The Modern Library Children's Classics

by Kenneth Grahame

  “Monsieur le Cardinal, I understand you perfectly. You have my promise that I shall punish all those mentioned in this letter, including the Queen herself.”

  “Ah, Sire, God forbid! Her Majesty must not suffer the slightest annoyance, nay inconvenience, on my account! Her Majesty has always imagined me to be her worst enemy; but you, Sire, can readily attest that I have always warmly espoused her cause even against yourself.”

  “True.”

  “Were the Queen to betray Your Majesty’s honor, it would be quite another matter and I would be the first to urge you to vouchsafe the guilty no mercy. Here, happily, that is not the question, for Your Majesty has just acquired fresh proof of the Queen’s innocence.”

  “True again, Monseigneur, you were right on that score as usual. Nevertheless the Queen has incurred my displeasure and more.”

  “It is you, Sire, who have now incurred hers. In all honesty were the Queen to be seriously offended I could well understand it. I must say Your Majesty treated her with considerable severity.…”

  “So shall I always treat my enemies and yours, Monseigneur, however exalted their positions and whatever perils befall me in so doing.”

  “I am the victim of the Queen’s enmity, not you, Sire. To Your Majesty, she is a devoted, submissive and irreproachable wife. Pray allow me then, Sire, to intercede with Your Majesty on her behalf.”

  “Let her humble herself then and come to me first.”

  “On the contrary, Sire, deign to set the example. Were you not wrong in the first place to suspect Her Majesty?”

  “What? I am to make advances? Impossible.”

  “Not wholly impossible, Sire, if you condescend. I beg you—”

  “But how? How am I to—?”

  “Your Majesty might do well to find some means of giving the Queen pleasure.”

  “For instance?”

  “For instance, a ball; Your Majesty knows how fond the Queen is of dancing. I am certain the Queen’s resentment will melt before an attention of the sort.”

  “Monseigneur, you know I dislike certain worldly pleasures.”

  “Her Majesty will be the more grateful to you for overcoming that aversion, Sire. Besides it will give the Queen an opportunity to display the beautiful diamond studs you gave her for her birthday. Her Majesty has not yet worn them.”

  “We shall see, Cardinal, we shall see,” the King answered, overjoyed that the Queen was at once guilty of a crime which caused him no worry and innocent of a betrayal he had dreaded. Perhaps the Cardinal was right; perhaps a reconciliation was in order. “We shall see, yes, but upon my word, you are too indulgent, Monsieur le Cardinal.”

  “Sire, leave severity to your Ministers, clemency is the royal virtue. Exercise it and you will find yourself the happier for it.”

  The clock struck eleven, the Cardinal rose, bowed low and begged leave to retire, not without imploring his master to compose his royal and marital difficulties.

  On the morrow the Queen, after the seizure of her letter, expected serious trouble or leastways sullen and acrimonious reproach. To her amazement the King called upon her and seemed to be making overtures for a reconciliation. Her first instinct was to repel them; she was too cruelly hurt in her womanly pride and queenly dignity to relent so suddenly. But presently, after consultation with her ladies-in-waiting, she was persuaded to forget the indignities she had suffered. At least she appeared to have forgotten them. Taking advantage of this favorable moment, His Majesty announced his intention of giving a fête in the near future.

  A fête was so rare a thing in the Queen’s life that, as the Cardinal had divined, the mere mention of such gaiety scattered the last traces of resentment from her features, if not from her heart. When she inquired eagerly what day the fête was to take place the King replied that he would have to consult the Cardinal. Indeed, day after day the King consulted His Eminence and day after day His Eminence found some pretext or other to temporize. Time passed and Her Majesty was left in suspense for ten days.…

  But Monsieur le Cardinal’s period of suspense was two days shorter. Forty-eight hours before he had communicated with the King, who in turn immediately communicated with the Queen, His Eminence received a missive from London which read:

  I have them but I cannot leave London for want of money. Pray send me five hundred pistoles and within four or five days of receipt I shall be in Paris.

