TWENTY YEARS AFTER
_By_
*Alexandre Dumas, Pere*
CONTENTS
1. The Shade of Cardinal Richelieu.
2. A Nightly Patrol.
3. Dead Animosities.
4. Anne of Austria at the Age of Forty-six.
5. The Gascon and the Italian.
6. D’Artagnan in his Fortieth Year.
7. Touches upon the Strange Effects a Half-pistole may have.
8. D’Artagnan, Going to a Distance to discover Aramis.
9. The Abbe D’Herblay.
10. Monsieur Porthos du Vallon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds.
11. Wealth does not necessarily produce Happiness.
12. Porthos was Discontented with his Condition.
13. Two Angelic Faces.
14. The Castle of Bragelonne.
15. Athos as a Diplomatist.
16. The Duc de Beaufort.
17. Duc de Beaufort amused his Leisure Hours in the Donjon of
Vincennes.
18. Grimaud begins his Functions.
19. Pates made by the Successor of Father Marteau are described.
20. One of Marie Michon’s Adventures.
21. The Abbe Scarron.
22. Saint Denis.
23. One of the Forty Methods of Escape of the Duc de Beaufort.
24. The timely Arrival of D’Artagnan in Paris.
25. An Adventure on the High Road.
26. The Rencontre.
27. The four old Friends prepare to meet again.
28. The Place Royale.
29. The Ferry across the Oise.
30. Skirmishing.
31. The Monk.
32. The Absolution.
33. Grimaud Speaks.
34. On the Eve of Battle.
35. A Dinner in the Old Style.
36. A Letter from Charles the First.
37. Cromwell’s Letter.
38. Henrietta Maria and Mazarin.
39. How, sometimes, the Unhappy mistake Chance for Providence.
40. Uncle and Nephew.
41. Paternal Affection.
42. Another Queen in Want of Help.
43. In which it is proved that first Impulses are oftentimes the
best.
44. Te Deum for the Victory of Lens.
45. The Beggar of St. Eustache.
46. The Tower of St. Jacques de la Boucherie.
47. The Riot.
48. The Riot becomes a Revolution.
49. Misfortune refreshes the Memory.
50. The Interview.
51. The Flight.
52. The Carriage of Monsieur le Coadjuteur.
53. How D’Artagnan and Porthos earned by selling Straw.
54. In which we hear Tidings of Aramis.
55. The Scotchman.
56. The Avenger.
57. Oliver Cromwell.
58. Jesus Seigneur.
59. Noble Natures never lose Courage, nor good Stomachs their
Appetites.
60. Respect to Fallen Majesty.
61. D’Artagnan hits on a Plan.
62. London.
63. The Trial.
64. Whitehall.
65. The Workmen.
66. Remember!
67. The Man in the Mask.
68. Cromwell’s House.
69. Conversational.
70. The Skiff "Lightning."
71. Port Wine.
72. End of the Port Wine Mystery.
73. Fatality.
74. How Mousqueton had a Narrow Escape of being eaten.
75. The Return.
76. The Ambassadors.
77. The three Lieutenants of the Generalissimo.
78. The Battle of Charenton.
79. The Road to Picardy.
80. The Gratitude of Anne of Austria.
81. Cardinal Mazarin as King.
82. Precautions.
83. Strength and Sagacity.
84. Strength and Sagacity--Continued.
85. The Oubliettes of Cardinal Mazarin.
86. Conferences.
87. Thinking that Porthos will be at last a Baron, and D’Artagnan a
Captain.
88. Shows how with Threat and Pen more is effected than by the
Sword.
89. Difficult for Kings to return to the Capitals of their Kingdoms.
90. Conclusion.
1. The Shade of Cardinal Richelieu.
In a splendid chamber of the Palais Royal, formerly styled the Palais
Cardinal, a man was sitting in deep reverie, his head supported on his
hands, leaning over a gilt and inlaid table which was covered with
letters and papers. Behind this figure glowed a vast fireplace alive
with leaping flames; great logs of oak blazed and crackled on the
polished brass andirons whose flicker shone upon the superb habiliments
of the lonely tenant of the room, which was illumined grandly by twin
candelabra rich with wax-lights.
