“And is not your Majesty of opinion that, in order to ward it off, it will be necessary to deal another blow?”
“Yes, but not one of the kind given in the Bois de Vincennes,” replied the King.
“You forget, sire,” said Saint-Aignan, “that I am a gentleman, and that I have been challenged.”
“The challenge neither concerns nor was it intended for you.”
“But it is I who have been expected at the Minimes, sire, during the last hour and more; and I shall be dishonoured if I do not go there.”
“The first honour and duty of a gentleman is obedience to his sovereign.”
“Sire!”
“I order you to remain.”
“Sire!”
“Obey, monsieur!”
“As your Majesty pleases.”
“Besides, I wish to have the whole of this affair explained; I wish to know how it is that I have been so insolently trifled with, as to have the sanctuary of my affections pried into. It is not you, Saint-Aignan, who ought to punish those who have acted in this manner, for it is not your honour they have attacked, but my own.”
“I implore your Majesty not to overwhelm M. de Bragelonne with your wrath, for although in the whole of this affair he may have shown himself deficient in prudence, he has not been so in his feelings of loyalty.”
“Enough! I shall know how to decide between the just and the unjust, even in the height of my anger. But take care that not a word of this is breathed to Madame.”
“But what am I to do with regard to M. de Bragelonne? He will be seeking me in every direction, and—”
“I shall either have spoken to him, or taken care that he has been spoken to, before the evening is over.”
“Let me once more entreat your Majesty to be indulgent towards him.”
“I have been indulgent long enough, Comte,” said Louis XIV, frowning severely; “it is now quite time to show certain persons that I am master in my own palace.”
The King had hardly pronounced these words, which betokened that a fresh feeling of dissatisfaction was mingled with the remembrance of an old one, when the usher appeared at the door of the cabinet.
“What is the matter?” inquired the King, “and why do you presume to come when I have not summoned you?”
“Sire,” said the usher, “your Majesty desired me to permit M. le Comte de la Fère to pass freely on any and every occasion, when he might wish to speak to your Majesty.”
“Well, monsieur?”
“M. le Comte de la Fère is now waiting to see your Majesty.”
The King and Saint-Aignan at this reply exchanged a look which betrayed more uneasiness than surprise. Louis hesitated for a moment, but, immediately afterwards, seeming to make up his mind, he said,—
“Go, Saint-Aignan, and find Louise; inform her of the plot against us; do not let her be ignorant that Madame will return to her system of persecutions against her, and that she has set those to work for whom it would have been far better to have remained neuter.”
“Sire—”
“If Louise gets nervous and frightened, reassure her as much as you can; tell her that the King’s affection is an impenetrable shield over her; if, which I suspect is the case, she already knows everything, or if she has already been herself subjected to an attack of some kind or other from any quarter, tell her, be sure to tell her, Saint-Aignan,” added the King, trembling with passion, “tell her, I say, that this time, instead of defending her, I will avenge her, and that, too, so terribly, that no one will in future even dare to raise his eyes towards her.”
“Is that all, sire?”
“Yes, all. Go as quickly as you can, and remain faithful; for you who live in the midst of this state of infernal torments have not, like myself, the hope of the paradise beyond it.”
Saint-Aignan exhausted himself almost in protestations of devotion, took the King’s hand, kissed it, and left the room radiant with delight.
19
King and Nobility
THE KING ENDEAVOURED TO recover his self-possession as quickly as possible, in order to meet M. de la Fère with an undisturbed countenance. He clearly saw it was not mere chance that had induced the Comte’s visit. He had some vague impression of its importance; but he felt that to a man of Athos’s tone of mind, to one of his high order of intellect, his first reception ought not to present anything either disagreeable or otherwise than kind and courteous. As soon as the King had satisfied himself that, as far as appearances were concerned, he was perfectly calm again, he gave directions to the ushers to introduce the Comte. A few minutes afterwards Athos, in full court dress, and with his breast covered with the orders that he alone had the right to wear at the court of France, presented himself with so grave and solemn an air that the King perceived, at the first glance, that he was not deceived in his anticipations. Louis advanced a step towards the Comte, and, with a smile, held out his hand to him over which Athos bowed with the air of the deepest respect.
“Monsieur le Comte de la Fère,” said the King rapidly, “you are so seldom here, that it is a real piece of good fortune to see you.”
Athos bowed and replied, “I should wish always to enjoy the happiness of being near your Majesty.”
The tone, however, in which this reply was conveyed, evidently signified, “I should wish to be one of your Majesty’s advisers, to save you the commission of faults.” The King felt it so and determined, in this man’s presence, to preserve all the advantages which could be derived from his command over himself, as well as from his rank and position.
“I see you have something to say to me,” he said.
“Had it not been so, I should not have presumed to present myself before your Majesty.”
“Speak quickly, I am anxious to satisfy you,” returned the King, seating himself.
“I am persuaded,” replied Athos, in a slightly agitated tone of voice, “that your Majesty will give me every satisfaction.”
“Ah!” said the King, with a certain haughtiness of manner, “you have come to lodge a complaint here, then.”
