Part 4

— First, Sire, what do you call a rebel? quietly asked the musketeer. A rebel in the eyes of the king, is it the man who, not only lets himself be locked up in the Bastille, but who furthermore resists those who do not wish to take him there?

— Who do not wish to take him there? cried the king. What do I hear there, captain? Are you mad?

— I do not think so, Sire.

— You speak of people who did not want to arrest M. de La Fère?...

— Yes, Sire.

— And who are those people?

— Those whom Your Majesty had apparently charged with it, said the musketeer.

— But it was you I had charged with it, cried the king.

— Yes, Sire, it was I.

— And you say that, despite my order, you intended not to arrest the man who had insulted me?

— That was absolutely my intention, yes, Sire.

— Oh!

— I even proposed to him to mount a horse that I had had prepared for him at the Conference gate.

— And for what purpose had you had that horse prepared?

— But, Sire, so that the Count de La Fère might reach Le Havre and from there England.

— You were betraying me then, sir? cried the king, blazing with savage pride.

— Perfectly.

There was nothing to reply to statements made in that tone. The king felt so rude a resistance that he was astonished.

— You had at least a reason, M. d'Artagnan, when you acted thus? asked the king with majesty.

— I always have a reason, Sire.

— It is not the reason of friendship, at least, the only one you could put forward, the only one that could excuse you, for I had set your mind at ease on that score.

— I, Sire?

— Did I not leave you the choice of arresting or not arresting M. le comte de La Fère?

— Yes, Sire; but...

— But what? interrupted the impatient king.

— But in warning me, Sire, that if I did not arrest him, your captain of the guards would arrest him, he.

— Did I not make the game fair enough, since I was not forcing your hand?

— For me, yes, Sire; for my friend, no.

— No?

— Doubtless, since, by me or by the captain of the guards, my friend was still arrested.

— And that is your devotion, sir? A devotion that reasons, that chooses? You are not a soldier, sir!

— I await Your Majesty telling me what I am.

— Well! you are a frondeur!

— Since there is no longer any Fronde, then, Sire...

— But, if what you say is true...

— What I say is always true, Sire.

— What have you come to do here? Let us see.

— I come here to tell the king: Sire, M. de La Fère is in the Bastille...

— That is not your fault, apparently.

— That is true, Sire, but in any case, there he is, and, since he is there, it is important that Your Majesty know it.

— Ah! M. d'Artagnan, you defy your king!

— Sire...

— M. d'Artagnan, I warn you that you are abusing my patience.

— On the contrary, Sire.

— How, on the contrary?

— I come to have myself arrested as well.

— Have yourself arrested, you?

— Doubtless. My friend will be bored there, and I come to propose to Your Majesty to permit me to keep him company; let Your Majesty say a word, and I will arrest myself; I shall not need the captain of the guards for that, I promise you.

The king sprang toward the table and seized a pen to give the order to imprison d'Artagnan.

— Take note that it is forever, sir, he cried with a tone of threat.

— I count on it, replied the musketeer; for once you have done that fine stroke, you will not dare look me in the face again.

The king threw down his pen violently.

— Go away! said he.

— Oh! not so, Sire, if it please Your Majesty.

— How, not so?

— Sire, I came to speak gently to the king; the king has flown into a passion, that is a misfortune, but I shall nonetheless tell the king what I have to say to him.

— Your resignation, sir, cried the king!

— Sire, you know my resignation is not close to my heart, since, at Blois, the day when Your Majesty refused King Charles the million that my friend the Count de La Fère gave him, I offered my resignation to the king.

— Well then, make haste.

— No, Sire; for it is not my resignation that is in question here; Your Majesty had taken up the pen to send me to the Bastille, why change your mind?

— D'Artagnan! Gascon head! who is king, you or I! Let us see.

— It is you, Sire, unfortunately.

— How, unfortunately?

— Yes, Sire; for, if it were I...

— If it were you, you would approve the rebellion of M. d'Artagnan, would you not?

