Between Two Kings

by Lawrence Ellsworth

  “Marie! Dear Marie!” said the king, taking the hands of the dark-eyed lady between his own. And then, opening the carriage’s heavy door himself, he drew her out with such ardor that she was in his arms before touching the ground. The lieutenant, taking a position on the other side of the carriage, watched and listened without being noticed.

  The king offered his arm to Mademoiselle de Mancini and gestured to the coachmen and servants to continue on their way. It was almost six in the morning; the road was still fresh and pleasant; the tall trees lining the highway, with flowers just bursting from their buds, were bedizened with dewdrops that coated their branches with liquid diamonds. The grasses clustered at the foot of the hedges, and the sparrows, who had returned only a few days before, swooped in their graceful curves between sky and water; a breeze perfumed by the flowering forest whispered along the road and wrinkled the surface of the river. All these beauties of the morning, the aromas of the plants, the scent of the earth rising toward the sky, intoxicated the two lovers, walking side by side, leaning against each other, hand in hand, eyes seeking eyes, neither daring to speak, they had so much to say to each other.

  The officer saw that the abandoned horse was wandering here and there, distracting Mademoiselle de Mancini, and used this as an excuse to approach and take charge of the royal mount. Then, walking nearby but between the horses, he observed the lovers’ every word and gesture.

  It was Mademoiselle de Mancini who spoke first. “Ah, my dear Sire!” she said. “So, you’re not abandoning me, then?”

  “No,” the king replied, “as you can see, Marie.”

  “Everyone told me that once we were separated, you’d think no more of me!”

  “Dear Marie, is it only today that you’ve realized we’re surrounded by people eager to deceive us?”

  “But, Sire, this journey, this alliance with Spain? They’re marrying you off!”

  Louis lowered his head. At the same time the officer saw the sun glint from Marie de Mancini’s eyes, flashing like daggers drawn from their sheaths. “And you’ve done nothing on behalf of our love?” asked the young woman after a moment of silence.

  “Ah, Mademoiselle! How can you believe that? I threw myself at my mother’s feet, I begged, I pleaded. I said that my entire happiness depended on you. I even threatened…”

  “Well?” Marie asked eagerly.

  “Well! The queen mother wrote to the See of Rome, and they told her that an unapproved marriage between us would be invalid and would be nullified by the Holy Father. Finally, seeing there was no hope for us, I asked at least for a delay of my marriage with the infanta.”

  “That doesn’t seem to have kept you from traveling to meet her.”

  “What would you have? All my prayers, my pleadings, and my tears, have been dismissed, negated by reasons of state.”

  “And so?”

  “So, what, then? What would you have me do, Mademoiselle, with the will of all the powerful leagued against me?”

  This time Marie lowered her head. “Then I must say goodbye, and forever,” she said. “You know they’re exiling me, almost burying me alive. More than that, you know they’re planning to marry me off too!”

  Louis turned pale and clutched at his heart.

  “If it were only a matter of my life, persecuted as I was, I would have yielded—but I thought your life was at stake as well, my dear Sire, so I fought for your future.”

  “Oh, yes! My love, my treasure,” murmured the king, more gallantly, perhaps, than passionately.

  “The cardinal would have given in,” said Marie, “if you’d gone to him, if you’d insisted. For the cardinal to call the King of France his nephew! Think of it, Sire! He’d risk anything for that, even a war; the cardinal, assured of his sole rule under the double pretext that he’d raised the king and had given him his niece, oh, the cardinal would have fought everybody, overcome all obstacles! Oh, Sire! I can answer for that. I’m a woman, and I see clearly where love is concerned.”

  These words produced a singular impression on the king. Instead of inflaming his passion, they cooled it. He stopped their progress and said, suddenly, “There’s nothing more I can say, Mademoiselle. Everything has failed.”

  “Except your own will in the matter, dear Sire, isn’t that so?”

  “Alas!” said the king, blushing. “Do I even have a will of my own?”

  “Oh!” cried Mademoiselle de Mancini, as if struck a physical blow.

  “The king has no will but that which politics dictates, no will but reasons of state.”