  The day the Cardinal received this note, His Majesty asked the usual question; His Eminence, counting on his fingers, mused:

  “She says she will arrive within four or five days of receipt … it will take four or five days to get the money to her … it will take her four or five days to return … eight days minimum, ten days average, twelve at the outside, allowing for contrary winds, accidents and the frailty of woman.…”

  “Come, Monsieur le Cardinal, have you decided upon the date?”

  “Yes, Sire. Today is the twentieth of September. The Aldermen of the City are giving their fête on October third. A most auspicious date, it suits our purpose perfectly, for Your Majesty will not appear to have gone out of your way to be favoring the Queen. And,” the Cardinal added in a casual, urbane tone, “pray remember to tell Her Majesty the day before the fête—that is, October second—that you should be pleased to see how beautifully her diamond studs become her.”

  XVII

  MONSIEUR BONACIEUX AND HIS LADY

  The King was somewhat surprised at the Cardinal’s insistence; here for the second time His Eminence was referring to the diamond studs. What mystery lay under that insistence?

  In those days, of course, the police had not yet attained the perfection of ours, but it was nevertheless excellent. King Louis had been humiliated more than once by the Cardinal who seemed better informed than he concerning the royal household. He therefore hoped that a conversation with Anne of Austria might shed some light on current problems. Then he could in turn surprise the Cardinal with some secret, which Richelieu either knew or did not know, but which would anyhow greatly enhance him in the eyes of his minister.

  His Majesty proceeded to the Queen’s apartment and as usual uttered fresh threats against her henchmen and henchwomen. Anne of Austria bowed her head in silence and allowed the torrent to flow on, hoping the spate would eventually spend itself. But this was not what Louis XIII had in mind; His Majesty wanted a discussion from which he might glean some information. For he was convinced that the Cardinal was brooding over some one of those terrible surprises he knew only too well how to spring. His Majesty gained his end by dint of persistent accusation.

  Exhausted by these vague attacks, the Queen protested: “Why do you not tell me what is on your mind? What have I done? What sort of crime am I supposed to have committed? Surely Your Majesty cannot make all this to-do over a letter I wrote my brother?”

  The King, at a loss for an answer, decided to divulge the news he had intended to spring upon her at the last moment.

  “Madame,” the King said with dignity, “there will soon be a ball at the Hôtel de Ville. In order to do honor to our worthy aldermen, I propose that you appear in ceremonial costume; I am particularly eager that you wear the diamond studs which I gave you on your birthday. That is my answer.”

  The answer was terrible indeed. Anne of Austria imagined that Louis XIII knew all and that the Cardinal had prevailed upon him to employ this protracted eight-day pretense, which in any case was quite in keeping with his nature. She blanched, leaned on the console for support and looked up in silent terror. His Majesty kept his eyes riveted on that slender, admirable hand, now bloodless and as though of wax.

  “You understand, Madame?” he said, enjoying her embarrassment to the full, but without guessing what had caused it. “You understand?”

  “Yes, Sire. I understand.”

  “You will appear at this ball?”

  “Yes.”

  “With those studs, Madame?”

  “Yes.”

  The Queen grew paler stil
l. The King, noticing it, gloated with that cold cruelty which was one of his worst traits.

  “Then we agree,” he said abruptly. “That was all I had to say, Madame.”

  “But what day will the ball take place?”

  The Queen’s question was so faint and so pathetic that instinctively Louis XIII realized that he must ward it off.

  “Oh, very shortly Madame,” he replied. “As a matter of fact, I have forgotten the exact date. I shall ask the Cardinal.”

  “So it was the Cardinal who told you of this fête?”

  “Certainly. Why do you ask?”

  “So the Cardinal suggested you invite me to wear my studs?”

  “Well, Madame, he—”

  “It was he who suggested it?”

  “He or I, what matter? Is the suggestion so outlandish?”

  “No, Sire, certainly not—”

  “Then you will appear?”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “Good,” said the King, retiring. “Good! I shall count upon it.”

