89. Difficult for Kings to return to the Capitals of their Kingdoms.
Whilst D'Artagnan and Porthos were engaged in conducting the cardinal toSaint 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 wassojourning. The duchess loudly lamented the announcement of peace. Warhad made her a queen; peace brought her abdication. She declared thatshe 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 isto say, with all its advantages; when he had pointed out to her, inexchange for the precarious and contested royalty of Paris, theviceroyalty of Font-de-l'Arche, in other words, of all Normandy; when hehad rung in her ears the five hundred thousand francs promised by thecardinal; when he had dazzled her eyes with the honor bestowed on her bythe king in holding her child at the baptismal font, Madame deLongueville contended no longer, except as is the custom with prettywomen to contend, and defended herself only to surrender at last.
Aramis made a presence of believing in the reality of her opposition andwas unwilling to deprive himself in his own view of the credit of herconversion.
"Madame," he said, "you have wished to conquer the prince yourbrother--that is to say, the greatest captain of the age; and when womenof genius wish anything they always succeed in attaining it. You havesucceeded; the prince is beaten, since he can no longer fight. Nowattach him to our party. Withdraw him gently from the queen, whom hedoes 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--forthe day when the prince, thanks to you, shall have turned against thecourt."
Madame de Longueville was persuaded. This Frondist duchess trusted soconfidently to the power of her fine eyes, that she could not doubttheir influence even over Monsieur de Conde; and the chronicles of thetime aver that her confidence was justified.
Athos, on quitting Aramis, went to Madame de Chevreuse. Here was anotherfrondeuse to persuade, and she was even less open to conviction than heryounger rival. There had been no stipulation in her favor. Monsieur deChevreuse had not been appointed governor of a province, and if thequeen should consent to be godmother it could be only of her grandson orgranddaughter. At the first announcement of peace Madame de Chevreusefrowned, and in spite of all the logic of Athos to show her that aprolonged war would have been impracticable, contended in favor ofhostilities.
"My fair friend," said Athos, "allow me to tell you that everybody istired of war. You will get yourself exiled, as you did in the time ofLouis XIII. Believe me, we have passed the time of success in intrigue,and your fine eyes are not destined to be eclipsed by regretting Paris,where there will always be two queens as long as you are there."
"Oh," cried the duchess, "I cannot make war alone, but I can avengemyself on that ungrateful queen and most ambitious favorite-on the honorof a duchess, I will avenge myself."
"Madame," replied Athos, "do not injure the Vicomte de Bragelonne--donot ruin his prospects. Alas! excuse my weakness! There are moments whena man grows young again in his children."
The duchess smiled, half tenderly, half ironically.
"Count," she said, "you are, I fear, gained over to the court. I supposeyou have a blue ribbon in your pocket?"
"Yes, madame; I have that of the Garter, which King Charles I. gave mesome days before he died."
"Come, I am growing an old woman!" said the duchess, pensively.
Athos took her hand and kissed it. She sighed, as she looked at him.
"Count," she said, "Bragelonne must be a charming place. You are a manof taste. You have water--woods--flowers there?"
She sighed again and leaned her charming head, gracefully reclined, onher hand, still beautiful in form and color.
"Madame!" exclaimed Athos, "what were you saying just now about growingold? Never have I seen you look so young, so beautiful!"
The duchess shook her head.
"Does Monsieur de Bragelonne remain in Paris?" she inquired.
"What think you of it?" inquired Athos.
"Leave him with me," replied the duchess.
"No, madame; if you have forgotten the history of Oedipus, I, at least,remember it."
"Really, sir, you are delightful, and I should like to spend a month atBragelonne."
"Are you not afraid of making people envious of me, duchess?" repliedAthos.
"No, I shall go incognito, count, under the name of Marie Michon."
"You are adorable, madame."
"But do not keep Raoul with you."
"Why not?"
"Because he is in love."
"He! he is quite a child!"
"And 'tis a child he loves."
Athos became thoughtful.
"You are right, duchess. This singular passion for a child of seven maysome day make him very unhappy. There is to be war in Flanders. He shallgo thither."
"And at his return you will send him to me. I will arm him againstlove."
"Alas, madame!" exclaimed Athos, "to-day love is like war--thebreastplate is becoming useless."
