Ten Years Later
by
Alexandre Dumas, Pere
Part 1 out of 13
the writings of both the Alexandre Dumases for some time now,
and since we get a few questions about the order in which the
books should be read, and in which they were published, these
following comments should hopefully help most of our readers.
***
The Vicomte de Bragelonne is the final volume of D'Artagnan Romances:
it is usually split into three or four parts, and the final portion
is entitled The Man in the Iron Mask. The Man in the Iron Mask we're
familiar with today is the last volume of the four-volume edition.
[Not all the editions split them in the same manner, hence some of
the confusion. . .but wait. . .there's yet more reason for confusion.]
We intend to do ALL of The Vicomte de Bragelonne, split into four etexts
entitled The Vicomte de Bragelonne, Ten Years Later, Louise de la
Valliere, and The Man in the Iron Mask; you WILL be getting The Man in
the Iron Mask.
One thing that may be causing confusion is that the etext we have now,
entitled Ten Years Later, says it's the sequel to The Three Musketeers.
While this is technically true, there's another book, Twenty Years After,
that comes between. The confusion is generated by the two facts that we
published Ten Years Later BEFORE we published Twenty Years After, and
that many people see those titles as meaning Ten and Twenty Years "After"
the original story. . .however, this is why the different words "After"
and "Later". . .the Ten Years "After" is ten years after the Twenty Years
later. . .as per history. Also, the third book of the D'Artagnan
Romances, while entitled The Vicomte de Bragelonne, has the subtitle Ten
Years Later. These two titles are also given to different volumes: The
Vicomte de Bragelonne can refer to the whole book, or the first volume of
the three or four-volume editions. Ten Years Later can, similarly, refer
to the whole book, or the second volume of the four-volume edition. To
add to the confusion, in the case of our etexts, it refers to the first
104 chapters of the whole book, covering material in the first and second
etexts in the new series. Here is a guide to the series which may prove
helpful:
The Three Musketeers: Etext 1257 - First book of the D'Artagnan Romances.
Covers the years 1625-1628.
Twenty Years After: Etext 1259 - Second book of the D'Artagnan Romances.
Covers the years 1648-1649.
[Third in the order that we published, but second in time sequence!!!]
Ten Years Later: Etext 1258 - First 104 chapters of the third book of the
D'Artagnan Romances.
Covers the years 1660-1661.
The Vicomte de Bragelonne: Etext 2609 (first in the new series) - First
75 chapters of the third book of the D'Artagnan Romances.
Covers the year 1660.
Ten Years Later: Etext 2681 (our new etext) - Chapters 76-140 of that
third book of the D'Artagnan Romances.
Covers the years 1660-1661.
[In this particular editing of it]
Louise de la Valliere: forthcoming (our next etext) - Chapters 141-208 of
the third book of the D'Artagnan Romances.
Covers the year 1661.
The Man in the Iron Mask: forthcoming (following) - Chapters 209-269 of
the third book of the D'Artagnan Romances.
Covers the years 1661-1673.
If we've calculated correctly, that fourth text SHOULD correspond to the
modern editions of The Man in the Iron Mask, which is still widely
circulated, and comprises about the last 1/4 of The Vicomte de Bragelonne.
Here is a list of the other Dumas Etexts we have published so far:
Sep 1999 La Tulipe Noire, by Alexandre Dumas[Pere#6/French][tlpnrxxx.xxx]1910
This is an abridged edition in French, also see our full length English Etext
Jul 1997 The Black Tulip, by Alexandre Dumas[Pere][Dumas#1][tbtlpxxx.xxx] 965
Jan 1998 The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas[Pere][crstoxxx.xxx]1184
Many thanks to Dr. David Coward, whose editions of the D'Artagnan
Romances have proved an invaluable source of information.
Introduction:
In the months of March-July in 1844, in the magazine Le Siecle, the first
portion of a story appeared, penned by the celebrated playwright
Alexandre Dumas. It was based, he claimed, on some manuscripts he had
found a year earlier in the Bibliotheque Nationale while researching a
history he planned to write on Louis XIV. They chronicled the adventures
of a young man named D'Artagnan who, upon entering Paris, became almost
immediately embroiled in court intrigues, international politics, and
ill-fated affairs between royal lovers. Over the next six years, readers
would enjoy the adventures of this youth and his three famous friends,
Porthos, Athos, and Aramis, as their exploits unraveled behind the scenes
of some of the most momentous events in French and even English history.
Eventually these serialized adventures were published in novel form, and
became the three D'Artagnan Romances known today. Here is a brief
summary of the first two novels:
The Three Musketeers (serialized March – July, 1844): The year is 1625.
The young D'Artagnan arrives in Paris at the tender age of 18, and almost
immediately offends three musketeers, Porthos, Aramis, and Athos.
Instead of dueling, the four are attacked by five of the Cardinal's
guards, and the courage of the youth is made apparent during the battle.
The four become fast friends, and, when asked by D'Artagnan's landlord to
find his missing wife, embark upon an adventure that takes them across
both France and England in order to thwart the plans of the Cardinal
Richelieu. Along the way, they encounter a beautiful young spy, named
simply Milady, who will stop at nothing to disgrace Queen Anne of Austria
before her husband, Louis XIII, and take her revenge upon the four
friends.
Twenty Years After (serialized January – August, 1845): The year is now
1648, twenty years since the close of the last story. Louis XIII has
died, as has Cardinal Richelieu, and while the crown of France may sit
upon the head of Anne of Austria as Regent for the young Louis XIV, the
real power resides with the Cardinal Mazarin, her secret husband.
D'Artagnan is now a lieutenant of musketeers, and his three friends have
retired to private life. Athos turned out to be a nobleman, the Comte de
la Fere, and has retired to his home with his son, Raoul de Bragelonne.
Aramis, whose real name is D'Herblay, has followed his intention of
shedding the musketeer's cassock for the priest's robes, and Porthos has
married a wealthy woman, who left him her fortune upon her death. But
trouble is stirring in both France and England. Cromwell menaces the
institution of royalty itself while marching against Charles I, and at
home the Fronde is threatening to tear France apart. D'Artagnan brings
his friends out of retirement to save the threatened English monarch, but
Mordaunt, the son of Milady, who seeks to avenge his mother's death at
the musketeers' hands, thwarts their valiant efforts. Undaunted, our
heroes return to France just in time to help save the young Louis XIV,
quiet the Fronde, and tweak the nose of Cardinal Mazarin.
The third novel, The Vicomte de Bragelonne (serialized October, 1847 –
January, 1850), has enjoyed a strange history in its English
translation. It has been split into three, four, or five volumes at
various points in its history. The five-volume edition generally does
not give titles to the smaller portions, but the others do. In the three-
volume edition, the novels are entitled The Vicomte de Bragelonne, Louise
de la Valliere, and The Man in the Iron Mask. For the purposes of this
etext, I have chosen to split the novel as the four-volume edition does,
with these titles: The Vicomte de Bragelonne, Ten Years Later, Louise de
la Valliere, and The Man in the Iron Mask. In the last etext:
The Vicomte de Bragelonne (Etext 2609): It is the year 1660, and
D'Artagnan, after thirty-five years of loyal service, has become
disgusted with serving King Louis XIV while the real power resides with
the Cardinal Mazarin, and has tendered his resignation. He embarks on
his own project, that of restoring Charles II to the throne of England,
and, with the help of Athos, succeeds, earning himself quite a fortune in
the process. D'Artagnan returns to Paris to live the life of a rich
citizen, and Athos, after negotiating the marriage of Philip, the king's
brother, to Princess Henrietta of England, likewise retires to his own
estate, La Fere. Meanwhile, Mazarin has finally died, and left Louis to
assume the reigns of power, with the assistance of M. Colbert, formerly
Mazarin's trusted clerk. Colbert has an intense hatred for M. Fouquet,
the king's superintendent of finances, and has resolved to use any means
necessary to bring about his fall. With the new rank of intendant
bestowed on him by Louis, Colbert succeeds in having two of Fouquet's
loyal friends tried and executed. He then brings to the king's attention
that Fouquet is fortifying the island of Belle-Ile-en-Mer, and could
possibly be planning to use it as a base for some military operation
against the king. Louis calls D'Artagnan out of retirement and sends him
to investigate the island, promising him a tremendous salary and his long-
promised promotion to captain of the musketeers upon his return. At
Belle-Isle, D'Artagnan discovers that the engineer of the fortifications
is, in fact, Porthos, now the Baron du Vallon, and that's not all. The
blueprints for the island, although in Porthos's handwriting, show
evidence of another script that has been erased, that of Aramis.
