The Man in the Iron Mask

“I must know that woman,” thought the musketeer; “who can she be?” And he stooped towards his friend, the falconer, to whom he addressed the question he had put to himself.

The falconer was about to reply, when the king, perceiving D’Artagnan, “Ah, comte!” said he, “you are amongst us once more then! Why have I not seen you?”

“Sire,” replied the captain, “because your majesty was asleep when I arrived, and not awake when I resumed my duties this morning.”

“Still the same,” said Louis, in a loud voice, denoting satisfaction. “Take some rest, comte; I command you to do so. You will dine with me to-day.”

A murmur of admiration surrounded D’Artagnan like a caress. Every one was eager to salute him. Dining with the king was an honor his majesty was not so prodigal of as Henry IV. had been. The king passed a few steps in advance, and D’Artagnan found himself in the midst of a fresh group, among whom shone Colbert.

“Good-day, Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said the minister, with marked affability, “have you had a pleasant journey?”

“Yes, monsieur,” said D’Artagnan, bowing to the neck of his horse.

“I heard the king invite you to his table for this evening,” continued the minister; “you will meet an old friend there.”

“An old friend of mine?” asked D’Artagnan, plunging painfully into the dark waves of the past, which had swallowed up for him so many friendships and so many hatreds.

“M. le Duc d’Almeda, who is arrived this morning from Spain.”

“The Duc d’Almeda?” said D’Artagnan, reflecting in vain.

“Here!” cried an old man, white as snow, sitting bent in his carriage, which he caused to be thrown open to make room for the musketeer.

“Aramis!” cried D’Artagnan, struck with profound amazement. And he felt, inert as it was, the thin arm of the old nobleman hanging round his neck.

Colbert, after having observed them in silence for a few moments, urged his horse forward, and left the two old friends together.

“And so,” said the musketeer, taking Aramis’s arm, “you, the exile, the rebel, are again in France?”

“Ah! and I shall dine with you at the king’s table,” said Aramis, smiling. “Yes, will you not ask yourself what is the use of fidelity in this world? Stop! let us allow poor La Valliere’s carriage to pass. Look, how uneasy she is! How her eyes, dim with tears, follow the king, who is riding on horseback yonder!”

“With whom?”

“With Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente, now Madame de Montespan,” replied Aramis.

“She is jealous. Is she then deserted?”

“Not quite yet, but it will not be long before she is.”9

They chatted together, while following the sport, and Aramis’s coachman drove them so cleverly that they arrived at the instant when the falcon, attacking the bird, beat him down, and fell upon him. The king alighted; Madame de Montespan followed his example. They were in front of an isolated chapel, concealed by huge trees, already despoiled of their leaves by the first cutting winds of autumn. Behind this chapel was an inclosure, closed by a latticed gate. The falcon had beaten down his prey in the inclosure belonging to this little chapel, and the king was desirous of going in to take the first feather, according to custom. The cortege formed a circle round the building and the hedges, too small to receive so many. D’Artagnan held back Aramis by the arm, as he was about, like the rest, to alight from his carriage, and in a hoarse, broken voice, “Do you know, Aramis,” said he, “whither chance has conducted us?”

“No,” replied the duke.

“Here repose men that we knew well,” said D’Artagnan, greatly agitated.

Aramis, without divining anything, and with a trembling step, penetrated into the chapel by a little door which D’Artagnan opened for him. “Where are they buried?” said he.

“There, in the inclosure. There is a cross, you see, beneath yon little cypress. The tree of grief is planted over their tomb; don’t go to it; the king is going that way; the heron has fallen just there.”

Aramis stopped, and concealed himself in the shade. They then saw, without being seen, the pale face of La Valliere, who, neglected in her carriage, at first looked on, with a melancholy heart, from the door, and then, carried away by jealousy, advanced into the chapel, whence, leaning against a pillar, she contemplated the king smiling and making signs to Madame de Montespan to approach, as there was nothing to be afraid of. Madame de Montespan complied; she took the hand the king held out to her, and he, plucking out the first feather from the heron, which the falconer had strangled, placed it in his beautiful companion’s hat. She, smiling in her turn, kissed the hand tenderly which made her this present. The king grew scarlet with vanity and pleasure; he looked at Madame de Montespan with all the fire of new love.

“What will you give me in exchange?” said he.

She broke off a little branch of cypress and offered it to the king, who looked intoxicated with hope.