— Yes, certainly!

— Truly?

And the king shrugged his shoulders.

— And I would say to my captain of musketeers, continued d'Artagnan, I would say to him looking at him with human eyes and not with burning coals, I would say to him: 'M. d'Artagnan, I forgot that I am the king. I stepped down from my throne to insult a gentleman.'

— Sir, cried the king, do you believe that excusing your friend is surpassing his insolence?

— Oh! Sire, I shall go much further than he, said d'Artagnan, and it will be your fault. I shall tell you what he did not tell you, he, the man of all delicacies; I shall tell you: Sire, you sacrificed his son, and he was defending his son; you sacrificed him himself; he spoke to you in the name of honor, of religion and of virtue, you repulsed him, banished him, imprisoned him. I shall be harder than he, Sire; and I shall say to you: Sire, choose! Do you want friends or lackeys? soldiers or bowing dancers? great men or puppets? Do you want to be served or do you want to be bowed to? do you want to be loved or do you want to be feared? If you prefer baseness, intrigue, cowardice, oh! say so, Sire; we shall depart, we who are the sole remains, I shall say more, the sole models of the valor of old; we who have served and perhaps surpassed in courage, in merit, men already great in posterity. Choose, Sire, and make haste. What great lords remain to you, keep them; you will always have enough courtiers. Make haste, and send me to the Bastille with my friend; for, if you knew not how to listen to the Count de La Fère, that is to say the sweetest and noblest voice of honor; if you know not how to hear d'Artagnan, that is to say the frankest and roughest voice of sincerity, you are a bad king, and tomorrow you will be a poor king. Now, bad kings are abhorred; poor kings are driven away. That is what I had to tell you, Sire; you were wrong to push me thus far.

The king fell back cold and livid in his armchair: it was evident that the thunderbolt fallen at his feet would not have astonished him more; one would have thought breath failed him and that he was about to expire. That rough voice of sincerity, as d'Artagnan called it, had crossed his heart like a blade.

D'Artagnan had said all he had to say. Understanding the king's anger, he drew his sword, and, approaching Louis XIV respectfully, he laid it on the table.

But the king, with a furious gesture, pushed away the sword, which fell to the ground and rolled to d'Artagnan's feet.

Master of himself though the musketeer was, he in turn grew pale, and trembling with indignation:

— A king, said he, may disgrace a soldier; he may exile him, he may condemn him to death; but, were he a hundred times a king, he never has the right to insult him by dishonoring his sword. Sire, a king of France has never with contempt repulsed the sword of a man such as I. That sword, once soiled, think on it, Sire, has henceforth no other scabbard than my heart or yours. I choose mine, Sire, thank God and my patience for it!

Then throwing himself upon his sword:

— May my blood fall back upon your head, Sire! he cried.

And, with a rapid gesture, bracing the hilt of the sword against the parquet, he directed its point at his breast.

The king sprang with a movement even quicker than d'Artagnan's, throwing his right arm around the musketeer's neck, and, with his left hand, seizing the blade of the sword by the middle, which he silently returned to its scabbard.

D'Artagnan, stiff, pale and still trembling, let the king do so to the end without helping.

Then, Louis, softened, returning to the table, took the pen, wrote a few lines, signed them, and extended his hand toward d'Artagnan.

— What is that paper, Sire? asked the captain.

— The order given to M. d'Artagnan to release at this instant M. le comte de La Fère.

D'Artagnan seized the royal hand and kissed it; then he folded the order, passed it under his buff coat and went out.

Neither the king nor the captain had uttered a syllable.

— O human heart! compass of kings! murmured Louis, left alone, when shall I know how to read in your folds as in the leaves of a book? No, I am not a bad king; no, I am not a poor king; but I am still a child.

