36

Twenty Years After

by Alexandre Dumas

36, TWENTY YEARS AFTER by Alexandre Dumas
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A Letter from Charles the First.



The reader must now cross the Seine with us and follow us to
the door of the Carmelite Convent in the Rue Saint Jacques.
It is eleven o'clock in the morning and the pious sisters
have just finished saying mass for the success of the armies
of King Charles I. Leaving the church, a woman and a young
girl dressed in black, the one as a widow and the other as
an orphan, have re-entered their cell.

The woman kneels on a prie-dieu of painted wood and at a
short distance from her stands the young girl, leaning
against a chair, weeping.

The woman must have once been handsome, but traces of sorrow
have aged her. The young girl is lovely and her tears only
embellish her; the lady appears to be about forty years of
age, the girl about fourteen.

"Oh, God!" prayed the kneeling suppliant, "protect my
husband, guard my son, and take my wretched life instead!"

"Oh, God!" murmured the girl, "leave me my mother!"

"Your mother can be of no use to you in this world,
Henrietta," said the lady, turning around. "Your mother has
no longer either throne or husband; she has neither son,
money nor friends; the whole world, my poor child, has
abandoned your mother!" And she fell back, weeping, into her
daughter's arms.

"Courage, take courage, my dear mother!" said the girl.

"Ah! 'tis an unfortunate year for kings," said the mother.
"And no one thinks of us in this country, for each must
think about his own affairs. As long as your brother was
with me he kept me up; but he is gone and can no longer send
us news of himself, either to me or to your father. I have
pledged my last jewels, sold your clothes and my own to pay
his servants, who refused to accompany him unless I made
this sacrifice. We are now reduced to live at the expense of
these daughters of Heaven; we are the poor, succored by
God."

"But why not address yourself to your sister, the queen?"
asked the girl.

"Alas! the queen, my sister, is no longer queen, my child.
Another reigns in her name. One day you will be able to
understand how all this is."

"Well, then, to the king, your nephew. Shall I speak to him?
You know how much he loves me, my mother.

"Alas! my nephew is not yet king, and you know Laporte has
told us twenty times that he himself is in need of almost
everything."

"Then let us pray to Heaven," said the girl.

The two women who thus knelt in united prayer were the
daughter and grand-daughter of Henry IV., the wife and
daughter of Charles I.

They had just finished their double prayer, when a nun
softly tapped at the door of the cell.

"Enter, my sister," said the queen.

"I trust your majesty will pardon this intrusion on her
meditations, but a foreign lord has arrived from England and
waits in the parlor, demanding the honor of presenting a
letter to your majesty."

"Oh, a letter! a letter from the king, perhaps. News from
your father, do you hear, Henrietta? And the name of this
lord?"

"Lord de Winter."

"Lord de Winter!" exclaimed the queen, "the friend of my
husband. Oh, bid him enter!"

And the queen advanced to meet the messenger, whose hand she
seized affectionately, whilst he knelt down and presented a
letter to her, contained in a case of gold.

"Ah! my lord!" said the queen, "you bring us three things
which we have not seen for a long time. Gold, a devoted
friend, and a letter from the king, our husband and master."

De Winter bowed again, unable to reply from excess of
emotion.

On their side the mother and daughter retired into the
embrasure of a window to read eagerly the following letter:



Dear Wife, -- We have now reached the moment of decision. I
have concentrated here at Naseby camp all the resources
Heaven has left me, and I write to you in haste from thence.
Here I await the army of my rebellious subjects. I am about
to struggle for the last time with them. If victorious, I
shall continue the struggle; if beaten, I am lost. I shall
try, in the latter case (alas! in our position, one must
provide for everything), I shall try to gain the coast of
France. But can they, will they receive an unhappy king, who
will bring such a sad story into a country already agitated
by civil discord? Your wisdom and your affection must serve
me as guides. The bearer of this letter will tell you,
madame, what I dare not trust to pen and paper and the risks
of transit. He will explain to you the steps that I expect
you to pursue. I charge him also with my blessing for my
children and with the sentiments of my soul for yourself, my
dearest sweetheart."



The letter bore the signature, not of "Charles, King," but
of "Charles -- still king."