Any one who happened at that moment to contemplate that red simar--the
gorgeous robe of office--and the rich lace, or who gazed on that pale
brow, bent in anxious meditation, might, in the solitude of that
apartment, combined with the silence of the ante-chambers and the
measured paces of the guards upon the landing-place, have fancied that
the shade of Cardinal Richelieu lingered still in his accustomed haunt.
It was, alas! the ghost of former greatness. France enfeebled, the
authority of her sovereign contemned, her nobles returning to their
former turbulence and insolence, her enemies within her frontiers--all
proved the great Richelieu no longer in existence.
In truth, that the red simar which occupied the wonted place was his no
longer, was still more strikingly obvious from the isolation which
seemed, as we have observed, more appropriate to a phantom than a living
creature--from the corridors deserted by courtiers, and courts crowded
with guards--from that spirit of bitter ridicule, which, arising from
the streets below, penetrated through the very casements of the room,
which resounded with the murmurs of a whole city leagued against the
minister; as well as from the distant and incessant sounds of guns
firing--let off, happily, without other end or aim, except to show to
the guards, the Swiss troops and the military who surrounded the Palais
Royal, that the people were possessed of arms.
The shade of Richelieu was Mazarin. Now Mazarin was alone and
defenceless, as he well knew.
"Foreigner!" he ejaculated, "Italian! that is their mean yet mighty
byword of reproach--the watchword with which they assassinated, hanged,
and made away with Concini; and if I gave them their way they would
assassinate, hang, and make away with me in the same manner, although
they have nothing to complain of except a tax or two now and then.
Idiots! ignorant of their real enemies, they do not perceive that it is
not the Italian who speaks French badly, but those who can say fine
things to them in the purest Parisian accent, who are their real foes.
"Yes, yes," Mazarin continued, whilst his wonted smile, full of
subtlety, lent a strange expression to his pale lips; "yes, these noises
prove to me, indeed, that the destiny of favorites is precarious; but ye
shall know I am no ordinary favorite. No! The Earl of Essex, ’tis true,
wore a splendid ring, set with diamonds, given him by his royal
mistress, whilst I--I have nothing but a simple circlet of gold, with a
cipher on it and a date; but that ring has been blessed in the chapel of
the Palais Royal, * so they will never ruin me, as they long to do, and
whilst they shout, ’Down with Mazarin!’ I, unknown, and unperceived by
them, incite them to cry out, ’Long live the Duke de Beaufort’ one day;
another, ’Long live the Prince de Conde;’ and again, ’Long live the
parliament!’" And at this word the smile on the cardinal’s lips assumed
an expression of hatred, of which his mild countenance seemed incapable.
"The parliament! We shall soon see how to dispose," he continued, "of
the parliament! Both Orleans and Montargis are ours. It will be a work
of time, but those who have begun by crying out: Down with Mazarin! will
finish by shouting out, Down with all the people I have mentioned, each
in his turn.
_* It is said that Mazarin, who, though a cardinal, had not_
_taken such vows as to prevent it, was secretly married to_
_Anne of Austria.--La Porte’s Memoirs._
"Richelieu, whom they hated during his lifetime and whom they now praise
after his death, was even less popular than I am. Often he was driven
away, oftener still had he a dread of being sent away. The queen will
never banish me, and even were I obliged to yield to the populace she
would yield with me; if I fly, she will fly; and then we shall see how
the rebels will get on without either king or queen.
"Oh, were I not a foreigner! were I but a Frenchman! were I but of
gentle birth!"
The position of the cardinal was indeed critical, and recent events had
added to his difficulties. Discontent had long pervaded the lower ranks
of society in France. Crushed and impoverished by taxation--imposed by
Mazarin, whose avarice impelled him to grind them down to the very
dust--the people, as the Advocate-General Talon described it, had
nothing left to them except their souls; and as those could not be sold
by auction, they began to murmur. Patience had in vain been recommended
to them by reports of brilliant victories gained by France; laurels,
however, were not meat and drink, and the people had for some time been
in a state of discontent.
Had this been all, it might not, perhaps, have greatly signified; for
when the lower classes alone complained, the court of France, separated
as it was from the poor by the intervening classes of the gentry and the
bourgeoisie, seldom listened to their voice; but unluckily, Mazarin had
had the imprudence to attack the magistrates and had sold no less than
twelve appointments in the Court of Requests, at a high price; and as
the officers of that court paid very dearly for their places, and as the
addition of twelve new colleagues would necessarily lower the value of
each place, the old functionaries formed a union amongst themselves,
and, enraged, swore on the Bible not to allow of this addition to their
number, but to resist all the persecutions which might ensue; and should
any one of them chance to forfeit his post by this resistance, to
combine to indemnify him for his loss.