Chapter CCIV — Political Rivals

D'Artagnan had promised M. de Baisemeaux to be back for dessert; d'Artagnan kept his word. They were at the fine wines and liqueurs, of which the governor's cellar had the reputation of being admirably stocked, when the spurs of the captain of the musketeers rang in the corridor and he himself appeared on the threshold.

Athos and Aramis had played close. Thus, neither had penetrated the other. They had supped, talked much of the Bastille, of the last trip to Fontainebleau, of the future fete that M. Fouquet was to give at Vaux. Generalities had been lavished, and no one, save de Baisemeaux, had touched upon particular matters.

D'Artagnan fell into the middle of the conversation, still pale and moved by his conversation with the king. Baisemeaux hastened to draw up a chair. D'Artagnan accepted a full glass and left it empty. Athos and Aramis both remarked this emotion of d'Artagnan. As for de Baisemeaux, he saw nothing but the captain of the musketeers of His Majesty, to whom he hurried to do honor. To have approached the king was to have all rights to the regards of M. de Baisemeaux. Only, though Aramis had remarked this emotion, he could not guess its cause. Athos alone believed he had penetrated it. For him, the return of d'Artagnan and above all the upheaval of the impassive man signified: 'I have just asked the king for something that the king refused me.' Quite convinced he was in the right, Athos smiled, rose from table and made a sign to d'Artagnan, as if to remind him that they had something else to do than sup together.

D'Artagnan understood and replied with another sign. Aramis and Baisemeaux, seeing this mute dialogue, questioned with their eyes. Athos thought it was for him to give the explanation of what was passing.

— The truth, my friends, said the Count de La Fère with a smile, is that you, Aramis, have just supped with a state criminal, and you, M. de Baisemeaux, with your prisoner.

Baisemeaux uttered an exclamation of surprise and almost of joy. This dear M. de Baisemeaux had the self-love of his fortress. Apart from the profit, the more prisoners he had, the happier he was; the greater these prisoners, the prouder he was.

As for Aramis, assuming a fitting countenance:

— Oh! dear Athos, said he, pardon me, but I almost suspected what is happening. Some prank of Raoul or of La Valliere, is it not?

— Alas! said Baisemeaux.

— And, continued Aramis, you, being the great lord you are, forgetting that there are only courtiers left, went to the king and told him his truth?

— You have guessed, my friend.

— So, said de Baisemeaux, trembling at having supped so familiarly with a man fallen into His Majesty's disgrace; so, monsieur le comte?...

— So, my dear governor, said Athos, that my friend M. d'Artagnan is going to communicate to you that paper which passes through the opening of his buff coat, and which is certainly none other than my warrant of commitment.

Baisemeaux extended his hand with his customary suppleness.

D'Artagnan indeed drew two papers from his breast, and presented one to the governor. Baisemeaux unfolded the paper and read half-aloud, all the while looking at Athos over the paper, interrupting himself:

— 'Order to detain in my chateau of the Bastille...' Very good... 'In my chateau of the Bastille... M. le comte de La Fere.' Oh! monsieur, what a dolorous honor it is for me to possess you!

— You will have a patient prisoner, monsieur, said Athos in his suave and calm voice.

— And a prisoner who will not remain a month with you, my dear governor, said Aramis, while de Baisemeaux, the order in hand, transcribed upon his register of commitments the royal will.

— Not even a day, or rather, not even a night, said d'Artagnan exhibiting the second order of the king; for now, dear M. de Baisemeaux, you will have to transcribe also this order to set the count at liberty immediately.

— Ah! said Aramis, that is work you spare me, d'Artagnan.

And he pressed in a significant manner the hand of the musketeer at the same time as that of Athos.

— What! said the latter with astonishment, the king gives me liberty?

— Read, dear friend, replied d'Artagnan.

Athos took the order and read.

— It is true, said he.

— Would you be vexed at it? asked d'Artagnan.

— Oh! no, on the contrary. I wish no ill to the king, and the greatest ill one can wish kings is that they commit an injustice. But you had trouble, did you not? oh! confess it, my friend.