"And let him be no longer king," cried the queen. "Let him
be conquered, exiled, proscribed, provided he still lives.
Alas! in these days the throne is too dangerous a place for
me to wish him to retain it. But my lord, tell me," she
continued, "hide nothing from me -- what is, in truth, the
king's position? Is it as hopeless as he thinks?"

"Alas! madame, more hopeless than he thinks. His majesty has
so good a heart that he cannot understand hatred; is so
loyal that he does not suspect treason! England is torn in
twain by a spirit of disturbance which, I greatly fear,
blood alone can exorcise."

"But Lord Montrose," replied the queen, "I have heard of his
great and rapid successes of battles gained. I heard it said
that he was marching to the frontier to join the king."

"Yes, madame; but on the frontier he was met by Lesly; he
had tried victory by means of superhuman undertakings. Now
victory has abandoned him. Montrose, beaten at Philiphaugh,
was obliged to disperse the remains of his army and to fly,
disguised as a servant. He is at Bergen, in Norway."

"Heaven preserve him!" said the queen. "It is at least a
consolation to know that some who have so often risked their
lives for us are safe. And now, my lord, that I see how
hopeless the position of the king is, tell me with what you
are charged on the part of my royal husband."

"Well, then, madame," said De Winter, "the king wishes you
to try and discover the dispositions of the king and queen
toward him."

"Alas! you know that even now the king is but a child and
the queen a woman weak enough. Here, Monsieur Mazarin is
everything."

"Does he desire to play the part in France that Cromwell
plays in England?"

"Oh, no! He is a subtle, conscienceless Italian, who though
he very likely dreams of crime, dares not commit it; and
unlike Cromwell, who disposes of both Houses, Mazarin has
had the queen to support him in his struggle with the
parliament."

"More reason, then, he should protect a king pursued by
parliament."

The queen shook her head despairingly.

"If I judge for myself, my lord," she said, "the cardinal
will do nothing, and will even, perhaps, act against us. The
presence of my daughter and myself in France is already
irksome to him; much more so would be that of the king. My
lord," added Henrietta, with a melancholy smile, "it is sad
and almost shameful to be obliged to say that we have passed
the winter in the Louvre without money, without linen,
almost without bread, and often not rising from bed because
we wanted fire."

"Horrible!" cried De Winter; "the daughter of Henry IV., and
the wife of King Charles! Wherefore did you not apply, then,
madame, to the first person you saw from us?"

"Such is the hospitality shown to a queen by the minister
from whom a king demands it."

"But I heard that a marriage between the Prince of Wales and
Mademoiselle d'Orleans was spoken of," said De Winter.

"Yes, for an instant I hoped it was so. The young people
felt a mutual esteem; but the queen, who at first sanctioned
their affection, changed her mind, and Monsieur, the Duc
d'Orleans, who had encouraged the familiarity between them,
has forbidden his daughter to think any more about the
union. Oh, my lord!" continued the queen, without
restraining her tears, "it is better to fight as the king
has done, and to die, as perhaps he will, than live in
beggary like me."

"Courage, madame! courage! Do not despair! The interests of
the French crown, endangered at this moment, are to
discountenance rebellion in a neighboring nation. Mazarin,
as a statesman, will understand the politic necessity."

"Are you sure," said the queen doubtfully, "that you have
not been forestalled?"

"By whom?"

"By the Joices, the Prinns, the Cromwells?"

"By a tailor, a coachmaker, a brewer! Ah! I hope, madame,
that the cardinal will not enter into negotiations with such
men!"

"Ah! what is he himself?" asked Madame Henrietta.

"But for the honor of the king -- of the queen."

"Well, let us hope he will do something for the sake of
their honor," said the queen. "A true friend's eloquence is
so powerful, my lord, that you have reassured me. Give me
your hand and let us go to the minister; and yet," she
added, "suppose he should refuse and that the king loses the
battle?"

"His majesty will then take refuge in Holland, where I hear
his highness the Prince of Wales now is."

"And can his majesty count upon many such subjects as
yourself for his flight?"

"Alas! no, madame," answered De Winter; "but the case is
provided for and I am come to France to seek allies."

"Allies!" said the queen, shaking her head.

"Madame," replied De Winter, "provided I can find some of my
good old friends of former times I will answer for
anything."

"Come then, my lord," said the queen, with the painful doubt
that is felt by those who have suffered much; "come, and may
Heaven hear you."