Part 18

— My lord, said the Count de La Fère, you are a noble Englishman, you are a loyal man, you speak to a noble Frenchman, to a man of heart. This gold, contained in the two barrels here, I told you it was mine; I was wrong. It is the first lie I have ever told in my life—a momentary lie, it is true. This gold is the property of King Charles II, exiled from his country, driven from his palace, orphaned at once of his father and his throne, and deprived of all things, even the sad happiness of kneeling to kiss the stone upon which the hand of his murderers wrote that simple epitaph which will cry vengeance against them eternally: 'Here lies King Charles I.'

Monck grew slightly pale, and an imperceptible shudder wrinkled his skin and bristled his gray mustache.

— I, continued Athos, I, the Count de La Fère, the only, the last faithful one remaining to the poor abandoned prince, offered him to come seek the man upon whom depends today the fate of royalty in England, and I came, and I placed myself under the gaze of that man, and I laid myself bare and disarmed in his hands, saying to him: 'My lord, here is the last resource of a prince whom God made your master, whom his birth made your king; upon you, upon you alone depend his life and his future. Will you employ this money to console England for the evils she had to suffer during the anarchy—that is to say, will you aid, or, if not aid, at least allow King Charles II to act?'

'You are the master, you are the king, master and all-powerful king, for chance sometimes undoes the work of time and of God. I am with you alone, my lord; if success frightens you when shared, if my complicity weighs upon you, you are armed, my lord, and here is a grave already dug; if, on the contrary, the enthusiasm of your cause intoxicates you, if you are what you appear to be, if your hand, in what it undertakes, obeys your mind, and your mind your heart, here is the means to forever ruin the cause of your enemy Charles Stuart: kill also the man you have before your eyes, for that man will not return to him who sent him without bringing back the deposit entrusted to him by Charles I, his father, and keep the gold which might serve to sustain civil war. Alas! my lord, such is the fatal condition of that unhappy prince. He must corrupt or he must kill; for all resists him, all repels him, all is hostile to him, and yet he is marked with the divine seal, and, so as not to belie his blood, he must remount the throne or die upon the sacred soil of his country.

'My lord, you have heard me. To any other than the illustrious man who listens to me, I should have said: 'My lord, you are poor; my lord, the king offers you this million as earnest of an immense bargain; take it and serve Charles II as I served Charles I, and I am sure that God, who hears us, who sees us, who alone reads in your heart closed to all human gaze, I am sure that God will give you a happy eternal life after a happy death.' But to General Monck, to the illustrious man whose height I believe I have measured, I say: 'My lord, there is for you in the history of peoples and of kings a brilliant place, an immortal, imperishable glory, if alone, with no other interest than the good of your country and the interest of justice, you become the support of your king. Many others have been glorious conquerors and usurpers. You, my lord, you will have been content to be the most virtuous, the most upright and the most incorruptible of men; you will have held a crown in your hand, and, instead of fitting it to your brow, you will have placed it upon the head of him for whom it was made. Oh! my lord, act thus, and you will bequeath to posterity the most envied of names that any human creature could pride himself on bearing.'

Athos stopped. During all the time the noble gentleman had spoken, Monck had given no sign of approval or disapproval; scarcely even, during that vehement address, had his eyes kindled with that fire which indicates understanding. The Count de La Fère looked at him sadly, and, seeing that gloomy face, felt discouragement penetrate to his heart.

At length Monck seemed to awaken, and, breaking the silence:

— Sir, said he in a soft and grave voice, I am going, to answer you, to make use of your own words. To any other than you, I should reply by expulsion, prison, or worse still. For, after all, you tempt me and you constrain me at once. But you are one of those men, sir, to whom one cannot refuse the attention and the consideration they deserve: you are a brave gentleman, sir, I say it and I know of what I speak. Just now, you spoke to me of a deposit which the late king transmitted for his son: are you not then one of those Frenchmen who, I have heard tell, would have carried off Charles from White Hall?

— Yes, my lord, it is I who was beneath the scaffold during the execution; I who, having been unable to ransom him, received upon my brow the blood of the martyr king; I received at the same time the last word of Charles I; it is to me he said 'Remember!' and in saying to me 'Remember!' he alluded to this gold which is at your feet, my lord.

— I have heard much spoken of you, sir, said Monck, but I am happy to have appreciated you at first by my own inspiration and not by my memories. I shall therefore give you explanations which I have given to no one, and you will appreciate the distinction I make between you and the persons who have been sent to me hitherto.

