Lambert attacked it. Monk had no more inclination to support
parliament than Lambert, but he had it inscribed on his
standards, so that all those of the contrary party were
reduced to write upon theirs “Rebellion,” which sounded ill
to puritan ears. They flocked, then, from Lambert to Monk,
as sinners flock from Baal to God.
Monk made his calculations, at a thousand desertions a day
Lambert had men enough to last twenty days; but there is in
sinking things such a growth of weight and swiftness, which
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combine with each other, that a hundred left the first day,
five hundred the second, a thousand the third. Monk thought
he had obtained his rate. But from one thousand the
deserters increased to two thousand, then to four thousand,
and, a week after, Lambert, perceiving that he had no longer
the possibility of accepting battle, if it were offered to
him, took the wise resolution of decamping during the night,
returning to London, and being beforehand with Monk in
constructing a power with the wreck of the military party.
But Monk, free and without uneasiness, marched towards
London as a conqueror, augmenting his army with all the
floating parties on his way. He encamped at Barnet, that is
to say, within four leagues of the capital, cherished by the
parliament, which thought it beheld in him a protector, and
awaited by the people, who were anxious to see him reveal
himself, that they might judge him. D’Artagnan himself had
not been able to fathom his tactics; he observed — he
admired. Monk could not enter London with a settled
determination without bringing about civil war. He
temporized for a short time.
Suddenly, when least expected, Monk drove the military party
out of London, and installed himself in the city amidst the
citizens, by order of the parliament; then, at the moment
when the citizens were crying out against Monk — at the
moment when the soldiers themselves were accusing their
leader — Monk, finding himself certain of a majority,
declared to the Rump Parliament that it must abdicate — be
dissolved — and yield its place to a government which would
not be a joke. Monk pronounced this declaration, supported
by fifty thousand swords, to which, that same evening, were
united, with shouts of delirious joy, the five hundred
thousand inhabitants of the good city of London. At length,
at the moment when the people, after their triumphs and
festive repasts in the open streets, were looking about for
a master, it was affirmed that a vessel had left the Hague,
bearing Charles II. and his fortunes.
“Gentlemen,” said Monk to his officers, “I am going to meet
the legitimate king. He who loves me will follow me.” A
burst of acclamations welcomed these words, which D’Artagnan
did not hear without the greatest delight.
“Mordioux!” said he to Monk, “that is bold, monsieur.”
“You will accompany me, will you not?” said Monk.
“Pardieu! general. But tell me, I beg, what you wrote by
Athos, that is to say, the Comte de la Fere — you know —
the day of our arrival?”
“I have no secrets from you now,” replied Monk. “I wrote
these words: `Sire, I expect your majesty in six weeks at
Dover.'”
“Ah!” said D’Artagnan, “I no longer say it is bold; I say it
is well played; it is a fine stroke!”
“You are something of a judge in such matters,” replied
Monk.
And this was the only time the general had ever made an
allusion to his voyage to Holland.
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CHAPTER 32
Athos and D’Artagnan meet once more at the Hostelry of the Corne du Cerf
The king of England made his entree into Dover with great
pomp, as he afterwards did in London. He had sent for his
brothers; he had brought over his mother and sister. England
had been for so long a time given up to herself — that is
to say, to tyranny, mediocrity, and nonsense — that this
return of Charles II., whom the English only knew as the son
of the man whose head they had cut off, was a festival for