D'Artagnan later discovers that Aramis has become the bishop of Vannes,
which is, coincidentally, a parish belonging to M. Fouquet. Suspecting
that D'Artagnan has arrived on the king's behalf to investigate, Aramis
tricks D'Artagnan into wandering around Vannes in search of Porthos, and
sends Porthos on an heroic ride back to Paris to warn Fouquet of the
danger. Fouquet rushes to the king, and gives him Belle-Isle as a
present, thus allaying any suspicion, and at the same time humiliating
Colbert, just minutes before the usher announces someone else seeking an
audience with the king.
And now, the second etext of The Vicomte de Bragelonne. Enjoy!
John Bursey
Mordaunt@aol.com
June, 2000
Transcriber's note: There is one French custom that may cause confusion.
The Duc d'Orleans is traditionally called "Monsieur" and his wife
"Madame." Gaston, the king's uncle, currently holds that title. Upon
the event of his death, it will be conferred upon the king's brother,
Philip, who is currently the Duc d'Anjou. The customary title of
"Monsieur" will go to him as well, and upon his future wife, Henrietta of
England, that of "Madame." Gaston's widow will be referred to as the
"Dowager Madame." - JB
Ten Years Later
by Alexandre Dumas
Chapter I:
In which D'Artagnan finishes by at Length placing his Hand upon his
Captain's Commission.
The reader guesses beforehand whom the usher preceded in announcing the
courier from Bretagne. This messenger was easily recognized. It was
D'Artagnan, his clothes dusty, his face inflamed, his hair dripping with
sweat, his legs stiff; he lifted his feet painfully at every step, on
which resounded the clink of his blood-stained spurs. He perceived in
the doorway he was passing through, the superintendent coming out.
Fouquet bowed with a smile to him who, an hour before, was bringing him
ruin and death. D'Artagnan found in his goodness of heart, and in his
inexhaustible vigor of body, enough presence of mind to remember the kind
reception of this man; he bowed then, also, much more from benevolence
and compassion, than from respect. He felt upon his lips the word which
had so many times been repeated to the Duc de Guise: "Fly." But to
pronounce that word would have been to betray his cause; to speak that
word in the cabinet of the king, and before an usher, would have been to
ruin himself gratuitously, and could save nobody. D'Artagnan then,
contented himself with bowing to Fouquet and entered. At this moment the
king floated between the joy the last words of Fouquet had given him, and
his pleasure at the return of D'Artagnan. Without being a courtier,
D'Artagnan had a glance as sure and as rapid as if he had been one. He
read, on his entrance, devouring humiliation on the countenance of
Colbert. He even heard the king say these words to him: -
"Ah! Monsieur Colbert; you have then nine hundred thousand livres at the
intendance?" Colbert, suffocated, bowed but made no reply. All this
scene entered into the mind of D'Artagnan, by the eyes and ears, at once.
The first word of Louis to his musketeer, as if he wished it to contrast
with what he was saying at the moment, was a kind "good day." His second
was to send away Colbert. The latter left the king's cabinet, pallid and
tottering, whilst D'Artagnan twisted up the ends of his mustache.
"I love to see one of my servants in this disorder," said the king,
admiring the martial stains upon the clothes of his envoy.
"I thought, sire, my presence at the Louvre was sufficiently urgent to
excuse my presenting myself thus before you."
"You bring me great news, then, monsieur?"
"Sire, the thing is this, in two words: Belle-Isle is fortified,
admirably fortified; Belle-Isle has a double _enceinte_, a citadel, two
detached forts; its ports contain three corsairs; and the side batteries
only await their cannon."
"I know all that, monsieur," replied the king.
"What! your majesty knows all that?" replied the musketeer, stupefied.
"I have the plan of the fortifications of Belle-Isle," said the king.
"Your majesty has the plan?"
"Here it is."
"It is really correct, sire: I saw a similar one on the spot."
D'Artagnan's brow became clouded.
"Ah! I understand all. Your majesty did not trust to me alone, but sent
some other person," said he in a reproachful tone.
"Of what importance is the manner, monsieur, in which I have learnt what
I know, so that I know it?"
"Sire, sire," said the musketeer, without seeking even to conceal his
dissatisfaction; "but I must be permitted to say to your majesty, that it
is not worth while to make me use such speed, to risk twenty times the
breaking of my neck, to salute me on my arrival with such intelligence.
Sire, when people are not trusted, or are deemed insufficient, they
should scarcely be employed." And D'Artagnan, with a movement perfectly
military, stamped with his foot, and left upon the floor dust stained
with blood. The king looked at him, inwardly enjoying his first triumph.
"Monsieur," said he, at the expiration of a minute, "not only is Belle-
Isle known to me, but, still further, Belle-Isle is mine."
"That is well! that is well, sire, I ask but one thing more," replied
D'Artagnan. - "My discharge."
"What! your discharge?"
"Without doubt I am too proud to eat the bread of the king without
earning it, or rather by gaining it badly. - My discharge, sire!"
"Oh, oh!"
"I ask for my discharge, or I will take it."
"You are angry, monsieur?"
"I have reason, _mordioux!_ Thirty-two hours in the saddle, I ride day
and night, I perform prodigies of speed, I arrive stiff as the corpse of
a man who has been hung - and another arrives before me! Come, sire, I
am a fool! - My discharge, sire!"
"Monsieur d'Artagnan," said Louis, leaning his white hand upon the dusty
arm of the musketeer, "what I tell you will not at all affect that which
I promised you. A king's word given must be kept." And the king going
straight to his table, opened a drawer, and took out a folded paper.
"Here is your commission of captain of musketeers; you have won it,
Monsieur d'Artagnan."
D'Artagnan opened the paper eagerly, and scanned it twice. He could
scarcely believe his eyes.
"And this commission is given you," continued the king, "not only on
account of your journey to Belle-Isle but, moreover, for your brave
intervention at the Place de Greve. There, likewise, you served me
valiantly."
"Ah, ah!" said D'Artagnan, without his self-command being able to prevent
a blush from mounting to his eyes - "you know that also, sire?"
"Yes, I know it."
The king possessed a piercing glance and an infallible judgment when it
was his object to read men's minds. "You have something to say," said he
to the musketeer, "something to say which you do not say. Come, speak
freely, monsieur; you know that I told you, once and for all, that you
are to be always quite frank with me."
"Well, sire! what I have to say is this, that I would prefer being made
captain of the musketeers for having charged a battery at the head of my
company, or taken a city, than for causing two wretches to be hung."
"Is this quite true you tell me?"
"And why should your majesty suspect me of dissimulation, I ask?"
"Because I have known you well, monsieur; you cannot repent of having
drawn your sword for me."
"Well, in that your majesty is deceived, and greatly; yes, I do repent of
having drawn my sword on account of the results that action produced; the
poor men who were hung, sire, were neither your enemies nor mine; and
they could not defend themselves."
The king preserved silence for a moment. "And your companion, M.
d'Artagnan, does he partake of your repentance?"
"My companion?"
"Yes, you were not alone, I have been told."
"Alone, where?"
"At the Place de Greve."
"No, sire, no," said D'Artagnan, blushing at the idea that the king might
have a suspicion that he, D'Artagnan, had wished to engross to himself
all the glory that belonged to Raoul; "no, _mordioux!_ and as your
majesty says, I had a companion, and a good companion, too."
"A young man?"
"Yes, sire; a young man. Oh! your majesty must accept my compliments,
you are as well informed of things out of doors as things within. It is
M. Colbert who makes all these fine reports to the king."
"M. Colbert has said nothing but good of you, M. d'Artagnan, and he would
have met with a bad reception if he had come to tell me anything else."
"That is fortunate!"
"But he also said much good of that young man."
"And with justice," said the musketeer.
"In short, it appears that this young man is a fire-eater," said Louis,
in order to sharpen the sentiment which he mistook for envy.
"A fire-eater! Yes, sire," repeated D'Artagnan, delighted on his part to
direct the king's attention to Raoul.
"Do you not know his name?"
"Well, I think - "
"You know him then?"
"I have known him nearly five-and-twenty years, sire."
"Why, he is scarcely twenty-five years old!" cried the king.
"Well, sire! I have known him ever since he was born, that is all."
"Do you affirm that?"
"Sire," said D'Artagnan, "your majesty questions me with a mistrust in
which I recognize another character than your own. M. Colbert, who has
so well informed you, has he not forgotten to tell you that this young
man is the son of my most intimate friend?"
"The Vicomte de Bragelonne?"
"Certainly, sire. The father of the Vicomte de Bragelonne is M. le Comte
de la Fere, who so powerfully assisted in the restoration of King Charles
II. Bragelonne comes of a valiant race, sire."
"Then he is the son of that nobleman who came to me, or rather to M.
