Twenty years after
“No, I have not asked you that,” said Aramis, with his subtle manner;
“but I have expected you to tell me.”
“Well, I sought you for the single purpose of offering you a chance to
kill Monsieur de Marsillac whenever you please, prince though he is.”
“Hold on! wait!” said Aramis; “that is an idea!”
“Of which I invite you to take advantage, my friend. Let us see; with
your thousand crowns from the abbey and the twelve thousand francs you
make by selling sermons, are you rich? Answer frankly.”
“I? I am as poor as Job, and were you to search my pockets and my boxes
I don’t believe you would find a hundred pistoles.”
“_Peste!_ a hundred pistoles!” said D’Artagnan to himself; “he calls
that being as poor as Job! If I had them I should think myself as rich
as Crœsus.” Then aloud: “Are you ambitious?”
“As Enceladus.”
“Well, my friend, I bring you the means of becoming rich, powerful, and
free to do whatever you wish.”
The shadow of a cloud passed over Aramis’s face as quickly as that
which in August passes over the field of grain; but quick as it was, it
did not escape D’Artagnan’s observation.
“Speak on,” said Aramis.
“One question first. Do you take any interest in politics?”
A gleam of light shone in Aramis’s eyes, as brief as the shadow that
had passed over his face, but not so brief but that it was seen by
D’Artagnan.
“No,” Aramis replied.
“Then proposals from any quarter will be agreeable to you, since for
the moment you have no master but God?”
“It is possible.”
“Have you, my dear Aramis, thought sometimes of those happy, happy,
happy days of youth we passed laughing, drinking, and fighting each
other for play?”
“Certainly, and more than once regretted them; it was indeed a glorious
time.”
“Well, those splendidly wild days may chance to come again; I am
commissioned to find out my companions and I began by you, who were the
very soul of our society.”
Aramis bowed, rather with respect than pleasure at the compliment.
“To meddle in politics,” he exclaimed, in a languid voice, leaning back
in his easy-chair. “Ah! dear D’Artagnan! see how regularly I live and
how easy I am here. We have experienced the ingratitude of ‘the great,’
as you well know.”
“’Tis true,” replied D’Artagnan. “Yet the great sometimes repent of
their ingratitude.”
“In that case it would be quite another thing. Come! let’s be merciful
to every sinner! Besides, you are right in another respect, which is in
thinking that if we were to meddle in politics there could not be a
better time than the present.”
“How can you know that? You who never interest yourself in politics?”
“Ah! without caring about them myself, I live among those who are much
occupied in them. Poet as I am, I am intimate with Sarazin, who is
devoted to the Prince de Conti, and with Monsieur de Bois-Robert, who,
since the death of Cardinal Richelieu, is of all parties or any party;
so that political discussions have not altogether been uninteresting to
me.”
“I have no doubt of it,” said D’Artagnan.
“Now, my dear friend, look upon all I tell you as merely the statement
of a monk—of a man who resembles an echo—repeating simply what he
hears. I understand that Mazarin is at this very moment extremely
uneasy as to the state of affairs; that his orders are not respected
like those of our former bugbear, the deceased cardinal, whose portrait
as you see hangs yonder—for whatever may be thought of him, it must be
allowed that Richelieu was great.”
“I will not contradict you there,” said D’Artagnan.
“My first impressions were favorable to the minister; I said to myself
that a minister is never loved, but that with the genius this one was
said to have he would eventually triumph over his enemies and would
make himself feared, which in my opinion is much more to be desired
than to be loved——”
D’Artagnan made a sign with his head which indicated that he entirely
approved that doubtful maxim.
“This, then,” continued Aramis, “was my first opinion; but as I am very
ignorant in matters of this kind and as the humility which I profess
obliges me not to rest on my own judgment, but to ask the opinion of
others, I have inquired—Eh!—my friend——”
Aramis paused.
“Well? what?” asked his friend.
“Well, I must mortify myself. I must confess that I was mistaken.
Monsieur de Mazarin is not a man of genius, as I thought, he is a man
of no origin—once a servant of Cardinal Bentivoglio, and he got on by
intrigue. He is an upstart, a man of no name, who will only be the tool
of a party in France. He will amass wealth, he will injure the king’s
revenue and pay to himself the pensions which Richelieu paid to others.
He is neither a gentleman in manner nor in feeling, but a sort of
buffoon, a punchinello, a pantaloon. Do you know him? _I_ do not.”
“Hem!” said D’Artagnan, “there is some truth in what you say.”
“Ah! it fills me with pride to find that, thanks to a common sort of
penetration with which I am endowed, I am approved by a man like you,
fresh from the court.”
“But you speak of him, not of his party, his resources.”
“It is true—the queen is for him.”
“Something in his favor.”
“But he will never have the king.”
“A mere child.”
“A child who will be of age in four years. Then he has neither the
parliament nor the people with him—they represent the wealth of the
country; nor the nobles nor the princes, who are the military power of
France.”
D’Artagnan scratched his ear. He was forced to confess to himself that
this reasoning was not only comprehensive, but just.
“You see, my poor friend, that I am sometimes bereft of my ordinary
thoughtfulness; perhaps I am wrong in speaking thus to you, who have
evidently a leaning to Mazarin.”
“I!” cried D’Artagnan, “not in the least.”
“You spoke of a mission.”
“Did I? I was wrong then, no, I said what you say—there is a crisis at
hand. Well! let’s fly the feather before the wind; let us join with
that side to which the wind will carry it and resume our adventurous
life. We were once four valiant knights—four hearts fondly united; let
us unite again, not our hearts, which have never been severed, but our
courage and our fortunes. Here’s a good opportunity for getting
something better than a diamond.”