Now the following occurrences had taken place between the two contending
parties.
On the seventh of January between seven and eight hundred tradesmen had
assembled in Paris to discuss a new tax which was to be levied on house
property. They deputed ten of their number to wait upon the Duke of
Orleans, who, according to his custom, affected popularity. The duke
received them and they informed him that they were resolved not to pay
this tax, even if they were obliged to defend themselves against its
collectors by force of arms. They were listened to with great politeness
by the duke, who held out hopes of easier measures, promised to speak in
their behalf to the queen, and dismissed them with the ordinary
expression of royalty, "We will see what we can do."
Two days afterward these same magistrates appeared before the cardinal
and their spokesman addressed Mazarin with so much fearlessness and
determination that the minister was astounded and sent the deputation
away with the same answer as it had received from the Duke of
Orleans--that he would see what could be done; and in accordance with
that intention a council of state was assembled and the superintendent
of finance was summoned.
This man, named Emery, was the object of popular detestation, in the
first place because he was superintendent of finance, and every
superintendent of finance deserved to be hated; in the second place,
because he rather deserved the odium which he had incurred.
He was the son of a banker at Lyons named Particelli, who, after
becoming a bankrupt, chose to change his name to Emery; and Cardinal
Richelieu having discovered in him great financial aptitude, had
introduced him with a strong recommendation to Louis XIII. under his
assumed name, in order that he might be appointed to the post he
subsequently held.
"You surprise me!" exclaimed the monarch. "I am rejoiced to hear you
speak of Monsieur d’Emery as calculated for a post which requires a man
of probity. I was really afraid that you were going to force that
villain Particelli upon me."
"Sire," replied Richelieu, "rest assured that Particelli, the man to
whom your majesty refers, has been hanged."
"Ah; so much the better!" exclaimed the king. "It is not for nothing
that I am styled Louis the Just," and he signed Emery’s appointment.
This was the same Emery who became eventually superintendent of finance.
He was sent for by the ministers and he came before them pale and
trembling, declaring that his son had very nearly been assassinated the
day before, near the palace. The mob had insulted him on account of the
ostentatious luxury of his wife, whose house was hung with red velvet
edged with gold fringe. This lady was the daughter of Nicholas de Camus,
who arrived in Paris with twenty francs in his pocket, became secretary
of state, and accumulated wealth enough to divide nine millions of
francs among his children and to keep an income of forty thousand for
himself.
The fact was that Emery’s son had run a great chance of being
suffocated, one of the rioters having proposed to squeeze him until he
gave up all the gold he had swallowed. Nothing, therefore, was settled
that day, as Emery’s head was not steady enough for business after such
an occurrence.
On the next day Mathieu Mole, the chief president, whose courage at this
crisis, says the Cardinal de Retz, was equal to that of the Duc de
Beaufort and the Prince de Conde--in other words, of the two men who
were considered the bravest in France--had been attacked in his turn.
The people threatened to hold him responsible for the evils that hung
over them. But the chief president had replied with his habitual
coolness, without betraying either disturbance or surprise, that should
the agitators refuse obedience to the king’s wishes he would have
gallows erected in the public squares and proceed at once to hang the
most active among them. To which the others had responded that they
would be glad to see the gallows erected; they would serve for the
hanging of those detestable judges who purchased favor at court at the
price of the people’s misery.
Nor was this all. On the eleventh the queen in going to mass at Notre
Dame, as she always did on Saturdays, was followed by more than two
hundred women demanding justice. These poor creatures had no bad
intentions. They wished only to be allowed to fall on their knees before
their sovereign, and that they might move her to compassion; but they
were prevented by the royal guard and the queen proceeded on her way,
haughtily disdainful of their entreaties.
At length parliament was convoked; the authority of the king was to be
maintained.
