Twenty Years After by Alexandre Dumas (desktop ebook reader txt) 📗
- Author: Alexandre Dumas
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“Let him continue his journey.”
“All is not then over?” asked Rochefort.
“My dear count, we have only just begun.”
“What induces you to think so?”
“The knowledge that I have of the queen’s heart; she will not rest contented beaten.”
“Is she, then, preparing for a stroke?”
“I hope so.”
“Come, let us see what you know.”
“I know that she has written to the prince to return in haste from the army.”
“Ah! ha!” said Rochefort, “you are right. We must let Monsieur de Beaufort come.”
In fact, the evening after this conversation the report was circulated that the Prince de Conde had arrived. It was a very simple, natural circumstance and yet it created a profound sensation. It was said that Madame de Longueville, for whom the prince had more than a brother’s affection and in whom he had confided, had been indiscreet. His confidence had unveiled the sinister project of the queen.
Even on the night of the prince’s return, some citizens, bolder than the rest, such as the sheriffs, captains and the quartermaster, went from house to house among their friends, saying:
“Why do we not take the king and place him in the Hotel de Ville? It is a shame to leave him to be educated by our enemies, who will give him evil counsel; whereas, brought up by the coadjutor, for instance, he would imbibe national principles and love his people.”
That night the question was secretly agitated and on the morrow the gray and black cloaks, the patrols of armed shop-people, and the bands of mendicants reappeared.
The queen had passed the night in lonely conference with the prince, who had entered the oratory at midnight and did not leave till five o’clock in the morning.
At five o’clock Anne went to the cardinal’s room. If she had not yet taken any repose, he at least was already up. Six days had already passed out of the ten he had asked from Mordaunt; he was therefore occupied in revising his reply to Cromwell, when some one knocked gently at the door of communication with the queen’s apartments. Anne of Austria alone was permitted to enter by that door. The cardinal therefore rose to open it.
The queen was in a morning gown, but it became her still; for, like Diana of Poictiers and Ninon, Anne of Austria enjoyed the privilege of remaining ever beautiful; nevertheless, this morning she looked handsomer than usual, for her eyes had all the sparkle inward satisfaction adds to expression.
“What is the matter, madame?” said Mazarin, uneasily. “You seem secretly elated.”
“Yes, Giulio,” she said, “proud and happy; for I have found the means of strangling this hydra.”
“You are a great politician, my queen,” said Mazarin; “let us hear the means.” And he hid what he had written by sliding the letter under a folio of blank paper.
“You know,” said the queen, “that they want to take the king away from me?”
“Alas! yes, and to hang me.”
“They shall not have the king.”
“Nor hang me.”
“Listen. I want to carry off my son from them, with yourself. I wish that this event, which on the day it is known will completely change the aspect of affairs, should be accomplished without the knowledge of any others but yourself, myself, and a third person.”
“And who is this third person?”
“Monsieur le Prince.”
“He has come, then, as they told me?”
“Last evening.”
“And you have seen him?”
“He has just left me.”
“And will he aid this project?”
“The plan is his own.”
“And Paris?”
“He will starve it out and force it to surrender at discretion.”
“The plan is not wanting in grandeur; I see but one impediment.”
“What is it?”
“Impossibility.”
“A senseless word. Nothing is impossible.”
“On paper.”
“In execution. We have money?”
“A little,” said Mazarin, trembling, lest Anne should ask to draw upon his purse.
“Troops?”
“Five or six thousand men.”
“Courage?”
“Plenty.”
“Then the thing is easy. Oh! do think of it, Giulio! Paris, this odious Paris, waking up one morning without queen or king, surrounded, besieged, famished--having for its sole resource its stupid parliament and their coadjutor with crooked limbs!”
“Charming! charming!” said Mazarin. “I can imagine the effect, I do not see the means.”
“I will find the means myself.”
“You are aware it will be war, civil war, furious, devouring, implacable?”
“Oh! yes, yes, war,” said Anne of Austria. “Yes, I will reduce this rebellious city to ashes. I will extinguish the fire with blood! I will perpetuate the crime and punishment by making a frightful example. Paris!; I--I detest, I loathe it!”
“Very fine, Anne. You are now sanguinary; but take care. We are not in the time of Malatesta and Castruccio Castracani. You will get yourself decapitated, my beautiful queen, and that would be a pity.”
“You laugh.”
“Faintly. It is dangerous to go to war with a nation. Look at your brother monarch, Charles I. He is badly off, very badly.”
“We are in France, and I am Spanish.”
“So much the worse; I had much rather you were French and myself also; they would hate us both less.”
“Nevertheless, you consent?”
“Yes, if the thing be possible.”
“It is; it is I who tell you so; make preparations for departure.”
“I! I am always prepared to go, only, as you know, I never do go, and perhaps shall go this time as little as before.”
“In short, if I go, will you go too?”
“I will try.”
“You torment me, Giulio, with your fears; and what are you afraid of, then?”
“Of many things.”
“What are they?”
