by Anthology
“Come Monsieur Clive,” he said; “the king is waiting for us.” And then as they were walking up the stairs he added in a low voice: “Louis XIII is very jealous of the queen, it would be well for you to be prepared to tell him upon what you were gazing so attentively just now if he should ask you.”
Clive’s face flushed visibly. “Thank you, Monsieur,” he said. Arriving in the reception hall a sight greeted Clive’s eyes that even outdid the million dollar productions arising in Hollywood. At the far end of the room sat the king on his throne. The seat on the king’s left was vacant—this was the first feature that struck Clive’s eye. Distributed in numerous small groups about the hall stood the courtiers, each trying to outdo the others in the mater of costume, and all trying to outshine the sun. All eyes were turned toward the motorcycle that had just been deposited at the head of the stairs. Clive walked over to the machine, and debated a moment the advisability of pushing it the entire length of the hall, under the critical eyes of the assembled spectators, who would look upon this as a task for peasants; yet the servants had left and he could see that he was expected to demonstrate the machine. Upon a sudden impulse he mounted the motorcycle and started the motor.
“A small dose of exhaust fumes won’t hurt them much,” he said to himself, and he steered the vehicle down the hall, stopping in front of the king. He dismounted, and bowed low before the king, who favored him with a smile and a nod.
“Monsieur Clive,” said his majesty, “I have been hearing stirring tales of your prowess as a fighter, but even more of the strange machines and weapons that you have so opportunely produced.” The king stopped as though weighing what he was about to say, and then blushing he continued: “Would it be perfectly safe for the king of France to ride for a short distance with you on that-odd vehicle?”
Clive considered for a moment. “In order to do so,” he said, “it would be necessary for your highness to ride behind me, and it is hardly proper that I turn my back upon the king of France.”
“But if I ordered you to do so,” answered the king proudly, “such action could not be considered anything but proper.”
“But your highness forgets,” answered Clive, standing stiffly before the king, “I am not one of your subjects, and am, therefore, not accountable to you for your orders. If you will change that order to a request,” he continued, “I will be very happy to comply with your wishes.”
Clive knew he was sticking his neck out by saying this, but somehow this still seemed like a dream to him; a dream from which he could awaken at any time. He felt that if the going got too tough he could fight his way to the streets and once on his motorcycle he could easily reach Amiens where he could swim through the caverns to safety.
The king flushed with anger and stood up as though about to command Clive’s arrest, then thinking better of it he said:
“Monsieur, it is true you are not one of my subjects, and your presence in my country may need some explaining. The fact remains, however, that you have done a service for France, for which we are grateful, and you shall see that even a king can show his gratitude.” If this speech was meant to humiliate Clive it had no such effect, at least not outwardly. The king continued: “Now Monsieur, if you will allow me to mount your machine I would like to try a short ride with you.”
“I would be honored to have you ride with me,” said Clive as though the first part of the conversation had never been spoken. The two men, king and truck driver mounted the machine, and the king motioned everyone back. This motion was more or less superfluous for the moment the motor was started the spectators pressed themselves tightly against the walls. Clive sent the machine round and round the room, gathering speed as the king gained confidence. When finally they stopped, the king was flushed with excitement, and like a child he did not want to dismount, but wanted to continue riding around the hall. Clive explained to him that the exhaust fumes, which were now becoming quite noticeable, might have a harmful effect upon those present if they became more concentrated.
“In that case, Monsieur,” said the king, “we must defer our ride to some other time. For the present will you be so kind as to accompany me to my chambers? I am very curious to hear your story. I shall also ask M. de Treville and my four amazing musketeers to accompany us.”
The five men just mentioned were standing near and overhead this last remark, as the king had intended, and followed Clive and the king to the chambers of the latter.
“Now, Monsieur Clive,” said the king when they were all seated, “I am sure your story is an interesting one, and since I cannot order you to relate it, I request your condescension,” Although friendly, the king’s voice had an unmistakable undertone of irony. “Before you start, however,” he continued, “would you mind telling me what appeared so interesting to you in the east wing, while you were in the courtyard this evening?”
“Oh, yes,” said Clive, as though that had been on his mind, “I was going to ask someone if falconry was commonly practiced here in Paris.”
“Falconry?” asked the king.
“Yes, your Majesty. Just as I was about to enter the Louvre I glanced up in time to see a falcon, that had just been liberated, pursue a pigeon. The bird escaped, however, by flying into a small window in the building.”
The king seemed immediately absorbed by Clive’s story. “And the falcon,” he asked, “what became of it?”
“The falcon followed the pigeon through the window, but almost immediately returned as though driven out. It then flew over the building and disappeared on the other side.” This story of Clive’s was not just a product of his imagination, although the incident had occurred at the time he rode into the court, and not at the time he had been enchanted by the momentary view of the queen. He had not given the matter much attention at the time, but after Treville’s warning he had raked his mind for a plausible story. He knew that he couldn’t just tell the king he had been staring at his wife, and then he thought of the falcon incident which had occurred almost directly above the window through which he had seen the queen.
