CHAPTER 26
Heart and Mind
"My lord," said the Comte de la Fere, "you are a noble
Englishman, you are a loyal man; you are speaking to a noble
Frenchman, to a man of heart. The gold contained in these
two casks before us, I have told you was mine. I was wrong
-- it is the first lie I have pronounced in my life, a
temporary lie, it is true. This gold is the property of King
Charles II., exiled from his country, driven from his
palaces, the orphan at once of his father and his throne,
and deprived of everything, even of the melancholy happiness
of kissing on his knees the stone upon which the hands of
his murderers have written that simple epitaph which will
eternally cry out for vengeance upon them: -- `Here lies
Charles I.'"
Monk grew slightly pale, and an imperceptible shudder crept
over his skin and raised his gray mustache.
"I," continued Athos, "I, Comte de la Fere, the last, only
faithful friend the poor abandoned prince has left, I have
offered him to come hither to find the man upon whom now
depends the fate of royalty and of England; and I have come,
and placed myself under the eye of this man, and have placed
myself naked and unarmed in his hands, saying: -- `My lord,
here are the last resources of a prince whom God made your
master, whom his birth made your king; upon you, and you
alone, depend his life and his future. Will you employ this
money in consoling England for the evils it must have
suffered from anarchy; that is to say, will you aid, and if
not aid, will you allow King Charles II. to act? You are
master, you are king, all-powerful master and king, for
chance sometimes defeats the work of time and God. I am here
alone with you, my lord: if divided success alarms you, if
my complicity annoys you, you are armed, my lord, and here
is a grave ready dug; if, on the contrary, the enthusiasm of
your cause carries you away, if you are what you appear to
be, if your hand in what it undertakes obeys your mind, .and
your mind your heart, here are the means of ruining forever
the cause of your enemy, Charles Stuart. Kill, then, the man
you have before you, for that man will never return to him
who has sent him without bearing with him the deposit which
Charles I., his father, confided to him, and keep the gold
which may assist in carrying on the civil war. Alas! my
lord, it is the fate of this unfortunate prince. He must
either corrupt or kill, for everything resists him,
everything repulses him, everything is hostile to him; and
yet he is marked with the divine seal, and he must, not to
belie his blood, reascend the throne, or die upon the sacred
soil of his country.'
"My lord, you have heard me. To any other but the
illustrious man who listens to me, I would have said: `My
lord, you are poor; my lord, the king offers you this
million as an earnest of an immense bargain; take it, and
serve Charles II. as I served Charles I., and I feel assured
that God, who listens to us, who sees us, who alone reads in
your heart, shut from all human eyes, -- I am assured God
will give you a happy eternal life after a happy death.' But
to General Monk, to the illustrious man of whose standard I
believe I have taken measure, I say: `My lord, there is for
you in the history of peoples and kings a brilliant place,
an immortal, imperishable glory, if alone, without any other
interest but the good of your country and the interests of
justice, you become the supporter of your king. Many others
have been conquerors and glorious usurpers; you, my lord,
you will be content with being the most virtuous, the most
honest, and the most incorruptible of men: you will have
held a crown in your hand, and instead of placing it upon
your own brow, you will have deposited it upon the head of
him for whom it was made. Oh, my lord, act thus, and you
will leave to posterity the most enviable of names, in which
no human creature can rival you.'"
Athos stopped. During the whole time that the noble
gentleman was speaking, Monk had not given one sign of
either approbation or disapprobation; scarcely even, during
this vehement appeal, had his eyes been animated with that
fire which bespeaks intelligence. The Comte de la Fere
looked at him sorrowfully, and on seeing that melancholy
countenance, felt discouragement penetrate to his very
heart. At length Monk appeared to recover, and broke the
silence.
"Monsieur," said he, in a mild, calm tone, "in reply to you,
I will make use of your own words. To any other but yourself
I would reply by expulsion, imprisonment, or still worse,
for, in fact, you tempt me and you force me at the same
time. But you are one of those men, monsieur, to whom it is
impossible to refuse the attention and respect they merit;
you are a brave gentleman, monsieur -- I say so, and I am a
judge. You just now spoke of a deposit which the late king
transmitted through you to his son -- are you, then, one of
those Frenchmen who, as I have heard, endeavored to carry
off Charles I. from Whitehall?"
