“No,” answered Hamilton; “I am only here for the same purpose as the poor go to the temples of Caitan,—to inhale the steam of those good things which I see the priests devour.”
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the good-natured Bishop, not in the least disconcerted; and Count Hamilton, congratulating himself on his bon mot, turned away.
“I have spoken to his Most Christian Majesty,” said the Bishop; “he is willing, as he before ordained, to admit you to his presence. The Duc de Maine is with the King, as also some other members of the royal family; but you will consider this a private audience.”
I expressed my gratitude: we moved on; the doors of an apartment were thrown open; and I saw myself in the presence of Louis XIV.
The room was partially darkened. In the centre of it, on a large sofa, reclined the King; he was dressed (though this, if I may so speak, I rather remembered than noted) in a coat of black velvet, slightly embroidered; his vest was of white satin; he wore no jewels nor orders, for it was only on grand or gala days that he displayed personal pomp. At some little distance from him stood three members of the royal family; them I never regarded: all my attention was bent upon the King. My temperament is not that on which greatness, or indeed any external circumstances, make much impression; but as, following at a little distance the Bishop of Frejus, I approached the royal person, I must confess that Bolingbroke had scarcely need to have cautioned me not to appear too self-possessed. Perhaps, had I seen that great monarch in his beaux jours; in the plenitude of his power, his glory, the dazzling and meridian splendour of his person, his court, and his renown,—pride might have made me more on my guard against too deep, or at least too apparent, an impression; but the many reverses of that magnificent sovereign,—reverses in which he had shown himself more great than in all his previous triumphs and early successes; his age, his infirmities, the very clouds round the setting sun, the very howls of joy at the expiring lion,—all were calculated, in my mind, to deepen respect into reverence, and tincture reverence itself with awe. I saw before me not only the majesty of Louis le Grand, but that of misfortune, of weakness, of infirmity, and of age; and I forgot at once, in that reflection, what otherwise would have blunted my sentiments of deference, namely, the crimes of his ministers and the exactions of his reign. Endeavouring to collect my mind from an embarrassment which surprised myself, I lifted my eyes towards the King, and saw a countenance where the trace of the superb beauty for which his manhood had been celebrated still lingered, broken, not destroyed, and borrowing a dignity even more imposing from the marks of encroaching years and from the evident exhaustion of suffering and disease.
Fleuri said, in a low tone, something which my ear did not catch. There was a pause,—only a moment’s pause; and then, in a voice, the music of which I had hitherto deemed exaggerated, the King spoke; and in that voice there was something so kind and encouraging that I felt reassured at once. Perhaps its tone was not the less conciliating from the evident effect which the royal presence had produced upon me.
“You have given us, Count Devereux,” said the King, “a pleasure which we are glad, in person, to acknowledge to you. And it has seemed to us fitting that the country in which your brave father acquired his fame should also be the asylum of his son.”
“Sire,” answered I, “Sire, it shall not be my fault if that country is not henceforth my own; and in inheriting my father’s name, I inherit also his gratitude and his ambition.”
“It is well said, Sir,” said the King; and I once more raised my eyes, and perceived that his were bent upon me. “It is well said,” he repeated after a short pause; “and in granting to you this audience, we were not unwilling to hope that you were desirous to attach yourself to our court. The times do not require” (here I thought the old King’s voice was not so firm as before) “the manifestation of your zeal in the same career as that in which your father gained laurels to France and to himself. But we will not neglect to find employment for your abilities, if not for your sword.”
“That sword which was given to me, Sire,” said I, “by your Majesty, shall be ever drawn (against all nations but one) at your command; and, in being your Majesty’s petitioner for future favours, I only seek some channel through which to evince my gratitude for the past.”