“It would be a complaint,” returned Athos, “only in the event of your Majesty—but if you will deign to permit me, sire, I will repeat the conversation from the very commencement.”
“Do so, I am listening.”
“Your Majesty will remember that at the period of the Duke of Buckingham’s departure, I had the honour of an interview with you.”
“At or about that period, I think I remember you did; only with regard to the subject of the conversation, I have quite forgotten it.”
Athos started, as he replied, “I shall have the honour to remind your Majesty of it. It was with regard to a formal demand I had addressed to you respecting a marriage which M. de Bragelonne wished to contract with Mademoiselle de la Vallière.”
“Ah!” thought the King, “we have come to it now. I remember,” he said aloud.
“At that period,” pursued Athos, “your Majesty was so kind and generous towards M. de Bragelonne and myself that not a single word which then fell from your lips has escaped my memory; and, when I asked your Majesty to accord me Mademoiselle de la Vallière’s hand for M. de Bragelonne, you refused.”
“Quite true,” said Louis dryly.
“Alleging,” Athos hastened to say, “that the young lady had no position in society.” Louis could hardly force himself to listen patiently.
“That,” added Athos, “she had but little fortune.” The King threw himself back in his arm-chair.
“That her extraction was indifferent.” A renewed impatience on the part of the King.
“And little beauty,” added Athos pitilessly. This last bolt buried itself deep in the King’s heart, and made him almost bound from his seat.
“You have a good memory, monsieur,” he said.
“I invariably have, on all occasions when I have had the distinguished honour of an interview with your Majesty,” retorted the Comte, without being in the least disconcerted.
“Very good; it is admitted I said all that.”
“And I thanked your Majesty for your remarks at the time, because they testified an interest in M. de Bragelonne which did him much honour.”
“And you may possibly remember,” said the King very deliberately, “that you had the greatest repugnance for this marriage.”
“Quite true, sire.”
“And that you solicited my permission, much against your own inclination?”
“Yes, sire.”
“And, finally, I remember, for I have a memory nearly as good as your own; I remember, I say, that you observed at the time: ‘I do not believe that Mademoiselle de la Vallière loves M. de Bragelonne.’ Is that true?”
The blow told well, but Athos did not draw back. “Sire,” he said, “I have already begged your Majesty’s forgiveness; but there are certain particulars in that conversation which are only intelligible from the dénouement.”
“Well, what is the dénouement, monsieur?”
“This,” your Majesty then said, “that you would defer the marriage out of regard for M. de Bragelonne’s own interests.”
The King remained silent. “M. de Bragelonne is now so exceedingly unhappy that he cannot any longer defer asking your Majesty for a solution of the matter.”
The King turned pale; Athos looked at him with fixed attention.
“And what,” said the King, with considerable hesitation, “does M. de Bragelonne request?”
“Precisely the very thing that I came to ask your Majesty for at my last audience, namely, your Majesty’s consent to his marriage.”
The King remained perfectly silent. “The questions which referred to the different obstacles in the way are all now quite removed for us,” continued Athos. “Mademoiselle de la Vallière, without fortune, birth or beauty, is not the less on that account the only good match in the world for M. de Bragelonne, since he loves this young girl.”
The King pressed his hands impatiently together. “Does your Majesty hesitate?” inquired the Comte, without losing a particle either of his firmness or his politeness.
“I do not hesitate—I refuse,” replied the King.
Athos paused a moment, as if to collect himself. “I have had the honour,” he said in a mild tone, “to observe to your Majesty that no obstacle now interferes with M. de Bragelonne’s affections, and that his determination seems unalterable.”
“There is my will—and that is an obstacle, I should imagine!”
“That is the most serious of all,” Athos replied quickly.
“Ah!”
“And may we, therefore, be permitted to ask your Majesty, with the greatest humility, for your reason for this refusal?”
“The reason!—a question to me!” exclaimed the King.
“A demand, sire!”
The King, leaning with both his hands upon the table, said in a deep tone of concentrated passion, “You have lost all recollection of what is usual at court. At court, please to remember, no one ventures to put a question to the King.”
“Very true, sire; but if men do not question they conjecture.”
“Conjecture! What may that mean, monsieur?”
“Very frequently, sire, conjecture with regard to a particular subject implies a want of frankness on the part of the King—”
“Monsieur!”
“And a want of confidence on the part of the subject,” pursued Athos intrepidly.
“You are forgetting yourself,” said the King, hurried away by his anger in spite of his control over himself.
“Sire, I am obliged to seek elsewhere for what I thought I should find in your Majesty. Instead of obtaining a reply from you, I am compelled to make one for myself.”
The King rose. “Monsieur le Comte,” he said, “I have now given you all the time I had at my disposal.”
This was a dismissal.
“Sire,” replied the Comte, “I have not yet had time to tell your Majesty what I came with the express object of saying, and I so rarely see your Majesty that I ought to avail myself of the opportunity.”
“Just now you spoke of conjectures, you are now becoming offensive, monsieur.”
“Oh, sire! offend your Majesty! I?—Never! All my life through have I maintained that kings are above other men, not only from their rank and power, but from their nobleness of heart and their true dignity of mind. I never can bring myself to believe that my sovereign, he who passed his word to me, did so with a mental reservation.”
