“Well?” said Athos in a voice of gentle reproach, when he’d read Monck’s letter to d’Artagnan.
“Well!” said d’Artagnan, red with pleasure and a little shame at having been so quick to accuse the king and Monck. “It’s a very polite gesture… and amounts to nothing, of course… but it is polite, nonetheless.”
“I found it hard to believe the young prince would be ungrateful,” said Athos.
“The fact is that his present is still very near his past,” replied d’Artagnan. “After all, everything prior to this indicated I was right.”
“I admit it, dear friend, I admit it. Ah! Now we’ll see your well-earned recompense. You can’t believe how happy this makes me.”
“So, then,” said d’Artagnan, “Charles II receives General Monck at nine o’clock, and will receive me at ten; and a fine audience it is, the kind they call at the Louvre the ‘bestowal of Court Holy Water.’ Let’s go, old friend, and place ourselves under the spout.”
Athos made no reply, so the two of them went on their way toward Saint James’s Palace, which was surrounded by a crowd there to see the silhouettes of the courtiers through the windows, and perhaps a glimpse of the royal personage. Eight o’clock was striking as the two took their places in a gallery full of courtiers and hopeful petitioners. Everyone noticed their modest foreign attire and proud profiles, so noble and full of character.
For their part, Athos and d’Artagnan, having taken the measure of the assemblage at a glance, resumed chatting together. A great noise suddenly came from one end of the gallery: it was General Monck making his entrance, followed by more than twenty officers all hoping for one of his smiles, for the day before he’d been master of England, and they imagined a fine tomorrow for he who’d restored the family Stuart.
“Gentlemen,” said Monck, turning toward them, “I pray you, remember that now I am no one. Not long ago I commanded the principal army of the republic, but now that army is the king’s, into whose hands I commit, at his order, my power of yesterday.”
Dismayed surprise showed on all the officers’ faces, and the circle of admirers and supplicants that had ringed Monck a moment before gradually widened and dispersed itself into the general surge of the crowd. Monck simply waited in the antechamber like everyone else. D’Artagnan couldn’t keep from remarking upon this to the Comte de La Fère, who frowned.
Suddenly the door to Charles’s audience chamber opened and the young king appeared, preceded by two of his household officers. “Good evening, Gentlemen,” he said. “Is General Monck here?”
“Here I am, Sire,” the old general replied.
Charles strode up to him and took his hands in a friendly grip. “General,” the king announced, “I have just signed the patent making you Duke of Albemarle, and my intention is that no one in this kingdom should equal you in power and in fortune, because, except for Montrose,82 no one has equaled you in loyalty, courage, and talent. Gentlemen, the duke is commander in chief of our armies on land and at sea, and in that capacity, honor him and pay him your respects.”
While everyone hastened to gather around the general, who received their congratulations with his usual impassivity, d’Artagnan said to Athos, “To think that this duchy, this command of the armies on land and at sea, all these grandeurs, in short, were contained in a box six feet long by three feet wide!”
“Friend,” said Athos, “greater grandeurs than those are enclosed in smaller boxes—forever.”
Suddenly Monck noticed the two gentlemen where they stood apart, waiting for the crowd to thin out. He made his way to them through the throng, surprising them in the middle of their philosophical reflections. “You were talking about me,” he said with a smile.
“Milord,” replied Athos, “we were also talking of God.”
Monck thought for a moment and then responded cheerfully, “Gentlemen, let us also speak of the king, if you will; for you have, I believe, an audience with His Majesty.”
“At nine o’clock,” said Athos.
“Or ten,” said d’Artagnan.
“Let’s go to his audience chamber right now,” Monck replied, making a gesture for his two companions to precede him, to which neither of them would consent.
During this debate, conducted in French, the king had returned to the center of the gallery. “Ah, my Frenchmen!” he said, in that tone of carefree cheer that he was still able to summon despite his many troubles and sorrows. “The Frenchmen, my consolation!”
Athos and d’Artagnan bowed.
