Part 23

— Pardon, it was duke that I meant to say. You see, if I make a mistake, it is because the word duke is still too short for me... I am always looking for a title that will lengthen it... I should like to see you so near my throne that I might say to you, as Louis XIV did: My brother. Oh! I have it, and you shall be almost my brother, for I make you viceroy of Ireland and Scotland, my dear duke... In this way, henceforth, I shall make no more mistakes.

The duke took the king's hand, but without enthusiasm, without joy, as he did everything. However, his heart had been stirred by this last favor. Charles, skillfully managing his generosity, had left the duke time to desire... though he could not have desired as much as was given him.

— God's blood! grumbled d'Artagnan, there is the shower beginning again. Oh! it is enough to drive one out of one's wits.

And he turned with so contrite and so comically sheepish an air that the king could not restrain a smile. Monck was preparing to leave the cabinet to take his leave of Charles.

— Well! what! my liege, said the king to the duke, are you leaving?

— If it please Your Majesty; for, in truth, I am very weary... The emotion of the day has exhausted me: I need rest.

— But, said the king, you are not leaving without M. d'Artagnan, I hope!

— Why, Sire? said the old warrior.

— But, said the king, you know well why.

Monck looked at Charles with astonishment.

— I beg Your Majesty's pardon, said he, I do not know... what you mean.

— Oh! that is possible; but if you forget, you, M. d'Artagnan does not forget.

Astonishment was painted on the musketeer's face.

— Come, duke, said the king, are you not lodged with M. d'Artagnan?

— I have the honor of offering lodging to M. d'Artagnan, yes, Sire.

— Did that idea come to you of your own accord and alone?

— Of my own accord and alone, yes, Sire.

— Well! but it could not have been otherwise... The prisoner is always at the house of his conqueror.

Monck reddened in his turn.

— Ah! it is true, I am prisoner of M. d'Artagnan.

— No doubt, Monck, since you have not yet ransomed yourself; but do not trouble yourself, it is I who tore you from M. d'Artagnan, it is I who will pay your ransom.

D'Artagnan's eyes regained their gaiety and their brightness; the Gascon was beginning to understand. Charles advanced toward him.

— The general, said he, is not rich and could not pay you what he is worth. I, I am certainly richer; but now that he is a duke, and if not king, at least almost king, he is worth a sum that I perhaps could not pay. Come, M. d'Artagnan, spare me: how much do I owe you?

D'Artagnan, delighted at the turn things were taking, but perfectly self-possessed, replied:

— Sire, Your Majesty is wrong to alarm yourself. When I had the good fortune to take His Grace, M. Monck was but a general; it is therefore only a general's ransom that is due me. But let the general deign to return me his sword, and I hold myself paid, for there is nothing in the world but the general's sword that is worth as much as himself.

— Odds fish! as my father used to say, cried Charles II; that is a gallant speech and a gallant man, is it not, duke?

— Upon my honor! answered the duke, yes, Sire.

And he drew his sword.

— Sir, said he to d'Artagnan, there is what you ask. Many have borne better blades; but, modest as mine is, I have never yielded it to anyone.

D'Artagnan took with pride that sword which had made a king.

— Oh! oh! cried Charles II: what! a sword that restored me my throne would leave my kingdom and not one day figure among the jewels of my crown? No, upon my soul! that shall not be! Captain d'Artagnan, I give two hundred thousand livres for this sword: if that is too little, tell me so.

— It is too little, Sire, replied d'Artagnan with an inimitable seriousness. And first I do not wish to sell it; but Your Majesty desires, and that is an order. I obey then; but the respect I owe the illustrious warrior who hears me commands me to value the pledge of my victory at a third more. I ask therefore three hundred thousand livres for the sword, or I give it for nothing to Your Majesty.

And, taking it by the point, he presented it to the king. Charles II burst out laughing.

— Gallant man and merry companion! Odds fish! is it not, duke? is it not, count? He pleases me and I love him. Here, Chevalier d'Artagnan, said he, take this.

