The three musketeers
“Be easy, monsieur,” said Planchet; “you do not know me yet. I am brave
when I set about it. It is all in beginning. Besides, I am a Picard.”
“Then it is understood,” said D’Artagnan; “you would rather be killed
than desert your post?”
“Yes, monsieur; and there is nothing I would not do to prove to
Monsieur that I am attached to him.”
“Good!” said D’Artagnan to himself. “It appears that the method I have
adopted with this boy is decidedly the best. I shall use it again upon
occasion.”
And with all the swiftness of his legs, already a little fatigued,
however, with the perambulations of the day, D’Artagnan directed his
course toward M. de Tréville’s.
M. de Tréville was not at his hôtel. His company was on guard at the
Louvre; he was at the Louvre with his company.
It was necessary to reach M. de Tréville; it was important that he
should be informed of what was passing. D’Artagnan resolved to try and
enter the Louvre. His costume of Guardsman in the company of M.
Dessessart ought to be his passport.
He therefore went down the Rue des Petits Augustins, and came up to the
quay, in order to take the New Bridge. He had at first an idea of
crossing by the ferry; but on gaining the riverside, he had
mechanically put his hand into his pocket, and perceived that he had
not wherewithal to pay his passage.
As he gained the top of the Rue Guénegaud, he saw two persons coming
out of the Rue Dauphine whose appearance very much struck him. Of the
two persons who composed this group, one was a man and the other a
woman. The woman had the outline of Mme. Bonacieux; the man resembled
Aramis so much as to be mistaken for him.
Besides, the woman wore that black mantle which D’Artagnan could still
see outlined on the shutter of the Rue de Vaugirard and on the door of
the Rue de la Harpe; still further, the man wore the uniform of a
Musketeer.
The woman’s hood was pulled down, and the man held a handkerchief to
his face. Both, as this double precaution indicated, had an interest in
not being recognized.
They took the bridge. That was D’Artagnan’s road, as he was going to
the Louvre. D’Artagnan followed them.
He had not gone twenty steps before he became convinced that the woman
was really Mme. Bonacieux and that the man was Aramis.
He felt at that instant all the suspicions of jealousy agitating his
heart. He felt himself doubly betrayed, by his friend and by her whom
he already loved like a mistress. Mme. Bonacieux had declared to him,
by all the gods, that she did not know Aramis; and a quarter of an hour
after having made this assertion, he found her hanging on the arm of
Aramis.
D’Artagnan did not reflect that he had only known the mercer’s pretty
wife for three hours; that she owed him nothing but a little gratitude
for having delivered her from the men in black, who wished to carry her
off, and that she had promised him nothing. He considered himself an
outraged, betrayed, and ridiculed lover. Blood and anger mounted to his
face; he was resolved to unravel the mystery.
The young man and young woman perceived they were watched, and
redoubled their speed. D’Artagnan determined upon his course. He passed
them, then returned so as to meet them exactly before the Samaritaine,
which was illuminated by a lamp which threw its light over all that
part of the bridge.
D’Artagnan stopped before them, and they stopped before him.
“What do you want, monsieur?” demanded the Musketeer, recoiling a step,
and with a foreign accent, which proved to D’Artagnan that he was
deceived in one of his conjectures.
“It is not Aramis!” cried he.
“No, monsieur, it is not Aramis; and by your exclamation I perceive you
have mistaken me for another, and pardon you.”
“You pardon me?” cried D’Artagnan.
“Yes,” replied the stranger. “Allow me, then, to pass on, since it is
not with me you have anything to do.”
“You are right, monsieur, it is not with you that I have anything to
do; it is with Madame.”
“With Madame! You do not know her,” replied the stranger.
“You are deceived, monsieur; I know her very well.”
“Ah,” said Mme. Bonacieux; in a tone of reproach, “ah, monsieur, I had
your promise as a soldier and your word as a gentleman. I hoped to be
able to rely upon that.”
“And I, madame!” said D’Artagnan, embarrassed; “you promised me—”
“Take my arm, madame,” said the stranger, “and let us continue our
way.”
D’Artagnan, however, stupefied, cast down, annihilated by all that
happened, stood, with crossed arms, before the Musketeer and Mme.
Bonacieux.
The Musketeer advanced two steps, and pushed D’Artagnan aside with his
hand. D’Artagnan made a spring backward and drew his sword. At the same
time, and with the rapidity of lightning, the stranger drew his.
“In the name of heaven, my Lord!” cried Mme. Bonacieux, throwing
herself between the combatants and seizing the swords with her hands.
“My Lord!” cried D’Artagnan, enlightened by a sudden idea, “my Lord!
Pardon me, monsieur, but you are not—”
“My Lord the Duke of Buckingham,” said Mme. Bonacieux, in an undertone;
“and now you may ruin us all.”
“My Lord, Madame, I ask a hundred pardons! But I love her, my Lord, and
was jealous. You know what it is to love, my Lord. Pardon me, and then
tell me how I can risk my life to serve your Grace?”
“You are a brave young man,” said Buckingham, holding out his hand to
D’Artagnan, who pressed it respectfully. “You offer me your services;
with the same frankness I accept them. Follow us at a distance of
twenty paces, as far as the Louvre, and if anyone watches us, slay
him!”