One day--it was the morning of the day my story begins--the king, Louis
XIV., then ten years of age, went in state, under pretext of returning
thanks for his recovery from the small-pox, to Notre Dame. He took the
opportunity of calling out his guard, the Swiss troops and the
musketeers, and he had planted them round the Palais Royal, on the
quays, and on the Pont Neuf. After mass the young monarch drove to the
Parliament House, where, upon the throne, he hastily confirmed not only
such edicts as he had already passed, but issued new ones, each one,
according to Cardinal de Retz, more ruinous than the others--a
proceeding which drew forth a strong remonstrance from the chief
president, Mole--whilst President Blancmesnil and Councillor Broussel
raised their voices in indignation against fresh taxes.
The king returned amidst the silence of a vast multitude to the Palais
Royal. All minds were uneasy, most were foreboding, many of the people
used threatening language.
At first, indeed, they were doubtful whether the king’s visit to the
parliament had been in order to lighten or increase their burdens; but
scarcely was it known that the taxes were to be still further increased,
when cries of "Down with Mazarin!" "Long live Broussel!" "Long live
Blancmesnil!" resounded through the city. For the people had learned
that Broussel and Blancmesnil had made speeches in their behalf, and,
although the eloquence of these deputies had been without avail, it had
none the less won for them the people’s good-will. All attempts to
disperse the groups collected in the streets, or silence their
exclamations, were in vain. Orders had just been given to the royal
guards and the Swiss guards, not only to stand firm, but to send out
patrols to the streets of Saint Denis and Saint Martin, where the people
thronged and where they were the most vociferous, when the mayor of
Paris was announced at the Palais Royal.
He was shown in directly; he came to say that if these offensive
precautions were not discontinued, in two hours Paris would be under
arms.
Deliberations were being held when a lieutenant in the guards, named
Comminges, made his appearance, with his clothes all torn, his face
streaming with blood. The queen on seeing him uttered a cry of surprise
and asked him what was going on.
As the mayor had foreseen, the sight of the guards had exasperated the
mob. The tocsin was sounded. Comminges had arrested one of the
ringleaders and had ordered him to be hanged near the cross of Du
Trahoir; but in attempting to execute this command the soldiery were
attacked in the market-place with stones and halberds; the delinquent
had escaped to the Rue des Lombards and rushed into a house. They broke
open the doors and searched the dwelling, but in vain. Comminges,
wounded by a stone which had struck him on the forehead, had left a
picket in the street and returned to the Palais Royal, followed by a
menacing crowd, to tell his story.
This account confirmed that of the mayor. The authorities were not in a
condition to cope with serious revolt. Mazarin endeavored to circulate
among the people a report that troops had only been stationed on the
quays and on the Pont Neuf, on account of the ceremonial of the day, and
that they would soon withdraw. In fact, about four o’clock they were all
concentrated about the Palais Royal, the courts and ground floors of
which were filled with musketeers and Swiss guards, and there awaited
the outcome of all this disturbance.
Such was the state of affairs at the very moment we introduced our
readers to the study of Cardinal Mazarin--once that of Cardinal
Richelieu. We have seen in what state of mind he listened to the murmurs
from below, which even reached him in his seclusion, and to the guns,
the firing of which resounded through that room. All at once he raised
his head; his brow slightly contracted like that of a man who has formed
a resolution; he fixed his eyes upon an enormous clock that was about to
strike ten, and taking up a whistle of silver gilt that stood upon the
table near him, he shrilled it twice.
A door hidden in the tapestry opened noiselessly and a man in black
silently advanced and stood behind the chair on which Mazarin sat.
"Bernouin," said the cardinal, not turning round, for having whistled,
he knew that it was his valet-de-chambre who was behind him; "what
musketeers are now within the palace?"
"The Black Musketeers, my lord."
"What company?"
"Treville’s company."
"Is there any officer belonging to this company in the ante-chamber?"
"Lieutenant d’Artagnan."
"A man on whom we can depend, I hope."
"Yes, my lord."
"Give me a uniform of one of these musketeers and help me to put it on."
The valet went out as silently as he had entered and appeared in a few
minutes bringing the dress demanded.
The cardinal, in deep thought and in silence, began to take off the
robes of state he had assumed in order to be present at the sitting of
parliament, and to attire himself in the military coat, which he wore
with a certain degree of easy grace, owing to his former campaigns in
Italy. When he was completely dressed he said:
"Send hither Monsieur d’Artagnan."
