The King's Conversation with the Two D'Artagnans (Concerning Potatoes)

The King's Conversation with the Two D'Artagnans (Concerning Potatoes)

The King waited until the two musketeers had slowed their eating before asking, "What do you think of today's dishes?"

The two Monsieur D'Artagnans exchanged a glance. "Very good," said the elder, as though he had already used up his day's allotment of words explaining the matter of D'Artagnan. "Your Majesty, this is a meal I shall never forget." Perhaps feeling that this was a little thin, he added it afterward, though he was visibly troubled. The King could not help smiling. Such a reply undoubtedly gave the younger D'Artagnan courage, and he began earnestly praising the King's cookery and His Majesty's generosity. But no matter what he said, he never touched upon what the King wished to hear. The King could only nod. "Very well," he said. "I called you here because I hope you can do something important for me."

At those words, Pierre and D'Artagnan both raised their heads and listened closely, unwilling to miss a single word.

"Have you both eaten this?" the King asked, spearing a soft, round, boiled potato from his plate.

"We have," D'Artagnan said. "Is it beetroot, or a sweet potato?"

"I am surprised," the King said. "You have eaten sweet potatoes! I thought they were not a very common food."

At this, a smile appeared on D'Artagnan's face—the kind men understood. "A worthy lady bestowed it upon me," he said, pinching his little mustache. "Though it was only a very small piece, it truly came from the King's or Queen's own plate." He paused and considered it. "But I feel this is more delicate than a sweet potato."

"I do not think it is a sweet potato either," Pierre said.

"Why do you think so?" the King asked.

"Because I heard that Your Majesty entertained the people of Rethel Old Town with a vegetable similar to sweet potatoes," Pierre said. "This is a potato, is it not?"

"Yes," said the King.

"This is rather unfair," D'Artagnan said. "I was not in Rethel then."

"Then let us call it even between you," the King said.

"You still have not told us what you wish us to do," D'Artagnan said.

"This matter concerns the vegetable you have eaten—the potato," the King said. "I still have about one marto of potatoes here. I want to take them back to Paris and plant them."

"That is very good," D'Artagnan said. "They are so soft."

"But there may be some detestable thieves."

"Ah, I understand!" D'Artagnan cried. "You need us to protect these potatoes." Though the task struck him as somewhat strange and disappointing, he pulled himself together and did his best to look eager to obey. "I will protect them, if that is Your Majesty's command."

"You will do it without a drop of water getting through."

"Without a drop of water getting through, Your Majesty. No one will steal so much as an ounce of dirt from beneath my sword."

"But I do not need you to do it without a drop of water getting through," the King said. "I want you to spread word of it as widely as possible, and then..."

"And then?"

"If someone comes to bribe you..."

"Then they have chosen the wrong man."

"No. I want you to accept the bribe."

"What terrible damage that would do to my reputation."

"No worse than it has done to the Bishop's," the King said. "Once you accept the bribe, quietly tuck the potatoes into your clothes and bring them to those who bribed you."

"Ah, you want all these people to grow potatoes?" D'Artagnan said. "I understand now. But why not simply tell them so directly?"

"Of course, because people's minds are always strange. Sometimes they are exceedingly gullible, and sometimes stubborn beyond all measure. They cling to old rules, yet grow excited by rebellion. If I told them, 'Go plant potatoes. They are a fine thing that can serve as bread, vegetables, and snacks, and in three months they can grow into a great barrelful,' they would not believe me. Not only would they disbelieve it, they would think I meant to harm them and make them suffer."

"Are they truly so good?" Pierre asked. "But people say they are apples the Devil buried underground."

"Then the Devil is truly a good man," the King said. "He has sent us such a fine thing."

D'Artagnan burst out laughing, while his cousin Pierre shot him a glare. "We shall naturally obey Your Majesty's command," he said. "But I do not know whether anyone will truly do this."

"They will," the King said. "First, I shall give you ten Gold louis, so that you may invite your friends to drink and dine in taverns and spread the word. Then, in every town you reach, I shall give you another ten Gold louis."

"Then we shall eat very well along the way," D'Artagnan said. "And what of the bribes?"

"They are my reward to you," the King said.

"It seems I truly must give this my all," D'Artagnan said, then ate the last potato on his plate.

D'Artagnan did exactly as he said. With the ten Gold louis given by the King, he immediately invited several other musketeers to feast and drink in taverns, spending two large écus on every meal. Within a few days, everyone in Rethel Old Town knew that the King had eaten a vegetable called the potato here and liked it enormously. He even intended to transport it back to Paris for planting and had specially dispatched a troop of musketeers to guard it.