Mazarin, on the part of King Charles II., to offer me his alliance?"
"Exactly, sire."
"And the Comte de la Fere is a great soldier, say you?"
"Sire, he is a man who has drawn his sword more times for the king, your
father, than there are, at present, months in the happy life of your
majesty."
It was Louis XIV. who now bit his lip.
"That is well, M. d'Artagnan, very well! And M. le Comte de la Fere is
your friend, say you?"
"For about forty years; yes, sire. Your majesty may see that I do not
speak to you of yesterday."
"Should you be glad to see this young man, M. d'Artagnan?"
"Delighted, sire."
The king touched his bell, and an usher appeared. "Call M. de
Bragelonne," said the king.
"Ah! ah! he is here?" said D'Artagnan.
"He is on guard to-day, at the Louvre, with the company of the gentlemen
of monsieur le prince."
The king had scarcely ceased speaking, when Raoul presented himself, and,
on seeing D'Artagnan, smiled on him with that charming smile which is
only found upon the lips of youth.
"Come, come," said D'Artagnan, familiarly, to Raoul, "the king will allow
you to embrace me; only tell his majesty you thank him."
Raoul bowed so gracefully, that Louis, to whom all superior qualities
were pleasing when they did not overshadow his own, admired his beauty,
strength, and modesty.
"Monsieur," said the king, addressing Raoul, "I have asked monsieur le
prince to be kind enough to give you up to me; I have received his reply,
and you belong to me from this morning. Monsieur le prince was a good
master, but I hope you will not lose by the exchange."
"Yes, yes, Raoul, be satisfied; the king has some good in him," said
D'Artagnan, who had fathomed the character of Louis, and who played with
his self-love, within certain limits; always observing, be it understood,
the proprieties and flattering, even when he appeared to be bantering.
"Sire," said Bragelonne, with voice soft and musical, and with the
natural and easy elocution he inherited from his father; "Sire, it is not
from to-day that I belong to your majesty."
"Oh! no, I know," said the king, "you mean your enterprise of the Greve.
That day, you were truly mine, monsieur."
"Sire, it is not of that day I would speak; it would not become me to
refer to so paltry a service in the presence of such a man as M.
d'Artagnan. I would speak of a circumstance which created an epoch in my
life, and which consecrated me, from the age of sixteen, to the devoted
service of your majesty."
"Ah! ah!" said the king, "what was that circumstance? Tell me, monsieur."
"This is it, sire. - When I was setting out on my first campaign, that is
to say, to join the army of monsieur le prince, M. le Comte de la Fere
came to conduct me as far as Saint-Denis, where the remains of King Louis
XIII. wait, upon the lowest steps of the funeral _basilique_, a
successor, whom God will not send him, I hope, for many years. Then he
made me swear upon the ashes of our masters, to serve royalty,
represented by you - incarnate in you, sire - to serve it in word, in
thought, and in action. I swore, and God and the dead were witnesses to
my oath. During ten years, sire, I have not so often as I desired had
occasion to keep it. I am a soldier of your majesty, and nothing else;
and, on calling me nearer to you, I do not change my master, I only
change my garrison."
Raoul was silent and bowed. Louis still listened after he had done
speaking.
"_Mordioux!_" cried D'Artagnan, "that was well spoken! was it not, your
majesty? A good race! a noble race!"
"Yes," murmured the king, without, however daring to manifest his
emotion, for it had no other cause than contact with a nature
intrinsically noble. "Yes, monsieur, you say truly: - wherever you were,
you were the king's. But in changing your garrison, believe me you will
find an advancement of which you are worthy."
Raoul saw that this ended what the king had to say to him. And with the
perfect tact which characterized his refined nature, he bowed and retired.
"Is there anything else, monsieur, of which you have to inform me?" said
the king, when he found himself again alone with D'Artagnan.
"Yes, sire, and I kept that news for the last, for it is sad, and will
clothe European royalty in mourning."
"What do you tell me?"
"Sire, in passing through Blois, a word, a sad word, echoed from the
palace, struck my ear."
"In truth, you terrify me, M. d'Artagnan."
"Sire, this word was pronounced to me by a _piqueur_, who wore crape on
his arm."
"My uncle, Gaston of Orleans, perhaps."
"Sire, he has rendered his last sigh."
"And I was not warned of it!" cried the king, whose royal susceptibility
saw an insult in the absence of this intelligence.
"Oh! do not be angry, sire," said D'Artagnan; "neither the couriers of
Paris, nor the couriers of the whole world, can travel with your servant;
the courier from Blois will not be here these two hours, and he rides
well, I assure you, seeing that I only passed him on the thither side of
Orleans."
"My uncle Gaston," murmured Louis, pressing his hand to his brow, and
comprising in those three words all that his memory recalled of that
symbol of opposing sentiments.
"Eh! yes, sire, it is thus," said D'Artagnan, philosophically replying to
the royal thought, "it is thus the past flies away."
"That is true, monsieur, that is true; but there remains for us, thank
God! the future; and we will try to make it not too dark."
"I feel confidence in your majesty on that head," said D'Artagnan,
bowing, "and now - "
"You are right, monsieur; I had forgotten the hundred leagues you have
just ridden. Go, monsieur, take care of one of the best of soldiers, and
when you have reposed a little, come and place yourself at my disposal."
"Sire, absent or present, I am always yours."
D'Artagnan bowed and retired. Then, as if he had only come from
Fontainebleau, he quickly traversed the Louvre to rejoin Bragelonne.
Chapter II:
A Lover and His Mistress.
Whilst the wax-lights were burning in the castle of Blois, around the
inanimate body of Gaston of Orleans, that last representative of the
past; whilst the _bourgeois_ of the city were thinking out his epitaph,
which was far from being a panegyric; whilst madame the dowager, no
longer remembering that in her young days she had loved that senseless
corpse to such a degree as to fly the paternal palace for his sake, was
making, within twenty paces of the funeral apartment, her little
calculations of interest and her little sacrifices of pride; other
interests and other prides were in agitation in all the parts of the
castle into which a living soul could penetrate. Neither the lugubrious
sounds of the bells, nor the voices of the chanters, nor the splendor of
the wax-lights through the windows, nor the preparations for the funeral,
had power to divert the attention of two persons, placed at a window of
the interior court - a window that we are acquainted with, and which
lighted a chamber forming part of what were called the little
apartments. For the rest, a joyous beam of the sun, for the sun appeared
to care little for the loss France had just suffered; a sunbeam, we say,
descended upon them, drawing perfumes from the neighboring flowers, and
animating the walls themselves. These two persons, so occupied, not by
the death of the duke, but by the conversation which was the consequence
of that death, were a young woman and a young man. The latter personage,
a man of from twenty-five to twenty-six years of age, with a mien
sometimes lively and sometimes dull, making good use of two large eyes,
shaded with long eye-lashes, was short of stature and swart of skin; he
smiled with an enormous, but well-furnished mouth, and his pointed chin,
which appeared to enjoy a mobility nature does not ordinarily grant to
that portion of the countenance, leant from time to time very lovingly
towards his interlocutrix, who, we must say, did not always draw back so
rapidly as strict propriety had a right to require. The young girl - we
know her, for we have already seen her, at that very same window, by the
light of that same sun - the young girl presented a singular mixture of
shyness and reflection; she was charming when she laughed, beautiful when
she became serious; but, let us hasten to say, she was more frequently
charming than beautiful. These two appeared to have attained the
culminating point of a discussion - half-bantering, half-serious.
"Now, Monsieur Malicorne," said the young girl, "does it, at length,
please you that we should talk reasonably?"
"You believe that that is very easy, Mademoiselle Aure," replied the
young man. "To do what we like, when we can only do what we are able - "
"Good! there he is bewildered in his phrases."
"Who, I?"
"Yes, you; quit that lawyer's logic, my dear."
"Another impossibility. Clerk I am, Mademoiselle de Montalais."
"Demoiselle I am, Monsieur Malicorne."
"Alas, I know it well, and you overwhelm me by your rank; so I will say
no more to you."
"Well, no, I don't overwhelm you; say what you have to tell me - say it,
I insist upon it."
"Well, I obey you."
"That is truly fortunate."
"Monsieur is dead."
"Ah, _peste!_ that's news! And where do you come from, to be able to
tell us that?"
"I come from Orleans, mademoiselle."
"And is that all the news you bring?"
"Ah, no; I am come to tell you that Madame Henrietta of England is coming
to marry the king's brother."
"Indeed, Malicorne, you are insupportable with your news of the last
century. Now, mind, if you persist in this bad habit of laughing at
people, I will have you turned out."
