“A whole bottle, if you will drink my health.”
“Willingly,” answered the soldier.
“Come, then, and take it, friend,” said the Gascon.
“With all my heart. How convenient that there’s a bench here. Egad! one would think it had been placed here on purpose.”
“Get on it; that’s it, friend.”
And D’Artagnan coughed.
That instant the arm of Porthos fell. His hand of iron grasped, quick as lightning, firm as a pair of blacksmith’s pincers, the soldier’s throat. He raised him, almost stifling him as he drew him through the aperture, at the risk of flaying him in the passage. He then laid him down on the floor, where D’Artagnan, after giving him just time enough to draw his breath, gagged him with his long scarf; and the moment he had done so began to undress him with the promptitude and dexterity of a man who had learned his business on the field of battle. Then the soldier, gagged and bound, was placed upon the hearth, the fire of which had been previously extinguished by the two friends.
“Here’s a sword and a dress,” said Porthos.
“I take them,” said D’Artagnan, “for myself. If you want another uniform and sword you must play the same trick over again. Stop! I see the other soldier issue from the guardroom and come toward us.”
“I think,” replied Porthos, “it would be imprudent to attempt the same manoeuvre again; it is said that no man can succeed twice in the same way, and a failure would be ruinous. No; I will go down, seize the man unawares and bring him to you ready gagged.”
“That is better,” said the Gascon.
“Be ready,” said Porthos, as he slipped through the opening.
He did as he said. Porthos seized his opportunity, caught the next soldier by his neck, gagged him and pushed him like a mummy through the bars into the room, and entered after him. Then they undressed him as they had done the first, laid him on their bed and bound him with the straps which composed the bed — the bedstead being of oak. This operation proved as great a success as the first.
“There,” said D’Artagnan, “this is capital! Now let me try on the dress of yonder chap. Porthos, I doubt if you can wear it; but should it be too tight, never mind, you can wear the breastplate and the hat with the red feathers.”
It happened, however, that the second soldier was a Swiss of gigantic proportions, so, save that some few of the seams split, his uniform fitted Porthos perfectly.
They then dressed themselves.
“‘Tis done!” they both exclaimed at once. “As to you, comrades,” they said to the men, “nothing will happen to you if you are discreet; but if you stir you are dead men.”
The soldiers were complaisant; they had found the grasp of Porthos pretty powerful and that it was no joke to fight against it.
“Now,” said D’Artagnan, “you wouldn’t be sorry to understand the plot, would you, Porthos?”
“Well, no, not very.”
“Well, then, we shall go down into the court.”
“Yes.”
“We shall take the place of those two fellows.”
“Well?”
“We will walk back and forth.”
“That’s a good idea, for it isn’t warm.”
“In a moment the valet-de-chambre will call the guard, as he did yesterday and the day before.”
“And we shall answer?”
“No, on the contrary, we shall not answer.”
“As you please; I don’t insist on answering.”
“We will not answer, then; we will simply settle our hats on our heads and we will escort his eminence.”
“Where shall we escort him?”
“Where he is going — to visit Athos. Do you think Athos will be sorry to see us?”
“Oh!” cried Porthos, “oh! I understand.”
“Wait a little, Porthos, before crying out; for, on my word, you haven’t reached the end,” said the Gascon, in a jesting tone.
“What is to happen?” said Porthos.
“Follow me,” replied D’Artagnan. “The man who lives to see shall see.”
And slipping through the aperture, he alighted in the court. Porthos followed him by the same road, but with more difficulty and less diligence. They could hear the two soldiers shivering with fear, as they lay bound in the chamber.
Scarcely had the two Frenchmen touched the ground when a door opened and the voice of the valet-de-chambre called out:
“Make ready!”
At the same moment the guardhouse was opened and a voice called out:
“La Bruyere and Du Barthois! March!”
It seems that I am named La Bruyere,” remarked D’Artagnan.
“And I, Du Barthois,” added Porthos.
“Where are you?” asked the valet-de-chambre, whose eyes, dazzled by the light, could not clearly distinguish our heroes in the gloom.
“Here we are,” said the Gascon.
“What say you to that, Monsieur du Vallon?” he added in a low tone to Porthos.
“If it but lasts, most capital,” responded Porthos.
These two newly enlisted soldiers marched gravely after the valet-de-chambre, who opened the door of the vestibule, then another which seemed to be that of a waiting-room, and showing them two stools:
“Your orders are very simple,” he said; “don’t allow anybody, except one person, to enter here. Do you hear — not a single creature! Obey that person implicitly. On your return you cannot make a mistake. You have only to wait here till I release you.”
D’Artagnan was known to this valet-de-chambre, who was no other than Bernouin, and he had during the last six or eight months introduced the Gascon a dozen times to the cardinal. The Gascon, therefore, instead of answering, growled out “Ja! Ja!” in the most German and the least Gascon accent possible.
As for Porthos, on whom D’Artagnan had impressed the necessity of absolute silence and who did not even now begin to comprehend the scheme of his friend, which was to follow Mazarin in his visit to Athos, he was simply mute. All that he was allowed to say, in case of emergencies, was the proverbial Der Teufel!
Bernouin shut the door and went away. When Porthos heard the key turn in the lock he began to be alarmed, lest they should only have exchanged one prison for another.
“Porthos, my friend,” said D’Artagnan, “don’t distrust Providence! Let me meditate and consider.”
“Meditate and consider as much as you like,” replied Porthos, who was now quite out of humor at seeing things take this turn.
“We have walked eight paces,” whispered D’Artagnan, “and gone up six steps, so hereabouts is the pavilion called the pavilion of the orangery. The Comte de la Fere cannot be far off, only the doors are locked.”
“That is a slight difficulty,” said Porthos, “and a good push with the shoulders —- “
“For God’s sake, Porthos my friend, reserve your feats of strength, or they will not have, when needed, the honor they deserve. Have you not heard that some one is coming here?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that some one will open the doors.”
“But, my dear fellow, if that some one recognizes us, if that some one cries out, we are lost; for you don’t propose, I imagine, that I shall kill that man of the church. That might do if we were dealing with Englishmen or Germans.”
“Oh, may God keep me from it, and you, too!” said D’Artagnan. “The young king would, perhaps, show us some gratitude; but the queen would never forgive us, and it is she whom we have to consider. And then, besides, the useless blood! never! no, never! I have my plan; let me carry it out and we shall laugh.”
“So much the better,” said Porthos; “I feel some need of it.”
“Hush!” said D’Artagnan; “the some one is coming.”
The sound of a light step was heard in the vestibule. The hinges of the door creaked and a man appeared in the dress of a cavalier, wrapped in a brown cloak, with a lantern in one hand and a large beaver hat pulled down over his eyes.
Porthos effaced himself against the wall, but he could not render himself invisible; and the man in the cloak said to him, giving him his lantern:
“Light the lamp which hangs from the ceiling.”
Then addressing D’Artagnan:
“You know the watchword?” he said.
“Ja!” replied the Gascon, determined to confine himself to this specimen of the German tongue.
“Tedesco!” answered the cavalier; “va bene.”
And advancing toward the door opposite to that by which he came in, he opened it and disappeared behind it, shutting it as he went.
“Now,” asked Porthos, “what are we to do?”
“Now we shall make use of your shoulder, friend Porthos, if this door proves to be locked. Everything in its proper time, and all comes right to those who know how to wait patiently. But first barricade the first door well; then we will follow yonder cavalier.”
The two friends set to work and crowded the space before the door with all the furniture in the room, as not only to make the passage impassable, but so to block the door that by no means could it open inward.
“There!” said D’Artagnan, “we can’t be overtaken. Come! forward!”
85
The Oubliettes of Cardinal Mazarin.
