63

Twenty Years After

by Alexandre Dumas

63, TWENTY YEARS AFTER by Alexandre Dumas
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The Trial.



The next morning King Charles I. was haled by a strong guard
before the high court which was to judge him. All London was
crowding to the doors of the house. The throng was terrific,
and it was not till after much pushing and some fighting
that our friends reached their destination. When they did so
they found the three lower rows of benches already occupied;
but being anxious not to be too conspicuous, all, with the
exception of Porthos, who had a fancy to display his red
doublet, were quite satisfied with their places, the more so
as chance had brought them to the centre of their row, so
that they were exactly opposite the arm-chair prepared for
the royal prisoner.

Toward eleven o'clock the king entered the hall, surrounded
by guards, but wearing his head covered, and with a calm
expression turned to every side with a look of complete
assurance, as if he were there to preside at an assembly of
submissive subjects, rather than to meet the accusations of
a rebel court.

The judges, proud of having a monarch to humiliate,
evidently prepared to enjoy the right they had arrogated to
themselves, and sent an officer to inform the king that it
was customary for the accused to uncover his head.

Charles, without replying a single word, turned his head in
another direction and pulled his felt hat over it. Then when
the officer was gone he sat down in the arm-chair opposite
the president and struck his boots with a little cane which
he carried in his hand. Parry, who accompanied him, stood
behind him.

D'Artagnan was looking at Athos, whose face betrayed all
those emotions which the king, possessing more self-control,
had banished from his own. This agitation in one so cold and
calm as Athos, frightened him.

"I hope," he whispered to him, "that you will follow his
majesty's example and not get killed for your folly in this
den."

"Set your mind at rest," replied Athos.

"Aha!" continued D'Artagnan, "it is clear that they are
afraid of something or other; for look, the sentinels are
being reinforced. They had only halberds before, now they
have muskets. The halberds were for the audience in the
rear; the muskets are for us."

"Thirty, forty, fifty, sixty-five men," said Porthos,
counting the reinforcements.

"Ah!" said Aramis, "but you forget the officer."

D'Artagnan grew pale with rage. He recognized Mordaunt, who
with bare sword was marshalling the musketeers behind the
king and opposite the benches.

"Do you think they have recognized us?" said D'Artagnan. "In
that case I should beat a retreat. I don't care to be shot
in a box."

"No," said Aramis, "he has not seen us. He sees no one but
the king. Mon Dieu! how he stares at him, the insolent dog!
Does he hate his majesty as much as he does us?"

"Pardi," answered Athos "we only carried off his mother; the
king has spoiled him of his name and property."

"True," said Aramis; "but silence! the president is speaking
to the king."

"Stuart," Bradshaw was saying, "listen to the roll call of
your judges and address to the court any observations you
may have to make."

The king turned his head away, as if these words had not
been intended for him. Bradshaw waited, and as there was no
reply there was a moment of silence.

Out of the hundred and sixty-three members designated there
were only seventy-three present, for the rest, fearful of
taking part in such an act, had remained away.

When the name of Colonel Fairfax was called, one of those
brief but solemn silences ensued, which announced the
absence of the members who had no wish to take a personal
part in the trial.

"Colonel Fairfax," repeated Bradshaw.

"Fairfax," answered a laughing voice, the silvery tone of
which betrayed it as that of a woman, "is not such a fool as
to be here."

A loud laugh followed these words, pronounced with that
boldness which women draw from their own weakness -- a
weakness which removes them beyond the power of vengeance.

"It is a woman's voice," cried Aramis; "faith, I would give
a good deal if she is young and pretty." And he mounted on
the bench to try and get a sight of her.

"By my soul," said Aramis, "she is charming. Look
D'Artagnan; everybody is looking at her; and in spite of
Bradshaw's gaze she has not turned pale."

"It is Lady Fairfax herself," said D'Artagnan. "Don't you
remember, Porthos, we saw her at General Cromwell's?"

The roll call continued.

"These rascals will adjourn when they find that they are not
in sufficient force," said the Comte de la Fere.

"You don't know them. Athos, look at Mordaunt's smile. Is
that the look of a man whose victim is likely to escape him?
Ah, cursed basilisk, it will be a happy day for me when I
can cross something more than a look with you."

"The king is really very handsome," said Porthos; "and look,
too, though he is a prisoner, how carefully he is dressed.
The feather in his hat is worth at least five-and-twenty
pistoles. Look at it, Aramis."

The roll call finished, the president ordered them to read
the act of accusation. Athos turned pale. A second time he
was disappointed in his expectation. Notwithstanding the
judges were so few the trial was to continue; the king then,
was condemned in advance.

