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
“Wretched men!”
“Their officers wish to see you, sir.”
“I have no time to see them. Are they paid?”
“Yes, to-night.”
“Let them be off and return to their own country, there to hide their shame, if its hills are high enough; I have nothing more to do with them nor they with me. And now go, Mordaunt.”
“Before I go,” said Mordaunt, “I have some questions and a favor to ask you, sir.”
“A favor from me?”
Mordaunt bowed.
“I come to you, my leader, my head, my father, and I ask you, master, are you contented with me?”
Cromwell looked at him with astonishment. The young man remained immovable.
“Yes,” said Cromwell; “you have done, since I knew you, not only your duty, but more than your duty; you have been a faithful friend, a cautious negotiator, a brave soldier.”
“Do you remember, sir it was my idea, the Scotch treaty, for giving up the king?”
“Yes, the idea was yours. I had no such contempt for men before.”
“Was I not a good ambassador in France?”
“Yes, for Mazarin has granted what I desire.”
“Have I not always fought for your glory and interests?”
“Too ardently, perhaps; it is what I have just reproached you for. But what is the meaning of all these questions?”
“To tell you, my lord, that the moment has now arrived when, with a single word, you may recompense all these services.”
“Oh!” said Oliver, with a slight curl of his lip, “I forgot that every service merits some reward and that up to this moment you have not been paid.”
“Sir, I can take my pay at this moment, to the full extent of my wishes.”
“How is that?”
“I have the payment under my hand; I almost possess it.”
“What is it? Have they offered you money? Do you wish a step, or some place in the government?”
“Sir, will you grant me my request?”
“Let us hear what it is, first.”
“Sir, when you have told me to obey an order did I ever answer, ‘Let me see that order’?”
“If, however, your wish should be one impossible to fulfill?”
“When you have cherished a wish and have charged me with its fulfillment, have I ever replied, ‘It is impossible’?”
“But a request preferred with so much preparation----”
“Ah, do not fear, sir,” said Mordaunt, with apparent simplicity: “it will not ruin you.”
“Well, then,” said Cromwell, “I promise, as far as lies in my power, to grant your request; proceed.”
“Sir, two prisoners were taken this morning, will you let me have them?”
“For their ransom? have they then offered a large one?” inquired Cromwell.
“On the contrary, I think they are poor, sir.”
“They are friends of yours, then?”
“Yes, sir,” exclaimed Mordaunt, “they are friends, dear friends of mine, and I would lay down my life for them.”
“Very well, Mordaunt,” exclaimed Cromwell, pleased at having his opinion of the young man raised once more; “I will give them to you; I will not even ask who they are; do as you like with them.”
“Thank you, sir!” exclaimed Mordaunt, “thank you; my life is always at your service, and should I lose it I should still owe you something; thank you; you have indeed repaid me munificently for my services.”
He threw himself at the feet of Cromwell, and in spite of the efforts of the Puritan general, who did not like this almost kingly homage, he took his hand and kissed it.
“What!” said Cromwell, arresting him for a moment as he arose; “is there nothing more you wish? neither gold nor rank?”
“You have given me all you can give me, and from to-day your debt is paid.”
And Mordaunt darted out of the general’s tent, his heart beating and his eyes sparkling with joy.
Cromwell gazed a moment after him.
“He has slain his uncle!” he murmured. “Alas! what are my servants? Possibly this one, who asks nothing or seems to ask nothing, has asked more in the eyes of Heaven than those who tax the country and steal the bread of the poor. Nobody serves me for nothing. Charles, who is my prisoner, may still have friends, but I have none!”
And with a deep sigh he again sank into the reverie that had been interrupted by Mordaunt.
Whilst Mordaunt was making his way to Cromwell’s tent, D’Artagnan and Porthos had brought their prisoners to the house which had been assigned to them as their dwelling at Newcastle.
The order given by Mordaunt to the sergeant had been heard by D’Artagnan, who accordingly, by an expressive glance, warned Athos and Aramis to exercise extreme caution. The prisoners, therefore, had remained silent as they marched along in company with their conquerors--which they could do with the less difficulty since each of them had occupation enough in answering his own thoughts.
It would be impossible to describe Mousqueton’s astonishment when from the threshold of the door he saw the four friends approaching, followed by a sergeant with a dozen men. He rubbed his eyes, doubting if he really saw before him Athos and Aramis; and forced at last to yield to evidence, he was on the point of breaking forth in exclamations when he encountered a glance from the eyes of Porthos, the repressive force of which he was not inclined to dispute.
Mousqueton remained glued to the door, awaiting the explanation of this strange occurrence. What upset him completely was that the four friends seemed to have no acquaintance with one another.
The house to which D’Artagnan and Porthos conducted Athos and Aramis was the one assigned to them by General Cromwell and of which they had taken possession on the previous evening. It was at the corner of two streets and had in the rear, bordering on the side street, stables and a sort of garden. The windows on the ground floor, according to a custom in provincial villages, were barred, so that they strongly resembled the windows of a prison.