At first, on arriving at the door through which Mazarin had passed, D’Artagnan tried in vain to open it, but on the powerful shoulder of Porthos being applied to one of the panels, which gave way, D’Artagnan introduced the point of his sword between the bolt and the staple of the lock. The bolt gave way and the door opened.
“As I told you, everything can be attained, Porthos, women and doors, by proceeding with gentleness.”
“You’re a great moralist, and that’s the fact,” said Porthos.
They entered; behind a glass window, by the light of the cardinal’s lantern, which had been placed on the floor in the midst of the gallery, they saw the orange and pomegranate trees of the Castle of Rueil, in long lines, forming one great alley and two smaller side alleys.
“No cardinal!” said D’Artagnan, “but only his lantern; where the devil, then, is he?”
Exploring, however, one of the side wings of the gallery, after making a sign to Porthos to explore the other, he saw, all at once, at his left, a tub containing an orange tree, which had been pushed out of its place and in its place an open aperture.
Ten men would have found difficulty in moving that tub, but by some mechanical contrivance it had turned with the flagstone on which it rested.
D’Artagnan, as we have said, perceived a hole in that place and in this hole the steps of a winding staircase.
He called Porthos to look at it.
“Were our object money only,” he said, “we should be rich directly.”
“How’s that?”
“Don’t you understand, Porthos? At the bottom of that staircase lies, probably, the cardinal’s treasury of which folk tell such wonders, and we should only have to descend, empty a chest, shut the cardinal up in it, double lock it, go away, carrying off as much gold as we could, put back this orange-tree over the place, and no one in the world would ever ask us where our fortune came from — not even the cardinal.”
“It would be a happy hit for clowns to make, but as it seems to be unworthy of two gentlemen —- ” said Porthos.
“So I think; and therefore I said, `Were our object money only;’ but we want something else,” replied the Gascon.
At the same moment, whilst D’Artagnan was leaning over the aperture to listen, a metallic sound, as if some one was moving a bag of gold, struck on his ear; he started; instantly afterward a door opened and a light played upon the staircase.
Mazarin had left his lamp in the gallery to make people believe that he was walking about, but he had with him a waxlight, to help him to explore his mysterious strong box.
“Faith,” he said, in Italian, as he was reascending the steps and looking at a bag of reals, “faith, there’s enough to pay five councillors of parliament, and two generals in Paris. I am a great captain — that I am! but I make war in my own way.”
The two friends were crouching down, meantime, behind a tub in the side alley.
Mazarin came within three steps of D’Artagnan and pushed a spring in the wall; the slab turned and the orange tree resumed its place.
Then the cardinal put out the waxlight, slipped it into his pocket, and taking up the lantern: “Now,” he said, “for Monsieur de la Fere.”
“Very good,” thought D’Artagnan, “’tis our road likewise; we will go together.”
All three set off on their walk, Mazarin taking the middle alley and the friends the side ones.
The cardinal reached a second door without perceiving he was being followed; the sand with which the alleys were covered deadened the sound of footsteps.
He then turned to the left, down a corridor which had escaped the attention of the two friends, but as he opened the door he paused, as if in thought.
“Ah! Diavolo!” he exclaimed, “I forgot the recommendation of De Comminges, who advised me to take a guard and place it at this door, in order not to put myself at the mercy of that four-headed combination of devils.” And with a movement of impatience he turned to retrace his steps.
“Do not give yourself the trouble, my lord,” said D’Artagnan, with his right foot forward, his beaver in his hand, a smile on his face, “we have followed your eminence step by step and here we are.”
“Yes — here we are,” said Porthos.
And he made the same friendly salute as D’Artagnan.
Mazarin gazed at each of them with an affrighted stare, recognized them, and let drop his lantern, uttering a cry of terror.
D’Artagnan picked it up; by good luck it had not been extinguished.
“Oh, what imprudence, my lord,” said D’Artagnan; “’tis not good to be about just here without a light. Your eminence might knock against something, or fall into a hole.”
“Monsieur d’Artagnan!” muttered Mazarin, unable to recover from his astonishment.
“Yes, my lord, it is I. I have the honor to present to you Monsieur du Vallon, that excellent friend of mine, in whom your eminence had the kindness to interest yourself formerly.”
And D’Artagnan held the lamp before the merry face of Porthos, who now began to comprehend the affair and be very proud of the whole undertaking.
“You were going to visit Monsieur de la Fere?” said D’Artagnan. “Don’t let us disarrange your eminence. Be so good as to show us the way and we will follow you.
Mazarin was by degrees recovering his senses.
“Have you been long in the orangery?” he asked in a trembling voice, remembering the visits he had been paying to his treasury.
Porthos opened his mouth to reply; D’Artagnan made him a sign, and his mouth, remaining silent, gradually closed.
“This moment come, my lord,” said D’Artagnan.
Mazarin breathed again. His fears were now no longer for his hoard, but for himself. A sort of smile played on his lips.
“Come,” he said, “you have me in a snare, gentlemen. I confess myself conquered. You wish to ask for liberty, and — I give it you.”
“Oh, my lord!” answered D’Artagnan, “you are too good; as to our liberty, we have that; we want to ask something else of you.”
“You have your liberty?” repeated Mazarin, in terror.
“Certainly; and on the other hand, my lord, you have lost it, and now, in accordance with the law of war, sir, you must buy it back again.”
Mazarin felt a shiver run through him — a chill even to his heart’s core. His piercing look was fixed in vain on the satirical face of the Gascon and the unchanging countenance of Porthos. Both were in shadow and the Sybil of Cuma herself could not have read them.
“To purchase back my liberty?” said the cardinal.
“Yes, my lord.”
“And how much will that cost me, Monsieur d’Artagnan?”
“Zounds, my lord, I don’t know yet. We must ask the Comte de la Fere the question. Will your eminence deign to open the door which leads to the count’s room, and in ten minutes all will be settled.”
Mazarin started.
“My lord,” said D’Artagnan, “your eminence sees that we wish to act with all formality and due respect; but I must warn you that we have no time to lose; open the door then, my lord, and be so good as to remember, once for all, that on the slightest attempt to escape or the faintest cry for help, our position being very critical indeed, you must not be angry with us if we go to extremities.”
“Be assured,” answered Mazarin, “that I shall attempt nothing; I give you my word of honor.”
D’Artagnan made a sign to Porthos to redouble his watchfulness; then turning to Mazarin:
“Now, my lord, let us enter, if you please.”
86
Conferences.
Mazarin turned the lock of a double door, on the threshold of which they found Athos ready to receive his illustrious guests according to the notice Comminges had given him.
On perceiving Mazarin he bowed.
“Your eminence,” he said, “might have dispensed with your attendants; the honor bestowed on me is too great for me to be unmindful of it.”
“And so, my dear count,” said D’Artagnan, “his eminence didn’t actually insist on our attending him; it is Du Vallon and I who have insisted, and even in a manner somewhat impolite, perhaps, so great was our longing to see you.”
At that voice, that mocking tone, and that familiar gesture, accenting voice and tone, Athos made a bound of surprise.
“D’Artagnan! Porthos!” he exclaimed.
“My very self, dear friend.”
“Me, also!” repeated Porthos.
“What means this?” asked the count.
“It means,” replied Mazarin, trying to smile and biting his lips in the attempt, “that our parts are changed, and that instead of these gentlemen being my prisoners I am theirs; but, gentlemen, I warn you, unless you kill me, your victory will be of very short duration; people will come to the rescue.”
“Ah! my lord!” cried the Gascon, “don’t threaten! ’tis a bad example. We are so good and gentle to your eminence. Come, let us put aside all rancor and talk pleasantly.”
“There’s nothing I wish more,” replied Mazarin. “But don’t think yourselves in a better position than you are. In ensnaring me you have fallen into the trap yourselves. How are you to get away from here? remember the soldiers and sentinels who guard these doors. Now, I am going to show you how sincere I am.”
