Ah! Very well, they will be dead, then, Monsieur d’Artagnan, and that will come to the same thing, since I should only take them to have them hanged. that I would one day be an affectionate, generous, and constant master. You are now the only man of former times worthy of my anger or my friendship. I will not spare you either sentiment, according to your conduct. Could you serve a king, Monsieur d’Artagnan, who should have a hundred kings, his equals, in the kingdom? Could I, tell me, do with such weak instruments the great things I meditate? Did you ever see an artist effect great works with an unworthy tool? Far from us, monsieur, the old leaven of feudal abuse! The Fronde, which threatened to ruin monarchy, has emancipated it. I am master at home, Captain d’Artagnan, and I shall have servants who, lacking, perhaps, your genius, will carry devotion and obedience to the verge of heroism. Of what consequence, I ask you, of what consequence is it that God has given no sense to arms and legs? It is to the head he has given genius, and the head, you know, the rest obey. I am the head. Now, let us conclude between us two the bargain I promised to make with you one day when you found me in a very strange predicament at Blois. Do me justice, monsieur, when you admit I do not make any one pay for the tears of shame that I then shed. Look around you; lofty heads have bowed. Bow yours, or choose such exile as will suit you. Perhaps, when reflecting upon it, you will find your king has a generous heart, who reckons sufficiently upon your loyalty to allow you to leave him dissatisfied, when you possess a great state secret. You are a brave man; I know you to be so. Why have you judged me prematurely? Judge me from this day forward, D’Artagnan, and be as severe as you please. Come, let us see what stops you? You have given in your resignation; shall I refuse to accept it? I admit that it may be hard for such an old captain to recover lost good-humor.


Oh! that is not my most serious care. I hesitate to take back my resignation because I am old in comparison with you, and have habits difficult to abandon. Henceforward, you must have courtiers who know how to amuse you--madmen who will get themselves killed to carry out what you call your great works. Great they will be, I feel--but, if by chance I should not think them so? I have seen war, sire, I have seen peace; I have served Richelieu and Mazarin; I have been scorched with your father, at the fire of Rochelle; riddled with sword-thrusts like a sieve, having grown a new skin ten times, as serpents do. After affronts and injustices, I have a command which was formerly something, because it gave the bearer the right of speaking as he liked to his king. But your captain of the musketeers will henceforward be an officer guarding the outer doors. Truly, sire, if that is to be my employment from this time, seize the opportunity of our being on good terms, to take it from me. Do not imagine that I bear malice; no, you have tamed me, as you say; but it must be confessed that in taming me you have lowered me; by bowing me you have convicted me of weakness. If you knew how well it suits me to carry my head high, and what a pitiful mien I shall have while scenting the dust of your carpets! Oh! sire, I regret sincerely, and you will regret as I do, the old days when the king of France saw in every vestibule those insolent gentlemen, lean, always swearing--cross-grained mastiffs, who could bite mortally in the hour of danger or of battle. These men were the best of courtiers to the hand which fed them--they would lick it; but for the hand that struck them, oh! the bite that followed! A little gold on the lace of their cloaks, a slender stomach in their hauts-de-chausses, a little sparkling of gray in their dry hair, and you will behold the handsome dukes and peers, the haughty marechaux of France. But why should I tell you all this? The king is master; he wills that I should make verses, he wills that I should polish the mosaics of his ante-chambers with satin shoes. Mordioux! that is difficult, but I have got over greater difficulties. I will do it. Why should I do it? Because I love money?--I have enough. Because I am ambitious?--my career is almost at an end. Because I love the court? No. I will remain here because I have been accustomed for thirty years to go and take the orderly word of the king, and to have said to me ‘Good evening, D’Artagnan,’ with a smile I did not beg for. That smile I will beg for! Are you content, sire?


Thanks, my old servant, my faithful friend. As, reckoning from this day, I have no longer any enemies in France, it remains with me to send you to a foreign field to gather your marshal’s baton. Depend upon me for finding you an opportunity. In the meanwhile, eat of my very best bread, and sleep in absolute tranquillity.


That is all kind and well! But those poor men at Belle-Isle? One of them, in particular--so good! so brave! so true!


Do you ask their pardon of me?


Upon my knees, sire!


Well! then, go and take it to them, if it be still in time. But do you answer for them?


With my life, sire.


Go, then. To-morrow I set out for Paris. Return by that time, for I do not wish you to leave me in the future.


Be assured of that, sire,


What is the matter, D’Artagnan?


Sire, a great misfortune has happened to me.


Good heavens! what is that?


Sire, I have lost one of my friends, M. du Vallon, in the affair of Belle-Isle.


I knew it,


You knew it, and did not tell me!