“Humph!” said Aramis to D’Artagnan; “the present is but a sad one, for that cypress shades a tomb.”

“Yes, and the tomb is that of Raoul de Bragelonne,” said D’Artagnan aloud; “of Raoul, who sleeps under that cross with his father.”

A groan resounded – they saw a woman fall fainting to the ground. Mademoiselle de la Valliere had seen all, heard all.

“Poor woman!” muttered D’Artagnan, as he helped the attendants to carry back to her carriage the lonely lady whose lot henceforth in life was suffering.

That evening D’Artagnan was seated at the king’s table, near M. Colbert and M. le Duc d’Almeda. The king was very gay. He paid a thousand little attentions to the queen, a thousand kindnesses to Madame, seated at his left hand, and very sad. It might have been supposed that time of calm when the king was wont to watch his mother’s eyes for the approval or disapproval of what he had just done.

Of mistresses there was no question at this dinner. The king addressed Aramis two or three times, calling him M. l’ambassadeur, which increased the surprise already felt by D’Artagnan at seeing his friend the rebel so marvelously well received at court.

The king, on rising from table, gave his hand to the queen, and made a sign to Colbert, whose eye was on his master’s face. Colbert took D’Artagnan and Aramis on one side. The king began to chat with his sister, whilst Monsieur, very uneasy, entertained the queen with a preoccupied air, without ceasing to watch his wife and brother from the corner of his eye. The conversation between Aramis, D’Artagnan, and Colbert turned upon indifferent subjects. They spoke of preceding ministers; Colbert related the successful tricks of Mazarin, and desired those of Richelieu to be related to him. D’Artagnan could not overcome his surprise at finding this man, with his heavy eyebrows and low forehead, display so much sound knowledge and cheerful spirits. Aramis was astonished at that lightness of character which permitted this serious man to retard with advantage the moment for more important conversation, to which nobody made any allusion, although all three interlocutors felt its imminence. It was very plain, from the embarrassed appearance of Monsieur, how much the conversation of the king and Madame annoyed him. Madame’s eyes were almost red: was she going to complain? Was she going to expose a little scandal in open court? The king took her on one side, and in a tone so tender that it must have reminded the princess of the time when she was loved for herself:

“Sister,” said he, “why do I see tears in those lovely eyes?”

“Why – sire – ” said she.

“Monsieur is jealous, is he not, sister?”

She looked towards Monsieur, an infallible sign that they were talking about him.

“Yes,” said she.

“Listen to me,” said the king; “if your friends compromise you, it is not Monsieur’s fault.”

He spoke these words with so much kindness that Madame, encouraged, having borne so many solitary griefs so long, was nearly bursting into tears, so full was her heart.

“Come, come, dear little sister,” said the king, “tell me your griefs; on the word of a brother, I pity them; on the word of a king, I will put an end to them.”

She raised her glorious eyes and, in a melancholy tone:

“It is not my friends who compromise me,” said she; “they are either absent or concealed; they have been brought into disgrace with your majesty; they, so devoted, so good, so loyal!”

“You say this on account of De Guiche, whom I have exiled, at Monsieur’s desire?”

“And who, since that unjust exile, has endeavored to get himself killed once every day.”

“Unjust, say you, sister?”

“So unjust, that if I had not had the respect mixed with friendship that I have always entertained for your majesty – ”

“Well!”

“Well! I would have asked my brother Charles, upon whom I can always – ”

The king started. “What, then?”

“I would have asked him to have had it represented to you that Monsieur and his favorite M. le Chevalier de Lorraine ought not with impunity to constitute themselves the executioners of my honor and my happiness.”

“The Chevalier de Lorraine,” said the king; “that dismal fellow?”

“Is my mortal enemy. Whilst that man lives in my household, where Monsieur retains him and delegates his power to him, I shall be the most miserable woman in the kingdom.”

“So,” said the king, slowly, “you call your brother of England a better friend than I am?”

“Actions speak for themselves, sire.”

“And you would prefer going to ask assistance there – ”

“To my own country!” said she with pride; “yes, sire.”

“You are the grandchild of Henry IV. as well as myself, lady. Cousin and brother-in-law, does not that amount pretty well to the title of brother-germain?”

“Then,” said Henrietta, “act!”

“Let us form an alliance.”

“Begin.”

“I have, you say, unjustly exiled De Guiche.”

