“It’s true,” said Aramis, laughing. “Man is a strange animal, compounded of contrasts—as you know, mon cher d’Artagnan. Since becoming an abbot, I dream of nothing but battles.”
“That’s clear from your furnishings and decor. I’ve never seen so many different styles of rapiers. Do you still fence well?”
“As well as I used to—maybe even better. I do nothing else all day.”
“And with whom do you spar?”
“Oh, we have an excellent master of arms.”
“What, here?”
“Yes, here, in this very monastery, mon cher. A Jesuit monastery has everything.”
“Then you would have killed Monsieur de Marcillac if he’d come after you alone, instead of with a troop of twenty?”
“Certainly,” said Aramis, “and even with his troop of twenty, if I could have drawn steel before I was recognized.”
“God help me,” muttered d’Artagnan. “I think he’s become more of a Gascon than I am.” Then, aloud: “Well, then, Aramis, you were wondering why I was looking for you?”
“No, I didn’t ask,” said Aramis slyly, “but I expect you’ll tell me anyway.”
“Well, I’ve come to offer you a way to slay Monsieur de Marcillac, if that would please you, prince though he is.”
“Well, well, well,” said Aramis. “That’s an idea, that is.”
“And I invite you to take advantage of it. Let’s see! With your abbacy worth a thousand crowns, and the twelve thousand livres you make selling sermons—are you rich? Be honest.”
“Rich? I’m as poor as Job. Turn this place upside down if you like, but you won’t find more than a hundred pistoles in it.”
“Peste, a hundred pistoles?” d’Artagnan said to himself. “And he calls that being poor as Job? If I had that, I’d feel rich as Croesus.” Then, aloud: “Are you ambitious?”
“As ambitious as Caesar.”
“Well, then! I offer you the chance to be rich, powerful, and able to do whatever you like.”
The shadow of a cloud passed over Aramis’s brow as quick as that over the corn in August—but quick as it was, d’Artagnan saw it. “Go on,” said Aramis.
“After one more question. Are you involved in politics?”
A light flashed in Aramis’s eyes, quick as the shadow that had passed over his brow—but d’Artagnan saw that too. “No,” said Aramis.
“Then you should be open to every side, since you have no master but God,” said the Gascon, laughing.
“Possibly.”
“Aramis, do you sometimes dream of those days of our youth, laughing, drinking, and fighting?”
“Yes, of course, and often missed them. It was a happy time, delectabile tempus!”
“Well, my friend, those happy times can come again. I’ve been given a mission to find my old companions, and I wanted to start with you, who was the heart and soul of our little band.”
Aramis’s bow was almost too courteous. “Me, go back into politics?” he sighed, and leaned loosely back in his chair. “But dear d’Artagnan, you see how comfortable and easy my life is now. In the past, we both suffered from the ingratitude of the great!”
“True enough,” said d’Artagnan, “but perhaps the great repent of their ingratitude.”
“If so,” said Aramis, “that would be a change indeed. However, for every sin, a penance. But you’re right about one thing: if one was of a mind to meddle in affairs of state, now would be the time to do it.”
“And how would you know—you, who have nothing to do with politics?”
“Mon Dieu! How could I not? I live in a world devoted to it. When we talk of poetry or love, who is there but Monsieur Sarazin, the poetical friend of Monsieur de Conti? Or Monsieur Voiture,47 who’s allied with the coadjutor? Or Monsieur de Bois-Robert,48 who, since he’s no longer with Cardinal Richelieu, is with no one or everyone? You see, there’s no escaping politics.”
“No doubt about that,” said d’Artagnan.
“And don’t take what I say as the chatter of some little abbot who just repeats what he’s heard,” said Aramis. “I’m well aware that Cardinal Mazarin is worried about recent turns of events. It seems his decrees aren’t regarded with the same respect as those of our old nemesis, the late cardinal, whose portrait you see here. Because despite all we said and did to thwart him, you must agree, mon cher, that he was a great man.”
“No argument from me on that, friend Aramis. It was he who made me an officer.”