"Oh!"
"Yes, for really you exasperate me."
"There, there. Patience, mademoiselle."
"You want to make yourself of consequence; I know well enough why. Go!"
"Tell me, and I will answer you frankly, yes, if the thing be true."
"You know that I am anxious to have that commission of lady of honor,
which I have been foolish enough to ask of you, and you do not use your
credit."
"Who, I?" Malicorne cast down his eyes, joined his hands, and assumed
his sullen air. "And what credit can the poor clerk of a procurer have,
pray?"
"Your father has not twenty thousand livres a year for nothing, M.
Malicorne."
"A provincial fortune, Mademoiselle de Montalais."
"Your father is not in the secrets of monsieur le prince for nothing."
"An advantage which is confined to lending monseigneur money."
"In a word, you are not the most cunning young fellow in the province
for nothing."
"You flatter me!"
"Who, I?"
"Yes, you."
"How so?"
"Since I maintain that I have no credit, and you maintain I have."
"Well, then, - my commission?"
"Well, - your commission?"
"Shall I have it, or shall I not?"
"You shall have it."
"Ay, but when?"
"When you like."
"Where is it, then?"
"In my pocket."
"How - in your pocket?"
"Yes."
And, with a smile, Malicorne drew from his pocket a letter, upon which
mademoiselle seized as a prey, and which she read eagerly. As she read,
her face brightened.
"Malicorne," cried she after having read it, "In truth, you are a good
lad."
"What for, mademoiselle?"
"Because you might have been paid for this commission, and you have
not." And she burst into a loud laugh, thinking to put the clerk out of
countenance; but Malicorne sustained the attack bravely.
"I do not understand you," said he. It was now Montalais who was
disconcerted in her turn. "I have declared my sentiments to you,"
continued Malicorne. "You have told me three times, laughing all the
while, that you did not love me; you have embraced me once without
laughing, and that is all I want."
"All?" said the proud and coquettish Montalais, in a tone through which
the wounded pride was visible.
"Absolutely all, mademoiselle," replied Malicorne.
"Ah!" - And this monosyllable indicated as much anger as the young man
might have expected gratitude. He shook his head quietly.
"Listen, Montalais," said he, without heeding whether that familiarity
pleased his mistress or not; "let us not dispute about it."
"And why not?"
"Because during the year which I have known you, you might have had me
turned out of doors twenty times if I did not please you."
"Indeed; and on what account should I have had you turned out?"
"Because I have been sufficiently impertinent for that."
"Oh, that, - yes, that's true."
"You see plainly that you are forced to avow it," said Malicorne.
"Monsieur Malicorne!"
"Don't let us be angry; if you have retained me, then it has not been
without cause."
"It is not, at least, because I love you," cried Montalais.
"Granted. I will even say, at this moment, I am certain that you hate
me."
"Oh, you have never spoken so truly."
"Well, on my part, I detest you."
"Ah! I take the act."
"Take it. You find me brutal and foolish; on my part I find you have a
harsh voice, and your face is too often distorted with anger. At this
moment you would allow yourself to be thrown out of that window rather
than allow me to kiss the tip of your finger; I would precipitate myself
from the top of the balcony rather than touch the hem of your robe. But,
in five minutes, you will love me, and I shall adore you. Oh, it is just
so."
"I doubt it."
"And I swear it."
"Coxcomb!"
"And then, that is not the true reason. You stand in need of me, Aure,
and I of you. When it pleases you to be gay, I make you laugh; when it
suits me to be loving, I look at you. I have given you a commission of
lady of honor which you wished for; you will give me, presently,
something I wish for."
"I will?"
"Yes, you will; but, at this moment, my dear Aure, I declare to you that
I wish for absolutely nothing, so be at ease."
"You are a frightful man, Malicorne; I was going to rejoice at getting
this commission, and thus you quench my joy."
"Good; there is no time lost, - you will rejoice when I am gone."
"Go, then; and after - "
"So be it; but in the first place, a piece of advice."
"What is it?"
"Resume your good-humor, - you are ugly when you pout."
"Coarse!"
"Come, let us tell the truth to each other, while we are about it."
"Oh, Malicorne! Bad-hearted man!"
"Oh, Montalais! Ungrateful girl!"
The young man leant with his elbow upon the window-frame; Montalais took
a book and opened it. Malicorne stood up, brushed his hat with his
sleeve, smoothed down his black doublet; - Montalais, though pretending
to read, looked at him out of the corner of her eye.
"Good!" cried she, furious; "he has assumed his respectful air - and he
will pout for a week."
"A fortnight, mademoiselle," said Malicorne, bowing.
Montalais lifted up her little doubled fist. "Monster!" said she; "oh!
that I were a man!"
"What would you do to me?"
"I would strangle you."
"Ah! very well, then," said Malicorne; "I believe I begin to desire
something."
"And what do you desire, Monsieur Demon? That I should lose my soul from
anger?"
Malicorne was rolling his hat respectfully between his fingers; but, all
at once, he let fall his hat, seized the young girl by the shoulders,
pulled her towards him, and sealed her mouth with two lips that were very
warm, for a man pretending to so much indifference. Aure would have
cried out, but the cry was stifled in his kiss. Nervous and, apparently,
angry, the young girl pushed Malicorne against the wall.
"Good!" said Malicorne, philosophically, "that's enough for six weeks.
Adieu, mademoiselle, accept my very humble salutation." And he made
three steps towards the door.
"Well! no, - you shall not go!" cried Montalais, stamping with her little
foot. "Stay where you are! I order you!"
"You order me?"
"Yes; am I not mistress?"
"Of my heart and soul, without doubt."
"A pretty property! _ma foi!_ The soul is silly and the heart dry."
"Beware, Montalais, I know you," said Malicorne; "you are going to fall
in love with your humble servant."
"Well, yes!" said she, hanging round his neck with childish indolence,
rather than with loving abandonment. "Well, yes! for I must thank you at
least."
"And for what?"
"For the commission; is it not my whole future?"
"And mine."
Montalais looked at him.
"It is frightful," said she, "that one can never guess whether you are
speaking seriously or not."
"I cannot speak more seriously. I was going to Paris, - you are going
there, - we are going there."
"And so it was for that motive only you have served me; selfish fellow!"
"What would you have me say, Aure? I cannot live without you."
"Well! in truth, it is just so with me; you are, nevertheless, it must be
confessed, a very bad-hearted young man."
"Aure, my dear Aure, take care! if you take to calling me names again,
you know the effect they produce upon me, and I shall adore you." And so
saying, Malicorne drew the young girl a second time towards him. But at
that instant a step resounded on the staircase. The young people were so
close, that they would have been surprised in the arms of each other, if
Montalais had not violently pushed Malicorne, with his back against the
door, just then opening. A loud cry, followed by angry reproaches,
immediately resounded. It was Madame de Saint-Remy who uttered the cry
and the angry words. The unlucky Malicorne almost crushed her between
the wall and the door she was coming in at.
"It is again that good-for-nothing!" cried the old lady. "Always here!"
"Ah, madame!" replied Malicorne, in a respectful tone; "it is eight long
days since I was here."
Chapter III:
In Which We at Length See the True Heroine of this History Appear.
Behind Madame de Saint-Remy stood Mademoiselle de la Valliere. She heard
the explosion of maternal anger, and as she divined the cause of it, she
entered the chamber trembling, and perceived the unlucky Malicorne, whose
woeful countenance might have softened or set laughing whoever observed
it coolly. He had promptly intrenched himself behind a large chair, as
if to avoid the first attacks of Madame de Saint-Remy; he had no hopes of
prevailing with words, for she spoke louder than he, and without
stopping; but he reckoned upon the eloquence of his gestures. The old
lady would neither listen to nor see anything; Malicorne had long been
one of her antipathies. But her anger was too great not to overflow from
Malicorne on his accomplice. Montalais had her turn.
"And you, mademoiselle; you may be certain I shall inform madame of what
is going on in the apartment of one of her ladies of honor?"
"Oh, dear mother!" cried Mademoiselle de la Valliere, "for mercy's sake,
spare - "
"Hold your tongue, mademoiselle, and do not uselessly trouble yourself to
intercede for unworthy people; that a young maid of honor like you should
be subjected to a bad example is, certes, a misfortune great enough; but
that you should sanction it by your indulgence is what I will not allow."
"But in truth," said Montalais, rebelling again, "I do not know under
what pretense you treat me thus. I am doing no harm, I suppose?"
"And that great good-for-nothing, mademoiselle," resumed Madame de Saint-
Remy, pointing to Malicorne, "is he here to do any good, I ask you?"