The valet went out of the room, this time by the centre door, but still
as silently as before; one might have fancied him an apparition.
When he was left alone the cardinal looked at himself in the glass with
a feeling of self-satisfaction. Still young--for he was scarcely
forty-six years of age--he possessed great elegance of form and was
above the middle height; his complexion was brilliant and beautiful; his
glance full of expression; his nose, though large, was well
proportioned; his forehead broad and majestic; his hair, of a chestnut
color, was curled slightly; his beard, which was darker than his hair,
was turned carefully with a curling iron, a practice that greatly
improved it. After a short time the cardinal arranged his shoulder belt,
then looked with great complacency at his hands, which were most elegant
and of which he took the greatest care; and throwing on one side the
large kid gloves tried on at first, as belonging to the uniform, he put
on others of silk only. At this instant the door opened.
"Monsieur d’Artagnan," said the valet-de-chambre.
An officer, as he spoke, entered the apartment. He was a man between
thirty-nine and forty years of age, of medium height but a very well
proportioned figure; with an intellectual and animated physiognomy; his
beard black, and his hair turning gray, as often happens when people
have found life either too gay or too sad, more especially when they
happen to be of swart complexion.
D’Artagnan advanced a few steps into the apartment.
How perfectly he remembered his former entrance into that very room!
Seeing, however, no one there except a musketeer of his own troop, he
fixed his eyes upon the supposed soldier, in whose dress, nevertheless,
he recognized at the first glance the cardinal.
The lieutenant remained standing in a dignified but respectful posture,
such as became a man of good birth, who had in the course of his life
been frequently in the society of the highest nobles.
The cardinal looked at him with a cunning rather than serious glance,
yet he examined his countenance with attention and after a momentary
silence said:
"You are Monsieur d’Artagnan?"
"I am that individual," replied the officer.
Mazarin gazed once more at a countenance full of intelligence, the play
of which had been, nevertheless, subdued by age and experience; and
D’Artagnan received the penetrating glance like one who had formerly
sustained many a searching look, very different, indeed, from those
which were inquiringly directed on him at that instant.
"Sir," resumed the cardinal, "you are to come with me, or rather, I am
to go with you."
"I am at your command, my lord," returned D’Artagnan.
"I wish to visit in person the outposts which surround the Palais Royal;
do you suppose that there is any danger in so doing?"
"Danger, my lord!" exclaimed D’Artagnan with a look of astonishment,
"what danger?"
"I am told that there is a general insurrection."
"The uniform of the king’s musketeers carries a certain respect with it,
and even if that were not the case I would engage with four of my men to
put to flight a hundred of these clowns."
"Did you witness the injury sustained by Comminges?"
"Monsieur de Comminges is in the guards and not in the musketeers----"
"Which means, I suppose, that the musketeers are better soldiers than
the guards." The cardinal smiled as he spoke.
"Every one likes his own uniform best, my lord."
"Myself excepted," and again Mazarin smiled; "for you perceive that I
have left off mine and put on yours."
"Lord bless us! this is modesty indeed!" cried D’Artagnan. "Had I such a
uniform as your eminence possesses, I protest I should be mightily
content, and I would take an oath never to wear any other costume----"
"Yes, but for to-night’s adventure I don’t suppose my dress would have
been a very safe one. Give me my felt hat, Bernouin."
The valet instantly brought to his master a regimental hat with a wide
brim. The cardinal put it on in military style.
"Your horses are ready saddled in their stables, are they not?" he said,
turning to D’Artagnan.
"Yes, my lord."
"Well, let us set out."
"How many men does your eminence wish to escort you?"
"You say that with four men you will undertake to disperse a hundred low
fellows; as it may happen that we shall have to encounter two hundred,
take eight----"
"As many as my lord wishes."
"I will follow you. This way--light us downstairs Bernouin."
The valet held a wax-light; the cardinal took a key from his bureau and
opening the door of a secret stair descended into the court of the
Palais Royal.
2. A Nightly Patrol.
In ten minutes Mazarin and his party were traversing the street "Les
Bons Enfants" behind the theatre built by Richelieu expressly for the
play of "Mirame," and in which Mazarin, who was an amateur of music, but
not of literature, had introduced into France the first opera that was
ever acted in that country.
