vigorous, brave, intelligent, the best soldier in the army!
But, sire, your majesty exaggerates my small portion of
merit to such a point, that however good an opinion I may
have of myself, I do not recognize myself; in truth I do
not. If I were vain enough to believe only half of your
majesty’s words, I should consider myself a valuable,
indispensable man. I should say that a servant possessed of
such brilliant qualities was a treasure beyond all price.
Now, sire, I have been all my life — I feel bound to say it
— except at the present time, appreciated, in my opinion,
much below my value. I therefore repeat, your majesty
exaggerates.”
The king knitted his brow, for he saw a bitter raillery
beneath the words of the officer. “Come, monsieur,” said he,
“let us meet the question frankly. Are you dissatisfied with
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my service, say? No evasions; speak boldly, frankly — I
command you to do so.”
The officer, who had been twisting his hat about in his
hands, with an embarrassed air, for several minutes, raised
his head at these words. “Oh! sire,” said he, “that puts me
a little more at my ease. To a question put so frankly, I
will reply frankly. To tell the truth is a good thing, as
much from the pleasure one feels in relieving one’s heart,
as on account of the rarity of the fact. I will speak the
truth, then, to my king, at the same time imploring him to
excuse the frankness of an old soldier.”
Louis looked at his officer with anxiety, which he
manifested by the agitation of his gesture. “Well, then
speak,” said he, “for I am impatient to hear the truths you
have to tell me.”
The officer threw his hat upon a table, and his countenance,
always so intelligent and martial, assumed, all at once, a
strange character of grandeur and solemnity. “Sire,” said
he, “I quit the king’s service because I am dissatisfied.
The valet, in these times, can approach his master as
respectfully as I do, can give him an account of his labor,
bring back his tools, return the funds that have been
intrusted to him, and say, `Master, my day’s work is done.
Pay me, if you please, and let us part.'”
“Monsieur! monsieur!” exclaimed the king, crimson with rage.
“Ah! sire,” replied the officer, bending his knee for a
moment, “never was servant more respectful than I am before
your majesty; only you commanded me to tell the truth. Now I
have begun to tell it, it must come out, even if you command
me to hold my tongue.”
There was so much resolution expressed in the deep-sunk
muscles of the officer’s countenance, that Louis XIV. had no
occasion to tell him to continue; he continued, therefore,
whilst the king looked at him with a curiosity mingled with
admiration.
“Sire, I have, as I have said, now served the house of
France thirty-five years; few people have worn out so many
swords in that service as I have, and the swords I speak of
were good swords, too, sire. I was a boy, ignorant of
everything except courage, when the king your father guessed
that there was a man in me. I was a man, sire, when the
Cardinal de Richelieu, who was a judge of manhood,
discovered an enemy in me. Sire, the history of that enmity
between the ant and the lion may be read from the first to
the last line, in the secret archives of your family. If
ever you feel an inclination to know it, do so, sire; the
history is worth the trouble — it is I who tell you so. You
will there read that the lion, fatigued, harassed, out of
breath, at length cried for quarter, and the justice must be
rendered him to say that he gave as much as he required. Oh!
those were glorious times, sire, strewed over with battles
like one of Tasso’s or Ariosto’s epics. The wonders of those
times, to which the people of ours would refuse belief, were
every-day occurrences. For five years together, I was a hero