"I told you so, Athos," said D'Artagnan, shrugging his
shoulders. "Now take your courage in both hands and hear
what this gentleman in black is going to say about his
sovereign, with full license and privilege."

Never till then had a more brutal accusation or meaner
insults tarnished kingly majesty.

Charles listened with marked attention, passing over the
insults, noting the grievances, and, when hatred overflowed
all bounds and the accuser turned executioner beforehand,
replying with a smile of lofty scorn.

"The fact is," said D'Artagnan, "if men are punished for
imprudence and triviality, this poor king deserves
punishment. But it seems to me that that which he is just
now undergoing is hard enough."

"In any case," Aramis replied, "the punishment should fall
not on the king, but on his ministers; for the first article
of the constitution is, `The king can do no wrong.'"

"As for me," thought Porthos, giving Mordaunt his whole
attention, "were it not for breaking in on the majesty of
the situation I would leap down from the bench, reach
Mordaunt in three bounds and strangle him; I would then take
him by the feet and knock the life out of these wretched
musketeers who parody the musketeers of France. Meantime,
D'Artagnan, who is full of invention, would find some way to
save the king. I must speak to him about it."

As to Athos, his face aflame, his fists clinched, his lips
bitten till they bled, he sat there foaming with rage at
that endless parliamentary insult and that long enduring
royal patience; the inflexible arm and steadfast heart had
given place to a trembling hand and a body shaken by
excitement.

At this moment the accuser concluded with these words: "The
present accusation is preferred by us in the name of the
English people."

At these words there was a murmur along the benches, and a
second voice, not that of a woman, but a man's, stout and
furious, thundered behind D'Artagnan.

"You lie!" it cried. "Nine-tenths of the English people are
horrified at what you say."

This voice was that of Athos, who, standing up with
outstretched hand and quite out of his mind, thus assailed
the public accuser.

King, judges, spectators, all turned their eyes to the bench
where the four friends were seated. Mordaunt did the same
and recognized the gentleman, around whom the three other
Frenchmen were standing, pale and menacing. His eyes
glittered with delight. He had discovered those to whose
death he had devoted his life. A movement of fury called to
his side some twenty of his musketeers, and pointing to the
bench where his enemies were: "Fire on that bench!" he
cried.

But with the rapidity of thought D'Artagnan seized Athos by
the waist, and followed by Porthos with Aramis, leaped down
from the benches, rushed into the passages, and flying down
the staircase were lost in the crowd without, while the
muskets within were pointed on some three thousand
spectators, whose piteous cries and noisy alarm stopped the
impulse already given to bloodshed.

Charles also had recognized the four Frenchmen. He put one
hand on his heart to still its beating and the other over
his eyes, that he might not witness the slaying of his
faithful friends.

Mordaunt, pale and trembling with anger, rushed from the
hall sword in hand, followed by six pikemen, pushing,
inquiring and panting in the crowd; and then, having found
nothing, returned.

The tumult was indescribable. More than half an hour passed
before any one could make himself heard. The judges were
looking for a new outbreak from the benches. The spectators
saw the muskets leveled at them, and divided between fear
and curiosity, remained noisy and excited.

Quiet was at length restored.

"What have you to say in your defense?" asked Bradshaw of
the king.

Then rising, with his head still covered, in the tone of a
judge rather than a prisoner, Charles began.

"Before questioning me," he said, "reply to my question. I
was free at Newcastle and had there concluded a treaty with
both houses. Instead of performing your part of this
contract, as I performed mine, you bought me from the
Scotch, cheaply, I know, and that does honor to the economic
talent of your government. But because you have paid the
price of a slave, do you imagine that I have ceased to be
your king? No. To answer you would be to forget it. I shall
only reply to you when you have satisfied me of your right
to question me. To answer you would be to acknowledge you as
my judges, and I only acknowledge you as my executioners."
And in the middle of a deathlike silence, Charles, calm,
lofty, and with his head still covered, sat down again in
his arm-chair.

"Why are not my Frenchmen here?" he murmured proudly and
turning his eyes to the benches where they had appeared for
a moment; "they would have seen that their friend was worthy
of their defense while alive, and of their tears when dead."

"Well," said the president, seeing that Charles was
determined to remain silent, "so be it. We will judge you in
spite of your silence. You are accused of treason, of abuse
of power, and murder. The evidence will support it. Go, and
another sitting will accomplish what you have postponed in
this."

Charles rose and turned toward Parry, whom he saw pale and
with his temples dewed with moisture.

"Well, my dear Parry," said he, "what is the matter, and
what can affect you in this manner?"