“My instincts at first were entirely in favor of Cardinal Mazarin. Such a minister is rarely popular, but his brilliance was such that he seemed likely to triumph over his enemies, if only by fear, which, in my opinion, is often better than love.”
D’Artagnan nodded to indicate his approval of this rather dubious maxim.
“That,” Aramis continued, “was my first instinct—but since I know so little about such matters, I really couldn’t trust my own opinion, so I humbly inquired further to ascertain the true situation. And, well, mon cher ami . . .”
“Well, what?” d’Artagnan asked.
“Well!” said Aramis. “Though it mortifies my pride, I had to admit I’d been wrong.”
“Really?”
“Yes! I inquired further, as I said, and was told by people of all ranks, people who ought to know, that Mazarin was far from the brilliant man I’d taken him for.”
“Bah!” said d’Artagnan.
“No. He is a man from nowhere, of no family, a mere servant of Cardinal Bentivoglio who got ahead by scheming. He’s an upstart, a parvenu, who for France will never be more than a mere figurehead. Oh, he’ll make himself a pile of gold, empty the king’s treasury, pay to himself all the salaries Cardinal Richelieu shared out to everyone else—but he’ll never put the law into the hands of the strongest, the noblest, or the most honorable. He appears, in manners and heart, to be less a gentleman than a sort of buffoon, a Pulcinello or Pantaloon. But you’re the one who knows him, not me.”
“Well,” said d’Artagnan, “I admit there’s some truth to what you say.”
“Why, you fill me with pride, mon cher. To think that I, someone with just a touch of insight, could discern things as clearly as you, who are a man of the Court.”
“But what you say applies to him personally, and not to his faction and its resources.”
“That’s true. He has the queen on his side.”
“And that’s something, I should think.”
“But it’s not like having . . . the king.”
“Who’s still a child!”
“A child who will be an adult in four years.”
“But this is the present.”
“Yes, it’s not yet the future. But even in the present, Mazarin has neither the Parliament nor the people on his side—that is, the money—nor does he have the nobility and the princes—that is, the swords.”
D’Artagnan scratched at his ear. He had to admit to himself that Aramis’s summary was both thorough and undeniable.
“You see, my poor friend, that I still have my wits about me, as I used to. But maybe it’s wrong for me to be so open and candid about the matter, since you seem to lean toward Mazarin.”
“What, me?” cried d’Artagnan. “Not at all!”
“You were speaking of a mission.”
“Did I say a mission? Sometimes I pick the wrong word. No, I think as you do: all is confusion. Well, then—let’s throw the feather into the wind, follow where the wind takes it, and resume our life of adventures. We were four brave cavaliers, four hearts bound as one. Let’s rejoin! It’s not our hearts that have divided us, just time and fortune. This time, time is with us—and it’s time to win something greater than a diamond.”
“You’re right, d’Artagnan—as always,” said Aramis, “and the proof is that I’ve had the same idea. But you know me, ever anxious, imagining trouble. I was thinking that, the way things are today, we’d need allies. And then one came to me, speaking about our prowess in former days, and very per
suasively too. I’ll tell you frankly: I’m talking about the coadjutor.”
“Monsieur de Gondy, the cardinal’s enemy!” cried d’Artagnan.
“No—the king’s friend,” said Aramis. “The king’s friend, do you hear? And I desire to serve the king—which is, after all, the duty of a gentleman.”
“But . . . but the king is with Mazarin!”
“By fate, but not by his will; not by the urgings of his heart. The poor child is caught in the snare of his own enemies.”
“Ah çà! But, my dear Aramis, what you propose leads to nothing less than civil war.”
“War, indeed . . . war for the king.”
“But the king will be at the head of Mazarin’s army.”
“But his heart will be with the army commanded by Monsieur de Beaufort.”
“Monsieur de Beaufort? He’s locked up in Vincennes.”
“Did I say Monsieur de Beaufort?” said Aramis. “It could be anyone. Say Monsieur de Beaufort; say Monsieur le Prince de Condé.”
“But Monsieur le Prince is committed to the army of the cardinal.”
“Ah, er, yes!” said Aramis. “Of course! Though there have been certain . . . discussions. However, if not Monsieur le Prince, say Monsieur de Gondy . . .”
