queen mother and, more particularly, the cardinal. Monsignor Giulio Masarini economized the traveling expenses of his guards. He consequently used the kings, and that largely since he took fifty of them for himself. A peculiarity which would not have failed to strike any one unacquainted with the usages of the court. That which would still further have appeared, if not inconvenient, at least extraordinary to a stranger, was that the side of the castle destined for Monsieur the Cardinal was brilliant, light and cheerful. The musketeers were mounted guard before every door, and allowed no one to enter except the couriers who, even while he was traveling, followed the cardinal for the carrying on of his correspondence. Twenty men were on duty with the queen mother, thirty rested, in order to relieve their companions the next day. On the king's side, on the contrary, were darkness, silence, and solitude. When once the doors were closed there was no longer an appearance of royalty. All the servitors had, by degrees, retired. Monsieur Le Prance had sent to know if his majesty required his attendants, and on the customary know of the lieutenant of musketeers, who was habituated to the question and the reply, all appeared to sink into the arms of sleep, as if in the dwelling of a good citizen. And yet it was possible to hear from the side of the house occupied by the young king the music of the banquet, and to see the windows of the great hall richly illuminated. Ten minutes after his installation in his apartment, Louis XIV had been able to learn, by movement much more distinguished than marked his own leaving, the departure of the cardinal, who in his turn sought his bedroom accompanied by a large escort of ladies and gentlemen. Besides, to proceed this movement he had nothing to do but to look out his window, the shutters of which had not been closed. His eminence crossed the court, conducted by Monsieur, who himself held a flambeau, then followed by the queen mother, to whom Madame familiarly gave her arm, and both walked chatting away, like two old friends. Behind these two couples filed ennobles, ladies, pages and officers. The flambeau gleamed over the whole court like the moving reflections of a conflagration. Then the noise of steps and voices became lost in the upper floors of the castle. No one was then thinking of the king, who leaning on his elbow at his window had sadly seen pass away all the light and heard that noise die off. No, not one, if it was not that unknown of the hostelry de Medici whom we have seen go out enveloped in his cloak. He had come straight up to the castle, and had with his melancholy countenance wandered round and round the palace, from which the people had not yet departed, and finding that no one guarded the great entrance or the porch. Seeing that the soldiers of Monsieur were fraternizing with the royal soldiers, that is to say swallowing bogey and sea at discretion, or rather indiscretion. The unknown penetrated through the crowd, then ascended to the court, and came to the landing of the staircase leading to the cardinal's apartment. What, according to all probability, induced him to direct his steps that way, was the splendor of the flambeau, and the busy air of the pages and domestics, but he was stopped short by a presented musket and the cry of the sentinel. Where are you going, my friend? asked the soldier. I am going to the king's apartment, replied the unknown haughtily, but tranquilly. The soldier called one of his eminence's officers, who, in the tone in which a youth in office directs a solicitor to a minister, let fall these words. The other staircase, in front. And the officer, without further notice of the unknown, resumed his interrupted conversation. The stranger without reply directed his steps toward the staircase pointed out to him. On this side there was no noise. There were no more flambeau. Obscurity, through which a sentinel glided like a shadow, silence, which permitted him to hear the sound of his own footsteps, accompanied with the jingling of his spurs upon the stone slabs. This guard was one of the twenty musketeers appointed for attendance upon the king, and who mounted guard with the stiffness and consciousness of a statue. Who goes there? said the guard. A friend replied the unknown. What do you want? To speak to the king. Do you, my dear monsieur? That's not very likely. Why not? Because the king has gone to bed. Gone to bed already? Yes. No matter. I must speak to him. And I tell you that it is impossible. And yet? Go back. Do you require the word? I have no account to render to you. Stand back. And this time the soldier accompanied his word with a threatening gesture, but the unknown stirred no more than if his feet had taken root. Monsieur le musketeer said he. Are you a gentleman? I have that honour. Very well. I also am one, and between gentlemen some consideration ought to be observed. The soldier lowered his arms, overcome by the dignity with which these words were pronounced. Speak, monsieur, said he, and if you ask me anything in my power. Thank you. You have an officer, have you not? Our lieutenant. Yes, monsieur. Well, I wish to speak to him. Oh, that's a different thing. Come up, monsieur. The unknown saluted the soldier in a lofty fashion and ascended the staircase, whilst a cry, Lieutenant, a visit, transmitted from sentinel to sentinel, preceded the unknown and disturbed the slumbers of the officer. Dragging on his boots, rubbing his eyes and hooking his cloak, the lieutenant made three steps toward the stranger. What can I do to serve you, monsieur? asked he. You are the officer on duty, lieutenant of the musketeers, are you? I have that honour, replied the officer. Monsieur, I must absolutely speak to the king. The lieutenant looked attentively at the unknown, and in that look, however, rapid, he saw all he wished to see. That is to say, a person of high distinction in an ordinary dress. I do not suppose you to be mad, replied he, and yet you seem to me to be in a condition to know, monsieur, that people do not enter a king's apartment in this manner without his consent. He will consent. Monsieur, permit me to doubt that. The king has retired this quarter of an hour. He must be now undressing. Besides, the word is given. When he knows who I am, he will recall the word. The officer was more and more surprised, more and more subdued. If I consent to announce you, may I at least know whom to announce, monsieur? You will announce his majesty, Charles II, King of England, Scotland and Ireland. The officer uttered a cry of astonishment, drew back, and there might be seen upon his pallid countenance one of the most poignant emotions that ever an energetic man endeavored to drive back to his heart. Oh, yes, Sire, in fact, said he, I ought to have recognized you. You have seen my portrait, then? No, Sire. Or else you have seen me formally at court, before I was driven from France. No, Sire, it's not even that. How then could you have recognized me if you have never seen my portrait or my person? Sire, I saw his majesty your father at a terrible moment. The day, yes. A dark cloud passed over the brow of the prince, then dashing his hand across it. Do you still see any difficulty in announcing me? Said he. Sire, pardon me. Reply to the officer. But I could not imagine a king under so simple an exterior, and yet I had the honor to tell your majesty just now that I had seen Charles I, but pardon me, Sire, I will go and inform the king. But returning after going a few steps, your majesty is desirous, without doubt, that this interview should be a secret, said he. I do not require it, but if it were possible to preserve it. It is possible, Sire, for I can dispense with informing the first gentleman on duty, but for that your majesty must please to consent to give up your sword. True. True. I had