"Yes, my lord, it was I who was beneath the scaffold during
the execution; I, who had not been able to redeem it,
received upon my brow the blood of the martyred king. I
received, at the same time, the last word of Charles I., it
was to me he said, `Remember!' and in saying, `Remember!' he
alluded to the money at your feet, my lord."
"I have heard much of you, monsieur," said Monk, "but I am
happy to have, in the first place, appreciated you by my own
observations, and not by my remembrances. I will give you,
then, explanations that I have given to no other, and you
will appreciate what a distinction I make between you and
the persons who have hitherto been sent to me."
Athos bowed, and prepared to absorb greedily the words which
fell, one by one, from the mouth of Monk, -- those words
rare and precious as the dew in the desert.
"You spoke to me," said Monk, "of Charles II.; but pray,
monsieur, of what consequence to me is that phantom of a
king? I have grown old in a war and in a policy which are
nowadays so closely linked together, that every man of the
sword must fight in virtue of his rights or his ambition
with a personal interest, and not blindly behind an officer,
as in ordinary wars. For myself, I perhaps desire nothing,
but I fear much. In the war of to-day rests the liberty of
England, and, perhaps, that of every Englishman. How can you
expect that I, free in the position I have made for myself,
should go willingly and hold out my hands to the shackles of
a stranger? That is all Charles is to me. He has fought
battles here which he has lost, he is therefore a bad
captain; he has succeeded in no negotiation, he is therefore
a bad diplomatist; he has paraded his wants and his miseries
in all the courts of Europe, he has therefore a weak and
pusillanimous heart. Nothing noble, nothing great, nothing
strong has hitherto emanated from that genius which aspires
to govern one of the greatest kingdoms of the earth. I know
this Charles, then, under none but bad aspects, and you
would wish me, a man of good sense, to go and make myself
gratuitously the slave of a creature who is inferior to me
in military capacity, in politics, and in dignity! No,
monsieur. When some great and noble action shall have taught
me to value Charles, I shall perhaps recognize his rights to
a throne from which we have cast the father because he
wanted the virtues which his son has hitherto lacked, but,
in fact of rights, I only recognize my own; the revolution
made me a general, my sword will make me protector, if I
wish it. Let Charles show himself, let him present himself,
let him enter the competition open to genius, and, above
all, let him remember that he is of a race from whom more
will be expected than from any other. Therefore, monsieur,
say no more about him. I neither refuse nor accept: I
reserve myself -- I wait."
Athos knew Monk to be too well informed of all concerning
Charles to venture to urge the discussion further; it was
neither the time nor the place. "My lord," then said he, "I
have nothing to do but to thank you."
"And why, monsieur? Because you have formed a correct
opinion of me, or because I have acted according to your
judgment? Is that, in truth, worthy of thanks? This gold
which you are about to carry to Charles will serve me as a
test for him, by seeing the use he will make of it. I shall
have an opinion which now I have not."
"And yet does not your honor fear to compromise yourself by
allowing such a sum to be carried away for the service of
your enemy?"
"My enemy, say you? Eh, monsieur, I have no enemies. I am in
the service of the parliament, which orders me to fight
General Lambert and Charles Stuart -- its enemies, and not
mine. I fight them. If the parliament, on the contrary,
ordered me to unfurl my standards on the port of London, and
to assemble my soldiers on the banks to receive Charles II.
---- "
"You would obey?" cried Athos, joyfully.
"Pardon me," said Monk, smiling, "I was going -- I, a
gray-headed man -- in truth, how could I forget myself? was
going to speak like a foolish young man."
"Then you would not obey?" said Athos.
"I do not say that either, monsieur. The welfare of my
country before everything. God, who has given me the power,
has, no doubt, willed that I should have that power for the
good of all, and He has given me, at the same time,
discernment. If the parliament were to order such a thing, I
should reflect."
The brow of Athos became clouded. "Then I may positively say
that your honor is not inclined to favor King Charles II.?"
"You continue to question me, monsieur le comte; allow me to
do so in turn, if you please."
