"Never. You know, Athos, you never spoke much of such matters."
"Ah, mon Dieu, yes, you are right," Athos replied; "but then there must
be some occasion for speaking."
"Porthos wouldn’t have waited for it so patiently," said D’Artagnan,
with a smile.
"Every one according to his nature, my dear D’Artagnan. Porthos, in
spite of a touch of vanity, has many excellent qualities. Have you seen
him?"
"I left him five days ago," said D’Artagnan, and he portrayed with
Gascon wit and sprightliness the magnificence of Porthos in his Chateau
of Pierrefonds; nor did he neglect to launch a few arrows of wit at the
excellent Monsieur Mouston.
"I sometimes wonder," replied Athos, smiling at that gayety which
recalled the good old days, "that we could form an association of men
who would be, after twenty years of separation, still so closely bound
together. Friendship throws out deep roots in honest hearts, D’Artagnan.
Believe me, it is only the evil-minded who deny friendship; they cannot
understand it. And Aramis?"
"I have seen him also," said D’Artagnan; "but he seemed to me cold."
"Ah, you have seen Aramis?" said Athos, turning on D’Artagnan a
searching look. "Why, it is a veritable pilgrimage, my dear friend, that
you are making to the Temple of Friendship, as the poets would say."
"Why, yes," replied D’Artagnan, with embarrassment.
"Aramis, you know," continued Athos, "is naturally cold, and then he is
always involved in intrigues with women."
"I believe he is at this moment in a very complicated one," said
D’Artagnan.
Athos made no reply.
"He is not curious," thought D’Artagnan.
Athos not only failed to reply, he even changed the subject of
conversation.
"You see," said he, calling D’Artagnan’s attention to the fact that they
had come back to the chateau after an hour’s walk, "we have made a tour
of my domains."
"All is charming and everything savors of nobility," replied D’Artagnan.
At this instant they heard the sound of horses’ feet.
"’Tis Raoul who has come back," said Athos; "and we can now hear how the
poor child is."
In fact, the young man appeared at the gate, covered with dust, entered
the courtyard, leaped from his horse, which he consigned to the charge
of a groom, and then went to greet the count and D’Artagnan.
"Monsieur," said Athos, placing his hand on D’Artagnan’s shoulder,
"monsieur is the Chevalier D’Artagnan of whom you have often heard me
speak, Raoul."
"Monsieur," said the young man, saluting again and more profoundly,
"monsieur le comte has pronounced your name before me as an example
whenever he wished to speak of an intrepid and generous gentleman."
That little compliment could not fail to move D’Artagnan. He extended a
hand to Raoul and said:
"My young friend, all the praises that are given me should be passed on
to the count here; for he has educated me in everything and it is not
his fault that his pupil profited so little from his instructions. But
he will make it up in you I am sure. I like your manner, Raoul, and your
politeness has touched me."
Athos was more delighted than can be told. He looked at D’Artagnan with
an expression of gratitude and then bestowed on Raoul one of those
strange smiles, of which children are so proud when they receive them.
"Now," said D’Artagnan to himself, noticing that silent play of
countenance, "I am sure of it."
"I hope the accident has been of no consequence?"
"They don’t yet know, sir, on account of the swelling; but the doctor is
afraid some tendon has been injured."
At this moment a little boy, half peasant, half foot-boy, came to
announce supper.
Athos led his guest into a dining-room of moderate size, the windows of
which opened on one side on a garden, on the other on a hot-house full
of magnificent flowers.
D’Artagnan glanced at the dinner service. The plate was magnificent,
old, and appertaining to the family. D’Artagnan stopped to look at a
sideboard on which was a superb ewer of silver.
"That workmanship is divine!" he exclaimed.
"Yes, a chef d’oeuvre of the great Florentine sculptor, Benvenuto
Cellini," replied Athos.
"What battle does it represent?"
"That of Marignan, just at the point where one of my forefathers is
offering his sword to Francis I., who has broken his. It was on that
occasion that my ancestor, Enguerrand de la Fere, was made a knight of
the Order of St. Michael; besides which, the king, fifteen years
afterward, gave him also this ewer and a sword which you may have seen
formerly in my house, also a lovely specimen of workmanship. Men were
giants in those times," said Athos; "now we are pigmies in comparison.
