Les trois mousquetaires. English

  59 WHAT TOOK PLACE AT PORTSMOUTH AUGUST 23, 1628

  Felton took leave of Milady as a brother about to go for a mere walktakes leave of his sister, kissing her hand.

  His whole body appeared in its ordinary state of calmness, only anunusual fire beamed from his eyes, like the effects of a fever; his browwas more pale than it generally was; his teeth were clenched, and hisspeech had a short dry accent which indicated that something dark was atwork within him.

  As long as he remained in the boat which conveyed him to land, he kepthis face toward Milady, who, standing on the deck, followed him with hereyes. Both were free from the fear of pursuit; nobody ever came intoMilady's apartment before nine o'clock, and it would require three hoursto go from the castle to London.

  Felton jumped onshore, climbed the little ascent which led to the top ofthe cliff, saluted Milady a last time, and took his course toward thecity.

  At the end of a hundred paces, the ground began to decline, and he couldonly see the mast of the sloop.

  He immediately ran in the direction of Portsmouth, which he saw atnearly half a league before him, standing out in the haze of themorning, with its houses and towers.

  Beyond Portsmouth the sea was covered with vessels whose masts, like aforest of poplars despoiled by the winter, bent with each breath of thewind.

  Felton, in his rapid walk, reviewed in his mind all the accusationsagainst the favorite of James I and Charles I, furnished by two years ofpremature meditation and a long sojourn among the Puritans.

  When he compared the public crimes of this minister--startling crimes,European crimes, if so we may say--with the private and unknown crimeswith which Milady had charged him, Felton found that the more culpableof the two men which formed the character of Buckingham was the one ofwhom the public knew not the life. This was because his love, sostrange, so new, and so ardent, made him view the infamous and imaginaryaccusations of Milady de Winter as, through a magnifying glass, oneviews as frightful monsters atoms in reality imperceptible by the sideof an ant.

  The rapidity of his walk heated his blood still more; the idea that heleft behind him, exposed to a frightful vengeance, the woman he loved,or rather whom he adored as a saint, the emotion he had experienced,present fatigue--all together exalted his mind above human feeling.

  He entered Portsmouth about eight o'clock in the morning. The wholepopulation was on foot; drums were beating in the streets and in theport; the troops about to embark were marching toward the sea.

  Felton arrived at the palace of the Admiralty, covered with dust, andstreaming with perspiration. His countenance, usually so pale, waspurple with heat and passion. The sentinel wanted to repulse him; butFelton called to the officer of the post, and drawing from his pocketthe letter of which he was the bearer, he said, "A pressing message fromLord de Winter."

  At the name of Lord de Winter, who was known to be one of his Grace'smost intimate friends, the officer of the post gave orders to let Feltonpass, who, besides, wore the uniform of a naval officer.

  Felton darted into the palace.

  At the moment he entered the vestibule, another man was enteringlikewise, dusty, out of breath, leaving at the gate a post horse, which,on reaching the palace, tumbled on his foreknees.

  Felton and he addressed Patrick, the duke's confidential lackey, at thesame moment. Felton named Lord de Winter; the unknown would not nameanybody, and pretended that it was to the duke alone he would makehimself known. Each was anxious to gain admission before the other.

  Patrick, who knew Lord de Winter was in affairs of the service, and inrelations of friendship with the duke, gave the preference to the onewho came in his name. The other was forced to wait, and it was easily tobe seen how he cursed the delay.

  The valet led Felton through a large hall in which waited the deputiesfrom La Rochelle, headed by the Prince de Soubise, and introduced himinto a closet where Buckingham, just out of the bath, was finishing histoilet, upon which, as at all times, he bestowed extraordinaryattention.

  "Lieutenant Felton, from Lord de Winter," said Patrick.

  "From Lord de Winter!" repeated Buckingham; "let him come in."

  Felton entered. At that moment Buckingham was throwing upon a couch arich toilet robe, worked with gold, in order to put on a blue velvetdoublet embroidered with pearls.

  "Why didn't the baron come himself?" demanded Buckingham. "I expectedhim this morning."

  "He desired me to tell your Grace," replied Felton, "that he very muchregretted not having that honor, but that he was prevented by the guardhe is obliged to keep at the castle."

  "Yes, I know that," said Buckingham; "he has a prisoner."

  "It is of that prisoner that I wish to speak to your Grace," repliedFelton.

  "Well, then, speak!"

  "That which I have to say of her can only be heard by yourself, myLord!"