“But Monsieur de Gondy wants to be a cardinal—he’s asked for his red hat.”
“And cardinals can’t be generals?” said Aramis. “Look around you. Here are four cardinals who commanded armies just as well as Messieurs de Guébriant and de Gassion.”
“Oh, but really, a humpbacked general?”
“When he’s clad in armor, no one will notice his hump. Didn’t Alexander have a limp, and wasn’t Hannibal half blind?”
“And you see advantages to allying with this party?” asked d’Artagnan.
“I see the protection of powerful princes.”
“Who are proscribed by the government.”
“Balanced out by the Parliament and the rioters.”
“But for this to work out . . . the king would have to be separated from his mother.”
“Hmm. That could happen.”
“Not likely!” said d’Artagnan, returning to his first conviction. “Think, Aramis, I appeal to you—you know Anne of Austria as well as I. Would she ever forget that her son is her safety and her anchor, that her life and fortunes are entirely bound up with his? If she broke with Mazarin she would have to follow her son and go over to the side of the princes—but you know there are . . . reasons . . . why she’ll never abandon Mazarin.”
“You’re probably right,” Aramis sighed, “but I just can’t join him.”
“With him, all right,” said d’Artagnan, “but what about with me?”
“With nobody, I’m afraid. I’m a priest—what do I have to do with politics? I just read my breviary. I keep to my small circle of chatty abbots and witty women, and the more noise there is in public affairs, the less notice will be taken of my private life. I’m doing wonderfully well on my own, cher ami, and the less I meddle, the better off I’ll be.”
“Well, all right, then,” said d’Artagnan. “I can’t argue with your philosophy. I don’t know what devil stung me and made me ambitious. After all, my position keeps me fed, and with the retirement of poor old Monsieur de Tréville, I may yet be made captain, which comes with a very pretty marshal’s baton for a cadet from Gascony. If I’m in need of adventures, I can always accept Porthos’s invitation and go hunt on his lands. Where are Porthos’s lands, by the way?”
“You don’t know? Well, I do. He has ten leagues of woods, hills, and dales—he’s the Lord of Peaks and Plains and contends for his feudal rights with the Bishop of Noyon.”
“Well,” d’Artagnan said to himself, “at last we’ve got something I needed to know: Porthos is in Picardy.” Then aloud: “And has he resumed his old name of du Vallon?”
“Yes, and he’s added to it de Bracieux, which used to be a barony, by my faith!”
“So Porthos is finally a baron!”
“I don’t doubt it. His ‘Baroness Porthos’ is particularly impressive!” And the two friends laughed.
“So,” continued d’Artagnan, “you’ll have nothing to do with Mazarin?”
“Nor you with the princes?”
“I’m afraid not. All right then, we’ll keep to ourselves and remain friends, neither Cardinalists nor Frondeurs.”
“Yes,” said Aramis. “Just musketeers.”
“Even with the priest’s collar?” said d’Artagnan.
“Especially with the priest’s collar,” said Aramis. “That’s what makes it so charming!”
“Very well, then—adieu,” said d’Artagnan.
“I won’t keep you, mon cher,” said Aramis, “because I know where you’d have to sleep, and I can’t see you spending the night in the shed with Planchet.”
“Eh, I’m barely three leagues from Paris, the horses are rested, and in just over an hour I’ll be home.” And d’Artagnan poured out two last glasses of wine. “To our old days!” he said.
“Yes,” said Aramis. “Sadly, those days are behind us. Tempus fugit irreparabile . . .”
“Bah!” said d’Artagnan. “They may yet return. If you want me, I’m in the Rue Tiquetonne, Hôtel de La Chevrette.”
“And I’m in the Monastery of the Jesuits: by the door from six in the morning until eight at night, and by the window from eight at night until six in the morning.”
“Goodbye, my friend.”
“Oh, I’m not leaving you yet! Let me see you out.” And he took up his sword and cloak.
“He wants to make sure I’m out of the way,” said d’Artagnan to himself.
Aramis whistled for Bazin, but Bazin was sleeping in the antechamber over the remains of his supper, and Aramis had to shake him by the ear to wake him.