forgotten that no one armed is permitted to enter the chamber of a king of France. Your majesty will form an exception, if you wish it, but then I shall avoid my responsibility by informing the king's attendant. Here is my sword, monsieur. Will you now please to announce me to his majesty? Instantly, Sire. And the officer immediately went and knocked at the door of communication, which the valet opened to him. His majesty, the king of England, said the officer. His majesty, the king of England, replied the valet of Chambre. These words a gentleman opened the folding doors of the king's apartment, and Louis XIV was seen, without hat or sword, and his poor plant opened, advancing with signs of the greatest surprise. You, my brother, you at Blois, cried Louis XIV, dismissing with a gesture both the gentleman and the valet of Chambre, who passed out into the next apartment. Sire, replied Charles II, I was going to Paris in the hope of seeing your majesty. When report informed me of your approaching arrival in this city, I therefore prolonged my abode here, having something very particular to communicate to you. Will this closet suit you, my brother? Perfectly well, Sire, for I think no one can hear us here. I have dismissed my gentleman and my watcher. They are in the next chamber. There, behind that partition, is a solitary closet, looking into the anti-chamber, and in that anti-chamber you found nobody but a solitary officer, did you? No, Sire. Well, then speak, my brother. I listen to you. Sire, I commence an entreatial majesty to have pity on the misfortunes of our house. The king of France colored and drew his chair closer to that of the king of England. Sire, said Charles II, I have no need to ask if your majesty is acquainted with the details of my deplorable history. Louis XIV blushed, this time more strongly than before, then stretching forth his hand to that of the king of England. My brother, said he, I am ashamed to say so, but the cardinal scarcely ever speaks of political affairs before me. Still more, formerly I used to get La Porte, my valetishamber, to read historical subjects to me, but he put a stop to these readings, and took away La Porte from me, so that I begged my brother Charles to tell me all those matters as to a man who knows nothing. Well, Sire, I think that by taking things from the beginning I shall have a better chance of touching the heart of your majesty. Speak on, my brother. Speak on. You know, Sire, that being called in 1650 to Edinburgh, during Cromwell's expedition into Ireland, I was crowned at Scone. A year after, wounded in one of the provinces he had usurped, Cromwell returned upon us. To meet him was my object, to leave Scotland was my wish. And yet, interrupted the young king, Scotland is almost your native country, is it not, my brother? Yes, but the Scots were cruel compatriots for me, Sire. They had forced me to forsake the religion of my fathers. They had hung Lord Montrose, the most devoted of my servants, because he was not a coven-enter, and as the poor martyr, to whom they had offered a favour when dying, had asked that his body might be cut into as many pieces as there are cities in Scotland, and order that evidence of his fidelity might be met with everywhere, I could not leave one city, or go into another without passing under some fragments of a body which had acted, fought, and breathed for me. By a bold, almost desperate march, I passed through Cromwell's army and entered England, the Protector set out in pursuit of this strange flight, which had a crown for its object. If I had been able to reach London before him, without doubt the prize of the race would have been mine. But he overtook me at Worcester. The genius of England was no longer with us but with him. On the 5th of September 1651, Sire, the anniversary of the other battle of Dunbar, so fatal to the Scots, I was conquered. Two thousand men fell around me before I thought of retreating a step. At length I was obliged to fly. From that moment my history became a romance. Pursued with persistent inveteracy, I cut off my hair. I disguised myself as a woodman. One day spent amidst the branches of an oak gave to that tree the name of the Royal Oak, which it bears to this day. My adventures in the county of Stafford, once I escaped with the daughter of my host on a pillion behind me, still filled the tales of the country firesides and would furnish matter for ballads. I will someday write all this, Sire, for the instruction of my brother-kings. I will first tell how, on arriving at the residence of Mr. Norton, I met with a court chaplain, who was looking on at a party playing at Skittles, and an old servant who named me bursting into tears, and who was as near and as certainly killing me by his fidelity as any other, might have been by treachery. Then I will tell of my terrors, yes, Sire, of my terrors, when at the house of Colonel Wyndham, a farrier who came to shoo our horses, declared they had been shawed in the north. How strange! murmured Louis XIV. I have never heard anything of all that. I was only told of your embarkation at Brightham Stone, and your landing in Normandy. Oh! exclaimed Charles, if heaven permits kings to be the ignorant of histories of each other, how can they render assistance to their brothers who need it? But tell me, continued Louis XIV, how after being so roughly received in England, you can still hope for anything from that unhappy country and that rebellious people? Oh, Sire, since the Battle of Worcester, everything has changed there. Cromwell is dead, after having signed a treaty with France in which his name is placed above yours. He died on the 5th of September, 1658, a fresh anniversary of the battles of Dunbar and Worcester. His son has succeeded him. But certain men have a family, Sire, no heir. The inheritance of Oliver was too heavy for Richard. Richard was neither Republican nor royalist. Richard allowed his gods to eat his dinner and his generals to govern the Republic. Richard abdicated the protectorate on the 22nd of April, 1659, more than a year ago, Sire. From that time England is nothing but a tennis court in which the players throw dice for the crown of my father. The two most eager players are Lambert and Monk. Well, Sire, I in my turn wish to take part in this game, where the stakes are thrown upon my royal mantle. Sire, it only requires a million to corrupt one of these players and make an ally of him, or two hundred of your gentlemen to drive them out of my palace at Whitehall, as Christ drove the money changers from the temple. You come, then? replied Louis XIV. To ask me? For your assistance, that is to say, not only for that which kings owe to each other, but that which simple Christians owe to each other, your assistance, Sire, either in money or men, your assistance, Sire, and within a month, whether I oppose Lambert to Monk or Monk to Lambert, I shall have reconquered my paternal inheritance without having cost my country a guinea, or my subjects a drop of blood. For they are now all drunk with revolutions, protectorates, and republics, and ask nothing better than to fall staggering to sleep in the arms of royalty. Your assistance, Sire, and I shall owe you more than I owe my father, my poor father, who bought at so dear a rate the ruin of our house. You may judge, Sire, whether I am unhappy, whether I am in despair. For I accuse my own father, and the blood mounted to the pale face of Charles II, who remained for an instant with his head between his hands, and, as if blinded by that blood which appeared to revolt against the filial blasphemy. The young king was not less affected than his elder brother, he threw himself about in his fauteuil, and could not find a single word of reply. Charles II, to whom ten years in age gave a superior strength to master his emotions, recovered his speech the