forty men, I am very much afraid —- ”
“Therefore I shall fight no pitched battles, my dear
Planchet,” said the Gascon, laughing. “We have very fine
examples in antiquity of skillful retreats and marches,
which consisted in avoiding the enemy instead of attacking
them. You should know that, Planchet, you who commanded the
Parisians the day on which they ought to have fought against
the musketeers, and who so well calculated marches and
countermarches, that you never left the Palais Royal.”
Planchet could not help laughing. “It is plain,” replied he,
“that if your forty men conceal themselves, and are not
unskillful, they may hope not to be beaten: but you propose
obtaining some result, do you not?”
“No doubt. This, then, in my opinion, is the plan to be
proceeded upon in order quickly to replace his majesty
Charles II. on his throne.”
“Good!” said Planchet, increasing his attention; “let us see
your plan. But in the first place it seems to me we are
forgetting something.”
“What is that?”
“We have set aside the nation, which prefers singing merry
songs to psalms, and the army, which we will not fight: but
the parliament remains, and that seldom sings.”
“Nor does it fight. How is it, Planchet, that an intelligent
man like you should take any heed of a set of brawlers who
call themselves Rumps and Barebones. The parliament does not
trouble me at all, Planchet.”
“As soon as it ceases to trouble you, monsieur, let us pass
on.”
“Yes, and arrive at the result. You remember Cromwell,
Planchet?”
“I have heard a great deal of talk about him.”
“He was a rough soldier.”
“And a terrible eater, moreover.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Why, at one gulp he swallowed all England.”
“Well, Planchet, the evening before the day on which he
swallowed England, if any one had swallowed M. Cromwell?”
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“Oh, monsieur, it is one of the axioms of mathematics that
the container must be greater than the contained.”
“Very well! That is our affair, Planchet.”
“But M. Cromwell is dead, and his container is now the
tomb.”
“My dear Planchet, I see with pleasure that you have not
only become a mathematician, but a philosopher.”
“Monsieur, in my grocery business I use much printed paper,
and that instructs me.”
“Bravo! You know then, in that case — for you have not
learnt mathematics and philosophy without a little history
— that after this Cromwell so great, there came one who was
very little.”
“Yes; he was named Richard, and he has done as you have, M.
d’Artagnan — he has tendered his resignation.”
“Very well said — very well! After the great man who is
dead, after the little one who tendered his resignation,
there came a third. This one is named Monk; he is an able
general, considering he has never fought a battle; he is a
skillful diplomatist, considering that he never speaks in
public, and that having to say `good-day’ to a man, he
meditates twelve hours, and ends by saying `good-night;’
which makes people exclaim `miracle!’ seeing that it falls
out correctly.”
“That is rather strong,” said Planchet; “but I know another
political man who resembles him very much.”
“M. Mazarin you mean?”
“Himself.”
“You are right, Planchet; only M. Mazarin does not aspire to
the throne of France; and that changes everything. Do you
see? Well, this M. Monk, who has England ready-roasted in
his plate, and who is already opening his mouth to swallow
it — this M. Monk, who says to the people of Charles II.,
and to Charles II. himself, `Nescio vos’ —- ”
“I don’t understand English,” said Planchet.
“Yes, but I understand it,” said D’Artagnan. “`Nescio vos’
means `I do not know you.’ This M. Monk, the most important
man in England, when he shall have swallowed it —- ”
“Well?” asked Planchet.
“Well, my friend, I shall go over yonder, and with my forty
men, I shall carry him off, pack him up, and bring him into
France, where two modes of proceeding present themselves to
my dazzled eyes.”
“Oh! and to mine too,” cried Planchet, transported with