Chapter LXXVIII.

The Battle of Charenton.

As Athos and Aramis proceeded, and passed different companies on the

road, they became aware that they were arriving near the field of

battle.

“Ah! my friend!” cried Athos, suddenly, “where have you brought us? I

fancy I perceive around us faces of different officers in the royal

army; is not that the Duc de Châtillon himself coming toward us with

his brigadiers?”

“Good-day, sirs,” said the duke, advancing; “you are puzzled by what

you see here, but one word will explain everything. There is now a

truce and a conference. The prince, Monsieur de Retz, the Duc de

Beaufort, the Duc de Bouillon, are talking over public affairs. Now one

of two things must happen: either matters will not be arranged, or they

will be arranged, in which last case I shall be relieved of my command

and we shall still meet again.”

“Sir,” said Aramis, “you speak to the point. Allow me to ask you a

question: Where are the plenipotentiaries?”

“At Charenton, in the second house on the right on entering from the

direction of Paris.”

“And was this conference arranged beforehand?”

“No, gentlemen, it seems to be the result of certain propositions which

Mazarin made last night to the Parisians.”

Athos and Aramis exchanged smiles; for they well knew what those

propositions were, to whom they had been made and who had made them.

“And that house in which the plenipotentiaries are,” asked Athos,

“belongs to——”

“To Monsieur de Chanleu, who commands your troops at Charenton. I say

your troops, for I presume that you gentlemen are Frondeurs?”

“Yes, almost,” said Aramis.

“We are for the king and the princes,” added Athos.

“We must understand each other,” said the duke. “The king is with us

and his generals are the Duke of Orléans and the Prince de Condé,

although I must add ’tis almost impossible now to know to which party

any one belongs.”

“Yes,” answered Athos, “but his right place is in our ranks, with the

Prince de Conti, De Beaufort, D’Elbeuf, and De Bouillon; but, sir,

supposing that the conference is broken off—are you going to try to

take Charenton?”

“Such are my orders.”

“Sir, since you command the cavalry——”

“Pardon me, I am commander-in-chief.”

“So much the better. You must know all your officers—I mean those more

distinguished.”

“Why, yes, very nearly.”

“Will you then kindly tell me if you have in your command the Chevalier

d’Artagnan, lieutenant in the musketeers?”

“No, sir, he is not with us; he left Paris more than six weeks ago and

is believed to have gone on a mission to England.”

“I knew that, but I supposed he had returned.”

“No, sir; no one has seen him. I can answer positively on that point,

for the musketeers belong to our forces and Monsieur de Cambon, the

substitute for Monsieur d’Artagnan, still holds his place.”

The two friends looked at each other.

“You see,” said Athos.

“It is strange,” said Aramis.

“It is absolutely certain that some misfortune has happened to them on

the way.”

“If we have no news of them this evening, to-morrow we must start.”

Athos nodded affirmatively, then turning:

“And Monsieur de Bragelonne, a young man fifteen years of age, attached

to the Prince de Condé—has he the honor of being known to you?”

diffident in allowing the sarcastic Aramis to perceive how strong were

his paternal feelings.

“Yes, surely, he came with the prince; a charming young man; he is one

of your friends then, monsieur le comte?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Athos, agitated; “so much so that I wish to see

him if possible.”

“Quite possible, sir; do me the favor to accompany me and I will

conduct you to headquarters.”

“Halloo, there!” cried Aramis, turning around; “what a noise behind

us!”

“A body of cavaliers is coming toward us,” said Châtillon.

“I recognize the coadjutor by his Frondist hat.”

“And I the Duc de Beaufort by his white plume of ostrich feathers.”

“They are coming, full gallop; the prince is with them—ah! he is

leaving them!”

“They are beating the rappel!” cried Châtillon; “we must discover what

is going on.”

In fact, they saw the soldiers running to their arms; the trumpets

sounded; the drums beat; the Duc de Beaufort drew his sword. On his

side the prince sounded a rappel and all the officers of the royalist

army, mingling momentarily with the Parisian troops, ran to him.

“Gentlemen,” cried Châtillon, “the truce is broken, that is evident;

they are going to fight; go, then, into Charenton, for I shall begin in

a short time—there’s a signal from the prince!”

The cornet of a troop had in fact just raised the standard of the

prince.

“Farewell, till the next time we meet,” cried Châtillon, and he set

off, full gallop.