first. Sire, said he, your reply, I wait for it as a criminal waits for his sentence, must I die? My brother, replied the French prince, you ask me for a million, me who was never possessed of a quarter of that sum, I possess nothing, I am no more king of France than you are king of England, I am a name, a cipher dressed in fleur de lis de velvet, that is all, I am upon a visible throne, that is my only advantage over your majesty, I have nothing, I can do nothing. Can it be so? exclaimed Charles II. My brother, said Louis, sinking his voice, I have undergone miseries with which my poorest gentlemen are unacquainted. If my poor La Porte were here, he would tell you that I have slept in ragged sheets, through the holes of which my legs have passed. He would tell you that afterwards, when I asked for carriages, they brought me conveyances half destroyed by the rats of the coach houses. He would tell you that when I asked for my dinner, the servants went to the cardinal's kitchen to inquire if there were any dinner for the king. And look, today, this very day even, when I am twenty-two years of age, today, when I have attained the great of the majority of kings, today, when I ought to have the key of the treasury, the direction of the policy, the supremacy in peace and war, cast your eyes around me, see how I am left, look at this abandonment, this disdain, this silence, whilst yonder, look yonder, view the bustle, the lights, the homage, there, there you see the real king of France, my brother. In the cardinal's apartments? Yes, in the cardinal's apartments. Then I am condemned, Sire. Louis XIV made no reply. Condemned is the word, for I will never solicit him who left my mother and sister to die with cold and hunger, the daughter and granddaughter of Henry IV, if Monsieur de Retz and the parliament had not sent them wooden bread. To die? murmured Louis XIV. Well? continued the king of England. Poor Charles II, grandson of Henry IV, as you are, Sire, having neither parliament nor cardinal de Retz to apply to, will die of hunger, as his mother and sister had nearly done. Louis knitted his brow and twisted violently the lace of his ruffles. This prostration, this immobility serving as a mark to an emotion so visible, struck Charles II and he took the young man's hand. Thanks, said he, my brother, you pity me, and that is all I can require of you in your present situation. Sire, said Louis XIV, with a sudden impulse and raising his head. It is a million you require, or two hundred gentlemen, I think you say? Sire, a million would be quite sufficient. That is very little. Offered to a single man, it is a great deal. Convictions have been purchased at a much lower price, and I should have nothing to do but with vinalities. Two hundred gentlemen, reflect, that is little more than a single company. Sire, there is in our family a tradition, and that is that four men, four French gentlemen, devoted to my father, were near saving my father, though condemned by a parliament, guarded by an army, and surrounded by a nation. Then, if I can procure you a million, or two hundred gentlemen, you will be satisfied, and you will consider me your well-affectioned brother. I shall consider you as my saviour, and if I recover the throne of my father, England will be, as long as I reign at least, a sister to France, as you will have been a brother to me. Well, my brother, said Louis Rising, what you hesitate to ask for, I will myself demand, that which I have never done on my own account, I will do on yours. I will go and find the king of France, the other, the rich and the powerful one, I mean. I will myself solicit this million, or these two hundred gentlemen, and we will see. Oh, cried Charles, you are a noble friend, Sire, a heart crafted by God. You save me, my brother, and if you should ever stand in need of the life you restore me, demand it. Silence, my brother, silence, said Louis in a suppressed voice. Take care that no one hears you. We have not obtained our end yet, to ask money of Mazorine. That is worse than traversing the enchanted forest, each tree of which enclosed a demon. It is more than setting out to conquer a world. But yet, Sire, when you ask it, I have already told you that I never asked. Replied Louis with a heartiness that made the king of England turn pale, and as the latter like a wounded man made of retreating movement. Pardon me, my brother, replied he. I have neither a mother nor a sister who are suffering. My throne is hard and naked, but I am firmly seated on my throne, pardon me that expression, my brother, it was that of an egotist. I will retract it, therefore, by a sacrifice. I will go to Mr. Le Cardinal. Wait for me, if you please. I will return. THE EARTHMATIC OF MISSIR DE MAZORINE Whilst the king was directing his course rapidly toward the wing of the castle occupied by the Cardinal, taking nobody with him but his valet de chambre, the officer of the musketeers came out, breathing like a man who has, for a long time, been forced to hold his breath from the little cabinet of which we have already spoken, in which the king believed to be quite solitary. This little cabinet had formerly been part of the chamber, from which it was only separated by a thin partition. It resulted that this partition, which was only for the eye, permitted the ear the least indiscreet to hear every word spoken in the chamber. There was no doubt, then, that this lieutenant de musketeers had heard all that passed in his majesty's apartment. Warned by the last words of the young king, he came out just in time to salute him on his passage and to follow him with his eyes till he had disappeared in the corridor. Then, as soon as he had disappeared, he shook his head after a fashion peculiarly his own, and in a voice which forty years' absence from Gaskony had not deprived of its Gaskon accent, a melancholy service, said he, and a melancholy master. These words pronounced. The lieutenant resumed his place in his fortoya, stretched his legs and closed his eyes like a man who either sleeps or meditates. During this short monologue and the mise-en-scene that had accompanied it, whilst the king, through the long corridors of the old castle, proceeded to the apartment of Monsieur de Mazarin, a secret of another sort was being enacted in those apartments. Mazarin was in bed, suffering a little from the gout. But as he was a man of order, who utilized even pain, he forced his wakefulness to be the humble servant of his labour. He had consequently ordered Benouane, his valet de chambre, to bring him a little travelling dress, so that he might write in bed. But the gout is not an adversary that allows itself to be conquered so easily. Therefore, at each movement he made, the pain from dull became sharp. Is Brienne there? asked he of Benouane. No, Monsignor! replied the valet de chambre. Monsieur de Brienne, with your permission, is gone to bed. But, if it is the wish of your eminence, he can speedily be called. No, it is not worth the while. Let us see, however, cursed cyphers. And the cardinal began to think, counting on his fingers the while. Oh, cyphers, is it? said Benouane. Very well. If your eminence attempts calculations, I will promise you a pretty headache tomorrow. And with that, please, to remember, Monsieur Gunagard is not here. You are right, Benouane. You must take Brienne's place, my friend. Indeed, I ought to have brought Monsieur Colbert with me. That young man goes on very well. Benouane, very well. A very orderly youth. I do not know. said the valet de chambre. But I don't like the countenance of your young man who goes on so well. Well, well, Benouane. We don't stand in need of your advice. Place yourself there. Take the pen and write. I am ready, Monsignor. What am I to write? There. That's the place. After the two lines are ready traced. I am there. Write seven hundred and