  “It’s not will you lack, but love!” cried Marie. “If you loved me, Sire, you’d find the will.”

  And pronouncing these words, Marie raised her eyes to meet those of her lover, whom she saw more pallid and crushed than an exile who is about to leave his native land forever. “Accuse me of anything,” murmured the king, “but don’t say I don’t love you.”

  A long silence followed these words, which the king had spoken with an undeniable sincerity.

  “I can’t bear to think, Sire,” continued Marie, making a final effort, “that tomorrow, or the day after, I’ll never see you again. I can’t bear to think that I’ll spend the rest of my days away from Paris, that the lips of an old man, a stranger, will kiss the hand you hold in yours; no, truly, I can’t bear to think this, Sire, without my poor heart breaking in despair.”

  And indeed, Marie de Mancini burst into tears. For his part, the king brought his handkerchief to his lips and stifled a sob. “See,” she said, “the carriages have stopped; my sister is waiting, and the time is now. What you decide here will bind us for life! Oh, Sire—do you want me to lose you? Is what you want, Louis, that the one to whom you said, ‘I love you,’ should belong to someone other than her king, her master, and her beloved? Oh, have courage, Louis! Just say the word, a single phrase, just say, ‘I want you!’ And all my life will be yours, all my heart will be yours forever.”

  The king said nothing.

  Marie then looked at him as Dido looked at Aeneas in the Elysian Fields, with fierce disdain. “Goodbye, then,” she said. “Goodbye to life. Goodbye to love. Goodbye to heaven!”

  And she turned to leave, but the king restrained her, seizing her hand, which he carried to his lips. Then, despair prevailing over the resolution that he seemed to have taken internally, he let fall on that beautiful hand a burning tear of regret that made Marie shudder, as though it really had burned her.

  She saw the king’s wet eyes, his pale brow, his trembling lips, and she exclaimed in a tone impossible to describe, “Oh, Sire! You’re the king, so you may weep, but still I must go!”

  The king’s only reply was to hide his face in his handkerchief.

  The horses shied as something like a muffled roar came from the officer who held them.

  And then Mademoiselle de Mancini, indignation incarnate, left the king and hastened back to her carriage, calling to the coachman, “Drive, and quickly!”

  The coachman obeyed, whipping up the mules, and the heavy carriage squealed on its straining axles, while the King of France, alone, cast down, annihilated, dared not turn to watch it go.

  XIV In Which the King and the Lieutenant Exchange Proofs of Memory

  The king, looking like every lover since time began, stood staring blankly at the horizon over which his mistress’s carriage had disappeared. When he’d turned away and looked back again a dozen times and had at last succeeded in restoring some calm to his mind and his heart, he remembered that he wasn’t alone. The officer was still holding their horses by the bridles and hadn’t yet lost all hope of seeing the king’s resolve return: He could still mount up and go after the carriage, he thought. We’ve lost nothing but a little time.

  But the imagination of the lieutenant of Musketeers was more optimistic than the reality, an indulgence the king was careful to avoid. He contented himself with approaching the officer and saying, in a sad voice, “Come, we’re done here. To horse.”

  The king
slowly mounted, in weariness and sorrow, and the officer did the same. The king spurred on, and the lieutenant followed.

  At the bridge, Louis turned one last time. The officer, patient as a god who has eternity before and after him, still hoped for a return of willpower. But to no avail. Louis rode up the street that led to the château and entered the gate as seven o’clock sounded. Once the king had returned to his chamber, and the musketeer had seen, as he saw everything, a corner of the curtain twitch in the cardinal’s window, he uttered a great sigh, like a man freed from heavy shackles, and said quietly to himself, “Now then, old soldier, it’s finally over!”

  After a few minutes of silence, the king called his attending gentleman. “I’m not at home to anyone until two o’clock,” he said. “Do you understand, Monsieur?”

  “Sire,” replied the gentleman, “someone has already asked to see you.”

  “Who?”

  “Your Lieutenant of Musketeers.”

  “The one who accompanied me?”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “Ah!” said the king. “Very well, show him in.”

