Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Twenty Years After by Alexandre Dumas (epub read online books .txt) 📖
- Author: Alexandre Dumas
Book online «Twenty Years After by Alexandre Dumas (epub read online books .txt) 📖». Author Alexandre Dumas
“You suspect me, Monsieur de Rochefort; I want him and you and all to aid me.”
“Begin with me, my lord; for after five or six years of imprisonment it is natural to feel some curiosity as to one’s destination.”
“You, my dear Monsieur de Rochefort, shall have the post of confidence; you shall go to Vincennes, where Monsieur de Beaufort is confined; you will guard him well for me. Well, what is the matter?”
“The matter is that you have proposed to me what is impossible,” said Rochefort, shaking his head with an air of disappointment.
“What! impossible? And why is it impossible?”
“Because Monsieur de Beaufort is one of my friends, or rather, I am one of his. Have you forgotten, my lord, that it is he who answered for me to the queen?”
“Since then Monsieur de Beaufort has become an enemy of the State.”
“That may be, my lord; but since I am neither king nor queen nor minister, he is not my enemy and I cannot accept your offer.”
“This, then, is what you call devotion! I congratulate you. Your devotion does not commit you too far, Monsieur de Rochefort.”
“And then, my lord,” continued Rochefort, “you understand that to emerge from the Bastile in order to enter Vincennes is only to change one’s prison.”
“Say at once that you are on the side of Monsieur de Beaufort; that will be the most sincere line of conduct,” said Mazarin.
“My lord, I have been so long shut up, that I am only of one party--I am for fresh air. Employ me in any other way; employ me even actively, but let it be on the high roads.”
“My dear Monsieur de Rochefort,” Mazarin replied in a tone of raillery, “you think yourself still a young man; your spirit is that of the phoenix, but your strength fails you. Believe me, you ought now to take a rest. Here!”
“You decide, then, nothing about me, my lord?”
“On the contrary, I have come to a decision.”
Bernouin came into the room.
“Call an officer of justice,” he said; “and stay close to me,” he added, in a low tone.
The officer entered. Mazarin wrote a few words, which he gave to this man; then he bowed.
“Adieu, Monsieur de Rochefort,” he said.
Rochefort bent low.
“I see, my lord, I am to be taken back to the Bastile.”
“You are sagacious.”
“I shall return thither, my lord, but it is a mistake on your part not to employ me.”
“You? the friend of my greatest foes? Don’t suppose that you are the only person who can serve me, Monsieur de Rochefort. I shall find many men as able as you are.”
“I wish you may, my lord,” replied De Rochefort.
He was then reconducted by the little staircase, instead of passing through the ante-chamber where D’Artagnan was waiting. In the courtyard the carriage and the four musketeers were ready, but he looked around in vain for his friend.
“Ah!” he muttered to himself, “this changes the situation, and if there is still a crowd of people in the streets we will try to show Mazarin that we are still, thank God, good for something else than keeping guard over a prisoner;” and he jumped into the carriage with the alacrity of a man of five-and-twenty.
When left alone with Bernouin, Mazarin was for some minutes lost in thought. He had gained much information, but not enough. Mazarin was a cheat at the card-table. This is a detail preserved to us by Brienne. He called it using his advantages. He now determined not to begin the game with D’Artagnan till he knew completely all his adversary’s cards.
“My lord, have you any commands?” asked Bernouin.
“Yes, yes,” replied Mazarin. “Light me; I am going to the queen.”
Bernouin took up a candlestick and led the way.
There was a secret communication between the cardinal’s apartments and those of the queen; and through this corridor* Mazarin passed whenever he wished to visit Anne of Austria.
In the bedroom in which this passage ended, Bernouin encountered Madame de Beauvais, like himself intrusted with the secret of these subterranean love affairs; and Madame de Beauvais undertook to prepare Anne of Austria, who was in her oratory with the young king, Louis XIV., to receive the cardinal.
Anne, reclining in a large easy-chair, her head supported by her hand, her elbow resting on a table, was looking at her son, who was turning over the leaves of a large book filled with pictures. This celebrated woman fully understood the art of being dull with dignity. It was her practice to pass hours either in her oratory or in her room, without either reading or praying.
When Madame de Beauvais appeared at the door and announced the cardinal, the child, who had been absorbed in the pages of Quintus Curtius, enlivened as they were by engravings of Alexander’s feats of arms, frowned and looked at his mother.
“Why,” he said, “does he enter without first asking for an audience?”
Anne colored slightly.
“The prime minister,” she said, “is obliged in these unsettled days to inform the queen of all that is happening from time to time, without exciting the curiosity or remarks of the court.”
“But Richelieu never came in this manner,” said the pertinacious boy.
“How can you remember what Monsieur de Richelieu did? You were too young to know about such things.”
“I do not remember what he did, but I have inquired and I have been told all about it.”