"He is neither here for good nor harm, madame; he comes to see me, that
is all."
"It is all very well! all very well!" said the old lady. "Her royal
highness shall be informed of it, and she will judge."
"At all events, I do not see why," replied Montalais, "it should be
forbidden M. Malicorne to have intentions towards me, if his intentions
are honorable."
"Honorable intentions with such a face!" cried Madame de Saint-Remy.
"I thank you in the name of my face, madame," said Malicorne.
"Come, my daughter, come," continued Madame de Saint-Remy; "we will go
and inform madame that at the very moment she is weeping for her husband,
at the moment when we are all weeping for a master in this old castle of
Blois, the abode of grief, there are people who amuse themselves with
flirtations!"
"Oh!" cried both the accused, with one voice.
"A maid of honor! a maid of honor!" cried the old lady, lifting her hands
towards heaven.
"Well! it is there you are mistaken, madame," said Montalais, highly
exasperated; "I am no longer a maid of honor, of madame's at least."
"Have you given in your resignation, mademoiselle? That is well! I
cannot but applaud such a determination, and I do applaud it."
"I do not give in my resignation, madame; I take another service, - that
is all."
"In the _bourgeoisie_ or in the _robe?_" asked Madame de Saint-Remy,
disdainfully.
"Please to learn, madame, that I am not a girl to serve either
_bourgeoises_ or _robines_; and that instead of the miserable court at
which you vegetate, I am going to reside in a court almost royal."
"Ha, ha! a royal court," said Madame de Saint-Remy, forcing a laugh; "a
royal court! What do you think of that, my daughter?"
And she turned towards Mademoiselle de la Valliere, whom she would by
main force have dragged away from Montalais, and who instead of obeying
the impulse of Madame de Saint-Remy, looked first at her mother and then
at Montalais with her beautiful conciliatory eyes.
"I did not say a royal court, madame," replied Montalais; "because Madame
Henrietta of England, who is about to become the wife of S. A. R.
Monsieur, is not a queen. I said almost royal, and I spoke correctly,
since she will be sister-in-law to the king."
A thunderbolt falling upon the castle of Blois would not have astonished
Madame de Saint-Remy more than the last sentence of Montalais.
"What do you say? of Son Altesse Royale Madame Henrietta?" stammered out
the old lady.
"I say I am going to belong to her household, as maid of honor; that is
what I say."
"As maid of honor!" cried, at the same time, Madame de Saint-Remy with
despair, and Mademoiselle de la Valliere with delight.
"Yes, madame, as maid of honor."
The old lady's head sank down as if the blow had been too severe for
her. But, almost immediately recovering herself, she launched a last
projectile at her adversary.
"Oh! oh!" said she; "I have heard of many of these sorts of promises
beforehand, which often lead people to flatter themselves with wild
hopes, and at the last moment, when the time comes to keep the promises,
and have the hopes realized, they are surprised to see the great credit
upon which they reckoned vanish like smoke."
"Oh! madame, the credit of my protector is incontestable and his promises
are as good as deeds."
"And would it be indiscreet to ask you the name of this powerful
protector?"
"Oh! _mon Dieu!_ no! it is that gentleman there," said Montalais,
pointing to Malicorne, who, during this scene, had preserved the most
imperturbable coolness, and the most comic dignity.
"Monsieur!" cried Madame de Saint-Remy, with an explosion of hilarity,
"monsieur is your protector! Is the man whose credit is so powerful, and
whose promises are as good as deeds, Monsieur Malicorne!"
Malicorne bowed.
As to Montalais, as her sole reply, she drew the brevet from her pocket,
and showed it to the old lady.
"Here is the _brevet_," said she.
At once all was over. As soon as she had cast a rapid glance over this
fortunate _brevet_, the good lady clasped her hands, an unspeakable
expression of envy and despair contracted her countenance, and she was
obliged to sit down to avoid fainting. Montalais was not malicious
enough to rejoice extravagantly at her victory, or to overwhelm the
conquered enemy, particularly when that enemy was the mother of her
friend; she used then, but did not abuse her triumph. Malicorne was less
generous; he assumed noble _poses_ in his _fauteuil_ and stretched
himself out with a familiarity which, two hours earlier, would have drawn
upon him threats of a caning.
"Maid of honor to the young madame!" repeated Madame de Saint-Remy, still
but half convinced.
"Yes, madame, and through the protection of M. Malicorne, moreover."
"It is incredible!" repeated the old lady: "is it not incredible,
Louise?" But Louise did not reply; she was sitting, thoughtfully, almost
sad; passing one had over her beautiful brow, she sighed heavily.
"Well, but, monsieur," said Madame de Saint-Remy, all at once, "how did
you manage to obtain this post?"
"I asked for it, madame."
"Of whom?"
"One of my friends."
"And you have friends sufficiently powerful at court to give you such
proofs of their credit?"
"It appears so."
"And may one ask the name of these friends?"
"I did not say I had many friends, madame, I said I had one friend."
"And that friend is called?"
"_Peste!_ madame, you go too far! When one has a friend as powerful as
mine, we do not publish his name in that fashion, in open day, in order
that he may be stolen from us."
"You are right, monsieur, to be silent as to that name; for I think it
would be pretty difficult for you to tell it."
"At all events," said Montalais, "if the friend does not exist, the
_brevet_ does, and that cuts short the question."
"Then, I conceive," said Madame de Saint-Remy, with the gracious smile of
the cat who is going to scratch, "when I found monsieur here just now - "
"Well?"
"He brought you the _brevet_."
"Exactly, madame; you have guessed rightly."
"Well, then, nothing can be more moral or proper."
"I think so, madame."
"And I have been wrong, as it appears, in reproaching you, mademoiselle."
"Very wrong, madame; but I am so accustomed to your reproaches, that I
pardon you these."
"In that case, let us begone, Louise; we have nothing to do but retire.
Well!"
"Madame!" said La Valliere starting, "did you speak?"
"You do not appear to be listening, my child."
"No, madame, I was thinking."
"About what?"
"A thousand things."
"You bear me no ill-will, at least, Louise?" cried Montalais, pressing
her hand.
"And why should I, my dear Aure?" replied the girl in a voice soft as a
flute.
"_Dame!_" resumed Madame de Saint-Remy; "if she did bear you a little ill-
will, poor girl, she could not be much blamed."
"And why should she bear me ill-will, good gracious?"
"It appears to me that she is of as good a family, and as pretty as you."
"Mother! mother!" cried Louise.
"Prettier a hundred times, madame - not of a better family; but that does
not tell me why Louise should bear me ill-will."
"Do you think it will be very amusing for her to be buried alive at
Blois, when you are going to shine at Paris?"
"But, madame, it is not I who prevent Louise following me thither; on the
contrary, I should certainly be most happy if she came there."
"But it appears that M. Malicorne, who is all-powerful at court - "
"Ah! so much the worse, madame," said Malicorne, "every one for himself
in this poor world."
"Malicorne! Malicorne!" said Montalais. Then stooping towards the young
man: -
"Occupy Madame de Saint-Remy, either in disputing with her, or making it
up with her; I must speak to Louise." And, at the same time, a soft
pressure of the hand recompensed Malicorne for his future obedience.
Malicorne went grumbling towards Madame de Saint-Remy, whilst Montalais
said to her friend, throwing one arm around her neck: -
"What is the matter? Tell _me_. Is it true that you would not love me
if I were to shine, as your mother says?"
"Oh, no!" said the young girl, with difficulty restraining her tears; "on
the contrary, I rejoice at your good fortune."
"Rejoice! why, one would say you are ready to cry!"
"Do people never weep except from envy?"
"Oh! yes, I understand; I am going to Paris and that word Paris recalls
to your mind a certain cavalier - "
"Aure!"
"A certain cavalier who formerly lived near Blois, and who now resides at
Paris."
"In truth, I know not what ails me, but I feel stifled."
"Weep, then, weep, as you cannot give me a smile!"
Louise raised her sweet face, which the tears, rolling down one after the
other, illumined like diamonds.
"Come, confess," said Montalais.
"What shall I confess?"
"What makes you weep; people don't weep without cause. I am your friend;
whatever you would wish me to do, I will do. Malicorne is more powerful
than you would think. Do you wish to go to Paris?"
"Alas!" sighed Louise.
"Do you wish to come to Paris?"
"To remain here alone, in this old castle, I who have enjoyed the
delightful habit of listening to your songs, of pressing your hand, of
running about the park with you. Oh! how I shall be _ennuyee!_ how
quickly I shall die!"
"Do you wish to come to Paris?"
Louise breathed another sigh.
"You do not answer me."
"What would you that I should reply?"
"Yes or no; that is not very difficult, I think."