Raoul entered at this moment; he came to announce that the solemnentrance of the king, queen, and her ministers was to take place on theensuing day.
The next day, in fact, at daybreak, the court made preparations to quitSaint Germain.
Meanwhile, the queen every hour had been sending for D'Artagnan.
"I hear," she said, "that Paris is not quiet. I am afraid for the king'ssafety; place yourself close to the coach door on the right."
"Reassure yourself, madame, I will answer for the king's safety."
As he left the queen's presence Bernouin summoned him to the cardinal.
"Sir," said Mazarin to him "an emeute is spoken of in Paris. I shall beon the king's left and as I am the chief person threatened, remain atthe coach door to the left."
"Your eminence may be perfectly easy," replied D'Artagnan; "they willnot touch a hair of your head."
"Deuce take it!" he thought to himself, "how can I take care of both?Ah! plague on't, I will guard the king and Porthos shall guard thecardinal."
This arrangement pleased every one. The queen had confidence in thecourage of D'Artagnan, which she knew, and the cardinal in the strengthof Porthos, which he had experienced.
The royal procession set out for Paris. Guitant and Comminges, at thehead of the guards, marched first; then came the royal carriage, withD'Artagnan on one side, Porthos on the other; then the musketeers, fortwo and twenty years staunch friends of D'Artagnan. During twenty he hadbeen lieutenant, their captain since the night before.
The cortege proceeded to Notre Dame, where a Te Deum was chanted. AllParis were in the streets. The Swiss were drawn up along the road, butas the road was long, they were placed at six or eight feet distant fromeach other and one deep only. This force was therefore whollyinsufficient, and from time to time the line was broken through by thepeople and was formed again with difficulty. Whenever this occurred,although it proceeded only from goodwill and a desire to see the kingand queen, Anne looked at D'Artagnan anxiously.
Mazarin, who had dispensed a thousand louis to make the people cry "Longlive Mazarin," and who had accordingly no confidence in acclamationsbought at twenty pistoles each, kept one eye on Porthos; but thatgigantic body-guard replied to the look with his great bass voice, "Betranquil, my lord," and Mazarin became more and more composed.
At the Palais Royal, the crowd, which had flowed in from the adjacentstreet was still greater; like an impetuous mob, a wave of human beingscame to meet the carriage and rolled tumultuously into the Rue SaintHonore.
When the procession reached the palace, loud cries of "Long live theirmajesties!" resounded. Mazarin leaned out of the window. One or twoshouts of "Long live the cardinal" saluted his shadow; but instantlyhisses and yells stifled them remorselessly. Mazarin turned pale andshrank back in the coach.
; "Low-born fellows!" ejaculated Porthos.
D'Artagnan said nothing, but twirled his mustache with a peculiargesture which showed that his fine Gascon humor was awake.
Anne of Austria bent down and whispered in the young king's ear:
"Say something gracious to Monsieur d'Artagnan, my son."
The young king leaned toward the door.
"I have not said good-morning to you, Monsieur d'Artagnan," he said;"nevertheless, I have remarked you. It was you who were behind mybed-curtains that night the Parisians wished to see me asleep."
"And if the king permits me," returned the Gascon, "I shall be near himalways when there is danger to be encountered."
"Sir," said Mazarin to Porthos, "what would you do if the crowd fellupon us?"
"Kill as many as I could, my lord."
"Hem! brave as you are and strong as you are, you could not kill themall."
"'Tis true," answered Porthos, rising on his saddle, in order that hemight appraise the immense crowd, "there are a lot of them."
"I think I should like the other fellow better than this one," saidMazarin to himself, and he threw himself back in his carriage.
The queen and her minister, more especially the latter, had reason tofeel anxious. The crowd, whilst preserving an appearance of respect andeven of affection for the king and queen regent, began to be tumultuous.Reports were whispered about, like certain sounds which announce, asthey whistle from wave to wave, the coming storm--and when they passathwart a multitude, presage an emeute.
D'Artagnan turned toward the musketeers and made a sign imperceptible tothe crowd, but very easily understood by that chosen regiment, theflower of the army.
The ranks closed firmly in and a kind of majestic tremor ran from man toman.
At the Barriere des Sergents the procession was obliged to stop.Comminges left the head of the escort and went to the queen's carriage.Anne questioned D'Artagnan by a look. He answered in the same language.