Athos bowed, preparing to drink avidly the words which fell one by one from Monck's mouth, those rare and precious words like dew in the desert.

— You spoke to me, said Monck, of King Charles II; but I pray you, sir, tell me, what is that phantom of a king to me? I have grown old in war and in politics, which are today so closely linked together that every man of the sword must fight by virtue of his right or his ambition, with a personal interest, and not blindly behind an officer, as in ordinary wars. I, perhaps, desire nothing, but I fear much. In war today resides the liberty of England, and perhaps that of every Englishman. Why would you have me, free in the position I have made for myself, go stretch my hand toward the irons of a stranger? Charles is but that for me. He has fought here battles which he lost, he is therefore a bad captain; he has succeeded in no negotiation, he is therefore a bad diplomat; he has peddled his misery through all the courts of Europe, he is therefore a weak and pusillanimous heart. Nothing noble, nothing great, nothing strong has yet issued from that genius which aspires to govern one of the greatest kingdoms of the earth. Therefore, I know this Charles only under bad aspects, and you would have me, a man of good sense, go make myself gratuitously the slave of a creature who is my inferior in military capacity, in politics, and in dignity? No, sir; when some great and noble action shall have taught me to appreciate Charles, I shall perhaps recognize his rights to a throne whose father we overthrew because he lacked the virtues which until now the son lacks; but until now, as regards rights, I recognize only my own: the revolution made me general, my sword will make me protector if I wish. Let Charles show himself, let him present himself, let him undergo the open competition of genius, and above all let him remember that he is of a race of whom more will be demanded than of any other. Thus, sir, let us speak of it no more; I neither refuse nor accept: I reserve myself, I wait.

Athos knew Monck too well informed of all that related to Charles II to push the discussion further. It was neither the hour nor the place.

— My lord, said he, I have then only to thank you.

— And for what, sir? for your having judged me well and for my having acted according to your judgment? Oh! truly, is it worth the trouble? This gold which you are going to carry to King Charles will serve me as a test for him: in seeing what he shall know to do with it, I shall doubtless form an opinion which I do not have.

— However, does not Your Honor fear compromising yourself in letting depart a sum destined to serve the arms of your enemy?

— My enemy, do you say? Eh! sir, I have no enemies, I. I am in the service of Parliament, which orders me to combat General Lambert and King Charles, its enemies and not mine; I combat therefore. If Parliament, on the contrary, ordered me to have the port of London hung with flags, to assemble the soldiers upon the shore, to receive King Charles II...

— You would obey? cried Athos with joy.

— Pardon me, said Monck smiling, I was about, I, a gray head... truly, where was my mind? I was about, I, to say a young man's folly.

— Then you would not obey? said Athos.

— I do not say that either, sir. Before all, the safety of my country. God, who was pleased to give me strength, willed doubtless that I should have that strength for the good of all, and he gave me at the same time discernment. If Parliament ordered me such a thing, I should reflect.

Athos grew dark.

— Come, said he, I see it, decidedly Your Honor is not disposed to favor King Charles II.

— You question me ever, Count sir; it is my turn, if you please.

— Do so, sir, and may God inspire you with the idea of answering me as frankly as I shall answer you!

— When you shall have carried this million back to your prince, what counsel will you give him?

Athos fixed upon Monck a proud and resolved gaze.

— My lord, said he, with this million which others would perhaps employ in negotiating, I wish to counsel the king to raise two regiments, to enter by Scotland which you have just pacified; to give the people those franchises which the revolution promised them and has not wholly kept. I shall counsel him to command in person that small army, which would swell, believe it well, and to get himself killed flag in hand and sword in sheath, saying: 'Englishmen! behold the third king of my race whom you slay: beware the justice of God!'

Monck lowered his head and dreamed an instant.

— If he succeeded, said he, which is improbable, but not impossible, for all is possible in this world, what would you counsel him?

— To think that by the will of God he lost his crown, but that by the good will of men he recovered it.

An ironical smile passed over Monck's lips.

— Unfortunately, sir, said he, kings know not how to follow good counsel.

— Ah! my lord, Charles II is not a king, replied Athos, smiling in his turn, but with a wholly different expression than Monck had worn.

— Come, let us abbreviate, Count sir... It is your wish, is it not true?

Athos bowed.

— I am going to give order that these two barrels be transported where you please. Where do you dwell, sir?

— In a small village, at the mouth of the river, Your Honor.

— Oh! I know that village; it consists of five or six houses, does it not?

— That is it. Well! I inhabit the first; two net-makers occupy it with me; it is their boat which put me ashore.