sixty thousand livres. That is written. Upon Lyon. The cardinal appeared to hesitate. Upon Lyon. Repeated Benouane. Three million nine hundred thousand livres. Well, Monsignor. Upon Bordeaux seven millions. Seven. Repeated Benouane. Yes. said the cardinal pettishly. Seven. Seven. Then recollecting himself. You understand Benouane. Added he. That all this money is to be spent. Eh. Monsignor, whether it be to be spent or put away is a very little consequence to me, since none of these millions are mine. These millions are the kings. It is the kings and money I am reckoning. Well, what were we saying? You always interrupt me. Seven millions upon Bordeaux. Ah. Yes. That's right. Upon Monsignor, four millions. I give you to understand plainly to whom this money belongs, Benouane, seeing that everybody has the stupidity to believe me rich in millions. I repel the silly idea. The minister, besides, has nothing of his own. Come, go on, rentre generales. Seven millions. Properties, nine millions. Have you written that, Benouane? Yes, Monsignor. Bordeaux, six hundred a thousand livre. Various property, two millions. Ah. I forgot the furniture of the differentiato. Must I put of the crown? Asked Benouane. No, no. It is of no use doing that. That is understood. Have you written that, Benouane? Yes, Monsignor. And the ciphers? Stand straight under one another. Cast them up, Benouane. Thirty-nine millions, two hundred and sixty thousand livre, Monsignor. Ah. cried the cardinal in a tone of excation. There are not yet forty millions. Benouane recommends the addition. No, Monsignor. There want seven hundred and forty thousand livre. Mazonine asked for the account and revised it carefully. Yes, but, said Benouane, Thirty-nine millions, two hundred and sixty thousand livre, make a good round sum. Ah. Benouane. I wish the king had it. Your eminence told me that this money was his majesty's. A doubtless, as clear and transparent as possible. These thirty-nine millions are to be spoken, and much more. Benouane smiled after his own fashion. That is like a man who believes no more than he is willing to believe, whilst preparing the cardinal's night-draft and putting his pillow to rights. Oh. said Mazonine when the valet had gone out. Not yet forty millions. I must, however, attain that sum, which I had set down for myself. But who knows whether I shall have time? I sink. I am going. I shall never reach it. And yet, who knows that I may not find two or three millions in the buckets of my good friends these spaniards. They discovered Peru those people did, and what the devil, they must have something left. As he was speaking thus, entirely occupied with his ciphers, and thinking no more of his gout, repelled by a preoccupation which with the cardinal was the most powerful of all preoccupations, Benouane rushed into the chamber quite in a fright. Well, asked the cardinal, what is the matter now? The king, Monsignor. The king. How? The king? said Mazonine, quickly concealing his paper. The king here. The king at this hour. I thought he was in bed long ago. What is the matter then? The king could hear these last words, and see the terrified gesture of the cardinal rising up in his bed, for he entered the chamber at that moment. It is nothing, monsieur le cardinal, or at least nothing which can alarm you. It is an important communication which I wish to make to your eminence tonight. That is all. Mazonine immediately thought of that marked attention which the king had given to his words concerning Manmuzel de Mancini, and the communication appeared to him probably to refer to this source. He recovered his serenity then instantly, and assumed his most agreeable air, a change of countenance which inspired the king with the greatest joy, and when Louis was seated. Sire, said the cardinal, I ought certainly to listen to your majesty standing, but it is vile and servant my complaint. No ceremony between us, my dear monsieur le cardinal, said Louis kindly. I am your pupil, and not the king. You know very well, and this evening in particular, as I come to you as a petitioner, as a solicitor, as one very humble and desirous to be kindly received, too. Mazonine seeing the heightened color of the king was confirmed in his first idea. That is to say that love thoughts were hidden under all these fine words. This time political cunning, keen as it was, made a mistake. This color was not caused by the bashfulness of a juvenile passion, but only by the painful contraction of the royal pride. Like a good uncle, Mazonine felt disposed to facilitate the confidence. Speak, Sire, said he, and since your majesty is willing for an instant to forget that I am your subject, and call me your master and instructor, I promise your majesty my most devoted and tender consideration. Thanks, monsieur le cardinal, answered the king. That which I have to ask of your eminence has but little to do with myself. So much of the worse, replied the cardinal. So much of the worse! Sire, I should wish your majesty to ask me of something of importance, even a sacrifice. But whatever it may be you ask me, I am ready to set your heart at rest by granting it, my dear Sire. Well, this is what brings me here, said the king with a beating of the heart that had no equal, except the beating of the heart of the minister. I have just received a visit from my brother, the king of England. Mazonine bounded in his bed, as if he had been put in relation with a laden jar or a voltaic pile, at the same time that a surprise or rather a manifest disappointment inflamed his features with such a blaze of anger that Louis XIV, little diplomatist as he was, saw that the minister had hoped to hear something else. Charles II exclaimed Mazonine with a hoarse voice and a disdainful movement of his lips. You have received a visit from Charles II? From King Charles II? replied Louis, according in a marked manner to the grandson of Henry IV, the title which Mazonine had forgotten to give him. Yes, Mr. Le Cardinal, that unhappy prince has touched my heart with the relation of his misfortunes. His distress is great, Mr. Le Cardinal, and it has appeared painful to me who have seen my own throne disputed, who have been forced in times of commotion to quit my capital, to me in short, who am acquainted with misfortune, to leave a deposed and fugitive brother without assistance. Eh! said the Cardinal sharply, why had it not as you have, a jewels Mazonine by his side, his crown would then have remained intact? I know all that my house owes to your eminence. replied the King heartily. And you may believe well that I on my part shall never forget it. It is precisely because my brother, the King of England, has not about him the powerful genius, who has saved me. It is for that, I say, that I wish to conciliate the aid of that same genius, and beg you to extend your arm over his head. Well assured, Mr. Le Cardinal, that your hand, by touching him only, would know how to replace upon his brow the crown which fell at the foot of his father's scaffold. Sire replied Mazonine, I thank you for your good opinion with regard to myself, but we have nothing to do yonder. They are a set of mad men who deny God, and cut off the heads of their kings. They are dangerous, observe Sire, and filthy to touch after having wallowed in royal blood, and covenantal murder. That policy has never suited me. I scorn it and reject it. Therefore you ought to assist in establishing a better. What is that? The restoration of Charles II, for example. Good heavens! cried Mazonine. Does the poor Prince flatter himself with that chimera? Yes, he does, replied the young king, terrified at the difficulties opposed to this project, which he fancied he could perceive in the infallible eye of his minister. He only asks for a million to carry out his purpose. Is that all, a little million, if you please? said the