Some people who had once been fortunate enough to dine with the King immediately began boasting extravagantly. In their mouths, this strange vegetable was sweeter than beetroot, more tender than sweet potatoes—though most of them had never eaten sweet potatoes—crisper than lettuce, and could be cooked in countless ways. Just as the King had told D'Artagnan, it could serve as a staple food or as a dish. And as with every rumor, by the time the King was preparing to leave Rethel Old Town, potatoes had become the flesh and blood of saints rather than the Devil's apples. Eating them would not only prevent leprosy, but cure hemorrhoids and coughs. Someone sliced a potato and laid it over his wound, and the wound stopped bleeding... Some of the absurd tales were so ludicrous that even the King found them beyond belief.

But the King's original purpose was nevertheless achieved. On the night before their departure, someone came to sound D'Artagnan out. He had thought the matter would not be difficult; after all, accepting bribes was common from bishops down to soldiers. Yet D'Artagnan refused him. When the man asked why, D'Artagnan said that although the vegetable was delicious and prolific, it had exceedingly strict requirements for storage and use. Ah, once he said that, those who wanted potatoes became even more eager. It had to be complicated, it had to be troublesome—otherwise, how could it demonstrate the owner's sincerity and status? They were more than willing, and the price rose again and again, from five Gold louis to a hundred. Only then did D'Artagnan reluctantly hide a potato beneath his horse's rump and smuggle it out.

D'Artagnan's behavior could not have been more mischievous, but he understood these noble gentlemen far more deeply than his cousin Pierre did. This was shown by the fact that far more people sought out D'Artagnan. Before they had even reached the halfway point, his money pouch was full to bursting, while Pierre held only a pitiful few Gold louis. Pierre was relieved by this. After all, he was not D'Artagnan; he truly could not do such things—or rather, could not do them with a clear conscience. Yet he had nothing to reproach D'Artagnan for. It was the King's command, and D'Artagnan had immediately repaid the seven hundred Gold louis he had borrowed from him. Thus Pierre was now a man with ample money at hand as well.

They traveled on, accepting bribes all the way. Though farmers had already boiled their children in pots because of the famine, those lords and merchants remained hateful in their abundance. In the end, even the frivolous D'Artagnan took out a sum of money and had the quartermaster hire more people to do work that was not truly needed, then give them wheat. These people did not even take it to be ground into flour; they ate it directly. It turned out they could no longer afford even the taxes required to gather firewood. When Pierre saw this, he had the soldiers boil the wheat before handing it to them.

These people were all men. Pierre did not dare imagine what had become of the old, the women, and the children.

The King was doing the same, but on a broader and more thorough scale. Every place he stopped, he erected a cross for the Queen Mother. As proof of this, everyone willing to walk to the cross and pray for the Queen Mother could receive a pound of oats. But this action was not without its drawbacks: the procession following behind the King grew ever longer. It seemed to be the same everywhere. People struggled bitterly for nothing more than a mouthful of grain to keep them alive. Whoever gave them food, they followed.

Queen Mother Anne no longer tried to dissuade the King. Partly, the King's majesty had gradually taken shape, and as a gentle woman, she was accustomed to yielding. Partly, Colbert and Fouquet had opened channels through which wheat and other provisions flowed without cease after the King's procession. Yet at times, she could not help worrying over how these people ought to be dealt with.

"Put them in Versailles first," the King said.

"Versailles?"

"Yes." Louis set down the book in his hands. "Father bought one hundred and seventeen mu of land there, enough for them to shelter on." He thought for a moment. "Mother, I want to build a new palace there."

"For hunting?"

"No. If it were only for hunting, the country palace Father left me would be quite enough," Louis said. "But it is too early to speak of such things now. That place is barren. Once these people reach Versailles, I will have them level the land, drain the marshes, and clear part of the forest. Then they can first plant wheat or potatoes to feed themselves."

This matter concerned the lives of several thousand people, yet for the Queen Mother and the King, it was merely a conversation before bed. When only one quarter of a marto of the King's potatoes remained, they arrived at Romilly. Paris was no longer far away. They settled there, and just as the Queen Mother's cross was being erected, Abbot La Rivière requested an audience with the King. Because the man was so very tactful, the King rarely refused his requests, and this time was no exception. He came quickly and introduced a priest to the King.

That priest was clearly birds of a feather with Abbot La Rivière. He presented the King with holy books, then with a reliquary of pure gold set with gems, the Virgin's hair, and the Holy Son's baby teeth. Only then did he respectfully reveal his purpose—to request from the King the position of abbot at a monastery. This royal monastery was not large, and the King agreed. But after expressing his gratitude, the priest remained standing there, as if he had something important yet to say.

"If you have anything else," the King said kindly, "please speak. I have said that so long as they are my subjects, they may speak freely before me."

"...Please forgive my rash words, Your Majesty," the priest said after hesitating for quite some time. "I have encountered something exceedingly absurd."

"Speak. I am listening."

"Not long ago, we captured a Wizard."

"How terrible. And then?"

"He said... perhaps the Devil was speaking through his mouth. I should not have believed it, but, Your Majesty, this concerns your honor—I mean, oh God, Your Majesty, he said that he knew you!"