To what good? Your grief, my friend, was so well worthy of respect. It was my duty to treat it gently. To have informed you of this misfortune, which I knew would pain you so greatly, D’Artagnan, would have been, in your eyes, to have triumphed over you. Yes, I knew that M. du Vallon had buried himself beneath the rocks of Locmaria; I knew that M. d’Herblay had taken one of my vessels with its crew, and had compelled it to convey him to Bayonne. But I was willing you should learn these matters in a direct manner, in order that you might be convinced my friends are with me respected and sacred; that always in me the man will sacrifice himself to subjects, whilst the king is so often found to sacrifice men to majesty and power.


But, sire, how could you know?


How do you yourself know, D’Artagnan?


By this letter, sire, which M. d’Herblay, free and out of danger, writes me from Bayonne.


Look here, here is a letter copied exactly from that of M. d’Herblay. Here is the very letter, which Colbert placed in my hands a week before you received yours. I am well served, you may perceive.


Yes, sire, you were the only man whose star was equal to the task of dominating the fortune and strength of my two friends. You have used your power, sire, you will not abuse it, will you?


D’Artagnan. I could have M. d’Herblay carried off from the territories of the king of Spain, and brought here, alive, to inflict justice upon him. But, D’Artagnan, be assured I will not yield to this first and natural impulse. He is free--let him continue free.


Oh, sire! you will not always remain so clement, so noble, so generous as you have shown yourself with respect to me and M. d’Herblay; you will have about you counselors who will cure you of that weakness.


No, D’Artagnan, you are mistaken when you accuse my council of urging me to pursue rigorous measures. The advice to spare M. d’Herblay comes from Colbert himself.


Oh, sire!


As for you. I have several pieces of good news to announce to you; but you shall know them, my dear captain, the moment I have made my accounts all straight. I have said that I wish to make, and would make, your fortune; that promise will soon become reality.


A thousand times thanks, sire! I can wait. But I implore you, whilst I go and practice patience, that your majesty will deign to notice those poor people who have for so long a time besieged your ante-chamber, and come humbly to lay a petition at your feet.


Who are they?


Enemies of your majesty. Friends of M. Fouquet,


Their names?


M. Gourville, M. Pelisson, and a poet, M. Jean de la Fontaine.


What do they want?


I do not know.


How do they appear?


In great affliction.


What do they say?


Nothing.


What do they do?


They weep.


Let them come in,


Enter.


Speak; Monsieur Pelisson. Monsieur Gourville, and you, Monsieur-- I cannot, without sensible displeasure, see you come to plead for one of the greatest criminals it is the duty of justice to punish. A king does not allow himself to soften save at the tears of the innocent, the remorse of the guilty. I have no faith either in the remorse of M. Fouquet or the tears of his friends, because the one is tainted to the very heart, and the others ought to dread offending me in my own palace. For these reasons, I beg you, Monsieur Pelisson, Monsieur Gourville, and you, Monsieur--, to say nothing that will not plainly proclaim the respect you have for my will.


Sire, we are come to say nothing to your majesty that is not the most profound expression of the most sincere respect and love that are due to a king from all his subjects. Your majesty’s justice is redoubtable; every one must yield to the sentences it pronounces. We respectfully bow before it. Far from us the idea of coming to defend him who has had the misfortune to offend your majesty. He who has incurred your displeasure may be a friend of ours, but he is an enemy to the state. We abandon him, but with tears, to the severity of the king.


Besides, my parliament will decide. I do not strike without first having weighed the crime; my justice does not wield the sword without employing first a pair of scales.


Therefore we have every confidence in that impartiality of the king, and hope to make our feeble voices heard, with the consent of your majesty, when the hour for defending an accused friend strikes.


In that case, messieurs, what do you ask of me?


Sire, the accused has a wife and family. The little property he had was scarcely sufficient to pay his debts, and Madame Fouquet, since her husband’s captivity, is abandoned by everybody. The hand of your majesty strikes like the hand of God. When the Lord sends the curse of leprosy or pestilence into a family, every one flies and shuns the abode of the leprous or plague-stricken. Sometimes, but very rarely, a generous physician alone ventures to approach the ill-reputed threshold, passes it with courage, and risks his life to combat death. He is the last resource of the dying, the chosen instrument of heavenly mercy. Sire, we supplicate you, with clasped hands and bended knees, as a divinity is supplicated! Madame Fouquet has no longer any friends, no longer any means of support; she weeps in her deserted home, abandoned by all those who besieged its doors in the hour of prosperity; she has neither credit nor hope left. At least, the unhappy wretch upon whom your anger falls receives from you, however culpable he may be, his daily bread though moistened by his tears. As much afflicted, more destitute than her husband, Madame Fouquet--the lady who had the honor to receive your majesty at her table--Madame Fouquet, the wife of the ancient superintendent of your majesty’s finances, Madame Fouquet has no longer bread.


