Twenty years after
“You are ungrateful, D’Artagnan,” said Athos; “yes, ungrateful to
Providence, to whom we owe our safety in the most miraculous manner.
Let us sail before the wind, and unless it changes we shall be drifted
either to Calais or Boulogne. Should our bark be upset we are five of
us good swimmers, able enough to turn it over again, or if not, to hold
on by it. Now we are on the very road which all the vessels between
Dover and Calais take, ’tis impossible but that we should meet with a
fisherman who will pick us up.”
“But should we not find any fisherman and should the wind shift to the
north?”
“That,” said Athos, “would be quite another thing; and we should
nevermore see land until we were upon the other side of the Atlantic.”
“Which implies that we may die of hunger,” said Aramis.
“’Tis more than possible,” answered the Comte de la Fère.
Mousqueton sighed again, more deeply than before.
“What is the matter? what ails you?” asked Porthos.
“I am cold, sir,” said Mousqueton.
“Impossible! your body is covered with a coating of fat which preserves
it from the cold air.”
“Ah! sir, ’tis this very coating of fat that makes me shiver.”
“How is that, Mousqueton?
“Alas! your honor, in the library of the Château of Bracieux there are
a lot of books of travels.”
“What then?”
“Amongst them the voyages of Jean Mocquet in the time of Henry IV.”
“Well?”
“In these books, your honor, ’tis told how hungry voyagers, drifting
out to sea, have a bad habit of eating each other and beginning with——”
“The fattest among them!” cried D’Artagnan, unable in spite of the
gravity of the occasion to help laughing.
“Yes, sir,” answered Mousqueton; “but permit me to say I see nothing
laughable in it. However,” he added, turning to Porthos, “I should not
regret dying, sir, were I sure that by doing so I might still be useful
to you.”
“Mouston,” replied Porthos, much affected, “should we ever see my
castle of Pierrefonds again you shall have as your own and for your
descendants the vineyard that surrounds the farm.”
“And you should call it ‘Devotion,’” added Aramis; “the vineyard of
self-sacrifice, to transmit to latest ages the recollection of your
devotion to your master.”
“Chevalier,” said D’Artagnan, laughing, “you could eat a piece of
Mouston, couldn’t you, especially after two or three days of fasting?”
“Oh, no,” replied Aramis, “I should much prefer Blaisois; we haven’t
known him so long.”
One may readily conceive that during these jokes which were intended
chiefly to divert Athos from the scene which had just taken place, the
servants, with the exception of Grimaud, were not silent. Suddenly
Mousqueton uttered a cry of delight, taking from beneath one of the
benches a bottle of wine; and on looking more closely in the same place
he discovered a dozen similar bottles, bread, and a monster junk of
salted beef.
“Oh, sir!” he cried, passing the bottle to Porthos, “we are saved—the
bark is supplied with provisions.”
This intelligence restored every one save Athos to gayety.
“Zounds!” exclaimed Porthos, “’tis astonishing how empty violent
agitation makes the stomach.”
And he drank off half a bottle at a draught and bit great mouthfuls of
the bread and meat.
“Now,” said Athos, “sleep, or try to sleep, my friends, and I will
watch.”
In a few moments, notwithstanding their wet clothes, the icy blast that
blew and the previous scene of terror, these hardy adventurers, with
their iron frames, inured to every hardship, threw themselves down,
intending to profit by the advice of Athos, who sat at the helm,
pensively wakeful, guiding the little bark the way it was to go, his
eyes fixed on the heavens, as if he sought to verify not only the road
to France, but the benign aspect of protecting Providence. After some
hours of repose the sleepers were aroused by Athos.
Dawn was shedding its pallid, placid glimmer on the purple ocean, when
at the distance of a musket shot from them was seen a dark gray mass,
above which gleamed a triangular sail; then masters and servants joined
in a fervent cry to the crew of that vessel to hear them and to save.
“A bark!” all cried together.
It was, in fact, a small craft from Dunkirk bound for Boulogne.
A quarter of an hour afterward the rowboat of this craft took them all
aboard. Grimaud tendered twenty guineas to the captain, and at nine
o’clock in the morning, having a fair wind, our Frenchmen set foot on
their native land.
“Egad! how strong one feels here!” said Porthos, almost burying his
large feet in the sands. “Zounds! I could defy a nation!”
“Be quiet, Porthos,” said D’Artagnan, “we are observed.”
“We are admired, i’faith,” answered Porthos.
“These people who are looking at us are only merchants,” said Athos,
“and are looking more at the cargo than at us.”
“I shall not trust to that,” said the lieutenant, “and I shall make for
the Dunes* as soon as possible.”
* Sandy hills about Dunkirk, from which it derives its name.
The party followed him and soon disappeared with him behind the
hillocks of sand unobserved. Here, after a short conference, they
proposed to separate.
“And why separate?” asked Athos.
“Because,” answered the Gascon, “we were sent, Porthos and I, by
Cardinal Mazarin to fight for Cromwell; instead of fighting for
Cromwell we have served Charles I.—not the same thing by any means. In
returning with the Comte de la Fère and Monsieur d’Herblay our crime
would be confirmed. We have circumvented Cromwell, Mordaunt, and the
sea, but we shall find a certain difficulty in circumventing Mazarin.”
“You forget,” replied Athos, “that we consider ourselves your prisoners
and not free from the engagement we entered into.”
“Truly, Athos,” interrupted D’Artagnan, “I am vexed that such a man as
you are should talk nonsense which schoolboys would be ashamed of.