Mazarin’s face, smiling as it was, became clouded.
“Anne,” said he, “you are but a woman and as a woman you may insult men at your ease, knowing that you can do it with impunity. You accuse me of fear; I have not so much as you have, since I do not fly as you do. Against whom do they cry out? is it against you or against myself? Whom would they hang, yourself or me? Well, I can weather the storm--I, whom, notwithstanding, you tax with fear--not with bravado, that is not my way; but I am firm. Imitate me. Make less hubbub and think more deeply. You cry very loud, you end by doing nothing; you talk of flying----”
Mazarin shrugged his shoulders and taking the queen’s hand led her to the window.
“Look!” he said.
“Well?” said the queen, blinded by her obstinacy.
“Well, what do you see from this window? If I am not mistaken those are citizens, helmeted and mailed, armed with good muskets, as in the time of the League, and whose eyes are so intently fixed on this window that they will see you if you raise that curtain much; and now come to the other side--what do you see? Creatures of the people, armed with halberds, guarding your doors. You will see the same at every opening from this palace to which I should lead you. Your doors are guarded, the airholes of your cellars are guarded, and I could say to you, as that good La Ramee said to me of the Duc de Beaufort, you must be either bird or mouse to get out.”
“He did get out, nevertheless.”
“Do you think of escaping in the same way?”
“I am a prisoner, then?”
“Parbleu!” said Mazarin, “I have been proving it to you this last hour.”
And he quietly resumed his dispatch at the place where he had been interrupted.
Anne, trembling with anger and scarlet with humiliation, left the room, shutting the door violently after her. Mazarin did not even turn around. When once more in her own apartment Anne fell into a chair and wept; then suddenly struck with an idea:
“I am saved!” she exclaimed, rising; “oh, yes! yes! I know a man who will find the means of taking me from Paris, a man I have too long forgotten.” Then falling into a reverie, she added, however, with an expression of joy, “Ungrateful woman that I am, for twenty years I have forgotten this man, whom I ought to have made a marechal of France. My mother-in-law expended gold, caresses, dignities on Concini, who ruined her; the king made Vitry marechal of France for an assassination: while I have left in obscurity, in poverty, the noble D’Artagnan, who saved me!”
And running to a table, on which were paper, pens and ink, she hastily began to write.
It had been D’Artagnan’s practice, ever since the riots, to sleep in the same room as Porthos, and on this eventful morning he was still there, sleeping, and dreaming that a yellow cloud had overspread the sky and was raining gold pieces into his hat, which he held out till it was overflowing with pistoles. As for Porthos, he dreamed that the panels of his carriage were not capacious enough to contain the armorial bearings he had ordered to be painted on them. They were both aroused at seven o’clock by the entrance of an unliveried servant, who brought a letter for D’Artagnan.
“From whom?” asked the Gascon.
“From the queen,” replied the servant.
“Ho!” said Porthos, raising himself in his bed; “what does she say?”
D’Artagnan requested the servant to wait in the next room and when the door was closed he sprang up from his bed and read rapidly, whilst Porthos looked at him with starting eyes, not daring to ask a single question.
“Friend Porthos,” said D’Artagnan, handing the letter to him, “this time, at least, you are sure of your title of baron, and I of my captaincy. Read for yourself and judge.”
Porthos took the letter and with a trembling voice read the following words:
“The queen wishes to speak to Monsieur d’Artagnan, who must follow the bearer.”
“Well!” exclaimed Porthos; “I see nothing in that very extraordinary.”
“But I see much that is very extraordinary in it,” replied D’Artagnan. “It is evident, by their sending for me, that matters are becoming complicated. Just reflect a little what an agitation the queen’s mind must be in for her to have remembered me after twenty years.”
“It is true,” said Porthos.
“Sharpen your sword, baron, load your pistols, and give some corn to the horses, for I will answer for it, something lightning-like will happen ere to-morrow.”
“But, stop; do you think it can be a trap that they are laying for us?” suggested Porthos, incessantly thinking how his greatness must be irksome to inferior people.
“If it is a snare,” replied D’Artagnan, “I shall scent it out, be assured. If Mazarin is an Italian, I am a Gascon.”
And D’Artagnan dressed himself in an instant.
Whilst Porthos, still in bed, was hooking on his cloak for him, a second knock at the door was heard.
“Come in,” exclaimed D’Artagnan; and another servant entered.
“From His Eminence, Cardinal Mazarin,” presenting a letter.
D’Artagnan looked at Porthos.
“A complicated affair,” said Porthos; “where will you begin?”
“It is arranged capitally; his eminence expects me in half an hour.”
“Good.”
“My friend,” said D’Artagnan, turning to the servant, “tell his eminence that in half an hour I shall be at his command.”
“It is very fortunate,” resumed the Gascon, when the valet had retired, “that he did not meet the other one.”
“Do you not think that they have sent for you, both for the same thing?”
“I do not think it, I am certain of it.”
“Quick, quick, D’Artagnan. Remember that the queen awaits you, and after the queen, the
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