"Do, monsieur; and may God inspire you with the idea of
replying to me as frankly as I shall reply to you."
"When you shall have taken this money back to your prince,
what advice will you give him?"
Athos fixed upon Monk a proud and resolute look.
"My lord," said he, "with this million, which others would
perhaps employ in negotiating, I would advise the king to
raise two regiments, to enter Scotland, which you have just
pacified: to give to the people the franchises which the
revolution promised them, and in which it has not, in all
cases, kept its word. I should advise him to command in
person this little army, which would, believe me, increase,
and to die, standard in hand, and sword in its sheath,
saying, `Englishmen! I am the third king of my race you have
killed; beware of the justice of God!'"
Monk hung down his head, and mused for an instant. "If he
succeeded," said he, "which is very improbable, but not
impossible -- for everything is possible in this world --
what would you advise him to do?"
"To think that by the will of God he lost his crown but by
the good will of men he recovered it."
An ironical smile passed over the lips of Monk.
"Unfortunately, monsieur," said he, "kings do not know how
to follow good advice."
"Ah, my lord, Charles II. is not a king," replied Athos,
smiling in his turn, but with a very different expression
from Monk.
"Let us terminate this, monsieur le comte, -- that is your
desire, is it not?"
Athos bowed.
"I shall give orders to have these two casks transported
whither you please. Where are you lodging, monsieur?"
"In a little hamlet at the mouth of the river, your honor."
"Oh, I know the hamlet; it consists of five or six houses,
does it not?"
"Exactly. Well, I inhabit the first, -- two net-makers
occupy it with me; it is their bark which brought me
ashore."
"But your own vessel, monsieur?"
"My vessel is at anchor, a quarter of a mile at sea, and
waits for me."
"You do not think, however, of setting out immediately?"
"My lord, I shall try once more to convince your honor."
"You will not succeed," replied Monk; "but it is of
consequence that you should depart from Newcastle without
leaving of your passage the least suspicion that might prove
injurious to me or you. To-morrow my officers think Lambert
will attack me. I, on the contrary, am convinced that he
will not stir; it is in my opinion impossible. Lambert leads
an army devoid of homogeneous principles, and there is no
possible army with such elements. I have taught my soldiers
to consider my authority subordinate to another, therefore
after me, round me, and beneath me they still look for
something. It would result that if I were dead, whatever
might happen, my army would not be demoralized all at once;
it results, that if I choose to absent myself, for instance,
as it does please me to do sometimes, there would not be in
the camp the shadow of uneasiness or disorder. I am the
magnet -- the sympathetic and natural strength of the
English. All those scattered irons that will be sent against
me I shall attract to myself. Lambert, at this moment,
commands eighteen thousand deserters, but I have never
mentioned that to my officers, you may easily suppose.
Nothing is more useful to an army than the expectation of a
coming battle; everybody is awake -- everybody is on guard.
I tell you this that you may live in perfect security. Do
not be in a hurry, then, to cross the seas; within a week
there will be something fresh, either a battle or an
accomodation. Then, as you have judged me to be a honorable
man, and confided your secret to me, I have to thank you for
this confidence, and I shall come and pay you a visit or
send for you. Do not go before I send you word. I repeat the
request."
"I promise you, general," cried Athos, with a joy so great,
that in spite of all his circumspection, he could not
prevent its sparkling in his eyes.
Monk surprised this flash, and immediately extinguished it
by one of those silent smiles which always caused his
interlocutors to know they had made no inroad on his mind.
"Then, my lord, it is a week that you desire me to wait?"
"A week? yes, monsieur."
"And during these days what shall I do?"
"If there should be a battle, keep at a distance from it, I
beseech you. I know the French delight in such amusements,
-- you might take a fancy to see how we fight, and you might
receive some chance shot. Our Scotchmen are very bad
marksmen, and I do not wish that a worthy gentleman like you
should return to France wounded. Nor should I like to be
obliged myself, to send to your prince his million left here
by you, for then it would be said, and with some reason,
that I paid the Pretender to enable him to make war against
the parliament. Go, then, monsieur, and let it be done as
has been agreed upon."