The appearance of the town denoted the greatest agitation. Numberless
groups paraded the streets and, whatever D’Artagnan might think of it,
it was obvious that the citizens had for the night laid aside their
usual forbearance, in order to assume a warlike aspect. From time to
time noises came in the direction of the public markets. The report of
firearms was heard near the Rue Saint Denis and occasionally church
bells began to ring indiscriminately and at the caprice of the populace.
D’Artagnan, meantime, pursued his way with the indifference of a man
upon whom such acts of folly made no impression. When he approached a
group in the middle of the street he urged his horse upon it without a
word of warning; and the members of the group, whether rebels or not, as
if they knew with what sort of a man they had to deal, at once gave
place to the patrol. The cardinal envied that composure, which he
attributed to the habit of meeting danger; but none the less he
conceived for the officer under whose orders he had for the moment
placed himself, that consideration which even prudence pays to careless
courage. On approaching an outpost near the Barriere des Sergens, the
sentinel cried out, "Who’s there?" and D’Artagnan answered--having first
asked the word of the cardinal--"Louis and Rocroy." After which he
inquired if Lieutenant Comminges were not the commanding officer at the
outpost. The soldier replied by pointing out to him an officer who was
conversing, on foot, his hand upon the neck of a horse on which the
individual to whom he was talking sat. Here was the officer D’Artagnan
was seeking.
"Here is Monsieur Comminges," said D’Artagnan, returning to the
cardinal. He instantly retired, from a feeling of respectful delicacy;
it was, however, evident that the cardinal was recognized by both
Comminges and the other officers on horseback.
"Well done, Guitant," cried the cardinal to the equestrian; "I see
plainly that, notwithstanding the sixty-four years that have passed over
your head, you are still the same man, active and zealous. What were you
saying to this youngster?"
"My lord," replied Guitant, "I was observing that we live in troublous
times and that to-day’s events are very like those in the days of the
Ligue, of which I heard so much in my youth. Are you aware that the mob
have even suggested throwing up barricades in the Rue Saint Denis and
the Rue Saint Antoine?"
"And what was Comminges saying to you in reply, my good Guitant?"
"My lord," said Comminges, "I answered that to compose a Ligue only one
ingredient was wanting--in my opinion an essential one--a Duc de Guise;
moreover, no generation ever does the same thing twice."
"No, but they mean to make a Fronde, as they call it," said Guitant.
"And what is a Fronde?" inquired Mazarin.
"My lord, Fronde is the name the discontented give to their party."
"And what is the origin of this name?"
"It seems that some days since Councillor Bachaumont remarked at the
palace that rebels and agitators reminded him of schoolboys
slinging--qui frondent--stones from the moats round Paris, young urchins
who run off the moment the constable appears, only to return to their
diversion the instant his back is turned. So they have picked up the
word and the insurrectionists are called ’Frondeurs,’ and yesterday
every article sold was ’a la Fronde;’ bread ’a la Fronde,’ hats ’a la
Fronde,’ to say nothing of gloves, pocket-handkerchiefs, and fans; but
listen----"
At that moment a window opened and a man began to sing:
| "A tempest from the Fronde
| Did blow to−day:
| I think 'twill blow
| Sieur Mazarin away."
"Insolent wretch!" cried Guitant.
"My lord," said Comminges, who, irritated by his wounds, wished for
revenge and longed to give back blow for blow, "shall I fire off a ball
to punish that jester, and to warn him not to sing so much out of tune
in the future?"
And as he spoke he put his hand on the holster of his uncle’s
saddle-bow.
"Certainly not! certainly not," exclaimed Mazarin. "Diavolo! my dear
friend, you are going to spoil everything--everything is going on
famously. I know the French as well as if I had made them myself. They
sing--let them pay the piper. During the Ligue, about which Guitant was
speaking just now, the people chanted nothing except the mass, so
everything went to destruction. Come, Guitant, come along, and let’s see
if they keep watch at the Quinze-Vingts as at the Barriere des Sergens."
And waving his hand to Comminges he rejoined D’Artagnan, who instantly
put himself at the head of his troop, followed by the cardinal, Guitant
and the rest of the escort.
"Just so," muttered Comminges, looking after Mazarin. "True, I forgot;
provided he can get money out of the people, that is all he wants."