  The officer entered. The king gestured to dismiss his gentleman and his valet. Louis watched until they’d closed the door behind them, and when the tapestry had fallen back into place, he said, “Your presence reminds me, Monsieur, that I’d forgotten to warn you to maintain absolute discretion about this morning’s events.”

  “Oh, Sire! Why should Your Majesty bother to give me such a warning? It seems he doesn’t know me.”

  “Yes, Monsieur, that’s true. I know that you’re discreet, but as I hadn’t been specific…”

  The officer bowed. “Your Majesty has nothing more to tell me?” he asked.

  “No, Monsieur. You may withdraw.”

  “May I request permission not to do so until I’ve spoken with the king, Sire?”

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

  “Sire, it’s a matter of little importance to you but of great importance to me. Forgive me for bringing it up, but if it wasn’t urgent and necessary I wouldn’t bother, I’d just disappear, silent and meek as always.”

  “Disappear? What are you talking about?”

  “To be brief, Sire,” said the officer, “I come to ask for my discharge from Your Majesty’s service.”

  The king started, but the officer was as stolid as a statue.

  “Your discharge from me, Monsieur?” said the king. “And for how long, if you please?”

  “For good, Sire.”

  “You would quit my service, Monsieur?” said Louis, unable to conceal his surprise.

  “I’m afraid so, Sire.”

  “Impossible.”

  “And yet there it is, Sire. I’m getting old; I’ve been in harness for thirty-five years, and my shoulders are stooping. It’s time to give way to younger men. I’m not suited to this new reign, I still have one foot in the old one. Everything nowadays is strange to me, it takes me by surprise and makes me dizzy. In short, I have the honor to ask Your Majesty for my discharge.”

  “Monsieur,” said the king, looking at the officer, who was wearing his soldier’s buffcoat with an ease that would have been the envy of a younger man, “you’ve got more strength and stamina than I have.”

  “Oh!” shrugged the officer, smiling in false modesty. “Your Majesty says that because I have a pretty good eye, my mustache is still black, I stand straight and sit my horse well, but Sire, that’s all vanity, mere illusion, smoke and mirrors! I may look young, but inside I’m old, and within six months I’m sure I’ll be a broken down, gouty invalid. And so, Sire…”

  “Monsieur,” interrupted the king, “don’t you remember what you told me yesterday? You stood right there and told me you were the healthiest man in France, a stranger to fatigue who could stand at your post night and day. Did you say that, or didn’t you? Recall your words, Monsieur.”

  The officer sighed. “Sire,” he said, “old age is vain, and old men must be forgiven for boasting beyond their abilities. I may very well have said that, Sire, but the fact is that I’m exhausted and ask to be retired.”

  “Monsieur,” said the king, with a majestic gesture toward the officer, “you’re not giving me your real reasons. You want to leave my service, I see that, but you’re hiding your true motives.”

  “Sire, believe me…”

  “I believe what I see, Monsieur, and what I see is an energetic and vigorous man, sharp and quick-minded, possibly the best soldier in France, a man who can in no way persuade me that he’s in need of a change.”

  “Ah, Sire!” said the lieutenant, with an edge of bitterness. “Such praise! Truly, Your Majesty confounds me. Energetic, vigorous, sharp, and quick, the best soldier in the army! Your Majesty exaggerates what merit I have to the point where I hardly recognize myself. If I were vain enough to believe even half of Your Majesty’s words, I’d think I was a vital, even indispensable man. I’d say that such a servant, endowed with such shining qualities, must be a treasure beyond price. However, I must say, Sire, that for all my life until today, I’ve been appreciated, in my opinion, at well below my value. So, I repeat, Your Majesty must be exaggerating.”

  The king frowned, for he felt the officer’s bitter speech verged on insolence. “Come, Monsieur,” he said, “let’s get to the point. If you’re dissatisfied with my service, say so. No evasions, now—answer me boldly and frankly. I want to hear you.”

