Les trois mousquetaires. English

by Alexandre Dumas

  52 CAPTIVITY: THE FIRST DAY

  Let us return to Milady, whom a glance thrown upon the coast of Francehas made us lose sight of for an instant.

  We shall find her still in the despairing attitude in which we left her,plunged in an abyss of dismal reflection--a dark hell at the gate ofwhich she has almost left hope behind, because for the first time shedoubts, for the first time she fears.

  On two occasions her fortune has failed her, on two occasions she hasfound herself discovered and betrayed; and on these two occasions it wasto one fatal genius, sent doubtlessly by the Lord to combat her, thatshe has succumbed. D'Artagnan has conquered her--her, that invinciblepower of evil.

  He has deceived her in her love, humbled her in her pride, thwarted herin her ambition; and now he ruins her fortune, deprives her of liberty,and even threatens her life. Still more, he has lifted the corner of hermask--that shield with which she covered herself and which rendered herso strong.

  D'Artagnan has turned aside from Buckingham, whom she hates as she hateseveryone she has loved, the tempest with which Richelieu threatened himin the person of the queen. D'Artagnan had passed himself upon her as deWardes, for whom she had conceived one of those tigerlike fancies commonto women of her character. D'Artagnan knows that terrible secret whichshe has sworn no one shall know without dying. In short, at the momentin which she has just obtained from Richelieu a carte blanche by themeans of which she is about to take vengeance on her enemy, thisprecious paper is torn from her hands, and it is d'Artagnan who holdsher prisoner and is about to send her to some filthy Botany Bay, someinfamous Tyburn of the Indian Ocean.

  All this she owes to d'Artagnan, without doubt. From whom can come somany disgraces heaped upon her head, if not from him? He alone couldhave transmitted to Lord de Winter all these frightful secrets which hehas discovered, one after another, by a train of fatalities. He knowsher brother-in-law. He must have written to him.

  What hatred she distills! Motionless, with her burning and fixedglances, in her solitary apartment, how well the outbursts of passionwhich at times escape from the depths of her chest with her respiration,accompany the sound of the surf which rises, growls, roars, and breaksitself like an eternal and powerless despair against the rocks on whichis built this dark and lofty castle! How many magnificent projects ofvengeance she conceives by the light of the flashes which hertempestuous passion casts over her mind against Mme. Bonacieux, againstBuckingham, but above all against d'Artagnan--projects lost in thedistance of the future.

  Yes; but in order to avenge herself she must be free. And to be free, aprisoner has to pierce a wall, detach bars, cut through a floor--allundertakings which a patient and strong man may accomplish, but beforewhich the feverish irritations of a woman must give way. Besides, to doall this, time is necessary--months, years; and she has ten or twelvedays, as Lord de Winter, her fraternal and terrible jailer, has toldher.

  And yet, if she were a man she would attempt all this, and perhaps mightsucceed; why, then, did heaven make the mistake of placing that manlikesoul in that frail and delicate body?

  The first moments of her captivity were terrible; a few convulsions ofrage which she could not suppress paid her debt of feminine weakness tonature. But by degrees she overcame the outbursts of her mad passion;and nervous tremblings which agitated her frame disappeared, and sheremained folded within herself like a fatigued serpent in repose.

  "Go to, go to! I must have been mad to allow myself to be carried awayso," says she, gazing into the glass, which reflects back to her eyesthe burning glance by which she appears to interrogate herself. "Noviolence; violence is the proof of weakness. In the first place, I havenever succeeded by that means. Perhaps if I employed my strength againstwomen I might perchance find them weaker than myself, and consequentlyconquer them; but it is with men that I struggle, and I am but a womanto them. Let me fight like a woman, then; my strength is in myweakness."

  Then, as if to render an account to herself of the changes she couldplace upon her countenance, so mobile and so expressive, she made ittake all expressions from that of passionate anger, which convulsed herfeatures, to that of the most sweet, most affectionate, and mostseducing smile. Then her hair assumed successively, under her skillfulhands, all the undulations she thought might assist the charms of herface. At length she murmured, satisfied with herself, "Come, nothing islost; I am still beautiful."

