The Man in the Iron Mask

by Alexandre Dumas

  Chapter XXXIV. Among Women.

  D'Artagnan had not been able to hide his feelings from his friendsso much as he would have wished. The stoical soldier, the impassiveman-at-arms, overcome by fear and sad presentiments, had yielded, fora few moments, to human weakness. When, therefore, he had silencedhis heart and calmed the agitation of his nerves, turning towards hislackey, a silent servant, always listening, in order to obey the morepromptly:

  "Rabaud," said he, "mind, we must travel thirty leagues a day."

  "At your pleasure, captain," replied Rabaud.

  And from that moment, D'Artagnan, accommodating his action to the paceof the horse, like a true centaur, gave up his thoughts to nothing--thatis to say, to everything. He asked himself why the king had sent forhim back; why the Iron Mask had thrown the silver plate at the feet ofRaoul. As to the first subject, the reply was negative; he knew rightwell that the king's calling him was from necessity. He still furtherknew that Louis XIV. must experience an imperious desire for a privateconversation with one whom the possession of such a secret placed on alevel with the highest powers of the kingdom. But as to saying exactlywhat the king's wish was, D'Artagnan found himself completely at a loss.The musketeer had no doubts, either, upon the reason which had urged theunfortunate Philippe to reveal his character and birth. Philippe, buriedforever beneath a mask of steel, exiled to a country where the menseemed little more than slaves of the elements; Philippe, deprivedeven of the society of D'Artagnan, who had loaded him with honors anddelicate attentions, had nothing more to see than odious specters inthis world, and, despair beginning to devour him, he poured himselfforth in complaints, in the belief that his revelations would raise upsome avenger for him. The manner in which the musketeer had been nearkilling his two best friends, the destiny which had so strangely broughtAthos to participate in the great state secret, the farewell of Raoul,the obscurity of the future which threatened to end in a melancholydeath; all this threw D'Artagnan incessantly back on lamentablepredictions and forebodings, which the rapidity of his pace did notdissipate, as it used formerly to do. D'Artagnan passed from theseconsiderations to the remembrance of the proscribed Porthos and Aramis.He saw them both, fugitives, tracked, ruined--laborious architects offortunes they had lost; and as the king called for his man of executionin hours of vengeance and malice, D'Artagnan trembled at the veryidea of receiving some commission that would make his very soul bleed.Sometimes, ascending hills, when the winded horse breathed hard from hisred nostrils, and heaved his flanks, the captain, left to more freedomof thought, reflected on the prodigious genius of Aramis, a genius ofacumen and intrigue, a match to which the Fronde and the civil war hadproduced but twice. Soldier, priest, diplomatist; gallant, avaricious,cunning; Aramis had never taken the good things of this life exceptas stepping-stones to rise to giddier ends. Generous in spirit, if notlofty in heart, he never did ill but for the sake of shining evenyet more brilliantly. Towards the end of his career, at the moment ofreaching the goal, like the patrician Fuscus, he had made a false stepupon a plank, and had fallen into the sea. But Porthos, good, harmlessPorthos! To see Porthos hungry, to see Mousqueton without gold lace,imprisoned, perhaps; to see Pierrefonds, Bracieux, razed to the verystones, dishonored even to the timber,--these were so many poignantgriefs for D'Artagnan, and every time that one of these griefs struckhim, he bounded like a horse at the sting of a gadfly beneath the vaultsof foliage where he has sought shady shelter from the burning sun. Neverwas the man of spirit subjected to _ennui_, if his body was exposed tofatigue; never did the man of healthy body fail to find life light, ifhe had something to engage his mind. D'Artagnan, riding fast, thinkingas constantly, alighted from his horse in Pairs, fresh and tender inhis muscles as the athlete preparing for the gymnasium. The king did notexpect him so soon, and had just departed for the chase towards Meudon.D'Artagnan, instead of riding after the king, as he would formerly havedone, took off his boots, had a bath, and waited till his majestyshould return dusty and tired. He occupied the interval of five hoursin taking, as people say, the air of the house, and in arming himselfagainst all ill chances. He learned that the king, during the lastfortnight, had been gloomy; that the queen-mother was ill and muchdepressed; that Monsieur, the king's brother, was exhibiting adevotional turn; that Madame had the vapors; and that M. de Guiche wasgone to one of his estates. He learned that M. Colbert was radiant; thatM. Fouquet consulted a fresh physician every day, who still did not curehim, and that his principal complaint was one which physicians do notusually cure, unless they are political physicians. The king, D'Artagnanwas told, behaved in the kindest manner to M. Fouquet, and did not allowhim to be ever out of his sight; but the surintendant, touched to theheart, like one of those fine trees a worm has punctured, was decliningdaily, in spite of the royal smile, that sun of court trees. D'Artagnanlearned that Mademoiselle de la Valliere had become indispensable to theking; that the king, during his sporting excursions, if he did not takeher with him, wrote to her frequently, no longer verses, but, whichwas much worse, prose, and that whole pages at a time. Thus, as thepolitical Pleiad of the day said, the _first king in the world_ was seendescending from his horse _with an ardor beyond compare_, and on thecrown of his hat scrawling bombastic phrases, which M. de Saint-Aignan,aide-de-camp in perpetuity, carried to La Valliere at the risk offoundering his horses. During this time, deer and pheasants were left tothe free enjoyment of their nature, hunted so lazily that, it was said,the art of venery ran great risk of degenerating at the court of France.D'Artagnan then thought of the wishes of poor Raoul, of that despondingletter destined for a woman who passed her life in hoping, and asD'Artagnan loved to philosophize a little occasionally, he resolvedto profit by the absence of the king to have a minute's talk withMademoiselle de la Valliere. This was a very easy affair; while the kingwas hunting, Louise was walking with some other ladies in one ofthe galleries of the Palais Royal, exactly where the captain of themusketeers had some guards to inspect. D'Artagnan did not doubt that,if he could but open the conversation on Raoul, Louise might give himgrounds for writing a consolatory letter to the poor exile; and hope,or at least consolation for Raoul, in the state of heart in which he hadleft him, was the sun, was life to two men, who were very dear to ourcaptain. He directed his course, therefore, to the spot where he knewhe should find Mademoiselle de la Valliere. D'Artagnan found La Vallierethe center of the circle. In her apparent solitude, the king's favoritereceived, like a queen, more, perhaps, than the queen, a homage of whichMadame had been so proud, when all the king's looks were directed to herand commanded the looks of the courtiers. D'Artagnan, although no squireof dames, received, nevertheless, civilities and attentions from theladies; he was polite, as a brave man always is, and his terriblereputation had conciliated as much friendship among the men asadmiration among the women. On seeing him enter, therefore, theyimmediately accosted him; and, as is not unfrequently the case with fairladies, opened the attack by questions. "Where _had_ he been? What _had_become of him so long? Why had they not seen him as usual make his finehorse curvet in such beautiful style, to the delight and astonishment ofthe curious from the king's balcony?"