— I? Not at all! said the musketeer laughing. The king does all I wish.

Aramis looked at d'Artagnan and saw well that he lied.

But Baisemeaux looked at nothing but d'Artagnan, so deeply was he seized with admiration for this man who made the king do all he wished.

— And the king exiles Athos? asked Aramis.

— No, not precisely; the king has not even explained himself on that, replied d'Artagnan; but I believe the count has nothing better to do, unless he cares to thank the king...

— No, indeed, answered Athos smiling.

— Well! I believe the count has nothing better to do, resumed d'Artagnan, than to retire to his chateau. For the rest, my dear Athos, speak, ask; if one residence is more agreeable to you than another, I undertake to have you obtain that one.

— No, thanks, said Athos; nothing can be more agreeable to me, dear friend, than to return to my solitude, beneath my great trees, on the banks of the Loire. If God is the supreme physician of the ills of the soul, nature is the sovereign remedy. Thus, monsieur, continued Athos turning toward Baisemeaux, I am free then?

— Yes, monsieur le comte, I believe so, I hope so, at least, said the governor turning and returning the two papers, unless, however, M. d'Artagnan has a third order.

— No, dear M. de Baisemeaux, no, said the musketeer, you must hold to the second and stop there.

— Ah! monsieur le comte, said Baisemeaux addressing Athos, you do not know what you are losing! I would have put you at thirty livres, like the generals; what do I say! at fifty livres, like the princes, and you would have supped every evening as you supped this evening.

— Permit me, monsieur, said Athos, to prefer my mediocrity.

Then, turning toward d'Artagnan:

— Let us depart, my friend, said he.

— Let us depart, said d'Artagnan.

— Shall I have the joy, asked Athos, of possessing you as companion, my friend?

— Only to the door, very dear, answered d'Artagnan; after which, I shall tell you what I told the king: 'I am on duty.'

— And you, my dear Aramis, said Athos smiling, will you accompany me? La Fere is on the road to Vannes.

— I, my friend, said the prelate, have an appointment this evening in Paris, and I could not withdraw without causing grave interests to suffer.

— Then, my dear friend, said Athos, permit me to embrace you, and to depart. My dear M. de Baisemeaux, many thanks for your good will, and above all for the sample you gave me of the ordinary of the Bastille.

And, after having embraced Aramis and shaken hands with M. de Baisemeaux; after having received the good wishes for travel of both, Athos departed with d'Artagnan.

While the denouement of the scene of the Palais-Royal was accomplishing at the Bastille, let us say what was passing at the house of Athos and at Bragelonne's.

Grimaud, as we have seen, had accompanied his master to Paris; as we have said, he had assisted at the departure of Athos; he had seen d'Artagnan bite his mustaches; he had seen his master mount into the carriage; he had questioned the one and the other physiognomy, and he had known both long enough to have understood, through the mask of their impassivity, that grave events were passing.

Once Athos gone, he began to reflect. Then he recalled the strange fashion in which Athos had said farewell, the embarrassment imperceptible to any but him in this master of such clear ideas, of such straight will. He knew that Athos had taken nothing with him but what he had on, and, nevertheless, he believed he saw that Athos was not departing for an hour, not even for a day. There was a long absence in the way Athos, quitting Grimaud, had pronounced the word farewell.

All that came back to his mind with all his sentiments of profound affection for Athos, with that horror of emptiness and solitude which always occupies the imagination of those who love; all that, we say, rendered the honest Grimaud very sad and above all very uneasy.

Without accounting to himself for what he was doing since his master's departure, he wandered through the whole apartment, seeking, so to speak, the traces of his master, similar, in that, all that is good resembles itself, to the dog, who has no anxiety about his absent master, but who is bored. Only, as to the animal's instinct Grimaud joined the man's reason, Grimaud had at once boredom and anxiety.