  It was then nearly eight o'clock in the evening. Milady perceived a bed;she calculated that the repose of a few hours would not only refresh herhead and her ideas, but still further, her complexion. A better idea,however, came into her mind before going to bed. She had heard somethingsaid about supper. She had already been an hour in this apartment; theycould not long delay bringing her a repast. The prisoner did not wish tolose time; and she resolved to make that very evening some attempts toascertain the nature of the ground she had to work upon, by studying thecharacters of the men to whose guardianship she was committed.

  A light appeared under the door; this light announced the reappearanceof her jailers. Milady, who had arisen, threw herself quickly into thearmchair, her head thrown back, her beautiful hair unbound anddisheveled, her bosom half bare beneath her crumpled lace, one hand onher heart, and the other hanging down.

  The bolts were drawn; the door groaned upon its hinges. Steps sounded inthe chamber, and drew near.

  "Place that table there," said a voice which the prisoner recognized asthat of Felton.

  The order was executed.

  "You will bring lights, and relieve the sentinel," continued Felton.

  And this double order which the young lieutenant gave to the sameindividuals proved to Milady that her servants were the same men as herguards; that is to say, soldiers.

  Felton's orders were, for the rest, executed with a silent rapidity thatgave a good idea of the way in which he maintained discipline.

  At length Felton, who had not yet looked at Milady, turned toward her.

  "Ah, ah!" said he, "she is asleep; that's well. When she wakes she cansup." And he made some steps toward the door.

  "But, my lieutenant," said a soldier, less stoical than his chief, andwho had approached Milady, "this woman is not asleep."

  "What, not asleep!" said Felton; "what is she doing, then?"

  "She has fainted. Her face is very pale, and I have listened in vain; Ido not hear her breathe."

  "You are right," said Felton, after having looked at Milady from thespot on which he stood without moving a step toward her. "Go and tellLord de Winter that his prisoner has fainted--for this event not havingbeen foreseen, I don't know what to do."

  The soldier went out to obey the orders of his officer. Felton sat downupon an armchair which happened to be near the door, and waited withoutspeaking a word, without making a gesture. Milady possessed that greatart, so much studied by women, of looking through her long eyelasheswithout appearing to open the lids. She perceived Felton, who sat withhis back toward her. She continued to look at him for nearly tenminutes, and in these ten minutes the immovable guardian never turnedround once.

  She then thought that Lord de Winter would come, and by his presencegive fresh strength to her jailer. Her first trial was lost; she actedlike a woman who reckons up her resources. As a result she raised herhead, opened her eyes, and sighed deeply.

  At this sigh Felton turned round.

  "Ah, you are awake, madame," he said; "then I have nothing more to dohere. If you want anything you can ring."

  "Oh, my God, my God! how I have suffered!" said Milady, in thatharmonious voice which, like that of the ancient enchantresses, charmedall whom she wished to destroy.

  And she assumed, upon sitting up in the armchair, a still more gracefuland abandoned position than when she reclined.

  Felton arose.

  "You will be served, thus, madame, three times a day," said he. "In themorning at nine o'clock, in the day at one o'clock, and in the eveningat eight. If that does not suit you, you can point out what other
hoursyou prefer, and in this respect your wishes will be complied with."

  "But am I to remain always alone in this vast and dismal chamber?" askedMilady.

  "A woman of the neighbourhood has been sent for, who will be tomorrow atthe castle, and will return as often as you desire her presence."

  "I thank you, sir," replied the prisoner, humbly.

  Felton made a slight bow, and directed his steps toward the door. At themoment he was about to go out, Lord de Winter appeared in the corridor,followed by the soldier who had been sent to inform him of the swoon ofMilady. He held a vial of salts in his hand.

  "Well, what is it--what is going on here?" said he, in a jeering voice,on seeing the prisoner sitting up and Felton about to go out. "Is thiscorpse come to life already? Felton, my lad, did you not perceive thatyou were taken for a novice, and that the first act was being performedof a comedy of which we shall doubtless have the pleasure of followingout all the developments?"

  "I thought so, my lord," said Felton; "but as the prisoner is a woman,after all, I wish to pay her the attention that every man of gentlebirth owes to a woman, if not on her account, at least on my own."

