Twenty Years After by Alexandre Dumas (desktop ebook reader txt) 📗

was the reply; “but if I am not mistaken, the words ‘In haste,’ are written on the envelope of the letter which I brought.”

“You are right,” said Du Tremblay. “Halloo, major! tell them to order Number 25 to come downstairs.”

The unhappy wretch who entered the Bastile ceased, as he crossed the threshold, to be a man--he became a number.

D’Artagnan shuddered at the noise of the keys; he remained on horseback, feeling no inclination to dismount, and sat looking at the bars, at the buttressed windows and the immense walls he had hitherto only seen from the other side of the moat, but by which he had for twenty years been awe-struck.

A bell resounded.

“I must leave you,” said Du Tremblay; “I am sent for to sign the release of a prisoner. I shall be happy to meet you again, sir.”

“May the devil annihilate me if I return thy wish!” murmured D’Artagnan, smiling as he pronounced the imprecation; “I declare I feel quite ill after only being five minutes in the courtyard. Go to! go to! I would rather die on straw than hoard up a thousand a year by being governor of the Bastile.”

He had scarcely finished this soliloquy before the prisoner arrived. On seeing him D’Artagnan could hardly suppress an exclamation of surprise. The prisoner got into the carriage without seeming to recognize the musketeer.

“Gentlemen,” thus D’Artagnan addressed the four musketeers, “I am ordered to exercise the greatest possible care in guarding the prisoner, and since there are no locks to the carriage, I shall sit beside him. Monsieur de Lillebonne, lead my horse by the bridle, if you please.” As he spoke he dismounted, gave the bridle of his horse to the musketeer and placing himself by the side of the prisoner said, in a voice perfectly composed, “To the Palais Royal, at full trot.”

The carriage drove on and D’Artagnan, availing himself of the darkness in the archway under which they were passing, threw himself into the arms of the prisoner.

“Rochefort!” he exclaimed; “you! is it you, indeed? I am not mistaken?”

“D’Artagnan!” cried Rochefort.

“Ah! my poor friend!” resumed D’Artagnan, “not having seen you for four or five years I concluded you were dead.”

“I’faith,” said Rochefort, “there’s no great difference, I think, between a dead man and one who has been buried alive; now I have been buried alive, or very nearly so.”

“And for what crime are you imprisoned in the Bastile.”

“Do you wish me to speak the truth?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, I don’t know.”

“Have you any suspicion of me, Rochefort?”

“No! on the honor of a gentleman; but I cannot be imprisoned for the reason alleged; it is impossible.”

“What reason?” asked D’Artagnan.

“For stealing.”

“For stealing! you, Rochefort! you are laughing at me.”

“I understand. You mean that this demands explanation, do you not?”

“I admit it.”

“Well, this is what actually took place: One evening after an orgy in Reinard’s apartment at the Tuileries with the Duc d’Harcourt, Fontrailles, De Rieux and others, the Duc d’Harcourt proposed that we should go and pull cloaks on the Pont Neuf; that is, you know, a diversion which the Duc d’Orleans made quite the fashion.”

“Were you crazy, Rochefort? at your age!”

“No, I was drunk. And yet, since the amusement seemed to me rather tame, I proposed to Chevalier de Rieux that we should be spectators instead of actors, and, in order to see to advantage, that we should mount the bronze horse. No sooner said than done. Thanks to the spurs, which served as stirrups, in a moment we were perched upon the croupe; we were well placed and saw everything. Four or five cloaks had already been lifted, with a dexterity without parallel, and not one of the victims had dared to say a word, when some fool of a fellow, less patient than the others, took it into his head to cry out, ‘Guard!’ and drew upon us a patrol of archers. Duc d’Harcourt, Fontrailles, and the others escaped; De Rieux was inclined to do likewise, but I told him they wouldn’t look for us where we were. He wouldn’t listen, put his foot on the spur to get down, the spur broke, he fell with a broken leg, and, instead of keeping quiet, took to crying out like a gallows-bird. I then was ready to dismount, but it was too late; I descended into the arms of the archers. They conducted me to the Chatelet, where I slept soundly, being very sure that on the next day I should go forth free. The next day came and passed, the day after, a week; I then wrote to the cardinal. The same day they came for me and took me to the Bastile. That was five years ago. Do you believe it was because I committed the sacrilege of mounting en croupe behind Henry IV.?”

“No; you are right, my dear Rochefort, it couldn’t be for that; but you will probably learn the reason soon.”

“Ah, indeed! I forgot to ask you--where are you taking me?”

“To the cardinal.”

“What does he want with me?”

“I do not know. I did not even know that you were the person I was sent to fetch.”

“Impossible--you--a favorite of the minister!”

“A favorite! no, indeed!” cried D’Artagnan. “Ah, my poor friend! I am just as poor a Gascon as when I saw you at Meung, twenty-two years ago, you know; alas!” and he concluded his speech with a deep sigh.

“Nevertheless, you come as one in authority.”

“Because I happened to be in the ante-chamber when the cardinal called me, by the merest chance. I am still a lieutenant in the musketeers and have been so these twenty years.”

“Then no misfortune has happened to you?”