Let us sit down to supper. Call Charles," he added, addressing the boy
who waited.
"My good Charles, I particularly recommend to your care Planchet, the
laquais of Monsieur D’Artagnan. He likes good wine; now you have the key
of the cellar. He has slept a long time on a hard bed, so he won’t
object to a soft one; take every care of him, I beg of you." Charles
bowed and retired.
"You think of everything," said D’Artagnan; "and I thank you for
Planchet, my dear Athos."
Raoul stared on hearing this name and looked at the count to be quite
sure that it was he whom the lieutenant thus addressed.
"That name sounds strange to you," said Athos, smiling; "it was my nom
de guerre when Monsieur D’Artagnan, two other gallant friends and myself
performed some feats of arms at the siege of La Rochelle, under the
deceased cardinal and Monsieur de Bassompierre. My friend is still so
kind as to address me by that old and well beloved appellation, which
makes my heart glad when I hear it."
"’Tis an illustrious name," said the lieutenant, "and had one day
triumphal honors paid to it."
"What do you mean, sir?" inquired Raoul.
"You have not forgotten St. Gervais, Athos, and the napkin which was
converted into a banner?" and he then related to Raoul the story of the
bastion, and Raoul fancied he was listening to one of those deeds of
arms belonging to days of chivalry, so gloriously recounted by Tasso and
Ariosto.
"D’Artagnan does not tell you, Raoul," said Athos, in his turn, "that he
was reckoned one of the finest swordsmen of his time--a knuckle of iron,
a wrist of steel, a sure eye and a glance of fire; that’s what his
adversary met with. He was eighteen, only three years older than you
are, Raoul, when I saw him set to work, pitted against tried men."
"And did Monsieur D’Artagnan come off the conqueror?" asked the young
man, with glistening eye.
"I killed one man, if I recollect rightly," replied D’Artagnan, with a
look of inquiry directed to Athos; "another I disarmed or wounded, I
don’t remember which."
"Wounded!" said Athos; "it was a phenomenon of skill."
The young man would willingly have prolonged this conversation far into
the night, but Athos pointed out to him that his guest must need repose.
D’Artagnan would fain have declared that he was not fatigued, but Athos
insisted on his retiring to his chamber, conducted thither by Raoul.
15. Athos as a Diplomatist.
D’Artagnan retired to bed--not to sleep, but to think over all he had
heard that evening. Being naturally goodhearted, and having had once a
liking for Athos, which had grown into a sincere friendship, he was
delighted at thus meeting a man full of intelligence and moral strength,
instead of a drunkard. He admitted without annoyance the continued
superiority of Athos over himself, devoid as he was of that jealousy
which might have saddened a less generous disposition; he was delighted
also that the high qualities of Athos appeared to promise favorably for
his mission. Nevertheless, it seemed to him that Athos was not in all
respects sincere and frank. Who was the youth he had adopted and who
bore so striking a resemblance to him? What could explain Athos’s having
re-entered the world and the extreme sobriety he had observed at table?
The absence of Grimaud, whose name had never once been uttered by Athos,
gave D’Artagnan uneasiness. It was evident either that he no longer
possessed the confidence of his friend, or that Athos was bound by some
invisible chain, or that he had been forewarned of the lieutenant’s
visit.
He could not help thinking of M. Rochefort, whom he had seen in Notre
Dame; could De Rochefort have forestalled him with Athos? Again, the
moderate fortune which Athos possessed, concealed as it was, so
skillfully, seemed to show a regard for appearances and to betray a
latent ambition which might be easily aroused. The clear and vigorous
intellect of Athos would render him more open to conviction than a less
able man would be. He would enter into the minister’s schemes with the
more ardor, because his natural activity would be doubled by necessity.
Resolved to seek an explanation on all these points on the following
day, D’Artagnan, in spite of his fatigue, prepared for an attack and
determined that it should take place after breakfast. He determined to
cultivate the good-will of the youth Raoul and, either whilst fencing
with him or when out shooting, to extract from his simplicity some
information which would connect the Athos of old times with the Athos of
the present. But D’Artagnan at the same time, being a man of extreme
caution, was quite aware what injury he should do himself, if by any
indiscretion or awkwardness he should betray has manoeuvering to the
experienced eye of Athos. Besides, to tell truth, whilst D’Artagnan was
quite disposed to adopt a subtle course against the cunning of Aramis or
the vanity of Porthos, he was ashamed to equivocate with Athos,
true-hearted, open Athos. It seemed to him that if Porthos and Aramis
deemed him superior to them in the arts of diplomacy, they would like
him all the better for it; but that Athos, on the contrary, would
despise him.