  The Queen curtsied less out of etiquette than because her knees were giving way under her. The King went away delighted.

  “I am lost, lost,” the Queen murmured. “The Cardinal knows everything; the King is but his tool. But the King will learn the truth soon enough. Oh, my God, my God, my God …”

  She knelt upon a cushion and prayed, her head bowed, her arms trembling. Her plight was desperate, for Buckingham had returned to London and Madame de Chevreuse was in exile at Tours. More closely watched than ever, the Queen understood that one of her ladies-in-waiting or maidservants had betrayed her. But who was the culprit? As La Porte could not possibly leave the Louvre, there was not one soul in all the world in whom she could place her trust. Contemplating the impending catastrophe and her helplessness, she burst into sobs.

  “Can I be of use to Your Majesty?” A voice filled with gentleness and pity intruded upon the Queen’s misery. “Can I be of help?”

  The Queen turned sharply round; there was no mistaking the expression of sympathy in that voice. Here was a friend in time of need. As she looked up, Madame Bonacieux stepped into the Queen’s apartment. She had been busy sorting gowns and linen in one of the closets when the King entered; now, timidly, she ventured forth.

  The Queen gasped at this intrusion; in her dismay she did not immediately recognize La Porte’s protégée.

  “You have nothing to fear, Madame,” said the young servant. “I am Your Majesty’s, body and soul. Remote as I am from Your Majesty and lowly though my station be, I think I can find a way to help you.”

  “You? Great Heavens, you! I am betrayed on all sides. Can I trust in you?”

  Madame Bonacieux fell to her knees:

  “Madame,” she vowed, “I swear upon my soul that I am ready to die for Your Majesty.” That cry of loyalty sprang from her innermost heart; its fervor and sincerity were unmistakable. “Ay, Madame,” the young woman continued, “there are traitors here in the Louvre! But by the Holy Name of the Virgin, I swear that no one is more devoted to Your Majesty than I am. These studs the King requests of you—you gave them to the Duke of Buckingham, did you not? They were in a little rosewood box which he took away with him. Am I mistaken?”

  “Ah, God, ah, God!” the Queen moaned.

  “We must get those studs back, Madame.”

  “Of course, my child! But how? What to do? How to go about it?”

  “Someone must be sent to the Duke.”

  “But who? Who? Whom can I trust?”

  “Have faith in me, Madame; do me this honor, my Queen, and I shall find the messenger, I promise you.”

  “But I shall have to write a message!”

  “Yes, of course, Madame. Two words in Your Majesty’s writing and your own seal will suffice.”

  “But two words might bring about my arrest, divorce and exile!”

  “Perhaps, if your message were to fall into the hands of an enemy. But I promise I can have it delivered safely to the Duke.”

  “So I must place my life, my honor and my reputation in your hands?”

  “Ay, Madame, you must. I know I can save you.”

  “But how?”

  “Madame, my husband was freed only two or three days ago; I have not yet had time to see him. He is a good, honest man; he has never loved or hated anyone on earth. He will do anything I wish. One word from me and he will go to London without even knowing what tidings he bears. And he will deliver Your Majesty’s letter to the address she desires, without even knowing it is from Your Majesty!”

  Fervidly the Queen grasped the young woman’s hands and looked deep into her eyes. Convinced of her servant’s sincerity, the Queen embraced Madame Bonacieux.

  “Do it,” she vowed, “and you will save the life and honor of your Queen.”

  “But, Madame, these are not at stake. The service I beg to render is slight indeed. Alas, are you not the victim of treacherous plots?”

  “True, all too true, my child!”

  “Then give me that letter at once, Madame. Time presses.”

  The Queen went to her desk, wrote two short lines, sealed her message with her private seal, and handed it to Madame Bonacieux.

  “We are forgetting one very important thing,” she said.

  “What is that, Madame?”

  “Money.”

  “Ay!” Madame Bonacieux blushed. “I must confess to Your Majesty that my husband—”

  “Your husband has none. Is that what you mean?”