“Good,” thought D’Artagnan; “we must look about us; he’s going to play us a trick.”
“I offered you your liberty,” continued the minister; “will you take it? Before an hour has passed you will be discovered, arrested, obliged to kill me, which would be a crime unworthy of loyal gentlemen like you.”
“He is right,” thought Athos.
And, like every other reflection passing in a mind that entertained none but noble thoughts, this feeling was expressed in his eyes.
“And therefore,” said D’Artagnan, to clip the hope which Athos’s tacit adhesion had imparted to Mazarin, “we shall not proceed to that violence save in the last extremity.”
“If on the contrary,” resumed Mazarin, “you accept your liberty —- “
“Why you, my lord, might take it away from us in less than five minutes afterward; and from my knowledge of you I believe you will so take it away from us.”
“No — on the faith of a cardinal. You do not believe me?”
“My lord, I never believe cardinals who are not priests.”
“Well, on the faith of a minister.”
“You are no longer a minister, my lord; you are a prisoner.”
“Then, on the honor of a Mazarin, as I am and ever shall be, I hope,” said the cardinal.
“Hem,” replied D’Artagnan. “I have heard speak of a Mazarin who had not much religion when his oaths were in question. I fear he may have been an ancestor of your eminence.”
“Monsieur d’Artagnan, you are a great wit and I am really sorry to be on bad terms with you.”
“My lord, let us come to terms; I ask nothing better.”
“Very well,” said Mazarin, “if I place you in security, in a manner evident, palpable —- “
“Ah! that is another thing,” said Porthos.
“Let us see,” said Athos.
“Let us see,” said D’Artagnan.
“In the first place, do you accept?” asked the cardinal.
“Unfold your plan, my lord, and we will see.”
“Take notice that you are shut up — captured.”
“You well know, my lord, that there always remains to us a last resource.”
“What?”
“That of dying together.”
Mazarin shuddered.
“Listen,” he said; “at the end of yonder corridor is a door, of which I have the key, it leads into the park. Go, and take this key with you; you are active, vigorous, and you have arms. At a hundred steps, on turning to the left, you will find the wall of the park; get over it, and in three leaps you will be on the road and free.”
“Ah! by Jove, my lord,” said D’Artagnan, “you have well said, but these are only words. Where is the key you speak of?”
“Here it is.”
“Ah, my lord! You will conduct us yourself, then, to that door?”
“Very willingly, if it be necessary to reassure you,” answered the minister, and Mazarin, who was delighted to get off so cheaply, led the way, in high spirits, to the corridor and opened the door.
It led into the park, as the three fugitives perceived by the night breeze which rushed into the corridor and blew the wind into their faces.
“The devil!” exclaimed the Gascon, “’tis a dreadful night, my lord. We don’t know the locality, and shall never find the wall. Since your eminence has come so far, come a few steps further; conduct us, my lord, to the wall.”
“Be it so,” replied the cardinal; and walking in a straight line he went to the wall, at the foot of which they all four arrived at the same instant.
“Are you satisfied, gentlemen?” asked Mazarin.
“I think so, indeed; we should be hard to please if we were not. Deuce take it! three poor gentlemen escorted by a prince of the church! Ah! apropos, my lord! you remarked that we were all active, vigorous and armed.”
“Yes.”
“You are mistaken. Monsieur du Vallon and I are the only two who are armed. The count is not; and should we meet with one of your patrol we must defend ourselves.”
“‘Tis true.”
“Where can we find another sword?” asked Porthos.
“My lord,” said D’Artagnan, “will lend his, which is of no use to him, to the Comte de la Fere.”
“Willingly,” said the cardinal; “I will even ask the count to keep it for my sake.”
“I promise you, my lord, never to part with it,” replied Athos.
“Well, well,” cried D’Artagnan, “this reconciliation is truly touching; have you not tears in your eyes, Porthos?”
“Yes,” said Porthos; “but I do not know if it is feeling or the wind that makes me weep; I think it is the wind.”
“Now climb up, Athos, quickly,” said D’Artagnan. Athos, assisted by Porthos, who lifted him up like a feather, arrived at the top.
“Now, jump down, Athos.”
Athos jumped and disappeared on the other side of the wall.
“Are you on the ground?” asked D’Artagnan.
“Yes.”
“Without accident?”
“Perfectly safe and sound.”
“Porthos, whilst I get up, watch the cardinal. No, I don’t want your help, watch the cardinal.”
“I am watching,” said Porthos. “Well?”
“You are right; it is more difficult than I thought. Lend me your back — but don’t let the cardinal go.”
Porthos lent him his back and D’Artagnan was soon on the summit of the wall, where he seated himself.
Mazarin pretended to laugh.
“Are you there?” asked Porthos.
“Yes, my friend; and now —- “
“Now, what?” asked Porthos.
“Now give me the cardinal up here; if he makes any noise stifle him.”
Mazarin wished to call out, but Porthos held him tight and passed him to D’Artagnan, who seized him by the neck and made him sit down by him; then in a menacing tone, he said:
“Sir! jump directly down, close to Monsieur de la Fere, or, on the honor of a gentleman, I’ll kill you!”
“Monsieur, monsieur,” cried Mazarin, “you are breaking your word to me!”
“I — did I promise you anything, my lord?”
Mazarin groaned.
“You are free,” he said, “through me; your liberty was my ransom.”
“Agreed; but the ransom of that immense treasure buried under the gallery, to which one descends on pushing a spring hidden in the wall, which causes a tub to turn, revealing a staircase — must not one speak of that a little, my lord?”
“Diavolo!” cried Mazarin, almost choked, and clasping his hands; “I am a lost and ruined man!”
But without listening to his protestations of alarm, D’Artagnan slipped him gently down into the arms of Athos, who stood immovable at the bottom of the wall.
Porthos next made an effort which shook the solid wall, and by the aid of his friend’s hand gained the summit.
“I didn’t understand it all,” he said, “but I understand now; how droll it is!”
“You think so? so much the better; but that it may prove laughter-worthy even to the end, let us not lose time.” And he jumped off the wall.
Porthos did the same.
“Attend to monsieur le cardinal, gentlemen,” said D’Artagnan; “for myself, I will reconnoitre.”
The Gascon then drew his sword and marched as avant guard.
“My lord,” he said, “which way do we go? Think well of your reply, for should your eminence be mistaken, there might ensue most grave results for all of us.”
“Along the wall, sir,” said Mazarin, “there will be no danger of losing yourselves.”
The three friends hastened on, but in a short time were obliged to slacken the pace. The cardinal could not keep up with them, though with every wish to do so.
Suddenly D’Artagnan touched something warm, which moved.
“Stop! a horse!” he cried; “I have found a horse!”
“And I, likewise,” said Athos.
“I, too,” said Porthos, who, faithful to the instructions, still held the cardinal’s arm.
“There’s luck, my lord! just as you were complaining of being tired and obliged to walk.”
But as he spoke the barrel of a pistol was presented at his breast and these words were pronounced:
“Touch it not!”
“Grimaud!” he cried; “Grimaud! what art thou about? Why, thou art posted here by Heaven!”
“No, sir,” said the honest servant, “it was Monsieur Aramis who posted me here to take care of the horses.”
“Is Aramis here?”
“Yes, sir; he has been here since yesterday.”
“What are you doing?”
“On the watch —- “
“What! Aramis here?” cried Athos.
“At the lesser gate of the castle; he’s posted there.”
“Are you a large party?”
“Sixty.”
“Let him know.”
“This moment, sir.”
And believing that no one could execute the commission better than himself, Grimaud set off at full speed; whilst, enchanted at being all together again, the friends awaited his return.
There was no one in the whole group in a bad humor except Cardinal Mazarin.
