Man in the Iron Mask (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

by Alexandre Dumas

  Athos and Raoul found the mansion of the Duc in as much confusion as that of Planchet. The Duc, likewise, was making his inventory; that is to say, he was distributing to his friends everything of value he had in the house. Owing nearly two millions—an enormous amount in those days—M. de Beaufort had calculated that he could not set out for Africa without a good round sum; and, in order to find that sum, he was distributing to his old creditors plate, arms, jewels, and furniture, which was more magnificent than selling it, and brought him back double. In fact, how could a man to whom ten thousand livres were owing, refuse to carry away a present of six thousand, enhanced in merit from having belonged to a descendant of Henry IV? And how, after having carried away that present, could he refuse ten thousand livres more to this generous noble? This, then, was what had happened. The Duc had no longer a dwelling-house-that had become useless to an admiral whose place of residence is his ship; he had no longer need of superfluous arms, when he was placed amidst his cannons; no more jewels, which the sea might rob him of; but he had three or four hundred thousand crowns fresh in his coffers. And throughout the house there was a joyous movement of people who believed they were plundering monseigneur. The Prince had, in a supreme degree, the art of making happy the creditors the most to be pitied. Every distressed man, every empty purse, found with him patience and intelligence of his position. To some he said, “I wish I had what you have; I would give it you.” And to others, “I have but this silver ewer; it is worth at least five hundred livres,—take it.” The effect of which was—so truly is courtesy a current payment—that the Prince constantly found means to renew his creditors. This time he used no ceremony; it might be called a general pillage. He gave up everything. The Oriental fable of the poor Arab, who carried away from the pillage of a palace a kettle at the bottom of which was concealed a bag of gold, and whom everybody allowed to pass without jealousy,—this fable had become a truth in the Prince’s mansion. Many contractors paid themselves upon the offices of the Duc. Thus, the provision department, who plundered the clothes presses and the harness-rooms, attached very little value to things which tailors and saddlers set great store by. Anxious to carry home to their wives preserves given them by monseigneur, many were seen bounding joyously along, under the weight of earthen jars and bottles, gloriously stamped with the arms of the Prince. M. de Beaufort finished by giving away his horses and the hay from his lofts. He made more than thirty happy with kitchen utensils; and thirty more with the contents of his cellar. Still further, all these people went away with the conviction that M. de Beaufort only acted in this manner to prepare for a new fortune concealed beneath the Arab tents. They repeated to each other, while devastating his hotel, that he was sent to Gigelli by the King to reconstruct his lost fortunes; that the treasures of Africa would be equally divided between the admiral and the King of France; that these treasures consisted in mines of diamonds, or other fabulous stones; the gold and silver mines of Mount Atlas did not even obtain the honour of being named. In addition to the mines to be worked,—which could not be begun till after the campaign—there would be the booty made by the army. M. de Beaufort would lay his hands upon all that the rich pirates had robbed Christendom of since the battle of Lepanto. The number of millions from these sources defied calculation. Why, then, should he, who was going in quest of such treasures, set any store by the poor utensils of his past life? And, reciprocally, why should they spare the property of him who spared it so little himself?

  Such was the position of affairs. Athos, with his investigating glance, saw what was going on at once. He found the admiral of France a little exalted, for he was rising from a table of fifty covers, at which the guests had drunk long and deeply to the prosperity of the expedition; at which, with the dessert, the remains of the meal had been given to the servants, and the empty dishes and plates to the curious. The Prince was intoxicated with his ruin and his popularity at the same time. He had drunk his old wine to the health of his future wine. When he saw Athos and Raoul,—

  “There is my aide-de-camp being brought to me!” he cried. “Come hither, Comte; come hither, Vicomte.” Athos tried to find a passage through the heaps of linen and plate.

  “Ah! step over, step over!” said the Duc, offering a full glass to Athos. The latter took it; Raoul scarcely moistened his lips.