"Proceed," she said.
Comminges returned to his post. An effort was made and the livingbarrier was violently broken through.
Some complaints arose from the crowd and were addressed this time to theking as well as the minister.
"Onward!" cried D'Artagnan, in a loud voice.
"Onward!" cried Porthos.
But as if the multitude had waited only for this demonstration to burstout, all the sentiments of hostility that possessed it explodedsimultaneously. Cries of "Down with Mazarin!" "Death to the cardinal!"resounded on all sides.
At the same time through the streets of Grenelle, Saint Honore, and DuCoq, a double stream of people broke the feeble hedge of Swiss guardsand came like a whirlwind even to the very legs of Porthos's horse andthat of D'Artagnan.
This new eruption was more dangerous than the others, being composed ofarmed men. It was plain that it was not the chance combination of thosewho had collected a number of the malcontents at the same spot, but aconcerted organized attack.
Each of these mobs was led by a chief, one of whom appeared to belong,not to the people, but to the honorable corporation of mendicants, andthe other, notwithstanding his affected imitation of the people, mighteasily be discerned to be a gentleman. Both were evidently stimulated bythe same impulse.
There was a shock which was perceived even in the royal carriage.Myriads of hoarse cries, forming one vast uproar, were heard, mingledwith guns firing.
"Ho! Musketeers!" cried D'Artagnan.
The escort divided into two files. One of them passed around to theright of the carriage, the other to the left. One went to supportD'Artagnan, the other Porthos. Then came a skirmish, the more terriblebecause it had no definite object; the more melancholy, because thoseengaged in it knew not for whom they were fighting. Like all popularmovements, the shock given by the rush of this mob was formidable. Themusketeers, few in number, not being able, in the midst of this crowd,to make their horses wheel around, began to give way. D'Artagnan offeredto lower the blinds of the royal carriage, but the young king stretchedout his arm, saying:
"No, sir! I wish to see everything."
"If your majesty wishes to look out--well, then, look!" repliedD'Artagnan. And turning with that fury which made him so formidable, herushed toward the chief of the insurgents, a man who, with a huge swordin his hand, was trying to hew a passage to the coach door through themusketeers.
"Make room!" cried D'Artagnan. "Zounds! give way!"
At these words the man with a pistol and sword raised his head, but itwas too late. The blow was sped by D'Artagnan; the rapier had piercedhis bosom.
"Ah! confound it!" cried the Gascon, trying in vain, too late, toretract the thrust. "What the devil are you doing here, count?"
"Accomplishing my destiny," replied Rochefort, falling on one knee. "Ihave already got up again after three stabs from you, I shall never riseafter this fourth."
"Count!" said D'Artagnan, with some degree of emotion, "I struck withoutknowing that it was you. I am sorry, if you die, that you should diewith sentiments of hatred toward me."
Rochefort extended his hand to D'Artagnan, who took it. The count wishedto speak, but a gush of blood stifled him. He stiffened in the lastconvulsions of death and expired.
"Back, people!" cried D'Artagnan, "your leader is dead; you have nolonger any business here."
Indeed, as if De Rochefort had been the very soul of the attack, thecrowd who had followed and obeyed him took to flight on seeing him fall.D'Artagnan charged, with a party of musketeers, up the Rue du Coq, andthe portion of the mob he assailed disappeared like smoke, dispersingnear the Place Saint Germain-l'Auxerrois and taking the direction of thequays.
D'Artagnan returned to help Porthos, if Porthos needed help; butPorthos, for his part, had done his work as conscientiously asD'Artagnan. The left of the carriage was as well cleared as the right,and they drew up the blind of the window which Mazarin, less heroic thanthe king, had taken the precaution to lower.
Porthos looked very melancholy.
"What a devil of a face you have, Porthos! and what a strange air for avictor!"
"But you," answered Porthos, "seem to me agitated."
"There's a reason! Zounds! I have just killed an old friend."
"Indeed!" replied Porthos, "who?"
"That poor Count de Rochefort."
"Well! exactly like me! I have just killed a man whose face is notunknown to me. Unluckily, I hit him on the head and immediately his facewas covered with blood."
"And he said nothing as he died?"