What do you wish?


We come humbly to ask your majesty, to permit us, without incurring the displeasure of your majesty, to lend to Madame Fouquet two thousand pistoles collected among the old friends of her husband, in order that the widow may not stand in need of the necessaries of life.


God forbid,


Well. Well, my master! If you had not the device which belongs to your sun, I would recommend you one which M. Conrart might translate into eclectic Latin, ‘Calm with the lowly; stormy with the strong.’


This is why. I have left all my property, movable, or immovable, comprised in the above enumerations, to M. le Vicomte Raoul Auguste Jules de Bragelonne, son of M. le Comte de la Fere, to console him for the grief he seems to suffer, and enable him to add more luster to his already glorious name. On condition that M. le Vicomte de Bragelonne do give to M. le Chevalier d’Artagnan, captain of the king’s musketeers, whatever the said Chevalier d’Artagnan may demand of my property. On condition that M. le Vicomte de Bragelonne do pay a good pension to M. le Chevalier d’Herblay, my friend, if he should need it in exile. I leave to my intendant Mousqueton all of my clothes, of city, war, or chase, to the number of forty-seven suits, in the assurance that he will wear them till they are worn out, for the love of and in remembrance of his master. Moreover, I bequeath to M. le Vicomte de Bragelonne my old servant and faithful friend Mousqueton, already named, providing that the said vicomte shall so act that Mousqueton shall declare, when dying, he has never ceased to be happy.


Mousqueton, my good friend, go and make your preparations. I will take you with me to Athos’s house, whither I shall go on leaving Pierrefonds.


Porthos had indeed a heart,


My God! he does not stir--he has fainted!


Monsieur le comte, I crave your pardon, but I have a reproach to make you--you shall hear me.


What is the matter, doctor?


The matter is, you are ill, monsieur, and have had no advice.


I! ill!


Fever, consumption, weakness, decay, monsieur le comte!


Weakness! is it possible? I do not get up.


Come, come! monsieur le comte, no subterfuges; you are a good Christian?


I hope so,


Is it your wish to kill yourself?


Never, doctor.


Well! monsieur, you are in a fair way of doing so. Thus to remain is suicide. Get well! monsieur le comte, get well!


Of what? Find the disease first. For my part, I never knew myself better; never did the sky appear more blue to me; never did I take more care of my flowers.


You have a hidden grief.


Concealed!--not at all; the absence of my son, doctor; that is my malady, and I do not conceal it.


Monsieur le comte, your son lives, he is strong, he has all the future before him--the future of men of merit, of his race; live for him--


But I do live, doctor; oh! be satisfied of that, for as long as Raoul lives, it will be plainly known, for as long as he lives, I shall live.


What do you say?


A very simple thing. At this moment, doctor, I leave life suspended within me. A forgetful, dissipated, indifferent life would be beyond my strength, now I have no longer Raoul with me. You do not ask the lamp to burn when the match has not illumed the flame; do not ask me to live amidst noise and merriment. I vegetate, I prepare myself, I wait. Look, doctor; remember those soldiers we have so often seen together at the ports, where they were waiting to embark; lying down, indifferent, half on one element, half on the other; they were neither at the place where the sea was going to carry them, nor at the place the earth was going to lose them; baggage prepared, minds on the stretch, arms stacked--they waited. I repeat it, the word is the one which paints my present life. Lying down like the soldiers, my ear on the stretch for the report that may reach me, I wish to be ready to set out at the first summons. Who will make me that summons? life or death? God or Raoul? My baggage is packed, my soul is prepared, I await the signal--I wait, doctor, I wait!


What is the matter?


What afflicts me is the death of Porthos, ever so dear a friend. I suffer here the grief you soon will feel at home.


The writing of Aramis. Porthos is dead! Oh! Raoul, Raoul! thanks! thou keepest thy promise, thou warnest me!


This is very strange!


Let us stop, monsieur--I conjure you! how pale you are getting!


That will not prevent my pursuing my route, now I have once started. Something, wills that I should go no further. Support me, quick! come closer! I feel my muscles relax--I shall fall from my horse.


Well! decidedly, it is willed that I should stay at home. You will be sure to remember, that I expect letters from Africa this very day.


Monsieur will no doubt hear with pleasure that Blaisois’s son is gone on horseback, to gain an hour over the courier of Blois,


Thank you,


It is a courier from Africa, is it not?


No, monsieur le comte,


Grimaud!


Grimaud. Raoul is dead. Is it not so?


Yes,


HERE I AM!


Athos! Athos! my friend!


Monsieur le Chevalier d’Artagnan,


Where is he? Where is he?