  “Here is your commission,” said the Prince to Raoul. “I had prepared it, reckoning upon you. You will go on before me as far as Antibes.”

  “Yes, monseigneur.”

  “Here is the order.” And de Beaufort gave Raoul the order. “Do you know anything of the sea?”

  “Yes, monseigneur; I have travelled with M. le Prince.”

  “That is well; all these barges and lighters must be in attendance to form an escort, and carry my provisions. The army must be prepared to embark in a fortnight at latest.”

  “That shall be done, monseigneur.”

  “The present order gives you the right to visit and search all the isles along the coast; you will there make the enrolments and levies you may want for me.”

  “Yes, Monsieur le Duc.”

  “And as you are an active man, and will work freely, you will spend much money.”

  “I hope not, monseigneur.”

  “But I reckon you will. My intendant has prepared orders of a thousand livres, drawn upon the cities of the south; he will give you a hundred of them. Now, dear Vicomte, begone.”

  Athos interrupted the Prince. “Keep your money, monseigneur; war is to be made among the Arabs with gold as well as lead.”

  “I wish to try the contrary,” replied the Duc; “and then, you are acquainted with my ideas upon the expedition—plenty of noise, plenty of fire, and, if it must be so, I shall disappear in the smoke.” Having spoken thus, M. de Beaufort began to laugh; but his mirth was not reciprocated by Athos and Raoul. He perceived this at once. “Ah,” said he with the courteous egotism of his rank and his age, “you are such people as a man should not see after dinner; you are cold, stiff, and dry, when I am all fire, all suppleness, and all wine. No, devil take me! I should always see you fasting, Vicomte; and you, Comte, if you wear such a face as that, you will see me no more.”

  He said this pressing the hand of Athos, who replied with a smile,—“Monseigneur, do not talk so grandly because you happen to have plenty of money. I predict that within a month you will be dry, stiff, and cold, in presence of your strong box, and that then, having Raoul at your elbow, quite fasting, you will be surprised to see him gay, animated, and generous, because he will have some new crowns to offer you.”

  “God grant it may be so!” cried the delighted Duc. “Comte, stay with me.”

  “No, I shall go with Raoul; the mission with which you charge him is a troublesome and difficult one. Alone it would be too much for him to execute. You do not observe, monseigneur, you have given him a command of the first order.”

  “Bah!”

  “And in the navy.”

  “That may be true. But, when people resemble him, do they not do all that is required of them?”

  “Monseigneur, I believe you will find nowhere so much zeal and intelligence, so much real bravery, as in Raoul; but if he failed in your embarkation, you would only meet with what you deserve.”

  “Humph! you are scolding me, then?”

  “Monseigneur, to provision a fleet, to assemble a flotilla, to enrol your maritime force, would take an admiral a year. Raoul is a cavalry officer, and you allow him a fortnight!”

  “I tell you he will get through.”

  “He may; but I will help him.”

  “To be sure you will; I reckoned upon you, and still further believe that when we are once at Toulon you will not let him depart alone.”

  “Oh!” said Athos, shaking his head.

  “Patience! patience!”

  “Monseigneur, permit us to take our leave.”

  “Begone, then, and my good fortune attend you.”

  “Adieu! monseigneur; and may your
good fortune attend you likewise.”

  “Here is an expedition admirably commenced!” said Athos to his son. “No provisions—no store flotilla! What can be done, thus?”

  “Humph!” murmured Raoul; “if all are going to do as I am, provisions will not be wanted.”

  “Monsieur,” replied Athos sternly, “do not be unjust and senseless in your egotism, or your grief, whichever you please to call it. If you set out for this war solely with the intention of getting killed in it, you stand in need of nobody, and it was scarcely worth while to recommend you to M. de Beaufort. But when you have been introduced to the Prince Commandant—when you have accepted the responsibility of a post in his army, the question is no longer about you, but about all those poor soldiers, who, as well as you, have hearts and bodies, who will weep for their country and endure all the necessities of their human condition. Remember, Raoul, that an officer is a minister as useful as a priest, and that he ought to have more charity than a priest.”