"Ah! why is not Grimaud, the taciturn Grimaud, here?" thought
D’Artagnan, "there are so many things his silence would have told me;
with Grimaud silence was another form of eloquence!"
There reigned a perfect stillness in the house. D’Artagnan had heard the
door shut and the shutters barred; the dogs became in their turn silent.
At last a nightingale, lost in a thicket of shrubs, in the midst of its
most melodious cadences had fluted low and lower into stillness and
fallen asleep. Not a sound was heard in the castle, except of a footstep
up and down, in the chamber above--as he supposed, the bedroom of Athos.
"He is walking about and thinking," thought D’Artagnan; "but of what? It
is impossible to know; everything else might be guessed, but not that."
At length Athos went to bed, apparently, for the noise ceased.
Silence and fatigue together overcame D’Artagnan and sleep overtook him
also. He was not, however, a good sleeper. Scarcely had dawn gilded his
window curtains when he sprang out of bed and opened the windows.
Somebody, he perceived, was in the courtyard, moving stealthily. True to
his custom of never passing anything over that it was within his power
to know, D’Artagnan looked out of the window and perceived the close red
coat and brown hair of Raoul.
The young man was opening the door of the stable. He then, with
noiseless haste, took out the horse that he had ridden on the previous
evening, saddled and bridled it himself and led the animal into the
alley to the right of the kitchen-garden, opened a side door which
conducted him to a bridle road, shut it after him, and D’Artagnan saw
him pass by like a dart, bending, as he went, beneath the pendent
flowery branches of maple and acacia. The road, as D’Artagnan had
observed, was the way to Blois.
"So!" thought the Gascon "here’s a young blade who has already his love
affair, who doesn’t at all agree with Athos in his hatred to the fair
sex. He’s not going to hunt, for he has neither dogs nor arms; he’s not
going on a message, for he goes secretly. Why does he go in secret? Is
he afraid of me or of his father? for I am sure the count is his father.
By Jove! I shall know about that soon, for I shall soon speak out to
Athos."
Day was now advanced; all the noises that had ceased the night before
reawakened, one after the other. The bird on the branch, the dog in his
kennel, the sheep in the field, the boats moored in the Loire, even,
became alive and vocal. The latter, leaving the shore, abandoned
themselves gaily to the current. The Gascon gave a last twirl to his
mustache, a last turn to his hair, brushed, from habit, the brim of his
hat with the sleeve of his doublet, and went downstairs. Scarcely had he
descended the last step of the threshold when he saw Athos bent down
toward the ground, as if he were looking for a crown-piece in the dust.
"Good-morning, my dear host," cried D’Artagnan.
"Good-day to you; have you slept well?"
"Excellently, Athos, but what are you looking for? You are perhaps a
tulip fancier?"
"My dear friend, if I am, you must not laugh at me for being so. In the
country people alter; one gets to like, without knowing it, all those
beautiful objects that God causes to spring from the earth, which are
despised in cities. I was looking anxiously for some iris roots I
planted here, close to this reservoir, and which some one has trampled
upon this morning. These gardeners are the most careless people in the
world; in bringing the horse out to the water they’ve allowed him to
walk over the border."
D’Artagnan began to smile.
"Ah! you think so, do you?"
And he took his friend along the alley, where a number of tracks like
those which had trampled down the flowerbeds, were visible.
"Here are the horse’s hoofs again, it seems, Athos," he said carelessly.
"Yes, indeed, the marks are recent."
"Quite so," replied the lieutenant.
"Who went out this morning?" Athos asked, uneasily. "Has any horse got
loose?"
"Not likely," answered the Gascon; "these marks are regular."
"Where is Raoul?" asked Athos; "how is it that I have not seen him?"
"Hush!" exclaimed D’Artagnan, putting his finger on his lips; and he
related what he had seen, watching Athos all the while.