Grimaud. I have seen how the father died; now let me know about the son.


MY DEAR COMTE, a great misfortune has struck us amidst a great triumph. The king loses one of the bravest of soldiers. I lose a friend. You lose M. de Bragelonne. He has died gloriously, so gloriously that I have not the strength to weep as I could wish. Receive my sad compliments, my dear comte. Heaven distributes trials according to the greatness of our hearts. This is an immense one, but not above your courage. Your good friend, LE DUC DE BEAUFORT.


In the morning, monseigneur commanded the attack. Normandy and Picardy had taken positions in the rocks dominated by the heights of the mountain, upon the declivity of which were raised the bastions of Gigelli.


You see, vicomte, I have saved your life. Report that, some day, to M. le Comte de la Fere, in order that, learning it from you, he may thank me.


It is true, monseigneur, that but for your kindness I should have been killed, where the poor sergeant has fallen, and should be at rest.


Vrai Dieu! Young man, one would say that your mouth waters for death; but, by the soul of Henry IV., I have promised your father to bring you back alive; and, please the Lord, I mean to keep my word.


Monseigneur, pardon me, I beseech you. I have always had a desire to meet good opportunities; and it is so delightful to distinguish ourselves before our general, particularly when that general is M. le Duc de Beaufort.


Stop, Bragelonne! Where are you going? Stop. I command you! Stop, Bragelonne! stop! in the name of your father! Musketeers, kill his horse! A hundred pistoles for the man who kills his horse!


Throw yourself off, monsieur le vicomte!--off!--off! throw yourself off!


Grenadiers! lancers! will you let them take that noble body?


We will save you, vicomte, we will save you yet.


Oh! unhappy boy! a suicide! They kept their words with each other, now I believe them to be happy; they must be reunited.


Yes, yes, good Grimaud--now with the son he loved so much!


Raoul here! Oh! Grimaud, why did you not tell me this?


Pardon! pardon!


Monsieur d’Artagnan!


You! you here!--oh! madame, I should better have liked to see you decked with flowers in the mansion of the Comte de la Fere. You would have wept less--and they too--and I!


Monsieur!


For it was you, it was you who sped these two men to the grave.


Oh! spare me!


God forbid, madame, that I should offend a woman, or that I should make her weep in vain; but I must say that the place of the murderer is not upon the grave of her victims. What I now tell you. I have already told the king.


I know. I have caused the death of the Vicomte de Bragelonne.


Ah! you know it?


The news arrived at court yesterday. I have traveled during the night forty leagues to come and ask pardon of the comte, whom I supposed to be still living, and to pray God, on the tomb of Raoul, that he would send me all the misfortunes I have merited, except a single one. Now, monsieur, I know that the death of the son has killed the father; I have two crimes to reproach myself with; I have two punishments to expect from Heaven.


I will repeat to you, mademoiselle, what M. de Bragelonne said of you, at Antibes, when he already meditated death: ‘If pride and coquetry have misled her, I pardon her while despising her. If love has produced her error, I pardon her, but I swear that no one could have loved her as I have done.’


You know, that of my love I was about to sacrifice myself; you know whether I suffered when you met me lost, dying, abandoned. Well! never have I suffered so much as now; because then I hoped, desired,--now I have no longer anything to wish for; because this death drags all my joy into the tomb; because I can no longer dare to love without remorse, and I feel that he whom I love--oh! it is but just!--will repay me with the tortures I have made others undergo. Well, then, dear Monsieur d’Artagnan, do not overwhelm me to-day, I again implore you! I am like the branch torn from the trunk, I no longer hold to anything in this world--a current drags me on, I know not whither. I love madly, even to the point of coming to tell it, wretch that I am, over the ashes of the dead, and I do not blush for it--I have no remorse on this account. Such love is a religion. Only, as hereafter you will see me alone, forgotten, disdained; as you will see me punished, as I am destined to be punished, spare me in my ephemeral happiness, leave it to me for a few days, for a few minutes. Now, even at the moment I am speaking to you, perhaps it no longer exists. My God! this double murder is perhaps already expiated!


The king is a prey to jealousy and uneasiness.


You see, madame, you see your happiness still lasts.


A day will come, when you will repent of having so misjudged me. On that day, it is I who will pray God to forgive you for having been unjust towards me. Besides, I shall suffer so much that you yourself will be the first to pity my sufferings. Do not reproach me with my fleeting happiness, Monsieur d’Artagnan; it costs me dear, and I have not paid all my debt. Pardon me the last time, my affianced Raoul! I have broken our chain; we are both destined to die of grief. It is thou who departest first; fear nothing, I shall follow thee. See, only, that I have not been base, and that I have come to bid thee this last adieu. The Lord is my witness, Raoul, that if with my life I could have redeemed thine, I would have given that life without hesitation. I could not give my love. Once more, forgive me, dearest, kindest friend.