  “Monsieur, I know it, and have practised it; I would have continued to do so still, but—”

  “You forget also that you are of a country which is proud of its military glory; go and die if you like, but do not die without honour and without advantage to France. Cheer up, Raoul! do not let my words grieve you; I love you, and wish to see you perfect.”

  “I love your reproaches, monsieur,” said the young man mildly; “they alone may cure me, because they prove to me that some one loves me still.”

  “And now, Raoul, let us be off; the weather is so fine, the heavens are so pure, those heavens which we shall always find above our heads, which you will see more pure still at Gigelli, and which will speak to you of me there, as they speak to me here of God.”

  The two gentlemen, after having agreed upon this point, talked over the wild freaks of the Duc, convinced that France would be served in a very incomplete manner, as regarded both spirit and practice, in the ensuing expedition; and having summed up his policy under the word vanity, they set forward, in obedience to their will rather than their destiny. The sacrifice was accomplished.

  59

  The Silver Dish

  THE JOURNEY PASSED OFF pretty well. Athos and his son traversed France at the rate of fifteen leagues per day; sometimes more, sometimes less, according to the intensity of Raoul’s grief. It took them a fortnight to reach Toulon, and they lost all traces of d‘Artagnan at Antibes. They were forced to believe that the captain of the musketeers was desirous of preserving an incognito on his route, for Athos derived from his inquiries an assurance that such a cavalier as be described had exchanged his horse for a well-closed carriage on quitting Avignon. Raoul was much affected at not meeting with d’Artagnan. His affectionate heart longed to take a farewell and receive consolation from that heart of steel. Athos knew from experience that d’Artagnan became impenetrable when engaged in any serious affair, whether on his own account or in the service of the King. He even feared to offend his friend, or thwart him by too pressing inquiries. And yet when Raoul commenced his labour of classing the flotilla, and got together the lighters to send them to Toulon, one of the fishermen told the Comte that his boat had been laid up to refit since a trip he had made on account of a gentleman who was in great haste to embark. Athos, believing that this man was telling a falsehood in order to be left at liberty to fish, and so gain more money when all his companions were gone, insisted upon having the details. The fisherman informed him that six days previously a man had come in the night to hire his boat, for the purpose of visiting the island of St. Honorat. The price was agreed upon, but the gentleman had arrived with an immense carriage case, which he insisted upon embarking, in spite of all the difficulties which opposed themselves to that operation. The fisherman had wished to retract. He had even threatened, but his threats had procured him nothing but a shower of blows from the gentleman’s cane, which fell upon his shoulders sharp and long. Swearing and grumbling, he had recourse to the syndic of his brotherhood at Antibes, who administer justice among themselves and protect each other; but the gentleman had exhibited a certain paper, at the sight of which the syndic, bowing to the very ground, had enjoined obedience from the fisherman, and abused him for having been refractory. They then departed with the freight.

  “But all this does not tell us,” said Athos, “how you have injured your boat.”

  “This is the way. I was steering towards St. Honorat as the gentleman had desired me; but he changed his mind, and pretended that I could not pass to the south of the abbey.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because, monsieur, there is in front of the square tower of the Benedictines, towards the southern point, the bank of the Moines.”

  “A rock?” asked Athos.

  “Level with the water, and below the water; a dangerous passage, but one I have cleared a thousand times; the gentleman required me to land him at Sainte-Marguerite’s.”

  “Well?”

  “Well, monsieur! cried the fisherman, with his Provençal accent, ”a man is a sailor, or he is not; he knows his course, or he is nothing but a fresh-water lubber. I was obstinate, and wished to try the channel. The gentleman took me by the collar, and told me quietly he would strangle me. My mate armed himself with a hatchet, and so did I. We had the affront of the night before to pay him out for. But the gentleman drew his sword, and used it in such an astonishingly rapid manner, that we neither of us could get near him. I was about to hurl my hatchet at his head, and I had a right to do so, hadn’t I, monsieur ? for a sailor aboard is master, as a citizen is in his chamber; I was going, then, in self-defence, to cut this gentleman in two, when all at once—believe me or not, monsieur—the great carriage case opened of itself, I don’t know how, and there came out of it a sort of a phantom, his head covered with a black helmet and a black mask, something terrible to look upon, which came towards me threatening with its fists.”

