me, still fill the tales of the country firesides, and would
furnish matter for ballads. I will some day write all this,
sire, for the instruction of my brother kings.
“I will first tell how, on arriving at the residence of Mr.
Norton, I met with a court chaplain, who was looking on at a
party playing at skittles, and an old servant who named me,
bursting into tears, and who was as near and as certainly
killing me by his fidelity as another might have been by
treachery. Then I will tell of my terrors — yes, sire, of
my terrors — when, at the house of Colonel Windham, a
farrier who came to shoe our horses declared they had been
shod in the north.”
“How strange!” murmured Louis XIV. “I never heard anything
of all that; I was only told of your embarkation at
Brighthelmstone and your landing in Normandy.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Charles, “if Heaven permits kings to be thus
ignorant of the histories of each other, how can they render
assistance to their brothers who need it?”
“But tell me,” continued Louis XIV., “how, after being so
roughly received in England, you can still hope for anything
from that unhappy country and that rebellious people?”
“Oh, sire! since the battle of Worcester, everything is
changed there. Cromwell is dead, after having signed a
treaty with France, in which his name is placed above yours.
He died on the 5th of September, 1658, a fresh anniversary
of the battles of Dunbar and Worcester.”
“His son has succeeded him.”
“But certain men have a family, sire, and no heir. The
inheritance of Oliver was too heavy for Richard. Richard was
neither a republican nor a royalist; Richard allowed his
guards to eat his dinner, and his generals to govern the
republic; Richard abdicated the protectorate on the 22nd of
April, 1659, more than a year ago, sire.
“From that time England is nothing but a tennis-court, in
which the players throw dice for the crown of my father. The
two most eager players are Lambert and Monk. Well, sire, I,
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Dumas, Alexandre – Ten Years Later
in my turn, wish to take part in this game, where the stakes
are thrown upon my royal mantle. Sire, it only requires a
million to corrupt one of these players and make an ally of
him, or two hundred of your gentlemen to drive them out of
my palace at Whitehall, as Christ drove the money-changers
from the temple.”
“You come, then,” replied Louis XIV., “to ask me —- ”
“For your assistance, that is to say, not only for that
which kings owe to each other, but that which simple
Christians owe to each other — your assistance, sire,
either in money or men. Your assistance, sire, and within a
month, whether I oppose Lambert to Monk, or Monk to Lambert,
I shall have reconquered my paternal inheritance, without
having cost my country a guinea, or my subjects a drop of
blood, for they are now all drunk with revolutions,
protectorates, and republics, and ask nothing better than to
fall staggering to sleep in the arms of royalty. Your
assistance, sire, and I shall owe you more than I owe my
father, — my poor father, who bought at so dear a rate the
ruin of our house! You may judge, sire, whether I am
unhappy, whether I am in despair, for I accuse my own
father!”
And the blood mounted to the pale face of Charles II., who
remained for an instant with his head between his hands, and
as if blinded by that blood which appeared to revolt against
the filial blasphemy.
The young king was not less affected than his elder brother;
he threw himself about in his fauteuil, and could not find a
single word of reply.
Charles II., to whom ten years in age gave a superior
strength to master his emotions, recovered his speech the
first.
“Sire,” said he, “your reply? I wait for it as a criminal
waits for his sentence. Must I die?”
“My brother,” replied the French prince, “you ask me for a
million — me, who was never possessed of a quarter of that
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