"Yes; he exclaimed, 'Oh!'"
"I suppose," answered D'Artagnan, laughing, "if he only said that, itdid not enlighten you much."
"Well, sir!" cried the queen.
"Madame, the passage is quite clear and your majesty can continue yourroad."
In fact, the procession arrived, in safety at Notre Dame, at the frontgate of which all the clergy, with the coadjutor at their head, awaitedthe king, the queen and the minister, for whose happy return theychanted a Te Deum.
As the service was drawing to a close a boy entered the church in greatexcitement, ran to the sacristy, dressed himself quickly in the choirrobes, and cleaving, thanks to that uniform, the crowd that filled thetemple, approached Bazin, who, clad in his blue robe, was standinggravely in his place at the entrance to the choir.
Bazin felt some one pulling his sleeve. He lowered to earth his eyes,beatifically raised to Heaven, and recognized Friquet.
"Well, you rascal, what is it? How do you dare to disturb me in theexercise of my functions?" asked the beadle.
"Monsieur Bazin," said Friquet, "Monsieur Maillard--you know who he is,he gives holy water at Saint Eustache----"
"Well, go on."
"Well, he received in the scrimmage a sword stroke on the head. Thatgreat giant who was there gave it to him."
"In that case," said Bazin, "he must be pretty sick."
"So sick that he is dying, and he wants to confess to the coadjutor,who, they say, has power to rem
it great sins."
"And does he imagine that the coadjutor will put himself out for him?"
"To be sure; the coadjutor has promised."
"Who told you that?"
"Monsieur Maillard himself."
"You have seen him, then?"
"Certainly; I was there when he fell."
"What were you doing there?"
"I was shouting, 'Down with Mazarin!' 'Death to the cardinal!' 'TheItalian to the gallows!' Isn't that what you would have me shout?"
"Be quiet, you rascal!" said Bazin, looking uneasily around.
"So that he told me, that poor Monsieur Maillard, 'Go find thecoadjutor, Friquet, and if you bring him to me you shall be my heir.'Say, then, Father Bazin--the heir of Monsieur Maillard, the giver ofholy water at Saint Eustache! Hey! I shall have nothing to do but tofold my arms! All the same, I should like to do him that service--whatdo you say to it?"
"I will tell the coadjutor," said Bazin.
In fact, he slowly and respectfully approached the prelate and spoke tohim privately a few words, to which the latter responded by anaffirmative sign. He then returned with the same slow step and said:
"Go and tell the dying man that he must be patient. Monseigneur will bewith him in an hour."
"Good!" said Friquet, "my fortune is made."
"By the way," said Bazin, "where was he carried?"
"To the tower Saint Jacques la Boucherie;" and delighted with thesuccess of his embassy, Friquet started off at the top of his speed.
When the Te Deum was over, the coadjutor, without stopping to change hispriestly dress, took his way toward that old tower which he knew sowell. He arrived in time. Though sinking from moment to moment, thewounded man was not yet dead. The door was opened to the coadjutor ofthe room in which the mendicant was suffering.
A moment later Friquet went out, carrying in his hand a large leatherbag; he opened it as soon as he was outside the chamber and to his greatastonishment found it full of gold. The mendicant had kept his word andmade Friquet his heir.
"Ah! Mother Nanette!" cried Friquet, suffocating; "ah! Mother Nanette!"
He could say no more; but though he hadn't strength to speak he hadenough for action. He rushed headlong to the street, and like the Greekfrom Marathon who fell in the square at Athens, with his laurel in hishand, Friquet reached Councillor Broussel's threshold, and then fellexhausted, scattering on the floor the louis disgorged by his leatherbag.
Mother Nanette began by picking up the louis; then she picked upFriquet.
In the meantime the cortege returned to the Palais Royal.
"That Monsieur d'Artagnan is a very brave man, mother," said the youngking.
"Yes, my son; and he rendered very important services to your father.Treat him kindly, therefore, in the future."
"Captain," said the young king to D'Artagnan, on descending from thecarriage, "the queen has charged me to invite you to dinner to-day--youand your friend the Baron du Vallon."
That was a great honor for D'Artagnan and for Porthos. Porthos wasdelighted; and yet during the entire repast he seemed to be preoccupied.