"Ah, he’s gone to Blois; the poor boy----"
"Wherefore?"
"Ah, to inquire after the little La Valliere; she has sprained her foot,
you know."
"You think he has?"
"I am sure of it," said Athos; "don’t you see that Raoul is in love?"
"Indeed! with whom--with a child seven years old?"
"Dear friend, at Raoul’s age the heart is so expansive that it must
encircle one object or another, fancied or real. Well, his love is half
real, half fanciful. She is the prettiest little creature in the world,
with flaxen hair, blue eyes,--at once saucy and languishing."
"But what say you to Raoul’s fancy?"
"Nothing--I laugh at Raoul; but this first desire of the heart is
imperious. I remember, just at his age, how deep in love I was with a
Grecian statue which our good king, then Henry IV., gave my father,
insomuch that I was mad with grief when they told me that the story of
Pygmalion was nothing but a fable."
"It is mere want of occupation. You do not make Raoul work, so he takes
his own way of employing himself."
"Exactly; therefore I think of sending him away from here."
"You will be wise to do so."
"No doubt of it; but it will break his heart. So long as three or four
years ago he used to adorn and adore his little idol, whom he will some
day fall in love with in right earnest if he remains here. The parents
of little La Valliere have for a long time perceived and been amused at
it; now they begin to look concerned."
"Nonsense! However, Raoul must be diverted from this fancy. Send him
away or you will never make a man of him."
"I think I shall send him to Paris."
"So!" thought D’Artagnan, and it seemed to him that the moment for
attack had arrived.
"Suppose," he said, "we roughly chalk out a career for this young man. I
wish to consult you about some thing."
"Do so."
"Do you think it is time for us to enter the service?"
"But are you not still in the service--you, D’Artagnan?"
"I mean active service. Our former life, has it still no attractions for
you? would you not be happy to begin anew in my society and in that of
Porthos, the exploits of our youth?"
"Do you propose to me to do so, D’Artagnan?"
"Decidedly and honestly."
"On whose side?" asked Athos, fixing his clear, benevolent glance on the
countenance of the Gascon.
"Ah, devil take it, you speak in earnest----"
"And must have a definite answer. Listen, D’Artagnan. There is but one
person, or rather, one cause, to whom a man like me can be useful--that
of the king."
"Exactly," answered the musketeer.
"Yes, but let us understand each other," returned Athos, seriously. "If
by the cause of the king you mean that of Monsieur de Mazarin, we do not
understand each other."
"I don’t say exactly," answered the Gascon, confused.
"Come, D’Artagnan, don’t let us play a sidelong game; your hesitation,
your evasion, tells me at once on whose side you are; for that party no
one dares openly to recruit, and when people recruit for it, it is with
averted eyes and humble voice."
"Ah! my dear Athos!"
"You know that I am not alluding to you; you are the pearl of brave,
bold men. I speak of that spiteful and intriguing Italian--of the pedant
who has tried to put on his own head a crown which he stole from under a
pillow--of the scoundrel who calls his party the party of the king--who
wants to send the princes of the blood to prison, not daring to kill
them, as our great cardinal--our cardinal did--of the miser, who weighs
his gold pieces and keeps the clipped ones for fear, though he is rich,
of losing them at play next morning--of the impudent fellow who insults
the queen, as they say--so much the worse for her--and who is going in
three months to make war upon us, in order that he may retain his
pensions; is that the master whom you propose to me? I thank you,
D’Artagnan."
"You are more impetuous than you were," returned D’Artagnan. "Age has
warmed, not chilled your blood. Who informed you this was the master I
propose to you? Devil take it," he muttered to himself, "don’t let me
betray my secrets to a man not inclined to entertain them."
"Well, then," said Athos, "what are your schemes? what do you propose?"
"Zounds! nothing more than natural. You live on your estate, happy in
golden mediocrity. Porthos has, perhaps, sixty thousand francs income.
Aramis has always fifty duchesses quarreling over the priest, as they
quarreled formerly over the musketeer; but I--what have I in the world?
I have worn my cuirass these twenty years, kept down in this inferior
rank, without going forward or backward, hardly half living. In fact, I
am dead. Well! when there is some idea of being resuscitated, you say
he’s a scoundrel, an impudent fellow, a miser, a bad master! By Jove! I
am of your opinion, but find me a better one or give me the means of
living."