“Duke, bring these gentlemen into my chamber,” said the king, adding in French, “I am all yours, Messieurs.”
And he promptly dismissed his Court so he could attend to his Frenchmen, as he called them. “Monsieur d’Artagnan,” he said, entering his audience chamber, “I’m pleased to see you again.”
“Sire, having the honor to salute Your Majesty in his own palace of Saint James’s, my joy could not be greater.”
“Monsieur, you have done me a great service, and I owe you a debt of gratitude. Though I don’t want to encroach on the rights of our commander in chief, I wish to offer you a post worthy of you near to our person.”
“Sire,” replied d’Artagnan, “when I left the service of the King of France, I promised my prince it was not to serve another king.”
“Come,” said Charles, “that displeases me greatly, for I like you, and I’d hoped to do a lot for you.”
“Sire…”
“Here, now,” said Charles with a smile, “is there no way I can persuade you to set that aside? Duke, help me here. What if you were offered—if I offered you—the command of all my musketeers?”
D’Artagnan bowed even lower than before, and said, “I should always regret refusing what Your Gracious Majesty offers me, but a gentleman has only his word, and that word, as I had the honor to tell Your Majesty, is pledged to the King of France.”
“Then we’ll say no more about it,” said the king, turning to Athos—and leaving d’Artagnan plunged into the deepest pit of disappointment.
“Ah! It’s just like I said,” murmured the musketeer. “Words! Court Holy Water! Kings have the amazing talent of offering what they know can’t be accepted and thus appear generous without risk. Fool! Oh, triple fool for hoping even for a moment!”
Meanwhile, Charles took Athos by the hand. “Count,” he said, “you’ve been a second father to me, and the service you’ve rendered can never be repaid. You were made by my father a Knight of the Garter,83 an order to which not even the kings of Europe are invited, and by the queen regent you were made a Chevalier du Saint-Esprit,84 an order no less illustrious. Now I award you the ribbon of the Order of the Golden Fleece85—it was sent to me by the King of France who had been given two by the King of Spain, his father-in-law, on the occasion of his recent marriage.86 But I, in return, have a further service to ask of you.”
“Sire!” said Athos, flustered. “The Golden Fleece, for me! When the King of France is the only other person in my country who shares that distinction!”
“I want you to be, in your country and everywhere, the equal of all those whom sovereigns have honored with their favor,” said Charles, lifting the chain from around his neck. “And I am certain, Count, that my father smiles on this from the depths of his tomb.”
“How strange it is,” said d’Artagnan to himself, as his friend received on his knees the eminent order conferred upon him by the king, “how incredible that I always see the rain of prosperity fall on those around me, while not a drop reaches me! If one were the jealous type, it would be enough to make him tear out his hair, word of honor!”
Athos rose, and Charles embraced him tenderly. “General,” he said to Monck, then, stopping himself with a smile, “excuse me, I meant to say Duke. And if I made that mistake, it’s because duke just seems too short to me. I need to find a longer title, one that brings you close enough to the throne that I could say to you, ‘My Brother,’ as I do to Louis XIV. But I have it! To make you almost my brother, my dear Duke, I name you Viceroy of Ireland and Scotland.87 That way I won’t again call you by too short a title.”
The duke took the king’s hand, though without apparent joy or enthusiasm, as he did everything. Yet his heart had been stirred by this final favor. Charles, skillfully managing his generosity, had given the duke time to form a wish, though he might not have wished for as much as he was awarded.
“Mordioux!” grumbled d’Artagnan. “Here come the rains again. Oh! It’s enough to drive one mad.” And he turned aside with an air so sad and comically pitiful that the king couldn’t restrain a smile.
Monck was preparing to take his leave of Charles. “What’s this, my brother?” said the king to the duke. “Are you leaving?”
“If it please Your Majesty, for in truth, I’m very tired. The emotion of the day has been exhausting, and I need my rest.”
“But you’re not leaving without Monsieur d’Artagnan, I hope!” said the king.
“Why, Sire?” said the old warrior.
“You know perfectly well why,” said the king.