"What was the matter with you, baron?" D'Artagnan said to him as theydescended the staircase of the Palais Royal. "You seemed at dinner to beanxious about something."
"I was trying," said Porthos, "to recall where I had seen that mendicantwhom I must have killed."
"And you couldn't remember?"
"No."
"Well, search, my friend, search; and when you have found, you will tellme, will you not?"
"Pardieu!" said Porthos.
90. Conclusion.
On going home, the two friends found a letter from Athos, who desiredthem to meet him at the Grand Charlemagne on the following day.
The friends went to bed early, but neither of them slept. When we arriveat the summit of our wishes, success has usually the power to drive awaysleep on the first night after the fulfilment of long cherished hopes.
The next day at the appointed hour they went to see Athos and found himand Aramis in traveling costume.
"What!" cried Porthos, "are we all going away, then? I also have made mypreparations this morning."
"Oh, heavens! yes," said Aramis. "There's nothing to do in Paris nowthere's no Fronde. The Duchess de Longueville has invited me to pass afew days in Normandy, and has deputed me, while her son is beingbaptized, to go and prepare her residence at Rouen; after which, ifnothing new occurs, I shall go and bury myself in my convent atNoisy-le-Sec."
"And I," said Athos, "am returning to Bragelonne. You know, dearD'Artagnan, I am nothing more than a good honest country gentleman.Raoul has no fortune other than I possess, poor child! and I must takecare of it for him, since I only lend him my name."
"And Raoul--what shall you do with him?"
"I leave him with you, my friend. War has broken out in Flanders. Youshall take him with you there. I am afraid that remaining at Blois wouldbe dangerous to his youthful mind. Take him and teach him to be as braveand loyal as you are yourself."
"Then," replied D'Artagnan, "though I shall not have you, Athos, at allevents I shall have that dear fair-haired head by me; and though he'sbut a boy, yet, since your soul lives again in him, dear Athos, I shallalways fancy that you are near me, sustaining and encouraging me."
The four friends embraced with tears in their eyes.
Then they departed, without knowing whether they would ever see eachother again.
D'Artagnan returned to the Rue Tiquetonne with Porthos, still possessedby the wish to find out who the man was that he had killed. On arrivingat the Hotel de la Chevrette they found the baron's equipage all readyand Mousqueton on his saddle.
"Come, D'Artagnan," said Porthos, "bid adieu to your sword and go withme to Pierrefonds, to Bracieux, or to Du Vallon. We will grow oldtogether and talk of our companions."
"No!" replied D'Artagnan, "deuce take it, the campaign is going tobegin; I wish to be there, I expect to get something by it."
"What do you expect to get?"
"Why, I expect to be made Marechal of France!"
"Ha! ha!" cried Porthos, who was not completely taken in by D'Artagnan'sGasconades.
"Come my brother, go with me," added D'Artagnan, "and I will see thatyou are made a duke!"
"No," answered Porthos, "Mouston has no desire to fight; besides, theyhave erected a triumphal arch for me to enter my barony, which will killmy neighbors with envy."
"To that I can say nothing," returned D'Artagnan, who knew the vanity ofthe new baron. "Then, here's to our next merry meeting!"
"Adieu, dear captain," said Porthos, "I shall always be happy to welcomeyou to my barony."
"Yes, yes, when the campaign is over," replied the Gascon.
"His honor's equipage is waiting," said Mousqueton.
The two friends, after a cordial pressure of the hands, separated.D'Artagnan was standing at the door looking after Porthos with amournful gaze, when the baron, after walking scarcely more than twentypaces, returned--stood still--struck his forehead with his finger andexclaimed:
"I recollect!"
"What?" inquired D'Artagnan.
"Who the beggar was that I killed."
"Ah! indeed! and who was he?"
"'Twas that low fellow, Bonacieux."
And Porthos, enchanted at having relieved his mind, rejoined Mousquetonand they disappeared around an angle of the street. D'Artagnan stood foran instant, mute, pensive and motionless; then, as he went in, he sawthe fair Madeleine, his hostess, standing on the threshold.
"Madeleine," said the Gascon, "give me your apartment on the firstfloor; now that I am a captain in the royal musketeers I must make anappearance; nevertheless, reserve my old room on the fifth story for me;one never knows what may happen."
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