Athos was for a few moments thoughtful.
"Good! D’Artagnan is for Mazarin," he said to himself.
From that moment he grew very guarded.
On his side D’Artagnan became more cautious also.
"You spoke to me," Athos resumed, "of Porthos; have you persuaded him to
seek his fortune? But he has wealth, I believe, already."
"Doubtless he has. But such is man, we always want something more than
we already have."
"What does Porthos wish for?"
"To be a baron."
"Ah, true! I forgot," said Athos, laughing.
"’Tis true!" thought the Gascon, "where has he heard it? Does he
correspond with Aramis? Ah! if I knew that he did I should know all."
The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Raoul.
"Is our little neighbor worse?" asked D’Artagnan, seeing a look of
vexation on the face of the youth.
"Ah, sir!" replied Raoul, "her fall is a very serious one, and without
any ostensible injury, the physician fears she will be lame for life."
"This is terrible," said Athos.
"And what makes me all the more wretched, sir, is, that I was the cause
of this misfortune."
"How so?" asked Athos.
"It was to run to meet me that she leaped from that pile of wood."
"There’s only one remedy, dear Raoul--that is, to marry her as a
compensation." remarked D’Artagnan.
"Ah, sir!" answered Raoul, "you joke about a real misfortune; that is
cruel, indeed."
The good understanding between the two friends was not in the least
altered by the morning’s skirmish. They breakfasted with a good
appetite, looking now and then at poor Raoul, who with moist eyes and a
full heart, scarcely ate at all.
After breakfast two letters arrived for Athos, who read them with
profound attention, whilst D’Artagnan could not restrain himself from
jumping up several times on seeing him read these epistles, in one of
which, there being at the time a very strong light, he perceived the
fine writing of Aramis. The other was in a feminine hand, long, and
crossed.
"Come," said D’Artagnan to Raoul, seeing that Athos wished to be alone,
"come, let us take a turn in the fencing gallery; that will amuse you."
And they both went into a low room where there were foils, gloves,
masks, breastplates, and all the accessories for a fencing match.
In a quarter of an hour Athos joined them and at the same moment Charles
brought in a letter for D’Artagnan, which a messenger had just desired
might be instantly delivered.
It was now Athos’s turn to take a sly look.
D’Artagnan read the letter with apparent calmness and said, shaking his
head:
"See, dear friend, what it is to belong to the army. Faith, you are
indeed right not to return to it. Monsieur de Treville is ill, so my
company can’t do without me; there! my leave is at an end!"
"Do you return to Paris?" asked Athos, quickly.
"Egad! yes; but why don’t you come there also?"
Athos colored a little and answered:
"Should I go, I shall be delighted to see you there."
"Halloo, Planchet!" cried the Gascon from the door, "we must set out in
ten minutes; give the horses some hay."
Then turning to Athos he added:
"I seem to miss something here. I am really sorry to go away without
having seen Grimaud."
"Grimaud!" replied Athos. "I’m surprised you have never so much as asked
after him. I have lent him to a friend----"
"Who will understand the signs he makes?" returned D’Artagnan.
"I hope so."
The friends embraced cordially; D’Artagnan pressed Raoul’s hand.
"Will you not come with me?" he said; "I shall pass by Blois."
Raoul turned toward Athos, who showed him by a secret sign that he did
not wish him to go.
"No, monsieur," replied the young man; "I will remain with monsieur le
comte."
"Adieu, then, to both, my good friends," said D’Artagnan; "may God
preserve you! as we used to say when we said good-bye to each other in
the late cardinal’s time."
Athos waved his hand, Raoul bowed, and D’Artagnan and Planchet set out.
The count followed them with his eyes, his hands resting on the
shoulders of the youth, whose height was almost equal to his own; but as
soon as they were out of sight he said:
"Raoul, we set out to-night for Paris."
"Eh?" cried the young man, turning pale.
"You may go and offer your adieux and mine to Madame de Saint-Remy. I
shall wait for you here till seven."
The young man bent low, with an expression of sorrow and gratitude
mingled, and retired in order to saddle his horse.