"Oh! you are very fortunate, Montalais!"
"That is to say you would like to be in my place."
Louise was silent.
"Little obstinate thing!" said Montalais; "did ever any one keep her
secrets from her friend thus? But, confess that you would like to come
to Paris; confess that you are dying with the wish to see Raoul again."
"I cannot confess that."
"Then you are wrong."
"In what way?"
"Because - do you not see this _brevet?_"
"To be sure I do."
"Well, I would have got you a similar one."
"By whose means?"
"Malicorne's."
"Aure, are you telling the truth? Is that possible?"
"Malicorne is there; and what he has done for me, he surely can do for
you."
Malicorne had heard his name pronounced twice; he was delighted at having
an opportunity of coming to a conclusion with Madame de Saint-Remy, and
he turned round: -
"What is the question, mademoiselle?"
"Come hither, Malicorne," said Montalais, with an imperious gesture.
Malicorne obeyed.
"A _brevet_ like this," said Montalais.
"How so?"
"A _brevet_ like this; that is plain enough."
"But - "
"I want one - I must have one!"
"Oh! oh! you must have one!"
"Yes."
"It is impossible, is it not, M. Malicorne?" said Louise, with her sweet,
soft voice.
"If it is for _you_, mademoiselle - "
"For me. Yes, Monsieur Malicorne, it _would_ be for me."
"And if Mademoiselle de Montalais asks it at the same time - "
"Mademoiselle de Montalais does not ask it, she requires it."
"Well! we will endeavor to obey you, mademoiselle."
"And you will have her named?"
"We will try."
"No evasive answers, Louise de la Valliere shall be maid of honor to
Madame Henrietta within a week."
"How you talk!"
"Within a week, or else - "
"Well! or else?"
"You may take back your _brevet_, Monsieur Malicorne; I will not leave my
friend."
"Dear Montalais!"
"That is right. Keep your _brevet_; Mademoiselle de la Valliere shall be
a maid of honor."
"Is that true?"
"Quite true."
"I may then hope to go to Paris?"
"Depend on it."
"Oh! Monsieur Malicorne, what joy!" cried Louise, clapping her hands,
and bounding with pleasure.
"Little dissembler!" said Montalais, "try again to make me believe you
are not in love with Raoul."
Louise blushed like a rose in June, but instead of replying, she ran and
embraced her mother. "Madame," said she, "do you know that M. Malicorne
is going to have me appointed maid of honor?"
"M. Malicorne is a prince in disguise," replied the old lady, "he is all-
powerful, seemingly."
"Should you also like to be a maid of honor?" asked Malicorne of Madame
de Saint-Remy. "Whilst I am about it, I might as well get everybody
appointed."
And upon that he went away, leaving the poor lady quite disconcerted.
"Humph!" murmured Malicorne as he descended the stairs, - "Humph! there
goes another note of a thousand livres! but I must get through as well as
I can; my friend Manicamp does nothing for nothing."
Chapter IV:
Malicorne and Manicamp.
The introduction of these two new personages into this history and that
mysterious affinity of names and sentiments, merit some attention on the
part of both historian and reader. We will then enter into some details
concerning Messieurs Malicorne and Manicamp. Malicorne, we know, had
made the journey to Orleans in search of the _brevet_ destined for
Mademoiselle de Montalais, the arrival of which had produced such a
strong feeling at the castle of Blois. At that moment, M. de Manicamp
was at Orleans. A singular person was this M. de Manicamp; a very
intelligent young fellow, always poor, always needy, although he dipped
his hand freely into the purse of M. le Comte de Guiche, one of the best
furnished purses of the period. M. le Comte de Guiche had had, as the
companion of his boyhood, this De Manicamp, a poor gentleman, vassal-
born, of the house of Gramont. M. de Manicamp, with his tact and talent
had created himself a revenue in the opulent family of the celebrated
marechal. From his infancy he had, with calculation beyond his age, lent
his mane and complaisance to the follies of the Comte de Guiche. If his
noble companion had stolen some fruit destined for Madame la Marechale,
if he had broken a mirror, or put out a dog's eye, Manicamp declared
himself guilty of the crime committed, and received the punishment, which
was not made the milder for falling on the innocent. But this was the
way this system of abnegation was paid for: instead of wearing such mean
habiliments as his paternal fortunes entitled him to, he was able to
appear brilliant, superb, like a young noble of fifty thousand livres a
year. It was not that he was mean in character or humble in spirit; no,
he was a philosopher, or rather he had the indifference, the apathy, the
obstinacy which banish from man every sentiment of the supernatural. His
sole ambition was to spend money. But, in this respect, the worthy M. de
Manicamp was a gulf. Three or four times every year he drained the Comte
de Guiche, and when the Comte de Guiche was thoroughly drained, when he
had turned out his pockets and his purse before him, when he declared
that it would be at least a fortnight before paternal munificence would
refill those pockets and that purse, Manicamp lost all his energy, he
went to bed, remained there, ate nothing and sold his handsome clothes,
under the pretense that, remaining in bed, he did not want them. During
this prostration of mind and strength, the purse of the Comte de Guiche
was getting full again, and when once filled, overflowed into that of De
Manicamp, who bought new clothes, dressed himself again, and recommenced
the same life he had followed before. The mania of selling his new
clothes for a quarter of what they were worth, had rendered our hero
sufficiently celebrated in Orleans, a city where, in general, we should
be puzzled to say why he came to pass his days of penitence. Provincial
_debauches, petits-maitres_ of six hundred livres a year, shared the
fragments of his opulence.
Among the admirers of these splendid toilettes, our friend Malicorne was
conspicuous; he was the son of a syndic of the city, of whom M. de Conde,
always needy as a De Conde, often borrowed money at enormous interest.
M. Malicorne kept the paternal money-chest; that is to say, that in those
times of easy morals, he had made for himself, by following the example
of his father, and lending at high interest for short terms, a revenue of
eighteen hundred livres, without reckoning six hundred livres furnished
by the generosity of the syndic; so that Malicorne was the king of the
gay youth of Orleans, having two thousand four hundred livres to scatter,
squander, and waste on follies of every kind. But, quite contrary to
Manicamp, Malicorne was terribly ambitious. He loved from ambition; he
spent money out of ambition; and he would have ruined himself for
ambition. Malicorne had determined to rise, at whatever price it might
cost, and for this, whatever price it did cost, he had given himself a
mistress and a friend. The mistress, Mademoiselle de Montalais, was
cruel, as regarded love; but she was of a noble family, and that was
sufficient for Malicorne. The friend had little or no friendship, but he
was the favorite of the Comte de Guiche, himself the friend of Monsieur,
the king's brother; and that was sufficient for Malicorne. Only, in the
chapter of charges, Mademoiselle de Montalais cost _per annum_: -
ribbons, gloves, and sweets, a thousand livres. De Manicamp cost - money
lent, never returned - from twelve to fifteen hundred livres _per
annum_. So that there was nothing left for Malicorne. Ah! yes, we are
mistaken; there was left the paternal strong box. He employed a mode of
proceeding, upon which he preserved the most profound secrecy, and which
consisted in advancing to himself, from the coffers of the syndic, half a
dozen year's profits, that is to say, fifteen thousand livres, swearing
to himself - observe, quite to himself - to repay this deficiency as
soon as an opportunity should present itself. The opportunity was
expected to be the concession of a good post in the household of
Monsieur, when that household would be established at the period of his
marriage. This juncture had arrived, and the household was about to be
established. A good post in the family of a prince of the blood, when it
is given by the credit, and on the recommendation of a friend, like the
Comte de Guiche, is worth at least twelve thousand livres _per annum_;
and by the means which M. Malicorne had taken to make his revenues
fructify, twelve thousand livres might rise to twenty thousand. Then,
when once an incumbent of this post, he would marry Mademoiselle de
Montalais. Mademoiselle de Montalais, of a half noble family, not only
would be dowered, but would ennoble Malicorne. But, in order that
Mademoiselle de Montalais, who had not a large patrimonial fortune,
although an only daughter, should be suitably dowered, it was necessary
that she should belong to some great princess, as prodigal as the dowager
Madame was covetous. And in order that the wife should not be of one
party whilst the husband belonged to the other, a situation which
presents serious inconveniences, particularly with characters like those
of the future consorts - Malicorne had imagined the idea of making the
central point of union the household of Monsieur, the king's brother.
Mademoiselle de Montalais would be maid of honor to Madame. M. Malicorne
would be officer to Monsieur.