“Oh! yes,” said she, blushing.

“De Guiche shall return.”10

“So far, well.”

“And now you say that I do wrong in having in your household the Chevalier de Lorraine, who gives Monsieur ill advice respecting you?”

“Remember well what I tell you, sire; the Chevalier de Lorraine some day – Observe, if ever I come to a dreadful end, I beforehand accuse the Chevalier de Lorraine; he has a spirit that is capable of any crime!”

“The Chevalier de Lorraine shall no longer annoy you – I promise you that.”11

“Then that will be a true preliminary of alliance, sire, – I sign; but since you have done your part, tell me what shall be mine.”

“Instead of embroiling me with your brother Charles, you must make him a more intimate friend than ever.”

“That is very easy.”

“Oh! not quite so easy as you may suppose, for in ordinary friendship people embrace or exercise hospitality, and that only costs a kiss or a return, profitable expenses; but in political friendship – ”

“Ah! it’s a political friendship, is it?”

“Yes, my sister; and then, instead of embraces and feasts, it is soldiers – it is soldiers all alive and well equipped – that we must serve up to our friends; vessels we must offer, all armed with cannons and stored with provisions. It hence results that we have not always coffers in a fit condition for such friendships.”

“Ah! you are quite right,” said Madame; “the coffers of the king of England have been sonorous for some time.”

“But you, my sister, who have so much influence over your brother, you can secure more than an ambassador could ever get the promise of.”

“To effect that I must go to London, my dear brother.”

“I have thought so,” replied the king, eagerly; “and I have said to myself that such a voyage would do your health and spirits good.”

“Only,” interrupted Madame, “it is possible I should fail. The king of England has dangerous counselors.”

“Counselors, do you say?”

“Precisely. If, by chance, your majesty had any intention – I am only supposing so – of asking Charles II. his alliance in a war – ”

“A war?”

“Yes; well! then the king’s counselors, who are in number seven – Mademoiselle Stewart, Mademoiselle Wells, Mademoiselle Gwyn, Miss Orchay, Mademoiselle Zunga, Miss Davies, and the proud Countess of Castlemaine – will represent to the king that war costs a great deal of money; that it is better to give balls and suppers at Hampton Court than to equip ships of the line at Portsmouth and Greenwich.”

“And then your negotiations will fail?”

“Oh! those ladies cause all negotiations to fall through which they don’t make themselves.”

“Do you know the idea that has struck me, sister?”

“No; inform me what it is.”

“It is that, searching well around you, you might perhaps find a female counselor to take with you to your brother, whose eloquence might paralyze the ill-will of the seven others.”

“That is really an idea, sire, and I will search.”

“You will find what you want.”

“I hope so.”

“A pretty ambassadress is necessary; an agreeable face is better than an ugly one, is it not?”

“Most assuredly.”

“An animated, lively, audacious character.”

“Certainly.”

“Nobility; that is, enough to enable her to approach the king without awkwardness – not too lofty, so as not to trouble herself about the dignity of her race.”

“Very true.”

“And who knows a little English.”

“Mon Dieu! why, some one,” cried Madame, “like Mademoiselle de Keroualle, for instance!”

“Oh! why, yes!” said Louis XIV.; “you have hit the mark, – it is you who have found, my sister.”

“I will take her; she will have no cause to complain, I suppose.”

“Oh! no, I will name her seductrice plenipotentiaire at once, and will add a dowry to the title.”

“That is well.”

“I fancy you already on your road, my dear little sister, consoled for all your griefs.”

“I will go, on two conditions. The first is, that I shall know what I am negotiating about.”

“That is it. The Dutch, you know, insult me daily in their gazettes, and by their republican attitude. I do not like republics.”

“That may easily be imagined, sire.”

“I see with pain that these kings of the sea – they call themselves so – keep trade from France in the Indies, and that their vessels will soon occupy all the ports of Europe. Such a power is too near me, sister.”

“They are your allies, nevertheless.”

“That is why they were wrong in having the medal you have heard of struck; a medal which represents Holland stopping the sun, as Joshua did, with this legend: The sun had stopped before me. There is not much fraternity in that, is there?”

“I thought you had forgotten that miserable episode?”

“I never forget anything, sister. And if my true friends, such as your brother Charles, are willing to second me – ” The princess remained pensively silent.

