Twenty Years After by Alexandre Dumas (best free ebook reader for android txt) 📕

A great tumult arose, in the midst of which even the noise of thunder could not have been heard. Gondy raised his hand and demanded silence. All were still.

“My children,” he said, “this is the Marechal de la Meilleraie, as to whose intentions you have been deceived and who pledges himself, on returning to the Louvre, to demand of the queen, in your name, our Broussel’s release. You pledge yourself to that, marshal?” added Gondy, turning to La Meilleraie.

“Morbleu!” cried the latter, “I should say that I do pledge myself to it! I had no hope of getting off so easily.”

“He gives you his word of honor,” said Gondy.

The marshal raised his hand in token of assent.

“Long live the coadjutor!” cried the crowd. Some voices even added: “Long live the marshal!” But all took up the cry in chorus: “Down with Mazarin!”

The crowd gave place, the barricade was opened, and the marshal, with the remnant of his company, retreated, preceded by Friquet and his bandits, some of them making a presence of beating drums and others imitating the sound of the trumpet. It was almost a triumphal procession; only, behind the guards the barricades were closed again. The marshal bit his fingers.

In the meantime, as we have said, Mazarin was in his closet, putting his affairs in order. He called for D’Artagnan, but in the midst of such tumult he little expected to see him, D’Artagnan not being on service. In about ten minutes D’Artagnan appeared at the door, followed by the inseparable Porthos.

“Ah, come in, come in, Monsieur d’Artagnan!” cried the cardinal, “and welcome your friend too. But what is going on in this accursed Paris?”

“What is going on, my lord? nothing good,” replied D’Artagnan, shaking his head. “The town is in open revolt, and just now, as I was crossing the Rue Montorgueil with Monsieur du Vallon, who is here, and is your humble servant, they wanted in spite of my uniform, or perhaps because of my uniform, to make us cry `Long live Broussel!’ and must I tell you, my lord what they wished us to cry as well?”

“Speak, speak.”

“`Down with Mazarin!’ I’faith, the treasonable word is out.”

Mazarin smiled, but became very pale.

“And you did cry?” he asked.

“I’faith, no,” said D’Artagnan; “I was not in voice; Monsieur du Vallon has a cold and did not cry either. Then, my lord –- “

“Then what?” asked Mazarin.

“Look at my hat and cloak.”

And D’Artagnan displayed four gunshot holes in his cloak and two in his beaver. As for Porthos’s coat, a blow from a halberd had cut it open on the flank and a pistol shot had cut his feather in two.

“Diavolo!” said the cardinal, pensively gazing at the two friends with lively admiration; “I should have cried, I should.”

At this moment the tumult was heard nearer.

Mazarin wiped his forehead and looked around him. He had a great desire to go to the window, but he dared not.

“See what is going on, Monsieur D’Artagnan,” said he.

D’Artagnan went to the window with his habitual composure. “Oho!” said he, “what is this? Marechal de la Meilleraie returning without a hat — Fontrailles with his arm in a sling — wounded guards — horses bleeding; eh, then, what are the sentinels about? They are aiming — they are going to fire!”

“They have received orders to fire on the people if the people approach the Palais Royal!” exclaimed Mazarin.

“But if they fire, all is lost!” cried D’Artagnan.

“We have the gates.”

“The gates! to hold for five minutes — the gates, they will be torn down, twisted into iron wire, ground to powder! God’s death, don’t fire!” screamed D’Artagnan, throwing open the window.

In spite of this recommendation, which, owing to the noise, could scarcely have been heard, two or three musket shots resounded, succeeded by a terrible discharge. The balls might be heard peppering the facade of the Palais Royal, and one of them, passing under D’Artagnan’s arm, entered and broke a mirror, in which Porthos was complacently admiring himself.

“Alack! alack!” cried the cardinal, “a Venetian glass!”

“Oh, my lord,” said D’Artagnan, quietly shutting the window, “it is not worth while weeping yet, for probably an hour hence there will not be one of your mirrors remaining in the Palais Royal, whether they be Venetian or Parisian.”

“But what do you advise, then?” asked Mazarin, trembling.

“Eh, egad, to give up Broussel as they demand! What the devil do you want with a member of the parliament? He is of no earthly use to anybody.”

“And you, Monsieur du Vallon, is that your advice? What would you do?”

“I should give up Broussel,” said Porthos.

“Come, come with me, gentlemen!” exclaimed Mazarin. “I will go and discuss the matter with the queen.”

He stopped at the end of the corridor and said:

“I can count upon you, gentlemen, can I not?”

“We do not give ourselves twice over,” said D’Artagnan; “we have given ourselves to you; command, we shall obey.”

“Very well, then,” said Mazarin; “enter this cabinet and wait till I come back.”

And turning off he entered the drawing-room by another door.

The Riot becomes a Revolution.

The closet into which D’Artagnan and Porthos had been ushered was separated from the drawing-room where the queen was by tapestried curtains only, and this thin partition enabled them to hear all that passed in the adjoining room, whilst the aperture between the two hangings, small as it was, permitted them to see.