When will it be my turn to depart? What is there left for man after youth, love, glory, friendship, strength, and wealth have disappeared? That rock, under which sleeps Porthos, who possessed all I have named; this moss, under which repose Athos and Raoul, who possessed much more! Forward! still forward! When it is time, God will tell me, as he foretold the others.


M. d’Artagnan does not get any older,


That is true. I don’t see any change in him for the last twenty years.


Ah! it is not as it was in the good old times. Do you remember, Monsieur d’Artagnan, when the late king flew the pie in the vineyards beyond Beaugence? Ah! dame! you were not the captain of the musketeers at that time, Monsieur d’Artagnan.


And you were nothing but under-corporal of the tiercelets. Never mind that, it was a good time, seeing that it is always a good time when we are young. Good day, monsieur the keeper of the harriers.


You do me honor, monsieur le comte,


Are you not very much fatigued with the long journey you have taken, monsieur le capitaine? It must be full two hundred leagues from hence to Pignerol.


Two hundred and sixty to go, and as many to return,


And is he well?


Who?


Why, poor M. Fouquet,


No, the poor man frets terribly; he cannot comprehend how imprisonment can be a favor; he says that parliament absolved him by banishing him, and banishment is, or should be, liberty. He cannot imagine that they had sworn his death, and that to save his life from the claws of parliament was to be under too much obligation to Heaven.


Ah! yes; the poor man had a close chance of the scaffold, it is said that M. Colbert had given orders to the governor of the Bastile, and that the execution was ordered.


Enough!


M. Fouquet is now at Pignerol; he has richly deserved it. He had the good fortune to be conducted there by you; he robbed the king sufficiently.


Monsieur, if any one told me you had eaten your dogs’ meat, not only would I refuse to believe it; but still more, if you were condemned to the lash or to jail for it, I should pity you and would not allow people to speak ill of you. And yet, monsieur, honest man as you may be, I assure you that you are not more so than poor M. Fouquet was.


He is content, we all know that harriers are in fashion nowadays; if he were a falconer he would not talk in that way.


Did M. Fouquet love falconry?


Oh, passionately, monsieur!


Ah! I know nothing of current news; I only arrived yesterday, after a month’s absence. I left the court mourning the death of the queen-mother. The king was not willing to take any amusement after receiving the last sigh of Anne of Austria; but everything comes to an end in this world. Well! then he is no longer sad? So much the better.


And everything begins as well as ends,


Ah! there is something beginning, then, it seems? Shall we see the king early?


At seven o’clock, monsieur, I shall fly the birds.


Who comes with the king? How is Madame? How is the queen?


Better, monsieur.


Has she been ill, then?


Monsieur, since the last chagrin she suffered, her majesty has been unwell.


What chagrin? You need not fancy your news is old. I have but just returned.


It appears that the queen, a little neglected since the death of her mother-in-law, complained to the king, who answered her,--‘Do I not sleep at home every night, madame? What more do you expect?’


Ah! poor woman! She must heartily hate Mademoiselle de la Vallière.


Oh, no! not Mademoiselle de la Vallière,


Who then--


Ah, comte! you are amongst us once more then! Why have I not seen you?


Sire, because your majesty was asleep when I arrived, and not awake when I resumed my duties this morning.


Still the same. Take some rest, comte; I command you to do so. You will dine with me to-day.


Good-day, Monsieur d’Artagnan, have you had a pleasant journey?


Yes, monsieur,


I heard the king invite you to his table for this evening, you will meet an old friend there.


An old friend of mine?


M. le Duc d’Almeda, who is arrived this morning from Spain.


The Duc d’Almeda?


Aramis!


And so, you, the exile, the rebel, are again in France?


Ah! and I shall dine with you at the king’s table. Yes, will you not ask yourself what is the use of fidelity in this world? Stop! let us allow poor La Vallière’s carriage to pass. Look, how uneasy she is! How her eyes, dim with tears, follow the king, who is riding on horseback yonder!


With whom?


With Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente, now Madame de Montespan,


She is jealous. Is she then deserted?


Not quite yet, but it will not be long before she is.


Do you know, Aramis, whither chance has conducted us?


No,


Here repose men that we knew well,


Where are they buried?


There, in the inclosure. There is a cross, you see, beneath yon little cypress. The tree of grief is planted over their tomb; don’t go to it; the king is going that way; the heron has fallen just there.


What will you give me in exchange?


Humph! the present is but a sad one, for that cypress shades a tomb.


Yes, and the tomb is that of Raoul de Bragelonne, of Raoul, who sleeps under that cross with his father. Poor woman!