“You are right, D’Artagnan; I held a similar project, but as I had not
nor ever shall have your fruitful, vigorous imagination, the idea was
suggested to me. Every one nowadays wants auxiliaries; propositions
have been made to me and I confess to you frankly that the coadjutor
has made me speak out.”
“Monsieur de Gondy! the cardinal’s enemy?”
“No; the king’s friend,” said Aramis; “the king’s friend, you
understand. Well, it is a question of serving the king, the gentleman’s
duty.”
“But the king is with Mazarin.”
“He is, but not willingly; in appearance, not heart; and that is
exactly the snare the king’s enemies are preparing for the poor child.”
“Ah! but this is, indeed, civil war which you propose to me, dear
Aramis.”
“War for the king.”
“Yet the king will be at the head of the army on Mazarin’s side.”
“But his heart will be in the army commanded by the Duc de Beaufort.”
“Monsieur de Beaufort? He is at Vincennes.”
“Did I say Monsieur de Beaufort? Monsieur de Beaufort or another.
Monsieur de Beaufort or Monsieur le Prince.”
“But Monsieur le Prince is to set out for the army; he is entirely
devoted to the cardinal.”
“Oh oh!” said Aramis, “there are questions between them at this very
moment. And besides, if it is not the prince, then Monsieur de Gondy——”
“But Monsieur de Gondy is to be made a cardinal; they are soliciting
the hat for him.”
“And are there no cardinals that can fight? Come now, recall the four
cardinals that at the head of armies have equalled Monsieur de
Guebriant and Monsieur de Gassion.”
“But a humpbacked general!
“Under the cuirass the hump will not be seen. Besides, remember that
Alexander was lame and Hannibal had but one eye.”
“Do you see any great advantage in adhering to this party?” asked
D’Artagnan.
“I foresee in it the aid of powerful princes.”
“With the enmity of the government.”
“Counteracted by parliament and insurrections.”
“That may be done if they can separate the king from his mother.”
“That _may_ be done,” said Aramis.
“Never!” cried D’Artagnan. “You, Aramis, know Anne of Austria better
than I do. Do you think she will ever forget that her son is her
safeguard, her shield, the pledge for her dignity, for her fortune and
her life? Should she forsake Mazarin she must join her son and go over
to the princes’ side; but you know better than I do that there are
certain reasons why she can never abandon Mazarin.”
“Perhaps you are right,” said Aramis, thoughtfully; “therefore I shall
not pledge myself.”
“To them or to us, do you mean, Aramis?”
“To no one. I am a priest,” resumed Aramis. “What have I to do with
politics? I am not obliged to read any breviary. I have a jolly little
circle of witty abbés and pretty women; everything goes on smoothly, so
certainly, dear friend, I shall not meddle in politics.”
“Well, listen, my dear Aramis,” said D’Artagnan; “your philosophy
convinces me, on my honor. I don’t know what devil of an insect stung
me and made me ambitious. I have a post by which I live; at the death
of Monsieur de Tréville, who is old, I may be a captain, which is a
very snug berth for a once penniless Gascon. Instead of running after
adventures I shall accept an invitation from Porthos; I shall go and
shoot on his estate. You know he has estates—Porthos?”
“I should think so, indeed. Ten leagues of wood, of marsh land and
valleys; he is lord of the hill and the plain and is now carrying on a
suit for his feudal rights against the Bishop of Noyon!”
“Good,” said D’Artagnan to himself. “That’s what I wanted to know.
Porthos is in Picardy.”
Then aloud:
“And he has taken his ancient name of Vallon?”
“To which he adds that of Bracieux, an estate which has been a barony,
by my troth.”
“So that Porthos will be a baron.”
“I don’t doubt it. The ‘Baroness Porthos’ will sound particularly
charming.”
And the two friends began to laugh.
“So,” D’Artagnan resumed, “you will not become a partisan of
Mazarin’s?”
“Nor you of the Prince de Condé?”
“No, let us belong to no party, but remain friends; let us be neither
Cardinalists nor Frondists.”
“Adieu, then.” And D’Artagnan poured out a glass of wine.
“To old times,” he said.
“Yes,” returned Aramis. “Unhappily, those times are past.”
“Nonsense! They will return,” said D’Artagnan. “At all events, if you
want me, remember the Rue Tiquetonne, Hotel de la Chevrette.”
“And I shall be at the convent of Jesuits; from six in the morning to
eight at night come by the door. From eight in the evening until six in
the morning come in by the window.”
“Adieu, dear friend.”
“Oh, I can’t let you go so! I will go with you.” And he took his sword
and cloak.
“He wants to be sure that I go away,” said D’Artagnan to himself.
Aramis whistled for Bazin, but Bazin was asleep in the ante-chamber,
and Aramis was obliged to shake him by the ear to awake him.
Bazin stretched his arms, rubbed his eyes, and tried to go to sleep
again.
“Come, come, sleepy head; quick, the ladder!”
“But,” said Bazin, yawning portentously, “the ladder is still at the
window.”
“The other one, the gardener’s. Didn’t you see that Monsieur d’Artagnan
mounted with difficulty? It will be even more difficult to descend.”
D’Artagnan was about to assure Aramis that he could descend easily,
when an idea came into his head which silenced him.
Bazin uttered a profound sigh and went out to look for the ladder.
Presently a good, solid, wooden ladder was placed against the window.