The queen was standing in the room, pale with anger; her self-control, however, was so great that it might have been imagined that she was calm. Comminges, Villequier and Guitant were behind her and the women again were behind the men. The Chancellor Sequier, who twenty years previously had persecuted her so ruthlessly, stood before her, relating how his carriage had been smashed, how he had been pursued and had rushed into the Hotel d’O –- , that the hotel was immediately invaded, pillaged and devastated; happily he had time to reach a closet hidden behind tapestry, in which he was secreted by an old woman, together with his brother, the Bishop of Meaux. Then the danger was so imminent, the rioters came so near, uttering such threats, that the chancellor thought his last hour had come and confessed himself to his brother priest, so as to be all ready to die in case he was discovered. Fortunately, however, he had not been taken; the people, believing that he had escaped by some back entrance, retired and left him at liberty to retreat. Then, disguised in he clothes of the Marquis d’O –- , he had left the hotel, stumbling over the bodies of an officer and two guards who had been killed whilst defending the street door.

During the recital Mazarin entered and glided noiselessly up to the queen to listen.

“Well,” said the queen, when the chancellor had finished speaking; “what do you think of it all?”

“I think that matters look very gloomy, madame.”

“But what step would you propose to me?”

“I could propose one to your majesty, but I dare not.”

“You may, you may, sir,” said the queen with a bitter smile; “you were not so timid once.”

The chancellor reddened and stammered some words.

“It is not a question of the past, but of the present,” said the queen; “you said you could give me advice — what is it?”

“Madame,” said the chancellor, hesitating, “it would be to release Broussel.”

The queen, although already pale, became visibly paler and her face was contracted.

“Release Broussel!” she cried, “never!”

At this moment steps were heard in the ante-room and without any announcement the Marechal de la Meilleraie appeared at the door.

“Ah, there you are, marechal,” cried Anne of Austria joyfully. “I trust you have brought this rabble to reason.”

“Madame,” replied the marechal, “I have left three men on the Pont Neuf, four at the Halle, six at the corner of the Rue de l’Arbre-Sec and two at the door of your palace — fifteen in all. I have brought away ten or twelve wounded. I know not where I have left my hat, and in all probability I should have been left with my hat, had the coadjutor not arrived in time to rescue me.”

“Ah, indeed,” said the queen, “it would have much astonished me if that low cur, with his distorted legs, had not been mixed up with all this.”

“Madame,” said La Meilleraie, “do not say too much against him before me, for the service he rendered me is still fresh.”

“Very good,” said the queen, “be as grateful as you like, it does not implicate me; you are here safe and sound, that is all I wished for; you are not only welcome, but welcome back.”

“Yes, madame; but I only came back on one condition — that I would transmit to your majesty the will of the people.”

“The will!” exclaimed the queen, frowning. “Oh! oh! monsieur marechal, you must indeed have found yourself in wondrous peril to have undertaken so strange a commission!”

The irony with which these words were uttered did not escape the marechal.

“Pardon, madame,” he said, “I am not a lawyer, I am a mere soldier, and probably, therefore, I do not quite comprehend the value of certain words; I ought to have said the wishes, and not the will, of the people. As for what you do me the honor to say, I presume you mean I was afraid?”

The queen smiled.

“Well, then, madame, yes, I did feel fear; and though I have been through twelve pitched battles and I cannot count how many charges and skirmishes, I own for the third time in my life I was afraid. Yes, and I would rather face your majesty, however threatening your smile, than face those demons who accompanied me hither and who sprung from I know not whence, unless from deepest hell.”

(” Bravo,” said D’Artagnan in a whisper to Porthos; “well answered.”)

“Well,” said the queen, biting her lips, whilst her courtiers looked at each other with surprise, “what is the desire of my people?”

“That Broussel shall be given up to them, madame.”

“Never!” said the queen, “never!”

“Your majesty is mistress,” said La Meilleraie, retreating a few steps.

“Where are you going, marechal?” asked the queen.

“To give your majesty’s reply to those who await it.”

“Stay, marechal; I will not appear to parley with rebels.”

“Madame, I have pledged my word, and unless you order me to be arrested I shall be forced to return.”

Anne of Austria’s eyes shot glances of fire.

“Oh! that is no impediment, sir,” said she; “I have had greater men than you arrested — Guitant!”

Mazarin sprang forward.

“Madame, “said he, “if I dared in my turn advise –- “

“Would it be to give up Broussel, sir? If so, you can spare yourself the trouble.”

“No,” said Mazarin; “although, perhaps, that counsel is as good as any other.”

“Then what may it be?”

“To call for monsieur le coadjuteur.”

“The coadjutor!” cried the queen, “that dreadful mischief maker! It is he who has raised all this revolt.”

“The more reason,” said Mazarin; “if he has raised it he can put it down.”

“And hold, madame,” suggested Comminges, who was near a window, out of which he could see; “hold, the moment is a happy one, for there he is now, giving his blessing in the square of the Palais Royal.”

The queen sprang to the window.

“It is true,” she said, “the arch hypocrite — see!”

“I see,” said Mazarin, “that everybody kneels before him, although he be but coadjutor,