The Vicomte de Bragelonne

Towards the middle of the month of May, in the year 1660, at nine o’clock in the morning, when the sun, already high in the heavens, was fast absorbing the dew from the ramparts of the castle of Blois, a little cavalcade, composed of three men and two pages, reentered the city by the bridge, without producing any other effect upon the passengers of the quay beyond a first movement of the hand to the head, as a salute, and a second movement of the tongue to express, in the purest French then spoken in France: “There is Monsieur returning from hunting.” And that was all.

Whilst, however, the horses were climbing the steep acclivity which leads from the river to the castle, several shop-boys approached the last horse, from whose saddlebow a number of birds were suspended by the beak.

On seeing this, the inquisitive youths manifested with rustic freedom their contempt for such paltry sport, and, after a dissertation among themselves upon the disadvantages of hawking, they returned to their occupations; one only of the curious party, a stout, stubby, cheerful lad, having demanded how it was that Monsieur, who, from his great revenues, had it in his power to amuse himself so much better, could be satisfied with such mean diversions.

“Do you not know,” one of the standers-by replied, “that Monsieur’s principal amusement is to weary himself?”

“Ah! Parry,” replied the young man ironically, “don’t you know that this is the King of France visiting his good city of Blois? All these trumpets are his, all those gilded housings are his, all those gentlemen wear swords that are his. His mother precedes him in a carriage magnificently encrusted with silver and gold. Happy mother! His minister heaps up millions, and conducts him to a rich bride. Then all these people rejoice; they love their king, they hail him with their acclamations, and they cry, ‘Vive le Roi! Vive le Roi!’ ”

“Well, well, my lord,” said Parry, more uneasy at the turn the conversation had taken than at the other.

“You know,” resumed the unknown, “that my mother and my sister, whilst all this is going on in honor of the King of France, have neither money nor bread; you know that I myself shall be poor and degraded within a fortnight, when all Europe will become acquainted with what you have told me. Parry, are there not examples in which a man of my condition should himself⁠—”

“My lord, in the name of Heaven⁠—”

“You are right, Parry; I am a coward, and if I do nothing for myself, what will God do? No, no; I have two arms, Parry, and I have a sword.” And he struck his arm violently with his hand, and took down his sword, which hung against the wall.

“What are you going to do, my lord?”

“What am I going to do, Parry? What everyone in my family does.

“I have that honor,” replied the officer.

“Monsieur, I must absolutely speak to the king.”

The lieutenant looked attentively at the unknown, and in that look, 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 apartments 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 formerly at court, before I was driven from France?”

The officer bowed. “Has Your Majesty nothing else to say to me?”

“No, Monsieur; you may retire.”

“Shall I obtain permission not to do so till I have spoken to the king, sire?”

“What do you have to say to me? Explain yourself, Monsieur.”

“Sire, a thing without importance to you, but which interests me greatly. Pardon me, then, for speaking of it. Without urgency, without necessity, I never would have done it, and I would have disappeared, mute and insignificant as I always have been.”

“How! Disappeared! I do not understand you, Monsieur.”

“Sire, in a word,” said the officer, “I am come to ask for my discharge from Your Majesty’s service.”

The king made a movement of surprise, but the officer remained as motionless as a statue.

“Your discharge⁠—yours, Monsieur? and for how long a time, I pray?”

“Why, forever, sire.”

“What, you are desirous of quitting my service, Monsieur?” said Louis, with an expression that revealed something more than surprise.

“Sire, I regret to say that I am.”

“Impossible!”

“It is so, however, sire. I am getting old; I have worn harness now thirty-five years; my poor shoulders are tired; I feel that I must give place to the young. I don’t belong to this age; I have still one foot in the old one; it results that everything is strange in my eyes, everything astonishes and bewilders me. In short, I have the honor to ask Your Majesty for my discharge.”

The latter continued: “This, then, is the reasoning which I made with myself. Listen attentively, Planchet, for we are coming to the conclusion.”

“I am listening.”

“Kings are not so thickly sown upon the earth, that people can find them whenever they want them. Now, this king without a kingdom is, in my opinion, a grain of seed which will blossom in some season or other, provided a skillful, discreet, and vigorous hand sow it duly and truly, selecting soil, sky, and time.”

Planchet still approved by a nod of his head, which showed that he did not perfectly comprehend all that was said.

“ ‘Poor little seed of a king,’ said I to myself, and really I was affected, Planchet, which leads me to think I am entering upon a foolish business. And that is why I wished to consult you, my friend.”

Planchet colored with pleasure and pride.

“ ‘Poor little seed of a king! I will pick you up and cast you into good ground.’ ”

“Good God!” said Planchet, looking earnestly at his old master, as if in doubt as to the state of his reason.

“Well, what is it?” said d’Artagnan; “who hurts you?”

“Me! nothing, Monsieur.”

“You said, ‘Good God!’ ”

“Did I?”

“I am sure you did. Can you already understand?”

“I confess, M. d’Artagnan, that I am afraid⁠—”

“To understand?”

“Yes.”

“To understand that I wish to replace upon his throne this King Charles II, who has no throne? Is that it?”

Planchet made a prodigious bound in his chair. “Ah, ah!” said he, in evident terror, “that is what you call a restoration!”