  “And that was—” said Athos.

  “That was the devil, monsieur; for the gentleman, with great glee, cried out on seeing him: ‘Ah! thank you, monseigneur!’”

  “A strange story!” murmured the Comte, looking at Raoul.

  “And what did you do?” asked the latter of the fisherman.

  “You must know, monsieur, that two poor men, such as we are, could be no match for two gentlemen; but when one of them is the devil we had no chance! My companion and I did not stop to consult one another; we made but one jump into the sea, for we were within seven or eight hundred feet of the shore.”

  “Well, and then?”

  “Why, and then, monsieur, as there was a little wind from the south-west, the boat drifted into the sands of Sainte-Marguerite’s.”

  “Oh!—but the two travellers?”

  “Bah! you need not be uneasy about them! It was pretty plain that one was the devil, and protected the other! for when we recovered the boat, after she got afloat again, instead of finding these two creatures injured by the shock, we found nothing, not even the carriage or the case.”

  “Very strange! very strange!” repeated the Comte. “But since that, what have you done, my friend?”

  “I made my complaint to the governor of Sainte-Marguerite’s, who brought my finger under my nose by telling me if I plagued him with such silly stories he would have me flogged.”

  “What! did the governor say so?”

  “Yes, monsieur; and yet my boat was injured, seriously injured, for the prow is left upon the point of Sainte-Marguerite’s, and the carpenter asks a hundred and twenty livres, to repair it.”

  “Very well,” replied Raoul; “you will be exempted from the service. Go.”

  “We will go to Sainte-Marguerite’s, shall we?” said the Comte to Bragelonne, as the man walked away.

  “Yes, monsieur, for there is something to be cleared up; that man does not seem to me to have told the truth.”

  “Nor to me neither, Raoul. The story of the masked man and the carriage having disappeared may be told to conceal some violence thes
e fellows have committed upon their passenger in the open sea, to punish him for his persistence in embarking.”

  “I formed the same suspicion; the carriage was more likely to contain property than a man.”

  “We shall see to that, Raoul. This gentleman very much resembles d’Artagnan; I recognise his mode of proceeding. Alas! we are no longer the young invincibles of former days. Who knows whether the hatchet or the iron bar of this miserable coaster has not succeeded in doing that which the best blades of Europe, balls, and bullets have not been able to do in forty years?”

  That same day they set out for Sainte-Marguerite’s, on board a lugger, come from Toulon under orders. The impression they felt on landing was a singularly pleasing one. The isle was full of flowers and fruits. In its cultivated part it served as a garden for the governor. Orange, pomegranate, and fig-trees bent beneath the weight of their golden or purple fruits. All around this garden, in the uncultivated parts, the red partridges ran about in coveys among the brambles and tufts of junipers, and at every step of the Comte and Raoul a terrified rabbit quitted his thyme and heath to scuttle away to his burrow. In fact, this fortunate isle was uninhabited. Flat, offering nothing but a tiny bay for the convenience of embarkation, and under the protection of the governor, who went shares with them, smugglers made use of it as a provisional depot, at the expense of not killing the game or devastating the garden. With this compromise, the governor was in a situation to be satisfied with a garrison of eight men to guard his fortress, in which twelve cannons accumulated their coats of mouldy green. The governor was a sort of happy farmer, harvesting wines, figs, oil, and oranges, preserving his citrons and lemons within his sunny casemates. The fortress, encircled by a deep ditch, its only guardian, arose like three heads upon turrets connected with each other by terraces covered with moss.