The king appeared to be annoyed and quite upset by Clive’s story, and he immediately called for La Chesnaye, his secretary and valet de chambre.
“La Chesnaye,” said the king when the secretary had appeared, “do you know of anyone in the palace who has recently taken an interest in falconry?”
“No, sire, that is, no one besides His Eminence,” answered the secretary.
“His Eminence!” cried the king. “Does Monsieur le Cardinal, then, take time from his campaigns to devote to training falcons, as one must do to be a falconer?”
“No sire, I thought you knew,” said La Chesnaye who acted genuinely surprised. “His Eminence has been acquainting himself with your falcons.”
“My falcons!” The king was beside himself, he stormed up and down the room, heaping abuse upon everything and everybody in general, but carefully omitting the name of Richelieu. “If His Eminence has taken up falconry, and so suddenly that he has found need of my falcons, my throne is again tottering under intrigue,” he said, after he had calmed down enough to give the matter a reasonable thought. He threw himself into a chair and stared silently at the floor for some time. Rather than being embarrassed by this outburst, Clive had a feeling of relief, since his emotional display put the king in the same category as other mortals.
Gradually the attitude of Louis XIII changed, and this change was mirrored in his face. Without looking up from the floor he said:
“Monsieur Clive, you may tell me your story now.”
Clive commenced by describing America, the ways of living and the conveniences enjoyed by the American people. He did not mention that he was describing 20th century America, however, for that was the part of the tale which seemed to arouse the most disbelief in his listeners—with the possible exception of the queen who had apparently been impressed by some form of clairvoyance.
“How is it that we haven’t heard of these things before?” asked the
king. “We have explorers over there now.”
“America is a long distance from here,” said Clive. He knew that this was a weak answer, but the king seemed satisfied. He resumed his story, and when he told about meeting the musketeers in America the king interrupted him again.
“Did you say that you met Messieurs Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and d’Artagnan in America?” he asked. “How did these gentlemen get there and back in such a short time. I know that it hasn’t been over one month since I last heard from them, and besides that I don’t remember giving any of my musketeers permission to make such a trip.”
“That is the most unbelievable part of my story,” said Clive. “There is a cavern near Amiens, which, in some mysterious manner, is connected with my country.”
“Ah, yes!” cried the king. “The cavern that you spoke of Treville?”
Treville nodded his head in assent. The king appeared to be perfectly satisfied with this answer.
“So you see,” continued Clive, “it was really the musketeers that found the cavern, and brought me back, with them.”
“I must visit this cavern,” said the king. Clive had finished his story, and no one spoke for some time. Finally the king said:
“Monsieur Clive, we have not much to offer here in France in comparison to the wonderful country you have just described, but you are welcome to stay here as long as you wish, and you are under my official protection while you are here.” The king’s manner had changed completely, and his attitude toward Clive was now almost benevolent. Clive wondered how long it would be before he changed again.
“I am fascinated by your country, your Majesty,” he said, “and I should be disappointed if I could not remain for a protracted visit. In the meantime, I shall be glad to use the knowledge I have gained in my own country for the benefit of the people of France.”
“That is very kind of you, Monsieur,” said the king. “We shall be happy to have your help. Can you build more of those motorcycles?”
“Well, that is a little out of my line,” said Clive, “although I can get your mechanics started in that direction. I have studied, however, the art of healing and surgery as my friends, the musketeers, can testify.”
Clive’s friends, the musketeers, would probably have liked to withhold their opinions until they discovered the fate of Clive’s patients, but he had instilled in them a confidence in himself which remained unshaken. They all testified that they had witnessed a demonstration of Clive’s ability, and it was “like nothing they had ever seen before.”
“Excellent!” exclaimed the king. “You shall be the royal physician.”
This was exactly what Clive wanted. “Now,” he thought, “I can be near the queen without danger of suspicion.”
“And now, gentlemen,” said the king, “you have done a great service for your king and country, and your king, at least, is grateful.” He fumbled about in his pockets, finally withdrawing a small leather pouch which appeared to be brim-full of coins. “I know that you gentlemen did what you have done out of loyalty to France, but I also know that musketeers are always in need of money. Here, take this, and don’t spend it all in one place,” he said, tossing the bag to Athos.
“Ye Gods!” thought Clive, “is that gag that old?”
“As for you, Monsieur,” the king said to Clive, “I shall give you an order on the treasury for your remuneration, and I shall have quarters prepared for you here in the palace. As for the services you have already rendered, may this ring serve to remind you of my gratitude.” He removed a large, ornate ring from his finger and presented it to Clive. “Keep this ring with you,” he continued, “and you will always have the protection of the loyal subjects of the king of France.”