The two friends made the prisoners enter the house first, whilst they stood at the door, desiring Mousqueton to take the four horses to the stable.
“Why don’t we go in with them?” asked Porthos.
“We must first see what the sergeant wishes us to do,” replied D’Artagnan.
The sergeant and his men took possession of the little garden.
D’Artagnan asked them what they wished and why they had taken that position.
“We have had orders,” answered the man, “to help you in taking care of your prisoners.”
There could be no fault to find with this arrangement; on the contrary, it seemed to be a delicate attention, to be gratefully received; D’Artagnan, therefore, thanked the man and gave him a crown piece to drink to General Cromwell’s health.
The sergeant answered that Puritans never drank, and put the crown piece in his pocket.
“Ah!” said Porthos, “what a fearful day, my dear D’Artagnan!”
“What! a fearful day, when to-day we find our friends?”
“Yes; but under what circumstances?”
“‘Tis true that our position is an awkward one; but let us go in and see more clearly what is to be done.”
“Things look black enough,” replied Porthos; “I understand now why Aramis advised me to strangle that horrible Mordaunt.”
“Silence!” cried the Gascon; “do not utter that name.”
“But,” argued Porthos, “I speak French and they are all English.”
D’Artagnan looked at Porthos with that air of wonder which a cunning man cannot help feeling at displays of crass stupidity.
But as Porthos on his side could not comprehend his astonishment, he merely pushed him indoors, saying, “Let us go in.”
They found Athos in profound despondency; Aramis looked first at Porthos and then at D’Artagnan, without speaking, but the latter understood his meaningful look.
“You want to know how we came here? ‘Tis easily guessed. Mazarin sent us with a letter to General Cromwell.”
“But how came you to fall into company with Mordaunt, whom I bade you distrust?” asked Athos.
“And whom I advised you to strangle, Porthos,” said Aramis.
“Mazarin again. Cromwell had sent him to Mazarin. Mazarin sent us to Cromwell. There is a certain fatality in it.”
“Yes, you are right, D’Artagnan, a fatality that will separate and ruin us! So, my dear Aramis, say no more about it and let us prepare to submit to destiny.”
“Zounds! on the contrary, let us speak about it; for it was agreed among us, once for all, that we should always hold together, though engaged on opposing sides.”
“Yes,” added Athos, “I now ask you, D’Artagnan, what side you are on? Ah! behold for what end the wretched Mazarin has made use of you. Do you know in what crime you are to-day engaged? In the capture of a king, his degradation and his murder.”
“Oh! oh!” cried Porthos, “do you think so?”
“You are exaggerating, Athos; we are not so far gone as that,” replied the lieutenant.
“Good heavens! we are on the very eve of it. I say, why is the king taken prisoner? Those who wish to respect him as a master would not buy him as a slave. Do you think it is to replace him on the throne that Cromwell has paid for him two hundred thousand pounds sterling? They will kill him, you may be sure of it.”
“I don’t maintain the contrary,” said D’Artagnan. “But what’s that to us? I am here because I am a soldier and have to obey orders--I have taken an oath to obey, and I do obey; but you who have taken no such oath, why are you here and what cause do you represent?”
“That most sacred in the world,” said Athos; “the cause of misfortune, of religion, royalty. A friend, a wife, a daughter, have done us the honor to call us to their aid. We have served them to the best of our poor means, and God will recompense the will, forgive the want of power. You may see matters differently, D’Artagnan, and think otherwise. I will not attempt to argue with you, but I blame you.”
“Heyday!” cried D’Artagnan, “what matters it to me, after all, if Cromwell, who’s an Englishman, revolts against his king, who is a Scotchman? I am myself a Frenchman. I have nothing to do with these things--why hold me responsible?”
“Yes,” said Porthos.
“Because all gentlemen are brothers, because you are a gentleman, because the kings of all countries are the first among gentlemen, because the blind populace, ungrateful and brutal, always takes pleasure in pulling down what is above them. And you, you, D’Artagnan, a man sprung from the ancient nobility of France, bearing an honorable name, carrying a good sword, have helped to give up a king to beersellers, shopkeepers, and wagoners. Ah! D’Artagnan! perhaps you have done your duty as a soldier, but as a gentleman, I say that you are very culpable.”
D’Artagnan was chewing the stalk of a flower, unable to reply and thoroughly uncomfortable; for when turned from the eyes of Athos he encountered those of Aramis.
“And you, Porthos,” continued the count, as if in consideration for D’Artagnan’s embarrassment, “you, the best heart, the best friend, the best soldier that I know--you, with a soul that makes you worthy of a birth on the steps of a throne, and who, sooner or later, must receive your reward from an intelligent king--you, my dear Porthos, you, a gentleman in manners, in tastes and in courage, you are as culpable as D’Artagnan.”
Porthos blushed, but with pleasure rather than with confusion; and yet, bowing his head, as if humiliated, he said:
“Yes, yes, my dear count, I feel that you are right.”
Athos arose.
“Come,” he said, stretching out his hand to D’Artagnan, “come, don’t be sullen,
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