Cardinal ironically with an effort to conquer his Italian accent. A little a million, if you please, brother, a family of mendicants. Cardinal, said Louis, raising his head, that family of mendicants was a branch of my family. Are you rich enough to give millions to other people, Sire? Have you millions to throw away? Oh, replied Louis XIV, with great pain which he, however, by a strong effort, prevented from appearing on his countenance. Yes, Mr. Cardinal, I am well aware I am poor, and yet the crown of France is worth a million, and to perform a good action I would pledge my crown if it were necessary. I could find no Jews who would be willing to lend me a million. So, Sire, you say you want a million, said Mazonine. Yes, Mr. Sir, I say so. You are mistaken, greatly mistaken, Sire. You want a much more than that. Benouane, you shall see, Sire, how much you really want. What? Cardinal, said the King. Are you going to consult a lackey about my affairs? Benouane cried the Cardinal again without appearing to remark the humiliation of the young Prince. Come here, Benouane, and tell me the figures I gave you just now. Cardinal, Cardinal, did you not hear me? said Louis turning pale with anger. Do not be angry, Sire. I deal openly with the affairs of your Majesty. Everyone in France knows that. My books are as open as a day. What did I tell you to do just now, Benouane? Your Eminence commanded me to cast up an account? You did it, did you not? Yes, my lord. Do verify the amount of which His Majesty at this very moment stands in need. Did I not tell you so? Be frank, my friend. Your Eminence said so. Well, what sum did I say I wanted? Forty-five millions, I think. And what sum could we find after collecting all our resources? Thirty-nine millions, two hundred and sixty thousand. That is correct, Benouane. That is all I wanted to know. Leave us now. Said the Cardinal, fixing his brilliant eye upon the young King who sat mute with stupefaction. However, stammered the King. What? Do you still doubt, Sire? said the Cardinal. Well, here is a proof of what I said. And Masaurine drew from under his bolster the paper covered with figures, which he presented to the King who turned away his eyes. His vexation was so deep. Therefore, as it is a million you want, Sire, and that million is not set down here, it is a forty-six million your Majesty stands in need of. Well, I don't think that any Jews in the world would lend such a sum, even upon the crown of France. The King, clenching his hands beneath his ruffles, pushed away his chair. So it must be, then, said he. My brother, the King of England, will die of hunger. Sire replied Masaurine in the same tone. Remember this proverb which I give you as the expression of the soundness of policy. Rejoice at the being poor when your neighbour is poor likewise. Louis meditated for a few moments with an inquisitive glance directed to the paper, one end of which remained under the bolster. Then, said he, it is impossible to comply with my demand for money. My Lord Cardinal, is it? Absolutely, Sire. Remember, this will secure me a future enemy if he succeed in recovering his crown without my assistance. If your Majesty only fears that, you may be quiet at ease. Replied Masaurine eagerly. Very well, I say no more about it. Exclaimed Louis XIV. Have I at least convinced you, Sire? Placing his hand upon that of the young King. Perfectly. If there be anything else, ask it, Sire. I shall be most happy to grant it to you, having refused this. Anything else, my Lord? Why? Yes. Am I not a devoted body and soul to your Majesty? Hola, Benouane, lads and guards for his Majesty. His Majesty is returning to his own chamber. Not yet, Monsieur. Since you place your good will at my disposal, I will take advantage of it. For yourself, Sire? Asking the Cardinal, hoping that his niece was at length about to be named. No, Monsieur, not for myself. Replied Louis, but still for my brother Charles. The brow of Masaurine again became clouded, and he grumbled a few words that the King could not catch. End of Chapter 10. Recording by John Van Stan. Savannah, Georgia. Chapter 11 of the D'Artagnan Romances, Volume 3, Part 1 by Alexander Dumas, translated by William Robson. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Masaurine's Policy Instead of the hesitation with which he had accosted the Cardinal a quarter of an hour before, there might be red in the eyes of the young King that will against which a struggle might be maintained, and which might be crushed by its own impotence, but which at least would preserve like a wound in the depths of the heart, the remembrance of its defeat. This time, my Lord Cardinal, we have to deal with something more easily found than a million. Do you think so, Sire? said Masaurine, looking at the King with that penetrating eye which was accustomed to read the bottom of hearts. Yes, I think so, and when you know the object of my request. And do you think I do not know it, Sire? You know what remains for me to say to you? Listen, Sire, these are King Charles' own words. Oh, impossible! Listen! And if that miserly, beggarly Italian said he, My Lord Cardinal, that is the sense, if not the words. Good heavens! I wish him no ill on that account. One is biased by his passions. He said to you, if that vile Italian refuses the million we ask of him, Sire, if we are forced for want of money to renounce diplomacy well, then we will ask him to grant us five hundred the gentlemen. The King started for the Cardinal was only mistaken in the number. Is that not it, Sire? cried the minister with a triumphant accent. And then he added some final words, he said, I have friends on the other side of the channel, and these friends only want a leader and a banner. When they see me, when they behold the banner of France, they will rally round me, for they will comprehend that I have your support. The colours of the French uniform will be worth as much to me as the million Monsieur de Massarine refuses us, for he was pretty well assured that I should refuse him that million. I shall conquer with these five hundred gentlemen, Sire, and all the honour will be yours. Now, that is what he said or to that purpose. Was it not? Turning those plain words into brilliant metaphors and pompous images, for they are fine talkers in that family, and the father talked even on these scaffold. The perspiration of shame stood upon the brow of Louis. He felt that it was inconsistent with his dignity to hear his brother thus insulted, but he did not yet know how to act with him, to whom everyone yielded even his mother. At last he made an effort. But, said he, my Lord Cardinal, it is not five hundred men, it is only two hundred. Well, but you see, I guessed what he wanted. I never denied that you had a penetrating eye, and that was why I thought you would not refuse my brother Charles a thing so simple and so easy to grant him as what I ask of you in his name, my Lord Cardinal, or rather in my own. Sire, St. Massarine, I have studied a policy thirty years, first under the auspices of Michel Cardinal de Richelieu, and then alone. This policy has not always been over honest. It must be allowed, but it has never been unskillful. Now, that which is proposed to your majesty is dishonest and unskillful at the same time. Dishonest, Mr. Sire, you entered into a treaty with Cromwell. Yes, and in that very treaty Cromwell signed his name above mine. Why did you sign your so low down, Sire? Cromwell found a good place, and he took it. That was his custom. I return then to Mr. Cromwell. You have a treaty with him. That is to say with England. Since when you signed that treaty, Mr. Cromwell was England. Mr. Cromwell is dead. Do you think so, Sire? No doubt he is, since his son Richard has succeeded him and has abdicated. Yes, that is it exactly. Richard inherited after the death of his