Chevalier,” he continued, addressing Aramis, who, leaning proudly on
his sword, seemed to agree with his companion, “Chevalier, Porthos and
I run no risk; besides, should any ill-luck happen to two of us, will
it not be much better that the other two should be spared to assist
those who may be apprehended? Besides, who knows whether, divided, we
may not obtain a pardon—you from the queen, we from Mazarin—which, were
we all four together, would never be granted. Come, Athos and Aramis,
go to the right; Porthos, come with me to the left; these gentlemen
should file off into Normandy, whilst we, by the nearest road, reach
Paris.”
He then gave his friends minute directions as to their route.
“Ah! my dear friend,” exclaimed Athos, “how I should admire the
resources of your mind did I not stop to adore those of your heart.”
And he gave him his hand.
“Isn’t this fox a genius, Athos?” asked the Gascon. “No! he knows how
to crunch fowls, to dodge the huntsman and to find his way home by day
or by night, that’s all. Well, is all said?”
“All.”
“Then let’s count our money and divide it. Ah! hurrah! there’s the sun!
A merry morning to you, Sunshine. ’Tis a long time since I saw thee!”
“Come, come, D’Artagnan,” said Athos, “do not affect to be
strong-minded; there are tears in your eyes. Let us be open with each
other and sincere.”
“What!” cried the Gascon, “do you think, Athos, we can take leave,
calmly, of two friends at a time not free from danger to you and
Aramis?”
“No,” answered Athos; “embrace me, my son.”
“Zounds!” said Porthos, sobbing, “I believe I’m crying; but how foolish
all this is!”
Then they embraced. At that moment their fraternal bond of union was
closer than ever, and when they parted, each to take the route agreed
on, they turned back to utter affectionate expressions, which the
echoes of the Dunes repeated. At last they lost sight of each other.
“_Sacrebleu!_ D’Artagnan,” said Porthos, “I must out with it at once,
for I can’t keep to myself anything I have against you; I haven’t been
able to recognize you in this matter.”
“Why not?” said D’Artagnan, with his wise smile.
“Because if, as you say, Athos and Aramis are in real danger, this is
not the time to abandon them. For my part, I confess to you that I was
all ready to follow them and am still ready to rejoin them, in spite of
all the Mazarins in the world.”
“You would be right, Porthos, but for one thing, which may change the
current of your ideas; and that is, that it is not those gentlemen who
are in the greatest danger, it is ourselves; it is not to abandon them
that we have separated, but to avoid compromising them.”
“Really?” said Porthos, opening his eyes in astonishment.
“Yes, no doubt. If they are arrested they will only be put in the
Bastile; if we are arrested it is a matter of the Place de Greve.”
“Oh! oh!” said Porthos, “there is quite a gap between that fate and the
baronial coronet you promised me, D’Artagnan.”
“Bah! perhaps not so great as you think, Porthos; you know the proverb,
‘All roads lead to Rome.’”
“But how is it that we are incurring greater risks than Athos and
Aramis?” asked Porthos.
“Because they have but fulfilled the mission confided to them by Queen
Henrietta and we have betrayed that confided to us by Mazarin; because,
going hence as emissaries to Cromwell, we became partisans of King
Charles; because, instead of helping cut off the royal head condemned
by those fellows called Mazarin, Cromwell, Joyce, Bridge, Fairfax,
etc., we very nearly succeeded in saving it.”
“Upon my word that is true,” said Porthos; “but how can you suppose, my
dear friend, that in the midst of his great preoccupations General
Cromwell has had time to think——”
“Cromwell thinks of everything; Cromwell has time for everything; and
believe me, dear friend, we ought not to lose our time—it is precious.
We shall not be safe till we have seen Mazarin, and then——”
“The devil!” said Porthos; “what can we say to Mazarin?”
“Leave that to me—I have my plan. He laughs best who laughs last.
Cromwell is mighty, Mazarin is tricky, but I would rather have to do
with them than with the late Monsieur Mordaunt.”
“Ah!” said Porthos, “it is very pleasant to be able to say ‘the late
Monsieur Mordaunt.’”
“My faith, yes,” said D’Artagnan. “But we must be going.”
The two immediately started across country toward the road to Paris,
followed by Mousqueton, who, after being too cold all night, at the end
of a quarter of an hour found himself too warm.
Chapter LXXV.
The Return.
During the six weeks that Athos and Aramis had been absent from France,
the Parisians, finding themselves one morning without either queen or
king, were greatly annoyed at being thus deserted, and the absence of
Mazarin, a thing so long desired, did not compensate for that of the
two august fugitives.
The first feeling that pervaded Paris on hearing of the flight to Saint
Germain, was that sort of affright which seizes children when they
awake in the night and find themselves alone. A deputation was
therefore sent to the queen to entreat her to return to Paris; but she
not only declined to receive the deputies, but sent an intimation by
Chancellor Séguier, implying that if the parliament did not humble
itself before her majesty by negativing all the questions that had been
the cause of the quarrel, Paris would be besieged the very next day.
This threatening answer, unluckily for the court, produced quite a
different effect to that which was intended. It wounded the pride of
the parliament, which, supported by the citizens, replied by declaring
that Cardinal Mazarin was the cause of all the discontent; denounced
him as the enemy both of the king and the state, and ordered him to
retire from the court that same day and from France within a week
afterward; enjoining, in case of disobedience on his part, all the
subjects of the king to pursue and take him.