  He replied that he had just come from the land of oranges. This set allthe ladies laughing. Those were times in which everybody traveled, butin which, notwithstanding, a journey of a hundred leagues was a problemoften solved by death.

  "From the land of oranges?" cried Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente. "FromSpain?"

  "Eh! eh!" said the musketeer.

  "From Malta?" echoed Montalais.

  "_Ma foi!_ You are coming very near, ladies."

  "Is it an island?" asked La Valliere.

  "Mademoiselle," said D'Artagnan; "I will not give you the trouble ofseeking any further; I come from the country where M. de Beaufort is, atthis moment, embarking for Algiers."

  "Have you seen the army?" asked several warlike fair ones.

  "As plainly as I see you," replied D'Artagnan.

  "And the fleet?"

  "Yes, I
saw everything."

  "Have we any of us any friends there?" said Mademoiselle deTonnay-Charente, coldly, but in a manner to attract attention to aquestion that was not without its calculated aim.

  "Why," replied D'Artagnan, "yes; there were M. de la Guillotiere, M. deManchy, M. de Bragelonne--"

  La Valliere became pale. "M. de Bragelonne!" cried the perfidiousAthenais. "Eh, what!--is he gone to the wars?--he!"

  Montalais trod on her toe, but all in vain.

  "Do you know what my opinion is?" continued she, addressing D'Artagnan.

  "No, mademoiselle; but I should like very much to know it."

  "My opinion is, then, that all the men who go to this war are desperate,desponding men, whom love has treated ill; and who go to try if theycannot find jet-complexioned women more kind than fair ones have been."

  Some of the ladies laughed; La Valliere was evidently confused;Montalais coughed loud enough to waken the dead.

  "Mademoiselle," interrupted D'Artagnan, "you are in error when you speakof black women at Gigelli; the women there have not jet faces; it istrue they are not white--they are yellow."

  "Yellow!" exclaimed the bevy of fair beauties.

  "Eh! do not disparage it. I have never seen a finer color to match withblack eyes and a coral mouth."

  "So much the better for M. de Bragelonne," said Mademoiselle deTonnay-Charente, with persistent malice. "He will make amends for hisloss. Poor fellow!"

  A profound silence followed these words; and D'Artagnan had time toobserve and reflect that women--mild doves--treat each other morecruelly than tigers. But making La Valliere pale did not satisfyAthenais; she determined to make her blush likewise. Resuming theconversation without pause, "Do you know, Louise," said she, "that thereis a great sin on your conscience?"

  "What sin, mademoiselle?" stammered the unfortunate girl, looking roundher for support, without finding it.

  "Eh!--why," continued Athenais, "the poor young man was affianced toyou; he loved you; you cast him off."

  "Well, that is a right which every honest woman has," said Montalais, inan affected tone. "When we know we cannot constitute the happiness of aman, it is much better to cast him off."

  "Cast him off! or refuse him!--that's all very well," said Athenais,"but that is not the sin Mademoiselle de la Valliere has to reproachherself with. The actual sin is sending poor Bragelonne to the wars; andto wars in which death is so very likely to be met with." Louise pressedher hand over her icy brow. "And if he dies," continued her pitilesstormentor, "you will have killed him. That is the sin."