Athos and Aramis turned also and went to salute the coadjutor and the

Duc de Beaufort. As to the Duc de Bouillon, he had such a fit of gout

as obliged him to return to Paris in a litter; but his place was well

filled by the Duc d’Elbeuf and his four sons, ranged around him like a

staff. Meantime, between Charenton and the royal army was left a space

which looked ready to serve as a last resting place for the dead.

“Gentlemen,” cried the coadjutor, tightening his sash, which he wore,

after the fashion of the ancient military prelates, over his

archiepiscopal simar, “there’s the enemy approaching. Let us save them

half of their journey.”

And without caring whether he were followed or not he set off; his

regiment, which bore the name of the regiment of Corinth, from the name

of his archbishopric, darted after him and began the fight. Monsieur de

Beaufort sent his cavalry, toward Etampes and Monsieur de Chanleu, who

defended the place, was ready to resist an assault, or if the enemy

were repulsed, to attempt a sortie.

The battle soon became general and the coadjutor performed miracles of

valor. His proper vocation had always been the sword and he was

delighted whenever he could draw it from the scabbard, no matter for

whom or against whom.

Chanleu, whose fire at one time repulsed the royal regiment, thought

that the moment was come to pursue it; but it was reformed and led

again to the charge by the Duc de Châtillon in person. This charge was

so fierce, so skillfully conducted, that Chanleu was almost surrounded.

He commanded a retreat, which began, step by step, foot by foot;

unhappily, in an instant he fell, mortally wounded. De Châtillon saw

him fall and announced it in a loud voice to his men, which raised

their spirits and completely disheartened their enemies, so that every

man thought only of his own safety and tried to gain the trenches,

where the coadjutor was trying to reform his disorganized regiment.

Suddenly a squadron of cavalry galloped up to encounter the royal

troops, who were entering, _pêle-mêle_, the intrenchments with the

fugitives. Athos and Aramis charged at the head of their squadrons;

Aramis with sword and pistol in his hands, Athos with his sword in his

scabbard, his pistol in his saddle-bags; calm and cool as if on the

parade, except that his noble and beautiful countenance became sad as

he saw slaughtered so many men who were sacrificed on the one side to

the obstinacy of royalty and on the other to the personal rancor of the

princes. Aramis, on the contrary, struck right and left and was almost

delirious with excitement. His bright eyes kindled, and his mouth, so

finely formed, assumed a wicked smile; every blow he aimed was sure,

and his pistol finished the deed—annihilated the wounded wretch who

tried to rise again.

On the opposite side two cavaliers, one covered with a gilt cuirass,

the other wearing simply a buff doublet, from which fell the sleeves of

a vest of blue velvet, charged in front. The cavalier in the gilt

cuirass fell upon Aramis and struck a blow that Aramis parried with his

wonted skill.

“Ah! ’tis you, Monsieur de Châtillon,” cried the chevalier; “welcome to

you—I expected you.”

“I hope I have not made you wait too long, sir,” said the duke; “at all

events, here I am.”

“Monsieur de Châtillon,” cried Aramis, taking from his saddle-bags a

second pistol, “I think if your pistols have been discharged you are a

dead man.”

“Thank God, sir, they are not!”

And the duke, pointing his pistol at Aramis, fired. But Aramis bent his

head the instant he saw the duke’s finger press the trigger and the

ball passed without touching him.

“Oh! you’ve missed me,” cried Aramis, “but I swear to Heaven! I will

not miss you.”

“If I give you time!” cried the duke, spurring on his horse and rushing

upon him with his drawn sword.

Aramis awaited him with that terrible smile which was peculiar to him

on such occasions, and Athos, who saw the duke advancing toward Aramis

with the rapidity of lightning, was just going to cry out, “Fire! fire,

then!” when the shot was fired. De Châtillon opened his arms and fell

back on the crupper of his horse.

The ball had entered his breast through a notch in the cuirass.

“I am a dead man,” he said, and fell from his horse to the ground.

“I told you this, I am now grieved I have kept my word. Can I be of any

use to you?”

Châtillon made a sign with his hand and Aramis was about to dismount

when he received a violent shock; ’twas a thrust from a sword, but his

cuirass turned aside the blow.

He turned around and seized his new antagonist by the wrist, when he

started back, exclaiming, “Raoul!”

“Raoul?” cried Athos.

The young man recognized at the same instant the voices of his father

and the Chevalier d’Herblay; two officers in the Parisian forces rushed

at that instant on Raoul, but Aramis protected him with his sword.