87
In which we begin to think that Porthos will be at last a Baron, and D’Artagnan a Captain.
At the expiration of ten minutes Aramis arrived, accompanied by Grimaud and eight or ten followers. He was excessively delighted and threw himself into his friends’ arms.
“You are free, my brothers! free without my aid! and I shall have succeeded in doing nothing for you in spite of all my efforts.”
“Do not be unhappy, dear friend, on that account; if you have done nothing as yet, you will do something soon,” replied Athos.
“I had well concerted my plans,” pursued Aramis; “the coadjutor gave me sixty men; twenty guard the walls of the park, twenty the road from Rueil to Saint Germain, twenty are dispersed in the woods. Thus I was able, thanks to the strategic disposition of my forces, to intercept two couriers from Mazarin to the queen.”
Mazarin listened intently.
“But,” said D’Artagnan, “I trust that you honorably sent them back to monsieur le cardinal!”
“Ah, yes!” said Aramis, “toward him I should be very likely to practice such delicacy of sentiment! In one of the despatches the cardinal declares to the queen that the treasury is empty and that her majesty has no more money. In the other he announces that he is about to transport his prisoners to Melun, since Rueil seemed to him not sufficiently secure. You can understand, dear friend, with what hope I was inspired by that last letter. I placed myself in ambuscade with my sixty men; I encircled the castle; the riding horses I entrusted to Grimaud and I awaited your coming out, which I did not expect till to-morrow, and I didn’t hope to free you without a skirmish. You are free to-night, without fighting; so much the better! How did you manage to escape that scoundrel Mazarin? You must have much reason to complain of him.”
“Not very much,” said D’Artagnan.
“Really!”
“I might even say that we have some reason to praise him.”
“Impossible!”
“Yes, really; it is owing to him that we are free.”
“Owing to him?”
“Yes, he had us conducted into the orangery by Monsieur Bernouin, his valet-de-chambre, and from there we followed him to visit the Comte de la Fere. Then he offered us our liberty and we accepted it. He even went so far as to show us the way out; he led us to the park wall, which we climbed over without accident, and then we fell in with Grimaud.”
“Well!” exclaimed Aramis, “this will reconcile me to him; but I wish he were here that I might tell him that I did not believe him capable of so noble an act.”
“My lord,” said D’Artagnan, no longer able to contain himself, “allow me to introduce to you the Chevalier d’Herblay, who wishes — as you may have heard — to offer his congratulations to your eminence.”
And he retired, discovering Mazarin, who was in great confusion, to the astonished gaze of Aramis.
“Ho! ho!” exclaimed the latter, “the cardinal! a glorious prize! Halloo! halloo! friends! to horse! to horse!”
Several horsemen ran quickly to him.
“Zounds!” cried Aramis, “I may have done some good; so, my lord, deign to receive my most respectful homage! I will lay a wager that ’twas that Saint Christopher, Porthos, who performed this feat! Apropos! I forgot —- ” and he gave some orders in a low voice to one of the horsemen.
“I think it will be wise to set off,” said D’Artagnan.
“Yes; but I am expecting some one, a friend of Athos.”
“A friend!” exclaimed the count.
“And here he comes, by Jupiter! galloping through the bushes.”
“The count! the count!” cried a young voice that made Athos start.
“Raoul! Raoul!” he ejaculated.
For one moment the young man forgot his habitual respect — he threw himself on his father’s neck.
“Look, my lord cardinal,” said Aramis, “would it not have been a pity to have separated men who love each other as we love? Gentlemen,” he continued, addressing the cavaliers, who became more and more numerous every instant; “gentlemen, encircle his eminence, that you may show him the greater honor. He will, indeed give us the favor of his company; you will, I hope, be grateful for it; Porthos, do not lose sight of his eminence.”
Aramis then joined Athos and D’Artagnan, who were consulting together.
“Come,” said D’Artagnan, after a conference of five minutes’ duration, “let us begin our journey.”
“Where are we to go?” asked Porthos.
“To your house, dear Porthos, at Pierrefonds; your fine chateau is worthy of affording its princely hospitality to his eminence; it is, likewise, well situated — neither too near Paris, nor too far from it; we can establish a communication between it and the capital with great facility. Come, my lord, you shall be treated like a prince, as you are.”
“A fallen prince!” exclaimed Mazarin, piteously.
“The chances of war,” said Athos, “are many, but be assured we shall take no improper advantage of them.”
“No, but we shall make use of them,” said D’Artagnan.
The rest of the night was employed by these cavaliers in traveling with the wonderful rapidity of former days. Mazarin, still sombre and pensive, permitted himself to be dragged along in this way; it looked a race of phantoms. At dawn twelve leagues had been passed without drawing rein; half the escort were exhausted and several horses fell down.
“Horses, nowadays, are not what they were formerly,” observed Porthos; “everything degenerates.”
“I have sent Grimaud to Dammartin,” said Aramis. “He is to bring us five fresh horses — one for his eminence, four for us. We, at least, must keep close to monseigneur; the rest of the start will rejoin us later. Once beyond Saint Denis we shall have nothing to fear.”
Grimaud, in fact, brought back five horses. The nobleman to whom he applied, being a friend of Porthos, was very ready, not to sell them, as was proposed, but to lend them. Ten minutes later the escort stopped at Ermenonville, but the four friends went on with well sustained ardor, guarding Mazarin carefully. At noon they rode into the avenue of Pierrefonds.
“Ah!” said Mousqueton, who had ridden by the side of D’Artagnan without speaking a word on the journey, “you may think what you will, sir, but I can breathe now for the first time since my departure from Pierrefonds;” and he put his horse to a gallop to announce to the other servants the arrival of Monsieur du Vallon and his friends.
“We are four of us,” said D’Artagnan; “we must relieve each other in mounting guard over my lord and each of us must watch three hours at a time. Athos is going to examine the castle, which it will be necessary to render impregnable in case of siege; Porthos will see to the provisions and Aramis to the troops of the garrison. That is to say, Athos will be chief engineer, Porthos purveyor-in-general, and Aramis governor of the fortress.”
Meanwhile, they gave up to Mazarin the handsomest room in the chateau.
“Gentlemen,” he said, when he was in his room, “you do not expect, I presume, to keep me here a long time incognito?”
“No, my lord,” replied the Gascon; “on the contrary, we think of announcing very soon that we have you here.”
“Then you will be besieged.”
“We expect it.”
“And what shall you do?”
“Defend ourselves. Were the late Cardinal Richelieu alive he would tell you a certain story of the Bastion Saint Gervais, which we four, with our four lackeys and twelve dead men, held out against a whole army.”
“Such feats, sir, are done once — and never repeated.”
“However, nowadays there’s no need of so much heroism. To-morrow the army of Paris will be summoned, the day after it will be here! The field of battle, instead, therefore, of being at Saint Denis or at Charenton, will be near Compiegne or Villars-Cotterets.”
“The prince will vanquish you, as he has always done.”
“‘Tis possible; my lord; but before an engagement ensues we shall move your eminence to another castle belonging to our friend Du Vallon, who has three. We will not expose your eminence to the chances of war.”
“Come,” answered Mazarin, “I see it will be necessary for me to capitulate.”
“Before a siege?”
“Yes; the conditions will be better than afterward.”
“Ah, my lord! as to conditions, you would soon see how moderate and reasonable we are!”
“Come, now, what are your conditions?”
“Rest yourself first, my lord, and we — we will reflect.”
“I do not need rest, gentlemen; I need to know whether I am among enemies or friends.”
“Friends, my lord! friends!”
“Well, then, tell me at once what you want, that I may see if any arrangement be possible. Speak, Comte de la Fere!”
“My lord,” replied Athos, “for myself I have nothing to demand. For France, were I to specify my wishes, I should have too much. I beg you to excuse me and propose to the chevalier.”