  Louise, half-dead, caught at the arm of the captain of the musketeers,whose face betrayed unusual emotion. "You wished to speak with me,Monsieur d'Artagnan," said she, in a voice broken by anger and pain."What had you to say to me?"

  D'Artagnan made several steps along the gallery, holding Louise on hisarm; then, when they were far enough removed from the others--"WhatI had to say to you, mademoiselle," replied he, "Mademoiselle deTonnay-Charente has just expressed; roughly and unkindly, it is true butstill in its entirety."

  She uttered a faint cry; pierced to the heart by this new wound, shewent her way, like one of those poor birds which, struck unto death,seek the shade of the thicket in which to die. She disappeared at onedoor, at the moment the king was entering by another. The first glanceof the king was directed towards the empty seat of his mistress. Notperceiving La Valliere, a frown came over his brow; but as soon as hesaw D'Artagnan, who bowed to him--"Ah! monsieur!" cried he, "you _have_been diligent! I am much pleased with you." This was the superlativeexpression of royal satisfaction. Many men would have been ready to laydown their lives for such a speech from the king. The maids of honor andthe courtiers, who had formed a respectful circle round the king on hisentrance, drew back, on observing he wished to speak privately withhis captain of the musketeers. The king led the way out of the gallery,after having again, with his eyes, sought everywhere for La Valliere,whose absence he could not account for. The moment they were out ofthe reach of curious ears, "Well! Monsieur d'Artagnan," said he, "theprisoner?"

  "Is in his prison, sire."

  "What did he say on the road?"

  "Nothing, sire."

  "What did he do?"

  "There was a moment at which the fisherman--who took me in his boatto Sainte-Marguerite--revolted, and did his best to kill me. The--theprisoner defended me instead of attempting to fly."

  The king became pale. "Enough!" said he; and D'Artagnan bowed. Louiswalked about his cabinet with hasty steps. "Were you at Antibes," saidhe, "when Monsieur de Beaufort came there?"

  "No, sire; I was setting off when monsieur le duc arrived."

  "Ah!" which was followed by a fresh silence. "Whom did you see there?"

  "A great many persons," said D'Artagnan, coolly.

  The king perceived he was unwilling to speak. "I have sent for you,monsieur le capitaine, to desire you to go and prepare my lodgings atNantes."

  "At Nantes!" cried D'Artagnan.

  "In Bretagne."

  "Yes, sire, it is in Bretagne. Will you majesty make so long a journeyas to Nantes?"

  "The States are assembled there," replied the king. "I have two demandsto make of them: I wish to be there."

  "When shall I set out?" said the captain.

  "This evening--to-morrow--to-morrow evening; for you must stand in needof rest."

  "I have rested, sire."

  "That is well. Then between this and to-morrow evening, when youplease."

  D'Artagnan bowed as if to take his leave; but, perceiving the kingvery much embarrassed, "Will you majesty," said he, stepping two pacesforward, "take the court with you?"

  "Certainly I shall."

  "Then you majesty will, doubtless, want the musketeers?" And the eye ofthe king sank beneath the penetrating glance of the captain.

  "Take a brigade of them," replied Louis.

  "Is that all? Has your majesty no other orders to give me?"

  "No--ah--yes."

  "I am all attention, sire."

  "At the castle of Nantes, which I hear is very ill arranged, you willadopt the practice of placing musketeers at the door of each of theprincipal dignitaries I shall take with me."

  "Of the principal?"

  "Yes."

  "For instance, at the door of M. de Lyonne?"

  "Yes."

  "And that of M. Letellier?"

  "Yes."

  "Of M. de Brienne?"

  "Yes."

  "And of monsieur le surintendant?"

  "Without doubt."

  "Very well, sire. By to-morrow I shall have set out."

  "Oh, yes; but one more word, Monsieur d'Artagnan. At Nantes you willmeet with M. le Duc de Gesvres, captain of the guards. Be sure thatyour musketeers are placed before his guards arrive. Precedence alwaysbelongs to the first comer."

  "Yes, sire."

  "And if M. de Gesvres should question you?"

  "Question me, sire! Is it likely that M. de Gesvres should questionme?" And the musketeer, turning cavalierly on his heel, disappeared. "ToNantes!" said he to himself, as he descended from the stairs. "Why didhe not dare to say, from thence to Belle-Isle?"

  As he reached the great gates, one of M. Brienne's clerks came runningafter him, exclaiming, "Monsieur d'Artagnan! I beg your pardon--"

  "What is the matter, Monsieur Ariste?"

  "The king has desired me to give you this order."

  "Upon your cash-box?" asked the musketeer.

  "No, monsieur; on that of M. Fouquet."

  D'Artagnan was surprised, but he took the order, which was in the king'sown writing, and was for two hundred pistoles. "What!" thought he, afterhaving politely thanked M. Brienne's clerk, "M. Fouquet is to pay forthe journey, then! _Mordioux!_ that is a bit of pure Louis XI. Why wasnot this order on the chest of M. Colbert? He would have paid it withsuch joy." And D'Artagnan, faithful to his principle of never lettingan order at sight get cold, went straight to the house of M. Fouquet, toreceive his two hundred
pistoles.