Sister, why do I see tears in those lovely eyes?


Why--sire--


Monsieur is jealous, is he not, sister?


Yes,


Listen to me, if your friends compromise you, it is not Monsieur’s fault. Come, come, dear little sister, tell me your griefs; on the word of a brother, I pity them; on the word of a king, I will put an end to them.


It is not my friends who compromise me, they are either absent or concealed; they have been brought into disgrace with your majesty; they, so devoted, so good, so loyal!


You say this on account of De Guiche, whom I have exiled, at Monsieur’s desire?


And who, since that unjust exile, has endeavored to get himself killed once every day.


Unjust, say you, sister?


So unjust, that if I had not had the respect mixed with friendship that I have always entertained for your majesty--


Well!


Well! I would have asked my brother Charles, upon whom I can always--


What, then?


I would have asked him to have had it represented to you that Monsieur and his favorite M. le Chevalier de Lorraine ought not with impunity to constitute themselves the executioners of my honor and my happiness.


The Chevalier de Lorraine, that dismal fellow?


Is my mortal enemy. Whilst that man lives in my household, where Monsieur retains him and delegates his power to him, I shall be the most miserable woman in the kingdom.


So, you call your brother of England a better friend than I am?


Actions speak for themselves, sire.


And you would prefer going to ask assistance there--


To my own country! yes, sire.


You are the grandchild of Henry IV. as well as myself, lady. Cousin and brother-in-law, does not that amount pretty well to the title of brother-germain?


Then, act!


Let us form an alliance.


Begin.


I have, you say, unjustly exiled De Guiche.


Oh! yes,


De Guiche shall return.


So far, well.


And now you say that I do wrong in having in your household the Chevalier de Lorraine, who gives Monsieur ill advice respecting you?


Remember well what I tell you, sire; the Chevalier de Lorraine some day--Observe, if ever I come to a dreadful end, I beforehand accuse the Chevalier de Lorraine; he has a spirit that is capable of any crime!


The Chevalier de Lorraine shall no longer annoy you--I promise you that.


Then that will be a true preliminary of alliance, sire,--I sign; but since you have done your part, tell me what shall be mine.


Instead of embroiling me with your brother Charles, you must make him a more intimate friend than ever.


That is very easy.


Oh! not quite so easy as you may suppose, for in ordinary friendship people embrace or exercise hospitality, and that only costs a kiss or a return, profitable expenses; but in political friendship--


Ah! it’s a political friendship, is it?


Yes, my sister; and then, instead of embraces and feasts, it is soldiers--it is soldiers all alive and well equipped--that we must serve up to our friends; vessels we must offer, all armed with cannons and stored with provisions. It hence results that we have not always coffers in a fit condition for such friendships.


Ah! you are quite right, the coffers of the king of England have been sonorous for some time.


But you, my sister, who have so much influence over your brother, you can secure more than an ambassador could ever get the promise of.


To effect that I must go to London, my dear brother.


I have thought so, and I have said to myself that such a voyage would do your health and spirits good.


Only, it is possible I should fail. The king of England has dangerous counselors.


Counselors, do you say?


Precisely. If, by chance, your majesty had any intention--I am only supposing so--of asking Charles II. his alliance in a war--


A war?


Yes; well! then the king’s counselors, who are in number seven--Mademoiselle Stewart, Mademoiselle Wells, Mademoiselle Gwyn, Miss Orchay, Mademoiselle Zunga, Miss Davies, and the proud Countess of Castlemaine--will represent to the king that war costs a great deal of money; that it is better to give balls and suppers at Hampton Court than to equip ships of the line at Portsmouth and Greenwich.


And then your negotiations will fail?


Oh! those ladies cause all negotiations to fall through which they don’t make themselves.


Do you know the idea that has struck me, sister?


No; inform me what it is.


It is that, searching well around you, you might perhaps find a female counselor to take with you to your brother, whose eloquence might paralyze the ill-will of the seven others.


That is really an idea, sire, and I will search.


You will find what you want.


I hope so.


A pretty ambassadress is necessary; an agreeable face is better than an ugly one, is it not?


Most assuredly.


An animated, lively, audacious character.


Certainly.


Nobility; that is, enough to enable her to approach the king without awkwardness--not too lofty, so as not to trouble herself about the dignity of her race.


Very true.


And who knows a little English.


Mon Dieu! why, some one, like Mademoiselle de Keroualle, for instance!


Oh! why, yes! you have hit the mark,--it is you who have found, my sister.


I will take her; she will have no cause to complain, I suppose.


Oh! no, I will name her seductrice plenipotentiaire at once, and will add a dowry to the title.


That is well.


I fancy you already on your road, my dear little sister, consoled for all your griefs.