As to D’Artagnan, scarcely, on his side, was he out of sight when he
drew from his pocket a letter, which he read over again:
"Return immediately to Paris.--J. M----."
"The epistle is laconic," said D’Artagnan; "and if there had not been a
postscript, probably I should not have understood it; but happily there
is a postscript."
And he read that welcome postscript, which made him forget the
abruptness of the letter.
"P. S.--Go to the king’s treasurer, at Blois; tell him your name and
show him this letter; you will receive two hundred pistoles."
"Assuredly," said D’Artagnan, "I admire this piece of prose. The
cardinal writes better than I thought. Come, Planchet, let us pay a
visit to the king’s treasurer and then set off."
"Toward Paris, sir?"
"Toward Paris."
And they set out at as hard a canter as their horses could maintain.
16. The Duc de Beaufort.
The circumstances that had hastened the return of D’Artagnan to Paris
were as follows:
One evening, when Mazarin, according to custom, went to visit the queen,
in passing the guard-chamber he heard loud voices; wishing to know on
what topic the soldiers were conversing, he approached with his wonted
wolf-like step, pushed open the door and put his head close to the
chink.
There was a dispute among the guards.
"I tell you," one of them was saying, "that if Coysel predicted that,
’tis as good as true; I know nothing about it, but I have heard say that
he’s not only an astrologer, but a magician."
"Deuce take it, friend, if he’s one of thy friends thou wilt ruin him in
saying so."
"Why?"
"Because he may be tried for it."
"Ah! absurd! they don’t burn sorcerers nowadays."
"No? ’Tis not a long time since the late cardinal burnt Urban Grandier,
though."
"My friend, Urban Grandier wasn’t a sorcerer, he was a learned man. He
didn’t predict the future, he knew the past--often a more dangerous
thing."
Mazarin nodded an assent, but wishing to know what this prediction was,
about which they disputed, he remained in the same place.
"I don’t say," resumed the guard, "that Coysel is not a sorcerer, but I
say that if his prophecy gets wind, it’s a sure way to prevent it’s
coming true."
"How so?"
"Why, in this way: if Coysel says loud enough for the cardinal to hear
him, on such or such a day such a prisoner will escape, ’tis plain that
the cardinal will take measures of precaution and that the prisoner will
not escape."
"Good Lord!" said another guard, who might have been thought asleep on a
bench, but who had lost not a syllable of the conversation, "do you
suppose that men can escape their destiny? If it is written yonder, in
Heaven, that the Duc de Beaufort is to escape, he will escape; and all
the precautions of the cardinal will not prevent it."
Mazarin started. He was an Italian and therefore superstitious. He
walked straight into the midst of the guards, who on seeing him were
silent.
"What were you saying?" he asked with his flattering manner; "that
Monsieur de Beaufort had escaped, were you not?"
"Oh, no, my lord!" said the incredulous soldier. "He’s well guarded now;
we only said he would escape."
"Who said so?"
"Repeat your story, Saint Laurent," replied the man, turning to the
originator of the tale.
"My lord," said the guard, "I have simply mentioned the prophecy I heard
from a man named Coysel, who believes that, be he ever so closely
watched and guarded, the Duke of Beaufort will escape before
Whitsuntide."
"Coysel is a madman!" returned the cardinal.
"No," replied the soldier, tenacious in his credulity; "he has foretold
many things which have come to pass; for instance, that the queen would
have a son; that Monsieur Coligny would be killed in a duel with the Duc
de Guise; and finally, that the coadjutor would be made cardinal. Well!
the queen has not only one son, but two; then, Monsieur de Coligny was
killed, and----"
"Yes," said Mazarin, "but the coadjutor is not yet made cardinal!"
"No, my lord, but he will be," answered the guard.
Mazarin made a grimace, as if he meant to say, "But he does not wear the
cardinal’s cap;" then he added:
"So, my friend, it’s your opinion that Monsieur de Beaufort will
escape?"
"That’s my idea, my lord; and if your eminence were to offer to make me
at this moment governor of the castle of Vincennes, I should refuse it.
After Whitsuntide it would be another thing."
There is nothing so convincing as a firm conviction. It has its own
effect upon the most incredulous; and far from being incredulous,
Mazarin was superstitious. He went away thoughtful and anxious and
returned to his own room, where he summoned Bernouin and desired him to
fetch thither in the morning the special guard he had placed over
Monsieur de Beaufort and to awaken him whenever he should arrive.