“And what misfortune could happen to me? To quote some Latin verses I have forgotten, or rather, never knew well, ‘the thunderbolt never falls on the valleys,’ and I am a valley, dear Rochefort,--one of the lowliest of the low.”

“Then Mazarin is still Mazarin?”

“The same as ever, my friend; it is said that he is married to the queen.”

“Married?”

“If not her husband, he is unquestionably her lover.”

“You surprise me. Rebuff Buckingham and consent to Mazarin!”

“Just like the women,” replied D’Artagnan, coolly.

“Like women, not like queens.”

“Egad! queens are the weakest of their sex, when it comes to such things as these.”

“And M. de Beaufort--is he still in prison?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Oh, nothing, but that he might get me out of this, if he were favorably inclined to me.”

“You are probably nearer freedom than he is, so it will be your business to get him out.”

“And,” said the prisoner, “what talk is there of war with Spain?”

“With Spain, no,” answered D’Artagnan; “but Paris.”

“What do you mean?” cried Rochefort.

“Do you hear the guns, pray? The citizens are amusing themselves in the meantime.”

“And you--do you really think that anything could be done with these bourgeois?”

“Yes, they might do well if they had any leader to unite them in one body.”

“How miserable not to be free!”

“Don’t be downcast. Since Mazarin has sent for you, it is because he wants you. I congratulate you! Many a long year has passed since any one has wanted to employ me; so you see in what a situation I am.”

“Make your complaints known; that’s my advice.”

“Listen, Rochefort; let us make a compact. We are friends, are we not?”

“Egad! I bear the traces of our friendship--three slits or slashes from your sword.”

“Well, if you should be restored to favor, don’t forget me.”

“On the honor of a Rochefort; but you must do the like for me.”

“There’s my hand,--I promise.”

“Therefore, whenever you find any opportunity of saying something in my behalf----”

“I shall say it, and you?”

“I shall do the same.”

“Apropos, are we to speak of your friends also, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis? or have you forgotten them?”

“Almost.”

“What has become of them?”

“I don’t know; we separated, as you know. They are alive, that’s all that I can say about them; from time to time I hear of them indirectly, but in what part of the world they are, devil take me if I know, No, on my honor, I have not a friend in the world but you, Rochefort.”

“And the illustrious--what’s the name of the lad whom I made a sergeant in Piedmont’s regiment?”

“Planchet!”

“The illustrious Planchet. What has become of him?”

“I shouldn’t wonder if he were at the head of the mob at this very moment. He married a woman who keeps a confectioner’s shop in the Rue des Lombards, for he’s a lad who was always fond of sweetmeats; he’s now a citizen of Paris. You’ll see that that queer fellow will be a sheriff before I shall be a captain.”

“Come, dear D’Artagnan, look up a little! Courage! It is when one is lowest on the wheel of fortune that the merry-go-round wheels and rewards us. This evening your destiny begins to change.”

“Amen!” exclaimed D’Artagnan, stopping the carriage.

“What are you doing?” asked Rochefort.

“We are almost there and I want no one to see me getting out of your carriage; we are supposed not to know each other.”

“You are right. Adieu.”

“Au revoir. Remember your promise.”

In five minutes the party entered the courtyard and D’Artagnan led the prisoner up the great staircase and across the corridor and ante-chamber.

As they stopped at the door of the cardinal’s study, D’Artagnan was about to be announced when Rochefort slapped him on his shoulder.

“D’Artagnan, let me confess to you what I’ve been thinking about during the whole of my drive, as I looked out upon the parties of citizens who perpetually crossed our path and looked at you and your four men with fiery eyes.”

“Speak out,” answered D’Artagnan.

“I had only to cry out ‘Help!’ for you and for your companions to be cut to pieces, and then I should have been free.”

“Why didn’t you do it?” asked the lieutenant.

“Come, come!” cried Rochefort. “Did we not swear friendship? Ah! had any one but you been there, I don’t say----”

D’Artagnan bowed. “Is it possible that Rochefort has become a better man than I am?” he said to himself. And he caused himself to be announced to the minister.

“Let M. de Rochefort enter,” said Mazarin, eagerly, on hearing their names pronounced; “and beg M. d’Artagnan to wait; I shall have further need of him.”

These words gave great joy to D’Artagnan. As he had said, it had been a long time since any one had needed him; and that demand for his services on the part of Mazarin seemed to him an auspicious sign.

Rochefort, rendered suspicious and cautious by these words, entered the apartment, where he found Mazarin sitting at the table, dressed in his ordinary garb and as one of the prelates of the Church, his costume being similar to that of the abbes in that day, excepting that his scarf and stockings were violet.

As the door was closed Rochefort cast a glance toward Mazarin, which was answered by one, equally furtive, from the minister.

There was little change in the cardinal; still dressed with sedulous care, his hair well arranged and curled, his person perfumed, he looked, owing to his extreme taste in dress, only half his age. But Rochefort, who had passed five years in prison, had become old in the lapse of a few years; the dark locks of this estimable friend of the defunct Cardinal Richelieu were now white; the deep bronze of his complexion had been succeeded by a mortal pallor which betokened debility. As he gazed at him Mazarin shook his head slightly, as much as to say, “This is a man who does not appear to me