  “Oh, yes, he has plenty, but he is very stingy. No one is perfect and avarice is his besetting sin. But Your Majesty must not worry about all this. We shall find some way—”

  “The truth is that I have no money either,” the Queen confessed. “But wait!” She picked up her jewel-case: “Here,” she said breathlessly, “here is a ring of great value, I am told. It is a gift from my brother, the King of Spain; it belongs to me, I can dispose of it as I wish. Take this ring, sell it and let your husband leave for London at once.”

  “You shall be obeyed within an hour, Madame.”

  “You see the address,” the Queen added, almost inaudibly. “This message goes to His Grace the Duke of Buckingham, London.”

  “The letter will be delivered to him in person.”

  The Queen grasped Madame Bonacieux’s hands and sighed: “You generous child!”

  Madame Bonacieux kissed the Queen’s hands, concealed the paper in her bodice and hastened away.

  Ten minutes later she was at home. As she told the Queen, she had not seen her husband since his liberation. She was therefore unaware of his change of feeling toward the Cardinal; nor did she know that this change had been intensified by two or more visits from the Comte de Rochefort. The latter had become Bonacieux’s best friend; he had easily persuaded the haberdasher that his wife’s abduction was no criminal act but merely a political measure.

  Madame Bonacieux found her husband alone. The poor fellow was with utmost difficulty restoring some order in his house. The furniture was completely destroyed and the closets were empty, for justice is not one of the three things which King Solomon named as leaving no traces of their passage. As for the servant, she had fled when her master was arrested; the wretched girl was so panic stricken that after leaving Paris she did not stop until she reached Burgundy, her native province.

  Immediately upon his return, the worthy haberdasher had notified his wife that he was safe at home. She had replied by congratulating him and promising that the earliest moment she could steal from her duties would be devoted to paying him a visit.

  This earliest moment had been delayed five whole days, which under any other circumstances might have seemed a long time to friend Bonacieux. But the visit he had paid to the Cardinal and the succeeding visits the Comte de Rochefort had paid him, provided ample food for thought, and, as everybody knows, such food makes time pass swiftly. This was all the more true in Bonacieux’s case because all his thoughts were rosy indeed. Rochefort called h
im his friend, his dear Bonacieux, and never ceased telling him how highly the Cardinal prized him. Already the haberdasher fancied himself on the high road to honors and fortune.

  Madame Bonacieux for her part had been thoughtful too, but truth to tell, on a subject alien to ambition. In spite of herself, her thoughts constantly reverted to the handsome and brave youth who seemed so much in love with her. She had married Monsieur Bonacieux at the age of eighteen; she had always lived among her husband’s friends, people hardly capable of inspiring a young woman whose heart and soul were above her social position. She had remained virtuous and decent. But a title exerted a great influence over the bourgeoisie at this period. D’Artagnan was of gentle birth; furthermore, he wore the uniform of the guards, which, next to that of the musketeers, was most admired by the ladies. He was handsome, young and adventurous; he spoke of love as a man who loved and was eager to be loved in return. In all this there was certainly enough to turn a head only twenty-three years old, and Madame Bonacieux had just reached that happy age.

  Husband and wife had not seen each other for over a week during which the most serious events had occurred to both. But when at length they met, it was with a feeling of preoccupation on both sides. However, Monsieur Bonacieux manifested genuine delight as he advanced toward his wife with open arms.

  Madame Bonacieux raised her head, presenting her brow to his kiss.

  “Let us talk a little,” she suggested.

  “What?” Bonacieux exclaimed in astonishment.

  “Yes, let us talk. I have something of the greatest importance to tell you.”

  “As a matter of fact, I too would like to discuss several serious matters with you. First, will you please explain the circumstances of your abduction?”

  “That is not important just now.”

  “Well then, what is important? Do you want to discuss my stay in prison?”

  “I heard of it the day you were arrested,” Madame Bonacieux explained. “But I knew you were guilty of no crime or intrigue; I knew you possessed no knowledge that could compromise you or anyone else. So I attached no more importance to your arrest than it warranted.”