And Athos, bowing, retired and remained leaning against the mantelpiece, a spectator of the scene.
“Speak, then, chevalier!” said the cardinal. “What do you want? Nothing ambiguous, if you please. Be clear, short and precise.”
“As for me,” replied Aramis, “I have in my pocket the very programme of the conditions which the deputation — of which I formed one — went yesterday to Saint Germain to impose on you. Let us consider first the ancient rights. The demands in that programme must be granted.”
“We were almost agreed on those,” replied Mazarin; “let us pass on to private and personal stipulations.”
“You suppose, then, that there are some?” said Aramis, smiling.
“I do not suppose that you will all be quite so disinterested as Monsieur de la Fere,” replied the cardinal, bowing to Athos.
“My lord, you are right, and I am glad to see that you do justice to the count at last. The count has a mind above vulgar desires and earthly passions. He is a proud soul — he is a man by himself! You are right — he is worth us all, and we avow it to you!”
“Aramis,” said Athos, “are you jesting?”
“No, no, dear friend; I state only what we all know. You are right; it is not you alone this matter concerns, but my lord and his unworthy servant, myself.”
“Well, then, what do you require besides the general conditions before recited?”
“I require, my lord, that Normandy should be given to Madame de Longueville, with five hundred thousand francs and full absolution. I require that his majesty should deign to be godfather to the child she has just borne; and that my lord, after having been present at the christening, should go to proffer his homage to our Holy Father the Pope.”
“That is, you wish me to lay aside my ministerial functions, to quit France and be an exile.”
“I wish his eminence to become pope on the first opportunity, allowing me then the right of demanding full indulgences for myself and my friends.”
Mazarin made a grimace which was quite indescribable, and then turned to D’Artagnan.
“And you, sir?” he said.
“I, my lord,” answered the Gascon, “I differ from Monsieur d’Herblay entirely as to the last point, though I agree with him on the first. Far from wishing my lord to quit Paris, I hope he will stay there and continue to be prime minister, as he is a great statesman. I shall try also to help him to down the Fronde, but on one condition — that he sometimes remembers the king’s faithful servants and gives the first vacant company of musketeers to a man that I could name. And you, Monsieur du Vallon —- “
“Yes, you, sir! Speak, if you please,” said Mazarin.
“As for me,” answered Porthos, “I wish my lord cardinal, in order to do honor to my house, which gives him an asylum, would in remembrance of this adventure erect my estate into a barony, with a promise to confer that order on one of my particular friends, whenever his majesty next creates peers.”
“You know, sir, that before receiving the order one must submit proofs.”
“My friends will submit them. Besides, should it be necessary, monseigneur will show him how that formality may be avoided.”
Mazarin bit his lips; the blow was direct and he replied rather dryly:
“All this appears to me to be ill conceived, disjointed, gentlemen; for if I satisfy some I shall displease others. If I stay in Paris I cannot go to Rome; if I became pope I could not continue to be prime minister; and it is only by continuing prime minister that I can make Monsieur d’Artagnan a captain and Monsieur du Vallon a baron.”
“True”” said Aramis, “so, as I am in a minority, I withdraw my proposition, so far as it relates to the voyage to Rome and monseigneur’s resignation.”
“I am to remain minister, then?” said Mazarin.
“You remain minister; that is understood,” said D’Artagnan; “France needs you.”
“And I desist from my pretensions,” said Aramis. “His eminence will continue to be prime minister and her majesty’s favorite, if he will grant to me and my friends what we demand for France and for ourselves.”
“Occupy yourselves with your own affairs, gentlemen, and let France settle matters as she will with me,” resumed Mazarin.
“Ho! ho!” replied Aramis. “The Frondeurs will have a treaty and your eminence must sign it before us, promising at the same time to obtain the queen’s consent to it.”
“I can answer only for myself,” said Mazarin. “I cannot answer for the queen. Suppose her majesty refuses?”
“Oh!” said D’Artagnan, “monseigneur knows very well that her majesty refuses him nothing.”
“Here, monseigneur,” said Aramis, “is the treaty proposed by the deputation of Frondeurs. Will your eminence please read and examine?”
“I am acquainted with it.”
“Sign it, then.”
“Reflect, gentlemen, that a signature given under circumstances like the present might be regarded as extorted by violence.”
“Monseigneur will be at hand to testify that it was freely given.”
“Suppose I refuse?”
“Then,” said D’Artagnan, “your eminence must expect the consequences of a refusal.”
“Would you dare to touch a cardinal?”
“You have dared, my lord, to imprison her majesty’s musketeers.”
“The queen will revenge me, gentlemen.”
“I do not think so, although inclination might lead her to do so, but we shall take your eminence to Paris, and the Parisians will defend us.”
“How uneasy they must be at this moment at Rueil and Saint Germain,” said Aramis. “How they must be asking, `Where is the cardinal?’ `What has become of the minister?’ `Where has the favorite gone?’ How they must be looking for monseigneur in all corners! What comments must be made; and if the Fronde knows that monseigneur has disappeared, how the Fronde must triumph!”
“It is frightful,” murmured Mazarin.
“Sign the treaty, then, monseigneur,” said Aramis.
“Suppose the queen should refuse to ratify it?”
“Ah! nonsense!” cried D’Artagnan, “I can manage so that her majesty will receive me well; I know an excellent method.”
“What?”
“I shall take her majesty the letter in which you tell her that the finances are exhausted.”
“And then?” asked Mazarin, turning pale.
“When I see her majesty embarrassed, I shall conduct her to Rueil, make her enter the orangery and show her a certain spring which turns a box.”
“Enough, sir,” muttered the cardinal, “you have said enough; where is the treaty?”
“Here it is,” replied Aramis. “Sign, my lord,” and he gave him a pen.
Mazarin arose, walked some moments, thoughtful, but not dejected.
“And when I have signed,” he said, “what is to be my guarantee?”
“My word of honor, sir,” said Athos.
Mazarin started, turned toward the Comte de la Fere, and looking for an instant at that grand and honest countenance, took the pen.
“It is sufficient, count,” he said, and signed the treaty.
“And now, Monsieur d’Artagnan,” he said, “prepare to set off for Saint Germain and take a letter from me to the queen.”
88
Shows how with Threat and Pen more is effected than by the Sword.
D’Artagnan knew his part well; he was aware that opportunity has a forelock only for him who will take it and he was not a man to let it go by him without seizing it. He soon arranged a prompt and certain manner of traveling, by sending relays of horses to Chantilly, so that he might be in Paris in five or six hours. But before setting out he reflected that for a lad of intelligence and experience he was in a singular predicament, since he was proceeding toward uncertainty and leaving certainty behind him.
“In fact,” he said, as he was about to mount and start on his dangerous mission, “Athos, for generosity, is a hero of romance; Porthos has an excellent disposition, but is easily influenced; Aramis has a hieroglyphic countenance, always illegible. What will come out of those three elements when I am no longer present to combine them? The deliverance of the cardinal, perhaps. Now, the deliverance of the cardinal would be the ruin of our hopes; and our hopes are thus far the only recompense we have for labors in comparison with which those of Hercules were pygmean.”
He went to find Aramis.
“You, my dear Chevalier d’Herblay,” he said, “are the Fronde incarnate. Mistrust Athos, therefore, who will not prosecute the affairs of any one, even his own. Mistrust Porthos, especially, who, to please the count whom he regards as God on earth, will assist him in contriving Mazarin’s escape, if Mazarin has the wit to weep or play the chivalric.”
Aramis smiled; his smile was at once cunning and resolute.
“Fear nothing,” he said; “I have my conditions to impose. My private ambition tends only to the profit of him who has justice on his side.”
“Good!” thought D’Artagnan: “in this direction I am satisfied.” He pressed Aramis’s hand and went in search of Porthos.