"Oh, my king," said Parry, with tears in his eyes and in a
tone of supplication, "do not look to the left as we leave
the hall."

"And why, Parry?"

"Do not look, I implore you, my king."

"But what is the matter? Speak," said Charles, attempting to
look across the hedge of guards which surrounded him.

"It is -- but you will not look, will you? -- it is because
they have had the axe, with which criminals are executed,
brought and placed there on the table. The sight is
hideous."

"Fools," said Charles, "do they take me for a coward, like
themselves? You have done well to warn me. Thank you,
Parry."

When the moment arrived the king followed his guards out of
the hall. As he passed the table on which the axe was laid,
he stopped, and turning with a smile, said:

"Ah! the axe, an ingenious device, and well worthy of those
who know not what a gentleman is; you frighten me not,
executioner's axe," added he, touching it with the cane
which he held in his hand, "and I strike you now, waiting
patiently and Christianly for you to return the blow."

And shrugging his shoulders with unaffected contempt he
passed on. When he reached the door a stream of people, who
had been disappointed in not being able to get into the
house and to make amends had collected to see him come out,
stood on each side, as he passed, many among them glaring on
him with threatening looks.

"How many people," thought he, "and not one true friend."

And as he uttered these words of doubt and depression within
his mind, a voice beside him said:

"Respect to fallen majesty."

The king turned quickly around, with tears in his eyes and
heart. It was an old soldier of the guards who could not see
his king pass captive before him without rendering him this
final homage. But the next moment the unfortunate man was
nearly killed with heavy blows of sword-hilts, and among
those who set upon him the king recognized Captain Groslow.

"Alas!" said Charles, "that is a severe chastisement for a
very trifling fault."

He continued his walk, but he had scarcely gone a hundred
paces, when a furious fellow, leaning between two soldiers,
spat in the king's face, as once an infamous and accursed
Jew spit in the face of Jesus of Nazareth. Loud roars of
laughter and sullen murmurs arose together. The crowd opened
and closed again, undulating like a stormy sea, and the king
imagined that he saw shining in the midst of this living
wave the bright eyes of Athos.

Charles wiped his face and said with a sad smile: "Poor
wretch, for half a crown he would do as much to his own
father."

The king was not mistaken. Athos and his friends, again
mingling with the throng, were taking a last look at the
martyr king.

When the soldier saluted Charles, Athos's heart bounded for
joy; and that unfortunate, on coming to himself, found ten
guineas that the French gentleman had slipped into his
pocket. But when the cowardly insulter spat in the face of
the captive monarch Athos grasped his dagger. But D'Artagnan
stopped his hand and in a hoarse voice cried, "Wait!"

Athos stopped. D'Artagnan, leaning on Athos, made a sign to
Porthos and Aramis to keep near them and then placed himself
behind the man with the bare arms, who was still laughing at
his own vile pleasantry and receiving the congratulations of
several others.

The man took his way toward the city. The four friends
followed him. The man, who had the appearance of being a
butcher, descended a little steep and isolated street,
looking on to the river, with two of his friends. Arrived at
the bank of the river the three men perceived that they were
followed, turned around, and looking insolently at the
Frenchmen, passed some jests from one to another.

"I don't know English, Athos," said D'Artagnan; "but you
know it and will interpret for me."

Then quickening their steps they passed the three men, but
turned back immediately, and D'Artagnan walked straight up
to the butcher and touching him on the chest with the tip of
his finger, said to Athos:

"Say this to him in English: `You are a coward. You have
insulted a defenseless man. You have defouled the face of
your king. You must die.'"

Athos, pale as a ghost, repeated these words to the man,
who, seeing the bodeful preparations that were making, put
himself in an attitude of defense. Aramis, at this movement,
drew his sword.

"No," cried D'Artagnan, "no steel. Steel is for gentlemen."

And seizing the butcher by the throat:

"Porthos," said he, "kill this fellow for me with a single
blow."

Porthos raised his terrible fist, which whistled through the
air like a sling, and the portentous mass fell with a
smothered crash on the insulter's skull and crushed it. The
man fell like an ox beneath the poleaxe. His companions,
horror-struck, could neither move nor cry out.

"Tell them this, Athos," resumed D'Artagnan; "thus shall all
die who forget that a captive man is sacred and that a
captive king doubly represents the Lord."

Athos repeated D'Artagnan's words.

The fellows looked at the body of their companion, swimming
in blood, and then recovering voice and legs together, ran
screaming off.

"Justice is done," said Porthos, wiping his forehead.

"And now," said D'Artagnan to Athos, "entertain no further
doubts about me; I undertake all that concerns the king."