It is plain the plan was formed by a clear head; it is plain, also, that
it had been bravely executed. Malicorne had asked Manicamp to ask a
_brevet_ of maid of honor of the Comte de Guiche; and the Comte de Guiche
had asked this _brevet_ of Monsieur, who had signed it without
hesitation. The constructive plan of Malicorne - for we may well suppose
that the combinations of a mind as active as his were not confined to the
present, but extended to the future - the constructive plan of Malicorne,
we say, was this: - To obtain entrance into the household of Madame
Henrietta for a woman devoted to himself, who was intelligent, young,
handsome, and intriguing; to learn, by means of this woman, all the
feminine secrets of the young household; whilst he, Malicorne, and his
friend Manicamp, should, between them, know all the male secrets of the
young community. It was by these means that a rapid and splendid fortune
might be acquired at one and the same time. Malicorne was a vile name;
he who bore it had too much wit to conceal this truth from himself; but
an estate might be purchased; and Malicorne of some place, or even De
Malicorne itself, for short, would ring more nobly on the ear.
It was not improbable that a most aristocratic origin might be hunted up
by the heralds for this name of Malicorne; might it not come from some
estate where a bull with mortal horns had caused some great misfortune,
and baptized the soil with the blood it had spilt? Certes, this plan
presented itself bristling with difficulties: but the greatest of all was
Mademoiselle de Montalais herself. Capricious, variable, close, giddy,
free, prudish, a virgin armed with claws, Erigone stained with grapes,
she sometimes overturned, with a single dash of her white fingers, or
with a single puff from her laughing lips, the edifice which had
exhausted Malicorne's patience for a month.
Love apart, Malicorne was happy; but this love, which he could not help
feeling, he had the strength to conceal with care; persuaded that at the
least relaxing of the ties by which he had bound his Protean female, the
demon would overthrow and laugh at him. He humbled his mistress by
disdaining her. Burning with desire, when she advanced to tempt him, he
had the art to appear ice, persuaded that if he opened his arms, she
would run away laughing at him. On her side, Montalais believed she did
not love Malicorne; whilst, on the contrary, in reality she did.
Malicorne repeated to her so often his protestation of indifference, that
she finished, sometimes, by believing him; and then she believed she
detested Malicorne. If she tried to bring him back by coquetry,
Malicorne played the coquette better than she could. But what made
Montalais hold to Malicorne in an indissoluble fashion, was that
Malicorne always came cram full of fresh news from the court and the
city; Malicorne always brought to Blois a fashion, a secret, or a
perfume; that Malicorne never asked for a meeting, but, on the contrary,
required to be supplicated to receive the favors he burned to obtain. On
her side, Montalais was no miser with stories. By her means, Malicorne
learnt all that passed at Blois, in the family of the dowager Madame; and
he related to Manicamp tales that made him ready to die with laughing,
which the latter, out of idleness, took ready-made to M. de Guiche, who
carried them to Monsieur.
Such, in two words, was the woof of petty interests and petty
conspiracies which united Blois with Orleans, and Orleans with Pairs; and
which was about to bring into the last named city where she was to
produce so great a revolution, the poor little La Valliere, who was far
from suspecting, as she returned joyfully, leaning on the arm of her
mother, for what a strange future she was reserved. As to the good man,
Malicorne - we speak of the syndic of Orleans - he did not see more
clearly into the present than others did into the future; and had no
suspicion as he walked, every day, between three and five o'clock, after
his dinner, upon the Place Sainte-Catherine, in his gray coat, cut after
the fashion of Louis XIII. and his cloth shoes with great knots of
ribbon, that it was he who was paying for all those bursts of laughter,
all those stolen kisses, all those whisperings, all those little
keepsakes, and all those bubble projects which formed a chain of forty-
five leagues in length, from the palais of Blois to the Palais Royal.
Chapter V:
Manicamp and Malicorne.
Malicorne, then, left Blois, as we have said, and went to find his
friend, Manicamp, then in temporary retreat in the city of Orleans. It
was just at the moment when that young nobleman was employed in selling
the last decent clothing he had left. He had, a fortnight before,
extorted from the Comte de Guiche a hundred pistoles, all he had, to
assist in equipping him properly to go and meet Madame, on her arrival at
Le Havre. He had drawn from Malicorne, three days before, fifty
pistoles, the price of the _brevet_ obtained for Montalais. He had then
no expectation of anything else, having exhausted all his resources, with
the exception of selling a handsome suit of cloth and satin, embroidered
and laced with gold, which had been the admiration of the court. But to
be able to sell this suit, the last he had left, - as we have been forced
to confess to the reader - Manicamp had been obliged to take to his bed.
No more fire, no more pocket-money, no more walking-money, nothing but
sleep to take the place of repasts, companies and balls. It has been
said - "He who sleeps, dines;" but it has never been affirmed - He who
sleeps, plays – or, He who sleeps, dances. Manicamp, reduced to this
extremity of neither playing nor dancing, for a week at least, was,
consequently, very sad; he was expecting a usurer, and saw Malicorne
enter. A cry of distress escaped him.
"Eh! what!" said he, in a tone which nothing can describe, "is that you
again, dear friend?"
"Humph! you are very polite!" said Malicorne.
"Ay, but look you, I was expecting money, and, instead of money, I see
_you_."
"And suppose I brought you some money?"
"Oh! that would be quite another thing. You are very welcome, my dear
friend!"
And he held out his hand, not for the hand of Malicorne, but for the
purse. Malicorne pretended to be mistaken, and gave him his hand.
"And the money?" said Manicamp.
"My dear friend, if you wish to have it, earn it."
"What must be done for it?"
"Earn it, _parbleu!_"
"And after what fashion?"
"Oh! that is rather trying, I warn you."
"The devil!"
"You must get out of bed, and go immediately to M. le Comte de Guiche."
"I get up!" said Manicamp, stretching himself in his bed, complacently,
"oh, no, thank you!"
"You have sold all your clothes?"
"No, I have one suit left, the handsomest even, but I expect a purchaser."
"And the _chausses?_"
"Well, if you look, you will see them on that chair."
"Very well! since you have some _chausses_ and a _pourpoint_ left, put
your legs into the first and your back into the other; have a horse
saddled, and set off."
"Not I."
"And why not?"
"_Morbleu!_ don't you know, then, that M. de Guiche is at Etampes?"
"No, I thought he was at Paris. You will then only have fifteen leagues
to go, instead of thirty."
"You are a wonderfully clever fellow! If I were to ride fifteen leagues
in these clothes, they would never be fit to put on again; and, instead
of selling them for thirty pistoles, I should be obliged to take fifteen."
"Sell them for whatever you like, but I must have a second commission of
maid of honor."
"Good! for whom? Is Montalais doubled, then?"
"Vile fellow! - It is you who are doubled. You swallow up two fortunes -
mine, and that of M. le Comte de Guiche."
"You should say, that of M. le Comte de Guiche and yours."
"That is true; honor where it is due; but I return to my _brevet_."
"And you are wrong."
"Prove me that."
"My friend, there will only be twelve maids of honor for madame; I have
already obtained for you what twelve hundred women are trying for, and
for that I was forced to employ all my diplomacy."
"Oh! yes, I know you have been quite heroic, my dear friend."
"We know what we are about," said Manicamp.
"To whom do you tell that? When I am king, I promise you one thing."
"What? To call yourself Malicorne the First?"
"No; to make you superintendent of my finances; but that is not the
question now."
"Unfortunately."
"The present affair is to procure for me a second place of maid of honor."
"My friend, if you were to promise me the price of heaven, I would
decline to disturb myself at this moment."
Malicorne chinked the money in his pocket.
"There are twenty pistoles here," said Malicorne.
"And what would you do with twenty pistoles, _mon Dieu!_"
"Well!" said Malicorne, a little angry, "suppose I were to add them to
the five hundred you already owe me?"
"You are right," replied Manicamp, stretching out his hand again, "and
from that point of view I can accept them. Give them to me."
"An instant, what the devil! it is not only holding out your hand that
will do; if I give you the twenty pistoles, shall I have my _brevet?_"
"To be sure you shall."
"Soon?"
"To-day."
"Oh! take care! Monsieur de Manicamp; you undertake much, and I do not
ask that. Thirty leagues in a day is too much, you would kill yourself."
"I think nothing impossible when obliging a friend."
"You are quite heroic."
"Where are the twenty pistoles?"
"Here they are," said Malicorne, showing them.
"That's well."
"Yes, but my dear M. Manicamp, you would consume them in post-horses
alone!"
"No, no, make yourself easy on that score."
"Pardon me. Why, it is fifteen leagues from this place to Etampes?"
"Fourteen."
"Well! fourteen be it; fourteen leagues makes seven posts; at twenty
_sous_ the post, seven _livres_; seven _livres_ the courier, fourteen; as
many for coming back, twenty-eight! as much for bed and supper, that
makes sixty _livres_ this complaisance would cost."