“My prisoner!” he cried.

Athos took his son’s horse by the bridle and led him forth out of the

_mêlée_.

At this crisis of the battle, the prince, who had been seconding De

Châtillon in the second line, appeared in the midst of the fight; his

eagle eye made him known and his blows proclaimed the hero.

On seeing him, the regiment of Corinth, which the coadjutor had not

been able to reorganize in spite of all his efforts, threw itself into

the midst of the Parisian forces, put them into confusion and

re-entered Charenton flying. The coadjutor, dragged along with his

fugitive forces, passed near the group formed by Athos, Raoul and

Aramis. Aramis could not in his jealousy avoid being pleased at the

coadjutor’s misfortune, and was about to utter some _bon mot_ more

witty than correct, when Athos stopped him.

“On, on!” he cried, “this is no moment for compliments; or rather,

back, for the battle seems to be lost by the Frondeurs.”

“It is a matter of indifference to me,” said Aramis; “I came here only

to meet De Châtillon; I have met him, I am contented; ’tis something to

have met De Châtillon in a duel!”

“And besides, we have a prisoner,” said Athos, pointing to Raoul.

The three cavaliers continued their road on full gallop.

“What were you doing in the battle, my friend?” inquired Athos of the

youth; “’twas not your right place, I think, as you were not equipped

for an engagement!”

“I had no intention of fighting to-day, sir; I was charged, indeed,

with a mission to the cardinal and had set out for Rueil, when, seeing

Monsieur de Châtillon charge, an invincible desire possessed me to

charge at his side. It was then that he told me two cavaliers of the

Parisian army were seeking me and named the Comte de la Fère.”

“What! you knew we were there and yet wished to kill your friend the

chevalier?”

“I did not recognize the chevalier in armor, sir!” said Raoul,

blushing; “though I might have known him by his skill and coolness in

danger.”

“Thank you for the compliment, my young friend,” replied Aramis, “we

can see from whom you learned courtesy. Then you were going to Rueil?”

“Yes! I have a despatch from the prince to his eminence.”

“You must still deliver it,” said Athos.

“No false generosity, count! the fate of our friends, to say nothing of

our own, is perhaps in that very despatch.”

“This young man must not, however, fail in his duty,” said Athos.

“In the first place, count, this youth is our prisoner; you seem to

forget that. What I propose to do is fair in war; the vanquished must

not be dainty in the choice of means. Give me the despatch, Raoul.”

The young man hesitated and looked at Athos as if seeking to read in

his eyes a rule of conduct.

“Give him the despatch, Raoul! you are the chevalier’s prisoner.”

Raoul gave it up reluctantly; Aramis instantly seized and read it.

“You,” he said, “you, who are so trusting, read and reflect that there

is something in this letter important for us to see.”

Athos took the letter, frowning, but an idea that he should find

something in this letter about D’Artagnan conquered his unwillingness

to read it.

“My lord, I shall send this evening to your eminence in order to

reinforce the troop of Monsieur de Comminges, the ten men you demand.

They are good soldiers, fit to confront the two violent adversaries

whose address and resolution your eminence is fearful of.”

“Oh!” cried Athos.

“Well,” said Aramis, “what think you about these two enemies whom it

requires, besides Comminges’s troop, ten good soldiers to confront; are

they not as like as two drops of water to D’Artagnan and Porthos?”

“We’ll search Paris all day long,” said Athos, “and if we have no news

this evening we will return to the road to Picardy; and I feel no doubt

that, thanks to D’Artagnan’s ready invention, we shall then find some

clew which will solve our doubts.”

“Yes, let us search Paris and especially inquire of Planchet if he has

yet heard from his former master.”

“That poor Planchet! You speak of him very much at your ease, Aramis;

he has probably been killed. All those fighting citizens went out to

battle and they have been massacred.”

It was, then, with a sentiment of uneasiness whether Planchet, who

alone could give them information, was alive or dead, that the friends

returned to the Place Royale; to their great surprise they found the

citizens still encamped there, drinking and bantering each other,

although, doubtless, mourned by their families, who thought they were

at Charenton in the thickest of the fighting.

Athos and Aramis again questioned Planchet, but he had seen nothing of

D’Artagnan; they wished to take Planchet with them, but he could not

leave his troop, who at five o’clock returned home, saying that they

were returning from the battle, whereas they had never lost sight of

the bronze equestrian statue of Louis XIII.