father, and England at the abdication of Richard. The treaty formed part of the inheritance. Whether in the hands of Mr. Richard or in the hands of England, the treaty is then still as good as valid as ever. Why should you evade it, Sire? What has changed? Charles once today, what we were not willing to grant him ten years ago. But that was foreseen and provided against. You are the ally of England, Sire, and not of Charles II. It was doubtless wrong, from a family point of view, to sign a treaty with a man who had cut off the head of the king, your father's brother-in-law, and to contract an alliance with a parliament, which they called yonder the Rump Parliament. It was unbecoming, I acknowledge, but it was not unskillful from a political point of view, since, thanks to that treaty, I saved your majesty, then a minor, the trouble and the danger of a foreign war. Which the front, you remember the front, Sire? The young king hung his head. Which the front might have fatally complicated, and thus I prove to your majesty that to change our plan now, without warning our allies, would be at once unskillful and dishonest. We should make a war with the aggression on our side. We should make it deserving to have it made against us, and we should have the appearance of fearing it whilst provoking it, for a permission granted to five hundred men, to two hundred men, to fifty men, to ten men is still a permission. One Frenchman, that is the nation, one uniform, that is the army. Suppose, Sire, for example, that sooner or later, you should have a war with Holland, which sooner or later will certainly happen, or with Spain, which we'll perhaps ensue if your marriage fails. Mazarene stole a furtive glance at the king. And there are a thousand causes that might make your marriage fail. Well, would you approve of England sending to the United Provinces, or to Spain, a regiment, a company, a squadron even, of English gentlemen? Would you think that they kept within the limits of their treaty of alliance? Louis listened. It seems so strange to him that Mazarene should invoke good faith, and hear the author of so many political tricks called Mazarene-Arts. And yet, said the king, without any manifest authorization, I cannot prevent gentlemen of my states from passing over into England, if such should be their good pleasure. You should compel them to return, Sire, or at least protest against their presence as enemies in an allied country. But come, my lord Cardinal, you who are so profound a genius, try if you cannot find means to assist this poor king without compromising ourselves. And that is exactly what I am not willing to do, my dear Sire. Said Mazarene. If England were to act exactly according to my wishes, she could not act better than she does. If I directed the policy of England from this place, I should not direct it otherwise. Governed as she is governed, England is an eternal nest of contention for all Europe. Holland protects Charles II. Let Holland do so. They will quarrel. They will fight. They are the only two maritime powers. Let them destroy each other's napes. We can construct ours with the racks of their vessels, when we shall save our money to buy nails. How paltry and mean is all this that you are telling me, Mr. Cardinal? Yes, but nevertheless it is true, Sire. You must confess that. Still, further, suppose I admit for a moment the possibility of breaking your word and evading the treaty. Such a thing sometimes happens, but that is when some great interest is to be promoted by it, or when the treaty is found to be too troublesome. Well, you will authorise the engagement asked of you. France, her banner, which is the same thing, will cross the straits and will fight. France will be conquered. Why so? Mafra, we have a pretty general to fight under these Charles II. Worcester gave us good proofs of that. But he will no longer have to deal with crumbwellness here. But he will have to deal with a monk who is quite as dangerous. The brave brewer of whom we are speaking was a visionary. He had moments of exaltation, of inflation, doing which he ran over like an overfilled cask. And from the chinks, there always escaped some drops of his thoughts, and by the sample of the whole his thoughts were to be made out. Crumbwell has thus allowed us more than ten times to penetrate into his very soul, when one would have conceived that soul to be enveloped in a triple brass, as Horace has it. But a monk, oh sire, God defend you from ever having anything to transact politically with a monk. It is he who has given me in one year all the gray hairs I have. A monk is no fanatic. Unfortunately, he is a politician. He does not overflow. He keeps close together. For ten years he has had his eyes fixed upon one object, and nobody has yet been able to ascertain what. Every morning, as Louis XI advised, he burns his nightcap. Therefore, on the day when this plan slowly and solidarily lightened shall break forth. It will break forth with all the conditions of success, which always accompany an unforeseen event. That is, monk, sire, of whom perhaps you have never heard, of whom perhaps you did not even know the name before your brother Charles II, who knows what he is, pronounced it before you. He is a marvel of depth and tenacity. The two only things against which intelligence and ardor are blunted. Sire, I had ardor when I was young. I was always intelligent. I may safely boast of it, because I am approached with it. I have done very well with these two qualities, since from the son of a fisherman of Pagina I have become Prime Minister to the King of France. And in that position your Majesty will perhaps acknowledge I have rendered some service to the throne of your Majesty. Well, sire, if I had met with the monk on my way, instead of Monsieur de Beaufort, Monsieur de Retz, or Michel Apprents. Well, we should have been ruined. If you engage yourself rashly, sire, you will fall into the talents of this political soldier. The casque of a monk, sire, is an iron golfer, in the recesses of which he shuts up his thoughts, and no one has the gi of it. Therefore, near him, or rather before him, I bow, sire, for I have nothing but a velvet cap. What do you think monk wishes to do then? Eh, sire, if I knew that I would not tell you to mistrust him, for I should be stronger than he. But with him I am afraid to guess. To guess, you understand my word? For if I thought I had guessed, I should stop at an idea, and, in spite of myself, should pursue that idea. Since that man has been in power yonder, I am like one of the damned in Dante, who the neck Satan has twisted, and who walk forward, looking behind them. I am travelling towards Madrid, but I never lose sight of London. To guess with that devil-liver man, is to deceive oneself, and to deceive oneself is to ruin oneself. God keep me from ever seeking to guess what he aims at. I can find myself to watching what he does, and that is well enough. Now, I believe you observe the meaning of the word I believe. I believe, with respect to monk, ties one to nothing. I believe that he has a strong inclination to succeed Cromwell. Your Charles II has already caused proposals to be made to him by ten persons. He has satisfied himself with driving these ten meadows from his presence, without saying anything to them, but be gone, nor I will have you hung. That man is a sepulchre. At this moment, a monk is affecting devulsion to the ramp parliament. Of this devulsion observe, I am not the dupe. Monk has no wish to be assassinated. An assassination would stop him in the midst of his operations, and his work must be accomplished. So, I believe, but do not believe what I believe, sire, for I say I believe from habit. I believe that a monk is keeping unfriendly terms with the parliament, till the day comes for disposing with it. You are asked for swords, but they are