— But your vessel, sir?

— My vessel is at anchor a quarter of a mile out at sea and awaits me.

— You do not however count upon departing at once?

— My lord, I shall try yet once to convince Your Honor.

— You will not succeed, replied Monck; but it matters that you quit Newcastle without leaving there the least suspicion of your passage which could harm you or me. Tomorrow, my officers think Lambert will attack me. I, on the contrary, guarantee that he will not budge; that is to my eyes impossible. Lambert commands an army without homogeneous principles, and there is no possible army with such elements. I, I have instructed my soldiers to subordinate my authority to a superior authority, which makes that after me, around me, above me, they still attempt something. It results that, I dead, which may happen, my army will not be demoralized at once; it results that, if it pleased me to absent myself, for example, as it sometimes pleases me, there would not be in my camp the shadow of an uneasiness or of a disorder. I am the magnet, the sympathetic and natural force of the English. All those scattered irons which they will send against me, I shall draw to me.

'Lambert commands at this moment eighteen thousand deserters; but I have spoken of that to no one of my officers, you feel it well. Nothing is more useful to an army than the sentiment of a coming battle: everyone remains awake, everyone keeps guard. I tell you that to you so that you may live in full security. Do not hasten therefore to cross the sea again: within a week, there will be something new, either the battle or the settlement. Then, as you judged me an honest man and confided your secret to me, and as I have to thank you for that confidence, I shall come visit you or send for you. Depart not then before my advice; I reiterate the invitation.

— I promise you, general, cried Athos, transported with a joy so great that, despite all his circumspection, he could not prevent a spark from flashing from his eyes.

Monck surprised that flame and extinguished it at once by one of those silent smiles which always broke, in his interlocutors, the path they believed they had made into his mind.

— Thus, my lord, said Athos, it is a week that you fix me as delay?

— A week, yes, sir.

— And during this week, what shall I do?

— If there is battle, keep yourself far, I pray you. I know the French curious of those sorts of diversions; you would wish to see how we fight, and you might gather some stray ball; our Scots shoot very ill, and I will not that a worthy gentleman such as you return to the land of France wounded. I will not finally be obliged to send back myself to your prince his million left by you; for then one would say, and that with some reason, that I pay the pretender so that he may war against Parliament. Go then, sir, and let it be done between us as agreed.

— Ah! my lord, said Athos, what joy it would be for me to have penetrated first the noble heart which beats beneath that cloak.

— You believe then decidedly that I have secrets, said Monck without changing the half-playful expression of his face. Eh! sir, what secret would you have there be in the hollow head of a soldier? But it grows late, and here is our lantern going out; let us recall our man. Hola! cried Monck in French; and approaching the stair: Hola! fisherman!

The fisherman, numbed by the coolness of the night, answered in a hoarse voice, asking what they wanted of him.

— Go to the post, said Monck, and order the sergeant, in the name of General Monck, to come here forthwith.

It was an easy commission to fulfill, for the sergeant, intrigued by the presence of the general in that deserted abbey, had drawn near by degrees, and was but a few paces from the fisherman.

The general's order reached him directly, and he ran up.

— Take a horse and two men, said Monck.

— A horse and two men? repeated the sergeant.

— Yes, resumed Monck. Have you a means of procuring a horse with a pack-saddle or panniers?

— Doubtless, a hundred paces from here, at the Scottish camp.

— Good.

— What shall I do with the horse, general?

— Look.

The sergeant descended the three or four steps which separated him from Monck and appeared beneath the vault.

— You see, said Monck to him, yonder where that gentleman is?

— Yes, my general.

— You see those two barrels?

— Perfectly.

— They are two barrels containing, one powder, the other balls; I would have these barrels transported to the small village which is on the bank of the river, and which I count upon occupying tomorrow with two hundred muskets. You understand that the commission is secret, for it is a movement which may decide the gain of the battle.

— Oh! my general, murmured the sergeant.

— Good! Have then these two barrels fastened upon the horse, and let them be escorted, two men and you, to the house of that gentleman, who is my friend; but you understand, that no one know of it.

— I should pass by the marsh if I knew a path, said the sergeant.

— I know one, said Athos; it is not wide, but it is solid, having been made upon piles, and, with precaution, we shall arrive.

— Do what that horseman orders you, said Monck.

— Oh! oh! the barrels are heavy, said the sergeant, who tried to lift one.

— They weigh four hundred pounds each, if they contain what they should contain, do they not, sir?

— About that, said Athos.