“And who told you about it?” asked Anne of Austria, with a movement of impatience.
“I know that I ought never to name the persons who answer my questions,” answered the child, “for if I do I shall learn nothing further.”
At this very moment Mazarin entered. The king rose immediately, took his book, closed it and went to lay it down on the table, near which he continued standing, in order that Mazarin might be obliged to stand also.
Mazarin contemplated these proceedings with a thoughtful glance. They explained what had occurred that evening.
He bowed respectfully to the king, who gave him a somewhat cavalier reception, but a look from his mother reproved him for the hatred which, from his infancy, Louis XIV. had entertained toward Mazarin, and he endeavored to receive the minister’s homage with civility.
Anne of Austria sought to read in Mazarin’s face the occasion of this unexpected visit, since the cardinal usually came to her apartment only after every one had retired.
The minister made a slight sign with his head, whereupon the queen said to Madame Beauvais:
“It is time for the king to go to bed; call Laporte.”
The queen had several times already told her son that he ought to go to bed, and several times Louis had coaxingly insisted on staying where he was; but now he made no reply, but turned pale and bit his lips with anger.
In a few minutes Laporte came into the room. The child went directly to him without kissing his mother.
“Well, Louis,” said Anne, “why do you not kiss me?”
“I thought you were angry with me, madame; you sent me away.”
“I do not send you away, but you have had the small-pox and I am afraid that sitting up late may tire you.”
“You had no fears of my being tired when you ordered me to go to the palace to-day to pass the odious decrees which have raised the people to rebellion.”
“Sire!” interposed Laporte, in order to turn the subject, “to whom does your majesty wish me to give the candle?”
“To any one, Laporte,” the child said; and then added in a loud voice, “to any one except Mancini.”
Now Mancini was a nephew of Mazarin’s and was as much hated by Louis as the cardinal himself, although placed near his person by the minister.
And the king went out of the room without either embracing his mother or even bowing to the cardinal.
“Good,” said Mazarin, “I am glad to see that his majesty has been brought up with a hatred of dissimulation.”
“Why do you say that?” asked the queen, almost timidly.
“Why, it seems to me that the way in which he left us needs no explanation. Besides, his majesty takes no pains to conceal how little affection he has for me. That, however, does not hinder me from being entirely devoted to his service, as I am to that of your majesty.”
“I ask your pardon for him, cardinal,” said the queen; “he is a child, not yet able to understand his obligations to you.”
The cardinal smiled.
“But,” continued the queen, “you have doubtless come for some important purpose. What is it, then?”
Mazarin sank into a chair with the deepest melancholy painted on his countenance.
“It is likely,” he replied, “that we shall soon be obliged to separate, unless you love me well enough to follow me to Italy.”
“Why,” cried the queen; “how is that?”
“Because, as they say in the opera of ‘Thisbe,’ ‘The whole world conspires to break our bonds.’”
“You jest, sir!” answered the queen, endeavoring to assume something of her former dignity.
“Alas! I do not, madame,” rejoined Mazarin. “Mark well what I say. The whole world conspires to break our bonds. Now as you are one of the whole world, I mean to say that you also are deserting me.”
“Cardinal!”
“Heavens! did I not see you the other day smile on the Duke of Orleans? or rather at what he said?”
“And what was he saying?”
“He said this, madame: ‘Mazarin is a stumbling-block. Send him away and all will then be well.’”
“What do you wish me to do?”
“Oh, madame! you are the queen!”
“Queen, forsooth! when I am at the mercy of every scribbler in the Palais Royal who covers waste paper with nonsense, or of every country squire in the kingdom.”
“Nevertheless, you have still the power of banishing from your presence those whom you do not like!”
“That is to say, whom you do not like,” returned the queen.
“I! persons whom I do not like!”
“Yes, indeed. Who sent away Madame de Chevreuse after she had been persecuted twelve years under the last reign?”
“A woman of intrigue, who wanted to keep up against me the spirit of cabal she had raised against M. de Richelieu.”
“Who dismissed Madame de Hautefort, that friend so loyal that she refused the favor of the king that she might remain in mine?”
“A prude, who told you every night, as she undressed you, that it was a sin to love a priest, just as if one were a priest because one happens to be a cardinal.”
“Who ordered Monsieur de Beaufort to be arrested?”
“An incendiary the burden of whose song was his intention to assassinate me.”
“You see, cardinal,” replied the queen, “that your enemies are mine.”
“That is not enough madame, it is necessary that your friends should be also mine.”
“My friends, monsieur?” The queen shook her head. “Alas, I have them no longer!”
“How is it that you have no friends in your prosperity when you had many in adversity?”
“It is because in my prosperity I forgot those old friends, monsieur; because I have acted like Queen Marie de Medicis, who, returning from her first exile, treated with contempt all those who had suffered for her and, being proscribed a second time, died at Cologne abandoned by every one, even by her own
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