Bazin stretched out his arms, rubbed his eyes, and curled back up again. “Come, come, Master Sleeper,” said Aramis, “rouse yourself.”
“But Monsieur,” said Bazin, yawning enough to break his jaw, “the ladder is still at the window.”
“Get the gardener’s ladder. Didn’t you see the trouble d’Artagnan had getting up? He’ll need help getting down.”
D’Artagnan was about to assure Aramis that he could get down on his own, when he had an idea that silenced him.
Bazin sighed heavily and went to fetch the ladder. A few moments later, a good, solid wooden ladder was placed against the windowsill. “That’s more like it,” said d’Artagnan. “Why, even a woman could go up and down a ladder like that.”
That brought a sharp look from Aramis, who seemed to wonder what he meant, but d’Artagnan gave him his most naïve smile.
And then he put his foot on the top rung of the ladder and climbed down.
A moment later he was on the ground. Bazin was still at the window. “One moment,” said Aramis. “I’ll join you.”
Both down, the two walked toward the shed. At their approach Planchet came out, holding the horses by their bridles.
“Excellent!” said Aramis. “Here’s a servant who’s active and alert—not like that lazy Bazin, who’s good for nothing since he became a beadle. Follow us, Planchet, until we reach the outskirts of the village.”
And the two friends rode through the village, talking of this and that, until, at the last house: “On your way then, cher ami,” said Aramis. “Follow your fate: Dame Fortune smiles on you, and don’t let her escape, for she’s a lady, and must be treated accordingly. As for me, I remain here, in humility and leisure. Adieu!”
“So, you’re sure,” said d’Artagnan, “that what I had to offer you is of no interest?”
“On the contrary, it would appeal to me strongly if I were anybody but who I am,” said Aramis. “I’m a bundle of contradictions: what I hate one day, I love another, and vice versa. Unlike you, I can’t settle on anything like a fixed plan.”
“You are such a liar,” d’Artagnan said to himself. “Of all of us, you’re the one who knows best how to s
et a goal and stalk it by secret steps.”
“Farewell, mon cher,” Aramis continued. “Thank you for your good intentions toward me, and most of all for those happy memories that your visit has reawakened.”
They embraced. Planchet was already mounted; d’Artagnan climbed into his own saddle, then shook Aramis’s hand one last time. The riders spurred their horses and rode off toward Paris.
Aramis remained standing in the middle of the street until he’d lost sight of them at the curve of the road. But about two hundred paces beyond it, d’Artagnan stopped short, jumped down, and threw his bridle to Planchet. He took his pistols from their saddle holsters and thrust them through his belt. “What’s wrong, Monsieur?” said Planchet, taken aback.
“What’s wrong,” said d’Artagnan, “is that no matter how sly he is, I won’t be his dupe. Just don’t move—wait right here by the side of the road until I come back.”
With these words, d’Artagnan jumped the ditch by the side of the road and set off across the fields to circle around the village. He had noticed that the acreage between the house occupied by Madame de Longueville and the Jesuit monastery was mainly empty space enclosed by a thick hedge. An hour before he might have had a hard time finding this hedge, but since then the moon had risen, and though it was sometimes obscured by clouds, it still shone brightly enough for him to find his way.
D’Artagnan found the hedge and hunkered down behind it. As he’d passed the large château described earlier, he’d noticed that the same single window was once again lit. He smiled, convinced that Aramis had not yet returned home, and that when he did, it would not be alone.
Indeed, after a moment he heard footsteps approaching, and voices speaking low.
At the corner of the hedgerow, the footsteps stopped.
D’Artagnan dropped to one knee and did his best to merge with the hedge.
At that moment two figures came into view—two men, to d’Artagnan’s astonishment. But his astonishment faded when one spoke in a soft and harmonious voice; for one of the two men was a woman garbed as a cavalier.
“Don’t worry, dear René,” said the soft voice. “That won’t happen again. While waiting, I discovered a passage from the cellar that goes out under the street. You just have to raise a paving stone to find your way in.”
Twenty Years After Page 11