to fight against a monk. God preserve you from fighting against a monk, sire. For monk would beat us, and I should never console myself after being beaten by monk. I should say to myself, monk has foreseen that victory ten years. For God's sake, sire, out of friendship for you, if not out of consideration for himself, let Charles II keep quiet. Your majesty will give him a little income here. Give him one of your chateau. Yes, yes, wait a while, but I forgot the treaty, and at the famous treaty of which we were just now speaking, your majesty has not even the right to give him a chateau. How is that? Yes, yes, your majesty is abound not to grant hospitality to King Charles, and to compel him to leave France even. It was on this account we forced him to quit you, and yet here he is again. Sire, I hope you will give your brother to understand that he cannot remain with us. That eat is impossible, that he should be allowed to compromise us. Or I myself. Enough, my lord, said Louis XIV rising. In refusing me a million perhaps you may be right. Your millions are your own. In refusing me two hundred gentlemen, you are still further in the right where you are prime minister, and you have in the eyes of France the responsibility of peace and war, but that you should pretend to prevent me, who am king, from extending my hospitality to the grandson of Henry IV, to my cousin German, to the companion of my childhood, there your power stops, and there begins my will. Sire, said Mazarin, delighted at being let off so cheaply, and who had besides only fought so earnestly to arrive at that. Sire, I shall always bend before the wheel of my king. Let my king then keep near him, or in one of his chateau, the king of England, let Mazarin know it, but let not the minister know it. Good night, my lord, said Louis XIV. I go away in despair. But, convinced, and of that, he's all I desire, Sire, replied Mazarin. The king made no answer and retired quite pensive, convinced, not of all, Mazarin had told him, but of one thing which he took care not to mention to him, and that was that it was necessary for him to study seriously both his own affairs and those of Europe, for he found them very difficult and very obscure. Louis found the king of England seated in the same place where he had left him. On perceiving him, the English prince arose, but at the first glance he saw discouragement written in dark letters upon his cousin's brow. Then, speaking first as if to facilitate the painful avowal that Louis had to make to him. Whatever it may be, said he, I shall never forget all the kindness, all the friendship you have exhibited toward me. Alas, replied Louis in a melancholy tone, only barren good will, my brother. Charles II became extremely pale. He passed his cold hand over his brow and struggled for a few instants against a faintness that made him tremble. I understand, said he at last. No more hope. Louis seized the hand of Charles II. Wait, my brother, said he, precipitate nothing, everything may change, hasty resolutions ruin all causes, add another year of trial, I implore you to the years you have already undergone. You have, but to induce you to act now rather than at another time, neither occasion nor opportunity. Come with me, my brother. I will give you one of my residences, whichever you prefer to inhabit. I, with you, will keep eyes upon events we will prepare. Come, then, my brother, have courage. Charles II withdrew his hand from that of the king and drawing back to salute him with more ceremony. With all my heart, thanks, replied he, Sire, but I have prayed without success to the greatest king on earth, now I will go and ask a miracle of God. And he went out without being willing to hear any more. His head carried loftily his hand trembling with a painful contraction of his noble countenance, and that profound gloom which finding no more hope in the world of men appeared to go beyond it and asked it in worlds unknown. The officer of musketeers, on seeing him pass by thus pale, bowed almost to his knees as he saluted him. He then took a flambeau, called two musketeers, and descended the deserted staircase with the unfortunate king, holding in his left hand his hat, the plume of which swept the steps. Arrived at the door, the musketeer asked the king which way he was going that he might direct the musketeers. Mishir, replied Charles II in a subdued voice, you who have known my father, say, did you ever pray for him? If you have done so, do not forget me in your prayers. Now, I am going alone, and I beg of you not to accompany me or have me accompanied any further. The officer bowed and sent away the musketeers into the interior of the palace. But he himself remained an instant, under the porch, watching the departing Charles II, till he was lost in the turn to the next street. To him as to his father formerly murmured he, Athos, if he were here would say with reason, salute fallen majesty. Then, re-ascending the staircase, the vile service that I follow, said he at every step. My pitiful master, life thus carried on is no longer tolerable, and it is at length time that I should do something. No more generosity, no more energy. The master has succeeded, the pupil is starved for ever. My dear, I will not resist. Come, you men, continued he entering the antechamber. Why are you all looking at me so? Extinguish these tortures and return to your posts. You are guarding me? Yes, you watch over me, do you not, worthy fellows? Brave fools, I am not the Duke de Gees. Be gone! They will not assassinate me in the little passage besides, added he in a low voice. That would be a resolution, and no resolutions have been formed since Monsieur le Cardinal de Richelieu died. Now, with all his faults, that was a man. It is settled. Tomorrow I will throw my cassock to the nettles. Then, reflecting. No, said he. Not yet. I have one great trial to make, and I will make it, but that and I swear it shall be the last, more due. He had not finished speaking when a voice issued from the King's chamber. Monsieur le Lieutenant, said this voice. Here I am, replied he. The King desires to speak to you. Said the Lieutenant. Perhaps of what I was thinking about. And he went into the King's apartment. End of Chapter 11, Recording by John Van Stan, Savannah, Georgia Chapter 12 of the Dartenian Romances, Volume 3, Part 1 by Alexandre Dumas, translated by William Robson. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The King and the Lieutenant As soon as the King saw the officer enter, he dismissed his valet de chambre and his gentleman. Who is on duty tomorrow, Monsieur? asked he. The Lieutenant bowed his head with military politeness and replied, I am Sire. What? Still you? Always I, Sire. How can that be, Monsieur? Sire, when travelling the musketeers supply all the posts of your Majesty's household, that is to say, yours, Her Majesty the Queen's, and Monsieur le Cardinals, the latter of whom borrows of the King the best part, or rather the most numerous part, of the Royal Guard. But in the interims? There are no interims, Sire, but for twenty or thirty men who rest out of a hundred and twenty. At the Louvre it is very different, and if I were at the Louvre I should rely upon my brigadier, but when travelling, Sire, no one knows what may happen, and I prefer doing my duty myself. Then you are on guard every day? And every night, yes, Sire? Monsieur, I cannot allow that. I will have you rest. That is very kind, Sire, but I will not. What do you say? said the King who did not at first comprehend the full meaning of this reply. I say, Sire, that I will not expose myself to the chance of a fault. If the devil had a trick to play on me, you understand, Sire, as he knows the man with whom he has the deal, he would choose the moment when I should not be there. My duty and the peace of my conscience before