I will go, on two conditions. The first is, that I shall know what I am negotiating about.


That is it. The Dutch, you know, insult me daily in their gazettes, and by their republican attitude. I do not like republics.


That may easily be imagined, sire.


I see with pain that these kings of the sea--they call themselves so--keep trade from France in the Indies, and that their vessels will soon occupy all the ports of Europe. Such a power is too near me, sister.


They are your allies, nevertheless.


That is why they were wrong in having the medal you have heard of struck; a medal which represents Holland stopping the sun, as Joshua did, with this legend: The sun had stopped before me. There is not much fraternity in that, is there?


I thought you had forgotten that miserable episode?


I never forget anything, sister. And if my true friends, such as your brother Charles, are willing to second me-- Listen to me; there is the empire of the seas to be shared. For this partition, which England submits to, could I not represent the second party as well as the Dutch?


We have Mademoiselle de Keroualle to treat that question,


Your second condition for going, if you please, sister?


The consent of Monsieur, my husband.


You shall have it.


Then consider me already gone, brother.


Monsieur l’ambassadeur, shall we talk about business?


Monsieur. I am not pleased with M. le Chevalier de Lorraine. You, who do him the honor to protect him, must advise him to travel for a few months.


In what has the chevalier been inconsiderate enough to displease your majesty?


I will tell you that when he is gone. And also when Madame, here, shall have crossed over into England.


Madame! in England!


In a week, brother, whilst we will go whither I will shortly tell you.


Monsieur, this is the moment for us to come to an understanding. I have made your peace with the king, and I owed that clearly to a man of so much merit; but as you have often expressed friendship for me, an opportunity presents itself for giving me a proof of it. You are, besides, more a Frenchman than a Spaniard. Shall we secure--answer me frankly--the neutrality of Spain, if we undertake anything against the United Provinces?


Monsieur, the interest of Spain is clear. To embroil Europe with the Provinces would doubtless be our policy, but the king of France is an ally of the United Provinces. You are not ignorant, besides, that it would infer a maritime war, and that France is in no state to undertake this with advantage.


We may talk openly with D’Artagnan, I suppose?


Oh! certainly,


We were saying, M. d’Almeda and I, that a conflict with the United Provinces would mean a maritime war.


That’s evident enough,


And what do you think of it, Monsieur d’Artagnan?


I think that to carry on such a war successfully, you must have very large land forces.


What did you say?


Why such a large land army?


Because the king will be beaten by sea if he has not the English with him, and that when beaten by sea, he will soon be invaded, either by the Dutch in his ports, or by the Spaniards by land.


And Spain neutral?


Neutral as long as the king shall prove stronger,


Who told you, M. d’Artagnan, that the king had no navy?


Oh! I take no heed of these details. I am but an indifferent sailor. Like all nervous people, I hate the sea; and yet I have an idea that, with ships, France being a seaport with two hundred exits, we might have sailors.


I have had the same idea as you, and I have had an account drawn up of the vessels we have altogether--thirty-five ships.


Thirty-five ships! impossible!


Something like two thousand pieces of cannon. That is what the king possesses at this moment. Of five and thirty vessels we can make three squadrons, but I must have five.


Five!


They will be afloat before the end of the year, gentlemen; the king will have fifty ship of the line. We may venture on a contest with them, may we not?


To build vessels, is difficult, but possible. As to arming them, how is that to be done? In France there are neither foundries nor military docks.


Bah! I have planned all that this year and a half past, did you not know it? Do you know M. d’Imfreville?


D’Imfreville? no.


He is a man I have discovered; he has a specialty; he is a man of genius--he knows how to set men to work. It is he who has cast cannon and cut the woods of Bourgogne. And then, monsieur l’ambassadeur, you may not believe what I am going to tell you, but I have a still further idea.


Oh, monsieur! I always believe you.


Calculating upon the character of the Dutch, our allies, I said to myself, ‘They are merchants, they are friendly with the king; they will be happy to sell to the king what they fabricate for themselves; then the more we buy’--Ah! I must add this: I have Forant--do you know Forant, D’Artagnan?


No. I do not know him.


That is another man I have discovered, with a genius for buying. This Forant has purchased for me 350,000 pounds of iron in balls, 200,000 pounds of powder, twelve cargoes of Northern timber, matches, grenades, pitch, tar--I know not what! with a saving of seven per cent upon what all those articles would cost me fabricated in France.


That is a capital and quaint idea, to have Dutch cannon-balls cast which will return to the Dutch.


Is it not, with loss, too? Still further, these same Dutch are building for the king, at this moment, six vessels after the model of the best of their name. Destouches--Ah! perhaps you don’t know Destouches?


No, monsieur.