Monck looked at Charles with astonishment. “I beg Your Majesty’s pardon,” he said, “but I don’t know what he means.”
“I suppose that’s possible—but if you’ve forgotten, I’m sure Monsieur d’Artagnan has not.”
Now it was the musketeer’s turn to be astonished.
“See here, Duke,” said the king, “aren’t you lodging with Monsieur d’Artagnan?”
“I have the honor to offer lodging to Monsieur d’Artagnan, yes, Sire.”
“And this idea was yours and yours alone?”
“Mine and mine alone, yes, Sire.”
Well, of course it had to be that way… since the prisoner always lodges with his conqueror.”
Monck flushed. “Ah, that’s true! I am Monsieur d’Artagnan’s prisoner.”
“Quite so, Monck, since you have yet to ransom yourself—but don’t worry, it was I who took you from Monsieur d’Artagnan, so I will pay your ransom.”
D’Artagnan’s eyes regained their cheerful sparkle, for the Gascon began to understand. Charles turned toward him. “The general,” he said, “isn’t wealthy and can’t pay you what he’s worth. I am certainly richer, but now that he’s a duke, and nearly a king, he’s worth a sum that perhaps even I couldn’t pay. Come, Monsieur d’Artagnan, be lenient: how much do I owe you?”
D’Artagnan, delighted by this turn of events but maintaining his self-possession, said, “Sire, Your Majesty has no cause to be alarmed. When I had the good luck to capture His Grace, Mister Monck was still a general, so only the ransom of a general is due to me. But if the general will give me his sword, I’ll consider myself paid, for there is nothing in the world but a general’s sword that’s worth as much as he is.”
“Odds fish, as my father used to say,” cried Charles II. “That’s a gallant speech from a gallant man—don’t you agree, Duke?”
“Upon my honor, Sire, I do!” replied the duke. And he drew his sword. “Monsieur,” he said to d’Artagnan, “here is that which you asked for. Many have owned better blades, but, modest as mine is, I’ve never surrendered it to anyone.”
D’Artagnan took with pride this sword that had just made a king.
“Here, now!” said Charles II. “What! Is a sword that placed me on the throne to go out of my kingdom rather than be added one day to the crown jewels? No, upon my soul, I think not! Captain d’Artagnan, I’ll give you two hundred thousand livres for this sword; if that’s not enough, tell me so.”
“It isn’t enough, Sire,” replied d’Artagnan with grave seriousness. “And moreover, I don’t want to sell it—but Your Majesty wishes it and that is an order. I obey, then—but the respect in which I hold the illustrious warrior listening to us commands me to estimate his worth at half again that assessment. I therefore ask three hundred thousand livres for the sword, or Your Majesty may have it for nothing.”
And, taking it by the point, he presented the sword to the king. Charles II burst out laughing. “Oh, gallant man and happy companion! Isn’t it so, Duke? Am I right, Count? Odds fish! How that pleases me. Here, Chevalier d’Artagnan,” he said, “take this.”
And, going to a table, he wrote a voucher on his treasury for three hundred thousand livres.
D’Artagnan took it, and turning gravely to Monck, he said, “I still asked too little, I know, but believe me, Duke, I would rather die than be ruled by avarice.”
The king laughed again like the jolliest Cockney in his kingdom. “You must come back and see me again before you go, Chevalier,” he said. “I need to lay by a supply of cheer before my Frenchmen leave me.”
“Ah, Sire! Unlike the duke’s sword, I’ll give you the cheer for free,” replied d’Artagnan, whose feet scarcely touched the ground.
“And you, Count,” added Charles, turning to Athos, “come back as well, for I have an important message to confide to you. Duke, your hand.” Monck shook hands with the king. “Adieu, Messieurs,” said Charles, extending a hand to each of the Frenchmen, who touched them to their lips.
“Well, then!” said Athos when they were outside. “Are you satisfied?”
“Hush!” said d’Artagnan, grinning with joy. “I haven’t been to see the treasurer yet, and the roof could still fall on my head.”