everything, Sire. But such duty will kill you, Monsieur. Sire, I have performed it for thirty years, and in all France and Navarre there is not a man in better health than I am. Moreover, I entreat you, Sire, not to trouble yourself about me, for that would appear very strange to me seeing that I am not accustomed to it. The King cut short the conversation by a fresh question. Shall you be here, then, to-morrow morning? As at present, yes, Sire. The King walked several times up and down his chamber. It was very plain that he burned with a desire to speak, but that he was restrained by some fear or other. The Lieutenant standing motionless had in hand watched him making these evolutions, and whilst looking at him grumbled to himself, biting his mustache. He has not have a crown worth of resolution. Parole d'honneur! I would lay a wager. He does not speak at all. The King continued to walk about, casting from time to time a side glance at the Lieutenant. He is the very image of the Father, continued the latter in his secret soliloquy. He is at once proud, avaricious, and timid. The devil take this master, say I. The King stopped. Lieutenant, said he, I am here, Sire. Why did you cry out this evening down below in the salons? The King's service? His Majesty's musketeers? Because you gave me the order, Sire. I? Yourself? Indeed, I did not say a word, monsieur. Sire, an order is given by a sign, by a gesture, by a glance, as intelligibly as freely and as clearly as by word of mouth. A servant who has nothing but ears is not half a good servant. Your eyes are very penetrating, then, monsieur. How is that, Sire? Because they see what is not. My eyes are good, though, Sire. Although they have served their master long and much, when they have anything to see, they seldom miss the opportunity. Now this evening they saw that your Majesty coloured with endeavouring to conceal the inclination to yawn, that your Majesty looked with eloquent supplications, first at his eminence, and then at her Majesty, the Queen Mother, and at length to the entrance door, and they so thoroughly remarked all I have said, that they saw your Majesty's lips articulate these words. Who will get me out of this? Monsieur. Or something to this effect, Sire. My musketeers. I could then no longer hesitate. That look was for me. The order was for me. I cried out instantly, his Majesty's musketeers. And besides, that was shown to be true, Sire, not only by your Majesty's not saying I was wrong, but proving I was right by going out at once. The King turned away to smile, and then after a few seconds he again fixed his limpid eye upon that countenance so intelligent, so bold, and so firm, that it might have been said to be the proud and energetic profile of the eagle facing the sun. That is all very well, said he after a short silence, during which he endeavoured in vain to make his officer lower his eyes. But seeing the King said no more, the latter pirouetted on his heels and took three steps toward the door muttering, He will not speak. My dear, he will not speak. Thank you, Monsieur, said the King at last. Continued the Lieutenant, there was only one thing that, blamed for having been less of a fool than another might have been. And he went to the door, allowing his spurs to jingle in true military style, but when he was on the threshold, feeling that the King's desire drew him back, he returned. Has your Majesty told me all? asked he in a tone we cannot describe, but which, without appearing to solicit the royal confidence, contained so much persuasive frankness that the King immediately replied, Yes, but draw near, Monsieur. Now then, murmured the officer, he is coming to it at last. Listen to me. I shall not lose a word, Sire. You will mount on horseback tomorrow, at about half past four in the morning, and you will have a horse saddled for me. From your Majesty's stables? No, one of your musketeer's horses. Very well, Sire, is that all? And you will accompany me. Alone? Alone. Shall I come to seek your Majesty, or shall I wait? You will wait for me. Where, Sire? At the little park gate. The Lieutenant bowed, understanding that the King had told him all he had to say. In fact, the King dismissed him with a gracious wave of the hand. The officer left the chamber of the King and returned to place himself philosophically in his fauteuil, where, far from sleeping as might have been expected, considering how late it was, he began to reflect more deeply than he had ever reflected before. The result of these reflections was not so melancholy as the preceding ones had been. Come, he has begun, said he. Love urges him on, and he goes forward. He goes forward. The King is nobody in his own palace, but the man perhaps made prove to be worth something. Well, we shall see tomorrow morning. Cried he all at once, starting up. That is a gigantic idea! Mordeuil! And perhaps my fortune depends, at least, upon that idea. After this exclamation, the officer arose and marched with his hands in the pockets of his justicor, about the immense anti-chamber that served him as an apartment. The wax light flamed furiously under the effects of a fresh breeze, which stole in through the chinks of the door and the window, and cut the sound diagonally. It threw out a reddish, unequal light, sometimes brilliant, sometimes dull, and the tall shadow of the Lieutenant was seen marching on the wall, in profile, like a figure by Callot, with his long sword and feathered hat. Certainly, said he, I am mistaken if Mazorin is not laying a snare for this amorous boy. Mazorin, this evening, gave an address, and made an appointment as complacently as Mishir Dango himself could have done. I heard him, and I know the meaning of his words. Tomorrow morning, said he, they will pass opposite the Bridge of Blois. My dear, that is clear enough, and particularly for a lover. That is the cause of this embarrassment. That is the cause of this hesitation. That is the cause of this order. Mishir the Lieutenant of my musketeers, be on horseback tomorrow at four o'clock in the morning. Which is as clear as if he had said, Mishir the Lieutenant of my musketeers, tomorrow at four at the Bridge of Blois. Do you understand? Here is a state secret, then, which I, humble as I am, have in my possession, while it is in action. And how do I get it? Because I have good eyes, as His Majesty just now said, they say he loves this little Italian doll furiously. They say he threw himself at his mother's feet to beg her to allow him to marry her. They say the Queen went so far as to consult the Court of Rome, whether such a marriage contracted against her will would be valid. If I were but twenty-five, if I had by my side those I no longer have, if I did not despise the whole world most profoundly, I would embroil Mazurine with the Queen Mother, France with Spain, I would make a Queen after my own fashion. But let that pass. And the Lieutenant snapped his fingers in disdain. This miserable Italian, this poor creature, this sordid wretch, who has just refused the King of England a million, would not perhaps give a thousand bestowals for the news I could carry him. More dear, I am falling into second childhood. I am becoming stupid indeed, the idea of Mazurine giving anything. And he laughed in a subdued voice. Well, let us go to sleep. Let us go to sleep, and the sooner the better. My mind is wearied with my evening's work, and we'll see things tomorrow more clearly than today. And upon this recommendation, made to himself, he folded his cloak around him, looking with contempt upon his royal neighbour. Five minutes after this, he was asleep, with his hands clenched and his lips apart, giving escape not to his secret, but to a sonar, a sound, which rose and spread freely beneath the majestic roof of the anti-chamber. End of Chapter 12, Recording by John Van Stan, Savannah, Georgia