The guard had, in fact, touched the cardinal in the tenderest point.
During the whole five years in which the Duc de Beaufort had been in
prison not a day had passed in which the cardinal had not felt a secret
dread of his escape. It was not possible, as he knew well, to confine
for the whole of his life the grandson of Henry IV., especially when
this young prince was scarcely thirty years of age. But however and
whensoever he did escape, what hatred he must cherish against him to
whom he owed his long imprisonment; who had taken him, rich, brave,
glorious, beloved by women, feared by men, to cut off his life’s best,
happiest years; for it is not life, it is merely existence, in prison!
Meantime, Mazarin redoubled his surveillance over the duke. But like the
miser in the fable, he could not sleep for thinking of his treasure.
Often he awoke in the night, suddenly, dreaming that he had been robbed
of Monsieur de Beaufort. Then he inquired about him and had the vexation
of hearing that the prisoner played, drank, sang, but that whilst
playing, drinking, singing, he often stopped short to vow that Mazarin
should pay dear for all the amusements he had forced him to enter into
at Vincennes.
So much did this one idea haunt the cardinal even in his sleep, that
when at seven in the morning Bernouin came to arouse him, his first
words were: "Well, what’s the matter? Has Monsieur de Beaufort escaped
from Vincennes?"
"I do not think so, my lord," said Bernouin; "but you will hear about
him, for La Ramee is here and awaits the commands of your eminence."
"Tell him to come in," said Mazarin, arranging his pillows, so that he
might receive the visitor sitting up in bed.
The officer entered, a large fat man, with an open physiognomy. His air
of perfect serenity made Mazarin uneasy.
"Approach, sir," said the cardinal.
The officer obeyed.
"Do you know what they are saying here?"
"No, your eminence."
"Well, they say that Monsieur de Beaufort is going to escape from
Vincennes, if he has not done so already."
The officer’s face expressed complete stupefaction. He opened at once
his little eyes and his great mouth, to inhale better the joke his
eminence deigned to address to him, and ended by a burst of laughter, so
violent that his great limbs shook in hilarity as they would have done
in an ague.
"Escape! my lord--escape! Your eminence does not then know where
Monsieur de Beaufort is?"
"Yes, I do, sir; in the donjon of Vincennes."
"Yes, sir; in a room, the walls of which are seven feet thick, with
grated windows, each bar as thick as my arm."
"Sir," replied Mazarin, "with perseverance one may penetrate through a
wall; with a watch-spring one may saw through an iron bar."
"Then my lord does not know that there are eight guards about him, four
in his chamber, four in the antechamber, and that they never leave him."
"But he leaves his room, he plays at tennis at the Mall?"
"Sir, those amusements are allowed; but if your eminence wishes it, we
will discontinue the permission."
"No, no!" cried Mazarin, fearing that should his prisoner ever leave his
prison he would be the more exasperated against him if he thus
retrenched his amusement. He then asked with whom he played.
"My lord, either with the officers of the guard, with the other
prisoners, or with me."
"But does he not approach the walls while playing?"
"Your eminence doesn’t know those walls; they are sixty feet high and I
doubt if Monsieur de Beaufort is sufficiently weary of life to risk his
neck by jumping off."
"Hum!" said the cardinal, beginning to feel more comfortable. "You mean
to say, then, my dear Monsieur la Ramee----"
"That unless Monsieur de Beaufort can contrive to metamorphose himself
into a little bird, I will continue answerable for him."
"Take care! you assert a great deal," said Mazarin. "Monsieur de
Beaufort told the guards who took him to Vincennes that he had often
thought what he should do in case he were put into prison, and that he
had found out forty ways of escaping."
"My lord, if among these forty there had been one good way he would have
been out long ago."
"Come, come; not such a fool as I fancied!" thought Mazarin.
"Besides, my lord must remember that Monsieur de Chavigny is governor of
Vincennes," continued La Ramee, "and that Monsieur de Chavigny is not
friendly to Monsieur de Beaufort."
"Yes, but Monsieur de Chavigny is sometimes absent."
"When he is absent I am there."
"But when you leave him, for instance?" |
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