The sergeant went to seek the horse and the men. Monck, left alone with Athos, affected to speak to him no more save of indifferent things, while examining distractedly the vault. Then, hearing the step of the horse:

— I leave you with your men, sir, said he, and return to the camp. You are in safety.

— I shall see you again then, my lord? asked Athos.

— It is a thing said, sir, and with great pleasure.

Monck held out his hand to Athos.

— Ah! my lord, if you would! murmured Athos.

— Hush! sir, said Monck, it is agreed that we shall speak of it no more.

And, saluting Athos, he remounted, crossing in the middle of the stairway his men who were descending. He had not made twenty paces outside the abbey when a little distant and prolonged whistle was heard. Monck pricked up his ear; but seeing nothing more, he continued his route. Then he remembered the fisherman and sought him with his eyes, but the fisherman had disappeared. If he had however looked with more attention than he did, he would have seen that man bent double, gliding like a serpent along the stones and losing himself in the midst of the mist, grazing the surface of the marsh; he would have seen equally, attempting to pierce that mist, a spectacle which would have attracted his attention: it was the mast of the fisherman's boat which had changed place, and which was then nearest the bank of the river. But Monck saw nothing and, thinking he had nothing to fear, he engaged upon the deserted causeway which led to his camp. It was then that this disappearance of the fisherman seemed strange to him, and that a real suspicion began to besiege his mind. He had just put at Athos's orders the only post which could protect him. He had a mile of causeway to cross to regain his camp.

The fog rose with such intensity that one could scarcely distinguish objects at a distance of ten paces.

Monck then thought he heard like the noise of an oar which beat dully upon the marsh to his right.

— Who goes there? he cried.

But no one answered. Then he primed his pistol, put his sword in hand, and quickened his pace without however wishing to call anyone. That call, whose urgency was not absolute, seemed to him unworthy of himself.

Chapter XXVII — The Next Day

It was seven o'clock in the morning: the first rays of day lit the ponds, in which the sun was reflected like a reddened cannonball, when Athos, waking and opening the window of his bedchamber which gave upon the banks of the river, perceived at about fifteen paces' distance the sergeant and the men who had accompanied him the evening before, and who, after having deposited the barrels at his house, had returned to the camp by the right causeway.

Why, after returning to the camp, had these men come back? That is the question which suddenly presented itself to Athos's mind.

The sergeant, head high, seemed to watch for the moment when the gentleman should appear in order to accost him. Athos, surprised to find there those he had seen withdraw the evening before, could not prevent himself from testifying his astonishment.

— That is nothing surprising, sir, said the sergeant, for yesterday the general recommended me to watch over your safety, and I had to obey that order.

— Is the general at the camp? asked Athos.

— Doubtless, sir, since you left him yesterday going thither.

— Well! wait for me; I am going there to render account of the fidelity with which you fulfilled your mission and to take back my sword, which I forgot yesterday upon the table.

— That falls marvelously, said the sergeant, for we were going to ask you for it.

Athos thought he remarked a certain air of equivocal simplicity upon the face of that sergeant; but the adventure of the subterranean might have excited the curiosity of that man, and it was not surprising then that he let appear upon his face a little of the sentiments which agitated his mind. Athos therefore carefully closed the doors, and confided the keys to Grimaud, who had elected his dwelling beneath the lean-to which led to the cellar where the barrels had been locked up.

The sergeant escorted the Count de La Fère to the camp. There, a new guard awaited and relieved the four men who had conducted Athos.

This new guard was commanded by the aide-de-camp Digby, who, during the passage, fixed upon Athos looks so little encouraging that the Frenchman asked himself whence came toward him that vigilance and that severity, when the evening before he had been so perfectly free.

He nonetheless continued his road toward the headquarters, enclosing within himself the observations which men and things forced him to make. He found under the tent of the general where he had been introduced the evening before three superior officers; they were Monck's lieutenant and two colonels. Athos recognized his sword; it was still upon the general's table, at the place where he had left it the evening before.

None of the officers had seen Athos, none consequently knew him. The lieutenant of Monck asked then, at the sight of Athos, if that was indeed the same gentleman with whom the general had gone out of the tent.

— Yes, Your Honor, said the sergeant, it is he himself.

— But, said Athos with haughtiness, I do not deny it, it seems to me; and now, gentlemen, for my turn, permit me to ask you what is the use of all these questions, and above all some explanations upon the tone with which you ask them.

— Sir, said the lieutenant, if we address these questions to you, it is that we have the right to make them, and if we make them to you with that tone, it is that that tone befits, believe me, the situation.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”