Having found no indication to guide him, having seen or discovered nothing that might fix his doubts, Grimaud began to imagine what could have happened. Now, imagination is the resource or rather the torture of good hearts. Indeed, never does it happen that a good heart represents its friend as happy or cheerful. Never does the traveling pigeon inspire other than terror to the pigeon remained at home.

Grimaud thus passed from anxiety to terror. He recapitulated all that had passed: the letter of d'Artagnan to Athos, letter after which Athos had appeared so sorrowful; then the visit of Raoul to Athos, visit after which Athos had asked for his orders and his ceremonial habit; then that interview with the king, interview after which Athos had returned so gloomy; then that explanation between father and son, explanation after which Athos had so sadly embraced Raoul, while Raoul went so sadly home; finally the arrival of d'Artagnan biting his mustache, arrival after which M. le comte de La Fere had mounted into the carriage with d'Artagnan. All that composed a drama in five acts quite clear, especially for an analyst of Grimaud's force.

And first Grimaud had recourse to great means; he went to seek in the justaucorps left by his master the letter of M. d'Artagnan. That letter was still there, and here is what it contained:

'Dear friend, Raoul came to ask me for information on the conduct of Mlle de La Valliere during our young friend's stay in London. I, I am a poor captain of musketeers whose ears are beaten all day with barrack and boudoir talk. If I had told Raoul what I believe I know, the poor boy would have died of it; but, I who am in the king's service, cannot recount the king's affairs. If you feel inclined, march! The matter concerns you more than me and almost as much as Raoul.'

Grimaud tore out half a pinch of hair. He would have done better if his hair had been more abundant.

— There, said he, is the knot of the enigma. The young girl has done hers. What is said of her and the king is true. Our young master is deceived. He must know it. M. le comte went to the king and told him his truth. And then the king sent M. d'Artagnan to arrange the affair. Ah! my God, continued Grimaud, M. le comte returned without his sword.

This discovery brought the sweat to the brave man's brow. He did not stop longer at conjecturing, he jammed his hat on his head and ran to Raoul's lodgings.

After Louise's departure, Raoul had subdued his grief, if not his love, and, forced to look ahead on that perilous road where folly and rebellion were dragging him, he had seen at a glance his father exposed to royal resistance, since Athos had first offered that resistance.

In this moment of wholly sympathetic lucidity, the unhappy young man exactly recalled the mysterious signs of Athos, the unexpected visit of d'Artagnan, and the result of all that conflict between a prince and a subject appeared to his terrified eyes.

D'Artagnan on duty, that is to say nailed to his post, certainly did not come to Athos for the pleasure of seeing Athos. He came to tell him something. That something, in such painful conjunctures, was a misfortune or a danger. Raoul shuddered at having been egoistic, at having forgotten his father for his love, at having, in a word, sought reverie or the enjoyment of despair, when it was perhaps a question of repelling the imminent attack directed against Athos.

This sentiment made him bound. He girded his sword and ran first to his father's dwelling. On the way, he collided with Grimaud, who, departed from the opposite pole, was springing with the same ardor in search of the truth. These two men embraced one another; they were both at the same point of the parabola described by their imagination.

— Grimaud! cried Raoul.

— Monsieur Raoul! cried Grimaud.

— M. le comte is well?

— You have seen him?

— No; where is he?

— I am seeking him.

— And M. d'Artagnan?

— Gone out with him.

— When?

— Ten minutes after your departure.

— How did they go out?

— In a carriage.

— Where are they going?

— I do not know.

— My father took money?

— No.

— A sword?

— No.

— Grimaud!

— Monsieur Raoul!

— I have an idea that M. d'Artagnan came to...

— To arrest M. le comte, is it not?

— Yes, Grimaud.

— I would have sworn it!

— What road did they take?

— The road of the quays.

— The Bastille?

— Ah! my God, yes.

— Quick, let us run!

— Yes, let us run!

— But where? said Raoul suddenly with overwhelmment.

— Let us pass by M. d'Artagnan's; we shall perhaps learn something.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”