And, going to a table, he took a pen and wrote a draft for three hundred thousand livres on his treasurer.

D'Artagnan took it, and turning gravely toward Monck:

— I asked too little, I know it, said he; but believe me, Monsieur le Duc, I would rather have died than be guided by avarice.

The king began laughing again like the happiest cockney in his kingdom.

— You will come see me before leaving, chevalier, said he; I shall need a provision of gaiety, now that my Frenchmen are about to be gone.

— Ah! Sire, it shall not be with the gaiety as with the duke's sword, and I shall give it gratis to Your Majesty, replied d'Artagnan, whose feet no longer touched the ground.

— And you, count, added Charles turning toward Athos, come back too, I have an important message to entrust to you. Your hand, duke.

Monck pressed the king's hand.

— Farewell, gentlemen, said Charles, extending each of his hands to the two Frenchmen, who laid their lips upon them.

— Well! said Athos when they were outside, are you content?

— Hush! said d'Artagnan, all aflutter with joy; I am not yet back from the treasurer's... the gutter may fall on my head.

Chapter XXXIV — Of the Embarrassment of Riches

D'Artagnan lost no time, and as soon as the thing was fitting and opportune, he paid a visit to the lord treasurer of His Majesty.

He then had the satisfaction of exchanging a piece of paper, covered with a very ugly handwriting, for a prodigious quantity of crowns freshly struck with the effigy of His Most Gracious Majesty Charles II.

D'Artagnan could easily master himself; nevertheless, on this occasion, he could not refrain from showing a joy that the reader will perhaps understand, if he deign to have some indulgence for a man who, since his birth, had never seen so many coins and rolls of coins juxtaposed in an order truly pleasing to the eye. The treasurer locked all those rolls in sacks, sealed each sack with a stamp bearing the arms of England, a favor that treasurers do not grant to everyone.

Then, impassive and just as polite as he ought to be toward a man honored with the king's friendship, he said to d'Artagnan:

— Take away your money, sir.

Your money! That word made a thousand strings vibrate that d'Artagnan had never felt in his heart. He had the sacks loaded on a small cart and returned home meditating profoundly. A man who possesses three hundred thousand livres can no longer have a smooth brow: one wrinkle for each hundred thousand livres is not too many.

D'Artagnan shut himself in, did not dine, refused his door to everyone, and, the lamp lit, the pistol primed upon the table, he kept watch all night, dreaming of a means to prevent those fine crowns, which from the royal coffer had passed into his own coffers, from passing from his coffers into the pocket of some thief or other. The best means the Gascon found was to lock up his treasure momentarily under locks solid enough that no wrist should break them, complicated enough that no common key should open them.

D'Artagnan remembered that the English are past masters in mechanics and in preservative industry; he resolved to go the next day in search of a mechanic who would sell him a strongbox. He did not go far. The sieur Will Jobson, residing in Piccadilly, listened to his proposals, understood his predicaments, and promised him to make a safety lock that would deliver him from all fear for the future.

— I will give you, said he, a wholly new mechanism. At the first somewhat serious attempt made upon your lock, an invisible plate will open, a likewise invisible little cannon will spew a pretty brass ball weighing a mark, which will knock down the blunderer, not without notable noise. What think you of that?

— I say that is truly ingenious, cried d'Artagnan; the little brass ball pleases me verily. Come, master mechanic, the terms?

— Fifteen days for execution, and fifteen thousand livres payable on delivery, answered the artist.

D'Artagnan frowned. Fifteen days was a sufficient delay for all the knaves of London to have made disappear in his house the need for a strongbox. As for the fifteen thousand livres, it was paying dear for what a little vigilance would procure him for nothing.

— I will reflect, said he; thank you, sir.

And he returned home at a run; no one had yet approached the treasure.

The same day, Athos came to visit his friend and found him so worried that he expressed his surprise.

— How! you are rich, said he, and not gay! you who desired wealth so much...