“Listen to me; there is the empire of the seas to be shared,” said Louis XIV. “For this partition, which England submits to, could I not represent the second party as well as the Dutch?”

“We have Mademoiselle de Keroualle to treat that question,” replied Madame.

“Your second condition for going, if you please, sister?”

“The consent of Monsieur, my husband.”

“You shall have it.”

“Then consider me already gone, brother.”

On hearing these words, Louis XIV. turned round towards the corner of the room in which D’Artagnan, Colbert, and Aramis stood, and made an affirmative sign to his minister. Colbert then broke in on the conversation suddenly, and said to Aramis:

“Monsieur l’ambassadeur, shall we talk about business?”

D’Artagnan immediately withdrew, from politeness. He directed his steps towards the fireplace, within hearing of what the king was about to say to Monsieur, who, evidently uneasy, had gone to him. The face of the king was animated. Upon his brow was stamped a strength of will, the expression of which already met no further contradiction in France, and was soon to meet no more in Europe.

“Monsieur,” said the king to his brother, “I am not pleased with M. le Chevalier de Lorraine. You, who do him the honor to protect him, must advise him to travel for a few months.”

These words fell with the crush of an avalanche upon Monsieur, who adored his favorite, and concentrated all his affections in him.

“In what has the chevalier been inconsiderate enough to displease your majesty?” cried he, darting a furious look at Madame.

“I will tell you that when he is gone,” said the king, suavely. “And also when Madame, here, shall have crossed over into England.”

“Madame! in England!” murmured Monsieur, in amazement.

“In a week, brother,” continued the king, “whilst we will go whither I will shortly tell you.” And the king turned on his heel, smiling in his brother’s face, to sweeten, as it were, the bitter draught he had given him.

During this time Colbert was talking with the Duc d’Almeda.

“Monsieur,” said Colbert to Aramis, “this is the moment for us to come to an understanding. I have made your peace with the king, and I owed that clearly to a man of so much merit; but as you have often expressed friendship for me, an opportunity presents itself for giving me a proof of it. You are, besides, more a Frenchman than a Spaniard. Shall we secure – answer me frankly – the neutrality of Spain, if we undertake anything against the United Provinces?”

“Monsieur,” replied Aramis, “the interest of Spain is clear. To embroil Europe with the Provinces would doubtless be our policy, but the king of France is an ally of the United Provinces. You are not ignorant, besides, that it would infer a maritime war, and that France is in no state to undertake this with advantage.”

Colbert, turning round at this moment, saw D’Artagnan who was seeking some interlocutor, during this “aside” of the king and Monsieur. He called him, at the same time saying in a low voice to Aramis, “We may talk openly with D’Artagnan, I suppose?”

“Oh! certainly,” replied the ambassador.

“We were saying, M. d’Almeda and I,” said Colbert, “that a conflict with the United Provinces would mean a maritime war.”

“That’s evident enough,” replied the musketeer.

“And what do you think of it, Monsieur d’Artagnan?”

“I think that to carry on such a war successfully, you must have very large land forces.”

“What did you say?” said Colbert, thinking he had ill understood him.

“Why such a large land army?” said Aramis.

“Because the king will be beaten by sea if he has not the English with him, and that when beaten by sea, he will soon be invaded, either by the Dutch in his ports, or by the Spaniards by land.”

“And Spain neutral?” asked Aramis.

“Neutral as long as the king shall prove stronger,” rejoined D’Artagnan.

Colbert admired that sagacity which never touched a question without enlightening it thoroughly. Aramis smiled, as he had long known that in diplomacy D’Artagnan acknowledged no superior. Colbert, who, like all proud men, dwelt upon his fantasy with a certainty of success, resumed the subject, “Who told you, M. d’Artagnan, that the king had no navy?”

“Oh! I take no heed of these details,” replied the captain. “I am but an indifferent sailor. Like all nervous people, I hate the sea; and yet I have an idea that, with ships, France being a seaport with two hundred exits, we might have sailors.”

Colbert drew from his pocket a little oblong book divided into two columns. On the first were the names of vessels, on the other the figures recapitulating the number of cannon and men requisite to equip these ships. “I have had the same idea as you,” said he to D’Artagnan, “and I have had an account drawn up of the vessels we have altogether – thirty-five ships.”

“Thirty-five ships! impossible!” cried D’Artagnan.

“Something like two thousand pieces of cannon,” said Colbert. “That is what the king possesses at this moment. Of five and thirty vessels we can make three squadrons, but I must have five.”