“Friend,” he said, “you have worked so hard with me toward building up our fortune, that, at the moment when we are about to reap the fruits of our labours, it would be a ridiculous piece of silliness in you to allow yourself to be controlled by Aramis, whose cunning you know — a cunning which, we may say between ourselves, is not always without egotism; or by Athos, a noble and disinterested man, but blase, who, desiring nothing further for himself, doesn’t sympathize with the desires of others. What should you say if either of these two friends proposed to you to let Mazarin go?”
“Why, I should say that we had too much trouble in taking him to let him off so easily.”
“Bravo, Porthos! and you would be right, my friend; for in losing him you would lose your barony, which you have in your grasp, to say nothing of the fact that, were he once out of this, Mazarin would have you hanged.”
“Do you think so?”
“I am sure of it.”
“Then I would kill him rather than let him go.”
“And you would act rightly. There is no question, you understand, provided we secure our own interests, of securing those of the Frondeurs; who, besides, don’t understand political matters as we old soldiers do.”
“Never fear, dear friend,” said Porthos. “I shall see you through the window as you mount your horse; I shall follow you with my eyes as long as you are in sight; then I shall place myself at the cardinal’s door — a door with glass windows. I shall see everything, and at the least suspicious sign I shall begin to exterminate.”
“Bravo!” thought D’Artagnan; “on this side I think the cardinal will be well guarded.” He pressed the hand of the lord of Pierrefonds and went in search of Athos.
“My dear Athos,” he said, “I am going away. I have only one thing to say to you. You know Anne of Austria; the captivity of Mazarin alone guarantees my life; if you let him go I am a dead man.”
“I needed nothing less than that consideration, my dear D’Artagnan, to persuade myself to adopt the role of jailer. I give you my word that you will find the cardinal where you leave him.”
“This reassures me more than all the royal signatures,” thought D’Artagnan. “Now that I have the word of Athos I can set out.”
D’Artagnan started alone on his journey, without other escort than his sword, and with a simple passport from Mazarin to secure his admission to the queen’s presence. Six hours after he left Pierrefonds he was at Saint Germain.
The disappearance of Mazarin was not as yet generally known. Anne of Austria was informed of it and concealed her uneasiness from every one. In the chamber of D’Artagnan and Porthos the two soldiers had been found bound and gagged. On recovering the use of their limbs and tongues they could, of course, tell nothing but what they knew — that they had been seized, stripped and bound. But as to what had been done by Porthos and D’Artagnan afterward they were as ignorant as all the inhabitants of the chateau.
Bernouin alone knew a little more than the others. Bernouin, seeing that his master did not return and hearing the stroke of midnight, had made an examination of the orangery. The first door, barricaded with furniture, had aroused in him certain suspicions, but without communicating his suspicions to any one he had patiently worked his way into the midst of all that confusion. Then he came to the corridor, all the doors of which he found open; so, too, was the door of Athos’s chamber and that of the park. From the latter point it was easy to follow tracks on the snow. He saw that these tracks tended toward the wall; on the other side he found similar tracks, then footprints of horses and then signs of a troop of cavalry which had moved away in the direction of Enghien. He could no longer cherish any doubt that the cardinal had been carried off by the three prisoners, since the prisoners had disappeared at the same time; and he had hastened to Saint Germain to warn the queen of that disappearance.
Anne had enforced the utmost secrecy and had disclosed the event to no one except the Prince de Conde, who had sent five or six hundred horsemen into the environs of Saint Germain with orders to bring in any suspicious person who was going away from Rueil, in whatsoever direction it might be.
Now, since D’Artagnan did not constitute a body of horsemen, since he was alone, since he was not going away from Rueil and was going to Saint Germain, no one paid any attention to him and his journey was not obstructed in any way.
On entering the courtyard of the old chateau the first person seen by our ambassador was Maitre Bernouin in person, who, standing on the threshold, awaited news of his vanished master.
At the sight of D’Artagnan, who entered the courtyard on horseback, Bernouin rubbed his eyes and thought he must be mistaken. But D’Artagnan made a friendly sign to him with his head, dismounted, and throwing his bridle to a lackey who was passing, he approached the valet-de-chambre with a smile on his lips.
“Monsieur d’Artagnan!” cried the latter, like a man who has the nightmare and talks in his sleep, “Monsieur d’Artagnan!”
“Himself, Monsieur Bernouin.”
“And why have you come here?”
“To bring news of Monsieur de Mazarin — the freshest news there is.”
“What has become of him, then?”
“He is as well as you and I.”
“Nothing bad has happened to him, then?”
“Absolutely nothing. He felt the need of making a trip in the Ile de France, and begged us — the Comte de la Fere and Monsieur du Vallon — to accompany him. We were too devoted servants to refuse him a request of that sort. We set out last evening and here we are.”
“Here you are.”
“His eminence had something to communicate to her majesty, something secret and private — a mission that could be confided only to a sure man — and so has sent me to Saint Germain. And therefore, my dear Monsieur Bernouin, if you wish to do what will be pleasing to your master, announce to her majesty that I have come, and tell her with what purpose.”
Whether he spoke seriously or in jest, since it was evident that under existing circumstances D’Artagnan was the only man who could relieve the queen’s uneasiness, Bernouin went without hesitation to announce to her this strange embassy; and as he had foreseen, the queen gave orders to introduce Monsieur d’Artagnan at once.
D’Artagnan approached the sovereign with every mark of profound respect, and having fallen on his knees presented to her the cardinal’s letter
It was, however, merely a letter of introduction. The queen read it, recognized the writing, and, since there were no details in it of what had occurred, asked for particulars. D’Artagnan related everything with that simple and ingenuous air which he knew how to assume on occasions. The queen, as he went on, looked at him with increasing astonishment. She could not comprehend how a man could conceive such an enterprise and still less how he could have the audacity to disclose it to her whose interest and almost duty it was to punish him.
“How, sir!” she cried, as D’Artagnan finished, “you dare to tell me the details of your crime — to give me an account of your treason!”
“Pardon, madame, but I think that either I have expressed myself badly or your majesty has imperfectly understood me. There is here no question of crime or treason. Monsieur de Mazarin held us in prison, Monsieur du Vallon and myself, because we could not believe that he had sent us to England to quietly look on while they cut off the head of Charles I., brother-in-law of the late king, your husband, the consort of Madame Henrietta, your sister and your guest, and because we did all that we could do to save the life of the royal martyr. We were then convinced, my friend and I, that there was some error of which we were the victims, and that an explanation was called for between his eminence and ourselves. Now, that an explanation may bear fruit, it is necessary that it should be quietly conducted, far from noise and interruption. We have therefore taken away monsieur le cardinal to my friend’s chateau and there we have come to an understanding. Well, madame, it proved to be as we had supposed; there was a mistake. Monsieur de Mazarin had thought that we had rendered service to General Cromwell, instead of King Charles, which would have been a disgrace, rebounding from us to him, and from him to your majesty — a dishonor which would have tainted the royalty of your illustrious son. We were able to prove the contrary, and that proof we are ready to give to your majesty, calling in support of it the august widow weeping in the Louvre, where your royal munificence has provided for her a home. That proof satisfied him so completely that, as a sign of satisfaction, he has sent me, as your majesty may see, to consider with you what reparation should be made to gentlemen unjustly treated and wrongfully persecuted.”
“I listen to you, and I wonder at you, sir,” said the queen. “In fact, I have rarely seen such excess of impudence.”
“Your majesty, on your side,” said D’Artagnan, “is as much mistaken as to our intentions as the Cardinal Mazarin has always been.”
“You are in error, sir,” answered the queen. “I am so little mistaken that in ten minutes you shall be arrested, and in an hour I shall set off at the head of my army to release my minister.”
