Twenty years after
came straight off a journey and are insurgents, too.”
“An excuse for us! to meet D’Artagnan with a false excuse! to have to
make a false excuse to Porthos! Oh, Aramis!” continued Athos, shaking
his head mournfully, “upon my soul, you make me the most miserable of
men; you disenchant a heart not wholly dead to friendship. Go in
whatever guise you choose; for my part, I shall go unarmed.”
“No, for I will not allow you to do so. ’Tis not one man, not Athos
only, not the Comte de la Fère whom you will ruin by this amiable
weakness, but a whole party to whom you belong and who depend upon
you.”
“Be it so then,” replied Athos, sorrowfully.
And they pursued their road in mournful silence.
Scarcely had they reached by the Rue de la Mule the iron gate of the
Place Royale, when they perceived three cavaliers, D’Artagnan, Porthos,
and Planchet, the two former wrapped up in their military cloaks under
which their swords were hidden, and Planchet, his musket by his side.
They were waiting at the entrance of the Rue Sainte Catharine, and
their horses were fastened to the rings of the arcade. Athos,
therefore, commanded Bazin to fasten up his horse and that of Aramis in
the same manner.
They then advanced two and two, and saluted each other politely.
“Now where will it be agreeable to you that we hold our conference?”
inquired Aramis, perceiving that people were stopping to look at them,
supposing that they were going to engage in one of those far-famed
duels still extant in the memory of the Parisians, and especially the
inhabitants of the Place Royale.
“The gate is shut,” said Aramis, “but if these gentlemen like a cool
retreat under the trees, and perfect seclusion, I will get the key from
the Hotel de Rohan and we shall be well suited.”
D’Artagnan darted a look into the obscurity of the Place. Porthos
ventured to put his head between the railings, to try if his glance
could penetrate the gloom.
“If you prefer any other place,” said Athos, in his persuasive voice,
“choose for yourselves.”
“This place, if Monsieur d’Herblay can procure the key, is the best
that we can have,” was the answer.
Aramis went off at once, begging Athos not to remain alone within reach
of D’Artagnan and Porthos; a piece of advice which was received with a
contemptuous smile.
Aramis returned soon with a man from the Hotel de Rohan, who was saying
to him:
“You swear, sir, that it is not so?”
“Stop,” and Aramis gave him a louis d’or.
“Ah! you will not swear, my master,” said the concierge, shaking his
head.
“Well, one can never say what may happen; at present we and these
gentlemen are excellent friends.”
“Yes, certainly,” added Athos and the other two.
D’Artagnan had heard the conversation and had understood it.
“You see?” he said to Porthos.
“What do I see?”
“That he wouldn’t swear.”
“Swear what?”
“That man wanted Aramis to swear that we are not going to the Place
Royale to fight.”
“And Aramis wouldn’t swear?”
“No.”
“Attention, then!”
Athos did not lose sight of the two speakers. Aramis opened the gate
and faced around in order that D’Artagnan and Porthos might enter. In
passing through the gate, the hilt of the lieutenant’s sword was caught
in the grating and he was obliged to pull off his cloak; in doing so he
showed the butt end of his pistols and a ray of the moon was reflected
on the shining metal.
“Do you see?” whispered Aramis to Athos, touching his shoulder with one
hand and pointing with the other to the arms which the Gascon wore
under his belt.
“Alas! I do!” replied Athos, with a deep sigh.
He entered third, and Aramis, who shut the gate after him, last. The
two serving-men waited without; but as if they likewise mistrusted each
other, they kept their respective distances.
Chapter XXVIII.
The Place Royale.
They proceeded silently to the centre of the Place, but as at this very
moment the moon had just emerged from behind a cloud, they thought they
might be observed if they remained on that spot and therefore regained
the shade of the lime-trees.
There were benches here and there; the four gentlemen stopped near
them; at a sign from Athos, Porthos and D’Artagnan sat down, the two
others stood in front of them.
After a few minutes of silent embarrassment, Athos spoke.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “our presence here is the best proof of former
friendship; not one of us has failed the others at this rendezvous; not
one has, therefore, to reproach himself.”
“Hear me, count,” replied D’Artagnan; “instead of making compliments to
each other, let us explain our conduct to each other, like men of right
and honest hearts.”
“I wish for nothing more; have you any cause of complaint against me or
Monsieur d’Herblay? If so, speak out,” answered Athos.
“I have,” replied D’Artagnan. “When I saw you at your château at
Bragelonne, I made certain proposals to you which you perfectly
understood; instead of answering me as a friend, you played with me as
a child; the friendship, therefore, that you boast of was not broken
yesterday by the shock of swords, but by your dissimulation at your
castle.”
“D’Artagnan!” said Athos, reproachfully.
“You asked for candor and you have it. You ask what I have against you;
I tell you. And I have the same sincerity to show you, if you wish,
Monsieur d’Herblay; I acted in a similar way to you and you also
deceived me.”
“Really, monsieur, you say strange things,” said Aramis. “You came
seeking me to make to me certain proposals, but did you make them? No,
you sounded me, nothing more. Very well what did I say to you? that
Mazarin was contemptible and that I wouldn’t serve Mazarin. But that is
all. Did I tell you that I wouldn’t serve any other? On the contrary, I
gave you to understand, I think, that I adhered to the princes. We even
joked very pleasantly, if I remember rightly, on the very probable
contingency of your being charged by the cardinal with my arrest. Were
you a party man? There is no doubt of that. Well, why should not we,
too, belong to a party? You had your secret and we had ours; we didn’t
exchange them. So much the better; it proves that we know how to keep
our secrets.”