Manicamp stretched himself like a serpent in his bed, and fixing his two
great eyes upon Malicorne, "You are right," said he; "I could not return
before to-morrow;" and he took the twenty pistoles.
"Now, then, be off!"
"Well, as I cannot be back before to-morrow, we have time."
"Time for what?"
"Time to play."
"What do you wish to play with?"
"Your twenty pistoles, _pardieu!_"
"No; you always win."
"I will wager them, then."
"Against what?"
"Against twenty others."
"And what shall be the object of the wager?"
"This. We have said it was fourteen leagues to Etampes."
"Yes."
"And fourteen leagues back?"
"Doubtless."
"Well; for these twenty-eight leagues you cannot allow less than fourteen
hours?"
"That is agreed."
"One hour to find the Comte de Guiche."
"Go on."
"And an hour to persuade him to write a letter to Monsieur."
"Just so."
"Sixteen hours in all?"
"You reckon as well as M. Colbert."
"It is now twelve o'clock."
"Half-past."
"_Hein!_ - you have a handsome watch!"
"What were you saying?" said Malicorne, putting his watch quickly back
into his fob.
"Ah! true; I was offering to lay you twenty pistoles against these you
have lent me, that you will have the Comte de Guiche's letter in - "
"How soon?"
"In eight hours."
"Have you a winged horse, then?"
"That is no matter. Will you bet?"
"I shall have the comte's letter in eight hours?"
"Yes."
"In hand?"
"In hand."
"Well, be it so; I lay," said Malicorne, curious enough to know how this
seller of clothes would get through.
"Is it agreed?"
"It is."
"Pass me the pen, ink, and paper."
"Here they are."
"Thank you."
Manicamp raised himself with a sigh, and leaning on his left elbow, in
his best hand, traced the following lines: -
"Good for an order for a place of maid of honor to Madame, which M. le Comte de
Guiche will take upon him to obtain at sight.
DE MANICAMP."
This painful task accomplished, he laid himself down in bed again.
"Well!" asked Malicorne, "what does this mean?"
"That means that if you are in a hurry to have the letter from the Comte
de Guiche for Monsieur, I have won my wager."
"How the devil is that?"
"That is transparent enough, I think; you take that paper."
"Well?"
"And you set out instead of me."
"Ah!"
"You put your horses to their best speed."
"Good!"
"In six hours you will be at Etampes; in seven hours you have the letter
from the comte, and I shall have won my wager without stirring from my
bed, which suits me and you too, at the same time, I am very sure."
"Decidedly, Manicamp, you are a great man."
"_Hein!_ I know that."
"I am to start then for Etampes?"
"Directly."
"I am to go to the Comte de Guiche with this order?"
"He will give you a similar one for Monsieur."
"Monsieur will approve?"
"Instantly."
"And I shall have my _brevet?_"
"You will."
"Ah!"
"Well, I hope I behave genteely?"
"Adorably."
"Thank you."
"You do as you please, then, with the Comte de Guiche, Manicamp?"
"Except making money of him - everything?"
"_Diable!_ the exception is annoying; but then, if instead of asking him
for money, you were to ask - "
"What?"
"Something important."
"What do you call important?"
"Well! suppose one of your friends asked you to render him a service?"
"I would not render it to him."
"Selfish fellow!"
"Or at least I would ask him what service he would render me in exchange."
"Ah! that, perhaps, is fair. Well, that friend speaks to you."
"What, you, Malicorne?"
"Yes; I."
"Ah! ah! you are rich, then?"
"I have still fifty pistoles left."
"Exactly the sum I want. Where are those fifty pistoles?"
"Here," said Malicorne, slapping his pocket.
"Then speak, my friend; what do you want?"
Malicorne took up the pen, ink, and paper again, and presented them all
to Manicamp. "Write!" said he.
"Dictate!"
"An order for a place in the household of Monsieur."
"Oh!" said Manicamp, laying down the pen, "a place in the household of
Monsieur for fifty pistoles?"
"You mistook me, my friend; you did not hear plainly."
"What did you say, then?"
"I said five hundred."
"And the five hundred?"
"Here they are."
Manicamp devoured the rouleau with his eyes; but this time Malicorne held
it at a distance.
"Eh! what do you say to that? Five hundred pistoles."
"I say it is for nothing, my friend," said Manicamp, taking up the pen
again, "and you exhaust my credit. Dictate."
Malicorne continued:
"Which my friend the Comte de Guiche will obtain for my friend Malicorne."
"That's it," said Manicamp.
"Pardon me, you have forgotten to sign."
"Ah! that is true. The five hundred pistoles?"
"Here are two hundred and fifty of them."
"And the other two hundred and fifty?"
"When I am in possession of my place."
Manicamp made a face.
"In that case give me the recommendation back again."
"What to do?"
"To add two words to it."
"Two words?"
"Yes; two words only."
"What are they?"
"In haste."
Malicorne returned the recommendation; Manicamp added the words.
"Good," said Malicorne, taking back the paper.
Manicamp began to count out the pistoles.
"There want twenty," said he.
"How so?"
"The twenty I have won."
"In what way?"
"By laying that you would have the letter from the Comte de Guiche in
eight hours."
"Ah! that's fair," and he gave him the twenty pistoles.
Manicamp began to scoop up his gold by handfuls, and pour it in cascades
upon his bed.
"This second place," murmured Malicorne, whilst drying his paper, "which,
at first glance appears to cost me more than the first, but - " He
stopped, took up the pen in his turn, and wrote to Montalais: -
"MADEMOISELLE, - Announce to your friend that her commission will not be
long before it arrives; I am setting out to get it signed: that will be
twenty-eight leagues I shall have gone for the love of you."
Then with his sardonic smile, taking up the interrupted sentence: - "This
place," said he, "at first glance, appears to have cost more than the
first; but - the benefit will be, I hope, in proportion with the expense,
and Mademoiselle de la Valliere will bring me back more than Mademoiselle
de Montalais, or else, - or else my name is not Malicorne. Farewell,
Manicamp," and he left the room.
Chapter VI:
The Courtyard of the Hotel Grammont.
On Malicorne's arrival at Orleans, he was informed that the Comte de
Guiche had just set out for Paris. Malicorne rested himself for a couple
of hours, and then prepared to continue his journey. He reached Paris
during the night, and alighted at a small hotel, where, in his previous
journeys to the capital, he had been accustomed to put up, and at eight
o'clock the next morning presented himself at the Hotel Grammont.
Malicorne arrived just in time, for the Comte de Guiche was on the point
of taking leave of Monsieur before setting out for Le Havre, where the
principal members of the French nobility had gone to await Madame's
arrival from England. Malicorne pronounced the name of Manicamp, and was
immediately admitted. He found the Comte de Guiche in the courtyard of
the Hotel Grammont, inspecting his horses, which his trainers and
equerries were passing in review before him. The count, in the presence
of his tradespeople and of his servants, was engaged in praising or
blaming, as the case seemed to deserve, the appointments, horses, and
harness that were being submitted to him; when, in the midst of this
important occupation, the name of Manicamp was announced.
"Manicamp!" he exclaimed; "let him enter by all means." And he advanced
a few steps toward the door.
Malicorne slipped through the half-open door, and looking at the Comte de
Guiche, who was surprised to see a face he did not recognize, instead of
the one he expected, said: "Forgive me, monsieur le comte, but I believe
a mistake has been made. M. Manicamp himself was announced to you,
instead of which it is only an envoy from him."
"Ah!" exclaimed De Guiche, coldly; "and what do you bring me?"
"A letter, monsieur le comte." Malicorne handed him the first document,
and narrowly watched the count's face, who, as he read it, began to laugh.
"What!" he exclaimed, "another maid of honor? Are all the maids of honor
in France, then, under his protection?"
Malicorne bowed.
"Why does he not come himself?" he inquired.
"He is confined to his bed."
"The deuce! he has no money then, I suppose," said De Guiche, shrugging
his shoulders. "What does he do with his money?"
Malicorne made a movement, to indicate that upon this subject he was as
ignorant as the count himself. "Why does he not make use of his credit,
then?" continued De Guiche.
"With regard to that, I think - "
"What?"
"That Manicamp has credit with no one but yourself, monsieur le comte!"
"He will not be at Le Havre, then?" Whereupon Malicorne made another
movement.
"But every one will be there."
"I trust, monsieur le comte, that he will not neglect so excellent an
opportunity."
"He should be at Paris by this time."
"He will take the direct road perhaps to make up for lost time."
"Where is he now?"
"At Orleans."
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