But Monck, free and without uneasiness, marched towards London as a conqueror, augmenting his army with all the floating parties on the 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. Monck could not enter London with a settled determination without bringing about civil war. He temporized for a short time.
Suddenly, when least expected, Monck 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 Monck—at the moment when the soldiers themselves were accusing their leader—Monck, 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. Monck pronounced this declaration, supported by fifty thousand swords, to which, that same evening, were united, with shouts of delirious joy, the five 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 King Charles II and his fortunes.
“Gentlemen,” said Monck 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 Monck, “that is bold, Monsieur.”
“You will accompany me, will you not?” said Monck.
“Pardieu! general. But tell me, I beg, what you wrote by Athos, that is to say, the Comte de la Fère—you know—the day of our arrival?”
“I have no secrets from you now,” replied Monck. “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 Monck.
And this was the only time the general had ever made an allusion to his voyage to Holland.
32
Athos and d’Artagnan Meet Once More at the Hostelry of the Corne du Cerf
The king of England made his entrée 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 three kingdoms. Consequently, all the good wishes, all the acclamations which accompanied his return, struck the young king so forcibly that he stooped and whispered in the ear of James of York, his younger brother, “In truth, James, it seems to have been our own fault that we were so long absent from a country where we are so much beloved!” The pageant was magnificent. Beautiful weather favored the solemnity. Charles had regained all his youth, all his good humor; he appeared to be transfigured; hearts seemed to smile on him like the sun. Amongst this noisy crowd of courtiers and worshipers, who did not appear to remember they had conducted to the scaffold at Whitehall the father of the new king, a man, in the garb of a lieutenant of Musketeers, looked, with a smile upon his thin, intellectual lips, sometimes at the people vociferating their blessings, and sometimes at the prince, who pretended emotion, and who bowed most particularly to the women, whose bouquets fell beneath his horse’s feet.
“What a fine trade is that of king!” said this man, so completely absorbed in contemplation that he stopped in the middle of the road, leaving the cortège to file past. “Now, there is, in good truth, a prince all bespangled over with gold and diamonds, enamelled with flowers like a spring meadow; he is about to plunge his empty hands into the immense coffer in which his now faithful—but so lately unfaithful—subjects have amassed one or two cartloads of ingots of gold. They cast bouquets enough upon him to smother him; and yet, if he had presented himself to them two months ago, they would have sent as many bullets and balls at him as they now throw flowers. Decidedly it is worth something to be born in a certain sphere, with due respect to the lowly, who pretend that it is of very little advantage to them to be born lowly.” The cortège continued to file on, and, with the king, the acclamations began to die away in the direction of the palace, which, however, did not prevent our officer from being pushed about.
“Mordioux!” continued the reasoner, “these people tread upon my toes and look upon me as of very little consequence, or rather of none at all, seeing that they are Englishmen and I am a Frenchman. If all these people were asked—‘Who is M. d’Artagnan?’ they would reply, ‘Nescio vos.’ But let anyone say