“I do not reproach you, monsieur,” said D’Artagnan; “’tis only because
Monsieur de la Fère has spoken of friendship that I question your
conduct.”
“And what do you find in it that is worthy of blame?” asked Aramis,
haughtily.
The blood mounted instantly to the temples of D’Artagnan, who arose,
and replied:
“I consider it worthy conduct of a pupil of Jesuits.”
On seeing D’Artagnan rise, Porthos rose also; these four men were
therefore all standing at the same time, with a menacing aspect,
opposite to each other.
Upon hearing D’Artagnan’s reply, Aramis seemed about to draw his sword,
when Athos prevented him.
“D’Artagnan,” he said, “you are here to-night, still infuriated by
yesterday’s adventure. I believed your heart noble enough to enable a
friendship of twenty years to overcome an affront of a quarter of an
hour. Come, do you really think you have anything to say against me?
Say it then; if I am in fault I will avow the error.”
The grave and harmonious tones of that beloved voice seemed to have
still its ancient influence, whilst that of Aramis, which had become
harsh and tuneless in his moments of ill-humor, irritated him. He
answered therefore:
“I think, monsieur le comte, that you had something to communicate to
me at your château of Bragelonne, and that gentleman”—he pointed to
Aramis—“had also something to tell me when I was in his convent. At
that time I was not concerned in the adventure, in the course of which
you have so successfully estopped me! However, because I was prudent
you must not take me for a fool. If I had wished to widen the breach
between those whom Monsieur d’Herblay chooses to receive with a rope
ladder and those whom he receives with a wooden ladder, I could have
spoken out.”
“What are you meddling with?” cried Aramis, pale with anger, suspecting
that D’Artagnan had acted as a spy on him and had seen him with Madame
de Longueville.
“I never meddle save with what concerns me, and I know how to make
believe that I haven’t seen what does not concern me; but I hate
hypocrites, and among that number I place musketeers who are abbés and
abbés who are musketeers; and,” he added, turning to Porthos “here’s a
gentleman who’s of the same opinion as myself.”
Porthos, who had not spoken one word, answered merely by a word and a
gesture.
He said “yes” and he put his hand on his sword.
Aramis started back and drew his. D’Artagnan bent forward, ready either
to attack or to stand on his defense.
Athos at that moment extended his hand with the air of supreme command
which characterized him alone, drew out his sword and the scabbard at
the same time, broke the blade in the sheath on his knee and threw the
pieces to his right. Then turning to Aramis:
“Aramis,” he said, “break your sword.”
Aramis hesitated.
“It must be done,” said Athos; then in a lower and more gentle voice,
he added. “I wish it.”
Then Aramis, paler than before, but subdued by these words, snapped the
serpent blade between his hands, and then folding his arms, stood
trembling with rage.
These proceedings made D’Artagnan and Porthos draw back. D’Artagnan did
not draw his sword; Porthos put his back into the sheath.
“Never!” exclaimed Athos, raising his right hand to Heaven, “never! I
swear before God, who seeth us, and who, in the darkness of this night
heareth us, never shall my sword cross yours, never my eye express a
glance of anger, nor my heart a throb of hatred, at you. We lived
together, we loved, we hated together; we shed, we mingled our blood
together, and too probably, I may still add, that there may be yet a
bond between us closer even than that of friendship; perhaps there may
be the bond of crime; for we four, we once did condemn, judge and slay
a human being whom we had not any right to cut off from this world,
although apparently fitter for hell than for this life. D’Artagnan, I
have always loved you as my son; Porthos, we slept six years side by
side; Aramis is your brother as well as mine, and Aramis has once loved
you, as I love you now and as I have ever loved you. What can Cardinal
Mazarin be to us, to four men who compelled such a man as Richelieu to
act as we pleased? What is such or such a prince to us, who fixed the
diadem upon a great queen’s head? D’Artagnan, I ask your pardon for
having yesterday crossed swords with you; Aramis does the same to
Porthos; now hate me if you can; but for my own part, I shall ever,
even if you do hate me, retain esteem and friendship for you. I repeat
my words, Aramis, and then, if you desire it, and if they desire it,
let us separate forever from our old friends.”
There was a solemn, though momentary silence, which was broken by
Aramis.
“I swear,” he said, with a calm brow and kindly glance, but in a voice
still trembling with recent emotion, “I swear that I no longer bear
animosity to those who were once my friends. I regret that I ever
crossed swords with you, Porthos; I swear not only that it shall never
again be pointed at your breast, but that in the bottom of my heart
there will never in future be the slightest hostile sentiment; now,
Athos, come.”
Athos was about to retire.
“Oh! no! no! do not go away!” exclaimed D’Artagnan, impelled by one of
those irresistible impulses which showed the nobility of his nature,
the native brightness of his character; “I swear that I would give the
last drop of my blood and the last fragment of my limbs to preserve the
friendship of such a friend as you, Athos—of such a man as you,
Aramis.” And he threw himself into the arms of Athos.
“My son!” exclaimed Athos, pressing him in his arms.