He is a man who has a sure glance to discern, when a ship is launched, what are the defects and qualities of that ship--that is valuable, observe! Nature is truly whimsical. Well, this Destouches appeared to me to be a man likely to prove useful in marine affairs, and he is superintending the construction of six vessels of seventy-eight guns, which the Provinces are building for his majesty. It results from this, my dear Monsieur d’Artagnan, that the king, if he wished to quarrel with the Provinces, would have a very pretty fleet. Now, you know better than anybody else if the land army is efficient.


If we, in France, were ignorant of what was going on, out of France still less must be known.


That is why I told monsieur l’ambassadeur, that, Spain promising its neutrality, England helping us--


If England assists you. I promise the neutrality of Spain.


I take you at your word. And, a propos of Spain, you have not the ‘Golden Fleece,’ Monsieur d’Almeda. I heard the king say the other day that he should like to see you wear the grand cordon of St. Michael.


Oh! and Porthos is no longer here! What ells of ribbons would there be for him in these largesses! Dear Porthos!


Monsieur d’Artagnan, between us two, you will have, I wager, an inclination to lead your musketeers into Holland. Can you swim?


Like an eel,


Ah! but there are some bitter passages of canals and marshes yonder, Monsieur d’Artagnan, and the best swimmers are sometimes drowned there.


It is my profession to die for his majesty. Only, as it is seldom in war that much water is met with without a little fire, I declare to you beforehand, that I will do my best to choose fire. I am getting old; water freezes me--but fire warms, Monsieur Colbert.


So, then, we go into Holland?


Yes, only--


Only?


Only, there lurks in everything the question of interest, the question of self-love. It is a very fine title, that of captain of the musketeers; but observe this: we have now the king’s guards and the military household of the king. A captain of musketeers ought to command all that, and then he would absorb a hundred thousand livres a year for expenses. Eh! monsieur, you have not understood me. I was telling you that I, an old captain, formerly chief of the king’s guard, having precedence of the marechaux of France--I saw myself one day in the trenches with two other equals, the captain of the guards and the colonel commanding the Swiss. Now, at no price will I suffer that. I have old habits, and I will stand or fall by them.


People would be very proud of me in my country, if I were a marechal of France; but a man must have commanded an expedition in chief to obtain the baton. I will do you justice, monsieur, and implore you to tell the king that the first opportunity that shall offer, he may depend upon a victory, or to behold me dead--or both. Let us love each other for four. We are now but two.


And you will, perhaps, never see me again, dear D’Artagnan, if you knew how I have loved you! I am old, I am extinct--ah, I am almost dead.


My friend, you will live longer than I shall: diplomacy commands you to live; but, for my part, honor condemns me to die.


Bah! such men as we are, monsieur le marechal, only die satisfied with joy in glory.


Ah! I assure you, monsieur le duc, I feel very little appetite for either.


MONSIEUR COLBERT,--I have the honor to expedite to you the R. P. Oliva, general ad interim of the Society of Jesus, my provisional successor. The reverend father will explain to you, Monsieur Colbert, that I preserve to myself the direction of all the affairs of the order which concern France and Spain; but that I am not willing to retain the title of general, which would throw too high a side-light on the progress of the negotiations with which His Catholic Majesty wishes to intrust me. I shall resume that title by the command of his majesty, when the labors I have undertaken in concert with you, for the great glory of God and His Church, shall be brought to a good end. The R. P. Oliva will inform you likewise, monsieur, of the consent His Catholic Majesty gives to the signature of a treaty which assures the neutrality of Spain in the event of a war between France and the United Provinces. This consent will be valid even if England, instead of being active, should satisfy herself with remaining neutral. As for Portugal, of which you and I have spoken, monsieur, I can assure you it will contribute with all its resources to assist the Most Christian King in his war. I beg you, Monsieur Colbert, to preserve your friendship and also to believe in my profound attachment, and to lay my respect at the feet of His Most Christian Majesty. Signed. LE DUC D’ALMEDA.


MONSIEUR COLBERT:--We have a promise to fulfil with M. d’Artagnan, who so well keeps his. This is to inform you that the time is come for performing it. All provisions for this purpose you shall be furnished with in due time. LOUIS.


MONSIEUR D’ARTAGNAN:--The king commands me to inform you that he has nominated you marechal of France, as a reward for your magnificent services, and the honor you do to his arms. The king is highly pleased, monsieur, with the captures you have made; he commands you, in particular, to finish the siege you have commenced, with good fortune to you, and success for him. I have finished, the city will have surrendered in a quarter of an hour.


It is strange, that I don’t yet see the king’s flag on the walls, or hear the drums beat the chamade.


Athos--Porthos, farewell till we meet again! Aramis, adieu forever!