— My friend, pleasures to which one is not accustomed embarrass more than the sorrows one was used to. Your advice, if you please. I may ask you that, you who have always had money: when one has money, what does one do with it?

— It depends.

— What did you do with yours, that it made of you neither a miser nor a spendthrift? For avarice dries up the heart, and prodigality drowns it... is it not?

— Fabricius would not speak more justly. But, in truth, my money never embarrassed me.

— Come, do you place it in the funds?

— No; you know I have a rather fine house and that this house composes the best of my wealth.

— I know it.

— So that you will be as rich as I, richer even when you wish, by the same means.

— But the revenues, do you collect them?

— No.

— What think you of a hiding place in a solid wall?

— I never made use of one.

— That is because then you have some confidant, some sure man of business, who pays you interest at an honest rate.

— Not at all.

— Good God! what do you do then?

— I spend all I have, and I have only what I spend, my dear d'Artagnan.

— Ah! there it is. But you are a bit of a prince, you, and fifteen to sixteen thousand livres of income melt in your fingers; and then you have offices, representation.

— But I do not see that you are much less a great lord than I, my friend, and your money will just suffice you.

— Three hundred thousand livres! There are two thirds of superfluity there.

— Pardon, but it seemed to me you had told me... I thought I heard, in short... I fancied you had a partner...

— Ah! God's blood! it is true! cried d'Artagnan reddening, there is Planchet. I forgot Planchet, upon my life!... Well! there are my hundred thousand crowns encroached upon... It is a pity, the figure was round, well sounding... It is true, Athos, I am no longer rich at all. What a memory you have!

— Good enough, yes, thank God!

— That good Planchet, grumbled d'Artagnan, he did not have a bad dream there. What a speculation, plague! After all, what is said is said.

— How much do you give him?

— Oh! said d'Artagnan, he is not a bad fellow, I shall always arrange well with him; I had trouble, you see, expenses, all that must enter into the account.

— My dear, I am quite sure of you, said Athos tranquilly, and I am not afraid for this good Planchet; his interests are better in your hands than in his own; but now that you have nothing more to do here, we shall leave if you will trust me. You will go thank His Majesty, ask his orders, and, in six days, we may perceive the towers of Notre-Dame.

— My friend, I burn indeed to depart, and this instant I go present my respects to the king.

— I, said Athos, I am going to salute some persons about the town, and then I am at your service.

— Will you lend me Grimaud?

— With all my heart... What do you count on doing with him?

— Something very simple and which will not tire him, I shall beg him to guard my pistols which are on the table, beside the coffers here.

— Very well, replied Athos imperturbably.

— And he will not stray, will he?

— No more than the pistols themselves.

— Then, I am off to His Majesty. Farewell.

D'Artagnan arrived indeed at the palace of St. James's, where Charles II, who was writing his correspondence, made him wait in the antechamber a good hour.

D'Artagnan, while walking in the gallery, from doors to windows, and from windows to doors, thought he plainly saw a cloak like Athos's cross the vestibules; but at the moment he was about to verify the fact, the usher called him to His Majesty.

Charles II was rubbing his hands while receiving our friend's thanks.

— Chevalier, said he, you are wrong to be grateful to me; I have not paid a quarter of what the story of the box is worth, in which you put that brave general... I mean that excellent duke of Albemarle.

And the king laughed heartily.

D'Artagnan thought he ought not interrupt His Majesty and made himself modestly small.

— By the way, continued Charles, has he truly forgiven you, my dear Monck?

— Forgiven! but I hope so, Sire.

— Eh!... it is that the trick was cruel... Odds fish! to barrel up like a herring the first personage of the English revolution! In your place, I would not trust to it, chevalier.

— But, Sire...

— I know well that Monck calls you his friend... But he has the eye too deep not to have memory, and the brow too high not to be very proud; you know, grande supercilium.

"I shall learn Latin, surely," said d'Artagnan to himself.

— See here, cried the king enchanted, I must arrange your reconciliation; I shall know how to go about it so that...