The street of Saint Honore, when the cardinal and his party passed
through it, was crowded by an assemblage who, standing in groups,
discussed the edicts of that memorable day. They pitied the young king,
who was unconsciously ruining his country, and threw all the odium of
his proceedings on Mazarin. Addresses to the Duke of Orleans and to
Conde were suggested. Blancmesnil and Broussel seemed in the highest
favor.
D’Artagnan passed through the very midst of this discontented mob just
as if his horse and he had been made of iron. Mazarin and Guitant
conversed together in whispers. The musketeers, who had already
discovered who Mazarin was, followed in profound silence. In the street
of Saint Thomas-du-Louvre they stopped at the barrier distinguished by
the name of Quinze-Vingts. Here Guitant spoke to one of the subalterns,
asking how matters were progressing.
"Ah, captain!" said the officer, "everything is quiet hereabout--if I
did not know that something is going on in yonder house!"
And he pointed to a magnificent hotel situated on the very spot whereon
the Vaudeville now stands.
"In that hotel? it is the Hotel Rambouillet," cried Guitant.
"I really don’t know what hotel it is; all I do know is that I observed
some suspicious looking people go in there----"
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Guitant, with a burst of laughter; "those men must
be poets."
"Come, Guitant, speak, if you please, respectfully of these gentlemen,"
said Mazarin; "don’t you know that I was in my youth a poet? I wrote
verses in the style of Benserade----"
"You, my lord?"
"Yes, I; shall I repeat to you some of my verses?"
"Just as you please, my lord. I do not understand Italian."
"Yes, but you understand French," and Mazarin laid his hand upon
Guitant’s shoulder. "My good, my brave Guitant, whatsoever command I may
give you in that language--in French--whatever I may order you to do,
will you not perform it?"
"Certainly. I have already answered that question in the affirmative;
but that command must come from the queen herself."
"Yes! ah yes!" Mazarin bit his lips as he spoke; "I know your devotion
to her majesty."
"I have been a captain in the queen’s guards for twenty years," was the
reply.
"En route, Monsieur d’Artagnan," said the cardinal; "all goes well in
this direction."
D’Artagnan, in the meantime, had taken the head of his detachment
without a word and with that ready and profound obedience which marks
the character of an old soldier.
He led the way toward the hill of Saint Roche. The Rue Richelieu and the
Rue Villedot were then, owing to their vicinity to the ramparts, less
frequented than any others in that direction, for the town was thinly
inhabited thereabout.
"Who is in command here?" asked the cardinal.
"Villequier," said Guitant.
"Diavolo! Speak to him yourself, for ever since you were deputed by me
to arrest the Duc de Beaufort, this officer and I have been on bad
terms. He laid claim to that honor as captain of the royal guards."
"I am aware of that, and I have told him a hundred times that he was
wrong. The king could not give that order, since at that time he was
hardly four years old."
"Yes, but I could give him the order--I, Guitant--and I preferred to
give it to you."
Guitant, without reply, rode forward and desired the sentinel to call
Monsieur de Villequier.
"Ah! so you are here!" cried the officer, in the tone of ill-humor
habitual to him; "what the devil are you doing here?"
"I wish to know--can you tell me, pray--is anything fresh occurring in
this part of the town?"
"What do you mean? People cry out, ’Long live the king! down with
Mazarin!’ That’s nothing new; no, we’ve been used to those acclamations
for some time."
"And you sing chorus," replied Guitant, laughing.
"Faith, I’ve half a mind to do it. In my opinion the people are right;
and cheerfully would I give up five years of my pay--which I am never
paid, by the way--to make the king five years older."
"Really! And pray what would come to pass, supposing the king were five
years older than he is?"
"As soon as ever the king comes of age he will issue his commands
himself, and ’tis far pleasanter to obey the grandson of Henry IV. than
the son of Peter Mazarin. ’Sdeath! I would die willingly for the king,
but supposing I happened to be killed on account of Mazarin, as your
nephew came near being to-day, there could be nothing in Paradise,
however well placed I might be there, that could console me for it."
"Well, well, Monsieur de Villequier," Mazarin interposed, "I shall make
it my care the king hears of your loyalty. Come, gentlemen," addressing
the troop, "let us return."
"Stop," exclaimed Villequier, "so Mazarin was here! so much the better.
