“I have no doubt of it,” said D’Artagnan.
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“Now, my dear friend, look upon all I tell you as merely the
statement of a monk — of a man who resembles an echo —
repeating simply what he hears. I understand that Mazarin is
at this very moment extremely uneasy as to the state of
affairs; that his orders are not respected like those of our
former bugbear, the deceased cardinal, whose portrait as you
see hangs yonder — for whatever may be thought of him, it
must be allowed that Richelieu was great.”
“I will not contradict you there,” said D’Artagnan.
“My first impressions were favorable to the minister; I said
to myself that a minister is never loved, but that with the
genius this one was said to have he would eventually triumph
over his enemies and would make himself feared, which in my
opinion is much more to be desired than to be loved —- ”
D’Artagnan made a sign with his head which indicated that he
entirely approved that doubtful maxim.
“This, then,” continued Aramis, “was my first opinion; but
as I am very ignorant in matters of this kind and as the
humility which I profess obliges me not to rest on my own
judgment, but to ask the opinion of others, I have inquired
— Eh! — my friend —- ”
Aramis paused.
“Well? what?” asked his friend.
“Well, I must mortify myself. I must confess that I was
mistaken. Monsieur de Mazarin is not a man of genius, as I
thought, he is a man of no origin — once a servant of
Cardinal Bentivoglio, and he got on by intrigue. He is an
upstart, a man of no name, who will only be the tool of a
party in France. He will amass wealth, he will injure the
king’s revenue and pay to himself the pensions which
Richelieu paid to others. He is neither a gentleman in
manner nor in feeling, but a sort of buffoon, a punchinello,
a pantaloon. Do you know him? I do not.”
“Hem!” said D’Artagnan, “there is some truth in what you
say.”
“Ah! it fills me with pride to find that, thanks to a common
sort of penetration with which I am endowed, I am approved
by a man like you, fresh from the court.”
“But you speak of him, not of his party, his resources.”
“It is true — the queen is for him.”
“Something in his favor.”
“But he will never have the king.”
“A mere child.”
“A child who will be of age in four years. Then he has
neither the parliament nor the people with him — they
represent the wealth of the country; nor the nobles nor the
princes, who are the military power of France.”
D’Artagnan scratched his ear. He was forced to confess to
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himself that this reasoning was not only comprehensive, but
just.
“You see, my poor friend, that I am sometimes bereft of my
ordinary thoughtfulness; perhaps I am wrong in speaking thus
to you, who have evidently a leaning to Mazarin.”
“I!” cried D’Artagnan, “not in the least.”
“You spoke of a mission.”
“Did I? I was wrong then, no, I said what you say — there
is a crisis at hand. Well! let’s fly the feather before the
wind; let us join with that side to which the wind will
carry it and resume our adventurous life. We were once four
valiant knights — four hearts fondly united; let us unite
again, not our hearts, which have never been severed, but
our courage and our fortunes. Here’s a good opportunity for
getting something better than a diamond.”
“You are right, D’Artagnan; I held a similar project, but as
I had not nor ever shall have your fruitful, vigorous
imagination, the idea was suggested to me. Every one
nowadays wants auxiliaries; propositions have been made to
me and I confess to you frankly that the coadjutor has made
me speak out.”
“Monsieur de Gondy! the cardinal’s enemy?”
“No; the king’s friend,” said Aramis; “the king’s friend,
you understand. Well, it is a question of serving the king,