  The officer, who had been turning his hat in his hands in agitation, looked up at these words. “Oh, Sire!” he said. “That puts me more at ease. Since the question is put so frankly, I’ll respond with the same frankness. To speak the truth is a good thing, because it relieves the burden on one’s heart, and because it happens so rarely. I will therefore tell my king the truth, while begging him to excuse the bluntness of an old soldier.”

  Louis now looked at his officer with unconcealed anxiety and made an agitated gesture. “Well, then, speak,” he said, “for I’m impatient to hear these truths you have to tell me.”

  The officer tossed his hat on a table, and his expression, always martial and intelligent, took on a strange new character of solemnity and even grandeur. “Sire,” he said, “I resign the service of the king because I’m dissatisfied. The valet, at his work, can respectfully approach his master as I do, give him a report on his labors, turn in his tools, account for any funds expended, and say, ‘Master, my day is done, please pay me and send me on my way.’ ”

  “Monsieur!” cried the king, purple with anger.

  “Oh, Sire,” replied the officer, bowing and bending his knee, “never was a servant more respectful than I am now before Your Majesty; only, you ordered me to tell the truth. Now that I’ve begun, it must all come out, even if you command me to silence.”

  And such resolution was displayed in the lines on the officer’s face that Louis XIV had no need to urge him to continue, he continued on his own, while the king regarded him with curiosity mixed with admiration.

  “Sire, for nearly thirty-five years, as I said, I’ve served the royal house of France. Few people have worn out as many swords in this service as I have, Sire, and they were good swords too. At first, I was a child, ignorant of anything but courage, but the king your father thought he saw in me a man. I was a man, Sire, when Cardinal Richelieu, who never doubted it, thought he saw in me an enemy. Sire, you could read the story of that battle between the ant and the lion, from first to last, in your family’s secret archives. If you ever feel so inclined, Sire, you should do so; the story is worth the trouble, if I dare say so myself. You’ll read how the lion, harassed, worn out, panting, finally called for quarter, and to do him justice, he gave as well as he got.

  “Oh, those were brave times, Sire, of glorious battles, like an epic of Tasso or Ariosto!53 The heroic works of that age, which no one now would believe, were to us a daily routine. For five years running I was a hero every day, or so some worthy folk have told me, and believe me, Sire, fi
ve years of heroism is no small thing! But I believe what I was told by those worthy folk, for they knew whereof they spoke; they were Messieurs de Richelieu, de Buckingham, de Beaufort, and de Retz,54 the latter a past master of street fighting! As did King Louis XIII, and even the queen, your august mother, who said to me one day, ‘Thank you,’ though I dare not think of the service I had the honor to render her. Excuse me, Sire, for speaking so boldly, but what I’ve had the honor to recount to Your Majesty is, as I said, history.”

  The king gnawed at his lip and threw himself angrily into an armchair.

  “I’ve upset Your Majesty,” said the lieutenant. “Well, Sire, that’s how the truth is! It’s a harsh bedfellow, bristling with iron, hurtful to those who hear it, and sometimes to those who speak it.”

  “No, Monsieur,” the king said. “I invited you to speak, so speak.”

  “After the service of the king and the cardinal, Sire, came the service of the regency. I fought well in the unrest of the Fronde, though perhaps less well than formerly. But people were growing smaller, and my opponents were lesser men than before. Nevertheless, I led Your Majesty’s Musketeers on some dangerous missions in my time with the company.

  “They were good times while they lasted! I was Monsieur de Mazarin’s favorite: lieutenant, here! Lieutenant, there! Lieutenant, to the right! Lieutenant, to the left! There was hardly a conflict in France in which your humble servant wasn’t involved—but soon France wasn’t enough for Monsieur le Cardinal, and he sent me to England as an envoy to Monsieur Cromwell. Now there was a man of stone and iron, let me tell you, Sire. I had the honor to get to know him, and to take his measure. A great deal had been promised me if I accomplished that mission, and as I exceeded all expectations, I was generously rewarded: I was promoted to Captain of the Musketeers,55 that is to say, the most envied military rank at Court, which gives precedence over even the Marshals of France; and that’s only fair, for when you say Captain of Musketeers, you say the flower of chivalry and foremost of the brave!”