I have been waiting for a long time to tell him what I think of him. I
am obliged to you Guitant, although your intention was perhaps not very
favorable to me, for such an opportunity."
He turned away and went off to his post, whistling a tune then popular
among the party called the "Fronde," whilst Mazarin returned, in a
pensive mood, toward the Palais Royal. All that he had heard from these
three different men, Comminges, Guitant and Villequier, confirmed him in
his conviction that in case of serious tumults there would be no one on
his side except the queen; and then Anne of Austria had so often
deserted her friends that her support seemed most precarious. During the
whole of this nocturnal ride, during the whole time that he was
endeavoring to understand the various characters of Comminges, Guitant
and Villequier, Mazarin was, in truth, studying more especially one man.
This man, who had remained immovable as bronze when menaced by the
mob--not a muscle of whose face was stirred, either at Mazarin’s
witticisms or by the jests of the multitude--seemed to the cardinal a
peculiar being, who, having participated in past events similar to those
now occurring, was calculated to cope with those now on the eve of
taking place.
The name of D’Artagnan was not altogether new to Mazarin, who, although
he did not arrive in France before the year 1634 or 1635, that is to
say, about eight or nine years after the events which we have related in
a preceding narrative, * fancied he had heard it pronounced as that of
one who was said to be a model of courage, address and loyalty.
* _"The Three Musketeers."_
Possessed by this idea, the cardinal resolved to know all about
D’Artagnan immediately; of course he could not inquire from D’Artagnan
himself who he was and what had been his career; he remarked, however,
in the course of conversation that the lieutenant of musketeers spoke
with a Gascon accent. Now the Italians and the Gascons are too much
alike and know each other too well ever to trust what any one of them
may say of himself; so in reaching the walls which surrounded the Palais
Royal, the cardinal knocked at a little door, and after thanking
D’Artagnan and requesting him to wait in the court of the Palais Royal,
he made a sign to Guitant to follow him.
They both dismounted, consigned their horses to the lackey who had
opened the door, and disappeared in the garden.
"My dear friend," said the cardinal, leaning, as they walked through the
garden, on his friend’s arm, "you told me just now that you had been
twenty years in the queen’s service."
"Yes, it’s true. I have," returned Guitant.
"Now, my dear Guitant, I have often remarked that in addition to your
courage, which is indisputable, and your fidelity, which is invincible,
you possess an admirable memory."
"You have found that out, have you, my lord? Deuce take it--all the
worse for me!"
"How?"
"There is no doubt but that one of the chief accomplishments of a
courtier is to know when to forget."
"But you, Guitant, are not a courtier. You are a brave soldier, one of
the few remaining veterans of the days of Henry IV. Alas! how few to-day
exist!"
"Plague on’t, my lord, have you brought me here to get my horoscope out
of me?"
"No; I only brought you here to ask you," returned Mazarin, smiling, "if
you have taken any particular notice of our lieutenant of musketeers?"
"Monsieur d’Artagnan? I have had no occasion to notice him particularly;
he’s an old acquaintance. He’s a Gascon. De Treville knows him and
esteems him very highly, and De Treville, as you know, is one of the
queen’s greatest friends. As a soldier the man ranks well; he did his
whole duty and even more, at the siege of Rochelle--as at Suze and
Perpignan."
"But you know, Guitant, we poor ministers often want men with other
qualities besides courage; we want men of talent. Pray, was not Monsieur
d’Artagnan, in the time of the cardinal, mixed up in some intrigue from
which he came out, according to report, quite cleverly?"
"My lord, as to the report you allude to"--Guitant perceived that the
cardinal wished to make him speak out--"I know nothing but what the
public knows. I never meddle in intrigues, and if I occasionally become
a confidant of the intrigues of others I am sure your eminence will
approve of my keeping them secret."
Mazarin shook his head.
"Ah!" he said; "some ministers are fortunate and find out all that they
wish to know."
"My lord," replied Guitant, "such ministers do not weigh men in the same
balance; they get their information on war from warriors; on intrigues,
from intriguers. Consult some politician of the period of which you
speak, and if you pay well for it you will certainly get to know all you
want."
"Eh, pardieu!" said Mazarin, with a grimace which he always made when
spoken to about money. "They will be paid, if there is no way of getting out of it." |
|
댓글 없음:
댓글 쓰기