D'Artagnan bit his mustache.

— Does Your Majesty permit me to tell him the truth?

— Speak, chevalier, speak.

— Well! Sire, you fill me with awful fear... If Your Majesty arranges my affair, as he seems to wish, I am a lost man, the duke will have me assassinated.

The king broke into a new fit of laughter, which changed d'Artagnan's fright into terror.

— Sire, I beg you, promise me to let me conduct this negotiation; and then, if you have no further need of my services...

— No, chevalier. You wish to leave? answered Charles with a hilarity more and more alarming.

— If Your Majesty has nothing more to ask of me.

Charles became almost serious again.

— One thing only. See my sister, lady Henriette. Does she know you?

— No, Sire; but... an old soldier like me is not an agreeable spectacle for a young and merry princess.

— I wish, I tell you, that my sister know you; I wish that she be able, if need be, to count on you.

— Sire, all that is dear to Your Majesty shall be sacred to me.

— Good... Parry! come, my good Parry.

The side door opened, and Parry entered, his face radiant as soon as he had perceived the chevalier.

— What is Rochester doing? said the king.

— He is on the canal with the ladies, replied Parry.

— And Buckingham?

— Also.

— That is for the best. You will conduct the chevalier near Villiers... that is the duke of Buckingham, chevalier... and you will pray the duke to present M. d'Artagnan to lady Henriette.

Parry bowed and smiled at d'Artagnan.

— Chevalier, continued the king, this is your leave-taking audience; you may then depart when you please.

— Sire, thank you!

— But make your peace well with Monck.

— Oh! Sire...

— You know there is one of my vessels at your disposal?

— But, Sire, you overwhelm me, and I shall never suffer that officers of Your Majesty trouble themselves for me.

The king tapped d'Artagnan on the shoulder.

— No one troubles himself for you, chevalier, but for an ambassador I am sending to France and to whom you will willingly, I believe, serve as companion, for you know him.

D'Artagnan looked astonished.

— It is a certain count de La Fère... him you call Athos, added the king, ending the conversation as he had begun it, with a merry burst of laughter. Farewell, chevalier, farewell! Love me as I love you.

And thereupon, making a sign to Parry to ask him if someone were not waiting in a neighboring cabinet, the king disappeared into that cabinet, leaving the place to the chevalier, quite dizzy from this singular audience.

The old man took his arm amicably and led him toward the gardens.

Chapter XXXV — On the Canal

On the canal with waters of an opaque green, bordered by marble copings where time had already sown its black stains and tufts of mossy grass, there glided majestically a long flat barge, decked with the arms of England, surmounted by a canopy and hung with long damask cloths that trailed their fringes in the water. Eight rowers, leaning heavily on the oars, moved it along the canal with the gracious slowness of swans, who, troubled in their ancient possession by the wake of the barge, watched from afar this splendor and this noise pass by. We say this noise, for the barge enclosed four players of guitar and lute, two singers and several courtiers, all bedizened with gold and precious stones, who showed their white teeth emulously to please lady Stuart, granddaughter of Henri IV, daughter of Charles I, sister of Charles II, who occupied under the canopy of this barge the place of honor. We know this young princess, we have seen her at the Louvre with her mother, lacking wood, lacking bread, nourished by the coadjutor and the parliaments. She had therefore, like her brothers, passed a hard youth; then all at once she had just awakened from that long and horrible dream, seated on the steps of a throne, surrounded by courtiers and flatterers.

Like Mary Stuart on leaving prison, she was therefore breathing in life and liberty, and, moreover, power and wealth.

Lady Henriette in growing up had become a remarkable beauty whom the restoration which had just taken place had made celebrated. Misfortune had taken from her the brightness of pride, but prosperity had just given it back to her. She shone in her joy and her well-being, like those greenhouse flowers which, forgotten for a night in the first frosts of autumn, have bent their heads, but which the next day, warmed by the atmosphere in which they were born, rise up more splendid than ever. Lord Villiers of Buckingham, son of him who plays so celebrated a role in the first chapters of this history, lord Villiers of Buckingham, a handsome cavalier, melancholy with women, laughing with men, and Vilmot of Rochester, laughing with both sexes, were at that moment standing before lady Henriette, and disputed the privilege of making her smile.