  "Leave us, Patrick," said Buckingham; "but remain within sound of thebell. I shall call you presently."

  Patrick went out.

  "We are alone, sir," said Buckingham; "speak!"

  "My Lord," said Felton, "the Baron de Winter wrote to you the other dayto request you to sign an order of embarkation relative to a young womannamed Charlotte Backson."

  "Yes, sir; and I answered him, to bring or send me that order and Iwould sign it."

  "Here it is, my Lord."

  "Give it to me," said the duke.

  And taking it from Felton, he cast a rapid glance over the paper, andperceiving that it was the one that had been mentioned to him, he placedit on the table, took a pen, and prepared to sign it.

  "Pardon, my Lord," said Felton, stopping the duke; "but does your Graceknow that the name of Charlotte Backson is not the true name of thisyoung woman?"

  "Yes, sir, I know it," replied the duke, dipping the quill in the ink.

  "Then your Grace knows her real name?" asked Felton, in a sharp tone.

  "I know it"; and the duke put the quill to the paper. Felton grew pale.

  "And knowing that real name, my Lord," replied Felton, "will you sign itall the same?"

  "Doubtless," said Buckingham, "and rather twice than once."

  "I cannot believe," continued Felton, in a voice that became more sharpand rough, "that your Grace knows that it is to Milady de Winter thisrelates."

  "I know it perfectly, although I am astonished that you know it."

  "And will your Grace sign that order without remorse?"

  Buckingham looked at the young man haughtily.

  "Do you know, sir, that you are asking me very strange questions, andthat I am very foolish to answer them?"

  "Reply to them, my Lord," said Felton; "the circumstances are moreserious than you perhaps believe."

  Buckingham reflected that the young man, coming from Lord de Winter,undoubtedly spoke in his name, and softened.

  "Without remorse," said he. "The baron knows, as well as myself, thatMilady de Winter is a very guilty woman, and it is treating her veryfavorably to commute her punishment to transportation." The duke put hispen to the paper.

  "You will not sign that order, my Lord!" said Felton, making a steptoward the duke.

  "I will not sign this order! And why not?"

  "Because you will look into yourself, and you will do justice to thelady."

  "I should do her justice by sending her to Tyburn," said Buckingham."This lady is infamous."

  "My Lord, Milady de Winter is an angel; you know that she is, and Idemand her liberty of you."

  "Bah! Are you mad, to talk to me thus?" said Buckingham.

  "My Lord, excuse me! I speak as I can; I restrain myself. But, my Lord,think of what you're about to do, and beware of going too far!"

  "What do you say? God pardon me!" cried Buckingham, "I really think hethreatens me!"

  "No, my Lord, I still plead. And I say to you: one drop of watersuffices to make the full vase overflow; one slight fault may draw downpunishment upon the head spared, despite many crimes."

  "Mr. Felton," s
aid Buckingham, "you will withdraw, and place yourself atonce under arrest."

  "You will hear me to the end, my Lord. You have seduced this young girl;you have outraged, defiled her. Repair your crimes toward her; let hergo free, and I will exact nothing else from you."

  "You will exact!" said Buckingham, looking at Felton with astonishment,and dwelling upon each syllable of the three words as he pronouncedthem.

  "My Lord," continued Felton, becoming more excited as he spoke, "myLord, beware! All England is tired of your iniquities; my Lord, you haveabused the royal power, which you have almost usurped; my Lord, you areheld in horror by God and men. God will punish you hereafter, but I willpunish you here!"

  "Ah, this is too much!" cried Buckingham, making a step toward the door.

  Felton barred his passage.

  "I ask it humbly of you, my Lord," said he; "sign the order for theliberation of Milady de Winter. Remember that she is a woman whom youhave dishonored."

  "Withdraw, sir," said Buckingham, "or I will call my attendant, and haveyou placed in irons."

  "You shall not call," said Felton, throwing himself between the duke andthe bell placed on a stand encrusted with silver. "Beware, my Lord, youare in the hands of God!"

  "In the hands of the devil, you mean!" cried Buckingham, raising hisvoice so as to attract the notice of his people, without absolutelyshouting.

  "Sign, my Lord; sign the liberation of Milady de Winter," said Felton,holding out a paper to the duke.

  "By force? You are joking! Holloa, Patrick!"

  "Sign, my Lord!"

  "Never."

  "Never?"

  "Help!" shouted the duke; and at the same time he sprang toward hissword.