“What do you mean? What mental reservation do you allude to?”
“I will explain my meaning,” said Athos coldly. “If, in refusing Mademoiselle de la Vallière to M. de Bragelonne, your Majesty had some other object in view than the happiness and fortune of the Vicomte—”
“You perceive, monsieur, that you are offending me.”
“If, in requiring the Vicomte to delay his marriage, your Majesty’s only object was to remove the gentleman to whom Mademoiselle de la Vallière was engaged—”
“Monsieur! monsieur! ”
“I have heard it said so in every direction, sire. Your Majesty’s affection for Mademoiselle de la Vallière is spoken of on all sides.”
The King tore his gloves, which he had been biting for some time. “Woe to those,” he cried, “who interfere in my affairs. I have made up my mind to take a particular course, and I will break through every obstacle in my way.”
“What obstacle?” said Athos.
The King stopped short, like a horse which, having taken the bit between his teeth and run away, finds it had slipped back again, and that his career was checked. “I love Mademoiselle de la Vallière,” he said suddenly, with mingled nobleness of feeling and passion.
“But,” interrupted Athos, “that does not preclude your Majesty from allowing M. de Bragelonne to marry Mademoiselle de la Vallière. The sacrifice is worthy of so great a monarch; it is fully merited by M. de Bragelonne, who has already rendered great service to your Majesty, and who may well be regarded as a brave and worthy man. Your Majesty, therefore, in renouncing the affection you entertain, offers a proof at once of generosity, gratitude and good policy.”
“Mademoiselle de la Vallière does not love M. de Bragelonne,” said the King hoarsely.
“Does you Majesty know that to be the case?” remarked Athos with a searching look.
“I do know it.”
“Since a very short time, then; for, doubtlessly, had your Majesty known it when I first preferred my request, you would have taken the trouble to inform me of it.”
“Since a very short time, truly, monsieur.”
Athos remained silent for a moment, and then resumed: “In that case, I do not understand why your Majesty should have sent M. de Bragelonne to London. That exile, and most properly so, too, is a matter of astonishment to every one who regards your Majesty’s honour with sincere affection.”
“Who presumes to speak of my honour, Monsieur de la Fère?”
“The King’s honour, sire, is made up of the honour of his whole nobility. Whenever the King offends one of his gentlemen, that is, whenever he deprives him of the smallest particle of his honour, it is from him, from the King himself, that that portion of honour is stolen.”
“Monsieur de la Fère!” said the King haughtily.
“Sire, you sent M. de Bragelonne to London either before you were Mademoiselle de la Vallière’s lover, or since you have become so.”
The King, irritated beyond measure, especially because he felt that he was mastered, endeavoured to dismiss Athos by a gesture.
“Sire,” replied the Comte, “I will tell you all; I will not leave your presence until I have been satisfied either by your Majesty or by myself; satisfied, if you prove to me that you are right,—satisfied, if I prove to you that you are wrong. Nay, sire, you cannot but listen to me. I am old now, and I am attached to everything that is really great and really powerful in your kingdom. I am a gentleman who shed my blood for your father and for yourself,
without ever having asked a single favour either from yourself or from your father. I have never inflicted the slightest wrong or injury on any one in this world, and kings even are still my debtors. You cannot but listen to me, I repeat. I have come to ask you for an account of the honour of one of your servants whom you have deceived by a falsehood, or betrayed by a want of heart or judgment. I know that these words irritate your Majesty, but the facts themselves are killing us. I know you are endeavouring to find some means whereby to chastise me for my frankness; but I know also the chastisement I will implore God to inflict upon you when I relate to Him your perjury and my son’s unhappiness.”
The King during these remarks was walking hurriedly to and fro, his hands thrust into the breast of his coat, his head haughtily raised, his eyes blazing with wrath. “Monsieur,” he cried suddenly, “If I acted towards you as the King, you would be already punished; but I am only a man, and I have the right to love in this world every one who loves me,—a happiness which is so rarely found.”
“You cannot pretend to such a right as a man any more than as a king, sire; or, if you intended to exercise that right in a loyal manner, you should have told M. de Bragelonne so, and not have exiled him.”
“I think I am condescending in discussing with you, monsieur!” interrupted Louis XIV, with that majesty of air and manner which he alone seemed able to give to his look and his voice.
“I was hoping that you would reply to me,” said the Comte.
“You shall know my reply, monsieur.”
“You already know my thoughts on the subject,” was the Comte de la Fère’s answer.
“You have forgotten you are speaking to the King, monsieur. It is a crime.”
“You have forgotten you are destroying the lives of two men, sire. It is a mortal sin.”
“Leave the room.”
“Not until I have said this, ‘Son of Louis XIII, you begin your reign badly, for you begin it by abduction and disloyalty! My race—myself too—are now freed from all that affection and respect towards you, which I made my son swear to observe in the vaults of Saint-Denis,u in the presence of the relics of your noble forefathers. You are now become our enemy, sire, and henceforth we have nothing to do save with Heaven alone, our sole master. Be warned.’ ”
Man in the Iron Mask (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) Page 19