“Five!” cried Aramis.

“They will be afloat before the end of the year, gentlemen; the king will have fifty ship of the line. We may venture on a contest with them, may we not?”

“To build vessels,” said D’Artagnan, “is difficult, but possible. As to arming them, how is that to be done? In France there are neither foundries nor military docks.”

“Bah!” replied Colbert, in a bantering tone, “I have planned all that this year and a half past, did you not know it? Do you know M. d’Imfreville?”

“D’Imfreville?” replied D’Artagnan; “no.”

“He is a man I have discovered; he has a specialty; he is a man of genius – he knows how to set men to work. It is he who has cast cannon and cut the woods of Bourgogne. And then, monsieur l’ambassadeur, you may not believe what I am going to tell you, but I have a still further idea.”

“Oh, monsieur!” said Aramis, civilly, “I always believe you.”

“Calculating upon the character of the Dutch, our allies, I said to myself, ‘They are merchants, they are friendly with the king; they will be happy to sell to the king what they fabricate for themselves; then the more we buy’ – Ah! I must add this: I have Forant – do you know Forant, D’Artagnan?”

Colbert, in his warmth, forgot himself; he called the captain simply D’Artagnan, as the king did. But the captain only smiled at it.

“No,” replied he, “I do not know him.”

“That is another man I have discovered, with a genius for buying. This Forant has purchased for me 350,000 pounds of iron in balls, 200,000 pounds of powder, twelve cargoes of Northern timber, matches, grenades, pitch, tar – I know not what! with a saving of seven per cent upon what all those articles would cost me fabricated in France.”

“That is a capital and quaint idea,” replied D’Artagnan, “to have Dutch cannon-balls cast which will return to the Dutch.”

“Is it not, with loss, too?” And Colbert laughed aloud. He was delighted with his own joke.

“Still further,” added he, “these same Dutch are building for the king, at this moment, six vessels after the model of the best of their name. Destouches – Ah! perhaps you don’t know Destouches?”

“No, monsieur.”

“He is a man who has a sure glance to discern, when a ship is launched, what are the defects and qualities of that ship – that is valuable, observe! Nature is truly whimsical. Well, this Destouches appeared to me to be a man likely to prove useful in marine affairs, and he is superintending the construction of six vessels of seventy-eight guns, which the Provinces are building for his majesty. It results from this, my dear Monsieur d’Artagnan, that the king, if he wished to quarrel with the Provinces, would have a very pretty fleet. Now, you know better than anybody else if the land army is efficient.”

D’Artagnan and Aramis looked at each other, wondering at the mysterious labors this man had undertaken in so short a time. Colbert understood them, and was touched by this best of flatteries.

“If we, in France, were ignorant of what was going on,” said D’Artagnan, “out of France still less must be known.”

“That is why I told monsieur l’ambassadeur,” said Colbert, “that, Spain promising its neutrality, England helping us – ”

“If England assists you,” said Aramis, “I promise the neutrality of Spain.”

“I take you at your word,” Colbert hastened to reply with his blunt bonhomie. “And, a propos of Spain, you have not the ‘Golden Fleece,’ Monsieur d’Almeda. I heard the king say the other day that he should like to see you wear the grand cordon of St. Michael.”

Aramis bowed. “Oh!” thought D’Artagnan, “and Porthos is no longer here! What ells of ribbons would there be for him in these largesses! Dear Porthos!”

“Monsieur d’Artagnan,” resumed Colbert, “between us two, you will have, I wager, an inclination to lead your musketeers into Holland. Can you swim?” And he laughed like a man in high good humor.

“Like an eel,” replied D’Artagnan.

“Ah! but there are some bitter passages of canals and marshes yonder, Monsieur d’Artagnan, and the best swimmers are sometimes drowned there.”

“It is my profession to die for his majesty,” said the musketeer. “Only, as it is seldom in war that much water is met with without a little fire, I declare to you beforehand, that I will do my best to choose fire. I am getting old; water freezes me – but fire warms, Monsieur Colbert.”

And D’Artagnan looked so handsome still in quasi-juvenile strength as he pronounced these words, that Colbert, in his turn, could not help admiring him. D’Artagnan perceived the effect he had produced. He remembered that the best tradesman is he who fixes a high price upon his goods, when they are valuable. He prepared his price in advance.