  Milady shuddered through her whole system. These words of Felton'spassed like ice through her veins.

  "So," replied de Winter, laughing, "that beautiful hair so skillfullydisheveled, that white skin, and that languishing look, have not yetseduced you, you heart of stone?"

  "No, my Lord," replied the impassive young man; "your Lordship may beassured that it requires more than the tricks and coquetry of a woman tocorrupt me."

  "In that case, my brave lieutenant, let us leave Milady to find outsomething else, and go to supper; but be easy! She has a fruitfulimagination, and the second act of the comedy will not delay its stepsafter the first."

  And at these words Lord de Winter passed his arm through that of Felton,and led him out, laughing.

  "Oh, I will be a match for you!" murmured Milady, between her teeth; "beassured of that, you poor spoiled monk, you poor converted soldier, whohas cut his uniform out of a monk's frock!"

  "By the way," resumed de Winter, stopping at the threshold of the door,"you must not, Milady, let this check take away your appetite. Tastethat fowl and those fish. On my honor, they are not poisoned. I have avery good cook, and he is not to be my heir; I have full and perfectconfidence in him. Do as I do. Adieu, dear sister, till your nextswoon!"

  This was all that Milady could endure. Her hands clutched her armchair;she ground her teeth inwardly; her eyes followed the motion of the dooras it closed behind Lord de Winter and Felton, and the moment she wasalone a fresh fit of despair seized her. She cast her eyes upon thetable, saw the glittering of a knife, rushed toward it and clutched it;but her disappointment was cruel. The blade was round, and of flexiblesilver.

  A burst of laughter resounded from the other side of the ill-closeddoor, and the door reopened.

  "Ha, ha!" cried Lord de Winter; "ha, ha! Don't you see, my brave Felton;don't you see what I told you? That knife was for you, my lad; she wouldhave killed you. Observe, this is one of her peculiarities, to get ridthus, after one fashion or another, of all the people who bother her. IfI had listened to you, the knife would have been pointed and of steel.Then no more of Felton; she would have cut your throat, and after thateverybody else's. See, John, see how well she knows how to handle aknife."

  In fact, Milady still held the harmless weapon in her clenched hand; butthese last words, this supreme insult, relaxed her hands, her strength,and even her will. The knife fell to the ground.

  "You were right, my Lord," said Felton, with a tone of profound disgustwhich sounded to the very bottom of the heart of Milady, "you wereright, my Lord, and I was wrong."

  And both again left the room.

  But this time Milady lent a more attentive ear than the first, and sheheard their steps die away in the distance of the corridor.

  "I am lost," murmured she; "I am lost! I am in the power of men uponwhom I can have no more influence than upon statues of bronze orgranite; they know me by heart, and are steeled against all my weapons.It is, however, impossible that this should end as they have decreed!"

  In fact, as this last reflection indicated--this instinctive return tohope--sentiments of weakness or fear did not dwell long in her ardentspirit. Milady sat down to table, ate from several dishes, drank alittle Spanish wine, and felt all her resolution return.

  Before she went to bed she had pondered, analyzed, turned on all sides,examined on all points, the words, the steps, the gestures, the signs,and even the silence of her interlocutors; and of this profound,skillful, and anxious study the result was that Felton, everythingconsidered, appeared the more vulnerable of her two persecutors.

  One expression above all recurred to the mind of the prisoner: "If I hadlistened to you," Lord de Winter had said to Felton.

  Felton, then, had spoken in her favor, since Lord de Winter had not beenwilling to listen to him.

  "Weak or strong," repeated Milady, "that man has, then, a spark of pityin his soul; of that spark I will make a flame that shall devour him. Asto the other, he knows me, he fears me, and knows what he has to expectof me if ever I escape from his hands. It is useless, then, to attemptanything with him. But Felton--that's another thing. He is a young,ingenuous, pure man who seems virtuous; him there are means ofdestroying."

  And Milady went to bed and fell asleep with a smile upon her lips.Anyone who had seen her sleeping might have said she was a young girldreaming of the crown of flowers she was to wear on her brow at the nextfestival.