As for this young and beautiful princess, leaning against a cushion of gold-embroidered velvet, her hands inert and hanging, dipping in the water, she listened nonchalantly to the musicians without hearing them, and she heard the two courtiers without seeming to listen to them. That was because lady Henriette, this creature full of charms, this woman who joined the graces of France to those of England, having not yet loved, was cruel in her coquetry.

Also the smile, that naive favor of young girls, did not even light up her face, and if at times she raised her eyes, it was to fix them with such steadiness on one or the other cavalier, that their gallantry, however shameless it ordinarily was, grew alarmed at it and became timid.

However the boat moved ever on, the musicians made a rage, and the courtiers began to puff like them. Besides, the promenade appeared no doubt monotonous to the princess, for, suddenly shaking her head with impatience:

— Come, said she, enough of that, gentlemen, let us return.

— Ah! madame, said Buckingham, we are very unhappy, we could not succeed in making the walk agreeable to Your Highness.

— My mother awaits me, answered lady Henriette; then, I will avow it frankly, gentlemen, I am bored.

And while saying this cruel word, the princess tried to console with a look each of the two young men, who appeared consternated at such frankness. The look produced its effect, the two faces brightened; but immediately, as if the royal coquette had thought she had just done too much for simple mortals, she made a movement, turned her back on her two orators and seemed to plunge into a reverie in which it was evident they had no part. Buckingham bit his lips with anger, for he was truly in love with lady Henriette, and, in that capacity, took everything seriously. Rochester bit his too; but, as his mind always dominated his heart, it was purely and simply to repress a malicious burst of laughter. The princess therefore let wander over the bank with its fine and flowered turf her eyes, which she turned away from the two young men. She perceived afar Parry and d'Artagnan.

— Who comes there? she asked.

The two young men turned about with the rapidity of lightning.

— Parry, answered Buckingham, nothing but Parry.

— Pardon, said Rochester, but I see him a companion, it seems to me.

— Yes at first, resumed the princess with languor; then, what do these words mean: "Nothing but Parry," say, my lord?

— Because, madame, replied Buckingham piqued, because the faithful Parry, the wandering Parry, the eternal Parry, is not, I believe, of great importance.

— You are mistaken, Monsieur le Duc: Parry, the wandering Parry, as you say, has always wandered for the service of my family, and to see this old man is always for me a sweet spectacle.

Lady Henriette followed the progression ordinary to pretty women, and above all to coquettish women; she passed from caprice to contrariety; the gallant had undergone the caprice, the courtier must bend under the provoking humor.

Buckingham bowed, but answered not.

— It is true, madame, said Rochester bowing in his turn, that Parry is the model of servants; but, madame, he is no longer young, and we, we laugh only at seeing gay things. Is an old man gay?

— Enough, my lord, said lady Henriette dryly, this subject of conversation wounds me.

Then, as speaking to herself:

— It is truly unheard of, continued she, how little my brother's friends have regard for his servants!

— Ah! madame, cried Buckingham, Your Grace pierces my heart with a poignard forged by her own hands.

— What does that phrase turned in the manner of a French madrigal mean, Monsieur le Duc? I do not comprehend it.

— It means, madame, that you yourself, so good, so charming, so sensible, have sometimes laughed, pardon, I wished to say smiled, at the futile dotages of this good Parry, for whom Your Highness shows today so marvelous a susceptibility.

— Well! my lord, said lady Henriette, if I forgot myself to that point, you are wrong to remind me of it.

And she made a movement of impatience.

— This good Parry wishes to speak to me, I believe. Monsieur de Rochester, have them bring the boat alongside, I pray you.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”