Louis again summoned La Chesnaye who had resumed his usual post just outside the door of the former. The valet de chambre was given instructions concerning Clive’s lodgings, and after a moment of thought he left the room, requesting the American to follow him. After mumbling a few words of gratitude to the king, and requesting the musketeers to accompany him, Clive followed La Chesnaye.
Clive’s quarters proved to be a beautifully furnished suite on the street level floor. The suite had two doors leading to the outside, one leading into the courtyard, and the other communicating via a short path and a small postern gate with the street.
“Well, I’m doing all right,” Clive thought. “I’ve only studied medicine for three years, and I find myself royal doctor of France.”
“These are the quarters of a former physician, who attempted to poison the king—it is thought—and was recently executed,” said La Chesnaye. The old man left this thought in Clive’s mind as he left the room.
“ ‘It is thought’,” he said to himself: “I wonder who has to think that to have it count against you.” He turned to the others who had found a table and were counting out the money the king had given them. They divided the gold coins into five equal portions, and pushed one of these toward Clive.
“Here is your share, Monsieur,” said Athos.
“But the king didn’t give that money to me,” said Clive.
“All for one and one for all,” cried Porthos. “I repeat you are one of us now.”
“Come, my dear Clive,” said d’Artagnan, “take your share of the gold and join us, for we know several delightful places where some of it may be spent.” The friends returned to the reception hall long enough to retrieve Clive’s motorcycle, and then the five of them roared off on a tour of seventeenth century Parisian night life. This experience reminded Clive of his days as an undergraduate college student, when, with a group of fraternity brothers, he would experiment with the night life of the university city at the end of each examination.
The days that followed were the happiest Clive had ever experienced. Shortly after his installation as royal physician he made a journey back through the caverns, accompanied by d’Artagnan, and returned with a large supply of medicine and surgical instruments, and a larger supply of books on all scientific subjects, most of them written in French.
The science of mathematics had reached a fairly advanced state, and Clive presented it with Newton’s calculus some fourteen years before the birth of this gentleman. To the mathematicians Clive also presented books on mechanical engineering, and electrics. Chemistry was just emerging from the enshrouding mists of alchemy, and it was here that Clive made his biggest contribution by presenting this science with Mendeleeff’s Periodic Table. Mineral deposits were located by means of charts that Clive had brought with him, and rich mines were opened in France and Germany. An expedition was in the process of preparation to go into eastern Europe to drill for oil. Clive had enlisted the services of several locksmiths and Cartwrights, and others of a mechanical turn, and had set them to work making simple pieces of machinery. All of this was done in such an amazingly short time that even Clive was astounded.
In this time Clive had seen the queen but very little, for she never appeared with the king except upon state occasions, and upon these chance meetings she feigned ignorance of his acquaintanceship, although a certain look always lingered momentarily in her eyes. As an upshot of the pigeon and falcon incident, Clive had heard in a roundabout way that the queen had suffered some persecution at the hands of the cardinal, for what reason he could but guess.
The three cardinalist guards, upon whom Clive had practiced his surgery recovered in very short order, and so amazingly without complications that even Clive was surprised. When the report reached His Eminence this minister was actually pleasant with Clive, even though he had harbored enmity toward the American since their first meeting.
“You are indeed a man of superior intelligence, Monsieur,” said the cardinal, “and for that reason I intend to disclose to you some of my plans, which are really state secrets.”
“That is very kind of you, Your Eminence, but I am not seeking political secrets.” Clive was immediately suspicious of the cardinal’s about-face in his attitude toward him.
“Ah, yes,” replied the cardinal, “but you are intimately concerned with these plans, for they propose to make you a man of destiny!”
“Heil Hitler!” Clive replied sarcastically, and then to himself: “This is undoubtedly the same old oil the dictators of the twentieth century are handing out, but it should be amusing.”
“A person of your intelligence can undoubtedly see that one state in Europe would be a much more satisfactory system than the several hundred states that now exist,” the cardinal continued. “And with the knowledge you can give the people, and the freedom I can give them, Europe can be a veritable paradise.”
“Is that all then that I need do to help bring this about?” asked Clive. “I merely instruct these people in the knowledge of the better things of life?”
“That will come later,” beamed the cardinal. “For the present I will need your help in producing arms and fighting equipment to bring about this union. If you will supply me with these things, I will make you the second man in the new order.”
“That’s what I thought you wanted,” said Clive. His eyes flashed with anger as he continued. “I agree that a united Europe would be a very good arrangement, but not a conquered Europe. You are putting the cart before the horse, my friend, the knowledge and instruction must come before union is attempted. I refuse to have anything to do with your plans, and I shall do my best to forget that we ever had this chat. Good day, Monsieur!” Clive marched out of the chambers of the most powerful man in France.