D’Artagnan placed his naked sword under his arm, allowed the duke and
Mme. Bonacieux to take twenty steps ahead, and then followed them,
ready to execute the instructions of the noble and elegant minister of
Charles I.
Fortunately, he had no opportunity to give the duke this proof of his
devotion, and the young woman and the handsome Musketeer entered the
Louvre by the wicket of the Echelle without any interference.
As for D’Artagnan, he immediately repaired to the cabaret of the
Pomme-de-Pin, where he found Porthos and Aramis awaiting him. Without
giving them any explanation of the alarm and inconvenience he had
caused them, he told them that he had terminated the affair alone in
which he had for a moment believed he should need their assistance.
Meanwhile, carried away as we are by our narrative, we must leave our
three friends to themselves, and follow the Duke of Buckingham and his
guide through the labyrinths of the Louvre.
Chapter XII.
GEORGE VILLIERS, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM
Mme. Bonacieux and the duke entered the Louvre without difficulty. Mme.
Bonacieux was known to belong to the queen; the duke wore the uniform
of the Musketeers of M. de Tréville, who, as we have said, were that
evening on guard. Besides, Germain was in the interests of the queen;
and if anything should happen, Mme. Bonacieux would be accused of
having introduced her lover into the Louvre, that was all. She took the
risk upon herself. Her reputation would be lost, it is true; but of
what value in the world was the reputation of the little wife of a
mercer?
Once within the interior of the court, the duke and the young woman
followed the wall for the space of about twenty-five steps. This space
passed, Mme. Bonacieux pushed a little servants’ door, open by day but
generally closed at night. The door yielded. Both entered, and found
themselves in darkness; but Mme. Bonacieux was acquainted with all the
turnings and windings of this part of the Louvre, appropriated for the
people of the household. She closed the door after her, took the duke
by the hand, and after a few experimental steps, grasped a balustrade,
put her foot upon the bottom step, and began to ascend the staircase.
The duke counted two stories. She then turned to the right, followed
the course of a long corridor, descended a flight, went a few steps
farther, introduced a key into a lock, opened a door, and pushed the
duke into an apartment lighted only by a lamp, saying, “Remain here, my
Lord Duke; someone will come.” She then went out by the same door,
which she locked, so that the duke found himself literally a prisoner.
Nevertheless, isolated as he was, we must say that the Duke of
Buckingham did not experience an instant of fear. One of the salient
points of his character was the search for adventures and a love of
romance. Brave, rash, and enterprising, this was not the first time he
had risked his life in such attempts. He had learned that the pretended
message from Anne of Austria, upon the faith of which he had come to
Paris, was a snare; but instead of regaining England, he had, abusing
the position in which he had been placed, declared to the queen that he
would not depart without seeing her. The queen had at first positively
refused; but at length became afraid that the duke, if exasperated,
would commit some folly. She had already decided upon seeing him and
urging his immediate departure, when, on the very evening of coming to
this decision, Mme. Bonacieux, who was charged with going to fetch the
duke and conducting him to the Louvre, was abducted. For two days no
one knew what had become of her, and everything remained in suspense;
but once free, and placed in communication with Laporte, matters
resumed their course, and she accomplished the perilous enterprise
which, but for her arrest, would have been executed three days earlier.
Buckingham, left alone, walked toward a mirror. His Musketeer’s uniform
became him marvelously.
At thirty-five, which was then his age, he passed, with just title, for
the handsomest gentleman and the most elegant cavalier of France or
England.
The favorite of two kings, immensely rich, all-powerful in a kingdom
which he disordered at his fancy and calmed again at his caprice,
George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, had lived one of those fabulous
existences which survive, in the course of centuries, to astonish
posterity.
Sure of himself, convinced of his own power, certain that the laws
which rule other men could not reach him, he went straight to the
object he aimed at, even were this object so elevated and so dazzling
that it would have been madness for any other even to have contemplated
it. It was thus he had succeeded in approaching several times the
beautiful and proud Anne of Austria, and in making himself loved by
dazzling her.
George Villiers placed himself before the glass, as we have said,
restored the undulations to his beautiful hair, which the weight of his
hat had disordered, twisted his mustache, and, his heart swelling with
joy, happy and proud at being near the moment he had so long sighed
for, he smiled upon himself with pride and hope.
At this moment a door concealed in the tapestry opened, and a woman
appeared. Buckingham saw this apparition in the glass; he uttered a
cry. It was the queen!
Anne of Austria was then twenty-six or twenty-seven years of age; that
is to say, she was in the full splendor of her beauty.
Her carriage was that of a queen or a goddess; her eyes, which cast the
brilliancy of emeralds, were perfectly beautiful, and yet were at the
same time full of sweetness and majesty.
Her mouth was small and rosy; and although her underlip, like that of
all princes of the House of Austria, protruded slightly beyond the
other, it was eminently lovely in its smile, but as profoundly
disdainful in its contempt.
Her skin was admired for its velvety softness; her hands and arms were
of surpassing beauty, all the poets of the time singing them as
incomparable.
Lastly, her hair, which, from being light in her youth, had become
chestnut, and which she wore curled very plainly, and with much powder,
admirably set off her face, in which the most rigid critic could only