“I am sure your majesty will not commit such an act of imprudence, first, because it would be useless and would produce the most disastrous results. Before he could be possibly set free the cardinal would be dead; and indeed, so convinced is he of this, that he entreated me, should I find your majesty disposed to act in this way, to do all I could to induce you to change your resolution.”
“Well, then, I will content myself with arresting you!”
“Madame, the possibility of my arrest has been foreseen, and should I not have returned by to-morrow, at a certain hour the next day the cardinal will be brought to Paris and delivered to the parliament.”
“It is evident, sir, that your position has kept you out of relation to men and affairs; otherwise you would know that since we left Paris monsieur le cardinal has returned thither five or six times; that he has there met De Beaufort, De Bouillon, the coadjutor and D’Elbeuf and that not one of them had any desire to arrest him.”
“Your pardon, madame, I know all that. And therefore my friends will conduct monsieur le cardinal neither to De Beaufort, nor to De Bouillon, nor to the coadjutor, nor to D’Elbeuf. These gentlemen wage war on private account, and in buying them up, by granting them what they wished, monsieur le cardinal has made a good bargain. He will be delivered to the parliament, members of which can, of course, be bought, but even Monsieur de Mazarin is not rich enough to buy the whole body.”
“I think,” returned Anne of Austria, fixing upon him a glance, which in any woman’s face would have expressed disdain, but in a queen’s, spread terror to those she looked upon, “nay, I perceive you dare to threaten the mother of your sovereign.”
“Madame,” replied D’Artagnan, “I threaten simply and solely because I am obliged to do so. Believe me, madame, as true a thing as it is that a heart beats in this bosom — a heart devoted to you — believe that you have been the idol of our lives; that we have, as you well know — good Heaven! — risked our lives twenty times for your majesty. Have you, then, madame, no compassion for your servants who for twenty years have vegetated in obscurity, without betraying in a single sigh the solemn and sacred secrets they have had the honor to share with you? Look at me, madame — at me, whom you accuse of speaking loud and threateningly. What am I? A poor officer, without fortune, without protection, without a future, unless the eye of my queen, which I have sought so long, rests on me for a moment. Look at the Comte de la Fere, a type of nobility, a flower of chivalry. He has taken part against his queen, or rather, against her minister. He has not been unreasonably exacting, it seems to me. Look at Monsieur du Vallon, that faithful soul, that arm of steel, who for twenty years has awaited the word from your lips which will make him in rank what he is in sentiment and in courage. Consider, in short, your people who love you and who yet are famished, who have no other wish than to bless you, and who, nevertheless — no, I am wrong, your subjects, madame, will never curse you; say one word to them and all will be ended — peace succeed war, joy tears, and happiness to misfortune!”
Anne of Austria looked with wonderment on the warlike countenance of D’Artagnan, which betrayed a singular expression of deep feeling.
“Why did you not say all this before you took action, sir?” she said.
“Because, madame, it was necessary to prove to your majesty one thing of which you doubted —that is, that we still possess amongst us some valor and are worthy of some consideration at your hands.”
“And that valor would shrink from no undertaking, according to what I see.”
“It has hesitated at nothing in the past; why, then, should it be less daring in the future?”
“Then, in case of my refusal, this valor, should a struggle occur, will even go the length of carrying me off in the midst of my court, to deliver me into the hands of the Fronde, as you propose to deliver my minister?”
“We have not thought about it yet, madame,” answered D’Artagnan, with that Gascon effrontery which had in him the appearance of naivete; but if we four had resolved upon it we should do it most certainly.”
“I ought,” muttered Anne to herself, “by this time to remember that these men are giants.”
“Alas, madame!” exclaimed D’Artagnan, “this proves to me that not till to-day has your majesty had a just idea of us.”
“Perhaps,” said Anne; “but that idea, if at last I have it —- “
“Your majesty will do us justice. In doing us justice you will no longer treat us as men of vulgar stamp. You will see in me an ambassador worthy of the high interests he is authorized to discuss with his sovereign.”
“Where is the treaty?”
“Here it is.”
Anne of Austria cast her eyes upon the treaty that D’Artagnan presented to her.
“I do not see here,” she said, “anything but general conditions; the interests of the Prince de Conti or of the Ducs de Beaufort, de Bouillon and d’Elbeuf and of the coadjutor, are herein consulted; but with regard to yours?”
“We do ourselves justice, madame, even in assuming the high position that we have. We do not think ourselves worthy to stand near such great names.”
“But you, I presume, have decided to assert your pretensions viva voce?”
“I believe you, madame, to be a great and powerful queen, and that it will be unworthy of your power and greatness if you do not recompense the arms which will bring back his eminence to Saint Germain.”
“It is my intention so to do; come, let us hear you. Speak.”
“He who has negotiated these matters (forgive me if I begin by speaking of myself, but I must claim that importance which has been given to me, not assumed by me) he who has arranged matters for the return of the cardinal, ought, it appears to me, in order that his reward may not be unworthy of your majesty, to be made commandant of the guards — an appointment something like that of captain of the musketeers.”
“‘Tis the appointment Monsieur de Treville held, you ask of me.”
“The place, madame, is vacant, and although ’tis a year since Monsieur de Treville has left it, it has not been filled.”
“But it is one of the principal military appointments in the king’s household.”
“Monsieur de Treville was but a younger son of a simple Gascon family, like me, madame; he occupied that post for twenty years.”
“You have an answer ready for everything,” replied the queen, and she took from her bureau a document, which she filled up and signed.
“Undoubtedly, madame,” said D’Artagnan, taking the document and bowing, “this is a noble reward; but everything in the world is unstable, and the man who happened to fall into disgrace with your majesty might lose this office to-morrow.”
“What more do you want?” asked the queen, coloring, as she found that she had to deal with a mind as subtle as her own.
“A hundred thousand francs for this poor captain of musketeers, to be paid whenever his services shall no longer be acceptable to your majesty.”
Anne hesitated.
“To think of the Parisians,” soliloquized D’Artagnan, “offering only the other day, by an edict of the parliament, six hundred thousand francs to any man soever who would deliver up the cardinal to them, dead or alive — if alive, in order to hang him; if dead, to deny him the rites of Christian burial!”
“Come,” said Anne, “’tis reasonable, since you only ask from a queen the sixth of what the parliament has proposed;” and she signed an order for a hundred thousand francs.
“Now, then,” she said, “what next?”
“Madame, my friend Du Vallon is rich and has therefore nothing in the way of fortune to desire; but I think I remember that there was a question between him and Monsieur Mazarin as to making his estate a barony. Nay, it must have been a promise.”
“A country clown,” said Anne of Austria, “people will laugh.”
“Let them,” answered D’Artagnan. “But I am sure of one thing — that those who laugh at him in his presence will never laugh a second time.”
“Here goes the barony.” said the queen; she signed a patent.
“Now there remains the chevalier, or the Abbe d’Herblay, as your majesty pleases.”
“Does he wish to be a bishop?”
“No, madame, something easier to grant.”
“What?”
“It is that the king should deign to stand godfather to the son of Madame de Longueville.”
The queen smiled.
“Monsieur de Longueville is of royal blood, madame,” said D’Artagnan.
“Yes,” said the queen; “but his son?”
“His son, madame, must be, since the husband of the son’s mother is.”
“And your friend has nothing more to ask for Madame de Longueville?”
“No, madame, for I presume that the king, standing godfather to him, could do no less than present him with five hundred thousand francs, giving his father, also, the government of Normandy.”
“As to the government of Normandy,” replied the queen, “I think I can promise; but with regard to the present, the cardinal is always telling me there is no more money in the royal coffers.”
“We shall search for some, madame, and I think we can find a little, and if your majesty approves, we will seek for some together.”
“What next?”
“What next, madame?”
“Yes.”
“That is all.”
“Haven’t you, then, a fourth companion?”