  But Felton did not give him time to draw it. He held the knife withwhich Milady had stabbed herself, open in his bosom; at one bound he wasupon the duke.

  At that moment Patrick entered the room, crying, "A letter from France,my Lord."

  "From France!" cried Buckingham, forgetting everything in thinking fromwhom that letter came.

  Felton took advantage of this moment, and plunged the knife into hisside up to the handle.

  "Ah, traitor," cried Buckingham, "you have killed me!"

  "Murder!" screamed Patrick.

  Felton cast his eyes round for means of escape, and seeing the doorfree, he rushed into the next chamber, in which, as we have said, thedeputies from La Rochelle were waiting, crossed it as quickly aspossible, and rushed toward the staircase; but upon the first step hemet Lord de Winter, who, seeing him pale, confused, livid, and stainedwith blood both on his hands and face, seized him by the throat, crying,"I knew it! I guessed it! But too late by a minute, unfortunate,unfortunate that I am!"

  Felton made no resistance. Lord de Winter placed him in the hands of theguards, who led him, while awaiting further orders, to a little terracecommanding the sea; and then the baron hastened to the duke's chamber.

  At the cry uttered by the duke and the scream of Patrick, the man whomFelton had met in the antechamber rushed into the chamber.

  He found the duke reclining upon a sofa, with his hand pressed upon thewound.

  "Laporte," said the duke, in a dying voice, "Laporte, do you come fromher?"

  "Yes, monseigneur," replied the faithful cloak bearer of Anne ofAustria, "but too late, perhaps."

  "Silence, Laporte, you may be overheard. Patrick, let no one enter. Oh,I cannot tell what she says to me! My God, I am dying!"

  And the duke swooned.

  Meanwhile, Lord de Winter, the deputies, the leaders of the expedition,the officers of Buckingham's household, had all made their way into thechamber. Cries of despair resounded on all sides. The news, which filledthe palace with tears and groans, soon became known, and spread itselfthroughout the city.

  The report of a cannon announced that something new and unexpected hadtaken place.

  Lord de Winter tore his hair.

  "Too late by a minute!" cried he, "too late by a minute! Oh, my God, myGod! what a misfortune!"

  He had been informed at seven o'clock in the morning that a rope ladderfloated from one of the windows of the castle; he had hastened toMilady's chamber, had found it empty, the window open, and the barsfiled, had remembered the verbal caution d'Artagnan had transmitted tohim by his messenger, had trembled for the duke, and running to thestable without taking time to have a horse saddled, had jumped upon thefirst he found, had galloped off like the wind, had alighted below inthe courtyard, had ascended the stairs precipitately, and on the topstep, as we have said, had encountered Felton.

  The duke, however, was not dead. He recovered a little, reopened hiseyes, and hope revived in all hearts.

  "Gentlemen," said he, "leave me alone with Patrick and Laporte--ah, isthat you, de Winter? You sent me a strange madman this morning! See thestate in which he has put me."

  "Oh, my Lord!" cried the baron, "I shall never console myself."

  "And you would be quite wrong, my dear de Winter," said Buckingham,holding out his hand to him. "I do not know the man who deserves beingregretted during the whole life of another man; but leave us, I prayyou."

  The baron went out sobbing.

  There only remained in the closet of the wounded duke Laporte andPatrick. A physician was sought for, but none was yet found.

  "You will live, my Lord, you will live!" repeated the faithful servantof Anne of Austria, on his knees before the duke's sofa.

  "What has she written to me?" said Buckingham, feebly, streaming withblood, and suppressing his agony to speak of her he loved, "what has shewritten to me? Read me her letter."

  "Oh, my Lord!" said Laporte.

  "Obey, Laporte, do you not see I have no time to lose?"

  Laporte broke the seal, and placed the paper before the eyes of theduke; but Buckingham in vain tried to make out the writing.

  "Read!" said he, "read! I cannot see. Read, then! For soon, perhaps, Ishall not hear, and I shall die without knowing what she has written tome."

  Laporte made no further objection, and read:

  "My Lord, By that which, since I have known you, have suffered by youand for you, I conjure you, if you have any care for my repose, tocountermand those great armaments which you are preparing againstFrance, to put an end to a war of which it is publicly said religion isthe ostensible cause, and of which, it is generally whispered, your lovefor me is the concealed cause. This war may not only bring greatcatastrophes upon England and France, but misfortune upon you, my Lord,for which I should never console myself.

  "Be careful of your life, which is menaced, and which will be dear to mefrom the moment I am not obliged to see an enemy in you.