"Ah, my lord," said Athos, "what joy it would give me to be
the first that penetrated to the noble heart which beats
beneath that cloak!"
"You think, then, that I have secrets," said Monk, without
changing the half cheerful expression of his countenance.
"Why, monsieur, what secret can you expect to find in the
hollow head of a soldier? But it is getting late, and our
torch is almost out; let us call our man."
"Hola!" cried Monk in French, approaching the stairs; "hola!
fisherman!"
The fisherman, benumbed by the cold night air, replied in a
hoarse voice, asking what they wanted of him.
"Go to the post," said Monk, "and order a sergeant, in the
name of General Monk, to come here immediately."
This was a commission easily performed; for the sergeant,
uneasy at the general's being in that desolate abbey, had
drawn nearer by degrees, and was not much further off than
the fisherman. The general's order was therefore heard by
him, and he hastened to obey it.
"Get a horse and two men," said Monk.
"A horse and two men?" repeated the sergeant.
"Yes," replied Monk. "Have you any means of getting a horse
with a pack-saddle or two paniers?"
"No doubt, at a hundred paces off, in the Scotch camp."
"Very well."
"What shall I do with the horse, general?"
"Look here."
The sergeant descended the three steps which separated him
from Monk, and came into the vault.
"You see," said Monk, "that gentleman yonder?"
"Yes, general."
"And you see these two casks?"
"Perfectly."
"They are two casks, one containing powder, and the other
balls; I wish these casks to be transported to the little
hamlet at the mouth of the river, and which I intend to
occupy to-morrow with two hundred muskets. You understand
that the commission is a secret one, for it is a movement
that may decide the fate of the battle."
"Oh, general!" murmured the sergeant.
"Mind, then! Let these casks be fastened on to the horse,
and let them be escorted by two men and you to the residence
of this gentleman, who is my friend. But take care that
nobody knows it."
"I would go by the marsh if I knew the road," said the
sergeant.
"I know one myself," said Athos; "it is not wide, but it is
solid, having been made upon piles; and with care we shall
get over safely enough."
"Do everything this gentleman shall order you to do."
"Oh! oh! the casks are heavy," said the sergeant, trying to
lift one.
"They weigh four hundred pounds each, if they contain what
they ought to contain, do they not, monsieur?"
"Thereabouts," said Athos.
The sergeant went in search of the two men and the horse.
Monk, left alone with Athos, affected to speak to him on
nothing but indifferent subjects while examining the vault
in a cursory manner. Then, hearing the horse's steps, --
"I leave you with your men, monsieur," said he, "and return
to the camp. You are perfectly safe."
"I shall see you again, then, my lord?" asked Athos.
"That is agreed upon, monsieur, and with much pleasure."
Monk held out his hand to Athos.
"Ah! my lord, if you would!" murmured Athos.
"Hush! monsieur, it is agreed that we shall speak no more of
that." And bowing to Athos, he went up the stairs, meeting
about half-way his men, who were coming down. He had not
gone twenty paces, when a faint but prolonged whistle was
heard at a distance. Monk listened, but seeing nothing and
hearing nothing, he continued his route, Then he remembered
the fisherman, and looked about for him; but the fisherman
had disappeared. If he had, however, looked with more
attention, he might have seen that man, bent double, gliding
like a serpent along the stones and losing himself in the
mist that floated over the surface of the marsh. He might
have equally seen, had he attempted to pierce that mist, a
spectacle that might have attracted his attention; and that
was the rigging of the vessel, which had changed place, and
was now nearer the shore. But Monk saw nothing; and thinking
he had nothing to fear, he entered the deserted causeway
which led to his camp. It was then that the disappearance of
the fisherman appeared strange, and that a real suspicion
began to take possession of his mind. He had just placed at
the orders of Athos the only post that could protect him. He
had a mile of causeway to traverse before he could regain
his camp. The fog increased with such intensity that he
could scarcely distinguish objects at ten paces' distance.
Monk then thought he heard the sound of an oar over the
marsh on the right. "Who goes there?" said he.
But nobody answered; then he cocked his pistol, took his
sword in his hand, and quickened his pace without, however,
being willing to call anybody. Such a summons, for which
there was no absolute necessity, appeared unworthy of him.