“Yes, madame, the Comte de la Fere.”
“What does he ask?”
“Nothing.”
“There is in the world, then, one man who, having the power to ask, asks — nothing!”
“There is the Comte de la Fere, madame. The Comte de la Fere is not a man.”
“What is he, then?”
“The Comte de la Fere is a demi-god.”
“Has he not a son, a young man, a relative, a nephew, of whom Comminges spoke to me as being a brave boy, and who, with Monsieur de Chatillon, brought the standards from Lens?”
“He has, as your majesty has said, a ward, who is called the Vicomte de Bragelonne.”
“If that young man should be appointed to a regiment what would his guardian say?”
“Perhaps he would accept.”
“Perhaps?”
“Yes, if your majesty herself should beg him to accept.”
“He must be indeed a strange man. Well, we will reflect and perhaps we will beg him. Are you satisfied, sir?”
“There is one thing the queen has not signed — her assent to the treaty.”
“Of what use to-day? I will sign it to-morrow.”
“I can assure her majesty that if she does not sign to-day she will not have time to sign to-morrow. Consent, then, I beg you, madame, to write at the bottom of this schedule, which has been drawn up by Mazarin, as you see:
“`I consent to ratify the treaty proposed by the Parisians.'”
Anne was caught, she could not draw back — she signed; but scarcely had she done so when pride burst forth and she began to weep.
D’Artagnan started on seeing these tears. Since that period of history queens have shed tears, like other women.
The Gascon shook his head, these tears from royalty melted his heart.
“Madame,” he said, kneeling, “look upon the unhappy man at your feet. He begs you to believe that at a gesture of your majesty everything will be possible to him. He has faith in himself; he has faith in his friends; he wishes also to have faith in his queen. And in proof that he fears nothing, that he counts on nothing, he will restore Monsieur de Mazarin to your majesty without conditions. Behold, madame! here are the august signatures of your majesty’s hand; if you think you are right in giving them to me, you shall do so, but from this very moment you are free from any obligation to keep them.”
And D’Artagnan, full of splendid pride and manly intrepidity, placed in Anne’s hands, in a bundle, the papers that he had one by one won from her with so much difficulty.
There are moments — for if everything is not good, everything in this world is not bad — in which the most rigid and the coldest soul is softened by the tears of strong emotion, heart-arraigning sentiment: one of these momentary impulses actuated Anne. D’Artagnan, when he gave way to his own feelings — which were in accordance with those of the queen — had accomplished more than the most astute diplomacy could have attempted. He was therefore instantly recompensed, either for his address or for his sensibility, whichever it might be termed.
“You were right, sir,” said Anne. “I misunderstood you. There are the acts signed; I deliver them to you without compulsion. Go and bring me back the cardinal as soon as possible.”
“Madame,” faltered D’Artagnan, “’tis twenty years ago — I have a good memory — since I had the honor behind a piece of tapestry in the Hotel de Ville, of kissing one of those lovely hands.”
“There is the other,” replied the queen; “and that the left hand should not be less liberal than the right,” she drew from her finger a diamond similar to the one formerly given to him, “take and keep this ring in remembrance of me.
“Madame,” said D’Artagnan, rising, “I have only one thing more to wish, which is, that the next thing you ask from me, shall be — my life.”
And with this conclusion — a way peculiar to himself — he rose and left the room.
“I never rightly understood those men,” said the queen, as she watched him retiring from her presence; “and it is now too late, for in a year the king will be of age.”
In twenty-four hours D’Artagnan and Porthos conducted Mazarin to the queen; and the one received his commission, the other his patent of nobility.
On the same day the Treaty of Paris was signed, and it was everywhere announced that the cardinal had shut himself up for three days in order to draw it up with the greatest care.
Here is what each of the parties concerned gained by that treaty:
Monsieur de Conti received Damvilliers, and having made his proofs as general, he succeeded in remaining a soldier, instead of being made cardinal. Moreover, something had been said of a marriage with Mazarin’s niece. The idea was welcomed by the prince, to whom it was of little importance whom he married, so long as he married some one.
The Duc de Beaufort made his entrance at court, receiving ample reparation for the wrongs he had suffered, and all the honor due to his rank. Full pardon was accorded to those who had aided in his escape. He received also the office of admiral, which had been held by his father, the Duc de Vendome and an indemnity for his houses and castles, demolished by the Parliament of Bretagne.
The Duc de Bouillon received domains of a value equal to that of his principality of Sedan, and the title of prince, granted to him and to those belonging to his house.
The Duc de Longueville gained the government of Pont-de-l’Arche, five hundred thousand francs for his wife and the honor of seeing her son held at the baptismal font by the young king and Henrietta of England.
Aramis stipulated that Bazin should officiate at that ceremony and that Planchet should furnish the christening sugar plums.
The Duc d’Elbeuf obtained payment of certain sums due to his wife, one hundred thousand francs for his eldest son and twenty-five thousand for each of the three others.
The coadjutor alone obtained nothing. They promised, indeed, to negotiate with the pope for a cardinal’s hat for him; but he knew how little reliance should be placed on such promises, made by the queen and Mazarin. Quite contrary to the lot of Monsieur de Conti, unable to be cardinal, he was obliged to remain a soldier.
And therefore, when all Paris was rejoicing in the expected return of the king, appointed for the next day, Gondy alone, in the midst of the general happiness, was dissatisfied; he sent for the two men whom he was wont to summon when in especially bad humor. Those two men were the Count de Rochefort and the mendicant of Saint Eustache. They came with their usual promptness, and the coadjutor spent with them a part of the night.
89
In which it is shown that it is sometimes more difficult for Kings to return to the Capitals of their Kingdoms, than to make an Exit.
Whilst D’Artagnan and Porthos were engaged in conducting the cardinal to Saint Germain, Athos and Aramis returned to Paris.
Each had his own particular visit to make.
Aramis rushed to the Hotel de Ville, where Madame de Longueville was sojourning. The duchess loudly lamented the announcement of peace. War had made her a queen; peace brought her abdication. She declared that she would never assent to the treaty and that she wished eternal war.
But when Aramis had presented that peace to her in a true light — that is to say, with all its advantages; when he had pointed out to her, in exchange for the precarious and contested royalty of Paris, the viceroyalty of Font-de-l’Arche, in other words, of all Normandy; when he had rung in her ears the five hundred thousand francs promised by the cardinal; when he had dazzled her eyes with the honor bestowed on her by the king in holding her child at the baptismal font, Madame de Longueville contended no longer, except as is the custom with pretty women to contend, and defended herself only to surrender at last.
Aramis made a presence of believing in the reality of her opposition and was unwilling to deprive himself in his own view of the credit of her conversion.
“Madame,” he said, “you have wished to conquer the prince your brother — that is to say, the greatest captain of the age; and when women of genius wish anything they always succeed in attaining it. You have succeeded; the prince is beaten, since he can no longer fight. Now attach him to our party. Withdraw him gently from the queen, whom he does not like, from Mazarin, whom he despises. The Fronde is a comedy, of which the first act only is played. Let us wait for a denouement — for the day when the prince, thanks to you, shall have turned against the court.”
Madame de Longueville was persuaded. This Frondist duchess trusted so confidently to the power of her fine eyes, that she could not doubt their influence even over Monsieur de Conde; and the chronicles of the time aver that her confidence was justified.
Athos, on quitting Aramis, went to Madame de Chevreuse. Here was another frondeuse to persuade, and she was even less open to conviction than her younger rival. There had been no stipulation in her favor. Monsieur de Chevreuse had not been appointed governor of a province, and if the queen should consent to be godmother it could be only of her grandson or granddaughter. At the first announcement of peace Madame de Chevreuse frowned, and in spite of all the logic of Athos to show her that a prolonged war would have been impracticable, contended in favor of hostilities.