  "Your affectionate

  "ANNE"

  Buckingham collected all his remaining strength to listen to the readingof the letter; then, when it was ended, as if he had met with a bitterdisappointment, he asked, "Have you nothing else to say to me by theliving voice, Laporte?"

  "The queen charged me to tell you to watch over yourself, for she hadadvice that your assassination would be attempted."

  "And is that all--is that all?" replied Buckingham, impatiently.

  "She likewise charged me to tell you that she still loved you."

  "Ah," said Buckingham, "God be praised! My death, then, will not be toher as the death of a stranger!"

  Laporte burst into tears.

  "Patrick," said the duke, "bring me the casket in which the diamondstuds were kept."

  Patrick brought the object desired, which Laporte recognized as havingbelonged to the queen.

  "Now the scent bag of white satin, on which her cipher is embroidered inpearls."

  Patrick again obeyed.

  "Here, Laporte," said Buckingham, "these are the only tokens I everreceived from her--this silver casket and these two letters. You willrestore them to her Majesty; and as a last memorial"--he looked roundfor some valuable object--"you will add--"

  He still sought; but his eyes, darkened by death, encountered only theknife which had
fallen from the hand of Felton, still smoking with theblood spread over its blade.

  "And you will add to them this knife," said the duke, pressing the handof Laporte. He had just strength enough to place the scent bag at thebottom of the silver casket, and to let the knife fall into it, making asign to Laporte that he was no longer able to speak; then, in a lastconvulsion, which this time he had not the power to combat, he slippedfrom the sofa to the floor.

  Patrick uttered a loud cry.

  Buckingham tried to smile a last time; but death checked his thought,which remained engraved on his brow like a last kiss of love.

  At this moment the duke's surgeon arrived, quite terrified; he wasalready on board the admiral's ship, where they had been obliged to seekhim.

  He approached the duke, took his hand, held it for an instant in hisown, and letting it fall, "All is useless," said he, "he is dead."

  "Dead, dead!" cried Patrick.

  At this cry all the crowd re-entered the apartment, and throughout thepalace and town there was nothing but consternation and tumult.

  As soon as Lord de Winter saw Buckingham was dead, he ran to Felton,whom the soldiers still guarded on the terrace of the palace.

  "Wretch!" said he to the young man, who since the death of Buckinghamhad regained that coolness and self-possession which never afterabandoned him, "wretch! what have you done?"

  "I have avenged myself!" said he.

  "Avenged yourself," said the baron. "Rather say that you have served asan instrument to that accursed woman; but I swear to you that this crimeshall be her last."

  "I don't know what you mean," replied Felton, quietly, "and I amignorant of whom you are speaking, my Lord. I killed the Duke ofBuckingham because he twice refused you yourself to appoint me captain;I have punished him for his injustice, that is all."

  De Winter, stupefied, looked on while the soldiers bound Felton, andcould not tell what to think of such insensibility.

  One thing alone, however, threw a shade over the pallid brow of Felton.At every noise he heard, the simple Puritan fancied he recognized thestep and voice of Milady coming to throw herself into his arms, toaccuse herself, and die with him.

  All at once he started. His eyes became fixed upon a point of the sea,commanded by the terrace where he was. With the eagle glance of a sailorhe had recognized there, where another would have seen only a gullhovering over the waves, the sail of a sloop which was directed towardthe coast of France.

  He grew deadly pale, placed his hand upon his heart, which was breaking,and at once perceived all the treachery.

  "One last favor, my Lord!" said he to the baron.

  "What?" asked his Lordship.

  "What o'clock is it?"

  The baron drew out his watch. "It wants ten minutes to nine," said he.

  Milady had hastened her departure by an hour and a half. As soon as sheheard the cannon which announced the fatal event, she had ordered theanchor to be weighed. The vessel was making way under a blue sky, atgreat distance from the coast.

  "God has so willed it!" said he, with the resignation of a fanatic; butwithout, however, being able to take his eyes from that ship, on boardof which he doubtless fancied he could distinguish the white outline ofher to whom he had sacrificed his life.

  De Winter followed his look, observed his feelings, and guessed all.

  "Be punished ALONE, for the first, miserable man!" said Lord de Winterto Felton, who was being dragged away with his eyes turned toward thesea; "but I swear to you by the memory of my brother whom I have lovedso much that your accomplice is not saved."

  Felton lowered his head without pronouncing a syllable.

  As to Lord de Winter, he descended the stairs rapidly, and went straightto the port.